#WE'LL GET THERE I PROMISE

[mirellapryce]

I was challenged to plot out an Interview with the Vampire AU. How did I end up with a 90s university meet-cute?

[fishhateme]

maxiel(ish) drabble pt 1

Daniel's sigh was so loud he wasn't even surprised when Sassy looked at him, perched atop one of Max's book shelves ("Why do you have so many, Maxy? It's not like you actually read" raised eyebrow, thick lips parting for a beat before quirking up shyly "Shut up" "These days you just meow on livestreams, right? Busy schedule" a full smile then, pink tongue darting out to wet his full, chapped lips, so wonderfully feminine "Shut up, Dan" "Is it like when you bought that Hermes bracelet and you just never let it go? Is it about being all fancy? Maybe we should ask George for some vocab tips" a full laugh, head thrown back against the pillows and crinkled corners of his eyes "I think it makes perfect sense, no? Why would I not have bookshelves. They're classy, and the cats like them. Who doesn't have bookshelves?" oh, okay, his voice is more nasally in the morning, it's more noticeable when he says more than two words. Yeah, it's been years and Daniel knows this already, but he could still drown in the raspiness of it, suddenly back to day one and awkward chuckles in hotel rooms "Who meows on a livestream?" "Shut up, Daniel"). The way Sassy looked at him wasn't even concerned, it was mostly annoyed. And, sure, Daniel hated dogs - er, hated, was terrified of, had been chased by back home, same difference -, but there was a certain autonomy about cats that unsettled him. Those lucky bastards didn't need attention like a wilting, desperate plant needed fresh water, like Daniel needed love to breathe. Enchanté, nice to meet you too, did I tell you I'm jealous of my boyfriend's cats? No, I don't go to therapy anymore, how did you know?

Ugh. Daniel scowled at himself for that shitty self-pitying monologue. He briefly considered calling his therapist again, but he didn't like feeling like he needed a crutch, and he wasn't as distressed and hurting as he was back in the McLaren days. He could manage, really, and he'd rather that than going through the shameful motion of crawling back to his therapist after assuring (read, lying) to her he could cope perfectly fine on his own, with his stupid little journal (abandoned shortly after Belgium, because everything was blindingly bright in his future and he'd get to write it down later, now he just wanted to focus on the feeling of being on top of the world) and his stupid little breathing techniques. He was fine, really. He was just... ugh.

He sighed again, still staring at his phone screen, prompting Sassy to send him another one of her patented annoyed looks. Her feline eyes, already perpetually displeased as if inconvenienced by the existence of her owners (oh, we only feed, shelter and pamper you, I'd be annoyed too, you expensive little brat), seemed even more judgy in the stuffy Mediterranean heat of the afternoon. The living room was so poorly designed (as was most of Monaco, because money couldn't buy enough space to build a decent apartment when every single millionaire on Earth decided to cram themselves in the same five or so blocks) that Daniel was beginning to run out of air in his lungs, but maybe that was because of his own... shit ("Yes, of course I'll remember my breathing techniques, I'll be fine, besides, you'll be late for your next client. I promise I'll be fine").

It came so easily to lie, sometimes.

part 2

[starlos-soulmate]

Me planning out honeymoon stuff when Starlo and Pancake aren't even engaged cuz the thought of marrying him flusters me too much to even think about it for more than ten seconds

[illegiblehandwriting1]

all i want in life is to see our special Guest Appearance say "are you OKAY????????" in the most concerned tone of voice ever and meanwhile sky just looks up at them, exhausted and beaten half to hell, and he just gives a thumbs up and groans "yeah, fantastic, how are you?"

[abrthephantomq]

Encoder Zim - pt 2? pt 2

Please, my fellow humans, take a seat for a moment and study the image displayed on the screen. Does this look like someone who could take out one of the planet’s greatest leaders? 

[An image of Dib, approximately 34 years of age. He’s stick thin and tall. Lanky is a good word for him – like his limbs were just slightly too long for the rest of his body. There’s an eyepatch covering his left eye – well, it’s more like there’s large, twisted scar that makes up the left side of Dib’s face and a dainty little patch of black resting on top of it, where his left eye should be. 

He’s wearing what you’d expect a Dib to wear; black trench coat, black boots, blah blah blah. It’s Dib. An filthy human worm from a filthy planet of filth.]

“....no?” 

WRONG. 

[The image on screen changes to one of Dib, sans trench coat, but otherwise looking as gangly and awkward as always. This picture appears to be older, as it’s a bit frayed and Dib’s hair isn’t anywhere near as long as it is in the first picture. That stupid scythe-lock of hair sticks out on top – and Dib’s face, while still scarred, looks freshly healed.

Also in this shot, Dib is actually doing something kinda cool like fighting a weird Earthen monster. Something huge and hairy and definitely not normal. You’ve seen many different gross and disgusting species of animal in your day, but even this creature gives you the creeps.]

This is the same dreaded heh-yuman who wiped out Jif Bozos, the richest man on the planet. He may look stupid, but he is remarkably capable, despite his stupid appearance. 

[More images of Dib, from various angles – from various locations. It’s clear that the Dib has been traveling. They’re clicked through quickly, though there are…. quite a lot of them. Probably more than is necessary. It takes a beat too long to click through them all.]

(Note to self: tell GIR not to put so many pictures of the Dib in the slide deck, next time.)

He is a member of the organization known as the Swollen Eyeballs. Apparently, their goal is to keep the planet safe from ineffectual and terrible leaders. And by “ineffectual and terrible” they mean leaders who care about the econ-o-me and who want to keep it growing and growing and growing. 

(You pause, turn on your heel, and allow a flash of teeth.) They want to get rid of you. 

(The crowd, as you’ve predicted, gasps and boos, and you have to fight back a smile. The fact that the humans have such a soft word for such a threatening display, and that you’ve deemed it acceptable to use in your thoughts, barely pings something deep within you. Years ago, it would have.

Probably.)

Now now – I know, I know. You love your money. Of course you love your money! Money is great and it must be protected at all costs.

[An image of yourself, standing tall and powerful, laughing maniacally over a pile of green bills. A Dib-worm lays dead at your feet, limbs tangled together like puppet with its strings cut. It’s clear that the Dib is dead, because there is a puddle of human life force spreading around him and he has x’s for eyes – oh, and his tongue is sticking out of his mouth. Like a fool.] 

Behold! You can hire me, ZIM, to take out this – thorn in your collective side. I have information about this man that no one else does – connections across this pathetic – this perfect planet that only I can utilize. 

And thus concludes my presentation on the greatest threat to the world econ-o-me. Thank you.

(You step down from your platform. The humans mumble among themselves, whispering behind their hands as you walk away. 

You know one of them will be contacting you, soon.)

[lleclerc]

i'm gonna go ahead and just make this post as a public service announcement re: users that are blatantly using AI for fandom purposes right now. i couldn't find tumblr info for any of these people so the usernames listed are their ao3 handles.

i recommend everyone use the "Mute" and "Block" features in ao3 on their profiles - it will improve your user experience by removing their generative AI content from your search results

pitlanelover - their generative AI usage is pretty obvious in a lot of their fics where they've forgotten to clean up artifacts/repeated sections with and without the right character names, but the last two reblogs on this post also detail pretty extensively them being caught using generative AI and continuing to try and get away with it. I recommend you Mute and Block this user on AO3.

ItsartbitcheSx - lots of signs of generative AI usage before you even click into the fic itself (the titles all being in quotes, the summaries often sounding oddly polished/corporate) but the real giveaway here is in the word counts. from march 17th, 2025 to july 18th, 2025 - a span of only FOUR months - they have inexplicably produced 1,232,787 words of content on ao3. that averages out to over 308,000 words per month, and OVER TEN THOUSAND WORDS PER DAY. Every day. For four straight months. Sure, Jan. I recommend you Mute and Block this user on AO3.

meownies - admits to using AI on their fucking AO3 profile and literally directs you to interact with a chatbot they generated of the Charles from their fic.

I recommend you Mute and Block this user on AO3.

There are at least three other users I'm fairly suspicious of but I need to do more investigation there. I do not level these accusations lightly and I am not trying to start a "witch hunt" but sometimes it's really goddamn obvious and needs to be called out so we can all help clean up this community and get these people out of here.

Remember kids! Using generative AI in fandom spaces is ALWAYS loser behavior!

[whenthewallfell]

Haymitch Abernathy the retired bounty hunter and reluctant homesteader who would really like everything to just not right now

[molathesunfish]

assorted lcb art

[leragoessouth]

Guess who read jambound

[bixbythemartian]

50+ Ways to Annoy the Death Witch

Chapter 2: Actually do a Necromancy

<<First Next> Latest>>

Callahan insisted we go back for his broken side mirror, which he fortunately found quickly enough that I didn't get too aggravated about the sideline, and then we headed to the gas station.

By the time we got there, the sun was high in the sky, as the day heated up. My eye throbbed, and exhaustion was quickly catching up to me, so I headed in to put five bucks in the boys’ tank, and grab an energy drink.

When I headed back out, Callahan was chatting with the boys, who'd already started fueling up.

When I got to the truck, he pulled me into the conversation, even though I was kinda hoping I could just jump into the truck and ignore them.

I'm not great with people, is the thing, they seemed like nice enough kids.

“This is Miss Tabitha Greene, by the way. Tabitha, this is Jacob and Dylan Matthews.” He pointed to each kid.

Jacob was the older one with pinky-peach hair, and Dylan was the younger one with the box dye black look.

“And you two do this kind of thing a lot,” Jacob said, apparently continuing their earlier conversation.

“About once or twice a year,” Callahan said.

I nodded. “It’s for the whole country, not just here,” I said. “It’s not that common. And it’s mostly just sad people who miss people they love, and that’s usually pretty easy to rectify.”

“Well we didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “And there wasn’t much love lost between Mom and them, before you ask.”

“You don’t have any aunts or uncles on that side?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jacob said.

“But it wasn’t us,” Dylan said.

“Just because your mom and grandparents didn't get along very well- death can change people’s priorities,” I said.

“I’m not saying Mom didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “I’m saying, if she did, it wasn’t out of love.”

Dylan nodded.

“Now, you don’t know about-”

“I’m real sorry to hear that,” I said, running over Callahan, who was definitely about to some whole ‘don’t you love your mother’ spiel that I was happy to spare the boys. “Is there another reason you can think where she might wanna talk to her folks again, though?"

The brothers glanced at each other. “Mom thinks that they had a bunch of money that nobody found,” Dylan said, after a minute. “Like, buried in the yard, or something.”

I nodded.

“Do you still live at your grandparent’s?” Callahan asked.

“We sold it a while back, to pay for the nursing home for Grandma,” Jacob said. “Grandpa died last year, and she wasn’t doing okay on her own.”

Callahan turned and looked at their pretty new, fairly nice SUV. “Was there money buried in the yard?” he asked, turning back to them.

Both boys looked at each other.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the answer.

“I genuinely don’t give a damn. But if she has good reason to think there’s money buried in the yard, we should probably go to your grandparent’s place first, and see what there is to see.”

“Using the dead as free labor and sources of information is also really normal,” I said.

“I’ll give you the address,” Jacob said, after a minute. “We’ll show you the way.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Callahan said.

“Do you know the folks who live there now?” I asked.

“Nah,” Jacob said. “Grandma found someone who sold it, and told us where to dig before we moved everything out. I don’t know what she did with the taxes, but I think it was the last spell she had in her. Everything was all smoothed over. Then... she just kinda faded, after that. Mom can’t know about the money, though, she’ll never leave us alone. It’s supposed to take care of us for a while. Hopefully long enough for Dylan to get through school.”

“We won’t say anything,” Callahan promised. “Do you know where she is?”

Dylan shook his head. “We haven’t heard from her in a few months, most of a year. But that’s- I mean, she disappears for a while, shows back up. Sometimes she swears she’s cleaned up, but if she is, she never stays clean for long.”

“What’s her thing? Meth?” I asked. I wasn't trying to be mean, it's just really common.

He nodded. “Among other things, but mostly meth.”

“How long do you go without hearing from her?” Callahan asked. “Is this normal?”

“Months, sometimes a year or more. She kinda just shows up when she needs money or a place to crash,” Jacob said. “But we don’t let her crash with us anymore. She’s got to find somewhere else." He sighed. "I’m not even sure she knows Grandma’s dead, actually.”

“I tried to call her,” Dylan said. “But her phone was cut off again. I mean- I hope she’s okay, but- she’s not our job, you know?”

“I know,” I said. “Get us that address, we’ll meet you there, okay?”

Callahan dug his phone out so Jacob could recite the address to him, and then we headed out.

I can’t tell you how long the drive was, I fell asleep basically as soon as we were on the highway. Next thing I knew, Callahan was shaking me awake, dragging me out of sticky sleep.

I hadn’t even opened my Monster.

“C’mon, Tabby Cat.” “Are you allergic to calling me by my name?” I asked, rubbing my face. I just wanted to go back to sleep. “Fuck.”

“Is it such a crime for me to express my fondness for you through whimsical nicknames?” he asked. “Here.” He held his hand out.

I looked at him, struggling to keep my eyes open, not sure what he was offering.

“I can give you a little boost. If you want. You look half-dead yourself, and we’ve got a lot of day left.”

My first instinct was to say no, but he’d never offered this before. Although I think it’s the first time he’s been around me after I’ve used a lot of juice, so it probably just hadn’t come up before. “Do I just take your hand?”

“Nobody ever done this for you before?” He asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m basically a hermit.”

“Yeah, take my hand, and a deep breath.”

I was very uncertain but, as much as he’s annoyed me over the years, I did trust that he wouldn’t hurt me.

I took his hand, and the breath wasn’t really voluntary.

It wasn’t quite like being electrocuted, but it wasn’t not like that, either. It was like you could be electrocuted by a cold wind, maybe. It was like being electrocuted, if that felt like swallowing a mouthful of crushed ice very suddenly.

It didn’t hurt, but it was very sudden, and bracing in a way I hadn’t expected.

It made me shivery all over, for a second.

“Alright?”

I nodded. “I’m awake, now,” I said.

“Good.” He squeezed my hand before he let go, and we got out.

It took an act of force not to shake my hand or rub it or be weird about it, I just grabbed my backpack and stuck the offending hand in my pocket.

Been a long damned time since anybody’d held my hand, and I wasn’t going to have weird feelings about Callahan, for Christ’s sake.

Just a little touch starved, that’s all.

The boys were waiting, looking nervous. “Stay right here,” he told them, and we walked up to the house.

It looked like your bog standard ranch style house, built sometime in the 70s. They’re really common out here. The brick had been painted with some sort of off white, which did sort of personally offend me, but what the hell? It wasn’t my house.

Had one of those high wooden privacy fences for the immediate back yard, it looked pretty new.

There were what I would bet used to be flower beds that ran along the front of the house, but they’d been filled in with pea gravel and nothing else, not even the odd decorative stone. I probed to see if I could sense anything, but there was nothing.

The porch had an old straw Welcome mat, and the door was painted a sort of powdery gray blue. There were no other decorations, which I thought was a bit odd.

I did see one of those hide-a-key rocks up in the corner of one of the flower beds, just poking up through the gravel. I don’t think I’d have noticed it if I hadn’t been marveling at the lack of ornamentation. The flower beds were edged in stone, and this was kind of tucked under the stone.

There was also one of those doorbell cameras, and a security camera was hanging under the light on the garage. Light looked to be on a motion sensor. There was also a security sticker in the window, but on further notice, it was just a warning that there was a doorbell security camera.

Callahan walked right up to the door and knocked. He did prefer the direct approach but, in fairness to him, it usually paid off. I followed, mostly because I’m nosier than I am anti-social.

A tall woman who looked to be- well, look, I don’t know. Maybe ten, fifteen years older than me? I’m not good at guessing ages, but maybe in her mid fifties?

She had that kind of golden pearly blonde hair color that ‘ladies of a certain age’ dye their hair to disguise that it’s going gray. It looked fine on her, she carried blonde well. Kinda tan, blue eyes. Pretty, older woman who wasn't quite elderly.

She sneered as soon as she saw us.

Callahan, however, is not now nor ever was a man to be deterred by someone who is not pleased to see him, as I can personally attest. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I know this is an odd question, but has someone come around, and tried to break into your backyard?”

She blinked at us, taken aback enough that it knocked the sneer off her face for a second.

I could see, in her eyes, she knew what we were asking about.

“Yes,” she said, after a long moment of looking us over and deciding dealing with us was acceptable. “Some crazy woman, a couple of times, right after we moved in. That first month. I called the cops, but she left before they got here. That’s been it. Why? That’s an oddly specific thing to ask about.” She gave me a particularly hard look.

Hm. I wonder if their mom is short.

“Well, their mom is… we’re trying to figure out where she is,” he said, pointing to the boys. “She’s kind of hard to get hold of, but we need her to sign some paperwork. You haven’t seen her, lately? Or have anything odd going on in your yard?”

She crossed her arms, shook her head. “What’s her obsession with the yard?” she asked.

“Her folks used to live here, and they buried a time capsule in the yard with some beanie babies or something in it, she thinks it’ll be worth a damn if it’s dug up,” he said. “Have you seen anything lately? Even just… you know, someone lurkin?”

“Nobody’s been here who shouldn’t be,” she said. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

“If I leave a number with you-”

“If I see her, I’m calling the cops. You can deal with her then.” She shut the door.

“Well,” I said. “Huh.”

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said.

We headed out to the truck- we’d parked on the street. When I looked back at the house, she was on the phone, peering out a window at us.

She twitched the curtain shut when she saw me glance.

“I bet I know why the cops took a while to get here,” I said.

“Yeah, she definitely seems like she likes to chat to dispatch, don’t she?” Callahan asked, as we came close enough to talk to the boys without yelling.

“Nothing?” Jacob asked.

“No, and she’s definitely the kind of person who’d kick up a fuss about strangers digging in her yard,” I said. “Apparently your mom was out here a couple of times right after they moved in, but-”

He sighed. “That sounds like her. But not since?”

“No.”

“Sorry, boys. This is a dead end. We’ll meet you at the graveyard,” Callahan said, and we got back in the truck and headed out, though he waited to start driving until the boys pulled out.

He’s that kind of guy. He’s never dropped me off anywhere without waiting until I was in the door before he left.

“We might have to come back and check her yard in the dark,” he said. “Depends on what we find at the cemetery.”

“Oh, joy,” I said. I agreed, though. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve snuck into someone’s yard. Or the second.

A lot of people panic and bury bodies in the yard or basement or whatever.

“Yeah. We’ll probably need to do some spell making, I don’t think I’m kitted out for a break in.”

I nodded. “I have a couple of ‘don’t look at me’ spells, but nothing more complicated than that, and I saw at least two cameras out front, she could easily have more,” I said. "Probably not tonight."

“Yeah, it’s a look before you leap kind of situation.” There is some magic that interferes with cameras, but glamours of any kind don’t work on them- cameras don’t have a mind to be altered, they tended to see reality. You have to block them, or disable them. “High fence around the back yard, did you notice?”

“Yep. Looked new, I think. The flower beds were all empty, nothing decorative, just the gravel.”

“No root systems, or nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing that I could feel. Could be they had some kind of minor disaster and just ripped everything out and are waiting for the spring, or something.

He nodded. “I think once we hit the graveyard, our next priority has got to be tracking their mom down. We’ll save the yard for last resort.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that really feels like the key to this whole thing.” Also, I hated nothing more than talking to the cops, and that was basically guaranteed if we had to get into this lady’s yard.

We lapsed into silence, as he drove, following the boys.

“Does it really bother you when I call you Tabby?” The question seemed to burst out of him. “It’s hard to tell when you’re genuinely being mad at me, but we’ve known each other for years. I’m just being friendly.” He really seemed upset about it.

I was kind of taken aback by how upset he was, actually. “It’s hard to take someone being that familiar with me when that person regularly accuses me of atrocious things,” I said. “You call me a necromancer and accuse me of doing foul things to my neighbor’s chickens out of one side of your mouth, and call me by nickname out of the other? It doesn’t feel friendly, it feels patronizing.”

“I’m- I swear, I’m jokin, mostly.”

“Mostly,” I said.

“Well-”

“Like I haven’t had people say that shit to me my whole fuckin life. It’s not funny, Callahan, it pisses me off.”

“But it’s me! I don’t mean anything by it.”

I cannot stand that whiny ass thing he does when he’s wrong and he knows it. “Yes, you do. You may not mean much by it, but you do mean something by it. You do think that one day I am gonna snap and start doing heinous shit. So you always ask, you always gotta get your digs in, you always gotta make sure I know that you’re a fuckin threat to me. One call to the council and I’m bound up, yeah?”

“Oh, come on, Tabitha,” he said. “That’s not-”

“And we haven’t ‘known each other for years’. We’ve spent about 2, 3 months in each other’s presence over the course of… I don’t know, 7 or 8 years, I guess? We don’t hang out, and we’re not friends. You don’t even call me when you’re gonna come out to visit, because you think I’ll take off, or some shit. You treat me like a murderer in waiting, not a colleague, not a friend. No, I don’t like it when you call me Tabby.”

“Well,” he said. “Fine!” He sounded really upset. "Then I won't!"

I tipped my head back against the seat, fucking annoyed. Of course, this is somehow my fault.

Look, it’s not like I hate him or anything. I actually think he’s overall a decent guy, and once I’ve told him it wasn’t me, he drops it. He always believes me.

I trust him, to the extent that I trust anybody.

But the fact that we have to do the same damned song and dance every fuckin time, and then he acts like I’m being a big old grouchy bitch for fun, instead of being genuinely frustrated that I have to drop everything on no notice to help him out after being accused of raising the dead.

He has my number! He could just call me and ask me to drive out to Macomb and give him a hand. I would, I could use the money! I always do it even when he's pissed me off, if he asked me nicely, I think we might actually manage to get through a job without at least one of these little fuckin tiffs.

So, obviously, I spent the rest of our drive quietly stewing, and I think it’s a fairly reasonable guess to say the same was true of him. But we did get to the cemetery.

It was a dinky little cemetery in the middle of nowhere. It’s just a flat spot where they bury people between pastures, to be quite honest. There’s a fence, chain link, but not particularly tall. Both entrances had signs over the entrance, and there were fences they could gate shut. A particularly determined toddler could scale this fence without too much trouble.

I could see the graves in question- I was pretty sure, anyway. It wasn’t a large graveyard, and there was police tape set up on some of those metal stakes, though the police tape had already started to tatter in the wind. There was also a mound of earth right there.

It’s May in Oklahoma, what can you do? Wind’s gonna blow.

The boys turned into the cemetery, and we followed. I gently probed at the magic in the area.

It was sloshing like crazy, churning and shifting and moving enough that I almost immediately got motion sick, which never happened to me. I’d never seen this before, usually something like this felt more like an open would, bleeding and painful.

Before I got the chance to tell Callahan to stop so I could get out, he was stopping, and I scrambled for my belt, dropping out of the truck and falling to my knees, gagging in the grass besides the little bitty ‘road’ (grassy lane with twin lines of worn in tire tracks) that we were on.

“Shit a brick,” I heard him say, and it wasn’t a second or two before he was next to me, rubbing my back as I gagged and spat and gagged and spat, and finally puked up a little bit of bile.

I hadn’t even had the damned energy drink, I remembered.

I sucked magic in, trying to soothe myself, trying to settle the churning. Pushing magic back out. Like breathing, in and out.

“Do we have water?” I asked Callahan. My voice was hoarse, and I fucking hated how close to tears I sounded.

“We got some, Miss Tabby,” Dylan said, running back to their truck, and coming back with a kinda cold bottle, unopened.

“Bless you, hon,” I told him, rinsing and spitting, before gulping several big gulps, and taking some deep breaths. “So, bad news,” I told Callahan. “This is a new thing, I don’t know what this is, but this is new feeling, the magic’s- it made me motion sick, it’s heaving and churning and-” I sniffed. I was not gonna cry in front of these boys.

He nodded. “You feeling up to looking at the graves?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I wasn't sure, but I needed to, anyway.

“Here,” he took my arm, helped me stand up. He kept his hand on my back as I walked over to the graves- he’d never done that before, but I’ll admit, I took comfort in it.

The graves were- they were null. Like a dead battery. No leaking, no remnants- gone.

They were rectangles left in the dirt- the cops had scooped out the coffins, it looked like, or the boys had had them pulled out, so their grandparents could be reburied.

But that wouldn’t do it. There’d be lingering magic, here, and in the dirt. Not just of the grandparents, but of all the other things in the dirt- bugs and such.

Not from the bodies, they were sealed up, but. You know. It’s dirt. There’s bugs, often dead ones. There should have been something.

But it was gone.

Someone had, with extreme care and precision, extracted every last drop of death magic from those two graves, and nowhere else in the cemetery.

This wasn’t some upset kid or a teenager who’d gotten into some old books. This was the real deal.

This was a Necromancer.

<<First Next> Latest>>

If you read this and enjoyed it, maybe you want to help out and contribute to my ko-fi? I'm disabled and that's the best way for me to earn a living right now! Check out my masterpost for other fiction.

[lemotmo]

Okay 911 fandom...

I feel like I've been very nice about this before and I always figured it would all just disappear after a while, but this insane Ryan Guzman hatred is getting out of hand. And frankly? It is pissing me off!

So, let's get something very clear here:

This whole concept some people have in their head that Ryan is the reason why Buddie won't ever go canon? IT IS WRONG!

The man has screamed Buddie from the beginning. He came up with the name for Christ's sake. Just because some of you only joined the fandom after 7x04, doesn't mean you get to shit on this guy. You don't know the lore or the history. So shut up!

This idea that Ryan is a bad actor and he is botching up his scenes with Oliver, because Oliver clearly plays Buck as in love with Eddie?

Again... WROOOONG!

Buck is sooo much further on the Buddie path than Eddie is. All he has time for right now is his son! Ryan is NOT going to play Eddie smitten with Buck, because he isn't there yet in the narrative. He obviously cares deeply for Buck though and we see it in everything Ryan puts into his acting. He is obviously a talented actor and artist. So again... SHUT UP!

If I see any of you threaten the man over a fucking fictional ship on a TV-show? I will report you on whichever platform you are on and I'll make sure that everyone knows who you are so they can block you accordingly. Are you insane?! You cannot threaten people for doing their job.

And NO! Nobody is going to recast Eddie because you have it in your stupid little ignorant dumb minds that the man is a misogynist, a sexist, a racist, a terrible father (ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU CANNOT CALL A MAN YOU DO NOT KNOW A BAD FATHER! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING!?) and a whole other slew of things that are simply made up in your own head!

He made one single mistake a loooong time ago. He admitted that he was in a very dark place around that time. He even talked about trying to take his own life at a certain point. How much more honesty do you need?

After that mistake he apologised and he has obviously worked really hard to become a better guy. We can hear that in every interview he does. Stop spreading the narrative that people can't be forgiven after they apologise. What age are you? Four??? Of course people can be forgiven. It's called growth. This insane cancel-culture that has been growing rampant for the last couple of years has gone to all of your heads. Wake up and SHUT UP!

Stop these ridiculous claims and please do everyone a favour! Move on to another fandom where miserable people like you are welcome.

For years now this fandom has been a great place to be in. I love it here! But I've had it with the insane hate-campaigns against a guy just doing his job.

I won't even go into the insane Eddie hate I have seen lately.

This has got to stop!

I am still not a Ryan stan, but I am a decent human being and admirer of his work. So whatever has been going on lately? It is NOT right and we should all shout that from the top of our lungs.

If anyone is reading this and recognises themselves in what I have written here? Please step outside, touch grass, look at the sky and if you are following me? Kindly unfollow me. Thank you.

If anyone is reading this and feels the same way? Feel free to follow. I promise that I don't often make posts like this. I try to spread the fandom positivity as much as I can. So expect lots of that here.

Can we now just go back to enjoying what is really important here? Buddie is about to go canon. Let's celebrate and have fun! We've been waiting years for this. This is our time.

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

When Death Comes, It Will Have Your Eyes

--------------------------------

ANGST! ANGST FOR MY FELLOW THRANTO SHIPPERS!!!!

I can't remember where I read it first, but the concept of Eli taking Rukh's place as Thrawn's assassin in the new canon is an idea that both fascinates and horrifies me. So, uh... yeah, this drawing is the result of me pondering this absolutely horrendous scenario, which hopefully will never come true.

Anyway. The title comes from a beautifully haunting poem by Italian poet Cesare Pavese (Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi), which I leave you here in the English translation I found on this website:

When Death Comes, It Will Have Your Eyes

When death comes, it will have your eyes- This death that is always with us, From morning till evening, sleepless, Deaf, like an old remorse Or some senseless bad habit. Your eyes Will be an empty word, A stifled cry, a silence; The way they appear to you each morning, When you lean into yourself, alone, In the mirror. Sweet hope, That day we too shall know That you are life and you are nothingness.

For each of us, death has a face. When death comes, it will have your eyes. It will be like quitting some bad habit, Like seeing a dead face Resurface out of the mirror, Like listening to shut lips. We’ll go down into the vortex in silence.

-Cesare Pavese (1950)

[ceruark]

it's better to burn than to be replaced (pt. 1/2)

synopsis: yandere! alexis ness x reader who is kinda into it (just him… for now) words: 930 cw: general yandere themes - stalking, obsessive behavior. implied nsfw, but no smut. MDNI. notes: implied one-sided kainess. a/n: happy birthday to my babygirl

alexis ness, who finds you after kaiser transfers to re al.

at the time, you’d both told yourselves it would be a one-time fling; just a way for you to destress after exams or work or whatever is plaguing you lately, and just something to distract him from the hollowness in his chest, the aching pain from losing the person he’d held at the center of his universe for countless years. all things considered, it’s a good deal for both of you— he’s always eager to please, and you have a tendency to be more than just a bit affectionate during sex (even if it is only supposed to be just one night), and so you both leave that hotel room the next morning feeling satisfied.

it’s… nice, he thinks, to have been able to fall asleep and cuddle with someone after being intimate with them. to wake up and feel someone holding him back, to be met with a smiling face (even if you are just being polite and trying not to make things awkward). it’s nice to share a meal with someone, to have someone compliment him on his feats in his career, and even go as far as to ask about his life outside of football. (even if it's all just in the name of small talk— you’re not actually into him, it’s just a one-time thing, he knows. he knows.)

it’s so nice that, against your previously agreed upon terms and his better judgment, he asks to see you again. and again. and one more time after that— this is the last time, he swears. he always swears it is— but every time you hold him tenderly, kiss him gently, make sure he’s also being satisfied and not just using him for your own pleasure, he feels his resolve rapidly unravel between your fingertips, burning hot where they trail along his skin.

and yet, you agree. time and again, you agree to meet up with alexis, until it becomes part of your weekly routine to spend friday nights in bed with him and saturday mornings working through the long list of breakfast spots around munich you’ve been meaning to try for months now. at some point, he stops asking if he can see you again, and instead moves on to asking if it’s going to be at your place or his.

at some point, when he wasn’t paying attention, that feverish feeling settled beneath his skin again. it’s something he hasn’t felt in months— something kaiser had taken with him when he left. gone is the dull ache within his chest, now replaced by the desperate need to know where you are, what you’re up to, who you’re thinking about. (him, right? are you thinking about him at least half as much as he’s thinking about you?)

it’s decidedly worse this time, worse than whatever infatuation he had with kaiser that said man was exploiting every step of the way. it’s worse because you actually accept his admiration and affection— and what’s more, you return it tenfold, reciprocate his love and make him feel lighter than he’s ever felt in his life. you’re finally giving it to him, this thing that he’s craved for so long, and that’s probably why he clings to you so tightly, his embrace always a little too tight, somewhere near suffocating.

but you’re not stupid. no, you noticed early on in your arrangement that personal belongings of yours started to vanish soon after the first few times you allowed alexis to spend the night at your place. you know the weight of his gaze on your shoulders all too well, for it’s there any time he’s not maintaining the rigorous routine of a professional football player, at times you know he shouldn’t be anywhere near you. you’ve poked at his phone while he was in the bathroom, and you’ve seen the thousands of photos of you stored in a locked folder on his phone, with your birthday as the passcode.

but you can’t help the flattery you feel from it, the thrill you get from knowing his obsession with you knows no bounds. you’re definitely messed up in your own right for being so into it, for not minding the twisted attention he gives you, but you think it’s fine. it’ll be alright, because you genuinely do love and care for him, and you’re not planning on getting rid of him anytime soon.

it’s bliss, and after five months, as you lay in his arms on yet another saturday morning, you sleepily ask him if he wants to make this thing between you two official. five months soon turn into nine, then into a year, and before he knows it, your three year anniversary is on the horizon. thankfully, it’s about two weeks after the season ends, so he’s guaranteed the time off. he’s planned a nice trip to italy for the two of you, and he thinks the ring box tucked away in his desk drawer will make a nice end to it.

he’s been on cloud nine with you the past few years, experiencing life in a way he never has before. if it wasn’t normal for him now, he would think it all too good to be true— sometimes, he still worries it is, but then he returns to your shared apartment and gets to melt in your waiting arms after practice, and he knows he’s being anxious over nothing. this perfect, precious thing he’s found is real and it’s his, and nothing could possibly ruin it.

…right?

[wukyma]

Can you elaborate on that silly AU of yours ? 👉🏻👈🏻 (the one about polites and poseidon changing each others)

(it was indeed silly in the beginning. now it's heartbreaking and I have no one to blame except myself)

Part 1 is here, finally ✨ also forgive my little human weakness for unrequited love, I've been listening to Open Arms on loop

The action starts right after Troy is conquered – they went to lotus eaters' island (⬆️ those scenes) and blinded Polyphemus. Polites survives (yay!) then Poseidon shows up (not yay). When Odysseus' half baked apology doesn't work Poli steps in,,, let's say Poseidon is intrigued and proposes an interesting deal (mostly because he wants to see them fail miserably and maybe amuse himself in the process)

I've got a whole plan written for this AU trust!!

Can you tell that I have no idea what I'm doing? I've never actually illustrated any lengthy ideas of mine so this one's running on pure intuition and enthusiasm; if u have any questions feel free to ask!

[twig---verginix]

way too sleepy for this but i love kris more and more now that there's additional layers overtop "i am controlling you and you are aware of that and frankly not super jazzed." there's like, jesus, you're keeping secrets from me now? you're somehow in kahoots with the scariest enemy we've seen so far? you have plans and machinations that i haven't had any part in. you're not just precociously shutting your eyes when i want to examine every inch of your personal spaces, a child maintaining some semblance of privacy and control, you're actively working against what I as the player understood to be our shared goal. we both like susie a lot but i think we're showing it in different ways and I think it's because you know things I don't and you WONT LET ME know them. and I THINK you might be conflicted about it but you aren't telling me for sure. and the more I tear apart your life looking for clues, the more complex and delightful and confusing you get. you're keeping secrets from me? from me, kris? the adult stranger tucked inside your chest?

[inloveinsickness]

tw: brief mentions of violence, guns & death

at your caliber, disarming someone was easy. killing? even easier. both were a product of your training. but now that you're staring down the target you're supposed to eliminate with the bag finally off his head, why can't you pull the trigger? why is it for the first time in years, your hands tremble when it matters the most?

because the one looking back at you, whose forehead rests against the barrel of the gun that he gave you, died years ago. iwaizumi hajime was supposed to be dead, six feet under, years ago, in a mission objective gone wrong. what is he doing here?