#(and of course for the integrity of their feelings i guess. but here's the shit.)

[darthlenaplant]

L-FUCKING-MAO,

What sort of loser actually thinks the ending of The World's End is "~forgetable~"?

Bitch, your entire existence is "~forgetable~".

Filmbros (well, certainly 99.95% of them) really are the weakest species out there.

Like, sure, it's not my most beloved of movies, but I actually understood the message of it. And it did hit hard, you know? How about you learn how to deal with your feelings in any other way besides suppressing them and acting as if nothing is there and maybe then you'll calm down.

And be truly appreciative of human art, for that matter, too.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Sometime Dreamers (crossover fic)

Summary: Doctor Who/Sandman crossover, 2nd person femme/female reader (though it's very vague through most of the story)

A/N: Launching this monstrosity as part of the Winter Solstice Writing Event even though I spent the morning puking and wrestling with a piece of toast. The Sandman elements will integrate in upcoming installments, I swear. *Eyebrow waggles* Interactions help me shout down my depression and get bits out faster! Love you all, and thank you for your support!

1.

The extraordinary finds you on an ordinary walk.

The sky’s all grey clouds and rainy breezes, even when the forecasters insist it’s blue. Half of the year’s leaves crunch underfoot. Half still give you a reason to look up and marvel.

Really, everything’s fine, even if you’re tired, too tired, worryingly tired, and you’re too wrapped up with thoughts of the House to pay attention to your feet, and you should get back to your latest assignment, or maybe –

“Ooof.”

Brown fabric in your face, your sneakers tangling with his – a full-on collision in front of god and everyone. The man’s so skinny you could’ve dodged fifty ways around him. Instead, you’re wrapped around each other in a bid against gravity.

You look up into brown eyes full of questions. Pretty. And sad. And distracting. You’re still touching, and it’s time you did something about that.

“I am so sorry.” You sort out your feet first, reclaiming your balance before abashedly releasing the fistful of trench coat you’d snared. Then you catch yourself trying to smooth away the wrinkles. Shit. Well. Too late to keep your hands to yourself, but you fold them behind your back anyway, smiling to convince the stranger you’re entirely harmless and definitely weren’t coming on to him, and damn you’re spiraling again. Time for more caffeine. Past time. The walk’s left you tired. You’d hoped it would finally energize you past the malaise hanging over the House. No such luck.

“Oh, no. My fault entirely.” He smiles with his teeth, and it’s definitely a lie, but at least he’s being nice about it. “I never watch where I’m going. But if you wouldn’t happen to – Are you feeling alright?” His whole face wrinkles around the thought, sharpening to pierce your thoughts. He looks in one of your eyes, then swings to the next, mumbling as he reaches in his coat.

“I’m fine. No harm done. You?”

He pulls out a whining device and shines its blue light in your face. “No, that’s not what I mean at all. You look awful.”

After months of obsessive dreams and a lethargy you can’t shake, yeah, of course you look awful. You have a mirror. You had a first-row seat to watch the shadows grow under your eyes. It isn’t even something your roommates dare bring up, because they have their own bruises and drooping smiles. Trust the pretty stranger to be an asshole, though.

Using the side of your hand to guide the buzzing light away, you clear your throat and ask, “I wouldn’t happen to what?”

“What?” He returns the light to his pocket, fishes out a pair of glasses, and squints at you again.

“You were going to ask me something.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Well. I guess you would happen to. You sort of already have, or do, not sure yet. Nice to meet you, by the way.” He thrusts out his hand and grins again, trying to wipe the slate clean and yank the wool over your eyes, like this was a perfectly normal introduction. “I’m the Doctor.”

You accept the handshake but only offer your first name. He repeats it, beaming and glancing around like your name might appear in print on the side of a building.

“Live around here, then?”

Ah, nah. Too far, too fast. He’s not pretty enough to die for. Even though you don’t live alone, common sense screams against telling a strange man where you live.

“I’m just out for a walk.”

Nodding, slipping his hands into his pockets, he accepts the refusal. “Nice place for a walk.”

Thank all fuck. He has tact if not manners. “Very. And it was nice bumping into you, but I’d better continue on mine.” You pass, spin on our heel, and take a few steps backwards. Maybe he was going to ask you for directions, and you don’t want to leave on a sour note, because the poor man might just be awkward. “There’s a lake if you keep going that way. And if you cut through the empty lot there’s a little woods. Or just follow the road and you’ll find some pubs and shops and things. If you’re lost or thirsty, I mean.”

“Oh,” he smiles, “I love a little woods.”

Strange, definitely strange, but fun. So long as he doesn’t follow you home and murder your in your sleep, you’ll work a story around those deep, sad eyes. You’ll dream up fabulous, new worlds for those well-worn Converse to wander. “Good to meet you. Sorry I was a bit of a road hazard.”

“Mutual. The hazard was mutual. Enjoy your walk.”

You face away and continue in the opposite direction. When you reach a good corner you peek over your shoulder, but he’s gone. It’s a relief, if a little sad. The end of an odd little tale, and the end of the story is always the worst part, even when it’s happy.

It’s another two miles back to the House. Your feet carried you far away, but your mind is still in your room, turning over fragments of inescapable scenes.

Mind and body meet on the doorstep. You come back to yourself, vaguely aware of how shaky your legs feel as you put your key in the lock and push through into the entry way.

Art crawls over the walls, growing across the ceiling. Decades of creatives moving through have left their mark in every imaginable way, and the lot you live with are busy adding their own. Jeremy’s painted a starling over the hallway mirror, and Blithe Sharpied her band’s logo at the foot of the stairs months ago.

Despite the chaos of the House’s interior design, it’s dead quiet. Where is everyone? In bed, probably. Asleep or wishing they were. They’re all under the weather, too, and if they have the energy to get up and be productive, they can only work quietly.

Blithe’s guitar hasn’t serenaded anyone in the wee hours of the morning for weeks, and you’re sure she’s missing rehearsals. Trevor hasn’t been to an audition in just as long. And Jeremy, well, he was always a bit quiet. He liked to keep his headphones on while he painted, and the biggest racket he ever made was when he knocked over the tray with his palette and brushes.

But none of them had ever been so lifeless. Jeremy made the old house’s creaking boards sing in the odd hours as he went from the attic to the kitchen for tea or biscuits. Trevor should be laughing on the phone with someone. Blithe should be composing new music to transcribe on the walls. No one seems like themselves, and all the doctors could do was mumble about stress and lifestyle choices.

But at least you’re home.

You’re tired.

You’ll just have a little nap before you put the coffee on.

You make it as far as the couch.

Then the fatigue swallows you, and thought unstitches from reality as you fall into the ratty floral print. Loose threads of memory follow you down, the rhythm of your walk echoing in your feet, and you find green grass sprouting from your imagination. The dream smells like summer, and droning rattles in your ears.

It’s another story. The same one you keep slipping into when you sleep. Growth, and death, and the thing that sits between lurking underground.

A hill.

A door where there is no door.

Old magic pulling bits of you inside, tattering the edges of your fingers as they steady you against an oak. Skin, fingernails, and tendon shred away like burnt paper, pulled towards the point of entry that doesn’t exist.

Under your palm, the wood groans and flexes, breathing, or pulsing, alive in ways you’ve always suspected trees are but can’t articulate. It’s all impressions here, and it’s pulling you in. The tree has more life than you do. You’re feeding the green, green grass and the hill beneath without growing into it, and that must mean you’re –

Awake.

Consciousness physically jerks you out of the dream, and a muscle seizes in your neck.

“Fuck.”

What’s happening? Did you jump scare yourself? As you try to rub the angry spot over your shoulder, the sound that roused you comes again.

A knock at the door.

Rolling your head to pop the bastard muscle back into compliance, you get your feet on the floor.

But the dream. You need to write it all down.

There must be a scrap of paper around here somewhere. A stubby pencil on the end table and an out-of-date band flyer come to hand. They’ll do. But as you scratch down words to shape the sensory madness of your wandering dream, the knock comes again, and you swear, stumbling to your feet.

“Damn it.”

You abandon your work and make your way to the door, pulling it open without checking who’s waiting on the other side. It creaks open as you glance down to make sure your feet are clear, and you look up to find the storied brown eyes from your walk.

“Hello again!”

He shoots the same, big grin, like this is not at all strange and really you should all remain calm while he stops in for a cup of tea.

[writing-for-life]

Hi love, how are you?

Would you like to talk a little about what Morpheus finds attractive, sexy in a woman?

opinions, theories, anything aaaaaa

Hi friend, always so lovely to see you in my inbox! And everyone else: Send me asks, too, I love them!

Oh, an ask about Dream’s sexual/romantic proclivities and his “type”—the excitement!

You could of course read my fic, then you’ll know what he wants/needs 😜

In all honesty though: I’m not in his head, so who can tell? I guess we can only go by certain hints we get in the comics and draw our own conclusions. So here come a few thoughts:

I think he has a thing for dreamers? Sounds obvious I guess, but many of the women we know he got involved with were women with strong connections to the Dreaming (Killalla, Nada, Calliope, even Thessaly), for a multitude of reasons. And having that connection is, by extension, a connection to him. If we’re getting conceptual about it: They are actually, in a way, pursuing him first (and in the case of Nada and even Killalla and Thessaly, we are basically told so in a way). Which then leads to his courting them, because they are interested in him. And I think that’s something very integral to his being: He is extremely, devastatingly lonely. He craves not being lonely. So the very fact that someone would even contemplate being interested in him, giving him their time of day (or night), would probably already mean a lot to him.

I think we can also see a pattern for women who are fairly strong-willed and speak their mind. Whether he always likes that is a different question, but Titania, Alianora, Nada, Calliope, Thessaly are all prone to talk back and not take shit.

I’ll leave the whole Desire-involvement out of the equation because that skews things. He tries to avoid D/desire because of the sibling-conflict yet definitely feels it. So I neither subscribe to the theory that he’s asexual nor aromantic (some corners of the fandom think he is, fair enough). Especially not aromantic. That’s a contradiction in terms. He’s Dream. Dreaming is idealised and unreal. In love, that’s the very definition of romance—having pink goggles on and aspiring to something that’s not grounded in reality (one of the reasons his relationships ultimately all fail).

So I think he’s prone to romantic gestures (we know that from especially Calliope) and would probably also appreciate them from his lover? That also means: If you want to keep it going, there’d probably always need to be something that keeps him interested. Questioning even (but not in the way like with Thessaly, because she completely removed herself). By definition of his being the unreal, reality setting in is the very thing that makes it all come crashing down. Push/pull, back and forth is probably something he secretly likes? It wouldn’t surprise me if he enjoys a certain amount of drama—again, not the type that makes it all come crashing down, but just enough to keep him on his toes and wondering. Just enough to keep the illusion of impermanence and striving for the impossible going, but not so much that it really turns into an issue. And that’s exactly the problem, because that sounds like a fairly tricky line to walk if you ask me. And exhausting 🤣

Now to the more speculative side:

I think he desperately needs someone who removes the proverbial stick from his arse. He needs to learn to laugh again (if he ever did so in the first place). With others and at himself. I spent a lot of time in my fic to build on that. Ultimately, I think he needs to feel safe enough to let his guard down completely with someone, and I honestly don’t think he ever experienced that with any of his lovers. And for that, he needs to be able to trust. Could be via shared experience of sorts, but I think most of all, he needs someone who truly listens and doesn’t try to change him. Because he is D/dream. Being perpetually strange and prone to be misunderstood is the essence of his being, and he needs someone who is comfortable enough with that fact. So weirdly enough, I think he would change if people stopped trying to make him change, if that makes any sense? He needs acceptance, not blunt or subtle force. I guess you can give dreams the space to change and grow, or you can try to control them—and the latter just doesn’t work. We also see that with him—his rigid sense of control is ultimately his downfall, not what truly helps him. And I think that extends to everything he is, including his relationships.

As for what he likes in terms of bedroom shenanigans (and the purely speculative, but obviously what Tumblr seems to be most interested in 🤣): In my mind, he’s the ultimate switch, if you will. He’ll get a kick out of everything that turns you on, because he is D/dream, and I think it is his very essence to also be that for sex dreams (we don’t need to talk about Calliope’s inappropriate speech at the Wake in this context 🙈).

BUT, and I think that’s an important one: Maybe, just maybe, he needs something that is just for him? Giving in to his own desires (there’s that messed up sibling relationship again). Giving himself permission to do that by being given permission. Be very afraid of my sequel… 🤣 No, that sounds all wrong because my sequel is really not about that alone and will be reliably sad and heavy in parts, like the first one, but I wouldn’t be a romance writer if I didn’t explore relationship dynamics through sex. Because sex is never just about sex 😉

@morpheusbaby3 ask answered

[platonically-loving-alastor]

Hazbin Unus Annus AU Part 2

Ignore how late this is, it took me a while for reasons you'll soon understand

As I said, the titles and overall concepts of every video will remain the same. The first real Unus Annus video was called Cooking With Sex Toys. So. Here me out. This is actually great as a first video, as it will serve as an example of the difference in direction Alastor and Lucifer would take the idea as opposed to the original Mark and Ethan. This is going to be a longer post, as are most future ones for this series, as they will include detailing of what went more or less the same and what went differently from the original version, as well as having quotes integrated throughout to make it feel like a transcript.

Warning for a generally long post and nsfw talk under the cut I guess, incorrect use of sex toys lmao

Angel Dust was the one to think of this idea, of course. He knew it would be funny to watch the Radio Demon do his favorite thing with objects related to his least favorite thing, and he knew other sinners would agree with him.

Alastor: No.

Angel: What?

Alastor: Absolutely not.

Angel: What's wrong with the idea?

Alastor: It's disgusting and a terrible representation of what goes on here.

Angel: It's not about what goes on here, it's about getting you two in the same room together without ripping each other's heads off.

Alastor: Since when does that require the things you're talking about?

Angel: It doesn't. But think of it this way; You despise the idea, right?

Alastor: Correct.

Angel: Then if you start the year off doing it, the rest of the year will be a breeze in comparison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most important detail to get out there: Alastor refuses to acknowledge the strangeness of what's going on. He knows what they're doing, he knows what they're using and why it would be considered 'funny', but he'd rather not. So he acts as if it's completely normal.

Lucifer: So, what do we have here?

Alastor: You're the one who bought it all.

Lucifer, ignoring him: Okay, we got a paddle.

Alastor: A spatula.

Lucifer: Yeah, sure. We also have a different kind of.. 'Spatula'.

Alastor: That one would be used for meat tenderizing.

Lucifer: Right..

Alastor: None of this is sexual. We are cooking a delicious breakfast-

Lucifer: Using sex toys.

Alastor: They are only sex toys if we use them as such.

Lucifer: Sure, buddy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While most things in this video go differently, I think the uses of the toys remain, including the ears and tail. Specifically, Lucifer buys a pair of deer ears and tail, to mock and annoy Alastor.

Charlie: Aw, now you two are matching :)

Lucifer, having bought them for this exact purpose: Hey, we are, aren't we? What a special bonding moment between friends.

Alastor: *eye twitches* We are not friends. Take them off.

Lucifer: What's wrong, Al? I'm a small, adorable, defenseless deer, just like you!

Alastor: I am far from defenseless, your highness.

Lucifer: Well then, if you're so strong, why don't you just make me take them off?

*insert intense stare-down, both knowing damn well Alastor couldn't do shit about it if he wanted to*

Alastor, begrudgingly: Very well.. Just don't let it become a distraction.

Lucifer: Aw see, I knew you'd come around, Bambi!

Alastor: Call me that one more time and I will slit your throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor, rinsing down one of the toys: You should always rinse out your new cookware *proceeds to meticulously clean and disinfect each object. Twice*

He's having a hard time with getting over this part.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel took Charlie's place behind the camera once the cleaning was done, after she fully realized the awkwardness of the situation. She made him promise to not let them get too out of control.

Alastor: *unsuccessfully using the whip as a whisk*

Angel: I think you gotta squeegee it out with you hands.

Alastor: *sighs* this is not proper cooking etiquette

Lucifer: You know, it's not supposed to look like dough. You wanna add a couple more uh.. *smirks and motions toward the fleshlights they used for water* Are we calling them cups?

Alastor: *deep inhale* Yes we are, and yes I will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor: *going on a tangent about how to not burn a pancake, slowly devolving into struggling to flip said pancake with the paddle and becoming increasingly frustrated* As I am attempting to demonstrate, you just have to... Just... Ahah.. This would be a lot easier if I was using a standard spatula. BUT we'll just have to make do with this crude, impractical, nuisance of a- *flips pancake* and there we have it, ladies and gentlemen, a perfectly cooked pancake!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer: *getting ready to beat the eggs* Are there any spices you want on your eggs? Any salt, pepper, or..

Alastor, stopping everything he's doing: Are.. Are those all the spices you know..?

Lucifer being unbearably white (despite not even being human) and the remains of Alastor's heart consequently dying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Because they're using the same materials, that means they're also using the drilldo (Lucifer was responsible for that one).

Lucifer: Huh, I never would've tried beating eggs this way, but it does a pretty damn good job! It's the correct motion and everything.

Alastor: ...

Lucifer: Right, Alastor? Don't you think the drilldo's doing a good job?

Alastor: Please refrain from reminding me about the atrocity you created earlier. And don't call it that.

Lucifer: ... But do you think it's working? *holds the bowl up to him*

Alastor: Yes yes, it's working fine! Just get it out of my face!

'Gee, there's a lot of stuff Alastor doesn't want Lucifer to say'. Yes. In fact, in his ideal world, Lucifer would be completely silent 24/7.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer: *about a vibrator they're using to cut the eggs* This thing is stronger than I thought. I kinda feels nice. Al, you want a massage?

Alastor: Stay away from me with that thing.

Lucifer: Come on, you're the one saying none of this is sexual-

Alastor: Because it's not.

Lucifer: Then why are you so uncomfortable with this? I was just gonna massage your back with it.

Alastor: Sexuality has nothing to do with it, I just generally don't want you touching me.

Lucifer: Hm, well you're good at being a hypocrite, try it on me instead!

Alastor: Only if it will quiet you down. *takes the vibrator from him, reluctantly brushing his shoulder with it*

Lucifer: Ah~

Alastor: *immediately turns it off, puts it down, and steps away* Well I won't be handling that anymore today.

*Lucifer and Angel Dust laughing*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor will eat none of the food they make, insisting it has nothing to do with the materials used and that he just isn't hungry. The trip he made to Cannibal Town shortly after they finished filming is entirely unrelated.

Lucifer: Alright Alastor, breakfast is served! *sets down plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes*

Alastor: I wasn't planning on eating that.

Lucifer: Oh but surely a chef must taste test his own dish.

Alastor: Well then you can go on ahead and do that. I'll be sitting this one out.

Lucifer: You act like we got these things from a second hand shop.

Alastor: Eugh.. I'm well aware of where we got them. I just don't feel particularly hungry right now.

Angel: Ain't you always hungry?

Alastor: Yes, but that can't be so easily satiated with eggs and bacon. Although if you're offering something else...

Angel, regretting decisions: Nope! Sorry sorry, jeez.. Ignore me, I'm just the cameraman

[enniewritesathing]

1, 2, 7, 9, 15, 20, 21, 26, 28

Hey girl heyyy 👋

what’s the last screenshot you’ve taken for your story?

(ominous...)

2. describe your story in three words or less

Werewolf Therapy Session // Holy Shit, Dude // John Curses ALOT // Get His Ass! // These Memories Suck // He's Not Okay

(I can go on, lol)

7. whats the biggest risk you’ve taken with your story? did it pay off?

The biggest risk (so far) is telling this story in general and how I'm not holding back with the subject matter(s). I know simblr tends to shy away from like bloody/gory shit and all of that, even as it's integral to the story itself, and... y'know, it's Sicko Hours at Ennie's place (I've got juice!); there's so many TWs. It's like that one post -- tws for a heads up, tws for 'oh word? 👀' very ymmv.

I'm not sure if it's paying off, though. Slightly over it at this point.

9. what about your story are you looking to improve on?

So, a while back, tumblr switched to the new text editor, which means that I got knee capped into 30 pics each post. And for those who've been here a minute, my posts were always long with multiple scenes. Like 5. I'm having to condense things and really having to think what shots to use (even if I take the same amount... the most I've took for a scene was like 250 something.)

tl;dr - pacing. I know it's a little wonky; I'm trying my best here! 😫

15. what have been the highlights of creating your story?

Getting to use all of this CC I've gotten over the years!! All of it is so super niche-y and without it, I wouldn't have been able to tell this story (accurately). It's also great how everything's coming together, y'know? I've had skill growth since the last time I did this, and my skills and editing are really shining through.

20. choose your favourite shot from your story so far

ngl, there's so many, but this one?? let me count the ways:

The sheer fury of The Werewolf has in this scene, but I like how this shot came out. The toxins in his veins that are (unbeknownst to him) actively killing him at this point. He's in unimaginable pain, but his anger is even more. He's had it.

The veins themselves and how you can see them as he's fighting it. (I've had to double them up and also use some others for his face as well.)

the fucking monitor in the background (lord do not get me started on that but it's for Enhancement and leave it at that.)

The Werewolf making his proclaimation: "I will fucking kill every one of you; you will not get away with this and you will suffer my pain."

if anyone else is intrigued by this -- I guess this part will be my hook.

And I felt that. Really. I struggled with that whole scene basically until I posted it, but I feel like I got the emotion part of it down. if I'm gonna be honest, I didn't know what to do for that scene until I had a Rogue Thought™️, and I made damn sure I was gonna be able to pull it off. I say I did.

there's so much more I can gush about this part but we will be here all night lol

21. choose your least favourite shot so far

It's a good shot but it's my 'least' favorite is because of what happens. (aka pics taken before disasters.) And really, this shot alone tells you what kind of person Charles is. This mfer's vibe? Hideous. Rancid. Abhorrent. Etc.

26. have other sim stories inspired you? 

of course!

28. if you could reproduce your story in another medium (movie, novel, comic, etc.) what would you choose and why?

Comic, hands down. I say this because if it were a movie, it wouldn't make sense and also, who tf would play John/The Werewolf? No one is even close!!

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Wow that last story was amazing. You perfectly balanced how bone-chillingly awful Merlin's story was with the calm tone he told it in. I can't ask you to write more since it ended perfectly and, frankly, I'm guessing that took a lot to write. Still, I could easily imagine many more scenes after this with the knights helping Merlin through this as he slowly realized the monster his mother was to him. Them helping Merlin with nightmares, Gwen and Morgana learning about this, GAIUS learning about it. Merlin bursting into tears one night when, while lost in thought, all of the pieces fell into place and the realization hurt too much to bare. There is so much potential here. Thank you so much for writing this.

(Referencing This Fic)

Ah I'm glad you liked it!!! It wasn't too difficult to write, truth be told, I've always had an easy eye for angst and pain somehow, something my old English teachers worried about lol😅

And you’re totally right!! Everyone is SO ridiculously protective over him, especially when he’s still kind of... unsure?? About how bad it was?? About whether or not he deserved what happened to him? They don’t stop him visiting his mother, but they refuse to let him go alone, and Merlin has to fight tooth and nail to make Arthur stay behind when important things are going on with the Kingdom (that, of course, just means Merlin has an escort of four knights and Morgana, instead of just Arthur. The King has never fussed more than when Merlin comes back from these rare, Arthur-free trips to Ealdor). Though I feel eventually, when Merlin comes to terms more with the fact that, yes, his mother was desperate and trying her best, she was also overly angry and ignoring other options in favour of hurting him, he cuts back on visits. A small part of him always feels guilty for not wanting to see his mum as often as before, but the others, after figuring out that they’ll never be able to persuade him that she deserves a lot worse, learn to distract him with campfire trips and group dinners and days by the lake, when it gets too bad.

It’s often that the others see Morgana angry or petulant over something, which is why they’re all so confused when she’s so calm and collected when they tell her. She’s only met Hunith once or twice, maybe her magic thought she was iffy, maybe it didn’t, either way, she sits stock still and barely reacts, bar the odd raised eyebrow, when they tell her in great detail what Merlin had told them. At the end, there is a quiet “Thank you for informing gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” before she goes to find Merlin, give him an unexplained hug, and tell him that they’re going into the woods to muck around with their magic for a while. She’s absolutely FUMING, of course, but she also knows there’s nothing she can do about it (except disallow herself to ever seen that woman again, in fear she might kill her on the spot), so she just doubles up on her protectiveness of Merlin; he eventually cottons on “They told you, didn’t they? About my mother?” she’ll reply with a curt nod and a “They did. And if I ever see that foul woman she’ll know exactly what I think of her, but it’s something that is neither helpful nor necessary for you to hear. I’m your friend, and I adore you, and that’s all that really matters. Will you help me try that spell again?” and Merlin has never been more grateful for her.

Gwen is the opposite; they expect her to cry and crumble and latch on to Merlin and never let go. What she actually does is rage so viciously, whoever tells her genuinely fears for their own lives, as well as the structural integrity of the entirety of Ealdor when she almost picks up a torch and marches out of the room. She is absolutely insane with anger, for a good few hours, and Merlin is probably the only one that can calm her down, after someone regretfully goes to get him (they hadn’t wanted to involve him, but Gwen had looked this close to smacking the shit out of whoever next put a hand on her shoulder and told her to calm down). After everyone bar Merlin leaves the room she quickly calms and turns gentle and caring and soft. She feels very guilty when she realises that her anger had put Merlin a little on edge, so that rage never happens again (though she is VERY blunt and curt with Hunith, if the others ever allow her to go to Ealdor again), but the others all become slightly frightened of her, in good nature, because they thought they knew what Gwen looked like angry before this. They were all of them, very, very wrong.

And Gaius. Oh my God, he never forgives himself, and he never forgives Hunith. That’s his little sister, that did those things to his boy, despite the fact that it all happened long before Merlin was his, and despite the fact the Merlin was hers long before he was Gaius’. Of them all, I think he’s the angriest, even above Gwen and Arthur, because though Arthur and Gwen see Merlin as their equal/friend/partner later on for Arthur, Gaius still sees Merlin as his kid, his son, and therefor as more of a child than he really is. He goes very quiet when he finds out (probably from the gang, with Merlin nowhere in sight, maybe being distracted by Gwen and Morgana or something), and at the end of the story he excuses himself and no one sees him for like two days, and then he reappears, as normal as he always is, except he’s far more affectionate and protective of Merlin. He gives hugs far more freely, lowers his workload, asks after his health/feelings more, is just generally more caring. Merlin definitely notices, and Gaius sits him down and they have a long chat about how Hunith should NEVER have treated him like that, and that Merlin needs to know that Gaius will never raise a hand against him, will never burn him or tie him or make him do anything he doesn’t want to ever. They cry some more, and I reckon Merlin understands better why what happened was so wrong when it comes from Gaius, because Gaius is his other parental figure, so he’d know.

For sure, they help with nightmares. He’s always had nightmares, but rarely about his mother directly? If that makes sense? More about the things she did to him, except in the nightmares Hunith herself is kind of irrelevant, or like the one benevolent force in the background that he can’t quite reach even though it’s her causing the pain. After it all comes out, and Merlin realises how terrible it all truly was, the nightmares focus more on his mother, and it’s her he’s scared of, as opposed to being drowned or burnt or tied or hit or buried alive. He spends a LOT of nights squeezed into Gwen’s bed, or one of the knights’, or later on, but for longer, Arthur’s, when he can’t get back to sleep after a particularly vicious one.

There’s definitely a potential for more scar reveals as well, I suppose, along his shoulders and down his back and Gaius like... curses himself for not noticing sooner, that Merlin had a glamour over basically his whole torso, down his arms, onto his hands.

And yeah, I feel like the realisation is slow, at first, lots of gentle tears every now and then when he’s just remembering the individual instances of pain and fear, but it takes him a while to be able to see the bigger picture. Maybe when there’s some sort of court case about extreme child abuse?? And Merlin is absolutely furious at this guy’s excuse of “I did it because I love my son and he needed to learn and I wanted to keep him safe and blah blah blah.” because even when he sounds genuine, he looks like he’s trying to save himself more than he looks like he’s telling the truth. It’s like three days after he’s found guilty and whipped before being banished from the kingdom that Merlin shows up in Arthur’s chambers in the middle of the night, completely distraught. It takes Arthur all of half a second to put it together because everyone has been nervously keeping their eyes on Merlin since the trial began, knowing that some sort of realisation was more than likely coming.

ANYWAY!!! It continues to be pretty angsty for a while, and Merlin does get angry at people acting like he’ll break if they so much as look at him, but at the end of the day, everyone’s better off for the truth coming out, and Merlin actually gets to heal instead of pushing it all down.

~

WHEW!!! I hope that’s what you were after, Bard😅, I’ll be cheeky and add this to the Masterlist, just because it’s got a fair amount of detail in it :D

[kitkatt0430]

It's still Sunday here - barely - so here's a Six Sentence Sunday.

First, the sequel to Closer and Closer Still. It's unnamed as of yet and opens with Eobard having run back home after Barry kissed him for the first time (at the end of chapter 1 of Closer and Closer Still). He is freaking out, though Eobard would never admit it.

“I can’t stay. I can’t be a hero. I can’t… I can’t be his.” Eobard’s voice shook at the last words.

It was as though this timeline had twisted into a fun house mirror reflection of the fantasies Eobard had once held, when he was still young, innocent, and naive. He’d imagined finding the Flash and being mentored by him or being his equal. In his more… lonely and amorous moments, he’d dared to dream of the Flash as his lover, older and more experienced. Willing to guide Eobard’s passion in every sense.

Eobard is telling himself, of course, that he can't afford the distraction when his goal is to go back home. But, of course, what does he really have to look forward to go back to? Barry might not have to work as hard as he thinks to give Eobard reasons to want to stay...

I've also started on a show finale Westhallen fix-it - my second fix fic after the Eobard/Savitar crackfic I posted up the other day - where the fic opens with establishing that Barry's in love with Eddie and still feels that way after all these years. So does Iris.

Barry had visited Eddie's grave probably more times than was healthy that first summer after Eddie died.  It was an empty grave, but it had Eddie's name on it and... Barry'd confessed a lot of things he'd been too afraid to say before.

How much he'd admired Eddie.  How much he missed the way Eddie said his name, called him 'Bar' in a way he could now barely stand for anyone to say. How much he'd loved Eddie.  Still loved him even now, all these years after saying the words, finally, to an empty grave.

Barry had told Iris, later.  After they'd moved in together and Iris had been hesitating to put out some of the things that had been Eddie's.  He'd been making a mess of things, before Eddie died.  Because his own feelings had been a mess.  And he'd realized far too late that he was almost as in love with Eddie as he'd already been with Iris.

The first part will probably be a bit Barry & Eddie heavy as they try to figure out a way to deal with the N!SF without Eddie dying or developing the temper issues Eobard and Nora 1.0 suffered from. I want them both there with Iris when Nora 2.0 is born. Then Iris can give Eddie a speech that refutes what she said in canon because S1 Iris loved Eddie - she said screw the future and she meant it. The future she and Barry are going to have together may be something she wants to fight for now, but she wants to fight for Eddie to be a part of that future too.

I may wind up splitting this up into a series, which each part focused on a different aspect of the Westhallen fix-it. And I've got ideas for integrating Eddie into Team Flash - I see Mark not liking Eddie and, oh shit, I'm gonna have to try to write Mark at least somewhat sympathetically aren't I? *swears quietly* I guess I'll figure that out later. Caitlin, at least, will be happy to have Eddie back and alive. After Khione ascends to hang out with the Ancients from Stargate and Caitlin gets her body back, anyway. Though, of course, she's gonna have big feelings about Eddie being back when Ronnie came back but wasn't really Ronnie and Frost died for it. So happy for Eddie, but wary about his N!SF connections too.

[viscountessevie]

Do you think JQ cares at all at how her characters (and to an extent the actors too with the promo and stuff) are treated or does she only care about the money? I mean they already did huge changes and they will probably do more going forward. As an artist myself I would find it disheartening how something I created would be taken apart so much that it barely resembles my own work. And also how does she feel about all her fans response to the season 2 disaster? There was a lot of complaining on her insta posts about what they did to Kate and Edwina (especially on her video post about the sister soulmate stuff). Okay yes she signed off all rights, if one should do that is another debate (i wouldn’t ) but do you think she regrets it? Because it doesn’t feel that way. Makes me resent her a bit tbh.

Ask Dated: 31st July 2022

I can't quite remember what may have prompted this ask but probably them feeling the same way I felt about S2.

While yes Simone and Jonny's chemistry and some acting choices/scene and tone changes saved the season, I still felt robbed of my favourite lines and scenes from the book not being adapted. And of course how they massacred my favourite book family, The Sheffields/Sharmas. We really could have seen a healthy and loving Indian family of women instead we got the same toxic shit I grew up in.

Anyway, to answer your main question anon, I have a feeling the Netflix/Shondaland check was big enough for JQ to sell her soul and writer's integrity. If she did care, she hasn't shown it one bit. Or alternatively her lack of enthusiasm for Kate, The Sharmas and Kathony now that Kate is an Indian woman, can be a sign of expressing her disappointment in the colour blind cast. I mean before the show was announced (and old time Bton fans feel free to correct me), Kathony (and TVWLM) and Polin (and RMB) were her favourite couples and books to hype up. Ever since Simone was announced as Kate, she did the bare minimum talking about her and has ignored Kate in favour of her fave and only white tv couple (so far). So take what you will from that.

There are a few articles out here where JQ kind of does mental gymnastics to justify all the big changes to S2 which I thought were cop out answers. [Note: it is almost 4am as I am writing this and I am a little tired to find for her exact quotes but if I come across them I'll link at a later time but for now Google is your bestie!]

I did find that she stipulating that *only* the Pall Mall scene could not be changed at all, really dumb in hindsight. Because the way they shot and edited that scene was super lame (there was barely any tension visually - Jimone was carrying the tension and rivalry of the scene and match) and there was SO MANY MORE important scenes and characterisations that made TVWLM so popular and beloved and nothing else mattered to her???

I will admit; while I LOVE the OG Bee Scene, I liked the new one too. I just wish they had gotten married earlier. Also of course the new accident scene is superior. But it still does not make up for how badly they fumbled the Sharmas, cutting out their backstories and then giving away an whole useless hour to the Featherflops. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE TWO WEDDINGS THAT WEREN'T EVEN KATE'S!!!

I really wanna know how much she was paid to just go along with everything because even Rick Riordan was able to express his disdain with the Percy Jackson movies!! I think at this point, its safe to say its enough money to make her turn a blind eye to all the horrid changes and not regret anything. It even is enough to make her eat her words about not being able to write characters of colour (will expand more in the next ask) but now suddenly after all these years, she can write a romance novel centred on a Black heroine. I guess characters of colour are only worth writing if she can profit off them. It makes me resent her too anon. 

[amplifyme]

I'm on the "keep the miracle pregnancy" side-- but C'MON CC. You had all of S7 to lead up to his finale, admitted the whole crew/actors knew it was leading up to Requiem's twist, had Amor Fati spaceship (and possibly En Ami chip), so much time and build up you could have done aaaaaand no. You literally threw up your hands, gave us a post-humous IVF timeline that can't fit in S7, gave no explanation for Scully's pregnancy and had everyone dancing around it. 1/2

The best moments of S8 were Doggett and Skinner friend bits and MSR (of course)-- and the MSR was only as good as it got because DD had his micro-expressions and most of Empedocles was add-libbed (even in the scripts it said something along the lines of "they'll know what to do here" or "they do something in this scene.") I HATE Essence/Existence. If I feel all soft and snuggly, I'll cue up Essence's monologue, some of Mulder/Doggett, the babyshower, and SKIP to the last 5 min of Existence. 2/2

The polite person in me wants to say "sorry for the rant" but the petty side of me says "direct all annoyance at CC, he started this." And that's another thing! CC has every right to torpedo his own series; and I'm pretty hands off and will just say "that's not canon", dust my hands off, and move on. But to then turn and point the finger at fans, who were invested (and continue to be in part) in his work and blame them? Wild. ANyWaY, thanks for letting me rant~.  ;DDD 3/2

Hey, I’m always up for a good rant myself! 🤣

I’ll support your support for a miracle pregnancy, even though just the thought of it makes me break out out in hives. I’m a believer in live and let live, and the idea that there is no right or wrong way to be a fan. Having said all that...

To put it bluntly, Chris Carter shit the bed when it came to pretty much anything post-Je Souhaite. There are certain moments in what came after that I enjoy, but I can only do that if I’m able to view them as AU, something completely separate from the series I came to know and love. And it’s not just that I object to the mangled storylines and characterizations, or the blatant retconning he had to do to untangle the mess he himself created. It’s that’s so much (IMHO) of what I loved about the series and these remarkable characters wasn’t there anymore. Everything was dumbed down and simplified and painfully pedestrian. I didn’t recognize anyone anymore. Frankly, I didn’t care to.

You’re correct that CC had every right to torpedo his own series. But here’s the thing: you’ll never convince me that he will ever consider the notion that he’s the one responsible for its steep decline. I think he still believes that everything he touches is golden and he makes no mistakes. Now most of us, if we’re self-aware enough, learn from our mistakes and alter our behavior going forward to integrate those lessons learned and at least try to do better the next time. Instead of doing that, CC gave us IWTB and the My Struggle episodes in the revival. Not just one or two, but four of them, each more badly written and nonsensical than the last. And he still thinks they’re masterpieces of film making and writing. But I guess if you’ve been fed a steady diet of ego-stroking and consume only positive press over a few decades, it becomes difficult to pull your head out of your ass and take a good look around.

As an aside, I took on the challenge, this new year, to finally watch S9, none of which I’ve seen - with the exception of The Truth. I made it as far as Mulder taking a shower in his black boxers and Scully’s, “He’s gone. He’s just gone,” explanation before I bowed out. I can’t do it. I just can’t. More power to everyone out there who enjoys what came after S7. I wish I could see what y’all do, but I can’t. Neither my eyes or my heart are up for the task. 

[staringdownabarrel]

Alright, so I just saw Ahsoka. Like, all of it; I've seen the entire season in more or less one sitting. (Yes, I'm aware this means I desperately need to get a life. No, I'm not going to.) Here's my impression of it.

I don't think the fight scenes were quite as good as the ones in Obi-Wan Kenobi. I think Obi-Wan did a better job at integrating the use of the force as part of a lightsaber martial arts style. I think it also did a better job at tying the fight scenes into the character development. Like, early on, Obi-Wan got worn out easily because he'd largely turned his back on his Jedi ways for so long, but as the series progressed, he did better as his muscle memory increasingly kicked in.

This is unfortunate because Ahsoka had a really good opportunity to go further with this. They had a few different Jedi at a few different levels of experience and training, and they also had a couple of other factions that hadn't been introduced in a live action Star War before. (I haven't seen Andor so don't @ me if I'm wrong on this point. Or do, I guess.) This would have allowed them to not only integrate the force as part of a lightsaber martial arts style in the same way that Obi-Wan Kenobi had, but also show the difference between the approaches between the Jedi, unaffiliated force users who'd still been part of the Jedi at some point, and those with a completely different force tradition had towards integrating the force and their lightsaber martial arts styles.

The other thing I feel like was a missed opportunity in this season was Shin Hati. When she first came on screen in the first episode, my first thought was, "Oh shit, she looks really cool. I hope she has a good character arc." Then she just...didn't. There were definitely hints of one and I think they're trying to set some stuff up for the next season for her to do, but here in this season, she just didn't get as much to do as I was hoping.

This is in direct contrast to Obi-Wan Kenobi, where Reva did get a pretty good character arc over the course of the show. I found her compelling enough that I straight up consider her to be one of the best characters Star Wars has ever had.

This is more of a neutral point, but I've heard a few people say that you need to have seen The Clone Wars to really get this show. That wasn't really my experience. There's enough context clues in the show itself that you get the sense of what the broad strokes of what everyone's relationship to everyone else was like.

I thought it was kinda cool that Shin Hati and Baylan Skoll had reddish orange lightsabers instead of the traditional red that most villains had. I know there's a lot of stuff in the extended canon about different lightsaber colours indicating this or that connection to the Force, but I haven't really interacted with that as much.

The actual cool thing I thought was that they finally left the galaxy for this show. I think this largely makes sense, given the live action sections of the franchise have largely focused on the Jedi and the Sith being in the death throes of their forever war, so they had to bring in some new threats from somewhere at some point. Plus, there's only so many times they can press the "...and now our society is at war with itself again" button before it feels like they have no other ideas.

[styxnbones]

Cass, what was it like being turned? How did it feel?

Cass: "First of all, fucked up thing to ask someone how it felt to get killed. But, I guess not everyone gets, you know, bled out by their girlfriend in a frenzied rage. Some people get to like, put their affairs in order and shit. Or at least it happens while they're high as a kite in the back of some party.

Anyways, the wind up to the whole thing felt mostly of being offended she'd turn her doubt on my professional integrity, with a side order of being pissed that this was probably going to make us late to the movie I had tickets for (because this just had to happen the one night I decided to put some effort into actually dating her). But here Astrid was, shouting her head off, the second the door opened, about how I had told every lick in the city that she diablerized her sire. Meanwhile I'm standing there in the hall, having barely entertained the idea, before this point, that "vampire" might genuinely be the explanation for all of Astrid's weird ass shit, and fully mystified at what the fuck a diablerie was. I tried to cool her off and talk her down, something I was already getting pretty used to doing, and I at least got her to let me in so I could close the door. But after that something I said (and to this day I still don't know what the fuck it was) set her off properly and she put my head through the wall to the kitchen. Everything after that just felt like confusion, panic, and pain, and while I unfortunately remember every single horrific moment in perfect clarity, I'd really rather not relive all the little the details.

Also, as an aside here, when I say Pain I fucking mean it. See, something I'd learn later is that your average vampire bite doesn't hurt at all, in fact most people enjoy it quite a lot. I just really know how to pick em and managed to pull one of the few freaks that make you feel like you're having liquid fire drained out of your veins through two tiny ragged holes in your neck. Of course, because life is a cruel fucking joke and death is the punchline, I ended up "inheriting" that trait.

So anyways, she ripped my throat out and I bled in agony on the kitchen floor for a bit before blacking out. Next I came around, I had my own fangs buried in her arm and she was shrieking. (I myself never screamed though, so I count that as a win.) When she managed to pry me off she told me how I should feel thankful she loved me enough to give me a second chance, but I couldn't even care about how much that was obvious bullshit because for the next little while all I'd be able to feel was hungry."

[docholligay]

There's worse things Midge can grow up to be than a tiktok influencer, right?

I mean she could be a venture capitalist or a landlord, so I guess.

I mean, I make my living on the internet so far be it from me to tell her she can't, but if she did I'd prefer she was a creative: Writer, artist, etc. Or an analyst like her papa. Even if you does like, youtube videos, which I do hate, and lives her entire life making meetings out of what could have been emails, but they're about something--history, art, etc--great!

But like, if she's just spreading bullshit on tiktok to become a spokesmodel for Shein or whatever, yeah, I'm not gonna be super proud of her. And maybe that makes me a shitty parent! But bitch I was hot at 21 too, we just didn't have TikTok so I could embarrass myself in front of thousands with tepid --you know as I'm sitting here thinking about this? The issue is I don't want her to have companies sponsor her. Once companies start sponsoring you, you have to lie in order to get more sponsorship. I don't like it, it feels greasy. Don't get me wrong, coupons, even free product, as long as you aren't chasing more free product, are I think, pretty normal for low level folks. But like..."Jewlet's cooking corner, sponsored by Hershey!" We're gonna have a fuckin fight.

Unfortunately I am not super morally flexible in some ways, and while that is in some ways a boon and laudable of me, and I am rarely (though of course I am human) a hypocrite, but in the bad way, I can see myself being like, "Am i supposed to applaud you getting 40 new pieces of clothing a year?"

But then again, I know the thing on the internet is we're supposed to support our kids no matter what, and I do not get with that exactly. If Jewlet does something for a living that opposes my values system...yes I'm going to think less of her for it?? I mean, I'm not gonna, probably, be like, "YOU CAN'T COME TO THANKSGIVING!!" but if she's taking cash from, oh fuck I don't even know who's all sponsoring that shit now, Tesla, yeah I'm not gonna act like my little baby is living my greatest dream.

And of course, this isn't easy or smooth. If she could somehow convince me that she had integrity while taking cash from, we'll go back to Hershey, great. But I'm not sure I think that could happen, depending on the company, and so, where do we make the line of profiting by bad behavior?

People are gonna come at me with this, because A) they want a bright line and B) they want to believe that unless we are Exxon itself, we are in no way responsible for our contributions to how society words (unless we're using terminology people don't like) but neither of those is true! It's a complicated tangle, but how we choose to engage with things also DOES matter.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

Wow that second preview!! It just makes me more excited and I'm so happy that Daemon is letting his babey take the lead! I appreciate all the research that you do for this fic!! And please take your time posting! And get some much needed rest! Goodnight😘💕

Oh, thank you so much - cutting the preview off before the ‘trump card’ was a hard one, but I don’t want to spoil anything, haha! Daemon’s playing the sassy malewife this go around, only saying shit if it’s rude or disrespectful, lol. I had to do a TON of research on Dorne, including the climate, the Old Palace, Dornish history and of course our Prince Qoren, the reigning ruler of Dorne during Viserys I’s tenure as King of the Seven Kingdoms. The figures of House Martell are all legit from ASOIAF lore; I made up Qoren’s wife and advisors by pulling Dornish houses (after checking the periods of their establishment) and Dornish first names to create OCs that feel realistic to the region they hail from. (Lord Uller’s characterisation is actually based on a throwaway observation that the Lords of the Hellholt are a little nuts, so yeah!). Qoren’s heirs are legit, too! And I won’t elaborate here, but the little tidbit of history I drop in the negotiation scene is actually also referenced in canon, so coolies.

There’s not a hell of a lot of information about the precise layout of Sunspear; and because this is pre-Targaryen integration, the Water Gardens have yet to be built (they were built for the first Daenerys Targaryen who married the ruling Prince of Dorne, who had them built as a gift to his new wife), so I had INCREDIBLY little to go on beyond vague landmarks. I substituted research of medieval castle layouts to make reference to certain locations in the castle, though these really only end up being mild set-pieces in terms of their contribution to the story.

Also doing Dothraki - the language dictionary isn’t as fleshed out as the High Valyrian, so I’m either having to make a guess as to the usage of individual words or make them up entirely (i.e. surnames in Dothraki appear to be requiring translation, for example ‘Targaryen’ is ‘Targeryen’ in Dothraki, so I applied a sorta similar transmutation to ‘Martell’ = ‘Mertell’). Because Dothraki nouns ALSO change conjugation depending on their usage, and yet a lot of words don’t have this information in the dictionary, I am having to make my best estimate as to how these might be transformed for specific purposes. It is by no means as cohesive as my HV (which is still also likely wrong, but might have more of a pattern to the wrongness than the utter chaos of the Dothraki), but I wanted to give it a shot.

Yes, I am maybe a little extra. It’ll likely contribute absolutely NOTHING to the story, but I like knowing I’ve done the work and that my choices are at least reasonably well-informed. Lol. Hopefully I’ll have the update READY to go by tonight!

[roughentumble]

written in the stars wip? 👀 so glad I'm not the only without super detailed titles asdkfl mine are like 'learning', 'sleepy'

my titles are generally even LESS descriptive than this, 99% of my works are entitled variations of "ugh why am i so self-indulgent" because for some reason i get embarrassed writing out my ideas unless i somehow Explain In The Title that yes, indeed, i know writing is a little embarrassing. then i go in later and give them vague titles when they start getting confusing, all being named the same thing XD

anyway. CONGRATULATIONS you stumbled on the non-witcher crackship fic from like before 2018!!!! 🎉 the pairing issss *drumroll*.......... max rockatansky/peter quill!! i remember my logic being "i want to put max rockatansky in space. i want him to kiss a boy. star-lord is, to my knowledge, 1) in space and 2) a guy and 3) was the first one that came to mind, so he's the big winner". looking at the file this thing is..... jeez, i somehow wrote 5k words about this way back when, according to the software. i'll put the logistical breakdown i wrote for myself here, then under the cut i’ll put..... basically everything i wrote, give or take, because this is the only time it’s seeing the light of day anyway

1) the premise

An au so extreme none of the characters are recognizable

Like. Apparently in canon the world went to shit while MAX WAS A NORMAL ADULT WITH A COP JOB???? he's a cop?????????

Like. I guess thats a thing. Who knows. Anyway my point is, thats not relevant here. He kind of knows that he's on earth but like, no one alive was around for when earth went all Fucked, that was a looooooooong time ago. And some people have had old knowledge passed down through oral tradition, but most books are ruined or at least really hard to come by, and some of the knowledge has been warped by time. like, irl we have awesome communities that have INCREDIBLE oral records, but here you also just have folks who don't have time to remember correctly, or make up bullshit to sound cooler, or like. Like you don't have the same communities that are required to properly maintain oral traditions, and when you do they tend to be closed off since that's how they stay safe from all the Bullshit.

ALSO also they're kinda considered crazy, since theyre weird hermits who never talk to outsiders and their knowledge is a little kooky by wasteland standards.

Because thats the impression I was under when I watched fury road, so, thats, what it is here!

Quill was stolen as a kid, but not from earth, cuz, thats not. A thing. No more. Earth is a wasteland! some scientists saw that earth was going to hell, and started a project probably called something real cheesy like "the new eden project" and then they packed up a ton of people onto a spaceship and sent it out into the Great Beyond. at some point on the trip they had some awful bullshit go down, they got thrown off course, and then through other random bullshit they loose track of their old course and have no clue where earth is. They lose their old path in the expanse of space(that seems easy enough to do imo) and after some continued planet hopping, eventually settle on a viable planet(probably called some corny spaceage junk like "eden prime")

quill was born on EDEN PRIME, and no one on eden prime knows how to get to or remembers earth(it was so long ago). some scientists want info on Terra Classique(tm), also theres general like "if you find earth you get an Award/get into guiness book of new world records", and also like it's got a weird air of mystique surrounding it. no one really, like, hardcore cares, but everyone's a little curious about it? it feels a little fake and mythlike.

also everyone knows about aliens, too, its an integrated part of society. nothin to worry about on that front.

SO quill accidentally stumbles on earth, not knowing its earth(maybe??? i'll have to fiddle with some logistics on this, but I think it'll come down to"it's one tiny speck in the whole of space, so the likelihood that you'll just happen upon it when you have full 3d maneuverability is just pretty damn low) and helps out max. Max eventually lets it slip it's earth(not knowing its A Thing) and peter flips out like "YoUrE a TeRrAn?!?!?!?!?!? A FOR REAL REALSIES ACTUAL FACTUAL TERRAN???? BORN AND BRED?????? AHHHH????????!?!??!??!? we are going to be RICH, we are going to have our names IN THE HISTORY BOOKS, we FOUND EARTH, holy SHIT"

Also they grow together probably, and max heals from his Garbage Planet and is Entranced by Eden Prime, maybe folks from eden prime go to try and fix up earth/terra/homeworld/whatever, maybe not, idk. actually that sounds like a great way for things to go terrible from multiple angles, very quickly. but still. Stuff like that. Also they fuckkkkkkk because theyre two handsome men and I am Gay! merry xmas thats my idea.

2) the snippets

"Fuck!" Quill exclaims, snatching his hand away from the offending panel and shoving a slightly sandy finger into his mouth to suck. He glares up, but the tangle of wires seems completely unrepentant.

He grumbles softly to himself as he wiggles out from under his ship gracelessly. His movements work at least two handfuls worth of sand up into his jacket, and it leaves behind a thin layer of coarse irritation when he finally sits up and the bulk of it pours back out. He curses again at this, and tries to shake it out without much success.

This planet-- or at least, this particular corner of it-- is a fucking hellhole, if you ask him.

Sand's getting into every nook and cranny of his ship's equipment like it's its' personal mission to muck up the Milano's hardware, the star he's currently orbiting seems intent on turning the desert sand to glass, and he's yet to see a single sign of life in the days he's been parked here. He's hot and irritable and sweating and filthy and, worst of all, bored. Bored and lonely. Fuck it, he thinks to himself bitterly, it's not a core problem, anyway. He kicks the panel shut and crouches down to screw it back shut. The angle's awkward, but he's tired of being on his back.

He's just gathered and stowed his tools, intent on high-tailing it off this godforsaken rock, when a sound starts rolling over the sand dunes. He pauses at the top of the ramp, and it's silent for a long moment. Quill wonders, briefly, if he's starting come down with a nasty case of cabin fever, but then-- There it is again-- It sounds a bit louder this time, a gentle rumble creeping across the vast expanse, and... Well, it could be nothing. It's probably nothing. He says this to himself a few times, turns away from the open door and everything. This planet'll be a speck on his horizon in seconds. But...

But he's curious, dammit. So, with excitement slowly starting to creep up around the edges, he puts on his helmet and hops on a speeder, grinning from ear to ear. Finally, something interesting.

[insert “quill saves max with space guns” scene here]

+++

Quill is woken from his daze by a flurry of movement, and instead of 'good morning' he gets his own blaster in his face. So much for gratitude.

After he'd gotten the man back to his ship, he'd cleaned and patched him up as best he could. He was still pretty filthy, since cleaning any part of him other than his wounds had seemed like a breech of privacy, but otherwise he had been set for the time being. All that was left was to wait for him to recover and wake, so Quill'd taken the opportunity to rest up himself on the bunk across from his guest's, leaving the ship on auto-pilot. Now he's been woken up(rude), had half of his favorite set of guns stolen(double rude), and has had his stunning display of hospitality thrown back in his face(triple rude, the charm). He becomes distantly aware that at some point, while he was still getting his bearings and not entirely cognizant, the man had demanded Quill let him leave.

"Looks like you're up." He says, raising an eyebrow. The man doesn't look amused, just shoves the gun more incessantly into Quill's face. "Hey, whoa, easy," Quill says, hands raised to chest-height in mock-surrender. There's a tense silence where they both just stare at each other, then he snaps into action, using one hand to smack the gun to the side and drawing his second blaster with the other. The man squeezes the trigger a moment too late, firing into the wall, and he scuttles backwards immediately, slamming back against the other wall in an effort to get space between the two of them.

Minutes tick by excruciatingly slowly as they stare each other down. The man gets increasingly agitated as the standoff wears on, glancing around the room in search of an opening, but the bunks are essentially situated in a hallway, just long enough that there's nowhere for him to duck for cover if he makes a break for it. Plus, he's accidentally gotten wedged up against the corner of the cot, which puts him at a rather severe tactical disadvantage. Finally, he grits out the words, "I won't be your blood bag." His lips curl in disgust around the words.

"Blood bag?" Quill says incredulously. His brow furrows as he struggles to understand what that means. Suddenly, he remembers the tattoo spread across the stranger's back, the one he'd discovered while patching up his side. He hadn't fully understood the meaning when he found it, but now the words universal donor appear in his mind, unbidden. His stomach churns. He thinks I took him, his gun waivers, to keep as a slave. As a human meat locker. Quill looks at the man before him- really looks- and nothing about him is screaming 'aggressor'. He looks frightened. Pissed off also, obviously, but he can see it in the man's too-wide eyes, the tension wound up so tightly inside him that the tendons in his neck have popped out clear as day.

He looks like a caged animal; or, even worse, someone who's been made a slave before.

Quill sucks in a breath and then slowly sets his blaster on the ground and kicks it over to the man. He raises his hands in earnest this time. "I don't want to hurt you, and I won't make you a blood bag."

To say he looks unconvinced is an understatement. His eyes flick between the weapon on the ground and Quill. Another long moment passes and Quill's mentally berating himself for doing something so stupid- wondering if he somehow misread the situation and wracking his brain for how he could recover from the extreme tactical disadvantage he's just put himself in- when the man finally speaks up again. His voice cracks this time, it sounds like from disuse. "Why?"

"Why-- ? Because you were hurt. You would've bled out. I couldn't just leave you there, with those... those fuckin' vultures." Quill is met with an unimpressed glare. "Honestly! I just... I wanted to help because I wanted to help. Because it felt like the right thing to do." The man's expression remains unchanged. "Alright, fine, I guess if I'm being totally up-front, I also sorta' did it because those guys were pieces of shit and I wanted to kick their asses. But mostly it was the good guy thing!" The man's eyes are boring holes in him at this point, and he's a little freaked out because he's not entirely sure what he could say to convince this dude, but then the gun lowers. Not a lot, but it's enough to make Quill grin with relief and he nods enthusiastically, as if that'll encourage the man to complete the motion. "And I'll let you off wherever you want, I'll even put you back right where I found you if you want. I was just trying to help."

The movement is stilted and jerky, but his gun-arm finally drops to his side. He looks incredibly tired, pale from blood-loss, and he leans fully against the wall for support, reaching up to cup his injured side. Quill curses quietly and reaches out to help the man into bed. He springs back into action at the movement, blaster raised and eyes wide. "Easy, just helpin' you lay down." Quill presses forward, steadfastly ignoring the weapon as he places his hands on the other man's shoulders, again mentally crossing his fingers that he's reading the situation correctly and this is the right move. There's an initial flinch, but once he realizes Quill isn't hurting him, he sags like a puppet with his strings cut. Quill barely suppresses a grin- yay, progress!- and carefully maneuvers him in the right direction.  [[ALT:: Quill carefully maneuvers him in the right direction, easing him down onto the cot. It seems like the guy's in too much pain to be completely alert, and Quill makes a mental note to find some pain meds for him.]]

Once he gets the man situated, he moves to take his blaster back, and in response the man not only tightens his grip but growls. Actually growls at him! Quill can't fight back his grin this time, and he pats the man's shoulder appeasingly. [[ALT:: Quill can't help the amused tilt of his lips at that, but then he remembers all the reasons to be on guard that this stranger seems to have, and the expression fades. He pats the man's shoulder appeasingly.]] "It's alright," he says softly, "you keep it." He does pick up and holster the one on the ground, and he spares one more glance at the man on the bed before slipping out of the room.

About half-way back to the cockpit to check on the auto-pilot, a realization strikes him. "Dammit," He mutters, "I forgot to ask his name!" [[ALT:: Just cut entirely. Way too cheesy]]

+++

Quill's just finished fiddling around with the panel on the outer hull that had given him all that trouble on the sandy hellpit when the motion detector alarm beeps quietly inside his helmet. It felt a bit wrong, monitoring his guest's comings and goings, but he'd yet to wake up since their initial encounter and Quill was starting to worry that the man would never wake up, or that he'd try and sneak off with some of Quill's shit in one of his ship's escape pods(which, honestly, would just be downright rude.) [[ALT:: Maybe add; He was just worried for the guy's safety, and maybe also his things' safety a little bit.]] He figures(hopes, really) that if he uninstalls the motion detector after a single initial triggering, it won't be quite so wrong, morally speaking.

Now he scurries back inside to find the man cautiously investigating a panel set into the wall a few feet over and a set of stairs up from the bunks. It's pretty limited in its capabilities, so he isn't super worried about his guest breaking anything, but it is a rather cute sight. He acts like he's never seen a coms panel before, Quill muses to himself. He tries to telegraph his approach, but it still elicits a jump, unfortunately. The guy appears to relax once he sees it's Quill, but not by much. He nods a greeting, then turns back to the panel, seemingly intent on sussing out the mechanics of it.

"It's a coms panel." Quill leans his shoulder against the wall next to the panel, looking the screen over to see what the man's accessed. He looks lost, and he repeats the words 'coms panel' in a questioning tone, like he's testing them out. "I mean, technically it's a CDD panel, but see-dee-dee panel doesn't roll off the tongue as smoothly." He's going for joking, maybe even a little flirty, but instead Quill's met with a blank stare. The man seems to be able to navigate the panel just fine(no surprise there, the UI's pretty straightforward), but it doesn't seem like he's heard either term before(more surprising). "Communications and Diagnostics Display. CDD." He clarifies, and the man nods a bit, absorbing this information, though he still seems pretty curious about the full extent of the panel's capabilities. He's got plenty of time for that, though, and Quill is /dying/ for a little human interaction. "I'm Peter Quill, by the way. People call me Star-Lord." He puts on what he considers to be a fairly charming smile, but the look he gets back is completely flat and unimpressed.

"Star-Lord." He says it slowly, enunciates both syllables, as if it's a new nickname Quill thought up last night and he's trying to talk Quill out of it. Like saying it slower will somehow make Quill snap to his senses and realize it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard. Neither of those things happen. Instead, Quill just adopts a slightly exaggerated wounded expression.

"Aw, c'mon, no need to be a dick about it. Star-Lord's cool!" He insists. The man flicks his eyes up and down Quill once, then in a rather clipped tone hums 'mhm', as if to say 'yeah, you seem like the type who'd think that's cool.' Quill clicks his tongue against his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest. "What's your name, then, oh-arbiter-of-good-names?"

The man presses his lips together and turns back towards the coms panel. The seconds tick by as he taps back and forth between screens. It honestly seems like he's not going to answer, and Quill's just about given up on waiting when he hears a quiet, tentative, "Max."

Max. He smiles softly, turning the name over in his head. "You've got a point... That's a pretty good name." Max scrunches up his face, looking confused. "It suits you." He stares for a moment, like Quill is a puzzle that he's trying to solve, but then he just grunts his agreement and turns away again. "Star-Lord's still a cooler name, though." This prompts an eye-roll, and Quill grins from ear-to-ear.

+++

Max's fork stops halfway between his plate and his mouth. "We're... in space."

Quill nods like it's nothing special. "Yeah, we've been off-world a while now. Since I picked you up. And like I said before, I'll drop you off wherever you like." He speaks in between bites, taking no notice of Max's hesitance. "I'd go with the nearest hub, if I were you- put that awful ball in your rearview mirror and never look back- but if that's where you wanna' be dropped I can't really stop you, so. 'S your call." He shrugs with one shoulder and finally looks up.

Max doesn't even need to say anything. 'This fucker's crazy' is scrawled across his face clear as day.

Quill's own face screws up in confusion at that. "What? Seriously! I didn't want any scavengers harassing me while I fixed up my ship, so I hopped a few rocks over. Easier that way."

"Of course. Perfect sense." He doesn't sound like he believes Quill; he sounds like he's placating a delusional man. He turns back to his food, but he watches Peter warily out of the corner of his eye. Quill can feel a muscle in his eyebrow twitch.

"Seriously! What the hell, dude, my ship's not that much of a junker. She's perfectly functional and got us here no problem. Just needed a little tune-up's all. Which is the only reason I stopped on your planet in the first place."

"I'm sure your... ship... works fine."

Quill huffs. "Alright, c'mon." He grabs Max by the elbow and tugs him up, then ushers him out of the room and into the flight deck. He points emphatically at the scenery beyond the glass. "Does that look like the dust ball I pick you up off of?" Max goes very still beside him, and he can feel all of the muscles in Max's arm going tense. When he finally looks back, Max's face is rapidly loosing color and his breathing's become uneven. Peter's grip and his tone both soften, though he's still incredulous when he asks "Haven't you ever been off-world before?"

Max shakes his head minutely, eyes glued to the scene before him. He takes a few steps forward, reaches out to gently rest his fingertips on the windshield. "This isn't," he mumbles around numb lips, "It's... not possible." His face is twisted up in shock and disbelief.

Quill steps a little closer, nudges his shoulder against Max's and grins down at him, attempting to lighten the mood. "What, never expected a lovable rogue to swoop into your life and finally get you off that backwater hellhole of a planet?"

"I didn't know there were other planets," Max says quietly. A stunned silence falls over the room as Quill absorbs this information. He drags his eyes away from Max to stare in the same direction, taking in the he sights of the planet he'd stopped on. He'd stayed in the same system for a variety of reasons(he had no idea where Max wanted to be dropped off, he didn't want to waste fuel backtracking, he had a few minor repairs he was itching to finally get off his to-do list...) It was all fairly insignificant, and he suddenly finds himself wishing he'd taken them somewhere prettier.

He'd chosen a random moon, and from their vantage point on it they can see a planet striped with swathes of reds and browns, backlit by the distant sun. It's nice enough, but nothing breathtaking, the surface of the moon consisting mostly of dull, rocky formations. Quill gets bored of the view easily enough, but when he looks over he sees Max enraptured. His hand is fully pressed against the glass now and his lips are parted in awe as he openly drinks in the sight before him. He blinks slowly, inadvertently showing off long lashes, and his expression is so much more open than Quill has ever seen it. [[ALT:: cut; possibly. Or rewrite??? either lacks something or is unnecessary I think]]For an instant, he's entirely unguarded, and it leaves Quill's chest tight and his cheeks warm, swallowing reflexively at the sight. All of the sudden the view here seems more than adequate for taking his breath away.

He clears his throat awkwardly and tears his eyes away from Max, attempting to tamp down on his blush as best he can and mentally pulling away from such a cheesy thought.

+++

"So what's it short for?"

Max glances at Quill out of the corner of his eye, baster still held in front of his face in examination. He makes an inquisitive noise that seems to communicate What's what short for?

He's really good at that.

"Your name. Max," Quill explained, plopping down on the bed next to Max, who slowly lowered the blaster as he realized that Quill was intent of having, horror of horrors, yet another conversation. There was also a tensing of shoulders that implied he hadn't been invited to sit, but he either didn't notice or steadfastly ignored it. "What is it, Maximillion? Maxwell? Maximus?"

"Nothing," He said simply. "Just Max." He nodded slightly to himself then started examining the blaster again, seemingly under the impression that he'd completed the interaction.

Quill's face screwed up. "Just Max? Who names their kid just Max? You should at least do them the courtesy of making it something badass, like Maxium Overdrive or something. Oh!" The words had been rolling off his tongue, but he exclaimed when he processed the name he'd come up with. He looked excitedly over at Max.

"Just Max." He repeated, ignoring the now crestfallen Quill, who flopped back against the bed.

"You're no fun," He insisted. "No fun at all."

Max just hummed in agreement.

There was a beat of silence, before Quill broke it yet again. "What about last names? You can't be just Max, right?"

More silence, as Max debated whether or not to tell him. Quill slowly sat up on his elbows, watching Max's shoulder; he'd learned by now that rushing him would just turn him into a brick wall, though the waiting did make him fidget. Max slowly took in a deep breath, as if realizing this was a bad idea, then closed his eyes and said "Rockatansky."

Quill snapped to attention, sitting straight up. "Dude! That-- that name's fucking awesome, what the hell! Why don't you lead with Rockatansky? I'd never go by anything else, ever."

"Bit of a mouthful." Max explained. He tried to keep up his veneer of cool, detached disinterest, but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he quietly revealed "Some people call me Mad Max."

Quill's eyes got wide and he gasped theatrically. "Your name is Mad Max Rockatansky, and you introduce yourself as Just Max?" He lightly smacked Max on the shoulder. "Philistine!"

"Usually in a rush," Max explained with a shrug. "All those syllables'd get me killed." He flipped the blaster over to examine the other side, seemingly intent on having something to look at other than Quill. "Didn't exactly pick 'Mad' either. It was just given to me."

"Okay," Quill said patiently, then clapped a hand on Max's shoulder, "but it's super fucking badass, and you're a fool if you ever introduce yourself as anything other than Mad Max Rockatansky." He said it slowly, really emphasizing his words.

Max chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes as the glanced sideways at Quill. He tilted his head back just slightly and said "Guess I'm a fool then, hmm?"

Quill felt the air rush out of his lungs at the sight. Something about the quality of the light, the way it wrapped around the edges of his profile, the glint in his eye, even the exact angle of his head... It was like a picture in a magazine. Peter wished he had any way at all to capture it, but it left at quickly as it came, Max refocusing on the weapon in his lap and turning away from Peter. He still looked striking, backlit with head bowed and a rare smile on his lips, but now that his attention was no longer on Quill, it was a little less overwhelming and a little more affectionately domestic.

Quill still swallowed hard at the sight. "I could show you how it works!" He blurted out suddenly. Max raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "The... the blaster. I could show you how it works. I don't, uh," Peter hedged awkwardly, glancing away from Max, "totally know everything about how they work? But I know enough to fix them when they break. Mostly. Usually. So, uh, yeah."

The amusement returned, a little stronger this time, and he held out the blaster. "Go ahead and show me, then, Mr. Expert."[[ALT:: idefk, something other than expert here maybe.]]

[worldoffangs]

Nathaniel Montgomery: Coming Out to Kurt

Dear Kurt,

Two weeks ago, Frances turned 31. She’s officially four years too old to join your club. Not that she wants to, not anymore. There was a time, in her twenties, when she felt lost and succumbed to the habits of her parents, but I’m happy to say she has overcome them. She has grown into a beautiful young woman with integrity and ambition. You would be so proud of her. I know I am. I’ve been watching over her for you, like I promised I would, before she was born. Only met her a couple times to offer guidance, usually kept my distance otherwise. God knows she needed it with a mother like hers… I wanted to tell her so much about you, the father she never really knew, but your fame and heritage follows her everywhere, every day. Feels like yesterday, when she was born. You were so ecstatic, remember? So freaked out, too. But I was happy for you. Fatherhood would have turned your life around. She may not have memories of you, but she knows all about you and deep down she misses you a lot. We all do. Can’t believe it’s already been 29 years without you. Time flies a whole lot faster when you don’t have to worry about it. 

Nostalgia is the curse of an old man, you told me once, when you found me smoking on the roof alone. You are too young to have that expression on your face while thinking about your past, you said. Of course at the time you didn’t know I was old enough to be your great-grandfather. Today you would joke about it, if you were here. 

I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. Could’ve helped with your struggles and you would still be around. Our last conversation often comes back to me in bits and pieces, and I wish I’d stuck around longer. I wish you’d stuck around longer. 

A few months earlier you told Rolling Stone you’d stay clean, for your own health and all, but you made an exception on my birthday. Truth is, I felt bad. You deserved to get your life together and the last thing I wanted was to be a bad influence and prove Courtney right. Funny how that celebratory weed actually helped with your stomach pain instead of making you nauseous afterwards. Herbs will be herbs, remember? You could even get it prescribed now. I know, I know: where’s the fun in that? To be honest, the world itself isn’t really fun anymore, but some things would still amuse you. And you were so easily amused... That’s one of the things I miss the most about you; your sense of humor and how interested you were in almost everything. Sadly I have lost interest in most things since your exit. Downside of eternal life, I guess. Becoming numb to our surroundings, joys, loss and pain. Joys are fleeting, losses are inevitable and physical pain never stays long enough to really hurt us. All we really have are the memories we made along the way.

“Wanna see something cool?” I asked you that night, after a heart-to-heart we had about birth and death and everything in between.

In retrospect, my timing wasn’t perfect but in that moment I felt our bond strong enough to come out to you. I’ll never forget the comedic way you sat up straight on the couch: “Always.”

When I reached for my spoon to heat it up with the Zippo you gave me, I was having second thoughts for a moment. I wasn’t nervous about burning myself with it; I was scared of what you might think. It would have left a much more permanent scar to lose you because of it. But I knew, if you’d freak out, I could make you forget what you saw or let you believe it was the pot making you see things. I also knew I would never be brave enough again to show you what I was.

“I’ve seen you shoot up before.” “Just watch.”

About twenty seconds later I pressed the spoon into my palm. It was heated alright, left a pretty nasty mark on my skin. 

“Holy shit what are you doi—”

I loved the way you grabbed my hand when I held it up for you to watch it heal. I’m ashamed to say I also loved when you were high. Your childlike behavior was very entertaining.

“Woah, how’d you do that?” “Magic.” “No, for real.” “For real, magic.” “Can you teach me?” “It’s not something you can learn.” “So how can you do it?”

Fast healing and regeneration has always been my favorite thing about what I was. It’s the cool part, and the least shocking detail about my species. I knew if I’d start with that, you’d be more open-minded. At least I hoped. And you didn’t disappoint.

“I’m a vampire.” “Get out of here.” “I am. Well, half.” “And what’s the other half? Leprechaun?” “Witch. You don’t believe me?” “I don’t know if I want to.” “No? Why is that?” “Knowing those things exist? It would make me question everything else. Not sure I wanna know.”

Fair point. My whole world changed when I met the heretics. Nothing made sense after that and I second guessed everything I’d known and been taught. Dragging you into all of that would’ve been selfish of me. You reached for your smokes, the regular ones, and took the lighter. Cigarette between your lips, you raised an eyebrow at me.

“So if I were to burn you with this, would you heal?” “Unless you set me on fire. Do you want to try?”

Shook your head and lit up, then lay down on the couch. Looked like a philosopher ready for his therapy session, not gonna lie. “Can you imagine living forever? Here?” you asked, surrounded by smoke like a mystical creature. “Fairfax?” The look you gave me! I grinned and reached for my drink. “This world.” “What’s wrong with this world?” “Corrupt, immoral, unjust and greedy. Who would want to watch this crap for hundreds of years?” “There would be perks” I noted, and reached for a regular cigarette as well. 

Keeping our heads clear for the conversation ahead wasn’t a bad idea. Just grown-ups discussing immortality, nothing to see here.

“Like what?” “You wouldn’t age, you’d be healthy. You could, I dunno, experience all the cool new stuff. Inventions, music. Travel the world, never run out of time to see everything at least once. We landed on the moon, who knows how far we could go?” “For a price, I’m sure. Perks like that always cost you.”

That they did. “Yeah” I sighed, getting uncomfortably cozy in the armchair. “And the downside? You don’t age, you don’t get sick, you don’t die. That’s cool. What about the people around you?”

That was always one hell of a downside. Something I didn’t want to think about. “You’re so fucking negative for someone whose face just got printed on the cover of Rolling Stone.” “Doesn’t change how I see the world, you know? Popular or not, I’m still the same. Music is my outlet, I was never in it for fame.” “Too bad. You’re immortalized now.” “Sold my soul, didn’t I?” “Yeah, you’re theirs now.” “Would you do it? Sell your soul for fame? Immortality?” “Maybe I already have.” “I’ve seen you hungover, you didn’t seem immune to consequences. If that’s not part of the deal, I don’t want it.”

My consequences were significantly less severe than they ought to have been. Self-harm, overdose, alcohol poisoning…and all I got out of them were hangovers. Not that I ever complained; some of the stuff I’d done could’ve easily off’d me. “Still alive, aren’t I?” “You won’t be for too long if you keep partying like that.” “Partying isn’t gonna cut it. Besides, I’ve lived long enough.” “Who’s fucking negative now, Nate? You sound like my grandfather.” “Wouldn’t surprise me.” “You’re what? Twenty-three?” “What year is it? I’m a hundred and twelve, actually.” “The fuck you are” your chuckle ended with a yawn, rubbing your eyes and I was sure you’d fall asleep soon if I stopped talking. 

You didn’t believe me but you were open to discuss it. Had to give it a shot, I owed that to our friendship. After all, you were my best friend at the time.

“I was born in 1880” I blurted out. That’s a start, I thought to myself, and sighed before putting out my cigarette. For now. “When I was twenty I had an argument with my dad that drove me away from home. Couple years later I met a group of people on the run and assisted the people they were running from to imprison them. Fast forward to the following year, I was killed outside a bar and reborn as a vampire.”

When I looked up and saw your expression, confused and in disbelief while processing what you heard, I tried for a small smile. I left out a massive amount of details but you didn’t have to know that. Silence, and more silence. And it would’ve been an awkward one without ‘Lucinda’ playing quietly in the background.

“For real?” “For real.”

Out of all the things I expected you to say or do, the one word you did say was at the bottom of the list: “Cool.”

“Cool? What do you mean cool?”

Sat up, stubbed your cigi and grabbed your soda for a sip.

“Not the part where someone killed you, that sucks. But if what you’re saying is true… How long have we known each other? Three years? Four? You’re not a bad guy, Nate, whatever you are, and you’re still one of my closest friends.” “It doesn’t freak you out? Not even a little?” “Why, you wanna harm me?” “No?” “Then it’s cool.” “I guess?”

Well that was anticlimactic. Had I shown you my fangs or magic, it wouldn’t have gone so smoothly.

“So… you have to drink blood, then?” “Sometimes. Keeps me alive, but I can go a couple days without it.” “Gross” you said, without sounding grossed out. Fair; knowing the places you used to frequent, that didn’t surprise me. “But you don’t kill people for that, do you?”

There should’ve been fear in your eyes but the high took care of that. You were calm and interested. Genuinely. It freaked ME out.

“Of course not” I replied, but there was anymore completing that sentence in my head. Years I’ll always regret. A different expression appeared on your face, the one you had whenever something clicked.

“Nancy? The nurse?” “Yeah.” “Sweet. I like her. She’s cool. You should bring her over sometime.”

A huge part of me was relieved but—

“Can’t fucking believe you’re a hundred and twelve. You don’t sound like it.” “Sound like what? Jane Austen?” “Yeah, like… older. Wiser.” “You’re really not weirded out by any of this?” “Would you prefer it if I were?” “It would make more sense for sure.” “Nate, it’s cool. I mean, how is blood any worse than coke or heroin, you know? Out of all your habits, drinking blood to stay alive is the least concerning. Is it unusual? Is it… messed up? Damn right it is. But as long as you don’t hurt other people in the process, is it really a bad thing? Satanists do much worse for fun. Besides, you said it yourself, there are perks.” “And downsides.” “There’s downsides to all things in existence, you know? I’m just… sad for you, really. Can’t even begin to imagine losing so many people along the way.” “It’s been… difficult” to say the least, a decade after Cassandra’s death.

The engagement ring I bought, but never gave her was still on my keychain. When you caught me staring at it on the table between us, you lit up another cigarette and stayed silent for a little while. 

“Promise me something?” “Of course.” “If anything happens to me… be there for my daughter?” “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” “But if it does. When I’m gone and you’re still here?” “I promise.”

Now your guitar pick is hanging on my keychain, next to Cassandra’s ring. 

[pretty23kinky]

Well not gonna lie I feel stupider now than ever back here I guess on a way doing the same but saying I'm not. The voices in my head say don't make it such a big deal but those voices don't understand. It's like to have done so much to make things what I see them as or even more to work so hard to clean things up to be able to work again. I just don't see myself being careless or just out there. But same time I don't have the luxury of my own or privacy. Independence, or so many things it takes to place myself comfortably where I want to be. On a way I know what I need to be doing and what it will take to built a better life. I guess in more ways than one I'm being lazy and falling to carvings more than I am stand up and handling my business. But in the same light. I been there done that. Ive circle all through those motions and responsibilities and honestly the only difference is bring myself ground up again! I mean I'm still stick on the apartment, and so many other things. I meet people and of course even of my mind is being in the gutter they tell me so many things that make me wanna value them so much more than one nighters or risk them being in bull shit. But yet it's the same shit. I was once told to just do me and what ever makes me happy. "I can't" I can't do this by myself and I dont believe in trusting all to any that don't feel as strongly as me is worth it at all. Truth is I would love to kinky for lack of a better word but the problem is I don't wanna pay with my integrity my career or my pride anymore. I'm tired of walking away like I'm so frustrated as if I'm such a great catch I'm frustrated because with out means I am meaningless and all speak to me as of I'm point less. But what is the point of creating persevering or in so many ways pretending just to sit out here in comfortable either alone or uncomfortable with the fact of it all in general. What do I do honestly. I'm not making a big deal nor drama I just tired of this consciousness and guilt.