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1962dude420-blog · 3 years

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Today we remember the passing of Neal Cassady who Died: February 4, 1968 in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

Neal Leon Cassady was a major figure of the Beat Generation of the 1950s and the psychedelic and counterculture movements of the 1960s. He was prominently featured as himself in the "scroll" version of Jack Kerouac's novel On the Road, and served as the model for the character Dean Moriarty in the 1957 version of that book. In many of Kerouac's later books, Cassady is represented by the character Cody Pomeray. Cassady also appeared in Allen Ginsberg's poems, and in several other works of literature by other writers.

Cassady was born to Maude Jean (Scheuer) and Neal Marshall Cassady in Salt Lake City, Utah. His mother died when he was 10, and he was raised by his alcoholic father in Denver, Colorado. Cassady spent much of his youth either living on the streets of skid row, with his father, or in reform school.

As a youth, Cassady was repeatedly involved in petty crime. He was arrested for car theft when he was 14, for shoplifting and car theft when he was 15, and for car theft and fencing stolen property when he was 16.

In 1941, the 15-year-old Cassady met Justin W. Brierly, a prominent Denver ducator. Brierly was well known as a mentor of promising young men and was impressed by Cassady's intelligence. Over the next few years, Brierly took an active role in Cassady's life. Brierly helped admit Cassady to East High School where he taught Cassady as a student, encouraged and supervised his reading, and found employment for him. Cassady continued his criminal activities, however, and was repeatedly arrested from 1942 to 1944; on at least one of these occasions, he was released by law enforcement into Brierly's safekeeping. In June 1944, Cassady was arrested for possession of stolen goods and served eleven months of a one-year prison sentence. He and Brierly actively exchanged letters during this period, even through Cassady's intermittent incarcerations; this correspondence represents Cassady's earliest surviving letters. Brierly is also believed to have been responsible for Cassady's first homosexual experience.

In October 1945, after being released from prison, Cassady married the 16-year-old LuAnne Henderson. In 1946, the couple traveled to New York City to visit their friend, Hal Chase, another protégé of Brierly. It was while visiting Chase at Columbia University that Cassady met Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. Although Cassady did not attend Columbia, he soon became friends with them and their acquaintances, some of whom later became members of the Beat Generation. While in New York, Cassady persuaded Kerouac to teach him to write fiction. Cassady's second wife, Carolyn, has stated that, "Neal, having been raised in the slums of Denver amongst the world's lost men, [was] determined to make more of himself, to become somebody, to be worthy and respected. His genius mind absorbed every book he could find, whether literature, philosophy or science. Jack had a formal education, which Neal envied, but intellectually he was more than a match for Jack, and they enjoyed long discussions on every subject."

Carolyn Robinson met Cassady in 1947, while she was studying for her Masters in Theater Arts at the University of Denver. Five weeks after LuAnne's departure, Neal got an annulment from LuAnne and married Carolyn, on April 1, 1948. Carolyn's book, Off the Road: Twenty Years with Cassady, Kerouac and Ginsberg (1990), details her marriage to Cassady and recalls him as, "the archetype of the American Man". Cassady's sexual relationship with Ginsberg lasted off and on for the next 20 years.

During this period, Cassady worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad and kept in touch with his "Beat" acquaintances, even as they became increasingly different philosophically.

The couple eventually had three children and settled down in a ranch house in Monte Sereno, California, 50 miles south of San Francisco, where Kerouac and Ginsberg sometimes visited. This home, built in 1954 with money from a settlement from Southern Pacific Railroad for a train-related accident, was demolished in August 1997. In 1950, Cassady entered into a bigamous marriage with Diane Hansen, a young model who was pregnant with his child, Curtis Hansen.

Cassady traveled cross-country with both Kerouac and Ginsberg on multiple occasions, including the trips documented in Kerouac's On the Road.

Following an arrest in 1958 for offering to share a small amount of marijuana with an undercover agent at a San Francisco nightclub, Cassady served a two-year sentence at California's San Quentin State Prison in Marin County. After his release in June 1960, he struggled to meet family obligations, and Carolyn divorced him when his parole period expired in 1963. Carolyn stated that she was looking to relieve Cassady of the burden of supporting a family, but "this was a mistake and removed the last pillar of his self-esteem".

After the divorce, in 1963, Cassady shared an apartment with Allen Ginsberg and Beat poet Charles Plymell, at 1403 Gough Street, San Francisco.

Cassady first met author Ken Kesey during the summer of 1962; he eventually became one of the Merry Pranksters, a group who formed around Kesey in 1964 who were vocal proponents of the use of psychedelic drugs.

During 1964, Cassady served as the main driver of the bus named Furthur on the iconic first half of the journey from San Francisco to New York, which was immortalized by Tom Wolfe's book, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968). Cassady appears at length in a documentary film about the Merry Pranksters and their cross-country trip, Magic Trip (2011), directed by Alex Gibney.

In January 1967, Cassady traveled to Mexico with fellow prankster George "Barely Visible" Walker and Cassady's longtime girlfriend Anne Murphy. In a beachside house just south of Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, they were joined by Barbara Wilson and Walter Cox. All-night storytelling, speed drives in Walker's Lotus Elan, and the use of LSD made for a classic Cassady performance — "like a trained bear," Carolyn Cassady once said. Cassady was beloved for his ability to inspire others to love life. Yet at rare times he was known to express regret over his wild life, especially as it affected his family. At one point Cassady took Cox, then 19, aside and told him: "Twenty years of fast living — there's just not much left, and my kids are all screwed up. Don't do what I have done."

During the next year, Cassady's life became less stable, and the pace of his travels more frenetic. He left Mexico in May, traveling to San Francisco, Denver, New York City, and points in between. Cassady then returned to Mexico in September and October (stopping in San Antonio, on the way to visit his oldest daughter who had just given birth to his first grandchild), visited Ken Kesey's Oregon farm in December, and spent the New Year with Carolyn at a friend's house near San Francisco. Finally, in late January 1968, Cassady returned to Mexico once again.

On February 3, 1968, Cassady attended a wedding party in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. After the party, he went walking along a railroad track to reach the next town, but passed out in the cold and rainy night wearing nothing but a T-shirt and jeans. In the morning, he was found in a coma by the tracks, reportedly by Anton Black, later a professor at El Paso Community College, who carried Cassady over his shoulders to the local post office building. Cassady was then transported to the closest hospital where he died a few hours later on February 4, four days short of his 42nd birthday.

The exact cause of Cassady's death remains uncertain. Those who attended the wedding party confirm that he took an unknown quantity of secobarbital, a powerful barbiturate sold under the brand name Seconal. The physician who performed the autopsy wrote simply, "general congestion in all systems." When interviewed later, the physician stated that he was unable to give an accurate report because Cassady was a foreigner and there were drugs involved. "Exposure" is commonly cited as his cause of death, although his widow believes he may have died of kidney failure.

#february 4 #1968 #neal cassady #r.i.p.

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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When was the last time you let someone know you truly love him/her? Today.

Do you complain when you are bored, or look for something to do? Sometimes, but usually I just still do the things I normally do. Sometimes those things just don’t cut it, though, and I end up lying around watching mindless TV or sleeping. That’s usually when I’m just extra moody or feeling extra sad and down and don’t feel like doing anything.

Do other people’s complaints ever get on your nerves? Yes. If someone is constantly complaining about everything that gets real annoying real fast. I try not to complain a lot. I keep a lot to myself or save it for a survey, ha.

Generally, what is your favorite ride at an amusement park? I used to like the water rides, you know like the Splash Mountain type rides or the ones that are like white water rafting. I like the swing ride, too. I’m not into the water rides anymore, though. That doesn’t leave much for me at most amusement parks. I love Disneyland because there’s so many rides and I can enjoy a lot of them. There’s so much for me to do.

Who is your favorite 90’s musical artist? I love a lot of music from the 90s.

Do you think that music was better when your parents were young, or now? I enjoy various genres and songs across the decades.

How did you develop your specific taste in music? My parents, grandparents, what was popular, and discovering stuff on my own.

If you drink coffee, how do you like it (with cream, black, etc)? Flavored creamer or cream and sugar.

Did your parents sign you up for things like piano lessons and ballet? I did some piano lessons.

What is your favorite children’s song? Nursery rhymes and songs from what I watched as a kid. I was a hardcore Barney fan haha.

Are you good at telling jokes? I’m the worst haha.

Are you uptight, or are you easy going? I think I come off easy going to people that don’t know me well. And I can be with certain things. Like while on vacation or deciding on what to do, I’m a go with the flow kind of person and just go along for the ride so to speak. However, I’m a moody person that gets irritable, frustrated, and overwhelmed. My family wouldn’t say I’m easy going ha.

Other than gas, what do you frequently purchase at a gas station? I don’t purchase gas cause I don’t drive, but I like getting coffee or a Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink sometimes.

What is one concern you have about the present state of the world? The corona virus. Even though it’s like the flu, which is also a serious concern every year and we need to take the same precautions. I guess cause it’s like the newest thing and it’s being talked about constantly, so it’s become a big issue.

Ten years ago, did you think that this was how the world would turn out? I’m not sure how I thought it would turn out. I don’t think I gave it much thought.

Ever think you might be better off living in a different time period? No.

Do you drink regular or diet soda? I’d go for the regular if I’m going to drink one.

What CDs would you take with you on a road trip? I wouldn’t. I have Spotify.

Think of your favorite band? What album by them is your LEAST favorite? I don’t have just one favorite band.

Have you seen your favorite band in concert? If so, how was it? I’ve seen some of them.

Do you walk regularly? No. Or at all.

Did you take a Health class in high school? How was it? Yeah, freshman year. I liked parts of it because we talked about psychology and stuff.

If you could have the answer to one question, what question would that be? Hmm.

Do you like any bands from other countries? Yeah.

When was the last time you mailed a handwritten letter? I have no idea.

Do you still receive Christmas cards? Yeah, a couple.

Do you know anyone who is really hard to please? Yes.

What gets you through the day? I just...do.

Do you have a Before Bed routine? I like to listen to ASMR and do surveys. Describe your stance on religion in general? I’m a Christian.

If you found out your bf/gf was homosexual, how would you react? Well, we’d obviously have to break up. That would be hard of course. I’m assuming I was in love with them. I would be supportive and be there for him, though.

If you are homosexual, and you find out your bf/gf is straight, then what?

Have you ever sung karaoke? What songs? Was it fun? Yeah, just for fun with friends at one of our houses. I’ve never done it in public. There’s no way in hell.

Do you study for big tests? I studied for every test.

What makes you nervous? A lot of things. Ha, that reminds me of the cute shirt I got at Disneyland with Rex from Toy Story on it that says, “I’m a nervous rex.”

Have you called anyone today? What did you talk about? No.

When was the last time you went bowling? Yearssss ago.

Do you drive around the neighborhood to look at lights around Xmas? Aww, we used to do that every year when I was a kid. We drove all over town.

Why are so many single people bitter on Valentine’s Day? They become painfully aware of how single they are because of all the lovey dovey stuff and couples everywhere and feel sad and lonely, I guess.

What holiday is a big deal for you? Christmas.

What is one tradition you hate participating in? I like the ones my family and I have.

Have you ever been sledding? No.

Do you have acne? I get a couple pimples now and then. I had it worse in high school and my early 20s.

Have you made a fool of yourself today? Not yet. The day is young, though.

Is there someone you wish you could talk to, but you’re too afraid? Not anyone currently.

Do you have a favorite cookie? Sugar.

When was the last time you did something for someone else? I helped my dad with something.

Do you let other people choose the radio stations in your car? We play Spotify in the car.

Would you say that you are an accepting and openminded person? Yeah, I think I’m pretty openminded.

Have you ever been convinced to try something you didn’t want to do? Yes.

What happened? How did you feel about your choice? I wasn’t happy about it.

When was the last time you cheated–at anything? Uhhh. I don’t know. I’m not a cheater.

Do you play any online computer games? If so, what? Nope.

What food can you not seem to get enough of? Wingstop’s boneless garlic parm and lemon pepper wings.

When you are mad at someone, how do you show them? I become distant. If we interact and talk, I’m very short.

Do you like to think that you are better than other people? Absolutely not. I know I’m not.

When was the last time you felt you had a reality check? Hmm.

Have you ever felt out of touch with reality? Yes.

Have you ever been sick to the point of possibly dying? No, but it definitely felt that way at times.

Have you ever had a tooth pulled? Yes, my wisdom teeth and one other.

How long do you you usually chew a stick of gum? Until the flavor runs out, which doesn’t take long.

Did you chew gum in school, even if it was against the rules? I don’t think so. I was a goody-goody.

Did you take a foreign language in school? I took Spanish all 4 years in high school.

Did you attempt to make Honor Roll? Did you make it? I was always on honor roll.

What was your favorite school project? Hmmm. There were a few I enjoyed throughout my school years.

Did you attend any school dances? Yeah, a few.

Were you in any after school clubs? Yes. Was there any teacher that made life living hell for you? No.

How about any student(s)? No.

When was the last time you felt overwhelmed? I feel that way quite often.

Which parent are you more apt to go to if you’re upset? My mom.

Do you have any coffee mugs with funny pictures/sayings? No.

Describe your favorite t-shirt? I have a pretty big collection of graphic tees, all of which are my favorite.

Describe something strange that you own? Uhhh.

What do you like to do on a friday night? I don’t do anything different.

What do you like to do on a sunday night? ^^^^

Are monday’s a drag for you? Most days feel that way.

Do you think graffiti is a valid form of artistic expression? I don’t approve of it when it vandalizes property. If it’s a mural or something like that, then yes.t

Do you ever worry about where the world will be in 20 years? I just take things day by day, man.

Do you know what you want your funeral to be like? Well, this took a turn.

How often do you think dirty thoughts? Not often, honestly.

Can mere images turn you on? How about words? Photos, sure. And I guess words, too, in the sense that I’ve read books with sex scenes that were hot haha.

Do you give a good back massage? I’ve never given one.

Do you think that feet are disgusting? Ew yes lol.

When was the last time you screamed? I honestly have no idea.

What is your political affiliation? We’re not getting into that.

Are you registered to vote? Yes.

Are you GOING to vote? Gahhh. Everything is so bad right now. Like it’s really a big joke.

Do you think you would enjoy living in college dorms? Nooooo.

Have you ever been to the YMCA? It’s fun to be at the YMCA. haaa. Anyway, no I haven’t.

If you ditched school, where did you go? I stayed home, ha.

Have you ever been offered drugs? What, and by who? Yeah.

Are you afraid to walk places at night if you are alone? I definitely would be. I never go anywhere alone, though. I certainly wouldn’t at night.

What’s in your school backpack? I don’t have a school backpack, I’m done with school.

Are you put off by overly social people? >> No. I’m easily exhausted by very extroverted, exuberant people, is all. Doesn’t mean I don’t like them as people. <<<<

What do you think of people who are shy? Well, I’m very much one of those people so I can understand.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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ao3feed-klance · 5 years

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Tanned Skin and Red Burns

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OZLJpG

by Fukuro_City_Writes

When the summer blues start hitting hard, Lance realizes the fun in the sun is almost over before he is off to college across the country from his hometown in California. After about a year of being free from Highschool, Lance had been stuck at home with his rather 'large' family, and by this point, he is ready to go ballistic the next time he feels a Hot Wheels hit the back of his head or the next time he has to fight over the bathroom space for a shower or god forbid he step on another lego or dyno-nugget. So imagine the absolute relief he felt when his senior in high school invites him on a vacation with him, his, fiance, and some mysterious little brother. Lance wastes no time in packing his bags and setting off without a moments hesitation, his hyperactive brain imagined palm trees and relaxation without bickering or banter or even being bothered, but boy is he wrong, as soon as he finds a mullet bearing teenager in the backseat of his ride to freedom, those thoughts of peace and silence are shattered. Learning along the way the very importance of a bruise from a Hot Wheels or a gooshy sock from a chicken nugget, Lance confides in someone he never thought he would head to for emotional support.

Words: 20, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M, Multi

Characters: Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Adam (Voltron), Lotor (Voltron), Pidge (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron)

Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron)

Additional Tags: Family, Team as Family, Abuse, Foster Care, Child Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Eventual Relationships, Cruise Ships, Camping, Road Trips, Vacation, Summer, Summer Love, Family Drama, College, Luggage, Car Accidents, Amnesia, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Bisexuality, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Nonbinary Character, Orphans, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Big Brother Shiro (Voltron), Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Male Homosexuality, LGBTQ Character

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OZLJpG

#ao3feed #ao3feed klance

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spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia · 4 years

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The Milo Murphy’s Law Wiki Guy AU: Balthazar Cavendish Vs The World: Chapter 4: Act 1: Like A Circle Within A Spiral

WARNING: CURSE WORDS

(Darkness)

(During the time the logo plays, “The Windmills of Your Mind” by Noel Harrison plays its first verse, sung by a yet unseen man)

(In quick succession, we see images flash by, moments from Cavendish’s life, past and present, in a logo: Cavendish being born (Round), His Father looking on disapprovingly as he spends time with Oliver (Like A Circle), Cavendish helping his mother make dinner (In A Spiral), Cavendish almost kissing Oliver on the tree branch (Like A Wheel), Cavendish’s Father punching him and telling him to be a man (Within A Wheel) , Cavendish losing Oliver (Never Ending), Cavendish joining B.O.T.T (Or Beginning), Cavendish refusing to kill a criminal (On An Ever), Cavendish shaking hands with Dakota (Spinning Reel), Cavendish and Dakota constantly failing (Like A Snowball), Cavendish and Dakota being there for each other over the years (Down A Mountain), Dakota saving Cavendish’s life multiple times (Or A Carnival Balloon), Cavendish suspecting Milo of being an enemy agent (Like A Carousel That’s Turnin’, Running Rings Around The Moon), Cavendish and Dakota fighting the evil circles (Diameter Part 3) (Like A Clock), Cavendish and Dakota fighting King Pistachion and Derek (Whose Hands Are Sweeping Past The Minutes Of Its Face), Cavendish getting exiled (And The World Is Like An Apple), Cavendish deserting Dakota to fight the aliens and getting frozen (Whirling Silently In Space), Cavendish and Dakota getting together with a kiss by Cavendish on Dakota’s cheek (Homosexual Part 1) (Like), Cavendish and Dakota playing cards (The), picnicking and laughing thanks to the television (Circles), Cavendish becoming moody and resentful and selfish again (Bowling For You and This Date Must Be Perfect!) (That You Find) and Cavendish, despite trying, pushing Dakota and everyone else away… Alone. Forever. (This Date Must Be Perfect) (In The Windmills Of Your Mind…))

(Finally, the images part, and the words form a logo:

The Milo Murphy’s Law Wiki Guy AU Presents:

Balthazar Cavendish VS The World

(The person steps out of the darkness, the lights revealing that it is Danville’s main street, and that he is Serendipitacely, the number one Dakavendish shipper)

He makes his teary exit, and replacing him is Balthazar Cavendish.

Now 45 years old, Cavendish is somehow worse off in every way: He’s more egotistical, he refuses to give and receive love, and he’s buried it so deep that he has no idea that he’s doing it all to make his father proud.

In short, he’s a dumpster fire with legs.

Which is honestly an insult to actual dumpster fires with legs, they’re way better at handling this kind of stuff.

Cavendish sighs, his stomach wincing as he catches the scent of freshly baked bread from the local bakery.

He clutches his aching gut, and a shiver runs down his spine as he can’t help but wonder why someone who doesn’t care about being alone is starving himself.

Blinking his eyes, trying to somehow remember the date, Cavendish walks down the echoing pavement, totally and utterly alone.

By choice, it would seem.

Finally managing to string two coherent thoughts together, Cavendish’s eyes widen, if for a moment, when he realizes that he hasn’t eaten almost anything in five days, having mostly sustained himself on stale crackers and the occasion glass of water.

One did not need to be a doctor to tell this, though; The signs were all there.

Whether it was his even thinner figure (what was once a stick was beginning to resemble a twig), his bag filled eyes (Cavendish sometimes counted 8, sometimes 15. To be fair, his mind was quite… Achey Breaky not workey), or his depressed and spiteful demaener (clearly evidenced by tripping on a bowl of spaghetti, which he then shot with his gun multiple times), even the least observant readers in the world could tell that barely anything had gone into his mouth in a while.

But Cavendish could tell you why he was malnourished, once he unstuck his dry, cracked lips of course: Dakota.

Well, not Dakota persay. More like his presence.

And again, a shiver ran down his rusty spine, causing Cavendish to shiver audibly, alerting the attention of 2 pairs of curious eyes.

Cavendish turned to note the unexpected guests: A boy and a girl named Alex and Anna.

The former was adorned with an orange T-Shirt, a lighter long sleeved shirt and jean shorts, all nestled under dark brown hair that barely reached his forehead.

The latter, a tall African American with a checkered under shirt and a purple dress, all neatly organized under a slightly messy collection of black hair, tied up with a literal bow.

The two children seemed to be staring in concern, but to Cavendish, any attention that wasn’t positive was an attack on his life.

He had enough shit to carry, what with his guilt, or not, or yes, or not…

“Argh!”, he yelled out in frustration, desperately wanting to forget what a prick he was to Dakota…

“No, I wasn’t a prick, I wasn’t! I just… I don’t need to…”, Cavendish started to fight with himself, before realizing that he was doing this in front of complete strangers.

Flushing from embarrassment and frustration, Cavendish, wanting nothing more than to forget, turned to the children.

He hoped he could get them off his back with a half apology (since he didn’t really care, but he also did, but… Enough!)

“Look, I’m sorry I shout…”

But Cavendish had worsened the cracks in his lips for no reason: They were gone.

Like, completely, without a trace.

As if they were ghosts in his mind, faint memories that were there to remind him that…

Cavendish blocked his ears, trying to ignore.

SO desperately trying to ignore.

Looking up, he suddenly found himself in Josh’s Convenience store.

This was odd.

Oh, not going to the store: He had planned to do that.

But the store was another block away!

Had he…

Had he walked all the way there?

Or was he dreaming?

“No…”, Cavendish sighed regretfully, taking a shopping cart and filing in. “If I was, Dakota would be here.”

Before he could continue, he kicked himself in the leg, trying to violently force the guilt out of the forefronts of his mind.

After all, there was NOTHING to be guilty for!

He hadn’t done anything to ruin his relationship with Dakota!

…At least, he didn’t think he did.

Seeds of doubt sprouted again as Cavendish ran it all over in his mind for what must have been the millionth time: He had taken Dakota out on a date 5 days ago (“Heh. More like 5 centuries ago.”, he coldly chuckled), in the attempt to fix something Cavendish didn’t think needed fixing.

And somehow, along the way, Cavendish had ruined everything.

Dakota had claimed that night that he had “checked himself out”. That he had “Stopped giving and receiving love” and that he “always had to be right”, alongside other baseless charges.

And at first, Cavendish had refused to believe them.

After all, he is BALTHAZAR CAVENDISH!

Time Traveller First Class!

Conqueror of the Pistachions and the Aliens!

Protector of the 20th century!

And a full grown man, big boy trousers and all!

Why, he even went to the bank all on his very own!

He should be proud!

…Then why was there this nagging feeling that something was amiss?

That, heaven forbid!... Dakota had a point.

Cavendish closed his eyes in pain, trying to quiet the two voices that had been wrestling in his mind for the past 5 days, but neither would budge in their mental wrestling match of doom.

“…Odd analogy. Clearly my mind isn’t functioning.”, thought Cavendish, or, at least, he tried: It was hard to think when two loud voices kept claiming that you were both the best man ever and the worst person in the world.

Fingers slightly shaking on the fading red paint of the cart handle, its squeaky wheels rattling on the floor in monotonus fashion, Cavendish passed aisle after aisle, aimless and distant, his mind a million miles away from the grocery store.

Soup aisle.

Clothes aisle.

You are the reason your life sucks aisle.

“That’s new. Wonder if the beefaroni is on sale there.”, Cavendish thought, not realizing the obvious fact in front of him: OF COURSE the beefaroni isn’t on sale.

Josh is a real curmudgeon.

Oh, and there is no such aisle.

But his fleeting sanity was far less important than distracting himself from his guilt.

Taking a deep breath and puffing up his chest, which hurt, Cavendish tried his best to muscle through the pain.

As Dad would say, Cavendish just needed to emotionally distance himself from the problem, and Voila! It would stop being a problem!

Closing his eyes and breathing heavily, his ribs immediately colliding with his chest, Cavendish tried to ignore now two different kinds of pain and focus on what is important: Himself.

“Yes, Balthazar, this seems bad now, but it is good for you in the long run.”, a gruff, old voice whispered in his ear. “Now that you dumped that pathetic pansy “man” where he belongs, you can finally focus on making me proud!”

Cavendish felt an overpowering urge from deep within him to do this, which confused him to no end: He hated his father with a vengeance.

Why the hell was that monsters opinion so important to him?

To be fair, though, it wasn’t Cavendish exactly who was thinking these thoughts; They were being whispered to him in his left ear by a very Dakota looking spirit.

“Balthy, you and I both know that you’re suffering. If you keep denying it, you’ll only hurt yourself even more! Look at you!”, the spirit pointed at the nearly lifeless belly and noodle arms that could barely muster a movement. “You’re malnourished, and badly!”

“Pish posh!”, Cavendish’s Father objected, stepping out of Cavendish’s right ear. “The boy is just adjusting to a better life without you! Without others!”

He leaned in to Cavendish, enticing him with his words of temptation. “Think about it, boy! No more distractions or obstacles on the road to being a hero! You will be respected, like you always wanted!”

Cavendish DID like the sound of that, his smile quite telling.

But the REAL Cavendish wasn’t going down without a fight: The trauma of that night with Dakota was still fresh, and the wound could still burn his soul with consequences and regret.

“WAKE UP!”, Spirit Dakota screamed in Cavendish’s ear, making Cavendish karate chop a mountain of a man.

Grinning sheepishly, Cavendish tipped his hat at the surely illegal amount of deltoids and pectorals in front of him.

“Morning…”, he greeted, waving slowly, bracing for the…

BANG!

There it is!

Cavendish was sent flying into the fruit stand, an apricot in every ear and a banana in his mouth.

“How mature of you.”, Cavendish sarcastically chided the author, who shrugged.

“Stay away from the literal and figurative fruits, boy!”, his Father ordered, and despite his cold stare, Cavendish found he legs working anyway, slowly moving off of the stand and…

“No! Don’t deny your true self, Balthy! It’s not too late to make things right!”

Cavendish was getting sick and tired of this, and he blocked his ears, but to no avail.

“He’s done nothing wrong!”

“Yes. He. Has!”

“Stay off of him, you pathetic child! Balthazar MUST be a man!”

“You wouldn’t know what a man is if he chopped off your legs and made a one man comedy show with them!”

“Oh, I do know someone like that! His show is rather successful and he’s got a weekly podcast! I don’t listen to it because I always pretend like I’ll make the time for it!”

“In all fairness, I think everyone kind of does that, so that’s not on you!”

“QUIET!”, Cavendish shouted out, earning more odd stares.

“What are you looking at?!”, Cavendish lashed out, holding a pineapple in the most threatening way someone could, which was no way. “Can’t a man have a reasonable discussion with the little people inside his earholes?!”

“The nerve of some people…”, Cavendish muttered, shaking the guvas off of his socks.

Straightening his hat, which had a pear, a mango and an orange on top, Cavendish gave very stern looks to the two avatars of his personality.

“Listen, guys, I respect your attempts to help, but I don’t even know what I did!”

He marched back to the cart, slipping on the wet floor and smashing his back on said surface, earning a yelp of pain.

Gritting his teeth, he growled an explanation to his plea of silence. “All I know is that Dakota left me for some reason, and I can’t tell if I am in the right or the wrong, which scares me, since… Since I have to be right!”

Suddenly, Cavendish could hear himself.

Was he always talking like this?

Was he really THAT insecure? That hungry for admiration?

Cavendish shut his eyes tightly, trying to silence his hyperactive brain. “Please… I just want a break…”

He almost felt tears sting his eyes, as he prayed for a reprieve. “Please… Just be quiet for a moment.”

And for a moment, it was quiet, as Cavendish’s eyes lay on a donut box being offered in the pastry section.

…Wait, wasn’t he in the fruit aisle?

While he was confused by his sudden teleportation, Cavendish wanted to forget his troubles, so he shrugged them off and fixated his attention on the delicious donuts in front of him.

Despite having no appetite for 5 whole days, Cavendish found himself drooling over the desirable delicacy in front of him: Creamy, honey glazed sprinkled goodies, oft layered in chocolate or jelly, a thick coat of sweet paradise on the kneaded dough that had been handled by stranger’s hands.

“Wow…”, Cavendish exclaimed as his stomach growled with need. “Even that disgusting thought won’t ruin my appetite.”

Licking his dry, cut lips, prompting a small surge of pain to travel his nerve ends, Cavendish hesitantly grabbed the box, taking one particularly scrumptious looking donut out.

The shine in his eyes reflected off the donut, the angelic singing of a choir adding atmosphere to the room.

Cavendish, confused, turned around to see an actual choir.

“…Could you knock it off? I can’t focus with all this racket!”, Cavendish ordered, and the choir grumpily left.

This was all rather confusing, especially for the other shoppers, who were slowly disappearing: There was no choir in the store at all.

But Cavendish did not have time for such trivial matters as the slow and terrifying disintegration of his sanity: He had a donut to eat!

He wiggled his fingers, the donut fitting on his ring finger like, well, a ring, and he opened his mouth.

“Finally, something else on my mind!”, he exclaimed out loud, again ignoring social norms, and he happily began to devour…

Alex:

Round... Like A Circle…

Anna:

In A Spiral…

The donut, which had once been a donut, at least, in Cavendish’s mind, was now somehow two human faces, specifically those two kids from before, Alex and Anna.

The duo’s arrival also heralded the arrival of music, specifically “The Windmills of Your Mind” by Harrison Wells.

Now, while Cavendish was sort of falling apart from the seams, he still had enough of his mental capacities left to recognize that two children faces sitting in his hand and singing songs from the 60’s was most definitely odd.

So, like a normal person, he let out a blood curdling scream and jumped away from the… Whatever that was in his hand.

Eyes darting around madly, hoping no one saw him, Cavendish looked back at the four eyes which shouldn’t be there on the floor.

Carefully, he found a stick and prodded the two kids, but they said nothing.

He repeated the action a few more times, but still no answer.

Throwing away the stick, and thus shattering a window, Cavendish sighed in relief, wiping his brow.

“Must be my mind playing tricks on me.”, he chuckled to himself in his thoughts.

“Oh, it is playing tricks on you. We’re here to clear the fog from your eyes.”, Alex and Anna responded.

“Poppycock! There is no fog in my eyes!”, Cavendish retorted defensively, not noticing the literal fog in his eyes.

But he did notice that the kids were suddenly talking.

“Wait, who are you even?”, Cavendish accused, staring them in the eye inquistionally. “Enemy spies? Evil monsters? My landlord?”

Alex and Anna exchanged worried glances before resuming their staring contest with Cavendish, whose eyes were bulging with suspicion. “Mr. Cavendish, we are products of your mind. We also saw you like 5 minutes ago outside. You told us to go away.”

Cavendish blinked in confusion, failing to understand. “But… I’ve never seen you in my life! Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

Alex and Anna nodded grimly.

Cavendish sat down, hands on his knees, a nervous look on his face. Assuming he wasn’t going mad (a sucker bet, sure, but he was a beggar, not a chooser), Cavendish was being told the truth: He had somehow forgotten something that had only just happened.

“But how?”, Cavendish asked no one in particular.

“Well, you see…”

“And also, why am I imagining all this? I asked for a break!”, Cavendish demanded, annoyed.

“…Well, if you’d just…”

“And also, like, what did I even do? Poor Dakota can’t pass a minute without me groveling all over him…”

“Sir, if you just stop…”

“And why were you singing?!”, Cavendish asked, waving his hands in the air. “Also, you only sang one line! Quite lazy, if I do say so my…”

“SHUT UP!”, Alex and Anna screamed in demonic voices, making Cavendish cower in fright.

Sighing, the two heads returned to the ground and rolled over to his already outstretched palm, the hand lifting itself towards Cavendish without him even asking it to.

“We are, in a sense, your true self. You wronged Dakota…”

“Not… Exactly…” Cavendish choked out.

“You ignored the ones you love…”

“Well, everyone’s a critic.”, Cavendish pouted, crossing his arms.

“And in trying to please your Father, you lost yourself.”

“Puhlease! Of all the accusations, that may be your silliest! I hate my Father! I loathe him! Why, once, I even said that he’s downright… Mean. And that took a lot of willpower!”, Cavendish defended himself, not noticing that he was, if anything, incriminating himself.

Alex and Anna looked at each other with tired glances.

“Ok, so now we know that he’s totally in denial.”, Alex said.

“We sort of already knew that.”, Anna retorted, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, I just wanted to confirm it! The paperwork has to be filled, Anna!”, Alex chided, a scolding tone to his complaint.

“Oh, please! You and I both know that the only reason you’ve ever lifted a pen is because of May down in accounting.”, Anna playfully mocked, making Alex huff.

“You try ignoring her! She’s a rare desert flower, and I’m… The guy who picks those things. Who does that?”, Alex asked.

Anna shrugged, and they both looked at Cavendish, who tapped his chin in thought.

“An anthropologist? A biologist, perhaps?”, he offered.

“Maybe…”, Alex muttered, and suddenly, he and Anna rolled away.

“Hey, wait, I can Bing search it for you!”, Cavendish hastily called after them, following the rolling heads down the store floors.

“Cavendish, we must return to the matter at hand: You are broken and in need of repair. Self repair. Only you can fix yourself.”

They suddenly materialized into a picture, a picture of Cavendish’s first date with Dakota, a year ago in The Breakfast Burrito Place.

A pang of sadness struck his heart, and Cavendish couldn’t help but glance with melancholly at the happy image.

How had it all gone wrong?

What did he do to ruin it all?

But no!

Cavendish refused to be wrong!

He had to be right!

He had to!

Cavendish scoffed, flexing an inexistent muscle. “Nonsense! I’m in perfect shape, both physically and mentally! Why, just yesterday I thought I heard a dog bark “Dakota! Dakota!” and I only cried for the rest of the day!”

“Your point being?”, Anna asked doubtfully.

“I stopped crying once I went to sleep!”, Cavendish offered helpfully.

Alex and Anna sighed. “Cavendish, you need help, whether you like it or not!”

Cavendish, steaming, shouted back. “Never! Never in million years! I am a man! And a man needs no help from no one!”

“Good!”, Alex cheered.

“Now help yourself!”, Anna offered.

“Fine, I will!”, Cavendish countered and he walked off. “Stupid talking children’s heads! Why, of course I can help myself! I definitely will! After all, I am totally broken, and those foolish brats can’t see that!”

“Oh, yes, we are morons!”, Alex called out.

Cavendish nodded determinedly and he lifted another donut from the box which was magically next to him.

“Nope, not a donut, go to the wheel!”, Anna guided, and Cavendish did as she said.

“They’ll see! I’ll confront the reasons why I hurt Dakota!”, Cavendish proudly exclaimed, before suddenly realizing…

“Wait, wait, I don’t want…”, he tried to stop it but it was too late.

Brandon:

Like A Wheel…

Britanny:

Within A Wheel…

“Too late…”, Cavendish frowned, and he glanced at the wheel with two kids faces, this time a short, overweight kid with a pompadour, the other a smiling girl with a curly ponytail.

Viewing them with nothing but contempt, Cavendish asked a question he did not really want to be answered.

“Let me guess: You’re here to show me what a terrible person I am.”, was the dry question that parted his parched lips.

“Oh, no, not terrible! Just misguided!”, Brandon and Britanny enthusiastically replied, their faces filling the space in the wheel.

Cavendish smiled lightly. “Oh, well, that IS better.”

Only to then frown again. “Hey, wait, who says I’m misguided? I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do to be a man!”

“Oh no, we can’t hear you, we’re turning into a picture!”, Brandon and Britanny shouted with glee, spiraling and swirling like a toilet flush as they slowly turned into a picture.

“No, wait, don’t turn into a picture, please!”, Cavendish pleaded, his hands clasped together.

Brandon and Britanny’s heads suddenly returned. “Would you rather it was a video?”

Cavendish considered the option carefully. “Well, that depends: Can you make it a video?”

“Yes, but it takes up a lot of budget.”, They admitted and Cavendish shook his head.

“Well, we can’t just blow the budget on something so inconsequential! Make it a picture!”

“Yes sir!”, they saluted and turned into a picture, just in time for Cavendish to realize what he had done.

“Wait, wait, I don’t… Oh, bollocks.”, Cavendish cussed as the picture fell in the palm of his hand.

Looking down, he was met with another joyful memory: His first kiss with Dakota.

He couldn’t help but sigh fondly, caressing the image by making circles with his thumb.

He could still feel the tenderness of the kiss he had delivered to Dakota’s cheek back then, how positively giddy it felt to just show him the love he so clearly deserved.

For a moment, it was just him and the memory, and no one else.

For a moment, Cavendish once again felt the love he had for Dakota, true love, love that made him almost feel scared it was so deep.

So of course he had to go and ruin it.

As his eyes continued to gaze upon the image, he suddenly noticed the color draining from it, dripping away and off of the picture like a leaky faucet.

Startled, Cavendish threw the image away, and, finding some of that leaking color on his person, he began to shake it off.

This, however, led to another discovery: He was also losing color!

His hat and head had already been coated grey by the time he noticed, and even then it was too late: The rest of Cavendish had lost its color, and as he picked up the picture, so did the memory.

What was worse was that it wasn’t just the color that turned grey.

Cavendish couldn’t explain it, but for some reason, as he held the picture again, all those wonderful and awe inspiring feelings he had had, all those pleasant memories now suddenly felt empty and meaningless.

As did he.

Cavendish blinked in confusion as he sat on the cold, shiny grocery store floor, he himself now feeling empty and meaningless, lost in a cold and cruel world.

But was it thrust upon him…

Or was this nightmare one he thrust upon himself?

Whatever it was, Cavendish was disturbed: Surely all those feelings and memories weren’t false, right?

He MUST have felt them once, or else he wouldn’t have dated Dakota at all!

Was… Was it all fake?

Were his feelings for Dakota, for Milo, for Melissa and Zack and Amanda and Sara and Doof and the rest real or imaginary?

“They are fake, don’t you see!”, his Father returned, once again turning him against them all. “I’ve told you once I’ve told you a hundred times, you need to be a man!”

He cupped Cavendish’s jaw, sending an all too familiar (yet somehow also foregin) feeling chill to Cavendish’s spine.

“And a man does not need anyone! He only needs himself! You are strong on your own!”, his Father ordered, and for a moment, Cavendish wanted to heed said words.

But the battle had only just begun.

“Stop poisoning him!”, Dakota leapt out of nowhere and flung his sword at Cavendish Sr’s. “Balthy does care! Why would he feel empty and meaningless?”

“You are confusing empty with independent! You are not meaningless, you’ve finally found meaning in this wretched world!”, Cavendish Sr. fought back, the two figments of Cavendish’s imagination doing battle in front of his eyes.

Cavendish closed his eyes, wishing to avoid the unavoidable.

“Please! I feel bad as it is! I can’t handle more guilt!”, Cavendish begged, wishing to find out he was right all along, and he didn’t break any relationship.

But fate had other plans.

Carol:

Never Ending…

“What’s never ending? Please stop singing in fragments, it’s very confusing…”

But Cavendish couldn’t finish the sentence: An all too familiar George Michael ballad was blaring across the now empty grocery store, haunting him yet again.

George Michael:

I'm Never Gonna Dance Again

Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm

Though It's Easy To Pretend

I Know You're Not A Fool

Should've Known Better Than To Cheat A Friend

And Waste The Chance That I'd Been Given

So I'm Never Gonna Dance Again

The Way I Danced With You

Cavendish felt the tears threaten to burst the dams in his eyes, and he quickly blocked them with his hands.

He couldn’t cry!

He could never cry!

He…

“I need to run away from here!”, he cried, as flashes of memories came back.

He had treated him so terribly!

He had been so negligent, so critical, so downright cruel, never truly giving him love!

“No, no, no! I can’t be wrong! I have to be right! I have to!”, Cavendish shouted as his legs carried him off and away from the grocery store.

He needed to rest! Yes, rest!

This was all just some bad dream, just a bad dream and nothing else!

He just needed to wake up, and all this shame and guilt would be replaced with what he should feel: Relief and pride.

No longer would he be tied down by that poof, that fairy!

He’d be himself again!

A man standing alone at the gates of destiny, loving only himself, as he should!

Even though his entire soul screamed in pain from daring to hurt the only ones who had ever loved him, Cavendish drowned it out with praise from his Father.

“Atta boy, Balthazar! Now, open your eyes and you’ll see your future!”

But instead of the future, the past stood before Cavendish, urging him to confront it.

Carl:

Or Beginning…

The words reverberated across the establishment, the one Cavendish had dreaded entering since the events of the disastrous date: The Breakfast Burrito Place.

Therein lied the place where Cavendish and Dakota had had their first date.

Here, past the processed meat and pungent cushions, lay memories, laughter and joy shared and stored within the walls of plaster.

It was the place where it all started…

And where Cavendish unknowingly set forth the end of it all.

It was Dakota’s favorite place…

And, once upon a time, it had been Cavendish’s for that very reason.

Cavendish almost smiled tearfully, he could feel Dakota’s spirit in the place: His playful laugh, his purposefully dumb jokes, his soft hand caressing his, the twinkle in his eyes…

His warm kisses, which made the cold nights way more bearable…

Another shiver, another sigh, another denial.

He had to run away from here, before he’d discover some awful truths.

The very idea that he might be the reason behind all his failure scared Cavendish to no end!

He had to have been right, otherwise he’d have spent 35 years doing it all for the wrong reasons, no?

No.

He couldn’t face this.

Even the intense urge to do Dakota right paled in comparison to Cavendish’s all encompassing need to not hate himself.

So, instead of sitting down in the place that carried painfully happy memories, Cavendish would run back to the couch and pretend to be happy.

Depression, unfortunately, was a lot more welcoming than the truth.

“And probably more obedient to a health code”, Cavendish half joked as he began to dart out of the establishment, but Alex, Anna, Brandon, Britanny, Carol and Carl blocked his path, refusing to let him leave.

“Out of my way! There’s a dusty corner in my dark apartment that beckons!”, Cavendish declared, and he jumped at the human wall, only to rebound back.

“Cavendish, don’t you see that we are your consiconce, screaming out for redemption?”, they said, but Cavendish ignored.

“Stop! Please stop! I can’t be responsible for this, I can’t!”, Cavendish yelled, almost begging, fear etched in his words as he slammed the floor with his fists.

The kids were quite taken aback by this, some flinching as Cavendish kept shouting.

“I don’t want to face it! I don’t want to find out why! I don’t care what I did! I just want to rest!”, he screamed, tears running down his face and blood curdling inside.

He wept and wept, shaking and shivering, fearing it all.

“I… I just want to be good. I can’t bear to find out that I was the bad guy all along.”, Cavendish admitted, calming down for a second, but still fidgeting like mad.

Looks of sympathy reflected in the faces of the kids as Cavendish continued to sob, a little quieter now.

They were, after all, products of his guilty mind. They only wanted to help.

Alex, the first of the pack, slowly inched towards Cavendish, a hesitant hand reaching towards the grown man’s back, like a baby trying to pet a big dog that had just gnarled its teeth.

Cavendish flinched for a moment from the contact, afraid of its meaning.

“Don’t make me feel better! I…”

Cavendish stopped, stuttering, confused as to why he’d not want support.

Or, well, he did know.

But…

“Oh, it doesn’t make sense! How can I want love and yet also fear it? How can I hate and look up to my father? How can I say that I didn’t do anything to Dakota…”

Cavendish bowed his head, sweat now suddenly running down his face as it joined together with the tears to blur his vision.

“…When I feel so guilty?”

Right now, in the very confused, tired and scared mind of Balthazar Cavendish, many desires overlapped and engulfed others.

So many conflicting motivations raced for the finish line of his heart, trying to grab his utmost attention.

A part of Cavendish just wanted to lie down and never wake up.

But another part, a strong, passionate part that slowly rose up from his chest into his mind began to take form.

Maybe he didn’t do anything.

Maybe he really was innocent.

But Dakota would never have left for no reason.

Scary as it was, Cavendish began to realize: He must have done something.

…But what?

Sighing morosely, Cavendish looked up at the now very concerned group of kids surrounding him, all of them carrying familiar yet simultaneously unfamiliar faces.

“…I’m truly sorry.”

He tried to avoid their stares, his soul was being pierced enough as it is.

“I want this over as much as you do. I just want to stop feeling like such a… Such a…”

“Jackass?”, Alex offered.

“Well, not exactly the word I’d use…”

“Asshole?”, Anna suggested.

Cavendish frowned, miffed. “All right, fine, maybe an asshole, but what I was trying to say was…”

“Bastard?”, Brandon piped up.

“Full of shit shit head?”, Britanny tried.

“Cucumber colored cock with a half burnt hyronomus bosch poem for a heart?”, Carol chimed in.

“KunckleheadMcSpazzmatron?”, Carl referenced.

“All right, enough!”, Cavendish protested, his voice loud and annoyed.

He crossed his arms and blew a strand of hair off of his forehead. “Seriously, was that necessary?”

“Oh, very!”, Alex joked, and the rest laughed.

“Ugh, whatever!”, Cavendish grunted, almost sounding like a teenage girl named Ashley who only wears DESIGNER GUCCI, not that fake crap they sell at The Gap, girlfriend! BURN!

Taking a deep breath, his nostrils flaring but not angrily, Cavendish looked back at the kids with a mix of fear and hope.

“…Look… I honestly, cross my heart and hope to die…”

“No you don’t.”

“Of course not, I was born FABUOLOUS! Ahem…”, Cavendish cleared his throat, returning to the subject. “I honestly don’t know what I did, or why I did whatever I did.”

He looked down, ashamed. “I have the most terrible feeling that I did something, and I would rather read contract law books, bathe in Donald Trump’s sweat and have my soul ripped out of my chest every 5 seconds than admit for a moment that I am wrong… But…”

He looked up, determinedly, ignoring his Father’s screams from the depths of his mind. “I want to know. At least for Dakota, I want to know.”

Yes, even then, his love for Dakota overpowered all.

Perhaps there was hope.

Suddenly, he felt his head split almost in two as the war waged inside him heated up.

Letting out a scream of anguish, he began to pound the floor, hot tears of pain running down his face. “Please, hurry!”, he shouted out, seething and suffering. “Please! I… I can only muster so much courage for so long!”

The kids, now truly sympathetic for Cavendish, stepped forwards, presenting their hands, waiting for him to take one.

Cavendish looked up, confused. Was this part of the deal?

Realizing that he had missed the point, Anna spoke up, taking the lead over her more experienced partner. “In order for someone to heal, he must be ready to listen. To accept that maybe, just maybe, he’s at fault. Can you do that?”

Her words were quiet, peaceful and Cavendish, tears running down his face, shivered.

Could he?

He hesitated, his hand shaking violently, the mere action of taking Anna’s hand and accepting blame too frightening to even consider.

But…

“…Dakota needs me.”, Cavendish thought, and, just barely succeeding, he grasped the hand, sort of ready to accept responsibility.

Anna smiled and patted his writhing palm with her other hand, making Cavendish, for just a moment, feel warm, and even…

Safe.

“Heh…”, he lightly chuckled, feeling ease for the first time in days. “…It’s pretty easy. Is that all I have to do? Not sure why I made such a fuss out of…”

And then Anna clicked her tongue and Cavendish got sucked in to her hands.

His body squished and melted, turning into liquid Cavendish (half the price for a solid Cavendish) and as he got slurped into Anna’s hands, he let out a scream of terror and panic.

Casey (OS):

On An Ever…

Chelsea (OS):

Spinning Reel…

“I REGRET ALL MY DECISIONS!”, Cavendish shrieked, his eyes bulging out in fright as he found himself in…

#The Milo Murphy's Law Wiki Guy AU #milo murphy's law #milo murphy's law fanfic #balthazar cavendish #balthazar cavendish vs the world #Balthazar Cavendish Sr.#vinnie dakota #spongeguy

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ashthatdrmmrgrl · 5 years

Note

ANSWER ALL THEM YOU BITCH👩‍💻🤪

Ooh she's getting fiesty 😈😂 here you are, love ❤

1. What is your preferred place to write?

Laptop/computer, but since I dont have either anymore, my phone is my go to

2. When did you start writing?

I think it was 8th grade offically; my english teacher got me into reading and writing so that was the 2013/2014 school year I think

3. Favourite thing to write?

Idk, I like writing gay smut if that counts for something 🤷‍♀️

4. Fluff or angst?

I'm good at writing fluff but I love reading angsty stuff

6. Where do you usually find inspiration?

Ideas come to me in dreams, otherwise if I'm watching a movie/TV, listening to music, or just seeing something during the day will spark something.

7. Do you listen to music to help you write?

Yes! I would get soooo distracted if I didn't; that way I dont hear anything outside my head and I can focus on my writing (I'm listening to music now as I'm answering these too actually 😂)

8. What's the biggest "challenge" for you as a writer?

Finding time to write at all; I've got so many ideas bopping around in my head but life gets in the way 😭😭

9. Where do you usually go to write?

My room usually; it gives me privacy and a lot less distractions than my living room or outside the house.

10. Can you give us a sneak peek at your current WIP?

Yes!! I love this scene so much so you get to read it again;

My phone buzzed in my hands and I look down to see Sofia's face smiling at me. I pause my music and pull my earbuds out.

"The Kid's calling," I say aloud before answering. "Hey, Fi!"

"Hey yourself, is Steve available? I've got history questions that I need help with and he's not answering his phone."

I roll my eyes but put the phone on speaker. "Steve, Fi needs help with her homework."

"What's up, kiddo?" Steve asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Stupid history homework; about the Commandos and I thought, 'what better way to finish this then get it straight from the source, old man," Sofia says. Sam lets out a small laugh and Bucky shifts awkwardly beside me.

"Alright, shoot," Steve says with a shake of his head.

"Original 7 members? I only know 3 of them off hand," Sofia starts.

"Easy, Me, Buck, Dum Dum, Morita, Jones, Monty, and Frenchy," Steve says casually. There's a pause before Sofia's sigh echoes through the car.

"I don't think my teacher would appreciate it if I put their names in as if we were best friends," Sofia says offhandedly.

Steve cleats his throat awkwardly. "Right. Uh, Steve Rogers, James Barnes, Timothy Dugan, Jim Morita, Gabriel Jones, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Jacques Dernier," Steve reiterates after Sofia's let's out little "uh huhs."

"Why were the Howling Commandos formed?" Sofia asks next.

"To eliminate and wipe HYDRA bases off the map; although it seems we weren't very successful," Steve says with a frown and I see his eyes flash towards the rear view mirror, to look at Bucky, I'm assuming.

"Who did the Commandos capture during a raid in the Alps?"

"Arnim Zola."

There was a pause and I couldn't help but look over at Bucky who almost looked startled that he had spoken.

"Who was that?" Sofia asks a moment later.

"Oh, uh, Sofia, that was Bucky," I say, my voice cracking at his name. Sofia stays quiet. I check my phone and see the phone was still connected.

"Bucky?" Sofia asks, sounding doubtful. "As in Stevie's Bucky?"

I feel Bucky almost stiffen in surprise next to me. "Yeah, that would be him," I confirm.

Sofia stays quiet for a few beats again before clearing her throat. "Right, well when do you think you guys are gonna be home? I hate all of this cooking I've gotta do now that you guys are gone, not that either of you were chef's," Sofia complains.

"I'm not sure, kiddo," Steve chirps from in front of me. I lean my elbows onto the front seat and rest my head near his shoulder. "We've got something really important to take care of."

"Okay, well stay safe, and don't do anything stupid; Sam, keep them in line," Sofia says with a laugh.

"Will do, Half Pint," Sam promises.

"Well, I'll talk to you guys later. And it was nice to meet you Bucky," she says.

Bucky doesn't respond, but the rest of us say goodbye before I hang up.

"Thanks, Steve," I say, clapping my hands over Steve's shoulders.

"Anytime; I don't mind helping the kid out," Steve says.

I ruffle Steve's hair before leaning back and laughing. Bucky was looking between Steve and I with confusion written all over his face.

"So the kid?" Bucky asks, his eyes resting on Steve for a moment before looking at me.

"Yeah, she's great," Steve says excitedly and flashes Bucky a smile.

"She's my sister," I say and look down to see Sofia had texted me.

I forgot to ask while on the phone but could you ask Steve if I can look through some of his stuff that the museum let him have back?

"Hey Steve, can she look through the stuff the Smithsonian gave back to you? She didn't say what for though," I ask.

"Yeah, no problem, tell her I've got stuff in the chest at the end of the bed."

"Cool cool, thanks," I say and pass the information onto Sofia.

"Not a problem," Steve says as he takes the off ramp and turns left. "Sharon's just up here," he points out a black car that was pulled over under the bridge.

Steve pulls over and ducks out of the car and greets Sharon with a smile.

Bucky sits up and looks out the front window, eyes flickering across the background, scanning the surrounding area. Bucky's knees hit the back of Sam's seat and he glares at the back of Sam's head.

"Can you move your seat up?" He asks for probably the 100th time this trip, sounding bored.

"No," Sam replies once again.

I roll my eyes and squish myself against the window. "Scoot over here more," I offer, pointing towards the leg room that I've got behind Steve's seat.

"Thanks," Bucky mumbles and scoots over so his arm is pressed against mine. It was quiet while we watched Steve and Sharon talk as she popped her trunk. "So," Bucky starts quietly, trying to exclude Sam from the conversation. "How long have you and Steve been together?"

Sam, of course, hears and snorts out a laugh, having to hold onto the door for support.

I felt my face flush and I reach over the seat to smack Sam across the side of his head. "Shut up, bird brain. Steve and I aren't together though," I say, turning to look at Bucky who looked embarrassed.

"Sorry, I just assumed…" Bucky apologizes.

"Nah, it's okay, everyone apparently thinks the same thing," I say with a shrug. "Steve's like a brother to me. Plus right now he's not swinging this way."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me with wide eyes. "So like, he's..?"

"Gay? Yeah, basically. He still likes women, but he's actually with my brother, Graham," I say, pulling up a picture of Graham, Steve, Sofia, and I on my phone. Tony insisted on us having more family pictures even though we were the least conventional family on the planet.

"So being… a homosexual," Bucky says, almost sounding like the term was weird coming off his tongue. "That's openly okay now? I don't mind, but the 30s really pressed people down, so I didn't think Steve… at least I think, from what I remember," Bucky trails off and looks out to see Steve giving Sharon a hug before grabbing the gear from the trunk.

"He was hard on himself at first," I say, remembering how weird Steve would act whenever Graham would say something to try and test the waters. "I think knowing and befriending Graham really helped him a lot, seeing that it's not a mental illness, that you wouldn't be imprisoned or institutionalized for it."

Bucky still looks at Steve, but there was a small smile crooked at the corner of his mouth and his eyes seemed fond.

"I'm happy for him," is all Bucky says in reply.

"So am I," I say, patting Bucky's forearm with my hand. "So am I."

11. How many stories have you written so far?

Well I've only ever completed 1, (excluding oneshots) but I've got... at leave 7 going, a few that I've discontinued, and a shit ton of ideas that haven't been written yet 😂

12. What's your favourite thing that you ever wrote?

Well I'm honestly so proud of my Beauty and the Beast Lashton fanfic that I wrote and the only one I've ever finished. But I'm also sooo proud of 2 WIPs that I'm writing with the lovely asker

13. How many chapters does your longest series have?

I dont have any series yet, but my longest fic has like 200,000 words and no distinctive chapters yet (writing specific scenes then gluing them together)

14. What's your favourite character/person to write for?

I only really write Lashton or Stucky but I'm my cowritten books I have an OC be with Ashton Irwin and Bucky Barnes because DAMN they are kweens

15. "OCs" or "Reader" inserts?

I personally like writing OCs but I've been getting into readers lately

16. Can you tell us anything about your current WIP?

I suppose, but asker already knows since she's helping me write it 😂 it's a Marvel fic about these two girls and their brother who lose their parents in the Battle of New York in 2012. Brother is working for Stark Industries already when Steve asks my OC to join the Avengers but my OC and her brother keep that a secret from their younger sister (my friends OC). That's enough for now tho 😘

17. How long was the longest fic you ever wrote?

Question 13 kinda answered this question but its 200,000ish and growing

18. What fandoms do you write for?

Marvel and 5sos mainly, but I used to do Supernatural back in like 2015/2016. I also dabble in Shadowhunter stuff too

19. What is/are your favourite fandom author/authors?

Well the asker is such an amazing writer I love her work, um, @Larry_Lashton on Wattpad is good, @moonstruckbucky and @sunmoonandbucky are phenomenal

20. Have you ever written an AU?

That's basically all I write; I've only got one original piece and not many are real to whatever reality.

21. What is your favourite AU trope?

I have a weakness for Professor Seb/Bucky and I love stucky (and StuckyxReaders) so if you know of any hmu 😉

22. A fanfiction trope you can't help but love?

ENEMIES TO LOVERS FUCK

23. For how long have you been a fandom writer?

Shortly after I started writing, so like 2015?

24. Have you ever had an idea for a story and forgot about it?

Absolutely! I usually loosely plot out the whole thing and try and hit the main points but by like... 1/4 or 1/2 way through depending on how long it is I'm like fuck I totally forgot I was going to add that (and by then it wouldn't make sense to add it in)

25. What do you do to motivate yourself to write?

Listen to music, but I also read what I've got to help myself get back into the flow of the story.

26. How did you find out you like to write?

Like I said it was 8th grade and my english teacher showed me this new side of reading that I didnt know about and then I was like fuck I can do this too!

27. Are there any writers (fanfiction writers or not) that have inspired you to start writing?

Well I used to only read the Twilight series, but then I read Cassandra Clare's books, and the it sorta branched out from there, so Stephanie Meyer and Cassandra Clare are who you should thank for that 😂

28. What's your favourite fandom to write for?

Does Stucky count as it's own fandom? Because that ship sails itself man #ExceptEndgame #FuckingSucked

29. Describe your style in three words.

Um... smutty... gay.... fluffy?

30. What would you say is the most "famous" fic you've ever written?

Well I've got one on Wattpad with almost 20k but it's a continuation of a story that has like 300k, otherwise most of my other ones on there have 4k actually.

31. Blurbs or drabbles?

Both are great, dudes 🤷‍♀️

32. Have you ever written smut?

33. How long does it usually take you to write?

Used to be I could get like 20 chapters (decently long ones too) in about 8 months but now I'm not really posting anything and I'm slowly working on a current WIP

34. What's your favourite font to use when writing?

Ariel, size 11, 1.15 line spacing. Veranda is a nice font too though

35. What do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics?

I like long ones man; but I either write forever long ones or oneshots 😂

36. How do you keep yourself inspired? Seeing new things, listening to new music. Sleeping?

37. Have you ever written something you didn't like but posted it anyway?

I don't think so. I mean I've posted stuff that I wasn't excited about, but I don't think I've ever hated anything I've written

38. What's your "strong suit" as a writer?

My OCD with punctuation and formatting?

39. What's your favourite trope?

Friends who are oblivious to the other persons feelings so they dont ever make a move until they're drunk 🤷‍♀️ *40s Stucky bonus*

40. How many likes does your fics usually get?

300 for 4k reads on Wattpad

41. Have you ever used a prompt?

Absolutely! Sometimes you just need a little help and there ain't nothing wrong with that!

42. What is your weakness as a writer?

I am obsessed with the small details that nobody cares about (especially height comparisons) but I think that comes from my artistical side.

43. Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you wrote?

Oh absolutely, all the fucking time!

44. Have you ever done a collab with another writer?

Yes! Only 1 other writer who is also the asker 😘😘

45. One thing you love about fanfiction?

I think it's an amazing thing to write because people already have deep connections with the characters so you dont have to waste the first part telling their story (unless it's an AU, but even then it's totally okay to just jump right into it!)

46. What's your favourite emotion to cause your readers?

I definitely enjoy leaving them on the edge of their seats, but I also love writing fluffy scenes that make peoples hearts flutter

47. What's your favourite thing about writing?

The creativity and ability to create a reality! There's endless possibilities and that's so fascinating and amazing to me

48. Do you post your writing on other platforms? I only post on Wattpad, but I have thought about posting things on tumblr too! Thoughts?

49. What app/apps do you use to write?

Either google docs or just in Wattpad itself

50. One thing you don't like about fanfiction?

Some people get the characters totally wrong personality wise and that sorta bugs me when reading because I get confused

51. Least favourite trope?

Coffee shop AUs are a little boring unless somebody brings something new to the table (like one of them is a vampire or witch or single parent instead of just like OH this barista/customer is cute). But if I come across a coffee shop AU I'm not going to NOT read it, you know?

52. Favourite words to use when writing?

No? I mean I know everyone's writing is different and unique to the person but I don't think I have any favourites.

53. Least favourite words?

When writing straight smut I get uncomfortable with certain words people use to describe the female anatomy other then that no 🤷‍♀️

54. Do you usually like what you write?

Yeah! And if I don't, I'll change it until I like it before posting it 😂

thank you @scaryaryanna for the lovely ask and thank you to anybody who stuck around to read everything ❤❤❤❤❤

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ao3feed-safeklance · 5 years

Text

Tanned Skin and Red Burns

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OZLJpG

by Fukuro_City_Writes

Words: 20, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M, Multi

Characters: Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Adam (Voltron), Lotor (Voltron), Pidge (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron)

Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OZLJpG

#ao3feed #fanfic #voltron #klance

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ficrecsforklaine · 5 years

Note

Can you rec any older!Kurt and younger!Blaine fics?

Sure! Here you go! Enjoy!

Sometimes Goodbye Is A second Chance by joycie89 [FFN] (37,893 words rated Mature)

Blaine is Amish. He loves his family and his culture but they are not accepting of his recently-revealed homosexuality, leading him to make the very hard decision to leave his community at the age of 17. AU, GKM-fill, Klaine.

Back to the Start by missbeizy [AO3] (20,657 words rated Explicit/NC17)

Arranged marriage AU where Kurt, a NYC fashion designer, loses his husband, moves back to Lima to recover/take care of his dad, and is paired up for remarriage with Blaine, who is a senior at McKinley.Warnings: Kurt is 26, Blaine is 18, so age difference. OC character death. A lot of talk about grief. Some unhealthy coping, as well as some not-so-healthy sexual interaction related to those issues. Nothing too heavy, IMO, but consider yourself warned.

There’s no such place by pene [AO3] (32,110 words rated Explicit/NC17)

When Kurt lost the things he loved the most, he hid himself away from the world - until the night Blaine crashed into his life.

This is an AU. A snowbound cabin romance. And a story where Kurt and Blaine never met, until they did.

It’s Not Babysitting by anxioussquirrel [AO3] (88,234 words rated Explicit/NC17)

AU, present time. Kurt Hummel is 28 and has been living in New York for ten years now. He has a good job, nice apartment and two best friends anyone could wish for: Sebastian, a snarky lawyer, and Cooper, a workaholic investment specialist. What he doesn’t have is luck in relationships. But then Blaine, Cooper’s 17-year-old brother comes to NY to spend the summer. He turns out to be gorgeous and quickly develops a huge crush on Kurt…

Where Words Fail, Music Speaks by JonasGeek[AO3] (115,079 words rated Teen&Up - Explicit) [series with 2 fics]

Rachel’s brother, Blaine, is in a band and this summer they are headed to California for a Band Slam competition. Which can only mean one thing, road trip! The band invites Rachel and Kurt along. Things seem to be going nowhere for Kurt in the way of love, but with new found friendships and awesome tunes, will it all be worth the wait?

A Gift In Every Sense of the Word by Klainecentric [AO3] (39,789 words rated Explicit/NC17)

Based on the anonymous Glee Kink Meme prompt:

Cooper, as a coming out present to his little brother, convinces his friend Kurt to suck Blaine off.

Blaine didn’t think he would ever even get to kiss a boy before going to college, never mind getting a blowjob from a boy who looks like Kurt. He’s so overwhelmed that he comes embarrassingly quick. Kurt feels bad for Blaine, and giving head makes him horny, so he decides to get Blaine hard again and ride him.

Blaine is 17. Kurt is in his mid 20s.

Don’t Know Much About History by Kurt Countertenor[S&C] (24,962words rated Mature) [PDF]

Kurt is a young professor of history, and Blaine is a freshman in his class. When the two begin to have feelings for each other, they find themselves torn between what they want and the university rules on student-professor relationships.

Make You Feel My Love by MrsCriss2012 [AO3] (110,619words rated Mature)

AU. Blaine is seventeen, and never been kissed. Kurt is 27, and trapped in a loveless relationship. A chance encounter sets both on a path that doesn’t run smoothly, but takes them places they never imagined.

La Petite Mort by daltoneering [AO3] (6,657 words rated Explicit/NC17)

Blaine finally feels like he knows who and what he is, and wants to find out what it means to be submissive. But when he meets Kurt at a BDSM club, he discovers he may be in for a lot more than just a quick demonstration.

The Dumbing Down Of Love by JustGidget[FFN] (36,126 words rated Mature)

“The butterflies in his stomach had been lying to him and it was only in that instant that he realized it. He wondered just how long his traitor brain had been duping him. All he was sure of was that what he was beginning to feel for Blaine was very, very dangerous.” AU. Klaine. age difference. older!Kurt.

#klaine fanfiction #age!gap #older!kurt #Anonymous #reply post #download link included

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kitlcuis · 6 years

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[ mitch grassi, demiboy, flexible pronouns, 20 ] SEDATED by HOZIER? whenever i hear that song, it reminds me of CHRISTOPHER 'KIT' LOUIS. maybe because they’re ETHEREAL but also ABSTRACTED. they’ve been living at mulberry apartments since SEPTEMBER of 2018 in APARTMENT 203 and have 1 ROOMMATE.

tws – substance use/abuse, toxic relationships, & v brief mention of homophobia

here is darling kit. he’s slightly more of a mess than his sweet little face may give off and i hope you accept a bit of chaos here because… kit does not come quietly! anyways!! also this is a lot longer than i intended so skip to the bottom if you’d like a SUMMARY

hails from one of the northern states on the west coast. he grew up in a strict religious household which felt stifling and limiting from as early as age 4 when he had to wear a bowtie to easter mass when he wanted to wear one of the cute flowery bonnets the girls got to wear

christopher had a very rigid childhood for this reason. his family lived comfortably but it was only perfect on the surface. underneath the glamour of the picturesque family unit there were cracks – splintering shards that would eventually drive a wedge between the louis parents and their only child

kit knew pretty early on that he wasn’t straight – ironically enough, getting the idea from all the anti-gay rhetoric from the church. it gave him the keywords he needed to uncover things like homosexuality and genderfluidity. he also knew to keep it quiet and kept himself securely closeted

figured it was meant to be a secret – kind of like the secret affair his father was having! or the secret gambling problem his mother was so desperate to hide and blamed on faulty record keeping!

basically, the crux of kit’s childhood is that it sucked and he never felt like he got to be a kid. he was smothered.

kit’s first breaking point came at a young age. he had a childhood friend from church who he had gotten super close to. this friend was very whimsical and sweet – flamboyant some would say but hey! they were children!!! kit was very amazed by this friend’s ability to just BE HIMSELF!

his parents, however, were less amazed and especially as the two grew to be preteens and stayed just as close (maybe even sharing an innocent kiss as friends), they got more and more concerned. so concerned, in fact, that eventually, they insisted kit end the friendship. it was devastating, especially since this friend had been teaching kit so much about self expression and confidence and just :’(

but he listened and buried his anger, saving it for only a few short years later when it would all come to a head.

kit had his first “real” romantic kiss at age 14. the boy was older and cooler and kit knew he couldn’t go back into the closet after that. he brought that boy home a few more times, half hoping to get caught just so he wouldn’t have to come out. eventually things fizzled out but kit had had a taste and now he wanted MORE

more boys made their rounds through the louis residence and it wasn’t until kit was doing a little more than kissing that he was finally caught. it was as bad as he’d expected, the shouting match. what he HADN’T expected, though, was the ultimatum. stop this ‘gay business’ or move out. he was only a teen still? couldn’t they even do that, legally?

luckily – or unluckily as it would be – kit had met someone older who had a place of his own in california and he offered to let kit come and stay with him. they’d start dating and kit would even say this was his first love.

it wasn’t some fairytale though – it never was. showing his love for his new beau became sexual extremely fast and would start including doing favors for his friends and coworkers too. kit let it happen because at least he was free of his parents and living with someone who loved him

he put up with three years of increasingly toxic conditions in his relationship with his boyfriend essentially capitalizing on his willingness to please, not knowing that would soon run out.

if you stifle kit too completely, he breaks and that’s what happened.

one day, he snapped, he took his things and left. he was completely homeless and streetbound but he was living life according to his own choices for once and it came with a kind of thrill that kept kit motivated!

he turned to sex work of his own volition, finding it as a stable way of making money, despite the dangers involved. it was all he felt he was qualified for and he was good at it. without need of any authority over him, he made decent money at it and started skulking around seedy bars in the outer LA area for men who would take him home for a good time

that’s where he met his now-boyfriend, julian. before julian, kit would’ve sworn he’d never find someone, never get a crush, never fall in love. one night and kit was questioning everything. a few more and he was hooked harder than any drug could ever get him.

eventually, though, him and julian did fall in love and they’ve been dating ever since. he stopped his sex work entirely & the drugs julian enjoyed slowly became a part of their time together and that’s still very true today. they’re kind of as dependent on it as they are on each other.

kit knows most things about julian’s past and julian knows most things about kit’s past. they’re kindred spirits, both getting their starts way too young and both finding hardships along the way. kit has never smiled as much, laughed as much or loved as much as he has since finding julian so while jules will swear up and down that he’s ruined kit forever by getting him hooked on all kinds of substances, kit thinks julian’s saved his life

they were following one of kit’s elated impulses and taking a road trip from coast to coast and back again on all the money they had left in this run down little jeep station wagon thing when it broke down in north carolina

they got it up and running enough to make their way up to baltimore but then the jeep gave up completely. they sold it for parts and that + julian’s drug money was enough to pay a deposit on an apartment of their own

so now they’re here!!

they’re living on the bare minimum / mattress on the floor type of struggling but they are in love and that’s what matters right?

SUMMARY – a rough childhood and an even rougher teendom eventually led to one toxic ex boyfriend and a life on the streets. kit found renewed purpose with his now-boyfriend julian who also happened to turn him into a gleeful little druggie along the way. living with no money but a whole lot of love. okay now

PERSONALITY – enigmatic might be a good way to describe kit. he’s fidgety and easily startled, a very frail little thing. he’s off in his own head a lot of the time and he genuinely has a hard time focusing on things. VERY guarded in that you won’t get a peep out of him and his personal life unless you want to talk about his boyfriend who he’ll wax poetic about for hours if you let him. otherwise, he’s social and chatty but about nothing of substance, flirty but with no intention of following through and impulsive to a fault. he’ll make you think you’re his best friend for the evening but not remember you in the morning. only those super close to him get to see a sweet vulnerable side to kit, the rest see this feigned alluring aura and nothing more

PLOTS

party friends – a MUST

some loose circle of friends in general for him and julian!

a good influence ( gonna be a song connection eventually )

protective friends ( though misguided bc he won’t really listen )

smoking buddies

honestly i think it’d be funny if someone didn’t like him bc he flirted with their boyfriend

and alternatively, the boyfriend he flirted with

someone with an instant crush / love at first sight bond with the very taken kit

someone who can develop into his best friend

aaaaaand people him nd julian kinda corrupt. they’re a chaotic force as a duo so rip

oh ig eventually he’s gonna try to make cash the only way he knows how so thats… a possibility

if YOU have any ideas, lemme know!

#soundintro #soundooc #this is a reposted mess #so if anything is off lemme know

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lavellington · 6 years

Text

My Top 10 DGHDA fics

Since this lil fandom is expanding with the advent of season 2 (and since we are all still REELING from yesterday’s phenomenal episode oh my GOD), I thought I’d rave a bit about my favourite fics. I know if you’ve been in the fandom any length of time then you’ve already read all of these, but rec lists never hurt, especially with new faces popping up!

Please note, this is a list of my personal favourites, and therefore is very biased in favour of Brotzly, and very biased in a multitude of other ways. There are lots of other great fics on ao3 as well, I’m just very otp-focused.

(Also, I decided I wasn’t going to have anyone on here twice, but I have both inky and neko on here twice because they have written such a high number of iconic fics)

1. Universal Truths by inkyfishes ( @inkyfishes )

Author Summary:

“...Very long story short, until yesterday, it hailed as my greatest case: one of deception, danger, double-crosses, and an all-round perversion of high emotion and - dare I say it - romance…”

What do horses, robots, time-travel, false identities, alternate universes, flagrant homosexuality and the University of Cambridge have in common? Probably not much, but it's all Todd Brotzman has to work with after he falls through a hole in space and time, arriving at St. Cedd’s College for the first day of Svlad Cjelli (not yet notoriously known as Dirk Gently). There's a case to be solved, but it refuses to start. For both Todd and Svlad, and Dirk and Farah, events unfold in exactly the way you'd expect at Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency.

(This work is canon-compliant as per the end of Season 1. It refers to canon set out in the two Dirk Gently novels, the Dirk Gently 2010 TV Series, the Dirk Gently Comics "The Salmon of Doubt" and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, but none of that is needed to understand the work.)

My gushing:

It’s a close call, since there is a lot of great stuff in this fandom, but this is my personal favourite Dirk Gently fic. The ambition and scope of this story absolutely blows my mind. It unites pretty much every form of Dirk Gently, from the original novels up to the most recent BBCA version which forms the main focus of the story, and its take on the characters is both original and convincing. Beautifully written, funny, sad, and with romantic tension that will knock your socks off. This is an epic journey.

2. The Dolphin Paradox by nekosmuse ( @nekosmuse )

Author Summary:

Having lost his job at the Perriman Grand, Todd takes a job selling vintage vinyl to unappreciative hipsters while trying to put his life back together. Dirk Gently is a somewhat regular customer. That is, until Dirk can fix the timeline and get Todd his memories back.

The Record Store AU that's not a Record Store AU.

My gushing:

I’m still so grateful to have been a part of the fandom while this was in progress. Waiting for the updates, which were phenomenal every time, and watching the story unfold, was such a blast. Even if you’re wary of AUs, I recommend you give this a try. The slightly different version of Todd is so interesting and the love story is so very sweet. Not to mention the plot is riveting and clever. Fandom classic, must read.

3. you can break a thing, but you cannot always afterward guide it into the shape you want by cosmicocean, princessparadox ( @cosmicoceanfic, @princessparadoxical )

Author Summary:

He does not think about home. The memories feel like they burn holes in his mind.

AU where every Blackwing subject is a changeling, except for one: an abducted fae, who will answer to no name but Icarus.

My gushing:

Dirk is a fae! This fic unites the sci-fi sensibilities of the first season with magic and mythology in a way that now feels kind of prophetic, given the events and tone of the second season. It’s gorgeously, gorgeously written, with an intense soulmate vibe that is counterbalanced wonderfully by top notch banter. All the characters shine so brightly in this, but powerful yet vulnerable Dirk is my favourite part. Frigging epic.

4. objects in mirror may be closer than they appear by sharlook

( @aceabed )

Author Summary:

You’re alone, with your arms wrapped tight around a pillow at god knows what time in the night, and there are tears running down your face because you can’t seem to stop thinking about it, not even in your dreams.

And then clutching your covers you get an idea.

(In which Dirk has nightmares about Blackwing, goes to Todd for help, and is really, really, really in love.)

My gushing:

This fic absolutely blindsided me, with the kind of writing that seems quiet and delicately wrought, but is simultaneously incredibly powerful and poignant. A wonderful portrayal of Dirk dealing with his traumas and anxieties, while being very in love with Todd. May make you cry. I have so much love for this story, and so much admiration for the prose. Achingly beautiful.

5. split the secret up by piggy09

Author Summary:

He asks if Dirk can hear it and Dirk just laughs, the sound reassuringly human.

Well, not reassuringly. Reassuringly would mean Todd had to be reassured.

It’s just – it sounds human. Which is good. Because Dirk is human. Definitely.

My gushing:

Fic in which the Blackwing subjects are not quite human. Featuring eldritch!Dirk. This story is beautifully, meticulously written, and very evocative and unsettling. Yet Dirk is still somehow the sweetest eldritch abomination I’ve ever heard of.

6. Blood Is Thicker Than Water (But You Know What's Even Thicker? Cookie Dough. Tastes Better, Too.) by DontOffendTheBees ( @dont-offend-the-bees )

Author Summary:

'“Dirk… you know how to make cookies, right?”

The detective glanced between Todd and the ingredients, brow furrowing. “Actually, I was rather hoping you did…”

Todd sighed. He was gonna need another beer. “Let’s Google it.”'

In which Dirk and Todd ill-advisedly try to bake cheer-up cookies for Farah at 3am, and maybe confront some feelings in the process. Fluffy, very lightly angsty anonymous prompt fill, rated teen for a spot of language and mild drunkenness.

My gushing:

I found it very difficult to pick one of Helen’s fics, but in the end I went with this, the first instalment of the baking series, because it is a gift (although I also highly recommend her big bang fic). The dialogue is insanely adorable, it’s perfectly in character, and it exactly satisfies my craving for sweet, domestic fluff. Rendered all the more plausible by the beautiful friendship we’ve seen between Todd, Dirk, and Farah in season 2. :’)

7. Piranha in the Stream of Creation by sarkywoman ( @sarkywoman )

Author Summary:

"We got tuned into each other's radio stations. Let's say that. I got to walk through life ending others and she got the patterns. But it's not all right. Sometimes we're muddled. I'm never sure if I'm doing the right thing. "

Role-Swap AU. Dirk is the holistic assassin, Bart the detective.

My gushing:

The summary above says it all, really. This is such an interesting premise, and I was so happy to see it so well-executed in this fic. Dirk and Bart are very different, and yet still somehow very in-character. A fascinating read from start to finish, and flips your initial ideas on their head in much the same way as the show. I love my holistic children in this story.

8. The Furthest City Light by nekosmuse ( @nekosmuse )

Author Summary:

Dirk Gently (as he's taken to calling himself) has spent most of his life in Blackwing custody. In that time absolutely nothing of any interest has happened. Instead, a good deal of not-very-good or possibly even very-bad things have happened. These mostly involved a number of people in white coats poking and prodding him while making him guess at numbers. Outside of these unwanted visitors, the vast majority of Dirk's time is spent alone. And then one day a technician leads Dirk into a room where a boy around his age sits behind a table, looking sullen and perhaps a little nervous. Dirk likes him immediately.

Alternate Meeting AU, in which 21 year old Dirk meets 20 year old Todd while still in Blackwing custody.

My gushing:

This story will pluck at your heartstrings, while simultaneously making you want to beat up Riggins even more than you probably already did. Young Dirk and Todd are so convincingly written here - just a tad more vulnerable, more raw than in the show, but still good for each other in so many ways. Dirk in particular will make you cry. Stunningly written as you would expect from neko.

9. A Pattern of Errors by coloursflyaway ( @coloursflyaway )

Author summary:

Dirk picks Todd up for a road trip he never planned to go on, with a red cabriolet and a bright smile and a thousand places to go. And although Todd doesn't know what he expected, he definitely gets more than he bargained for.

My gushing:

Beautiful multi-chapter road trip fic, featuring soft boys holding hands, emotional self-sabotage, and eventual declarations of love. Very calming, dreamy, and emotional.

10. Pray for the Thunder and the Rain by inkyfishes ( @inkyfishes)

Author Summary:

A Farah-centric slice of a possible future.

Everything has gone wrong. Everything is broken. Farah works through her anxiety whilst beginning their lives on the run. Her place in the universe is, as yet, undecided.

(Set immediately after the end of Season 1. Written before airing of Season 2.)

My gushing:

Farah Farah Farah!! A very convincing look at what might have happened post the clusterfuck ending of season 1. This fic is so beautiful and captures Farah’s voice WONDERFULLY, with some bonus Faranda just to make it perfect.

#dghda fic #dghda fic recs #brotzly #mine #my recs #fic recs #dghda #dirk gently #faranda #au fic #road trip fic #slow burn fic #i know i know i haven't got boring boring sex on here #but i already have two inky fics and i wanted some faranda in here because i love my girls #<3 this fandom #long post #lemme know if any links are broken or incorrect or what have you #yes this is what I have been doing instead of writing rip me

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ukdamo · 6 years

Text

KZ Mauthausen

One of mine, November 19th, 2013

It’s no sort of a boast to say, ‘I’ve been to a few concentration camps’. Opera houses; perhaps: art galleries; perhaps: concentration camps, hardly. It’s true nonetheless, I have visited a few concentration camps.

It’s not that that the camps hold a lurid fascination for me, or that I am impelled to visit and tick them off on a list. Concentration camps are not munros.

When I try to analyse my reasons for visiting, they multiply, become elusive, and I struggle to apprehend and organise them. They are definitely manifold. There is an historian’s interest – longstanding now - perhaps an integral part of my make up, inescapable. There’s also muted sense of obligation on my part, a sense of ‘ought to’. That sense pervades other aspects of my travel, too – it takes me to battlefields and war cemeteries wherever I find myself: USA, Turkey, Tunisia, France, Belgium, Russia. The ought to is, I think, a way of grappling with, and trying to understand big questions – questions about war, about sacrifice, about the deepest human motivators. Standing on the ground where things happened helps me focus my mind, offers me a degree of clarity, helps me draw out the physical threads of place and time and interweave them with the cognitive threads of what I know. It’s invariably humbling.

I have a sense, too, courtesy of those who deny the Holocaust (I think of David Irving, in particular), that the Shoah needs contemporary witnesses, people who have been, have seen, have been humbled and upset, and can testify to it.

There’s one more reason, which is more deeply personal: recognition that it could have been me. More: that it could still be me. This sense of personal involvement stems from being homosexual. When I say, ‘It could have been me’ I recognise that I always cast myself as a victim – never a perpetrator. And I always think I wouldn’t have survived.

In those camps where there is a book of visitors’ remarks, perhaps the most common entry is ‘Never again’. I think that an empty slogan. The Nazis didn’t invent genocide, though they industrialised and perfected it in ways that are so perverse that they call into question our shared humanity. But, if I speak of a shared humanity, I have always to pose the question – might I have been the one who slammed the Gaskammer door shut on someone else? I recall a German TV documentary where the teenage children of Holocaust survivors revisited the places their parents or grandparents had been so brutally treated. Sitting with them, sifting through photographs and documents, were German teenagers. One of the Jewish youngsters said, ‘I’m always scared that I will see the face of someone I recognise’. ‘So am I’, replied the German youngster. Yes. That captures it, perfectly. It is important to sift yourself. And some locations, because of their poignancy, or power, or pain, make that demand urgent and insistent.

As I noted above, I don’t believe in Never Again. I’ve lived through the Srenbrenica and Rwanda. Never Again is a cheap shot. Conventional piety. Wishful thinking.

I have no truck with it.

I believe in vigilance and respect…

I crossed from Germany into Austria in the late evening of October 19th, at Passau, where the rivers Inn and Ilz combine with the Danube. The Hitler family lived in Passau from 1892-4, moving there when Adolf was three.

My driving route took me along the right bank of the Danube, heading south east, towards Linz. A full moon was reflected in the river and, on the left bank, a sequence of picturesque villages with their churches and castles illuminated. I arrived in Linz a little before 9pm and headed straight to the hostel. It’s a purpose-built, post war edifice with clean 1950’s lines and interior spaces to match. The rooms, all en-suite, are impressively comfy and airy. It looked a very efficient set up. I slept well.

The following morning, when I drew back the curtain, the window was misted with condensation. Wiping it aside, I could see autumnal leaves outlined crisply against a cornflower white sky. That boded well for the day. After a good breakfast (a typical Austrian affair of cold meats, cheese, fruit, yoghurt, breads and cakes), I organised myself and went into town.

Linz is as lovely as you might expect a baroque town on the Danube to be. I spent the morning meandering, stopping off to admire churches and the architectural fancies that offered themselves up. The High Mass was drawing to a close when I got to the New Cathedral (a 19th CE Neo-Gothic build), so I sat quietly and waited for the dismissal, so I could then take a few photos without disturbing the service. There was a small choir – five or six voices – singing a glorious polyphonic mass setting.

As midday approached, I returned to the car, crossed the river, and followed the left bank. The Danube was actually blue, for once: generally-speaking it’s a mucky brown. Following the river downstream, Mauthausen is a bare 12 miles from Linz.

I was there in 20 minutes.

To get to the camp, you turn off the main road and drive through the village, climbing the valley side until you reach the ridge line.

The first thing you note when you park and get out is the view. It’s a beautiful situation – to the south lies village, the river and the Danube valley – lots of woodland and rolling hills with isolated houses and farms.

The camp looks like a granite-built fort. Its towers and retaining walls are imposing, not to say intimidating. It has permanence and power written all over it. Exactly as intended.

Mauthausen was a Grade III camp, intended to be the toughest environment conceivable for the incorrigible political enemies of the Reich. The Nazis intended that the intelligentsia of Europe come to Mauthausen and be worked to death. Its nickname among the staff of the Reichssicherheitshauptamt (Reich Security Main Office) was the Knockenmühle – the Bone Grinder. It was founded immediately after the Anschluss (1938) and was one of the last camps to be liberated.

The Bone Grinder… therein lies the key. Mauthausen was founded because of the adjacent granite quarry. Its stone had been used to pave the streets of Vienna: now it was used to build the camp itself (inmates transferred from Dachau) and then the grandiose Nazi monuments that glowered down on the subjects of the 1000 Year Reich. Some of its stone was used in the Congress Hall, and other buildings, of the Reichsparteitagsgelände (Nazi Party Rally Grounds), in Nuremburg, which I had left only the day before.

As the war progressed, and Germany secured direct and indirect control over more and more of Europe, the inmates became more diverse in their origins – to the Germans and Austrians were added Poles, Czechs, Hungarians, Spaniards, French, Greeks. Teachers, doctors, lawyers, trade unionists, socialists, Jehovah’s witnesses, homosexuals, Sinti and Roma, Jews, Russian (and other) prisoners of war, partisans from Yugoslavia: in their hundreds of thousands, they came to Mauthausen and its sub-camps and were worked to death in the quarries, or gassed, shot, hung. Estimates vary – but it is reasonable to believe that 320,000 people came to Mauthausen and its sub-camps. 75% of them didn’t survive. But death was profitable: in 1944, the camp turned a profit of 144 million Euros (at 2013 exchange rate).

When I came to Mauthausen I knew what to expect.

The first camp I ever visited was KZ Sachsenhausen. It lies to the north of Berlin, in the village of Oranienburg. I went there in a bitterly cold February, in 1996, to stand before the memorial to the homosexuals done to death by the Nazis, and leave a poem and some rainbow ribbons. That same trip, I went to the Haus am Wannsee, which hosted the conference convened in January, 1942 at which the planned extermination of European Jewry was formalised, organised and rubber stamped.

If Sachsenhausen brought tears, Wannsee brought an even icier chill – the hand of the perpetrators. Crunching up the drive towards that familiar building, sited on an idyllic lake (Heydrich intended it to be his home after the war), there was menace in the air.

In January 2005, I went to Prague with Peter, and intended to make a side trip to Theresienstadt. Peter said he’d skip that but then changed his mind and came with me. I think he regretted it: it was grim. As I knew it would be.

Almost exactly a year later, Gordon, Richard and I went to Krakow in Poland. Inevitably, we went to Auschwitz. It was a bitter winter, and the camp was a snow-covered expanse. It was easy, in the mind’s eye, to step back in time and imagine being there in the winter of 1944: the war lost but the exterminations more frantic than ever, the levels of degradation surpassing even the obscenities that preceded them.

As I walked towards the camp entrance at Mauthausen, I brought these experiences with me. I had an idea of what lay behind that forbidding perimeter. I didn’t expect to be surprised. I did expect to be upset – as I had been before. I expected to be rattled. To be provoked. To be made to squirm and feel uneasy.

The visit is self-directed, though an excellent audio-guide and a simple map make sure you don’t get lost.

Some of the camp buildings are no longer there: the SS barracks are gone: the site is now the memorial garden. Some barrack blocks are demolished but others remain to suggest what they were like when the camp was in use, others are exhibition spaces.

The prison, the execution rooms, the crematoria, are all extant.

The exhibition spaces are sensitively and comprehensively detailed, and give a genuine insight into the camp’s history. You are uncompromisingly confronted by the filthiness of Nazism. Each camp I have visited offers a unique experience, though each share common threads. Each has shown me something I hadn’t grasped until that point. At Mauthausen, it was the level of brutality dispensed to children. Looking at the youthful faces in inmate photographs was very disturbing.

The barrack blocks are stark: the triple bunks, kapos’ day rooms, and the washrooms stood empty and silent. The washrooms rattle me: they were favoured suicide locations for prisoners in extremis. I’ve seen photos of emaciated victims, strangulated on taps, pipes and even toilet fixtures.

I moved on. The triple bunks – top bunks were the most sought after – men topped and tailed – perhaps three per level, nine in all. The ones on the lower bunks were subject to the dysenteric effluvia of those on the upper ones. When a transport arrived, overcrowding became endemic.

In the prison block, you can see the ‘interrogation’ rooms, placed so the screams could be heard throughout the cell block. Below, in the basement, the exectution rooms. Prisoners were shot in the back of the neck (I saw such a set up at Sachsenhausen) or hung from a pulleyed hook, or gassed, or injected with petrol, or stripped, sprayed with water and left to freeze to death outside in the winter temperatures, or pushed off the quarry heights, or made to push others off the quarry heights and then shoved after them. Others were driven onto the electrified fence, or shot whilst penned into the garage courtyard. The bodies were cremated by prisoners who were themselves shot and subsequently cremated.

Mauthausen has two double ovens in situ and complete. They stand open-mawed and stark. Topf and Sons Ltd, produced them. They were manufacturers of industrial malting ovens for breweries, and commercial incinerators. Their chief executive saw a brilliant opportunity to expand operations and submitted designs for ovens that could operate continually as crematoria: the Nazis were more than happy to sign the contracts. As Topf’s letterhead said on their Auschwitz correspondence: Always ready to serve you…

This is what concentration camps are like.

This is why it’s important for me to come, and stand, and be upset, and remember.

At Sachsenhausen it was the crematorium that brought me close to dissolution.

At Auschwitz, the gas chamber.

At Theresienstadt, it was the sight of that vile slogan, glimpsed through a flurry of snow: ARBEIT MACHT FREI.

At Mauthausen, I felt more composed than I had expected. Reflective, quiet, brimful of thoughts and the clamour of the past but it was manageable and I felt able to ‘hold the ring’.

Having paid my respects at the memorial plaques, I left the camp proper and walked slowly through the memorial garden, towards the quarry. I made a mental note to pay my respects at these formal monuments on the way back, and continued to make my way to the stone works.

The well-made path gave out and I noted that I was now walking on the uneven setts and broken stones that led along the edge of the quarry, to the Death Steps.

I was alone by now. Everything was quiet, save for the crunch of my footfalls on the stones. Their unevenness threatened to throw me off balance, and I found myself looking at my feet and paying close attention to the sensation of planting my foot, feeling my ankle adjust to keep me upright.

As I type now, I can recall the sensations and sounds with absolute clarity.

As I got nearer and nearer to the Steps I began to feel genuinely unsteady; there was an upwelling of panic, a constriction in the chest, a stomach-churning gripe: I was unable to proceed. I feared that I was going to crumple to the ground and cry uncontrollably.

I stood stock still. I had to physically regain my balance. If there’d been something close at hand to grasp, I would have held on to it. But there wasn’t. I had to be still, gather my scattered self, recognise what was happening, compose myself, regain a measure of control.

When I’d done so, the sudden realisation dawned that I couldn’t walk down the Steps. I knew it would be sacrilegious to trip down those stairs in my Fitflops. But I also knew I had to get down. I had to stand in the quarry. This was the place where remembrance meant most.

To me, it felt an age, but it can only have been a few seconds: the solution was plain. I must go unshod. Bare-foot, I could do it.

It all felt OK then. After a deep breath the urge to cry and the unsteadiness left me. There was still the hypersensitivity, as I placed my feet on the uneven stones, but I could make my way to the Steps.

I had another lurch as I stood at the top. But I was able to quieten that, and sit down.

I unlaced my shoes and slipped them and my socks off. A young family was coming up: the kids were counting the number of steps aloud: Ein hundert sechs und achtszig – 186.

They passed by, making no remark.

The stones were cold but supportive.

Berries and twigs and clusters of fallen leaves were scattered on the granite steps, and I could feel their imprint as I descended. Down I went, where so many had gone before me, beaten and driven.

In the quarry itself, the workings reared up before me: a cliff. Nature had softened and reclaimed some of it. There were two great water-filled pits that reflected the autumnal leaves and blue sky. It was strangely reaffirming.

There were stone chips underfoot, as well as springy grass. I stooped to pick one up and carry away with me. Once home, I will put it alongside the brick-flake from Auschwitz, in plain view, where it will help me remember.

I walked for some time, occupied with my thoughts, wondering at the strength and unexpected immediacy of my upset at the top of the quarry. I remembered seeing ‘Bent’ – firstly a play by Martin Sherman (1979), later a film by Sean Mathias. It dealt with two gay men sent to Dachau in 1934. A scene in it had them working moving heavy stone blocks. There was some clue there to my distress.

And there was an incongruity: I remembered that beautiful polyohonic mass setting, 12 miles and 20 minutes away....

And I had been bare-foot once before. 20 + years ago, in Lourdes. I had make my way around the massive, verdisgris’d Stations there, It was my leave-taking from the Friars Minor. The circumstance was very different, but the motivation shared some ground. Standing bare-foot on the bare earth and experiencing things for what they actually are; there is comfort in this discomfort.

For me, Mauthausen had brought home again the reality. Not an issue of ‘there and then’ but ‘here and now’.

And so it must remain, to me.

Without vigilance and respect, I believe it will come again, and swallow our humanity.

#holocaust memorial day #remembrance #mauthausen #concentration camp #visit #damian's writing

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