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tinydeskwriter · 1 year

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CINEMA {Chapter I}

A/n: Someone wrote a lovely comment describing y/n and harry as “ ex lovers with unconditional love that never truly go out of style trope” which is now my very favorite way to describe it, unfortunately, my careless self deleted the comment while trying to delete my own reply—because I post it without being finished (tumblr doing me dirty)— so I dedicate this to her/him/they (?), thank you for the amazing comment.

Thank you to everyone that replied to my desperate need of help to choose Y/n ‘s ex-boyfriend…

I honestly hope not to disappoint you guys with this first chapter, I just wanted to give a first glimpse of Harry and Y/n’s ‘friendship’ dynamic. Also, it’s almost Harry’s birthday!!

Cinema | Previous Part 1.Boyfriends

Harry holds the door open with one hand, as he hold a cup carrier with four coffee drinks in the other—Luis is arriving soon, and Rebekah must already be somewhere in the house with Y/n—, he doesn’t know most of the people passing by him, from the group of fifteen+ he recognizes Chrystal, Y/n lawyer—who in more than one occasion back when they’re dating, managed to get out of circulation invasive paparazzi shots of the young couple—and Monica, her publicist since 2012, Rebekah was right behind them, escorting them all to the door.

Rebekah is their age, pixie hair, New York accent, always in flowy blouses and high waist jeans, Y/n’s PA, friend and confidante.

“Good morning H, I am going to take this, thank you.” The woman took her usual order and went back inside, turning back a few steps in, “She’s in the music room.”

“Thank you Bekah.” He said closing the door behind himself and taking the opposite direction from the PA.

The music room was one of Y/n favorite places in her house, a large space with two walls made of glass overlooking the pool, with a view of the city and the park. It’s where she keeps her prized Concert Grand Piano in custom Sycamore wood adorned with a gold leaf mural of London’s skyline around the entire case of the piano, a twenty-first birthday gift by Harry—which her boyfriend at the time saw as competition and got her a 61’ Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II in an auction.

Y/n’s enviable guitar and vinyl collections occupied the two inner walls, the only sitting furniture in the room—other than the piano bench—was the Bellini U-shaped couch from the 70’s in burnt orange velvet and Gucci throw pillows. The piece de resistance was the Brionvega RR126 Y/n inherited from her grandfather.

He found her laying in the couch reading what seemed to be a script.

She looked completely fine for someone who just sold 50% of what she called ‘her first born’, Harry was honestly expected a little bit of nostalgia or melancholia from his little love.

“Got you coffee.” He put the cup in her hand and kissed the top of her head as a greeting before sitting down next to her, his own coffee in hand.

Y/n hadn’t even took her eyes out of the pages.

“How are you feeling?”The question finally made her put the script down on her lap, and sip her coffee before looking at him.

“I feel like I just sold half of my soul to the devil for $500million dollars.” She said deadpanned.

Harry looked at her with furrowed brows.

“So why sell?” He asked slightly confused.

Y/n had started Muse unpretentiously, her goal was simply to offer to the costumers something that lacked in the market: an all-inclusive, vegan, high quality and affordable priced make-up and skincare line. Muse became a beauty empire that included even daily/basic lingerie and loungewear in 69 sizes and 15 nude colors—going by Y/n’s philosophy that basic doesn’t need to be ugly, ‘nude tones’ meant different shades from beige and pretty stuff should fit everyone.

It was her passion project.

“I don’t have the hours in a day for everything I need to do, and I want to have a life, I want to be able to dedicate myself to relationships.” She said honestly. “LVMH is the same parent company that owns half of Fenty Beauty, they are the only ones that agreed to my terms, I get creative control and veto vote, the company philosophy stays the same, I am getting a female CEO of my choice, and Muse gets global distribution, we’re going to be available at Sephora, Harvey Nichols, Boots, Ulta at a even more affordable price.”

Harry nodded. She has handing over some control of her company to have more control of her life. It was almost poetic in a sense.

“And what is this about?”the 'Adore You' crooner points to the script on the youngest's lap, he knew her well enough to know when he need to change the subject.

“Robert Eggers’ new project...but first...”She stops, looking seriously at Harry, “how was it with Olivia?”

Harry and Olivia had agreed to meet that morning to discuss their relationship.

Olivia apparently felt that tempers had run out, and that everything had been left very much up in the air.

Y/n didn't even know what was going on between the two until her former director called Harry the night before while they were getting ready for dinner, and even then she had only managed to get Harry out of the fact that they had had a fight before he came to her aid.

She had a suspicion there was trouble in paradise after Harry spent the third night in a row sharing a bed with her without his girlfriend's interference.

The man sigh, close his eyes and rest his head against the back of the couch.

“Was it that bad?” Y/n watches Harry closely.

Y/n honestly didn't like Olivia, and it wasn't even because the older one was dating Harry—which she personally found unethical and unprofessional, the kind of thing that causes a stain in someone’s career, specially with the whole scandal surrounding it.

The former Angel could write an entire essay about all her reasons to dislike Olivia Wilde, but in short it would resume to Olivia was simply an amalgamation of the kind of person Y/n looked down on in the industry: ambitious personality, fake character, and acting according to convenience.

She would never mistreat the woman or say a word against her in front of Harry, but that didn't mean she approved of their romance.

And Y/n knew Olivia didn't like her either, she could see it in the older woman's catlike eyes, her years in the fashion industry made her perceptive of those kind of things.

Olivia tolerated her for Harry, and had unwillingly offered the role of Violet to her under pressure from Warner Executives who saw Y/n as yet another money grab for the film—like Harry, she had a fanbase and more Instagram followers than the entire cast put together—and which she only accepted at Florence and Harry's request.

“We talked, we agreed that after our fight it's best to take some time off from each other, I have the tour, she still has to sort it out with Jason regarding the kids, we'll keep in touch, but we'll have a more definitive conversation when this leg of the tour is over to know where we stand.” He told her everything in one breath.

“And how do you feel about that?” The woman take a sip of her coffee.

Harry sighs again, running his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture

“I honestly don't know.” He confess. “I care about Olivia…”

“But you don’t love her…”Y/n completed. “That’s tough.” She nodded. “Do you think it’s a matter of time? Like, you can come to love her?”

“Yeah, sure…”He don’t look so sure. “Olivia is cool, she’s so intelligent and eloquent…” Y/n wide her eyes a little, condescending and pretentious fit Olivia better in her opinion. “If I am honest, our relationship hasn’t been a thought in my head for three days, this kinda of says something…”

“This actually screams something.” She said against her coffee, only to get a disapproving look from Harry. “H, you mistook the excitement of the honeymoon phase for something else and you stepped heavy footed into the relationship, I mean you moved her in three months after you guys started to date, we all told you it was too soon…”

“She needed a place to stay, things with Jason were though.” Harry defended his actions.

“And why is that?” The question was rhetorical, followed by a humorless laugh. “H, I love you, but you’re too good for this world.”

Harry looks at her with his brow frown. “Why?”

“My Love, everyone knows she broke up with Jason after you guys blurred the line, Florence told me that Jason and her acted pretty couple-ish the times he took the kids to visit, and that only changed after you started to spend too much time in her trailer.” Y/n told him what her and the girls had debated so many times before in their slumber parties over copious amounts of tequila. “Even Gemma agrees, and she’s like completely against talking about peoples life.”

The man stayed silent for a moment, absorbing what he had heard.

There was only one thing he wanted to know after hearing her thoughts.

“You never said anything against the relationship before.” It wasn’t even a question

“Because I want you happy, and you seemed happy with Olivia, that’s all I care about, it doesn’t matter if I don’t like the woman,” she answers with honesty. “I would never criticize your taste in women, the same way you never criticized my bad choices in men.” She jokes to lighten the mood.

Harry chuckles, eyes closing and dimples showing.

The musician stopped criticizing Y/n’s boyfriends after the second time she got back with Abel after he got together with Selena while they’re on a break—he did wrote her na album as na apology. He kept quiet about Charlie—needy, jealous Charlie—, and bit his tongue with Jack—flirting, handsome Jack, even Harry would have to admit the younger man knew how to be charming—.

He liked Jack less than he liked Abel.

And he had despised Abel because they got together not long after their break up, and Harry was still hung up on her, regretting his decision to end their relationship. But it was too late, Abel swapped her off her foot the minute their break-up was announced, taking her on a first date in Dubai just months later, the beginning of their whirlwind, world wide romance that just ended for good in 2019.

Jack, Harry hated him because he seemed less invested in the relationship than Y/n. He showered her with flowers and gifts and pretty words, but he was always away and it was always Y/n traveling to him. His Little Lovie was a woman in love with love, she always invested herself in the relationships, and was always heartbroken when things didn’t worked out in the end.

They were interrupted by Rebekah holding a lovely flower arrangement in her hands and an apologetic expression on her face. “Y/n…”

The actress turned to where her PA stood in the doorway, the young woman rolled her expressive eyes at the peonies, ranunculus and carnations bouquet.

“Beks…” Y/n sigh. “Just put it in the guest house, will you? Please.” She asked, and the held up her hand, stopping Bekah from leaving the room. “On second thought, it would be sad to let all those beautiful flowers go to waste, see if you can get a van to transport them all to the nearest nursing home.”

The assistant nodded and was already turning to leave the room and start to making calls when this time it was Harry who stopped her.

“Call Jeff, we have a van to transport instruments that you guys can use.”The musician offers.

“Thank you, H.”The young woman said honestly, with a bit of relief showing in her face.

The former couple turned best friends watch her leave the room before going back to their conversation.

“Is he still sending you flowers?” He points to where Bekah disappeared with the flowers.

Y/n just rolls her eyes. “I feel like I can open my own flower shop.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “He’s still blowing my phone.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Harry takes a sip of his coffee, watching her closely.

“NO!”She says categorically. “I played this back and forth game with Abel, I am not doing it again with Jack.” She sighs. “But I still have to see him at least at the VMA’s, I can’t pull back at the last minute.”

“Shit, I had completely forgot about that.” Sometimes he forgot that she was what the industry called a triple threat: she acts, she dances and she sings, she had already used her voice in three movies.

With her always dating musicians, it was actually an impressive feat that none before Jack had put her vocals on a track—Harry did, but they aren’t dating at the time he recorded her for TPWK.

No one ever thought that ‘Into Your Arms’ would blow up the way it did, it was a romantic—that in some ways reflected Y/n and Jack’s relationship at the time—song, and Tik-Tok and Instagram Reels made it a huge sensation.

“Yeah, we have to perform it on the 11th.” She honestly wished there was a shot of vodka in her coffee. “Let’s talk about nice things now, My Love.” She lifts the nearly forgotten script from her lap pushing it towards him. “I need you to do this with me."

{next part}

Taglist: @slutforcoffein ; @lilsiz ; @pandxthings ;

@ameerakane20 ; @angywritesstuff

#harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x actress!yn #harry styles x model!reader #harry styles x singer!reader

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theloveinc · 1 year

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barbarian!bakugo + buying apples. you’ll notice I didn’t put any work into this making it more … fantasy-like. And that’s bc… I still couldn’t figure out how😞

(warning: misogyny, you are described as a maiden / dress wearing, you have a pa, world building sucks, bakugo … doesn’t talk)

Being the only maiden on one of barbarian!Bakugo’s cross country journeys. I’m not sure yet how or why you’re there, but I’d say he’s traveling and one of his fellow clansmen took you as a prize, or maybe you just hitched a ride on their cart yourself.

But they stop in a small village one day, parking their horses at the edge of a town square of cobblestone and brick, merchant booths surrounding the small shops: of butchers and farmers and fishermen and traders, all rowdy and beaming as they show off their wares.

The men split up (the one with green hair in a leather vest declaring he needs a blacksmith, the lanky one with dark bangs in the direction of new snare wire), though the bulky blonde one (the one in thick furs and pelts who’s never really spoken to you) stays around, picking at the shiny, pink apples of a booth quite close to where the cart you sit on in boredom is parked.

“Five gold for a sack, sir” the man behind the creaky, wooden stand says. He’s stout, thin-haired and wrinkly, all his years in the sun selling fruit showing proudly on his tanned skin. He gestures to the wide array of fruits, each like a piece of candy he wants to show off.

Bakugo (you think his name his, or rather, that’s how he was introduced to you by the redhead with unnaturally sharp teeth, biggest of the group) glances up, frown thin and tense and blood red eyes narrowed. His shoulders shift, the muscles of his exposed stomach rippling as he breathes, the smooth skin of his forehead pinching as if he’s calculating a sale just as he would any other battle or raid.

The sign next to both the men clearly states that apples are two gold a sack. Pears are three, plums are one. “But I’ll give you a deal for four gold,” the man continues.

The blonde ponders, inspecting the apples diligently as if they could be poison, or a waste of a trade. His eyes narrow slightly, lips pursing, and you realize, in his reaching for coin, the intuition he so usually takes pride in (saving the men once from a brutal hound attack, and you, too, another time when a swamp dweller caught the hem of your trousers) is not there… and that they don’t use the same alphabet. Maybe he can’t even… read.

“For two gold,” you call.

Both parties look to you. One set of eyes in an suspicious glare, the other in a tart and angry bitterness. The merchant’s leathery face sinks into a melted frown, his fists clenching as your own hand shields your eyes from the bright sun and hides a protective squint.

“Didn’t your pa ever tell you not to meddle in grown men’s business?” he half-shouts back, the laugh in his voice now tangled with a snarl, downright and plain rude.

“The sign says two,” swinging off your seat, you smooth down your simple frock as you point to the wooden board stained with charcoal that’s hung up next to him. “One sack of apples for two gold.”

Bakugo’s eyebrows raise for the briefest of seconds, then fall in another glare as his hand drops from where he holds his coin (in small, canvas bag tied to his belt with thin, leather cord. It sags against his hip, his pants dipping and uncovering a v-line that descends further into a region you’ve only seen once; at a bathing river in the hills, the bare curve and marks of your own hips exposed—)

“Don’t know where you picked up letters, missy,” the merchant scoffs. “Reading is men’s work.”

You approach the barbarian’s side, his head (messy with hair) tilted towards you as he watches on in silence. From the pocket of your dress, you take out two gold of your own and flick them on the table before you.

“My pa taught me how.”

Then you take Bakugo’s hand (thick and rough and hard to hold) in one of yours and march right back to the horses and cart. Bag of sweet, pink apples in the other.

#bakugou x reader #Bakugo #I am so lazy #I just wanted to post this lmfao sorry if it’s sucks #will fix any mistakes soon!#I’ve just been caught up in this weird fantasy of like…. being captured by some barbarians and surprising them with your sophistication #and saving them from some weird sh*t #I think it would surprise Barbarry Bakugo if u like . could read and he couldn’t #but this is like. a bad representation of that LOL #idk why I’m having so much trouble with the fantasy set up #gusss well just have to deal #dunno .. I have no concept of anything #anyway this was kind of a shout out to my own dad #whos an alc*holic n*mbskull hillbilly b*astard dropout but wanted me to be educated and cultured more than anything growing up #so weird #i must be so tired to be telling u all this… or it’s the lexapro #either way ENJOY SORRY #I miss and love u all #caitie post #gen

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ryoko1232 · 3 months

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its getting interactions so... More dnd with the sides?

Ro:"Oh Patton, you're gonna like this! They are selling a dog pack that can fit 1k dogs"

Pa:"Aww"

Ro:"And it already has 200 pups inside"

Pa:"AWWWW, how much is it?"

Ro:"uhhh, 150 gold"

Lo:"that is exactly how much- Patton! We need to save our gold- Pat-"

Pat:"I take it!"

Lo"Wait no!"

Ro:" Done, you know have...oh that was the last of your gold.."

Lo: *disapproval noises*

Vi:"We could still have enough to fight the boss if you didn't get your star sword"

Lo:"WE NEED WEAPONS TO FIGHT THE BOSS, WE DON'T NEED 200 PUPPIES"

Pa:"HEYYY, YES WE DO!"

#dnd #virgil sanders #logan sanders #sander sides #patton sanders #roman sanders #200 pups does sound good #bffr

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incarnateirony · 8 months

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Interesting. Jensen and Misha both scheduling further ahead on CE, Jared only scheduled on three more. Misha's prices on things going up. CE answering vaguely that jared hasnt been able to commit further and that they have "other secret weapons". Cons with only Jensen and MIsha so far selling gold package tickets.

Fascinating. Maybe they're tired of pa ying out Jared's rate when he literally isn't making money and have realized no amount of propping him up is working. When several J2 greets sell cheaper than Jensen solos, it's not a fluke, it's a pattern.

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tomorrowusa · 1 month

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Postcards from Ukraine to members of Congress – a suggestion 💡 🇺🇦 🇺🇸 📮

It's clear that House Speaker Mike Johnson is acting on orders from Donald Trump to prevent a Senate bill which includes aid to Ukraine from getting a vote in the House of Representatives. Johnson is a craven careerist who would sell his mother into slavery to please Trump.

The Senate bill ("Emergency National Security Supplemental Appropriations Act") could still be taken up – and would almost certainly pass – if just a handful of Republicans from moderate districts decided to support a parliamentary procedure called a "discharge petition" in order to bypass Speaker Johnson.

There are 17 Republicans in the House of Representatives in 2022 who won in congressional districts where Joe Biden had beaten Donald Trump in 2020. These Republicans from moderate districts would be a good grouping to entreat to support the discharge petition. A number of them have already expressed support for Ukraine in the past. It's a matter of getting them to put conscience ahead of their fear of Trump.

Below is a list of addresses of the district offices of those 17 Republican Representatives. If you are in Ukraine, buy a postcard and clearly write a short message which tells how you love freedom and how Putin's illegal war has affected you. It can be in English or Ukrainian. Use a Ukrainian stamp for postage and mail it as soon as possible.

Individuals need pick just 1 of the 17. But schools, businesses, clubs, and military units with at least 17 people can arrange to send one to each of the listed Representatives.

Be polite but urgent. Perhaps remind them that Ronald Reagan understood the dangers of Russian imperialism.

Rep. David Schweikert 14500 N. Northsight Blvd., Suite 221 Scottsdale, AZ 85260 USA

Rep. Juan Ciscomani 1636 N. Swan Road, Suite 200 Tucson, AZ 85712 USA

Rep. John Duarte 90 S. First Street Turlock, CA 95380 USA

Rep. David Valadeo 2700 M Street, Suite 250B Bakersfield, CA 93301 USA

Rep. Mike Garcia 27200 Tourney Rd., Suite 300 Santa Clarita, CA 91355 USA

Rep. Young Kim 180 N. Riverview Dr., Suite 150 Anaheim, CA 92808 USA

Rep. Michelle Steel 10805 Holder St., Suite 225 Cypress, CA 90630 USA

Rep. Don Bacon 13906 Gold Circle, Suite 101 Omaha, NE 68144 USA

Rep. Tom Kean Hopatcong Borough Municipal Building 111 River Styx Road Hopatcong, NJ 07843 USA

Rep. Nick Lalota 515 Hauppauge Road, Suite 3B Hauppauge, NY 11788 USA

Rep. Anthony D'Esposito 229 7th Street, Suite 102 Garden City, NY 11530 USA

Rep. Mike Lawler 60 McAlpin Ave Mahopac, NY 10541 USA

Rep. Marc Molinaro 49 Court Street, Suite 210 Binghamton, NY 13901 USA

Rep. Brandon Williams 421 Broad Street, Suite 7 Utica, NY 13501 USA

Rep. Lori Chavez-DeRemer 621 High Street Oregon City, OR 97045 USA

Rep. Brian Fitzpatrick 1717 Langhorne Newtown Rd., Suite 225 Langhorne, PA 19047 USA

Rep. Jen Kiggans 283 Constitution Drive Virginia Beach, VA 23462 USA

FAQ

Why physical mail instead of email or phone calls? There's an enormous chance that your email would end up in a spam folder. Also, the Congressional email system tends to prioritize email originating from the districts of each individual House member. Phone calls from outside the US are likely to be filtered out. Unlike email or phone calls, a physical piece of mail has a real world presence. The recipient has to do something with it. You can't simply press DELETE to get rid of it.

Why postcards and not letters? For security reasons. It takes less time and effort to inspect a postcard than a letter or parcel. Your mail will arrive sooner.

Why use postage stamps instead of a postage meter? You want the recipient to know that you are REALLY from Ukraine. Using official Ukrainian stamps is a simple way to do that. When people see Україна or Ukraina on the stamp then they will know it originated in Free Ukraine. FYI: the letter Ї does not exist in Russian, recipients should look for this on the stamp. Also, your stamp automatically turns the postcard into a collector's item. It is more likely to be saved and to serve as a continuing reminder of your urgent request.

Why send the postcards to district offices instead of offices in Washington? Postcards from Ukraine will get more attention locally by local staff; if a sizable number arrive, it might even get mentioned in local media. In Washington, people tend to be more blasé about such things.

What is the proper form of address for House members? Rep. or Representative before the surname – no distinction based on gender.

FOR REFERENCE: Here are electoral stats for the districts. The column marked R margin indicates the size of each Representative's winning margin in 2022. Rep. Duarte, for example, beat his Democratic opponent by a very narrow 0.4%

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blowflyfag · 7 months

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WRESTLING ALL STARS: Heroes and Villains : JUNE 1996

ECW CONQUERS NEW YORK

By George Napolitano

[Sabu clobbers Cactus Jack in some EXTREME action.]

Like an off Broadway play that perfects its craft on the road before making it to the big city. ECW has been playing to full houses for nearly three years approximately every three weeks in Philadelphia, PA at the ECW Arena. Finally, after all this time “on the road,” ECW decided to try its luck in the Big Apple. And, from the response that they received in their New York debut, it’s obvious that ECW is ready to take an extreme bite out of the Big Apple!

[Sandman before he lost his Woman and his gold]

The Lost Battalion Hall in Queens, NY, was the sight of the first ECW card in the New York area. Prior To the card ECW action had been playing on MSG cable every Sunday night at 1:00 a.m. for nearly a year. ECW has its own unique brand of mayhem and violence, unlike anything that can be seen on WWF or WCW broadcasts. In NYC, it has acquired a huge late-night cult following. Although Tod Gordon and the rest of the ECW hierarchy knew that they had a following in the New York area, never in their wildest dreams did they think that their first card would produce a complete sell out with hundreds of die-hard fans turned away at the door.

[Sabu sends Cactus through a table.]

At 7:00 p.m., with still an hour to go before the show, there were 1,242 fans inside the arena with an estimated 1,000 more on Queens Boulevard unable to get inside. TO try and pacify those who were unable to secure admission to the event, the ECW announced the date of their next card and then began to sell tickets to this one. Many fans who were unable to get into the arena for the first ECW card quickly purchased seats for the upcoming show to avoid being shut out again! And, because of this huge advance ticket sale and the response of those who were fortunate to gain admission to the first ECW card, the second ECW card in Queens is sure to be another sellout.

[ECW crowds are the rowdiest wrestling crowds in the world.

Raven is dazed and confused after smashing a table with his head.]

I have been to numerous local events in my many years covering the wrestling scene, but not since the heydays of the eighties have I seen such a rabid group of fans in a local arena.

Walking through the crowd, you could feel the electricity. The excitement was such that it made you feel that you were about came to ringside. After aggravating the crowd with his obnoxious behavior, Richards walked to the ringside and said, “Hey Jojo, there’s Missy Hyatt!” Richards played up to Missy, and before leaving the ringside area Missy gave him a long, deep kiss. When their lips parted, Missy told Stevie to take that to Raven. After Richards finally returned to the dressing room, Joey Styles introduced Paul E. Dangerously. Dangerously received a long and loud ovation from the faithful and then welcomed every one in his own inimitable style. Dangerously had quite a few things to say to the people and peppered his comments with profanties directed mainly towards WCW and the WWF. In closing Dangerously said, “There’s going to be so much electricity in here that they will feel its effects all the way in Titan Towers in Stanford, Connecticut!”

[Francine tends to an injured Pit Bull.

Paul E. Dangerously gets the Queens NY crowd worked up.

Raven is never too injured to give the Sandman a kick to the kisser!]

Finally, the time had come for the big card and in the first match Taz took on Koji Nakagawa. The “Master of the Suplex '' wasted no time in easily subduing his opponent, and when it was over, Taz, along with his manager Bill Alphonso, challenged everyone in the arena.

[Rock tables NuJack and the Gangstas are history!

Nujack pounds Rocco Rock bloody.]

Next came “The Shah” Hack Myers and his opponent was J.T. Smith Listening to the wat that the fans were cheering on the Shah, it was obvious that they had been following ECW action for a long time. After eight minutes of action, Meyers pinned Smith to win the match.

[Francine attacks Paul E. Dangerously at ringside.

Pit Bull #1 brains Eliminator #1 with a board! The Sandman is on the receiving end of several Raven rights. There were 1,242 fans inside the arena with an estimated 1,000 more on Queens Boulevard unable to get inside.]

This was followed by a match in which Too Cold Scorpio put both the tag team title and the TV title on the line. His opponent was Long Island native, Mikey Whipwreck.

[Bubba Dudley doesn’t stutter when he’s kicking butt! ECW, ECW, ECW!]

This match was sensational. Scorpio and Whipwreck put on a display of wrestling prowess that has been seen in a local arena in years. The moves exhibited by both men were just incredible. Scorpio's numerous cartwheels off the top rope were simply breathtaking with each executed with precision. However , if Scorpio had merely tried to pin Whipwreck instead of continually showing off and lifting him off the mat at the count of two so that he could do yet another cartwheel, he would have easily won the match. But Scorpio’s showboating proved to be his undoing. Cactus Jack ran in and pulled Whipwreck out of the way as Scorpio was about to land on him once again. With Scorpio rolling on the mat writhing in pain from the missed cartwheel, Cactus jack placed Whipwreck on top of the Scorpio. The referee then counted and, as he pounded the canvas a third time, Mikey Whipwreck was declared the winner and new TV and Tag Team champion!

[Buh-Buh Dudley dies his dance,]

A tag team match followed, involving the Eliminators (with their manager Jason) versus the Pit Bulls (with their valet Francine). This was another fast and furious encounter. Both teams battled continually both inside and outside of the ring with even Jason and Francine getting into it numerous times. The end came when Saturn pinned Pit Bull 2 with help from his partner in crime. After scoring the pin fall, the Eliminators, along with Jason, suplexed Francine as her large, mostly male, rooting section gasped in horror!

[Taz and Bill Alphonzo: A match made in Hell!]

The fifth match was an elimination match with the winner getting the opportunity to wrestle for the ECW title against the Sandman. The participants were Raven and Tommy Dreamer. While Raven had Stevie Richards, the Blue Meanie and Beullah in his corner, Tommy Dreamer had to wage the war alone and this led to his downfall. This battle was one of the wildest matches ever waged in New York! The combatants fought all around the arena, but when it was over Raven emerged victorious.

In the sixth match Buster Mastino easily defeated El Puertoricano despite several sensational moves by the young Puerto Richan.

[Taz and Bill Alphonzo: Can these two get any more irritating?]

The sensational Bubba Ray Dudeley was next and Buh, Buh, Buh, Bubba’s opponent was the Blue Meanie.

[Stevie Richards, Beulah McGillicuddy and The Blue Meanie seem to be having a marvelous time.]

Accompanying Bubba were the rest of the Dudley clan, while the Meanie had Stevie Richards at ringside in case he needed a helping hand. After the Meanie slapped Bubba to start the match. It went downhill for the Meanie. Bubba Ray tore the Meanie apart. Then after disposing of the Meanie, the Dudleys set their sights on Richards, and he was lucky to leave the arena alive as the Dudleys tore into him.

[Woman gives Sandman a quaff of lager!]

The ECW title match was next with the Sandman taking on Raven. As soon as the Sandman made his way to the ring accompanied by the lovely Woman, everyone in the arena rose to their feet. After seeing the Sandman successfully defend his title on TV time after time against a variety of opponents, the sellout crowd couldn’t wait to see their hero in person and they showed him and his lady their appreciation by giving them a long and loud standing ovation. You could tell by the smiles on their faces and the cockiness in their strut that the Sandman and Woman loved the ovation. When Raven appeared in view, his reception was met with a long and loud chorus of boos. The battle between these two was intense. At times it looked like Raven would win the title, but some how, some way, the Sandman always managed to survive. At the 15-minute mark Tommy Dreamer ran to the ring and joined the battle. Dreamer was slugging Raven who got the worst of it. When Dreamer finally left the ringside area, Sandman pinned Raven to win the bout.

[Cactus grabs a handful of Sabu’s hair. (Notice that lately Cactus has been wrestling with his teeth in.)

Too Cold Scorpio goes for an altitude record.]

This was followed by a tag team match involving Public Enemy and the Gangstas. The battle that ensued was intense. Chairs, tables, the bell and anything else they could grab was used during the match. To accurately describe the intensity exhibited by each time would be impossible as the match was brutal. In the end, Mustafa of the Gangstas pulled off the upset of the evening when he pinned Rocco Rock to win the match.

[Public Enemy says, “You should see the LOSERS!”

Cactus Jack and Mikey Whipwreck are championship tag team partners, much to Mikey’s dismay.]

The final match of the night pitted the feared Sabu against the wild and crazy Cactus Jack, and the referee for this battle was 911. Like all of the matches that preceded it, this was yet another classic. Sabu did all of his trademarked moves, while Cactus Jack was as wild as could be. Although the match ended in a double count out, no one was disappointed as both men used every move in their repertoire.

The first NECW New York card started at 8:00 p.m. and it continued non-stop without an intermission until 11:45. In this time, everyone was treated to a night of action, excitement and mayhem unlike any they had ever seen on the local scene. With the enthusiastic response of the first ECW card in the New York area, it is only a matter of time before ECW becomes a major force on the NY scene. Although right now the ECW stars may lack the fame of the WWF or WCW, with their moves, style, and never-say-die attitude, it's only a matter of time before the ECW competitors become as well known as their counterparts. When they do, ECW will become a major force on the wrestling scene. From their humble beginnings in Philadelphia, PA, in front of a small, hardcore enthusiastic audience the ECW has grown to the point where it is now ready to compete with the big boys. From the reception in the Big Apple, it’s obvious that ECW is ready to step into the limelight.

[Missy Hyatt and Stevie Richards hit it off at ringside. Is she using Stevie to get to Raven?

Raven locks Sandman with the caning stick.

Tommy Dreamer is a bloody mess as he reacts to a low blow.]

#ECW #extreme championship wrestling #Magazine scan #magazine transctipt

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xp1ssratx · 1 year

Text

23/3

When you finally visit, you have to remind her of two things: that she is your mother, and that as of today, you are fifty.

You go in expecting her to be just as much of a stranger as you might be to her, so before you study her face, you study the room—the story told through its enclosing surfaces: walls a spilled-coffee beige, patterns on the wallpaper fading and spiralling into oblivion. Carpet floor stiff like her joints, old as her bones. Ceiling—you look up. Cracked plaster, sterile white light.

Then you look back down and finally look at her—really look at her. She sits on a sagging armchair by a cracked open window, pouring in daylight glow like molten gold. There’s a hint of accusation in her eyes so faint you think you may be imagining it, but you know that look—and that is what convinces you otherwise. (where have you been?) The air is as stale as a disdainful stare.

You also know her too well to let it bother you, but there are sharp glances from nurses, the lady at the reception, that are hard to ignore. Condemnation found in dried-up cups of earl-grey, in the musty scent that has somehow travelled from the old house to here. (it’s just like you to dump your mother in some nursing home.) Condemnation in the sound of old songs crackling on the radio in the corner of the room, sharp and tinny with its decade-old speakers. It sounds like familiar records of your childhood, fading in and out of twittering birds outside, just as it played through speakers in a house—years, decades, a lifetime ago.

Neither of you speak. Then again, even before, your conversations were hardly ever spoken.

Here, she hums.

(you were twenty-four when you left her on the floor, leaning against cabinets underneath the kitchen sink. She hums a song—on the radio last night—under her breath, and your feet are pierced with shards. The floor—slippery. Littered with wine-stained glass like droplets of blood, and you are numb (don’t you dare leave me here). But not numb enough to be nonfunctional. Her eyes, too glassy to burn into your back, waver in the light as you walk gingerly out of the kitchen. As your vision turns to her from the door, you think it might be the last time you see her. In a way, you were right.)

Her face has hardly changed in the eight years since you last saw her. Eight years, but it doesn’t even look like a day, and here you think, should be a waterfall of feeling overflowing into the tear ducts of your eyes, or bright sparks of emotion dancing, burning the calloused pads of your fingertips.

Instead, there is nothing. As if this were thirty years ago and you had just come back from the grocery store, back home where she lay half asleep on the couch in front of a muttering tv.

Eight years, and it doesn’t feel like a day either. What do you see in her eyes washed away with the tide—gentle and meandering in the coolness of a soft breeze, warmth of a setting sun? Companion or fighter? But now neither fighter nor teacher. If not teacher then mother or mother or stranger? Not yet a stranger, you think (or hope; nonetheless, you believe). Not a stranger, though perhaps only for a few more years. Her glassy, unfocused eyes like wet marbles (hey. hey, why are your eyes a million years away?) capture your distorted image, reflecting her likeness in you, in her. You watch your image grow magnified, like a goldfish in a glass bowl, scales twinkling and shape-shifting with refracted light as you draw nearer. The resemblance is uncanny. You have the same nose, same chin, same teeth—though teeth are not genetic.

(you were forty-two when the hospital called. A cold day—raining. Eggs for breakfast, disbelief for lunch, tears for dinner. Alzheimer’s, they had said, and a broken leg. Ok, you had replied, then yesterday’s coat, yesterday’s hair, signed papers, taped brown cardboard boxes, and it was as if she never existed. Part of you is relieved, but when you sell her mother’s father’s house to pay for the treatment, the other part of you wishes she was there to hate you for it.)

You are fifty now.

(you are fifty and not a day more when you stand an awkward metre from her, tracing the faded patterns of the wallpaper with your eyes, filling in the gaps, and realise that hardly anything has changed. You are fifty when you realise you still know her. You are sixty and you still do. You are seventy, seventy-two, seventy-three when you realise that fact will never change. Seventy-five, eighty, and now you no longer trace patterns of wallpaper, but patterns of grass growing in tufts around a dusty headstone, trace the name carefully engraved in gold.)

But you know her—and you know you always will.

#writing #prose #i actually don’t have mommy issues #2023

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miragethecat · 3 months

Text

A NEW FORM????? HELLO!!

we’re only on EPISODE 8⁉️⁉️

i do have to admit, i like the gold. The fact that his transformation device or at least part of is a giant becomes carabiner, actually the fact that all three of them are carabiners is crazy. tsubaraya is missing out by not just selling those for keys

#tokusatsu #ultraman #kaiju #ultraman fuma #ultraman taiga #ultraman titas

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sleepdeprivedsimp234 · 1 year

Text

Louisiana HC’s because I friggin’ love him 🥺🥺💛💚💜 Also @simpyfrog , cuz I think they might like this. Maybe.

-he has a few different nicknames, but his main one is Loui. His others are: Lou, Ana, The Pelican State, and Magnolia (his state flower).

-his "human" age is 22 and his state age (or how long he has been a state) is 211 years

-his height is 5’7

-Loui has an unnatural love for animals and knows a lot about them

-Texas decided to teach him how to ride horses and it went really well! Sorta. Loui just was kinda cautious about the horses because they are all a lot bigger than him and stronger.

-so as we know, Loui doesn’t, or at least, barely sleeps, cuz he’s usually "haunting’ the house at night and is active during the day. So sometimes his body will just shut down at random parts of the day and he’ll fall asleep on the spot (no matter what he’s doing). Florida now has the habit of putting an arm either in front of Loui, or behind him in case he falls.

-he has autism, high-functioning depression and anxiety, and PTSD

-one time Texas decided to give Loui hennessy. Yea. Um. Never again. The sounds coming from him could only be described as a demon getting strangled 😭 He hated it. It bit him.

-the LAST, and I mean, the LAST thing any of the states want is for somebody to piss off a hungover Loui. The last time someone did that, let’s just say Alabama got LAUNCHED across the living room.

-Loui love’s complimenting his friends, but he can’t handle compliments directed at him. If somebody compliments him, he will 100% malfunction and be blushing for a long time, and it’s absolutely adorable.

-absolutely adores thunderstorms. He loves the lightning and the rain, but sometimes the thunder will give him a little spook.

-he enjoys making weird concoctions of random drinks and always manages to make the most interesting drinks that just leave the others either concerned or impressed

-the resident "Shots Til’ You Drop" winner with Texas not too far behind

-sometimes he paints his nails black, purple, or gold

-his father was an absolute piece of sh*t and abused him mentally and physically before selling him to America, so now Loui also has ✨abandonment issues✨, and thinks that his friends will abandon him if he isn’t good enough.

-at random times, he will cuddle up to somebody on the couch and fall asleep hugging them, no matter who it is. And nobody, NOBODY, not even Alaska, have the heart to move him. They will just sit there and continue watching TV or whatever they were doing.

-he also purrs like a cat, so whenever he decides to mess with New York about basically being a cat in human form, York will shut him up by dragging him to the couch and reducing him to a tired purring puddle of adorableness. He shuts up pretty quickly.

-in that one episode where Loui insults Ohio (WNR 9/8 pt2: Boneless Chicken Wings Man, if ur curious), the aftermath of that was Loui just continuously apologizing to Ohio for insulting him and Ohio reassuring him that it was ok and all fun and games (😭😭 Bless his lil’ heart 😭😭)

-Tex and Loui are actually closer than most people think, and same with Mass and Loui. They just aren’t the duos that people would expect to exist and get along.

-so we all know that Loui is a sweet funky lil’ guy that could do no wrong, but he can most definitely be a b*tch if he wants to

-he knows how to play a bunch of instruments and he has a really nice singing voice

-as mentioned in one of my previous posts, Loui speaks French. And so do a few other states. Those states have heard and understood what Loui was saying whenever he decided to insult someone in French and to say they were stunned would be an understatement. Example:

*Alabama won’t shut up about his state being the one where Mardi Gras started*

Loui, done with his sh*t: *under his breath* Nan, je ne pense pas que tu vailles la quantité de dynamite qu'il faudrait pour t'envoyer en enfer…. (Naw, i dont think you're worth the amount of dynamite it would take to blow you to the pits of hell….)

Texas, who heard and understood him: *the man was too stunned to speak, but he’s also trying to not burst out laughing*

-Loui enjoys scaring people, but he also gets jumpscared really easily. And he doesn’t have a fight or flight response, he has a fight or freeze response, meaning he either punches the person that scared him, or he just freezes in place. One time, Alaska decided that it would be funny to stick his cold hand up Loui’s hoodie and place it on his back as he was zoned out and washing dishes.

Yea Texas ended up teasing Alaska about he got thrown into the kitchen island with a knife to his throat when he landed by someone that is only 5’7 and looks like he couldn’t harm a fly.

-sometimes Loui gets really anxious during meetings when things start getting too chaotic, and normally Florida would take that as a sign to calm down a bit, but when Florida doesn’t notice, Texas is the next one up (cuz I headcanon that Texas sits next to Loui). He’ll just reach over and grab Loui’s hand and just hold it for a while to calm him down before he has a full on anxiety attack. Or if there’s not too many states there (cOuGh CoUgH- Cali, Oklahoma, and Alaska- cOuGh CoUgH), he will snake a hand around Loui and hug him till he’s calm again.

-Loui is perhaps one of the only people that Alaska fears. For reasons.

=======================================================================

NOW TAKE SOME INCORRECT QUOTES WITH LOUI BEING THE MAIN CHARACTER BI-

===================================================================

York: Did it hurt when you fell-  Loui: From heaven? Wow, I didn’t think you were such a flirt-  York: No, I meant when you fell down the stairs.  Loui: ...  York: You just laid there for 15 minutes.

============================================

Loui: I will send my army to attack!  Loui: *releases a dumpster of raccoons whilst grinning like a maniac*

============================================

Loui: Don't go to the kitchen.  York: Why?  Loui: I saw a spider.  York: Well, did you kill it?  Loui: It has 8 arms and I only have 2, it's not fair...

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Gov: Stop setting things on fire because you're curious about what will happen. What will happen is fire.  Loui: But what if something else happens just this one time.

============================================

*at a sleepover in Tex’s room (with Florida, Georgia, and Loui)*

Tex: Why aren’t you sleeping?  Loui: I’m too busy plotting your murder to sleep, Texas.  Tex:  Loui: ...The stupid ghosts and spirits. Tex: *wrapping their arms around Loui* Awwww, bud- (Mama Texas hours-)

============================================

Florida: Truth or dare?  Loui: Truth.  Florida : How many hours have you slept this week?  Loui:  Loui: Dare.  Florida: Go to sleep.  Loui: I don't like this game.

============================================

Some random b*tch with a gun to Loui’s head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven?  Loui: *unfazed* Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

============================================

Gov: Just be careful, Louisiana!  Loui: *heading out the door* I'm always careful, Gov!  Loui: It's everything around me that's careless.

============================================

Loui: *Gasp*  York: wHAT??  Loui: What if soy milk is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?  York: *inhales*  Cali, in another room with Washington: Why can I hear screeching?

============================================

Florida: If I were a drink, I'd be Cherry Vanilla Coke. If you were a drink, what would you be?  Tex: Bleach.  Loui: Sewage.  Florida, hugging them both: ...Please calm down, edgelords.

============================================

York: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB F(speaks New York)!  Loui: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

============================================

(Georgia and Texas were tasked with keeping an eye on Florida and Loui, Geo took Florida, Tex took Loui)

Tex: I lost Loui.  Gov: How did you LOSE Louisiana?!  Tex: To be fair, he is very small.

============================================

Mass: Alright, listen up you little shits.  Mass: Not you Loui. You’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here.

============================================

Utah to Loui: Look at you! All cute and small! I could just eat you up!  Loui: *proceeds to kick him in the shin and run away*  Alaska, limping while walking past: Rule number 1, don't call Louisiana cute or small.

============================================

Alabama, after he decided it would a good idea to jumpscare Loui: Is it still visible? Where Loui slapped me?  York: Your face looks like a don't walk signal.  Florida: Your face looks like a photo negative for the hamburger helper box.  Tex: A palm reader could tell Loui's future by looking at your face.  Gov, cringing at the mark: The phrase 'talk to the hand cause the face ain't listening' doesn't work for you, because the hand is your face.

Alabama: ...A simple 'yes' would've sufficed.

============================================

#ben brainard

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hadeschan · 1 year

Photo

WE’RE SORRY, THIS ITEM HAS SOLD OUT

item # K19C50

RARE Pra Khun Paen Um Gai, Nua Lek Lai Jet Si, Luang Phu Suang. A Pra Khun Paen holding a fighting rooster amulet patched with a piece of monk robe of Luang Phu Suang in the back, stamped with Thai text says “Luang Phu Suang, Ban La Lom, Si Sa Ket “, and written cabalistic writings with gold color marking pen. It was casted from Rainbow Titanium Hematite or Lek Lai Jet Si, in Thai which means 7 colors mystical iron ore. Luang Phu Suang and Luang Phu Soi travel to a cave at Phu Tabaeng or Phnom Tbeng in Preah Vihear, Cambodia to perform rituals to harvest Lek Lai Jet Si (Rainbow Titanium Hematite) themselves, and brought it back to Bangkok to make this amulet. Made by Luang Phu Suang of Wat Phrai Phatthana for Luang Phu Soi of Wat Liab Rat Bamrung, Bangkok in BE 2519 (CE 1976). With Grand Consecration / Blessing Ceremony at the temple of Wat Liab Rat Bamrung, and the 18th Supreme Patriarch of Thailand, Somdet Phra Sangharaja (Vasana Vāsano) was Master of the Ceremony, attended by Luang Phu Suang of Wat Phrai Phatthana, Pra Archan Fund Archaro of Wat Pa Udom Somphon, Luang Phu Toh of Wat Pradu Chimphli, Luang Phor Pare of Wat Pikul Thong, and other guru monks. And after the BE 2519 Consecration / Blessing Ceremony, this Batch of Pra Khun Paen amulets was kept inside the temple of Wat Liab Rat Bamrung for another continuously 20 years Consecration / Blessing Ceremonies, and it was available for purchase in BE 2539 (CE 1996).

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*This Pra Khun Paen Um Gai Nua Lek Lai Jet Si, Luang Phu Suang is said to be a forbidden amulet for customers to wear at the Gambling Houses and Casinos on "no-man's land" between the Thai and Cambodian borders.

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BEST FOR: Pra Khun Paen Um Gai, Nua Lek Lai Jet Si, Luang Phu Suang is a lucky charm that has history of success, the best for gamblers, and a lucky charm whilst gambling to win money from the houses, and it guards wealth by reducing money loss and making the business more stable. Pra Khun Paen is one of Thailand’s Best amulets for Nak-layng, ruffian (a violent person, especially one involved in crime), Mafia Boss, Crime Prevention Police Officer, Park Ranger, Field Soldier and Nak-layng Poo Ying (a connoisseur of women / a womanizer). Pra Khun Paen dispels bad vibes, and it has a tendency to draw positive energy. Nang Nieow, a rock-hard skin that is completely impervious to damage with bludgeoning or piercing weapons. Kongkraphan (it makes you invulnerable to all weapon attack), Klawklad Plodpai (it pushes you away from all danger), Maha-ut (it helps stop gun from shooting at you). Wealth Fetching, Maha Larp (it brings lucky wealth), Mahasanay (Magic Charm) it helps turn you to prince charming in the eyes of girls. Metta Maha Niyom (it makes people around you love you, be nice to you, and willing to support you for anything), Kaa Kaai Dee (it helps tempt your customers to buy whatever you are selling, and it helps attract new customers and then keep them coming back, and warning of danger. Ponggan Poot-pee pee-saat Kunsai Mondam Sa-niat jan-rai Sat Meepit (it helps ward off evil spirit, demon, bad ghost, bad omen, bad spell, curse, accursedness, black magic, misfortune, doom, and poisonous animals). And this amulet helps protect you from manipulators, backstabbers, and toxic people.

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Pra Khun Paen

The Pra Khun Paen is a type of amulet with figure of Pra Buddha Chinnaraj of Wat Phra Si Rattana Mahathat Woramahawihan (Wat Yai or Wat Pra Buddha Chinnaraj) seating inside an elaborate arch. This type of amulet was first discovered at Wat Pra Roop Archaeology Site, Suphan Buri Province. And such type of ancient baked clay amulet with figure of Pra Buddha Chinnaraj is called “Pra Khun Paen” ever since. It was called Pra Khun Paen to honor the Thai famous Warrior General Khun Paen, the Governor of Suphan Buri Province in the Kingdom of Ayutthaya.

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Rainbow Titanium Hematite (Lek Lai Jet Si or 7 colors mystical iron ore)

Hematite is a common iron oxide compound with the formula, Fe2O3 and is widely found in rocks and soils. Hematite naturally occurs in black to steel or silver-gray, brown to reddish-brown, or red colors. It is mined as an important ore mineral of iron. It is electrically conductive. Hematite is not only harder than pure iron, but also much more brittle.

The Rainbow Titanium Hematite has the potential to help you connect with higher powers, unlocking your ability to ascend into the cosmos spiritually while getting rid of any limitations you feel you might have. It transcends your physical being, allowing you to find enlightenment without getting lost in the fray. The Rainbow Titanium Hematite keeps you firm in your place, giving you the strength to stand up to any negativity that swirls around you. The meaning and properties of this stone promote equilibrium, encouraging self-confidence and giving you the freedom to explore on a deeper level.

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The monk robe of Buddhist monk

The monk robe of Buddhist monk is considered as relics. “Relics come from masters who have devoted their entire lifetime to spiritual practices that are dedicated to the welfare of all. Every part of their body and relics carries positive energy to inspire goodness.”

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Luang Phu Suang

Luang Phu Suang was a monk from Cambodia that is very respectful among Thais and Cambodians along the boarder. Luang Phu Suang was called “tay-wá-daa dern din” in Thai which means “a Deva Walking on Earth” by his Looksit (disciples / followers /adherents/ worshippers / devotees). Luang Phu Suang passed away on September 8, BE 2543 (CE 2000), and his body remains unrotten, and on display in a glass casket in the Mondop Prasat Luang Phu Suang Pavilion at Wat Phrai Phatthana, Si Sa Ket Province for people to pay respect. Luang Phu Suang is called “Luang Ta Bok or Luang Eaw Bok” by Cambodians.

No one knows when Luang Phu Suang was born, and how old he actually was. Many people said they saw Luang Phu Suang that old since they were young, some at the age of 7, but they are now over 80. For instance, Luang Phu Soi, an abbot of Wat Liab Rat Bamrung, Bangkok. Luang Phu Soi was originally from Cambodia, and passed away in BE 2542 / CE 1999 (76 years old). Luang Phu Soi said that he saw Luang Phu Suang in Cambodia and Thailand since Luang Phu Soi was a novice, and Luang Phu Suang was very old and never change. Luang Phu Soi invited Luang Phu Suang to join the consecration/blessing ceremonies of the amulets at Wat Liab Rat Bamrung so many times. And Luang Phu Hong, an abbot of Wat Phet Buri, Surin Province, passed away in BE 2557 / CE 2014 (97 years old), and Luang Phu Boh, an abbot of Wat Ban Bing, Si Sa Ket Province, passed away in BE 2555 / CE 2012 (90 years old) also said they saw Luang Phu Suang that old since they were young monks.

Luang Phu Suang was a loner, and did not like staying at the temple. Luang Phu Suang did not require anything luxury or comfort his life was simple, just a alms bowl, and an old monk robe. Luang Phu Suang loved staying in the area of villagers in an isolated small hut alone. Where Luang Phu Suang was staying Luang Phu Suang would make a mark, a kite made of his monk robe or white paper, and tied up a kite on a top of a bamboo pole for his Looksit (disciples / followers /adherents/ worshippers / devotees) to visit him if they needed help. And a “must have” was a bon fire that would never be extinguished 24/7. Luang Phu Suang would practice “Grasin Fire”, the meditation that relies on a bon fire to meditate. Sometimes his looksit offered him stuffs for his living, Luang Phu Suang would toss those stuffs in the bon fire.

Luang Phu Suang was a very kind monk with compassion, and never be angry to anyone, Luang Phu Suang kept smiling at all time. The biography and the origin of Luang Phu Suang is still a mystery til these days.

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*with Certificate of Authenticity issued by Thaprachan Buddha Amulet Magazine (prathaprachan-mag.com).

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DIMENSION: 4.00 cm high / 2.60 cm wide / 0.80 cm thick

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item # K19C50

Price: price upon request, pls PM and/or email us [email protected]

100% GENUINE WITH 365 DAYS AUTHENTICITY GUARANTEE.

Item location: Hong Kong, SAR

Ships to: Worldwide

Delivery: Estimated 7 days handling time after receipt of cleared payment. Please allow additional time if international delivery is subject to customs processing.

Shipping: FREE Thailandpost International registered mail. International items may be subject to customs processing and additional charges.

Payments: PayPal / Western Union / MoneyGram /maybank2u.com / DBS iBanking / Wechat Pay / Alipay / INSTAREM / PromptPay International / Remitly

**********************************************

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metataxy · 1 year

Text

I share my dreams with ghosts, #3

Summary: The man who calls himself Luthen Rael was a Jedi once. This is how he survives Order 66, and what comes after.

Not posting to AO3 until I figure out where this is going!

Part 1 here , Part 2

It is a long time before he sees another Jedi.

Six months passes. He rebuilds his business. His mother’s interference in his life recedes with her concern. He passes one tenday in four with her on Alderaan, escorting her to society parties and speaking cordially with what eligible ladies his cousin hadn’t repulsed. He would not enjoy it, except for the obvious pleasure Menica derives from his company and compliance. From the dossiers provided by the Shadows on his cousin, Luthen Rael had ignored his mother to the point of disrespect.

It would be safer for his cover to be cruel. But with what few years left her, he thinks his mother prefers he risk being a compassionate son.

He tells himself that so he can pretend he does it for her.

Mostly, he does it for himself. He cannot help it. Making himself happy is impossible. Making her happy is the easiest thing he has ever done. He is, after all, a student of Dooku, and the man had been exacting in training him to blend with the nobility. He dances the Alderaani waltzes with aplomb and works quotes from Nubian literature into his conversation, patronizes the appropriate gentleman’s clubs, and in every way, convinces everyone that Luthen Rael has become no more or less than the best version of himself.

Along the way, he sells antiques and makes polite enquiries and learns a thousand small secrets: who is sleeping with who, who can be bought, who can’t. He learns about the quiet investments of supposed philanthropists in ‘re-education facilities’ that churn out fortune commodities with their unpaid inmates, and their trade in ‘personal care workers’.

He learns nothing about why the clones turned on them, or how many of his people remain.

One late night on Coruscant, as he sorts through a cache deeded to Luthen Rael by the Shadows, the deadbolt slides itself open from the inside.

He stops, then draws his blaster from his holster and ducks below the table. The doors opens. He can only see the being’s knees from this vantage. He primes himself for whatever will happen next.

Quinlan Vos laughs.

“You could just tell me you didn’t want to see me, Rael. No need to hide yourself on my account.”

He drops the blaster, though the safety is off and he’s told initiates a thousand times never to do just that. He rounds the table, and there is Quinlan. He’s cut off his dreads and he’s either removed or covered his facial tattoo, and his eyes are the gold of the Fallen. But he’s Quinlan, and otherwise as he’s always been, dressed in spacer garb and smelling faintly of deathsmoke and spices.

Rael embraces him and damns the fact he can’t feel him in the Force.

“Oof—that’s a bit more like it. Got some brew in here?” Quinlan asks. Neither of them mention that the other might be crying.

They settle down over an antique table carved from Worrosshyk wood and a bottle of Corellian brandy.

“So, old man. You’re alive,” Quinlan observes, after swigging his first shot.

Rael ignores the ‘old man’. It’s accurate anyways. “Yeah.” He sips his brandy and rolls the first mouthful around his mouth, savouring the burn. “Didn’t expect that.” He pauses a moment. “I’m Force-Null. Burnt out my connection.”

Quinlan leans back in his chair. “Thought so. Fuck.” He tops up Rael’s glass, then refills his own. “Rough, man.”

There is an awkward silence at the understatement.

“Why,” Rael’s voice cracks. “Did any of the Jedi actually assassinate those politicians?”

“Fuck no,” Quinlan says, then pauses. “Not that I know, anyways. Wouldn’t make sense, they were mostly on our side. Had to be Palpatine.”

“Right.” He sips again, glances down at the Ruusan commemorative coin on the table. “The clones?”

“They did something to them,” Quinlan said, sipping his drink carefully. “I’ve grabbed a few to check them out. They’re completely loyal to Palpatine. And once they realize you’re a jedi, they turn into meat-droids. All ‘Good soldiers follow orders’ and that nonsense.” He fixes Rael with his hawk’s eyes. “Kill any if you get the chance. They’re not people anymore.”

The assessment is harsh, but he doesn’t argue with it. Maybe some of the clones could fight whatever was wrong with them, but he didn’t think it was worth the lives of the remaining Jedi to test that. Speaking of which…

“Did any of us survive?”

Quinlan’s right eye twitches, and he puts his glass down. “Can’t tell you that,” he says reflexively, then thinks about it. “Yeah. Some of us survived. The Medicorps I was supposed to get offworld, when you gave me the assist? They got offworld. Thanks. Can’t say more than that.”

Luthen feels satisfied in a way he has not for a long time. “Did anyone kill Skywalker?”

Quinlan’s face darkens, and Force-Null as he is, Luthen must be imagining it, the way the air feels charged, the faint smell of ozone. “Obi-Wan went after him. No one heard back from either of them. Hopefully Obi killed that fucker.”

“You can’t sense Kenobi?”

“If I could, I couldn’t tell you,” Quinlan reminds him, picking at the cuff seams on his nerfhide jacket. “No. I can’t. You ever see a storm on Kamino? Thousand foot waves. Water spouts. Absolute madness. That’s the Force right now, and you’re floating on a life raft in the middle of that. Be glad you burnt out your connection when you did,” Quinlan says bitterly. “Anyone left who’s remotely functional had to Fall to cope with it. The ones who didn’t are all mad or catatonic.”

“You can’t tell me a lot of things,” Rael muses, looking out into the dusty shelves of curios piled in the cache. “I’ve seen the wanted posters. They’re still hunting us. How? They caught us off-guard with the clones, but it should take a squad of bounty hunters to take down a Knight who knows they’re coming, if they can even find him.”

Quinlan taps his finger against his empty glass. Rael does not refill it, and pointedly caps the bottle and moves it out of the man’s reach. Quin scowls. “First, they’re not all Knights. We’re moving Padawans and Corpsmen and even freaking families who were going to give up their infants to the creche. Second,” his voice tightens, “it’s not bounty hunters you need to worry about. It’s traitors.”

“Who?” Rael demands, mind considering the possibilities.

Quinlan scowls at him.

“Geez, man. Shields.”

Rael gives him a pointed look.

“Dude. Don’t give me that stare. I’ve met lifelong Force Nulls who block better than you are right now. With all the intel knocking around your head, you have to get your shit together,” Quin tells him, serious. “Or you’re a liability.”

Only after this discussion, when Quin has gone, does it occur to Rael what a Shadow might have to do under this new Empire, with someone with too much information and no way to protect it.

“The traitors,” he repeats.

“The traitors,” Quinlan agrees. “I don’t have names. No, I’m not lying. Anyone who’s met them in person is dead. We’ve gotten some blurry security footage and some text intel though. Based on fighting style, one’s a former guardian. Tall, slim, humanoid, wears all black—” Quin glances down at himself and scoffs, “though I guess that’s standard for darksiders. “Skin looked pale. Was wearing some kind of ear protectors, might have been a Pau’an.”

Bile rises at the back of Rael’s throat. A guardian? It feels perverse. The Temple Guards, like the Shadows, are an Order within the Order. He doesn’t know their Oaths, but he does know they are stricter, more binding, than the Oaths of ordinary Masters. A Jedi Master vows to follow the will of the Force and the guidance of the Order. There is a great deal of flexibility in that promise though, and Rael’s lineage-brother, Qui-Gon, had been famous for exploiting it.

But a Guardian is sworn and bound to a Temple, through means that Dooku suspected to be the lighter counterpart of Sith Magick, and everyone forgets that Temples are not safe. Any place persistently inhabited by Force Users begins to acquire a sentience of its own. The location of the Coruscant Temple might have changed many times in the past few millennia, but its blocks and foundation are ancient. He imagines places like it inspired stories of primitive gods.

In those stories, oathbreaking never ended well.

“I hope the Temple eats him alive.”

“It’s been corrupted somehow.”

Rael swallows back his gorge and somehow refrains from asking how?. “Any good news for me tonight?”

“Well, the other traitor we’ve heard about recently has a breathing dysfunction and is on a respirator. We found that out by listening to the comms while he slaughtered two knights and a master, by the way.”

Rael laughed helplessly, because he couldn’t cry. Quinlan waited for him to stop.

He was waiting awhile.

“There have to be others though. We’ve had too many reports of Jedi killing Jedi, or civilians, for it to be made up.”

“How do you know they were Jedi and not more of Palpatine’s plants, trying to make us look culpable?”

“They used telekinesis.”

Rael went silent.

“Not all the ones killing civilians are traitors either. Some of them just went mad. Met a couple. The killing started as self-defense, when the mobs turned on them, and now? They can’t stop. It’s addictive for Fallen, you know.” He didn’t. “It’s mostly the younger ones who have the issue. Grew up in a warzone, getting shit from civilians for not protecting their posh asses well enough, this just tipped them over.” He steals the bottle off the shelf with a telekinetic tug Rael can no longer counter and pours himself another drink. “Offee wasn’t the only kid we fucked up. Just the only one with the balls to tell us to our faces.”

Rael, like most Masters, does not like thinking of Barriss Offee, of the Jedi she could have made, if only they kept her in the Halls of Healing, if only they hadn’t sent her into an active warzone, if only they’d noticed how she was struggling.

He likes even less thinking that there are others as lost as she is out there, easy targets for the Sith to recruit if they are gathering Fallen Knights.

“How can I help?”

Quinlan smiles, slow and genuine.

“Now that’s just the question I hoped you’d ask.”

----------------------------------------------------------

The details are straightforward. Before the first untimely demise of Luthen Rael, he’d been a shareholder in several businesses whose chief commodity was sentient life. No reason he couldn’t revive that revenue stream. The Empire was even more willing to disregard such foibles than the Republic. In fact, Quinlan muses, they might well award him for ‘providing a livelihood’ to otherwise ‘unemployable citizens’.

This time, however, the skinhouses where Rael offloads his merchandise will be fronts for the Underground.

It’s clever. It’s nothing he hadn’t done before. And he doesn’t like it, because, “My mother won’t like it.”

It isn’t a protest. He already knows he’s doing this. Quinlan already knows he’s doing it. So why does he bother to even say it?

“Right,” Quinlan says, annoyed. “Luthen Rael is all reformed. Heard he’d even gone altruistic. Thought even the excesses of the Empire had pushed even that skeevy old man to shape up, didn’t know it was you.” He’d lit a deathstick, and Rael’s fingers itched to have it in his hand. “You got to cut it out.”

“No one knows it’s me.”

“No one’s paid attention to you. Yet. Keep attending all these charity galas and chatting up the political hotspots, and someone will. Compassion leaves a fucking trail, man,” he flicked his cigarette, “and we can’t afford to have anyone outed. Your mother doesn’t have to know about it. She’s what, 90?”

“84.”

“Exactly.”

That is how Luthen Rael starts trafficking in ‘slaves’, some legitimately bought up out of rehabilitation facilities, some fleeing the Empire using falsified indentures from the Outer Rim. He deals with the paperwork. Quinlan handles the rest, so Rael rarely meets the refugees in person.

He continues to trade in antiquities, and alongside those, in secrets.

With the Shadows’ caches open to him, his own growing network of contacts, and a measure of luck, he gains a reputation as one able to source anything.

He takes care never to go to any event high-profile enough to host the Emperor or his acolytes, but some of Palpatine’s lackeys visit his shop, looking for curios to curry favour with their superiors. He sees the man’s sycophants at parties.

At this point, it is fairly obvious Chancellor Palpatine is the somehow the Sith Lord, and not just because he is best placed to benefit from the deaths of the Jedi. Sly Moore and his cronies come to parties wearing kyber amid so many other cheap baubles. ‘Tokens of the Emperor’s favour’, they boast, and Rael does his best to look suitably impressed, and ask appropriate questions. Where did the gems come from and how did he get them and who did they belong to.

The answers come easily. No one is expecting a spy at these banquets. Rebels are rimscum, too poor for anything but ammunition. Also, Sly and his ilk have all but rehearsed their responses in anticipation of these very questions.

They tell him the names of the Jedi who owned the Kyber, and their bloody histories in the wars. As importantly, they tell him how those Jedi died.

“Killed by Darth Vader, you know. One of the Emperor’s foremost generals.”

“The Grand Inquisitor. Not a very sociable chap. Almost feral—” the thick-waisted moff leans in, “they say he was a jedi before the Emperor rehabilitated him, and you’d believe it. Teeth like knives. Half expected him to tear out my throat!”

He gives a delicate shudder. Rael imagines the protest of the kyber strung about his triple-chinned neck. Hopes the man cuts himself on its facets as he strokes it with his fat fingers. According to the moff, it had been taken from the saber of a Jedi so bloodthirsty ze’d been field-promoted to General when zer superior died. Ze’d gone on to slaughter half their troops when ze’d been declared traitor.

Kyber are inorganic lifeforms. Perhaps they are not quite sentient, but they approach in developing feelings and opinions alongside their Jedi. For this kyber, for its Padawan, who had lost zer Master too early and had been forced to fight so fools like this moff could live easy, Rael could have cut the man down.

Instead, he drinks his champagne, and asks the senator at his side about his acquisition.

A gold-eyed Falleen servitor across the room smiles at him, flashes what all the dandies in this room would see as a flirtatious wave. Rael smiles and signs back.

He won’t be seen leaving the party with the servitor. Luthen Rael’s tastes were too well-established by his predecessor: he prefers human girls.

Jedi Shadow Tailen Fuugo meets him instead at his shop days later, to pawn off some valuables of dubious provenance before he flies offworld.

In an hour, the unidentified Falleen will flee the shop after injuring Rael, and Rael himself will call the authorities, claiming someone was trafficking in stolen articles. In an hour, Rael will send some of those stolen articles back to their undeserving owners, thus cementing his repute as a reputable component of Imperial commerce. In an hour, Fuugo will stripped off his disguise and vanished into the underworld of Coruscant.

Inside that hour, and the sanctity of Rael’s backroom, they are two Jedi.

It is dangerous to acknowledge each other, more dangerous to meet.

They do it anyways. They need to, to exchange intel, and who else can they trust these days?

“Don’t even trust former Jedi,” Fuugo warns him. “Not unless you know them personally. Not even if they haven’t Fallen.”

The Sith are doing something, to the Jedi they capture. Twisting them, indoctrinating them. There are ways to break a Jedi, ways to enslave Force-Sensitives. Rael underwent a fair number of them to order to gain resistance when he became a Shadow. He experienced or learnt of others under Dooku’s tutelage. Force cuffs are standard. Psychotropic and addictive substances are favoured by the Hutts and the cartels. All of these, along with pain and violation of the mind and body, were employed by Sith during the wars a millennium past.

He doubts so effort or technique will be necessary for the Jedi of this age. Most of them are already broken.

----------------------------

Notes: Yeaaaaah, just more sad Jedi, because who doesn’t enjoy torturing a protagonist? Poor Luthen.

Go to Part 4 -->

#Andor #Luthen Rael #Quinlan Vos #Order 66 #Star Wars #Jedi

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siriseen · 2 years

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@lykaiia gets a thing!

Something big was about to happen. Sirise could smell it — like the smell of blood on metal floors — sharp but dim, pungent but commonplace. Something huge was on the horizon, and the waiting was the most difficult part of it all. She tore at her nails — held her breath — stared at the people around her for signs of it.

She didn’t have to wait long.

It came in the night. The lights in the cargo bay thrummed on — she awoke with a start and shrunk away from it like a spooked animal, grappling with brightness where everything had been dark. She hid behind a crate until her eyes adjusted to the light, but when it did, she felt as though she were still in a dream.

People. Bound behind the back, being shepherded into her cargo bay, in a space between crates that was large and rectangular. Naiycuh stood there, looking beautiful as ever — makeup carefully applied, soft clothes clinging to sharp curves. She shot a watchful eye at Sirise. “I don’t want any problems from you,” she hissed. Well, fine by her. This was all a shock — and she wanted nothing more, at this moment, than to watch, to ascertain why there were people in her cargo bay.

Adults. At least one child. Different alien races — none of them Orion. They were instructed to sit — forced with sharp tones and the threat of weapons — and they did. Naiycuh instructed Houllad and Vattu to put something on the ground, in specific locations — they did as tasked, dutiful as ever under her gaze, and stepped back only when they were completed. She pressed something on her PADD, and suddenly there was a forcefield. Gold, transparent. A box, surrounding the prisoners.

She left first, with no further instruction. Sirise shot to Vattu, called, “Pa,” to get his attention.

“Sirise.”

“What’s going on? What are these people doing here?”

“They are prisoners,” he signed back.

“Prisoners? Why do we have prisoners?”

“Vattu!” Naiycuh’s voice rung out. Houllad had already followed her.

“I’m sorry, I... have to go.”

“Father, wait. Tell me what’s going on.”

“We’re selling them. They’re wares, just like any other.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I have to go, Sirise.” He lowered his hands, kissed her on the head. “I’ll come see you later.”

No, you won’t, she thought, bitterly. But she let him go, stood there with no further dissent, watching his back recede until the doors closed behind him, a thud of finality.

Sirise waited, anyway. She waited until after the prisoners were served breakfast — beamed inside of the forcefield. She waited until lunch had passed, too. And when she could take it no more, she gathered her PADD, with its shattered screen, and approached the box.

There was a child about her age, closest to her, in the box. Sirise held up her PADD.

Can you read this? was written on it, in large print, in Federation Standard.

#lykaiia #v: focused ferocity #[ WAHOOOOOOOOOOOOO ]#the wolves

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nickgerlich · 11 months

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Shake It, Baby

It seems like I spend most of my time picking apart marketing flops and failures. It is important to do so, because there are object lessons to be found amid those faux pas, cautionary tales for any aspiring marketer to remember and never repeat.

But there is also wisdom in studying successes. Sure, sometimes it may appear to be all too obvious why something becomes insanely popular, because it really all boils down to marketers meeting consumer needs, and doing it in such a way that maximizes value, and is available when and where consumers are most likely to want it.

And then there are those times when the marketing is more subtle, yet you realize there is a method to the madness, that maybe they just intended things to turn out this way, even if large portions of the plot were unscripted.

Like the summer promo McDonald’s has been running with its Grimace Shake. Grimace, for those of you who weren’t around in 1971, is one of several characters the chain created to help tell—and sell—the McDonald’s story. This is another way of saying they made it all very kid-friendly, and parents have been taking their kids there just to get them to shut up. What is Grimace anyway? He was the shake-stealing anthropomorphized taste bud. Really.

Oh, and if you have any of the old Happy Meal toys from then, they are worth a ton of money these days.

So last month on the 12th, McDonald’s released the Grimace Shake, and it has become an internet sensation, taking on a new life of its own. Gen-Zers in particular have taken to the purple shake, and created an endless stream of reels, which they post to TikTok. All the while, McDonald’s is reaping zillions of dollars in free marketing.

To be fair, there was and still is some risk in a strategy like this. After all, it could have completely backfired and spawned hate, or nothing at all. But in this case, McDonald’s effectively had a Pride Month campaign without actually having one—because people made the connection themselves—as well as parody clips that show people faking their deaths after drinking the gooey concoction.

And yeah, that part is risky business, but the reels have not been taken literally. I can’t think of any companies who would want their product associated with death. But when you unleash anything these days, you implicitly accept that the jury of public opinion—in this case, TikTokers—will do what they want with it. In this case, it worked like a charm, because what could possibly be bad about a milk shake named after a legendary character?

To their credit, McDonald’s is playing along and milking it—pun intended—to the hilt. It cleverly dodges questions about the flavor, slyly inviting people to try it themselves. Oh, and you can’t just walk in and order this shake. It comes as part of a meal deal featuring your choice of a Big Mac or 10-piece Chicken McNuggets, medium fries, and medium shake. It clocks in at about 1500 calories.

Can anyone say food coma?

McDonald’s is no stranger to short-term menu items, some of which have become annual, like the Shamrock Shake. And then there’s McRib, the ultra-processed pork patty served on a long bun with gobs of barbecue sauce. The McRib keeps coming back to life periodically, as it has since 2005 when it became a seasonal item. Rumor has it that last year’s release was the last, but I’m pretty sure that McDonald’s knows the sandwich has a cult-like following of fanatics. They would be wise to keep it coming back long into the future.

As I bet they will do with the Grimace Shake, since it has proven to be more viral than pretty much any of the other promo menu items they have released. And what a sneaky way to let fans do the associating with Pride Month, thereby dodging any stray bullets coming from the Far Right. Sheer genius, I tell you, but with a little risk. But there’s seldom a big payoff when the risk is low.

Good job, McDonald’s. You have struck gold with purple.

Dr “Shake It Up” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #Grimace #milkshake #McDonald's

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hell-heron · 2 years

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Heraldic crests for Montagues and Capulets according to the Romeo e Giulietta Ama e Cambia il Mondo musical! Made with the Worldspinner heraldry maker, reasoning under the cut

Shape and black banding vaguely inspired by this shot of La Haine. The choice of having the house symbol in gold and therefore have for both houses having gold and black as the main colors is due to the fact greed is repeatedly cited as the motivation of the feud, and in the play we have Romeo's lines "here is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls/ Doing more murder in this loathsome world/Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell"

The choice of a vulture for the Montagues is very supported in the text - Tybalt in C'est pas ma faute describes himself as his family's hand raised up against vultures, while in the part of La Haine where it appears the ladies are hatefully addressing one another's family ResJ-style rather than admonishing their own, Lady Montague says "you be damned, who have no humility/carrion fed to vultures"

The lynx isn't really mentioned in the lyrics, but obviously Tybalt has a lot of cat imagery and the family as a whole seems to share in that, given they're all very fond of the resident catboy. I chose the lynx specifically because I really like the idea of both families having a scaled-down, less noble, sneaky scavenger omen of death version of the overused heraldic symbols that are the lion and eagle.

This isn't really related to my choices but I find it really cool that (in universe) the heraldic symbol of the royal family is blue and yellow and we see the three members of it react to that differently - the Prince completely takes the blue off the picture to project neutrality, Mercutio embraces it, and Paris sensibly wears green, that allows him to wear a mix of both colors without showing any blue to his perspective father in law. If I picked an animal for them it would probably be a hound, since the historical Escalus/Scaligeri/Della Scala family had a lot of princes with dog-related nicknames. Mercutio also sings "the king of the world tremble if/a dog barks without a reason" which def fits as a dig to his family given his relatives kinslayed each other A LOT. Historically, their actual arms were red with a silver stair (and later additions such as dogs or griffins) but the musical design preferred to use the current heraldic symbol of the city of Verona rather than that of the family

#romeo and juliet #romeo e giulietta ama e cambia il mondo #op

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superherotiger · 2 years

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Fish Inside a Birdcage - Prologue

Masterlist // Ao3 // @multiverse-irondad-july

Chapter 0: Prologue

I hear the call of your melody,

The enchanting hymn of your voice.

Thou drags me away with the water,

And robs me of any choice.

But though stars may dance in the sky,

And the sun shines bright as can be,

My love -my dearest- the ocean,

Still calls out just for me…

~~~

Rolling his shoulders, Peter shifted the weight of his latest haul from one side to the other as he traversed the sandy shoreline. While others would consider it a tedious route, the boy couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the beachside. A meeting point of two worlds so vastly different from each other; cool waters against scorching sunlight, rolling waves against coarse sand. It was a conflicting yet wonderful harmony. And despite years and years of traversing the same path, Peter couldn’t bring himself to tire of the sight. Instead, he would admire the stretching plains of gold and sapphire each day as if he were seeing it anew, never once forgetting how lucky he was to be able to see it at all.

His parents weren’t that lucky anymore.

Neither were his aunt or uncle…

No, it was just him now. Just poor orphaned Peter Parker left to enjoy the sunrise and sunsets on his own. He told himself that he didn’t mind. He told himself that it didn’t hurt. But when loneliness was the only companion left, it was hard to deny the void inside his heart left by all those that he loved. All those he’d lost…

Still, he persevered for them. He picked himself up every morning and fished tirelessly until midday, using all the skills and tips of the trade that they had passed down to him when they were still alive. Then, he would trek his way over to the local port town and exchange his fresh haul for all sorts of goods -food, clothes, trinkets, you name it-, before finally making his way home under the watch of the setting sun. And when that was all done and dusted, he would wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

Peter survived. Every day for two long years he survived.

And he did it all for the family that hadn’t.

Finally making it to the last bend of the shoreline, Peter’s shoulders sagged with relief when he spotted the bustling little port just ahead. It was nothing fancy, and the aging wooden boards creaked as if they were ready to give way at any moment, but it felt like home, nonetheless. Peter still remembered the countless number of trips he had made with his parents into the quaint town, selling and bartering their latest haul of fresh fish with unmatched success. They were masters at their craft, as were his aunt and his uncle. “It’s in our blood laddie,” Ben had said with a hearty chuckle when the boy caught his first fish.

Now that they were gone, Peter could only be grateful that he was even half as skilful as they were, as fishing had become his one and only income. A lifeline he had learnt to cling to fiercely. And a skill he was now almost as renowned for as his parents had been. After all, with nothing but time on his hands, he had plenty of chances to practice.

Making his way further down the pier and returning the nods of greeting from a few locals, Peter broke out into a smile at the sight of a familiar face and quickened his pace towards the sturdy, well-worn stall. And when a set of deep brown eyes flicked over to meet Peter’s own, boredom was quickly replaced with fondness as the man called out warmly, “Bueno si no es mi pescador favorito! Bueno verte de nuevo chico.”

“Genial verte también,” Peter replied with a chuckle. His Spanish still needed some work, but he was picking up more and more every day. “How have you been Mr Delmar?”

“Ah you know, same old, same old,” the man said, scratching his beard absentmindedly. “Selling fish, just like every other day.”

Peter chuckled and hoisted his haul over his shoulder, dropping it on the deck with a resounding thud as he said, “Luckily for you, I’ve been catching fish, just like every other day.”

“Ahh, more wonderful work of the Parkers I see,” Mr Delmar praised as he inspected the fish with a pleased smile. “I swear that sack gets heavier every week you show up here lad. How do you keep lugging that thing across the island anyway?”

“Just practice, really.”

“And in those clothes?” Mr Delmar said, gesturing to Peter’s outfit of thick, winter-length clothing. “Must be sweating up a storm under all those layers.”

This time Peter could only bring himself to shrug. “I run a little colder, that’s all.” He didn’t have the heart to say that they were actually his family’s clothing. That it was actually Ben’s boots, and his dad’s tunic, or his mum’s gloves, and May’s scarf… They were a final gift from his lost family, like armour protecting him when they no longer could.

“Whatever you say boy,” Mr Delmar eventually replied with a chuckle. “But a prize as fine as this deserves a handsome reward.”

Peter tilted his head in confusion and watched as the man dug around the back of his stall, before returning with a leather coin pouch that he kindly pushed into Peter’s hands. It was noticeably heavier than his last earnings had been, and the symphony of metal rustling from within only confirmed the boy’s fears. “Mr Delmar, this is too much,” Peter said with a shake of his head.

The moment he tried to give it back though Mr Delmar only covered Peter’s hands with his own and said firmly “No boy, you earnt this fair and square.”

“But I can’t-“

“Oh yes you will. You’re one of the best fishmongers in town Pete, it’s more than a fitting price to pay,” Mr Delmar stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now, you’re gonna take those coins, and you’re gonna buy yourself something nice with ‘em, hear me?”

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, Peter ducked his head with a sheepish smile and replied, “Sir yes sir.”

“That’a boy,” Mr Delmar smirked as he gave the boy’s shoulder a firm pat.

They parted ways shortly after, what with the docks growing busier and Peter’s stomach starting to growl in protest. He hadn’t eaten since the early morning, so Peter decided to follow Mr Delmar’s advice for once and treat himself to a delicious loaf of bread from the best bakery in town. Sure, there were other, probably more important things to spend his earnings on, but the second he caught scent of that freshly baked bread, he knew he’d made the right choice.

The sun was warm on Peter’s back as he leant against a set of barrels and enjoyed his well-earned prize. Every bite felt like a little glimpse of heaven on his tongue, and he felt the tension leave his shoulders for the first time in weeks. A relief Peter rarely found these days, especially when standing in the middle of town like he was now.

Not wanting to devour the loaf too quickly however, Peter forced himself to wrap up the half-eaten bread and drop it into his now empty sack, ready to be filled with a fresh haul tomorrow. Just like yesterday. Just like every day.

But then, something new happened. Something Peter had never seen before.

Lost in the midst of his own serenity, Peter hadn’t noticed the once bustling townsfolk begin to quiet, as if their voices had been drowned beneath a mighty wave. It was only when the crowd parted in a hurried, almost panicked sweep that Peter really took notice, straightening in alarm at whatever had spooked the locals so.

What he found wasn’t a monster or a beast however, but a man. Tall and clean shaven and holding his head up with pride, his very aura demanded respect. Overflowed with authority. Peter couldn’t draw his eyes away, not from the confident set of his gaze or the many pale scars across his bound hands. And even though he was flanked by two armed guards, he never once seemed bothered or intimidated by their hold.

But despite all those things, despite the raw sense of power that the boy could sense in a heartbeat, it was the purple and blue bruises along his dark skin that really caught Peter’s attention. All along his arms and shoulders, and most notably over his freshly swollen eye. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the guards had been less than kind towards this prisoner in particular.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” Peter heard one of the guards sneer as they passed.

The man didn’t dignify them with a response. Instead, he drew his shoulders wide and kept his chin held high, a perfect image of certainty.

Oh, how amazing it must feel to be that fearless.

Peter couldn’t help but admire it, and yet at the same time, pity the man that had been so poorly treated. In his heart he longed intervene, but he knew better than to actually try. Nobody argued with the guards. It was impossible to escape their cruelty if you did. But still, Peter’s chest ached, and his hands itched with anticipation, as if urging him to do something- anything to help that poor soul.

But he couldn’t. Not now- or at least, not in the way he wanted to.

If there was one thing he remembered from his aunt May though, it was that help could come in many forms: a gentle word, or a helping hand, or a simple kindness. Something that Peter could give.

So when the guards and their prisoner eventually disappeared from view, Peter didn’t hesitate to follow, leaving the mutters of gossiping townsfolk far behind. It was no surprise when they finally reached the prison; an intimidating structure of sharp, cold stones and unforgiving metal. Peter quickly broke off his loose trail in exchange for slipping down a nearby alley, working his way around to the back of the jail and listening carefully through the barred windows above his head.

It took a few minutes but eventually the sounds of heavy boots started echoing through the hallways, growing louder by every second. The creak and subsequent slam of metal followed next, and Peter followed the sound of gruff voices until he was perched beneath the right cell.

“Enjoy your stay, filth,” one man spat. “It’ll be the nicest thing you see before you get the rope.”

“Clearly you boys don’t know who you’re dealing with,” a new voice spoke, one Peter could only assume belonged to the prisoner.

“Ha! You really think your little pack of scoundrels will be able to save ya?” another guard mocked. “We’ll have their necks too before long, don’t you fear.”

Both guards cackled at the taunt this time, and when it was clear the prisoner wasn’t going to bite back, they left shortly after, signalled by the drum of their fading footsteps. Once Peter was sure the coast was clear, he jumped up enough to grab hold of the small, narrow windowsill above his head and dragged himself up to take a peek inside. Best to make sure it’s the right prisoner, Peter figured.

A quick glance into the cold, shadowed cell though confirmed Peter’s suspicions, as he spotted the man from before now sitting on the edge of a flimsy cot with his head hung in resignation. Peter -knowing full well that his tired arms couldn’t hold him for much longer- dropped himself back onto the ground and searched for something to stand on. An abandoned metal bucket further down the alley soon became Peter’s footstool, and the boy peered through the metal bars with a strange mix of curiosity and anxiety.

Before his mind could convince him to back out though, Peter called out through a whisper “Hey… hey mister!”

The prisoner perked up in clear surprise, glancing first towards Peter, then towards the barred doors to his left, then back to Peter with wide, confused eyes. “Uh… hello?” the man spoke, uncertainty layering his voice.

“Oh- sorry, did I scare you?” Peter asked.

The man blinked, stunned, before chuckling softly. “No lad, you’re alright.”

“Oh good, I was worried,” Peter smiled, blowing out a nervous breath.

A beat of silence passed, which dragged into an awkward pause when neither of them said any more. The man was staring at Peter like he was expecting something- probably any clue as to why a young boy was spying on him through the cell window- while Peter’s thoughts all came to a crashing halt at once. He didn’t usually talk to other people. Mr Delmar was one of the few people he didn’t mind spending time with, but most of the time he just stuck to himself. It was easier to be alone if he told himself he chose to be that way.

But now that he was here, actually talking to this poor unsuspecting man, Peter felt his courage fly away with his common sense.

“Is there… something I can help you with, boy?” the prisoner eventually asked.

As if snapping his body back into action, Peter offered the man an embarrassed smile and started digging around his bag, saying sheepishly “Well, I- uh… well I don’t normally… do this, or anything like this really- but, I just saw you on the street earlier and I thought- um, I thought you looked pretty hungry, so I wanted to give you this-“

Peter presented the neatly wrapped loaf through the bars, and he was more than relieved when the man stood up and stared at it with a flash of unexpecting awe. It smelt just as fresh and as crisp as it had when Peter first bought it, so it was really no surprise when the prisoner was drawn to it like a sailor to the sea, hesitating only for a heartbeat before carefully taking the food out of Peter’s hand. The man peeled back a corner of the paper and just stared upon the heavenly bread for a moment, as if savouring the sight of it, before glancing back up at Peter with wide brown eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked in disbelief.

Peter nodded keenly. “Please! I want you to have it, sir.”

The man paused, as if waiting to see if he would change his mind, before giving the boy a grateful nod and swiftly devouring the rest of the loaf. Seeing the pure relief etched into the man’s features as he finished the last bite confirmed to Peter that he had made the right decision. Hopefully his family agreed…

“Thanks for this lad,” the man said as he brushed the crumbs off his face. “Haven’t had a meal that good in weeks.”

“You’re welcome mister,” Peter smiled warmly. “I’m sorry I can’t do much for the bruisin’ though.”

“Ahh, that’s alright, you’ve done more than enough,” the man said, returning his smile in earnest. “I don’t think I caught your name though boy.”

“Oh, I’m Peter! And you?”

The man’s eyes were fond as he replied simply, “James.”

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Mr James,” Peter said. Glancing over his shoulder and noticing how the sun had dipped across the sky however, the boy glanced back with remorse and added, “I better head off now. Hope everything goes alright with- um… you know.”

“Don’t you fret lad, I’ll be just fine,” Mr James replied, adding an encouraging wink for good measure.

So with one last gentle smile, Peter waved his goodbyes and headed back through the maze of alleys and side streets towards the beach. The sun had turned to a magnificent red flame on the horizon by the time Peter was halfway home, and his boots hung lazily over his shoulder as he enjoyed the warm grains of sand beneath his toes. Waves lapping over one another created a comforting symphony as he made the last leg of the trek, and just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared to make room for a star-lit sky, Peter slipped into the cliffside cave he called a home.

It had always seemed like such a lively place when his family were around. His mother and his Aunt May were always bustling across the hollowed room, preparing fish for dinner or chatting about the latest town gossip, while his dad and Uncle Ben tended to their nets and discussed the plan for the day ahead with a sense of ease. Their laughter had made the stone walls seem warm, and their stories had made the cramped space feel like a mansion. Their presence had made the cave a home.

Now it was just Peter though. Just Peter in a cold, empty hollow in the side of lonely cliff. A home only by name, now.

Still, he had hope that things might change someday. That if he was brave enough, he would find a new home, and start a new life. One his family would have been proud of. One that he could be proud of.

But that was a dream for another time.

Today he would simply survive.

…

#irondad #spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #Pirate Irondad AU #Seven Seas July 2022 #SevenSeasJuly2022 #my writing

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