#i was looking up quotes and i really liked this one but its from a 1992 horror movie????

[queenoftheimps]

Artistic Expression as a Form of Love: aka Some Meta About Interview with the Vampire

hey guess who spent all of today putting off a really boring work task

So I'm just suddenly just having a lot of feelings about how love is tied to creation in Interview with the Vampire.

Specifically, each character's artistic impulses and what they say about their relationships, and how they use their creative output as a sort of love language.

From the very first episode, we see hints of this. Miss Lilly asks about Lestat's music box, which plays a song he wrote for Nicholas once upon a time, evidence of his love for someone who's been dead for over a century.

He later writes his own song for Louis, 'Come to Me', and Claudia makes the connection explicit while deliberately poking at him -- he wrote a song for each of his true loves, but does one signal love more strongly than the other?

She's being facetious to prod at him, but the show seems to genuinely make the point that we can track each characters' relationships through the art we see them create.

After all, we see it with Claudia herself later -- even before there's any discussion of becoming companions, we can feel Madeleine's compatibility with Claudia in the way she makes dresses for her.

Madeleine dresses Claudia as the grown woman she wants to be seen as, as she really is, even before she fully understands the circumstances of Claudia's age. It's telling that in Madeleine's dying vision, the one that convinces Louis of her love for Claudia, that Claudia is wearing a dress that Madeleine made for her.

By contrast, we see how Claudia is incompatible with the coven in the role that they have quite literally written for her. If Madeleine shows her love by treating Claudia as an adult, the coven shows their lack of caring by creating artwork where Claudia is forced into playing a part that diminishes her.

In turn, we can see Claudia's enthusiasm for the coven tied into her willingness to perform -- she starts off trying to smile her way through the situation, before quickly growing tired of the performance (and, relatedly, the coven itself).

But then again, how does the coven show its real loyalties? Well, with a painting.

We don't know who painted Lestat (Armand, possibly?), but having artwork of him in a place of prominence is pretty telling. But then again, the theater's creation is itself a reflection of art as a signifier of love & bonding -- Lestat suggests a theater to a lonely Armand as a way to regain a family/coven structure, after the last one fell apart.

Which makes particular sense for Armand, the character who most explicitly equates artistic expression with love and understanding. We see him underline it in his own telling of his backstory -- "No one has painted me in over 400 years." He associates painting with being seen and cared for by his maker --

-- and yet we, the audience, can plainly see what a warped, toxic relationship it was from the painting itself : a whitewashed version of Armand's face that doesn't truly look like him.

Hell, we even see Armand's betrayal of Louis in the form of creative expression -- to quote Daniel, "He directed the play!"

His treason isn't just that he sold Louis & Claudia out, it's that he participated in a creation that would condemn them. Artistic expression shows us love and loyalty in this world, yes, but it can also be used as a tool of abuse or betrayal.

Which brings us to Louis, he who has the eye for art but maybe not the skill for it, who never said 'I love you' to Lestat and wouldn't call Armand his companion, who ultimately gives up on creation in favor of becoming a collector.

It's especially interesting that his abandonment of photography is also explicitly tied to the end of his visions of Dreamstat. Even the one photo he takes that garners praise is one he tries taking of Armand & Dreamstat at the same time -- as if the closest he can get to expressing love through creation is something that blurs the lines between both men he has complicated feelings for. (Note that the scene where he develops the photo is directly after the "Show me the only way you know how to love" sequence of Louis bashing some guy's head into a wall.)

Hell, if we want to take it even further, we can even see some of this pretense in the inclusion of the Fred Stein photos (assuming Armand actually did sneak them in). On one level, we can see it as Armand trying to build up Louis' happiness, but on the other, it's him trying to build up the image of their romance.

After all, if artistic creation is a sign of love -- especially to Armand! -- what does it mean if Louis is openly disparaging his own abilities to make anything at all?

Taking it further, what does it say that he and Armand have a collection of photos of various boys over the years and expensive artwork hanging on every wall, but Louis doesn't seem to have taken any pictures of Armand in almost eighty years?

And hey, speaking of fascinating boys: what does it mean when Louis hasn't made anything creative of Armand since the 1940s, but he has no problem writing a book for ten hours with some guy he picked up at the bar?

Hell, writing a book where Louis spends ten hours talking about his life and hasn't even gotten up to the part with Armand yet? The supposed love of his life doesn't even garner a mention, to the point where Daniel didn't even know he existed when he arrives fifty years later.

And what does it mean when that book you never wrote is a giant hanging thread in your life, enough to create a connection strong enough that you remember that guy fifty years later and go back to that writing it? Even over the objections of the love of your life?

Especially when find out that Daniel's entire writing career is sparked in part by inspirational words given to him by Louis -- a sign of their bond withstanding the test of time, enough to make them friends after a fifty year absence.

That said, if we're working with the idea of artistic expression as proof of connection -- especially when it comes to Armand -- then it also makes perfect sense why Armand would insert himself into the interview once he's been revealed.

Then it's no longer about Louis & Daniel, or Louis & Lestat, it's about Louis & Armand and artistic proof of their connection! They're both now creating a story, a book that will include their entire romance! It's the first time that Armand has had the possibility of being an artistic subject in decades, so no wonder he's quick to latch onto it.

Even then, though: I think it's interesting that when Armand is talking to Daniel alone, the first story he thinks to tell him about is his relationship with Lestat. Make of that what you will.

(Also, I've said this before, but I am very curious what Armand's feelings towards Daniel will be after having an entire book written in which he plays a starring role.)

I think that this is all very rich with subtext and possible further progression, especially since we are about to enter a season where a new book is being written by Daniel and there's going to be an entire tour's worth of music being performed, all of it ripe with potential for further relationship nuance.

And while I don't want to wander too far into book spoiler territory, I think this might even neatly factor into a potential Season 4 -- especially since book fans will know that a specific musical performance is the catalyst for a lot of what happens in The Queen of the Damned.

[thomine]

i care more to be loved : kaveh

pair: kaveh / reader info: general audiences, consumption of alcohol (mentioned in passing), off-screen kiss scene, nonlinear narrative (numbering system in place to help make sense of time but scenes are intentionally in that order), dysfunctional relationship, canon compliant, angst (with a hopeful ending?), not proofread

summary: you don't believe you found love but you found kaveh. that's close to love, right?

word count: 5.4k links: read on ao3 / work tag notes: um. not i'm not really back from hiatus. yes that's a little women (2019) quote. you may read the author's commentary for more info.

ONE.

There should be a word to describe those like you who withdraw from social gatherings. You don't hate people so you aren't anti-social, and it's not like you don't hang out with others—forming connections is your job. You are the guy who knows a guy who knows a guy. There are just some days you cannot bring yourself to keep up, and today is one of them. While your social circle is partying at Lambard's Tavern, you sneak out of your house into the forest beside Sumeru City with a small container of snacks and some textile. A lonely picnic it will be, but loneliness is not the issue here. Neither is hunger, but you have to keep yourself occupied.

You find a comfortable spot under shade with a beautiful view of the setting sun and lay out a shoddy sheet of straw before placing a mat over it. It's a cloth given to you by your mother after scoring well, although her face when you declared you weren't joining the Akademiya made you feel she regretted getting you anything in the first place. This mat does cost a lot so you keep it pristine to honour her efforts.

The container that keeps your food warm is also a gift, one you bought yourself after years of eyeing it through windows. It is nicer when it is on display, but you don't regret buying it. It is practical and you'll give credit to where its due despite the miscellaneous inconveniences in its design.

Once you've settled in a comfortable spot facing west, you watch as the last light of the day diminishes. This is—what you like to believe—a refuge, but your worries never cease to leave you. You wonder what your friends are doing at the tavern. Probably drinking their life away while jostling and cheering. Having fun. Playing games. Enjoying the atmosphere. Putting their best foot forward.

For love.

Like artists musicians that decorate the streets on festive nights, awaiting tips and change to drop into their hats.

As your brain depressingly quips with itself, you can't hear footsteps from behind. It is only when a shadow covers you that you take note you are not alone, and also realise you have been crying.

"I hope I'm not disturbing?" the uninvited voice asks, gently. When you turn (after wiping your tears as discretely as you can), you meet a blonde man with warm eyes made even warmer with the shine of sunset. He kneels to meet you at eye level as you present your business smile. "I saw your mat and I was wondering where did you get it?"

"Oh, this?" You stand, uncomfortable with his gesture of kneeling to meet your gaze. You wear your shoes and step off the object he's interested in so he has a full view. "It was imported from Inazuma. They sell the finest textiles so I'm not surprised it caught your attention. Want to try sitting on it? Oh, but please take off your sandals."

The man seems to be half-listening as he straightens. You wonder if your eyes are puffy to give away your earlier misery, but other than his intrepid stare directed at you, he's fixed on the mat.

"And how much would it cost? Are you still in contact with the merchant? Wait, before we continue let me introduce myself." He extends his hand for a handshake. "I'm Kaveh, an architect. I'm building a large mansion nearby and will also be in-charge of designing its interior. Such a mat would look wonderful among the furniture I plan to get."

You look around, unsure why you haven't seen any construction. Was it approved or is this guy just lofty? Regardless, you exchange pleasantries. After giving your name, you add, "I'm afraid I do not have the particulars of the merchant. My mother bought this for me"—you hope you don't look constipated—"but we are not in contact so I can't help you trace the mat's source."

"A pity," he says, shoulder slouching. "Sumeru textiles would work but I really like this design."

Again, it's not that you dislike people, but you really want to be alone right now. You look at the mat, memories of a distant past weigh heavy in your throat. It would be nice to say goodbye to it once and for all.

"You can have it." Grabbing the edges, you fold the textile as he gawks. "I don't use it other than as a mat when I'm outside—which isn't frequent. Hearing what you have planned, you'll make better use of it. I'll just get another one."

"But this is from your mother, isn't it? Wouldn't you want to keep it for that reason alone?"

You pass the rolled up mat to him with a lopsided smile. "Oh, it's just a mat to me. Don't worry about it and don't think too much of this. See you."

You then pick up your barely touched food and trudge back home before he can reject your offer.

⠀

⠀

TWO.

You hear someone call your name. It's your name, yes, but still unfamiliar on the tongue of this person. The first thought that comes to you is that it is a client, but clients don't address you by your name. Only your nickname. That's how you differentiate your personal and professional circles. All personal connections eventually mix with your profession, so they handle your name like experts. Vowels and consonants wrapped in a specific tone. This is fairly… friendly.

There was someone you met recently… you try to recall that moment but it doesn't appear until you are face to face with a blonde man with warm eyes.

Ah, Kaveh.

To his luck, you are chirpier than when he last met you. With energy to perform, you smile brightly and greet him, although your pronunciation is off as one would for new names. He doesn't seem to mind though.

"Glad to bump into you," he huffs while leaning over, supporting his upper body with hands on his knees. You let out a small laugh.

"I wouldn't call you running to greet me as bumping into me."

"Don't take it the wrong way, I wasn't stalking you or anything. I just saw you walk down this street and thought I'd say hi."

This man is puzzling. First, he claims to be building something large near where you were seated, and yet with your purview of the land you see not a single construction. Then, he runs towards you just to say hi. Is saying hi to someone you barely know that important?

"Well, um, hello then," you say, extending an arm for an awkward handshake. "How's your project so far?"

"It's…" he clears his throat. "The mat you gave me was perfect. I should really thank you. Should we have a meal together? My treat."

"No need to treat. I just had lunch with my friends. I was heading back, actually."

"Do you stay nearby?"

"Relatively close. What about you?"

"Um, I stay nearby as well."

Something is definitely up with this guy.

"Is there anything else?" you ask as you place your hands on your hips. "I'm sure you're busy yourself."

"Let me treat you at least once. Whenever you're free."

You don't understand why he's so insistent, but it reminds you of desperate clients even more desperate to keep their business afloat. They always have something to offer in hopes it can gain them something of greater value. Not that you are great at weighing these deals, but emotionally, you play this game everyday. Perhaps giving him the mat was a habitual act of the same principle. You hoped giving him the mat will grow something, and this may be your chance to harvest it.

How tiring, but isn't that necessary? Condition and reward. Didn't he say he was building a mansion? You might want someone of such caliber in your books.

"I'll take up that offer for a meal, but you don't have to pay for it." You take out a paper and pen to jot your address. "Tomorrow, dinner? I'll cook."

Once again, before Kaveh can react, you make your leave. You dissolve into the crowded street, wondering what will bloom from this.

⠀

⠀

FIVE.

You still don't know where Kaveh lives after a year, but he surely knows how to make your house like his own. You did not expect to have common interests, and his philosophies intrigue you enough to not be bored. When he doesn't appear on Fridays, you are surprised, but even then you don't push for details or a reason the next time he comes over. His life is his life and yours is yours.

You know he keeps his secrets such as details of the project (which grants him highs and lows, as all things do) while you keep your worries private. To meet him more frequently means nothing, at least that's what you believe.

"What are we?" Kaveh asks one quiet evening as you tear through your dinner. He has become such a staple in your life silence feels comfortable. His question, however, rips the atmosphere like you and your meal. You tongue feels heavy as your mind replay scenes that happened last week. He tried to bring it up once too, but the moment you expressed discomfort, he surrendered. It seems the water in the kettle has finally reached its boiling point.

"What do you mean? What else can we be?"

"Do friends really do what we do?" he probes. You give him a quizzical look, daring him to be clear. "Are you going to deny our kiss last week?"

"You stayed over and we got drunk. That's all that happened." You bite your lips. You had hoped the weekend would mean he would forget everything somehow. "You were lonely. I was lonely. That's all there is to it."

"So the kiss meant nothing." He looks forlorn, slouching in his chair as his legs sprawl under the table, as if he's as exhaled like a flattened balloon. "Why do you do this to me?" he asks, voice wavering. "Are my feelings for you not clear?"

You place your cutlery down and wipe your mouth. You lost your appetite. "I'm not here to discuss this. I'm going to go for a walk."

As you stand, so does Kaveh. He gets up with such force his chair falls back. It is a chair he bought for himself after he ruined yours. Not his fault. The chair was going to give way anyways. This chair, though, is handpicked by him to match whatever miserable mess of furniture you have. It isn't costly, but no one sits on it other than Kaveh.

He walks towards you and grabs your wrist. You flinch but do not pull away.

"You should head back home and sleep too. Maybe you just aren't in the right mind," you mumble. "You did drink yourself dead because of stress so you should rest."

"You kissed me. I can't just wake up next day and pretend everything is fine. You know how I feel about you."

"I already told you I was lonely, okay? Do you really want to be with someone who uses you because you're conveniently here? And it's not like you actually like me either."

"Why do you keep saying that? You don't know how I feel."

"I know. I know the game we play. If I didn't give you the mat that very day I would be a stranger to you even now. If I didn't show you any kindness you would have hated me. Don't you get it Kaveh? This world is based on conditions, and every condition I've set such that you'll like me. I've trapped you like a rat and I let you delude me to believing lies."

"What are you talking about?" Kaveh's voice is as scratchy as sandpaper. It doesn't sit right to see such a a pretty face this distressed. "If you say I'm stressed you must be too. Nothing from your mouth makes sense. Tell me, what's bothering you? We can work it through." He grabs your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours. A gesture you've gotten used to—indulgently. He first held your hand like this when you were sick. How comforting it was but now it repulses you, yet not enough to reject his warmth still.

"Kaveh, listen to me. The moment you don't get what you want from me, you're going to walk out of this door. You don't love me. You love the conditions I set. It is like a prey falling for a predator's tricks."

"Then say you don't love me."

You swallow.

"So by your logic the reason you kissed me is because I helped you through your loneliness. Have you wondered maybe you caused it upon yourself? You keep such a distance with your friends, they don't even know about me."

"What are you implying?"

"Maybe you do love me. You can treat me as you do with your friends. Avoid me, isolate yourself, but you invite me even to your pity parties. Can you really say I'm a prey, or am I someone who willingly walked into your den for I know you aren't the predator you believe you are."

"Kaveh, please stop. You don't know me. I'll give you away as quickly as I gave the mat. You do not want to be involved with me."

You jerk your hand out of his grasp. As usual, you leave Kaveh faster than he can react. After your hour trek through the forest you return to an empty house with an empty heart.

Pity party? Pft. You definitely don't host pity parties. The moments you choose to be away from your friends are moments you regain your energy to fight the world. It is difficult to keep having to present yourself as lovable. To have someone like Kaveh accompany you through these times means nothing.

It doesn't mean anything.

⠀

⠀

SIX.

You were right. Kaveh doesn't return the next Friday, or the Friday after that. As if you've unplugged a lifeline, he doesn't exist. You don't even see him around the streets he normally hangs around.

"You seem upset," a friend of yours say. She is the owner of a small cafe situated in the bazaar. A friend from your youth you know you have to maintain good relations with. Her coffee isn't to your liking but they have won awards. In fact, brewing coffee is not her only strength. She is good at gathering intel.

"Am I?" you force a laugh. "Must be the lack of sleep. Work has been piling up as of late."

She sips her tea as you observe the stillness of yours. Rich brown liquid. Warm to touch. Memories of Kaveh's hands wrapped around yours ignite your chest with sorrow. You swallow it with your drink.

"I heard that you seldom visit the bazaar to buy dinner," your friend inquires. Of course she will turn her tricks to you. "I'm not saying you can't get your food anywhere else, but I do recall you recommending Jut's dishes. Fast and delicious for anyone working over time."

"Have you met him? I told him of your recently opened store and he said he would drop by. Wouldn't it be cool if there was a collaboration between the two of you?"

"You know when to find a business opportunity when you see one. As expected for someone who scored well in the exams."

"You just like to flatter people, don't you? You scored even higher. My mum never shut ups about it, and I believe she'll still bring it up even now."

"But my networks aren't as wide. You truly know how to rope people with that smile of yours. Not to mention you're always too kind for your own good. Thanks for the free sponsor, by the way."

You ease a laugh, glad to have the topic changed. "Oh don't mention it. It was a discounted deal anyways." You finish your drink and decide it is time to leave, but your friend's next words hold you prisoner.

"I was wondering if you've heard of Kaveh?"

"…What about him?"

"So you do know him."

"Bumped into him once. Said he was working on a big mansion in the forest. What about him? Are you going to ask if I can help you connect with him?"

"Not really. Not professionally at least. I think he's charming… he stopped by my store once"—of course, because you told him to give her stall a try—"and was so nice. He's so pretty, don't you agree?"

You pull your head back as you force a laugh so she can't see the way your eyes wrinkle with remorse.

"If I can get in contact with him, I'll let you know. I have to go first though." You gesture to your finished drink. "Thanks for the drink."

She stands with you and edges close with arms open. You lean to give her a hug. Before she can remember to ask for anything more, you're out of the bazaar.

⠀

⠀

THREE.

You truly are a person with no qualifications other than a disappointed mother and an award-winning smile. You put on masks and play pretend, trying to inflate your credentials so others will believe you are lovable. You can be loved. You will be loved.

But what if you're just a singular person who stares at sunset with a container of home made food while you let your thoughts powered by self-deprecating rot and doubt to run wild? Will you still be lovable then? It is a question that grips you even more than death itself.

You are a beggar at the mercy of those that pass by. Your hands empty and shivering. Love me, you cry. What I give is the feeling of superiority. The feeling that you're doing something good. In return I want you to love me.

Can you really say, then, that someone will love you for who you are? Would there not be this underlying feeling that they chose you out of pity?

You know people will be at your funeral, but will it be for you?

"So you were crying the day I met you," Kaveh says as he appears from behind. You have invited him to join your picnic, but he's late and your thoughts have grown to be a beast that demands your tears. "Sorry, that's not a good entrance. I didn't mean to be a busybody."

You wipe your wet eyes, uncaring of being discrete as you have been caught. Kaveh brought along more food. He unpacks them on your new plain mat.

"No, I'm thankful you didn't say anything that day," you note. "I don't think I wanted you to point it out. Would have ruined my mood even more."

Kaveh takes the spot you've prepared for him, leaning on his hand positioned behind to get a good view of the sky. He's still a stranger—in some sense—but a very welcoming one at that. There is something about the way he treats you that makes you feel you can trust him with your secrets. Not that you will share it with him. He's only come over for dinner the past month. Your friendship with him is developing faster than you'd like, but when he does things like randomly send you letters because something reminded him of the conversation over dinner or when he buys your favourite ice cream because it was on sale and he remembered you, it's hard not to grow fond of him.

In your area of business you should return such gestures, but he somehow makes himself indebted to you. You've never have the scale balanced when it comes to him. Perhaps inviting him into your private moment is your attempt at leveling what he skewed. Maybe this is part of his greater plan—he'll count these blessings as a means to an end, but for once, you aren't doing business. It never feels like it with him.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" he asks after a moment of silence. You shake your head. "Fair enough. Sitting down to watch the sunset is already easing my own stress."

"You really didn't have to do all of this, by the way," you motion at the food he bought and laid out. So much for trying to make things even. "I told you I was going to cook."

"But it's to celebrate!"

"Celebrate?"

"To us being friends. You've helped me so much and now you're inviting me to a picnic? Surely this means we're getting closer. Plus, look over there." He points to something in the distance. You move closer to him to see his line of view and notice bright colours poking from the canopy of the forest. "That's my project and we've finally started construction. Surely this is a moment to celebrate."

"I'm really happy for you."

You lean your head against his shoulder briefly, like a nudge. The smile on your face is small, but it's sincere.

⠀

⠀

FOUR.

Kaveh is acting strange. He is outside the door but he has yet to knock. He's mumbling things to himself and you feel tempted to open it just to scare him as a lesson to not talk to himself outside your door, but you've yet to clean the living room. He comes in like a storm and places his things everywhere. It's not that you mind though. It's just embarrassing to have him know you keep the house as he left it as evidence that you aren't alone.

Finally, his long-anticipated knock comes. You yell for him to wait as you finish the final touches and swiftly open the door. Tonight, you cooked The Endeavour in hopes to rival the one he made for you last week. It is an intricate piece of art disguised as the dish Fatteh. Only he can come up with something as extravagant as that, so you're not trying to beat him in presentation but taste.

You open the door, anticipation bursting in your eyes.

"You won't believe what I—"

"I love you and I—"

You blink, staring blanking at your favourite flowers covering your view. When you push it down to see Kaveh, his face is flushed. His eyes avoid you, and he seems to have regretted saying anything at all with the way he bites his lips.

"Did I ruin it?" he mumbles, free hand covering his face as the other pushes the bouquet into your arms, as if to say he wants you to carry the embarrassment away. "Was this bad timing?"

You gingerly take the bouquet and usher him in before he decides to run away.

"Let's… have dinner first."

You place the bouquet on the table in the living room as you bring out dinner.

"What was it you wanted to say?" Kaveh fidgets with his hands, voice strained with worry. "You sounded really excited."

"It's this," you say with less enthusiasm than you expected. "I loved what you brought me last week and I wanted to try making it too. It can't rival your presentation, but I hope it's edible."

"It's lovely." The compliment doesn't reach his eyes. Not that he doesn't believe what he's saying. They're just busy with other emotions as they intrusively search your expression. You try to keep it normal.

"Dig in," you chirp, pointing towards the dish that, when you think about it, is a poor rendition of what Kaveh gave you. "Let me know what you think."

He takes a bite and slowly the conversation buries his confession. You're back to laughing while he's rambling. The bouquet of flowers sits on the table without water—withering, if you may put it—while you and Kaveh's relationship continues to grow.

That night, you lay in bed wondering what his words mean.

What have you done?

⠀

⠀

SEVEN.

"The Palace of Alcazarzaray has been destroyed by the withering." News headline reads in bold. You stare at the paper, wondering why the name of the mansion rings a bell. You read on and you gasp when you see his name.

"…the architect, Kaveh…"

Your eyes dig into the words to extract every piece of information you can. Although he never told you the details of the project, it was undeniable how much passion and love he had for it. Talking about the project was always a gateway for him to share about his past, present, and even future. He told you of his time at the Akademiya, his parents, his dreams and aspirations. To have this project fail broke your heart knowing his has been broken.

Is that the reason he has been avoiding you? Was that the reason he arrived at your house multiple times looking worse than before? The reason he drank so much that night which you half-joked was because of the project really was the reason. Your kiss must have caused his mind to enter a flurry that pulled him under.

What have you done?

They say love does not make you think straight. Can you blame it on love or is this solely your selfish doing?

You don't wait for the answer as you scramble out of your door after grabbing your essentials. You have to find Kaveh, figure out how much he owns and how he's doing. You have to help him in one way or another if not who knows what will happen to him—

But you don't find him. He finds you instead. He's a few meters away from your door, approaching you with bloodshot eyes. You sigh, an act of relief but also concern, as you walk towards him.

"It's been long," you say after greeting him, unable to meet him in the eye. "I heard about the project. I want to help."

"No."

"What?" You raise your head and look at him, dumbfounded. "Why not? If you need money, I have some."

"I know you'll say that, but I cannot accept it."

"Why not? I don't want to see you"—you gesture towards all of him—"like this." For someone who tries to keep himself well kept, he is disheveled beyond recognition. Hair a mess, attire robbed to a plain t-shirt and pants that cover him decently. He looks pathetic, like a beggar, and who loves to see someone in such a state? Saviour complex or not, you know you can help him, and you will. "Come inside. Let's discuss it there. You look famished. I'll cook up something for you and—"

He calls your name. You still remember the first time he reached out to you on that busy street. How different your personal name was on his tongue compared to others. That friendliness has never left. In fact, it grew fonder over time. You should have noticed his feelings before he announced it, but maybe you were hoping it wasn't true. Now, he says your name dripping in tenderness and you want to scream.

Don't do this to me, you think as you drag him in your house regardless. I don't need you to remind me of your feelings. Of how I hurt you.

Once the door closes, as you're about to leave to prepare him a warm cup of coffee, he grabs your hand.

"I'm here to let you know I'm not accepting any help from you, and my feelings will remain."

"You're crazy. What are you going to—"

"You said that I only like you for your kindness, for the things you did. I'm here to let you know even if you don't show me an inch of kindness, I'll still love you."

"You shouldn't do that. That's stupid. That's illogical—"

"But it's your logic." He leans closer, almost putting his entire body weight on you. It is at this proximity you smell the faint scent of alcohol. "If I can't prove it to you with my logic then I'll have to use yours."

"You're not thinking straight. Look, Kaveh, remember the great girl who runs a coffee shop in the bazaar? She wants to meet you. She can make better coffee than me, is more beautiful and smarter. Her business is expected to skyrocket after marketing and maybe you can get your funds from her too. You'll find better, more amazing people. You shouldn't waste your time trying to prove to me that you like me. You don't even have to prove to yourself you like me."

Kaveh stays quiet. He stops moving too. You would think he is dead but you've handled a drunk Kaveh more often that you'd like to admit. Thankful he stopped his thrashing. You drag him onto the sofa and begin making preparations for when he wakes. Medicine, food, maybe some contract for him to be your roommate.

However, when he wakes, he is even more adamant on his stance, and more logical to argue for it too.

At least he drinks your coffee and eats the meal you prepared for him: a simple bowl of cream soup. He devours it almost in an instant, and you wonder how long he's not eaten. Given his new skinnier frame, you're betting at least a full day.

"I'll make seconds." You take his bowl and turn to head to the kitchen but he denies you once again by grabbing your arm. You hate how difficult it is to shake him away. You hate how a part of you is happy he wants you to stay.

"That's enough. I am not a baby. You of all people should know this."

"Yes, but in your current state? I wouldn't say so."

He releases his grip and you return to your seat. He sits upright on the sofa, a good distance away from the flowers he bought for you now kept in a small vase.

"I know you're worried about me," he starts as he rests his hands on his thigh and looks at the floor.

"Yes, it isn't a very nice situation to be in." And I probably made it worse.

"But I have a plan. The overseers of this project will not abandon it, and I sold my house but I met up with Alhaitham who I will live with in the mean time."

"See? You never know when you'll need to pull strings with people you dislike."

"I don't dislike him. At least, him as a person. Just his views of others."

You chuckle. "Same thing, isn't it? What is a person without their views? Their passions? Their aspirations? That's who they are."

"Their flaws as well." He looks at you, warm eyes intense like a burning flame. You shy away from his gaze. "Thank you for your help," he clears his throat, probably embarrassed he fell on you like that while drunk. It's not the first, and you hope it's not the last.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?"

"It's fine. I will deal with it myself and I'll show you what I mean."

Another question sits on your tongue. Will you continue to ignore me and only come to me during your drunken stupors?

But he beats you to it.

"I know this is a silly question, but why do you want to help me so badly? If you believe I was lured by your kindness, then why continue being kind to me?"

"I don't deny I'm selfish," you start as you look at the floor, tucking your feet closer to your body. "I do kind things so people are tethered to me. I don't want you to leave."

You give him a side glance, expecting some sort of disgust or distaste, but instead he looks solemn yet shocked. It's better than being judged or disgusted.

"I'm sorry, Kaveh," you whisper. "I don't think I'll ever love you the way you want me to. I don't know how that works."

"Then that's even more reason to not accept your help. I won't give up."

Silence except the ticking clock in your room. This time it's unnerving, but not in a bad way. You are aware of your breathing—chest rising up and down—while your heart rate quickens as heat gathers at your face. When did he have such an effect on you?

"Visit me even if you're in a pitiful, sorry state. Even if it's unbearable to see you the way you are right now. And even after that, when you've got your bearings, I still want to have dinner with you."

"I will be back," Kaveh announces as he stands. He smiles, satisfied.

author's note: as always thank you for making it until the end. this story came to me in a whirlwind of inspiration. whether you agree with reader's point of view or not, i do hope you come to realise that love, as tricky as it is, is also fairly simple because it is everywhere around us. it may not come in the form that we want but we shape the love we receive with our hands by changing ourselves. stay strong fellas (i am loosing my brain cells as we speak).

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

my doctor was sooooo fucking worthless and unhelpful im going to masturbate and i hope it fucking kills me

[lord-shitbox]

I like how as the season goes on it's made more and more clear how Kirishima's shift from "demon" to "kind and reliable adult figure" isn't actually as unprecedented as some characters in the show feel it is. Like with him entertaining Yaeka when they were both younger, before Miyuki's accident, and how he went with Sugihara to apologize to the antique seller lady when theyd just met.....like I just. love how it shows he always had the seeds of kindness in him! even in his terrible youth! It's just that he's finally starting to grow them now

[feisaru]

So would Jedidiah be considered a Faust kin or...?

[todayisafridaynight]

through the power of delusion and yuri i can make katase taller than aoki's secretary

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

.

[keeps-ache]

teeth achieved. [goes to sleep]

[thisisnottherealryannross]

guess who's planning on getting two tattoos based on Howl and Other Poems

[heyitslapis]

its times like this when i really wish i had an SO's shoulder to cry on

Because I think i factrued/sprained my foot the other day it happened wednesday but its still pretty swollen and pops when i try to walk on it without hobbling. i know i signed up for health insurance through work. i wrote down the insurance company name as Bayside and I have my personal insurance id number but the card never came in/got lost in the mail (and i already called for one replacement that never came so idk if theyll send me a third) so i cant confirm the insurance name nor call them, but i need to because ive called/visited 5 health care facilities around me and NONE of them have even heard of Bayside. So im calling the phone number that my manager provided me with telling me that was the insurance company. I keep calling the number (and mind you ive called them before to try to get a second insurance card sent to me but that was in like April) and i get that its saturday but theres no answer and the stupid automated machine wont let me leave a voicemail. the automated answering voice on the phone also says that theyre called National Benefit Plans by SafetyNet and google says the phone number im using belongs to National Benefit Plans out in San Antonio Tx (i live no where near there). I found National Benefit Plans' website on SafetyNetPlus dot com but National Benefit Plans doesnt have their own website, just through SafetyNet, and also the SafetyNet website says on a side panel that "this is NOT insurance" and instead keeps saying "health benefits" instead so idk what the fuck ive been paying for for the last 6 months tbh and im having an emotional breakdown bc i dont want to fuck my foot up for life just cause i couldnt figure out my health insurance/benefits shit

[abnormallycreative]

.

[captainfantasticalright]

In 1985, one of the only persons interested in an interview with a “new” writer called Terry Pratchett, after his publication of the Colour of Magic, was one Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman was writing for Space Voyager at the time. "The Colour of Pratchett" was the name given here:

It ran exactly one page inside the June/July issue of that year. The interview took place in a Chinese restaurant in London.

Here is Neil many years later holding that issue. You can see it here if you want. Warning: extremely emotional video.

Neil arrived wearing a grey homburg hat. “Sort of like the ones Humphrey Bogart wears in movies” he later wrote. (Before saying that in fact he did not look like him, but like someone wearing a grown-up’s hat). Terry Pratchett, photo courtesy of one @neil-gaiman, was in a Lenin-style leather cap and a harlequin-patterned pullover. At this point, Terry was already a hat person, although not that hat.

Terry offered Neil this : "An interview needn't last more than 15 minutes. A good quote for the beginning, a good quote for the end, and the rest you make up back at the office"*. (Terry Pratchett had worked many years in journalism by this point ).

But the meeting went terribly well. The two of them realized they had "the same sort of brains". So well indeed, that in 1985, Neil had shown Terry a file containing 5282 words, exploring a scenario in which Richmal Crompton's William Brown had somehow become the Antichrist. Was a collaboration in the cards as of that moment? Not really. But Terry found in Neil someone to whom he could send disks of work in progress and to whom he could pick up the phone sometimes when he hit a brick in the road of his writing.

Terry loved it and the concept stayed in his mind. A couple of years later, he rang Neil to ask him if he had done any more work on it. Neil had been busy with The Sandman, he had not really given it another thought. Terry said, "Well I know what happens next, so either you sell me the idea or we can write it together". **

On collaborating together:

Here is a video of Sir Terry saying why he chose to collaborate with Neil, another video talking about the technical difficulties of writing a book when the two of them where miles apart ,and some pages from Interzone Magazine Issue 207 published December 2006:

An Interview with Sir Terry Pratchett and his works- and Neil Gaiman, where he shortly addresses the process of writing Good Omens.

Terry shortly mentions,

“Neil doesn't rule out another book with me and he was good to write with...yep, it could happen. With anyone else? I don't know, but probably not.?”

Neil says,

"Terry took that initial 5,000 words of mine and ran it through the computer (because I’d lost the files in a computer crash) and made it the first 10,000 words, and it was definitely Good Omens at that point. Neither one thing nor the other, but a third thing.”

"I think Terry could do a very good impersonation of me if he needed to, and I could do a very good impersonation of him; so we knew the area of the Venn diagram in which we were working. But mostly the book found its own voice very quickly. It helped that we were both scarred by the William books when we were kids...”

And as you know, unless you’ve been living in Alpha Centauri, the rest is history. That was the beginning of what would become William the Antichrist and later would get the name Good Omens:The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. (Title provided by Neil Gaiman and subtitle by Terry Pratchett).

More about the writing process:

Terry took the first 5,000 words and typed them into his word processor, and by the time he had finished they were the first 10,000 words. Terry had borrowed all the things about me that he thought were amusing, like my tendency back then to wear sunglasses even when it wasn't sunny, and given them, along with a vintage Bentley, to Crawleigh, who had now become Crowley. The Satanic Nurses were Satanic Nuns.

The book was under way.

We wrote the first draft in about nine weeks. Nine weeks of gloriously long phone calls, in which we would read each other what we'd written, and try to make the other one laugh. We'd plot, delightedly, and then hurry off the phone, determined to get to the next good bit before the other one could. We'd rewrite each other, footnote each other's pages, sometimes even footnote each other's footnotes. We would throw characters in, hand them off when we got stuck. We finished the book and decided we would only tell people a little about the writing process - we would tell them that Agnes Nutter was Terry's, and the Four Horsemen (and the Other Four Motorcyclists) were mine.

From the introduction to William the Antichrist:

“In the summer of 1987 several odd ideas came together: (..)I found myself imagining a book called William the Antichrist, in which a hapless demon was going to be responsible for swapping the wrong baby over, and the son of the US Ambassador would be completely undemonic, while William Brown would grow up to be the Antichrist, and the demon would need to stop him ending the world. The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

It felt like a story with legs.

Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters – a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually- cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either of us could conceive.”

William the Antichrist being a direct inspiration of the 1976 film The Omen. If the baby swap had just been a little bit messier and the kid had gone off somewhere else he would have grown up as somebody else. “And then there was a beat and I thought, I should write it, it will be called William the Antichrist” says Neil. ***

“The first draft of Good Omens was a William-book. It was absolutely in every way it could be a William book. It had Violet Elizabeth Bott, it had William and the Outlaws, it had Mr. Brown”.

Over time they realized that they would have more creative freedom if they in their own words filed off the serial numbers. William and the Outlaws becoming Adam and the Them.

But the spirit of Just William was never far away.

The joy for Neil was to construct “perfectly William sentences”. The one when Anathema tells Adam that she has lost the Book, and he tells her that he has written a book about a pirate who became a famous detective and it is 8 pages long… that’s “a William sentence”.

If you want to read more details about William The Antichrist, here are some slides I made.

Good Omens was also inspired by a particularly antisemitic moment in The Jew of Malta and John le Carre's spy novels. (Neil’s ask)

 Then I was reading The Jew of Malta by Kit Marlowe, and it has a bit where the three (cartoonishly evil) Jews compare notes on all the well-poisoning and suchlike they’d done that day, and as a Jew who never quite gets his act together, it occurred to me that if I were the third Jew I’d just be apologizing for having failed to poison a well… And suddenly I had the opening of a book. It would be called William the Antichrist. And it would begin with three Demons in a graveyard… (x).

“When we finished the book we estimated that the words were 60% Terry’s and 40% mine, and the plot, such as it was, was entirely ours.” -Neil Gaiman

"Neil and I had known each other since early 1985. Doing it was our idea, not a publisher's deal." "I think this is an honest account of the process of writing Good Omens. It was fairly easy to keep track of because of the way we sent discs to one another, and because I was Keeper of the Official Master Copy I can say that I wrote a bit over two thirds of Good Omens. However, we were on the phone to each other every day, at least once. If you have an idea during a brainstorming session with another guy, whose idea is it? One guy goes and writes 2,000 words after thirty minutes on the phone, what exactly is the process that's happening? I did most of the physical writing because: 1) I had to. Neil had to keep Sandman going -- I could take time off from the DW; 2) One person has to be overall editor, and do all the stitching and filling and slicing and, as I've said before, it was me by agreement -- if it had been a graphic novel, it would have been Neil taking the chair for exactly the same reasons it was me for a novel; 3) I'm a selfish bastard and tried to write ahead to get to the good bits before Neil. Initially, I did most of Adam and the Them and Neil did most of the Four Horsemen, and everything else kind of got done by whoever -- by the end, large sections were being done by a composite creature called Terryandneil, whoever was actually hitting the keys. By agreement, I am allowed to say that Agnes Nutter, her life and death, was completely and utterly mine. And Neil proudly claims responsibility for the maggots. Neil's had a major influence on the opening scenes, me on the ending. In the end, it was this book done by two guys, who shared the money equally and did it for fun and wouldn't do it again for a big clock." "Yes, the maggot reversal was by me, with a gun to Neil's head (although he understood the reasons, it's just that he likes maggots). There couldn't be blood on Adam's hands, even blood spilled by third parties. No-one should die because he was alive." -("Terry Pratchett : His World”)

(Here are some slides of mine where I go into some other details concerning the origins of Good Omens).

Another wonderful insight with Rob Wilkins in "The Worlds of Terry Pratchett".

*Quote: from Terry Pratchett A Life With Footnotes by Rob Wilkins, but said by Terry of course.

** All the quotes, facts listed here : see above.

***all other quotes by Neil Gaiman from various interviews and asks I’ll link.

[txrii]

But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader

based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift

word count: 2,131

warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol

summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so i’m not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!

The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on. 

Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier. 

As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tyler’s. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didn’t like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, “See you later, sweetheart.” Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/N’s father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/N’s father gave no response other than pursed lips. 

Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. “Hey, daddy,” Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, “When are you going to let that boy go, huh?” Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, “I really wish you’d give him a chance, daddy. It’s been almost a year. He’s not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -” 

She was cut off by her father’s sharp reply, “I know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see what’s really going on. He’s crazy with all these stunts.” Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, “I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want. I just wish you’d just have one conversation with him, then you’d see he really isn’t that bad.” Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, “Y/N, you’re going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days you’re going to go out on one of these chases,” he emphasized “chases” with air quotes, “and you’re not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.” Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, “Daddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!” As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her father’s pleas behind her.

Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous “Tornado Wrangler” and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldn’t be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.

The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didn’t take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, “Y/N Y/L/N, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going out there.” Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. “Daddy, I’ll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t get us into anything he knew he couldn’t get us out of.” Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. “Y/N, I just want what’s best for you. I’m tired of hearing about this boy and his stunts…” The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father, of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic. 

Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Tyler said, hoping to ease the man’s mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasn’t listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, “You ready, baby?” Y/N gave a grin, “Floor it, Ty.” And then they were off.

The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of his sight; he promised her father he’d keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You can open your eyes now, sweetheart. It’s done, it’s gone,” he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.

Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, “What are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. There’s no way I’m going to change his mind about you now.” Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, “I’m sure he’ll understand, sweetheart.” As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers. 

Y/N’s father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, “Hi, daddy.” Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/N’s father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her father’s eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shook his hand, relieved. He’s once again caught off guard, however, as Y/N’s father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.

A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, “Oh my God, they should see their faces!” Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, “Fuck ‘em. You’re my lady, and that’s all we need.” He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand. 

Y/N smiled back at him, “Me and my wild boy.”

[batboyblog]

I'm seeing a worrying amount of idiots on tumblr dot com push that "Kamala hates trans women" and I am losing my mind at how they are pushing it, constantly, saying she is a proven transmisogynist, despite it being a complete lie and her actively working behind the scenes to help trans women in prison. Is there like, sources that could help debunk this shit because I'm at my wits end as these people scream and cry and vomit trying to get biden to drop out but then are like "eghhhh still don't wanna vote for a transphobic cop..." when she's NEITHER-

Isn't the internet wonderful? first rule NEVER examine your priors! ALWAYS! hang onto whatever the first hot take you had on a subject to THE DEATH!

"Kamala is Transphobic!" over here in reality

past that trans and LGBT rights groups have been quick to endorse her like

Advocates for Trans Equality

Human Rights Campaign

just today 1,100 LGBT celebrities, lawmakers and leaders endorsed her

“The intersection on the issue of reproductive care and trans care, and the ability of families to be able to have care for their children and their families, is really, again, an intersection around attacks that are on an identity,” -Vice-President Harris, 2023

any ways the root of the idea she's transphobic comes from one case in 2015. Two inmates in the California State Prison system sued to get GRS, which as inmates would have been covered by the Prison system. It's worth noting here, both women got what they wanted, one was paroled and got the surgery covered by California Medicare while the other serving a life sentence was ultimately covered by the prison system.

Two things are important to bear in mind here, 1. Part of the job of California Attorneys General is to defend the state when it is sued, thats the job, 2. It seems early on in the case Harris was not personally aware of it, about 1,000 lawyers work in the Cali AG's office and so the AG cannot be personally aware of every case, and check this quote from the Lambda Legal lawyer handling the case:

“The California AG’s office shifted its handling of these cases significantly after now-Sen. Harris took over,” Renn said. “Initially there was language in briefing for the state that glaringly misunderstood the medical necessity of transition-related medical care and was patently offensive. But then, there was a dramatic change, which seems to have gone along with important policy shifts.”

Link

in 2019 Harris talked about the case and working after it was settled to change the policy of the California State Prison system

"When that case came up, I had clients, and one of them was the California Department of Corrections. It was their policy. When I learned about what they were doing, behind the scenes, I got them to change the policy," Harris said.

"I commit to you that always in these systems there are going to be these things that these agencies do. And I will commit myself, as I always have, to dealing with it," Harris said.

Any ways Harris can consistently spoken out for and supported Trans people, banned the hateful Trans panic defense when she was AG, in the Senate supported the Equality Act, during her 2020 campaign for President she drew attention to the hate crimes against black trans women while holding herself accountable for the 2015 case. As Vice-President she drew fire voicing support for Dylan Mulvaney during the hellish Bud Light backlash. Her Husband Doug was tapped to host the first ever White House Trans Day of Remembrance

basically you're looking at a great ally who clearly supports trans rights, who was involved in a case, which involved two people who got the surgeries they were looking for paid for by the State of California, close to 10 years ago now, there's evidence that both she moved the case in a better direction when she took over it and also that she changed the polices of the state to before more gender affirming.

[moonstruckme]

summary: when James moves into your apartment, you need a bit of an adjustment period

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

You go downstairs the way a meerkat pokes its head out of its burrow. Cautious, watchful. When you spot James standing over a sizzling pan in the kitchen, it’s a bit of effort not to sigh, but you go anyway, hunger temporarily taking priority over solitude. It’s just going to have to be another quick meal.

“Hey.” James looks up from a recipe he’s reading on his phone, grinning at you. 

You press your lips together in a smile of response. The girl who’d occupied James’ room before him wouldn’t have bothered to acknowledge you, and frankly, you’d liked her for that. You’d had a mutually ambivalent relationship; you’d both paid your rent, ignored the other’s food in the fridge, and gone about your days as if you each had the apartment to yourself. She had to move out because the maintenance crew tattled on her for having a pet, and though James only moved in a week ago, he’s invited you to hang out with his friends every time they’ve come over. Which is often. (He’s at least considerate enough to always ask first, and you always say yes. Partially because they don’t make huge messes and partially because you don’t know how to reply to a yes/no question any other way.) 

You go to the fridge, tearing the aluminum foil off a half-empty can of beans and shaking it into a bowl. You put it in the microwave. James reaches to turn down the stove, and, like a frightened animal, you flinch away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, only retreating to the opposite counter to give you more room. 

“How’s your day going?” he asks, leaning back on his forearms. 

“Not bad,” you say. Another thing about James is that in addition to his relentless geniality, he’s ferociously attractive. It takes all of your willpower not to let your eyes dip from his face to where his short sleeves conform to his biceps when he leans that way, but your face heats regardless. “Yours?” 

“Pretty good, actually.” He smiles easily. “It’s gorgeous out, have you felt the weather?” 

You shake your head. “I haven’t been out yet.” 

James nods like he knows this already, humming noncommittally. You think you spy a bit of judgment in his look, but you can’t be sure. “So,” he says, “I have something to ask you.” 

You tense. “Okay…” 

“I know you value your privacy, and I totally respect that, but I feel like as your roommate it’s my responsibility to at least ask.” 

You feel your eyes narrowing as you nod for him to continue. 

James schools his face into seriousness, a frown on his lips that looks like it doesn’t belong. “Do you not eat?” 

You laugh, relieved and bemused. “Of course I eat.”

The smile he gives you is strained, clearly for your benefit rather than his. “You sure about that? Because this morning I just saw you have one—one—piece of toast for breakfast, and then for lunch you had…what?” 

You shy, more because of his notice than anything else. The microwave beeps and you use it as an excuse to turn around. “Some cheese and crackers.” 

When you pivot with the steaming bowl, James is looking at you incredulously.

“They’re really filling!” 

“That’s a snack, love, not a meal. Both of those are snacks. Did you have anything else?” 

You hold up the bowl in your hand. “I’m about to have some beans.” 

His laugh is monosyllabic. Appalled. “You’re not serious.” 

You roll your eyes at him even as your face heats. “Listen, it’s not my most nutritious day, but I’ve been in a rush, and…” You were going to say more, but decide against it. “Anyway, there’s protein in the beans, so.” 

James isn’t having it. “And what?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Something.” He raises his eyebrows at you. “C’mon, spill, or I’m going to call your mum and tell her about your big day of—“ He draws quotes in the air, full lips curving he does “—beans and crackers.” 

“And toast,” you joke. James’ smile is small and short-lived. Does he really have your mum’s phone number? He can’t possibly. 

You sigh. “Okay, it’s nothing to do with you, but I…I’m a bit weird about being in the kitchen at the same time.” James’ thick eyebrows meet in the middle, and your shoulders hunch instinctively but you force yourself to finish explaining. “I just want to grab whatever is quickest and go before I make things awkward, or something. But I know it’s stupid.” You shake your head. You could burn the apartment to cinders with the heat from your face. “I don’t own the kitchen. You have every right to be here, and I’ll get used to it eventually. It’s just that you’re new to me right now.” 

James' expression clears. “Oh, you’re shy.” 

You must look even more embarrassed at that, because he hurries to say, “That’s alright, it’s good to know how you feel about things. And now I don’t have to call your mum.” He grins, and it widens when you make a tiny effort to reciprocate. “I don’t mind stepping out of the kitchen so you can cook every now and then.”

“You really don’t have to.” 

“It’s no trouble.” He waves you off. “Honestly, it’s too small for both of us to comfortably use at the same time anyway. Careful by the way, that pan’s hot.” 

You glance behind you, and you’ve backed yourself nearly into the stove. You move away, squeaking out a thanks. 

James’ smile softens. “I do hope you're right about getting used to me eventually, though.” He gives you a kind look, and you have no idea how he can maintain eye contact with that much sincerity in his big brown eyes. You envy the skill. “I’d like to get to be friends, but we’ve got time for that.” 

You’ve no clue how to respond, some deer-in-the-headlights instinct taking ahold of you, but James doesn’t seem to be expecting one. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, taking back his place at the stove. You take that as your cue to go.

[plutosoda]

how i make character models* in paint3d

*they are not models. you cannot rig them. but for simplicity i will call them this. also this guy is the example ⬇️

so. paint3d is very jank and not actually that good But it is fun to mess around with and for getting that early 2000s computer game effect for things. this program crashes and lags a lot especially when making more detailed stuff like this so. throughout this Please save your project periodically. I have lost so much to not doing this

if your computer isn't that great it's best to keep the quality setting at it's lowest. these models aren't really that detailed so it doesn't make a huge difference anyways LOL

when you open p3d you start with a blank 2d canvas. if you've Never used the program before i recommend fucking around with 3d view + making 3d shapes for a bit. make a Thing. like just some random object. it does not have to be good it's just to get used to how the controls work (because it is different between my mouse and drawing tablet and im not going into that here LOL). the biggest positive about p3d is how user intuitive it is compared to.yknow. blender when you're done with the Thing and u want to start with your character go back to the 2d canvas/2d view for sketching time

you could probably do this in another program but. i find it easier to just do it here. i keep these pretty simple and try to keep depth in mind

then go to canvas and make the background transparent. and then switch to 3d view to start making the base for the model on top of the sketch

at this point i don't use the 3d doodle shapes yet because they are finnicky as hell. the preset ones are a bit easier to control and move around so they're nicer for the planning part. what shapes you use depends on your character but my guy here is very circles and round so its just a sphere and some cylinders

make sure you're in 3d view and checking the pose from every angle ! if ur guy looks like a roblox avatar without the assets loaded fully then that is ideal. once you're happy with the pose it's Sculpting Time

where you choose to start is up to you but i usually get the head out of the way bc it tends to be the most complicated thing.

this is my best friend forever. the sharp edge is helpful for stuff like metal and whatnot though so i use them both.

for stuff like hair and fur i find its easier to make a bunch of small shapes and then connect them instead of trying to do it all in one go

^better examples with fluffier guys

this part is pretty much just personal preference for how you want your model to look though. just keep adding Stuff until it looks alright. also reminder to be saving your work bc this is when it gets really annoying if p3d crashes

finished head. jus keep addin stuff. copy and paste is a godsend btw.

puffier jacket. also connecting the limbs. just keep addin stuff.

these take a few hours .finished limbs. pretend the backpack is there i forgot to get a progress shot of it

now it is time for the objectively best part which is painting the guy. switch back to the 2d brush but stay in 3d view and start Coloring . i only really use the watercolor brush for shading/gradients and the marker one for lines but this part is also personal preference.

watercolor brush for the blue gradient and marker for the face .

i would Not do this in 2d art but i like adding a white gradient to pastel colors like with the hair here. it compliments the soft shapes well i think. to quote a friend it Looks Gummy

my silly highlights.

almost done with the creature. also mentioning that there are different textures for objects that you can change when picking their base color. the zipper is metal so it gets to be shinier.

theres also different lighting/filters to mess around with + you can doodle on the transparent canvas still.

save ur guy as a image and/or a turnaround gif/video/whatevar u want . and thas it! you can also mess with the model more for different poses and expressions (although this is super laggy bc it has to render a bunch of shapes at this point)

go make some CREACHURES !!