#it pretended to be a TOS remake. there will never be a good TOS remake

[the-crooked-library]

honestly we all would've remembered Star Trek Beyond much more fondly if it wasn't pretending to be Star Trek and just embraced what it was truly meant to be - which is a live action Treasure Planet (2002)

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 9)

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, (here) Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE, 

WARNING: Character injury as a major plot point. Lots of mentions of blood.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roach’s hooves hit the dirt like hammers, scooping up great clods of earth with each beat. Her gait barely registered to Geralt as blood welled up underneath his hand. There was so much, too much. His lap was soaked, it ran over the saddle and down his trousers, staining his boots and roach’s sides. It mixed with the dust on the sides of the road to form horrible rust-colored clots barely visible in the dark.

And Jaskier.

Jaskier was dying, his face white, his eyes rolled back, almost closed. Geralt pressed his hand tighter to the wound on his husband’s thigh and pressed Jaskier to his chest with his other hand. He wasn’t riding with reins, he didn’t need them. Roach sensed his desperation, likely smelling his anguish and fear. He had to trust his horse and Jaskier...Jaskier would have to trust in him. In the distance, the lights of Oxenfurt glittered in the darkness.

------

They had been traveling back to Oxenfurt anyway. The summer was still feverishly hot and travel had been rough. Even with his newfound resolve to do right by his husband, Geralt’s temper had been fraying. He knew he’d been talking less, marinating in the heat and his own sweat. He knew it was annoying Jaskier, who kept trying to make conversation, but Geralt wasn’t well built for heat, and his black armor and clothing cooked him. 

Jaskier had been complaining for days, too. There weren’t many settlements around for him to play in and the fields were too hot, the waterways too muggy, and the forests too oppressive. They slept in the open without a tent to avoid simply cooking in their sleep. 

There had been a moment, though, not so bad as the others. A clearing in a forest, lush, but with plenty of shade, and Jaskier had looked so beautiful. 

Geralt had been remaking some potions, teaching Jaskier the names of some of his less monstrous ingredients, pointing out what was good for salves, what was safe for humans, and so on. 

Jaskier had held up a buttercup, root and all smiling at the little petals. “I knew they were poisonous, of course,” he said, stroking the root with his thumb. “But I never thought they could be useful.”

“Only this,” Geralt said, taking it from him and cutting the roof. “Sagebrush buttercup, the root is still poison, but combined with Moonmoss it’s okay enough for a witcher.”

“Not for humans, though.”

“No, still poison.”

Jaskier had toed off his boots and leaned against Geralt’s shoulder, picking the flower up again, rootless now, and twiddling it in his fingers. “Seems fitting,” he said at last, and put it behind his ear.

Geralt wasn’t great with words and those had been cryptic, but he felt like he was missing something important.

“Hmmm?” he asked. Jaskier was getting really good at understanding him anyway.

“A Jaskier, only okay enough for a witcher,” Jaskier said, smiling a little sadly at Geralt.

There was such an odd tone there, something more there. Like Jaskier truly thought he was only suited to...but down that road madness lay. It also lay in the way sweat made Jaskier’s cheeks shimmer in the dappled sunlight. 

“Why are you Jaskier?” Geralt asked, going back to grinding the roots with the flat of his blade. It could have been phrased better, but Jaskier understood.

“It seems a little silly now, but when I was about ten or so I was rather melodramatic,” Jaskier said, ducking his head. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said. 

“I felt...so alone. There was just no one who seemed like me. Father thought music and poetry and anything except hunting, fistfights, money and war were silly. I annoy people,” he tilted his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder. “I annoyed you at first. Still do sometimes. --It’s okay,” he said, cutting off Geralt before he could hum his dissent. “I seemed to be a burden and a pain to everyone, something fleeting in their lives. I felt like a buttercup, fine to see in passing on the side of a road, but bad in a pasture, poisonous to eat, of no use to anyone and likely to get crushed by a boot.”

“The boot in question being your father?” Geralt said, setting aside his crushed roots and beginning to shred the Moonmoss, horrible, slimy pale stuff, between his fingers.

Jaskier knocked their heads together gently. “Congratulations, Geralt. You navigated an extended metaphor. Anyway, it was a little melodramatic, but so am I, so it stuck, at least in my mind.”

“I think it’s better than Julian,” Geralt said, scooping his moss and root mixture into the boiling pot.

“Me too,” Jaskier said, quietly.

Around them, a light summer rain had started, sprinkles and mist, mostly, but in the deep shade it was almost chilly, even to Geralt. Jaskier picked up his lute and played a pleasant tune for a while, fingers light on the strings. Geralt let his concoction bubble before pouring it into one of his Brimstone Glass vials. He examined the way the light hit the bottle, making slightly more of a show of it so that Jaskier might notice.

Dinner was cold rations, a hot meal being too hot, even in this pleasant respite. They’d picked up dark rye bread in the last town and were eating it with a paste of late-season wild garlic. Jaskier began eating but he shivered and said “Geralt, could you be my hero and pass me the doublet.”

Geralt pretended his whole body didn’t tingle whenever Jaskier called him a hero. He didn’t need to ask which doublet. Jaskier had plenty, but the doublet, that was the basilisk leather. Geralt held it out and took Jaskier’s bread as he slid the doublet on. Passing the bread back to Jaskier when both sleeves were fully on his arms. 

The rain picked up, still pleasant compared to the heat, but Jaskier and Geralt stood, Jaskier holding his bread in his mouth, and packed up those parts of their camp that would suffer from the rain.

“Do you see--” Jaskier asked, just as Geralt handed him his lute oil.

“Is the--” Geralt said, interupted by Jaskier handing him the hoof knife he’d been searching for.

“Do you think--” Jaskier began.

“The horses will be fine, should we--”

“Yeah, keep the tent packed away, the bedrolls--”

“Will be fine if we lay them on grass instead of mud,” Geralt finished. Then he realized how close he was standing to Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” he said, reaching out for the raindrop quivering on his husbands cheek. “I--”

Jaskier fell to the ground with a cry.

There was a crossbow bolt in his leg and already blood was wetting the forest floor. 

The bandits were dead in seconds. They’d likely only seen a well-dressed noble, all alone. They’d never expected something like Geralt. 

Anger and panic and dreadful fear all fought for dominance as Geralt dispatched the luckless thugs. The fear was icy cold in his veins. Whatever evil, dark coldness had first driven humans to create fire filled his blood. 

There was fire as well. Fury and anguish rose in him like great tides of flame. It was like the Trials all over again, he was being burned from the inside out, being remade until something new lived in him.

He stepped over bodies without a second glance, boots leaving bloody prints on the ground, soon to be washed away.

Jaskier was curled by Roach, hands clutching at the wound in his thigh and surrounded by scarlet. 

Geralt left Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, tied in the clearing, Roach never needed tethering and sprang to his command. In his arms, Jaskier bled. They were so close to Oxenfurt.

They had to make it.

------

That had been then. Now, the lights of the city blazed in Geralt’s sight and he cursed himself and everything else. 

Jaskier was cold in his arms.

Before he had twitched or grunted, sometimes, horribly, he’d cried out at being jostled. He was still now, and too cold. His human heart was beating slowly, slower now than Geralt’s. But he had to live. He just had to. Jaskier had to live because...

Because Geralt loved him. Wholeheartedly and without reservation Geralt loved Jaskier, was so in love with him that it had clouded his judgement.

He’d been about to say as much, about to tell Jaskier the truth, when his husband had been struck down.

Geralt loathed Destiny, but he knew too much to deny her existence. This had been a judgement.

Geralt knew what life he led, he knew his Path, had known that humans couldn’t walk it. And he’d brought Jaskier anyway. This was punishment for falling in love and not leaving Jaskier safely in Oxenfurt like he’d planned from the start. 

The basilisk doublet flapped around Jaskier like a shroud. Had Geralt really thought it was enough? A single, simple doublet? Had he intended to fight cold and hunger and sickness with the swords he strapped to his back? Had he planned on fighting Destiny herself to keep Jaskier safe?

If Geralt could have struck Destiny down he would have.

The doublet hadn’t even kept Jaskier safe from the crossbow bolt. It was still embedded in his thigh, a terrible reminded as Geralt staunched the bloodflow. It hadn’t been enough. Geralt might as well have killed Jaskier himself. 

Jaskier’s father would certainly say that he had. Witchers would be hunted. There’d be a war and people would die all because Geralt had fallen in love. He’d been selfish and kept Jaskier at his side, luxuriating in praise and a pair of beautiful eyes. Dreaming that he could have love instead of leaving Jaskier in Oxenfurt where he was safe.

Geralt was taking Jaskier to Oxenfurt now, he only hoped his husband would still be alive when they got there.

Roach’s hooves rang on cobblestone as the first vestiges of the city flew past. Geralt flew into the city, louder than a rumor and faster than a plague. His eyes sought the telltale signs of magic, glowing gold and fighting to see in the darkness and the rain.

His love was going to die. He was so still against Geralt’s chest he was never still. 

Geralt prayed. He hadn’t prayed since the Trials. Even then, that hadn’t really been a prayer, that had just been a scared little boy screaming for somebody, anybody, to make it stop. 

Geralt prayed to every god he could think of. He wracked his brains as Roach ran through the city, trying to remember who was the god of poetry. Jaskier had been magic, a poet who could talk to the dead, such a person couldn’t just die this way. Geralt made an appeal to Justice, who he didn’t believe in.

Jaskier is good. He begged. He deserves to live. 

Take me instead.

Geralt’s eyes, moving in a far different plane than his mind, saw what he’d been looking for. 

Smoke. There. Green smoke, nearly invisible against the darkness and the rain. It curled up from the chimney of a building, poorly built and leaning out into the street but Geralt knew there was magic inside. 

He jumped from Roach, not taking the time to slow her down. His boots skidded on the cobblestones but he ran to the door, shifting Jaskier to one arm and knocking to wake the gods.

“Healer!” he screamed. “We need a healer!” His hand slammed the rusted knocker down like thunder.

“Please!” he was crying without tears, his voice taking a desperate and thin edge. “Please, we need a healer!”

The door was swung open without ceremony and Geralt barged inside. There was a workbench with scrolls across it but Geralt swept them off, laying Jaskier onto the wood like an offering at an altar.

The mage, placed a delicate hand on his chest and pushed him back.

He followed, feeling numb. The addrenaline was fighting his system, the fear of the ride stopped dead because there was nothing more he could do. 

That was the worst part. There was nothing more he could do. Geralt sank against the wall in the corner of the room, his heart racing and his mind achingly blank.

Some small part of him realized that Jaskier’s feet were bare. He’d left his boots back at camp. 

The mage was flowing magic over Jaskier in waves. It gathered in a purple mist over his wound, mixing unpleasantly with the blood.

“Pick up those scrolls,” snapped the mage, who didn’t look at him.

Geralt did, his body moving without input from his battered soul. His fingers smoothed yellowed parchment and curled it back up into neat tubes. 

“He’ll need paying for,” said the mage, hands poised over Jaskier as her magic slithered.

“Name your price.”

“I don’t want coin.”

Geralt gritted his teeth, watching the magic pull the bolt from Jaskier’s thigh. “Name. Your. Price.”

“What if I ask for your name as payment?” the mage said, not looking at him.

“I’ll give it to you.”

“And if I ask for your life?”

“You can have it.”

She hummed. Geralt knew it was a habit of his own but it set his teeth on edge.

“What if I ask for that?” she said.

She was pointing to Jaskier’s mother’s ring, the opal glittering on his finger.

“It’s not mine to barter, but for his life, I’m sure he’d understand,” Geralt said. 

“Luckily for you I’m not interested in trinkets.”

“What do you ask?” Geralt said, fed up with the games. Whatever perfume the mage was wearing was making his head spin too, it was nice, fruity and clean, but too heady for his heightened senses. 

“I want a baby,” the mage said, levelling stunning purple eyes on him.

Geralt’s mind reeled. “I can’t give you one.”

The mage sighed. “I know,” she growled, yanking her magic as it swirled. She snatched up a jar of something dreadful and began to smear it.

“Even if I promise you my first born,” Geralt said. “It’ll never happen.”

“I know that, witcher.” She spat it like a curse, but Geralt got the feeling that her issue was not with his profession. 

“Witchers come by children by the law of surprise,” he said, watching the salve sizzle on Jaskier’s skin and wincing.

“I want my own.”

Geralt scoffed, eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg as it started to ooze.

The mage whirled to face him, her hand coming up and slapping him before even his witcher reflexes could stop it. 

“Go,” the mage snapped, eyes flashing. “I don’t want your derision.”

“But Jaskier--”

“Won’t be helped by you,” the mage snarled. “Go do something useful and come back when you’re ready to pay up.”

“With a baby?”

“I’ll think on payment,” she said, magic turning Geralt’s feet for him. “Leave.” 

The door slammed behind him. 

Geralt stood on the cobblestones, water soaking through his boots, meeting Roach’s gentle gaze. He stroked her muzzle, feeling the velvet against his palm. 

Jaskier’s feet were still bare, he thought. Mind too tired and broken to even bother with baby-wanting mages. Jaskier’s boots were at camp. 

Geralt rode there and back, before dawn. He’d been able to pack everything up and find stables and lodgings without ever actually thinking of anything except Jaskier.

Jaskier’s cold, bare feet. Jaskier’s closed eyes. Jaskier’s blood all over their campsite and Geralts clothes. Jaskier’s lute, tucked away safely in it’s case an unfamiliar weight on Geralt’s shoulder. 

Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt had almost said I love you.

That thought, as Geralt stood outside the mage’s door again, still bloody and clutching Jaskier’s boots in one hand, finally broke through the haze.

Geral was in love with Jaskier. 

The mage had asked for his life, his name, and he’d agreed without even having to think. 

Geralt didn’t just love that Jaskier was beautiful, or that he adored Geralt. Geralt loved Jaskier, whole and simple. He loved that he slept like an octopus, he loved that he hated mint. He loved that Jaskier loved poetry. He loved him.

It seemed to be carrying over into everything else, and had been for some time without Geralt even realizing it. Geralt loved music now. He loved poetry. He loved sleeping curled besided someone else. He loved buttercups. 

His buttercup was lying somewhere inside the mage’s house, maybe dying. Maybe dead. Because of Geralt. It was Geralt’s fault.

He knocked on the door. 

It opened at the first tap. 

The mage was there, but Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Geralt’s head whipped around, panic rising in his throat.

“Stop,” the mage said calmly. “He’s in bed upstairs.”

“Is he--”

“He may live. He may not. Anything now is up to him.”

“I want to see him.”

“I want payment.”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t bring a baby with me.”

The mage pouted at him infuriatingly, violet eyes laughing. “Obviously not. I considered what you said.”

“What?”

“About the Law of Surprise.”

“You said you wanted a baby of your own.”

The mage sighed. “I want the choice.”

“You don’t get that choice.”

Her gaze narrowed dangerously. “Do you think I don’t know that? I want to be whole.”

“A womb won’t make you whole. It doesn’t make someone a mother either.”

The mage’s eyes flashed and she stepped forward dangerously but Geralt was simply out of emotion.

“My mother gave me up to be made a mutant. She had a womb but what kind of mother does that. His father,” Geralt gestured upstairs to where he assumed Jaskier was. “Gave him up in the hopes he’d be slaughtered. He may be the reason Jaskier was born, but he’s not a father.”

“I want the choice,” the mage said stubbornly.

“You still have the choice to be a mother,” Geralt said. “Some mothers end up with children and don’t get a say in that so go...adopt some kid.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Geralt scrubbed his hand over his, frankly, filthy face. “I don’t have the energy for that. Look...what’s your name?”

“Yennefer.”

“Yennefer, decide on payment - not a baby- so I can give it to you and see my, my bard.”

“I’m claiming the law of surprise.”

Geralt blinked at her blearily. She was exceptionally beautiful, but she was also in the way of seeing Jaskier. “That’s only if you save my life.”

“Then I’m claiming it from him.” 

Geralt didn’t have it in him to argue. Destiny had heard the claim. Whatever good luck Jaskier saw next was hers. 

Geralt walked slowly up the rickety stairs, heart sitting low and heavy in his stomach. He paused at a door, hearing a heartbeat beyond. It was Jaskiers. It came as a surprise to Geralt that he could recognize it so readily, but he knew it as well as his own.

It was thready and thin right now, though, and Geralt hesitated. Moments of their time flashed before his eyes, meeting Jaskier, how beautiful he’d looked in his wedding attire, him threatening thugs with a fish knife, him talking to the dead. And he lay on the brink of death in the next room. Could Geralt actually bear to see him like that?

Geralt would probably never forgive himself for a lot of things, including bringing Jaskier with him in the first place, but if he left him now...no.

Geralt walked into the room and knelt beside the bed. Watery dawn light filtered through the window, across Jaskier’s pale face. It was much too pale. The past weeks of sunlight and freckles seemed to have been erased from him, making him much more the man Geralt had met at Chateau Lettenhove, and less the man he’d come to love. 

Geralt washed his hands and face in the washbasin in the room. He still felt grimy, even with his hands scrubed raw, but he knelt at the side of the bed and took one lute-calloused hand in both of his. 

Whatever happened next, whichever way Jaskier was tipped on the scales of life and death, Geralt would be with Jaskier when it happened. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List! Some of these don’t work well, let me know!

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @ailorian @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand@faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest @innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra @permanently-exhausted-witcher  @aj-itated @watchthewolvesfall @00qtea @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @westmoor  @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437 @onwardsandfourwords @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @little-piece-of-tamlin @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas @fontegagrilledcheese @so--many-fandoms @kirk-spock-in-the-impala @oniongrass @flowercrown-bard @maya-the-yellow-bee @comfyswitcherblanketfort @wellthisstinks @thenameislion-dandelion @flowercrown-bard @obsessedchildsworld @debellatis @zotinha456 @tumbleweedtech @goblin-loves-shiny-things @birdsflyhome @holymotherwolf @the-shenny-of-azkaban @darkangel91939 @enkelikauneus @saphiramalbec @silvermirror1997 @just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard @iamaqt314 @itsthelittlethingsnlife @oneshots-galore @inikokoru @gryffinqueen  @anythinggoesfandoms @artemisthehuntress @pomegranatebitch @nuitarius @ub-sessed @tookarma @spearmint-honk @nicelytousled @wingirl2015 @live-long-and-trek-on @kingcitywitch @flowrhippieprincess @oneshots-galore @laughingatlivedragons @letmereadplease  @annafortoday @dapperanachronism @jaybeefoxy @gods-no-longer-tread-here @flustratedcas @nbspaceboy  @comorbid-corvid @ellwren @red-wasabi89 @ouradarablelove @chanonce

[brenli]

[28]

Tagged by: @goddamnitkastle​ (YAYAYAY ANOTHER ONE!)

1. how tall are you? 5′3″

2. what color and style is your hair? Dark brown. A couple of stray silver strands. When the light hits it right you can see natural auburn-y red highlights/tones in it, especially near the ends. I wear it long, down to my lower back, usually parted in the middle (sometimes on the left) and with bangs. Usually blunt-cut across my brows, but I'm not as good about trimming them as I ought to be so they usually end up growing out long enough that I need to brush them off to the right.

3. what color are your eyes? Brown

4. do you wear glasses? My cat-eye specs are basically part of my identity at this point.

5. do you wear braces? Nope

6. what is your fashion style? I have contempt for this question that likes of which you cannot believe. XD I guess in the most general sense it's rock-chic. Rock/metal girl elements mixed with glamorous or feminine elements/silhouettes. But this is MASSIVELY boiling down my massive wardrobe and I've certainly had moments of departure from the rock-chic umbrella depending on how I'm feeling. I dislike strictly adhering to specific style labels; I find it stifling.

7. full name? Brenda Lee Larson. My maiden name is cooler to be honest; I only changed it because I was more interested in sharing a surname with the Honey and I know I can still use my maiden name for other things.

8. when were you born? July 24, 1987

9. where are you from and where do you live now? Technically born in Coupeville on Whidbey Island, WA, USA and spent the first 4 years of my life bouncing around different naval stations because my family was about that Navy Life, but the majority of my formative years Spokane, WA, USA so my assumption is that would be more accurately where I'm "from." (Hawaii is where my heart wants to say I'm from though as that's where my earliest memories take place~) After some years spent CA (first in the Bay and then in LA), I'm currently living just south of Seattle, WA. So. Basically I've been wiggling around the West Coast my whole life, including going so far west I ditched the mainland for a spell.

10. what school do you go to? I WORK at a school currently, Cornish. Freelancing as a house manager for 3 of their 4 venues. The 4th one never seems to put on any events that require one of us from the house management roster, otherwise I'd work gigs at that one, too. XD

11. what kind of student are you? Some of you who make these questionnaires clearly cannot think beyond life-after-schooling and it shows. XD I was an above-average student for the vast majority of my years in schooling but I started falling off a little toward the end, largely because I was very keenly aware of what areas of study pertained to me and my interests/goals, and I had no patience for areas of study that did not. I left before it got too bad.

12. do you like school? I liked the parts of school that spoke to me~

13. what are your favorite school subjects? Literature/English was always the major go-to throughout all of my years of schooling. I was in Choir up until highschool; this was when Theatre became available to me and I wasn't able to participate in both, so I parted ways with Choir and focused on Theatre all the way up through my last years of schooling. Other subjects of interest, in highschool: Photography, Psychology, Forensic Science, World History. In college: Creative Writing, Journalism, Japanese.

14. favorite TV shows? The major ones have been racy period dramas The Tudors and The Borgias. I grew up on Star Trek TOS and as such it has a very dear place in my heart despite it not being a racy period drama. XD I also am quite invested in the Netflix MCU with Daredevil and The Punisher being my two favorite shows (Frank is my everything!). More currently I've been expanding my Sanada-san filmography-binge thanks in large part to @anagraves​; I recently finished the 1993 Koukou Kyoushi and am through episode 10 of Konna Koi no Hanashi. What I've been learning from this - Hiroyuki Sanada knows how to break hearts whether he's being soft and vulnerable to cold and cruel and anything in between, but that's exactly why I love him.

INB4 "you post Snow White everything so why isn't OUAT on here" I do enjoy OUAT a lot, but I don't know if I would consider it a favorite show overall. I'm more fond of the earlier seasons than the later seasons and it's that ambivalent feeling I have for the later seasons that make the show not a favorite - but still very good overall.

It's also at this point that I should probably explain what my blog description does not - my blog started running a Snow White-themed queue LARGELY as part of an inspiration-drive for a Snow White AU project that I haven't actually touched in a long time. I REALLY should do something about that; I just keep getting pulled in other directions and now it's years on and here I am with what's basically a Snow White queueblog. XD If I can ever get my dumb head in gear and FINISH what I've started, that would honestly result in the queue being mass-posted and then probably altered to suit whatever the next project would be. That's always been the intention, anyway.

15. favorite movies? While I'm still feeling the chilly gaze of my Snow White queue, my favorite Snow White movie thus far is Mirror Mirror. I think it's massively underrated and that makes me sad.

As far as Disney is concerned, while I have a HUGE amount of respect for Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, my favorite film growing up was Beauty and the Beast (and my Rococo-loving ass does adore the live action remake). Surprise??? XD More recently, Moana is the film of my heart; it's the closest Disney has gotten to making a Princess culturally-relevant to me as a half-Filipina so my tropical islander ass is just utterly enamoured with Moana. ((Listen Disney if you ever decide to make a super fun colorful precolonial Philippine film THE PERFECT PRINCESS EXISTS FOR THAT, I submit for your consideration - Urduja!)

Because of my rather open-door childhood with regard to media, my earliest favorite movies are actually Nightmare on Elm Street and Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors. Freddy is my Nightmare King Murder Boyfriend and I'm prepared to face judgement for that. XD

Fondness for Star Trek TOS has resulted in an affection for the AOS movies~

But a movie that speaks to me very much is What Dreams May Come.

Currently I've gotten re-ensnared into The Last Samurai, in correlation with the most recent AU project. Because I am hopeless, Grumpy Samurai is Best Samurai, and I've been spending time manically fretting and pretending that because Ujio drops before the gatling guns are brought out, maybe he SOMEHOW managed to survive in SOME way and he can have tons of cool battle scars. Right? ... RIGHT???

16. favorite books? If manga counts then it's Angel Sanctuary. Hands down. No contest. It's easily woven itself into my life in the form of fanfic that is/was well-received within the fandom, and a weirdly HUGE list of AUs that somehow burst out of nowhere. (Currently all of it, AU work included, can be read via my FF.Net account under brenli. I have a placeholder page on AO3 that's currently empty but may end up holding all my content there as well, in time. If I can ever make the time.)

I was and am really into Sue Harrison's Ivory Carver series, particularly My Sister the Moon.

It was part of my middle school/junior high reading curriculum but I honestly DID really like The Diving Bell by Todd Strasser. Even if the cover art of Culca coming up out of the ocean looked A LOT like me and resulted in my class calling me Culca for the entirety of our unit on that book. It's fine. Culca is a badass queen of pearls and seawater so I'm happy to be associated with her~!

Every now and then I remember a book that clearly really resonated with my as a child if I still remember it, but the problem is that I don't remember the title or the author, or even any of the characters' names. It was about a Roma girl who lived in the American south - I wanna say Tennesee? - who was discovered for her talent playing guitar and singing country music. The book essentially details her struggle between her traditional roots as a Roma person, including the arrangement for her to be married young, and her interest in pursuing music as a career but feeling alienated by an industry and a society at large that is wealthier than her and has a different culture from her own. The book ends with her running away but it isn't made clear what her ultimate fate is. To this DAY it bothers me that I don't remember the title or the author because I honestly go through periods where I want to reread it. And yes, this was the kind of stuff I was reading as a child. XD I also read My Sister the Moon for the first time when I was like. 11 years old. If you're familiar with the content of that book then you're aware that certain scenes are really not 11-year-old friendly, but. If I can watch gratuitous 80's slasher horror at age 4 then I can read about a young woman surviving sexual abuse at age 11.

17. favorite pastime? Writing at this rate, honestly. Which probably speaks more to my inner tortured artist than anything else. XD

18. do you have any regrets? I feel like everybody has at least one regret and anyone who says otherwise is either very very young, or lying. XD It's not about whether you have regrets, it's about not letting them hold you in the past.

19. dream job? Telling stories, in any and every way attainable to me.

20. would you like to get married someday? I already am~

21. would you like to have kids someday? Absolutely not. I don't feel like my life is conducive to childrearing, and INB4 "you're never truly ready" and "you make it work" the key factor here is I'm not WILLING to become ready and I'm not WILLING to make it work. That's how I know my life is not conducive to childrearing. XD (I'm at that age where tons of people are asking me this and feeding me words meant to encourage me to consider and it's honestly EXHAUSTING by this point. I can't wait for when I'm menopausal maybe people will finally shut up about it because I'll be past my prime~)

23. do you like shopping? I mean, yes, but I usually avoid it because I'm aware of how impulsive I am.

24. what countries have you visited? I'm tempted to say that Hawaii should count because it's so far away from the mainland. XD But honestly I've never been outside of US territory. It's in the plans to try for Japan during the Tokyo 2020 Olympics. I'm not sure if we'll make that goal but if not, I figure it won't hurt to continue saving up anyway and making a Tokyo trip post-Olympics. Prices will be cheaper post-Olympics, anyway, so~

25. what’s the scariest nightmare you’ve ever had? At the risk of raising weird red flags I've gone through periods where I'll have reoccurring nightmares about being actively pursued by someone who very obviously intends to do harm. It happens often enough that the Honey wonders if I'm mentally suppressing something. XD I did have a standalone dream though, where me and the Honey were asleep in bed and then I become aware that someone's broken into the house and is approaching our bed. I'm walking through every possible option in my head with my eyes shut; if the Honey and I both lunged at the attacker we could possibly overpower them just because it would be two against one. But I know that I can't possibly wake up the Honey and make him aware of the situation without the attacker immediately acting and resulting in at least one of us being injured or killed. I realize that I have no choice but to try and take the attacker by surprise by myself and hope that is enough. I make peace with that. I can feel the attacker leaning over me. I suddenly lunge at them in full primal adrenaline-filled rage.

I wake up.

26. do you have any enemies? I guess that I have a few, yes, but honestly at this point I've gotten probably a little too used to being vilified. Barring physical assault or turning the animosity on innocent third parties in my life, I am prepared to weather the metaphorical lashes.

27. do you have an s/o? I have my Honey~

28. do you believe in miracles? I believe in miracles that aren't the overt surface-level wish-fulfillment-from-above which I think most people expect a miracle to be. I think that sometimes luck plays out via a slim-to-none chance and that can be a miracle. I think that sometimes a person works very hard at something or for something and when they achieve it, that can be a miracle. I think that the butterfly effect is a double-edged sword, but sometimes that little flutter of a butterfly's wings is a miracle.

Tagging: @yacky-jackie​ @halorecoil​ @anagraves​ @benevolentqueenofstars​ @lesbomancy​ @candybunnieholic​ @lemonedscream​ @tinathefish​