#I can’t believe I witnessed this with my own eyeballs
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He didn’t have to do that
//Bad Omens @ Myth Live-MN
#bad omens#noah sebastian#bad omens cult#he’s so fine#concrete forever#noah#Sebastian#dethrone#him and that mic#a love story#ouch#he knows what he’s doing#jolly karlsson#GUTTURAL#please scream at me#pretty boy#badxomens#I can’t believe I witnessed this with my own eyeballs
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dreamt a cipher
a shepard/garrus post-destroy ending longfic.
[AO3 link]
I’ve debated a while about when to start posting this. Now it’s the new year, and I’ve been working on Cipher for over a year and a half, and I’ve waited long enough to start sharing it with you all. I’ve decided it’s finally time to start uploading while I work on the final chapters.
I started writing this before I ever drew a single piece of fanart for Mass Effect. It’s all the things that were bouncing around in my head after choosing the destroy ending with a mostly-paragon Shepard—consequence and responsibility and self-recrimination; her relationship with Garrus and with herself; their ties to each other and how much weight they can bear; their differing perspectives and how they slot together—all that fun stuff—compressed into a story, a place, a narrative.
I believe in the power of love, and I promise a happy ending. They’ve just been taking the long way to get there. Feel free to yell at me in the meantime.
A huge thank you to @callista-curations for her meticulous and invaluable beta work, and to @that-wildwolf and @gammaraydeath for being the best hypemen I could ask for!
A more detailed list of warnings can be found on AO3.
I've posted the full cover art here.
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Summary:
Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Rating: M (subject to change)
Important Tags: post-destroy ending - angst with a happy ending - slow burn (of sorts) - arguing - reconciliation - survivor guilt - minor original characters
Her own personal Noverian peak. That’s what it was supposed to be. Nothing but the discovery: no distractions, no comfort, no windows looking out—no familiar faces. But it's starting to look like her winning streak might have ended in that pile of Citadel rubble, if it ever extended that far to begin with.
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“How does the Earth idiom go? No use beating a dead—” A long-suffering sigh. “What was it again?”
“A dead horse. And yet, you’re here. Beating it.”
Pot, kettle. She wishes he’d just fucking say it.
-> AO3.
Read the start of Chapter 1: Constant Velocity under the cut!
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The overhead lights flicker as they always do when the data screens are up and running. It’s not something one gets used to, even so. It stings at her ocular nerves—or something like that, anyway, somewhere along the delicate wires that extend from her eyeballs into her brain—but her focus on the data doesn’t waver.
“In that case,” says Shepard, squinting against the ache, “what we need is salvage from a relay outside the immediate burst zone. Four jumps away. Five, if possible. There’s no point to any of this if we can’t scrape together a control group.”
She glances back at Elsawy, who so far hasn’t made it more than a meter into the room. She nods without looking up from her omni-tool; orange shimmers off her shiny, black hair, giving her the uncomfortable air of a Cerberus operative. Not the worst comparison, except that Miranda would waste no time letting her know if her logic took a faulty turn somewhere. Elsawy’s just as likely to agree now and write a message detailing all her crap conclusions later.
Leaning her hip against the conference table, Shepard shifts her weight off her left leg, bites down on the sigh that almost manages to slip out. Once in the clear, she grouses, “Where the hell is Meyer? He’s the one that called this meeting.”
As it is, it’s three people in attendance and she’s the only one talking. She could’ve achieved the same results with a voice call from her quarters, where she could elevate her leg in peace and without witnesses. In the dark.
“Lab Two,” answers Elsawy, finally ripping her attention off the omni-screen and gracing Shepard with a second of eye contact. Maybe in another life she could appreciate the effort—Jesus, as if she hasn’t had her fill of lives already. “We’re close to a breakthrough on the initial output patterns. Sorry. He’s been feeding his data to me.”
“Right.” She blinks once, twice, in time with the flickering. It doesn’t help; it never does. “I’ll swing by later, then. Anything else he asked you to relay?”
“Just that, Commander.” Elsawy is mumbling just enough that her voice has to compete with the drone of the air vents. The translator takes a second to filter out and amplify it. The result is less than perfect: “More salvage—” bzzrt—“bigger picture, you got it.” She narrows her eyes, and Shepard raises a brow. “Left leg or—” bzz!—“left hip?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Commander.”
“It’s nothing relevant,” she says pleasantly, forcing herself to stand up straight again. There’s a brief tremor shaking up her hamstrings; she waves a hand to distract from it. In the frenzy of the lights, the movement looks jerky, nervous. She soldiers on. “Old field injury. Unrelated. Anything can set it off.”
Funny, kind of, since it’s that very leg that ends in the most perfect, cooperative example of a foot she’s ever had the pleasure of treading on. It’s cloned; a replacement. Not the only one either. They should’ve just done away with the whole limb, but she hadn’t been consulted. Same with her trick shoulder. Not even Cerberus had managed to get that one back on the straight and narrow.
“I’d rather you bring it up with the doctor,” replies Elsawy. This is, apparently, what it takes for her to finally speak at a reasonable volume. “If we manage to fill even one of the data gaps…”
“I know,” she says. “I know, and I’m telling you, it’s unrelated.”
-> continue reading on AO3
#mass effect fanfiction#shakarian#fanfic#shakarian fic#oh GOD. here it is. I'm BIRTHING this baby like Shepard birthed grunt#I'm so nervous but I am really proud of this story so Take it.#cipher tag
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Preliminaries
Book: Laws of Attraction
Pairing: Martin Vanderweil x Wind Velez (Genderqueer!MC)
Rating: Teen
Word count: ~550
Summary: Martin finds himself watching Wind. Again.
A/N: For @oh-so-youre-a-nerd. Thank you for letting me borrow Martin and Wind! Drabble 20 of my 30 days of drabbles.
He’s staring again.
Martin sips his drink, an abysmal bourbon that makes him question the Brass Monkey’s standards for the thousandth time. His eyes linger on the table of senior associates, passing over Gigi and Beau in the middle of a drinking game, over an amused Aislinn… and coming to rest on Wind.
He’s lost track of how often his eyes wandered her way tonight. She’s peeling the label off her beer bottle, his beaded bracelet peeking out under his blazer and glinting under the dim light. A smile lights up his face in a way that causes a low tug in Martin’s stomach.
Reluctantly, he looks away. He can’t keep doing this. They’re a colleague, for God’s sake. Worse, a subordinate. It would be the height of unprofessionalism to become involved with a subordinate, especially so soon after making senior partner. He won’t give Eli, Linda, and Reggie any reason to question whether they made a mistake making him partner. His career comes first. It always has, it always will.
“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice says to his right. He starts, his drink sloshing over the glass.
“Good lord. Are you trying to kill me?”
“Not in front of these many witnesses, no. But I won’t say I’m not enjoying this. Here.” He plucks a few paper napkins and hands it to him.
“Thanks. I guess. What are you doing here?”
Wind jerks his chin towards the rows of bottles on the counter. “My beer was a casualty of Gigi’s competitiveness, and the waiters are up to their eyeballs in orders. Figured it’d be easier to come get my own drink.”
“Perhaps you should consider it a sign to stop drinking tonight. You know I won’t be giving you any leeway if you show up to work nursing a hangover.”
She snorts. “Please. Like I can’t handle a couple of beers.”
“Are you sure it’s only a couple? I saw the little drinking game you and the others had going on.”
“Ooh, were you watching me?” They laugh. “Come on, you know me well enough by now to know I don’t go to work hungover. Ever.”
He does know that. Wind’s work ethic was the first thing he liked… noticed, he corrects, the first thing he noticed… about them. But that’s not the part that stands out to him now.
“I most certainly was not watching you. I just... happened to glance at the table, that’s all.”
“You know you could join us, right?”
Martin snorts. “I believe the others would skin you for suggesting such a thing.”
“Of course not!” He protests, but a small smile curls his lips. “Torture me at worst.”
“Well, you’re safe. I can’t socialize with associates outside of work. It would be… inappropriate now that I’m a senior partner.”
“Suit yourself.” Wind gestures to the bartender for another beer. “See you at work tomorrow?”
He nods. “Goodnight, Wind.”
They give a little salute. “’Night, Marty.”
She strolls back to his table, exchanging casual greetings with other regular patrons. Martin watches them, almost against his will, drinking in the relaxed confidence, the simple kindness. The way she is… Wind. Just Wind.
Just Wind, he thinks with a snort. There is no “just” about Wind. That’s the problem.
That’s always been the problem.
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Corrupted, chapter eleven: Swap - a Malevolent x TMA crossover
Tim experiments.
Jon believes.
Hastur wins.
Chapter 11 of Corrupted, a Malevolent x TMA crossover.
AO3
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They step outside into gloom; the sun has long set. Tim winces. “I’m not getting that report to Detective Spooky on time. Oops.”
We shouldn’t need to, if Bouchard is true to his word.
“I’m putting a lot of faith in a couple of old dudes who ignored me to my face,” says Tim.
Hastur huffs. You are putting faith in me. That is all you need to do.
Tim rolls his eyes.
“I’m… sorry, what?” says Jon.
“Pardon,” says Tim. “Talking to my resident bossy ghost.”
Bossy ghost!
“Anyway, I just realized we’re being brilliant! We’ll just go investigate whatever the Eyeball priest wants us to in the dark. This can’t possibly go wrong.”
Jon is still struggling to catch up. “Eyeball priest?”
“Elias. He’s not pretending to be anything else, is he?” Tim stares at the torn-out notebook paper. “Wait a minute, he wants us to go to Cornwall?”
“Cornwall?” says Jon. “That’s hours south.”
“Then he wants us to go to Edinburgh?” says Tim. “Edinburgh?”
“And that’s over three hundred miles north,” Jon says.
“Am I supposed to be losing them literally instead of with evidence, or something? Jon… can you remember exactly what he said?”
“That these six locations would get the police off your tail.” And Jon visibly tries not to ask, and just as visibly loses that battle. “Why are the police after you?”
“The guy inside me,” says Tim. “Those Fear things want to eat him, and they sent monsters to my house and trashed the place trying to find us. Police know whatever happened there is distinctly off, but I’m not exactly going to tell them ‘oh, you know, madness monsters, same old, same old,’ so they’re looking to pin it on me.”
“That’s terrible.” Jon’s eyes are huge. “Wait. They want to eat the thing inside you? Do these Fears always eat their own?”
“No. He’s not the same as them. He’s apparently some kind of… god?”
‘Some kind?’ Tim. Really.
“You have a god inside you.” And this, of all things, has flipped Jon’s skepticism switch. "A god."
“Yep!” said Tim. “He says he is, anyway.”
Says?
“Hm,” says Jon, putting a word of disbelief into the sound. It’s an amazing sound, absolutely dry and intellectually dismissive and desperately lacking confidence, and Tim wants to wrap him in a blanket and give him an ice cream.
Apparently, Hastur does not want to do that. I would cause him such pain if I could. While screaming, he would believe me.
“Oh, shit, that escalated quickly,” says Tim. “Look, Elias believes this guy’s a god.”
“Well, Elias believes all of it,” counters Jon.
“All of what?”
“All of it. Do you understand what we do here, Tim?” says Jon.
“Supernatural… stuff?” Tim posits.
“We collect knowledge. Personal testimony in the form of statements, and information on eye-witnessed esoteric events. We then research what we can, finding empirical evidence to back up or disprove any claim. We are not, however, paranormal investigators.” Jon sniffs. “You will not find our research on YouTube, no matter how excellent it is—and it is excellent. The Institute’s motto is, ‘vigilo, opperior, audio,’ which means ‘I watch, I wait, I listen.’ We are a true repository of the arcane, and together with our sister institutes in China and the United States, we preserved knowledge that would otherwise be lost for its sibylline and highly improbable nature.”
“So… supernatural stuff,” says Tim after a moment.
“Fine, yes, I suppose,” says Jon.
He’s an ass, says Hastur.
He’s adorable, Tim thinks. “And Elias believes it all, you say?”
“He insisted to me that everything in the Archives is real.”
Tim stares. “All the stuff that’s spread all over the place down there? That seems a little upsetting.”
Jon’s face twitches. “It is, isn’t it? At least I know the library isn’t all true.”
“That’s where you worked, right?” Tim says.
“Yes. I dug up background information on the stories there. I would say at least ninety-eight percent of it was complete hogwash.”
“So two percent was true.”
Jon hesitates. Swallows hard. Nods. “Yes. Undeniably. I believe that two percent would stand up in any court of law.”
If you don’t shut him up, Tim, I am going to fucking blast him through you.
“Geez, Hastur, chill,” says Tim.
“What?” says Jon.
“He’s being scary.” Tim rolls his eyes.
“Hastur?” says Jon.
We are wasting time. Tim, you hardly need to spend hours on a train. We can make a portal to the towns in question.
“Uh, no, we can’t,” says Tim. “I really don’t feel like going and getting all those weird tools again.”
“Did you say Hastur?” repeats Jon.
“Yeah, Hastur. And no, I can’t make a portal. I’m not going shopping again.”
It would be worth the effort, Tim. We could be in Cornwall in moments.
“Excuse me.” Jon abruptly runs back into the Institute.
Tim blinks after him. “Right, well, guess I drove him off. Oops.”
Tim. Let’s do it. Leave right now.
“We’re waiting. I’m pretty sure he’ll come back.”
We should not wait. He will be nothing but a danger to us. He’ll slow us down.
Tim stretches, pacing a little under the sodium street lights. “What is your problem with him? I like him. He’s a little nerd. And obviously, he can run really fast, at least over short distances, so I don’t think slowing us down is an issue.”
Tim. Portal. Now.
“Buy a guy dinner first, would you?” says Tim.
Tim.
“You’re the one getting commanding. Just relax. That guy can see threats we didn’t notice, and I’m not leaving without him.”
Fine. It clearly is not fine. Have you been to Cornwall?
“Yeah?”
Can you clearly picture a location there?
Tim has a bad feeling about this. “Yeeeah?”
If you can see it clearly, then we should be able to do this without an issue once you gather what we need. You will focus on that spot, trying to see it from all angles, if possible, and say, Y' mgahnnn nglui, which means, I open the door.
“This seems really risky, Hastur. What if—”
Jon comes banging back out again, skids to a stop, locks the door behind him, then runs down the stairs. “Ah-HA!” he says, holding up a folder.
Ugh. What’s he doing now?
“He’s got a yellow folder?” says Tim. “Sorry. Hastur can’t see you.”
“Well, this may be relevant to him,” says Jon, and hands it over.
Tim shifts so he can see it more clearly under the street light. “What’s this? It says, ‘Yang, P.: Notes and Recordings.’”
“It’s the transcription of a tape unfortunately lost, though we do have several copies dated within a week of receiving the original. This is the journal of a Peter Parker Yang, private investigator, who lived in Arkham, Massachusetts, in the United States. He experienced vivid hallucinatory dreams about a man who was taken by Hastur, the King in Yellow, and Mister Yang ended up dreaming about what happened to that poor man.”
“Fucking hell, are you serious?”
Jon adjusts his glasses. “Dead serious. I told you—we are serious researchers.���
Tim resists the urge to scratch him under the chin like a cat. “There’s a lot in here.”
“Yang dreamed all this over months of time. He recorded it; we know it’s legitimate because he described places and names he would have had no way to know about, but were confirmed via numerous other eyewitnesses both before and after his time, in multiple cultures.”
An alternate, says Hastur softly. I see. Yang received echoes via etheric resonance.
“Alternate?” says Tim.
This was the partner of Arthur Lester in my time.
Tim is very still. “Gonna hazard a guess. Was the guy Yang dreamed about named Arthur Lester?”
Jon startles. “Yes. How did you know that? The Institute has the only copies of this.”
“He told me about Arthur. Guy’s dead.”
“Well,” Jon says, paling. “Well, he... I…” He rallies. “Of course he is! He’d be something like a hundred and ten years old by now. I just wish we’d had this Arthur’s side of it. Yang didn’t have very nice things to say about your Hastur, for the record.”
“I’ll bet he didn’t,” Tim says slowly.
Hastur rumbles. You may tell him that if he behaves, I will speak of the things he so wishes to hear. He may regret this desire afterward.
Tim feels a little like a dog-walker, trying to get growling mutts to sniff each other’s butts and get it over with. “Hastur says he’s willing to answer questions about it later.”
“Really?” Jon’s look… changes. It goes hungry, ravenous, not entirely dissimilar to the way Tonner eyed him over her desk.
Tim swallows.
“That would be truly something,” Jon says, reeling it in and adjusting his glasses.
"Sure," says Tim weakly, because what the hell was that?
If you do the portal spell, I'll answer his questions.
“Oh, it’s bribery, is it?” says Tim. “Wait a second. This is dated from the 1930s.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Right. Hastur… you’re going to have to explain the whole three thousand years gap thing.”
Simply done. It is a timeline issue.
“Doesn’t sound so simple?”
Alternate timelines converge in unusual ways. The fact that the Parker Yang of this universe picked up echoes of what happened in my universe thousands of years ago isn’t as strange as you think. When there are doubles of people—or, far rarer, people are reborn—they often pick up echoes of other versions of themselves.
Tim looks at Jon. “It’s Doctor Who rules.”
It is not Doctor Who rules. This is serious.
“Were you serious about the portal?” says Tim.
“I’m sorry,” says Jon. “But I really need to know when you’re talking to him and when you’re talking to me.”
“So you believe me now?”
“Not necessarily about him being a god, though I’m sure he thinks he is,” says Jon (and Hastur growls). “But rather that you knew a name you couldn’t possibly have known—that speaks to a source of knowledge outside the Institute, and quite specific to this case.”
“You’re really wired for this stuff, aren’t you?” says Tim.
“I love it,” says Jon quietly. “If I could do nothing but read and learn and research all day, forgoing all the annoying biological processes, that’s what I would do.”
What he is actually doing is wasting our time.
Tim sighs. “He’s demanding tonight.”
“What is he demanding?”
“He wants me to make a portal.”
“A portal? I don’t understand.”
“Like a wormhole, or something, right to Cornwall.”
“You can do that?” The hunger is back. “You can actually do that?”
“Maybe. I haven’t tried yet. I’m a little scared to. Apparently, I have magic."
Jon makes a face.
"Aw, you don’t have to make the face. I wouldn’t believe it either, except… I’ve done two spells. Successfully.”
Jon stares. “What spells?”
“I got out of some ropes I’d been tied in by exploding them. Then, I used a finding spell to locate a book—Hastur’s book—that’s been taken by… an enemy. They both worked. I didn’t expect them to.”
Jon has the most interesting look, torn between needing this to be true and needing this to be false, and it is making him seem so young. “Why were you roped—never mind that. Prove it.”
Doing some magic ought to make them both happy. “Hastur, give me a small spell. Nothing to hurt anybody. I don’t have any rope to explode, and I’m not doing the finding spell again.”
Fm'latgh, Hastur says smoothly.
“Which is?”
Fire. You can hold flame in your hand.
“Without burning myself, or setting him on fire?” Tim says. “Or anything around here on fire.”
Yes. You will literally hold flame in your hand, cupped, and nothing will burn unless you will it to. The magic responds to you, Tim. It encapsulates and enfleshes your desire. That is why you must know yourself, and be clear in head and heart. I will teach you some meditation techniques.
Tim exhales slowly. “We’re in a weird 80s movie now, I guess. Stand back a little. Gonna try something.”
Jon obediently skips five steps back.
Tim holds out his hand. He tries to imagine a tiny flame, not even match-size, in control and flickering. Focuses on this idea; refuses to let it grow, refuses to let it warm the corners of his mind. “Fm’latgh.”
Of course, the flame is big.
Not too big. It doesn't go out of control, doesn’t leap from Tim to devour Jon’s sweater vest. It is, however, not the small and subtle flame Tim imagined.
He yips and leaps backward.
Jon yips and leaps backward.
Hastur cackles like a mad old witch on testosterone.
And Tim realizes he doesn’t know how to turn it off. “Hastur! The fuck! Cancel! Stop!”
Just will it gone, Tim! You can do it. Picture it: extinguished, air gone, the flame dying out and going to black smoke above your hand, then dispersing in the wind!
Tim has always had a grand imagination, and without meaning to, he imagines snuffing it with his hand.
It goes out with a sizzle—and Tim is burned.
“Fuck!” Tim cries, shaking his hand wildly.
Easy. We can heal it.
“That… you…” Jon approaches, reaches, hesitates.
“Yeah, go ahead and look,” says Tim. “Ow. Gods, that hurts. Always forget how bad a burn hurts until you get another one. Fuck!”
Easy. Imagine your hand being healed, and say, ph'lloig. That means remember. You are telling your hand to be what it was before you burned it.
“I don’t… I mean, I guess I know my hand, but I don’t remember it exactly? Hastur, will this give me a little baby hand, or something?”
Only if you imagine yourself with one.
“Don’t think about an elephant, got it,” says Tim, mad because it hurts.
“You’re really burned,” says Jon, seriously, having apparently satisfied his need to verify a lack of wires or gadgets hidden in Tim’s skin. “Let me get the first aid kit.”
It really, really hurts. "Wait."
Use the spell. Be instantly healed.
Tim stands on a fence, balanced, unsure.
Magic. Magic. (And his hand hurts.)
Dangerous and not yet fully controlled magic. (And his hand hurts.)
But he’s being chased by god-eaters. And gray-skinned monsters. And crazy Hunt-cops. (And his hand hurts.)
It’s risky, but it seems like learning how to control this might be the option that keeps him alive longest.
Also: magic.
“Tim?” says Jon.
Tim, says Hastur.
Tim know how it feels now: like flexing a muscle in his mind, one he was never aware of before. Except he was. He’s been using it all his life to get people to see him. Hoping they’d like him.
And he has an idea. “Hastur,” he says slowly. “Why are we using that weird language for spells?”
It is my language—the language of gods. As such, its meaning is narrowed, precise. It allows for better control of your power.
“So theoretically, I could use my own language.”
Hastur hesitates. I wouldn't. English is imprecise, relying too much on connotation and context.
“Except I’ve been doing that, haven’t I? Just by instinct,” says Tim.
It isn’t the same as what we discussed earlier. That is vague, not a precise spell; the equivalent of waving a flag, not threading a needle.
But Tim’s instinct is almost never wrong—and it’s telling him this is not what Hastur thinks. He looks at his hand (and his stomach turns because that is really burned). He remembers how his hand feels normally, just his hand, flexing and faithful and strong. Then, he whispers, “Heal.”
And he flexes that muscle.
Jon gasps.
So does Hastur.
His hand tingles, a cool wash that erases the pain, and it's repaired. He gawks at it.
“Impossible,” whispers Jon, holding Tim’s hand so close to his face that his breath tickles. “Right in front of… I saw it. I checked the wound—it was real! I still have blood on my fingertips, and—” He touches his tongue to it.
“Ew!” says Tim.
“That’s real blood!” says Jon as if he won the lottery.
Tim starts to laugh. "I did it. I did it!"
You did, but there may be a cost.
Tim can't stop laughing. "I fucking... did you see that?"
"I saw," says Jon, and Tim realizes Jon is crying.
“Hey, uh… whoa, hey,” Tim says, eyes wide.
Jon wipes his face viciously on his shirt sleeve. “It’s real. This is real.”
“Yeah. I, uh. I’m still getting used to it,” says Tim, and laughs again. "I just did fucking magic right in the middle of London! In the year of our lord 2019!"
Jon laughs with him, weakly, and wipes his eyes again. "And I got to see it!”
Timothy, says Hastur slowly. That… means things.
“What does?” says Tim. “That I’m not what you expected?”
More than that. This isn’t gods-damned Merlin. This is something else.
“Yeah?”
“What’s he saying?” Jon is all in. “What’s he saying to you? What does he sound like? How does a god sound?”
“Hey, maybe you could hear him,” says Tim.
He can’t hear me without also hearing other disembodied beings, so I wouldn’t advise trying to perform that little feat.
“Which means you think I can do it,” says Tim.
A beat. Yes.
Jon is still leaking a little. He wipes his eyes again, then rummages and finds a handkerchief in his bag.
“So he sounds… really good, actually,” says Tim.
“Good?”
“It’s a deep voice. Resonant. You can sort of feel it, you know?”
Jon’s eyes are wide. “Feel it? But it sounds human?”
“Sort of? If I hadn’t known all of this, I’d have assumed it was some guy speaking into something. Impressive voice, good elocution—almost an American accent? Not quite? Really bossy, though.”
Tim.
“Really bossy. Like, you wouldn’t even believe.”
Tim. We need to go to Cornwall—and I think we should take the train.
Hastur sounds subdued this time, rather than bossy.
“What? After all of that? Are you feeling all right?" says Tim.
I have a lot to consider.
Jon is looking at Tim as if he glows.
Tim clears his throat. “Right. New thing. Should we, uh. Do this here on the street?”
"Do what?" says Jon.
"A portal," says Tim, because he's feeling reckless, because—
(Because he got mad when he hurt himself doing it Hastur's way, and that isn't necessarily Hastur's fault, but now, Tim's instinct is skewed.)
Tim. Tim, wait.
"He's eager. Been asking me to do it for a while now."
Jon's eyes go even wider. "We're really going to just... travel somewhere else?"
"Maybe. I don't know. Never did it before."
Tim! Don't try this without the tools.
Tim is going to try this without the tools. "Let me concentrate." And he closes his eyes.
Tim!
Nope. Eyes closed, picturing the spot in his mind. That bench, that bush, that bin, probably still overflowing with fast-food wrappers.
Tim! You don't know what you're doing.
Well, maybe Hastur doesn't, either. Tim pictures the lamppost there. The smell and sound of lions. He flexes that muscle.
This time, something in his head hurts—a sharp twinge, like maybe he's straining that unused muscle a bit.
Tim!
“Tim?” Jon squeaks.
Tim opens his eyes to find a hole in the air.
Through it comes the sounds of a zoo at night, the chittering of nocturnal things, the gentle waft of musk and hay and animals. There is no sign of people; the zoo is closed. But just as he'd imagined, there it is: the bench, the lamppost, and the overflowing bin.
“What…” whispers Jon.
“First kiss on that bench,” says Tim, staring. “Right there. Smelled like old ketchup and chips, and I didn’t care.”
Bench? What? What did you do? Tim, tell me!
“Made a portal in the zoo.”
The… the zoo?
“Incredible,” Jon whispers. “I can smell it.”
Tim, where is this portal? What area of the zoo are you picturing?
“We were watching the lion enclosure,” Tim says.
Hastur makes a low sound. So… did you account for that before placing your portal?
“Account for… wait, what?”
And inevitably, a lion steps into view.
It is walking forward, creeping, curious; it slinks onto the walkway ahead of them as though coming through the portal Tim made, but was definitely not doing so from Chelsea.
"How does that work? Why would it... oh fuck. I made a hole in the enclosure!” Tim whispers.
The lion turns around and looks them in the eye. She's magnificent; low to the ground, muscled, her fur a tawny gold even in the half-light of a zoo closed for the night. And she growls.
Close it!
Jon makes a tiny sound and raises his bag over his head as if to throw it.
Tim wishes the portal closed with all his might, with everything in him, flexing whatever that muscle is as hard as he can.
The opening vanishes.
It's more than a sharp twinge this time. Maybe something in there popped. He doesn't know.
“Shit!” Jon says, and Tim falls down.
#
He wakes on the train.
It’s familiar; the rhythmic, gentle jostling, the sound of the track below. The rare bits of conversation that survived the solitary experience of portable media. He has no memory of getting on the train, but he has another, distinctly larger concern: his left eye has gone dead.
He sits up with a gasp.
Across from him, Jon jumps badly and spills part of his paper cup of tea. “What do you want now?” he snaps.
Tim stares at him, shaking a little. He blinks. Rubs his eyes; no, the left one is black, definitely black. “Jon,” he says. “What happened?”
And Jon’s eyes go very wide. “Tim?”
“Yes?” says Tim, because who else is he supposed to be?
Jon plops the cup into the holder (sloshing more out of it) and comes to him right away, crouching, checking his pulse, peering into his face. “It’s really you?”
“As opposed to fucking what?” says Tim, because he refuses to believe the alternative, because—
Me.
Hastur sounds the same. Not louder, or anything like that. But oh, dear gods… he sounds smug.
#tma#malevolent#tma fic#malevolent fic#tma crossover#malevolent crossover#corrupted fic#jonathan sims#tim stoker#hastur malevolent
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(woop imma go on a nostalgia rant)
How it started / How it’s going
Congrats to @aliiveswrites on WRITING A FREAKING BOOK! The Winding is a witty LGBTQ+ futuristic fantasy that, I can confidently say, has been nearly 15 years in the making.
I count myself among the lucky ones to have witnessed the world Ali has built - from the sidelines - starting back in senior high school classes and lunch breaks, where doodles of an eyeless man with floating eyeballs and a pair of dice would make his way into Ali's ongoing sketchbook.
To countless hours where we should have been doing homework, and instead making "zaney" (heh) characters of our friend group, lovingly called The Epitome of Science. To witnessing these fun little doodles evolve into independent characters, with their own thoughts and personalities.
"To those we carry with us" Ali held onto this idea over the years, and it was always a joy to see new art she'd created, or hear about a new direction a character was going in, or a new thread on this story she was building and a mystery at the heart of it.
I couldn't be prouder of the hard work and determination Ali has gone through to make this book a reality. Turns out, the publishing industry is hard AF. I love that she found a publisher in Literary Wanderlust that believed in her vision for the world she built. And now it exists and I still can't believe I can hold it in my hands (The cover is VERY SOFT 10/10 would recommend).
To see "Book One in the Epitome of Science Trilogy" is something my brain can't fully comprehend. I'm so excited to reconnect with these characters - old and new. We are so lucky that these characters refused to leave and had a capable host to tell their story.
The Winding by Ali Ives
"In a world of gods and monsters, the future rests on a toss of the dice"
Order through your local bookstore! Check it out at https://www.literarywanderlust.com/product-page/the-winding
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Reposado - Chapter 7
I started hyperventilating hard. This couldn’t be real. Whatever the fuck was happening, it wasn’t happening, I had another class after Health and then I was biking home with my friends. All my friends. And Cassie would be there and it would be normal, it would be fucking normal.
Sure, bitch, sure.
I backed away to the drinking fountains for a second. Anything could be on the other side of that door. No, things were normal, and I’d see normal things. No, there was blood everywhere, more than I’d ever seen before in my life, and it was right there before my eyes. I paced back and forth in the unreality for a minute. Something eventually snapped in my head, and I decided I couldn’t bear to see what happened to Cassie, and yet it would be worse to leave her in there fucked up and alone, needing help. If I see something so bad I need to kill myself later, you know what, fuck it. That was my judgment call.
The door opened easily. It was worse inside than I even imagined. It looked like a bomb went off right next to Miss V, and I was doing okay until I saw her liver on the desk, and it was the same color as the diagram from last week in health class, and I knew I was going to throw up. I grabbed the little trash can (helpfully already labeled “biohazard”, like a bucket labeled “water” floating in the Pacific Ocean) and puked. Onto Miss V’s eyeball, as I discovered a second later, and I puked again. Like, I’m not trying to gross you out. But it’s literally the most fucked up thing I’d ever seen in my life, and it’s still in the top five. I have to convey on some level what it was like to witness that shit.
And there, in the epicenter, in a what looked like a sleek pink and gold prom dress that cut down asymmetrically at her thigh, was Cassie. She didn’t have a speck of blood on her, but she did have these gold bracelets that took up a lot of her forearms - kind of reminded me of Wonder Woman - and a crown that had a very similar design. Oh, and the necklace that matched the neckline of the dress, gold there too. It was all a look, all… designed as one thing? But even without the blood, she did not look okay. If anything she was more pale than ever, she looked like a cancer patient in a wig and costume. Like some sort of nasty disease just ate her from the inside. Guess that’s how tuberculosis got its nickname - consumption. That made a very in-person kind of sense in that moment.
She was fine hours ago. My brain recoiled from all of it. How had she been fine, and now….
Shit, no, she wasn’t fine. The handprint. Fuck. How long had this been going on? What was the thing that was going on? I nudged her, shook her shoulders gently. “Cassie. Cassie you have to wake up, please. Please don’t be dead. Please.”
She moaned and opened her eyes, pale and yellowed. But there was still something very her about them, the light was still on. She smiled, deliriously. “Lees? Is that really you? After all this time?”
That struck me cold. I stopped moving, but she was stirring on her own now.
“Lisa Meyer? Oh god it is you, you’re so… ohhhh look at you, darling.” Her eyes welled with tears, and I felt my skin bristle. “I missed you so much. I know you don’t believe me, but I did.”
I stood up slowly. I’d had to walk around in here, interact with things, I had blood all over my denim jacket and shoes, soaking in. I must have that the craziest look on my face. I was just at my every limit in that moment. “Who… the fuck… are you.”
I don’t hate myself for how I reacted, with what I knew then, and what I went through. But I also can’t forget the heartbreak I saw in her face. I don’t think there’s a thing I could have said to hurt her more deeply. She… crumpled. The spark went out of her. “Do I look that bad? My last jump, huh? Fuck. I guess I should have known. I’m… I’m so sorry, Lees.” She looked away, taking in the view of the viscera. “I’ve just made it worse again, haven’t I. I guess that’s it, the end of the tank. Woe is me.” She tried to smile sarcastically, but there was something broken and true in the words. More than she wanted to let on, more than she was capable of hiding.
“I’m, ah. Ow. I’m gonna need your help. One last time. Then I’m out of your hair forever, no more making it worse. But I’m gonna need you to bury me where people won’t find my body. I’m done, there’s no last stand, it’s over. Just promise me you’ll get me out of here and make sure I don’t get found? And. I’m sorry. God, you must still be in high school. What an awful thing to ask. I’m so sorry.”
I started shaking in stress and terror. Whatever was going on, I know when I’m being lied to, and this woman in front of me wasn’t lying. And for all the confusion and uncertainty roiling in my gut, there was one thing I that was starting to feel dreadful suspicion about.
I still had to ask again though. “Please.” I couldn’t control my voice. “Who are you? What happened to my friend?”
The woman was sinking into a cold deep place under the waves of consciousness. Maybe she’d say hi to Charon for me. Fuck. Please don’t. Please.
“You know… who I am. Cassie Boudroux.”
I choked.
“Friend to the end.”
Her head slumped back toward the floor.
“Your partner.”
I gripped the sopping-wet countertop and prayed to wake up.
“Age 39."
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Every day I go into the Shadow and Bone tag and every day I am forced to read ten deceptively innocent and incorrectly cross-tagged “but how could anybody ship Darklina?” posts. Every day I venture into the Grishaverse general tags and every day I see the anti Darklina echo chamber of factually incorrect content circling through new and unsuspecting blogs. Every day I unintentionally look upon another untagged and mind shriveling anti Darklina post and have my braincells burned away from me. Every day in this fandom is like stepping through a minefield.
Anyways, this is a shoutout specifically to the dozens of carbon copy “I just finished watching SaB and I can’t believe people ship Darklina!” posts. Absolutely batshit that I have to bear witness to that with my own two eyeballs on a regular basis.
#istg its the same post on different blogs over and over again#holy shit please stop its so annoying#so SO fucking annoying you guys#myramblings#deletelater#shadow and bone#sab#grishaverse#anti darklina bs#darklina#fandomcourse#mymetas
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I’m still in shock. I truly can’t believe that after 22 years, 22 seasons, 10 years of Chris Meloni not being on the show, and 15 years of me shipping e/o that I actually just witnessed a character call out Elliot Stabler on Olivia Benson being “the one true love of his life” with my own ear holes and eyeballs I—
#the absolute monster I will become next thursday...#*norma bates voice* I AM NOT UNHINGED I AM PERFECTLY HINGED#bensler#e/o#me#congratulations to us
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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 2
Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
“Oh, hi Dana,” Maggie says, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Should I have been expecting you today?”
Dana shakes her head from her mother’s doorstep. “No, sorry for dropping by unannounced, I was just...driving around. I thought I’d say hi.”
“Of course, sweetheart, come on in.” Maggie ushers her inside and puts on a pot of coffee. “Did you and Ethan have a good New Year?” she asks, pulling the creamer out of the fridge.
“Yes, it was fine. We just had a quiet night at home, nothing exciting,” she responds blandly.
They get situated in the front room, the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming in the windows and betraying the chill outside. Dana watches a pair of squirrels as they forage for acorns stashed away in the summer months. It occurs to her that the nuts they will eat were hidden before she married Ethan. Possibly even before she broke Mulder’s heart. It feels like lifetimes ago, and yet it was recent enough that the fruit of its season is still edible.
“Dana,” Maggie says gently, “can I ask you something? And I hope you won’t take offense.”
“Sure, mom,” she answers, not looking away from the furry foragers.
“Are you happy?”
Dana turns to look at her mother, finding her with a concerned and empathetic expression.
“What do you mean?” she asks. She’s worked so hard to be okay, but maybe she’s not doing as well faking it as she thought.
“Dana, you are my most level-headed child,” Maggie begins, “I have never questioned your decisions or your logic, or your path for your life. It’s so clear that you make your choices with great intention and consideration, and that’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Say anything about what?” Her breath is becoming just a bit labored. It feels like her mother is about to reveal something significant to her, only about herself.
“You changed, Dana, after you and Ethan got engaged. It was like the light went from your eyes. I didn’t understand it, but I trusted that you knew what you wanted and chalked it up to jitters. But it’s been nearly three months, and I thought I’d have my daughter back by now.”
The pain in her mother’s eyes brings a lump to her throat and she swallows against it. Her chin quivers just a bit, but she fights to maintain control. It’s something she’s needed to do often as of late.
“Mom, how did you know that Dad was the person you were supposed to spend your life with?” she asks hoarsely, and Maggie’s face contorts into a mask of pained understanding as she takes her daughter’s hand.
“I knew,” she starts but then stops again, looking out the window with a faraway quality to her gaze. “I knew because when I was with him I felt alive, like he really saw me. And whenever I wasn’t with him, he was all I thought about.” Maggie turns again to look at her daughter with shining eyes, the memory of her late husband still one that pricks at the pain of her loss.
“But did you always feel that way, even after you’d been together for years?” Dana further interrogates. Certainly such a strong feeling must fade with time.
“It changed, of course, after four kids and dozens of moves and deployments. It wasn’t as consuming, we didn’t have time for it to be. But yes, in the moments that mattered, I still felt it. I still do now, and not having him here to reflect it back to me is what made losing him so hard.”
Dana nods tersely, looking out the window again as she sets her jaw against the tears. They still come, as she hasn’t mastered control over her tear ducts even after months of surreptitious crying.
“Mom,” she croaks out, turning back to look at the face of a person she knows loves her without question. “I think I made a mistake.”
“Oh, honey,” Maggie replies, tears filling her own eyes in sympathy for her child’s suffering. “There’s no mistake that can’t be fixed.”
Dana shakes her head and then lets it drop regretfully. “I can’t do that. To Ethan, to you. I already didn’t get married in the church, and I know how much shame a divorce would bring to you,” she says to her lap.
“Dana,” Maggie says with some exasperation, “do you realize that you’re suggesting that you should spend the rest of your life unhappily married because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings? Ethan will survive. He will find someone else who wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with them. I can certainly live through Marilyn Webber giving me the hairy eyeball at mass for a few weeks. You deserve to be happy, honey. And if that’s not possible with Ethan, you should move on.”
“Move on to what?” Dana asks in a whisper, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’ll never find out if you don’t start moving.”
———
She waits with a glass of wine in her hand, the third she’s consumed this evening waiting for him to come home, waiting to ruin his life so that she might save her own. He walks in the door sighing heavily, a sure sign of a bad day, and she’s afraid she might lose her nerve. He stops when he sees her perched in the armchair. It’s no accident that she chose a place where he couldn’t sit beside her.
“Dana, you’re home early,” he remarks, looking at her with confusion and a little concern.
“Uh, yeah. Can we- can you sit down, please? We need to talk.”
The worry in his eyes as he sits on the end of the couch closest to her makes her heart speed up. Just do it. Do it before you chicken out.
“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly, and she nods her head emphatically.
“I’m fine, Ethan, it’s nothing like that.”
He looks at her expectantly, bracing himself. She closes her eyes.
“Ethan. You- you are a wonderful person. A wonderful husband.”
“But…” he interjects for her. She opens her eyes and sees that his expression has changed from worry to resignation. Almost like he knows what’s coming.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just not- I don’t think we’re right for each other.” She takes a deep breath and a sip of wine. She’s almost there. Maybe he’ll take it the rest of the way for her.
He sits back on the couch, giving her an appraising look. “Since when, Dana? How long have you felt this way?” She can hear irritation in his tone.
She shakes her head gently. “That doesn’t matter, Ethan-”
He sits up abruptly and cuts her off. “It matters to me, Dana. Did you marry me knowing that your feelings had changed?”
She feels her chin pucker, the tears gathering in her eyes. She doesn’t respond.
He drops his head and gives a derisive little laugh, looking at the floor as he speaks. “I noticed the difference in you. I just didn’t want to believe it.” He lifts his head and there are tears in his eyes too, but his voice is steady. “Five years, Dana. What the hell happened to us?”
Mulder. Mulder happened to us, she thinks. But there is no value in telling him that.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she says in a strained whisper.
“Yeah, you said that,” he replies dryly. “So, what do you want, to go to counseling? Get divorced?”
She looks at her lap. “We don’t have to get divorced. We’re not technically married,” she says quietly, shame constricting her throat.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks incredulously. “I did not hallucinate our wedding, I remember very clearly that you barely got through the vows.”
“Um, Charlie was supposed to sign the wedding license, we were supposed to sign it as well, and two witnesses, before it could be mailed in and registered with the state. Missy found it at Mom’s the next day, blank. I guess we all just forgot.”
He’s quiet for a long time. When she looks up at him, his jaw is set and angry tears are streaming down his cheeks.
“You were never going to tell me, were you?” he asks quietly.
She looks away.
“Goddamn it, Dana!” he shouts, slamming his palm down on the coffee table. She jumps at the sudden outburst.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again. She doesn’t know what else to say.
He stands and goes to put his coat and shoes back on. “I need to get out of here,” he says as he stuffs his wallet in his pocket and collects his keys. He’s almost out the door when he stops and turns back. “What happens now?”
“I’ll go stay at my mom’s for the week, so you can….” she can’t quite voice the rest.
“Move out. Right. This is your place. Always was. Well, I guess since we’re not actually married there’s nothing more to do. Good luck, Dana. I hope you figure out what you want.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says again.
“Yeah, me too,” he says before pulling the door closed behind him.
#the x files#txf#dana scully#fox mulder#gillovny#msr#sculder#x files#x files fanfic#alternate universe
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You Won’t Believe What’s In Your Local Swamp! (Part 3)
(AO3)
(Part 2) (Part 3 - Here) (Part 4 - TBD)
“Arthur?”
“Hmm?”
“Your pH strip is soggy.”
Arthur blinked out of his stupor, shaking his head to compose himself as he pulled out the strip out of the beaker. The poor thing was completely sopping wet, quite practically just a darker version of itself before Arthur had put it in. Frowning, he set the paper down and looked in the direction of his partner, who gave him a humored expression in response.
“So,” João teased, leaning over the lab table with a grin so annoying that Arthur debated about actually punching him.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your… performance lately.”
Arthur gave him a half hearted eye roll before attempting to examine the color of the paper slip in question. There was no color that could be discerned now that it was drenched, so he tossed it and pulled out another strip from the container.
“You’re not my boss,” Arthur argued, eyes still fixed on the task at hand. “But if it counts, I apologize for the time that I ate your Bifana. Now can you leave me alone? I can’t concentrate with you around.”
João snorted, rolling his eyes. “You haven’t been able to concentrate already, Arthur. Don’t push me away because I’m right. You’re distracted about something. We should talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Jo,” Arthur insisted, checking the color of the new strip before immediately going to grab the Pyrex vial from the other side of the room. When Arthur returned, he grabbed the beaker with the lake water, eyeballing the amount to pour into the smaller container.
He made the mistake of absently looking at João, who met his gaze half way and witnessed the whole process of Arthur very much attempting to ignore him. He smiled and Arthur’s frown deepened.
“It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
“It’s not, ” Arthur countered sternly, voice straining to withhold an ungodly amount of irritation from spilling out. He set the glass device down before he could break it, leaning on the counter with his forearms on the table. Arthur shot him a glare. “And what’s gotten you so curious today? You must be jealous of something I’ve done, surely.”
The Portuguese man laughed, waving a hand in dismissal as he simply just leaned on the opposing counter, hands in his pockets as he relaxed his posture. He wasn’t doing work either, which Arthur observed. It was nothing unusual; João and his cousin Antonio were always the types to bother everyone before returning to their own business, and even then, they often didn’t usually get a lot done until the day before the lab results were due.
“Maybe,” João hummed. “Francis was the one who wanted to ask you initially what was wrong. He said you dropped the reptile assignment offer, which is not like you at all.”
What’s it to you? Arthur thought bitterly.
“The entire team’s been trying and keeping an eye on what you’re up to. You’re not very good at keeping secrets.”
“And you’re not very good at being subtle,” Arthur groaned, nearly slamming a second beaker on the table when he put it down. Typical. “But alright. I’ll humor your questions. Though if I do, you have to do the rest of these labs and let me leave early. I’m starting to develop a migraine just smelling this filthy swamp water.”
“Deal.”
With a start, Arthur tried to relax his brow and took a deep breath to ease his mind. It was the first time he had directly even attempted to think about it since the strange encounter a week ago, but all of it was as clear as if it had only happened a few hours prior.
The scene was as if it were something out of a science fiction movie, complete with bad acting from Arthur’s part. Arthur did not really consider himself a movie person (not really), but he definitely thought he had seen something of similar anatomy in a film, or at least a book. An image began in his head of a creature on all fours crawling out of the swamp near his house, drenched in mud and moss. It was not any animal that Arthur would have expected to come out of such a small swamp in the middle of Florida, and even if he could see the clean version of the creature, he guessed he still wouldn’t be able to understand what it was.
Its bottom half was most definitely an alligator, Arthur asserted, and that was already obvious. Arthur had come across one too many to not recognize what it looked like. But the top half? It was a human. It certainly had to be.
In consideration for the other part, Arthur knew enough human anatomy to perhaps guess that too. The fundamentals of learning reptilian anatomy often stemmed from the knowledge of what a normal human inner body would look like, what with the basics of the skeletal system and perhaps some muscular, artery or venous processes.
This was, quite frankly, chimera levels of anatomy. Arthur couldn’t even shake the thought of it; he even had dreams in the evening of trying to capture that thing’s skeleton! It’s vertebrae were likely human near the top, fusing somewhere along the line to become some alligators at the bottom. How did the thing breath under the water if it had a nose? How could the creature see? Did it have three eyelids or just one? Could it speak?
“Arthur, you’re staring again.”
“Shut the bloody hell up, João,” Arthur snapped, heart beat rising. The realization of himself deep within his own thoughts caught onto him only then, and he fought to keep his mind in the present. Arthur exhaled to prevent the second outburst from coming. His therapist had already warned him about his habit of temper, but he wouldn’t lose it today. At least not on João, who was probably the most tolerable on the team secondary to Ludwig.
“Sorry, sorry. I apologize,” Arthur sighed. “I’m … stressed. Which you may already know. It’s nothing, though. I just saw something at home the other day, in the bayou. I think it’s just my imagination.”
“Oh,” João’s tone sounded less teasing now and Arthur tried to appreciate it despite how clear that it was that João was not going to comprehend it at all. “Encountered your first wild and dangerous animal then?”
“Not my first,” Arthur grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just complicated. It nearly attacked me and I’d rather not talk about it. I haven’t been able to sleep well for the last few days.”
Arthur didn’t want to admit it to the others, but he had also booked a nearby motel to stay at while he was still trying to process what the hell was in his backyard. He wanted to stay the hell away from that thing as much as possible and this solution had worked somewhat. At some point, however, Arthur knew he would have to return to the home, if not to just rid his fridge of the perishables or take out the trash before it stunk up the place. But how could he? Arthur barely could compose himself thinking about the creature; he was practically unable to bring himself to return back into those marshes with that thing still there.
“Sure, Arthur sure. I’ll take it from here,” João smiled warmly, hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he went to retrieve the container of lake water from the table. “Just get some rest. Whatever it is that you saw out there, you can always call the exterminator. Like it or not, they might be able to find someone who can deal with whatever problem you have. Or just deal with it yourself, of course. Within reason.”
“Thanks,” Arthur practically breathed in relief, wasting no time in already heading for the door, already removing his lab goggles and coat.
“Arthur?”
“Yes?”
“You owe me a week of Bifanda.”
“Fine.”
+++
He was going to catch the thing in his backyard.
Arthur could not tell if it was the caffeine in the tea he had received from the cafe that spurred his thoughts, nor was he sure if it was spontaneously of his own accord. However, as his new plan evolved into sure certainty, it left the herpetologist free reign to visit every part of town to prepare for what was, quite frankly, a war.
A quick visit to Cabella’s yielded him a rope, a large crate and a snare pole, but also a new pair of shoes and a pith helmet that was long overdue for a purchase as well. The intention was to at least figure out a way to restrain it, but after browsing the aisles for a while, he pondered about the other possible circumstances.
Wrestling gators was not necessarily a strong option for Arthur; he had done football in his youth of course, but it could hardly be called any form of previous experience. The most he could perhaps do was to restrain the bottom half of the alligator by pinning it between his legs and sitting upon its back lightly, forcing it to have less of a chance to move or wriggle out of his grasp. That was the first part of the solution.
However, there was another human element he had to consider as well; the upper torso.
The thing didn’t have the iconic maw that was so feared by so many. But in a weird way of considering it, Arthur could handle this without much worry for any bites that could take out a limb or two. Though, as it turned out, that also eliminated the option of duct taping the mouth, as there was no longer a snout to hold close but instead just a normal face to keep from biting him.
A sense of embarrassment flooded into Arthur upon realizing that there would need to be instead, God forbid, a muzzle to keep the thing at bay. Belling the cat, so to speak. It was also not going to be easy either if accounting for the human arms that could very much also prevent Arthur from getting close to it, if at all.
So, after a relatively silent trip to the adult sex store (Arthur was not too keen on the cashier’s small talk and promptly left before anything could be said about his ‘crocodile hunter outfit’), Arthur eventually found himself on his backyard porch.
He was dressed in his khaki top and shorts; high socks peeking above his work boots. The rope was slung over Arthur’s shoulder loosely, held in place with one hand while the other grasped his snare pole. Arthur glared at the water itself, almost as if daring the other creature to come out of it.
Time to see what you’re really about.
The herpetologist took a long minute to observe his surroundings. The grassy patch of land was exactly how Arthur left it, which included the bucket that had the plethora of dead goldfish still in the middle of it. It reeked heavily of rotting flesh now, and after a moment of holding his breath, he went to retrieve it so he could toss it into the trash bin. He rinsed the bucket soon after, ridding the smell once and for all before returning to the task at hand.
With the remainder of the backyard still empty, Arthur placed the raw chicken that he had retrieved from the store into the newly cleaned bucket, leaving it tilted in the direction of the (still) orange waters. The crate was carefully propped just above it, held only in place by a stick. The rope was then, intuitively, tied to the stick and ready to be pulled anytime from Arthur’s hiding spot from behind a tree a few feet away.
There was no sound coming from the water by the time he had settled behind the Cyprus tree, but Arthur was not fooled. As a precautionary measure, the snare pole ended up in Arthur’s other hand, just in case the creature was smart enough to wrestle his way out of the trap before he could get there in time to restrain it. If he had to. Arthur tried not to imagine the worst case scenario.
But, as this was all said and done, Arthur eventually found himself eventually staring at the ground, energy zapped in a single moment when the preparation was already complete. The morning burst of excitement was gone when the reality of it finally set in. No longer was he a soldier in the middle of trying to assault the enemy but instead, a single man trying to catch a monster in the middle of a 90 degree afternoon.
God. What am I even doing?
The churring of water was enough of a reply, and Arthur’s stomach churned with it. He wasn’t tempted to look, at least not at first. Human or not, the thing behind the tree was likely intelligent enough to look at his surroundings before anything else, and Arthur spent no time trying to overthink it. He felt his hands clam up with sweat, shaking again just as he did the first time he had encountered the beast. The master plan that he initially concocted was now showing its holes and Arthur swore there wasn’t that many until now. The gator-human would likely rip off the crate before he knew it, and would find a new way to haunt Arthur; more so than it was already.
Before he could even think, the immediate wiggling of the rope was enough of an instinct for Arthur to yank it. The sound of the crate clunking, followed by a hiss, made Arthur’s heart race as he immediately went to drop the snare pole to find priority in grabbing the handcuffs and muzzle.
Arthur rounded the tree, finding the tip of its tail sticking out from under the crate. Jackpot.
Without hesitation, Arthur put his weight on the top of the box, torso leaning against the wood of the crate on top of the creature. The thrashing from underneath did not relent, however, and Arthur fought to keep his feet on the ground, the soles of his feet digging into the muddy floor as he tried to find some way of finding purchase so he could hold it still. Bending his knees to shift the weight, Arthur found that it was the only solution that he could manage at the moment, and one quickly turned into a nightmare as he discovered his body growing increasingly tired from the effort.
“Alright, alright!” Arthur practically yelled at the animal, teeth gritted. “Quit your squirming. Be glad I didn’t shoot you or anything.”
The animal made no indication of understanding. The crate took a moment to pause as well, as if it, too, were also tired of the fight. Though suddenly, the crate lurched, and Arthur lost his grip as he stumbled and fell forward. The crate fell away with it, launching off as the beast whipped its head to shake the offending object off.
It was only when Arthur had pushed himself off the ground, that he realized he was met with an even more horrifying realization. The being in front of him was not the chimera he had expected to have seen, but instead, an actual crocodile. And one that, as it spun around to meet Arthur’s fallen form, was about to launch its open maw at Arthur’s head.
Arthur screamed , not finding enough time to scramble away as it began to heave its massive form toward him at a blinding speed.
Arthur, you absolute fool. You’re dead. You’ve done it now!
Arthur raised his arms protectively but uselessly, and he nearly shut his eyes in silent acceptance. But before he could, a blur of color entered his vision at some point and the predator in front of him was launched sideways, body smacking against the side of his house like a rag doll.
“What--?”
Green eyes darted to the new opponent, and his heart began to sink.
There it was; the gator human in all its heroic glory. Arthur could clearly see him now, as the thing was only now coated in dried mud and dust instead of its swamp-monster appearance from weeks ago.
The thing was blond and had eyes that held a color somewhere in between a blue and a strange yellow. It had webbed feet on the “gator side”, but Arthur soon discovered that the thing’s front palms also contained a few scales as well, likely padding it to allow it movement in the murky environment. It had sharp claws, which nearly matched its teeth and Arthur couldn’t find himself able to tear his eyes away when his gaze found interest in the canines.
The whole bloody mouth of the thing was like a shark’s, but somehow even more so frightening when considering that the canines of the “human side” were longer than the rest of its rows of teeth.
The gator-man snarled something that somehow mimicked a voice and an actual guttural growl. It was soon identified to not be toward Arthur himself, but to the other alligator that had been smacked against the wall. The poor thing looked as if the attack had knocked its final breath and it lethargically began to march its way back toward the water like a punished child. Arthur didn’t dare move, just in case the crocodile would change its mind and turn around. But as it began to descend into the swampy waters, Arthur’s gaze returned back to the--
The gator-man was staring right at him, expression blank as it lifted its front extremity to grasp at Arthur’s cheek.
Arthur exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and backed away instinctively.
“You’re,” Arthur breathed, unable to blink. “It’s... you.”
The creature simply blinked back at him in curiosity. Three eyelids, it seemed. And it gave the sharpest toothed grin he had ever seen in his life.
“S’ss you!”
Arthur’s jaw dropped.
It. It could speak.
Arthur really fought the urge to not faint right now. He found himself relaxing his posture only slightly, and the animal crawled right into his lap as if it were an opening, and that itself nearly caused Arthur an episode of hyperventilation.
The dirty hand-paws reached up to hold Arthur’s face in his, and Arthur rapidly realized that he himself had not only developed jelly legs, but that he was at the mercy of whatever this thing decided to do.
“Okaay?” It asked, tone concerned. Arthur found his words for only a moment.
“I-I’m... okay. Yes. I’m alright.”
But was he really? Arthur couldn’t tell. His eyes lids were already closing and the last thing he heard was a soft gasp of worry.
(Part 2) (Part 3 - Here) (Part 4 - TBD)
#axis powers hetalia#hetalia world stars#hetalia#usuk fanfiction#usuk#aph america#aph england#hws america#hws england#hws usuk#aph usuk#my fanfiction#fanfiction
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Loki - Episode One, Summary bullet points in form of an unnecessarily detailed opinion
- What I found sort of funny was Loki, who immediately hit the dessert and immediately hurried to the next higher stone, as if this were the pedestal that was his equal, only to be able to explain / present himself to the Mongolian inhabitants, only that they did not understand him and asked again who he is. It kinda gave me Hela vibes. Black haired Odin children have a tough time getting heard.
ALSO! THE SASS! Yet staying polite despite him being confused of what is going to happen to him
- Trying to be all intimidating, but nobody takes him serious, as always! You can’t scare the time space cops my boy :/ Finding out how the company works and being all confused was honestly a very sweet and funny moment
- What’s up with the soundtracks??? Someone give this dude a raise who composed these Blade Runner-que music for the TVA followed with those cool bagpipes traditionally used for Scandinavian folk music? FUCK YES! Also the end credits music, it’s just excellent!
- Loki questioning if he’s a robot or not! I mean, he was told to believe he was an Aesir but in the end wasn’t. So who knew if Odin adopted a robot son? Better check on this one
- I kinda got cute vibes from Mobius and Renslayer, they seem to perhaps have a closer connection towards another, especially after he greeted her with a formal Hi and talking to her on a somehow personal level
- Mobius at first seemed like a very kind man and being patient with Loki, even supportive, but he is an experienced cop and knows how to handle complicated people, especially Loki variants. Mobius gives off a vibe of an older Blade Runner who takes his job very serious. But in the middle I kind of started to hate him a little
- The story of why Loki is an American crime legend D.B. Cooper just because he lost a bet to Thor when they were younger! Hilarious! Most of the most legendary pranks ever! I would have been more happy about the details of why Thor demanded this, or if it went like
” Loki! Cause some chaos on Midgard. Humans are easy to impress.”
” Say no more, Brother!”
- Though Mobius seemed like the only person ever who had the ability to call out Loki to his actions: That he isn’t a God of mischief, because he confronted Loki about if killing innocent people is part of his fun, if it brings enjoyment to him to torture people who had nothing to do about Loki’s past. Loki denying that it’s not true, Mobius harshly confronts him about his earlier maniac like expression when removing someone’s eyeballs, if this is still harmless mischief-making.
- BUT! Where is it mentioned he was controlled by the mind stone and the thriving fear of Thanos to get killed??? Loki was under pressure, to get killed by the Mad Titan, and he wasn’t thinking rationally when he invaded New York? For someone who studied Loki’s life so well, Mobius sucks to get a point to this one, or it will be mentioned in the future, I better hope so
- Loki doesn’t trust easily, because “Trust is for children and dogs.”
Gave me Natasha vibes. Because she and him were sharing a quite similar conversation a few hours earlier.
- SEEING FRIGGA’S DEATH! Loki giving great speeches about wanting to free everyone, being a ruler of the Nine Realms to hide away what he truly desired and that nobody would understand his thoughts and emotions, but seeing 2012 Loki seeing that HE gave the coordinates to the Dark Elves, unknowing Frigga would be on this very wing, you can see how hurt he was and panicked! He completely lost all trails of thoughts, asking where she is, if the TVA also kept her, if she is okay! He wanted to save her so badly, he doesn’t want to become the version who will kill her once again.
- Mobius saying that there is nothing he can change and that Frigga HAS to die to get back in the flow of time, OUCH!
- I get more TTDW vibes when everything that has been explained to Loki, that he will only bring death and chaos no matter what he does, that not only Frigga is destined to die, but Loki is about to die at some point, it made me think of Odin’s words:
Mobius said the same things, Loki’s destiny is to bring death or to ultimately die himself, no matter if he goes the bad or good path. It left me with weird vibes about Mobius being like Odin, just less of an abusive father mentor thing. He was made to cause pain, death and suffering. It hurt. Knowing those weren’t Loki’s goals, he came to the realization that Mobius is right, but doesn’t want to admit it, or at least denies it, but agreed in the end in a very subtle way
- MOBIUS AND LOKI FIGHTING!!
” Do you enjoy killing?”
“I will kill you!”
“Like you did to your mother?”
MOBIUS! FUCK YOU! At this point, he lost any sympathy from me towards him. He was guilt-tripping Loki, perhaps even gaslighting him. But this is also part of his job. He isn’t supposed to be Loki’s friend, he is a cop after all. Loki is an emotional and vulnerable being, so hitting him at the worst spot to get out more of him probably wasn’t the kindest thing to do, but probably the most effective for Mobius. Loki likes to pressure other people, but doesn’t like to be the pressured one.
- Loki’s purpose is to bring those together he ultimately tried to remove according to Mobius, Loki brought together a team of legendary superheroes together that barely knew each other, and they grew strong together thanks to Loki’s wrongdoings. It somehow hurt a lot, but in the end, Mobius was speaking the harsh truth
- "I will gut you out like a fish!”
“What's a fish?!”
BLESS CASEY!
- Endless Infinity Stones! I am in love with this idea! I don’t know why I saw people getting confused by it because even though the Stones are what hold the universe together, the TVA doesn’t live in that very universe, they are beyond that very space and time we don’t know and can’t grasp, they visit timelines after timelines, so of course it happens they find stones and keep them, either knowing or not knowing what they are, or they simply don’t care, because they have no purpose in the TVA. Perhaps these stones are variants too and don’t belong to a certain timeline and needed to be removed, such as Loki’s Tesseract
- What got me the most, and we all know what I mean, Loki crying privately when he once again viewed the life of his alternative self, viewing the loss of his family, the loss of his own life. I don’t really know if he mourned over Odin too, but in this series, Odin never threatened to kill or imprison Loki which perhaps didn’t cause any damage towards his anger. Though he was aware that Odin took the other Loki in a cell, but it was a destiny he could avoid now that he knew how things will turn out when he returns to Asgard. He will never get arrested, Frigga probably wouldn’t die because of him, though I get a feeling the Dark Elves will come nevertheless, but this time, it shall be Thor’s problem not to screw it up. Though it was a relief to see him smile soon after when he realized Thor was the only one believing in him, even though their relationships always has been kinda weird, as Loki always was jealous of him being everyone’s first choice, but in the end, Thor was alive, everything that was left, and Thor didn’t hate him
- End of File - I don’t know why, but reading this, Loki himself reading this, the very end of his life, it made me shiver. He saw his memories of what could be, what MUST happen to him, and that there are more happy memories. But in the end, there are no memories anymore - end of file. That’s it. That was his life.
- I can’t imagine how many thoughts must have been go through his head to see Thanos again, Loki’s try to kill him, just to see his neck and wind pipe getting cracked. He currently recovers from the effects of a full year of torture, both mentally and physically, just the same he would treat his ‘Children’. I can imagine Thanos promised him the world, something small to rule over to expand over more realms. Thanos triggered Loki’s fear and anger, who had to deal with the information he never belonged to Asgard in the first place. Whenever Loki would try to flee or play games with Thanos, I can imagine Loki got punished for it, he never even spoke sassy with Thanos during Infinity War. Loki is terrified of him for good reasons. I imagine this young man, feared, terrified, trapped on a rock with daily mental manipulation and pain. Loki became obedient and would have done anything for Thanos, whatever he ordered, including an exchange of power. Even if Thanos never fully was on his side and used Loki as a puppet with power and sorcery, being useful, I get a feeling Loki clung to his words and promises to rule over Earth as a savior and liberator, which completely went wrong
- His laughter following after could have many reasons, relief, stress or disbelief. He was still crying between those laughs, which could be taken as desperation about no matter what he does, his actions will lead to harsh consequences. Disbelief of what he just saw, as if it felt so unreal to even believe what he had just witnessed, that it was all real, a destiny that was meant to him. But what else did Loki do during serious situations? He avoids them, he doesn’t want to acknowledge problems and shoving them away with a sassy comment or a smile to cope with it - which could mean this laughter could be part of his coping mechanism
- Him opening up, addressing why Loki hurts people, was honestly the best scene to me. He spoke about his inferior complex, his fear of not being strong enough to survive, building up a facade, a fake personality to survive also with the help of his magic. He thought he can be superior to anyone if he could scare everyone, gaining respect and love in form of war and destruction, as he perhaps thought of Odin being a former warlord, he would prefer a son who is able to conquer, being merciless. He doesn’t want to get hurt, he doesn’t trust anyone easily, that’s why he has to hurt people, to avoid of getting hurt or betrayed in the end. He became a double-edged sword
I’m open for opinions and private chatting if you guys want to add something ! :DD
#Loki#loki spoilers#tom hiddleston#mcu#marvel#disney plus#owen wilson#agent of asgard#hiddlestoner#avengers#black widow#thor
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Babylon 5 rewatch Episode 2.22: The Fall of Night
Babylon 5 is at the center of not one but three conflicts as John Sheridan agrees to shelter a wounded Narn cruiser. The Centauri don’t like this. Earth doesn’t like this. The Shadows don’t like this. But Sheridan has a strong moral compass and what he doesn’t like is how much the institutions around him are willing to sacrifice in the name of forging some kind of cursory peace.
Things I liked about The Fall of Nighit
1, Lennier and Vir’s friendship. If you ask me Vir, could be friends with literally anyone. He’s such an understanding soul. Lennier is by nature a little judgey. More closed off. So when they sit down next to each other and discover how much they have in common both of them look at each other like “hello what” and automatically agree to meet again. But even this exchange is done almost like spies meeting and I don’t think we stop to think about that very often. These are the attaches of two ambassadors for two of the most powerful races in the galaxy… they could very well be exchanging state secrets instead of expressing solidarity for their equally frustrating jobs.
2, The Centauri are apparently willing to put their ships on autopilot and black out from g forces if it means when they come to they’ll be in a better firing position. This seems extremely reckless and VERY Centauri. It is the spacebattle equivalent of the hair. Big. Flashy. Not well thought through.
3, In the wake of the mass driver bombing, Sheridan gives Londo an opportunity to speak and Londo is like “NOPE” and jets before he says something that’s going to get him and his whole race in more trouble than they already are. Garibaldi then reads Londo like a literal book, delivering one of my favorite analyses of the character. Everyone thought Londo was a clown, indulging in opulence, going into debt at the casino, drinking himself to a stupor in public, but Garibaldi was his friend and knows that Londo’s not dumb, he’s actually very smart and his mind moves really fast. His error is in his judgment and priorities and he’s currently in waters he did not expect to tread. He’s scared, and he’s going to keep darting in and out of cover until he feels like he has a handle on things or he gets picked off by a hunter, whichever comes first. Also a very classic JMS line “He’s a pain in the butt, but he’s our pain in the butt.” Hunt for that or similar lines in other JMS stuff, he loves that line.
4, The ache of watching McCarthysim at work is very effective. Zach knows the guys he’s ratting on don’t deserve to be ratted on and even says so. “They’re just fooling around” but we can tell by the level of interest and tone of the Nightwatch captian’s voice that they’re gonna get blackballed. Zach can’t deny that they said what they said, but can tell that ratting them out is the wrong thing to do. In the end he relents with a bunch of qualifications but the Nightwatch doesn’t want qualifications. They want names. Thank you for your service.
5, I love that the guy there to ally with the Centauri is from the Ministry of Peace. So poignant. They’ll get peace all right, by paying off the aggressors.
6, When the Narn ship was coming under threat by the Centauri warship, Sheridan opened a line to Londo just to spit in his face and hang up. It was amazing. Also during this crisis, Sheridan whips out a law book to smack the Nightwatch guy back in his hole. Sinclair would be proud.
7, Watching B5 come under attack is so emotionally stirring. Even on a rewatch, I don’t want to see it hurt.
8, We have arrived! The scene where Kosh reveals himself. I love that G’Kar is hiding in the plants – like he’s not a huge gecko man who people are going to notice. I also love how plaintiff his voice is, thinking if he speaks on Sheridan’s behalf it’ll help him in the political shitshow he’s currently in. I mean he’s issuing this apology for helping a Narn ship and G’Kar is very very very grateful for that. Also B5 blew up a Centauri warship so he’s pretty grateful for that too, I mean come on… I like that B5 has like a standard subway system in the middle of it and that they let the Puppet Friends ride. I miss the puppet friends. I love that the rotational gravity system means there’s a weightless portion in the center of hydroponics and that we used that to our advantage in this story. Also the vorlons in their native form play on the perception of the lesser races. They are light beings, and humans see them as angels. The rest of the races see them as prophets or gods, but none of these perceptions are perfect. We see wings and white robes and think Angel, but Kosh didn’t appear like a rennaissance painting. He’s got a butterfly look to him, too. The face he wears is a facsimile of a human not an exact human. He’s not perfect, we’re just in awe. Love that.
9 And finally a lot has been said about why Londo doesn’t see anything when Kosh appears. He’s been touched by the Shadows, so he can’t be converted by the Vorlons b/c we’re playing a game of Othello today I guess. Maybe because he doesn’t actually believe in his pantheon of gods so he doesn’t have any deities to witness. Maybe he’s lying because what he saw was his own greed and vanity. The general consensus is the first – that he’s incapable of seeing the light because he’s in the dark. For a fresh take on it, let’s look at the Vorlons through this lens. Kosh said before that if he revealed himself everyone would know him… I take this as being a side effect of being Vorlon. Vorlons are a feeling not an image. Like Magenta. Magenta’s not a real color, it exists on the color wheel because something has to connect red and purple on the color spectrum… but the spectrum of visible light is actually a straight line. The wavelengths for red and purple are far from touching, but our brains can perceive when they’re both present, so Magenta occurs. It’s imaginary, but we see it for real with our eyes. That’s Vorlons. Perhaps Londo saw a shapeless light thing in the sky, perhaps that’s what Vorlons really are… or perhaps they have no visible representation at all until they hit our brains. Our eyeballs behold something, but our brains have to construct it out of pieces. When the rest of the galaxy looked at Kosh they used the color wheel to construct him, but Londo was only given the wavelengths. He saw nothing, because nothing was there to see. I really wish there was another Centauri there to be like “I saw the goddess Li welcoming me to her arms!” and Londo’s over there like “I’m the problem” instead of not really answering that question. Maybe it’s answered in season 3, I don’t know. Did Vir see anyone up there? He must have been on break.
What I like Less about 22
1, So here’s where I’m going to talk about Keffer. I know the origin story…. that he was an unwelcome addition to the cast added per network request, but who the hell is he other than that? I think its remarkable how he slips right out of my head the minute he is off camera. We know he’s a pilot, that he was close to Carlos (whose story/death you may recall I was laughing at in a previous episode because its significance ALSO came out of nowhere), and that he made friends with the GROPOS grunts (who we incidentally learned to care about enough in that one episode that we were sad when they died…. Awkward considering Keffer’s contribution to this episode…) Honestly the most interesting thing about him is that he’s got an old-timey fighter pilot scarf he wears and he believes in ghosts and I bet you all forgot about the ghosts. Honestly, the most interesting thing about Keffer is how he’s a lesson in how not to write an interesting character – and no shade on JMS for that, I know he did it on purpose. Significant things happening to a character does not automatically make them a strong character. Keffer experienced loss, came face to face with the shadows, got in fights… a lot of stuff happened to him, but he was almost always the only named character in those scenes. We cared about the GROPOS because they cared about each other and we responded to that. Keffer was there to play cabbage head and ask questions. He’s not tight with any of our main cast who we’ve had tons more time to grow attached to, and dies for plot reasons without leaving an impact with his loss. Heck, you can see the value of interpersonal relationships on character development in action when the show used a shoehorn to try and force some in in context to Carlos a second and a half before he died. We had him drinking at the bar with command staff suddenly, we had him die as a result of a flight mission Sheridan was part of to make Sheridan feel guilty about it. Everyone was standing around going like “No, Not Ramirez” and if you recall on my previous episode writeup I was LAUGHING at how tortured this sudden human connection was. Keffer could have been made interesting. Follow me on this.
My treatment on how to make Keffer interesting:
Let’s say Keffer was introduced as an old friend of one of our characters – Fraknlin let’s say. He was a friend from the Minbari War days that helped him sneak behind enemy lines. Perhaps he was complicit in the covering up and destruction of Franklin’s notes on Minbari anatomy. As a result, the two hang out in medbay sometimes, talking about old times and comparing the current war to the one they fought together. We learn that Keffer has a fire for justice. Hates bullies. Sees the strong as absolute defenders of the weak and that any stronger race picking on a weaker one is a bigger coward than the unvierse can hold. Then when Carlos gets killed by the ghost he starts researching what it could be. Kosh and Delenn tell him to stay out of it. The audience assumes he’s going to uncover something and bring Franklin and other characters into Delenn and Sheridan’s confidence about the shadows through curiosity and honor, but we’re learning through the episodes that the Shadows are IMMENSELY powerful and have no patience for flies. When he breaks off from his squad to go have a looksee at what he suspects led to his personal friend Carlos’s death, we know this is going to kill him. He ignores the warnings of those who have more awareness and dies to bring back evidence of the Shadows to the station. Sheridan recognizes how Keffer’s curiosity and sense of judgment led to recklessness, something Sheridan himself is prone to. He vows not to let Keffer die in vain, but also states that the proof he got has changed everything… and that Sheridan would have done the same. Killing your men in the name of a mission is never the goal but there’s a line everyone crosses when the safety of the universe is at stake and sometimes things are worth dying for. Franklin walks into medbay, casts a look to the counter where Keffer used to sit all those nights, and turns away.
But that’s not what happen. Keffer’s dead now and I don’t miss him. Glad he emailed the Shadows to ISN five nanoseconds before he died.
Babylon 5 is now the last best hope for victory because sometimes peace is another word for surrender and because secrets have a way of getting out. On to season 3!
#Babylon 5#babylon 5 rewatch#season 2#episode 22#babylon 5 spoilers#art#jenstoart#kosh#john sheridan
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what canst thou give?
@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught
yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao
AO3
“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”
Draco’s breath catches in his throat.
“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”
It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.
“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”
“Not too much, though?”
“Oh, no, never.”
“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”
Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.
“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”
When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.
“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”
Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.
“What—”
“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”
Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.
“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”
“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.
Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.
“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”
“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”
“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”
“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”
The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.
“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”
His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.
“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”
Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.
“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.
“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”
Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.
He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.
What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?
He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.
Only one foggy, crooked path forward.
“Yes.”
Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.
Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.
Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.
“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”
“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”
“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”
“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.
“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”
Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.
“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.
He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.
Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.
“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”
“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”
Edmund pauses, then:
“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”
Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.
“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.
“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”
“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”
Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.
Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”
“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.
“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”
“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”
Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.
“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”
“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”
“What, do you live there?”
“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”
Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.
“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”
“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”
Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.
“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”
“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”
“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”
Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.
“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”
He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”
Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.
“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”
“Hurry the fuck up.”
Sweet, sweet wine.
Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.
As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.
Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.
“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.
“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”
They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.
As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.
A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.
Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.
“Doll.”
Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.
“We decided on one kiss.”
“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”
“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”
Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.
This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.
Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—
And green.
“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.
Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.
“Okay.”
The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.
“We’re never doing this again.”
Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”
“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”
“And mouths.”
“Yes, those especially.”
Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”
Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.
“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”
“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”
“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”
Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.
“Say goodbye to him.”
Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.
#drarrymicrofic#drarry microfic#drarry#drarry fanfiction#drarry fanfic#drarry fic#harry potter#draco malfoy#original male character#vampire#vampire draco#auror harry potter?#cursebreaker?#who knows#cigarette#how long can nancy go w/o writing the word ‘vampire’ challenge#there’s no particular purpose for that btw i just wanted to make things hard for myself#‘oh man i dont think im really that comfy w the idea of writing drarry being intimate just yet’#solution: shamelessly abusing the drarry tag to write about another pair that’s not even endgame#had a lot of fun writing edmund#was planning for this to be a lil sexy vampy moment then BOOM plot idea#wait why did i just realize that the house of collective sounds like a house’s name in ballroom culture#ykw it’s very fitting in fact vampires are all very queer#joonkorre writes
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I usually do a fic rec list of personal favorites every year on Fanfiction Writer’s Appreciation Day (August 21st) and I realized I didn’t do one in 2019 so here’s a list of my personal
One Piece Fanfic Favs 🏴☠️🌟!!
Keeping up with the tradition, this list exclusively features works that could use more love thrown their way! OP is a pretty big fandom, so I set the limit at max. 300 kudos. Please enjoy and leave plenty of kudos & comments if you can (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
Previous rec lists: Metal Gear / The Witcher
***
burn before the fire by shishiswordsman (@shishiswordsman)
Kicking this list off with one of my absolute favorites. This is a Wano Arc look into Luffy’s headspace through Law’s eyes, and it’s amazing. Stellar characterization, great pacing, I truly adore this fic.
(Sneaky double rec with shadow rises (and you are here) by the same author because my god do I burn for the Luffy-used-to-be-a-slave AU and this is my favorite rendition of it hrghhh my heart)
Stasis by ImperialMint (@imperialmint)
Pure Strawhat nakamaship hurt/comfort goodness. This was one of the first fics I read for this fandom and it scratches an itch for Luffy sacrificing himself for his crew and his crew taking care of Luffy in turn so wonderfully. Please mind the tags, though!
At The End of The Day by Artificial_Starlight
Bending the 300 kudos rule for this one because it’s a longfic and it’s criminal how few kudos this has. This is a true feast of a LawLu Modern AU if I’ve ever seen one. I adore everything from worldbuilding to plot to characterization. It’s one of those stories that makes you run to AO3 whenever it updates. You won’t regret catching up with it, I promise.
Scrapyard by Milo (@musasuchus)
SCREAMS FROM THE ROOFTOPS this is the first kidkiller fic I came across and it lit a fire under my ass for this ship y’all I can’t even describe it. It’s a collection of snapshots from Kidd & Killer’s lives with an ace!Killer HC I?? adore?? Anyhow if I could delete my memory and read it with fresh eyes I would hhhh
The storm ended already (so you should stop shaking) by Amazaria (@amazaria)
Listen. This fic has everything I needed from a post-Water 7 scenario and more because it’s focused on Usopp & Nami and I just. I’m so soft. This made me so soft. It’s so good. Please read it.
Illness on the High Seas by mydetheturk (@mydetheturk)
I’m one of those idiots who is so focused on the Most Popular Boys that I get tunnel vision from it and then there comes a fic that shows me what a monumentally stupid move that is. Myde writes those fics by the regular and I adore all her writing but this fic specifically is so very good and so very underappreciated. It’s a Coby-and-Brook story about shipwide illnesses and those who keep things together. It’s sad and hopeful and wonderful, my heart is so full.
sacrifice by wbtrashking (@quillifer)
This one is a swift but deadly roundhouse kick to the heart. It delves into an aspect to Law’s powers that makes me anxious to even think about in the context of Wano (or any fight with high stakes, really) and Ash sharpened that potential to its best possible effect. Straight to the point, absolutely heart-wrenching, join me in Law feels hell please!!!
(Ash also wrote a kidkiller one-shot called familiarity for me and I’m aware this will sound very biased but it’s the best thing I’ve ever witnessed with my own two eyeballs. Timeskip Kidd & Killer being soft around each other, my crops are forever watered... thank you...)
Breathing Easy (And All Its Associated Complications) by Trixree (@trixree)
This fic gave me a lot of emotions I didn’t know where the fuck to put, it’s just so good and unique and my soul burns just thinking about this. I never really considered the monster trio as an OT3 constellation before this but I certainly am since I read this. Pre-timeskip figuring out of feelings and polyamory, my god my heart aches.
Scrapyard Remnants by threesipsmore
Another kidkiller classic in my eyes. It’s an exploration of pre-canon Kidd & Killer, how they grew up and came to be and I just love this a lot. It was written before the Wano revelations of late, and I can’t express enough respect for tackling these characters in such a believable way with how little we knew of them back then.
toragara by Origamidragons (@oriigami)
This is one of those tattoo-it-across-my-body-this-is-amazing kind of reads where every line is so good and hits so deep and it stays with you for a long time. It’s an AU where Zoro is a tiger shifter... person roaming Goa where Luffy stumbles upon him, and I’m a little mad it’s not actually canon because it’s so unique and I adore the idea. Anyhow. Read it or die by my sword(s).
God’s gonna trouble the water by hongmunmu (@dragonkov)
Reading this is an experience that’s so visceral it’s hard to describe. It’s a what-if scenario for Water 7 where Usopp dies before he can grab Luffy’s hand and escape with the crew, and it’s exactly as emotional and harrowing as that sounds. This author’s grasp on Usopp and the entire crew is unparalleled and I literally haven’t stopped thinking about this fic ever since I read it.
***
That’s it for now! Feel free to add to this list if you like and as always a huge THANK YOU to the writers of this fandom for their amazing work c:
#one piece#fanfiction#fic rec#long post#i might do another one in a month aaaa i have like. 70+ bookmarks for OP......#anyhow hi you lovely people writing these fics ilu ok bye#some of the @s don't work due to tumblr being stupid but i tried manually linking instead!
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Can’t everyone use tumblr how they want?
YES!
This site is exactly what people make of it for themselves. That was the exact point of that post. The fact that people reacted negatively to it at all proves my point. Seriously.
I have a number of other anons that are clearly from people who don't actually follow me, and are only here in a reactionary fashion having seen it on someone else's reblog, or else heard about it in passing and decided the best reaction to an ultimately harmless and rather bumbling post was to take personal offense and bring anonymous hate to a stranger on the internet. (and at least one not-anonymous "go kill yourself" type comment on the post itself)
THAT was the point of making that post.
For people who might be new to this fandom or new to tumblr in general (or even for people who have been here for years), your experience here is exactly what you make of it. I haven't seen that sort of vitriolic kneejerk reaction to anything I've written or posted in years. That post touched nerves. So it was a bit of an experiment, and I'm sorry to everyone who experienced any of that negativity second-hand. NOBODY should be made to feel like shit when engaging with something that is supposed to be fun. But I've learned over the years that that's exactly what some people consider fun.
There are new people to this fandom since the absolute free for all of the weeks after November 5th. We all reveled in those weeks before the show collapsed in on itself two weeks later. It was like 15 years worth of Hiatus Blogging followed by... well... some of the worst genuine hurt and disillusionment I've ever experienced or witnessed inflicted on a fandom by a piece of media.
There have to be at least a few people who floated into this fandom during that emotional roller coaster who want to make sense of it all, who were at least curious enough about how a show could've brought the characters to that emotional moment in 15.18 before effectively ignoring it all and burning the entire 15 year narrative to nothing just two episodes later.
Some folks stuck around to dig through the ashes of fandom in search of carrion, and that's fine. Some have zero desire to ever engage with the show or the fandom beyond mocking it for ever having existed at all, and that is also fine! But some folks? They might be wondering why anyone ever saw anything in this narrative to begin with, and they might be interested in knowing that there is this vast collection of information available to them (funny that none of my self-righteous anons even mentioned those, outside of one pointing out that my phrasing introducing that section of links was easily interpreted as condescending... which... yeah... again that was the point, and no I will not edit that language. none of us are free from sin).
Tumblr hasn't "changed." It was always this way. This site is not a monolith. Fandom is not a monolith. Even smaller groups within fandom aren't monoliths. Things that are considered "tumblr standard etiquette" do not exist across this entire website. And even within the supernatural fandom, and even within the tumblr-destiel-portion of the fandom there aren't "rules" dictating how you interact with anyone. Well, the one specific rule we should all be able to agree on is that you don't bring hate to real actual human beings, and yet...
There has ALWAYS been the option to engage with fandom here on whatever level an individual chooses. And that hasn't really changed since the finale aired. Anyone who thinks that Tumblr or the fandom has "evolved" or "changed" has likely just fallen in with a different fandom bubble then they'd existed within before. None of the bubbles have actually popped or disappeared. But which one you experience is entirely your own choice. You curate your experience here.
That was the point, illustrated by the vast array of comments I actually got on that post, structured with a little bit of everything including "tumblr mom from 2014." Everything pisses some people off, you know? Even the perception that some stranger on the internet might dare to lay down an arbitrary "rule" that zero people actually have to follow. See what I mean?
Because if any of the people who kneejerked at it actually followed me, or knew me at all, they wouldn't have kneejerked. They would've seen the point.
So your experience is what you make of it here. There are resources for people actually interested in engaging with the narrative or the fandom or the history of it. People mock "tumblr moms" or "fandom moms" all the time, but there wouldn't ~be~ a fandom without the people who actually build those resources. I.e. adults with the time, money, and personal investment in actually sustaining the fandom, instead of running around with torches trying to burn it down at every new whiff of perceived ~drama~ to latch on to.
For example, all of the scripts we've been acquiring and sharing with the entire fandom free of charge. I know that the fandom bubbles who seize on those scripts like hungry vultures to cough back up out of context "gotcha" posts postulating whatever theory of the differences between script and screen will dredge up the most drama or outrage in their fandom bubble... they haven't even considered how those scripts were acquired and made available to them. To them, they are "leaks." They are gifts that fell out of the sky and landed in their laps. There isn't even the barest curiosity about their origins or relevance beyond whatever social nourishment they derive by making up stuff and spouting it out with unearned authority. It's sad. But if that's how they enjoy the fandom, it's nice to remind them that none of the fandom they cannibalize would exist without the rest of us, too.
Yes, even the people you disagree with. Even the people who ship the things you find disgusting or repulsive. Even people who have an entirely different experience to your own. Even the people who are only here for those gotcha posts.
Fandom is not by nature a nihilistic shitshow, or no fandom would survive the amount of drama the 1% try to bring to it. Here have a fanlore article about this phenomenon. Right now, in Supernatural fandom, it feels like more than 1%, but I promise it really is only 1%. They're just really loud. There's actually other avenues to participatory fandom available to anyone who chooses to find them. Parts of this vast fandom that aren't focused on that 1% of reactionary leg-chewing at every turn. None of them are (as the linked article confirms) truly 100% free of unnecessary drama or bad behavior (including ME, I mean I MADE THAT POST!), but on tumblr you can curate your own experience. Fandom actually can be fun without burning down the thing you claim to be a fan of, or attacking other real human people for having the audacity to exist on the internet in a way you might believe is out of touch or pathetic. Seriously, nobody deserves to experience that from anyone over a fucking television show. Like seriously, take a step back and examine your life and your choices at that point.
Tumblr was exactly the same as a fandom community when I joined as it is now. Throughout my entire time here, I've curated my own personal experience to exactly what I derive the most personal satisfaction from. During that time I have had numerous friends and mutuals lament that their personal experience had become so toxic, but they were afraid to trim those blogs from their dash for fear of having no content left to engage with at all. For years there have been follow lists and blog recs and people desperate to find a more "peaceful and fun" fandom experience. People grow exhausted and embittered when their entire experience of fandom is an emotionally draining drama train. It's like pandemic doom scrolling, but for the thing that should be a respite from that sort of mindset, something that's supposed to be entertainment. The show did enough to us all, we don't have to turn around and re-inflict it on each other day in and day out on tumblr dot com.
So if even one person saw my post and thought well shit maybe I actually want to engage with a wider swath of fandom and see what's there, after seven months of post-finale drama, this whole other region of fandom is still here, still being the curators of the archives, the creators of stories and art and meta and gifs and videos and actually caring about it all that will keep this fandom going long after the current round of exhausting drama inevitably plays itself out.
The amount of in-group language in the negative replies I got was unsurprising. It's like folks are living in an alternate universe that doesn't mesh at all with what I experience on this exact same hellsite. Almost like we exist in entirely different bubbles of fandom, with entirely different purposes for existing at all. Everyone on this hellsite gets to pick which bubble (or bubbles) to take up residence in. Some people simply forget that their personal bubble isn't the universal defining experience of this site. Unfortunately, I doubt my little disruption to their bubbles will actually make any of them see that, but you anon... I think you did.
You are highly encouraged to engage with fandom EXACTLY THE WAY YOU CHOOSE. You have the ultimate power in controlling your entire experience here. Tumblr and Supernatural Fandom on tumblr is not Just One Thing that everyone who wants to participate in must conform to one specific code of ethics or behavior to be part of. And that NOBODY has the right to tell anyone else they're doing it wrong (including ME! I am 100% including myself in this!).
It's not MY job to dictate how anyone else experiences this fandom, as much as it was not the job of the people who reblogged my post (which I did not personally shove into their eyeballs with a demand for compliance... how did any of those people even *find* my post?) solely to tell me how *I* need to change how I experience the fandom, you see? Don'tcha love hypocrisy!
But the point was made for those who care, and a lot of people got to update their block lists (I still don't block anyone, as I said I curated my fandom space here and generally don't follow folks that don't personally make me happy and enrich my life by engaging with their content. However other people choose to engage with *my* content (any of it, going back nearly 50k posts over the last decade) is their business entirely. Sometimes I just feel the need to draw out people who are all too eager to expose their own whole asses in public. Mission accomplished.
#fandom problems#and again i'm sorry that anyone i know was exposed to ugliness because of this#but everyone i know also knows that i'm probably the least easily upset person in this corner of the fandom#if even one person achieved a modicum of self-awareness that their experience is not universal#that there IS no universal experience even#then i guess the point was made
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BTS Scenario: You wear a rock groups’ shirt to their concert and fans tease you
This was requested to my messages and the person wishes to remain anonymous so I don’t have a screen shot of the request ^^ But they wanted something where the reader gets tickets to a BTS concert last minute and doesn’t have time to change so they wear a rock group’s t-shirt to the concert and are teased by fans, but with a happy ending of course.
It was a lazy day for you. Nothing was planned, and you were lounging around the house in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from your favorite rock group. You were scrolling through social media, seeing BTS posting about how excited they were to perform tonight in your city. You wanted to go so badly but sadly tickets had sold out quicker than your internet could keep up with. You locked your phone and set it face down on the table, staring up at the ceiling and realizing within just a few short hours they would be performing in front of tens of thousands of army. You were wishing you could be one of them when a loud frantic knock rapped on your door. You got up and opened it, only to be dragged out of your home by your best friend.
“Y/n we gotta go now!”
“What? Why what are you talking about? Where are we going?”
“To see BTS!” You stop walking and freeze in your tracks, staring at your friend with a dumbfounded expression.
“I’m sorry what did you just say?”
“I got tickets last minute! So we’re going to see BTS now we only have a short about of time to get there, get parking and get checked in so let’s go!”
“At least let me put my shoes on first!” You run back inside and quickly lace up your shoes, not having any time to change out of what you were already wearing. You jump in the car and head over to the venue. The speed with which your friend gets you there is astounding.
You are standing in line waiting with the other army to get into the venue when you notice a group of girls staring at you. You make eye contact with one of them and don’t miss the sneer that forms on her face as she eyeballs you. You ignore her and go back to talking to your friend when suddenly you see her heading right for you. You roll your eyes already anticipating whatever she has to say isn’t going to be friendly if the looks she was giving you were any indication.
“Can I help you?” She stares at your shirt and you can already tell where this is going.
“Yeah. How about you name 5 BTS songs?”
“How about you mind your own business and I’ll mind mine.” You walk away from her and approach the security table to have your bag checked. One of the staff from the venue was watching this whole interaction. She saw the group of girls pointing and laughing at you, saying that you probably weren’t even a fan and just came to say you’ve been to a BTS concert and brag about it to others. You didn’t witness this part. But the staff that did were none too kind with the way they threw her bag on the table and sorted through every little thing she had, holding her up twice as long. You turned around and saw the frustrated look on her face, chuckling to yourself as you headed for your section.
Your friend turns to you and nudges your shoulder.
“Hey, don’t let them get to you okay? This is your day to be happy and celebrate.” You nod and smile, just feeling glad that you finally get to see your favorite group in person. You stand in line to wait for a bottle of water, and when you head to your section you feel your heart drop. She’s in front of you. Her whole friend group is. And when they see you coming the smirk on all their faces tells you they are going to make sure you don’t enjoy your night at all.
“Ya! Are you serious? Someone actually said that to one of our army? The audacity! Our fans should treat each other with kindness how dare those mean girls do that? Makes me so mad. If I see that fan in the crowd today I’m gonna make sure they know how much they mean to us. Are you not allowed to listen to other peoples’ music just because you’re a fan of ours? And another thing-”
“Jin calm down we’re about to go on stage!” Namjoon scolds him, putting his leader voice on and Jin grumbles.
“I’m just saying. You can’t be mean to your fellow army like that. I won’t stand for it.”
“But you know we can’t show special attention to any fans, hyung.” Jungkook mentions.
“Rules be damned. When have I ever been one to listen to our managers? This is Jin Hit entertainment as far as I’m concerned.” Sejin clears his throat and glances at Jin from he corner of the room.
“I mean um..okay I better be quiet now.” Sejin lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, but there is a fondness to it that lets Jin know he’s not seriously upset with him.
“You guys are on in 5! Get ready to go!” Everything falls into a smooth rhythm after this. The VCR’s begin playing, they all stand in a huddle and get ready to do what they love most.
The moment BTS comes out on stage you can’t see anything. Because that girl has decided that sitting on her friend’s shoulders to block your view was a mature thing to do. You are so fed up at this point that you don’t even bother to put up a fight. Your friend tries to maneuver you both in the crowd so you can get past them and see, but when you even get close you are shoved back. You sigh in frustration and in the brief moment you are looking at the stage you lock eyes with Jimin who notices the exasperated expression on your face. He shakes his finger at the girls and mouths “Don’t push!”. She doesn’t seem to care much as the only thing she is concerned with is the fact that Jimin noticed her. You roll your eyes and try to move away but are blocked again. Jimin walks up to one of the security guards who points at the girl and tells her to get down. This time she listens, although it just seems to make her even more mad at you and results in more pushing. It’s a concert. You understand that pushing is inevitable but this is just getting ridiculous at this point. It doesn’t sneak past Namjoon’s gaze and when he comes up to the mic after their ments he looks right at the girl in front of you and says
“And please. For your safety. Do not push each other. Be kind to your neighbor they are a part of this family too.” He says it with a finality that seems to finally get through to her thick skull because she stops pushing you after that. Although she does keep holding her phone up and army bomb up to partially block your view of the stage. At least you get to see the members now every once in a while.
The rest of the night passes by in a haze of happiness and joy. Part of you still can’t believe that you’re here tonight watching your favorite group perform. And before you know it the night is coming to a close and they’re on their last song. It’s during Jin’s ending speech that he finally decides he’s going to speak up.
“Everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight! You know we love and adore our army so much but please remember to be kind to each other. Our fans are allowed to enjoy listening to other groups, if someone behind you is shorter than you, don’t purposefully try to block their view of the stage. And especially do not push each other. You could hurt someone.” You see her shoulders sag and you can’t help but finally feel a sense of victory over her. And with that the smile is plastered right back on Jin’s face as he goes into asking if everyone had a good time, and that he can’t wait to come back and see all the fans again.
You enjoy the last song to the fullest, having a blast and dancing and singing your heart out. After the concert is over you take your time before you begin to file out of the venue, wanting to relive all the memories again while you wait for the crowd to clear out. You are about to leave when you are suddenly stopped by a security guard.
“Excuse me.”
“Um.. yes?”
“Some of the staff asked me to give this to you.” You are handed an envelope and are about to open it when he stops you. “I was told to tell you don’t open it until you get back to your car.” You’re shocked at this, wondering what on earth it could be. You and your friend practically sprint back to the car. You throw the door open and nearly tear the letter in half trying to open it. When you see what’s inside you scream.
“What?! What is it y/n?”
“It’s tickets to their show tomorrow. Front row seats. Oh my god. What the hell?!”
“There’s a letter in there! Read it!” You unfold the note and see it was written by a staff member.
Hello! I hope this isn’t too weird but, I was standing in line at the security check in when I saw how those girls were treating you. I told the guys about it because I needed to vent and they were very upset by it. They also saw everything that happened during the concert and were sad thinking you might not have gotten the full concert experience so they asked me to give you these tickets to the show tomorrow. Jin was very insistent I must say.
So we hope to see you there!
You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you hand the letter to your friend to read.
“Oh my god! Y/n!”
“Today and tomorrow I have a feeling are going to be the best days of my life.”
#bts reaction#bts scenario#bts imagine#bts#kim namjoon#rm#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jeongguk
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