Hello fandom. I understand that very few of you will care about my personal opinion, and that's fine, but I find it important enough to how I run my blog to share anyway.
In the future, all of my posts will simply be avoiding any mention of Wilbur wherever possible. His character is a major part of Tallulah's story, but I will be keeping him away from my blog as much as I can.
Typically, I would go with a "death of the author" approach and keep mentions of the character and cc more separate. However, the cc's alleged quest for money and fame changes that entirely. I will not be contributing to that. That's just my personal choice, so there should be no shame to anyone who chooses to separate the two, obviously.
I watched Shubble's video and I saw his response. In my opinion, it was terrible. The way he centralized his own "growth," minimized the pain he caused, and left the actual apology on the second page is revealing. His statement reminds me of some of the past emotional abuse I've experienced, so his content will no longer be welcome on my blog. I believe in the merit of archiving, so I will not be deleting any past posts, but he will no longer have any place in my death family related tags.
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[sees radiostatic vampire! AU] arrax, my darling, my dearest...marry me lol
ANYHOW i would kill for poor vox finding himself trapped in a Renfield-esque situation with a powerful vampire because he’s just Too Fucking Pretty — lmfao, he Would. getting sick imagining demon! Al seeing what happened to his bestie/future wife and going ballistic, spending literal centuries trying to find a way to free vox’s soul from his sire with (I can imagine) the very limited contact he can make as a demon in the human world, committing All of the atrocities and playing his cards right with the upper echelon in the hopes that he can somehow gain a corporeal form again; meanwhile, poor vox is wallowing so deeply in his religious guilt and missing his friend and What Has My Life Become that he writes off all of Al’s attempts to communicate with him from the afterlife as hallucinations/fever dreams from one too many nights at the bar. He *is* confused as to why he’s imagining his dead best friend with deer antlers and an ATROCIOUS haircut, like What was in that scotch, but those moments are the few and far between in his monotonous and miserably prolonged existence that he milks it for all he can (aka Alastor definitely stuck around into the late hours of the evening possessing any radio/mirror/hapless human bartender in vox’s vicinity so that he could listen to his love rant about his boss while shit-faced, whispering softly as to guide Vox to good potential targets)
Thing is, though: I can see Wannabe Dracula noticing Al’s presence — maybe because something something freaky demon magic stuff, maybe because he notices that hopeful sparkle and pure adoration in those lovely eyes once more — and oh, he is pissed; you see, he’s been dangling the promise of somehow allowing his familiar the chance to see his beloved once more as long as he swears his eternal servitude and devotion to him for decades now (he’s lying through his teeth and vox knows it deep down, but can’t bring himself to admit it) and that smiling fuckface is trying to intrude on HIS plans, take away HIS precious pet? so, he starts to tighten his control on Vox: running him ragged to lure and fetch him his meals, never letting him get proper rest and nutrients, and only worsening the issues by draining him of his blood until he’s tethering on the brink of death — it’s gotten so bad to the point where the very few (secret) human friends Vox has managed to make in his increasingly rare moments of freedom assume he’s an anaemic trapped in an abusive relationship and try their damnedest to get him help. The thing is: Vox can’t even bring himself to fully hate his sire or his possessive actions because if he closes his eyes and let’s his mind wander, he can pretend those cold lips against his neck as Alastor’s, that all of this is *worth it* for Alastor, and by God, does he hate himself for it...
So when that one fateful night happens, when he feels those warm arms again around his waist, protecting him from the midnight chill, and that wonderful, mellifluous voice crooning in his ear, Vox can’t help himself. Once the shock settles, he weeps and throws weak punches at the smiling face he’s been dreaming about seeing again for so, so long. Alastor sees his beloved, weak, disheveled and pale, those lovely eyes bruised and hideous bitemarks blemishing fair skin that vox has been feebly trying to hide with turtlenecks, and he sees red. Oh, how he wishes so badly to tear that wretched vampire limb from limb with his bare hands and present Vox the still-beating heart to consume on a silver platter — but he’s forced to push those lovely thoughts to the back of his mind, for another day, as, with Vox’s “schedule” and Alastor only having limited use of his physical form for now, the two of them are living on borrowed time. So he settles for pulling Vox in close once his love has had his fill of sobbing/cursing him out, gently brushing his dark curls from his eyes as he kisses the tears away, relishing in the bitter taste.
Vox lets himself be guided away to safety in the shadows of a dark alleyway — ironically, much in the same way he would lure his own prey — as Alastor trails hungry, possessive kisses down his throat, roughly pinning his wrists against the wall and tracing the letters of his name along any blue vein he comes across, slicing his own wrist to feed the poor thing before *properly* for the first time in months. His master’s furious demands reduced to nothing more than an annoying insect’s buzz in his ears, Vox throws his head back and allows himself to truly enjoy the moment as Alastor growls into the crook of his neck, sharp teeth grazing sweet skin but not biting, not *yet*.
“He wants you, the pathetic fool, he *craves* you, but he’ll NEVER have you — not when *I* saw you first, my dear...”
hey mk wanna know a fun fact. about an hour or so after you sent this in yesterday i got a followup ask from arrax about the vampire radiostatic au. geniuses truly do think alike huh love that for you guys! let me officiate the (un)holy union :thumbsup:
ANYWAY..... your mind is truly so very powerful. the idea of al trying to reach vox in any way he can, travelling through radio frequencies or hacking into on-earth radio broadcasts / possessing people around vox to talk to him so that he can reassure him and make sure hes doing alright ...... URHGH they make me SICK . al fucking HATES seeing vox broken down and chained to a master who treats him in such a way and if he had more power he'd no doubt kill vox's vampire sire, but as it is the amount of power lucifer granted to him simply wasnt enough to even assume a fully corporeal form, much less take on an ancient vampiric lord
and the scene in the alleyway URGHDHD... i absolutely cannot with them they are SO disgustingly in love. in this scenario i feel like alastor would probably end up striking a deal with charlie to help her with her hotel, so long as she helps convince her father to help out vox. does it work? probably, actually. when he finally amasses enough power to tear the old bastard apart, though, the first thing he does is give part of that demonic energy to vox and guide him to kill his sire himself
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post mortem w brocedes pls, nico as the dead one bcs im hurt no comfort like that xoxo
26. the post-mortem
There are three reasons why Lewis hates the circuit in Bahrain.
One. It’s the beginning of the season. Another one and another one. The championship used to start in Melbourne, under the sun, Lewis so jetlagged he could hardly think. It was better that way. All he can do is think in Bahrain, in the damp dark of the cockpit, and think and think and think. You don’t race by thinking.
Two. He’s won here more than anyone else. He lands in Bahrain, and then he wins, and then everyone talks about how he always wins, and then he has to talk about it too. It’s a curse, winning in Bahrain. It’s twenty-five points in the bag now and a party afterwards. He isn’t in the mood to party, but he can’t not, so he tucks himself beside the bar and sips whiskey until he’s allowed to go home.
Three. Nico Rosberg died here. The corner after the straight killed him, in a pile-up the likes of which the junior formulae see all the time, and then they named it after him. This was back in 2005, when the circuit was a little bit different and Lewis hadn’t raced there yet. He took Nico’s seat and won the thing the following year. It was the definite end of whatever was blossoming between them and the explosive finale of the inaugural GP2 season. Nico had already bagged the championship by then, anyway. No one talks about it anymore, least of all Lewis.
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An interesting thing about Mark Waid’s writing, his superhero writing in particular, is that, as an author whose career occurred in lock-step with the development of online fan culture, he very clearly gets social media on a fundamental level- the underlying dynamics, the applications, the cult-of-personality building, dirty-pool techniques like sock-puppetry and harassment campaigns, online bubbles, the whole shebang. However, he’s also, like, 60. Thus he’s written a number of works where the integration of social media into the plot rings true, but the wording and lingo used anytime you actually see a character using social media comes across as very “how do you do fellow kids.”
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not to get controversial but why is that an outrageous tag lmfao like why is it weird to request that something you presumably made not be read a given way? the majority of us who make content aren’t professionals creating shit for broader appeal; we��re just guys on the internet often drawing for ourselves and a small circle.
I’ve drawn step-siblings before that are semi-popularly paired off together and, while it’s not a case where they’re particularly close as such nor necessarily even aware of being related by marriage, it personally squicks me the fuck out so yes, in order to indicate that platonic affection I’ve drawn is not romantic, I will indeed explicitly ask that you don’t do this. go look at shit made by people who do view it through whatever (often) taboo lens you’re after and stay the fuck away from mine.
it’s not “thought policing” or whatever; you can do whatever you damn well please in your brain. it’s a request. I’m explicitly laying out what I meant with a given piece and this is especially important for things that are meant to be personal explorations of things via projecting onto a character or scenario.
I don’t like my shit tagged as “kin” either for similar reasons. “don’t like don’t look” applies to your ass as well, bozo.
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