#redacted frederick mentioned

[themonotonysyndrome]

You just got Rick Rolled!

I have no excuse.

Watch Max0r videos on Youtube :)

-

Summary: Bright Eyes is ready to pull a deadbeat dad.

The duffel bag underneath the bed is ready to go. Pockets are stuffed with wads of stolen cash. 

All they need to do is swipe an armful of blood bags from the Clan’s cold storage for the long road ahead. 

William Solaire standing between them and the milk aisle was not part of the plan. Nor his sad, puppy eyes.

Fucking damn it. 

-

In the grand scheme of things called life, Bright Eyes is not a main character. 

Main characters are people like Frederick, who’s worthy of second chances because he vomits out his heart to those who demand it. Vincent, with his flashy smile and equally flashy cars that caters to single simps who dream of being swept away by a set of 2000-era vampiric TV tropes. Sam, who you can’t hate because he’s not just a bitch, no, no - he’s a bitch with a backstory who just so happens to love to pretend that Bright doesn’t exist on a good day and won’t stop bitching why they’re the modern incarnation of Satan on the worst. Oh! We can’t forget the poster child of Byronic Hero which is Tank. They’re a fan fav for a reason.   

In a world of main characters, Bright Eyes could hardly hold a candle to the people around them. If anything, they’re an NPC. The glitchiest NPC to ever exist in this Skyrim of a world. 

The kind that was brought into the story to be shitted on by the audience because they either don’t meet up to lofty expectations or weren’t the perfect victim.

Is it getting too close to home now? 

Bright has no problem being an NPC - hell, they don’t even mind that there was no space for them on the picture wall that consists of Sam, Frederick, and Tank - they still have their pride, as shitty as it is. Why the fuck would they want to stay at a place where no one wants an NPC that fucks up the whole gameplay? Nah, fam - Bright has been preparing for their getaway on the same night they woke up with an angry Sam sitting beside the bed. 

The Summit expedited the plan. 

While they and Frederick were expected to show up at the undead shindig, being Clan members and all, Sam worried it might overwhelm his Progeny. Apparently, older Vamps enjoy stabbing each other with words and dinner knives after the third course. Sounds like Bright’s kind of people. But because Frederick was benched, so were they. It’s cool, it’s fine. Silver linings and all that. It gave Bright lots of opportunities to pack their meagre shits into a worn-out duffel bag from the store room and steal whatever cash they could find around the house while Frederick was asleep. Vampiric hearing rocks! Sure, they were curious as to why Sam and Tank came back looking like they just witnessed a train wreck, and Vincent seldom came over with his trademark smirks anymore, but since no one tells them anything, Bright chalked it up as another Tuesday. Not their circus, not their monkeys. 

Whatever happened at the Summit isn’t their problem. Missing the last bus to Ferris is.  

Earlier that evening, they made a show of getting ready for bed after Sam left to meet Tank for something, and they can’t bear to look Frederick in the eyes, knowing that this will be the last time they will ever see each other. Not that he knows, but hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? So they collapse onto the mattress, willing themselves to be calm because anything less will have Frederick peeking his head through the door. So they close their eyes until the bond between Progeny and Maker whispers to Bright that Frederick is unconscious. The rose detergent on the pillows and duvet itches their nose. They hate the smell but they can’t forget how wide Frederick smiles just because they accepted a bouquet of roses from him once. It’s not rocket science that all of the previous lavender scents on linens were replaced with rose soon after that. 

Bright Eyes is so exhausted of sustaining themselves on the pitiful sweetness of their once friend turned Maker. Not when the bitterness that comes from Sam is gradually killing them. 

They get up and take a good, long bath. It's probably the only one they’ll be getting for a while, so they’re making the most of the soap and shampoo. They continue to ignore the sweet, floral scent clinging to their body. Then they dig through the closet for a jacket covered in patches and a ripped pair of jeans - the clothes their parents bought for their birthday, now worn with time. The clothes that they wore on the night they were murdered. Then they spend half an hour checking everything for one last time. Anyone can tell by a single glance that Bright Eyes is a walking charity case. It’s cool, it’s fine. No one cares about runaway people all the time. They’re statistics. 

Their stomach flips when Bright stalks across the hall like a ghost. A part of them wanted Frederick to catch them in mid-act, to convince them to stay so they could work things out for good. The part that loathed Bright, however, hisses to remove the glitch in this game. 

Once the front door is locked behind them, Bright wipes their eyes and hoists the duffel bag strap firmly on their shoulder. The abandoned theme park will be their last stop in Dahlia. 

-

Wonder World will forever be a sight for sore eyes. 

Like the Clan, the place is a living corpse. It should have been destroyed, put all the bad memories to rest, but instead, it transformed into a hideout for the walking dead. Hah. 

Bright keeps a good healthy distance from the Vampires that are on shift, listens well to the chatters in dark corners, and avoids slipping underneath awnings that will collapse on top of them if they so much as breathe. They memorised the schedule for this specific night, and it paid off. No one notices them skulking towards the cold storage. See, new batches of blood will be delivered tomorrow, so no one will find out that a couple of leftovers will be missing. Fingers might be pointed at Bright, but by then, they’ll be long gone. A footnote in their lives. 

The fridge greets Bright when they sneak in through the open window, no different than a racoon. Their entry wasn’t as smooth as James Bond’s because their kneecap bumped against the nearby table. Luckily, no one heard it. 

“A+, A+, more A+… you’re fucking kidding me? B-? Beggars can’t be choosers, Bright. Food’s food.” They grumble to themselves as the fridge is raided. They stuffed as many blood bags into the bag as they could. 

Suddenly, the door gently opens. Bright Eyes turn around. Their eyes widen in horror because - 

“Little Bright? Is that you?” William Solaire, the fucking king of every magical equivalent of Schrödinger Cat in Dahlia, tilts his head in question as if to better see them. Standing between them and their freedom. What the fuck, how the fuck, why in the actual fuck!? “I didn’t mean to interrupt your break time. Ah… how are you? Lately, I haven’t had the pleasure of…” Here’s where Bright could only watch in frozen shock when William’s eyes met with the duffel bag and stuffed pockets.  

Hubris is the downfall of many great men. In Bright’s case, it’s stupidity. They really should’ve come up with a backup plan for something like this. That’s on them. They’ll take that L like the underdog they are. 

The two of them shatter the awkward silence by speaking at once. 

“This isn’t what it looks like!” 

“Did you just went through the window?” 

Cue the stares. Wait. There’s something they need to try. 

“Dinosaur in the museum say what?” 

“What?” 

Bright promptly snaps their mouth shut. Don’t laugh. For the love of Reddit Mods, don’t laugh at the most dangerous grandpa in the world. While Bright manages to avoid death via lectures, their shaking shoulders give William the wrong impression. Thinking that the youngest Vampire in his care is shaking with fear at the sight of him pulled on William’s heartstrings. He had always harboured a sadness for not being able to connect with Bright Eyes the way he does with Frederick. The boy is often quiet but perks like a sunflower when you give him the right attention. Bright, on the other hand, scampers away the moment you turn your back. No gentle words or amount of glitter bombs as presents could entice them to drop the walls fiercely guarding their heart. 

William’s heart twists and turns into a knot - more so lately - seeing how Bright Eyes tremble. 

“It’s alright, Little One. You’re alright. The blood bags are for anyone who is in need.” William kindly assures them. “It’s unlike Sam to forget and restock for his household. I supposed our recent conversation has put him out of sorts.” 

“Wait. You think I’m hungry?” 

“Is that not why you brought that bag over - ”

“Yeah, yeah! Pssh, totally! Sam was getting testerical about the lack of bloodshed in the house. Not the fun kind, though.” Bright Eyes fib as they ramble on, their little tell-tale sign of attempting to smother the panic. They refuse to fidget or look away from William’s eyes. Is it a trick of the light? Is Bright high? Why are they wet near the corners? “Uh… c-can I go now? I need to dip to the grocery store for some milk… you know how it is…” 

For some reason, that made the Vampire King flinch. What the hell!? Anyone walking by would think that Bright is bullying him! 

But William lets out a gust of air, heavy and somehow reluctant. He steps aside to present the open door where the world that allowed Tom Howard to live is waiting for Bright. “Of course, Little One. I shouldn’t keep you from your errands.” 

“Lit! So this is me, walking away now…” Bright Eyes warily sidesteps William, who is still giving a strong kicked puppy vibe. Which is insane to comprehend. 

Something about it, however, made them turn around to look at him one final time. Due to the hilariously huge gap between a king and his peasant, Bright has only seen William thrice from afar, and that’s during really important events where they can’t fake a seizure and escape - 

“Bright, Vampires don’t get seizures.” 

“Until now. Quick, pretend you actually care and drag me out.” 

“…Low blow, Bright, and you know it. Why do you never listen when I’m - aaand you’re already on the floor. Great.” 

- so they’re left with them being sandwiched between a highly amused Lovely and a distracted Vincent because their beau is flashing their ankles or something. Bright doesn’t want to know or care. What they do care about is that thanks to Frederick sulking off somewhere, they are now in the spotlight because the prince of the entire damn clan is holding onto their elbow. Random Vampires snicker when they pass by their group, and whenever Bright flips them off, some of them actually laugh! Bright will never understand these deadbeats. But anyway, because of Frederick, Bright has the front row of William in all his fancy ass clothes, in a shiny crown that blinded Bright and a million-dollar smile that rubs them off the wrong way. Fuckers with a max level on charms give them the hives. 

So this melancholic shroud that drapes over his shoulders so heavily that Bright might as well ask if it’s made of lead with how it makes William look so small in the shadows? Yeah, it’s giving red flags. 

And since Bright is colourblind with no filter whatsoever - 

“OK, why do you look like someone woke you up from a depression nap?” Bright demanded, marching back to William. It’s stupid. It’s borderline suicidal, but hey, Bright was never known to make decisions that align with their self-preservation. That’s something their murderer and both Makers will agree on. Tonight, curiosity wins. “Usually you’re very…” They scrunch up their face, trying to think of the perfect words. 

William raises an eyebrow. “Very?” 

“Very shiny.” Bright nods, pleased with themselves. “The kind of shiny that’s like fire in Chinese factories after every election.” 

“I… see. I’m starting to understand why Samuel complain of migraines every now and then.” 

Even as he said that, William began to smile fondly. That threw Bright off a little. He said that without derision and they have no idea how to react. 

“Uh, right. So what’s up?” 

“Can’t a man be caught in his own sorrow every now and then?” 

“But you’re not supposed to be angsty. You’re the King. Your world is supposed to be perfect and all that shit.” Unlike mine, is what Bright didn’t say. 

William’s smile turns rueful. He surprises them by admitting, “Would you like to know a secret, Little Bright? My world hasn’t been perfect lately. How can it be when my loved ones are leaving one by one.” 

Oh, fuck them, is William trauma dumping right now? Deadass? Is this trauma dumping!? Bright didn’t consent to this!

Wait - leaving? Who’s leaving too? 

…Is it any of Bright’s business, though? When they’re doing the same thing tonight? 

This scene feels familiar. It’s like the time they steal a sip from a man in his late fifties while he’s in the middle of a divorce and struggling with alimony. Bright was looking for food, not someone’s entire life story that, in the end, they paid for an Uber and sent him on his way. The point is, there’s no fun in kicking someone who’s already eating dirt. That’s not enough room in Wonder World for two miserable fuckers, so Bright might as well do something about it. 

“C’mon, let’s go. We’re going on a side quest right now.” Bright demands, and fuck it, they grab one of William’s hands and drag him to the exit. Does it say something that the Vampire King lets himself be led away like a cow? Probably, but Bright couldn’t care less.

The patrolling Vampires stare at them incredulously. None attempted even to approach the duo. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” William politely inquires. While Bright might’ve initiated the contact, he finds himself reluctant to let go of their smaller hand. It’s an anchor that he silently needed over these past few days. 

“That and robbery too. I’m gonna be needing your wallet since mine are non-existent. Which one is your car? Wait! Let me guess, the one on the right that looks like it just left the showroom a day ago.” 

“It’s actually this morning. I enjoy collecting Rolls Royce as much as I enjoy watching those exciting Bond movies.” 

“Sheesh, I guess it’s hereditary then. Ok, Goldfinger - take the wheel. We’re going to karaoke. Screaming into a mic is a legit form of therapy. Take it from me.” After dropping that nugget of wisdom, Bright and William enter the car. 

Before William speeds off from the driveway, he frowns and asks, “Why can’t I be James Bond?” 

Bright Eyes groans into their hands. 

-

It takes William Motherfucking Solaire crying into a microphone, singing Hurt by Christina Aguilera to convince Bright Eyes that something is wrong with the trajectory of their life. 

Seriously, what the fuck? 

Despite being one of the prettiest men who should be kept in a museum (isn’t he 5,000 years old or something?) William is an ugly crier. It doesn’t make any damn sense, but he sure ain’t got that damsel-in-distress tears like Cinderella. Bright could only grimace as they extended a box of tissues once William finished belting out the final verse. Their duffel bag mocks them from the door, the only exit from this room. The lamentation of Bright Eyes would be a sick-ass song. 

“The closest thing I have to a son, child-in-law, great grandson and friend are leaving me.” William confesses after blowing his nose. 

“Did I ask?” 

Much to Bright’s horror, William continues.  

“I wanted to be a leader and a father that I never had. A Maker that mine never was. All I wanted… was to protect my family. How did it all went wrong?” 

Oh, geez. William does not give a shit that Bright Eyes hasn’t unlocked his social link. All they wanted was to evict whatever funk was messing with his system like a landlord so they could run away in peace. Not play therapist! Now, the employees are nervously looking through that window on the door because a grown man is depleting their stock of tissue boxes by the minute while Bright is struggling to figure out how to comfort said grown man that doesn’t involve homicide. 

By the way, it took precisely ten minutes for William’s words to register in Bright’s crack-concentrated, addled spider monkey brain. 

Their eyes widen like the backside of a yogi mid-downward dog. “Time out. Back it up, dump truck. Vincent’s leaving? As in, leaving the Clan? Him and the rest of the main characters?” If Bright was still alive, their heart would beat frantically as their head spins in disbelief and betrayal. 

Frederick is leaving them? After everything? To follow what, Sam? And Vincent and Lovely? 

…Without even telling them? 

Numbness and Bright Eyes always have a strange relationship. Quinn draining their blood down to the last drop didn’t give Bright that all-encompassing numbness. It was only when they woke up again that did it. It feels like their bones just took a dip in a pond in the middle of Antarctica. They didn’t even realise they were crying until William gently wiped the tears with a tissue. It’s a testament to how the shocking numbness rooted Bright to the core because they would flinch away from any physical contact that they didn’t initiate after death. 

“You didn’t know.” William summarised with that same melancholy from Wonder World and that same sad smile. They hate it. They don’t deserve it Well! So much for karaoke therapy. Now Bright’s feeling like shit too. 

William leans back when Bright Eyes huffs and slumps against the cheap red sofa. They pretend that their nose isn’t itching when they sniffle as they angrily rub their red eyes. “Of course I didn’t know! I get that Sam wouldn’t tell me shit but I didn’t expect this knife in the back from Freddy!” They spit, and then words start to embarrassingly spill from their mouth before Bright could stop themselves. “I fucking hate this! Why can’t I do anything right!? Why can’t I stop making mistakes? Why do I always try for people who never even like me? Fuck, fuck, fuck this! I hate feeling like this! God, I’m so tired of-of everything!” Fun fact: Bright is also an ugly crier. Even more so than William at this point. Not that it matters because they’re too busy wailing and making a mess out of his shirt when he pulls them into a tight hug. 

A shirt that has more of a network compared to theirs, and Bright Eyes appropriate it by blowing their nose. 

When their crying tapers into hiccups, it’s William’s soothing hand behind their back that grounds Bright Eyes. Exhaustion finally sinks in, and they’re long for the rest in the forever box (coffin) already. 

“I’m… sorry, Little One.” 

“The hell for?” Bright Eyes scrunches their nose. Although William had released them from his embrace, Bright didn’t actually scoot away. Instead, they play the part of a finicky cat - pressing close to the older Vampire without acknowledging it. “You’re not Sam. I hardly even know you.” 

“And I regret it dearly. And I deeply apologised for the suffering that you had to endured under Samuel’s blatant negligence. If I had known earlier that the wounds caused by Alexis run deeper than he would like to admit, I would have intervened. I would have you in my care instead of his in a heartbeat.” 

“Alexis?” 

Here, William sighs. “My eldest Progeny and Samuel’s Maker.” 

“Why does he hate her so much that he took it out on me?” Bright hates how small their voice sounded to their own ears. They needed to know, though. They needed closure, and then maybe, finally, they’ll be able to move on somehow. 

William looks torn, clearly debating with himself. He sighed once more, but this time, it was with resignation. “It’s not my story to tell. However,” Seeing the crushed expression on poor Bright’s face, he decides to be honest towards someone who desperately needs it. Especially since they suffered not only at the hands of someone who was supposed to be their caretaker and teacher but also William’s own negligence. After the Adam incident, he should’ve kept a closer eye on his Clan instead of diverting this attention to other Houses. He owed this much to Bright Eyes and more. “You deserve the truth. Do you have some time to listen to an old man’s regrets?”

“I was supposed to clap my asscheeks to Ferris. So much for that. Actually, I guess it’s pretty hypocritical of me to get pissed off at Frederick for booking it since I was gonna do the same.” Bright’s grumbled, causing William to rear back in a start. But they press on. “So why the fuck not? Whose origin are you spilling? Wham Slam Bam Sam?” 

“…Yes. Two sins never cancel each other.” Something dark flashes over William’s beautiful face. The hair behind Bright’s neck freezes. “Yet I can’t help but find myself disappointed in Samuel’s behaviours more so than mine after tonight.” 

“Spill the tea, spill the tea! My life is already a German bedtime stories and besides, isn’t it so much fun when you focuses on someone’s L instead of yours!?” 

William simply rolled his eyes at their cheek, and so Bright Eyes made themselves comfortable as the Vampire King narrated a story of a daughter he dearly loved but could never understand, and in return, she was unable to understand those she loved. It was all very sad, and the tropes that William describes are all too familiar to Bright. Man, no wonder Alexis turned out to be a villainess like those in their favourite Korean romance manhwa. They wonder if reincarnation is a thing in this world. Would they reincarnate as one of Trisha Paytas’s babies, or is that exclusive to royalties? They made a mental note to ask William once story time was over. Anyway, Alexis and Sam’s history could be a Hozier’s album all on its own and Bright supposed they could muster up some form of sympathy for him if they have similar-sized bazoombas/chesticles as the Princess’, but alas, they don’t. For that, Bright can never forgive Sam for his projection. 

Frederick and their situation hit too close to home apparently, but just because he can’t dish it out on Alexis, does that justify him punishing Bright in her stead? Fuck that. 

Anger buzzes around Bright’s ears like angry hornets. They can’t be around Sam for at least 100 years now that they know the truth. Frederick and Tank can have him for all they care. 

They snatch the microphone again, prompting William’s curiosity. “Are we in for the next session of karaoke therapy?” 

Bright just searched for Grow A Pear by Kesha and belted out for the next three minutes. Making sure to scream out the verse, ‘but you cry about this, and whine about that. When you grow a pair you can call me back,’ making William wonder if he should’ve used more tact. Once they got it out of their system, Bright exhaled deeply and turned their attention back to William with their hands on their hips. 

“If thought crimes were a thing, they would need a new set of the Geneva Convention. So Sam’s a major Soy Wojack.  Good for him. Why is he and every one else are packing their shit up now and not ten thousand years ago?” 

“That’s my fault. My decisions regarding the Summit were inexcusable, and I fear they will be unforgivable to those I love.” William replies as morosely as a tortured poet in the 1500s. Very apt. 

Storytime, part 2! So, while the Summit didn’t go to hell in a handbasket, a lot of the parties that were nearly caught in the crossfire were butthurt, apparently. Trusts were betrayed, and William no longer rests on that pedestal in the eyes of Sam, Vincent, Tank and the furries. Bright doesn’t understand what the big deal is; William is literally an artefact. You can’t live that long with a shiny moral compass. Even now, as William easily takes in Bright’s shenanigans in stride, they could never ignore his capacity for cruelty and ruthlessness. No matter how soft he speaks or how kind he is to Bright. However, stressing out over the assumption that William always has an ulterior motive whenever he opens his mouth would be the equivalent of same-day shipping to God for Bright. Again. Besides, assumptions are nails that could seal a coffin, and Bright would rather use them to build a shelf for Bad Dragons and Lovehoney instead. 

So they snap their fingers, switching to Business Mode. “You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you don’t have a Shae to your Sansa. The Garrus to your Shepard. The Soundwave to your Megatron. Get it?” 

William just looks like a lost child in Whole Foods. Bright tries another angle. 

“Confidants, dude. You don’t have any of those. You’re a King, right? I thought every King has a council of advisers? Ain’t that supposed to be Vincent and Alexis’ job?” 

“No. I can’t possibly bear to burden my children with the unsavoury aspects of our world.” William counters with a grimace. Perhaps William and Bright share a lot more in common than they thought. Not the martyrdom vibes coming off William like radiation but the fact that both of them are essentially the universe's way of trying to figure out how much PTSD one man can possibly get. If Bright is an economist, they would vehemently write themselves and William down as bad use of human capital. Oh! Wait, William is still talking. “It was not out of malice that I placed my family in the dark regarding the Summit. It was out of love. I don’t understand why they couldn’t understand that. Porter even served as their shield.” 

“It could’ve gone better. It really did.” Bright insists, but judging from William’s stubborn expression, this is an issue that is not going to be resolved overnight. 

They thought long and hard about this. Running away is so damn easy it might as well be a cheat code, and isn’t that what Bright and the others are doing? Vincent and the others are probably doing so under the guise of ‘needing some space’ from William, but Bright was planning to run away from their feelings and issues with Frederick and Sam, with no intention of ever talking to them again. 

HOWEVER!

Being abandoned fucking sucks. Bright of all people knows how that tastes! The thought that William would be left all alone with a daughter that comes and goes worse than that street cat Priscilla leaves a sour taste in their mouth. William isn’t an evil dude. He’s just dumb.

Slowly, their duffel bag loses its appeal. Bright is going to take a leap of faith here, and only time will tell if this will be the stupidest decision they have ever made, triumph over their jaunt in Wonder World with Frederick. And so they sit beside William and say, “Look. I actually don’t wanna be alone, and I bet you don’t want that too.” “No, Little One. I had enough of it back in the day.” William quietly admits. A Vampire King shouldn’t be able to look like a poor puppy being left out in the rain! Seriously! 

“Right. Here’s the plan, Batman. You wanna spare Vincent and the rest about the nitty gritty aspects of what it means to be a deadbeat? Fine. We do it baby steps, then. You tell me before you pull off any shits, and I’ll talk your ear off how stupid it is until we figure something better. Sounds good?” 

“No. Absolutely not. You’re family as well, Bright Eyes. I won’t have you suffer the burden of my crown.” 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega. I am one of the mods in 4chan. I can handle shits, alright? It’s in my DNA! Look William, you need someone in your corner that you can trust. If you can’t start with your Progenies, start with me. Prove to them that you value their opinions. We’ve got all the time in the world for it, right?” 

Finally, after trying to get through William the entire night, he starts to look hopeful and, most importantly, determined. He clutches Bright’s hand tenderly. 

“In that case, I have a proposal of my own. If you promise to be my guide, I promise to be your teacher. Allow me to be what Sam was meant to be for you. Perhaps by helping one another, happiness can make its way to us.” As he says this, William feels a lot more better than ever before. It feels like things are starting to look up for him. A rebirth could be just what he and Bright sorely needed. 

What a blessing. What a boon to have a great-great-grandchild to be the modern incarnation of Athena. 

“Yeah, yeah. So! Never gonna give you up?” 

“Never gonna let you down.” 

[capitalisticveins]

Patreon ea spoilerssss

Bright eyes being mentioned for the first time since their playlist was deleted, i feel good

[soup-scope]

on todays episode of “rays redacted theories that make no sense and can never be canon”

what if instead of Fred turning Bright, it was Quinn

ok HEAR ME OUT the way that fred, literally two seconds after being turned managed to draw enough strength to turn Bright WITHOUT DYING??

like when sam used all his healing on Asher so he couldn’t use it on lovely/turn lovely without dying

cause why in the hell WOULD quinn, someone who’s supposedly so smart, linger in Solaire Clan territory (he isn’t apart of the clan from what I know) just to attack two unempowered humans??

i know darlin and sam ‘confirmed’ that quinn isn’t the type to want someone attached to him like that. remember some vamps want their own little legion of people who can’t lie to them and have to listen to their every command.

and who is better than someone like bright? they’d be like the perfect choice for quinn. he seems to like their type (cough cough darlin cough cough)

they’re closed off from everyone they know. even putting such high walls up around their supposed closest friend. they LEFT fred behind when they were running from Quinn. they’re shut off, rash, and becoming increasingly isolated. exactly what quinn preys on

i know this ‘theory’ makes absolutely zero sense but i’m just thinking of the ‘what ifs’ if bright had a more substantial role in the story again 💔💔

[capitalisticveins]

WE CAN DO IT #BRINGBACKFREDANDBRIGHTEYES2K23

your mate confronts your cruel vampire ex spoilers

we finally got our first fred mention in 2023

fredrick collins 🥹😭😭

[starlitangels]

Last Night of Tour

Literally everyone and their mom has done a rockstar/band AU for Redacted characters... but it's my turn now 4.0k words

—

Lovely

The house lights dimmed. From our spots right up against the stage, Tank passed me a pair of earplugs. I twisted them up and put them in my ears. Tank did the same.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and assorted honorable persons, please welcome to our stage here tonight:

“The House of Solaire!” the announcer’s voice boomed over the excessive amount of loudspeakers and the crowd went absolutely wild.

With the earplugs in, everything was tolerably loud, but not earsplittingly so.

The band ran out onto the stage. Vincent at the front, as always. And the screaming and cheering rose to an absolute breaking point. I was more grateful than ever for my earplugs. I cheered and whooped along with everyone else.

Vincent took his place at the front center of the stage. Lead vocalist. Keyboard. Front man.

Tank shouted beside me as Sam followed, going to the back center and carefully sitting on his stool behind his drum set with the band logo on the large bass drum. He picked up his drumsticks and twirled one in the fingers of each hand.

Alexis jogged out next to only slightly-less uproarious applause. She went the farthest across the stage and scooped up her electric guitar, slinging its leather strap with an embroidered red rose over her head and under one arm. She hit a test power chord and everyone in the crowd went nuts.

Frederick slipped out after her, walking instead of running or jogging. The crowd was still going wild even though he wasn’t looking them in the eye. His partner stood on Tank’s other side, earplugs in and staring at him intently, but not screaming or anything. He carefully slid his bass guitar strap on and took up his position.

Vincent yanked his microphone off its stand. Solid rose-gold. “Gooooood evening Dahliaaaaa!” He beamed broadly while the screaming got even higher pitched. “We are The House of Solaire and we thank you for such a big—warm—welcooome!”

More screaming.

Tank nudged me with their elbow. “Your man knows how to put on a show!” Their shout was nearly drowned out but I could see most of it on their lips. We were used to this by now.

I smiled wide and nodded.

Vincent snapped his fingers to a rhythm while looking over his shoulder at Sam. Sam clacked his drumsticks together, matching it.

He hit his drums, getting started. Alexis struck her first chord.

The crowd lost it with recognition. You Mentioned a Blackout was the single that really put them on the map, as it were, and was still one of their most popular songs ever.

Vincent had written it not long before we officially got together, but he wrote it because of me. He’d written it while I was unconscious and asked sheepishly if he could play it for me when I woke up. The sheet music was covered in the frenzied work of inspiration desperately trying not to be lost—and a few water stains of tears. No matter how many times I told him it wasn’t his fault, he never listened.

He held eye contact with me the entire time he swapped between working the crowd and playing the keyboard. Smiling and giving me a dramatic wink.

"I told you once and I meant it— "If you touch what's mine again— "You won't have time to regret it—"

The crowd sang along to the chorus, bouncing to the beat Sam was hammering out. Tank, Frederick's partner, and myself included.

Vincent strode out from the main stage and onto the jetty that jutted into the crowd, high-fiving reaching fans as he passed them, bent low and still singing.

On his strut back to the main stage, he paused during Alexis' solo long enough to fall to his knees, reach down for me, pull me up enough to plant a kiss on my face—to a swell of screaming cheers—and get back to the main stage.

When the song came to a nearly-explosive close, the crowd cheered.

Vincent whipped his glossy blue-black curls off his forehead, beaming. "Man, it is good to be home!" he said into his mic. Everyone whooped. "How's everybody doin' tonight?" More raucous cheering. Vincent raked a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. His white V-neck T-shirt was almost obscenely thin and would get replaced by a tank top at intermission. It was loose around his torso but clung tight across his shoulders.

Damn it looked good on him.

"I'd introduce that last song, but I think you folks already know it," he remarked. "Y'know. That song gets a good reaction everywhere else, but nowhere near as excited as it gets here in Dahlia." He chuckled as several excited whoops went over the crowd. "We've got a pretty special show for you all tonight. It's the last night of our Surge album tour and—" He paused while the crowd screamed. "—and we've got some very special guests tonight. But before we get into that, how about Fangs After Dark?"

The crowd lost their minds.

Sam clacked his drumsticks together again, looking at Frederick, before hitting the bass drum with his pedal. Vincent pounded his long, slender fingers into the keys of his keyboard.

Several songs came and went. The three of us knew them all by heart. We heard them all the time. So did the crowd, apparently. A local band making it big on the rock-and-roll scene was certainly something to celebrate in a college town like Dahlia.

Toward the intermission, Vincent picked up a little hand-towel from his keyboard stand and wiped the sweat off his forehead and neck. "Alright, alright, alright!" he said into his microphone. "Before we do our last song before the break, how 'bout a little intro for the band that needs—no—introduction?"

Screaming again.

Vincent chuckled. "House of Solaire. A little diddy, if you will."

Sam started gently tapping out a beat on his bass and snare drum, adding little cymbal flourishes. Alexis and Frederick kept rhythm on their instruments, Alexis improvising a melody.

"Over here on bass guitar, we have Frederick Collins! Give it up for Freddie!" Vincent announced.

Cheering went up across the stadium.

"And back in the back doin' his thing, we've got the best damn drummer in the world—Sam Collins!"

The audience went absolutely nuts. Sam actually smiled. Tank put their fingers in their mouth and let off several earsplitting whistles. Sam glanced at them and rolled his eyes affectionately, but we were close enough for me to catch his wink, so Tank definitely did too.

"And on my left we have my big sister. The most talented electric guitarist in Dahlia—no, in all of California itself—Alexis Solaire!"

The reaction wasn't quite as loud as Sam's reception, but Sam had always been one of the fanbase's favorite band members. Tank knew it too, and tended to be a little defensive of him.

Vincent let the screaming die down. "And last but not least, we have myself on lead vocals and the keys. My name is Vincent Solaire and I am proud to present The House of Solaire and our new album Surge to y'all tonight!" Even with all the loudspeakers, the end of his sentence was barely audible over the absolute bedlam of noise that erupted from the audience.

Vincent smiled. "Before we go to intermission, I give you a song I wrote for the love of my life." He glanced down at me and grinned. "Everybody give it up for Electric Soul!"

Another popular one that they'd released about a year ago.

The crowd went wild.

—

When the band came back on stage after the intermission, T-shirts and flannels had been exchanged for tank tops. They'd cleaned up and dried some of the sweat off a bit. The audience cheered.

Vincent didn't say anything to whip the crowd into a frenzy. Just looked back at Sam and smiled.

Sam clacked his rhythm signal and Alexis hit a power chord right in beat. A song Sam had written for Tank. Vincent still sang and led it but the lyrics had been a bit of a love letter. A very rock-and-roll love letter. Which I thought suited the two of them perfectly.

"Hold me tight and kiss me— "Before we damn near bleed out— "Darlin', don't you dare miss me— "I love you too much to see you pout—"

I watched Sam keep his gaze steadily on Tank the whole song. He always did when they performed this song and Tank was in the audience.

When the song ended, Vincent clapped along with everyone. "That, uh, that one was Before We Bleed," he said. He let the cheering swell and die down. He had a good instinct for it and always seemed smooth, not awkward while waiting for the crowd to calm. "So. Who here are fans of Milo and the Wolves?"

A fair portion of cheers rose over the crowd. Not as loud as the rest of the night had been, but still loud, even through the earplugs.

Vincent nodded, pacing back and forth across the main stage. "Oh good. I'd hoped so. Very good friends of ours. Yup. Very good friends." He smirked. The jumbotron behind us caught it, and so did the screens on either side of the stage. "We have one of their former members here tonight. And they're gonna do a song with us," he continued.

More cheers.

Tank was unbuttoning the flannel they'd stolen from Sam.

"You didn't tell me!" I shouted.

They gave me a cheeky wink.

"Everybody give it up for Tankerrrrr!" Vincent called into his mic.

Tank shoved the flannel into my hands and leapt up onto the stage with a single bound in just their tank top, skinny jeans, and combat boots. They gave Vincent a side-arm hug as they passed him, ran off stage, and came back a single second later carrying their guitar, extended above their head in victory while the crowd cheered.

They slung the guitar strap on, took up a mark right next to Vincent, and flicked a guitar pick into their fingers from seemingly nowhere—but I knew it came from a special little pocket in the thick leather cuff bracelet they wore on their left wrist. They twiddled a knob on their guitar. One I knew meant they were turning up the gain for the real hard rock sound, compared to the more alternative style of The House of Solaire.

Not even waiting for Sam to count them off or Vincent to introduce what song they were doing, Tank slammed into an intro.

Frederick's partner and I screamed in support for our friend while the crowd joined in with us.

The song Tank played was a Milo and the Wolves song that Tank had written years ago called Tougher Than You, and their original band had been more than happy to give The House of Solaire permission to play a cover for a concert.

Vincent's voice was fundamentally much different from Milo's—the lead vocalist, obviously—but Vincent delivered a sincere cover that showed he'd put work into nailing the spirit of the song.

"If you hit me down, I'll hit you too— "Try to put me down— "But I don't lose— "Baby, don't you know— "I'm tougher than you!"

Tank sang the harmony with Vincent into the black mic on a stand that had been placed there over intermission, lifting their strumming hand off their guitar for just a moment to grab at the mic and hold it close to their mouth, letting their rich, sultry voice fill the loudspeakers.

I craned my neck to see Sam past his drum set.

Gazing, as I expected, with absolute, utter desire at Tank. Probably only keeping the rhythm on muscle memory alone. The tattoos covering both his arms shone with sweat.

I snickered, the sound completely drowned out by the stadium. Sam was entirely taken with Tank and he deserved it. I always thought they were cute together.

Tank struck back against their strings hard, backing a step away from the mic so when they bent in half in a headbang as they resumed their solo, they wouldn't smack their head on it. The crowd was jumping along hard, too.

When they ended, they gave Vincent a side-arm hug, ran their guitar off-stage, and gave Sam a long, dramatic kiss before rushing back toward me and leaping off the stage. Sam's ears were bright red as I handed Tank back the flannel and they put it back on. I threw my arms around them. "That was amazing!" I shouted.

They smiled. "Thanks," they said loudly. "Been a long time since I played in front of a crowd this big! Felt good! Felt... normal."

"Everybody give it up for Tanker!" Vincent called again.

The crowd cheered.

—

Darlin'

The stadium was finally cleared. The house lights had come on a long time ago and the stadium staff was cleaning up. Mopping up sticky, spilled soda and alcohol from the concrete floor, sweeping popcorn and discarded wrappers.

Vincent had taken his keyboard into his dressing room. I heard him singing Faithfully by Journey to his partner as I walked past. "O-oh you stand... byyy me—I'm forever yooouuurs—faithfully..."

Sap.

Just off-stage, my electric guitar was sitting up on a stand, its gig bag case haphazardly discarded not far away. I scooped up the gig bag and sat cross-legged in front of the guitar. "Hey beautiful," I said softly to it, digging into the gig bag's front pocket for an old cloth with some polisher stains on it. I pulled the guitar off the stand and into my lap, wiping at its amber-gold body and polished wooden head, including the tuning pegs. Giving it a little bit of a shine and clean-up.

"You take better care-a that thing than you do yourself, darlin'," a voice remarked. With a familiar Southern drawl.

I smiled and looked up.

Sam stood there, leaning slightly on a pair of enormous stacked amps, a set of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket, arms folded over his chest. In the light from the house and the regular lights of the stage, the tattoos all down both of his arms glistened just slightly where his tank top left them exposed. His hair was still a little disheveled from the performance.

It was a very hot look on him.

"People always tell us to take better care of our babies than we do ourselves, right?" I asked, finishing the last bit of wiping up and gently tucking my guitar into the gig bag, zipping it up.

A member of the tech crew that had been moving equipment backstage approached, holding her hands out for the guitar bag. I hesitated for just a moment before passing it over. I trusted The House of Solaire's usual crew. I was just protective of my guitar.

The tech shuffled off with it.

I spun to face Sam again. "So. Last night of tour. How's it feel to be done and free for the next couple months?"

Sam shrugged. "Ready to take some time to relax—but you know me. I'll get restless fast."

I approached him and hooked my fingers around the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him close to me. "I can help with that," I whispered, leaning close to his ear.

He chuckled low in his throat. "Well, I look forward to that," he said, voice low and soft, turning his head to kiss behind my ear. Goosebumps rose all the way down my spine. I shuddered a little bit. His hands wrapped around me and he held me close. I held onto him too.

Vincent still singing Journey to his partner was barely audible over the sounds of the stage and house crews packing and cleaning.

Sam rested his chin on my shoulder and looked around. "How'd you ever give this life up, darlin'?" he asked. "I don't think I can."

I smiled and sighed out my nose. "I needed a break, at least. After the break-up and Nomadic's PR people doing their damnedest to throw me under the bus and try to ruin my image... stepping off the stage was the easiest choice I'd made in a long time. David, Milo, and Ash all understood, and Ash had been wanting to try to take up lead guitar for a while anyway. So after they found Christian to take up bass guitar, Iii... left."

"Ever think you'll rejoin?"

I snorted. "I'd love to, on one hand. On the other... it'd mean even less time with you. Being back on tour at different times... or even the same time... I wouldn't be able to take a weekend and fly to wherever you're playing to see you."

Sam massaged his fingers into my hips. "Guess you have a point," he said.

I hummed, letting go of his hips to run my hands up his arms, tracing the lines of his tattoos as I passed them. "You know, I swore off dating rockstars after things with Quinn fell apart," I remarked.

Sam kissed my neck. "What changed?"

I sucked in a shuddering breath. "I met you," I replied.

He smiled against my skin. "That a good thing?"

I snickered. "A very good thing, smart mouth."

"Mm... then why don't you do somethin' about this smart mouth of mine, darlin'?"

I kissed his neck, feeling the way he relaxed under the contact. "Oh I plan to," I replied.

—

Lovely

"Y'know, it's kinda funny to me," I began, watching Vincent lean over the counter of the vanity station in the dressing room.

"What is?"

"You take off all those piercings and put on a nerdy T-shirt and normal jeans and no one recognizes you out in public," I said.

Vincent removed the earring from the helix of his left ear. The only one he ever left in between shows was the industrial on his right. He spun around to face me, leaning back against the counter. "That's part of cultivating a public persona. People expect the tight, plain T-shirt with the V-neck and the black skinny jeans and big boots. The dozen piercings. The rockstar eyeliner. No one recognizes... just some guy in a T-shirt with I Am Groot plastered across the chest. Put me in a grocery store and I'm just a taller-than-average nerd. No rockstar to be seen."

I scoffed. "No. You're not just some guy. You'd still be waaay hotter than everyone else in that grocery store."

Vincent laughed and held his arms out for me. I hugged him. "I think you're a little biased, lovely," he whispered.

"Oh definitely," I said.

His hands slipped under my shirt. And hesitated, as always, over the scar across my back.

He wrote You Mentioned a Blackout after a former lighting tech of the band's had been making jokes about The House of Solaire's lighting rig being enough to cause power outages in the smaller cities they played in. That lighting tech—Adam—had been making more of those jokes while Vincent was showing me around a venue before we were officially together. Just flirting. Adam had, apparently, been watching me intently while working. Tried to flirt with me after. When I turned him down, he had "accidentally" dropped a small light fixture he'd been setting up over the stage. It glanced off my shoulder on its way down and knocked me forward. It had already been attached to live wiring and the electrocution and strike knocked me out.

Needless to say Adam got fired after the incident. But the scar of the electricity and the light fixture remained—and Vincent was always hesitant to touch them. He'd been wracked with guilt when I woke up in the hospital. Made it his personal mission to take care of me while I recovered. Put a tour on hold before it even really started—their tours always started and ended in Dahlia—to make sure I got better.

And along the way, our feelings deepened and we fell properly in love. We'd been together ever since.

I knew Vincent still felt guilty about the "accident" but I tried not to let him dwell on it much. Including pushing him past his hesitance to touch the scar it left behind, almost three years later.

I kissed him. "Excited for the after party tomorrow?"

"I will be if I get enough sleep," he replied. "I love touring but, God, it leaves me exhausted."

"I know, baby. But you get a couple months off now. To rest and relax and recharge. Then you can get started on your new album."

He snorted. "Lovely, you know I wrote nine songs while on this last tour, right?"

"Wait, really?"

"Hours upon hours on a bus between cities? Yeah. Plenty of time."

"What'd you write?"

"Mostly yearning for you. A few love letters to the places we visited. None of them are at a stage that they actually fit our usual style but I just... I don't know. I can't not write new songs. Taking a couple months off just means I'll keep writing more songs. Alexis and Sam probably will too. Just not as many as me. But it'll be a passion project at that point. Then maybe later get to be an album."

"You're adorable," I said.

Vincent smiled. "I'll play them all for your while we're home."

"You'd better." I pressed another kiss to his mouth.

He deepened it immediately. "Oh God, I missed you baby," he whispered. "Doesn't matter how many weekend shows you flew out to see. I miss just being with you all the time."

"Me too."

—

Darlin'

I really had to hand it to Sam on his foresight. The stool of his drum set was sturdy and steady. Able to bear the weight of two people.

The crew usually saved the stage itself for last to clear, so we had plenty of time to sit on his drum stool—me straddling his lap—and make out. His hands, warm and callused, were just barely under the hem of my shirt on my bare skin. We were passionate, sure, but not exhibitionists. And the house staff was still cleaning the stadium seating area. We were mostly blocked from sight by the drum set, but better not to go too hard while there were still eyes on us.

Still, he was warm beneath me and his hands on me were heaven. I ran my hands down his back and slowly extracted his drumsticks from his back pocket. The muscles in his back relaxed more immediately.

"How's this for doing something about your smart mouth?" I whispered.

He chuckled. "Ohhh... I think it's just right, darlin'." He kissed me harder. "So. Next tour, gonna play with us at more concerts?"

"Mmm... maybe. Vincent and William haven't officially offered yet." I ran my hands over his hair. "But if you're just asking me to go on your tour with you... I can probably arrange that."

Sam dug his fingers into the skin on either side of my spine. "We've got a while before that happens. But I'd love it if you could join us. Hell, maybe Vincent and Fred can bring their partners too. Maybe it would make the band less sick-a each other by the time we're done."

I snickered. "Maybe," I agreed. I kissed him deeply again. "We'll see, cowboy." I pressed more kisses to his cheeks and forehead. "Now kiss me like you mean it and let's celebrate the end of this tour, yeah?"

"Hell yeah, darlin'." He rocked against me and met me in a kiss that I returned enthusiastically. I threaded my fingers into his hair and tugged on it, making him moan into my mouth while I stuck my tongue in his. His body was so much more relaxed when we were like this. Loose, wild, carefree.

I loved every second of it.

And, judging by how he was moving, he did too.

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @shellssstuff @thegoldenlittlerose @darlin-collins

[asmrtist-brainrot]

Beware, Beware

Pairing(s): Implied! Frederick X Gender-Neutral! Bright Eyes! Reader

Summary: After almost a year of nearly killing them, Quinn finally comes face to face with Frederick and Bright Eyes again... But it doesn't go how he expects it.

A/N: Going off of the little blurb I wrote based off a nonnie from @themonotonysyndrome 's blog, this includes expanding on the idea of how Freddy would deal with fighting Quinn.

Warning(s): Confrontation. Descriptions of Violence. Violence Inflicted against Character. Physical Altercation. Blood. Mentions of Death.

It was pure happenstance, out of complete chance, he'd see the pretty faces of old prey again.

A dingy little nightclub, chock full of unempowered people ready for the draining.

It took him seconds to recognize two vampiric cores.

Another to realize who they belonged to.

The pair were quick.

New blood though.

Meant that he was quicker.

But they seemed to expect him.

As before he could even speak, a whole millisecond of him opening his mouth - a foot lodged itself right at his sternum. Powerful, laced with a what clearly a steel toed boot, blowing him back against a brick wall.

Quinn coughed heavily for a moment, winded.

But barely had time to breath, barely able to dodge from a second strike - the aimed fist crumbling the brick behind him.

His chest hurt and while he didn't need to breath, it hurt like only a vamp could inflict on another.

He only could tell that Frederick had kicked him because of you.

You hissed a swear from beside your friend, who had taken to staring holes into looking at you instead. Shaking the dust and stone from your hand, you shot your gaze to him.

Piercing him with eyes brighter than a spotlight, like a searing reminder of his sins.

And now, it's consequences.

"Looks like we don't need any formalities." Quinn laughed, finally righting himself as he suppressed the need to cough.

Neither of you responded.

He was ready for the next attack.

At least, he thought he was.

Especially as you, the slower of the pair, rushed him.

Swiftly planting his feet, he was able to stop your elbow.

But when his ears caught the subtle rushing of air, he’d realized too late.

Before again, the same boot planted itself directly into his face.

Pain.

Blood.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t defend himself as another body blow sent him sprawling a few feet away

He spits blood, sent into a coughing fit

Son of a bitch.

You hit him in the same spot.

“Ricky, we gotta call Sam and Vincent.”

Quinn was almost surprised at how you sounded.

That you immediately thought to call them while he was like this was something he more expected from the reserved Frederick.

“Not yet.”

The air was cold already.

Blearily, he lifted his head, trying to focus his vision.

Quinn felt himself shake, lungs seizing.

Not from the cold.

How long has it been?

How long has it been since he’s been...

Scared?

In the dim lights of street lamps, long, shadows cast over the alley like a veil. As if dark ink shaded everything.

While it was brighter from his natural vision as a vampire...

He could only see one thing.

Like daggers, Frederick’s eyes peered down on him. His entire expression one of pure, unrestrained, bloody, malice - bared fangs and face of stone.

Quinn’s long dead heart sped, a cold settling into his bones he’d long forgotten years before.

Adrenaline gunned through his veins.

Only a single thought came to him.

Base instinct.

Alarms ringing.

He was going to die.

He needed to run.

To survive.

Escape.

Escape.

Ê̩̒ͤ̐s̡̤̙̣̜c͚̱̍̊͟a̲̼͈̭̓͞p̉̃҉͚̮̼̜̙͓ė̸̤͇̦̖͛.͔̠͓̣̦̖̑ͯ̓̂̈́̿ͫ

“He... ran away?”

You nodded at Sam, fingers clasped with Frederick’s. His thumb ran soothingly over your knuckles, extinguishing the fury rolling in your stomach. Gaze shifting to the spot where Quinn had laid, peering at the small drips of blood from the broken nose Fred had given him.

“That... That doesn’t sound right.”

Sam’s wolf looked positively puzzled, furrowed brows and tense shoulders.

“We’re not sure either.”

It was genuine confusion, neither of you were lying.

Sam scratched the back of his neck, frowning deeply before he slowly sighed through his nose. He was sure he looked 10 years older, having been dragged from the bed by his beloved tanker.

Who felt Quinn’s blood be spilled before you had made the call.

“You’re right though, darlin’, that doesn’t sound like Quinn. He woulda killed you both if you weren’t careful.” He gave you both a meaningful stare, scolding you with his expression alone.

“Not like we went in without a plan.” You muttered, leaning against Freddy. “We got him down.”

His brows almost shot up to his hairline.

He hears his darlin’ choke.

“You both... Knocked him down.”

You nodded and you feel Freddy squeeze your hand.

Who he watched -

Watched as his face twisted into a scowl.

A scowl unbefitting of his usually serene features.

The sneer was enough to send a chill down his spine.

“And next time...”

Frederick sounded downright murderous, eyes aglow.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up again.”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

I just got through my final week of undergrad and had to turn in my memoir as a thesis. So here are some redacted characters as lines from my thesis.

David and Angel

So much of me is what he gave me. So much of what makes us up is the people we love.

Sam

Any fear or sorrow he faced was silent, heaped into the downward curve of his lips, into the whispered exhales of his lungs, into the biting of his fingernails.

Lovely

What a wonderful word-’become.’ As if being comes all at once.

Fred and Bright

I do not know them, but our eyes are the same. Wide and brown like a weak cup of coffee, like sunshine through darkened stained glass.

And one that’s a little more light hearted- (TW for suicide mention)

Darlin’

Jokes about me killing myself have increased by thirty percent this quarter alone!

[teddybasmanov]

Hi there, Redacted ASMR Tumblr. No, wrong. Hi there, three and a half people, who actually read my gibberish. Yeah, that seems about right.

So, I’ve already mentioned it somewhere but I misunderstood an answer about characters’ names from the first Q&A and found out the meanings of names of all characters. I know for sure now, that most of those meanings are well... meaningless because I directly asked and got my answer in the second Q&A, but I still have this list and I thought that maybe there are more people out there willing to look for deeper meaning, where there’s none. 

So, I present to you:

List of meanings of names of Redacted ASMR characters (with my silly commentaries)

(Most of the meanings are from Wikipedia and has actual sources and explanations, but some are just from websites for future parents and have no factual support. If a demonic name is a star I also give the name of the constellation. In no particular order.)

Vincent - conquering, winning.

Adam - the ground or earth.

Ivan - God is gracious. (ironic, huh)

Oliver - olive tree planter, all true.

David - Beloved. (he sure is)

Marcus - dedicated to Mars.

Brachium - the upper arm (also measure of length); σ Librae - scales or balance. (this actually has a meaning and I don’t mean the arm)

Caelum - chisel; sky, heaven. (but Elliot has already told us)

Elliott - with Strength and Right, Bravely and Truly.

Gavin - God send or white hawk. (GOD SEND)

Vindemiator/trix - grape-harvester/ress; ε Virginis - virgin. (this is Gavin’s dead name and it’s also kind of ironic)

Asher - happy or blessed. (self-explainatory)

Lasko - nickname for a work-weary person. (yes, I’m aware of the fan)

Damien - to conquer, master, overcome, tame. (this one makes so much sense!)

Kody - helpful, prosperous. (helpful, my ass)

Huxley - Hugh's meadow. (sweet, but has the least sources)

Milo - soldier or merciful.

Avior - my father is light; ε Carinae - the hull or keel of a ship.

Vega - the falling (eagle). (more like “fallen” now)

Camelopardalis - giraffe.

Sam - God has heard.

Frederick - peaceful ruler.

William - vehement protector.

Aaron - warrior lion, mountain of strength.

Blake - black/dark, pale or "Son of lake".

Brian - high or noble. (when I said “all characters”, I meant all characters)

Crux - (Southern) Cross, also means the decisive or most important point at issue. 

James - supplanter (someone or something taking the place of another, as through force, scheming, strategy, or the like), one who follows. (holly hell)

Gabe (Gabriel) - God is my strength.

Christian - follower of Christ.

Arden - great forest or enthusiastic.

Kelsey - ship's island or victory ship.

Amanda - beautiful, deserving to be loved or the loved one. (very true)

Alexis - helper or defender.

Quinn - wise or counsel. (almost no evidence)

Saul - ask, question.

Morgan - sea chief or famous magic. (sounds so cool, honestly)

Tyler - maker or layer of tiles, house builder or doorkeeper of inn or tavern. (this seems specific).

Xavier - new house or castle. (He’s just messing with us at this point, isn’t he? The dude who’s only characteristic at the time was having a cool big new house has a name that means new house)

Ezekiel - God's Strength.

Josh(ua) - the lord is salvation.

Guy - Ravine or forest, guide.

Hudson - son of Hugh.

Marie - bitter or beloved or rebelliousness or wished-for child or drop of the sea. (yeah, there’s a lot)

Colm - dove.

Regulus - prince, little king.

All possible additions, corrections and smarter commentaries are very welcome as always.

[khakicoat]

redacted characters and couples as pierce the veil songs.

might do another one with other couples and characters but with hozier songs, also..... i need a yandere vamp character so i can use Fast Times at Clairemont High for SOMETHING.

cw: mentions of blood, sh, death, alcohol, suic!de.

darlin' & quinn: stay away from my friends. — "and as you tie me to the bed for good I say that I want you in the most unromantic ways" "so baby stay away from my friends because I need them to carry me when it's over" "But you don't know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night, scaring the thought of kissing razors, this blood evacuation is telling me to cave in, stay away, oh no, just stay away from my friends."

frederick & bright eyes: the boy who could fly. — "if you were gonna leave this world, how could it be without me? now it's all over my tongue and it still has no taste, 'cause without you there is no me"

ivan & baby: tangled in the great escape. — "i see you choke and it takes my breath away, but all is good, we close our eyes, they all accept the lie" "promise you won't leave me" "please don't be afraid of me" "I never meant to hurt you, no, no, no, no, I only meant to do this to myself"

avior & starlight: a match into water. — "I kissed the scars on their skin, I still think you're beautiful, and I don't ever want to lose my best friend, I scream out, God you vulture, bring them back or take me with them" "wake up, I know you can hear me"

adam: im low on gas and you need a jacket. — "choke, tried to wash you down with something strong, tried, but the taste of blood remains" "well, fuck, what am I supposed to be, impressed? you're just another set of bones to lay to rest"

[vjesticka]

character sheet

REPOST, DON’T REBLOG !

Stolen from: @herbounty​ Tagging: steal it from me.

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬

FULL NAME. Nadia Belle Tomic NICKNAME. Nads, Bell, Little Witch, Protector , Witch Cop GENDER. Female HEIGHT.  5′6″ AGE.  26 ZODIAC. Libra ( October 18. ) SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  fluent in : english, croatian, can read and understand : serbo - croatian / bosnian . has studied : latin , classical greek , and enochian .

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

HAIR COLOR. Brown. EYE COLOR.  Gray - blue . SKIN TONE. Fair. BODY TYPE. Lean column. VOICE. Warm and sweet. DOMINANT HAND. Right POSTURE. Tall, a hand on her hip usually. SCARS. Various shapes and sizes, usually on her arms, shoulder, chest areas. TATTOOS. Right sleeve, back tattoo of the Bilgewater symbol. BIRTHMARKS. None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). gray - blue / stormy eyes , usually seen wearing a trenchcoat and heeled boots.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

PLACE OF BIRTH. Sleepy Hollow, NY HOMETOWN. Sleepy Hollow, NY SIBLINGS. N/A PARENTS.  Frederick Luka Tomic (father) & Marie Rose Kensington (mother) .

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

OCCUPATION.  Protector of the Realm on behalf of the North American Coven. CURRENT RESIDENCE. Her Type 2 Volkswagen. CLOSE FRIENDS. Childhood friends, Katie Pendragon and Rohan Singh. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Verse dependent. FINANCIAL STATUS. Uppder - middle class. DRIVER’S LICENSE. Yes. CRIMINAL RECORD. Hasn’t been caught / redacted thanks to the NAC. VICES. Pride, Vanity, Stubbornness.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  Heterosexual. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch LIBIDO.  High. TURN ON’S. good personality , brunettes , tall men. TURN OFF’S. skittish personalities , androgynous appearances , beards / unkept / excessive facial hair. LOVE LANGUAGE.  PDAs , cooking a meal for you , going on dates spontaneously , lots of touching and snuggling . RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  Shy to make the first move, very loyal partner.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG.  Season of the Witch - Lana Del Rey HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Petting Forcas ( her familiar ) or redecorating her volkswagen . LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.  Right . PHOBIAS. N/A , she has many fears not phobias . SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  Medium . VULNERABILITIES. Her loved ones , mentions of Dolos / other dieties , failing her own quest .

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - The aloof Bombay & wounded Border Collie

Summary: They say you are what you are in the dark. So you prove just who you are when there's only you and Frederick in a dark house, with no one else around. 

TW: [Swearing], [Profanity], [Angst with a happy ending] & [Mild panic attack]

So, first thing first, a little backstory about this oneshot. I had already written out the first scene a week before Redacted announced the discontinuation of Frederick & Bright Eyes series. Although he mentioned that it’s fine to continue on writing headcanons about the two, I was hesitant to continue writing this fic. 

But I’ve been missing them terribly so I sat my ass down and finally completed it! Yay! Fred & Bright Eyes had one of the most interesting dynamics in this fandom so I wanted to give it a go based on my headcanons of them. 

-

There's a strange sort of energy hovering around Vincent and Sam lately. 

It's not subtle either. Its anxiety, stress and uncertainty all roll together into a heavily dense fog that makes you itches under the skin. 

This has been going on for days now. 

Vincent constantly has thick textbooks with him whenever he comes over to Sam's place. They would exchange short pleasantries before Sam hurried off to his Werewolf beau (it's sort of funny the first time Sam returns home, and you spotted courses of wolf's hair stuck onto the hem of his clothes and jeans. You figured that this man's main hobby was tussling with Wolves, but when Sam would sneak back into his own fucking house like a teenager, it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together). Vincent would then make sure that you and Frederick are fed, settled in for the night before he completely ignores the two of you in favour of his school work. 

As if the two of you are a pair to toddlers. You'd laugh if it didn't annoy you. 

Fred, ever the gentle sweetheart, attempted to make small talks at first. Tentatively asking if he's stressed out over exams and if there's anything he could do to help - the result was expected. With pen in hand, notebooks and the two hundred and one pages depicting the foundations of magical healing, Vincent rather absentmindedly shooed him away. 

Sam is arguably the worst. Ever since he stepped outside of the house during their crash course of the Empowered creatures in Dahlia to answer a phone call, he returns with lines on his forehead and shoulders tensed as hell. 

Their impromptu lesson ended just like that when another Clan member had to babysit the two of you after Sam stormed out of the house. 

You don't know whether they realise how taunt their strings have been, and you don't really care, honestly. Just curious; you're pretty confident that something big will happen soon. 

At least there's something exciting to look forward to other than Sam's disapproving frowns and Fred's frustrated attempts at making you bear your heart and guts out. 

And something big will happen soon. Apparently, there's something equivalent to a magical Olympics that occurs every year called the Elemental & Energetic Games, and this year, the local supernatural academy would be the one hosting it in Dahlia. Interesting. 

Speaking of which, you could hear Vincent talking to his lover outside your bedroom through his phone. "Sam's on the way... yeah, he just texted me." A short pause. "Yeah, I can do that. Hey, hey, Lovely - listen to me. Everything's going to be alright. You've been practising non-stop for the Games. You deserve a special night for a change. So here's what we're going to do: I'll pick up some of that blueberry pie you love so much on the way back, we'll watch some movies after dinner and then have an early night so you'll feel better tomorrow. Sounds good? Nice. Oh wait - I think I can hear Sam outside. See you in a little bit. Love you too, Lovely." 

You tune the outside world after that. It makes sense now why Vincent was stressed out; he's busy playing the good boyfriend. 

With a tired sigh, you try your best to occupy your mind. It's three hours to midnight, but to Vampires, that's practically early morning, and you're already so bored. You don't want to step out of your little sanctuary if it means having to deal with Sam, Vincent and Fred tonight. 

Or ever. Forever sounds good. 

Not knowing what else to do, you pushed yourself out of bed and padded towards the window sill. The cool night air greets you as well as the trees and shadows that stretch on for miles. Once you and Fred were officially brought under Sam's care as his Progenies, you quickly realise that his house is located on the outskirts of Dahlia. Where the forests sprawl behind the abode and the city lights are just far enough not to pollute the night sky. 

A perfect place to raise a pair of unplanned Newborn Vampires. You conclude that either Sam enjoys living by himself in a secluded property or that this house was given to him by Mr. Solaire. 

Either way, you would've love to sneak out and explore the forest if it weren't for the magical wards that Sam had warned the two of you. The moment you or Fred steps out of the immediate area, Sam would know right away that one of them disobeyed his rules. 

So despite the pleasant night air, there's a strum of anxiety and restlessness stirring within you. Is it because of Sam's recent behaviours or the upcoming Games? You can't tell, not when no one is bothered enough to tell you what's going on. 

You take a deep breath and take your sweet time to exhale the air out. There's no use in working yourself up; not when you just need to get through this Newborn phase. It's better to think of the future. 

And that bastard's mangled corpse at your feet. 

"You should've listened to your friend, little mouse." 

Ironically, the monster's voice is the only thing keeping you sane during this whole happy house facade that Sam and Frederick insist on playing. Late-night fantasies of ripping that smug's asshole to pieces are the only thing that keeps you going, sad as it is. 

It's not revenge; it's justice. It's your atonement for hurting Frederick. What good would apologies serve when you can present that monster's head to him? You're not deluded enough to play the victim; you're the reason why the two of you are the way you are now, but you'll be damn if you admit that to Sam. 

Sam's already blamed you for what happened to Fred. Even if he never says it. His lingering glances and furrowed brows are telling enough. There's no need to give him more ammunition against you. 

You breathe in and out again; willing yourself to calm down. So you start to distract yourself by planning to gather enough money and resources to leave the Clan once Mr. Solaire deems that you're safe to be on your own and to others. His kind smile and knowing eyes should've made you uncomfortable, but all you can feel is genuine compassion and understanding coming from that ancient Vampire King. 

So. Priorities: Passing the Newborn period, gather enough money, clothes and anything else that's important, thank Mr. Solaire for taking you into his Clan, and if it's not too presumptuous, ask him to continue to care for Fred. 

A knock on the door startles you from your train of thoughts, but you keep your gaze on the dark forest laid before you. 

You heard the door creak as it slowly swings open and then, "Bright Eyes? Is... Is everything ok?" 

It's Fred. Of course, it would be Fred. 

"Mm-hmm." You reply absentmindedly. You didn't even have to look at him to know that he doesn't believe your bullshit. And him being your Sire makes it impossible to lie to him, so you often gives out vague responses. 

Most of these days, your interactions with him are curt, with doubt thrown into the mix. Fred is hesitant to press you when you brush away his questions, and in return, you hide as often as possible so you wouldn't step on any emotional landmines in this house. 

"Are you sure? Because I can kind of sense that you're upset..." Fred said after a brief moment of hesitation. Ah, it's going to be one of those nights. 

The bond between a Sire and his Progeny once again proves to be a fucking nuisance. Not only could you not lie to Fred, but he could also sense phantom emotions coming from you. So much for privacy. 

"It's fine, Fred. I was just thinking." There. Not a lie but not the total truth either. 

"O-Oh." From the doorway, Fred bit his lower lip. Why is it getting harder and harder to approach Bright Eyes nowadays? He hates this distance between them. He hates how they rarely left their room. 

He hates how it feels like he's losing his friend as the days go by. 

"Do you, uh, maybe want to play a game or something? Vincent hooked up a Playstation 5 before he left. I think he also left some video games - "

"I'm not in the mood to play tonight, Fred. Maybe tomorrow." 

Fred sighs at the clear dismissal. It honestly hurt; Bright Eyes constant rebuff is getting sharper and sharper. Without another word, Fred left Bright Eyes to their thoughts. 

As usual, nothing is absolved tonight. 

-

It's a boring rainy Wednesday night. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the shutters promises an incoming storm when you hear the sound of rumbling thunders approaching the city from a distance. 

Tonight, Vincent is too busy at D.A.M.N to babysit you and Fred. Sam already left the house an hour after the sun had set with his usual instructions not to go beyond the wards and that a Clan member would be coming over to supervise them. 

Why does this feel like you and Fred are the unwanted children from a divorced couple? Oh well, all the more reason to leave the clan ASAP. 

You plan to brood in your room as usual after draining your share of the blood bags in the fridge. However, the moment you take three steps out of the kitchen, lightning flashes across the sky. 

The power trip, hurtling the entire house into total darkness. 

"The circuit breaker," You murmur, inhumane eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness as you look around the area in 4K HD. "Did Sam ever mentioned where it was?" You tried to recall the house's layout from Sam's words alone, but you tend to tune out his voice whenever he speaks more than twenty minutes. So it looks like you better start from the basement.  

Just when you're about to head downstairs, a whimper froze you. You tilt your head towards one of the bedrooms. 

The sound is coming from Fred's. 

You stood your ground for only a few seconds of hesitation before you quietly approached his bedroom and slowly opened the door as to not startle him — concern creeping into your heart. 

Just like the rest of the house, Fred's bedroom is completely dark. Lightning flashed once more to illuminate Fred's huddled figure on the floor near the window. He's breathing very hard and rapidly with his head in between his knees. 

Your heart twisted into a knot at the sight of a frightened Fred, and you couldn't help but wonder if this is how he looked like when that monster hurt him. 

You forcefully put that thought away. You're horrible with words, but there's one way you can still comfort him. 

Fred's breath hitches when your back lean against his. "B-Bright Eyes?" He calls out with a choked sob, head slightly raised in surprise. 

When you said nothing, Fred let out a ragged sigh. "What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't stand the sight of me." 

You blink and turn your head to give him a side-eye. Say what? 

"Don't give me that l-look." Fred snaps after a sniffle. "You could hardly look at my face lately, and you only leave your bedroom whenever you have to eat. If it weren't for that, you'd happily pretend that Sam and I don't even exist." 

"That's because whenever I'm around, you keep wanting to talk about Wonderworld, and Sam keeps shooting me looks as if I'm a shitstain underneath his fucking boots." You shoot back reflexively. 

Much to the surprise of absolutely no one, your words upset Fred even further. "You can't talk about Sam like that! He's been nothing but kind to us. To you and you just - "

"He blames me for what happened to you!" Fred can't be this oblivious, can he?

Behind you, Fred went stiff.

"You're his Progeny, and I'm the deadweight that he's stuck with because you Turned me. He knows it, Vincent knows it. Fuck it, everyone in the Clan knows it! So why should I give a damn when I'm unwanted? And that's alright! That's totally alright! You want to know why that's alright, Freddy?" Lightning split the night sky. A rather powerful thunder shakes the house, but at this moment, nothing exists except for you, Fred and the tension that has been brewing between the two of you the moment your humanities were forfeit.  

"I'm not planning to stay here any longer than I have to! The moment Mr. Solaire give us the green light, I'm out of Dahlia! Buh-bye! You and Sam can do whatever the fuck you want, but I don't want to stay in this city any longer! I don't have anything left here!" 

Silence enveloped the bedroom. What are you even doing here? Why did you even think you could comfort Fred when all you've been doing is hurting him. Even now! This was a mistake. You should've - 

"I was right. I'm losing you too..." 

"Uh, what?" 

Fred tucks his head in between legs tighter as if he's trying to hide from the world. "I think I always knew that you were going to leave me when you started to pull away from everyone. That's why I wanted us to talk about that Halloween night so badly." His voice is ragged, tears stream down his face. "Y-You said that you don't have anything left in Dahlia, but... you're all that I have left and if you leave... I..." Fred sighed and quietly continued, "I thought I was your friend. I thought I meant something to you." 

"I've hurt you." You reply, just as quietly. "I've been hurting you since Wonderworld, and even tonight, I'm hurting you. I didn't listen to you that night, and because of it, we're here. You lost your family, friends and future and for that I'm... I'm so sorry, Fred. You didn't deserve anything that happened to you." 

"Thank you, Bright Eyes. I-I needed to hear that." Fred reply. When he reaches for your hand, you squeeze it back. "What happened was... fucked up, but none of us knew about that Vampire. Or that Vampires actually exist. So it's stupid of me to blame you for our d-deaths." 

"But I didn't listen - "

"Yes, you didn't listen but will you listen to what I have to say now, Bright Eyes? Please? I want us to move on from this together. I want us to be better." 

Perhaps it's how raw and near begging Fred sounds that both of your walls are down tonight. Perhaps, tonight, you finally realise that it's you that doesn't like confrontations and that despite Fred's gentle and reserved nature, he has no problem mending the wounds between the two of you with force if he has to. Huh, who could've thought? 

The two of you talk for hours in the darkness. It feels so awkward to bear your heart to Fred after everything, but to your immense surprise and relief, he listens to you patiently, and once you're done, he let you into his heart. All the fears, insecurities, regrets, shame and horror are laid between you and together, you address them one by one until the storm lets up. 

And when the silver light of the moon peeking through heavy clouds, you found yourself snuggling with Fred on his bed. Your head tucks into the crook of his neck while Fred's arm is around you. It's strange how lighter your heart is now. 

"Have you stop crying already?" You ask, wondering if you'd need to run to the kitchen to make a simple bag of ice for Fred's red, puffy eyes before they swelled. 

Fred snort. He sniffles and squeezes your body in assurance. Being slightly taller than you, it feels sort of nice to be held like this. Despite their heartfelt conversation and confessions, the trauma they both carry is still fresh, but now, it doesn't feel like an overwhelming miasma threatening to drown you in guilt and sorrow. "Yeah, yeah. I'm alright now. It feels good to finally cry after... after everything." 

"Can't relate." You bluntly interject. "I usually get pissed off after a crying session." 

"I can actually believe that." Fred giggles. "I'm beginning to understand you a lot better, Bright Eyes. Thank you for listening; I know that words are hard for you, so I'm very grateful that you want to work things out as much as I do." 

"Mn." 

Outside, the rain has become a gentle drizzle, and the stars ushered a bright full moon. It's too lovely of a night to brood; you might as well take a nap with Fred. 

"Bright Eyes?" Fred suddenly speaks up, bringing you out of your sleepy haze. 

"Mn?" 

"Do you... I mean... are you still planning to leave Dahlia?" His voice returns to its timid and hesitant state. 

"Well... yeah. After our - urgh - mushy talk, I realise it's all the more reason I need to do it. You're the only thing I have left in this city after all." 

"You want to leave me despite just saying that all you have is me? Uh, I don't... don't get it. Can you please explain it to me, Bright Eyes?" 

You hold back a groan. It looks like Fred has discovered the magic of 'please' and your weakness to it. "I'm planning to kill the Vampire who killed us and use his skull as my apology gift to you." 

Unlike you, Fred groans in disbelieve. You yelp when he manoeuvres you so your body can lie on top of his and trap you in his arms. "No... Bright Eyes, no... no hunting that asshole, OK? You don't need to give me a skull; just stay here with me. Skulls are gross anyway." He whines like a needy toddler, which, surprisingly, makes you feel fond instead of irritated. 

So you roll your eyes and press your face into Fred's chest. Perhaps you can try to convince Fred to leave with you in the future, but for now, nothing matters but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the faint scent of wet grass outside. 

They're going to be alright. 

[chiseler]

THE FRANKFURT SCHOOL FOR WAYWARD GIRLS

Putting "acceptable" limits on depravity in the name of compromise and "reality" is how fascism eventually triumphs. Or so said Professor Yvonne De Carlo of 'Miss Yvonne's Academy for Wayward Hussies' also known as 'The Frankfurt School' --  a place of higher learning for delinquent, pregnant scholars. "Your new president is merely proof that the depraved nature of power is given license by tolerating all but its excesses" said Professor De Carlo as she powdered her ample cleavage in full view of the astonished, pinafore-clad undergrads gathered for her lecture on the 'Dialectic of Fascism and French Manicures Made Easy-Peasy'.

"You want to know what brought Trump to power? Hint: It wasn't a sudden, inexplicable, sewage-strewn wave of raw hatred poised to strike down public schools, libraries and national parks at the behest of a braying, stupid mob of "privileged" former factory workers. It wasn't merely insanity wrought by decades of institutional neglect or unchecked greed -- although that was a big part of it. It was *nice* people willing to accept certain 'realities' to ensure their place at the proverbial table remained a pristine space of individually apportioned, locally sourced food; a place where rhetorical restraint replaced actual political solutions to any given problem.

You chose 'safe' over actual justice -- meaning someone else's kid will take a police bullet to the chest so that we can all read heavily redacted versions of Mark Twain in the peace and comfort of a colorful ball pit of higher learning like our own Frankfurt School, which I should mention was only made possible by a generous corporate donation from a multi-national purveyor of processed pork by-products with vaguely German origins. At the end of it, you'll all be awarded a certificate declaring you free from venereal diseases, and the skills necessary to lower live poultry into a vat of ammonia in a subsidiary facility owned by our trustees. At your age, I was performing burlesque numbers on the mean streets of my Canadian homeland at the behest of my stage mother. But I'll tell you all about that later in the term when we cover 'Hoochie-Coochie Cave Dancing of the Early Ottoman Empire - as Explained by a scantily-clad Miss Yvonne Waving a Jewel-Encrusted Saber'. Consider that your 'trigger warning'. Now let's proceed:

It was enough that we embraced Caitlyn Jenner and applauded Meryl Streep giving the phone book version of the Gettysburg Address to her wealthy patrons -- I could give a better soliloquy while swallowing a sword and balancing a cobra on my head, but I digress . . . It was enough to sprout a 'dad boner' over Pussy Riot to declare ourselves -- "punk rock", even as we devised ways to make earth's human and animal life redundant during brainstorming meetings that took place in an indoor ergonomic playground that served wheat grass martinis on tap. My dear friend Frederick Marcuse who took me under his bosom . . . or was that the other way around . . . argued that the technocratic efficiency of advanced, industrial societies had rendered it 'one-dimensional', and as such, resistant to all critiques of it. Our "aversion to introspection" according to Adorno -- another generous benefactor to the Frankfurt School -- renders left-opposition to Trump little more than an elite-led, sour grape authoritarianism that is unable to contemplate its own role in a paradigmatic shift towards a more 'unprincipled' and unpredictable variety of global aggression. If you don't believe him, just ask a white feminist how writing 'rape culture' on her boobs in sharpie will 'shame the patriarchy', and this will give you some idea about why I start every afternoon coughing up a ball of mentholated phlegm into my cornflakes.

Let me tell you what brought us to this precise moment of imminent planetary collapse: It was "nice" people with library cards and rescue pets accepting the kind of compromises that result in bulldozing homes in the occupied territories of Palestine, imprisoning whistle blowers, putting indigenous land everywhere under threat, and even sodomizing a half dead Pan-African leader while he lay dying in a drainpipe.  

It's the 'realists' who sign off on nearly $40 billion in military 'aid' to Israel so that it can build more settlements in defiance of International law, and the similarly counterproductive reasoning that blames Russian hackers for the DNC's corrupt maneuvering to install its preferred Wall Street-friendly candidate in defiance of roughly half the voting population. The same folks who cry foul the loudest when an asshole takes his rightful place on the golden, Imperial throne after they have spent years polishing it for him, and expanding its powers to flush away civil liberties and environmental protections. Now all of a sudden that reclining, ermine-trimmed commode in the Oval Office is a "hot seat". Back in the day when I was bumping and grinding on the Paramount lot for chump change, Charlton would grab me by the pussy and . . . well, never mind that now. Let's just say that my jungle cat put up a fierce resistance that left a permanent scar on his manhood and not a single scratch on my lady mandibles.  Not sure where any of this is going, but anyhoo . . .

It's the 'nice' -- meaning the technocratically-minded gatekeepers of the 'left', who perform the linguistic feats necessary to justify, say, the involuntary sacrifice of dozens of dead Bedouin wedding celebrants in Yemen to maintain cordial relations with a despotic petrostate that helps prop up a neighboring Apartheid regime equally ill-disposed towards its benefactor. 'This is why we can't have nice things like brutalist revolving restaurants atop Manhattan office towers', they will remind you. Ingrates like you always second-guessing the stuff we do to prevent maniacs from seizing power here at home'. The nice among us, whom we used to call 'Good Germans', prefer that you don't bring 'false equivalency' into reasoned discussion about state-sponsored murder, and focus on the positive . . . like . . . um . . . 'At least under Trump, my sad face selfies will have all the political urgency of Guernica'.  

It's the "nice" that refused to hold Obama's feet to the fire, giving him carte blanche to capitulate wholly to the more clamorous and opportunistic voices of his inner circle without ever troubling his conscience. The guy was so cool he could grant clemency to Chelsea Manning AND bomb a failed state into further oblivion all in the same week. "Nice" folks would never venture into the treacherous waters of condemning or even criticizing your country's first black president for reasons entirely to do with the sort of career-minded, self-preservation that says "Bummer about Leonard Peltier, but Michelle Obama sure rawked that Zac Posen dress on the cover of Vogue!"

When someone *reaches across the aisle*, it's usually to grasp at the last straws of power allotted to them by whichever democratically elected fascist regime happens to control Congress. Or it's a hands-y director trying to cop a feel on a red-eye flight from LA. Yes, Otto Preminger, I'm talking to YOU!

To make a long-winded lecture only as long as it takes to dry one's nails after the second coat of Revlon's 'Dead Roses on a Dusky Tomb': Trump didn't win in spite of your 'reasoned' acceptance of the outgoing president's expanded powers, but because you were willing to rationalize its unsavory aspects long enough to ensure its unchecked and unbridled form reached its inevitable conclusion".

Professor De Carlo then flounced out of the lecture hall with the scent of Shalimar, and two or three shirtless Cabana boys trailing behind her discarded veils. "I'm off to powder my you know what. Class -- and I mean the particular one that conflates legal weed smoking with political resistance - dismissed"!

by Jennifer Matsui

[the-rob-and-rich-fan-blog]

Watching Film and Movies On the net?

Are you the nurture of a nestling or a teen WHO makes use of goods and services of the internet, peculiarly elite networking web sites ilk MySpace? If you are, your minor could be concerned in publication images or movies of them selves on the cyberspace, if they haven't presently carried come out so. Ask to you enable them? When it arrives to decision making if you volition give birth to allow your indulge defer own images and videos of them selves on assembly line, you, as the forefather or mother, ought to throw the ultimate enjoin. With that aforesaid, it wases to start with of import to value the cocksure aspects and negatives of permitting your josh article these items on the meshing. Photographs and movies persist on societal networking net pages, equivalent MySpace and Fb. In whole seriousness, the sole actual business or positive facet to permitting your niggling nonpareil resign films or pictures of by themselves on-crinkle is considering the fact that it is what your nestling inevitably to do. Permitting them bring out their photos and videos on the entanglement leave in all probability pee your petty unrivaled charmed. They derriere apace portion movies and pics with buddies, as opposing to gravely delivery them to college. As importantly as your kid or adolescent could require to bring out singular photos or movies of on their ain on the network, it is besides lively to have sex that at that place are various negatives or downsides to carrying prohibited so. Consideration you hold a teen daughter WHO posts a photo of herself carrying a modest-skip t-shirt on-short letter. You and your pamper necessary to have it away that non everyone interprets points the claim Saami scheme. Mentioning the all awry shock, it is important to amply dig that photographs and movies can buoy really easily slue below the mistaken fingers online. If your cosset is fashioning wont of a sociable networking World Wide Web Sri Frederick Handley Page, alike MySpace, is their visibility mark to buck private? If not, anybody with their own invoice keister look at their peculiar and individualized video recording clips and photos. 123movies May be interested publication illustrations or photos and movies to intelligibly appearance their buddies, only that does non indicated that some others arse not pick up them. Alas, those the great unwashed others pot make impure intentions. So far some other bunco game or drawback to lease your tyke take individualised pictures and video recording clips of on their have on the nett is that they are simpleton to duplication. Certainly, an picture show or a film send away be taken polish, merely did you get laid that it Crataegus oxycantha at the consequence be as well tardy? Common people send away fleetly re-create and repost or double and conserves telecasting clips and photos that are posted on the net for regardless of what principle, which includes their have soul satisfaction. As you behind see, at that place are a wide wander of incontrovertible aspects and drawbacks to rental your chaff stake pics and video recording clips of them selves on-agate line, exclusively on sociable networking cyberspace websites. As the founder or bring forth, the pick is yours to make, having said that be confident to utilize your real better sagacity. When it interrogate, the quite finest chemical reaction Crataegus laevigata be no. If you do prefer for to tolerate your nestling or teen article personal pics and video recording clips of on their ain on the earnings or if you at stage conceive that that they do, be positivistic to seem at them. Arrive at electropositive that your nipper is effectively seamed in whatever photographs that they article. When it testament come up to calculation prohibited if you ought to allow your tiddler redact up somebody images and video recording clips of them selves on the network, you, as the bring up, really should stimulate the real conclusion articulate. In all satinpod, the solely unfeigned in favor of or in accession facet to allowing your fry release videos or photos of them selves on the cyberspace is because it is what your nipper dreams to do. A further flimflam or downside to allowing your nipper publish mortal visuals and videos of them selves on the internet is that they are real unproblematic to duplicate. As you put up see, there are a amount of money of execs and downsides to allowing your fry clause shots and films of themselves on the clear, specifically on social networking vane pages. If you do stimulate your brain up to Lashkar-e-Tayyiba your shaver or adolescent billet secret photos and films of on their possess online or if you currently reckon that they do, be confident to scrutinize them.

[asmrtist-brainrot]

Quick Top 10 List

I love all of these characters but I wanted to just get it out there of who my biases are. Even if it’s not especially clear.

It was hard for me to wrestle a list since I’m indecisive but I got it, I think?

My Hollow and Scythe lists are more concrete but the other two probably will be subject to change soo - there might be edits later on.

~ Dari

Hollow_VA

Jackal

Evil Emperor & Prince Sirenus

Graven

Aries

Sprout

Killian

Shiro

Ivy & Xeph

Pharos

Fendal

Honorable Mention(s): Ramses, Vione, Lozo, and Ornvyr

Redacted ASMR

Gavin

David

Milo

Asher

Damien

Huxley

Avior

Vincent

Aaron

Sam

Honorable Mention(s): Lasko, Frederick, Elliot, and Oliver

Siren's Son ASMR

Thresh

Abul

Cal

Greyson

Zeke

Cameron

Bren

Shay

Erik

Vox

Honorable Mention(s): Bael, Soren, and Beni

Scythe Audio

Jay Jay

V

Incubus BF

Raik

L

The Atrocity

Dark

The Advocate

Therian

Alisdair

Honorable Mention(s): The Siren, Alpha, and Livana