#my dudes I am beyond exhausted

[spxnglr]

Hi there. I got married yesterday.

The ceremony was very intimate - eleven people in all, including my now-husband and I. My 14 y/o sister was my MOH and my 12 y/o brother (who turns 13 today, actually) walked me down the aisle.

These are a few slightly edited photographs from the photographer, as we had a much larger reception afterwards and wanted a couple of shots to show people, but it really was a fabulous day, and so many people celebrated with us. It really was incredible.

[chrisbangs]

.

[mr-ribbit]

gonna rant again bc im seeing a lot of trans women on my dash having to carry the heavy lifting to argue for their basic respect and a lot of other queer people who want to ??? get mad about that apparently. for the record as usual: im tme, im not speaking for anyone besides myself and my perspectives, but I am trying to reach out to fellow tme people to level with y'all from inside the house.

i thought we all got past the 'calling people gendered terms when theyve asked you to stop' thing in like. 2012. i swear we were allllll on board with not calling women dude anymore, nerfing sir and ma'am, neutralizing collective terms for groups, and all of that was like, during the onceler era. that's how we got off-putting shit like folx into the mix - remember???? why are we here again.

to those who I've seen claiming that they REALLY genuinely don't want to offend anyone, and that theyre trying to understand the dude thing, and they don't want to be seen as transmisogynistic when they aren't: ok. let's talk about it. step one, stop sending that really loaded anon to a trans woman you don't know, and close that in-group hatepost with 100 replies from people name-dropping trans bloggers they don't like. try to open your mind and assume for the duration of this post that I am not cynically trying manipulate thousands of tumblr users into making Bro the next big swear word, but a fellow queer human being who thinks you're all being pretty intentionally obtuse about an upsetting trend in our community

to be clear: this post is about the issue of trans women being called bro, dude, man, etc., particularly in recent tumblr discourse about transmisogyny, and the backlash they face if they get upset about it. this is also maybe moreso about the shitty ass excuses I see tme people make for why they supposedly can't stop doing this.

so let's go through some of the things I've been seeing people say they don't understand, supposedly in earnest, about this issue

"I DIDNT USE DUDE AS A MASCULINE TERM. I CALL EVERYONE BRO. MAN IS A GENDER NEUTRAL TERM"

I'm not actually going to exhaust my list of reasons why dude/bro/man are not strictly neutral, but you should be pretty aware that all words have context. Dude might be seen as neutral in many contexts, sure, but 'woman who is frequently called a man by others' is a situation where the context adds extra meaning to your words, just like calling someone "sweetie" might be neutral in some cases, but if you've got the context of knowing that's your coworker who's half your age, it's a bit less neutral. If you're not capable of reading that context and being tasteful about when you say dude, then you need to at least be ready to respond gracefully when someone asks you to stop. This is the part I'd rather focus on.

"BUT I DIDNT MEAN IT THAT WAY. IM NOT TRANSPHOBIC"

I think you should consider broadening your perspective *beyond* your intention behind the word. people may already understand that you meant the word neutrally and therefore didn't have transmisogynistic intent, but that's not really the entire scope of what people are saying. if that's your only concern, you're just trying to clear your record, not actually listen to what they're saying.

there are lots of words people don't enjoy being called, and in most cases, when they say 'pls don't call me that', people respect that and move on. even if the word isn't a slur, if it hurts someone's feelings, we all as a society have agreed that it's pretty shitty to keep calling them that. if your friend asked you not to call them 'buddy' anymore because their dead grandparent called them that, or something equivalently personal, you'd probably respect that instead of telling them 'but I call everyone buddy!!' right? even if you didn't really understand why it bothered them so much?

there is a prominent tendency for trans women to be denied this privilege, and when they ask not to be called dude or bro, people don't seem to respect this request as much as they would in other situations. when I accidentally use a gendered word and someone tells me they don't like it, I try to respond with something like "my bad, I didn't mean it as misgendering but I can see you were still bothered by it, so I'll try not to keep saying it. sorry!" and most people are willing to accept that. when trans women ask people this favor, a lot of people get VERY defensive, and treat the request as inane or unfair, instead of just apologizing and moving on. this is why people are upset when this happens, and it's why people are calling your actions transmisogynistic

also like you might not be doing this, but a lot of people DO use dude and bro in an intentionally gendered way to make trans women uncomfortable. it's a power play bigots use to talk down to them or otherwise maliciously harass them. do you know what arguments they use to defend that behavior when called out on it? 'oh I call everyone that' 'dude is gender neutral calm down' 'dont overreact its just a word'. by acting like this, youre all just giving credence to those same arguments.

"WELL THEY SHOULDNT GET SO MAD AT ME WHEN I DIDNT MEAN ANY HARM"

they can get as mad as they want!! also, are you sure they're 'mad'? or are they just expressing their feelings about a negative topic to you, and it makes you feel bad, so you have to make them out to be unreasonably emotional? how do you think they should have phrased 'dont call me that' to better spare *your* feelings?

also like, in most cases, these women do not knowww you. if your main response to someone saying you disrespected them is to say "I didnt mean it that way, I meant it in a friendly neutral way", well that's NOT YOUR FRIEND! she has no idea what your opinions are or what you think of her!!! she has no reason to assume you only upset her in a friendly way and not a bad unfriendly way! but she did get upset, and she did the one thing she can do which is *tell you what upset her* and your response is to say "well actually you shouldn't be upset at all"??????

and another thing:

it's not just the issue of using the word 'dude', it's because you're coming off extremely dismissive of women who have asked you to stop doing something that harms them, and because your argument is basically that they just shouldn't be so bothered by it. or that they're stupid, irrational, or otherwise crazy for telling you that it bothered them at all, just because you Technically used a gender neutral word according to Your Rules. be honest, does that seem fair? If people were calling you something that bothered you enough to ask them to stop, and they responded like this, how would it make you feel?

focusing solely on your intent and what the words mean when you use them is the same thing as saying "just get over it". no woman should need to Prove to you that 'dude' is gendered for you to care about what she's saying. the fact that you're asking people to do that sucks and makes you look bad, which is why people are arguing with you and calling you a misogynist.

especially those of you who are only doing this with trans women who are actively arguing with. you're wielding misgendering as a cudgel and we can all see it, grow up please.

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

Exposed

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader summary: You come back from a mission with a tear in your suit. Miguel's reaction to what he sees underneath surprises you in the best way. tags / warnings: smut (minors do not interact!), p in v, fem reader, sassy spider-reader word count: 2.3k

You were coming back from a successful mission. Anomaly eliminated. No casualties. Well, except your spider-suit. An annoyingly claw-y bad guy had swiped at you from behind, and even though you’d just managed to dodge his attack, he’d nicked your suit and sliced a long strip of it down your side, from your back all the way down to the top of your thigh. Half your ass cheek was exposed, but you were so exhausted it was beyond you to care. You’d be suit-free and in bed soon enough. You just had to report in to Miguel first. He’d ordered you to because this had been a “potentially significant anomaly.” There seemed to be more and more of those recently. And he seemed to be assigning them mostly to you. You didn’t know of any other spiders that had to report to him personally after missions so often. 

You could feel the cold on your lower back as you walked up to his HQ platform, it slowly descending in front of you. You hop up as soon as it’s low enough, wasting no time. Miguel’s back is to you as he watches what seems like a million screens at once.

“Mission successful, spider-boss.” “Don’t call me that.” You knew he hated that nickname. That’s why you kept using it. 

“You prefer spider-captain? Spider-chief? Oooh maybe spider-king? No, that doesn’t sound right. Aren’t spiders more matriarchal anyway? You could be spider-queen if you want. Has a bit of a bite to it.” “Y/N,” he deadpans. “Hm?” “Shut up.” “Yes, sir, spider-queen!” 

He finally turns around to look at you, exasperation all over his chiseled features. You catch the end of his eye roll. Knowing engaging will only get more out of you, he opts to go straight to business. “You eliminated the anomaly?” “Yup.”

“Cleaned up the contamination afterward?” “Like the top-class interdimensional janitor that I am.”

“Anything unusual?” “Well, there was this big scary dude with giant claws that was only ever black and white when the rest of the world was especially colorful. Soo that was weird.” “I mean other than the exact reason I sent you there in the first place.” He runs his hand over his face, the other on his hip, looking sassier than he probably intended. “Oh! Then no.” 

You come over to his desk, leaning on it.

“And you’re alright? No injuries or anything?” In the back of your mind, you notice his voice softening as he asks you this. 

“I’m good. More than I can say for my suit though,” you laugh. You lift from the desk, turning slightly, twisting to look at the tear, exposing it to Miguel. “Why’s it called ‘tearing someone a new one,’ huh? Doesn’t make any sense. I need a new one specifically because this one’s torn.” 

You don’t expect him to respond to your stupid question, but when you look up at Miguel, the look on his face is more than unexpected. His eyebrows are shot up, his mouth the slightest bit ajar, his eyes fixed intently on your exposed ass. 

For once, you have no idea what to say. Why was he looking at you like that? Were you in trouble? Just because this was a bit inappropriate? I mean, c’mon, you were all spider-people; you’d all had your fair share of injuries that needed patching up and the like. It felt like a big sports team: bodies rendered just bodies by the heat of battle. Of course, you’d never admit to anyone out loud that while that was true for all the other spiders in your eyes, Miguel was the sole exception. His body could never be just a body. It was too imposing… too striking… too beautiful. You caught yourself staring at him much more often than you liked. Always talked incessantly when he was around to keep yourself distracted and from looking like an idiot. Well, you still looked like an idiot after everything you said, but you were an idiot on your own terms, usually getting some laughs while you were at it. 

“Miguel?” You come up with nothing else. 

Your voice snaps him out of his trance. His eyes shoot up to your face, and he looks — what is that? you’d never seen that look on Miguel O’Hara… was it… flustered?

“Um, yes, uh, right. Your suit,” he’s looking around at his screens again, trying to look busy but you can tell his gaze isn’t actually taking in any of the images. “We’ll get you a new one.” 

The tension lessened and, more importantly, his eyes no longer on you give you back a bit of your confidence. 

“You in charge of tailoring too? You really gotta learn to delegate, spider-boss.” He doesn’t say anything. Not even with you specifically trying to push his buttons with the nickname. “Okayy…” you elongate. “So, can I go now?”

He just grunts, not sparing another look toward you.

You start walking back across the platform but remember a detail of the mission you had wanted to tell him before making it too far. 

“Oh, there was this thing with my watch —“ you start, but all words get caught in your throat when you see Miguel as you turn back toward him. He’s staring at you like a viscous predator just about to pounce. His chin is down but his eyes are on you, even darker than usual and penetrating. You can tell by the rise and fall of his ridiculously broad chest that his breathing is a bit labored. He’d clearly been looking lower than your face level, as his eyes shoot up to yours when you look at him.

Neither of you say anything for what feels like the longest, heaviest moment of your life so far. Then, in what feels like the quickest, he’s closed the distance between you, coming to a stop just in front of you, closer than he’s ever been to you before.

He’s towering over you. Any movement forward at all and you’d be touching. You’re sure he can feel your heavy breathing as you look up at him. You can feel his.  

He looks like he wants to murder you. But Miguel O’Hara has a way of encoding all emotions into shades of anger and aggression. And you’ve watched him closely enough for long enough to sometimes think you have an idea of what lies beneath. You haven’t cracked it completely, but you certainly see shades of gray where others see black and white. 

The stakes have never been quite this high for your getting it wrong, but hoping beyond hope that you know what he actually wants, you push your face the fraction of a distance to his, crashing your lips together. 

From the moment they graze, his hands are on you, groping your exposed ass with one, pulling you into him with the other. He devours your mouth, so feral you even worry for a split second about his fangs coming out. You’re so consumed by him you probably wouldn’t mind if they did.

Not breaking apart from you, Miguel takes the few steps back to his desk, dragging you with him. When the backs of his thighs come up to the desk, he flips you around so that you’re pushed up against it. You’re caged between it and his broad body as his hands continue exploring your body, his tongue continues exploring your mouth. 

At this point you can feel the huge bulge between his legs pressing against you, his spider-suit doing nothing to hide it, doing little to separate you from it. 

When his mouth leaves yours, dragging hungrily down to your jaw and neck, you whine his name. He groans in response, and you feel the vibrations where your chests are flush.

Taking the opportunity to do something you’d often dreamed of, you lift your hand and run it through his thick hair. His moans get louder, and you take it as a sign scratch and tug harder. 

You know you didn’t pull strongly enough to move him if he didn’t want to be moved, but he pops off from where he’s sucking on your neck and looks into your eyes. He gives you a harsh kiss then says simply, “Turn around.” You do. He bends you over his desk.

You feel his hands on your hips first then they squeeze your ass hard. He slaps your exposed cheek, and you jump at the sudden sensation. 

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he says, voice low. 

You nod and confess, “I want it rough, Miguel. Please.” “Fuuck, chula. You drive me crazy.” You just whimper in response. 

He spanks you again then tears your suit further, exposing your entire ass and your by now soaked cunt. “You walk in here with half your ass out like it’s nothing. Like you can show me what I spend my nights imagining and expect me not to do anything about it.” He slaps your other ass cheek. “You’re soaked, mami. You wanted this as badly as I did?” You nod desperately. “Tell me what you wanted.” “Fuck, Miguel. You. I wanted you.” 

“You want me to fuck you?” You can already feel him messing with his suit. 

“Yes, fuck, please; please fuck me.” When the head of his cock touches your cunt, your entire body shudders with anticipation. He pushes in forcefully, your wetness enough for him to start sliding in. But he’s big. Really big. As he keeps pushing, you feel a bit of a sting. When he hears you hiss, he slows his entrance but doesn’t stop entirely. “Relax, nena,” he coos. His hands massage your hips. “Breathe, baby.” You take a long inhale, and by the time you’re exhaling, you feel him finally bottom out. “Eso, mi amor. Just like that. Fuck, you feel incredible.” “Migueel,” you whine. “Yeah, baby, I got you.” His hands tighten on your hips as he slowly drags his cock back out until only his tip is inside. You’d never felt so empty. Then he pushes back in, faster than the first time. And again. And again. 

Miguel’s pace quickens probably a bit faster than you’re ready for, but you love the intensity of the sensations. You love the feeling of him deep inside you, of him desperate to be deeper. You start rocking back in time with his thrusts, slamming your ass onto him. 

“Fuuuck.” His voice is gravel. One of his powerful hands comes to your shoulder to help pull and push you at his now brutal rhythm. He fucks you with a stamina only possible for a superhuman. You’re sure you wouldn’t be able to take it if you weren’t one yourself.

The large room echoes your slapping skin, your yells and moans as he spears into you repeatedly.

Your thighs tighten as you start nearing your climax. Your cunt starts squeezing tighter. “Fuck, fuck, eso, nena, eso,” he chants, getting even rougher. His praises start sounding strangled, and you know he’s close too. 

“Cum with me, Miguel,” you beg desperately. He groans animalistically at your words, giving you a strangled affirmative moan and pushing his pace to what you imagine is his limit. 

“C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum for me,” he urges. It’s easy to let go with how hard he’s fucking you. You can’t really feel the rest of your body except for a hot heaviness. All you feel is where you’re connected and how every thrust sends pure pleasure coursing through you. 

You’re orgasming a second later, and to the feeling of your clenching cunt and the sound of your euphoric screams, Miguel comes right after. 

You’re unable to keep up your movements, too spent and too blissed out, but he keeps thrusting, albeit slower, until you’ve both rode out the hardest orgasms of your life. Then and only then does he still, still inside you, and collapse onto your back. His broad torso covers you completely, warming you despite how sweaty you are now.

His labored breathing on the back of your neck tickles, sending a shiver down your body. He chuckles and peppers kisses on your neck and shoulder, pulling your suit down to kiss at more skin. 

He eventually lifts himself up; you were never going to push him off, that’s certain. You could spend forever under him, wrapped up in him. 

His strong hands lift your especially malleable body, turning you to face him and helping support you as you lean back on the desk. 

When your eyes meet, Miguel smiles at you. It stops your rapidly beating heart. 

One arm around you, his other hand pushes sweaty hair off your face then lingers there, caressing. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. You just nod. He laughs. “What?” you giggle. “So that’s what it takes to make you stop talking, huh?” “Shut up!” you tsk, shoving his wall of a chest. He doesn’t budge at all, just catches your hand in his, bringing it to his face and kissing it. His lips linger over the skin of your fingers, the back of your hand. You trace them lightly, and they shift into a subtle grin. 

As you look into his big brown eyes, you’re pretty sure you know what this ever-thinning shade of serious is covering.

“Miguel?” 

“Hm?” He pecks your hand again. 

“All those missions… they weren’t ‘potentially significant’ were they?” 

He lowers your hand but keeps it in his. His gaze follows your hands down, looking away briefly, but he’s looking into your eyes again when he shakes his head ever so subtly. You hum in understanding. He just needed to make sure you were okay after.

After a beat, you whisper, “Can we stop pretending?” “That the missions are special?” “That what we feel for each other isn’t…” 

“Ah.” He looks torn. You know he thinks it’s dangerous, know he feels the weight of literally the entire universe on his very broad shoulders. You lean up and kiss him gently. 

“We can figure it out,” you whisper against his lips. His nose brushes yours as he nods then kisses you again. 

[oops-all-concrete]

BG3 fandom! I have more headcanons- but first!!

I must issue a very loud

⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️

For The Dark Urge playthrough of Baldurs Gate 3! There is no further warning below the cut, so if you care not to be spoiled, do not continue to read!

For those of you interested- ahead lies: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, blood, mentions of death, no MCD or any perma-death anyway, and lots of love. Greif and pain and emotional hurt are heavy themes as well!

Last warning! ⚠️Spoilers ahead⚠️

I've just gotten to this point in the Dark Urge run (where you reject Bhaal and fucking) DIE, and DUDE- I am stunned companions say NOTHING to your LITERAL DEATH after rejecting Bhaals gift or whatever. (Not in the scenes anyway) So, I'm writing how I think they'd respond cinematically, because your lively Durges deserve to be mourned and loved.

(Of course in-game this would be limited to the dialogue, but I've describes how they would be animated anyhow)

Lae'zel -

She's running to Durge the moment they start lifting from the ground, but pauses once their eyes start rolling back and blackening. There's something beyond her control happening, and she needs it to stop- and it does. With Tav hitting the floor eyes black, soul gone. She's immediately yelling at the others to do something, hand her a scroll, something- but nothing is working. Her shoulder slump after a good few minutes. And finally her voice breaks. She holds a hand to her chest as she wails in agony, holding her Tavs body like it's the last time- because to her- it is. "My angel, my moon. My great protector. I have failed you" She hisses, eyes scrunched shut.

Shadowheart -

She's been afraid her whole life. But even in the face of Bhaal, she will not be afraid if it means Tav will be safer. She immediately casts warding bond, if they're in danger, she'll halve it. If you're going to get hurt, so shall she- and she's okay with that. "Hang on-!" And then it all goes black, she falls without a word or scream, but she's content. If she dies protecting Durge, she cannot ask for better.

(After cutscene convo) Once Durge has been revived by Withers, it's up to them to get a scroll and revive her from the bloodied mess on the floor. She's stunned and confused, but the moment she sees Tav okay she couldn't care less. Why did you do that? "It might sound silly, but I was scared that you would be alone through whatever was about to happen. I don't regret it, if you're wondering"

Wyll -

"Gods- NO!" He shouts, a hand reaching out for them as they hit the ground. He's over them in a flash, holding their head in his arms, trying desperately to wake them, find a pulse, wake up himself and have this all be some sick nightmare. But of course, no such thing happens. The Tav he knows and loves just ceased living before his eyes. There's blood soaking into his every apparel and he's crying his eye out. It crosses his mind. Mizora is powerful- even if she can't fix this, she will know someone or something that can. He'd give anything- his whole life, he'd gladly be a lemure if it gave Tav back. He almost calls for her- until Withers starts his speech. (During the 'your rejection of Bhaal has earned you a place among heroes' section of his dialogue, he'll turn to Wyll and add: 'No devil's, demons or feinds required, I assure you')

Karlach -

If she wasn't raging before, she is now. A tomb-rocking scream echoes around the chamber, eyes wide with horror, body shaking and burning all over, engine out of control but she couldn't care less. One of the others will tell her to calm down. "FUCK THAT! FUCK EVERYTHING! FUCK THE GODS ABOVE AND THE HELLS BELOW." She roars. It goes on, swearing, screaming, swinging- and then, finally- collapse. She drops to her knees and punches the hard ground next to Tavs body, sobbing and exhausted. Withers walks in the the most gut-wrenching agonised scream of why

Gale -

He's frozen as it happens. His hands crackle with weave but he can't move. He needs to do something- anything, but time moves without him. All he knows is he can't breathe, all he can smell is blood and he thinks he's going to be sick. He can hear invisible bones cracking, distant blood dripping and their last choke. The wizard stumbles forward, barely making it to their body before collapsing beside them, on his knees and positively glowing from the mark on his chest. The orb can sense his distress and buzzes within him, as though it can smell the death. He pulls and hand to his mouth, kissing it gently- unable to comprehend a kiss goodbye. "Oh- Gods. Oh my love" he sobs, brows furrowed in what looks like physical pain. "I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry..." He wheezes out, scarcely finding breath.

Astarion -

He doesn't let their head hit the ground. He's swift as he catches them, but frantic as he sets their head on his thighs as a pillow. He pulls open their eyelids only to find a blackened core beneath, animalistic and distinctly unfamiliar. "Wake up, damn you...not after all this! You don't get to go!" He yells sounding genuinely furious- like he was going to get violent. If any of the others approach he doesn't notice. "We still have a cult to cull, we have a brain to control- I need you!" He yells, voice raw and eyes wet, the anger melting into greif. He makes a sheild of himself over Durge when Withers walks in, dagger/shortsword in hand, teeth bared, despite his damp face.

(Withers greets Astarion: 'Cry no more Spawn of sanguine- the universe is finally in your favour')

(Only Halsin is romanced for obvious reasons, but closeness is still implied for Minsc and Jaheira)

Halsin -

He catches Durge on the way down, their head on his chest as he lays them down over himself. "My heart? Can you hear me? Please say something" He begs hands glowing with healing magic, eyes aglow as well. He tries for a little, but then his breathing changes entirely, a small hushed gasp sounds from him, his he starts shaking his head, eyes wide. "Oh- oh Gods- Silvannus, please- I cannot bear to lose- oh Gods" He gasps, breath becoming harsher- finally letting tears fall. "Oak Father- please, wherever they go- keep them safe" he prays, teeth gritted in agony.

Jaheira -

She looks away as Tavs life is sapped away, unable to watch another Bhaalspawn friend suffer. When all falls still and silent, she looks among the other companions, shocked and frozen. "They're at peace now. Take comfort in knowing they chose to keep you all safe." She says with a proud nod- but her eyes are wet and her nose scrunched a little with a sniff.

Minsc -

There's small squeaking in the berserkers ear, before he sighs, almost a sob and speaks with a tired voice. "Wise words, Boo. I only wish our friend could hear you" Before he turns away, unable to look at them on the floor. "I am proud to have called them our friend. We should make them proud in return"

Hope you enjoyed! To the lovely people who have made requests, I will get to them as soon as I can!! Thank you for the requests, and please feel free to send me more!

[fuck-customers]

I am self employed cleaning houses. My dad had an emergency that resulted in me not getting to sleep for nearly 30 hours and I was exhausted. I called my clients for Monday and explained what happened and asked if I could reschedule for later in the week in exchange for a 10% discount and most of them said that was absolutely fine. I had one that was having a tenant move in soon so was understandably on a time frame but they were at least nice about it. But my last guy said, "You're tired? You're cancelling your scheduled work because you're TIRED? You think I can just not come in to work when I'm tired? I'm tired all the time!" Dude works from home on a computer. He doesn't have to drive except like once or twice a month and never does any sort of physical labor beyond pushing his chair in and out. Sorry your job is more manageable - and safer - than mine is while this tired, buddy

Posted by admin Rodney

[bomberqueen17]

lose not a moment

I have hit upon the novel idea of listening to audiobooks for my long car rides and tedious solo work sessions, since i can't follow or understand podcasts. I can't really follow audiobooks either, historically, but if I listen to a book I've read before, I've had decent success at still following it. I exhausted the meager supplies of the Buffalo library, however, which while it has a substantial physical collection, is shockingly lacking in all digital options, and the audiobook selection is downright threadbare.

I started with Murderbot, which being both familiar and novellas, was very accessible. Kevin R. Free is a great narrator, but i am occasionally perturbed by one particular turn of phrase I now can't recall, but which Wells is fond of using, and Free mispronounces every time. i can't remember but it's some homonym, like using the wrong pronunciation of "read", which makes the admittedly slightly-nonstandard phrase nonsense. I genuinely can't recall what it is. Anyway this is small potatoes, and I do recommend them if you like audiobooks.

I moved on to a Lord Peter Wimsey book, because it was short. I'd only read the one, the first one, which has a sort of sickening antisemitism but it's like...... part of the setting, and is not really borne out by the plot. (The murder victim is a Jewish man, and there's all kinds of horrible shit said by all kinds of characters, some of whom are meant to be sympathetic, but all we are shown of the man himself is that he was actually a pretty good dude and our POV characters are heartily sorry for his fate. But his Jewishness is part of the motive, his defeated romantic rival being so horribly put-out by having lost to a Jew; and it's part of how the plot is unraveled, an unwitting witness later commenting about that dead [slur for Jew-- actually an archaic slur i'd never even heard before but obvious from context, so i guess at least it's not one of the gratingly familiar ones but it's obvious what it is] he'd seen, which is proof of the corpse's identity even after he can no longer be visually identified due to various events. Ugh. It's not that the book's not worth reading, it's clearly meant to be part of the setting and is absolutely faithful to the period, contemporary with which it was written, but boy it is really gross to kind of slog through that.)

I detoured to listen to the Dark is Rising series by Susan Cooper, which I had read and loved as a child but remembered only poorly. It was well-read, and the narrator had notably excellent Welsh, which was gratifying as my child-self had really puzzled over some of the place names in the third book and beyond. (I had certainly never pronounced the dog Cafall's name correctly, despite having read the pronunciation guide assiduously.) But it was soon over.

Anyway after that I hit upon the idea of listening to the audiobooks of Patrick O'Brian's series about Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, which I read voraciously when I was a child and my parents brought them all home from the library. I read the series possibly out of order, I don't recollect now, and I wasn't sure how well I'd remember it. I had certainly been too young to understand a great deal of it, and I remember puzzling over the diagram in the frontispiece of the sails with near-despair.

I started in on Master & Commander, the first book, and I remembered the initial scene, I remembered how Stephen and Jack met, I remembered the broad strokes of all the events, and was enchanted by revisiting it. I then listened to the second one, Post Captain, and found it harder going; it was a different narrator, who makes little mouth noises sometimes and whose voices for the characters I like less. Stephen Vance is the narrator I like more, though I don't really like how he does the women's voices; he makes Diana Villiers sound downright ridiculous. But he's very good at the distinct voices for the major characters and I quite like him otherwise.

I haven't bothered consulting a diagram; I know which sail is which just well enough (not well at all) to follow the action, and it turns out I don't really need to know what a cross-catharping is at all. (I mean, I looked it up just now, but it didn't matter.)

Book 3, HMS Surprise, has another situation with a Jewish character facing antisemitic disapprobation, and it is sort of a refreshing contrast to Lord Peter Wimsey that the POV character of the moment, Stephen Maturin, despite (spoilers) imminently killing the man in a duel, shuts down the person who is saying the most antisemitic things, saying that he has a particular fondness for Our Lady and since she was a Jewess he cannot believe to consider himself superior to her people in any way. Earlier the character is also denigrated but by such an unsympathetic character that the reader is pretty clearly meant to find her ridiculous. Still, it is there, but about on par with how Catholics are spoken of in the series. Which is no small thing; I have currently put the book down because a character in book four has just discovered Stephen is Catholic and is singing an offensive song about it at him and I needed a moment to not listen to that.

Anyway-- I had not thought I remembered the books well at all, and indeed I don't, many of the turns of the plot are total surprises to me, and I am in suspense for most of the action scenes, but I am occasionally dumbfounded to find turns of phrase that have been in my vocabulary entire this whole time. I read these books at a tender age and some of their philosophies, some of their turns of phrase, are deeply embedded in me, in my foundations indeed. I do not recommend them unreservedly, and I also think I will not seek out the current fandom for them particularly, as I don't think that the fandom takes on these characters will jive particularly well with my deep and ancient love for them. I read these books quite before I was capable of any real critical thought, and I do not think the fannish take will sit well with that early impression.

We'll see, though.

I do think I owe O'Brian a lot in how I write action. He does it so directly, with such immediacy-- so clearly, but with occasional bits of real poetry, some evocative touches that make it so vibrant-- that's what I strive to do as well. I don't know that I succeed, but if I ever do, I surely owe him.

But anyway-- part of the point of this post is that the Buffalo library only had books one, two, and eleven as audiobooks, and did not have ebooks of more than three or four of the books either. I was complaining of this, and my mother reminded me that anyone resident in NY State can get a digital library card to the New York Public Library, and I said I knew that but not how to do it. So, on Sunday afternoon while the various family was doing various active things and she and I were sitting at the picnic table, she knitting and I sewing, she said "open your Libby app. Select add a library. Type in New York. Select the New York Public Library. See what happens."

One of the options there was "I would like to request a card", and tapping this brought me to a screen where I was invited to give them my mailing address, which is indeed in New York State legitimately, and immediately they granted me a provisional library card with a one-year expiration date.

They have the entire series in audiobook, and ready to borrow, no holds.

I also had said I wanted to get a card at the library near the farm, and my sister is on the board of that; Mom asked her, when she next came by, and she said "oh let me look on the website, I'm not sure what you need," and in a moment asked me to remind her of my phone number, and in a moment after that I had an email in my inbox with my Upper Hudson library card, as she had filled out the application for me using her own address (where I do legitimately reside) and my birthdate, which of course she knows.

So now I have access to the riches of Upper Hudson as well, which while having one fewer library in its system than Buffalo, has at first glance about ten times as many digital titles.

So.

Anyway, there are twenty books in this series so I'm probably set for the rest of the summer.

I have no real deep observations on the books, except to admire the sharp character-work-- just such round characters, all around, major and minor, even if O'Brian sometimes loses track of minor characters here and there. How can I really complain? The ones he keeps sharp watch on are so delightful, so real, so self-propelled. I was worried, this book 4, that none of my favorites were by; Aubrey and Maturin are together, but are bound for the far side of the world, in great haste, with none of their regular recurrent comrades. When who should appear, to my wondering eyes, but the incomparable coxswain Barret Bonden, who in the first book very politely turns down Aubrey's offer to rate him an officer, in the third book finally reveals why when Stephen, hands injured, tries to dictate a letter to him ("I can't write a word," he admits. "I can read, near enough, can puzzle out the watch list, but I can't write a stroke.") Later in the third book, Stephen teaches him to write, sitting on one of the platforms among the rigging with him and dictating poetry, breaking off to exclaim when he sees an albatross-- Bonden, diligently, writing, "I see the albatross-- that don't rhyme, doctor, is there more to the line?" And here he is in the fourth, both a plot device and a welcome face.

I had despaired of him, but here too is my favorite. Early on a midshipman, the senior mid rated master's mate, then finally rated a lieutenant, and now an acting captain he turns up all unlooked-for in the fourth book, TOM PULLINGS, I don't know why I love him so but I do, what a cheerful and willing creature. I don't remember if anything terrible happens to him later, don't tell me. (I did spoil myself for a few characters, pulled up the wiki for a moment to remind myself who somebody was and then read too far. Nooooooo alas.)

Anyway I am much enjoying them, but am falling prey to my usual problem, wherein when I am reading a book I only want to do that and do not want to do other things, like work or sleep or other hobbies, so I may have to set limits for myself on how long I can listen in a day, or at least take breaks.

[fairycosmos]

I’m wondering if you could speak more about the adolescent life experiences you missed out on because I am curious and also heavily relate and am seeking solace in shared experiences

from the ages of like 11-16, it was particularly difficult for me. i had very few friends and people at school would either make fun of me or straight-up act like i wasn't there a lot of the time. so eventually every single day just became a battle where i refused to go to school or participate in life much during those years. i'd have meltdown after meltdown and it was honestly exhausting. i think when my classmates were discovering the foundations of who they were and learning to acclimate to social situations and developing bonds and memories with those around them, i was either sleeping or breaking down or on my computer. basically half-mute, missing out on massive chunks of my secondary education bc i was/am so beyond mentally ill & also could not handle the alienation/ridicule. i can't stress enough how much damage i think this has done to me and my sense of self and my life as a whole, the direction of it. i usually feel like i did not even develop a personality or a selfhood at all tbh. the only reason i kind of broke out of that cycle was bc i lost a bunch of weight, dated a random dude i met online for a bit + started smoking/drinking which allowed me to cope with reality a little easier. not recommending any of that as a way out btw because none of it has actually helped the root of my issues lol and it put me in a lot of dangerous situations, which also set me back emotionally, just in a different way. i'm really sorry you can relate, i know it's hard. i know there's a lot of grief involved in living like this and constantly wondering who you could've been had things been different, constantly wondering why you had to be like this while everyone else got to be "normal." i'm working on abandoning the idea of a conventional timeline that everyone has to follow but still, it's so so painful. especially when hardly anyone around me is willing to abandon their idea of the conventional timeline, which gives it a lot of weight as a concept. it's hard to live with. i completely understand and will be here if you need to talk. x

[roguelov]

Hello! I love your writing and I’ve seen some requests you’ve wrote for about people’s job and Morpheus’ reaction to them. How do you think he would react or be with when it comes to someone who teaches? I’m a special education kindergarten teacher myself, and I work my contract hours plus practically all night all week long (including weekends) to make sure my kiddos have what they need and to give them all my support, but sometimes I feel like I’m still not giving them enough. I want to be the best teacher I can be for them, because they deserve the best. If I can make a request, could it be where Morpheus maybe gets the reader to slow down a bit and reassures them that they are doing all they can?

A side thought- Would he also even check in at the school through Matthew to be sure the reader isn’t overdoing it at the school and working too hard at their desk after school?

Sorry to fill up your inbox with this long piece, and I hope you have an awesome day 😁.

Dude yes hell yes I fucking adore all of this! And I know you are doing you’re absolute best and your kiddos love you 🥰

Matthew swooped down onto a small ledge of a brick building, peering into the window. Desks were clustered into groups while children happily chatted. It seemed like there was a creative project going on, something dealing with paper plates, googly eyes, and some paint.

It was something Matthew remembered you working on the weekend prior. He had visited you, only for you to rush out to buy the supplies and ensure the paper animals were easy to follow along.

“They look exhausted.”

Dream’s voice hummed in Matthew’s head. The raven nodded, agreeing with a small frown.

Despite your smiles, despite your cheery voice as you talked with the children, despite your well put together outfit, you still looked utterly exhausted. The bags under your eyes seemed to have deepened since the last time the raven had seen you.

Dream sighed as he watched you through Matthew’s eyes. “Watch over them for the time being, I will speak with them later.”

“Will do, boss.”

Hours later in the comfort of your home, you flopped down into your bed. You were thankfully for the weekend, if only for a moment. Your mind instantly thought of papers to grade, and other potential projects you wished to try with your wonderful students.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow.

Later, let’s think about that later.

A weight dipped in the bed beside you. Normally, one would react with surprise. Yet, exhausted and already knowing who was surprise guest, you only lazily turned your head to see Dream. He offered a small smile as he ran his knuckles over your cheek.

“You look tired, my love,” he whispered.

“I am,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. His feathery touch was welcomed.

“Perhaps you should relax, and slow down. You do too much.”

You lightly shook your head. “I can’t, the kids need me and deserve the best.”

“And they are receiving the best, but you mustn’t run yourself into the ground to do so.”

You opened your eyes with a slight pout. He chuckled.

“Then see it this way, if you overwork yourself you will not be giving your best to the children.”

Your pout deepened into a frown. You hated that he was right.

“I … I just want to make sure I can give them the world, to give them everything they need to keep going,” you whispered in a dejected tone.

“And as I said, you are. You do far more, you go above and beyond anyone, I only wish you would care for yourself as you care for your children.”

You sighed.

“If you won’t take care of yourself, then let me.”

Your heart skipped at his offer and a smile tugged on your lips. “Oh, really?”

Dream hummed, “Yes, just allow me this weekend. Let me do what I must to care for you so you may be ready come Monday.”

“But -“

“I assure you, anything you need to get done will be done. Just give me but a moment of your time.”

You weighed the pros and cons. But, given your already exhaustive state, being pampered and adored sounded wonderful.

“Okay, you win.”

Dream smiled softly. He bent down, kissing your forehead. A sprinkling of sand danced before yours eyes. Your eyes began to flutter close.

“Then first you must rest,” Dream’s voice echoed around you. “I will meet you in the Dreaming, my love.”

A small smile lingered on your lips as you drifted off. “I love you,” you mumbled.

“And I love you,” he whispered into your ear.

It was the last thing you heard before entering the Dreaming, and it was the one sentiment Dream reminded you this weekend - his absolute and unabashed love for you.

[aroace-cat-lady]

I really hate to be perceived as "somebody's girlfriend". I just do. I am not that person. I love my friends and I'm passionate about it, and it's so so so exhausting to have to walk on my tiptoes trying not to cross imaginary lines so people (or my friends themselves) don't get the wrong idea. I hate people thinking I'm dating someone because I've been hanging out with a dude too often. I hate when people think I'm a lesbian because I cherish my friends and always try to be there for them. I hate when someone doesn't believe I have no crushes and no romantic partner. I hate that my experiences and the complexity of my relationships are dismissed because "there's no way it's just platonic". I hate to feel ashamed and embarrassed every time somebody thinks I'm dating a close friend because I didn't have it in me to act indifferent towards them. I hate the way I stop being a person and I'm clocked as just a girlfriend and the way we are expected to be cool with that. I hate my real self and my identity and who I am beyond my relationships don't matter to people because of a morbid need to see everything through the glass of romance. I hate how they can't wait for me to "fall in love" so I stop being a bitch. I hate how even my friends don't understand how upsetting and humiliating it is to have a fundamental part of your identity overlooked or straigh-ass ignored just so you can fit the narrative society wants you to. I hate how all of this makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin and I hate that I can't get rid of it because amatonormativity and romance-obsessed culture are everywhere you go.

[captaingrebelguf]

I Can Do Better

Ciao, ciao, ciao. Life is too short; so I've brought another drabble to the two (maybe three or four?) party fan club that I am still dragging my sweet, patient @copiousloverofcopia along with me. Sorry, girl. lol <3

Once again dicking around in the magical AU that came from the mind of the ever lovely: @copiousloverofcopia.

Mrs. Prime Mover Sister Alessandra borrowed from Prime Mover Ren and her series, Tied as One Eternally. Please read. It's life changing. And Ren is the best. Anything you click on written by her will instantly make your day better and leave you beyond flustered. Ayyyoooo!

Be well, be good to each other, and happy Thursday, my dudes.

-----------

Okay. So, this takes place a way a way back...

Terzo handed his radiant, exhausted, (and kind of sweaty) Prime Mover a plastic cup full of ice chips. 

Alessandra stared dumbfoundedly at her husband as if he had three heads; hesitating to take the ice, “Terz… I said--”

“I have Omega and Alpha headed out to go get the shawarma order, it's not something the kitchen could handle,” Terzo cut her off, scrunching his nose at her and placing the cup at her bedside, “Paziente, Mama.”

Alé groaned, letting her head fall back against the mountain of pillows fluffed up behind her, “I’m not going to make it."  

Terzo smiled brightly as he brought his lips to give her a chaste kiss on her forehead, “Soon, cara, soon. You’re strong as hell, Alessandra; this is a cakewalk.”

“You have no idea,” Alessandra sighed in agreement before a yawn slipped out; she looked down at the hour-old infant bundled in her arms. Dante Alessandro Emeritus, their second child, their first son; already had his parents wrapped around all his ten fingers. His button nose was the spitting imitation of Mena’s as a baby. His tufts of soft, ebony-hued hair were already a mess. Dante had Terzo’s full lips and matching eye colors. Alessandra couldn’t see much of herself in their newest addition, but she knew their son was going to be one handsome bastard. Just like his Papa.

“I’m starving,” Alé pouted, stretching her achy back as she gave her husband pouty eyes. Terzo gave her an apologetic smile, biting his tongue before he let himself foolishly mention something else she could put in her mouth.

“Don’t,” Alé warned sternly; knowing exactly where his train of thought was going, “I am in no mood for your jokes.”

“I wasn’t!” Terzo lied, laughing as he stroked his wife’s untamed curls. Alé scoffed, rightfully not believing him. 

“You really are amazing, cara,” Terzo murmured, taking in his strong-willed Prime Mover holding their child at her breast. He lowered his gaze to their son, ‘Satanas, did they make great looking kids.’

Alé smiled tiredly from her cot in the ministry’s infirmary, proudly taking the compliment. Once they had made it from Dante’s impromptu birth suite in the hallway, the nursing staff quickly threw together a temporary private room for the family. Alessandra and Dante had both been fully checked out and given the ‘all clear’ by the physician. Terzo silently watched everything from Alé’s side, slightly shell-shocked as the adrenaline died down.

“He’s pretty handsome, huh?” she whispered still in a happy dopamine-filled daze; her heart couldn’t feel more full looking between a father and his son, “I wonder if you looked like this when you were born..”

Terzo smiled sadly; he couldn't help but instantly think of his own childhood, his own mother. He turned his head away from Alé. She continued to coo over their son, laughing to herself, “Just imagine: now you get to be tormented the same way you punished Primo all those years. What goes around, comes around, Terz.”

Terzo didn’t reply, the fears he’d been suppressing over the last nine months all hit him at once. The memories of his miserable childhood seeped back in as he tried to focus on anything else in the room. Traumatically losing his own mother. Being shipped across the country from one sect to another, before finally arriving at the ministry as a young child. And then immediately being tossed aside by Nihil; already having been inconvenienced enough to have a third unwanted child dropped on his doorstep. Terzo never forgot that dejected, hollow feeling from the man who was supposed to care and love for him.

Terzo held out for longer than he would ever admit waiting for Nihil to see him as his son; waiting for him to be proud. Terzo remembered all the times he had been caught in the middle of Nihil's drunken rage; being screamed at and having items thrown at him. He remembered the silent car rides growing up where Nihil couldn't even pretend to be interested in his own sons' lives. Or Nihil disappearing for months on end on drug benders. The cigarette ashes being flicked at him if he ever said the wrong thing at the wrong time. The public monologues of what a disappointment Terzo was to him.

Terzo looked up at the ceiling and turned his body away from his partner and child, pleading with himself to think of anything else. But the ‘what ifs’ kept circling back. What if this was his future? What if he ended following his own disappointing father’s footsteps and let his own kids down? What if he ended up being a failure?

“Terz?” Alé asked, looking away from the infant only to be met with her husband's back side; realizing he had gotten strangely quiet. He had his arms folded snugly at his chest and stood as straight as an arrow. She saw his shoulders sag down as he took a ragged, calming breath.

“Terzo, what is going on?” Alé pressed again, more worry evident in her voice, “What’s wrong?”

He slowly turned around, avoiding eye contact, mustering up a smile for her sake. Alé could see the misty look in his eyes and held her hand out to her partner, “Terzo, what’s wrong?”

He sniffled and let out a short laugh, he took his wife’s hand, giving it three squeezes, “I’m sorry, cara mia. Everything seems to have caught up to me all at once. I'm just emotional.”

Alé rubbed her thumb over his knuckles soothingly, smiling softly, “I knew you couldn’t be that calm, cool, and collected.”

Terzo chuckled, waving her off, trying to shrug off the conversation, “Sadly: no. Fake it until you make it. I’ll be fine, amore. Promise."

“Well, that's a lie. If you don’t talk to me right now, I swear to Lucifer you will never see me naked again,” Alessandra warned, trying to get her husband to crack. She raised an eyebrow at him as she waited for his response.

Terzo laughed as he dropped himself down into the folding chair the staff had pulled out for him next to Alé’s cot, “Eh. You got me. It’s just been a lot--”

Dante interrupted their conversation with a few snuffles and coos sounding like it might lead into a good cry. Alessandra smiled down at her first son; she gently clutched him closer to her chest, swaying him. She couldn’t believe he was finally here, still thanking Lucifer all went well. Terzo looked away from the infant, choosing instead to stare into the space in front of him as he debated about how to go about this conversation.

Alessandra interrupted his thoughts, “I just realized: Terzo, I’ve been hogging the baby, why don’t you hold him?”

“No, no, cara,” Terzo woke out of his trance and shook his head, trying to lighten the mood, “You’ve earned this, you did all the hard work. You keep the fresh baby.”

Alé rolled her eyes at him, scoffing as she started to move the infant from her chest, trying to swiftly pass him off to Terzo before little Dante started to stir again, “No one likes a martyr, Papa." 

Terzo’s arms remained firmly crossed and unmoving over his chest, “Alé…”

“Why don’t you want to hold your son?” Alé sternly questioned, before slightly grinning and teasing him, “Don't pull a Nihil." 

Terzo pursed his lips, feeling the knot in his throat forming again. Alé immediately regretted her words, knowing she had struck a nerve. She moved Dante back into one arm and with her free hand she reached to rub her husband’s arm, “I'm sorry. That wasn't funny. I didn't mean it like that…" 

“Alessandra,” he finally sputtered, speaking a mile a minute, “I’m so scared this will be different and I won’t have the same bond I have with Mena. What if Dante is like me and he’s a stronzetto? What if I yell at him? What if he hates me? What if I don't have the patience for him? I… I can’t be like Nihil.”

“You’re not!” Alé exclaimed, grasping his hand, giving it a gentle, but firm shake, “You are nothing like him. You are an incredible father, Terzo. I don’t know how many more people you need to hear this from. You are the best father I could ask for for our children. You’re a little… much at times, but you are everything Mena and Dante deserve from a dad. You are nothing like him in the ways where it matters. Why didn’t you bring this up earlier? You promised me no more secrets, Terz. We're in this together." 

Terzo tipped forward and buried his head in his hands, “I don’t have a good excuse. I know you’ve been struggling and worried about having two kids and I refused to add more undue stress to your plate. And… I waited too long to bring this up…”

She reached out and rubbed circles on his back, “My sweet idiot. You are nothing like Nihil. The fact that you’re even having these thoughts is asinine.” 

Terzo didn’t reply at first. He began to open his mouth and then it felt like there was an elephant’s foot on his chest crushing all the air out, “What if I do treat Dante like how Nihil treated me and Primo and Secondo?”

“Again: you won’t,” Alé replied, completely dismissing the idea, “You’re better than that, Terz. After everything he put you through, you know what to do and what not to do. Look at Mena. I think we’re doing a pretty damn good job with her! A little spoiled, no thanks to you, but I think we’re doing well.”

Terzo smiled up at his wife, sniffling as he carefully dabbed at the black smudging around his eyes, “Time will tell… But I can’t stop thinking about it. Every night before bed. Every morning I wake. When there’s a quiet moment in my office. Every time I'm tucking Mena into bed. What if I become my father?”

“Terzo,” Alessandra scolded, “You will never become Nihil, you care too much. You're a good man. Now stop being a fool and hold your son.”

Terzo sat up and shook his head, “I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Alé disappointedly sat back, holding the newborn baby tightly to her, “I didn’t realize you were this upset about it, Terzo.”

“Eh, the paperwork, the Papa duties shit, chasing Mena around, and courting you all day are pretty good distractions. As I said: I know you had enough to worry about already,” Terzo admitted to his partner. He looked over at his son as his thoughts began to swarm his mind again.

‘I have a son’ kept reverberating in his brain. He couldn’t believe it, after nine long months, he was finally here. And Terzo was able to be there for Alé the entire pregnancy this time around. He was there for all the milestones: every ultrasound, the first hiccups, the first movements, being there to massage out any and every cramp she had, playing him music (Meliora being the first album once they were convinced the unborn child could hear), the midnight cravings, being there to help Alé with her birth plan (a sad waste of time looking back on it now), and especially feeling his son respond and move when he sang to him. Terzo loved every second of it. Their son was worth it all. Dante wriggled against his mother, making tiny huffing noises; unable to fathom how loved he was already.

“I can't believe he's already here,” Terzo murmured, trying to change the subject, he was hypnotized by the small creature, “I’m sorry for dumping this on you… it should be a happy time... and-- I'm sorry, amata.”

Alé smirked, still watching their son with his Emeritus-colored eyes, sleepily looking up at her, “You’ll learn this soon, Dante. Your Papa makes bad choices; just really, really poor choices and he’s a damned fool. I think he's just scared of you overthrowing him. But believe me, he will grow on you after a while.”

Terzo scoffed as he briefly stood from his seat to kiss Alé’s flushed forehead, “You’re something else, dolce.”

“You’re something special, too. You're a good man. You're a great father. Stop doubting yourself; there's a reason I keep you around and let you knock me up," Alessandra teased, trying to lighten the mood, “I think being retired has made you soft. What happened to the arrogant, self-righteous Papa with an ego so large, it could barely fit through the door.”

Terzo stuck his tongue in his cheek and folded his hands behind his head, laid back as much as he could in the plastic seat, “I’ll show you large.”

“There he is,” Alé giggled, shaking her head. She stroked Dante’s cheek, softening her voice, “These kids have no idea how lucky they are to have a role model as compassionate, empathetic, supportive, and courageous as you.”

“Ah, tesoro, you’re making me blush,” Terzo fanned his face, finding himself unable to pull away from her loving gaze, “Thank you for the pep talk.”

“I mean, do you think Nihil was even present for any of your guys being born? Let alone delivering a baby! You’ve already surpassed him in “dad-ing”. None of this would have been possible without you, again, Dr. Papa Emeritus the Third,” Ale cackled, tossing her head back, gently rousing Dante again.

“Okay, circling back to that,” Terzo began ramping up for his spiel with wide eyes, already waving his arms wildly, “We’re choosing a date for you to be induced next time. Because I’m not doing this any more!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry the problem you helped create is inconvenient for you!” Alessandra mocked, still laughing to herself. 

“It’s not the birth, it's the fact that you keep having me on the receiving end. You know my track record, Alessandra! I’m going to drop the next one!”

“In the name of Lucifer,” Alé groaned quietly as her laughter ceased, wiping at her eyes, “There is not going to be a ‘next one’.”

Terzo’s well-prepared, crude response was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, “We will follow up on this later.”

"There is nothing to discuss!" Alé scoffed as Terzo sarcastically nodded in agreement as he stood.

Once he reached the entryway, he opened the door to see his two older brothers, and there excitedly hanging onto Zio Secondo was Terzo’s perfect daughter.

“Tesoro! Complimenti, Mena! You’re a big sister!” Terzo cried out, holding out his arms to his daughter; both just as equally excited to see each other. Mena almost threw herself out of Secondo’s hold as she eagerly stretched out her arms to her father.

Secondo handed his niece off into her father’s embrace, “We heard congratulations are in order, eh?”

“She did it again, Alé was an absolute macchina. A whole even 8lbs and a whopping 20.6 inches. Maybe the generational stature curse will skip him!” Terzo teased as he shook his ‘older’ brother's hands while balancing Mena on his hip.

Secondo peered past the dim glow of the room, studying his brother’s face. He looked down on him, momentarily lowering his sunglasses, “Perché stai piangendo?” 

Terzo waved him off as he continued to rock his daughter before changing the subject, “I assume you’ve heard where he made his entry?”

“We are aware. Sister Imperator is already there assessing the damage. She’s furious, Terzo. If only you could hear the screeches coming out of her mouth. She’s already roped in as many of the nosy ghouls and siblings loitering around to help facilitate clean-up,” Secondo chuckled, already so proud of his nephew and his excellent choice in timing; already sticking it to Sister. He carefully extracted a wrapped Cuban cigar from the pocket of his onyx suit and handed it to Terzo, “Congratulazioni, fratello.”

“Lo apprezzo molto. Grazie, fratello,” Terzo replied, touched by the gesture before tucking it safely into his breast pocket. Secondo gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder as he stepped aside for Primo.

“We didn’t want to intrude, but our nipote had been asking nonstop about you two; she is aware her brother has arrived. She’s been insistent on finding her Mama and Papa,” Primo explained from the doorway.

“Thank you for babysitting her, ti devo,” the new father expressed his gratitude as Primo enveloped both him and his daughter into a bear hug. The lingering smell of warm sun beamed off Primo’s button-up shirt, he must have been out gardening when he heard the news. The familiar, comforting aroma lifting a weight off his soul. 

“Non c'è di che,” Primo replied softly as he stepped back from the embrace, “Well, we’ve done our parts. We will let you four have your family time, please let us know if you need anything else. We’re here for you.”

“Nonsense!” Terzo insisted, “You are family, too. Let me check with the mama.”

“Only if it’s not intruding,” Secondo reminded him, before shuffling his hands together, “But… we are excited to meet our nephew.”

“You should be, he’s a looker. He’s going to be something special, just like his big sister,” Terzo beamed at his daughter, receiving a shy giggle in return. He held up a finger as he and Mena headed behind the privacy curtain to see Alé and Dante,  “Aspetta un po’!”

“Mama!” Mena squealed as soon as she laid eyes on her mother in the bed; noting something bundled and stirring in her arms. She began to try and wiggle herself free from Terzo’s hold to run to Alé’s bedside. Terzo clung onto the toddler and fought her tiny iron fists squeezing out of his arms. They had wanted the meeting of the siblings to be a little more controlled and calm. Terzo was insistent on this. From all the books he had devoured over the past nine months, trying to fully prepare himself this time around, he had some idea what he was doing; surprising even himself.

“Oh, my Mena!” Alé’s eyes began to mist up at the sight of her first born, remembering bringing Mena home for the first time years before, “I’m so happy to see you, I’ve missed you, baby.”

“Missed you, too, Mama,” Mena dittoed. She whined against her father, trying to bend herself backwards out of his arms.

“Mena, aspetta, per favore,” Terzo struggled out, beginning to lose hold over his incredibly strong child, “Alé, amore, are you willing to see ai ragazzi? You don’t have to if you’re not up to it.”

“Of course!” Alessandra warmly welcomed the visitation as she sat herself up and pulled her robe back over her chest and shoulders, regaining a little modesty before receiving her brothers-in-law.

Terzo winked at her as he obviously captured one more mental image of her exposed breasts. Alessandra scoffed in disgust at her partner and rolled her eyes, patting down her hair as he turned away to gather their guests.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Terzo excitedly began, waving them into the nurse’s room, “Let’s go say hello!”

The group headed past the curtain to be met with the glowing vision of Prime Mover Alessandra and her newborn son. The exhaustion was still evident on her beautiful face as she happily greeted her guests. She shifted Dante in her arms to allow the older Emerituses a quick peek. Primo and Secondo cooed afar at the newborn as they seated themselves in the other pair of fold out chairs; letting Mena and her new brother have their moment.

Terzo mentally prepared himself, asking his daughter, “Tesoro, are you ready to meet your fratellino?”

“Yes!” Mena whispered excitedly, desperate to get into her mother’s arms.

Terzo and Mena approached Alé and Dante in the bed as Mena began to take in the view of her new sibling. 

“Hi, baby,” Alessandra cooed to her first born. Terzo leaned in to allow Mena to give her a kiss. Alessandra couldn’t believe it seeing her children before her; they had two kids now. Two. She couldn’t comprehend how she had agreed to this again. But she took faith in her husband’s reaffirming words: they’d figure it out and they’d be fine, “Mena, this is your brother, this is Dante.”

The four sat in a brief silence allowing Mena to adjust and take everything in. Terzo hugged Mena a little tighter, drawing her attention to her father, "What do you think, tesoro?”

“He’s hairy,” Mena stared at the newborn intently, taking in all his features.

“He… he is a little hairy… isn’t he?” Terzo hesitantly agreed with his oldest, the books did not prepare him for this scenario, “You too had a lot of hair when you were born, stellina.”

“I remember,” Mena nodded stoically. Terzo and Alé glanced at each other and shared a skeptical, but confused look.

“Eh, right,” Terzo broke the silence, “Do you want to say hello to him, Mena?”

“Ok,” the eldest Emeritus heir nodded slowly; still a little skeptical of the new human nestled in her mother’s arms.

Terzo lowered their daughter onto the bed next to Alé and Dante. Terzo fluffed up a pillow behind her to give her a little extra support. Mena burrowed against her mother, clinging to her arm, but still kept a curious eye on her newborn brother.

“He isn’t scary, I promise,” Alé empathetically whispered to her daughter, “You can get closer to look at him.”

Mena sat up, her small hands still firmly planted on her mother’s arm for security. She peered down at Dante’s face. Alé shifted her arms to move Dante closer to his sibling, he lightly stirred before silently yawning; his eyes still adjusting to his new environment.

“Hi, Dante,” Mena tilted her head, giving her new sibling an unsure, but welcoming smile. Mena cautiously reached a hand out to touch the blanket he was wrapped up in, seeming to relax a little more against her mom. Her little brother tried to focus on her face as she looked down on him. She squinted, inspecting the newborn before whispering for just Alé to hear, “He has my eyes.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Ale laughed quietly at the innocent revelation, stroking her daughter’s curls, “Don’t you think he looks like Daddy?”

Mena glanced back to observe her father before turning back to her brother, shrugging, “I guess.”

“What do you think, my love? How does it feel to have a little brother so far?” Alé smiled, pressing her lips to her daughter’s crown.

" He's okay…” Mena agreed, taking in her sibling's features before nodding assuredly to herself, "He's gonna be trouble.”

The room erupted in laughter at her statement. Primo gave Terzo a stern, knowing nod, remembering just how much trouble Terzo truly was as a child.

"I'm glad he gets your seal of approval!” Terzo teased smirking at his daughter. Relieved the meeting of the two seemed to be going well.

“Do you want to hold him, Mena?" Alessandra offered.

Mena nodded softly as her mother carefully placed Dante into her tiny, outstretched arms. Terzo's hands waiting on the side of the bed to catch him if Mena lost interest; as he had witnessed her doing with her baby dolls before dropping them to the floor.

“See?" Alessandra began, beaming down at the two humans she created, “Holding a baby isn't that scary, Terzo." 

“I don't need your merde," Terzo jokingly muttered in a hushed tone, glowering at her while trying to mask his amusement at her taunts.

“I'm only teasing, my love," Alé winked, wrapping her arm around their daughter and resting her cheek on her head, “Mena, tell your Papa it isn't scary to hold him." 

“You held me, why don’t you hold Dante?” Mena innocently asked, not taking her eyes away from Dante’s face. She seemed to be entranced by the baby as she gently held onto his small hand; taking in all of his features and the strange noises he made.

"That's not fair," Terzo chided Alé for using his daughter against him, clenching his jaw through a tense smile. She flashed a wicked smile at him and a wink.

"You haven't held your own son, yet?” Secondo piped up, joining in on the gentle hen-pecking of his younger brother, "Why won't you hold the baby, Terzo? You are scared, aren't you? Might drop him, mani di ricotta?”

"Stai zitto, testa di minchia,” Terzo seethed at his brother, glaring daggers. Primo gently nudged the middle Emeritus brother, breaking up their spat. Primo could read Terzo like a book and this wasn't the right time; his little brother was more tense than usual.

Primo rose from the seating in the infirmary room and made his way silently to his family. He rested a hand on Terzo's shoulder as he peered at the newest arrival.

“You’re doing so well, tesoro,” Primo complimented Mena, “You’re already such a good big sister.”

“Grazie,” Mena grinned up at her beloved uncle before returning to coo at her little brother.

"He truly is the spitting image of you, Terzo. At least from the few pictures your mama had of you when you arrived here,” Primo recollected, softly smiling as he basked in the glow radiating from the family snuggled on the bed.

“Bah, how would you remember that?” Terzo scoffed at his brother, wrapping his arm around him, patting his back. Primo leaned into the sideways hug, returning the embrace.

"You really would be surprised by all that I remember,” he smiled at his younger brother, tapping at his temple. He leaned close and spoke in a hushed, reassuring tone, "Sei dieci volte più padre per loro di quanto lo sia mai stato per noi. Non avere preoccupazioni." 

Terzo’s eyes widened as his hand clasped over his heart, “Cazzo stregone. Esci dalla mio mente.”

Primo chuckled as he gave his brother another pat on the back, "I know you fairly well, stronzo. Now get that garbage off your mind and celebrate the arrival of your son.”

“Ave Satanas. Grazie, fratello," Terzo shook his head in disbelief. 

“Sí, sí. Go tend to your tua moglie," Primo gestured forward.

Terzo gave his brother's arm a thankful squeeze as he turned his attention back to Alé and their kids. He lowered back down onto the chair, eye-height with Mena, “Tutto bene?”

“Sí!" Mena asserted, “He's very interesting." 

Terzo nodded, pretending to understand, “You're telling me he's not too bad to hold, eh?" 

Mena nodded vigorously as if she were an expert now, “Oh yes, he's a good baby." 

“Alright, Terzo broke the brief silence, clearing his throat. He held his arms out towards his son, “I’m ready for a turn then.”

Notes:

Paziente -- Patience Stronzetto -- Little asshole Complimenti/Congratulazioni -- Congratulations Macchina -- Machine Perché stai piangendo? -- Why were you weeping? Lo apprezzo molto -- I appreciate it Nipote - neice Ti devo -- I owe you Non c'è di che -- Don’t mention it Aspetta un po’ -- Wait a second Ai ragazzi -- the boys Stellina -- little star Mani di ricotta -- butterfingers Testa di minchia -- dickhead Sei dieci volte più padre per loro di quanto lo sia mai stato per noi. Non avere preoccupazioni.-- You are ten times more of a father to them than he ever was to us. Don't have worries. Cazzo stregone. Esci dalla mio mente. -- Fucking witch. Get out of my head. Tua moglie -- Your wife Tutto bene? - All good?

[ghoulette-knell]

since you’re asking for requests can you do a zephyr and ifrit sick fic

Oh 100% Anon!!! Thank you so much for the request ❤️❤️✨🫶

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Quarantined

Ifrit x Zephyr

Ifrit comes down with a nasty case of the stomach bug, and Zephyr offers to help him out in any way he can!

✨ SFW ✨

TW: Mentions of sickness, specifically vomit (I have Emetophobia which is why I felt it was important to mention). Also, we love a soft Zephyr fic??? Yes, yes we do.

Please don’t read if the stomach bug is triggering to you! I know how bad emetophobia panic attacks are, so please don’t put yourself at risk for a fluffy oneshot ❤️

Word Count: 1,541

Ifrit groaned in pain. This was the first time he had had a stomach bug since he was summoned by the Satanic ministry to be a Ghoul in the band Ghost. He had caught it from Omega… the bastard. The poor fire-Ghoul wasn’t used to being out for the count, so this was incredibly difficult for him.

Thankfully though, there was one Ghoul willing to help out, and that was Zephyr. The air-Ghoul knew one of Ifrit’s biggest pet peeves in the world was not being productive, and to top it all off, being ill didn’t help. So, the pianist was slowly walking down the halls towards Ifrit’s quarters.

Zephyr didn’t even bother to knock before entering the younger Ghoul’s room. He knew Ifrit well— the door would be unlocked for sure. The air-Ghoul entered the room cautiously. He spotted a stationary lump in the middle of the bed and sighed sadly.

“How are you feeling, Ifrit?” he questioned while slowly shutting the door behind him as he walked in, “I brought some water, peppermint tea, and honey. Mist told me honey helps with unsettled stomachs and can make you puke a little less. It won’t completely heal you, but it’ll help.”

Typical Zephyr. He was always trying to go above and beyond for his friends, especially with Ifrit. He’s always looked up to the fire-Ghoul despite him being younger than Zephyr, and to see him like this was physically painful. The Ghoul was extremely talented, and not to mention, he was a good friend.

Ifrit responded with a pitiful groan as he rolled over to face Zephyr.

“Thanks. I have never felt so sick in my life. I am… thankful you decided to come and check on me, but I promise I’m fine.”

Zephyr’s tail wagged slightly with the compliment, a small smile appearing on his lips from underneath his mask, “You don’t need to thank me, Ifrit. I’m more than happy to help you out. You’re my friend, and I know you’d do the same for me.”

Ifrit looked terrible though, which made the smile slowly slip from Zephyr’s face. It was a rare occurrence to see any of the ministry’s Ghouls without their masks, which was likely the result of the fire-Ghoul’s frequent vomiting.

Ifrit’s face pale, his eyes were dilated from the sheer discomfort he was feeling, and he was sweating. The Ghoul likely had a fever.

Without another word, Zephyr unscrewed the cap of one of the water bottles he had brought with him, and walked over to the disheveled bed; placing the opening of the bottle to Ifrit’s lips. The Ghoul didn’t immediately take the offer of water; his eyes fluttering shut due to exhaustion.

“Ifrit, buddy. You’ve gotta drink something. You’ll dehydrate if you don’t,” Zephyr cooed while stroking the younger Ghoul’s face, “Come on. Just one sip. I’m gonna throw some tea on to boil too. All of this will make you feel so much better.”

“Zephyr… I’m tired,” the poor man whispered while sleepily wiping the sweat from his brow.

Zephyr sighed in annoyance, “Dude, I will force feed you this damn water. Make it easier on both of us. I’m not asking you to drink the whole bottle— you just need a few sips, okay? And trust me, puking this water up will feel great compared to dry heaving.”

That seemed to get Ifrit’s attention.

The younger Ghoul’s tired eyes slowly opened, and he took a few small sips of water. He groaned in discomfort as the liquid slid down his raw throat. Without another word, Ifrit’s eyes closed, and he rolled on his side, facing away from Zephyr.

The air-Ghoul quickly capped the bottle and carefully placed it on Ifrit’s bedside table.

“I’m gonna make you some tea. The peppermint is scientifically-proven to help nausea and settle upset stomachs. The honey helps sooth intestinal distress, which actually might help you stop vomiting quicker!”

Zephyr loved to learn little things like that. He gained almost paternal instincts when it came to the rest of the Nameless Ghouls, so when someone got sick or something along those lines, he and Mist would discuss ways to help. He and Mist were like the mother and father of the Ghouls… not counting Papa Terzo, of course.

Ifrit didn’t respond to Zephyr’s promise of tea. Zephyr didn’t mind though. The air-Ghoul hummed quietly to himself as he shuffled through Ifrit’s cabinets, finally locating an old fashioned tea kettle.

The air-Ghoul placed the kettle on the stove and turned it on. He continued to hum to himself as he added water to the kettle. Zephyr placed the peppermint tea bags and honey to the side, which he would add to Ifrit’s mug once the water was done boiling.

However, before Zephyr could even try to sit and relax while he waited, Ifrit shot up into a sitting position, his eyes wide. His throat was frantically swallowing mouthfuls of saliva.

“You okay, buddy?” Zephyr asked, his tail twitching in apprehension over Ifrit’s movements. Then it hit him…

Without hesitation, once Zephyr knew what was about to occur, leapt from his position in the kitchen, and raced over to Ifrit’s bedside. He expertly grabbed the wastebasket from the corner of the room, and placed it right in front of the fire-Ghoul’s face.

Just in time, too.

“You’re okay, sweet boy,” Zephyr whispered as Ifrit loudly expelled his stomach contents into the can; tears streaming down the fire-Ghoul’s cheeks as he tried to gasp for air, “Just let it out, Ifrit. You’re okay.”

The care for his fellow Ghoul overshadowed Zephyr’s instincts, telling him to back away and get as far from the vomit as possible. His left hand held the bucket for Ifrit, and his right rubbed reassuring circles on the sick Ghoul’s back.

“There, there, Ifrit,” Zephyr cooed as Ifrit began to collect himself after his sickness, “You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay?”

Zephyr placed the wastebasket back on the floor and fetched a handkerchief from his pocket; carefully dabbing away the sick from Ifrit’s quivering lips, “You’re okay, sweet boy.”

“I don’t feel okay,” Ifrit muttered while letting Zephyr continue dabbing up the mess, “And I’m worried I’ll make you sick. I don’t want anyone else to have to deal with this.”

The air-Ghoul sighed and rubbed Ifrit’s shoulders reassuringly, shushing his concerns, “If I get it, I get it. It is what it is. It’s going to get the whole ministry— it happens all the time.”

“You’re taking this whole thing very well,” Ifrit replied while grabbing the water bottle off the bedside table and taking a small sip, “I would be freaking out if I was in your shoes.”

Zephyr chuckled and placed a small kiss through his silver mask on Ifrit’s forehead. That was a bold move considering he hadn’t ever confronted Ifrit on the fact that he had a little crush, but Zephyr figured it would be okay.

He was right. Ifrit didn’t even bat an eye as Zephyr placed the mouth of his mask against his exposed forehead. He actually blushed, which was so out of character for the fire-Ghoul.

Zephyr quickly got the peppermint tea with honey together for Ifrit. The sick Ghoul just sat patiently and waited; his eyes saggy and sleepy.

The air-Ghoul brought the mug of hot tea over. He blew slightly on the hot water to try and cool it, and once it was a safe temperature, Zephyr helped Ifrit take a few sips.

“This is actually helping my throat ache,” Ifrit observed while licking his lips, which signified he even liked the taste of the beverage, “Thanks, Zeph.”

Zephyr then crawled into bed beside Ifrit and urged him to lay on the air-Ghoul’s chest. Without hesitation, Ifrit placed his mug of peppermint tea on the nightstand with his water bottle, and snuggled into Zephyr’s side.

“Thank you,” Ifrit whispered while bundling himself into Zephyr’s side along with his heavy, warm blankets, “You’ve actually managed to make me feel better.”

Zephyr couldn’t help but blush underneath his mask. His tail even swayed slightly from happiness, “Hey, that’s my job. You don’t need to thank me.”

Ifrit’s ears perked slightly, and he actually mustered out a chuckle. Zephyr was about to ask what was so funny when the fire-Ghoul extended his hands and wrapped them around Zephyr’s mask.

The fire-Ghoul removed Zephyr’s mask, “Since you said you don’t mind getting sick…”

Without hesitation, Ifrit pressed his lips softly against Zephyr’s; the air-Ghoul blushing enough to make him look like a tomato.

Zephyr’s arms wrapped lovingly around Ifrit’s body; pulling him closer and deepening their kiss. After a few moments, the two Ghouls pulled away; happiness and adoration in each of their eyes.

“Yeah, that’s definitely worth getting sick over. At least I brought a lot of peppermint tea and honey with me,” Zephyr chuckled like a love-sick teenager, and pulled Ifrit back in for another kiss.

[mooseyspooky]

Why do you think Morrissey has been acting like this lately? Is it because Marr turn down a reunion? I don't think he only wanted the reunion for the money. I also feel like Morrissey feels irrelevant and forgotten and thought that maybe a reunion might give a new life to his career

Darren asked me about this yesterday, and I wrote a whole essay about it. I think just copying it here will be a good answer to this.

Darren: How are we feeling about the moz and Johnny news

Me: Pretty indifferent. Same shit another day. I mean they survived the court case and banged all the way through the early to mid 2000s to 2009

Moz having a tantrum is nothing new

I was very sad to hear Johnny said no to a reunion

But it's not like I don't get it

Andy passed last year

Johnny wanted Moz back in 2008 and Moz ghosted him after promising he was totally on board

Moz didn't show up for the 2006 fundraiser concert for Andy's dad's cancer

Which is pretty ruthless

Moz clearly hasnt opened a single email Johnny sent him since 2018 when Johnny filed the trademark and tried to get him to cosign

Which is insane because Johnny did it specifically to stop Mike Joyce (the Classically Smiths venture that he tried roping Andy into, though Andy backed out at the last minute. Some say because of his cancer, but I'm sure Johnny being so pissed off about it he got lawyers involved was also a part of it)

Which is literally something Moz should be gagging to do at all times 24/7

And meanwhile nothing

And then Johnny continued to try, even sending the paperwork again this year in January and nothing

So i mean why would Johnny want a reunion

Moz wants it to happen a year after Andy is buried, it's too late

Does it hurt I don't get to see them together on stage ever, yes, but I'm not like

Demented

If I was Johnny I'd be so fucking tired

Like beyond exhausted

Sharing a stage with him?

Putting up with him on tour?

Moz canceled over 50% of shows last year

No explanation, sometimes on the _day of_

Just wouldn't do them

I mean Johnny won't cancel a show if his grandma dies

Moz just

Cancels cause it's a slightly breezy day out and that offends him

Yes I love Moz, I am his ride or die, I will go to my grave obsessed with him and everything about him

But I am aware and understanding he is extremely fickle and can be very stupid

This is all happened, literally all of it, cause Johnny made very light fun of him on Twitter

Like barely a joke

Johnny saw some popular girl on Twitter who is a super fan

Saw she mentioned a reunion

Didn't tag him

And Johnny posted a picture of a far right dude in England that Moz protested the treatment of in prison one time like- i don't know. 7 years ago

They put the guy in a prison where he was at high risk, and Moz made a slight offhanded comment saying it was cruel

So now here we are, with Johnny posting a picture of a guy

To a Smiths super fan

Who didn't tag him

Who mentioned a reunion

Because she saw Oasis get back together

And Moz got _so upset_

He decided to throw an absolute shit fit

And now Johnny has to be like literally can you calm down

And in some ways I understand both sides

Moz just

His sort of...recurring thing

Is that he really really hates when Johnny won't stick up for him

Or when Johnny is quiet when people are dog piling on him

Johnny did that a lot in the 90s

During the NME smear campaign, for instance, and the court case

And it really broke Moz up

Like, and I can imagine it did hurt

To be so close and so in love and meanwhile Johnny won't do anything. Just sit there and refuse to say anything

That's probably heartbreaking

Especially with Moz being so. Like. Blindly in belief that Johnny is forever innocent, forever perfect ("the always innocent young cabin boy")

There is no flaw

But Johnny is a human being, too, who has a lot going on

And to then see Johnny, here in 2024, once again. After 30 years not stand up for him

But instead making teasing posts on Twitter

Even if they're not cruel

I could see it causing Moz to have a meltdown

Should he be? At 65? No. He should be over it

But he's not

He still wants Johnny to love him, to defend him

And so yes he did have a total split from sanity for a bit but at the end of the day. I think the underlining thing is is that it stems from Moz being so deeply infatuated with his first love that he can't stand even the slightest notion Johnny isn't still as infatuated with him

Johnny was able to move on, to continue to keep his marriage, he was able to maintain friendships and have a lot of normal stuff that Moz couldn't because autism

Undiagnosed unrecognized autism but all the same

Moz is still, in his mind, deeply entrenched in the belief that Johnny is perfect and slight diversions from that cause major malfunctions

Moz clearly doesn't give a shit about the trademark thing. He's ignored it since 2018. Moz has talked about loathing albums being repackaged (Paint a Vulgar Picture), so clearly the greatest hits thing doesn't really bother him

Moz wanting a reunion, sure. Okay. Maybe that stung but my god he had to expect it

So what does Moz care about?

Johnny

That's it. Period.

He wants Johnny to love him and be obsessed with him forever, and that's the long and the short of it so.

[enbycrip]

Please, please consider putting the time you are spending playing about using AI image generators into learning how to make art yourself.

If you want to work digitally, there are free programmes; if you don’t want to spend money on Procreate, start on Medibang and try their anime tutorials. Buy a cheap stylus to get started.

Or try watercolour. There’s *so* many tutorials out there for free to give you tips and basic paints and brushes available very cheaply. Or pastels; again, very cheap to get started with and so many tutorials out there. Pencil or charcoal sketching. Pen and ink. Clay sculpting. Pyrography. Embroidery.

You can learn *so* much with such remarkably little work. I am disabled. I have a fatigue disorder and my hands do not work incredibly well, and even though it is *beyond* exhausting to do, my dexterity has improved so much with the work I have managed to do, even when it is basically simply messing about trying things. You start learning a whole new way of seeing the world around you when you start learning how to depict it.

Start by tracing, if you like; it absolutely teaches you about perspective and shapes. Do a paint-by-numbers; you are learning about brushwork and colouration and how to handle and use pigments. Copy a photo you really like. Make a little pot out of cheap clay and keep stuff in it. Mess around making leaf prints with watercolour and see the cool effects when you sprinkle salt on it. Mend a hole in your jumper with contrasting thread and see how it has suddenly become a whole new garment. Create a little dude and feel his soul enter the universe through your fingertips when you poke eyeholes in him and suddenly he has an expression.

With the time you spent using a prompt machine to mash stolen pieces of other people’s work into an image, you could have been learning to create your own. Please don’t waste that time again.

What you create and communicate will have thousands of times the value, even if you think it is “terrible” because it will be genuine, unique creation and communication of *your* unique perspective on the world.

And if you keep doing it, it will not continue being terrible. It will start being good, because people get good at things by doing them.

Art isn’t a gift. It’s a skill; or rather, thousands of skills. Learning any of them gives you transferable skills that will make other ones easier to gain too.

[jelzorz]

144.

related to but does not follow on from this doodle

Callum has always been wary of the word quiet (and all of its synonyms) while working the night shift, but if there was one word to describe the state of tonight's Emergency Department, it would be (he hesitates and glances at the glass sliding doors just beyond the triage window) quiet as the fucking grave.

There are two of them tonight: him and the other intern, Rayla, who's chugging a coffee on the other side of the nurses' station and avoiding the eye of Viren, the on-call ED consultant, who's grumpy at the best of times and thinks coffee on the floor is trashy and unprofessional. They're on shift together relatively often, which is nice, because Rayla is friendly (and unfairly pretty for someone in wrinkled scrubs with permanent bags under their eyes), and at the very least, she makes these shifts less horrible for everyone involved. She's friends with all the nurses (even if Opeli, the nurse unit manager, finds her humour exhausting); she's on good terms with the Soren the paeds resident (they play soccer together apparently), and so far, she's only had to ask Viren to consult once, which is a feat in and of itself.

Callum likes to think that he and she are pretty good friends, but he would be lying if he said that's all he wanted them to be. She's just...

Soren sidles up to him and sets an elbow on his charts. "Out of your league?"

Callum scowls and shoves Soren off the bench. The fluorescents flicker above them, and Soren snickers and jabs a finger at the roof. "Careful," he teases. "They'll take that out of your pay."

Callum scowls again. "What are you even doing here? Paeds ED is that way."

"Yeah, it's empty, I'm not hanging out there by myself." He clucks his tongue and checks his pager for good measure which, unsurprisingly, has nothing for him. "I don't get you," he adds, twirling a pen between his fingers. "You guys are supposed to be friends. Why don't you just ask her if she wants to go out with you?"

"What are you, twelve? No one does that anymore."

"You can try Netflix and chill isntead—"

"Soren." Callum buries his head in his charts as a couple of nurses walk past in an effort to hide the redness rising in his cheeks. "Stop. You're gonna tell the whole hospital at this rate and, in any case, it's none of your business."

Soren raises an eyebrow. "Are you twelve?"

"No," says Callum shortly. "I'm professional, and it's not a good look to date your coworkers. Besides." He flushes some more. "You said it yourself. She's out of my league."

"You really are twelve, holy shit." Soren barks out a laugh, and Callum sinks further into his desk chair like it might help him disappear into the floor. Rayla, thankfully, hears none of it, because she's got an earphone in and what looks like a podcast playing on her phone. "Listen. I'm gonna give you some advice."

"Good lord," groans Callum. "What advice could you possibly give me that would help?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that I'm good just as good at wooing women as I am with men—"

"Please stop."

"And it's not that unprofessional if you disclose it—"

"To who? Your dad?"

Soren cuffs his shoulder. "Just talk to her," he snaps. "Okay? It's literally not that hard. Just ask if she wants to get a coffee with you in the morning or something. You're killing the whole department with all your pining."

Callum snaps his mouth shut. He—somehow—flushes more. He sputters. "What do you mean the whole department—?"

"Yeah, we've all got eyes, dude, what do you think the nurses gossip about?"

Callum groans and sets his forehead against the desk, the charts cool against his skin. Highschool feels like it was a lifetime ago, and he'd been so grateful to get out but somehow—

Soren's pager beeps. He glances at and grins—which Callum doesn't think is the most appropriate reaction until Soren shows him the message on the screen:

Got u snacks. Waiting out front. --Corvus

Callum gives him a look. "Isn't that a hospital pager?"

"It's the paeds pager, A.K.A, I'm the only one that uses it, A.K.A, my boyfriend can message me on it if he wants." Soren slips it back into his pocket and fixes his hair using the reflection in nurses' station window. "If only you had a girlfriend who could page you," he says wistfully, sarcastically, and Callum has never wanted to throw his own pager at him more. "Talk to her," he says. "I have money on you. Don't let me down." He grins. He winks. He heads out the double doors and into the waiting room, leaving Callum alone at his desk with the pile of charts he still hasn't reviewed.

The fluorescents flicker tiredly. He sighs. Maybe coffee isn't such a bad idea.

[hiddlelecki]

So ya girl officially turned 34 and, as always, I gave myself some time this month to paint something I’ve been wanting to do for a while..

Y’all know this is from my fave shoot of our dude. Listen..I know, ok?…I know. It’s been years since this shoot was released but goddammit I just wanted to have another big painting from this shoot but of this specific photo, ok?! The overall aesthetic fits with what I have here on the walls. Let me enjoy this.😭😂

This painting kicked my ass, though..It took way longer than I was expecting (all this month) and I am beyond exhausted from it but I’m very happy with the end result. I also hAted what was around his neck in the original photo so I kept it off..just my preference lol.