#to quote my dear friend when i sent him this

[meamiiikiii]

my friend and i have this ongoing bit on stream where we are going to shave the king bald...... yeah........

((there are actually two ongoing bits with the king. but i do not think anyone wants me to illustrate the second one. including myself. perhaps i am a coward and that is okay. i will not be elaborating at this time. SAFSADASDAS))

[tanked-up]

𝗠𝘆 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗼

//𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚂𝚘𝚊𝚙 𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙵𝚒𝚌//

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Soap was no stranger to his sugar addiction. It haunted and adored him at the same time. Chocolate bars have been there for him more than his own friends. You had your typical down days and there Soap had it… a bar. Not any bar, but a chocolate one. He wouldn’t say he was obsessed, but if you’d ask him he’d definitely tell you he was.

So when he found himself feeling down after training, he walked, jogged or most definitely ran to his vending machine. There he found himself in front of it.

“It’s everything a man could ask for, it’s every man’s desire, forget boyfriends or girlfriends. If you have a chocolate bar that’s all you need in life.”

- Quote by John Soap Mactavish, himself”

After a seductive stare at it, he grabbed a dollar bill from his pocket, and in it went. His eyes gazing up to the bar where a sudden shiver sent him completely off reality… except it didn’t. The stupid chocolate bar was fucking stuck on the vending machine. Soap eyed the scene, he scanned every corner of the machine, he grieved for his bar. He raised his hands and stared at the ceiling for any sign of help the ceiling would somehow comfort him with. He clicked each button until his fingers started getting sore until he couldn’t. He flipped the machine as if it were gonna hang him instead of the chocolate bar.

He needed it

Fast forward five intense minutes of self reflection and agony….

He found himself on the floor next to that monster of vending machine. Some would say he could be contemplating life, others could say he was exhausted after a hard day in training. Well he was actually contemplating on grabbing that brick from outside next to that chair over there and throwing it directly at the vending machine. Except he couldn’t, or he wouldn’t… If only there were someone so brave, and heroic as to save his poor helpless hanged, chocolate bar.

Actually, there was.

Fast forward twenty seconds later Soap banging on his dear beloved, friend, bestfriend, or something…! After a few moments with no answer he contemplated on picking the lock himself somehow with his own fingers, but oh thank God! Ghost answered his helpless cries.

Ghost opened the door with nothing but some boxers.

“This better be a fucking emergency or they’re be one in the same exact places your standing.” We’re all the words Ghost could come up with.

“I need my chocolate bar.” Straight to the point Soap went.

“And I need my license, bullshit. Go get it yourself.” A slam to Soap’s face was all that’s left.

Soap knocked on the door again, and knocked, and knocked, and knocked.

“I’m gonna get a bloody knuckle, Lt!!”

“Fine with me” Soap could hear Ghost’s irritation crashing on him.

“Please…” Soap begged at this point, he would do whatever for his chocolate bar. He would pass a recruit if it were for his chocolate bar. “I wasted a dollar for it!”

If only there were something Soap could do to change his mind. Well… that kept him up all night, next to Ghost’s door of course.

There it was.

“Come out for a second, LT. If you value your life.” This was going to be fun…

No answer.

“Alright then, I’ll tell captain about the time you french kis-” Was all Soap could say before the door in front of him flew open. “I knew you’d value our relationship, LT”

“Where’s that fuckin bar.” Ghost grunted as he walked outside the door.

“You’ve got no shirt, LT…!” Soap eyed Ghost’s bare body with his own eyes, the one he had exclusively only for his chocolate bar.

“Yeah and you’ve got no life if you don’t hurry up.”

A smile on the shorter one was all that was left while walking straight to the monster of vending machine.

“Here it is.” Soap glared at the 4 inch taller machine in front of him.

Ghost glared at Soap before he started shaking that sons of bitch.

“I knew you’d come, LT. I’ve never doubted your biceps and incredibly toned strength to do the job.” Of course that was all in his thoughts… With Soap’s eyes glued on the movement of the vending machine, a sudden splat ringed through Soap’s ears, apparently only his. Soap bent down to pick it up, and there he finally had it. His very own chocolate bar.

Before biting on his bar, he stared at Ghost who seemed to bite his head off any second now.

“Before you say anything-” Soap started

“You and me, next Friday behind barracks, or I’ll stick you inside the vending machine myself.” Ghost’s words went as a boom to Soap’s tiny mind, as he watched Ghost head back to his cabin.

Man did Soap love his ma-

He means the chocolate bar…

[nostalgicnarrator]

Over Hill and Under Mountain

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Word Count: 1,555

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Thorin leaves Erebor to visit his dear friend Bilbo, will new feeling shine through? What will happen?

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Note:

Listen to me I’ve never done anything like this before, I have written and sure I have posted one of two things and immediately abandoned them. If you want to give me constructive criticism or feedback please do I wanna get better at this kind of thing.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thorin had sent a letter to Bilbo not too long ago by raven, telling him of his departure from his kingdom and hopefully swift arrival. It had been a year since he had last seen his hobbit.

Thorin had found himself missing his hobbit. Even with the regular letters between them, now It had only been a week since he had gotten the last letter and Thorin had begun to feel a sort of ache in his chest the longer he went without contact from Bilbo.

Now the King Under the Mountain found himself hundreds of miles away from his Lonely Mountain, the one he had left in questionably capable hands, right back were it all began a year ago now, and getting himself lost once again on the roads and in the Shire. passing farms and burrows, even at one point finding himself on the road to brea. He had turned red when he realized, though he wont tell you that, and turned back hoping to find the burrow of his hobbit.

Thorin grumbled as he thought to himself and took another turn down a path he swears he’s seen hundred times before. ‘Now if I can just- have I already been here before?’ Thorin thought, sighing. ‘Mahal, am I even in the right place?’

When Thorin passed a deceptively familiar-looking farm, one he had to have passed twice now, he sighed and swung his pack off his shoulders to fish for a map. Maybe it can help him figure out where he was.

That’s when he heard a very familiar voice. “Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, as lost as a chicken with no head.” The voice was full of a teasing tone as it spoke.

Thorin whipped around and looked at the familiar small hobbit, his caramel-colored curls wild on his head, suggesting that he hadn’t done much more than wake up and throw clothes on. The hobbit seemed to be wrapped and almost gilded in gold in the light of the early sun, the old dwarf couldn’t fight himself from blushing at the hobbit.

His undershirt was a buttery yellow, a little warn but clearly loved, and his pants an emerald green that could put any gemstone that the king had seen to shame. The bottom of his pants were embroidered with flowers and other things hobbits seemed so enchanted by. The hobbit had no waistcoat, so his suspenders were visible. He stood not a few paces behind where Thorin stood. Thorin only just began to notice how long he had been staring at his hobbit.

Bilbo was smiling broadly, chuckling fondly at the sight of the bewildered and red faced king. Thorin didn’t wait long to rush forward and embrace his friend in a hug, which the hobbit gladly returned it with just as much enthusiasm. Thorin patted Bilbo’s shoulder affectionately and looked down at him when he pulled away from the hug.

Thorin smiled as he spoke. “Bilbo Baggins, and here I thought I’d have to stumble around here for a day until I found you.”

Bilbo laughed and grasped at the dwarf’s arms as he leaned a little closer before teasing. “Now what kind of hobbit would I be if I let one of my guests stumble his way around here like a newborn fawn?” Bilbo said as he moved to hook Thorin by the arm to lead him up a path toward his burrow. “Let’s get you inside and I’ll find you something to eat! I’m sure you are starving.”

And that’s where Thorin found himself, sitting in an uncomfortably comfortable armchair in the living room of Bilbo’s burrow. He watched the small hobbit as he made tea, to quote, ‘hold him over’ till Bilbo was done cooking.

The warmth that wafted from the kitchen seemed to almost lull the king to sleep. The next time his eyes opened, Bilbo was handing him a warm mug of tea that smelled and tasted sweetly of elderberry and mint And a cloth that held a sweet blackberry tart.

Bilbo headed back to the kitchen to continue his task of making breakfast for the two of them. Thorin stood to follow after him, leaning against the door frame as Bilbo mixed something together in a bowl. He found himself observing the hobbit’s every movement, from the way his curls bounced as he worked to the concentration furrowing his brow.

‘He really is quite charming,’ Thorin mused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘The way he moves about his kitchen, so at ease, so… endearing. Why didn’t I see it before?’

Bilbo grinned at Thorin when he pulled himself a chair over. After a brief silence, Bilbo asked, “How are the renovations of your kingdom going?”

Thorin sighed, closing his eyes as thoughts of Erebor’s restoration filled his mind. They had found that the old techniques of his forefathers had been forgotten or abandoned for more useful skills during the time they had lost their home. But Thorin couldn’t help the pride that swelled within him at the thoughts of his people and how he and his Company had reclaimed his home. And how he feels that his hobbit was to thank for that.

Thorin let his voice sound as tired as he felt, as he spoke, “They are progressing well, but it seems many of the secrets of my people have seemingly been forgotten over the years.” He looked at the mug he held, now half full and tart long gone. He rolled the mug in his hands, it being a tad bit smaller than any other mug he was used to. It had flowers and soft things painted underneath its glaze.

“Still,” Thorin hummed and looked to Bilbo now. ‘Have his eyes always been so sweet?’ “It will be grand and restored to the best of our ability.”

Bilbo hummed and went back to cooking. He scrambled eggs in a hot pan. “Well, I wait patiently to see. You better keep me updated properly this time.” Bilbo said with a bit of a teasing tone and smile. Then he stopped what he was doing, looked at Thorin again as he set a plate down on the counter, and started plating food.

“I dare ask, you are staying a few days, are you not?” Bilbo asked. Thorin felt his breath catch in his throat. He had to think a little harder than he was used to, to speak.

“Yes,” Thorin nodded as he spoke. He found himself once again thinking of Bilbo, the way his eyes sparkled with curiosity and care. ‘Why does my heart quicken every time he looks at me?’ Thorin wondered, a bit confused by his own feelings.

“Then, who is running the kingdom in your absence?” Bilbo inquired.

“Fíli,” Thorin replied with a fond smile. “He is capable and eager to prove himself. And I am not one to disappoint.”

Bilbo nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Ah, well, I am sure he is quite excited, and I am sure Lady Dís is not pleased at your sudden absence not too long after you have taken back your mountain.” Bilbo teased lightly as his eyes shined with mischief.

Thorin found himself chuckling and nodding softly. “No, she is not, but it will be a good experience for the lad to practice how it truly is to run a kingdom.”

“I see…” Bilbo hummed and pulled a loaf from the oven, setting it at the table to cool.

“How has the Shire been?” Thorin found himself asking as he helped Bilbo’s food find its way to the dining room table.

Bilbo’s face lit up happily as he smiled “Oh! Well, the Shire has been peaceful, as always. You know how things can be here, quiet!” He started digging through the cabinets for more plates. “And! I’m sure you saw on your way here but the fields are green with new crops, the harvest looks promising.” He said.

As Bilbo went to grab his cutlery as he spoke he gasped and looked to Thorin before almost yelling. “Oh! Do you remember what I told you happened a week ago well! It had happened again!!Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has tried to make off with my good silver again!”

Thorin watched Bilbo with growing affection and amusement as he animatedly recounted the events of the Shire. ‘He gets so heated over these things,’ Thorin thought, finding it endearing. ‘How could someone be so fiercely protective and yet so gentle?’

They continued to talk as Bilbo and Thorin prepared and set up breakfast. The aroma of freshly baked bread and bacon filled the air. As they sat down to eat, Thorin felt a deep contentment.

As Bilbo went on about the Shire and what had been happening since his last letter to the king only a week ago, Thorin thought to himself, ‘This visit with Bilbo,’ he mused as Bilbo went on about how some children had trampled over his marigolds, ‘will be as lovely as I imagined.’

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There it is, please don’t get to mad at me if I have made a mistake or messed something up. Okay, please leave feedback! Let me know what I can do better next time!

[sgiandubh]

LOL... she was also unhappy with Sam's absence from that event in Germany and his presence at the Glasgow event. In fact, she is never satisfied with absolutely anything about him. A tremendous smell of despair and rejection... https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/747778111526092800/1-hour-is-the-average-flight-time-from-paris-to?source=share

"The evidence doesn't lie, people do." 🙄 🙄 🙄 Jesus...calm down, woman...

Dear Calm Down Anon,

To quote The Genius:

Read her lips, people: she's been thinking about it.

I am currently in my book-invaded room, with boxes all around me, Baby the Diplodog taking roughly 3/4 of my king-sized Provence bed. I am also thinking, but the thoughts I do think might be of a more trivial nature:

don't forget to phone Lola (and now Baby)'s vet for a meet & greet appointment

get new, Romanian plates for Zorba the Car

phone the MFA and send back Greek Diplo plates with the customs' clearance

phone the MFA to get back my gasoline, accommodation and luggage shipping expenses

phone Mr. Zhou, my Chinese acupuncturist. My neck is killing me.

manage to tuck in four luncheons in town, three let's get some drinks and another two drop by for a chat - until Sunday

To obsess about S's Hyrox Rigmarole I and Rigmarole II is a bit much, when you have things to do, in real life.

This is also very enlightening, I think:

This is the kind of vindicative crap I just hate to read. People who write this particular kind of vindicative crap (or who paint a filthy portrait of you, publicly, to their friends of friends, just to seem RIGHTEOUS) are probably the same kind of people who would have sent anonymous letters to the Gestapo, telling them those very nice neighbors across the street are hiding Jews in their attic.

In her case, the plea is just ridiculous. Like the planet would give a flying fuck about some amateur competition's stats. Sure thing, it's childishly disingenuous of S to do that (if he did it). But as far as I know, these are not the Olympic Games or something. And even if a Hyrox Glasgow zealot would blacklist S, I think he and the fandom would survive it.

That woman's life must be so empty, even the echo in her parlor took some days off.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 14

chapter 25:

1. james accepting his own death will forever and always be heartbreaking

2. “Though, honestly, James had meant it when he said that he wishes it had been Regulus. Maybe it's a strange, pyschosexual thing, but he feels like he's sort of been flirting with Regulus and his daggers this entire time, so to be stabbed by him would surely have been more satisfying. Regulus would have made sure James felt it, adrenaline or not. He isn't sure why that's so attractive to him, but it really is. Maybe James is in shock. Maybe James actually does have a knife kink. Maybe James is just in love, and he wants anything he can get from Regulus, even if it's literal death.”

ik this is a big chunk of quote, but like what. james. james. james my boy. these are wild thoughts to have. also, you definitely have a knife kink, but only for regulus. not on anyone else. james. you. dear, wtf (i love you) 😀 sir.

3. god, james is so earnest on his death bed. i am also, fyi dramatically sobbing

4. shit shit shit shit no. SIRIUS!!! SOMEONE!! HELP SIRIUS! HES LOSING HIS BEST FRIEND AND HE IS NOT OKAY

5. zar is correct. it is sock-sock-shoe-shoe. that is the correct way.

6. 😀😧 regulus is troy. not the trojan horse, but instead troy. i-

7. “James is dying, and Regulus hates him. James is dying, and Regulus loves him. James is dying, and Regulus hates and loves him, because they were always one and the same.”

stop no, this is actually cruel. this is heartless. i don’t know how someone with a good conscious or loving heart could write this

8. god no shit no. i finally stopped sobbing. then there was the line about james asking reg to go to dinner with his parents because effie and monty are used to feeding two kids. i- shit. shit. no

9. HE’S TELLING REG TO TAKE BACK THE HAT??? NO THIS IS CRUEL

10. i actually want to quote this entire chapter, but i cannot do that. so therefore i would like to offer up my tears. and reg deciding there’s no point in going home if james potter wasn’t with him, because james potter was his home

11. 😐 he threw food away, but kept the handcuffs? reg dear, wtf

12. REG IS GONNA SACRIFICE HIMSELF TO LET JAMES GO HOME?? HELL NAW

13. HE CALLED JAMES BABY??? AGAIN??? (fwi i have voice recorded and sent sobbing over this fic to my irl marauders friend. hi iko!!)

14. 😟😟 oh god damn. he actually went in the crimson river. wait shit. how the hell is he gonna survive this?

15. “In his panic, in his haze of pain, it's Sirius he instinctively calls for.” 😀😀 just rip out my heart, it would be less painful

16. THE VENOM!! THE THREAT TO KILL HIMSELF IF HE DOESN’T GET REGULUS BACK!! THIS IS LITERATURE AT ITS FINEST

17. regulus is just tossed out the fucking river. they both survive. lmao this is kinda funny

18. not the symbol of the hallows being the deathly hallows. yikes.

19. i’m kinda disappointed that slughorn gets a POV cause like, that POV needs to be given to one of my faves, so they can be guaranteed to live.

20. dorcas my beloved. she’s such a bad bitch

21. okay wait, i might actually grow to like slughorn as a character. he’s being brought to the phoenix. so like, maybe he’ll be super helpful

22. LMAOOO DORCAS MY QUEEN!! “”How does it feel gamemaker? … Are you entertained?”” AHHHHHHHHH

23. unnamed woman: my guess is mcgonagal

24. after reading the authors notes, i realize we have been blessed. zar decided that reg would not die in the arena. and thank fucking god. thank god. i would not be okay if i read ahb then this. yikes

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Problem Solved

Summary: Problems are stacking up in Y/N's life. Does Beau have the solution?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None. Just kissing. Fluff. Stressed!Reader. Beau being an angel.

Word Count: 3,594

A/N: So, I wrote this fluffy piece for my friend @deanswaywardgirl who's been having a rough time and just needed some fluffy Beau to get her through. I'm sorry my dear, this ended up quite a bit longer than I'd planned, and I'm sorry it took me more than a day to get it to you, but I hope it helps. And I hope everyone enjoys the fluffiness.

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

"Goddamn-son-of-a-bitch-piece-of-shi-"

"You know," Beau's deep drawl interrupted Y/N's strung together, angry cursing, "I don’t understand how someone so sweet and innocent looking, can manage to curse bluer than a sailor."

Y/N stopped trying to juggle her purse, her car keys, multiple grocery bags and an empty coffee cup long enough to turn to Beau and frown at his amusement.

"I've practiced a lot." She said succinctly. 

She waited a moment and then shook her head, eyebrows raised. "Oh don't worry, I'm good. Definitely don't need any help here, Sheriff." She said, dripping sarcasm.

Beau chuckled at her pouty, out-of-sorts face before reaching to grab what looked like the heaviest paper bag. As he took it from her, however, one of the bags she still held split open and sent a third of her groceries rolling across the parking lot. 

A scream of frustration erupted from her throat before the next round of cursing. 

"Piss-poor-goddam–shoddy-piece-" She rambled as she set her third bag on the ground and began chasing down her runaway canned goods as they rolled down the sloping parking lot. Beau set his bag next to hers and helped her wrangle the cans and a bag full of oranges back into their arms. 

"Looks like your day is going great so far, darlin." Beau teased as he piled the cans onto the back seat. 

A chunk of hair had worked its way loose from Y/N’s ponytail and she blew a puff of air upwards trying to get it out of her face, while Beau took the bags she held out to him, and put them in the back seat as well.

"Yeah, it's been a really peachy morning, beginning with my kitchen sink exploding on me when I tried to make coffee, drenching me in the process. I told my landlord and he said he'd 'try to fix it'." Y/N said with finger quotes.

Beau slammed the back door shut and Y/N slumped against the side of the car. He gave her a sympathetic look as he stood in front of her, the thumb of his right hand hooked over the waistband of his jeans and his left hand shoved in his pocket.

Y/N continued recounting her less than stellar morning. “So I’ve had no coffee yet today because I came with my cup,” she said, lifting the reusable, plastic coffee cup she still held, “planning on getting coffee from the diner before I went grocery shopping, but their stupid machine is broken. So now I’m just carrying around this useless cup cause it doesn’t fit in my purse.”

She let out another huff, and opened the driver’s side door to throw her purse and the cup inside, before slamming it shut a bit harder than necessary.

Beau frowned. “Why didn’t you just throw the cup back in your car before you went into the grocery store?”

Y/N looked puzzled for a moment before she frowned. “I don’t know!” She said, throwing her arms up. “Because I’m an idiot and I’m operating without coffee!”

Beau chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Anything perishable in your groceries? Something that won't keep for an hour or so?" 

Y/N shook her head, puzzled. "No, just pantry stuff and fruit."

"Then come with me." He said and pulled her along with him, still tucked into his side. He led them over to his big red truck and helped her climb up into the cab.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, slightly exasperated. 

"To the place that serves the best coffee in town." He answered, as he closed the door.

***

Y/N took a long sip of coffee and sighed contentedly. It may not have actually been the best coffee in town, but it was dark, and rich, and creamy and she could practically feel the caffeine flowing through her veins. 

She called back through the door of Beau’s little silver trailer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help make lunch?” She asked because it was the polite thing to do, and she felt a bit guilty just sitting and relaxing while Beau did all the work. But she was incredibly relieved when he declined.

“No way, sweetheart. First of all, there’s no room for two people in this quote/unquote kitchen. And second, you’ve earned the right to relax. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Y/N sighed again and took another big gulp of coffee. This one burnt the roof of her mouth a bit, but she still didn’t care. After the morning she had, this was paradise. She’d only been to Beau’s one other time, and she just waited in the car while he ran in to grab something. She’d never seen the inside, or got to experience the beautiful view from his front porch.

She looked around now and took it all in. Montana sure was beautiful. It was world’s away from her old life in Manhattan, where you could barely see the sky, never mind mountains and forest. She’d left New York only three months ago, but every day she was here, her old life fell further and further into mere memory. 

She’d spent the last ten years of her life going non-stop. Columbia - four years for her undergrad then another four at medical school. Eight years excelling at something she didn’t want to do. 

So - two years into her residency she’d made the incredibly impulsive decision to leave it all behind. The move shocked and horrified her parents.

It was practically a family tradition to go to Columbia and become a doctor. Her grandfather, her father, her aunt, and a bevy of cousins had all attended Columbia to become doctors and then gone on to make a fortune in ritzy private practices. 

Only one cousin that she knew of had bucked the system a bit, deciding to practice in a free clinic in Queens rather than open another high priced office that catered to the rich people of New York, of which there were many.

That cousin didn’t get invited to many family functions.

But if she was ostracized for serving underprivileged people, she was still worlds above where Y/N found herself now. Living states away in Montana and training in veterinary medicine. 

She’d always been interested in animal care. But when, at fourteen years old, she told her mother and father that she wanted to be a veterinarian,  they had just stared at her like she’d grown a second head. She tried to explain to them how much she loved animals, and the idea of being able to work with them everyday, help them and heal them appealed to her immensely. She tried to explain that she’d still be using her aptitude for science, she’d just be applying it in a field that excited her.

But the answer had been a resounding no, and she’d been pushed further down the road towards Columbia. She’d reluctantly followed that path. She thought her parents probably knew best, and she didn’t bring it up to them again. 

Until three months ago when she’d informed them that she’d left her residency program and enrolled herself for the fall semester at the University of Montana, in the Veterinary Medicine program. 

Her parents had absolutely refused to listen to anything she said on the matter. They kept insisting that she was just feeling burnt out. They suggested that she take a few weeks off, and recuperate. She tried to explain that she wasn’t burnt out, she was fed up; fed up of working almost eighty hours a week doing something she didn’t want to do. 

When reasoning hadn’t worked with Y/N, her parents resorted to threats. They promised her that they were not about to pay for her to go to school in Helena, and that if she threw away all the years they’d put into her education then she needn’t bother coming home for the holidays. Y/N had agreed to those terms, moved out of her tiny studio apartment, loaded up her little Toyota hatchback, and driven for three days, staying in crappy little motels along the way, before she reached Helena. 

She’d used her savings to pay for her first semester of school, and six months worth of rent. She was on month three and she was starting to panic slightly about where money was going to come from. She needed a job, but it had to work around her school schedule, and she had no work history other than a hospital residency program that she’d dropped out of. 

Now she had a sink that didn’t work, and a landlord who didn’t seem to be a handyman. And when she’d started her car that morning, she heard a distinctive squeal that meant she’d probably have to take it in sooner than later. 

She sighed and took another gulp of coffee. At least one thing had improved in her day. As the thought entered her mind, Beau walked out of his trailer with a stack of chicken salad sandwiches and a big bowl of salad. 

Okay, two things had improved in her day. 

“Oh my god, Beau.” She exclaimed. “This is way too much! You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.” 

He scoffed dismissively. “N’ah, wasn’t any trouble. I had the chicken salad made up already, so all I did was throw vegetables in a bowl.”

Y/N shook her head. Beau had been a godsend since she moved to Helena. She met him on only her second day in town. She'd been given a speeding ticket and had gone into the sheriff’s department to pay it. She’d been in a particularly rotten mood that day as well, since she certainly didn’t have almost eighty dollars to throw away on a ticket. For going barely ten miles over the speed limit. 

She must have looked desperate or maybe at the end of her rope, because Beau had come over to the deputy taking her payment, and taken over the transaction. She’d been shocked out of her mood by the ridiculously beautiful man behind the counter. He was long and broad, with dazzling green eyes, and dark blonde hair she immediately wanted to run her fingers through. He spoke, and his deep, Texas honey voice sent a shiver up her spine, making her whole body tingle.

She was so completely and instantly enamored of him that, at first, she missed the fact that he was dismissing her fees. When it finally sank in through her moony brain that he was being kind and helping her out, her heart fluttered even faster. 

He’d smiled his killer smile at her. “It was only ten miles over the limit. And you’re obviously new in town.” He said handing back her New York state license. “Just watch your speed next time.”

Y/N nodded happily. “Yes, sir. I will be very careful in the future.”

“Beau.”

“Sorry?” She asked. 

He smiled again and practically knocked her off her feet. “It’s Beau, not sir.”

They’d become fast friends, even though Y/N’s heart raced like crazy when he was around, and as far as she could tell, he had no feelings for her like that whatsoever. But he was the only person she really knew in town besides her crappy landlord, so she relished her time with him.

He’d helped her adjust to Helena with stories of his own experiences of being new in town. They watched movies together at her place (her one bedroom apartment still being bigger than Beau's trailer) and they grabbed supper three or four evenings a week. Beau always insisted on paying for her because he knew she was a poor, struggling, soon-to-be student. He constantly refused to let her grab the check. So she’d taken to slipping twenty dollar bills into his jacket pocket, but somehow he always found them and slipped them back into hers.

He texted her pretty much every day to check in and see how she was. And even if she’d been having a morning similar to today’s, his name popping up on her phone always made her smile.

She knew that at some point the little (or large) crush she had on him was going to cause trouble because it wasn’t diminishing. Every day she knew him, he carved his way a little deeper into her heart. She couldn’t help it. He was so kind, so warm. He was such an amazing dad, and she envied the relationship he and Emily had, having never had anything like it with her own father. 

He was like sunshine, a burst of serotonin in cowboy packaging. She knew she was in trouble there.

Beau set down the plate of sandwiches on the table between their chairs and then went in to grab bowls and forks for their salad. When they were both served, they sat munching the yummy food without conversation, just laughing and enjoying the antics of a couple of squirrels arguing over winter hiding places. 

The food, the coffee, and most of all, the man beside her, had gone a long way to making up for her rotten morning. 

When they’d finished eating though, Beau reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Okay, darlin’, lay it on me. It’s not just coffee throwing you off your game this morning. What’s goin’ on?”

Y/N relished the warmth of his big hand covering hers, and her heart raced fast again as he ran his calloused thumb over her knuckles. 

She shrugged in answer. But he pushed on.

“Your sink exploded. And you don’t think your landlord will fix it?”

“Well, he hasn’t fixed my dripping shower, or my broken bedroom window…so I don’t hold out a lot of hope, no.” Y/N said defeatedly. 

Beau nodded. “What else?” 

She stayed quiet at first; she didn’t want to dump all of her problems on him. She didn’t want to be a burden to the only friend she had. But the soft, caring look in his mossy green eyes, told her it was safe to vent. 

Her voice started off quiet, but grew louder as she talked about all that was bothering her. 

“I have no job, my savings are rapidly running out, I start school in a week, and I’m incredibly nervous that I gave up a whole 'life plan' to come do this. What if I suck at it? What if all the animals hate me? What if my parents were right this whole time and I really have just thrown my life away?”

She was quiet for a moment more before ducking her head and finishing in a small voice. “Oh, and my car is squeaking.”

After a minute, Beau let go of her hand to lift her chin with his fingers so she was looking at him again. “Do you want me to try and problem solve, or are you just venting?”

Y/N let out a watery chuckle, tears threatening and making her eyes glassy. “Oh Beau, if you have any solutions, I’m all ears.”

He smiled wide and her belly flip flopped. “K, so I’ll be by tomorrow, it’s my day off. I’ll fix your sink and tub, no problem. I owned a fixer upper in Dallas, learned lots. And I’ll take a look at your bedroom window and see what I can do.”

Y/N was shaking her head. “Beau, that’s…you don’t have to do that. It’s your day off, you must have better things to do.”

But he just shook his head. “Shh, I’m problem solving.”

Y/N laughed lightly.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know crap about cars, but I am friends with Sonny at Lincoln Motors, and he owes me a favor, so he’ll take care of it, and you can just pay for parts.”

Y/N was staring at him, her eyes wide. “Beau.” 

But he just kept going. “You should have told me before that you were looking for work. I thought you weren’t planning on working while you’re going to school, otherwise I would have mentioned it sooner. But we have a part time position available at the station that would be perfect for you. We need weekend care for the four dogs in the canine unit. You’d have to walk 'em, and feed 'em, exercise 'em a bit. Pays pretty decent, but we’re having a hard time filling the position cause it’s only weekends. You’d have to take a course about how to care for 'em, but it’s just one afternoon.” He smiled at her. “I promise to give you a good character reference.”

Y/N just shook her head in amazement. “What…what are you my fairy godfather? You just solved all my problems.” She was stunned. These were issues she’d been worried about and struggling with for quite a while, certainly the issues with her broken apartment and no job. She opened her mouth to him one time, and he just swooped in and saved her.

The thought made her shake her head again, refuting her earlier question. “No, you’re not my fairy godfather.” She beamed at him, but lowered her gaze shyly. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”

Beau got up from his seat and kneeled in front of her, taking hold of her hand again. “No, not a knight, a friend. And Y/N as your friend, I can tell you without hesitation, that you’re gonna do great in school. You’re incredibly smart, and you have a beautiful soul. Animals will love you. You're gonna succeed, I promise you that."

Y/N eyes shone brightly with unshed tears and she impulsively threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. His strong arms wrapped around her and he pulled her close, tight against him. 

She felt the hard wall of his chest pressed warm and solid against her and tried not to moan. She didn't mean to, but without thinking, she buried her fingers in his hair, letting the silky strands slide through her fingers. His beard felt surprisingly soft as their cheeks pressed together. His big hands started caressing her back softly, massaging slightly and Y/N began to notice the way his heart beat fast under his ribs and his breathing  was a bit unsteady. 

Finally, he pulled back from her to catch her eye, and Y/N could see the desire spark in his gaze just seconds before he settled his lips lightly on hers.

The kiss was not demanding. It was soft and curious, tasting. He trailed his mouth over hers, lips gliding smoothly, exerting the slightest pressure. They were hot against hers though, and the silky feel of them made her fingers tighten in his hair. He let out a small hum of satisfaction and then pressed his tongue to her lips.

She sighed her mouth open and was quickly drunk on the taste of him. He was all spice and warmth; he tasted like comfort. Her stomach was full of butterflies that danced low in her belly, and she delighted in the way he moved  his hand to grip the back of her neck and pressed her closer to him, groaning into her mouth and causing her core muscles to clench tightly. 

Beyond her physical response to the way he kissed her though and beyond her pounding excitement for more, her heart was telling her this was where she belonged; in this man’s arms, with no air between them.

When Beau finally pulled back, he rested his forehead on hers, and chuckled softly. “God, I’ve been dreaming of doing that for months - since I first saw you on the other side of that counter." He grinned. "All frazzled and annoyed, cursing under your breath.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she pulled away to look at him. “What do you mean? I’ve been wanting you to kiss me since you smiled at me across that same counter.” She shook her head. “You weren’t interested.”

Beau snorted. “Are you kidding me? You haven’t noticed how I’ve been following you around like a puppy dog? You haven’t seen the way I’ve had to stop myself so many times from pushing you up against something hard and kissing you senseless? I thought you knew and simply weren't interested."

Pleasant images of being manhandled by Beau popped into Y/N's mind and she had to take a moment before she could shake her head at their stupidity, a grin wreathing her face. “And I thought you knew I was drooling over you constantly. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

Beau shook his head, clearly just as amazed. “I had no idea.”

His million dollar smile shone brightly and he sipped at her lips again. He spoke softly against them.

"So, has your day gotten any better?"

Y/N breathed out a laugh and ran her palms over his cheeks, loving the satiny feel of his beard beneath her fingers.

"A little bit." She answered with a teasing smile. "I have just one or two more problems you could help me with though."

"Really? Like what, darlin'?" Beau asked, his voice deep and delicious.

She bit her lip, and let her forefinger slide across his mouth. 

"I'll tell you all about them tomorrow, when you come to my bedroom…to, you know, fix my window."

Beau chuckled a little dirty. "Well, I do love to be helpful."

"Then help a girl out would ya?" Y/N said, pulling his soft yielding lips back to hers with a smile.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

[virologikal]

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

@nshtn requested: 3, 5, 10, 17 for Wesker (I love your Wesker takes too ahh)

⸻ ⸨ Thank you for the many questions you sent in and I am glad you like my takes so far! I hope you don't mind me splitting some of the questions up in multiple posts so I can better tag them to the relevant characters ⸩

𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒:

3 - NoTP? I don't really have a strict NoTP for Wesker (or any characters, to be honest - I think all dynamics can be interesting to explore depending on how it's done and what the focus is). However, if we are talking about some form of intimacy or even trust at some point, I'd say the least likely I could see him with is Excella. I'm happy to be convinced otherwise, but from my point of view it feels like she is merely a tool to him, and he doesn't exactly hold her in high regards rather than consider her both useful and ... nice to be around, probably? She is gorgeous and ambitious, and clearly admires him to a point where it would cater to his ego, but I doubt he'd be interested in anything more than that.

5 - Out of all your fanworks that include Wesker, which is your favourite? When it comes to writing, definitely my fanfic The Unquiet Grave, because I get to explore his character both in past settings as well as think of ways to bring him into the current game lore. I just like prodding this character like a bug under a microscope. Otherwise, my fanart for him referencing a quote from Hannibal (TV series) is likely my current favorite. It took me roughly a month to finish, and is the only piece I currently have of just Wesker (I just love to paint Chris and Wesker together tbh^^)

10 - What's your favourite piece of fanart for Wesker? Honestly? Impossible to decide. There are so many amazing pieces of fanwork out there, be it in writing or art. I have a few pieces an old friend did back when we used to roleplay which they did for my portrayal and that I still hold very dear and close to my heart, so maybe those stick out a bit. But otherwise - I can't possibly decide on just one thing. All art or edits you find on this blog that I reblogged count as favorites, I'd say!

17 - What's a book, movie, or show you think Wesker would like? Funny enough, I have a headcanon post in the making that pertains to how Wesker perceives media (since there is a recurring theme of him not getting some media related jokes etc.)

To make it brief for the moment: In my interpretation of him, prior to the Mansion Incident he doesn't have time (or take the time) to really sit down and enjoy a tv show or movie, due to the many tasks on his hand. He has to juggle his work for Umbrella, his double-agent plans to leave them and take the research with him, lead the S.T.A.R.S. team as captain without attracting suspicion and at least pretend to have a social life of some capacity.

Once he starts spending time with Chris, he eventually lets him distract him and he actually sits down with him to do "regular person" things (at least for a while, until Umbrella informs him about their plan to use S.T.A.R.S. as test subjects during the Mansion Incident). During this time I imagine Wesker's interests would likely be directed towards anything sci-fi, due to the scientific approach to fictional settings in many shows or movies. Maybe not exactly Star Trek level (though Wesker being a Trekkie is a hilarious crack headcanon), but I'm thinking Event Horizon, Total Recall and, yes, Matrix (we simply cannot ignore the fashion inspiration of RE5 Wesker okay).

As for books, he definitely is an avid reader in my portrayal. Of course mostly scientific works, but also works about human studies (mostly so he could build up knowledge about interpersonal relationships, manipulation tactics, etc.). His special interest in my portrayal being sealife and diving, he would also read a lot about that, including sharks, as I also headcanon he considered Neptune as some sort of "pet".

[starlightsuffered]

We’re Under the Same Moon

Info - potential love bombing, unrequited love, some mentions of sex, using quotes, exchange student Zeffirelli

I knew he wasn’t interested in me now. He was off in France. Our whirlwind romance in America hadn’t meant as much as I’d hoped and prayed.

Zeffirelli was a French heart throb. He’d come over to America for a study abroad program. Though I was in art classes and he in politics, we’d favoured the same study area in the library.

The connection had been instant. We’d had sex on the third day we’d met. It was hushed and quick, up against the book stacks.

He was adoring, giving me all his attention. He even confessed he couldn’t focus on his studies. He began calling me “ Mon Immortel bien-aimé” as he thrust into me. I was flushed with chills and possessed with smiles. I had always said of myself that I desired violently. I had been waiting for a love like this. Everything had slotted into place so perfectly.

I felt so foolish when I had cried the whole night before his flight. In the morning I’d gotten up early. I had done my hair and perfected my makeup and outfit. I had bounced up to him to say goodbye. I had such same high hopes. I was positive he’d say yes.

I had been planning to ask him to be my boyfriend. This was such a beautiful love story. Two people from different places falling desperately in love. I had a smile on my face as I’d come up to him. He dipped me and kissed me. I’d come up giggling.

“Of Zeffirelli, I’m so glad we met,” I’d said.

“I am too darling,” he’d purred. I’d felt myself melt completely.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you as well.”

“I wanted to ask you to be my boyfriend,” I’d looked at him with a beaming smile. His face had fallen.

After that he’d explained to me he was never looking for a relationship. He was much to focused on his future career. He agreed that we could be friends but he had never felt deeply for me. I’d felt my fairytale shatter.

I knew I was supposed to get over it quickly. All my friends told me it had only been a few months. I felt differently. I had finally felt like what I had to give had been appreciated. I hadn’t felt dumb for moving quickly and falling fast because it had seemed like he was as well.

All these many months later I still felt down. I felt like my one chance at that magical moment was gone, wasted on someone who didn’t feel the same about me.

I was even foolish enough to still write him letters. I never sent them. I wasn’t that pathetic. Sometimes I dreamed I got drunk and sent them to him, and then he wrote me back saying he’d made a huge mistake.

“dear dear

my most distant love—

when i dream of you i wake in a field so blue i drown.”

I rubbed my arms. I wasn’t cold, just lonely. I’d been trying to sleep for hours. I’d tried sounds of the ocean, an audio book, and music. Every time my mind kept wandering to our kisses, his mumbled words into my skin, the last look on his face. Even though my eyes were closed in an effort to sleep, tears kept welling.

I was finally, wondering what I could do or use to get to sleep and stop thinking. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted the racing thoughts to stop. I missed his hands and his laugh and his attention. I missed his smile and hearing his opinion. I missed and missed and missed.

Were under the same moon and I'm sick with that knowing.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[see-arcane]

Love, Vampirism, and Metaphor in Dracula: Van Helsing and the Suitors VS The Harkers

I’m writing this on the day of the September 29th entry, fresh from the second death of Lucy Westenra, Bloofer Lady and Beloved of Many. I see myself posting this on October 3rd, the day of Dracula in the bedroom and the holiest love quote. You know the one.

‘To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.’

Harrowing, horrifying in its implications for our good friend Jonathan Harker, and, when held up against the wall-to-wall likeminded alignment of the Suitors Three, of Van Helsing, and, it seems, of Mina ‘Down to Self-Sacrifice’ Harker, a quiet but unmissable sore thumb sticking out of the rest of the novel’s dogma. Let’s turn the pages back a bit.

Say, to Jack Seward’s thoughts on the Bloofer Lady resting in her box, September 27.

‘It made me shudder to think of so mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling was not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead as Van Helsing called it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, or all objective?’

Here, Lucy is completely prone in her vampiric torpor. No action, no will. Just the same deathly stillness of the Count in his coffin, radiating an ominous miasma—the difference for her being that she rests with her eyes shut, and has no power to jumpscare her visitors with a turned head or the paralytic magic of Dracula’s ‘basilisk gaze.’ She is nothing more than a pretty corpse and yet Jack feels only mounting disgust in her presence. And, following the adventure of catching the Bloofer Lady in the act with his fellows, the cruelly tossed child, the supple supplication—

“Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!”

—and the grand reveal of her monstrous face when thwarted by Cross and Wafer, we come to the scene of Van Helsing and the Suitors Three in the tomb, hammer and stake at the ready.

‘She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth, the bloodstained, voluptuous mouth—which it made one shudder to see—the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance seeming like a devilish mockery of Lucy’s sweet purity.’

[…]

“Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilation of it by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free. To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is not: ‘It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it was the hand of him that loved her best;’”

[…]

“My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not falter!”

[…]

‘Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on action his hands never trembled nor even quivered.’

[…]

‘There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that there were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth to what we knew. One and all we felt the holy calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was to reign forever.’

‘Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to him:—'

"And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?"

‘The reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man's hand in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:—'

"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again, and me peace.’

‘He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying his head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood unmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:—'

"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning devil now—not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is the devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!"

…

……

………

Now, this is old ground. Old, old, old, essay-strangled ground. Throw a dart and you’ll hit a dozen far more articulate pieces about the undercurrents of it all.

The parallels with the Brides of Dracula. The Lilith-rooted fear of the Sexual, Powerful, Child-Endangering/Killing/Unmaternal Woman. Purity > Carnal Voluptuousness. We must destroy the sensual evil to rescue and preserve this fair maiden’s purity~. Made all the easier because 1) Lucy was implied to have given her consent and urging to Van Helsing on her deathbed to carry out just this procedure, purest pure sweet virginal angel maiden that she was, and 2) the boys had Abraham ‘Definitely not a Saintly Stand-In Patriarch Figure’ Van Helsing to follow as he gives his wise and brilliant and Godly orders (my child).

I get it. You get it.

But most importantly, and barely ever brought up, Jonathan Harker gets it. He has gotten it well before he ever learned about Lucy’s own hell with Dracula.

He had a front row solo-show of three vampires murdering a child. Then overhearing a second child’s death. Not a little sip! Not dainty nursing from wee pinprick bites! The Weird Sisters drank two kids like a three-way Capri Sun. They tried on multiple occasions to hit him with that sexy-soothing hypnosis to take their turns with him and drag him into the undead girl gang against his will. The first time he got away lucky with Dracula’s intervention—he had no clue what was happening, no one there to counter the effect or prove he wasn’t dreaming. They just stuck their hooks in his head and he laid there, frozen. In the ensuing attempts he clocked them and could only run to dodge their effect.

This is the same man who, when all other options were lost, gambled his life on the cliffside and the wolves versus staying locked in Dracula’s stone box to let the Brides drink and turn him. He has more vampiric terror experience than the rest of the cast combined, even with Van Helsing’s secondhand know-how. He gets it.

…But now, here’s Mina.

Mina, Mina, Mina.

Bitten. Turning. If they do not end the Count in time, she will be a vampire.

Already she’s mulling suicide.

(Hello, flashback.)

Already the stalwart men around her are quietly steeling themselves should the worst happen and they must deliver the same mercy they did for Lucy.

(Hello, flashback.)

Already Jonathan has decided he will join her in undeath rather than have her be alone in the condition.

(Hello—wait, what?)

What? Everyone put down your crucifixes and holy cracker crumbs! Mr. Harker, say again?

Let’s look at all this implies on paper. Really look.

1.     Jonathan has witnessed and endured the attentions of vampires with far fewer scruples and friendly attachment than Lucy the Bloofer Lady ever had.

2.     Jonathan has learned of how vastly Lucy changed post-vampirism. Her danger, her ‘wanton and impure’ personality, the crazy demon bat face, all of it.

3.     Jonathan knows she reached for Arthur. She still knew Arthur. She wanted Arthur with her.

4.     Jonathan knows now that if he had powered through the spell of the Count’s inflicted fear and finished him off in his box back in Transylvania—if Jonathan had simply stayed with Mina, stayed awake and kept watch—she would not be in the peril she is. Lucy would be alive. So many would still be alive. Is he damned already for allowing this all to pass? What more is there to lose?

5.     Jonathan is not Abraham. Neither Van Helsing, nor the biblical namesake who would slay the person he loves most under God’s command. It no doubt comes as a shock to him; him who has been protected by the icon of the Cross, has breathed endless prayers for his and Mina’s sake. Yet there it is. He loves Mina more than God. More than purity. More than humanity or sanity. He cannot bring himself to destroy her, regardless of what form she takes. And perhaps that is partly why…

6.     Jonathan will give himself to vampirism, to Mina, to the Devil—Transylvanian or otherwise—rather than raise a hand or stake to her. If the curse cannot be lifted, they will be cursed together. Let Van Helsing and the Suitors kill two vampires if need be. But whatever she suffers, he will too.

7.     Jonathan sees no point in being alive, human or not, if Mina ceases to exist.

Now, here comes the Big Issue.

The trouble of comparing the In-Canon, On-Paper Morality of this stance VS the Metatextual Metaphoric Morality.

On paper, his private oath is at once tragic, horrific, and skirting towards borderline villainous. Jonathan is willing to deny Mina’s desire to be destroyed rather than become a vampire and, by implication, endangering the lives of Van Helsing and the Suitors Three, and any potential future victims, by dint of planning to defend Mina against their wishes.

Now, this could just mean safeguarding her corpse, hiding her away from the others until she wakes as the undead. Hiding in the dark, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar open. Waiting.

It could mean a grudging confession and pleading session as he implores the others to let her wake long enough to turn him, to let them both be slain by their stakes and blades. If not, well, he was willing to die long before any of them. He won’t live long after her either way, so they may as well…

It could mean taking grislier methods if pushed into a corner. Because if Mina’s existence takes precedent over everything in Jonathan’s perspective, including the Will of God Himself, his new buddies will have a violent surprise coming if they try to pull their undead euthanasia routine on his watch.

It could mean, somehow, with all the worst stars aligned, Mina becomes a vampire under their noses, and approaches Jonathan at just the right time to see them both vanish into the night without notice. Maybe they go to join the Count. Maybe they stay behind, forced to follow murderous orders. Maybe they luck into the willpower shown by those mischievous Brides, and skulk away despite Dracula’s explicit commands, two monsters running away; eloping.

But what it absolutely means in all these cases, is that Jonathan is willing to put his friends and who knows how many strangers at risk, while purposefully going against Mina’s plea for holy destruction rather than vampiric existence. Jonathan is putting his own heart over the wishes of everyone else.

He will give all of himself under any other circumstances, will trust in God’s protection as far as he can, but he understands in this moment, without doubt, he will not, cannot, give away Mina. Not to a divine cause. Not to her own martyr’s mindset. Not for anything.

It is selfish, sweet, sad and nearly sinister in how covertly all this must play out in his mind and buried under the text.

So it must also look through the bluntest take on the novel and Stoker’s messages of Madonnas and Whores and the Preservation of Purity and the Heroic Killing of Evil that keep being cudgeled in throughout the narrative.

…But, even without a 21st century lens, you only need about two seconds’ worth of examination to see the metric ton of metaphoric power underscoring the difference between how Jonathan Harker loves and how Arthur, Jack, Quincey, and Van Helsing love. In plainest terms:

Jonathan Harker’s love is unconditional and all-encompassing.

I will love you no matter what you become. Whatever we must weather, I will weather it with you. I will take on any pain you have and make it my own. I will never abandon you, never hurt you, never judge you. I will love you forever, and if you must be a monster, I will be too.  

Van Helsing and the Suitors’ love is conditional and hinges on the fair maidens in their lives being, ‘pearls among women.’

You are not what you were, despite all my efforts to stop this change. I will destroy the imperfect Thing that has usurped you. This is all I can do. All I will do. I will love the memory of what you were before I had to kill you.

Now, obviously, there is some nuance to appreciate here. There’s a whole separate essay to be had in examining the toxic nature of relationships built on a partner loving the other half to the point of worship, refusing to find fault or leave the romance when it’s clearly gone sour or dangerous. If Jonathan had fallen in with a legitimately cruel partner, with or without a monster angle in play, that talk might hold water. But not here.

Not when the whole crux of the vampirism threat for Lucy, Mina, and the Brides—once you scrape Stoker’s varnish off—is the Threat of the New Woman.

The Threat of Power Equal or Greater Than Men’s, Unrestrained Sexuality, and Unmaternal Behavior from the Pretty and Virtuous Young Lady. Or, considering the undertones of focusing on madness as another horrible affliction, vampirism as a mental illness and/or the assumption of mental illness.

(What’s up, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” parallels, didn’t think you’d make it in here!)

Or, if we want to knock down all the era-specific boundaries, vampirism is the conversion into, or revealing of, Otherness. The vampire is Wrong. The vampire is Not Like Us. The vampire is Unholy, Imperfect, Impure. Insert your marginalized group of choice here.

Against the Vampire-Other, we see Van Helsing and the Suitors positioned as the moral defenders, destroying the tainted and converted Bloofer Lady, preferring to see this New Lucy dead rather than suffer her vile voluptuous self to exist. It is too much! She would not want this any more than we would! Away, demon!

Then we take this hard swivel to Jonathan Harker, fully aware of their stance, of the full spectrum of vampiric menace, of Mina’s own hardwired, ‘Martyrdom! I am sullied and unclean because I was violated against my will! Self-sacrifice! I must give of myself until there’s literally nothing left!’ mentality, and of how it’s been painted that ending her may be the only way..!

And Jonathan discreetly but emphatically flips the bird to the whole concept.

Mina’s changing? Mina might be different? Mina is possibly doomed to be a monster, to be the Other, seemingly ruined by the very explicitly rape-coded assault on her by a predator? Hm. Hmm.

Fuck that, decides Jonathan.

He will not abandon her, period. No equivocations. No moral quandaries. No hand-wringing hemming or hawing. Just:

“Mina might become a vampire? Shit, I’ll have to be a vampire too. Let the rest of the world deal with it.”

Oh, sure, he’ll give it his all to prevent her turning with the rest of the vampire hunter gang. Even if vampirism didn’t come into it, he has a hell of a grudge to settle with Dracula for all the shit he’s pulled. But if that isn’t enough? If the fatal blow comes too late and Mina turns? That final choice is already premade in his mind. Whatever Mina is, he will be. Whatever fate waits for her, he will take it himself. Simple as math.

And, because you read the title up there, we must also address Mrs. Harker herself. Dear, devoted, devastatingly down for self-sacrifice Madam Mina, who would have herself destroyed by her husband and the others just as Arthur slew Lucy.

It is what’s right!

It is what must be done!

She dare not risk harming another as a foul new pet of the Count’s..!

Unless, we have to wonder.

Unless the shoe was on the other foot.

What if it was not her, but Jonathan in her place?

Jonathan, freed from considering his wife’s impending conversion, Jonathan, who was already prepared once to get himself killed for the sake of avoiding the Brides’ kisses, Jonathan, who is so much a mirror of Mina’s caring and self-giving nature that I can picture him parroting her own demands for a proper destruction rather than rising as a vampire to imperil the others.

What then, Mina?

Mina, who witnessed Jonathan at his lowest—struck down by fever and trauma and a shock so powerful and mixed with physical illness that it left him too weak to stand even for their wedding vows.

Mina, who fell in love with a gentle and sweet Jonathan, a boy so many, many leagues away from the lauded Man’s Man archetype. The inverse opposite to the New Woman, so endearing and warm and kind and eager to be an equal with her rather than a bully or married warden.

Mina, who chose a sweetheart over a common chest-pounder groom, who never thought less of him when shock and sickness left him weak, who chose again and again in a hundred little ways to stay by him, to love him, to protect him, to never abandon him, no matter his condition.

Mina, who would give anything for the man she loves.

Mina, who, I cannot help but suspect, would give her humanity and eternity itself.

(In another world, in another story, the quote changes: ‘To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Jonathan must be a vampire in the end, then he shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone.’)

Do not endanger yourselves with my devilish form! Destroy me, save yourself!

They are hypocrites, these two. They are selfish. They hold one another above all else, beyond good and evil, God and Devil.

To the point of madness in the book.

And to us outside the pages, to the point of holiest love.

[third-arch]

So, I noticed that Rusty Cohle and Trafalgar Law talk nearly identical at times.

So, here are Law and Rusty quotes, but I don't say who's saying what.

"The only thing that matters is what you do, not what you say."

“I know who I am. And after all these years, there’s a victory in that.”

"You can't see the whole picture until you look at it from the outside." 

"When you can’t remember your lives, you can’t change your lives, and that is the terrible and the secret fate of all life."

"I feel my heart grow lighter and lighter. If so, I had wanted someone to listen to my story for a long time. I'm only evading one thing..."

"While a world of ashes stretches as far as the eye can see before my eyes, completely charred corpses lie at my feet."

"If you ever get the opportunity to become who you were meant to be, don’t hesitate."

"For him, the notion of friendship is outside the sphere of "give and take" which is so dear to him. In a space where there is neither loss nor profit. The only thing that matters in becoming friends are the feelings you have for each other."

“Sometimes, I think I’m just not good for people. That it’s not good for them to be around me, I wear them down, they get unhappy.”

“Why not run while you still can?"

"You can't argue with a hurricane."

"There are words for which one does not need to put the forms, nor to feel ashamed. Words that must be sent to their recipient at all costs."

"To tell the truth, it's been a while since I have a certain admiration for tattoos."

“Well, once there was only dark. If you ask me, the light’s winning.”

"I had only one certainty: the life I led here was important and I had to do everything to preserve it."

“People incapable of guilt usually do have a good time.”

"You, you have the right to live with the convictions which suit you, it is your freedom."

“This place is like somebody’s memory of a town, and the memory is fading. It’s like there was never anything here but jungle.”

"There are things you can't see unless you change your standing." 

"Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not."

[just-an-emily-existing]

I know this is completely out of the blue but I made Douglas and Thomas' Special Coach a couple 😂 Here’s their story

When Douglas first came to the island, he was obviously nervous about being scrapped so when the “Where’s my Coach” incident happened he of course did everything in his power to fix it, and apologised profusely to Sally which she didn’t mind, she had heard he and Donald were on the verge of scrap and reassured Douglas it was going to be ok. The way she spoke to him made him feel so relaxed and calm, it was the first time in a long time since he felt truly calm. But it didn’t last long as STH didn’t let Douglas arrange Thomas's trains for a while. But finally in 1971 Thomas had taken ill, and D&D were the only ones around to help, so with enough convincing, STH reluctantly let Douglas put Thomas' train together and he got to see Sally again. They talked for what felt like hours but when Douglas had to leave, Sally made sure she’d put in a good word about him to STH which made Douglas instantly fall for her. After that day, they saw each other more and more, but not without Thomas and Donald catching on. Although Thomas didn’t like the thought of Douglas “stealing” his coach “again” and Donald didn’t like that his brother was getting a girlfriend first, they teased the two for years even though they said they were “just friends”. But after all that, they were still too shy to make any moves, so Donald and Thomas had to step in by literally telling them that they have a crush on each other (Donald told Sally and Thomas told Douglas) so the next time they saw each other, they finally confessed and became a couple in 1974. They had the most picture-perfect relationship ever until one day in 1982 when Sally got into a horrible accident with Thomas and some other coaches. Everyone else was fine except for her… she was very old at this point and her wood was rusty and not strong at all. The Steamworks couldn’t do anything for her so she had to be scrapped… as soon as Douglas heard the news he raced to find her and thankfully he was able to say goodbye to her for the last time… Sally's dying wish for Douglas was and he quotes, “Find someone newer and better than me and make sure they make you happier than I ever could my dear.” But he couldn’t, he couldn’t move on from what they had and was stuck in a depression for years, even STH was worried about him and sent him to a therapist. Little by little he did eventually move on but he will never forget his time with Sally. Sometimes he wonders if she’s watching over him and Emily (Me).

But yeah that’s the story of Sally and Douglas

[mariana-oconnor]

Wisteria Lodge pt 1

Definitely haven't read this one before. If there's a Granada version I will have watched it, but only once about five years ago, because that's when I bought the box set and just straight up watched them all. I don't remember the name even slightly. Wisteria is very pretty, though, so I've got a feeling I'd want to live in this lodge even if it does get a bit murdery.

Suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters,” said he. “How do you define the word ‘grotesque’?”

That is not what I was expecting him to say. Do you mean the adjective or the noun, Holmes?

“Strange—remarkable,” I suggested.

That's... not how I would define it either. Is that an evolution of the meaning in the last century? There's a definite meaning of ugliness or disgust these days, not just 'strange'. I'm not sure I'd call any of the cases grotesque, in fact, because it's really more a visual adjective to me than an experiential adjective. I guess The Five Orange Pips was fairly grotesque, given the subject matter involved, but even then... I assume the meaning has evolved slightly.

“Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I consult you? — “Scott Eccles, “Post Office, Charing Cross.”

I know you had to pay by the word for telegrams, but that is the least descriptive telegram you could possibly have sent, Mr Eccles. Clearly you belong to the school of 'leave them asking questions'.

I'm a little confused by Watson thinking that the name Scott Eccles could have been a woman in 1892. Did Scott used to be a gender neutral name? But also, Holmes assertion that a woman would have come rather than just vague-telegramming at him makes me laugh. I feel like anyone else would have just turned up, or at the least sent a message that gave a smidge more information, y'know. Like a ballpark description, a hint of danger, or a location?

HIs name is going to give me a craving for eccles cakes, though.

“My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked up Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world."

Who is Colonel Carruthers? So many colonels recently. Is colonel statistically the rank most likely to require the services of Sherlock Holmes? Although one of the colonels wasn't a colonel at all, and was also the villain of the piece, and the second colonel was the victim, so didn't really require Holmes' services so much personally.

Love Holmes waxing lyrical about how boring all the criminals are, though, and how they're just not as good anymore as the old criminals were. Woe! There is no light in the world with criminals going around being so prosaic and uninspired.

His life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to the last degree.

Alas. A tory.

Quite a restrained description from Watson here, though I have only quoted some of it. He's fairly restrained apart from the 'pompous' part. The rest of it is all rather 'ymmv'. I mean, personally I see that list of descriptors and wince, I'm genuinely not sure what Watson's own intention with them is. On the one hand, Watson's very much pro-establishment in so many ways, and his classism is entrenched, though often soaked deep in patriarchal condescension that he must feel is open minded (and probably was for the time). On the other hand, his best friend is Sherlock Holmes and he clearly enjoys unconventional things. So is Watson singing Mr Eccles' praises here or is he too wincing internally?

“I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes,” said he. “Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It is most improper—most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation.” He swelled and puffed in his anger.

Given the description, I'm now expecting this to be something along the lines of 'a man with the wrong accent said hello to me'. But I'm probably being unfair. That would not be worthy of a Holmes story.

"Private detectives are a class with whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your name—”

OK, reading this sentence, I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to be feeling very charitable towards him. You don't just walk into a place to ask for someone's professional assistance and insult their occupation. Firstly, that's an idiot move, secondly, it's incredibly rude. I put the idiot bit first because honestly the stupidity of it offends me more than the rudeness. You're asking to be overcharged or sent packing. Asshole tax is alive and well.

But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals...

Inspector Gregson does not get compared to an animal in his description! Instead he's called 'gallant'. I guess Watson likes him more than Lestrade.

OH, Scott Eccles is a two-part surname. That's why Watson thought it might be a woman. Right, Scott would have been a surname at this point in time. Everything makes sense now.

Well, not everything... but I feel like that's too much to ask of my dear friend Dr Watson.

“We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which let up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Esher.”

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUN

Aloysius is a name my brain never remembers how to pronounce unless I stop and stare at it for a minute. It just doesn't look how it sounds to me, y'know. Not that that's the relevant part here. The relevant part is he's dead. So Wisteria Lodge is looking a bit murdery. I bet it's pretty, though.

“Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm."

This story brought to you once again by the healing properties of brandy. Brandy, the cure for all ills.

"He was, I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and as good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life. “In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, Wisteria Lodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher to fulfil this engagement."

So Mr Scott Eccles met a hot young guy and they hit it off and one thing led to another. Hmm... *eyebrow waggle* and then he was invited to stay for a few days, hmmm? And he went to fulfil this engagement... HMMM?

Likelihood of this being explicitly queer in a Victorian era short story: -1%. Likelihood that my brain will insist that these two were lovers, or at the very least flirted outrageously: 101%

My opinion of Mr Scott Eccles just went up a little bit because closeted Victorian gay is a better look than just straight up pompous Tory, but then he used the term 'half-breed' and he has sunk even lower. For two whole sentence I almost liked him.

"I remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart of Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good deal queerer than I thought."

🤣

"It was an old, tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair."

So it's a fixer-upper... sure... I could fix it.

"I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly."

Victorian Grindr date gone wrong.

"About eleven I was glad to go to bed. Some time later Garcia looked in at my door—the room was dark at the time—and asked me if I had rung. I said that I had not. He apologized for having disturbed me so late, saying that it was nearly one o'clock."

Dude. This is no longer giving queer Victorian fling vibes, it's giving 'Mr Scott Eccles is oblivious to the fact he's on a date' vibes. Guy meets you once, invites you to his home, has a 'tête-à-tête' dinner and seems nervous. Then shows up in your room at one am asking if you rang...

Garcia wanted to get laid, Mr Scott Eccles. He's into the older, buttoned up, repressed gentleman look.

Clearly this is not the case, because Victorian literature. But my brain can see no other explanation.

Mr Scott Eccles was so busy being judgemental about the food he didn't realise he was being flirted with so hard.

"You can imagine my surprise when I found that there was no one there. I shouted in the hall. There was no answer. Then I ran from room to room. All were deserted."

Very ghost story. Once again the Gothic horror vibes. I suppose this is where the word 'grotesque' comes in. I feel like the word they were searching for was 'unsettling'. But yeah, waking up to find the house abandoned is creepy af. BUT

"My host had shown me which was his bedroom the night before, so I knocked at the door."

So before he came into your room at one am to see if you rang for him, he showed you his room... I stg, I know this can't be what it looks like from a modern perspective, but it's so very blatant, I can't even.

Honestly, at this point it reads like a ghost story where Mr Scott Eccles made a narrow escape from a ghost who wanted to fuck him, and through that somehow either steal his life force or trap him forever in the creepy ghost netherworld with him.

Obviously that's not the real answer, but you could finish this story like that and it would be a perfectly valid ending.

I will forever find it hilarious that ACD is most well known for writing stories where things seem supernatural and then his main character proves everything is mundane, while he himself was a fervent believer in all things otherworldly. Just... amuses me.

Other than the obvious 'gay ghost wants to seduce the living to spend forever in limbo with him', the only reasoning behind this I can see is similar to The Red-Headed League and The Stockbroker's Clerk: For some reason a gang of people wanted Mr Scott Eccles to be away from his home for the night, then split once they had accomplished their illicit goal. Although that doesn't solve the murder, just the weirdness. I don't think there's any way to solve the murder at this point.

[lilspacewolfie]

2 and 8 for the writer ask thingy if you'd like to 🙏🏽

40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I really want to try to write some darker themes. Not so much dark in a sense of things like SA and the like, but more gore. Spooky, horror vibes. I really want to try my hands at an enemies to lovers thing, but I know it’s difficult to get correct.

I’m eyeing my Vampire Terzo & Copia fic for that sort of vibe, maybe. Sort of like Dracula.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This snippet is a WIP from chapter 9 of You Will Never Walk Alone.

(Lu I hate you for forcing me into this corner *grumbles*

I think what I like about it (mainly because I sent it to a beta/dear friend, and they absolutely LOVED Imperator here) is exactly that. They thought Imperator was good in this scene because, to quote, “Is a sign that you wrote your villain well. Because I love to hate a good villain.”

Imperator is a hard character for me to write in general, simply because I don’t feel any which way towards her. But she has a lot of things to do with why certain small things happen behind the scenes that we don’t see much of, but because of her position, Copia can’t really push back on her too much when she starts to nip at him… until he bites back.

This scene (bear in mind this is not the entire scene, but part of the end of it) is one of the first conversations she and Copia have had after a bit of a tumultuous middle. I want to try to spin a villain that isn’t just moustache-twirlingly-evil, and that’s what I’m trying to do my best with when it comes to Imperator and Nihil.

But yeah… not really me being proud, but it’s as close as you’ll get lmao!

[fideidefenswhore]

#AnneBoleynWeek, Day 2: Monday, 25 September — favorite historical Anne quote (either by Anne herself or about Anne)

"Once she was a wise woman, [endowed] with [many] outward good qualities […] and such [...] courtly graces […] as few women were of her time; with such an outward profession of gravity as was to be marvelled at [...]" William Thomas (1524(c.)-1554)

"Had audience of the King this morning and thanked him for the love he bears the State, and did the like by the Queen, who said she knew that God had inspired his Majesty to marry her, and that he could have found a greater personage than herself, but not one more anxious and ready to demonstrate her love towards the Signory." Carlo Capello, 1533

"As supper prevented further conservation I returned to my inn, and went next day to Court to pay my respects to the Queen, who, after keeping me a long time, being reminded by her attendants, sent for me, and received me very kindly, saying to me, “I am aware, my dear Winter (Vintere carissime) that you are beloved by the King and have many friends who wish you well. Reckon me among the number.” And then she added that she would not fail to serve me wherever she could." Thomas Wynter, (1510(c.)-1564)

"Considering the Word of God, to do good to one's enemy, I wished to warn her before hand, because I have daily experience that the King's wisdom is such as not to esteem her repentance of her rudeness and unnatural obstinacy when she has no choice." Anne Boleyn, (1501-7(c.)-1536

"[...]Given her great faith and wise patience, which rose above womanly courage. [...] Such that everyone [...] judges her life to have been prudent, and believes that they have committed a great offense in having thought so ill of her." Lancelot De Carle (1508(c.)-1568)

[marta-bee]

Good Omens reading time. :-) 

Young Warlock and Adam are finally eleven, or nearly. The time for nannies and tutors and satanic nuns and what-not is past. The Hellhound approacheth. And let me tell you, if things had to get so colossally mixed up it’s damned lucky (or something in any case) that they got mixed up in precisely this way. 

See, if you’ve only seen the miniseries you’d be excused for thinking Warlock is a charmingly normal preteen boy. He likes his video games. He tells charming little stories in a lisp about how the gardener says he must always be careful not to hurt slugs. He’s bored with his mother and really would have preferred teenage mutant ninja turtles or some such rather than magicians for his birthday, but he’s basically a normal boy his age. Which he is in a way, at least for his family’s being so rich and privileged. And that’s precisely the problem, isn’t it?

"You, my fine jack-sauce. Come here. Now, if you inspect your breast pocket, I think you might find a fine silk handkerchief."

"Nossir. 'Mafraidnotsir," said the guard, staring straight ahead.

Aziraphale winked desperately. "No, go on, dear boy, take a look, please. "

The guard reached a hand inside his inside pocket, looked surprised, and pulled out a handkerchief, duck-egg-blue silk, with lace edging. Aziraphale realized almost immediately that the lace had been a mistake, as it caught on the guard's holstered gun, and sent it spinning across the room to land heavily in a bowl of jelly.

The children applauded spasmodically. "Hey, not bad!" said the pony-tailed girl. Warlock had already run across the room, and grabbed the gun.

"Hands up, dogbreaths!" he shouted gleefully. The security guards were in a quandary.

Some of them fumbled for their own weapons; others started edging their way toward, or away from, the boy. The other children started complaining that they wanted guns as well, and a few of the more forward ones started trying to tug them from the guards who had been thoughtless enough to take their weapons out.

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock.

The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork.

Aziraphale blinked.

A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden.

Aziraphale looked embarrassed.

Then a cream cake hit him in the face. It was almost five past three.

This is a child with no real concept of consequences. He and his friends (or guests, at least) aren’t precisely bad, they’re eleven and clearly haven’t spent much of those eleven years learning a thing or two about consequences. So when a gun pops out by accident, their first instinct is to go “Cool!” Warlock reaches out and grabs it; a lot of his guests try to unarm their own guards so they can have the same.

I tell you, 23 years post-Columbine, this whole scene just hits differently. The girl’s comment (forgive the slur; this is a quote) that Aziraphale was “rubbish, and probably a faggot” has a different impact too. But I’m old enough to remember the slur bit was definitely learned behavior, that while there was certainly very serious homophobia in the world, not everyone used language like that quite so casually. This is something that girl has heard from the adults in her life, she knows it’s meant to hurt, but she sees no reason not to sling it around so casually. Because for her there isn’t. She has a thought, she does it. And similarly for Warlock: he sees a gun, goes “cool!”, grabs it up, gets surprised by a bit of flying jelly, and pulls the trigger.

Today we have a word for this: affluenza. I don’t think I’d have known it if I read Good Omens back when it was published. And this was pre-Brock Turner and so many others like him, so I don’t think I would have been as attuned to how dangerous it really is. Even now, I’m more likely to view this as people being deeply damaged by the system that enables them more than being really bad people, even though the solution has to be more responsibility and consequences, not less. I pity them, up to a point at least, even as I hate the thought of them going unpunished for the harm they cause.

But just think of an eleven-year-old Brock Turner being the actual antichrist. What a bullet to have dodged! (If you’ll pardon the pun.) Thank Someone. And what a chilling realization to realize just how many of these kids grow up to have that same power to shift reality to their whims. Though arguably that’s a big part of the point.

Moving on to Adam, he really does strike me as this decent, normal kid. Not particularly good or bad, just normal like I and my friends were at eleven. And it strikes me he’s surrounded by actual individuals. Wensley, who “all that separated this voice from chartered accountancy was a matter of time.” Pepper, so attuned to sexism and fairness who we later learn was raised on a hippie commune. They bring their own bits and emphases to this normal act of play; I don’t remember that we were ever even given a name for any of Warlock’s guests. And that strikes me as important. Adam, for all his untapped power, isn’t used to thinking of himself as the only one that matters.

Aside from all that, though, there’s just great fun writing throughout this section, generally, but this is probably my favorite:

There was a thoughtful pause. The hound slunk closer, and realized that the voices were coming from a hole in the ground.

The trees in fact concealed an ancient chalk quarry, now half overgrown with thorn trees and vines. Ancient, but clearly not disused. Tracks crisscrossed it; smooth areas of slope indicated regular use by skateboards and Wall-of-Death, or at least Wall-of-Seriously-Grazed-Knee, cyclists. Old bits of dangerously frayed rope hung from some of the more accessible greenery. Here and there sheets of corrugated iron and old wooden boards were wedged in branches. A burnt-out, rusting Triumph Herald Estate was visible, half-submerged in a drift of nettles.

In one corner a tangle of wheels and corroded wire marked the site of the famous Lost Graveyard where the supermarket trolleys came to die.

If you were a child, it was paradise. The local adults called it The Pit.

If you know your Bible, you might perk up at that name. It was a kind ofmetaphor for Sheol, which most of us would connect with Hell (not 100% accurately, but also not entirely wrong either). For Adam it’s a paradise of sorts, and the weird thing is he’s not wrong. I would have loved to build forts and poke at slugs with sticks in a bit of wilderness just like this.

The bits about the dog are brilliant, too, but scattered about and hard to quote to give you the full effect. You should really read them if you have the book, though. They definitely left me smiling. Though I’m not 100% at ease. A Hound is still a Hound, after all, even if he now answers to Dog.

[winderlylandchime]

I had to wait to reply to your last message and to write this one because I know that my brother still at times checks your blog to see if there are fic updates (i now told him about subscribing to fics).

Anyway the reason I had to wait is because yesterday (the 6th) was his birthday and we (as in me and our parents) got him the full seasons collections box set from ebay. Our cousin found one that was a pretty decent price so we all got it together for him. And I couldn’t tell you about it when you said we should do that because we already had it and it was hidden at my parents house!! But he also saw that message and sent it to me saying ‘YEAH! Why don’t you lil shits do that for me? I mean it IS your fault, I’m like this now’ And I will forever deny that I did this because all I did was show him qaf…he did mind maps and diy merch and tell everyone and their mom about it.. So this is all on him.

ANYWAY! I do have something to tell you though about his birthday. We’ve been laughing about it all day and the minute my cousin told me the story, I thought of all of you who watched this monster be brought to life.

Like i said his birthday was yesterday and he got blacked out drunk with his friends to celebrate it. And then they went to his house to continue because and i quote from a video i got sent ‘i might be 37 but the party doesn’t stop bitcheeeeesssss’ anyway I was suppose to be there but work had different plans, so our cousin who was the designated driver, made sure to send me updates throughout the day and according to him (and also a too short but amazing video he sent me), my dumb drunk brother made EVERYONE watch fan videos of Britin. And not on tv or like hey let me show you something on my laptop. Nope, he stood in the middle of the living room, holding his laptop while kinda stumbling and the fan videos were playing on it. Apparently most of them were too drunk to actually pay attention, including him but they kinda caught a few glimpses and words and every once in a while, my brother would shush them to say ‘hey! The pretty boy is talking’ and when he wash asked who’s the pretty boy, he would try to point at the pretty boy (both of them) and obviously the scenes were changing so he kept going ‘him, him, him’ while pointing all over the screen. And then he pointed to debbie and a friend went ‘that’s a woman’ and he responded with *putting his index finger up to like prove a point* ‘actually, that’s Debbie’. I wish you guys would be able to see my cousins reenactment of it because it was hilarious. However I was told that the way the night ended was that he went to his room to get his phone so that he can and I quote ‘I gotta read some shit to you guys, you’re gonna fuck with it because I fuck with it, understood?’ and then when he didnt come back, our cousin went to look for him and found him passed out on the bed, hugging Brian the cat and his phone. And I have no way to actually prove this since he only remembers bits and pieces but I genuinely think he was about to “read” one of the fics he’s been reading to them. Today when we were all on facetime and our cousin was telling him/us about everything he did (this was just the tip of the iceberg, he almost fell down the stairs again) his only response was ‘i have no memory of any of that but it does sound like me, doesn’t it?’

So even when absolutely blacked out drunk, Britin is still one of the main things he thinks about. And sorry (again) for a late reply, I’ve been buzzing with excitement about him getting the box set but couldn’t tell anyone since he does pay attention from time to time and unfortunately he is no longer drugged out of his mind on pain pills. In fact I was panicking that I accidentally mentioned it in the last message I sent until you responded. Talk about bad memory

Dear sweet anon! I hope your brother knows that you got him the DVDs before I suggested it. I just want to be sure you and your family get full credit. Also, hello Brother… how are you doing fellow Aries? (My birthday is next week) (I’ll be in Vegas to seeing RPDR Live and hopefully finish my drag au)

I am dying over the image of your brother, drunk and swaying. making everyone watch fan vids and trying to point out Brian. And I am dying over “That’s a woman” “Actually, that’s Debbie” like she defies gender.

I am also a little dead at the idea of him reading fic. Out. Loud. to his friends. I’m curious which fic it was.

I’m very glad he did not fall down the stairs while black out drunk. We need to keep your brother in one piece. Now.

Also, brother, if you’re reading - Hi!