#so go full nadir guys

[indelicateink]

Hi I love reading your tags on iwtv post! What would make season 2 perfect in your eyes re: louis/armand/lestat?

thanks! (i'm taking that as in general, lmk if I misunderstood/there's one in particular that pertains to your question.)

i need s2 to be fucked-up-shit o'clock on our fucked-up-shit show (affectionate). my total emotional annihilation would make it perfect for me re: our guys.

armand has done some seriously naughty shit that's going to put a major dent in their lives for the next century, and i'm hopeful we get to explore that in a no-holds-barred dicks-out blood-tears abject-humiliation existential-horror love letter to the fans.

i want sam reid to get to have the juiciest time portraying the agonizing devastation that is visited upon lestat this season (affectionate)

i want assad zaman to seduce us utterly with armand's beauty and outrageous horror (affectionate)

i want jacob anderson to melt our fucking minds as louis goes through the most traumatizing events of his life (concerned)

that would be perfect for me, for them

[boygirlctommy]

gazes off into the distance. maybe i should work on monster band again...

[meanscarletdeceiver]

Wilbert's Worst

Right, so I really was open to having my mind changed on The Worst One but nobody’s argument has budged me.

I was going to write a complete, balanced essay on The Worst W. Awdry Book, but I’m a) mired in the research phase (hey if anyone knows someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of Tom and Jerry hit me up, for real) and b) right now I wanna talk about the characters and their Beloved Dynamics instead. 

So I'm just gonna get this out of the way so I can post the poll and move on to answering fun asks and watching Tom and Jerry in peace. Behold: a salty and unbalanced review.

Wilbert’s biggest failure of a children’s storybook? 

Henry the Green Engine 

Ohhh… because of the, uh, ra —?

Because of the racism, yes!

Oh. You do know that since 1972 they’ve republished it without the n-slur? 

Good for them. Two things: 

1. I know it used to be there, I’m never able to read it without knowing it was there in the first edition.

2. I consistently try, when ranking the books, to consider them in the context in which they came out. Because of this, I don’t like using “things that happened later” (like a new character never being properly used again or whatever) against the book. This helps me evaluate the author’s successes and failures against what they were trying to achieve when they wrote it vs what I would most want (blorbo content). It helps me not bring to bear the whole weight of fanon and fandom on a text that should be able to stand or fall on its own. Tl;dr I try to read the books like a guy who picked it up in 1951, or whatever. 

And yeah, if I’d bought this when it came out it would have had the slur. I’m going to judge it accordingly. 

Look, racism is bad, no argument, but does that mean the book as a whole must be condemned? 

Yeah, I think the slur and the “aaaand suddenly, blackface! heeheehee” bullshit fuck over the entire book, game over. Go directly to jail, do not collect $200. 

The Railway Series is not a work of high art or deep thorny complex literature. The books are meant for children — small children, at that. Children small enough to get bedtime stories read to them. The main goal of each book (especially this early on — you do have to manage secondary priorities like “pleasing the long-time fanbase” the longer you go, but right now we’re only 6 books into the series) is to create a happy imaginary world to enhance childhoods and family lives… to impart to other parents and kids a similar cosy happiness to that the author and his own kids enjoyed when he was workshopping/drafting the stories for them. When we say “children’s book” we really do mean little’uns — these average 1.25 full-color illustrations per page!

And these books sold in large numbers. This means it’s a certainty that somewhere in 1951 there was a Black family who owned the whole series, who went out to the shops, whose kid was like “ooh! Henry gets a book, neat…,” who like everyone else enjoyed the wild ride of Henry’s inspection and coal and wreck and rebuild… only to get verbally spat on one page from the end. 

Real mood-killer there. Epic fail, as the cool kids used to say in my youth. 

All right, fine, cool kids never said that. Anyway, statistically speaking there was certainly even more than one family that got that experience. Not to mention the non-Black families who even in 1951 were like “... wtf? i’d smack my kid if they ever said a word like that around me, geez. no.” Just a lot of people who had the light the book was kindling in them snuffed out all at once. 

You can actually be totally racist and your book not commit creative suicide on the penultimate page! Awdry flubbed his job of 'bestselling books-for-six-year-olds' here. Creative failure. Unforced error. Automatic zero. 

But times were different then, you have to consider it in the context of the time. 

1951 U.K. was not the nadir of multiracial equality or Black power, but jfc. I can assure you that over 99% of children’s books published that year in the Anglosphere managed to not use the n-slur. 

All right, all right. That was bad. But this feels off-topic. If you had never known about what used to be “Henry’s Sneeze,” would you still rank the entire book as dead last in the Wilbert Awdry corpus? 

Not dead last, but it is not a strong book. “Coal” and “The Flying Kipper” are super-interesting as material for Henry, but after that the book kind of falls off a cliff; the intrigue drops dramatically. The railway incidents chosen to make stories of are all solid choices, but it was not only “Sneeze” where Awdry’s handling of the material feels clumsy and weird. (And I’m not even talking here of the “heehee blackface — ain’t i a stinker?” gag in “Sneeze.”) 

But… “The Flying Kipper”? C’mon. It’s a superb story and no book that contains it can be the absolute worst in the series. 

“TFK” remains easily the best single TVS episode ever – but a lot of that is down to Britt and David’s artistry and judgment. 

Don’t get me wrong, a full-on railway wreck makes interesting material. But I don’t think the book does nearly as much with it as it could (and I’m trying sooooo hard here to forget about the amazing TVS adaptation, as I think it REALLY shows Awdry up. Even so, the storytelling here is surprisingly tepid and low-stakes). I get that Awdry probably wanted to lean into the comic angle and not make Henry’s condition afterwards seem too grave, in order to ensure the material wasn’t too dark for his young audience? (*mutters* again, a level of tender consideration for his readers’ youth that went right out the window when it came to small Black kids, evidently coz he couldn’t imagine that they read) Understandable, laudable — but if he outright refuses* to make the wreck too dramatic or scary then, well, then the wreck isn’t real scary or dramatic. And it can’t save the rest of the book from its flaws. 

*For all I know it could have been the publishers who insisted that the wreck be made preschooler-safe, that’s possible (although it’s also consistent with Awdry’s brand of humor and his overall low degree of emotionalism in his writing). Either way, though, the end result book is what it is and it will be judged accordingly. 

In addition to not being as exciting as many remember... @trainsupessandhuntresses asked me once if I thought some of Awdry's stories were "mean-spirited." I had to assent vigorously. And a surprisingly high proportion of those "mean" moments are in Henry the Green Engine? For some reason? It’s not just the racism. Awdry was not in the game to give Henry a deserved happy ending, he’d wanted to kill him off (the fuck?) and when his publishers prevented him (I don’t say this often, especially since I love how salty the Awdrys get about their publishers, but this in case good job, publishers!!) he wrote “TFK” with the primary motivation of giving Henry a new engine basis. Any soft or hearty emotions we get out of the deal are a side-effect — the only emotion that was fueling Awdry as he wrote this was spite, spite and a weird resentment towards his poor, long-suffering, invaluable illustrator. (I don’t blame Awdry for being frustrated that the engine illustrations were continually inaccurate or confusing, but I do think it’s weird to read all this great Henry material knowing that it was written with such poor grace.) 

So his ‘happy Henry’ stuff feels perfunctory; his Percy interlude is just brutal (why did you have to drag Percy into Henry’s book purely to give him a fuck-up, a scolding, and a messy dunce cap?); Gordon’s savaging of Henry for being too happy after recovering from a near-death experience is such an incredibly low point for Gordon that it’s hard for me to accept it as canon (there’s being proud, boastful, and self-absorbed, and then there’s being the straight-up raccoon dumpster fire Gordon is in that scene). Oh, and I think “call the police [local constabulary, doesn’t bear firearms]” woulda probably a less reckless way of dealing with the rock-throwing youths than the sneeze of hot locomotive ashes, which of course the Fat Controller doesn’t like, that shit coulda been real dangerous! Mind, there are small rays of kindness throughout that do get me (the interactions between Henry and his crew feeling to me the least perfunctory and most heartfelt), but this is overall such a mean-spirited book. God. It starts off with such a gentle story (almost a non-story, if you’re in it purely for the “railway incidents” game and not character drama), but in short order the vibes just sorta suck. At least in other RWS books, when the vibes are off, they’re usually off near the beginning and then improve by the end. This one gets worse as it goes on. Oof. Don’t like that. 

Also, the last page is sooooo lame. I suspect the publisher strong-armed Awdry into writing most of it so that at least the slur wasn’t on the last page of the book... and if Awdry had any idea of how much he’d just empowered Henry and all his fans in this book he shouldn’t have found it hard to find 50 extra words to sum things up. As it was, he’s just filling space and running out the clock, lol. Lame wrap-up. Boring. As usual when it comes to every little thing about this book, Britt and David closed this up better (mind, their closer – “He had taught Gordon and silly boys a lesson, with a whistle and a sneeze” – also sucked. But at least it was blessedly short.)

Didn’t you once list HtGE on a list of your favorite Wilbert Awdry books? 

I did list it as one of the books that “at one time or another” have been my favorite in the series. Unfortunately in the case of HtGE, that was back when I really couldn’t read a story that I knew from the TVS without mentally substituting the adaptation into my brain as I read… largely overriding the actual text. Plus, everything I knew from TVS as a kid kind of automatically got a halo effect. Plus, I was super into Henry’s arc. 

The first time I read HtGE after calming down and actually reading all the books as books... massive disappointment. There is such a gap there between what I'd thought the book said (all our incredible fanon work overanalyzing and headcanoning Henry and building this beautiful fantasy arc about disability!) vs. what it actually said (limp and careless writing, mean vibes, airbrushed n-slur, bad aftertaste). 

I do think there is some stuff about the development of Awdry’s storytelling technique here that is interesting (again, Tom and Jerry superfans reading this, please shoot me a message!) but it doesn’t counteract everything else. 

At least we’re over the racism stuff? 

Nah, I’m not over it, actually. 

[babyyarlert]

Nadir Yazdan

Full name: Nadir Yazdan (he/him)

Iranian Arab, British

• Cis man, gay

• Age: 26 (May 28)

• Signs: Gemini𖤓, Cancer☾, Pisces↑

• Personality: charming, kinda cheeky in that British style kinda way lol, mr. congeniality, why’s he so good at everything??, his voice is really smooth, has a calm aura about him, he’s intelligent and has a dry sense of humour, he’s really sweet

• Height: 5’10 or 178cm

• Eyes: brown

• Hair: black

Occupation

• Guitarist, pianist and lead vocals in alt rock bad ‘your mom’s old sedan’

• Hair stylist

Family/Background

• His family immigrated from Iran to the city of Britechester when he was only 4 years old, seeking a fresh start and better opportunities for him and his older brother, who was 6 at the time.

• Growing up in a Muslim household while coming to terms with his homosexuality as a teenager was not only overwhelming but terrifying.

• Although he lived in a more accepting society, his family and their Islamic faith still heavily frowned upon homosexuality. In their motherland, it was considered a grave sin, punishable by severe measures.

• Out of fear, he kept his identity closeted, resenting himself and Allah for making him this way.

• He suffered from anxiety, depression, and panic disorders throughout his teenage years, struggles that persisted into adulthood.

• At age 26, he still hasn't come out to any of his family. He has come to accept that he most likely never will, and he’s okay with it. In recent years, he has learned to love himself more and be proud of every aspect of his life that makes him who he is.

• Despite the ongoing internal and external challenges, he has found comfort in a supportive group of friends who accept him unconditionally. He has also become involved in local LGBTQ+ advocacy, working to help others who face similar struggles.

Relationship

• ‘Single’ but seeing someone on and off

Hobbies

• Playing his guitar

• He’s always singing. You know that one friend that always wants to burst out into a song at every chance, yeah that’s him

• Reading

• Relaxing self care like wearing a face mask while having a hot bath and listening to an audio book

Random facts

• He’s super flexible and double jointed

• Night owl and hates mornings

• His ideal date: “A romantic boat ride followed by an extravagant dinner at the guys place with candles and wine, we could probably dance a little to some slow music before retreating to his bedroom so we could… y’know. But the mood has to be right or I’d probably just make up a reason to go home. What can I say, I’m a huge romantic” -he says in a cheeky British accent

• Terrified of spiders, cockroaches, ants, and basically anything of that nature that crawls

[sweetchcolate]

I LOVE your posts about Sugar Apple Fairy Tale and just read your fanfic about Rafael visiting a pregnant Ann and loved it! I hope you write more fanfics on Sugar Apple Fairy Tale and can I request you write about Ann and Shall's wedding. IT WOULD FILL ME WISH SO MUCH JOY THAT YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE!

fandom: sugar apple fairy tale words: 5677 title: wedding prep shenanigans summary: A humorous glimpse into the weeks leading up to Anne and Shall’s wedding as their friends and guests show up one after the other.

also available on ao3!

A/N: Hiya, this ask is from late august/early september, so thank you for waiting all this time!

It's more on the funny/gen side since my last fic (spillover) was 100% pure fluff, but there was no way I could write about Anne and Shall's wedding without involving all the friends the two made over their adventures.

Thank you for waiting! I hope it was worth it!

As a heads-up, there are some spoilers for events in future LN volumes in Keith's section. It starts when he says "Ah, I was thinking out loud…" and ends when you read "It had been a worrisome whirlwind of drama and tragedy."

(And the changes of spelling between Cat and Kat are on purpose, depending on who talks to him. When it's Cat, it's because they're referencing the animal).

Despite the distance separating them, when Alph Hingley, Keith Powell, Hugh Mercury, Bridget Page, Elliot Collins, and the many other friends Anne and Shall made over the years received a notice for the wedding ceremony of a certain sugar master and an obsidian fairy, they all shared the same thought.

It’s about time.

Followed immediately by: wait, if I received an invitation, then who’s planning this?

--

Bridget, with her fiancé Orland and her ex-fiancé Elliot in tow, was the first one to arrive, of course. She greeted Anne with a warm hug, gave a solemn nod to Shall fen Shall and Mythril Lid Pod, and went straight to the crux of things.

“The wedding is only weeks away! Do you have everything planned?”

“Yes.

“Your dress?”

“Almost done. The seamstress wanted to see me one or two more times to make the final adjustments.”

“And Shall’s outfit?”

“All set!”

“What about the reception?”

“Right next to the church. The head priest and the mayor said they’d lend us tables and chairs so we could eat and party outside.”

“And how many people are you expecting? Do you have a guest list?”

Anne handed over the list, which Bridget briefly skimmed through. She nodded in satisfaction.

“Who’s in the charge of the catering? Oh, and what about the sugar confection? Did you order one? Who did you ask?”

“A-about that…”

“She was planning of making her own,” Shall said, his first intervention since Bridget started grilling Anne over the details. He hadn’t looked up once from whatever he was sewing, but it was obvious he’d kept up with the conversation. “She said she didn’t want to trouble anyone.”

“Shall!” Anne cried, betrayed.

Elliot frowned. He threw an arm around Anne’s shoulders, drawing her to him. He ruffled her hair.

“That won’t do, Anne. Do you know how many people would die to make your wedding sugar sculpture? Just think of it: Hingley, Powell, Mercury, Nadir, Valentine, King, Orland, Bridget—"

“Why did you cite me last, Elliot?”

“— and of course, saving the best for last: good old me. The silver sugar viscount and the best sugar masters of this generation at your beck and call. Soooo, who’s going to be the lucky sod?”

“Can’t I pick myself?”

“Ah ah,” Elliot tutted, wagging a finger. “No, no, no. Don’t you know it’s bad luck?”

“You guys should all make a sugar confection, and then we can choose a winner on the wedding day!” Mythril piped up.

“We? I wasn’t aware this was your wedding, Mythril Lid Pod,” Shall added.

“Ugh, you know what I meant!”

“Yes. You meant to stuff yourself full of silver sugar.”

“I’m going to gnaw on your wedding tunic.”

“No you won’t!” Bridget cut in. “Do you know how expensive those clothes are? Oh! I almost forgot! What about cosmetics? And your hair?”

Anne blanched, and that was an answer in and of itself.

“Anne, I can’t believe you! Come on, we’re going to Lewiston right now!”

“B-but the wedding isn’t for another mont—”

Shall, Mythril, Elliot, and Orland watched the blonde woman drag her friend. They were all quiet. Elliot made the prayer sign one would for the deceased.

Orland smacked him. To Shall, he said: “Aren’t you going to help Anne out? She’s your fiancée.”

“And she’s being dragged around by your fiancée,” Shall retorted. The implication was clear: if you’re not going to stop her, don’t expect me to.

“Hm.”

No one pointed out that the obsidian fairy, a one-man army of his own, could easily have prevented the women from leaving if he was so inclined. Keyword being ‘inclined”. No one could convince Shall (or Bridget for that matter) to do anything they didn’t want to unless you were called Anne Halford.

Mythril repeated the gesture Elliot made moments earlier.

--

“Yo.”

“Kat!”

Anne’s face positively lit up, shrieking when the older sugar master lifted her up in a bear hug. The gesture might be uncharacteristic coming from him, but hey, it wasn’t every day that his apprentice-figure was getting married. She deserved the rare show of affection.

“Hiya Anne,” Benjamin said once she was back on the ground. He was as cool and relaxed as ever. “Congratulations on the wedding~”

“Thank you, Benjamin! But it’s still two weeks away.”

“Oh good, we’re early~ The weather was just awful in Snowpoint, I thought we wouldn’t make it.”

“It smells good in here, small stuff,” Kat said. “What’s cooking?”

“An apple pie! I wanted to make a big one for the wedding, so Bridget and I are trying to figure out the right proportions. Want to be our taste-tester?”

“I won’t say no to free food.”

He followed Anne, finding Bridget, Orland, and Elliot huddled around a stove. Or rather, it was more accurate to say Elliot was huddled around the stove. Orland was holding the hearth door open while Bridget put a knife to a delicious-smelling pie. The air was filled with the scent of clove and cinnamon.

“Oooo, Hingley. That’s a nostalgic face if I’ve seen one.”

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, you freeloader.” Kat rolled his eyes. “Langston, Page. Congrats on your engagement again.”

“Thank you,” they answered in unison. Bridget added: “I think the pie is ready. Once it cools, we can eat.”

“Apple pie?” someone shouted from outside. “Wait for me! Don’t you dare eat without the great Mythril Lid Pod!”

It wasn’t long before Mythril showed up, perched on Shall’s shoulders. The two (or rather, the latter) had gone to chop some wood, the supply depleting faster with the addition of Bridget, Orland, and Elliot.

It was also a good way to keep the insatiable Mythril out of the way, lest he try to eat the apple pie dough raw.

“Oh, hi Kat! I thought I recognized your wagon outside! See, Shall fen Shall? I told you it was his!”

“Thank you for your wisdom,” Shall answered, more sarcasm than actual gratitude.

“Rude as ever, huh, Shall,” Kat said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“Done hibernating, mister Cat? Glad you could make it to the wedding.”

“Hey, play nice.”

“No, no, let them, Anne.” Elliot snickered. “It’s free entertainment!”

“At least I’m doing something. You’re just lazing around, Collins.”

“Hey, hey. I’ll have you know I’m here on official Page workshop business.”

“Oh, really? And what is that?”

“We’ve got a wedding sugar confection for a very important client.”

“And where is that sugar confection? I only saw a regular carriage outside, not a crafter’s wagon.”

“Oh, that’s easy. It’s still in my head!”

“You lazy ass—”

While Elliot and Kat bickered, Anne scooted over to Shall, helping him put the wood away.

“It sure has gotten more lively,” she whispered.

“Has it? I tuned them all out since day one.”

Anne shoved him slightly, but the grin on her face betrayed her amusement. “Don’t tell Mythril Lid Pod, or we won’t hear the end of it.”

“Ha. I don’t think we’ll ever have trouble hearing him.”

She held her hands out to take another log. Shall took the opportunity to bring her hand to his mouth, using his body to hide the gesture from their friends. It wasn’t like he had trouble with displays of affections, but Anne and he could do without the teasing.

Especially Collins’s.

“Only two more weeks,” he murmured, voice pitched low, just enough to reach Anne’s ears. She felt every twist of his lips, every syllable pressed in her skin. In the low light, Shall’s eyes gleamed a beautiful dark amethyst.

She blushed, feeling warm, and squeezed his hand back with a shy smile.

“Hey, lovebirds! Get over here before the shrimp eats your share of the pie,” Elliot interrupted with his oh-so-great timing. True to his words, Mythril’s cheeks were full, resembling a squirrel.

Shall and Anne exchanged a look, sharing similar thoughts. Those would be the longest two weeks of their lives.

--

“I wasn’t expecting everyone to be here already… I’m a bit embarrassed.”

“You’re right on time actually, Keith! Bridget came in early because she wanted to help with the wedding prep, and Elliot and Orland tagged along. And Kat left Snowpoint ahead of time because he didn’t want to be stuck if the roads got snowed in.”

“Still, if I had known, I would have pushed for mister Radcliffe to let me out much earlier.” Keith pointed to the back of his wagon with a hopeful smile. “I hope my sculpture will make it up to you. It’s one of the pieces I’m most proud of!”

“I’m looking forward to it! What did you make?”

“That’s a secret. I can’t have you spoiling your own wedding gift.”

Anne pouted. “Everybody’s so cagey! First, it’s Bridget kicking me out of the venue, then Elliot telling me I can’t go home because he and Orland are making my wedding candy on behalf of the Page workshop.”

“What about Shall? And mister Hingley?”

“They’re checking with the innkeeper if we have enough rooms for all the guests.”

So far, all five artisans and three fairies had piled up in Anne’s and Shall’s home, with Anne and Shall sharing the master bedroom, Bridget in the guest room, Elliot and Orland in the other, and Kat and Mythril sleeping downstairs in the living room. However, after the reception, Anne and Shall would want for intimacy on their wedding night, and so their friends needed somewhere else where to sleep.

“The two of them? Will they be alright?” Keith asked, referencing to Kat’s short temper and Shall’s ability to get a rise out just about anyone with pinpoint precision. The two men got along like… well… cat and dog.

“Mythril Lid Pod’s with them, but if I had known everyone would give me the boot, I would have gone with them,” Anne sighed.

“In that case, do you know what to do when something’s bothering you?”

“Run and leave it all behind, right?”

Keith blinked, but a pleased smile appeared on his face. “I’m surprised you remember that. It’s been so long ago.”

“Of course! I was under a lot of stress back then, you know? Your words were a big help, they really cheered me up.”

“Just my words?” he teased.

“You know what I mean!”

He laughed. “I’m glad I could help.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence, watching the flowers sway in the slight spring breeze. All the snow had already melted, and the land was slowly regaining its colors, waking up from a long deep sleep.

“To think you’re getting married…” Keith murmured under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Ah, I was thinking out loud…” He sighed. There was something wistful, but also peaceful about his smile. “Talking about the past got me feeling nostalgic. To think that back then, our biggest worry was whether we’d make silver sugar master.”

True. A lot happened in just a few short years: Anne and Shall’s abduction by his brother Rafael fen Rafael, Shall taking his responsibilities as a potential fairy king and bargaining with the human king to slowly give fairies back their autonomy, Rafael fen Rafael’s return, and Anne and Shall almost dying at his hands and paying the price of surviving such an ordeal with their memories (Anne of her painstakingly hard-earned sugar crafting skills, Shall of his meeting with Anne and all those she brought to his life)…

It had been a worrisome whirlwind of drama and tragedy, but their happy ending was finally within reach.

And not just Anne’s and Shall’s… everyone’s: Bridget and Orland were engaged and most likely the next to get married; Elliot had assumed the reigns of the workshop, taking the strain off Glen’s shoulders; the Page workshop was flourishing ever since the Holy Beginnings exhibit; Kat and Keith kept up their work as sugar masters, refining their skills and gaining in recognition.

Everyone was moving forward towards a bright future.

But a part of Anne missed the old days, a time where life was much simpler.

“This might sound silly, but I hope we all stay in touch. I… I don’t want us to drift apart,” she said, fighting to get the words out of her tightening throat. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sadness and bittersweetness.

“Of course.” Keith patted her on the back, kind and comforting, and the gesture almost made Anne lose her composure. She sniffed the tears back. “We can meet up for the Royal Fair, for the Holy Beginnings, for Valentine’s day… Your birthday’s on the sixth month, right? So that will be our summer reunion.”

“If we only gathered for my birthday, that’d be unfair.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s come up with our own summer holiday, then. That way, no one’s jealous.”

Anne laughed, shaky. “As long as I don’t have to come up with the name.”

“You can design incredible sugar sculptures to wow royalty, but you’re stumped by names?”

“Hey! I’m a silver sugar master, not a name master!”

He laughed. Keith kept on patting her back until she felt better. She was truly lucky to have such an attentive and thoughtful person as a friend.

“Keith?”

“Hm?”

There was so much she wanted to thank him for, but she doubted she could ever convey the depths of her feelings, so Anne poured all her gratitude, her happiness, and her appreciation into two simple words: “Thank you.”

Keith wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. He whispered, barely a murmur on the wind, “Anytime.”

--

“Anne! Anne! Congratulations on the wedding!”

“Actually, it’s ‘congratulations on the engagement.’”

Noah ignored Valentine’s correction, clinging to Anne. “Can I see your dress?”

“Not today!” Anne laughed at the fairy’s pout. “Don’t worry, you’ll see it in two days.”

“But that’s too faaaaaaaar.”

“Noah.” It was Glen who spoke. The older man was on the edge of his seat, waiting for Anne and Noah to clear the way so he could get off the carriage. “If you’re that excited, why don’t you go check the church? That’s where the ceremony will be held.”

“Oh, in that case, could you tell Bridget, Orland, and Elliot that mister Glen is here?” Anne added.

“Will do!”

And just as quickly as he had latched onto Anne, Noah was off. Nadir and Valentine sputtered, giving Anne their regards before running after the fairy. Noah might be older than them both, but he was as innocent and carefree as a child.

“Mister Glen. You seem to be doing well.”

“I am. I feel much better these days.” Glen stood and Anne hovered nearby just in case, but the older man managed to make his way out of the carriage on his own. He regarded her warmly. “I believe you’ve grown. I don’t remember you being this tall.”

“I think you shrank, mister Glen,” King said. He waved at Anne. “Yo, thanks for the invitation. And congrats!”

“Thank you! I’m glad you could make it!”

“Of course. You’re one of us, even if you don’t work for the workshop officially anymore,” Glen said. “If you had told us earlier, we could have organized you a grand wedding. But what’s done is done. Are you all set?”

“Yes! Bridget was a big help. I thought I had everything handled, but there was so much more left than I expected!”

“The missy planned her own wedding months ahead. She knows her stuff.”

“Before I forget. Here.” Glen handed Anne a leather pouch, heavy and thick. There was a tinkling sound when he moved it, almost like that of coins. “For you.”

“Wait, why are you giving this to me? Are you not staying?”

“Don’t look so alarmed. I wouldn’t miss your wedding like I wouldn’t miss my daughter’s. This is a long overdue payment.”

“For what?”

“For your time as our head artisan.”

Anne blinked. She had assumed that role years ago, her goal to retrieve Shall’s wing, then to fulfill her promise to revive the Page workshop. It had never been about money.

“Mister Glen, I can’t—”

“Can’t accept it? It’s rude to refuse a gift, you know?”

“Just take it, or he’ll just ask Noah to hide it so you can’t return it to us,” King said.

Anne sighed. All her friends said she was stubborn and impossible to sway once her mind was set, but they were as equally headstrong when they wanted to be.

“Thank you, mister Glen. I appreciate it.”

“Treat yourself, Anne.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s good manners to make use of the gifts you’re given. It shows your appreciation more than saying thanks ever will.”

She was working on that, on relying on her friends, on accepting their goodwill and affection (whether through money, gifts, food or kind words) without falling back on old habits of doing everything on her own.

“Then I’ll buy myself some strawberry cakes. I’ve been craving those for a while.”

“That’s the spirit,” he laughed.

--

Anne flopped around like a fish out of water, sleep eluding her. Shall sat up from the bedding they’d laid on the ground, next to the bed — he would have been more than happy sleeping with Anne, but she’d claimed it improper before the ceremony. His guess was that she was still shy with anything beyond hugs and kisses, but also didn’t want to risk Mythril finding them twined together which… fair enough — and leaned in, cheek against his palm.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I can see that. Too excited for tomorrow?”

“I… I kind of don’t want tomorrow to come.” Anne gasped and put her hands to her mouth, as if she realized how her words could be interpreted only after the fact. “Ah, no! I didn’t mean it like that! I…"

He let her talk. With her tendency to ramble, her true feelings would come spilling out sooner and later. And his patience was rewarded.

“I’m so happy, you know? The past few weeks were so fun, with everyone coming and staying over. I didn’t realize how long it’s been since we were all together. But once the wedding’s over, everyone will leave… we’ll all go back to living our own lives…” She sniffed, voice shaking. “I know it’s silly, but I miss everyone. I miss them even though they haven’t left.”

Shall was reminded of Hugh’s words, many years ago — words he knew true, but words he’d never forgiven the man for since they meant to separate him from Anne. “Humans get used to comfort so quickly, they forget how to go back to their old lives.”

They seemed to sum Anne’s feelings perfectly.

“The Page headquarters are a day of travel away from here, and Lewiston less than half a day. Cat also gave you his shop, but you know him. He’ll show up to check on you once in a while,” he told her, cupping her face. This caused Anne’s unshed tears to bead at the corners of her eyes, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “Those you love and who love you will always be close to you, no matter the distance. But if the feeling gets too unbearable and you want to see them again, then let’s hit the road together.”

Anne’s smile was wobbly, but it was a start. He opened his arms, and she gladly went for a hug, burying her face against his chest as her shoulders shook quietly. He patted her hair, and she relaxed in his embrace after a while. She smelled nice and she was soft to hold.

“Thank you. I feel much better.”

“You should go to sleep. You have a long day tomorrow.”

“Oh, and you don’t?”

“I don’t need as much sleep as you.”

“I know. It’s so unfair. Do you know how much more work I could get done otherwise?”

“You’d just throw yourself at silver sugar until you passed out from exhaustion. Which you have before.”

“What if it’s just an excuse so you’ll carry me to bed?”

Such underhanded schemes weren’t like Anne, but he humored her just the same. “Just ask me then. No need to go to such extremes.”

“Hey, you guys still awake? Is this a bad time?”

At Mythril’s voice, Anne scooted out of Shall’s laps, putting a respectable distance between them. She ignored the disgruntled expression on his face. “No, we were just talking. Did we wake you?”

“Nah, I wanted to check the moon. It’s overhead, which means it’s now officially your wedding day!” He sauntered over to them and held out two small boxes. “And I wanted to be the first one to give you your gifts!”

Shall and Anne shared a look before taking the gifts. Shall’s was a pendant in the shape a golden full moon, the metal so polished it reflected his face. He glanced over to Anne. She had received the same thing.

“They’re matching necklaces!” Mythril exclaimed, taking his own out. “When we’re apart and you get lonely, just look at it and remember we’re all under the same sky, watching the same moon.”

Huh. Did he listen in on them or was it just an incredible coincidence? Then again, it was possible Mythril had picked up Anne’s underlying fears over the past weeks — he could be surprisingly perceptive.

Anne, whose emotions were already running high, was once again on the verge of tears, but she looked touched, rather than sad.

“Oh, Mythril…”

“H-hey, are you crying? Why are you crying? Do you hate it that much? Don’t cry, Anne, I’ll get you something else! S-shall fen Shall, help! Do something!”

“They’re tears of happiness, dummy.”

“Huh? Don’t be stupid, how can you cry from being happy?”

Anne shook her head with a small laugh, scooping the tiny fairy and bringing him close to her chest. She cupped one hand around his body and gently laid her cheek on the top of his head in the best approximation of a hug she could manage considering their size difference.

“Thank you so much, Mythril Lid Pod. I love it,” she whispered, overflowing with gratefulness.

He clutched at her front, cheeks pink and eyes downcast in embarrassment. “...you’re welcome.”

Anne set him down, wiping her eyes, and stood. “I just keep crying lately. I’m going to freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

Shall nodded. Mythril sat down on Shall’s pillow, playing with his necklace. It was quiet, if not for the occasional sniff coming from the small fairy. Shall didn’t comment on it.

“Hey, Shall fen Shall?” Mythril said after a while.

“Hm?”

Another sniff, longer. “I think I get it. Happy tears.”

Shall snorted softly.

“Hey, Shall fen Shall?”

“What?”

“Can I sleep on your pillow tonight?”

Looked like Anne wasn’t the only one hit with a bout of nostalgia and dreading separation.

It had been a while since they all slept in the same room. It was a necessity at first, born from the fact Anne barely had enough money to afford even a single room in inns. Even after she’d won the thousand cress prize in Philax, she kept her frugal ways.

It was only after the second royal fair, once Anne made sugar master and established her reputation, earning herself a commendable wage, that they started to rent extra beds or, on rare occasions, extra rooms.

And then everything went down the drain when Rafael fen Rafael returned, upheaving their normalcy. Once things had settled down, their new normal was for Mythril to sleep on his own while Shall kept watch over Anne, sitting in a chair or lying in nearby bedding.

This would be the first (and probably the last) time in months they would share a room.

“Fine.”

“Please, please, please! I promise I won’t make a peep! I’ll even— what did you say?”

Shall laid down, covering himself with his blanket. “Go to sleep, Mythril Lid Pod. It’s late.”

When Anne came back, she found Shall and Mythril lying side by side. The smaller fairy was sprawled out like a star, his eyes closed. Not wanting to be left out, she slipped in with them. Shall scooted backwards to give her more space.

“Good night, you two,” Anne said.

“G’night Anne… Shall fen Shhhh…”

It wasn’t long before the two were asleep. Shall adjusted the covers over them and watched over the two people most precious to him.

--

“Don’t!”

“You can’t!”

“Someone, stop him!”

“Easy for you to say!”

“What’s all this ruckus about?” Bridget asked, pulling away from where she was putting the final touches on Anne’s make-up. She frowned at the muffled screaming. The door to the dressing room shook and rattled, as if someone was leaning against it.

“Bridget, you gotta help us!” Elliot shouted from behind. “Lock the door!”

“What’s going on, Elliot?”

“Move aside,” Shall said. His voice might be muffled, but his annoyance was clear.

“I told you man; it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony!”

“That’s ridiculous. I should be able to see my wife whenever I want.”

“You’re not married yet, you dumbass. Show some patience.” It was Kat.

“Actually, they are. They signed the paperwork months ago.”

Mythril gasped, as if realizing he had let slip something he shouldn’t have.

Too late. It was like someone had sucked all the sound out. You could hear people’s breathing with how quiet it was.

“What?” pretty much everyone shouted in unison. Bridget turned to Anne, gaping, whereas Noah tilted his head in confusion, not understanding the fuss.

Anne would have buried her face in her hands if she didn’t risk ruining her make-up. Of course this would get brought up right before the ceremony and in front of all of their friends. Gathering the poofy skirt of her wedding dress, she made her way out of the dressing room, intent to explain the situation.

Instantly, six pairs of hands blocked Shall’s line of sight. The fairy huffed.

“When Shall and I looked for someone who could officiate our marriage, most of the priests we asked refused to.” Many of them had squirmed at the idea of a human and a fairy marrying, the result of decades, if not centuries, of subconsciously ingrained bias. “I told Hugh about this, and he said that as silver sugar viscount, he was authorized to oversee our marriage. So we signed the paperwork with him and Mythril as our witnesses.”

The silent was thick and heavy, everyone processing the information. It was Elliot who broke down first, bursting with laughter.

“That’s— that’s—” He could barely speak with how hard he was laughing. “Oh man, and you guys call me a schemer.”

“It wasn’t like we were trying to hide it!” Anne retorted, cheeks puffing. “It was just a formality.”

“Only you would call being married on paper ‘a formality.’”

“Because it is!”

“Sorry to break it you, kiddo, but that paperwork is as binding as any vow. As far as the kingdom’s concerned, you’ve been husband and wife for months now,” Hugh added with a smirk. He looked all too pleased and amused at Anne’s embarrassment. “Though I suppose if you asked Shall, he’d say it’s been even longer.”

The fairy crossed his arms, but didn’t deny Hugh’s claims. Anne was glad for the heavy layers on her face because she was sure her blush would have been as bright as the sun. She certainly felt as warm.

“You look very pretty, Anne,” Keith said, changing the subject. It triggered a flood of compliments from the other guests, their kind words overlapping.

“Yeah, you look great!”

“Beautiful.”

“Hey, where’s your veil?”

“I got it!”

“You’re all doing this on purpose,” Shall grumbled. He could easily have plowed through the crowd to check on Anne or moved aside the hands blocking his vision, but he had grown tolerant of his friends’ shenanigans.

Anne was filled with a surge of appreciation for her fiancé. He had come so far compared to when they first met.

“If you’re all ready, how about we proceed with the ceremony?” Glen said.

“Go on ahead, everyone. There’s something I want to say to Shall.”

Her friends looked at Anne, then back at Shall, uncertain.

“Shall, are your eyes closed?”

“They are.”

“There you have it. I promise I’ll be quick.”

Satisfied, they all filed down the hallway, headed for the altar, leaving Anne alone with Shall.

Given the opportunity, she took in her fiancé’s (husband’s) appearance. He had always been a beautiful man, with fair smooth skin, glossy dark hair, high cheekbones, and a sharp jaw. His striking features made people’s heads turn.

Some might find his wedding outfit simple — a long dark tunic over breeches, with jewel-patterned embroidery lining his shoulders, his sleeves, and his lapels — but in Anne’s opinion, it only made him more handsome, if that was even possible.

“So you’re allowed to stare all you want, but I can’t look at you?”

“Just a little longer. Once the ceremony starts, you can look.”

Anne grabbed and squeezed his hands, a small compensation for all his patience. His hands slowly traveled up her arms, her shoulders, and curled around her jaw, as if trying to perceive her through touch since his eyes weren’t allowed. Anne felt goosebumps at the feel of Shall’s strong and slender fingers on her bare skin.

“You better not shy away,” he breathed.

“I-I won’t.” Anne felt tongue-tied by their proximity. She felt like she was getting sucked in, but she resisted the urge to move in for a kiss — she wasn’t sure she’d find the strength of will to pull away. “Sorry about earlier. I forgot to tell you about that little tradition.”

“It’s fine. I waited years, I can wait a few more minutes.”

She smiled, even if he couldn’t see it. “Then let’s not waste any more time. I’ll be going first.”

She turned around, but was stopped in her tracks as arms wrapped around her waist, firm and unyielding. There was a puff of hot air on the back of her neck, and Anne’s whole body tensed when she felt a pair of lips on her skin. She squeaked as they moved up to behind her ear. Her legs trembled and her heart was pounding in her temples.

“S-Shall…”

“Tradition says I can’t look, not that I can’t touch or taste.”

Anne’s mouth was dry. She was frozen in surprise and excitement, but just as quickly as he had embraced her, Shall let her go. There was a satisfied and smug look on his face, even with his eyes closed.

“See you soon, my future wife.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, and basically sprinted out of there before Shall got more handsy and frayed her nerves. She met with Glen right outside the doors leading to the altar. He had offered to give her away, as she didn’t have any blood family, and Anne couldn’t think of anyone better suited for the role than a father himself.

“All set?”

She took a deep breath. Her heart was doing flip-flops in her chest and her hands were faintly shaking as she linked arms with Glen. “All set.”

He smiled at her, calm and reassuring. All their friends were seated and chatting with one another, but the second she stepped in, they turned to look at her. Elliot, Nadir and King hooted, Kat, Keith, and Valentine waved, Orland nodded and Bridget smiled at her, and Mythril jumped up and down in joy.

Anne waved as she passed each row of guests. She deliberately avoided looking at Shall, waiting for her at the altar. She knew whatever expression he made would make her weak in the knees.

Glen led her down the aisle, and she swapped his arm for Shall’s. She kept looking at her feet. It would be embarrassing to stumble and fall at this point.

Finally, once they stood in front of Hugh, their officiant, she allowed herself a glance at her fiancé (and on paper husband), immediately regretting and glad for her earlier choice.

She had been right. Shall was looking at her like she was the sun and he a sunflower. His eyes were intense, half-lidded and heady, and his strong features showed a fierce warmth and passion. She felt both like running away and wanting to stay in place to bask in such a rare expression.

“Alright everyone, I’ll be officiating this ceremony. I won’t bore you with a long speech,” Hugh said. The attendees got quiet, expectant. “Anne Halford, will you take Shall fen Shall for a husband?”

“I do.”

“Shall fen Shall, will you take Anne Halford for a wife? Will you love her from now on for better or for worse? In sickness and in health? In silver sugar obsession and in creative drought? In—”

Everyone snickered and even Anne giggled quietly. It was obvious Hugh was doing this to aggravate Shall, who bore the unnecessarily prolonged vows with admirable patience. Anne could tell when he tuned Hugh out, because he rolled his eyes and decided to look at her instead. They shared a smile, expressions soft with love, as they waited for Hugh’s speech to end.

“I do.”

“Good. Any objections from the guests?”

“None! You know there’s none!” Mythril yelled. “Hurry it up!”

“Then by the powers conferred to me as silver sugar viscount, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—”

Shall didn’t need to be told twice nor was he going to wait a second longer. In one swift move, he’d lifted Anne’s veil and leaned in to kiss his proper wife.

“—the bride. You know, it’s rude to interrupt people when they’re talking.”

Cheers and shouts and clapping and confetti and flower petals burst all around them, swallowing Hugh’s friendly teasing. Not that Anne and Shall paid any mind to anything that wasn’t their spouse. They pulled back from their kiss, grinning, forehead and nose touching. Their happiness was obvious.

And just as all those weeks ago when they received the invitation, everyone shared the same thought.

It’s about time.

[zmediaoutlet]

happy wincest wednesday💖, today i give you the challenge of naming the 3 episodes that would be the hardest to write first time wincest for. and why. if you feel like explaining.

oooooooooooh coming out swinging with a tough one, okay, I see how we're playing this evening:

well the problem with who I am as a person is that I take anything like that as a Writing Challenge and start going, immediately, well but what if you did x y or z. But I will take it in the spirit meant and also not include any episodes where they're not in the same state or whatever bc that's cheating. So!

8.02 What's Up Tiger Mommy

Why? First of all, ooooh boy this episode. I mean, yeesh. Second: while I think you could go for first time wincest in the previous episode even with the immediate fight that ensues, this where we really start to lean into the episodes where we see how Off the boys are. They're getting along (mostly) in a superficial way but there's a real distance. Sam's defensive; Dean's pissed. At the same time, they're not stressed enough -- for real first time when they aren't in a 'liking each other' period, they need some breaking point moment that makes the transgression feasible. This episode doesn't have it. It does have a whole lot of 'arithmetic is the same thing as intelligence,' though!

9.13 The Purge

Why? Sam's cruel but he's not cruel, and even at his nadir of self-loathing there's a place beyond which I don't think Dean can go. Sam says some SHIT in this ep and Dean takes it because Dean's been taking these beatings as his due, but that last argument is a full-on evisceration, and for the characters to be in-character I just... can't see them taking that step, not then. Even if you did it where, idk, Dean got super shithoused drunk and decided Sam can't hate me any more than he does, can he? Let's see if he cares if I break this last boundary, I can't see Sam going for it. He'd be more likely to push Dean off in a sad/vaguely pitying way and tell him he was drunk. Up to you if it counts as first time, but there are some times that penises just shouldn't get involved, imo.

12.06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox

Why? It could happen immediately before, with Dean's radiating delight about killing Hitler (he killed Hitler! imagine Sam's eyerolling fondness!), and it could happen immediately after with Dean comforting Sam after Lucifer reveals his whole omnicidal maniac plan via Jesse's Girl Guy, but that weird blah of a funeral episode seems like a weird spot for me. First of all, way too many people around who know who they are, and who really know who they are. Plus, even if you want to be generous to the ep, its mood is (necessarily) elegiac and strange. They're seen as legends, not as people. Then of course their mother unfortunately shows, and in all the confusion of saving each other and her there's just no elbow room. And even in the space afterward once they've finally ditched her, after whatever breakfast of bacon and awkwardness, I feel like that space just isn't available. They've been too reminded of the social aspect of who they are and for good first time I feel like you need the isolation provided by a world of two. Get back to your lonely bunker, boys, and boink there.

[scottwbeattie]

Review: Captain America Epic Collection 15: The Bloodstone Hunt

Raiders of the Lost McGuffin

I really enjoyed the previous volume of Mark Gruenwald’s Captain America, so I was surprised that I found the first half of this one so middling. Given how climatically Captain America 14 ended, it does make sense that there would be a cool down period in between major arcs, but a lot of the early issues in The Bloodstone Hunt are just kind of aimless and bland.

Gruenwald does try to mix things up a bit. Issue #354, for example, tells two separate narratives simultaneously; the top half of the page tells Steve Rogers’ story, while we see Battlestar and US Agent in the bottom panels. It’s an interesting experiment, but because both stories are fairly generic, the issue just comes off as a gimmick.

The nadir, for me, was a 3-part storyline where Steve has Sersi transform him into a teenager so that he can go undercover in a camp for runaway teenagers who are being brainwashed by Mother Night. This is the kind of plot you might find in a Silver Age Teen Titans comic (except it’s more violent), however, these comics were written the 1989, and the contrast between them and everything else that Marvel was doing at the time is not flattering. Al Milgrom’s crude art and thick inks also add to it’s dated appearance (although maybe that was intentional).

Halfway through the book, I was beginning to think that decline in Gruenwald’s run came earlier than people had said when the 6-part titular arc began, and the book immediately turned around. “The Bloodstone Hunt” is a basically an Indiana Jones story (which is how Gruenwald pitched it) where Captain America and Diamondback, his Marion, have to globe-trot and explore various temples and ruins in order to find the five Bloodstones before the bad guys (Baron Zemo, Batroc, Machete, Zaran) do. Part of the improvement also comes from the art, as Kieron Dwyer starts doing full pencils again, rather than breakdowns. The result is easily as good as anything that Gruenwald and Dwyer have done on the title to this point.

I do have one complaint; Diamondback, as written by Gruenwald, is basically a throwback to how Stan Lee wrote women in the 60’s. She is a plucky sidekick who is capable on her own, until the plot requires that she becomes helplessly damseled and in need of rescue. Rachel is also reduced to something like a lovesick puppy, who follows Captain America around and puts the rest of her life on hold at the mere chance that Cap might glance her way. This kind of writing doesn’t bother me in Silver Age comics, because it all feel very much of its time (these are the same comics where they call someone “Highpockets”), but it does feel out of place in the 1980’s when characters like Storm, Jean Grey, and Susan Storm when were being written in a much more nuanced way. All that said, I did like Steve and Rachel’s date in the final issue of this collection, which is a fun, sitcom-ish story and also forces both of the characters to really think about where their relationship is going.

After the Bloodstone Hunt comes a fairly extended Acts of Vengeance arc, where Gruenwald does something very clever by pitting Magneto against Red Skull rather than against Cap. While Steve Rogers does end up becoming a secondary character in his own book for a few issues, it’s more than worth it in pursuit of this kind of idea.

In the second half of the book, Gruenwald also starting writing backup stories for a series of periphery characters (Vagabond, Machinesmith, King Cobra). I really enjoyed these and am happy to hear that they continue into the next Epic.

To be honest though, I’m on the fence about whether or not I should continue with the next volume of Gruenwald’s Captain America. While this collection finished strong, knowing the reputation of his run makes me think that more and more of the issues will be like the bland first half rather than the excellent second half. Further, the art has been solid but never a selling point for me, and, even at his best, Gruenwald writes very clunky dialogue. It feels like reading other titles might be a better idea, and, who knows, I might get the urge to come back to it just in time for a reprint of Streets of Poison.

[comicweek]

THR: You’re launching this company at a time when the movie business is changing.

Ben Affleck: When The Way Back came out, I knew. It came out the weekend they shut the theaters down with COVID. But that’s not an excuse. Because I knew as it was coming out, just the tracking, I was like, “OK, here’s a movie about a guy, son dies, gets divorced, alcoholic. Nobody’s going to go to the theater to see this fucking movie. They’re just not.” I felt it. Succession is on. Ozark. Narcos. Game of Thrones. You’re not competing with [1980s crime drama] Simon & Simon on an 11-inch black-and-white TV. There’s really beautiful stuff being made. My daughter is 17. She lives her life largely in opposition to the work her parents have spent their lives dedicated to, where she’ll say things like, “I’m not sure film is really … Do you think it’s a genuine art form?” I like the fact that she has this silver rapier tongue. But anyway, I went into it going, “OK, these movies aren’t fucking working anymore. And these are the ones I like.”

As opposed to —

BA: The Justice League experience, the fact that those stories became somewhat repetitive to me and less interesting. Yeah, I did finally figure out how to play that character [Batman], and I nailed it in The Flash. For the five minutes I’m there, it’s really great. A lot of it’s just tone. You’ve got to figure out, what’s your version of the person? Who is the guy that fits what you can do? I tried to fit myself into a Batman. And by the way, I like a lot of the stuff we did, especially the first one [Batman v Superman].

THR: But not Justice League. What went wrong there?

BA: Justice League … You could teach a seminar on all the reasons why this is how not to do it. Ranging from production to bad decisions to horrible personal tragedy, and just ending with the most monstrous taste in my mouth. The genius, and the silver lining, is that Zack Snyder eventually went to AT&T and was like, “Look, I can get you four hours of content.” And it’s principally just all the slow motion that he shot in black-and-white. And one day of shooting with me and him. He was like, “Do you want to come shoot in my backyard?” I was like, “I think there are unions, Zack. I think we have to make a deal.” But I went and did it. And now [Zack Snyder’s Justice League] is my highest-rated movie on IMDb.

Isn’t that because Zack Snyder’s fans are so intense online?

BA: Say what you want, it is my highest-rated career movie. I’ve never had one that went from nadir to pinnacle. Retroactively, it’s a hit. All of a sudden I was getting congratulated for the bomb I’m in. But I was going to direct a Batman, and [Justice League] made me go, “I’m out. I never want to do any of this again. I’m not suited.” That was the worst experience I’ve ever seen in a business which is full of some shitty experiences. It broke my heart. There was an idea of someone [Joss Whedon] coming in, like, “I’ll rescue you and we’ll do 60 days of shooting and I’ll write a whole thing around what you have. I’ve got the secret.” And it wasn’t the secret. That was hard. And I started to drink too much. I was back at the hotel in London, it was either that or jump out the window. And I just thought, “This isn’t the life I want. My kids aren’t here. I’m miserable.” You want to go to work and find something interesting to hang onto, rather than just wearing a rubber suit, and most of it you’re just standing against the computer screen going, “If this nuclear waste gets loose, we’ll …” That’s fine. I don’t condescend to that or put it down, but I got to a point where I found it creatively not satisfying. Also just, you’re sweaty and exhausted. And I thought, “I don’t want to participate in this in any way. And I don’t want to squander any more of my life, of which I have a limited amount.”

THR: So if DC came to you now and said, “Do you want to direct something?” 

BA: I would not direct something for the [James] Gunn DC. Absolutely not. I have nothing against James Gunn. Nice guy, sure he’s going to do a great job. I just wouldn’t want to go in and direct in the way they’re doing that. I’m not interested in that.

[azranadir]

. . . dependent original character for nightrestrp : AZRA NADIR \

more links : pinterest. connections. playlist.

[ cemre baysel, cis woman, she/her ] - was that AZRA NADIR i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-SIX year old who has been in nightrest for HER ENTIRE LIFE and works as UNEMPLOYED has a reputation of being OUTGOING, but also SELF-INDULGENT. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with EMPTY CHAMPAGNE BOTTLES, LATE NIGHTS SPENT OUT PARTYING, AN INABILITY TO TAKE ANYTHING SERIOUSLY, & OVERBEARING FEMININE PERFUME. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next.

BASIC INFORMATION:

FULL NAME: Azra Nadir

NICKNAMES: none bitch

DATE OF BIRTH: February 13th, 1997 (26)

ETHNICITY: Turkish

FACE CLAIM: Cemre Baysel

HAIR & EYE COLOR: Brown & Green

HEIGHT: 5’6”

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: Multiple tattoos

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual 

OCCUPATION: N/A

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: English, Turkish

BACKGROUND: 

Born into a rich family, Azra was the youngest between her and her only brother, growing up in Stoughton estates and attending Wardwell academy as a child. From a young age, it was obvious that Azra loved the attention, whether it be from her parents or peers, she loved being at the center, and would always do whatever it took to be seen as that. She’s always been a selfish person at heart, caring for a few people but mainly basing everything she did off of how it would help her social status

Though she excelled easily in school, she didn’t really like it, no intention of furthering her education. Really, she didn’t have many ambitions in life, no clue as to what she’d want as a career. In her mind, it wasn’t as if she really needed one, bank account always taken care of by her parents. Azra lacked any kind of drive, thinking that working and making an income seemed like a boring way to live, when she could instead be relaxing and enjoying her life.

Her perspective was made clear by flunking out her junior year of high school, a boyfriend at the time occupying her mind and time. She’d ditched all of her classes to be with him, resulting in her having to stay back a year in school. Azra eventually broke up with him after she’d caught him cheating on her, and blamed him for ruining her life. She repeated the year, and passed with average grades, her parents accepting the bare minimum even if everyone knew she could do better. 

In her early years, she’d also find herself going out quite often. Sneaking out into Salem with a couple friends and using a fake ID to get into clubs. Azra liked partying, liked that it was all meaningless white noise where she could do whatever she wanted. She knew it was dangerous at the time, but maybe it was part of the fun. Being young and pretty, Azra knew that older guys would always pay her attention, giving her exactly what she wanted. After the years of being nothing more than average to her parents, they didn’t care what she did, deciding their youngest and only daughter would forever be a vain party girl. 

For a while, Azra thought her parents would always be supportive of her, even if she didn’t do anything with her life. But six months ago, her credit line was gone, and the monthly check her parents would send her was never received. Her parents had grown tired of their money going towards alcohol and meaningless fun, so she’d been cut off. Thankfully, as much as Azra loved to spend, she did save some of her money, just in case. But these days, it’s looking smaller and smaller, and she’s too proud to fold to her parent's wishes of getting a job. 

HEADCANONS

A compulsive liar at heart. When Azra meets someone she never sees before, she tries to read who they are and come up with a version of herself that the other person would really like. Maybe it’s wrong, but in her mind, it’s nothing but a white lie to come up with a fun career for herself.

In more serious instances, she tells people she runs a lifestyle blog, and even offers advice to people on how to better their lives. The blog in question does not exist.

Has a thing for guys and girls that are sweet. She likes the idea of being able to corrupt someone.

Loves flowers and butterflies and everything associated with nature, and has a bunch of tattoos (small and big) of both

Doesn't believe in wearing pants, you will never catch her in anything but a skirt/shorts/dresses.

Despite not caring about literally anything, Azra is a very intelligent person, but she only really uses it when it fits her goals. She doesn’t really bother with learning or reading, and struggles to hold conversations that aren’t about herself. Under her vain personality however, she is especially emotionally intelligent, and good at reading people.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

high school ex-boyfriend that cheated

a sugar daddy bc she's about to be actually poor :/

exes 

close friends

party friends

hookups/flings/fwb

[sebcastellanos]

You would’ve been fine with me staying there forever, huh? Yep. You’re pretty cool, Abed. You’re a huge nerd.

Joel McHale and Danny Pudi as Jeff Winger and Abed Nadir in Community: Home Economics (S01E08)

[ultranos]

heyo, can you explain to me why most Azula writers dislike the Zuko is an awkward turtleduck tag? /gen

Personally, I don't hate the tag, really. But I find that it is often a flag at times for a certain kind of Zuko characterization that tends to show up in fics.

It's mostly a characterization that ignores at least 75% of Zuko's actual character in the show, specifically where he's a hot-headed, impulsive, angry young man full of grit and stubborn determination. And instead replaces it with only the boy who got hugged by his mom (and not the boy who threw bread at turtleducks or threatened to throw a knife at his sister when she mocked his aim, a threat that actually did shut her up) and the young man who's attempts at comfort are "that's rough, buddy".

(There's an additional unfortunate tendency I've seen in fics that further go down this path and go so far as to make me as a reader start seeing this "sympathetic" Zuko as someone with extreme amounts of learned helplessness and exploitative incompetence. The latter of which is straight up "so incompetent that everyone feels sorry for him and works to make things better/easier for the poor fluffy baby".

It's not a cute look normally. In a setting where the other characters who "feel sorry" are literally survivors of genocide perpetrated by the dude's family, it's especially egregious.)

Additionally, this characterization that ignores s1, s2, and most of s3 Zuko also warps the characterization of others. Which possibly reaches its nadir in characterizations that present Azulon as a good guy for liking Zuko but still ordering the genocide of the Southern Water Tribe and 50+ years of bloodshed over the entire Earth Kingdom.

This phenomenon of a characterization becoming popular isn't exactly new in fandom. If I had to guess, somewhere years or over a decade ago, some fanfic wrote a very sympathetic Zuko that made him a bit softer than canon. And this got wildly popular. So people copied the characterization, since hey, that must have been something good, right? Rinse, repeat, and things warp over time. What that original fic was, I have no idea. We possibly can never know, because it's incredibly likely that that original wouldn't get the "awkward turtleduck" tag today.

Am I against the characterization of Zuko as a horribly awkward young man with endearing moments? No, of course not. It's canon that the boy is terrible at social situations, and the only person worse at them is his sister. And I'm not against that tag on principle. It's just that the use of that particular tag now has the unfortunate connotation of flattening Zuko's character until all that's left is that.

[ganymedesclock]

These are questions I've had for some while and it's hard to find someone who'll answer with grace. This mostly relates to disabilities (mental or physical) in fiction.

1) What makes a portrayal of a disability that's harming the character in question ableist?

2) Is there a way to write a disabled villain in a way that isn't ableist?

In the circles I've been in, the common conceptions are you can't use a character's disability as a plot point or showcase it being a hindrance in some manner. heaven forbid you make your villain disabled in some capacity, that's a freaking death sentence to a creative's image. I understand historically villains were the only characters given disabilities, but (and this is my personal experience) I've not seen as many disabled villains nowadays, heck, I see more disabled heroes in media nowadays.

Sorry if this comes off as abrasive, I'd really like to be informed for future media consumption and my own creative endeavors.

Okay so the first thing I'm going to say is that while it IS a good idea to talk to disabled people and get their feedback, disabled people are not a monolith and they aren't going to all have the same take on how this goes.

My personal take is biased in favor that I'm a neurodivergent person (ADHD and autism) who has no real experience with physical disabilities, so I won't speak for physically disabled people- heck, I won't even speak for every neurotype. Like I say, people aren't a monolith.

For myself and my own writing of disabled characters, here's a couple of concepts I stick by:

Research is your friend

Think about broad conventions of ableism

Be mindful of cast composition

1. Research is your friend

Yeah this is the thing everybody says, so here's the main bases I try to cover:

What's the story on this character's disability?

Less in terms of 'tragic angst' and more, what kind of condition this is- because a congenital amputee (that is to say, someone who was born without a limb) will have a different relationship to said limb absence than someone who lost their limb years ago to someone who lost their limb yesterday. How did people in their life respond to it, and how did they respond to it? These responses are not "natural" and will not be the same to every person with every worldview. This can also be a great environment to do worldbuilding in! Think about the movie (and the tv series) How To Train Your Dragon. The vikings in that setting don't have access to modern medicine, and they're, well, literally fighting dragons and other vikings. The instance of disability is high, and the medical terminology to talk about said disabilities is fairly lackluster- but in a context where you need every man you possibly can to avoid the winter, the mindset is going to be not necessarily very correct, but egalitarian. You live in a village of twenty people and know a guy who took a nasty blow to the head and hasn't quite been the same ever since? "Traumatic Brain Injury" is probably not going to be on your lips, but you're also probably going to just make whatever peace you need to and figure out how to accommodate Old Byron for his occasional inability to find the right word, stammers and trembles. In this example, there are several relevant pieces of information- what the character's disability is (aphasia), how they got it (brain injury), and the culture and climate around it (every man has to work, and we can't make more men or throw them away very easily, so, how can we make sure this person can work even if we don't know what's wrong with them)

And that dovetails into:

What's the real history, and modern understandings, of this?

This is where "knowing the story" helps a lot. To keep positing our hypothetical viking with a brain injury, I can look into brain injuries, what affects their extent and prognosis, and maybe even beliefs about this from the time period and setting I'm thinking of (because people have had brains, and brain injuries, the entire time!) Sure, if the setting is fantastical, I have wiggle room, but looking at inspirations might give me a guide post.

Having a name for your disorder also lets you look for posts made by specific people who live with the condition talking about their lives. This is super, super important for conditions stereotyped as really scary, like schizophrenia or narcissistic personality disorder. Even if you already know "schizophrenic people are real and normal" it's still a good thing to wake yourself up and connect with others.

2. Think about broad conventions of ableism

It CAN seem very daunting or intimidating to stay ahead of every single possible condition that could affect someone's body and mind and the specific stereotypes to avoid- there's a lot under the vast umbrella of human experience and we're learning more all the time! A good hallmark is, ableism has a few broad tendencies, and when you see those tendencies rear their head, in your own thinking or in accounts you read by others, it's good to put your skeptical glasses on and look closer. Here's a few that I tend to watch out for:

Failing the “heartwarming dog” test

This was a piece of sage wisdom that passed my eyeballs, became accepted as sage wisdom, and my brain magnificently failed to recall where I saw it. Basically, if you could replace your disabled character with a lovable pet who might need a procedure to save them, and it wouldn’t change the plot, that’s something to look into.

Disability activists speak often about infantilization, and this is a big thing of what they mean- a lot of casual ableism considers disabled people as basically belonging to, or being a burden onto, the able-bodied and neurotypical. This doesn’t necessarily even need to have an able neurotypical in the picture- a personal experience I had that was extremely hurtful was at a point in high school, I decided to do some research on autism for a school project. As an autistic teenager looking up resources online, I was very upset to realize that every single resource I accessed at the time presumed it was talking to a neurotypical parent about their helpless autistic child. I was looking for resources to myself, yet made to feel like I was the subject in a conversation.

Likewise, many wheelchair users have relayed the experience of, when they, in their chair, are in an environment accompanied by someone else who isn’t using a chair, strangers would speak to the standing person exclusively, avoiding addressing the chair user. 

It’s important to always remind yourself that at no point do disabled people stop being people. Yes, even people who have facial deformities; yes, even people who need help using the bathroom; yes, even people who drool; yes, even people whose conditions impact their ability to communicate, yes, even people with cognitive disabilities. They are people, they deserve dignity, and they are not “a child trapped in a 27-year-old body”- a disabled adult is still an adult. All of the “trying to learn the right rules” in the world won’t save you if you keep an underlying fear of non-normative bodies and minds.

This also has a modest overlap between disability and sexuality in particular. I am an autistic grayromantic ace. Absolutely none of my choices or inclinations about sex are because I’m too naive or innocent or childlike to comprehend the notion- disabled people have as diverse a relationship with sexuality as any other. That underlying fear- as mentioned before- can prevent many people from imagining that, say, a wheelchair user might enjoy sex and have experience with it. Make sure all of your disabled characters have full internal worlds.

Poor sickly little Tiffany and the Red Right Hand

A big part of fictional ableism is that it separates the disabled into two categories. Anybody who’s used TVTropes would recognize the latter term I used here. But to keep it brief:

Poor, sickly little Tiffany is cute. Vulnerable. How her disability affects her life is that it constantly creates a pall of suffering that she lives beneath. After all, having a non-normative mind or body must be an endless cavalcade of suffering and tragedy, right? People who are disabled clearly spend their every waking moment affected by, and upset, that they aren’t normal!

The answer is... No, actually. Cut the sad violin; even people who have chronic pain who are literally experiencing pain a lot more than the rest of us are still fully capable of living complex lives and being happy. If nothing else, it would be literally boring to feel nothing but awful, and people with major depression or other problems still, also, have complicated experiences. And yes, some of it’s not great. You don’t have to present every disability as disingenuously a joy to have. But make a point that they own these things. It is a very different feeling to have a concerned father looking through the window at his angel-faced daughter rocking sadly in her wheelchair while she stares longingly out the window, compared to a character waking up at midnight because they have to go do something and frustratedly hauling their body out of their bed into their chair to get going.

Poor Sickly Little Tiffany (PSLT, if you will) virtually always are young, and they virtually always are bound to the problems listed under ‘failing the heartwarming dog’ test. Yes, disabled kids exist, but the point I’m making here is that in the duality of the most widely accepted disabled characters, PSLT embodies the nadir of the Victim, who is so pure, so saintly, so gracious, that it can only be a cruel quirk of fate that she’s suffering. After all, it’s not as if disabled people have the same dignity that any neurotypical and able-bodied person has, where they can be an asshole and still expect other people to not seriously attack their quality of life- it’s a “service” for the neurotypical and able-bodied to “humor” them.

(this is a bad way to think. Either human lives matter or they don’t. There is no “wretched half-experience” here- if you wouldn’t bodily grab and yank around a person standing on their own feet, you have no business grabbing another person’s wheelchair)

On the opposite end- and relevant to your question- is the Red Right Hand. The Red Right Hand does not have PSLT’s innocence or “purity”- is the opposite extreme. The Red Right Hand is virtually always visually deformed, and framed as threatening for their visual deformity. To pick on a movie I like a fair amount, think about how in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the title character is described- “Strong. Fast. Had a metal arm.” That’s a subtle example, but, think about how that metal arm is menacing. Sure, it’s a high tech weapon in a superhero genre- but who has the metal arm? The Winter Soldier, who is, while a tormented figure that ultimately becomes more heroic- scary. Aggressive. Out for blood.

The man who walks at midnight with a Red Right Hand is a signal to us that his character is foul because of the twisting of his body. A good person, we are led to believe, would not be so- or a good person would be ashamed of their deformity and work to hide it. The Red Right Hand is not merely “an evil disabled person”- they are a disabled person whose disability is depicted as symptomatic of their evil, twisted nature, and when you pair this trope with PSLT, it sends a message: “stay in your place, disabled people. Be sad, be consumable, and let us push you around and decide what to do with you. If you get uppity, if you have ideas, if you stand up to us, then the thing that made you a helpless little victim will suddenly make you a horrible monster, and justify us handling you with inhumanity.”

As someone who is a BIG fan of eldritch horror and many forms of unsettling “wrongness” it is extremely important to watch out for the Red Right Hand. Be careful how you talk about Villainous Disability- there is no connection between disability and morality. People will be good, bad, or simply just people entirely separate from their status of ability or disability. It’s just as ableist to depict every disabled person as an innocent good soul as it is to exclusively deal in grim and ghastly monsters.

Don’t justify disabilities and don’t destroy them.

Superpowers are cool. Characters can and IMO should have superpowers, as long as you’re writing a genre when they’re there.

BUT.

It’s important to remember that there is no justification for disabilities, because they don’t need one. Disability is simply a feature characters have. You do not need to go “they’re blind, BUT they can see the future”

This is admittedly shaky, and people can argue either way; the Blind Seer is a very pronounced mythological figure and an interesting philosophical point about what truly matters in the world. There’s a reason it exists as a conceit. But if every blind character is blind in a way that completely negates that disability or makes it meaningless- this sucks. People have been blind since the dawn of time. And people will always accommodate their disabilities in different ways. Even if the technology exists to fix some forms of blindness, there are people who will have “fixable” blindness and refuse to treat it. There will be individuals born blind who have no meaningful desire to modify this. And there are some people whose condition will be inoperable even if it “shouldn’t” be.

You don’t need to make your disabled characters excessively cool, or give them a means by which the audience can totally forget they’re disabled. Again, this is a place where strong worldbuilding is your buddy- a handwave of “x technology fixed all disabilities”, in my opinion, will never come off good. If, instead, however, you throw out a careless detail that the cool girl the main character is chatting up in a cyberpunk bar has an obvious spinal modification, and feature other characters with prosthetics and without- I will like your work a lot, actually. Even if you’re handing out a fictional “cure”- show the seams. Make it have drawbacks and pros and cons. A great example of this is in the series Full Metal Alchemist- the main character has two prosthetic limbs, and not only do these limbs come with problems, some mundane (he has phantom limb pains, and has to deal with outgrowing his prostheses or damaging them in combat) some more fantastical (these artificial limbs are connected to his nerves to function fluidly- which means that they get surgically installed with no anesthesia and hurt like fuck plugging in- and they require master engineering to stay in shape). We explicitly see a scene of the experts responsible for said limbs talking to a man who uses an ordinary prosthetic leg, despite the advantages of an automail limb, because these drawbacks are daunting to him and he is happier with a simple prosthetic leg.

Even in mundane accommodations you didn’t make up- no two wheelchair users use their chair the exact same way, and there’s a huge diversity of chairs. Someone might be legally blind but still navigate confidently on their own; they might use a guide dog, or they might use a cane. They might even change their needs from situation to situation!

Disability accommodations are part of life

This ties in heavily to the previous point, but seriously! Don’t just look up one model of cane and superimpose it with no modifications onto your character- think about what their lifestyle is, and what kind of person they are!

Also medication is not the devil. Yes, medical abuse is real and tragic and the medication is not magic fairy dust that solves all problems either. But also, it’s straight ableism to act like anybody needing pills for any reason is a scary edgy plot twist. 

(and addiction is a disease. Please be careful, and moreover be compassionate, if you’re writing a character who’s an addict)

3. Be mindful of cast composition

This, to me, is a big tip about disability writing and it’s also super easy to implement!

Just make sure your cast has a lot of meaningful disabled characters in it!

Have you done all the work you can to try and dodge the Red Right Hand but you’re still worried your disabled villain is a bad look? They sure won’t look like a commentary on disability if three other people in the cast are disabled and don’t have the same outlook or role! Worried that you’re PSLT-ing your main character’s disabled child? Maybe the disability is hereditary and they got it from the main character!

The more disabled characters you have, the more it will challenge you to think about what their individual relationship is with the world and the less you’ll rely on hackneyed tropes. At least, ideally.

-

Ultimately, there’s no perfect silver bullet of diversity writing that will prevent a work from EVER being ableist, but I hope this helped, at least!

[unsoundedcomic]

I think Unsounded shows the good and bad aspects of people really well, but what in your opinion makes some readers, when we have a favourite, ignore the bad side the comic portrays and stick up for their chosen character no matter what? Or vice versa and just shower them with criticism. Most people in the comic I'm pretty good at seeing both sides of, except Roger, he is easily my favourite character, and Im trying to figure out why its that guy in particular who I took a liking to.

That's funny to hear because inversely, there are readers who *despise* Roger and exult in his torment. So I think we read a lot of ourselves into the characters and form personal connections that way. I definitely have particular soft spots for Siya and Elka for that reason.

Duane always gets a pass from most people no matter what he does. But even he reached a nadir, and less patient readers were getting sick of his crap. He woke up to his failings in just the nick of time, and yet still some readers were completely mystified as to what he was so upset about.

On the flip side of the coin, Sette's always gotten uncompromising hate. She's abrasive, she's obnoxious, she's full of herself, and if you don't understand kids, you hate her guts because you don't see that it's all a cover for insecurity. They speak of a Sette Filter on /co/ that makes new readers bounce off the first few chapters, but I still wouldn't change a thing about them. Sette's like a perception check, and if you fail it, you're just going to bounce off something somewhere else, so may as well get out early before you waste more of your time.

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2022 (#36)

36. AUSTRALIA Sheldon Riley - “Not the same” 15th place

Decade Rank: 71/79 [Above Vasil, below Undisclosed]

Out of the Tiresome Troika of Nadir, Sheldon and Marius, Sheldon’s the one that offends me the least. Which is funny to me now because I intitially loathed him the most by far. “Great, after being forced to sit through Vasil twice, we have yet another narcissistic gay with a theatre monster ballad that’s all “ME!!!! ME!!!! MYSELF!!!! MEEEEE!!!!. I don’t care who wins Aus Decides, as long as Sheldon LOSES!” -- me, dated January 2022. Then he won (thanks to Jaguar BORE-ASS Jonze), beating Voyager’s amazing entry. Let the hatrið commence!

However, “Not the same” is really just three minutes of screaming when you think about it.  Like, no shade, that’s the exact sort of entry it is. Sheldon comes on, Sheldon belts for a full three minutes, (impressing those who care about that sort of thing I guess), and that’s it. Power Vocals (and gaudy accessories) are his trademark, and once you become aware to it, it’s just really easy to block everything out as white noise.

Also, I kinda feel for Sheldon! None of that has to do with his song, but I know the situation. Bullying can leave a mark on any victim (especially if you’re also on the spectrum), so while I don’t particularly like the way Sheldon presents himself (if you’re going to wear glasses, why choose THOSE glasses?!), he’s in the phase of his life where he feels like he needs the eccentricities in order to be likeable. This is of course palpably untrue, but that’s a lesson Sheldon will learn once he starts appreciating his true self, and that process takes time, so I’m cutting him that slack there. You can have your face and unveil it too.

Don’t mistake this as to meaning that I don’t dislike “Not the same” because I very much do. “Not the same” is a fucking weaponized sob story, misguided and solipsistic. So is it a surprise that, for a song framed as woke and empathetic, it’s really bad at empathy? 

Let’s start with how the message was gradually shifted from “Sheldon is sad because he’s Gay” to “Sheldon is sad because he’s Autistic” when they figured out the latter had more of a niche at the contest. (I’m not going crazy, right? They DID change the meaning between the NF and ESC, right?! Even if they did not, doesn’t the fact that you can substitute the meaning of the message with some narrative sleight-of-hand prove that the meaning is completely unimportant?)

Across the whole line, “Not the same” suffers from issues, such as Sheldon constantly talking screaming about himself with disturbingly little regard for other individuals who might be in the same situation, or wearing an ostentatious veil that blocks off eye-contact, or ASCENDING THE STAIRCASE before the Big Reveal:

“I’ll address in the audience in a bit, but first I’ll move as far away from them as possible, while singing with my back to the camera” -- Sheldon Riley.

EVENTUALLY it transitions into “We’re not the same”, with... fifteen seconds left to spare, and that’s Too Little Too Late, babs~

Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for Sheldon) I have an example of an entry that nailed the same message from this very same NF season! I’m of course refering to Tone Sekelius.

 "My way” had its own string of issues (it’s average and poorly staged), but I really liked it. Why? because Sekelius, unlike Sheldon, immediately reached out to her audience and while she consistently refered her own struggles, she always put those in need ahead of her own problems, flippantly clapped back at her haters, and then harnessed her experiences to triumph over all the hurdles life had thrown at her, unburdened from her shackles. I’m a Melody-over-Message guy, but she served and i ate it. What it ultimately boils down to is that Tone is at peace with herself, while Sheldon is not, and that makes all the difference between becoming a beloved televote darling, and receiving two pity votes from Azerbaijan.

(And also that Happy > Sad, but you knew that ofc.)

Ps: I’m all for fashion, so whoever stitched together that Chocobo monstruosity should consider a different craft..x

THE RANKING

36. AUSTRALIA - Sheldon Riley - “Not the same” 37. SWITZERLAND - Marius Bear - “Boys do cry” 38. AZERBAIJAN - Nadir Rustamli - “Fade to black” 39. ITALY - Mahmood & Blanco - “Brividi” 40. ISRAEL - Michael Ben David - “I.M”

[itsgettingcrazieroutthere]

Okay, I'm completely into Community because of one (1) Abed Nadir and just saw a fic that had both Abed and Janet (The Good Place), and BOOM.

Oh. My. God.

The Good Place AU that nobody asked, but I just got completely obsessed with.

Annie as Tahani. And maybe Shirley as Tahanni too. Both think they were, respectively, a great student and a great christian and, therefore, deserve to be in heaven. But Annie's competitive and selfish and Shirley's an hipocrite and passive-agressive, so their good deeds don't matter, because they didn't mean it and they made life hell to people around them.

Jeff as Eleanor. I think that's self-explanatory. Jeff knows he doesn't deserve to be in the Good Place, he was a swindler: forged his diploma, acted as an lawyer for the rich and the bad guys for money, didn't have any friends and didn't care for anyone but himself.

Troy as Jason, of course. He is not stupid, what good did he do to deserve to be in the Good Place? He faked an injury to run away of his problems, he is irresponsible, some people might say he is childish (he's not, thank you very much). In high school, he was a bully, didn't care about anything but parties and is a closeted nerd (who is ashamed of being a nerd, so he beats them up to make himself feel better about it). The one thing he isn't is a monk, though. He is definitely not a monk that practices the vow of silence, so he probably shouldn't be in the Good Place. But he is CERTAINLY not fond of going to the Bad Place, especially not once he finds the best friend he could ever have in the Good Pace.

I think Britta would be Tahani too, actually: she is an activist that doesn't vote, a rebel without a cause. She is always talking about the time she helped a homeless guy, but hides the fact that she actually just gave him 25 cents and ONLY because she saw an ex-boyfriend leaving the store across the street. She can forgive racism, but draws a line at animal abuse, and so many other things. Just like Annie and Shirley, her motivations weren't in the right place. Also, she is the worst.

Abed is Chidi and you can't change my mind. He isn't a bad person. He isn't, okay? He is just too sincere sometimes. Too smart, doesn't know how to express and read emotions, maybe a little bit too direct. One could even say that he could drive everyone a little bit crazy when he did homages of series and movies, or when he went full meta and treated life as a movie. Maybe he made people cry once or twice when he got a little bit too honest, you know? There was even this one professor that went crazy because he thought Abed was too spoiled (that professor is in the Good Place too, because he was disrespectful and full of shit, completely intolerant and ignorant of Abed's autism, by the way). But, if you ask Abed, he would say he is adorable, so everything is cool. Cool, cool, cool. The thing is, Abed may not be the greatest expert in human mind, but he is an expert in television and cinema, so he gets by. And, honestly, if you were to choose ANYONE from the study group, he is the innocent one, the one that could teach them how to deserve to be in the Good Place.

Frankie as Janet? Frankie as Janet. Frankie is a problem solver. She is cool, she solves problems. Maybe, just maybe, she can be a little bit snob, but she knows EVERYTHING, so she also has the right to be a little snob, actually. Also, as she gets to know and befriends the group, she gets more and more human, and she loves them more and more.

I thought about the Dean as Michael, but I didn't really buy it. Maybe, we can make it different this time: the Dean as a Michael that thinks the "Good Place" is actually the Good Place. He thinks he was good, so he got promoted, from devil to angel and his (Community College?) "Good Place" is legit. The one running the experiment is the City College Dean, somewhat like Shawn, but they are not partners, I think.

Chang as Vicky? Actor, self-centered, a bit of an idiot and always ready to try and carry out a coup d'etat. He is a betrayer, that's what he does. But he gets to know the study group and grows to like them, so he always comes back to them and is ready to do crazy shit for them (even if he still back-stabs them once or twice, but it's not serious, okay?)

Elroy is a second Janet, okay? Calm, patient, he is somebody that also tries to solve problems, even if he's not half as efficient as Frankie. But the Dean leaves him to deal with white people, because he's a compulsive "white-people complimenter" (I don't think this is a word, but you get what I mean).

White people like Pierce, who is a piece of trash that thinks he is the best person ever. Racist, homophobic, sexist and a certified idiot. I can't think of a character equivalent in the Good Place, so Pierce will be another person that is "in the wrong place", but he never realized that. Not a single time in the 109.857 times the group realized they were in the Bad Place actually. Also, in most of those times, he was one of the reasons why the others realized they were in the Bad Place: if the Good Place let people like Pierce enter, well... Would they meet Trump there too? It didn't make sense.

If I ever do write this, it'd be Jabed or Trobed, because Abed is my baby (and I hate Jeff/Annie), and of course I'd make him the main main character.

That's it, folks, thanks for coming to my ted talk! (For now hehehe)

[nerdywriter36]

To Help the Helpless

AO3

FFN

erik sees himself in all the sick, injured, and abandoned pets he sees in animal shelters and is determined to give them the love and comfort that they deserve in their time of need when he wasn't granted the same as a human being. christine and their friends could not be happier to help.

this concept was born out of a discussion about erik and his pets with @ofserien, so thank you to her for helping to bring this idea to life :) it's been so long so I've posted on here because of my hiatus, but the first oneshot I've written since officially returning to tumblr. i really hope you all enjoy it! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3

~

"You brought in another one, Erik? Isn't your house full enough already?"

Erik simply rolled his eyes and turned to look back at Nadir, who was glancing at the variety of dogs and cats residing in their crates throughout his living room. "There is never too many rescues, Nadir, especially not when I'm taking them away from people who will put them down simply because they aren't getting adopted," he replied.

"And what's wrong with this one?" Nadir queried, gesturing to the puppy that his friend was carrying rather like a football - tucked against his side and laying along his forearm. "It looks fine to me."

"He had an old injury that was never fixed before he was turned in, so he doesn't look as perfect as people want," Erik said as he held the puppy up so Nadir could see his bowed front leg. "Otherwise, he is completely happy, energetic, and healthy, but people don't care. Looks are everything in this world."

His voice broke a bit, he noticed, and he knew that Nadir had heard it too. Every day was a different story when it came to how emotional he would get when it came to explaining why the animals had been abandoned and why their little lives were at risk. He hated that it still happened; he had been rescuing shelter animals for the better part of two years, not to mention the fact that most of his own struggles because of his appearance were behind him, but some days were simply harder than others.

He really was fortunate for all that he had to make his life as "normal" as possible, even with his physical differences. A prosthetic nose saved him far more grief than he believed people could understand and the mask he wore was so realistic and close to his skin tone, as remarkably pale as it may have been, that he hardly got rude stares anymore when he was out and about. It made quite the difference in his professional life as well; no one at the Paris Opera House wanted to accept compositions from a deformed freak, no matter their talent. His heterochromatic eyes were enough to put people off sometimes.

"I know, Erik, I'm sorry," Nadir piped up as he shot him a sympathetic smile. "I think what you're doing is great, you know that, I just worry about your stress levels. Not having to worry about you financially, but you're a composer making consistent contributions to the Paris Opera, you run an animal rescue, and now you have a girlfriend. That's a lot for one person!"

"Nadir, I'm fine," Erik replied, passing the puppy he held to his friend and smirking as it eagerly started to wiggle and lick at Nadir's neck and chin. "I'm managing it all, and having a girlfriend doesn't change much."

"Right, you say that now." Nadir turned his head away from the eager puppy, wiping his chin on his shoulder. "What is this thing anyway?"

"Australian shepherd, hence the energy." Making his way around the room, Erik checked the status of every food and water dish, but a buzz from his cell phone made him pause. As he pulled it out of his pocket, he couldn't help but smile when he saw a message from the new light in his life: Christine.

He still wasn’t exactly sure how he had gotten so fortunate as to have Christine in his life. After all, their first introduction had been at the Paris Opera House when he had nearly run her right over in his eager rush to leave the very same building. As intricate and realistic as his mask may have looked, he never enjoyed being out in public, and he knew that everything about him was under harsh scrutiny when it came to the committee of men taking his submissions and suggestions for the music at the Opera. He wouldn’t have become a successful composer, having his music played at one of the most prestigious opera houses in the world, without them, but with the way they stared at him whenever he walked in, it certainly wasn’t easy to face them.

“Is that the new light of your life?” Nadir asked with a smirk, watching the lovesick smile growing on his friend’s face. “What did she say?”

“Just ‘hi’,” Erik replied, his unmasked cheek already flushed pink as he replied to the message.

Nadir scoffed and set the puppy down in a small pen filled with blankets off to the side. “You are in deep, my friend. How long have you been dating, three months? And just ‘hi’ still manages to make you blush? Does she not make more flirtatious comments than just that?”

“Oh, like you were any different when you and Kheya first got together,” Erik retorted.

“Hey, now, that...that is not a fair comparison.”

It was his friend’s turn to blush and Erik laughed at the sight. Mockery aside, though, he genuinely was happy for Nadir; he had been through a rough patch before meeting Rookheeya one year before, his father's death hanging the heaviest over him and stealing so much of the joy that Erik knew was in him. Once he met her though, everything seemed to fall into place; Erik still remembered the moment Nadir practically choked on his drink when he first noticed her from across the room at a small gathering at the Garnier. She was a beautiful young woman who shared his faith, many of his interests and balanced out his almost painfully realistic views with the necessary imagination and optimism that he needed. A match made in heaven, if Erik were to pair a phrase to their relationship.

“Sure it is,” Erik replied, smirking when he caught a glimpse of Nadir’s lock screen as he pulled out his phone: a photo of the happy couple themselves, both smiling wide. “You’ve practically wanted to marry her since the moment you met, you’re lovesick.”

“Okay, I love my girlfriend, so sue me,” Nadir retorted. “And I will have you know that I plan on proposing in the next few days.”

“Well, it’s about time!” Erik said with a laugh, patting him on the back as the pair walked into the kitchen. “Congrats, Nadir, that’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” Nadir chuckled, crouching down to scratch the elderly golden retriever lounging under the kitchen table. “You and Christine have to catch up now.”

“No, no, this is no race. We are taking our time, I refuse to mess this up.”

“You aren’t going to mess it up, Erik.”

“I could. You remember how things ended with Lucy,” Erik said in a soft voice as he leaned over his countertop and scribbled on a notepad.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Nadir sighed. “She was a toxic mess, the end of your relationship was no fault of yours.”

Erik shrugged ever so slightly. “She ran off with some other guy and slept with him when we hadn’t even taken that step. I clearly did something wrong or she wouldn’t have left.” That breakup had hung over him like a dark, heavy cloud for weeks and still did at times. That said, the very same bout of depression and dejection had pushed him into the world of animal rescue that he still found himself in two years later, so for that he was thankful. Now, though, Luciana hardly ever crossed his mind; he had found someone to get him out and keep him out of that world of darkness.

“You didn’t, but anyhow, it doesn’t matter anymore. You have a girl that you love and who loves you, an amazing career, and an animal shelter in your living room. You’re doing alright for yourself,” Nadir pointed out. “Speaking of that, has Christie been over here yet? To meet the pack and all?”

“No, not yet. Believe me, it is on the list of things to do,” Erik replied, still scribbling away on his notepad as they spoke.

“That along with two hydrotherapy sessions, settling the new puppy in, getting groceries, working on your new composition, and going to see if you can pick up two tuxedo kittens. When do you have time to breathe, Erik?”

“In between everything. I manage just fine and I will slot Christine meeting everyone in. It’s a delicate process with some of these guys, you know that.”

Nadir scoffed. “Yes, I remember how slow it all was when you first introduced me,” he said, putting a hand up when his friend opened his mouth. “I know why it was slow, but that doesn't make it more enjoyable.”

“Right, well, unlike you, Christine is very patient, so it’ll be fine,” Erik replied. “She’s coming with me tomorrow to pick up those kittens, so I’ll probably ask her over after and try to introduce me.”

“Let’s hope it goes well. We wouldn't want you to have to choose between your lady friend and your pets. I don't know if you’d survive that.”

"Thank you for helping me today, Christine," Erik said, smiling over at his sweetheart, who sat beside him in the front seat of his car with two tuxedo kittens on her towel-covered lap (she had insisted on the towel, even though his car was covered with fur on practically a daily basis). "These two seem like a very sweet little pair. I doubt I'll have trouble finding them homes."

"Why weren't they getting adopted just at the shelter?" Christine inquired, an inquisitive frown on her face as she turned to him for an answer.

Which he did not really have, so he simply shrugged. "They don't let enough time pass to give people a chance, frankly. Not to mention that this would mean adopting two kittens at once, what with how closely bonded they are, and not everyone is willing to take on that kind of commitment."

"It doesn't seem like too much trouble." Christine looked back down at the kittens, her sweet giggle escaping her as one of them mewed and set its paws on her chest to get closer to her, almost inspecting her. "Hello there. You're not trouble, are you? You're just a sweet little baby."

Erik couldn't help but chuckle when he heard the voice she put on to talk to the animal - a light tone, using grammatically incorrect sentences, almost as if she were speaking to a baby. Which she was, in a sense.

"You'll have to help me name them. I name so many animals that I end up running out of options after a while."

"One of them - the boy, that is - should be...Sylvester. Like from Looney Tunes! He looks just like him, it's too good to pass it up!"

"A very good choice, I think," Erik nodded as he began the drive towards his home. "I'm not sure about the girl yet. Perhaps I'll call her Christine."

His girlfriend scoffed and glanced over at him. "Erik, you can't suggest naming any and every female animal you bring into your house after me."

"Why not? I like your name."

"I know you do, but once you get to Christine the Eighth or whatnot, there's a problem."

He couldn't help but laugh; her sense of humour and mild sarcasm had been part of what had endeared her to him in the first place. "I suppose there might be. I do like your name, though, I wouldn't mind it too much."

"Yes, I know that, and if we ever had a daughter, she would be Christine Junior, I know how much you like my name." She giggled again, and he noticed her look over at him in his periphery; he was just glad that he had his mask on so she wouldn't notice him blushing at the thought of sharing a child with her. "You need some new options."

He tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I...I just think it's a nice name. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he said softly.

The comment must have been the right one, as he was rewarded with a quick peck on the cheek. "You're very sweet," Christine replied as she turned back to the kittens and stroked their backs as they cuddled together on the towel. "So once we drop these little ones off, I suppose you'll just take me home? I'm sure you'll have lots to do."

There it was - his opportunity to make the offer to her to finally come over so he could truly introduce her to his life in its entirety rather than trying to hide parts of it. A glance over at her was enough to tell him that she was disappointed at the idea of having to go home, as she so often was, and he hated to upset her, so he would do his best to fix it as best he could at that moment.

"Actually, I was thinking...would you like to come in today?" he asked, looking at her briefly again and smiling a bit when she looked back at him, wide-eyed and shocked at the question. "I'll have to settle these two in, but I would love to-"

"Yes," she replied, cutting him off rather abruptly. "Yes, I would love to. Do I have to do anything? Not do anything? Can I help with anything, wh-what can I do?"

"Just be yourself," Erik said, unable to stop a quiet laugh from escaping him at seeing how enthusiastic she was. "Your sweet, gentle, caring self, my dear. That is all that I can ask of you when it comes to meeting the little pack that I have at home."

"That much I can do," Christine said with a firm nod, clearly very dedicated to her mission. "Thank you, Erik."

He frowned. "What for?"

"For trusting me with this, with meeting them. I know that their health and security means a lot to you, so knowing that you trust me to come in and make myself a new part of that arrangement that you have really means a lot to me."

"Of course I trust you, my darling. I...I love you." The phrase still felt foreign in his mouth after not using it for so long after losing Lucy, but he was making an effort to use it as often as he possibly could with Christine; she meant more to him than anyone ever had before and she deserved to hear that from him.

"I love you too," Christine said with a warm smile on her face. "Come on, then, drive! I have puppies to meet!"

~

"Are you ready, Christine?" Erik asked from where he stood at the end of the hallway, having just collected a young bulldog puppy from her kennel and was presently walking towards the bedroom, of all places, where his sweetheart was waiting. An unconventional setting, yes, but there was a purpose to it.

"Of course I'm ready!" he heard her call back, her excitement practically dripping from her voice. "There's a puppy involved, how could I not be ready?"

"Alright, alright," he said with a quiet laugh as he stepped into the room, the puppy starting to squirm in his arms at the sight of the new person and the sound of Christine's giddy squeal. "This is Lily."

Christine gasped, a hand to her chest. "Lily, oh, how precious," she said with a giggle. "Can I hold her? Or would you prefer that I didn't?"

"No, you can hold her. She's generally good with people," Erik nodded, sitting next to his girlfriend beside his bed and setting the puppy on her lap. "Just watch her back legs."

"What's wrong with her?" Christine asked softly, looking at the puppy's legs that splayed out behind her rather than tucking beneath her to hold her body up.

"It's called swimmer's syndrome. They can't really say what causes it; some people think it's hereditary, others think it's because their environment as newborns kept them from getting around a lot, even others say it was because of defects before they were born, so I'm not entirely sure," Erik explained. "Still, as bad as it looks, it's treatable, which is why we are here in my room."

Scooping the puppy up again, he stood and walked a few steps away to a sling apparatus set up against the wall and slipped the puppy into it so she hung with her paws just above the ground. "She'll sit in the sling for about 20 minutes every day, and I'll just massage her legs and try to mimic walking motions with her. I do this a few times a day."

He carefully began to act on the same procedure he had just described, smiling as Christine stepped over to join him while he carefully rubbed the puppy's legs and helped her to move them the way she would if she were walking as she should. He knew that there was always a risk that the therapy he tried to do for the animals that were struggling wouldn't work, but he was going to try his best. Very few people had ever tried to help him throughout his life, so he thought he would allow the animals to have that, whether they knew they had it or not.

"How many others do you do this kind of thing for?" Christine softly asked a few minutes into the therapy session.

"A few. Whether it's for little ones like this who have defects of some sort or for older animals who struggle with arthritis and different things like that, therapy does a lot. I do this kind of thing, as well as hydrotherapy, which entails me getting very wet," Erik replied with a chuckle. "But it's worth it when I see the results. True, it doesn't always happen, and they end up turning into hospice cases more than anything, but if I can try and get them back on their feet, as happy and healthy as can be so they can go to a good home, then I'll do what I have to do to make that happen." He turned towards her and smiled just as she cupped his face in her hands and drew him into a gentle kiss, distracting him from his therapy session momentarily. "You are one of the most kind-hearted people I know. You know that, right?"

"You tell me that enough, so I suppose it carries some truth. It's never occurred to me much otherwise, though."

"Well, you had better believe it because it could not be more true," Christine said with a grin.

Erik couldn't help but chuckle as he gave her another quick peck on the lips. "If you are trying to earn yourself brownie points or extra kisses or something, I admire your effort, it just might work out in your favour," he replied, returning his attention to the puppy.

"Fantastic," she giggled, leaning her head on his shoulder and watching while he worked. "Did you have any other plans for the day for us? Dinner, perhaps?"

"Yes, I was hoping you would help me with dinner," Erik nodded, letting the offer hang for a moment before he added, "For the dogs and cats, that is."

"Ah yes, how romantic, exactly what I had in mind," Christine said with a laugh. "Filling food bowls. I can't wait."

Ever since Erik had given her the go-ahead to come over and spend time with himself and his little pack of rescue animals, Christine had taken full advantage of it. Whenever she could manage it, she was at his house, helping him with feeding and bathing all of the little pets in his care, keeping him company while he was cleaning, and even learning how to do hydrotherapy on a few of the dogs that happened to need it. A couple of months had already passed since that day, unbelievably, but she had cherished every second that she had gotten to spend with both Erik and all the animals in his care. She found herself getting close to every single one of them, and she could see how happy it made her sweetheart; Erik smiled even wider than he normally did when she was around, a photo of the two of them with one of his eldest dogs - a golden retriever named Buddy - had become the photo on the lock screen of his phone while others had been printed and framed on his wall. She knew that he had had little joy in his life, but if she could contribute to that happiness along with allowing him to pursue one of his passions, then she would happily support it.

Getting to play with cute puppies and kittens while she was at his house was a nice perk too.

A short while into the arrangement - about a month after Christine herself had been introduced, - she had convinced Erik to let Meg have a gentle introduction of her own to all the animals he cared for. Her roommate had just about lost her mind when she had found out that she had finally gotten to meet all of her boyfriend's pets and hadn't stopped begging her to get Erik's permission for her to meet them until she had finally agreed to give it a shot.

Erik had been hesitant at first, that much was for certain, but she promised him that Meg knew how to keep calm and quiet when she had to be. Eventually, with a slightly skeptical expression on his face, he had agreed to allow her over to meet some of the animals, much to Meg's delight.

As Christine had predicted, the introductions had gone perfectly fine and Meg was quickly scooped up into the little pack Erik seemed to be steadily building. Their visits brought them closer to the animals, to Erik, as well as to Nadir and Rookheya, Erik's best friend and his fiancée. There was something endearing about seeing her sweetheart interacting with someone other than just herself; she knew that he did it for work and all, but watching him so at ease and laughing with his closest friend warmed her heart, even if Nadir didn't seem completely at ease around the animals in the house. For a while, their little group was complete and happy, enjoying every moment they had.

But not every joyful moment could last, unfortunately.

It was the middle of the night when she got the first phone call. Her ringer was quiet, true, but it lulled Christine out of her sleep, though she didn't bother to look at the screen to see who was calling. 'Whatever scam caller it is can just leave a message for me to delete,' she thought to herself as she rolled over onto her side and buried her face in her pillow to attempt to fall back to sleep.

Her phone fell silent for just a moment, but within moments, it had started ringing again.

With a huff, Christine sat up and grabbed her phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen, and saw her boyfriend's name and picture on her screen, which made her frown. It was just past two in the morning, why would he be calling her? Her heart was already racing a bit as she pressed the green 'Answer' button and held her phone to her ear.

"Hello? Erik, what's going on?"

Hiccuping breaths were what she heard first, which only serve to worry her more. "C-Christine, come over," Erik finally managed to say, his voice choked with tears. "Buddy is...something's wrong, please come over."

"Okay, it's okay. I'll be right there and I'll bring Meg with me," she replied, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible despite her own worry about the dog that she'd become so close with. "Have you called Nadir?"

"He's here already. Rookheya too," Erik said, sniffling quietly. "Just please come over, Christine, please."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you."

Not hearing a response from Erik told her how distracted and worried he was - he always returned her affections, and she wasn't even offended by the lack of reciprocation; she was only worried.

Christine quickly climbed out of bed, deciding not to bother changing out of her pyjamas given how warm it was outside and only grabbing a pair of socks to quickly slip on. Throwing open her bedroom door, she hurried next door to Meg's room, walked inside and over to her bed to shake her gently. "Meg. Meg, get up, come on."

She rolled her eyes when her friend simply moaned sleepily and pulled her covers over her head. "Meg, please get up. Erik just called me, something's wrong, we have to go over there."

That was enough to make Meg's eyes open rather quickly and she moved the blankets to look up at her friend. "What's happening?" she asked.

"I don't know, all I know is that it's Buddy and Erik is crying, so it's bad," Christine replied with a sigh. "Please get up so we can go."

"Okay, I'm up. Go get your shoes on, I'll be down in a sec," Meg said, clambering out of bed and shuffling past her friend to get dressed.

Within minutes, the two of them were in Christine's car driving towards Erik's house, the open roads with that time at night helping their travel immensely. Not knowing what was wrong was driving Christine half-mad, though she was drawing some unfortunate conclusions, considering the animal that was involved. If she was right, it made sense why Erik had sounded so upset; she knew how much he loved that dog.

"Nadir just texted you," Meg said softly, looking at her friend's phone while she couldn't do so herself. "Asking if we're going to be there soon."

"Just tell him that we will be. That I'm driving as fast as I can without risking getting arrested in the process," Christine said, managing a quiet laugh.

She saw her friend nod as she typed away, the clicking of the keys the only sound in the car. A moment later: "He says, 'As long as you hurry. Get here before'..." Meg trailed off at that, making Christine turn to look at her.

"Before what? What did he say?"

"'Before we lose him.'"

Christine's heart seemed to leap into her throat and, without a word, pushed her foot down ever so slightly harder on the gas pedal, just praying they'd arrive in time.

~

The two young women burst through the house's front door as soon as they arrived, Christine making use of her spare key. She didn't even need to wonder where everyone else would be; she knew that Erik kept that golden retriever by his bedside every night so that he could monitor him. Nothing had ever happened before that had warranted any action, but something had obviously changed that night. Drastically.

Bolting up the stairs with Meg right behind her, she quickly arrived at her boyfriend's room, which was completely dark save for his bedside lamp, and her heart sank when she saw him in the middle of the floor holding Buddy in his arms, Nadir and Rookheya close by.

"Erik, I'm here," she whispered as she moved to sit beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I came as fast as I could, what's happening?"

"I don't know," Erik replied with a sniffle, stroking the dog's fur as he spoke. "They said he had more time. Not much, but more than this, I don't understand."

His words were drowned out by his tears as he leaned forward and buried his face in the retriever's fur, so Christine simply hushed him and rubbed his back. "I know, I'm sorry," she said with a quiet sigh. "You've done so much for him and for all the animals you take care of, Erik, you have to remember that. Whatever happens tonight is not a result of what you've done, you have done everything possible for him."

"Not enough, though. This wouldn't be happening if I had done enough," Erik managed to say through his tears, a sob slipping out of him.

Christine's own throat tightened up hearing the heartbreak spilling over through his words, so she was fortunate that Nadir shuffled over, set a hand on his friend's back and took on the role of the comforter from her; she couldn't trust herself not to cry, so she simply focused on trying to give the elderly dog as much love as she could possibly convey.

"Erik, you know it isn't your fault," Nadir said softly. "He's ill and I know that you've known that for a while now; you always knew he was going to be a hospice case from the beginning. You have to keep that in mind because if you don't, I know that you will blame it on yourself and you can't do that. He's had a wonderful life with you."

"He's right, Erik, you've given him so much," Christine said, finding it in her to dry a few stray tears and contribute to the conversation again. "He's had a beautiful life here with you, he knows that you love him."

Erik's only response was a nod as he lifted his head enough to gently kiss the top of the dog's head. "I love you, Buddy. We all do," he whispered, trying to force a smile as the dog turned his head to glance up at him, and Christine noticed Erik move his hand to rest over the dog's chest, clearly to feel for his heartbeat and wait for when it inevitably ceased. Not knowing exactly what else to say, she simply set her hand over her sweetheart's resting her head on his shoulder as everyone simply waited for the inevitable.

It didn't take long, in the end, and Erik didn't say a word; the way he muffled a sob and leaned over the dog to hold him to his chest told everyone what they needed to know. Christine hadn't quite expected to get as emotional as she did. She knew that she was attached to all of Erik's animals and that even the thought of her love in pain made her heart ache, but there had been something different this time. Erik had loved Buddy probably more than any of his other rescues, and she had a strong feeling that that love had been mutual.

It turned out that she wasn't the only one getting emotional; she had expected to see a few tears from Meg, and there they were, but looking over at Erik's other friends, she found Rookheya with her face tucked in the crook of Nadir's neck, the slight shake of her shoulders the only clue that she was emotional, while even Nadir - Nadir 'I don't like pets much' Khan - had tears in his eyes. Whether it was Buddy's death or Erik's reaction that had made him cry, she couldn't tell, but the show of empathy for what his friend was going through was something that she appreciated and knew that Erik would too.

Quickly drying her cheeks, she leaned over and gently kissed Erik's cheek. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she reached up and gently wiped his tears away. "But you gave him such a beautiful life, just like you're doing for all the others you're caring for. They needed someone and you were there to rescue them. I'm so proud of you for that, and Buddy was proud too."

Erik managed a weak smile as he turned to look at her, leaning forward just enough to press his forehead to hers. "Do you think so?" he croaked.

"I know so, my darling. I have no doubt of it."