old light bulb

My First One Star Review on AirBnB

Story by shawk11/reddit

Buckle up boys and girls. My buddy and I just experienced some grade-A Creepyshit while on a trip to Red Rocks in Colorado. I write a lot of things down anyway and so I figured I might as well post the story here and see what you guys think.

So who here has used AirBnB? raises hand. I think I’ve used it no less than twenty times. All great experiences up until this point, seriously.

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things about the great comet

i had such good seats i was #blessed i was right in front of one of the platforms where they dance and do shit on. i cry.

  • Marya D stood in front of me and told the people in my row to turn of their cells phones and keep their legs out of the way
  • they interact with the audience A LOT
  • the lighting is absolutely gorgeous they had old fashioned light bulbs lower from the ceiling and they looked like stars
  • the intense strobe lights when they’re at the club.. also the ensamble comes out with hardly any clothes on and glow stick braclets and that stuff, and it’s such a great contrast from the period clothing everyone else is wearing.
  • the way prince bolkonsky draws out every. single. word during private and intimate life of the house
  • andrey standing in the snow during no one else
  • The way the spotlights shine on each character as they’re introduced in the prologue
  • Marya D in general
  • during Letters dolokhov tells a row in the audience to pass down the love letter and the last guy in the row stood up and handed it to natasha. the dolokhov taps the first guy in the row on the shoulder and gives him a fist bump 
  • also during letters one of the cast members came over gave the woman sitting next to me a small letter
  •  the way pierre picks up the pistol during dust and ashes and looks at it when he says if i die here tonight, then i die in my sleep
  • during balaga ensemble members gave out these shakers for the audience to shake during the song
  • Balaga in general is just a really fun part just because of all the energy in the room
  • the song charming, it was just amazing all that strength amber gray has in her voice
  • at the end of a few high energy song the cast members dancing on platforms would suddenly just collapse and rest their arms around audience members
  • denee benton danced on the platform right in front of me. that is all.
  • when prince bolkonsky finds a “cheap french thing” in the audience
  • during natasha and the bolkonskys natasha and princess mary grab stools and carry them over to peoples tables and sorta stare at each other
  • the great comet at the end lights up so brightly and then fades slowly as the last song ends
  • i literally cannot recommend it highly enough

other aesthetics i dig are:

  • roadside diners and waitresses who are almost too friendly, serving waffles with the kind of syrup that stings your tongue a bit from the sweetness
  • gas stations at night
  • empty parking lots/empty highways in the middle of the day when there’s no reason for them to be so lonely
  • the kind of mood the song “sleepwalk” by santo and johnny gives you
  • train tracks that haven’t seen a train in years
  • bars that smell of musk and desperately need a few new light bulbs, old band posters are pealing off the brick walls. a jukebox in the corner coughs out oldies
  • pawn shops with an unnatural amount of dolls for sale
Succession - ‘Kitten and the Don’

This is a short standalone fiction within @junkpilestuff ‘s (who originally created it) and @nyublackneko AU within an AU ‘Kitten and the Don’. Generally this version of the Undertale Mob AU is about a 30 years old Frisk, who becomes something like a right hand man of a Don, the 48 year old Gaster!Sans (referred to as G). 

The short story revolves around this duo after they have worked together for more than ten years. Succession might become a pressing question.

I fear I take this AU way too seriously, but I recently read a lot about the original Godfather and this just started to develop itself until I had a strong urge to turn it into a real story. It was hard to imagine their characters and how they would interact, but it also was fun and something completely different in style than I usually do. So warning because of mild swearing?

Dedicated to the amazing @junkpilestuff and @nyublackneko and to those awesome people out there who continue to like my stories. :)

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Modern Mythology

Three Generations of Earth

She winds primroses and daisy chains through her hair, leaving a trail of petals wherever she goes. She keeps a line of succulents along her window sill and checks on them three times a day. She has pages and pages of nothing but watercolor paint hung up on her walls so she’s surrounded by color. She paints moss in the shape of a peace sign on the walls of City Hall. (She waters her graffiti each night because she hates the thought of anything dying. She loves listening to the world breathe.) She likes to plant things where they aren’t wanted–hyacinths in a crooked toilet, left out on the curb. Asters in the holes of a couch cushion. Forget-me-not’s in old emptied light bulbs, catching the light. She likes to take bits of this new, shiny world, and hand them back to the forests.

Autumn used to be her favorite time of year–she loved the smell of the leaves, the spices, the pumpkins fresh from the earth. But now it means goodbye, and rain storms, and frost in the early mornings, stretching like veins across the glass. Bad days filled with dark thoughts and cold skin and salt water have turned into bad weeks, bad months, entire bad seasons. She only drinks water with lemon and orange and grapefruit slices, so sour it makes her mouth dry. She keeps root vegetables in the cellar, stacked in dirt-caked crates she sometimes sells at the market for twenty dollars a pop. She keeps wrapped squares of caramel in her pocket, to melt on her tongue during the slow shift at work. She spends her days rearranging flowers until they say I love you, or thank you, or congratulations on the promotion, or I’m sorry I fucked your best friend, or get well soon. (The cards are always left empty.) She plants sunflowers near the front porch, and they shrivel and die every winter. But they always bloom back every spring.

She only drinks her coffee cold, and has sugary cereal for each breakfast, so sweet it makes her teeth ache. She dyes her hair in the bathroom whenever she feels restless, itchy for a change–pale blues, pinks and purples staining the porcelain sink. She keeps a cool flask of marshmallow vodka on her at all times, just in case of emergency. She bathes in pink rose water, cloudy with coconut oil. She sends homemade cards in the mail for every occasion, filling the envelopes with metallic glitter until they nearly overflow. The flecks of silver, gold and purple are stuck under her nails for weeks. On the bridge of her nose like freckles. She leaves traces of them on her husband’s lips until they glint in the moonlight. She wakes just after sunset and falls asleep at dawn. She eats the winter fruits–cactus pears and passion fruits, persimmons and pomegranates, always pomegranates. She keeps a few seeds tucked under her tongue for when he kisses her goodbye. She presses them into his mouth until he laughs. It’s an inside joke between them, but the whole world thinks they know.

mine is for the young lovers who trade their heart for someone else’s like kids swapping candy on the playground and the childhood sweethearts who are trying desperately to never grow up and moving away from home for the first time and parcels wrapped with string and framed photographs hanging slightly askew and the feeling you get when the person you love walks into the room and roadtrips and maps marked out with places to go and picking flowers and running through tall grass in fields

sparks fly is for the people in your life who shine like fireworks against the night sky and how fleeting and precious they are for the moments they touch your existence with their light and writing unimportant things in metallic gel pens and old fashioned light bulbs that flicker and that moment when your breath catches in your throat because something is so beautiful and spontaneous dance parties and glittery clothes on dull days and coloured tights

back to december is for everyone who was cold and sharp like ice but thawed with the spring only to realise it was too late and that everything had moved on with the seasons and awkward conversations with people you used to know and biting the skin off your lips without realising and lying awake at night tossing and turning and rewriting the past and oversized striped shirts with pastel lace underwear and hot chocolate in foam cups and buying books but not reading them just letting the pile up

speak now is for the boys and girls who bottle things up inside just to have them burst like party poppers during the most inappropriate moments and pastel coloured hair dyes and candy that tastes like soap and patches of forget-me-nots and realising that the pretend games you used to play as kids about being adults are suddenly your reality and drinking cheap bright coloured alcohol from plastic cups and laughing so hard that you can’t breathe and taking control of your fairytale ending

dear john is for anyone who fights ice with fire and exploring derelict buildings covered in beautiful street art and letting your happiness become a person not just a feeling and drunken apologies from people who you used to trust and the need you feel to tip your drink down their shirt and handwritten predictions for the future and ripped up poems from when you were much younger and hard looks from soft people who have been taken advantage of too many times

mean is for the victims of merciless jealousy in its many and varied forms and the way it ties their hands behind backs and soft white lace dresses with heavy biker boots and leather jackets and bubblegum smiles with razor sharp teeth and pencil drawings of far off cities in school books and forgetting people after graduation and doing things in spite of and despite the people who try and hold you back and texts you wrote defending yourself and never sent and chipped black nail varnish

the story of the us is for the keepers of their own self-fulfilling prophecies bound in hardback and tortoise shell glasses frames and floral vintage skirts and soft silk blouses and half-written diary pages that nobody will ever see and seeing your life from the outside like a cliché teen movie and the feeling you get when a piece of fiction perfectly reflects real life and old leather watches and velvet armchairs big enough to curl up on and typewriters and cold nights where the wind screams outside but you are safe and warm in bed

never grow up is for the lost boys and girls who turned down neverland and now live in regret and still sleeping with stuffed toys and gingham dresses and white frilly socks and screaming the lyrics to songs your parents first taught you and long lost family recipes and in-jokes and ice pops that numb your fingers and turn your tongue blue and plastic solar systems that make the whole of space less frightening and let you feel more powerful than you ever will again and tear-stained shirts from long goodbyes and the desperate primal fear of the dark

enchanted is for anyone who still believes in love at first sight and allowing yourself to fall in love just a little bit with everyone who makes you smile as if in exchange for making you feel lighter you hand over a slither of your heart and strings of fairylights on bare branches and white roses and evenings too incredible to ever be captured in pictures or words and smiling so hard your face aches and messy braids and rainbow opal rings and tall white candles and flopping down on your bed at the end of the night and grinning at the ceiling like a long lost friend

better than revenge is for everyone who is forged from betrayal and made stronger by the heartbreak and protected by their tears and plum coloured lipsticks and leather skirts and the physical pain that comes with always feeling second best and always getting chosen last and late night phone arguments and shots of hard liquor and the instinct we all have to shoot others down to make ourselves feel better and sharp silver jewelry and sharper comebacks and thunder that warns you lightning is on it’s way

innocent is for anyone in your life that deserves a second chance to bloom in the spring and long days on cold beaches and lighthouses and beacons that save lives and collections of  pale rocks and shells and sea glass and the moment you sit down and decide to reinvent yourself and white shirts embroidered with flowers and soap foam and the rainbows in the bubbles and patchwork blankets and lanterns and strings of fake pearls and trying to convince someone you love to see themselves how you see them

haunted is for those who lost someone and in the process began to fade away and became a ghost themselves and black and white film photography reels and cracked mirrors and strings of bells on ribbon and nights when you lie awake in the dark alone but sensing someone else’s presence and packs of tarot cards and wide brimmed hats and long black skirts and modern magic and burning incense and windchimes and eyes that have seen too much and could drag you in like black holes

last kiss is for the heartbreak historians who study romances and predict patterns but never could have forseen what was to come and drinking cups of tea all alone with only a book for company and crying so much you can taste whole swimming pools in your lungs and sitting on kitchen floors with a blanket around your shoulders like the ruler you were before you fell so far and delicate pale blue dresses with heavy knitted jumpers that you can bury yourself in and looking after plants but not yourself 

long live is for you and every boundary you have pushed and every beautiful brushstroke you have left on the world and spiraling pieces of metallic confetti and birthday candles that won’t blow out and being the change you want to see in the world and random acts of kindness that make someone else’s day and rooms full of balloons and party dresses and the songs of our generation sung loudly and out of tune and photos taken on dark nights where your friends smiles are enough to illuminate it all and realising you are more than just a sad story and that mostly you are not alone

Staying the Night (Luke Hemmings)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: You spend the night studying with Luke, but find yourself locked out of your dorm room/suite when you decide to call it a night. Will Luke invite you inside? Will you stop yourself from falling for Luke? *[Possible anxiety trigger]

Luke + Y/N (Y/N’s POV)
Word count: 2,703

It was late, way past your normal bed time. With your face buried in your textbook and eyes beginning to droop, your efforts to cram for tomorrow’s biology exam seemed helpless. The common lounge area in your dorm was quiet - practically everyone else was asleep.

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‘The Asylum’ ( Closed RP with @thecomradekitty )

Dizzying pain rushed through her body as she continued writhing under her bonds, in attempt to escape the cold bed she was tied down to. It was to no avail. The thick straps were impossible to escape. Her chest heaved up and down with panic as the nurses rolled the bed through the dingy and dim hallways, which were only barely lit with the flickering light of old florescent bulbs hanging from the hall’s dreary ceilings. Her tired silver eyes could make out nothing but mere shadows of people surrounding her.

How? How were they finally able to catch it, the winged creature with monumental powers? They called her 'it’ because she was nothing but an object to them. An object that they could use for their own terrible and gruesome experimentation, which included torture of both physical and mental properties.

Seek’s capture was one that had been attempted many times before, and no one had succeeded until now. She had basically been electrocuted until the point of losing consciousness and all mobility. The electricity had stumped her powers, and that’s how they had finally captured her. Her muscles were still twitching with electrical pulses as they had strapped her down to the hard bed, and secured and tied down every part of her body they were able to.

The entirety of her shaking body ached with horrible and numbing pain, and her hopeless movements grew tired and slow as she slowly began to slip back into unconsciousness. A trickle of blood ran from her nose as darkness engulfed her sight, and her movement ceased.

And there she went… wheeled off into a room full of nothing but horrific torture. To have her sanity and dignity ripped away from her… stolen. To be fully defeated. To become only a shell of the person she once was.

And little did she know, there were many others who had been robbed of the same thing she had. As Seek would soon discover, she was not the only patient that was being held within the asylum…

Really, this is all you need to know about YGO

Q: How many Yu-Gi-Oh! fans does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Seven

- One Arc-V fan to enthuse about how awesome the new light bulb is going to be.

- One Zexal fan to bewail the passing of the old light bulb and post gifs on Tumblr about all the feels it gave them.

- One 5Ds fan to explain that they liked the light bulb at the beginning but it shouldn’t have died at the end.

- One GX fan to post long essays about how there’s really nothing wrong with the light bulb. The darkened light bulb is a deconstruction of the usual light bulb tropes that associate light bulbs with illumination, and demonstrates the realistic results of depending so much on a single fallible light bulb that will inevitably break. You’d enjoy the light bulb more if you understood the symbolism.

- One DM fan to complain about how much they hate all the new light bulbs they’re making these days.

- One manga purist to insist that the light bulb was better before someone changed it.

- And one fanfic writer to make sure that light bulb finally gets properly screwed!

Shifter AU with @themaskedoddball
Continued from here

Aigis silently leads him through the darkness of the house until they’re at the top floor. She’s still unsure of her decision.Well…He only needed to hide for a bit right? He’ll most likely leave once he’s safe.

Once they’re reached their destination Aigis reaches for the switch and a dim light bulb brightens the room. It was dusty and full of cobwebs.

The blonde heads over to the single small window, that’s the only thing that brings light to the room during the day besides the old light bulb. Right now she doesn’t see any other people wandering out, since it’s so late after all.

Perhaps she can take this as an opportunity to get to know her…guest?

“So, Umm…” Aigis turns her attention back to the teal-haired man and tentatively asked.

“Who…are you?” The question came out rather rude, but she doesn’t know how to initiate small talk in such a situation.

(Deemo -Last Dream-) 【Chapter Translation】 Kina Chiren - 1st Movement (Part 1)

The girl finds herself in a mysterious world…

Chapter 2 of 7, Part 1 of 6. (Master Post)

And so begins what might possibly be a really long ride…

Happy New Year, everyone! And it’s entirely a coincidence that I’m posting the first two parts of this novel on international holidays…

This chapter happens to be the longest of the novel (it takes up practically half of the book), so I’m taking things in stride and translating it bit by bit. Perhaps one of the biggest problem I’ve faced is the endless use of repetition, which might sound nice in Japanese but comes off as annoyance in English. So yeah, I’ve cut down on those. Another trouble I had was the use of extra long sentences. I couldn’t keep them in their literal form so I often had to rewrite them and/or split one sentence into multiple ones.

One last problem I had was the grammar. The writing often switches between present and past tense, but I’ve opted to try and keep things in the tense it should be. However, grammar is and never was a strong point of mine, since everything supposedly comes naturally to me (what’s an adverb again?). If any grammar nazi notices any inconsistency, do inform me.

My gosh, novel translation is a whole different type of monster.

But enough of complains! I hope you guys enjoy the first part of six (or more) of the 1st Movement! :D

PS: Please pardon my horrible scanning abilities.

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