#also like this is very loosely based on real life events

[halohalona]

hello hello! i just wanna ask really quick id ya'll would be interested in reading a two part fic where the plot goes like this:

reader gets upset over a higher up and a friend, who also happens to be their colleague and roommate, so they rant to logan

"friend" eavesdrops on a private conversation between reader and logan, finds out they're ranting about someone (the higher up) and records the conversation

reader is swamped with work and notices that the "friend" isn't pulling their weight in the projects they're both working on so they talk to them about it and it doesn't go well

the "friend" then snitches on reader out of spite

reader gets in trouble

reader gets upset and goes over to logan and wade's, talks to him about the whole situation etc etc (kinda like therapy lmao)

a few days later logan decides to visit the reader at work as a surprise

logan over hears the "friend" call the reader a leech and logan just goes off on them, pulling out receipts and shit defending the reader

this will probably be set after the Deadpool and Wolverine movie

(writing the base plot felt like it was a fucking soap opera damn)

this the bare backbone of the story, there will be more detail of course but the base plot is that. I just wanna know if ya'll would actually read it.

a like or reblog would be enough to let me know if i should actually write/post it

[algae-tm]

KILL BILL P.6

Charles Leclerc x famous singer! reader

Warnings : morally grey reader, toxic exes

Author’s note : There are so many x readers where the reader doesn’t do anything wrong, which I love don’t get me wrong but I wanted to write one where she’s a bit flawed. And obvs I cannot hate her cause she’s just in love and this is lossely (very loosely) based around real life events y’all so I get it! And also I love Alex 😭 I was gunna make her the villain but I literally can’t! So this is going a bit of a diff direction, in terms of ending. - Algae 🌱

•••••

INSTAGRAM

y/bff/n

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 678,798 others

y/bff/n : talking about boys over brunch? (tagged : yourusername)

yourusername : feels like I’m 18 again

— user3 : holdup when did y/n and Charles get together?

— user4 : she was 18 and he was 19/20…

— user5 : lmao that’s why he’s got her wrapped round his finger… poor baby hasn’t known any better

— user7 : not you guys acting like Charles groomed her be so serious! they have a 1 and a half year age gap touch grass.

— user9 : you can’t argue with people like this, they’re so chronically online!

— user4 : so how did they meet?

— user19 : google is free!

— user6 : her and Lewis did a fashion campaign when she was 16, and he sort of took her under his wing, cause I think her parents were a bit... I believe she then met Charles when she came to watch a race and watched the f2 race as well.

user1 : y/n telling you about how she’s a slut?

— y/bff/n : only ever having been with 1 man equals slut?

— user1 : going after a man with a girlfriend surely does.

lewishamilton : we love to see it

— y/bff/n : we sure do 😍

— yourusername : not you guys acting like I was dead in a ditch…

— y/bff/n : you were in man purgatory, it’s basically the same thing.

user11 : does Oscar know y/bff/n?

— user12 : No why?

— user11 : cause bros lurking in the comments

— user1 : lmao you think the skank’s gunna go for him next? (user1 has been blocked)

— user13 : @oscarpiatri trust you do not know how to handle @yourusename

— user11: poor baby she’d eat him alive

user13 : oh to be a fly on the wall for the Charles convo

user14 : trust it was hours long

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 10,987,843 others

yourusername : boys are awful and grotesque. i had to decompress on an island to get the crazy out of my brain. it’s a good thing mics are portable. Thank you Ephraim! My concierge for finding me a keyboard so I could get you guys this song that entered my brain almost two weeks ago and refused to leave. It’s a good teaser for my album, which is out in TWO days. so without further ado hope y’all like The Weekend!! if you don’t like it I’ll cry.

lewishamilton : oh this gives context to the unhinged messages you sent me at 1 am

— yourusername : I’m an artist, it’s my creative process

— lewishamilton : well this is way more constructive than turning up in Monaco

— user5 : oop- not you clocked by Lewis Hamilton of all people

— user7 : well I’m happy that Lewis doesn’t condone the behaviour of a slag

— user8 : lmao even her friends are getting tired of her

— user9 I think y’all are forgetting that they were together for six years, it was y/n’s first relationship, he dumps her out of the blue gets a new girlfriend within months. I for one would also go a bit crazy and need to be secluded on an island! Too bad I don’t have island money lmao

lewishamilton : I’ve been listening non stop! You truly out did yourself kid 🖤

y/bff/n : thank god you are not in Canada rn

y/bff/n : i was having a heart attack!

y/bff/n : you need to tell me before you travel across the world! We cannot have a repeat of last time.

— yourusername : have I really traumatised you that badly?

——y/bff/name : yes

—— lewishamilton : yes

—— yoursiblinguser : yes

—— friend1 : yes

—— danielricciardo: yes

—— oscarpiastri : yes

——yourusername : now hang on @oscarpiatri I don’t even know you!

— — oscarpiastri : wanna change that?

——- user11 : not you going after your dad’s ex

——-user14 : about to be a messy family reunion

——-danielricciardo : check that Aussie charm 🇦🇺

user7 : okay someone please talk about the lyrics????? Right off the bat it’s unhinged?? “WHY YOU WANT ME WHEN YOUVE GOT A GIRL??!” No cause that is so true like @charles_leclerc why are you still contacting her when Alex is right there?? (Liked by yourusername)

— user8 : ‘knowing it’s selfish, knowing I’m desperate’ oh she’s DOWN BAD!!

— user7 : you get it… cause DESPERATE, you’re describing yourself as desperate?? Bad bitch down in aisle 4 I fear!

user9 : lmao no cause you’ve outdone yourself! What do you mean ‘my man is my man, is your man. Heard that’s her man too’

— user21 : no cause she really is not a serious individual 😂

— user10 : the song is a bop don’t get me wrong but am I the only one who’s thinking about Alex in all this??

— user11 : poor girl hasn’t done anything apart from like a serial monogamist…

— user12 : I mean after this release Alex just needs to count her losses and leave him (liked by alexandrasaintmleux)

— user13 : oop- not her liking… clock it! But at this point I think this is just a messy situation where everyone’s gunna lose. Especially Alex poor girl never stood a chance

user22 : I just keep him satisfied through the weekend!

— user23 : you’re like 9 to 5 I’m the weekend!!!!

— user24 : make him lose his mind every weekend!!!!

sza : please god never let me be this down bad over a man 🙏🏾

— yourusername : now I know you’re not the one talking 🤨

badgalriri : 🖤

donatella_versace : DONATELLA VERSACE 💜

user17 : release the album NOW!

user18 : I’m sorry but weren’t we just mad at her? Releasing a song doesn’t make you automatically in the right? In fact even the song paints her as a bit of a villain :( I can’t imagine poor Alex listening to it.

— user19 : right? She’s practically begging him to cheat with her

— user15 : i really don’t know how to feel about the whole situation but it’s definitely not a good feeling…

••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow

[lillypad-monopoly]

Wild Life Episode 3 Thoughts

Sorry I don't have very good commentary this week. I was really busy and then life happened so I watched these POVs over the course of 6 days and didn't always take live notes.

The snail gimmick is iconic! Another amazing wildcard and a good Grian reference as well as being memey!

Someone joked about them being soulbound to the snails and I'm praying for the return of a soulbond Wildcard so hard right now

I'm genuinely concerned Skizz and Jimmy won't make it to episode 5. I hope we get some more passive wildcards coming up or this is going to be a pretty short series (also I would like them to get some stuff done)

Grian freezing the game is the lore event ever. Watcher powers are real but also he's clearly fighting back against their agenda more this season (once again such angst potential here RE: Grian knowing the wildcards ahead of time)

Ren digging all those holes looking for their horse is literally the definition of insanity and it's hilarious

Martyn and Etho interacting is always interesting both because the anime skin boys are hanging out together and because they have literally opposite playstyles. Martyn is crazy reckless and Etho is soo careful.

WHY DO REN AND MARTYN HAVE A DOUBLE BED

I really want to know all the snail names, since not everybody died this ep

I love that we're kind of going back to "suggestions" again, what with Tango killing Skizz and Martyn making snails invisible just for kicks. It feels like 3L and it's so fun.

I was so excited for Bdubs angst hour only for him to change his mind and not feel bad about anything after all

Etho's monologue 😂. The reason the go for you early is because they see you as a threat, not because they think you're not tough OMG.

Etho don't die to a creeper in the life series challenge impossible

Watching PICS build a base was actually so refreshing. I love the snail gimmick very much but it was nice to watch a POV where they were actually doing some classic life series stuff

Scott predicting violence for the next ep is...concerning lol. I don't know what he's seeing that I'm not, but outside of wild card stuff it doesn't really feel like we're at that point just yet

Actually I wouldn't put it past Tango to go wild. I'm just not sure the other Tuff Guys will follow him

I will be quoting "He's coming and he has only violence in his heart" from now on thank you Scott

Joel saying they have no enemies is so funny. The reason you don't have any enemies is cause everyone is too scared to cross you 😂.

Gem being excited about her snail while everyone else panics is iconic I love her

Joel giving Skizz a PVP lesson is so funny because Skizz *can* PVP from what I recall (I haven't seen a lot of Skizz so I could be wrong here)

Jimmy blowing up the car in front of Joel, Gem and Etho is the definition of "history doesn't repeat itself, it rhymes"

Lizzie I love you but you need to turn down something on your texture pack because everything is so bright

Bdubs manufacturing Tuff Guy behavior killed me. All of the Tuff Guys are such wet cats I love them <3

I've never watched Empires, but the bit where Jimmy gets blown up by a creeper has such powerful older sister/younger brother energy that I think I might have to headcanon them as siblings now

Scar and Lizzie being in the caves for the introduction of the snails and trying to figure out what's going on feels like a horror movie premise. People mysteriously dying to snail related stuff, and then a mob that's not in the game shows up and looks similar to the other person you're with and is following you around...

Team Bam/The Bamboozlers are as chaotic and struggling as hard as I expected. I don't actually want Lizzie to loose her teammates because I want everybody in until the last session, but it would be really funny if she did.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Meet-Ugly Writing Prompt: Interminable Intercom

okay so this is based not-so-loosely on real life events, and has been banging around my brain as a fun little writing prompt ever since. i might make a character-specific post with it at some point, but wanted to get the general concept out there.

-

Character A lives in an old af apartment building that has no on-site staff, where all the apartment entrances are in the building's interior, which you can only access through the locked main entrance doors. Each resident gets one key.

The entrance doors have an ancient intercom next to them. This intercom technically works, but the process of getting your phone number set up with it is so inconvenient that many residents do not bother.

If you lose your entrance key after hours, you are kind of SOL until business hours, when you'll have to pay a hefty fee for the management company to bring you a new key.

One evening, late, Character A gets a call from the intercom. They can't hear very well - again, ancient - but didn't have anything scheduled for delivery, and manage to catch that someone got locked out. They decide to be a good neighbor and press the button on their phone to open the main entrance door, then hang up, thinking nothing else of it.

However... it keeps happening. This Character B motherfucker must be the most forgetful or unlucky idiot to walk the earth, because they are constantly losing their key, and calling the one number on the intercom that always picks up. Maybe Character A is a homebody, maybe they work from home, but whatever it is, they're reliable. And no matter how annoyed they get about it, they can't bring themself to just leave someone stranded out there. And also, how could they make them stop? Neither of them knows what the other looks like, and Character A doesn't even know what apartment Character B is in!

-

anyway, what happens next is of course totally up to the writer. are there fun identity shenanigans when they bump into each other in the laundry room or by the mailboxes and don't know it? does character a finally put their foot down? does character b find a way to stop losing their damn key?

[theteasetwrites]

Begin Again

Chapter 1: Aux Portes de la Mort

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood & gore, scary situations, mentions of death ❧ Word Count: 7.6k

❧ In This Chapter: When you and Daryl awaken in an unknown land, far away from home, the world becomes twice as dangerous as it once was, with a whole new breed of dangers lurking around every corner. You have no choice but to begin again on a new mission: Get. Back. Home.

❧ A/N: IT'S HERE. I'm so excited to be writing for them again ugh it's been too long. I love this reader because she has all that history with Daryl from the first series so it's a real treat to keep all that in mind when I'm writing their scenes together. Also I am posting this before the premiere of the show. This chapter is based on the events of the sneak peek that was released on AMC+! So here ya go, the first chapter! Shoutout to Dahlia (@simpbyday) for helping me with the French translation for the title. She will be my official French language correspondent throughout this process. And if anyone else also knows French, I would love to get feedback on my usage of French throughout the series as well! <3

“Near death” did not mean much to you anymore.

You were either dead or alive, nothing in between. That’s how you felt about it now. There were few areas in life that were black and white to you, and that was one of them. If you were alive, you were alive. Maybe you’d be a little worse for wear, but you were alive. That was the important thing.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway. As a way to condition yourself, to be stronger. For Daryl. For Robin. For Wes. You had to be strong for them. Maybe that’s what got you into this mess. 

No, Daryl did. Daryl got you into this: tied loosely to the back of a lifeboat, one foot missing a boot and hanging off the edge, dangling pitifully in the ocean as the small vessel drew you closer to the shore. 

You might’ve stayed asleep if it weren’t for the splashing sound, followed by the familiar grunts and wheezes of gasping breath. You felt the rope across your hips pull in the other direction, where Daryl fought with the current to come back to the air. Through heavy eyes, crusted by a long sleep and sensitive to the bright light of what must’ve been mid-afternoon, you saw him struggle to lift the rope from his body as a wave pummeled him back down below the water. 

Your throat burning, rendering you unable to so much as cry out his name, you freed yourself from the rope, sliding into the water. What happened next would fade into the obscurity of rumbling waves carrying your weak bodies closer to shore, until the feeling of ground underfoot welcomed you. 

But that feeling was short-lived. As soon as your feet felt the sand, you were knocked down by another wave. Now you could only crawl, with what little strength you had left. Even Daryl, so very hearty and always physically stronger and more durable than yourself, began to stagger, falling less than gracefully to his knees just a few feet from you. There was no need for verbal recognition or even touch—you felt him there, crawling beside you, alive. 

Now with only your feet still clinging to the sea, your arms gave out underneath you, like two pieces of boiled spaghetti, limp and sprawled out not far from Daryl, who lied with his face pressed against the sand, his wet hair shrouding any semblance of his visage. 

Though you could hear his sharp breaths, his heavy pants that withdrew with high-pitched whimpers that sent a shiver down your spine, you could hardly tell if he was moving. 

Momentarily frozen, you gathered all your strength to extend your arm across the sand. Your fingers stretched out to the fullest extent, crawling like a spider until finally you gripped his hand, entwining your fingers with his and shaking it roughly, urging him to move.

You had been near death enough to know that the worst thing to do was to stop moving. That was like accepting death, and wherever you were now, you weren’t going to face it without him.

Your movement brought him to life as he lifted his head, his sight first taking in his surroundings—a beach.

And not far in the distance, a small blue bucket. 

You followed his gaze, which seemed transfixed on the object, partly buried by the wet sand that must’ve remained untouched for God only knows how long. 

Having a near encyclopedic understanding of Daryl’s mind, you knew what he was thinking of—survival. There was water in that bucket. Sandy ocean water, but water nevertheless.

All you could think of, though, was how familiar that little bucket was. Robin had one just like it. Last time you’d taken her and Wes to Oceanside, they played on the beach for hours, making sandcastles with her little bucket and shovel that she’d gotten for her seventh birthday last May. Somehow she’d convinced Daryl to let her bury him under the sand. You had the Polaroids to prove it somewhere in one of the pockets of your vest, if they hadn’t been lost to sea.

The memory faded quickly, as he pulled you up, still holding your hand. At least now he was moving, dragging you and himself towards the bucket.

He’d let go of your hand to pick it up, digging out as much sand as he could before handing it to you. Without a word, you brought the rim of the bucket to your lips, taking just a few sips, despite the painful drought in your throat.

Daryl took the rest, downing the sandy saltwater like it was the nectar of life, and here, at the gates of death, it was. 

When the water was gone, he let the pail fall back to its final resting place. You couldn’t bring yourself to even raise your head. You could only watch it fall, the bright blue plastic taking you back to a time that seemed so far away now, to a world you wished you’d never left. 

But Daryl, ever the pragmatist, always planning the next move, was already narrowing his eyes, looking around for the answer to that burning question that lingered between the two of you—where the hell are we? 

You could’ve looked at that little bucket forever, if he hadn’t tugged on your hand, not unlike how you’d done so to his just minutes ago. 

“C’mon.”

The further the two of you walked, slowly, limping, the more you began to take note of your surroundings, without too much thought of the complete and utter shit you two were both in. For all the differences between you, you both knew one thing was true—there was no point in dwelling on how you got here, the only thing that mattered was getting back home. That was the unspoken truth. 

As you walked further, the sand beneath your feet turned into concrete. Some kind of parking structure, or what once was. You passed the rotting, rusted shells of cars, their windows smashed and their hoods lifted, no doubt due to survivors looking for parts to salvage. A clump of neglected bicycles leaned against a graffitied pole. Like most graffiti, you couldn’t make out what it said. 

Passing a small overgrown boat, you spotted a signpost not too far away. You walked ahead of Daryl, all too eager to see what it said. The letters were faded, but you could make out the arrows, meaning it would point you in whatever direction you needed to go in. That was all you needed now: direction. Some delusionally hopeful part of you, deep down, wanted to believe the sign would display the word “HOME” with an arrow accompanying it, leading the way without confusion or ambiguity. 

But of course, you knew that was impossible. Still, you did not anticipate what you saw.

Squinting your tired eyes, your weakened legs slowed to a halt as the sign’s lettering came into view. Your heart sank as you stepped back, almost terrified of what you read. But you backed against Daryl’s chest, which caught you before you could lose your balance from the shock of the realization. 

You could not read the sign. 

Pla… place de… ste?

Port de… Martegues?

… Cimetiere?

Shit.

Some kind of port city, somewhere in France.

That’s what you decided upon, in the silence of your heavy thoughts as you walked together aimlessly, still not speaking. How could you speak to him? What was there to say? You had no hope now. It was gone, and usually, that was the only thing that kept you talking in times like these. 

And Daryl, he could go hours without speaking, if he had nothing to say. 

He, too, was at a loss for words. After all, he knew he’d gotten you into this. He knew none of this would’ve happened if he’d just… It didn’t matter now, though. What mattered was getting home.

But you weren’t safe here. 

You always knew that the whole world must’ve fallen, of course. When everything happened, the world went dark. France was no exception. The state of the place was proof enough. In this old city, with cobblestone streets littered in the abandoned remnants of a once prosperous civilization, every corner you turned was the same—empty, ruined, overgrown.

By some instinct, you both walked along a path just on the edge of a canal that seemed to run through the city. Perhaps it was just a gut feeling, or perhaps the both of you knew to stay close to the water, on the off chance that you’d find some kind of seafaring vessel. Though you still couldn’t shake the taste of saltwater, you knew that the only way you could get back home was to get back on the water. That was your priority.

Sure enough, you came upon a boat, moored at the edge of the path, floating upon the water, and looking as though it had been there for centuries.

Just outside the boat on the cobblestone path, it looked as though someone had set up camp, once upon a time. Whoever had been there, though, they were long gone. As you passed a desiccated corpse, completely barren of flesh with a long fisherman’s spear skewered through its head, you wondered if this body had once held the poor soul of the boat’s former occupant. You didn’t wonder for long, though, as these days, you’d seen enough dead bodies to almost completely desensitize you from any human curiosity. Now, it was just a bag of bones. 

Approaching the stern of the vessel, Daryl went into the cabin first, his sights set on the wine bottles perched on a wooden shelf, in the hopes that maybe they’d contain some water. He picked them up one by one, shaking them. Nothing at all. 

You busied yourself, rummaging through a bag you found hanging from a nail near the door. Your hand gripped on some long, cylindrical plastic, ribbed and seemingly filled with liquid. 

“Daryl.”

You held the water bottle out towards him as he turned around. You hadn’t caught a good glimpse of his face yet, until now. 

The skin of his face and neck were reddened terribly by the sun, but that didn’t worry you as much. It was the scarlet red cut stretching diagonally over his forehead, and the paleness of his lips, dry and dehydrated. The saltwater you both drank earlier only made the thirst more potent. 

Deciding he needed the water more than you, you pressed the bottle to his chest, despite his brief protest that he gave with only a knowing look on his face, as if to say: You drink first. 

You returned the look, but with more conviction as you shoved the bottle harder now, as if to say: No. Drink. 

Reluctantly, he did, drinking less than half before handing it back to you, with the same force you applied when giving it to him, and the same stern, protective look: Drink. 

You took the rest of the water, wincing at the aged taste. But you drank it down slowly, steadily, the cooling liquid coating your barren throat. 

Lost in the brief relief it gave you, you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s continued russling as he pillaged the tiny boat cabin, looking for anything and everything that could somehow be useful. 

As you used your long, torn sleeve to wipe away the dripping water from your chin, you were startled by the sudden sound of a man’s voice, not Daryl’s. 

With a flinch, you turned around to see Daryl, sitting at the small dining table, holding a tape recorder. 

“Nineteen months at sea,” said the man’s garbled voice, with an accent you deemed to be Irish. “Hoping to stay ahead of this thing.”

On the table before him was a map of Europe, and a photo of a family. There was a man that must’ve been the owner of the voice you listened to now. Beside him was a woman, his wife, Daryl assumed, because on her lap was a little girl, holding a large stuffed penguin, about half the size of her. She couldn’t have been older than Robin, he thought. 

They looked happy, all smiles. Somewhere in one of his pockets, he was sure he had a picture that looked almost exactly the same, only with his family—Robin, Wes, Dog, you. He quickly willed the thought away, though. If he kept thinking about it, he was sure he’d break down, when at this point, what he needed to be the most was strong. 

“Circled Spain,” the voice continued. “Nowhere safe… We’ll try Marseille next. Maybe the south of France is good… There’s got to be a safe place somewhere.”

You were sure you’d uttered that phrase once. Maybe around the same time he did. Just goes to show how much this world changes you, which was saying something—you always believed the world hadn’t changed you nearly as much as it changed everyone else. But you knew now that there was no safe place in this world, except in the arms of the ones you loved. And even then, that was only a metaphor. But you had to believe it, to convince yourself it was true. Otherwise, you were no different than the dead.

Night was closing in. There was no more time to waste. 

Still without hardly more than a one-word sentence exchanged between you, you got to work setting up a night’s worth of camp, while Daryl speared a fish in the canal. Just one was all the energy he had, but it was more than enough for the both of you. A white fish of decent size, which Daryl cooked over the makeshift barbecue near the boat. 

Sitting on the boat, you got a lantern working, providing just enough light to see what you were doing as you tried to filter the muddy canal water through the mesh lining of a jacket you’d found inside the boat. Across the way, you’d glimpse at Daryl, now draped in a tarp he’d fashioned into a poncho, in only the way Daryl could even think of doing. 

His tired face was illuminated by the fire over which he cooked the fish, turning it over with a small knife until it was cooked through. You wondered what on Earth was going on in his head, if he was as frightened as you were, if he had any hope left. 

You didn’t have much hope anymore. Not now. 

In this world, you’d found that your hope had been tested constantly, but only a handful of times did it try you like this. When the farm fell, when you lost the prison, when the Saviors took Daryl… 

But you always got it back. You always found your strength again. 

You weren’t sure if you could get it back this time.

Still, you had Daryl. If you were alone, in a strange place, thousands of miles from home, you were sure you would’ve given up by now. But he was here. 

The silence between you persisted into the night, as you sat across from each other, under the dark blanket of the night sky, eating the charred fish straight off the bone, with only the dim flickering light of the lantern just barely lighting your faces. 

When the silence became unbearable, Daryl had pulled the tape recorder from his pocket, playing it again, as if he found comfort in the man’s voice, despite the ultimate tragedy that must’ve occurred. 

“Sue had a heart attack.” You could only assume that was the name of his wife, the woman in the photograph. “I had to… take care of it.”

You’d heard stories like that before, of someone having to put down their loved one before or, God forbid, after they turned, but it would never cease to send a shiver down your spine. The thought of having to do that to Daryl… It was a nightmare you’d had more than once.

“Our tenth anniversary would’ve been in June… Holly keeps crying. She wants her mum back.”

That was when you stopped eating, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“She wants things the way they were.”

You swallowed hard in an attempt to suck down the lump forming in your throat. 

“She wants to go home.”

“Turn it off.”

The sudden sternness in your voice nearly surprised him, or maybe it was just how many words you spoke at once. 

He grabbed the recorder and turned it off with a sharp click, restoring the heavy silence that lingered like a thick fog between you. 

Daryl watched intently as you hugged your legs against your chest, your eyes downcast and glued to the worn and torn stuffed penguin, buried underneath some ropes and an empty old fuel tank. You recognized it from the photo. 

He could read the look on your face, and the thoughts that he knew were flying through your head at a thousand miles an hour. He knew that you were thinking about home, about your family. Still, he couldn’t shake this discomfort. This quiet. 

For all the years he’d known you, he’d never gone this long with such silence between the two of you. Of course, he’d been separated from you before for much longer, but together? You were hardly ever at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time you were like this, but he didn’t like it. Funny, Daryl was always the quieter one, the one who more often than not needed to be coaxed into talking. He always preferred the quiet, but this was unbearable. 

He needed to hear your voice, now more than ever. He needed your hope.

“You haven’t said more than three words since we got here.”

Washed up here, your mind corrected. 

He leaned forward stiffly, still eying you, despite your gaze still transfixed on the once pristine stuffed animal. 

Several painful moments passed. Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. He’d beg for you to speak, to say anything to him. All he wanted was to hear you. 

“Please.” His voice was low, soft. It was always like that with you, but something about it now seemed more desperate. “Please say somethin’.”

Finally, you raised your head slowly, meeting his silvery blue eyes, visible through several loose strands of hair that framed his face. If you were in better spirits, you might’ve smiled, just seeing his face, despite how badly he was in need of a good shower. You were sure you looked rather filthy yourself.

But you couldn’t smile. You couldn’t even imagine such a thing. The last time you smiled seemed so far away, you could hardly even remember it. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice was shaky, hoarse, tired. He’d been with you through Hell and back, and back again, and yet he’d never heard your voice so defeated, so… lost.

“I don’t know,” he replied simply, still holding your gaze. Now, you both stared intently, as if battling to see who could dare to look away first. “I just…” As he trailed off, his eyes sank in defeat. He’d lost the battle. “I’m sorry.”

With a sniffle, you replied. “What are you sorry for?”

It took him several moments to speak, as he tried to compose himself. If he opened his mouth too soon, he might start crying, and despite how much you encouraged him to be vulnerable, to not neglect his emotions around you, he could never fully let himself cry in front of you without feeling that ingrained sense of failure and inadequacy, like he wasn’t the strong man you needed, no matter how many times you reminded him of how strong he was. 

“For gettin’ you into this.”

Your lip quivered, your eyes softened. 

He continued, “If I hadn’t asked you to go with me—”

“Then you’d be sitting here, across the world, alone, and I’d be in Alexandria worried sick about you.”

“But you’d be safe,” he said, an almost imperceptible shake in his voice as he was reminded of the danger you were now mired in, all thanks to him.

“How many times have I told you… I’m safest when I’m with you.”

That thought was nice, but it still could never completely alleviate Daryl’s worries. 

And there was another reason he wished he hadn’t asked you to come along. 

“But you’d be with the kids.”

Your eyes sank as though they were anchored to the floor of this decrepit old boat. He knew that would get you, you were sure. He knew that, besides him, you loved your children more than anything else, and being so far away from them, lost with no immediate hope of seeing them again, was crushing you.

A silence befell you, and Daryl felt like he lost you again. God, all he wanted was to hear you. Your voice was the most comfort he could have right now, just to know you were near.

Now Daryl looked down, focused on the mud caked around his brown boots. He raised his hands to his face as he huffed. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. Just sad.

With a sniffle, you looked back up. He still sat with his head in his hands, until he lifted his eyes above his fingers just enough to see you. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice a cracking whisper.

“Nah,” he said abruptly. “Nothin’s okay.”

Daryl always had that bad habit of blaming everything on himself. You knew it well. It frustrated you—his inability to give himself any credit and his tendency to dwell on his flaws instead of celebrating his accomplishments. Granted, one of the many traits you admired about your husband was his humility, but sometimes, you wished he would consider the things he’d done right instead of all the things he did wrong.

You raised yourself to your feet, crossing the boat to sit beside him. He did not look your way or pay you much attention, still lost in his thoughts. Still, you carefully, slowly, wrapped your arm around his waist and his shoulders, holding him. 

He was stiff, but under your touch, he slowly began to soften, as he always did. It was then he had realized how long it seemed he’d gone without your touch like this. You’d been with him the whole time, but survival did not allow for many moments of pure, gentle intimacy between two lovers.

“We’re alive,” you whispered. As you leaned against him, you pressed a small, but firm, kiss to his cheek. “We’re together.”

Without a word, he gave you a knowing glance. He narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously, while he chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.

You smiled. “One of us has to be the positive one. We can’t get anything done if we’re both sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“It’s shitty,” you said. “This is a shitty situation… Maybe the worst situation we’ve been in, but we’re going to get back home.” 

Though you spoke with conviction, you weren’t entirely sure that you really believed the words you spoke. It was hard to believe. It was hard to believe you were here in the first place. Nevertheless, you’d die trying to get back home, to see your children again, to watch them grow.

There was no way in Hell you were going to sit back and do nothing. 

To your relief, Daryl’s hand found yours, curling around it and squeezing it tight. He nodded, then raised your hand to his lips.

“Yeah. We will.”

You smiled as you roamed his face, finding comfort in the familiarity. In this world of uncertainty, this new world where neither of you belonged, you found safety in each other—you saw Alexandria in his face. All the memories. It was like a photo album, everything flashed before your eyes. You saw Robin, Wes, Aaron, Lydia, Maggie, Michonne, Rick… everyone. Everyone you loved, alive or dead, all in him. 

And in you, he felt the same, but not only that. He saw everything beautiful and pure in this world, everything worth protecting and keeping alive. As you held him, he held your face, his thumbs moving gently over the apples of your cheeks. 

Your face was worn, tired, with a few knicks and scratches scattered about over your usually smooth and unblemished skin, but nothing could distract from the perfection of your features that he knew and adored so well.

And you, you couldn’t help but eye that nasty cut on his forehead. You swept away the stray pieces of hair that obscured the cut, then huffed. Though you had already washed the cut with water, you were itching to find a real first aid kit to prevent infection. The one on the boat was cleaned out, and whatever first aid kit you had brought with you was in a bag lost at sea.

“S’fine,” he said, knowing full well what you were thinking. “M’fine.”

“It’s just… I don’t like it.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“We’ll find something to help it. If I could get my hands on some calendula or even some marshmallow…” 

That thought prompted you to look around, the darkness of the empty waterway in the desolate, ruined city. Even if you could find some herbs with healing properties here, you wouldn’t know where to start looking. 

The south of France wasn’t exactly the same as Virginia in terms of flora and fauna. 

“First thing we gotta find is a way back,” he replied.

“We could fix up this boat.” Daryl’s mechanic expertise started and stopped with cars and motorcycles, but you figured a boat couldn’t be much different. 

“Nah. Engine’s shot, and I dunno the first thing ‘bout how boats work, anyway.”

“Well… We’ll just have to find another way. There have to be people somewhere.” 

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow as he chewed the last of his fish. “You remember what happened the last time we asked a bunch of strangers for help?”

Ah, yes—the Commonwealth. 

At least that turned out in your favor, eventually. It took almost a year of turmoil, but in the end, it was worth it.

“Daryl, I don’t see any way out of this without some help. Besides, we haven’t seen any walkers yet… Maybe France is faring better?”

“Or maybe they’re all dead.”

“Stop it. That’s not true.” You held his cheek and turned his face towards you. “You know it’s not true… It can’t be.”

The rest of that night passed slowly, quietly. Maybe it was out of habit, or just his need to be aware of his and your surroundings at all times, but Daryl spent a good fifteen minutes checking out the general vicinity, scanning the perimeter around the little boat on which you busied yourself by fashioning a bed of sorts out of pieces of seats and blankets. 

Daryl returned not long after he left, with a curious trinket in his hands: a Barbie doll. 

You looked up at him from the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of posing the little blonde doll, sitting her atop the small dining table with her arm raised as if she were waving. Her hair was only slightly mangled, but you knew many tricks when it came to freshening up Barbie dolls and making them good as new for Robin, and sometimes Wes, to play with.  

“Only you could find a Barbie doll in France,” you said.

“It’s not just any Barbie doll,” he said, sitting himself down beside you with a huff. Gravity forced his body to the bed. Well, bed was a generous term for the dismantled chair covered with blankets. “It’s a veterinarian.”

You studied the doll closer from a distance. Indeed, she had a little white doctor’s coat and a pink stethoscope. You would’ve thought she was actually a doctor Barbie, but only a trained, professional eye like Daryl’s would spy the light pink paw print pattern on her lab coat. Thus, she was distinctly a veterinarian, to be sure. 

A smile spread across your face as you laid back, snuggling close to his side. He smelled faintly like fish, but you were certain that you didn’t smell so great either. 

“She’ll love it,” you whispered. There was no question who you could possibly be talking about. “I’ll keep it in my bag until we get home.”

Daryl couldn’t respond verbally. He could only chew his bottom lip as his arm snaked underneath your side and wrapped around to stroke your shoulder with his hand. Perhaps that was the ultimate reason he took the doll—as a way to further motivate both of you to live long enough to see your family again. And you would. He’d make sure of it. He knew it. He had to.

At length, you spoke again. 

“It’s clear?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No walkers, no people… No nothin’.”

That was good. If Daryl felt it was safe enough for the both of you to sleep tonight, that was a victory in your book. 

“Tomorrow,” you began, “we should start heading north, towards Paris.”

Daryl’s lip twitched into a slight smile as he began to close his eyes, still holding you. Sometimes, you hardly noticed he was holding you. A long time ago, it had become second nature, so habitual that him holding you in bed at night was a feeling you couldn’t quite sleep without. 

“Paris?”

“Yeah… There could be people there. Biggest city, biggest population.”

“Yeah, biggest population of walkers.”

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know then. You got any bright ideas, Einstein?”

He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you, with only one eye open, the other squeezed shut as his nose scrunched up and he made a faux scowl. It was almost enough to make you laugh. 

He chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. “How about west?” he asked. “Least we can head that way first, see if we find anyone or anything. Best to stay as far away from the city as possible.”

“You're right,” you replied, resting your head upon his chest. Somehow, it was always much more comfortable than a pillow, despite its relative firmness. “You're always right.”

“Not always,” he said lowly, his fingers finding the ends of your hair and twirling around them as if by instinct.

“Yeah… Not always.”

“Pfft…”

“What?”

“Jus’... Can’t believe where we are right now.”

You nodded in agreement, but you could tell where this line of thinking was going—this negativity that sometimes clouded Daryl’s almost unwavering hope. That was where you came in, though your hope was in serious question, too.

“Well, you did promise you’d take me on a vacation.”

He scoffed again, but it was almost a laugh. Almost.

“France wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Me neither,” you said. A few beats of silence, then you added, “I would’ve preferred Italy.”

Three days had passed, all of which were spent hiking through ruins and desolate hills. Daryl used the long fishing spear from the boat as a kind of walking stick, and a weapon, along with whatever else he scavenged from Marseille. You’d found a few good knives, but nothing to quite balance out the slight limp you’d woken up with when you washed ashore. 

No encounters with walkers, you’d noted, though you’d seen some wandering in the distance, ambling aimlessly through deserted stretches of wilderness. At certain points, you feared you might’ve been walking at the same pace as the rotting corpses, but they were far enough, and none of them seemed as fast as some of the climbers you’d seen. 

Wilderness eventually faded into a somewhat industrialized town, much further away from the coast you’d started from. 

It was small, but a good place to stop off for the night, you’d hoped.

Wandering through the small alleyways, littered with debris and overgrown vegetation, you came upon a large building, something like a warehouse turned into what appeared to be a supermarket. At least, that’s what you gathered from the signage, despite its unknown language. 

Oh, how you wished you’d taken French instead of Spanish in high school now. 

Daryl entered first, quietly opening the creaking door. The general protocol when entering new, unknown buildings had always been the same: be quiet (silent if possible). Although, if there were any walkers in there, odds are, they could smell you before you’d even say a word.

Still, you felt Daryl’s hand tap your shoulder lightly. He signaled to you, signing the phrase, “Me left, you right,” as he mouthed the words. 

You always hated splitting up, but you signed back, “Be careful.”

Connie and Kelly would’ve been proud, you were sure. 

The two of you split up, Daryl searching the leftmost side of the building, you the right. 

As you examined the place, you took note of its state. It was abandoned, of course, but it was one of those places that had been left alone since the very beginning. It looked as though there had been a farmer’s market here, with long tables and booths with once meticulously laid out displays of crafts and homemade wares. Surely, whatever fresh produce had been here had long since deteriorated into nothingness, but there was always the chance of coming across dry foods. Grains and legumes and the like. Those were the ideals.

If fortune favored you, you could even find some dried herbs or medicinal plants to use on Daryl’s cut, but that was a longshot. 

Still, you kept a lookout, your mind, and your stomach, much more focused on finding food than on scoping the place out for walkers. From across the way, you heard a small thud that made you flinch. Your eyes followed the sound—Daryl had set down his bag rather carelessly. 

Eyes wide, you looked at him. He seemed entranced by a jar he was in the process of opening, only to smell its contents and put it back. Feeling your gaze on him, he looked up at you. 

“You OK?” he signed, mouthing the words.

You sighed quietly, recovering from the startle. “Yeah.” With much more emphasis, exacerbated by the firmness with which you moved your hands, you once again signed, “BE CAREFUL.”

“OK,” he signed back, his face bordering on slightly annoyed with your protectiveness.

But another thud quickly drew your attention, though this one was not from Daryl, who also turned to locate the source of the ruckus. 

You could only see a faint movement that was rather close to the ground, as though an animal was stirring, but as the familiar groans and wheezes started, you knew what it was. 

Much to your surprise, Daryl seemed stunned for a moment, standing rather still as he simply watched the walker crawl out from underneath a pile of rubbish. As for you, you gripped the handle of your knife, removing it from its holder on your belt. But you were much further from him, and where there was one walker, there were, more often not, much more.

Suddenly, more walkers seemed to awaken from their slumber. Sleepers, you’d grown to call them. In your fascination with the habits of walkers, you’d begun taking note of how they seemed to have their own mode of hibernation during times of inactivity. 

From what you could see, about eight or so of them had emerged from the far left, somewhere behind the produce stands, and were heading towards Daryl. You had the luckier draw, with only three or four setting their sights, and their gnashing, rotten teeth, on you. 

No need for signing anymore. Dinner was officially served, and tonight, fresh American meat was on the menu. 

“You got it?!” you called out to Daryl, raising your knife as the nearest walker limped towards you, its skull just barely clinging to the remainder of petrified flesh that hung loosely from its face. 

He hesitated for a moment, worrying you. Daryl seemed off his game when it came to fighting walkers. Perhaps it was because he was still frazzled by the strangeness of your situation, or perhaps, God forbid, he was more worse for wear than he wanted you to know. After all, Daryl did have a tendency to downplay his injuries or his illnesses, a habit which frustrated you perhaps beyond any other quirk he had, because this was the most dangerous to his health.

But you couldn’t think of that now. Not when there were walkers snapping at you, and even more at your husband.

“Yeah!” he finally called back as he got a grip on his spear. 

He set his focus on the first walker that had risen, which began slowly limping towards him. From behind him, though, was another walker, making quicker progress. He turned briefly, skewering the walker’s head with the sharpened point of the spear. He followed that with a kick to the walker’s abdomen, removing it quickly from the weapon.

On the other side of the place, you drove your knife into the nearest walker’s skull, but not without the usual splash of blood that came spurting out afterwards. 

This spurt, though, was no ordinary one. 

As you tugged the blade from its skull, you noticed a stinging sound, like that of a singe. It came as the blood spattered over the floor, and continued as it poured from the walker’s head. You stepped back, brows furrowed as you watched the trail of blood seem to evaporate, but it left behind a cloud of… smoke. 

In a way, it reminded you of a branding, how the hot iron had been embedded into your skin and eaten away at the flesh with a horrendous burn until an X was forever scarred into your back. Whatever was going on with that walker, if its blood had gotten anywhere near your skin, you were sure it would have a similar effect—an agonizing, flesh dissolving burn.

But you hadn’t any more time to think about the strange walker, as there was another one coming behind you. 

Meanwhile, had just skewered another walker through the face, then pulled the spear out to fling the walker backwards and tumbling back against another one.

Stepping backwards, just about to turn around and face another batch of walkers, one lunged forward, reaching its hand out to grip Daryl’s forearm, but this was not any ordinary death grip.

Most walkers’ touches were cold, lifeless, but this? This… searing, stinging, agonizing sharpness that made him scream.

With one last kill, you turned towards him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape with the fear of the most profound variety. Daryl never screamed like that. At least, not when you were around. Suddenly, every nightmare and intrusive thought of Daryl being bitten assaulted your mind all at once. 

All you could see was him struggling against a walker, whose grip on his forearm must’ve been so strong that even Daryl couldn’t immediately pry himself away. 

But the walker’s grip really wasn’t that strong. No, its hand was simply stuck, with Daryl’s burning, melting flesh acting as a kind of glue. 

As he tugged and yelled in frustrated pain, you quickly bounded across the room, taking down another walker on the way. 

The closer you got, the more you saw it—the small swirl of smoke emerging from Daryl’s flesh as the walker’s hand seared the flesh of his arm. 

Just before you could get to it, Daryl managed to rip himself free, stepping back a moment to briefly scowl at the strange burn. 

Immediately, you came forward, plunging your knife into the walker’s head. 

Daryl’s eyes flashed to meet yours, a simple exchange of breathless nods between you enough to suffice until the rest of the walkers were taken care of.

You looked around swiftly, and Daryl did the same. Six more walkers. Between the two of you, it would be light work. That is, if there were no more SNAFUs.

Daryl took the high ground, situating himself on a large wooden table to better approach the threat. 

You kept on the floor, using one hand to pull the walkers toward you, the other to strike with your knife. 

Once again, Daryl found himself with the unlucky situation. Underneath the table he’d taken defense at was another walker. 

Plunging the end of his spear through the wood, he successfully impaled the walker’s head, but not without his spear getting stuck.

He tugged on the spear with all his strength, but the thing wouldn’t budge—the spear was lodged too deep in the walker’s skull, causing it to bang on the underside of the table with each attempt to tug it back up. In perhaps a less serious setting, the image might’ve been quite comical. 

Daryl’s grunts combined with the repeated banging sound alerted you to the situation, and to the other walker coming closest to him. 

You quickly charged the walker, finally taking it out with a swift but jagged movement. Meanwhile, Daryl had just freed his spear, and now moved to kill two more walkers in his path. 

He was fast this time, killing them within hardly a second between each other. It was just enough time for him to turn around and see the very last walker coming towards you.

Without another second to even hesitate, you raised your knife, only for another one to fly into the side of the walker’s head, sending it falling to the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes, Daryl’s flying knives startled you more than the walkers. 

With a huff, you reached down, pulling the knife from the walker’s head. Just as you’d seen from the other one—a splash of burning, corrosive blood, a hissing sound as it hit the floor, and a small plume of smoke.

What the hell are you? you asked the corpse in your head. 

But that wasn’t important now. You quickly turned your attention to Daryl, who pulled up the sleeve of his poncho to reveal the raw flesh of his burn. 

Within a moment’s time, you were at his side, holding his arm as your eyes frantically took in the wound. In your confusion, and your fear, you looked up at him, all the color drained from your face. From what you knew of burns, this looked to be second degree, oozing redness and blisters already starting to form. 

“We’ll bandage it up,” you said, nodding to yourself, as if to reassure both him and you. “We’ll clean it first… Some water and—and if I find some aloe…”

He caught your gaze, holding it for a good several moments of heavy silence.

“You ever seen a walker do that?” he asked, knowing full well that the answer was no.

You turned to investigate the last walker you’d killed—on the surface, not unlike any other walker you’d seen before, except you supposed he had a certain… je ne sais quoi, if you will. 

“Maybe… it’s a French thing,” you replied. “I have no idea.”

Daryl let out a deep huff as he sat, still wincing at the unsightly burn on his arm.

You sat beside him, reaching into your satchel to procure a crinkly plastic bottle of water. 

“Don’t,” he said lowly. “You need to drink that.”

Ignoring him, you dabbed several drops of water onto the clean rag you’d taken from the boat in Marseille. With Daryl always getting hurt somehow, you knew it was a good find.

He hissed between his teeth as you lightly cleaned the wound as best you could, but it still seemed to ooze.

It worried you, to say the least. 

And Daryl… he only worried about what might happen to you if this thing was even more sinister than it looked.

“What if it’s—”

“It’s not,” you replied quickly. If you knew what he was going to say, you weren’t even going to let him speak the possibility into existence. “It’s not like a bite.”

“But what if it is.”

After all, what you knew of walkers was that their bites were deadly. What if their… burns were too? 

But you refused to believe that. 

“It’s not,” you said back. “We’ll patch it up. It’ll be fine.”

From the look on his face, he appeared not to believe that, his eyes clouded with fear and uncertainty the likes of which you’d almost never seen in him. Daryl didn’t fear death, though. He feared the thought of you being alone, in a world where the two of you needed each other more than anything. 

Again, here you were, trying to lift his spirits despite the possibility of death lingering all around you, in this French supermarket that reeked of death and rotten flesh. But you weren’t just reassuring him, you were reassuring yourself.

“Hey.” Your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing his gaze to face yours. Your eyes were soft, but firm enough to remind him that, just as he would never let anything happen to you, you would never let anything happen to him. Your voice barely above a whisper, you spoke to him with the gentleness he knew and loved so well. The gentleness he’d needed all his life, and would need until the day he died, and after that, too. “Sweetheart… We’re alive.”

That was enough. It would have to be enough. Enough to begin again.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

[hkblack]

Let me tell you a story...

It starts in the summer of 2021. Honestly it probably starts a little before that. 2020 through 2022 ish are a bit hazy because there was a lot of sitting around at home doing nothing.

Somewhere in that haziness my partner goes “wait, you haven’t watched this Good Omens show yet? And you haven’t read the book? … oh no. You should do that.”

And immediately after finishing the show I knew I was in trouble. I knew if I read the book I would absolutely fall down the fandom rabbit hole and be trapped, and so for a very long while, I didn’t. Until I did.

And then in August 2021, I wandered into fandom. I had been lurking. Seeing what AO3 had to offer. Crawling back onto Tumblr. But I had a story idea, and I needed a beta reader. And the last time I was in fandom, LiveJournal was still a thing, so I didn’t know where to go.

I found out about Discord, and I signed up for a thousand servers, it felt like, and in one server I bravely started sticking my neck out.

There was talk about someone writing a Human AU on a farm, and farm animals in general, and I chimed in about goat-scaping. And then I made the joke that would seal my fate.

“I don’t know if I could write a kid fic, but you know. I could write a kid (goat) fic.”

It was meant to be a short, sweet, meet-cute. Professor Aziraphale has a goat from the goat scaping team break into his office. Based loosely on a campus experience where a member of the goat-scaping team at a campus I was on tried (and failed) to get into a classroom once.

A simple formula. Maybe a 4+1? 4 times a goat broke into Professor Aziraphale Fell’s office, and one time it didn’t.

I even found the first beta reading request. First chapter done, I’ve got four more planned. Rated T.

Ha.

I started writing Chapter 5, you know, the final chapter, and realized—there’s more to this story. These characters have life, and story, and who doesn’t want to see more goats? Also, had I truly fulfilled the “kid-fic” portion of my joke?

I think we can all agree that no, no I hadn’t.

So, I kept writing. But I also found my stride in other Discord Servers and in Fandom in general. And in the winter of 2021, I went on a beta-reading blitz for the Gift Exchange happening in the Do It With Style Events Discord server. I read something like 14? 15? stories in a very short amount of time and in doing so, got to know some really amazing people and began to carve out my spot in the community.

From this server I found folks with lived goat-experience who were willing to share and advise me. From this server I found beta readers and brit pickers willing to cheer me on and guide my writing to the best version it could be. I found friends and joy and I found community.

And if you look very carefully through the pages of Bleating Hearts, I think that at its heart, past the puns, past the obvious fast burn love story, and the crooked Luce Matin and demanding James Starr, and even beyond the goats, it’s a story about finding your place in a community. While we talk about Aziraphale and Crowley and their relationship, so many people have asked me about Anathema and Crowley at the chicken coop (we only got to see Newt and Aziraphale in the bedroom). The most commented on scene is Anathema pulling the car over and getting Aziraphale’s consent to go to Tracy’s for lunch.

It's a story with goats, romance, and drama. But it’s a story about community.

I have thanked the people most involved a thousand times over, and I will always take an excuse to thank them again. @ambrasue, my ride or die beta reader. She is who to thank for the sentences making sense. And for me not beating you all over the head with the word “Gently.” HolRose, for the Brit-Picking and second pair of eyes when Ambra and I had gone cross-eyed, and always, always, always having a kind comment ready to go for every chapter update. @writingordinaryrealities, for all things Goats, and for not laughing at me when we met in person and I lost my cool over real life goats.

@mirjam-writes! Mirjam made me my first ever fanart for one of my fanfics! And so many more of you have followed suit and I never know what to say when I see it but I always make a noise and run excitedly to my partner and flap my hands and show him his heart and he always gets the dumbest smile and goes, “I love when people make you goat fanart. You are adorable when you’re verklempt.”

But also, the DIWS and Good Omens community. Every single person who shouted at one of my snippets when I needed a boost and shared a bit of what I was proud of. Every single person who tagged me in a goat video—you all have tagged me in so many goat videos. I watch each and every one of them. Every single person who got excited when I said I was finally ready to start posting.

Because you see, that support, that community, led me to pay it forward. At TIC4 in 2023, I had just finished my panel on beta reading and was feeling a bit amped up. I saw in the chat that someone wanted to talk Slow Show and Human Aus and, I don’t know if y’all know this, but uh, I’m a big fan of human AUs. And so I hopped into the break out room and met J.

J is a lovely human who has been fandoming since the OG Star Trek days with Kirk and Spock. She had found a physical copy of Slow Show and just needed to talk to someone, anyone about it. She wasn’t sure what the Archive was, she was still learning her way around digital fandom, and I instantly wanted to reach out and help her find community and joy the way I had when I got started in the fandom. So, I sat down and I gave her my favorites. I told her how to find me on socials. We connected on Discord. We sent each other long letters back and forth on Discord sharing our joys and frustrations and our love of GO and talking about all sorts of other things. And it has been amazing listening to her stories and getting to know her.

Unbeknownst to me, J had reached out to @brunheiffer to ask for a physical copy of Bleating Hearts. Now—I’m all for fandom in the physical space, but it’s never even crossed my mind to do more than something printed out at my home printer, hastily hole punched, and shoved into a binder so I could sneak fanfiction reading time during 5th period math class after I was done with my worksheets many, many, many moons ago. When brunheiffer reached out and asked if they could print and bind a copy for me—I didn’t know what to say. Or do. Or think. I think I keysmashed? I keysmashed after I made my partner read the message out loud. And then I went and looked through tumblr and all of brunheiffer’s excellent work. And then I went, “Do I say yes?” and he went “um YES OF COURSE YOU SAY YES. WHAT”

So, I said yes.

I also said yes to progress shots and got to watch some of the coolest work ever. I didn’t know how books…ya know…booked. Witchcraft probably? I’m still convinced there is witchcraft involved, but there is also an incredible amount of skill, and time, and patience, and hard work, and love that is put into making a book a book. And learning what I did, and watching the process, and seeing the care that brunheiffer put into each of the three (THREE!) sets of books that were made (one for me, one for brunheiffer, one for J), was just stunning.

Do you know, J reached out to me and apologized for not asking me first and asked me if it was okay that she had reached out and asked if brunheiffer would do this for her? Why would I ever be against something so heartfelt and kind?

I cried.

I legitimately sat in my office and cried.

When people ask me how I write the way I do, or why I write, or anything along those lines. I have the same answer. “I write for myself.”

Oh sure, I started to write Bleating Hearts to make Ambra laugh and/or have feelings, but at the end of the day, when I write, it is because I need to get the bed time stories I tell myself at night, the day dreams while sitting on the bus, out of my head and somewhere else—so that a new movie can play. And when I write, I write knowing that I will come back to that story. That I will forget the little pieces (because I have a pretty shit memory tbh), and I’ll be able to go back, and wrap myself up in the comfort of the story I have written, and be surprised by some of the little details I left as presents for myself. And be excited. And be happy. And watch my favorite movie again.

So every time I see someone make art of this story, or talk about how they love the story, or how happy it made them, or the feelings it inspired, or how reading goats made them want to write their own fanfiction—I get, well, like my partner says, “verklempt.” I don’t know what to do with that feeling, other than to just be overwhelmed that somehow something I made to entertain me has brought other people so much joy. Has helped people connect and find community.

What a powerful and beautiful thing that is.

Not everything I write is going to be Bleati—y'all I am just going to call it Goats. Calling it Bleating Hearts feels so weird. It’s Goats. That’s the name of the story. That’s my name for the story.

Anyway.

Not everything is going to be Goats. I’ve got some wips in the hopper right now that are um…lots of angst and heavy spice. Not everything I write is going to be liked by everyone. Some of it may even offend you.

But knowing that this one thing has inspired you all to the point that I’ve been gifted the ability to hold my story in my hand?

That’s powerful.

And it only exists because this community, this Good Omens community, has come together and chosen joy.

There’s some bad apples out there, there are in every bunch. But I am liberal with my block button and have been blessed to find a welcoming and warm community that creates some amazing and incredible art—whether that’s like actual like digital or pen to paper art, or the fiction you write, or the podfics you record, or the meta analysis you write, or the playlists or the animatics or the beta reading or the shouting unhinged support or the role playing or the plushies, or the books you bind—this community is full of incredibly creative and amazing people.

So thanks, y’all, for letting me part of your community, and enjoying my silly little goat fic. And thank you brunheiffer and J for this amazing gift.

If you haven’t read it, or just want to reread it, you can read Bleating Hearts (GOATS) on Archive of Our Own.

All my love,

HK

(I am the most cringe sap on main right now. No regurts)

[bloodofsancho]

Theories & Speculations about Canto 7: Lightning Round

So, I've had a much longer, more essay formatted post sitting in my drafts on here for a while, and even longer on my main blog where I imported it from. But seeing as Canto 7 is just on the horizon and my real life obligations haven't gotten any lighter, I've decided that instead of writing a Big Long Theory Post about Canto 7, I would instead summarize my main thoughts/beliefs/speculations into bullet points on a single post. This still ended up being really long though. Anyway, without further ado:

Project Moon's interpretation of Don Quixote seems inspired in part by the musical Man of La Mancha. While I've seen many consider it an adaptation of Don Quixote, it's...not really. It's loosely based off of it. In the musical, it follows Miguel de Cervantes and his unnamed servant who have been imprisoned by the Spanish Inquisition and put on a play for the prisoners where Cervantes plays Don Quixote and his servant plays Sancho Panza. A female prisoner/prostitute named is chosen to play Dulcinea. She is a principal character in the play.

In the book, Dulcinea is little more than a figment of Quixote's imagination. Aldonza is only mentioned in one sentence at the end of the first chapter. She's also a slaughterhouse worker and not a prostitute.

I have absolutely no idea which interpretation Project Moon will go with. But I find it interesting that Don Quixote hasn't mentioned Dulcinea at all, while in the book she probably comes up every other sentence.

Dulcinea = Carmen?

I think the likely villain candidatesfor this Canto are either Sanson Carrasco or "Avellaneda".

Sanson Carrasco, also known as the "Knight of Mirrors" or "Knight of the White Moon" is a guy from Don Quixote's town who along with the barber and priest (make note of that btw) takes it upon himself to cure Don Quixote of his presumed madness. He's kind of a smartass. He decides the best way to cure Don Quixote of his mental illness is to defeat him as the Knight of Mirrors but ends up getting beaten by Don Quixote, and he's not happy about this and swears revenge. Later he appears as the Knight of the White Moon, and defeats Don Quixote in a duel.

In Man of La Mancha, a prisoner known as "the Duke" is chosen to play Sanson Carrasco in the play, who pretty much does the same thing as he does in the book except he's much more cynical in the play.

The other candidate, Avellaneda, would be a very interesting and very Project Moon choice for an antagonist. Alonso Fernandez de Avellaneda was the pseudonym used by an author who wrote a fake sequel to the first part of Don Quixote, which Miguel de Cervantes didn't intend on writing an official sequel to until he saw Avellaneda's work and he hated it so much it spurred him into writing an actual sequel. The existence of the fake sequel is mocked and referenced in the second part of Don Quixote, and considering the events of Canto 6 I think that's worth keeping in mind.

Now onto actual speculation and called shots for Canto 7 since I've laid this groundwork:

I think that the plot of Canto 7, at least initially, may draw heavy inspiration from Man of La Mancha. I think the Bloodfiends from La Mancha Land are possibly taking humans captive through some kind of method (attracting them to the fair maybe?) and torturing them as entertainment. Through some kind of means, the Bloodfiends have also gotten a Golden Bough, but I'm unsure how or why they would use it. Maybe someone can provide some ideas.

Humans going missing and ending up at some kind of vampire torture fair is exactly the kind of case Moses would take on. It remains to be seen if she will be there in person, or if she'll communicate with Dante through a walkie talkie or radio. At the end of the teaser, she sounded like she was talking through a radio (assuming that was in fact Moses).

Sancho is either a Fixer who Don Quixote became friends with in between establishing her human form and joining Limbus Company, or he (assuming that the blue text from the teaser is Sancho) is a Bloodfiend. Maybe both? His text from the teaser seems to be encouraging Don Quixote's delusions.

I initially thought that the Bloodfiend from the teaser could be Dulcinea (or Marcela or Dorotea)* but a user pointed out to me that she's holding large scissors so she's probably the Barber. However, this morning I looked back at the MOTWE story cutscenes with Cassetti and he refers to the Barber with he/him pronouns. I don't know if this means anything, or if it's an oversight or retcon from Project Moon.

I think there's a strong possibility that, following the Man of La Mancha line of thought, Don Quixote's true Bloodfiend identity is Miguel de Cervantes. A lot of people seem to agree with this. However, I haven't seen anyone really make any shots as to why she would seal herself away, and I think I have a plausible answer:

Being a member of the elder generation of Bloodfiends from before the White Nights and Dark Days, Cervantes is primarily nonviolent and doesn't want much to do with humans. After the White Nights and Dark Days spawned a new generation of Bloodfiends who were significantly more prone to violence, violent attacks on humans increased and this alerted even more people to the existence of Bloodfiends---especially people who would like to hunt and kill them. This put the lives of Cervantes' Kindred at grave risk, and not wanting to fight or kill humans, she sealed herself away and invented a human persona---and possibly her Kindred as well, hence how Sancho could also both be a Fixer and a Bloodfiend.

She might have invented Don Quixote with the express purpose of creating a human self who had a strong sense of justice and right the wrongs of the City. Maybe she became a Bloodfiend to start with in order to escape the injustice of the City.

This would line up extremely well thematically with both the novel and Man of La Mancha. Sancho supporting Don Quixote's dreams (or her human persona in general) could support this idea if we assume he is a Bloodfiend.

Meanwhile, the Bloodfiends are more concerned with getting their Second Kindred back once they realize who she is. This would align well with the Barber and Sanson, assuming that Sanson is a Bloodfiend and not a Bloodfiend hunter.

I realize that this is kind of a slapdash post, but I was really running out of time and on top of being both sick today and having two papers due on Sunday, I needed to get this out before Canto 7. I realize that this doesn't touch on many aspects, like the associations with Carmilla, other characters like Dorotea, Marcela, Cardenio, the priest, etc but I decided for the sake of time that I would talk about them if/when they appear in Canto 7. Regardless, I would like to hear everyone's thoughts if they have any!

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hello! May I just say that your last fic Tangerine x Reader was great??? Like, seriously great?? One question, if you don't mind: are we going to read a piece about that time that Tangerine mentioned him getting angry/yelling at the reader?

I'm super curious, but mostly really intrigued about their relationship!

Hey Anon,

Means the world to me that you enjoyed it!!!!!

I'm currently waiting for work to start but I thought I could do a small blurb. I typed/edited this on my phone and I'm worried about it. This may or may not be loosely based on real events....

Warnings: readers got some trauma, shouting, crying really hard, supportive partner.

He was frustrated and tired. Lemon hadn't shut up all day, Tan knowing it was because he was nervous didn't have the heart to keep telling him to shut up.

He knew his patience had worn thin. Seeing you avoid him made the very last of it evaporate.

He paused and tried to understand what the problem was. He opened the door to the flat, you were sitting on the couch reading. After a brisk hello you were doing dishes and banging around the kitchen.

You clearly weren't going to make it easy on him by confronting him, so he took a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" His tone was a little firm.

You didn't look up from the sink.

"Nothing." You said dismissively before turning on the oven and moving towards the fridge.

Years of his mother looking miserable flashed before him and he grabbed your shoulders once you turned around.

"No." He breathed. "What. Is. Wrong." He had raised his voice more than he intended. What he wanted was to show you that he cared that you weren't alright. That he was taking a serious interest in the problem to fix it for you.

What he got was a whole glass baking pan of casserole dropped on his foot.

He took a shuddering breath unable to curse when your eyes looked so scared already.

"I'm sorry." You whispered before bursting into tears. " I was reading and I didn't notice the time- the dishes and you came home earlier than I thought and I just just - don't leave"

"That doesn't make any sense" he said pulling you towards him. He decided to hold you while you sobbed. He thought of all the times he had cried that hard. Only once and that was after his mother died.

No one was dead and yet you were clinging to him like your life depended on it. Had someone come to the flat? Tried to bother you? Or get information on he and lemon?

He made some soothing noises then remembered what you used to say about your parents. You were the eldest and had a lot of responsibility.

"Are you upset because the kitchen was a mess when I came home?" He asked hesitantly.

"Obviously" You said loudly still crying.

"Right." He said staring at the ceiling wondering what to do next. "So, um. It's not really an expectation to have the kitchen clean or dinner ready."

You stopped crying and looked up at him.

"It's not?" Your breath was ragged and you were shaking.

"Nope."

"Oh." You seemed to calm down a bit before you started again. "But you do so much for me and I have to - I like to -"

"No-No no" He interrupted "My only expectation of you is to not cheat. Spend my money, read as many books as you want, never cook again. Just don't cheat and don't put yourself in danger. Ever." He was happy that you settled down a bit.

"Also while we are being honest, I hate that casserole."

You laughed. "I also hate that casserole. It makes Lemon happy though." Your voice was so tired it made his heart hurt. "Sorry for being so crazy."

"Not crazy, traumatized- most likely. But never crazy." He kissed the top of your head.

"I'm not good with yelling. I either freeze up or I get mean"

"I will keep that in mind, let's do take away." He got your favorite and let you mellow out on the couch. He felt like the right thing to do was to keep you close. Later that night you sort of opened up about always having to look busy at home. How you have a hard time relaxing.

"We could go on vacation?" He said with a smile. "I'm sure I can think of a few ways to make you relax."

You let out a laugh and he kissed your forehead.

________________

Hope that was alright!

[imtrashraccoon]

I absolutely adored the way you wrote Papyrus in your last don't imagine that includes him. I know you wrote that one with a (I think) Moba game.

Can I have one in which has that Papyrus but where the game of choice is an MMORPG (Mabinogi [My MMORPG of choice], World of Warcraft)? And of course, Reader being one of the top players. Thank you if you do so!

Well, I didn't have a specific game in mind for the original Don't Imagine but I loosely based it on competitive shooters. My game of choice is usually a cozy or a survival type so I only have a surface level of knowledge for these types.

Don't imagine being one of the highest ranking players in a popular MMORPG. How you know the game inside and out. How you've mastered most, if not all, of the different characters even if you only ever play your favourite. How you play all the seasonal events the day they drop and make it a point to collect all the event items.

Don't imagine hopping online after a tiring work week and joining a raid with a couple other players. How you're playing like you always do when one of the other players catches your attention. How he seems rather underleveled for this zone and keeps dying a lot. How he seems very enthusiastic about trying out the new event despite this.

Don't imagine feeling a little bad for him when the other players start flaming his skills in the chat. How you keep an eye on the player and how you realize he actually has a better grasp on his character's abilities than most. How he's clearly trying his best and how he refuses to quit mid-match, despite the vicious mockery.

Don't imagine how your team manages to beat the raid by the skin of their teeth. How despite the rocky start, the new player held his own in the end. How you send him a friend request afterwards on a whim.

Don't imagine how he almost immediately accepts and how you start regularly playing together. How you decide to use a lower leveled character for a while to keep the enemy spawns more fair. How you admire his sense of strategy and enthusiasm towards even the small aspects of the game. How it never ceases to bring a smile to your face to log on only to be greeted by a pm about the latest drop he got.

Don't imagine how you eventually move to another platform so you can communicate outside of the game. How you learn that he's a monster and a skeleton at that. How his choice of characters makes so much sense now. How you realize he really is just a genuine person and not putting on a front all the time.

Don't imagine gaining a peek into his everyday life and how close he is with his friends. How he introduces you to his friend Alphys who also plays the same game you do. How the three of you regularly play together for months before Papyrus brings up the idea of meeting up in real life. How you're a bit hesitant at first since you did meet over the internet but ultimately agree.

Don't imagine getting off the airplane to find your two besties waiting in the terminal for you. How Alphys seems a bit shy at first but Papyrus is as friendly as ever. How you get to ride in the red convertible he's so proud of and see the city with them. How they introduce you to their friends and help you feel right at home.

Don't imagine Papyrus offering to put you up in the guest bedroom so you wouldn't have to get a hotel. How you get to sample his cooking for the first time and how he's even better than you expected. How he double-checks that you have everything you need before bed. Definitely don't imagine pulling him into a hug and thanking him for everything. How he seems stunned at first before melting into your embrace. How he expresses how glad he is to have met such an amazing person like you.

First, Previous, & Next Request

[sregan]

On 'Megalopolis'

I have seen 'Megalopolis: A Fable'. My assessment in one word is that it's 'striking'. It's a striking film - which is not necessarily to say that it is a 'good' film. It may be an 'important' film, insofar as it's likely the last film by the creator of 'The Godfather', 'The Conversation' and 'Apocalypse Now', and self-funded.

It's also a very strange film. In almost every scene there's something bizarre - not necessarily in the sense of worldbuilding but in terms of the directorial choices made.

For some reason 'Megalopolis' was not marketed as a work of alternate history, which I think could have brought in more attention, but a 'fable', with a heavy-handed opening monologue about the similarities between the modern USA and Rome. It's ostensibly set in the 21st century in 'New Rome', a modern city with Roman affectations - though it's also mentioned at times that it's still in the United States of America and that Elvis existed in this reality.

The best analogy I can make is that it feels like one of those adaptations to film of a Shakespearean play but set in the modern day, where much of the dialogue has been updated but the main speeches have been left in the original language (indeed, sections of dialogue from Hamlet and The Tempest appear unmodified); but without the source play.

'Megalopolis' is - though few critics seem to be crediting this - a loose adaptation of the life of Lucius Sergius Catilina, somewhat annealed with Julius Caesar (furnishing protagonist Cesar Catalina as played by Adam Driver). The real Catalina is a rival of Cicero (here Mayor Cicero as played by Giancarlo Esposito), prosecuted for an affair with a vestal virgin by Publius Clodius Pulcher - here Clodius Pulcher as played by Shia Labeouf - and accused of killing his wife in order to marry Aurelia Orestilla, the daughter of the consol (who has been merged with Cicero to create Julia Cicero, the Mayor's daughter, as played by Nathalie Emmanuel). All this happens in the film.

The real historical Catalina, of course, was the mastermind behind the Catalinarian Conspiracy, an attempt to overthrow Cicero and Hybrida and seize power. In the first of many changes, Coppola changes this to make Clodius the leader of the plot and Cesar Catalina innocent. While the historical Crassus uncovered the plot and told the Senate, Jon Voight's Hamilton Crassus is betrayed by his unfaithful trophy wife (clearly a reference to Tertulla) and Clodius in a 'Dallas' spoof sideplot, but eventually gets the upper hand and backs Catalina with his wealth.

At this point we should address the elephant in the room. In 'Megalopolis: A Fable', Cesar Catalina is an architect who wishes to build a new shining city, the titular Megapolis, using a revolutionary new metal he has developed, Megalon. This makes startling sense when you realise Coppola has long dreamed of adapting Ayn Rand's 'The Fountainhead'. Cesar is clearly intended to be a mix of Howard Roark and Henry Rearden from Rand's 'Atlas Shrugged', a visionary steelmaker who has developed 'Rearden Metal'.

However, Megalon may have a dark secret - Mayor Cicero says it's rumoured he used his dead wife's body to manufacture the metal. While the introduction of this rumour is cack-handed (Cicero just whispers it to Cesar at an event), it's at least an intriguing take based on a real historical rumour. This in combination with the source material - a scheming politician who launches a coup - might make you wonder if Coppola is playing Sympathy for the Devil here and will reveal Cesar as a villain protagonist (as far as I can tell, he doesn't intend this).

Cesar also has the ability to stop time. Very literally; he can talk to Time (capital T) and tell it to do things. The first scene of the film - which may be Cesar attempting suicide or testing this power for the same time - sees Driver's character on the roof of the Chrysler Building, teetering on the edge. As he begins to tip forward, he intones 'Time: stop!' and finds his body hovering in mid-air, allowing him to cautiously wuxia-float his way back onto the building (remember this).

This may all sound rather Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, but never fear - this power, which seems like it should be the metaphorical crux of the entire film (timestop as a metaphor for stagnation in a dying empire?), is largely irrelevant other than leading Julia to investigate him and then join his agency.

Oh yes, that's another thing that radically alters the dynamic from a hypothetical Francis Ford Coppola's Fountainhead; Cesar isn't a private architect but the head of a government agency, the Design Authority. We aren't told how he came into this role but he begins the film with his own staff, security, and lavish office, which makes him feel like much less of an underdog.

Cesar's Design Authority is pulling down slum buildings to replace them with his utopian Megalon developments - the plot can't quite decide whether he's doing this inside the law, but the result seems to be people forced onto the street - a clear nod, you might think, towards gentrification, although later plot points make this murkier.

Julia sees Cesar using his time stop ability during a demolition, seemingly to judge whether the collapse is safe (though what he would be able to do if it wasn't is unclear). Frustratingly we never see what this looks like to 'normal' people; Julia is the only person other than him to be able to manipulate time and we only ever see it from one of their perspectives. More on this later.

Esposito's Mayor Cicero is initially introduced as a hollow populist, who wants to use the demolished plots of land for crowd-pleasing moneymakers such as a casino. He shows off a slick model of the proposed pleasure palace, which seems to get the approval of the gathered journalists. Cesar, meanwhile, gives a philosophical speech urging grander ambitions ("Don't let the present get in the way of forever!") and offers to go through his design documents. I'm uncertain whether we are supposed to understand this to be what it looks like - that Cesar does not have people skills and finds it hard to communicate his genius - because Driver is given all sorts of quippy Tony Stark-like lines and business as he arrives to the meeting and otherwise reads as charming and personable.

This scene includes one of the most sophomoric film-school student lines in the film. When Cicero menacingly brings up Cesar's wife's death, he says: "Well, as you were the prosecutor in that case, you know I was found not guilty."

At this point Cesar is involved with Plaza's journalist femme fatale (name, I kid you not, 'Wow Platinum') but - I'm unsure whether we actually see them break up on screen - she falls for billionaire Crassus and Cesar becomes involved with Julia who, after mentioning she saw him stop time, receives work with his agency (much to her father's chagrin).

Before it's fully established that she has fallen for him, she follows him and sees him buy flowers and visit what I think is supposed to be his wife's home; we see him place them by her bedside and stroke her hair - she seems to be comatose rather than dead, but when Julia sees the same scene Cesar is alone, seemingly hallucinating. Julia somehow knows Cesar is hallucinating his wife and whispers "He still loves her!". This is one of many elements of 'Megalopolis' that make me think that despite being a self-funded auteur project, the narrative was muddled in the edit and a more coherent through-line must have existed at some point. If this scene came after Julia and Cesar were an item, it might have some emotional weight.

The chapters of the films are introduced with narration by Lawrence Fishburne, serving as Cesar's faithful chauffeur (an element that, perhaps, lets on that Coppola has been pitching this film for fifty years). The 'Bread and Circuses' chapter sees a lavish wedding for Crassus and Wow (sic.), with a Ben Hur-style chariot race and Pro Wrestling-themed gladiators. The effeminate villain Clodius appears, crossdressing after the style of the historical Caligula.

In a scene clearly intended to take aim at religious right virginity pledges, a 'vestal virgin' pop star is used to raise money by encouraging the wealthy to financially 'support' her pledge of virginity. However, as the bidding reaches 100 billion, Clodius bribes the AV technician to display on the jumbotron (!) a sex tape of the 'virgin' and Cesar, resulting in a scandal.

In a sequence clearly inspired by Fritz Lang's 'Metropolis', an intoxicated Cesar - presumably having seen the jumbotron but it's not entirely clear - hallucinates his arms moving in the shape of a clock. I initially thought this whole sequence (intercut with a gymnastic display which appears to go wrong) was intended to represent the aghast Cesar's powers going out of control and causing mayhem, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Instead his limo is stopped by police and he is arrested for corrupting a minor and statutory rape - a genuinely bold choice of peril for a protagonist and one I don't think would fly in any major studio production post-Harvey Weinstein!

Julia is oddly certain he must be innocent - again, the two are not clearly an item at this point; he's her boss - and investigates, finding that VanderWaal's vestal virgin's birth certificate was fabricated and she was in fact born out of the country six years earlier, meaning she was 23 at the time of the tape, not 17. Interestingly, in the newspaper montage showing Cesar being cleared, a voiceover also mentions the footage was found to be edited and fradulent, begging the question of why the birth certificate was even important - I can only think this VO was added after principal photography and originally the character did sleep with a girl he believed to be underage.

Again, an odd scene order - after being cleared, Julia finds a distraught Cesar on top of an under-construction building (what this is is unclear as none of his Megalon buildings use girders like this but it's a repeated location - put a pin in that). He has lost his confidence in his ability to command time and she coaxes him into regaining his mojo; he is able to stop time again with the formula 'For the sake of Julia, Time, please stop'. Again, this feels like it should have more narrative weight than it does; he 'loses' his powers for all of one scene and it doesn't impact his career or plans. It also feels like it should have come before the formal resolution of his legal woes. The hero losing his supernatural powers at the start of the second act and needing either to regain his confidence to use them or learning he must not rely on them is a well-worn superhero trope and it almost feels like Coppola felt compelled to include it since he had a super-powered protagonist but didn't understand or care to put it to any more significant use.

I forget where the scene takes place where he meets Wow again; she attempts to seduce him and offers him Crassus's bank, which she says she will steal away from him. He rebuffs her and in one of the worst pieces of professionally produced cinema I have ever seen, we fade to and from a closeup of the car's wheel driving over the coat he gives her. It wasn't even necessary to cut in - the coat is clearly visible and the audience expects the action from the way she throws it down - and the cut is executed horribly; it genuinely feels like a mistake, like a misplaced clip in Final Cut Pro.

Shortly thereafter, Cesar is approached by a young boy who asks him to sign an autograph. Utterly bafflingly, Nathalie Emmanuel is given the line of dialogue 'Cesar would never say no to a child'. This is a couple of scenes after he is accused of statutory rape; if it was meant to be delivered with wry humour, no-one told Emmanuel. In any case, the child shoots him in the face, having been revealed as an agent of Clodius.

We then get an abstract montage of what may be Cesar's dying hallucinations, with the repeated refrain (I think I remember this correctly:) "I will not give death dominion over my thoughts". It would not be unreasonable for one of the following to happen:

a.) Somehow Cesar is able to not just stop time but reverse it. We see a flower shrinking back into a bud and I was fully expecting to see the clip of his blood flowing on the street reversing. He has regained his powers and now has new incredible mastery. Or:

b.) The damage to his brain means Cesar cannot use his powers. Julia must step in and make the leap of faith - Cesar is injured now but was not so in the past. 'Time: Heal all wounds!').

Neither of these happen.

Instead, we see snippets of what seems to be a mostly cut scene where Julia and the scientist character replace the missing portions of Cesar's skull and brain with Megalon. This seems to be a triumphant return and we see him awake, bandaged but cogent.

In the next scenes, a slurring and seemingly brain-damaged, still bandaged Cesar who repeatedly shouts "No, no, no!" for some reason forces his way into Crassus's mansion to find out why the billionaire's bank has frozen his accounts. This is revealed to be a scheme of Wow at the behest of Clodius. She once again attempts to seduce Cesar (even after he reveals his horrific transparent gold skull-face) but is forced to stop when Crassus arrives.

After this, Wow turns her seductive attentions to Lebeouf's Clodius and persuades him to get Voight's character to sign over control of the bank in a rather shoddy bathhouse scene that I think is intended to show Crassus having a heart attack and aides rushing to his rescue, but which I initially believed showed him being stabbed by Clodius's accomplices. When Wow seduces Clodius she cuts his hair (something Crassus told Clodius to do) in silhouette which should clue you in she's playing the role of Delilah.

At this point we should mention that Clodius has his own sub-plot where he has been repeatedly seen trying to build cred among the mob protesting Cesar's project. The mob is, I would guess, the ultimate antagonist of the film, and Coppola is strikingly loose with his real-world targets here. The mob resembles Black Lives Matter and anti-gentrification protesters and Clodius says they are 'immigrants' whose vote can be bought; they carry SPQR flags that resemble the hammer and sickle; their slogans suggest far-left sympathies; but Clodius gives a literal stump speech on a tree stump which has been cut into the shape of a swastika (real subtle there) and his minion now has a forehead tattoo of the Black Sun, a real-world fascist symbol (I think he also said something along the lines of 'We will make New Rome great again', though I may be misremembering). You might be tempted to think that, given his historical intrigue with Rand's Objectivism, Coppola views the masses as generically 'collectivist', subsuming fascism and communism. If so, Cataline is a bizarre choice for a hero, as in the real world it was he who whipped up a mob to attack the Roman Senate, and Caesar who led the 'populists', while Cicero favoured the optimates (aristocracy). We'll talk more later about Cesar Catalina's philosophy, such as it is, in 'Megalopolis'.

As New Rome collapses in riots, Crassus, who is revealed to be less senile than previously suggested, confronts his wife and nephew in an absolutely hilarious scene where he lifts his suggestively tented blanket to reveal a tiny bow and arrow, which he uses to kill first Wow in a comedic spout of blood and then repeatedly plink a fleeing Clodius in the backside with arrows; each time it cuts back to Crassus he has another arrow (barely) drawn with no indication where they are coming from, like a YouTube Poop. I think, generously, this was meant to be slapstick comedy, even if the context is very dark (aging billionaire murders his cheating wife).

Mayor Cicero semi-reconciles with his daughter (who has since had Cesar's child) on the train as they are evacuated for their safety.

In the climax - I feel sure it's the climax - of the movie, the mob gathers at the gates of Megalopolis, but an apparently fully healed Cesar appears, projected on the golden leaves of his utopian city, and addresses them. The speech is every bit as dense, philosophical, and frankly unrousing as his opening debate, but this time it wins the crowd around and suddenly they are no longer the collectivist menace but the upstanding majority who are now delighted to live in his city as the gates open.

Crassus declares he is throwing his entire wealth (and 'the patents to Megalon', which I guess he somehow acquired when the bank froze Cesar's funds) behind the project, so all's well that ends well? The mob turn on Clodius when they find out 'he owns the bank' (except that no, we've just established he doesn't) and shockingly string him and his henchman up, Mussolini-style; while the camera cuts away quickly it's pretty clear they have stoned him to death.

As New Year dawns, Cesar persuades Julia to try stopping time herself for the first time. She does so, but surprisingly *everyone* freezes except the baby, who has clearly also inherited the power. The End. Someone in the row behind me chuckled.

To be clear, this lends the plot a degree of cogency you simply don't get in the theatre. It's clear to me much of the movie ended up on the cutting room floor - there are fully acted, costumed scenes with different dialogue that appear in the facets of the Megalon crystal as Cesar works but are not in the movie. I think the order of scenes may have been dramatically changed and possibly the ending altered, which is why Driver's character appears fully healed without explanation but only as a projection in the final speech.

The central conceit, time stop, is not used except indirectly as something one character sees to make her intrigued in Cesar, and later as evidence that he has his confidence back after a single scene where he can't use it. Losing it doesn't set back his plans and we barely get a sense of how he uses it in his work normally. An architect who literally has all the time in the world is an intriguing concept and one could easily imagine eyecatching scenes where buildings seem to erect themselves in a blink of an eye, or where from the perspective of a normal human he flashes around a room, drawing up plans and blueprints at seemingly superhuman speed. Indeed, I was fully expecting at least one scene where Driver appears where he shouldn't be, revealing he has been listening in on a conversation or confronting someone in a secure location, because he can stop time to get into any location or do anything.

But we don't see this - we don't even, unless I missed it, get a line like 'Cesar always finishes his projects ahead of schedule - what's his secret?'. Time stop also doesn't work consistently; the first time we see it, Cesar's own body is part of the timestop; he can seemingly think in normal time but his body is suspended on the brink of falling. But later, it's clear that people who use timestop move normally and are affected by gravity (when Julia drops her purse on the girder it slows and stops when it gets a certain distance from her).

The secondary conceit, Megalon, is barely defined. It's a miracle metal that allows things like flowing moving walkways and roofs that fold in like flower petals when it rains. It also bonds with living cells and is eventually replaced with healthy tissue. It sometimes reflects his wife's face, and in the medical montage I think they put some of the wife's hair into the implant, which suggests to me Megalon *is* partially a ghoulish necromantic substance that harnesses his wife's unquiet spirit - but incredibly this isn't addressed in the final narrative other than a dreamlike sequence where he hears his wife telling him 'Go to her', apparently permission for him to move on. Again, it feels like a late-era MCU production cut to hell by studio interference - except there's no studio.

There's also an ambiguous line where Mayor Cicero seems to admit *he*, not Cesar, killed her - I think the intent of this line is he is willing to publicly admit he tampered with evidence to convict Cesar if Cesar breaks up with his daughter. Cesar later tells Julia his wife killed herself because of his obsessive focus on work and we have no reason to doubt him.

It's all such a weird missed opportunity - clearly you're meant to initially wonder if Cesar did kill his wife. There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it newspaper headline that says the death was a 'Hitchcockian mystery' - which suggests a locked-room murder. Now, who can enter a room, kill someone, and leave to have an alibi elsewhere, all in the blink of an eye? Surely, surely this was intended to be explored at some point; less Chekhov's gun being visible over the fireplace and more being shoved up your nostril in the first act.

The tertiary conceit - New Rome itself - is intriguing as a stylistic choice. It's overtly a fable so it would seem churlish to ask how this Roman city-state exists in a world where both the USA (of which it's seemingly a part) and USSR existed. The limits of the budget are visible in the lack of stylisation in some areas (extras' costumes, cars, offices) but I didn't find it too offensive. I did notice that the architecture we see associated with Cesar early in the film is clearly Art Deco, but the Megalon structures later in the film are postmodern sweeping leaf-life structures, as though Coppola changed his mind about what the future looks like some time in the fifty years since first conceiving the movie.

The central conflict of the film is thornier. You might assume that Cicero represents populist, 'need'-based politics ("People need help now," the mayor says, objecting to Cesar's grand vision of a better city), while Cesar is a Randian rugged individualist, except that's not quite what we're shown in the final cut.

The Mayor's character isn't consistent - by the midway point he's become a law and order figure while the sleazy collectivist mantle has been passed to Clodius and the anti-gentrification rioters. And Cesar being a government official mixes the message on 'lone genius architect' - where we do get an insight into the philosophy of Cesar Catalina, it's also not especially Randian. The character talks repeatedly about the need for 'debate' - that even starting to talk about what we should do, or agreeing that we should talk, is already utopia. He responds to the Mayor by suggesting that 'people's futures' are as important as their present. I also think at one point he says civilisation was a mistake, which is a startling remark from a protagonist but which seems to be something Coppola has floated in real life (seemingly believing there was a utopian matriarchy before history). So at best I think you can argue he takes a broadly long-term-self-interest rationalist view and is being contrasted with the short-term populist Mayor and the short-term instant-gratification rioters.

He also briefly (as in, a single line) advocates for debt nullification, which was a position of the real Cataline, but which doesn't really seem to gel with anything else in the movie - we never get the sense that Cesar hates Crassus lending money and aren't shown the effects of usury on the people.

The cast of actors - including John Voight, and DB Sweeney who starred in the ill-fated Atlas Shrugged adaptation - makes me think it was sold as a rightish-wing endeavour, but I can't imagine the apparent both-sidesism on display will satiate red-blooded culture war types.

Certain aspects of the film also felt quite dated - the use of sapphism to shock and titilate (and the curious line where Cesar, challenged by a gossip columnist to confirm he prefers women, insists 'Everyone prefers women. Even women prefer women'); contrasted with the effete, crossdressing villain Clodius.

What's most striking (I said it was the salient word) about 'Megalopolis' is how much potential each element has relative to how it's actually used on-screen. Some of this is the tight budget constraints necessitated by Coppola burning through his own money to fund the film - the SFX were generally decent though I noticed at least one truly shoddy effect where characters walk into an idyllic field which is clearly a separate plate, and their bodies are sliding left-to-right as though walking on ice.

How might I re-imagine 'Megalopolis'? Keeping most of the beats and trying to refine the message rather than changing it:

- Cesar as a private architect, not a government agency. Put Crassus in the role of a Gail Wynand; a wealthy man and potential patron.

- Cesar has built a reputation as the man who always has time - he finishes every project ahead of schedule and under budget; his demolitions always proceed flawlessly and his staff have no idea how he does it.

- The Mayor champions sweetheart deals with contractors for cheap, trashy buildings that will fall down in thirty years (this might have been in the script at some point as Cesar calls him a 'slum lord') while Cesar wants to use Megalon to create an Art Deco utopian development.

- Julia sees Cesar stop time and he offers her a job. He demonstrates how when his staff see him flash around at super-speed he is really doing all the laborious work of drawing up plans in real time, totally alone as he previously had no-one who could do what he did.

- The press casts doubt on Megalon, with the unions pushing for proven materials like concrete and steel. A ghastly rumour emerges that Megalon contains human DNA. Cesar gives a speech, asking what would happen if the first architects using steel had faced the same resistance. What about fire?

- Julia proves her worth by securing a contract for Cesar to redevelop a large slum after a devastating fire, elbowing out her father's friends who want to use the same cheap cladding that caused the fire in the first place (anticipates and deflects viewer criticism about safety).

- Romance develops with Julia and Cesar. Scenes where they go out into the city and stop time together. Julia is pregnant.

- Clodius undermines Cesar by throwing red tape in his way. Cesar appears in his home and confronts him, showing a sinister edge, but ultimately leaves. Clodius uses this to deduce Cesar's time powers.

- Crassus's wedding is a huge event with (as in the film), chariot races and gladiatorial games. Cesar, Mayor Cicero, Julia and Clodius all attend.

- Instead of the vestal virgin scandal, Cesar is publicly accused of killing his first wife and the shock causes him to lose his control over time, causing chaos throughout the city. Unable to continue his work he locks himself away in his office.

- Time is frozen throughout the city; Cesar is subconsciously holding everything together so it doesn't change or decay (timestop as metaphor for stagnation!). Time only passes for objects if someone is holding them and if you drop them they freeze in place. If someone dies they freeze in place. We see how the city is surviving in this odd apocalypse.

- Julia investigates with a more murder-mystery focus - it's a locked-room murder and Cesar has an ironclad alibi, but a time manipulator could easily make it happen.

- She keeps digging however and a financial motive emerges for Clodius. She confronts Crassus who admits he covered up for his nephew; everything that looked supernatural about the death was possible with enough money. Facing disgrace he throws himself from the top of his skyscraper and his body freezes on the point of impact.

- Julia finds Cesar who tells her he did use his wife's body to create Megalon but insists that he found her dead. Why? Because love holds everything together (we're leaning into the cheese; amazingly I don't think they try to explain this in the real movie). Having expiated himself, Time once again hears his entreaties and begins flowing normally ("You can move on").

- Julia and Cesar brave the streets to reach the Mayor to clear his name and a mugger shoots Cesar. However, with his new mastery, he is able with a 'kick start' from Julia to turn back time and repair his own damaged brain.

- Mayor Cicero is reconciled to his daughter and meets his granddaughter for the first time.

- Clodius learns of his uncle's death and, blaming Cesar, whips up a mob to storm the construction site, but in a flash of an eye the city is completed before them as Cesar's expanded powers let him include entire construction crews in his timestop.

- Cesar emerges and gives a speech; reflecting that every one of them wanted someone else to provide for them but were ready to use violence to take what wasn't theirs, trusting there existed someone who was willing to be robbed; the city is complete, but none of them will live in it. 'Others, who saw and believed, will come, and they are welcome'.

- Clodius and his most devoted followers attack but the city itself folds in to protect Cesar, showing his wife's spirit in the metal recognises her murderer, and Clodius sinks into the ground.

- New Year's, magic baby, yada yada.

[sectumsempraxz]

Hey so I saw your post about Dylan referring to himself as an entity and drawing spirals. Since youre a psycology student, i would love to hear your analysis of this. Also, if possible, could you do the same for Eric's writing? Thanks thats all

I was doing a lot of psychological analyzes of Jeffrey Dahmer and posting them here, but then I started attracting a lot of strange people, so I stopped...

But since a lot of people are asking for this, here we go 🙄

In Carl Jung's psychodynamic theory, spirals or mandalas are expressive artistic forms that can emerge during a psychotic episode when the patient's mind is trying to organize itself.

Here are many examples of art made by psychotic patients in a psychiatric hospital, they are from the book Images of the Unconscious by Nise da Silveira

(it doesn't mean that everybody who does drawings like this are psychotic, obviously it has artistic styles and things like that, but these paintings were made by patients in hospitals. Nise was a brazilian doctor, and Jung was from Switzerland, they notice that without any contact, their patients were drawing the same spirals figures. You can also see that these drawings are somewhat organized because the patients were receiving treatment. You can see from the geometric shapes that there is a meaning, it is the mind trying to organize itself).

Not only did Dylan draw a lot of spirals, but you can also see that his drawings are extremely disorganized and don't make any sense at all.

Furthermore, his writing is extremely confusing, it took me weeks to understand what he was talking about, (while I read Eric's diary in just one day and found it extremely boring)

Here is an example, you can see that love (heart), the road, this fifth dimension, the donward spiral is all mixed up, extremly disorganized.

It's very different from Eric's drawings, which despite the violent themes, you understand what's happening

Dylan's writing often does not follow a chronological order, nor does he talk about real events of his life, he constantly refers to himself as if he were an entity that lives in another dimension (the number 5 in the drawings represents this fifth dimension), in other words, he was unable to establish a connection with reality. Unlike Eric who proclaimed himself a god to irritate people, as a form of rebellion, Dylan really believed in this, in his mind, he literally lived in another dimension. And these spiritual themes regarding the ego itself ("I am an entity") are indicative of psychosis as well.

One interesting thing is that you can see that even the form of Dylan's writing is confusing. I'm not just talking about his bad handwriting, but he always wrote in the corner in a disorganized way, loose words without meaning. When he started his diary you can see that he was fine, but as time passed, his writing became more and more strange, he began to draw more and more these spiritual symbols, and his drawings became a great confusion.

I believe that his diary is a perfect example of a mind that deteriorated over time, but obviously this is just a supposition based on his diary. I also suppose that he wrote in moments of crisis, when he felt bad, sad, and needed to get these things out.

I know that a lot of people must interpret his diary in an artistic way, especially through his poems (and it still is!), but this is also an indication of a mind that was losing touch with reality

When he proclaimed himself the god of sadness, when he said that he had no friends, that he had no love, that no one would ever love him when he did have many friends who liked him, a functioning family that loved and accepted him, and still a promising future, since he was smart and was planning to go to college, all this god of sadness thing could be indicative of delusion too, he couldn't see how loved he actually was.

(there are cases of psychotic depression, it's very rare, but it does exist).

I know he was diagnosed with schizoaffective personality, which I agree with because often people with this diagnosis are also psychotic. But it really depends on how serious the case is, I have a friend who has this diagnosis and is also psychotic, but he has a good connection with reality and will graduate in psychology too.

Therefore, absolutely nothing about Dylan's supposed illness justifies what he did at Columbine. Eric himself was perfectly normal and also decided to do what he did.

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

What role in a fantasy novel think the ATZ boys would fit into❕️

Ateez (ot8) x no one In particular.

(This is based loosely off the boys real personalities or actions. But It is fictionalin other aspects)🎤

-

Yeosang as...the chosen one.

-

He would be the one that the characters want to stick by because they know he can protect them. It's likely that yeosang as a character would live away from the public for privacy. In a forest on the outskirts where he can reside away from fans and the kingdom it's self. His story is that he hates being adored despite the fact that his friends constantly tell him how much of a skilled warrior he is. Although He doesn't want any of the fame, he does not hesitate to fight at any moment. His character likely starts off as the good guy and slowly progresses into a villain after a climactic event and would ultimately have a dramatic, disturbing death.

--

Seonghwa as...the crown prince.

-

Seonghwa is very princely in real life, so I feel this fits. He is the beloved and slightly cocky crown prince harbouring a dark secret that he sets out to fulfil. Seonghwa obviously lives in the palace in the centre of the kingdom. However, he would have a secret house high above the kingdom on the cliffs. His story is that he is actually immortal and refuses to marry much to the dismay of the village men and women. His character's story ends when he finally ages after his blood becomes infected with an ancient disease. He would die from incredibly old age.

---

Hongjoong as...the captain of the royal guard.

-

Hongjoong is a leader through and through. He is a well-respected and highly valued soldier. He would be the one that you always find at Seonghwa's side. He takes pride in protecting his prince at no cost. His story likely falls into the category of forbidden love but also tragic death. He ultimately is the one who becomes intertwined with an enemy and is betrayed, ending his story with a climactic death.

---

Mingi as...the rebel leader

-

He is the most powerful enemy of the nation to which seonghwa will rule. He would be the one everybody thinks will crumble easily, but he proves to be stronger than he looks and turns his story around by murdering the captain of the royal guard. His story is that he once worked as a soldier for the royal guard, but his ego got the best of him, and he was exiled, replacing him with hongjoong. He would try to reconcile with the crown prince but would ultimately be rejected. He ends with becoming the king of rebels, being more powerful than ever after ravaging the kingdom and taking back his title.

-

Wooyoung as...the court assassin.

-

He's sneaky. And fast. Wooyoung likely works closely with the prince, who sends him off to do missions in neighbouring kingdoms and often smaller towns. He would be the one that ends up being the only one left alive in the palace after losing his guard and his crown prince. His character would have the ability to control shadows for easier and stealthy kills when targets are out of range. His story would ultimately be the one to end the novel for good.

---

Yunho as...the comedy relief.

-

While his character would have a pretty powerful role. His main thing is that he brings joy and light to the story. He would be the one that people turn to in times of need for a laugh or the one that hosts parties to help his friends relax. Yunho's kindness would become his undoing after he is kidnapped and tortured for information about the prince, which he ultimately does not give and dies at the hands of a few rebels, angering the rebel captain, causing him to set them on fire at the stake.

---

San as...the fortune teller

-

He is something like a tarot reader. His story would be to exist purely to bring bad news, which turns out to be a curse placed upon him. His character is in a tight-knit friendship with the prince, which allows him to be at use to bring reports of what he is seeing of the future. His story is that he can never tell a lie, which gets him killed at the hands of the king himself after San admits he has fallen in love with the prince. He is hung for his actions, which starts seonghwas revenge arc.

--

Jongho as...the local tailor.

--

His character owns a smaller tailor in the town square. He sells his suits and sometimes dresses to the crown prince and made the coronation outfit of Her Majesty. He is often caught in background scenes where he sows and eavesdrops on conversations, making him the towns biggest gossip. Jongho used to be childhood friends with mingi, but after the death of his mother, mingi grew distant, and after years, all contact was lost. His story comes to an end with him coming back after the war, finding only wooyoung alive.

---

My god this took so long😭😭

[wtfanworkclassification]

Bingo Board Reveal!

Attention, bingo enthusiasts! You can now visit the bingo board website to generate your board (which will look something like the example above).

The Basics:

Your browser will save your bingo board. You can click on the squares to mark them off. Should you wish for a new board, simply click ‘generate a new card’. (Warning: if you’ve filled in boxes and you wish to submit, take a screenshot of it first!). You can regenerate your board as many times as you would like!

The Prompts:

You may have noticed our prompts- while most are fairly self-explanatory here are a few general categories most of them fall into.

Tag Prompts:

it includes a colon, it is likely a tag prompt. For these, you will need to comment on a fic that has the tag. (i.e. if your prompt is warning: choose not to use archive warnings, the way to fill it is to comment on a fic that has for it’s warning ‘choose not to use archive warnings.) These prompts are easy to fill, as long as you know your way around ao3’s filtration tools. If you’re struggling to find fic that meet the prompts, don’t be afraid to ask for help!

There are also a couple "fun" tag prompts to pay homage to folks with immaculate tagging game.

Comment Prompts:

Comment prompts come in two forms- they either tell you how to comment, or where to comment.

For the first type, consider the example above ‘mention a plot point that you liked’. In order to fulfill that prompt, you would need to mention in your comment on any Cycling RPF work, a plot point that you liked. This category might go from as simple as quoting a line to as complex as making a comparison with another fic or real life event.

For the second type, it will tell you where to comment based on the amount of comments. For example- look at the above prompt ‘fic with less than two comments (before you)’. In order to fulfill that prompt, you would have to be the third comment thread on any Cycling RPF fic. While you could simply sort by comments, we hope that this will cause some fun explorations of the dustier parts of the Cycling RPF archive!

Scavenger Hunt Prompts:

The third and largest category, these prompts are meant to make you search out fic yourself! While the previous categories are more quantitative, these prompts are by far the most varied, and are made to make you both discover new fic you might not have read or old favorites you might not have remembered otherwise!

Whether ‘a fic you would rec to someone else’, or a more event-based prompt like ‘someone gets a puncture’, these prompts will hopefully send you far and wide over the available works on ao3, appreciating creators and (hopefully) leaving a whole lot of comments!

More than the other categories, some of these prompts might be difficult- so if you’re stuck, feel free to ask for help, not just from us, but other participants- this event is all about community, after all. If you’ve found a hidden gem of a fic you think fits a particularly tricky scavenger hunt prompt, share it! You might just make someone’s day!

FAQs:

For the prompts that say 'less than X comments (before you)', does that mean total comments?

We mean 'top-level comments', or 'comment threads.' We know some authors get very chatty in the comments, and we don't want to penalize them for it.

For all the 'less than X' prompts, do stories/pairings with X comments count?

Nope! We mean strictly less than X. So if it says 'less than 5' only 4 or under count.

What do you mean by 'speculative fiction'?

Speculative fiction is an umbrella genre term covering sci-fi and fantasy and other related genres. Loosely, it refers to an alternate universe that is distinct from our own. Not only are space and magic AUs covered, but so are omegaverse and soulmates! We wanted to make this square broad enough to cover a lot of different types of interesting AUs without policing the boundaries of what counts as 'scifi' or 'fantasy.'

When does a fic count as 'abandoned'?

Either the author has declared it abandoned OR it hasn't been updated in over a year. If the author is still active in fandom and hasn't declared it abandoned, try not to use it for the first board you complete.

What about "on hiatus"?

For this challenge, we are saying that "on hiatus" is a status assigned to the work by the creator/author. Further on in the challenge, we may revisit this.

Do second-person and dialogue-only fics count as 'experimental'?

Yes! These are a little more common than those listed in the square, but they are still considered experimental. For other possible fics, your best judgment. If you feel like the author is trying something new and challenging, feel free to count it.

Can I comment on a fic I've commented on before?

Yes! We believe the authors will appreciate the extra love.

In the same vein, can I comment on the same fic multiple times for multiple squares?

Since this is a long event and it's still a (relatively) small fandom and there's theoretically infinite bingo, we understand that repeats might come up, BUT we want to spread the love around as much as possible. A good rule of thumb is to have a unique work for each square on a single bingo board. Once you generate a new board, then you can go back to commenting on a fic you've commented on before.

I've been in fandom too long! I've read all the tropes before! How can I fill the square that says 'fic with a trope you haven't read before'?

Most likely, there's a trope hiding out there that you haven't tried yet, but if it's really impossible, you can count 'fic with a trope you haven't read in cycling RPF' before.

Do fics tagged 'AU - no wives/girlfriends' count for alternate universe or canon divergence squares?

Since this concept is really common, we are choosing to exclude them from these categories. We want to emphasize other types of interesting alternate universes out there. Speculative fiction AUs can still count as canon divergence! And no wives/girlfriends stories of course can still be used to fill other squares.

Can I share my board and what fics I've been commenting on to fill it?

Please do! We want to encourage folks to find new or underappreciated fics.

Is the all-FEET board real?

The all-FEET board isn't real. It can't hurt you. (Or can it...)

In Conclusion:

Over the course of the event, we may add more bingo square prompts to keep everyone on their toes. 👀

Get your boards ready and waiting, folks!

The Board Link Again, Just Bigger And Easier To Find

[justanotherfanartist]

heeey guys little social help here? (poll at the end)

get ready for a rare real life lore dump (yippee) because I have a social scenario I’m not sure how to handle. this is your chance to have input on my life like some sort of rpg (if you’re into that kind of thing lmfao)

(I really really hate outing my age range like this but I feel like it might impact peoples choices so. just know I’m on the older end alright)

So, I went to this nearby jazz festival on Saturday. Basically, it’s an event that pulls a bunch of local highschools and their upper and lower level jazz bands together (I’m in my schools lower level group) to compete for awards and finalist placements and stuff like that (very fun very cool experience every time) and something that’s become a habit of mine is scanning each group for anyone interesting and it just happened that there was this guy from another school’s upper band that really stood out to me.

He is genuinely one of the prettiest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on, bro is GORGEOUS and also an amazing trombone player with super clean tone (and was part of a killer trombone soli) so naturally I’m pretty smitten. For real as soon as you start playing an instrument yourself “being good at an instrument” is immediately something added to your type which makes going to these things an interesting experience.

Anyways, I thought he was attractive enough to try and shoot my shot (I do this kinda thing every so often especially if I think I’ll get rejected just as a confidence booster. works like a charm btw) so I made up my mind that hey, we all stash our instruments in the same place, so after the finalists concert when everybody goes to grab their gear and pack up I’ll go up to him and ask him if he wants my number before we all have to leave for the night. Pretty non instrusive introduction that guarantees a short conversation and an excuse for him to leave if I happen to make him uncomfortable, that sort of thing. (I love planning out social interactions in my head before I have them)

(also this is fr the strat bc a) “hey do you want my number?” gives the person a choice and b) if they do say yes awkwardly in the moment but regret it they can always just decide not to text you; it puts the ball more in their court rather than you getting their number and texting them first, that sort of thing)

so that’s exactly what I did. I tapped him on the shoulder, he turned around, and the interaction went like this:

“Hey, you’re one of the trombone players from (insert local highschool’s upper band) right?”

“Yeah?”

“I was just wondering, would you want my phone number? :D”

“Oh, I’m actually not looking for anything right now.”

“Hey, no problem.”

“Thanks though. :)”

“Yeah ‘course!”

and then we split ways.

As of today I found their jazz group’s page on instagram (basically, I’m going around and following all the ones that I thought were really good, including his who placed first just ahead of my school’s upper band in second)(we were psyched btw cus their group is known for crushing everyone so being up there second only to them felt pretty good) and I realized he’s probably following them and I actually did manage to find his page, which is privated (oddly enough he happens to be followed by someone who I very loosely know) so it’s request to follow only.

My question is would it be weird to request to follow him? Based on my instagram page and what I have up he might not be able to recognize me but I’m guessing he’ll know it’s me just because of our interaction and the follow request, but I’m not sure if I’d be breaking a social boundary if I did that.

I don’t intend to hit on him or push him for romance or anything like that— I got a clear and polite “no thanks” and I’m not going to infringe on that full stop (boundaries are to be respected always). Blanket statement I think this guy is cool and an impressively good player, I’d legitimately want to see him perform again or possibly be friends (I’m starved for jazz friends) but I’m just reallllyyy worried it’s gonna come off as creepy or boundary breaking to request a follow so I’m not sure if I should or not.

(my logic is that he already rejected a request for communication so requesting to follow him is essentially doing the same thing again and might come off as creepy or pushing it and the last thing I want is to make this guy uncomfortable. on the other hand it could be seen as completely harmless or even flattering depending on the person but I’m really not sure.)

mutuals give me opinions bc I’m curious what you think (also I’d really appreciate it if you picked something other than maybe lmao or left me a comment of your thoughts or smthn like that. I may be overthinking this)

(asterisk is for extra info for the first poll option)

*regardless of your intentions, which he is unable to truly discern, but will probably assume is still romantic pursuit

[litsetaure]

So…one of my favourite headcanons is that the Potter family are Indian. (Those of you who’ve read my Grindeldore/Wolfstar dancer fic might recall that Fleamont Potter, James’ father and the UK Prime Minister, is Indian in that. Funnily enough, our real life Prime Minister is a British Indian Hindu who became PM last year. On Diwali. Yeah, that was an…interesting day in the family. Still not entirely sure how I feel about it.)

Anyway - here are some headcanons about James Potter being Indian, some of which are based around how I actually grew up. (Note: there will probably be more as I think of them!):

When Holi comes around, James wakes the others up by pelting them with coloured powder. He does it every year and every year they fall for it. They also pelt everyone with coloured powder throughout the holiday. It took weeks for the paint to be cleaned fully. (Some people suspected Dumbledore deliberately let it stay like that because he liked the colours.)

Sirius got really angry the first time he heard someone call James a Paki. He doesn’t know what it means, but he never wants to see that look on James’ face again. He absolutely lost it when James told him what it meant. (For those of you who don’t know what it means, it’s an incredibly racist slur towards south Asians; along similar lines of using the n-word to a black person. This is also why James gets so angry whenever anyone uses the word Mudblood - because he knows how that shit feels.)

Sirius helps James create magical rangoli patterns during Diwali. They also take over the kitchen for an evening trying to make Indian sweets. The results are mixed-looking, but they all taste good, and the house elves get some great new dishes.

Every time a festival falls on a full moon, they always celebrate a few days after so Remus can join in. (He hugely appreciates the sweets.)

James initially wasn’t thrilled that his Animagus form is a stag, since a deer is the form one of the bad guys took in the Ramayana when he triggered the events that led to Rama’s wife being kidnapped.

When James’ father died, he had a traditional Hindu funeral. Traditionally, the eldest son leads the proceedings, but when James broke down, Sirius stepped in to continue. In that moment, James loved Sirius more than he could put into words.

James also taught the Marauders some Hindi so they could talk privately, as well as some Indian magic.

James, Lily and Sirius actually go to india for their wedding outfits. Lily also has magical mendhi patterns done by James’ aunts and cousins. James also had to gently explain to Lily that wearing white is associated with funerals.

Petunia showed up to James and Lily’s wedding in a white dress to try and upstage the bride. She’s very confused to realise a) Lily is not wearing white, and b) a lot of James’ relatives are looking at her weirdly, because she’s wearing a funeral colour.

At James and Lily’s engagement party, James’ aunties kept trying to set Sirius up with their daughters and teasing him about getting married. They shut up when Sirius snogged Remus in front of everyone. James wasn’t even mad that his engagement was briefly upstaged.

James has a book of Indian tales and legends passed down from his father. He read them to Harry at bedtime. Lily would smile and watch from the doorway. He also taught his friends some classic Indian songs to sing to Harry.

Every year on Raksha Bandhan, James ties a rakhi on Sirius’ wrist and charms them so they’ll never come undone. One night, Sirius noticed the threads of one of them coming loose. That night was October 31st, 1981.

[king-paimon]

I've read up on your blog through a lot of Houseki no Kuni's manga. I liked your analysis though I gotta say come the last chapters, specifically since chapter 95, I didn't always agree with them.

I didn't need the end to be happy sunshine and rainbows, or the opposite, for Phos to go all revenge monster on the gems either. But at the end there, I felt like we all just accepted everything Ichikawa threw at us with no criticism, all that torture flattening the narrative's nuance, and if I didn't like it, I was seeing it through the wrong angle.

I know you don't act like that, which I appreciate. Throught all your reviews, you expressed understanding on why so many people disliked the story. Thank you for that, thank you for not being judgemental. And I'm glad you enjoyed the ride.

I just couldn't help but feel like so many story threads were left lose, and so many complete 180°s were thrown that didn't match the story or it's characters. Some people described it as a self-sabotaged narrative, and I see it. It wasn't enough to give me catharsis - especially with the character set up as the villain getting everything he wanted.

I guess I just had higher standards, which the story didn't meet. That is not a bad thing, after all.

I think my biggest gripe is with how Cairngorm's character was handled, and I'd like to include this here. The ambiguity of their predatory relationship was in poor taste, and remained unaddressed. I can see why so many of my friends left the series when that plot point happened. They deserved better.

Hi @intoxtinction! Thank you for sending me this message and sorry that it took me so long to finally respond. Real life has been kicking my butt and free time to do anything on here is a rarity. But I still wanted to write a response to you because I really loved your response! And yes, I saw the comment you left on my last HnK meta post. You're good; don't worry about it!

Thank you again for your kind words. I'm glad that you like my posts, even if they sometimes become long, nonsensical rambles and especially if you don't agree with some of my points! I love that. Whenever I wrote my posts, I always try to keep an open mind and take into account that all fans are different and would have different views when it comes to works works like HnK. As far as I can see, HnK is one of those works that is supposed to draw up conversations because it's not a simple, straight forward story with clear distinction between black/white moral characters. Everyone who reads it is going to view the events in the story differently based on their own beliefs and even if everyone's views conflict with one another, I think it's fascinating and even wonderful. So even if I may not agree with some fans when it comes to certain aspects of HnK, I never hold it against them. I don't want to demonize anyone for how they interpret the story, at least not too harshly anyways. I know when I'm biased, but I don't let that stop me from at least trying to understand where other fans are coming from. HnK was such a fascinatingly complex and unconventional story, and the fact that it can spur many views and feelings from people is one of the reasons whyI liked the series.

With that being said, however, I also think it's important to be open to properly critique our favorite works. HnK is not immune from these critiques, because for as much as I enjoyed following the story over the past couple of years, there are many aspects in the overall story that were far from satisfying. So many loose ends, incomplete character arches, and questionable story decisions... After being away from the story for some time now, it's become more apparent that there were many aspects to the HnK that has me question Haruko Ichikawa's story telling abilities. Don't get me wrong, she's shown to be a very fascinating storyteller and I overall liked what she created. But when it comes to the incomplete story threads for all of the other characters besides Phos, I can't tell if some of Ms. Ichikawa's decisions were intentionally left up for interpretation or if their stories were just not important to complete since at the end of the day, HnK is about Phos's story. One of these decisions I question the most about is Cairngorm's story arch, so I couldn't agree more with you, @intoxtinction. Cairngorm was done dirty in so many ways and they deserved a more satisfying ending to their story.

I was planning on writing two last posts that would be focusing on these topics. But because life has been kicking my butt too much lately, I don't know when they will be out, if at all at this point. But if I'm able to complete them, I hope you'll get the chance to read them and share your own thought. And again, it's totally fine if you don't agree with my points; I'd still love to read them!