#WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO

[turbotaco]

Someone on Twitter pointed out the fact that gay marriage hadn't been legalized in the US before 2003--which just makes Bill and Frank getting married on the last day of their lives that much more personal and meaningful.

They knew it wouldn't mean anything to the world they lived in (especially in an apocalypse) but it was important to THEM.

Not to mention the fact that marriage as an institution was probably something Bill actively hated on principle (in line with his libertarian lone wolf "I hate the world and it hates me" outlook on life).

And then he meets Frank.

He's never been scared of anything before but Frank brings out something in him and he's terrified of it..

When they meet, somehow they know that against all odds they've found someone special. It's like Bill hadn't been living--really living--before Frank. Despite how scary it is to love someone so deeply in a world so deeply broken, they try. They hold onto each other, tight.

They love and fight and make up and love and fight some more. They're honest and open and warm and kind-- each in their own ways. They only have 16 years together but damn, do they make the most of it.

At the end of it all, Bill recognizes that. And he lets himself indulge in the hope he'd crushed within himself for a long, long time.

He loves Frank the way he wants to be loved. So they get married on the last day. He dresses in the fancy-ass clothes Frank picks out for him. He walks with Frank to their favorite spots. They share their first meal together all over again. And Bill makes a choice. He doesn't want to be on this earth without his purpose. He doesn't want to leave without having given Frank everything. And so, they go together.

It doesn't mean anything to anyone else. No one is paying attention to this small town in the country. There are few people to remember them now that they're gone. But it doesn't matter. It means everything to Bill and Frank. Two people who loved, despite it all.

[vagabond-umlaut]

I CANNOT BE FALLING FOR GETO SUGURU OF ALL PEOPLE---FUCK FUCK FUCK---I CANNOT!!! I JUST CANNOT

[thatbadadvice]

Help! Death is inconvenient!

Dear Prudence, Slate, 6 December 2022:

Q. Bothersome Burials: Is it appropriate to hold a funeral on a Saturday? I have recently noticed that funerals are more frequently being held on Saturdays instead of weekdays and I think it is bad etiquette. On most Saturdays, we already have plans for weddings, baby showers, birthday parties, ski trips, softball tournaments, etc. and I am perturbed when we are expected to change those plans to attend funerals. It seems to me that when you lose someone very close to you that you should be taking time off of work anyway rather than waiting until your scheduled day off to have a funeral and grieve. When you lose an acquaintance, or perhaps do not know the deceased but still want to support your friends and family, you should be able to limit it to a few hours during the week and not give up your weekend plans. Also, it seems inconsiderate to make the funeral home and cemetery staff work on a Saturday. I believe that Saturdays should be off-limits, am I mistaken about this?

Dear Bothersome Burials,

Funerals should absolutely never be held on Saturdays, for all of the excellent reasons you describe. It is inconsiderate in the extreme to interrupt people's ski trips even for legitimate reasons (whatever they may be — nothing immediately springs to mind, but the Bad Advisor is sure someone somewhere will be able to drudge up an example). To derail a romp on the slopes for something as inconsequential as a community gathering to grieve the departure of a beloved friend or family member from the plane of existence as we know it frankly defies comprehension. For the snuffing out of one's mortal lamplight to cause scheduling conflicts around more minor commitments such as weddings and baby showers is naturally a lesser infraction — attendees can always simply RSVP to the next one, or the one after that — but nevertheless impolite. Of course, few will share your deep concern for the wellbeing of those death professionals who work on Saturdays despite undoubtedly being, as you are, shocked by and entirely unprepared to accommodate the customs and traditions surrounding the inevitable fate, old as life itself, that awaits all of us. But your selflessness is noted here nonetheless.

If you are mistaken about anything, it is in failing to interrogate the cause of these breaches of etiquette. There was a time when people treated each other with just a little more consideration — when we left our doors unlocked, our unvaccinated children played together barefoot in the streets until dawn, and we dropped dead when and only when it was convenient for people's busy weekend schedules. My mother would have rather died than shuffle off the mortal coil just before Little Maydelayne's big softball tournament! Sadly, people these days think only of themselves, their own needs, and their own petty concerns — to say nothing of their unwillingness to sacrifice a day of fun and fulfilling work to attend the final celebration of life for some douchebag who had the gall to kick the bucket without checking their second cousin's day-off calendar first. Grief is already experienced for only those fleeting moments we spend attending funeral services; it is unseemly to defer our limited 40- to 90-minute mourning periods until such a time as we can gather together in meaningful community.

Alas, that's the world we live in today! We can lay much of the blame on the obvious culprits — video games, reefer, and heavy metal music — but we would be doing ourselves a disservice if we did not admit that we are responsible for making time for what matters. The next time a cherished friend, loved one, or colleague sets off on that long, mysterious journey to the undiscovered country, we must prioritize the apres-ski reservations at the lodge bar.

[residentmiddlechild]

i have just one thing to say. That is not the real Tom Bombadil. He does NOT look like a merry fellow, his jacket is NOT bright blue, and his boots are NOT yellow!

[alliswyattonthewesternfront]

i used the term "long pig" just now while watching The Terror with Gregg, and had to explain to him what that meant?? they are really not teaching the kids anything these days.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Inquiring minds want to see your take...8 INT Tav meets Haarlep in the Boudoir.

asjdaksjdasd oh my god okay, well obviously taking massive inspiration from your og: 8 INT Tav

this got... impossibly long. don't blame me, blame the two competing peacocks.

Raphael rematerializes within the familiar walls of his bedroom, still pinching the bridge of his nose. He normally prefers to arrive at the front hall, to allow his servants to see and feel his presence in their midst, but today… He’ll grant himself an allowance, just this once. A familiar rustle of wings unfurling has him spinning around, looking for the slightest opening to lash out and satisfy even some portion of his wounded pride. He is not kept waiting long. 

Haarlep’s mockingly dulcet voice lilts out of the shadows across the room, eyes alight with glee. “How was the visit with your dear paramour, Unseelie lord?” 

Raphael raises a clawed fist in their direction, discordant notes like distant screams gathering at the tips. Haarlep leans forward with anticipation, the byplay between them familiar if not yet entirely banal. Just before he releases it, tips them over the edge into simple violence that might ease but not soothe the indignity he has suffered today – and every day since meeting that impertinent, irritating girl – a thought strikes him. He grins, slow and toothy.

Haarlep is far too accomplished a fiend to do anything so obvious as blanch, but they do blink twice in rapid succession, a clear sign of their startlement from one who knows them as well as he. It is not often that he misses a step in their masquerade. 

Letting the accrued magic dissipate entirely, Raphael raises his hands to his mouth in an expression of carefree thought, a fine and cutting edge to it that he knows the other feels. 

“Why, how delightfully cordial of you to ask after her, Haarlep. In fact, she has been doing the same, nigh incessantly!” He watches the other’s face with barely-hidden glee, tracking every visible micro-expression. 

Another blink. Confusion. Haarlep doesn’t see the game yet. And, after all, how could they? That girl is absolutely incalculable. Raphael soothes his vexation with the thought that, at least this time, he can make someone else play the victim to her unique form of nescience. 

A brief mantling of the wings. They have determined their gambit then. With a sultry movement of their arm, Haarlep gestures to themself. “But of course! Who could possibly resist such a delicacy in truth? I am glad to hear the little darling has come to her senses and reconsidered.”

Raphael lets them preen, their eyes still watchful behind their long lashes, a moment longer, then claps his hands sharply. 

“That’s settled then. I’ll be just a moment, and then the two of you can get reacquainted.” He lets some portion of his own power rise around him for just a moment. No need to put too fine a point on it. “And, Haarlep? I do expect you to give a more proper welcome to guests of the House in future.”

Haarlep looks away for that moment, a pretense at nonchalance, but Raphael trusts his message has been received. He discorporates himself with a moment’s thought, feeling a malefic cheer rising as he considers the treat in store for him. 

Haarlep remains where they stand, loath to cede more ground and mistrustful of this turn of their little brat’s whims. They cast back to their first, brief meeting with the subject of his – unwitting and unwilling – current attentions, but nothing materializes that could explain the specific turn of his disposition. She had been too insipid to intrigue, yet somehow survived her visit unscathed where countless others had not. 

Their thoughts are suspended by the familiar metaphysical crackle that heralds the rematerialization of Raphael’s preferred method of conveyance. This time, he does not arrive alone. Held stiff and distrustful within the loose circle of his arms is… her. The moment she sets her eyes on Haarlep, they go limpid and soft.

Raphael speaks, face inscrutable but voice tremulous with his mirth, “See, dear one, I told you I’d had a… crisis of conscience. You’ve worn me down with your keen moral arguments, and I’m prepared to… see sense, and let you speak to Haarlep again.”

Haarlep blinks, genuinely caught off guard for one of the first times in recent memory. What… is going on. 

The girl steps forward, turning back to give Raphael a solemn, approving look, before approaching Haarlep tentatively. It is, however, not with the understandable caution they are accustomed to from mortals, but rather underpinned by something saccharine and soppy. Their well-honed survival instincts prick at them as she opens her mouth, warning them without even a bare moment to flee that whatever comes out of it will be harrowing indeed. 

“I know, Haarlep. I know what you are.” She reached out toward them with  supplicant hands. “You aren’t stuck here. You can be free.”

Haarlep blinks once, then again. “... What.”

She elaborates, but does not in any way elucidate. “I’ve seen this before, you know. It’s not hopeless. Whatever these fey have told you, your nature does not make you one of them. You belong on the Material Plane, with others like you.”

Behind her, Raphael’s face begins to crack into a grin worthy of a true fiend. Haarlep’s distrust is growing exponentially with each passing moment. They paste on a smile and lean forward, “Others… like me. And just what would those others be, little interloper?” 

“Oh, Haarlep…” To his stark disgust, a single tear drips from one eye. Gleeful micro-vibrations emanate from Raphael, propagating a shimmering haze around him. 

She continues on, after a brief pause in which she stares at him mournfully, “A changeling, of course. I’m so sorry you’ve fallen prey to their lies, that you had to find out this way.” 

She clenches her fist, a mawkish determination filling her entire body. “I’ll find a way to free you. I promise.”

[Haarlep.exe has stopped responding.] 

On the resounding heels of the vacuum left by her pronouncement, Raphael vibrates himself into the wall of the next room over. His cackling still reaches them unimpeded.

[snailurefailure]

Today I overheard a little kid saying "they chose Donald Trump to be president!" and this other kid was like "no waaaay". Even seven-year-olds are in disbelief.

[lakesidecanine]

You mean they don't make plushy sized straps? Unbelievable

[vanity-complex]

No piss porn for the dash tonight?

[emonydeborah]

November fluff prompt 19: comfort after a nightmare

"Una?"

She couldn't breathe anymore, couldn't run another step. Her lungs burned as she darted into a dark alley.

"Honey, it's okay."

Drunken shouts followed her, yelling names meant to cut, to set her apart. Freak. Augment. Moddie.

"Una."

Una's eyes snapped open into darkness. Dark like the alley, dark like the figures stumbling towards her from all sides. She scrambled away from the presence at her side and nearly fell off the bed.

She was in a bed. Stars flashed by out the window.

"Computer, lights to thirty percent." His voice was a sleepy croak. His dim outline came into view as the lights increased, and Una took a deep breath. "Una, it's okay."

Una's eyes burned, and any other night she would have tried to fight it. But it was still so real and terrifying. Her heart was bounding in her chest. She took a shaky breath and tears started to fall. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Chris didn't bother to contradict her. He just sat up against the headboard and opened his arms. She crumpled a little, but there was nothing but love and compassion in his eyes. She crawled into his lap and buried her face in his neck. He tucked her tightly to his chest and gradually, her breaths slowed to sync with him.

"Never apologize for needing me," Chris said quietly. Una let out a sigh, and her eyes slipped closed.

[somethingserious]

not ao3 getting hacked by religious hackers

[woodland-fairy-tay]

Its so hard to feel the Christmas festive spirit with all the terrible atrocities that is happening in the world over these past last few months.

My parents are excited for the morning of Xmas (as always, of course.) To a point, they most definitely should!!! But just not me. I feel so empty, so heartbroken and miserable. Like something is missing.

Am I the only the one feeling this way??

[trashcatsnark]

Trying to ask astarion why there's a hunter after him and he just wants to ask if I wanna fuck

[lunar-goodness]

It is not even October and my Michael’s is already replacing, REPLACING!!! Halloween decorations with Christmas decorations… the madness has to end!! We can’t keep living like this, it’s bad enough when they cart out Christmas stuff so early but actively replacing Halloween things before the spooky month has even begun????? What is the world coming to?

[weirdocat83]

Idk if it’s funny or horrifying that these days I see people making serious videos on their political opinions using hamilton music.

[delurkr]

Um there's people in the world who need to learn that Kate can be vain, prissy, image-conscious, and a diva while also wearing denim, a beanie, and minimal makeup because there is no formula for mixing a vain, prissy, image-conscious diva who wants to look "good." Everybody has their own idea of "good" and the image she is insecure about not measuring up to does not have to be the image of a pageant queen. It can be whatever she wants, in fact, and she is a creatively subversive character because of this. Expand your imagination✨✨