#oh hey it’s vans

[bitchthefuck1]

I feel like we never acknowledge the sheer comedy of the fact that when Wylan and Jesper help Inej take down merchers involved in the slave trade they're literally ratting out their shitty coworkers.

[heatherfield]

No, no. Matilda, no. No more heads! Alright, just go watch the door. Make yourself useful.

Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story, Episode 7 “The Secrets in the Sea Log” [x]

Bonus:

[jupiterlandings]

“But when does a comet become a meteor?

When does a candle become a blaze?

When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

When does the reason become the blame?

When does a man become a monster?”

Character Aesthetics:

Abraham Van Helsing & Mina Murray,

Dracula by Bram Stoker

[novelconcepts]

Van has opinions about the most romantic part of a movie.

It’s kind of an accident, starting this conversation. Just something she’s been thinking about lately, a thought her mouth has decided to unleash without her full consent. Maybe because she needs to get it out, to be understood. Maybe just to see what’ll happen.

It’s just one of those things, she guesses. Happens all the time, but never more so than around Taissa Turner.

[terrence-silver]

Hilarious how Terry Silver’s famous Three D’s speech could’ve been a direct in-universe reference to The Witches of Eastwick (which came out two years before The Karate Kid III, in 1987) and the Devil’s own speech about the three D’s which are death, desertion and divorce.

Basically, what I mean to say is that...Terry’s full of nonsense. 

Canonically.

And he adores that he is. 

It amuses him infinitely whenever he is.

His Quicksilver Technique is literally scrounged up from everything and anything under the sun with little rhyme or reason other than what’s painful, what’s deliberately degrading and what’s personally funny for Terry himself and torturous as all hell for an otherwise clueless Daniel. Terry used random things. Lies. Made up moves. Hurtful methods. His own on the spot improv. Actual movie references, if anything. Whatever’s on hand. He’s bullshitting his way through everything, for lack of a better word. What’s worse? What’s crueler? Or where Terry’s concerned, what’s better --- it worked! It actually worked! He is capable of selling a line from an actual film as a credible martial arts philosophy and have this kid eating from the palm of his hand. This patchwork of manipulation he calls a legitimate and special training routine is nothing but him quite literally trolling Daniel Larusso and Daniel Larusso believing him, making the entirety of the movie all the funnier and all the darker, because my god, Terry Silver downright scammed and lulled in Daniel with a piece of dialogue lifted from a comedy.

No wonder he was so perpetually amused and all smiles the whole film.

[timetravelbypen]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Edwardian Period, Although this may go past 1911 we shall see..., Human AU, Established Relationship, Fluff, predominantly tooth-rotting fluff, story-specific tags in each chapter's notes Series: Part 2 of Edwardian AU Summary:

"So, what do you think, Yaz, are you interested in going?”

Yaz stood then, leaning forward to press a kiss to Johanna’s cheek.

“I’m interested in absolutely everything, if it means going there with you, Johanna.”

 A series of short story sequels to In This World of Strangers, I Belong to Someone.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Not-Incorrect Quotes, Food Edition

In honor of the “food” prompt for this month’s @polyamships Polyam Shipping Day:

--

Alice: [looking at a collection of “freakshake” photos online] I really don’t understand these things. I mean, I’ve got nothing against a good milkshake, but -- look at this, this one has an entire slice of cheesecake on it. 

Victor: I know! You know I like sugar, but -- that seems really excessive.

Smiler: You know what I’ve always thought? That those are like the milkshake fancypants version of the Vermonster.

Alice: The what?

Smiler: A giant bucket sundae that you’re supposed to eat with your friends -- it’s from Ben & Jerry’s. Why else would you get a slice of cheescake on a milkshake if you weren’t supposed to give the cheesecake to someone else?

Victor: That’s -- probably the most sensible explanation for these things I’ve heard.

Alice: Pity that probably means it’s not true.

Smiler: Probably not, but it SHOULD be. Also, if we’re ever anywhere near a Ben & Jerry’s, we should get a Vermonster.

Alice: Well, that goes without saying.

--

Smiler: [sneaking into the kitchen]

Smiler: [looking around as they grab a package of Jaffa Cakes out of the pantry]

Smiler: [grinning to themselves as they tear it open]

Victor: [immediately poking his head around the door] Can I have one too?

Smiler: How do you always know?!

--

Smiler: [pouring some strawberry mojito mocktails they’ve whipped up for everyone] We got drinks!

Alice: [comes in and claims her glass, taking a swing] Mmmm -- delicious as always, Smiler.

Victor: [following soon after] Oh yes -- you really have a talent for this.

Smiler: [sipping their own drink] Well, talent and years of helping Mom with parties and working at coffee places.

Victor: Even still -- you really should be a bartender. You’d knock the socks off everyone with these.

Smiler: [laughs] Maybe, but I think most of them wouldn’t be impressed with the lack of alcohol.

Alice: Look, I have enough problems with Wonderland, I don’t need to add booze to the mix.

Victor: And you don’t need me trying to tell you my entire life story.

Smiler: But I like your entire life story!

Victor: That involves me talking more about my parents.

Smiler: I do not like your entire life story, finish your mocktail.

--

[context: Victor and Alice are hanging out with Smiler’s other friends for a movie night]

Oblivion: [bringing in some boxes] All right, we have pizza!

Rita: Finally! Hand it over, Oblivion.

Oblivion: Yeah, hang on -- okay, this one is all pepperoni, nice and standard; this one is pepperoni and olives on one side, and mushrooms and olives on the other; this one is Meat Lover’s and sausage, peppers, and mushrooms; and this one is Hell On Pizza.

Smiler: [rolling their eyes as they pick up a slice of Hell On Pizza, otherwise known as Hawaiian] You could actually try some before knocking it, you know.

Thirteen: Everyone knows pineapple does not belong on pizza, Smiler.

Galactica: It’s a scientific fact.

Smiler: Scientists don’t know what they’re missing.

Rita: [grabbing a slice of pepperoni] Please just accept you have terrible taste in pizza, Smiler. It’ll be easier on us all.

Victor: [had been reaching for his Meat Lover’s -- but upon hearing all this admittedly good-natured teasing, he stops, considers -- and then picks up a slice of Hawaiian and takes a big bite]

Everyone Else: [regards him with surprise, even Smiler]

Victor: [after a contemplative chew and swallow] Actually, this isn’t bad. I don’t know if I’d want it every time, but --

Smiler: [practically tackles him and kisses him hard] Marry me. Now.

Oblivion: [mostly-faux horror, eyes wide] Oh no. [looks at Alice] Have they gotten to you too?

Alice: [taking a dazed Victor’s forgotten slice] We’re about to find out!

--

[sobeckfamilyvalues]

A half formed thought along the lines of Tilda seeing money and manipulation as the route to the type of power and control over situations that she's craved ever since her childhood, and how her trying to force Aloy to come with her to space links directly to the fact that she couldn't convince her parents to stay with her during the flood and lost them as a result, and then presumably later tried and failed to convince Lis to join the Zeniths.

She's learned that allowing the people she loves to make their own choices means she inevitably loses them, but selfishly thinks of it only in terms of how it affects her. She doesn't consider WHY they would make that sacrifice, only that they seem to choose to abandon her. The result is that she has stopped allowing the people she loves to make their own choices, using manipulation and force to try and keep them, which ironically only succeeds in pushing them away faster.

[occasionallythreeowls]

"If you died, I'd just bring you back," Tai says, breezily. Like resurrection is the simplest thing in the world. Van laughs.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

--

Van dies, and Taissa brings her back. That's not the hard part.

[sons-of-the-desert-fma]

Profiles in Alchemy

[lisbonsteresa]

eating glass licking rust etc etc

[jupiterlandings]

Presented without comment.

[ribbonbonny]

weetje ik denk dat ze eigenlijk wel eens on kutlandje in de void mogen gooien waarvoor zitten we hier in godsnaam nog

[nomaishuttle]

i have to get a new phone case and screenprotector Guys its literally scaryyyy

[novelconcepts]

10 with jackie & van in the feral van fic universe?

10 - Hair/Caressing/Braiding a scene from this 'verse

"It's better here, right?" Jackie eases the brush through a sheaf of molten fire, letting the soft strands run through her fingers. Van leans her head back, allowing the contact. Allowing the pressure of the teeth against her scalp to soothe the unsteady flutter in her chest.

Yes, it's better here. Anything is better than that room she'd spent a fucking decade memorizing, but that isn't really the point. The point is, Lottie's made something of merit. Something that, unlike the woods, might actually stand a chance of surviving.

It's fresh air, and it's sunlight without filter, and it's people who--by and large--leave Van be. They've been well-trained to tune her out, apart from deliveries of food or fresh laundry. They don't reach for her with zealous fingers. Don't eyeball her when she walks the grounds, hands in her pockets. No one wants a goddamn thing from her here.

There's just Jackie, and after more than a decade, Van's used to that much. Jackie still talks too much, still looks at her with faithful eyes, but it doesn't rankle like it once did. Unhinged though it might be, demented though it might feel, Jackie Taylor might be the best friend she's got.

Certainly, it's an improvement, that she doesn't push Van to speak. There's a notebook in her pocket, a pen tucked behind one ear in case she wishes to communicate, but more often than not, even Jackie doesn't ask. She just turns up with a smile, a hairbrush, a question unasked on her pink lips, and Van lets her in.

It's underrated, the art of silent communication. Underrated, like Lottie's method of handling her; which is to say, letting Van set her own pace. Van gets up on her own schedule, sleeps on her own schedule, eats when and what she feels like. Van dresses as she sees fit--all shades of purple, unfortunately, but otherwise chosen by her own two hands. There are no pills to be forced down her throat. No doctors demanding she try fresh therapies.

It's not something to be put lightly, this phrase, but Van's fairly certain this is as close to paradise as she's ever going to get.

She lets Jackie work the brush through her hair, which runs to the middle of her back. It reminds her of being very small. Reminds her of hands--whose? surely not Vicky's, though she can't imagine who else there might have been--twisting and dancing until a wild cascade found itself tamed into a single plait. Jackie's not as good as whoever had done it back then. Not as good as Taissa, either--a thought Van pointedly shoves down a mental flight of stairs whenever it crops up.

It's not about being good, she reminds herself. Not about skill or talent or affinity. It's about willingness. The simple warmth of hands eager to go to work.

Jackie brushes out the tangles, stroking without keeping count. She talks as she works, regaling Van with observations about the goats Lottie keeps, and the beehives, and the gardens. She talks of people whose names Van immediately forgets, and of her dreams for this place, which Lottie so gladly shares. She isn't just bringing Van into her day-to-day, it's understood. She's telling stories.

She's telling stories, because, after all this time, stories are all Van has. All she's ever had. The only thing that cannot, will not, walk away.

"Are you going out to the grove tonight?" she asks, setting the brush aside. She's beginning to work Van's hair into distinct divisions, preparing to braid them together.

Van shrugs. She hasn't decided yet. Lottie's built this place for her--though she pretends it's for anyone who happens to wander in--and the grove most especially. No one else ventures out there, to Van's knowledge, save for her. Her, and Lottie, and Jackie. The last of the pack.

It's quiet in the grove. If she really listens, she can almost hear the wind. Almost hear the trees. Almost hear the voice she once possessed, laughing merrily in the dark.

If there's a god, she thinks it might reside out there. In the grove. In the torches Lottie lights before her arrival, and the patience of open air. If there's ever been a god, she thinks it might well have a home in those trees, and though it is not her god, maybe it does not mind her company.

She might be going mad, it's true, but it doesn't feel like madness is meant to. Doesn't feel like a sickness spreading cancer-quick through her body. She sits in that grove sometimes, hands resting on crossed legs, and thinks she can almost taste the life she lost to the wolves. She can almost feel the presence of that girl, the one who retold movies around campfires, who trusted in Lottie's dreams, who loved Taissa Turner enough to risk everything for her.

"Well," says Jackie, twisting the braid into unhurried shape, "if you want, I can join you. I like it out there, too. It's peaceful."

Van draws a slow breath, fixating only on the tug of Jackie's hands in her hair, the cool air on her skin, the distant buzz of communal life. Peaceful. A good word. Peace is its own kind of god. Who might she be, if they'd left to her peace all those years ago?

She can't remember the last time she drew blood.

Can't remember the last time she snarled in a stranger's face.

Can't remember the last time she met demand with weary, reluctant acquiescence.

Peace.

They should have left her to it from the start.

[ace-malarky]

1. It Is Said

Sometimes you just. wake up with a definite line in your head (it may have been last night actually but whatever) and y'know, since you're going to avoid doing work for as long as possible anyway, you might as well write some weird stuff to send to other librarians?

idk I have been thinking of escalating the little notes I send back to DB and this! this might be it!

Anyway. have you considered there might be monsters in your library?

~

 It is said that there is a monster in the library.

 There are monsters in most libraries, of course. It comes of having so many books in one place, it is said, of all those softly whispered stories and tales and ideas that float amongst the couches were more pictures have described a journey than will ever be remembered.

 Monsters, it is said, are variations on a theme. They are – well, monstrous. They skulk. They creep, they slither, they lurk. They bear fangs, unleash talons, drip toxins from shimmering stingers.

 Monsters, it is said, are to be feared. They are killers, they are nightmares, they are the evil to be slain. To be defeated.

 To be feared.

 It is less said (it is never said) that all monsters protect something. Dragons, with their hoards and their towers; goblins, with their tunnels and their caves. Kraken, with their depths and their shipwrecks.

 They rarely protect something that is not worth protecting. Everything is worth something to somebody.

 So.

 It is said that there is a monster in the library.

 The specifics do not matter, much. It is there now, after all, and there are very few heroes left to fight it.

 (The damage would be irreparable; have you ever tried to leech blood from a book?)

 It hides when the library is open, when there are people around.

 After hours, it stalks the shelves, it lounges amongst the books. It dreams.

 It is not said what monsters dream of. That would make them something other than monster. Something other than itself.

 There is a monster; do not be afraid. It is not here for you. Probably.

 It is here, as all monsters are (it is said), for one thing.

 Only just for one thing. It is a monster, they are defined solely by just one thing.

 It is said that there is a monster in the library.

 It has never said why.