#I am quite literally a cryptid on here aren’t I

[iciclefeather]

imagine me making concepts for that one au of mine that I keep rambling about

[abduct-me-helen]

Class 108's Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 4.

“So, are we going to talk about it? Or….” Martin asked, looking at Jon with an expression he found he couldn’t decipher. The chatter of class 108 filled the comfortable silence that would usually occupy them on their journey.

“About what?” Jon avoided the question, turning his head back to check on the rest of the class. They’d originally formed two lines, headed by Jon at the front of both and Martin at the back. That had quickly fallen apart, and now they were more of a…blob, if anything.

Martin gave him a look. “I still don’t know how you’re smiting things here! I was about to ask you before we came across the school, but I decided it was best to wait until we calmed down a bit.”

“I-I killed it. I have the power, so I…so I killed it.” Jon turned his head away, facing decidedly frontwards.

“Yeah, but like, how? I’m-I’m sorry, I just don’t understand what actually happened.” Martin gestured, confused and frustrated.

“I-It’s hard to explain. We’re coming upon a domain of the,” he grimaced, memories of dirt and choking and pressure momentarily overtaking him, “buried. I would really rather-”

The sound of knocking cut him off, and the squeak of hinges made everyone silent. Static crackled, and Katie, ever alert, got out her knife just before Rosie silently directed everyone to draw their “weapons.”

Jon didn’t know what a pencil sharpener would do to the distortion, but he didn’t want to find out.

Martin turned, confused at why the quiet had set in. “What-”

“Look down, Martin.”

“Oh.” He paused, startled. “Wait, what?”

“No one get to close!” He called, running his hands through his hair and sighing. “Hello, Helen.”

“Oh, Hello! In a better mood now, are we? Feeling safer now that you know how to kill? And you’ve got a whole gang with you! How exiting.” Her eyes seemed to light up, literally.

“YEET.” Tabitha threw a pencil sharpener at Helen, but her body seemed to twist and absorb it in impossible ways, making Tabitha’s head hurt. She shook it off. “Stay away from us! Begone thot!”

The rest of the class began to recite various vines in agreement.

“GET REKT!” “YOUR MOM’S A HOE!” “WALK AWAYAHAYAHAYHAY”

Martin facepalmed. Jon exhaled, forcing down the urge to scream.

Helen blinked, then her mouth pulled into an impossible grin. “You’ve got quite a crowd here, don’t you Archivist?”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Touch them, and I will end you.”

Helen laughed and echoing laugh that hurt his ears. “Oh, Archivist. You really have grown! But no, I’m here for a chat. We are friends, aren’t we archivist? Allies?”

He gritted his teeth. “Sure.”

Martin butted in. “Will you tell me how he did it?”

“Martin-” Jon protested.

“He just keeps on being all vague about it.” Martin complained. Helen seemed to light up.

“Oh goodness. You see what you’ve done to the poor boy, Jon? He’s coming to me for answers.” She cackled, and Jon glowered.

“Shut up.” He said.

She giggled. “It is very satisfying though, isn’t it? Teasing the vague information? You can see why Elias got a kick out of it.”

“Elias?” Rosie questioned. “Isn’t that your boss?”

“That’s Eyeball Daddy’s sugar baby.” Tabitha told her. Rosie made an ‘ah’ noise of recognition.

Helen cackled in delight. “That’s what you’re calling him? Oh, I like you.” She grinned, and Tabitha made an awkward face. What was she supposed to do, when she’d somehow won the favor of an eldritch door person?

Take it like a champ, I guess, she thought.

“Don’t.” Martin said protectively.

“Don’t what, love?” Helen asked, batting her eyelashes. (Literally, bats flew out of them).

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, stay away from them.” Helen pouted as Martin finished.

“But you aren’t any fun.” She said, her mouth curled downward in mock sadness.

“Look-just, just explain. Please.” Martin changed the subject, imploring her to alleviate his confusion. Jon glowered, but stayed decidedly still.

“Well,” she began, sporting a sharp grin, “We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger, the Buried, the Desolation, all of us. But the Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: The Watcher, and the Watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And John, well-he is part of the Eye. A very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say, shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well: to be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.”

A silence fell over everyone, before Cypress broke it.

“So, what you’re saying is, the clap of his ass cheeks alerted the Eye?” He questioned, ginger curls bobbing as he tilted his head.

“Eyeball Daddy.” Raphi muttered.

Helen sported a look of delight, before cackling once again. She wiped a tear from her eye, and Rosie noted that it was the color of a highlighter. As it fell to the ground, the grass it came in contact with seemed to glow.

“You really are fun!” She declared gleefully. “Archivist, for someone so dour you certainly have lively company. Who are all of you then?” Her head twisted unnaturally in interest.

Elliot instinctively looked to Rosie, and shrugged when he met her eyes. Her own were narrowed in thought, before she shook her head. Helen grinned.

“Oh! A smart one. But no, I’m not a fae and you are, regrettably, protected by our Archivist.” She sighed dramatically.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. “She’s right.” Helen lit up. Really. She glowed.

Tabitha, ever curious, tilted her head. “I’m Tabitha. Are you with the smexy weed?”

“The smexy weed?” Helen asked, unapologetically amused, “whatever do you mean?”

Cal let out a short laugh and Katie rolled her eyes.

“The one that makes you high.” Elliot intoned (un)helpfully.

Martin groaned. “Wh-you know what. I’m just going to leave it.”

Helen was grinning now. “Yes! I’m with the Spiral, or the smexy weed, if you prefer!”

“Dope.” Elliot said, and Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“Wait a second,” Martin spoke, putting his hands up and turning to Jon, “why were you being so cryptid about it anyway? It doesn’t seem very complicated so I don’t know why you were being so coy about-”

“Because I’m ashamed, Martin.” Jon cut him off, sighing and clenching his jaw.

“Ashamed?!”

“Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I just-destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it, the fact that-I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a…fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please. The fact that I…enjoyed it, and…the fact that there are so many others that I want to revenge myself on!”

A pall of silence fell over them.

“Mr. Sims?” Cypress spoke.

Jon sighed. “Yes?”

“You said the fuck word.” Cypress informed him solemnly. The rest of the class nodded.

“That’s what you take from that?!” Jon said exasperatedly.

“Well, I mean, about what you said, I actually think you’re good on that front.” Cypress said hesitantly.

“What?”

“Yeah, I, I, I think we should go for it, get our murder on!” Cal exclaimed. They’d been silent nearly the entire time, naturally a shy person and even quieter when scared. Rosie raised an eyebrow, and Tabitha cheered, slinging an arm over their shoulders.

“Yes Cal! You go!” Tabitha high fived them.

“I agree with that.” Martin spoke, surprising Jon.

“How-what?” Jon said incredulously.

“Yes Martin!” Helen cheered, delighted by this new development.

“Th-this isn’t like it was before! We’re not talking about innocent bystanders in cafes here, John; these things are-th-they’re just evil, plain and simple, and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone!  If you want to stop them and have the power to, then-then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!”

“I-I haven’t seen it.” Jon breathed in surprised.

“Oh, Martin, I am so proud of you. Can I come too?” Helen asked ecstatically.

“No.” All of class 108 intoned.

Helen pouted. “So mean! I take it back, you’re no fun at all.”

“Coming from you, I would think that a good thing.” Rosie pointed out as Sydney nodded her agreement.

Helen sighed dramatically. “Fair, fair. I think I’ll take my leave, now. Don’t be a stranger!”

The creaking of the impossible, yellow door signals her exit, and Tabitha’s eyes widen.

“Guys!” she exclaims, face bright with a new, disastrous idea. Katie groans preemptively. “We should do a Tiktok with her!”

-

Regrettably, Tabitha’s idea was immediately shut down, and they soon continued on their path until Jon came to a stop, gritting his teeth.

“We’re here.”

He’d explained that they’d have to cross through multiple nightmares in order to reach the Panopticon, along with the statements he’d have to give. Though Sydney had wondered, she hadn’t asked if he knew the whereabouts of any of her classmates.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

No, that was a lie. Above anything else, Tabitha needed knowledge like water. She felt incomplete without it, whatever the cost of that knowledge would be. She would rather mourn a death then be ignorant and happy.

“Are you going to…?” Martin prompted, and Jon nodded, sighing.

“You should all leave while I-”

“No.” Rosie and Tabitha intoned at once, looking at each other surprised.

“Why not?” Martin questioned, wondering why anyone would want to have to listen to that.

“I…,” Rosie breathed, “you said this was about the Buried, right?”

“Y-yes.” Jon stammered, taken aback.

She sighed, tightening her side ponytail as a distraction. She often found playing with her hair gave her comfort.

“I-I can’t explain it. It’s not like I’ll sleep any easier without,” she gestured, “this.” She finished lamely.

Jon and Martin had a silent conversation, and though Jon was apprehensive, he sighed and gestured for her to sit down. He then turned to Tabitha, raising his eyebrow.

“What about you?”

“I need to know.” She said. “I-I can’t be in the dark in a world like this. I just-I need to know.”

Martin nodded, still doubtful. He gestured for the rest of the class, who were staring at the two girls like they were insane, to follow him over to (what appeared to be) a tree.

-

“-Better to keep him buried, neatly away.” Jon finished, and Rosie breathed out shakily. Jon looked at her, really looked, and was confused to find that she looked almost sated.

He turned to Tabitha, and she seemed the same, though in a far more familiar way. He couldn’t quite place it, but something was…off.

“Are you both okay?” They nodded at his question, and Rosie helped Tabitha up.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I just…” Tabitha hesitated, “I feel…weird.”

“Weird?” He intoned, raising an eyebrow in concern. “Not scared?”

“No-I mean, yeah, I’m scared, but…” she shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not important. Hey, why is Katie stabbing a tree?”

-

As it turned out, the tree wasn’t as inanimate as they’d thought, and after being chased around for a bit, Martin got separated from the rest of the class. Not too far; he could still see them in the distance, and they appeared to have killed(?) the tree.

Where did Katie get an axe?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, when a phone rang out of nowhere. He jumped, surprised.

It was coming from the ground.

He scowled, running his hand through his hair in annoyance, before a clanking noise got his attention from the right. A metal spade just seemed to…appear. Out of nowhere.

“A spade? Really? I mean, isn’t that a little insensitive?” He questioned irritably, sighing to himself.

“Right, so we’re doing this then.”

He began to dig until he reached the phone, yanking it up. He wasn’t surprised to find that there was no landline attaching it to the other caller.

“Hello?” He asked.

“Hello. Is that Martin?”

He cursed inwardly.

“Don’t do that.” He warned.

“Not in the mood for games?” Her voice was decidedly amused.

“You know I’m not.” He told her.

“No fun.”

“Yes, well-look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right?” He said, already knowing the answer to that question.

“You never gave me yours, why should I give you mine?” Martin wondered if she was being this difficult on purpose. Knowing the Web, she probably was.

“Just-what do you want?” He asked tiredly, sighing.

“To help, of course!”

“No. Thank you.” He declined sharply.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this. Marcy Schroeder isn’t dead.”

“W-what?!” He exclaimed.

He didn’t know much about the girl, hadn’t even known her last name before he’d heard Annabelle say it, but he knew enough about what had happened when one of class 108’s first expeditions had wandered into the Web.

“That’s what I said! She’s been kept alive for a reason, though I don’t know what. I suspect it has something to do with the end.”

“Where is she?”

“Now, now, that’s information you’ll have to pay for.”

“With what?”

“Good question. I’ll need to let the situation play out a bit first, and then I’ll know what you can pay me. I’ll keep in touch!”

The line went dead.

“Well, shit.”

-

Rosie was quiet, Tabitha noticed, as she played with her hair languidly, posture tired and face blank with a subtle confusion and scowl. She walked over casually, trying to surprising her from behind, then frowned when Rosie didn’t react.

Tabitha tilted her head, then sat on the log beside her.

“You okay?” She asked, concern blindingly evident in her voice. Rosie didn’t respond.

They sat in a comfortable silence, looking out at the green tinted world in front of them. The watchful eye of the Panopticon looked back, and Tabitha gave it a challenging glare.

“Did I ever tell you about the sinkhole?” Rosie broke the quiet, not even glancing beside her.

“No, I don’t think you did.” Tabitha replied, and was silently disgusted with her own burning hunger for the information Rosie must have been referencing.

Rosie finally turned to Tabitha, chocolatey eyes dull. “When I was in middle school-it must have been fifth or sixth grade-I was caught in a sinkhole. I was buried for two days, under the earth. The Doctor’s didn’t know how I survived, but I did.”

Tabitha’s eyes were wide as Rosie continued her tale.

“The earth…moved. And not in the normal ways. It was unnatural. It tried to choke me, but I didn’t fight back. I just, let it. And I wasn’t afraid. I was,” she spoke sourly, “comforted, by the pressure. It felt like a hug, except, an important one. The earth was hugging me, Tabitha.”

Rosie’s gaze sharpened, and Tabitha’s hunger seemed to increase.

“And I let it. My parents are-were,” she grits, remembering the loss and silently wondering which nightmare they were trapped in, “amazing to me. But they weren’t tactile people by any stretch. And the earth…it was everywhere. And I think I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. A ‘medical marvel,’ that’s what the doctors said at least.

“I’ve never told anyone before, but you of all people I feel like I can tell things. You just,” she gestured absently, “have that feel about you.”

“Are you vibe checking me?” Tabitha joked, trying to ease the tension. Rosie smiled gratefully.

“I suppose I am.” Rosie responded, before growing solemn again. “I think…well, you can figure that out.” She looked to Tabitha, willing her to fill in the blanks.

“You think it was the Buried.” Tabitha reasoned, thinking to herself.

Rosie didn’t need to say anything; they both knew that what happened wasn’t possible by any other explanation.

“…we need to come up with a name for it.” Tabitha spoke to herself, and Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“I may not have been scared of being buried alive, but hearing those words terrifies me.” Rosie deadpanned.

“Aw, Ro, I’m flattered. You say the nicest things.” Tabitha cooed, and they both laughed quietly.

-

“…I have an idea.”

“Oh no.”

“The Great Bondage, the Choking Kink-”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

“Hey! Don’t leave me here! What about the buddy system-”

-

[llatimeria]

animals ask game! :3c 1, 4, 6, 9, 12, 22, 28 !!

1 & 22 answered here!

4. Favorite birds? I ALREADY SAID VARIED THRUSHES and they arent my Favorite bird anyways it just was the first one to come to mind so uh. i am partial to non-blue-footed-boobies. i love the blue-footed kind too but i think the rest of them are just severely underrated and live under their blue cousins shadows a bit too much. there’s a whole genus of birds called boobies i think we can share the love around a little bit more. this is a red-footed booby and theyre extremely good too

if you like your seabirds with a little less Goof there’s also Nazca Boobies:

and to complete the primary-color-footed-booby trifecta. this is the brown boobie

and it really should’ve been called the yellow-footed booby because look at that. unfortunately i don’t think all brown boobies have feet quite that vibrant but all of them are pretty brown so brown booby is what they are

6. Favorite fishes? again i already said coelacanths so i cant double dip there but shoutouts to oarfish 

(this is a Small One) and im always partial to freakishly large freshwater fish for some reason. red-tailed catfish, white sturgeon, arapaima, all of those big fuckers

i think i just have a thing for animals that are longer than i am tall. considering im not even 5′1″ this is a low bar. but.

9. Do you have an inordinate fondness of beetles? well,, i am inordinately fond of a particular beetle,,, as in someone who has used the word beetle in their internet usernames,,, sometimes,,, if you know what i mean,,,

(but also i do like beetles)

12. What’s your favorite example of niche specialization/evolution? oh no theres too many to count. for some reason the shrimp that live encased in glass sponges comes to mind even though that’d probably be a better answer to the mutualism question. uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah i’ll leave it at that bc my mind can’t come up with any other examples for some reason

28. You know all those cryptids that are probably just normal animals (like Mothman is an owl and the Stronsay Beast is a basking shark)? What’s your favorite?

Bigfoot is just a bear standing on its hind legs and you cannot change my mind. that’s 100% where the story came from and what people are seeing when they’re not lying when they say they saw bigfoot. bears stand on their hind legs and just walk around a little bit more often than you’d think and they really do just look like a huge, hairy man:

like id totally forgive someone for mistaking that for just A Guy at the right angle and surrounded by trees blocking a full, clear view. even bear feet are pretty human-shaped if you squint 

and again i’d totally forgive an average joe for finding a footprint shaped like that in the mud in the woods and thinking that it was left by some kind of bigass guy

also here’s a video that illustrates my point perfectly. this bear injured its front feet and was wandering around a suburban neighborhood walking upright like a person and the potato-quality footage would be Indistinguishable from a bigfoot video if that bear was out in the woods hobbling partially-obscured through trees and shrubs and you were told a million times “hey, watch out for bigfoot when you go on your hike this weekend!” and not “hey, look for bears when you’re on your hike this weekend!”. if you saw this where you couldn’t really see it clearly and you had been primed your entire life to see bigfoot and you aren’t pedantically skeptical you’d 100% believe you saw bigfoot. there’s just no way bigfoot is literally anything else

[thiswasinevitableid]

#7 with Sternclay, for the prompts?

Here you go!  I went NSFW

#7: I’m assigned to write a piece rounding up all the bad press that you, a famous celebrity, have been getting and you show up in my office and demand me to write a retraction and get the ‘real’ story”

Barclay is so excited; he’s going to be spending two weeks on the Dual Mesa set, writing an exclusive behind the scenes story that’s sure to give the magazine a big sales boost. 

“Ah, Barclay, come in.” Ned Chicane, the show’s director, ushers him into his office, “I assume they told you we will be leaving to shoot on location tomorrow?”

“Yes, I, uh, I’m really honored that you chose Q to run your story; your cast is so diverse, it really resonates with our readers.”

Ned waves a hand in faux-humility, “Why create a show with paranormal elements that simply recreates homogeneity? However, my dear boy, you were not chosen by me.”

“I requested it.” Barclay turns as a tall man with dark hair enters the office, and has the sudden urge to hide under the nearest table. The man currently staring him down with bright blue eyes and a mild-yet-clearly displeased expression is Joseph Stern, star of Dual Mesa and subject of a very unflattering article Barclay published a week ago.

“Look, Mr. Stern, I-”

“Quiet.” Stern holds up his hand, “I asked Ned to give Q a boost by granting access to the shoot because I think the magazine does excellent work. I asked for you to give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Your writing is quite good, but clearly your research and fact checking needs some work.”

“Just because you don’t like it-”

“I don’t, but that’s not the issue. You published things that are patently false and easily provable as such. For instance, the claim that I got this role by sleeping with the director has two major flaws; one, Ned is not my type.”

“There’s no accounting for poor taste.” Ned says, clearly unbothered, 

“And two, Mr. Mosche would break my fingers if I tried to fuck his husband.” He points to the corner of the room where a large, tattooed man sits reading.

“Right you are.” He looks up long enough to reply. 

“And anyone on set could have told you that. Whatever your sources were, you didn’t do due diligence. So you’ll be trying again.”

“Look, buddy, where do you get off giving me orders?”

“By being the star they’d have the hardest time killing off.”

“And by raising good points.” Ned stands, “asking for a flat retraction would reflect poorly on the show, as it would look as if we were trying to hide the truth. This allows you to correct misconceptions as well as get exclusive looks at next season.”

“You’re literally a paid actor, how the hell do I know you aren’t faking these two weeks?” 

“You won’t be spending all your time with him; you’ll be interviewing others as well and have opportunities to observe him without him knowing.” Ned pats Barclays shoulder, “but he will be responsible for introducing you to the rest of the cast” 

Barclay glances at Stern, who lifts an eyebrow with a smirk.

“So. Have fun with that!” 

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

The introduction the next day goes as well as trying to light a match in a hurricane. Stern is polite and professional when Barclay arrives, introduces him to the cast and the main crew without mentioning the article. But it’s clear Barclay’s reputation precedes him.

“You really got Joe figured all wrong.” Duck Newton, who plays good-hearted Sheriff Frank Roosevelt on the show, pulls Barclay aside as Stern and co-star Aubrey Little (who plays Lucille, a plucky young woman with a dark past) get ready to shoot. 

“So everyone keeps saying, but I didn’t make that stuff up. It turned up when I researching him.”

“Don’t mean someone else didn’t just pull it out of their ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Barclay sighs, rubbing his forehead. 

“Look, all I know is Joe’s been nothin but kind a professional to me. I’d even call him a friend. Know he can come off as intimidatin and rigid sometimes, but he’s a good guy.”

Barclay hears variations of this sentiment over and over during the next two days. It’s part of why he’s currently sitting inside his motel room not far from the main set, eating dinner alone. Indrid, the costume designer had actually invited him to eat with a few members of the crew.  Barclay demurred. If the bulk of the people on set think he’s a jerk, he doubts they’ll be that open to getting to know him. Plus, he’s kind of humiliated at how little actual evidence he can find for the claims against Stern, and doesn’t want to give the other man a chance to gloat. 

There’s a knock on the door, and he opens it to find the last person he expects, or wants, to see. 

“Good evening, Barclay.” Out of costume, Stern almost looks ordinary. There’s still the unfair symmetry of his face, the way he makes jeans and t-shirt look somehow sophisticated. 

“Uh, something you need from me?”

Stern looks past him to his cobbled together dinner; Barclay’s a good cook, but the damn room doesn’t have anything more than a microwave. 

“The chance to buy you an actual dinner.”

Barclay’s about to point out that he’s not eating in the commissary tent because of Stern when the actor adds, ���please?”

He grabs his wallet and joins Stern in the still-warm evening air, following him into the few blocks that make up downtown Sagebrush, the former mining town that makes up much of Dual Mesa’s background. He expects them to stop at the Mizpah, the sole fancy hotel and restaurant, but Stern guides him past it and into a kitschy diner. 

They study their menus in silence, the pleather booths squeaking awkwardly whenever one of them moves. 

Barclay orders the burger plate that comes with a slice of pie and Stern, surprisingly goes for an omelette off the all-day breakfast menu.

“Barclay I, well, it’s obvious we got off on the wrong foot. I want you to know that as much as the article upset me, I don’t want you to be miserable while you’re here. No ones going to shun you for what you wrote.”

“Pretty clear they’re all on your side.” Barclay sips his water, meeting Stern’s gaze.

“There don’t need to be sides; you want to write an accurate profile of what it’s like on set, and I want to not have my name dragged through the mud anymore. Those come out to be the same thing.”

“You seem real fucking confident.” Barclay narrows his eyes. 

Stern’s hackles go up, but then he sets his hands on the table with a measured breath, “I don’t pretend to be perfect, Barclay. I’m aware, well aware, of my flaws. But none of those flaws match what you wrote about me. I’m not asking to look untouchable in your piece, I’m asking to look like myself.”

Barclay looks down, spots him nervously shredding his napkin. As he’s thinking, a teenager in a tricolor tank-top approaches the table. 

“Um, sorry, but are you Joseph Stern? The guy who plays agent Hooper?”

Stern smiles, genuine and reassuring, “I am.”

“Could I, uh, get a picture? Like a selfie?” 

“Of course.”

Barclay watches Stern pose with the kid and compliment his pride shirt, before waving goodbye as he scurries back to his table to show his friends the photo.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Stern shakes his head, “It happens pretty often, especially in town where most people know what I look like in my street clothes, so I’m used to it. Besides, for a lot of these kids there’s more than just the celebrity angle. I can count the number of gay, trans, Asian-american actors on T.V when I was kid with one hand,” He holds up a fist to indicate a zero, “if the price of being that person for kids now is posing for some pictures, I’ll pay it any day.”

Warmth blooms in his chest, the sincerity making him want to trade a truth in return, “Yeah, I remember looking for guys like me and not seeing them. I’d just pick a character I liked and kinda projected. Except the X-Files; then I just had a huge fucking crush on Mulder. Oh, thanks.” He smiles at the waitress as she sets his food down.

“I know that feeling. Somewhere there are pictures of me dressed as him for a Halloween party.”

“Heh, I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in ages.” Barclay munches on a fry, “Last three times I went as Bigfoot. It was an easy costume and kept my face hidden.”

“That’s a shame for the other party-goers.”

Barclay coughs, choking on his fry, as Stern blushes, shoves a piece of toast into his mouth, and changes the topic to books. 

The next day, when Barclay arrives on location and everyone is milling about getting ready to shoot, Stern pats the chair near his own and talks with him until he’s needed on camera. Over the next week, Barclay finds himself next to Stern more often than not, comparing notes on the mystery novels they’ve been passing back and forth, or explaining his job moonlighting as a cookbook editor, or listening to the actor describe his travels to the locations of famous cryptid sightings. What surprises him most is how charming he finds Stern when he’s nowhere near a camera. On set, in character as Special Agent Alex Hooper, he radiates the quiet charm that makes his character so beloved. When they’re alone it’s different, a little less polished and little nerdier, and rather than captivating him it makes Barclay want to protect him.

It turns out that slips of the tongue happen to Stern a lot, at least when he’s around Barclay. “Sec” routinely becomes “sex” and comments about Barclay’s size and strength come often, Stern always sheepish afterwards. As if his attention is something Barclay may not want rather than something he craves like a four-course meal. 

When he starts daydreaming about asking Stern back to his motel room after one of their now-regular dinners together (that Stern always pays for), he knows he’s in trouble. 

“Helllloo?” 

He jumps, chuckles in surprise as Aubrey finishes waving her hand in front of his face, “Sorry, was thinking about dinner.’

“I was saying thanks for coming out while we shoot this. I know how hard it can be to pull away from your ‘muse’.” She wiggles her eyebrows and Barclay feels the blush overrun him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll let him figure it out on his own.” Aubrey winks, the groans, “aw fuck here he comes.”

Robert Hayes, who plays the recurring role of Hooper’s supervisor, appears in the grove where they’re shooting a scene with just him and Aubrey. Barclay steps out of frame, Aubrey hissing “don’t leave me” as he does.

“I can’t believe Ned is letting Indrid do more alternative looks for you.”

“It works for Lucille.”

“It would work better if she was more conventionally attractive.”

Barclay growls under his breath; how dare this guy talk to his friend that way?

“Well, obviously not, because the audience likes me like this. And they have opinions worth listening too.”

The tension remains throughout the shoot, Barclay tensing every time Hayes opens his mouth. He pretends to be busy when the actor comes over to join him. 

“I’m glad you’re planning on expanding your take-down of Stern.”

“I never said that. I’m writing about the new season of the show.”

“If you want more information about what he’s really like, I’ll be happy to chat with you in private.” The older man pats his shoulder and heads off to his trailer. 

Barclay waits until he’s gone, then goes to look for Ned. He has a hunch the director might like to know about Haye’s offer. 

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

“...guess Ned put him in his place.” Stern finishes adjusting his tie as the scene sets up, “Sounds like he wanted his character to become the eventual lead, and thought shit-talking me would be the way to go.”

“I’m glad it’s sorted out.” Barclay pretends to be studying his notes so he doesn’t stare too noticeably at Stern’s ass.

“Me too. Thanks, Barclay.” Stern steps onto set, and as Ned begins running through the scene with Stern and the actor playing his (unbeknownst to him) alien lover, Bee, Barclay wishes he’d chosen to be elsewhere. Because this is a sex scene. With Stern. That he will be watching. 

No, damn it, he’s a professional. His butt is staying in this chair.

He makes it through the several takes of the dialogue just fine, starts sweating a little when he kissing begins. Stern’s kisses strike a balance between tender and passionate, perfectly in character, and Barclay would give his right arm to trade places with Bee. 

The action moves to the bed, Stern caressing his lover as they unbutton his shirt.

Okay, now he’d give his right arm and leg to be the one beneath him. 

He reminds himself this airs on TNT, not HBO, so it can’t get much more explicit.

Sterns whole body drips with soft dominance as he pins Bee to the bed, cooing that he’s never seen a finer sight.

Fine, his right arm, leg, and any non-vital organs, he’ll trade them all in a second to hear Stern say that to him, even if it’s only pretend. 

He doesn’t make it through the second take of the bed scene, hurries away as quietly as unobtrusively as he can. There’s no way he can make it to his motel like this, cock pressing so hard against his jeans he’s afraid he’ll end up with a zipper mark. And the bathrooms aren’t exactly private. He does have the key to Stern’s trailer, the actor having given it to him in case he needed somewhere air conditioned to rest from the heat. The trailer that is very nearby.

Does he dare?

The question hardly registers before he’s at the door, unlocking it and ducking inside before anyone sees. He leans against the counter with a groan, unzipping his pants and praying the pre-cum that immediately streaks his hand hasn’t made a noticeable spot in the denim. 

He fumbles around to find some tissues, not wanting to face the humiliation of Stern walking in to find him cleaning cum off of his cabinets (he does actually want that humiliation, and badly, but not without Stern’s consent).

The strokes are hard and fast, his eyes shut so tight he sees static as he imagines Stern behind him, saying how much he wants him, how needy he is, how he’ll take care of him. He grits his teeth, breath leaving him in faint hisses and stifled moans until the temptation to say Stern’s name overwhelms him. 

“Joe, Joe, fuck, Joe.”

“Yes, big guy?” A voice purrs in his ear as hands bracket him against the counter. 

“Fuck” He tries to freeze, finds he’s shaking too much from want and worry to do so. 

“You forgot to lock the door, silly boy. I, however, did not.”

“I’m, I’m sorry, I just needed to, fuck, I didn’t mean for you-”

One hand leaves the counter, strokes the base of his neck and toys with his hair, “what about this suggests I’m angry with this, um, development?”

Barclay whimpers, feet unwilling to turn and look Stern in the eye.

“Should I stop?” The tease goes from his voice.

All he can do is whimper again and shake his head.

The hand leaves his neck, slides down Barclay’s arm to rest atop his hand on the counter. The other takes it’s time snaking down his stomach and hips.

“Poor Barclay, no wonder you had to leave.” His hand nudges Barclay’s aside, takes it’s place around his cock, “you can probably see this thing from space. I’m taking this as a testament to my acting skills.” A laugh as he kisses Barclay’s neck, stroking him slowly. 

“Please don’t say this is acting too.” 

“It’s not.” A kiss to his cheek, a twist along his cock, both making him weak-kneed, “do you know what I was thinking about during that scene? I was thinking about you, what you’d look like if I fucked you. It’s only a quirk of anatomy” he grinds against Barclay’s ass,  “that means I didn’t have a noticeable reaction on camera.”

“Fuck, Joe, more, please I need more of you, all of you, I’m so fucking close.”

The hand on his cock pulls away, “not just yet, big guy. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Uhuh.” He whines, pushing his hips forward to bump his cock along Stern’s hand. 

A light smack on the ass, “behave. Take everything off and wait for me on the bed.”

“Uh huh.” He turns, only for a hand to firmly grasp his chin and force him to stay eye to eye with Stern.

“Try that response again, big guy, with better manners.”

“Y-yes, s-sir, I, I understand.” 

He’s yanked into a demanding, possessive kiss, Stern stroking his cheek approvingly when he releases him, “Good boy. Is this alright?”

“Yes, yesyes, Joe, please, I love it, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, unless you say so. Promise you will if you need to?”

“I swear, cross my heart, babe, please.”

A loving laugh, coupled with a peck on the lips, “bed.”

Barclay strips so quickly he loses his balance, landing on the bed as he fights to pull off his pants. He tries to calm himself by folding his clothes and setting them aside, certain that if he gets more excited he’ll become the first confirmed case of human combustion.

“Hands and knees, please.” 

“Oh fuck me.” 

Stern is standing by the bed, naked from the waist down save for a strap-on, but still in his special agent clothes from the waist up. 

“Do you like the suit, big guy?”

“Yessir.”

“Good to know. Maybe next time I’ll wear the whole thing while I fuck you. Now” he climbs onto the bed, “try to relax for me.”

A condom-covered finger presses against his ass as soon as he’s on his hands and knees, Stern working him open efficiently yet gently until he’s begging for more. Stern ruffles his hair, and then the toy is pushing into him. It’s narrow, so the stretch isn’t too bad, and for a moment he wonders if it will even do much for him. 

“Let me see, if I just-”

“FUCKfuck”  The curve of the toy finds his prostate.

“That’s part of why this is a favorite of mine, it’s so effective” he thrusts harder, “at finding the right spots.”

“Mhhhmmmmm” Barclay bites the pillow to muffle his moans and growls, wiggles his hips as Stern finds his pace. 

“The other reason I like it…”

“SHIT, babe, baby, ohfuck that’s good.” The toy vibrates, sending heat all through him, “fuck, I’m gonna come in like th-thirty seconds from that.”

“Thirty seconds? Let’s see if you’re right, big guy.”

“GaaAAHfuck, Joe, yeah, yeahyesbabeyes.” He gives up on being quiet as the actor rams into him, drops to his elbows when the intensity makes it impossible to anything other than moan and and grunt and take it. 

“That’s it, good boy, let’s see just how hard you are for me” Stern pants as he reaches around, teasing the head of Barclay’s cock, “perfect, you’re doing wonderfully, fuck” a groan of gratification as Barclay spurts across the bed, “messy, god I love making you come apart, even I might make you clean that with you tongue later.”

“Oh god.” Barclay moans, drool staining the pillow, as Stern loops an arm tightly around his waist and grinds, the toy still bumping and rumbling inside his ass.

“Nnn, Barclay, yes, hold out just a little longer, let me get off on this perfect ass.”

Barclay whines, sensitivity overloading his circuits and driving him wild.

“Just a little more big guy, fuck, fuck, lord almighty I’m close, c’mon, you can handle it, you can be good and take me as long as I need.”

“Yes, yes, wanna take you, wanna be yours, wanna serve you.”

“Fuck” Stern doubles over, hips working frantically, “that’s it, good boy, if you’re in this bed you, fuck, your only job is to please me.”

“Yes” Barclay sobs just as Stern moans into his shoulder. When he pulls out, Barclay flops, limp, onto his side. 

“You with me, baby?” Stern wiggles out of the harness, lays so they’re face to face and cups Barclay’s cheek.

“Mmhmm. Fuck” he pulls Stern into a hug, “I can’t believe we just did that. That was fucking amazing.”

“Didn’t take you for the sub type.”

“Everyone always wants me to be big ‘n dommy. Don’t wanna. Wanna be someone’s good boy.” He’s slurring, mind still a bit foggy. 

“You can be mine. In, um in not just a sex way, although it can be just a sex thing if you want it to.”

“Nope” He cuddles him closer, then it hits him, “you’re asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“Please?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes” He kisses him after each answer, making them both laugh. 

“It won’t fuck up your work?”

“I’ll ask Mama what she thinks, we might need to transfer the rest of the article to Thacker. Uh, maybe this is silly but, uh, can I take you to dinner? My treat?”

Stern kisses him, stars in his eyes and a hundred watt smile on his face, “that sounds perfect, big guy.”

[andromedapresley]

dear diary,  

 demeter didn’t show.  

   i guess it was stupid to think she would.  i mean,  it’s fall,  and persephone is with hades so mom is probably off sulking in the wheat fields of idaho and crying or some bullshit like that.  i don’t even know what the fuck they grow in idaho besides potatoes.  i shouldn’t talk shit about idaho,  i’m sure it’s . . . a lovely state.

   anyway.  i’m not mad,  really.  i mean,  they’ve been doing this for thousands of years ;  persephone will always come first.  it would be even more foolish to think mom’s demigod children would be favored over her goddess daughter who quite literally is the reason seasons change.  i don’t want to be favored.  i just want her to show up. 

   i guess it was plausible she’d show come.  she loves a good family feast,  and i made sure there was that sweet potato casserole she likes,  extra marshmallows on the top.  made it just for her this year.  and,  you’d think she’d want to check in on her kids after the whole war,  but oh well.  i mean,  persephone’s a big girl ;  we’re a bunch of kids who just laid down their lives for olympus.  i’m sure she got some of the casserole anyway,  i scraped like half of it into the fire,  but she could’ve actually enjoyed it in person.   

  did i do something to piss her off ?  i mean,  i’m always good to her and the earth,  i thank nature,  i give her my best offerings,  and back home i run a farm by myself for christ’s sake,  what more could she possibly want ?  am i being punished because i,  yet again,  got played by another guy ?  no,  if it were that she’d’ve swooped in here the moment i laid eyes on jesse van houten ;  she’s not ready to have another hades / persephone happen.  then again,  for someone who’s a notorious helicopter mom,  it’s radio silence from her end.  i’m sure she’s just . . . busy.  i dunno.  i mean,  not that i would really listen to her boy advice anyway,  but . . . i dunno.  maybe it’d’ve been nice to have.

   she knows i’m not a fan of the hecatomb tradition ;  the least she could’ve done was send a damn note or something.  i’m still sure it’s not actually a sacrifice ---- chiron slipped about it when i was,  like,  14 because i had an anxiety attack about it.  rough year.  in my defense,  i live on a farm and i don’t fuck with cryptids ;  how’s a 14yo supposed to act when the older kids tell you the whole camp performs a SACRIFICE ????  thought i was damn near about to pass out.  it’s pretty believable,  considering demigods die all the time on quests.  at least i’ve got hard evidence of that.  

   brook sat with me during the feast.  it’s our tradition when apollo comes,  i guess.  it’s been years but i still don’t know how to look at him without blurting out some variation of   ‘ sorry we got lincoln killed four years ago,  we loved him very much and haven’t slept a wink since. ’   yeah,  can’t picture that going well.  sitting with brook makes it easier,  even if we aren’t on great terms yet.  we’re getting there,  i think.  

   i want to sleep it all off.  i just wanna forget today happened and just go about my business.  

                                                                  xx,  andy

[bigskydreaming]

My kingdom for a fic where Dick just full on ignores the fuck out of every reservation, concern and condemnation Bruce has about Jason and his choices after his return, because like this is his brother, the only family member that’s ever come BACK from the dead after Dick’s lost them, and he’s not about to let anything get in the way of that, thanks. 

(But also in this AU Jason didn’t almost kill Tim, because that’s the one thing Dick wouldn’t easily be able to look past or forgive and still be in character, even for the sake of another brother, and its crazy to me that it doesn’t come up more as Dick being like, hey Jaybird, you are Valid for a lot of what you feel and are doing but you were NOT Valid for almost killing Timmy and I can be and am quite rightfully peeved at you for that like wtf bro).

Right, so here, Jason doesn’t do that, and literally everything else he does Dick is more than capable and willing to shrug and go oh is that it? And then blithely resume having a relationship with his little brother wherein they hang out and have movie nights and be obnoxiously competitive, with not a single fuck given about anyone else’s feelings that Dick should not be doing this. 

Meanwhile, the vein in Bruce’s forehead has grown so large its evolved its own consciousness and identity, its name is Vinnie, Vinnie the Vein, and Bruce and Vinnie are of one mind when they’re like “Richard John Grayson, I FORBID you from shenaniganning with your wayward brother until he has ceased his murder sprees.”

And Dick’s just like can’t stop, won’t stop, anyway love to stay and chat but I promised Jay I’d meet him in half an hour and I’m already running late, gotta go love ya lots, byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

Eventually Bruce really tries to put his foot down because its highly unlikely Jason will come in from the cold on Bruce’s terms if Dick keeps ‘enabling’ his brother, mostly because Jason’s not really out IN the cold in the first place as long as the brothers are hanging out, as they do, having a perfectly chill familial relationship whilst waiting for their father to get the hell over himself and also unclench long enough for Timbers to escape the inexorable magnetic pull that is Bruce’s Aura of Contagious Paranoia, and like...come join them on their brotherly outings, it’ll be fun.

And finally Bruce is all, Dick, you realize your brother is killing people, right? And Dick serenely is just like: “Oh is that what all the fuss is about? Gee, I thought it was all just a fight about the proper pronunciation of ‘gif.’ You know how out of control those can get. No shit Jason’s killing people. I’m aware. Also, I don’t care.”

Before Bruce can finish firing up his Righteous Indignation and Judgment and jump in there, Dick continues, ticking points off his fingers one at a time.

“One of my best friends is literally the daughter of Evil, and has on occasions, plural, been evil herself. I couldn’t care less. One of my best friends has a daughter with an internationally infamous assassin who has definitely tried to kill me multiple times, with this quite probably being a violation of some kind of Bro Code. I couldn’t care less. One of my best friends was possessed by evil spirits and did tons of terrible things right before he died and I couldn’t care less when visiting his grave, nor do I care that his dad, an even more internationally infamous assassin than Roy’s baby mama, and who has DEFINITELY tried to kill me multiple times, does lots of terrible things on the regular, both before and after we meet up for coffee every now and then to reminisce about Joey.” 

He comes up for air, refuels his tank, keeps going.

“One of my teammates is an identical duplicate of the former teammate who betrayed us all and almost got us all killed. Its weird and awkward but we make it work. Another one of my teammates was a killer robot that previously murdered one of my dearest friends. SUPER fucking awkward, but again, we made it work. Other things I give no fucks about: the rap sheets of any of my teammates on the Outsiders, the rap sheet of one of your star-crossed lovers, the body count of your other star-crossed lover. I mean sure, I’m a snarky asshole about it, but I’m a snarky asshole about butter pecan pie too. I don’t like, care care. Not like the way you cared about Huntress’ unwholesome methods before I was her booty call, and yet that too played no part in my decision making before I let her hit this. Half of your teammates decided to treat your memory like an Etch-a-Sketch once, but somehow you all managed to make nice again, but not until after the invasive spy satellite you made got hijacked and unleashed an army of killer robots that definitely did kill a metric fuck ton of people. Major Disaster and multiple other Justice Leaguers have done some Very Bad Things, Diana snapped a guy’s neck on candid camera and still isn’t sorry, you play chess every once and a while with a guy who spends half his time as a millennia old demon who has eaten entire fucking civilizations, and do not even get me started on Hal Jordan. Are you starting to see a point here, B?”

Bruce says nothing, but Vinnie the Vein has a shit poker face. Dick sighs.

“And you know what all of those people have in common, Bruce?”

Bruce bites. “What’s that?”

“None of them are my goddamn brother. So if I can figure out a way to coexist in the same sphere as all of that insanely hot mess, I can figure out a way to coexist with my brother, so long as I know and trust he’s still fighting the good fight. Which I do. Do I like that he kills people? No. Does he know that? Yes. Do we fight about it? Occasionally. But know who I’m not gonna let be the reason me and my miraculously back from the dead brother don’t meet up for Taco Tuesday night? A bunch of murderers and rapists, because I wish they were sitting in Cell Block D for the next sixty years instead of dead. End of the day, their lives just aren’t as important to me as my little brother’s, and that may make me all kinds of hypocritical, but I’ll give you three guesses what’s another thing I don’t give a shit about. Now you can go home and spend the night hanging out with your moral convictions, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather spend it hanging out with Jay. And if we’re all done here, buh-bye, I’m late and I wouldn’t want Jay to think I flaked and wasn’t coming, who knows, he might go out and kill people instead.”

And eventually Bruce too pulls his head out of his ass because he can be Unconditionally Moral or he can be Unconditionally Dad but he can’t unconditionally be both, and this was kinda a choice he was supposed to have made back when he first signed on the dotted line that supposedly meant his kids would no longer be pinballing through life looking for someone to unconditionally love and support them, because he was volunteering as tribute to do just that.

And finally Bruce makes nice, or at least actively less hostile, baby steps are sometimes required with superhero cryptid shaped a-holes, and then they all live dysfunctionally ever after. Periodically interrupted by one of them dying and the rest of them besieging Death’s door and banging obnoxiously on it and refusing to let her get any sleep whatsoever until she crankily says none of them are worth this aggravation and she’s not getting paid enough for this shit and tosses their recently deceased relative on their ass back on the mortal coil just to be rid of the annoying pests.

[v5hadow]

I feel like killing the eco-terrorist and incinerated with HEAT VISION the plants kill that eco-terrorist, poison ivy ,pamela isley kill like injustice 2 and you harley x ivy stans like as a useful idiot ,communist ,dictatorship lesbians and pro-feminist and thank you and you ruin my childhood and patrick schumacker should go to hell communist bastards and how am I ashamed and disgusted by you?

Oh wow. I got fandom hate for something I don't even interact with all that often? Like, as in I sometimes will like a picture or something? Definitely not enough to call it something I stan. Wow, I'm just lost for words on why this was directed at me. Is it that I'm also into solarpunk? It is, isn't it? This ain't even zadr or shallura or insert 5 other ships I can come up with off the top of my head that I more actively support that have a fairly large anti community known for hunting even the lightest of shippers. This is a not uncommon ship in literally any circle I've ever run in or others in similar tropes. And I definitely have been mildly active in those other fandoms, and definitely not at all here. I've done some Jay/Tim pieces years ago at this point and that's it in pretty much all of the DC universe. So not sure why you are aghast from my trace amounts of PoisonQuinn which I didn’t even make.

But in no particular order: I'm a non-binary ace, and however much some of my fellow queers and other LGBT like to erase my identity, I'm not going to care if others identify as lesbian or bi (one of the most common interpretation for Harley I see normally). In fact I'll help them embrace it 95% of the time. I've had several of my D&D characters incidentally be LGBTQ (my favorite is bisexual because of a poor dice roll made into the roleplay for a better outcome), because exploring that is something at least mildly interesting. I'm generally considered some where on the socialist spectrum, as capitalism is good to an extent but everyone should be able to access basic needs first. But if you aren't big into understanding economic system differences I can see how you'd make that mistake, as I'm not even quite sure where I fall in it outside of not communism. I'm pretty against single leaders, even single groups being in charge, that results in minorities being destroyed one way or another, whether literal death or policies that kill their communities (or ability to form them). Don't even like the 2 party system the US uses for most purposes. And I am not going to deny being a feminist? I generally hope to be of the same vein as Liana Kerzner, not extremist but not not feminist. You know, keeping in mind there are things men can't do that they should be able to/biases against them, along with those against women. A lot of people who hold these beliefs have transitioned to other words as the extremists have changed some of the meaning. I'm called a demon/possessed by a devil because of my panic attacks so this isn't out of the ordinary for me. And in most forms of Christianity I'm bond for hell anyways since I don't believe in jesus/their singular Trinity God, so come up with something new. As for being a useful idiot, there is no good way to refute that, as we are all extremely influenced by the world around us, to the point we may not be conscious of. Am I unconsciously spreading those ideals? Maybe, but I hope talking (assuming we are talking and not yelling or whatever), like I love to do if given a chance, will let people see the nuance of the opinion, or make me think further on my opinions and change them. Because liking a single thing does not mean I agree with all the opinions that you've stereotyped into that. A single soundbyte does not a full person's opinion make. Even self-identified labels are a little murky if we aren't coming from the same understanding of what they mean.

I had to look up who that was just for context, because seriously I don't pay attention to the canon things unless I'm in a mood for it. I haven't watched a lick of the show that isn't just clips out of context. I wasn't aware they fully went this route in the show. This pairing has just been something in fandom for years, whether you knew it or not. But you probably should have been at least tangentially aware because I’m pretty sure they are married in Injustice 2 (maybe? When I said I don’t do much with canon shit I meant it. I only finished the first one, never played the second). In some sectors of the fandom sometimes form a triad with Selina (Catwoman) too, because the Gotham Sirens are a curious little band that have been around for decades.

Thanks for the opinion but I do not need to consider yours, except to tag appropriately, when we are talking about completely fictional adults. So you can be safer or keep out of things you don't enjoy. Also, indirect thanks for the suggestion on the next sketch I do. I'd been safely doing hybrid creatures and cryptids (read: Irkens, primarily Irkens) in the minimal free time I have but now the next will be PoisonQuinn just to spite you.

[i-am-masterkittens]

You better prepare yourself cause these are Quite A Few Questions 👀👀 3, 4, 11, 12, 15, 21, 23, 31, 33, 39 and lastly 40. Wow. 11 questions lmao

Thank you so much 😭😭❤

3. rant. just do it (I am going to put my whole ass rant under the cut because BOY IS IT LENGTHY. Also tw child abuse, pedophilia, self-harm and I think that’s it.)

4. do you think its ok to separate the artist from the art? No? Like I guess if you want to, that’s fine, I’m not gonna hate you for it, but for me personally I’m gonna try to avoid it as much as possible. If a bad person creates a masterpiece, I’m still not gonna support them.

11. what unusual talent do you have? Uhh mild body contortion? Like I can’t touch my toes for the life of me but I can twist my body really weirdly and bend all my fingertips backwards by a lot. I love freaking people out by doing that.

12. what’s the most interesting schools gossip you’ve ever heard? I have audio-based problems meaning I have trouble understanding someone when they speak and also remembering what they said, so I can eavesdrop on the juiciest gossip and forget the next day. However, I do remember this one thing about some kid named Evan being a vampire, which I distinctly remember because Jake talked about it, but I don’t remember how it came up.

15. what’s a question do you constantly get asked? One would think it would be “omg are you left handed?” Or something similar, but I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me about it. One question I do get a lot is from my boyfriend, “why are you so cute?” It makes me shy and I have to hide my face.

21. what’s a conspiracy you believe in? That there are Warrior cats living somewhere in the world (from the warrior series). Which I guess isn’t a conspiracy, but I believe in it!

23. if you could break one of your bad habits which would you choose? The inability to take care of myself. I mean, if someone wasn’t there to remind me every day, I would never remember to take my medicine, or brush my teeth before bed, or even get dressed half the days. I wouldn’t call it lazy, it’s more of a “I’m too tired to take care of myself”. That’s mental illness for you babey!!

31. you can change one thing in your life right now. what are you changing? OH. I would totally delete every disease in the world. This whole quarantine thing is making me sick physically, emotionally, and mentally, because I am not allowed outside at all and the lack of fresh air, meeting people, and vitamin D is stressing me out and well I feel bad almost all the time now. Not to mention all the cool stuff I was gonna do for my 2020 graduation. 😔

33. what do you think about a lot I sometimes wonder if my best friend would let me call him Jakey or Jakie as a nickname but I’m too shy to ask because I am baby.

39. describe your asthetic Okay so I call it “Pretty-Cryptid, Baby-Softcore.” Because I am baby AND a cryptid. I’ll be eating baby carrots from the bag and staring out the window one minute then I’ll want to be snuggled under lots of blankets the next. I also really love pretty things and colors. Pastel purples and blues? Hell yeah! Pats on the head? I love you. A demon with ethereal vibes and pretty jewelry is standing next to me in bed and telling me everything’s going to be okay? OGHOHOHHHHGH ❤❤❤❤ Anyway I want a pretty monster dad, please?

40. answer with one of your ‘school memes’ (inside jokes you have with your class/grade) with no explanation Mr. Wise.

Here’s my rant:

The basis of it all is just that I would probably sleep forever if I could.

I guess that isn’t all quite a rant, so I’ll start of on a mild note. What the fuck is happening to my dreams? I’ve been having these weird ass dreams about people taking care of me and genuinely wanting to become a parental figure to me. They all wear masks, two of which look exactly like SCP-035 and SCP-049, but there’s this one dude, I don’t know him, but he wears this mask with holes in it. Apparently his name is Jason? This isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream about someone who I didn’t know existed, I’ve also had dreams about Monika from DDLC before I knew who she was, and even about how she died. It was creepy as fuck, and I sure hope my dreams don’t come true because I’ve had dreams of the future more than once.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into the heavy stuff, starting with my parents.I know I’m not the only person to have shitty parents, but that doesn’t stop them from being shitty. And before I get into anything, please please, please don’t report them to anyone. It’s probably weird to hear considering all they’ve done, but the guilt will probably kill me literally, and I still kinda love them, I mean they’re my parents and they took care of me. I don’t want anything to happen to them, and I don’t want to have to hurt myself because I did something to them, even if it was indirectly.

It used to be physical abuse, but it’s evolved into verbal as I grew up. Whenever I used to get in trouble, I would get so fucking terrified of what was going to happen to me. My dad, who was mostly absent from my life, (hence my constant wishing for a fictional character to be my dad, and probably a HUGE factor for what’s happening to my dreams lately) was also the most heavy handed with the hitting. He would spank me so hard that I would be crying and my butt would be red for hours. And it was so SO obvious that he liked my sister more than me, because it was always me who ended up with the red butts, and she’d get away with a loud yelling at. Meanwhile my mom would just hit me wherever she could with whatever she could, including a wire coat hanger when she was doing laundry.

And I recognize that I was a problem child, both physically and mentally because of my internal deformities that cause a lot of health problems, but also my weird boyish mentality and energy (I was into roughhousing a lot). But even then, just yelling would be enough to make me stop. Hitting me the way they did only made me learn how to lie to them and hide when I did something wrong.

This sort of stuff went on until about middle school, where it turned into more verbal threats about kicking me out of the house, as well as calling me names and making comments that dropped my self esteem very low, including stupid cow, bitch, and even telling me to hide my body and never wear bikinis or short shorts or crop tops (which I was already sensitive enough about because of my scars and the bump in my abdomen because of my knotted intestines, which gives me digestive issues if I eat too much). Dad almost completely dropped off the disciplinary train, only yelling at me extremely loudly when he got angry, but other than that I did pretty much nothing with him.

Because of them I’ve become extremely paranoid when it comes to touches that aren’t meant to be 100% comforting, and I’ve never been able to fully trust anyone for fear of getting hurt, (I’m sorry Jake :( if it makes you feel better though I trust you the most out of anyone else) and I get nervous when speaking up because I always got shot down by my parents.

It’ll be okay though because I have my boyfriend who I’ll get to live with soon, even if it’s just for the summer.

This isn’t everything that they’ve done, but it’s the majority of it, and even though they do good stuff with me sometimes, like my dad cooks breakfast or takes us out to eat, or we all go on nice vacations together, and it makes me feel guilty that I’m making them look bad, and worry that I’m oversharing or being too sensitive, but then I remember what they do and have done, and remind myself that I’ll only visit during holidays.

When I was 13, I came into contact with a pedophile. My first one out of at least 2 that I remember. I’m going to spare the details, but he tried to roleplay sexual situations with him, and convince me to undress in front of him, and that’s when I cut contact with him, and faked my death. I’m so, SO fucking sick of pedos, and pedo apologists, saying there’s nothing wrong with the age difference, when pedophilia has done nothing good to or for children. It gave me severe PTSD, to the point that I can’t say any words relating to reproduction, and visual-based sexual content will cause me to have flashbacks and panic attacks and cause me to scratch myself. Thanks pedos! Fucking hate you all! Please die.

And before people say I am overreacting, I’ve had this huge trigger since I was 13 and that is not something a kid should go through. And the reason why not a lot of people know about what happened, it’s because of the fear that I harbored, that people would laugh at me, and might use my triggers against me, which made things even worse, and it wasn’t until my boyfriend triggered me (accidentally) that I finally told someone, and it made me feel better that I could rely on him.

Other than that, another rant is about my boyfriend. I mean, he’s a good boyfriend, and he’s nice, but sometimes he comes off as insensitive and it makes me upset. That’s most of the reasons why we fight. Another big thing is lack of affection/attention, which might seems strange since we’re always hanging out, it seems, and cuddling, but sometimes he falls asleep on me and I get bored and don’t know what to do, or sometimes he ignores me to play video games or talk to other people. I am very touch starved so I need constant attention and contact or else I get worried, and I don’t know if he knows this or not, but he definitely comes off as ignorant sometimes. 

He makes up for a lot of stuff he does, but it doesn’t make what he did go away, and I wish he’d realize that and change because he keeps making the same mistakes.

My last rant is going to be about myself, and that I feel like a shit person! I feel like I always make things worse! I feel bad for every decision I make! I feel like I’m too clingy to my boyfriend and that I ask too much of him sometimes, and it makes me feel like shit because what I want and how I feel afterwards are different things and wow! Time for scratches! Also I want to have the power to always know what to do and say to make everyone happier and feel better! But then I get scared I’m gonna make a mistake and instead of trying to help I ignore them and go wow! I am a very shit person for ignoring them! And now my heart hurts because I got another heart palpitation by panicking! Wow I have a shit body! My heart deformities might kill me in my sleep! Wow! I am so insecure about everything I do and every way I look. I just want to become small and disappear sometimes. I miss you Jake. It’s hard for me to tell you I love you because it’s such an intimate phrase and my boyfriend was the first to hear it from me. But I’m glad you’re the second, even though we were so close to it. Somewhere in an alternate universe we’re together, and that makes me happy. I hope I we can become platonically intimate again, I remember holding your hand at night and it made me feel a little bit better at that camp.

My body just always hurts. I have to take a lot of medicine, and between all my heart, lung, and intestinal issues, on top of all my mental issues, majority of which have gone undiagnosed because my mom is in denial and refuses to get me to any sort of therapy; all of that combined makes me tired constantly, and I just always have stress, and a little headache in the back of my head.

I’m still hurting a lot, but I hope to get better. I have lots of ideas for the future, and I want to complete them before I go. I hope I make it past 2020, with many of you in tow.

I’m so tired.

I’m sorry if I made you sad.

[jupiterjunebug]

heyyyyyy you said to ask you bout them hcs about the councils war crimes.... and this is me..... asking away.... blease give me the hcs.... blease...

i was going to write like 200 words but here I am. here i am with a 1.5k word fuckin. Essay with multiple citations. Under cut because I Apologize For Being Like This.

Alright buckle in motherfuckers it’s time for my long andprobably fuckin’ stupid waxing poetic abt the political ramifications ofsylvains current…everything.

“But the worse that things got in Sylvain, because of thehumans, the stricter their laws got. And today they got some pretty draconianlaws in effect governing who can and can’t live there. And the outcasts, wellthey don’t really got anywhere to go.” That’s Mama, in the third episode ofAmnesty, talking about how sylphs ended up at Amnesty in the first place.

We never get an answer as to what EXACTLY “draconian” means. @transagentstern theorizes it’s in the form of a one child policy (hence whydani’s on earth, she has a brother), someone else said it might be a form ofsubspecies racism, my person hc both joking and serious is everyone got ousted forshit like jaywalking and littering. Either way, we’re first introduced to thelaws of sylvain as “they’ll take any opportunity to throw someone off the boatif it means it sinks slower.”

Then we meet Janelle and Vincent, who are NICE, and we meetwoodbridge who’s an ass, and we meet Alexandra who thinks Aubrey should go die.Woodbridge and Alexandra both Don’t Like Humans, but Woodbridge is so goddamnforgettable I deadass forgot he was a character until I started reading ficwhere he got brought up, and Alexandra’s the “im eleven so shut the fuck up”meme and also never onscreen.

The ones onscreen are Janelle and Vincent! Who are nice!Janelle mentor-figures Aubrey despite not having time, and Vincent asks forDVDs of human shut cuz he likes them, and it’s all good. It’s all jokes.

They’ve got some pretty draconian laws in effect.

It would be easy to blame all those laws on Woodbridge, whohates humans, and whose title as “Minister of Preservation” could be taken as“guy in charge of this awful triage situation.” You could blame it on Alexandraor the past Interpreters, and say that whatever they’re interpreting boileddown to “tell all the people that snowboard without a license that they have toleave.” You could say that “today” doesn’t mean they passed the WORST of thelaws recently, but that 200 years ago the laws were shit and they just got MOREshit recently (I do say this, actually, more on that later). That would meanit’s not even the current ministers faults! I mean, except maybeeee Woodbridge cuzhe’s a ghost and his “business” to finish before passing on might deadass besitting at sylvains sickbed until it dies or a miracle cure comes in.

Even if they didn’t make all the laws, even if they didn’tmake ANY of the laws, they still enforce them. Vincent might have a good funconvo with Aubrey about Shrek, but he and Woodbridge and the Interpreter andHell probably Indrid when he was around to some degree, and Janelle who isn’tblameless even if she was too busy reading her books to really pay attention atthe trials. They all still enforce them.

Like I said, this is an awful triage situation. It’s hard,living on a planet that’s in its death throes. They have to do something to keep people alive as longas possible, even if they AND all of the people on sylvain KNOW that it’sfutile you can’t just give up. But, you know, establishing a dictatorship whereyou can get exiled for reasons Mama considers “draconian,” well that’s. That’skinda. It’s not QUITE a war crime, and I’m not sure how else they would’vesolved the issue, but that’s the backdrop of this situation. Sure, Janelle andVincent are nice, but they or one of vincent’s subordinates were probablypersonally responsible for jake coolice getting ousted from sylvain, or atleast they didn’t stop woodbridge from doing it.

OK so step one is “we’re kicking half of our population out,we need to do this, this is the lesser of two evils.” Step two is “where do wesend them?”

The only option other than Earth or execution that I canthink of would be The Corrupted Lands. Now, kneejerk reaction is Earth soundscomparatively awesome for the exiles, yeah? Death is death, and The CorruptedLands would be WORSE than death cuz you end up infected with the Quell and allthat junk. At least on Earth you don’t end up, like, losing your entirepersonality and goi-

Barclay: Anotherday or so and we’re gonna start losing the stuff that we know and love aboutour friends Dani and Jake and Moira and the whole team here. So, as quick aspossible would be better.

Ned: What do youmean “losing stuff”? Are they gonna start dyin’!?

Barclay:Eventually, but before that happens they’re gonna start going a little bit…well, I guess, feral is the word.

Wow thanks for that reminder, this convo from Amnesty ep. 10that just started playing in the room all by itself. That’s right! Sylphs thatdon’t have crystals (like Indrid does, and Barclay is shown holding in thefirst ep, and we know do SOMETHING bc Indrid’s fine and Barclay doesn’t includehimself when talking about ppl going feral. So either that or somethingsomething Indrid and Barclay aren’t sylphs that’d be a whole ‘nother hc post imstopping that here) spend days slowly losing their will to live, then becomeuncontrollably violent, and then die!

But that won’t happen and the council knows that becauseAmnesty Lodge exi-

“-And the outcasts, well they don’t really got anywhere togo.” Thanks Mama. The Lodge wasn’t built on Sylvain’s orders. Every gateprobably DOESN’T have a convenient hotspring that prevents people from losingtheir goddamn minds, because look at that phrasing. They don’t have anywhere togo. The Council had no PLAN for where the exiles would end up, and in Kepler itjust so happens somebody else decided to MAKE a plan.

Techniiiically, before Kepler all the sylphs that weren’tgiven crystals could’ve been executed or sent to the CL. But I don’t think so.And the reasons why the councilmight’ve chosen to send people to earth instead of the other two optionsdepends on your interpretation.

It could be that they didn’t like the idea of having toactually square up and kill people like big kids, so they decided to exilethem. It could be that, while the thought of someone going feral on earth mightSUCK, there’s a CHANCE exiles might stumble on someplace like Amnesty, whereasthe CL WILL make you bonkers, and not the Dr. Harris kind, 100% of the time.More pragmatically, they might’ve been worried about executed people turning upas ghosts, and people in the CL coming to attack the wall.

Or it could be, yanno. War crimes.

Woodbridge hates humans. Granted, it seems like he hateseveryone. But his introduction to the show is literally him looking at the PGand saying “Hi, yes. I ensure the survival of our kind in the wake of yourworld’s countless ruthless assaults.” Alexandra’s not fond either, as herthoughts say: “I wish [Aubrey] would stop coming here. It’s her world’s faultthat Sylvain is dying in the first place.”

How recently did they start exiling people? Was it less thanthirty years? More than thirty years? I like to think it was more. In episode6, Dani says that her type of sylph gets a bad rap because some of her kind hasdrunk peoples’ blood to get more energy. The perception that vampires drinkblood has been around……….a long time.

Sure, that idea could’ve been around during/before theassault on sylvain when some dipshit sylphs just left of their own accord andthen decided to drink people for yolos. Or it could mean that people have beenexiled for a WHILE, and the fact that the laws got more “draconian” just meansMORE people have been exiled now.

A lot of non-violent cryptid sightings happening a long timeago could be chalked down to sylph that WEREN’T exiled goin’ and doin’ stuff,but killing someone to feed smacks of desperation OR being the sort of personthat hated humans so much that the first solution to “im hungry” was “im goingto eat a person.”

Either way. Picture this. Thirty-five years ago, the gate toKepler isn’t open. The gate to NYC is open.A sylph gets pushed out of it. There’s no springs, or if there is there’s noMama to guide them there. No Mama to help them fit in. They go feral in the middle of New York, or in the middleof where the gate before New York was, or the gate before that, or the gatebefore-

You get stories about monsters like the Jersey Devil,monsters that kill midwives and children. La Llorona, who drowns little kids,might look like Dani up close.

Sylvain is dying, and they’re at the rationing stage. TheCouncil has to know what happens tosylphs that don’t eat. The Councilhas to know they’re pushing people that might try to murder and eat humans intoa populated space. The Council has to know that they’re pushing people thatmight try to murder and eat humans into a space populated by a race thatdestroyed their planet.

Killing two birds with one stone.

[rageprayer]

get to know your followers 💕

i got tagged by @plutosmoons, thank you so much! ^___^

Rules: Answer the questions (which you can change if you don’t feel like answering certain questions) then tag 20 followers you want to get to know better!

1. Nickname? i've never had a cool nickname but people in school used to call me gluten (or any variation of rye/wheat/oat boy) because my surname in my language literally means 'an ear of wheat' :') i actually liked it just because it was a running joke between all of us

2. Gender? male. i'm trans too

3. Star sign? taurus sun scorpio moon leo rising

4. Height? i'm 164cm which is like, almost 5'4 i think? i'm a smol boy

5. Favorite feature? i'm just gonna list some things i like about my body ok are you ready - my pupils are always slightly asymmetrical, and noone knows why. it happened around the time i started getting migraines and my right one is constantly slightly more dilated than my left. it's just a neat random thing that looks cool - my nose. i have hands down the best nose from my entire family and i'm damn proud of it, it's cute - my hands and lower arms in general, i've always liked them but i have like. visible veins on there now which is.. my kink tbh. i have really small wrists and my forearms are covered in scars which i used to hide but i love them now and i'd never get rid of them, even if i could. i also really like the shape of my nails. - i've been on t for so long that my midsection/hip area and neck/shoulders/arms actually have some definition to them now and ngl, it's kinda hot. i constantly stare at myself in mirrors @__@

6. Favorite plant? i fucking love plants, all of them. BUT my favourite ones are any that have purple leaves instead of green, they're like the goths of the plant world and i want some in the epic garden i'm gonna have someday. in terms of flowers i am obviously in love with roses and anything that blooms dark purple or black, but also dandelions! they are rays of sunshine and the fact that they're so common just adds to the magic. joy really is everywhere my favourite trees are pine trees - they smell amazing, and poland is covered in pine forests so they just really remind me of home and i feel connected to them. my favourite plant of mine that i'm growing (i love them all equally though, they're my children) is currently my tomato bush because like, it's turned into an actual bush. it's only in a box on the balcony but i had to put a stick in there to support it because of how big it is. and i grew it from seed too :o

7. Favorite animal? dogs! i will always have at least one dog, i love dogs with my whole heart and i want several when i have my own place and space for them all :D some other animals i really like are rats, bats, spiders and ants

8. Favorite Bands? What have you been listening to lately? i'm changing this because i suck at picking favourites. i actually haven't been discovering much new music lately; in terms of albums, it's been type o negative's october rust and bloody kisses, and this fabulous remaster of depeche mode's violator (i am IN LOVE with what they did to personal jesus at the end, seriously. so good. if you scroll down the comments far enough there's some people hating on it but honestly? i don't know music and it all sounds gr8 to me so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) i'm not religious at all, but i discovered this collection of russian hymns and it's one of the most haunting and beautiful things i've heard in a while. the fact that i can kind of half understand the words just adds to the mysterious magical feel it has. i really like the first one on there, and it kind of makes me wish i could sing in any way because like, it's SO beautiful, i actually had a dream about it. also lots of adam lambert, placebo, some random fifth harmony songs from the reflection album and helena by mcr because it was stuck in my head all day yesterday >__< (yes, i am perfectly aware that there is no coherency here. i thrive on chaos)

9. Dogs or cats? dogs all the way, but i can apprecieate a good cat. i'm not one of those weird cat haters

10. Number of blankets you sleep with? two, and i hug pillows because i'm l o n e l y

11. What’s your dream trip? somewhere warm because i am so. tired. of whatever the heck this is and i need the sun. i'm thinking warm but not too tourist-y? if i do go somewhere, i want to see interesting things but also be surrounded by nature. honestly take me anywhere though. surprise me. i love going places and i have no expectations show me a big rock or something and i'll be like !! WOW

12.  What’s your dream job? i have no idea .___. i know i want to be self-employed eventually because the perspective of having to arrange my entire life around strict work hours is depressing at best, but i don't know what i actually want to do

13. When did you make this account? i don't remember precisely, i know it was a few months before i started using it so i'm guessing sometime in summer 2017

14. How many followers do you have? i'm choosing to keep that a mystery, but my follower count is actually quite close to the number of people i follow so that's cool

15. How many pets do you have? I HAVE A DOG i love him so much he's an angel <3

16. Best places to visit in your town or country? my town isn't the biggest or most exciting place to be, but we do have a very nice central area with some impressive views over the river, a very old cathedral, some good cafes poland is mostly fields and forests, we have the sea up north and mountains at the bottom, and a cool lake region too

17. Favorite ice cream flavor? mint chocolate chip, pistachio, coconut and lemon sorbet. anything fruity is good too

18. How often do you read? not nearly as often as i used to. i read things on the internet all the time but i haven't touched a book in a few months, and i don't really have the attention span for it anymore. which is sad because i used to regularly take things out from my school's library and i loved reading so much, my brain just doesn't work like that nowadays. it's also really hard to find interesting books without some hetero bullshit in them, but maybe i'm just looking in the wrong places

19. Favorite study locations? this is irrelevant because i'm not in school anymore lmao

20. Favorite book series? Favourite movie? yes, i’m that bitch that chooses films over books. fight me about it. i’m sure you’ve all seen me post about it, but my current obsession is the lost boys. i actually wasn’t that impressed by it the first time i saw it, but it really grew on me when i realised just how gay it was. gay vampires are like. My Thing and the tension between david and michael is SO there i just can’t unsee it. it was filmed in the 80s too so it has that sligthly odd vibe to it and i love the idea of a group of vampires on motorbikes so much, it’s so cool

Now tag 20 of your followers! i'm tagging 13 of you because i do what i want (no pressure though, you absolutely do not have to do this if you don't feel like it)

@sinistergouache @bugzrule @cerise-cutie @gendermenace @bitchinpoison @softvamps @necrocomicon @garbage---rat @sableyesmaw @queer--cryptid @gutlessghostboy @killrot @that-spooky-boy

i'm also officially tagging any of my followers who aren't mutuals but see this and want to do it anyway, go for it!

[halfhumanscribe]

Novel Corp. - Orientation (2/3)

SYNOPSIS:  Some people will do anything to get a job and keep.   Sometimes it means doing things you don’t want to, sometimes its being part of something that doesn’t make any sense. RATING: M - MATURE (Language, Violence, Horror Elements) ORIGINAL PUBLISHING YEAR:  2012

WORD COUNT:  3546

Part 1 - Click Here Part 3 - Click Here

Novel Corp. - Prelude by Inganno Orientation (2/3)

He groaned slightly as the darkness began to dissipate from all around him. The first thing he noticed as the light slowly flooded back onto him, was the strange stomach ache that was gnawing at his insides. It must have been something he had eaten that morning. Next time he wouldn’t indulge himself so much on his mother’s homemade cinnamon rolls. Too much sugar on those things. It was no wonder he was about to go over the 190lbs mark. Perhaps it’s back to eating salad and and greens for him, though they weren’t quite as tasty.

“Wait a second,” he thought to himself, “wasn’t I just in a job interview… didn’t he…?”

His eyes shot open, trying to figure out what had happened. His pupils did their best to try and adapt to the bright environment around him, but he was only gifted with an irritation as the brightness shined down all around him.

“What’s going on!?” he screamed. “Where am I?” Reinhold looked left, right, and all around him. The events from earlier were beginning to come back to him. “Oh Jesus, he shot me! Am I dead?”

“Yes, Mr. Eckhart,” answered a deep feminine voice beside him. “Heaven is actually an old abandoned Chinese takeout restaurant. Didn’t you know?”

His eyes switched to a middle aged Asian woman in the chair next to him. She wore a blood stained butcher’s apron, and was quietly enjoying a cigarette.

“I hope you don’t mind if I smoke,” she said to Reinhold with a slight accent. “It’s a filthy habit I know, but as long as Donald keeps it up, I just can’t control myself. Do you smoke?”

Reinhold looked at her with confusion, and slowly shook his head.

“You should,” the woman replied back to him, “it’ll get you to try new things, and the tobacco in these things are just to die for. Definitely not for everyone, but they certainly help to unwind. Shame about the nicotine in the paper ones – it’s why I switched over to electronic. There’s a lot less hassle with them, and it helps me with quitting too.” She let out a stream of smoke, and watched it disappear into the air. “I guess cigarettes aren’t as exciting for you though. Especially with the trace amounts of lysergic acid diethylamide I found in your system.”

Reinhold still held confusion on his face as he listened to the woman drone. What on Earth was she even talking about?

She noticed the bewilderment he had, and grinned. “Lysergic acid diethylamide: Acid. The recreational kind.”

“How did you…?” Reinhold began to ask as he sat up.

“I wouldn’t do that,” she said standing from her chair in slight concern.

Reinhold cocked his head and quickly asked, “why?” When he looked down at himself, he found himself naked, with his body covered in blood. The first shock sent a chill down his spine and his heart into a tizzy. But it wasn’t until he saw noticed that his chest cavity was open to the outside air and that he could actually see his heart beating in front of him that the second shock hit in – and it was a doozy.

“FUCK!” he screamed as loud as he could. He tried to pick himself up, but the woman grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back down onto the counter he was laying on top of. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!” he continued to scream. “I CAN SEE MY OWN HEART BEATING!”

“Surreal, isn’t it?” the woman spat through her teeth, using all her strength to hold Reinhold down onto the counter. “Now shut up, and quit moving or you’re going to end up killing yourself.” He didn’t listen and continued to squirm beneath her grasp. She groaned and murmured: “I was hoping we’d be done by the time you woke up, but I guess your a curious cookie, aren’t ya?”

“LET ME GO!” Reinhold screamed. “FUCKING LET ME GO!”

“If I do that,” she began to explain, “you’ll get up and run away with your chest wide open, and then all your organs will fall out, and you’ll die literally a shell of your former self. Do you want that, Mr. Eckhart?”

Reinhold froze when he heard that. No, the prospect of that didn’t sound pleasing in the least bit. In fact, it sounded horrifically painful. More so then he ever thought possible. He took a deep breath and went limp. Her scare tactic seemed to work. Whatever was happening, maybe if he let her continue to do what she was doing, he would escape… somehow.

“Good boy,” she sighed with relief, “now just lay there and let them do a majority of the work while I go get the paperwork for your employment. We’ll fill it out the rest of what you missed together.”

Employment? Reinhold remembered he had gotten the job from earlier. Was this part of the hiring procedure? Even more so, what did she mean by “them?”

He observed his surroundings. Sure enough, she was right. He was in what looked like a small rundown Chinese takeout place. The windows had been covered up with newspaper though, and several laptop computers were placed on all the tables. Two people that he could see from the corner of his eye were busy typing away, while he heard another person on the phone in the alcove right around the corner. Surreal, indeed, especially with his chest wide open.

He looked down at his open cavity and tried to look at his insides. A wave of nausea began to come over him, and he could see his stomach gurgle with displeasure from it. He then felt something sliver along the underside of it, and watched his organs push up slightly, before laying low again. It then poked up from behind his kidney: a black slimy eel like serpent, slithering its way along the outside of his body before burying itself back into him. Another serpent of sorts – a white one this time – showed up its head momentarily as it pulled something up out of him with its razor sharp teeth, and began to chew on the still connected piece of flesh.

Reinhold felt his face go cold. He turned his head over to the counter edge and wretched out his breakfast from earlier. It certainly didn’t taste that bad when it was going down.

“Don’t worry about that,” the woman said from the far end of the restaurant kitchen. “Happens all the time to the new recruits whenever they see Cleaners inside of them.”

“Cleaners?”

“You bet,” she answered, sitting back in her chair, now with a clipboard and pen with her. “They were originally an idea by Dr. Norris Stanwood back in the late 1800s. He wrote a small story over it, disguising it as a medical find. Apparently, people didn’t get the memo that it was meant to be a satire, and they took it as truth. Lo and behold, it created rumors, then false sightings, and then the real deals were eventually brought into reality at around mid 1920s. Donald’s great grandfather was the one who discovered them. He was the head of this place at the time, so he trademarked them, and they’ve belonged to Novel Corp. ever since, classified as a D-rank figment.”

Reinhold didn’t know what she was talking about again. Norris Stanwood? Cleaners? D-rank figment? He had his chest open as it was. He didn’t need anymore additional confusion under his belt.

“Sorry about that,” she said, noticing his confusion. “I’ll explain the Cleaners. Basically, they go into your system and clean out any unnecessary bacteria or enzymes that might be detrimental to your body. Cholesterol, blood clots, minor infections, other things like that. We give em to all our new recruits. It’s what Donald shot you with. They start off the size of a maggot and then grow over the span of an hour or two to the size of snakes. Also, the moment they enter your body, they release a slime that numbs the area so they can began work on the cleaning. It’s kind of interesting to watch.”

She stood up from her seat again and looked down into his body. “You see, the black one actually surfs around your body looking for the negative enzymes, and alerts the white one of its location so that it can eat them. The white one lives through those enzymes, while the black one lives off the blood in your body. It’s a strange symbiotic relationship. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Reinhold quickly shook his head. “No,” he yelled. “No it’s not! I CAN SEE MY OWN HEART BEATING! How is that supposed to be fascinating!?”

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed, “spoiled sport.”

“And what do you mean by figments?” he asked immediately after wards.

The woman sat back down in her seat, adjusting herself comfortably and brushing some of her dirty and dark locks out her sight. “Novel Corp. specializes in the investigation, collection, and sometimes termination of potential entities created and/or brought into existence by the average human, AKA figments. The Cleaners are just good examples.” She hoped he understood that, but knew he more than likely didn’t. “Look, all you need to know is that unlike the other organizations which chase the paranormal, aliens, and cryptids, we go after things that are brought into the world by human creation simply using their imagination. Does that make sense?”

Reinhold shook his head.

“Of course it doesn’t,” she groaned. “Let’s just take care of this paperwork before we get into the full job description alright?” She clicked her pen open and placed it down on the first bit of the file. “First off, what’s your full name?”

The man brought his hands up and waved them in front of his opening. “I can see my own heart beating,” he squeaked out in a pathetic tone. “What about that do you not get?”

“Full name, please.”

Reinhold sighed and let his head fall back onto the counter. He still didn’t know what was going on. He had so many questions, but knew he wasn’t going to get any of them answered at the moment. “My name is Reinhold Tucker Eckhart.”

She scribbled it down the best she could. “Alright then. We got your birthday and social security information already, so we can just skip past those. Address is all set too. Race… African American. Drugs?” She peaked up at him and smiled. “Well we know you’ve done acid, so that’s checked. Anything else I should be aware of? And this includes alcohol mind you.”

Reinhold felt himself grow nervous again. He couldn’t get away from the acid assumption, but he could at least lie about everything else. He opened his mouth to answer, but was stopped short by the woman again.

“Before you answer,” she said, “just know that if we find out later you’re actually doing things that you didn’t list with us, we can have you terminated and black listed from any other organization of this kind, as well as other areas of employment. So I suggest you be honest…”

Reinhold gulped and took in a deep breath through his nose. “Weed,” he admitted, “and booze. Lots of weed and booze… and acid.”

She wrote it down on her sheet and flipped the pen between her fingers. “Good to know. And for future reference: if you ever want to try some of the best weed money can buy, come see me. My shit comes special ordered from South America.” A devilish grin appears on her face for a moment, sparking a surprised reaction from Reinhold. She quickly wipes it and continues onward.

“So you don’t care I do drugs?” Reinhold shakily asked.

She laughed slightly and continued to write things down on her clipboard. “If you weren’t on something before you came here, you’d certainly be on something when you leave. Are you single?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“That makes two of us,” she followed up with a sigh of her own. The woman quickly checked the box on the sheet and continued. “Have any medical conditions you or your family has that we should be aware of?”

Reinhold’s face grew cold as he thought about it. “My father died from Huntington’s disease.” He paused for a second and stared up at the light on the ceiling. “I haven’t gotten myself tested yet for it, so I don’t know about myself just yet.”

“I see,” she responded as she wrote. “I’m sorry to hear that. We offer a great benefits package that works for you even when you are no longer employed with us. You just have to stay on with us for four years to receive the long term one. You get the basic benefits immediately upon employment.”

He was silent to her attempt at making him feel any better.

“Let’s move on,” she continued. “Would you be opposed to handling a dangerous weapon of sorts?”

“No,” he answered.

“Good, cause you’re going to go out onto the gun range tomorrow morning with Javier,” she explained. “Just don’t call him Javier alright. He’s using Terrance Williams as his cover for the next seven or eight years before he changes it again. Don’t ask.”

Reinhold wouldn’t. It wasn’t like he was going to get an answer anyways.

“Have you ever knowingly created a figment?” she continued.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replied. How would one go about doing that, he wondered.

She checked it off and continued down the list. She was about to ask him the next question, when the front door to the restaurant flew open and a sharply dressed Hispanic man who looked in his early thirties hurried in. He shut the door tight and locked it up. His tongue quickly licked at the soul patch under his lip as his light brown eyes shakily looked toward the door. His face looked twisted from panic, and the glasses over him hung crooked.

“Oh shit,” the woman muttered seriously. “We were just talking about him. DONALD!” Her voice carried to the backroom where the aging owner of the business jumped out.

“What’s going on?” he asked between puffs of a cigarette.

“It’s Javier! He looks mental again!”

Donald spit out the stick and stamped it beneath his foot before making a beeline for the front of the building. “Shit! He must be being stalked again. Grab his gun before he unloads it out onto the public again.”

The woman zoomed around the counter and quickly tackled the Hispanic agent to the ground. She groped around his side until she found his revolver and threw it to the behind her. Donald appeared beside her a moment later, and pulled out his own gun, shoving it against the scared man’s temple.

“Listen here, Terrance,” he said as his other hand wrapped around his worker’s neck, “if you’re going to act like this again, I’m gonna make sure you either leave here in a casket or in a straightjacket. You hear me?”

The man on the floor writhed in insanity, and flailed his arms everywhere. One went into his pocket, and pulled out…

“Tiny gun!” Reinhold screamed as he watched Javier/Terrance/Whatever-His-Name-Was pull out a derringer from his back pocket.

The woman grabbed it in a steadfast motion, pulled back the hammer and shot the lunatic in his leg. A bright light of blue lighting filled the area as Donald and the woman jumped back. A few of the bolts danced across their arms, but they were able to escape unscathed for the most part. The man they were holding, however, twitched and jumped as the shock coursed through him. The light eventually faded, leaving a tired and still living Terrance panting on the floor. He smoked slightly, and smelled of burned arm hair.

The woman then pulled down the derringer chamber and pulled out the two bullets in it. She approached Reinhold, and dropped them both on the table.

“These,” she began, “are .40 calibur Lightning Rods, to put it frankly. They are rechargeable bullets that shoot controlled bursts of electricity, ember, and/or sand. The recharge time is usually about twenty two minutes, but there are some types that only take about ninety seconds.” She looked Reinhold in the eye. “I tell you this because these are what we use against figments, and anybody who gets in our way. They are efficient, they are useful, they are non-lethal…”

“And they’re cheap,” Donald added, as he put away his own weapon. “We don’t use real bullets, so don’t ask, Eckhart.” He took the limp man’s body over his shoulder and began to slowly walk toward the back again. “I’m taking him to the freezer so he can rest, and then I’m calling Dr. Uzumaki.”

The woman nodded.

“Freezer?” Reinhold asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “That freezer’s been broken for years. We turned it into a recovery center. You’ll be in there soon enough. Maybe you’ll get to meet Jav… err… Terrance while you’re in there.”

“Do I have to?” Reinhold asked, completely terrified from the man’s reaction.

She laughed and sat back down in her seat. “He’s not that bad. He’s actually a pretty good guy, and a total cut up when he’s sane. He was just being Stalked by an S-rank.”

“Stalked?”

She didn’t answer at first. She instead leaned back into her seat, and looked at the man with a solemn expression. “He’s being stalked by an S-rank that we can’t capture, observe, or terminate. And the less said of the S-ranks, the better. I don’t even know what’s stalking him. I’m not allowed to know. So once again: the less said about it, the better.”

The air between them was sudden thick with anxiety, and neither of them enjoyed it.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s get these questions done while the Cleaners do their thing.”

“Hold on a second!” he stopped her. “Why aren’t you allowed to know what’s stalking him? I mean, if he needs help and the figment is causing him to trip his shit like that, then wouldn’t you all want to help him?”

The woman shook her head again. “What did I just say? The less said about it, the better. When you finish with your orientation today, you’ll know why we can’t get involved. Just know that Terrance is one of the best agents we got right now, and that it was his choice to hunt down an S-rank. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”

It wasn’t the answer Reinhold wanted. He wanted to know more. “But wouldn’t you all…?” He was stopped mid sentence though as he felt something creep along his throat. He began to cough hysterically, and felt the slimy slither of a Cleaner crawl up his throat and into his mouth. His coughing gave the thing passage, as it moved down his chin and neck and back into his chest.

“Oh god,” he gagged, “it tastes like a dirty tire.”

The woman smiled. “And you’d know this because?”

He coughed some more and spit some of the slime out of his mouth onto the floor. “The less said about it, the better.”

She exploded into laughter. “You might just fit in here after all.”

“Thanks,” he coughed. He then realized something extremely important he forgot to follow up on. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t say it,” she answered him. “I’m Suki. And this,” she added as she pulled out a syringe, “is going to make the rest of this operation so much more easier.” Without a moments notice, she stuck the needle end into his arm, and injected him with the milky white substance.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I can tell the Cleaners are almost done,” she responded. “Usually when they go through the throat, it means they’re desperate to find more negative bacteria. And when they finish up, it’s my turn to look around in there. Don’t worry, I’ll put everything back where I found it. And we’re not putting tracking chips or anything in there.”

“Well then, what ARE you doing?” He suddenly found his body was getting heavy and his vision was blurring fast.

“Just a small physical,” she said as her voice began to echo. “Then we’ll close you up, and let you rest the rest of the day. We can finish the rest of the paperwork later. I promise to be gentle while I’m in there, by the way…”

His vision was black again, and his consciousness began to fade. Everything was returning to how he had woken up earlier.

In the last moments before unconsciousness, he heard the woman coo: “Sweet dreams, Reinhold Eckhart.”

End of Part Two...

[autistic-science-cryptid]

Introduction

I am an autistic person, as I’m sure you know. And, as the title suggests, while I am not literally a cryptid, I might as well be a cryptid, at least according to autism researchers, for a number of reasons. You see, for starters,I was diagnosed with autism in the late 80s as a baby, and I mean a literal baby, just over a year old, because my mom (who later realized she was autistic and self-diagnosed as a result of watching me grow) talked to the doctors and was like “Oh by the way, I noticed that other babies look at me but my kid does not. Hmmm. I wonder why that is”. That’s the first cryptid point right there - researchers are still looking for ways to diagnose autistic kids at age 2 (so they can push that hellish ABA therapy on them - boooo) even though like two seconds of observation would enable them to see who is autistic much earlier. Which is probably a good thing if that kid has the type of parents who would push them into ABA. Good thing my parents didn’t buy into that crap, no matter how much later experience with abusive assholes convinced me they did or it was only a matter of time before they did.

Secondly, since I didn’t know how to please IQ testers when I was really little and had not been pushed through official ABA by my parents, the “experts” claimed I was (and this is their word, not mine) “retarded”. Which, as we know, is a slur, but was a medical term in use back then, before they said “intellectually disabled”. Fine thing to put on a baby. And here’s the thing: No intellectually disabled person can write the way I’m doing right now. So one more cryptid point - apparently the real me didn’t exist to them then, either.

Thirdly, when I was really little, a dog (whose owner foolishly claimed he “loves kids”) got its mouth around my throat, and my autistic nervous response of freezing up in the face of that type of danger is the only reason I’m not six feet under right now, as pretty much any neurotypical kid would have been when confronted with a situation like that. So one more cryptid point for me. Especially since I always have and still love dogs, and if anything, that incident had me firmly convinced that dogs are not mindless killing machines, because if they were, I’d be dead. Whereas a response I had to a teacher ducking me underwater and giving me fake praise was more normal - it made me afraid of the water, and only a teacher from the YMCA cured me of that fear, whereas the special ed middle school I went to, which had a pool, only punished me for that fear. I’ll get back to special ed later. 

Yay “errorless learning! (/sarcasm)

I also used to stack a little table on top of a chair when I was a kid to reach stuff because for some reason, my dad always put Cheerios on top of a really high wardrobe (Gee, thanks) And I never fell because I was careful climbing that precarious structure. One more cryptid point for me - kids normally aren’t able to do that.

I am also a person who was in private Special Ed schools from the time I was like ten months old throughout high school, and my middle and high school in particular was emotionally abusive to me. While they never officially claimed to use ABA, they did - if it walks like ABA, talks like ABA, and quacks like ABA, it is ABA no matter what you call it. And really, it’s quite weaselly presenting your core discipline method as like a fun extra for your students to earn (which I found out on their website years later). It’s especially weaselly given that this method was the exact method used to punish me for not swimming a length of the school’s pool due to the fear of the water (and especially the deep end) that I mentioned earlier, a fear that wasn’t even as difficult to solve as many other hydrophobia cases, so of course a Y teacher was able to fix it. Throughout that time, but particularly during middle school years, I tried multiple different little schemes (not adult-level schemes, kid-sized ones) to try to be a more successful kid (so yes, I do sympathize with Pa Ingalls, even as I recognize that it is far more problematic for him to do that than for kid me to because he had several people to look out for and I had zero). That’s another cryptid point - usually you see that kind of behavior pattern from grown men, not tween girls.

As an extra bonus, the special ed high school I went to let me into their college program the first year, one where you take college courses for credit, and I got an A in that course. Nevertheless, my school had set me up to fail that - they had a lady teacher sit next to me, one who was entitled as fuck. This teacher whined about her job to us, and also bragged at one point about how Tom Cruise called her and was polite to her. I mean, hello? Tom Cruise is a Scientologist, and assuming that teacher wasn’t lying, the only reason Tom Cruise would call some random teacher is to recruit her into Scientology. But of course, that teacher was so full of herself that she could not see that. This teacher also, when confronted, said “I have other kids to worry about”. Nevermind that I was the only student from that special ed program that she was sitting next to. She also allowed me to work on a project alone instead of in a group because of course I was going to take that option when they offered it (even though I am perfectly capable of working on group projects). But them allowing me that option was a setup. 

That, combined with talking to myself and maybe poor grooming was what they used as an excuse to kick me out of that program. Though they never told me about poor grooming as a reason, and it was usually my parents they hid things from, so I’m not sure poor grooming was what they were primarily concerned with. Anyhoo, it seems as though talking to myself was enough to get me kicked out of that program in spite of getting an A, with the teachers literally laughing like bullies at my parents as they told my parents the news, and furthermore, they recommended me for VESID, which was really just recommending that I live in a sheltered workshop (which I would have shot myself in the foot in - I am a fast worker at certain tasks, and had my parents agreed to the sheltered workshop placement, I would have given the people my best performance, and ended up getting paid less than minimum wage, and worse, they would never let me go because they would be using me to pick up the slack for other workers and would find all sorts of excuses not to let me move on). 

So the A alone may as well be a cryptid point. As is my using NYC public transportation all by myself - those fuckheads claimed I couldn’t travel independently, even though I had been using the subway all by my lonesome to get to the work experience programs I did the last year (in former years, I had gone to work experience stints on the bus). So, pathetic as it may seem, my ability to use the subway/bus all by my lonesome is another cryptid point.

I also get a few more cryptid points for currently studying animal behavior and cognition in grad school and working on a Master’s thesis (which I won’t talk about so, again, as not to dox myself). Let me explain.

First of all, in spite of being kicked out of that program, the high school let me graduate, and the way they described me was literally how intellectually disabled people are described. And, while intellectually disabled people are themselves severely underestimated, they certainly are not going to be in graduate school working on a Master’s thesis in animal behavior and cognition, because the scientific papers alone would be cognitively inaccessible to them - even the lay version of scientific papers might not be cognitively accessible to an intellectually disabled person. So, according to that logic, I should not even be where I am right now.

Furthermore, some of the top people at that school are ableist as fuck, and totally champion clicker training, both for animals (which is iffy in and of itself, especially as a general behavior training for highly social and compliant species like dogs) and for, you guessed it, autistic people. They totally support ABA “therapy” as well (and yes, they support electrically shocking kids as punishment and claim it is less cruel than either medicating or restraining kids who self-injure, which is bullshit and completely dances around the fact that kids at the Judge Rotenberg Center get shocked for minor things) and they totally gloss over some pretty alarming signs. They, of course, claim I am totally high-functioning with no issues whatsoever, so to them, the side of me that has meltdowns and occasionally self-injures is also a cryptid, since apparently autistic people who can get a Master’s degree can’t have meltdowns. Even though I do get those from time to time. So one more cryptid point for meltdowns.

This is a random list of talents and abilities I have (just those, if you don’t feel like reading a list of talents, you can always skip that part)

I can do a perfect kitty meow (seriously, you would think there is a cat in there if you were in the room when I did it). And I can also stim (god, I wish autocorrect would use that as an actual word) by rhythmically tossing a ball back and forth without looking, and I can also produce songs simply by clicking my tongue. Yes, that’s a thing, although I’ve never seen anyone else do it. Believe me or not if you wish, but I’m not about to dox myself by putting up a video, especially since I don’t want to be blacklisted as a result of smear campaigns by ableist researchers. Three cryptid points right there. Four if you count me teaching myself some sort of impromptu gymnastics move at one point (well below Olympic level - it wouldn’t even qualify for a low-level gymnastics competition)- I have no idea what the hell that move looks like or what to call it. I only know how it feels, so don’t ask. 

Five cryptid points if you count the fact that on occasion the neuronal electricity from my hand jumps out and “pushes” a computer button before I even touch it - it’s not really a reliably controllable act, but it is a weird quirk I have, and that I share with my mom. The only reason that isn’t a problem is because it only seems to “push” a few types of buttons and coincides only with my hand approaching the button, never before that, which is how I know it’s nerve electricity and not a glitch. If you think that’s woo, don’t follow me - I never claimed to be able to teach anyone how to do that or to identify whether someone has that ability (unless they tell me and don't falsely claim to be able to control it only to show no such ability), and it’s not like I can sell that quirk for money, either. And I can’t control it anywhere near reliably enough to prove it scientifically, either, which is probably a big reason why abilities like that (along with telepathy, which I have only ever heard of in real life, mostly not from me but from others I know, as being a random, uncontrollable occurrence or else, as in one case, so laughably pathetic that pretty much any scientific test for telepathy will never detect said ability) were never officially found, so don’t hold your breath waiting for that kind of thing.

One more talent I have is this: after seeing Orlando Bloom as Legolas (I’m aroace, so I don’t have a crush on him and don’t get any ideas) do a catlike leap onto a rock, I tried that same move and got it right on the first try, even though I had read he found it difficult to do. But then again, he’s a foot taller than me, and he has an acquired disability from foolishly walking, sober, onto a thin piece of metal that could not support his weight, and falling three stories, so maybe it’s a cryptid point, maybe not, because being a foot shorter than the guy you see doing a catlike balance move would make it pretty easy to out-cat him any day. Especially since I would never make the kind of mistake he did, because from what I can gather, Orlando Bloom is a pretty cocksure guy (kind of like Legolas, really, personality wise - too bad they made him play what seemed to be an entirely different character than the one in the book who is probably more like Orlando Bloom than the Legolas Orlando Bloom played), and I am not cocksure. Obviously not literally, because I am cis female, and not metaphorically, either.

[transcriptroopers]

Now I've learned that lower enlisted usually don't even know who their top COs are - thank you! One question still bugs me, though - would there be an exception to this norm if the higher-up in question was extremely popular with the media and pretty much have iconic status, even if they are a Big Deal like a major general? As in, would lower enlisted recognize them if they just strolled through the base?

I have significant trouble recognizing people by face so I depended heavily on rank/name whenever I talked to someone, meaning I literally never recognized someone by face alone. So I had to ask hubby/our other army friend for help with this. Lower-enlisted soldiers generally care about two things:1. Getting the job done2. Going homeAnd sometimes we don’t actually care about 1 because “getting the job done” might be a meaningless time-consuming task we were given because our leadership don’t want us to be idle. Given this, our lowest priority is encountering high-ranking people because they will inevitably in some way waste our time.

Having said that, major generals are a pretty rare sight on most installations and media influence is pretty far reaching, so it’s definitely possible for soldiers to recognize a high ranking person they otherwise wouldn’t. Some might even be impressed. Regardless of their interest (or lack thereof) in such a person, a soldier still probably wouldn’t interact with the person on a regular basis, even if they did see them walking down the street. We’d most likely render the salute and greeting of the day and leave it at that if we can get away with it. Odds are they wouldn’t walk up to or address such a person because 

1. A major general is probably traveling with an escort or some entourage or something and you don’t need to put yourself into that situation2. They might approach youFlag officers and other people in influence apparently love stopping lower-ranking soldiers and asking them personal questions and keeping them from getting where they’re going. I especially remember in AIT for some reason higher ups thought it was a good idea to actually cut into our classrooms and just walk in and talk and eat up our class time. Like...on one hand whoop whoop eat up my class time but on the other bro I am in an army classroom to learn how to do my army job and you’re here to talk about sports or whatever...? They think it’s cool to mingle with troops for some reason, even if you’re standing at attention on a hot sidewalk in the desert with your NCO blowing up your phone and you’re surrounded by higher ranking people who are either1. all smiling creepily and laughing every time anyone says something. 2. staring intently at you hoping you put on a good show and don’t fuck it up because they WILL remember your name, face, and unit and they WILL report you if you do a fuck up in front of The General (fuck ups include not knowing who The General is, uniform not being perfect, or giving unsatisfactory answers to The General’s probing questions). And seriously I’m not kidding I’ve had some command sergeant major I’d never met like stand in front of me for twenty minutes and ask in-depth about my estrangement from my abusive mother and give me familial advice about a person they’ve never met to a person they will never see again. At one point I told him I had to go attend to a task and he had me delegate to a private (you’re a specialist, aren’t you? Just tell one of these privates to do it!) so he could keep talking to me.NCOs will care a lot more about such people because if their troops don’t perform adequately in front of such a person, they will be looked at as bad leaders. And by “perform” I do mean perform: uniform being extra crispy, (sometimes we were specifically told to wear “our newest boots;” some people took this literally and actually bought new boots) saying “hooah” a lot, asking “thought provoking questions” (sometimes provided to us by NCOs) and honestly it’s a dog and pony show. We aren’t impressed, but if our NCOs get kudos it makes our lives easier.If this is a very well liked person who isn’t just “iconic” but soldiers actually like, that might change things a bit. Especially those of us who work with higher-ranking people regularly; (it was common for me to work with an O-3 or 4 for example) even I would stop and greet and talk with an officer I was familiar with and liked. Otherwise I feel like my unit only ever felt inconvenienced by higher ups butting in; we didn’t view them as a treat or a cryptid: they were an annoyance, and we would quite prefer to never see anyone above O-6 if we could help it. 

-Kingsley

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[badfrankishheathenry-blog]

Monstrosity in Heathenry

Monsters have always held a special place in my heart. I love oddity and grotesquerie. So imagine my dismay at the sheer lack of love monstrosity is given in heathenry. We have so many bizarre and dangerous creatures haunting our world, and no one wants to give them any affection. Here’s a short analysis of the various forms of the malevolent supernatural occupying the heathen world.

Giants

The Old Norse “Jotun” literally translates as Devourer. We are immediately off to a great start with our staple monster. To continue with the theme of devourer, we can see in the folktales of continental Europe and of Britain that giants seem fond of the taste of human flesh. There isn’t much mention of cannibalism or man-eating in the Norse sources, perhaps because Giants prefer the blood of Englishmen.

Alongside this, Giants tend to be very, very old. One Jotun, Surt, has been around since before the creation of the universe. The universe itself was believed by the Norse to be fashioned from the corpse of a giant. The Greek Gigantes were born in the early days of the earth, created when the blood of Uranus fell upon Gaia.

Giants are perhaps the most fearsome enemies of the Gods. In the sagas and eddas, we see countless tales of conflict between Gods and Giants, and they are typically fairly evenly matched. The servants of Loki of Utgard (not to be confused with Loki, the Trickster God/Jotun) were even able to best Thor and his companions. Similarly, the Greek Gigantes waged war with the Gods, and were destroyed.

Giants can come in a wide variety of forms, but on the continent they were typically portrayed as giant humanoids, as seen in Greek sources, continental artifacts (such as Jupiter Columns), and in folktales (Jack and the Beanstalk). Occasionally, giants are portrayed as serpents as they are being conquered. The Norse ascribed Giants much more varied and monstrous forms. Fenrir was a giant wolf, and Hel was a rotting corpse. Loki was disfigured at the end of his tale, and various Giants take on traits of undersea creatures. These tails make a point of portraying Giants as shapeshifters, perhaps making them all the more horrifying as they prefer to be monstrous.

But what exactly is the nature of the Giants? They are ancient, they are hungry, they are strong. Many heathens simplify them as the forces of Chaos, but they are much more dramatic and dangerous than that. They are the inescapable, consuming forces of nature. They cannot be controlled and they cannot be stopped, threatening even Gods. They consume endlessly. They bear names like Fire, Old Age, and Outsider. Even today, we are helpless against Fire Giants. A forest fire can almost never be stopped, only contained until it forges it’s own demise. Even today, we can escape the Frost Giants by retreating into our heated homes, but outside we cannot stop the snow and frost from consuming our land.

The Fair Folk

While they may not be monsters in the strictest sense, Our Neighbors can certainly be unnerving to look at, and dangerous to boot. Many creatures have been lumped in with The Fair Folk over the centuries, including even Gods. Like Giants, they come in many forms, and it is generally recommended you stay away.

The Kindly Ones can be very helpful, watching over a household as the British Brownie may, but their anger is something to be feared. While they are often kind, they are mischievous, and they are vengeful. A household Hob may tie together shoelaces when in a good mood, and disembowel your wife when in a poor one. While it may be tempting to make contact with some Nix or Sprite or what have you, they are very easily offended and it is best to stay away. If you cannot stay away, treat any Other Person like royalty, and watch what you say and do.

They are a private people and tend not to interact with mortals often. When they do, they often remain invisible or hidden out of sight. It is offensive to go looking for them, and those with the magical ability to see through their disguises and illusions are often punished for it.

A personal favorite of mine is the Kobold. I believe they represent a fairly clear version of Dwarf myths on the continent. Local to Germany, kobolds may live in mines or in homes. The mining kobolds are ugly and malicious, emptying the mine ahead of time and hoarding gold. However, there were cases where miners were warned by friendly kobolds of cave-ins or toxic gas. Household kobolds tend to be easier on the eyes, and a generally helpful member of the home, provided they are properly cared for. Never forget to give your kobold his own little corner of the home (preferably out of sight, such as in the attic or basement) and to bring him his piece of the meal at the same time every day, or you may have an accident.

It should be noted that while the Giants seem to represent a certain class of natural forces, The Others are more regarded as a fellow people, albeit a very magical one. They inhabit natural places often, but aren’t necessarily the wihte of that place. Especially as we approached the modern era, they came to be seen as their own culture, albeit a very diverse and strange one. While we tend to lump them in with each other, it would be best to deal with any you come across on a case-by-case basis.

Sea Beasts

The presence of sea monsters is particularly well-attested in the Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf. Here, Beowulf lists among his great deeds the slaying of many sea monsters. Later, the story brings us to a lake of dragons, beneath which is a sea-wolf and the monster Grendel. Watery demons continue to be sighted on the British Isle to this day, most famously the Loch Ness Monster.

The Franks have a particular connection to creatures of the Sea. The Great King, Merovech, was born when his mother was raped by "bestea Neptuni Quinotauri similis", “The Beast of Neptune, which looks like a Five Horned Bull”. There is some ambiguity here, but I’ve read “Beast of Neptune” to simply refer to the creature dwelling in the sea, not necessarily having been sent by the God of that sea. That being said, the five-horned nature of the beast has been interpreted as mixing elements of Neptune (particularly his trident) and the Minotaur. The Quinotaur is such a unique and important creature to the Frankish mythology that it probably warrants it’s own study.

Similarly, many rivers and lakes across Europe are associated with certain creatures. These creatures often have their own characters, and the study of them could prove quite time consuming. A few retain a belief beyond the scope of paganism today, being classified as “Cryptids” and having those who believe they are flesh and blood beasts hidden in the depths.

The Undead

Throughout Europe, we find the fear that the dead will not remain dead. These undead creatures can take on a fleshy or spectral form to haunt and torment the living.

There are many types of what would today be called “zombies”, the fleshy undead. In largely Slavic areas, there were vampires, who drank the blood of the living at night. Further North, there were Draugr, dead warriors who rose from the grave to kill in a rampage. Britain had Revenants, and throughout the continent there were similar breeds of the walking dead.

There were many ways one could become a member of the shambling horde, but typically it was of some failure in life. They may have had unfinished business, such as revenge, or they may have simply lived and evil life, and that evil somehow reanimated their bones. It was widely held that the undead needed some form of sustenance to keep themselves moving, and this was often taken from the living.

Killing one of the undead could be complex. There is plenty of evidence suggesting dismemberment or the burning of corpses, the logic obviously being leaving nothing left to walk. Decapitation is a largely modern method of disposing of the evil dead, although it also figured into vampire myths. One could go the gentler route and fulfill the requirements of the undead soul, such as killing the target of the creature’s vengeance, or re-interring the body with a more proper burial. I am partial to knocking out the teeth and cutting off the fingers, so even if a corpse does rise, it won’t be very dangerous.

A simple explanation for the undead would be disease. Disease kills slowly and mysteriously, and it would be easy to blame an invisible, evil force for this. Combine this with the poorly understood processes of decomposition, and it would be easy to pin mysterious deaths on some poor corpse.

[buginabog]

Fusion First

Summary: essentially the first time each of @fangirltothefullest fusions fused(this turned out really hella romantic)

TWs: self depreciation, deceit, manipulation,(tell me if I missed anything)

Moxie

Patton could sense something was off, his strange son hadn't come out for any meal, not even when Patton told him that he cooked his favorite, lasagna. So, he went up one last time, "Virge? Kiddo? Are you all right?."

"Yeah Pat, I'm fine." The slight distortion in his voice convinced Patton otherwise. He opened the door and walked in.

Virgil was in a big blanket nest in the middle of the room, curled up, his phone lying, forgotten, to the side "Pat? I told you not to come in."

"Sorry kiddo, no can do." He walked over and sat down next to Virgil. "Whats eating at ya bud?" Virgil sighs, "I really can't get you to leave me alone?" Patton shook his head, "I just, feel, off. Like, I'm sad, but I should be happy? I don't know."

Patton smiles a little, "I don't know why I'm sad half the time either kiddo." Virgil looked at him, a little concerned, "but, I think that's ok. You don't always need to know why you're sad." He looked at Virgil, "but at the end of the day, we all have each other." Virgil tackled him in a hug, and a soft white glow surrounded them.

"Huh?" Virgil, or was it-Patton? "What... happened?" He looked down at his new outfit, a mixture of Patton and Virgil's, "who...am I?" He thought for a second, "I think I'm...Vatton? No. Pirgil? No. Anxality? No. Moriety? Hmm, no. What about Moxie? Moxie. I like it."

Progic

Logan and Roman were brainstorming, they had gotten off to a rocky start. Roman suggesting ideas and Logan shooting them down, the suggesting his own, and Roman shooting those down. It frustrated both of them to no end. Eventually, though, they settled into a routine, a raw idea being suggested, tossed around a bit, and coming out a polished idea.

They went this way for a while, some of their final ideas being too boring, or too wild, but most being just the right combination of crazy and sensible. They went on so smoothly they didn't even notice the soft white light surrounding them. They were so in in sync, in fact, they didn't notice that they were no longer two people. Until they did, and immediatly unfused.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!" Logan exclaimed, his calm façade abandoned in the face of something he didn't quite understand. Roman, however, was beaming, Logan swore that he just barely glowing. "WE FUSED!!!!!" Logan took a second to process this. "Fused? Like that cartoon Thomas likes?" Roman nodded excitedly.

"But, if we fused, they should have a name." "Progic!" Logan looked at Roman, confused at his ready answer. Roman blushed, "I've been making fusion names for all of us." Logan smirked, "really?"

Prince Anvity

(so at this point they know they can fuse, they didn't previously)

Roman and Virgil were watching movies together on the couch. It was supposed to be an all of them movie night, but Logan was working and Patton had already passed out cold. So it was just them. They were watching Sleeping Beauty now, and despite Virgil's reluctance he eventually agreed it was a good movie. During one of the musical breaks Roman decided to try something that had been boiling in his mind for a while.

Roman stood up, and extended his hand to Virgil, "Princey wha-" "will you fuse with me?" Virgil looked at him, dumbfounded, "wha- why?" "I don't know! I just- I wondered if- nevermind." Roman went to sit back down, but Virgil stood up and took his phone out. "Well, if we're gonna fuse, we might as well have good music for it." He put on some pop sings and just let them play. Their dancing was far from perfect, they stepped on each other's toes, fell, there was even one incident where Roman punched Virgil in the face, but they were laughing and jumping and having fun, a white light surrounded them and-

"Do we have, wings?" He muttered to himself. He kept an u!nusual weight on his head and reached up, "Ow! And, horns?" He walked to the bathroom, he had to duck to get out of the doorway. He looked at himself in the mirror. "Well, would ya look at that. It's more, edgy than Romans used to but I'll make it work."

Moric

Patton was startled by a knock on his door. "I'll be out in a moment!" He closed the photo album he was looking at and carefully shelved it with the others. He rose up outside of his room, "yeah?" "Patton, I require, your assistance at something." "What is it Lo?" Logan adjusted his glasses, "Well, it has come to my, attention, that we are the ability to, fuse. And I was wondering if yo-" "you want to fuse with me!!??" Logan simply nodded. Patton pulled him into a hug. "I'm glad your comfortable enough to fuse with one of us!" "Well, I-I am too." The soft light surrounded them, and-

"So, we're here, what should we do next?" The new fusion stood in silence for a second, "Maybe, figure out our name? So, what about, Patlo? No. Logat? No. Pattan? No."

"What about Moric?" Said a voice from the hallway, the fusion turned around to see, a torso? He looked up to see a new being in the mindscape, a being with wings and horns, he was a little frightening to be honest. "Are you.." he thought for a second. Who could be so edgy, yet so grand at the-"oh God, youre a fusion of Roman and Virgil aren't you?" The fusion nodded, "what's your name then." "Prince Anvity." Immediately after making that statement they unfused.

"Moric...I like that." They saw themselves in a mirror, then unfused, "really Patton? You gave us those hippie glasses?" Virgil interrupted, "wait, so tell glasses were the ONLY thing that bothered you about that outfit?"

Creaity

Roman was in the mindscape with Patton. They were there for the annual Flower Fair that took place every spring. Roman announced it at breakfast, but Patton was the only one who wanted to go. Logan having work to do and Virgil saying something about social interactions and kryptonite. So it was just them. They got there and Patton clutched Romans arm, "Roman! It's like in Rapunzel!" "Yes indeed, my darling Patton! I made it like this almost every year since Tangled left theaters." Patton grabbed Romans hand and dragged him over to the city square, where the flower dance, once again inspired by Tangled, was beginning. "C'mon Roman! Let's dance!" Roman laughed and let himself be dragged over.

It was a fairly simple dance, it took much inspiration from the scene in the movie, but most of it was by the peoples own imagination. He and Patton quickly fell into a rythm that was all their own. A soft white light fell over them, and suddenly-

A entirely new person continued dancing and laughing, his tail following his movements, his feet stomping the cobblestone. He didn't quite notice he existed until a little girl walked up and shyly asked to pet his tail. When he stopped, he saw a man approaching him, "where is our Prince? What happened?" The new person looked at him, "I'm, him?" "You don't look it." The new fusion looked around, "I'm sorry, but your Prince is part of me. I don't know how else to put it. I'm...Creaity. And I'm your, protecter!"

Viran

Logan carried his stuff up to the roof, he knew it was illogical and unhealthy, but he worked better on the roof at night. When he got there, he saw a figure already sitting on the edge of the roof. Logan was irritated, he had wished he had this to himself, but he also knew that being up here helped the particular side calm down and fall asleep easier. "Salutations Virgil." " 'sup nerd. Why are you up here." "I'm having trouble working out some of the kinks on this new video, what are you doing up here?" "Watching cryptid vids." "Ah yes, cryptids, what are those again?" "I thought you would know, but, c'mere, the script can wait" The script turned out to wait for several hours. Logan laughed at the absurdity of some, but contemplated the existence of others.

Once they exhausted Virgil's supply of cryptid videos, they ranted to each other about conspiracies and theories they had, until a light surrounded them and they were-

"See! This is what I'm talking about! Fusion. How is that possible." He stopped, and actually processed what happened. "Wait, we fused, WE FUCKNG FUSED!!! So, why should we call ourself? Maybe something different. Uhh, Lovir? No. Viro? No. Vigan? No. Viran? Sure."

Vircei

Virgil was curled up in his room, avoiding the others, Deceit popped up in his room. "Bye Virgil." Virgil looked up, "hey deceit." "I could make you weaker." Virgil looked at him in confusion, "how?" "What if we didn't try fusion? Like in that cartoon Thomas hates." "Fusion?" Why not? "Okay, just as long as we don't become a malachite type thing. Ok?" "No." "Alright then. Here we go." They danced and a soft grey light came over them, then-

'wait, I can't speak, why can't I speak, and my lips sting a little' he raised a hand to run over his lips, only to find it covered in a hoodie, "look at me! I'm loveable! It's terrible!" He walked over to the mirror, and saw small black stiches in his mouth, and when he stood sideways, he saw a yellow eye and a fanged smile. "I dont think we should be called Vercei, do you agree?" He nodded mutely. "Bad, bad"

Deitton

Patton stood in the center of his room, facing deceit. "No! You lied to me! You manipulated me! You fucking impersonated me! How am I supposed to trust that you'll take care of me when you're LITERALLY PART OF ME!" Deceit frowned remorsefully, "I'm not sorry, and I will do it again. But I can't sense you're hurting, and when you're part of me, you can sleep and think." Patton looked to the ground and shook his head, "no. You'll hurt my friends. You'll hurt my family." Deceit took Patton's hand in his own, Patton pulled it out quickly, "You cant be in charge when we're out there." Patton looked to deceit, "fine. You can fuse with me." The soft grey light surrounded them and they were-

"Hello me." The smiling face said, them pushing the hat down to cover the scaled face. "Time for Deitton to show the world what I'm made of." He laughed "and who can help me? That amazing Patton? Ha!"

Authors note: so I'm aware that fusion can only happen with consent, that's why I show the Deceit ones giving verbal consent, and others just as them being comfortable and vulnerable with each other.

Tag list: @nonbinary-trash @non-binaryroyalty @starslikewhat @theepitomeofamess @fangirltothefullest