#(*especially* not if you wander off and try to make analogies out of this)

[extreme-unorthodox-cuddles]

An encounter

So because me and some frens have started a thing about silly horror/analog horror stuff on discord I wrote this silly thing with my sona (who I don't think I've really said anything about on here will do that once I feel confident enough to draw him) doing a silly spooky thing

Content warning for unwilling prey, some horror elements and mild(?) body horror

Also @mysticcomfort because you told me to post this here

Wandering is risky, especially when alone. The sightings of unknown phenomena and disappearances and subsequent reappearances of those who do so are exemplary of this. Yet that can end up not deterring some, and even encouraging others, wanting to be the first to record what has been causing the strange happenings. But still, it is best to know the area, lest you get lost.

As one poor soul found out the hard way.

They pushed past branches and gazed up at the sky, void of any stars, trying to find some sense of direction. Every tree seemed identical, and no indicative light could be seen. They trekked through the foliage, hoping that if they continued in a straight line, they would come across something. But at the same time, they questioned if that would really be better than encountering nothing. Quiet shuffling could be heard all around them, and they could swear that branches and roots of trees seemed to appear and disappear. Sometimes, in the dark, the rings on a birch tree’s bark almost seemed like real eyes staring right at them, but a blink got rid of the feeling.

A sudden loud noise startled them, and they walked backwards from it, until they bumped into something. They yelped, starting to panic as they twirled around to face what they bumped into, and saw a strange person wearing a tall hat turn around as well, though notably calmer.

“Woah, woah, you ok? You look like you just saw a ghost.” He said to them, trying to ease them. “You seem lost, are ya lost?”

They explained their plight to the stranger, having let their guard down now that they have another human to talk to. He held his hand up to his face in a thoughtful pose while he listened.

“Hmm. Well, I know the area here quite well, I can help you if you want, just follow me, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

He began walking off, and they followed suit. They had an uneasy feeling in them, but it was overcome by their relief at finally having someone else to talk to. Besides, of the recent disappearances, everyone had returned and the most damage they were aware of happening to them was nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, the kind that would heal in a week at most.

Their unease grew, however, when the stranger walked down into a bunker of some kind. 

“I know this seems like a bad idea, but I promise you you’ll be safe.” He gave them a smile, though something about it seemed… off, slightly. But despite their uneasy feelings, they followed in.

There was very little light in the bunker, aside from a ceiling light that only illuminated a small spot in the center of the room. They couldn’t see the person they followed in, and it didn’t help they could swear they saw something slip out from the light as they approached. They called out with a low voice. And shortly after doing so, they heard the door shut behind them, and they swiveled around to look, not that they could see much.

“Sorry to have tricked you like that.” A familiar voice echoed from the side of the room opposite the door, making them swivel around again. As he spoke, some other quieter voices spoke the same words at the same time, but all around them. “I think we can both agree that you would have found it a bit harder to trust me like this.” He approached them, and as he stepped into the light, it was clear he was different. His legs were preceded by black tendrils, swiftly growing on the ground before him in very general directions. His arms seemed to have grown, becoming a material not unlike that of the tendrils on the ground, which they had noticed were on the walls and ceiling as well. And his mouth had grown wider, and was filled with jagged, teal, crystalline teeth, with a couple more of those tendrils flowing out like long tongues, and a similar mouth had formed on the exposed patch of his stomach.

They couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, paralyzed with fear, while he continued his approach. He lifted his arms and wrapped them around them, meaning they couldn’t move now even if they wanted to.

“I do keep my word, though. I will keep you somewhere safe. Though you… might not like where exactly that is.” As he said that, he began opening his mouth wide, and elongating the tendrils in his mouth, wrapping them around them. They struggled against him, but it proved completely ineffective as they were pulled into the void of this… thing’s mouth. They felt the pull of what might be considered throat muscles pulling them deeper. They couldn’t believe what was happening to them. It had to be a nightmare. They kept being pulled in further and further, until they were curled up in a tight space, unable to escape. They soon eventually passed out from everything that had just happened to them.

…

They jolted up in bed, gasping for breath. In bed… It was a nightmare. They caught their breath and calmed themself down, briefly nervously laughing. They checked themself just in case they were hurt, but nothing was wrong, they were perfectly fine. They breathed a sigh of sheer relief and turned on their bedside lamp. Their paranoia must still be high, as they thought they saw some black tendrils quickly recede into the cracks of their doorframe the moment the room was flooded with light.

[eternalwritess]

Can I have a matchup, please? Can be with boys or girls

My name is Maria Eduarda, I’m Brazilian, 22 years old, my pronouns are she/her and I study Environmental Science at the College

I’m awful at describing myself, but here we go. I’m introverted, usually I don’t start a conversation with someone else, but I like to chat if other people start talking to me. I'm quite a procrastinator, but so far it hasn't caused me any major problems. I am well organized and responsible with anything that involves other people, I don't want to harm anyone. I work hard at anything that I think will bring me good things in the future, I really like making jokes (even dark humor ones) and I consider myself very loyal to my friends. I am very unassertive in showing what I want and I always give in to avoid conflict. I don't know how to act under pressure (I usually freeze when it happens and I need some help)

Hobbies: video games (Nintendo is my passion), I love to write; currently learning how to make digital art (still being awful at it), also trying to learn how to play piano (this one I’m doing better) and I’m learning to like going to gym

Likes and dislikes: I love Analog Horrors and sci-fi (my favorite series are Doctor Who and Star Trek), I love food, but I hate to cook; I hate when the weather is too hot (it’s weird, since I live in Rio de Janeiro); I hate crowds and I hate the feeling of being left out of something

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴!

hello for future reference please do NOT EVER and i mean EVER give me your real name OR where you live. this is the internet, stay safe <3

if this happens again i will NOT be taking your matchup

He probably found you wandering the streets lost and soon found someone picking on you and decided to step in

He fought them off for you pretty easily and took you back to the hazbin hotel where you are now staying

He would commonly start conversations with you. Even on the smallest topics trying to get to know you more

"So how you liking the hotel so far?"

This caused you to open up more around him and get to know the cast a bit better as he would introduce you to them

As for procrastination he wouldn't mind at all being quite lazy when it comes to some things himself. Yet when it gets out of hand he'll call you out on it and drag you over to whatever it is that you need to do

You're also responsible and he likes that as he doesn't need to constantly worry about you all of the time

The fact that you don't want to harm anyone just tugs at him especially he feels as if he needs to protect you especially since you're not as assertive as he'd like

"Hey if that guy comes up to you again just do this..."

He adores how hard working you are and will commonly help you in your endeavors and you will help him in his too

He knows how to act under pressure and will commonly take charge whilst keeping your best interests in mind

He commonly listens to your analog horrors with you. He doesn't get scared often and sometimes might end up laughing every now and then from them

Husk isn't that great of a cooker... but that doesn't mean that he won't try! He commonly gets Angel to help him make you food and treats

"Here try this one"

He'll most likely binge watch your favorite movies and shows with you all of the time getting you two drinks of some sort from the bar

He doesn't really like crowds either so he'll keep you both out of it

With him you'll never feel left out of anything. He'll constantly bring you into the group and into the conversation no matter what

"Hey get over here we're going out"

He doesn't understand video games but he'll watch you play them and might make fun of the mechanics every now and then but if it makes you happy then he's happy :)

He'll read whatever you write and will always help proof read it if you need

He also listens to you play the piano and will dance sometimes if he feels like it

[justashadetalkative]

IC Musings: Diamond

“Parents are... complicated, for me. Even under the best of circumstances, I am rarely what any parent would expect, and from my own end... well.

Among a great number of reasons why experiencing life as a child and being born to new families is a conflicting experience for me, it’s... I’ve essentially killed whoever their child would or could have been. Which. Even when I don’t choose to reveal my history to the people around me, it still weighs on my mind.

It isn’t an insurmountable barrier to a positive relationship, but it’s... difficult.”

[writingwithcolor]

Avoiding ambiguous brown without cultural coding

@ahivemindoftwelvecati​ asked:

How should I, a white person, avoid making characters fall into the vaguely brown stereotype in my fantasy books? I’m against coding cultures into this book, as I’m really trying to create a unique world (ironically by studying a lot of different cultures). By doing this though, am I doomed to remove characters from cultural context, or leave people wandering in vague color shades? Especially since some of my characters would fall into various indigenous ethnicities, but share nothing cultural

In an interesting way, I think the Star Wars novels kind of do an okay job about it (of course, others might differ, in which case I defer to them, but in my opinion they pull off something similar). For context, it all takes place in a galaxy where absolutely none of Earth’s cultures are present, but there are still human beings that are Latine-coded, Black-coded, etc, and they accomplish this through very simple descriptions of character appearances. For example, there was a Black-coded woman and her description ran something along the lines of “She had dark, rich brown skin and her hair was curled tightly, pulled back into a bun. She hated the moist heat of the swamp planet, but she had to admit her hair never looked better.” Through that, the audience understands that she’s most likely Black-coded (dark skin+tight curls), but they avoid cultural points (also the little detail of humid heat being great for curls is just a cute lil extra IMO, that’s something I hear people with 3- or 4-type hair saying a lot).

The pitfall here is that, since there’s no cultures analogous to what we have here in our world, each reader will have different interpretations of what each character might identify as ethnically. Who someone might headcanon as Korean, another might headcanon as Chinese, etc. That’s something you have to figure out for yourself if you’re okay with having--just that vague sense of ‘ah, this person must be from this vague region of the world’--or if you want to be more explicit.

--Sophia

So… to expand on the point Sophia put out that it’s up to the reader to determine what race somebody “really” is and how that’s a problem.

One of my best friends is mixed Japanese/white. Thanks to genetic roulette, they get approached by various Indigenous peoples asking what nation they’re from, because they look really Indigenous.

I’m mixed Mohawk/Mi’kmaq/white. Thanks to genetic roulette, nobody can tell where I’m from and I’ve gotten everything from West Asian, North Indian, and Great Lakes Native (basically, anywhere that golden-tanned skin + dark hair + no monolid is considered normative, I could pass for there)

My mom, meanwhile, looks very, very Mexican, despite being the same mixes as me at a higher percentage Native; she tans more pink/red and tans darker than I do. She also has a totally different face shape than I do. 

Aka, there are dozens upon dozens of groups that look interchangeable, and the only thing that separates us is our culture.

When you’re dealing with more “obvious” features like type 4 hair, monolids, very dark skin, very pale skin, and those stereotypical things, yeah, you can usually peg down a general region. You’re basically only going to have Black people with kinky, delicate hair (but, are they African, Australian Indigenous, or Black Native? Because Australian Aboriginals are also very dark skinned and have a similar hair texture; Black Natives sometimes inherit the level 4 hair texture). You’re basically only going to have Northern settled peoples with white skin (barring albinism/vitiligo) but are they Norwegian or Sami? 

What happens to all the people who are ambiguous in real life?

The trope has a basis in reality. Humans would like to think that a certain set of features = obviously from this place, but as soon as you expand your sample size beyond models, movie stars, and idealized art, you find that people look really different and you absolutely cannot rely on this logic. 

It’s even a known fact among the modelling industry that anyone vaguely not-white who looks like they could maybe belong to any other group of brown people is put in for casting calls for that group, even if they’re not part of that group. It’s messed up, but it happens all the time. A Latine person could be put in as Arab, and an Ojibwe person can be put in as Filipino.

Culture is the thing that separates these people in real life. So as soon as you take that culture away, you’ve essentially lost any representation you could get. You’ll get diversity, yes, but it will not be representation.

Sure, you perhaps gain some representation as people look at parts of their culture that might be incorporated (maybe by accident, maybe on purpose) and say “hey, that’s us!”

But you’ve also strewn infighting by having perhaps multiple groups be able to say the same thing, and these multiple groups could very well share a lot of phenotypic traits, so suddenly you’ve represented nobody because you haven’t put anything solid that would sway the needle one way or the other.

If you start to assume too much that features = obviously this person is from x part of the world, then you really ignore a whole lot of human migration, diffusion, and people who just lived in really similar biomes so their physical features, skin tone, and hair type ended up being the same just purely because that had the best chance of surviving the region, or had no reason to change.

Diversity exists because of the environment. Skin tone, hair type, jaw shape, etc exist because of the food available, how it was grown/gathered (horticulture and “hunter-gathering” vs agriculture), the way food was eaten, the amount of sunlight, and the vitamins available in diet. This happened over tens of thousands of years.

But also, certain environments produced very similar coping strategies. There are only so many ways to survive a very hot desert, so unless you’ve really messed with the natural world in fantasy, you’re going to end up pulling from earth’s coping strategies for the very hot desert. Which means you could end up being kinda hurtful towards desert peoples who see their clothing and food growing ways used, with people who look like them because skin tone is environmental, but hardly anything else about their culture was taken.

Especially for Indigenous peoples, culture and land protection is what makes us Indigenous. How are you going to show us in your work unless you dig into our cultural principles (land protection) at the very least? Nothing about our facial features or skin tone are particularly unique to us, and assuming they are is how you get caricatures. There are Black Natives* to white Natives to mixed cultures with European and Indigenous practices (Metis) and everything in between. And that’s just North America’s range.

This isn’t even counting how there are Indigenous people everywhere, so when you say “Indigenous” do you mean the Mohawk? The San? Mbororo? Ainu? Sami? Samoan? There are literally thousands of groups that are primarily separated from the dominant group because of their way of life and maybe some subtle phenotyping. But primarily, they are separated by their culture.

I would suggest, at the very least, to have some degree of basic cultural beliefs to help differentiate groups of brown people who would otherwise be interchangeable. Land stewardship and using every part of the natural world for Indigenous groups, for example. You can’t really find Indigenous groups without that, so if it was missing I would raise an eyebrow. 

Distinct foodstuffs and diets are another way to differentiate and code; you know that this group that uses chickpeas, sorghum, barley, and wheat is probably from West Asia, and that group that eats rice at every meal is probably somewhere from East Asia. Food is a very fast way to differentiate between groups, because even far-reaching staples are fairly different across cultures.

You don’t have to 1 to 1 code a culture. But for actually differentiating between people, you’re going to need more than one point of reference beyond looks. Food, nomad status (as in, settled vs nomadic vs hybrid), basic religious practices (monotheist vs pantheist), and broad-reaching cultural attitudes (collectivism vs individualism, who you’re expected to be collectivist with) are all points that help break apart these groups and let them know you see them.

It’s important to note that even if you do fantasy, it’s read in the real world. It’s read by humans, who are pattern recognizing machines. We will see patterns. Niki points out ways to try and avoid this patterning below, but it’s going to happen regardless. 

It’s up to you what you actually want, out of not overtly coding anyone.

~ Mod Lesya

*Black Natives and cultural practice is a fraught topic (mostly because of slave-owning tribes) that is mostly summed up as: Black Natives are often barred from tribal participation because anti-Blackness is rife within North American Indigenous communities, but they have been tending the land just as much as if not more than their former enslavers; as such, they are members of the cultures/nations and should be recognized. They have been part of the land as North American Indigenous peoples for centuries, at this point, and the fact there is still enough anti-Blackness in Native communities that Reservation Dogs used nothing but Black caricature is… a problem to say the least.

This isn’t counting mixed Black/Natives who had their Native parent/grandparent cast out for marrying someone Black, who were raised in cultural practices without community ties because of anti-Blackness, who should also be recognized. If it’s valid to mix white culture with North American practices, it’s valid to mix Black culture (Black American and/or African Indigenous) with North American practices.

Do you want diversity or do you want representation?

Lesya raises a very important point that I encourage you to really think about. Why do you want to have diversity in your fantasy worldbuilding? Is it because you want your readers to feel seen and represented? Or is it because you want your fantasy world to feel well-rounded and realistic? These are two different motivations, which will require different approaches.

If you want representation, then go back and reread Lesya’s answer. Representation that’s only skin-deep isn’t really representation, and won’t help your readers feel seen. If, however, you want diversity for diversity’s sake--because diversity is realistic, and because it’s simply good writing to include it--then I have some more thoughts to offer.

In my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with creating a fantasy world that has fictional diversity that doesn’t directly parallel real-life groups and cultures, as long as you’re aware that that’s what you’re doing. This is arguably very common in high fantasy, though the effectiveness with which it’s executed varies wildly from author to author. N. K. Jemisin describes what she did for the Broken Earth trilogy in this blog post.

Unless you’re working with a very small subsection of the world (and even then--everything’s connected), diversity is natural, because people will be living in different geographical areas that each have their own climate, fauna and flora, which will shape both their physical appearance and their way of life. Thinking about the physical environment is a good starting point for figuring out what your population groups will look like and how they’ll behave.

But as Lesya pointed out, it’s very easy, when doing this, to inadvertently re-create elements of coding that will remind your readers of real-world groups, even if that wasn’t your intent. If that happens, you’ll have two options:

1) Very deliberately alter the coding to make it clear that you’re not trying to represent a certain real-world group (in the post I linked above, Jemisin talks about what she did to avoid appropriating Maori culture), or

2) Embrace it and go the representation route after all, which will entail a lot of research and care to make sure your coding makes sense, is respectful, and doesn’t reinforce harmful stereotypes.

Assuming you’re going with option 1, there are still more issues to be mindful of. We said before that representation that doesn’t include culture isn’t really representation. Here’s the thing: This is also true of fictional diversity. Even if your fantasy cultures are entirely created from scratch, they still need to exist, and be distinct and thoughtfully portrayed, in order for your world to feel well-rounded and realistic.

Diversity is more than physical appearance

As Lesya demonstrated, physical appearance alone isn’t enough to make groups of people distinct from another. In order to avoid the “ambiguous brown” trope you’re worried about, you will need to give your different groups of people distinct cultures.

There might be some cases where it would make sense for an entire fantasy world to have a single, homogenous culture, within which people of various ethnic backgrounds exist, resulting in a variety of physical appearances but everyone sharing the same culture. But if you’re planning to do this, you need to give a lot of thought to why things came to be this way. If an entire world is made up of a single culture, that usually indicates something very traumatic happened on a large scale. Maybe an apocalypse, or massive amounts of forced assimiliation or genocide. I don’t recommend going that route unless you’re willing to grapple with all the trauma that entails, and all the potentially problematic implications. You’re much better off populating your world with a diversity of cultures. They don’t need to be coded based on real-world cultures, but they need to exist.

In my opinion, the main issue with “ambiguous brown” characters is that it makes it seem we’re all interchangeable. In real life, we're not. Make sure that's the case in your fantasy world, too. Craft your population groups so they're distinct, each with their own history, culture, language, and traditions. Your worldbuilding needs to be deep enough to counteract the absence of parallels to real-life cultures. We need to be able to look at it and say, "okay, this is not representing me specifically, but it's also not lumping me in with everyone else that vaguely looks like me."

And don't make the mistake of thinking one skin tone = one group. That's not true in real life, and it shouldn't be in fantasy either. Using skin color and a handful of stereotypical features as shorthand for ethnicity or culture is not only shallow worldbuilding, it also feeds into the racist pseudoscience that sorts people into four or five neat color-coded boxes and collapses the world's diversity into a handful of supposedly biologically determined races. If you're creating cultures from scratch, this is your chance to challenge those ideas and populate your cultures with people who don't all look the same. Within a single group, you can have characters with a variety of skin tones, hair texture, eye color, height and build, etc. Because this is what happens in the real world. Some groups include a lot more diversity than others, but variation exists everywhere.

This will partly depend on how interconnected your world is, and how much interaction exists between your various groups. More interaction and exchange tends to lead to a wider range of physical characteristics within each group, and it also results in similar features being found in multiple groups. Think about how that might play out in your fantasy world, and make sure you're being as specific as possible with your fictional cultures so that you don't have to rely on physical appearance alone to distinguish your population groups from one another.

- Mod Niki

[tchallasbabymama]

M’Baku’s Love- Chapter 3

Let me know if you want to be tagged, and make sure you check out my masterlist HERE for chapters 1& 2 and my other stories. 

Also, just so y’all know, the last scene has paraphrased lines from the movie (which you should definitely go watch if you haven’t yet.)

Enjoy!

Word count: 2392

___________________________________________________

The day of the open house was upon them and M’Baku was more than excited to get to work with Monae some more. The workday crept by and as soon as the clock struck 5 he hurried out of his office and down the two flights of stairs to the arts wing. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, but he followed the sound of drums coming from one of the rooms. He walked up to the door and peeked in, seeing Monae teaching a class full of children West African dance. He leaned up against the doorframe and took in her graceful form and mesmerizing hips. He could have stood there and watched her move forever until one of the kids turned and saw him off to the side.

“Hi Mr. M’Baku!”

Monae and the kids turned towards him and greeted him. Monae’s smile was the brightest in the room.

“Hello children, Miss Monae.”

She sent him a small wave as the children surrounded him, all talking at once and all wanting to show him their moves.

“Alright, kiddos, lets all show M’Baku what you’ve been working on before you get out of here, Ok?”

“Ok!” 

The drummers started back up and the kids started to dance, the looks on their little brown faces making Monae smile at their joy. She watched her students with pride as they finished the number and took their bows. She and M’Baku both erupted in applause.

“Very good, class! Ok y’all can go on home now. If you come to the open house make sure you stop by and say hi, Mr. M’Baku here is going to be my assistant for the evening.”

The kids grabbed their bags to head home, some of them stopping to hug Monae and M’Baku on the way out to their guardians. M’Baku was taken aback since he had not had enough experience around young children to know they have no concept of personal space. Monae laughed at the confused look on his face, a near permanent fixture he was becoming used to by being in this new land. He was just happy he could make her smile. 

After the last child ran out, almost tripping over her shoelaces, Monae introduced M’Baku to her drummers Kehinde and Rodney. They bonded for a bit before Rodney slid out of the way to let M’Baku play his drum.

Monae couldn’t help but move with the way he struck the beautifully made instrument.. Her feet and hips took on a life of their own and she let the beat carry her however it saw fit. M’Baku already thought her choreographed dances were beautiful, but this? Her natural movement called to him as he moved her body with each stroke of his hands. Neither one of them were sure how long they were going for, but Rodney had to clear his throat to break the trance.

“Hey so I uh, I gotta head out. Sorry to interrupt whatever that was.” He pointed between the two, obviously picking up on the chemistry.

“Yeah, no, y’all get outta here. It’s late anyway. See you tomorrow?” 

“Of course.”

“See ya Monae, byyyeeee M’Baku.” Rodney and Kehinde snickered as they left the room.

“So, what first?” M’Baku asked, still coming down from the high he just experienced with her.

“Woo, sorry, let me uh catch my breath real quick...you’re good.” She gestured towards the drum.

“So are you,” he gestured towards her body and she cracked a smile.

“I’m aware.” She walked around him to the other side of the room to start straightening up the space. He joined in and the room was spotless in minutes.

“So,” she clapped. “I figured since the kids love you so much you’d be great at keeping them busy while the adults talk to me. Nakia brought us a bunch of Wakandan children’s books, so how about you read to the kids? You have to do voices though, if you don’t do voices I’m putting you somewhere else.” She was dead serious.

“What kind of monster does not change their voice to read to children?” M’Baku asked incredulously.

Monae’s mind flashed to two years ago when she asked Derrick to do something similar at the after school program where she volunteered. He just read it straight like it was a speech, and the kids were restless. It was a nightmare.

“You would be surprised. Ok so take a look through these and see if any jump out at you,” she handed him the crate full of books and he thumbed through them.

“I do not see any Jabari books,” he pulled out a small notepad and began scribbling his thoughts down.

“You don’t use the beads like the others?” 

“I could, but it is unnecessary technology for the most part.”

Monae nodded, remembering that the Jabari preferred to live analog. 

“Let me run this by you real quick, and you tell me what you think,” Monae started as he turned to give her his full attention. “I have sooooo many Wakandan beads I need to get rid of, so how about I set up a jewelry station across the hall? Just some beads and string, nothing too fancy. Then over in the paint lab I was thinking of using these extra textile scraps and old magazines to make mixed media collages. For the last station I have like a million gourds for the kids to paint, and I figured they could do that next door. I have three volunteers set up at each station, so don’t worry, you’ll have help with the kids. I wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves like that.” She winked at him as M’Baku nodded along, processing everything she said.

“This is not my specialty, but that sounds like a good plan to me.”

“What is your specialty?”

“I am a man of many talents, as you can see, but I am a warrior above all else.”

Her cheeks felt hot as she tried to quiet the damsel in distress inside her brain. She cleared her throat and changed the subject.

“You mentioned that there aren’t any Jabari stories in here. You don’t have to use the books if you’d rather go off the cuff with it.”

M’Baku’s gap toothed smile shone through as his theatrical side woke up from its slumber. 

“You might regret that later.” 

______

The children loved M’Baku so much they barely touched the crafts Monae had set up for them. He regaled the kids, and the adults, with Jabari folktales about snowmen and giant gorillas and how the Jabari came to be.

“And then the Jabari left for the mountains. For centuries, the Jabari and the rest of Wakanda were angry at each other until-“

“Why?” interrupted a kid with his front two teeth missing.

“Well because the Jabari cared more for tradition and old ways, but the Wakandans wanted everything shiny and new. They argued so much they had to move away to keep the peace, and that is when Hanuman guided the Jabari to the mountains.”

“Who’s Hanuman?” asked a little girl with beaded cornrows.

“The god who guides and protects us.”

“My mama says theres only one god and his name ain’t Hanuman,” she responded with an attitude. Some of the parents and kids nodded along in agreement. 

“Well, you see, your mother is simply wrong-”

“Ok, that's enough for now. Let's give Mr. M’Baku a round of applause for storytime, huh?” Monae interrupted before things got too heated, and the crowd clapped for their griot. 

People wandered in and out of the room for the next couple hours, enjoying the crafts and M’Baku’s storytime. Monae kept everything running smoothly, including refilling M’Baku’s water bottle multiple times to keep his voice strong.  Shortly before closing time T’Challa wandered into the room and sat with the children listening to the same stories M’Baku had told so many times that night Monae could recite them herself. When it was over and the last guest had left the center all the staff and volunteers breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I think that went well!” M’Baku said, his voice hitching from overuse.

“Drink some more. Oh yeah, they absolutely loved you. You know T’Challa recorded your dramatics while he was here? You could win a Tony with that performance.” Monae gushed, proud of her, uh, friend. 

“Who?”

“It's an award for stage actors. I’ll make you a list like the one Captain America had.”

“What sort of list?”

“Of pop culture and historical things you should know. He spoke about it in an interview a few years ago and I thought ‘that’s brilliant, I’d do that too’ but I never had the chance...until now.”, her excitement was palpable. 

“That is a good idea, I will have to commend him on that the next time I see him.”

Monae froze.

“I’m sorry, you know Captain America?”

“Well yes, he and some other Avengers have been to Wakanda a couple times.”

Monae was speechless. She’d had a huge crush on Steve Rogers ever since he defrosted.

“I- what’s he like?” she asked, barely forming words.

M’Baku found her obvious fawning amusing and wondered if this is how she would look if she spoke about him to others. 

“He is nice,” M’Baku said before leaning in a little closer. “Especially for a colonizer.”

Monae cackled and they continued to straighten up the room. Once the area was sufficiently cleaned for the night, the two headed out to their cars. Monae yawned as they packed her little electric car full of art supplies.

“It seems it is past your bedti-” he was cut off by the sound of his stomach trying to climb out his body. “Well, then.”

They broke out into laughter, only subsiding when her stomach answered the mating call.

“Would you like to accompany me to dinner? It will be my treat. I was planning on going to The V Spot for some more jackfruit tacos.”

“Mmm, they have these vegan nachos that I would sell my arm for, but I’m so tired I’ll probably fall asleep on you. Next time?” she sent him an apologetic grin. 

“Next time it is, then.”

Monae turned to get into her car before stopping and turning back around to face him.

“You know what? I think I have one good hour left in me. Let’s meet there.”

_____

Both of them were too tired to speak, especially since M’Baku had done enough talking that night to warrant a week of silence. M’Baku paid for their food and they left, still in comfortable silence until reaching the sidewalk.

“Let me walk you home, you should not be out here by yourself.”

“M’Baku I can literally see my building from here.”

“And? Anything could happen between here and there. I would never forgive myself!”

The butterflies in her stomach were in full flight mode, and her face grew hot. She playfully rolled her eyes at him and turned away to mask her blushing face.

“Ok fine.” She said with faux reluctance. She wanted nothing more than to spend every moment she could with this man, but the ring weighing down her finger made it challenging. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but Derrick is always out of town on business and she can feel the relationship slipping away. Even before M’Baku swooped in, her feelings for her fiance had started to dwindle. However, she did enjoy spending time with M’Baku and she figured there’d be no harm in taking the short stroll between The V Spot and her place.

“So, which direction?” M’Baku asked and Monae pointed to the right before they slowly took off down the street, arm in arm, in silence once again before Monae spoke up two minutes later.

“Well, this is me.” 

They both just stood there, not knowing how to end the night.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

“Of course...I will say though, where I am from when you walk someone home from a date there is usually a goodnight kiss involved.”

She was stunned at his forwardness, and she could feel her pulse all over her body.

“But I guess this was not really a date, huh?”

“Um, n-no. M’Baku you know I’m engaged.” She said, looking down.

“Yes, but do you?” his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head as stepped closer to her. She didn’t move away, so he took another step forward so that their bodies were almost pressed together. 

“It was date-like.” she conceded.

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight, closing the tiny gap of space left between the two of them. Her hands found their way to his chest and his other hand came up to tilt her chin upwards before he placed a light kiss on her lips and let her go. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked over his face. She took in his prominent brow and his strong jaw, his pillowy lips and his soft eyes. He was a giant wall of a man and she couldn’t get enough of how he felt up against her, 

“That’s it?” she teased before pulling him back and making him lean down into a deeper kiss. His hands rested respectfully at the small of her back despite his desire to explore her body more, and hers rested around his neck for the same reason. They broke away quickly when the door of the apartment building opened and an older man walked out with his dog, undoubtedly to go on a nighttime walk around the neighborhood before retiring for the night. He looked at them and shook his head before mumbling something under his breath about heathens. 

They looked back at each other and broke out laughing. 

“You should go,” Monae said softly while fiddling with his collar.

“I do not want to,” he whispered.

“I know, but-”

“You are engaged. I know,” he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Goodnight Monae.”

“Goodnight M’Baku, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waited for her to get inside before turning around and heading back the way they came to make the short journey to his temporary home. The entire walk back, he hummed along to an unwritten love song in his head with a goofy smile on his face. He could still taste her and, by Hanuman, he wanted more.

Next Chapter

[theatresweetheart]

Childish Innocence

Summary: Logan was never too sure the little egg he’d rescued would actually hatch. However, when he starts hearing the egg cracking, he realizes he has a decision to make.

Warnings: Brief mention of losing a child. 

Pairings: Parental/Familial Analogical

Characters: Logan, Virgil.

Word Count: 1867 words

A/n: I finally got around to writing more dragon content, and I’m pretty happy with how this came out, too!

Continuation/AU: Thunderstorms and Stowaways, A Snowy Twilight Find

                                      ——————————

The nights quickly grew colder every passing day. The little egg he’d rescued from the cold embrace of the snowbanks stayed still, motionless.

Logan had half a mind that the egg wouldn’t hatch.

And so what if it didn’t?

This was how life worked; sometimes eggs hatched and sometimes they didn’t.

It was unfortunate, yes, but it could not be changed.

However, this truth didn’t mean he didn’t keep it warm. Logan may not believe the babe would hatch, but it didn’t stop him from caring for it. Most of his time was now spent curled around the little one when he wasn’t out hunting—which he did only twice a week. The cold made his joints ache anyhow and livestock was scarce in the frigid breeze, so it wasn’t too much of a hindrance staying tucked inside.

His gaze shifted down to the little egg that was snug between his underbelly and silks and maps. The glowing was soft, but still lightly pulsing. It was only showing him that the babe inside was resilient enough to hold on a little while longer.

Logan knew he had grown somewhat attached, as illogical as it was. Yet, it didn’t mean he would keep the child with him. It would be far easier to take the pup and give it to another– another that could care for it better and give it the attention and affection it would crave.

The dragon yawned as the sun began to sink out of sight, slowly casting the world in a darkening and cool light.

Logan stretched after a moment, before settling back down into his hoard and relaxing languidly. Letting out a soft huff of air, he let his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. Sleep hadn’t been coming easy since he’d brought the egg into his care, however, he took every chance he could get to catch a few extra winks. If the egg hatched and the babe did survive, he had an itching feeling he’d be losing sleep until he found a suitable place for the hatchling.

The minute he was beginning to drift off, he heard it.

It was soft, just a tiny sound at first. He opened his eyes, lifting his head to scan the area in front of him. He was tucked as far back into the cave as he could be for an adult dragon, so the entire entrance to the cave was in his complete view. It was how he watched for intruders and stowaways if they so dared to enter.

When he didn’t see anything, or anyone, his attention shifted downward when he heard the same sound, this time a little louder.

When Logan’s gaze met the egg, he saw a hairline fracture running down the length of it. Slightly surprised that this was happening, the dragon rose himself into a stand, hovering over the egg.

He’d watched others back home (before he’d split off from the group) who let the baby hatch on its own. The parents hovered close, standing together as they awaited the little one inside to make their grand debut. Logan had thought, at the time, he would never have to feel that anxiety flutter through him—the worry that maybe the child wouldn’t hatch and he’d have spent all this time keeping it warm for nothing.

Of course, he reasoned, he shouldn’t truly be as nervous as he was. This wasn’t his babe nor was he intending on keeping them, it would only cause more trouble. His own parents had died defending him, so being a parent himself was a rather frightening thought. Not that he was frightened.

But giving one’s life for that of a child who would be ungrateful?‌ Only for it to be in vain? That was unnerving.

The egg cracked further and Logan sat down a pace away from it, knowing that assisting the hatchling through this process may be detrimental. He could recall elders of his old group explaining to young and worried parents why they could not assist their baby hatch.

It is a very real possibility to accidentally kill the child because one had intervened too early in their attempt to “help.”

Logan would only step in if he felt as though he needed to.

Hours passed as the egg continued to crack slowly but surely.

Logan had been keeping watch on it, as well as keeping an eye out toward the front of the cave. It was surprising to notice how paranoid he’d become about a wandering and aimless traveler, even though he was well aware it was the dead of winter. No human with half a brain would be about in this weather, especially not at this time of night. But there was such a vulnerable life in his care now, until he decided what he was going to do.

Finally, after what had felt like forever, the babe pushed the rest of the egg open and lifted their head, taking their first real breath of outside air. They coughed, eyes glued shut as they tried to take their first step forward. Instead, the little one’s legs wobbled shakily and toppled forward onto the soft silks of the hoard Logan had been on hours before.

Logan took in the sight of the little one, a soft scale-less violet babe.  

He stood quickly, cautiously moving toward the little hatchling as they chirped softly. He leaned down, snuffling at them for just a moment and imprinted their scent, just as the babe reacted to his warmth. They chirruped again, leaning forward and trying to meet Logan head on.

Surprised, Logan moved back and the babe whined, their head swiveling from side to side trying to find the adult again.

Logan leaned closer to it again, eyes alight with curiosity at the tiny life in front of him. Covered in slime and fluid from their egg. He pressed his snout gently into the little one’s side, nudging them over so they laid more comfortably on the blankets. The babe hummed as they squirmed on the comforters, confused by the new sensation.

“Look at you,” Logan mused after a moment, crouching down so he was level with them. The babe followed his voice and they turned their head to face him, scenting the air and trying to familiarize themselves with the way Logan smelled.

Logan snorted softly back at them, and the babe tried to mimic the sound.

Slightly amused, he moved forward once more. Bathing the child was the next hurdle and then cleaning them up. He’d need to get the babe’s eyes cleared as well, which would help them open them.

Cleaning the hatchling took more time then he expected. The baby didn’t seem bothered, as he sat with his little tail swishing back and forth. He was standing unsteadily on his wobbly legs, as Logan sat nearby, ready to move in case he tipped over again.

The little one tested the air once more, trying to find Logan without the use of his eyes. His eyes were free of grime, which included anything that could keep them glued shut; Logan had made sure to make quick work of easing it off gently.

The babe chirped and Logan repeated the sound. The hatchling startled a moment, whipping his head to face where the noise had come from.

“Yes, I’m here little one,”‌ he said, just as the baby toddled toward him.

The child sat down a few paces from his snout and Logan titled his head to the side, curious. After a moment of nothing happening, he watched as the little one rubbed at his eyes with his claw-free paws, letting out soft sounds as he worked. Not five minutes later were there two big, shining, violet eyes blinking up blearily toward Logan–whom of which was watching in quiet awe.

He’s yours, a small part of the adult whispered, nudging a protective instinct of Logan’s forward—a part he hadn’t known had been there. He’s so trusting, you can’t let him down by giving him to someone else. You’d feel godawful about it as well.

“Hello there,” he greeted the babe quietly, his head resting down on his forearms as the hatchling chirruped excitedly back at him.

The little one was trying to take in all of the larger dragon, however, it seemed his attention began to wane and a yawn split his features. Logan was granted a toothless yawn and the babe wobbled on his feet again. Logan leaned forward, using his snout to keep the babe upright, however, that didn’t stop it from nearly toppling to his other side.

Letting out a soft breath of air, he stood up just enough to lean down and nab the babe by the scruff of his neck. He hefted the little one into the air for just a moment, before settling him down into the mass of blankets and soft cloths and silks. Logan then curled around the little one, offering warmth and comfort and protection. The babe snuffled  before yawning again, his eyes fluttering shut as he curled up against the bigger dragon.

“Sleep,” Logan said to him, watching as the little one barely reacted to his voice, seemingly only liking the vibrations. Truthfully, he knew the babe wouldn’t be able to speak on his own. That was something Logan would need to teach him, not that he minded. “You’ve had a long day.”

The child didn’t respond, of course. Not that Logan was surprised, however, he knew he also couldn’t refer to the little one without a name for much longer. Though, what would suit him?‌

His eyes glanced over the little form, almost already sound asleep.

Since the moment his eyes had opened, they had been constantly on the move. Looking from Logan himself, to shining coins, to the tapestries that were laid strewn across the stone flooring.

That vigilance was something Logan would have to hone further into him. The act of being wary was something that could keep him alive when the time to survive on his own came inevitably. However, looking so far into the future was unfair to the babe curled up directly into his side, snuggled up close and reveling in the warmth Logan radiated.

Vigilance.

Another moment passed. He let his eyes flicker to the babe’s features, soft as they were now. His scales would eventually grow in, he noted quietly.

Logan hummed low in his chest, the sound reverberating and causing the babe to try and repeat the sound—only earning some softer squeaks in response instead. “As for a name,” he spoke gently, the babe’s purple eyes fluttering open lazily, watching the parent in front of him, “how do you feel about Virgil?”

The babe blinked at him, exhaustion clear in his eyes, before he trilled softly. The hatchling’s eyes quickly slid shut after giving the sound of acceptance.

Logan felt something soften in him, watching as the little one drifted off to sleep. He leaned down too, adjusting just slightly enough to find a comfortable position to sleep in. He stayed curled close around Virgil, the newborn vulnerable in this great big world.

“Sleep, my little one,”‌ Logan rumbled, “you’ve got a full life ahead of you.”

                                      ——————————

TSAS Taglist:  @isle-of-gold  @rosiepupper @anxiousvirgil0 @imstupidhowyadoing

(if you wish to be tagged in future works in this verse/or in general, let me know!)

[tttinytrash]

So @shamedump, you made a mistake saying using your boys was ok. Forever ago on their blog (which if you haven’t checked them out yet you should) there was mention of Mage bitties, their Nightmare that’s more of a overly blunt but well-meaning boy than canon Nightmare, growing into biggies and a few of em running a place you could go to have them drain negativity off. They get fed, you’re less stressed, win-win! This has kinda been an idea I pop back to when I’m feeling particularly stressed and I decided that since they said using their ideas was ok with credit, I’d go for it and actually write something. So Mage, and all the subsequent ideas of how their powers work, what their body is like, (I even borrowed the mousepad analogy) and whatnot is all Dumpling. I simply extrapolated a story out of it. Any misrepresentations of the character I’ll pretend comes from the fact that they’re bitties/biggies and therefore personality can differ a little from the source material. At least, that’s what I’ll say to make myself feel better lol. 

Your cousin had dragged you to this place, and you had immediate reservations upon arrival. The place was run by biggies, which wasn’t the issue. You really just couldn’t help that they looked intimidating. 

Every biggie in the shop had black goop covering their whole form, and four extra appendages sprouting out of their back. They were somewhat taller than you, and definitely broader. Despite all this, you knew they couldn’t help their appearances and made no move to actually be scary, so you pushed the anxiety down (to join the plethora of other anxiety in the pile) as your cousin approached the desk. The biggie at the desk was pleasant enough as she checked you in for your appointment, then came back to sit in the waiting area with you.

“Just gotta wait for a chair to open, cous. This will be the best decision you’ve made all week, I swear!” She assured you as she took her seat beside yours.

You agreed absently, watching the other humans, monsters, and biggies wander through the store. The Mage biggies, as their type was called, each stood behind comfy looking chairs with their client seated before them facing a big mirror on the wall. It reminded you a lot of a hair salon, actually. One tendril from their back wrapped around each wrist, while their hands gave a shoulder massage. Actually, the one on the end of the row was braiding his client’s hair. That observation struck you as pretty cute, and managed to sap away some apprehension. 

“little less scary now?”

You all but leapt from your seat you jolted so hard.

Your cousin tried and failed to muffle a snicker at your expense as the biggie continued “whoops. sorry, wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

“N-no, It’s fine. Just kinda got caught people watching.” you assure, trying your best to laugh off the mortification.

“it’s fine, we get it. i’m jethro. i’ll be taking care of you today.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m y/n.”

“Ooh, such a good name!” your cousin interjected.

“heh, thanks. my adopter was into some cop show. guess my attitude back in the day reminded him of somebody. anyhow, my chair is right this way, y/n.”

Your cousin excused herself and left you to your appointment, which had been the deal. You were too nervous to wait alone at a new place, but knew you should be ok from here. Jethro guided you to one of the indeed very comfy chairs and took his position behind. His tendrils grabbed a stool from against the wall and set it behind the chair so he could sit as well. Despite being behind you, he was able to look at you easily by turning his one eyed gaze to the mirror set on the wall in front of you.

“this is your first time, right?” Jethro asked, so far keeping his hands to himself.

You confirmed that it was.

“right. so i assume there’s questions?”

“Yeah, my cousin said you guys drain negativity. How literal is that?”

“exceedingly. we can sense emotions, especially negative ones. we can also feed off of em. again, literally. we remove them through physical contact and they’re converted into magic in our bodies.”

“You guys eat our bad emotions?”

“yep.”

You realized something. “...You sense them too.”

“Yep.”

“Does that include nervousness?”

“yep.”

“So you knew I was literally scared when I walked in.”

“yep.”

“I am so sorry.” Ugh, now he probably felt how mortified you were. Now he thought you were a racist! You were far from one of those monster hating bigots! Shit, maybe you should just leave-

You flinched when two cold pressures settled on your wrists, and your mortification ebbed.

“you’re fine, told you we get it.” Jethro cut your shameful spiral short, and you realized he’d wrapped his tendrils around your arms.

The appendages were cool to the touch, and the grip was light enough you could easily break free if you had any desire to. Thing is, you didn’t. You felt the stress that had been building up simply start to vanish. It left you feeling hollow, but calm and gratitude quickly filled the void. You could definitely tell those feelings were literally being taken away from you.

“now, since i’ve absorbed those negative feelings i know roughly why you came in and i’m also here to talk you through all of it rather than just making it go away if you want. but usually people just go quiet on their first time, up to you. given your reaction here, i’m assuming you want to enjoy the clear head space awhile instead?”

You nodded, feeling ever so slightly loopy. Was that an affect of the draining?

Jethro made an amused acknowledging sound. He reached forward, using his hands to apply pressure to the tense muscles around your shoulders and neck. You melted into the pleasant touch, briefly feeling shame for so visibly reacting before that too was wicked away.

“heh, i sense a return customer.”

You smiled, oh hell yes you were.

-----

You became a regular immediately.

All the guys in the shop were great, but Jethro definitely ended up your preferred siphon, and he was who you made appointments with.

You were in a session with him now, and it was nice to have him act as a sounding board as to how to deal with you day to day stressors. You’d picked up a few calming techniques you used on a daily basis by now, and your sessions had reduced in frequency by this point. It was almost a friendly catch up session between you two whenever you made a booking, but you still absolutely appreciated his services. 

As you two casually chatted near the end of your appointment, another biggie walked out from the back room. You’d seen a few clients go back there, only to emerge hours later. That was the “Special Treatment” room, and you were curious what that entailed but had never mustered the courage to ask. This curiosity meant you were very keen on observing the biggie that had just exited and therefore delighted when he took a seat in the vacant client chair next to yours. 

Jethro greeted him as he settled, and you noticed the newcomer had his hand laid on his belly as if to steady it. 

“special treatment?” Jethro asked.

“yeah. they totally fell asleep, but i’m not gonna bother them just yet.” the other responded.

“heh, they must have needed it then. nightmares, i guess?”

“yeah. pretty bad. all the more reason to let em rest.”

The conversation drifted from there, and you eventually got looped in and belatedly introduced to the other biggie, who you learned was named Obsidian. Throughout the conversation, you didn’t miss that Obsidian had his hands folded over his middle, and kept swiping his thumb across the surface whenever the special treatment client had been referred to.

You left the store contented but all the more curious. Maybe you’d finally ask when you came back next time.

-----

God this sucked.

When it rains it pours, apparently. It started with your manager breathing down your neck at the same time a bunch of impending deadlines were looming for school. With a cherry on top of family drama, you felt like a frayed nerve.

Your next siphoning session was two weeks away, but damn did you need the support now. You’d tried your calming strategies, which while they kept a panic attack at bay weren’t enough. You’d tried handling this on your own but it just wasn’t cutting it after a few days of the stress piling up on itself in your head.

You walked into the shop, hoping beyond hope that they took walk in clients.

Obsidian was apparently slotted for receptionist duty today, and he seemed to take notice of you before you were able to even say anything. His head jerked up as if he’d heard a loud noise and once his gaze settled on you, recognition dawned quickly. “y/n? what happened?” The concern made it clear that your black cloud of anxiety was exceedingly obvious to the empath before you.

“Everything, it feels like. There wouldn’t happen to be any openings today, would there?”

“i think we can swing something. gimme a sec.” 

The biggie disappeared in a shortcut, chair rattling down from its tilted position loudly. 

You flinched at the sound at looked around the shop for reactions. There weren’t many people, two biggies had clients and were politely ignoring the commotion you felt you’d made. You recognized one of the clients distantly, but your attention was quickly diverted to two figures emerging from the staff lounge. Obsidian lead Jethro, much to your delight, towards you. Jethro’s expression softened visibly at the same time you felt the happy thrill of recognition.

The expression settled into concern again by the time he’d approached. “you’re more negative now than when we first met, kiddo.” He said instead of a greeting. Blunt, as usual.

“I believe it. Sorry to drop in without a booking-”

“you’re fine, stoppit. you apologize too much. you’re probably due for a special treatment if you’re game for it.”

You perked up despite the dark knot in your soul at the mention of the mysterious back room. Your curiosity was piqued again, and you were up to try anything to get your head back in order by this point. So decided, you nodded.

You were lead into the back room, and you eagerly took in your new environment. There were a couple huge, very plush looking beanbags in the center of the room. A water cooler was off to the side, and a little table next to it had a hot water dispenser and tea bags. There wasn’t a ton of other things here, besides a few odd indoor plants and a distinct lack of mirrors compared to the salon-esque layout outside.

You belatedly realize that Jethro was trying to get your attention, and rush to respond. “S-sorry, what?”

“was askin’ if you wanted a rundown. this is your first time back here, you outta know what you’re agreeing to for both our sakes.”

“Ok, what happens next then?”

“well, you’ll recall that we consume negative emotions, and that we run off magic just like other monsters?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“this is an extension of that. some monster types have the ability to take others into their bodies harmlessly. if i do that, i’ll be able to sap even more negativity and also tease apart what triggered the emotions. that way we can work through it more specifically than in previous sessions, plus the negativity drains quicker.”

You blinked at him. That was one of the longer spiels you’d heard from him ever, but you were lost as hell. “That sounds great, but what did you mean about the taking into...?”

“yeah, it’s pretty similar to what you’re probably thinking. i’d essentially have to eat you.” he shrugged casually, like that was obvious.

You flinched away, feeling your heart rate spike.

“we don’t have to, if you want to try a normal session.” he offered, hands in pockets and expression neutral.

You go quiet in thought and he lets you. Everything from your previous session clicked into place, and you realized that when you’d met Obsidian he’d had someone inside while you three talked. You also realized the dim recognition you’d felt in the front room was that the client in the chair today was the same that’d disappeared into the back room with Obsidian. 

The train of thought came to a halt as you realized worrying was stupid, this was Jethro for frick’s sake! You trusted him easily, so extending that trust to allow what he clearly thought was the best move for you took little effort.

“If you think it’ll help, I’m up for it.” You say, determined.

He had a soft, almost relieved smile as he nodded in reply. 

He didn’t waste any time, and wrapped you snugly in all four of his tendrils. You were surprised by how little effort it appeared to take to lift your whole form off the floor. He flopped into one of the beanbags unceremoniously. 

So that’s what those are for. you thought as you watched him settle comfortably in the soft cushion.

You couldn’t help but tense when you were brought over his upturned face, and tilted so you were almost nose to nose (...nose to nasal bone. Whatever.) with him leaving your body hanging parallel to the floor in his grip. 

You’re not afraid, but you’re certainly nervous. Until you’re just not. You’ve done this enough to know he’s siphoning the nerves away, but this time you apparently don’t have much in the way of other emotions and are left with a hollow feeling. That utter lack of emotions leaves you to do nothing beyond going limp to make the next steps easier and watch as his mouth approaches to engulf your head. You duck your head down and find it pillowed on a tongue, cool to the touch and jet black. The light is almost immediately cut off as you’re pushed deeper in by the four tendrils around your torso. 

A wet gulp squishes into your ears and you feel a pressure over the crown of your head as your skull presses into the throat. You briefly wonder how a skeleton has such human like fleshy bits but chalk it up to the ooze over his whole bony form. A tendril slid off your body as its assistance was no longer needed, leaving a cool sensation and a slight tingle akin to mint in its wake.

Another wet sound and you’re in deeper. The sounds quickly pick up and settle into a comfortable rhythm, drawing you in with apparent ease. You eventually slide into a roomier space and flip into a somewhat seated position. You hear a sigh above you, and finally curiosity, relief, and a few other emotions take up residence in your head again. 

“you good?” You hear him ask, voice close but also somewhat muffled. 

You respond in the affirmative.

“good. get comfy, do whatever you need to. once you’re settled i can stop focusing on the anxiety of this arrangement and instead deal with what brought you here.”

You scootched into a comfortable curled position and forced yourself to cycle a breath. You used your favored calming technique and found that your nervousness first came back before ebbing completely. He’d stopped siphoning it away, but you felt fine now. You decided that you could take this opportunity to feel out your new surroundings for a moment, since Jethro pretty much gave permission. You decided to start pretty literally, pushing outwards on a wall with light pressure. Your fingers sunk in, the texture was like pressing on a gel mousepad. Cool to the touch, but you weren’t about to start shivering in here. 

The whole area was dim, but the grooves in the wall dully glowed with turquoise light enough to see your surroundings and to see where your hand was in relation to the rest of you. You weren’t blind in the pitch dark, much to your relief. (Not that you had considered that issue before agreeing to be taken in.) 

You ran your hand along the wall to further investigate and found friction minimal while not feeling wet. You didn’t quite realize you were rubbing at the wall before you until you heard a light chuckle and felt an opposing pressure from outside. You understood immediately that that was his hand pressing in at you from outside and used both hands together to push at the appendage and interact. After a moment he changed to rubbing at you like you had him, asking “did you want to address what brought you in or keep on playing in there?”

“Ha, sorry. Yeah, we should start. What do I have to do?”

He let out a long suffering sigh. “y/n, you still apologize too much.” He sounded exasperated, but was also teasing you.

“S-” You were about to apologize, but caught yourself. Well shit, you didn’t know what else to say if not sorry.

Jethro laughed a little at you, before moving on to his next point. “all you have to do is relax. first i have to figure out what went on with you, then we can talk.”

You felt the difference starkly between a normal session and this one. You could feel the stress sap out of you, and what you had to imagine having your life flash before your eyes was like but instead directly related to your recent stressors. It felt like it lasted awhile while simultaneously feeling like no time had passed.

The following discussion was long, but sorely needed. By the end you felt relief, gratitude, and a renewed determination. At some point the chamber you were in had seemingly formed itself a small puddle of what was apparently liquid magic. Jethro had already explained that it was essentially the excess magical energy his body had converted your stress into, and you thought it was much less noxious in this form. It was warm to the touch and flowed like water the best you could tell in the dim light. It had a faint turquoise glow that still managed to not cast too much light just like the rest of his magic. It filled a few inches at the bottom, so while you had your legs crossed it lapped as the tops of your knees and around your hips. You scooped some of the liquid up and absently let it fall through your fingers onto your knee.

The only problem with this was that such warmth in addition to the emotional exhaustion you were already feeling combined to make you about to fall asleep. Maybe you should ask about getting out?

“you nodding off on me in there? your heart’s slowing down.” he asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“I think so. Guess I should get out.” You found that you were loathe to move, though. You stretched your legs out, pressing your feet into the opposing wall.

“i can let you out, sure.” he said easily. A pause, then he adds “unless you’d rather sleep.”

You blink. “In here? Don’t you want me out?”

You felt the wall behind you tug upwards, seeming like he shrugged. “i don’t have any other appointments today.”

“...If you don’t mind?”

“since when do i suggest anything i’m not willing to do?”

You chuckle “Fair enough. Well, thank you.” You pat the wall and reposition to a reclined, curled position.

He gives you a pat back, “don’t mention it.”

The last thought you had before sleep overtook you was that for how crap you felt before, you felt pretty good now.

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 111 - Family Business

Julia: It’s not a… Trevor doesn’t like using the book. I don’t either. Makes me feel off. Dead should stay dead.

"Dead should stay dead" is a very apt statement for an avatar of the-process-of-methodically-making-things-dead but also I can't say that I disagree, exactly.

Gerard: Nice lighter. You a spider freak, then?

Jon should perhaps have at some point gone "Huh." about the mysterious lighter, shouldn't he? But then again, neither did I.

Gerard: Yeah, the world changes in horrible ways. For you. I’m a book.

This seems perfectly fair, you know!

Gerard: She travelled light. Left things behind.

Oh, ouch, the tone he says that in makes me want to give him a hug, even if he is currently a book. Yeah, she left "things" behind for sure.

Gerard: Well, Fairchild’s just a name, they’re not really family. The Lukases, though, yeah. Thing is, it’s harder than it looks. What’s out there… doesn’t care about blood. Jon: Well, I-I mean, except for the vampires…

I want to say "Oh, Jon" but I can't guarantee I wouldn't have made the exact same dumb comment.

But mum didn’t need the help, and after me she wasn’t able to have kids again, so she killed him in his sleep to practice her bookbinding. I guess she failed. I always thought he was in here, but when I eventually got hold of it, there wasn’t a page in there. - Gerard

That's because Gertrude did for him what Jon later does for Gerard. Weird sort of parallel, that, the father and son, both rescued from undeath by the Archivist of their time.

We met with things that almost made me throw up, I was so afraid, and she’d talk to them like old friends. It was awful, but I suppose in many ways, it worked. Whenever I tried to run away the ‘real’ world seemed so… ignorant I could never be a part of it. So I did my best to find my place within my mum’s world.

God, he was just so fucked up from the start, his whole life tied to the Entities - his death, too - even though he tried so hard to make his own choices.

And honestly, there was a part of me which thought a life in prison was an alright price for freedom.

Damn, that's a gut punch of a line.

Gerard: And if you’re having an omelette for lunch, not every moment is spent eating the omelette. Some things take preparation. Especially if, you know, your spatula has a bit of free will.

I love this run-away metaphor, I really do. Especially the spatula with free will.

Gerard: A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red? Y’know? I don’t know, that’s just how it works.

It's kind of funny in an almost-too-perfect way that this is the example that Gerard picks because colours are one of THE go-to examples people always go to for unexpected cultural-linguistic differences and the way they change how we perceive the world. The blue thing, for instance: Russian actually DOES have two entirely separate words for dark blue and light blue (maybe other languages do too, I just happen to know some Russian). I wonder if Johnny knew that when he was writing these lines and this was perhaps deliberate.

Gerard: O-Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like – Jon: An infinite amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in every direction at once. Gerard: Now you’re getting it. Jon: Like colours, but if colours hated me.

If I add a "Favourite quotes" segment to an episode it's mostly for things that need very little context to feel like pieces of poignant writing and this needs a lot of context but if it weren't for that, the description of "Like colours, but if colours hated me" would DEFINITELY go into the favourite quotes segment!

Gerard: Needing to know, even if your discoveries might destroy you.

An explanation of an almighty terrifying fear Entity. Also an explanation of the reason I try and mostly fail to keep out of the comment section.

Jon: Which is… spiders a-and control. Your, your will not being your own.

I've said this before but the Web always struck me as a bit funny in that way. There's that deep existential fear of being manipulated and controlled from the outside ... and also spiders. Someone needs to make one of those Marge Simpson "I just think they're neat" memes except with the labels "The Web" and "Spiders".

Jon: Yeah, I-I mean, are we really so afraid of being… eaten? Of our bodies being all twisted up, i-i-is that… I mean, some people sure, but… how is it one of the fourteen great fears? Gerard: What? You think people are so special it’s only our fear that counts?

Oh my god, the revelation that some of the fears originate from animals just left me open-mouthed when I first heard it. I'd never even considered it and it's SUCH A GENIUS IDEA! IT MAKES TOTAL SENSE! It's an animal fear and it gets extra-super-weird when it hits humans!

Jon: I suppose. And again, when an animalistic fear touches a human… Gerard: You get the Predator’s granddad out there.

Pffft. I love it. Trevor "The Predator's Granddad" Herbert.

Gerard: They… kind of ‘shift’ the world, just enough for the Power to come through. Merge with reality. Some say, or well, they guess, that it could bring other entities through with them.

Oh god, I didn't realise they seeded this idea THIS EARLY ON!

Gerard: Well, think of it this way: right now all the entities have to act like a hunter, they pick off the weak ones around the edges, the ones that wander too close, and the rest of the time they have to just graze on whatever fear we all passively give away. Jon: And if one of the rituals succeeds? Gerard: The world becomes a factory farm.

... gotta hand it to Gerard, his analogies WORK. Perhaps a little too well, that image really hits the target.

Gerard: Said she thought she’d found him. I tracked him down, but it… well, it wasn’t him. (...) It was just some pathetic old man. Couldn’t have been him.

How on earth does Jon maintain enough of a pokerface to not make Gerard suspicious right then. I mean, this is amazing. Gerard kicked the shit out ouf ACTUAL LEITNER ("Three years ago, I made the mistake of spending a full night outside my safehouses. I was almost beaten to death by an angry goth.") and concluded that he couldn't possibly be Leitner because the man responsible for filling so much of his life with fear and misery surely had to be IMPRESSIVE and POWERFUL, not just some whiny old jerk.

My impression of this episode

This episode is very info-dumpy, but somehow it bothered me a lot less than the other info-dump episode (the Leitner episode). Perhaps it's just because I enjoyed Gerard's voice (again expressed personality rather than voice-voice, I feel the need to clarify this every time because it gets confusing when you're talking about a podcast rather than a book) more and also because learning about the fear categories was genuinely a fun revelation. I mean, give me categories to play with and I will absolutely play with the categories! (Me and most of the rest of the fandom...) All in all, it was a fairly skillful info-dump actually, even though it was very clearly a bit dumpy. Aside from the infodump there's also a lot of plot development, though, and Gerard's statement is genuinely interesting. Damn, I feel bad for Gerard, he was just so fucked from the start.

[ericsonclan]

The Effortless Joy of Being with You

Summary: Doug and Sisi enjoy a simple afternoon of gaming and pie.

Word Count: 1789

Read on AO3:

Doug squatted in front of the oven, his eyes focused on the pie made visible thanks to the oven light. The juices from the boysenberries spilled out of the top of the crust and began to coat little sections of it. Any second now and the pie would be done. Doug’s eyes stayed glued to the oven while the faint tapping of the Switch could be heard in the other room along with the music of the video game. After a few seconds Sisi’s voice appeared as well.

“Come on, Zag, just you and me and all these underworld baddies. We got this! We can win!” Sisi cheered on the protagonist of the game as their fingers whacked against the buttons on the joycons.

Doug smiled; he was happy to hear that Sisi was having fun. His eyes wandered over and he debated on peeking his head in to watch Sisi play Hades. But he knew he would see Sisi soon enough, just as soon as this pie was done. That thought made Doug glance over and notice that the juices of the pie were about to slip off the crust and onto the oven.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Doug jogged over and snatched up his bear oven mitts. He turned off the oven and gingerly took out the pie. After examining it for a moment then peeking in the oven Doug let out a small sigh of relief. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if some of the pie ended up on the bottom of the oven but still it would’ve created smoke and been a pain to clean.

“Everything okay in there?” Sisi called out, sounding somewhat concerned.

“Yep! Everything is peachy, I was just worried about the pie.” Doug replied as he looked down at it. Small drizzles of the purple sauces slipped down the side of the pie, painting the golden brown crust. It was a bit messy looking but still Doug felt proud for making another successful pie.

“It smells delicious,” Sisi walked forward and wrapped their arms around Doug before surprising him with a kiss on the cheek. Doug felt his heart do a little flip at the sudden romantic gesture.

“Thanks, I think it’ll taste great!” Doug moved to hold onto Sisi’s arms but quickly saw that he still had the oven mitts on. “Oops, let me get these off and then we can head back to the living room.” He quickly worked to get off the oven mitts and make sure the oven was turned off while Sisi watched in silence. Doug was wearing one of his favorite shirts: a green t-shirt with a white polar bear with antlers in the center. It was one of many in Doug’s collection of unique shirts. That shirt along with his socks and the bear oven mitts made a warm smile appear on Sisi’s lips. He was such a dork, their dork, and they loved him for it.

“Okay, all set,” Doug moved forward, intertwining his fingers with Sisi’s. “The pie will need to cool for a little bit,”

“Sounds good to me. Now you can see my skills in action,” Sisi smiled as she led the way back into the living room. Her eyes glanced around, noticing the wall of masks that Doug had helped put up. Sisi’s eyes focused on two of her favorites in her collection.

The first was a black fox mask with red detailing around the eyes and within the ears as well as some extra marks of gold that added to the mask’s beauty. The other mask was also a fox except its primary color was white with red detailing that brought attention to the mask’s simple yet expertly done craftsmanship.

As Sisi’s eyes scanned the room looking at the setup with two TVs in the room and different cookbooks and mechanical books that filled the shelves, Doug’s focus was elsewhere. His eyes seemed glued to Sisi’s outfit, a simple waist level leather jacket that covered a plain black tee  which led down to a green plaid skirt accented by a black belt. Sisi had always been so fashionable and every outfit that she wore always made Doug’s heartbeat quicken.

“Okay, Dougie, wanna sit beside me or on my lap?” Sisi smiled brightly as she sat wrapped in a blanket that covered her black tights.

Doug felt like words were escaping him as he struggled to speak for a moment. “I’ll take your lap,” He felt his face heat up at his own words as he walked over.

“Okay!” Sisi smiled and immediately wrapped her arms around Doug’s waist while her head rested on his shoulder. With a quick tap of a button she started up the game again.

She was currently in Asphodel battling her way against the Learnean Bone Hydra. Sisi expertly navigated through the attacks that the boss was trying to hit her with using the dash button. Wielding Aegis, Sisi made quick work of the different bone hydras that appeared while the boss was protected by a shield. She used the mighty shield to do strong attacks before running away and tossing it to get some last minute damage.

“Whoa! You’re doing great, Sisi!” Doug praised as his fingers brushed against Sisi’s arms. The praise made Sisi’s heart grow warm and she continued on.

“Thanks, I’ve dealt with this little shit enough times to know what to expect,” Sisi smirked, her eyes shining with determination to defeat this boss. Her fingers tapped against the buttons making Zagreus dash around, dealing a good amount of damage. The perks from Hermes were ones that Sisi always went for whenever they were available and she was glad she had them this time. A few times she had nearly gotten hit but luckily dodged it.

Finally she reached the last bit of the boss’ health bar and pressed down on the ZR button, making Zeus’ lighting rain down from the heavens and crush the bone hydra. Sisi let out a small victory sound as she shot her hands up in the air. “Take that! No one fucks with the son of Hades!” Sisi crowed and pushed the analog stick forward to get Zagreus to move to the next section of the underworld.

“You did amazing!” Doug moved his head back and stole a kiss from Sisi. Sisi paused for a second, clearly surprised by the kiss before a huge proud smile took over her lips. She immediately returned the kiss then brushed her nose against Doug’s. With newfound determination and her heart beating wildly, Sisi progressed forward into Elysium. Once there she immediately jumped into battle, using Aegis to mow down enemies. “Ha ha ha! No one can escape my wrath!” Sisi laughed as she hunted down the wandering souls of warriors that moments ago had turned their spears against her.

Doug stole a glance back at Sisi, his own smile growing. He always enjoyed how passionate Sisi got whenever she played a video game, especially with how calm and laidback Sisi was outside of the world of videogames. Doug snuggled up closer to his girlfriend and watched happily as Sisi continued to climb up through the underworld.

Soon, however, Sisi got distracted by the beauty of Elysium, the lush green plants that grew around and on top of the tiles and the beautiful white clouds surrounding the area.

“So pretty,” Sisi whispered and continued to get lost in the simple striking landscape of Elysium when suddenly an enemy attacked him. “Shit,” Sisi mumbled and tried to turn the tide of battle in his favor but it was too late. Quickly he became overwhelmed by the enemies and the final drops of his life bar slipped away, sending Zagreus all the way back down to the beginning. “Damn it,” Sisi groaned and let his head fall against the soft couch cushion.

“I think you did great,” Doug kissed one of Sisi’s palms which made Sisi’s heart flutter.

“Thanks. Guess I got distracted by Elysium… again,” Sisi took a deep breath then handed over the joycons. “Your turn,”

“Okay,” Doug took the controls and began to navigate Zagreus through the House of Hades, talking to the different residents there. After a few minutes of getting some upgrades he switched to Varatha, the eternal spear. Doug had always preferred this weapon with its long reach and the fact that you could throw it, piercing through enemies before calling it back. Doug made quick work of the first few levels of Tartarus. Sisi continued to give praise whenever he could along with small neck kisses that seemed more distracting than helpful. Doug’s laughter always made Sisi smile though so it was a win win for him and based on the quick hand squeezes or small romantic gestures Doug gave he was clearly happy too.

Soon Tartarus was complete and Doug moved onto Asphodel. As soon as he stepped foot inside Doug began to gush about the design and work that went into this game. Sisi listened happily as his boyfriend took the topic and ran with it, talking about which engine the company had used and how smoothly the game ran. Sisi always enjoyed Doug gushing about anything mechanical, finding the sparkle in his eyes and his smile beautiful.

Doug continued to share as Sisi cuddled up closer into the couch when suddenly an enemy got the upper hand on him. Soon Doug’s panic took over and all his plans seemed to disappear into the back of his mind until the enemy got the final fatal strike. “Argh, you...you... You dick!” Doug huffed as Zagreus emerged from the pool of blood and back into the House of Hades. “Pardon my French,” Doug quickly added, which made Sisi laugh.

“It's fine. If you wanna use stronger words to swear, you can,”

Doug shook his head. “No, I think I’ll stick with my words,” He placed the joycons down and got up. Immediately turning around, he held out his hand. “Pie time,”

“Pie time!” Sisi accepted Doug’s hand and got up, leading the way towards the kitchen. Once they had reached the kitchen Doug slipped his hand out of Sisi’s and began to prepare to serve the pie.

Sisi watched Doug for a moment and felt his heart settle into a calm happiness. Being with Doug always felt so effortless. It was nice, feeling this happy. With that thought bouncing around in his mind, Sisi walked forward. “Let me help,” He opened the cupboard and grabbed the small plates. Doug smiled appreciatively and began to place down the slices of pie. After a moment his eyes met Sisi’s and they shared the same thought. Being with each other felt right.

[cirrius-akiyo]

Could I please request 78."You’re worth it.” from the angst/fluff list?

Thank you Lovely Nonnie!

This is from the Fluff/Angst Prompts List

Read this on AO3

LOVE & AFFECTION IS A GOOD CONSIDERATION

///

Blinking himself awake, his mind sluggishly wonders what wakes him up in the first place, disturbing his restless sleep.

It was then his bladder reminds him that he needs to pee, forcing him to finally move.

Eddie groans as he stiffly kicks the cozy blanket away that somehow got twisted alongside his body, shivering as the cold air kiss his clammy skin. He honestly doesn't feel well rested at all, but it's better than puking his guts out like he did the day before.

As he forces his achy limbs to work, Eddie silently applauds his self-restraint for not dragging the blanket together with him to the toilet (which would be greatly frown upon by Buck).

Speaking of Buck...oh wait, thinking of Buck, Eddie suddenly remembers why he was colder than before; he vividly remembers that his personal heater was not beside him when he woke up.

Finishing his business in the toilet, Eddie returns back to the bedroom to confirm his suspicion all along.

True enough, his boyfriend is not in their bed.

Buck's side of the bed is void of any trace of body heat and the bedding is undisturbed at all, save for some wrinkles, which probably by Eddie's own doing with all of his restless twisting and turning.

Feeling like he won't keel over anytime soon, Eddie decides to grab his tossed blanket and haphazardly wraps himself in a makeshift burrito before leaving the room to search for his missing lover.

Out of habits, Eddie stops by at Chris' room to check on his son, but refrains himself from passing through the doorframe. God knows how much Eddie misses his little Superman. That poor boy had not been in close vicinity with him for the last two days, to prevent him from catching whatever it is Eddie is having.

Buck has been diligent with sanitising, spraying and wiping clean everything Eddie has touched (or even looked at) for extra preventive measures, not wanting to take any chance.

Oh...thinking of Buck, again, Eddie now remembers the reason why he was standing in the hallway in the middle of the night, depriving himself from the tranquility of sleep.

To find his missing Buck.

His son needs to learn to share; his jumbled mind supplies.

Eddie wanders down the hallway and towards the living room with careful steps, his blanket still heavily draped over his shoulders.

Lo and behold, on the couch there lies his slumbering lover, completely dead to the world.

Eddie smiles at hearing the occasional soft snores while taking in the view displayed around him.

The television is switched off, but beside the couch, there lies the book that Buck currently is fixed on, forgotten on the floor. Looking at the table lamp that is still on, Eddie assumes Buck had fell asleep reading his late night fill, a habit that usually done in the privacy of their bedroom, underneath the warm sheets.

Picking the book up before setting it down on the coffee table, Eddie then plops down on the floor clumsily with his body leaning onto the side of the couch, directly facing Buck's sleeping face.

Under the glimmer of the yellow light, Eddie could see the haggard lines on his partner's face. The two days old stubble and the unkempt curls are enough proof of how Buck was on his toes these couple of days. Eddie had called in sick two days ago, and Buck has been taking care of him right after getting off from his 24 hours shift one day earlier when he should have spend his day off decompressing. Eddie knew Buck's last shift was not an easy one the moment he stepped inside their home if judging by the tired lines and rigid stance, but his strong headed boyfriend had insisted that everything was fine, and that they should focus on to get Eddie better soon.

Selfless idiot.

And an adorable idiot too, drooling all over the couch cushions.

Buck is laying on his side with the fleece throws tangled down below his knees, and his right arm somehow got tucked underneath his sleeping t-shirt, effectively dragging the fabric upwards, revealing sufficient amount of abs that makes Eddie's mouth water.

The small patch of happy trail does makes Eddie happy regardless of his current ailments; come sniffles or smiles.

Eddie doesn't realize when he had scooted down along the couch and closing in to Buck's torso, but the view is magnetic. The hard lines of the abdomen, perfectly contrasting with the softness of Buck's skin is so inviting.

Blaming his health condition and his scrambled state of mind, Eddie swears he could feel the comfortable warmth radiating from Buck's exposed belly, and without much thought, he places his head against the exposed skin, feeling completely blissful and content with the heat. Eddie nuzzles deeper into the warm skin, inhaling the musky smell that is definitely Buck while savoring the coziness and soon enough, Eddie is feeling himself falling asleep.

But it shouldn't be like this.

While it pains Eddie to wake Buck up, his better judgement knows that their current positions are not going to be kind for both of them. Their couch is not big enough to contain Buck's long limbs, and Eddie wouldn't want to spend his recuperating day listening to Buck whining about his achy joints.

His not so better judgement then decides that the best way to wake the snoring man up is by a very unorthodox method.

And without lifting his head up, "bruuuuuuurrrrrrrrhhh," Eddie blows raspberries hard against Buck's belly as long as his congested nose allows.

"Whuzza?" Buck startles awake, his body jerking back against the couch with clear confusion drawn on his face. His hand that was tucked underneath the t-shirt automatically moves downward to rub his tickled stomach.

Eddie smiles in triumph, satisfied with the outcome.

Buck looks around the living room, trying to find his bearing as he blinks rapidly, chasing the sleep away. His eyes finally falls upon Eddie who is sitting cross-legged on the floor parallel to his stomach, wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Eddie, what are you doing out of bed?" Buck croaks, still rubbing at his slightly wet skin. "Wait, did you just blew raspberries on my belly?" His eyebrows pinched and nose scrunching in confusion.

Eddie grins wider, shrugging his shoulder in dismissal, refusing to admit or deny any crime committed.

"You menace. You could just wake me up like how a normal human being would." Buck groans as he stretches across the couch, cracking and popping his back. "You should go back to sleep." Buck chastises as he settles down again, as if readying himself to actually sleep out in the living room, on their short-ass couch.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Eddie retorts, frowning as Buck does not move to get up.

"I was reading." Buck answers simply, stating the obvious fact.

"You usually read in our bed." Eddie counters as he throws his body onto the little space that is left on couch, pressing their bodies together in order to fit. Buck welcomes him and pulls Eddie into a warm embrace.

"I don't want to disturb you with the light." Buck replies in earnest, tightening his hold against Eddie's warm back, noticing that Eddie still has some temperature, but not as worrying as yesterday.

"But I'm sure you must be tired taking care of me and handling Chris, especially after a 24 hour shifts." Eddie looks up to meet Buck's soft gaze.

"You're worth it."

The open expression of love got Eddie shies away, burying his head at the crook of the taller man's shoulder. He is not used yet with the fact that someone actually cares for him, loving him so readily when he himself still a broken mess.

Both of us got baggages, Eddie. Maybe it is time for us to help carry each others' so the burden won't be too heavy.

"Your back will hate you tomorrow." He mumbles instead, trying to lighten the mood.

"That is for my future me to worry."

"Future you will whine for at least a week." Eddie scoffs at Buck's ridiculousness.

"I don't whine." Buck retorts, whining.

"Come back to bed. I need my personal heater back." Eddie tugs at the collar of Buck's ratty t-shirt.

"Now I know my place in this relationship. You only use me for my body heat."

"Don't forget the sex. And taking care of my son. And cooking." Seeing that Buck does not make any move to get up, Eddie burrows his nose against the man's chest, drinking in the scent that is Buck with every breath.

"Good to know your fever doesn't strip away your asshole-ness." Buck tighten his grasp, squishing the sick man in mock tackling all the while tickling lightly on Eddie's side.

Hearty laugh escapes from the brunette.

"You should be happy I'm coherent enough to have this conversation." Eddie looks up once again while catching his breath.

"I'm happy with you everyday." Buck leans forward and bridging in their gap, fully intend to go for a kiss.

Eddie places his hand on the apple of Buck's cheek to stop him from going any further. "You sap, and while I am very much interested in a kiss right now, but we couldn't risk for you to get infected." Longing colours Eddie's expression as he speaks, regretting not being able to catch Buck's breath, warm against his own lips.

Buck smiles his soft smile. "You. Are. Worth. It." He parrots his assurance from earlier, stressing each and every words.

Buck gazes into his lover's unsure eyes and leans forward to kiss Eddie's chapped lips chastily, silencing any incoming protest from the man.

"Worthy enough for you to get sick?"

"You know, in the law of contract, love and affection is a good consideration. So this love is always worthy."

Eddie blushes deeper, but blaming it on his fever.

"Are we contract boyfriend now? Am I a boyfriend for rent?" Eddie quips to deflect although he understands every weight behind Buck's analogy.

Buck snorts at the prospect of renting Eddie as his boyfriend. "No, but how about in the future, both of us enter into a contract of marriage?"

The room stills in deafening silence, and both of them seems to hold in their breath, neither want to break the moment.

After long seconds passed, finally Eddie dares himself to speak.

"Are you...proposing?" Eddie's cracked voice wavers, unsure of the implied meaning, not daring to let the budding of hope blossoms in the pit of his stomach.

"Not now...I uh...I want to do it properly, but that's definitely what future you and me would be getting into. I guess." Eddie could see the stiffening of Buck's shoulder as he turns his face sideway, away from facing Eddie, refusing to meet his eyes.

It pains Eddie that his response has cast a doubt in his boyfriend's voice. With their upgrade in relationship to live-in couple is still relatively new, it dawns on him that Buck's insecurity about his place in their home is still rearing its ugly head. Buck would think that things between them are going too fast, when in reality Eddie has always wanted Buck that way.

"Not if I propose first."

Buck's whole face immediately lit up in a dazzling way that could possibly blind Eddie, but that is enough for him to see the tension melts away from the blonde.

And even if Buck's bright smile could blind him in reality, Buck is definitely worth it.

[abduct-me-helen]

Class 108's Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 1.

The world ended on a Tuesday. Quite suddenly, halfway through class. After the sky split open and green light bathed the earth, things changed. Some lived.

Some didn’t.

Class 108 stayed together, for the most part. They took up a base in the school, and boarded up the windows and doors.

Sydney was the one who first learned they didn’t need to eat. Other revelations of that sort followed. Sleep was not needed, nor was water. Air seemed to be, though, as they learned after Cal passed out from holding their breath.

The first one to die was Cú.

They don’t talk about Cú.

-

Of course, some things are unavoidable in the end. Logically, Sydney knew it was only a matter of time before something managed to slip under the cracks and they’d all get killed; god knows they’d narrowly scraped by enough times to be considered cosmically lucky. Tabitha had been spreading rumors, as was her nature, about the school itself being sentient, trapping them inside with false promises of safety.

On the worse days, Sydney believed it.

Sydney stepped into the classroom slowly, craning her head to where Tabitha and Rosie were explaining their theories. She didn’t know which theories, but she’d heard most of them by now.

“G’morning.” She said.

It was night.

No, she thought, the sky is dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s night.

Rosie gestures towards a desk, and she avoids the chair toppled over at her feet as she sits down on top of it. She takes not of who else had decided to attend this “session” of theirs today. There are 12 students left out of the thirty who had originally made up the class. Ten of them had disappeared after running away from the school in shock after the eye in the sky had first opened. They hadn’t been in homeroom during the “blink,” which is what they’d taken to call the eye opening, and hadn’t seen any teachers since that day.

She remembered it vividly.

Ms. Bruis had tensed, eyes wide in shock, before telling them to calm down and stay indoors. She immediately went outside the room to check on everyone else.

That was the last time they’d seen Ms. Bruis, but not the last time they’d seen her face.

Besides the initial chaos, there wasn’t anything attacking the school. It was just shouting and screaming and running. Sydney had stayed in the classroom, clumsily trying to close the blinds on the window.

People just, left. And they didn’t come back.

The first venture was when they lost Cú. She doesn’t like to talk about him, never mind think about him. Nonetheless, her mind often drifts towards his death.

It was about four hours after the chaos. People had been nearly sucked out of the building, teachers included. The only ones that remained were the thirty students of 108.

Sydney didn’t know why they were the only ones to remain. She still doesn’t now.

The students decided to have a short party go out and scout. Sydney, Katie, Cú, Tabitha and Rosie. Four survived, one did not.

Rosie was always the thinker of the group, and as such she took the front. Katie was chosen for her seemingly nonchalant disposition to going, and Tabitha for her mind, which was always going too fast and often arriving at far-out conclusions. Despite this, she was a quick-witted person and had been selected for her dexterity and speed. Cú was selected for his physicality. He was a teddy bear, but a strong teddy bear.

It didn’t save him in the end.

And Sydney, well, she was cautious. She wonders if she could’ve saved Cú if she’d been just a little bit wearier.

They wandered a few blocks before hearing the sound of skin and bone splitting. Tabitha immediately ran toward the sound, as was her nature. The rest, Rosie at the lead, followed, hiding behind a corner.

Katie didn’t make a face, but even she was visibly pale.

When the sound came again, louder, and a creature made of wet flesh and twisted muscle stepped out of the alleyway, she became practically white.

Sydney retched. She’s not ashamed to admit it, you would’ve too. Anyone would’ve retched if they saw that sight.

It got worse.

“Hello?! Someone! Help me, please!”

It was Ms. Bruis-no, it looked like Ms. Bruis.

Cú ran. He dodged the creature, running to Ms. Bruis and starting to try to pick her up off the ground, before he noticed she was rooted to the cement. His eyes widened as blood ran down her face

She smirked.

Sydney will always remember the flash of teeth before she plunged her hand-no, her claw-into his stomach. He made a choked sound before the creature bounded back over and ripped his jaw clean off.

They ran. They ran. They ran.

And then they came back to the classroom, and they wept.

There were more expeditions after that. They lost seven more after that, but in those ventures, they collected knowledge. This knowledge went on Rosie’s list, though it also doubled as a rulebook.

-

THE LIST

1. Some creatures can make copies of people you know in order to trick you. They don’t bleed, so your best shot at not meeting eyeball daddy up close is to yeet the fuck outta there//bold of you to assume I don’t want to meet eyeball daddy uwu//

2. Don’t trust meat. Ever. Meat comes alive. WE ARE VEGANS IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2018(?)

3. Don’t answer the door, even if you’re armed. No, Eric, we do not count your big muscles™ as a weapon.

4. If you MUST answer the door, don’t. You have been stopped.

5. A short section on the happenings of the places(?) known to us as “nightmares.”

Nightmares trap humans in these crazy places. We’ve only seen two, but they are extremely dangerous, and both encounters ended in casualties. They trap your mind and make you experience terrible things, and like the rest of the world (to our knowledge at least) don’t follow normal time or space rules. Basically, if you want to avoid a ,’ , |,’_’, you should not screw with that shit.

6. Always check with someone else before eating or drinking. Sometimes, your mind will play tricks on you and you won’t notice that you’re eating something…not good. Honor cal for their sacrifice regarding this matter (sorry cal)

7. Always shut the blinds. Eyeball daddy is watching you//YOU DID NOT NEED TO SAY THAT TABITHA

8. Don’t leave the building without consulting all of class 108.

9. Don’t read books that others haven’t read first, especially if it says it’s from the library of Jurgen LeitnerSTUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITENER GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK COLLECTING DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIO//yes, Riko, we get it, but good point. Be Jared, 19.

10. Don’t invite anyone in.

-

“What are we on today?” Sydney asked.

“Tabitha’s on about the categories again.” Cal said.

“I really think it could work!” she said loudly. “Look, there’s consistencies in every single encounter we’ve had. Think about it. Remember what happened at the theater?”

Katie grimaced silently. “How could we forget?”

Tabitha ignored her. “The webs. Spiders and the rest of those insects are different categories. The wriggly silver worms are more like, bugs and wriggly things and judging from the infestation we had they all work together.”

“Like a hive?” Cal asked.

Tabitha nodded. “Exactly like that. Spiders are different though; you saw how many were crawling about during the amphitheater incident. And that whole thing was about control. All those people who were laughing…they, they were there. They didn’t want to do it! They didn’t want to laugh, you saw their eyes. They were being controlled. And when,” she paused, gritting her teeth, “and when Marcy died she was being controlled too. Puppeted.”

That’s two. Then we come to the next one, guns and murder and war and shit like that. Simple enough. But I think it has to be humans killing humans, because the thing that killed, killed Cú wasn’t like that. It was, it was different. I don’t know. I’ll get back to that.

“Then we have the cover up, or the anonymous things. Things like those little creatures that hide in your plates that you can’t notice are there until someone tells you. That’s why I’m confused, because I think the weird fleshy creature we faced was aligned with that but also with those meat things that broke Rosie’s leg. I don’t know how to explain it, but, ah. Sorry. I think they’re the same category.”

“I’ll humor you; can a thing be two categories?” Katie questioned her dully.

“I think so. Maybe it’s like colors? Really angry colors. They’re all separate, but the same because they’re all made of the same stuff. And they all blur together sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Katie snorted, “we’re being killed by really angry colors.”

Tabitha flushed. “Hey! It was just an analogy.”

Rosie seemed to be considering what Tabitha had said, before she looked up. “I believe you.”

“Y-you do?” Tabitha blinked, taken back.

Rosie nodded. “It makes sense. Really angry colors.”

“Really angry colors.”

-

A few hours-well, time was weird, but Sydney supposed it was hours-later, the class was doing yoga. Well, not “yoga” per se. They were beating each other on the head with torn up yoga mats.

“Hey!” Riko shouted as Tabitha tripped over her mat while chasing Cal. “Watch it! This is where I sleep!”

Tabitha stuck her tongue out and Katie snorted, not looking up from her book. Sydney wondered how she did that; Katie always seemed to have an astounding amount of situational awareness at all times.

“Real mature.” Katie groused.

Tabitha grinned, and Rosie smiled softly.

“I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU MEET EYEBALL DADDY!” she shouted to Cal, who’s eyes widened in mock fear.

“Oh no! The horror! OwO!” They said dramatically.

“Did they just say “OwO”?” Sydney asked in a deadpan. Rosie nodded solemnly.

“You ever wonder…” Sydney trailed off, the muffled shouting of their peers drowned out into the background.

“Wonder what?” Rosie tilted her head in question.

“What happened to Mr. Sims.”

“He’s probably…not with us anymore.”

“Yeah. Still, could you imagine? He was a bloody cryptid. He’d probably take all this with no sweat.”

“Maybe he’d give us concerts too.”

“Good ole Jonny D’Ville.”

Rosie snickered.

“You know how he always drew eyes everywhere? During tests?”

“Oh god, don’t mention that to Tabitha, I don’t need her going on about another conspiracy.”

Sydney grinned to herself and Rosie groaned.

“Well, I was thinking, maybe it was an omen.”

“An omen?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been spiritual really, but the worlds gone to shit so who knows what’s real. Maybe the Mayans were just a few days off.”

“Ah, the apocalypse calendar.”

“Indeed.”

-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

A noise rang out from the entrance to the school, loud and imposing. Sydney’s heart started to thump wildly in terror.

They all shot up, and Katie got her switchblade out from her pocket. She was lucky enough to have it on her at the blink, and it was their best weapon.

Cypress shot inside the classroom silently, eyes wide, red curls bouncing. He clicked the door shut quietly, pale. “The others sent me. They’re hiding in place. I think we should just stay put.”

Rosie nodded, gesturing him to come over. She placed a finger over her lips in order to get them to stay silent, then nodded to Katie. Katie had always been gifted with really good hearing, and it had saved their assess more than enough times for Rosie to know that letting her try to hear who was at the door was the best safe bet for situation and the time being.

Katie closed her eyes, but after a quarter of a minute shook her head.

That’s when they heard it.

“Hello!”

Sydney brought a hand to her mouth to clamp down a scream.

It was Cypress.

Eyes wide, she glanced over to Cypress, her Cypress, who’s expression was now glazed over. Was his skin always that waxy? Why was his hair so smooth? It looked like that of a dolls, curls made of softly bent plastic.

Katie saw the flicker of light before she saw the blade, and she lunged.

Her switchblade pierced his skin-no, his stuffing, with a sound akin to ripping a toy. It didn’t seem to stop this not-Cypress.

Oh god, Sydney thought, today is the day I die.

There was a sound like static now in the air, and the faint smell of burning. Sydney began to feel sick, almost lightheaded.

The door swung open, and Sydney whipped her head around to see Cypress, who was trailed by…Mr. Sims?

[analogicisms]

Music & Poetry - Chapter One

Summary: Popular-but-not-really-famous lyricist Virgil Quinn meets an attractive poet named Logan who claims to hate music. Virgil, who believes lyrics to be every bit the poetry as the kind found in books and anthologies and inspirational posters, feels the need to prove to Logan wrong.

Ship: Analogical (with others in the background)

Rating & Warnings: PG 13.

Chapters: 1 - 2

AO3: Chapter One

Thanks to @romantichopelessly for betaing and to @sunshineandteddybears and @paperghastly for pre-reading.

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

Chapter One

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

♞ LOGAN ♞

Logan sighed as he checked his phone for the second time in two minutes. He was standing outside of the main hall of the university where he would be speaking on that day. Due to his need for extensive planning, however, he was nearly two hours early for when he was required to be there. 

 He considered checking in with the dean of the school but knew that many people felt inconvenienced by those who arrived more than an hour early. Typically, Logan didn’t care too much about inconveniencing others with early arrivals, but Thomas Sanders, the dean of the school, was not just some man who had invited him to speak at this year’s graduation. Thomas was also a very dear friend of his, and Logan would hate to add any undue anxiety onto the man’s already burdened shoulders. 

Sighing again, Logan considered the time once more before opening Google Maps and searching for nearby cafes. 

 Of course, Logan thought as his eyes took in the ten plus pins indicating Starbucks Coffee shops in the area. It was not that Logan was a coffee snob, though his best friend Roman would disagree, he was simply a man who knew what he liked, and Starbucks was awful in terms of taste compared to value. In his opinion, of course—although anyone who disagreed was an idiot.

 Scrolling down to the list, his gaze was caught by the third listing. The Bumble Bean. Logan hummed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the pun. It was, after all, better than the alternative. 

 He noted the letter corresponded with the shop before consulting the map. Clicking on the name of the cafe, it popped up on the map and Logan clicked its little pin. The shop’s information appeared in a little bubble, including the business hours and, more importantly, the distance from his current location. 

 A block and a half away. Not bad for a walk, especially considering the suit he wore. Decision made, Logan set down his messenger bag long enough to pull off the suit jacket. Lifting his bag from the ground, he draped his jacket over the bag and shouldered the strap once more. 

 A quick click of the directions link on Google Maps and he was on his way. 

     ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆

 💀 VIRGIL 💀

 Virgil leaned back in the leather armchair he occupied, covering a yawn with his arm. 

 “Don’t start with that now, ViVi.” 

 Virgil grinned as he looked up at the barista who also happened to be his best friend. 

 “Sorry, Pat.” 

 Patton Hart was five foot four inches of adorable from the top of his curls to his white chucks with rainbow cat faces printed on the material. He also had the endearing habit of worrying for his friends. Especially Virgil. 

 “Late night again?” Patton asked, brows furrowing in concern behind oversized glasses with gold round frames. Virgil nodded. “Sleep is important, kiddo.” 

 Anyone who overheard the conversation would likely wonder why Patton—who easily looked younger than Virgil, though they were actually the same age—was calling him kiddo, but Virgil had come to accept that as just Patton being Patton. He was definitely a mom and dad friend.

 Virgil sighed. “Yeah.” He brought a hand to his eyes, closing them to rub at the lids before offering Patton a winning smile. “These lyrics won’t write themselves.” 

 Patton pursed his lips as he set Virgil’s black coffee down on a coaster. Once he’d straightened up, hands were fisted and rested on hips. Virgil tried his best to hold back a grin, but the other looked too adorable like that and so he failed. Miserably. 

 “It’s not funny, Virgil. One of these days, you’re gonna wish you’d listened to dear ol’ Patton.”

 “And when that day comes, I will gladly accept your ‘I told you so’. Unfortunately, I’m a night owl and my brain works best in the dead of night.” 

 Patton tutted but said nothing else on the matter. “Don’t forget, its drinks night tonight. Emile will be late but I should be able to close up a little early so I’ll be there at ten.” 

 Virgil nodded. “Alright. Honestly, though, I don’t know why I even go. Ever since you two started dating, I feel like such a third wheel. Are you sure you two just don’t want the time to yourself? You and I could always catch up later.”

 “Nonsense. Emile is as much your friend as he is mine, boyfriend or not. And, I don’t want to hear another word about it, mister.” 

 Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, mom.” 

 “Good. Now, drink your coffee before it gets cold.” He glanced up at the front and gave a start. “Oops, gotta get back to work. I’ll try to chat when the rush ends.” 

 Virgil waved him off. “Sure thing, buddy. Talk to you later.” 

 Watching Patton make his way behind the counter, Virgil let his gaze wander to take in the other patrons of the little cafe. A smile slipped onto his lips as he remembered the day three years ago when Patton rushed up to him before blurting out his idea for a bookstore coffee house. Virgil had never seen his best friend so excited about anything in his life, which was saying a lot considering Patton’s default setting was excited. 

 It had taken a lot of work and Virgil had put a lot of money into the place—an investment, he had told Patton when the other tried to refuse—but the struggle had paid off in the end. The Bumble Bean had quickly become one of the hot spots in town, especially for students at the local university and high schools. Virgil was proud of his friend and never missed a chance to tell him, either. 

 The gentle, light sound of the bell on the door sounded and Virgil idly glanced in that direction. 

 Oh. My. God. 

 A man who looked not much older than Virgil--but dressed in way nicer clothes than Virgil had ever owned--stepped inside and looked around before heading toward the counter. Virgil watched him as he made his way across the café, his eyes taking in the man's face as his own heated up considerably. 

 Gay panic is real.

 Virgil quickly looked away, busying himself with drinking his coffee. Unfortunately, due to his preoccupied brain, he had forgotten that coffee was generally very hot, and burned his tongue. 

 “Fuck.” He swore under his breath, tongue now numb and raw. Setting the cup down, Virgil glanced at the man from the corner of his eye. 

 I’m gay. I am so fucking gay.

 Virgil watched as the man stepped up to the counter after the last customer finished paying. He found himself wondering what kind of drink the man would order, mentally reminding himself to ask Patton later. Watching Patton help the man, Virgil guessed at what kind of job the man had. 

 A businessman… then again, those pants are fitted as fuck… lawyer, maybe? Or CEO of some Fortune 500… 

 Pursing his lips, Virgil shook his head. The man didn’t look like a slimy, two-timing, grubby-handed snake. It was possible he was dressed for a specific event. The suit aside, Virgil would guess a professor, or a scientist even. There was no way he would be able to guess correctly, he decided. No point trying. 

 Turning his attention to his coffee, Virgil was momentarily distracted by the sound of feedback coming from the front. A stage was set up on the opposite side of the entrance, a young guy around Virgil’s age if not younger moving the stool closer to the microphone already present. There was a guitar in his other hand and a smile slipped onto Virgil’s face. 

 Virgil Quinn was a college student at the local university but he was also a well-known lyricist. Well, well-known was a little generous considering most people weren’t really interested in lyricists so much as the band or artist themselves. Most lyricists were annoyed by that fact but not Virgil. He liked being famous without actually being famous. 

 Unlike the bands that sang his songs, Virgil could go where he liked, when he liked, with no concern for his safety or his privacy. Even on the rare occasion, a fan did care about the person who wrote the songs, his work was still appreciated and loved from afar. His pictures weren’t the ones being plastered online, on busses, on television ads, and so on. He had more Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube followers than the average person and he was relatively “known”, but definitely not enough that it made much difference to his daily life. 

 That was exactly how Virgil preferred it. 

 “Do you mind?”

 Virgil’s attention had been successfully distracted enough that he hadn’t noticed anyone come up. 

 “Mind?” Virgil’s indifferent attitude quickly turned shy and awkward as he turned to look at the person who asked the question. The gorgeous Mr. Maybe-A-Scientist.

 “I’d like to claim that chair over there but I’ll need to get past you to get there. If you don’t mind.”

 Virgil seized up before mentally reminding himself that this was just another guy. Another human being. He could play it cool. 

 Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush. 

 Virgil glanced at the chair before looking back up at the man. He cleared his throat and stood up. 

 In the brief few seconds that past between them as Virgil stood so he could shift out of the man’s way, Virgil became certain of a handful of things. 

 First, the man with his dark gray, nearly black eyes could not be a CEO or lawyer. While his eyes held a certain level of cold, there was far too much feeling in them. Too much depth. Second, the man was at least a head shorter than him but there was no way Virgil would have known if he hadn’t stood up. The confidence the man held about him was absolutely admirable. Virgil would have been worried the man was arrogant or, worse, a narcissist but he seemed far too polite and formal. Instead of self-importance, it was an air of near indifference that radiated from him.

 “Thank you.”

 “Yeah. No sweat.”

 Virgil could have mentally kicked himself. No sweat? Seriously? This man was obviously a man that existed off of intellectual knowledge and discourse. The best he could come up with was no sweat?

 Virgil watched the other’s face, certain to see some sort of sign of dismissal but it never came. Instead, the man raised a brow and a second later, his lips quirked upwards. It was slight. So slight that Virgil wasn’t even certain he truly saw it. That was until the man spoke again. 

 “I still need to get by you, I’m afraid.” 

 Was that amusement Virgil heard laced ever so subtly throughout the carefully chosen words? Virgil glanced at where he stood and swore under his breath. He was an absolute idiot. One thing was certain, however, as Virgil finally moved out of the other’s way. There was a definite spark of amusement in the man’s eyes and voice when he glanced back to thank him, before moving on to the armchair just on the other side of the coffee table. 

 Virgil blushed, quickly sitting once more and trying his best to melt into the couch. Not possible, of course, but he had to give himself props for trying. Deciding he had done enough damage to their interaction, Virgil turned his attention back to the stage where the young man with the guitar was now engaging the patrons sat around the stage. 

 As the singer started playing and fading into his song, Virgil almost forgot about Mr. Sexy Scientist. No, who was he kidding. There was no way he could actually forget about him. Not with him being so damn attractive. Not with him being so damn close. But, his focus was preoccupied just enough to take his mind off the man, if only for the moment. 

 That was, until a sound escaped the man, pulling Virgil’s attention back to him once more. Why is he so good looking? Life hated him. That was all there was to it. Putting such a gorgeous, put together man at arms reach only for Virgil to not have any chance in hell with him. The sound that left the man, however, had Virgil’s curiosity piqued. It was definitely a scoff that he had heard come from the well dressed man. 

 “Not a fan of this kind of music?” Virgil asked, before he could think better of it. He took note that the other had pulled out a book and was presumably reading it. He didn’t even look up at Virgil when answered his question. 

 “Not a fan of music, actually.” 

 Virgil raised a brow. There was no way he had heard correctly. “Sorry, what now?”

 The man looked up this time, a wry sort of expression on his face. It was the look of someone who had had this conversation on more than one occasion and didn’t find it any more enjoyable than he had the first time. Virgil felt bad, but only a little. He was more curious and so offered an apologetic shrug, but continued to look at the man expectantly. 

 The man sighed, marking the page he had been reading with a finger and set the book in his lap. His eyes found Virgil’s and it was all he could do to not look away. Swallowing hard, Virgil waited to hear what the man was about to say. 

 “I’m just not a fan of any type of music. It’s just… not my thing. I guess, classical counts as music and I do enjoy that when I am writing but in the general view of what is music these days, I really can’t say any of it has my appreciation.”

 Virgil frowned. How sad to not like any music. The man looked ready to return to his book but Virgil found himself not wanting the conversation to end just yet. Grasping for something to talk about, he took note of what the man had said. 

 “Writing?”

 The man nodded. He continued to watch Virgil but was obviously not about to offer any further information without being prompted. 

 Just my luck. The most gorgeous man walks into my life and unwittingly challenges all my anxieties. 

 “What do you write?” 

 Maybe he was an author? 

 “I’m a poet.” Suddenly a hand was offered to him from across the coffee table. Virgil took it at the last minute, shaking it and trying hard not to focus on the fact that they were technically holding hands. Too soon, the man pulled his hand back. “Logan Wright. I don’t expect you’ve heard of me but you’ve most likely come across a few of my poems. They’ve been used in various media.”

 Virgil could only nod, unsure of what to say. A poet! Not only that but a poet who doesn't like music. As a lyricist, Virgil was of the belief that lyrics were poetry put to notes in order to make a song—to make music. 

 The man went back to his book and Virgil watched him for a few moments before letting his attention return to the performer. The guy was not the best singer ever but played the guitar like a boss. Still, Virgil could hear the potential and knew well that this man could have a musical career hands down as long as he kept at it. The biggest draw to a singer like this one was that the words could be felt with his voice. That was a quality that so many singers didn’t have but the very quality that proved Virgil’s belief. 

 He knew he shouldn’t care. He knew well that the likelihood of him ever seeing this man—Logan—again was slim to none. Yet, he couldn’t keep his attention from returning to the man. Every few glances, he would see the other wince or grimace. Virgil wanted to feel offended on the singer’s behalf but instead, he just felt pity for Logan. 

 The time soon came when Logan stood and asked by him once again. This time Virgil was quick to stand and smiled shyly. 

 “Hope you have a good day.”

 Wow, could I be any more lame?

 The man smiled, however, and nodded. “Likewise.” 

 Virgil then watched him as he headed out of the shop and back into the world. 

 A few seconds passed, Virgil wishing he had asked for his number or something. Not only that, but the knowledge that the man was missing out on something that was inspiration for millions of people… that just didn’t sit right with him. If only he could spend a few days with Logan… show him what he was missing out on. Prove to him that not all music was bad and so much of it told a story. 

 Fuck.

 Before he could talk himself out of it, Virgil rushed through the shop and out the door. He glanced in the direction the man had gone, his eyes falling on his retreating back. 

 “Logan!” he called out. The man stopped and turned, tilting his head in a cute manner. Virgil didn’t focus on that, instead starting toward him as the man started back, distance closing between them. 

 “Can I help you?”

 Virgil blushed, suddenly unsure of himself. Was what he was about to propose stupid? Whatever. He would never know until he tried. 

 “Give me a week.”

 Logan snorted. “I’m sorry, give you what?”

 Virgil blushed and rushed on. “I mean… in there. What you said about music? Give me a week to prove you wrong.”

 Logan blinked and slowly smirked. “And what makes you think I’ll even be here a week?”

 That stopped Virgil in his tracks. It never even occurred to him that the man was out of town. He felt himself frowning and was about to apologize when the man spoke up again. 

 “I mean, I will be, as it turns out, but it is intriguing for you to just assume so. Still, your proposal has me curious. I don’t know exactly how you plan to change my mind, but I do like experiments as much as the next scholar. I do have somewhere to be at the present, but if you give me your number, I will text you.”

 In the next moments, Virgil gave Logan his number and watched as he walked away. He had no idea how he had managed it, but now that was the least of his worries. 

 Virgil now had just under seven days to change the mind of a very hot, intelligent, and opinionated poet. 

 To say he had his work cut out for him was definitely an understatement.

    ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆

Disclaimer:  The author does not own Sanders Sides or any of the characters found therein. They are also not affiliated with Thomas Sanders, Joan Stokes, or the Thomas Sanders team. Only the complete story as it is written is the property of the author and is not to be copied or reposted without express permission from the author.

[graffitibible]

How do you think people in the zones deal with disabilities??

it’ll really really vary imo. “disabilities” covers a huuuuuuge umbrella so i dont wanna generalize too hard. however i think as a whole theres a lot more acceptance of that kinda thing than there would be in battery city.

cw: discussion of in-universe ableism

--------

the zones have had war living in them for god knows how long. the analog wars were definitely fought in or around the zones in canon, and we dont know how long ago that was. and war is a pretty grisly thing. war vets from the analogs are gonna be carrying around serious injuries like missing limbs or bad hearing or chronic pain. nerve damage from burn wounds. blind from too many blitzes going off in their faces. so i think its not really out of the ordinary to see people who lived through the wars to have missing hands or needing prosthetics, etc. and since living in the zones is a pretty rough life, i dont think itd be too far out of left field to think that killjoys and zonerunners who live out there post-war might have to deal with that kinda thing too.

we do have a little basis for what the attitude for this might be in canon. canonically dr death defying (who imo is criminally underrated) is in a wheelchair and has a leg brace and a big deals never really made out of it. he mentions losing his legs in the wars in the comics and then hurting his leg in the listening party, but thats about it. no one else comments on it. while being physically fit and able-bodied might be a boon in the zones, i dont think it is a necessity the way that, say, battery city would consider it to be.

battery city’s general take on disabilities, as far as i can perceive it, has more to do with appearances. they dont really give a fuck about whether youre actually doing better and recovering and improving. they want you to function in society. they want you to look “normal” and fit into their preconceived notions of what is acceptable. hence why their medications, i think, are such a bad tactic - theyre not trying to treat anyones illnesses. theyre just trying to eliminate the symptoms that they deem to be unpleasant, uncomfortable, or not Useful to the better living machine. their priority isnt making you happy/healthy, its making you more objectively useful to their capitalist dystopian hell.

now ofc theres gonna be jerks in the zones and outliers but by and large the feeling of “community” and “accommodation” is gonna be better than what youd get in the city imo. like for example if you get your leg blown off at the knee, there are a probably few junkpunks in the zones you can find who can piece together a prosthetic out of droid parts and scrap metal. i like to think the zones have their own sign language dialect - ive touched on that before in some of my works, though i havent ever really elaborated on what that is. its not straight up ASL though, it is very much its own zone-specific variant of sign language. i imagine that it’s commonplace enough for it not to be too weird - especially among older generations of killjoys who might have had war buddies who were deaf or hard of hearing, or are themselves.

in my read on the universe i have a lot of zone-rats who are wandering around with prosthetic legs and stuff and that’s not really out of the ordinary so much. also a ton of zonerunners who gotta deal with the long-term effects of living in such an irradiated part of the world (nine-volt rocket and haywire from jet’s backstory both had to deal with the terminal repercussions of this, and this was seen as pretty much standard as far as jet was concerned). poison’s a little surprised to see prosthetics but they’ve got a more limited exposure to the zones compared to almost everyone else in the fab four except kobra. a few canon characters have prosthetics and such too, though i haven’t gotten into that just yet so i’m not gonna say which ones. yall might be able to figure that out though lol

now when we get into psychological disabilities, thats a lot more of a gray area. i suspect a lot of zone mentality settles into “just fukcin cope with it bud” cause i imagine there are a lot of anti-medication mindsets and people Paranoid about pharmacological solutions due to better living industries being What They Are. which kinda sucks tbh cause medication can be a great thing for navigating bad brain stuff and also for handling chronic/terminal conditions. thats a hard line for me to walk personally, cause i do not wanna demonize medication out of universe but i recognize that, in universe, that mentality is probably gonna be pretty common, which sucks.

so my general take on it is that the attitudes in the zones are generally more accommodating of disabilities of all kinds, but low resources might make it hard to actually find suitable accommodations. depending on the era/part of the desert that youre in, youll either see a lot of community in the zones and people who dont mind helping you out, or youll just have to....Handle it on your own or pay someone to give a shit for you (i.e., i suspect the desert was way more unified when the fabulous four were at their peak and way more fractured after the analog wars happened, and so on).

i know im probably overlooking a lot wrt diversity in disabilities here. if other people with more knowledge in this area wanna chip in, please do!!

[mediaevalmusereads]

The Route of Ice and Salt. By Jose Luis Zarate. Translated by David Bowles. Vancouver, BC: Innsmouth Free Press, 2021.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: novella, horror

Part of a Series? No.

Summary: It’s an ordinary assignment, nothing more. The cargo? Fifty boxes filled with Transylvanian soil. The route? From Varna to Whitby. The Demeter has made many trips like this. The captain has handled dozens of crews. He dreams familiar dreams: to taste the salt on the skin of his men, to run his hands across their chests. He longs for the warmth of a lover he cannot have, fantasizes about flesh and frenzied embraces. All this he’s done before, it’s routine, a constant, like the tides. Yet there’s something different, something wrong. There are odd nightmares, unsettling omens and fear. For there is something in the air, something in the night, someone stalking the ship.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: sexual content, dubious consent, allusions to pedophilia/child prostitution, body horror, blood, self-harm, suicide, homophobia

Overview: This novella crossed my recommendations on Tumblr and the subject matter seemed up my alley. A retelling of Dracula’s journey across the ocean from the point of view of the ship’s captain? Some nautical homoeroticism? Sign me up! Unfortunately, I didn’t enjoy this nearly as much as I hoped I would. I struggled with the first section, which felt like 22 chapters of the author trying to be philosophical or poetic while forgetting to write an actual narrative. Section 2 was better, as it had some more concrete plot details, and I was able to finish off the novella after that. So, what’s preventing me from giving this book more than 2 stars is the first section, which took up space that I felt could have been used to enhance sections 2 and 3. While the wandering, lyrical prose might enchant some, it definitely left me feeling lost.

Writing: I can’t comment on whether the lyrical prose is something inherent in the original Spanish and whether the translator is faithful to that. What I can say, however, is that I personally found the first part of this book to be difficult - not because I dislike poetry or sensuous prose, but because it felt like the author was trying too hard to be artistic, to the point where he forgot to actually tell a story. The unnamed captain - our POV character - seems to be constantly horny and his thoughts wander from place to place so much that it’s difficult to follow any given thread. The sentences themselves were also laden with figurative language, and sometimes, the choice of words made for confusing analogies and metaphors. I even had trouble trying to see the connections between thoughts and how they built upon one another. Perhaps this is the purpose; maybe we’re supposed to see the captain as this kind of detached, self-absorbed person. But personally, I found the prose to be too self-indulgent for my tastes.

Something else that bothered me was the use of archaisms throughout the book. There were many instances of “mayhap” and “naught” (to the point where they felt repetitive) and some characters use words like “thee” where others don’t. While archaic language can be used well, I ultimately felt like it was too inconsistent in this book.

Also, because this book is focused more on sensuality than plot, the pace felt a bit off, especially in part 1. I didn’t really feel a sense of dread (that one might expect in a horror), nor did the author seem to build suspense until part 2. Instead, it felt like a weird thing would happen, and instead of exploring how that thing affected the characters, the prose would veer off into more sensual and abstract language. I think I would have liked to see Zarate lean more into the horror and the suspense rather than breaking it up with the captain’s thoughts, and even if he wanted to build up the sensuality, I think he could have done a better job mixing it into the everyday occurrences on the ship.

There were some nice (and by that I mean evocative) images, however. Anything involving the rats elicited a visceral reaction from me, and there were some descriptions that felt like they were trying to make a point. I also really liked the way bodies were described and panic started to rise once crewmembers started disappearing, but I feel like it’s important to point out that most of those moments happened in parts 2 and 3 (with the exception of the rats). Thus, if you can get through part 1, you might find parts 2 and 3 to be a bit easier to understand, and the figurative language more appropriate.

Plot: The plot of this novella seems to be the captain coming to terms with his internalized homophobia while his crew is tormented by Dracula. Personally, I liked the idea of contrasting “good” desire (homoeroticism and homosexual attraction) with “bad” desire (destructiveness, possessiveness). But the fact that this was a queer novella didn’t automatically make this book click for me. I still have trouble trying to explain the events of the plot because the focus is so fixed on the captain’s thoughts.

Not trying to be mean, but the afterword of this book helped me understand the story’s themes and events more than my own academic training. The afterward is written by author Poppy Z. Brite and it clearly communicates the relationship between vampirism and queerness and eroticism while also illuminating the significance of certain images in the novella. If you’re not a stickler about spoilers, I would honestly recommend reading the afterword first, then reading the novella, so that you have something of a guide to help you through the main text.

Characters: The only character in this novella that felt developed was the captain, and ultimately, I didn’t enjoy being in his head. While I sympathize with his struggle to come to terms with his sexuality, I didn’t think it was realistic or helpful for the captain to have a boner for every man he sees. Maybe there’s some truth to that if your sexuality is repressed - I can’t speak to that, so if I’m wrong, I’d love to learn. But for me, I found the omnipresent horniness to be a bit much.

The only place where I felt more sympathetic towards him was near the end, when the captain realizes that he is not at fault for what happened to his lover. There was some beauty to that scene, though it was disturbing, and I think it definitely shows some character development, but because I didn’t quite connect with the captain or his goals at the beginning, I felt like I couldn’t get invested in his eventual end.

TL;DR: The Route of Ice and Salt is a welcome original novella by a Mexican author, exploring queer themes within the story of Dracula. However, the density of the prose in the first 22 chapters might put a lot of readers off, and the slow pace may prevent readers from fully connecting with the story.

[enithinggoes]

Wanderer’s Refuge, chapter 5: A haven, found

The crew was finally reaching the original destination of their journey, non-specific as it was. They were finally approaching the sea.

After the close call near Sunhill, Lawrence told them it would probably be unwise to land too near to any towns, especially big ones, if they intended to stay more than just one day, the others all agreed, and so they looked for a beach hidden off the beaten path, but not too far so it would be possible to go get supplies on foot once in a while.

This led to a thin beach off a cliff face at the extreme west of the country. It was the early evening by the time they left the train and the girls were all excited to explore their new surroundings, this was the first time any of the three of them saw the sea, after all.

The symmetrical stars, shining as bright in the sky above as in the sea below them were a sight to behold. Lilith excitedly rode Floof into the sea, splashing around and trying to drink some water before quickly spitting it out after feeling the taste of salt water.

Ursa gently wheeled Agatha through the sand, taking her to the border where the foam of the waves barely reached her feet close to the sand, Agatha pulled Ursa close and timidly whispered a request, which Ursa answered by simply smiling and picking her girlfriend up in a princess carry and slowly walking into the sea, going deeper into the water until Agatha was able to start swimming with her arms, just floating upright on her own, though Ursa still held onto her in case anything happened.

The feeling of being able to move just with her own body and muscles was overwhelming, so much it almost made Agatha cry right then and there. She laughed out loud, a joyous, contagious laughter that infected Ursa and then Lilith, who came bounding over on Floof and started splashing the other two girls with water.

Agatha and then Ursa fired back, soaking the two heads of Floof and the bottom of Lilith’s dress, this started an all out water war, which rapidly escalated until Floof was using it’s huge paws to make big waves, Ursa was creating big jets of water using burst of steam and Agatha had somehow made a big water gun that used a metal piston. All of this use of magic would be considered extremely dangerous and frightening anywhere else, but here the group knew none of them would hurt the others.

Lawrence just sat on the sand and smiled contentedly. He soaked in the feeling of being entirely safe and unobserved, as he laid on his back and stared at the stars, he knew that this was freedom, real freedom, not being locked to a position or forced to keep running at all times, just being allowed to stay and breathe for a while, with time all to themselves.

This moment of tranquility was interrupted by the quiet sound of sandals in the sand, startling Lawrence for a second and making him sit up and turn as fast as he could.

In front of him stood a woman in a green jacket with a blue handkerchief around her neck and small, round black glasses on the bridge of her nose. She crouched down in front of the alarmed Lawrence and gave him a gentle wave. “Easy there, kid, I’m not a cop. Just wanted to know what brought you lot to this beach.”

“We… walked here, we’re journeying to the next town over.” Lawrence answered in a hurry, he hated telling a bad lie, it hurt his pride in his work, this is one of the things he’s supposed to be good at!

The woman rolled her eyes and adjusted her glasses. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t clear, I know what brought you here, It was the flying train,” she pointed to the Wanderer’s “what I really wanna know is why you’re here. This isn’t the most popular beach you know?”

“Well there’s not a lot a lot of places you can take a flying train these days.” Ok, she knew about the Wanderer’s, not very surprising, but if she didn’t seem hostile now she probably wasn’t too against magic, still, best to keep your guard up. “What are you doing here? Who even are you?”

“I live here, you can come by if you want” The woman gestured to the cliff behind her, looking closer Lawrence could see there was a cave in the rocks, “And I’m doctor Alexandra Keys, pleasure to meet you.”

Lawrence stood up, dusting off the sand from his suit and regaining a bit of his composure before shaking Alexandra’s hand. “Lawrence, and the pleasure is mine. Let me call the others over. Fellas! There’s someone you should meet!”

The rest of the Wanderer’s crew came over, approaching cautiously, this person could be a threat, and they’d been lax in hiding their abilities since they came here.

“These are Agatha Clarke, Ursa Martin and Lilith Hughes. Gang, this is Alexandra Keys, she seems fine with us and lives inside the cliff.”

“If any of you are injured, I’d be happy to help. Also, I’m very interested in those machines of yours.” Alexandra turned to Agatha.”I’ve been researching the applications of sorcery in daily life and it looks like you’ve really figured out how to use it to improve your daily life.”

“Yes! I’ve been learning a lot recently and I believe that sorcery can adapt to a person’s needs and wills, it “knew” my desire for mobility and evolved to accommodate me.” Agatha beamed as she spoke of what she knew.

“Fascinating, I’ve often wished for supernatural healing abilities of some kind, but those haven’t manifested.” Alexandra’s head hung low for just the smallest moment.

“What are your abilities, doctor? Have you been able to use them effectively in your daily life?” asked Agatha excited.

“Well I’ve gained some mobility too, and I can also use it as a sterile tool in my work.”

Ursa chimed in “speaking of which, how did you get down here, can you fly or something? Or are you just incredibly skilled at climbing those rocks?”

Alexandra gave Ursa a cheeky smile before raising her hand and answering “Yes I do climb... The stairs!” she snapped her finger dramatically and about 50 light blue constructs made of something that didn’t seem to be any known material appeared parallel, arranging themselves neatly into a staircase, they were perfectly horizontal just floating in the air, and seemed so thin they were almost entirely two dimensional.

“That’s so cool!” Said Lilith, less concerned with the mechanics of the sorcery than the spectacle.

“Very interesting, I’ve never heard of magic taking the form of matter that isn’t analogous to anything outside it, the closest parallel I can find at the moment is some form of blue glass,” commented Agatha.

“My ability is “command force”, I believe it relates to my academic background in allowing me to manipulate objects with minimal unwanted effects using non-conductive, sterile, mostly transparent tools that are very precise,” Hypothesized Alexandra.

“So, what do you do around here, lady? This isn’t exactly a hospitable place to live.” Ursa raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes just a little.

“Well, I’m sure you know the country doesn’t have the most positive outlook on sorcery or, well, doctors like me,” the woman gestured to her dark skin and long curly hair, “so I come out here to do my research and treat anyone who comes by. I think I’ve actually started to get a reputation around outlaws and runaways from the area, no questions, they just come in, cure what ails them and go.”

“Could we come live with you and help, big lady?” Lilith asked something the rest of the group had already thought, but felt unsure about saying to the doctor, who really was significantly taller than any of them.

“Sure! I’d love to have a few helping hands around, and I’m anxious to know what you kids can do.” Alexandra smiled warmly and gently rubbed Floof’s heads. The crew felt reassured, a part of them that most of them would like to hide still felt safer having a real adult looking out for them.

[autumnblogs]

Day 9: Troll Time

Time to get trolled.

https://homestuck.com/story/1527

This is the first of the events that I’ve noticed enough to talk about in Homestuck that alludes to the Alpha Kids. While Roxy on the other side of the scratch is the one actually responsible for the disappearance of Jaspers and the Pumpkins, at this point in the story, we have some pretty good suspects for exactly who disappeared both of them.

I could see myself guessing that Jade’s penpal is one of the trolls, but it wouldn’t be my first guess. I’m going to pay close attention to all of the events on one side of the scratch that are caused by the other side of the scratch, because my theory is that a Scratched Universe, more than anything else, is really terminated rather than truly being retroactively erased. Too much doesn’t make sense from a causal perspective (not necessarily from a temporally linear one) if a scratched universe is actually erased entirely, or even if it is closed off from the rest of existence - why can information enter and leave a Scratched Universe at all from an outside perspective, for example?

Are Side A Side B teleporters, appearifiers, and so on and so on, loopholes? Maybe it has something to do with the nature of Void, the Furthest Ring, and their seeming exclusion from the rules the rest of Paradox Space is required to follow.

The Doylist answer, which in Homestuck is also allowed to be the Watsonian answer, might be that while a Scratched Universe is *materially* erased, information about it is still permitted to propagate through narrative contrivances such as the author. Fenestrated planes can easily be considered narrative contrivances, but if we use this as our theory, it seems like Appearifiers and Sendificators would also have to be Narrative Contrivances (which I’m going to spell with a capital NC from here on out.) I... actually don’t have a problem with this hypothesis, so it’s what I’m going with. Also, since a friend of mine who’s reading this liveblog asked, I’m going to post a link to the tvtropes article on those two terms at the start of this paragraph for anyone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

Perhaps, given the proclivity for the Void to preserve lost information in the form of dreams and memories, and given the nature of Space as the medium through which events normally propagate (as well as the fundamental medium of storytelling from which all other storytelling mediums derive their medium-ness), and their proximity on the Aspect Wheel, Narrative Contrivances are objects which have are shared between these two domains - as objects associated with the Void, Narrative Contrivances are permitted to follow their own set of rules which to someone outside of the universe are obvious, but to anyone inside the universe are a complete black box, and as objects associated with Space, Narrative Contrivances function as a means by which to propagate information in such a way as to preserve causality, the logical topology of Paradox Space, and with them, the self-fulfilling nature of Paradox Space. They allow the world-line of objects travelling through the narrative to remain consistent, even when they would violate material geographical conventions.

This description of Narrative Contrivances makes me think a lot of things could be Narrative Contrivances, like First Guardians, for example, who can violate the speed of light.

This is all a lot of silly bullshit, but it’s fun to come up with theories to describe and predict Homestuck (and future Homestuck works, even though I’m not terribly invested in them.)

This has been a long Cold Open. More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/1529

John gets cyberbullied!

Man. Cyberbullying has really gone from being an individual concern to being an apocalyptic issue. Who knew? Maybe in writing the trolls and their cyberbullying as being inextricable from the apocalypse, Andrew Hussie predicted this.

I’m not trying to understate John’s issues by comparing them to stuff like massive social media disinformation campaigns - receiving Death Threats as a thirteen year old is terrifying, and on a general level, the fact that this kind of horrible shit was commonplace in the earliest days of social media should have been a big indicator that what was yet to come was going to be so, so much worse.

I’m also not trying to jocularly exaggerate the threat that almost completely lawless social media has on society. If you haven’t already, check out the excellent documentary The Social Dilemma, and then delete your Facebook account if you haven’t already (and since you’re reading my extremely anti-capitalist anti-patriarchy liveblog on tumblr, you’ve probably already done that. If you have, good for you!) And your twitter for good measure, come on, you know who you are. Mabe your tumblr too while you’re at it.

Cyberbullying is part of a larger theme in Homestuck, another one of those things that it’s Capital A About. As a work that is not only about growing up, but specifically about growing up in the information age, Homestuck is repeatedly about the ways that Social Media don’t just bring us together, but keep us apart from one another. Cyberbullying is one of the effects of Social Media pushing people apart - it’s so, so much easier to threaten to kill someone when you don’t have to look them in the eye while you’re doing it, and when you have the anonymity of a string of alphanumeric characters as a name to hide behind.

https://homestuck.com/story/1537

The Black Queen is a very bad woman. It’s always intrigued me that the Queens allow their counterparts’ agents free movement through their territory like this even on the eve (or the advent?) of full-scale war between their kingdoms. PM is just allowed to wander around Derse unsupervised.

I suppose that if even God and Satan can afford each other a bit of token civility while discussing the fates of sinners, so can Prospitians and Dersites.

https://homestuck.com/story/1542

@zeetheus​ John’s definitely proceeds Rose’s bluh.

Rose sips her Mom’s martini for the same reason that she later falls prey to alcoholism. Trying to grow up without help, Rose interprets the martini as a symbol of parental authority, the same way that she interprets the partaking of beverages in general as being a ritual of intimacy with her Mother. Empty signifiers.

https://homestuck.com/story/1549

Jack Noir’s grating voice is so outrageously distracting that it prevents itself as an intrusive thought in the Narrative for PM.

Actually, come to think of it, *all* of the Carapacians talk pretty much exclusively via narration. I wonder if that’s representative of an altered relationship with their narrative reality, which is the first time ever I’ve had that thought pretty much at all.

I always just chalked it up to one of the quirks of Andrew’s writing style, but especially when we take into account the fact that Homestuck is as metanarrative as it is, and that Carapacians are the only characters in Homestuck Proper who interface with the narrative prompt except for the audience, Andrew, and Caliborn himself, I can’t help but wonder. Maybe as living gaming abstractions, in spite of their limited intelligence and abilities, Carapacians have a unique relationship with the narrative laws of Paradox Space (perhaps in the same way that Narrative Contrivances do?)

https://homestuck.com/story/1569

Riffing a little more on the “Fetch Modus as analogous to thought processes” motif previously introduced, Jade’s excellent visualization abilities and vivid imagination serve her well as a Space Player, but tend to misfire, running wild, and seeing patterns where they don’t exist (intrusive thoughts make her see Johnny 5 in her Eclectic Bass and whatever the fuck mecha she’s about to accidentally imagine, I don’t know, I’m not a weeb.) Jade sure does think about robots a lot.

https://homestuck.com/story/1579

I have to say, I consider Terezi’s manipulative abilities to be genuinely pretty strong. I have never known a better way to strongarm me than by pointing out traits that I don’t know whether I feel good or bad about - it just terminates my thought processes.

Although in John’s case, it helps that he is, in fact, a weenie, a stooge, and most importantly, a nice guy. All these facts make him extra manipulatable.

https://homestuck.com/story/1584

<3

I have no reason to believe everyone in Homestuck’s universe isn’t stupidly badass, but I choose to believe that no one is as stupidly badass as the leads because it makes me happy to imagine that these kids are just ridiculously OP superhumans.

(That said, it’s kind of fucked up the level of violence that these literal children are involved in, maybe I shouldn’t get so excited about it. Should we be enthusiastic about the kids’ triumph over their dangerous enemies? Horrified by the travails they are being put through? Probably both motherfuckin’ things.

https://homestuck.com/story/1588

I think about this page a lot.

Rose Lalonde is a very dangerous young lady. She is ruthless, pragmatic, calculating, and cool. She’s even a killer, and literally just killed two imps before fighting this Ogre!

Why is she choosing to show mercy to it now? Is she just trying to get Dave’s goat? Maybe the answer is, deep down, she doesn’t really want to hurt anyone or anything.

https://homestuck.com/story/1589

Kanaya and Dave have a great relationship and I love them as friends very much. I wish dearly that there was more of them in the webcomic. They have approximately the same relationship with authenticity, which is to say that they don’t have an insincere bone in their respective bodies, but practice insincerity nonetheless to impress someone they care about.

For Kanaya relating to Rose, I think it’s a lot more innocent.

https://homestuck.com/story/1590

The least eloquent character in Homestuck has his brief, and I’m pretty sure only encounter with the most eloquent character in Homestuck.

Poor, poor Tavros. While Rose is pretty much always on this level, it seems a lot more innocuous when she’s talking to her friends, or the more mean-spirited and (relatively) competent trolls, the way she treats Tavros almost feels like bullying because of how obviously pathetic he is.

That said, he turns right around, and invokes exactly what’s coming to him. Y’know as much as Tavros is an authentic abuse victim and Vriska gaslights him into thinking a lot of the bad things that happen to him are his fault, there are a lot of times where he does stupid shit that invokes the justifiable wrath of the people around him.

https://homestuck.com/story/1592

While I could pontificate about the fact that Kanaya and Rose are my favorite couple, and squee enthusiastically, instead I will call attention to the fact that, by way of mixing her metaphors, Kanaya has been the victim of an authorial pun - she’s a Fruit Ninja. (Unless Fruit Ninja didn’t exist at the time of writing? It may very well not have.)

https://homestuck.com/story/1596

As the Page of Breath, Tavros sucks at communicating. Here, he sucks at communicating because in spite of his objectively pretty sick rhymes... he is talking to someone who just can’t be arsed.

https://homestuck.com/story/1602

This is one of those absurd moments that at first blush seems meaningless, but I think helps to decipher the kinds of things that John Egbert cares about. It’s one of the moments where he ritualizes an action that one of his heroes takes - John Egbert thinks that Nic Cage is cool, and wants to be like him, so he roleplays Nic Cage for a little while.

https://homestuck.com/story/1603

We’ve barely met the trolls, and they are *already* using the humans as a convenient method to troll each other instead of staying on task.

Karkat also establishes his love of RomComs before his introduction even rolls around.

https://homestuck.com/story/1618

Conceding ground to implacable enemies is generally the correct means to win in Homestuck, usually by getting them to destroy themselves or each other purely by their own unsustainably wicked or stupid conduct. Only a being as powerful as Lord English is sufficient to destroy the Significance-hoarding antagonist that is Vriska, as she threatens to overshadow everyone else in the universe by her own inflated self-importance. Only Vriska, so arbitrarily lucky, could possibly get into position to destroy Lord English. They were made for each other. They deserve each other.

One of my favorite dialogues in the whole comic. Man, I sure love Act 4. There’s something indescribable about the dialogue Andrew writes for this part of the comic. Homestuck at its best whiplashes from silly to scary to heartbreaking to heartwarming, and back to silly again, from beautiful to ugly, and I don’t think that even Act 5, as it piles up layers upon layers, well past the number of parts needed to make a whole, captures the essence of Homestuck as well as does Act 4.

Homestuck is different in every part, of course, and for everyone who says that Act 4 is peak Homestuck you will meet someone who says that Acts 1 through 3 were peak Homestuck, or who says that Act 5 was Peak Homestuck, or that Act 6 was Peak Homestuck. I do not mean to demean any portion of the work by saying that Act 4 is my favorite. The things I like in Homestuck the most are just the most themselves in this portion of the story.

https://homestuck.com/story/1627

I’m feeling less and less intelligent as I read more and more of Homestuck, because honestly, my theories read less like honest-to-god insights, and more like somebody who just wasn’t paying any fucking attention. Here, Jade spells out basically what I’ve been saying.

https://homestuck.com/story/1640

We’ll pause here for the evening. Reading was a little sparse today, but it’s a good place to leave off, especially since for some of these I wrote just stacks of theorizing.

Until tomorrow, Cam signing off, Mostly alive except for a bit of a cough, and not alone.