#keep reading fic where he's jewish

[themoonbutspooky]

The victim of tonights Devil's Minion obsession is (drum roll!) Lenard Cohen!! special attention paid to two songs off You Want it Darker.

Please consider

Leaving the Table:

Old!Daniel after regaining past memories of being with Armand and trying to get ahead of it all and reject him right away.

"I'm leaving the table I'm out of the game I don't know the people In your picture frame If I ever loved you or no, no It's a crying shame if I ever loved you If I knew your name"

but still feels that connection renewed and familiarity even as he draws away from him

"We're spending the treasure, oh, no, no That love cannot afford I know you can feel it The sweetness restored"

You Want It Darker:

Vampire!Daniel reasonably bitter with Armand about their history

"There's a lover in the story But the story's still the same"

"I struggled with some demons They were middle-class and tame"

but starting to embrace his future

"I didn't know I had permission To murder and to maim"

as well as looking to Armand as his maker to offer guidance while still being this mix of hesitant (perhaps a bit of sarcasm from Cohen in the above quoted line?) and ready to embrace his changed nature

"You want it darker We kill the flame"

Also maybe

"Hineni, hineni I'm ready, my Lord"

as the moment of turning (did he want to be turned? I think so. Did he ask for it from Armand? Much less likely IMO. ++ don't speak Hebrew/not Jewish/just skimmed google disclaimer) something about "here I am" as an "I'm ready" statement speaks to (an end to) the chase elements of their story to me.

Also also also the idea that what Armand wants ("you want it darker") might finally be the same as what Daniel wants ("to murder and to maim") That is for Daniel to be a vampire .... its so good to me. Needing permission to go off the rails and returning that permission with loving reverence. Finally being on the same page after so long.

[ninthcircleofprythian]

May Her Memory Be a Blessing

Pairing - Azris

Author's Notes - In Jewish tradition, when someone we love and cherish passes, it is not uncommon to say "May their memory be a blessing." This simple phrase is not just a condolence but also a reminder, to those who are still here earthside. Those that still hold the memory of their loved one inside them, to honor their life and legacy with acts of good deeds in their name and to continue to speak of them fondly. So that their name may never be forgotten by the passage of time and history.

I will not give you a summary of the fic I am presenting today. But I will tell you bluntly. This will hurt. This will hurt a lot. Proceed with caution.

Warnings - minor/side character death, funeral scene, mourning, grief, aging (and all the comes with it), yearning, pining, sadness, mating bond angst, general angst, emotional turmoil, this is hardly proofread and barely edited.

“Good Morning, my Lord.”

The bubbly brunette chirped as she handed him the sheet that required his signature. Pulling the fountain pen from his breast pocket and uncapping it with his teeth, Eris scrawled his looping name across the page without even reading it. How many signatures he had done the same thing for just earlier this morning, he didn’t know. Whatever had been handed to him had received the same care as he gave just now. Signed and slid back to its receiver. 

“Clara, I thought we agreed you could call me Eris,” he smirked casually at the young fae. 

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry, sir. I mean, Eris,” she fumbled with the paper he handed back to her, tucking it haphazardly back on her desk. 

“It’s alright,” Eris stated. “Just don’t forget next time.” He winked slyly at his own bad joke. Clara just stared, mouth slightly ajar, mouth quirking into an unsure attempt at a smile. Clearing his throat and straightening his suit jacket, Eris apologized. “I’m sorry. That was – I’m just a bit nervous is all.”

Clara nodded sympathetically. “Everything is all set for you, sir. I mean – Eris,” she stuttered once more. 

With a nod of his own, Eris departed from her desk and made his way down the hall. The familiar carpeting muffled his footsteps just as it always did, but did nothing to quell the drumbeat of his heart within his chest. Stopping before the solid wood door he was aiming for, Eris adjusted his jacket one more time. With a deep breath, the shadow that had slipped out to greet him was scattered and he opened the door. 

The large bed took up the majority of the space, large enough for Illyrian wings of course. The curtains were drawn back, bathing the room in the bright morning light and illuminating the figure sitting casually in the overstuffed armchair along the far wall, shadows hanging low over the arms of their master. 

“Ready to go?” Eris questioned as he stood in the middle of the room. 

Azriel swallowed the tea he was sipping, replacing the cup back on its saucer next to him without even looking. “Hmm?,” he hummed without looking up from the book that was occupying all his attention. “Go where?”

“To Rose’s funeral,” Eris answered softly, his voice not matching his rigid stance. 

“Oh. Oh, that's today,” Azriel startled a bit, snapping his book closed. “It must have slipped my mind.” Setting the book aside, he began to ease himself from the chair. Slowly. 

Eris stepped forward and offered a hand, heart lurching at the scarred hand that slipped casually into it and the tendrils of mist that surrounded them both. His chest ached with the thrum of the bond just as it always did at his mate’s touch. 

“Thank you,” Azriel smiled widely at him as he straightened. “Don’t get old. It’s not all it's cracked up to be,” he chuckled. 

That deep laugh had the bond thrumming harder as Eris cracked his own smile “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was honestly something Eris seemed to forget until it was pointed out to him. Just how much time had passed. Eyes scanning quickly over the male in front of him, it was now clear as the morning sun outside. Once dark tresses were now a startling white. Even his own fiery red hair, while not gray, had faded into the color of crisp fall leaves leeched of their color by the sun. 

“I should probably change,” Azriel’s booming voice snapped Eris from his reverie.

“No, you look nice,” he said, taking in the outfit Az donned. The black button down shirt, tailor fitted for his large frame. Not as snug against bulging muscles as it once would have been but still filled out nicely. Dark trousers with black belt, ironed with a crisp line. “Maybe just a tie.”

Eris swiveled his body toward the closet, pulling open the door and looking through his choices. Grabbing a dark blue tie, he went to kick the door closed with his heel, knee popping loudly as he did so. Just another reminder of the passage of time and the aging of his own body. 

“How about this one?,” he queried, holding it up against Azriel’s shirt as he stood in front of the full length mirror along the wall. 

“Good choice,” Az responded with a smile. His fingers grazed the length of fabric without taking hold to it. “Could you?,” he met Eris’ gaze in the mirror. 

“Yeah,” Eris smiled as he swallowed thickly. “Of course.” Turning to grab the ottoman where the armchair stood he slid it behind Azriel’s knees. “Here. Sit.”

Easing back onto the seat, Az plopped the last few inches as his knees gave out, his large body rocking back and wings flaring to catch himself. With a steady hand to the center of his back, Eris halted his descent backwards. 

“Don’t get old,” Az chuckled again. 

“I’ll remember,” Eris whispered as his long fingers found their way to Azriel’s shirt collar. Slowly he pulled up the stiff folded fabric and notched the tie into place. Meeting his mate’s eyes in the mirror once more, Eris smiled a half smile and reached over the broad shoulders to adjust the lengths before beginning to wind them together. He didn’t need to watch his hands, he knew the movements by heart. Instead his focus was on the hazel eyes before him, watching the knot come together in the mirror. With one final tug and a little straightening, the look was complete. 

Those golden orbs glanced up, catching Eris’s sight in the reflection. “You were always better at that than I was,” Az smiled softly, reaching one scarred hand up to his shoulder and placing it atop one of Eris’ own that was resting there. 

That damned thrum hit Eris full force once more, this time pausing his heart. The need to draw a breath hit him before he could get the word out. “Az?,” he croaked out. 

“Hmm?,” Azriel hummed in response. Eris stared just a moment longer, willing those eyes to find his once more before the moment was broken. “Are we ready?,” Azriel asked. 

“Yes.” Eris shook his head slightly as he drew a deep breath. “Yes, the carriage is waiting for us out front.”

The short ride was made longer by the silence that filled the interior of the carriage, both males lost in their own thoughts. Azriel leaned against the window next to his seat, watching the passing landscape with that stoic neutrality the former Spymaster was known for. Opposite him, Eris stared down at the carriage floor, uninterested in the world passing by outside and instead fixated on the toe of a polished dress shoe pressed against the matching shoe of his own. As the carriage lurched to a halt, Eris’ attention was shaken from his thoughts. 

Climbing from the carriage and picking their way over the uneven ground took more time than it would have in centuries past but Eris had assured they would arrive first, allowing themselves the time to say goodbye in private if the need should arise. 

The plush velvet chairs were already set up along the graveside. Eris slipped into the front row, peering back over his shoulder to ensure that Azriel was following. 

Choosing the second chair from the end, he gestured to the end seat. “More room for the wings,” Eris smiled, although the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Ah, yes. Smart,” Azriel smiled genuinely in return, his own eyes crinkling a bit at the corners and deepening the wrinkles that had long been present there. 

Eris reached out his arm out of habit, helping to steady Az’s descent into his seat. His hand grasped it without thought as he once again plopped down, the action causing his night chilled scent to gust over them both. Eris rubbed at his chest with his free hand, the smell flooding his senses.

“It was good of you to come with me,” Azriel stated as his hands dropped to his knees and rubbed. “I hope you aren’t missing too much work because of me.”

“Nothing that couldn’t be missed.” Eris folded his hands in his lap, but not before rubbing lightly over his forearm where the sensation of large fingers still lingered. 

The silence that had covered them throughout the carriage ride fell once more, this time only broken by the whistling of songbirds off in the distant wood. Eris let the moment wash over him, the smell of the freshly turned earth at his feet grounding him to the present.

“She was a good friend,” Az’s voice crackled through the silence. Eris’ gaze whipped to his face, stark profile facing him, his gaze holding on the grave before him. 

“Yes. She was,” Eris whispered.

“She always remembered how I liked my tea.” Azriel slowly turned his head, hazel eyes watery with unshed tears latching on to the amber ones next to him. “We would sit in the day room most mornings and have our tea together. I’m going to miss her.” 

With a sniffle, Azriel turned his sight back to the mound of dirt before him, fingers gripping his knees as he rubbed anxiously along the joints. Eris watched the movement as that flare of the bond tightened in his chest once more. Before he could question himself too intensely, he reached out and grasped the hand closest to him, laying his slender fingers over the scarred hand and warming his palm gently in comfort. 

“I know,” Eris’ voice cracked as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, Azriel. She will be missed.”

The remaining hand left Azriel’s other knee and promptly landed itself on top of Eris’ own, sandwiching his hand between those of his mate. “May her memory be a blessing,” Azriel said with gravel in his tone before he too cleared the emotion from his throat. 

Eris stilled, wholly and completely, breath trapped within the confines of his chest which now pulsed with the bond and the emotion of the moment. The words of the temple priestesses from centuries past clanged through his mind like a bell, words spoken as a tribute to the dead in hallowed halls of worship. 

“May her memory be a blessing,” Eris repeated, barely at a whisper. Hardly louder than the trill of the songbirds in the distant trees. The words swept away in the gentle breeze that kicked up at just that moment. Eris tried not to think about that breeze ruffling through the stark white hair of his mate next to him, eyes glued instead to the hands still grasped along the other male’s knee. 

All too quickly, the others began filing past, finding their seats and passing their condolences onto the males already seated. The scarred hands pulled away as they lifted to shake those of the ones who approached with their well wishes. Folding his hands back into his own lap, Eris only nodded politely in response to their words. 

As the service began and then continued on, Eris sat primly. The words spoken hardly a drone in his ears, their meaning not even registering inside his mind. His mental focus was honed instead onto the figure at this side. Every sigh and sag of the shoulders was noted and marked, carefully watched and analyzed. 

“Would you like to say a few words?,” the dulcet voice of the officiant sounded. It wasn’t the question but the stuttering response that pulled Eris’ thoughts to the present. 

“Oh. Um, I don’t –,” Azriel stammered next to him.

Eris’ hand jolted out, landing firmly on the bicep of his mate, shadows swirling a churning path over his wrist. “You don’t have to. It’s alright,” he maintained soothingly.

The responding flinch away from Eris’ touch gave way to the anxiety that was beginning to spiral. Wild hazel eyes met his, the fear at being called to attention evident. 

“I don’t — I — maybe you should,” Azriel’s voice wavered. 

“I can. That’s fine. You don’t have to do anything,” Eris’ response rushed from his lips in an effort to calm the impending chaos next to him. “I will. It’s ok. Really, Az.”

The urge to brush his hand along his mate’s arm once more was nearly too much, but the flash of just a few seconds prior stopped him. Azriel had flinched. From his hand. But the sound of his name falling from Eris’ lips seemed to do the trick, calming Azriel into only slightly fidgeting.

Straightening himself to standing and brushing his nervous hands over his front, Eris instead tossed off the thought as a result of the emotionally charged day. Azriel wasn’t the only one on edge. It meant nothing, Eris told himself. 

Squaring himself behind the low podium at the front of the crowd, he purposely avoided meeting the eye line of anyone in attendance as his hands gripped the polished wood. Drawing in a cleansing breath, he began. 

“Rose was – a wonderfully kind female who never knew a stranger.” Tilting his head down slightly and swallowing thickly, he continued.  “Even after her memory began to fail her, everyone she came across was just another friend to be made. Yet, she was more than a friend to me. When I was first introduced to her by —- my mate,” Eris stumbled over his own pause. 

Mentally, he willed himself to forge on. “She told me, ‘When you find the one that can grow flowers in the darkest parts of yourself, you know it was meant to be.’ She knew,” Eris choked once more before clearing his throat loudly. “Shortly after that meeting – our bond snapped into place.” The wave of emotion that overtook him in that moment couldn’t be stopped, with a sob Eris spilled out, “She was right.”

Pulling his shoulders straight and proud and sniffling loudly, Eris pulled himself together. “She never judged. She was only ever kind. And for that alone she deserves to be honored. May her memory be a blessing.” 

He didn’t wait for a cue or a word or a look from anyone before he marched back to his seat and folded himself into it with ease. Closing his eyes and focusing solely on his own breathing, he tuned out the closing of the service.

The short ride was made shorter by the remaining emotions of the morning. The quiet felt heavier, Eris’ soul weighted with grief. This time it wasn’t the lurching of the carriage coming to a stop that jerked him out of his thoughts, but the voice across from him. 

Azriel, peering out the window as he had earlier, watched the building slide fully into view. The gilded letters etched into beautiful obsidian marble. “Rosehall,” he stated strongly. “Do you think it was named after Rose?”

Eris watched the curiosity bloom over the face of his mate, the furrow of his brow hidden slightly by that one lock of hair that always fell across his forehead. “As a matter of fact, I believe it was.”

“Hmm,” Azriel pondered, a small smile easing across his countenance. “I like that. I think that's a good way to remember her.”

Walking through the plushly carpeted halls inside, Eris trailed beside Azriel who walked confidently as he nodded to the others they passed.

“It’s nearly lunchtime. Are you hungry?” Eris offered as they passed the dining room. 

“I think I’d like to lie down for a while,” Az answered as he peered over at him. “It’s been a long morning.”

“Of course,” Eris responded smoothly.

Azriel continued down the hall assuredly, turning into the bedroom and closing the door behind Eris as he followed. Turning from the door, Az planted himself in front of the mirror, scarred arthritic fingers fumbling at the knot against his neck. 

“Let me,” Eris offered, not waiting for a response. Azriel’s hands dropped as Eris’ took over, nimbly untying the length of fabric and slipping if free. 

“Is your shift almost over?,” Azriel asked as he began to unbutton his shirt.

Face now hidden in the closet, Eris didn’t even try to hide his disdain at the question. “It will be as soon as I get you to bed.” Although he had been reminded again and again that going along with the reality that Azriel presented was the best course of action, it never failed to pain him. 

A sudden booming laugh crashed through that pain, as Azriel threw his head back joyfully, slipping the shirt from around his wings and off his shoulders. 

“Get you to bed,” he laughed once more. “I know that’s not how you meant it, but I have to say, in my much younger days you would have been just my type.” With a coy wink, Az released another shaking laugh and turned toward the bed. “At least you have plenty of time left in the day for that mate of yours,” he mused as he folded his shirt and slacks neatly at the foot of the bed.

The joke. The familiar neatness. The joy of his mate’s laugh. All of it had the bond within him thrumming, vibrating past the iron hold Eris had held on it all morning. Without even realizing, his shields slipped, sending a pulse of longing pain to the other end of that tether. As Azriel pulled himself slowly into bed, wings tucked tight and rolling on his side, Eris saw the grimace that passed over his brow. Slamming down his shields once more in haste, he fixed his own face into neutrality. 

“You miss them when you are here, don’t you?,” Az asked drowsily, punching his pillow into place before laying his head down. 

Moving forward, Eris gripped the edge of the covers as casually as he could, pulling them up to drape over the male stretched out before him. “Yes,” his voice sounded with a break. “I do. Very much so.”

The gaze between them lingered, Eris’ sad and yearning while Azriel’s was sympathetic. “I can tell,” Az noted, rubbing his knuckles along his breastbone. Whether intentionally or not, Eris couldn’t tell. 

The moment was broken as Azriel slipped one arm under his pillow, eyes drifting closed, weary with exhaustion. 

“I’ll just gather your laundry before I leave,” Eris offered into the space. Azriel only hummed in acknowledgement as his breaths evened out into slumber.

After emptying the hamper into the linen bag, Eris returned to the bedside and slipped the morning’s outfit inside as well. His mate remained still, deep breaths slow and even, face slack with sleep. The urge to climb into the space leftover made Eris’ skin tight and itchy. Just the memory of Azriel’s hard chest pressed to his back, muscled arms holding him from behind was enough to start the stream of tears along his face. He resisted, but his hand still reached out, sweeping that lone lock of hair from Az’s forehead before his lips followed closely behind. 

“I love you, Az. I’ll see you tomorrow, my love.”

“Oh, Eris. Good, you’re back.” The well dressed male approached carrying a stack of papers in his arms. “I left the reports in your office, but these should be seen as soon as you can.” The stack was held out to Eris as he walked through the entryway of Forest House. 

“Bastian,” Eris’ tone rang ominously. “I am your High Lord. And I expect you to address me as such.” The cruel droop of his brow as he glared at the male walking briskly beside him left nothing to be misinterpreted. 

“Yes, my apologies, my Lord.” With a nodding bow, Bastian continued alongside, holding the papers close to his chest. “Would you like me to take that to the laundry for you, sir?”

Eris’ grip on the strap of the linen bag tightened. “No. I’ll handle it myself. And please see to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the day.” He didn’t wait for another word as he marched down the familiar halls of his home. 

Reaching the door of his bedroom, Eris slipped inside and locked the door behind him. Slumping against the door, body weary and weighted, he scanned the room before him. The bed, large enough for Illyrian wings, stood empty. As it always did now unless Eris himself was occupying it. The books along the far nightstand, untouched and unread. With a deep sigh, Eris pushed his body into movement. 

Pulling the pillow from under the rumpled covers, Eris slipped it free from the shirt that surrounded it. Yanking at the drawstring of the bag at his feet, he produced its replacement. The dark button down worn just this morning, the old shirt shoved unceremoniously into the bag. Slender fingers and gentle hands worked at the buttons, fastening around the specially made pillow that Eris saved for just this purpose. As the last button was fastened, Eris ran his hand over the snug fitted fabric, heating his palm as if he just might believe that this time it wasn’t his own body heat behind it. 

Using the last of his waning energy to kick off his shoes, Eris fell into bed. Yanking the covers up over his head and burying himself in darkness as he curled his body around the Illyrian sized pillow. One deep inhale of night kissed cedar was all it took to unleash the emotions of the day. His breaths were neither deep nor even and slumber did not find him easily as Eris clutched tightly to what little he had left. 

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @pit-and-the-pen @prythianpages @dusk-muse

@chairofchaos @daycourtofficial @wrongleverkronk

[my-unorthodox-life]

okay can i vent for a minute? get real personal with all y'all?

i've been a tumblr user since i got my first tablet at age 12, over a decade of having at least one active blog (usually more) so it's safe to say i've both gotten my fair share of hate and found ways of using this app to benefit me and keep me detached from this hate

currently i have 4 active blogs, my main where i do the typical reblogging and updates on my fanfics, this one where i post like a proper blog and reblog jewish things that matter to me, my mental health recovery blog where i talk about my eating disorder and ptsd, and my adult one where i reblog fun sexy stuff and chat about the struggles of dating as sex positive people with trauma.

all very important to me and all have various levels of anonymity when it comes to knowing about me as a person. some have my name, some a nickname, one just my age. plus various tidbits so people know what to expect from my posts and what we can chat about, basic blog rules essentially

in the past few months as antisemitism has gotten more and more common place i of course get more anon hate, i don't turn of inboxes since i do get nice stuff from time to time, and that's kind of the territory of running a blog (i had a trans rights one in the age of kalvin garrah, i think i'll live)

out of those four blogs the one that gets the most antisemitic messages, i mean full paragraphs of truly vile ramblings that read like a nazi fever dream, is the one for my mental health recovery. a blog that i block all but mutuals on, meaning either a stranger or someone i've interacted with is sending these messages

i've started replying to them, cause i feel if they want to be mean and make a fool of themselves i might as well let everyone see (poor guy keeps sending me weird reviews of "my" wattpad fics. i've never had a wattpad account but this doesn't seem to stop him), but what gets me is that blog has the least personal information on it. no name or nickname, no hobbies or interests listed, nothing about what i do for work beyond "pet care", and the only mention of my religion or politics was one post that joking about how my mental health often gets worse around the high holy days (very demure, very mindful)

and yet that's the blog that gets straight up death threats, not even disguised as anything else, just straight up calling me a pig who deserves to burn. not the personal blog where i've posted about israel and palestine, or about dating while religious, or hell even this one that might as well be a "i'm a sensitive jewish minded person! thoughts?" blog.

no the one blog that people feel safe harassing is the nondescript recovery and relapse blog. that's where people feel comfortable.

and it makes me sad, not because of what was said, but because it *was* said. that there's people out there comfortable enough in their bigotry to go up to someone and spew vile hate like it's nothing, but only of course if they can't put a name or face to the person they're talking to

what this reminds me of is when i was in high school i had an art teacher who didn't stand for antisemitic jokes, and there were a lot in my school. one day a kid just asked him "Mr.Dexter, are you a jew?" and his response really stuck with me. he said "It doesn't matter, maybe I am, maybe I used to be, maybe my wife is. But you shouldn't not say mean things just because you don't want to get in trouble, you shouldn't say them because you know it's wrong. If you didn't know, you wouldn't ask."

and i think that really sums up all these trolls i've seen running through jewish blogs or even ones that casually mention it, they know it's wrong but the aren't saying it to a jewish face, they're just saying it to the idea of judaism

these people wouldn't walk up to you on the street and look you up and down and say half of what they feel comfortable typing, but here where they can not only hide their face, but seek out a target that has hidden their own they've found a way to give themselves free reign to say and do whatever they want. to them it's not a person on the other side of the screen, it's the strawman caricature of a jewish person, out here just for them to yell at to get whatever anger they have out of their system

of course there are some people who would say truly despicable things to a random person on the street, but cmon is that person really on tumblr hunting through buzz words to send hate?

anyways i know the compassionate thing to do would be to pray for them to heal what's hurting them so bad, but yanno what, they can suffer a bit first

[indigo-constellation]

Your changeling!Daniil is amazing. Your Clara Burakh is amazing. Your totally-normal-scientist (who totally didn't do anything like Jack the Ripper and Victor Frankenstein in the capital! only ethically sourced bodies here!) Artemiy is amazing.

Clara as Haruspex is breaking my heart especially! The way you wrote her being friends with the kids - how Artemiy was once with Stakh, Grief and Lara - and how she has a foreboding feeling she won't belong with them once it is all over, because her role is to protect them, not be one of them! Rat man still found a way to be mean my girl 😭 Also she and Grace are so sweet. Wanted to say that Grace's name (Ласка) in Russian has double meaning: 1) weasel (animal); 2) tenderness. Do with that as you will~

Also Daniil (both of them) is so good as a changeling. I loved that quiet moment he had with Clara on the stage, where they say how odd it is to play like that. Love the eyes of the "twins" being what sets them apart, too! Raven feels like he wants to be a bad guy, but can't quite bring himself. Regretful plague that is also a dead man who is alive but only because the sickness is. Snake being so gentle and kind and seemingly having some sort of planning he doesn't fully share even with the reader. Also Daniil speaking Hebrew! I gasped when I realised. It's also a fun contrast to him only speaking in Latin in the game, especially if we still to see him as Jewish. Makes me really want to see how you'd write bachelor!Daniil! Want to take a look inside his head! I know what I shall read next.

Artemiy having a worst imposter syndrome out of all of them because of coming back home where he was supposed to take on his father's role and finding the man who was a founder of a project that could be called Artemiy's life work is comedy gold. Also his little sister literally living the life he refused! 10/10 no notes. Artemiy and his unfun coming-home-to-steppe party! 🥳 Roots, Rain and Reflection is secretly a comedy.

Thank you for writing this amazing role reversal, don't think I will be able to get it out of my head.

tumblr is so annoying bc I had a whole response and then it got deleted roijepigjetiuheoigj let me try to write what I can remember and hopefully do it better

I literally screamed when I read this ask btw thank you so much

the healers in this fic are so incredibly dear to me and I love them so much, I love getting to focus on them, yes Artemy's organs and cadavers as ethically sourced and fresh as he can get them :D

Haruclara truly deserves so much, she doesn't fit into the Termites despite being a kid herself, half because of the way she was raised and half because of the nature of the story and the separation of Healers and Bound. While also having messy connections with the other two Healers. I really wish I could have more Grara but this is primarily p1 focused so the Bound's role is limited (the amount of Yulia/Rubin/Lara/Aspity I had to cut- istg I was so excited to have an Aspity and Artemy interaction on day 6 but it would've been too long) I will keep what you said in mind though! thank you ^^

Changeniil has been so write, he keeps so much of himself hidden, so getting to reveal those small bits of him like in that theatre bit are great. The hands and the eyes being the main things to distinguish the twins Dankovsky is fun because those are two things Pathologic focuses on a lot, though I will say that there might be more later on. The Raven is a miserable wet beast, the idea behind the twins has been that different bits of Daniil are split up, so and what's fun about that is that it's Plagueniil that has the idealism. He's a fucked up guy held together only by spite and disease but he cares so much it hurts him. The Snake is also a creature, truly, he knows his plan, Raven knows his plan (and doesn't like it at all), and I know how it will fail, the narrators being unreliable is such a fun part of patho. I always write Daniil as Jewish (because he is to me lol) but specifically Daniil I think fits with Hebrew because it is a revived language and as a guy who is trying to defeat death I think it would suit him (also revived language and revived Daniil was an intentional choice) I will say though, idk how well my old writing holds up bc my writing got a lot better while writing roleswap so go at your own risk lol

Finally, Bachtemy, a dearly beloved fool <3 he used to have a much bigger conflict with Daniil about Daniil not being who Artemy expected him to be and that being a lot more angsty but then I started writing that scene and it turned out gay so nice. There's a lot about Artemy I'm planning to go into in chapter 7 so look out for that. Artemy is also 100% the character I get to make the funniest, truly the comedian of the cast, I am putting him in the blender as I write this.

thank you again for this!! sorry with inflicting you with the thinking about it curse lol, it's happened to a few people as I've seen and idk how to fix that (I am also infected I cannot stop thinking abt this au) but this long ask really made me so happy to see and I'm so glad you're enjoying it!!

[unculturedmamoswine]

Fiddauthor Recs

Ya want a Fiddauthor rec list??? You got it. This is just some fiddauthor I have in my bookmarks, in no particular order. I’m not adding warnings, so pay attention to the tags and such. If a fic is a WIP, I’ll let you know. And please DO add your own recs in comments or reblogs, especially if you know of fics that aren’t on AO3!

 If you read these fics, please consider leaving kudos and comments for the authors!

We’re Still Here by hellmandraws

Not fic, but a fan comic starting with college fiddauthor and going all the way through post-series. So great and really worth a read!

rumination: a guided tour by gesso (1.9k words)

Author’s summary: For all the words, expressions, languages he knows; for all the intelligence, experience -- sometimes it's just easier to show, rather than tell. And maybe that means using the mindscape to just pull up very specific memories in a certain order. Because Stanford Pines would much rather take the most convoluted route possible, especially if that means he can avoid plainly talking about his emotions (past and present). [Unlike the other drabbles in this series, this is not complete, and cuts off kind of abruptly at the end of the draft I have]

This fic is sooo worth a read. Technically a WIP, but don’t let that dissuade you.

Somnus Idigus by Abyssalzones (2k words)

Author’s summary: It's hard to sleep, still, nearly a full year after Bill's defeat. Ford manages to be coaxed to bed by kind words and gentle hands, and wonders just what he did to deserve this kind of understanding. (AKA: Ford has nightmares, keeps trying to put off sleep, Fiddleford manages to lovingly wrangle him to bed.)

Sooo sweet! The exact kind of post-canon snuggly Fiddauthor fic I need in this world!

Intricate Rituals by HazelnutofFortune (1.5k words)

Author’s summary: “Fiddleford,” Ford says. He hates asking for help. 

“Mmm?” Fiddleford asks, looking up, scalpel still raised. 

“ Um, could you show me how to get at that big clump next to the Aorta?” How humiliating. Why did he even ask. Except-

“Well, sure,” Fiddleford sets down the heart and takes Ford’s a little gingerly. My heart is in his hands, Ford thinks. Fuck. 

Extremely cute! A WIP! College Fiddauthor and Ford is soooo smitten.

Jersey Boy by Fordtato (110k words)

Author’s summary: Ford does not want to be at Backupsmore University. He should be in California, at West Coast Tech, showing the world that he's more than a freakish waste of space from Jersey; showing the world that he's more than the scrawny, brainy half of a dynamic duo. He's angry, sure, and he's sure-as-fuck tired of being just one-of-two-Stans.

But who isn't angry right now? The world is in turmoil, they're sending our boys to Vietnam and if it wasn't for this stupid school, Ford would have probably been sucked into the draft himself.

But then he meets Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and everything is different now.

A slowburny fic that really digs into the historical side of college Fiddauthor. It doesn’t shrink away from the tougher, uglier stuff that being a poor, gay, Jewish college student in the seventies would mean for someone. Features an angry, confused Ford who is having a Hard Time. Also has a whole host of interesting OCs! Also a WIP. This fic takes a turn or two that I really didn’t expect and I’m very excited to see where it goes, as the author is on record saying that they WILL finish it.

if you love me, come clean by Athgalla (105k words)

Author’s summary: This is pretty much just a collection of various moments and possible events throughout Fiddleford and Stanford's relationship that I felt like exploring, starting with their first proper meeting in college on to post-Weirdmageddon events.

Without further ado, on to the tragically star-crossed nerds!

iylmcc spans Ford and Fidds’s first meeting through post-series. It’s so interesting, and so sweet, and has so many wonderful details! Just a great take on their relationship that you deserve to read, dear reader. Treat yourself!

Maybe It’s Not Too Late by GinAndShatteredDreams (main fic is 82k words, whole series is 110k)

Author’s summary of the main fic: Overall: A post-weirdmageddon asexual Fiddauthor fic in which revelations occur, a confession goes awry, some unfinished business reemerges in the form of a raging pterodactyl, and chaos ensues. (vaguely romantic - hugs/hand holding/cuddling/comfort, no kisses - just adding that so I don't disappoint anyone who's hoping for it - or maybe for the sake of people (like me) who sometimes like to read something without ;))

(Edit - No romantic kisses. There's a forehead kiss between family members at one point.)

*It would probably be good to mention that most of this was written before the journal came out and even after, I tried to keep true to the ideas formed before reading it with one exception that is noted later.

So as you can tell, I linked you the whole series. A both super angsty and very sweet fic with wonderful asexual post-series Fiddauthor! I’ve never read anything quite like it, totally check it out.

Romance is Overrated and Living Confusing by 3HobbitsInATrenchcoat (25k words)

Author’s summary: Stanford and Fiddleford started out as college roommates and over the years grew into something more than friends but just to the side of what others would consider a "normal relationship." But honestly, is it really anyone's business what they are as long as they care deeply for each other?

Scenes from Stanford's life as he tries to figure out where he fits in a world built for romance and traditional family dynamics.

This fic is restricted– you need an AO3 account to read it. Also, it’s part of a series, but the other fic is Stan-centric so it’s not a part of this rec list. Aaaand also it’s a WIP. Okay, with that out of the way, this is another Ace!Fiddauthor fic, which you know I’m all about! This fic is more about college and research-aged Fiddauthor, and it’s as delightfully fraught as you could hope. The author also does a cool thing regarding Fiddleford’s time in Oregon, while still keeping it canon-compliant. My hat is off to them.

To Struggle For Dreams And To Hunger For More by Voidfish (8k words)

Author’s summary: “Am I gay?” Ford reads the quiz out loud, before clicking to begin. To his frustration, most of the questions are simply asking him if he has had sex with men (he hasn’t), if he wants to (he isn’t quite sure), or if he ever will (the jury is still out). Nothing defines attraction, no one clarifies if the burn in his stomach is love or gastrointestinal issues, and nothing leaves him feeling any better on the subject.

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Stanford Pines has never loved a woman but, he realizes with a painful jolt, he can’t say with certainty he’s never loved a man.

Aaaaaa I love this fic. I love it sooo much. Post-series and Ford is trying to figure out his sexuality and his feelings for Fidds. Plus a scene where he comes out to Stan! Just a delight.

And Shifty Makes Three by Sarelle (13k words)

Author’s summary: Ford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket deal with the ups and downs of relationships and parenthood in 1970s Oregon. A task not much aided by the fact they have to keep secret the true identity of their shapeshifting alien grub son, from friends, family and the Feds.

Based on WDW's Shiftyverse, can be read as a standalone.

I fucking LOVE this fic!! Aaaaa the little details about Ford and Fidds and their relationship! Their alien son!! This fic is so up my alley it’s bonkers.

queer clan in the middle of the woods by toosolidcuuj (series is 23k words)

Author’s summary of the series: *to the tune of "our house" by madness* queer clan in the middle of the woods, queer clan in the middle of the

Canon-divergent AU in which Stan and Ford make up, adopt an alien, and gradually amass an extended queer family.

This is ALSO a Shifty-adopting fic! With Fiddauthor! This one also has Stan, and focuses a lot on Stan and Ford fixing up their fraternal relationship in addition to the Fiddauthory bits. I haven’t reread it in a hot second but I remember it being very fun but also taking Shifty’s trauma quite seriously, which I thought was interesting and cool to read.

(There's a) Half moon rising in southeastern skies by orphan_account (17k words)

Author’s summary: A series of memories, all compiled in convenient cinema-reel format. It’s all here, folks, the good, the bad, the sexy, the emotionally distressing. Next to nothing left out.

Sad that this fic was orphaned– I love it. It’s in second person, and I’m all about that! Fiddleford looking back at his fractured memories post-series and also reconnecting with Ford. Absolutely wonderful characterization. Author, if you’re out there, I love this fic!! I hope you are happy with it in your heart!!

Syncing Phases by toosolidcuuj (5k words)

Author’s summary: Stan has gone his whole life never imagining he had a twin, let alone an android twin who can shoot cannons out his hands, makes money appear out of thin air, and has a close relationship with a werewolf named Fiddleford McGucket. Even more surprisingly, FORD needs Stan's help erasing a world-ending computer virus. But BILL has allies in many places, leaving the Stans uncertain who they can trust.

WIP. This fic is SUCH a fun and interesting concept!! Only child!Stan, Werewolf!Fidds, Robot!Ford??? Yes, please! A totally unique fic that is so fun to read!

[xiaq]

What was your relationship with HP in your childhood and what did it mean to you?

Warning: long answer is long.

I read the first HP book when I was 10. It felt like coming home. I was a deeply awkward, anxious kid dealing with bullying at school. I felt wrong and out of place and like everyone except for me had a manual for how they were supposed to navigate life; without the manual I was certain I would never catch up.

Books were a fucking haven. And THIS book. This book was about a kid that I empathized with so much. Except he's bullied and feels out of place because he IS out place. He's meant to be somewhere better, with people like him, who (for the most part) treat him kindly and with respect. And suddenly he's able to make friends and excel at his studies, and he settles into this fantastic world where he fits, and he's bright and likable and he has a purpose. It was just. God, it was everything I wanted for myself. AND there was magic and a train and a cool castle.

I think the first two books were already out when I started reading and I read the rest as they were released (re-reading them all multiple times in between). The friends I did manage to make also adored the books. I went from "playing Harry Potter" on the playground to writing fanfic to going to midnight book releases and meeting up with friends to see the movies as they started coming out. The final book came out shortly after I started high school, and the final movie came out when I was in college. I went to that midnight showing with a good portion of my friends and we all cried like babies at the end. Because it was over. This thing that had sustained us for so long. This thing that marked our childhoods.

You have to understand that Harry Potter-related expectation was a constant for the majority of my life. Since I was in elementary school there was always a new book to look forward to every year or so. And when the book series was completed, there was the next movie to look forward to. And then it was over (and with such an unsatisfying epilogue). That's when I really got involved in fandom (outside the fic I wrote amongst friends in a the group journal we kept and passed back and forth during studyhall, ofc). And fandom was the most accepting, glorious, place for an anxious queer kid just starting to come out of her shell as college afforded her the freedom to realize that maybe the very narrow (private Christian school k-12) concept of normalcy she'd been afforded until that point wasn't entirely accurate. And it continued to be glorious. I went to cons and got merch and put my House in my online dating profile and 3D printed custom HP cookie cutters and joked about having a HP themed wedding some day and my friends and I loved our nerdy little world that made us happy. Until Joanne ruined it.

And I'm honestly not trying to be dramatic, but when something has been so intrinsic to your life and your social circle and even, to an extent, part of your identify, it's fucking devastating when you find out the creator of that thing is a bigot and actively using her platform to target people you love. I stopped supporting her (buying books/movies/merch etc.) a couple years back, and I was content in embracing the concept of Death of the Author (or, as I've previously termed it, "we've killed the author and are now rifling through her stuff to keep the good bits and throw out the bad"). But now, in light of her continued escalations and the recent TV series announcement, and the conversations I've been having with friends (particularly Jewish and trans friends), I do mean that the very concept of Harry Potter is ruined for me. My, now decades, of nostalgia just...aren't enough to supersede what feels like an irresponsible attachment. Before, I wanted HP's social presence to live on in spite of and without JK Rowling. Now, it's becoming more and more apparent that the entertainment industry is going to squeeze as much money out of the HP world as possible which will, by extension, continue to give her a platform and money with which to actively support her shitty dogma.

So. Here I am, too sad to pick up my HP books for my annual summer re-read, or start the new fic a writer I love has just posted or open the document to work on my own HP fic. Which is not at all a condemnation of folks in fandom who ARE able to keep reading and creating and loving the world while thumbing their nose at her. I just can't right now.

So I'm stepping back and blocking the tags and ignoring the show and trying to let other worlds consume me.

Anyway. That's what it meant to me. Sorry for the tiny violin moment but your ask made me sit down and confront the fact that I'm dealing with an extremely weird sort of grief I haven't ever encountered before.

[facingthenorthwind]

So while reading Halo Effect, I naturally became obsessed with the one (1) Jewish character who turns up twice, one as a brief mention and one to write a single letter. Because I am extremely normal, I am writing a fic about him. Technically I've only written the first half (the second half is Peter and Thomas meeting up with him), but it's self-contained. It's been written for literal years, so I figure I should at least post it on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it, @alex51324!! (Also I haven't Yiddishised the Hebrew yet because I only know the standard pronunciation but I'm going to get someone to do it before I post it on AO3.) Hopefully this is comprehensible to non-Jews?? Please let me know if not.

Is it breaking a mitzvah if I say mourner's kaddish for someone who might not be mourned otherwise without a minyan? At most, there's a Green who has a J on his identity disc on one of the wards, but he's currently on so much morphine I don't think he'd remember the words, Issac wrote to his father once he finally got back to his unit. Honestly, he didn't much care what his father wrote back — if God didn't like him saying kaddish for Fitz, God could come down here and tell him what alternative he had. He asked his father to send a candle so he could light it for Fitz, but crossed it out and asked him for ten candles. Fitz may have been the first, but he sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

The news of Fitz’s death had preceded Issac’s return, but nobody had touched Fitz’s belongings yet. Cruelly, the most essential things, the things that meant most to him, had gone down with him, but Rouse eventually laid out everything that was in Fitz’s rucksack so they could decide what they should send back to his family — well, his brother. Fitz had said he didn’t have any other family left. 

They decided they’d split his cigarettes between them — Scogs tried to crack a joke about how Fitz had always been so free with his cigarettes it was almost like he wasn’t gone, but he trailed off, and no one laughed. His large collection of letters went in his rucksack, of course (he seemed to get them constantly, all from different people; sometimes he had even acted as some kind of go-between, passing on information from one letter-writer to another, as if they couldn’t just write to each other themselves). The scarf he’d worn every day from Christmas until mid-April, when even he couldn’t deny it was too hot, went in as well — Issac had always thought privately that it was fairly ugly, but then again, if he tried to knit a scarf it would probably turn out much the same. 

Dawson got Fitz’s copy of Prester John out of his own pack and removed his bookmark before handing it over to Rouse. “He’s made some little notes in it,” he said. “Nothing all that interesting yet as I can see, but it doesn’t feel right to keep it.”

Rouse packed it and Scogs didn’t mention that he had been next in line to read it. One of them could write home to get another copy, probably. Issac was sure he could — he had already received several yellowbacks which he’d left in the break room once everyone had read them so they could find a new home. Fitz’s sewing kit, playing cards and the various other things he’d been sent went on top and by the time they were done there was an all-too-noticeable hole where Fitz had once slept. 

It was only then that Issac noticed Rouse had gained corporal’s stripes. It made sense — Fitz needed replacing and Rouse was an obvious choice, being the smartest of the lot of them. He congratulated him, but Rouse wasn’t offended that he didn’t quite hit the right tone and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Rouse’s didn’t, either.

When he arrived at the wards for his next shift, Captain Russell clapped him on the shoulder and gave him an extra ration of brandy. And then they just had to get on with it.

------

Fitz’s brother never replied to the letter he sent, so Issac kept saying kaddish for him past the thirty days that were traditional. He knew there were lots of reasons he might not have written — maybe it got lost, or he didn’t want to hear from Issac, or any number of perfectly innocent explanations, but as Issac watched men die day after day he couldn’t stop thinking about how if Fitz’s brother was dead, there was no one to remember Fitz as family. 

He said it for eleven months, as he would for a brother — four months longer than he’d known him. About six months in, Rouse wrote to him saying that he’d been stationed with Fitz’s brother at a CCS. He was a corporal, apparently, and Rouse said he reminded him of Fitz — that they said some of the same things, though in temperament they were pretty different. The war dragged on.

He kept a list of people in his units who died as he transferred from place to place, but it quickly became clear that he couldn't light a candle for each of them. The list just kept going, a litany of names followed by the date of their death in the Gregorian and Hebrew calendars. Jerry Scoggins, 30 September 1915/22 Tishrei 5676. Billy Dawson, 2 October 1915/25 Tishrei 5676. Fred Keighery, 4 February 1916/30 Shevat 5676... It felt like keeping track of their yahrzeits was more of a motivation to note the Hebrew date than keeping the holidays, since it wasn’t like he could, not really. Even as he tried to pray every day for whatever service he had free, the words of the festival services just made him homesick, and he didn’t have any of the things you should have: matzah or his mother’s blintzes or a lulav. 

He wrote to Moishe about studying the RAMC periodicals at Shavuot instead of Torah; it felt... oddly fitting. He knew, logically, that this war was man's fault and God didn't have anything to do with it, but that didn't provide any comfort when he was on death watch, sitting beside a man who gasped as he drowned on dry land. If the only control he had in this hell was giving two fingers to God, then he was going to take it. 

His father sent him a machzor so he could pray Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but he got to Unetaneh Tokef and didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed when someone found him crying ten minutes later. Reciting the ways people would die in the coming year — who by water, who by fire, who by sword and who by wild beast — felt absurd when he could list just as many from who was on the wards. Who by phosgene, who by sepsis, who by bullets? And for the machzor to claim that repentance, prayer and righteousness averted the severity of the decree — that sure hadn’t fucking worked for the soldiers getting killed. It hadn’t worked for Fitz or Scoggins or Keighery or— 

By the end of 1917 he could no longer go over the top, having lost his hearing in his left ear from a shell exploding too close. The letters he received detailing how his nephew he’d never met could talk in whole sentences now and how Mr Rabinowitz had fallen and broken his leg felt like missives from a world he would never return to again; how could he, when all he knew was the war?

The Armistice meant the supply of wounded slowed, but he didn’t go home — he was stationed at a general hospital, so there were still plenty of cases coming through. Even when they offered to send him home because he wasn’t regular army and they were well aware that the other corps had mostly got the wartime recruits out… he knew it was cowardly, but he accepted the offer to stay on until the RAMC left France. He couldn’t picture how he was going to fit back into the Leylands, and perhaps if he put it off long enough he’d finally work it out.

He did not.

When he finally got off the train at Leeds, it felt a little like a fairytale — he kept being shocked that he could recognise the buildings as the train came in, and it sounded the same as it had before the war. The back of his throat began to ache, though he wasn’t sure why, but before he could focus on that his mother was calling his name and hugging him. Had she been there the whole time? She gave him a kiss on the cheek and led him to everyone else — there was Shoshie, who grinned at him and then prompted the child hiding behind her legs to greet his Feter Itzik. While the nephew he’d never met hid his face in her skirt, his father embraced him with a decidedly gruff, “Son.”

And at last there was Moishe, his smile twisted by the scarring on his face. He looked like he understood the slight bewilderment that must have shown on his face. “Glad they let you go eventually,” he said, slapping him on the back. He spoke into his right ear, probably noticing that Issac had turned so he could hear the people in front of him more clearly with it. 

“Yeah,” Issac said, not trusting himself to say anything else lest he start crying. 

“See, he’s not scary, Dovid,” Shoshie said, having coaxed his nephew out in front of her. “Say hello.”

“Hello Feter,” he said at last. “Why don’t you have a face like Feter Moishe?”

“Dovid!” Shoshie said.

Moishe shot Issac a grin. For the first time in too long, Issac laughed.

[happilylovingchaos]

Music and Fic Monday for @lonestar-s5countdown

Sorry I’m late-ish! I’ll give a combination of recommendations for music and fanfics today (which is almost over where I am). And wow, there’s a lot involving TK (I’m getting concerned about how much he and Carlos get whumped, I don’t really care if it’s just me 😰).

([Re-])Surfacing Dive for Beginnings and Ends:

Beyond a lot of the stories written by @carlos-in-glasses, @paperstorm and @lemonlyman-dotcom that I think are also beautiful character studies of the Lone Star characters may not get explored enough (and in some cases even exploring parts of the characters that get most focus in-show), I wanted to give a few shout-outs to other, older one-shots/ full-length stories.

Lonely eyes, you don’t have to be alone tonight by @wwasted: A coda that takes place in between the bar scene and the end of 1x03. It’s very cute w/o dragging out too much of either man’s angst, which I liked.

The elephant in the juice bar by @taralaurel: Where Tarlos begins for real after 1x10, and TK tries and fails to keep a metaphor steady as he decides to take a chance.

Getting better by @lonestarbabe, Pigeonsplotinsecrecy: This fic really plays with the meaning of the words “begin” and “end”, especially with a mental health recovery arc and especially with TK. It’s not for everyone, but it describes how relatable, tedious, solitary and multicolored the process can be.

Rosa mundi by fiddlersgreen: A one-shot where TK, Owen, and Carlos make it to New York without incident and properly mourn for Gwyn… and it’s quite a spiritual experience.

You were the greatest thing by hoodieweather: TK is mournful after the events of season 2 as he goes to visit Gwyn and Jonah, but re-learns something important about life. Takes place in the breakup era. Before the ice storm? Actually def before the ice storm.

First aid by @heartstringsduet: I like to call this the gritty version of “Tarlos Begins”, only both characters have more fragile coping methods of surviving life in New York City. When those methods gradually fall apart and threaten to completely implode their lives, they have to face their respective truths and learn how to live— both with the people around them, the real versions of each other, and with themselves.

Not really bridal style by paperyowl: Tarlos begins again immediately post-3x04— with some relationship negotiating required. The author really nailed Tarlos’ voices for their first fic in the 9-1-1: LS fandom!

Haunted by the ghost of you by @strandnreyes: A sad and hopeful combination of 3x04 and 3x08, where Tarlos begins again with an unexpected end.

I’m not mean enough to fully recommend hurt no comfort Tarlos fics, or hurt no comfort fics in general (and I’m still less than a year into using Tumblr anyway), so for a definitive “end” fic in that category, I may direct you to MissPudim’s works where the issues with the whole Iris arc is addressed and Tarlos handles it Extremely Badly. Or this fic called Gone where… it’s… okay, hell. They still handle it bad, it’s still kind of an end and it’s a bittersweet end, albeit in an AU. And another one by bythebry, Ain’t got no tears left to cry.

Where all this love comes from by @carlos-in-glasses: I think I’m not the first one to recommend this story but I think it counts as a general “begins” for both TK and Carlos (mainly for Carlos, though). And I’m listening to Postmodern Jukebox while trying to re-recommend it… if you’re curious, I put one of their cover songs on the bottom of this post. Needless to say, I loved this fic!

TK (Begins):

Jewish for Himself by 7ate9: I felt a sense of completion to read a fic that goes into TK’s POV about how the religion Gwyn wanted to raise him under is, in a word, complicated (as hell). Yes, just as much as his career and gay identity. For that, I’m thankful to the author! (And not just because so many opportunities for TK’s Jewish rep was wasted…)

TK begins by writedontfight: Exactly what the title says, with a plausible and saddeningly real scar of loss in TK’s life.

Numb and Thirty days by come2gusu: TK begins again, and good GOD I’M SAD ABOUT 3x08 AGAIN nooOOOOOooO….

Carlos (Begins):

Duality of a day by @marjansmarwani: I loved this exploration of how double-edged the wedding day would feel for Carlos— the beginning of a new chapter in his life with TK, and the punch-to-the-face end of Gabriel’s own life (spoiler alert).

to build a home by @freneticfloetry: This story was the first “Carlos Begins” story I’d read. I thought I wouldn’t like the canon divergence that happens at the end, but I was pleasantly surprised!

Dancing, happy, seen by @endlesstwanted: Carlos’ POV as he falls in love at first sight with TK.

Silver lining’s gold and shining by @paperstorm: “Carlos begins”, with a little help from Iris. For me, it also parallels “Chimney Begins”.

I fell for you like a child (oh but the fire went wild) by ellay_gee: Told in a 5+1 format about Carlos’ experiences with love. It was so cute!

Tender eyes that shine by @alrightbuckaroo: Much like “to build a home”, this fic exuded “Carlos begins” energy with more focus on how the Reyes’ “identity” shaped Carlos, and him focusing on unlearning the emotional repression that comes with that ideal.

Music Recs for @tellmegoodbye:

If the Lone Star music team uses this cover of AC/DC my country-music side would be tickled. Just thought that a down-South version of a rock song would be a cool bookend to the pop collab “Old Town Road.”

Postmodern Jukebox is one of my favorite cover bands, and they’ve made a lot of songs I’ve heard of really appealing for me— retro takes on pop songs! This one cover of Oasis’ songs brought to mind another procedural spinoff, NCIS: New Orleans, for the jazz funeral feel added to apparently hotly-debated interpretations of the lyrics (I only just looked on Reddit, so…). But considering what’s happening, hearing the song in the context of Lone Star breaks and warms my heart.

[gorgeousundertow]

@mutantmanifesto had me rewatch the scene where Brad talks about his breakup and I...kind of went off? So here we go.

It's honestly Ray who gives us the most insight here, because he knows what this is for Brad. He's uncharacteristically quiet and serious, and he's watching Brad so closely. Ray is the one with the emotional beats in this scene, because he knows Brad so well--and he knows that Brad is speaking some bullshit right now. He's worried about him.

Because Brad is still deeply hurt by all of this. He still carries a lot of anger. But he still remains friends with them ("aren't friends great?") and goes over to that house and looks at those pictures--why? Why would he do that?

I don't think he wants that life anymore. Not remotely. That life is small--that's his girlfriend from Junior High for fuck's sake.

He's seen things. He understands so much more about the world than they possibly could. And they chose to stay small.

He's so much smarter than they are--and he wants someone smart, he surrounds himself with smart people (Nate, Ray, Poke, Doc--these are some of the smartest people ever).

So yes, he's hurt, but I think it's a childhood wound, rather than still wishing he was with her. I think about what it must have been like for him (and I haven't read the book, folks, I'm basing this on the show and a lot of fics lol) being adopted by a Jewish liberal family--who loved him, but he was different. This is definitely headcanon territory, but I'm imagining them as the kind of sheltered "Get Out" style liberals that live a pretty small life.

And I imagine part of him wishes he could have felt at home in that. And his fiancé and his best friend--they would have given him that life...if he could have stayed in it, which I don't believe he could have.

But they rejected him first. And that actually makes it harder to let go, and that's why he keeps going back to that house. There's the life he could have had.

Aaaaaaand now my shipper's heart is going to run with this and give him the life he really wants.

[evilwickedme]

I would like to see the Jewish headcanons please

Hi yes thank you so much I wasn't fishing for this at all

We've already covered this in that post that gained me 150 followers in a week, but obviously Peter Parker is Jewish. My personal headcanon is that he's Ashkenazi and somewhere between Reform and Conservative. Like he flip flops on keeping Kosher and observes the high holidays as best as he can assuming there's no world saving he needs to get done, but overall being Jewish to him is about community and culture over the religious part of it

For Bucky Barnes, however, being observant was a way to reclaim his identity after... Well, you know. He's vaguely conservadox? He doesn't really define it beyond being Sephardic. He keeps Kosher (which was difficult during WWII unfortunately) and wears tzitzit and goes to shul whenever he can. He'd love to keep Shabbat but it's just not practical most of the time - essentially it's like being an on call doctor, where your job is essential to saving lives and therefore he can't keep Shabbat properly, but he likes to have Friday night dinners with his friends (and Natasha, whether they're together at the time or not) whenever he can. He doesn't know if God exists, but during the High Holidays is when he comes the closest to believing it

Bruce Wayne is canonically Jewish but like, by accident? I feel like he less defines himself as Jewish and more defines himself as Not-Christian™. His mother used to take him to Synagogue but the memories are vague now, but he always enjoyed lighting the candles on Hanukkah, especially with Jason. He stops celebrating the holiday after Jason dies, because he loved it so much. It's a shame because I KNOW Cass would love Hanukkah and Steph would be so into the Maccabees' story

Tim is also Jewish but he's entirely non practicing; his parents were never around to celebrate any holidays or impart any Jewish traditions on him and Bruce had stopped doing the one Jewish thing of lighting the hanukkiah/menorah (whichever you wanna call it) by the time he became Robin. The main Jewish thing in his life is antisemitic garbage being published about both Bruce and himself, especially once he becomes CEO of WE

Damian was raised Muslim and doesn't really know how to feel about being half Jewish. When he grows up he might try to find a way to reconcile those two parts of his identity, but the only Jewish person who actually practices that he sees even irregularly is Batwoman, who's his cousin once removed and he's not exactly close to, so he just doesn't feel the need to deal with it yet

The Thing and Batwoman are canonically Jewish this doesn't count as a hc I just love them

Same for moon knight minus loving him cause I have a bunch of his comics but just haven't gotten around to reading them

Actually can we talk about Mayday Parker? Because I feel like Peter would absolutely raise his daughter to be Jewish. He wants her to feel that connection to the Jewish people even though he's always been so wishy-washy about it and she grows up to be way more observant than him

I actually don't want canon!Clark to be Jewish, but I think exploring his Jewish subtext in fic can be so interesting? Cause, you know, he's Moses and shit. I feel like an Modern Orthodox Clark would have the exact same values as current Clark but also I'd love to hear his thoughts on certain Mishnahs, you know? Also having read the Death of Superman arc earlier this month I can confirm all Jesus metaphors in adaptations are such bullshit oh my God did you even read the comic

Anyway I think that's it for now? Unfortunately I have not read Every Comic Ever yet so there might end up being even more HCs later on (especially since I plan to read Greg Rucka's Lois Lane series soon and I'm hoping for some Jewish subtext in that)

Thank you so much for asking this was so much fun!!

[anxiouspotatorants]

Hey I am trying to write a fanfic right now and I saw you had some Dave Rygalski headcanons before so... do you have any Dave headcanons about his home life and like him outside of the characters we see on the show?

Hey, I am so sorry for not replying sooner but how sweet of you to think of my headcanons! It really warms my heart to see people still actually interacting with those Dave posts. I’m guessing my input will be irrelevant for your fic by now but I still love this as a prompt so I figure it would be fun to still write and post a reply. Also if/when the fic is up and running please send me a link so I may devour it!!

I never thought all that much about Dave’s homelife. I assume he’s in a two-parent household, but unsure about siblings pets and general family dynamics. Now that I’m thinking about it Dave does seem like the type to have sisters, maybe two or three. He doesn’t strike me as someone with active drama going on with his family during the show (which would be a rare sight on Gilmore Girls), but then again that’s just my take. If I remember correctly he is canonically Jewish, but as a European gentile I don’t exactly find myself informed enough to make religious or too culturally specific headcanons for a Jewish US American boy in 2000s New England.

What I do headcanon is that Dave, Zack and possibly Brian all come from a neighbouring town instead of Stars Hollow. I know US small towns can be a lot bigger than what we define as small towns where I’m from, but Lane’s never met Dave before the band and Stars Hollow is a tiny town with presumably only one high school. They should’ve met by season 3 if Dave was a townie.

I also headcanon that he can’t wait to get out of small town life, which is why he applies to study in California. I don’t think he hates small towns (if he did he would spend a lot less time in ST and a lot more doing daytrips to NY) but he’s probably never truly felt at home and hopes to find that sense of belonging in a physically bigger place. Whether he’s right about that assessment or not is a whole ‘nother case though. I think he has a really tough first year in college getting used to a far noisier and busier city and not having that safe group to constantly fall back on like he would back in New England.

Another headcanon specifically about everyday homelife is that Dave is the technician of the family. Because of his audio-tech passion his parents and potential siblings just assume he’s great at all tech and electricity, forcing him to be the one who has to figure out how to fix a faulty satellite and learn the fuse box, and at some point just switch out all the lightbulbs in the house.

Other headcanons I have which have little to do with homelife include:

Dave’s more of a sci fi geek than fantasy geek (not that all fantasy fanboys know Tolkien inside out but in GG he would’ve picked up on Mrs Kim’s quote… also he’s big into sound tech and I headcanon him as eventually getting into tech period). The boy knows his Asimov, his Analog, his Star Trek, his battlestar Galactica and most definitely keeps tabs on the Syfy Channel.

Sci fi preference be damned that boy is doing something tabletop related and my money is on either Dungeons & Dragons (the guys is studious af and has Brian and Zach as friends) or Magic the Gathering (and yes he would spend all his lunch money and then his student loans on the damn cards)

He might have anxiety (not to do armchair psychology but there’s a vibe. The ones who know, know)

He could become a little tech broish while studying in California (I mean Silicon Valley is right there) but I think it would just be a phase and that he’s more obsessed with nerding out over how things work than spreading the Web3 gospel. And I still stand by my headcanon that he goes into sound engineering or sound related tech for work after college.

Tardiness be damned I hope this was a fun and somewhat insightful read, if only on how I tend to headcanon these folk!

[14muffinz]

Asking some writers/artists I follow:

Is there anything in your fic/comic that you as the author know about, but won't end up in the actual story?

oh for sure

i'll start with the TMNT stuff first because of your PFP, but we gonna be here a while.

[lab rats stuff at the bottom]

warning: fic spoilers galore

In WIBE, one of the characters we meet is Yuichi Usagi, who works at the human ROTM. He also works in the original ROTM. He was robbed while on a trip to the Hidden City, and is originally from a different city entirely. Hueso is doing his best to help him out, but it'll likely be a long time before Yuichi gets to go home.

Some other WIBE background characters in WIBE include: MM!Kendra, MM!Robyn O'Neil, MM!Irma, & MM!Casey Jones. I don't have a lot to say abt Kendra and Irma, since it's been a long time since I wrote any of it down, but I can give it my best shot with Robyn and Casey.

Robyn has been diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety disorder for a few years pre-fic. She's in her first year of college which is out-of-state, and does her best to check up on her family via phone call at least every other week. She's also sort of invested in all of April's new drama, but she won't admit it.

Casey's been playing hockey for as long as he can remember, and intends to keep at it for as long as he's physically able. He's also got a knack for engineering, and I'd gamble that sometime not long after the ending of WIBE, he'd start up the Casey Jones vigilante batshittery. His parents are divorced, but he spends most of his time with his Jewish mother, and while he's never been actually taught much about his religion he accepts it as a part of his identity, and if people don't like that then they shouldn't be around him in the first place. He finds the existence of the turtles to be one of the coolest things ever, but after actually getting to know Raph and the others, it doesn't impress him as much as it used to. (If I had time, I'd add in a tiny crush on Raph, but I'm an aro with WAY too many ideas for this tiny fic)

Then there's experienced fighters, where the main thing is me ALWAYS knowing what song is playing in the background. I really love how much music is in MM, and I love being able to say hey! here's the musical vibes of the environment!

sort of on that topic, i've got a hc that any song with even small references to space are songs that rise, 2k12, and MM leo are more likely to enjoy. they don't realize these patterns, but they sure are there.

and to end off the music rant, one of these days i'm gonna make a playlist of songs that I think the rise crew all collectively agree are good enough (this is what space feels like, goodie bag, punk tactics, etc. etc.)

there's also two in one, which is based off an au by @blackfire-fanfiction. I have to be real cautious abt what I put in there, because a lot of people are looking at it instead of the extended context of the real thing, not to mention how many Thoughts that aren't really canon I have about it. For instance: today I had a good 30 minute daydreaming session abt the concept of rise!Donnie reading leonardo's notebook while he's comatose post-rise movie and finding out about the switching

in dimension desync, I poke a bit at my head canons about peni parker's movie universe and her mental health at home, and have expanded on this even further in an abandoned draft. this is going to be LONG, so here we go: Gwen Stacy and Richard Parker were around in Peni's universe before she herself was, each piloting a mech of their own [Ven#m and Sp//DR]. A few months after Peni's mother is pregnant with her, Richard dies in action, and a few months later, Ven#m sort of devours Gwen (go read the comics because it's really fucked up but idk how to describe it) So then the role of SP//DR is forcefully thrust upon Peni at the age of eleven, and her connection with SP//DR isn't exactly... perfect.

in my team blue universe, I'm fleshing the hell out of Sam-13 and Shadowcat (both from earth 65). Sam was created by corrupt parts of SHIELD (that have yet to have been identified as corrupt) but now is just a regular agent. Cap returned to their dimension when he was 14 and has been in charge of training him ever since. Cap is stubborn to a fault and is def being manipulated by the corrupt agents, but none of the kids have gotten close to that bigger picture yet. Meanwhile, Kitty was inducted into the weapon x program (or 65's equivalent of it, I don't remember much of the wolverine origin story) at the age of 8, and despite odds survived. Wolverine took her in, and she's been helping him bounty hunt since about 13, even though he's trying to stop her.

team blue is also starting to extend to universes that the spider-verse movies don't really deal with through plants that have yet to be explained. but miguel's spite at e-199999 has definitely transferred, which means that, if they were ever to interact, not many of the main team would like the mcu-vengers

in my very obscure mech-x4 series, Olivia (who is only referenced by name once in the show) is veracity's little sister, who is 7 years old. This series is more of a set of vaguely connected oneshots, but still.

i could go ON AND ON about Oliver in all of my mighty med/lab rats fics, but in short: arcturion made his hair start growing in blonde, which he hates. Horace is his adopted dad and so it sucks ass when he dies. Oliver also comes with built in hypothermia! This is also definitely a headcanon, but I think that in EF once the rats have the upgraded chips, Chase's laser bō is green instead of blue, and his super senses are togglerable (to a degree) I also like to imagine Kaz's lil bro Kyle is his number one fan and nobody in his family listens to him when he claims that Kaz is one of the bionic guys on the news.

... yeah I think that's enough for now

[thirteenemeraldcats]

Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

tagged by the terrifyingly talented @kvetchinglyneurotic and the impossibly incredible @sighonaraa

1. How many fandoms have you written in?

One! Uno! Eins! All of the ridiculously emotionally evocative writers in the Ted Lasso fandom completely broke my brain and launched me into the undiscovered country (fic writing).

2. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Since January, so about .3 years 🤗

3. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Definitely read. I am perpetually mentally exhausted in my free time and usually can't concentrate enough to write. That being said I also haven't had much time to READ fic lately. So. Help???

4. What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Hmmmm. I'd say embracing the draft process? When I started writing fic (OH SO LONG AGO I KNOW) I was very 'this needs to be good' and now I'm appreciating the 'this needs to be FUNCTIONAL' mindset more.

5. What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Definitely not weird BUT I did accidentally fall down a research spiral for ONE WORD in 'i learned to walk while he was away'. For context: I am not Jewish, but I head-canon Roy as Jewish and there is ONE LINE that references this in that fic. I wanted to double check if there was any significance to the different spellings of Hanukkah, lest I accidentally step on a cultural landmine. Cut to a day later where I'd fallen deep, deep down an equally enjoyable and educational rabbit hole about Jewish holidays, (fostered my ongoing vendetta against the English language,) and found a Jewish bakery that's local to me because I wanted to try Challah very badly. (It was great.) (There is not a large Jewish population where I live [in case that wasn't obvious] I'm blaming my now-semi-remedied culture blindness on that. But Em, you took an elective on world religion in University? SHUT UP I KNOW.)

6. What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

ANY COMMENT. I made an ao3 account last year because I wanted to not lurk quite so much, stop being a 'consumer' of fan-creations, and LEAVE SOME COMMENTS. And I'd seen authors talk about how great getting them was but holy guacamole nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of people liking something I wrote enough to leave a comment or a heart or an 'ah'.

7. What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Errrrrrrr. I guess just gen-fic? Looking at the numbers of ship-fic in the archive, it certainly feels fringe-esque to write gen.

8. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

I was going to say 'short' because things just keep happening when I try to write succinct outlines (somehow NONE OF THOSE 'THINGS' ARE PLOT), but after applying a bit more scrutiny to anything I've ever written; it's action. Fast-paced action. I don't know her.

9. What is the easiest type?

Assorted emotional whacks! When I was writing original fiction a solid decade ago as a teen-bean I favoured physical-whump, me now has found it a lot easier to write emotional-whump. Not sure why??? But here we are. (Either way someone's suffering.)

10. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Okay this is actually a very involved story that I might tell later, but I just changed what platform I was using. SO! As of about a week ago I've been writing on google docs. Beyond that, it's a laptop/couch combo whenever I have the brain power (which is almost never 😭).

11. What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

OOOF. There are a few wips in the assorted-mountainous-pile of non-active development that are. Heavy. Heavier than the various fics/wips I've published/am actively poking at. I'd like to write them one day but I am also very 'hmm' when I look at them.

12. What made you choose your username?

So 'Em' is a real-life nickname, smash that together with my love of the colour green and tada! You get 'emerald'. 'Cats' is about... cats. I am obsessed with the little creatures, despite never owning one. (Initially I spelt it as 'kat'- no idea why??? I think I just like the letter 'k'???? Potassium?????????? B A N A N A???????????????) And 'thirteen' is my favourite number, just because I find the concept of a number being considered 'unlucky' hysterical and the idea that some airlines genuinely leave out a row thirteen because of superstition always makes me grin like an idiot. The order is purely because I like the image of a bunch of green cats running around together.

I have done a quick investigation and everyone I know has either already done this or already been tagged. (I have once again shown up two days late with iced-coffee to a tag-game. [At least I showed up, I forgot to do like three of these things despite loving them, I'M SORRY 😭])

If anyone sees this and they HAVEN'T been tagged, consider this your green-for-go flag and feel free to tag me as your tagger.

[psychologeek]

So I have a new fic. Shocking, I know.

(Yes, I'm still late with 2 assignments. Any help with writing the letter to the professor is welcome. explaining I can't stay awake more than an hour for the last weeks is hard.)

It's inspired by @byrambles fic "another mirror".

Explanations+thoughts+side notes under "read more"

Summary:

Damian is sitting on the cot in the containment cell when the world ends.

"You will be facing charges in twelve hours," says the older version of his brother. "By the Justice League court.”

...

Of legacy, family, and Learned Helplessness.

(How do you push forward when your reasons are gone?)

It's kinda dark. Which is very understandable, as I wrote it when I was very hurt and suicidal. (I'm better now. But I now it happens).

Thoughts and notes from the writing process below-v

Tevya: wait, I just realized Dami thinks THE OTHERS ARE DEAD.

Me: I don't know if he thinks they are dead, but they are surely lost for him - so might as well be dead. (For extra angst: Something about Object Permanence, and knowing things doesn't disappear just bc u can't see it. Another thing about separation anxiety and how, for Dami, it's a well learned lesson that if he doesn't see someone, if he doesn't keep an eye on them, they are probably dead)

D

About Trauma, PTSD and cPTSD (as I see it). About Dami's inner monologue/broken sentences.

Some things just doesn't have words. PTSD is The unspoken break, the fractured paragraph in one's story. cPTSD is a swollen book, one that fell into the sink and only some of the words can be recognised. You may have a full chapter, or a several words, or some pages are so badly destroyed you fear even looking at them. And even after, even after you dried that book and put it in a safe place - Those pages will always be heavy, and broken, and wounded. This book will always be different than the others.

(But it's still worth it)

About the scene with Dami prepare for his death:

So, I'm not Muslim - I'm Jewish.

But this scene is heavily inspired by the many, many people we lost during the holocaust. Not just for death, but also from the group. They were lost to our people, our nation, for ever, and so are their descendants.

One of the most told stories I remember being told as a kid, is one of a Rabbi who went looking in every orphanage and Monastery, And whnever he was told "we don't have any Jewish kids here" he asked them to bring in all the kids. Then he said "Shma Israel" (a prayer, one of the simplest, many people use to say it also at bed before going to sleep). Every kid who put a hand on their eyes, he was like - yes, they are Jewish.

And it's small. But I also think of all those who WEREN'T found .

Idk.

I have a lot of feelings about culture and groups.

About Tim& Dami's escape+Alfred's death:

In my head, Dami tried to die once when he was about 9-10, and Alfred found him. They made sort of agreement, so Dami promised he'll take care of himself, and Alf promise they'll escape. In my head, a short while after Tim was taken they were meant to escape. Was it only enough for two people? Or did Alfred stayed back to cover them? Idk. But the results is this: Dami and Tim escaped and caught up after about a week. (Did B killed Alfie? Did he make Dami do that as part of his punishment? Did Alfie killed himself, so he won't tell where they are? Trader's choice.)

[thefactsofthematter]

fic title: till the horses come home

i mean. this is giving post-canon jack went to santa fe vibes in the realest way.

i think in this world, he leaves when he’s about 20 - he’s been scraping by with his illustrator job, making ends meet, but he just needs to know what’s out there. he can’t take the city anymore.

(it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that davey, whom he’s been in an unspoken more-than-friends-but-won’t-say-i-love-you situationship with for years, is moving upstate to go to college on some prestigious scholarship he was selected for. no way.)

so jack goes, and he likes it, and they keep in touch at first, and the years steadily go on, and they sort of stop writing. he goes from a ranch hand to owning a little plot of his own, never quite settles down with anyone, but maybe takes in orphans in his own type of lodging house where they can work on the farm for fair and decent pay.

meanwhile, davey is becoming this incredibly powerful lawyer, known for defending immigrants and the working class in some very high-profile cases. in 1911, he runs for city council, and it’s big news! he’s only 29, he’s got progressive views, he’s jewish and an immigrant… and voters love him. he wins his seat, and pisses off conservatives around the country in the process.

so jack reads a newspaper article one day about this idiot politician up in new york who’s pushing for crazy things like child labour regulation and laws around worker’s compensation — and he just sort of blinks at it, because he’s ninety-nine percent sure councilman jacobs is his davey, out there doing all the things he said he was going to do someday.

and it strikes him how badly he wanted to be there for it— wanted to see davey come home after a long day with his fire still lit, going on and on about all the ways the world could be better and we have the power for change jackie, i know we do, we just need to get people to listen; wanted to be there to campaign for davey, making posters and getting the newsies on board and telling everyone who’ll listen to vote for dave jacobs; wanted to take him home after finding out he’d won his seat and kiss the living daylights out of him.

so he leaves some of the older boys in his lodging house in charge of the farm, books a train ticket, and sends a telegram to davey’s office: COMING TO VISIT . SEE YOU SOON . JACK .

and then something something, he’s back in new york and tracks davey down and tells him how proud he is and they kiss about it or something

he goes back to santa fe, sells his farm in shares to some of the kids he once helped out so they can keep running it, and then moves back to nyc for good because home is where the man who has his heart is <3

[theycallme-thejackal]

One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

149. Karma

"I love this part,” Midge tells Trevor Noah as they sit at the desk. “My granddaughter taught me how to use YouTube, and she set it up so that I get a little notice on my phone whenever you post a new Between the Scenes.”

Trevor grins at that. “Well then by all means, hang out with me. Talk to the audience!” There’s uproarious applause from the crowd.

“You know how I do love an audience, Trevor,” she replies with a sly grin. At eighty-four, she may have slowed down a bit physically, but her wit has remained sharp.

“Well, I will get the ball rolling and then open up to a couple of audience members for questions,” the host says, turning to her. “I was fortunate enough to meet you and your late husband, Lenny Bruce - ” The audience interrupts him to applaud for Lenny, and Midge gives them a grateful smile. It’s been two years since he passed away, and she still misses him every day. “I met the two of you at an event for your memoir, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.”

“A fun night,” Midge remembers with a smile. “I’m still kvelling over the fact that millions of people wanted to read a bunch of stories from the life of an old Jewish woman.”

Trevor laughs a little at that. “And the thing I noticed was that...you did your duty of shaking hands and talking to the people who helped get your book out there, but you spent most of your time talking with my generation, the sort of newer set of comics.”

“Well you’re all just so funny!” Midge replies. “You keep me sharp. And...it’s very cool to see the sort of differences in everyone’s voices. Back in my day there were more black-and-white categories. You were a political comic or an impressionist or you had a character you portrayed, and as time has gone on, those lines have become blurred - almost nonexistent. 

“And it’s interesting because - as someone who was coming up in the time of George Carlin and Carol Burnett and Mort Sahl and, of course, Lenny Bruce - I can very much see where the influences come from, and it’s very rewarding when I get to watch a female comic get on stage and talk about her dumpster fire of a life because when I started, women weren’t really allowed to do that.”

She gets a laugh out of the audience and Trevor for that one, and he adds, “I feel very grateful that, as a comedian, I am allowed to sort of talk about whatever I want. I don’t have to limit myself to one schtick.”

“Right,” Midge agrees. “You talk about politics, but you also do impressions and tell stories about taco trucks and your family. I can see influences from Richard Pryor and obviously Jon Stewart. And then there’s...a little hint of Lenny in you,” she tells him with a soft smile.

“And Lenny was a huge influence on Jon,” Trevor explains. “That whole genre of political comedy really influenced both of us.”

“He loved that. He’s always loved mentoring the younger set. That’s how we became friends, after all. He took an interest in my career. And critics over the years have accused him of doing it just to get me into bed, but he was mentoring other comics before I came along, and he continued doing it for the rest of his life. He loved going to little shithole - can I say that here? - shithole comedy clubs and watching these kids who are just starting out and giving them a little advice or a boost.”

Trevor keeps his eyes on her, but starts to turn to the audience. “Well, I could sit here and just talk to you for days, but I want to let the audience ask some questions, so...” Midge laughs a little as Trevor looks out and points to a young man on the right. “Do you have a question for Mrs. Maisel?”

The man, somewhere in his mid-twenties, asks, “What’s been your most rewarding experience in comedy?”

Midge looks back at her. “Well, I’d have to put meeting my husband at the top of the list,” she replies. “But to go back to what we were just discussing, I was on Chelsea Handler’s show a few years ago, and during one of the breaks, she told me about how, as a young, Jewish, female comic, she listened to my records, and how I was such an influence on her comedy. Because she does things in her act that are very similar to what I was doing back in the sixties,” she explains before shrugging. “And she can say fuck and period and pregnant without getting hauled off stage and thrown in a jail cell, so...I think the most rewarding thing is seeing doors open for funny young women that weren’t open in my day.”

Trevor looks to the other side of the audience. “We have time for one more question.” There’s a young woman on the opposite side, whose hand is raised and shaking excitedly, and he points to her. “What would you like to ask Mrs. Maisel?”

She stands up, and Midge sees she’s clutching a copy of her memoir and bouncing a little. “Hi, Mrs. Maisel. I’m such a huge fan,” she gushes.

“Oh, thank you, sweetie,” Midge replies with a smile. “You have excellent taste in books as well, I see.”

The woman giggles and blushes a little bit. “Um, what do you think is the key to your longevity in your career?"

“Just one second,” Midge says, holding up a finger. She gestures to one of the production assistants. “Could you bring her book over here?” She whispers. The assistant nods and heads over.

“If you didn’t know, I’m Jewish,” she explains, getting a laugh from the audience as she grins. “And in Judaism, there’s this concept of midah k'neged midah, which is very similar to what you may know as karma.”

The production assistant sets the book down in front of her. “Thank you,” she says as she sets her readers on her nose and starts to flip through her memoir, looking for a particular passage. “Basically, what goes around comes around. The good things you do bring good things back into your life, and the shit comes back to burn you.”

She finds the passage she was looking for and reads, “I remember standing there on the stage of Carnegie Hall, wearing a dress I had specifically chosen in hopes that it would land on the floor of a very blue room that night, and realizing how badly I had fucked up.

“I hadn’t just turned down a job. I had hurt someone who believed in me, who had stuck his neck out for me, and I couldn’t even be grateful for what he had done because I was so committed to the idea of saying whatever I wanted without consequence.

“As he stood there, his eyes red and teary, I realized that this wasn’t the first time I had hurt someone because of my inability to see past my own desires and experiences. Just six months prior, I had hurt my dear friend by getting on stage at the Apollo and telling jokes that not only hinted at something he had told me in confidence, but also put him in potential danger. I had hidden things from my family that could and would affect their lives. I had ended an engagement to a man in a letter without considering his feelings.

“It was a turning point in my life because I realized too late that there is a world outside of my bubble. That my actions have consequences, and while my spontaneity was my strength, it could also be my downfall.”

She steals a pen from Trevor and flips to the front of the book. “What is your name?” She asks the blonde woman who posed the question.

The young woman looks absolutely stunned. “Uh, it’s Veronica,” she answers.

“Veronica,” Midge repeats. “Veronica, my success has come from learning empathy. From becoming significantly more aware of the people around me. And from taking the time to lift up the people around me instead of tearing them down. 

“I was fortunate enough to find someone who did that for me because - well, he loved me - but more importantly, he believed in me, believed in my talent. So I’ve taken what he gave me - as a comic,” she adds when there are some chuckles from the audience. “My god, Trevor, your audience has a filthy mind.”

“I think you brought out the best in them,” Trevor jokes.

It’s Midge’s turn to laugh then, and she scribbles a note in the front cover. “And I’ve made concerted efforts to pay it forward. When you’re kind to others, that kindness will be returned to you. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. And the key is to continue being kind regardless of what the world throws at you.”

The PA takes the book back to Veronica, who holds it tightly to her chest, grinning from ear to ear. “Alright, Trevor,” Midge says, turning back to the host. “You can have your show back now.”

The room laughs, and Trevor gestures to her. “Mrs. Maisel, everyone!”