#chuck me into mount doom

[yikes-strikes-again]

the ways in which I fuck about

#mop psycho mutuals aid me. #i need to get chucked into mount doom

[joculine]

DIE Issue #1 Reread (Gillen & Hans)

What an excellent series that keeps on giving. For those not in the know, DIE is a really incredible fantasy horror comic about a group of teenagers who were sucked into a tabletop roleplaying game and spent two years in the bodies of their characters. They got out eventually, but lost one member of their party—25 years later, they are sucked back in. It's fucking great.

Art

First things first, the extreme shadows and harsh lighting from above in the 1991 sequence add so much atmosphere. The whole thing feels like a dream, or perhaps a stage play. Stephanie Hans always does fantastic things with light in her work, but this is something else. Here, it gives the effect of the world melting away, the focus turns to the players and the game, nothing else. Great introduction.

(Scans don't quite do this scene justice. I've done a bit of Photoshop to try to darken the colors to match my trade, but there is a subtle flow between the colors that is missing from a digital image.)

The colors in the section outside the bar are jaw dropping. Blacks, reds, and blue make such a dynamic scene.

I really like how much it reflects the Neo's costume. What do we take from that? This is, after all, the future for these characters. Rainy, flooding lights and glass, new technology. No more swords, dragons, or taverns, just cars, smartphones, and cities. I think the Neo's role as the "future" will remain relevant as we get deeper.

Ash's Name

Ash (I'm going to be calling the lead character Ash, she/her) notes that the only person outside her family to use her first name is Sol's mother—a fact that seems pretty true in 1991 but no longer in 2018. As we see, her wife, sister, and several other members of the party call her Dominic in this time period, at least before the game starts. Chuck doesn't, though she asks him too. Izzy starts to, then switches to Dominic. She also apologizes for not being "woke" in the 90s, which is very funny to me.

Something interesting—Izzy is also the first one to switch back to Ash after using Dominic. When she is mad, upset that Ash is starting to form another plan, she calls her Dominic. When she seems to show pity towards her over Sol, she calls her Ash. Very interesting. If memory serves, we will see Izzy act in a similar way through the comic, mostly accepting Ash's status as a trans woman, but occasionally alienating her, intentionally or not. At least, I think this comes up a few times, I could be misremembering.

I'll be watching Izzy a lot this reread. I like her and I want to see if I can get more out of her story.

Of course, we don't yet know that Ash is trans, nor do we get explicit textual confirmation that she's a trans woman. But I mean, look at her.

One more thing about her name—the double meaning here is intense:

We find later that the word "party" in use to a group of people is one of the things stopped by Ash's geas. Given that Chuck and Izzy both call her Ash, that name is not prohibited by the spell, but it sure seems like Ash has done a lot to distance herself from it even without magic.

This interaction with a bartender is really the perfect spark to reintroduce the game. The gift he has is not for Dominic or his friends—it's for Ash's party, the people who made their way through the world of Die 25 years ago. That act of naming (unknowing by the bartender's part!) sets them down that path again.

ONCE MORE...

There's a question I do have here—did they have a choice? Obviously, Ash could have tried getting rid of the die. She didn't have to get the band back together either. Did she need to grasp it?

Yes and no, it seems. She's the only one reaching for it, everyone else is thrown back at the force. On the one hand, it we can read this as a heroic attempt to hold back the object of danger. On the other, we can see it as more desperate, a fight against the flow to take back former glory. You can pretty easily read Gollum jumping into Mount Doom here—LOTR will be invited as a metaphor a lot more soon.

This also speaks to the trans experience quite a bit. The feeling of pain, the feeling of impending death, the choice that is not really a choice at all. Her life is hollow, surrounded by depressing reminders, an occupation that doesn't appear fulfilling, a lack of friends, and an inability to move forward.

Transitioning saves lives—it's going to save Ash's. It's a shame she has to go through a whole dark fantasy adventure to get there, but everyone's path is different.

We'll see if anyone else in the party has such a strong longing for the game. Angela probably has things the worst out of the party, but currently Ash's problems are the only ones that don't get immediately worse (better in fact!) by entering the game again.

Final arc spoilers here, but Chloe also pointed out the double meaning of "THE GRANDMASTER THREATENS THE REALM"—Of course, you can read this as Sol causing chaos on Die, but as we learn, the original Grandmaster is just a cover for Die itself. The realm stated here isn't the game, it's Earth.

(Also, note the glitch effects around the d20... there's that Neo future motif again.)

It's All For You

I had honestly forgotten that Ash and Sol shared a birthday. It makes a lot of things click into place. Sol tells Ash that the game was made for her. He says it was made for the party. He does not (or at least not often) say it was made for himself.

I don't think this is entirely true. Did Sol want to create something where Ash could find herself? Where the party could achieve their dreams? Perhaps. But I think the game is as much a gift for Sol as it is for Ash. He certainly seems to be excited to play it.

There's still a lot more that could be dug into this issue, especially surrounding Matt and Angela, but I'll save it for now.

All in all, it's a really fantastic opener for the story. It hooked me on a first read (Almost six years ago now! Wow!) and it still holds up, especially on a reread.

#die comic #die reread

[thelordofgifs]

weta: you're allowed to take one prop (or the canon useful version) home with you from the set, what are you taking?

+ mount doom!! Chuck something into fire

(Middle-earth emoji asks)

weta: you're allowed to take one prop (or the canon useful version) home with you from the set, what are you taking?

Hmm. I think I want the canon Ring of Barahir even though it isn’t very useful – I am OBSESSED with that thing’s history! It’s probably the single oldest object in Middle-earth and it’s been passed down through so many generations after generations. Insane to me. It’s so cool.

mount doom: what middle earth take are you throwing into the fire?

Imply that Maedhros’ brothers didn’t rescue him from Angband solely because they were cowards who didn’t want him back and they could have done it if they’d put their minds to it. Go on do it. I dare you.

Thank you!! 💕

#asks #welcomingdisaster #ask game

[ladyofthelake]

lol those eps where Dean pretends to give a shit about cass and calls him (and the random guy down the road fAMilY) as if he wouldn’t sell that useless angel in a heartbeat to save Sam 

Still think Chuck was behind most of their so called friendship because Dean went to a pie festival and couldn’t care less he had Sam, Baby, Miracle and pie he was so happy

Yes its my s11 rewatch and casifer has made me mad

(I legit loved Cass in s4) but uugh I’m weary and the confession scene HAUNTS ME whenever Cass is mentioned/appears now in later eps and I’m mad that it was Misha in that scene the entire time and not cass and I wanna toss that scene into Mount Doom anyway I’m hoping the next eps in my rewatch are gonna feed me good (I’m so rusty on s11 onwards)

FOR FUCKS SAKE THIS ^ GIF APPEARED WHEN I WAS SEARCHING FOR THAT GORDON RAMSEY FNALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING FOOD GIF AND I- THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM DESTIEL HELL OMGTNNWRNIGQEFGBA

#random raging lmao #anti destiel #anti castiel #But I'm really not its more the destiel stuff and later seasons cass I don't like #ugh #WHY WAS A DESTIEL GIF UNDER GORDON RAMSEY

[midnightvices]

I see the argument all the time that people didn't like TLOU Part 2 because Joel was just so not Joel - and don't get me wrong I definitely agree. Never would Part 1 Joel have saved some random girl, tell her who he was, and then venture to where her community members were stored away. The unrealistic amount of trust Joel found for Abby is astounding.

Part 2 Joel was definitely soft, which isn't a bad thing necessarily. It's actually something I think we all love. Joel deserved to loosened up, nest a bit, and realize that there's a lot of good left in the world. BUT there's not so much so that you can just be friendly to every random stranger you meet outside your town. Yes, Part 1 Joel would have known better. That's just fact.

My issue with Part 2 is less about Joel (that's a lie, there's a HUGE part that's still most definitely about Joel) but more about Ellie and her immunity.

So let's - for only a moment because we can't be away long - set aside our undeniable love for our favorite dilf. We'll be back for it later.

TLOU through and through is set in a world of growing infected and the thinning human race. Basic post apocalyptic zombie world. Part 1 is literally all about getting the only known human to be IMMUNE from the infection to a doctor who could create a cure. Yes, of course, it has heart and feeling and father/daughter bonds, but take that way, and here's the thing: you still have a PLOT.

Even if Joel didn't end up caring for Ellie as much as he did, he still would have done what he needed to. He still would have Lord of The Ringsed her across the country to the Fireflies. They didn't have to make us love Joel and Ellie and they definitely didn't have to make us love Joel and Ellie TOGETHER. That was just pure blessing.

It probably wouldn't have been as good of game had Joel been a dick the entire time, chucked Ellie into Mount Doom, and rode off thinking he did his part in saving a race he didn't really give a fuck about. Wholesome? Course not. But I'm sure they could filter it over with City of Gotham vibes somehow and make it work... maybe?

Either way we wouldn't have had such a controversial Part 2 that's for sure.

To me the whole point of Part 1 got lost in Part 2. We went from trying to safely tranfer a teen to save the world to chasing after someone to get revenge. And I don't want to say revenge is a dumb way to move a plot. There are great storylines that are based solely on revenge (John Wick, Kill Bill, Gladiator) but these stories aren't already established with a particular and significant understanding. What happened to saving the world? What happened to every single thing we and Joel and Ellie went through in Part 1? What, and I feel like I shouldn't have to say this, the hell happened to Ellie being immune? It's only mentioned to explain why she can survive the spores, but otherwise not relevant and almost unimportant. We would love her even without it, but in this world, it's the kind of thing I feel like shouldn't be overlooked when infected are literally evolving to blow up.

Joel might be our main character in Part 1 but Ellie is the point. Ellie is the purpose. Her immunity is the reason for everything. She's so pissed at Joel for saving her from the Fireflies that she avoids him for two years. I would assume someone that heated and invested in their own self sacrifice would at least keep an ear out for a second chance at a cure. There could have been ways to tie in her immunity BEFORE and WITH revenge for Joel's death. Maybe a WLF doctor working with Abby's dad's old medical notes? I don't know.

Perhaps I'm just someone who wants to get a solution to a problem that we fought so hard for even if a solution just isn't in the cards. Apocalypses are apocalypses for a reason - no easy fix. Maybe I'm so used to stories were the chosen one, the important one, the unicorn is front and center with their significance and used appropriately. TLOU is rugged and real and nowhere near a story of sunshine, rainbows, and perfect endings, but don't present me with a character that's the end all be all to the infection cure and then never get there.

I want to say I'm only upset with the game because Joel died or because he died in such a way that he did. I think that would be a little easier. It would be easier than saying the graphics and game play are amazing once you take away context. Easier than saying that overlooking the plot, the world we get to explore is immaculate. And definitely easier than saying that while I'll play the game again, and still enjoy it, it's with an internal realization that despite the same world and the same characters, the game we were given was not The Last of Us.

#i hope that makes sense #loving the world but not the content are real things #probably overthinking it #tlou2 #tlou #tlou joel #ellie tlou #ellie and joel #joel miller #naughty dog #the last of us #the last of us part two

[hazbincalifornia]

Prey

Chapter 26: Hunting is fun, right?

Warnings: Mpreg, canon-typical violence.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Why are you wearing a coat?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow as he lowered his binoculars, and Blitzo growled from low in his throat, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Because I’m cold? Seems pretty obvious to me, Moxx.” His teeth chattering together like wind-up monkeys agreed.

“It’s seventy-five degrees out. I checked the weather here before we left to be sure it wasn’t raining, and I can feel it. It’s warm out here.”

“I said that I’m cold. Can’t a man know his own body?” Blitzo tugged the coat tighter around his middle- or at least, as much as he could. The bump had, infuriatingly, nearly outgrown the coat, but that was fine, because it was the one spot on him that wasn’t frozen like a tongue on a metal pole. It was practically boiling, actually, suctioning all the heat out of Blitzo’s body like a leech in a black hole and leaving all extremities shivering in a way reminiscent of poor street orphans. Millie reached over to snap off a square of the chocolate bar that Blitzo was holding, and her eyes widened as she brushed his fingers in the process.

“Aw, Moxxie, he’s right, he is cold! He’s-” She paused, concern gathering like storm clouds. “Really cold, actually. Are you sure you should-”

His fingers tightened around the gun in his free hand. “I’m not going home. I’m not letting this shit bench me, nothing has to change until I can shove the little cretin out and figure out what to do with them, got it?” Blitzo swatted at her hand, and she pulled back with her mouth screwed to the side and lips pursed.

“Hmmph. I’m just saying, I don’t really remember Mama or Daddy going through anything like this. I don’t think it’s a normal imp thing, is all, so you don’t know-”

“I know that if I sit at home with nothing to do, I am going to fucking lose it, so chill, alright?”

“Chill is the last thing you need, apparently,” Moxxie grumbled, and Blitzo smacked him with his tail, getting a little yelp out of the smaller imp before Millie stuck a hand over both of their mouths.

“C’mon,” she muttered, “We need to focus, they’re looking our way.”

Blitzo licked her palm, but she just raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve got four siblings, Blitz, that stopped working on me when I was eight.” Her fingers dug into his cheeks before letting go and he huffed, shuffling on his haunches and stuffing the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth. Already, his stomach was growling again- stupid kid was being even more high-maintenance than usual. For that matter, more everything.

That morning, he’d woken up half-frozen to the bed with blood practically freezing under his skin, his stomach nearly a full inch bigger than it had been the night before with his skin itching like fuck because of it and stretchmarks creeping around the edges to boot. The binge last night must have all gone to plumping the little bastard up or something, because of course it had. (He could still feel where the kid had torn up, but it was manageable now with a handful of painkillers, at least.)

Fortunately, he had a coat in the back of his closet at work from when they’d gone to the arctic to knock off a scientist who’d stolen their target’s research, and he’d gotten it a size too big just in case he’d needed to hide one of the bulky weapons inside.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized that until after the client meeting.

____

“So he just left me there after I checked his gun and it went off.” The client, a deer-form sinner, had raised an eyebrow, camo jacket rustling as he folded his arms with a twitch of his ear. “Hey, how come your little lackey’s in a suit but you aren’t? It’s all unprofessional and shit. You look like a marshmallow.”

Blitzo growled, tugging his (not stretchy enough) shirt down. The light pink fabric bounced back up anyway. Traitor.

“And you ended up in Hell. We all make bad choices sometimes. Just tell me where the fucking gig is, alright?”

____

Blitzo shook his head as the leaves rustled- he needed to focus. He could not become a liability, even though leaving the warmth of Hell for the more temperate heat of Earth chilled his bones better than any iced coffee ever could.

“Gimme the rundown, Moxx. How’s it looking?”

“There’s four of them around the fire. One woman, three men, all in camouflage clothing. All wearing hunting caps for some reason too, even though this weather’s far too warm for it for most humans, I would think. Perhaps it’s some kind of pack-bonding thing.” Moxxie adjusted the binoculars a bit. “The target is the short one with the red hair.”

“G-got it,” Blitzo said, rubbing his arms. If he any hair on them, it'd be standing up. Fire sounded good. Fire sounded really good. “When reddie breaks off from the bunch, we nab them. The client said he doesn’t care if the others get hurt in the process as long as we weren't charging extra for it, he wanted the party all back together anyway.”

“Right,” Millie said with a nod. “As soon as-”

“They’re all moving out at once,” Moxxie hissed, cutting her off. “They were talking but I couldn’t hear what, the target’s being left to guard the fire.”

“It’s almost too easy,” Blitzo said, twirling the gun in his hand and before splitting off and creeping through the underbrush, each footstep sinking slightly into the damp, muddy ground with a squelch as Moxxie hissed something after him that he couldn’t quite hear. The foliage was thick enough here that he lost sight of the fire for a moment, but the cozy, flickering warmth drew him like a snake to a flute, yellow sparks creating dancing shadows off the trees- but with no long shadows to reflect except for his own. “Wait, the hell did he go?” The firepit was still crackling merrily away, but the target had vanished. He raised an eyebrow, turning back to their hiding spot. “C’mon, where is he? You go blind in the last two minutes, Moxxie?”

“He was just here- he must have stepped out to go to the bathroom,” Moxxie whisper-hissed. “Be careful, they’re-”

“C’mon, Moxxie, I’m not an invalid.” Blitzo stuck his hand in the already-opened bag of marshmallows and stuffed one in his mouth. The pops and snarls of the fire were filling the aches of his bones with soothing jelly, and his legs wobbled a little as he swallowed down the gooey snack. “I’ll go find ‘em, just… just a second…”

“Sir…”

“Relax, it takes more than ten seconds to piss.” Blitzo reached for the marshmallows again, fingers already in the bag when-

“Blitz!” Millie called out just as pain exploded through the back of his hand, and a screech bubbled up from deep in his chest as he automatically smacked his other hand at his wrist, brain taking precious milliseconds to process whatever the fuck had just happened.

There was a knife. Impaled. On his hand. Black blood spurted out in waves over his skin and sleeve, and he yanked the fingers close to his body as shrieking erupted from the bushes.

“Ha! Thought I heard somethin’! Those horns are gonna look real pretty mounted on my wall!” Red hair fell over a tanned and freckled face, and Blitzo’s fingers twitched, nerves going haywire as his other hand fumbled for something, anything, he’d dropped the fucking gun when he’d grabbed at his wrist, fuck, shit- there! His fingers clasped a small bottle and he chucked it full force at the human. It shattered, foul-smelling yellow liquid splattering his face as he sputtered and spat. “What the fuck?” The human fumbled for his weapon to retaliate, but-

BLAM!

-That was going to be rather difficult, considering his head was now in about twenty pieces, several of which splattered Blitzo's face and slid down before he brushed them off, licking at his cheeks.

“Blitz!” Millie called, hurrying down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-”

“Put your h-hands up!”

Blitzo whirled around, automatically dropping into a hunched crouch with his non-injured arm wrapped around his stomach. He hissed as the other humans from the hunting party of doom scrambled back to the firepit. God, his hand hurt.

“Get the fuck out,” he growled in a lower timbre than he’d ever heard himself drop to, and the one in the front froze, leading the woman to shove her way upwards.

“You killed Todd!”

A bang and she collapsed to her knees, clutching at her chest before another shot went straight through her skull. A cawing crow took off from a nearby tree, rustling the leaves.

Fingers clasped his elbow, and he could smell mint- Moxxie’s mouthwash. “The target’s down, we need to-”

“I wanna rip them to pieces, they got me,” Blitzo growled.

“Millie and I can take care of- eep!” Another shot cracked off above their heads, and Moxxie dragged Blitzo to the side as a huge branch slammed down where they’d been. “You’re in no shape-“

“I’m fine!” Sweat poured down over Blitzo’s eyes, and- were there two of Moxxie all of a sudden? When did he get a twin? He didn't have a twin. Blitzo would have found that out by now.

“No, you aren’t! You’re risking all of us, call Loona so we can clean- gah!” Moxxie kicked at the air furiously as one of the remaining hunters lifted him up like a ragdoll and dragged him away, screaming all the while as he twisted and writhed in their grip. Blitzo saw red. His tail snapped like a whip as he leaped forward and bit furiously at the mound of protesting, shaking meat, and a sharp shock grazed the side of his chest before blood gushed from the human's throat as he tore the jugular out with his teeth. Inside, the kid kicked out, doing their best to distract him, but nothing was going to keep him from-

“Moxx! Blitzo!” The head cracked mere inches from his face as Millie slammed a knife into the neck and snapped the spinal cord, and a gurgling scream cut off before two pairs of hands hauled him back from the fresh corpse. He snapped his teeth, heels digging into the damp ground as he strained forward. He needed to dismember it, he needed to tear it to pieces, he needed to fucking destroy it-

“And stay down, you fucking bastards, don’t fucking touch them-“

“It’s- it’s fine, he didn’t hurt me,” Moxxie said, dragging Blitzo back by the arm. “He maybe bruised my arms at best.”

“They’re dead, Blitzo, we can go home.” Millie agreed, and their combined strength forced Blitzo to take a breath, falling limp.

“…So sloppy, the ones with guns didn’t even get a shot in.”

Moxxie sucked in a breath. “About that…” He pressed his fingers to the side of Blitzo’s pecs, and Blitzo groaned out a ‘fuck’.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it should be fine with some painkillers and a tourniquet,” Millie commented. “The hand is much worse.”

Being reminded of that sent a white-hot flare of pain scurrying up his nerves, and Blitzo hissed. “Riiiiight.”

Millie fired off a text, and by the time Blitzo turned around, the portal had opened in front of them. He took one step before nearly eating dirt, and Millie and Moxxie grasped him under the armpits and hauled him through, the office the most welcome sight he’d ever seen.

“What happened?” Loona asked, fingers tightening around the Grimoire.

“It went badly,” Moxxie grunted. “Get the first aid kit.”

Loona didn’t argue.

________________

Well, he was definitely on too many painkillers to be fully healthy for the kid at this point considering how much it took to be anywhere near effective on him, but he wasn’t bleeding out, his hand wasn’t screaming at him anymore, and his shirt had probably gotten ruined by all the stretching out even before his side started bleeding all over it, so…

Okay, yeah, fuck trying to spin it, this just plain sucked shit-flavored asshole. Millie finished tying off the bandage around his hand as he sat in his chair and Moxxie paced around his office.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Come-” Blitzo coughed. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the chills were creeping back up everywhere the blood wasn’t still rushing to, and he couldn’t help but lean closer to Millie and her precious body heat. “-Come on, getting hurt in the field is just part of the job.”

“Yes, but you’re not thinking clearly anymore, and you’re risking-”

“I am so thinking clearly!” Setting aside the fact that if he blinked too much Moxxie duplicated himself again, but he wasn’t about to tell him that.

Moxxie continued as if he hadn’t spoken, rude little shit. “You’re risking yourself, both of us, and, yes, the baby!”

“Oh, and they’re the one that matters here.” Blitzo rolled his eyes, but Moxxie folded his arms, tail swaying like a pendulum and nails drumming on his bicep.

“I know that your feelings about this are mixed, but I would never forgive myself if you went out there and got both of you killed because you’re a stubborn jackass.”

“He’s right,” Millie added.

“Don’t you dare team up on me,” Blitzo snarled, lead settling in the pit of his stomach as Millie stood up, drying her hands off with the towel borrowed from the bathroom- they were going to have to replace that. It had been white with little galloping horses around the bottom, and they were all so covered in black now that you couldn’t even see them anymore. He knew from experience that imp blood never came out of white fabric no matter how hard you scrubbed.

“We will if we have to- I’d do the same for anybody,” Millie said, balling the towel up and dropping it on the desk. “You lasted a lot longer than most people would, but there’s no shame in taking some time off so you don’t end up killin’ the little one before they even get a chance to see the world.”

“What about me, huh? Don’t I get a say in this? This is my company!” He shoved himself off the chair, but Millie pushed him back down. Her hand burnt where it touched his chest.

“C’mon, Blitzo, you need to be resting- I care about you, alright? Both’a us do.”

“Oh, sure, that's why you're not letting me make my own decisions as a grown-ass man." He narrowed his eyes.

“If we didn’t, we’d just let you go out and get yourself killed by the next target who has a gun,” Moxxie retorted. “I’m not going to let you drag all of us down with you, and I’m not going to keep working out in the field with you if you’re going to be a liability!”

“Are you threatening to quit?” Blitzo tried to get up again, and again Millie pushed him back down- far easier than she should have been able to, but if it was the blood loss or the baby weight was anybody’s guess.

“Of course not- maybe? I don’t know!” Moxxie rubbed his forehead. “I just-”

Millie shifted over to him, squeezing his shoulders. “We get what you mean, honey.” She turned back to Blitzo. “I know you wanna always do your best and work hard for IMP, and I’ve got nothing but praise for that, but-”

“But nothing! I can do this, end of story!”

Millie raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps back towards him and poking Blitzo right where she’d just wrapped the gunshot wound, and he couldn’t hold back a pained whine. “Suuuuure you can.”

“If you insist on still coming to work, just-” Moxxie sucked in a breath. “Just take over Loona’s job. Maybe she can help us, but Millie and I handled things fine when you were gone, we can keep things running.”

“Like hell you can!” Icy hands squeezed at his chest as Millie patted his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Blitzo.”

He smacked her hand away. “Don’t tell me I’m useless, I don’t need your fucking pity-”

“But you do need us,” Millie replied. “We want to help, isn’t that enough? There’s only another month and a half or so until they’ll be here, after all. You've got a lot to get sorted, and it's the least we can do.”

Blitzo just stared with wide eyes as his knifed hand screamed with every minute twitch of the nerves and tendons within. Moxxie raised an eyebrow with his arms crossed, and Millie considered the towel on the desk before dropping it in the trash. It left behind little splatters of his blood on the polished oak as he gritted his teeth.

“Fuck both of you.”

(Which meant, unfortunately, ‘you win for now’, and it was only because he was about to pass out in his chair.)

#one time #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo #shadow writes stuff #surprisingly this one is NOT v0re eheh

[keyismykitty]

so it came up today and while i would like to pretend it never existed, i feel i should share with the world the story of the film i shot in fifth grade first of all, the entire thing was shot in my parents' basement and we did not try to hide that fact. didn't even put up a sheet, just filmed as-is, including the giant eye-searingly yellow beanbag chair that ended up in every shot (like, conspicuously in every shot. like, it got tripped over in just about every shot.) second, i can't say for certain what /exactly/ it was about, i don't really remember, but from what i do recall: -my baby brother played a superhero called the blue turtleneck. wore a blue turtleneck, a bright orange trapper, and carried a rocket launcher (actually an antique telescope) -spiderman was present and was played by a girl from down the road wearing flannel boxers over her head -when it was revealed that spiderman was a woman, the camera panned back over the film crew, who shrugged and said it wasn't a big deal, and then spiderman had a freestyle dance number set to britney spears' toxic -someone played a chicken? or a turkey? and the blue turtleneck tried to kill it and eat it? and the lawyer representing the chicken/turkey/whatever jumped in front of the rocket and died and the turkey thing walked away and was never seen again -the lawyer came back from the dead as a zombie and fell in love with spiderman and they had a dating montage, including playing racquetball and eating imaginary spaghetti together on the beanbag chair -i believe the lawyer was female? -the lawyer and spiderman had a misunderstanding but got together at the end to fight a giant monkey or something and when spiderman said "but lawyer guy, you don't have any powers!" the lawyer guy said "but i know one thing the monkey doesn't--i'm already dead" and then back in black played and the credits rolled as they fought the monkey together tl;dr in fifth grade i made a superhero/romance comedy movie in my parents' basement about a superhero that tried to eat a turkey and then spiderman and her corpse girlfriend fought crime together

#this feels like a fake tumblr story #but unfortunately it did happen #i can actually dig it up if nobody believes me #i still know exactly where the tape is #like an idiot i didn't chuck it into the fires of mount doom like i should have

[stony-ao3-feed]

chasing parties

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MxtKDM

by antithestral

“Is there such a thing as self-cockblocking?” he asked Bruce miserably one night. He could have been in bed with triplets tonight. Triplets.

Bruce glanced dryly at him. “Sure there is, buddy,” he said. “Though most of us just call it getting rejected.”

Tony flicked a spoon at his head.

“Ow,” Bruce deadpanned, but there was a smile hiding in his eyes. He liked it when Tony didn’t flinch around him, didn’t treat him like he was nuclear waste that needed to be trapped in a lead box and chucked into Mount Doom.

“Excuse you, I didn’t get rejected, Banner,” Tony sneered. “I’m sure you have no concept of it, but people actually want to fuck me a lot.”

“Narcissist. So you voluntarily didn’t sleep with… triplets?”

“Yeah.”

“Jeez, pal, why.”

Because Steve looked sad about it was a stupid answer, so Tony paused, thought about it, and then said, “Because Steve looked sad about it.” God in Heaven, what was wrong with his brain.

Words: 3960, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MxtKDM

#stony #fanfiction #ao3feed #superhusbands #stevetony

[lisinfleur]

She

Author’s Notes | I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry! I couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t this endless well of ANGST Curse became. Well, prepare your wipes. This one will break your heart! Universe | Curse Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Demon! Hvitserk, Viking Age AU, Curse AU, requested by anon for 5CW5 Words | 3558 ⁑ Warnings: Heavy ANGST, Major Character’s Death, mentions of sickness. Caution is recommended: the following content may be triggering.

"I will not stay. I need some time."

Words Hvitserk spoke to Ivar months ago when his eyes saw everything going dark and he lost everything that had some meaning in his life.

Ubbe was swallowed by madness.

Precious Margrethe was killed by his own hunger.

Dear Sigurd was dead. And not dead at the same time.

For Ivar, that whole thing with the curses was in an apex of thinking he was now invulnerable, untouchable beyond the unpredictable he always was. But Hvitserk was seeing the things in a different way.

Of course, he tried to kill himself several times.

He spent days without food or water, but the flavors he used to love so bad weren't needed by his body anymore.

He spent long days at the beach, facing Björn's angry face looking straight at him from the deep waters, charging the promise he wasn't fulfilling. For a long time, he thought about just throwing himself into the water and wait for Björn's retaliation. But how long would it take? And what if he didn't die by the wounds?

He tried to cut his wrists, but they healed just like his throat did before. Even faster.

He tried to find battles and fight the criminals of the roads seeking for one who was enough to send him to Valhalla.

Nothing worked.

However, in the middle of his fights, he saved a woman from some thieves at the road. She seemed weak and fell to the ground, coughing, visibly ill.

Hvitserk came near, but the woman rose her hand, warning him to get some distance.

"It is contagious. For the love of Frigga, don't come near," she said, alarmed.

But even then, Hvitserk came closer, ignoring the woman's appeals, helping her to get up and stand.

"Don't you have any love for your life?" she asked, completely surprised about his total lack of self-protection instinct.

"I won't get it. No matter how contagious it is," Hvitserk sentenced, noticing she was really weak. "What's happening to you, woman? Why are you out here so weak and alone?"

"Despite being so close to dying, I still come out for supplies," she sighed, trying to straighten herself. "It sounds stupid. I should just lay down and starve to death."

Hvitserk's eyes ran around and he noticed a small bag on the ground. Some few things were spread all over the road. Small supplies even for a single person. She wasn't really caring for herself. He lowered himself down, picking up the fruits: two apples, a small bag of oats. Enough for a thin porridge that wouldn't sustain a child.

"Is this everything you had?" he asked, surprised, delivering the bag to the woman who embraced it, trying to prevent the handmade bag to fall once again.

"It's enough," she stated, kinda ashamed. "A woman like me can't work anymore, my lord. I thank you for saving me, however, there is not too much to be saved: the raids took my husband long ago. There weren't children to bless me with memories. And then, this plague first took my sister wife. Now, there is nothing for me but wait for lady Hella's hands to reunite me with her. I thank thee for your kindness but don't worry about me. It won't last too long."

What did he have to lose?

Hvitserk was alone. All alone. His hands, actions, and his own inertia had caused the doom of his little brother and Sigurd's anger had touched each one of his family members... Like a plague.

Now he was alone, waiting to die, such as that woman was alone as well. The difference between them was simple: she would find Hella's embrace.

Arms that would never come for him.

"What are you doing? My lord! Stop it!" she insisted when he pulled her softly up into his arms, taking her to his horse and mounting behind her.

"I'm Hvitserk. What is your name, woman?" he said, starting to move the horse slowly through the road, back to the town she was coming from.

Utterly surprised, the woman looked at him, not understanding what a health warrior like him could think he was doing with a source of plague upon his horse like that.

"I'm Y/N. My lord, stop, please. The villagers don't want me near. They give me supplies for free by leaving them outside of the walls as donations just to be sure my family would never come into their town. They would think you're touched by Hella's fingers like me... I don't... I don't want to cause you... problems..."

She started coughing again. Her body shaking against his chest with the violence of the coughs.

Hvitserk's hand supported her body softly to prevent her to fall from the horse, keeping her against his chest. The warmth of his body easing the cough, allowing her to breathe.

"You won't cause me anything, Y/N. You'll soon realize it. Do you have lands around your house?"

For a second, Hvitserk thought with himself... "Does she even have a house?" his mind questioned. But her hoarse voice answered almost muttering, trying to avoid a new crisis of coughs.

"There are some lands around my cabin, useless since I have no strength to treat them."

"I have no place to stay. I'm a wanderer. I borrow you my strength and pay you some seeds if you allow me to share your food and have a shelter to sleep," he offered, surprising her completely.

"I'm utterly ill, Hvitserk, you..."

"I told you already: no sickness will touch me. Don't worry about this," he interrupted her warn, causing her to look straight into his eyes.

There was a shadow into them, a shadow of pain and intense hurt, like a wound that was still recent and bleeding forgotten into his heart. If he wanted the land, he could only kill her and take it. Or even expel her from the farm and it would be solved for him. But there he was, stopping his horse near the town, placing it where she could rest under the shadow of a tree while he was going into the town probably for the seeds he said he would buy.

"You have a deal, my lord. Your seeds and strength for shelter and food. Seed my lands and you can have them after I die," she promised, knowing she would be gone soon.

She didn't want that man to feel compelled to leave after her life was gone.

"Deal," he said. "Stay here and watch my horse. I'll be back soon."

With this said, Hvitserk left to the town, buying seeds and fruits and bread. And meat, of course. Proper vegetables that could give good roots and a good broth. He would both feed her and treat the soil to produce more of those vegetables so she wouldn't have to come back to that town.

With everything he needed in bags, Hvitserk came back to find her lightly sleeping beside the horse. Poor woman: she was pale and tired. And even then, she was so beautiful, like a languid image of the gorgeous woman she must have been once.

"Come..." he said, waking her up only the necessary to have her in his horse with him. "Tell me how to reach your farm. Then, you can rest all the way through," he offered.

And Y/N explained the directions he had to take before he could feel her resting her tired body against his chest. With his hand around her waist, he followed her directions to find a house almost deteriorating.

It was a small wooden cabin, bad cared but clean, which allowed him to see she was still making efforts to keep the place habitable. However, there were small roles on the roof, missing woods on the balcony floor and some of the windows were broken, which surely was turning that place cold as Helheim at night.

Hvitserk came down from his horse, carrying the fragile woman into the house, finding a bed where he could allow her to rest and a single blanket she was probably using to keep herself warm. After being sure she was comfortable as far as possible, Hvitserk dedicated himself to produce the broth, taking care of the vegetables, as he could remember Ubbe taught him to, producing pieces he placed on pots with clean water to root.

While the food was cooking, he observed the place around, taking mental notes of what he would have to do to fix the cabin and start preparing the soil. The remaining covers of the vegetables he placed into a small vase he found at her kitchen, filling it with a little bit of water and mashing the material, creating raw soup he could use to feed the dehydrated and poor soil he saw outside, preparing it for the seeds and the roots. He would have a large work to weed the terrain and prepare the earth, but in a day or two the whole place would be ready to receive the fertilizer and then he would have to let it rest for some days so he could start seeding. Until there, he would be fixing the cabin and bringing her some supplies from the town. As long as no one knew he was living near her, no one would forbid him from going into the town and all he had to do was avoid contact to being sure no one around would be sick like her.

Everything was ready in his mind and the broth was ready in his pans. He separated a portion of it in a small bowl with a piece of the fresh bread, taking it to the room and softly waking Y/N up to eat.

Her eyes became large at the sight of that meal. In her heart, she was sure that man was lord Odin, covered in a wanderer's disguise, taking place into her house to soothe the pain of her last days.

She couldn't remember eating like this since the good times of her marriage when her husband was there for her and her sister wife was able to make such rich meals for the young family so tragically destroyed.

Slowly, Y/N took all the broth of the bowl and ate the whole piece of bread he brought. Her body giving vivid signs of how that simple meal was already a lot for the weakened woman.

"Are you one of the gods, Hvitserk?" she asked directly, looking at him. "Would any of them have mercy upon a simple woman like me?"

Hvitserk chuckled. Some sad memories of his brother Sigurd and the foolish conversations about the wanderer Harbard and how some people believed he could be Odin itself, came to his mind.

"Some men used to say I'm a descendant from Odin. But I don't believe this," he said, placing her empty bow on the nightstand while she was slowly cleaning her mouth. "I'm a cursed man, maybe no longer a man. But I am no god. And I don't believe any divine blood runs through my veins."

"A cursed man, you say. Why do you say that?" she asked.

And Hvitserk sighed.

"I'm Hvitserk Ragnarsson, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, prince of Kattegat. You must have known of me and my brothers."

Y/N covered her mouth. The poor man... It was running through the small mouths that all the sons of Ragnar were cursed after the fourth one of them was killed unfairly. Some men even said the deceased prince came back from the dead to curse his own brothers! Now two of them were missing, the youngest was said mad and there was the only one sane, in front of her.

"I thought the stories were lies. My husband left for the raids you and your brothers called. He left to avenge King Ragnar's death and never came back. We received the notice of his death from some few men that returned with King Harald's army. My sister wife was already sick at the time," Y/N said, causing Hvitserk's heart to clench in his chest.

"One more reason for me to stay and care for you. Your husband died among my men, avenging my father. I owe you this."

"You owe me nothing, prince Hvitserk," she said, with a soft tone.

"I'm no longer a prince. No longer a man I said. I don't feel I'm really anything that belongs to this world."

His words were worrying Y/N and she touched his hands, softly.

"No matter what you are, you heard my suffering and my story. You eased my pain, now allow me to ease yours. Tell me your wounds, warrior."

Hvitserk's eyes landed on hers. There was so much gentleness into her eyes, so much gratitude. Maybe he would feel a little better if he could speak about that torment, and he did it.

He told her the whole story, the whole tale of his brothers' curses and what happened to them. To himself.

Y/N received his story with surprise and sadness and helped him to understand what was happening to him and to his brothers for she recognized the creatures they were turned into from the stories of her grandmother already deceased.

"You're a devourer of souls, so as your brothers were turned in a merman, a vampire, and a werewolf respectively. You live from the souls you take. And the woman you told me you kissed was the first of the many souls you'll have with you through the course of your existence," she explained.

Hvitserk's heart clenched in his chest and she softly caressed his face.

"She lives in you now. She runs through your veins, like blood. You're a cursed man, indeed. And I'm a cursed woman. My plague spreads and touches everything with death. But death can't reach you. So, you stay with me. And I'll be here, for you, as long as it takes for my curse to take me."

She was trying to make Hvitserk feel that was a place for him in this world, by her side. And he could feel it. He nodded and accepted her offer. Maybe her curse wouldn't take too long to take her. Maybe it could last a lifetime.

Hvitserk decided not to think about this and they divided the bed since there wasn't another place for him to sleep. His warmth by her side made the night warmer for her. Her presence by his side made the night less painful for him.

Through the days that followed that first, Hvitserk fixed the cabin and kept the care for Y/N's state. Her recovering was visible: the better meals were bringing back the color to her skin and the strength to her arms, despite the fact she was still coughing and feeling the pains of the sickness.

The soil was answering to Hvitserk's treatments, remembering him with each sprout of his older brother and his wise teachings.

With the first flowers, something more bloomed in that cabin. Something Hvitserk knew he had no right to feel. But yet, his heart opened to Y/N's smiles and they laughed together at the restored balcony, watching the sunset.

What they had was pure and unique, something the cursed prince never had in his life. But the fruits of autumn brought him the memory of her disease and with the first nights of the cold winter, Hvitserk knew her time was coming to an end.

Like the last harvest of that soil laid on the ground for the gods as the custom, Y/N was back to her bed, taken by fever and the coughs. She knew she was dying and she also knew the red aura around Hvitserk's eyes had a meaning he was denying to himself. She knew what he needed; the pain he was feeling.

"You cannot put it off forever," she mumbled.

They were laid in the bed, her body nestled into his arms the way Hvitserk was used to doing to keep her warm during the night.

"You're hungry... And it hurts," she affirmed.

And Hvitserk sighed.

"I won't hunt a soul. I don't wanna take anyone's life," he said, as an anguished lament.

It was hurting his body, clenching his muscles in pain. Everything was compelling him to find a way to fill the emptiness into his chest, but he couldn't. He couldn't forget Margrethe's empty eyes and the void in her expression. He couldn't do this again! Never again!

"Take mine," her voice sounded low, almost a whisper.

But it crossed Hvitserk's chest like a rusted sword.

"I would never do such a thing to you! You're asking me to..."

"To take my soul," she cut his voice, looking up to his anguished expression and caressing his face with soft fingers. "And let me live in you, run through your veins, like blood... Like her."

"It will kill you!" Hvitserk shouted.

But she kept the calm semblance, causing his chest to clench even more in agony.

"I won't see the next sunrise, sweet prince. I can feel it. Tomorrow, the day will dawn and I'll be cold in this bed. There is nothing you can do to prevent this from happening this time. I can feel Hella's fingers caressing my hair. But I don't wanna go with her. I don't wanna find my sister or sit beside my husband... They have each other. I wanna go with you."

Her fingers kept the soft caress to his face, feeling the tears that started rolling down his cheeks. Tears of rage, for he couldn't change her fate or live the life he wanted beside a woman like her. Tears of sadness, for he knew she was right. He always knew that time would come and now, he wanted a day more, one more smile, one more evening at that balcony with the sunset for them both.

"Take me with you, so I can see the sunrise through your eyes. I don't wanna leave you, Hvitserk. Take my soul. Feel my love. You eased my pain, now, let me ease yours."

"I don't wanna lose you," he confessed.

And she smiled softly. Her breath was already slow and deep.

"You won't lose me. I'll be with you forever," she insisted, nuzzling his nose with hers.

"I wish I had known you before. I would have married you. I would have made you my queen," he said, answering to her soft caresses, embracing her waist with tenderness.

"It would have been a beautiful life. And I would have given you all the sons you wanted me to. But I'm happy anyway... I knew you, sweet prince. And now, I'm yours," she mumbled, brushing her lips against his.

Hvitserk could feel the sweet taste of her lips, as sweet as Margrethe's were before. He touched his forehead to hers.

"I love you," his heart was open for her to see, with his love and his pain in living flesh.

"I love you too," she said, "I always will."

And with a soft movement, she sealed her lips to his, feeling his taste for the first and last time. The sweet and slow kiss took away the pain of them both, and it lasted long enough for her to sigh, satisfied. When it ended, there wasn't pain anymore and his fingers caressed her lifeless face with love and sadness.

She wasn't afraid. Her expression, unlike Margrethe's, was tranquil. Yet, he gasped, embracing her against his chest, losing a whole hour with her body hidden into his embrace.

With his heart aching, Hvitserk settled Y/N in her bed, placing around her body the dried flowers she had kept from the spring they divided, some of the fruits of the autumn and grains they had stocked for the winter. Sticking his fingers some times, he braided a crown with the flowers, placing it on her head, and took one of his rings, placing it on her finger. From her, he took the Thor's hammer pendant she had in her necklace, placing it in the necklace around his neck.

One last time, he kissed her forehead as he had become used to doing every night.

"Sleep well, my princess. I'll take you with me wherever I go," he spoke into her ears.

Before leaving, he lighted some straw mounds around the house, setting the cabin on fire, burning everything with her.

No one would ever stain that place and their memories would be forever kept safe. And maybe the fire would take that cabin to somewhere in the afterlife. Maybe someday, when the gods had mercy of him, Hvitserk could find that place once again. And sleep one more time with her body into his arms and her hair tickling his nose.

In that morning, with the cabin still burning behind him, Hvitserk watched the sunrise alone.  When the rays of sun warmed his skin, he chose to believe it was her, warming him, running through his veins, like blood. He chose to believe she would ever be with him. And so, he turned his horse back into the road, towards Kattegat.

Ivar said he would run the world. And now, Hvitserk wanted to go with him. Dear Y/N would like to see the world through his eyes.

Then, he would travel the world for her to see.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #hvitserk #hviserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk white shirt #hvitserk’s heathen feast #sister wives #5CW #5CW Event #5CWHvitserk2 #shot

[ao3feed-stony]

chasing parties

by antithestral

“Is there such a thing as self-cockblocking?” he asked Bruce miserably one night. He could have been in bed with triplets tonight. Triplets.

Bruce glanced dryly at him. “Sure there is, buddy,” he said. “Though most of us just call it getting rejected.”

Tony flicked a spoon at his head.

“Ow,” Bruce deadpanned, but there was a smile hiding in his eyes. He liked it when Tony didn’t flinch around him, didn’t treat him like he was nuclear waste that needed to be trapped in a lead box and chucked into Mount Doom.

“Excuse you, I didn’t get rejected, Banner,” Tony sneered. “I’m sure you have no concept of it, but people actually want to fuck me a lot.”

“Narcissist. So you voluntarily didn’t sleep with… triplets?”

“Yeah.”

“Jeez, pal, why.”

Because Steve looked sad about it was a stupid answer, so Tony paused, thought about it, and then said, “Because Steve looked sad about it.” God in Heaven, what was wrong with his brain.

Words: 3960, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining

source http://archiveofourown.org/works/21120731

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #fan fiction #ao3 stony feed #stony fan

[cornwaiidesu]

Binge monster factory to distract myself and forget how much of a shitbird I am.

#ahahahahaha i hate myself ^__^ #chuck me into mount doom

[vaporwave-trolls]

im so bored holy shit, i dont wanna do any actual art and im caught up on things i need to do but all my friends are mia, someone chuck me into mount doom

#mimi speaks #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[inloveandwords]

This post was inspired by Ally’s series (which was inspired by Lia at Lost in a Story).

It works like this: Go to your goodreads to-read shelf. Order on ascending date added. Take the first 5 (or 10 (or even more!) if you’re feeling adventurous) books Read the synopsis of the books Decide: keep it or should it go?

I’ve been avoiding doing anything like this for awhile because, while I’m great at getting rid of things around the house and in most areas of my life, getting rid of books – even if it is just digitally – causes so much metaphorical pain LOL!

But, like Ally said, I don’t want to miss any great books and this may actually remind me of books that I need to bump up to the TBR ASAP list (which might be good or bad… we shall see.)

Here are the stats

Declutter Post Number: 1

Starting Total TBR Count: 1760

Current Total TBR Count: 1760

Total Marked TBR ASAP: #

Ending Total TBR Count: #

Midnight Sun (Twilight #1.5) by Stephenie Meyer

Midnight Sun is the much anticipated retelling of Twilight from Edward Cullen’s perspective. An unedited partial draft was illegally leaked onto the internet in 2008; consequently, author Stephenie Meyer put the project on indefinite hold.

So, this is why we clean out our TBR. Right here. Because people like me joined Goodreads almost a decade ago and things like this were one of the first books added to my TBR. Sigh.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: DITCH

  Tell-All by Chuck Palahniuk

Soaked, nay, marinated in the world of vintage Hollywood, Tell-All is a Sunset Boulevard–inflected homage to Old Hollywood when Bette Davis and Joan Crawford ruled the roost; a veritable Tourette’s syndrome of rat-tat-tat name-dropping, from the A-list to the Z-list; and a merciless send-up of Lillian Hellman’s habit of butchering the truth that will have Mary McCarthy cheering from the beyond.

Our Thelma Ritter–ish narrator is Hazie Coogan, who for decades has tended to the outsized needs of Katherine “Miss Kathie” Kenton—veteran of multiple marriages, career comebacks, and cosmetic surgeries. But danger arrives with gentleman caller Webster Carlton Westward III, who worms his way into Miss Kathie’s heart (and boudoir). Hazie discovers that this bounder has already written a celebrity tell-all memoir foretelling Miss Kathie’s death in a forthcoming Lillian Hellman–penned musical extravaganza; as the body count mounts, Hazie must execute a plan to save Katherine Kenton for her fans—and for posterity.

I was OBSESSED with Chuck P back in the day. It’s been awhile since I’ve read any of his books and unless I go through another phase, I don’t see me going out of my way to purchase anything by him anytime soon.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: DITCH

  Pygmy by Chuck Palahniuk

“Begins here first account of operative me, agent number 67 on arrival Midwestern American airport greater _____ area. Flight _____. Date _____. Priority mission top success to complete. Code name: Operation Havoc.”

Thus speaks Pygmy, one of a handful of young adults from a totalitarian state sent to the United States, disguised as exchange students, to live with typical American families and blend in, all the while planning an unspecified act of massive terrorism. Palahniuk depicts Midwestern life through the eyes of this thoroughly indoctrinated little killer, who hates us with a passion, in this cunning double-edged satire of an American xenophobia that might, in fact, be completely justified. For Pygmy and his fellow operatives are cooking up something big, something truly awful, that will bring this big dumb country and its fat dumb inhabitants to their knees.

It’s a comedy. And a romance.

See above commentary.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: DITCH

  Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk

“Cassie Wright, porn priestess, intends to cap her legendary career by breaking the world record for serial fornication. On camera. With six hundred men. Snuff unfolds from the perspectives of Mr. 72, Mr. 137, and Mr. 600, who await their turn on camera in a very crowded green room. This wild, lethally funny, and thoroughly researched novel brings the huge yet underacknowledged presence of pornography in contemporary life into the realm of literary fiction at last. Who else but Chuck Palahniuk would dare do such a thing? Who else could do it so well, so unflinchingly, and with such an incendiary (you might say) climax?

I actually own this one, it’s on my bookshelf, so I’ll keep this one on here.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: Keep

  Rant by Chuck Palahniuk

Buster “Rant” Casey just may be the most efficient serial killer of our time. A high school rebel, Rant Casey escapes from his small town home for the big city where he becomes the leader of an urban demolition derby called Party Crashing. Rant Casey will die a spectacular highway death, after which his friends gather the testimony needed to build an oral history of his short, violent life.

I own this one, too!

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: Keep

  Immortal: Love Stories with Bite by P.C. Cast

Seven of today’s most popular YA vampire and contemporary fantasy authors offer new short stories that prove that when you’re immortal, true love really is forever.

I added this back when I was in love with PC Cast, but I’m kind of meh about her books now.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: Ditch

  Infinity by Sarah Dessen

Ever felt as if your life is just going round in circles? Sarah Dessen’s thought-provoking short story about moving on will resonate with teens everywhere.

First of all, what is this synopsis?! Second, I thought I’d read all of SD’s books except for the latest one… hmm…

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: Keep

  Echo by Francesca Lia Block

Francesca Lia Block has charmed and amazed young audiences with tales of the mystical and ethereal. This outstanding story is no different. Following the life of Echo, an L.A. baby born to an artistic dad and a mom who’s an angel, this enthralling story offers more than fairy dust and the supernatural. It tells the tale of a girl who feels doomed to be less than angelic, at least in comparison with her mother. Mom’s startling beauty and aura enchant all who meet her, and Echo can never keep up. Desperate to be loved as much, and maybe find her own identity, she escapes to the boys in her life. Ultimately, she must rely on herself for the strength to survive.

Simple text ands story lines do not appeal to Block, who weaves a tale with amazing grace and the flowing energy of a true genius. Images of vampires, ghosts, and fairies fill these pages, daring the reader to believe. Told from the point of view of Echo and the key players in her life, the story imparts a dreamlike quality to Echo’s life. This a novel layered with pain beauty, and triumph, all which will appeal to young readers.

This one is on my bookshelf. I love FLB and her unique writing style.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/30/2010

Keep or Ditch: Keep

  Wasteland by Francesca Lia Block

An exquisite novel about the consequences of who we choose to love.

Lex and his sister, Marina, are inseparable. The air they share has always been light and boundless, but suddenly it’s weighted down. And now Lex is gone. When the one relationship that cradled her turns out to shatter her sense of self, Marina needs her friend West to help put the pieces back together. But Marina won’t feel truly complete until she faces the past that is haunting her.

Highly acclaimed and award-winning author Francesca Lia Block tells the tale of a brother and sister whose loving relationship is too intense for them to bear. With the sensitivity and refinement that Block is known for, she manages to weave together her characters and their lives into this beautiful and thought-provoking tale.

It pains me to take any FLB books off my TBR, but I just don’t see myself picking this over any others.

Date Added to Goodreads: 8/29/2010

Keep or Ditch: Ditch

    Bye-Bye Books: Decluttering My TBR #1 This post was inspired by Ally’s series (which was inspired by Lia at Lost in a Story…

#chuck Palahniuk #Francesca Lia Block #pc cast #sarah dessen #Stephenie Meyer #TBR

[silmapaintion]

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little hobbit? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in being sneaky, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret spying missions on hobbits, and I have over 300 confirmed orc kills. I am trained in being invisible and I’m the top eater of orcs in the entire continent of Middle Earth. You are nothing to me but a tricksy thief. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on Middle Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me to that nasty ass hobbit? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my partner in crime Shelob across Mordor and your position is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, Baggins. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, hobbit. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Mordor and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of Arda, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will chuck you into Mount Doom and you will drown in its lava. You’re fucking dead, Baggins.

#smeagol #gollum #lotr #lord of the rings #shitpost #text

[junker-town]

Why I became a fair-weather sports fan after years of being diehard

When fandom becomes badge of suffering, we all lose.

Over the past five years, I have turned into a fair-weather fan of a sports team I used to be obsessed with. And I have to tell you: it’s wonderful.

I grew up addicted to watching basketball, reading about basketball, playing basketball (poorly), playing basketball video games (less poorly), talking about basketball. And my team was the Sacramento Kings. And the Kings were horrid most of my childhood. All of my childhood? Pretty close.

I remember the 1996 playoffs series against the Sonics like it was yesterday. I was a teenager but felt like a 5-year-old on Christmas morning watching that series. Pure catharsis, even in defeat.

I worshipped Mitch Richmond and booed when the Kings passed on John Wallace for somebody named Predrag Stojakovic. (An astute analyst even then, it’s true.) I cried for Bobby Hurley and believed in Corliss Williamson more than anyone. As someone who enjoyed the Fab Five immensely, I was over the moon when Chris Webber showed up. I relished the era he heralded. So much so that as sports blogs were becoming a thing I started up a site that eventually became Sactown Royalty, the second NBA blog on SB Nation.

For nine years, I led and grew a community of like-minded fanatics. I wrote in depth about Bonzi Wells, Mike Bibby, Shelden Williams, Desmond Mason, Jason Hart, John Salmon, Francisco Garcia, Mikki Moore, Brad Miller, Spencer Hawes, Jason Thompson, Tyreke Evans, Jimmer Fredette, Hassan Whiteside, DeMarcus Cousins, Isaiah Thomas, Thomas Robinson, Omri Casspi, Donte Greene, Greivis Vasquez, Tyler Honeycutt (RIP), Sylven Landesburg, Orien Greene — Orien Greene started at point guard on an opening night for the Sacramento Kings! There was Justin Williams, Bobby Brown, Chuck Hayes, Kenny Thomas, Shareef Abdur-Rahim, Marcus Thornton, Rashad McCants, Bobby Jackson, Travis Outlaw, Andres Nocioni, Ronnie Price, Quincy Douby and exactly one game of Drew Gooden. I feuded with the play-by-play guy, two local columnists, several national reporters, the general manager, the press relations head, the owners, two head coaches and one head coach’s wife. (I think I have since buried the hatchet with all of them save for one of the head coaches, the play-by-play guy and one of the national reporters. I think. It’s hard to keep track of all of my professional squabbles.)

I was the model hardcore fan. I hated the Lakers with disturbing fervor. I would watch every game of a 17-win season and write about that horrid team 10 times a week. When I wasn’t watching or writing about them, I was thinking about them. I was hoping that someday I’d get to write about and root for and watch a good team.

And if I had kept on like that, I’d still be waiting.

In early 2014, I handed the reins of Sactown Royalty over to the team that is now at The Kings Herald. I continued to watch every Kings game that season, even having excised the professional obligation. I was still a hardcore Kings fan. But over the course of the next couple of years, I stopped the obsession. I stopped watching every single game. I stopped thinking about free agency, the coaching carousel and the NBA Draft first through the prism of what they meant for the Kings. I stopped being upset by the foibles of the doomed franchise, and started appreciating how hilariously inept the team was.

I stopped caring so much when the team gave me so little to care about. I became a fair-weather fan.

Before the coronavirus shutdown, I was to the point where I watched the Kings as much as I watched, say, the Pelicans or Grizzlies (two teams quite fun to watch, but for whom I have no real rooting interest). If the Kings were on and the game wasn’t entertaining, I’d change it. If they went on a mystifying three-game losing streak, I’d roll my eyes and watch some Lakers highlights. If they won a couple of games, if Harry Giles had a nice stint, if De’Aaron Fox looked healthy for the first time in months, I’d be excited. I allowed myself to enjoy the Kings as a fan without wrapping myself in the trappings of suffering when things went south.

I had deprogrammed myself from an obsessive fandom into something that certainly seems more healthy.

Now and then, someone will tweet about how I must never have been a true Kings fan since I gave it up now, as a decade of doom mounts. What a nightmarish view of fandom, that unless you’re willing to absorb infinite, eternal despair you are faking it! The world is suffering enough without fake-ass purity tests around hobbies. And that’s the key here: do you view your fandom as an identity or as a hobby? That’s the transition I’ve made. That’s where so many fans who can’t rattle off the 2007 opening night starting lineup but wear the ballcap or the T-shirt live. Having it as your identity is totally fine provided that doesn’t lead you to police the fandom, to determine who is good enough to be granted admission to the happy times when misery lifts for the team.

As someone who wore his fandom like a second skin before and wears it like a hat now, I can tell you that being a fair-weather fan is a totally valid way to experience sports. In fact, if your team is as punishing to your psyche as the Kings have been to their fans, I recommend it!

In fact, if you’re interested in conversion, let the coronavirus shutdown ween you off of obsessive fandom. Allow this break to detach your fandom identity from your corpus and make that team earn your loyalty not through mere continued existence but through success or good works or the creation of happiness. You don’t owe anything to the Knicks, the Browns, the Mariners, the Liberty, Arsenal, Georgia football, the Mets, the Kings, the Hornets, the Jaguars, UCLA basketball, the Sharks or the senior United States Men’s Soccer Team. You can make them try to earn your fandom and spare yourself little miseries when they continue to fail to do so.

The pull of nostalgia and identity and, in many cases, herd fandom and geography are strong. I completely understand and respect those who can’t shed the skin. For those of you who remain all-weather fans, godspeed.

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

A Winding Trail (Post 56) 9-24-14

                        There is a winding trail that runs throughout Round Valley Regional Preserve out on Marsh Creek Road where I used to hike last summer while Natalie was in Ohio.  Abby told me about it.  I think that is where she used to ditch school while she was trying to cope with Pam’s illness.   I found it to be a quiet and beautiful place where I could churn through some miles considering my future and seeking the peace of Christ.  Being an orthodox fellow, I used to hike it clockwise; starting east and each time arriving tired at the bottom of the great hill on the Southern backstretch after what already seemed to be a lengthy incline through a series of smaller hills and gullies.  Intimidated by the long upward slope I balked each time and turned around.  It became my habit.  

My state of fatigue made a straight ascent seem too much for my mental approximation of what I had left in the tank.  Each hike I would reach the great hill, chicken out and retreat counter clock-wise over the smaller foothills and pasture land, beating feet finally across the entrance bridge on the way back to my car.  Luckily, I was merely hiking and not entrusted with chucking the ring of power into the volcanic fires of Mount Doom in Mordor.  

I always wondered what was on the other side of the hill and whether if I had, in fact, labored up the ascent, whether I would have met an even larger incline that would have reduced me to an unwilling camper waiting for an AM discovery by next day’s early-bird fitness enthusiasts.  Finally, repeatedly failing to conquer the hill in front of me, I decided to cheat – I’m not proud of my decision.  My rationale was that since I was never going to make it up the seven hundred foot elevation via a frontal attack, I could at least discover what was on the other side of the hill by taking the counter-clockwise path from the get-go.  

So just across the entry bridge I went right instead of left to tackle a fresh set of challenges.  The westward path ran up a medium-sized hill almost immediately.  I was winded at the top, but the wide downward path was pretty inviting and ran through some quiet hollows for a mile or so.  I was refreshed.  So much so that when I saw another narrow path headed up the backside of the large southern hill, I decided to ascend as far as I could to see some of the view I had always been missing from the other direction.

The path was pretty arduous but the ascent was never a straight one.  There were switchbacks and arching paths from one hill to the next where I could never really see more than forty yards ahead.  While much of it was sloped upward and looked difficult, there wasn’t any visible stretch of trail that I felt was too much for my novice level of conditioning.  In the end I saw a final switchback and an ascent up to what I felt strongly was probably the summit of the highest hill.  At that point I discovered that I had a choice between two very unappealing alternatives: power through to mount a summit that I had not planned to tackle or retreat again and hope I still retained sufficient reserves to again climb the nasty medium hill that had winded me at the beginning of the counter clock-wise path.

I chose to continue forward and upward.  It proved to be a wise decision as I reached the summit of the hill for the first time. I probably should have stopped at the “peak” in celebration, but I decided not to pause in triumph. I was running short of daylight and needed to get back home to cook supper for my older kids.  I was also concerned that coyotes might ambush an unarmed winded geezer if I tarried after sundown in the shady moguls of my more familiar eastern retreat route.

Although I trudged on without stopping, I was able to get a good look at the winding path that I had ascended.  I was amazed at what I had accomplished, by not looking too far ahead.  I also was surprised at the length of the downslope on the backside of the summit. I would have never been able to make the more direct climb from the clock-wise direction.  Logically, my inability to climb the same hill from either side makes no sense at all.  The height is the same.  For some reason my brain needed the switchbacks and the slow slog back and forth to achieve what others can accomplish directly.  

The hill climb at Round Valley seems an apt metaphor for my struggles as a Catholic between the day of Pam’s death, through the collapse and partial restoration of my son Stephen’s health and up to my Emmaus retreat weekend.  I endured a summer without Natalie and from a seat on a quiet rock in Copperopolis confirmed my plan for next forty yards of my life.  I decided that it seemed good to take on new responsibility at work, volunteer to write a newsletter for the parish and enter Adult Confirmation Class. From the vantage point of the retreat I gained perspective on the journey that had led me to my quiet point of decision.  Reviewing the next leg of my spiritual development gave me the confidence to execute my plan.

As always is the case, the road down from my retreat did not always follow the intended course. I knocked my crocket ball through several of the planned wickets but skipped others altogether. Like most orienteers I discovered that several of the less traveled paths that I had spied from afar were not paths at all resulting in some backtracking on my part.  

Disappointingly I was not able to return to Emmaus this year.  My expectation was that I would return to Copperopolis this fall, but Nick’s health issues made working on the retreat team unmanageable.  Neither did I expect to deprive myself of my doppelganger Natalie’s company through Christmas.  I am surprised to be faced with a larger laundry list of questions about my future this year than I had last year.  I expected that the path I confirmed on my Emmaus weekend last year would terminate in a pleasant meadow of sunshine and butterflies.  Instead I seem to have stuck myself in a bit of a gully where the pathway forward is not currently apparent.

My quandary is probably why many of men whom I met last year at Emmaus, returned this year again. Several of the guys return every year. While Nicolas and I were at the De Luna Ranch, enjoying chili-dogs and swapping jokes at the Walk for the Poor, many of our other friends were in Copperopolis, helping the retreatants and each other while considering their own walks with Jesus from a quiet promontory.  They were able to contemplate where the last year had taken them and discern the next steps for their vocations.  Deep thoughts, soul searching – sometimes in silence and sometimes in fellowship.  I doubt any of the men left disappointed.

#Walk For The Poor #Emmaus #Round Valley Regional Preserve #penance #God #Jesus #The Holy Spirit #beatitudes #suffering #Divine Mercy #discipleship #calvary #faith #grace #discernment #contemplation