#Once again in glorious technicolor

[truly-sincerely]

Sarith’s solo act is over! The Appleseeds are back!

The Verdant Deep has updated!

[sangcreole]

@childofmanynames (continued)

He hasn't had an incident like this in...he can't recall, actually. Decades, perhaps. The transition in the blood had been harrowing, to be sure. New senses, new muscles, new parts of his mind pulled from stagnation into their full glory with the catalyst of Lestat's blood now alchemising the very core of his being. Just when he had given it up, it seems, the world was rebirthed and gifted to him in stunning technicolor. Once again, the flowers smelled sweet. Once again, his heart would soar at the melody of a far away breeze.

And he'd gotten so good at it; at tempering the hunger, knowing when to let it simmer and when to gracefully give way to the crimson tide. Two hundred years and he has just begun to finally know what peace is possible, if only he is willing to cut out that part of him that lusts in the dark and temper the newfound strength in his bones.

He can't recall much detail from the victims he had overtaken on this evening; partly because there was nothing particularly interesting about them, and partly because that has always been Louis' way, not to know about his victims. Easier to kill, that way. Easier to forget.

There had been several men this time, all nefarious. And Louis had gotten greedy, had picked them all off and even enjoyed the struggle, the muffled cries as he snapped their bones and drank from the fount.

For one shining moment the swoon had been glorious, positively gluttonous, as the warmth settled in his belly and curled in his toes. But the wind outside had been so cold on his evening that even the glow of fresh blood was quickly diminished by the cutting frost.

By the time he returned home, he was utterly sick with it; the sensation of cold, sticky blood soaking though his clothes, in his hair, on his skin, under his nails. Dead blood. Cold blood. It smells repulsive, the earthy scent of rot rounded out with a distinct metallic tang. The way it crusts around his nail bed, makes each and every movement feel so completely wrong. The way the lights suddenly seem too bright in the kitchen, and the sound of the running water makes his heart beat a little faster, and everything suddenly feels too much, too much, too much.

The sudden touch of smaller hands against his own startles him for a moment. The gesture of love is met with rejection on instinct alone, and he drops the bloody brush if only to avoid the agony of yet another thing touching his body. But it is Armand's voice, at last, that cuts through the frenzy in his mind— that familiar cadence, the soft-spoken question imbued with such heart-wrenching concern.

"It feels...I can't stand it," his throat feels so tight as he strains for an answer, and suddenly his face feels warm, flushed with the threat of tears behind his eyes as he raises his head to meet his beloved and crumbles at the sheer gentle understanding behind warm brown eyes.

He glances down at his shirt and feels his chest tighten at the way the dampened material clings to his stomach and outlines each muscle.

"I need to get it off."

[hotelhamartia]

From strangers' faces, strangers' lands | Shropshire | 2.2

At some point Shropshire finished off what little food he brought with him, and bereft of any more real sustenance has continued to bite at the inside of his cheeks as he chewed over everyone's performances. He spares an annoyed glance at Pax for the unserious accusation but keeps his mouth shut for once. He couldn't afford to waste time with that this trial. Not when the test was how well they could pay attention to the little they've been given this time, how well they could pierce through the masks these people insisted on putting on. A little hypocritical perhaps, considering what he's been keeping hidden from most of the guests here, but of course his situation was different. Everyone else's little pretend games are mere annoyances compared to his long work preserving his family's name. Don't you all know you're making it terribly difficult for the rest of us to stay alive here? he wants to ask; whenever Purple snaps, when Bleak plays at confessing, when Father finds his nerve. If you weren't all such squirrelly bastards we wouldn't all be at risk right now. So, it almost comes to as a relief to him when Father finally takes the mask off. For aboutttttt, hm, ten seconds give or take. After that things start to go very wrong. Father begins to unfold and it and it and it- -It's like those nights so long ago it's like the fever dream that wasn't it's like seeing it in the corner of his room them in the corner of his room something he shouldn't be allowed to see something he wants to see more of so badly- It's a surprise, to say the least! He's smiling as he stares right past Purple and at the star of the show, any warning signs his brain must have been trying to transmit are halted by a wall of pure awe and wonder. For a moment  it feels like this whole sordid ordeal had been worth it, to get front-row seats to the universe unfolding itself in front of him in glorious technicolor. What a treat, for his senses to be flooded with such an awesome and terrible eminence. (In the classical sense. Awesome in that it engendered awe. Terrible in that it engendered terror.) He supposes he can forgive Father now, for the deception. He was on his level, after all. Then it starts to sting a bit, but even as tears start to form he can't bring himself to stop. He intends to remember this moment a long time from now, after all. Remember this man. He'd been so pleasant to speak to time and again after all, it'd just be rude to look away at this point. Besides, he could probably take the strain better than most. He opens his mouth but it takes him a few seconds to remember how to produce sound again. When he does it comes out half-hushed: he hadn't remembered to breath since Father, (the thing sharing space with Father?), decided to reveal the truth. "By God, you're exquisite." A distant part of his mind manages to catch that Doll is pleading for mercy for the man who just unfurled himself, but the exact words get washed away. Regardless, he concurs with the general sentiment, in a way. "Yes. It would be a crime to consign you to the grave. Don't we agree?"

[ritikajyala]

Can you write something about soulmates?

Aunt Maya showed me her old photographs one night, decades of her life divided in stacks. She had a black bob in the 80s and wore long pants dripping with youth. I was so pretty then. She sighed. Aunt Maya is 52 now and lives with 3 cats- Bob, Leah and Metatron. But she was 25 once, and had a blonde shag in the 90s. She rode a motorcycle. Oh, who's this?, I ask. The picture shows a man, young and tall, on a black harley, my aunt wrapped around him, a brunette this time.

"He's Connor, an old friend."

I wait for her to continue. She doesn't, so we move to the next page. I see the same man with her, in bars and beaches, at home and in a garage. They look good together, I think. And I look up at her, her eyes lost somewhere else, some other time. I flip the page again, and he's there again, in group pictures, alone with my aunt, with her best friends, lan and Sherly. A drop falls on the album and I see her face again, sketched with wrinkles and smile lines, a tear rolling down her left cheek.

I know what he is to her and what he means, a part of her past buried in albums becoming a part of her life once again.

"Look at him, he looks so happy here", she points to a picture of him in a cabin. He's holding her hand and they're giggling, her hair longer with blue tips.

"When I look at him, I'm 19 again, and he becomes everything, my past and my future. I always wondered what he'd look like when he was old. I wondered if he thought the same for me, I still wonder sometimes."

"Do you still love him?" I know the answer.

She's lost again, in old restaurants that have shut down, forests that don't exist anymore, in moments she has guarded as memories, refusing to forget them. Slowly, she pulls herself back to me.

"I did, once. I don't know, memory is a faulty thing and the past moves in circles. I don't think about some things for months, only to obsess over them for a week. Also, I don't think I know him now. I did once, and I loved him, loved who he was and who he could be. But I know he's a different person now, I am too."

We stay quiet for a while.

Quietly, she begins to flip the pages again. We silently watch her life, their life together. Seasons go by in minutes, hair changing from the brightest yellows to purple streaks, a glorious technicolor of Aunt Maya. I realise a while later that Connor stops showing up in her photographs. New men and women take his place, stay for a while and then disappear. She looks older now, and her friends change, people moving in and out of her life. The photographs change too, become more clear, vibrant, sharper. At one point, her hair stops changing, a tuft of grey emerging at the roots, getting longer and finally taking over. She still rides motorcycles and goes out with her friends, gets Metatron first- an entire album to his name. Bob and Leah follow.

At a point, the pictures stop. Mobile phones take over the empty pages in the albums. We sit still for a while.

"Was he your soulmate?"

She stared at me for a while, then smiled.

"That's just a word." She laughs, a hearty, full chuckle, her eyes shining with life. "Can I live without him? Yes, I already have. Did I love him the most? That's absurd, there's no scale for loving. Also, I think I love Metatron the most." Another chuckle.

"I think we loved each other with the kind of love that lasts lifetimes. But I've loved many people with different kinds of love that would last lifetimes. We had our time and we lived a beautiful life. Is that enough to become a soulmate? I don't know. 

"I guess that's it. You love someone in the moment, and you make more of them and then you hope those moments will last forever, knowing that they won't. So you gather those moments in your memory, hold them close and cherish them and make new ones.

"I think that's what soulmates are, moments of your life that you want to keep forever."

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

AMARANTHE Announces New Vocalist, Shares 'Damnation Flame' Single

Swedish modern metallers AMARANTHE have released a new single, "Damnation Flame". With its symphonic touch and uplifting chorus, the track once again showcases the band's outstanding songwriting skills while maintaining AMARANTHE's status as one of Sweden's most exciting metal exports.

AMARANTHE guitarist Olof Mörck states about the new song: "'Damnation Flame' breaks new ground for us in many ways, and in all the best ways possible. This is the very first AMARANTHE song to feature symphonic elements, something we've wanted to do for a long time, and the darkened vampiric theme melds together perfectly with our take on modern melodic metal!

"AMARANTHE has always been about being boundless and constantly reinventing ourselves, and by now you know to expect the unexpected. This is 100% pure passion poured into music, as you will no doubt experience yourself from the very first second — enjoy 'Damnation Flame', with the promise of much more to come SOON!"

"Damnation Flame" also introduces AMARANTHE's new vocalist Mikael Sehlin to the band's internationally growing fanbase.

Olof continues: "After a practically global search, and several amazing guest growlers to help us out on shows and tours, we finally found just the right person for the job, in our very own Swedish capital of Stockholm! Mikael Sehlin has EVERYTHING it takes to join the AMARANTHE lineup, and his versatility and musicality completes and underscores our vision for our new album and the general future for AMARANTHE perfectly. From the deepest guttural grunts to soaring screams Mikael is growling perfection incarnate, so please give a roaring welcome to the new star upon the AMARANTHE firmament!"

Sehlin himself adds: "Hello everyone, Mike here! I am very thrilled to tell you I will fill the slot as the new AMARANTHE growler and I can't wait to meet you guys out there! I hope you like the upcoming tracks to which I've had the honor recording growls to. Take care and see you soon!"

AMARANTHE has spent more than a decade establishing itself as a formidable, positive and fervently melodic force for metallic good. From their explosive self-titled debut in 2011 to the more sophisticated, streamlined likes of 2014's "Massive Addictive" and its immaculate follow-up "Maximalism" (2016),AMARANTHE have masterfully blurred the lines between melodic metal, crushing brutality, cinematic sweep and futuristic sparkle.

Led by the endlessly ingenious songwriting of guitarist Mörck and powerhouse vocalist Elize Ryd, their rise to prominence has been a joy to behold.

Widely acclaimed as a dazzling live act, the Swedes reached a new peak of creativity on 2018's hugely successful "Helix", an album that pushed the band’s vision to new heights, breadths and depths, while showcasing the brilliance of Elize and her co-vocalist, recent recruit Nils Molin.

Not just a glorious return but a wholesale upgrade for their exuberant sound, their latest offering, 2020's "Manifest", is simply the most daring, dynamic and unforgettable album that AMARANTHE have released to date. The perfect antidote to the nagging anxieties plaguing us all in these troubled times, it's a Technicolor celebration of metal's ageless power, blazing with all of life’s colours and chaos, but delivered with utmost artistry and skill.

AMARANTHE 2023 is:

Elize Ryd - vocals Mikael Sehlin - growls Olof Mörck - guitars, keyboards Johan Andreassen - bass Morten Løwe Sørensen - drums Nils Molin - vocals

[candiedspit]

Hypochondria

Tomorrow it will be all champagne and light and that deep undercarriage of a voluptuous sadness; a forever pang. Tomorrow my tide will turn into oblivion and I will walk as I was meant to walk with the others snubbed by time. Tomorrow it will all be over with. Tomorrow, thirty. I say it with a touch of my teeth.

I have built a little life for myself; a light box. 

I have black, gnarly cigars in the afternoon as I read The Post, pretending I am a business man waiting on a very important call. Any minute, the white house. My mouth tastes of rye and soot. And in the evenings, I pair my cigarettes with a tall, beaming glass of hot milk. I spend my time well. I go out on the rooftop naked as a seal as my laundry hangs from pink plastic clips and dries in the upheavals of a great wind. Nobody sees me aside from the sun, that glorious bastards in his spins of heaven. I walk from corner to corner beneath a pair of violet sunglasses; I love only mangled hearts. My latest rose was an inmate at the penitentiary. His name was Mark. In photos he sent, he is dark haired and tall and with the face of someone who would walk on a tightrope for the chance to be held. That Bukowski nose. He loved honey bees, the glean of a sharpened knife and the idea of me. 

I spritzed my letters with vanilla perfume and admitted my sins in ballpoint. I’m a bad whore, I confessed once. Just the muddied technicolor slick coating the streets once the rain has passed. A dream you had as a child, sick in bed with dengue. 

Do you ever get so sad you can’t walk? He asked in return. 

I never replied again. 

I taped the letter up above my bed where it still rests. He sent one last letter a few weeks later which simply read: Darling? I couldn’t bring myself to answer him, his glaring question. I often dreamt of him and I in a tugboat. In the dreams, we danced against the backdrop of a wondrous moonlight, free as animals. I miss him as one misses childhood. But to the plains you can never return. He touched me with his ink. But we could not have lasted. He was in for fifteen more years. He never told me what he had done. Just something awful. 

In the photos I sent him, my hair is bleached and cut three inches above my shoulders. I stare into the camera as though it could love me. But nothing ever does. I don’t deserve him. Or anything much. I’m a Leviathan, a creep. In the very pit of my soul is a desire for carnage. I would hurt you given the chance. And I would not look back. As a child, my mother told me I ought to be a starlet. But I have nothing to offer. She must have mistaken this cruelty for attraction. If you scooped your hand into my skull, you would come back up with a fist full of dirt. So, I keep myself away, tucked in corners nobody can reach. 

For the last ten years, I have worked as a telephone girl, someone men call when they are unable or unwilling to allow themselves the grace of touch. When a mere voice is enough. I am fast, quick and easy. I say all the right things. No hang ups, apologies or arguments. I speak, tease and hang up. I call them sweetheart and leave. My hours are from ten in the evening to four in the morning. The sea of men beckons through the night: Fonda, Fonda, Fonda! My name is the sound the mind makes in a silent room. 

My apartment is speckled with porcelain cats and bras and orange wigs and sheer curtains and seashells and emptied pill bottles. I drink from long glasses. I do not do the dishes. 

Ruby wants to take me out tonight. 

Ruby is my only friend, someone I met at a karaoke bar at eighteen when I was all pleated skirts and lipsticks and mangos. When I hadn’t yet realized how deep my black root ran. Ruby is a beautiful person. She works in a cafe, has many friends and does many things. But each week she carves out hours for me. Sometimes we talk shit for hours, the words babbling over themselves. Other times, we sit in front of the television like infants, dumb and silent and content with light and noise. 

Ruby is due to arrive soon. 

I put out my burning cigarette and rise from the velvet of the couch and put on a fresh pot of coffee. I dress myself in a simplistic black dress with stretched stockings covering my pink, smooth legs. Chandeliers hang from my ears. As I straighten my hair again, the doorbell rings out a penetrative aria. And suddenly — Ruby is there in an olive green dress coating her body like the prettiest of cellophane. Her hair is especially red, burning through the daylight like the first fire from which humanity was birthed. In which humans realized exactly what they were and imagined what they could be. Her naked shoulders are exposed and smattered with freckles. I kiss her on the mouth and she steps inside.

We are going to the ballet. For a few hours, we will sit in the midst of a crowd and watch the thin, elegant dancers twirl and leap and stagger through the bliss of music and lace. Mozart will play overhead like some kind of dream. And in the morning, the world will be over with.

Let some light in for Christs’ sake, Ruby says, getting up to split the curtains open. Sunlight blasts through the room like the shine of an atom bomb. 

I should not have let myself live. 

[goldenzingy46butwriteblr]

I'm going on a long plane ride soon, and I really need long Tomarry fics (that are completed preferably.) I like time travel stories, serial killers, basically anything that I can totally escape into please please please please :D

Fuck yeah, I’ve got you.

Sky Full Of Glass by SofiaBane

The Horcruxes have become unstuck in time, and it’s the responsibility of the Master of Death to figure out why. And since Voldemort needs to be punished for transgressing into the realm of Death anyway, he might as well come along.

A quite delightful take on the Master of Death Harry, who has complete dominion over space and time, too. 20k.

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

Now, I have no doubt that you already know this one, but how could I leave it off a rec list? The prequel is also fantastic. 211k.

The Ouroboros by WyrmLivvy

Once upon a time, a woman wished to have a child with the man she loved, that would have his porcelain skin as white as snow, his rosy cheeks red as blood, and his dark hair black as ebony. …

The child was not born with red cheeks but red eyes.

(Tomarry vampire/fairy tale/Snow White AU)

Now, this is not quite time travel or serial killers, but it’s absolutely fantastic all the same, and absolutely worth the read. Fantasy, dark-ish, and a happy ending. 20k.

The Eyes in the Bramblebush by relic_crown

For a long time, Tom was just another violinist, perfect and beautiful and boring. Then Harry truly saw him, and knew he was anything but boring - he was the edge of a pocketknife, the red of nightshade berries, a lie in a crisp black coat.

Harry had never fallen in love so quickly.

Once again, technically neither time travel nor serial killers, but it is most certainly something to sink your teeth into. 12k.

Darling, do you remember what you did? by Baryshnikov

Tom had been waiting to do this.

Waiting for a very, very long time.

Oh, this is gloriously dark, with knifeplay and power games galore. 13k, technically a WIP, but you’d be missing out if you didn’t read it.

Mania by Angel_Of_Mysteries

Harry and Tom have been together for two years, and Harry’s finally ready to take their relationship to the next level. Little does he know, so is Tom.

I can’t say much on this without spoiling it, but it’s wonderfully painful. 9k.

No Body, No Crime by duplicity

Harry works as a car mechanic in a small town. He and Ginny are best friends, their close bond the product of a traumatic event that scarred them both as children.

Now that they are adults with separate lives, it seems inevitable that they will drift apart. That is, until Ginny confides in Harry that she thinks her husband—the charming, enigmatic Tom Riddle—is cheating on her.

A day later, Ginny goes missing. Harry is convinced that Tom is behind her disappearance, and becomes determined to exact justice by any means necessary.

This one was so goddamn painful, but so brilliant. 20k.

God of Nothing by machiavelli

The other orphans avoid Tom Riddle like the plague. He lounges on his broken throne, watches the whispers fade around him with sharp, dark eyes. Nobody can quite work out why he seems so fascinated with the new boy, who walks in smelling of smoke and hasn't said a word in three days.

I remember following this one as each of the chapters came out, and by the gods it was glorious. In a much darker universe, half tinged with madness, Harry and Tom meet, and it’s perfect. 83k.

dust in your pocket by relic_crown

Two hundred years ago, the world died.

All that remains is a technicolor wasteland, swirling with ash and populated by radiation-warped humans. Tom, immortal and bloodthirsty, crowns herself queen of this ruined world and wanders it namelessly, building and burning empires at will.

Then there's Harry: eyes like chips of sea glass, hopeful in the face of the apocalypse -- and by far the most dangerous person Tom's ever met.

Holy shit. An almost steampunk AU, femslash, and completely incredible in every single way. 24k.

Dreams and Darkness Collide by Epic Solemnity (Dark_Cyan_Star)

Though he was raised without the expectation of saving the world, Harry still possesses a savior complex. Only, it's so dark and twistedly immoral, he created an alter ego to practice vigilantism. His second identity makes a name for himself and immediately ensnares Minister Riddle's complete and obsessive attention. A game of cat and mouse begins and morals are questioned.

One of my favourites, although I’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. Vigilante!Serial killer!Harry and Minister!Riddle, who still runs the Death Eaters, and makes for one dangerous, tantalising romance. 209k.

Footsteps On Empty Floorboards by AgonisedDaily

After a recent screw-up on the job whilst hunting a serial killer, Harry needs a break from being an Auror. His new Victorian house promises just that, but living with the restless spirit of a former Dark Lord isn't quite part of the peace and quiet he was hoping for.

Okay, okay, okay, I know you said completed works only, but I’m incapable of leaving this beauty off my rec list. Maybe I’m just a sucker for darker things, but I think this is beautiful. 125k.

Break and Burn and End by duplicity

Harry Potter has died over and over again: in a cradle, in a graveyard, in a courtyard. If Harry Potter has ever lived, if he was the accumulation of years filled with burdens and grief, he has long since warped into someone else.

So let Harry Potter die, let his legacy run like ink through the pages of history until it dries for evermore. The world is better off without Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort both, so Harry will kill the one of them that he can and hope it will be enough.

OR: Past and present, Harry and Voldemort are connected. A tale of two immortals and the question of what it means to have an adversary when forever is in the cards.

Immortals AU of letting go and healing. I love it. 17k.

I hope this is enough, and, as always, I had fun making it! I will do the customary my fics are great please read them at the end, but considering most of them are WIPs or oneshots, I won’t include them as serious fic recs. You’ve been spared.

[sophsun1]

What's an arc that you particularly liked? And feel like it's been dealt with appropriately?

Hey anon!

I think the most consistent arc and the most enjoyable for me is probably the Stockwell arc in Season 3. Brian working for Stockwell to try and advance his career even though everyone rightfully hated him doing it to seeing him come to his senses and ultimately be the one to bring him down and save Liberty Avenue was brilliant.

I enjoyed having Britin be on opposite sides with Brian working on Stockwell's campaign and Justin voicing his hatred for him and actively fighting against it was very in character for both of them. I loved Justin standing up for what he believed in both at school when he refused to apologise to Stockwell and when he embraced his 'be gay do crime' era and combined his love of art with his love of justice.

The scene of Brian catching him photocopying his posters is a fave because anytime we get Justin using Brian's own words and beliefs against him it's glorious. Justin refusing to back down because he's doing what he believes in, he's thinking for himself like Brian once told him to. Not to mention all the gorgeous parallels we get from this arc with the 'some asshole told me if you believe in something strongly enough you have to be willing to sacrifice everything' inspiring Brian to become The Concerned Citizens For The Truth. Seeing how much they've impacted each others lives and how much they listen to the others opinions and take on board what they've said.

Britin being a proper team was so good both of them helping and supporting each other. We get them as not only criminal boyfriends but criminal detectives too 😅

Brian losing his job and telling Vance he'd never understand why he did what he did because he's straight is also a standout moment. The beautiful yet powerful scene of him with Debbie at the loft is also so telling because you get to see underneath all the bravado. That he really is such a kind and caring person you just have to take the time to see it, even though he may take things too far sometimes and self destruct he'll do the right thing in the end.

The show tackling real life political issues at the time and tying it in with this storyline and having them win was great. How can you not tear up at Debbie's speech to Emmett about mourning the losses because they're many but also celebrating the wins because they're few.

I don't think I can express how much I love them in 3x14 and the final scene of Liberty Avenue becoming technicolor once again <3

[tcm]

Minnelli Magic and The Band Wagon By Constance Cherise

Period piece perfection, attention to detail and an impeccable eye. You simply cannot rival Oscar winner and three-time Golden Globe winner Vincente Minnelli during the height of his career. It was as if the musical Technicolor coming-of-age was waiting for his destined arrival. But, what else would you expect from the former art director of Radio City Music Hall? There, he designed and eventually directed monthly stage shows (Minnelli designed the iconic Parade of Wooden Soldiers costume, still in use for the annual Radio City Christmas Spectacular) before his imminent second coming to Hollywood.

There is a bevy of activity in MGM’s THE BAND WAGON (‘53), which easily turn this entry into a three-page essay. An ideal introduction for a novice, THE BAND WAGON is a visual encapsulation of the glorious movie musical as well as a quintessential vehicle for Minnelli to once again prove his raison d'être. Comprised of a “hundred or more little things,” THE BAND WAGON is a sheer explosion of joy with its ideal cast of characters, visually captivating sets and driving musical orchestrations which move the film along at an even pace, producing the industry standard of “That's Entertainment.” Its jaunty Broadway opening score sounds as if we’re sitting in a vaudeville theatre enjoying a live pit orchestra and on its own, is enough to lift spirits. The plot is simple. A washed-up hoofer attempts a comeback on the Broadway stage. Comedic pandemonium ensues.

No other film probably reflects Minnelli's former Radio City stage experience more than this backstage musical. The rehearsal scene where sections of the stage revolve, lift and lower, stage queues get confused and all goes amusingly wrong, was no doubt a reference to Radio City's elevator hydraulic system. Minnelli’s expertise in stage design is given an appropriate nod with the Proscenium Theatre models that appear on the shelf behind the couch in Jeff Cordova’s yellow reception room. However, this is not Minnelli's only production that offers us an insider's perspective. A film removing the Hollywood gloss, equally as exquisite, even in black and white, is the wickedly fun THE BAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL (‘52).

The majority of the main characters were based on some aspect of themselves or real-life people. Characters Lily and Lester Marton were based on screenwriters/lyricists Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who were already industry colleagues with Minnelli, as both also toiled on Broadway before arriving in Hollywood. Fred Astaire honestly felt that Cyd Charisse was too tall for him and his angst was written into the script. Oscar Levant was a true-life hypochondriac.

Of course, humor is not lost wherein the opening scene an auctioneer references Swinging Down to Panama as an amusing referral to the Astaire and Rogers film, FLYING DOWN TO RIO (‘33). Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney’s backyard musicals receive a playful jab when Lester (Oscar Levant) heartily states, "Why can't us kids get together and put on ourselves a show?” Our introduction to Jeff Cordova (Jack Buchanan) through the theatre poster—Jeff Cordova presents, adapted from... Jeff Cordova, starring Jeff Cordova, (pause, pan out and down) directed by Jeff Cordova— is the ideal introduction to the character’s omnipresent ego. Listening to the vocals of “You and the Night and the Music” with its embellished bravado, along with the excess of explosives could cause an individual to start coughing in sympathy. The film is brimming with sophisticated comedy, surely inspired by cocktail-charged, jovial conversations in smoke-filled rooms.

As usual, Minnelli’s sets are vibrant and imaginative. Cordova's home has an elegant Paul Williams aura. Even the doors are glamorous. Each room is painted in various colors to reflect different moods, including the ever-present Minnelli Red. In the theatre, where we are first introduced to Gabrielle (Cyd Charisse), the surreal stage backdrop is dreamy and existential with its combination of calming hues. I always look forward to that simplistically stunning scene. 

Speaking of Charisse, where was costume designer Mary Ann Nyberg all of our lives? It took me some time to realize the intricacies of the black A-line dress Charisse wears when arriving at Cordova’s home, more than likely because I was coveting her green gloves. Fashion fans, please gather. A scalloped black lace top is coupled with a green A-line underskirt bottom that is overlapped with black lace. The entire dress is covered in shimmering green sparkles. It is delicately romantic and ingenious all together, and is the most beautiful costume in the film, until the “New Sun in the Sky” number.

Nyburg hits the bullseye, creating a depiction of the sun manifested in the form of a dress. She then adds a red tulle arm puff. It is perfection until Charisse peels herself from a full-length jacket to reveal her dazzling red dress in the “Girl Hunt” ballet, which she claimed was her favorite costume. Charise performs an iconic dance in a nightclub once again as she did with Gene Kelly in SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN (‘52) and once again, those legs! Nyberg isn't done. The final scene finds Nanette Fabray in a blue and black A-line tulle gown and Charisse in a sweetheart neckline, moss green taffeta, fitted, biased cut gown, with so many details this will turn into a run-on sentence.

Many classic musical fans consider “Dancing in the Dark” one of the most romantic scenes put on film. After a contentious working relationship Tony (Astaire) and Gabrielle must learn if they truly can dance together to foster a hit show, which of course they do at night in the park, alone. Naturally, it is also the budding of their love affair. There was one notable scene that ended on the cutting room floor, “Two-Faced Woman,” and I am convinced it was a mistake to remove because its double-sided origami-like set design is exquisitely unique. However, it is easily found online and absolutely worth watching.

A barrage of aesthetically lush scenes appear in Minnelli films, executed so dynamically well you don't consciously realize how much is being absorbed and that is his exact tool of entrapment. A visual assault of the senses that naturally entices into his vortex. Critic Derek Malcolm had it exactly right when he said “The more you look at it, the more perfect it seems. Hollywood doesn't make films like this now because public taste has changed. But it's doubtful if they could anyway.”

It is doubtful that today's Hollywood could conjure the artistry of THE BANDWAGON, as it retains the same timeless light-hearted exuberance over 65 years later. Not only is that exceptional directing, it is pure Minnelli magic.

[thiswasinevitableid]

.. for mermay.. 8, indruck nsfw?

Here you go! Duck’s design is based on a rudderfish.

Authors note: since prompt 8 is “drunk,” drinking is mentioned in this. It’s also implied Indrid is doing some self-destructive behaviors to cope with trauma.

The party is a splendid success, as was the book launch that preceded it. Indrid has done what he does best, lined his pockets and those of his agents and editors, and gotten everyone talking. 

“Did you see the one of the pyres?”

“The one of the hurricane aftermath, the look in the girls eyes is so haunting.”

“Personally, I found the jeweled mummies a bit much, but the emergency room shots? Stunning.”

This is why Indrid is sitting on the rocks on his private cove, and will not be going back up to the house until he’s polished off all three of these heavily spiked bottles of eggnog. It’s better than the time he emptied most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, but not by much. 

He was tipsy when he snuck out the back door and down the path to the sea. So when the empty bottle rolls away, all he can do is whap at the air close to it and wave as it plonks into the water.

“Oops. Hic, oh, hic, well, what’s one more piece of trash in, hic, a dying world?”

He yelps, knocking his remaining bottles into the sand as the lost one flies through the air towards him. Or he thinks that’s the trajectory; it’s hard to tell. The point is, the bottle is back and he’s clutching his chest like an old man in a silent movie.

“Look, man, I know it’s temptin to just leave trash everywhere, but there are signs up and down this beach sayin not to litter.” A man floats in the water at the foot of the rock, black hair plastered to his forehead and muscular arms crossed over a bare chest. 

“It, hic, it was an accident. And I am, hic, in no condition to retrieve anything from the water.”

The man frowns, “shit, if you’re that drunk, you oughta get off the rocks. It’s deep here, you might drown. Go sit on the sand, it’s safer. Warmer too, still holdin heat from the sun.”

“I, I’m fine, hic, don’t, don’t need some wet man babying me.” He stands to prove his point, nearly falls face first into the water, and sits back down, “see, m’fine.”

“Get off the rock.” The man says, sounding for all the world like a cat owner two seconds from grabbing the spray bottle. 

“No.” Indrid huffs. 

Water splashes his face and he sputters.

The man pulls his hand back, preparing to send another wave at him, “Get.”

“Fuck you” 

The splash is much more intense this time and he curses, scrambles sideways, and falls to his knees in the sand. 

“That’s better, now I don’t gotta worry about fishin your careless ass outta the water.”

“If, if we are, hic, t-talking careless, you, you shouldn’t say a thing. You’re, hic, swimming in cold water with, without a wetsuit.”

The man shrugs, “Don’t need one.” With that he floats on his back, bringing a dark-scaled tail into view. 

“You’re, hic, you’re a merman.” He crawls forward, breathless, “that’s so cool, wanna, gotta photograph you, so handsome, gotta-”

“Nope” The merman swims back into deeper water, “no pictures, those can end real bad for us.”

“But, but you’re so beautiful. If, hic, if pictures are no good, I, I can draw. I draw good, even if no one likes it.”

“Uh, you really wanna sit on a cold beach paintin my picture instead of hangin out at that shindig?” He points up the hill to the brightly lit house. 

“No, nonono, hic, don’t, don’t wanna go back up there, s’awful, hic.” 

“Awful?” The merman sounds concerned, and in the patchy moonlight he swims close enough that Indrid can see the details of his face, “is someone up there hurtin you?”

“No” He shakes his head, “it, it-”

“Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He mutters as the merman retreat beneath waves. As his guests grow closer he stands, carefully picks up all three bottles, and heads uphill to meet them.

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

Indrid shuffles through the house, head pounding, decides he hates the following people, in this order:

-His agent

-Himself

-Whoever mentioned it was a shame there were no Plata River Bridge photos, causing Indrid to drink a whole martini in order to bite his tongue.

It’s not until his third cup of coffee that he remembers the merman. God, he was really rude to someone who was just trying to keep him from drowning.

Very, very carefully, he makes his way to the beach, sketchbook in one hand and thermos in the other. 

“Hello?” He calls across the water. No reply. Of course there isn’t; the merman has the whole ocean to explore, there’s no reason for him to hang around Indrid’s house. He sighs, sits down on a piece of driftwood, and draws. Normally the cold would drive him back indoors, but today it’s bracing, blowing his hangover off of him and down the sand. 

“Glad to see you’re in one piece” 

Indrid sits bolt upright. The merman waves to him.

“You came back?”

“Yeah? I mean, this is part of my rounds, so I come by here at least once a day. More surprised you’re down here when it’s all cold and grey.”

“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was being stubborn and rude.”

“You were, but I was kinda grumpy too. At the end of my shift and all that, but I shouldn’t have splashed you.” He smiles, swims closer, “do you, uh, remember any of the other stuff you said?”

“I have a vague memory of begging to photograph you. Or maybe draw, it’s all very fuzzy.”

“You did. I, uh” the merman’s cheeks turn pink, “you were really, uh, well let’s just say you were excited at the idea of drawin me, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to..”

“Yes”  Indrid shifts down into the sand so he can rest his back on the log, “can we do it now? You said you were on rounds, and if you’re working I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m done for the day. Should I get on a rock or somethin?”

“Can you come on the sand at all? Oh, ah, it seems you can.” Indrid scoots back as the merman slides gracefully ashore. In the daylight, his tail is a rich green-brown, his hair streaked with grey near his forehead. His eyes, one green and one brown, regard Indrid with curiosity as he turns to a new page. 

“You got a name?”

“Indrid. Indrid Cold.”

“Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.” The mer stretches his arms and tail, and were Indrid in a self-flattering frame of mind he’d say he was flexing for him, “I gotta pose?”

“No, as long as you don’t move too much, I should be fine.”

Duck nods, shifts onto his belly with his tail dipped in the surf. Indrid sets his pen to paper, asks Duck what he does for work and when the tunnel vision of his project dissipates, it’s dusk.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

The merman yawns, “S’okay, it was nice talkin with you, and I got to birdwatch some. Can I see?”

Indrid turns the sketchbook. Mis-matched eyes widen. 

“Holy fuck. You made me look damn good.”

“I simply captured you as you are.” Indrid feels a blush moving up his cheeks as Duck scoots closer. 

“You gonna do this tomorrow?  If, uh, if you don’t wanna draw me again, I can bring you some interestin stuff from the water. If, uh, if you want.”

His schedule for tomorrow starts with a phone interview, after which he was planning to sit in a dark living room and watch mindless T.V.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Duck.”

The merman beams, waves, and then pushes back into the sea, raising his tail once in farewell. 

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

“...now, Juno thinks it’s-holy fuck ‘Drid, was that your stomach?” Duck raises his head from where he’s been sort-of-napping, sort of talking.

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it was.” He has his watercolors out today, a surprise stretch of sunny days rendering the beach and hillsides in glorious technicolor. 

“When did you last eat?”

“..............”

“Oh my fuckin god, ‘Drid, no wonder you look like you’re close to passin out.”

“I’m fine.” 

Duck has that look on his face again, the one he got when Indrid admitted to walking the cliff-side trails when he’s coming back from the roadhouse on the edge of town. When Indrid says he hasn’t slept in two days. 

The merman says nothing, goes back to reading the book of nature essays Indrid brought him. A buzz cuts through the air and he groans, shuts off the alarm on his phone, “I need to go get ready for that interview.”

“You wanna meet up tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Great. But, uh, seem to remember you promised me some of those cookies you say are the best in the world.”

Indrid smirks, “I suppose I did.”

“I want some. But not for dinner, with dinner. You feel me?” There’s an edge in his drawl, as formidable and unyielding as the nearby cliff-face. 

“Alright, I'll bring you some other things to try.” Indrid smiles, suddenly looking forward to a grocery run. 

Duck, now in the water, looks over his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Indrid shivers even as heat blooms in his chest. 

When sunset graces the beach, Indrid is busy setting out a half dozen take-out containers and many plastic boxes of cookies and fruit.

“Damn” Duck slides and wiggles his way onto the sand by the blanket, “you went all out.”

“You wanted a meal. I brought you one.”

“Sure did.” Duck sniffs the air, taps a carry-out bowl of soup, “what’s this?”

“Umm” Indrid peers at the label, “french onion soup.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

The merman downs the soup as fast as temperature allows, munches happily on the orange segments Indrid peels and samples the cookies. 

“Ahhh” He flops his head into Indrid’s lap, “that hit the spot.”

The human nods, bottle of pineapple soda on his lips. He’s so happy and full. 

Wait.

“Duck? Did you suggest this just so I would eat something?”

The face in his lap only looks a little chagrined, “Kinda. I been meanin to suggest this, and today seemed like the right time. And, uh, I know sometimes I have a hard time lookin after myself for me, but if someone else tells me to do it, or I have to do it as part of lookin after them, it’s easier. Thought that might be goin’ on with you. I, uh, I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Nono” Indrid sets a hand in his hair, stroking it so Duck rubs his cheek against his thigh, “you’re right. It was easier to do the kind thing for myself when you told me to. Would, ah, would you be willing to do it again.” 

Duck meets his eyes, gaze bubbling with something dark and alluring, “Sure thing, ‘Drid.”

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

“Before you go, I wanted to give you this.” Indrid holds out the small camera. Duck, perched on a rock, takes it with a puzzled frown. He adds, “It’s waterproof. You mentioned you wish you could take pictures of the things you see in your home. I couldn’t think of a better time to give you than your trip.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” Duck leans forward, rubbing their cheeks together, “you remember your instructions?”

“Yes.” He whimpers when Duck pulls back. 

“Good. Want you in good shape when I get home.” Duck’s voice returns to normal, “should be back in a week. I’ll see you then.”

Indrid waves goodbye, keeps waving well past the point where Duck could see him, even if he surfaced. Then he grabs the basket of fresh oysters and heads to the house to call Barclay. 

The phone calls and dinners with one of his few friends in town are part of his agreement with Duck. The mer told him he couldn’t meet every night, so maybe Indrid should find other forms of company. He also helpfully supplies Indrid with fresh shellfish that he has no idea how to cook, but his friend the professional chef certainly does. This dovetails nicely with his promise to Duck to eat at least one full meal a day.

It’s not just the strange dynamic they’ve hit upon that’s improving his life; it’s Duck. The merman makes him feel so safe, like someone cares about the real him and not just the him that makes them money or feeds their morbid curiosity. Not to mention he’s even more handsome than Indrid first thought and he spends plenty of nights jerking off to the thought of a cool, strong tail between his legs. 

He does well the first five days Duck is gone. Barclay and Dani come over for dinner, he paints and draws prolifically, and he even reads up on whether it’s feasible for him to adopt rats (“those are kinda like otters, right?” “close enough.”). Friday night his agent calls, excitedly reporting that it’ll soon be the fifth anniversary of the Plata River incident and the magazine is getting requests for a feature on it and Indrid will be perfect. 

Indrid says he’ll think about it, hangs up, and opens the fridge. He promised Duck he’d only drink if it was with dinner or with friends. He grabs two wine coolers and heads into the living room. 

The next day, he’s idly fiddling with the dating app he hasn’t touched since December when a new profile appears. Very good looking, close by, clearly just passing through town, and interested in Indrid. He invites him over, spends the next half hour getting ready, and even cleans the bedroom because well, that’s what he’d do for Duck, he should do it for anyone else he brings over. 

Indrid opens the door at the second knock. The guy takes one look at him, shakes his head, and returns to his car.

Indrid downs the remaining wine coolers and goes down to the beach to sulk. He tucks his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees, and rocks back and forth. He’s nearly sober when a voice drifts across the waves.

“‘Drid?” 

He looks up, glasses slipping down his nose, “Duck? You’re, you’re back.”

“Yep. It was fast goin the last ten miles. Brought the camera back, think you gotta be the one to get the pictures off, but I can’t wait to show you all the cool shit we saw.”

“Me neither” He stands and instantly pitches forward, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water. 

“You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“You and Barclay have a good time?” He’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving him an out, and Indrid decides that isn’t what he wants. 

“I wasn't with Barclay. I got horrible news last night, and today I tried to get laid and got rejected, and I’m at the point in my life where I nearly called after the guy that he could keep his eyes shut and I’d just blow him so he wouldn’t need to look at or touch me. So yes, Duck, I’ve been drinking.”

Duck’s expression swims between concern and disappointment, then comes to rest on neutral steel, “That ain’t what we agreed.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t care, I don’t” he aims a splash at Duck, “it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, nothing will come of it, same as always.”

The merman cocks an eyebrow, “You really think that? You forgettin I said there’d be consequences if you broke the rules?”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Indrid splashes him again.

Duck smiles, reminding him that all his teeth end in points, “Didn’t say anythin about scarin you. You really wanna believe that nothing matters, you can head home. Or” he points to a nearby rock, “you go get on your hands and knees, facin the cliffs.”

Indrid crawls gracelessly to the designated spot. It’s dangerous to turn his back on the ocean, but a gentle voice in his mind reminds him over and over that Duck is here. Duck won’t let him get hurt. 

There’s a splash as Duck pulls himself onto the rock. Then a whoosh of air and a sting in the right side of his ass. He yelps, startled, and looks behind him.

“If this ain’t okay, need you to say so now.” Duck’s eyes are wide and hungry, but his hands stay on the grey rock. 

“It’s okay.” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t decide if he should tell Duck this is not remotely a punishment. 

Another sharp grin, “Eyes front.”

Indrid’s barely obeyed when the next strike comes. Duck is strong and makes no attempt to hide it, hitting him hard enough that his knees jolt forward in the sand. The pain lights him up each time, forces the thing knotted in his chest up towards his throat. 

When the blows stop he whimpers, pushing his ass back in hopes of more.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I ain’t done with you by a long shot.” Cold fingers undo his fly, bring his pants and underwear down to his thighs. He’s expecting another hit, wiggles his ass in anticipation. 

What he gets are teeth sinking into his skin.

“AH!GOD” He yells loud enough that his throat hurts.

Duck chuckles, “Holler all you want, we both know no one can hear what goes on on this beach, especially with all the wind.” He bites down again, Indrid thrashing and moaning as teeth sink into already reddened skin. Duck growls in reply, savaging the meat of his as and grazing his teeth along his thighs, dangerously close to his balls. He’s already getting hard, the process expedited by warm breath and lips on his body. 

He moans embarrassingly loud when Duck shoves his ass apart.

“Damn, you really did get all prepped for that fella. Shame, he didn’t know what he was missin.” The plug hits the sand to his right.

“You, you don’t have to flatter meEEEoh, oh Duckohmygoodness.” His fingers dig into the sand as the merman teases his rim with a flexible tongue. There’s a muffled laugh, but Duck doesn’t respond beyond that, too busy threatening him with a good time as his tongue gives an experimental push. 

Then it retreats and he turns his head left and right, delivering quick bites to either cheek before his tongue returns. He alternates between the delicious, teasing licks and painful bites, the shift never coming when Indrid expects and causing him to cry out every time. When the mer releases one side of his ass in order to slap his thighs while he continues licking, kissing, and nipping his way across bruised, sensitive skin, Indrid lets out a strangled sound, the thing in his chest now trapped at the back of his throat. 

“You make such cute noises, but they ain’t the ones I’m lookin for. I ain’t stoppin until you apologize.”

Indrid opens his mouth, intending to say something about how this is the wrong way to make him do so. 

“I, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry with me, don’t leave, don’t leave me here, I can’t, I, I don’t want to think about it, Duck please, I’m sorry, so sorry” he;s hunched forward, sobbing into the sand, when he realizes he’s fully clothed and Duck isn’t behind him.

“No” he squeaks, “no please don’t go.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Duck slides up the sand next to him, pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry darlin, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I took it too far, I ain’t mad, not really” he eases Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of harms way, “oh darlin, c’mere, it’s okay” salty kisses dot his forehead and green scales pet his legs. 

“It’s, hic, it’s not your fault. I, I l-liked it, but this has, hic, been building up for months. Years.” He hides his face in Duck’s chest.

“Years?” Duck grabs Indrid’s sweater from where he cast it off, draping it over the human. 

Indrid sniffs, “You know I’m a photographer. But I’ve never told you what I photograph. I, I made my name recording disasters and their aftermath. For a long time I took pride in it; someone has to document those things, so we can’t erase them, so we have to confront them and try to make things better, or try to keep such tragedy from reoccurring. I was so good at recording it I became famous. Wealthy. And I learned that most people like to gawk at horror and then go about their days. I, I tried branching out and...and I ended up with a disaster anyway. A bridge collapse, I chronicled everything from the instant it started to the funerals and it, it was too much. Ever since then I’ve felt trapped by my work. At times, by my life. My agent wants me to go back for the fifth anniversary, he told me so last night.”

“You ain’t goin, right?” 

“I don’t think I can.” 

Duck nods, rests his chin atop his head, “tell me what you wanna do instead.”

He does. He tells him about his other art, about the pitches for childrens books and the plans for a real vacation, about the life that, for the first time, feels in reach when he speaks about it. By the time he’s done the stars are out and he’s much calmer and clear-headed.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? That, that you thought I was attractive?”

“Every damn word.” Duck rolls them so Indrid is on his back, kisses his cheek, “thought so since that first night. But, uh” his gaze flicks down to Indrid’s crotch, “if you want more proof I’m happy to give it.”

“Please?”

“Get your pants off and lay on your sweater.”

Indrid complies, shivers when Duck guides his shirt up and off. 

“Fuuuuck” the mer rubs his hands up and down his torso, “when it warms up, you’re gonna swim out with me so I can get my fill of this while you ride my dick.”

“Yes. Ah, I, I did prep, but it’s been long enough now that lubrication may be an issueOOOh, ooohyes.” He release into the sand as Duck grinds his tail against his cock. The scales feel as lovely now as they do when he pets them, and he wonders if Duck will let him get off by humping his tail one of these days.

“It won’t, trust me. Lemme just--there we go. Open your legs. Heh, eager little thing.”

“I’ve wanted this too long to play coy.”

“Good.”

“Eeep!” Something slick and squirming presses into his ass, “do, do you have tentacles?”

“Kinda? They’re just the tip, for this exact reason. It, uh, it feel okay?” Duck smiles reassuringly and that, combined with the genuine concern in his voice makes Indrid moans and nudge him closer. 

“VeryOH, oohgracious” two more tentacles join the first, pulsing and scissoring him open, “how many are there?”

“About eight.”

He moans louder and Duck laughs, pushes his hips forward, “glad you like it, darlin’. Because from where I’m sittin your ass is fuckin amazin and I wanna be as deep in it as I can.”

“Yes, absolutely, pleaseAHHnnn” enough tentacles now that he can’t keep an accurate count, “please use it as you see fit.”

“As I see fit huh? That’s a tricky question. See, sometimes I wanna, fuck, wanna shove the whole thing in you at once and make you scream while I leave my mark on your neck.”

“AHHnnngod” A firmer shaft pushes in, ridges rubbing all the right places as the tentacles continue exploring him. 

“Other times, think it’s better to tease you with the tip, maybe make you blow me first and jerk you off until you’re beggin for my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyesyes”

“But tonight” Duck bottoms out with a groan, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow, show you just how fuckin wonderful you are. How much you mean to me. My Indrid.”

“Yours” Indrid twines his limbs around him, “god, Duck, it feels so good, you’re so good, you always look after me.”

“That I do. Because you deserve it. And” the tentacles find his prostate and he nearly howls as Duck continues, “you deserve to learn how t’be nice to yourself. And I, ahfuck, know that ain’t easy, but I’m gonna be here to help.”

“Yes, ohgod, yes, you’re, you’re so perfect, aaAAAhnI, I’m, close sweetheart, you fill me so well.”

“Damn right. Gonna, nnngh, gonna find every fuckin way to fill you, make you feel fuckin amazin, fuck, that’s it darlin, ohfuckyeah” as he starts spilling into him, Indrid cums with a shout, splattering their stomachs. Duck moans at the sight, wriggles his hips as his shaft continues rippling and pulsing. It turns out mer orgasms are long, so long that Indrid is whimpering from overstimulation by the time Duck pulls out. 

A gentle, salt-soaked kiss to his lips, “Lookit you, took it all. You’re so good for me, darlin.”

“Mmmhmm” He doesn’t want to let go, cold, wind, and damp be damned. Duck seems to understand, holds him and whispers sweet promises in his ears until he’s shivering.

“‘Drid, your teeth are chatterin.”

“I kn-know, I s-should g-go home and w-warm up.”

Duck kisses him again, “sooner you go and rest, sooner we can do this again.”

“An excellent p-point.” He stands, blows a shaky kiss towards his future, “see you tomorrow.”

[lessinkmoregraphite]

Artificial AU prologue part 1

I have no patience and want to share stuff I do, so. Have the first segment of my most recent post-Forces au, aka Artificial AU. It’ll probably be on ao3 eventually, maybe with some small edits, but for now have this mess.

The first clear thought Infinite had was surprise that he was able to have a thought. The (nope) experience he'd had before the world went dark should have killed him, he shouldn't be able to think anything.

But here he is. Thinking. Huh.

He tried to pry his eyes open, found them sticky with sleep and heavy with fatigue, and gave up. Instead he ran a physical assessment of his body - overall aches, especially bad at his wrists, ankles, and chest, but none of that was shocking (nono not a pun this time). What was more confusing was the slight resistance when he managed to shift one of his arms - bandages, he guessed, based on the feeling when he bent his wrist. Most of the way up to his elbow, too - not a sh- surprise. The others were probably just as bad.

Consciousness was already slipping through his grasp, but he had just enough time to wonder who would bother to bandage him up before he slipped back into cool darkness.

 The next time, he was a little less foggy; enough to be alarmed and try to sit up. Which did not go well, as his chest screamed in protest and he froze halfway up with his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Hands pressed to his shoulder and back, gently but efficiently pulling him to lay back down. For the first time, he noticed how soft the pillow was. It probably wasn't really that soft, but somehow it was the most heavenly thing ever in that moment.

He shoved the thought away and forced his eyes open, muzzle wrinkling in distaste at the gummy feel of them. He could just make out a blurry red and yellow blob in front of him, but no features past that.

Dry lips opened, his voice emerging in a creak rather than words. Immediately, a straw was pressed to his lips, and he slurped greedily at the liquid offered to him until it was pulled away. He frowned, but didn't protest, instead croaking out something like a question - the words were slurred, but still words.

"Don't worry," came the response, quiet but much clearer than his own voice. "You're safe. Rest."

And while a part of him immediately balked at the idea of listening to someone telling him what to do, he was helpless to resist the darkness returning to him.

 The time after that, he woke up feeling almost lucid. His body still ached, and his thoughts were a little too fuzzy to be considered normal, but he could think enough to pry his eyes open and look around.

It looked like a random bedroom, except too clean. Like it hadn't been used until now. Plain white walls and off-white carpet, a few shelves on one wall, a dresser and desk on another. The bed he was on looked like it had been dragged out from the corner to the middle of the room, so there was space on all sides. It made his fur prickle slightly but there wasn't much he could do about it.

His gaze finally fell to the floor, on the one bright spot in the room - a figure that appeared to be doing a plank. He could make out green boots and red fur, but the rest was covered by a frankly hideous mustard-colored jacket.

He spent a good few minutes just staring, trying to process why anyone would willingly wear that color (especially when it basically made them look like an off color stoplight). His pause to gape lasted long enough that the figure finished the plank and rolled over, brightening and jumping up upon seeing him.

The wolf scurried over to the bedside, pausing a beat too long before speaking. "Do you need anything?"

"To stop looking at that horrible thing masquerading as clothing."

"It's warm," he said, not looking offended in the least. "And big. Are you hungry?"

...Yes. But he wasn't eager to acknowledge that, even if it was pretty obvious that this person had been looking after him already. Especially since at a second glance, he had a vague recollection of where he'd seen him before.

Not that it seemed to matter much, since the wolf had already headed toward a box of something set against the wall, rummaging around inside until he came up with a pouch of squeeze applesauce.

"Here," he said, coming over to set the pouch on the edge of the bed. "Let me know if you need help."

Infinite scowled at him, then reached for the pouch and began fiddling with the screw top. Much to his chagrin, it turned out to be less of an absurd suggestion than he'd first thought; he could barely get the top open even with the ridiculous wings on it lending leverage. He slurped the food up angrily while glaring at nothing in particular.

The wolf stared at him in silence while he ate, expression oddly blank. Infinite finished the pouch quickly and pulled it away to scowl. "What?"

"Want another?"

"...Sure."

They repeated the process, up to and including the weird staring. This time, when Infinite finished, the wolf had a different question. "Should I still call you Infinite?"

He stiffened, suddenly on guard. Some part of him had wondered if this idiot just didn't realize who he was, and that's why he offered some sort of care, but if he knew...

"Call me whatever you want," he finally said. There was a beat of silence before he added, "Why the hell are you helping me?"

The wolf blinked. "Aren't you supposed to help people when they get hurt?"

Infinite's scowl deepened. What kind of answer - whatever. It's not like he was in any shape to refuse freely given help, much as it galled him to admit it.

"I'm Gadget," the wolf said, before Infinite could reply.

"That's a weird name." The response came on autopilot, not really the truth but the first thing that came to mind.

Gadget shrugged. "Probably. I picked it."

"So... it's a nickname?"

"Uh... don't think so?"

Infinite groaned and stared at the ceiling. What the actual hell. "Whatever. When should I expect the resistance to come throw me in a cell?"

There was a long silence. Infinite blinked and glanced over, finding Gadget rubbing at the back of his neck with a guarded look. "...Oi."

"They won't be," Gadget mumbled, his voice suddenly... distant, for lack of a better word. "I'm not with the resistance anymore."

There was another paused as that processed. Infinite scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What, did they kick their star rookie out after defeating the big bad?"

"No. I left before they could."

Yet another pause as Infinite failed to find words. He'd been being sarcastic, because really why should he believe this (apparently former) Resistance member had left their ranks and then just happened to end up taking care of him? It was a little too convenient. But from what little he'd seen, Gadget didn't seem like the sort to fake his emotions - he could see every thought running through the idiot's head in glorious technicolor - yet here he was, apparently on the verge of tears over... something. Something about leaving the Resistance.

Before he could pry more information out of him, Gadget perked up with a seemingly genuine smile. "Not important though. Are you still hungry? Thirsty? It's been a while since you woke up last time."

Infinite shut his questions back, accepting the offer of more food and water instead. He'd get his answers eventually; it's not like he hadn't worked to subtly get information from people before. Whatever Gadget was hiding, he'd find it.

For now, he'd work to regain his strength. The rest could wait just a little longer.

Gadget sat on the dresser, staring out the little window. The idyllic forest scene felt weird, considering that he knew they were still in Eggman's base, but it was certainly a better view than broken machinery.

Today had been the most lucid Infinite had been in the dozen or so times he'd woken so far, but he still hadn't pushed for more information. Not that Gadget was complaining. It was just... strange.

Still, the chance to sort things out a bit more was welcome. He'd barely had a chance to figure out how to respond to everything himself, much less how to bring it up with someone else.

There was a reason he'd run from the Resistance before they could find out. He didn't know how to talk about these things.

Gadget caught himself rubbing at the back of his neck again and pulled his hand away, stuffing both hands in the opposite jacket sleeves. That was becoming a habit. His first Resistance team had warned him about that kind of habit, and he didn't want to deal with breaking one.

He also didn't want to deal with leaving the Resistance at all, but... he doubted they'd react well when they learned what he was. He sure hadn't. It was easier to just... vanish, completely avoiding the consequences.

Finding Infinite had been an accident. He'd come here to find answers (to look at that lab that felt so dreadfully familiar); instead he'd found the jackal passed out in a room that he didn't want to think about too much, burns on his limbs and chest and vitals shaky. He'd jumped to help on instinct; after all, he hadn't been lying about helping people.

Well. Lying by omission, perhaps. He'd heard about that sort of lying. Because yes, he'd saved Infinite because he was once told that helping people was the right thing to do. But he also did it because if anyone could relate to him, could make him feel a little less alone, it might be Infinite.

After all. Even if Gadget was just a prototype, they'd been made for the same purpose.

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

It's 2007 and somehow, miraculously, Supernatural survives yet another rocky (?) season of mediocre ratings to come back for a third season, or at least, half season, but that season starts out with a real bang! Like, just a real solid trio of an opener for season three. It reminds me of all the things I love about SPN and also it reminds us of all the things that frustrate the hell out of me on SPN. So where did we leave things off?

First up, there’s Dean, who sold his soul to the devil in order to bring Sam back from the dead. Sam, you’ll remember, was part of some overly complicated ponzi scheme to find the perfect vessel to open a door - yep, open a door - and lost to Aldous Hodge who just straight up murders Sam in the season finale. So Dean get’s Sammy back, but in exchange, he’s only got one year left before he permanently moves down south. Oh! And even though they got Sam back and Sam kills Aldous Hodge (RIP pal), they neglected to keep the door from opening. The door to Hell, that is, and now they’ve allowed a shiz ton of demons out to freely roam the earth. Way to go, boys, you lost again! They are two for two on these season finales guys!

OH but they DO kill the Yellow Eyed Demon, so that’s a plus, but not before he plants the most perfect seed of doubt in Dean’s mind - “How do you know what you brought back is all Sammy?” Like, ugh, UGH, ugh!!!! What a way to drive the knife in deeper! What a way to make the heart of this show slowly start to crumble! C’est Magnifique!! *chef's kissy fingers*

So with all that emotional baggage weighing us down, how do we start season 3? How else - with a threesome of course! And also some technicolor grading, it’s wild guys.

Oh boy guys, let’s talk about this opener for a hot sec. I got into it a little bit last season, but as much as I love Dean, you HAVE to admit that that boy is gross. Just like...he’s a little gross. I’m also old enough now to see exactly how many red flags he’s raising through the last 45 episodes. Like, sorry Little Me, but he is not boyfriend material. Not to mention that all this debauchery is 1,000% him distracting himself from the consequences of his own actions, but we’ll get into that later.

Meanwhile, Sam is doing something constructive and trying to figure out how to reverse the curse and save Dean’s soul. And here we have the culmination of two seasons worth of character development - faced with the imminent demise of Dean Samuel Winchester, Sam tries to step up and take care of his brother for once in his life; Dean parties like it’s 1999. There were two things I thought of during this episode - 1) isn’t this not unlike the sort of behavior you see in suicidal people who have finally decided to take their own life? Which is just, like, further held up by the fact that Dean’s big monologue at the end literally has the line “Truth is I’m tired, Sam. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” and like...dude, you are NOT ok! Why isn't??? ANYONE??? ADDRESSING THIS????? And 2) Dean is sharing a lot of similarities with the demons in this episode.

Because MEANwhile, there’s demons! So many demons! Specifically, the Seven Deadly Sins ones, but also, spoiler alert, Ruby, who is gettin’ reeeeealll into that ketchup.

All these baddies just really taking advantage of their time topside cuz Hell is, as they so artfully put it, it’s like Hell, so they’re just livin’ it up while they still can ~almost like foreshadowing or something~?!?!?

Real talk though, it being a real long time since I’ve watched this season, it’s these kinds of details that I’m impressed with this time around. There is so much character work that goes into this show and it’s something I definitely connected with the first time around, but not on conscious level. Now I can look at it through time and experience and articulate what I’m seeing, which makes this re-watch infinitely more enjoyable.

Episode 1 of this season continues what they started in season 2 and just keeps building out that Hunter Community. Like, there really is a whole Community out there that keeps in contact and works together and makes sure everyone’s up to date on the latest hot goss, and it all makes John Winchester come off like a real creepy splinter cell lone gunman type. And that in turn makes the Winchester sons look like total, unprofessional boneheads who managed to open a portal to Hell. “UGH Great Jorb Guys, but can we blame them? They’re John’s kids,” is a conversation between hunters that I am headcannoning, but also 100% support.

Honestly, I love the idea of the Winchesters being just these real, like, b-grade, Walmart Brand Hunters that other Hunters are just SO done with. We kind of see a little bit of that with Isaac and Tamara, but by the end of the episode, the Winchesters prove that they’re...better Hunters? I hope somewhere in the next 12 seasons I get an episode that is told from another Hunter’s POV who is legitimately better/more emotionally balanced than the Winchesters and the whole episode is them just, like, cleaning up a bunch of Winchester messes like, SONuvabitch, these two ASSholes. I think we see a fair amount of episodes from the POV of people who are less qualified than the Winchesters who end up being mentored by them, but I’d be stoked for them to run into just a group of people who hate them for totally legitimate, professional vs amature reasons.

Bobby does not count because Bobby signed up to be their Dad and so he agreed to take care of their messes when he took that job.

And then we get to “The Kids Are Alright” which showcases one of my fav changes for this season - BRIGHTLY! LIT! HIGH! SATURATION!!!! And of course, by fav, I mean, Most Hilarious.

I do walk a fine line on this one truth be told. Like, season 1 was definitely going for A Look. It’s super gritty and high contrasty and stylized. Now, I got what they were going for but I wasn’t always crazy about it, mostly because the quality on the DVD’s was terrible. Quick tip for everyone: in order to get 2+ hours worth of content on a DVD, you have to compress the final edit of the program to a pretty small bitrate. When we drop videos onto DVD’s at my work (it isn’t often, thank goodness), the discs themselves only hold, like, 2GB worth of content and that is NOT A LOT when it comes to video files. The more compressed a video file is, the less detail you’re gonna get in the visuals. Watching episodes on Netflix (where everything’s probably at a higher bitrate and therefore is a better quality visual), it’s not bad, but on my DVDs, the compression is so heavy that we get SUPER hot highlights and SUPER crunchy shadows - what a lot of people would called “crushed blacks” because you’ve lost all the detail in the shadows and you’re left with a grainy, noisy, black hole on the screen. Like I lost so much detail in the pilot episode guys, I could not make out this guy’s face.

A rough approximation of my DVD quality. Still recommend it over Netflix for the Accurate Soundtrack tho.

Season 2 SPN toned that Look down a lot, like, a lot a lot. Enough that you still got the general vibe they were going for but not enough that you couldn’t make out faces anymore. But through this whole process, the CW execs kept pushing for the show to look lighter, more colorful, less film noir more...well, CW. And in season 3 it finally happened!!!

I get what those execs were going for, but also, I feel like the colorists on these first few episodes just REALLY went wild out of spite. Lookit this shot from “Magnificent Seven” right before Envy causes some rando innocent bystander to beat a girl to death for her shoes -

GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN!!!! I WONDER WHICH SIN THIS GUY IS????

Then in “The Kids Are Alright” the birthday party looks like everything is coated in day-glow neon.

The Winchester Bros look like they just got back from 3 weeks in Aruba - LOOK at the saturation levels in these skin tones! LOOK AT THEM!!

My screencap ability aside, only in SPN can a cemetery at night have brighter lighting than a diner in the middle of the afternoon.

This is definitely a thing I will be tracking the rest of the season because I have a distinct memory of a future episode where the brothers have been magically gifted completely different lives where they were never Hunters, they know nothing of Hunting, and they’re completely normal until the end when everything gets snapped back and the episode literally changes colors. V. Excited to see just how saturated this season stays through the end.

But maybe more importantly in “The Kids Are Alright” we learn that Dean does NOT, in fact, have a son. Not that he would be a good father...well...maybe? I mean, this Dean, this season 3, definitely-suicidal, completely-reckless, can’t-keep-it-together Dean, is not good Dad material. Later seasons Dean? Probably fine? Earlier seasons Dean might ALSO be fine? And if he’d found out that Ben was his legitimate kid, it could have made a WORLD of difference, who knows. I know he ultimately does become father-like to Ben and that gives me a lot of feelings. But this Dean is not in a good place to take care of anyone, including himself and really, someone ought to do something about that.

I gotta say, this is an actual bummer. I can’t remember if, in the later seasons, they do any clarifying on this or not, but I am legitimately bummed that Ben is not Dean’s kid and that as far as we know, Dean has no natural children floating around out there with surly attitudes and soft hearts. Dean’s motivation from Day 1 has always been family and despite what comments he may make in early seasons, Dean’s secret desire is to have the wife and the kids and the dog and the white picket fence. And honestly, we’re only 3 seasons in and I just want Dean to have nice things!!

And then guys, we come to “Bad Day at Black Rock,” and I just...WHAT a masterpiece. I had almost NO memory of ever watching this episode before and I don't understand why. What a glorious masterpiece this episode is. Let’s make a list -

More Hunters™, who should be really annoying but were actually kinda charming in a Marx Brothers kind of way

Gordon’s in jail, where he belongs, but also is masterminding a coup against the Winchesters which is A+ spooky stuff

Slapstick comedy that I didn’t know I was missing from my life

Bela F*cking Talbot

Guys, I think this is my fav episode so far purely because I felt, while watching it, that the last 10 years of my life were not in vain and that I had in fact grown as a human person. I remembered hating Bela Talbot. Like, I DID. NOT. LIKE. HER. To the point that I questioned if her British accent was even real. It is, her mother is from the UK and she lived there for a time, but like, honestly, the audacity of Little Me.

This time around? Oh she’s defs my new fav. Just everything about her is like, A+, Great Job, Why-Did-We-Cancel-Her??? Like, oh yeah, probably because somewhere in here they try to shoehorn a romantic side plot with Dean. I don’t actually mind rioting over shoehorned romance, but also, if they’d let this play out for a season or two and then got the two of them to bone? I’m on board. I’m 100% on board.

Maybe it’s just that she is unapologetically out for herself, maybe it’s the fact that she is definitely a match for the Winchesters in a non-murdery way, probably it is both of those things. She's smart, she’s crooked, she has impeccable taste, she’s honestly a helluva lot of fun and I am so excited to see more of her and so BUMMED that she will not make it past this season.

Despite the fact that I absolutely adore all three of these episodes, they also bring up the problem that I was starting to see in season 2 - WHO is this show about? Isn’t it supposed to be about the Brothers as a whole? But the majority of these first three lean pretty heavily on Dean’s emotional arc. Granted, it makes sense. I mean, of COURSE Dean’s demon deal is gonna be the BIG thing in a season where he is literally staring down the barrel, but knowing that there’s a side plot about Is Sam Evil?? seems like...something we should really explore more? I believe it comes up in season 4, or at least, Sam’s demon-blood powers become a bigger deal in season 4, but I would have enjoyed seeing Sam have a more active stake in this season. I can see planting some weird new ticks being planted for Alive-Again Sam that just get weirder and darker and then a mid-season finale or a run up episode to the end of the season where Dean (finally) decides he needs to stop his demon deal because he needs to stick around so he can keep Sam from going completely off the rails. As much as I love Dean 5ever, I do think the show works best when the emotional weight of the season is distributed equally is all. And to be fair to the writers this season, there could have been a bigger plan for something like that but they ran out of time - their season was cut by about a third due to the Writer’s Strike.

Still, all in all, a solid opening to the third season. I want to say that these episodes feel like Classic SPN, but then I remember that this is season three out of fifteen. These ARE Classic SPN. Mostly self contained with enough emotional drama to remind us of the overarching plot. Maybe a little heavy on the emotional drama, but Dean’s only got a year to live and the show’s only got 16 episodes to resolve that crisis, so it’s fine.

[ageless-aislynn]

@odedfehrs​ Since it wouldn’t let me tag my last ask response, I’m just going ahead and making this as a post. *fingers crossed everything works* :D

Anyway! Eee, thank you so much! Let’s get to the questions! :D 

10. Do you ship any characters that have never met?

If we don’t count that their doppelgangers have met, then there’s HR and Flashpoint!Caitlin (aka my “Kitty Cait” ;) ). 

Yeah, so that’s not flashpoint!Caitlin but it’s the closest GIF I could find. ;)

Then I have my newly found love for Jordan Mahkent (Stargirl) and Caitlin (aka my “Cold Hands” duo ;) ). There’s also my “Gasoline” vid for them, too. ;)

I once had a dream about Babydoll (Sucker Punch) and Eames (Inception) and ended up vidding it! :D “Otherside” 

Ooo, and can’t forget my Boromir/Arwen (Lord of the Rings) vid! “I Want You To Notice (When I’m Not Around” :D

I also ship Boromir/Eowyn, too. ‘Cause why not? ;)

Ohh and technically Matt Letscher’s Eobard and Caitlin have never met so I’d say they fit in this answer as well. Vid, because of course I did: “I Just Want You Back” ;)

19. Have you ever shipped something despite yourself?

Not so much. Usually once a ship catches my attention, I go all in, lol! I’ve often started shipping one pairing, then had another ship with one of those characters suddenly intrigue me and then take over the original one. I generally never totally stop shipping anything once I start, since I’m a total multishipper at heart, even if one pairing ends up definitely getting a larger spot in my fangirl heart. Examples: for The Flash, I started off shipping Snowbarry before Snowells suddenly swept me off my feet. In Teen Wolf, I started shipping Derek/Lydia and then blammo, Peter/Lydia made me all about the Pydia, lol! ;) For Doctor Who, Ten/Rose gave way to Ten/Donna. Etc. and so forth, lol! ;) 

Let me add a caveat here that I’m aware some of those ships have had, at least in the past, some angry rivalry. So if you dislike one or the other, please don’t take it personally that it was mentioned. We’re all about the love here, no hate! :D

22. Which of your ships have the best chemistry?

Eobard | Harrison/Caitlin aka ReverseSnow (The Flash)

Wanda Maximoff/Vision aka Scarlet Vision (Avengers, Wandavision)

Eowyn/Aragorn (Lord of the Rings)

Ten/Donna (Doctor Who)

There are so many more but I’ll stop here. ;)

34. Share your favorite fanmix for your OTP.

This one was handy so here you go, lol! ;) (There are 8 GIFs for the 13 songs, btw. I thought I’d mention it because just now I thought that some of them hadn’t loaded until I remembered I didn’t do a GIF for each song, lol! Oops. ;) )

40. If you could change one thing about your OTP, what would that be?

Super easy answer for this one: THEY WOULD BE CANON. \o/ I would cry tears of joy if The Flash gives us FrostNash in this next season...

Or why not bring the multiverse back and we see some ReverseFrost SuperVillainous Power Couple in actual GLORIOUS, TECHNICOLOR, MOTHER (of pearl :P ) FLIPPIN’ canon???

YES PLZ!

And also, I’m super-hoping over on Wandavision that my bbs will make it through, safe, together, happy and ALIVE. 

Thanks again for letting me ramble on about my beloved ships! :D I left out SO MANY THINGS it’s not even funny and this is still huge, lol! ;) 

40 Questions Meme For Shippers

♥♥♥

[jorgecrespo]

Thank you to @embeddedinmybrain for tagging me. I think the rules are put your music on shuffle and write your favorite lyrics from them or something. I forgot to look, sorry djdknd. This is also from my playlist named "Taste" so sorry in advance for repeat artists

Picture Me Better - Weyes Blood. We finally found a winter for your sweater. If i could have seen you just once more/tell you how much you're adored/there's no point anymore

Oh Well - Fiona Apple. A voice once stentorian is now again meek and muffled. What wasted unconditional love/on somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff/oh well

Homemade Dynamite - Lorde. We'll end up painted on the road/red and chrome/all the broken glass sparkling/I guess we're partying

Pa'lante - Hurray for the Riff-Raff. I just wanna fall in love/and not fuck it up/and feel something. Do your best/but fuck the rest/be something. Lately I'm not too afraid to die/I wanna leave it all behind/I think about it sometimes

Your Best American Girl - Mitski. You're the sun/you've never seen the night/but you hear its song from the morning birds/well I'm not the moon/I'm not even a star/but awake at night I'll be singing to the birds. You're the one/you're all I've ever wanted I think I'll regret this

Lark - Angel Olsen. Wishing we could only find one another/all we've done here is blind one another. You say you love/every single part/what about my dreams/what about the heart/trouble from the start

Not About Love - Fiona Apple. And it doesn't seem fair/that your wicked words should work in holding me down. What is this posture I have to stare at/that's what he said when I was sitting up straight. Take all the things that I said that he stole/put em in a sack swing em over my shoulder/turn on my heels/step out of his sight/try to live in a lovelier light. This is not about love/cause I am not in love/in fact I can't stop falling out/I miss that stupid ache.

Seasons (Waiting On You) - Future Islands. People change/you know some people never do/you know when people change/they gain a piece but they lose one too

Fireworks - Mitski. I will go jogging routinely/calmly and rhythmically run/and when I find that a knife's sticking out of my side/I'll pull it out without questioning why. I will be married to silence/the gentleman won't say a word/ but you know oh you know in the quiet he holds/runs a river that'll never find home. And then one warm summer night/I'll hear fireworks outside/and I'll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry

Forgiven/Forgotten - Angel Olsen. I've made up my mind/I've made up my mind/I've wasted my time/making up my mind/I don't know anything/I don't know anything/I don't know anything/but I love you/yes I do/yes I do

Ok those are just paragraphs sorry about that ANYWAY I'm tagging @lamifexmaya @isakeijjser @glorious-technicolor @enchantingunknowncomputer @mentally-maladjusted @dearrobbe @britt-wie @batmanstolemypony @dreamy-slytherin @well-who-needs-angels-anyway and anyone else!

[sinterblackwell]

thank you @lepetitepeach for tagging me 🧡

favorite comfort food:

eating mangú (mashed plantations) always makes me really happy.

favorite alcohol (or hot drink):

a tie between hot chocolate and black coffee. i like my coffee a bit sweet but not too much that it makes me cringe and hot chocolate has always made me feel like it was christmas so that’s a good feeling.

favorite relaxing activity:

just a few days ago, i was re-reading “they both die at the end” by adam silvera on the couch till past midnight.

all of silvera’s works take me to a different world and i love getting to spend my own time reading them without any interruptions. i mean it when i say that his books are my emotional support, just like with books in general, but it means something.

favorite fluffy/feel-good fic:

i highly highly recommend “to build a home” by aguamarina on ao3, that story will always make me smile.

it’s a single one-shot but it’s fairly long and split into parts so it doesn’t move too slow but not too fast.

all in the perspective of sander’s little sister, this fic really warmed my heart seeing her close relationship with her older brother and how much she adores him. you can see how much she can hold her own, better than i ever could, and i know for sure that she’s going to do great things someday. especially with how much she loves the universe and everything in it, just like our lovely robbe.

i’m happy the author wrote this fic. it was always something to wonder: what would sander driesen be like as an older brother? and not only did we get an answer to that question with this fic but we also got to see what camille would be like as his younger sister.

favorite relaxing or uplifting song?

“falling in love” by cigarettes after sex.

this song is more relaxing than uplifting but it always makes me want to lay down and close my eyes as i’m listening to it. there’s something very melancholic about it but it makes me feel at peace everytime.

i found the song through this video on youtube that i absolutely adore. i replay it more than once everyday because i’ll say it again and again, this song is so peaceful.

and also it just constantly gets to me how much sander loves robbe. because he loves him so much and there’s no question about it. none.

i don’t know if robbe will ever know just how much he means to sander. he may have an idea but there’s something really special watching from an outsider’s perspective how sander looks at robbe. and it’s a pretty outstanding feeling.

favorite white noise:

i love the sound of rain when i wake up in the middle of the night, when i’m about to fall asleep, when i wake up in the morning/afternoon...just anytime.

favorite book to get lost in:

i said myself that all of adam silvera’s works take me to a whole other world and so i can’t really think of anything else at the moment.

“they both die at the end” isn’t something anticipatory where you’re constantly on edge, waiting for the moment when these characters are going to die because that’s not the point of the story.

the point is to follow these two boys as they embrace each other and this whole city that with every nook and cranny, they discover something new. and not just about themselves but also that there’s so much out there.

this story isn’t about regret and misfortune, it’s just...it’s so so much more than that and i really wish everyone i know could read it, i really do.

favorite chill-out tv show:

winx club has always been something so nostalgic, i could lay in bed and watch it over and over again.

this is the same show that i would wake up at seven in the morning for because i anticipated it that much. this is the same show that made me feel really happy and look forward to coming home from school because this was my show and it never disappoints me.

there’s all these different magic dimensions and so many different characters. there’s so much that you can explore in these places and the transformations are absolutely stunning, and the characters are their own.

yeah it can get very annoying and some writing choices are very questionable (season 4, i must admit). but i will never forget how this show made me feel when i was younger, and i still have that same feeling today where i just feel safe.

best advice you’ve ever heard:

there’s going to be people who don’t know me at all, who don’t know how to handle me, who come to their own conclusions.

there are going to be people like that.

but that should never stop me from being who i am. and for being a mess because everyone is a mess. how they deal with it afterwards, that’s on them and that’s on me. i tried to get my shit together afterwards and i did, but my friend didn’t care about that.

my mom just said that i have to keep focusing on myself.

~

i tag: @glorious-technicolor @bisexualnoor and @lumierelovers

[tyrantisterror]

REVENGE OF THE A.T.O.M. CREATE A KAIJU CONTEST!

Eons ago, when the earth was young, I held the first A.T.O.M. Create a Kaiju Contest, and creators like YOU populated my activity page with a legion of giant monsters!  Now, years later, in celebration of publishing the first volume of The Atomic Time of Monsters, the contest calls to us once again, and it’s only grown bigger and spikier with age.  If you wish to once more ravage the world with atomic titans of your own design, then please, read on after the cut to discover the rules of this thrilling kaiju role call!

Ok, for clarity’s sake I’ll drop the goofy melodramatic tone.

Like the first A.T.O.M. Create a Kaiju Contest, the aim of this contest is to create kaiju that would fit within the setting of my big kaiju story series, The Atomic Time of Monsters.  Think of it as me letting you into my sandbox to play with my toys for a bit, or like you’re being put in the director’s chair of a new ATOM-verse kaiju movie.  That means your entry does have to fit into ATOM’s world, which in turn means that yes, there are limitations to your creativity here.  But limitations can be good sometimes - they can make us explore options we wouldn’t consider when given completely free rein to do what we want!

THE RULES:

1.  This time around, you are limited to one entry per person.  Last time we produced 60+ kaiju, which was awesome, but this time around I want to narrow the scope a little bit - especially if I end up doing something crazy and end up drawing them all like last time, since my carpal tunnel syndrome afflicted hand just can’t do what it did those years ago.  Work hard and make your entry count!

2.  Your kaiju must have some sort of description of its physical appearance and its personality - you can submit a drawing or a written description (or both!) for the physical appearance depending on what you’re most comfortable with.  Using the ATOM kaiju file template isn’t required, but it was cool when people did it in the last contest, so feel free to do so this time too!

3. The kaiju you create must specifically be created for this contest  - no repurposing characters you made for other, wildly different stories.

4. The kaiju must fit the setting and aesthetics of ATOM.  I’ll explain this in more detail down below.

5. The kaiju should add something meaningful to the world of ATOM. What would be the point of having another fire-breathing t.rex monster?  The more unique and interesting your kaiju is, the more likely you will win the contest.

6. The kaiju must be independent of the main plot of ATOM - not “Tyrantis’s long lost evil brother who’s the strongest kaiju in the world.” These should be to Tyrantis’s story what War of the Gargantuas is to Godzilla’s movies – heroes (well, monsters) of another story in the same world.

THE REWARDS:

I will make pencil sketches of the top 5 entries in the contest.

I will then make fully rendered illustrations (lineart, colors, & shading) of the top three entries.

The winning entry will be made into a model ala the ones I’ve been making for ATOM’s core 50 monsters, which can then be shipped to the person who created it (should they be able to cover the shipping costs).  That’s right, your kaiju could be brought to life in THREE GLORIOUS TECHNICOLOR DIMENSIONS!

THE DEADLINE: All entries must be submitted by August 9th, 2019.  You can submit it here on tumblr, via the horror flora e-mail, or any other channel you know how to reach me through.  I’m in a lot of places.

THE GUIDELINES (TO HELP YOUR ENTRY FIT THE RULES AND WIN)

The smartest thing you could do if you want to win this contest is familiarize yourself with the world of ATOM by, y’know, reading all the material I’ve published on the subject.  In addition to the many kaiju files that are free to read on horrorflora.com, the first actual, factual novel in the series was published very recently (and, y’know, is the reason I’m holding this contest), which you can get from amazon in both paperback and/or kindle editions (I’d recommend the former over the latter since I lack the technology to make a really nice ebook, but if money is an object, the kindle version is only $1).

However, since I know reading a bunch of stuff is, y’know, not something everyone is inclined to do, I’ll jot some good bullet points for you in an attempt to outline how ATOM works in a brief, easily digested way:

ATOM is an homage to the monster fiction of the 1950’s and 60’s (i.e. the Atomic Age), and is set in those two decades, albeit an alternate universe version of them where, y’know, monsters and space aliens exist.  If you aren’t familiar with the monster fiction I’m referring to, there will be some reference material provided at the end of this post along with some recommendations for further research.

Kaiju/giant monsters in ATOM work under very specific rules.  There’s a full description of those rules at this link, but here’s the jist:

ATOM Kaiju are created created by the radiation of a mineral called Yamaneon, which naturally converts harmful radiation into its own unique energy.  In natural circumstances, it takes hundreds of years of exposure to Yamaneon radiation for a creature to become fully transform into a kaiju (luckily, Yamaneon radiation slows the aging process while speeding up the healing process).  However, an explosive burst of energy - such as the geothermal and kinetic energy released by an earthquake, or the blast of a nuclear weapon - can speed up the process, turning a normal animal into a kaiju within a matter of seconds.  

All ATOM kaiju can heal grievous wounds within minutes or even seconds, are supernaturally strong and durable, and can convert harmful radiation to harmless energy that they then feed off of.  Kaiju do not have an equivalent of old age, and can theoretically live forever (though their violent lifestyle means that few do).

ATOM Kaiju generally don’t need to eat unless they are severely injured, getting most of the energy they need from solar or geothermal radiation - but many still have instincts that drive them to seek out food from time to time.

Most ATOM kaiju stand roughly 100 feet tall (depending on their body shape), i.e. smaller than the original 1954 Godzilla.  There are exceptions to this rule - younger kaiju can be smaller, while exceedingly old kaiju can be significantly larger, but these are rare.

In general, ATOM kaiju are significantly more intelligent and emotionally complex than people expect animals to be, though most are incapable of speech or complex tool use.  There’s a reason ATOM Kaiju Files have a “personality” section.

Most ATOM Kaiju are tooth and claw fighters - ranged weapons are a rarity in this setting.

While the terrestrial monsters in ATOM look strange, they are intended to fit within the taxonomy of animals in reality - reptiles, mammals, fish, arthropods, molluscs, etc.

ATOM’s mesozoic era was dominated by a fictional clade of crocodile-relatives called retrosaurs, which are based on the outdated paleoart that one would find in the 1950’s/60’s fiction - i.e. when dinosaurs were viewed as trail dragging lizards instead of strange birds.  You can learn more about retrosaurs here.

Kaiju appear on every continent in ATOM, but certain areas tend to be dominated by different types.

North America is mainly besieged by retrosaur kaiju and giant arthropods.

East Asia is technically also mainly plagued by retrosaurs and big arthropods, though they tend to look more fantastical and mythic - and, often, oddly well suited to being portrayed by a person wearing a monster suit.

Russia is beset by prehistoric monsters that seem to come from the Cenozoic, particularly the Ice Age.

Western Europe is plagued by creatures that vaguely resemble creatures from myth, if they were also prehistoric.  Dragon-y lizards, fiery birds, etc.

Towards the mid-way point of ATOM’s timeline, earth is invaded by a coalition of aliens from different solar systems called the Beyonder Alliance, and as a result a bunch of alien monsters can be found on earth.

Mars and Venus both host (or hosted in Mars’s case) animal life.  The surviving Martians colonized Venus, and sent some of their kaiju guardians to earth to help us fend off the Beyonders (who are responsible for the destruction of Mars’s ecosystem).  Martian and Venusian kaiju have specific anatomical quirks, which you can see by looking at these kaiju files:

Venusians:

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/03/atom-kaiju-file-29-karamtor/

Martians:

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-39-kemlasulla/

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-40-podritak/

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-41-sombarvot/

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-38-ullawdra/

Giant robots exist in ATOM, but are big, bulky, and incredibly expensive.  Fancy beam weapons also exist, but are similarly clunky - there are no sleek, elegant machines in ATOM.

Since the fiction ATOM takes inspiration from was made at a time when interplanetary travel was only just beginning to be possible, its scope is significantly smaller than modern sci-fi.  Alternate universes/dimensions were pretty uncommon because the idea of alien planets still held a lot of wonder to it.  So, as a general rule, don’t try to go farther than the one galaxy.

ATOM is a setting for stories that are focused on humanity learning to co-exist with monsters, rather than humanity destroying them.  A certain level of sympathy is put into almost every creature of its canon, even the ones that are meant to be villains.

REFERENCE MATERIAL

Here is a playlist of 1950′s monster movie trailers.

Here is some reference material from various monster comics of the 50′s and 60′s.

Video of retrosaurs in action.

Good movies to track down to understand ATOM’s inspiration and tone include Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster, Son of Godzilla, Destroy All Monsters, Them!, The Black Scorpion, 20 Million Miles to Earth, Gamera, The Giant Claw, and The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra.

Finally, here’s the page for the original ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest, which has even more reference material for you to peruse.