#I really do we had gotten more historical Eternals

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello! Wanted to ask you if you could write another Thenamesh AU in Kievan-Rus?

Maybe some interaction with Olga and Thena?

"A word?"

All of the Eternals turned, but the Queen's eyes were on the Warrior Eternal. Thena raised her brows. They were always to respect the rule of the humans of the land. Not that she was always the best at that.

"Please," the Queen offered more humbly, imploring Thena closer, "Warrior Eternal."

Thena looked at the others, who gave the Queen varying degrees of bows before taking their leave. Thena remained on the carpet rolled out over the frigid stone floors of the throne room.

Olga's eyes flicked to the far corner of the room before returning to Thena, "I understand you are no subject of mine."

Thena let her continue. She knew why her eyes had drifted; she could feel Gilgamesh lingering in the room. If she focused she could hear all of his little movements; the shuffling of his feet, his hands fidgeting, even his breathing.

"But I have watched you fight those demonic creatures," Olga held her head high. "Nightmares I thought only existed in legends."

Thena merely nodded. Deviants were getting harder and harder to explain to humans in that sense. But all the better that they became legends and myths and stories used to scare children.

"You are one of the fighters of Lady Ajak's," Olga surmised. Thena never considered a Fighter for Ajak. Although she wasn't even sure she considered herself a Fighter for Arishem. She simply...fought. "The best, in my view."

Thena needed no lavish praise. She had gotten plenty of it over the centuries. Still she bowed her head.

"I would like your counsel," Olga proposed, sitting taller in the massive throne, second only for the one meant for the King. "If you see fit."

"Counsel?" Thena raised a sleek eyebrow. For all she had been revered as a Goddess of War and Wisdom, she had grown rather tired of it.

"On matters of battle," Olga confirmed, now rising from the throne and walking closer to Thena below her. She descended the platform and steps keeping the thrones separate from the rest of the room. Her guards tensed but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Matters of war, if you prefer."

Thena merely looked at the woman, far, far younger than she. And even then, Olga was still young in many ways. "No one prefers war, your majesty."

"It would not be wise to," Olga agreed in not so many words. The two women - equally guarded - stared at each other. "But I think your views on the subject align with mine."

"Do they?"

Olga smiled, and it seemed rather unlike she did when she was sitting on that throne. Olga actually managed much of her husband's ruling, he rather focusing on territory and its expansion. Their partnership was a fine match.

Olga twitched her head, gesturing to the man floating around listlessly, pretending to admire the tapestries hung around the room. "He is yours?"

Thena looked back at Gilgamesh with permission to do so. She smiled; he was very obviously listening in on them. "He is."

"I have seen you two fight," Olga said more gently, speaking less like a queen and more the way one friend might speak to another. "The way you protect each other. I find it rather admirable. Our way of combat is...more brutal."

Yes, the human warriors of this region were some of the most intense and brutal they had come across. They had Thena's full support and admiration for that.

"But of all our current war advisors," Olga slid her eyes in a way that made Thena think she maybe wanted to roll them. "Their views do not...align."

Thena tilted her head, asking for elaboration.

Olga openly admired Thena's hair sitting loosely around her shoulders. "Ferocity need not come from a place of malice, I believe. I much prefer to think of it as a byproduct of love."

Thena smiled. This human woman understood the necessity of force--that sometimes there was no better way to ensure the protection of certain things. Certain people.

"Some think our methods of expansion are aggressive," Olga resumed her more royal demeanour, "but I consider it necessary to keep our enemies mindful of who we are--of what we are capable."

"Yes," Thena murmured.

"To possess more is to lose more," Olga tipped her chin up at Thena, "and I do not intend to lose what I hold dear."

"I understand," Thena agreed.

"I believe you do," Olga's smile grew. She looked over at Gilgamesh again, catching him looking at them this time. His head snapped away. "It's quite all right."

Gil made a face like a child in trouble as he turned again. "Sorry, your majesty."

Olga eyed them as he drifted closer slowly until he was within reach of Thena again. "You are the Warrior Eternal's partner."

"Uh," Gil blushed, as if shyness suited a being of his size and stature, "I guess you could say that."

Thena ran her finger down his arm (she liked flustering him), "in more ways than one."

"You are a fine match," Olga complimented, regarding them as softly as she would her own family. "You, perhaps, remind me of myself and my dear husband."

Gil slipped his hand to the small of Thena's back, gathering that no one was going to gasp in horror or try to order him to remove it. Not that he would listen to that. "Then he's a lucky man."

Olga smiled more fully, looking more like the young woman she truly was. "I certainly like to think so."

Thena leaned into Gil, as if the few minutes spent half a room apart had taxed her.

"I hope I can count on your counsel in the future, Warrior Eternal," Olga nodded, which Thena returned. She wasn't much for bowing. "As a royal War Advisor, you have certain liberties. The royal grounds are open to you, and should you need anything, no one is to deny you."

"We'll keep that in mind, your majesty," Gil did bow to her, much more adept at the manners of any time period.

"Very well," Olga picked up her skirts, ready to return to her massive golden throne.

"Oh!"

She turned partway in her journey, truly a sign of respect and fondness that she would let anyone but the King call out to her in such a way. "Yes?"

"Uh," Gil shrank back, offering a sheepish smile. He held Thena's hand. "Maybe some extra blankets or something?--for her, I mean."

Thena looked at him with love radiating from her. So sweet, her Strongest Eternal.

"She gets cold easily," Gil concluded shyly, remembering to dip at the waist, "your majesty."

"I shall see to it," Olga nodded before settling herself in her throne again. "You will find all you need in your chambers by nightfall."

"Thank you," Thena offered to Olga before turning to Gil. She slid their fingers together, "you didn't have to."

"Of course I did," he countered immediately, pulling their joined hands up so he could kiss each tip of her fingers as they left. "I can't have my poor Thena walking around shivering."

"I am getting better," she argued, pursing her lips at him.

He just grinned at her (like it was so cute or something). He moved his head closer, touching the tip of his nose to hers, "hm, still feels cold to me."

She burst into a laugh.

He pulled her to the side of the corridor, not that there was anyone to witness their affections. He held her by the waist, "I just don't want you to be cold if you don't have to be."

"That's what I have you for, no?" she purred, letting herself melt into him.

"Sure," he chuckled, running a hand over her hair as he held her, "but the trip from your room to my room can be chilly."

#Thenamesh Rus AU #let me tell you #I am delighted that people like this one #I don't know it just has a certain place in my heart #I really do we had gotten more historical Eternals #I think the setting fits them better #Thena goes to her room and finds a heavy fur lined cloak and blankets and furs piled high #which is great and it does make the bed warmer #it's still nothing to sleeping with her beloved Gilgamesh tho #but at least now she has something warm to wear when she's sneaking into his room at night #he still tells her just to come to bed with him #don't bother trying to sleep in your room he says #but she always tries to give it a shot #poor stubborn Thena just go and sleep with your husband

[kazz-brekker]

wait tell me more of your thoughts on interview with the vampire (1994), i'm intrigued

Okay SO, me and my friends watched the Interview with the Vampire TV show (I persuaded them by being like "I hear it is extremely good and also gay and also vampires and also dramatic unhinged gothic romance" and so dragged them on a journey that involved a lot more fake blood and levitating sex than we originally thought it would) and to cope with the stress of final exams we then later watched the 1994 movie. I think it was definitely an … interesting experience to have watched the show first and then the movie rather than the other way around.

So, thoughts on the movie. The movie is incredibly not heterosexual and yet still, somehow, not gay enough. Louis and Lestat are basically a married couple raising a daughter but the movie can't quite seem to commit to making them canonically a couple even though there are, like, scenes of Lestat lying on top of Louis whispering to him about how great it is to be turned into a vampire. There is a scene where Louis and Armand have an entire conversation with their faces approximately half an inch away from each other, there is basically no other way to interpret their relationship than gay, and yet they DON'T KISS. It's absolutely maddening.

Another weird thing is how … compressed the movie feels? I'm pretty sure I would think this even if I hadn't seen the TV show first, it's just really hard to fit 100+ years of plot into a 2 hour movie. Louis is turned into a vampire so quickly in the movie that I have absolutely no sense of why on earth Lestat is so obsessed with this guy that he HAS to turn him into a vampire and live with him for eternity. The whole Louis-Lestat-Claudia household drama also unfolds wildly fast (there's like, one scene with Lestat and Claudia having drama and then she kills him). The vampire theater in Paris is pretty fun (all vampires are secretly theater kids, this is a simple fact of the world) but it only gets introduced in the second half of the movie. It felt like there was so much to fit in the story that things didn't have time to breathe.

Every single act of this movie ends with arson, which is kind of iconic and I do have to support that.

Louis owns slaves in the movie. This is extremely bad and awful. It is never remotely portrayed to be as evil as it is and the whole thing is basically forgotten as soon as he and Lestat leave the plantation. I support the slaves for burning down his house. Yvette should have gotten to stake him and set him on fire.

Louis in this movie is just … sad and kind of whiny and drinks blood from rats. He almost feels like a Nick Carroway sort of character where he is a very boring guy narrating a story full of people much more interesting than him, except those interesting people (Lestat, Claudia, and Armand) are all totally obsessed with him. One of my friends said that Louis is the most boring character in the movie but everyone acts like he is the most interesting, which is 100% correct. Brad Pitt you are nothing compared to Jacob Anderson.

Lestat is fun though! Not as good as Sam Reid (who could be!) but he is at least entertaining to watch. At one point he dances with a corpse.

There are fun 18th and 19th century outfits. The coats and dresses in this movie are pretty cool and according to one of my friends at least somewhat historically accurate.

Claudia's actress was very good! Apparently Kirsten Dunst was only 10 when she filmed this movie which is nuts, she honestly acted circles around everyone else and did a great job pretending to be an adult stick in a child's body.

The interviewer in this movie is basically a non-entity and I had sort of forgotten he existed until he came back at the end. No interrogation of the narrative going on here!

The ending of the movie is quite obviously a sequel hook for a movie of The Vampire Lestat that never got made but is still kind of fun.

End verdict: not a horribly, irredeemably bad movie, I had a somewhat entertaining time watching it and I don't regret doing so, but the TV show really is light-years away from it. I am now EXTREMELY hyped to see Louis and Claudia go to Paris in season 2.

#pie says stuff #ask #lulu tag #interview with the vampire #iwtv #interview with the vampire 1994 #louis du pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt

[zeravmeta]

I wonder if part of what makes Kal’tsit so bitter to Doctor comes from the concept of them being just as “logical” with their own life pre amnesia. 

Kal’tsit knows war. She wandered Terra for so long that she’s had a hand in some of its legends, having been there for major historical events, setting up bunkers and extensive intelligence and contact networks across Terra, even implied to have been there for the discovery of Originum and its use as a resource, doing everything in her power to advance medical science and technology all in a bid to outplay the other wandering immortals across Terra who have a vested interest in maintaining their power over the powers that be and enacting their own vision of utopia. I think part of why Kal’tsit continues to lump both her and Doctor into the same boat despite her utter bitterness to them is not solely because they both followed Theresa (though that’s def a big reason), but that maybe Doctor is also an immortal like Kal’tsit. However, I think they’re an immortal that was born very recently, so they don’t really know it or have the milleniums of wandering and experience that Kal’tsit has. Despite that, Doctor may be one of the only people to have Gotten Kal’tsits Deal. 

Kal’tsit has witnessed many atrocities. In Walk In The Dust alone we see how she treats mercenary leaders, corprate overlords, politicians, and there’s always one common element in them: She’s treating them with kid gloves. She doesn’t care how evil or heinous these people can be on an individual level, more that she simply accepts it as a fact of life and moves on with completing her goals. As an immortal, I don’t think we can really blame her for this since she likely just sees this as par for the course on dealing with the average maniac. Of course her goals involve stopping Terra’s eternal wartorn status, but while her goals are humanitarian she herself is very...detatched from the process. She does try her best to help people, but she can just as easily accept their deaths and move on.

Except for Theresa, and even Doctor on some level.

We don’t truly know the specifics of what the relationship between these three is, but Kal’tsits profile is interesting for that reason. Her profile lines are a collection of conversations between her and Theresa, while her spoken lines are exclusively about Doctor. We know that Kal’tsit came to join them as the last of their trio, so she’s the one coming into whatever pre-existing relationship exists. With Theresa, we see that she’s essentially the one person Kal’tsit truly connected with: Theresa declares herself her eternal companion even in death, and it’s softly implied that Kal’tsits focus on curing Oripathy comes not only from helping Kazdel and Theresa’s goals but also curing Theresa herself. Kal’tsits profile lines for Theresa show a genuine mourning of her, and that Kal’tsits renewed drive comes directly from the hope that Theresa gives her. 

In Kalt’sits lines for Doctor, it’s weirdly the same. There’s no doubt that Kal’tsit hated Doctor for treating the lives of all of Babel’s people as disposable and whatever incident happened between them and Theresa that resulted in her death and their extensive injuries, but part of her bitterness comes not only from this, but also how it ultimately wasn’t their fault. Doctor was just a normal educator before their help was needed at Babel, and over time the constant need for Doctor to step up and win battles that they were constantly out-gunned and out-manned for caused them to deteriorate. We know that characters like Scout mourned Doctor because of this, wanting them to leave the battlefield entirely because war shattered them, and part of it comes from how it shattered them so thoroughly that they were still a relatively normal person who could be completely impassive to the lives of others. It’s easy to reduce someone who sees their personel as disposable as a monster, easy to see someone as evil because they become callous with the lives of others, but it’s bitter and heartbreaking to see a close friend become someone who would just as easily go about their day having lost everyone and have no hope for their own future because that is what war turned them into. Even the most hardened and cynical veterans of Terra dream for a tomorrow where war doesn’t exist, but Doctor lives and breathes war because they were made to play the game and they were damn good at it.

We know that Kal’tsit veto’d the mission to rescue Doctor in Chernabog from the coffin, a decision that Amiya ignored, but while we know that Kal’tsit in part doesn’t want to see Doctor again, it could also just as easily be that she may have just wanted to let Doctor rest, free and away from the war they were forced into. A war that they continued to pay the price for, and one where they just as easily gave themselves up as they would have anyone else. That, I feel, is what makes Kal’tsits feelings towards Doctor so complicated. It would have been easy to see them as just another monster, just another evil person who needed to be stopped, but they weren’t. Despite everything, Doctor was ultimately still a victim of circumstance, and instead of giving up, they chose to survive for the sake of another, even if it meant that their own life was forefit. Doctor is the one person to impact Kal’tsit as deeply as Theresa because they’re fundamentally the same type of person: Kal’tsit notes in her lines how Doctor dotes on their operators, and waves them off from doing the same to her, yet Kal’tsit went out of her way to adopt a sizeable amount of the current personel, helping them as children and taking them in as adults such as Folnic and even Passenger to some extent. They share many of the same quirks and it probably freaks out Kal’tsit so deeply because had it not been for the circumstances, they might have genuinely been friends. Kal’tsit also has a protective and self-sacrificing streak, but Doctor might have actually paid with their life in whatever incident required the coffin because they may have seen their own life just as inconsequential to lose.

Maybe Kal’tsit is so focused on Doctor not becoming like they once were, so afraid of pre amnesia Doctor having become a monster of logic, because it’s what she could have become had she not met Theresa, treating peoples lives as pawns and seeing them as nothing more than a resource to use.

Just like every other immortal.

#arknights #zerav meta #kal'tsit #doctor arknights #theresa

[writeouswriter]

This or That Writer Edition

Tagged by: @drabbleitout, (thank you for all the recent tags by the way even if I haven't gotten around to many, I love being tagged and this one I think I can do!) Tagging: @writting-in-blood, @karolinarodrigueswrites, @amanita-cynth, @rainbowcoloreddays, @anyone who wants to do this!

1. Historical or Futuristic

Let's face it, the most "historical" I get in my writing is the 80s or 90s. Other than the fact that half my "modern day" WIPs take place in my skewed sense of time and thus resemble an eternal 2006-2012 at the latest, I really like the sci-fi vibes of a near future just within/not quite within our reach, like the human experience remaining fairly the same save for a new or fantastical piece of technology or innovation or the like that sets it firmly not quite in our time. That and space, I became hyperfixated on nothing but Star Trek for several months a few years back and spawned a couple far off future space exploration or space station WIPs.

2. The Opening or Closing Chapter

Seeing as I have yet to write a closing chapter, I'm gonna go with opening. Though, in all seriousness, I do adore writing beginnings when I know exactly how I want to begin them. I am actually exceedingly proud of some of the opening chapters I've written, now it's just to get the rest of the chapters written.

3. Light + Fluffy or Dark + Gritty

You're gonna make me choose? Personally, I always strive for a balance or it becomes suffocating to me, but what can I say, I'm a sucker for angst and putting my characters through physical and emotional Hell <3 Gives them flavour and makes the happy scenes that much better when they happen and vice versa.

4. Animal Companion or Found Family

If I had a nickel for every time I added found family to one of my projects, I wouldn't be rich, but I'd have a really large amount of nickels. I mean, I love animals as much as the next guy, but I don't often think to add them in my writing. *Stares into space as I try to recall the last time I gave an OC a pet, oh God have I ever given them a pet?*

There's lot's of questions, so I'll put a read more to spare you but I do enjoy rambling <3

5. Horror or Romance

Love me some ominous shadowy beings, ghostly happenings, terrifying encounters and eerie sensations all around, and by love I mean hate personally experiencing but love to write and subject my OCs to. I have a lot of WIPs with horror elements, usually of the paranormal variety. Romance on the other hand, I'm not really big on reading it so I'm not too big on writing it either, I mean I will add a little romance to some of my WIPs, usually in a more subtle way than most, and I do like a smidge of romance at times in things, but I've never written something with romance as the main focus.

6. Hard or Soft Magic System

I'm not really sure the exact definition of what a hard vs soft magic system is... but I like magic that kind of fits into our current world as we know it without changing much, like subtle little things like psychic powers and ghosts and the like, so I don't often go into too many details about exactly how they work, I just kind of have them, with some exceptions.

7. Standalone or Series

My brain says standalone, my heart says series, I enjoy staying with familiar characters and being able to build a bigger world and brainstorm new adventures with them, often against my will.

8. One Project at a Time or Always Juggling 2+

I am cursed with a million ideas a minute and I will juggle between every single one at once, adding a new chainsaw or flaming torch to the mix every other week or so and I love all of them but the ability to focus would be nice. When I was younger though, I had my one main one, Eye of the Unknown, my beloved, and I yearn for those days.

10. Fantasy or Sci-fi

This is a tough one because I love both, but I'm going to have to go with fantasy because ghosts, demons, angels, fae, shadow beings, monsters, psychic and other various powers, rituals, prophecies, gods, werewolves, and other various magical or mystical elements show up in my work way too often to say otherwise.

Edit: I do love my aliens and shadowy experiments though 🤔

11. Character or Setting Description

I cannot describe a character to save my life, I also cannot describe a setting to save my life, yet I desperately need the reader to see exactly what I'm seeing in my head at any given point, you see my dilemma? Can I say neither and choose dialogue instead? No? Fine, I'll say... setting, I think I have described a setting once or twice in a way I found acceptable.

12. First or Final Draft

This is a tough one, I'm a perfectionist so I'm tempted to make my first my final draft at times, though I know that's not exactly practical. I have yet to actually have a final draft though, so I'm going with first because at least it means it exists in some form.

13. Literary or ‘Commercial’ Genre

I'm not sure what exactly this means so I don't think I'll choose... both I suppose, depending on the project.

14. Love Triangle in Everything or No Romantic Arcs

I'm not a fan of the love triangle, I'm not sure if I've ever actually seen a love triangle executed well or executed in a way where I didn't already make my choice from the get go. I am also really not a fan of love triangles getting in the way of the plot, though I will begrudgingly or even happily accept a tiny smidge of regular love-triangle free romance, it never takes priority for me. Not to say I've never written a love triangle, in a sense, but r.i.p. to other authors but I'm different, (jk jk), but seriously.

15. Constant Sandstorm or Rainstorm

Rainy days and grey skies, my absolute beloved. I don't have a WIP titled In the Eye of the Storm for nothing.

Edit: I just realized a number is missing and idk what the question was there, whoops

#tag game #writeblr

[regina-del-cielo]

I was thinking about Copley’s Murder Conspirancy Board (mostly to deal with the absolute rage that the scene with Andy Copley and Booker gives me because ‘UGH THESE MEN ARE SO S T U P I D’), and... I may have a Theory about it - which mostly delves into how much Booker and Copley were in actual contact with each other before the events of the movie.

TL;DR: the Murder Conspirancy Board was built with a contribution of Booker’s information, and Copley was Very Confused on the workings of the Guard’s immortality

(the Essay(TM) is under the cut)

This excellent post expounds on how these two Grieving Dumbasses Definitely Did Not Think Their Plan Through, but still what little they did plan was not done in two days. And I would like to think that Booker would have required more than One (1) Persuasive Speech to get him to potentially get his family outed and put in danger for the (tiny) chance of getting a cure for their immortality.

So they’d been in contact for a while, possibly for almost the whole ‘break year’. Copley has lost his wife two years before the movie, so when he and Booker met again he’s one year into mourning. If Andy needed a break from their jobs, I can’t imagine in what mental state Booker must have been.

Copley probably started looking into the Guard because man, that Surabaya mission was a masterpiece, and how come these guys aren’t mercenary superstars? But they’re like ghosts, and the IDs don’t really match their supposed ages... and dealing with his wife’s death made him go into a Nerd Spiral. And then he finds Booker.

So this is how I think it went: they meet again. They talk. Copley is a grieving widower, Booker goes ‘man don’t I relate’. Booker is probably drunk a lot of the time (maybe so is Copley, misery loves company and all that). They enter a positive feedback loop of sharing grief over lost loved ones. Copley probably spills that he knows something, that they’ve done great things and they have a gift obviously. Booker probably answers along the lines of ‘fuck the gift, it sucks. Didn’t save my children when they needed it’. Copley goes ‘well, medicine is much better today. What if you could do it now?’ And the rest is history.

A) Booker ‘helped’ with the Murder Conspirancy Board

We know for a fact that the Conspirancy Board contains information about the Guard ‘from the last 150 years’ which is, approximately, the time photography’s been around. And it makes sense - photos are pretty easily accessible, and Copley knows their faces. He probably scanned them from one of those fake IDs and then used a facial recognition software to find them in historical photographic archives. But we know (and by the end of the movie so does he) that the last 150 years is a nothing in their lifespan. And while going backwards Copley may have found Booker’s original birth and/or marriage records, nothing of the sort would exist for Joe, Nicky and Andy.

Despite how much we joke about the Guard’s faces being Everywhere in museums and art galleries around the world, we can assume that they wouldn’t leave so many traces of them behind. The two known art pieces representing Andy in an obviously recognizable manner, her portrait with Achilles and the Rodin, are in the cave in Val d’Argent. I don’t believe Nicky and Joe wouldn’t have similar storage places, especially for Joe’s own art. Without photographic evidence and before newspapers, trying to pinpoint the three of them across history would be harder than finding a specific needle in a haystack of needles... unless someone tells you where to look. 

When Andy enters Copley’s living room, he calls her ‘Andromache the Scythian, the eternal warrior’. But how could Copley have known that Andy’s “real” name was Andromache? It’s not on her IDs, and it’s not the top choice for a full name that has Andy as a nickname. It’s a literary name, of course it would appear through history in poems or plays or novels. And how could he have associated Nicky and Joe precisely to the Crusades with what he knows of them from the last 150 years alone? For all he knew, they could have been as old as the Punic Wars, or as young as the Battle of Lepanto. Assuming he’d actually caught on on them being together together.

Well, I think Booker told him. Maybe just a thing here or there, while Commiserating on How It Sucks being an Immortal, like ‘Andy’s been around for so long she doesn’t even remember her true age, that’s exhausting’ or ‘Joe and Nicky are ridiculous for two people whose first meeting consisted of killing each other during the fucking Crusades’. And Copley fell into another Nerd Spiral that brought him to understand that holy shit these people are much older than I thought what the fuck.

B) Copley is Very Confused on How Immortality Actually Works

Copley talks to Andy by calling her ‘eternal warrior’ and talking of her immortality as if it was some kind of gift that can somehow be transferred from one body to another (debatable, but... ok). But he’s also flabbergasted by her not healing from Booker’s shot, and later with Nile he says ‘but then why would the immortality leave?’, which is... well, it makes it sound like he thinks the immortals are some sort of Chosen Ones.

Which means that Copley knows nothing about Lykon. He had no idea that at some point the Guard will stop healing.

But why would he not know, since I just conjectured that Booker told him enough about immortality for him to pinpoint the origins of the eldest members of the Guard? Why would Booker not have told him such a central detail of their “power”? (Booker obviously knows about Lykon. We see Andy telling Nile, and you can bet that ‘is this thing permanent?’ is probably the third question Booker ever asked when he met the others. He can’t not know)

I think it’s because despite having bonded over their grief, they are approaching this ‘discovering what the fuck is up with immortality’ from two extremely different sides. 

Copley wants to know if there is some biological aspect to their immortality that may be ‘transferred’ or ‘activated’ in any random human being. He’s gotten into his head that their regenerative powers can end all diseases. Which. I could probably write another entire separate post on how this is far-fetched at best. Point being, Copley never thought his endeavour as taking the immortality from the Guard to give it to someone else. He thinks Andy and the others are going to live forever and ever.

Booker knows their immortality is not forever and ever, theoretically. He knows that at some point, in the future, he’s going to stop healing and die. But he Wants to Talk to the Manager about it, damn it. He wants his death to be a certainty he can quantify, not something that may happen in another five thousand years based on the data he’s got at his disposal. He wants to have the choice to end it tomorrow or in fifty years - if discovering what causes his immortality saves other people, well that’s an undeniable bonus, but it’s not the focus of his motivation.

Just like Booker and Copley didn’t cover all the potential ways in which Their Plan Could Go Wrong (and honestly, has Booker not learned yet just how fast they revive on average? He tells Nile that ‘big wounds take longer’, and still he revived from the grenade in three/four minutes!), I think they also didn’t Delve into their motivations for seeking that knowledge. Booker probably thought that Copley knowing of their immortality being relative was irrelevant, because of course the doctors will find something (the thing that makes them stop healing), and then he’ll die anyway, so who cares? 

And Copley... Copley was probably Convinced that the Guard was a group of superheroes that just needed to be suggested a new investment plan for using their powers, because saving individuals during wars and natural disasters is very noble and good, but come on, it’s inefficient as hell, they can do much better!

(It absolutely sends me that Copley saw the kind of accomplishments reached by the people that the Guard saved, or by their direct descendants, and STILL it didn’t occur to him that there was a pretty decent chance that sometime in the future they would save someone that would find the cure for ALS and/or other shitty diseases! HE’S LITERALLY HINDERING THEM!!!) 

#the old guard #my ponderings #james copley #sebastien le livre #my favourite Depressed French Boi #James 'Dumb of Ass' Copley #Copley is an Absolute Imbecile and I will Die on this Hill #I hope this rant makes sense I changed the order of the paragraphs a hundred times I'm sorry #just to be clear Booker didn't Completely Spill the Beans about the family to Copley otherwise the man would know about Quynh too #Copley most likely scraped at any small detail he could glean from their conversations and add it to the Nerd Spiral #Copley is a Nerd that also somehow forgot how to extrapolate results from given data #for the Guard's sake I hope his skills were hindered by his grief and he goes back to Full Operativeness once he gets some Therapy #THEY NEED SO MUCH THERAPY OMG

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 7

Day 7 - There is a string tied around your pinky that only you can see, the end of it leads to your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Kid AU! Intrulogical

TWs: Remus being Remus [though not overly so, he’s like, 9 here], some swearing

–

Remus Castillo and Logan Smith were two very different children; former was creative and bursting with chaotic energy, while the latter preferred to be more logical, more stable. One studied hard into the night despite his young years, the other decided that a good time was filling a blender with crayons and silly putty to see what would happen. Both attended different schools, lived a good distance apart, and neither of their families knew the other existed.

What could possibly bring together such opposing forces?

If your answer wasn’t being forcibly dragged kicking and screaming from the local museum by security for tampering with the exhibits and screaming about historical theft, then congratulations; you’re most likely still sane.

How did these very different children meet, you ask? 

The story began on a Friday lunchtime - as all good stories often do - when Sanders Elementary and Faraday Academy For Gifted Children both booked their museum visits for the same time slot. Thankfully, the museum staff speculated that they could indeed handle two classes of fourth graders at once - those poor, unfortunate souls - and decided to start both classes off on either sides of the museum with a little overlap.

Logan entered the foyer with his peers, gazing around at the array of trinkets and treasures adorning the space. Though he hungered for knowledge of all kinds, his heart was set on the cosmos, reaching for a copy of the museum’s map when his hand was blocked by another. He recoiled and turned to face the other; a boy with tanned skin as opposed to his own pasty complexion, with wild green eyes that bore into Logan’s own, and a grin like a shark about to snap Logan’s hand up in it’s jaws.

“I call dibs, four eyes!”

Logan huffed, straightening his glasses, “There are plenty of maps to go around, there is no need for rudeness-”

“Why do you talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass?”, the boy asked with no hint of remorse nor shame, “Just talk like a regular kid, jeez!”

Logan was flabbergasted. No one had ever talked to him like that before. Then again, no one ever really talked to him in general. Perhaps that was why his lonely little brain could only think to stammer out, 

“Who ARE you!?”

The boy roared with laughter, “Wow, thats all you have to say!? And they call ME weird!” , he shot a hand out towards Logan’s, not removing the one touching the map, “I’m Remus! What’s your name, frankenstein?”

Logan huffed, “Logan Smith. And you know,”, he began, puffing his chest out proudly as he yanked the map away, “Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster, therefore, you’re not insulting me-”

Without hesitation, Remus leant into Logan’s space and licked the map, causing Logan to jolt back and drop it. Picking up his spoils, Remus chuckled manically, “You look smart but you’re super dumb. Frankenstein IS the monster, dumbass, that’s the whole point.”. Without waiting for Logan’s rebuttal, Remus made his way back to his class, leaving Logan to frustratedly grab another map and return to his class, unaware of the string that formed around his pinky…

The tour was everything Logan had hoped for; an informative romp through space and time, enjoying the sights of the planetarium and a walk through a tunnel lined with geodes. And yet, all Logan could think about was that stupid boy who stole HIS map. Hmph! How dare Remus call him stupid! Whatever, at least they would stop soon to have lunch in the Polar Exhibit and he wouldn’t have to think about- 

Oh god dammit.

As they entered the wide circular room, he laid eyes on the boy from before pretending to have gotten his tongue stuck to the giant fake iceberg in the centre of the room. Cheering him on was a gaggle of other children while their teacher seemed more content to just eat his own lunch and try to pretend it wasn’t his problem. Logan huffily stormed over to the nearest empty seat and popped open his Big Hero Six lunchbox, ready to moodily munch his jelly sandwiches when a painfully familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“We meet again, professor!”

Great.

“Remus.”, Logan hissed, though he tried to maintain composure, “A pleasure, I’m sure but I must be-”

“- crazy to run away from your soulmate?”, Remus finished, leaving Logan, once again, speechless.

“E-Excuse me!?”

“Check your pinkie, dingus.”

Logan checked and finally noticed the string, and to his horror, the end of it that tied itself around Remus’ pinkie.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for life! Unless I die, then you’re stuck with my corpse. Oooh! Maybe you can bring me back to life! Really earn that Frankenstein nickname-”

“This HAS to be a mistake!”, Logan squeaked, flustered and shocked by the news, “There’s no way YOU are my soulmate!”

Logan made eye contact with Remus and for a moment the boy looked hurt, but he plastered on a grin and poked Logan in the arm, “Nope! Fate thinks you’re my future husband, so suck it!”

Groaning, Logan let out an exasperated sigh, “Fine, then I suppose you should tell me about yourself, Remus.”. Logan would - for eternity and a day after - deny that the smile Remus gave him made his little heart flutter for the first time.

As the two ate, Remus went into a long tangent about his life and Logan found himself absolutely fascinated. 

Remus Castillo had a twin brother, Roman, who enjoyed Disney movies and being “an overly wordy drama queen”. They had a single father, much like Logan’s own, whose wife had apparently decided she was destined for greater things that didn’t involve unplanned twin boys (Remus’ words, not his). Logan listened as Remus told him all about his family’s culture, having moved from Aguascalientes to Florida a year ago for work related reasons; retelling fond memories of watching the parade of Calaveras along the Avenida Madero with his father and brother each year. Logan found Remus really enjoyed a mixture of colourful and morbid subjects, each tangent sending Remus on a fun winding road down memory lane or through a vague memory of some educational book.

Logan Smith had wanted nothing to do with the boy who’d licked his hand and stolen his map, but as lunch ended and both classes were being called away to their respective classes, he found he didn’t want to be separated from Remus.

Very apparently, Remus didn’t want to either. If they way he was gasping Logan’s arm and hauling him towards the class from Sanders Elementary instead of his own was any indicator. 

“Come on! You can hang with us! Roman won’t mind! And my buddy Remy’s lotsa fun too-”

“Remus Castillo, stop right there.”

Remus indignantly ignored his teacher, plowing through his sentence, “You’ll LOVE my class, they’re all weirdos like us-”

“REMUS!”, barked his teacher, already done with the nine year old terror, “You let that boy go this instant!”

Remus defiantly clung tighter to Logan’s arm, “No!”

“Remus Castillo, you’re to let go NOW.”

“But he’s my soulmate!”, Remus yelled, causing his classmates to chatter excitedly. It made Logan feel a little self conscious, but Remus didn’t seem to care, “Pleeeeease let him come with us!!”

His teacher rubbed his temples as if it could massage the exhaustion away, “That’s nice, but you are NOT going to cause more trouble, soulmate or not!”

By now, even the children and teacher from Logan’s academy were watching the commotion. It came to a head as Remus’ teacher tried to separate the two of them, earning the tiniest war cry from Remus as he stomped on his teacher’s foot and clung fully to Logan like his life depended on it.

“I’M NOT LEAVING WITHOUT HIM! I’LL STAY HERE UNTIL WE’RE A GROSS MUSHY PILE OF SKIN AND BONES IF I HAVE TO!”

With that pleasant image in his brain, Logan decided to perhaps appeal to his own teacher,

“Miss, can Remus perhaps stay with our group so we may avoid further-”

“Absolutely not,”, she turned up her nose at Remus’ display, “Our school has a reputation to uphold, I will not have it sullied by such a rude child.”

Well that backfired. Now both teachers were having to try and separate the two of them. It took two of the museum’s security personnel to finally haul Remus off of Logan, carrying the writhing child as they assured his teacher that they’d put him in the tantrum room. With the way they handled his feral yelling and attempts to grab at any nearby exhibits for something he could use to bash them with, this probably wasn’t their first Rabid Child Rodeo.

Logan watched dejectedly as they hauled his soulmate out of sight while his teacher ordered him to get in line as they continued their tour. He couldn’t focus on any of the various bewitching artifacts that the guide presented to them on their tour of the ancient world though, all he could think about was Remus. Alone. Stuck in some room. Missing out on the exhibits. Missing him.

“....Emile?”, Logan asked the boy standing to his left.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I’m about to do something very, very impulsive.”

“.... Okay?”

“And reckless.”

“...Right-”

“In the name of fate.”

“........”, Emile sighed, “What do you need me to do?”

“Either talk me out of what is likely a terrible decision that will without a doubt go on my permanent record and possibly disappoint my father. Or encourage me so that I may spend time with my soulmate for as long as possible.”

Emile shook his head, “Well, if cartoons have taught me anything, it’s that you’re gonna go for it no matter what I say so...”. He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder, “Make it good, Logan, I wanna remember the day the untouchable Logan Smith lost his mind.”. With a shared chuckle, Emile let him wind up for whatever he was about to do, while Logan waited for his moment. The tour guide was gesturing to an exhibit of ancient Mayan armour when Logan chose to strike, raising his hand while Emile awaited the fireworks show to come.

“Sir? I have a question.“

“Of course, what is it?”

“Did the museum ask permission to have that armour?”

The guide looked confused while Logan’s teacher looked ready to have an aneurysm.

“I… don’t understand what you mean. Anyway this-”

“I’m merely asking,”, Logan interrupted, ready to keep pushing until he would be  hauled off by security, “because I believe that if it were my culture being mercilessly appropriated and stolen from, I would be rather upset.”

“We’re allowed to have it because it’s for education-”

“But it’s still stealing. And stealing is always wrong, correct?”

“Well, it-”

“It’s a yes or no question, please answer as such-”

-

Remus hadn’t expected company in the tantrum room, but he wasn’t complaining as Logan was marched in, looking positively proud of himself in spite of the way the security guard nearly tossed him inside with obvious frustration. With a bright grin, Remus pat the beanbag next to him, positively writhing with unbridled joy, “Spill! What’d you do?!”.

Logan tried to play stoic and prideful, but the excitement cracked through in his voice, “I merely inquired as to why museums considered their historical thievery to be ethically justified until the tour guide got angry and attempted to ignore me.”. “Sick!! Then what!?”, Remus’ delighted eyes met Logan’s with a similar sparkle of mischief.

Logan chuckled as he admired their string of fate, as people called it, slowly pulling his eyes from it to meet Remus’ again, “I screamed. Loudly. For quite the duration. I must say, I’m rather proud of my own lung capacity.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in it.

“Naturally, security came to try and calm the situation.”

“And then they brought you here?”

“No, they attempted to calm me down”, Logan snickered, “But, one of them put a hand on my shoulder rather rudely. So I bit them-” “YOU BIT ‘EM!?”, if Logan could bottle the light that radiated from Remus there and then, he would have, his own smile growing while his soulmate’s grin threatened to tear through his cheeks, “Logan, mi alma, you’re insane! I love it!”

“Mi alma?”, Logan queried, his cheeks losing the great blush war as his face radiated a nice rosy crimson.

“Oh, right!”, Remus explained, “It means ‘my soul’, it’s what people call their boyfriends ‘n’ stuff back home. I figured since you’re my soulmate, it makes sense to call you that!”

For a moment, Remus faltered, “Uh…. if you don’t mind I guess? It’s whatever, I’ll stop if you hate it-”

“No, no, I rather appreciate the sentiment,” , Logan awkwardly smiled back at Remus, “Mi alma?”

The wilder of the two threw his head back in a roar laughter, “Man, your pronunciation sucks! And that’s an easy one!“, he teased as he shuffled his beanbag closer to Logan’s and continued with a wild smile, “Looks like I gotta stay with you for sure now and make sure you get it right! You’re stuck with me, Nerdy Wolverine!”

It would be hard work convincing his father to let him move schools to be with Remus, Logan knew that. Despite the fact his father adored love in all forms and regarded the bond of soulmates as sacred, Logan knew it’d logically be a hard sell to ask his father to not only pull him out of an expensive academy, but also to have him possibly move home or make a rather lengthy commute. 

But as Remus’ had met Logan’s, the latter found himself locking fingers with his wild soulmate, banishing that thought while they still had time together. Whether it would work out right away, after a couple of months, or even over the course of a few years, they’d make it work.

“Falsehood,”, Logan smirked, “I believe it’s you that’s stuck with me.”

-----------

Okay, this one’s the cutest thing hands down. I’m so proud of this one! As a tidbit, I had it in mind that their single fathers were Janus for the twins and Patton for Logan. 

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses

#intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders #tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate september #my fics #fanfics #theyre so cute i cry #also incase its confusing #i figured that in this universe #people probably still get married and such like #to people who arent their soulmates #if they feel they want to just settle down but that they won't meet their soulmate #so thats the explaination for Janus being a single parent #as for patton #i like to thing he just adopted logan

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 6

Hey folks! I know it’s been a minute, I’ve been super busy with work and school, but I’m by no means done with this piece and you know I had to post something for Valentine’s Day (to make up for the fact that single and lonely 😆😭)

Despite popular belief, Hell does in fact freeze over. It’s Hell, after all, and in the world of pain and torture, everything is fair game. And it’s February, historically one of the coldest months for you back when you were living and certainly the most miserable in Hell too. The roads are slick with sheets of ice, you can’t walk a block without a three-foot icicle nearly spearing itself through you, and everyone’s car is perpetually trapped in a snowbank thanks to Lucifer’s “generous snow plow program.” Each winter day reminds you of the worst snow cyclones from when you were growing up in Brooklyn, cold yes, but in a way it’s all very sentimental. They remind you of the winter nights cuddled up with your siblings, hot chocolate in hand, listening to the winds blustering against your windows. It’s all rather lovely, in a strange way.

Your boyfriend of four months does not seem to agree, if the way he’s gripping you and nuzzling into your neck is anything to go by. You’ve been trying to extricate yourself from your practically shared bed for the last ten minutes, but each attempt only causes Alastor to pull you closer. He’s basically on top of you now, those boney forearms are stronger than you’d think.

“Sweetheart,” you whisper. “It’s time to get up.”

Alastor groans but otherwise your voice falls on deaf ears.

“Come on, we have to make breakfast and then--”

“But darling, it’s freezing,” he sighs. “And why would I go anywhere when I have my own personal heater right here.”

It’s really hard to stay mad at him, especially when he places sweet little kisses from your cheek to your shoulder and back again.

“Well your personal heater has some errands to run and needs to get her day started.”

“Ugh,” Alastor whines and inch by inch, begins to roll off of you. “How can you even stand to be out in that unbearable cold? Don’t you want to stay right here with me, your loving and adoring boyfriend?”

“You know I would,” you boop his nose. “But then I wouldn’t be able to get your present.” 

His ears perk up immediately.

“Present?” He coos. “A present for lil’ ol’ me? Dearest, you shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, but I can’t pick it up until I get out of this bed.”

“Oh fine. I suppose I have some things to do for tonight as well,” he teases and kisses you on the nose before finally allowing you to shift out of bed.

“Although before you leave me,” he whines. “I have a little something to kick off the festivities.”

With a snap of his fingers, a red garment manifests in your arms.

“Oh, Alastor.” You run your hands over the thick velvet of the dress. “It’s lovely.”

“This is just the beginning, love. Now go try it on,” he shoos you off to the bathroom, then immediately curls back up into the comforter to protect himself from the draft leaking in from your window. 

The dress is beautiful and warm. As soon as you change into it and assess yourself in the bathroom mirror it hits you that this has to be a customized dress. It fits you far too perfectly and the fabric is so soft, it’s like a blanket heating you up and snuggling you in. It’s either custom or enchanted with Alastor’s magic. Or maybe both, you wouldn’t put it past him to make this the perfect dress.

The last four months together have been a dream. A blissful and rapturous dream that you never want to wake up from. If you thought he was sweet before you began dating, then this is an entirely new level. You two are practically glued to the hip, and he finds a way to make every possible moment so enthralling and exciting that it doesn’t even matter. 

Everything about him is just enthralling, and the best part is that he can’t seem to get enough of you either. It makes your face warm and your mouth split into a grin just thinking about it.

You poke your head out of the bathroom door and giggle at the sight of Alastor in his own personal blanket cocoon. 

“Comfortable?” You ask.

“I’d be more comfortable if you were here with me.”

“While that sounds tempting, I wouldn’t want to ruin my fabulous new dress.”

He shoots up, blanket still around his shoulders, eyes wide and alert and trained on the way the bodice clings to your curves. It’s even more perfect than he could have expected.

“Do you like it?” He scoots to the edge of the bed and holds his arms out for you to step into.

“I love it.” You smile and step between his legs to fall into his embrace. “It’s perfect. Thank you, my love.”

“That’s just the beginning, dear,” he cheers.

“Alastor, you didn’t--”

“Nonsense! It’s our first Valentine’s together and it must be the best of all time!” Ever one for theatrics, with a flourish of his arm the room is filled with red roses.

“Oh my goodness,” you giggle and cup his face in your hands. “You darling man.”

Alastor melts into your hands, letting the softness of your palms warm his cheeks.

“Only for you, love.” He leans forward and nuzzles your nose. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”

If you weren’t worried about getting to the store and back in time, you would have stayed here, exactly like this, for hours more. 

“Let’s begin the day, shall we, love?” You whisper.

“But it’s cold!” He whines. “And you’re so warm!”

“Ugh, you’re such a southern boy,” you tease and pull away from him, if only to draw him out of his blanket nest and into the world. 

“You love this southern boy,” he laughs and finally rises. With a quick snap, he’s dressed in a redder-than-average suit with one of the red roses on your floor now pinned to his lapel.

He hands you your coat, gloves, hat, scarf, and tries to force another sweater upon you but you stop him before you’re a complete bundle of wool and layers.

---

Charlie must have gotten up early because the entire lobby is littered with hearts and confetti. Chocolates are on every available surface and your fearless leader is currently snuggling with Vaggie in matching heart sweaters. You watch Angel hand Husk a box of chocolates wrapped in a lovely bow. Hesitantly, Husk opens the box and spits out whatever he was drinking all over your brother before stomping away with a red face.

“What did you do to that poor man?” You call over.

“Just gave him an innocent token of my affections,” Angel chimes and shows you the contents of the box: three rows of chocolates with letters printed on each piece, spelling out “Best Dick Ever.”

“Angel, that is so vulgar,” you exclaim.

“It’s the day of love, sis.” Angel pops one of the pieces into his mouth.

“That is not love, my fellow,” Alastor chastises.

 “Aww, that’s cute coming from you, strawberry pimp.”

“I’ll have you know that I am plenty romantic,” Alastor says incredulously. “Aren’t I, (Y/N)?”

“You are, love. The most romantic,” you coo. “Now I have to get going. Please be nice, boys.”

“And you,” Alastor leans down to pull your scarf tighter around you, “promise me that you will be careful. You’re sure I can’t come with you?”

“I’m sure, love. I’ll be fine. Angel,” you turn to him. “Be nice.”

“’K, mom,” he calls back to you, waving as you begin your journey into the chilly winds.

“So,” Angel drawls, sidling up to Alastor. “What are you doing for my sister on this ever most sacred day of love and affection?”

“Something special and perfect and I will not have you distracting me,” Alastor sighs and snaps his fingers, transporting himself to his cottage deep in the woods of the Pentagram. Because only a crazy person would want to walk out in that cold. Good thing Alastor loves your kind of crazy.

---

It’s been a while since Alastor has been to his home, his actual home, one that is reminiscent of the large, Queen Anne-style homes of New Orleans. Dust is collecting on the counters and window sills, but that’s nothing that some quick magic can’t fix. The real task at hand is the redecorating and the meal he has to prepare for tonight to be as perfect as can be. This is certainly not the first time that you’ve been to his home but he’s hoping that it will be the last time that he calls it “his home.”

If he had it his way, tonight would be the night that Alastor asked you to marry him, to spend the rest of eternity -- or as long as you’d have him at least -- together in Hell as husband and wife, as partners in crime until the very fabric of the universe began to fray at the seams. He’s known for so long, long before you began your courtship, that he wanted to marry you and it took everything within him not to propose to you on your first date. But he had to be patient, suave, a perfect gentleman, because the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off with a hasty courtship and engagement. The last man who had attempted that with you, well, Alastor was still in the process of hunting him down so he could offer you his head on a spit. That was supposed to be the second part of your Valentine’s gift but alas, the wretched soul was more slippery than he had anticipated.

Hopefully you’d be impressed enough by the way he had decorated the house with some of your favorite colors and furniture from the 1940s, things to make it look more like a home you could share and grow into. 

---

The beauty about Hell in the wintertime is that there are so few people out on the streets to bother you. The sidewalks and roads are eerily quiet, the snow swallowing up distant sounds so the only ones left is the crunch of your boots. Your trip to Rosie’s had been quick, as the poor woman was overrun with sinners trying to buy up last-minute Valentine’s gifts. As she said to you in passing while gift wrapping some tacky jewelry for a panicked demoness, “good for business, bad for relationships.”

You clutched your gift bag close to your chest, guarding it from any muggers who would even dare steal the most perfect gift for your Alastor. This was weeks in the making and you were not about to let someone ruin your first good Valentine’s Day. 

You approached the door to the hotel, already anticipating a warm fire to warm your cheeks and nose, when suddenly an arm is around you and you’re no longer in front of the hotel. No, after blinking your eyes to readjust, you’re now staring at Alastor’s home, which means the arm and body hugging you close belongs to your sweet, adoring, and sometimes startling beau.

“Alastor!” You squeal. “What have I told you about surprising me like that?”

“I’m sorry, love,” he chuckles. “But I just couldn’t have you out in the cold any longer.”

“If this wasn’t a day dedicated to love you’d be buried in snow right now,” you grumble.

“I don’t doubt that, sweetest. Now come on, the fire is waiting for you.”

When Alastor first brought you into his home it was your one-month anniversary. You were actually relieved when it wasn’t a massive mansion like most Overlords pick for themselves, and you couldn’t help but be charmed by the perfectly retro, 1920s decor.

But it’s different now. The living room has new, floral wallpaper and some of the furniture reminds you of... your old home back in New York.

“You redecorated,” you shiver as you allow the warmth of the home heat up your body. Alastor rubs his hands up and down your shoulders to warm you up as soon as your coat and layers have been shed.

“Do you like it?” He asks, a glimmer of hope igniting in his eyes.

“Oh it’s lovely,” you breathe and inhale, smelling the hot meal he’s probably slaved over. “Just surprising. What brought this on?”

“Oh, just, wanted to try something new. Are you ready for dinner?”

“I’ve been salivating since I first stepped into the door.”

Dinner is delicious, mouth wateringly incredible and cajun. But all throughout dinner you couldn’t help but notice the way Alastor’s knee bounced or the way his hand shook whenever he held his fork to his mouth. Not to mention the eery quiet between you two. You can’t seem to get more than a one-word response out of him. It makes your heart drop, and the way his eyes shift away from your gaze makes a pit form in your stomach.

“Alastor, love. Is everything alright?”

His eyes dart up to meet yours. His teeth worry his bottom lip and you can hear his fingers tapping excessively on his seat.

“Of course, darling. Everything is right as rain. Are you enjoying your food?”

“It’s amazing, Al. It’s always amazing.” You beam at him and reach across the table to hold on to his hand.

“If you don’t have any more delightful surprises for me, love, could I give you my gift now?”

“(Y/N) you didn’t--”

“I won’t even dignify that with a response.”

Reaching down beside your chair, you pull out the perfectly wrapped present and slide it across the table to him.

“It’s not much,” you explain. “But I hope you like it.”

It’s perfect. So perfect, the wrapping, the bow, the very idea that his darling has given him a gift at all, that he doesn’t even want to open it. As much as he wants to tear it open, there’s the urge to keep this moment preserved in his mind forever and ever, just in case his present to you goes south tonight.

But from the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide and hopeful, he knows he has to open it right now.

Inside is a little plastic... view finder? He’s really never seen anything like this. They look like binoculars but there’s a little white disk inside with small film negatives along the circumference.

“It’s a reel viewer,” you explain. “Put it up to your eyes and click the lever.”

So he does. And with each click he’s met with little candids of you and him, some from before your relationship began, some from after, all of them more perfect than the last and preserved forever just for him. His heart swells and warms an overwhelming amount. His joy leaks from his mouth and eyes, until it feels like the sun itself is pouring through his teeth and tears.

“Oh, (Y/N), darling...” he sniffles.

“I know it’s not much but--”

“It’s everything, dearest.” It really is. And more importantly it’s enough for him to get his act together. He feels like he can breathe again, like the fog of doubt has finally been lifted. What was he so worried about? You love him, of course, you love him.

“It’s perfect.” He rises and comes to kneel before you. “More lovely and wonderful than you will ever know. So much better than my gift to you but I hope you will love it all the same. I love it, (Y/N). I love you. So, so very much, dearest.”

“Alastor, I’m going to love anything you give me because I love you, sweetheart.” You peck his nose.

“Yes, well, that’s the thing. Because really, this feels more like just another gift from you to me.”

“Is it now?” You tease.

“It is...” he sighs. “I love you. I hope you never have to doubt that for an instant in your life. And I know this might be too soon, and you can say no for now, or forever, but I have never doubted for a minute that you are the one for me. My gift to you, love, sweetheart, darling dearest, is this.” 

He motions to the dining room.

“The... dining room?”

“No, love,” he chuckles. “The house. My house... Our house. If you’ll have it. If you’ll have me.”

You gasp and tears flood your eyes so quickly that you have to blink them away to see Alastor’s hopeful eyes properly.

“You’re asking me to move in with you?”

“I am. I’m asking you to make this house, our home.”

“Oh, Alastor.” You launch forward and wrap your arms around his neck. You press your lips to his in a bruising kiss, letting him bundle you up in his own arms and grip your waist.

You pull way for a brief moment, short enough to mumble out a fervent series of ‘yeses.’ 

“Of course,” you say between kisses to his face. “Of course, I’ll move in with you.”

#alastor x reader #alastor x Chubby!reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #valentine's day #they say write the stories you want to see

[luckyharbinger]

The Hound

So @omegy​ made a point on a theory post that got me curious, so I rewatched The Lost Fable again, and since someone asked me about the Hound before and my thoughts have changed since the showing of Ch 4, I wanna update that.

So basically, while I definitely think Summer being the Hound has some merit, I think we all gotta agree that Ruby has to fight the Hound at some point. This is the ultimate Big Bad Wolf. However, I have a few problems with the idea that I haven’t seen any solutions for:

1) The Hound is a Grimm, and at some point all the Grimm have to die. Ultimate Big Bad Wolf vs Main Character, Plot Armored, Badass Little Red Riding Hood is most likely gonna end with the Hound dying, especially since it beat the shit out of poor Oscar, whom Ruby is growing close to. I highly doubt this show would have Ruby kill her own mother.

2) Salem herself fell into a Grimm pool. It was implied that, if not for her immortality, the plunge would’ve killed her, but instead, it changed her. Not into a physically grotesque monster, but...well, a normal-ish looking woman who desperately needs a tan. One might then argue that if Summer was the Hound, she would’ve had to have been similarly dunked, since that’s where Grimm come from to start with. But the opposite of the Grimm pool is a Light pool that grants eternal life, so it’s more likely that she would just die.

3) There have been MULTIPLE Grimm that actually looked like humans, most notably the Nuckelavee and the Apathy. Despite these things really looking like they used to be human, CRWBY confirmed that Grimm were never animals (or whatever other shape they might take), just manifestations of nightmares. It seems incredibly odd to me that something shaped like a big dog would then be the first Human-->Grimm transformation as opposed to something vaguely human-shaped.

4) Since we saw Salem make the flying monkeys, which were new Grimm and implied to be incredibly fucked up, for her to suddenly show off something that she calls “an Experiment” and something that Cinder has never seen before seems to imply that it’s brand new. Summer’s been gone for over ten years, so it seems a little weird for the Hound to be that old, especially considering how Salem’s creations have gotten increasingly fucked up over time.

Now, on to what I think is actually happening.

We keep getting told over and over that Salem can’t be killed. Only the Gods can revoke her immortality. One might then assume that the only way to stop her is to un-darkness-goop her and turn her back to normal, i.e. not “a being with a desire for pure destruction”.

Now, Salem being un-gooped is not enough to automatically make the audience pity or forgive her (especially considering what she’s doing to our poor little son)...at least, not if they spring it on us suddenly. What CRWBY would need to do to make this seem plausible is do what they do best: foreshadowing.

CRWBY needs to show us that the woman Ozma loved is still in there somewhere. To do that, they need to play on our sympathies. And well...Salem was a mother. And considering how Salem’s single personality trait is Evil Witch Demoness, the easiest, most straightforward way to say she has any sense of love left in her is to mention her children. Here’s where Omegy’s point comes in.

If they want us to remember that Salem was a mother, Salem needs to think about her kids. This family was apparently many of Ozpin’s lifetimes ago. We have to allot at LEAST a century, since Salem’s war was not a part of the Great War, which ended 80 years ago thanks to the King of Vale (read: some Ozma incarnation). A king of Vale is not listed among the incarnations we actually see in The Lost Fable, so who knows how many centuries ago his first resurrection actually was, especially considering how well known he and Salem were then, compared to how nobody even knows Salem exists now. It would take a long, long time for a warmongering magic empress to fade out of historic memory.

Point being, Salem is remembering her four daughters from a long, long time ago. Remembering clearly, to the point of being able to manifest their laughter.

And if Salem is still thinking about her daughters, and the only item the show gives us to remember those daughters by is a stuffed doggy...

Then of course Salem’s most favored Grimm (a manifestation of a nightmare or in this case, a distant dream or memory), which she fondly calls “my pet” and gives scritches to, is a big black dog.

#the hound #rwby #salem #rwby8 #analysis #my post

[fairestwriting]

title: half doomed and semi-sweet

word count: 5308

summary: Idia's bad luck comes back to haunt him again, being dragged into physically showing up to class and being assigned a group project involving a student from a different year, courtesy of Mr. Trein. His... "best friend", Kero Tricarenia, sees his distress in the situation, and swoops in to save him, though that might be what actually ends him instead of the project...

commissioned by @chibichibisha  , available on ao3 here ! tysm for the commission, i hope you like it! you have no idea how excited i was to write kero asjkdfsf-

my guidelines for commissions are here, in case anyone else is interested !

Of course that in the day Idia is made to actually show up to class, something like this happens.

The fact that it’s Trein’s class just makes it somehow worse. Of course, it’s not all bad, he gets to see Lucius napping on the teacher’s desk—! ...but, he also gets to be pestered by Cater the second he’s walking in, and then the second he’s walking out, plus, just the presence of all these people… Idia shudders just thinking about it.

He pulls his hoodie closer to his face, trying to shield it in vain. He just wanted to go back to his room. Trein was the worst for making him actually show up. He’d been attending classes through the tablet for so long, what was the issue with today specifically? Why couldn’t he just do it the way he always does? He just doesn’t get it—

“Before class is dismissed,” Trein starts in that voice of his, commanding yet with a hint of a drawl that makes Idia want to delve into eternal slumber. “I have an announcement to make. Due to recent events, the headmaster has assigned the teachers the task of building… teamwork, and solidarity, between students, even the ones in different years, and I’ve been chosen to apply that, so your monthly History assignment will work somewhat differently this time.”

Great. Awesome. These were his favorite words in the whole world. As if today couldn’t get any worse.

“I’ll need you to gather a pair or trio with students from different years, to build a mockup representing a historical event of your choosing. You’re supposed to inform me of your groups until tomorrow's class, and the deadline will be held two weeks from now, on February 13th. You’ll be presenting your works the day after.”

Idia feels the clammy hands of dread on both his ankles, threatening to pull him under. Of course this would get worse somehow. He exhales a deep sigh, burying his face on his hands… he’d have to email Mr. Trein about doing the assignment by himself later. And it’d be such an unpleasant conversation, with how he insisted on having students follow all these traditional learning methods.

Really, why the hell were they getting group projects now, out of all things? They had one foot out of school, basically. Fourth year barely had any classes, most of the students’ times filled up with internships and research so what did they get out of trying to “develop teamwork skills” within their students? None of these people would be talking to each other by the time they graduate, anyways… they were wasting resources to max out a stat that didn’t matter.

He tugs the hood of his jacket over his face again as he walks out of the classroom, sneaking outside like he’s avoiding to get scolded — The blue glow of his hair insisting on sticking out, Idia feels his heart race and squeeze while he makes his way across the crowded hallways. He swears he hears Cater’s voice calling for him as he leaves, too… but maybe he’s just making it up, because of how especially cursed he feels today.

What an awful morning, really. At least locking himself up with that MMO he’s gotten hooked on recently would feel even more cathartic.

After the nerve-wracking walk, Trein’s words poking at him like imps with their tridents — Him trying to figure out how to convince that teacher to let him do everything by himself, no presentation included, without having to actually face the guy — Idia finally gets back to his dorm. Finally.

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding — Just like in the fanfics, geez — when he steps into the lounge, though even the mostly vacant blue and white space felt a little oppressive now. Sure, he cared about his dormmates, they were fine people, but they were still people, and what he really needed now, was…

“IDIA!”

...within one second of the click of his door being unlocked, Idia is reminded once again that he never will know peace.

“K-Kero!” He yelps, suddenly overwhelmed by a hug, arms around his entire body squeezing him tight, maybe too tight— It’s a second before he remembers this is in fact supposed to be his room. “W-Wait, what are you doing here? That’s my room!”

Unleashed from the mighty grip, red eyes meet Idia’s as Kero’s head tilts, a smile on his face flashing his sharp teeth.

“I know that! I was looking for you.” He just announces, following right behind with that skip on his step as Idia enters and locks the door behind them. He hadn’t seen Kero in… how long, now? It’d been a while, that much he knew. Idia had been busy lately, with… “You finished that tournament yesterday night, right? How did you do? I got you that cake from the cafeteria you like to celebrate!” His questions are rapid-fire, tail wagging as he rushes towards Idia’s unmade bed to pick up the little packaged treat he’d gotten.

“You don’t even know how it went yet, but you’re already getting your hopes up.” Idia grumbles, but the second the package is placed on his hands, he does gracefully accept it. “Well, my team did win, so…”

“Yes! I knew you would!” Kero cheers, grinning again as he sits on his bed. He’s… so full of energy it’s hard to watch, Idia would say.

But, well, that would kind of be a huge lie.

“Yeah, thanks for leaving me be for a bit so I could practice.” He mutters, moving to sit on his desk chair. The package makes a crinkling plastic noise while he messes with it, opening it to reveal a slice of strawberry shortcake — That has him glancing at Kero for a second, a fuzzy feeling taking over.

...because that’s just what his emotions do now.

It was stupid, Idia’s sighing tiredly just thinking about it — When it started was beyond him, but for some reason or another, something keeps pulling him towards Kero. It’s not exactly a big deal, some sort of soul-binding string of fate or something like that, but even when he’s not there physically, Kero lingers, flashes of sharp teeth and boisterous laughing in Idia’s mind. It’s not a big deal! But it’s like Kero had hanged around him so much he left a mark.

And Idia doesn’t really hate that. He stares at the cake in his hands, and thinks of Kero smiling as he got it for him, without any sort of request, just because he saw the cake and remembered that he liked it, and his mind stresses just how much he doesn’t hate that.

(...well, it was a sort of doomed thing, they would never move on from this strange affectionate friendship, because Idia isn’t going to… tell Kero he’s crushing on him, or anything like that. That’d just screw everything up. And what he has now isn’t actually bad at all. Really, it’s fine if Kero never understands. It’s fine. )

“Are you… good, though? Do you need anything?” Kero asks, snapping him out of the messy daydreams with another good natured tilt of his head — He’s a dog alright. “You… just look kinda gloomy and stuff.”

Idia snickers, shaking his head. “Yeah, like I ever look different.” He mumbles, and takes a bite of cake. It’s sweet, he thinks, making a surprised noise as he wonders when the last time he had it was… he licks some whipped cream off his fingers. “Mm, this time is different though. Something with a group project from Mr. Trein… tires me out just to think about it.” He sighs. But Kero’s ears perk up, pointing straight upwards.

“Oh! That, yeah. He told 2-D about it today too.”

“Yeah. This sucks. I’m just gonna… find a way to work by myself.” Idia shakes his head, sinking on his chair a little further. He bites into the cake again. “You think Mr. Trein knows how to read emails?” He snickers, but the thought of having to meet him face-to-face makes his skin crawl. “...ugh, I d-don’t wanna have to talk to him during office hours…”

Kero hums in slightly concerned acknowledgement, plopping down on his bed with attentive eyes. Idia finds himself in a weird wondering of how it felt like to sit down when you were a beastman. Did it hurt his tail or something? It’s wagging against the mattress, though. His ears point to opposite sides while he looks up vaguely. Idia muses about what he might be thinking about.

“Well, you could always do it with me! They said to get one of your underclassmen, right.” Kero suggests, and… Idia swears he sees his tail wag a little harder, but that could very well just be a trick of the light. “I can do the presentation too, and I’m good with building things, so…” He grins. “Plus, you won’t have to… talk to Mr. Trein.”

Idia hums through a mouthful of cake. Well, doing the project with Kero would certainly be better than with someone he didn’t know. However, it’s…

His eyes linger on Kero’s expectant form on his bed, smiling so cheerfully. He’s very aware of the couple feet of distance between them right now, and even like this, Kero’s presence does things to his heart… that’s bad, so bad, he thinks, it’s hard to ignore how his heartbeat is just a tad faster now, summed with this different flavor of nervousness that just seemed to simmer in his blood now… yeah, it’s no good.

“I m-mean, I guess I wouldn’t mind that.” Is what he stutters out. Kero beams.

Stupid cute Kero. This isn’t helping Idia convince himself none of this is a big deal.

“Yeah! If you’re doin’ a project you might as well do it with your best friend, right?” He says. Here he is again with the best friend talk… oh, if only he knew. “We can have fun with it too. Actually, I can have fun with everything as long as I’m with you, heh.”

Idia feels heat creeping up his neck. Stupid cute Kero! “Ugh, you d-don’t gotta be embarrassing about it.” He mumbles, eyes averted. The cake finished with one last bite, Idia places the empty package on his desk, licking leftover cream off his fingers again. “We’re just putting some annoying mockup together. It’s not a big deal. If we add some simple machines to it to make it cooler it’ll already be higher-res than everyone else’s, it’s just an easy A. Everyone else’s just gonna use magic, I bet.”

“Yeah, obviously. I mean it doesn’t have to be annoying, though.” Kero comments. “We’ve gotta choose a historical event, right? Do you have any ideas?”

“Uhhh. The industrial revolution of the Isle of Lamentation? That’s… pretty much all I paid attention to this year, anyways.” He shrugs. Trein’s classes were boring, naturally. And they were so early in the morning, too… his tablet may have been there most of the time, but Idia himself was passed out on his bed.

“I think that works! We’ll have to make a bunch of stuff for the machines. But that’ll be fun.”

Idia hums. He’s thinking about these machines, actually, the miniature factories they could put together. The blueprints begin to write themselves up rather quickly. “We’d blow their little minds if we just had some… smoke coming out of the chimneys, some gears spinning around. Fuhihi, our mockup might be the best.” With his head in the clouds — Or the laboratory, rather — he finds himself grinning, waving a finger in the air. “Hey, Kero, what do you th… huh?”

And Kero isn’t on his bed anymore. He’s right there, in front of him.

Before Idia can say anything about this (Kero right in front of him, leaning in closer, he feels so cornered, his heart might stop!) Kero leans in even further, a big hand coming up to his face and (He’s going to die, definitely, he’ll die right here.) and he wipes off some whipped cream from near Idia’s lips.

“You had some on your face! Heheh.” He chuckles, licking it off his thumb. Idia feels like his blood pressure has just plummeted, or… or maybe it just did the opposite, how is he supposed to tell? His face feels so hot there’s no way his brain is getting the proper oxygen at all, he can barely think—!

“G-Give me a warning before you do something like this!” Idia wheezes, high pitched like a squeaky toy, and Kero just laughs again, grinning with this hint of mischief. “I didn’t even see you move!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were distracted? I’m happy you’re excited about the project, though. I think it’s cute.” He says outright, and Idia… Idia just puts his hands on his face, averting his eyes with intent. Why does Kero have to be... so... much? “C’mon, you can sit with me on the bed. We can talk better like this.” A strong hand grabs at his wrist, easily looping around it as he pulls at Idia, making him squeak again as he’s dragged towards the bed.

“This doesn’t even make any sense!” Idia complains, but Kero tugs him towards the bed with no effort at all, and he just accepts his fate, huffing like it’d ease the warmth crawling all over his face. “Ugh, a-anyway, I was talking about the factories we’d put on the mockup… I thought of having some machines with exposed insides, with the spinning gears would be good, and conveyor belts that function…”

As he launches into explanation, Kero nods, making this unbreakable eye contact. Idia has to stop and take a deep breath every couple minutes, the situation somehow overwhelming. It feels like his condition just got a little worse every day, huh.

(Well, it’s fine. He could just avoid him if things got bad. Though… he doesn’t like thinking about this, recalling the week before the game tournament even. It’s kind of stupid, if he’s just making Idia nervous why does he have this need to keep him around? As expected, emotions make little to no sense...)

“...so, basically that’s what I thought.” Idia ends the explanation. Kero still has his attentive look on his face, almost like it froze there. “Did you pay attention?”

“Nah. I was just looking at you while you talked, ‘cause you looked so pretty.” Kero leans in with a smirk (Can he please stop trying to kill Idia, he’s just gotten down to a normal-ish heart rate again!) that then turns into one of his usual friendly smiles. “Kidding! I did, yeah. Do you wanna start it tomorrow?”

“You…! Uh, um, I don’t know. I wanna play my new game.” He stumbles with speaking, but it still comes out. At least. “We could probably finish that in, what, two days at most? If you don’t mind going to the lab late at night.”

“Roger that. For Idia, I’ll go to the ends of Twisted Wonderland!” He declares, fist thumping against his chest with a proud grin. “I’ll get us your snacks too. Can’t have you going hungry. But now I gotta go to track.”

Idia blinks. Already? He remembers that club meetings do in fact exist. He’d been skipping on his lately so he ended up kind of… forgetting them. Seeing Kero go, though, it’s…

“R-Right, I hope you, uh… enjoy yourself.” He stutters. Then he wants to hit himself on the face, really, what kind of stupid farewell was that? Just say bye and go back to your games, idiot. Luckily, Kero doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Yeah, yeah, I will!” He chimes, getting up from the bed — Leaning down a little, he puts a hand over Idia’s flaming hair, ruffling it to his surprise. “I’ll see you, okay? Literally. I’m coming over again later, ‘cause after all this time I’m not leaving my best friend alone!”

Idia feels frozen in place while Kero pets him, eyes zeroed in on that grin — Before he leaves, and he exhales. Again. That breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

He doesn’t play the game yet. Instead, he lays face down on the bed and screams into the pillow, whatever feelings had been simmering while Kero was around just exploding the second he leaves. Great Seven, he was so stupid. Both of them, actually.

Kero was stupid for not seeing how much this crush was clearly consuming him, and Idia… Idia was stupid for getting involved in any of this at all, in so many ways and for so many reasons, but he just can’t bring himself to stop now.

He swears it’s not that big of a deal. But it’s a lie, obviously. Clearly.

. . .

Once he’s back into his room after practice, Kero shuts his door behind him, and he laughs.

He feels the strain on his body from the running, sure, but every bit of it is somehow also filled with so much energy — With his hands on his face like how Idia does when he’s shy, he grins so much his cheeks hurt with the pulling. His heart won’t stop racing.

Who let him be so adorable!

He knew they’d end up doing this project together, of course. When Trein mentioned it’d involve students from different years, Idia was the first person Kero thought of! But the reality still makes him so giddy. To think he’d have a chance to do a project with him! He’s really been too lucky these days. Trein was… something else, to him, but with something like this, he might be willing to overlook the fact that the guy was absolutely terrifying.

Well, what matters is that he gets some more time with Idia — Even better, they’d be alone together! — The tournament week sucked, straight up. Kero ran some errands for him but it just wasn’t the same! Though he didn’t mind this sort of caretaking either, Idia barely took breaks. He didn’t even tell him much about the game he was playing, actually. Kero was basically crawling up the walls with how bored he’d gotten.

But that’s irrelevant now.

Still grinning and laughing to himself with all that burst of energy running through his skin, Kero hops over to his desk — With how he was, Idia would probably have some blueprints for the machines ready soon, but this was a nice chance to impress. He gathers some parts and tools, and gets to work.

...work that takes longer to complete than it usually does for him, but as expected, through the following days, Idia texts him vague guidelines on what their mockup should be like, ideas and half-baked blueprints that they discuss both through the phone and when he shows up at Idia’s place, and when the fated day of getting together at Ignihyde’s laboratory arrives, he has all those trinkets on his desk. He’s so ready.

ill see you there at 2, Idia’s text reads, bring the stuff i told u to make

Yes, yes, right away! Kero smiles bright as he gathers the miniature machines into a shoe box he’d gotten for them. He can feel his tail wag with excitement even as he carries it through the gloomy late-night corridors.

The door opened with a bang — Oops, he definitely handled it too roughly — Kero chimes as soon as he sets foot into the lab. “Idia!” He calls when he arrives. “I’m here!”

“Eek!” Idia, who was already leaned over the table, spreading scratchy blueprints and machine parts on it, is startled in a jolt. “D-Don’t sneak up on me like this! Geez…”

“Heheh, sorry, sorry.” Kero laughs, setting the box near the other items on the table, which Idia eagerly turns to inspect, complaints or not. Well, if that was the case, he’d inspect Idia for a bit too. He was looking unusual today, after all! Without that heavy jacket of his, wearing his lab wear and striped shirt. Kero’s heart leaps. “You’re looking good today, huh! ‘s unusual to see you looking like this, like… one of these R cards from your gacha games, or something.”

Kero feels proud of himself for the comment — Hey, Idia, look at me, I pay attention to your rambling! But Idia makes an offended noise instead.

“T...The R cards are the common ones, stupid.” He scoffs, giving him a narrow eyed look, but there’s still a soft flush of pink over his cheeks. “Ugh, I can’t believe I let you spend time with me when you don’t know that.”

Well. Kero tried, all he can do is laugh about it. At least he didn’t miss the compliment entirely! “Ehh, you do it ‘cause we’re best friends and you love me!” He says. “C’mon, we should get started on this already.”

“...y-yeah, yeah, whatever.” Idia shakes his head, but when he turns his face towards the table to look at their work in progress, there’s a slight smile on his blue lips that Kero couldn’t possibly miss. “Did you make the conveyor belts? I think I forgot to send you anything on these, couldn’t decide what material would be better for them…”

Moments like these are just so… so everything. Kero can’t find the words to describe how happy he is to be around Idia and be able to say things like that! Though, he feels it’s not exactly enough… even if all of this does feel nice, and he’s grateful for it.

(Well, he has a crush on Idia, that much he knows, so he guesses that’s something to be expected, in a way? He’s heard his classmates talking about the being unable to get enough related to someone so it was just part of it, probably. What they have now is good, straight out of his dreams even! Just… feelings are weird, aren’t they? He keeps wanting more, though he doesn’t know exactly what would sate this hunger.)

“Oh, I did rubber on the top and some of that light metal for the parts. I thought it’d be better if we don’t make it too heavy!” Kero replies, digging around for his own lab gear he’d brought. They might have to do some welding today, so it was always good to be careful.

(Plus, they got to match outftits!)

Idia nods, focused gaze on a miniature engine. “Ohh… huh. That’s good, actually. I think this might be easier than I thought.” He mutters. “We have all the parts to build the interior of the factory… I guess we could put that together tonight, and tomorrow we can get the rest? For the outside, I guess. If we just focus on the factory instead of the, uh, social repercussions or something like that, Trein might deduct points.”

He feels his ears deflate just a little at the teacher’s mention. “Tell me about it.” Idia passes him the engine, a silent command for him to get to work linking it with the other right parts. “Do you want me to get the stuff for the scenery from the store?”

“Yeah, sure. Would be helpful.”

Kero smiles at him, and for a single silent moment they’re putting the machine parts together. Engines and gears and a seemingly endless stretch of conveyor belts, wires and such hidden on the inferior part of the styrofoam slab the mockup was being built on.

“...hey, is that the battery?”

“Yup! Just gotta charge with magic whenever you wanna see it working.”

Idia turns it around on his hands, looking at it from every angle, making a humming noise to himself…

Huh, Kero is suddenly very aware that they’re all alone in that laboratory.

Maybe it’s because of how Idia looks at the small object, or how he touches it with this utmost care one wouldn’t think he has. It’s weirdly easy for other people to assume Idia was lazy, Kero recalls, and it was something he never really understood. He was such a diligent person, actually, but people couldn’t see it right because he didn’t put effort into things people commonly worked hard in. That makes him feel sort of bitter inside, he thinks, but also proud in a way.

He’s the only one who knows Idia this closely, it comes into Kero’s mind, and a smile sprawls across his face.

“...w-what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Of course, Idia notices. The pinkish glow on his face before turns into something more like strawberry red, and… agh, what the hell, Kero’s smile gets bigger.

“It’s ‘cause you’re so cute, of course!” He says without missing a beat. How many times has he called Idia cute now? Far too many to count. But he can’t stop, and it never feels like enough to show just how god damn adorable Idia was to him. It was such a crazy feeling, really.

“Gh… and you’re e-embarrassing, as always.” Idia responds as he averts his eyes. “We’ve gotta finish this as soon as possible, y’know, now’s not the time for...t-this.”

“What do you mean with this?” Kero asks amidst a laugh. Idia looks at him with this cranky sort of expression and his heart feels like it’s about to take off and fly, wow. “You asked me a question and I answered it!”

“Yeah, you answered it while being a jerk.” Idia mumbles, getting back to unscrewing something. Kero doesn’t get what he mean with it exactly but, well, he always says stuff like this.

“I mean it, though! I think you’re really cute.” He says, it’s so easy to say things like that, they end up just coming out on their own, even when he’s trying to put his brain cells back into work like Idia wants him to. “I tell you that all the time! D’you not think you’re cute?”

Idia glances at him with wide eyes. “I...n-no? What in the Lord of the Underworld makes you think I’m c-cute?” He asks, voice almost an octave higher.

Something about this strucks Kero differently. Is that a rhetorical question? It doesn’t matter. He wants to answer.

“Well, do you want me to tell you?” He suggests, and his heart is racing. It takes just a little bit of effort to ask something like this, it’s not quite having to hype himself up for it, but… well. What’s with this mood anyways? Idia’s hands are on his flushed cheeks, gloved fingers ready to cover up his eyes, like he usually does when he’s flustered — And here’s something to add to the list already, wow.

“I-I, um.”

“If you don’t say no I’m gonna tell you.” He looks straight into Idia’s eyes… such a nice shade of yellow, an amber-gold. Kero doesn’t always mean to tease, but now he does. He has a strong impulse to do it, a determination like he’s rushing towards the finish line in track — What sort of face would Idia show him if he told him everything? “Three, two, one…you lost your chance to say no! I’m gonna tell you.”

Idia squeaks like he got jumpscared, but he doesn’t object to any of it. Kero’s excited — He takes a step closer, and takes it upon himself to touch Idia’s hair again, because he absolutely couldn’t get enough of how it didn’t burn him.

“First of all, I know you hate it since it sticks out so much, but your hair is really cute.” He says, tucking a lock of hair behind Idia’s ear, feeling him shrink and tense under the light touch — Would he do that if Kero touched him more? If he wrapped his arms around Idia’s waist and held him close? “It’s so bright and pretty, and the bangs look so nice on you, they’re kinda messy and long but in a way that’s adorable.”

Indulging himself a little further, he lets his hand ghost over Idia’s bangs, brushing them to the side and watching them fall back into place. Idia’s face is fully red now. The hair doesn’t feel like much to the touch since it’s fire, actually, but, something about it…

“Second! You have a cute smile!” Kero chimes. He’s supposed to retract his hand now, but — It just stays on Idia’s cheek. And he finds that he really doesn’t want to take it off there. “When you talk about the things you like, and you get all excited about them and start grinning… it’s really cute, actually. I like it when I see you all full of energy.”

Idia’s eyes dart around. Are his hands shaking? Kero eyes at them briefly, before taking one into his — Unable to stop himself again — and the latex of his glove meets Idia’s, watched by wide amber eyes as he laces their fingers together. Shaking, indeed, but he was able to steady them.

“Third… related to that, how your hands move when you’re rambling. I stare at them a lot. That’s how much I love to see you all excited about stuff.”

His voice had fallen softer. The coldness of the laboratory seems to just fade. Kero’s heart feels…

“Fourth...” He starts, but no words come to him. He just stares at Idia’s face, his eyes, the blue tint of his lips. There’s more to say, obviously, but he can’t think of it, and he— “...can I kiss you?”

Somehow there’s no recoil time, no surprised noise on Idia’s part, and though he loves his shyness and how it shows through, he finds that he loves it even more when he’s expecting something like this, when he wants it. The shaky, uncertain nod is all he needs to give a name to that hunger he’d been feeling.

Ah, he was in love, everything be damned.

Kero doesn’t hesitate. One hand on his cheek and the other holding his, his lips meet Idia’s, his heart now soaring completely. If he looked back on it now he’d probably find it sort of awkward, Idia’s lips are chapped and the sharp teeth felt strange against each other, but none of this matters when he feels so euphoric, when Idia just melts into his kiss, eyes fluttering shut.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. The brief pauses to breathe aren’t enough to actually do so, but neither of them seem to mind. The held hands unlace, Idia’s coming up to Kero’s neck to urge him closer, Kero’s on Idia’s waist like he’s dreamed.

When they pull away, both breathless, Kero is grinning, and Idia looks dazed, his eyes glossy, at least for a moment before he seems to realize what they’ve just done.

“O-Oh my...we.” He squeaks, freezing in Kero’s embrace. “W-We, we just…”

“Hey, it’s cool!” Kero assures, and he pulls him a bit closer, now causing a small shriek. “I love you, you know.”

“Y-You…” Idia stutters. How long would it be until he was able to string sentences together again? Kero doesn’t have an exact estimate, but, well, this was fine too. Especially as his tension drops, and he hides his warm face on Kero’s shoulder. “...you’re the worst? You’re so embarrassing I could die.”

“That’s a quick recovery, huh.”

“S-Shut up!” Idia whines, but he stays. He stays, and Kero holds him so close that his happiness feels like it’s overflowing, and the cravings from before are just slowly satisfied. “I… I, um.”

“Tell me.” A hand on the side of Idia’s face, he pulls his face upwards, making him look into his eyes again — Would he ever get enough of this, though? They’re so close. “Do you love me too, Idia?”

Idia hesitates, an embarrassed noise leaving him.

“I… I do.” He mutters — And he smiles. “You idiot.”

Kero smiles, his feelings actually overflowing in how he hugs Idia even tighter, and he laughs.

The project could be finished tomorrow, anyways.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x oc #twst oc #idia shroud #lis writing #commissions tag

[spectrumed]

15. music

I love music. Do you love music? Want to listen to some of the music that I like to listen to? Okay? What do you mean I listen to awful music? I really like the music I listen to. It’s complex, and it’s sophisticated, and it’s not like the other kind of music you hear on the radio. Surely, the kind of music that I like to listen to is the good kind of music. All that other music, it’s just noise. It’s pop. It’s mainstream. I listen to the genuine stuff, the stuff made by real musicians, who care more about the music than the image. I don’t listen to pop. I listen to the real strange stuff, the avant-garde stuff, the stuff that gets the close minded masses all scared and concerned. They don’t know music. Not like I know music. I am music. They’re not.

Except, I am not musical. Or maybe I am. I often dream of music. I have dreams where I remember having perfect ideas for songs, or compositions. I wake up, and I can’t remember the melodies I had in my head as I was dreaming. It’s frustrating. I could be a master composer if only I could remember those tunes in my sleeping head. I suppose it’d be easier if I actually knew how to play any instruments. I don’t know how to play any instruments. The best I’ve ever gotten at any instrument is learning how to play the Swedish national anthem on the mouth organ. I can’t remember how to play the Swedish national anthem on the mouth organ. But I did know how to play the Swedish national anthem on the mouth organ once upon a time.

I am not too regretful over my lack of musicality. After all, I spent most of my energy learning how to write, and how to draw, and I consider myself really quite good at both. One has to choose one’s preferred fields in life. You cannot be good at everything. I chose to become good at the written word, and I chose to become good at art. I’ve got passion for music, but I’ve got passion for many things. I decided to let music be one of those things I love without intimately understanding. I know what sounds good and what sounds bad. That’s it. I can’t tell you what’s up or down with music theory. I could certainly go on and on about colour theory. Show me a painting from any decade or century and I can tell you what it is trying to communicate, and whether or not it is done well or poorly. I’ll happily tell you why Caravaggio stands so much apart from the rest of the counter-reformation, how he belongs to a movement, without necessarily meaning to stand for that movement, and… well, art history gets rather complex. Caravaggio is not my favourite painter, but I like how he used light and shadow in his works. I also like Raphael and his world of vivid colours. I am accepting of the Italians. They made some good stuff.

I like Rothko. I really, really, like Rothko. I one day wish to visit the Rothko Chapel. I am not spiritual, but I do love painting. Painting is spiritual. Whether or not I am spiritual, it matters little. Painting is, and will always be, inspired by the spirits. I love art, I love painting. I have to accept the status quo. Art is religious. Even when it is irreligious. Art is desperate to hit the sublime. The sublime is God. Or well, maybe that is a reductive take on the sublime, but I frankly think that is what most artists have historically considered the sublime to be. To be one with God. To be one with the universe. To cease to exist as a mortal. To become immortal. To become one of the endless. Don’t we all wish to become endless? To become eternal? Art promised to get you there. Art failed to fulfil its promise. Art could only tease you, give you a hint of the divine. In the end, you fell down like any other mortal. Became one of the many. Not blessed by the highest one. Not offered a place in heaven. Just another fool thinking that at the end of their life, they’d be given a place in paradise. Instead they were forgotten. Painters started painting in different styles. Culture moved on. Society forgot about you.

I like to watch videos on YouTube of educated musicians talking about what makes certain music good, and what makes other music less good. It is not necessarily all about snobbism. Well, to a certain degree, it is, but I don’t think it is everything. There is something delightful about being able to dissect true complexity. A song that switches between time signatures will always be more intriguing than a song that remains placid, non-changing. If you get used to the standard, you will look towards what is not standard. The average pop song won't satisfy you, if you’ve spent too much time researching pop songs. You will be looking for something new, something novel. You will want to discover the progressive, the innovative, the absolutely new. Your curiosity will swell to the point of not being able to fit into your old clothes, it will demand that new thing, that new state of existence. You won’t settle for what’s obvious. You will want what’s never been explored before.

Curiosity is greed. Greed is curiosity. One reason why I never fault companies for wanting to expand. How could I? I want to expand. Well, I don’t mean physically, but my point is, don’t we all wish to transcend our physical limits? Don’t we all wish to be limitless? I know that we exist in a time where it is not exactly popular or well-accepted to be forgiving of great corporations, and capitalism on the whole, but I can’t help but think that we’re all the same. Corporations are people, too. We all wish to grow bigger, grow stronger and more competent. To face the future, to become salient. You cannot be drowned if you’re a masthead. Always stand above the sea level. Always shout the loudest. Always stand apart. Be the genius that others consider worth saving. No-one wants to be considered average, when average people will get sacrificed in the great cull that is to come.

Musicians, they are so great. They must have so much going on in their heads. As an artist, all I’ve got going on is this single picture. I know what I wish to depict, I’ve got this still image in my head, and my job is to create something physical that reflects what I’ve got in mind. Musicians, oh, they’ve got to keep the myriad of possibilities in their heads, all these potentials, all these different sounds that they could express through their instruments. The multitude of noises. Hold your finger the wrong way, and the flute will sound entirely different from how you intended it. Accidentally miss the right beat, and your job as a drummer will be all lost. Music seems hard. Art is easy. Whatever I do, I can sell it. Artists are all a bunch of bullshitters. Musicians are held to a much greater standard. Musicians are disciplined. Musicians are soldiers.

Don’t trust painters. Painters will deceive you. Painters will want you thinking one thing, while they’re actually communicating something entirely different. There’s a reason why I’ve mostly been working with collages, lately. Collages are more truthful than paintings. Collages are more truthful because you are working with what already exists. You are piecing together elements that precedes your creation. You are not making something. You are remaking something. Taking creations and developing something new. You are a crow, making a crow’s nest. Whatever materials you find, you use those little bits to create your home. You make a house out of nothing. You place yourself, your little feet, in a new place. You create a resting point, a pillar you can trust and rely on. It’s always comfortable to be able to come back to that singular starting point. That place that makes you feel safe. Calm. Makes you feel as if you’ve got no worries to speak of. A place you can reside assured of whatever comes. No evil can touch you, when you are at home.

Paint your house white. White is an innocent colour. White lets the light in. Open your windows. Stay safe behind your walls, but make sure to let the outside in. Exist in this limbo. Allow the others to influence you, but exist independently. Be both. Be both yourself, and be what the others expect you to be. Find the duality of existence difficult to put up with? It’s all that is expected of you. You should know better. You should do better. Asking for a simple life is to give up. Respectable people know that life is complex, and they learn to live with that complexity. They exist at several time signatures at the same time. They don’t complain about having to switch from one mode to another. They are multifaceted. What are you? Limited? Are you getting another headache? Migraine? What are you, some infant creature? Some little minor creation? Blossom into a multi-limbed marvel, learn to exist on several planes at the same time. If you can’t exist knowing all of music, all of music theory, then why do you insist on living? If you don’t know the multitudes of layers that make up human consciousness, then you don’t deserve to reserve that little piece of reality for yourself. Why exist when you can’t explain existence?

Music theorists are all lying, aren’t they? They don’t know what they’re talking about. Not really. They’re just improvising. They’ll use charts, try to refer to graphs to try to explain their worldview. They’re as lost as I am. As you are. As we are all. God, it sure is comfortable knowing that we’re all confused. Maybe I am alone in this, but I sure appreciate knowing that there are no gurus, no wise men, no magis, to trust and rely on. Humans all share this planet. We all are equally as lost. Doesn’t matter that I am autistic. You may not be autistic, but you’re just like me. You don’t know the answers. You aren’t self-assured. You don’t know the truth. You are fearful. Even if you know music, you don’t really know music better than me. You are just playing a role, keeping to some gimmick. Beneath it all, beneath all of the pretense. We’re the same. We’re all mortals. How are you? How does it feel to recognise that you are one day bound to die, and be forgotten and made wholly irrelevant?

No, as a colour theorist, I must object. Blue is not the same as red. We can make some sense of reality. It’s not all just subjective. Of course I am not denying that all humans equally deserve our place on this planet, but maybe it is the case that some of us are more wrong in our convictions than others. Maybe some of us are more correct. Don’t get pulled down by the majority. Don’t get weakened by the masses that knock on your door. Allow yourself to stand strong and tall. You are vibrant. You aren’t desaturated. Be vivid. Stand ahead of the rest. Be the fucker who thinks that you’ve got the whole world ahead of you. You don’t need to limit yourself, just to fit in with the majority. Be a freak. Be the avant-garde. Play the tunes no-one else understands. Be a weirdo.

I feel as if I am returning to the same place. Be yourself. Don’t let others influence you. Like a composition that is returning to normalcy, over and over again. Painting doesn’t really do that. Look at Picasso, one of the greatest painters of all time, though he has certain recognisable hallmarks, things that make him uniquely himself, you never get the sense he is always eager to return to his homeplace. Musicians always try to return to square one. To find themselves where they started. It is how most musical creations work. The prelude sounds similar to the interlude. In music, everything is cyclical. One two three, turns to three two one. Other art offers a break from the pattern. Don’t bother repeating yourself. Don’t bother creating music. Create an upwards swing. You don’t need to create a downward swing just to remain sympathetic. Be what’s good. You don’t need to also be what’s bad.

Yes, yes, I naturally understand we all sometimes have to put up the darkness. The black dog. I am not suggesting you aren’t allowed to sense those darker tones. All I am saying is, why do we keep insisting on sadness as being necessary to balance out happiness? Why do we keep thinking black and white must remain 50/50? Can’t we permit ourselves to be mostly satisfied with life? Must we always keep that bit of misery in the back of our minds? Like as if we’re trying to keep some balance? If we have a part of ourselves constantly looking outwards, trying to find something new, something splendid and revolutionary, why not rely on that part of ourselves? Why not be happy looking ahead? Let’s leave behind the misery. Let’s live for art. Let’s live for what’s spiritual. Let’s live for aesthetics. Let’s compartmentalise. Adore goodness. Idealise your ideal. Leave behind your negativity.

Good music don’t include ugly sounds. You don’t interrupt the rock star guitarist by insisting the jug band leader get to do a ditty on their washboard. Some music holds good quality. Some music fails to impress. Some tunes sound awful. Some tunes embarrass. Still, does that mean those tunes don't get to exist? Aren’t we allowed to receive lessons from those tunes? We only learn to be our best when we know the parts of ourselves that aren’t wanted. Aren’t needed. Find what’s wicked within you, and learn to recognise that wickedness, then work to rise above it. Learn to regard that wickedness as something existing beneath you. Exist beyond it. Why not? Must you keep defining yourself based on your worst characteristics?

I’m immensely moved by the lyrics of Talking Head’s song Heaven. "Heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens."

#autism #autism spectrum disorder #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #aspergers #mental health

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - Battle Royal | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  2,975

Warnings: (Y/N) is traumatized, but you knew that already

A/N:  IT’S B A C K, SHE’S HOME

Taglist:   @furblrwurblr​ @rainningdoom​ @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458​ @sitherin-mxschief​ @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip​ @dolphincommander​ @sorrels-scribbling​ @anxious-stitcher​ @alive-and-afraid​ @animedweeb333​ @douxiesdamsel​ @saroski05 @justarandomhoman​

You were very pleased to finally get a nap.  

It took a few minutes of answering questions, and by the end of it you’d basically told Claire and Steve every secret you’d ever had, but it was worth it.  You’d answer all of their questions and a million more if it meant you got to take another nap in the corner of Douxie’s room.

Waking up to general panic, however, was not as good.

“Morgana’s alive and coming for us!”

You sat up just in time to see Morgana’s hand reach through a shadow portal, only for Claire to shut the thing before any real damage could be done.

“Well… that’s not good,”

“Douxie, what do we do?”

Your wizard turned to face you, then Claire, then the empty space where the portal had been.

“Merlin?”

You nodded, “Yeah, Merlin,”

It took you less than a minute to wake up from your nap, and five minutes to get to Merlin’s workshop.  After that, it only took you an eternity to convince him that Morgana had really returned.

“I swear, Morgana’s not dead!”

“Rubbish,”

“It’s true, master.  She saw her in the shadow realm, which is great for saving history,”

“But she’s coming to attack the kingdom any second!”

“Which is less great,”

“We are all in grave danger,”

“And what were you doing in the shadow realm, hmm?  Its dark mirrors trick you, sozzle your mind.  Morgana is dead, and no magic can change that.  I haven’t time to chase ghosts.  We have more immediate threats,”

Typical Merlin, unwilling to listen to anyone except Arthur.  But something he said struck a chord with you.  No magic could bring Morgana back, at least no magic Merlin knew of.  You, however, had some experience with a different kind of magic, one that had some alarming potential.

“Morgana is a threat!”

“Listen well, girl, even if she had cheated death, we don’t stand a chance if Gunmar attacks before I finish the amulet,”

Past Douxie kicked down the door.  He was talking, they all were, but you were very lost in thought.  The Arcane Order had mentioned something about being older than the stars, and that meant they were round now.  If their magic could possess you, and create the green knight, then-

“I know you think we’re just a bunch of dumb teens, but we have to defend Camelot from disaster,”

“Hey, guys?  What if we’re thinking of the wrong disaster,”

You had Douxie and Claire’s attention, but not Merlin’s.  What else is new.

“Think about it.  Morgana had to be brought back by extremely powerful magic.  Maybe Gandalf over here can’t think of anything that could do that, but I think I have a good idea of we might be facing,”

Your wizard and the sorceress watched you with anticipation, but Merlin had no time for this.  With a wave of his hand, half-masks appeared, covering the bottom of your face.  The same thing happened to Claire and Douxie. 

“Silence!”

“Wizard got your tongues?”

You couldn’t speak, but with the limited knowledge of morse code that you’d picked up in the wars, you told Archie that you would fight him in a Denny’s parking lot whenever the opportunity arose.

“If you truly believe the kingdom’s in danger, then go protect it… outside.  I’ve an amulet to finish,”

Green magic surrounded you, lifting you, Douxie, Claire and Archie out the door and away from Merlin.

As much as you hated being silenced, it was kind of fun to watch Douxie struggle to remove the masks.  It took a few minutes for the green magic surrounding you and Claire to turn blue, and when it did, you were thankful enough to help your wizard with his gag.

“No sign of Morgana anywhere,”

“Nothing but unwashed plebeians stuffing their faces, eh, Steve?”

If you looked into the crowd, you could see Steve, an unwashed plebeian, stuffing his face.  

You turned your attention from the teenager, who was now running towards your small group, to watch Arthur give his little speech.  To be honest, you weren’t actually that focused on what the king was saying.  In fact, you had zoned right out until he mentioned Bular. 

At the king’s command, the troll was brought out into the shadows where the public could see him.  The Gumm-Gumm prince roared, and you heard screams echo out through the crowd, one of which came from Steve.

You, on the other hand, didn’t scream.  Instead, you took a few steps back, clenching your jaw and your fists.  Seeing the face of the troll who had stalked you for a century, gotten you tortured, and tried to kill you and your friends was not something you’d been looking forward to.

Douxie noticed your discomfort and grabbed your hand, “You alright, love?”

“Not really, no,”

Your wizard looked around, forming a plan, “Ok, guys, come this way,”

You followed his lead and found yourself in a shaded alleyway discussing the plan.  It wasn’t much, but it was way better than being anywhere near Bular.

“Right, we know Arthur’s the main target.  I’ll draw stasis traps around the perimeter, put up defensive wards-” Steve cut him off, not with words, but with food, “I forgot how good these tasted.  The ones in the future aren’t the same,”

You may have been viscerally upset by the fact that the Gumm-Gumm prince was anywhere near you, but you weren’t heartless.  The sight of your boyfriend enjoying a part of his old home brought a smile to your face.  Claire, however, had no time for this.

“Guys, this is Morgana we’re talking about.  We can’t just wait for her to slice our throats,”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, Steve, but I’d rather not die horribly this week,”

“She’ll find a way in, she’s not just powerful,”

Archie flew down, perching on your shoulder in his dragon form, “No sign of any sorceresses, but then again, all you humans do look the same,”

“She is crafty.  She’ll try to infiltrate the tournament,” your gang, minus Steve, started to walk down the street, “We have to go on the offensive, root the witch out,”

“You do that. We’ll secure the castle,”

Claire looked between you and the wizard.  You gave her a nod, Douxie gave her a high-five, and the three of you ran off, Archie flying behind you.

You wanted to avoid Bular as much as possible, so you followed your wizard, placing your own protective warding around his.  It didn’t take too long for your mood to improve greatly.  Spending time with your loved ones just kinda does that sometimes.

“And there.  The king’s chambers and Merlin’s tower, completely warded.  No evil sorceress getting in now, eh?”

“Oh, you’ve done it alright.  Overdone it,”

You cringed as a bypasser found himself trapped in one of Douxie’s sigils, and you walked over with him to free the poor dude.

“Well, at least the castle’s safe,”

“As safe as it can be when an evil sorceress is breathing down your neck,” you crossed your arms, looking around at your work, “I really hope we never have to use these,”

Douxie wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a hand on the side of your face, turning you to look at him, “You never know, love, but whatever comes next, I promise I will keep you safe.  I won’t let anyone, Arcane Order included, hurt you again,”  the emotion in his voice almost surprised you.  

You knew that what the Order did to you had caused damage, both physical and mental, but you’d never really realized that had done the same to him.  Obviously, you were worse off, but you just now realized just how much guilt Douxie felt over this, and it made you feel a lot worse.  You already knew that he would blame himself and that it would just add to the guilt he already felt about messing up time (which was not his fault), but you had miscalculated just how much remorse the man you loved would feel.

You didn’t say anything.  How could you say or do anything other than pull him towards you and bury your face in his chest?

“Thank you, Douxie,” you looked up into his hazel eyes, “And uh, just in case you were wondering, I’ve got your back also,”

He smiled, letting out a small laugh, “I know.  Thank you, darling,”

“Ay, no need to thank me,” you said, a lazy grin on your face as you kissed your wizard. 

Your hands moved from his back to rest on his neck.  Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic thought, but you were really glad that you weren’t driven to strangle him.  You broke the kiss, still grinning.  He turned his face, taking one of your hands and kissing it.  

“I love you,” his words were a little muffled by your hand, but that didn’t take away any of the meaning.

If possible, your smile got bigger, “I love you too,”

Externally, everything was quiet and peaceful, but internally, you were screaming and thinking, “Fuckin finally!” over and over again.

This might have been a bad idea for a future you, but screw it.  You’d been waiting for this for long enough, and the same went for Douxie.  You had been through a lot in the past few decades, and you both deserved a goddamn break, and to spend some time with each other.

But clearly, the universe did not agree.

“OI, the king summons you!”  oh wow, and it was Gallahad specifically ruining the moment, which is, what, the second time he’s done that?  He grabbed your boyfriend and shook him around a little before continuing, “Come with me at once!”

“What-”

You and Archie shared a glance of mutual confusion before following the knight and the wizard.

“We have reached the time that’s not the beginning, but not the end!  A half-time, if you will.  Enjoy this match of misfits, my lord!”

“Ugh, I thought the king was in danger, not looking to use my friend as a sideshow,”

“Well, that’s Camelot for you,”  

While the crowd watched Archie burn a gnome to a crisp, you watched Bular, who sat looking extremely bored, in his corner.  Technically speaking, he hadn’t sent spies after you, ordered your torture, or tried to kill your friends yet, but you knew he would one day, and that was enough to set you on edge.

Douxie slipped a hand into yours, squeezing it reassuringly, and you smiled.  You may have been a ball of nerves and edges at that moment, but you still had a heart.

“Now, the formidable Knight of Skulls and his challenger, Sir Clairee of the House of Nuñez!”

Now, you were always down for a good scheme, but this was a little too unexpected.  Your jaw dropped as you watched Claire enter the field dressed in her purple armour.  Without a second thought, both you and Douxie had thrown yourselves over the stand you’d been in to get closer to the girl.

“What is she doing?”

“I think she’s Mulan-ing it,”

Whatever the hell Claire was doing, she did it with style, fighting with grace and elegance in a swirl of purple and black.  She was doing well until her opponent grabbed Steve’s drink and threw it in her face.  The girl fell back and the Knight of Skulls raised his axe above her head.  With no other option, Claire used her magic to throw the guy against the wall.

“Sorcery?  That is forbidden!”

“Yeah, but you have to admit it’s pretty epic,”

Claire didn’t give a shit about what Arthur had to say, something you respected.  The girl got straight to business interrogating the fallen knight.  You didn’t know why she was doing it, but you assumed she had reasons.

Or you did until she flipped the guy’s helmet off revealing a very confused red-haired dude.

Lancelot and another guard grabbed Claire, removing her helmet and revealing that she was, in fact, a woman.  This mattered to no one.  What did matter, was that she had used magic.

“The witch is disqualified!”

“You both fight with no honour!  Begone!”

“Well, that isn’t the worst thing that could have happened,”

“Hail, Morgana!”

“But that is!”

A man with a green glowing blade appeared behind Arthur, prepared to stab him.  Before he had the chance, Claire portaled the assassin out onto the field where he transformed into a troll.

“Oop, changeling,” you muttered, earning a half-smile from Douxie.

The creature laughed as it drew more green knives, one for each of his four hands.  Lovely.

“Yep, changeling.  Protect the king!”  Douxie yelled as said changeling threw two knives.  The blades hit their marks, turning two guards to stone.

The situation somehow got worse as the king entered the fray, jumping in front of the creature.  The changeling, however, did not attack the king, instead, he elected to make your worst nightmares come true.

“Run free, Gumm-Gumm prince,”

“At last!”

“(Y/N), run,” Douxie said before he, too, threw himself right into danger.

As Bular pounced on the king, Douxie created a shield around himself and Arthur.  Upon impact, the sphere-shaped defence rolled away and out of the courtyard.  Bular wasted no time going after them, not even giving you a second glance.  You supposed you should be relieved, but you could feel the hits Douxie was taking, and suddenly relief was out of the question.  

You went to follow the king and your wizard when the kingdom exploded.  You braced yourself for a moment before continuing on your course.  Bombs or not, you were going to protect your wizard.  And also the king.  That was probably important.

You made it out of the yard just in time to see Bular jump through the flames and over the now crumbling walls of Camelot to his freedom.  Cool, dope, the threat to your life was gone.  Now all that was left was the threat to Arthur’s life.

Speaking of, you darted in front of the king, creating a shield just as the changeling attacked.  It bounced off the force-field you’d created, giving you enough time to draw your sword.  Your friends and Lancelot stood tall, protecting the king, weapons at the ready.  It probably looked awesome, but you couldn’t tell.  Fortunately for you, I can tell, and it did look awesome.

“Stay back!”

The creature growled, “Fools, I’ve already won!”

Your eyes widened as you watched explosions surround the castle, each one contained in a force-field of its own.

“Merlin’s tower!”

“Good call with the defences, guys!”

“Yeah, but they won’t last long,”

“Oh no, Douxie,” Archie warned, flying towards you.

“What?”

“The other Douxie!  With the man-bun, in the tower?”

“fUCK!”

“Ohhhhh fUZZBUCKETS!”

You, Douxie and Claire bolted to the castle, but your speed did not stop your snark, “Still not gonna say it?”

“Be patient, love!”

By the time you got to the castle, green smoke was everywhere.  True, it was surrounded by shields, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying.

Douxie was equally horrified, if not more so.  This was his home once, and watching it go up in flames was not a pleasant experience.  It also put the thought of Claire, or worse, you going up in flames into his head, and that made him feel sick.

“(Y/N), Claire, stay here, help the civilians,”

“Are you kidding!?”

“Douxie, we can help!”

You looked around.  The civilians were, in fact, in need of help, and as much as you wanted to help your friends, the people needed you more.  But that didn’t mean Claire had to stick with you.  She was good in a fight, and you were more of a doctor.  It just made sense for them to do this.

“Ok, you guys go, I’ll stay,”

“(Y/N)-” 

You cut off Claire’s protests, “Ah, ah, no, we don’t have time for this, just-” you took a second to kiss Douxie, because you did have time for that,  “Come back to me, ok?”

They both nodded, and you ran off in separate directions.  

Healing calmed you.  Sure, you could fight and whatever else, but healing was your passion.  You hadn’t studied medicine for centuries for nothing.  Taking on your role as a doctor cleared your mind.  You were able to direct people to the safest places, protecting them from falling debris and fixing whatever wounds they had.

Then there was another explosion and your mind went fuzzy again.  You didn’t feel any pain, so Douxie was probably fine, but you were still concerned.  You ran back to where you’d left Steve and the knights, just in time to see the kid get himself knighted.

Everyone was alive, thank god, and they all appeared to be in decent condition, except for past Douxie who was passed out in a barrel.

“Do you have an explanation for that, or should I just assume you’re trying to give your past self head trauma?”

Douxie just laughed, and you hugged him, sticking with the head trauma theory because no other answer had been provided.

You relaxed into his hold, returning the hug, “Hey, can you do me a favour and never run into an exploding building again, please?  Thank you,”

“I don’t plan on it, love,”

You smirked a little as you pulled away from his embrace, your hands remaining intertwined, “Good,  would be worried if you did,”

Douxie laughed again, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you went to check on Claire and Steve.

It was just then that Merlin finally fucking noticed that his two apprentices were getting along.  Even the old wizard had to admit, it was nice seeing you two not trying to murder each other.  It really looked like that binding spell paid off.

A win for team Merlin.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #almost a thousand years #aaty #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa douxie #toa hisirdoux #fluff #angst

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Best of 2020

Better late, than never. I enjoy seeing other people’s top-10 lists and I said I’d do one for 2020, so here we go. I haven’t had the chance to watch EVERYTHING I wanted to, but you’ve got to pull the trigger at some point. When the Academy Awards took place on Sunday, I felt like I hadn’t seen ANYTHING nominated but I could remember dozens of times where I felt like I wasted my precious minutes with cinematic detritus. I assumed putting this list together would be easy. It wasn’t. I’ve got a lot of runner ups but for now, here are my Top 10 “Best” (by which I kind of mean my favorite) movies of 2020:

10. Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Never Rarely Sometimes Always gave me a lot to think about. On the surface, it's about a teenager who has to travel outside of her hometown to get an abortion, but it could've been any kind of procedure she's uncomfortable (or unable) asking her parents for. It's about the lengths she has to go to when her main source of support is cut off. You feel uneasy throughout, wondering what lengths the girls will have to resort through and whether something horrible is just around the corner. For this reason, I think many parents would find the film enriching.

9. Mank

I haven’t posted my review of Mank yet - just haven't had the time so consider my star rating for it "spoiled". If you don't know, it's about Herman J. Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) and the time he wrote Citizen Kane for Orson Welles. I can’t call Citizen Kane one of my favorite films, but I do often think of it. The story, the characters, specific shots, the overall look, etc. Every time I revisit it in my memory, my appreciation for it grows and in a way, Mank helps complete my relationship with the film. For that reason, I foresee myself revisiting Mank in the future - probably as part of a double-bill. I’d love to see it enough times to memorize some of Gary Oldman’s best lines.

8. One Night in Miami

One Night in Miami addresses the present while being set in the past but something about it clicked with me more than Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. It's essentially a series of long conversations, the kinds that force you to really examine tough questions and see these legendary figures as normal people. Unlike Mank, it isn't so much the individual lines that stand out, it's more the vibes you get from the exchanges. Out of all the movies on this list, it's probably got the best ensemble cast.

7. Sound of Metal

I'm sure you've seen that clip from Un Chien Andalou where an eye gets sliced with a razor? It gives me the willies just thinking about it because if I were blind I wouldn't be able to watch movies or draw. In Sound of Metal, we're dealing with a career cut short because of deafness but the dots are easy to connect.  I immediately connected with this movie, which made its ending feel like a punch in the gut.

6. Tenet

I keep telling myself that I won’t love a movie Christopher Nolan directs just because his name is attached to it. Hopefully, this doesn't make me a fanboy, despite my falling for pretty much everything he's released. I love how ambitious Tenet is. The plot is so complicated but then again it isn't because once you're able to grok the mechanics of its reverse-entropy technology, you'll probably figure out most of the plot's mysteries. For me, that was the fun part. It felt good to see my understanding of the story and theories confirmed. I'll be watching it again once groups can gather so my friends and I can discuss everything in detail.

5. Trial of the Chicago Seven

I know The Trial of the Chicago Seven fudges history in ways certain people would say is irredeemable but I never go into a film “based on true events” assuming liberties won’t be taken. At the end of the day, I care about being entertained. My enjoyment was also amplified by the fact that I didn't know what the verdicts would be - my American history is spotty, at best. It's got laughs, outrage, drama, and inspirational moments. Aside from romance, you've got pretty much all the bases covered.

4. Palm Springs

Out of all the pleasant surprises of 2020, Palm Springs was the biggest. I thought the Groundhog Day thing was played out and the 0-star-worthy Love Wedding Repeat did nothing to convince me otherwise. Then, this movie comes along and does everything you want in one of those movies, and then some. Not only did Palm Springs give me the romantic comedy I'd been craving for (feels like we haven't gotten a good one since "Crazy Rich Asians" it also examines what love and relationships mean through smartly written metaphors.

3. Possessor

No, I didn’t put this movie on the list just because it’s Canadian; Possessor is on this list because it’s the most unsettling movie of 2020. I mean that in a good way. I've already talked about how unsettling the premise is but it's also the execution. Those bizarre “dream” scenes with the different identities merging in unnatural ways is unforgettable. That mask of Tasya's face, half-melted is already creepy enough, when worn by Christopher Abbott as he re-enacts her memories is just so weird it makes you wonder if you’re actually seeing what you’re seeing, or if you’re going mad. Then, there's that shot with the fingers at the end! Makes me wince just thinking about it.

2. Soul

During the Oscars, I get a little mad at Pixar. They effortlessly churn out these masterpieces that mean no other studio has a chance of winning an Academy Award for the Best Animated Film category. It makes me wonder if the voters even bother to watch the competition but I don't think anyone could argue against Soul. It's among their best films. It’s gorgeous, profound, and modern without showcasing any issues that might flush your day down the toilet.

Runner-Ups:

Enola Holmes

I never believed Enola Holmes would end up on my "Best of the Year" list but this movie is a lot of fun. If you haven't seen it yet, you should. Just wanted to remind you.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) I was disappointed when audiences didn’t seem interested in Birds of Prey. Seeing Margot Robbie go all-out and given a script that actually makes good use of her character was lots of fun. I also found it refreshing to see a superhero movie (not really, but kind of) that didn’t involve a plot to destroy the world, upheaval all of civilization, or shoot a giant beam into the sky. I think this is one people will discover down the line and go “why didn’t I go see this in theaters when it was playing?”

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm I’m not 100% in love with Borat 2 but boy am I looking forward to showing it to people who have no idea what’s coming. That scene with Rudy Guliani might not have the same impact down the line as it did when I first saw this sequel, but that’s ok. It’ll still have you picking your jaw off the floor.

Nomadland It’s a great movie and I might’ve put it on my list of the best… but I just don’t see myself watching this one again anytime soon. Great movie though. It deserves every accolade you see directed towards it. Chloé Zhao is shaping up to be a major talent. While before I might’ve said “Eternals who?” Now, I’m excited.

The Vast of Night Until I saw Possessor, this was my favorite horror film of 2020. I love the way this movie does so much without showing anything. It’s all about letting your imagination do the work.

Hamilton I’m still unsure how I feel about the casting in Hamilton. Everyone does a terrific job. I understand why actors of color were chosen to portray the historical figures we meet during this story. It still doesn't sit 100% comfortable with me. Then again, who can argue with those results? I’ve seen the movie twice and the songs are still playing in my head.

1. Promising Young Woman

I only had so much before this post went up. Enough for one more movie. It was a tossup between The Father, Judas and the Black Messiah, and Promising Young Woman. As you can imagine, I’m pretty satisfied with the choice I made. Writer/director Emerald Fennell takes the rape-revenge genre and reshapes it into something that feels completely new. Like many of the other films on this list, it also feels relevant to what’s going on today. There are many reasons why I could’ve given it this slot. The writing, the performances, the way it puts your stomach in knots as you wonder what’s going to happen next, the pitch-perfect ending… but I’m going to pick a more personal reason. I try to look at films as snapshots of when they were made. There’s a part of me that winces when I look at Gone with the Wind but I’m also able to take a step back and say “but other than that…” and then just enjoy the movie. In Promising Young Woman, the past is confronted in a way that made me pause and think about two movies on my shelf: Wedding Crashers and American Pie. The Vince Vaughn/Owen Wilson comedy, in particular, has a lot of questionable bits of comedy, bits made even more eyebrow-raising by the fact that it isn't an "old" movie whose entire cast is now dead. Let’s just say that when a movie makes me go “This movie is replacing X”, makes me think this hard about things, and does everything else you want in a thriller… it’ll stick in your head for a long time. That's why I'm calling it the best/my favorite movie of the year.

#movies #films #bestof2020 #bestmoviesof2020 #bestfilmsof2020 #Mank #PromisingYoungWoman #TrialoftheChicagoSeven #Hamilton #TheVastofNight #Nomadland #Borat2 #EnolaHolmes #BirdsofPrey #Soul #Possessor #PalmSprings #Tenet #SoundofMetal #NeverRarelySometimesAlways

[mishavacado]

SPN has so much spinoff potential and so much canon to work with, it's such a waste that none of it's getting used. This post is just all of my spinoff ideas, I'll apologize in advance because it is VERY long.

Wayward Sisters, obviously. There are so many possible storylines to work with, so many stories to tell. I'd really love to see some Charlie, Eileen, or Krissy Chambers cameos. I think that Charlie and Claire would get along really well (just read this post). Rowena is another character that I think could easily be worked into the canon. She could teach the girls all kinds of magic and be the fun wine aunt that spoils the girls on their birthdays. I don't think that Claire would like her very much, but, Rowena and Alex would probably get along just fine. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000/10 when I heard that this idea had been tossed out I was so angry. Why doesn't this exist?

Men of Letters prequel that's mostly set in the bunker. This show could really expand on the canon lore and give us some more background on the Men of Letters, as well as any other similar/rival organizations that were around before the main show's time. The Men of Letters have so much story potential for a spin-off; corrupt leadership, new monsters, other organizations, expanding the MoL to outside the U.S. Episodes could be in a monster-of-the-week (MOTW) format, starting and ending with the Man of Letters the case is assigned to making notes in his journal or case file or talking about the case, as well as the overall season arcs. Episodes would be titled by their case number, i.e S1 E1 Case No. 1925-4, etc How much I need this in my life: 1000000/10, the supernatural/historical drama combo would be absolutely stunning.

A series focusing on all of the alternate timelines and universes, both the ones mentioned in the main show and ones just randomly created for an episode. There are infinite possibilities. Each episode would be in a MOTW format, but with different versions of Sam and Dean. The HunterCorp universe, Jared and Jensen from the French Mistake, a universe where their names are switched, a universe where Dean went to college and was the one with the demon blood powers, a universe where they drive a Mustang instead of the Impala, a universe where Sam isn't scared of clowns. I could go on, but I'm going to stop myself here. How much I need this in my life: 9/10 I think it would be pretty funny, but it's not my best idea.

A Bobby and Rufus spin-off where they talk about cases they worked on together or with other hunters, but the stories are told similarly to Tall Tales. It's the same story but told from different points of view depending on who's talking. I wish we'd gotten to see more of Bobby and Rufus because I think those two are hilarious and really think that this could be funny, even if it was just a web series with twenty-minute episodes. How much I need this in my life: 10/10, I love Bobby and Rufus and I think that they have a lot of interesting hunting stories to tell.

GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000/10, I love the Ghostfacers. That's my whole idea.

A Jack-centric show that's almost a political drama. Jack is the ruler of heaven and is constantly being manipulated by angels, demons, and Death herself. He just wants to make an afterlife paradise, but power-hungry angels won't leave him alone. Remember that Jack is very young and trusting by nature, so there is a lot of potential for disaster if he gets goaded into doing something, like making new universes or ending existing ones. Cas is a main character and he does his best to protect Jack, but he has to be careful to not seem overprotective/like another manipulator or Jack won't trust him either. I have no idea if I'm making any sense, but shoutout to me if I am. For some reason, I've always thought that heaven would be an interesting setting for a spin-off, and those angels are pretty similar to power-hungry politicians. How much I need this in my life: 800/10, I would totally watch this.

A very short series that just destroys the canon finale. Twelve episodes, detailing the storylines that were ignored or destroyed by Carry On. E1: Rescuing Cas from the Empty and he and Dean have a long talk about their ~feelings~. They kiss, and for the first time, Dean’s mind is free of doubt about whether or not anyone could ever love all of him. E2: Eileen returns. She says nothing when she sees Dean and Cas holding hands, just raises her eyebrow and smiles knowingly. Some excellent movie night content. E3: 1 year later. Sam and Eileen’s wedding. Dean and Cas aren’t legally married, but their matching gold rings are very prominently shown. It isn’t mentioned. The wedding is almost canceled because of the rain, but with a wave of Jack’s hand the clouds disappear and the birds start to sing. E4: Sam and Eileen have moved out of the Bunker. Cas finally convinces Dean to downsize, so they find a little house in Lawrence and settle down. Cas works as a special ed teacher. Dean works as a mechanic. Miracle loves the backyard but makes sure to stay away from the beehives in the back corner. E5: Sam and Eileen’s twins, Mary and Maura, are born. Dean and Cas love their nieces, and Jack loves them too. He doesn’t know what to call himself, so they settle on Uncle and call it good. E6: Deaths. They all die old. Cas’s vessel has aged, but he can’t die, so when Dean finally passes away in his sleep, Cas scatters his ashes in the woods and disappears, ascending to heaven, to spend eternity with Dean. The closing scene is a dark screen, with the whoosh of wings and a soft “Hello, Dean.” OK. That was a long one. My apologies. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000/10. I would reach nerdvana thirty seconds into episode one.

Another spinoff of that idea is just...Dean and Cas living a normal life. Short episodes. Cas goes to the grocery store. Dean drags Cas to a horror movie fan convention. Cas meets a roomba. How much I need this in my life: I can’t type enough zeroes to express it.

Campbell prequel that focuses on Mary and her childhood. Mary being raised as a hunter but not being allowed on hunts. Mary rushing home to finish her chemistry homework so she can help her dad track a nest of vampires moving east. Mary missing her prom to help Samuel on a hunt. Mary trying to keep her real life secret from John, a man she knows loves the parts of her he knows about. Mary always being an outsider, the kindest and most beautiful girl in her class, but so slow to trust and quick to speak that everyone is afraid to be her friend. Mary is a character that has the potential a lot more development, for twelve seasons she’s the burning martyr in every Winchester’s imagined paradise. She deserves more. How much I need this in my life: 11/10, Mary isn’t my favorite character but I would die for her.

Gabriel spin-off. That’s it, that’s the idea. How much I need this in my life: 10000000/10, Gabriel is a character that we don’t know a lot about so there are so many possible directions for a story about him to go.

Show set in the SPN universe that doesn’t really interact with the main show’s canon. It’s about two cops in the 30s that become hunters by accident. After investigating the apparent suicide of a hunter in their small town, they become enthralled by her library, filled with books about ghosts and vampires. They pour over her journals on their own time, fascinated by what they’re reading. They get to know the hunter through her writings, her accounts of her hunts and travels. Eventually, a nest of vampires settles in the town and the two put their newfound knowledge to the test. This show would just be based on canon lore, there wouldn’t be any mention of the Winchesters or other main characters, although a few MoL team-ups is definitely a possibility. The two become quite a team, tracking werewolf backs on bulletin boards in their basements and hoarding rock salt. How much I need this in my life: 89/10, I think this could be really interesting and I am a sucker for historical hunters.

Speaking of historical hunters-Samuel Colt prequel. Cowboys, vampires, cowpires. Hunting in the wild west, galloping across the prairie chasing a pack of werewolves. This show could also tell us a lot about how different types of monsters spread across the U.S. Ghosts will go anywhere people go, but what about vampires? Shapeshifters? Ghouls? What was it like to hunt without technology to help with research? The hunters in this series would be the authors of the journals that modern hunters use every day. They’re the ones that tested tracking and trapping methods. Again, no idea if this is making sense, but I think that a supernatural western would be really awesome and would expand/substantiate the canon lore. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000000000/10, I love cowboys and I love Supernatural. This is literally the best thing that could ever happen to me.

Crowley. I want to know more about him. A series that tells us all about Fergus Roderick MacLeod, starting with when he was born in Scotland and ending with his death in All Along the Watchtower. We know that Rowena was his mother, that he was a tailor, that he sold his soul for an extra three inches ~down there~, and that he was a terrible dad. I want to know more about his childhood, about the people he made deals with, about how he became king of the crossroads and of Hell. Crowley was a very interesting character that was abused by the story. I want to know more about him. How much I need this in my life: 10000000000000000000000000000000000000/10, I really do love Crowley and I would watch this a thousand times over.

Final idea: MOTW only. No season arc, no overall storyline. New hunters every episode, from all different times, from over the world. All kinds of monsters. One episode in Victorian England, the next in 1990s Los Angeles. Very few recurring characters, if any. The recurring characters would be the Bobby Singers of the world; the lore guys that you call when you need help. Each new character has their own style, own car, own music, own personality. The show could have some a m a z i n g guest stars because they’d only appear in a few episodes. There are so many possibilities for episodes, even if they weren’t full length. How much I need this in my life: 100000/10, I love MOTW episodes and would really like to get to know the characters. It would be very easy to write one-off fanfics for this show, and also very easy to introduce this show’s characters into Supernatural’s canon.

You made it to the end!!!!!!!! That’s all I have for now. Sorry for writing so much, I just can’t stop thinking about SPN and all of the wasted stories.

#al speaks #spn #spn spin-offs #my ideas #i worked hard on this #big brain time #do you like it?

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

#hakim bey #Nihilism #t.a.z. #anarchism

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October Author of the Month...

Drumroll please... our author of the month for October ended in a tie between three wonderfully talented authors!

@bopbopstyles @oh-honey-styles @stylishmuser

Congratulations to all three of these absolutely amazing girls! Check out our interviews with each of them below!

Author of the Month interview with @bopbopstyles !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this? The only fanfiction I’ve ever written has been 1D! I wrote Liam back in the day (oof) but now I’m a Harry girl - but I’ve been considering doing Niall at some point!

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction? I think I wrote some bits of fics back when I was probably 13 or so, but I wouldn’t really say I *wrote* fanfic at that time. I only started writing fanfic in January of this year, but started doing it a lot this summer.

What’s been your favorite fic that you’ve written to work on so far?100000% Rose Colored Glasses. I write historical fiction outside of my fanfic writing life, so RCG  was the combination of all the things I love: history, Peaky Blinders, boxer!Harry, and as my agent calls them “cinnamon roll boys”.  

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did? I have this idea for a time travel fic but haven’t decided if I want to take that idea and use it for a non-fanfic story or not yet, so I haven’t written it. It would definitely be a similar vein to RCG if I did write it though!

What’s your favorite trope to write? FRATBOY HARRY HOLDS MY HEART! (If you couldn’t tell by my multiple fratboy/college!harry fics lol) Also, friends to lovers. The pining. The character development. Ugh. I LOVE.

What’s your ideal space to write in? I can kind of write anywhere, but lately I’ve been writing the best in the evening on either my couch or at my desk! Just someplace that’s comfy and I can completely focus is the main thing. I’m also a bit coffee shop writer (but not when doing smut!!!!!!!)

What inspires you to write? Everything. Music is probably the biggest one, second would be television and movies. I love taking something creative someone else has done and twisting and reinventing it. But also things I see, people I know, my own experiences, art -- everything. (Bad For Me is literally based on my best friend, for example.)

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to? ALWAYS. I’m genuinely always listening to music, and it influences my mood and my writing, so it’ll change depending on the project and the scene. I’ve had playlists for some of my work, but a lot of times it’ll be some moody or lovey playlists I have, other times I’ll just listen to an album I’m loving on repeat. Completely depends! For Elevated Surfaces, for example, it was mostly written to frat party music because that’s where the story was set. You can check out my Spotify here if you want to see some of what I listen to!

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?I’ve been dying to write my Jane Austen series but haven’t gotten the time yet! It’ll take a while, so I’ve been putting it off, but I reaaalllyyyy want to do it at some point. There’s a couple others, but that’s one I really want to do at some point.

Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom? Read, read, READ. That’s my advice for writers in general. Read widely (across genres, age groups, etc) and read critically! A lot of what I learned about how to write has come from analyzing books I read. I used to review books, actually, and it has definitely helped form how I write. I think for fan fiction specifically, though, I think a lot of people have a tendency to struggle with feeling pressured to write or rushed or judged for what they write. It’s definitely the result of the way we consume fan fiction, but I also think that it’s helpful to think about why you’re writing. For me personally, I write because it just genuinely brings me immense amounts of joy and I like sharing that with people. Writing for yourself takes a lot of the pressure off, I’ve found. It’s when you start writing for others that it can turn into a more difficult place. So: try to write for yourself first, before others!

How long does it normally take you, idea to posting, to post a fic?This completely depends on the fic! Once I get an idea I can write it pretty quickly, so I can churn out content quickly if I have the time. However, my pieces are long (most are in the 15-30k mark) which usually will take me a few days. Usually I’d say somewhere in the ballpark of like 10-20 hours total per one shot, but completely depends. Multi-chapter definitely take longer!Right now, for example, I haven’t written fanfiction in two weeks because I’m working on other projects. It really is dependent on what else I have going on in my life, because I also work full-time now, and so my posting has definitely declined in the past two months.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? 100% impulsive, but mostly I write in the evenings and on weekends (aka when I’m not working). But no specific schedule -- I think if I schedule it then it takes some of the fun out of it.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? How much FUN it is! I genuinely adore writing fanfiction and have made so many amazing friends through it. I wish I’d started earlier, in some ways.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots? One shots for SURE. I don’t really plan on doing multi-chaptered again for a while, actually. Partly because it’s just more work, but also because it prolongs the wait for people to read it, and part of why I love fanfiction is the immediate gratification you get from it.

What was your favorite scene to write in “The Only Exception”?OOOOOH. I loved the early scenes when they were still getting to know one another. I’d say probably the scene from Harry’s release party and their emotional conversation after (from Ch.3) were really fun to write because they were so vulnerable. Also their fights. LOVED writing their fights. The Dunkirk premiere from Ch.3 and 4? One of my favorites. So probably the entirety of Ch. 3, I guess!

What is one moment from “Rose Colored Glasses” that you never got to write but wanted to? I struggled SO MUCH with their reunion scene. I re-wrote it like twice and played with a couple of different ways it was going to go, before settling on the final result. I had this one concept, though, where Cicely was going to ride her horse into Birmingham and Harry was going to be called to the stables to pick her up, and Cicely was going to just be so happy and excited to see him and Harry would be so overwhelmed he wouldn’t care about what his friends saw and would just be so tender with her.

What scenes/scenarios are most fun for you to write? I adore writing pining. The pining in Good Together is probably my favorite I’ve done -- the photo shoot scene? *collapses* I also love banter, which was one of the reasons Behind the Bar will always hold a special place in my heart.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? Feedback is literally what I thrive on. I’m in constant need of validation, to be honest, so please tell me when you like what I write! I love it! As far as types of feedback, I think that for my fanfiction, I’m not really posting it to get critiqued. Personally, it doesn’t help my writing in any way, because I’m writing for myself more than for others -- their enjoyment is just an additional plus. So I take critiques in kind of an “okay?” sort of way. It just doesn’t really affect me. I think the other thing about critiques (sorry I’m going off on this question lol) is that you don’t have to take them. I have people in my life whose opinions I trust and those are the people I want to critique my writing. The one caveat here is if my writing is offensive in any way. In that case, I want to be told so that I can fix it, learn from it, and make my future writing better. I will also say that I think part of it is that my fanfiction isn’t really the writing I’m the proudest of. I write outside of fanfiction, have an agent, etc. and so that part of my life is definitely what I care more about. For those projects, I desperately seek critiques, but from people whose opinions I trust!

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? Writing professionally is the dream for me! My agent and I put my last project on submission but it wasn’t picked up, so I’m working on something new right now. Hopefully that will end up getting published, but we’ll see!

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? I hope that my writing brings people joy and helps them learn something, whether that be about themselves or the world. Books are what helped me learn about the world and have brought me such happiness over the years, so I hope that mine can do the same. 

Author of the Month interview with @oh-honey-styles !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this? Just for Harry! He’s that obnoxiously endearing, isn’t he?

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction?Okay okay, I guess I wrote something that resembled fanfiction (non-Harry) when I was fifteen or sixteen. That was all extremely idealistic cringy teenage angst that will live under a rock for eternity. But as far as Harry fanfiction, it was about a year ago when I started ‘Met Your Match’.

What’s been your favorite fic you’ve written to work on so far? My personal favorite is ‘January in Japan’. It was the first time I really dreamt up and developed my OFCs. Between Harry’s healing from heartbreak storyline, as well as Stella’s strong, feisty personality, all mixed together against the backdrop of Japan. The entire vibe was, and still is, so special to me. Plus, Japan!H is something else - peak boyfriend material.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?I mean, sure, there are always ideas floating around. But nothing that’s really kept nagging at me.

What’s your favorite trope to write? Fluffy mutual pining between strangers/friends to lovers with a tiny dash of angst.

What’s your ideal space to write in? I don’t really have an ideal space! But I will say, I’ve found that writing tends to really flow during AM hours. I’ve written most of my stories laying in bed, in the dark, between the hours of midnight and 4AM.

What inspires you to write? That bloke Harry Styles is the most endearing menace, so he’s generally my number one inspiration. But I also have a few bad ass women that inspire me more than they’ll ever know. They are my ride-or-die encouragement whose writing and brilliant ideas continuously motivate me to be a better writer.

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to?This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I don’t! I do have artists/songs that inspire my stories (for example, The Sugarhill Gang for ‘Hazy’ and ‘Rise Up’ by Andra Day for ‘Black & Blue’). But for the most part, I love silence while writing.

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?At the moment I’m only focused on ‘Collide’. However, it really doesn’t take long for the bug to bite!

Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom?Well, since I started writing, I’ve been extremely lucky to have amazing advice poured into me by some of the most phenomenal writers in the fandom. So I guess one thing I would pass along is that writing fic is meant to be fun! Continue to write as long as you’re truly, truly loving it. If you’re not having fun writing or enjoying the process, step away and circle back during another season in life. When fic becomes a stress or a burden, it’s time to step away.

What is your writing process like?Honestly? (insert cringe face) It’s a hot mess. I don’t typically do outlines and if I do, they’re always changing. I usually write raw dialogue first and then add in the rest. Sometimes I’ll write a scene out from beginning to end, but I’m generally filling in the gaps. I always keep a doc open on my phone for ideas that pop into my head throughout the day (a conversation or a visual). And then once a scene is completed, I send it off to my betas and they’re the ones who let me know if I’m completely off my rocker or not.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can?100% impulsive. I write and post when inspiration hits and when life allows it.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? That once you start, you can’t stop. The writing bug is fucking relentless.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots?All of the above! Multi-chapter fics are nice, having the freedom to really develop your characters as well as elaborate on a concept. But they’re definitely exhausting. And one-shots are such a good way to bust out an idea with no strings attached. I really enjoy writing both.

What has been your favorite scene to write so far in “Collide”?‘The Wedding’ has been my favorite scene in ‘Collide’ so far. I absolutely adored writing the initial nervous attraction between Harry and Franki. It’s really the initial point in the story where they start to realize that there may actually be deeper feelings there on both sides. Plus, who doesn’t love a nervous, flirty Harry?

What is one moment from “Met Your Match” that you never got to write but want to?Oh wow. ‘Met Your Match’ rounded out pretty well, but I guess I had one moment in mind that I never wrote. It was basically a scene where Harry and Kate are in LA on their way to a BBQ at Niall’s house. One way or another it comes out that Niall was Kate’s favorite during the 1D era. The scene would have included loads of teasing and maybe a tinge of jealous Harry.

What inspired you to write “Collide”? How did you come up with the story idea?The whole concept of ‘Collide’ came about when quarantine happened and the world went into lockdown. With there being hardly any new content, we were all basically just reblogging old Harry posts. So each part is inspired by and based off of a past Harry photo/event etc. It's been really fun to tie them all together in one story.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? Every writer loves feedback. Honestly, feedback is the most incredible gift a reader could give a writer. Pressing ‘post’ on your own blood, sweat and tears is one of the most nauseatingly nerve wracking things ever, so to be acknowledged for it (through messages and sharing) is priceless. As far as a critique goes, there’s a fine line. Personally, if there’s something I’m writing that’s offensive or off putting, I absolutely want to know (in a positive, uplifting, non-anon-asshole way). But if my story’s just not their cup of tea, I’d rather they move along to the next fic out there.

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction?Only a hobby!

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? My purpose in everything I write is to provide a little escape for myself and my readers from this crazy world. Most, if not all, of my stories are meant to be lighthearted and fun - a decent way to step out of yourself for a short moment.

Author of the Month interview with @stylishmuser​ !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this?The first ever fanfic I wrote was actually for Gossip Girl. It was horribly written, but I had so much fun. After that I wrote Harry Potter fanfiction for about a year, and then I started getting into 1D, and I don’t imagine I’ll ever write for another fandom.

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction? I think I was a sophomore in high school, so… 16, maybe?

What’s been your favorite fic that you’ve written to work on so far?Oh this is hard to answer, to be honest. It probably sounds cliche but I’ve had a favorite aspect in every one of my fics. I think Timeless will always have a special place in my heart, but I have a favorite thing each one of them.  

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?Oh hmmm I think there are a lot of tropes I want to try my hand at, but I don’t like writing a story that’s been done a million times before, so it’s kind of finding an aspect or angle to it to make it different.

What’s your favorite trope to write? Idk if it’s a trope but, angst with a happy ending!

What’s your ideal space to write in? Honestly, I can write almost anywhere. It just needs to be quiet. I like to write in my living room or at the kitchen counter at like 2 am when everyone else is asleep.

What inspires you to write? I really just like to tell stories. I think words kind of have this power to them. I also am inspired by Harry and Niall, their lifestyles/music/careers, and telling stories about/for WOC. When I was growing up, I always thought that people like me didn’t really deserve love stories. So I guess it’s kind of destroying that notion that inspires me too!

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to? I used to, actually. That first fic I ever wrote was fueled by listening to Mind of Mine on repeat haha. Now I like the quiet, but sometimes if I’m stuck I’ll listen to the playlist for whatever story I’m writing.

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue? This made me laugh because I have four in my mind at any given time. You’ll have to wait and see what they are!

What is your writing process like? It goes something like this: vague idea > random scene ideas that bug me into writing it > visuals > outline > actually writing it.

Do you prefer Au or OU? I prefer OU because I like writing about the music aspect of the boys’ lives. AU is fun too, but it’s a lot more work in my opinion. It needs to be a specific idea or trope or I’ll just go with OU.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? I try to keep myself to some sort of schedule, like 1000 words a night or 1 chapter per weekend or I get off track.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? Oh hmm… I think I would go back and tell myself that it’s okay to want to write WOC characters and it doesn’t matter who likes it, or who doesn’t, or how many notes you get. I think it’s really easy for writers — no matter what they write — to feel like they aren’t living up to whatever popularity standards are going on in their fandom, but at the end of the day it’s about what YOU love to write about. That’s what makes a good story, in my opinion, and as a reader you can tell when an author is really putting their heart into something, and that’s kind of inspiring.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots? Multi chapter. I freak out about one shots now because they end up being 15 or 20k words anyway when I write them haha!

What has been your favorite scene to write so far in “Rumor Has It”? I think my favorite scene from that story was either their first kiss, the morning after they get intimate for the first time, or the scene where Ishika comes clean to Harry about how she feels/why she lied. I remember those three scenes came so clearly to me, I was just stabbing away at my keyboard like a cartoon.

You have such complex characters that readers adore, do you have any advice on planning well written and planned characters?  AH that is a very nice thing for you to say! Thank you! I like to think of characters in terms of fatal flaws. It sounds weird but like: What makes your character cry? What keeps them up at night? What makes them happy, or mad? What makes them, them? That’s kind of how I approach it. It’s kind of finding a balance of those characteristics and ‘why are you so frustrating I want to THUMP you’ and ‘I adore them, let’s protect them at all costs.’

What inspired you to write “Kiss and Cry”? How did you come up with the story idea? So I watched this show called “Spinning Out” on Netflix and kind of geeked out about figure skating. I knew nothing about it, which is kind of what got me thinking, this would be cool to learn about and writing for me is the best way to learn. At first I was like, nobody cares about a figure skating fic, and then I was like: good, write it. So here we are!

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? I think feedback is a really personal thing, but there’s a really fine line (haha) approaching it. I really think constructive criticism is an important part of feedback — but it’s often done very poorly. There is a big difference between pointing out to an author what they could’ve done better, or even asking why they wrote something the way they did (because I promise you, they did it the way they did for a reason), and simply telling them they are either a bad writer, have poorly written something, or something worse because god knows we’ve all gotten it lmao. For me, I don’t mind either. But if you’re going to criticize my writing, do it one on one, not on anon where you can add a bite to your words. Feedback is kind of a two way conversation, and I think that’s often forgotten about — especially on Tumblr. And it’s very, very obvious when people do want to act unkind, and say unkind things behind the anon veil on purpose. It’s ok not to like the way someone wrote something, but it’s not ok to be vicious about it, ESPECIALLY on anon. That just makes you a coward. I guess my rule of thumb is: Is what you’re typing out going to hurt the person on the other end? Is it worth it to do that? Or can you reword it in a way that starts a conversation instead of bullying someone for putting their work out there, something that’s vulnerable no matter how many times you do it.  But, this is just how I feel. Every writer is different (and valid!)

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? I’d love to write professionally one day! We’ll see what happens. I think whether it happens or not, I just love it so much, I’ll do it for a long time because it’s a big part of who I am.

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? My purpose of writing… that’s so philosophical. I guess, I honestly just like to tell stories that are important to me, and remind people that life sucks but it’s also pretty damn good at times too. I hope to keep making myself happy writing whatever it is I’m writing, and challenge myself to try my hand at stuff that’s daunting, and hopefully people like what I’m doing and if not, that’s ok, because I do! And to remember that’s my real purpose for writing, it’s never been a numbers game or keeping score, it’s been about telling stories that I love crafting.

#author of the month #aom #October 2020 #aomoctober2020

[sarriathmg]

Omega Jason Todd Week 2020 Day 7: Free day #2 - Historical AU - 1700s What happens if none of the prompts you wanted to do made it? Why, crunch them all on the free day, of course!

Pfft yall have no proof that I'm just looking for excuses to put Jason in various dresses AO3 link ----

“I despise this,” Jason whispered to himself as he ripped the elaborate powdered wig off of his head and threw it aside, “this is atrocious.”

He really didn’t understand the reason why he had to do this. The whole rationale behind having to use his omega charms to approach the Waynes completely evaded him. Not when he had to dress in these ridiculous red satins and side hoops, barely able to move with him tripping over his gown every second step. The tightly laced stays he wore made his torso stiff and the dainty shoes hurt his feet. Jason hated how demeaning the low laced collar was, practically revealing his breasts for all the world to see, evoking interested looks to shoot at him from alphas all around which Jason absolutely detested. He also hated the perfumes that he was made to wear. They were too sweet, too artificial. Too obviously omega.

“I will kill Roman for this,” he said through clenched teeth. And to think the bastard alpha had the audacity to suggest that he also powder his face white and rouge his cheeks. He missed his coat, his red-colored hooded cloak and his simple mask (not like the frilly one he’s forced to wear to the masked ball), and his boots (God, did he miss his boots). But most importantly, Jason missed his guns. He missed his belt and his firearms, and he wished he was anywhere but here, dressed in unisex habits wreaking havoc in the harbor near the Wayne’s ships instead of standing here pretending to be some vulnerable damsel wearing these demeaning pannier and bows and satins that dragged on the ground, trying to use his omega attractiveness against the supposedly unsuspecting Waynes.

Jason huffed out a frustrated sigh before looking around himself. And, after making sure that no one was staring, he quietly and stealthily took off the ruffled red domino mask to reveal his face. Jason wanted a break. He needed one.

The Waynes had three sons and only one of them was alpha, a rich kid who was more into playing around than any official courtship and more into forming his own pack of misfits than staying home and taking over the pack legacy like a responsible alpha son should. Jason had read all the files on Richard Grayson before Roman had made him prepare for the ball, and he wasn’t convinced one bit that this plan was going to work.

‘But wouldn’t it be easier if you used an omega with more finesse who is more experienced with higher society?’ he’d asked.

‘Son,’ Roman had answered, right before he helped lace on Jason’s stays, ‘you’re selling yourself short. Besides, your training made you the best omega for this job.’

Except it’s easier said than done. Trying to disguise himself as a fine omega who’s lived among aristocracy his whole life when he was in actuality but a street urchin found curled up in the gutter was bloody hard. Jason didn’t have a smidge of clue on how to act properly and pretend to be a respectable omega like the rich bastards he was finding himself amongst right now. Only making things harder was him trying to locate the couple of targets he was meant to seduce in a massive ballroom where every single alpha, omega, and even some betas had their faces hidden behind masks. Jason had no clue what either Wayne or Grayson looked like in real life, which meant it was almost impossible to locate them among tens of masked attendants.

And speaking of which, of course, someone just had to decide to speak to Jason the same moment he removed his.

“May I have this dance?”

The voice sounded behind him with a classy but seductive alpha timbre. Jason looked back only so he could yell at the pretentious male to get lost. But that’s not what ended up happening. As soon as he had his eyes set on the young man, Jason immediately forgot what he was going to say.

A young alpha - perhaps only a few years older than Jason and dressed in black and blue - was holding his hand out to him in a polite and gentlemanly way. His hair was raven black, wavy, and down to his shoulders. His coat had golden trims and decorations embroidered among the smooth surface of the bright blue satin, yet they didn’t look overly ornate in any way. If anything, they made the man’s cerulean-blue eyes stand out even more under his simple silken black domino mask.

“You’re not from around here, I presume?” the alpha asked, still holding out his hand, black silken glove with blue strips catching some of the light from the wall lamps surrounding them, “if there had been such a fine omega around Gotham before, I would’ve noticed.”

There’s something...fraudulent in the alpha’s mannerism. The smile on his lips did not reach his eyes, his words were practiced, and Jason was way too familiar with the look in the man’s eyes which showed an alpha’s inquisitive behavior that Jason had known from his days on the streets. The scents he wore were also artificial, smelling eternally of calm sandalwood and lime, not giving away anything about the alpha’s true emotions or intentions.

Jason swallowed. His eyes quickly darted towards his side, catching a glimpse of Roman walking by while sipping a glass of wine, eyes trailing to him unsuspectedly under the black skull mask he wore. And Jason immediately knew this was a dance that he’s not allowed to turn down.

“You have a keen eye,” Jason said instead, couldn’t hold down the almost sarcastic tone in his voice as he placed his own gloved hand onto the alpha’s fancily clad ones, “care to tell me more about this city?”

As he let the alpha lead him down to the dance floor, Jason was beginning to feel anxious. Roman did in fact hire a tutor to train him in the dances of the upper-class, but Jason didn’t know if he’s adequate enough to keep up. He still had his mask in his hand, so Jason restored it back onto his face.

They began an allemande, starting their tip-toed dance to the trendy orchestral music that had gotten quite popular in the past decade before holding hands and twirling around each other, their fake alpha and omega perfumes mixing in a chaotic whirlpool of imitation of courtship pheromones.

“There’s a lot about Gotham that I could talk about,” the young and beautiful alpha finally spoke up, his long hair softly bouncing and whirling around with his movement, a loose strand temporarily stuck to the side of his mask before falling away and joining the others. “I don’t know what could interest a young omega like you. Do you rather talk about the elite or the poor?”

“Anything interesting, I suppose,” Jason answered with barely-concealed boredom, “my interests are broad, despite my designation.”

“In that case,” the alpha held his hand and they twirled around, a wave of dizziness suddenly catching Jason by surprise, “I suppose you might have heard about the mysterious red-hooded rogue who’s been attacking the harbors?”

Jason put on his practiced impassive visage and lied, “No. Care to tell me?”

Another swirl, and this time the alpha caught a hold of his waist and his hand, and they swayed in the music like two bodies in one.

“Well,” the alpha said thoughtfully, “forgive me for mentioning such a dark matter in front of an omega. The man calls himself Red Hood, and seemed to harbor a hate for the rich. He had been sabotaging Wayne's shipments for almost a month. But it’s nothing someone like you should worry about...we town folks are generally safe, despite being the ‘rich’ that the fiend hates so much.”

“Doesn’t seem like a topic one would talk about with an omega they just met at a ball,” Jason deadpanned.

“You’re right,” the alpha said, an amused tone in his voice, “but it’s something that’s been happening to Gotham which a newcomer might find helpful. And, since it appears this is your first ball, I think it’s proper of me to help...break the ice, so to speak.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, many things,” the alpha laughed, “like how your mannerism doesn’t match with someone educated in high society from birth, or how you look like you are struggling to move in those garments.”

He took Jason’s hand and they made a swirl, the orchestral music in the ballroom ringing fancily in the omega’s ears.

“Although,” the alpha then mused, “isn’t it strange, that no one truly knows Red Hood’s designation, even though most just assumed he is alpha, like most rogues? It does seem a rather rare coincidence that a lovely omega like you would show up suddenly at the Wayne’s ball around the same time their shipments are being sabotaged by an elusive red-hooded figure.”

Jason was so shocked that he didn’t know what to say. He was suddenly glad that the perfumes he wore were heavy-scented enough that it could hide his true anxiety. He almost fell by tripping on the side of his gown, but the mysterious young alpha caught his waist just in time.

The alpha supported him until Jason was able to balance himself on his heels again. Then, he held his hand in a gentlemanly fashion as Jason stared at him speechless and dumbfounded.

“Forgive my ill manners,” the alpha said, “I apologize for my intrusive words. It’s not every day one could find a lovely omega to talk to. You seemed to be someone with similar interests as me despite your designation, so I let myself speak more than I should have.”

And then he kissed his hand, soft lips feeling warm even as they were obstructed by silken gloves. The young alpha’s long hair dropped down and tickled him through the fabric, and for a moment Jason had the insane thought that even his fake sandalwood scents smelled pleasant.

“We will meet again, my lovely omega,” the alpha said as he began to step away, still holding Jason’s hand a while longer as their arms stretched a little to accommodate. There’s something in the alpha’s expression and tone that told Jason he wasn’t just speaking to be polite. He actually meant it.

Then, the alpha was gone, leaving Jason to stand and contemplate the situation by himself.

#ojtw2020 #omegajasontoddweek #Jason Todd #dick grayson #dickjay #omega jason todd #bottom jason todd #myart