#There's someone reading through the archive...I know they are here. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redflagshipwriter · 5 months ago

Text

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred��s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main

2K notes · View notes

thestrangepoet · 1 month ago

Text

The Ninth Life | The Magnus Archives One Shot

Based on @ultramarinaa's Cat!Martin AU, and not upon @coworkerjonathan's soul-destroying tragic version of it. If you want that version, it's here.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Buttocks-clenchingly sweet fluff.

DISCLAIMER: I, once again, wrote this in an hour and haven't proofread it. Forgive the typos and any “first draft” vibes.

──── •✧• ────

[CLICK]

Oop, yup, it’s on! Right, erm…This is Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute. I thought it would be a good idea to—

[A VERY LOUD, VERY RASPY HISSING CUTS MARTIN OFF]

[A LONG, WEIGHTY PAUSE FOLLOWS; SOMEONE IS BEING GLARED AT]

What? I-I mean, given the absolute palaver we just went through, shouldn’t we record what happened and how we fixed it?

[SILENCE FOLLOWS. BUT MARTIN EVIDENTLY GETS HIS ANSWER]

Exactly! Right, so…ah-hem. This is Martin Bla—

[ONCE AGAIN, A LOUD HISS]

What? What is wrong with—No, Jon, you’re going to hit the—!

[CLICK]

[MARTIN RUFFLES SOME PAPERS, THEN EXHALES LOUDLY THROUGH HIS NOSE. WHEN HE SPEAKS THIS TIME, IT’S SOMEWHAT TAUT]

Statement of Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding an encounter with a feline-based Leitner book called The Ninth Life. Recorded by subject, October 17th, 2017.

Happy now?

[LOUD PURRING NEAR THE TAPE RECORDER SIGNIFIES THAT MARTIN HAS INDEED DONE A PASSABLE JOB]

Good, good. Right, oop! Yeah, okay, you can…sit on my lap while I record this. That’s not…that’s not weird at all. Knowing you’re…you’re Jon.

…You could at least sit like a cat, Jon. No, no, no, don’t get the claws out, it’s fine! Sit how you want! Heh…K-keeping an eye on me, hmm? While I record? Oh, r-right, yeah, ‘Get on with it, Martin’, noted!

So…about ten weeks ago, I came across a book while tidying through some of the old statement boxes. I’m not sure why it wasn’t in the library or in Artefact Storage, but I suppose that’s a mystery for another time. A-anyway, I had a flick through to try to figure out what it was. Could have just been a normal book, you know? E-especially since it wasn’t put away properly, I mean, really, that’s a health and safety risk that wasn’t my fault, and—Ow! Claws!

R-right, ‘Stay on the subject, Martin’, loud and clear…

Where was I? O-oh, right. So I took it through to the break room, sat down with it, flicked through, read a few…err, well, ten pages to be precise, and basically, it was written like an old fairy tale. Something about a man who turned into a cat to get away from everyone and…W-well, what I’m trying to say is that it didn’t seem like a Leitner!

I’d probably have finished reading the whole thing, but the microwave dinging made me jump and look up. No one usually uses the microwave outside of lunch hours, but Jon actually makes cups of tea by microwaving mugs of water and then—Ah-ah-ow! N-no, I’m not getting claw-bullied into not telling people the heinous way you make tea, Jon!

Right, right, fine! Yes, so, microwave dings, I look up from the book, and…I drop the book. And I drop to the floor, a-and the book’s suddenly huge, and there’s Jon, and he’s looking at me, and…

…and I was a cat. I-I-I guess Jon hadn’t noticed me in the break room before putting his mug in the microwave, because he didn’t realise I was me. Next thing I know, I’m being picked up, held over his shoulder, petted and cooed at and—Owwww, claws, claws! Right, okay, no, no one can know Jonathan Sims has a heart, right you are!

E-erm, so…Yeah. Panicked a bit. I-I tried to make it obvious to the others that it was me, but they just didn’t cotton on. And I couldn’t read the book to figure out if the ending would tell me how to turn back. O-or if I even would turn back. Honestly, in any other situation, I-I might have been really terrified, but it’s hard to keep worrying when people are suddenly stroking you and giving you all this affection. Heh, Jon even named me Champion.

But, right, I-I really needed to turn back into a human. You know, as lovely as it was to be liked by everyone, I figured, well, it’s deeply unprofessional to turn into a cat at work, isn’t it? And I really didn’t want to be written up for unauthorised absences when I was technically in the room?

It took a while – I don’t know who moved it, but the book had gone when I managed to slink back into the break room, had to wait for someone to open the door for me, you see – but I eventually found The Ninth Life again.

It took ages to drag it over to Jon’s desk. And even longer for him to stop laughing and telling me what dedicated little chap I was. He picked up the book though, and I got so excited that someone would finally realise a Leitner was in play that I jumped up onto his desk and…

…and I…erm…I knocked his cup of tea over the book.

I could feel my heart sinking. What if I’d ruined it? What if the answer was all smudged up? Jon could tell I was upset, and he started trying to pet me and calm me down, mopping up the tea and everything. Took a while before he got back to the book, and, well…the bookplate had been smeared by the spilt tea, I guess, because he didn’t see any mention of Leitner at the front. He started reading the book, and I tried to nudge him to read the back pages first, to get to the answer before the book could turn him into a cat, but he, erm…well, he read it. Five pages, we think.

And there he was.

One minute, Jon’s at his desk, the next, there’s a little black cat with too many scars sitting in his chair.

Well, after he’d stopped hissing, running around the room – Tim thought he had zoomies, ha ha! – and bapping me on the head every time I got close, he realised who I was.

And then, he bapped me on the head again.

So. We were both cats! And it’s so funny, because in the office, Tim and Sasha and me, we all say how Jon gives off major black-cat energy? He’s like this poor wet cat in human form, and now that he was a cat, and it turned out, he is…w-well, he’s not very good at being a cat?

[A LOUD HISS – EVIDENTLY, MARTIN HAS FORGOTTEN JON IS SITTING THERE]

Don’t hiss at me! You know it’s true. I mean, look, you’re literally sitting in my lap now like a human. Cats don’t do that, Jon! It looks weird!

R-right, okay, let’s, erm, get on with the story – ah, statement, statement! – before I get scratched again.

S-so, right, Jon wasn’t really getting the hang of being a cat. He kept clambering up onto desks to type on keyboards, trying to tell Tim what was happening. He wouldn’t even jump up onto the desks, he would literally shimmy up the leg like he was climbing a tree. And, yeah, he doesn’t sit in your lap like a cat, all curled up, no no, he sits…like a person sits. So I figured actually, this was pretty good, someone had to realise something was up with this cat that just wasn’t catting.

But no. No, no, Tim just laughed and named Jon Skrunkly and got on with his day.

[A LONG, LOW MIAOW OF CONTEMPT IN THE BACKGROUND]

Nooo! You’re not skrunkly at all, Jon! You’re a very handsome little kitty!

[A HISS]

Right, right! Back to work! Erm, yeah, so, there I am, trying to teach Skr–err, Jon how to act more like a cat. Not because it would help get us back to normal, but because I was worried? He kept falling off stuff, not landing on his feet…jumping and missing things…He was having a really hard time, and I figured if we were stuck like this indefinitely, it might help to, you know…teach him a bit?

And then, one day, he just…vanished. I wandered in one morning from the canteen, ‘cause Sasha had snuck me a plate of milk, and I couldn’t find Jon anywhere. Tim realised pretty quickly that something was up, that I wouldn’t settle down, and then he noticed Skrun–err, Jon, was missing.

It took days for me to sniff him out. Which is…a really weird thing to say out loud. On record. Erm. I sniffed my boss out. But it’s insane, as a cat, the difference in senses, a-and to be honest, my eyesight was dreadful because I obviously couldn’t wear my glasses. A-anyway, sniffed him out, and realised he had somehow fallen into the tunnels through the trapdoor? Which is weird as well, ‘cause the trapdoor is always closed. No one would have opened it?

[ANOTHER LOW MIAOW, BUT THIS ONE SOUNDS STRANGELY LIKE SKRUNKLY IS TRYING TO SPEAK – IT ALMOST SOUNDS LIKE HE’S SAYING ‘SASHA!’]

I know, Jon, you’ll tell us when you, erm, get back.

So, now I knew where he was, I went into full hyperkitty mode. I was zooming around, miaowing, pawing, jumping on Tim, jumping at Tim, launching myself off bookshelves, you name it! Somehow, I managed to get the message across, and Tim went to open the trapdoor.

I…I hate going into the tunnels. I really, really hate it. But Jon was down there, and as far as we knew, he’d been down there with no food and water for days! So, down I jumped, with Tim clambering after me telling me to slow down. I kept sniffing, and it was actually pretty easy to find him after that!

There he was, curled up and shaking near a wall, and I ran towards him, miaowing my head off so he knew we were coming to the rescue, and…

And I…changed back. Right there. Just pop! There I was.

Tim, erm…Tim screamed. Jon hissed and nearly ran away. It was chaos, and…I’m actually surprised all three of us made it out. Especially with Jon going wild on Tim and clawing him every time he tried to pick him up. What was that about, anyway, we were helping you!

[ANOTHER GRUMBLING MIAOW – DID SKRUNKLY SEE SOMETHING IN THE TUNNELS? OR SOMEONE? WAS HE TRYING TO TELL THEM?]

We got back up to the office, Jon in tow, and now that I could speak, Tim, Sasha and I managed to hash out a theory.

Basically, we figure that there are a lot of Leitner books that kind of do different things depending on how much you read of them. S-so we have one on record, A Disappearance, if you read one line, you disappear for a bit. But, if you read the whole book, you disappear from the world for good.

I read ten pages of The Ninth Life, and I was a cat for ten weeks. Checks out! So we reckon Jon read about five pages, and it’s been three weeks, so…two weeks of Skrunkly to go!

Right, think that’s it. Yeah! So, erm, if you’re looking for a cure for The Ninth Life, just enjoy your time as a kitty and wait it out! U-unless you read the whole book, in which case, erm…I-I really hope you enjoy your life as a cat.

End recor–Ow! What did I miss off this time?

[SEVERAL LIGHT THUDS SOUND]

Why are you pawing the book, Jon? I…oh. Right.

Erm…I think Jon wants it on record that, erm…the book is eleven pages long. And…and I read ten pages.

[THUD-THUD-THUD!]

Yes, yes, all right, you microwaving your tea saved me from an eternity as a cat! That does not mean I am going to let you continue to ruin perfectly good cups of tea like that!

[A LOUD MIAOW OF PROTEST. MARTIN SIGHS]

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

#tma cats #cat!martin #tma fanfic #the poet's writings

586 notes · View notes

hacvek · 2 years ago

Text

🌑 nightmeows 🔁 dogfandomfandom Follow

clan-showdown-official-deactivated-80-0

Welcome to the Official Clan Showdown, an official tournament to decide the best clan of all! I'll be letting this run for a quarter-moon so hopefully cats from all corners of the forest can vote!

So let's settle this once and for all, through democracy rather than violence

which clan is the best?

ThunderClan ❚❚ 6.3%

WindClan ❚❚❚❚ 11.2%

RiverClan ❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚ 33.6%

ShadowClan ❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚ 20.3%

I'm a kittypet that just wants to press a button ❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚ 28.6%

3384 votes · Poll ends in 1 day 890 birdsongs

🦇🔁 lichenlikehim Follow

windclan bros....

🍄🔁 shrewd-and-wondervole

Something's not adding up. Even discounting the kittypet option, there are way more voters than there are Clan cats.

⚡🔁 thunderclan-official Follow

there are numbers above 5?

🦁🔁 the-lionesse Follow

y'all i figured out why the vote counts are so high. sparrowsong from riverclan just went out and gave birth to fifty kits and signed them all up for clanblr accounts jkldfjslkfd

🪱🔁 wormdefender Follow

op is having a breakdown about thunderclan not winning btw

🐺🔁 dogfandom Follow

OP: here's a silly poll!

cats: get a little silly with it

OP: YOU HAVE COMMITTED VIOLENCE AGAINST ME AND MY MOTHER

#oh so this is what's going on #but where is the breakdown post #edit: i found it 2,349 notes ➡️🗨️🔁❤️

----

🐸 dreamsofgreenleaf

here's how thunderclan can still win

#is this anything #mine 1 note ➡️🗨️🔁❤️

Oopsie! An error was encountered when reblogging. Try again? You've exceeded your daily post limit.

---

🍄 shrewd-and-wondervole 🔁 the-lionesse Follow

Anonymous mewed: wait how did sparrowspong give birth to fifty kits at once

🦁 the-lionesse Follow

she slept with multiple toms. hope that helps.

#interesting #i didn't know that was possible! #bio tag 230 notes ➡️🗨️🔁🤍

---

🪳 starclansfavoriteplaything 🔁 dirteater

Anonymous mewed: i found someone's mirrorleaf still logged into their clanblr at the gathering and voted for shadowclan. i'm not even a clan cat i just got lost while playing outside

🙀 clan-confessions

🪶🔁 pheasantcatcher Follow

anon is braver than any thunderclan warrior

🌿🔁 herbmother Follow

This is what StarClan wants for us. To do the right thing even when we won't get credit for it.

🪳🔁 starclansfavoriteplaything

RARE KITTYPET W

#YOU ARE THE REASON WE CANT HAVE PEACE #lmto [Editor's note: 'laughing my tail off'] 3,401 notes ➡️🗨️🔁❤️

---

🕸️ foxtails 🔁 greencoughtiger Follow

🐭 mouse ✔️✔️

the winner is not shadowclan or riverclan or anyone else. the winner is voter fraud

#prev wtf you can't join clanblr until you're at least twelve moons of age 3,925 notes ➡️🗨️🔁🤍

---

🪳 starclansfavoriteplaything 🔁 dirteater

🐈 freshkillz Follow

feeling lonely need me a she-cat with a mottled pelt and thick tail rn

🦋🔁 moon--moth Follow

not now the entirety of thunderclan was just murdered

#READ THE CAMP 129 notes ➡️🗨️🔁🤍

---

🐸 dreamsofgreenleaf 🔁 mewsogyny Follow

purrzerk-deactivated-80-01m-04d mewed: You can't get pregnant with multiple litters at once. Talk to your medicine cat before spouting misinformation on clanblr

🦁 the-lionesse Follow

i'm literally a medicine cat apprentice but go off

🐷🔁 tomsplaining-archive Follow

Example #163

#get his tail 778 notes ➡️🗨️🔁🤍

---

◼️ dirteater 🔁 cats-posting-their-ls Follow

clan-showdown-official-deactivated-80-0

To everycat that reblogged and voted in my poll in good faith, I thank you.

Clearly something fishy is afoot, whether that's from kits birthed for the purpose of this poll, or popular blogs like @mouse and @swanstar-official badgering their kittypet followers to vote for their Clan. And clearly the subversion does not come from all sides in this debate. I have half a mind to declare ThunderClan the winner, just out of spite.

If RiverClan or ShadowClan 'wins' by cheating, fraud, intimidation, and manipulation, does that 'prove' that it is the best? Hardly. It only proves that such Clans are willing to gain any advantage by any means—including dishonorable ones. Can you trust that such cats won't resort to dirty tactics in snout-to-snout interactions? At the Gathering? In war? Cats like you are the reason we will never have peace.

I won't lie, I'm a bit distraught right now. But I probably should not have expected anything else from this StarClan-forsaken webbedsight. I will never be doing anything like this for you mangy cats ever again. Goodbye.

#this kitty really thought he was going to win the nuzzle peace prize with this poll #my brother in starclan this is not a forest of honor 2,064 notes ➡️🗨️🔁❤️

---

🌑 nightmeows 🔁 malecalico

🤵 actualtwoleg

i didn't even knowed that there wass so many cats in this beuatifal world. woag

🌞🔁 malecalico

only valid ally

#can someone explain what is going on 64 notes ➡️🗨️🔁❤️

#personal #warriors #warrior cats #long post

4K notes · View notes

jo1sstuff · 2 months ago

Text

I think I know who the Archivist is, and it's not Jon. (TMAGP SPOILERS AHEAD)

(TLDR: I think it's Celia. Read on to see why!)

So.

I know the title sounds kinda click-baity, and this is gonna be a bit long, but this is such a ground-breaking theory that you'll hopefully want to stick around.

This is just a theory, so I might be wrong, but it would explain a lot.

I listened to TMAGP 29 earlier, and since my sister doesn't listen to TMA/TMAGP but I like to talk to her about it, I was mentioning the whole "It's on the train" thing, and a crazy theory popped in my head. So now I'm here sharing it with you all, so you can discuss it and maybe prove me wrong/right.

Anyways, I'm gonna start with something that might seem confusing at first, but it'll make sense later.

So we all know Celia, right?

Well, it's pretty much confirmed that she's from the TMA universe, but there are still a few things that don't quite make sense.

For example, the 'sleepwalking' thing she does. She'll wake up somewhere with no memory of what happened.

While I've seen some theories explaining it as the TMAGP Celia sharing a body with TMA Celia, it doesn't make much sense to me. Why would the TMAGP Celia still be in there? Wouldn't TMA Celia be able to communicate with her? Why hasn't anyone else mentioned seeing Celia when she 'sleepwalks'? Wouldn't TMAGP Celia have friends that would talk to her? If so, why wouldn't they notice it's not the same Celia?

Anyways, that theory just doesn't make sense to me.

Another thing that will make sense later: We all remember Michael Distortion from TMA, right?

And how his reflection looked different than how he sometimes looked in person?

An Avatar looking different through glass; whether through Sasha's window, or in the reflection of the cafe's window.

That was the thought that made me first come up with this theory.

The other thought was the "It's on the train" bit.

Sam and Celia get on a train to 'follow' the Archivist. Alice, however, sees it on the train with them.

(technically we don't know for certain that it was the Archivist, or if it was in or on top of the train, but it context makes it seem like the Archivist was in the train with them)

Why wouldn't Sam and Celia notice it? It's a monster that's all eyes, how could they miss that? Sure, it might have been hiding, but they likely weren't the only passengers on board. So why didn't the other passengers see it?

Well, what if they do see it, just not it the right way?

Because of the whole 'avatar looking different in windows' thing, what if that's why they don't notice?

Because they're not looking through the window?

Alice is though.

Alice is looking through the window.

She sees it.

What if, the Archivist is in a human form, but Alice can only see it because she's looking through the glass at it?

But who would it be?

Celia.

It's Celia.

Who else could it be?

What if, when she's 'sleepwalking', she's actually in Archivist form?

Sam got Archived, after all. And shortly after that, Celia appeared.

Wouldn't Celia have noticed the Archivist leaving?

Unless she just came to.

And she's so used to it happening, that she isn't bothered by the time she finds Sam.

Who knows how far away she got, after all. Maybe it was only one alley away, maybe it was a few blocks.

She'd have some time to compose herself.

And after that disorienting event, she managed to find her way to the O.I.A.R. and found Sam.

She was in the same area and time-frame the Archivist was there.

It's her.

Another thing: The statement-givers. Aka, the talking corpses. Aka, people that got Archived by the Archivist.

I'll bet that every time it mentions Celia having a 'sleepwalking' episode, it was around the same time that someone got Archived.

I'm not gonna go back through the episodes to see if I'm right on that, but if someone else will, it would be very much appreciated.

How exactly Celia became an Archivist, I don't know.

Maybe when she changed universes the Eye decided to make her its new 'precious little boy girl'. Maybe (if we believe that TMAGP is Somewhere Else) the Archivist part of Jon got stuck in Celia. Maybe she even became an Avatar by herself, who knows! I certainly don't.

Another thing I don't know is whether she'd remember what happens when she's the Archivist.

She seemed surprised to find Sam, after all.

And (if I remember right) she doesn't know how she gets to places while she's 'sleepwalking'.

I also don't know how Jack fits into this, but he's a mystery of his own.

Anyways, feel free to chip in with your own thoughts and criticisms, I could be completely proved wrong next episode after all!

234 notes · View notes

perlelune · 9 months ago

Text

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“So what’s your deal?” Festus Creed asks out of the blue.

Your mouth opens in shock, a nervous laugh slipping out. “My deal?”

A mocking sneer twists his features. “Yeah, Coriolanus kept trying to get you to eat with us but you were being weird about it. If you hate us, just say so.”

While some snigger at the table, Coriolanus stares daggers at him. The mirth instantly vanishes from Festus’ face.

Clemensia bumps her elbow into his rib, chiding him, “Festus, come on,”

“I don’t…hate anyone,” you defend, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Clemensia flashes you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, you don’t. Coriolanus said you’re very sweet.”

Livia rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever. Can we get back to discussing the Yuletide Ball?”

Surprise flutters through you. The name bears vague familiarity. It can be found in the archives detailing the history of the Capitol University. But it’d since long become a frivolity amidst concerns such as quelling the uprisings in the Districts. What’s a students’ dance in the face of war and famine?

“The Yuletide Ball? I thought this was an abolished tradition…I mean since the war.”

Excitement illuminates Livia’s face.

“We’re bringing back the tradition this year, thanks to Coriolanus here. He convinced the new dean.”

Coriolanus lowers his head in apparent humbleness.

“I just made a few good points and he couldn’t refuse me,” he shares. He turns to you, blue eyes sparkling. “I’m pretty persuasive when I need to be.” A chill dances through you at his low, suggestive tone.

To your relief, his attention switches to the rest of the table.

“It’s important to not let District scum ruin our way of life. Traditions must return.”

Livia smirks. “Spoken like a student body president.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand but a hint of smugness lingers in his tone as he says, “Please, elections are only in a month.”

“And it’s obvious you’ll win,” Clemensia states.

He gives a light shrug.

“We shall see.”

Clemensia pivots to you.

“Ivy, Liv and I are on the Ball committee,” she preens, her face brightening. “You could join us if you want.”

You lick your lips. “I don’t know if I’d find the time with midterms coming up soon…”

Coriolanus’ fingertips graze your arm as he offers, “You should do it, angel. It’d be a good way to expand your social circle.”

“You mean her nonexistent circle,” Festus gibes.

The blond’s jaw clenches.

“Talk to her like that again and see what happens, Creed.”

Festus cowers, nervousness flickering on his face. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says to you.

“It’s fine.”

Coriolanus’ fingers latch around your wrist as his steely gaze cuts into Festus.

“No, it’s not fine,” he articulates.

Undisturbed by the altercation between the boys, Clemensia prattles on about the ball.

“We meet up every Saturday morning. We’re working on winter-themed decorations right now. It’ll be so fun. It takes forever to do though.” She looks at you with emphasis. “An extra set of hands would be really welcome.”

“Clemensia…”

“Call me Clemmie,” she interrupts. “All my friends do.”

Friends? You study her hand clasped around yours. The concept is a little foreign to you. You also ponder why someone like Clemensia, with her perfect silky mane and smooth, blemish-free face would want to befriend you. She is the girl everyone gravitates towards. Charismatic, smart and nice to boot. And you might as well be a fly on a wall, ignored on the best days.

You are so stunned that it takes a shamefully long time for the words to fall back on your tongue.

“Clemmie, I’m usually busy on Saturday.”

“Oh.” She deflates, her hold on your hand loosening. “I get it. Sorry I asked.”

The excitement on her face plummets. Immediately, you feel terrible. You’ve never missed a single Saturday of studying, using that time to break down your more complicated courses of the week. But Clemmie looks crestfallen.

Perhaps, this one time, you can adjust your plans a little. One Saturday won’t make a difference in the entire year.

“But…I can try to free up some time,” you offer.

She perks up with your response.

“Great. We’ll be expecting you then.”

Lunch then proceeds, the table resuming the lively debate they were having before you showed up. Festus maintains facts about his family’s role in the reconstruction after the war while Clemensia rolls her eyes. They go back and forth and you observe them, slightly fascinated by the exchange. It’s such a rare occurrence for you to be around others that you soak every bit of their interaction. You get the inkling this happens a lot between them, them ruffling each other’s feathers. Ivy and Livia get wrapped in their own secret conversation you don’t catch a single word of. Meanwhile, Coriolanus watches all of them, taking a bite of the food on his plate every once in a while. The way he eats is slow, nonchalant, almost like he couldn’t care less what’s on his plate. Even if he doesn’t interject at any point, he looks right at home at this table. Unlike you. You recline into silence, letting every minute fly by as you wait for lunch to be over. When it finally is, relief surges inside you.

You mumble a quick goodbye and gather your things. Clemensia beams and waves at you while the others barely acknowledge your departure.

You head for the hallways, trying not to allow your mind to linger on the strange, uncomfortable lunch. Still, your mind swirls. You curse yourself for every blunder and awkward moment. You told him you don’t belong, that you’re an outsider, and always will be. It’s painfully obvious. From the way you dress, talk, carry yourself, you have nothing in common with girls like Clemensia or Livia. There’s a vast chasm between you and them. He should have listened. It astounds you that you even let yourself get roped into joining Clemensia’s committee thing. Though perhaps that won’t be too much of a hassle. You’ll show up to keep your word, then sink back into your rigid study routine.

Coriolanus’ deep voice, a sound you’re now oddly familiar with, erupts behind you.

“Let me carry those for you,” he says, swiping the books in your arms before you can protest. He falls in pace with you, a gentle expression decorating his handsome face.

You frown, the uncanny emptiness of your arms swelling your discomfort.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” he interrupts, chuckling lightly when you try to reach for your books and he dodges you with ease. Your shoulders sag. Your strides hasten, an urgency limning your steps now.

Coriolanus meets no issue with your escalating cadence. He easily keeps up with you, a subtle hint of mirth lurking in his cobalt gaze.

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” he inquires. “I know they can be a lot but they’re all good people. I promise.”

A myriad of words weigh heavy on your tongue but you diplomatically swallow each, settling for a safe, innocuous remark.

“Clemmie was nice.”

The corners of the blond’s lips quirk skyward.

“I told you she was.”

The statement hovers between the two of you for a while. Clemensia seems nice indeed. The rest of his friend group…perhaps a little less so. Possibly a bit more cutthroat and self-absorbed. Though you surmise it is a requirement to be a member of Panem’s elite.

No other word is traded between you and him as you make your way to the lecture hall.

“This is me,” you announce.

You turn to Coriolanus, hands stretching towards your books. He makes no move to give them back. Your forehead creases.

He gives you a sluggish once-over before offering, “What if I drove you back home after your classes?”

You nibble your bottom lip, dismayed by his proposition. You’ve caught glimpses of his fancy new car, as you’re sure most have at the University. As heir apparent to the Plinth fortune, he gets to spend money as he likes.

“I usually walk. It’s okay.”

He gets a little closer. “Come on, angel. Just let me do something nice for you.”

You shrink until your back hits the wall, stunned when Coriolanus follows each of your steps.

“My last lecture is…Professor Bellweather tends to ramble,” you mumble, his proximity unnerving you. “I don’t…I don’t know when he’ll be done.”

He licks his lips.

“I’ll just wait for you, angel.”

He utters the words like it’s obvious. You gawk at him. It takes you a few minutes to retrieve your speech.

You scratch your arm, your frown accentuating.

“You really don’t have to. Like I said, walking home is fine.”

The gaze trained on your form sharpens.

“And I’m offering to take you home so you don’t have to exert yourself.” He bends over you, invading the already insufficient space between the two of you. “Has a friend never done something like that for you?”

“N-No,” you admit.

His tone’s heavy with suggestion as he rasps, “So let me be your first then, angel.”

Your heart stumbles inside your chest.

“I’m gonna be late for class,” you blurt out, attempting to brush past him.

Coriolanus’ hand darts out, swiftly cinching around your wrist to stop you from leaving.

“I still don’t have an answer,” Coriolanus says.

You glance from his hand, tight around your wrist, to his determined gaze. Your throat goes dry.

“Okay, you can d-drive me back home.”

He releases your wrist and returns your books, a smile ghosting over his lips.

“Wonderful. I’ll come get you later, angel.”

Clutching your books against your chest, you watch him glide away.

As promised, Coriolanus is waiting for you when you exit from your last class. You don’t even think to hide your shock as you find the blond leaning against the wall. A smirk unfans on his lips, your reaction seeming to amuse him.

He doesn’t say much to you as you walk side by side and head to his car. When you’re outside, he surprises you by opening the passenger door for you before you can even lift a hand.

“T-Thanks,” you stammer. You plop down on the plush seat. The leather smells new and expensive.

Your nerves thrum as he takes the driver’s seat and starts the car. You’ve never been alone in a car with a boy before. Uneasy, you let your eyes roam outside the window. The Capitol’s high buildings blur past you rapidly.

You’re lost in your thoughts when you notice the prickling sensation over your flesh, The burning, unwavering weight of Coriolanus Snow’s scrutiny.

Your head whirls.

Bashful words quake through your lips.

“Do I have something on my face?” Your hands reach to touch it, just in case.

He chuckles.

“No,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s a nice face that’s all.”

The casual compliment sends a wave of heat through your body.

“Can you drive?” he asks, curiosity lighting his features.

You shake your head. Getting your license has never been a priority. Besides, it’s only a thirty minute walk to get to the University. You don’t mind it, often using that time to sneak in some reading.

“No.”

“I could drive you if you like,” he offers, his gaze holding yours. “Anywhere you want to go.”

Your cheeks warm. “I’m okay.”

Coriolanus nods, his focus shifting back to the road.

“You always say that…” He hums low in his throat. “I’m just not sure I believe it, angel.”

You’re so nervous the entire drive that you don’t even notice when he arrives at your house. You stare at him, mouth agape. You haven’t given him a single instruction on how to get there.

“You know where I live?”

As he opens the door for you, Coriolanus simply replies, “You told me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t remember telling him but his tone harbors no doubt. You rummage through your brain, seeking the moment. Nothing comes up and you grow confused.

You blink up at him.

“I-I did?”

“Yes, you did, angel.” He snorts as if your line of questioning is beyond ludicrous. “How else would I know?” He slams the door of the car as you rise. “Besides…Dr. Gaul is my mentor. Of course, I know where she lives.”

You nod. That makes sense and it didn’t even occur to you.

“I…”

He cocks his head. “What?”

You fidget beneath his stare, discomfort flaring in the pit of your stomach.

“Nothing. Thanks for driving me home.”

He flashes you a wide smile.

“My pleasure. See you soon, angel.”

He starts the car and drives away. You don’t feel quite at ease until his car’s gone from view, heading towards the Corso.

Walter zooms across the room as soon as you enter the large apartment. Your eyes wander about. As usual, the place is empty besides you and Walter. Mother rarely spends any time here nowadays, her work occupying all of her time.

Walter rubs his furry head against your ankle, twirling around you as he meows. He then stands on his hind legs and starts gently raking his claws across your leg. A way for him to demand that you pet him. A small smile tugging your lips, you pick him up. The orange ball of fur purrs, curling against your chest as you carry him in your arms. You make your way to the kitchen and pour a mix of leftover meat and fish in his bowl.

You set him down on the floor. His tail wiggles as he hops to his food.

You crouch next to him.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today, Walter,” you say while giving gentle pets to his back. “I was invited to their table.” The orange cat pauses his eating to stare up at you blankly. “Yes. Theirs,” you repeat as if he could understand you. He gives a long meow before focusing on his bowl again. You sigh. “I know. I thought the same thing.”

Once Walter’s emptied his bowl, you pick him up again and make your way to the living room.

You collapse on the couch.

“And then…Coriolanus Snow drove me home. Yes, the Coriolanus Snow. I didn’t even think he knew I existed.”

For a while, you remain on the couch, stroking Walter’s fur as he sits on your lap. His tail whips the air, his eyes closing as you pet him. His soft rumble of content reverberates against your belly, amplifying when your fingers drag behind his pointed white ears. You lean back, a blanket of peace settling over you.

Walter’s not just a strange-looking cat, he’s also a rescue…from your mother’s experiments. A kitten mutt with mismatched eyes, one blue and one yellow, his mushed, wrinkled face gives him a passing resemblance to a rodent. Pets like him are a rarity in today’s world as most creatures such as him were eaten during the First Rebellion.

Your mother finds him appalling. In her eyes, he is a failed experiment. Like you. Perhaps it’s why you have such kinship with the creature. You still recall her unsettling glance in your direction the day she asked the entire class of nine-year-olds at the Academy if they had pets they were sick of. She then proceeded to burn the flesh off a lab rat to demonstrate her pulsed energy laser.

This moment is burned into your mind forever, your mother’s clinical tone chilling your blood.

You stole Walter from the Citadel and took him home that same day.

You were careful to hide him, though you suspect your mother figured out what you did. She likely added it to her long list of disappointments when it comes to you.

Sometimes, you envy Walter. The simplicity his days hinge upon. His obliviousness to the woes of the world. His uncanny ability to sleep through the chaos of it, ignore the disarray. Walter’s world consists of food, play and cuddles.

What a blissful existence. You bet Walter never had a vexing thought in his short life.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

You carefully remove Walter from your lap. He meows in protest and jumps off the couch. You pick up the phone, chest clenching as a familiar face fills the flickering screen.

“Mother,” you greet. “How are you?”

She ignores your question, curtly stating, “You’re falling behind in Molecular Cell Biology.”

You know that tone all too well, the warning laced within it so achingly familiar.

Your fingers twist around the phone cord, your voice becoming small.

“I’ll get my grades up, I promise.”

Silence hovers between you and your mother for a while. Faint hope sparks within you. Perking up, you decide to tell her about your day.

“Oh, mother, today-”

“I must go,” she interrupts. “It’s time for my milk and cookies.”

Your spirits plummet. You nudge a hollow smile onto your face.

“Right. I didn’t realize,” you say, checking the clock hanging on the wall. “I’m sorry.”

She heaves out a deep sigh, her lone blue eye narrowing.

“Focus on your studies. And try not to be even more of an embarrassment to me than you already are.”

“Y-Yes, mother,” you reply, your heart shriveling inside your chest.

As she hangs up, you feel silly and horrible. Silly for trying to strike up a normal conversation with your mother. And horrible for letting her down once more.

“You came!” Clemensia exclaims as she rushes to you. You try not to tense as she gives you a tight hug. Ivy and Livia linger in the background, their eyes lifting from the crafts’ table.

You wave at them and are surprised when Ivy wiggles her fingers at you. Livia is more withdrawn, nodding to acknowledge your presence but quickly returning to her task.

You step out of Clemensia’s embrace and flash a quick smile.

“Well I promised you that I would,” you reply nonchalantly. You take a look around the room. Various decorations and posters are propped against the walls, while snowflakes cut-outs and what looks like moon dust are scattered on the table. It seems the girls have been busy.

You turn to Clemensia. “What’s the theme again?”

Ivy surprises you by answering cheerfully, “Well, it’ll be like a Winter daydream and we were thinking of making it a masquerade.”

Excitement sways in Clemensia’s bright eyes. “What do you think?”

“Sounds nice.” Your trite answer draws every gaze in the room to you. Awkwardly bouncing on your feet, you correct yourself, beaming at Clemensia. “I meant amazing.”

“I think so too,” she chimes.

She shows you the empty chair next to hers. The both of you sit down and she starts rambling about the theme and all the ideas she has to decorate the ballroom. You grow dizzy with all the information, trying to follow along her instructions at the same time.

“We’ll need to find you a date,” Clemensia says.

You shake the can of blue paint before spraying over the tree cut-out.

“It’s okay. I probably won’t be going anyway,” you respond absently.

The pencil in Livia’s hand snaps. Your head rises. The blonde’s gaping at you. You then realize…the same look of disbelief is etched on all the girls’ features. A frown mars your brow. Did you say something wrong? You didn’t realize this was such an important event.

A nervous laugh peals off Clemensia’s red-painted lips.

“No, but you have to,” she says, “It’s the first Yuletide Ball in over a decade. Everyone will be there.”

You shrug. “It’s four months away, Clemmie.”

Her onyx gaze shimmers.

“Well, a lot can happen in four months,” she sings, a mysterious smile spreading onto her lips.

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

487 notes · View notes

ihavethedreamies · 6 months ago

Text

In the Doghouse | Yeosang

Kang Yeosang - ATEEZ

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.8k

Pairing: Dog-Hybrid!Yeosang x Cat-Hybrid!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU!, Historical/Period, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Kitten, Love), Swearing, Kissing, Biting/Marking, Bonding/Mating, Heat/Rut, Pheromones, Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Breeding Kink (u3u)

Trigger Warning: There is some talk of abuse and/or neglect in this. It doesn't go into detail, but the reader in beginning is living with a cruel relative. It's not related to Yeosang or the relationship between the two. Also, Yeosang is a 'Police Dog', but there is very little talk of police and cops.

Author's Note: This is NOT Omegaverse, but they do both go into rut/heat. They have animals ears and tails and he's got a knotted doggy cock. Yeosang is supposed to be a Doberman, even though the breed wasn't in this time period. This is set in the late Victorian Era of London, and sorry if it's not completely accurate to the time.

I will be doing all the members and uploading them as I go. I normally like to upload a whole series at a time but I'm trying to pack to move.

-> Series Hub <-

🦁 Hongjoong's 🦁

🐻 Jongho's 🐻

🐯 San's 🐯

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

"Geddat fuckin' cat!" You heard the storekeeper’s shout echo through the narrow street as you dashed in the opposite direction. You clutched the bag closer to you, hoping to hide it from prying eyes. You purposefully wrapped your tail around your leg, hoping to make it less obvious, ears flattening to your head to blend in with your hair. Turning a narrow corner into an alley, you heard some footsteps against the cobblestone behind you, but they ran past where you had entered. Leaving the alley into the opposite street, you turned the way you had come, back toward your house. Sliding into another back alley, you placed the strings of the bag in your mouth. Without stopping, you jumped up onto the ladder hanging down from your second-story window. Climbing up the rungs, you pulled the window open all the way and jumped into your bedroom. Unhooking the rope and wood ladder from the windowsill, you reeled it in and shut the window. Panting for breath, you rested against the wall, sliding down so you were sitting on the floor. Heaving for air, you glanced at the bag that you had brought it, laying in a heap on the floor under the window. Finally, when you could breathe easily enough, you got on your knees so you could reach and grab the sack, opening it. Inside, the two loaves of bread were still steaming and your stomach rumbled in desire.

"Man, I wanna fish…" You sniffed in displeasure, tail whipping angrily behind you. It was bad enough you had to steal food to eat, but all you could typically manage was some bread or maybe potatoes. As you stood to close your door so you could enjoy your haul, you heard banging from downstairs. Someone was pounding on the door. You heard your aunt call for the person to hold on and you stood still, staring at the open door of your bedroom. Did they really find you? They never had before…

"Hello, madam. I hate to bother you, but I was told that a thief might have made their way into your second story window." You heard from down the hall, at the base of the stairs. Your eyes widened in panic and you prayed that your aunt would cover for you. Fat chance.

"Second story? You've got to… (Y/N) get down here, right now!" She screeched and your ears flattened at the noise. Stepping forward as quietly as you could, you stuck your head out just enough to look past the door frame to see your aunt standing halfway up the stairs. Her own tail was swinging back and forth with ire and her arms were crossed. The nastiest look you had ever seen was on her face and you clicked your tongue.

"What did you steal this time, you lazy stray!" She hissed and you shuffled out of the room, bag hanging limply from your hand at your side. There was a man in a police uniform in the doorway, and next to him…A dog hybrid. He was…beautiful, honestly. Prettier than you for sure. His hair was longer, with a slight wave at the end of the black strands, two tall, pointed ears sticking out from the top of his head. You couldn't see a tail, so it was probably docked into a nub. The hairs at the back of your neck and base of your tail rose, shoulders tensing as you got to the top of the staircase. His sharp eyes met yours, and you knew that's how they found you. Fucking police dogs…

"Give me that!" Your aunt swiped the bag from you, her claw-like nails scratching your hands, making you pull them back. Holding your other hand over the red marks, you glared hard at her when she opened the sack.

"Bread?! You stole bread?!" She hissed, fierce eyes searing holes into your skull.

"Maybe if you didn't fuckin' starve me, I wudduna had ta'!" You hissed back and you flinched as you saw her raise her hand.

"Now, madam, it’s nothing to harm her over. We'll take her to the station." A smooth, deep voice prompted you to open your eyes, seeing the guard dog holding the wrist of your nasty aunt. His grip was loose, so as not to dig his thick claws into your aunt's skin. He should have though… Your aunt took her arm away from him when he let her go and you were more willing to go with him then stay there any longer. Honestly, jail would be a welcome change. You followed the dog down the stairs and your aunt went as well, handing the stolen loaves to the human officer. With a strong hand on your bicep, the police dog led you further down the street, his partner following.

"Did you really steal because she starves you?" The elder officer asked you, his tone gentler than you expected. Your aunt wasn't poor, by any means, but you lived in what was equivalent to a storage room.

"I get a potato every other day if I don't." Your tail flicked nervously, ear flicking when a drop of water hit it. Glancing up at the sky, you sneered at the gathering clouds, feeling another drop land on your face. You wiggled your nose, feeling the drop most likely wash a trail of dirt off your face.

"She doesn't feed you any meat?" The dog furrowed his brow, letting you go, eyes zigzagging over you. It was evident your clothes were somehow too big and too small at the same time, and your boots were old.

"Alley bastards don't deserve meat." You spat out the words you were so used to hearing. It wasn't your fault that your mother slept with a commoner, but your aunt and grandparents took it out on you. The only reason your mother's sister took you in was because she got a tax cut for listing you as living with her.

"How old are you, Miss (Y/N)?" The human officer asked.

"Twenty…somethin'…" You weren't for sure, never celebrated your birthday.

"I think the baker will be willing to forgive if we return the bread. Yeosang?" The officer looked at the dog and you did as well.

"The poverty shelter doesn't take cats, does it? Just dogs?"

"Yessir." The dog, Yeosang, sighed, glancing back to you. The rain seemed to be waiting as well, only a few drops falling as you looked nervously between the two men. What were they going to do with you?

"She could stay with me, if that is alright with her." Yeosang cast you a look, his gaze warm and you blinked in shock. Charity? Wow, you had heard of it before…

"Any where’s better than auntie's…" Your tail was still whipping and the elder officer nodded with a hum.

"Thank you, son. You may get off your shift early. Make sure she gets a good hot meal." The human smiled warmly himself and headed off toward the bakery, bread bag in hand.

"Are ya sure? I'm notta hassle?"

"No, kitten. Let's get you some meat." The hand that had been on your arm went to your upper back so he could pull you to walk next to him, then he led you presumably to his home. Right as you got under the awning over his front door, the rain started to pour.

~*~*~

"Slow down, love. There's plenty." The dog was way gentler with you than you expected. His home was nice and warm, cozy, and smelled good. He had presented you with bread that he had bought the day before, as well as some cured meats, cheese, even some fruit. Not sure where to start, you reached carefully for a slice of summer sausage and then your vision went red, your appetite raring to full force. Yeosang huffed in amusement, able to hear the rapid purr you let out as you ate. When he had removed his uniform coat, he just had on a thin white button up underneath. The shirt did very little to hide the obvious muscle underneath, the buttons struggling to hold still over his chest. As you had started to eat, he rolled the sleeves up to above his elbow, showing toned forearms. He ate more leisurely, and once you were no longer ravenous, you slowed your pace. You took each chance you got to look over him, he was absolutely stunning.

"Yer' from the far east, yah?" You asked around a mouthful of different things you had just shoved in. He hummed with a nod and your eyes flicked to the water ewer he had set on the table and he poured some into a stein. Eagerly taking the drink, you chugged it down, a little bit of the water dripping past your bottom lip. Letting you a groaning exhale after you had gotten everything down, you slumped in your chair. You hadn't felt so full in so long and you weren't expecting to get a nice meal when you stole the bread.

"Are ya' like…a saint or somethin?" You asked, not sure why he would help you.

"Pardon me?"

"You know, like those folks in the Bible that help…saints or whatever…" Your nail clicked against the glass cup you were holding. You weren't very educated, but you tried to retain what little bit of information you had learned.

"Oh, um, no. I think I would just qualify as generous." He smiled bashfully and you let out an 'ah' in realization.

"Thanks for the meal…I um, I don't want to go home but…"

"You don't have to go back there, kitten." The dog smiled, his own pointed ear drooping a bit along with his pitying gaze. Normally that look pissed you off, but you just felt bashful then.

"Do you have somewhere I can go, then?"

"I told you; you can stay here. I have a spare room anyway. It's hard for women to find work, harder yet for a cat hybrid…" He paused to think it seemed.

"I-I can clean! Or, uh…well, I'm good at physical stuff, I can run…places." You weren't sure what else specifically you could do, your only 'skill' was cleaning. Or stealing.

"If you want to help with housekeeping, that's up to you. I am more worried how people might see a man and woman living together outside of marriage." The dog grimaced a bit.

"Oh. Right." You hadn't thought about that… It was one thing for normal everyday people, but he was a public officer.

"What if ya’ hire me? As yer' official housekeep? That wouldn't look suspect, yeah?" You offered.

"That would probably work. For now. Here." He stood up, motioning for you to follow him. You did so, going toward the narrow front entryway and then up the steep stairs to his second floor. There was a room to the left, but he let you into the one on the right, the door right on the landing. It was pretty bare, and to most, small. However, it was way bigger than where you had been before and had a real bed.

"I-I can really stay here?" You felt your throat tighten, stepping further in.

"Of course, love. Tomorrow we can figure out the details, why don't you get some sleep?" You turned back to look at him, that warm and sincere smile still present. Overcome with emotion, you pounced forward, wrapping your arms around his toned middle, cheek to his chest.

"Thank you, Yeosang!" You sniffed, trying not to bawl. He rested his hand on your head, thumb rubbing the back of your ear.

"You're welcome, (Y/N)."

~*~*~

Over the next two months, you lived the best days of your life. Yeosang had commented that his house had never looked so clean, even though it wasn't messy before. After the third day there, and you had thrown up from overeating, you paced yourself more. Finally, you were used to being well fed, and you no longer looked like you were actually starving. The second week you were there, he had taken you to a tailor and bought you two new outfits, ones that actually fit. You preferred the simple shirt and pants, but he also got you a simple dress that was a soft blue. You cried. You had been crying a lot, so touched by how sweet he was being.

One day, you were in the market to buy a few things. No one that you had stolen from in the past knew it was you. Combined with being healthy and clean, you were also in a nice dress and your hair was done.

"(Y/N)!?" The voice made you stop cold, hand still reaching for a squash on the seller's stall table. Your aunt.

"You stupid twat!" She screeched and before you registered where she was, her hand was in your hair, claws scratching your scalp. You yowled, dropping your basket, potatoes and apples rolling away. People gasped, turning to watch the fight, but not stepping in to help.

"I've had to pay more than ever now that you left! I had to pay a bloody fine as well, endangering a ward or something! You little whore! I know you're living with a man not your husband! What would your mother think, you raising your tail for a dog?!" She was screaming, hissing and spitting. You tried to get her to let you go, but not wanting to fight and ruin your dress. You knew the words she was speaking weren't true, but the people around didn't, and you didn't want the negative gossip to get back to Yeosang. When a blowing whistle hit your ears, you mewled in relief, rapid footsteps nearing. The horrible woman was pulled away from you, and you slumped into a pile, holding your head.

"(Y/N), are you okay, love?" Yeosang was quick to your side, looking over your head. A growl was rumbling in his chest as he shot a searing glare at the other woman. You didn't look up to see who the other officers were subduing her, burying your head in Yeosang's chest to hide.

"Oh, kitten." He whined, holding you to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he easily lifted you, carrying you toward home, ignoring the stares and whispers.

As you sat on the table, he dabbed at the scratches with a cloth dipped in alcohol, the disinfectant stinging. You winced again and he apologized, trying to be gentle.

"Did you hear what she said?" you whispered. Your eyes were glossing over the bottle next to you, brain trying to process the letters you saw. Yeosang had been teaching you, but you could only read the big word, 'VODKA'.

"It's not true, so it doesn't matter." he whispered back.

"Maybe…I should leave?" Your voice cracked, really not wanting to follow through with the suggestion. The cloth on your head left and he stepped back, hand on your chin to tilt your head back. He looked over your face, noticing your red blotchy cheeks and glossy eyes.

"Why?"

"Because…what if it comes back and hurts you…?" You sniffed, trying to avoid his eyes. His hand left your chin, but then both went to cup your cheeks.

"(Y/N), kitten, I would be heartbroken if you left." The dog's deep voice was so warm, soft, like his hugs.

"Yeah?" He wiped a tear away from your eye and smiled, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to yours.

"Yes. If you're so worried…" He drifted off, one hand leaving your jaw to take yours.

"What if we get married?" He finished and it was like time stopped. Your ears started to ring and you slowly lifted your head back up to look him in the eye again.

"What?" Your voice was so soft that if he wasn't a dog or another hybrid, he probably wouldn't have heard.

"(Y/N), I know it's only been a couple months, but I've fallen in love with you. I want you to stay with me." He brought your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. You burst into tears then, crying hard, harder than you had before, babbling nonsense.

"I-I-I want to stay too!" You cried and he pulled you into his chest, thumb rubbing the back of your ear.

"Then?"

"I wanna be your wife." You mumbled, sniffing hard so you didn't drip snot on his uniform shirt.

The next few minutes were nearly a blur, your mind finally caught up as your back hit his bed, his lips fervently pressing to yours. His breath was heaving, chest rumbling and his sandalwood and rosewater scent was growing stronger. You felt like he was going to swallow you whole, and you wondered why it was said cats and dogs didn't get along. You had never felt so loved unconditionally and wholly but by Yeosang, a dog, despite that you were a cat. An alley cat at that. In that moment though, you truly saw him as a big, strong working dog, easily surrounding the little stray cat that had been taken into his home. But instead of growling and scaring the little kitty, the big pup had laid down and wrapped around the small cat, protecting and loving her.

"Your tongue's rough." He huffed in amusement, only pulling back a second before his mouth sealed back to yours, tongue wrapping around your smaller one. You whimpered and mewled, head growing hazy from his kisses. Your back arched as his mouth left yours, trailing to your jaw and down to your neck. As he unbuttoned your dress, he licked and sucked over the skin revealed, tugging at the fabric to get it over your breasts so he could shuck it off. The dress floated down to the floor behind him, settling on the floor with a flutter. Once you were down to your undergarments, nothing more than a thin chemise and light set of stays, he sat up to kneel over you. He had luckily taken his uniform jacket off earlier, because in his haste to remove his shirt, two of the buttons flew off, clattering against the wood floor. You had seen him shirtless before, but never had the chance to touch, so you had to take the chance. Yeosang chuckled, his ears drooping a bit in pleasure as your small, warm hands ran over the smooth skin of his chest and stomach. He really was physical perfection. Biting your lip, your hands went to work on his belt and he took the chance to untie your stays. You felt a little more air flow easier threw your lungs as he pulled the garment off and you squeaked as he moved. Quickly, so quickly, he pulled your chemise off as well, leaving you bare, and essentially picked you up and tossed you back up the bed. As you tried to get your bearings, you didn’t notice him resting his stomach on the bed.

“Y-Yeosang!” Your nails dug fast into the sheets as his long tongue lapped a path through your slit. A growl rumbled from him and his hands held your thighs apart so he could slide his tongue into your cunt, the feeling made you twitch and shiver. He was breathing so hard through his nose you felt the puffs of air against your clit, tail flicking against the bed. Something was rising fast in your tummy, and he could feel your gummy walls clench unevenly around his tongue. The dog’s nose bumped your clit once more and you nearly squealed as your orgasm hit. He eagerly drank up the slick that flowed from you, licking his chops as he pulled away once you were done. He smiled down at you, softly, admiring your red face and heaving chest. Before you could really come to reality, he had flipped you onto your stomach. There was some rustling, and you had been too busy trying to register what had just happened, the next thing you knew, his bare body was laying over yours. He didn't rest down too hard, he was bigger and heavier, but you shivered at his skin on yours, hard chest to your back. You shivered as his hard cock nestled in the crook your ass.

"Big as my fuckin' arm…" You huffed to yourself and he chuckled, biting his lip, chest rumbling.

"Think your sweet cunt can take it?" His deep voice right in your ear was in itself orgasmic and your core was rapidly heating. You were pretty sure you hadn't had a heat in so long from being in poor health, and so it seemed your system needed to compensate. Your whole body was rapidly rising in temperature, he could tell from where his skin pressed to yours. The delightful scent of vanilla and lavender you normally exuded was growing stronger, the aroma filling his lungs. You whimpered when his strong arm wrapped under your stomach, lifting your hips into the air as he grinded his cock against your weeping folds. He wasn't normally one for crass language like you, but he was spewing sweet filth as you tried to formulate a thought to respond. The heat was nearly growing painful, and even though he was huge and you inexperienced, you needed him inside.

"Such a pretty pussy, kitten. Bet it's leaking so much to let me in. Take my cock and my knot." He groaned when he ran his thumb up your slit, gathering your slick that was nearly dripping from your core.

"Want me to ruin your cunt, love? Split you open, fuck you silly, then pump you full. I wonder if a kitty can even get pregnant by a dog. Guess we'll find out…" It seemed your heat was sending him into a semi-rut, his mind was full of nothing but sinking into you and fucking you into the mattress. He had honestly wanted to for weeks but had tried to keep the thoughts away.

"Y-Yeosang! Please!" You mewled, nails digging into his pillow, tail flailing back and forth. You yowled when his strong hand grabbed your tail at the base, wrapping some of the length around his fist, tugging on it. He smirked as your cunt let out another glob of slick from the sensation, your rapid purr growing in strength.

"Not just my wife, but my mate. Want your womb to hold my pups." The male chuckled, adjusting to press the fat head of his leaking cock against your core. You shivered, a bit worried he was too big, but you needed him. And his knot.

"Hold on, kitten." He licked his lips to prevent the saliva that had gathered from leaking, holding the base of your tail and hip for leverage. Your breath hitched, cunt spasming as he started to press in. He watched in delight as your folds eagerly stretched and sucked his cock in, even more slick spilling out, leaving a puddle on his bed. The base of his cock had already started to swell a bit, but he wasn't going to knot you so soon. No, he was going to have his way with you for a good long while first.

"Fuck!" You squealed, claws puncturing his bedding, teeth digging into the pillow. His hot cock was searing through you, the burn of the stretch just fueling the fire in your womb further. Tears sprung to your eyes and you gasped for air, intense waves of pleasure crashing over you, sending you to climax before he was even halfway in. Yeosang felt your gummy walls clench and pulse around him, and he threw his head back, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he groaned. The grip on your tail tightened just a bit and you keened at his slow ease, but his restraint was wavering.

"J-just do it, 'Sang~" You mewled, sparks of arousal shooting up your spine from your tail. He didn't hesitate with your consent, and he snapped his hips to bury the last few inches into your hot vice. Your vision spotted as the head of his dick pressed at your womb, hips pressed to your backside. He sat there for a bit, letting you get used to the searing pleasure, grinding down into you every so often. As he heard your breathing even out a bit more, you let out a big shudder and he released your tail, falling forward so his hands caught him on the bed. The dog let out a small whimper, furrowing his brow. A clawed hand went to your sternum and he helped you hold yourself up on your arms so your back was parallel to his chest. His nose ran over your shoulder, right new to your neck and your body tensed in preparation, your cunt tightening even further. With a little lick, his teeth dug into your skin, and he sucked and licked as he bit, sealing you as his mate. Your eyes rolled back into your head, most of your strength leaving you as you came again, spurts of slick drenching his groin and balls. Pulling back from the mark, he licked the blood away and you fell onto your chest, using what little strength you had left to grip the already torn sheets.

"Ready?" He didn't wait for your response, slowly puling his hips back, cock halfway in, then fucked back into you. You yelped, his rapid and hard pace was immediate, no build up, and your brain ended up as fucked as your cunt. You were babbling and mewling, tail thrashing before he gripped it once more, holding your hips still as his battered against your ass. His free hand snaked down to your stomach, and he groaned at the shallow bulge that would form each time he buried to the hilt, your tiny body straining to take him. You bit the pillow again, using it to muffle your scream as he plowed through another one of your orgasms. His thrusts grew shallower, burying deep each time and fucking back in just by an inch, hard and grinding. Your eyes crossed when the base of your core started to burn once more, pussy searing as his knot started to swell. He whimpered between grunts and growls, head thrown back, sweat slick black strands tickling his upper back.

"I'm going to breed you, kitten. Fill you with my seed till you have my pups. Even if it takes all night." He groaned as your cunt fluttered once more and he gave one more hard thrust, letting his knot swell. You gasped and heaved at the feeling; he hadn't even begun to cum yet. When the hot spurts started to fill you, flooding your weeping womb, you nearly passed out. The sticky fluid dowsed the fire that your body had set and his hips jolted with each squirt, pressing as deep as he could. As the waves of his orgasm faded, he let your tail go, falling forward once more, heaving for breath himself. You were breathing heavily, but otherwise quiet and he glanced down to look at your face. You were still conscious, barely, eyes staring blankly at the wall, tears drying on your cheek and drool had left a dark spot under your mouth. Gently, so much so compared to his rough fucking, he pet your hair, pulling a few strands away from your sweaty brow.

"I love you, (Y/N)." He whispered and he noticed your lips quirk gently into a small smile.

"Love you too~"

-> Series Hub <-

Master-Master List

ATEEZ Master List

#ihavethedreamies #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop smut #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez yeosang #yeosang fluff #yeosang smut #yeosang x reader #yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang

286 notes · View notes

inbabylontheywept · 3 months ago

Note

So I found one of your (nonfiction) stories and read the one about the refrigerators, and it made the librarian part of me very curious (and a bit horrified) and I have so many questions!! (Feel free to entirely ignore this, and I really don’t intend to ask anything classified) Are there still refrigerators being used for document storage? Did the refrigerators keep reasonably consistent temperature/humidity? (Because those are both things you want in anything resembling archival storage) How long were documents stored in refrigerators? Do you have any actual document storage/retention guidelines?!

Thank you so much for sharing all your stories, they are hilarious!!!

Naw, it's surprisingly difficult to even ask questions about classified material. We're encouraged but not technically required to be vague about the tests and their purposes, but the fridges are fair game.

Anyway, from the top:

Are there fridges still being used for document storage? At the time that I wrote the fridge piece, we were down to four (4) file storage fridges. At present, we are down to a single (1) file storage fridge, and parts to repair it are on backlog. Then we're going to have to build another filing cabinet. Not looking forward to that.

Did the refigerators keep things reasonant consistent for temperature/humidity? Yes. The temperature in the building does not fluctuate very much (they have relic computer systems that are absolutely, terrifyingly irreplacable) and keeping them happy is a major concern. The fact that it preserves paper is just a convenient side benefit. Humidity is likewise kept low in the basement (like, single digit percent low), for the benefit of some machines that dislike it strongly. We do occasionally raise the humidity in certain location while handling ESD sensitive materials, but those tend to be far from the fridges.

How long were the documents stored in refigerators? We have some facility documents that date back to 1972. We do occasionally have to reference those documents to answer such thrilling questions as "Why does overloading the machine hydraulics downstairs sometimes cause the microwave clock to reset upstairs?" (The answer is that, for reasons no one can explain, they ran 125 feet of wire off the test cell's breaker specifically upstairs, to the one outlet that powers the microwave.) (Seriously.) (And then they recorded this, as if their confession could expunge this kind of sin.) (Engineering does not follow Catholic God's rules- we do not have to forgive someone just because they fessed up.)

Do we have any actual document storage/retention guidelines? Sorta. The guidelines for disposal of documents refers to both positions and specific people that have been gone for years. In theory, someone could take it upon themselves to champion a new disposal process, but that would be boring bureaucratic work whose reward would be doing more boring bureaucratic work, and the machines that we work on here are the coolest shit in the world. Everybody loves working on the machines. Nobody likes sorting through papers. So we just kind of keep punting that one down the road. We'll probably do that until we get someone in who actually prefers doing paperwork to badass science (basically impossible), we get someone from outside the group who arrives to assure document compliance (theoretically possible, ridiculously arare) or until we run out of space (actually impossible, we add space more quickly than we can fill it with papers). We do have guidelines on storage safety. I do not know a lot about what they are. I'd be surprised if the fridges weren't kosher though. The official cabinets have some parts flimsy enough to put through with a can opener. Those fridges could be dropped from an airplane and not get a dent. They're beautiful devices.

#Babylon-Lore

201 notes · View notes

kamehamehamlet · 9 months ago

Text

The Tumblr reblog sensation is returning. But like the Sayians or Shakespeare’s folios, it has the potential to develop in many forms.

Visit kamehamehamlet.com to be notified when we have more details.

Follow this blog for a peak behind the curtain.

And read on to learn more about the show, how we got here, and where we’re going.

Thank you for waiting just a little bit longer.

Revival Project FAQ

Who are you?

Hi! I’m Daniel Cole Mauleón (@writepictures), the writer of Kamehamehamlet. In 2015 I co-founded the theatre company Play-Dot Productions with KHH’s director Shalee Mae Cole Mauleón.

What is Kamehamehamlet?

Kamehamehamlet: Good Night Saiyan Prince, was an hour-long one act play, performed during the 2015 Minnesota Fringe Festival. It’s a staged retelling of Vegeta and Freeza’s battle on the planet Namek. Marketed as a Dragon Ball Z and Hamlet mash-up, the parody quickly shuffled off its weighted gi, revealing it was actually a Waiting for Godot spoof. After five performances, Vegeta hung up his helmet of spiky hair. Seven years later, K (@amokslime) wrote this incredibly gracious post on Tumblr, which inspired two people to reach out to me via Reddit to ask if I had a script or a recording of the performance.

I want to pause the semi-marketing voice and say a heartfelt thanks to K. Kamehamehamlet was brought to life by an incredible team of artists during a summer I’ll never forget. We got laughs at jokes, gasps at fight choreography, and we broke even on the budget (a Fringe miracle TBH). K’s post gave me the chance to revisit that show through someone else’s eyes. The mix of pride and humility it stirs up is truly indescribable.

If there is art which has changed you, and especially if the artist is still alive I encourage you to non-intrusively share that with the artist.

Is there a copy of the script?

Yes, I’ll speak more about that at below.

Is there a recording of the performance?

There was, but I genuinely lost the files. And that’s for the best, honestly. It was a last-second attempt, filmed from two cheap cameras (with different qualities and resolutions!), both at bad angles and with truly awful audio. Trust me. It’s better this way.

That said, I do have other archival footage from rehearsal's, tech, etc. that I look forward to sharing for those curious.

What’s next?

This is the question I’ve been asking myself over the past year and the reason it took so long to post anything. Especially since one thing I want to do differently this time is make sure that any artists involved are meaningfully compensated for their time and skill. However, I can’t plan without a better estimate of what kind of support we would have, and I didn’t want to share our intentions without concrete details. Right now, the best way you can support this project is by signing up for the announcement on kamehamehamlet.com and following us on Tumblr and YouTube!

The second best thing you can do is to share with others about this project, if I’ve learned anything reading through the comments on K’s post, it is that there’s a much bigger audience for KHH than I could have ever imagined, and you likely know at least one more person who would be interested.

And while I don’t want to promise anything I can’t deliver on, I will share that I’m planning on making the script available this year and I’ll be writing a separate post about that in near future.

Update 5/21/24: We've announced a staged reading for later this year! (Click to learn more) Update 6/11/24: We're going live on YouTube every Saturday through June to rally fans and talk about the project. This link will always take you to the upcoming stream. And this link will take you past recordings.

If you’ve read this far thank you so much.

Photography by Ann B. Erickson. Vegeta is played by McKenzie Shappell. Freeza is played by Cayla Marie Wolpers. Costumes by Sarah Noel Simon.

#kamehamehamlet #theater #dbz #dragon ball #shakespeare #hamlet #waiting for godot #vegeta #freeza #goku #this is about as good a place as any to share that...#I only just realized after spending a day in Adobe Illustrator that I've just made the IKEA logo...

606 notes · View notes

wolvesroampastelgalaxies · 3 months ago

Text

Edit: All chapters up on tmblr & ao3 :p

Okay, so I got alot of hits on my last FoP:ANW ficlet. Which had me re-reading it frequently. So instead of healing, I desperately wanted to fix this situation. I think I am genuinely affected that Timmy isn’t the MC anymore.

My child hood = 💀

Anyway, I made a continuation kinda. I’m much better at introspection than writing out actions (I think). So if this piece is not of the same quality as the last. Lemme know, I really wanna do this concept justice. :p

On a Wing and A Wish 🪽

I wish Timmy Turner got back all the memories of his fairies and could be apart of his family forever.

“What is this?” Dev asks, “Whose Timmy Turner?”

Peri harshly shushes him, hovering in close while darting his eyes around Dev’s room.

Begrudgingly, the kid whispers, “What’s the deal? No one is here. What. Is. This?”

This - was a note looped with periwinkle ink on what was balled up paper. Peri couldn’t believe what he was doing. Sneaking behind his parents’, and worse, the Fairy Council’s back, asking his own god-kid for a wish. He never thought to go through with it, even if he did frequently imagine the outcome. But it was the one thing he’d wanted since his brother left.

No. Not left. He forgot. They made him forget. He never left us.

Never left me.

He sighs, resuming the usual distance. Dev can finally breathe in air that’s not Peri’s cologne and takes in his god-parent’s appearance. The fairy did not look good. Usually quaffed hair was flat and tussled, like he forgot to shower then tossed and turned all night. Which, ew, he probably hadn’t showered or poofed himself clean or whatever fairies do based on the pit stains. Sweat was also causing clammy hands that were attempting to wring themselves dry. His usual calming, lavender eyes were bloodshot from what he could tell. Well, when they weren’t searching for a haunted house jump scare.

Dev waves his arms, “Hello? Earth to Peri!”

The beat of wings is audible as Peri jumps a foot higher in the air.

“Are you broken? Can fairies malfunction?” Dev gets a dimmadome idea, “Do I get a new one if you do?”

This absurd question has Peri descending from the (literal) high level of anxiety to a level of annoyance. That level being eye to eye with his god-kid, where purple and blue begin a standoff. If there was a movie in the pinpricks of their eyes, it would reflect a tense western gun fight. Peri would have a wand at his holster and Dev would be there, arms crossed and smug as can be. His mouth loaded with the bullet 'I wish…' and Peri would be dead on the dusty road.

A wing and a prayer is the saying. He had wings, he just needed the prayer.

Or a wish.

Peri surrenders, realizing picking a fight will not work in his favor.

“Fairies can’t grant their own wishes.”

The ginger scoffs, “That’s it?” He thought his fairy was dense, but he didn’t realize Peri was actually challenged. “Just, have another fairy grant your wish.”

Rather than meeting with some Peri-fonted, copy-paste of Da Rules, Dev saw as his god-parent open and close his mouth. Pale lips pressing in a thin line. His small body seemed to curl in on itself, shielding not from Dev, but the irony of what he had said.

Without looking at him, Peri said, “They can’t. It’s not how it works. Only a god-kid can make wishes.”

The hitch and crack at the word 'can’t' did not go unnoticed by either. Peri flinches. He had spent all week wrestling with the notion. It was only last night that he had scribbled the note down. There was nothing in Da Rules about another kid wishing for someone to not lose their memories. His mom was right, there are a lot of loopholes.

Peri had hoped and hyped himself up enough that being a godparent would fix him. If he could recreate it, he wouldn’t feel the dreams of his childhood each night turn to mourning. Deep nostalgia for a time that seemed imagined rather than the most impressionable years of his immortal life. Hijinks among his and his parents’ god-kids flooded him with memories. Waves of jealously crashed down as Dev and Hazel shared their youth, times they’ll have forever.

Peri could not live eternity drowning.

The human boy felt awkward, it never occurred when he wasn’t the most grieved one in the room. Dev knew, though not consciously, that grief was not just losing someone. It was being lost yourself. Each day happened, it was not unnoticed, but it wasn’t remembered.

“Well….what would I even be wishing for? I was taught not to sign something before reading it, err wishing.”

Peri’s wings flutter briefly. Was Dev considering it? What was he supposed to say? He gathers himself as much as he can to stop shaking from nerves.

“Timmy Turner is someone really important to me. Like, he’s kinda the whole reason I exist.” He pauses, waiting for Dev’s reaction.

“I thought the green fairy was your dad?”

“No, not like that. Although, I guess he did wish for my dad to get pregnant.”

“Your dad was WHAT?” Dev shouts but Peri is quickly on him again, hand pressed tight over the kid’s mouth. Dev only briefly struggles to push him off, dramatically gasping for breath.

“It’s complicated okay? I just, it would mean everything to me, to my parents, if you could wish this.” Peri interjects before Dev can close curtain on his overreaction.

Cutting a glare that isn’t so much as throwing the knife but threatening to, Dev straightens himself. “What’s in it for me?”

Whatever miserable feelings Peri has disappear into steam when he reddens from frustration at the kid’s incredulousness.

"'In it for you?!' You literally have anything you have ever wanted at your finger tips. You have ME! A fairy! With an endless amount of wishes. There is nothing I can’t give you if you want it!” Peri hisses. He might pass out, all the breath pushed from his lungs at this nightmare of a child. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s a favor. I’m asking a favor Dev.”

The kid did feel a little stupid saying that. It was such a habit. He’s never been in a situation that wasn’t an exchange. It’s not like Peri was going to stop granting him wishes if he said no. And besides being less annoying, there was nothing more the fairy could do if he said yes.

Dev sighs, he knows he’s going to make the wish.

“Do you know why kids get godparents to begin with?” Peri’s tone is drained of any animosity. It sounds hollow, like an echo instead of the real words.

He isn’t sure if Peri is looking for an answer, but Dev is still feeling sheepish after his own selfishness.

“No...”

Fairy eyes are known to have a slight shimmer in their iris’, as if they held infinitesimal pieces of glitter. Dev hopes that it’s just the light magnifying the effect in Peri’s and not him on the verge of tears.

“Because life isn’t fair. When life isn’t fair, kids get fairies. The fairies stay until life gets better or they grow up. But,” he falters then, a strained attempt at composure, “but they always forget.”

He flutters down onto the side of Dev’s bed. Wings mirroring his melancholy as they droop. This is not a reserved sadness, it’s not something you can leave till nightfall, not anymore. Not now that he has to face it every day, worse that’s of his own volition. It’s a lonely feeling that twists and winds itself so tight he can’t stand it. Something had to be done.

“I just can’t forget.” And there is a tear now, one he hopes his god-kid cant see with his head bowed.

Hesitantly, Dev sits down. It’s rare for them to be on an even level when he’s not hovering. Peri is so small compared to the 10 year old, who feels like moving an inch might shatter his fairy.

“Was he your first god-kid? Is that how, fairies like, reproduce or something? You run out of fairies for kids and when you need more you just…..your dad?” Dev can’t decide between disgust, curiosity, or confusion.

Peri chuckles, plugging any leaks he has with a sniffle. He guesses he’ll get a few awkward questions on that later.

“Eh, no. We grew up together. He’s kinda like - he’s my brother.” The statement is the only solid thing he can cling to. That one simple fact.

He’s my brother.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, and it’s a lot to go over. But I promise if you do this for me, I will explain everything. Anything you want to know.”

There is another thing that makes Dev feel like an idiot, and that’s his dad. Anytime there might be a sliver of a chance for him to pay attention or choose Dev over some money scheme, Dev falls for it every-time. A swell of hope and admiration fills his chest and then he’s getting the breath knocked out of him when, surprise, he’s never his dad’s choice. Peri was right about life not being fair. And it doesn’t just seem unfair for humans. But, if he got a fairy to even it out for him, maybe he could try too.

Besides, he was going to-do it anyway.

“Hey Peri?”

He rubs his eyes with his sleeve for good measure and gives a mosaic smile of all the shattered hurt inside.

“Yeah kid?”

Dev takes a breath.

“I wish- “

#fairly odd parents a new wish #peri fairywinkle cosma #poof fairywinkle cosma #dev dimmadome #timmy turner #this is not up to snuff for me #fairly oddparents #this is not coping or healing this is sabotage

198 notes · View notes

sleepybugeyes · 5 months ago

Text

I read through all of Elias/Jonah's dialogue (as you do) plus some relistening and mentions of him, so here's a big list of some fun things and behaviors I noted!

I thought he made a lot of eye puns/jokes, but he only does it once in mag161, however he does enjoy making jokes. "Creativity never was their forte." from mag80, "You want my account? My sworn testimony? My statement?" from 82, "If you die, I’m afraid you probably won’t be able to claim your expenses." in 116 and "I only have two eyes, after all." in 120. no one ever laughs at his jokes only he finds them amusing

His last words telling Jon a sarcastic or mocking "good luck" are mirrored earlier as he also tells Basira good luck the last time he sees her, and Martin, as he's getting arrested

He loves gloating. "I forget how new you all are to this." from mag92, "Coffee is not as good for disguising tastes as you might think." in 98, "She’s hoping that even if I see it coming she’ll still be able to overpower me. She’s wrong, of course," in 102, "A masterpiece, isn’t it?" abt his panopticon in 158 and of course his whole monologue in 160

He does his budgeting on tuesdays and his scheduling on wednesdays

He also likes getting lost in work

in mag40 he makes up proper incompetency (said he didnt know how the fire system works, while he later admits he was actively waiting) just that once, but more so he acts like he doesnt get the full picture (doesnt know whats in the tunnels, whats strange about the institute) or acts too late and apologises (not stepping into jon's stalking behaviour). Which makes me think he is quite fine letting people think less of him but unless he has something to hide hes not actively looking to give the impression

in mag92 elias slides the papers for basira across his desk, but you don't hear him take them out before, meaning he prepared and got ready for this before he called the police

in general he's a very preparing man, Lukas steps in when Elias is arrested so has has control over who'd run it. in mag118 he says he prepared something to hurt martin (my speculation is that he likely has some trauma that could hurt you prepared for any person that could cross him, just in case he needs it). When he gets arrested he has something prepared so he doesnt get killed and ofc s1-4 is preparing Jon for his grand ritual

Elias admits the idea for his ritual kinda fell into place after Getrude didnt do anything about the people's church in march 2015. He shot Getrude and appointed Jon shortly after so "when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you." is pure dramatics as Jon was hired 4 years prior

also he got his ritual in 2018 so he managed to acomplish his life's goal in only 3 years, love his grindset 🔥

We never get a number for how many people Elias has killed in his ritual, the real life millbank has held over 1000 people at once, but id imagine his one panopticon held less than a whole complex

its really interesting to me in mag92 that hes SO sure they all know he's talking to them of his own free will. is he just that dead set on being in control or making sure they take no credit for his confession

there is a clock in Elias' office (but it's only heard in mag98)

He has killed people but Elias is very much not a blood thirsty person. Getrude and Peter are both surprised when he results to that. He's very much just ruthless and does not care, if to get his way he has to kill someone. It doesnt seem like he's ever happy to do so, maybe this is a quirk of being eye aligned and getting rid of any type of knowledge is painful (he does for example never want Tim to die at the Unknowing), or he just finds covering those murders up a hassle

for the Unknowing Elias books them all hotel rooms, how thoughtful

something cute to me that Jon was too good at the Eye that Elias couldnt meet him face to face post coma

In mag158 he implies that even Institute employees not in the archives are tied to it, at least enough that they could suffer or die if it burned down

between finding other people just as tools to watch and discard and saying empathy holds you back he was definitely a very very lonely man

He is a very breathy person. He sounds breathy when he talks. He takes deep breaths to ready himself and before he uses his powers. And he often breathes through his nose before speaking or during pauses

He has said Jon's name 62 times, only twice calling him "Jonathan" and called him archivist 25 times (24 in the mag120 statement, 1 in mag138 and 1 in mag161)(he also kinda calls him The Archive in 160)

other fun amount of words: know (65 times), see (42), martin (35), detective (20), eyes (20) and eye (9), afraid (9) and "bullshit" (1)

its still insane to me they added all of those sound effects of Elias' cuffs in prison, thats something fun to appreciate. It also means its canon he gestures quite a bit!

#elias bouchard #jonah magnus #meant to read through ALL MENTIONS of him too but i dont got the time rn #i have to share this.. i shall add if i find/remember more fun things about him

338 notes · View notes

sonysakura · 5 months ago

Text

🚫 My Sonic Big Bang 2024 Experience

...Or how a few months of my life were severely negatively impacted by someone else's bad management. See for yourself.

Proof of the rule they're speaking about being actively hidden from the participants to this day: FAQ – archived link, screenshot with "Who can participate?" on top, screenshot with "explicit" word search, screenshot with "nsfw" word search; Master Guide – screenshot with "explicit" word search, screenshot with "nsfw" word search; server rules – long screenshots of General Server Rules and StH Big Bang Specific Rules: Mar 12 and Jul 01, screenshots of Strike Policy: Mar 12 and Jul 01, long screenshot of General Guidelines, long screenshot of Collaboration Thread Guidelines.

I feel like this is extremely unfair 😭 One moment I was participating in the event I dreamed about for years, and the next moment I'm thrown out into the cold when I did nothing wrong. I need to get it off my chest...

Below, more about my experience with the event, though it ended up a little vent-y, a detailed (and verified!) record of what exactly happened in private thread #48, the aftermath and some fun facts I discovered or want to share:

First things first! Yep, I signed up for Sonic BB as a Writer back in January. I didn't talk about it outside of my server 'cause I wanted it to be a surprise – when I roll out a lo-o-ong illustrated fic without a warning. I'll admit, I always wanted to participate in a Big Bang for this fandom, it was a dream of sorts. And still, before sending my form in, I carefully read all of the Master Guide and the FAQ both. Seeing as how for my neurodivergent brain the rules and regulations are important, that's what I usually do for events, and this one wasn't an exception. Confident that I understand what the event would require of me, I signed up.

First month of the event went well. My questions were answered (even though I wondered why some of the things I asked couldn't have been in the Master Guide from the beginning), I wrote my fic summary and submitted it without many problems, etc. There was a small hiccup at the very beginning of March when I noticed how strict the management seemed to be (no changes or adjustments allowed), and my anxiety got the best of me, so I asked the mods if there's a plan in case a collab team doesn't work out: screenshot of my message in #writers-info-and-questions, pulled from my Discord data; screenshot of my detailed explanation in DMs; screenshot of Mod Joy's reply. Here are the most important quotes from his reply:

I understand wanting to plan for the worst case scenarios, but I would caution you not to freak yourself out over what all could go wrong! There are some absolutely lovely artists in this event who are excited to work with the writers. Odds are, things will go off without a hitch.

We are highly encouraging that no one drops out after the assignments, especially writers, unless due to extenuating circumstances.

We want to make everything as fun and stress-free for everyone. Know that we will be around to moderate threads and dissolve any tensions that arise,..

In short, I was placated with reassurances of careful moderation, not dropping writers and ✨positivity✨. I decided to stay and challenge myself since originally BB is meant to be a challenge and all...

For those of you who haven't participated: the way it is supposed to go is that writers submit short summaries of their stories, these summaries are stripped of the writers' names and given to artists to pick through. The artists then have to list their Top 10 stories to illustrate during the claims period. After the claims, private collab threads are made for each writer and their artists with a couple of mods. So no one else could see what happens in these threads.

Now flashforward to March 11th and the threads being created. Obviously I don't have screenshots of that due to being kicked off the server without any warning and before any chance of communication, unable to delete my personal information or save anything that might be used against me which was a case of poor management at best and a deliberate move at worst, so I'm retelling as faithfully as possible. It also has been verified by [artist 1] and according to them, this is exactly what happened.

My fic was in the 4-8k range, and I got two artists. I was asleep when the thread opened, and they talked about how excited they are for my fic before I came in. Both of them are 18, young but adults. I’ll call them [artist 1] (they're cool), and the other one is [artist 2]. Both artists seemed to talk to me normally.

Oh, I have to point out that there were hmm, Mods Chaz, Joy, Summers and Frostios in my thread. I think only four of them, but I know for sure Mod Summers was reading our conversation at least in the beginning because I noticed my fic's Warnings saying "None" (the original summary I submitted had Warnings: Discussion of Homophobia, Slight Internalised Homophobia), and I pointed out that there are warnings, though I don't know if they were lost just now or weren't in the sheet available to the Artists either, and whether they were actually lost or mods didn't consider it a big enough warning to keep... I still don't know. Mod Summers just silently pinned my message.

I mentioned how I'm in one of the Asian timezones geographically, so I might be awake or asleep at unconventional times, and they told me their timezones (I didn't ask!), so I figured I can make a timebuddy chart for easy tracking what time it is for everyone. Made one, sent the link to the thread, Mod Summers asked me if I want it pinned, too, and then a couple of hours later (I think?) [artist 1] came and said it's very helpful. This is my evidence for at least Mod Summers probably reading the conversation that followed but also maybe not. I think all of the mods were online or at least visually online when it was happening.

This is where I reveal that the entire conversation happened in like... one afternoon 🥲 Roughly 7 pm to 2 am for me.

Back to the conversation itself. There were a few questions I had so I started with them, basically 1) if they've read my fics before (explained that I'm asking so I know whether I need to tell them about my writing style and Sonadow dynamics I write); 2) do they want me to send in scenes as I write them or they want a full draft; 3) if they have any immediate questions for me. Question 1) is what we need. Both of them said they've never read my stuff before, and that they don't have any questions now but they want art to be as close to text as possible, so they will ask in the future. This is how it went down after (as per my memory, artist rendition I guess):

[artist 1]: I haven't read your fics but I'd like to! Your Ao3 is the same as your handle? [no link]

Me: It isn't a requirement, you don't have to! But that's right. I have to warn you though that I usually rate my Ao3 profile as 18+ when I link it, though 33/36 of my Sonic fics are rated G and T, and I feel like a warning is in order anyway so people don't accidentally stumble upon something they don't want to see and know what to avoid/filter out. [I didn't post any links or encouraged the artists to read my profile, just made a warning to be cautious]

We go into discussion of how long I have been writing, [artist 1] shows no problems with knowing my Ao3 has 3 Mature fics, I describe what series my fic will be for [the series is completely SFW, and even then I didn't post the link to it] and go into details of how I write Sonadow dynamics in my fics without mentioning the NSFW ones obviously, we speak about Question 2).

[artist 2]: [replying to my warning about my Ao3] ooohh so you write gore sometimes?

Me: Nah, I don't actually, I'm pretty uncomfortable with it tbh, so no, I don't. Some blood and a quick description of Maria's dead body is the most I have ever done 😅 All the angst I make characters go through is emotional rather than physical!

[artist 2]: oh I shouldn't have assumed, sorry. It's just the first thing my mind went to

Me: It's okay! I've been a medical student at some point and I think I've just had enough of that - one of the main reasons I'm not a doctor but a linguist.

[artist 1] gets excited about this for some reason, and we chat about it for a moment.

Normal conversation continues like...

Me: Okay, where were we

[artist 2]: i wasn't paying attention errr

Me: Me neither! But it's Question 3)

I go into saying how them wanting to draw as close to the text is 💯 what I wanted to hear because for me my texts are an extension of my soul, I'm fragile about them, and I'd prefer the art to be exactly according to it blah-blah-blah, I describe my thoughts about a plan of work for us and how I'm going to share pieces of my fic according to their respective wishes.

[artist 1]: Sounds great!

[artist 2]: yeah, sounds good

[artist 1] says something else which I just react with an emoji to, and I start getting ready for sleep because it's almost 2 am, and I have to get up at 6 am.

Nothing else was said in the thread. That's it.

I got to bed and as most people nowadays I check my phone one last time. I see [artist 2] requesting a mod they can DM to, but I don't think much of it…

So 6 am. I wake up and again, as most people nowadays, I check my phone. I went to sleep in a good mood, seemingly in good relations with my artists, excited for the collab and having a solid plan everyone agreed to, so I eagerly open Discord to see if they wrote anything new in the thread. I see no Sonic Big Bang 2024 server.

I will not go into too much detail about my state, but I have an extremely acute reaction to stress very similar to a panic attack that lasts for hours. So with shaking fingers I open my DMs to see the message from that first screenshot I started my post with. The following exchange with me learning about the hidden rule happens the next day. Unfortunately, before that I still have to go to work for a full day in that very same mental state, oof. Plus I have no breaks on Tuesday... I go back and forth all day with my friends about how shitty this situation is, and one of them asks me how [artist 1] reacted. I say that I don't know, but they still follow me on Tumblr so I go and message them, and from what they tell me, it sounds like a mod pretended to them that I was removed because of an existing rule that's stated somewhere. They didn't argue with that, and that's understandable of course.

At home, I notice one of the event mods blocked me.

It is difficult to explain what's happening in my mind without going into details of what my [disorders] are, but things that are unfair, things that are injustice put my brain in a loop until all wrongs are righted. I'm ranting about it to friends, and I think about it day and night. On March 14th I vent about it in the tags of a related reblog, and this is the only instance of me talking about StH BB on my blog. Next morning I'm blocked by the event blog and over the next 2 weeks – by two more mods, while another mod speaks to me passively-aggressively in a shared Discord server. Then I'm shown a screenshot where one of the mods claims I offered my Ao3 to my artists (I didn't) and implies everyone who writes NSFW is dangerous. And then I receive a hate ask about the event, calling me "creepy"... All this time, my brain is still stuck in a loop, and let me tell you – it's not fun. It doesn't help that my first reaction to everything that makes me feel bad is always to assume I'm at fault for everything, and seeing how hostile people are to me, I'm drowning in self-blame. Without going into any more detail, it takes me 2 months and a lot of help to somewhat recover, so I finally send my reply to Headmod Chaz and receive one back:

If you got to this part, you know that half of Headmod Chaz's reply is simply untrue since there were no "multiple instances", and in any case I was never asked to keep quiet about my ban (and why should I?). I sent another reply a month later expressing my confusion and wondering when the messages will be removed (only my intro was removed). As of today, that reply is still ignored, and the messages aren't removed 🤷

And this is the entirety of my Sonic Big Bang 2024 experience. Now for some Q&A:

Why did you wait so long to make this post? I didn't want to put any participants under fire, particularly my friends because I'll admit, the mods seem like petty people. And also I was worried about throwing shade on other participants (people associating their works with this) or spoiling the event for people who were genuinely having fun with it. Thus, I waited until it was over!

Is this a callout post? According to definition as "public criticism or asking someone to explain their actions", I think it is – in terms of calling out bad management. It is definitely not a call for harassment. There is a reason I censored some names and left vague who reported me, blocked me, was hostile to me or spread rumours about me. Please don't bother anyone, and if the mods decide to engage with this, they can post their own statement.

Aside from the above reasons, why make a post at all? Two reasons: a personal one and an altruistic one. Firstly, I hope to get closure this way since I still feel like I was unjustly thrown away when I was just being a dutiful person. Secondly, while Headmod Chaz said they will be transparent about this rule next time they run an event, as you can see they fully ignored my suggestion of doing it now, and in general keeping a rule hidden to such an extent where you lie in your FAQ is pretty shady... I don't trust them not to do it again next year.

Is it okay to reblog the post/reply to it, what about sending an ask or a PM? Yes to all. I don't expect anyone to reblog, though if you think it's necessary, go on. I'm posting it to the event tags, so-o I think people who need to see it – will see it. If you decide to be negative or call me names, however, be prepared to be blocked by IP or username.

Finally, fun facts as promised 🔥

There are other participants out there who have had negative experiences with BB or were made uncomfortable by the way it was managed, but I'm not going to speak for them;

There was this whole thing with hypocrisy and possible favouritism;

Despite the mods insisting on ME being quiet about my ban, it's now known that they shared information about it outside the mod group;

Out of 6 mods: 5 have me blocked, 2 were passive-aggressive with 1 of them going as far as verbally lash out at me in DMs, and only 1 mod gave me a human apology (not pictured in screenshots);

I saw 3 NSFW writers and at least 2 NSFW artists participating in BB just by scrolling through my dash, without seeking them out, and this is not counting people I noticed in the server prior to me being banned;

Some people are posting Mature and Explicit extras and sequels/prequels to their BB stories already;

The artist who reported me seems to have dropped out anyway;

There's a joke reason why I'm making a post, too: I have to earn being blocked from the event blog since they said they did it because of multiple instances of me talking about my removal;

I'm actually grace and most of the time write my characters as aspec, and I'm exploring what sexuality and intimacy mean for me through writing, so this situation felt a little... like gatekeeping;

My fic was #48 under the title Chao Care 101, and I want you to give me a high five if you had it among your top choices 🖐

Originally, I wasn't going to complete my BB fic because it made me feel bad, but now I've decided I want to reclaim it, so I'm writing it now. Almost 8k words at the moment. It will be published. And it will be illustrated;

Meanwhile, what came out of this disaster is Sonic Supernova 2025, and I recommend you all to keep an eye out for this inclusive Big Bang-like event 🌟

364 notes · View notes

redflagshipwriter · 5 months ago

Text

ANOTHER UNDEAD FENTON

Inspiration came from this post by @stars-obsession-pit !

Word count: 1479

Masterpost of Archive Down Fics here.

(I wrote three dp x dc fics based off of prompts I've seen in the last day for reading while the site is getting maintenance. )

There was a high, shrill scream in the Fenton lab.

Maddie bolted for the stairs, abandoning her coffee without a thought. She flung herself down to see Jack bent over a body in front of the portal.

“Is this person a threat?” Maddie prepared to defend her husband, but the body didn't move.

Jack looked up at her. “No, I was just surprised! I think he's hurt, Mads.”

Her bleeding heart husband. She crossed the room and rolled their intruder over to see it was a kid, maybe Danny's age. In his sleep, he had a sweet, soft face. His face and throat were covered in faint scars.

Well. That was one of hers, now. No getting around it. That was a teenage boy on her floor who has obviously been the victim of violence.

“Well, shit,” Maddie said companionably. She blew out air between her teeth. “Dear, would you put clean sheets on in Jazz's room?”

They were running out of space, between the clones and the past evil alternate future children.

Jack saluted her, shouted an affirmation , and bounded away.

Maddie took a moment to wonder if her children would be an infinitely expanding collection and if so, if it would be better to move into Vlad's castle than to build the home addition they had planned for.

She gathered the teenager up in her arms despite him being her size, and laid him out on an exam table. She started checking his vitals.

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Maddie said. She redirected her hand to smooth hair behind his ear. He blearily followed the movement, just as obviously intelligent as he was obviously compromised. She didn't know if it was a concussion or drugs or what, but this boy was not well. “It's Friday June 29th, and you're in Amity Park, Illinois. I'm Madeleine Fenton and you're at my house because you fell through a portal. Is there someone I should call for you?”

He stared at her. She could see the moment he decided not to speak to her.

That situation didn't change much all day. The kid walked himself up to bed and peered around at Jazz's old posters. He seemed to want to be alone, but Maddie caught him watching Dani and Dan playing catch in the yard. She made eye contact with him over her book and then looked back at her shrieking kids. Dan was doing flips on the trampoline and launching his sister in the air, catching and tossing her back up in the nick of time between flips.

Their new boy closed his curtains.

“I was thinking about Dante,” Jack said, bringing out a pitcher of iced tea. “Or, how about Jasper! Eh? Eh? You know, like Jazz-per?” Jack belly laughed.

“He probably has his own name,” Maddie said calmly. She'd estimated him at 16 or so, anyway. But whatever. If he wasn't going to give them a name, they did eventually need something to call him. And they needed to sort out accommodation fast, before Jazz got back from her college tour trip.

“Let's go with Jasper until he gives us his real name.” There were enough Ds in her home, honestly.

She lured Jasper out of his room for lunch. He sat at the kitchen table and watched them all warily. He only ate what they ate.

Danny arrived mid-meal. “Mom! Dad!” There was a whumpf as he probably threw himself onto the sofa. “We wanna go to Elmerton, that ok?”

“You should take your brother with you,” Maddie called back. “He needs clothes.”

“What?” Danny clearly pried himself up and came into the kitchen. Maddie silently offered to make him a plate. “No, I ate at Tuck's. Dan, what'd you do to your clothes?”

“Nothing, you pathetic worm,” said Dan, who really was a sensitive boy. “I am not the topic of discussion, you blithering fool.” He jerked a finger at Jasper. “New one.”

Danny stared.

Jasper looked uncomfortable. He gave a sort of hello nod.

“He's, uh, he's not-”

“Not a clone or alternate future version of you, nope,” Maddie agreed. “Though he did come out of the portal. We wondered if he might be a ghost, but it didn't seem necessary to ask.”

Jasper full body flinched at the word “ghost”, but he looked confused.

Danny squinted at his new bother who, it must be said, did look a bit like a Fenton already. “Not a ghost,” he said after a long pause. “But a little undead. Not sure what kind. But yeah, you're walking dead, buddy.” He clapped Jasper on the shoulder.

“You'll fit right in!” Jack cheered. “Dan is half dead! So is Danno! And so is Dani here! And-”

“Thank you, Jack,” Maddie cut him off. “It might be a sensitive subject, don't you think?”

“Nah,” said Danny, stealing food out of the pan despite saying he wasn't hungry. “We aren't that sensitive. Like-” he looked at Jasper and explained: “I got electrocuted to death in the lab two years ago. Dan is from an alternate future where everyone he loved died, so then he killed everyone else on earth. And Dani is a science experiment baby.”

“It's true,” Dani said solemnly. “I'm a work of science.”

“You make me sound so uncool,” Dan complained, stabbing at his spaghetti.

Jasper laughed for the first time. He himself seemed surprised by the sound. It was hoarse but there was promise there.

When the boys were off at the mall in Elmerton with Sam and Tucker, Maddie called up Vlad.

“You want to come here?”

“I’ve got more kids than I have rooms in my house,” she said wryly. “So if the offer is still open…”

“Yes, of course it is,” he assured her. “But- most of the little ones are still in the Ghost Zone, correct?”

“They're not big enough to leave yet,” Maddie agreed. “Which is why I need to be near a portal.” The ghostlings were staying with the LunchLady and Box Ghost, but they needed to be able to be in touch. “But no, I've got another one.”

Glass shattered in the background. “Another- what happened to Daniel this time?”

Maddie laughed at how flustered her old college friend got. “Nothing to do with Danny, actually, this one fell out of the portal. He's some level of partly dead, but we don't think he's a ghost at all.”

Left unsaid was that they needed to do a lot of research to figure out what other possibilities there were. If they could get into contact with Danny's GP, he might be able to get them on the right track.

“Well.” Vlad took a moment to rally. “When will the family be arriving?”

Two months later, all the kids were pretty settled in.

Jasper had never shared a name, but he was happy to let them call him Jay. He was a phenomenal big brother to Dani. He wrestled with Dan. He bullied Danny into doing his homework. It had been something of an administrative nightmare to get Jaspen enrolled in school, but Vlad had pulled off whatever magic trick he'd done for Dani (applied a lot of money to the problem, Maddie supposed) and Jay had settled in very well.

“Your debut in society,” Maddie hummed, making a point of straightening Jay’s tie. He was growing already, she was sure of it! He was going to wind up as tall as Jack.

“I've been to parties before, Mom,” Jay drawled, and then flushed a dark red that meant he didn't want to be asked questions. Maddie tweaked his nose instead of answering.

“But this is the first one where Vlad's introducing you to his business friends!” She said, already dressed up for a fun night. Vlad had flown them all in on his private jet for the day.

“Queen is a family man as well,” Vlad had said the night before, aiming for calculating and coming off soft. “It will put him off his guard or perhaps make him sick with envy that I have brought a higher quality child than he could ever manage to produce.”

They arrived together, Maddie on Jack's arm, keeping her flock of kids within eyesight as Vlad led the pack. She had a perfect view of Oliver Queen seeing them arrive, the smile dropping off his face, and him choking on his drink. He did look very silly, Maddie had to admit.

“Inept,” Vlad hissed, very pleased. “The fool can't even drink. His company will be mine-” he looked at Danny for some reason. Vlad faltered at whatever be saw. “....Through legitimate business practices, such as buying a majority of stocks,” Vlad weakly finished.

Maddie slapped him on the back. “Go get him, tiger.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #another undead fenton

1K notes · View notes

pokedawriter · 8 months ago

Text

Nymph!Reader x Sumeru!Men

Gn!reader, you're a nymph

How would the sumeru men react to finding you and your grotto

I still have no idea what I'm doing

I've never written for Cyno, Alhaitem or Scara so forgive me if something is out of character

Cyno

He's patrolling the desert. There have been lots of cave-ins in the area recently and he wants to figure out if there is a specific cause that he can solve or if he should just warn people about the area

As he walks, he feels the sand beneath his feet begin to fall and he tries to jump away but it's too sudden and he falls

He braces for impact but lands into a net of vines that gently lower him to the ground

Your standing next to him, arm extended with the sunlight on your back, looking gorgeous and radiant, then you speak

"I can't be-leaf someone fell into here. Water you doing here?"

Archons, he might have fallen in love with you at that moment

He asks you about the recent cave in and you tell him it the Wenut mating season, and they're all trying to make burrows for their young. An inexperienced male has been digging here but didn't dig deep enough, which is why there are so many cave-ins. You tell him to just wait a month or two for the season to end

The hole is fairly deep and so you build him a ladder out of vines and he promises to return

After reporting what happened with the cave-ins, he returns and finds you've been repairing your grotto in the mean time, removing the dirt and stones that fell

You're very excited to see him and take him deeper into your grotto, further underground

It's beautiful, with purple, white and yellow flowers illuminating the area. Glowing stones are scattered in the ceiling like stars

He makes a regular habit to visit you and introduces you to Tighnari pretty soon (but he doesn't visit much due to his incompatibility with the heat). You all like to have Genius Innovation TCG together (Cyno teaches you and gives you cards)

He finds himself falling asleep in your grotto, surrounded by the glowing flowers and flowing water

He has to stop visiting for a few months due to work, but tries to wrap it up as fast can to see you

When be returns, he finds your grotto has been severely damaged, much of the flora dying. He searches high and low for you, going to the deepest part of the grotto where rocks fall away and reveal a very weakened you

You tell him people found out about your grotto and stole as many of your rare plants as they could, weakening you greatly and you had to hide yourself and your remaining plants away

He's furious and immediately takes action

He works with Tighnari and Lesser Lord Kusanali to make you and your grotto a protected space

And though he can't punish the researchers for over-foraging (since you and your grotto weren't legally protected), he does let other researchers know of their actions, resulting in those researchers being shunned

He helps you and your grotto return to full health and always tries to visit once a week to 'keep away any trouble makers" (but he just wants to visit you)

You both often fall asleep together in the deepest part of the grotto, happy in each other's presence

Alhaithem

He was looking through the old archives. The scrolls and books here were no longer scientifically accurate, but were kept for record purposes

He's found an old book about mythical creatures of Sumeru: Aranara, Nymphs, Djinn, Rocs, and more. He decided to rent it out and give it a read

Reading it at his house wasn't an option as it would be too loud (Kaveh, whom he didnt feel like dealing with today), the Academia students and researchers were always bothering him if he was around (especially after the 'hero' title), so he decided to leave the city for a bit.

As he walked, he found a small cave and decided to read there

Inside was larger than he expected, with a small moss-covered shrine and little yellow flowers. He sat on one of the rocks to read

It was wonderfully calm and quiet. The right temperature, the trickle of water from a nearby stream, the rustle of the leaves... it was all perfect

So, he came back here again and again, reading his books late into the evenings

He was in the middle of his mythical creatures book, on Nymphs, when he felt a presence and immediately looked for it

You sat on the shrine, staring at him, head tilted in wonder

He looked between his book and its description of Nymphs and you... and it seems he found a mythical creature. Regardless, he continued to read and you continued to watch him

Eventually, he turned to you and asked why you were just staring at him, to which you shrugged and said "If a man were to walk in your yard everyday and read, doing nothing else at all, wouldn't you grow curious?"

He was mostly surprised by the fact you could respond. The book said that Nymph's were shy creatures who couldn't talk

But to you, this man had been a regular visitor to your grotto for months now. His scent was just part of your grotto, like the duskbirds and rishboland tigers. He wasn't a stranger at all

Alhaithem decided to ask you a few questions about Nymphs which you agreeably answered, even showing in the deeper parts of the grotto that he hadn't noticed were there

You both fell into a comfortable routine of him visiting you on his days off to read in comfortable silence while you worked on your grotto

Despite being able to talk in every language he could, he realized you couldn't read at all

He helped you learn how to read and you helped him relax and have the perfect reading spot

You became reading buddies, and even though you would ask him with question on words, it never bothered or annoyed him

He subtly made your grotto a legally protected area so if anyone messed with it, they would have to pay

You were his safe space, and in return, he would protect you too

Scara/Wanderer

Nahida asked him to go outside and touch grass more

Just kidding, she asked him to find a rare flower, only ever found underground in rare Nymph Gardens

She gave him a rough idea where he might be able to find it and off he went, grumbling the whole way

Finding the entrance to the cave wasn't hard. All he had to do then was follow the smell of fresh flowers. It was so simple for him (and most certainly didn't take him several days)

When he finally found your grotto, he couldn't find the flower Nahida had described for him and grumbled under his breath about it

This is where you come in: appearing next to his shoulder asking about what flower he was exactly talking about

You stare at him innocently even as he hold a swirl ball of anemo energy

You ask again and he asks who you are, cautious

"I'm the nymph of this grotto"

That can't be possible, Nymphs aren't real, surely you're pulling his leg

But you have flowers growing on you, the plants lean towards where you step and life seems to exude from you

He'll dispell his anemo attack and tell you about the flower. You nod and scoop it up a bit of dirt and grow the flower on it

He's wondering if there's a cost to it. You tell him it'll hurt you when he leaves with it. He asks what he owes you and you shrug and walk away to play with the springyness of a new fern

He brings the flower to Nahida then rushes back. Not because he's worried! He's just curious about the affects of removing the flower from your grotto (Nahida gives him a knowing smile as he leaves)

When he arrives, you're laying on the ground, looking unwell. He puts his hand to your forehead, and you're burning up

Why would you give the flower to him if it would hurt you so much?

"Because you needed it," you say with a smile

He'll take care of you for the next few days, your waking hours being filled with scolding and mild insults about how stupid it was to give all thay power to a stranger. What if they wanted to take advantage of you?

You laugh and smile. When he's not paying attention, you'll make little figurines out of flower of him

Then he'll notice and scold you for not resting properly, idiot (he does think it's very cute though)

He'll protest even when you insist you are perfectly healthy again

You'll take him to the deepest part of the grotto where you made a picture of the two of you in glowing flowers. He says it looks stupid, but you notice his little blush and giggle

He has to leave for a few days and during that time, treasure hoarders find your grotto

They have no respect for your plants, so you hide, slowly growing weaker and weaker as they pick and burn your plants

Needless to say, when Scara returns and sees you hanging on by a thread, he's pissed

He wipes them out and tends to you once again. It takes months this time until you are healthy, but he's by your side every step of the way

"Clearly, you can't take care of yourself, so I'll have to watch out for you! Hey! Don't giggle! What's so funny, idiot?"

350 notes · View notes

dimonds456-art · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 1: The Mystery of the Missing Brother

Also under the cut for y'all without an AO3

Enjoy, leave me notes to give me powers

Summertime in New Jersey was meant to be spent outside. There were the beaches, the boardwalks, the sun, the trees to climb, the ice cream to eat- sitting inside doing nothing was eating Stanford alive. Typically, he'd prefer to be inside rather than out, but today itself wasn't typical. It wasn't a normal day and he couldn't keep still. He wanted to be doing something, but he wasn't sure WHAT to do.

Typically, when he was inside, he could just read. He had plenty of fantasy books to get through. The thing was, though, that he'd tried that already, but he couldn't focus on the words. They kept fading into the background as worry overcame him instead. He wasn't even sure what was happening in the book anymore, despite having to reread paragraphs multiple times. He was pretty sure there was a chameleon? That was about it.

He was supposed to be back by now. Ma had said he'd be back before Ford knew it. So where was he?

Ford heard the grandfather clock in the house strike noon, and with a flurry of motion, he slammed the book closed beside him on the floor and sprang to his feet- out the door, through the hall, and over to the table their Ma always sat at when giving people fortunes. She was currently on the phone with someone, twirling the cord between her fingers.

As soon as she saw Ford enter the room, her posture changed. She went from relaxed and casual to tense. She looked away quickly, grabbing at the cord while her foot bounced. Her tone remained exactly the same, and she tried to remain in the same casual, laid-back pose Ford had found her in, but one more glance at him had her stiffening.

Ford stopped, waiting for her to finish. He knew better than to interrupt her, despite the rolling anxiety doing flips in his chest. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers at the sleeves on his jacket as he studied the floor.

Wood. Dark oak, maybe? No, that'd be too fancy. Maybe he could ask Ma? Well not right now but at some point later? Maybe? He heard somewhere once that you could tell how long a tree lived based on the rings it had, so would he be able to figure out how old their flooring was? Maybe he could figure out the exact birthday of the trees themselves, wouldn't THAT be something?

"Yes, I predict your date will be much better now," Ma said into the receiver. "Good day to you." She reached over and set the phone down with a little click! before turning to Ford. "Stanford, did you need something, hon?"

"Yeah." Ford grabbed at his sleeves. "You said Stanley would be back soon," he exclaimed. "It's noon, Ma, and he's still not here! Where is he?"

Ma took in a deep breath, looking away. "I… I'm sorry, Stanford. Stanleys not here. He's…" She trailed off.

"What? He's what?" The anxiety was only climbing. She knew something, didn't she? Why wasn't she telling him?

Last night, she'd told Ford that Stanley was going off with a friend to make Ford a surprise, and that he'd be back early this morning. When Ford had woken up and Stanley wasn't there, he'd initially assumed his brother was playing hide and seek to scare him or something. But then Ford couldn't find him. He'd searched the whole house, and nothing. Ma said he just needed extra time. How much time did he need?

Ma sighed. "I needed to try and find some way to tell you. He's… Stanley's not coming home."

Ford blinked up at her. "WHAT?!" Did he run off with that new best friend he has, apparently?? Did he get stuck in a sewer somewhere? Fall out of a tree? Did someone come and take him away? Did he get kidnapped by a time traveler?!

"I know, I know, I shoulda told you before," Ma continued. She looked… sad. She wouldn't look at Ford, instead opting to examine a picture on the wall. Well, a picture frame. It was empty now. "He's not coming home and I didn't know how to tell ya." She paused, then took a deep breath. "Stanford, your brother-"

"Ran away." Heavy footsteps entered the room. Ford turned to look as his father stepped through the doorway. He was still wearing those glasses of his, dressed up nice for the shop. His stern expression hadn't changed at all- he could have been telling them it was storming outside, the neighbors came to visit, or that they got a new puppy and that face never changed. "He left last night."

"No…" Ford shook his head. "No, that's not true! If he was gonna run away, he would have told me about it." He balled his hands into fists, swinging them up and down anxiously. "We'd have gone together!"

Pa didn't react aside from tilting his head down a bit more to look at his son. "Well maybe he got tired of always sticking up for you."

Ford shrunk back in on himself, subconsciously tucking his fingers away under his arms in a self-hug.

"Filbrick!" Ma shot him a glare.

Without a word, the man turned and walked back out of the room, footsteps retreating down the hall. Ma moved to stand, but a sharp ringing gave her pause. The phone's shrill cry was loud, but Ma ignored it. She pushed herself up and stormed after her husband instead. Ford watched as his mom passed, watching her with wide eyes.

"Filbrick Pines, you do not get to talk about our little boy like that!"

"He's not our kid anymore, Caryn."

"That's not true."

"Not our problem anymore, either."

"Filbrick!"

That was it. Ford spun around and bolted back to their room. Not his. It would always be their room. Unless…?

No. No, it didn't make sense. Stanley wouldn't just run away without saying anything! That didn't sound like him at all!

Ford slammed the door, stomping over to the bed and throwing himself on the bottom bunk- Stan's bunk. It was neat- the pillow was fluffed and where it was supposed to go, the blankets were made, and most of the toys had been cleaned off of it. Stan almost never cleaned his bed, and he certainly wouldn't have fluffed the pillow. Ford grabbed at it, burying his face in the fabric. He looped his arms around it so it covered his face, then grabbed at his hair instead.

"Not true," he grumbled to himself, muffled by the pillow. "He wouldn't just disappear like that. He wouldn't!"

He groaned. This wasn't helping. He had to think this through.

Pushing himself up, he moved his hands under his glasses to run them down his face. "Okay. Okay, logic. Stanley got a bad grade in school, and Pa yelled at him for it. Grounded him. He was sent outside to wash the windows all weekend, and I wasn't allowed to help him."

He began to pace, making his way around the room as he rambled aloud to himself. He'd found that speaking like this helped him get his thoughts in order, especially if he was overthinking something. Stan always told him to talk through it, and it seemed to help. Made the thoughts more real- and if they were real, they could be studied. Made it easier to see which were more likely.

Now, he walked circles around the cluttered room, eyes scanning their shared collection warily. "Pa didn't say why- he never does, why would he now- and then…" he stopped. "Maybe he's mad at Pa? So he ran off to make him feel bad?" That had some logic to it, but Stan had been mad at their father before and he'd never done anything like this. It didn't really seem like something he'd do.

"Or," Ford began, circling again, "he was washing the windows and that friend Ma mentioned came by and distracted him, and he got in trouble, so when he was given more work, he decided running away was easier." That was more like Stan. He was usually quick to drop responsibilities or take shortcuts, and without Ford there to stop him, he probably got carried away.

"Or maybe," Ford continued, holding up a finger, "someone saw him in the window and thought he was for sale, and when they went to buy him he ran away! Then Pa saw him running and he thought Stan just ran away." He snapped his fingers, as if he were really onto something here. "Then, he got taken by a griffin!"

Yeah. Logical.

Ford sighed, pausing his pacing to push the butts of his palms into his eyes. This wasn't helping. "It doesn't matter," he reasoned. "Stan's gone. He's gone and that's that. It doesn't matter how it happened, right?" He stopped, eyebrows raising. He looked up, eyeing the singular backpack hanging on the wall. Stan's was missing.

Ford dashed over to the spot, grabbing his own backpack and unzipping it. It was full of school supplies and books, including the sequel to the book he was reading now (in case he finished early), a different book (in case he couldn't focus on this one), that book's sequel (what if that one was more interesting or easy to read? Can't be too careful), and a notebook.

Quickly, he dumped everything out as cleanly as he could on the bed. He made sure the books landed upright with no damage to the pages, but that was about as far as caution went. He rifled through it, looking for a note or anything out of place. Paper, paper, homework, pencils, pen, pencil-stabbed erasers- nothing out of the ordinary.

Fine, then. If Stan didn't leave him a note, he'd write one of his own.

He ripped out a piece of notebook paper and grabbed one of his pens- a sharpie. Old reliable, honestly. He'd used that pen more than Stan chewed on his pencils, and considering that half the trashcan in the corner was full of broken writing utensils, that was saying a lot.

"He wouldn't wanna do this alone," Ford reasoned to himself as he wrote. "So he must be waiting for me somewhere. And I'm gonna find him."

Mind made up, Ford rushed around the room. He grabbed his notebook and all his pencils and pens again, stuffing them in his bag. Sadly, he bid goodbye to his books. He could always find them again in a different library, anyway. Instead, his backpack was to be filled with only the essentials.

He opened their clothes drawer to find more things missing- Stan's favorite shirt, a pair of shorts, some socks, and underwear were all gone. Ford grabbed his own favorites, giving himself an extra change of clothes in case he needed it.

From there, he sat down. What would he need out there? He had clothes, he had shoes, he had notebooks, uhh…

Tools!

He knew his father had tools in the house somewhere, and he also knew that the guy never actually used them. Unless Stanley broke something, there was never any need, and, well, that wasn't happening any time soon, it seemed. So he wouldn't even notice. Yeah.

Ford quietly opened the door. He could still hear his parents down the hall, and quickly shut out whatever they were on about. He didn't wanna hear it. Besides, he had a mission. He gently lowered a foot forward, and when a bomb didn't go off, he took another step, then another, then another. Slowly, he crept down the hall towards the stairs.

Before he got there, though, he passed the bathroom. He paused, looking in the open door. Of course. Toothbrush.

He pushed the door open all the way before shutting it again. He grabbed his toothbrush (noticing again that Stanley's was missing, which was… weird. Did Stan take it with him?), toothpaste, and a hairbrush. Before turning back around, though, a thought occurred to him. They were gonna be outside, and they were gonna get hurt a lot. Ma always kept the band-aids nearby, and when Ford opened the cabinet under the sink, sure enough, there was a box right there.

He tucked it into his backpack and began picking his way closer and down the stairs once again.

Now on the bottom floor, Ford worried less about making noise. For all his father knew, he was just a customer wandering the display cases. He quickly made his way over to the office, where he knew the toolbox was. Sure enough, tucked onto a shelf, was the last thing he needed before they left.

Reaching in, Ford quickly grabbed out a hammer, a screwdriver, and a flashlight. Hammers were good for hitting stuff, screwdrivers could be used like a pick, and flashlights were always good to have. The other tools didn't seem as important. What could they use a tape measure for? Not much, he thought.

Was that everything? Ford closed the door to his father's office behind him as he mulled the question over. He tried to picture himself and Stanley, roughing it out on the open road with nothing but their backpacks and each other. He was pretty sure Stan knew how to light a fire (he'd been near them enough for some of them to be his doing, right?), so from there they'd just needed… uhh…

Oh, right. Ford smacked himself in the forehead. Food.

Quietly, he crept back upstairs. His parents were still going at it, though it sounded like Ma was becoming more and more sad. Pa just sounded the same. Inwardly, Ford's anxiety surged. Sounded like they were almost done.

Quickly, as quietly as he could, Ford scampered over to the dining room table. On it was a little bowl of apples- green ones, specifically. Ford quickly grabbed a couple and then tied them up in a tablecloth. Then, finally, he ran to their room, grabbed the mast from a homemade boat model they'd been building on and off, and tied the little bag to the top.

One last thing to do, then. He clutched the note close as he left the room, tip-toeing to the table one last time. He left it next to the apples, then scampered down the stairs and out the door.

If Stanley was gonna run away from home, then so was Ford. All he had to do now was find him.

Dear Ma and Pa,

I know you said Stanley ran away, but I can't let him do that by himself. I'm gonna go find him, so we can run away together! We're probably gonna go sailing, so if you need us, check the ocean first. Lots to discover out there!

I had to leave my books here. Tell Mrs Dunn I'm sorry in case I can't return them myself. I'm also gonna try to keep going to school, so don't worry about that! I'll get Stanley to go with me, too.

Love you! - Stanford

Notes:

Zpssf Zahumvyk, ol'z illu kljlpclk Aopunz hylu'a xbpal hz aolf zlltlk Vu khyr yvhkz huk aoyvbno aol iyhjr Ol qbza dhuaz av ohcl opz iyvaoly ihjr Whjrhnl klhs- kv uva zlwhyhal Lszl ivao dpss tlla alyypisl mhalz Iba aoha'z h zavyf P ullku'a ylwlha Av johunl aolpy mhalz, Mvyk ohz vul dllr

#gravity falls #gf au #gravity falls au #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #ford pines #stanford pines #stan pines #stanley pines #young ford pines #young stan pines #the sibling brothers #gravity falls fic #dimonds art #dimonds writing #runaway gf au #stan twins #the book of bill #runaway au

139 notes · View notes

imgeekgirlfan · 4 months ago

Text

The Curse of Cassandra│(Qimir x Reader)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Being a prophet is both a gift and a curse; you see the future and you’re burdened with the weight of knowing that every decision you make could shape or destroy entire universe, with the overwhelming pressure that the fate of the galaxy hinges on your choice, and every path fraught with sacrifice.

Status: Completed (Finally! 😭)

A/N : I'm thai and english isn't my first language (sorry for the broken English)

This fic exists 'cause I got high (thanks to weed!). So my work's full of random shit in many ways. But I hope you'll dig it.

I got inspo from novels and movies I'm obsessed with: Dune, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Blue Eye Samurai, and Anne Carson's Cassandra Float Can. (Hence the title "The Curse of Cassandra," linking to the Greek myth)

It's a mash-up of different universes, not just Star Wars, with a lot of tweaks for my storyline. If you want fanfic that strict Star Wars canon, this fic isn't for you.

Also, diversity FTW! the reader in this fic isn't white, she's a SEA woman, we gonna representing ASEAN pride.

➡ EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

[Intro] A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away

What fate could be worse?

Being captured by Jedi

Or being hunted by Sith

You close your eyelids, frowning at the stabbing sensation creeping into your brain. It's always like this when you try to sink into the stream of time, pondering what's yet to come. The price for this wicked foresight is torment of both body and soul, intensifying as your senses expand.

You see, you hear, you feel. The moisture in the air, the sound of water droplets hitting the ground, the wind rustling through the grass, the capillaries in your nasal cavities twisting and rupturing before blood gushes from your nose.

As you casually wipe away the red fluid with the back of your hand, you suddenly realize certain truths that have always been part of you.

You are an aberration, something repulsive. An Abomination.

And abominations must be eliminated—so they say.

You let out a long sigh, allowing your mind to drift through the past, present, and future—every possible event and situation. You watch it all with a numb mind, as if you've seen the same movie hundreds or thousands of times, a movie whose ending you already know well.

Yet there's one thing you still don't know: which ending will the path you're on now lead to?

Something pulls you out of your meditation, coinciding with the moment you sense someone's piercing gaze openly fixed upon you. That man is watching you from the shadows behind a large tree, not with malicious intent but with curiosity mixed with several other complex emotions too ambiguous to explain.

You remain seated in meditation at the same spot, amidst the blood and corpses of the Jedi, not daring to move, almost forgetting even to breathe.

You are the last one still breathing, the final victim of the Jedi massacre carried out by the mysterious Sith—The Stranger who is now closely observing you.

His face is completely hidden beneath a dark, twisted metal mask. Yet you can still feel his gleaming eyes surveying your body, as far as sight allows, focusing excessively, even invasively.

The curiosity in his mind is so intense that you find yourself trembling.

You see visions of what might happen—there's a high chance he'll rush in to slice you to pieces with his red lightsaber, searching for secrets or whatever might be hidden inside your body. Or he might subjugate you with his Force, using his power to penetrate your mind, deep into your subconscious, hoping to taste the forbidden fruit of secrets that you alone possess.

But he will never know, as long as you don't wish him to.

The scent of death hangs heavy in the air as heavy footsteps crunch over gravel, approaching you slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. You freeze, every muscle in your body tense, as you face the tall figure in dark cloak, his visage concealed behind a strange metal mask carved into a distorted smile.

For a moment, this man reminds you of the grim reaper from ancient religious myths that vanished thousands of years ago.

He is the harbinger of death everywhere he goes, including your own death

Awareness strikes like a warning signal. Various possibilities flash through your memory, similar to how a dying person recalls everything that happened in their life.

You instantly realize how crucial this moment is. This is an incredibly fragile juncture.

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life.

Fear spreads throughout your flesh, imprinting itself on your soul, turning your blood ice-cold. Your pulse races with panic.

You take a deep breath, quickly focusing, trying hard to regain control of your shaken mind. "I must not fear," you mutter to yourself, the same phrase your mother used to teach you as a child. "Fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration..."

A low, hoarse laugh escapes from behind the metal mask. Clearly, he heard what you said. "Oh, I think you should fear," he says, his words teetering between mockery and sarcasm.

You know he wants you to fear because, for the Sith, fear leads to power.

You do the opposite, swallowing the lump of fear in your throat, maintaining a calm demeanor as you force a faint smile for the person before you.

"Humans fear what they don't know, just as they fear me, and just as they fear you." You pause momentarily, carefully considering your final sentence, which could determine your fate.

Finally, you speak, firm and unwavering, "But I know you, so I do not fear."

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life—this thought returns to your mind once more.

He had always kept his secret well, never letting anyone who knew his true identity survive.

You know well that your revelation will bring about an end that changes everything, both for better and for worse.

This is the gamble you've already placed your bet on, for this purpose and for this moment.

The lightsaber hilt in his hand remains tightly closed, showing no sign of the red flame that has taken countless lives. He kneels before you, his action clearly revealing vulnerabilities in his body. You could easily grab the lightsaber from the Jedi's corpse and behead him in one stroke.

But you don't kill him, just as he doesn't kill you.

You look into his eyes, he looks into yours, gauging each other in silence.

His large hand reaches beneath his mask, unlocks the mechanism, and slowly removes it, revealing the familiar face in your sight.

His face is sharp in every proportion, with messy jet-black hair. His eyes, once gentle when touched by sunlight, now cold as ice, contrast starkly with the smile slowly spreading wide, in the same fashion as the smile on the mask he wore earlier.

"Qimir"

His name sounds strange when you utter it, as if it's not a name you're familiar with, and the man before you is not the man you know.

The man chuckles softly and moves even closer, cutting off any chance for you to escape. You swallow hard, trying to turn your face away from his intense gaze. But he doesn't let you. His fingers, wet with others' blood, dig into both of your cheeks, pressing hard enough to hurt, forcing you to look only at him.

"Surprised?" He leans in closer, his hot breath on your face, and whispers softly in your ear, "I told you, you can't run away from me."

#qimir x reader #qimir x y/n #the stranger x reader #qimir fic #qimir x you #the acolyte x reader #star wars #the acolyte #qimir #star wars fic #the acolyte fic #Angst and Tragedy #Strangers to Lovers #no gods no masters no beta not edited either im going to sleep #english isn't my first language #The Curse of Cassandra

191 notes · View notes