#faith in the goddamn future let's do this

[kazumist]

EPISODE 22 ✿ IT CAN'T HAPPEN

YOU + ME = LOVE — A DILUC SMAU

masterlist / prev ep / next ep / wc: 526.

“stop following me.”

“(name), if you could please just let me explain," he reaches out to you, trailing behind you hastily.

you stopped in your tracks and faced him, fighting and praying for your voice not to crack. “explain what? explain that you’re leaving the country in, like, what? three weeks?”

“i was going to tell you," he says, attempting to gently grab your arm but you pull yourself back out of his reach. “and when would that be? when you’re about to board that goddamn plane? when you’re about to take your first step into another country? when, diluc?” this is precisely why you didn’t want to fall in love. the attachment that comes with it is enough to make you go insane.

“i—”

he was speechless. for once in his life, diluc was speechless. he always knew what to say; there was never a moment where he would be found hesitating in his words. but for some reason, ever since he met you, this is the first time he actually didn’t know what to say. he knew that if he said another word, it would hurt you—the both of you—more.

“thought so.” your words were cold enough to feel like bullets on his skin.

he calls out your name, unsure if he’s making the right decision right now. but you ignored him, taking this as your chance to speak up.

“you know? i knew it was a bad decision. to let myself fall for you, that is. i should’ve kept my balance before succumbing to whatever the hell this pit is, because fucking hell, diluc ragnvindr—i love you. there, i said it. i love you, diluc ragnvindr. even when i don’t want to, i do.”

silence.

say something—do something, anything, diluc. you thought.

he swallowed. “i can’t, (name). we both have bright futures ahead of us and i’m not sure if i’m ready to juggle a relationship with that. you deserve someone who’s willing to take risks for you, and i’m just not that person. i’m a coward. i’m no risk taker. i’m too scared to even take that leap of faith—even if it means that i get to be with you.”

another moment of silence.

diluc continues, moving closer. his steps were cautious, trying to read if you’d let him (which you did). he grabs your arms on both sides at first, then a hand travels to your face, caressing your cheek ever so gently. “i can still help you and continue being your tutor until the semester ends, but this… us…” a deep breath.

“it can’t happen, (name).”

tears started to sting your eyes when you pulled away from him.

“you know what? let's just end it. finals are over, the semester is ending and you'll be graduating soon. thank you for your help, diluc. i really couldn’t have done this without you.”

you walked past him, not even sparing him another glance back. diluc wants to say something—to do something—but no words come out of his mouth and his feet are glued hard to the ground.

so he just watches you leave, lowering his head down after you leave his sight.

extra notes.

i wrote this chapter when i was still working on ep 9. and this is literally ep 22. i was wayyyyy too excited LOL

anyways this is actually one of my favorite parts. hope you guys liked it as well, happy valentine's <3

taglist (open): @ryuryuryuyurboat @g4bbyyy @kizakiss @quackimilktea @mochiboo123 @thystarsshine @cerisescherries @jamieexistss @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @aethion @dottoreworld-page @naishite @sleepyeri @staaarhin @eroxotckv @kiyiiaarchived @fallenssun @lolmeowing @dorryx @astolary @kissingkzuha @axerrri @a1-ic3 @lottierulez @livelaughlovekuni @sorcerersseestars @whipped-for-fictionals @morganadorodo @briluvspnk @venderretta @xiaosoneandonly @angeilix @morgyyyyyyy @kazioli @the-massive-simp @qtange @tiredjxnna @yuminako @acheronie @sn1perz @akitokisser @siu-ssi @artri-ad @hyeinszn @saeskiss @bubblegum-angelquartz @boomie-123 @moni11032 @sandwichmyonetruelove @cherrybb-ily @itztaki @dontmindtheevie @hotgirlshit5 [1/2]

[rebel-walnut]

Let's Do The Time Warp Again

steddie time travel s3 ficlet, Part 1

Ao3, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4

"Harrington! Customers!"

Pins and needles flood Steve's limbs as Robin's voice slowly comes into focus, his eyes still scrunched closed with sleep. The tiredness is heavy in his bones, like he's been asleep for years in the oddly cold back room of Family Video.

"Dingus!"

Steve doesn't even remember falling asleep on his break. Actually, he doesn't remember taking his break at all. Or even coming into Family Video. In fact, the last thing he remembers was covered in black and red slime-

"DINGUS! YOUR BREAK IS SO OVER!"

Steve forces his eyes open to witness the too-white walls of a break room that burned down a year ago. Frantic hands run over the garish blue and red of the tacky sailor uniform he hated, the same uniform he lit on fire in his backyard with Robin before the start of her senior year. Somehow, it's back. All of it. It's all come back to haunt him.

Robin from a year ago seems to also be back to haunt him -or maybe she's here as his savior- either way, she's just as loud as ever as she kicks the swinging door to the cramped back room in. It hits the wall with a crack, causing a jolt of both familiarity and dread to shoot up Steve's spine.

He waits for the tell-tale chime of a clock that was still ringing in his ears before he woke up in the summer of '85 or Robin's face to start warping into the melted mass of tentacles hiding in the Creel attic that will certainly become a common occurrence in his nightmares, but the only thing in front of him is Robin's all too common apathetic yet disappointed stare.

"I gave you an extra 7 minutes to sleep, but that little sampling-brat and her terror-troop are back for more and I swear to God, Harrington, I cannot deal with her again today, I just can't-"

Steve cuts off her ramble by scrambling out of his seat with more effort than either of them had ever put into this job, squeezing past her and out of the small doorway.

"Steve, where are you- hey!" Robin says as she latches into Steve's shoulder before he can finish his beeline out the door.

"I'll explain later if you still exist," Steve responds as he turns out of her grasp, shoving past the group of teens making their way into the store. He can hear Robin's small shouts after him, but her exasperation with him is nothing new and frankly the least of his worries.

Starcourt, somehow, is still standing. Clamping down on his rising heart rate, Steve glances around for any sign of the current date, or even year. Everything is exactly the same as it was a year ago, but Steve knows nothing he sees can be trusted. Not with the visions Max described, that's for goddamn certain. While he doesn't know enough science fiction shit like Dustin to know if he jumped universes or is in a different reality or whatever the fuck, he can at least place a little bit of faith in his ability to distinguish dreams and visions from reality.

His frantic pace along with the extremely out of place sailor costume draws in a few curious stares, but again, least of his worries. No one's faces warp into slimy horrors and none of the walls start crawling with vines, no flickering lights, no distorted voices in his head, no signs of the upside down at all. As comforting as that should be in theory, that means it's something else entirely and definitely something Steve can't figure out on his own.

He finds himself leaving a trail of pinches down his arm as he reaches the far side of the mall, posters for the theater coming into view. A particular poster catches his eye, BACK TO THE FUTURE highlighted in yellow and orange in all its sci-fi font glory.

Fuck. 1985. Again.

He presses his fingertips into the glass covering the poster as his breaths come out raggedy and sharp. C'mon, wake up man. It's all some weird ass fever dream, you probably just hit your head again.

He waits a few seconds and prays to wake up. Nothing. Obviously, he thinks. He's stuck, somehow, a year ago, with no clue how it happened or how to fix it or if anything here is even real in the first place.

Steve isn't the guy who comes up with plans, okay? That's more of a Nance thing, and Steve is totally fine with his role as the muscle. Unfortunately, right now there seems to be absolutely no Nancy Wheeler, and Steve has no fucking clue what the fuck is going on.

He steps back from the entrance to the theater and spins around probably faster than he should for someone who maybe just got shot through time, and comes face to face with a small music store labeled Hot Wax Records in some sort of groovy 70's style font. That's not what gets him though.

Steve stops dead in his tracks as he makes eye contact with the guy at the front desk. His hair's a little shorter than he last remembers it, hitting just above his shoulders instead of just below them. The man is wearing a familiar denim vest with slightly fewer patches and less grime than was on it when it was adorning Steve's shoulders, but familiar all the same. What gets Steve though is that the man at the counter is white-knuckling the edge with one hand while the other braces and claws itself around his neck, a look of equal parts horror and recognition strewn across his features. He looks on the verge of screaming, yet his eyes are forcefully locked into Steve's with a determination Steve had only seen from him once before.

They both falter a half step forward as Steve struggles to find his tongue.

"Eddie?"

[zvdvdlvr]

- in which they watch you die

☆ - featuring :: arthur morgan, john marston, dutch van der linde

☆ - warnings :: death, coarse language, death threats, smoking, murder, reader's gender is not specified, pov changes

☆ - k.j.'s diary says... this writing is both short and not my best work. sean maguire, javier escuella, charles smith will be in part two

☆ - ARTHUR MORGAN

my fault, all my goddamn fault was all arthur could think when he watched your body fall in slow motion to the ground.

"arthur!" dutch called over the loud gunfire. arthur was unable to tear his gaze from the warm blood leaving the four bullet holes in your side dripping onto the ground.

he told you to come into the bank, to help him get up to the roof to snipe the guards. he told you to leave the relatively safe position you were in to come help arthur with a job he could do perfectly fine alone. he just wanted you out of there and quite unfortunately, you died because of that.

"get up to the roof, son!" dutch yelled, shoving arthur out to the alley of the saint denis bank.

"'m sorry, y/n. god i am sorry. i ain't- christ. . . i ain't mean to getcha killed. shit, i ain't even know where you were," arthur mumbled. he climbed three ladders before he got to the spot that would do him well.

he killed every guard he saw with a headshot, spilling the oily bastards' brains onto the ground and walls of the glorified 'city of the future'.

not five minutes later the man arthur called his brother was shot in front of him too.

ain't that just the way, arthur thought. the man's jaw was sore from how hard he was clenching it, and his eyes stung like nothing else.

"let's go, damnit!"

the gunslinger was pulled to his feet.

arthur was pushed forward. "we need to get out now so there aren't more dead later," dutch said.

and that was that. . . for now.

☆ - JOHN MARSTON

it was completely preventable, what happened to you. at least from what john heard.

of fucking course he had to be locked up the day you died.

he had looked around when he got back, a wry smile pulling his lips thin. past arthur's shoulders, past sadie's unsmiling face. "where's y/n?" he asked, smile faltering.

sadie swallowed, eying arthur. "uh. . . y/n-"

"is dead," arthur finished. "agent numbnuts, uh, ambushed us. we were all good up until the end, adrenaline. . . adrenaline wore off. y/n fell behind me," arthur explained, avoiding eye contact with john. "they showed me two bullet holes they'd been hidin'. . . y/n died in my arms. talkin' 'bout you." arthur clenched his jaw and sniffed.

sadie looked uncomfortable. she'd gotten close with y/n and she had been crying alongside arthur while y/n spent their last minutes just talking with the pair. it's been so long since i've just talked with someone. ain't know how much i missed it, they had said. miss you asshats already, was one of the last things that had bubbled up from y/n's bloody lips.

"we're sorry, john."

"did- did you bury them?" john's voice wavered dangerously.

sadie nodded. "we can, uh. . . show you."

the rest of the day was a blur. a mix of voices, the slur of a familiar voice. john didn't know what to do.

☆ - DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

"goddamn it, y/n!" dutch yelled. the man's voice was hoarse from lack of sleep and water. his irritation stemmed from plans going wrong, scores being set-ups, and his own gang showing slowly showing their distrust.

"what, dutch?" y/n asked tiredly. they massaged their temple.

their most recent argument was because of y/n tackling dutch to prevent him from being shot in the shoulder. because of this, dutch missfired his bullet and eventually their getaway stagecoach was blown up.

"you have nothing to say?! no apologies!? we could be halfway to tahiti right now, y/n! if it weren't for you-"

y/n scoffed in disbelief and ran a hand down their face. "if it weren't for me saving your life? how much do you even know about tahiti, dutch? i trust you, i have faith in you, i believe in the power of this gang but please. we need to take our time with these pla-"

"don't you tell me what to do!" dutch strode over to y/n who was shaking their head.

y/n- clearly done with the conversation- made their way to their horse. from the faint lamplight, y/n could make out javier and charles both watching the interaction. micah tipped his hat to y/n; micah didn't talk to y/n enough to hate them. john watched dutch and y/n from the fire, already sensing something in his gut.

the anger radiating off of dutch was downright murderous. y/n hadn't even done anything wrong! john gnawed on his lip, one hand unconsciously drifting to his holstered gun.

"we are not done talking about this!" dutch grabbed y/n's arm and yanked hard.

"fuck!" y/n cried, instinctively jerking away from dutch's touch. y/n tore their arm from dutch's hold and, because of all the power that y/n used to get away from dutch, fell forward. a loud snap followed right after y/n collided with the ground.

a morbid choking sound fell from y/n's lips as their head made sharp contact with a rock. y/n felt blood rush to their head because of the odd angle y/n landed in: their head was below their broken legs.

dutch stood, parayzed in his spot. blood flowed out of the side of y/n's head, sliding down the dirt in rivulets. "i'm sorry," he whispered.

"y/n!" javier called, running to where y/n lie. charles followed closely behind, along with john and arthur.

charles set both of their lookout lamps by y/n's head. "be calm, y/n, you're okay," charles soothed, clutching their hand.

javier grasped y/n's other flailing arm, tears springing into his eyes. "you're okay. por favor- please- keep your eyes open," he begged. "mrs. grimshaw will be here soon, yeah? she will get you all fixed up."

arthur shouted for the women to hurry up because he knew y/n probably wouldn't survive this.

charles kept mostly quiet, checking y/n's pulse at random. javier was telling a story, talking about all the beautiful sunsets and sunrises in mexico. john waited off to the side, watching tilly and mrs. grimshaw and abigail share a look before giving arthur a terrible look.

dutch fled. he got on his bright white horse and left. he didn't know how to deal with thaf. he just killed you. you are dead because of him. dutch felt tears roll down his face. he felt the softness of his horse's hair. and he also felt the burning two foot hole in his chest because of the hollow, fearful look in your eyes after hitting your head.

on and on he rode, never stopping and never stalling. with no destination in mind, dutch figured he'd ride till morning then go back to help bury you.

you. you are his new ghost.

[cricketnationrise]

Congrats on the followers!!

I would love some Kent Parson, 1:13am, in Vegas. I’m thinking The (Shipped) Gold Standard - Fall Out Boy for vibes and the rating is up to you, I’m good with any!

I’m dairaliz on AO3

ngl, as much as i love this song on its own and for Kent post-draft in particular, i was really worried about writing this one. i haven't actually written Kent POV before, so i hope i did him justice and that it's even a little bit what you were hoping to get 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here

🏒🏒🏒🏒

1:31am, las vegas

Parson! Over here, Kent! What do you think about Jack Zimmermann’s overdose? No comment.

The bar Kent’s sitting in didn’t even card him. 

For all Kent wants to pretend he’s got his life together—he’s got his dream job, he’s moved out of his parents’ house for good, he’s making enough money to buy his mom a goddamn mansion—he’s scared fucking shitless. 

Every clink of the ice cubes against the bottom of his glass grates on his brain, a sharp reminder of the weight of an entire fucking franchise sitting on his shoulders. A franchise that might be settling for second-best, the only option available. Kent will never know—too terrified to ask—if Vegas would have drafted him regardless of Ja—Zimmermann’s presence; will never know just how he and Zimmermann would have done playing on opposing teams, how they would have stacked up.

And the bar didn’t even card him. Sure, he was dragged out by his new teammates, was being welcomed to the fold with alcohol and non-diet-approved bar food, was surrounded by boisterous young men who were putting their faith in him—

It’s fine, probably. They definitely picked this bar because they don’t card regularly. It’s not his teammates’ fault that the idea of one night of drinking being enough to tip the scales, to irrevocably tank a promising career, a future—is spiraling around Kent’s head, circling the drain. Zimms had been right there with him, neck and neck, constantly battling for more points, for bigger numbers. They’d pushed each other, pulling the best performance out of the other both off and on the ice. And in the blink of an eye, the flash of lightning, the space between one breath and the next: Jack had been ripped away—from hockey, from the NHL, from Kent.

Kent knew. He knew as soon as he saw Jack on the floor, skin a shade no skin should be, empty orange pill bottle next to his limp hand, and dialed 9-1-1 that life as he knew it was over. No matter what happened next, this would change everything. Part of him was panicking, practically hyperventilating, as he half-yelled, half-sobbed through the phone at the dispatcher, as he hovered ineffectually around the medics as they strapped Jack to a backboard. The other part of him railed from behind a wall of mute shock and horror and resignation as Jack blocked his phone number, kicked him out of his room, told his parents not to let Kent visit.

Each time Jack shut him out, another layer of chill settled around Kent’s heart. The wall around his real self got another brick higher every time a reporter asked about the draft. Deep in the core of himself, he wants to lash out, to push back, to scream that the boy he loves won’t talk to him and what did he do to deserve that—but even Kent isn’t self-destructive enough to say any of that where someone else can hear. So he’ll drink with his teammates, in a sketchy Vegas dive bar, and count down the days until the season starts.

It’s the only thing he’s got left.

Kent, what do you say to those people who say you only went first in the draft because Zimmermann wasn’t there? Haha, um...I guess we’ll never know what would have happened, will we? A great big mystery for us all. I’m just excited to get started on winning the Aces a Cup.

[the0nlyallison]

Just a vent

Oh shit okay there's a lot my bad lol

You know what? Fuck you, Benji. Fuck you. I told you so much. I felt so much. And that shit hurts like hell. I let my fucking guard down for one goddamn second. Y'all always plan it out. You let a girl fall in love, and the second you absolutely 100% know she's in love, you destroy her. It's what every guy does, isn't it? I've tried and tried with guys. All they wanted was my body, didn't care about my personality or who I was at all.

But you did. You didn't give a shit about my body. You talked about how much you loved my eyes, my smile, my laugh, the way I blush whenever you just look at me or talk to me, my stubbornness, how much i fought for you. You called me beautiful and sweet and kind. Nothing regarding sex or sexual desires.

You listened to me complain about family issues, ramble on about school and my future, listened to the little kids that talked to you while I was volunteering at the school. You then said you wanted to get married and was looking for houses and rings. Not gonna lie I was also looking for houses and had already started ordering house essentials. You had me pick the wedding date... May 14. I created a Pinterest board for you, with love quotes, date ideas, and things that just reminded me of you. I created a Pinterest board for our wedding too. And Karson was so fucking excited and instantly started to plan it. He said he 100% had to be there to see it. He said he was our son.

The day before you ended it, hell, the night before, you called me your cosmic brownie, asked to see my ring finger, gave me finger hearts, blew me kisses, said you loved me, called me beautiful, laughed at me blushing at you calling me beautiful, and begged me to stay with you on the phone all night. I had no idea. How was i supposed to know?

Then you tell me I deserve better and need better... You don't know what the fuck I need or deserve. I'm not gonna find no one better because you were literally perfect. I felt like I could be me. I felt comfortable with myself and in my own skin. I knew I no longer had to hide myself to please others, which is what I have been doing for seventeen years.

Your overthinking got to you, Benji. It did. No, I wasn't gonna find someone better. No, I wasn't gonna cheat on you like all your exes did. I was with you and only you. I didn't look at any other person, I didn't want any other person, except for you. You were who I wanted. No, I wasn't gonna lose feelings. My feelings grew stronger each day. No, I wasn't overthinking or upset at you. I got a little lonely on your busiest days, but I knew those days you were having fun and you were happy and I was really happy about that.

We weren't gonna be two hours away forever and you weren't gonna be that busy forever. We could have worked. You just lost faith and hope and let your thoughts take over instead of trusting in what you and I had.

But blocking me on fucking everything, saying you wanted to forget it all, that shit hurt like hell. I know damn well I wasn't bad to you. I did my best. I responded as soon as you sent me a message, I supported you with everything, I tried to reassure you, I tried to make you happy. The only thing I can think of, if I had to do something wrong would be not verbally talking on the phone, but you seemed to understand and said seeing me smile at you and your words was enough.

I really love you Benji. I'm that kinda person. I fell hella hard for you. And I'm not falling again. That was my last shot. I'm not gonna get hurt again. The pain is unbearable. I can't breathe. Everyday I'm fighting for my life. I'm crying over everything. I get so so numb and anxious. I don't smile anymore. I'm just here existing.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Notes - Sevika's Family

Sharing some anthropolinguistics type notes re: all of Sevika's family member's names and their surname. Also tying it to the subcurrent of spiritualism and darkly messianic symbology where Silco is concerned.

What is god without being, etc etc?

Sevika:

Sanskrit - A sister of charity.

Symbology in FnF: A handmaid, an adherent to a faith.

Lives by her namesake and 'serves' the subterranean god of Zaun - enacting his will and his will alone (as she sees fit.) In Tarot, she'd be the High Priestess paired with the Devil - the complex dance between the lower and the higher self. Inevitably, hers and Silco's scenes feature both deviant shades of sexuality and hardheaded business, but also future plans and past dreams. Lots of conflict between the better self versus the worst desires; addiction versus grounding in the divine; the world's evils and the need for an inner faith.

(Loyalty).

What is a messiah without his helpmate? What is the tower without its dragon? What happens when the two fall apart, and what marvels can be born when they meld?

Also, goddamn, do they need to stop smoking…

Nandi:

Sanskrit - Joy, bliss. 'Nandi' is the bull vahana/mount of Shiva, god of destruction. Shiva has a third eye on his forehead. It burned Kama/Desire to ash once opened.

Symbology in FnF: Door-keeper to the divine.

Literal Priestess who serves as the heart of the Undercity's fractured community via Janna's Temple. Her characterization is purely through Silco's eyes in the flashbacks: mysterious, gentle, sultry. No glimpses of her as a flawed human being until later in the story, via Sevika's confession in Act VIII. It's Nandi's murder (and the destruction of Janna's Temple) that triggers mass riots in the Undercity and kickstarts the Day of Ash. In Tarot, she's the High Priestess paired with Death - Silco meets her at a critical threshold in his life, that tipping point between rageful boyhood and bitter adulthood. She's his first brush with the supernatural (presaging Jinx) and his first taste of fatherhood - a possibility destroyed.

Their scenes have a sense of dreamlike fatedness to them: he is a wounded, angry thing. She is a gentle guide who eases him and shows him a better way. Silco learns a great deal about pomp and pageantry re: spirituality from her, and how to use it to build the Eye's mystique. She's also responsible for the sign language he uses with Sevika and his crew: danger in plain sight.

She dies because of him, and so does his hopeful flirtation with a better self.

He is, inevitably, her destroyer.

Samik:

Sanskrit: Peaceful.

Symbology in FnF: Opposite of peaceful. A brawler, a conman and a violent narcissist.

The bogeyman who haunts both his daughters. Has done a great deal of damage to both, and it manifests in different ways. In Tarot, he'd be the Judgement card and the King of Wands, both reversed. Nandi fears his violent rages, and sees them mirrored in young Silco and tries to soothe them. Sevika sees his hard-driving ambition and does everything to see him succeed where her father ended up imprisoned. She still loves her old man, deep down, and he has stolen her childhood.

He is a man with a great deal of potential, but it has been squandered, due to both systemic and personal actions. The only person who can change this is himself, and he refuses to.

By the time we meet him, there's a sense of anticlimax, that Sevika already has the victory she wanted. It's just the wounded girl inside who needs to let go. She has trouble making the choice. Silco, his own possessive instincts awakened, makes the choice for her. Seems to presage a vicious cycle repeating itself, but in fact, he is finally protecting someone he cares for, the way he should.

And Sevika is finally waking up to her own worth.

Silco's POV in these scenes is a curiosity. He sees Sevika in her father's shadow and feels the weight of his own sins, and the mistakes he made with Jinx. There's an echo of a man he might have been, and a glimpse of what could have been in his daughter's future.

Ultimately, Samik is a tragic figure, but not a sympathetic one.

Family name: Mitra

Proto-Indo-Aryan - friend/ally. Proto-Indo-Iranian - something that binds.

Symbology in FnF: Our one-eyed messiah's worldly tether.

The family that hovers in the background of Silco's own dramas with Vi and Jinx. Ties that bind him to a different self, a different life. Reminders of duty, but also earthly joys - and flaws. Symbolically, the family in all its dysfunction is a slice of the Undercity's trauma, its hope, and the bonds that keep everyone together. Silco's a chance to become a better self, and a better father.

Mitra is also the patron name of the sun-god. A reminder of what Zaun has been denied. But also a message that Silco's life has a greater purpose, and his godlike self is an illusion.

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 24: Miller/Bryan, Boyfriends

This is literally the least Christmas-y thing I could write on Christmas Eve but I just had the urge to write some angsty Miller/Bryan stuff instead of trying to do fluff. I'm just not in the fluff mood.

This is in the same universe as this scene, is extremely self-indulgent, and may or may not be good, but it was fun.

Canon-divergent, S3-era, ~760 words, some sexual content

Written in 22 minutes

*

When they were dating on the Ark, they would fantasize often about domesticity. They'd find quarters together as soon as they turned eighteen, either on Alpha or on Farm, or anywhere else that would take them; they'd sleep together in a bed big enough for two. They'd develop some sort of morning routine. Their clothes would get mixed up. They'd kiss at every threshold, before parting, upon meeting.

Miller was a damned romantic in those days too: trading stolen goods for extra ration points and extra ration points for private time in the mess and a dinner for two; memorizing love sonnets; handing Bryan sprigs of plants from the fields on Farm as if they were bouquets. Some of the gestures made Bryan laugh. But always with such fondness. And after Miller was arrested, they promised to stay faithful—Bryan promised to visit and promised to wait—and so everyone in the Sky Box said they were married. That was the word for couples who believed in a future like that. Miller never told anyone that he proposed for real, with a bit of junk metal fashioned into a ring, as earnest and as quiet and as serious as he'd ever been in his life, never told a single soul that Bryan said yes. Yes Miller would live and as soon as he got out, they'd be married in Miller's father's quarters and afterwards, never separated ever again.

Later, when Bellamy asks, he says he has a boyfriend. Fiancé seems too heavy somehow, like maybe Bellamy will read it as kids playing dress up, or only frown as he does at Sky Box slang he never got the hang of.

It's easier to live with himself, too, when he's got a boyfriend up there or out there or possibly dead, than to let himself go on spinning fantasies about the love of his life.

It's not domestic now and it's not sweet either, or soft, or easy, when they don't know what to say to each other, so every time they meet, they just fuck. Bryan hangs out with Farm mostly, without saying they're family in so many words. Miller’s got his dropship survivors. Thy almost never talk about that now. The scar on his shoulder aches when it's about to rain, and when he puts on the Guard jacket, it feels heavy on his shoulders.

Bryan's assigned quarters in some of the new outbuildings, where they've stuck the rest of the station because all the rooms in Alpha have already been divided up. But it's not hard to sneak over, hardly more of a challenge to sneak Bryan over to his. Bellamy practically lives at Gina's now. Their bed is a double, and it's easy to shove Bryan down on it.

They never get fully undressed and they lie to themselves and say it's because it takes too long, and they need something hot and hard and now, they miss each other so goddamn much. It doesn't hurt the way that sex always hurt in crowded spaces up on the Ark: banged elbow in the supply closet, ache in his back from trying to twist around too much in his single bed, and then he couldn't even catch his breath after, because soon his father would be home. He might say it hurts in a worse way now, like poking an old bruise. Old man, Bryan says, half-smiling, when his heart starts beating too fast and his lungs burn but he's thinking about Bellamy giving him a hand job in this same bed and then about how many people have fucked in it over the last 100 years, and how little it matters, sentimentality like that.

He can feel Bryan's palm pressed close against him, that moment of pressure before his fingers start scrambling for Miller's zip, and he thinks that if he's breathing in the air from Bryan's lungs right now, open mouth to open mouth and the darting slick press of tongues, maybe he's also hearing Bryan's heart in his ears. Maybe they are one person. Maybe that's the rhythm he can feel coming of its own accord into his hips, as Bryan straddles on top of him, and they move as if they were fucking, and everything else drowns out and is still.

They haven't mentioned the word marriage since their reunion at the settlement gates. Not even once. No words like boyfriends or domesticity or even home, but again and again he huffs you into Bryan's mouth: you and want and need. You, you, you.

[avariantflaire]

Was it a moment? Hunter wondered often. Did it only take a moment – one moment – to dedicate his heart?

O Captain, My Captain.

“You’re good at doing what you told,” Darius had said to him once, matter-of-fact, without malice. Somehow that was worse, to be told within reason that you were the sum of someone else’s parts. And in an effort to prove himself, there she was.

Willow Park. He knew her first as the eager captain of a future team, looking for the best and brightest. She had seen best and brightest in him, and made sure to never let him go.

At first, he needed that. He didn’t know it yet, but he sorely needed the faith she had placed in him without even thinking twice: a chance he needn’t have earned, only fulfilled.

It was the same for everyone in the Emerald Entrails, in hindsight. They were all overlooked, misjudged, and seeking to prove themselves in some way; Willow – the Captain – had seen the best and brightest in them too. With her there were no chances.

Willow Park never did anything in halves.

“I didn’t know how to say it yet. But –”

“You mean a lot to me too.”

And it was so Augustinian of him, so devoted of him, so goddamn faithful of him, to always reach for her and be by her side. For his loyal heart, this was no difficult feat; it was merely a testament to everything that came before and everything she promised in the after.

He looks at her, now, with her cropped hair and her still bright eyes. She is the best he’s been looking for, all of his life.

“For love of thy love I do it.” - lifted from St. Augustine’s Confessions

[thedeadflag]

I've rewatched WoT S02E06 three times now, and once again I find myself hoping beyond hope that we get a better ending with the Seanchan at the end of the show than what RJ/BS managed with the books.

Like, I get the "little in life is black or white, we exist in the greys" bit that's routinely pushed, and the narrative exploration of the politics of privilege and how the majority of a society can grow to tolerate and appreciate the subjugation of others and the horrors their government inflict if it means their own lives benefit. I get the spotlighting themes of Law vs Justice and Order vs Peace they bring out. I get that. I do think both authors really had a tendency to stumble when writing towards those aims, and it often came across as minimizing the evil of the Seanchan. There are things in life worse than death, and I never did see the Seanchan as any better (and often saw them as worse) than the Dark One's forces. By the end of the series, the dark one's imprisoned again, and the Seanchan are reasonably well equipped to eventually conquer the world within a few generations (and iirc we do get glimpses of that future through Aviendha). The only other alternative would be if Shara only let a trickle of their forces to the final battle, and had enough of a channeler army to pose a threat, and they honestly wouldn't be any better. Shit's seriously fucked.

And I have little doubt that not too long after that conquering (or perhaps in the later stages of it), some desperate people will bore into the Dark One's prison again and release him in exchange for the power to defeat the Seanchan. And I honestly wouldn't blame them (and the Dark One probably worked to build that force over the centuries as a plan B if all else fails), and it may just be the right thing so that the Seanchan society can die off, and hopefully when the Dark is defeated once again, there won't be the threat of a looming incomprehensibly evil society ready to take over.

Like, I don't need a kittens and rainbows happy ending in the show, it wouldn't fit the series, but I do want one where the threat of the Seanchan is seriously considered and where there's some glimmer of hope for a better turning of the wheel. Throughout the series, I always considered them on par with the Dark One as the "big bad", if not the sneakily primary one, since they're more 'digestible' as the more human face of evil, but still no less evil than the Dark One and its forces. And it's a big reason why Sanderson's books kind of fell flat for me and often undermined the tension they tried to build in sections related to them, because the threat of the Seanchan really wasn't addressed well, at least not IMO.

It's probably because RJ planned another book series featuring Mat that would potentially explore the deconstruction of Seanchan society and the political intrigue and philosophical issues involved with changing the core principles of a society and the elements of imperialism/colonialism involved in that, but we're never getting that story, so can we please just ensure the show ends with a decisive L for the Seanchan? Please let them reap the consequences of their own actions for goddamned once, at least to some extent to where there's meaningful hope for a better future.

Or maybe just have Semirhage completely eliminate all Seanchan leadership and capability to enslave channelers during her time in the Seanchan mainland, and publicly collars a few sul'dam before killing them to break public faith in that whole system. Like, screw the civil war nonsense, just cast them into utter chaos, left to question everything they believed in. That way, by the end of the show, there may be less narrative impact to the truce, but it'd make for a more hopeful ending given the slim likelihood of the Seanchan culture and principles lasting long after the end.

Like, I don't care all that much how it happens, only that it does happen. The writers have a chance to make their own mark in a good way, and if the series lasts that long, I hope that they take it. (And also maybe just omit the Shaido abduction arc entirely, it doesn't need to happen and they wouldn't have the runtime on screen to justify that conclusion.)

[cheemken]

have some more villain au stuff hahaha

In that lil ending where Diantha won and made Iris her successor and such, imagine if that's how Iris actually finds out abt the predictions tho

Like maybe she's also doing a lil survey and such w the Gym Leaders, and not like Diantha would actually replace them, they've been so loyal to her, but ofc it's just smth she lets Iris do so she wouldn't be bored or anything

And just, she got to Anistar, watching over Olympia and her battle, and it's all going well yknow, the challenger lost, and Olympia is there watching em leave, and yknow it's all cool w Iris, she was abt to leave too, then Olympia stops her, saying "the queen's successor, your visit reminded me.. how she would watch me."

"what..?"

"she was just so young.. then I saw her own future, so dreary and bleak."

"you.. you knew this was going to happen?"

"yes, I sadly do. Yet I've done nothing to help. We had so much faith."

"..."

"Princess of Kalos, on behalf of everyone, forgive us our sins."

"...you knew.. you knew this was gonna happen. You all knew, didn't you?"

"I apologize. The faith we placed onto her.. became her downfall."

"you could've stopped her."

"she could've killed us—"

"she was just a child!" Iris yelled, her own heartbeat quickened, all of this, all of the death and destruction, it all could've been prevented from the start. "She was a child when you saw her future and you didn't help her change it?!"

"..my dearest princess.. destiny is powerful.. her fate has been set."

"no.. it wasn't. Her fate wasn't set in stone, you all knew, you psychics knew, and instead of helping her you left her and shunned her and pushed her into becoming monster she is now." And God yknow it was all too much for Iris, to hear all of that from Olympia, to hear how a lot of people already knew, already saw so many warning signs, and yet they had so much faith in a child that they believe would be the hope of their region. But that was it ig, Diantha was just a child during all that, a child, and they knew what's gonna happen to her but they had so much goddamn faith in a child to overcome that darkness by herself. Only for that child to be consumed by it, and now it's too late to salvage any light that's left within her.

God imagine how pissed Iris would be tho, that she had to witness the deaths of so many of her closest friends and family, and it all could've been prevented if the people of Kalos just didn't see their Champion as someone who was shackled to a future that they could've changed.

[sainamoonshine]

The whole thing about Sudowrite is like…

get out of here with your “but you already posted your work for free on ao3, why are you mad that an AI is using it without asking?” bad faith takes.

Posting fanfics on ao3 is like bringing a dish to the neighbourhood potluck. I know what to expect there, everyone is nice and polite, and if they like my dish they can ask for the recipe or take some leftovers home or whatever. There are implied, understood social rules that the entire community understands and follows.

The fucking AI is like entering my kitchen at 2 am to find out some asshole decided to follow me home and is eating the leftovers with their fucking hands. Not only that, but they’ve been doing it for a while and stealing my ingredients and bringing them to Greta from two streets over. That’s why all of her dishes are too sweet because she’s been using MY maple syrup without knowing how to properly pair it up with other flavours or anything. I made that maple syrup myself, I know it’s a grade B from late in the season and not a grade A, so I would never put it on pancakes and I’m also adjusting the amount from what the recipe says. Greta doesn’t know any of that, she doesn’t even know where maple syrup comes from!

These two situations are nothing alike! And just because I agreed to bring the free food to the potluck, it doesn’t mean that I agreed for some automated system to take it without asking behind my back!

Some things I’ve heard people say and my bitchy answers behind the cut, as well as actual ~professional writer~ advice because I felt bad about being bitchy:

“Oh but you would have talked someone through the recipe if they asked, so why are you pissed that the robot reverse-engineered the ingredients and gave them to other people???”

The. Robot. Did. Not. Ask.

But also it’s just fucking ridiculous to think that an AI can just sample a bunch of finished stories and extract turns of phrases and stylistic elements or what have you from them and offer them up to another writer as if they have any value outside of their context. It would be like tasting turmeric in a dish and then telling the next person that turmeric is the great solution to fix their flavour profile when you’re missing the part where I also added black pepper and the exact timing of when to add both of these things for full effect. Knowing about metaphors — or worse! Being suggested a metaphor by a software that doesn’t even know what your story is about and what themes are relevant — is not the same as actually knowing when and how to use the goddamn thing.

“Why are you so angry, just let other people have their ~process”

This sudowrite thing is both unethical (stole my stuff to train it’s dataset), fucking rude (stole my stuff to train it’s dataset) and a tacky, amateurish crutch that will harm those writers who use it in the long run. This process of yours is bad and you should feel bad. Asking an AI to help you generate a story won’t help you learn how to write one — and worse, it will actively teach you bad habits that will impede your ability to write creatively in the future.

“Oh but it’s just to fluff up a couple of sentences”

If those sentences aren’t important enough to merit your full attention then don’t include them in the novel to begin with. The best thing you can learn as a writer is that sometimes, if the words for a scene won’t come, it’s because you need to rethink the scene. Or not include it at all! Tolkien hit Bilbo on the head and made him miss an entire battle, and it worked a lot better for the ~themes and tone~ of the book than if he had witnessed said battle. If you just say “he took the train” instead of describing the entire ride, it’s fine. You don’t need to ask a robot to describe the train for you.

“Oh but I have a story in mind, except that I can’t write very well, so I need extra help. Not everyone is a good writer!”

It’s called hiring a ghostwriter. It’s one of the unspoken foundations of publishing. Look it up. There is no shame in doing it and it’s been done for so long and for so many people that there is an entire structure already in place around the practice. Which means it’s easy to find out how to do it, how much to pay and how to handle crediting (or not, depending on contracts) your writing help. Also these people are goddamn professionals and you will have a much better end result than if you just cobbled a story together piecemeal via a talking robot.

“Oh but I just want something to help me brainstorm, I’m not using it for actual writing, or if I do I’ll rewrite a lot of it. It’s fiiiine!”

Find a beta. Join a writer’s group. Do a manuscript swap. Sorry about the required social aspect of these things but seriously. It will do so much good to your creativity and inspiration if you just talk to another human being about your craft. They can offer suggestions about what you actually WANT to write, not just what you have written so far.

“Oh but I have writer’s block”

We all do. You’re not special.

I don’t have any actual advice on this one because my usual advice is to stop thinking of writing stories as some ~sacred unknowable feat of creativity and inspiration~ and realize that it’s just a craft, and like any craft you can practice and learn to do it pretty reliably.

To go back to my earlier cooking metaphor: some days you don’t have the mental energy or ~*inspiration*~ to make a really fancy meal for dinner. But you still gotta eat. The moment you learn which boring but easy and functional recipes you can make on those days instead or giving up and ordering in, that’s the day you can really say you became serious about being a home cook. (Disabilities notwhistanding etc this is a metaphor).

Similarly, you become a ‘real’ writer when you learn that you can still do writer shit even if you’re not ~*inspired*~, like working on outlines or making a bullet point list of what should go in a chapter so you can come back later or even take a break or create marketing material. Writing is an art, yeah, but it’s also a skill. Some days you’re gonna bang out 500 really boring words without a single hint of divine inspiration and that’s just a thing you gotta learn to deal with.

But in this case I’m not sure if the advice applies because if the fictional person I’m talking to is using an AI software to combat writer’s block, then they probably have already achieved the cynicism required to apply my anti-creative block method of “put aside the naive idea that creativity is a talent and realize it’s just unglamorous work.” So yeah I got nothing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“It’s just a more advanced version of autocorrect, chill out”

Autocorrect sucks. It’s only good for changing ‘fuck’ to ‘duck’ and making funny screenshots.

[boreal-sea]

Henlo hope you're having a great weekend! So uhm in case you're in any time up for more breaking down of terf/radfem bullshit I have some particulary awful receipts 👀

(Comparing being trans to BIID and Amputation Fetish??)

https://www.tumblr.com/sowhatnotcreative/721208090257735680

(Calling men these souless and horrible creatures over her own prejudices 🙃)

https://www.tumblr.com/sowhatnotcreative/721277805260914688/

(Unironically calling up for "Androcide" or at the very least for Matriarcal Totalitarism as the only means to "escape" the patriarcy)

https://www.tumblr.com/sowhatnotcreative/721036955767439360

(Literally straight up calling/implying gay/bi men as a whole are inherent pedophiles over annecdotal shit "But It's OKAY Gurls it's not because they're queer men it's becuz they're MoIdS 🤓")

https://www.tumblr.com/sowhatnotcreative/721026890468589568

Also as a little last note so this doesn't end in a negative note: this one Terf i'm taking all the post from, is the same one that tried to own Neil fucking Gaiman with a bad faith ask as a horrible misogynist or whatever, and got destroyed beautifully instead lmao

https://www.tumblr.com/thefloatingstone/719857099410128896/

A fun game to play with these is "Do I already have the TERF blocked?"

The answer is yes, I do lol.

So the first link is a lot of fearmongering about "What if kids could identify as amputees and get their limbs mutilated!? Also, anyone with BIID and ALL "trans" people are fetishists!"

There's so much wrong here but first of all, there's nothing wrong with having a fetish. End of statement. If you engage in your fetish in a way where you and anyone else involved comes away from it happy and fulfilled, I do not give a fuck what you're doing behind closed doors.

As for BIID, she didn't mention the outcomes of the two patients who underwent the surgery with that doctor, nor did she mention the outcomes of any other person with BIID who has successfully achieved their goals. I sure as hell can't speak definitively on it either; I've read news articles and everyone in those stories was completely happy with what they'd done to themselves. But that's probably a biased sample group; I imagine anyone who regretted their choices wouldn't be as open to speaking about it.

Basically: there is very little research into BIID because it's so goddamned taboo to even think about, but people who HAVE spoken on it are completely happy with their choices.

This might seem weird to admit but I've had daydreams about going blind or deaf, needing a wheelchair, or losing a limb, and enjoying it, and how I'd live and adapt. I bet a LOT of people have such daydreams, but we're all told it's "gross" and "mentally disturbed" and "mutilation" etc etc, so no one ever talks about this shit.

I also think about voluntary body modification from a sci-fi perspective. If I lived in a cyberpunk world or a future world where cyber limbs were a thing, would I voluntarily go hack off a healthy limb to get a cool robot arm?

Fucking yes I would.

And maybe that's related to my perspective as a trans person who is already completely comfortable with the idea of more "extreme" forms of body modification beyond tattoos and piercings. I don't have any problem with people who get dermal implants or do scarification or who get surgery to turn their ears pointed or who split their tongues, or top surgery or bottom surgery etc etc.

IDK man, my perspective is, it's their body, let them do whatever the fuck they want to it.

---

Links #2, 3 and 4 are just her projecting her trauma onto innocent human beings so she can dehumanize them. She should get therapy about that.

---

The final link is fucking hilarious and I love Neil Gaiman so much.

[cosmotheo]

CW // Self Harm, Depression, Very Negative Thoughts

I don't have anyone I feel comfortable talking to about any of my problems anymore. In that case, I'm just going to scream into the void.

I'm so fucking sick and tired of being told that my problems suck. I know they suck. I have them, they're mine, I know how they suck better than you do. I hate being told that shit is just bad and that it'll get better somehow. "You got this, I know you can do it!"

What if you're wrong. What if I can't fucking do it anymore. What if I've been screaming again and again and again that I can't fucking do this anymore and you keep fucking ignoring me? What if I'm more suicidal now than I ever have been, and you don't seem to notice? You think I can be a doctor? I can't even be a student. I can't be fucking anything. I was robbed of a future that everyone around me is living.

I'm so fucking sick of being ignored under the guise of people believing in me. You know how I know you don't believe in me? Because all of the things I'm actually confident in my abilities to do, you fucking question. And yet magically, you have faith in me when it would absolve you from lifting a fucking finger to help me. I've been drowning for fucking YEARS and you've only helped me when it was immediately convenient to you. I've gone out of my way for all of you. When I have nothing, I still make enough for you. I pay my debts back religiously. I try so hard to make sure that my people are taken care of, and I get a deafening fucking silence in return.

It's 2AM and I'm sitting here fantasizing about taking a steak knife and cutting my arms open. About going to sleep and not waking up. About never having to deal with any of this shit ever again. I hate having to do this all day every day. I'm so fucking tired of flailing around just to tread water. I'm going fucking nowhere. I want to be dead already. I want to not have been born, because at least people wouldn't miss me. Just let it be over. Either kill me or let me live in peace. I fucking hate this so goddamn much.

None of this has been worth it. I've not become anything worthwhile enough to justify the pain I've gone through. I'm tired of being weak.

[junebugwriter]

To my younger self, age 14, in 2001:

Hi. I'm sure you have questions.

What I want to say is, above all, you are beautiful. You are intelligent. And above all, you are beloved. Nothing will ever change that.

You probably wonder who this middle-aged woman is with your moms face. I'm you. You don't understand. You won't for a long, long time. But what you're going through is normal. You aren't crazy. I know, things suck right now. You're going to have a difficult time in high school. Some real bad shit is going down in September that's going to break everyone's brains, but frankly there isn't much you can do about that without them putting you in a psych ward. So try not to think about that.

But I want to stress that... you aren't a freak. You won't have the words or the context to understand what you are for years to come. You won't find people who affirm you, the real you, until later in life. But you will find them. Have faith that you'll find them.

No matter what happens, you will survive. Your hardest days ahead of you. They will try you, but you will persevere. It's what you do. And yeah, you'll cry. It's okay to cry. Don't let anyone try to bottle you up. Don't let anyone ever shame you for your tears, for your softness, for your sensitivity. That is what makes you so strong, so pretty, so beautiful.

Thank you. You have tried so hard to hold things together, but you don't have to try so hard. You are the world's hardest critic about yourself. Give yourself a break. Give yourself some grace. You don't have to put the world on your shoulders. You dont have to save the world. You aren't perfect, but it is your imperfection that makes you shine.

I'm proud of you for getting through so much. I'm proud of you for living, being your genuine self. People may call you a lot of things. They'll call you a queer, a f*g, a sissy. And to be fair, you are queer. That queerness will one day be your greatest asset. You'll be a woman one day, and you will find that yeah, you're not crazy, you were meant to be a lesbian-- thats why you are so attracted to lesbians!

I know. This is a lot. And you won't remember any of this, because I'm writing it in the future, and as of this moment, time only flows in one direction. But I hope that some of this stays with you. Because you deserve to be happy. It's beautiful that you want to live your life for others, but first you have to live for yourself. Otherwise, you will have nothing to give. Protect your energy. Don't waste your time on people who don't love you as you are, rough edges and broken glass.

Most importantly... thank you. You are so goddamn beautiful. Your spirit will help so many people. You will touch so many lives. But most of all, thank you for growing up to become me. That is the greatest gift of all.

Love,

Your future self.

[residentdormouse]

hi! this is a sign to talk about glen bateman. tell me about your headcanons, or explain your favorite scenes, or just gush about how great he is! whatever you have to say, i want to hear it. :)

Open Floor to talk about Glen?

Are you sure about that?

Eh, doesn’t matter. Too Late. No take backs; already off…

Going to have to do Headcanons. Favorite scene? All of them. Gushing? Would never end and would drift off into incoherent screeching. This is me controlling myself...

So going off of the 2020 version, because let’s face it, that’s the one that hooked me, (Goddamn it, Kinnear, I blame you…) Glen sees a future image of Fran in his dream. He doesn’t know who this is. It means nothing to him. Hell, Mother Abagail was just ‘some lady from a commercial’; no reason this woman would be any different. Figment of his imagination. His mind working around a (family) life he had opted out of long ago.

(Kids? Hard pass.)

But then Stu comes, and everything hits. Mother Abagail. Fran. Just what this means.

He is somehow doing impossible things. Things he would have discredited only a month prior. He wasn’t lying when he was giving his speech to Harold; he was (is) a man of science. He believed what could be seen. What could be proven. He married a physicist for fucks sake. “Hard science.” Maybe this stuff could exist, but he sure as shit wasn’t taking it on blind faith. Give him something, or get the hell out of here.

(And it’s dream prophesies with the steel chair…)

So now for things that aren’t explicitly stated. Headcanon.

In light of this revelation, Glen would be left to wonder what else could have been ‘more’. Mother Abagail was the “most vivid dream” he ever had, but Fran’s must have been pretty damn vivid to paint what he did. What else had he dreamt that had a deeper meaning? Places? Events? Maybe it was an image leading him to a paint spot that put him on the path to run into Stu? Or a trip out that would have brought Kojak to him? Potentially even before that…

I imagine he had quite a few nights on the road lost in thought over this. Because, that’s what Glen does, thinks. Comes up with theories.

It is very probable that he’s seen a few things he naturally passed up as coincidence. The world ending up like this, society causing its own downfall, that didn’t surprise him. Pretty sure, he knew something like this would happen. But was that from his studies of humanity, or because he already had vague notions in his head of this outcome.

(Both? I don't know...)

With no proof, a dream of destruction like this would have just been a nightmare. With knowledge now, it could have been preparation. Along those lines, did he know his wife would pass early? So much loss, did it subconsciously affect his decision about kids? About his future path? Maybe not, but maybe…

And its possible this wasn’t all just in the past either. In this version, Glen recommends sending Tom as a spy, because he thinks he could do it. But Glen’s interaction with Tom - limited, at best. I’m sure there’s moments that wouldn’t have been screen worthy, there’s been a fair passage of time here, but nominations were coming from groups in. Fran’s group had Dayna. Larry had Judge Farris. Tom was with Nick. Why was Glen the one to bring it up? I think he might have seen something that led him to feel more confident in this recommendation. I think he had a feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Tom would make it out.

(Even though he desperately wanted somebody to say anybody else.)

I don’t know, this could be completely off base, but these are things I think about. Repeatedly. Because this damn character will not leave my mind. And hey, worse things to think about, am I right?

Glen Bateman > Real Life Bullshit.

Sign me up for the Glen show, all day every day.

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #20 “Be Fruitful and Multiply” | January 29, 2007 - 12:15AM | S02E10 

The half-season finale of Moral Orel ends on a really beautiful note. This one focuses on Reverend Putty and Stephanie, the girl who runs the sex shop. Like clockwork, Orel has been visiting Stephanie on a weekly basis trying to convince Stephanie to go to church with him. He’s shocked when this time she says yes. It turns out she has an ulterior motive: to meet Reverend Putty and let him know that she’s actually his daughter. 

This doesn’t go down too easy for Reverend Putty. First of all, he’s never had sex. So how is it that he’s fathered a child? Well, turns out Stephanie’s mother was a disgusting pervert who broke into Putty’s home and stole his spermy tissues from the heart-shaped garbage can next to his bed and managed to impregnate herself with them.

Putty, feeling down, winds up asking Orel for advice, who comes up with a sermon that is legitimately wise and very touching. Orel doesn’t feel the pangs of loneliness that Putty does because he doesn’t see how it’s even possible to be lonely with faith, family, and friends (the unspoken fourth F that Orel doesn’t think of is fucking, the one that’s gnawing away at Putty the most). I’m not faithful and haven’t been for a very long time, but Putty realizes he has the opportunity to have a family and just how meaningful that could be. It’s a very sweet moment.

This one really effected me on an emotional level. The fact that this show can go from being a somewhat smart-ass satire about religion clearly written by nihilists to tugging your heartstrings with legitimately wholesome lessons is really something. That’s what makes this episode and this show so goddamn special. 

MAIL BAG

Do you mind when we get to all of these runs in January and reset with new shows doing a quick gut ranking of all the show up to the stuff you watched at this point. Want to see how my favorite (Robot Chicken) stacks up against yours (idk I think you like Harvey Birdman).

GREAT IDEA! I ain’t ranking specials, though, and I’m not including Lucy, Daughter of the Devil because there’s only one episode as of the 2006 Adult Swim season. This is also a “so far” ranking, not taking into account future episodes of each show:

19. Minoriteam (2005) 18. Robot Chicken (2005) 17. Stroker & Hoop (2004) 16. Sealab 2021 (2001) 15. Squidbillies (2005) 14. The Brak Show (2001) 13. Harvey Birdman Attorney at Law (2001) 12. Assy McGee (2006) 11. Frisky Dingo (2006) 10. Perfect Hair Forever (2004) 9. 12 oz. Mouse (2005) 8. The Boondocks (2005) 7. Metalocalypse (2006) 6. Tom Goes to the Mayor (2004) 5. Moral Orel (2005) 4. Aqua Teen Hunger Force (2000) 3. Home Movies (2001) 2. The Venture Bros. (2003) 1. Space Ghost Coast to Coast (1994)

Did you like the "Elf Drill" gag on the old David Letterman show?

The David Letterman Show? Oh, that’s the title of his morning show, so of course you must be talking about that. I’m afraid not many clips are available of the Morning Show. Anyway, thanks for writing in.

I like pickles and the David Letterman Elf Drill

OKAY! FINE! I LIKE THE ELF DRILL