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Summary: Transcript of episode 5 of Nathan Bateman's podcast, Trash Talk. (18+, very assorted sexual nonsense, and serious talk about the deaths of these characters, ~3.2k)
:: episode 8 here :: Trash Talk Masterlist ::
---
**Intro Music Fades Out**
Nathan: Welcome, to Trash Talk, a podcast about sex. What we like and why we like it. Part of the Blue Book network of entertainment.
Today’s topic is up to you.
I’ve warped reality to bring you our panel of distinguished, insane, very weird guests.
Let’s jump right in with something heavy. This one comes to us from an anonymous listener:
Hey Nathan! Long time Listener, first time submitter. In this day and age, there are a million people selling their ideas on masculinity. What do you guys think? What does it mean to be a MAN?
*silence*
Nathan: Now you’re all quiet? Before we started recording, none of you would shut the fuck up. Anselm? You never stop talking, what do you think?
Anselm: I think it’s as my Oma said, “Man muss die Dinge nehmen, wie sie kommen.”
Leto: Take things as they come.
Anselm: Precisely. I’ve made a habit of always taking things as they come, or taking come, or people coming. Scrutinizing someone about their gender is a tremendous waste of time.
Cecil: I love to get high and cry. My stepdad said that’s not manly…
William: Hey, I can tell you from experience, the men who tell you what’s ‘manly’ are usually psychopaths. They’re empty monsters and they want to turn you into one too. Don’t let them. It’s a road that’s really hard to get off of.
Richard: Focus on being human, not just a man. That means taking care of yourself, and the people you love.
Cecil: Yeah… okay… so, like, I should leave the waitress a tip at the Mexican place because she’s really nice and let me back in the restaurant, even though I almost burned the place down with my homemade flame thrower?
Richard: … … … yes.
Cecil: I wasn’t leaving her a tip because we had sex once and I don’t think you’re supposed to tip someone you’ve slept with. That’s like, etiquette.
Steven: I don’t think that’s how it works, mate. Just, um, if she’s into it, do the gentlemanly thing, but not like, in a misogynist way. If she doesn’t want you to open doors for her, then let her open the door for you.
Cecil: Huh?But she already works at the restaurant. She’s already inside. Open what door? I’m confused.
Nathan: You’re hopeless.
Leto: Start with the basics, Cecil. Pay attention when she talks, be honest about your emotions, and never cheat on her.
Cecil: I’m not that good at any of those.
Leto: I think there’s hope for you Cecil.
Cecil: *sounding truly touched* Thank you. That’s really cool coming from you. You’re my hair idol, and like, a man I want to be like.
Nathan: Anyone who kisses Leto’s ass is booted. Did I not say that before we started the record?
Cecil: See? That sounds manly, Nathan. You say something and shit gets done. I want that kind of authority.
Nathan: What you don’t have in authority, you make up for by bringing really really good weed.
Anselm: Everyone’s strengths are different, Cecil. You’re an adorable drug dealer, and handy with a gun.
Steven: A gun?
Anselm: Cecil here isn’t as timid as he seems, trust me. Made an absolute massacre of revenge at a sad little wedding in the town where we live.
Steven: I dunno if that’s manly, but it is fairly terrifying.
Nathan: Steven, here’s another listener question. What’s your most memorable sexual experience?
Steven: Come on, Nathan. I can’t go telling everyone that. She might be listening. I don’t wanna be rude.
Jake: I’ll tell it. Steven had sex at the Bronx Zoo.
Steven: Jake, you absolute wanker.
Marc: Yeah, that’s not even the most interesting part. They started making out in the reptile house and he had his hand down her pants in all the dark rooms.
Steven: If we’re spilling secrets, I’m telling everyone that you summoned my batons so some woman could fuck you with ‘em.
Marc: Jake lost a costume mustache in some guy’s ass once.
Nathan: In?
Cecil: I had sex in a Bucee Beaver costume. Actually, we were both wearing them.
Poe: Who’s Bucee Beaver?
William: His name’s not actually Bucee, but he is a beaver. It’s the mascot of a truck stop. Really famous in America.
Poe: I didn’t understand most of those words. Like, almost none of them. My most memorable experience was sleeping with a being that had two consciousness. Consciousnesses? They were in two places at once.
Anselm: Like, your mouth and your ass?
Poe: No, one body was having sex with me and the other was downstairs cooking lunch. Then, the body I was with got tired, so they swapped, but it was still the same person.
Steven: You weren’t tired too?
Poe: Yeah, but it wasn’t like I was going to stop. I had a whole other body to satisfy.
Marc: My ex and I did it inside a pyramid once.
Steven: Excuse me? Why didn’t you share that little story before?
Marc: You wouldn’t approve, trust me. Plus, you only wanted to hear about the wedding night.
Steven: *dreamy voice* I love those stories. The only time I’ve ever known you to be romantic.
Nathan: That’s a great segue actually. On the topic of romance, an anonymous caller wants to know: what’s your perfect way to meet someone? What’s your approach?
As far as how I approach a woman, I’m famous and a billionaire.
But, I also live alone in the middle of nowhere. The only people I fly out here work for me. I don’t have a problem mixing work and sex, but some people make it complicated. I think it’s convenient.
For the right woman, though, I’d stop building vaginas into the female models.
Basil? What about you? Living in the city, young, you must meet interesting people.
Basil: I don't get out much. I don't really talk to except for Basil. Not me, Basil. The stuffed monkey, Basil.
Nathan: I hope that's not your opening line.
Basil: I never leave my apartment actually. Not since this happened to my face.
Santiago: Women love scars, man. You've got that mysterious thing going on.
Basil: You think?
Santiago: You'd be surprised. If you let yourself get out there, you'd definitely do very well.
Basil: Sometimes I talk to women online, but I don't know if I can meet someone on the outside without a paper bag over my head.
Santiago: Okay, definitely don't do that.
Basil: How do you meet someone special?
Santiago: It’s kind of old fashioned, but I like to go out and meet people. A bar or a party. I like that thrill of seeing someone from across a room. Making eye contact. Having a conversation where you have to lean in close because the music’s loud.
Jonathan: It’s so tiring to go out all the time, though. I’ve tried all the apps. It’s a mess out there.
Santiago: I don’t even bother with those.
Jonathan: You probably don’t have to. I’m sure it’s easy for you to pick up anyone you want. The apps are almost entirely younger women who want to call you daddy, or women with as much baggage as I have.
Santiago: You’re not interested in either of those things?
Jonathan: I’m very turned on by both. Therein lies the problem.
Anselm: I see no problem. If you want sex, there it is. If you want a relationship, then have one.
Jonathan: *uncomfortable* It’s not that simple.
Anselm: Why not?
Jonathan: … … uh… …
Anselm: I have absolutely no patience for people getting in their own way. Problems should be ended through decision or gunfire. It does no good to ignore them.
Nathan: I don’t know about that. You can learn a lot about someone by picking apart their issues and insecurities.
Anselm: Yes, mind games are fun, but you don’t want to play them with your one and only love.
Nathan: Agree to disagree. I want a partner who can challenge me.
Santiago: You are the challenge. Nothing’s simple with you, don’t worry. All I’m saying is that meeting people in person is way better than online.
Jonathan: I guess I could try it Anselm’s way. If I have a one night stand with a woman I could try to make it more than one night. Dinner or something.
Anselm: Something? Please use a more enticing word.
Jonathan: I’m not like you, Anselm. I don’t have a whole house dedicated to sex. My imagination’s not that good.
Anselm: Well, if you need advice, just text one of us. We’re all happy to help.
Nathan: Have more confidence, man. Plenty of women are into that absent minded professor thing. It’s right up there with men in uniform.
Jonathan: I just wish I could start over, you know?
Nathan: Like, be a virgin again? You couldn’t pay me enough money to do that. Actually, we have a listener question about how we would feel, being someone’s first time.
Jonathan: My first time was… not sexy. I didn’t know what I was doing at all. I hadn’t even really seen porn. She had to basically tell me what to do every step of the way, so I thought that’s what sex was for like, ten years.
Anselm: My first time was in an alpine meadow. The cows kept coming over to see what the fuss was about. Curious creatures. I think it gave me a fetish about milk for awhile.
Victor: I have that too.
Anselm: As for being someone’s first. I would be honored. There would be fanfare, perhaps a band and a party afterward.
Nathan: I don’t like to admit fear, but I think taking someone’s virginity is more terrifying than the singularity.
Santiago: I’ve been someone’s first. It’s really amazing, actually. I was nervous, don’t get me wrong, but I went slow and it was a really great weekend. I still meet up with her sometimes, if I’m going through that part of the world.
Marc: I was with a woman who didn’t tell me she was a virgin until we were in bed, getting undressed. It turned out okay, but I wish she’d told me before. I would’ve done something special.
Santiago: Like what?
Marc: I don’t know. Made dinner at home, lit some candles. Put a big, soft blanket on the bed. Maybe made sure the bathtub was ready for afterward. I tried to make up for it by eating her out before and after.
Santiago: I’m pretty sure she’s happier with the oral sex than a candle. What about you?
Blue: If it’s a girl’s first time, I try to make it good. It’s a thrill, I won’t lie. I give her something nice afterward. A new dress, or her own number at the club.
Poe: If you had to pick someone at this table to be your first, who would it be?
Blue: Laurent maybe? I like that dirty Frenchman thing he has going on.
Poe: Anselm?
Anselm: I would choose you, Poe, obviously.
Nathan: Why obviously?
Anselm: Jealousy does not become you, Nathan. Look at Poe. Dashing, gallant, and sexually, I can tell that he lives to serve.
Poe: … is that a compliment?
Steven: I’d pick you, Anselm. I like the adventure of it.
Nathan: *snort laughs* He’ll give you an adventure all right. He’ll adventure you right into dressing up in an insane outfit and letting him demolish you in some weird role play. Ask me how I know.
Steven: *genuinely asking* How do you know?
Nathan: That was sarcasm, dude. I know because I’ve been there.
Anselm: And a riot of a time it was. I’ve never enjoyed a traditional Midsommar celebration more!
Nathan: Look, we’re almost out of time and- hey- Atreides, quit checking your watch. I told you this would be a solid 60 minutes.
Leto: *sighing* It was a text, okay? It’s a… listener question.
Nathan: This isn’t live, so the only way you’re getting a question this second is if one of these chucklefucks is texting you right now, behind my back.
Leto: Yeah. Huh. I always forget you’re smarter than you look.
Nathan: Go hump a barbed wire fence.
Leto: Do you want to hear the question or not?
Nathan: Go ahead.
Leto: Death. The question is about death. This anonymous person posits that some of us receive an untimely death in our universes.
*awkward silence, throat clearing*
Leto: Nathan?
Nathan: I don’t know, dude. We all have complicated lives to begin with so why would our deaths be any easier?
Leto: But you know more than you’re saying.
Nathan: *angry* What do you want, Leto? You want me to say there’s some alternate dimension where you have a family that loves you and when you get murdered, they wage some kind of war across the universe?
Leto: No, that would be ridiculous.
Nathan: *raises his voice* Do you want to hear that a fucking meteorite crashes into Earth and kills Anselm?
Leto: Nathan, calm down.
Nathan: That Marc, Steven, and Jake never get an ending at all?
Leto: Nath-
Nathan: *sounding a little insane* Why can’t we just live in the here and now? Huh? Who the fuck asked about death? WHO?
*silence*
Leto: *quietly* What happens to you, Nathan?
Steven: Mate, ‘s alright. We’re all of us alive and well here. You can tell us.
Nathan: *quietly* None of you gets it. I don’t think most of us have death in common. Actually, we have something a lot worse that runs through every one of our lives. We all go straight into situations where we know we could die, where we probably will. That’s the thread that binds us. Not curly hair or this nose or our eyes. We’re all so fucked up.
Richard: I don’t do that. Really. I don’t put myself in danger.
Nathan: You work with death-row inmates.
Richard: Yeah, maybe you make a good point.
Basil: I didn't ask to get struck by lightning, but Nathan's right. I really lost it afterward.
Victor: If I may interject, I know a fair bit about death and life. It’s my entire existence actually. Fear of death is natural. I have found, however, that one is only truly afraid of death is one feels they haven’t done enough living.
Perhaps, like me, you feel you’ve contributed to humanity, but you, yourself, have nothing to actually show for it. With egos as big as ours, that’s a difficult conclusion to reach.
Nathan: I wasn’t trying to create life through artificial intelligence for humanity, Victor. It was just *sigh* … it felt-
Victor: Inevitable.
Nathan: Yeah.
Victor: The burden of intellect.
Cecil: Yeah.
Nathan: You feel the burden of intellect?
Cecil: … … … What are we talking about?
Marc: Hey, it’s not the burden of intellect or whatever. It’s that we’re all kind of control freaks who have zero control over our own lives.
Steven: He’s right. Feels to me I’m just a character in a story sometimes, being pulled this way and that. This job. That job. Living here. Living there. Trousers on. Trousers off.
William: You’re all correct, I think, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying.
Steven: Trying what?
William: To do what we can, however insignificant it feels to us.
Poe: Nothing, and no one, is insignificant. I believe that with my whole heart.
Jonathan: Nathan, the kind of questions you’re having, they’re a lot like the ones I debate in my work. They’re important, yes, but remember, you still have to eat meals. Go to the bathroom. Sleep. Life goes on. Time keeps moving.
Nathan: I get your point, but it doesn’t. Not when you’re all here. We’re kind of out of time and space.
Leto: So, when you told me this would only be an hour?
Nathan: It’s actually infinity. Or it’s nothing. There’s kind of no difference around this table. Besides, talking to you feels like torture for eternity, so what do you care?
Leto: *mumbles* I hate you in every universe.
Anselm: So, in a way, Nathan, you’re saving all of us, simply by having us as guests on your little pod-cast.
Nathan: It’s just one word. Podcast.
Anselm: Pod-cast
Nathan: Podcast
Anselm: Pahd-cahst
Nathan: Just say it quickly. Podcast.
Anselm: Oh what the devil do I care what it’s called? I simply enjoy being here. I’m grateful to have met all of you.
Leto: I have to admit, it’s very interesting.
Victor: Yes, I don’t feel quite so alone anymore.
Basil: Me either.
Anselm: Coincidentally, what does happen to you?
Nathan: I get stabbed at my house by an ai woman I made myself.
Anselm: *sound of gun cocking* That is unacceptable! Where is she?
Nathan: Put that away. You can’t fix it like that.
Anselm: I think you’ll find that I can.
Santiago: Here, let me.
*sound of gun being yanked away, magazine and bullet ejecting*
Santiago: Here’s question: if you could fix anything in your universe, what would it be? I’d have figured out a way to go back and get the millions of dollars I left in the Andes mountains.
Marc: I would’ve introduced myself to Steven and Jake a long time ago.
Steve: Cheers, Marc I would’ve done the same.
Leto: I would’ve spent more time with my father.
William: I never would’ve joined the fucking Army.
Richard: I would’ve asked that girl out in high school, the one I had a crush on for years.
Jonathan: I can’t even pick. Too much to choose from.
Victor: My friend, we’re drinking from the same teapot of shame.
Laurent: I should’ve finished art school.
Cecil: I wish I hadn’t told everybody that the Taco Bell near my house gave me explosive diarrhea because then people stopped going there and it closed. God. I really miss that Taco Bell.
Santiago: Why did you lie about something like that?
Cecil: It wasn’t a lie. I just wish I hadn’t said anything out loud. Then, I’d still be able to get a chalupa supreme in under five minutes.
Anselm: Well, I live my live with zero regrets. Geschehen ist geschehen. What’s happened is happened. Or, as I like to say, onto the next hole.
Nathan: That’s gross. I get what you’re saying, though. Time ever only moves in one direction. Although, technically, I could use the machine to go back in time, but-
Leto: What?
Nathan: I mean, I could probably-
Leto: Hey, could you bring me back to a very specific night about two years ago?
Nathan: Why?
Leto: There was this woman-
Nathan: I’m not interfering with the space time continuum just so you can get laid.
Jake: What about me? I got a look at Jonathan’s ex wife and I’d like to take her for a ride in my cab, so to speak.
Nathan: This isn’t a crossover event.
Poe: Can I use it to make a teeny-tiny little adjustment and never join a bunch of drug runners? I’d like to retcon that whole thing.
Nathan: There’s no way you were in a drug gang. That’s obviously a lie. You’re a goody two shoes.
Poe: *under his breath* I had a bad boy phase.
Nathan: Sure you did, Poe, and I’m a big, blue, omniscient alien who can control matter with my mind. Whatever.
I think we’ve stretched the limit of all of us being in one room. I have to start putting you back in your universes or shit might start to break permanently.
Doing this is the most fun I have, so, you know, thank you for sending in your questions.
I think I should get us all chalupas to celebrate.
Poe: What’s a chalupa?
Cecil: You’re gonna love it!
Anselm: I’m going to call you my little chalupa from now on.
Nathan: Until next time, I’m Nathan Bateman. Thank you for listening, thank you for subscribing, and please, if Anselm Vogelweide ever asks you to put on a white dress and a flower crown, and to treat his dick like a may pole, please keep in mind that the tea he gives you afterward is definitely hallucinogenic.
**Outro Music Fades Up**
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I love every moment of this so badddddddddddddddd I can't even pick my favourites. If I pasted in all my favourite lines I would just end up writing the whole fic again. Instead - a list:
Cecil being a weirdo (with good intentions!) about tipping a waitress that he's slept with
Anselm living in the same town that Revenge for Jolly! took place in - that's fully just canon now
the Moon Boys all snitching on each other like that one episode of Friends. Steven getting handsy in the reptile house! Marc having fun with the batons! Jake losing his fake mustache!!!! I can't!!!
of course Santi likes meeting people at bars. He has the perfect mix of confidence and hotness to make pulling a date at a bar a breeze
Anselm doesn't have any time for Jonathan's shit!!
also, I love that Anselm would throw a party after helping someone lose their virginity. It's very sweet!
the turn to the serious is so perfect and sad. So many of them have bad endings (or no ending, for the Moon Boys) and of course Nathan isn't handling it well
trust Cecil to break the tension! Buddy, why do you still want to go to the Taco Bell that gave you explosive diarrhea??
Poe's past definitely needs a retcon! Did you read the novel about it? It was the most awkward thing, trying to keep him as a good guy while also having him join the spice runners. They did the best they could but it just didn't work
This was incredible and I laughed out loud in so many places! I am absolutely going to read this again. I want to print it out and tack it on my wall so I can look at it whatever. Thank you so much for putting it out there!!!
I never read 'Free Fall.' I'm usually all about completion-ism, but it doesn't seem like my vibe. I get what you mean about trying to play both sides, Poe participated in drug running but is also a good guy. It's a bummer it didn't fully succeed!
Summary: Transcript of episode 5 of Nathan Bateman's podcast, Trash Talk. (18+, very assorted sexual nonsense, and serious talk about the deaths of these characters, ~3.2k)
:: episode 8 here :: Trash Talk Masterlist ::
---
**Intro Music Fades Out**
Nathan: Welcome, to Trash Talk, a podcast about sex. What we like and why we like it. Part of the Blue Book network of entertainment.
Today’s topic is up to you.
I’ve warped reality to bring you our panel of distinguished, insane, very weird guests.
Let’s jump right in with something heavy. This one comes to us from an anonymous listener:
Hey Nathan! Long time Listener, first time submitter. In this day and age, there are a million people selling their ideas on masculinity. What do you guys think? What does it mean to be a MAN?
*silence*
Nathan: Now you’re all quiet? Before we started recording, none of you would shut the fuck up. Anselm? You never stop talking, what do you think?
Anselm: I think it’s as my Oma said, “Man muss die Dinge nehmen, wie sie kommen.”
Leto: Take things as they come.
Anselm: Precisely. I’ve made a habit of always taking things as they come, or taking come, or people coming. Scrutinizing someone about their gender is a tremendous waste of time.
Cecil: I love to get high and cry. My stepdad said that’s not manly…
William: Hey, I can tell you from experience, the men who tell you what’s ‘manly’ are usually psychopaths. They’re empty monsters and they want to turn you into one too. Don’t let them. It’s a road that’s really hard to get off of.
Richard: Focus on being human, not just a man. That means taking care of yourself, and the people you love.
Cecil: Yeah… okay… so, like, I should leave the waitress a tip at the Mexican place because she’s really nice and let me back in the restaurant, even though I almost burned the place down with my homemade flame thrower?
Richard: … … … yes.
Cecil: I wasn’t leaving her a tip because we had sex once and I don’t think you’re supposed to tip someone you’ve slept with. That’s like, etiquette.
Steven: I don’t think that’s how it works, mate. Just, um, if she’s into it, do the gentlemanly thing, but not like, in a misogynist way. If she doesn’t want you to open doors for her, then let her open the door for you.
Cecil: Huh?But she already works at the restaurant. She’s already inside. Open what door? I’m confused.
Nathan: You’re hopeless.
Leto: Start with the basics, Cecil. Pay attention when she talks, be honest about your emotions, and never cheat on her.
Cecil: I’m not that good at any of those.
Leto: I think there’s hope for you Cecil.
Cecil: *sounding truly touched* Thank you. That’s really cool coming from you. You’re my hair idol, and like, a man I want to be like.
Nathan: Anyone who kisses Leto’s ass is booted. Did I not say that before we started the record?
Cecil: See? That sounds manly, Nathan. You say something and shit gets done. I want that kind of authority.
Nathan: What you don’t have in authority, you make up for by bringing really really good weed.
Anselm: Everyone’s strengths are different, Cecil. You’re an adorable drug dealer, and handy with a gun.
Steven: A gun?
Anselm: Cecil here isn’t as timid as he seems, trust me. Made an absolute massacre of revenge at a sad little wedding in the town where we live.
Steven: I dunno if that’s manly, but it is fairly terrifying.
Nathan: Steven, here’s another listener question. What’s your most memorable sexual experience?
Steven: Come on, Nathan. I can’t go telling everyone that. She might be listening. I don’t wanna be rude.
Jake: I’ll tell it. Steven had sex at the Bronx Zoo.
Steven: Jake, you absolute wanker.
Marc: Yeah, that’s not even the most interesting part. They started making out in the reptile house and he had his hand down her pants in all the dark rooms.
Steven: If we’re spilling secrets, I’m telling everyone that you summoned my batons so some woman could fuck you with ‘em.
Marc: Jake lost a costume mustache in some guy’s ass once.
Nathan: In?
Cecil: I had sex in a Bucee Beaver costume. Actually, we were both wearing them.
Poe: Who’s Bucee Beaver?
William: His name’s not actually Bucee, but he is a beaver. It’s the mascot of a truck stop. Really famous in America.
Poe: I didn’t understand most of those words. Like, almost none of them. My most memorable experience was sleeping with a being that had two consciousness. Consciousnesses? They were in two places at once.
Anselm: Like, your mouth and your ass?
Poe: No, one body was having sex with me and the other was downstairs cooking lunch. Then, the body I was with got tired, so they swapped, but it was still the same person.
Steven: You weren’t tired too?
Poe: Yeah, but it wasn’t like I was going to stop. I had a whole other body to satisfy.
Marc: My ex and I did it inside a pyramid once.
Steven: Excuse me? Why didn’t you share that little story before?
Marc: You wouldn’t approve, trust me. Plus, you only wanted to hear about the wedding night.
Steven: *dreamy voice* I love those stories. The only time I’ve ever known you to be romantic.
Nathan: That’s a great segue actually. On the topic of romance, an anonymous caller wants to know: what’s your perfect way to meet someone? What’s your approach?
As far as how I approach a woman, I’m famous and a billionaire.
But, I also live alone in the middle of nowhere. The only people I fly out here work for me. I don’t have a problem mixing work and sex, but some people make it complicated. I think it’s convenient.
For the right woman, though, I’d stop building vaginas into the female models.
Basil? What about you? Living in the city, young, you must meet interesting people.
Basil: I don't get out much. I don't really talk to except for Basil. Not me, Basil. The stuffed monkey, Basil.
Nathan: I hope that's not your opening line.
Basil: I never leave my apartment actually. Not since this happened to my face.
Santiago: Women love scars, man. You've got that mysterious thing going on.
Basil: You think?
Santiago: You'd be surprised. If you let yourself get out there, you'd definitely do very well.
Basil: Sometimes I talk to women online, but I don't know if I can meet someone on the outside without a paper bag over my head.
Santiago: Okay, definitely don't do that.
Basil: How do you meet someone special?
Santiago: It’s kind of old fashioned, but I like to go out and meet people. A bar or a party. I like that thrill of seeing someone from across a room. Making eye contact. Having a conversation where you have to lean in close because the music’s loud.
Jonathan: It’s so tiring to go out all the time, though. I’ve tried all the apps. It’s a mess out there.
Santiago: I don’t even bother with those.
Jonathan: You probably don’t have to. I’m sure it’s easy for you to pick up anyone you want. The apps are almost entirely younger women who want to call you daddy, or women with as much baggage as I have.
Santiago: You’re not interested in either of those things?
Jonathan: I’m very turned on by both. Therein lies the problem.
Anselm: I see no problem. If you want sex, there it is. If you want a relationship, then have one.
Jonathan: *uncomfortable* It’s not that simple.
Anselm: Why not?
Jonathan: … … uh… …
Anselm: I have absolutely no patience for people getting in their own way. Problems should be ended through decision or gunfire. It does no good to ignore them.
Nathan: I don’t know about that. You can learn a lot about someone by picking apart their issues and insecurities.
Anselm: Yes, mind games are fun, but you don’t want to play them with your one and only love.
Nathan: Agree to disagree. I want a partner who can challenge me.
Santiago: You are the challenge. Nothing’s simple with you, don’t worry. All I’m saying is that meeting people in person is way better than online.
Jonathan: I guess I could try it Anselm’s way. If I have a one night stand with a woman I could try to make it more than one night. Dinner or something.
Anselm: Something? Please use a more enticing word.
Jonathan: I’m not like you, Anselm. I don’t have a whole house dedicated to sex. My imagination’s not that good.
Anselm: Well, if you need advice, just text one of us. We’re all happy to help.
Nathan: Have more confidence, man. Plenty of women are into that absent minded professor thing. It’s right up there with men in uniform.
Jonathan: I just wish I could start over, you know?
Nathan: Like, be a virgin again? You couldn’t pay me enough money to do that. Actually, we have a listener question about how we would feel, being someone’s first time.
Jonathan: My first time was… not sexy. I didn’t know what I was doing at all. I hadn’t even really seen porn. She had to basically tell me what to do every step of the way, so I thought that’s what sex was for like, ten years.
Anselm: My first time was in an alpine meadow. The cows kept coming over to see what the fuss was about. Curious creatures. I think it gave me a fetish about milk for awhile.
Victor: I have that too.
Anselm: As for being someone’s first. I would be honored. There would be fanfare, perhaps a band and a party afterward.
Nathan: I don’t like to admit fear, but I think taking someone’s virginity is more terrifying than the singularity.
Santiago: I’ve been someone’s first. It’s really amazing, actually. I was nervous, don’t get me wrong, but I went slow and it was a really great weekend. I still meet up with her sometimes, if I’m going through that part of the world.
Marc: I was with a woman who didn’t tell me she was a virgin until we were in bed, getting undressed. It turned out okay, but I wish she’d told me before. I would’ve done something special.
Santiago: Like what?
Marc: I don’t know. Made dinner at home, lit some candles. Put a big, soft blanket on the bed. Maybe made sure the bathtub was ready for afterward. I tried to make up for it by eating her out before and after.
Santiago: I’m pretty sure she’s happier with the oral sex than a candle. What about you?
Blue: If it’s a girl’s first time, I try to make it good. It’s a thrill, I won’t lie. I give her something nice afterward. A new dress, or her own number at the club.
Poe: If you had to pick someone at this table to be your first, who would it be?
Blue: Laurent maybe? I like that dirty Frenchman thing he has going on.
Poe: Anselm?
Anselm: I would choose you, Poe, obviously.
Nathan: Why obviously?
Anselm: Jealousy does not become you, Nathan. Look at Poe. Dashing, gallant, and sexually, I can tell that he lives to serve.
Poe: … is that a compliment?
Steven: I’d pick you, Anselm. I like the adventure of it.
Nathan: *snort laughs* He’ll give you an adventure all right. He’ll adventure you right into dressing up in an insane outfit and letting him demolish you in some weird role play. Ask me how I know.
Steven: *genuinely asking* How do you know?
Nathan: That was sarcasm, dude. I know because I’ve been there.
Anselm: And a riot of a time it was. I’ve never enjoyed a traditional Midsommar celebration more!
Nathan: Look, we’re almost out of time and- hey- Atreides, quit checking your watch. I told you this would be a solid 60 minutes.
Leto: *sighing* It was a text, okay? It’s a… listener question.
Nathan: This isn’t live, so the only way you’re getting a question this second is if one of these chucklefucks is texting you right now, behind my back.
Leto: Yeah. Huh. I always forget you’re smarter than you look.
Nathan: Go hump a barbed wire fence.
Leto: Do you want to hear the question or not?
Nathan: Go ahead.
Leto: Death. The question is about death. This anonymous person posits that some of us receive an untimely death in our universes.
*awkward silence, throat clearing*
Leto: Nathan?
Nathan: I don’t know, dude. We all have complicated lives to begin with so why would our deaths be any easier?
Leto: But you know more than you’re saying.
Nathan: *angry* What do you want, Leto? You want me to say there’s some alternate dimension where you have a family that loves you and when you get murdered, they wage some kind of war across the universe?
Leto: No, that would be ridiculous.
Nathan: *raises his voice* Do you want to hear that a fucking meteorite crashes into Earth and kills Anselm?
Leto: Nathan, calm down.
Nathan: That Marc, Steven, and Jake never get an ending at all?
Leto: Nath-
Nathan: *sounding a little insane* Why can’t we just live in the here and now? Huh? Who the fuck asked about death? WHO?
*silence*
Leto: *quietly* What happens to you, Nathan?
Steven: Mate, ‘s alright. We’re all of us alive and well here. You can tell us.
Nathan: *quietly* None of you gets it. I don’t think most of us have death in common. Actually, we have something a lot worse that runs through every one of our lives. We all go straight into situations where we know we could die, where we probably will. That’s the thread that binds us. Not curly hair or this nose or our eyes. We’re all so fucked up.
Richard: I don’t do that. Really. I don’t put myself in danger.
Nathan: You work with death-row inmates.
Richard: Yeah, maybe you make a good point.
Basil: I didn't ask to get struck by lightning, but Nathan's right. I really lost it afterward.
Victor: If I may interject, I know a fair bit about death and life. It’s my entire existence actually. Fear of death is natural. I have found, however, that one is only truly afraid of death is one feels they haven’t done enough living.
Perhaps, like me, you feel you’ve contributed to humanity, but you, yourself, have nothing to actually show for it. With egos as big as ours, that’s a difficult conclusion to reach.
Nathan: I wasn’t trying to create life through artificial intelligence for humanity, Victor. It was just *sigh* … it felt-
Victor: Inevitable.
Nathan: Yeah.
Victor: The burden of intellect.
Cecil: Yeah.
Nathan: You feel the burden of intellect?
Cecil: … … … What are we talking about?
Marc: Hey, it’s not the burden of intellect or whatever. It’s that we’re all kind of control freaks who have zero control over our own lives.
Steven: He’s right. Feels to me I’m just a character in a story sometimes, being pulled this way and that. This job. That job. Living here. Living there. Trousers on. Trousers off.
William: You’re all correct, I think, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying.
Steven: Trying what?
William: To do what we can, however insignificant it feels to us.
Poe: Nothing, and no one, is insignificant. I believe that with my whole heart.
Jonathan: Nathan, the kind of questions you’re having, they’re a lot like the ones I debate in my work. They’re important, yes, but remember, you still have to eat meals. Go to the bathroom. Sleep. Life goes on. Time keeps moving.
Nathan: I get your point, but it doesn’t. Not when you’re all here. We’re kind of out of time and space.
Leto: So, when you told me this would only be an hour?
Nathan: It’s actually infinity. Or it’s nothing. There’s kind of no difference around this table. Besides, talking to you feels like torture for eternity, so what do you care?
Leto: *mumbles* I hate you in every universe.
Anselm: So, in a way, Nathan, you’re saving all of us, simply by having us as guests on your little pod-cast.
Nathan: It’s just one word. Podcast.
Anselm: Pod-cast
Nathan: Podcast
Anselm: Pahd-cahst
Nathan: Just say it quickly. Podcast.
Anselm: Oh what the devil do I care what it’s called? I simply enjoy being here. I’m grateful to have met all of you.
Leto: I have to admit, it’s very interesting.
Victor: Yes, I don’t feel quite so alone anymore.
Basil: Me either.
Anselm: Coincidentally, what does happen to you?
Nathan: I get stabbed at my house by an ai woman I made myself.
Anselm: *sound of gun cocking* That is unacceptable! Where is she?
Nathan: Put that away. You can’t fix it like that.
Anselm: I think you’ll find that I can.
Santiago: Here, let me.
*sound of gun being yanked away, magazine and bullet ejecting*
Santiago: Here’s question: if you could fix anything in your universe, what would it be? I’d have figured out a way to go back and get the millions of dollars I left in the Andes mountains.
Marc: I would’ve introduced myself to Steven and Jake a long time ago.
Steve: Cheers, Marc I would’ve done the same.
Leto: I would’ve spent more time with my father.
William: I never would’ve joined the fucking Army.
Richard: I would’ve asked that girl out in high school, the one I had a crush on for years.
Jonathan: I can’t even pick. Too much to choose from.
Victor: My friend, we’re drinking from the same teapot of shame.
Laurent: I should’ve finished art school.
Cecil: I wish I hadn’t told everybody that the Taco Bell near my house gave me explosive diarrhea because then people stopped going there and it closed. God. I really miss that Taco Bell.
Santiago: Why did you lie about something like that?
Cecil: It wasn’t a lie. I just wish I hadn’t said anything out loud. Then, I’d still be able to get a chalupa supreme in under five minutes.
Anselm: Well, I live my live with zero regrets. Geschehen ist geschehen. What’s happened is happened. Or, as I like to say, onto the next hole.
Nathan: That’s gross. I get what you’re saying, though. Time ever only moves in one direction. Although, technically, I could use the machine to go back in time, but-
Leto: What?
Nathan: I mean, I could probably-
Leto: Hey, could you bring me back to a very specific night about two years ago?
Nathan: Why?
Leto: There was this woman-
Nathan: I’m not interfering with the space time continuum just so you can get laid.
Jake: What about me? I got a look at Jonathan’s ex wife and I’d like to take her for a ride in my cab, so to speak.
Nathan: This isn’t a crossover event.
Poe: Can I use it to make a teeny-tiny little adjustment and never join a bunch of drug runners? I’d like to retcon that whole thing.
Nathan: There’s no way you were in a drug gang. That’s obviously a lie. You’re a goody two shoes.
Poe: *under his breath* I had a bad boy phase.
Nathan: Sure you did, Poe, and I’m a big, blue, omniscient alien who can control matter with my mind. Whatever.
I think we’ve stretched the limit of all of us being in one room. I have to start putting you back in your universes or shit might start to break permanently.
Doing this is the most fun I have, so, you know, thank you for sending in your questions.
I think I should get us all chalupas to celebrate.
Poe: What’s a chalupa?
Cecil: You’re gonna love it!
Anselm: I’m going to call you my little chalupa from now on.
Nathan: Until next time, I’m Nathan Bateman. Thank you for listening, thank you for subscribing, and please, if Anselm Vogelweide ever asks you to put on a white dress and a flower crown, and to treat his dick like a may pole, please keep in mind that the tea he gives you afterward is definitely hallucinogenic.
**Outro Music Fades Up**
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Summary: Transcript of episode 5 of Nathan Bateman's podcast, Trash Talk. (18+, very assorted sexual nonsense, and serious talk about the deaths of these characters, ~3.2k)
:: episode 8 here :: Trash Talk Masterlist ::
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**Intro Music Fades Out**
Nathan: Welcome, to Trash Talk, a podcast about sex. What we like and why we like it. Part of the Blue Book network of entertainment.
Today’s topic is up to you.
I’ve warped reality to bring you our panel of distinguished, insane, very weird guests.
Let’s jump right in with something heavy. This one comes to us from an anonymous listener:
Hey Nathan! Long time Listener, first time submitter. In this day and age, there are a million people selling their ideas on masculinity. What do you guys think? What does it mean to be a MAN?
*silence*
Nathan: Now you’re all quiet? Before we started recording, none of you would shut the fuck up. Anselm? You never stop talking, what do you think?
Anselm: I think it’s as my Oma said, “Man muss die Dinge nehmen, wie sie kommen.”
Leto: Take things as they come.
Anselm: Precisely. I’ve made a habit of always taking things as they come, or taking come, or people coming. Scrutinizing someone about their gender is a tremendous waste of time.
Cecil: I love to get high and cry. My stepdad said that’s not manly…
William: Hey, I can tell you from experience, the men who tell you what’s ‘manly’ are usually psychopaths. They’re empty monsters and they want to turn you into one too. Don’t let them. It’s a road that’s really hard to get off of.
Richard: Focus on being human, not just a man. That means taking care of yourself, and the people you love.
Cecil: Yeah… okay… so, like, I should leave the waitress a tip at the Mexican place because she’s really nice and let me back in the restaurant, even though I almost burned the place down with my homemade flame thrower?
Richard: … … … yes.
Cecil: I wasn’t leaving her a tip because we had sex once and I don’t think you’re supposed to tip someone you’ve slept with. That’s like, etiquette.
Steven: I don’t think that’s how it works, mate. Just, um, if she’s into it, do the gentlemanly thing, but not like, in a misogynist way. If she doesn’t want you to open doors for her, then let her open the door for you.
Cecil: Huh?But she already works at the restaurant. She’s already inside. Open what door? I’m confused.
Nathan: You’re hopeless.
Leto: Start with the basics, Cecil. Pay attention when she talks, be honest about your emotions, and never cheat on her.
Cecil: I’m not that good at any of those.
Leto: I think there’s hope for you Cecil.
Cecil: *sounding truly touched* Thank you. That’s really cool coming from you. You’re my hair idol, and like, a man I want to be like.
Nathan: Anyone who kisses Leto’s ass is booted. Did I not say that before we started the record?
Cecil: See? That sounds manly, Nathan. You say something and shit gets done. I want that kind of authority.
Nathan: What you don’t have in authority, you make up for by bringing really really good weed.
Anselm: Everyone’s strengths are different, Cecil. You’re an adorable drug dealer, and handy with a gun.
Steven: A gun?
Anselm: Cecil here isn’t as timid as he seems, trust me. Made an absolute massacre of revenge at a sad little wedding in the town where we live.
Steven: I dunno if that’s manly, but it is fairly terrifying.
Nathan: Steven, here’s another listener question. What’s your most memorable sexual experience?
Steven: Come on, Nathan. I can’t go telling everyone that. She might be listening. I don’t wanna be rude.
Jake: I’ll tell it. Steven had sex at the Bronx Zoo.
Steven: Jake, you absolute wanker.
Marc: Yeah, that’s not even the most interesting part. They started making out in the reptile house and he had his hand down her pants in all the dark rooms.
Steven: If we’re spilling secrets, I’m telling everyone that you summoned my batons so some woman could fuck you with ‘em.
Marc: Jake lost a costume mustache in some guy’s ass once.
Nathan: In?
Cecil: I had sex in a Bucee Beaver costume. Actually, we were both wearing them.
Poe: Who’s Bucee Beaver?
William: His name’s not actually Bucee, but he is a beaver. It’s the mascot of a truck stop. Really famous in America.
Poe: I didn’t understand most of those words. Like, almost none of them. My most memorable experience was sleeping with a being that had two consciousness. Consciousnesses? They were in two places at once.
Anselm: Like, your mouth and your ass?
Poe: No, one body was having sex with me and the other was downstairs cooking lunch. Then, the body I was with got tired, so they swapped, but it was still the same person.
Steven: You weren’t tired too?
Poe: Yeah, but it wasn’t like I was going to stop. I had a whole other body to satisfy.
Marc: My ex and I did it inside a pyramid once.
Steven: Excuse me? Why didn’t you share that little story before?
Marc: You wouldn’t approve, trust me. Plus, you only wanted to hear about the wedding night.
Steven: *dreamy voice* I love those stories. The only time I’ve ever known you to be romantic.
Nathan: That’s a great segue actually. On the topic of romance, an anonymous caller wants to know: what’s your perfect way to meet someone? What’s your approach?
As far as how I approach a woman, I’m famous and a billionaire.
But, I also live alone in the middle of nowhere. The only people I fly out here work for me. I don’t have a problem mixing work and sex, but some people make it complicated. I think it’s convenient.
For the right woman, though, I’d stop building vaginas into the female models.
Basil? What about you? Living in the city, young, you must meet interesting people.
Basil: I don't get out much. I don't really talk to except for Basil. Not me, Basil. The stuffed monkey, Basil.
Nathan: I hope that's not your opening line.
Basil: I never leave my apartment actually. Not since this happened to my face.
Santiago: Women love scars, man. You've got that mysterious thing going on.
Basil: You think?
Santiago: You'd be surprised. If you let yourself get out there, you'd definitely do very well.
Basil: Sometimes I talk to women online, but I don't know if I can meet someone on the outside without a paper bag over my head.
Santiago: Okay, definitely don't do that.
Basil: How do you meet someone special?
Santiago: It’s kind of old fashioned, but I like to go out and meet people. A bar or a party. I like that thrill of seeing someone from across a room. Making eye contact. Having a conversation where you have to lean in close because the music’s loud.
Jonathan: It’s so tiring to go out all the time, though. I’ve tried all the apps. It’s a mess out there.
Santiago: I don’t even bother with those.
Jonathan: You probably don’t have to. I’m sure it’s easy for you to pick up anyone you want. The apps are almost entirely younger women who want to call you daddy, or women with as much baggage as I have.
Santiago: You’re not interested in either of those things?
Jonathan: I’m very turned on by both. Therein lies the problem.
Anselm: I see no problem. If you want sex, there it is. If you want a relationship, then have one.
Jonathan: *uncomfortable* It’s not that simple.
Anselm: Why not?
Jonathan: … … uh… …
Anselm: I have absolutely no patience for people getting in their own way. Problems should be ended through decision or gunfire. It does no good to ignore them.
Nathan: I don’t know about that. You can learn a lot about someone by picking apart their issues and insecurities.
Anselm: Yes, mind games are fun, but you don’t want to play them with your one and only love.
Nathan: Agree to disagree. I want a partner who can challenge me.
Santiago: You are the challenge. Nothing’s simple with you, don’t worry. All I’m saying is that meeting people in person is way better than online.
Jonathan: I guess I could try it Anselm’s way. If I have a one night stand with a woman I could try to make it more than one night. Dinner or something.
Anselm: Something? Please use a more enticing word.
Jonathan: I’m not like you, Anselm. I don’t have a whole house dedicated to sex. My imagination’s not that good.
Anselm: Well, if you need advice, just text one of us. We’re all happy to help.
Nathan: Have more confidence, man. Plenty of women are into that absent minded professor thing. It’s right up there with men in uniform.
Jonathan: I just wish I could start over, you know?
Nathan: Like, be a virgin again? You couldn’t pay me enough money to do that. Actually, we have a listener question about how we would feel, being someone’s first time.
Jonathan: My first time was… not sexy. I didn’t know what I was doing at all. I hadn’t even really seen porn. She had to basically tell me what to do every step of the way, so I thought that’s what sex was for like, ten years.
Anselm: My first time was in an alpine meadow. The cows kept coming over to see what the fuss was about. Curious creatures. I think it gave me a fetish about milk for awhile.
Victor: I have that too.
Anselm: As for being someone’s first. I would be honored. There would be fanfare, perhaps a band and a party afterward.
Nathan: I don’t like to admit fear, but I think taking someone’s virginity is more terrifying than the singularity.
Santiago: I’ve been someone’s first. It’s really amazing, actually. I was nervous, don’t get me wrong, but I went slow and it was a really great weekend. I still meet up with her sometimes, if I’m going through that part of the world.
Marc: I was with a woman who didn’t tell me she was a virgin until we were in bed, getting undressed. It turned out okay, but I wish she’d told me before. I would’ve done something special.
Santiago: Like what?
Marc: I don’t know. Made dinner at home, lit some candles. Put a big, soft blanket on the bed. Maybe made sure the bathtub was ready for afterward. I tried to make up for it by eating her out before and after.
Santiago: I’m pretty sure she’s happier with the oral sex than a candle. What about you?
Blue: If it’s a girl’s first time, I try to make it good. It’s a thrill, I won’t lie. I give her something nice afterward. A new dress, or her own number at the club.
Poe: If you had to pick someone at this table to be your first, who would it be?
Blue: Laurent maybe? I like that dirty Frenchman thing he has going on.
Poe: Anselm?
Anselm: I would choose you, Poe, obviously.
Nathan: Why obviously?
Anselm: Jealousy does not become you, Nathan. Look at Poe. Dashing, gallant, and sexually, I can tell that he lives to serve.
Poe: … is that a compliment?
Steven: I’d pick you, Anselm. I like the adventure of it.
Nathan: *snort laughs* He’ll give you an adventure all right. He’ll adventure you right into dressing up in an insane outfit and letting him demolish you in some weird role play. Ask me how I know.
Steven: *genuinely asking* How do you know?
Nathan: That was sarcasm, dude. I know because I’ve been there.
Anselm: And a riot of a time it was. I’ve never enjoyed a traditional Midsommar celebration more!
Nathan: Look, we’re almost out of time and- hey- Atreides, quit checking your watch. I told you this would be a solid 60 minutes.
Leto: *sighing* It was a text, okay? It’s a… listener question.
Nathan: This isn’t live, so the only way you’re getting a question this second is if one of these chucklefucks is texting you right now, behind my back.
Leto: Yeah. Huh. I always forget you’re smarter than you look.
Nathan: Go hump a barbed wire fence.
Leto: Do you want to hear the question or not?
Nathan: Go ahead.
Leto: Death. The question is about death. This anonymous person posits that some of us receive an untimely death in our universes.
*awkward silence, throat clearing*
Leto: Nathan?
Nathan: I don’t know, dude. We all have complicated lives to begin with so why would our deaths be any easier?
Leto: But you know more than you’re saying.
Nathan: *angry* What do you want, Leto? You want me to say there’s some alternate dimension where you have a family that loves you and when you get murdered, they wage some kind of war across the universe?
Leto: No, that would be ridiculous.
Nathan: *raises his voice* Do you want to hear that a fucking meteorite crashes into Earth and kills Anselm?
Leto: Nathan, calm down.
Nathan: That Marc, Steven, and Jake never get an ending at all?
Leto: Nath-
Nathan: *sounding a little insane* Why can’t we just live in the here and now? Huh? Who the fuck asked about death? WHO?
*silence*
Leto: *quietly* What happens to you, Nathan?
Steven: Mate, ‘s alright. We’re all of us alive and well here. You can tell us.
Nathan: *quietly* None of you gets it. I don’t think most of us have death in common. Actually, we have something a lot worse that runs through every one of our lives. We all go straight into situations where we know we could die, where we probably will. That’s the thread that binds us. Not curly hair or this nose or our eyes. We’re all so fucked up.
Richard: I don’t do that. Really. I don’t put myself in danger.
Nathan: You work with death-row inmates.
Richard: Yeah, maybe you make a good point.
Basil: I didn't ask to get struck by lightning, but Nathan's right. I really lost it afterward.
Victor: If I may interject, I know a fair bit about death and life. It’s my entire existence actually. Fear of death is natural. I have found, however, that one is only truly afraid of death is one feels they haven’t done enough living.
Perhaps, like me, you feel you’ve contributed to humanity, but you, yourself, have nothing to actually show for it. With egos as big as ours, that’s a difficult conclusion to reach.
Nathan: I wasn’t trying to create life through artificial intelligence for humanity, Victor. It was just *sigh* … it felt-
Victor: Inevitable.
Nathan: Yeah.
Victor: The burden of intellect.
Cecil: Yeah.
Nathan: You feel the burden of intellect?
Cecil: … … … What are we talking about?
Marc: Hey, it’s not the burden of intellect or whatever. It’s that we’re all kind of control freaks who have zero control over our own lives.
Steven: He’s right. Feels to me I’m just a character in a story sometimes, being pulled this way and that. This job. That job. Living here. Living there. Trousers on. Trousers off.
William: You’re all correct, I think, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying.
Steven: Trying what?
William: To do what we can, however insignificant it feels to us.
Poe: Nothing, and no one, is insignificant. I believe that with my whole heart.
Jonathan: Nathan, the kind of questions you’re having, they’re a lot like the ones I debate in my work. They’re important, yes, but remember, you still have to eat meals. Go to the bathroom. Sleep. Life goes on. Time keeps moving.
Nathan: I get your point, but it doesn’t. Not when you’re all here. We’re kind of out of time and space.
Leto: So, when you told me this would only be an hour?
Nathan: It’s actually infinity. Or it’s nothing. There’s kind of no difference around this table. Besides, talking to you feels like torture for eternity, so what do you care?
Leto: *mumbles* I hate you in every universe.
Anselm: So, in a way, Nathan, you’re saving all of us, simply by having us as guests on your little pod-cast.
Nathan: It’s just one word. Podcast.
Anselm: Pod-cast
Nathan: Podcast
Anselm: Pahd-cahst
Nathan: Just say it quickly. Podcast.
Anselm: Oh what the devil do I care what it’s called? I simply enjoy being here. I’m grateful to have met all of you.
Leto: I have to admit, it’s very interesting.
Victor: Yes, I don’t feel quite so alone anymore.
Basil: Me either.
Anselm: Coincidentally, what does happen to you?
Nathan: I get stabbed at my house by an ai woman I made myself.
Anselm: *sound of gun cocking* That is unacceptable! Where is she?
Nathan: Put that away. You can’t fix it like that.
Anselm: I think you’ll find that I can.
Santiago: Here, let me.
*sound of gun being yanked away, magazine and bullet ejecting*
Santiago: Here’s question: if you could fix anything in your universe, what would it be? I’d have figured out a way to go back and get the millions of dollars I left in the Andes mountains.
Marc: I would’ve introduced myself to Steven and Jake a long time ago.
Steve: Cheers, Marc I would’ve done the same.
Leto: I would’ve spent more time with my father.
William: I never would’ve joined the fucking Army.
Richard: I would’ve asked that girl out in high school, the one I had a crush on for years.
Jonathan: I can’t even pick. Too much to choose from.
Victor: My friend, we’re drinking from the same teapot of shame.
Laurent: I should’ve finished art school.
Cecil: I wish I hadn’t told everybody that the Taco Bell near my house gave me explosive diarrhea because then people stopped going there and it closed. God. I really miss that Taco Bell.
Santiago: Why did you lie about something like that?
Cecil: It wasn’t a lie. I just wish I hadn’t said anything out loud. Then, I’d still be able to get a chalupa supreme in under five minutes.
Anselm: Well, I live my live with zero regrets. Geschehen ist geschehen. What’s happened is happened. Or, as I like to say, onto the next hole.
Nathan: That’s gross. I get what you’re saying, though. Time ever only moves in one direction. Although, technically, I could use the machine to go back in time, but-
Leto: What?
Nathan: I mean, I could probably-
Leto: Hey, could you bring me back to a very specific night about two years ago?
Nathan: Why?
Leto: There was this woman-
Nathan: I’m not interfering with the space time continuum just so you can get laid.
Jake: What about me? I got a look at Jonathan’s ex wife and I’d like to take her for a ride in my cab, so to speak.
Nathan: This isn’t a crossover event.
Poe: Can I use it to make a teeny-tiny little adjustment and never join a bunch of drug runners? I’d like to retcon that whole thing.
Nathan: There’s no way you were in a drug gang. That’s obviously a lie. You’re a goody two shoes.
Poe: *under his breath* I had a bad boy phase.
Nathan: Sure you did, Poe, and I’m a big, blue, omniscient alien who can control matter with my mind. Whatever.
I think we’ve stretched the limit of all of us being in one room. I have to start putting you back in your universes or shit might start to break permanently.
Doing this is the most fun I have, so, you know, thank you for sending in your questions.
I think I should get us all chalupas to celebrate.
Poe: What’s a chalupa?
Cecil: You’re gonna love it!
Anselm: I’m going to call you my little chalupa from now on.
Nathan: Until next time, I’m Nathan Bateman. Thank you for listening, thank you for subscribing, and please, if Anselm Vogelweide ever asks you to put on a white dress and a flower crown, and to treat his dick like a may pole, please keep in mind that the tea he gives you afterward is definitely hallucinogenic.
**Outro Music Fades Up**
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Okay well this is really really fucking difficult! I picked Cosmic because that series has my whole heart!!!!!!!! But damn they're all so tempting!!!!!!!!!!
Hope you’ve been keeping well, Rally. Just thought I check in. :)
I got a few of these messages, anonymous and from friends. I very much appreciate them. I logged off of Tumblr in May and didn't come back until July.
I've picked the blorbos back up and am trying to work on the WIPs that really had my heart before I took a surprise hiatus.
Honestly, one of the things that brought me back is that everyone has now (hopefully) seen Nick Tosches / Dante Alighieri. Nick Tosches is 100% the kind of blorbo I bite my fist and howl at the moon for.
Finally watched the card counter, which means I’m scouring the internet for William Tell fics and I just had to give you some love for your fic about him IT WAS SO GOOD you wrote him perfectly 🥹🥹
Thank you!!!! That's very kind!!! William Tell is... hot. He just is. A man of few words, very slicked-back hair, and with the kind of haunting past that makes me go "Yikes! That guy's a mess! Let me have a crack at him!"
Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader
Summary: Poe needs a haircut. You learn of his plans and efforts to return to his galaxy.
Content/Notes: fluff, star-crossed yearning, angst stemming from nightmares, food
Word Count: 2.2k
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PREVIOUSLY ON COSMIC...
"I haven't had a day like this in years. A day off, to have fun and dance and eat and laugh." He sighed, peering up at the night sky. "I think this is one of the best days I've ever had."
"Really?" You gasped, surprised and touched, honestly.
"Yeah," he nodded, eyes finding yours again. "Really. I think maybe Iowa is a special place."
That made you laugh.
"Or maybe it's because you're here." His arms wrapped all the way around you now, palm pressing along the curve of your back.
You reached up to push a stray curl out of his eyes. "Bet you say that on every planet you land on."
"Maybe, maybe not. But there's definitely only one Trix."
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The day after the fair, you let Poe sleep in while you did your morning chores and took care of the animals. You decided to clean up and do some bills and business inside the house. When you made your way back downstairs, Poe was cooking breakfast. Naturally, Cheddar was circling his legs lovingly. Or annoyingly, depending on one’s point of view.
Poe had made quite the mess already, but he looked up at you and grinned, so proud of himself.
“I’m making cakes. Um…pan-cakes? It’s under the breakfast tab of your favorite cookbook. I can't believe how much actual paper you have in these books. No holopads or anything but real paper. It's incredible. Are pancakes okay?”
Folding your arms over your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s flour everywhere. It’s even in your hair." You nodded down at the apron he was wearing. “Guess your clothes will stay clean though.”
“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I tried. I think I burned a few so I opened the back door to air it out. That’s when Cheddar came in. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” you laughed, scooping up your little barn cat for a quick snuggle.
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After a long day of farm work and supper, you offered to cut Poe's hair.
"Okay, just lean back," you instructed, helping him ease his head back into the kitchen sink as he rested in a chair. You had draped a towel around his shoulders to protect his shirt.
He stared up at the ceiling as you began to spray water through his thick curls.
"Too hot? Too cold?"
"No, it's good." His eyes flickered over to yours, holding your gaze for a moment until you smiled sweetly and continued raking your fingers through his hair, getting it wet.
A low sound of approval rumbled in his chest without him realizing it.
"You okay?" You softly asked, hoping you hadn't pulled his hair too hard.
"Mmm...yeah. That feels good actually." You watched as his throat bobbed, his eyes drifting closed.
"The water?" You innocently questioned, squeezing out a glob of shampoo and working your fingers over his scalp.
"No. Your hands."
"Oh..." Grateful that his eyes were closed and not studying you, you went to work on massaging his scalp, gently raking your nails soothingly all over. "It's good for you to relax for once."
Then he did look at you with a smirk. "Don't start."
"I know, you like to stay busy, I know." Turning the water back on, you began rinsing out the shampoo. "It's just nice to see you taking it easy for a few minutes...letting me take care of you a little bit. You do so much."
His head turned in your grasp, causing your fingers to catch on a tangle. The slight tug made him groan, but he swallowed it down. "Are you serious? Take care of me a little bit?" He sighed, but there was no frustration in it. "Trix, you saved my life. You take care of me all the time, every day."
Your heart flamed in your chest, but you reminded yourself - it wasn't anything to indulge in. You had to let Poe focus on getting home. You couldn't have him for yourself. It was selfish. "You take care of me too, you know," you softly returned, finger-combing his wet hair before lifting the towel from his neck to towel dry it a bit.
He sat up straight in the chair which put him about level with your chest. His eyes traced the smooth column of your throat, noticing how your breaths grew more shallow as his breath brushed your collarbone.
"There," you whispered, kneeling down to his level, the gentle smile returning to your face. "All clean. How much do you want me to cut?"
He blinked at you, distracted, his eyes flickering momentarily down to your mouth. He dragged his gaze back to yours with effort. "Uhm, I don't know. Should you just cut it short, to make it easier?"
"Not too short," you tutted, reaching for a comb and standing back to your full height, if only to get away from his penetrating eyes for a second. "Not with curls like this."
He beamed at that, sitting up a little straighter. "You like curls?"
"I like these." You twirled your finger in the longest one before watching it spring back into place.
"You decide then."
So you did. You took your time, carefully thinning out and shortening Poe's wild mane, loving every second of it. He asked if you'd cut hair before. You admitted you'd only cut your father's hair for years, and your farm hand Chester's a few times. Neither one of them had thick curls.
Poe's eyes would drift closed whenever you would push his hair this way or that, finger comb it into position to trim the next piece. He looked so satisfied like this, reminding you of Cheddar rubbing against your leg.
Maybe he was missing touching someone. Someone back home.
"Who cuts your hair normally?" You asked, checking for extra tags and wrapping things up.
"We have machines that do it, but this is way better." He grinned at you.
"You're not used to someone playing with your hair?" You had meant to tease him, but it came out rather blunt and kind of nosy.
His eyebrows shifted curiously as he watched you bashfully avert your eyes.
"Uh, not in a while really. A long while."
You busied yourself, cleaning up the haircutting supplies, while Poe asked how he could help. He ended up sweeping up his hair off the floor and before long, the two of you sat down to watch TV on the couch.
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All of Poe's nonstop farm work must have finally caught up to him. Either that, or he was so soothed by his haircut, that he fell asleep on your shoulder halfway through the first television program.
You hated to disturb him, and honestly, you relished having him close, at least while he was unaware of it, so you stayed still until the next show came on.
Eventually, your fingers found his dried, fuzzy waves and gently began to twirl through them, faintly scratching at his scalp. He stirred for a moment, nuzzling into your neck before going still again.
This was such a bad idea on your part, but you couldn't help yourself. Making him feel good was like an addictive drug.
Before long, your head rested against his crown of soft brown hair and you found yourself sleeping right along with him.
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You didn't wake up until it was time for chores. Dawn peeked over the horizon as a rooster crowed. You found yourself lying on your couch downstairs, an old quilt made by your great-aunt tucked securely around your body.
Mortified at the thought of falling asleep with Poe and him putting you in this position, you practically leapt up, glancing around for him.
When you didn't see him, you darted upstairs, bypassing his bedroom to freshen up in the restroom and quickly change out of yesterday's clothes.
He wasn't in his room, and he wasn't attempting to make a mess of your kitchen, so he must be outside.
You found him brushing Annabelle, your gentler, blonder, slightly bigger horse. He was talking to her softly and she was eating it up. That sweet girl loved Poe from day one.
"Can't give you too many treats, can I, sweetheart?" You heard him murmur softly. "You're supposed to wait until I'm done brushing, aren't you?"
Then a beat.
"Don't look at me that way, girl. You're gonna get me in trouble with your mom. I'm almost done."
As tempting as it was to linger and listen to Poe flirting with your horse, you stepped into view, clearing your throat.
"See? Busted," Poe said to Annabelle, flashing you a grin. "She's trying to sweet talk me out of extra treats."
You folded your arms over your chest. "Mm-hmm, and how many did you already give her?"
His eyes shifted back and forth between you and the horse guiltily. "Two?"
You walked over and patted Annabelle's nose. "Good work, sweet girl. He's a pushover."
You picked up a second brush and walked past him, toward your chestnut Arzola.
"It's okay, I already brushed her," he informed, stopping you with a hand on your wrist.
Your mouth fell open. "You brushed Arzola. By yourself? She let you?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. She loves me."
Reaching out to pet your feisty girl, you chuckled. "He got you too, huh? You girls are hopeless." You turned back to Poe. "Thank you for taking care of them. Did you get any sleep last night?"
Oh he did. One of the most peaceful nights he'd slept in ages. He woke up, half on top of you as you leaned heavily against the arm of the couch, his face pressed against the soft skin of your neck, arms wound around your torso. You were holding him too.
As much as it would have felt good to lay you all the way down and pull you closer, he didn't want to startle you. So he carefully untangled himself, checked the time, freshened up and began seeing to the morning chores as a thank you for his haircut.
"Yeah, I slept for a while. Thought I'd help you out this morning," he finally answered, licking his lips and shaking those thoughts out of his head.
You asked what he'd gotten to so far, and that's when he revealed he'd already taken care of everything except breakfast. You reminded him he didn't have to do all that, especially not as a thank you, but he just smiled and said he loved it.
"You wanna go for a ride, don't you?"
He nodded. "I was hoping you would say that."
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After racing across your fields in the early morning sun, you and Poe decided to make breakfast. It felt good to have a morning where your chores were already done. And sharing a good meal with a handsome man didn't hurt much either.
"I should probably confess something," he said cryptically, swirling his last bite of pancake through syrup. "I haven't actually slept too much lately. That's why I fell asleep on you so early last night. Sorry about that."
You eyed him curiously. "It's okay. Why aren't you sleeping?"
He swallowed down his last bite, considering his words. "Sometimes, I'm out there with my ship, in your old empty building where we stashed it. I've been fixing my droid."
You nodded as he continued.
"I've been working on my ship a little bit too. I need some bigger equipment. Tools and things." He eyed you carefully. "I was wondering if you could help me get some things. Maybe...maybe if someone thought they were for the farm, they wouldn't notice you needing them. I don't want to get you in any trouble."
"I know that," you softly returned.
"Once my droid is up and running, she can help me work on the ship, or at least restore communication."
You swallowed a heavy lump in your throat. "That's good, Poe. It's a good idea. I'm sure I can help you out with the equipment you need. The best Iowa has, anyway."
"Thank you." He reached for your hand and gently squeezed. "I wanted to tell you before there's a droid whizzing around here. Didn't want her to scare you."
You held onto his hand longer than you intended, toying with his fingers tenderly. "Does your droid...talk?"
Poe smiled, his eyes flickering down to your joined hands and then back up to your gaze. "She speaks binary. It's...like a machine language. Sort of. I understand her, but I don't think you will. Unless you speak binary?"
"No," you laughed.
"She'll understand you though, mostly," he went on. "She can probably help around here too." Then he wistfully sighed. "I just hope she can help me figure out how I got here."
Your thumb rubbed the back of his hand soothingly. "I hope that too, Poe, I really do. And I want to help you, if I can. If there's anything I can do."
He wanted to ask for your help. He wanted to sleep as soundly and safely as he'd slept last night, against your body. One of the main reasons he worked on his ship at night was because of the dreams. Vivid, haunting dreams of his friends screaming, dying, in the vastness of space, or their minds pulled apart the way his mind had been violated by the dark side of the Force.
He wondered if you had a tonic to help him sleep more deeply. At least that's what he wondered until you drove his nightmares away last night with your mere presence. It's why he awoke so invigorated and decided to complete the day's chores for you.
If only he could sleep that soundly again, feeling that safe. If only he didn't have to see his friends in torment when he closed his eyes, feeling like he'd abandoned them.
If only he could have met you in his galaxy. But as surely as he felt he must return to his own life, to the war, he was grateful you were not a part of it. Earth seemed, at least for now, the safer option for you.
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Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Join my tag list
Ivy, thank you for writing and sharing this amazing chapter!!! Poe Dameron is so perfect, and you wrote him so perfectly. From his curly hair to his gentlemanly, giving nature. How brave he is in an unfamiliar environment, how brave he is to set his own feelings aside and try to get back, how torn they both are and how reticent they'd be to talk too deeply about it yet. The angst Poe feels is so real, and touches every second of his happiness and peace. I loved reading this!!!!
A couple of days ago Oscar appeared in Mumford & Sons new music video for their song “Here”, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this outfit ever since. So… I drew him. 🤠
More versions under the cut, print on my acgoods shop
Commissions Open • Buy me some coffee! • Caard • ACGOODS Shop
Summary: Llewyn is an angel sent to save you now, in modern times, and you fall in love (tw: suicidal ideation, quickly written, poorly edited, not religious, just some hand holding, ~3k)
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“Okay, well, if you could just, not jump to your death, that would really help me out,” the tired-looking man says to you.
“I’m sitting on the ledge, not jumping. Who the hell are you, anyway? How did you get up on the roof?” you ask, crabby at being interrupted.
You hadn’t been planning to jump.
Probably.
You’d considered it, but it was unlikely. Right?
“Who are you?” you repeat.
The man rubs one eye with the back of his hand, catching his fingerless gloves on his long, dark eyelashes. With a sigh, he sits on the ledge with you. You scoot further away.
“I’m Llewyn,” he says.
You wait, but he doesn’t elaborate.
You give him a dirty look. “I hate to be rude, but would you kindly fuck off?”
He looks slightly taken aback. “People these days are real pieces of work, you know that? You don’t own this roof and you can’t tell me what to do.”
You look him up and down. He has on winter clothes, even though it’s summer. The heat doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He wears a corduroy jacket and pants. His shoes have seen better days.
“Who wears gloves in August?” you ask
Llewyn shrugs. “When I get sent down here, I always get sent down in this outfit. I don’t know why. There wasn’t exactly a question and answer orientation when I got this gig.”
“What gig?” you ask, completely lost.
“Angel.” Llewyn says. “It’s complicated, but you would call me an angel. Hey, you got a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke,” you say as you swing your legs back onto the roof and stand up.
His hand moves in the air, like the gesture helps him think. “How about one of those things that’s smoking without the cigarette?”
“A vape?” You squint at him. “I always knew New York was full of crazy fuckers, but I’m going to leave before you decide to push me off the roof.”
“Hey, that’s not- hey- that’s literally the opposite of what I’m trying to do here.“ He scrambles up and follows you. “Wait. I know you’re just going to be back up here tomorrow. I know you were going to jump today.”
Your hand is on the door to go back inside. Your fingers grip the metal, but you don’t turn it.
“You don’t know me,” you say.
“In some ways, we’re actually a lot alike,” he says, his voice closer than it was before. “I’ve got a lot to atone for. It’s why I’m doing this. You know a lot of people, I did too, but none of them know who you are now, none of them know you just want it to stop. That feeling inside of you, and how bad it is. Do they?”
You bite your bottom lip, not wanting to cry
A hand, warm and comforting, lands on your shoulder.
“Do they?” Llewyn asks again.
*****
Over a cup of coffee at the cafe on the corner, you tell Llewyn everything.
He’s not really a good listener, but he’s strangely easy to talk to. You can see everything he thinks on his face.
Sometimes he’s skeptical, sometimes annoyed. Mostly he’s sympathetic, and a little sad. He never looks bored, or like he’s trying to escape the conversation.
You don’t believe he’s an angel or whatever, but there’s something supernatural about his big, brown eyes.
The waitress refills the coffees and brings sandwiches.
“It isn’t that I want to die. I just don’t see the point of being alive,” you say.
Llewyn smiles. It’s soft and ironic. “It’s like talking to a mirror, I swear. I felt like I was being pulled along by invisible strings, from one disaster to another, one bad choice to another, until finally, I wanted it all to catch up with me. To take the choice out of my hands. I have to tell you, it isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be. Not living.”
You lean back in your chair, arms crossed. “You’re drinking a cup of coffee I paid for and sitting here like the rest of us. Once again, I don’t believe you are who you say you are.”
“That’s a fair point, but I’ve been doing this for more than a few decades.” He watches people go by for a few seconds. “Hard to find good music nowadays. It’s all written for money, to try and trick people’s hearts into believing it wasn’t. Handful of real artists, though, with something worth saying. You got one of those telephones that fits in your purse?”
You blink at him, taking your cell phone out of your pocket.
“Look me up. Llewyn Davis. Two L’s-e-w-y-n,” he says, leaning forward on the table.
You almost don’t, but maybe you want to believe. You type his name in.
Llewyn Davis.
Folk singer.
In the 60s.
Dead for a long time.
The first image is him looking clean-cut and smiley, on a sky-blue record cover with some other guy.
You hold up your phone. “This is you?”
Llewyn’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “That’s me and Mike. Duos were a thing back when I started out and Mike was my best friend. He was twice the musician I ever was. Still miss him.”
You scroll down further and hold up the next album cover next to Llewyn’s face. It does look like him.
“Inside Llewyn Davis,” you say. “Ten bucks, still sealed.”
The resemblance is dead on, but there must be some explanation.
Llewyn shakes his head, a knowing look on his face. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s a coincidence. It isn’t. I don’t usually do this on the first date, so to speak, but, uh…”
He sits forward in his chair and whoosh. With a huge, feathery sound, a gigantic pair of wings unfurl from his back. The tall tips go almost to the ceiling, but they don’t disturb anything. Not even a breeze.
They’re beautiful. Not just white, but cream, and almost tan, a mixture of colors and textures. They look deep and soft, a little rough around the edges, like their owner.
They move lightly. You can’t take your eyes off of them, and Llewyn can’t take his eyes off of you.
You’re dumbstruck for you don’t even know how long, before you remember to blink and look around.
You turn in your chair one way. Then the other.
No one in the diner is looking.
No one cares.
What the actual fuck?
Llewyn grins. “No one can see these but you.”
You grab the waitress’s arm as she walks back. She smiles at you and Llewyn, non the wiser about the extraordinary thing in front of her. “Something I can get you? Dessert?”
You stare at her, then at Llewyn’s wings. She doesn’t react at all.
Llewyn’s half-gloved hand reaches out and pries your fingers loose.
“Pie. Two slices. You choose,” he tells her.
Your brain scrambles for some way to rationalize what you see, but as unbelievable as this is, it’s the truth.
You start laughing, and then you can’t stop. You cover your mouth with both hands. Still laughing when the pie comes to the table, you don’t even bother trying to eat it. You let Llewyn eat both pieces. He leaves his wings out the whole time.
*****
When you get to your apartment, Llewyn peels off his layers. He looks like a normal person in his unbuttoned flannel, white t-shirt, and pants.
He looks in the mirror to run his fingers through his dark, curly hair and brushes them through his beard. His shirt is smooth and wing-free.
“No offense, but you can go now. You did your job,” you say, not really wanting him to leave.
He’s probably busy, and now that things have settled down, it’s all so strange. You’re not sure how to handle it.
You crack open the window by the fire escape to let some fresh air in. The sky’s turning orange and pink, and you can hear commuters all over the city honking at each other.
“Sorry if I scared you with the wings. I could tell you wouldn’t have believed me otherwise.” Llewyn flops down on you couch. “Anyway, I can’t just leave whenever I want to. It doesn’t work like that. Actually, I don’t know much about it.”
“You said you’ve done this before.” You sit on the other end of the couch, legs up.
“Doesn’t mean I understand it,” he shrugs. “Look, all I know is that this feels different to me. You’re different.”
You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, coming from an angel who looks after hard cases all day.
“Any chance you have a guitar?” Llewyn asks.
“I don’t play.” The look that passes over Llewyn’s face is like someone told him he’d just missed the last train to reunite with his lost love. “They don’t have guitars in heaven?”
He scratches his stomach over his t-shirt. “Heaven and hell, none of that is exactly what people think it is. Basically, yes, I play the guitar sometimes, in the place I usually am, but it doesn’t sound right. Nothing sounds quite like it does down here. I don’t know if it’s the material or the air. Playing anywhere but Earth feels wrong.”
His fingers tap along his stomach absent-mindedly.
“My neighbor’s son takes lessons. She’d probably let me borrow it. He hates it anyway.” You’re up off the couch before Llewyn can respond.
Your neighbor’s home, and happily lets you borrow the guitar, and reassures you that her son’s interest is soccer now so you can borrow it for as long as you want.
Llewyn’s eyes light up when he sees the instrument. “That’s better than I expected,” he says as you hand it to him.
He settles it into his lap, plucks at the strings and starts tuning immediately.
“Whoever she bought this from knew what they were about,” he says. He strums it experimentally. “Not bad at all. It’s almost as old as I am.”
He looks more human like this, with the guitar, and more comfortable than you’ve seen him.
“Do you know any Fleetwood Mac?” you ask, only partially joking.
His brown eyes laugh at you. “I like their music, but no. I can’t tell you how many times I asked to be sent down to guide one of them. Guess they didn’t need my help, though. I can play you something I used to sing.”
If you hadn’t believed he was an angel before, you would’ve believed the second he started singing.
Llewyn’s voice is beautiful. It reaches right into your chest, into your heart.
He probably had the same power before he was an angel, or whatever he is.
You have to swallow around the lump in your throat as he picks out the last part on his guitar, humming along until finally, he and the strings fall silent.
He smiles to himself. “It just occurs to me, maybe it was a bad choice to sing a song about hanging to someone who was dangling her legs off the roof an hour ago.”
“No,” you say, your heart beating fast, “no, it was great. Really.”
You sit up straight, broken out of your reverie. You both smile awkwardly.
“I can’t believe I’ve never heard of you before,” you say.
Llewyn rolls his eyes. “History’s full of forgotten guys like me.”
“I don’t think so,” you say. “I’m not sure there was ever anyone like you.”
Something in your voice makes his big eyes lock onto yours. You stare at each other for awhile. His eyes and lips turn downward. More than that tired look he has, there’s some confusion in it, a worry.
Llewyn sets the guitar aside and stands. He goes to the window, wordless and stands there, looking up at the rising moon.
He shakes his head. Shakes it again.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
The mood in the room is heavier when Llewyn glances back at you.
“Just thinking about something I heard, up there,” Llewyn looks out the window. “I’m not usually much for people. I had to learn to talk to them, to do the job. I feel like I have more empathy than I used to. I never felt like I wanted to stick around with someone before, though.”
It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask him to stay.
You want to know more about him, and hear more of his music. You want to kiss him. That’s probably not allowed, but you can’t help it. You feel something for Llewyn you’ve never felt before.
He faces you, conflict of his own written all over his face. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath.
He stands there, doing nothing.
His brown eyes pop open wide. “Shit.”
“What?” you ask, a little panicked by his panic.
He scrunches up his mouth, tension in every muscle of his body.
He grunts.
“Shit!” he yells, his hands in fists.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, raising your voice.
“My wings are gone. I can’t,” he waves his arms around, “I got nothing. Damn.”
“Llewyn, I don’t understand.” You get up, but he paces away from you.
“No, you wouldn’t understand,” he laughs humorlessly before turning and pointing his finger toward you. “I knew you were different. Fucking knew it.”
He brushes by you on his way out, not grabbing his coat, but leaving the guitar.
*****
He doesn’t come back that day. Or that night. Or the next day.
There’s not a lot of information about Llewyn Davis online.
Nothing about where he used to live or even where he’s buried.
You have no idea where to search for a man who shouldn’t exist.
Different, he’d said.
Maybe whatever you’d felt in your heart, that little seed of something that had blossomed into full color after you’d heard him sing, maybe he’d felt it too.
Angels probably weren’t supposed to fall for humans.
You look up at your ceiling. “Hey, whoever you are, if I try to jump off my roof again, will you bring Llewyn back?”
Silence.
“Figures,” you mumble.
You pick up the guitar, brushing your fingers over the strings and making a racket of noise.
Llewyn’s music is so complex, but the truth of it makes it easier to understand. You’ve been listening to it non-stop. You wish you could’ve seen him perform back then.
The Gaslight.
It hits you like a bolt of energy. It’s famous for a lot of things, mostly Dylan, but to you, it means Llewyn.
It isn’t open anymore, but the building’s still there.
You grab your bag, touching Llewyn’s fingerless gloves, and rush out the door.
*****
Your hands shake as you run toward the building. You recognize the body slumped on the stairs, his feet stretched out onto the sidewalk.
“Llewyn!” you bend over him.
He blinks his eyes awake. “I’m awake. Stop shaking me like I’m a bottle of fucking milk or something. Geez.”
You throw your arms around him and hug him.
Llewyn tenses, but finally, hugs you back. His hand comes up to rest on the back of your head.
“You’re okay,” he says against your ear, so softly it’s mostly just air. “You’re okay.”
That’s when you realize you’re crying.
You sit back, wiping your face with your hand.
A woman walks by and stops to offer you a tissue.
“Thanks,” you say.
She looks less than pleased. “I had a homeless boyfriend once. Trust me, get out while you can… no offense,” she looks at Llewyn.
“None taken,” he says dryly as she walks away.
You tuck the used tissue into your pocket. “Come on, let’s go home.”
You feel exposed out on the street like this. You want to get him back to where it’s warm and safe.
Llewyn resists when you tug his hand.
“I don’t know,” he says with a doubtful look. “I can’t just move into your place. We hardly know each other.”
“You have to. You don’t strike me as the old-fashioned type,” you tell him. “You can sleep on the couch.”
Llewyn laughs, but you have no idea why.
“If you had any idea how funny that is.” He wipes his eyes. “Sure, I’d love to sleep on your couch, honey.”
He wraps his arm around your waist as you start walking toward home.
“Shame about the Gaslight,” he says.
“We’ll find other places you can play,” you say.
He tilts his head at you, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “We will?”
“Yeah,” you tell him excitedly, “I already paid my neighbor for the guitar. I have all of your albums, or at least the ones I could buy online.”
You reach up and touch his beard, the hair soft and scratchy all at the same time.
“I think you’ll have to change your hairstyle a little bit, or people will think you’re trying to hard to be the real Llewyn Davis.”
Llewyn looks annoyed. “I am the real Llewyn Davis.”
“Yeah, but we’ll have to tell people you’re his grandson or something,” you say.
“Look, I’ll play all the music you want, but this is all starting to sound a little far-fetched.”
You stop at the light, changing position so you can grab his hand and slide your fingers through his. “Does it sound more far-fetched than how we actually met?”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll tell people I’m my own grandfather.”
The crossing light is red, but there aren’t any cars coming so you start to dart out into the road. Llewyn holds you fast, though, not letting you go anywhere.
He looks a little apologetic. “Sorry. I uh, just want to make sure… you’re not going up to the roof anytime soon, are you?”
His brown eyes, so deep and expressive, search your face.
You take both his hands, making he knows you mean every word. “No, I’m not. We’re not going up there unless it’s for me to make a video of you singing.”
Llewyn looks relieved, like there’s a weight off of his shoulders. Literally, there is. With no wings, he’s as human as you are.
As out of touch with the world as you’ve always felt, Llewyn makes you feel complete.
You needed a man out of time to feel whole, and Llewyn, you’re sure, has always needed someone to believe in him.
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OMG this is so sweet and sad and PERFECT!!! Llewyn having to atone for all his shitty behaviour by being a guardian angel is just spot on!
His hand moves in the air, like the gesture helps him think. “How about one of those things that’s smoking without the cigarette?”
"...You got one of those telephones that fits in your purse?"
You blink at him, taking your cell phone out of your pocket.
“Look me up. Llewyn Davis. Two L’s-e-w-y-n,” he says, leaning forward on the table.
His almost-got-it references to modern stuff is so cute I swear. The idea of him knowing what a vape is and telling her to google him just tickles something in my brain.
And the singing! My heart can't take it...
This was so gorgeous! Thank you for sharing it with us!
Frankenstein (2025) feat. final screenplay + complete screenplay by guillermo del toro.
there's a lot of scenes i haven't put on here but i'm still figuring out how to make gifs without adobe photoshop so the speed + quality differs per gif.... ahhhhh
