#i hope this makes sense. in my brain Jam is a substance similar to like. dnd gelatinous cube but without tthe dissolving

[fandyjam]

quick shitty mspaint doodles of my jam hand headcanons. handcanons?

[serenescribe]

“may the caffeine be your weaponry” — A Villain Espresso AU

(Or: That time I made an “Espresso steals the Soul Jam” AU 2 months before Devsisters put it in canon, completely killing me and my plans)

In April, I started working on an AU where Espresso stole one of the ancients’ Soul Jams and experimented with it, causing him to spiral down into a dark path, effectively becoming a villain in his own right. This was going to be my magnum opus, with over ten planned chapters — and perhaps it would have been even longer! — and multiple POVs along the way. There was even going to be a follow-up aftermath story with a focus on Espresseleine!

And then two months later, Devsisters released Cookie Odyssey Chapter 2, in which Espresso created his own Soul Jam.

While I was… somewhat happy that I managed to predict canon — in the sense of my AU and canon sharing the basic concept of “Espresso fucks around with Soul Jam and reaps the consequences” — I was also a bit gutted. It’s true that canon-divergent AUs have always existed, but the downside of making an AU with a base concept so similar to something happening in canon was that my brain would always be comparing the two.

I don’t know if I’m going to write this story as it is now. At the moment, I’m waiting for Chapter 3 of Cookie Odyssey to release before watching everything and deciding what to do next. But I wanted to make an extensive summary post talking about my AU — the premise, my planning process, the main characters involved, and more — as a proof of concept, that I did come up with this first.

Besides, I’m still very proud of what I’ve created. I hope that you’ll enjoy it too.

(Everything is under the cut)

PREMISE

After the defeat of Dark Enchantress, Espresso vanishes, along with one of the Soul Jams.

Spurred by adrenaline and an unabating curiosity, he flees the Cookie Kingdom in the dead of night, determined to dissect and evaluate every bit of the mythical substance with his own hands. Along the way, he finds an unlikely ally in Pastry — who’s on the run from the St. Pastry Order — and together, the unlikely duo head up north to Dark Cacao territory, aiming to seek refuge with Affogato, Espresso’s estranged elder brother.

Meanwhile, after discovering the Soul Jam’s disappearance, Clotted Cream, fearing for the worst, launches a hunt against Espresso to retrieve the powerful artefact before anything dangerous can come of it. Disagreeing with his decision, Latte and Madeleine form their own search party, departing in a desperate hurry to track down the missing mage before the relentless Consul finds him first.

It’s a race to get to Espresso as quickly as possible, the looming threat of another power-driven conflict hanging over everybody’s head. After all, the coffee mage is famed for being a dedicated researcher, dissecting every inch of his own magic meticulously until every little detail is thoroughly understood. With the untapped power of the Soul Jam readily available to him…

Well, as the saying goes, “Curiosity killed the cat.” 

(But would satisfaction bring it back?)

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THE INITIAL CREATION

The first thing you need to understand about me is that I get most of my creative inspiration from listening to music. The second thing is that I always like doing things differently from the norm.

Back in April 2022, when I was starting to get more heavily into Cookie Run: Kingdom, I began toying with the possibility of creating a Villain AU for Espresso. This was spurred by two things:

The first: I was listening to “A Good Song Never Dies” by Saint Motel. Really good song, by the way. It gave me just the right vibe I needed for this AU — somebody making a catastrophic decision, with repercussions; not knowing who someone actually is; and finally, the line “Make the caffeine be your weaponry”. It was perfect.

(A slight tangent: I initially misheard that line as “May the caffeine be your weaponry”, hence the name of the AU being different. Whoops.)

The second: I saw plenty of people making corruption arcs for Madeleine, thanks to his Crimson Knight costume. And as I said earlier, I like challenging myself and doing things a little differently. Since Madeleine going bad was the more popular concept, I wanted to see if it could be done with Espresso.

Initially, I toyed with a few different concepts. Remember that the base idea I was working with was “How to make a Villain AU for Espresso while having it still be in character for him”. Took a bit, but I eventually landed on the Soul Jam idea, and I rolled with it! Below is a compilation of some of the brainstorming I did at the very beginning.

The original version of the AU was… rough. It was sorely underdeveloped and, as a result, it was stuck in a weird limbo for a while since I couldn’t work out a good plotline. I roughly knew that I wanted it to be a sort of “chase” story — Espresso having disappeared first, supposedly “missing” until people realised he stole the soul jam; while Madeleine and Latte follow behind, determined to track him down and… I guess, save him from himself? You know how Espresso is. There wasn’t a real antagonist, and I couldn’t work out a third person to join Espresso and Pastry.

It wasn’t until Cookie Odyssey Chapter 1 was released, along with a lengthy brainstorming session with my good friend Sheep, that I ended up returning to this AU, finally expanding on it and patching up the plot holes that hindered any progress.

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NEW CHANGES

Since my planning process is a mess known as “I have like ten plot points and I will wing everything else”, I’ll just talk about the changes made from that point onwards, and other plot stuff.

Back in May, Clotted Cream arrived in Kingdom! Remember how during Chapter 1, we all thought he was going to be antagonistic? Hah… yeah. But the Republic being the antagonists — not the villains, because to be fair, Espresso is doing something fantastically dangerous here — was perfect for this AU. After all, right from the very start of Chapter 1, they were shown to seek interest in the Soul Jam. Additionally, Espresso himself hails from the Republic, so there’s personal stakes involved. That was one glaring plot hole resolved.

I also ended up introducing Affogato as the third member to round off Espresso and Pastry’s little trio. Affogato’s inclusion as an integral character actually patched up a lot of other plot holes. While Espresso stealing the Soul Jam is believable, he also isn’t stupid. He prides himself on his logic and reasoning. Snatching the Soul Jam was a reckless and downright suicidal move, especially since he’d have a target on his back, making enemies of all the kingdoms and the Republic itself.

Affogato resolved that plot hole because he’s a serial gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss aficionado. In the AU, he was the one who encouraged Espresso to steal the Soul Jam and experiment with it for himself. After all, the Republic was negotiating with the other ancients for White Lily’s Soul Jam, which was retrieved after the war against Dark Enchantress, in hopes of studying it closely. Once that deal went through, Espresso would no longer have any opportunity to study the properties of the Soul Jam personally.

Affogato is… honestly, the driving force of the plot. After the events of Chapter 13 and 14, he’s hiding in Dark Cacao territory. His only saving grace is the fact that Dark Cacao was more focused on the war against Dark Enchantress to hunt him down thoroughly, allowing him to stay under the radar. But he’s still a megalomaniac, and so he uses Espresso’s curiosity and desire for experimentation to his advantage, going so far as to personally spike Espresso’s drink with the properties of the Soul Jam that Espresso extracted and liquified, causing him to plummet into immense agony, burning from the inside out with power he can’t control—

Yeah, we’ll unpack that later in the characters section.

-----

PLOT (BUT INFORMAL)

Anyways, the story goes something like this:

Espresso flees with the Soul Jam, heads up north and meets Pastry, the two deciding to work together. They reach Affogato’s place, wherein Espresso starts experimenting with the Soul Jam, hoping to extract and liquify its properties in order to fully analyse it, and to determine whether it can be split between multiple people, offering a boost to their powers.

After Espresso succeeds, Affogato steals the liquified Soul Jam and spikes Espresso’s drink with it, causing his powers to massively amplify. My headcanon was that the Soul Jam acted as a physical amplifier for people to channel their abilities through, so Espresso physically ingesting it acted as a permanent, uncontrollable boost to his magic. He ends up knocked out for multiple days, teetering on the verge of death while Pastry helps him to pull through (all while she threatens to k-word Affogato).

Meanwhile, Almond lets Latte know that the Soul Jam is missing, and that the Republic is launching a large interrogation. After some time, Clotted Cream determines that Espresso going missing and the Soul Jam disappearing are linked, declaring a hunt to track down Espresso before he does anything reckless. Disagreeing with this, Madeleine actually abandons his duties to head off with Latte and a couple of others, their ragtag group heading north on Latte’s hunch that Espresso may have sought refuge with her other cousin, Affogato.

(Note: I use the headcanon that Espresso and Affogato are siblings, and Latte is their cousin.)

Latte and Madeleine’s group arrive around the time Espresso is beginning to recover, just in time to watch him blast Affogato out the window in a fit of anger. Espresso’s still recovering though, so he’s mainly out of it for the most part.

Sometime after, the Republic arrives, having tracked down Latte and Madeleine. Their ragtag group tries to fight, only to fail; and then Espresso wakes up and walks outside and demolishes half of the Republic’s forces with his magic, forcing Clotted Cream to call for a retreat.

From this point onwards… Uh.

So what happened is that I never got this far in extensively developing the plot; I know how it ends, and I know some stuff that happens along the way, but the specifics are lost on me. But basically, Affogato manipulates Espresso due to Espresso’s weaker mental and emotional state (thanks to the Soul Jam taking a toll on him), causing their trio to leave, turning their backs on Latte and Madeleine. 

There’s a chase that takes place over the course of several chapters — during which two new characters join their trio: Strawberry Crepe, who’s curious about the Soul Jam’s effects on Espresso; and Red Velvet, who is compelled to help when Affogato promises him a safe space for his cake hounds to live in peacefully.

Also, Espresso wrecks Clotted Cream a second time. That’s fun.

As for the ending… I don’t really want to spoil how the story ends. There’s a chance that I may write this in the future still, and the ending is simultaneously underdeveloped and cemented in place. But what I will say is this:

This story does not end happily for anyone involved. But there is an aftermath story, so it is not as tragic as it seems.

-----

CHARACTERS

Espresso:

Stole White Lily’s Soul Jam and fled, planning to study it out of his own curiosity and determination to prove his theories right. Thanks to his irregular correspondence with his older brother, Affogato, Espresso takes him up on his offer to study the Soul Jam at his hideout.

Though he is initially as strong-willed and self-assured as he is in canon, after Espresso ingests the extracted Soul Jam, he becomes a lot weaker — physically, emotionally, and mentally. He ends up spiralling down the path of corruption after falling prey to Affogato’s manipulations.

Turns against Latte and Madeleine thanks to Affogato. At a later point, he makes it clear that he won’t hesitate to kill them if they continue to chase after him incessantly.

Stupidly powerful now, thanks to the Soul Jam he ingested amplifying his abilities to be on-par with the ancients — if not even stronger in some ways, due to his meticulous research into perfecting his own magic.

Outfit Lore: Trades the full-length cloak for a capelet. The bottom of his cape is not in good quality due to his rough travels up north, and subsequent experimenting. No more tie. Design is meant to look slightly more “loose” since he’s spiralling down a path instead of remaining his usual dignified self, but I don’t know if I achieved that.

Pastry:

On the run from the St. Pastry Order following the defeat of Dark Enchantress. For a long while, Pastry struggled with what she had seen at the Tower of Sweet Chaos, up until she made the decision to flee.

She runs into Espresso, pulling him into a bush and telling him to shush due to the presence of Shadow Sisters trying to assassinate Pastry.

Due to being disconnected from the events that occurred in the Cookie Kingdom, Pastry was not aware of why Espresso fled until he showed her White Lily’s Soul Jam. Despite this, she decided to continue sticking with him, the two of them having forged an ironclad bond over the course of their journey.

Does not trust Affogato. In all honesty, her presence is probably the only thing stopping Affogato from fully manipulating Espresso.

Outfit Lore: Having left the St. Pastry Order, Pastry now lets her hair down. She wears very different clothes — a capelet with a large hood so she can hide her face when needed; a high-collared shirt and a long shirt; and boots. She still carries her crossbow with her at all times.

Affogato:

In hiding after the events of Chapter 13 and 14, but still as power-hungry as ever. He still desires to lead a kingdom of his own, attaining power and loyalty beyond his wildest dreams.

Spikes Espresso with the extracted Soul Jam because he doesn’t want to test it on himself in case it backfires. After all, it wouldn’t be good if Affogato himself died trying to achieve his goals, would it? He decides to take a gamble in trying to manipulate Espresso in order to achieve his goals — and it works.

Plans to use Espresso to take down anyone that comes after him, and to lure people into following him and Espresso. Essentially wants to make a kingdom of his own using his brother’s powers — on par with that of the ancients — to do so. Mainly targeted outcasts and stragglers, hoping to appeal to them with their whole… “We’re on the run from everybody” shtick. It succeeds, somehow.

Though he manages to turn Espresso against everyone else, he remains EXTREMELY frustrated that he can’t turn Espresso against Pastry.

DON’T TRUST HIM IN ANY CAPACITY.

Outfit Lore: Loses the fluffy-cloak thing after falling from grace. His clothes are largely the same but a little simpler, including his hairpiece. Has longer hair, tied up into a high bun with strands falling down.

Madeleine:

Accidentally exposed the fact that Espresso was missing since he was looking for him while the interrogation was ongoing.

For the first time ever, he throws aside his loyalty to the Republic in favour of tracking down Espresso — though this is more because Clotted Cream forbade him from joining the search due to believing that Madeleine’s personal connections to Espresso would make him… biased.

Absolutely RELENTLESS in his search, even when the other members of their search party give up and abandon the hunt after Espresso implores them to stop, stating that he’s not planning to start any wars or seek out world domination.

In a way, his point-of-view is that of a hero saving someone from distress — or in this case, saving Espresso from himself. Which isn’t really that good a thing when Espresso begins threatening them all with death.

Do not mistake him for a selfless hero. His motives are anything but. In fact, Madeleine is responsible for the ending to the story, and the events that take place in the aftermath story. 

Outfit Lore: Ditches his cape for a large… scarf-cloak hybrid? It’s cold up north, after all. He also ties his hair into a low ponytail.

Latte:

Though she still tries to keep things lighthearted, she’s plenty more serious in this story, especially after Espresso turns his back on her and Madeleine.

Does not trust Affogato in any capacity. While Madeleine’s reasons for continuing the hunt are spurred by selfish feelings towards Espresso, Latte’s motivations involve taking down Affogato and getting Espresso away from her cousin’s manipulations as soon as she possibly can.

Keeps their search party a couple of steps ahead of the Republic with the help of Almond’s tips. Unable to join them on the hunt, Almond frequently sends them messages tipping them off to the Republic’s next actions.

I don’t know what else to put here but please believe me when I say that Latte has a key role in the story as one of the POV characters, being the one leading the search party and knowing where they should go next, thanks to her close relationship with Espresso allowing her to predict his next moves.

Outfit Lore: Wears a thick inner shirt because it’s cold up north. Also wears Almond’s coat; since he couldn’t come with them, he lent Latte his jacket to stay warm. What a caring boyfriend.

Other characters:

Strawberry Crepe: Their role was not developed very much, but they were meant to be a part of Latte and Madeleine’s search party, before joining up with Espresso’s group after the first Republic confrontation. They joined because they were curious about how the Soul Jam affected Espresso, considering he ingested it internally.

Red Velvet: A late member to Espresso’s party. He has been hiding somewhere ever since the defeat of Dark Enchantress, fearing for his cake hounds if he gets caught. Affogato managed to convince him to join and help them by promising a safe spot in his future kingdom for Red Velvet and his cake hounds to stay in. Hits it off with Pastry.

Clotted Cream: Despite being the antagonist of the story, he isn’t the villain. From his point-of-view, what he’s doing is logical — a wild card mage known to have strong research skills stole the Soul Jam, and promptly disappeared. With his cool head and calculating movements, he manages to track down Espresso on two different occasions, only to be unfortunately obliterated each time.

Almond: Assisted in spearheading the initial interrogation. Unable to join Latte’s search due to his role as detective, roping him into assisting the Republic and the other Kingdoms. Sends tips and other messages to keep Latte alert of everyone’s movements. Does worry for Espresso, and is against taking him out entirely.

-----

FINAL THOUGHTS

I’m still very proud of this AU, and I sincerely hope that I can actually work on it in the future — though whether I’ll keep it as it is or change it drastically to fit more with canon, I’m not sure yet.

There’s still plenty of stuff I never got to develop, and other things I wish I could have talked about. I also have a bunch of drafted dialogue and other scenes from when I was attempting to write out this story. I might share it in the future if people are interested, but if this post doesn’t gain much traction, then it’ll just remain as it is as a proof of concept that I came up with this AU before Chapter 2 of Cookie Odyssey was released.

On another note, I have a music playlist for this AU, if anybody is interested in it. You can find it here <Edit: Temporarily removed the Spotify playlist link due to some issues>. However, I’d consider the following songs to be key songs for the development of this AU:

Killer — The Hoosiers

A Good Song Never Dies — Saint Motel

Touch-Tone Telephone — Lemon Demon

Black Mambo — Glass Animals

Kingdom of Welcome Addiction — IAMX

The Mariana — Everything Everything

How to Start a War — Simon Curtis

If you’ve reached the end, thank you for reading this entire lengthy mess of a post! Please do come talk to me about the AU if you want; my ask box is open! ^^ Additionally, please consider reblogging it; I put a lot of effort into this, and it would make my day if it gained some traction.

(Oh, and if you want a little hint at the way the ending goes?

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me.”)

[raeofalbion]

Rules: List 5 quotes from various fics you love and link to the fics! Quotes can be short or long. Tag as many people as you want! (tagged by @leafenclaw - thanks so much! :D)

--

tagging: Idk who I follow and who follows me who hasn’t done this yet, so, if you want to do it, go for it and please tag me so I can see!

Okay, so I’ve decided to twist the rules a little and use this as a rec list for my current top five Sherlock fics and my top three Fable fics, in no particular order, so people who follow me for either fandom have something to go through. Under the cut because...long.

--

BBC Sherlock

Inevitable Destruction by @jimswestwood (formerly Dionysisch)

(Ao3; Sheriarty) Bored, Jim invites Sherlock into his home, Sherlock decides to stay. — It’s a beautiful 4 part oneshot series that deals heavily with existentialism and wanting, framed in an almost elegant, bordering on philosophical light. Oh and it makes me cry. It makes me cry a lot.

Sometimes it would hit him so hard it became painful even to breathe. The meaninglessness of it all. It all dissolved into the same ephemeral prettiness of clouds, of smoke, of things that could fascinate but hold no substance at all, vanish at the touch. The air in his lungs, the wall he kept staring at. Himself. The words flowing through his brain. Nothing. Just a casual connection, weak strings giving intolerable heaviness to sounds and letters. In the end, the more he repeated something, the more he realized emptiness. Sounds rolling in his mouth numbing his palate, as he took another mask, another voice, another self - an evocation of something he forgot along the way, and in which he forgot part of himself.

Bored, bored, bored. Bored.

His thin lips part slightly, tongue darting gently over scabs of a tormented nature, sign of a certain carelessness betraying a polished image in all its destructiveness. “Bored,” Jim repeats, again. Just a murmur. Gentle, quiet, making sure not to disturb the non-existent life in a bubble of static silence. It makes him think of grey, grey dullness, something like quicksand but gripping at his brain and his heart and paralyzing him until he cannot breathe and exploding into a million pieces sounds like the most tolerable image. Scattering himself like cosmic dust. He wonders if, in that case, he would give life to other stars or just decay. Once more. 

-

Not Until Then by @jamlocked​

(Ao3; Sheriarty, Sherlock/James Moriarty) After Sherrinford, Sherlock goes to see Jim’s brother. What follows is in no way straightforward. — There was a three-way tie for me between this fic, Daemon, and Between Shadows and Sunlight, but this fic. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it and I still can’t say for certain what I think is really happening. It’s gorgeous, elusive, and I love how much it makes me think. Jam’s a master at well-crafted, incredibly twisty plots and I’m just...endlessly fascinated by this one.

Sherlock watches his chest stop moving. David’s head tilts a fraction, like he’s listening to a far-off sound. And then…

…and then, his left hand moves to his left knee. It’s an instantly familiar gesture, one burned into Sherlock’s hard drive. Every other thought falls away. Sherlock feels his eyes widen and his mouth drop open, a gasp stuck behind his teeth. The cold, the silence of the country, the light of the windows, all melt to nothing as he watches David ripple his fingers (beats like digits) over his bent leg, pushing a slight emphasis on the roll of his thumb.

For a few seconds, he can’t breathe. His eyes snap up to David’s face - and it is David’s face, it is, but all he can see is Jim. Jim sitting there with his eyes closed and his hair a mess, slumped in exhaustion but still, always, drumming his own beat. Except that wasn't his beat, that was theirs. He knows of no one else who ever saw Jim make that move, and there’s no reason anyone ever should. That was part of their game.

He whirls to the side, back into darkness. His shoe makes a noise as it shifts on the gravel, but it barely registers. He blinks rapidly, playing the movement back, checking he saw what he thought he saw, not just what he wanted. Why would he want that? (Except wasn’t that his secret hope, wasn’t he sad when he realised he was wrong?) He doesn’t want that. It was just…

Logic. Logic. They’re brothers. He doesn’t know what characteristics they shared, and he doesn’t know when they last talked. There are any number of explanations; indeed, they’re lining up in his brain, each one ready to squash down the live-wire burst of shock. Coincidence (rarely so lazy), or wishful thinking, or his brain overlaying a strong moment from his past onto something innocuous.

Sherlock breathes out, and looks back through the window. David is rinsing the plates at the sink, ready for the dishwasher. Just a too-thin, tired man. Sherlock calms himself, and walks back around the house to let himself back in. He has to see this through. He has to know what he’s doing here, and then there’ll be no need to come back.

-

To What End? by collaborativesheriartyparty

(Ao3; Sheriarty) Texting, drinks, and...something more. Unique. Possibly dangerous. Definitely addicting. — I don’t know what to say about this series that someone else hasn’t already said but gods, they (the writers) are so good. There’s a depth and a complexity and a lovely, wonderful vulnerability to how both of them write their respective characters and watching Jim and Sherlock’s relationship unfold feels incredibly intimate and, at times, like I should have given them a bit of time alone. It’s fantastic. <3

Sherlock had a funny way of getting revenge, of paralyzing his enemy.  Jim appreciated it.  Why do with effort what could be done with a whisper?  The nights he’d dreamt of the detective had transformed his mornings, either giving him a renewed sense of patience or a real urge to get creative in his ventures.  Jim had wanted to give Sherlock every chance to notice him, and chase him down.  If Sherlock slipped cuffs on his wrists right now with a ‘gotcha’, would it be worth it? Yes. “I think…” Jim murmured, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips and, oops, brushing Sherlock’s lobe in the process, “that you should be texting John.” How he managed sing-song just now was a bloody feckin’ wonder.  Maybe because he only took John so seriously.  “Telling him you’ll be home…soon,” Jim continued, tone back to a distracted drawl, and took another deep inhale of Sherlock, his leg almost brushing the other’s now.  To Jim, they were the only people in the bar right now, in the world.  His eyes had closed, and it took every effort to keep his hands off Sherlock. “Instead of starting something you don’t want to finish.”  He’d intended warning, but somehow it had turned out sounding like a challenge.

-

Circadian Disruption by @like-the-direction

(Ao3; Sheriarty) They are many things--brilliant, determined, enemies, lovers, human only in looks--and, if Molly has any say in it, soon they’ll also be free. — It was a tie for me between this series and Corpus Callosum--both invoke similar levels of internal joyful screaming, but I seem to recall CC being recced recently, so I thought it might be a good idea to rec this one. And oh, gods, what to say about these fics. They’re so incredibly well written--the prose is beautiful and feels impeccably well-thought out. There’s so many layers to everything that it’s impossible for me to read without finding myself just sitting there, wondering. And crying. This one makes me cry, too.

“Do you dream of waterfalls?”

Sherlock pauses mid-step.

“Waterfalls,” Moriarty says, hushed, “and a precipice.  You, and me.”  There is something in his voice, a quiet heartbreak, and it cracks ever so slightly when he asks, “Do you dream of falling?”

Slowly, Sherlock turns.  Moriarty is deadly serious when he meets his eyes.

“Victorian clothing,” he goes on, while the image - the recurring dream Sherlock has had since the day he met James Moriarty face to face - begins to form in his mind’s eye.  “Me, all in black.  You, wearing that fucking--”

“Deerstalker,” Sherlock says in unison with him, unsure what is happening, but feeling in his bones that it is significant, important somehow.  Moriarty nods a bit, and Sherlock slowly continues, “I...refer to you as--”

“‘Professor,’” Moriarty finishes with him, and Sherlock is dimly aware of his pulse rising as he makes his way back toward Moriarty at the ledge.  His adversary’s eyes briefly appear wet, but it’s difficult to tell in the light.  Moriarty says, “We stand at the cliff’s edge, and I ask you something.  I ask, ‘Shall we--’”

“‘Shall we go over together?’” Sherlock whispers with him.  They are standing so close.  Sherlock can see his reflection in Moriarty’s eyes.  “Why do you know that?” he asks faintly, looking between his twin reflections.  “How could you know that?”

“You tell me, Detective.”

It’s a test - Moriarty knows, certainly he knows - but Sherlock thinks he may, as well.  “It...wasn’t a dream.”

-

dinner by @very-trivial​

(Ao3; Jimcroft) Mycroft Holmes is a dangerous man--mysterious, isolated. Sherlock and Jim are convinced he’s secretly a top government official, but they can’t begin to comprehend the scale of his power. To clarify: Mycroft Holmes is a food critic. — This fic never fails to cheer me up. It’s lovely and the descriptions of food, as well as the character interactions, are so amazingly spot-on. Jim and Sherlock’s insistence that Mycroft is a scary government-man is surprisingly funny, particularly alongside Mycroft’s worry that they’ll figure out what his job really is. Also, the end is oddly heartwarming? The whole thing is just really good.

“You’re a crit-”

A hand slapped over Jim’s mouth.

Despite everything Jim now knew about Mycroft Holmes, in this very moment, he looked scarier than ever.

“I’ll tell you everything, but not a single word passes through your mouth - not now, not ever,” the man hisses, sotto voce. The silencing hand did not relent one millimeter as he pressed on. Jim was starting to regret seating them in a corner booth away from prying eyes.

“If my identity so much as appears as a  rumor  on the D-list food  vlogs  , I will make sure you never eat in this town again. You’ll never be able to order  curry  without wondering if the dish has been tampered with. Maybe poison, maybe they just spit in it. I have clout in this world, Jim Moriarty, and you don’t. You put my name out there and  I will use it  . I have friends in high places,  sir , and they owe me favors. I’ve made careers, I’ve launched veritable nobodies into international stardom. Don’t think for one moment you’ll ever be able to set foot into any decent restaurant again if you cross me. You'll live off cheap instant noodles for the rest of your life. Not even the good Korean kind.”

--

Fable

The Sergeant by deadpan riot

(FFN; m!Sparrow & Reaver) Reaver returns home from Samarkand to find Sparrow has usurped his home. Oh, and Sparrow has a new pet. — First things first: I adore deadpan riot’s Sparrow; our Sparrows are somewhat similar, so it makes this fic (well, actually series but the series isn’t up in full) a really easy read for me. This fic balances out the ridiculousness and hilarity of poorly-paired roommates (with a pet balverine) and the solemnity and almost depression that comes from everything that happens in Fable II and all the choices one makes but still manages to keep the story lighthearted and well-paced.

"Did you know, my dear boy, that that beast of yours has, in fact, retained a marginally functional knowledge of the human language? Illiteracy aside, of course…" Reaver toyed with one of the bottles nearest him, watching the hero through his bangs. Smiles had again gone to try his luck at bottle roulette.

"Well, yea, I guessed as much since he does tend to listen to me…But what the hell are you two doing?" Sparrow was now coming down the stairs, prompting Reaver to stretch languidly across them.

"Whiling away my time banished to the foyer, what else?"

Sparrow stopped on the step above Reaver, eyeing the pirate, the bottles, and the general disarray of the room at large. "So 'whiling away the time' includes turning all the pictures upside down as well?"

Reaver cast a glance at the reversed paintings. "As a matter of fact it does, oddly enough."

-

Snow and Stones by Lilith Encodead

(FFN; f!Sparrow/Reaver) Reaver hears rumours that someone new has taken control of Bloodstone only to find Sparrow and a cursed snowglobe waiting for him. — Considering I prefer platonic Sparrow and Reaver fics, you might be surprised to learn this is my favourite Fable fic of all time. And it kills me that it’s not complete. Lilith creates such an amazing atmosphere in here and there’s such a gravity to the fic that everything, even the lighter moments, just seem to carry a lovely weight to them. The way she writes Sparrow and Reaver is gorgeous too, and I just...Lilith, wherever you are, please??? finish??? fic??? D: Please???

"I'm not going to play your stupid little game." she sneered slowly. "If you want answers - look around."

Reaver did not move. He did not speak. Then, ungraciously he eased his grip, before giving his pistol one last shove into her head. Her fontanelle was knocked back into the stone Cullis Gate, as the force reverberated through her skull. With an aching head and blurred vision, Sparrow watched him rise up and survey his surroundings.

Reaver examined the hauntingly empty area briefly, before looking straight back at Sparrow, as if averting his eyes from something disgustingly gory. Around the two of them were the smashed remains of once mighty stone ruins covered in ivy and surrounded by dandelion weeds. Jagged lumps of stone nested the Cullis Gate, depicting faded carvings of the Old Religion bleached by sun and faded with time. A standalone rock archway stood crumbling in front of them; beyond which was a chalky white path leading down to the town.

Every water, every cell, of Reaver's body could sense a foreboding danger through the archway, down the dusty path, and back to his past.

"This is a trick." he insisted. "An elaborate deception fabricated by a vindictive Will-user."

Sparrow remained sat on the Cullis Gate, knowing that Reaver would knock her down again if she gave another dissatisfactory answer.

"Its not." she said simply, as if talking to a child that should know better. "You know it's not."

-

That Which Moves the Stars by ingresviolin

(Ao3; f!HoBW/Reaver, f!HoBW/Ben Finn) Beatrice, empath and princess, embarks on a quest to find her missing father shortly after her mother’s death. — It’s still in early days, but there’s something very charming and curious about this fic. I love that the quest is mainly research-based so far and that all the characters have a wonderfully defined depth and clarity. I’m so curious and excited to see how it all comes together in the end.

"You look very young for being very old," Beatrice whispered at a nearly inaudible level. Her mother and Logan did not catch the comment, but both men at the table did. Reaver glared at her with the same menacing expression as earlier that day, but his eyes were darker than before. Beatrice felt an internal prickle of excitement: her favorite feeling.

She didn't need to touch Reaver to know he was upset, but as his glare darkened her excitement turned to fear. She could see her own image in the darkness of his pupils, as well as the glowing flames of the fireplace behind her. And she could have sworn to Avo that the two were not separate, but that the Beatrice-shaped homunculus at the center of the tiny conflagration in his eyes was being burned alive.

[maevehowserjournal]

WEGSCHAUEN

I don’t give a flying shit about how bad it is. All I want is disaster. All I want is something, anything, to give this miserable series of events I call my life a purpose. Nothing is bad necessarily, but everything is dull. Dull is worse than bad, as the days would cease to bleed together if I could identify them by their pain. Even if I was in constant pain and agony, something is better than nothing. Pain is better than depressive apathy.

Another day in the pit. Another day, still, in this formidable hellhole. Travelling from this one to other formidable hellholes. Scrapping together weapons that will last me for the day. Feeling the ground suddenly shift into materials which, prior to this, I hadn’t thought to be physically possible. Wandering these halls of nameless cities that exist in worlds too hostile for mortal men. Yet somehow, I keep living through what I believe to be days, but what may be minutes to what resides here. I don’t miss it anymore, as I’ve found it here.

Cochdich’s Sub Sandwiches. What a fortunate name for a fortunate CEO of a Subway rip-off. The name was at least fitting. Very, very unfortunately fitting. 50 hours a week of degrading patrons who had so little palpable value for the man they spoke to, acting as if I wasn’t suffering by working there as much as they were just by being customers there. The days lasted weeks, as I would bide my time preparing both a physical and verbal arsenal to face the bestiary with. These days, my arsenal is solely physical, and far more challenging to construct than those identical, rounded gray tins of food products. Tuna, turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, silver vessels in rows, all the same. Trypophobia at its finest, here at Cochdich’s Sub Sandwiches.

The night of June 5th, 2003 was the night I was saved from my carbon copy, carbohydrate prison, but spared the rewards of such a Sisyphean duty. A night which sticks out in my mind as likely the biggest mixed bag I’ve ever had to pick from. Let me set the stage for you. It was 9:30 PM. I sat there, at that counter, scribbling endlessly in the composition notebook which I have simply labelled “SHIT” on the cover with a black sharpie. I wrote about my life and my growing sense of lachesism. All I wanted was for disaster to strike me one day so I may lead a more fulfilling life. In my own words, “I don’t give a flying shit about how bad it is. All I want is disaster. All I want is something, anything, to give this miserable series of events I call my life a purpose. Nothing is bad necessarily, but everything is dull. Dull is worse than bad, as the days would cease to bleed together if I could identify them by their pain. Even if I was in constant pain and agony, something is better than nothing. Pain is better than depressive apathy.” That’s simply an excerpt from what I wrote in my state of limbo. Eventually, somehow, I made it to 10:00 PM. Finally, a time when nobody in their right mind would be coming to Cochdich’s. No customers meant all the sweeping, mopping, and restocking humanly possible. Everything was done on time, and I could go home, free as a bird until 10:00 AM the next day.

That was until the hole opened itself up. You heard me right. As I left the breadwastes, I could hear the massive, obtuse sound of a thousand moles digging up soil. A thousand claws ungathering dirt in the ground, creating a large cavity between me and the car. My mind began to race, as I was pretty sure this hole wasn’t here this morning, nor was it here during my break. With fear, I moved closer and closer to this mystery hole, and stared down into it once I stood on its cusp. There appeared to be some sort of crimson, bloody light at the bottom, but it was either very small, or simply miles upon miles away from me. Yet this light was still somehow blinding me. My gaze then turned up to my car, and as my eyes left the hole, I heard once again the sound of the soil being drilled up. I spun my head around to see the hole, now seeming to have moved behind me. This seemed impossible, and instead of checking to see if I was dreaming, my first thought was to get into the car. But before I could make it, the hole once again shifted position, now underneath me. I plummeted into what went from moonlight to sheer darkness to a bright red light. The car fell just after I did. I knew if the fall didn’t kill me, the car would. However, that didn’t happen. Instead, after what felt like minutes and maybe hours, I found myself plummeting not from a hole, but instead a deep, purple sky. Almost a lavender shade of purple, darker beyond the clouds. So high up now, as if I were dropped out of a satellite, except over what clearly was no Earth. This is around when I noticed my car was no longer above me. I still don’t know where it went.

Eventually, after minutes, I plummeted into a deep red ocean. As my head was submerged under the bloody surface of pungent, thick slime, I could hear nothing but screaming, yelling, and groaning. An unholy choir sang to me from the depths of the sea. The sound of a thousand blue whales from the lowest bowels of Hell. The red sea of sorrows. In the dark red void below me, I could feel something massive awaited me. Even worse, I could sense it coming up to reach me. Something which I could never even hope to understand, with many tongues and throats that urged deeply to swallow me whole. This fear of what lived below me was enough to push me towards the shore. I could see just above the surface, I was close to some sort of land mass. Brown sand bedded a massive, elderly, deep red ziggurat. I could smell its age from this far away. It had an odor of times gone by, from the Medieval ages to Ancient Egypt. Like it was built by all the dead in our ancient history. It whispered its ancient lore to me from this distance, and there seemed to be more in store once I made it there. I felt as if I was being pulled directly to this thing, and as if the ocean wind had been pushing me towards it. Once I had reached the shore, the name of this place somehow hammered its way into my skull. It felt violating, almost as if a hammer had lodged into the middle of my brain, ruining my thoughts and separating my eyes from their roots. Crethm’chtha. That’s at least my interpretation on how you would possibly pronounce that horrific name. In my head, I was sure this name was said by an inhuman mouth, which made completely different noises to what I can. Even in its incomprehensible form, it still gripped my brain ever so tightly, with no intention of letting go. Straining my brainstem and forcing it to twist and eventually snap, but the fear came solely from waiting for it to inevitably break. One of the greatest difficulties I have ever faced to this day is trying to swim while this battle of unknowable forces took place within my head, bodies crashing against the sides of my skull. My teeth hurting as the swords of the little men inside missed each other and hit the walls. The itching as the ants from my heart ambushed them, eating their organs and leaving them to rot.

Finally, I was washed out upon the brown, wet shores. I stood, slowly, gazing upon these ruins before me. Creatures groaned and grunted in the distance, speaking gibberish to one another. Reluctantly, I trudged towards the ziggurat, but not before staring out at the massive horizon by the ocean. It’s sheer size is panic inducing. It looks as if this place is completely flat, and instead of seeing the curve of the planetary body on the horizon, it simply had no end. It appeared endless, and not even the fog interfered with the vast, endless stretch of bloody water. This impossible visage almost caused my eyes to turn back into my skull, and I was puppeteered by my own body to look away. This expanse was full of massive creatures, sea serpents leaving the ocean and entering the air. Massive rocks with faces plummeting from the sky to be drowned. In the sky, it appeared that a large mouth, its face impossibly stretched in a grotesque fashion, was slowly moving towards this place to swallow it whole. Hopefully he’ll digest it, I thought to myself, because this place shouldn’t exist, by any stretch of the imagination. On the front of the ziggurat, there appeared to be a rough, round hole that I figured my hand would fit perfectly inside, so I reluctantly pushed it forward. This is when the wall in front of me suddenly split down the middle, and opened up. This is when I first encountered the land creatures from this place, which I’ve nicknamed “Sea Monkeys.” However, that’s simply due to my inability to rationalize the pronunciation that forced its way into my brain, which sounded somewhat similar to Sea Monkey. A four legged creature with a head that appeared to be one large eye. Like one of those all directional security cameras. No iris, just a black orb, that seemed to grow and shrink depending on the light of the surroundings. Its skin… I don’t know what color it was. It’s a color I’ve never seen before. I never thought new colors were possible, but they are. Believe me, they are. They hurt the soul when you try to rationalize them, so I find it preferable to not think about it much. I don’t think about any of this much because here, human thought is dangerously outgunned, and will blow itself up if used. Human knowledge in Crethm’chtha is like a toaster in a bathtub.

The Sea Monkey had no arms, either. But when it spotted me, all it really did was study me. Its eye grew and shrank as it examined me. Fearful of what it might do, I stumbled back, and a piece of the crumbling stone wall fell off, in a perfect dagger shape. Perfectly pointed and jagged. I chose to act on my fear, and began wailing on the Sea Monkey, jamming the rock into its eye. The crepuscular creature did not bleed, and instead, it almost seemed to deflate as a gaseous substance escaped its body. Black and pungent, my eyes stung as it entered them. The Sea Monkey did not scream, but it did attempt to wrangle and impale me with its spider-like, chiton-built crab legs. Knowing I would be here indefinitely, I prepared a surplus of food. I stole every meaty piece of the Sea Monkey. However, this creature had no definable organs. Simple meat filled its shell. The only true organ was its head, which I also stole. I now had nothing left to do with this creature, but one thing. I figured one of its legs would make a better weapon than this piece of shitty rock. So, I used all of my strength to twist it, pull it, do anything to sever it from its host. Eventually, it gave way, and I now had a nifty DIY spear.

This is how I began my constant struggle for survival. Crethm’chtha was not the only strange place I would travel through. Many other bizarre realms of ancient origin awaited me, with new creatures. My routine was constantly changing, and never bored me. I always had to adjust to the next world I would be subjected to, and need to survive in. I never knew just how far, how many galaxies or dimensions I was from home, all I knew was the distance was probably so large I would never be able to fathom it. Over this time, I forgot my name, age, and way of leading life as I used to. I was now freer than ever, but trapped all the same. My resolve eroded overtime, as I no longer even thought about my old life. This was so much better. This was everything I craved. Everything I wanted. Everything my life lacked before. New creatures awaited me every day. The exoskeletons, beings that would latch onto the dead remains of their neighboring abominations and puppeteer them for strength. The dogs, four legged, meaty things that always seemed to be building structures. Altars. Churches. Occult worshipping grounds. The perforators. Spiny beasts which would wait until they got close enough, and then unleash their horrific needles. The first time I encountered one of those fuckers, I almost didn’t wake up.

It was not until recently that I found myself revisiting Crethm’chtha by accident. I wandered the disheveled, crumbled halls of what I had dubbed Distant Times Square. A world seemingly made of hallways that were constantly crumbling and falling apart, set atop a rough and coarse ground of drought-ridden desert. At some point, these halls had lead me into a building in Crethm’chtha, and just outside of this building stood the hole. The same hole from that fateful night. Except this time, the hole was now a deep, deep green. Nothing to lose, I willingly stepped down. I don’t know how long it had been since I had fallen like this. Maybe months, but maybe years. No clue. Finally, after minutes, I felt myself no longer falling. Like I was floating alone in this void. Gradually, water began to wash over my body, in this deep darkness of who knows how wide and vast. I wasn’t drowning, simply existing. This is around when I came to.

I emerged from the depths that surrounded me. My reaction, and realization of my new surroundings, however, was delayed. Earth. Blue skies. Darker blue waters. A school of fish below me. Land in sight. The city I had spent my whole life in. Its name… what was it… Seas… Seafron… Seetle… Seattle. Seattle, Washington. It was all coming back. I hoped my name would too. But I wondered, would I ever be able to return to my way of life? I don’t want to. I swam back below the water, to see if that would take me back. No. I was stuck. Finally home, but in the same sense as an abused child returning home. But if there was anything I had learned from my journeys, it was this: Nothing is gained in the pursuit of something futile. My next step was clear, or rather my way to finding my next step. Nothing stood in the ocean between me and the city.

Eventually, I made it to shore, and began wandering the streets. In a landscape like this, I thought to myself, all these people… leading shit lives and not being worth anything, maybe I could live here like I did in the beyond realms. The idea was growing more and more defined in my brain. It only depended on my own ability, and I had become quite the bloodthirsty motherfucker in those other places. However, my stream of thoughts was interrupted by something I never expected I would see again. An old face. This meant something to me. I knew it. P. P something. Pauline was her name. She looked older and in nicer clothes, but this was undeniably her. I had no clue how much worse I looked now. I hadn’t grown any hair for some odd reason, but I most likely aged. I had to have aged. Pauline was across the street from me, and the only thing I could think to do was, of course, like the madman I am, run across traffic and get spun in the air by a taxi.

“Holy shit, Donovan, I need to call you back. Some guy just got hit by a car!” She rushed to me to give me aid, and once she saw my face, everything seemed to click in her head.

“Jeff??” That was my name. It had been on the tip of my tongue for the longest time. I couldn’t think of what to say. Nothing came to mind. Nothing at all. I didn’t know what I meant to this woman in my past life. However, I suppose it was something romantic, as the blondie’s embrace when she wrapped her arms around me felt very familiar. The kiss also felt like something I once knew.

Not long after, we were both inside a cafe. Sitting across from one another at a table. 2 cups of coffee were carried to the table. I didn’t know if she had bought it for me or not, I wasn’t listening. I still wasn’t listening to her. Her voice was drowned out by my innate inability to understand these surroundings. At a certain point, I left this vapid nonsense behind. Why consume food I didn’t earn? Why eat something I didn’t hunt? She must have been screaming at me by this point to say something to her, but it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t bring myself to hear it. Classic victim of the low pass filter that my social skills have become.

The sun had passed the horizon, and I stood over the water, ready to either return to my old surroundings, or die. But I stopped myself when I went back to my thoughts from earlier. Who’s to say that I can’t lead life now like I did then? The answer was nobody. Absolutely nobody could stop me now. I had faced the beyond, beings that I was never meant to face, and I got out of it. I killed them. They feared me. They feared the monster named Jeff. How funny. I still had my duffel bag from all those years ago, which still had the Sea Monkey leg I had stolen. It also still had the composition notebook labelled “SHIT” in sharpie. That’s what I write these words in now. I can see somebody walking around right now, and they are the perfect start to the continuation of the bloodbath my life has become. That being said, here’s to another day in the pit. Another day, still, in this formidable hellhole. Travelling from this one to other formidable hellholes. Scrapping together weapons that will last me for the day. Wandering these halls of nameless cities that exist in worlds too hostile for mortal men. Yet somehow, I keep living through what I believe to be days, but what may be minutes to what resides here. I don’t miss it anymore, as I’ve found it here.

[emberglowfox]

hey I did that fighter’s block thing at 1 in the morning here’s what I’ve got

words: 2k    prompt: space

KSSSSSSSCH. My scream goes mute as the air is sucked out of the room like a magnet and I'm hurled out of the familiar white walls into the vast empty vacuum of space. No. No, no, no. I force my eyes open, ignoring the dead-cold chill gnawing at my limbs as I flail hopelessly, body shooting through antigravity farther and farther away from the transport ship. My lungs burn like a flame is eating them inside, stealing any oxygen I desperately gasp for. But there is nothing, except me, my imminent death, and the rapidly shrinking blip of white in the distance. I scramble for the emergency oxygen tank on my angle, fingers fumbling with the nylon strap as my vision starts to blur with black spots and my head spins. With a weak yank, I tug it out and stick the plastic end into my mouth, biting hard. Fresh air flows into my mouth and I heave in a long breath, eyes squeezed shut and lungs relishing every tiny bit of sweet oxygen. As quickly as I can, I slow my breathing and put my free hand to my head, knocking on the headset. I can hear nothing but static, which I guess is better than hearing absolutely nothing at all. I am in an endless void, populated by a billion trillion stars, blinking at me as if to say, 'What are you doing here? You don't belong here.' I let out a long, slow breath, limbs shaking from the cold of space and the fear. The fear. It's mind-numbing, blinding my senses to rational thoughts and repeating a mantra of death. 'You're going to die out here', it says, and I honestly believe this time that it's right. No one survives being sucked out of an airlock. Not even with a reserve oxygen tank. With the tank, I have about 30 minutes of breathing if I really gauge myself. And that's if I last that long before the chill freezes me completely and I'm left an icy shell of a human hurtling through the vast abyss of space. I am the only thing for miles. No one can see me. No one can hear me. I close my eyes and picture the warm orange walls of the home where I grew up. I can almost smell the cinnamon sugar and my mom whistling an old tune from the radio as bars of sunlight creep up the far wall. I can almost feel the soft bristles of the rug in the living room, sprawled out staring at the textured ceiling. I can almost see her face, eyes crinkled at the corners and face dotted with faded freckles and flowers as she tells me to help her. But it's just an 'almost'. It's like reaching for the light at the bottom of the ocean, knowing you're doomed to drown as it slowly fades away. I will never see mom again. My breathing starts to pick up, and I hastily slow it down. What should I do now? What can I do? Last words. Final will in testament. I'll die out in the vast abyss of space where no one knows my name. No one will care. ...But still. If they recover my body somehow; to mom I give my helmet. I spent days upon days, years upon years to get it. She knows its worth, not just in money but in my sweat and blood. It is the testament to how far I've come, as one of the first humans riding the frontier of space travel. Let's see.... To my older sister I give my camera. It's a polaroid, and old, old thing, but it still works. She always wanted to use it, anyways. To my younger brother, I give my pen. It has the Archenvaak insignia on it. I know he'd love to study it and the strange glowing ink it contains. To Vanessa I give my book of flowers. It contains pressed petals from across the far reaches of the galaxy, from small to large. I sure bet it beats that run down flower shop. I laugh, wasting valuable air, but I'm beginning to no longer care. Talking about my own death this way, it's... Strangely calming, in a way. Knowing that I'll be able to live on in the memories of my loved ones is a small but gentle comfort in this icy grave. To Alexander I give the old crown from the neighbor's fence that we stole when we were kids. It's still in my closet on the upper shelf, unless someone moved it. It's rusty, but still as shiny and prestigious as it was when we nicked it off of Mr. Mitchel's wooden fence all those years ago. To Gloria, I give my locket. It still has the picture of us at the river, chubby-faced, muddy, and grinning, perfectly enclosed within it. It smelled like metal and earth when I left it, and I hope it still does. And last but not least, to my dad. To my dad, I give the letters. Dozens of letters, never sent from a child who knew better than to expect a response. I don't know how they'll get them to you. Maybe I can show you them myself in a little bit. I open my eyes again, checking the pressure gauge. I have about ten minutes left. Final will and testament is down. Any last words? Last words. Last words. The last words I'll ever say. I really am going to die, aren't I? Then there's the tears. Big wet globs, pulled off of my face by momentum and frozen into shards moments later, leaving a trail of glittering diamonds through the black. I hiccup and sob and sniffle, rubbing my eyes as my oxygen tank begins to blip in a warning. I stop, blinking and hoping my eyes don't freeze over. I can no longer feel my legs or my lower arms. I can merely wobble my arms and head like a broken marionette. Even in death, I am helpless. Where was I. Last words. I have nothing to say. There is no one at my bedside to comfort me. No young children crying as I pass. It's just me, young and bright, in the emptiness of the one thing I always wanted to visit. I made my life goal to visit space, and it responded by stealing my final breath. A strange world, isn't it? Last words. What do you even say? What can be said to make anyone feel better, especially yourself? Words are powerful, they say, but they cannot alter what is. I guess that's true now. The oxygen tank blips again. 3 minutes left. Breathing is becoming harder, and my lungs fight against the increasing pressure for air. I start to feel lightheaded. I can no longer feel my arms. My mind begins to fill with a heavy fog. It's gentle and soft, not at all choking and harsh as I once feared it might be. Thoughts become obscured until they eventually drift away, no longer important. I think of mom for maybe the last time, and her words come to me. Not her words, her song. I came into this world with her song, it's only fitting that I left with it. I take a deep breath that I cannot afford and hum into the echoing canister to no one. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." I cannot hear myself, but I can feel the vibration of the metal against my lips. "You make me happy when skies are gray." Beep beep. 1 minute remaining. "You'll never know dear... How much I love you." I struggle desperately to inhale, seeking anything left. I manage one last breath. "Please don't.... Take.... My... Sunshine... A....Way..." The canister beeps loudly before shutting off. I let it go. It has served it's purpose. The fog drifts ever deeper into my mind, obscuring everything. I can only faintly remember the ship, my job there. I can only faintly remember Ad'zheel, the archenvaak who gave me the pen, xher carapace shining like polished gold. I try to reach back in my memories, but they have drifted away like a dandelion in the wind. Strangely enough, I do not fear. I am no longer afraid. The silence of space, once a terror, is now calming. I slip the headset down to my neck, basking in the numb, loose emptiness. I let my heavy eyelids flutter shut, my lungs feeling thick but not aflame. The cold drips away, replaced entirely by numbness. My final word is goodbye. I do not hear the hum as I go still.

. . .

The light is bright. Blindingly so, like someone is shining a flashlight into eyes that have not seen the sun in years. I squint away, biting my tongue. My lips taste like mint, with a faint touch of copper. I try to look around, but all i can see is pure untainted white. Am I in heaven? I don't know what I expected. I never really delved into the religious side of my thoughts. A figure begins to emerge from the light, a strangely molded blurry shadow. It is odd and out of place, and it appears to be speaking. I can hear it, but ever so faintly. It is like listening to someone speak in a pool of molasses, but blurred further. I cannot make out what it is saying. It turns, and something is shoved to my face. Something far outside of my brain clicks, and I inhale. It's like a light switch has been flipped. Pain roars into my limbs, which are now acutely alive and aware. The light fades, replaced with a slick black interior lit by white lines of glowing material. I am inside a ship. Is heaven a ship? I twist with pain, eyes scrunched up in agony. It's indescribable. It's like being on fire, frozen, pulled apart, and squished together at the same time, but a million times worse. The being is clearly panicked, blinking at me and chittering something in a strange language. It hastily darts out of the room, returning moments later with a package of... Something. Heaven is strange. It pulls open the package, which opens like gel being stretched open. It is not a substance I recognize. Inside are similar substances, but smaller and orb-shaped, the color of amber. The being holds some out to me, and I am confused. It lets out a high whistle and opens my mouth with a leathery claw, the other jamming the things into my mouth. They're horrendously sour, but I swallow. Almost immediately, relief floods me. A jagged breath falls out of my mouth, and I'm hunched over. My senses clear, and I'm immediately alert. I'm in a foreign alien ship just on the brink of death. No, beyond that. The being is chittering incessantly, feathery antennae waving hastily. I do not recognize the creature. It is taller than me, with a thin frame and thick, black, leathery hide. Its head is long and reminds me of a viper, but it has antennae. The rest of its body is layered like chitinous armor, with thick wings reminiscent of a bats and a stubby tail. It has four gleaming orange eyes. I realize my error and quickly pull up the headset from around my neck, flipping the translator switch on. The chittering becomes glitchy, computerized words, but they're understandable. "I was so worried, I found you in the middle of no-where, my life scanners indicated nothing, but now you are alive and-" "Who are you?" I blurt. The being stops and blinks at me. "What?" It's more of a low squeak. "Who are you? What species are you?" The translator feeds them through the microphone, and they become a series of fast clicks. The creature cocks its head. "I did not introduce myself. My apologies. I am Vihkoz, of the Verahzzians." I nod, not understanding at all, but not needing to. "Greetings, Vihkoz." My pronunciation is pitiful, but they do not seem to notice. "I am Amelie of the hu- of the terrans." I pause. "Thank you for saving my life."

[mudkipthemusical-blog]

Music of the Month: April 2017

I had next to no expectations for music I’d find this month, but even with that, I managed to find some highly intriguing and even powerful stuff. Looking back on everything, my picks for this month are very much on the “chill” side, which is a happy accident considering how I’ve been in the tail end of my semester and working my butt off. Otherwise, there’s a nice mix of genres as always, but there is one big difference this time around: I ran into my first tie for album of the month, which I’ll cut right to:

Albums of the Month: Inside Out (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) by Michael Giacchino…

…and Strangers by Balto

First off, let me just say that both of these works of cover art are amazing. Next, while these two albums are stylistically quite different, they each equally appeal to my tastes and they’re each so strong all the way through. Inside Out feeds my love for film score (and especially my Michael Giacchino kick), and in that, it fit in just the right notch between the different and the familiar. I love Michael Giacchino’s work because of how much he plays with recurring themes, and this album is no stranger to that strategy (nor is it a stranger to his knack for puns, wink wink), but the orchestration took this score in particular to another level for me. There’s such a wonderful blend of conventional strings and piano along with less conventional ones like the bells that give the entire score such an ethereal sound; it’s exactly what I thought it would sound like to live inside a brain. This is best represented on tracks like “Bundle of Joy” and “Abstract Thought.” …But for one last touch, I nearly lost it when I was listening to it while doing homework in the library and I discovered the trollish surprise at the end of the last track. I won’t spoil the fun for you, but if you’ve seen Inside Out, you’ll know what I’m talking about when you get to it. (sinister giggles)

Strangers feeds my love of indie rock and complex lyrics. Admittedly, I was primarily interested in the band because of their namesake, Balto the sled dog, whose heroic story was adapted into my childhood favorite movie. Logically, if I liked that so much, I should like the band, and luckily I did, but that's beside the point. The way I see it, this is the perfect music to have playing in the background at a barbecue. The overall vibe is so laid-back and pleasing to help you relax and have fun, but there's still plenty of substance to keep you interested. It helps that the general mix is so solid, and the lead singer's voice has such a nice color to it; it has just enough bite to it to snag your attention, but it's still warm enough to keep it from being too distracting. My standout tracks here were "Restless Generation," "Star of Bethlehem," and "A Year Lasts a Lifetime." While "Star of Bethlehem," is a super-mellow, toned-down ballad, the other two are uptempo jams with some pretty relatable and/or thought-provoking lyrics ("Everybody shuts off one way or another babe, you know it's true") that fit the barbecue aesthetic perfectly. Overall, it's nice not having too much stimulus in this album. I love being able to kick back, relax, and just take in the atmosphere. …Although, all this barbecue talk is giving me hamburger cravings.

5 Great Songs from this Month:

“Can’t Help Falling in Love” as performed by Pentatonix

I could write a book detailing my love for Pentatonix, but this cover of theirs in particular brings up a good point I have to make about them. While they’re such innovators in the a capella world (see “Daft Punk”), they know just when to dial it back and focus on rich harmonies. I already liked the original Elvis song, but this arrangement augments it in the best way possible. The blend of their voices sounds very innocent and vulnerable in a romantic way and the harmonies (oh gosh, the harmonies) left me waiting for every single word. I said before that I thought the cover of “Bohemian Rhapsody” that appeared on the same EP was a shoo-in for this list, but I found this just the slightest bit more polished. As great as Pentatonix is at transforming songs and making the most out of their limitations as a vocal group, this simple stuff that they do matters so much to me.

“Battle Scars” by Paradise Fears

I ran into this song via this AMV, which is a sentence I don’t think I’ve ever said before, but I’m still grateful that that’s how it happened. On the one hand, I love that AMV; it’s so beautifully drawn and it manages to pack so much emotion and meaning into a 30 second clip. On the other hand, the song itself is one of the most powerful ones I’ve heard in a while, and it came at a perfect time due to some personal struggles I’ve been having. It honestly makes me cry when I listen to it, but it does that in a way that motivates me. It’s a gorgeous reminder that no matter how difficult things may seem or no matter how far away the finish line may be, there’s always hope and there are always people to support you; even in the midst of fear and anxiety, everyone has the power to keep on going and make their way to greater things. It gives me the strength to keep marching on, what more can I say? My only complaint is that I’m a little bitter Apple Music will only let me stream a live version rather than the studio recording, but whatever form it’s in and whatever medium I encounter it through, I know this is a song that will stick with me for years to come. 

“Warm on a Cold Night” by HONNE

This song is like a perfect blend of the retro and the modern; while the production is very synth-heavy, right from the opening with the deep-voiced narrator, there’s this sense of classic swagger to set the mood to grab your attention. This altogether with HONNE’s voice creates this incredibly, for the lack of a better word, sexy aesthetic. As a tune, it’s minimalist, but you just have to appreciate the production value that went into the recording. Like the songs from Strangers, I like how it feels like there’s a lot going on, but you can still kick back and take it all in; you don’t need everything turned up to 12 to have an enjoyable listen.

“Hey Mami” by Sylvan Esso

This tune has a pretty similar aesthetic to that of “Warm on a Cold Night,” but that didn’t really occur to me at first because I discovered it via my university’s all-female a capella group. I liked that the recording was this simple a capella groove supporting the poetry in the melody, and later was pleasantly surprised when the synth bass dropped after the first verse. The texture still feels very simple, but that clash between the synth and the voices works so well. Going back to the poetry, the story’s about being catcalled and reacting to it, which is a pretty uncommonly covered topic in itself, and the lyrical delivery feels so rapid-fire and constantly flowing, which kept me intrigued. For a pop tune, it’s just so unique, and I love finding new flavors like this one’s.

“LOVE. (FEAT. ZACARI)” by Kendrick Lamar

I’ve been very recently trying to get into hip hop because it was never really a genre that I was interested in before. In particular, I’ve been interested in Kendrick Lamar because one of my good friends is a huge fan of his, and while it was just before I joined Tumblr, I had listened to To Pimp a Butterfly and was blown away by the sheer amount of artistry and power that went into it. Naturally, I wanted to see how Kendrick could’ve topped that with DAMN., and while I have to be honest in that I didn’t like it as much as To Pimp a Butterfly it was still great! This track in particular surprised me because every other song on DAMN. felt so harsh and intense, whereas this felt a lot more vulnerable and sentimental. It may be more pop than hip hop, but it’s such a beautiful package with the beat and the back-and-forth of Kendrick and Zacari’s voices. Just hearing Kendrick sing “I wanna be with you” makes me smile, and I appreciate getting to hear a different side from him, even for only one track.

As I mentioned, I’ve been managing the end of my semester, and all of these picks were all great ways to relax, whether I was playing them in the background while studying or taking a break and listening to them more seriously. All of these, except for the Pentatonix track maybe the Inside Out album since I’ve been working my way through the archives of Disney/Pixar score, weren’t expected either, which made it fun! May is going to be another one of those months, which ought to be exciting, but I’m expecting at least 3 big album releases already for June, I’m not quite sure how to feel on that front. Either way, until next month (and hopefully not days into it)!