#maybe someday i can afford to see all the people but this is a good place to start 🥰

[ladymashamiki]

Sooo... I have no idea if anyone is even still actively paying attention to this blog, but I have exciting news!! I actually managed to get tickets, so I'm going to see the NCT Dream concert while they're here in the US 😆

The real reason for this post, though, is that this will technically be my first kpop concert. I went to the SuperM concert, but I didn't really do the "kpop concert thing." Just dressed comfy and arrived before seating opened. So my question(s?) Is this: what the actual hell do I wear? Are ncitizens still doing the all black with neon green thing? Do I pick an era and make an outfit inspired by it? Like. What is the vibe???

Also, since this is baby's first (technically!) concert, what should I expect?? How early do you arrive? Should I be like, bringing photo cards to exchange or anything??? Gaaah help!!

So TLDR: I'm going to a NCT Dream concert, and need help deciding what to wear. Also any general kpop concert advice is appreciated.

Thank you, and I love you all 🥰

[oh-no-its-bird]

Gonna ramble a bit here, sorry in advance for that

With the rise in worry about the permanence of online media (books / music / video content / art / online chat history / etc.) I've been thinking about wanting to print out some of my favorite fics, or catologue some of my longer (months and years long tbh) conversations about ocs. Or maybe try and learn how to burn cds so I can save my music and favorite shows / videos n stuff

Mm,, download a show online and burn it into a cd so I never have to look for it again,, easily accessible physical copy,, I love pirating things

Obviously, with printing out fics I'd want to ask for explicit permission from the author and then keep the printed volume to myself. Gotta be careful to be respectful ab that sort of thing.

I'd also be interested in printing out some of my own shit too, just for fun. Those old conversations about ocs won't last forever, discord will eventually fail and when it does I know I for one will be crushed to lose all that chat history.

Obviously, I'm an American, and like the current political state in America is uhhh. Deeply worrying for all of us over here. So I won't lie, that's also adding a layer of worry from that angle. Things are already looking ugly, and if they get uglier, you know, I for one don't want my information to be completley ripped away from me

Turning back to the fic thing again, there's also a good amount of American fic writers who have / are planning to / are thinking about taking down some of their fics, due to fear of potential laws that threaten to make pornography illegal, and alao laws that classify anything homosexual as pornography.

Now, to be clear, I don't think they'll really do this. I think that even if they try, there're literally no fucking way it would pass. The backlash alone would be insane. But that doesn't change the fact that people are scared— that people got scared, and some have already taken things down

So there's another layer of just, shit man, I don't wanna lose my fics. There's always a risk that even if you download it, you could one day lose it too.

Also printed and bound fics are just cool as hell. What do you mean I have a copy of my very favorite fics, right there on my shelf in physical form, which I can open any time to any page I want without fear of ao3 one day crashing?

The ideal world tbh

Besides that, there's also a sort of time capsule aspect to it.

The other day, my dad whipped out his old tape recordings he made when he was a kid, just of him rambling about shit to mail to a cousin. He put them in to a record player he apparently just had, and I lost my fucking mind seeing it.

Both of my parents were laughing at how excited I was to see both the tapes and the boom box— and to listen to my dad's tinny, muffled voice sounding just like the vintage tapes might be portrayed on TV. Faint static and old timey tv lilt in his voice and all.

To them, it was just a small, slightly nostalgic thing. To me, it was cool as hell and totally retro

The things I save today, that I print, that I burn into cds; Stories I'm scared might get deleted, conversations I dont want to lose, tv shows I could never afford to maintain a subscription to see, playlists of music I worried I'd lose; They may someday be some day be a real relic of the past, however many years in the future. If not for other people, than yeah, for me

So just, I dunno. It's important to save things in a way that they can't be taken away from you.

It's supposed to be the "age of information," isn't it? Well then, let me keep my goddamn information

[chocodile]

Some new OCs with cars to complete the set I made in 2019!

Explanations under the cut.

Young Hyden - 1975 Lamborghini Countach

He would want some sort of luxury sports car. I mean, he'd have to have one. What else could he possibly drive but something loud, flashy, expensive, and oozing with ego and sex appeal?

He couldn't decide between "Cocaine Binge" orange or "Satanic Panic" black so he bought one of each. He alternates between them while the other is in the shop due to either the consequences of his own bad driving or general luxury car malaise.

Unfortunately, the Countach is three and a half feet tall while Hyden is just over seven feet tall. Even with custom seats to accommodate his height, it's not a comfortable driving experience. Luckily for him, the choice to give up his stupid sports cars to spare his aching knees is made for him when he totals one of them in a particularly bad accident and gets his license suspended.

Old Hyden - 1994 Bentley Dominator

It's now the mid 90s and Hyden is older, fatter, and more arthritic. Pickings are pretty slim for a rich man who simply does not fit in a small vehicle. I mean, there are options, but not a lot among the luxury brands, which means those options might as well not exist at all. The SUV boom was still in its infancy and the Bentley Bentayga and Rolls-Royce Cullinan, two other cars I considered for him, would not exist for another decade or a few.

In 1994, in the real world, Bentley made six huge gas-guzzling bricks for the Sultan of Brunei. These luxury car-slabs cost £3,000,000 a pop. In my fictional OC world, Hyden has #7. Or at least would have a similar custom luxury SUV with a similar price tag.

He no longer drives, citing his growing list of illnesses as the reason (No mention of his suspended license). Other drivers on the road breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, that's what chauffeurs are for.

Alternate car: This funny little bunny car toy I bought. Isn't it great?

Alex & Ridge - 1996 Ural Tourist

Instead of a car, Alex gets a motorcycle to symbolize her death wish… and also for other reasons, but that's the main reason.

A practical old thing. It's broken down a million times but she and Ridge always manage to revive it. She appreciates its ability to determinedly haul ass through rugged terrain and the fact that she can carry stuff using the sidecar. Ridge appreciates that sometimes he is the thing that gets carried around in the side car. He is also responsible for the shark face on it. :o)

…He drives it too, of course. He's a perfectly good, reasonable driver. Alex is just kind of a control freak about it. She is one of those people who grits her teeth and presses her foot into the passenger seat floor any time she's riding shotgun. It's easier to just let her be the driver.

They bought it together and drive it all over Europe doing whatever odd shady jobs they do in a modern setting. Alex craves one of those snazzy hyper-durable Japanese motorcycles, but cannot afford one. Maybe someday… Ridge isn't so sure about that kind of change. The bike still works as long as you fix it constantly, so what’s the problem? Plus, he'd be sad to see the shark face go.

[londonfoginacup]

Personal stream of consciousness around Liam and grief and moving forward

Every day I wake up and Liam is still dead. It continues to sort of feel like at some point I will wake up and that won’t be true, that he’ll be back, like he’s just on a trip right now. And I think that’s… a normal part of the grieving process, but it’s hard because it feels disrespectful, almost.

I only did 8 days of inktober this year. I had another ten sketched out already in my notebook, and now I wonder what to do with those. Some of them were good! (Some weren’t). I was older than Liam by a month or so, but for some reason I want to be able to go to him now, and show him those sketches, and say, I do art too! Aren’t you proud of me?

Death is a horrible and unnatural thing. It was never supposed to happen to us. We grieve because we were not made to lose people. We were made to love them forever. Grief is our body trying desperately to reconcile with a reality it was never made for. That is why it feels this way. We were not made for a life like this. We were made to hold one another in our arms. We were made to love each other. We were made for more.

I want to tell him that. That he was made for more than he got. I hope someday I can.

When tumblr started having polls, I always voted the Liam option, and in part that was because I love Liam and I would’ve chosen him regardless. But in part it was with the thought that, if he were to ever snoop on our community here, I wanted Liam to see that he had people in his corner. I don’t regret that. I’m sad it’s all I could do.

I was thinking about it earlier. About One Direction. I tried to slice it so many ways and I came to the conclusion that Liam and Louis are the ones that I think were the heart. I think 1D could’ve come back together to tour, make music, and so on, as long as it had at least those two. 1D could never exist without Liam. It just couldn’t. He loved them too much.

Obviously, I haven’t turned my queue back on. I haven’t felt right reblogging current day stuff about the boys. It feels like turning that back on will indicate being ready to move on, to some extent. And okay, I’ll never be ready so there’s that. But. The idea of turning it back on doesn’t feel right. Not yet.

That being said, I started last month preparing for Christmas. For the 25 days of fic rec I do, and the advent fic. And of course cards. I had decided just a week before Everything Happened that I couldn’t afford to do physical cards this year. And I feel ten times more guilty about that decision now, because it feels like surely people NEED that! But I am also trying to be realistic with myself; so many wonderful people have offered to help financially, and any other time I think I would’ve taken them up on that, but right now the emotional and mental weight of doing physical cards might also be too heavy.

Which, again, makes me feel like I’m letting people down when they need me. If I could, I would send all of you personalized letters every day. It is so hard to reckon with the knowledge that I am only human and must take care of myself.

But I will do the fic recs. that’s easy; I’ve already finished the post graphics.

And I will do the advent fic (I might change my plot— the original one didn’t have a lot of Liam, but i think I need him there more).

And I will make some sort of digital cards for sure. It occurred to me this year that I never put my paper dolls online anywhere and I sort of wonder why not. At least maybe this will be a treat for anyone too wary of sending a stranger online their address— all of you can print th paper dolls for yourselves. I’ll make plenty of outfits.

So. That’s my plan, I suppose. I’ve cried writing this more than I’ve cried all week, I think because it’s easy to think that I am past the worst of the grieving right up until I have to look head on at the facts again.

I miss him. I miss him. How could this happen.

[godfreyr]

I am the anon who messaged you on the other account I am 15, and still young so stop cursing me or saying stuff about my grammar, I am from Spain, and speak 7 languages, so doing some errors is more than fine, you are hating on my grammar and probably speak less than 4 languages. I was just asking a question and you took it in the wrong way, but whatever be a hatful oldie, it’s time to get married and have kids instead of hating on a child.

Spread love, cause that’s what my family thought me at least unlike yours

{ You’re so aggravating… Jesus Christ… This is my last response to your anon asks, and this will be long because it’s the same issue I have seen around tumblr nowadays and I think it needs to be addressed—

First and foremost, congratulations for speaking seven languages.

If your family taught you to spread love, you’re doing it wrong. Because YOU started this shit.

The thing is: when you spread hate online being ageist, you’re bound to make enemies. I’m not the only 30 year-old here… so you managed to offend half of my followers with your ask and they will obviously retaliate. It’s pretty easy for you to hide behind anonymity, stalk another one of my blogs and continue to attack me, all the while asking people to not spread hate against you. Maybe get out of anon and talk to me like a real person? That would be a good start.

As for my personal life, even though it’s none of your concern, and since you seem so drawn to me and interested in me, I’ll indulge: I am married and I have a very happy life, thank you. My family taught me to put people like you back in their places when I have to. I’m soft, but I have teeth and I can bite back harder—precisely because I’m older. As for having kids, not everyone wants kids, not everyone can afford to have kids, not everyone CAN have kids. Again, this was sexist to say the least! So far, you’ve managed to be both ageist AND sexist… I guess the whole “spreading love” is going very well, right?

You see, hopefully you will be 30 someday, you will still love what you love today, you will continue to seek connection with people with similar interests and guess what? It’s normal! You don’t age and automatically become a boring person who doesn’t have hobbies. Blogging has been my hobby since I was your age, and it was a very fulfilling experience. I made tons of friends along the way, and I continue to make friends and connect through the things that I love.

I’m far from being an “oldie” we are not in the 60s anymore! I’m just having fun, same as everyone else. Besides, you should be paying more attention to yourself and your own life instead of wasting your time with granny here. I’m a nobody, nobody cares about what I do online, I’m not famous… so the real question is: why do you care, sweetheart?

Now, reevaluate your opinions and your ageism while you still can, and try to evolve as a human being. It will be a favor to yourself!

Ps: I find it funny that men in their 40s can be interested in games and anime, but GOD FORBID a woman in her 30s who enjoys tv series and blogging in her free time! }

*Roman: annoyed and displeased*

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Domesticity 

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

"Do you have a job?" Tracy asks as she helps Molly put away groceries. It's starting to strike Tracy as odd that Molly can afford all this and also spend the majority of her time with Tracy. Molly’s talked about past jobs, but never anything current.

“Not right now. Don’t worry, you’re not keeping me away from work or anything. This is where I want to be.”

“So how do you… afford all this?” 

“My parents were very wealthy, and I got all of it when they died.”

“Ah. That explains a lot.”

Molly laughs. “I’m not sure how to take that.” 

Hmm… Tracy tries to think of a way to direct the conversation that might give her helpful information. “Are you planning on getting another job any time soon?”

“Probably not. I don’t want to leave you alone all day.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Still, if you got hurt, or needed me for something else, you’d have no way to get help. And I like spending time with you. I would miss you the whole time I was gone.”

That makes sense, logically. No one is forcing Molly to be here, she must be spending time with Tracy because she wants to. Tracy wants to ask what makes her so special, but she chickens out. She gets the feeling that whatever the answer to that question is, she really won’t like it. “Do you… have any friends? At all?”

“Mm… I hope someday you’ll consider me a friend.” She puts the last of the groceries in the pantry. "Do you wanna play Wii Sports Resort? I bet you can get a new high score at wakeboarding."

"Sure." She's really good at the wakeboarding game.

Molly grins and sets up the game. It makes sense that she has no friends, but it’s disappointing all the same. No one is going to come visit her and ask about the heavily locked basement. Tracy isn’t getting outside help.

A thought hits Tracy like a bus. "Am– am I the first person you've kidnapped?"

"Of course!" Molly hands Tracy a Wii remote. "First and last."

A chill runs down Tracy's spine. It's okay, it's fine. Just gathering information. It doesn’t matter why Molly decided to kidnap Tracy, that knowledge won’t help her escape. "Right. Um…”

Thinking of questions is hard. Maybe she should just try to make natural conversation, and see if anything important comes up?

“Do you have a favorite video game?” Tracy asks, partially focused on digital wakeboarding.

“I’m not sure. The only thing I ever play alone is The Sims, so I guess that would be my favorite?”

“That makes a lot of sense. You like taking care of the- hell yeah!” Tracy is momentarily distracted by getting a long string of 100-point tricks.

“Yeah.” Tracy can hear the smile in her voice. “I do really like games where I can take care of people. I’ve had to ban myself from getting any games like that on my phone, I always end up setting alarms in the middle of the night to check on them. Sims don’t have their needs drain when the game is closed the way so many mobile games do.”

Tracy’s turn ends. She didn’t get a new high score, but she got close. “You’d… set alarms in the middle of the night?” 

“They’d be so sad and hungry every morning if I didn’t!”

“They’re… not real.”

“That’s the thing— how do you know? I can’t bear the thought of telling someone that they’re not real if they actually are. Can you imagine, someone coming up to you and telling you you’re not real? That would be awful! I don’t want to risk it. What separates us from programs, really? People a lot smarter than me have theorized we’re all in a simulation. If that’s the case, would it be okay for someone to starve and hurt us because we’re not real? Even deleting those apps felt kind of like killing people. I couldn’t function for weeks afterward… But I’m okay now!” 

“You’re… actually crazy.” That shouldn’t be surprising for a kidnapper, but it somehow is.

“That’s not very nice.” Her tone is lightly scolding. Not angry at all, but definitely the harshest tone she’s used with Tracy so far. “You probably didn’t want to hear about my issues, though. What’s your favorite video game?” As she talks, Molly repeatedly does so badly at the game that it pauses to remind her she needs to land on the water with her board flat.

“I never really played video games before I came here— before you kidnapped me, I mean. I think I need to try a few more before I decide.”

The conversation continues like that until Tracy gets a new high score. Just… pleasant, even if the things Molly says are disturbing sometimes. Tracy’ll have to mentally go through the conversation a few times before bed to make sure she didn’t miss any valuable information. Even if she didn’t, though, building a rapport with Molly is good. That’ll… that’ll definitely benefit her somehow, even if she’s not sure how yet.

“You’re amazing.” Molly looks at Tracy like she’s… Tracy doesn’t even know. Definitely not something human. A beautiful painting, maybe? A sunset? A skyscraper?

“For… being good at Wii Sports Resort wakeboarding?”

“For everything. Everything about you is amazing.”

“…thanks?”

Molly stares at her for a moment longer, then breaks eye contact. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. You barely know me, that probably sounded more like a stalker complimenting you than a friend. I’ll do my best to dial it back.”

“…I appreciate that.”

Molly fidgets with the Wii remote. “I think… I need to spend some time cleaning today. You won’t be able to relax if your living space is filthy! I’ve been putting it off a bit.”

The basement seems plenty clean to Tracy. "Okay."

"I've been keeping the cleaning stuff upstairs, so I'll go grab some stuff and be right back. Is that okay?"

"Yep, go ahead." Tracy feels like she should offer to help, but… she doesn't want to. This isn't her house, she doesn't want to be here and would leave if she could, she has no obligation to do any cleaning.

For the next several hours, Molly takes various cleaning supplies up and down the stairs (always making sure the bag with restraints isn't downstairs while Molly is upstairs) and cleans more or less the entire basement. 

Tracy plays some Minecraft, then starts a book that looks interesting. She's… enjoying herself. Is this the best use of her time? She could talk to Molly more, but did she really learn anything last time? She runs through the conversation in her head repeatedly, but can't find anything useful.

She puts the book back. She needs to think of more questions to ask, more information that might help her, she needs to do something because if she has time to enjoy herself she definitely has time to get something done but there's nothing to get done, she can't do anything she's useless–

"Are you feeling okay, dear?"

"I'm fine. Do you… need help with anything?"

"You're here to rest! I'll handle everything, don't worry. I'm basically done, anyway, I've just got to take the mop back up the stairs."

She's not pathetic enough to beg to help her kidnapper with chores, so she nods and heads to the kitchen. She'll just make lunch for both of them, Molly's okay with her doing that. It's really hard to just wait for helpful information instead of actively working towards escape, but… she can do hard things. It's not Tracy's fault that she's useless right now, anyway, it's Molly's, so there's not much she can do but suck it up and enjoy herself until Molly lets something slip.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

What You Need For Today

Week #3 Prompt: Flowers | Word Count: 1400 | Rating: T | POV: Lucas | Pairings: Lucas/Max | Characters: Lucas, Dustin, Steve, Erica, Max | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4, Recovering, Buying Flowers, Dustin Has Opinions (Doesn't He Always), Hospital Visits, Always the Goddamn Babysitter Steve (But He Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way)

Looking through the glass door of the cooler, Dustin at his side, Lucas checks out all his options. They all kind of look the same to him, to be honest. Different colors aside, they are just flowers wrapped in paper or arranged in vases. 

He can't stand here forever, so he opens the door and reaches for the nearest bouquet, one wrapped in a pale blue.

"That looks like it's for a new baby! She didn't have a baby!" Dustin snaps, shoving him out of the way. Lucas moves away from the door, willingly. He isn't sure what he should pick, doesn't have the brain power left to decide, so any help, even if it's just Dustin steamrolling him, will be better than nothing.

Dustin is rifling through the options, touching them all far too rough, and Lucas doesn't want to be associated with this at all. The florist isn't looking, isn't paying any attention to either of them, but Lucas is not in the mood to be yelled at. Not today.

The place has had a steady stream of customers, in and out, and he assumes that's because so many people are still hurt, still grieving, after the town was ripped to shreds. And those who stayed need to do something, anything, to feel like they're helping. And buying flowers, that's normal, a relic remaining from before.

He understands that, deeply.

Dustin is still making a spectacle of choosing, so Lucas looks over his shoulder, and sees Erica sitting on the bench by the door of the shop, feet scuffing against the tile of the floor, ever so slightly. Uncharacteristically quiet. The way she's been since, well, since. He wishes she'd get up and come over and have an opinion just as strong as Dustin's.

Embarrass him, shame him, anything.

But she doesn't.

"You need to get these," Dustin finally declares, picking up a huge bundle of red roses.

"I can't afford those," Lucas hisses, because while he doesn't know the price, he knows they are damn well out of his price range. His allowance is good, but it's not that good.

"Can you put a price on love?" Dustin asks, like it's that simple.

Lucas takes the flowers from him, and puts them back, "Not those. Someday. But not today."

Dustin rolls his eyes, "Fine. Be a dumbass. See if I care."

And Lucas just stares through the glass, again. Still unsure. 

He isn't sure how long he's stood there, mulling, unable to choose, when he hears from behind them, "What are you little dickheads doing here?" 

Oh, thank god. Steve. 

Maybe he can rein in Dustin, or at the very least, distract him.

"What are you doing here?" Dustin crows, like he's caught Steve doing something he shouldn't be. 

"None of your business, you little twerp. And I asked you first," Steve says, and Dustin is getting wound up, Lucas can see it.

"Help me pick flowers for Max," Lucas says in a rush, cutting Dustin off before he has the chance to derail this opportunity.

"Well, you can't go wrong with red roses," Steve says, and Dustin throws his hands up in an 'I told you so' motion. 

That's not enough for Dustin, it never is, he has to rub salt in the wound, given an opportunity, so Dustin adds, "I told you so."

"I know, I know," Lucas says, conceding, "but I don't think that's, uh, exactly, right," Lucas says, "for the…occasion."

And Steve nods, like he's understanding what Lucas is laying down.

"Of course, you're totally right," Steve agrees, arm draped over his shoulders as he's standing next to him, also looking, while Dustin prances around impatiently. 

Lucas is leaning towards the yellow bouquet. It's pretty, and bright, and would really liven up Max's hospital room. Even if she can't see it. Even if she'll never know it's there.

When he brings her red roses, he wants her to know it.

"How about the yellow?" Steve asks, finger pushed against the glass, pointing at the arrangement that Lucas was contemplating.

"That's what I was thinking," Lucas admits, happy to have confirmation that it's a good pick.

"Max will love them," Steve says, and reaches in and plucks them out of the cooler, handing them to Lucas, then demands, "Henderson, go get him a blank get well soon card from the counter."

Dustin grumbles about it, but blunders away.

Once he's gone, Steve's voice is low, "You got enough, Sinclair? If not, I can loan you some cash."

It's nice. Steve is really Dustin's friend. Or even Erica's, in a weird way. But he still shows up when he's needed, and it hasn't gone unnoticed. 

"Thanks, Steve. But I think I do."

And Steve just nods, turning back towards the cooler, reaching in and grabbing a big bundle of the red roses.

Dustin reappears, and they both stare at Steve.

Steve looks back at them, "What are you little shitheads looking at? It's a classic, and I like what I like. You don't mess with what works."

"And red roses? They work?" Lucas asks.

"I told you that, asshole," Dustin says, adding his two cents, yet again. 

"For some occasions they definitely do, but these yellow ones? That's what you need for today," Steve reassures, and Lucas puffs out his chest, feeling happier, more confident about his decision. 

They both pay, and on the way out, Steve stops in front of Erica and pulls one of the roses out of the bouquet in his hand, holding it out for her to take. She rolls her eyes, but gives him a smile, and it's one of the few Lucas has seen her offer up in days, weeks.

Erica takes the rose, and Steve lowers his hand over her head, like he's going to touch her hair. Lucas wouldn't recommend it, but she takes care of herself, like always.

"Watch it, nerd," she says, batting his hand away, and Steve stops short of touching her, but he's made her happy. Lucas can tell, and he wishes he'd have thought of it first. Maybe it wouldn't have been the same, coming from him, her brother. Maybe it had to come from Steve Harrington, the ringleader of her beloved Scoops Troop.

"Good thing you showed up, we need a ride home," Dustin demands, not asking, never asking. 

"Maybe I have other places to be, Henderson. You ever think of that?" Steve snarks at him, holding up the roses, but he still unlocks his car, letting them all inside. Erica puts on her seatbelt beside him in the backseat, clutching the stem of the rose in her hands, looking out the window.

Lucas wonders when, if, things will ever go back to normal.

Dustin and Steve banter in the front seat, lobbing barbs back and forth that are familiar and normal, so Lucas supposes that's a start, at least.

Later that afternoon, Erica standing at his back, Lucas pauses in the doorway of the hospital room, listening to the steady beeps of all the machines keeping Max alive. The vase of yellow flowers in one hand, a new Stephen King book in the other. This time, he checked out Skeleton Crew from the library. It's a short story collection, and he likes the idea of having something new, something fresh, to read to her everyday during visiting hours. 

A new story for a new day.

She's still asleep, body still broken and trying to mend, and it squeezes at his heart. He doesn't know when they'll let her try to wake up. How long it might be, even if it has already felt like forever. Her hair is braided to the side, bold red against the white pillow, and that means El must have been here earlier. 

The vinyl creaks as Erica sits down on the couch behind him. She's been a near constant presence at his side since the Creel house. She goes where he goes, and he honestly has no complaints.

He places the flowers on Max's end table, and scoots the chair up as close to her bed as he can get it. Once he's situated, he cracks open the book, smoothing his hands over the borrowed pages, holding it in his lap, as he begins to read.

"This is what happened. On the night that the worst heat wave in northern New England history finally broke..."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun! 🌞

Notes: The end book snippet is from The Mist, the first entry in Skeleton Crew.

[dreamweaversfavsandthoughs]

Rick and Morty S7 Ep. 4: That’s Amorte

(There is no ethical consumption under capitalism)

Don’t read any further if you don’t want to spoiler your appetite…

My Favs

We got Morty back!

When the world was about to send out an Amber Alert on a missing kid, Morty decided to return to us! I’ve enjoyed the season so far but having Rick and Morty together is a stark reminder that the strength of this show is found in the dynamic between grandfather and grandson. Also, I love seeing Rick getting healthy and bettering himself, but I also love to see a Rick that’s amoral and a bit unhinged.

Facial animation:

I don’t know if this is due to the Irish animation studio they’re working with now, but I’ve noticed there’s a bit more diversity in the facial expressions compared to the last two or three seasons. Has anyone else noticed this?

They did a Soylent Green!

I predicted that this might have been a red herring seeing the initial clips and they might instead do something akin to the Universal Paperclip game, but a Soylent Green is what we got. Well, the idea behind the paperclip game is still on the table for next season…

Euthanasia, Cannibalism, and Suicide

Quite the trifecta of “subjects we don’t discuss in polite society,” but I admire them for taking the risk and weaving everything together well. Kinda surprised S&P let them get away with it.

“His dying wish is to see deader people so he can feel superior.”

Morty-O’s Suicide Spaghetti

“ Is this people or not people? I just need to know how much I should pretend to be upset.”

Oh, Jerry…

“They dyed their sun institutional gray.”

“Ooo gray areas. My specialty.”

Classic Rick

Kotomi’s cover of “Live Forever”

“Life itself is wrong and that means death is right. But you can’t side with that. So you live, even when it means eating.”

Not My Fav:

They could have gotten nastier.

This is my one small gripe in an episode that I think is fantastic. I’m confident there is an earlier draft out there that got so much grosser before S&P made their cuts and I demand to see that draft!

Release that nasty cut!!!

My Thoughts:

First my less serious thought, how in the hell did Rick find out that those people turned in spaghetti when they unalived themselves? My headcanon is that he has made a regular habit of impersonating a doctor on that planet because he sees doctors as nothing more than glorified mechanics, but for people. Rick knows he’s the smartest man in the universe and a proper scientist so practicing medicine would not be that much of a challenge and along the way he discovered this delicious trait about the Keplar people.

On a more serious note, there are two moments that really stood out to me. First, was when Morty broke the news of the spaghetti’s origin to the family and their reaction. They were angry and disappointed—in Morty for delivering the message rather than Rick for feeding them people-spaghetti. That spaghetti was amazing and brought everyone joy and they were more angry about losing their joy than the moral implications of consuming human flesh. Morty destroyed the illusion that they were “good” people and instead of actually being good people and refusing to eat the spaghetti, Morty created a work-around so that he and the family could still maintain the illusion.

That felt very realistic to how, dare I say, all of us have acted at some point, whether it’s the food we eat or that store that sells the jeans that fit perfectly or the online retailer that delivers anything we could possibly want the next day. Maybe, we find out someday that it’s not created in the most ethical manner and we rationalize it. We think, “ Oh, it’s not that bad.” or “ I can’t afford the more ethical option,” or "I have such few joys in my life I don't want to lose this as well.” It’s easier to uphold the illusion of being morally upright under a system that makes it exceedingly difficult to do so. But even if the capitalistic system is destroyed can we ever really be absolved? This leads to the second moment that stood out, Rick’s monologue.

“Life itself is wrong and that means death is right. But you can’t side with that. So you live, even when it means eating.”

My interpretation is that Rick is saying, “Life, by it’s very nature, is inherently unethical and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Even if the meat you eat comes from an animal that is well taken care of, killed as quickly and painlessly as possibly, and processed in a facility that treats its workers well and obeys all regulations—that animal still had to die in order to produce that meat. You’re a vegan. Plants are still living things and for many plants the process of getting food from them destroys them in the process. Millions of bacteria are destroyed every time you wash your hands. Life needs other kinds of life to end for it to keep going, but humans are the only creatures that are aware of this fact so we create arbitrary categories around which types of life are okay to destroy (categories we can’t all agree on) in order to maintain the illusion of morality.

This episode does not have a feel-good message among the jokes and absurd characters and I appreciate that. This one got my brain a-churnin’ and I’m sure I read way too much into this episode but I couldn’t help myself.

[foggyfanfic]

Fixations

Summary: Bruno has always been fascinated by superstitions. (I wasn't going to write a fic about neurodivergency on the Encanto universe and not include Bruno).

3. Bruno

When his teacher told him knocking on wood for luck was ridiculous, Bruno told her that her great aunt was going to have an allergic reaction to the wedding cake at his teacher’s wedding. His teacher had rolled her eyes (he would later find out she was rolling her eyes because the mere mention of her great aunt annoyed her) and told him that his great aunt wasn’t even going to eat the wedding cake at her wedding because they were going through the trouble of making her her own, coconut free, cake.

Three weeks later, when his teacher’s great aunt was puffed up like a very fancy balloon, a plate of coconut cake in her hand, she excused her actions by saying, “But I love coconut!”

“Then why even make us get you your own cake?!” His teacher had looked far more frustrated with her great aunt than she ever had with any student, even him. Someday, helping Félix to wrangle his great grandmother at his and Pepa’s wedding to make up for his “looks like rain” comment, Bruno would understand.

On that day, Bruno muttered, “Should have knocked on wood.”

His teacher barely gave him a glance, but his mother pulled him aside and gave him yet another lecture on manners and what she called “time and place”.

At his mother’s insistence he had written his teacher an apology note, but she hadn’t even read it, instead she just told him, “I don’t actually mind the knocking, but it does disturb the other children when they’re trying to focus. Does it really help you do your work?”

“Sí,” Bruno had nodded his head so eagerly it made his curls bounce around his face, “I-I get nervous when I don’t do it a-and can’t do anything.”

“Alright, well, I have something for you,” the teacher opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a slim book, “this is a book about superstitions around the world. How about you pick a silent one that you can do in class when you’re having trouble focusing?”

Bruno had accepted the book, mouth gaped open because it was one of the kindest gifts he’d ever received in all of his eleven and a half years. He tried stuttering out a thank you, but it kept shaking and falling flat. Eventually he just hugged his teacher. She made a surprised sound, then hugged him back.

(Roughly 39 years later this very same teacher would help him to start scheduling his weekly story times, when he was trying to re-integrate himself into society.)

Bruno had poured over the book front to back and back to front. By the end of the week he had the whole thing memorized down to the errant comma on page 21 that should have been placed five words over. After much deliberation, a discussion with his teacher, and a quick negotiation with his mother, he picked throwing salt over his shoulder, because it was practiced all over the world so it must work. His teacher even helped him find more information about the superstition.

“Some people think it’s because salt has historically been so valuable that only the most fortunate can afford to toss a handful over their shoulder,” his teacher said, on a day when he’d volunteered to stay after and help her clean, she held a book on the history of salt open for him to see, “but personally, I think it would make more sense that it brings good luck because the pure salt has cleaning properties. Maybe it cleans away the bad luck.”

Bruno had silently nodded, staring at the page while he continued to wipe a slate clean. Inside his brain was going a mile a minute.

Three weeks later, when he was taking a shower, his brain got caught on the possibility that Pepa might never forgive him for getting cookie dough in her hair. He didn’t have any salt, and there wasn’t any wood handy in the shower, so he filled his palm with soap and threw it over his shoulder.

When Bruno was fifteen the library got a new book about superstitions, he read it. Apparently knocking on wood was supposed to be good luck because it freed trapped spirits.

He lay in bed with the book spread across his chest until the sun came up, wondering how spirits got trapped in the wood in the first place. And what else could a spirit get trapped in? He made it his mission to knock on every natural material in the house at least once, just in case. It seemed to work for him, because not long after that his Má set aside a whole day just to spend helping Bruno figure out how to keep his rats out of trouble.

He watched her as she handled one of his two pets, looking only a little uncomfortable, until he got up the nerve to ask her, “You don’t like my rats, do you?”

She chuckled, and didn’t bother denying it, “No mijo, I don’t. Here in Encanto we don’t really seem to get deadly diseases, but growing up… rats could be dangerous.”

“Oh,” he stared down at the little rat in his own palm, she was soft and her fur was shiny, “so why do you let me keep them?”

“Because they make you happy,” Alma said without skipping a beat, then with a bit more hesitance she continued, “you remind me of my cousin on my father’s side. She… also had little rituals to help her alleviate her worries. Her life wasn’t always easy… honestly, her life was almost never easy, but when she had her little cat with her she was so vibrant, she had the sweetest smile. Just like you.”

“My life is never easy,” he said, thinking about Señora Florez complaining because his vision revealed her harvest was going to be impacted by some sort of beetle she hated.

“Hm, I’ve noticed,” Alma agreed with a deep frown, “if these rats help you… I can’t say I will ever like them, but I will love them.”

Bruno had smiled a little, entertained by the contradiction. Over the years, when things got rough, he would begin to think that his mother may have loved him, but she had probably stopped liking him at some point. In the here and now, he was interested in hearing more about this cousin of his.

“What sorta rituals did she do?”

His mother frowned deeper, then pursed her lips, a strange tension in her jaw, then it smoothed out and she said, “You know that healing song? The one I used to sing when you skinned your knee? She would do that anytime she thought there was a chance somebody might get hurt.”

Later, when he was much, much older, and he and his Má were having a frank conversation about all of his little rituals, she would admit that most of her cousin’s rituals involved an element of self harm. That she had known there was a chance he would copy whatever ritual she told him about and she had been too scared to mention her cousin’s most common rituals because she didn’t want to see her son hurt himself. 

“She was always so worried about food and water, about there being enough,” Alma would explain, looking deeply sad, “eventually she… she died because of it. She kept hiding food in her room and it attracted all sorts of pests, which eventually attracted snakes. She got bit climbing into her own bed. If she had been stronger, if she had eaten better, maybe…? But she was always starving herself trying to make the food stretch farther. I-I was twelve at the time, and I just… I don’t think I’ve ever truly gotten over it.”

As a result of that conversation Bruno spent the rest of his life folding up his blankets at the foot of his bed instead of making it every morning. It also got him to start eating more, so his mother considered it a win.

But before that, way before that, when Bruno was in his twenties and trying to get over breaking up with his boyfriend, he requested the merchants bring him back any book they might find about romantic superstitions. They had snickered, but agreed, and roughly half a year later Bruno found himself holding a book titled “Lucky in Love: a Guide to Wedding Superstitions”. He would have grumbled over the fact that the book was wedding specific, and he was struggling to so much as find a date much less a spouse, but his sisters were already dating their future husbands. 

Maybe he would find a wife or husband (or a gender neutral “partner” as it would someday be called in some parts of the world when people like him were more open about their existence) at his sisters’ weddings. Even if he didn’t, he would not turn down the chance to give his sisters a bit of extra luck.

It backfired a little, turns out trying to tell Pepa “It looks like rain on your wedding day is actually good luck, so cry all you want” right before he walks her down the aisle is a bad idea. Mostly because he got cut off by the wedding march starting up right after he’d finished saying “It looks like rain”. On reflection, that would have been an awkward way to say it, especially because he was stuttering at the time. On even more reflection, he might have gotten further into the sentence if he hadn’t stuttered over the first word so much.

(It would be literal decades before he got to explain what he meant to say.)

But regardless of the fact that his words apparently set off a hurricane, he was glad he said it. If rain on your wedding day is good luck, then having an entire hurricane rage while you made your vows had to be the best luck possible. Sure enough, Pepa and Félix remained disgustingly in love with each other forever. 

Since Julieta couldn’t summon up a lucky hurricane for herself, Bruno filled her wedding with every other lucky something or other he could. It was a lot of work, and annoyed his mother, but it was worth it because Agustín and Julieta also remained disgustingly in love forever (although they had the decency to be a little less showy about it).

“This is sweet of you,” Julieta said, as Bruno braided a blue ribbon into her hair, leading back to her veil, “a bit much, but sweet.”

“I-I just want to make sure you’re happy,” he said.

“I know, that’s why it’s sweet,” she chuckled, “I know Má has been trying to get you to calm down, a-and I definitely wouldn’t mind if you took a break and actually spent some time with me, but I do appreciate the sentiment behind all this.”

And when she said the word “this” she gestured at the pile of lucky charms Bruno had collected on the bathroom counter. He stared at them and had a moment of clarity.

Sighing, pinning the end of her braid beneath her veil, he said, “I know, logically speaking, th-that it doesn’t really… that even if I didn’t…, you and Agustín are perfect for each other.”

“I like to think so,” Juli agreed, turning on the vanity stool to put a calming hand on Bruno’s forearm while he wrung his fingers.

“But we’re magic, Pá died and we got a miracle because of it, clearly something or somebody out there is paying attention. There has to be… a language to it, a way to communicate when we want help with the little things,” he put his hand on hers and looked deeply into her eyes, trying to convince her even though she had never argued with him, “I-I know the future is what we make it, god do I know, b-but there must be some way to tell whoever or whatever gave us our miracle that I… th-that this… I just want to do whatever I can to make sure you’re happy.”

Julieta had smiled, glowing and beautiful in her white dress, then stood and hugged Bruno, “I can’t imagine ever being truly miserable so long as I have my brother by my side.”

But the moment of clarity he had on Juli’s wedding day was nothing compared to the one he had when he was forty, holding a vision that changed when he shifted it. He stood there for what felt like forever, but he knew it was mere seconds, shifting the tablet back and forth, watching the cracks behind little Mirabel open and close.

In the years to come his little rituals were a vital part of keeping his sanity, but in that moment, it was so incredibly clear that it was all bullshit.

The villagers had their own superstitions. Superstitions about the candle and the miracle and the magic family that lived at the edge of town. Superstitions about him.

And it was all bullshit.

They thought his visions cemented the future into place, but the truth was he could only see a future that was already solid. He was not the artist behind the tapestry of time, he was the guy selling tickets to the gallery showing, he could not show people a tapestry that hadn’t been woven; he did not paint the pictures, he plucked out pictures that had already been painted and filled a museum with them. They thought he was bad luck, that his visions only showed their undoing because he was the one having them, but they never considered that by the time he had the visions it was already too late. Usually, by the time somebody got worried about their lethargic fish or thinning hair it was already too late. Usually they only came to him for visions when they already knew, deep down, that they were screwed. But nonetheless, they thought he was a curse. They crossed themselves before entering his room, threw salt over their shoulders when he passed, clutched their rosaries while they spoke to him.

Just like him, they had their rituals and their superstitions.

It was all bullshit.

He smashed the vision on the only stone in his sandpit, summoning up just a flicker of the future so the sand would blow over the shards. He walked out of his vision cave, but paused at the door.

For a second, a spiteful part of him wanted to show the village what he could have done for them. For a second he thought about spending the rest of the night summoning visions of shared feasts and lively parties, of towering cities to come and alien forests far beyond the Encanto’s mountains, of World Cups won and movies loved and children adored. For a second he thought that he might fill the town square, tile it in emerald, show them all the beauty, all the hope that he could have given them if they would just set aside their fear for once, set aside all their stupid rituals, and let him. Then, once he had shown them how much good he could have done, then he would disappear.

But then there was that itch, that horrible twitching like when your eyelid gets an incessant tick you can’t soothe. Because what if… what if it wasn’t bullshit? What if he really was a curse? What if by waiting, by delaying, he was just ushering in a worse fate for little Mirabel?

He left his cave without a backwards glance and knocked on the first piece of wood he could find.

[dreaminonao3]

1. "that was good work" - Arackniss & Angel Dust

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Warnings/Triggers: none

Rating: T

He Cares (AO3)

That was good work.

Angel Dust stared at his phone. The attempted extermination was thwarted, the hotel had been rebuilt, and he was in the middle of decorating his new room. The text was completely out of the blue – a number he didn’t recognize and a statement too simple to hang on anything in particular.

One eyebrow raised, he typed out a reply. New phone, who dis? It was a lie but he didn’t care. I ain’t textin’ people I don’t know, I don’t care if they’re a fan.

Liar, you can’t afford a new phone with what that falena pays you.

The Italian word for “moth” was a dead giveaway to the sender’s identity. Angel scowled. What’s Big Bro up to now? It’s been what, a year? Two? What do you want, Niss?

I was just complimenting you on your fight with the angeli malvagi.

That was a week ago. Wait, you saw it? I thought everyone was too busy hidin’ ta see the fight.

On TV, along with the rest of Pentagram City. I would’ve joined you but I didn’t think you’d appreciate my presence.

You got that right. Still, he decided to be diplomatic. We could use another fighter, they could always come back.

There was no response and Angel was about to give up on the conversation when another text came from Arackniss almost half an hour after his previous one.

Molly wasn’t with them, was she?

Angel was so shocked, he nearly dropped his phone. NISS! MOLLY’S NOT AN EXORCIST! WE DON’T EVEN KNOW FOR SURE SHE’S AN ANGEL!

She's certainly not in Hell. No, it was straight to Heaven for our sister.

Then why the fuck would you think she’s an exorcist?

Because she’s a better fighter than both of us and you know it.

Memories of his twin roughhousing with the two of them while they were kids surfaced. Molly had a mean right hook and her left one ain’t bad either. Fine, yeah, I admit that, but she would never wanna wipe out sinners, she's got a better moral compass than both of us too.

You’re sure?

He sighed. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll see if Charlie can find out exactly what happened to her. Heaven owes us one for not wiping out all of their exorcists.

I doubt they’ll see it that way but if you can find out, I’ll owe you.

No need, we’re family. Angel paused. You know, Niss, if you’re ever wanna give redemption a shot, the door’s always open.

Some people aren’t redeemable, Tony. Some sins just aren’t forgivable.

Didja ever think that maybe forgiving yourself is the first step?

His response was immediate. Goodnight, Anthony.

Is he getting formal with me? Two can play that game. Goodnight, Gionata.

*

A week later, Arackniss found what he could only call a care package on his doorstep. Inside the cardboard box were a newly-printed brochure for the Hazbin Hotel, a carefully-wrapped pan of lasagna that he knew was their maternal grandmother’s recipe, a handmade royal blue sweater that, when he held it against his body, would fit him but would also be long enough to nearly cover his legs entirely, and a framed photograph of Molly. She was a spider like the rest of the family, but the wings and halo were proof that she was indeed an angel in Heaven, and her happy, innocent smile was proof that she wasn’t an exorcist.

Arackniss had to wipe his suddenly wet eyes on his sleeve. He found her. He found her and she’s okay. She’s not killing sinners. She’s safe. She’s happy.

He glanced at the brochure. His first instinct was to toss it out but after looking at Molly’s photograph again, he stuck it on the fridge with a magnet then started unwrapping the lasagna.

Maybe someday…

[old-school-butch]

Great news anon.

It sounds like you're in luck, I'm glad that worked out for you.

Now, you must protect your happiness with some basic risk management - that's the 'hope for the best but plan for the worst' kind of thinking about common issues. Statistically, here's some thoughts of possible dangers and how to minimize them:

Prepare for parental freakout. Keep a bug-out bag with clothes, id, a new phone, a list of resources you might need and some spare cash either on hand or nearby (maybe with a friend or other safe place) in case you need to make a run for it. Yeah, I'm paranoid, and tbh throwing money at everything often isn't necessary, but there are a few situations in life where a problem can go away by applying a surprisingly reasonable amount of cash to it. It's time to protect your happiness against this potential. I'd suggest getting your shit together so you have several months worth of living expenses stashed away where you can access it in an emergency. I highly suggest taking up camping - it can come in handy if you're forced out and if not, you can still use those skills to dance in the woods in Michigan someday.

Do you know any gay guys? It's possible you and your best friend might take to double dating. Yeah, it's old school but it works. People will see what they expect to see, more so even than what they want to see. This is a valuable tool to use to misdirect people.

All things are innocent to the innocent. Playing dumb has worked for centuries.

This will probably involve lying for a while, but honesty is a luxury few women, and even fewer lesbians, can afford. Be careful who you tell, they will hold power over you. You can clear the air when you can stand on your own. In the meantime, keep it simple and don't feel guilty. Remember, the only battles you want to be in are battles you can win. If you can't win a fight, pick a different battlefield.

Brush and floss your teeth every day. Eat a healthy diet, maintain a healthy weight, avoid smoking and drugs. Focus your energy on your future and protect your health - its a huge asset at your age and sickness will limit your independence and your ability to save money. Also, accidents and suicide are big risks at your age - learn to take care of yourself so you can achieve independence quickly, without taking unnecessary risks of course.

Make plans for your future, for you and your girl. My general rule is that it's possible to endure almost any situation for 2-3 years, beyond that it's increasingly likely you will stumble and the plan will crumble. Planning is key to writing your future so prepare some scenarios you can prepare for or avoid, and some dreams you want to chase.

Good luck anon. Your future is not yet written, but I wish you smooth sailing.

[shadowshrike]

Dark Side of the Spawn

So I decided to scrap a much larger analysis post because I think there are only a couple other people interested in how Astarion can be interpreted as an evil character with some redeeming qualities, regardless of his major choice regarding ascension. There's a lot of interesting stuff buried in various corners of mutually exclusive dialogs or missable scenes that can make for a unique experience which I don't think many have explored.

However, I can't resist sharing one line you might get in his epilogue during the Spawn ending for those who like the ending but also prefer a darker Astarion.

Astarion: Oh no, people can be quite meek after seeing you murder their former master. Astarion: And if they do step out of line, it just takes one or two brutal examples to remind everyone else of their place. Astarion: I'm not a tyrant, I do care for their well-being, I just can't afford to show weakness.

There are three things I find really fascinating about this:

It's a line that would sound completely at home with a villain like Gortash. Pretty much any powerful, evil noble who is tyrannical but willing to justify their behavior as 'for the good of their people'. Astarion also says that their ruins are 'no palace, but maybe someday it will be' which, combined with this, can sound ominously like he's fashioning himself as a new sort of dictator of orphaned vampire spawn.

It shows him as a man who, when given any power, will abuse it, regardless of ascension. He might genuinely not recognize that's what he's doing when he's making 'one or two brutal examples to remind everyone else of their place' because his life for the past 200 years has been following a master who only modeled similarly cruel discipline. He's had no time to personally grow or discover himself before being thrust into leadership (ironically, kind of like Halsin, and we know how that went). Keeping monsters in line requires being a monster, and Astarion isn't afraid to do that. Leading through fear, pain, and feigned strength is all he knows.

Spawn Astarion does much more rationalization and talking around his questionable behaviors than his ascended version. Lord Astarion is unmistakably evil, yet nothing he says about his plans sounds half so foreboding to me, perhaps because he's so unapologetic about his 'hedonism, clandestine deals, and the occasional disappearance' to 'build up my influence over those who matter'. The spawn version needs to hedge that he's not actually a tyrant because he 'care[s] for their well-being' (something heard from many a horrific authority figure), that anyone being eaten by a vampire is 'on them' because the spawn only eat people who attack them (directly contradicted by his idle dialogue 'If I get back and they've killed another gnome, I swear - someone's getting impaled.') or that he only murders the 'right people' which means no one cares in the Underdark (which given the warring drow clans and overwhelmingly evil races down there, doesn't exactly inspire confidence).

Note that this dialogue does not appear in every version of the epilogue and includes a lot of inferences, so this isn't me saying, "Spawn Astarion is definitely this way" or anything like that. Enjoy your soft, sweet, happy endings with this character. It's undoubtedly the intended reading of most of his possible epilogue lines.

I just think it's neat that they left in some tidbits for those of us who prefer him as a fundamentally evil-aligned character. Terrible people can be victims, too, after all. I like having the option of telling a story that says someone doesn't have to become 'good' to be worthy of helping within the bounds of 'goodness'. Also that taking someone who's been enslaved and tortured for 200 years and then making them responsible for 7000 people the second they get free, while also losing a handful of other freedoms, might have some unfortunate consequences.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 10: A Favor

Time passes much faster in Gotham. In the blink of an eye it’s already been two months, but my plans have progressed triumphantly nonetheless. After that night in the morgue with Dr. Crane I hightailed it to my apartment and cleared out anything that would trace unwanted investigators to me. 

After a quick Internet search I discovered my hypothesis was right- my record has been wiped from every system. As if I was never employed in Metropolis. Only a few colleagues back home tried to find me… and were either silenced through bribes or blackmail. So I drained what money I could from my account and found a small apartment in the high-society part of Gotham. Expensive yes, but it’s also allowed me to blend in with the very people I’m trying to exact revenge on. A few fancy dresses and a haircut made perfect camouflage. 

I’ve kept my promise to Ivy and contacted her through written notes passed through the underground. I’m already infiltrating high society, might as well know good contacts from the slums as well. If anything they are far more reliable than the esteemed rich. After a few weeks Nigma sent me his own message- appropriately in the form of a riddle. He’s hiding out in an abandoned library.

What’s remained an unsolved riddle is what’s become of Dr. Jonathan Crane. I hear whispers from those underground that he’s been selling his fear toxin to the black market. To the mafia. I find it funny to see a highly regarded psychiatrist like him turn into a mafia drug dealer. Another side question is if he still remembers me- but I stop thinking too deeply about that. 

“Everything alright, Ms. Prentiss?” The elevator man in front of me asks.

I shake my distracting thoughts away. “Not at all, Marcus. Just overthinking, is all. How’s your wife?”

The poor man shakes his head as the elevator rises towards my apartment. “Elaine’s condition hasn’t gotten worse, but it hasn’t gotten better either. And we can’t afford many more treatments. We still have debts to pay to Falcone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “If there is any way I can help, please let me know.”

Marcus offers a small smile. “Thanks, Ms. Prentiss. But you’re too young to get caught up in this. My advice? Get out of Gotham.”

You have no idea how badly I want to follow that advice, Marcus. I miss my old home in Metropolis. I miss seeing trees, grass… Not a concrete nightmare. But if I left that would mean I would be leaving these poor citizens behind. I don’t owe them anything, but I can at least make a difference by ridding the city of the people who are destroying their lives. The people who destroyed my life. Throughout the past months the rise of mafia crime has been rising, more proof that I need to stay.

“Maybe someday, Marcus.” The elevator dings and I step through the open doors. “Goodnight. Say hi to Elaine for me.”

He nods. “If only everyone here was as caring as you. Goodnight, Ms. Prentiss.”

Goodnight, indeed. Now it’s time for the real nightlife to begin.

I unlock my door and step into the dark apartment, the only light coming from the city lights in the window. That’s the only highlight about this costly place: the view is breathtaking. No wonder the rich snobs love it here. I shed away my business attire and slip on my nighttime uniform: black leggings, black jacket, and army boots. 

Now comes the fun part: sneaking out. When I first got here I scoped out a way to slip out the window. After a few guesstimations I purchased a pulley system to transport me to a nearby fire escape. The adjacent building is unoccupied so no one pays any attention to me. Everyone is too busy worrying about Batman.

That’s the other piece of juicy news that’s been floating around: Gotham has its own vigilante. The media has been eating it up like candy. Every night there’s a new report about criminals being turned in by the masked man. However I have my own agenda to attend to.

Everything I need is in my knapsack. I unlock the window and lower down to the fire escape. Tonight’s weather promises perfect conditions for my research. It’s not stalking, it’s research. I climb down to the pavement and check the paper map. Three red Xs, three targets. My first stop is a few blocks away, just past this parking complex. The best lookout point is on the 10th floor.

Ding!

Once again another set of elevator doors open and allow me out, only this time the situation keeps me much more alert. Was that a car driving by or a tank? No matter. My presence is to remain discrete. No use poking into business that’s not mine. I grip my knapsack and begin walking through the echoing building.

“...wasn’t for freaks like you!”

What?

I stop in my tracks and poke my head around the column to see a gruff man come storming right past me. He’s dressed in black, almost like Batman. He fails to notice me and keeps walking until he’s entered the staircase. Who was he yelling at-?

It can’t be. It is.

The Dr. Jonathan Crane sits slumped against the wall. His face is barely visible in the shadows but I can tell he’s been busy. His hair is unkempt and his suit is slightly more worn than it was in Arkham. He's missing his glasses. His Scarecrow mask lies a few feet away. Part of me urges myself to walk away without a second thought. The other half… it thinks differently.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The fear doctor doesn’t move an inch. One might think he’s dead. The only thing he does to acknowledge me is shift his eyes over to look at me. Same calculating stare, same piercing blue eyes. 

“I heard Batman cornered you in a parking garage a few weeks ago,” I gesture to our surroundings. “Just like this one.”

Dr. Crane lets out a small hum. “Your information is correct.”

“Another drug deal gone south?” He nods slowly and I shake my head with a somewhat taunting smile. “My my, how the tables have turned. Now instead of being head honcho of Arkham you’re doing business with the mob.”

“Quit the mockery, Dr. Prentiss. Unlike you I’m not exactly welcomed in society after the incident at Arkham. By the way, how did you manage that?”

My instincts tell me it’s safe to approach. If he does have any fear toxin on him then I have a gas mask at the ready. 

“It’s called being nice. Unlike you I have much friendlier methods of infiltrating Gotham.”

Crane sees me walking closer and almost seems to freeze up, nearly inching away like a startled animal, but he’s quick to regain a confident demeanor. How far has his mind gone these past months?

“What brings you to this supreme location?” Crane asks sarcastically.

“Research,” I answer simply. “I imagine you’re headed back to wherever it is you call home now since your friend just walked off? What’s that all about?”

Crane’s face flinches into a sneer. “That wannabe thinks that it’s people like me who are tearing Gotham apart. I’m trying to save it!”

Despite his quick outburst I keep a straight face. “By methods of fear.”

He slowly nods. “Exactly.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” I check my watch. 10:30. “Nice to catch up Dr. Crane but I do have things to do.”

I do a mock goodbye bow and keep walking to the other side of the building. Quit feeling sad, Prentiss. He doesn’t miss you, you don’t miss him. We settled our agreement- And yet Crane is following me.

“Dr. Crane, I advise you to turn around and walk away.”

He doesn’t stop and catches up to me. “No, I like this. Dr. Prentiss, the once-goody-goody psychiatrist, is now sneaking around like a rebellious teenager. How’s the whole ‘raging Hell’ scheme coming along?”

“Better than your drug deals,” I reply smoothly.

We reach the end of the parking structure. Across the street is an apartment building that houses one of my targets: Lawrence Thompson. The filthy lawyer who was supposed to, but failed, to defend me. Instead he turned halfway through the legal process and tattled a mouthful of lies against me. 

“Picking out your new luxury apartment?” Dr. Crane asks. He’s standing next to me- almost too close for others’ liking. But it’s fine with me. He’s been close enough to administer toxin into my veins, he can stand next to me as a temporary colleague.

“It’s not your place to know, but it’s part of my research,” I answer and note the time when I see the scum in the window. 10:34. 

Next to me I hear Crane hum. “Are we replacing ‘revenge’ with ‘research’ now?”

Since when is my life his entertainment? “Don’t you have a place to stay?” I ask with a slightly lazy tone.

He scoffs. “When I worked at Arkham I had an apartment. Obviously now that I’m an escaped convict I need to find lodgings elsewhere.”

I tilt my head. “So you’re homeless?”

“I’m temporarily unhoused. There’s a difference.”

“You’re in serious need of an upgrade.”

Crane leans away and avoids my gaze. “I don’t want your help.”

I clap my hands together and nod. “You’re right. You don’t want it, you need it.”

Out of nowhere the doctor lurks even closer, backing me against the wall. My pulse skips faster… though whether it’s through fear or excitement is unclear. 

“You forget I’m the one who caused you to face your greatest fear,” he murmurs.

My eyes never blink and I keep a steady face. “Do you expect a thank-you card?”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Wait a minute. You’re glad? That’s the first time I’ve had someone thank me for poisoning them.”

I went through a whole year trying to suppress my grief for my parents. His fear toxin gave me the push to overcome it. For the past month I haven’t once thought about my parents’ death.

Thompson appears in the window again. 10:41. So it takes him 7 minutes to take out his trash. My work tonight is almost done. Now I just need to scope out the other side of the building.

“Stay. Stay, Crane,” I say as if talking to a dog when I hear him behind me again. “Stop following me!” He murmurs something but I can hardly hear him. “Come again?”

“Um… does an offer for potential lodgings still stand?” He asks with a hint of nervousness.

Don’t help him. Do not help him! He’s nothing but trouble. If I allow him to stay in my life then it will only cause delay. How can I possibly trust this psycho enough to let him stay in my apartment? I’ve made it this far by myself-

“I’ll pay for it,” Crane speaks up when he sees my disagreeing expression.

“Money is not an issue. Try again.”

 He licks his lips and rethinks his offer. “If you let me stay, I will owe you a favor.”

My eyes narrow. “What kind of favor?”

Dr. Crane leans in with the same stern eyes. “A favor that might save you if you’re ever in a pinch and need help.”

Do not help him! But in Gotham a favor is worth more than a million dollars. I can’t afford to ignore it. Even Ivy’s mentioned how profitable allies can be in this city.

“Fine. You can stay with me, but on my terms.” I point a warning finger and get up in his face. “No stealing. No fear toxins. No slitting my throat when I’m sleeping. And! Keep your hands to yourself, or I will gut you like a fish.”

Crane doesn’t flinch. “Deal.”

[moltenwrites]

OC QUESTIONNAIRE TAG GAME

Haven’t done a tag game in a while eh? Sorry about that, life’s been a lil silly lately, I haven’t had time ( or energy ) to do much here lately, but I’ll try to be better!

Thanks @the-golden-comet @willtheweaver and @thatuselesshuman for the tag! This game is simple, just answer the questions from your character(s) perspective. I’ll be answering from Res, Salazar, and Asims perspective today.

Who do you trust the most?

Res - Lyra. Shes been nothing but loyal.

Salazar - I’ve had my trust broken one too many times. I once trusted Fabio with my life, and you can see how that turned out.

Asim - Myself. Even Astera, I can’t trust her with everything. Maybe someday.

Where would you live, if you could choose?

Res - As far away from this shithole as possible. I’d love to live in a kingdom with no connection to ours.

Salazar - Well- I haven’t thought of this much, I don’t often have the ability to settle down. But Itchzak has always been my home, so there.

Asim - Anywhere Astera is happy would make me happy, but if she was open to it, I would like somewhere more rural, though still with a good population.

What keeps you motivated?

Res - I can’t let Exodus get away with it.

Salazar - To make this world fair, its abhorrent way of treating those that call it home is unacceptable. And I am the only one who appears to have the power to fix it.

Asim - In my art, it was the first day I met Astera. I scaled up my projects after I met her, something about her just- no, I can’t discuss this now. I hope my answer was sufficient!

What is your dream job?

Res - I’ve never had a green thumb, but a life as a farmer, or perhaps an artist, would be peaceful. I think that could be nice.

Salazar - Ruling. It is the only way I can change this world

Asim - A painter of course! I love the arts, though I must admit my skills are subpar?

What do you plan for the future?

Res - To make it to tomorrow.

Salazar - If I can, I’d love to make a truly fair world. Currently, I must try to reclaim the throne.

Asim - Uh, well I know it’s a bit sudden, and it is embarrassing, but marrying Astera would make me happy to a degree I find unthinkable.

How many languages can you speak?

Res - 1. Education was never Itchzaks strong suit, and we couldn’t afford it even if it was available.

Salazar - I find force to be the most effective language, but I only speak in English.

Asim - I took Latin in college, though I must admit I’m a bit rusty.

What is one hobby you have that may surprise others?

Res - I don’t have much time for hobbies anymore, but I used to cook for fun on occasion

Salazar - I’ve never quite had the talent, but music has always been fascinating to me!

Asim - I write the occasional poem!

What is one possession you wouldn’t part with, no matter what?

Res - My knife, it was a gift from someone I lost, and it is a reminder to keep living.

Salazar - I find gifts to be fleeting. Once you lose your body, you find that there is not much you must hold on to

Asim - Astera bought me a paintbrush, I couldn’t bear to lose that, at least not before I use it.

What is one supernatural ability you wish you had?

Res - To speak to the dead, there are some people I just need to talk to one more time-

Salazar - Well, aside from the power to correct this world, mind reading would be a blessing. It would greatly help to judge intent in fairness.

Asim - Healing, it would help me in nearly all aspects of my life.

How long does it take before you trust someone?

Res - I probably trust easier than I should, but the people in my life have been overwhelmingly kind.

Salazar - As I recited earlier, I have had my trust broken too many times. Never again.

Asim - I don’t think I’ve trusted anyone fully yet. Trust can push them away.

How bad do you feel about lying to others?

Res - Its a necessary evil, I don’t mind all too much.

Salazar - I am a man of my word, I find lying to be quite unfair

Asim - Sometimes it’s better for people to be left in the dark.

What is one good you could always eat and never get tired of?

Res - I like steak a lot, I don’t get to have it often, but from those moments I could eat it every day.

Salazar - Hm, well as odd as it sounds, I’ve always found grapes delectable.

Asim - I always liked pork chops, they have such a perfect flavor when seasoned correctly!

Annnd that’s all of em, wow that took a minute! If you wanna do this,here are your questions!

1. What place means the most to you?

2. What is the most fun you’ve ever had?

3. Have you ever been betrayed?

Tag list, let me know if you wanna be added or removed

@thatuselesshuman @ddgraywrites @juliana-jones @revenantlore @aintgonnatakethis

@yourpenpaldee @illarian-rambling @autism-purgatory @gioiaalbanoart @the-letterbox-archives

@theverumproject @noxxytocin @joseph-hooser @mk-writes-stuff @yrndrgn

@theslpr

+ Open, as always

[bunbeeplays]

The adults are in the backyard chatting.

Paisley: Trent and I are both thinking we want to go to Foxbury. We're going on a tour in a couple of days.

Ophelia: Wow, going to college with your stepmother. Every stepson's dream.

Paisley laughs.

Paisley: Trent was all for it!

Paisley: Thanks for giving Trent those lessons. He really seems to like and trust me now.

Ophelia: Hey, don't thank me. You've done a lot for those kids. I can tell they adore you.

Paisley: Juan putting in more effort has helped. I… really feel like part of the family now.

Well, at least there's other fuzzy friends to talk to on the ranch.

Gemma still wishes she could ride Dahlia, but Claudia's taken her Watcher knows where.

Paisley comes to check on the kids.

Gemma: Hi, Miss Paisley!

Paisley: Hi, cutie. Where's Clauds?

Gemma: She's riding Dahlia around. She's so lucky, I wish I could ride her.

This catches Paisley's attention.

Paisley: Oh. Claudia hasn't given you a turn?

That's so funny, considering Paisley explicitly told Claudia that she would like her to let Gemma have the first ride of the day.

Looks like they'll need to have a little chat.

Claudia trots back toward the stable and her tummy sinks a little when she sees Gemma talking to Paisley, who's most definitely going to figure out Gemma hasn't had a turn yet.

Paisley: Claudia, can you come over here please?

Claudia: Coming!

She struggles a bit to dismount.

Gemma wanders off to chat to the others, allowing Paisley some privacy to talk to her stepdaughter.

Paisley: Remember what I said this morning about giving Gemma the first ride, since you get to ride Dahlia all the time?

Claudia: I thought maybe she needed a demonstration.

Paisley: Claudia, you're very lucky to have a papi that has the space for a horse and the money to hire someone to tend to her. Not everyone's parents can afford that.

Claudia: Uh, isn't Gemma's mom a pop star?

Paisley: Yes, but your papi is, like, 500 motherlodes rich.

Paisley: Sweetie, part of being a good friend is sharing. Gemma shares her toys when we go to her house. You can let Gemma ride Dahlia for a bit. It would mean a whole lot to her.

Claudia contemplates. Gemma's less annoying than the kids at SanMy Prep. Guess she can trust her.

Claudia: Yeah, Gemma's cool. She can ride Dahlia. She won't get poor people germs on her.

Paisley: …We need to work on on that classism, but thank you, Claudie.

When she married Juan, she never thought she'd be doing any actual parenting, but it's actually so rewarding.

When Claudia tells her the good news, Gemma sprints back to the stable. She's finally going to ride a horse!

Mounting is a lot harder than she thought, but thankfully Dahlia is a very patient gal.

Success!

Gemma grabs the reins and guides her, like she's seen the kids on the Pony Up Channel do a million times before, and takes her out for her first ride.

Ophelia watches on the sidelines. She quietly laughs at Gemma's expression. Despite her nerves, she's loving it.

Ophelia: Stay on the trail, and don't wander off too far!

Gemma: I won't, Mom!

Ophelia watches her little girl trot off. Seeing Gemma finally ride a horse, just like she's wanted since she was a tot, is amazing. She wishes she could give Gemma her own horse. Maybe someday…

Gemma leads Dahlia along, enjoying the chill of the spring air, the sound of Dahlia's horseshoes trotting on the wooden bridge, the heightened beating of her heart.

Dahlia's not going too fast, but Gemma, in her eight or so years of life, has never felt so free.

Dahlia picks up the pace on the way back, and Gemma, despite her nerves, loves the thrill that comes with horse riding. Maybe someday she can convince her parents to get her a horse of her own, because now that she knows how exciting it is, she's gonna need to do this more often!

[mcalhenwrites]

A break from social media and how I use it has really been good for me. I need to be careful not to be sucked back in again. I should aim to mostly just post updates, but I do want to talk about my characters/writing as well. I will continue promoting my book, and ofc my Patreon and KoFi which are both "MCalhen" ;) I've been thinking about taking most (not all) of my fics and original works out of the private collection on AO3. I have a dilemma with one fandom (it's a nightmare circus of drama and several authors were chased out or hurt well before me), but I hope to eventually have the nerve to overcome that and say, "Too bad, you have to put up with the existence of my writing alongside yours. Get over it." Another thing is that Rascal isn't coming out of the collection. I plan to delete it. It's getting edited, I'm adding a couple of scenes I think would benefit the storytelling, and I'm publishing it. :) I'm on the fence about whether or not to release the original Seasons with comments closed, bc while it might be fun to compare it to the new one... so many things have been improved. Maybe it's also important to realize that if someone is that fixated on saying an earlier draft is permanent, that's a them issue and has nothing to do with me. A lot of my current WIPs are divided between if I'm going to publish them or post them on AO3. I have a few that I'm uncertain about either way. I want to share some work for free, and I have some stuff that's dark enough, self-publishing isn't much of an option right now. Note that when I promote my patreon and kofi, it's for original writing and art. No fanfic or fanart. The only link it has to AO3 is that I draw sketches of things from original stories posted to AO3. I will never post commercial links to the site, as that is against TOS. Seasons will always be free. Which leads to another thought: I wonder if I could get away with crossposting it to any sites? (I considered fictionpress.) I'm feeling better and want to keep sharing my work. I want to keep monetizing some of it. I want to be an author. I also really want to share things for free. Seasons is one of those stories that resonates a lot with people, and I know how badly I've always needed a story like that told. It's why I write, is to tell stories I need. But that one is... uniquely special and personal. I always want it to be accessible without any paywall. But I still need to make a living. So some books will be sold. Some will not. Just slap me if I ever get to be one of those big names who thinks I can do whatever I want, like those people on AO3 who say that they won't update their fics unless you pay them on patreon. (That's something you report to AO3 as a violation btw) I don't know where a good place to ramble about my stories is - probably here, since people can send me asks about characters and stories - but I'd like to do that, bc I enjoy doing it. :'D Anyway, I have my goals mostly figured out. Maybe someday I can post more of my work without hiding it away (yes, what you see is a fraction of what I write). Maybe I can also publish and make enough money to afford things I need, including a house with a yard and garden.