#i was doing small town idylls today

[saltcherry]

you know I had to do it to ‘em

#when the angels left the old country #liking it so far #very much a book for middle schoolers which i am not but it's a good book for middle schoolers get it #the coffee was not that great nor was the cake idk why i keep trying to enjoy this café #i was doing small town idylls today #spending money walking about avoiding cars running me over on my bike #sacha lamb #i am a sucker for immigrant novels this is a good one

[sebsbarnes]

enticed || vincent renzi

vincent renzi x reader

summary: vincent can't help but struggle through work with you as the prosecutor

warnings: none

word count: 645

other vincent work ; masterlist

god, he fucking hated the way you sauntered down the hall. the sound of your heels clicking against the tile floor like some piece of music. the distant sound of your voice taunting him in a way you weren't even aware of. the perfume you wear somehow became the air in the hallway, it was floral with a hint of spice, and vincent knew it would be on his clothes.

court was out of session for the day which vincent was grateful for but also a part of him wanted to be back in the courtroom. something about watching you work was intoxicating. the way you would purse your lips, eyebrows pulled together, listening to the defendant speak. vincent would pace back and forth on the floor pausing to stop in front of you to emphasize a point. he was silly to think you give him any other look than that smug face you'd pull, eyes slightly narrowed, the corner of your lip turned toward the ceiling.

"maître renzi," you'd hum, the consonants and vowels have been spoken together many times but the way in which they floated off your tongue was a sound vincent had never heard before. as if his own name and title were foreign.

you would stand before him, only the wooden barrier blocking him from you. you spoke to the room and the judge arguing as the prosecution. the confidence you had was mesmerizing and vincent would watch as you stood mere inches from him and take in the way you stood tall, shoulders back, hand resting on the railing gesturing every so often. he found that his hand ached and his fingers longed to outstretch towards you, and just as his middle finger twitched up you would look down at him with a pleased smile and walk back to your seat saying, "maître? what do you have to say?"

truthfully, vincent had no fucking clue what to say. he was too busy watching you to even compute the words you had just spoken previously. nonetheless, he'd rise from his seat, push open the wooden gate, and approach the person he is supposed to be defending with his life. vincent would find some roundabout way to address whatever you may have talked about but he couldn't help notice the raised brow on your forehead as your eyes followed his pacing figure. he was caught, you weren't naive to the way you affected him. with each new case, you'd always hoped he would be on the opposing side.

"ah maître vincent," your voice rang out as he entered the room where you currently were gathering your belongings.

"please, it is just vincent. we've known each other long enough now, right?" vincent retorted, fixing the sleeves on his button-down.

you shrugged your bag onto your shoulder, "just showing my respect to someone who's been in the field longer than me. great work today, by the way," you paused briefly, "brought up some good points i hadn't considered."

vincent hesitated, his eyes examining your face, "you're teasing me, aren't you? you already knew my points of argument today before you even set me up for them."

he watched as your lips pulled into a wide grin and a soft laugh escaped your nose. you were clever and brilliant, far too good to be a prosecutor in a small idyllic town. these qualities only attracted vincent to you more. for months now he only ever knew you inside the courthouse and he hoped for the day he'd see you outside these walls.

you stepped towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and bringing your lips dangerously close to his ear, and with a whisper you said, "goodnight, maître."

with a drop of your hand, you were no longer standing beside him, and once again the melody of piano music rang through the hallways.

#anatomy of a fall #vincent renzi #swann arlaud #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi x you #vincent renzi fic #anatomie d'une chute #anatomy of a fall vincent #sebsbarnes

[happy-beeeps]

Day 9/10: Sweater and Boots

Summary: you and Din bundle up for a walk through an idyllic winter town.

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: none!

“Ok, are we feeling warm bud?”

You get a noncommittal babble of a response from Grogu, typical, as he wiggles in front of you. He’s bundled up as best you can get him, and Din is nervously puttering around behind you.

“You sure he’s fine?”

“Din, he’s fine. It was colder on the last system we took him to.”

He gives a grunt in an answer, before moving towards the rucksack of clothes he hangs in one of the door jams of the ship—you’ve been lovingly referring to it as his closet.

He comes out carrying a thick, black bundle of fabric that looks all too familiar.

“But are you going to be fine?” He hands the fabric to you and you hold it open. It’s his sweater, one of the ones he wears beneath his armor on colder systems. It’s big and heavy and so deliciously warm, and you put it on over the wool underlayer you were hoping to compensate with a heavy scarf.

In fact, he is quick to pull your scarf back on, wrapping it up and over your neck and around your head.

“Lose 30% of your body heat with your exposed.”

“Bet you’re always toasty in there then,” you tap his chest and he chuckles, adjusting your scarf again.

“I don’t just wear it for looks.”

You pick up Grogu and hold him to your chest while you wrap a loose bundle of fabric around your torso. Not only do you not have to worry about losing the little guy on your walk, but now you get to share a little extra body heat.

Din is already at your feet, holding your thick, woolen boots in front of you, lightly tapping an ankle for you to lift your foot in. It’s a little ritual you’ve picked up as so many systems have entered a winter-esque season on your travels, while you distract Grogu, Din gently guides your foot in your boot.

He pauses before he puts the second one on, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you. You wiggle your toes, already knowing the words coming out of his mouth.

“Are those… lothcats.”

“And what about it?”

He laughs, quietly, then, “What happened to the porgs?”

The rest of your foot is guided into the boot, and your spread your toes wide on the squishy fabric. “I lost my left sock, so if you see any porg stuff, you let me know.”

“Deal.”

This system is cute. It’s quaint, which made it ideal for a supply run, and just populated enough to attract the safety in crowds. It’s also not ridiculously cold, and beneath Din’s sweater and your scarf, you’re comfortably warm as you walk through the town.

The buildings are all cream and dark wood, and people bustle in and out of them carrying food, bolts of fabric, and wrapped gifts. Outside, patrons chat with one another in a few languages, some you can recognize and others that sound foreign to you. It’s a delightful sound, lilting and bright with hard consonants and long, drawn out language.

Honestly, you’re just surprised it’s so dark. According to your chrono, it should only be a little after midday, yet the sun has completely set in the sky. You know that some of these systems of solar cycles so baffling that in the summer it’s bright all day long, but you’re just surprised to see it in person.

Grogu is loving the town, snuggled warm against your sweater he reaches his arms out at everyone and everything. Din walks strong next to you, one arm tucked comfortably on the small of your back. It’s nice when he’s like this, easy and relaxed, such a rare treat these days.

You go to step into a small shop when Grogu spots a sweet stand nearby, his babbles turning into cries as his small hands stretch forward. Din looks at you, the door held open, and you swat him away, gently.

“I’ll take him for a treat, he’s been good today.”

There’s a sigh, but you know he’s smiling. “He’s gonna be up all night.”

You place your hand on your cheek in mock suffering, “I guess I’ll have to share with him. How will I survive!”

Din shakes his head and moves to step into the shop, careful to touch your waist and feel for the hidden blaster tucked under your layers. When he feels adequately confident in your safety, he disappears inside.

“Cmon, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get in before your dad comes back.”

The cart in the square has warm drinks that smell of rich spices and an ooey, gooey cheese melted across a warm piece of bread. This feels like the perfect compromise between the sweets your menace of a child had been trying to get into earlier, and you’re happy to share the rich meal with him while you sip your drink in the square.

It really is a beautiful town, it reminds you of the small villages you’d seen images of on Alderaan. There’s lampposts with candles along each street corner and tall green trees with rugged bark dotted here and there. Along the cobbled streets and between the snow, red flowers dot through the earth. You could sit here forever, and you intend to ask Din the name of the system again—and how you can come back.

He’s back before you know it, a large bundle in his arms.

“Shopping spree?”

“With the way this one eats?” He looses a hand on the bundle to rub the kid’s tummy, who babbles in response to the touch. “Let’s go home.”

There’s a flurry of snow falling on the walk back, just enough to land on your lashes and crunch beneath your boots. Din is walking quickly, and notably carrying the bundle as far away from you as possible. Dads you say, there’s almost a pep in his step?

When you do get back to the ship, you quickly tuck Grogu into his pram while Din sets the supplies aside. You’ll most likely just sleep here tonight, seeing as the planet is safe enough to not have take off immediately.

When you’ve both finished your tasks, Din motions you towards the small bed you share on the Crest, something tucked ominously behind his back.

“It’s for my peace of mind, so you can’t tell me it’s too much.”

You quirk an eyebrow confused, until he places a pile of fabric in your hands. You pull the soft knit outward it’s stretches just as big as his, black and white with a little snowflake pattern embroidered in. And… wait… is that…

“Are there porgs on this!?” You squeal, and from his laugh you know you’re right. He’s already taking his helmet off and setting it beside him, and now you can see the twinkle in his eyes before you kiss him, soft and sweet. “Thank you.”

He kisses you again, then pulls you in close to his chest.

“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until we get to the porg sanctuary tomorrow.”

#star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #dincember 2023

[isay]

Smooth moves and my hatred of gardening

Ok so I have been meaning to write something for ages but, well you know how it goes, and [squirrel] then I get drawn into furniture restoration videos on YouTube and before you know it, there goes another good intention.

Anyhow, as of today I am still 'between roles'. I've interviewed and interviewed well for three roles recently, but alas and alack I have been first bloody runner up on all three occasions. This sucks.

As a consequence of my being close but without a cigar on the job front, we were forced to move house (as previously documented). We've not exactly downsized but we have reduced our rental outgoings substantially, which is much more tolerable although I still need to find something sooner rather than later.

This move was, while still phenomenally stressful, one of the easier ones we've done over the past decade. We're only the second tenants in what is essentially a new house, although unfortunately the first people in here were smokers, and it took a few days for us to be able to clear the smell of stake cigarettes.

We're in one of Melbourne's leafier suburbs, about 50 mins out from the CBD by train, but to me it has a comfortable feeling of being more like a small town. The house is a four bedder with two of those being dedicated to offices for Kim and me, and it has a decent sized open living, kitchen, dining area, and a small garden for the two dog beasts. I even spent today, the first dry day for the best part of a week, mowing the backyard grass. While I despise gardening with a passion, this was tolerable. I will however need a hat with corks if I'm going to do this in the summer.

The other thing about the back yard is that we have a covered patio and a view of wooded hills in the distance. There are a few tall trees that sway in the neighbours gardens and its a beautiful spot to sit and just listen to the trees and the birds. And the occasional train to break the idyll. We're tucked behind the train track, but the trains are sufficiently infrequent that after a couple of days they now hardly register.

Kim has done a stunning job with the interior decoration, yet again, and we're largely settled. Which is just as well as she's due to head off to the US on a mission to surprise her daughters and the grandkids. This means I'll be home alone for Christmas but for the doggos, which means I'll be watching a bunch of stuff and eating lots of the things she doesn't really enjoy, like mushrooms and lamb.

I have my viewing list that I'm adding to but any suggestions are definitely welcome for movies and TV.

[evita-shelby]

Nothing More Difficult than Love

Chapter 10

Gif by @cillianmurphyaddict

Taglist: @whitejuliana1204 @livelifewondering @lovemesomevesey

Tw: casual mention of suicide thoughts

Married life is good.

Married life away from work is better.

But they leave the idyllic beach house and return to Small Heath after staying in Brighton for another week.

It’s the last week of April when they return to 6 Watery Lane.

Time passes differently then.

Its June when the telephone is put into the shop and July when Tiago discovered he had to live in Casablanca for a year if he wants to remain alive.

He was packing and Lizzie was on the fence about leaving with him because John popped the question and she had said yes.

She’s been fucking her cousin on the side, and no one save for Eva and Polly knew.

Eva was happy she was allowed to use Tommy’s office for her personal use. She would taken that pretty gun they gave her and aimed it at her temple had she been reduced to just a housewife.

Work was good, work didn’t have the risk of fucking a woman and claim its for the greater good. Work didn’t lie to her on her wedding day.

Work unfortunately came with the side effect of being near Grace.

Grace has been a competent secretary; two warehouses have been searched and Eva is this close to killing her.

How could she ever like a person like that?

“What language do you speak on the phone with your family?” Grace asked her in public where everyone can hear them. Everyone at the shop knew Eva didn’t like Grace and most would agree she was justified.

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Eva said with a wink and added, loud enough for people to overhear. “We’re on enemy territory with people waiting for us to fuck up. Better we be accused of being paranoid than for the competition to stumble on a company secret.”

“So, you talk in a language no one speaks to avoid revealing company secrets then. It’s a good strategy.” Grace said as if it didn’t bother her that they had no way of getting a person who speaks that language to listen in.

“Even the government should take a page out of our book, so easy to bribe operators, especially when most people already resent the government.” Eva continued with her work.

Freddie Thorne had been instrumental in getting them favorable contracts with the Camden Town boys.

The first ship filled to the brim with Alfie’s ‘bread’ was heading to New York this morning. In return Solomons would get a significant discount on gemstones and metals mined from the family mines.

Something Grace was unaware of thanks to Florence’s lessons in Hebrew as well as Yiddish.

Thank God, Eva has always been a linguaphile.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to threaten a factory owner who doesn’t ‘do business with bean eaters.’” Eva gestured for her to go away.

“I think you should ask Thomas for that one.” Grace’s cheeks get pink and tries to turn away before Eva or anyone else noticed.

Eva wished she could clobber her with the telephone and be done with it.

“I got his last name now, it’s as good as having him in person.” She said with a laugh.

---

Married life is good.

Married life with a woman who can match his desire and ambition is better.

She’s jealous, she’d warned him about it, but he likes how she gets when she is feeling threatened by Grace.

Tommy swears she cums harder when she knows Grace can hear them.

If they didn’t have a kid by their first anniversary, it won’t be for lack of trying.

“Can’t do this here, love.” His grip on her hips says differently.

Tommy’s lost count on how many times they’ve done it in the snug at the Garrison or his office.

“Tell me who killed Maguire and I might indulge you, wife.” He offered.

He liked the word wife, he thinks.

“I made a grown man cry today, Tommy, can’t that be reason enough for you to fuck me here.” She whined.

She must know, played coy about it and refused to tell him. Said it wasn’t the right time yet, said they were on their honeymoon and their biggest worry was getting caught fucking in the beach again.

“It’s really obvious, I’m surprised you have figured it out yet.” She tugged at his shirt and ground her hips against him. “Even said she’d gone off script that time we were in granny’s parlor.”

Grace. She’d left early, just after they did.

Eva was right she was too sloppy in her work.

“Does the IRA know it was her?” he asked, worried they’d blame it him.

“Killed him in broad daylight.” Eva nodded, her elbows resting on the top of his shoulders and brushing some stray hair away from his face. “I told Florence she should be referred for extensive training. The UVF couldn’t train a dog to shit.”

“Smart mouth like that could get you killed, love.” He tried not to smile.

“Should’ve insulted Carranza sooner if I knew I was going to meet you.” Eva said with an honest shrug.

“Mr. Shelby said they weren’t to be disturbed, sir.” Grace can be heard saying outside, but whoever it is just laughs and barged in anyways.

That had killed the mood.

“Ugh, Evita, can’t you fuck him at home like a normal woman?” Israel de Souza said with a groan as he barged in anyways.

“Why are you here, aren’t you supposed to be heading to your precious yacht, Izzy?” Eva asked him, coming to sit next to Tommy.

“Because I love you most, I waited to give my gift.” Izzy said as she handed her a box wrapped in a wine-red bow.

“What the fuck, Izzy?” She unwraps the box and lifts the lid expecting anything else. “Divorce papers?”

A part of Thomas felt relieved when she seemed shocked at her cousin’s audacity.

“Think of it as a way out, Evita.” He said a little too honestly. “In case things don’t work between the two of you. You’d be able to split the money and not fear any repercussions from the family.”

A way out.

Israel had left his bride, some American socialite named Adeline, at the altar when he realized his elder brother, Andres, was in love with her.

Now Adeline was happily engaged to the man she loved and not his homosexual younger brother.

“I don’t know what to say, Izzy.” Eva said and Tommy knew that sound was not a yes, but not a no either.

It was a maybe I’ll keep this for a rainy day.

It stung that she’d be fine with ending things even when they’ve just begun.

“Keep them, if you burn them now and decide to call it quits, you’ll find the family will make sure they get what they gave him with interest.” Israel said looking at him.

You deserve that; he can see it in Izzy’s brown eyes.

---

There is a hopeful smile on Grace.

Eva wants to commit horrible acts of violence against her person. And Tommy while she’s at it.

He may have earned some of her forgiveness, but its two steps back for every step forward.

Black Swan, maybe she could send them an anonymous tip. Karma could be so slow sometimes.

Sure it might get her on a one-way trip to Paris, or Casablanca with Tiago, or Antigua with Izzy, but it would be worth it.

“Should go for a drive, just us.” He suggests, bringing her hand to his lips.

“We should, amor, but I’d rather not interfere with work if I can.” Eva said sweetly, letting the word love fall from her lips as easy as water.

She’d said that’s what it meant, when he asked for a translation.

Grace was just about to interrupt with something or the other when he shook his head.

“Work can wait.”

---

It takes them ten minutes to change and gather the things for an impromptu picnic at a spot only he seemed to know. Some hazel tree at an abandoned fair ground.

There’s history here, two dead women he had feelings for. Greta, his first love, and Zelda, the girl who died by the time he wanted to do right by her and the baby that killed her.

“You have no idea how much I missed sunny days.” She took off her hat and unpinned her hair.

He likes running his fingers through her dark brown hair, pulling it too when they get too carried away.

“Figured you’d like it.” He kept his eyes closed. The romantic girl in her thought the sunlight made him look like some fairytale prince she’d wake with a kiss.

She loves him, but she’s too much of a coward to say it.

Ever since Antonia left her high and dry, Eva’s developed a fear of rejection.

“I love it. Reminds me of home. Makes me regret all those times I took it for granted.” She wouldn’t deny it she missed Mexico. The Mexico of her childhood, before the war touched her and her loved ones. “Sunlight, palm trees and endless beaches.”

And hurricanes, earthquakes and heatwaves so bad clothes dried in fifteen minutes and several people dropped dead by the end of the day.

But she traded all that for rain, snow and cold so bad Tommy now rubs her ankle until the pain subsides because she wanted to live.

Three suicide attempts and Eva decided she wanted to live when death was coming on someone else’s terms.

“Haven’t done this since before the war.” He said, hands behind his head and hat now forgotten under it.

“I’m honored that you chose to share it with me, Tommy.” She gives in to the urge to snuggle up to him.

“Who else would I share it with?” he asked with a small smile.

She likes his smiles the most, she thinks.

A name comes to mind, but she won’t bring it up. Wouldn’t kill the moment by summoning her.

“If my exile is ever lifted I’m showing you all my favorite places back home.” She promised him. “The hammocks on the back porch, linen closet I had my first kiss in, the beach by the house—”

“Who was your first kiss?” he asked ,stopping her from rambling.

Should she tell him?

“My childhood friend and first love, married the cousin I liked most of all, so now we don’t even write to each other.” She keeps it vague and looks away, embarrassed and hoping to convey that she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“His loss was my gain, Evie, I’m glad he didn’t marry you.” He said, shifting her underneath him. Elbows on each side of her head, making her look at him.

He wouldn’t want her after she said it.

“Promise me you won’t overreact, Tom.” She asked him wanting to avoid his eyes.

“Can’t be that bad, Evie. Whatever it is won’t change my feelings for you.” He kissed her as if to prove he meant it.

They always say that and then act like she just grew a tail and horns.

“It wasn’t a man I had been in love with, it was a woman.” She was afraid of seeing his reaction, so she looked at the bark of the tree they were underneath of. “Kissed her in a linen closet when I was fourteen, thought it meant nothing until we both ended up hostages when we were fifteen and fighting in Villa’s army when we turned eighteen.”

“Go ahead and say what you think, I’ve heard it all before.” She added cynically.

“Polly’s had women lovers, Greta’s brother liked boys, and I’d have to cut out my own tongue if I lied about all the men who fucked men in France and had wives or girlfriends back home. Why would I think you disgusting, Evie?”

Its so sincere it makes her forget he doesn’t love her.

“You know how people are about this, if I told the wrong person I'm bisexual, I’d have to find another country to grant me asylum.” She caressed the side of his face and leaned upwards to kiss him again.

“I’d like to see them try and take you from me, Mrs. Shelby.”

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #oc fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic

[ddaeng-angmoh]

Curse Like Heritage: 2

Summary: Fairies? They apparently weren’t just for kids. The town folk had warned you of a group of young adults that ran about like children, chasing stories and dreams. Despite your childlike curiosity for fairies, you decided to head their warnings and keep away from the odd men. Like the rest of the town, you couldn’t imagine just what could be wrong with the men that they thought folktales and spirits could actually exist. Maybe if you hadn’t touched something that didn’t belong to you, you could have continued ignoring them. Unfortunately, you didn’t have much of a choice. Something weird was happening to you, and they were the only ones who might know what.

TW: None? I think….

A/N: been riding out the month as I housesit for my neighbour. But I finally decided to write after watching a ton of adhd selfhelp tik toks. The Racoon friend helped too- (they keep eating all the cat food I leave out 😫) whenever we see each other we have staring contests as I mime his actions. This thief is cute af. How I could I not want to write. BTS will be in the next chapter, not sure how many members yet though 🤔🤔🤔

~~~~

  Masterlist - Previous - Next

Chapter 2

Puffing out a sigh, You yanked your car into park and stared at the house you had pulled up to. It was truly a gorgeous house. It was old, and cute. Your jaunts on pinterest and animal crossing pulled up words like ‘cottage core’ and ‘fairy core’. That was to say that your temporary abode was idyllic and heavily perfumed. Your Aunt’s front yard was caged in with an old and study fence. The thin slates were overwhelmed by foliage that peaked through the leafage with pale yellow buds. You doubted that was where the sweet scents were blooming from though.

Instead, you were more sure it was the bushes that coiled up from the ground. Ever the horticulturists, you dubbed these bushes the ‘cool dark bushes that every awesome gothic cottage had’. The blue flowers that spilled from the bush were thick and notable. Something you were certain meant ‘hello, I do- in fact- produce too much smells for your poor nose’.

“Yet here we are,’ You said with melancholy. “Approaching a scented doom, with naught a drop of caffeine to mediate it.” Dramatics aside, you really weren’t sure you were ready to take care of the house.

“Well, no time like today.” Yanking the keys from the ignition, you opened the car door and stepped out onto the heated pavement. It was no surprise that the sweet scent of pollen irritated your nose. You rolled your nose with your scrunching to ease the imagined pollen dust that tickled it. “Nature. You are truly as beautiful as you are horrendous.” You declared before slamming the driver car door shut. “I’ll treat you as best I can, but you should invite some friends if you can. I’m not the best at gardening, and you’re all too beautiful to die.”

As expected, the garden around you had no response. The only answer was a cool breeze that ruffled your clothes and soothed the scorch of the sun.

“Of course I’ll do my best. It’s just a warning.” You sang out as you grabbed your suitcases from the back of your car. “I hope you don’t mind me talking to you, studies show that most everything responds well to positive auditory stimuli.” You said as you closed the door with another slam. “You’ll hear a lot of me the next few months. You will even grow tired of my voice, I promise.” You dragged your suitcases across the pebbled driveway, finding an odd peace from the agitated sound.

“Wonder what a normal person would be saying to you guys.” You pondered as you pushed your way through the small gate off the driveway, and down the small walkway. Entering the small front yard made it obvious that no matter how wild the yard looked, it was exceptionally planned. The thick mulch path was well groomed, bordered by vibrant near incandescent blooms. They sprouted from delicate stalks in fragile clusters. Each blossom was smaller than a ladybug, cute and sweet. You longed to trim a few to bring inside, but ignored the temptation.

It was already evening, and you were tired.

You had planned to be at the house and settled much sooner. Arriving at the coffee shop was meant to be a delightful stop for liquid adrenaline. You would then drive to the house, relax on the front porch with the coffee, and allow yourself to take in the garden. You had imagined a lovely hour of daydreaming and humming as you read. Then unpacking in peace with your music blasting, and your anti-stimulation earplugs rested in your ears.

It had been a lovely plan. One that was languid and peaceful. It was meant to let you take in your responsibilities without the actual need to do them.

Yet here you were thrumming with stress after having watched a barista collapse in front of you. You scowled as you kicked mulch onto the front porch with your heavy steps. “Disgusting people, who let’s someone just collapse all alone like that. They all disappeared like cockroaches after the ambulance left. Zero empathy.” You said with a growl, aggressively kicking the mulch off the porch. The stinging scent of the mulch assaulted you, but you shook it off just as you did everything else.

Brushing off the fleeing emotions, you eyed the creamy wood with pinched brows. “How does she even keep it this clean?” Pouting, you dragged your suitcase across the porch. “Does she mop it or something? How can something look so rustically clean.” Whining you pulled the spare keys from your pocket, letting the familiar tinkling of the bells on your keychain ground you. “I’m not mopping a porch, saying this here and now.”

Yet as much as you tried to focus on the here and now, on the pretty house you had entered, and the dreamy yard you had left behind- you found yourself thinking of the boy. The man, you supposed. You were no longer a child, and he was most certainly older than you. If only by a few years, but enough that you knew he wasn’t a boy. He was an adult- like you.

“I certainly don’t feel like an adult.” You grumbled as you shoved the first suitcase down the hall. You realized belatedly that it was a bad idea to let it roll on it’s own as you watched it spin down the hall before crashing to the floor. “Seriously?” A high pitched whine left your lips before you shut the front door, locking it behind you. “What kind of idiot just tosses a suitcase down the hall like that.” Yet as you said that, you found your hands clasping the second suitcase, mere moments from a violent shove and a repeat of the first event.

“No, no, not today.” You released the suitcase and pointed at it like a stern nanny would a misbehaving child. “We are not doing this. You will be pleasantly guided down the hall and there will be no antics.” You were thankful you were alone in the house, the last thing was someone hearing you scold a inanimate object for something you had done.

Trudging over to the case that had crashed it’s way through the hall, you found yourself pulling the odd stone from your pocket. Your thumb rubbed it’s cool surface and you felt a thrum of peace at the soothing sensation. “I wonder if he’s okay.” The rock remained as unimpressive as it had when you first picked it up, and you felt guilt just as strongly now as you had then. “I’ll take you to back to him, I promise.” You felt something clench in your chest even as you said that.

You couldn’t give it to him. You couldn’t. It was yours.

“I wonder if the hospital here is big, it must not be.” Your fingers were clenched around the stone, growing white even as you hauled your suitcase up off the floor with your spare hand. “I don’t even know his name. But that’s fine. Hospitals are simple.” You had been to enough to know that they were stern, but helpful. You could find him fairly easily. Yet you found yourself placing the rock back in your pocket with a grimace. All you had to do, was let the rock go.

Even if it was yours.

“Tomorrow, I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise.”

~~~~

Next

#bts #kpop #bangtan boys #bts x reader #bts fanfic #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #fairy au #bts fairy au #folklore #bts au #unbeta'd #bts ff #kpop ff

[lovejustforaday]

Shoegaze Classics - The Comforts of Madness

The Comforts of Madness - Pale Saints (1990)

Main Genres - Shoegaze, Indie Pop, Dream Pop

A decent sampling of: Post-Punk, Jangle Pop, Neo-Psychedelia, Noise Pop

I've already discussed a lot of the bands that either formed during the second half of the first wave of shoegaze, and/or whose most noteworthy albums happened around that time (roughly 1992-1996).

So today I will be looking at one of the true OG shoegaze bands. These guys really don't get enough of the credit that they deserve for being one of the earliest bands to make the blueprint for that signature swirling world of guitars that would come to be known as shoegaze. Let's explore the amorous imagination of Pale Saints and their debut LP.

The Band

Yes, Pale Saints were one of the first true shoegaze bands, forming in Leeds in 1987 and having already begun making music in the early framework of the subgenre's sound as early as 1988, when they released their first EP of demos.

The main lineup of Pale Saints consisted of Ian Masters, the band's bassist and lead vocalist with his gentle, paper-thin high tenor voice, Graeme Naysmith who performed the band's signature gleaming lead guitar, and Chris Cooper on drums (oddly, that's the third "Chris" drummer for a band in this series so far).

There was also Meriel Barham on guitar and vocals, who joined shortly after the debut LP that I will be reviewing shortly. Fun fact: I learned while researching this that she was very briefly the lead vocalist for Lush in its early days, unimaginable as it might be to consider Lush as a band without the chemistry of Miki on lead and Emma doing the harmonies.

As one of the earliest shoegazing bands, you can hear a lot of influence in the music of Pale Saints from the subgenres of indie music that birthed the original scene, particularly on their debut record. There is a lot of jangly indie pop in their sound, hence more upbeat like their contemporaries Lush, as well as a lot of post-punk influence, especially in the drums.

But a big part of what set Pale Saints apart from other first wave bands was the general coziness of their sound. A lot of their melodies and timbres are personally reminiscent to me of small town life, early adolescent crushes, a cup of tea at your grandparents house, and just being a teenager watching clouds go by while sitting in the bleachers on your afternoon free period.

While other bands like Slowdive and Flying Saucer Attack were spacing out into the abyss, capturing intense feelings of longing, melancholy, and isolation, I would describe Pale Saints as having a very down-to-earth sound. And sometimes, though not always, that's all I want in my shoegaze. Just give me a nice melody and a hit of that sweet, sweet guitar textural euphoria.

I feel like Pale Saints legacy can be heard in a lot of 2010s shoegaze-adjacent bands like DIIV and Wild Nothing. More of the feel-good vibes, with a poppy mix of everything indie from the 80s and early 90s.

Pale Saints got their start by releasing a few EPs (I know, shocking) before dropping their debut record, They signed to the 4AD label along with many other dream pop and early shoegaze bands. Similar story in general to a lot of other bands that I've already covered, so I won't go into excruciating detail. Let's just get to the album.

The Record

The Comforts of Madness is a romantic record, in every sense of the word. Its sonic world is idyllic and full of soft-spoken love, expressed through sharp guitars playing tender melodies and creating clouds of dreamy pinks and baby blues. This is a record for you to just kick back and allow your mind to set sail into sweet bliss.

The production and mastering was handled by a small team including Gil Norton, Al Clay, Tim Davis, and John Fryer. Their work on this record is a lot 'airier' than most first wave shoegaze records. This gives the music a lot of of breathing room, which makes the vocals and wall of guitars A little more echo-y. I'm reminded a lot of the production and mastering on the Cocteau Twins' proto-dream pop sophomore record Head Over Heels.

The opening 2 tracks here are pretty straightforward post-punk. Actually, the whole side A is almost as much post-punk and jangle pop as it could be described as dream pop or shoegaze, whereas side B is much more confidently a traditional shoegaze record.

The album's first real taste of shoegaze comes in the form of "Sea of Sound", a redux of a song from the band's demo EP .

I will say this now: as a massive fan of Slowdive, I must acknowledge that this song was probably a huge influence on their early sound. I can't think of anything more proto-Slowdive than this song actually. The gradual guitar waves mixed with crashing, reverberated cymbals over the mid-slow tempo drums of this song can be heard all across Slowdive's first 3 EPs.

Sure, its a bit less sonically busy, and the guitar timbres are pretty different between a song like this and, say, "Morningrise", but I think its pretty safe to say that one way or another this track was formative to Slowdive. It's also, incidentally, a beautiful song, and Ian Masters has a perfect lullaby voice for this kind of track. Important piece of shoegazing history.

"Little Hammer" is a bit of a peculiar inclusion; an acoustic, waltzing indie pop ballad with sonic imagery that evokes a mysterious wandering caravan. Very soothing, nevertheless.

"A Deep Sleep For Steven" is warm and fuzzy shoegaze timbres injected directly to the veins, unlocking some kind of uncharted remote paradise island deep within the recesses of the listener's mind.

This is followed by "Language of Flowers", a jangly dream pop world of rainbows that would fit nicely in the catalogue of a C86 twee band like The Field Mice.

The band covers 4AD label mate Kendra Smith on "Fell From The Sun", taking the original's gently swaying, hypnotic slowcore psychedelia and turning it into a bouncy, earth-shaking kaleidoscope with beat changes and and an ending with a heavenly chorus of Ian's vocals layered a dozen times.

This bleeds into "Sight of You", the definitive best song on the record. This shoegaze pop gem features adorably woeful, melodramatic teenage love, and a series of flashbang-level brightened guitar riffs, echoing hundreds of times in a hall of auditory stained glass, all held together by an absolutely killer bassline. It's almost impossible not to smile from ear to ear while listening to this wondrously golden track. Sheer fucking pop excellence from start to finish.

Most of the tracks I've cared to mention are on the side B. Yes, I'd call it a back-loaded record, since most of the sugary shoegaze goodness happens on the back end, but this is still more than good enough to be one of the definitive standout records of first wave shoegaze. The Comforts of Madness is a true classic in my opinion.

What Came After That?

As I previously mentioned, Meriel joined the band shortly after the first record, and became an essential part of the bands sound from then on.

After that, Pale Saints only released two more records before the project eventually fell through.

The first of those records is 1992's In Ribbons, a more toned down and psychedelic record, which was a little more coherent with the lowkey atmosphere that would come to dominate the 'scene that celebrates itself' in the 90s. A lot of fans of the band hold the sophomore record in higher regard than the debut, but personally I see it as a noticeable step down in terms of songwriting from the gorgeous melodies that made The Comforts of Madness so memorable.

Some time after the second record, Ian departed from his own band after experiencing burnout with Pale Saints. This left Meriel to become the new face of the band for their last record Slow Buildings in 1994, an album of mostly mid-tempo dream pop songs that seems to divide the fanbase. I have not listened to it in full, but it definitely sounds like a different band to me.

Pale Saints disbanded a couple years later, with Meriel Barham's departure leaving the band with no lead vocalist. Meanwhile, Ian Masters had moved on to several other projects. The dude also moved to Japan in the 2000s, so there's that little tidbit.

Even though Pale Saints disbanded and has stopped putting out music for decades now, they are still one of the standout shoegaze bands to me, and one of the most important bands of that scene that directly and inadvertently influenced many others. You should definitely check them out if you haven't already.

9/10

Highlights: "Sight of You", "Sea of Sound", "A Deep Sleep for Steven", "Fell from the Sun", "Little Hammer", "Language of Flowers"

#album review #music review #list #indie rock #dream pop #shoegaze #indie pop #90s #Ian Masters #Chris Cooper #Graeme Naysmith #shoegaze classics #1990 #The Comforts of Madness #Pale Saints #Meriel Barham

[rocksalt-and-pie]

hey anyone wanna hear one of those batshit (...) crazy Tumblr stories that never happened in a million years? Because one just happened to me and it's almost too ironic NOT to post it on here, the website with the batshit crazy stories.

I live in a rural area. Woods, mountains, lakes, meadows, wildlife, you name it. I drive out of town, boom, nature. I see rabbits and foxes and all kinds of little critters all the time.

On my way home from the gym today, around 10pm when the sun had just gone down, i took the usual route (take me home country roads amirite!), car windows open, blasting Black Sabbath, a nice warm August evening, very idyllic, taste of freedom on my tongue, all that.

All of a sudden something small hits my windshield, bounces off and gets thrown against the window frame on the driver's side, i feel something hitting my thigh. At first I thought i was a bird but the way it was catapulted through the air i assumed it was just a piece of dirt from the corn field right outside, so i keep driving. I literally said out loud "what the fuck was that" and the entire (three minute) drive home i keep checking my rear view mirror, just in case it really had been a bird.

But nothing moves back there, so by the time I park my car outside my house, I'm convinced it was nothing, but still, I'm a bit nervous, and decide to check the backseat.

At first, i don't see anything, but i drive around with a lot of stuff on my backseat, my car is basically my hoarding room where I just put things and forget about them. So I take out my phone and shine an additional light in there.

You should know (and maybe you already do because i keep mentioning it on here) that bats are my favorite animals. As long as I can remember, I've been obsessed with them. One of my earliest memories is having a poster with different bat species on my nursery wall. My dearest stuffed animal was a bat (still have her as a matter of fact). I went through this whole vampire phase in the nineties.

However, finding an actual live bat holding on for dear life on the backseat of my car was not what i had expected and was certainly far from what I was hoping for. In fact, it made me scream like one of those girls who get killed off first in horror movies (i wasn't aware i was even capable of that. I'd also never thought people actually scream in real life when they get startled, especially not me. I can bench press over 120 pounds. I'm basically a man. A weak man, but still kind of a man).

So i spot the bat, it looks me straight in the eye, we stare at each other for a hot second, i scream bloody murder, curse like a sailor, stumble away from the car and around it (picture me slipping on parking lot pebbles like it's quicksand) to open the other door from the other side, to shoo it outside from this side, since it's already facing the driver's side's door.

Turns out it had the same idea, because once i open the door, still cursing in several languages, it is once again facing me. Another second that feels like forever passes and then the bat starts to fly. It's heading straight for my face, i scream again, i duck, the thought that it's probably better for the bat's sonar vision if I don't move crosses my mind but I can't control my reflex, it's missing my head by a few inches and flies off into the night.

Did I mention that i was literally wearing my black sabbath t-shirt? You know, Black Sabbath, Ozzy Osbourne's band? Ozzy Osbourne who is infamous for biting off a bat's head? The band i was also listening to in the car the moment when it decided to hitch a ride??

What are the odds?

I swear it was like i fucking SUMMONED it. One should think i would be prepared (and excited!) for something like this, but no. No. 0/10 experience, do not recommend.

I'm just glad it didn't start flying while I was still driving because that would not have ended well.

Farewell, little vampire, i hope you find your way home. Please never contact me again. I still love you guys and always will but that was the most unnecessary (while also cutest) jumpscare of my life.

#yo i just came back from the ER because i was seriously worried about rabies and tetanus 😎✌️ haven't been there in a couple of years #haha also: to get to the ER i had to drive the exact same route back. needless to say i left my windows up this time lmao #i don't know what to tag this so: #bats #bat #story time #halloween #spirit of halloween #black sabbath #ozzy osbourne #batman #<< yes that's right. because now i totally get why bruce got that phobia. that shit was scary #mp #the bat incident #the bat story

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: How Can I Help You by Laura Sims

How Can I Help You by Laura Sims

No one knows Margo’s real name. Her colleagues and patrons at a small town public library only know her middle-aged normalcy, congeniality, and charm. They have no reason to suspect that she is, in fact, a former nurse with a trail of countless premature deaths in her wake. She has turned a new page, so to speak, and the library is her sanctuary, a place to quell old urges.

That is, at least, until Patricia, a recent graduate and failed novelist, joins the library staff. Patricia quickly notices Margo’s subtly sinister edge, and watches her carefully. When a patron’s death in the library bathroom gives her a hint of Margo’s mysterious past, Patricia can’t resist digging deeper—even as this new fixation becomes all-consuming.

The Last Flight by Julie Clark

Claire Cook has a perfect life. Married to the scion of a political dynasty, with a Manhattan townhouse and a staff of ten, her surroundings are elegant, her days flawlessly choreographed, and her future auspicious. But behind closed doors, nothing is quite as it seems. That perfect husband has a temper that burns as bright as his promising political career, and he's not above using his staff to track Claire's every move, making sure she's living up to his impossible standards. But what he doesn't know is that Claire has worked for months on a plan to vanish.

A chance meeting in an airport bar brings her together with a woman whose circumstances seem equally dire. Together they make a last-minute decision to switch tickets — Claire taking Eva's flight to Oakland, and Eva traveling to Puerto Rico as Claire. They believe the swap will give each of them the head start they need to begin again somewhere far away. But when the flight to Puerto Rico goes down, Claire realizes it's no longer a head start but a new life. Cut off, out of options, with the news of her death about to explode in the media, Claire will assume Eva's identity, and along with it, the secrets Eva fought so hard to keep hidden.

The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz

Jacob Finch Bonner was once a promising young novelist with a respectably published first book. Today, he’s teaching in a third-rate MFA program and struggling to maintain what’s left of his self-respect; he hasn’t written—let alone published—anything decent in years. When Evan Parker, his most arrogant student, announces he doesn’t need Jake’s help because the plot of his book in progress is a sure thing, Jake is prepared to dismiss the boast as typical amateur narcissism. But then . . . he hears the plot.

Jake returns to the downward trajectory of his own career and braces himself for the supernova publication of Evan Parker’s first novel: but it never comes. When he discovers that his former student has died, presumably without ever completing his book, Jake does what any self-respecting writer would do with a story like that—a story that absolutely needs to be told.

In a few short years, all of Evan Parker’s predictions have come true, but Jake is the author enjoying the wave. He is wealthy, famous, praised and read all over the world. But at the height of his glorious new life, an e-mail arrives, the first salvo in a terrifying, anonymous campaign: You are a thief, it says.

As Jake struggles to understand his antagonist and hide the truth from his readers and his publishers, he begins to learn more about his late student, and what he discovers both amazes and terrifies him. Who was Evan Parker, and how did he get the idea for his “sure thing” of a novel? What is the real story behind the plot, and who stole it from whom?

The Unkindness of Ravens by M.E. Hilliard

Greer Hogan is a librarian and an avid reader of murder mysteries. She also has a habit of stumbling upon murdered bodies. The first was her husband's, and the tragic loss led Greer to leave New York behind for a new start in the Village of Raven Hill. But her new home becomes less idyllic when she discovers her best friend sprawled dead on the floor of the library.

Was her friend's demise related to two other deaths that the police deemed accidental? Do the residents of this insular village hold dark secrets about another murder, decades ago? Does a serial killer haunt Raven Hill?

As the body count rises, Greer's anxious musings take a darker turn when she uncovers unexpected and distressing information about her own husband's death...and the man who went to prison for his murder . She is racked with guilt at the possibility that her testimony may have helped to convict an innocent man.

Though Greer admires the masters of deduction she reads about in books, she never expected to have to solve a mystery herself. Fortunately, she possesses a quick wit and a librarian's natural resourcefulness. But will that be enough to protect her from a brilliant, diabolical murderer?

And even if Greer manages to catch the Raven Hill killer, will living with her conscience prove a fate worse than death?

This is the first volume of the "Greer Hogan Mystery" series.

#mystery thriller #thriller #fiction #fiction books #readalikes #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #library books #tbr #tbr pile #to read #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog

[iwanthermidnightz]

Watching fire island is definitely what I needed tonight.

I’ve seen a few documentaries on fire island which I also recommend, the origin of it being the first openly gay town that people escaped to is actually very moving 🏳️‍🌈

🎶 and the coastal town we wandered ‘round had never seen a love as pure as it 🎶

New York’s Fire Island, often referred to as America’s first gay and lesbian town, has been a summer destination for the LGBTQ+ community since at least the 1940s. Its protected beaches, picturesque boardwalks, and vibrant nightlife has made it an idyllic destination, and safe space, for queer New Yorkers wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of the city. Still today, an enormous rainbow flag continues to welcome visitors at the ferry docks, proudly proclaiming the area's identity as a gay sanctuary.

The island is currently home to 17 different small beach towns—including Ocean Beach, Fire Island Pines, and Cherry Grove—and the latter is one of the island’s most popular gay getaways. Now, Cherry Grove’s history is getting its very own exhibit. Titled Safe/Haven, a new showcase from Manhattan’s New York Historical Society explores gay life in Cherry Grove during the 1950s and beyond—doing so through a collection of 70 enlarged photographs, on view until October 11th.

According to the museum, many gay men and women traveled to Cherry Grove well before the Stonewall era. In the 1950s, many flocked to Cherry Grove to find “opportunities for sexual exploration and self-expression—behavior that was both stigmatized and criminalized in the straight world.” And while Cherry Grove has since gone on to be a popular summer destination for all New Yorkers, its popularity during the early days of the gay pride movement was clearly even more poignant and meaningful.

Photographs in the exhibit depict Cherry Grove visitors partaking in elaborate costume parties and wearing fabulous, retro ensembles on the beach. During the '50s, early guests to the island even included some high-profile names such as writer Truman Capote, poet W.H. Auden, or novelist Patricia Highsmith. Whether the town played host to stars or normal folk, however, the exhibit clearly proves a summer at Cherry Grove has always resulted in scrapbook-worthy moments, long before Instagram.

#lgbtq history

[baroquepopcorn]

I went out today

For a walk

I’m back home from uni for the Easter weekend. And the 13th is also coming up, for those who celebrate it

When I worked at the dominos down the street from my home I always used to go to the convenience store beside it after my shift

Often got a diet beverage — diet because I’m afraid of sugar, and they also carried Faygo

So last year I got a diet cola faygo to celebrate with. And this year I’m doing the same. Got redpop this time though

And I was walking there today, to get the soda.

There’s an old building down the street

It used to be a school a time ago, now it’s a church — apparently. Been a church all my life

I’ve seen it all my life

But I never stepped foot in it

Not even once

I’ve passed by it thousands — tens of thousands of times

Never went in

I walked past and looked at the grass. There were some muscari growing, always loved those

There’s an old cemetery right next to it

A tiny grassy lot. I went to it and looked at the graves

There was one that was like an obelisk

The grass felt spongey and uneven

There was a chain fence between the back of the lot and the restaurants behind, some old tangled trees and trash in between

The graves were there since the 1800

I walked to the crosswalk

Past an old diner that I went into a couple of times last year, to sate some curiosity

They put in new concrete, there are new walkways between the street and the tiny strip mall

I remember for a good year or so before I left they were doing construction on it, dug out the old stuff

It’s nicer

And I went there, and I passed the dominos where I used to work and saw my old coworker in the window

And I got the soda next door

And the cashier had a little translucent necklace

And he was wearing a dark side of the moon shirt

It was glass, the necklace. I know it was glass because I own one made of the same stuff — faux moonstone, glass made to look opalescent, blue like how smoke is blue, and also yellow in the right light

And I said “nice necklace”

And he said thanks

And I joked “I think if you’re wearing that shirt I’m supposed to ask you if you can name any other album by the band besides DSOTM”

And he rattled off a couple

And I rattled off a couple more

And he said “oh you must be a fan”

I said “nah, just absorbed it”

And I left

Might go back there, the next day, see if he’s still there

And I went into the dominos and said hi to my old coworker

And I was walking back

The church in the dead school was locked

There was a pottery class in the adjoining building though

An art studio in there

Didn’t know that

Maybe if they have classes in the summer I’ll go there

And I walked around to the back

To the empty field that used to be a schoolyard

Never been there before — actually

With an empty pit of tiny rounded pebbles that used to be a baseball diamond

We had one like that at my old school

Used to look at the tiny rocks, picking out the red ones — granite I think, and picking at the weeds that grew through

It’s just a place that was there

There were a couple of rusty benches

Some old dogshit

It felt strangely idyllic. Like the kind of semi secret place that semi interesting teens in a coming of age movie would hang out in — lamenting the boredom of a small town

I would’ve liked that

Walked home, past a mulberry tree by a driveway

Whoever lives there, in that house with the nice garden I always liked to look at, probably doesn’t know that the mulberries are edible

I didn’t know they grew till last year

In the summer, I think I’ll pick some

There’s plenty of mulberry trees, plenty of mulberries

Not enough people who know to eat them

Passed a man and his dog

Good evening

Went up to the steps in front of the retirement home across from my house

Memorial benches there

Seen that place tens of thousands of times

Walked by those benches thousands of times

Never once went up there

Today I did, I read the names too

I jumped down from the ledge and crossed the street

Went to the backyard

Down the dirty slope

Down by the creek in a flat shore filled with mud

And dead trees

Someone came and cut down a dying tree

They must’ve because I remember two years ago, the tree was there with enormous woody grape vines hanging down from its branches

Then one day, the tree was down — cut down

Someone must’ve done that to stop it from falling where it shouldn’t

That was years ago though

It’s full of little D-holes

Ash trees

The borer bug got to them

There’s so many things that shouldn’t be here

The muddy patch is full of lesser celandine

In the summer it’s full of garlic mustard

There’s multiflora rose

There’s white mulberry trees and Norway maples

There’s English ivy and periwinkle by the other side of the yard

The neighbours plant Siberian squill

And of course whenever we go driving, the lots between the roads are all phragmites

Headspace hotel has got me thinking about this

You should follow them — good blog

Anyway

March is a strange time of year

Too early for anything but a bit of grass and the crocuses

It’s like the 5 am of the seasons — too early to wake up, too late to go back to bed

I never liked it, dreary and muddy

Too warm for snow and the beautiful cleanliness of winter

Too cold and too early for spring

But there’s a solemness there

A liminality

Not everything is idyllic

Sometimes you have to just look at a patch of mud and dead grass and bare trees

I went back inside

So many little things that i just walked past all my life

Anyway, I got the soda.

Happy Easter

Happy 4/13 too

#random #shitpost #yeah #thoughts #suburbia #nature #reblog #story #walking #life #poetry?

[ledenews]

#belmontcounty #BrookeCounty #ChuckHowley #DallasCowboys #HallofFame #MarshallCounty #NFL #ohiocounty #UpperOhioValley #Warwood

[theotakufiles]

Orient Manga

"In the gripping series Orient, an idyllic small town becomes the backdrop for a nerve-wracking tale of mystery and desperation. As locals struggle to uncover the truth behind a spate of unexplained events, alliances are tested, secrets surface, and lives are forever changed.

Set amidst the picturesque landscape of Orient, this tight-knit community is shaken when a series of perplexing incidents rattles their peaceful existence. While authorities scramble for answers, a group of unlikely heroes steps forward to unravel the truth. Among them are Shannon Campbell, a tenacious journalist with a troubled past; Liam Peterson, an enigmatic outsider harboring his own dark secrets; and Emma Martinez, a resourceful local who must confront her inner demons in order to protect her loved ones.

As they delve deeper into their investigation, our protagonists discover that these seemingly unrelated occurrences may be part of something far more sinister lurking beneath Orient's serene facade. They encounter vengeful spirits haunting abandoned buildings, arcane rituals hinting at ancient curses, and clandestine factions wielding influence over every aspect of life in this once-charming town.

With each discovery comes greater danger as they find themselves entangled in a web of conspiracy and deceit. Torn between loyalty to one another and the pursuit of justice, tensions rise among our characters as they must confront their own vulnerabilities and face relentless adversaries determined to ensure that the secrets remain buried forever.

Orient is an exhilarating thriller packed with suspenseful twists and turns that will keep audiences on the edge of their seats. Through its masterfully crafted storytelling and complex character dynamics, this compelling series explores themes of trust, resilience, sacrifice,and what it truly means to belong in a world filled with darkness."

I urge all manga enthusiasts and fans of the thrilling series 'Orient Manga' to take decisive action and show our support for the incredibly talented author. Let's contribute to their success by purchasing the manga directly from gekimanga.com. By doing so, we not only indulge in a captivating story but also provide the author with the recognition and encouragement they greatly deserve. Join me in celebrating their incredible work by adding 'Orient Manga' to your collection today!

#Orient #Manga #mangastyle #mangas #MangaArt

[hypnctics]

@wvkcdlvly / rory & achara

where: kings & queens

since the news of the murder, there is a weight hanging over the small town - a tension that the púca has never experienced before. she is used to afon vale being idyllic, the perfect picture of harmonious small town life, a reprieve from the chaos of their life in new york. but now, something has changed. she can sense it, without knowing quite what it means, and she's not the only one.

pouring out two barti's on the rocks ( a day like today called for rum ) ; the brunette slides one towards her friend. she doesn't know much about cailleach politics, or what impact this latest death will have had, but from the air about achara she can't imagine it's been a positive one. "on the house. eb's can take it out my paycheck." rory attempts a half smile. "you look like you need it as much as i do."

#featuring : achara #speaking : rory #hope this is ok!

[lukowrites]

40 min free write – Safety serial

Westview. A pleasant town, a small town. Nothing much out of the ordinary goes on around these parts. The men, dutiful and diligent, make their way to work every morning, ready for the long day ahead. The women, filled with love and grace, stand on the porches waving them off, looking forward to their own busy days. The children, off to school, the sun shining above them, the green grass waving in the breeze as they stroll by, chatting away with glee about their busy days. Westview is a busy town.

Nigel works the bar, keeping it nicely polished and prim, a warm inviting place for the regulars and rare new faces, ready with a smile and a clean glass for whomever might appear. Today he receives his weekly shipment of liquor, he greets Robert the deliveryman and Robert greets back. They tip their hats in respect and conduct their business. Busy lives, busy men. Robert wheels in the kegs.

However. Robert, being extra-busy this day, thought to stack an extra keg on his trolley to make up for lost time. Oh, Robert. Wheeling the keg through the doorway, he knocks the curb. The extra weight shifts the trolley, sending the kegs tumbling to the floor. If that wasn’t bad enough, Robert in his panic attempts to catch the kegs with a sharp, twisting motion of his back. Laid on the floor, Robert rather regrets his decision. He wasn’t thinking safely.

Barbara, Robert’s wife, is doing the cleaning up at home. She dusts the cabinet with careful precision, wistfully pondering her idyllic existence. A husband and 3 children to love, and plenty of things to do around the house. What more could she ask for?

Just then, the phone rings. It’s the hospital, calling to inform her about Robert’s condition. “Hello, Mrs. Grant speaking?” she answers. “Yes, miss, this is Westview hospital. I regret to inform you that your husband Robert has taken a bit of a tumble and injured his back. He may require surgery, you best get down here as soon as you can. I’m sorry miss, I can only imagine how you must feel. Robert is eager to speak with you, he’s in room 46, please come as soon as you can.” Barbara rushes out to the car and starts it, racing to the hospital.

However. Barbara, in her haste, her thoughts filled with concern for her husband’s welfare, as any good wife would be, neglects to notice how fast she is traveling. Barbara rounds one tight corner a bit too widely, then another, and another. Oh, Barbara. You can guess what’s going to happen next. Taking yet another corner rather too fast, she finds herself hurtling towards another car on the wrong side of the road! She quickly corrects and hits the brakes, but with the car going much too fast she cannot correct adequately. Barbara’s car careens off the road into a ditch, grinding to an abrupt halt, giving her a nasty concussion. She, also, wasn't thinking safely.

Little Jimmy sits in his classroom. Practicing his handwriting, and getting rather good at it, he entwines the letters together adeptly. Just as he’s finishing his 3rd sentence, Mr. Matthews, the principal, knocks on the door, and is invited to enter the classroom by Mrs. Stevens. “HELLO MR. MATTHEWS” chants the class. “Hello, class. I’m afraid I need to speak with little Jimmy in the hallway. If you’d please, Jimmy?” asks Mr. Matthews. Oh dear. Jimmy had never, never been in trouble before. Whatever could it be?

Jimmy follows Mr. Matthews out into the hallway, with the principal shutting the door behind them. “Now, Jimmy, I don’t mean to alarm you, but both your parents have had the misfortune of being in accidents today. They’re both in Westview hospital. Your Father hurt his back while on the job, and your Mother suffered a concussion after crashing her vehicle on the way to the hospital to see your Father. Now, Jimmy, don’t get upset. They’re both going to be fine I’m told. But for now, you’ll need somewhere to stay. Do you have any family you can stay with?”

What a shock this was to poor little Jimmy. “Yes sir, my Aunt Megan and my Uncle Frank over in Eastview. But, sir, would it be ok if I visited my parents in the hospital? I’m ever so worried” pleaded Jimmy. “You’ll have to discuss that with your Aunt and Uncle, Jimmy boy. Now, run back to class, I’ll notify them that you’ll be dropped off at their house by the bus after school.”

Jimmy sat anxiously in his chair for the bell to end, beset by concern for his parents well-being, he wasn't able to perform as well as usual. Riiiiiiing. “Thank you class for another lovely day, see you all tomorrow!” said Mrs. Stevens, as the children jumped out of their chairs, tucking them neatly into their desks, marching politely out of class, eager to tell tales, play games, and muck about as children do while making their way home. Jimmy however, had other plans. Westview hospital was only a few miles from the school, and Jimmy had the idea of going to see his parents, rather than catching the bus to his Aunt and Uncle’s. It was not like Jimmy to disobey the rules, but he was so overcome by concern that he felt he simply had to go. Oh, Jimmy.

As he walked towards the hospital, single-mindedly, he passed under a ladder that was being used by Mr. Alda, the town sign-writer. Mr. Alda was painting a new sign for Horace’s general store, giving it a fresh modern look. Atop the ladder, with a fresh can of green paint, was Mr. Alda, dipping into it with haste, the busy man had only work on his mind, as working men tend to do.

However. Jimmy, in his thoughtful pacing, ducked under the ladder being used by Mr. Alda. Now, as the saying goes, it’s bad luck to walk under a ladder. In this case, it was very bad indeed. Mr. Alda dipped into his paint can a little too carelessly, focused on the lettering on Horace’s sign, and knocked the paint can down, down, down to the ground. “Look out below!” called Mr. Alda, but Jimmy didn’t hear him until all too late. Looking up, he only had time to see the can coming right for his poor little head. THUD! He wasn't thinking safely either, and now he couldn't think straight at all!

Busy people, busy lives. It’s always good to take pride in your work, and do your very best, but one thing to always make time for, is safety. Let’s all do our best to stay safe out there, so we can all continue to live happily, and healthily.

This presentation brought to you by Ulysses cigarettes.

#writing #free write #safety #serial

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - May 8th

Happy Sunday!! Here’s what I’ve been reading this week. As always, leave your fic authors some love if you read and enjoy their stories! 

**Indicates my recent favs 

~*~ 

***Compass Points You Home by foldingcranes

Dear Sharon, Steve thinks, almost with maddening euphoria, stumbling over some rocks as the waves lap at him and his body finally gives itself to shock. You’re not going to believe what happened today.

Then, he passes out.

Uncharted waters by IronSwordStarShield (SweetFanfics)

"Remember that favor you owed me?"

It takes Tony less than two seconds to remember and his confused expression turns to wry caution. "I remember. What about it?"

"I'm cashing it in."

A dark brow arches up in surprise, "What's the favor?"

Steve nods over at the shaving kit. "Help me shave."

--

TL;DR: Tony helps Steve shave off his grief beard (and things are all /wriggly arms)

***I'm Not Really a Waitress (The Swan out of Duckling Remix) by Sineala

Steve asks Tony to paint his nails for him.

as they learned to see by often_adamanta

Tony stayed silent through her terse explanation, anger growing. When Natasha was finished, he asked, “So you’re telling me that Steve’s been missing for almost two months, most likely kidnapped by an unknown organization, a force which employs two brilliant but completely crazy scientists that hate Stark Industries because they were refused jobs on the basis of their psych evals, and I’m only hearing about this now?”

Steve Rogers (Extremely) Limited Adventures In Pet Sitting by IronSwordStarShield (SweetFanfics)

5 times Steve Rogers was asked to pet sit one of his friends pets and the 1 time he has a romantic-existential crisis that's got nothing to do with pet sitting and everything to do with realizing his feelings for Tony at the worst possible time.

Together, At Last by NightsOfTheFilms

It’s been 5 years since A-Day, and Tony Stark was in dyer need of some company. Living on his family’s retreat, alone and depressed, he hoped for a change.

That is until, on a rainy night, a visitor greets him at his doorstep. A man who was supposed to be dead, all these years. A conversation is had, and confessions are made.

Our House in Pleasant Hill (Building Your Home Remix) by navaan

Tony met Steve on a Thursday and he remembered it clearly.

***Fool's Gold (The Snowglobe Remix) by dirigibleplumbing

Sometimes, Steve and Tony's life in the idyllic town of Pleasant Hill just feels...off.

One Night with You (is not going to be enough) by alexcat

Steve picks up a gorgeous stranger who turns out to be Tony Stark, who he's never seen without his Iron Man armor. Things go wonky, but with some patience and help, they go right.

No Surprises by dirigibleplumbing 

Tony (and Nebula) crash-land on the lawn of Avenger’s compound. The first person Tony sees when he steps out of the wreckage is Steve. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or furious that Steve has survived, too. Somehow, the world keeps going. Tony mostly keeps going too—and figures out how to feel about Steve.

Steve Rogers Does (Not Do) Marriage Counseling by Neverever 

Natasha and Clint are kidnapped by HYDRA during a routine mission. Steve and Tony have to go undercover as a married couple at a couples counseling weekend to uncover where they're being held. Except they had kissed at the SHIELD holiday party the day before and Tony doesn't want to talk about it. What is Steve going to do?

Three Challenges by Neverever 

King Steve is offered a marriage alliance with the mysterious Prince Tony which will help his small country greatly. Except that there is a twist. There always is.

Scars and Stitches by Sineala

When Tony shows up to SHIELD to be fitted with the Iron Man armor, Steve, the original Iron Man, is there to help him out.

Stanley Cups Before Wedding Rings by JehBeeEh

Steve Rogers and his team just won the most coveted trophy in hockey. And yet, that's still not the best part of his night.

P.S. by IronDadStan 

Tony leaves for a job opportunity, leaving Steve and the life they built behind.

So, what happens when Tony is planning on moving back home after two years abroad and dials Steve's number?

Battlefield Medicine by Anni Re (AnniRe)

Instead of the quiet Saturday morning they were hoping for, Steve and Tony wake up to discover that their son, Peter, has been critically injured. In the same instance Iron Man and Captain America discover their son is Spiderman. So much for an uneventful weekend.

***Baby One More Time by BlossomsintheMist

“And your color now?” Tony said. He was moving around behind him, Steve thought, and then told himself to lay off. He didn’t need to analyze Tony’s every movement; this wasn’t a mission. He didn’t need to be Commander Rogers right now, wasn’t that the whole point?

Well, maybe he needed Tony’s help with that. Maybe that was the whole point.

“Green,” he breathed out into the covers over the bed.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot by Neverever

When Tony is terribly hurt during a fight with the Black Order, Steve takes a leap of faith and summons a portal to find help. He finds help in a very unexpected way.

once a day, every day by silkspectred

Looking back on it, Tony tries to understand how he could have been possibly fooled.

The man doesn’t smell like Steve. He doesn’t walk like Steve, doesn’t talk like Steve.

He only looks like Steve, and yet everyone, including Tony, believed that he was Steve. For months.

Love Across the Multiverse by Sineala

Mojo presents: Love Across the Multiverse! In tonight's episode, a battle-hardened supersoldier finds himself drawn to his handsome, genius teammate! It's an agonizing duel between his long-held beliefs and the secret passions of his heart! Will true love conquer all? There's only one way to find out! Don't miss the highlight of the season!

(Viewer discretion is advised. Mojoworld residents who do not vote for their favorite participants of the season will be summarily sent to the arena. All hail Mojo.)

we have nothing but our winter by meidui

“You have to kill me,” Steve says, almost pleading. His ankles and wrists are red and raw where he’s been straining against the cuffs, and it hurts to look at. “You have to. HYDRA’s in my head and I’m going to kill the Avengers.”

No Ordinary Love by 51stCenturyFox

Thanks to a magical spell by invading aliens from another realm, Tony Stark becomes a woman...for three months.

Obviously there's no way he's not going to take his new body for a test drive. And who better to help him with it that our very own Captain America, Steve Rogers, the straighter-than-a-ruler guy he's been falling in love with totally against his will and who's finally noticing him now...

if i should stumble by AvengersTime

"The gunshot wound had been too infected, in between the lack of care and the blood loss there was no choice but to amputate the leg from above the knee and down."

Tony's captivity had changed everything about him, he gained and lost valuable things, and led him to be Iron Man. He's perfectly okay with his secrets to remain secrets, but he didn't expect his team to actually care. Also, unconsciously falling in love with Captain America was definitely not part of the plan.

#stevetony weekly #stevetony #stevetony fic #stony fic #fanfic #fic list #fic rec list #stony fic recs #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america