#third time I tried to post this...

[dross-the-fish]

Trying to upload this again. While I wait for an invite for Ao3 so I can start posting the fic here’s an excerpt from the first chapter of my crossover au ...

It was a chilly autumn afternoon when Doctor John Watson heard a knock at his door. Three hesitant taps, followed by a long pause and two firmer knocks. He knew the latter meant that whoever it was, their trouble was urgent, enough so that it was unlikely they’d simply leave if he didn’t answer. With a deep sigh he put down his badly crumpled newspaper, nearly three months old and worried almost to tearing by anxious hands, yet still unread save for the blaring headline:

“STRING OF GRUSOME MURDERS IN SMALL VILLIAGE. SHERLOCK HOLMES INVESTIGATING CLAIMS OF VAMPIRISM AND OCCULT ACTIVITY IN KENT.“

Smoothing down his thinning hair and shaking a wrinkle from his dressing gown in an effort to look presentable, Watson prepared himself to deliver a speech he’d already given more times than he could count. No, Sherlock Holmes is not here. No we are not taking further cases.  No I don’t know when he’ll be back I’m sorry but you’ll have to enlist help elsewhere.

The words never made it out of his mouth, as he opened the door he saw before him two young men who barely looked into their twenties. One, a pleasant-faced stocky man with round glasses and dark curls and the other, a thin, willowy fellow with deep circles under his eyes and the most harrowed look Watson had ever seen on another human being. It was the lean man who piqued his interest for Watson recognized the tell tale signs of an individual broken down by a long strain of illness. Perhaps it wasn’t a detective they were looking for at all…perhaps it was simply the aid of a doctor they needed.

The bespectacled young man spoke first, “Are you Dr. Watson?” he asked hopefully.

“I am. What can I do for you two? Is your friend ill?” Watson asked, already leaning forward to get a closer look. The thin man leaned away; his eyes fixed to the ground as though he were silently asking the earth to swallow him up.

“Yes, he is… it’s a long story,” the stocky boy held out his hand for Watson to shake, “My name is Quincey Harker and this is my friend, Lawrence Talbot.”

“Lawrence Talbot? I see, I’m sorry about your parents. I read about them in the newspaper, horrible tragedy. I hear they haven’t found the killer yet” Watson said, his heart sinking as Lawrence’s face crumpled. He hated to turn away a grieving young man, but without Holmes there was little chance of success and Watson was no longer young or brash enough to take on his own cases without his partner. The kindest thing would be to turn them away now rather than drag out the rejection, “You’ll have to forgive me. Detective Holmes hasn’t returned and I don’t know when he will, I’m afraid I’m no use to you. There is a chap who lives not far from here who might be able to help you. Little fellow, Belgian and a bit of a fusspot but I hear he’s very successful. You ought to try him.”

Lawrence’s friend, Quincey, shook his head, “No good, he wouldn’t take our case. He refused to entertain any consideration of the…supernatural nature of our problem. Listen, Doctor, we know Sherlock Holmes is still missing and, contrary to what you believe, we’re not looking for the, erm, person who killed Larry’s parents.”

The corners of Watson’s mustache dropped in tandem with his thick eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise, “You’re not? What are you looking for then?”

“A cure for lycanthropy,” Larry blurted and Watson winced at the weak, raspy sound of a voice strained by frequent harsh sobbing.

“Lycanthropy,” Watson’s frown deepened as he slowly repeated the word, “Surely, I don’t look like some superstitious backwater hag? I am a medical doctor; I do not deal in curses and witchcraft. I’m sorry for your loss, boys, but I have my own matters to attend to and no time for chasing after werewolves. Good day!” before he could close the door Quincey stuck his foot across the threshold.

“We can prove it!” he insisted, “If you’ll just wait until nightfall, we can prove we’re telling the truth. Just come back with us to Talbot manor and see for yourself.”

“Even if I did,” Watson rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation, “What do you expect that I could even do if he really is a werewolf?”

Quincey dug around in his coat and, after a moment of frantic rummaging, produced a battered, plain, leatherbound journal. He shoved the volume into Watson’s hands with such enthusiasm that he nearly dropped it.

“We’re hoping you can find someone for us…someone who may be able to create a cure. Please, Doctor, we’re out of options! You’re the only hope we have left.”

Watson knew the moment he took the journal in hand that he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He knew it was a terrible idea to get involved in a case this bizarre without Holmes. He also knew, the minute he cracked open the journal and read the steadily more frantic and messy entries, that this was the kind of case that Sherlock would have jumped into feet first and though more tempered in nature than his partner, John Watson was no more immune to the allure of the strange and mysterious. As he skimmed the pages with increasing interest a particular passage caught his eye…

“…I had learned to dwell with pleasure as a beloved daydream on the thought of the separation of these elements. If each I told myself could be housed in separate identities life would be relieved of all that was unbearable the unjust might go his way delivered from the aspirations and remorse of his more upright twin and the just could walk steadfastly and securely on his upward path doing the good things in which he found his pleasure and no longer exposed to disgrace and penitence by the hands of this extraneous evil…”

“I’ve heard of this case; Dr. Henry Jekyll took his own life following some kind of failed experiment?” Watson asked, finding himself eager to know how this could possibly connect to Lawrence’s alleged werewolfism.

“Supposedly he did, but there was no body and no one has any idea where he’s buried. Larry and I think he may have faked his death. In any case, he managed to develop a serum that can separate man’s evil nature from it’s good and we’re hoping, if he can be found, he can find a way to separate the man from the beast in Larry,” Quincey gave Watson a pleading look, “It’s a long shot and I know all of this sounds very strange but please! We need help and we don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

Watson couldn’t help himself but to be moved to pity, though he was still skeptical. It was obvious that both young men were desperate and the Talbot boy in particular, clearly needed some kind of help. Against his better judgement he tentatively offered: “Alright, I’ll go with you tonight and see this werewolf transformation with my own eyes. If you’re telling me the truth we’ll discuss more about tracking down this Jekyll fellow.”

Quincey whooped and grabbed Lawrence in a full-bodied hug, “Do you hear that, Lar? He said ‘yes’! What’d I tell you? That cure’s as good as found!”

Larry gave him a strained smile and patted his back, “Tone it down, Quin, he hasn’t taken the case yet,” he disentangled his long limbs from Quincey’s grip.

“But he will! He just needs to see that were telling the truth and he will! Won’t you Dr. Watson?”

Watson wasn’t eager to make promises but something about this case was drawing him in. With all the rumors of occult activities cropping up he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some connection between this matter of the werewolf and the claims of a killer vampire that Holmes had been pursuing. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to the world than either of them had anticipated. He could practically hear Sherlock’s voice in his ear, encouraging him: Come on, Watson. Be bold! You were born to be a man of action. Your instinct is always to do something energetic, seize the moment.

“If Mr. Talbot really is, as you say, a lycanthrope, then I will take the case. We may not have the benefit of my partner’s genius but I will give you my best efforts and with luck they will prove fruitful. Allow me a few moments to make myself presentable and I’ll accompany you back to the Talbot estate.”

[alterigo06]

A Christmas Carol, featuring Lord Barok van Zieks and his migrane.

Silly sketches below the cut

[squeebii]

[valyrfia]

damn our boyfriends are busy what a shame oh well at least we get to take each other on a date in ferrari hospitality <3

[anghraine]

TMP is honestly this wild trip despite the glacial pacing at times, because it's like—

Vulcan woman: Spock, you've worked hard to purge yourself of all emotion, but your mind is picking up signals from some human and I guess some logic thing in space. my conclusion: you aren't racially pure enough to find your answers here

Spock: time to track down the pure logic thing and find the answers and meaning in my existence as a Vulcan that I've been searching for all my life and definitely never found in the past before all my previous character development got reset

[Meanwhile]

Kirk: so this unknown cosmic force is going to wipe out all life on Earth, and I've been placed in charge because I have a lot of experience dealing with bizarre dangerous cosmic shit as commander of this specific ship, in addition to my missing being in space because I was pushed into the admiralty at, like, age 39

Decker: *throws a series of tantrums about the prioritization of all of Earth above his ego for almost the entire mission*

Ilia: I have taken an oath of celibacy

Kirk: ... not super relevant. please just do your job

[Also, the transporter painfully melts some people we don't know into unrecognizable lumps of flesh. This is completely disconnected from the rest of the movie; it has no relevance to anything else, is immediately forgotten and never acknowledged again, and everyone acts like Bones is silly and paranoid for being nervous about going through the transporter]

Uhura: I think Admiral Kirk is obviously the person most qualified to command our incredibly dangerous and important mission, and we're damned lucky he got put in charge. if anyone cares

[everyone else]: *doesn't care*

McCoy: Jim, maybe you shouldn't make your mid-life crisis everyone else's problem

Decker: yeah! I should still be in charge! my solution is "don't take risks" when encountering the unknown and wait until systems are 100% safe before we do anything

Kirk: again let me reiterate that we need to act decisively even if it's risky or billions of people will die. we have to at least try, so waiting is not an option here

Spock: *shows up and, despite being icy and dismissive, immediately fixes all their most pressing technical problems*

McCoy: maybe we shouldn't trust him. he has his own agenda now

Kirk: wtf of course we can trust him he's Spock how dare

[Kirk quickly figures out the changes to the bridge, and from then on, his judgment and decisions are pretty much continually vindicated by the plot. Decker's advice goes from temporarily useful to unprofessional constant jabs with little sense of the real stakes and no better ideas. It becomes extremely apparent that Kirk really is far better equipped in temperament and experience to deal with the potential slaughter of Earth than Decker, especially when assisted by Spock—even this arctic version of Spock.]

Spock: *knocks out a crewman, steals a spacesuit, and tries to make contact with the cosmic acid trip/space vagina by traveling through what he unenthusiastically describes as its "orifices"*

Kirk: I ... guess maybe Bones was - no, it can't be - wait a moment, I -

Spock: *starts transmitting all the data he's gathering to Kirk*

Kirk: hah, I knew he would never betray me! Okay, everyone, you all stay here, I'm going to jump into space to catch him

[Spock melds with the cosmic space vagina and it violently ejects him through various orifices, as he might describe them, until he's thrown right into Kirk's arms, signifying nothing]

Bones and Chapel: melding with the cosmic logic vagina seems to have fried his brain :(

Spock, laughing: I should have known ...

Kirk: *seizes his shoulders* known WHAT Spock what are you talking about. please tell me your mind is intact. sweetheart it's okay what are you full of shame about this time *tries to shake the brain damage loose*

Spock: Jim ... I melded with the supreme logic being and discovered that there's no beauty or art or meaning in raw information or logic ... only a barren STEM hellscape without the humanities

[Spock slides his hand down Kirk's arm until their fingers wrap around each other, and their joined hands tightly cling together. unrelatedly, we have definitely seen Vulcans and Romulans use finger stroking as kissing and/or foreplay]

Spock: it was awful and empty and not at all what I've been searching for this whole time. and finally I understood that the real meaning in life comes from the simple feeling between you and me. The mechanized space vagina couldn't understand our love

[Kirk wraps his other hand tightly around his and Spock's clasped fingers. God knows what degree of obscenity they would be committing on Vulcan, but in any case, McCoy (as ever) politely pretends he's not seeing this happen right in front of him, since Kirk and Spock obviously have forgotten, yet again, that other people exist]

Kirk: 🥹🥰

[They stare tenderly at each other without speaking for a few seconds, but are definitely communicating on some level; after a moment's hesitation, Kirk nods slightly, then Spock nods in response, and it feels like we're missing half the conversation. Then Spock explains V'ger's existential angst in terms that obviously apply equally to his own past self, and by past I mean "for most of this movie until a few minutes ago"]

It turns out that V'ger, in addition to being a cosmic acid trip/space vagina/mass murderer, is also an annoying teenager, maturity-wise. I do appreciate Kirk and Spock having their "this is just adolescent angst and we are too middle-aged for this nonsense" reaction, and noping out to provoke V'ger into some measure of cooperation until they all figure out that it's trying to communicate with NASA.

In the course of all this, there's a point where Decker manages to be mildly helpful via the Ilia probe sort of remembering their old relationship, and he proves his value at last by welcoming the chance to orgasmically fuse with Ilia/V'ger, while Kirk is horrified and baffled at why Decker would find this remotely appealing. (ngl Kirk in this movie feels like the most purely gay-coded iteration of him; from the film itself, I could easily believe he has lost all attraction to women at this point.)

So thankfully, we're finally free of the weird and underwhelming Decker/Ilia duo via multiple cosmic acid orgasms, and the Earth is saved, etc. In aesthetics, it's all powerfully 70s, even in the awesome strange bits before V'ger looked quite so, uh, yonic. Somehow even the new bland sleepwear version of Starfleet uniforms seem very 70s; apparently Spock's kickass robes and the muscle-revealing quasi-polo top that Kirk promptly switches into consumed all available stylishness.]

Scott: everything's fine now, so I guess we can drop you off at Vulcan, Mr. Spock

Spock: my experiences today have, uh, resolved my need to stay on Vulcan, so there's no reason to detour for me. I'll just tag along to Earth for >_> no reason

Kirk: [deeply vindicated for about the twelfth time that day, but this time also managing to exude Spock is getting laid tonight without saying a word about him] Mr. Sulu, ahead, warp one.

[itsspadering]

Bad Influence 1990

“No, no talking. You’re gonna die with your mouth shut.”

[leifyposting]

it’s 1am and i’m supposed to be asleep but instead i am here on tumblr to tell you that this:

IS A CRIME

this is a CRIME i say!!

what do you MEAN there is no established “kaeya is protective of jean” tag?? that’s their whole dynamic!

who was it who took over her duties when she was sick? who was it who stepped up as acting acting grand master when she was on vacation? who was it who told the traveler to give her their full support? he looks out for her in every way he can!

like i understand kaeya is a little baby boy. i get it. he is my baby boy as well and i love to make people protective of him. but c’mon team at some point we need to let jean get woobified as well

thank you for coming to my ted talk now i’m off to write kaeya being protective of jean

[screechingfromthevoid]

nothing (besides everyone ignoring Orym's deal) has made me angrier than watching Dorian keep up this facade. Dorian Storm has always been a type of mask he's worn. At first he called himself a liar because of it. The happy go lucky bard was a way of escaping for him. He was escaping Brontë so he created Dorian. He didn't believe he was Dorian. Until the Crown Keepers made Dorian real. And for a while, he really believed he was Dorian. That he has this new family and new life and he could be who he truly wanted to be.

And then his brother came back and made his problems Dorian's problems. Until he had to put Brontë back on. Because even if the Crown Keepers + Cyrus called him Dorian, he was Brontë. He had to be who his brother thought he was.

When Cyrus dies, the thread to Brontë had snapped. He was going to see Orym, back to the Bells Hells, back to Dorian Storm. But the foundation of Dorian had shattered. Dorian was created in order to run from his place in life, family, Cyrus. Now he was gone. The Crown Keepers had fallen apart. His friends fell through his fingers and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He was once ready to side with a betrayer god for these people and now they're in the wind.

So Dorian shows back up to Bells Hella and he's completely broken. The foundation of both of his lives has been thoroughly rocked. No brother. No Crown Keepers. The two things that forged Dorian Storm. He wears that mask so fucking well. Because he still wants to believe in it. He said it live on stage that he should "believe his own backstory". The one he made up. The one where he was a bard.

He wants to be Dorian so bad. He spends all his money on Orym, he spins the bottle so he can kiss his friends, he flirts, he blushes and giggles at compliments. Exactly how Dorian would, should.

But he wears the gold of the heir. He has a festering animosity inside his chest. He doesn't sleep. He's thinner than he was. He doesn't sleep. He sicks abominations after their creators. He talks to God's without an ounce of self preservation, daring them to strike him down. He does not acknowledge them as they taunt him.

The god of beauty and magic calls him beautiful and he does not smile.

[lostpimplepatch]

Happy Hare, where have you buried all your children? Tell me so I say

You can't keep them all safe. They will die and be afraid.

Mother, tell me so I say

[mt07131]

Mirrors are funny things, aren't they? Reflections, they distort reality. No matter what you try.

[moiraxrose]

New clip from ELSBETH 2.01

[khionnom]

[Don't feed the deer!]

did a little pumpkin panic fanart on a whim, bc I've been really enjoying the game and I like how it turned out :>

also the deer keeps scaring the shit out of me. only at night tho. and always at the well lol

either way, go play pumpkin panic if you like survival horror and farming games!! it's really fun and it's free on steam! :D

also speedpaint!! cus i really like how this turned out :3 (tbh wasn't sure if I could add it at first)

[kpopsuppository]

local dog learns to cook through the power of friendship and green onion

[aarontveit]

[sunflowers-and-scales]

HELLLOOOOO HAVE MY SILLY OC ANIMAITC

[ceiling-karasu]

I was discussing Korean shamanism with @agotia-t after they introduced Hanbam, and this encouraged me to finally draw my White-Naped Crane shaman OC, Chongsu (link to months old post here), as I said I eventually would. I have briefly included her in The Rod that Blocks the Lightning (here, about 2/3rds of the way through the chapter), as well.

She participates in the spiritual and medicine making practices of the mudang, while avoiding the performances of the kisaeng path.

Here is an example of one of her gutdang worship rooms, in which she would perform sacred ceremonies.

Generations past, a Joseon style caste system was kept in place with the help of the spiritual priest class, mudang shamans with a mixture of Confucianism and Buddhism, enjoying many luxuries and power in their caste high above most other species.

In the current day of the AU, generations after the former kings and caste systems were overthrown, the scars still remain (ex. Weasels thinking they are superior to smaller species and the squirrels needing to be reminded that they are allowed to join the soldier hedgehogs).

The White-Naped cranes spiritual practices, and preference towards the old caste system, have fallen out of favor with the general populace of Flower Hill. It is, however, very popular with the Weasels, who still hold that they are superior to the smaller animals. Many shaman leave Flower Hill to join the weasels to provide spiritual practices, something Flower Hill cannot stop due to migration permits.

Chongsu is based on a mudang shaman whose bloodline supposedly ties back the strongest to Sungmo, the mother of all shaman priestesses. Which makes her a sort of community elder despite her young age, as well as her constant mysterious illnesses.

She is a young crane, who lives in Flower Hill, too sickly to make the annual migration to Teikoku (Japan), like most of the White-Napes cranes. She and her followers assist in making medicine for the troops. Her biggest wish and command is for all species to get along with each other in harmony. What she does not realize, is that as the ‘supreme leader,’ this could possibly be misinterpreted as a command for her followers to reinstate the caste system, by any means possible, which could even mean teaming up with weasel, wolf, or tiger leaders, who also wish to return to the caste system and crush all underfoot.

In real life, white named cranes are unusual in that they primary live in the demilitarized zone of North Korea, but migrate to Japan. Shaman still exist in Korea to this day (participating in spiritual/healing leaders, fortune telling, and entertainment such as with the kisaeng), but are sometimes treated with suspicion, especially in North Korea, due to many of them, especially the kisaeng (who the Japanese troops found similar to geisha, apparently according to reports), siding with the Japanese during the invasions. As a result, the distrust and semi discrimination the Flower Hill commanders hold for Chongsu, is a hint that all is not absolutely perfect in Flower Hill.