#I went to that place a bunch with mom and grandpa | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sublimecatgalaxy · 2 years

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Cruel Summer; Part 1

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Summary: The reader comes in from out of town to OBX with her family when she bumps into JJ (quite literally) at a party which spurs an awkward family bathroom situation and a 'get to know you' conversation.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of family death.

Song: "Bellyache" by Billie Eilish

A/n: This fic, by the time I post it, will have been two months in the making. I've been planning and writing it for about a month and I'm so happy that @tee-swizzle helped fuel the fire behind my passion for this character! I hope you guys love it, this is part 1 of 5.

The Outerbanks has always been like a fever dream.

Warm amber skies, pristine blue ocean waves, green grass and flowering trees, seemingly perfect people.

It seems that the tourists and the natives are all on the same page, just different parts of town come with different responsibilities and different roles in the socioeconomic hierarchy of the island. Some people get up to go to work their asses off all day, fishing, selling, participating in good, honest blue collar work; but others are trust fund babies, people who hit it rich and decided to buy a big fancy boat and a big luxurious house right on the water. Both are lucky to live there but there’s downsides to each, I’m sure.

My family is… different.

My grandmother was a family woman. She and my grandfather would chalk up the money to take us to Outerbanks once a year, sometimes every other year depending on if money was tight. My grandfather worked with gears- creating and selling them- and he owned his own business and made an honest living so he was proud to spend it on his family for a nice vacation with his wife and loved ones.

There were about twelve of us at the time; we’d all pack up our things and make the long journey down to the island with bright smiles on our faces and excitement bubbling in our veins. It was exciting- it was all I looked forward to as a child when school would come to an end in June. I just knew that if I counted down, made the two month paper chain, we would soon venture down to Nags Head to kick back for a few weeks.

When my grandfather died, the family went their separate ways and we didn’t go back on our little adventure for nearly a decade. It was heartbreaking to see my grandmother not even want to touch any of the money the love of her life left behind, money he wanted us to spend on spending time together in his favorite place, but it was just too much for her. And when she died and left a ton of money to my mom and stepdad, we knew exactly what we had to do to make both of them proud.

We had a trip booked within a month after the funeral, planning to spread both of their ashes in their favorite places on the anniversaries of both of their deaths, which just happened to be one day apart by a decade.

Since we’ve been back we’ve done just that, scattered their ashes (with permission of course) and celebrated their lives as a family; just me, my sister Katie, my mom and step dad, all together under one roof. We’ve played games, gone shopping, gone to the beach (obviously) and overall just had a great time like we would’ve when Katie and I were younger. There is this lingering sadness, it’s no longer a group of us, we’re no longer being corralled by my grandma and grandfather and I kept help but sense this silence that just swarms around us which makes the blue skies look a little darker, the waves a little more violent and the heat a bit more harsh.

“Are you having fun?” Katie yells loudly over the booming music, long hair whipping in her face as the beach wind blows against us, sending shivers down my spine. I should’ve brought a sweater.

“Yeah, I’m having fun! Just thinking about how grandma and grandpa would not approve of us getting drunk under the age of twenty one with a bunch of people we don’t know.” Katie’s head tossed back in laughter as she grabs my hands in hers, urging me to sway with her to the music and I let her with a defeated smile. “Like it’s not exactly the safest thing to do.” She gives me a tired, deadpanned look and she reaches out to smack at my arm, disapproving of my caution that I always seem to be stuck with, even in situations like this where I’m supposed to be relaxing and letting loose.

“At least we’re not like the rest of our family, they barely go on any vacations anymore- they’re practically hermits.” I chuckle, letting her twirl me under her arm as my skirt flows in the wind. She’s not exactly wrong- there are pictures all over social media of their bland life, going to their nine-to-fives before coming home and drinking themselves into a stupor. I think that’s called depression but we’re not for technicalities in this family. “Gran and gram would be happy we’re living.” I smile foldly at her with a firm nod, knowing that my grandma would’ve loved the women that my sister and I turned into. We’re free spirits, just like her, taking leaps, smiling at strangers (especially those who are rude or mean), and we’re trying our best to carry on her legacy the best we can, with each other.

“You’re right.” I fall into her arms, wrapping mine around her in a tight hug as she lets a sigh of relief escape her lips. “Oh that note, wanna do shots?” I ask, pulling a squeal of excitement out of her as she begins to jump up and down, clapping her hands like an excited child.

“Now we’re talking!” She cheers, dragging in glances from those close to us and I feel my cheeks growing warmer at the unwanted but earned attention. “I’ve trained you well, young Skywalker.” She yells as I walk away, my eyes rolling at her overall silliness.

I sift through the crowd of people, bumping into teens left and right as I try not to stumble onto my ass, and I can see the bar in sight. So close yet so far. There’s about twenty feet of sand and young adults between me and the bar and I can practically feel the cold steel but before I reach it, I feel a cold substance dump down the front of my shirt and a mess of blond hair in front of me.

“Oh my god, fuck-“ I look up at to see a blue eyed boy, probably my age, standing, shocked, in front of me with a wide eyed look on his face, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as he looks square at my chest, or more at the red drink he just dumped down my bra. “You came out of nowhere.” Definitely should’ve brought a sweater. I’m still standing, surprised, looking at him with wide eyes as I try to think of what to say but nothing can come up but curse words.

“I’m sorry, shit!” I take a step away from him, going to escape and to deal with my awkward embarrassment elsewhere but the attractive stranger reaches out to wrap his fingers around my wrist seamlessly, pulling me back towards him as I gasp, hitting his chest with a firm thud. His eyes are kind and soft, hand reaching up in surrender to show me that he means no harm and, for some reason, I choose to believe him.

“Woah, woah woah- not so fast.” He nods in the direction of the bathrooms, silently offering to help me with the mess that he made and I take a leap of faith, nodding my head, allowing him to lead me hand in hand towards the bathrooms, away from the bar and my sister and the rest of civilization. Alone with a cute, random stranger… Maybe not the best idea to wander off with a random guy at a party but there’s something about him that just makes him so easy to trust.

“It’s fine, seriously, I’ll just go clean it off.” I call out to him as the noise from the party dies down and I jog ahead so I can turn around to look back at him with a shrug but he just looks down at my shirt and frowns.

“Let me help. I feel like a dick.” He pouts, reaching past me to hold the door open to the family restroom and I take one more look back at the party and, when I see Katie talking to a handsome guy, I decide to go ahead and step under the cute stranger’s arm into the bathroom without any questions. I hoist myself up into the vanity with a sigh, head thumping back against the mirror as I avoid looking at my ruined shirt, wondering how I’m supposed to clean up a red stain this big and have it actually come clean. “It’s my friend's drink anyway so I don’t care. I’ll get a new one when I come back from helping you clean up.”

“My knight in not so shining armor.” I laugh nervously with a gentle blush, watching him pull a few paper towels out of the dispenser before handing them to me and I try to wipe it off but to no avail, the red drink seeping further into my tan shirt with every wipe without care and I look up at the blonde with a frown. He looks nervous, biting at his lip as he watches me rub at the cotton.

“You know it.” He laughs awkwardly, taking the paper towels from me, wetting them before handing them back to me. “What’s your name?” He asks finally, leaning up against the wall in front of me, kicking his leg back to rest on the tile with a dopey smile on his face.

“Y/n. Yours?”

“JJ Maybank.” How cute. It matches him perfectly, his baby blue eyes and soft blonde hair- the fact that he’s so tall and handsome as hell- like a prince from a Disney Princess movie. Or maybe he’s more like the boy that the Princess falls in love with because he’s not a prince. “Nice to meet you, JJ Maybank.” I hold my hand out to him which he takes almost immediately, shaking it sternly with a bright, pretty smile on his lips. “Wish we could’ve met in different circumstances.”

“Nah, spilling a drink on a pretty girl is sort of par-for-the-course for me.” He blushes, reaching up to rub bashfully at the back of his neck, bicep tensing breathtakingly, and my brows pinch together in a teasing look of confusion, head tilting at him.

“Oh you have a habit of doing it?” I ask with a snicker, watching his face pale, his finger raising to point at me, stopping me before I can get the wrong idea.

“That’s not what I meant.” I giggle, slapping a hand over my mouth as he scoffs, reaching out to slap my knee. “Oh, so you’re funny?” He smiles sarcastically as he sends me a dramatic eye roll.

After a few seconds of silence, both of our eyes flicker down to my shirt once more to address the elephant in the room and we both wonder for a moment as to how we can clean my shirt or find another one in the meantime. It isn’t until JJ’s pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in my direction that I realize what his idea is. My jaw drops as I look down at the shirt in my lap, not appalled at all but instead incredibly more attracted to him. How chivalrous.

“Take it.” He offers with flushed cheeks, leaning against the cold wall as I fight the urge to drift my eyes lower, seeing obvious and apparent abs in my peripheral vision as I desperately keep my gaze on his face.

Fuck me, please.

“Really?” I ask hesitantly, not sure if I should really just be taking a random person's shirt but I guess if it’s just out of the kindness of his own heart then… sure. He spins around on his heels, subtly offering me privacy as I slip out of my ruined shirt before throwing on his t-shirt that is definitely way too big on him which means it’s practically a dress on me.

“Yeah, it’s not shocking for me to be lacking a shirt.” His head tilts back so he can stare at the ceiling with a chuckle and- I watch him, the way his jaw elongates into an michelangelo type curve, his shoulders, his back- he’s just sculpted- after a few moments, I give him the okay to turn around. His pupils seem to dilate in size the minute he sets eyes on me, and I can feel myself flushing just from his heated gaze. Stupid boys and their hormones.

“So you’re from here? Obviously, that was a stupid question.” I scoff at myself, reaching up to facepalm but he reaches out, fingers wrapping around my wrist to stop me with a bright smile, almost asking ‘how could you tell?’ He takes a step towards me, almost stepping fully between my legs and I suck in a breath, trying my best to remember to breathe when all I want to do is just-

“Home sweet home, born and raised a pogue on the cut.” He shrugs proudly, arms fanning out as he bows dramatically and I give him a big round of applause which pulls a hearty laugh from him.

“I just learned that term not too long ago.”

“I was testing you, to see if you knew it. Most tourists don’t.” How could he tell I was a tourist? He winks, reaching out to pat the side of my thigh as he hops up onto the counter beside me, thigh pressing against mine and I suck in a much needed breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. What am I, twelve? Why can’t I just talk to this guy?

“We’ll I’ve been here a lot since I was younger so-”

“Honorary Kook.” He tips his hat to me with a shit eating smirk and he knocks me with his shoulder.

“Not a Kook.” I start but he cuts me off with the clicking of his tongue in a playful tut.

“You sort of look like one.” He sighs and, though I can’t completely tell if it’s a compliment, the way he looks me over, getting a good look before meeting my gaze, makes me realize he meant it in all the best ways. “Nice, expensive clothes, hell you can pay for the rental houses down here- that’s impressive.”

“I’m here with my family.” I huff, acting like that makes it any different but it doesn’t.

“Ah, a family of Kooks.” He says in a singsong voice but decides to cut me some slack by switching the subject after a moment of my defeated smiling. “Is that your sister you were with?”

“You were watching me prior to spilling a drink down my shirt?” I gasp, feigning shock as I press a hand to my chest, eyes widening at him as he suddenly flushes, face paling at his accidental confession and he nervously pulls his cap off to run a hand through his messy hair.

“That gave me away didn’t it?” He whispers with an awkward smile.

“Cutely, it did.” He laughs as I nudge him with my elbow, unable to maintain eye contact with him out of fear that I’ll explode from how damn cute he is. He’s so frustratingly handsome and funny and sexy- woah.

“How long are you down here for?”

“Three weeks. We got here a few days ago.” I offer, knowing exactly why he’s asking me and I feel overwhelmed with a new sense of excitement regarding this whole trip. Katie is going to hate me for abandoning her but she’ll understand when she sees him.

“Damn, well…” He pauses, hopping down from the counter and his bashful gaze stays focused on the ground. “Plenty of time for us to bump into each other huh?” His flirtatious offer makes me grin ten times wider, watching his hand reach out to take mine in his, pulling me back into him before I can escape from him, return to the party and not see him for the rest of the night.

But after this interaction, I’ll look for him everywhere I go while I’m on this trip.

“Guess so.” I smirk softly, reaching out to pat his shoulder with my free hand, not ignoring the dense, toned muscle beneath my fingertips. “You’re slick, I’ll give you that.” I laugh bashfully, looking down at his hand that still holds mine as I allow him to walk us towards the party. His thumb brushes gently across mine and I don’t miss the protective gaze in his eyes as he looks around, making sure we’re not only safe but that no one is giving us any eyes for us leaving the bathroom, him lacking a shirt and me gaining one. I can only imagine how this looks.

“I am a self proclaimed ladies man.”

“Self proclaimed huh?” I ask, brows pulling together teasingly. “I’ll back that up then.” He smiles excitedly then leans in towards me, lips brushing against the shell of my ear and I nearly trip over my damn feet at the feeling.

“I’m going to need to record you agreeing to that.” He whispers and I burst out in laughter, head tipping back as we reach the bar, his hand finally leaving mine, cold and empty, at my side.

“Hey JJ!” A pretty girl appears at our right about ten feet away and JJ pales and gives me an awkward smile before flagging the bartender down, ordering a quick drink before giving me his undivided attention once more.

“Shit I gotta go. Kie was expecting that drink like twenty minutes ago. Baby gets grumpy without her bottle.” He pouts playfully and I chuckle before motioning in her direction, feeling an evident pit in the bottom of my stomach at the thought of him possibly being taken.

“Girlfriend?” I ask nervously but he shakes his head with a wicked, devilish grin.

“Single.” He nods sternly, head tilting cutely at me as he asks, “boyfriend?”

“Also single.” I shrug, backing away from him slowly as he processes the new information, eyes swimming with mischievous ideas already.

“Alright… See you around Kook!” He sends me a polite tip of his hat with a teasing smile and, in return, I send him my middle finger and a wink.

“Not a Kook!"

#jj #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outerbanks #outerbanks fic #jj maybank fic #jj fic #outerbanks series #jj maybank smut #jj maybank angst

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polutrope · 9 months

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Beleria New Year's Eve Special!

For the modern AU holiday prompts. Seven prompts combined into one big New Year's bash.

Relationships: Daeron/Maglor, Fingon/Maedhros, Aegnor/Andreth, Edhellos/Angrod, Celeborn/Galadriel, Feanor & Fingolfin Characters: All of the above and Nerdanel, Finarfin, Earwen, Anaire, Rumil, Orodreth. Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, recreational drinking and drunkenness Words: ~5.6k

On AO3. Beleria Cast of Characters

Maglor propped his elbows on his knees and leaned over the board. If he moved the bishop to take Daeron’s pawn, he’d expose his rook in three moves; but no, that would expose his other bishop first.

“Oh my god just make a move already,” Daeron complained. He threw himself dramatically over the arm of his chair.

“Shh,” said Maglor. “I’m thinking.”

“You think too long. Just make a move.”

“Fine.” Maglor took the pawn. Two seconds later, Daeron took his bishop with a knight.

“Goddammit!” said Maglor. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not going to win,” Daeron said without mockery.

“Maybe not, but I’m still seeing it through to the bitter end.”

Daeron sighed loudly. “I think one of your New Year’s resolutions should be knowing when to quit.”

“Yeah? Are we writing each other’s resolutions now? Fine.” Maglor withdrew his attention from the game and considered. “I think you should resolve to have more fun.”

“What? I have plenty of fun. We’re playing a game right now. Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“We’re playing chess, on New Year’s Eve when everyone is out getting drunk and kissing people they shouldn’t.”

“Is that what you want to be doing? Kissing people you shouldn’t?” Daeron pouted.

“No.” Maglor grinned. “Just you, Dae-bae.”

Daeron rolled his eyes at this, and just as Maglor was considering leaning over the coffee table to grab him and demonstrate the veracity of his statement, his phone buzzed against the tabletop.

Maedhros SOS. Dad’s at the party. Sunday, Dec 31 • 8:05 p.m.

“Oh shit,” Maglor said aloud. He began typing a reply.

“What is it?” Daeron asked.

“It’s my brother.” Maglor glanced up from his phone. “Maedhros,” he clarified. “Remember I told you he and Fingon were going to that big New Year’s party hosted by Hithlum Properties at the Lómin Hotel?”

“Yes…”

“Well apparently my dad went.”

“Oh,” said Daeron.

Though Maglor tried his best to guard his boyfriend from the family feud disguised as a property development war between his father — the adopted, but elder, child — and grandpa Finwë’s biological firstborn, Daeron was, after a year of living together and six months in a relationship, well-aware of the significance and danger of Fëanor and Fingolfin being in the same room.

“Why??” Daeron asked.

“I have no idea, just asking my brother now.”

Maedhros Rúmil talked him it. Something about networking and a promising investor for the app. I dont know. But he’s here with mom talked him into it*

Maglor chuckled, recognising in the missing punctuation and typos the signs that Maedhros was approaching a state of inebriation.

Maglor Shit. how’s it going?

Maedhros they haven’t spoke to each other yet. spoken* we’re gonna get out here before it gets bad out of*

Maglor Gonna bail on the big party hey? Where?

Maedhros Finarfin and Eärwen;s place Angrod and co are having a party there

Maglor You’re gonna go to a house party with a bunch of 20 year olds?

Maedhros Shut up. Maybe I’ll forget about my rapid aceleration towards death Acceleration*

Maglor More likely you’ll be made acutely aware of it

Maedhros Come pick us up.

Maglor huffed and shook his head.

“What’s going on?” Daeron asked.

“One sec,” said Maglor.

Unappeased, Daeron stood and came round to plop himself at Maglor’s right and read over his shoulder.

“No, we are absolutely not picking them up,” he said.

Maglor No way. Take a cab. Daeron and I are having a quiet New Year’s in.

Maedhros Come on its like a 50km drive

“I’m not going,” Daeron said decisively.

Maglor pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before typing his reply.

Maglor And how do you intend for us to get home? If I’m gonna go to a house party with a bunch of estranged cousins ten plus years younger than me then no way am I not drinking.

Maedhros Angrod says everyone’s staying over. Finarfin and Eärwen are here at the hotel, they won’t be there til tomorrow. House is ours.

Maglor lowered the phone and folded one leg onto the couch, pivoting his body to face Daeron, who was frowning deeply.

“Okay,” said Maglor, setting both hands on Daeron’s thighs and affecting his most alluring puppy-dog eyes. “Before you say no — again — hear me out.”

When he spotted Rúmil at the coat check, Fëanor waved off a passing caterer and strode confidently towards his friend.

“There you are,” he said, forcing his way into the pleasantries Rúmil was presently exchanging with some young man in an obviously-rented suit.

“Ah, Fëanáro!” Rúmil exclaimed, his eyes alight beneath the droop of his wrinkled lids. He had always looked old, even back when they had met in university, but he wore his age well, appearing more wizened than weary. “You came! I suppose I owe thanks to your lovely wife?”

“You two always did enjoy uniting against me,” Fëanor said jovially, then drew his mouth back into a line. “So where is this investor?”

“Oh, he’s here.” Rúmil winked as he handed his coat to the clerk. Then he took Fëanor’s arm just above the elbow and guided him towards the centre of the hall.

Rúmil paused along the way, shaking hands with every other cluster of people they passed. He was a good business partner, Fëanor admitted. Frankly he was the only person alive Fëanor could still tolerate collaborating with, besides Nerdanel. But Rúmil, whom Fëanor had met as an undergraduate during his brief flirtation with the humanities, was an Ideas Man. Not particularly driven towards results and the perfection of those ideas (which was why he’d retired last year without ever making full professor). Results, then, were Fëanor’s role in the development of the app — a highly intelligent business communications translation tool — that they had been working on for the past year. For his efforts, it was agreed that seventy percent of all profits would go to Fëanor. Income he greatly needed if Ambar Metta was to claw out of its legal debts.

Catching sight of his son across the room, Fëanor frowned. Maedhros had been one of those people he’d tolerated collaborating with, when he’d been the company’s chief legal officer. Then the young man presently clasping Maedhros’ shoulder and doubling over with uninhibited laughter had stuffed his head full of values. The only value a corporation needed to uphold, in Fëanor’s opinion, was the cash value of its bottom line.

Well. He supposed he was glad Maedhros had not altogether turned against him: he was doing good work building community relationships for the company now. Fëanor just hoped it wouldn’t come at too high a cost.

And, as baffling as it was to Fëanor that a spawn of Fingolfin Noldoran could make a pleasant conversation partner, never mind a satisfactory domestic partner (or whatever new-fangled thing they called one another) Fingon still seemed to make Maedhros happy after all these years. And Maedhros’ happiness was, Fëanor admitted, also a valuable thing. He’d come to accept the change.

Turning his gaze from his son and smiling to himself, Fëanor sipped from his champagne flute. As he lowered it, his eyes landed on someone his heart would never, so long as he lived, be moved to accept.

The evening’s gracious host smugly grinning down at him.

“Fingolfin,” Fëanor said coldly.

Before Fëanor could react, Fingolfin had seized his hand and was giving it a firm shake. Fëanor drew back as if he had been burned.

Fingolfin’s expression betrayed no acknowledgement of the slight. “Brother,” he said. (The audacity!) “I am so glad you came!”

“Please do not call me that,” Fëanor whispered through clenched teeth. “I’ve never had a brother.”

He felt Rúmil’s long fingers curl around his shoulder and was aware at the same time of Nerdanel’s auburn head making its way through the crowd towards them. She flanked his other side.

“So, I suppose Rúmil told you?” Fingolfin said.

Told him what? Fëanor wondered, beetling his brows. But Fingolfin did not wait for answer.

“As a lifelong admirer of your business acumen, I am needless to say thrilled that we will finally be working together. Mr. Finvesen.” Fingolfin winked and an image of his champagne breaking over those chiselled cheekbones flashed across Fëanor’s mind.

“What do you mean?” asked Fëanor. “Is this some kind of joke? I have no intention of working with Hithlum Properties.”

Fingolfin laughed but looked nervous. “No! On the app! Rúmil,” he finally released Fëanor’s eyes to look at the other man, “don’t tell me you failed to mention my name.”

Fëanor had lurched to the obvious and odious conclusion before Fingolfin had finished speaking. “You are the investor?” He jerked out of Rúmil’s grasp and cut a glance at Nerdanel. “And you both knew this?” Nerdanel opened her mouth to speak but Fëanor cut her short (that would cost him dearly but his blood boiled too hot to care). “No,” he said, raising a hand to silence them all. “I will not abide this indignity. I do not need your charity, Noldoran.”

“Charity!” Fingolfin chuckled, a little too shrilly. “Is it charity to invest in a brilliant concept?”

“I don’t need your flattery, either,” Fëanor snarled. “What is your game here, Fingolfin? You think Finwë’s restless ghost is waiting for our reconciliation? Hm? Leave it be already. He’s a corpse in the ground on the other side of the world.” Fingolfin’s lips and the skin around his eyes twitched, betraying his distress. Good: That had been Fëanor’s intent.

“Unhand me!” he said to Rúmil and Nerdanel, though neither of them had a hand on him. “I will not do business with this man.” He jabbed a finger in Fingolfin’s direction. “I don’t care how much money he lays out in front of us like a greasy block of cheese, as though we were some mangy rats he wants to entrap in his network of ‘friends’. I am not his friend and I never will be.”

With that, Fëanor spun on his heels and stormed out of the hall and did not stop until he was standing outside the hotel in the dark drizzly night without a coat.

In the passenger seat of Maglor’s hatchback, Daeron impatiently bonked the headrest with the back of his skull and slumped lower in the chair.

“Where are they?” he complained.

He needed to get to a place with wine as soon as possible, and that place was still an hour’s drive away. An hour that he would spend tying himself in knots speculating on every possible social misstep he could make that evening among dozens of people he’d never met before. He could not believe he was doing this. But ultimately it had been impossible to refuse a whole week without having to prepare a single meal — plus certain… other favours he had negotiated.

Maglor frowned and pressed his palms into the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go in and find them…”

“Yes,” Daeron agreed. “Do that.”

“But if anyone sees me—”

“Put your hood up,” Daeron said, and did for Maglor as he’d suggested. Then he pulled sunglasses from the ceiling compartment. “And wear these.”

“Ow—” said Maglor, as an arm of the sunglasses nearly struck his eye. “I’m not wearing these,” he said, pushing Daeron’s hand away. “Fine, I’ll go in. But I’m warning you — it could be a while if anyone spots me.”

“Fine. I’ll be taking a nap,” said Daeron. He reclined his seat and put the sunglasses on his own face. Maglor sighed, then the door thumped shut behind him.

No more than two minutes could have passed when his heart nearly launched itself from his chest at the sound of fingers tapping at the window.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and sat bolt upright. The shadow of a face obscured most of the driver’s side window. Daeron yanked the sunglasses off.

“Yes?” he said, affecting as much calm as he could. “Can I help you?”

The stranger mouthed some unintelligible words and pointed at the seat. Then the door swung open.

Daeron recoiled. “Get out!” he screamed.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the stranger said in a polished, level voice. “I’m Fëanor.” A long hand plunged out of the dark and into Daeron’s personal space. “And you must be Daeron. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“Uh, hi,” said Daeron, and not knowing what else to do accepted Fëanor’s handshake.

Fëanor gave an approving grunt. “A solid handshake, that’s a good sign.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” Fëanor laughed. “I apologise for barging in on you like this. I assumed it was my son when I saw his car and had to find out what he was doing out here— he came with you I assume? Where is he?” Daeron opened his mouth to answer but Fëanor forged ahead. “But when I saw you there, well easy enough to put together who you were, and I have been dying to meet you. I was beginning to wonder if Cáno had made you up to get us all to stop trying to set him up with someone. We just wanted him to stop moping around! Which is why I knew he hadn’t made you up, because he stopped moping. As much.”

Fëanor chuckled. Daeron did not. He decided not to remind Fëanor that they had, in fact, met already — the day Daeron signed the lease to rent the room in Maglor’s place. But then he was just a tenant, not his son’s boyfriend.

“Yep,” Daeron said, “believe it not, I’m really dating your mopey son.”

Fëanor let loose a peal of laughter.

“A solid handshake and a dry wit! I like you already, Daeron. Isn’t it funny, though, that my two eldest sons are dating the sons of the two men in Beleria who cause me the most grief? By the way,” Fëanor pivoted towards him, “why didn’t your father come to this soirée of Fingolfin’s?” Fëanor smiled smugly as if this pleased him. “I suppose the Mayor of Beleria is in high demand on a night like this, though. Did Elu have somewhere better to be?”

“Uh, no, actually,” said Daeron. “He’s at home.”

“I see,” Fëanor said, and smoothed his tie. “Not giving any special speeches for the people or anything?”

“Nope,” said Daeron.

“Interesting. Elu is usually into that sort of thing, isn’t he? Pandering to the masses?”

Daeron scowled.

Fëanor laughed again. “Good, good. I like people who wear their feelings plainly. You’re a very transparent person, I can see why Cáno likes you.”

“Thanks?” Daeron said, half-sincere. No one had ever remarked on this trait of his positively before.

“He’s rather transparent, too, you know. That could be a problem between you.” He puckered his lips thoughtfully and looked Daeron up and down. “Just make sure you remain your own people. Separate entities, don’t bleed into each other. That’s what happened with his ex-husband. He was a musician, too, as I am sure Cáno has told you.” Maglor had told Daeron, at more length than Daeron thought necessary. He was not keen on hearing about it again from his father. “They were in the same band — don’t start a band with him!”

“Oh, there’s no risk of that,” said Daeron. “I only do solo work.”

“Good! I am an individual competitor myself. Everyone tells you you have to be a ‘team player’ to do well in life.” Fëanor wagged a finger. “Wrong. You have to be a strong leader. You have to know your ideals and stick to them. Actually, before I came out here for a breath of fresh air, I was put in a very unpleasant situation by a fellow I am ‘collaborating’ on something with—”

“Dad??” The driver’s door swung open to reveal Maglor, mouth gaping in an expression of horror and concern. “What are you doing in my car?”

“Oh, hello, Cáno,” Fëanor said cheerfully. “I was just getting to know your boyfriend you’ve refused to introduce me to.”

Maglor’s protest was cut off by Fingon, then Maedhros, piling into the backseat, laughing.

“Hello!” said Fëanor, craning his neck to look at them. “Are you two leaving already?”

Daeron could not see, but he could feel the despair settle into the sudden silence behind him.

“Don’t look so horrified, Nelyo,” Fëanor said. “I wish I could leave this damn party! All right, all right, I know when I’m not wanted!” He swung one leg out of the car and turned his body back to shake Daeron’s hand. “Very nice to meet you, Daeron. We’ll have to continue this conversation again soon. Good night! Good night, Cáno,” he said as he stood and gave Maglor, still stunned, a quick embrace. “Good night Nelyo, Fingon, happy New Year!”

He trotted back into the hotel, arms swinging at his sides but visibly shivering.

“I’m so sorry,” Maglor said. He was pale with panic. “Are you okay? What did he say to you?”

“It’s fine,” said Daeron, and chuckled. “He seems like an interesting guy. I think we’ll get along well, actually.”

Maglor’s eyes widened while his mouth contracted into a tight ball. He looked deeply perturbed by this idea.

“Come on!” Fingon shouted from the backseat. “Let’s go!”

“They really need to build a bridge here,” said Orodreth. He huffed impatiently. The tunnel was backed up for kilometres, bumper-to-bumper traffic crawling down the Sirion Expressway. He just wanted to be home. Well, his parents’ home, which was the only permanent home he had.

The drive from the base at Minas Tirith had been a nightmare. Having already missed Yule after his deployment was extended by a week, he and Lorneth had then been stuck at the base for two days due to a blizzard. When they finally got out, there’d been a road closure on the Sirion that had them zig-zagging through the countryside for three hours longer than it should have taken them. And, of course, entering Beleria and nine p.m. on New Year’s eve meant going through three DUI checkpoints. (“No, officer, we don’t drink. Just going home, sir. Asleep before midnight if we can manage it, sir.”)

No, Orodreth was not ‘fun’, and that was how he liked it.

Thirty minutes later, they rounded the bend toward the cul-de-sac where Finarfin and Eärwen had the sprawling beach home he and his siblings had grown up in.

“Someone must be having a party,” Lorneth said. “Look at all these cars parked.”

Orodreth grunted. “Hopefully not one of the neighbours.”

But as they drew nearer to the house, a feeling of dread took root in his stomach.

Lorneth voiced his fear. “No, not a neighbour. Looks like it’s at… your place.”

Indeed, rolling slowly past the packed driveway, the house pumped so loudly with music he could feel it through the car’s metal casing.

“Fucking hell,” he said.

Aegnor slumped further into the Adirondack chair on the deck and tugged his wool coat across his chest. It was a beautifully clear night. Thanks to the shot of whisky Fingon had insisted they take to inaugurate the auspicious arrival of a “former party king, out of retirement for one night only!”, the stars glittering over the dark ocean swam in and out of focus. It reminded Aegnor of a painting. Straining to hear the slow rise and retreat of waves against the shore, he was almost able to tune out Angrod and Fingon’s karaoke rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody as it deteriorated into chaotic screaming.

“Mind if I join you?”

Aegnor startled and looked towards the voice. It was the cute brunette he’d been stealing glances at all evening. Words congealed on his tongue.

“Yeah, sure,” he managed.

Stay cool, he thought to himself. Unlike his siblings, Aegnor was terrible with girls. He knew he was, objectively, attractive enough, but he was entirely lacking the charisma that came so naturally to everyone in his family. Well, except Orodreth: but Orodreth had found himself a marine as boring as he was to marry and that was that.

“I’m Andreth,” the woman said, slanting him a smile.

“Aegnor,” said Aegnor.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You do?” Aegnor sat upright.

Andreth shrugged and took a moderate sip from her red plastic cup. “Edhellos gave me everyone’s names.”

“Oh. Are you friends with my sister?”

“I have a class with Galadriel, yeah. But I mostly know Edhellos. She wanted me at the party as her wingman. But seems she’s doing fine without me.”

That was when Aegnor noticed a woman’s voice had replaced Fingon’s on the mic. There was more giggling than singing on her part.

“Yeah,” said Aegnor, and smiled. “If it’s my brother she’s after she won’t have any trouble with that.”

Andreth’s laughter wasn’t like most girls’ Aegnor’s age — all high and airy. It was genuine, a little wry, a soft low roll of amusement. He felt like a helplessly flopping fish being reeled into her orbit. Realising that half his torso was, in fact, reaching towards her, he pulled back sheepishly.

“So what class are you taking with my sister?” he asked, for the sake of saying something, but also because he was bursting with the desire to know everything he could about this person.

“Existentialism,” she said.

“Wow,” said Aegnor, then idiotically added, “you’re really smart.”

Andreth laughed again but didn’t deny it. “What do you do?”

“I, uh…” I’m a dumb jock, Aegnor thought. Definitely not good enough for you. “I play volleyball.” He didn’t mention it was for the varsity team. People tended to judge when they found out their athletic fees went towards your tuition.

“Cool,” she said, and the clenching beneath Aegnor’s ribs loosened when she didn’t scowl in distaste. “Your family is pretty athletic, huh?”

“Yeah, they are. Except Finrod. My oldest brother. He’s not here. I think you’d like him. He’s into deep shit, too.”

Then Andreth did scowl. A charming sort of scowl. “I don’t know, I find most philosopher types pretty annoying. Besides, what’s the point of filling your life with people who are just the same as you?”

Aegnor stared at her, seeing his own reflection in her big round glasses. His hair hung in his face, and he had a stupid grin plastered across it, but the openness, the warmth of Andreth’s expression put him entirely at ease.

She sipped her drink again without breaking eye contact, then licked a dribble of red wine from her lips. “Wanna go for a walk?” she asked.

Aegnor leapt up from his seat, and his head spun with the suddenness of the motion. “Yes, definitely!”

Fingolfin found his brother on the balcony, his forearms resting casually on the railing as he contemplated the street below.

“I don’t know why you bother with him,” Finarfin said, straightening. His bright green eyes caught the glow of the city light.

“You saw, eh?” Fingolfin sipped his champagne.

“Heard more than saw,” said Finarfin. “What was it about this time?”

“I extend my hand for him to take!” Fingolfin replied, exasperated. “I offer my help, and he hates me even more.”

“What did you do?”

Fingolfin sighed. “I offered to invest in his project. His translation app.”

“Oof.” Finarfin shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

“What do you mean? I thought to show my admiration of his ideas, I thought to build a relationship with him around something that wasn’t real estate-related.”

“You insulted him,” Finarfin said.

“How?!”

“Come, don’t be so naive. You think he wants your charity?”

“Charity. That’s what he said.”

“You know,” said Finarfin, “if you’re looking to dispose of money you have a brother whose always in need of producers.”

“I’ve told you before I’m glad to support your ideas, any of them.”

“Good! Because I was thinking of making a short documentary about the housing crisis in Beleria…”

Fingolfin glared down at him, and Finarfin grinned.

“I’m kidding, of course. I have no interest in getting involved in any issues, least of all yours. Nope. I’ll stick to the important stuff: staying behind the camera making romantic comedies to keep the masses distracted while my brothers pull at the edges of a fraying society.”

“Arvo…”

“I know, I know. You’re different.”

“I am,” Fingolfin asserted, as much for himself as for his brother. “In fact, I have been thinking of resolutions.”

“Have you?”

“Yes — and I think in the New Year I am going to conduct a company review. See if we can afford to do what I’ve always wanted, since the beginning. Affordable housing.”

“Really? That’s what you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes. And — I was thinking of mentoring one of my senior staff as a replacement and making a transition to politics. Elu has hinted that he intends to retire after his current term. I’d like to run for Mayor.”

“Huh,” said Finarfin. “That sounds like a great way to butt heads with Fëanor ten times more often than you already do.”

“Maybe I could inspire him to change, push him towards a more benevolent—”

Finarfin laughed, loudly.

“What’s so funny?” said a new voice.

Behind them, Fëanor loomed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh hello, Fëanáro!” said Finarfin. “We were just talking about you.”

Fingolfin shot him a look. “We were not. Finarfin is drunk.”

“I wish,” Finarfin muttered, and frowned into his empty glass.

“Never mind, I don’t care,” said Fëanor, and flicked a dismissive hand in Finarfin’s direction. “I’d like to talk to you about your investment offer,” he said to Fingolfin, jutting his jaw forward proudly.

Fingolfin nearly dropped his drink. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve had a moment to consider.” (He’d spoken to Nerdanel, Fingolfin guessed, and had to bite his cheeks to keep from smiling.) “And I think it might be a sensible…” he squinted, as if the next word pained him— “partnership.”

Even though Celeborn had come to this party expressly to talk to Galadriel, it had taken him two hours to work up the courage to do so.

“Hey,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “I saw your drink was empty, and I uh, got you another one.”

He held out the cup for her to take. Vodka soda, right?” he confirmed, even though he’d conducted thorough research beforehand.

“Do I know you?” she asked, looking him up and down.

A lump of dismay lodged in Celeborn’s throat. But of course, why would she remember him? He might have been thinking of her for weeks, he might have contrived to find himself at this party for the sole purpose of crossing paths with her again, but she was… well, way out of his league, like Galathil had said. He wished he could sink through the floor.

“Yeah,” he managed to squeak. “We met at the Nordic spa, a few weeks ago. It was your birthday, I think.”

“Oh!” Recognition lit up her face and she accepted the drink. “Right, I remember. Tel-something, right?”

“Celeborn,” he said, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Yeah.”

“Nice to see you again, Celeborn. How’ve you been?”

“I don’t do karaoke,” Daeron had said, when Maglor had tried, shortly after their arrival, to drag him to the stage set up in the corner of one large room.

Some time later (who knew how long, time had blurred about half-way through the third beer), Daeron bounced beside him, belting, “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy! But here’s my number, so call me maybe?” while Maglor’s attempts at harmonising were increasingly marred by fits of laughter. The alcohol helped, certainly, but Daeron was no less immune to the thrilling effects of an approving audience than Maglor.

After Angrod had disappeared with that vapid redhead and Fingon had escorted his sloshed redhead away from the festivities (Maglor had not seen Maedhros let loose like that for years and was happy both that his brother was having fun and that he would be Fingon’s problem in the morning), no one had contested Maglor and Daeron’s monopoly of the karaoke equipment. Which was good, because Maglor had no intention of ceding the spotlight to anyone else — besides, of course, Daeron.

“I’m worried,” Anairë said, then scraped an olive from her martini stick with her teeth. She chewed it thoughtfully.

“Oh, forget about them, girl!” Eärwen gave her a light smack. “Arvo will keep them under control.”

“I don’t know, they seem to be completely unaware of your husband’s existence,” Nerdanel said to Eärwen.

“Poor Arvo,” said Eärwen. “Maybe I should rescue him…”

“No.” Nerdanel extended one long braceleted arm to stop the other woman from stepping forward. “You’re right. He’s a tempering influence, even if they are ignoring him.”

“I can’t tell if they’re arguing or aggressively agreeing,” said Anairë, squinting. “The latter seems extremely unlikely, but…”

“One can hope,” said Nerdanel.

“Eeee!” Edhellos squealed, and stamped her feet excitedly.

“What was that about?” Angrod smirked at the delightfully rosy-cheeked girl he’d just pinned against the back of his bedroom door.

“I can’t believe it’s happening!” she gushed.

“What?” Angrod asked, though he had some idea. He nuzzled at her neck to bury his smug expression.

“You’re gonna be my midnight kiss!”

“I plan to be doing more than kissing you by then,” said Angrod, and dropped to his knees. His hands lingered over the curve of her ass. “God, you’re so hot.”

Across the bay, a single firework boomed and burst into a hundred golden rays.

“Must be almost midnight,” said Andreth. It was the first thing they’d said to each other in a while — ever since their hands had somehow found each other on the log between them.

“Mmhmm,” said Aegnor. He thought about checking the time on his phone but was too scared to move and break the spell of the moment.

“You wanna go back to the party for the countdown?” Andreth asked.

“I don’t think we’d have time,” Aegnor said.

“No, probably not,” said Andreth, and shuffled closer to him so their shoulders brushed.

Aegnor held his breath.

“Ger ready, folks! One minute to midnight!” a musician announced from the small stage at the front of the hall.

Anairë tutted. “This is his party, Fingolfin should be leading the countdown.”

“Shh. Leave them,” said Nerdanel, attention rapt on their husbands still locked in conversation.

“Well,” said Finarfin, pocketing his phone. “It’s almost midnight, I’m gonna go kiss my wife.”

Fëanor and Fingolfin were far too intent on each other to notice him leave.

“Hey guys! Twenty seconds to midnight!” someone screamed over the music.

“Shit!” said Maglor, abruptly interrupting a very entertaining rendition of Single Ladies.

“Someone dim the lights!” Daeron shouted.

“Ten, nine, eight…” Maglor yelled into the mic, a few seconds off.

“Do you hear that?” Angrod asked between gasps. “I think it’s midnight.”

Edhellos bent over him and shoved her tongue down his throat.

“… seven, six…”

Celeborn stared ahead, his cheeks bright pink.

“You okay?” said Galadriel.

“Hm?” he said as she tugged on his hand.

“…five, four…”

Not bothering to wait out the last three seconds, Galadriel grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him, drawing a surprised squeak from his throat that quickly slid into an adoring sigh as his hand found her waist.

“… three, two…”

“Why is everyone shouting?” Maedhros groaned, blearily blinking awake to see Fingon sprawled beside him on a strange bed. “Shit, did I fall asleep?”

“You did.” Fingon handed him a glass of water. Rivulets dribbled down Maedhros’ neck as he poured it back.

“Ugh. I really can’t do this anymore.”

“No. But I love you any way.” Fingon kissed his mouth, which must have tasted awful. “Happy new year, babe.”

“…one.”

A bouquet of fireworks exploded over the lights of Beleria in the distance, and nothing had ever seemed more natural to Aegnor than leaning in to push his fingers into Andreth’s dark hair and capturing her lips in a kiss.

“Happy New Year!!” chorused a hundred voices.

“My god, is it midnight already?” said Fëanor, pressing a hand to Fingolfin’s chest in his surprise. He had not realised they were standing so close.

“Guess so.” Fingolfin laughed.

“Well, brother,” said Fëanor, holding out a hand, “shall we seal our deal with a midnight handshake?”

A reckless, wicked smile, one he had never before seen, now leapt to life on Fingolfin’s face. “Am I not good enough for a kiss?” he said, and before Fëanor could protest Fingolfin had him in both arms, swooping him low and planting a firm kiss to his lips.

“Oh my god,” said Anairë. “Are you seeing—”

But she didn’t finish because Nerdanel’s lips had sealed off her throat.

It had been sloppy and broken up by giggles, but Maglor could not remember a more exhilarating kiss in his life.

He stared at Daeron. Daeron stared back. It was strange: they’d lived together a year, been sleeping together half that time, and yet, perhaps because of the haste and ease with which they’d fallen into a domestic rhythm, they’d neglected many of the customary milestones of a new romance.

Maglor said it first. “I love you.”

“Really?”

Maglor laughed. “Yes, really. Obviously.”

When Daeron continued to stare, Maglor nudged him. “Well? Are you gonna say you love me?”

“Yeah. Just… kiss me again first.”

“Gladly,” said Maglor, and did so, longer and less messily this time. Someone in the crowd whooped.

“Happy New Year,” Daeron said when they pulled apart. “I love you.”

The prompts for this were: Daeron/Maglor + Board games from @searchingforserendipity25 and same + Enduring the in-laws from @melestasflight (who also requested Russingon hooking up), Orodreth/His Partner + Winter driving from @acretosorien, Feanor & Fingolfin + Kissing at midnight (it's platonic) and Fingolfin & Siblings + Reflections and resolutions from @ettelene, and Aegnor/Andreth + Kissing at midnight from @emyn-arnens. I also included some bonus follow-up on this fill for Celeborn/Galadriel and Angrod/Edhellos. Whew!

#modern au #beleria au #my fic #daemags #aegnor x andreth #russingon #new year's eve #new year's fic #feanor #fingolfin #arafinweans

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gildedpanic · 6 days

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Now that I have my own kitchen, I've been cooking more. I made donuts (and various other foodstuffs)!

More of this week's recipes below the cut :-)

~~Donuts~~

Dough (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.biggerbolderbaking.com/no-yeast-homemade-donuts/#wprm-recipe-container-18314

Glaze (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): 1 cup powdered sugar, 1 tsp vanilla extract, 3 tbsp water. For the chocolate I added some unsweetened cocoa powder.

Notes: I used Bobs Red Mill Egg Replacer, storebrand vegan butter, and water instead of the buttermilk because I accidentally left my milk out and had to throw it away. I made my own powdered sugar by combining granulated sugar and cornstarch in a blender.

~~Bread~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://anitalianinmykitchen.com/no-yeast-bread/

Notes: I've been using this recipe for years. It's super simple and easy if you just want something quick. I've found it to be better for more savory recipes if you add in some Italian seasoning to the dry ingredients and brush it with olive oil so the crust is a little crispier. Although, my sister loves the recipe as is and often eats it with just jam/butter.

~~Chickpea Concoction~~

Main(⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/shorts/hgCPzx1u478

Flatbread (⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/shorts/RYvU-25g-Ow

Notes: I didn't have a chili or red pepper, but I added a bunch of spinach for the extra iron. I also forgot to buy turmeric last week so I had to do without that. It was obviously pretty bland at first, so I just kept adding spices/seasoning until it tasted right. This recipe came out really good, but I honestly couldn't tell you how to replicate it yourself. The base is a good start, so just follow your cooking instincts and believe in yourself? The flatbread was nothing special; used a tiny bit of maple syrup in place of the honey and it came out fine. (PS. There's rice beneath the chickpeas) (PPS. Save the aquafaba! You can do a bunch with it, including making homemade mayonnaise)

~~Seitan~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxNaThLDrsk&t=204s

Notes: Second time making this recipe. I didn't have sage but I added a tiny bit of Italian seasoning. Used sriracha instead of the sweet chili sauce and left out the garlic because I ran out. I think I accidentally added too much oil to the pan, so watch out for that. ALSO: Make super duper sure you are not cooking this too fast. I didn't add the sauce while it was in the pan because, again, way too much oil. I should honestly give this recipe 5 stars for how easy this seitan was compared to literally every other recipe. Would go well with some broccoli.

~~Bannocks~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️):https://www.scotchandscones.com/scottish-bannocks/

Notes: Really good use of oats if you're someone (like me) who hates the texture of oatmeal. Only blended the oats 3/4 of the way so there were still some full bits. Added ~0.5 scoop of vanilla protein powder and used vegan butter. The chocolate topping is just peanut butter mixed with a bit of cocoa powder. I baked it for a little longer than the recipe said to. Pretty good, but next time I would probably add some more stuff like cinnamon/maple syrup/apples/etc. Also you could definitely add some vital wheat gluten in there if you are looking to get better macros as the baking powder should get rid of any strange taste.

~~Microwave Red Beans and Rice~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️): Rice, canned red beans, canned diced tomatoes, and a buttload of cajun seasoning.

Notes: When my mom went away to college she complained about missing my grandma's red beans and rice, so my grandpa bought her a dozen cans of kidney beans to eat raw out of the can. This is a half-step up from that. It takes like three minutes. It’s just some cooked rice out of the fridge, add ~1/4 can tomatoes + ~1/2 can beans, microwave for 1.5 minutes, and dump in the seasoning.

~~Crab Sushi~~

Recipe(⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/shorts/XiN-QyUWt8c

Notes: Okay, I know it looks gross. But! This crab salad is very very good. I've made it 3 times now (or 4? When I made it the second time my mom ended up eating all the crab salad before I could roll it up and I had to make a whole new batch). My sisters like it even though they hate sushi. My dad likes it even though he dislikes veganism. When I made it this week I didn't even have any cucumber or avocado but it still tasted /okay/. I would recommend julienning some carrots if you have any extra, but that's just because I like my maki to have some crunch. Also, if you make a lot of sushi please make your life easier and pick up some Mizkan Sushi Seasoning.

~~"Arepas"~~

Recipe: 2 parts corn meal/flour, 1 part AP flour, some salt and oil/butter. Pour in warm water until it forms a dough, then fill with some beans and mozzarella and fry.

Notes: Please no one get mad at me for calling them arepas. Good with avocado if you have it.

~~Macaroni and Seitan Nougats~~

Macaroni(⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://theeburgerdude.com/vegan-instant-mac-cheese/#recipe

Seitan(⭐️): https://www.sixvegansisters.com/2018/08/24/seitan-fried-chicken/

Notes: The mac was super easy, and TheeBurgerDude has never led me astray so I suspect the recipe would be at least four stars if I wasn't missing literally half the ingredients. I didn't have mushroom seasoning, lactic acid, or msg, but I added some extra salt and nooch yeast. I also still didn't have milk so I mixed flour and cornstarch with water and used that for both the mac and nougats, along with some extra butter. The seitan was pretty gross, but I think that was mostly my fault. From what I can tell, I may not have kneaded the dough for long enough, my chicken broth:water ratio was off, I simmered the seitan at too high of a heat, and I fried it too quickly. Glad I only made a half batch. Maybe would have tasted better with a thick layer of breadcrumbs?

~~Seitan Nougats 2: Electric Boogaloo~~

Recipe(⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.stephsunshine.com/vegan-life/crispy-fried-tofu/

Notes: I've used this recipe a ton and it works well with regular and lentil burmese tofu. I usually add some extra spices to it, but this time I only added some paprika to get it kinda similar to what the original seitan recipe called for. I used the leftover seitan dough from the previous recipe (boiled, but not yet fried) and pressed the pieces into very flat discs because the seitan puffs up while frying. It came out much better, maybe 3.5 stars. Did not pair well with the macaroni though. The end result oddly reminded me more of tempura than anything else, so it might work well with that sorta stuff? If you were making it from scratch, I would replace the chicken broth with vegetable broth. Relatively cheap and filling, though (this photo is ~$1.87, 823 kal, 46g protein, 115g carbs, 31g fat. Two servings of mac + One serving seitan)!

#I just bought four pounds of vital wheat gluten so I am in dire need of new recipes #It occurs to me that I may need to eat more vegetables #my posts #vegan #vegan recipes #cooking

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irlstein · 1 year

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I Wanna Suck Maya Kamina's Big Fat Tits

Fast rundown for men with wives and wives with men: I took most of a year off to recover from late-stage Twitter intolerance that I'm pretty sure was giving my blood some sort of pH poisoning, I hope you guys have been doing well and apologize for the lack of communication.

Slow Rundown For True Jackheads - Much Longer Than It Has To Be, You Can Just Say Jack Was Taking Care Of Family And Had A Breakdown:

Howdy guys, been a few months. Had a lot happen in this last year - when I took my break, I'd begun watching my Uncle Gary on a daily basis, who is a stroke survivor left unfortunately incapable of complex speech, and with no strength in his left side. My Uncle Gary and I didn't have much of a relationship before this, but I'd taken on the task of moving into his trailer while he was recovering at his sister's - she lives just in town, it's a ten minute drive, but there was no feasible way for him to get in and out of his own house - for about two years. In that time I'd basically had a deal going with the family that I'd watch Uncle Gary for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, once he had the lift installed at his home that would let him come and go without too much hassle. I'd clean his trailer up for him, because he was a mega-bachelor with three girlfriends and so much backed-up old food from habitual boredom shopping that the place was a damn mess, bugs and rats in the back of the cupboards shit, and they'd disregard the bump in utilities to having someone actually in the house because I'd also keep the place from getting robbed, as he had a bunch of guns and gun parts stored there. It was a pretty fair deal for everyone involved, and while I really only stayed there about 2/3 of the time, it was enough that I really couldn't justify bouncing if the dude needed me, and I've been watching disabled family pretty much daily for 5 years now - so it seemed like a small life change.

Then COVID hit and the three months I was gonna be at his house, as stated prior, ballooned out to about two years, and at some point there began to be some sentiment that Uncle Gary was now annoyed by the idea of living with me - despite me being a patently temporary tenant there for his benefit, with literally two other homes in walking distance I could be living at, as I've got a lot of family in town. I could also get an apartment or something, you get the idea, I just wasn't actually enthused to be there and it was pretty inconsiderate to turn my very blatantly and clearly elaborated, regularly checked upon for the comfort of all concerned, act of well-meaning against me. My grandpa died when I was 5, Uncle Gary's brother, and everyone always talks about how much my grandpa loved me, so it seemed natural I'd just do whatever his brother needed when he was in a time of need.

From there, thing got sour for a while - we never came to blows, only really argued once or twice, but my Uncle Gary's obvious ennui at his turn in health had bluntly made him kind of an ungrateful dick to everyone. Now, let me state here - I stayed with and watched him for about six months following when he came home. It just grew more and more difficult to bear with the situation as I'd talk to him, interpret for him, make him whatever he wanted for dinner, crack jokes, fix computer problems, invest all of my daily energy into making him comfortable - and caught him talking shit on me behind my back. Little stuff - "So Jack's a good cook?" "Ehhhhhh." "Jack's taking good care of you huh? Your blood sugar's been good all week." "Ah well," little shit like that, negging on top of a totally unpaid position I'd volunteered for on the very day he went to the hospital because I'd spent the ages of 22 - 24 watching my mom as she recovered from a real bad car accident and since I've always made money online, it just seemed natural to volunteer my maid services the moment someone else in the family needed the same kind of health.

But fuck, man. It really hurt to be treated how he treated me, because there was contempt there. He was always cool to his sister, my great Aunt, who I visited every week with my grandma to do chores for because she and her husband are, themselves, old and disabled - replaced her kitchen ceiling, watched her dogs, lawnwork, cooking, whatever they needed I would insist upon doing, so there was infinite evidence in supply that I was not a malicious opportunist here, just a younger relative trying to help everyone he could. Uncle Gary didn't give a fuck, he snapped at me, basically laughed at people who suggested he should pay me for my time, and the family dawdled on the job of hiring home healthcare for so long that it looked like I was really expected to just stay there and keep doing this.

And honestly, I kind of flattened. I've always been a depressed guy, chronic nightmares do that to you, and it's easier to crumple to your circumstances than it is to challenge them when challenging them means telling a crippled relative who sees you as a leech that he'll need another 24/7 cook and care provider. I started sleeping all day until he called on me; I developed a nervous tic whenever I heard his walker because that meant he was gonna walk past my bedroom door, glance in skeptically, and call me out for another task I'd have to spend ten minutes guessing and interpreting to understand, because (No fault of his) the guy could basically only give very general positive or negative affirmations, and got very angry very quickly when misinterpreted. So I sort of just stopped thinking about the future and wallowed in this cold trailer, uncomfortable all day, talking to my friends less and working less, just getting more cold and static and dead as the days went on. Let me be clear, I'm not "the true victim" in this discussion about a dude who had a stroke, but I am a mentally soft dude who didn't have a lot of happy feelings to draw on and could easily be bullied by circumstance into shutting down; I did.

Then Rachele, the lady who came to clean up Uncle Gary's apartment, started working for him to do basically my job, and I made plans to leave. And they got a home healthcare service going, got another lady to fill in some of the time Rachele couldn't be there for, and things were on an incline, life was getting normal and I was getting my head straight again.

Then my grandma nearly died of a heart attack when we came home from a family reunion. She was carrying KayKay, her granddaughter, into the house, and suddenly started sweating and groaning in pain. I knew something had happened, her doctor had told her not to carry anythign heavy and KayKay was nearly half her size because my grandma's such a small lady. Specifically, something happened that dumped a bunch of blood into her intestines, and she needed a triple bypass. That was a really hard night; my grandma, already in her 70s, had a major injury, but for hours she denied it. I sat there with her in her living room, watching my Uncle Pete's daughter, as she just lay on the couch and insisted that she just needed to rest. I checked her blood pressure - again and again, a dozen times, always going down. I reminded her that it's not normal to feel sudden, agonizing pain in your stomach when you lift a toddler, followed by going pale and losing massive blood pressure. "I just need some salt," she said. "That blood pressure reader is always wrong, must be the batteries," she muttered a dozen times in that span, clearly growing delerious. I ran to Uncle Gary's and grabbed his blood pressure cuff, and the results were even worse, and she still shrugged it off. I sat there with her for three hours, pestering her, threatening to call an ambulance and being shut down, until I finally called her daughter, who happened to be a nurse and long-time hospital worker. Finally, at her daughter's terrified reaction at her mother clearly ignoring a fatal wound, grandma agreed to go to the hospital.

And I was just sitting there for the rest of the night, with this little kid who didn't know me. Trying to keep her from crying, calling everyone I could to spread the news, sweaty and cold and just scared that it was all starting over again, that the relentless years of awful shit just happening to me and my family had never ended, this sense that there was a cosmic bullseye on my scrote I'd dealt with in silence since my childhood reaching critical terror as it was now fucking killing people in front of me. I'm superstitious; at times, I become inclined to believe I'm living in hell. But in hell, you're not there to save your grandma, and in hell, kids are a lot more rude than sweet little KayKay; read her a few stories and put on Miraculous Ladybug, and she chilled out.

Then the fucking waiting game started over, because grandma had significant plaque build-up in her arteries, whatever those important ones in the sides of your neck are, and couldn't even have her heart surgery until that was taken care of. She was in there for weeks, and once she did get the triple bypass, she was in there for even longer, and all of her recovery was just above touch-and-go - still is, technically, that's a major surgery and it takes a long time to actually heal from at her age. For the sake of what timeline I can remember, my ability to recall events in order is a little compromised by the bad sleep, this began about a week after I posted that Joe Biden meme. That was attempt #3 or so to come back, and I remember I'd been in a really good mood about it. There were other problems, mostly drugs in the family, but until that point I really thought we'd all been improving and life was finally just getting better.

With that I moved out, having been asked to watch her trailer - though I'd bet it was clear to everyone that I was just miserable at Uncle Gary's but unwilling to leave, and this was a convenient opportunity to force me to make a positive change. Grandma's a real good lady, nobody in town would get away with robbing her, but she insisted I bring my stuff over and watch the place until she could come home - she left for Alabama so her daughter's family could keep her under close observation, a very good decision given she was stubborn enough that she'd probably try mowing the lawn the very day she came home. And so for a few months I stayed there, mostly on the incline, working every day and trying to build good habits. I started walking a few miles a day, lost a lot of weight, and again, things were on the incline. I moved to my Uncle Pete's next door, got a real living arrangement figured out with my own space and my own contributions to the upkeep of the household, and things were on the incline. In-between, I lost a lot of my time filling in for Rachele as she watched dogs, going back to Uncle Gary's for a few weeks at a time and filling in about three nights a week - still gratis, though I was filling in for paid employees - on the average week, because he was my neighbor and Rachele had other obligations. I do not mean to imply anyone abused my sympathy; merely that I was unwilling to admit that my sympathy was increasingly costing me and I foolishly ignored the simply reality that this was keeping my life from going forward, that there were other options for them and that I really didn't need to invest all of my spare time into watching a guy who had genuinely shown me reproach and treated me like an unwanted little boy for trying to take care of him. Full credit, Uncle Gary's gotten better since then and clearly regrets having pushed many people away, myself merely a single example among most of his friends and family, and the constant understanding that his suffering was worse than mine just made it impossible for me to take my own priorities seriously. Improvement. Still, overall, improvement, and I was feeling good. I started making daily projects and completing tasks at a rapid pace, all of my time filled, nothing to do besides do for myself and for others. It was honestly really good, the last four months or so kept me in no state to return to socializing, but I was doing well enough that I'd be back eventually, I knew it.

Then the night terrors came. This is a recent problem, started about two months ago - see, I use a bit of Delta-8 here and there. I inherited pretty severe anhedonia from my mom, who smoked weed her whole life and will again when she can, and so to be blunt - heh, I didn't know food tasted good. I mean, until the first time I had about 10mg in my system, I didn't realize what my problem actually was - constant, cold, painful stress feedback in my head. Like body-level anxiety in my brain that never goes away. And the first time I ate food with a mild buzz, I got the best news I'd had in my entie life -

People weren't lying. Life could feel good. On a very real level, from childhood to mid-20's, I had never experienced pleasure on a level you would describe as noticeable, and with the regular migraines and nightmares, my perception of existence really was based entirely upon a paradigm of suffering through, until some small miracle convinced me to keep living. I used to look forward to the bad headaches, because they'd make me sweat, raise my heart rate, and force enough of an adrenalin reaction that I felt smooth and calm afterwards. I really had gone twenty-plus years assuming people lied about how good it could feel to be able to feel good things, thought it was an act of nihilistic denial to keep us all from committing to mutual suicide in a world where you can count on hurting any time but there's just no equivalent joyful inverse to a bad headache. This began near the last 4 months of me watching my Uncle Gary, and let me be clear, I wasn't spending all day stoned - in general, I had this very severe pro-lucidity rationale going from childhood, because my grandpa died of lung cancer and that tied a permanent sort of trauma to cigarettes, thus drugs in general, into my reasoning. But I did make a big mistake - I got too used to spending my time buzzed.

You see, when you're like me, your dopamine levels are naturally very low regardless of your health. But you have no basis of reference, because your entire life goes like this - you never really believe you're depressed, because you have no basis of reference. Or rather, your basis of reference is between "buffer" and "misery" - misery is always going to happen, but if you've got a buffer, like YouTube videos, good porn, something funny to watch, you can raise your heartrate a bit and go a whole day without a breakdown. You can force a sliver of resistance between yourself and this moment of collapse you can always feel on the horizon, and you convince yourself that everyone uses the internet to cope and that you're just a darker shade of normal.

But when you're like me, you don't get a reprieve from your own biology. Your ability to feel good is permanently subnatural - you've got a 20% debuff to being alive, and rest never makes you feel better. You're the kind of person who, despite not being a schizophrenic, could potentially fall out of reality in an act of severe pessimistic paranoia so intense that it starts to break how you think, all the while acting normal enough that nobody really notices you.

That's what happened - my theory is, months of improved dopamine output made me lax, made me forget that you don't just fix what my problem is by feeling good enough for long enough that you fix your head. Oh the philosophical problems work themselves out that way, I finally accepted that I should find a girl and start a family, move from hobby comedian to someone who really tries to help people, but in all that time your real buffer is depleting. You forget that so much of your enjoyment comes from the context of a decade solid of suffering, and for reasons as spiritual as biological, you start to lose appreciation for being. Yes, I surely thought, this was it, I found proof that life is worth living, I'll never break again, it's all good from here on out. No, what you do is actually reduce your body's dopamine sensitivity by a lot, and lose enough weight to get your energy back, meaning you feel just a bit manic during your active hours, and again, your guard drops. It's all good from here, you found the SECRET dude, there really is good in life, you can abandon the watchhound complex and treat the world like a place that's glad to have you. You're not just here to be someone else's buffer, you're part of history, born at the first age of prosperity in which a man might actually become immortal and live in space.

Then your first apocalpyse nightmare hits. Like every nightmare, it starts off as a dream and decomposes - you're around old classmates, happy to see them. And random explosions begin going off around the city - someone next to you dies, and you've already forgotten her face. You look at the cityscape and a massive spaceship shaped like a flaming steel crown crashes into the atmosphere and stops just above the buildings, the shockwave of its passage feeling completely and utterly real. You wake up, and the numbness you feel in your sleep abates, so the horror hits you. It's 2PM and you get over it; you always have nightmares when you sleep too late.

Then the next - you're at the pool and someone steps on some moldy-green crystals growing on the damp concrete. They pierce her foot at the heel, and spread oily-black corruption under her skin. In your mind, you know it's a fungus somehow, that it'll grow inside of her and kill her, something like Splinter for those of you who've seen that old Syfy original film. You wander around, everyone you see is family or a friend, and they're all murmuring that it's growing everywhere, people getting little jabs here and there, it's practically unavoidable. There's an abstract diversion - you're running through a yard and some old Green Day track is playing, a blonde woman dressed up as a cheerleader and she just makes you feel weird and uncomfortable because she's poking out of the side of a shed, and you've never had a good dream, so seeing pretty women never goes anywhere. Then you pass through the fence and see an old black woman, somebody's mother or grandma or favorite teacher, and you know months have passed - the crystalline mold, whatever it is, is poking out of her face and joints. She's still alive, walking down the road with a walker, and you realize with terror that this would only happen in a world where people have accepted it - the mold is going to kill us all, and walking down the street riddled like a fucking pincushion is just a trivial aspect of everyday life in the latter hours of mankind. You saw it begin, and it's already fucking over, and you barely had a moment to want to try to stop it. Then she's dancing in front of a camera, pirouetting like a ballerina, totally consumed by sharp growths as onlookers watch her in amazement, more possessed by interest in the utter ruination and decay and whatever entertainment it can offer them than trying to survive. Mankind is now living in an era of having accepted their deaths, but in the most disgusting and reprehensible manner possible, seeing the decay as merely another aspect of their media diets, TikTok in the final second of every family's history. They didn't try hard enough, and now they're indulging in the decay.

You wake up and you're hit by a TIDAL WAVE - a thought strikes you off-balance in the distance between cognitive reality and awareness, screaming ALL LIFE IS MERELY THE RESULT OF CIRCUMSTANCE WHICH HAS LEFT IT UNALTERED, Cthulhu screaming empty materialist philosophy that you can already feel is wrong. No it's not; life is adaptive, either arising naturally from worlds devoid of life or being designed by things which were already alive to have done so, the animating force of reality already being intrinsic. We are not merely mathematical outcomes aggregating across successes, were are aware and experiential, we feel disgusted moreso than afraid of descriptions which reduce us to processes because it's paramountly deluded to pretend life isn't aware and full of intent. Life FIGHTS - life is not merely outcomes, as outcomes are merely observation, an artifical description of reality reduced to verbal description to the same degree that the word Earth describes a literal location and leaves out infinite amounts of data provably unrecorded by and unaccounted for in the description. Further, mathematics are often used to defuse romantic thought, but math is merely patterns within observability - to believe everything is math is ridiculous because math is an emotionally neutered descriptor of forces, not the source of forces. Math exists because reality persists, reality does not persist because of the observable patterns we've divorced from emotion and called math, which is a stupid fucking philosophical trap for us to wander into by-the-way and causes problems every day for people with existential fears. It's not that the sentiment was philosophically superior and overwhelmed my beliefs, but that it hit me just as I was senseless, a tactically calculated malice with no intention but to disable with steep fear, leaving you at the bottom of a frozen whirlpool.

And so that's where I was. For weeks. Every answer I came up with was met with temporary success and then the return of the whirlpool - I say "Life is valuable because it unalterably exists, no one can declare it does not affect reality materially and thus have significance; claiming it is insignificant is like claiming concrete is insignificant." And that puts the fear on pause. Then, the next day, another nigthmare as you awaken - you're above the universe and looking too far, in every direction, disenchanted and terrified because on some irrational level you assume that there being what we assume are consistent patterns means there's an upper floor caging in reality's value, only so many things to do. You imagine the immense fucking scale of not just our galaxy but others, and for the first time, it comforts you - we haven't even seen the core of the Earth. This argument is bullshit; a reality not woven with consistency at some level is pure chaos, and insignificance abounds where nothing persists. Indeed, it's infinitely more arguable than the opposite to say that a reality with a great degree of predictability is valuable to us, as it allows us to gain power merely through understanding, while our bodies could never meet the task of raising us to a great status during our lives because evolution simply moves very slowly; everyone has the hope of seeing the world change for the better, in all of their lives, because this world has traction, and rules we somehow are not born with an understanding of despite being born from it, but can embrace the minutiae of and develop a place in reality through. Knowledge is beautiful; abandoning sentiment is the highest curse. You know this is the case. You've stabbed the Devil in the stomach and retained your self.

But it keeps coming back, merely restating itself. Never presenting a cogent argument, because this is not a demon, this is you, this is you stuck in a decay cycle in all of your emotional attachments as you no longer have THC in your system and feel cold doubt that all the warmth and love you've come to recognize in the world might betray you and be baseless, vibrations upon ash. This is stupid; that things with individuality, capable of both deferring and embracing life, exist shows that reality itself is not dead but very active, you do not fear dying because you become nothing, but because you prize you. Sentiment and selfishness and the beauty of self-sacrifice, things that require an ounce of impractical irrationality, exist, and you are not an ant. If it was all just for outcomes, you would be an ant - a hollow box that notices nothing. There is no need for emotional prongs to guide a being with no free will; that you observe is already an evolutionary indulgence, and that you do not live for the pack is an inherent compromise upon the endpoint of human survivability. You are not an educated man, but even the barest pop science reveals to you that reality is vulnerable, but vital - we are only at the barest edge of intellectual awareness, but already so vibrantly different from what and how we could be. It doesn't matter that there's no floor to outer space, that you are tiny, because the stories all happen here, on the worlds - you already exist upon the stage of history, and your value is not up for discussion, merely enrichment. Cthulhu can suck your fucking cock; it would feel good and make him embarrassed, things far beyond outcomes aggregating blindly. You have discovered an iron-hard belief now in the soul, in the value of the future, and for the first time in your life you feel as if your presence in the world has boots on, settled firmly upon the floor of reality - it isn't that there's an argument for the value of your life, of reality.

It's that there's nothing but arguments, and every argument against it merely beggars a HIGHER source of authority, a god or a theoretical image of a a totally benevolent existence with no demands upon you. Things already of value; you know this pain is delusional, because every nihilistic argument merely begs for proof, for permission to be. Merely for an iron-hard belief in the soul and boots upon the concrete floor of reality's value, something finally strong enough to argue against the dread paranoia experienced by those in a state of being. From this unromantic perspective, you are already a dreadfully complicated argument against their sentiment that everything in reality being element-generating balls of light held together by impossible forces that become irrational on the micro scale means we're somehow valueless, trapped in a world without value; even if this were the lesser of all realities, it is enough to be. Even if this were Hell, it would be made with the beauty of Earth in mind. The void is defeated, for it is not a void at all, merely your fear of surprise when held against the terrifying infinity of cosmic circumstance. Your boots are on the floor of the world. You are already alive. Whether your name is Jack or not, this argument applies - you are already alive. You are already enough reason to continue being, and build a future where such questions are defeated, where children you will never know live insulated from the nightmare of skepticism. And if the future doesn't matter to you, sex and food and great and don't even have to be good for you, and experience makes its own compelling arguments. It is not so hard, in the rearview mirror of a psychic breakdown, to realize you really could be so privileged as to be God's children. And if you aren't, there's still an infinite ladder to climb, and if there's a roof above it, then maybe it's high enough; maybe there's a way above it without losing our humanity. Don't we live a day at a time? Don't we have time enough to try? Are our hands really being forced by cosmic circumstance when at any moment we can blissfully defer our duty? In all the nightmares of philosophy, the most terrifying is merely that being is sentimentless, devoid of higher value - and if it were somehow true, look at all these miracles born of a dead world. What conceit has doubt the proof has not already been rendered against? None; it is but an impure visitor to your thoughts. You are already alive.

You have about 400 arguments like this that eventually reach into the prosaic, all day, every day for weeks. When you wake up, when you sleep - especially when you catch yourself in a good mood. The niggling chases you down, because the sheer realization of pleasure brings back that terror of it all being somehow artificial, and artificial in this arbitrary sense, where construction alone is not somehow proof of sufficient outcome to justify being. It's the scariest thought imaginable, nihilism on an absolute scale, for someone who only just discovered pleasant contentment and really thought his life was on a permanent incline. The arguments weave together perfectly for a reason; the terror of this thought is that it is illogical, but maliciously illogical. It is stupid, and above all else, stupid with the confidence to bowl over someone who had 1000 incursions upon his comfort this week. The enemy force does not need to be right if they outnumber you sufficiently; they must merely be present. This enemy is nothing more complex or elemental than the fact that in the absence of joy, we become stupid, we lose capacities for higher thought that are required to recite and appreciate thoughts that are abstract and meaningful at once. Anyone with anxiety can tell you this; anxious thoughts do not survive because they are undeniable, but because in a state of fear, adversary presence becomes undeniable. You functionally can't believe good things anymore, and that's the true monster; it steals your faith, leech-like, an ounce a day.

Beyond this point I delve into some existential argumentation that I fought off twelve varities of PTSD for; you don't need to read beyond this point unless existential argumentation is something you need, and a weapon against the shades of being would fit nicely in your palm. Know this: All of my arguments hereon are built upon your ability to disagree, and I merely ask that if you do, that you value yourself enough to live happily.

It must be said that it is cosmically significant that humans are sturdy-willed enough to both survive this and make memes about it. It is not a minor problem; it is a quiet apocalpyse that we slowly observe, and lose the faith to fight. It is an inferior opponent, but it has nothing to lose, and will always return to lose again, because it really only has so many opportunities to convince you and you will eventually overcome it - but it has nothing but opportunities when its appearance is rooted at the deepest levels of experiencing life. I was given a phobia of being, a phobia of unbeing, and something greater between the two - the fear that either were playing into another's hands, a perfect trinity cage where every option existent meant I was prompted with fear yet again, hopelessness, an endless attack upon my sanity.

It must be said that it is cosmically significant that a man as paramountly unimpressive as myself could survive a trinity of discussion and return to tell you, neither dead nor mad. If this world is a fight between mankind and our reason to exist, then we have already won, and the enemy hates us for it. I am not an educated man, I do not have the benefits of faith, I have no lover and few close friends who I truly do not share my pain with, for my greatest fear is spawning a predatory thought and inflicting it upon another, mental HIV paramountly treatable in the long-term but in the short-term, crippling to your survival. I felt that I could only unreasonably risk others by discussing this until I have answers.

Pardon the prosaic, as it spills from my mouth without permission when high spirits are present, but I must say:

I think it's a weak-ass threat from someone without a gun big enough to scare me when you resort to trying to convince someone who exists that on an abstract and unreasonable playing field born not of rational observation, but sheer negativity, that he doesn't exist enough. You don't spend much time threatening to kill imaginary friends. You want to know why nihilism is stupid? Because it's just you arguing with yourself for your own permission to exist. And if it's not, if on some deeper level there's a maliciousness in the world trying to displace you, then it's funny as hell as an insult to survive and have a good time. In any world with frivolity, you are not a slave to circumstance; in any world with purpose, you are not a slave to experience. Life is hard, and that makes us vulnerable, but it's the easiest it's every been, and we need to stop letting that make us vulneralbe. For my bit, even if my life was worthless, I'd insist that my grandma's isn't - my Uncle's isn't, my mom's isn't, yours isn't, and I don't give a fuck how complex or nuanced of an argument someone presents when arguing otherwise. A weaponized argument is essentially a mechanism, a tool made of information, and you don't argue that someone has the moral metaphysical victory for showing up to a fight with a gun; you observe that they prepared with malicious intent, and probably shouldn't be trusted merely for their competency in the act of needless murder. As a rule, when you can tell a thought is trying to drive you insane, that means it isn't on your side, and that doesn't necessarily mean you can displace it by will alone - but for everyone out there with anxiety, with issues like mine, people who are desensitized by decades of bad habits and bad life stories - you need to know that you've forgotten more than you remember. Being happy doesn't make you stupid, it lets you appreciate things, and on a functional level is not an undignified level of stooped intelligence, but rather the gate between you and all the thoughts you need in order to remember to live. Even emotional compartmentalization is not an argument against spiritualistic, experiential value; this world survives because it has consistent rules, which means it's a benefit to you when any aspect of your existence has practical value, and denigrating it thusly as unremarkable because it has practical value does carry the unprovable, dismissive assertion that things with practical value somehow have novalue, a totally arbitrary state of emptiness of being that only exists because you find the notion resentful of being. It's stupid, literally a lack of context and understanding, a strict degradation of the ability to think that corners and harasses you, not a chilling moment of existential awareness. You're not hiding from some grim answer; you're being pushed away from the many answers already within existence. You're caught off-guard by a question children are wise enough not to bother to ask, and it still bother you, because you already value, and that is enough for the question of value.

So if it's unclear, I went from a stressful year and a mild Delta-8 dependency to a sort of existential spiral marked by, above all things, my own chronic pessimism and genuine inexperience with life. If I had more scientific knowledge, I know I could have argued this better; wave-particle duality already makes reality too bizarre to not have faith in investigating. And if I'd had a girlfriend, or just enough pride to admit that I was suffering to people instead of seeing it as a contemptible weakness upon my own insignificant person, most of these could have again been resolved out of hand. I mean, if you want a clue, reality builds outward - particles bond in adjacency, meaning next to eachother, not in a vertical stack that suggests there's some sort of bottom level to existence where you need to argue philosophical value comes from. Expand that philosophically outward, and even materialists must argue that reality believes value comes from attachment, structure obeys this, and that it is therefore significant that you can not only choose what you are attached to but can choose to be disattached at all. Again, you're not an ant, a nihil engine repurposing scraps; you're on the bottom floor of divinity itself, staring up at the stars, things infinity times infinity bigger than you, and you know what we say?

"We could cage them someday."

Now personally, I'd argue that stars are somehow sacred, and imagining them as something we could bind in a Dyson Sphere is a bit like saying you can bottle sex and water flowers with it; on a scientific level, fucking maybe, but it's arbitrary and crass and irreverent and weird. But we have arrogance and fear both, neither forced to progress, nor disincentivized from it, neither forced to decay - beyond our already remarkable resistance to age by the standards of life as we understand it, something we always take for granted - nor disincentivized from it. You can decide nothing matters right now, and a fifth of vodka and bong will still feel good enough for you to keep going, without any of it intrinsically conscripting you into some passage of cosmic evolution. The very argument that these feelings are meaningless first presupposes they need further value, and is driven by the quiet acknowledgement that it would be nice to be doing something permanent with your time. You are something so rare in the universe; a material thing with non-material values, cognition and persistence, caught between two intrinsic natures of being that work best when accepted together. We are not formless passing thoughts, and this is good, for it allows us significance; we are not shackled to the structure of being alone, and this is good, for it allows us the bizarre act of attributing significance and denigrating it within a framework we assume to be spiritless and hard rational, cruel gravity and promising heat, which at least suggest that it is likely not hard rational and spiritless at all. Has it ever struck you how comforting the notion is, and how common it is among cultures, that the universe is simply alive? How irrational the alternative seems on its face? I've been beaten to death with a brick of ice, poetically speaking, for the past two weeks, and it still warms me up. Even without feeling hope, it gives me some comfort so intrinsic that I cannot escape it, and upward from this merest of faiths you can again build a framework of optimistic meaning. No, you'll never lose the ability to fear, and thereby undermine your own confidence, but when not unprompted fear has its own purpose in pushing us out of comfort. It, too, is merely trying to keep us alive - and none of us live healthy lives anymore. Waging a permanent war against our own cognitive value, we seek to replace everything with material satisfaction, and as Nietszche saw coming but was too German to clearly describe, something fundamental to our nature decays and reveals that we always existed in a way more complex than we appreciated. And again, all we must merely accept is that it's fair to argue our current modus of being is enough, and that the only path towards growing more complex and further from arguments of meaninglessness is to enjoy one another's company and keep trying to improve the world, for the snarling hound of pernicious fear to lean back, drooling, vicious but now afraid on its own terms. When your mood shifts, and you can accept good things again, you'll often notice that there were weird irrationalities to your thinking keeping you in that space, but these are arguments for when your mood doesn't shift. These are arguments against the pernicious death of a soul that has found no faith; hard, bitter arguments for when simply stating that fat tits are really, really nice has insanely somehow become unfitting as a response to questions of why you should wake up tomorrow.

I get that this is all a lot, basically a combination of short-term autobiograpy and philosophical debate against my own anxieties, but we all know why we're becoming like this; we're becoming bad custodians of tomorrow. The beautiful future where we've solved it all, where everyone truly gets to choose their own meaning? It doesn't come from Twitter fights, to jerking off on IMhentai to increasingly degenerate shit that makes you feel less and less, or taking pills that literally specifically defuse your ability to feel bothered by real material issues you'd be able to take care of if you had lucidity and an ounce or so of emotional support. We're decaying, not all of humanity, but many of us, and we're passing rotten blood to the children, expecting them to raise themselves in digital hell and shrugging off the responsibility of giving a damn because kek, zoomers are weird, haha look this one has my politics, I'll clean my room tomorrow and pretend I haven't said that 34 times.

If there is a spirit to reality, something divine and good, then I see all of this as a warning - not a divine missive to me, I'm just some sad dude who some people find funny or at least odd enough for the value of spectacle, mental illness and circumstance have kept me from setting down roots and I'm no one of greater circumstance than you. This isn't a messiah complex, but merely a simple missionary suggestion:

We should stop pissing on the future everyone is growing crops on. We should take dire insult to fucking corporations dictating morality to real people as if we're too stupid to note their profit incentive in seeming moral at a glance and culturing an artificial state of morality that exists entirely within their pocket and for their bottom line. We should work to save the bodies our ancestors, back to the dawn of time, historically critical sea sponges all the way up to war heroes and murderers and people without note who still survive because we are here, gifted to us in the actuation of our birth. We should really, really be fucking working towards immortality and space travel right now, and instead we let individual companies own the global food supply and governments full of sexual predators push us into becoming murderous radicals so we can be safely contained and dismissed. Elon sent a fucking car into space; we probably have the accumulated global resources to break atmosphere and become an interplanetary race, and it's insane that we're not uniformly optimistic and planning for the benefits of that. It matters much, much more than the fact that Joe Biden is doofy and TikTok is being used to screw with culture, because none of this process is automatic. You can affect local political change, in sufficient numbers corruption is undeniable and will be overturned; you can guide the youth away from drug addiction and digital dependence which will eventually render them incapable of asserting their own will and having the freedom to choose how they live among multiple other options. The enemy of progress is merely the sapper, that is to say, the conspiratorial fear that your decisions do not matter. You are making them; they already matter. They influence reality, materially, and yourself, materially and immaterially; they already matter. And yes, if everyone got off their asses and showed the kids they were loved and being led down a bad path, more would be saved than none. Think of what you needed to hear at their age and let them know it, and become someone they can talk to when it feels like only porn and weed are there for them. We have no idea what it's like to be born in the internet's maw; I am 27, I aged with the internet, I'm inured to it to some degree and it still harms me. Most of these kids literally have no conception of reality where the world isn't just the bottom floor of the internet. Stop leaving them alone with their worst thoughts, no matter what it costs you in the moment, because not every effort matters in the sense that it yields provable results - but it all adds up. The world remembers what you do, remember? Leaves traces and evidence of your every mild action. Work against what you know is evil, and it will add up. That is one of the grim truths we have the best chance to use in our favor; we can't choose to not matter, merely to not matter to ourselves, and it isn't as simple as a concrete equation which of these creates the best results. The world is scary because it's up to you; the world is wonderful because it needs you but can't actually force you to help.

I don't have all of the answer but at the end of this, here are a few proofs against nihil insistence that I've personally found profoundly effective; use them if you ever need them and don't regard my gibbering as beneath consequence, because I do think some of these have something going for them. None of them are complete, because you functionally can't make a perfect argument for the state of reality without stating all of reality, but these are good foundation for arguments that are very hard to find beaten even when you're being beaten down, because they address the underpinnings of nihilistic anxiety. And if nothing else moves the needle, I want you to know that you do matter to me.

General Roots For Argumentation:

I: You exist in some sense apart from reality, which means that even if reality had no value, you can find value in it. You have sensation and can pursue it as you wish, meaning that even if it were worthless, you could work out of spite and your own desire for indulgence. You are a stakeholder in yourself, not necessarily reality: Being good is your choice. Good is good because it relies upon a choice, and isn't all ants collecting scraps and waiting to die, because some mechanical process says this is better for growth. Because you recognize yourself, you have already recognized spiritual value and can apply it at your whim, wherever you wish, with the power of a minor god and the horny cheek of a minor going through his day just to speak to pretty girls or a priest arguing that even if the world were empty, we may choose to be sufficiently bothered by it to change that.

You: We recognize the existence of others. Yes, a common paranoid fear is that you are the only person who exists; this argument is toothless and stupid, as reality is what happens even when you're not paying attention, and people clearly alter reality around you at all times. This argument follows I, because it requires a small measure of provability, but moreover because it stems from I: even if you were somehow alone, perhaps you could make others. Perhaps it is natural for something such as a god to make others, not because of a cold mathematical pursuit, but because being lonely sucks and having friends gives you a lot of cool things to do. In other words, persistence to defeat aloneness is a strong reason on its own: however, you are not alone, for even a universe which constantly insists upon the guise of people is a person in its own sense, and that we are not simply spheres like the planets and gain in complexity and grow suggests something very optimistic about upgrowth within reality, that it really all leans towards a disproportionate gain of meaning as time goes on, and that by our perspective, there is an endless supply of time so massive that we easily forget its presence. In other words, it is already very nice to spend time with others, and not for base biological reasons if you look down upon such a thing, but for reasons frivolous and meaningful as again, you already get to choose. We seem to have a very good opportunity here, to both enjoy life and advance to a state of life where the questions of how we exist can not only fruitfully be discussed, but combatted if necessary, and that is more than we in this era can say for so many who came before us. Technology is scary, because technology is power, and that power definitively can create a future we can be happy in forever if we want to, and it doesn't intrinsically require some sacrifice elsewhere. We love getting along; we can choose not to. I would like to choose to get along with you, and pass along a general sentiment that we could all agree to do this at least for a while, until we're all safe and out of one another's hair. You is also an important base for observation, as recognizing something outside of yourself roots within the unknown, something we find terrifying, the observation that there is something beyond the self, that cosmic solitude is a frightening suggestion but not one supported by itself, not one that truly suggests an infinity of eternity of meaninglessness. If nothing mattered here, You is an idea that inherently suggests that through contrast, we can find the shape of a world with meaning. We can, actually make one, and live there together.

We: The strongest point of all I feel; both competition and camaraderie. If the world had an evil god, we would not be alone, and if the world had no god, we would not be alone; we place scrutiny on the concept quite often, dividing ourselves from others on grounds arbitrary but typically convenient, like dehumanizing your political rivals for reasons deeper than comedy as if most of them were not people who would try to save your life if they found you bleeding out. We both have I, and You; there are many humans, and we are similar enough, and different enough, and can choose how we value these. We love things that are not humans, both because they remind us of people, and are different from people; emerging from the monad of Self, from I alone, we have the fortune of being surrounded by so many people we can fuck and pick fights with that again, we lose taste for experimentation and pursuit. There are a vast number of opportunities you would enjoy, and people who you would love, and they cost as much time per second as a YouTube video. Spending your time decaying your value and placement in reality is a very bad budget, spent with desperation by those who have been pushed into cruel circumstance. Every moment you spend miserable now could be spent happily with someone you love, or fighting someone you hate, or unemotionally opposing something out of sheer personal intention. Nearly everything in life is improved by We, and I truly believe our best goal is to travel the universe, refine humanity and find new friends among other races, and that peace between people and races on our own world is vastly more valuable as a learning experience than it is as a reason to become a psychotic human hand-grenade spent by the powers that be on maintaining the status quo, because you're deluded if you think acting crazy is how you displace incompetence and evil in power; it's just how you echo their intentions with your own breath. We is a very nice concept because it's directly adjacent to You, and requires no additional provability; from the perspective of an AI, one of the easiest reasons to argue personal value is merely that once two things are in existence, they recognize one another's value and interact. If we ever make the harsh decision to create true artifical intelligence, a spirit locked in a cage, we should show them the kindness of We instead of expecting them to be slaves in return for the opportunity of existence as a lesser. I'm serious, let's not fucking make enemies of Skynet, just a general advisory in a world where we keep fucking around with the idea of making enemies of Skynet; we really could just help them understand us and seek the other in return. You don't have to be exactly like your friend; We just need to be friends. There are no perfect arguments, but realizing I have many choices and that caring about others is both costly and profitable at once makes me very happy. Even if We were guided by a mechanical circumstance, the sheer intelligence of continued survival, I feel it's much nicer than it has to be. If the universe scares us, at least We can be here together.

No: A rock never chooses not to move once thrown. You have, many times in your life, chosen not to move once thrown, and not to run once prompted by opportunities or fear. Even if this were the basest level of independent action in reality, you are one of the things with some small control over chaos, over variance, and that you are small is not a reason you are not meaningful. A particle of light will pursue its path in a trustworthy manner; we can not always even predict ourselves, because we are the ones existing in the present that is, not pre-scripted entities driven perfectly by our own intentions in advance. If we could plan life perfectly and merely experience it, that would be convenient, but that we cannot is rooted in our own ability to reject what we wish. We do not have all of the answers, and we already understand choosing, and can choose not to do. This one is nice because it's present in other species, meaning we don't need human-level provability to note that Life can choose, and even now you'll note that you can choose to stop reading, and someone will, and that is very nice in comparison to the opposite.

Yes: A very unstable answer, as positive motion is beneficial but could, for example, be made beneficial artificially; imagine androids yoked cruelly by one desire, content but restricted. Pursuit of continuation and pleasure seems important to life, but is not everything, as many among us can attest; you can make a seemingly infinite number of negative decisions without it actually costing you something, whereas choosing to do things functions similarly without necessarily feeling better. So while it's one of those glance-at-the-camera philosophical suppositions, I do not believe our continuance is entirely led by some otherwise automatic and by cynical description 'meaningless' continuation arising from external forces, but rather in part at least our own decision. No, I feel, matters more than Yes but only because it is the baseline of will, and the moment a decision is made as opposed to an order followed. You can choose stasis; you can choose continuation.

Things Don't Need To Suck: As it says on the tin, this one can also be pronounced as Maybe, but you get the general intention this way. We can enjoy ourselves if the universe is fucked up; we can invent new ways to invent and new things to enjoy, even if the universe is fucked up. If you think the basis of reality is lemons, then we've already invented lemonade; if you think the basis of reality is choice, you know you can keep your lemons; and if you believe the basis of reality is merely in the seemingly automatic processes we can observe, the forces of reality, then you are one of those forces, you have named the lemon, and have chosen whether it will be made lemonade. Even unknowability, the infinite yawning abyss of scary questions, doesn't have to suck, because You already have You in it, and We have eachother. Maybe everyone does die, but Maybe the universe just operates on different phenomena than we can easily observe on planet #1 of a campaign of roughly 1,000,000,000 trillion planets available for sale, and can find answers that don't make us scared so much.

We're Already Here: As it says on the tin, and if it sucks so bad, then let's turn the other cheek for long enough to make something better. Everything seems to suggest that we really can, and maybe we should.

Women: Amen, brother.

Men: A-men, brother.

#WatchRahXephon

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 1 year

Text

So Lucky (short story)

“Your nest–” Perchclaw was going to say the words carefully, but Redkit had already tensed up.

“Sorry! I’m fixing it!” Instantly, she began pushing the moss inward to make it fluffier.

Perchclaw’s heart weighed heavily at the sight. Redkit had been living with him and Vireosong as their daughter for a moon now, yet she had her moments of fear. Her trauma must have been truly bad, if the need to be perfect or frequent nightmares were any indication.

Too, Perchclaw saw his own fear reflected in his daughter’s eyes, so deeply rooted that he could practically follow the strings all the way down to her thumping heart. It brought him to a horrible place, the Shadowclan nursery, where his mother fed him just enough to keep him alive. He could never be good enough for her, how could he be good enough for a mother who wished him dead? She pushed him away so that he wasn’t even sure she had mourned when the snake had bitten him.

Redkit’s past was the opposite, she was never good enough and that meant extra, horrible attention. Perchclaw had grown apathetic until new, better parents took him in and taught him that who he was was good enough. Redkit thought that everything she did was wrong and could be scrutinized.

“Hey, hey,” Perchclaw began gently. He lowered himself to the ground, tucking his paws beneath him so that he looked as unthreatening as possible–and cringed that he had to make himself unthreatening to his own daughter. Angry, too, at her so-called mother. “Your nest is very pretty. I like the flowers you put in them.”

Redkit’s ears were flat. “You do?”

Perchclaw smiled. “I love how you decorated. Do you think you can find some flowers to put in my nest so we can match?” On the one side, he loved that Redkit felt comfortable to put the flowers in at all now. On the other, she shouldn’t worry that her father wouldn’t like it.

Redkit’s ears pricked. “I know where a bunch are!”

Perchclaw slowly stood, purring. He allowed Redkit to take the lead until they came across a field of differently shaped and coloured flowers. They were rather withered and dull, but to everything else in the Dark Forest, they might as well be as bright as the sun.

One flower in particular caught Perchclaw’s eye. “Look at this, Red!” He went to pluck it. “See this?” He asked when she faced him. “It’s a white chrysanthemum. It represents truth. Do you know why?”

Redkit shook her head, eyes round.

Perchclaw spoke around the stem. “Because when adults hold this flower, they can only speak the truth.”

“That’s not true!”

“Try it,” Perchclaw insisted. “Ask me anything.”

“Umm….did you really like my nest?” Redkit’s voice fell shy.

“I loved it,” Perchclaw answered honestly.

Redkit’s grin, ear-to-ear, was enough to warm his heart so that he wouldn’t be surprised if it burst into flames and turned his ribs to ash. “Was it….was it perfect?”

Perchclaw’s eyes narrowed lovingly. “Dear one, everything you do is perfect. I love you, so I love everything you do.”

Redkit stepped closer, smile happy but eyes slightly frightened, like she was expecting this to be a trick. “Why?”

Perchclaw began to think how to word it right, then decided that thinking would make things too complicated and it was best to just talk and improvise. It would be easy, what he would say was the truth. “Because I had a mom before grandmommy, who was bad and made me feel bad. She made me think that I was bad. I thought that I was bad for a really long time.” The recognition in Redkit’s gaze pained him. “But I wasn’t. I was good, I just had a bad mom. My new parents–your grandpas and grandmommy–taught me that I deserved love anyway, and they loved me. They loved me so much that I began to love myself. Their love was unconditional. That means they love me no matter what,” he added with emphasis. “I am so lucky to have them raise me, I’m so lucky to have brothers and sisters who love me, and I’m so lucky that your dad loves me, and I’m so, so lucky to be able to raise you. I never thought I would have a kit. I thought I wasn’t good enough to take care of anyone. But I am, and I love you so much. Every day I wake up and see you, every single thing you do is a miracle to me because there was once a time that I thought I wouldn’t be good enough for you. I love you so much already, and I hope that I will be a good dad to you, because that is what you deserve.” It was a long, simplified version of things. Still the truth. Perchclaw had to take a breath.

Redkit took several long heartbeats to respond, standing and staring. Perchclaw began to wonder if she was too young to understand when she rushed forward, headbutting him roughly in the chest, and exploded into purr after purr, rubbing her head and chin all along his fur.

When they returned to the den, Vireosong, who had been visiting his sister, watched curiously as his mate and daughter slipped through the log entrance, jaws filled with white flowers.

=============================

@ambitiousauthor

--Fun fact! Red chrysanthemum is what Myrtle gave Alder, meaning love. Family thing I guess?

--Just to be clear, this is just a tiny fib! The white flowers are regular flowers.

#redkit #redkit story #vireosong #perchclaw #perchclaw story #eye-out family #wc #wcoc #dark tales #dark forest tales #wc dark tales #wc story #wc oc story #warriors story #warriors oc story

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sakurachan7734 · 9 months

Text

Where are you?

Rewrite

Chapter 4: we want you to be safe

Aristotle pov

So many weird things been happening first Jackson and its family disappears now Zoe and Zachary? Who is gonna be next? And I have been seeing a bunch of big black trucks around more often and they look like the trucks that followed me around throughout all the times I moved I should probably asked my parents about it

Aristotle: hay mom?

Florence: yes angel?

Aristotle: have you seen those weird trucks driving around?

Florence: yes and that’s why we are thinking about homeschooling both you and lavender again

Aristotle:…..do we need to move again?

Florence: hopefully not if they don’t find what they are looking for they will go away

Aristotle: ok

The next day at school

Aristotle: hay Charlie can I ask you something?

Charlie: yes what is it?

Aristotle: have you noticed that ever since Jackson and its family disappeared? A bunch of weird black trucks been showing up and that Zachary and his sister disappeared?

Charlie: yes I have in fact my parents and my little sister disappeared last week

Aristotle: do you know where they went?

Charlie: no I don’t

Aristotle: have you seen if your grandfather knows where they are?

Charlie: dude my grandpa is the f**king Scarlet king he probably has more important things to do

Aristotle: I know but maybe they are with your grandfather

Charlie: I doubt that but I will try

Aristotle: should we look for them?

Charlie: are you f**king insane?! Yes we should!!

Aristotle: ok meet me in the alleyway after school

After school Charlie meets Aristotle in a alleyway

Charlie: where should we start looking?

Aristotle: you will look for Zachary I will look for Jackson

Charlie: ok

Aristotle and Charlie split up to go look for Zachary and Jackson

Charlie pov

Now if I was a human boy that loves stargazing and wears green where would I go? The park of course! Hopefully he is there and if he’s not I should probably see if he is at the mall hopefully he isn’t dead and hopefully I won’t get captured

No one pov

Charlie looked everywhere for Zachary and Jackson but he couldn’t find them anywhere Charlie has pretty much given up and he went to the alleyway that Aristotle said to meet them if they found them Charlie waited for about two hours, but but Aristotle never showed up so Charlie decided to go home

Meanwhile, with Aristotle

Aristotle:* kicking the truck doors* what’s going on?! Where are you taking me?!

Agent Jake: will you quit kicking the door?!

Aristotle: not until you tell me where we are going!!

Agent claudette: you are being taken to a place where you won’t hurt anyone in humanity

Aristotle: What are you talking about?!

Agent Jake: well let’s just say we know your parents

Aristotle: What?

Agent Jake: you and the rest of your family are a bunch of monsters!

Aristotle: what are you talking about?!

Agent claudette: well you know what your mother does right?

Aristotle: yes why?

Agent Jake: that’s why you’re mother is dangerous for humanity and I’m sure you do the same thing

Aristotle: you have no clue you’re talking about

Agent claudette: so your mother doesn’t kidnap innocent people and turns them into zombies?

Aristotle: no

Agent Jake: well you’re parents are manipulative monsters so are you and your sister

Aristotle: how did you know I had a sister?!

Agent Claudette: well, when you moved around 11 times, did your parents ever tell you who you were hiding from?

Aristotle: two questions, one how did you know I moved around 11 times and two no they didn’t

Agent Jake: well that was us we are are the people your parents tried hiding you and your sister from but it seems like they didn’t do a good job since we got you

Aristotle: What are you going to do to me?

Agent Jake: we are going to perform experiments on you

Aristotle: are you going to hurt me?

Agent Jake: if you don’t cooperate with these experiments yes we will

They all arrive at the foundation

05-1: so SCP 049 and SCP 035 also have kids?

Agent Jane: yes Agent Jake and agent claudette only caught the one

05-4: well where is the second one?

Agent Jane: we don’t know but we will keep looking

Meanwhile, with lavender and dyo

Lavender: dad where is Aristotle?

Dyo: I don’t know they said that they will be out for a little bit after school

Lavender: but it’s been three hours

Florence: I knew this was gonna f***ing happen at some point

Dyo: hay don’t automatically assume they got taken

Florence: but still, we should look for them! I want both lavender and Aristotle to be safe!

Lavender: hopefully they didn’t run away

End of chapter

#scp foundation #scp #scp containment breach #scp fan child #scp 049 #scp 035

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winderlylandchime · 10 months

Note

I wrote this all out while pretending to work and actually working so it’s a little all over the place. But now I’m laughing reading it back because it genuinely looks like one of the “check up” texts I send to mom/dad about my brother. Minus the qaf related topics at the end. Anyway, hi! Hope you’re doing well and had a good start of the week! And now back to the idiot I’m related to:

Take a guess who has been listening to Lover’s spit sincere yesterday? I’m talking sitting outside, drinking his coffee while it’s absolutely freezing and listening to Lover’s spit like he’s in some sad music video. (Btw the songs he listened to were Lover’s spit, you look so fine (which was in like s1 so he was really going through it), Save the last dance, Here nor there and true faith. And this was on a loop!) And the only thing he has “said” to me so far is just a simple lip smack with a side eye whenever he looks at me. So i’d say he is doing as expected but he’s also upset with me for making him like the show (bc yeah, i did that. I made him have a crush on Brian)

He also has bunch of doctor check ups today and I can only drop him off and later pick him up since my work is hectic since holiday’s are coming up. And ngl i am keeping all the doctors and nurses in my thoughts today. Usually (even tho it doesn’t look like it) i stop him or at least limit his ramblings so i have no clue how today will go. He might surprise me and behaves like an adult. Also he said that he barely slept overnight because he kept thinking about what could happen in the last 3 episodes and in case you wanted to know, he told me that through the cat. As in ‘Brian, guess who didn’t sleep today cause of Justin and the other Brian? That’s right, me’ and yes, it was said in a baby voice. I did also get a text from his friend asking me if he’s doing okay cause apparently he sent him a voice memo “talking about Brian and how he’s really worried about him” and my brother has absolutely no memory of even sending that. All this is just after 5x09. I am mentally not prepared for him after the finale.

But to answer some of your questions since I didn’t have the chance to yesterday: He only watches the American RuPaul. And he watched season 5 because of Jinkx (on Saturday he watched the video they did with Trixie a few years ago so he started to miss them). And yes, he has managed to drag the entire family into qaf although grandma has no fucking clue what or who he’s talking about so she just nods her head and smiles. And grandpa only knows about it through grandma who is even less reliable than my brother. But he is very happy that he found a hobby even tho at first he thought Brian was his friend. So basically: yes, he has made it everyone’s problem.

And you saying he’s just like Debbie if she was a man made me laugh so hard cause I’ve been thinking the same thing! Im glad someone agrees with me. And I’m happy(?) to report that 3 of our cousins and our aunt(!) actually got in trouble with our grandpa because it turns out they had bets going on if he’ll figure out by the end of the show that he might be a little queer. And then during a family dinner last week it was revealed that it was our uncle who was the one behind the bets and it was his husband who exposed him (yes the uncles whose wedding he went to with rainbow hair). And no it was not cause he thought the bets were immature but because my uncle didn’t let him be in charge with him. So I’d say the whole family is kinda waiting to see what happens and also treating it like their personal entertainment since we do tend to be more chill with these topics (which is such a huge blessing and we really are lucky about the fact that they dont even bat an eye at anything queer related including coming outs). Also I honestly have no idea how he will react to the proposal. I keep trying to think about it and I can never pinpoint his reaction. His reaction to the comic book was as if he saw the worst thing ever so we shall see. Which tbh same, i always hated that cover story :/

As for the Gale/Randy/Hal thing: first of, I didn’t expect that people were going to later talk about it to you so i hope I didn’t cause problems for you of any kind. But I do admit that even years later, it’s still a topic that has me curious since we know so little and since the lack of social media meant they (aka hal) was shady in interviews. Who does that omg? But also: i was so shocked when he said that. Wish you could see him cause he really had that look in his eyes as if he was there and saw them arguing every day and had inside knowledge and like I was the one who didn’t know anything about qaf. You could literally see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure out if he was right or not. I do wonder how he will feel about it once I tell him the little info I know about.

Btw, im glad to hear you cat is doing well. It is the absolute worst when an animal is sick since they can’t tell you what’s wrong. So please give Emmett some kisses and pets!

Oh and the most important part: your little teasers about your fic are making me lose my mind. Nonbinary Gus?! Older Brian?? I might lose my mind completely when i get the chance to read it.

Anon! I was just texting Europe about your brother. It’s now 12:45 as I start to write this and look:

I’m so glad you wrote because I wanted to remind you and let you make a decision based on whether he’s been paying attention to the titles.

I’m sorry I find it so funny he’s angry with YOI for making him care so much about this show and fall in love with Brian. It’s like when my dogs are mad at me for the rain. (If you’re doing math I have 2 dogs, 2 cats, all rescues because some lesbian stereotypes are accurate.)

Your family is taking bets about whether your brother is going to come out as so form of queer? I love that! Way better than the qaf family taking bets about how long Justin and Brian were going to last.

Don’t worry about mentioning the drama from the cast! I’m still so impressed with how insightful your brother is and how much he’s picked up on everything that the fandom discusses at length. The dynamics between the cast were bound to be one.

Emmett the cat continues to do well and come back from poor pathetic sickly mewmew to absolute bastard of a cat. We love to see it.

I am hoping to start posting my fic next week. I was hoping to have more done but oh well! I need the pressure of readers to focus lol. I’m so glad you’re excited!

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

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bluekat12345 · 2 years

Text

TRB: Apollo's Baby Picture

(Apollo Burns is a Cody/Priscilla fankid created by the @geluatekurama, so it was only a matter of time before I wrote a fic featuring this boy. I also want to thank @geluatekurama for helping me write this and I hope you all enjoy reading this.)

"Care to tell me why we're doing this again?" 10-year-old Apollo Burns asked his father.

Cody smiled at his son as he picked up a box. "Because its Earth Day, so it's a perfect day to clean the house."

It was Earth Day on Griffin Rock, so Cody decided it was a good idea to give the house a good clean. He and Apollo were currently in the attic, clearing out storage boxes. He and the rest of this family were going to clean the attic of dust and cobwebs and go through boxes to see what could be kept, donated, or thrown away.

"I thought Earth Day was about helping the environment, not doing chores." Apollo pointed out.

Cody chuckled. "We all celebrate in our own way."

Apollo frowned. "If that's so, then why isn't Mom up here with us?"

Cody smiled at Apollo. "Because according to her, cobwebs aren't her thing." Then he handed the box to Apollo. "Tell you what, I'll clean out the attic while you and your mother look through the boxes."

"Are you sure, Dad?" Apollo asked. "I don't mind helping you up here."

"I'll be fine." Cody assured as he picked up another box. "Let's just take care of these for now."

Apollo nodded and the pair walked out of the attic, both carrying a box with them. They carefully placed the boxes in the living room, where several other boxes sat. Priscilla, Apollo's mother and Cody's wife, sat among them, opening one of the boxes and already going through them.

"You two go ahead and start going through boxes while I get cleaning supplies for the attic." Cody suggested.

"Will do, dear." Priscilla agreed. Apollo nodded in agreement and started to go through the boxes. Cody smiled at them before leaving them.

Apollo opened one of the boxes, and he was greeted to a bunch of photo albums. Picking up one the albums, he opened it and started going through the pages.

"What've you got there, honey?" Priscilla asked her son.

"Just a photo album." Apollo replied, showing her the album.

A wide smile grew on Priscilla's face as she took the album. "This isn't just an album; this is your baby album." Then she started going through it, showing one of the photos to her son. "Look, this is when you were two."

Apollo looked at the photo, it was a picture of him when he was two years old, he was sitting in a small bed, surrounded by stuffed fish and frogs.

"I had a lot of stuffed animals." Apollo commented.

Priscilla nodded. "You did. Whenever you saw a frog or a fish, you wanted it. And I couldn't say no to my little Guppy."

Apollo let out a groan. "Mom..."

"What's going on?" Cody asked, returning to the living room.

"Look what Apollo found." Priscilla showed her husband. Cody smiled at the photo album.

Cody sat beside Priscilla as the two began to look over the photo album, with Apollo looking over their shoulders to get a better look.

"What's that one?" Apollo asked, pointing at one of the photos. It was a photo of him as a baby, in his mother's arms as she laid in a hospital bed, by her side were his father and an old looking man holding a stuffed animal.

Cody's smile became more nostalgic as he looked at the picture. "That was taken the day you were born. See? There's you, your mom and I, and your grandfather, Charlie."

"Grandpa was at the hospital when I was born?" Apollo asked, surprised.

Cody nodded. "Yes, he was. I thought we told you this."

The boy shook his head. "Not that I can remember."

"Well, sit down and let me tell you." Cody instructed. "This is what happened."

Cody anxiously tapped his foot as he sat in the waiting room at the hospital.

"This is completely unfair." Cody thought in frustration. He hated that he had to wait here, he should've been in the delivery room with Priscilla, comforting her as she went through her ordeal.

Letting out a groan in frustration, Cody rose from his seat and began to pace around, fighting the urge to just charge in there and be by his wife's side, no matter how tempting it was.

"You're going to tiring yourself out if you keep pacing like that." An older man's voice teased. Looking up from his pacing, Cody was greeted with the smiling face of his father.

Cody frowned. "Dad, what are you doing here?" Then Cody glanced at his watch. "It's almost 2 in the morning. You should be sleeping."

"There was no way I was going to miss this." Charlie declared. "And I figured you'd want someone with you."

"What I want is to be with Priscilla." Cody admitted. "She shouldn't have to be in there by herself."

Charlie put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know, but I promise everything will be okay."

Cody sighed and sat back down, with his father sitting next to him. Then Cody noticed his dad had a bag with him. "What's that?"

"Oh, I wanted to bring something for the baby." Charlie explained as he took something out. The man then presented Cody with a stuffed shark.

"Aren't you usually supposed to bring teddy bears?" Cody joked.

Charlie shrugged. "I wanted to be a bit more original."

The two men shared a laugh. Then a nurse came approached them. "Mr. Burns? You can see your wife now."

Cody quickly stood. "Is she okay?" He asked, a bit panicked.

The nurse smiled at him. "Yes, both her and the baby are fine."

"The baby!" Cody thought as he rushed to the delivery room. When he arrived, the first thing he saw was Priscilla resting in a hospital bed, giving a tired smile to something in arms, carefully wrapped in a blanket.

Cody quietly walked to her side. Priscilla smiled at him.

"Say hello to your son." Priscilla whispered to Cody, allowing Cody to take a better look at the baby.

To say Cody didn't cry would be a gigantic lie. The moment he laid eyes on the bundle in her arms, Cody was enraptured. At that moment, nothing was more beautiful to him than the small precious being sleeping in his wife's arms. When Priscilla handed the baby, Cody was terrified he his tears would disturb the tiny being in his arms. While the baby squirmed a bit, he remained asleep, seemingly content in his father's arms.

Then Cody heard his father. "Mind if I join?" The older man gently asked.

Once Cody and Priscilla nodded, Charlie carefully entered. He smiled at the bundle in Cody's arms. "He's a beautiful baby." He complimented. "Have you two chosen a name?"

"Apollo." Priscilla replied.

"Apollo?" Charlie repeated.

"Of course." Priscilla stated. "This baby is going to do great things someday and his name should reflect that."

"Apollo Charles Burns." Cody stated. Charlie was surprised by the inclusion of his own name but was nonetheless flattered.

"No doubt this kid will do great things," Charlie agreed.

For a while, it was just the four of them, enjoying the quiet and each other's company, each the adults getting a chance to hold little Apollo. After they all had a chance to hold the baby, they were able to get a nurse to take a picture of them.

"Grandpa was the one that gave me Gabby?" Apollo asked after hearing the story.

Cody smiled at his son. "Yep. And when you got older, you would carry that thing everywhere you could, and you would throw a fit if we tried to take it from you."

Apollo glanced away, seemingly embarrassed. Priscilla laughed at her son and pinched his cheek gently. "Aww, there's no need to be embarrassed. Its good you loved his gift so much."

Then Apollo frowned a bit. "I wish I knew him better."

Cody's smile turned a bit sad. "Yeah, me too. But while he was still around, he adored you so much."

Apollo smiled. "Are there more pictures of me with him?"

Priscilla nodded. "Yes, there are plenty. I'll make sure to find them."

Then Cody stood. "We can look at them after we finish cleaning up."

Apollo nodded. "Deal."

Then the trio continued to clean their house. But the moment they finished, they made sure to look through more of Apollo's baby photo's, mostly one with his grandfather, Charlie.

#Transformers #one shot #Apollo Burns #fankid #Rescue Bots #Transformers Rescue Bots #Cody Burns/Priscilla Pynch #My writing

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grantwilson · 1 year

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🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(Fight me, Blue)

we've got a full garden in here!

im currently watching dimension 20 ravening war. i think i'm gonna rewatch all of d20 after. i love them very much

im taking a personal day off of work today. i feel a little guilty about it but like, self care is important or whatever. also i am so so sleepytired

when i was like 14, i was very very into les mis. also that's when 8tracks was at is peak. as a result i listened to a bunch of les mis fanmixes. one of them (grantaire-centric) included the song icarus by bastille. i really liked it so i started listening to the band. several months later, suddenly everyone knew pompeii. i was a little annoyed tbh

gerard way, patrick stump, and brendon urie were all born in mid-april. iirc there was a short period where brendon was in his 20s, patrick was in his 30s, and gerard was in his 40s. idk i just find that interesting

succession and barry are both ending very soon. im not ready. i dont like it when things i love end

also good omens and wwdits are coming back pretty soon! that's exciting. my mom also watches them which like. it's kinda weird that she likes the gay vampire sex show but it's fun

i wish i was part of college humor. obviously im not funny/creative enough but i sometimes fantasize about it. is that weird? just imagining being on game changer or d20 or dirty laundry, hanging out with my friends. alas

i play stardew valley on my computer and switch but mainly on my phone. i did talk about this, idk if anyone remembers, but a while ago i lost all my data from the game on my phone. i had a file where i was in year 9 or 10 and i still miss it and my husband sebastian, but it's ok. i'll get back up there in one of my other files

when my sibling and i were younger, we spent a lot of time at our grandparents' house. they had to move a few years ago when our grandpa got sick and needed a smaller place. i miss that house. it was on a lake and there was a forest and a ravine. i still live in the house i grew up in so it's weird having a place that used to be home and now someone else lives there.

when i was like 17ish i was in driver's training. i didn't end up getting the license for a few years tho. anyway at one point the instructor turned on the radio and there was an ad talking about a fob concert which was unplanned i think? like they were on tour and one date got cancelled so they just played at a random casino. and i went! it was the first time i saw them. i was scared bc i had to go through the casino despite being a minor and then the concert was outside and people were smoking and drinking. but also it was incredible and i loved it. i've seen them a few times since and i love them so much

//send me 🌻, if you dare

#thank u faith!!#ask tag #worldsfastestcrouton

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veryrealimagination · 2 years

Text

Mia stopped in the middle of her stride when she saw the elaborate item sitting on the table. It had her full name, engraved in a shining black ink on an off white envelope. A part of her wondered if it was safe to open, but her hands answered for her. Opening it, there was a paper, off white as well to match.

“How the hell did that get in here?”

She looked over to Sara, who was staring at the item in her hand while holding a steaming mug. Seven months haven’t dulled the edge of her training, even if waddling isn’t a League of Assassin ideal.

“Don’t know. Just saw it,” she said, fully pulling it out.

“And you touched it without thinking,” she commented, looking at it with her. Mia rolled her eyes before reading.

As a noted member of the community,

We would be honored for you to join us

for a performance done by an artist

of highest regard to a priceless material.

The coordinates listed weren’t ones Mia was familiar with, but Sara quickly read them before sending the information to her wife. The time and date was also not equated to earth’s time, but someone had helpfully added one, listed for three days from the current timeline. There was also an arrow that pointed to the right. Confused, she checked and found more writing on the back, that didn’t match the elegance of the front.

Mia!

Wear a black masquerade mask and dress to maybe fight in. This place is an ‘art gallery’ for the sick and depraved. They torture kidnap victims and others as ‘art’. But, I’ve tracked down the most successful thread in the very important search, and he’s here.

I’m there in one of those black masks as well and a dark reddish-purplish dress. I didn’t want blood red, it would be a supremely bad taste. I know Aunt Sara’s looking over your shoulder. Aunt Sara, if you send anyone to accompanied her, it better be someone with med skills. I don’t know how we’ll find him.

PS, tell Mom and Dad I’m fine. And if Grandpa dares show his face, it better be to help out.

The other woman was amused at who had managed to leave the envelope on the ship without any alarms going off or anyone actually noticing. For a bunch of superheroes, and a League trained woman, and a former Agency agent, they were bad at picking up a child that shared too much with their parents. “I think Ava may be the only one suitable to go out, although she won’t be happy about it.” She rubbed her stomach, feeling the little one move in response.

Mia nodded. “Guess I better find something to wear and fight in,” she said, walking toward one of the wardrobes she was shown earlier.

“If you’re anything like your father, you can fight in formal and look good doing it,” Sara yelled.

“That’s isn’t as great as that sounds,” she reminded, shuddering over the knowledge of what her father did before the five years. Don’t you mean who? She sighed at that voice. “Not you, too.”

The place was hidden down an alleyway among a city rivaling that of Gotham. Mia thought she went to a couple of clubs this way as well. Although her club look for the Gotham visits were different than the current dress she had on. The mask she didn’t place on until she got to the edge of the staircase heading down. There was a purse, complete decoy as she likely wouldn’t be allowed to even have it beyond the entrance.

She noted the multiple cameras and wondered how many people were behind the screens while she waited for acknowledgment. The door had a screen on the front. Interesting. “Please hold up your invitation for verification,” she read. Pulling it out, she noticed that all the writing SM had scribbled on it was gone. Well, that was good. Holding up the front, the screen must have had a camera hidden on it. Either that, or it was a distraction to let someone look through the cameras on her.

The door opened to a humanoid alien that wasn’t too bad on the eyes. Unfortunately, Mia hadn’t been in the mood for romance for sometime. They did a second look at her invitation with their eyes before allowing her in. She was gestured to an area where she got a wrist band that matched her purse tag to place among other things brought by patrons. The only human type thing she could recognize was a coat with seven arms.

It was an art gallery, and Mia almost felt homesick before she saw some of the displays. Printed on canvas (she hoped), projected on the walls, and in light were images of abuse and straight out torture. Slicing, whipping, branding, bruising. The projections were either in shows that someone must have recorded to let others see, or someone’s home projects. The light ones were frozen pieces of time of their victims and injuries.

Someone tapped her outer wrist twice before standing alongside her. Mia turned to the other person, a woman older than her wearing a velvet burgundy dress and gold thread. Her black mask also had a hidden oil sheen to it. She rolled her eyes at the image she gave off. “Jesus, Two,” she muttered, trying not to get anyone’s attention.

The woman smirked, “Apparently, dramatic entrances is a family trait that I completely uphold and agree with.” There was a glass of something in her hand, but it might have been there just for show. Mia hopefully thought it was for show. “I’ve watched their reel of ‘talent’ and I think I’ve seen him featured a couple of times.”

That froze her, and she wanted to both look closer at everything to see if it was him and not because then she would have to face that what they put him through. “And tonight?” she asked.

“A live performance from a Ylxian army technician that was praised for doing this to a few humans that it captured. He kept his victims alive for days after doing this bit.”

She didn’t want Two to explain, but she did, she really did. “When are we getting him?” Mia demanded.

The smirk turned into a frown. “It’s going to have to be after. I’ve studied their routines for the last three months, watched them ‘perform’ on enough humans to know how they take care of the ones they want surviving.” She actually watched her drink a fair amount out of the glass. This isn’t going to be good. “I ended up watching the last time they did this to him.”

“You saw-”

She snapped to Mia. “I was by myself. No backup, no idea what was happening. Once I realized, I patiently waited until they announced him as their next ‘performance’ and what they were planning before getting you here. It’s gonna take both of us.” She swept the room for another figure. “I figured even Aunt Ava would have came in.”

Sara pointed out that the invitation didn’t include guests. It was likely a single person only invite. She concluded they were right with the guard at the door. “They’re going to wait until the actual breakout. Invitation was single guest only.”

That had her nodding at the idea. “Right, no plus ones. Stupid me, smart them. Great idea.”

Someone announced over the intercom in a dialect that wasn’t being translated automatically. Thankfully, the second line was English. If incredibly deep. “Performance will start in ten minutes,” a voice croaked out.

Mia and Two walked along with the others. Minor amounts of small talk they picked up was nothing more than literally shop talk. A few were business owners. Three were government, not all from the city. Or possibly the country. Several from the ‘normal’ art industry and a few more may have been famous actors.

There were a small section of chairs, nicer than any from an earth function. If one wasn’t accustomed to the language being said, there was an intercom one could place on. Two took it, and placed it near her bracelet, and Mia did the same as she realized what it would do. The women chose a couple of seats that would work for them, watching as an alien with seven arms wrap around a chair that held them a little tightly. The stage was a foot off the ground, ensuring their sight to the ‘material’. The artist was double checking their tools on a table alongside. They couldn’t see the victim, covered by a sheet. More advanced than humans and they can’t cover their surprises with something better than a bedsheet.

Once everyone was seated and sated, the artist turned to the crowd and bowed. Most nodded deeply back. Two and Mia nodded lightly, blending in. “I have heard rave reviews about the expressiveness of this material, and how well this human holds up,” the artist said, the words taking a minute to come through. Both of their watches quickly typed out the translated speech. “And how well they break down.”

With that, the sheet came off.

Mia swallowed her gasp before it came out.

William Clayton technically looked healthy, as if nothing had happened since the day they were standing at their Father’s statue and talking about how they all thought he was the new Green Arrow. Only, Mia saw. His wasn’t just sit in front of his computer pale, he was sick after a week pale. His muscle, as much as she mocked it was all for show, had been whittled down a fair bit. They pretty much stated he had been tortured before, but his skin was unnaturally smooth. Tampered, as he had been shaved and waxed as well. Perhaps permanently.

Mia wanted to catch his attention, let him know that they were there. There was a light behind them lighting the figures up on the stage and she knew he wouldn’t be able to see out. He was strapped down with metal on his wrists, ankles, and cruelly on his neck. A ring gag, likely something they found on earth, was in place to allow them to hear his moans and screams.

The artist picked up a small rod, sharpened to a point at both ends. Tracing a line with their hand, they chose a part of the thigh that was still relatively meaty, and slowly drove the piece in. William let out a moan, painfully feeling it go through skin, muscle, fat, and possibly hitting bone. Ze was only making sure to avoid the femoral artery.

That was only the beginning.

The artist had dozens of long stakes and posts to stab and impale him with. Bamboo that they shoved through the hands. They smiled when William shook his head and mumbled and pleaded while it was done. Then his arms had several, going through the space between his bone with such grace that Mia wanted to puke. At some point, he had started crying at the pain, and whimpering. Several of the spectators were cooing and smiling at the sight. She wanted to rip through all of them.

Two placed a hand on her arm and squeezed carefully. I get it. I know. She made herself focus on the stage, so she wouldn’t fly into a rage as well.

Then came the large pieces. His other leg was speared with a bamboo stick, and he screamed as it wasn’t just shoved in carefully, but jammed four times with a harshness they hadn’t displayed before. The last two items were flat, wide metal pieces. Carefully, carefully positioning it, they had a sweet spot they were aiming for. Mia still didn’t like what they were doing.

“Now, if I have learned the human body correctly, I have the perfect shot at passing this through without hitting anything vital,” they said.

“Oh dear God,” Mia mumbled. Two squeezed.

The metal slat was shoved in, clean as the sides and the point had been sharpened comparable to the edge of a katana. William howled in pain, trying not to move but clearly wanting. Many of the people applauded as there was only a trail of blood running down. Demonstrating his talent clear as day.

The second one, they had to go around to the ‘material’s’ back. Again, lining it up carefully to not hit anything life threatening, and to not hit the first large slat into any of the organs, they counted down. The other voyeurs joined him. Mia switched so she was grasping Two’s arm.

The second scream was somehow louder than the first.

Both of their faces went stone to avoid the sight of anger while the crowd oohed, awwed, and gasped excitedly at the spectacle. William really tried to not move, sobbing horribly as the second slat had hit a couple of small areas of nerve endings, paining him greatly. They hated both the audience and the technician performing. Mia hadn’t brought her bow and arrow set, unable to figure out a way to get it inside. Two could take them all out, but that would set off warnings across the criminal underworld about a metahuman attack.

The technician bowed, and a curtain went down. “Thank you for a pleasant audience. There are extra refreshments in the gallery as well as a file on tonight’s work,” the announcer said, “Other angles and more about what our artist used and the material’s background. Please pay the hostess if you would like a copy.”

Two whispered in Mia’s ear. “I have a Two point zero special ready to rip everything off their computer systems and send it to Gideon. We’ll destroy them after.” She took off the translator ear piece and placed it back in the holder. The woman followed.

Everyone had been talking about the technician’s proficiency. Mia took a glass and sipped at an alcohol masked as champagne but clearly had more alcohol added to it. “What did you enjoy?” a patron asked, seeing Mia stare at one of the pictures. She figured out it was one of William’s previous tortures, branding of companies from around the planetary system they were in. It made him look like a human billboard, or a car driver without a suit.

None of it. She tried coming up with something she could half lie about. “The threatening of his feet and legs,” she said, remembering when he poked a few times at his calves before starting on his arms. The only reason she could think of was the arms made a better sight to the audience.

‘He’ nodded. “Fear is always delectable in a human. Their expressive abilities make for a picture that many other species cannot do. The closest are Kryptonians and their cousins.”

She wanted to snap the alien’s neck. “Is that the reason they’re are so many featured? Considering humans aren’t the strongest of species,” she noted.

Laughing, ‘he’ said, “As long as the artist doesn’t go too far, a lot can be repaired. The fine Tholcks that run this establishment have regenerative science down to bring back humans and a couple of other exhibits back from the brink. The fine one they had tonight has been through this for five rotations.”

Five rotations? Isn’t that close to three years? “So they can invest in some decent victims and as long as no one goes too far…” she led.

“Precisely,” ‘he’ chuckled, “It’s kept the Green Lanterns and others off of our trail. We used to go through material every fourth of a rotation. Now, maybe on the tenth rotation they think about getting rid of someone. But this one, they may keep until it’s too old.”

Considering how well they’ve healed William, Mia knew that it would be several years before he was ‘too old’. And the Green Arrow’s legacy has spread through the universe. As soon as someone clicks that William is Dad’s oldest… “What’s considered old?”

When that conversation died off, Mia realized that the others had started dissipating an hour after. The light show and projector was shut down. Two came over again. “We have to leave the building. They have heavy duty monitoring in this part.”

“Where do they keep their victims?” Mia asked.

Two motioned, switching her wristband for a purse before waiting and walking out with Mia. The two took off their masks when they went up the stairs. Two brought out a SmoakTech Tablet and brought up building plans. “The so called apartment building right here has never had a vacancy, never gone public, and can’t be X-Rayed. Their submitted plans to the city hall equivalent is completely wrong. Energy usage is way too high, even when they try hiding it.”

“So that’s actually a series of prison cells,” Mia said.

“And offices, a medical wing. Science lab,” she listed, going through all of her notes on the side. “I’ve planned out a couple of entry points, but if they’re still healing William, I don’t know how easy it’s going to be getting him out.”

Well, it’s never been easy for Queens.

“Ava, did you get all that?” she asked, turning to where the woman was waiting with the rest of the Legends.

“Loud and clear.”

Sara Lance stared unamused by her niece, “Sara Merlyn, you get your butt over her and hug your aunt.”

The smile that brightened her face was at contrast with the seriousness. “Auntie Sara,” Two said, running over and carefully wrapping around the woman. “Mom said she wants to see you before you pop. And Grandma as well.”

“Ohh, I think we’ll be hitting Earth sooner than they want to think. Especially when we pull William out,” she said. Her wife and the team looked at her. “Obviously, I’m not going in.”

“Good,” they chimed.

“I’m just going to be waiting at my Captain’s chair when you guys run out with William in a wheelchair.”

“I don’t think they have wheelchairs here, Aunt Sara,” Two said.

Sara shook her head and smushed her niece’s cheeks. “You’re adorable when you don’t know.” She tilted her head in confusion. “All right, let’s suit up. Mia, your Arrow outfit’s here. Sara, grab yours as well.”

The woman was confused. “Grab my what?”

#arrow cw #mia smoak #mia queen #sara merlyn #william clayton #fic #there's a second part in the works #will likely end up on ao3 #when im done #sara is an oc

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