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just-a-strange-boy · 1 year

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better strangers - part 1

part 2 * part 3 * part 4

When you signed up for that anon hook-up service, you hadn't quite expected to meet such a handsome stranger.

Pairing: Stephen Strange x ftm!reader

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), one night stand, sex with a stranger, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, Stephen being sinfully hot

A/N: told you this was coming... sorry about the ending, I'm evil. Stay tuned for the second part though ;)

You had been so convinced it would be easy.

Being here and waiting was however anything but. Even during check-in down by the bar, you had already begun second guessing your initial decision to do this, a fair amount of worries – which you maybe should have thought about before coming here – coming up and tormenting you just now.

What if you wouldn't like it after all? What if you couldn't go through with it? What if the stranger wouldn't be as open-minded as you needed them to be? What if he wasn't appealing, not great at this or just not nice? What if he was a creep?

It had been a silly idea.

You'd only been on the lookout for some fun when you signed up to that online platform.

Having heard about it from a friend, who had been very enthusiastic about the matching process and the anonymity it offered, you had decided to give into your own curiousity and checked the website in question.

Even just at first sight, it seemed to be a legit and serious platform, professional, rather progressive as well, LGBTQ+ friendly, allowing to pick from plenty of options when it came to preferences, guaranteeing a high success rate in getting your needs met to a T.

It was the guarantee you needed the most, because you were growing a little desperate, ever since breaking up with your boyfriend. You were disastrously horny, hadn't been fucked in a long while and wanted to look for a fun time to fulfill your sexual needs.

Unfortunately, you weren't forward or extroverted enough to put yourself out there on full display in a club. A regular dating app was out of question too. Well, sure – you could have chosen to check one of them out and perhaps still succeeded after a reasonable amount of time, but you didn't want to bother with the long process of messaging back and forth with people, until you'd find a potential match looking for the same as you did: one time thing, without strings attached.

The online platform your friend had suggested, made it so much easier. The name said it all.

One Night Strangers.

Signing up had been simple.

There was no need to put pictures or an actual name – since that was the point of remaining strangers. The online page just asked for a couple of details important for the matching process, such as age and gender, sexual orientation, usage of contraception or prep (absolutely mandatory), preferences and kinks, and a couple more boxes to click for additional information to ensure the most comfortable encounter.

You also had to choose which days of the week and which time of day would work best.

Checking the terms of agreement before finalizing the sign up (after all you wanted to be safe and make sure you hadn't misunderstood anything about the process), you had stumbled across the fact that the platform would determine the specifics of the encounter as soon as they had found a match. No need to even talk to the stranger. Perfect.

All you had to do, was to accept the match made and pay an estimated sum in advance that would cover the cost for the place you'd meet at. Encounters would apparently take place at a location partnered with the platform, where every participant would go through a discreet check-in shortly beforehand, meaning this was as anonymous as could get while also being as safe as possible.

Being fine with all of this, you had agreed and the platform had done what it apparently did best, matching you with someone in the New York area almost immediately: M37. That's all you knew. Well, besides the fact that your preferences seemed to align. And the where and when.

Friday, between 8-10pm, Lotus Laurea Bar, Room 12.

You hadn't harvested many doubts then, excited about the fast matching process and the fact you were meeting up with a person you didn't even know for the only purpose of getting laid.

It had been a silly idea, but you hadn't been averse to it by any means.

So of course, you had clicked the button to accept the match, paid the money, by no means a large sum, and found yourself at the Lotus Laurea Bar by Friday, shortly before eight.

The bar in question was a small, independent business with a handful of rooms and an adjoined LGBTQ+ nightclub. It wasn't a shifty or suspicious place at all, which was definitely a relief.

The check-in had been as easy and discreet as promised. The staff member had exactly known what you were here for as soon as you'd shown them the invoice on your phone.

They had been very respectful and considerate too, assuring you there was no need to worry about anything, while you'd been asked to sign a form of consent, confirming that you were of legal age and doing this out of your own will – a safety precaution you thought was fair, for legality alone.

Then they had simply slipped you the room key and told you that the stranger you'd been matched with was not here yet but would come up to the assorted room and knock as soon as he arrived.

So you headed up to the designated room 12 and made yourself ready for some dreadful waiting.

The accommodation was actually quite nice, especially considering you had paid so little for it. The room was small, sure, didn't have any windows, but smelled fresh. Everything was clean and neat, looked comfortable and you were convinced you could try relaxing for a moment here, though the loud music from the club downstairs ruined the quietness.

The ambient light however was lovely, a dark blue hue filling out the room.

The bed was somewhat medium-sized – more than enough for one person, a little small for two people sleeping comfortably in it – but since you didn't think you'd get tempted to cuddle with a stranger after sex anyways, it suited the cause well enough. On the nightstand there was everything provided that might be necessary – lube as well as condoms.

There was a bathroom included too, which you used right away, trying to fight your own nervousness as you took another shower after already having thoroughly cleaned yourself at home.

But that was the thrill of fucking a stranger, wasn't it? Not knowing what you'd be in for. Not knowing what to expect. It was just normal to experience a bit of nerves, right?

You certainly had plenty of them.

Because what if the stranger changed their mind and wouldn't come? Were you just meant to wait until ten, go home with money wasted and still underfucked? What if you would change your mind last second and flee in a rush, before M37 could even get here? Was the promised guarantee really that high? Would it be good and worth it?

Perhaps hooking up at the club downstairs after getting plastered with a few drinks would have been a lot easier to handle. They'd still all be strangers to you. But you would have had to approach them and that definitely wasn't your thing.

Besides that, you had gone through all the effort already, having showered and cleaned yourself literally everywhere. The idea was still tempting, if a little frightening.

Though in the end, you were probably just worrying for nothing. What's the worst that could happen? If you didn't like the sex, you could just say so. You could say No. Certainly the stranger would understand, after agreeing to the same terms and signing the same form of consent as you had. If you didn't like the overall experience, you would never have to do it ever again afterward.

A sudden knock to the door sent your heart rate sky-rocketing.

You waited, swallowing down your nervousness, your heart almost springing out of your chest at the sudden awareness and realization that this was totally gonna happen now.

For the flicker of a moment you were afraid of getting seriously panicky, but it was more so the rush of excitement and anticipation than the threat of a breakdown – so you tried the very best to get your shit together and took a deep breath. Brace yourself. You were going to do this.

“Come in”, you replied timidly to the knock, unsure whether you should have gotten up to greet the stranger at the door instead of sitting here on the bed. Wearing nothing but the towel from showering earlier on, part of you had also wondered whether to just get on hands and knees, waiting in the most useful position to get fucked, no need for any foreplay and introductions and such.

You figured it didn't really matter though and remained right there, expectant and curious and awfully nervous.

The door opened and the stranger stepped inside.

The ambient light was a little too dark to make out how he actually looked from the distance, but M37 seemed to be exactly that (a man, in his thirties) and more. Lean. Long legs. Dressed in a damn suit.

He carefully closed the door behind him and moved further towards the bed, and therefore also towards you.

There was an immediate unexpected tension in the air between the two of you, hard to deny. It wasn't awkward by any means. If anything, it was incredibly hot, the way he was slowly stepping in your direction, his full attention on you already, not a single word spoken because there was no need.

The stranger was enticing, pulling you in with his mere presence, dominating the scene and grasping all of your attention – you could feel your heart hammer even more, finding it hard to breath for a moment, and were eager to catch a good look at him when most of the distance had already been crossed.

With the stranger now closer to the source of light, you could make out how truly handsome he was. Definitely a lucky match. He was more than you had hoped for. Downright hot as fuck. There was something peculiar about his face, all sharp angles, from his smooth jawline to his high cheekbones, curved and full lips that were very tempting, his intense eyes, pupils blown wide with lust as he stared back down at you.

It suddenly made you feel very small sitting on this bed before him.

You weren't sure whether to talk to him, didn't know whether you should ask questions about how you wanted to do this or what the man was going to prefer to do first. Was it fair to ask how to start? Perhaps he would set the tone? It would be more than fine if he told you what to do.

As you looked him over, you wondered whether the stranger had any experience with anonymous hook-ups like this. Maybe he had. He didn't seem as nervous as you, carrying himself so self-confident, unashamed, coming to stand before you, eyes mustering you for a long moment, before he moved again.

Bringing his hands up to cup your face in them – large, warm hands – and letting the tension reach enormous heights, he eventually bent down to your level and leaned in real close.

His hot breath was lingering against your lips for a moment and he was just waiting, knowing it might rile you up and put you on edge, all while he hadn't even really done anything.

As he pressed his lips to yours, whatever barrier might have been between you (and in your head for that matter) just broke.

Since you had most certainly ticked the box for “kissing” in the sign-up process, it hadn't been entirely unexpected – and weren't you just glad you had!

Even though the stranger's lips were soft, he wasn't primarily gentle, kissing you hungrily, demanding you submit to him, claiming your mouth, tongues entwining, teeth clashing, and you found yourself getting aroused by the sudden attention.

Trying to waste as little time as possible, you slung your arms around the man's broad frame, pulling him forward and onto you, shuffling to get settled on the bed with him. Apparently that didn't need any words either. It was as if your bodies already knew what to do, slotting perfectly together.

The stranger was very careful not to crush you, holding his own weight without struggle, as he continued licking into your mouth, and to no surprise began grinding against you not long after, his sizable bulge brushing your thigh that was barely covered by a bit of towel, shooting another surge of raw arousal through your body.

Okay, maybe this had been a good idea after all. Because wasn't he just great? The platform had assigned you the perfect stranger. Handsome, a good kisser, hungry to devour all of you.

You were already dying to get fucked by him, who so passionately kept your mouth occupied, swallowing your little moans and whimpers right away, feasting on them, letting them urge him on.

Easing your grip around him, your hands moved along the collar of the man's dress shirt and you began busying yourself with opening the buttons one by one, hoping he would get the drift immediately. You needed to get him out of his clothes! And since you already were only in a towel, it was fair that you got to see him as well.

Upon breaking away, as the stranger peeled himself out of his shirt, you used to perfect opportunity of checking him out, making out a sculpted and trained torso. Of course, he looked handsome under his clothes as well!

Seemingly taking good care of himself, you wouldn't have been surprised if he had an entire row of people waiting, trying to get with him, looking like that.

So why do it like this, was the question that arose, taking the sight in, as the stranger stood back up, toeing his shoes and peeling his socks off.

Middle-aged and attractive, clearly confident enough and open to anything, he could have gotten laid anywhere. Perhaps he was in it for the thrill, liking the anonymity.

There was something oddly exciting about having sex with a stranger, you couldn't deny it, so maybe he was just in it for the general experience, like you.

Figuring that the stranger's reasoning was technically none of your concern – he was here to fuck after all, just like you, anything else didn't matter, and it was nothing personal either – you shuffled back up as well, coming to sit on the edge of the bed again as he stood before you.

You looked up at the stranger then and checking that he had his eyes fixated on you, you reached forward, your hands landing on the fine leather belt, of course only accidentally brushing the bulge he was sporting, giving him more than just a suggestive look.

The man took in a deep breath, but hummed in agreement, patiently waiting as you went to unbuckle his belt and mercifully free him from the restraint of his fine trousers, leaving his prominent erection covered by only his underwear.

God, the fact he was able to keep up par to your eye-contact, while clearly achingly aroused, told you more than you could have figured out by questioning him. He was able to keep himself restrained, looked as stoic and composed as before. He was prepared for this and feeding off the moment, his lips parting ever so slightly as you squeezed his hardening cock through the remaining fabric, continuing to keep your gazes locked as you leaned forward to bring your mouth to his clothed erection.

As composed as he was, you could hear the man's breath stuttering then, running your lips along the hard outline of his cock, and you couldn't help but to grin at his reaction. You didn't want to tease him for too long though, pulling the waistband of his underwear down, the throbbing erection springing free, practically begging to be sucked off – and you wanted. His cock looked delicious. You needed to taste him.

There still weren't any words necessary between the two of you and obviously, you currently would have rather liked to keep your mouth busy otherwise anyways, grabbing the base of the stranger's cock firmly as you placed small licks around the cockhead, lapping up the precome oozing from his tip, eyes still locked together.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, pretty boy?”, he asked. Damn.

Now you were the one to feel your own breath hitch in the back of your throat now, stopping your advances as you heard the man speak altogether, for the first time, his voice low and smooth, his words filthy and promising. He sounded so fucking hot, you could have probably drowned in the low grumble.

“Yes”, you responded in a whisper, mouth returning to his cock, tongue swirling around the tip once more, before wrapping you lips around him again, taking in as much of him as you could, struggling to breathe in deep through your nose, trying not to lose eye contact with him.

Pulling back, you pressed your tongue up to the underside of his throbbing member, savoring the taste of the man, feeling your own lust coiling tightly in your core. He was intoxicating.

The stranger didn't speak another word, his large hands coming to gently hold onto your head at first, before his grip tightened possessively, urging your mouth off his cock, pulling your head back hard by grabbing a fistful of your hair – and then, he guided your head forward again, easing himself into your mouth once more, careful at first and for another few times, eyes never leaving the sight.

You welcomed him in each time, opening wide, ready to be used as the stranger sank his cock deep into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat, where you felt your own body protesting, muscles tightening, gagging around him, before releasing you again, pulling back out. Your gag reflex wasn't as shy as you would have needed it to be right now, but even that didn't seem to irritate the stranger, tightly holding onto your head as he thrust into you mouth again, not quite as deep, aware of your response.

Like the good little slut you were, you gladly accepted his advances, sucking on him hard, moving your tongue along the throbbing flesh, and the stranger fucked your mouth exactly like he had promised, using you just like you had wanted him to, leaving little opportunity to catch your breath. He groaned loudly when you tried to take him deeper down your throat again.

The thrusts slowed eventually, allowing you to regain more control of the situation – you were as relentless as he was, insistent on serving him well, reaching up to gently caress his balls, your other hand wrapping around the base of his cock again, sucking him hard into your mouth yet another time.

“I'd love to come down your throat, but if you want me to fuck you, you need to stop”, the stranger spoke up again, holding your head still for a moment, his eyes piercing deep into your soul.

“Can't go twice?”, you wondered, having pulled back from his cock altogether.

“We don't have all night”, the stranger shrugged it off and almost tenderly, he gave you a little shove, urging you to shift further back on the bed, while stepping out of his own pants before joining you there.

You weren't protesting, making yourself comfortable as you lay back into the pillows. The towel around your waist had come apart in the meanwhile and you mindlessly shoved it down to the floor – it was just a nuisance at this point – unashamed to present yourself to the other man, knowing there was no way to save your dignity anyways.

You knew the stranger's eyes were raking over you, watching you in the soft light, naked and wanting and spreading your legs for him – and he seemed entirely unperturbed about it.

“I'm sure your holes can please me just as well”, he mused then, crawling towards you on the bed, his throbbing hardness, wet with spit, brushing your thighs as he covered you with his weight, unashamed to bring your mouths together again.

And you had no doubt he would please you just as well, pressing your hips upwards into him, begging for more, aching for it just as much. You didn't want to wait any longer, couldn't, wanted to have this hard and throbbing cock inside of you, let him fuck you all the way to next Sunday.

“Patience”, the stranger scolded you, shifting a little again to reach for one of the condom wrappers provided on the bedside table, preparing himself with swift movements, and not wasting any more time, returning to your body and eager to give you what you both wanted.

You sucked in a deep breath with absolute anticipation as the stranger aligned his cock with your entrance, rubbing his hardness over your wet folds, smacking it against your small nub you were proud to call your own cock. He was teasing you, obviously, because he could, all while his eyes never broke your gaze.

Patience got a whole new meaning as the stranger continued to toy with you, the tip of his cock barely pushing into you, just nudging your hole like a promise that was seemingly never going to come true at this rate – and you were absolutely about to complain, though didn't have to after the stranger gave into your wordless pleas, hands gripping your hips hard, burying himself fully into your tight heat.

You groaned at the sudden intrusion. Blowing him had gotten you so needy and wet that you had been able to take him in without any issue, the large cock was stretching you out so nicely and you were more than happy to keep the stranger in place between your legs, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in to reconnect your mouths as the man started to move inside of you.

Honestly, either way would have been perfectly fine with you. He could have fucked you roughly and quickly, destroying you with sharp thrusts – or he could have taken you slowly and deeply, painfully teasing you and dragging out your encounter.

It would be good. It would be perfect.

The stranger made sure to keep switching the rhythm and pace, playing with your patience because he could, taking his own pleasure but also making sure that you would have a good time. Even though you were nothing to each other, he handled you with so much care, fucking you with a passion, precise thrusts that sent hot flashes up your spine and sparks of arousal through your entire body.

Your mouths mingled together, seemingly melting into one another, bodies entwined, sharing each others breath and pleasure like you had done this many a times before.

Your feverish kissing broke after a while, both of you sweaty messes, groaning and moaning into each others mouths, chasing your ecstasy and enjoying your lust-driven high together.

Holding onto the stranger with a tight grip, your arms and legs kept him in place – you certainly weren't going to let him go now – as you got railed into the mattress, driven closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

“Fuck, I'm so close”, you moaned, brain turned into putty, intoxicated by the stranger and every thought gone, except one - you wanted him to go on. “Please. Don't stop now.”

Your soft whimpers and pleas seemed to only encourage him, the rhythm changing, slow and deep, cock filling you out to the brim, both of you breathing hard, gazes drawn to each other, neither of you capable of looking away.

“You're gonna come on my cock like a good slut, hm?”, the stranger groaned, drawing out the last thrusts painfully slow, eager to sent the two of you over the edge.

A hard shudder surged through your body, a sudden ease to all the tension building, your core throbbing, your walls clenching around the stranger, who was continuing to move inside of you, fucking you all the way through both of your orgasms.

You had felt him tense up, his body trembling as he too had tripped over the edge, and only then did your eye contact break. He closed his eyes, enjoying the overwhelming feelings all the way through his orgasm – and so did you.

Tired out, breathing hard, entirely overrun by the intensity of your orgasms, you had come to lay side by side.

You felt awfully empty without the stranger's cock inside of you and maybe, just maybe, if your stamina allowed for it and you dared to ask for it, you'd let him fuck you another time – if he wanted to stay around, of course.

You couldn't really ask just yet. Even after catching your breath, the words seemingly got stuck in your throat. Looking back over at him, you marveled at the handsome stranger, eyes still closed, little huffs escaping his parted lips, his toned chest heaving and sinking again, cock now nestled flaccid and satiated against his thigh, condom filled with his semen.

Some little part of you wondered. Who was he? What was his name? What did he do in his every day life? What else was there to him, besides the fact that he was an exceptionally good lay? Why was he pursuing a one night stand like this?

It took a moment until the man regained his previous composure and began to stir again, sitting up on the bed. He turned towards you, addressing you so casually, like he hadn't just pounded you into the mattress. “That was fun. Really needed this”, he spoke, his voice calm, not an ounce of the raw filthiness from earlier left, “Never been with a trans man before, but my, my... I got lucky to get someone as gorgeous as you.”

“You're quite the handsome stranger yourself”, you replied with a grin, positively flattered by his compliment.

The man smiled back at you before he got up from the bed. “Mind if I have a quick shower?”, he asked politely, circling the bed to where he had lost his clothes, picking them up from the floor.

“No, you...uh... can take your time... I'd... uh... you could stay around for a second round though, if you wanted to?”, you spoke shyly, finally daring to make the request.

The stranger seemed to consider your suggestion for a moment, then plucked a phone out from the pile of clothing, apparently checking the time. “Shit, it's late already”, he cussed, giving you an apologetic look, “Sorry, I can't. Technically I wouldn't be opposed to another round, but... I really need to get going.”

“Oh, okay”, you shrugged, obviously a little disappointed, but you weren't going to throw a fit about it, pulling the rumpled blanket over your form instead, not because you needed to hide any of your nakedness in front of the stranger, but even more so because you were getting a little cold without his body warmth and the heat of sex.

“Thanks for the fuck though”, you made sure to let him know, an awkward smile rising up to your lips.

The stranger shot you another smile too, before turning into the bathroom and taking, as announced, a very quick shower, returning to the room mere minutes later, all dressed up again, prim and proper.

Part of you had expected him to just say his goodbyes and leave, perhaps even not say anything to you at all since you were nothing to one another, but then he walked over to the bed again, leaned down to you and pressed a soft but unexpected kiss to your lips.

“How did you put it? Thanks for the fuck”, the stranger chuckled, “Goodbye, handsome. Was nice meeting you.”

Thus, you parted like you had met – as strangers, knowing nothing about each other except the way you looked, the way you felt, the way you liked to fuck, under the clear impression you would never get to meet each other ever again.

And then your sister introduced Stephen Strange to you – her colleague from the hospital, the man she was dating and the stranger who had fucked you.

#k writes #doctor strange #stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #marvel fanfiction #doctor strange smut #surgeon strange #x ftm reader #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #stephen strange x male reader #stephen strange x you

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 7 months

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In the last few days, I've made two long and rambling posts about Cowgate, a short incident from 2003 that haunts my nightmares. I think people should know that when I make posts like that - the ones that go way too long about something entirely niche - I am operating under the assumption that absolutely no one is reading this bullshit. Even the small handful of people who read this blog regularly, I assume you skip over those ones.

That's not just a hypothetical assumption, I make writing choices accordingly. I assume the only purpose of this post is to give me somewhere to put the hauntings besides my nightmares, and therefore, it doesn't matter if it's readable. I know that my whole blog is full of errors, but on posts like that, I get especially lax with things like editing. I go really deep on things where on a different post, I might think - okay, that's far enough. Because no one is reading this.

I have now been proven wrong several times about those couple of posts, which both mildly embarrasses and delights me. First of all, I got this great comment from @beastlyanachronism, which is now how I love to picture myself:

Then, the wonderful @lastweeksshirttonight proved that they'd read not only the posts but the comment, by immediately messaging me a corresponding picture. I replied that I love the image, I will definitely start my post with that image the next time a new Cowgate-based detail is found and I need to write about it. I didn't expect that to be soon, though. Breakthroughs are few and far between.

But then, I got another message, proving that at least three different people have read my post (actually four, if you count the very kind British man who read my post and then sent me a message to explain the nuances in the expression "bottle it"). And that last message is the reason for this post. Because, I can't believe I've been given cause to use this image so soon:

Further content behind the cut, because not everyone needs this content all over their feed.

This relates to the message I got last night, from the extremely helpful @linkeightvideo, who not only read my posts, but joined the cause and did his own research. And came up with this link:

The Metro cow is a thing!!! I knew the wording of that YouTube comment was weird (calling it "the Metro cow", rather than something like "a cow that said Metro on it"), suggesting that this was a specific and recognizable instillation. And I was right! But I cannot take credit for figuring that out, all credit goes to @linkeightvideo, who is the best.

The above link is to an archived version of an article from August 5, 2003, about three weeks before Cowgate occurred (which was August 26, 2003 - fun fact that has absolutely nothing to do with anything because to the best of my knowledge he wasn't there or anything, but that was also Nish Kumar's eighteenth birthday). The article is from the Edinburgh Fringe website. It's short enough so I'm just going to paste its text in full:

The Fringe was hit by a bunch of cotton-pickin', rootin-tootin' cattle ruslers in the early hours of Saturday night. The almost life-sized, bright blue and red Metro bull was stolen from outside the Metro Fringe Box Office. Metro newspapers are appealing for its safe return before the police are called and urge anyone with information to come forward. Metro Fringe Box Office Manager, Gillian O'Connor said: "We're distraught to have lost such a valuable member of the Box Office team! Please bring him back." The bull had just completed a secondment outside London's Victoria station, where he stood unmoved for a month. Yet after only a few days on duty with the Fringe he has gone missing leaving today's Festival Cavalcade a bull short of a procession.

That's it!!! That's the one! It was blue and red! I know it was blue and red, because Adam hills shouted "it's got red horns, it's all the rage". And it was almost life sized! And it said Metro on the side! Further research - also done by @linkeightvideo, he deserves all the credit in the world for this - finds that Metro sponsored the Edinburgh Fringe Festival that year, and also directly sponsored the Gilded Balloon venue.

So, the company called Metro had a large cow that was used in advertisements, and for one month in the summer of 2003, it was in London, outside Victoria Station. Then it was brought to Edinburgh, because they were sponsoring the festival and running a box office. They put it outside that box office, and it got stolen within "a few days" (which makes sense, as August 5th is a few days into the festival). It was meant to be part of the Festival Cavalcade, but couldn't be due to thieves.

Then, three weeks later, it spends all night on stage during a late-night comedy show in an Edinburgh venue that Metro sponsors, where it gets taken apart. How do we get from one state of affairs to the other? I don't know, but I'm a hell of a lot closer to understanding than I was yesterday. If the cow was somehow recovered, it would make sense from them to move it indoors, where it can be guarded better (again, credit for this idea goes to @linkeightvideo, and I think it makes sense). I mean, it can be guarded from drunk thieves in the middle of the night. Apparently the stage of the Gilded Balloon is not a good place to guard it from (shockingly) sober comedians in the middle of the night.

This made me try searching again for the specific words "Metro cow", and I found this article from December 12, 2003. It's a list of people who are involved with whatever organization this is, I'm not really clear on that. But it includes this one guy named Stephen Auckland. He's from the North of England, and as of when this was written, he was listened as the managing director of Metro. The bottom of his profile says:

An able sidekick to Associated Newspaper's Mike Anderson, even when it came to keeping up appearances following the disappearance of Mootro, Metro's cow mascot, from the Edinburgh festival. Auckland offered to dress up as a pantomime version. Luckily, they found the cow.

Guys! Guys! It has a fucking name! The Cowgate cow has a name! It's named Mootro! Now that I think about it, I actually can't believe I've never named the thing, given that I named the event (Cowgate), and giving the cow a name is the sort of thing I'd do. But I don't have to, because apparently it's named Mootro.

And the story has an update. It was stolen by August 5, and then it was found at some unknown point, and by August 26 it was in the Gilded Balloon. And then it got taken apart on stage.

I think this brings up one obvious question, which is: if this thing was important enough for its theft to be reported on the Edinburgh Fringe website, how come they were allowed to destroy it? The obvious answer would be that it was specifically made for just that one Edinburgh Festival, and was meant to be destroyed at the end of it anyway. But why did it spend a month in London right before that, then? And why would they do that anyway? Surely it's not efficient to make something like that for only a month, you'd think they'd plan to have it last a while and move it around based on where they're sponsoring things.

I can't believe this. This is the biggest revelation since I figured out who the fuck Karen Koren was, the woman referenced in Adam Hills' song, after after ages of Googling comedians named "Erin Coren" (finally worked out that she was the venue owner, which seems obvious now but it hadn't occurred to me at the time, when I was expecting it to be a reference to another performer). Actually, this is a much bigger revelation than that one, which just explained a couple of Adam Hills' lyrics. This is the biggest revelation in all the Cowgate research yet. The two main questions at the heart of the Cowgate mystery are: "Why did you do it?" and "Where did you get the cow?" And now one of those questions has been answered! It has a fucking name!

That second article referred to it specifically as the Metro "mascot". I guess a company is going to make more than one version of a mascot. But still, I don't think you're allowed to just destroy a sponsor's mascot. Maybe that mascot was at the end of its life anyway? Maybe Daniel Kitson just doesn't give a fuck? Maybe Daniel Kitson stole the cow in the first place. There's a whole new question. Who stole the cow? How did they get it back? How did it get from there to its whereabouts on August 26?

I know it wasn't on the Gilded Balloon stage every night of the 2003 Edinburgh Festival, because there's no sign of it in this montage, from Late 'n' Live on August 19, 2003 (also a fun video and great snippets of Chocolate Milk Gang history, if you can get past the second-hand embarrassment of Kitson trying his rap battle thing with an actual musician, and the presence of an actual musician makes the whole thing seem less ironic and therefore harder to watch - but you do get to see David O'Doherty beat up Jason Byrne and that's hilarious, also it's very funny to watch Daniel Kitson do something as out of character as brag about "nearly" winning a Barry Award and having a girlfriend from Australia, especially given how the latter turned out):

youtube

So it wasn't there on that night. Also, it just couldn't have been there every night. The Gilded Balloon is a proper venue that has proper shows during most of its time, it couldn't just have a large cow on stage for all of those. Also, in the beginning of that montage video from August 26, you see Kitson talking to the audience about the cow, and it sounds like he considers its presence as much of a novelty as they do. I mean, he's making fun of them for thinking it's a novelty, but he doesn't seem familiar with it, it seems like something he has to address:

youtube

This is the main reason for my theory that they didn't plan it beforehand, the montage shows the audience giving Kitson challenges for easy things to do with the cow, he asks them for more difficult challenges and then the video cuts, but I think the audience then asked him to tear it apart. It's a theory that makes sense based on some circumstantial evidence, but it does open up other questions. The main one being whether you can get permission to destroy a company's mascot between the beginning and the end of a comedy show, especially a comedy show that takes place entirely in the middle of the night. It doesn't seem likely. It also opens up some smaller questions, like what they were planning as the end of the show - the finale of the last night of Late 'n' Live, so you'd think they'd have something - that got bumped for this.

This reminds me that I had some further thoughts on the other mystery, of what actually went down on the night of August 26. I was thinking of the somewhat blue sky theory of there being two previous. Evidence for this: Adam Hills referred to "three chances", they were able to pick up chisels off the ground that seemed to just be lying around (possibly having been discarded after previous attempts), and Kitson in that video does have their air of someone who's already watched this go wrong and is really determined to make sure they get it fucking right this time. Evidence against: I'm not sure that works from a show planning perspective. What if it had worked on the first try, then what would the finale have been? If they'd watched it fail twice, would they really have made it the finale, knowing it may well fail a third time and that would be a shit ending? Though this could possibly be explained by the presence of the pipe that someone runs on stage, significantly increasing their chances compared to any attempt where that pipe was not in play.

I thought of something else today: the cow was already down when they started that video. Earlier in the night, we see comedians sitting on the cow, it's standing up. But at the end, when those guys run out to try to take it apart, they don't have to knock it down first. It's already lying on its side. They could have knock it down just before starting the song, but why would they do that? Surely knocking it down would be a fun dramatic moment, so if this were the first time they'd messed with the cow, they'd leave the knocking down to be part of the process. Unless this weren't the first time, and they had dramatically knocked it down before starting to try taking it apart, but this one done at some earlier point that the video didn't catch.

Anyway. That's the revelation. Along with some further thoughts on theories, but the main thing is the revelation. Massive breakthrough, and I need to thank @linkeightvideo one more time for research that he was under absolutely no obligation to do, but he came through anyway. What a legend. Am I using the British expressions right? What a solid gold legend.

#Youtube

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maah-long · 1 year

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I read TSaTS, and loved every second of it

I disappeared from social media to do that, and seeing things now, apparently people are hating on the book??? I honestly have no idea why, and honestly, it makes me sad. I wrote those notes as I read it, and never felt the book was weak or messy, and I'll stand on that boat, 100%. I LOVE this book with my entire existence now, and what people are thinking about it won't affect that, I truly hope.

And I've been binge reading all of Riordanverse in the last month, so everything is fresh on my mind.

Anyways, I'll just leave the notes I did here while I read it. Of course, SPOILERS! I read it without getting even one spoiler, and that made the experience unique and much more enjoyable than others I had in the past.

• I LOVED the silly star war discussion in the beginning, even not quite understanding it xD It was so cute and genuine, maybe with some probably thinking it’s cringy!

• WILL TALKING ABOUT HIS PAST 🫶🫶🫶🫶 I really wanted to see more of him and his story, so they just there, chilling and talking about things, forgetting, even if for only a few seconds, how their situation is so cruel… It made me really happy! Hope they’ll be back soon to just relax and be cute… (haha...)

• I hope the tiny snippets about the water Nymph will have its own scene!!! I was dying to know how their love story start, so it needs its own full chapter!!! (now finishing it, that didn't happen, but the scenes got longer!!! So, victory!!!)

• Now the first POV switch (ch 10) …. Sus. Is pretty weird that the what they see does not seem reliable, and right after it each one of them shares a vision were they’re suffering, but the other one is being kinda “selfish”, and not like themselves. I totally think what they’re “living” is not true, but I don’t know when they stopped seeing things right, or what happened to them. Where? Weird. I do know Will wouldn’t just give up, “I can’t be here”, or Nico going “Coward!”. The POVs don’t match, and I’m CONFUSED.

• Of course it’s a demon! And I do think it hilarious how they’re discussing gender norms while the demon is trying to strangle Nico…,,, normal day, I guess? And Will immediately saying sorry to them like, LMAO

• Man, playing Hades and seeing Nyx like this on the Riordanverse is PAINFUL. She’s so gorgeous (STUNNING), calm and mother-like there. And she always has this kinda insane-y vibe here.

• Ah, “‘I’ll always be here”. There it is, they’re getting separated.

• AGAIN? “if Nyx wants your darkness so bad, you can just leave some of it with her! That wouldn’t be so bad.’”. IDK man, I’m thinking this will be more true than they think, I just feel it 😭😭 And more literal than that, too. (here I was thinking about Nico leaving his powers there. I was pretty wrong on that xD)

• I think that addressing Will’s irk towards the underworld is pretty important. I really like how both of them are on different, but pretty understandable sides. After everything we know about the UW, it’s hard to be open and accepting to it. Nico is super related to it, and he knows his father’s palace, so he has a completely different view of it. Will is all about life and light, so it should be even less appealing to him. Man, he NEEDS sun to live, it's literally part of his being. It’s easy to understand his side. But there are good people and beings living there too. It’s almost another universe. It’s Nico home, past, family and history. It probably hurts a lot to see his boyfriend being so contrary to it, basically negating a part of him, and kinda making his thoughts of Will “ignoring the “””bad and scary””” “ parts of him to be able to accept Nico hold place. It’s sad, hope this will get a good development and closure. Too bad I’m pretty sure it won’t be soon….

• Okay! The farm commentary! That made me sad. I think here Nico was a tiny bit too much. I felt the “People farm here?” from Will was genuine confusion. I would picture on my mind automatically growing crops underground. Hey, I killed (and it still saddens me) succulents by keeping them inside my no-that-sunlit bedroom. How would people grow things successfully on the underworld? That totally very much probably is not included in common sense! Will most certainly was not trying to stab Nico or the UW life, just would like some explanations.

•The Mythomagic story in Nico’s past 😭😭😭 The feels, I swear. It was pretty relatable, poor boy. And that was on the last century, too, and I can't imagine how hard it would be to deal with being queer at that age.

•But hey, is Will talking about Hermes’ card there? Does he play Mythomagic?? Do they together?? That would be cute as hell, I hope they do.

•The canoe scenes make me so happy! I loved SO MUCH how they put them in between some painful scenes. It made it easier to breathe and take on the hard parts. One of the things I wanted the most was the backstory of their relationship, and being given ALL the details like that was definitely not what I expected. They’ve been amazing, super super cute.

• And hey, Paolo is queer?? He’s one of my fave background characters, and I really liked that 🫶🫶 Nice rep for us Brazilians, I really appreciate that, lol Really missed seeing more of him! Seeing a mention on this book was unexpected, but nice! Hope he’s getting better at communicating with everyone, hahah

• I LOVE MENOETES! The way this book is showing the nice parts of the underworld too, on contrary of house of hades that was pure hOrOR and pAIN. It was not what I was expecting, and I totally appreciate it, it’s cute. And wait does he grow the nectar and ambrosia? That’s genuinely impressive. He's a pretty cool guy.

• BUT HEY, GERYON? Sorry friend, I’m judgin here. Do hope you’re right saying he’s a changed man……,,,

• Now Persephone’s Garden…. One more time, they’re showing the nice parts of the underworld, and that’s super interesting.

• And the Persephone’s scene? I LOVED it, I think it was so necessary. My image of her was kinda bad ngl, remembering about her older appearances. She seemed a little crazy. But at that scene, the way she spoke with fondness and clarity… It was exactly what Will needed to hear, and it makes me happy to see that she’s much more accepting of Nico. Good times.

• But Anphistemis? That was one hard scene. They getting separated and all, but the worst part was the chaos when they reunited, and how the poor guy was used. I totally see why Will did that, hell, I’d do the same or worse, when it comes to surviving. I just hope that that was not the last time we see Amphitemis.

• COCOA PUFFS!! I love them too!! I kinda thought they were cute since they first appeared, and that made me feel weird. Good to see that they really are nice and petable!!

• The last fight made me so anxious. I'm just happy it's over. I really wanted for Nyx to chill and find some other purpose at the end, but I don't think that would be believable. Kinda sad. And I always liked those children of hern on their other book appearances too!!! Especially Nemesis.

• Bob, oh Bob. He's precious. I truly like this crew SO MUCH. Him, Small Bob, Nico, Will and and the Puffs. They just finally relaxing, free. Oh, that was so rewarding. Good for them!

• I CRIED with Nico's dream. All of his family... That was so warm. Nico deserved that, I really loved it. And good to know Amphis was not forgotten!!

• Nico hugging Chiron!!!! Mr D. being actually super nice!!!! Aw really, I loved this entire ending too. Everyone happy, talking, healing. Endings make me worried, sometimes my judgment of the work changes completely if the ending is bad. This one? No. It was a super nice wrapping.

• PIPEEERRRR!!!! Nico and Piper friends ? I'm super behind that, I love them a lot. I missed Piper! And her talk was so genuine. Full of worries that are pretty relatable too. Very sweet, wish the best to her too. I thought it was me expecting too much to see Piper, but I'm glad to be proved wrong.

• I'm sad Bob already left... I hope it'll still be possible for them to meet sometimes, Bob deserves the best in this new chapter of his life!! While writing this I noticed I didn't mention anything about the trogs. I guess my main impressions about them happened already on Apollo Trials, hahah. But I like them a lot too!!! I was very happy to see they're happy building their little world and society, and making even tastier dishes. Hiss-Majesty is amazing too, and I loved their closure working at the farm xD

• Plus Nico and Will at the ending. Very heart warming moment. Their relationship is super healthy, and I do NOT believe in anyone who says the contrary. Both of them clearly saw where they failed, communicated about that, and deeply, honestly, said that they would seek to do their best. Isn't this the most important thing of it all? They're super happy together, love each others' presence, and looking at their future together fills them with hope. Man, they just left TARTARUS. And now they're stronger, filled with joy about what is to come.

And that's it. Been reading through some other people's thoughts, and well. Sometimes I even wonder if we read the same book. Like people saying the writing is the worst thing they ever read. I literally spent the last 3 days finishing the 3 last ToA books and this one. My friends, it was NOT that different. In particular, comparing to HoO, of course, because of the third person narration.

The only thing different for me was the direct approach about feelings, and about being queer too (probably thanks to Mark Oshiro), and I definitely enjoyed those. Probably because of seeing myself in them too.

I think people are being way too judgemental of Will. You can for sure say he was too impulsive when he was so determined and stubborn about going to a place that would be literally poison to him. But people complaining he was already drained before getting to Tartatus, as going though everything he did was easy? That place was his antithesis. I was actually shocked he didn't crumble at the first step into the Underworld. But he went through it, with Nico always on his mind. I don't know, I can't understand the hate. And of course they would not be bubbly and fun, they were going though HELL. Did anyone really expected them to be on their best there?

And I think both of them are very misunderstood characters. I was in the fandom for like, almost no time, thus, idk much about the fanon interpretation of them. But after everything I read about Nico and Will on the books, nothing felt out of place here, no. And it reminded a lot of ToA too.

All in all, awesome book, was even more awesome than what I was expecting, and I was totally not disappointed. I will hold this book dear, close to my heart, and I wish people were more accepting of it. There's even an anti tag for it? I made the mistake of scrolling through it (I'm the type of person that gets sentimental when people attack something I love), and yes, people definitely have different experiences while going through works.

#tsats #the sun and the star #will solace #nico di angelo #tsats spoilers #NOhateforTSATS #solangelo #love tsats #love the sun and the star!#riordanverse #some of the fandom is nyx fr 💀🙁

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linkspooky · 2 years

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Hi, I'm a huge fan of your analysis and writing in general! I'm curious as to what your update top 5 favorite characters of all time are.

1. TARA MARKOV / TERRA

The most that bitch of all time. Terra is that bitch. She does not want redemption. She does not want to make friends. She does not want to be saved. She refuses to be what anyone else wants her to be and she refuses to fit any easy narrative for her.

Terra was not my favorite in the cartoon, which is a testament to how good the New Teen Titans comic is that it made her shoot to the top of the list. Terra is the ultimate bad victimTM. She is just as ugly as the abuse that happened to her. It's almost painful to look at the full picture of her, because no matter what she does and how malicious and cruel she is, she still remains undeniably a victim who's not free in any sense of the word.

Terra is not really a person, she's just a ball of negative emotions. She's volatile and always reacting to the people around her. She's basically a minefield inviting you to step on her and blow your legs off. Terra doesn't really have a sense of self but she's not really in a situation where she could mature or develop in any healthy kind of way. She's a runaway and an unstable mercenary selling herself for money. Pretty much anyone would develop into a sociopath to survive in her kind of situation.

There's a panel in New Teen Titans where Terra is telling Starfire and Donna some version of her backstory that's a bit fudged to throw off suspicion from the fact she's spying on them, and Kory and Donna are both like "Well, everyone on the Titans has a traumatic backstory Terra you're not special." And that's what made Terra's character great to me. She's been through the kind of things the rest of the Titans has, and that doesn't magically make her a good person or a hero. She snaps because she's like sixteen and terrible things have happened to her so she becomes terrible. Terra reflects a terrible reality that happens to a lot more teenagers in America, but even teenagers who act like Terra are still deserving of salvation.

2. KUMAGAWA MISOGI

The most loser of all time. Kumagawa is amazing because he turns so many shonen tropes on his head. He doesn't want to get better. He doesn't want to get stronger. He's going to remain the same loser forever, and yet there's something admirable about his character.

The best fictional characters struggle. Kumagawa's life is nothing about struggle. He gives everything he has just treading water and he doesn't succeed. Not only does Kumagawa struggle he has empathy for everyone that's struggling. He's incredibly emotionally unstable but not because he's cold or cruel but because he has so much empathy for the people around him. He cant help but feel and empathize no matter who it is. I am a fan of bad victims and so is Kumagawa.

He builds his entire life philosophy around sympathizing with people who aren't pretty, or righteous, or strong, or brave. He sympathizes with the people who try their hardest and make no progress at all. Kumagawa's philosophy is empower in its own way. Even a person who's absolutely mediocre matters as long as they're trying. Even a miserable life is one you can still smile and struggle to be happy in.

3. SPIKE

The most character development of all time. Spike is such an interesting character because they could have just left him a villain because he was interesting enough as one. Instead, we got him dragged kicking and screaming through a redemption arc.

What makes Spike a good character is that he never gets away with anything. A lot of characters, especially main characters will have flaws that the plot either sands down or ignores to try to make them more appealing and likable. Spike starts out a monster, the other characters know that he's bad, and when he does something wrong he immediately gets his teeth kicked in as punishment. The other people don't forgive him, and there are always consequences.

What makes Spike a great character is that he learns from those consequences. Eventually he reaches a point where he can't continue on the way he has before, and he actually learns to be a better person because the only way to keep living is to keep changing.

4. BUFFY SUMMERS

The most main character of all time. Buffy Summers is what happens when a plot actually tries to challenge it's main character instead of making the world center around them. Buffy believes she's the protagonist of reality, and she's sort of right but that mindset makes her suffer.

Buffy is EXACTLY like all the other girls. She just wants to shop, and watch TV, and talk about boys, but she's randomly been given super powers that she doesn't want. The seven season journey from Buffy acting like a normal hyperactive teenager, to by season seven being a very emotionally remote and distant girl with sky high walls built around her is such fantastic character work.

BTVS is a rare show where the main character is one of the most interesting characters, because the whole show is about the complex way she processes her trauma in response to the nonstop series of disasters that is her life. Buffy has pretty serious flaws, and those flaws get worse because she always has to be a hero which causes her to have a major self-righteous streak. Buffy's such a great character that she makes all the characters around her more interesting because of how well connected with the story. Especially with the way she parallels her jungian shadow, Spike.

5. ENOSHIMA JUNKO

The most Junko of all time. Junko is a character that could get by on sheer force of personality alone. She is extremely entertaining, her dialogue is always an insane riot, she dominates any scene she's in and she's an insanely competent evil mastermind who gets credit alone for being one of the few characters who actually succeeds in her plan to destroy the world.

Junko always wins and that's the problem. Junko is the best-written example of a villain whose motivation is "I did this because I'm bored." Because for Junko, boredom is a soul-crushing apathy that derives her life from any kind of joy or feeling other than numbness. Junko was written to be a one-dimmensional villain with no trace of goodness inside of her. Kodaka could have gotten away with not making her any more of that because she's so effective as a villain.

However, she has more character depth beyond that. If you read her prequel story in "Danganronpa ZERO" you find Junko is the way she is, because it's impossible for her to live a normal life. She doesn't feel like a human being and she feels incapable of connecting with the world or the people around her so she tries to make herself a calamity, a force of nature, despair itself.

#junko enoshima #spooky speaks #tara markov #terra #terra teen titans #kumagawa misogi #spike #buffy summers

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billygoat26 · 7 months

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I've been seeing a lot about KOSA on here

Don't get me wrong, I don't support it.

So I'll just say this; if any of you have read Fahrenheit 451 then you know what I'm gonna be talking about. (Censorship. It's- it's censorship.)

Basically, if you haven't read it, the book is about a time somewhere in the future where all books get burned, the only "stories" are little comics but it's just images... no words at all, and television has become the new "family." If you get caught with books, your house gets burnt down, the books burned as well.

BUT. Instead of trying to summarize the entire story, let me just show you parts of Beatty's speech.

"The fact is we didn't get along well until photography came into its own. Then--motion pictures in the early twentieth century. Radio. Television. Things began to have mass."

"And because they had mass, they became simpler," said Beatty. "Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books levelled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?"

"Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests. Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending."

"Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference."

"Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more."

"Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!"

"School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?"

"The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour."

"More sports for everyone, group spirit, fun, and you don't have to think, eh? Organize and organize and super organize super-super sports. More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less."

"Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog-lovers, the cat-lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico."

"Authors, full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters. They did. Magazines became a nice blend of vanilla tapioca. Books, so the damned snobbish critics said, were dishwater."

"We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against."

"A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it."

"...there was no longer need of firemen for the old purposes. They were given the new job, as custodians of our peace of mind, the focus of our understandable and rightful dread of being inferior; official censors, judges, and executors."

"Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book."

"You can't build a house without nails and wood. If you don't want a house built, hide the nails and wood. If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war."

(Source of the quotes: beatty-speech-to-montag-excerpt.pdf (wordpress.com))

(Page numbers for physical copy: 51 - 60)

I hope you get the point- we're heading down a daaaangerous path and chances are, this is- or at least is very damn close to- our future. If you want to have a good education (or your kids to have a good education), then take into consideration the things you either vote for or support, etc.

#important #stop kosa #bad internet bills #fahrenheit 451 #beatty's speech #billygoat talks #politics #<- sort of

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blingblong55 · 1 year

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How do you get inspired to write and what’s your process? The fandom I wanna write for is so small and I just can’t find the fics I wanna read but every time I go to write my own ideas I get stuck. Please I beg I’m in the trenches here 😭🫧

I'll give you a bitchy answer and a full on honest one

Bitchy answer: when I open a request, I read through it and almost immediately I know how things will play out once I write them, I think of the plot, what my characters will say and how they'll act towards what "R/N" will say.

When I write based on my personal need or immediate creation, I already have all the plots and scenes coming along, basically I know how I'll deliver it and how it will be written. Its like my brain creates a movie and I just base myself on it.

Full honest one:

-I never write much on what the scenes are/look like, but from a writer to another, picturing the little details allows you to, feel/emerge, yourself into this world you are writing about.

-Music is a need, listen to anything that has the same vibe you are writing for. smut? listen to what YOU think that smut scene feels like, is it euphoric, sexy, passionate, hunger? think of that as your write. --it is the reason why my titles or pieces of my fics have lyrics, I like to pay tribute to the artist that inspired my ideas.--

-I never, ever!, tell my reader how Grim\R/N looks like, I want them to feel like its them in that story. However, I keep a notebook of all my stories, each page is how I think reader will look like (for me), who they are and such. Basically I think of them as a real person, I want to make myself believe this person is real and I am interviewing them or watching them from afar.

-At times, I take ideas from books ive read, or fanfics I wrote back in the day (wattpad used to be THAT bitch). I also take ideas from TV shows and movies and at times I take ideas from my personal life.

-Sounds crazy, but try to imagine your characters are in the room with you. What are they telling you? who are they to YOU? Make sure you don't actually talk to a wall (has happened to me), but in your mind, imagine their voices, interview them in a way. Ask them "if so and so kicked you, what would you do?" and imagine what that character would say.

-your readers are important, but what you want to write should be appealing to YOU, that is very very important. I always write with the intention of having young me reading this, does she like it, is she annoyed that I wrote this differently? Whilst your readers are important, if you keep writing to catch their eye and not yours, you will get bored of writing.

Also, eat, I don't care, you may have an idea, (keep a notebook around) but your own mental state and sanity is important. I used to write for my readers, but when I found I was no longer happy to even open the app, I knew I lost interest in what I love to do.

So always put your needs (writing wise) first. If your audience likes it, then good, if they don't, never take it personal, people have their own tastes, so let them be

A/N: if you do want me to share the pictures of my notes lmk :)

Side note: I know this was long and probably confusing as shit...but I hope I helps in some way<3

#creative writing #writing #writeblr #I really felt the need to add those tags for no real reason #these cod characters have me messed up #but I love being messed up :)#cod men are ruining my life #cod men

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wolffyluna · 8 months

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I keep coming up with ways to make Always Evil DnD Races 'Better' (both "less alarming biological determinatisn" and also "more appealing to Wolffy's taste")

Sometimes, this makes sense, like with the Drow, who are both iconic and really easy to fix, actually.

But sometimes it doesn't, like my deep desire to fix the Vashar (an obscure species from the Book of Vile Darkness that runs almost entirely on Evil Vibes).

So, canon Vashar:

the gods tried to make humans, but their first draft went poorly ie he immediately grabbed a stick and tried to stab all the assembled gods. so the gods killed him, and went on to make Humans 2.0. A demon found the dead guy, rezzed him, made a woman, and thus The Vashar Started Existing

they are still incredibly deicidal

society and psychology runs on ~For The Evulz~. They have no concept of kindness or mercy, to the point they don't consider using it for leverage. Their society is full of rape and incest. They have no disgust reactions ("if a Vasharan believes eating maggots will somehow help her, she won't hesitate to do so")

society is fairly non murdery, for unclear reasons?

society is a democracy, because "no Vasharans would abide a despot." Though there's nothing on the mechanics of... how... that happened.

Is fixing them worth my time? No. But I am sorely tempted.

(Under a cut for a discussion of rape and incest in the context of worldbuilding.)

I am charmed by both the deicide and democracy. I know I was not meant to be charmed, and should not be, but I am. I'd just want a) more clear reasons why they hate the gods? (do they personally think sentient life shouldn't exist? are they allergic to the idea of people having power over them, esp in an infinite afterlife?) b) more clear reasons for how they ended up a democracy

I hate the thing where not having a disgust reaction is coded as evil, but in a way where I want to keep it. Put the cockroach eating in the same "charming" bucket as the deicide and the democracy

The way the Book of Vile Darkness treats rape and incest is… bad. Because it's trying to be dark and ~really exploring evil~ while being pg-13, the whole book is just. deeply shallow poorly thought out grimdark. And there's a thing where. Hmm. Rape and incest are evil as keywords. No thought is put into "what would a society be like if rape and incest were normalised and common?" other than "well, that would be bad." Which. Sucks. Because that is how societies actually are sometimes? I am legitimately somewhat pissed about how The Book of Vile Darkness handles this, Because of the fact that societies with entrenched systems of rape and incest are real.

I feel like you could get somewhere if you had a society that was very "either you hurt people, or you get hurt." That way abuse can sometimes make people really sadistic, because if people higher on the hierarchy hurt them, then they deserve to be able to hurt the people lower than them. that tangled set of dynamics you get in incestuous families, expanded out into a whole society. a society that is a cult with hazing rituals and a hierarchy, that hates hates hates hierarchies so much it ended up becoming a democracy because it was the only way it's leaders didn't constantly get murdered. man hands misery onto man, it deepens like a coastal shelf

and man would that be. too dark for a dnd book. if only there were other mediums that existed. (and if only the book of vile darkness people thought through the flaws with their plan.)

also the whole "first draft humans" is setting off my Implications-dar, and I don't know why, but I do want to change it

…I should not write anything with serial-numbers-filed Vashar, but I want to.

(Just, picture this: someone who is a mighty wizard, who has left the small, incredibly evil society he has lived in his entire life, and is having to learn how to like. interact with people for whom the concept of "mercy" makes sense. slowly learning there could be a better life. that horrifying mixed realisation that he has been 🐛 hurt in a culpable way, and he has hurt others, and apparently none of this was necessary. trying to pick apart the good in his childhood from the bad, the democracy and the deicide and the mealworms covered in chilli powder, from the way his whole family was constantly tearing it apart so someone could be On Top and Able To Hurt Everyone Else.)

(This is, I admit, prime Wolffy bait.)

#ideas

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daggerzine · 10 months

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Mainland Break – One Way Ticket to Midnight (self-released)

The title track to One Way Ticket to Midnight references early 80s heavy metal with a line nodding to Ozzy Osbourne and another mentioning an unnamed song by Dio after a quip about having hair swept back. The title is also a reference to the Sammy Hagar song “Heavy Metal” and let's hope the better version from the soundtrack to Heavy Metal: The Motion Picture and not that included on Hagar's 1982 album Standing Hampton. But you're not going to hear heavy metal on this album full of bright and upbeat power pop. What you will hear is a poetic and insightful evoking of memories that reignite one's emotions and often that can be triggered by feelings of nostalgia or romanticizing a time or place you may not have experienced because of its appeal and how it is anchored in your imagination. Drawing on a specific set of cultural references that have stuck with people who experienced that glorious time of the popularity of heavy metal before it got a bit tarnished later in the decade was especially deft.

The sparkling guitar work of “Portland” serves as vivid contrast with lyrics that seem to be about going to a city about which one has heard so many wonderful things and it stands as almost legendary in your mind until you get there and no place could really ever live up to expectations. Throughout the album Mainland Break reveals a consistently surprising knack for crafting melodies and moods unique to each song even given a consistent style. The layered guitars grounded by rhythms that are almost as atmospheric and textural as they are at guiding a pace. One gets the sense that at least one person in the band has “tried out” cities other than home only to find that you can't escape your own mind and that a social support system you took for granted isn't exactly transplanted or immediately at your fingertips in a place you haven't set down any roots. The title track brings to mind the headspace you can talk yourself into when you put all your hopes on one shot thinking that might be it but along the way ignoring other actual opportunities that would serve your life and personal aspirations better. The record hits like an adult coming of age story cycle and coming to terms with the way you've lived your life and trying to get crushed under by your regrets and bitterness at all the times you took a wrong turn on your life's journey. In the end, nostalgia and fond and not so fond experiences are memories and one thing is true as you age, indeed, “Memory Fades.” Fans of The Feelies, Let's Active and the perhaps slightly more obscure indiepop group Desolation Wilderness will appreciate the ways in which Mainland Break expresses the depths of melancholy and the will to use the power of creativity through music to give those feelings a form that will resonate with listeners who may not share anything like the specific biographical details but will recognize those feelings articulated so vividly and know they're not alone in their grappling with complex feelings. (REVIEW BY TOM MURPHY)

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kingofsummer93 · 2 years

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Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 3: The Midnight Joy Ride

Ao3 Masterlist

The Archeron’s flat dissolved in front of Lucien’s eyes as they spun in the flames.

He normally considered his heightened senses to be a silver lining, but in this particular moment his sharp nose was a curse. Elain’s scent filled his nostrils over the smoke and soot, something sweet and slightly floral. Like a platter of delicate pastries served in the middle of a luscious, blooming garden. It wasn’t overpowering or artificial, like the cloying perfumes that so many girls wore, but soft, like it was simply how her skin smelled after a shower. The thought of that made his palms sweat and his heart beat faster than normal.

A sharp inhale of breath brought him back to reality. They were slowing down as a room rematerialized in front of them. Feyre had grabbed his arm for support, but Elain lurched wildly next to him, unused to the dizzying effect of the Floo Network.

Lucien slid an arm around her middle to steady her, the result of which was that she ended up pressed against him. She was so short that he had a clear view down the low-cut red sweater she wore. It was distinctly tighter and more revealing than anything he’d ever seen her wear, and the image was instantly burned into his memory. Whichever naked girl ended up in his bed tonight would not be half as appealing as the gentle curves of those breasts, the skin so fair and soft looking that Lucien’s fingertips itched with the desire to stroke them…

“Sorry!” Elain squealed as she stepped away from him, clearly flustered.

She stumbled on the uneven bricks of the hearth and Lucien reached for her again, grabbing her upper arm to prevent her from smashing her teeth as they stepped out of the fireplace.

They had appeared in the basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, where the party seemed to already be in full swing. A cacophony of music and loud voices hit him like a brick wall. The kitchen was packed, and unusually cheery with the glow of the many floating candles and the sound of laughter.

There was another sharp inhale next to him, from Feyre this time. Lucien followed her gaze and smirked as he spotted an unnaturally large and menacing-looking hound sitting in an armchair at the head of the table.

“Fang, you’re scaring the ladies,” Lucien said with a smirk.

There was a faint crack and then the hound had morphed into his eldest brother. Eris was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, with dragon-hide boots that he lifted to rest on the table as he lounged back in his chair. His short red hair was perfectly slicked back as always, the many hoops piercing his earlobes glinting in the firelight. Lucien doubted that this was what Mr Archeron had pictured as their chaperone for the night.

“Always hanging off of you, aren’t they?” Eris drawled over the din as he took a pipe out of his pocket and lit it with a flick of his wand. He inhaled deeply and let out a puff of foul-smelling green smoke. A very pretty girl sidled up to him and perched herself on his knee, seemingly unbothered by the acrid smoke.

“Takes one to know one,” Lucien quipped back with another smirk.

Feyre let out a snort of laughter and immediately let go of him, shoving him slightly in the process. “Gross,” she said with an eye-roll.

Elain merely scoffed and stepped away from him again, though Lucien noticed she had turned a bright shade of red that almost matched her sweater.

Gryffindor red, a voice whispered in his mind. Did she wear that for me?

That voice usually led to Lucien getting himself into all sorts of trouble and should definitely not be trusted.

She wanted to come to my party and she wore that sweater… the voice continued, undeterred.

Lucien had been shocked to receive the reply from Feyre asking if Elain could join as well. He had stared at the parchment for so long that Andras had bit his finger to lift him out of his trance.

“My brother Eris,” Lucien jerked his head in his brother’s direction, forcing himself to look away from the red sweater.

Eris inclined his head in a mock bow. “These must be the Archeron sisters,” he said. “Three muggle-borns from the same family, it’s highly unusual.”

Feyre beamed. “I’m Feyre, and this Elain.”

Lucien saw a gleam of recognition in his brother’s amber eyes. His lips curved into a grin that Lucien recognized as being of the trouble-making variety.

“The rest of the team was upstairs when I left,” Lucien said quickly, before his brother could say anything. “Jurian went to the World Cup in Italy, he was giving a play-by-play…” Feyre’s eyes lit up at that, and she waved vaguely at them before disappearing into the crowd.

Elain remained next to him, playing with the hem of her sweater, clearly uncomfortable.

“So you’re the famous Elain,” Eris continued, ignoring Lucien’s warning glare. “Lucien simply will not shut up about you. How did you like the…”

“Would you like a drink?” Lucien blurted, interrupting him. He glared at Eris again but his brother merely grinned lazily at him.

Elain was frowning at Eris in confusion, still blushing, and Merlin’s balls did Lucien like that blush. She was so beautiful that it knocked the breath clean out of his lungs every time he looked at her. The other girls at school wasted their energy with makeup and clothes and suffocating perfume but Elain was effortlessly stunning. Her brown curls tumbled down her back, the firelight making the thick strands look almost golden. Her wide brown eyes were hidden behind her large, circular glasses, which Lucien knew for a fact she didn’t actually need. The only makeup she wore was a slick of clear gloss that made her full, pouty lips even more so. She was so pretty it was obscene, really.

“Umm…” she pushed her glasses up her nose in a nervous gesture Lucien recognized. “Sure…”

He led her away from Eris with another glare. His brother was now making a lewd hand gesture that Lucien was glad Elain couldn’t see.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he uncapped two butterbeers and handed one to her. She took the bottle and drank from it deeply, and Lucien had to look away from the sight of those lips wrapped around the bottle.

“I was surprised when Feyre said you wanted to come,” he said. “I didn’t think this would be your scene…”

She was peering through the crowd, most of which were either Gryffindor students or Eris’ friends. “Oh,” she said, vaguely. “Well, I felt bad for Feyre, she really wanted to come…”

She blushed slightly at his look of incomprehension. “Our dad wouldn’t let her come unless Nesta or I came, too. Did she not say… “ she trailed off with a wince, clearly having realized her mistake.

Lucien blinked, ignoring the pang of disappointment that settled in his stomach like a brick. “Right, sure.”

Of course she didn’t actually want to come, she hates you, why would she want to come…

“And here I thought you just missed me,” he added with a smirk.

A spark of irritation flashed through her eyes as she scoffed. Lucien nearly whined at the sight. If he liked when she blushed then he liked it even more when she was annoyed. It was rare- she was so friendly and social, always had a kind smile or friendly remark to offer to anyone who crossed her path.

Lucien knew there was more to her than her gentle demeanor, however. Maybe it was due to the sheer amount of time he spent staring at her, but he could see it. The bursts of irritation or temper that she would quickly and swiftly suppress, the eye-rolls she failed to control, the quirk of her lips when she sneered. The fact that most of it was aimed at him only made it more addicting. He wanted to stoke that flame until it burst from her in an inferno that everyone else would see, too.

Sweet, kind Elain. She was that, certainly, but Lucien knew she was also much more than that, and he wouldn’t rest until he saw every part of her there was to see.

“You flatter yourself, Vanserra. I’m going to go find Vassa.”

And with that she whirled on the spot and stomped away from him, whipping him in the face with her sweet-scented curls.

There was a rumble of laughter behind him. “Well, I understand your fascination now, baby brother, but you’ve certainly got your work cut out for you with that one.”

Lucien ignored his brother and chugged his butterbeer.

---

Several hours and a few more butterbeers later Lucien was in the library, watching in amusement as Tamlin and Jurian attempted to coax the ghoul out of her hiding place in a suit of armour. There was no way it was going to work, especially when Tamlin shifted into a wolf and started snarling and pawing at the armour.

“Careful,” Lucien warned, glancing at the open door uneasily.

Nobody other than Eris knew that his friends were animagi, and if the knowledge got out they would all be in serious trouble. It was highly illegal for underage wizards to become animagi. Under different circumstances Professor Spell-Cleaver might let it go, and might even be impressed, but as it was, he would know immediately why his friends had undergone such a difficult and time-consuming process, and then they’d have even bigger problems.

Neither Tamlin or Jurian seemed at all concerned, however, and after a bark of laughter Jurian shifted into a mountain lion and joined Tamlin in his snarling and pawing. Lucien shook his head in exasperation and with a flick of his wand the door swung on its creaky hinges and shut with a soft click.

Lucien would never stop being grateful for his best friends, and still couldn’t figure out what he’d done to deserve them. He’d met Tamlin first, before they’d even started at Hogwarts. Tamlin came from one of the richest and most ancient magical blood lines in Britain. His family was even more despicable than Lucien’s, if that was even possible, and so naturally his father was a big fan of them. Tamlin’s older brothers had been friends with Lucien’s brothers, and the two had bonded over their shared hatred of their siblings. After the attack, Tamlin had been one of the few people his mother had let visit him in St. Mungo’s. There had been tears in his friend’s green eyes as he looked at Lucien's eye patch, and then he’d taken a deep, bracing breath, made a few cracks about pirates, and declared that since you’re not starting Hogwarts this year it means we’ll be in the same year! It had been the first time Lucien had laughed in months.

They’d met Jurian next, on the Hogwarts Express. Jurian had walked into Lucien and Tamlin’s compartment, and stared open-mouthed at his magical eye for a full minute. He wrestled a wolf, Tamlin had said coldly. Or a mountain lion, we’re not sure. Sit down or get the hell out . Jurian had blinked once and then his face had split into a grin. Wicked! he’d declared. With that he had sat down with them, and the three had been instantly inseparable.

Vassa’s addition to the group had been less immediate. She had disapproved of their antics at first, scoffing and rolling her eyes at them. Then one day, when Jurian had been loudly complaining about homework in the Grynffindor common room, she snapped. She’d gotten up from her chair, walked over to him, and stupefied him. It was much more advanced magic than they had learned so far and all three boys, including Jurian, had been wildly impressed. Tamlin and Lucien had laughed themselves hoarse, and when Jurian had finally been freed he had declared that she would one day be his wife. Vassa had scoffed again, but after that day their group of three had become a group of four. Three years later Vassa had perched herself on Jurian’s lap in the common room and kissed him full on the mouth out of nowhere, and not a single person had been shocked.

“I wish it was a full moon,” Vassa was saying now, as the wolf and the lion continued to terrorize the ghoul in the suit of armour.

“You would,” Lucien replied drily. His gaze shifted to the window by instinct. It was a clear night, and a bright crescent moon shone brightly in the sky, taunting him.

A high-pitched scream brought him out of his trance. Lucien jumped to his feet, his gaze fixed on the closed door. “What was that?” he asked, his heart racing.

“What was what?” Vassa asked.

But Lucien was already yanking the door open and scanning the second-floor hallway. There were several couples locked in passionate embraces, but nobody seemed alarmed.

“Who screamed?” he asked. Nobody looked at him or bothered to stop snogging.

Lucien ran up the stairs, ignoring the insults thrown at him from a painting of knights sitting around a poker table. The third floor landing was completely deserted. There were faint moans coming from a closed bedroom door but other than that everything was silent.

And then he heard it- that laugh, cold and cruel, more like a cackle, coming from his father’s office at the end of the hall. He stomped towards the door and yanked it open, his insults already poised at the tip of his tongue. And then his heart skipped a beat.

Elain was cowering against the far fall, her fists clenched in anger. A milky, transparent figure was hovering in front of her.

“Ianthe, get the fuck away from her,” Lucien demanded, stepping into the room.

Ianthe whirled, a sneer on her face. “Lucy. Does your father know the kind of trash you brought into his home? Mudbloods, I mean really, in my day she wouldn’t even have been allowed at Hogwarts…”

“Ianthe,” he repeated through clenched teeth. “Shut the hell up and get out.”

“Don’t be mean to me, Lucy.” She pouted at him in what she must have thought was a coy way. She might have been pretty if it wasn’t for the burns that covered half her face. “I’m bored, I just wanted to enjoy the party.”

Elain was staring at Ianthe silently, her cheeks flushed, lips pressed in a thin line.

“Go back to your attic and if I see you come out again you will be sorry,” Lucien said, whipping out his wand in warning.

Ianthe sighed and threw her hands up. “Fine, fine, relax. You’re much more handsome when you’re not frowning so much, you know.” Lucien raised his wand but she merely cackled and rose towards the ceiling. “Your father will be hearing about this!”

“My father can suck my left nut!” Lucien declared. But Ianthe had already disappeared through the ceiling, her evil laughter echoing behind her.

“Sorry about that,” he said awkwardly, turning towards Elain. She had clapped a hand to her mouth and seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

“You have a ghost living in your house?” she asked incredulously.

Lucien winced. “If you ask her she’d say we’re living in her house,” he said drily. “She died in a house fire here about a century ago. Her parents had locked her in her room as a punishment for something, and she lit a fire in retaliation. It backfired on her, obviously…”

It was a horrible story, and Lucien might have felt bad for Ianthe if she hadn’t been such a pest. An incestuous pest, at that. Elain’s eyes had grown wide with horror.

“Sorry about what she said, the whole mudblood thing,” he continued. “She’s even more intolerant than my father, if you can believe that…”

Elain winced, but waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Nothing I’ve never heard before. She just startled me.” She looked around and suddenly seemed embarrassed at having been found here. “I was just looking around, and I spotted the tapestry and wanted to have a closer look…sorry if I shouldn’t be in here…”

“It’s fine,” Lucien said quickly. “No worries. You can look all you want.” It was rare that he was alone with Elain without her stomping away from him, and he was suddenly desperate to prevent her from leaving. If it had been any other girl he would already be making a move, but obviously Elain was not any other girl.

She turned back to the tapestry, peering at it curiously. It was a family tree, stretching from the floor all the way to the ceiling, and took up an entire wall in his father’s office. His name was towards the bottom, next to his brothers. Almost every name on the wall had a cursive S next to them, for Slytherin. His own name had a G, and his mother’s, a cursive H. Lucien wasn’t sure which one his father resented more.

“Your mother was in Hufflepuff?” Elain asked in surprise.

Lucien smiled. “Yep. Mum is kind, and generous. Loyal to a fault. A classic Hufflepuff.”

“She sounds like the opposite of your father,” Elain added drily.

Lucien blinked at the surprising venom in her voice. He’d heard that venom directed at him plenty of times but never at other people. Elain winced, clapping a hand to her mouth again. “Sorry, that was so rude, I shouldn’t have said that…”

Lucien nudged her shoulder playfully. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he teased. “Just don’t let Ianthe hear you say that.”

Elain blushed, and took a small step away from him. Lucien noticed but pretended like he didn’t. He was used to her rejections.

“I still can’t believe there’s a ghost in your house,” she said, looking up at the ceiling where Ianthe had disappeared. “I don’t know why I’ve never realized that there would be ghosts in places other than Hogwarts…”

Lucien shrugged. “It must seem strange for someone who grew up as a muggle, but for us she’s more like a pesky house pest. Most of the time we don’t see her, though. She’s less trouble than the ghoul, really…”

Lucien laughed at the look of alarm on Elain’s face. “Don’t worry, she’s harmless. She’s hiding from Tam and Jurian in a suit of armour.”

There was an awkward beat of silence, during which Elain took another small step away from him, towards the door.

“Do you want a tour of the rest of the house?” Lucien blurted.

“Oh! No, that’s ok,” she said quickly. “Thanks, though,” she added, glancing towards the hallway.

“Are you not enjoying the party?” Lucien asked, desperate for her not to leave.

The beat of silence before she replied was answer enough. “Oh!” she said again. “Um, no, it’s not that.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just…there seems to be a lot of couples here, no?”

A laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it. Elain’s eyes flashed in annoyance and she flushed, turning away from him. “Never mind. Good talk, as always,” she said drily, moving towards the door.

“Wait!” Lucien said. She glanced over shoulder at him but didn’t stop walking.

“What?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

What, indeed? Why was it that it was so easy for him to speak to any girl other than her?

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” he blurted.

Elain stopped in her tracks, blinking at him in surprise. “What?” she asked again.

“Would you like to go for a ride on my motorcycle?” As soon as the words left his lips he felt immensely foolish. Of course she wouldn’t want to go for a ride with him. She could barely stand to be in his presence.

“Never mind,” he added quickly, rubbing his neck awkwardly. He could feel himself flushing to a color similar to his hair. “Forget I said that, of course you don’t want to do that…”

A strange look passed over Elain’s face. She squared her shoulders and faced him, her chin lifted. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll go for a ride. Feyre will be so jealous.” Her face split into a grin, and Lucien was so stunned, both by her response and by that grin, that he was momentarily shocked into silence.

“Great!” he said, too loudly, too quickly. He cleared his throat, willing his heart to slow down. “I mean, cool.”

Several people gave him a thumbs up or a high five as he led Elain down the stairs and through the house. Lucien cringed, but if Elain noticed or cared, she didn’t let on. He expected her to change her mind any second now, and he was shocked but delighted when she accepted the spare helmet and jacket he held out to her.

They stepped out into the back alley and found Eris with the pretty girl from earlier, who was both definitely underage and also in the process of undoing his brother’s belt. The girl squealed as she saw them, but Eris merely raised his eyebrows at Lucien with a meaningful glance at Elain.

“Oops,” the girl said with a giggle. She grabbed Eris’ hand and dragged him back towards the house.

“Well done,” his brother whispered under his breath as he passed, clapping him on the shoulder. Again he couldn’t tell if Elain noticed, or cared.

Lucien cleared his throat to hide the smile that was threatening to slip over his neutral façade, but Elain was not paying attention. She was staring at his motorcycle and biting her lip nervously.

“It is safe, right?” she asked.

Lucien shrugged and slipped on his helmet, flipping up the visor. “Sure. As much as any other motorcycle, that is.” He threw her a grin over his shoulder that usually had girls dropping to their knees.

Elain blushed and bit her lip again, and Lucien was suddenly glad to be sitting down. Sweet merlin he wanted to be that lip, nestled between her teeth…

He shook himself and tapped the bike with his wand. The engine roared to life, the headlights illuminating the dark alley. Elain hesitated for another moment and then seemed to square her shoulders again. She slipped the helmet on, tightening it securely, and then hesitated again as she looked at him.

“Behind me, and hold on tight.” He grinned again, even though she had her visor down and he couldn’t see her face. There was a faint huff from behind her visor, but then she zipped up the jacket and climbed awkwardly behind him.

“Hang on tight,” he said again. “And no funny business.”

Another scoff, and then her arms snaked around his middle and squeezed. Lucien was having trouble breathing, and he was once again glad that he was sitting down, and that she was behind him and not in front.

“Ready?” he asked.

Her arms tightened in response, and then they were off, down the dark alley and into the bright lights of the main boulevard. Lucien wove through the traffic expertly, inhaling the cool night air. His muscles relaxed as the sights and sounds of Saturday night in central London assaulted his senses.

Lucien loved the bike almost as much as he loved flying. Something about moving at top speed, lights blurring around him, the wind whipping through his hair, something about it made him forget, if only temporarily. The only other thing that came close was having a girl moaning under him, soft skin under his fingertips, sweet lips on his. It was a blessing that he was as talented at that as he was at flying.

By all logic the scar and eye should have made him repulsive to girls, but by a combination of casual arrogance and vague mystery, it had the completely opposite effect. Nobody other than his three best friends knew the circumstances of how he’d lost his eye, and the rumours had started flowing on his very first day at Hogwarts. It had given him an edge, one he wore like a badge of honour.

“You can let it define you, or you can own it,” Eris had told him, when he’d first gotten the prosthetic. Lucien hadn’t been able to look in a mirror for an entire month.

So Lucien had owned it, and the result was that the boys were impressed and slightly intimidated by him, and the girls all wanted him. Except for the one currently on the back of his motorcycle, that is. Elain had seen right through his cocky act right from the start, and she hadn’t been impressed.

Lucien swerved around a double-decker bus and Elain squealed, holding him even tighter. Her chest was flat against his back, and Lucien was sweating despite the cool night air. The only other physical contact they’d ever shared was when she’d slapped him twice for making fun of Azriel last spring.

He still thought about those slaps at night sometimes, how her eyes had flashed in anger, her simmering anger burning like embers in her brown eyes. He’d have to make sure to make fun of the idiot again this term.

“Can we fly?” Elain asked, screaming into his ear to be heard over the din of traffic and the roar of the engine.

Lucien was so shocked he almost ran over an old lady crossing the street. She wanted to fly?

“Whatever my lady wants,” he yelled back. “Hang on tight and don’t let go.”

He swerved into a dark alley, and punched the invisibility shield. The bike shimmered like a ripple in a pond, and though he could still see it he knew that they were now invisible to everyone around them. A quick tap of his wand and they were rising, the surrounding buildings melting under them.

Elain was holding on to him so tight that her knuckles were white. To her credit she didn’t scream, as most girls would have done. He rose higher still, until the city glittered under them like an ocean of lights.

And then they were flying over the city, with nothing but stars above them, and Elain laughed in delight. Lucien laughed too, and suddenly all was right in the world. The moon was a bright crescent, illuminating the night, but even the sight of it didn’t bother him as it usually did. Nothing mattered when he had Elain Archeron holding on to him and whooping with delight. Even if she went back to ignoring his existence after this, this one moment would live on in his mind forever.

“I got dumped,” she said suddenly. Her mouth was directly next to his ear and her breath tickled his skin as she spoke.

The din of the city was faint from up here, and he heard her clearly over the sound of the engine, but immediately he assumed he must have misheard.

“What?” he asked, stupidly.

“I got dumped,” she repeated. “Last week. That’s why I couldn’t stand all the snogging. Not because I’m a prude.” Her voice was carefully neutral but there was a bitter edge to it.

There was a lot to unpack from that one statement, and Lucien would normally have jumped on the last part, but for once he held his tongue.

“You got dumped?” he asked incredulously. “Was he blind?”

Jealousy slithered through him, oily and all-consuming. If she got dumped that meant at one point she had a boyfriend. The thought of that made him want to punch someone.

Lucien felt Elain shrug against his back. “He said we were at different places in our lives. What he meant was that he wanted things I wasn’t ready for.”

Lucien couldn’t believe she was even telling him this, but suddenly he saw red. “Where does he live?” His voice came out cold and menacing.

“Why?”

“So I can go turn him into a slug and then stomp his slimy ass.”

Elain laughed again, and the sound was music to his ears. “Funny, Nesta sent him a box of slugs in the post.” Lucien hummed in approval.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a beat. “Boys are pricks. You deserve better.” He was glad that she couldn’t see his face as he said it. She deserved better than what Lucien had to offer, too, and that knowledge didn’t help.

“Can you not…tell anyone I told you that?” she asked. She sounded timid and slightly surprised, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had admitted.

“Of course,” Lucien said gruffly. “I’m not that much of an ass.”

Elain was quiet for a few minutes, as if she didn’t quite agree with that. When she finally spoke her voice sounded slightly choked. “Thanks for taking me up here.”

Lucien nodded, his heart beating wildly in his chest once more. “Anytime, Archie.”

He turned back towards Grimmauld Place, and they rode the rest of the way in companionable silence. When they arrived back at the house Elain handed back the helmet almost timidly, though her eyes were sparkling.

Say something clever. Make her stay.

But Lucien’s stupid mind was blank, and he wasn’t enough of a prick to make a move on her after what she had just told him. So he simply stood and stared as she shuffled on her feet awkwardly.

“I should probably find Feyre, it’s getting late,” she finally said, looking anywhere but at him.

“Right, sure…” But she had already turned and walked into the house.

Lucien followed with a sigh. The music and laughter suddenly seemed unbearably loud compared to their midnight ride through the stars.

Feyre threw her arms around his neck before disappearing through the fireplace once more, and Lucien held on tight even though it wasn’t the embrace he would have preferred. Elain merely waved at him vaguely, and it wasn’t until she was spinning through the flames that he realized she was still wearing his jacket.

He was still staring into the flames when a pair of arms snaked around his middle. “And where have you been all night?” a voice asked, mischievous and teasing.

Some of the tension loosened from his shoulders as that voice heated his blood a few degrees. Jes. She was always good at making him smile, with her taunting and evil smiles. She was also extremely skilled at making him forget about anything but her, if only while she was in his arms. She had been a few years ahead of him at Hogwarts and now worked with Eris at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Lucien turned in her embrace and lifted her clean off the floor, throwing her over his shoulder as she squealed in delight. “Put me down, you animal!”

If only she knew, Lucien thought vaguely.

He carried her through the house to more high-fives and thumbs-ups, and even some claps and cheers. Eris made eye contact with him across the crowded front hall and raised his eyebrows with equal parts confusion and amusement.

“Well he’s certainly busy tonight!” quipped one of the poker-playing knights.

When he reached his room on the third floor he kicked the door shut and dumped Jes on his bed. She laughed again and grabbed the front of his jacket to pull him down on top of her.

“Well hello to you too,” she whispered huskily. Lucien smirked down at her. Jes was feisty, carefree, and beautiful, with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes bright with mischief.

She licked her lips as he continued to stare at her, and Lucien groaned. “Kiss me,” she asked, her eyes fluttering closed.

Lucien obliged, slotting his lips against hers. She tasted sweet, like butterbeer and cauldron cakes, and she smiled against his mouth as he kissed her. Soon her hands were slipping under his t-shirt, and Lucien was forgetting about everything else, if only momentarily. There was nothing menacing about the moon anymore- in that moment it was nothing more than a silvery beam of light illuminating his bedroom.

He even almost managed to forget about those eyes, brown and wide and twinkling with the reflection of the stars above.

Almost, but not quite.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #acotar fanfic #lucien vanserra #elain archeron

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notmuchtoconceal · 27 days

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Forgive me if I talk about Alain Delon’s face for a minute. In truth, it’s hard not to. Certainly, in the early years of his career, that visage was more than a face; it was an existential fact. The feline eyes, the elegant cheekbones, the mouth both delicate and full — Delon was often even prettier than his female co-stars, who themselves weren’t exactly chopped liver.

Filmmakers and audiences seemed to understand this, and that disruption — the transfer of onscreen physical beauty, and even vulnerability, to the male — created an exciting slipstream of ambiguity. In one of his first major roles, Christine (1958), Delon plays a womanizing Austrian second lieutenant who falls for Romy Schneider’s young singer, and he’s treated as a forlorn object of desire, caught between different women. When we first meet him, he’s ending a torrid love affair with a married baroness. He meets Schneider’s character when he’s asked to accompany a fellow officer on a date, and the two don’t immediately get along. Her desire, however, charms him and wins him over. (Delon’s onscreen persona, like Cary Grant’s, often had women pursuing him — not the other way around.) But it’s a doomed romance, as the baroness’s jealous husband soon enters the picture. The film plays off Delon’s fragility. He feels as if he’s perpetually on the edge of romantic disaster and even death. A reluctant Casanova; a moody, almost passive figure — it’s as though his physical appeal were somehow connected to his melancholy.

The beauty of the face creates a kind of shield. You can read into it sadness or cruelty or indifference. That’s not to say that Delon wasn’t a skilled actor. He was, but he also understood for much of his career that anything he did onscreen would be anchored to his physical beauty. In that sense, few directors used him as well as Jean-Pierre Melville, who cast Delon in three of his greatest policiers. In the now-iconic Le Samouraï (1967), he’s the pathologically quiet and patient hit man Jef Costello, who lives in monklike austerity and kills with surreal precision. The film’s story turns on a manhunt for Costello after his crime is witnessed by a nightclub piano player (Cathy Rosier). But she refuses to identify him. Not a word was exchanged between them — only a glance. In other words, she saw his face and couldn’t bear to see it harmed. This is the genius of Melville, of course, conveyed in glances and gestures: to turn the most elemental of impulses into the stuff of high drama.

Luchino Visconti, that great connoisseur of faces both male and female, also cast Delon in two of his greatest films, in two surprisingly physical parts. In Rocco and His Brothers (1960), the actor plays Rocco, the angelic working-class southern boxer who finds himself at odds with his elder bruiser brother, Simone (Renato Salvatori). The troubled and violent Simone has fallen out of favor and resents his younger sibling, who is both the better boxer and the better human. In one of this wild melodrama’s most agonizing scenes, the two men fight over the fate of the woman with whom they’re both involved. Rocco’s gentleness, his delicacy around his brother, has defined him for so much of the movie. Their fight — an extended, knock-down, drag-out affair — is brutal and cataclysmic. Watching Delon get hit, we want to yell out, “No! Not the face!” But what we really fear for is his soul. In Visconti’s world, these things are not unconnected.

In Visconti’s masterpiece, The Leopard (1963), Delon plays Tancredi, the dashing nephew of the Prince of Salina (Burt Lancaster), whose revolutionary exploits at the side of Italian independence leader Garibaldi planted the seeds of his family’s survival. Tancredi comes home a war hero, falls for the beautiful daughter (Claudia Cardinale) of a local politician, and soon becomes a solid member of the new upper-middle-class Establishment that will gradually replace the ossified Sicilian nobility. Visconti shoots Delon in the film’s first half as a force of nature, striding through the elegant, unchanging halls of his uncle’s villa; the other members of the family are usually sitting or standing still as if they’ve already been trapped by class and history. But Tancredi bounds through frames and rooms, charges with his horse through mountain passes, and drifts through the rooms of abandoned mansions. Thus Visconti represents a historical idea — the newfound social mobility that will do away with the old order — as a physical one, rooted in Delon’s freedom of movement and his cheerfully seductive glances.

Late in the film, speaking of Tancredi and his family’s past, Lancaster’s character muses, “There’s no need to tell you of the history of the house of Falconeri … My nephew’s fortune does not match the grandeur of his name. My brother-in-law was not what one calls a provident father. The sumptuousness of his life impaired my nephew’s inheritance. But Don Calogero, the result of all these troubles … is Tancredi … Perhaps it is impossible to be as distinguished, sensitive, and charming as Tancredi unless ancestors have squandered fortunes.”

It’s an interesting and moving little speech, and it speaks to the brilliance of Visconti’s casting, for so much of The Leopard turns on Tancredi’s singularity. The prince even dismisses his own daughter’s love for Tancredi; he understands that this young man is destined for greater things and that therefore he must have a more suitable wife. (Which he finds in Cardinale, another’60s avatar of divine onscreen beauty.) In Tancredi lies the survival of an entire class. Who better than Alain Delon — dashing and with a hint of growing aloofness — to represent a man of such multitudes?

Delon’s life had been an unusually harsh one before he was an actor. He had been abandoned by his parents at the age of 4, but they did, he later recalled, reappear in his life long enough to sign his papers for the French Army. As a result, he wound up fighting in Indochina in the 1950s. Before being discovered randomly at Cannes in 1956, he had been a butcher and a naval infantryman and had spent months in military jail before being dishonorably discharged. He never quite gave up his roughneck ways, even after achieving stardom. He enjoyed the company of mobsters and liked to talk about how much he enjoyed the company of mobsters. In 1969, he got entangled in a truly bizarre (and ultimately unresolved) sex-and-murder scandal regarding the extremely suspicious death of a former bodyguard. In later years, he gained a different kind of notoriety for his far-right views, which toned down the adoration some had for his earlier work; his lifetime-achievement award at the Cannes Film Festival in 2019 was met with protests. It recently emerged that before he died, the 88-year-old Delon requested that his dog be euthanized and buried with him — a crazy demand that the actor’s family wisely chose not to honor.

Still, Delon’s retrograde politics didn’t seem to stop new generations from rediscovering the sublime work he did with Melville or some of the brilliant thrillers he made with the likes of René Clément (including 1960’s Purple Noon, still the best adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley) and Jacques Deray (in particular 1969’s The Swimming Pool, which became a major repertory hit Stateside in the plague-damaged year of 2021).

Perhaps Delon welcomed the fact that all his tough-guy posturing tempered the almost-feminine quality of his image. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t particularly interested in hanging on to that image as he grew older, allowing instead the jowls and the wrinkles to settle in naturally and gracefully in later years. In the 1970s and ’80s, he seemed to even relish playing parts that allowed him to be somewhat ordinary. In José Giovanni’s Two Men in Town (1973), he plays an ex-con who is rehabilitated and mentored by a prison counselor played by Jean Gabin as he enters the real world and tries to make an honest living. “Have you seen his eyes?” a prison official asks Gabin early in the film, noting that all he sees in the Delon character’s face is “hatred and contempt.” “Yes, but there’s tenderness there as well,” Gabin responds. It’s hard not to feel as though the whole exchange symbolizes the effect of Delon’s presence, the sense that, in it, you can simultaneously read both cruelty and vulnerability — and the further sense that if both of these forces can exist in the same face, then maybe they’re not so different after all.

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