#but that's crack it's just crossing the hyperfixation streams

[thebreakfastgenie]

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Sorry this took so long, I was trying to think of good answers!

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

MASH wise, maybe Henry. I've written very little of him, and it would be fun to explore him some more.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

I have a lot of these, but as soon as you asked I completely blanked and spent an entire day trying to think of one. I think a good one is my idea for a canon divergence AU of MASH where the bomb in The Army-Navy Game isn't a propaganda bomb and Hawkeye and Trapper get blown up. I don't have a name for it yet. Trapper gets hurt worse because he pushes Hawkeye out of the way/shields him. They both make it, but Trapper gets sent to the evac hospital while they're still working on Hawkeye and then gets sent home while Hawkeye is still recovering so he doesn't get to say goodbye. BJ gets drafted earlier as a result, and misses Erin's birth. Hawkeye is depressed about what happened and withdrawn so doesn't befriend BJ right away. Instead, BJ becomes friends with Henry when they bond over having kids they haven't met. Mulcahy tells BJ Hawkeye was different before and BJ starts to get some details about what happened from Mulcahy and Henry. Margaret considers what Hawkeye did heroic (and gets him a purple heart against his wishes) so she starts to warm up to him earlier, but he has mixed feelings about it. The only person who can really talk to him at first is Radar. Eventually Hawkeye does the math on when BJ arrived and how old Erin is and his sympathy allows him to start warming up to BJ. They become sometime around the middle of what would be season 2. Henry dies on schedule. Since you waited so long... two for the price of one! There's also my COVID MASH AU, where MASH takes place in a New York ICU in spring 2020. I'm still working out the details on that one, but the main storyline is Henry deciding to leave after working hard for months (and a long career in the ICU), feeling sick on the way home and coming back to the unit, where he deteriorates rapidly. Hawkeye violates PPE protocol to comfort him while he's dying, and has to quarantine. He doesn't bring his phone charger so his phone dies on the first day. He gets out of quarantine to find out Trapper quit while he was in there. When he finally plugs in his phone he has several missed calls and his voicemail box was full because he hasn't had time to check it since March. The end is BJ's first day on the unit, transferring in from a suburban hospital that wasn't hit as hard. The main thing holding me back from writing this one is the research I'd have to do. I need to know the detailed workings of an ICU in Spring 2020 and that's just a little daunting right now.

[liyazaki]

top 5 shows you’re looking forward to for the rest of the year

thank you, sweet Faatimah! 💖 here's a handful I'm looking forward to, but nothing's reached hyperfixation status just yet.

fingers crossed that one of these ends up being spectacular or some random ITSAY-tier show comes out of nowhere & steps on my throat for a couple months straight 🙏

Gameboys S2: this is airing right now, but unless you have a few specific VPNs/until they release it internationally (which they will be doing), good luck trying to watch it. I managed to see ep 1 before the streaming company blacklisted ExpressVPN, at least (it was cute, but mostly a recap/rehashed material).

Between Us: I love the idea of WinTeam as a couple- emphasis on 'idea' since they didn't give us much to work with in UWMA. BounPrem's chemistry is solid and I'm so excited to be back in the UWMA universe, however tangentially I can get it.

Oh! My Sunshine Night: another soulmate vibes OhmFluke drama & Fluke as a mouthy tsundere? GIMME.

GAP the Series: *gestures wildly, yelling incoherently* WOMEN!! SAPPHICS!! LESBIANS!! (and they're actually allowed to be horny?!)

Unforgotten Night (honorable mention): this is probably going to be garbage, but I'm hoping it's the kind we'll all be throwing around crack/horny posts about like excited racoons in a trash can (very specific vibe here). the BDSM aspect will probably end up being BL 50 Shades, but my attention = got, anyway.

ask me my top 5 anything

[of-chaos-and-flame]

Descendant Of Israphel

Crossposted to AO3 here

(Aka: Yogscast and Dream SMP hyperfixations go brrr and I made a Ranboo headcanon with that. Also I wrote this before yesterday’s “Confrontation.” Stream so if anything in here contradicts that...oops)

Ranboo looked in the mirror, mismatched eyes scanning over every little detail.

Normally he didn’t think much about his other half. His right half presented enough interest that there was little reason to.

He took a tired breath and leaned forward, looking even closer at himself.

His Enderman skin was coarser and thicker than his other half, which was relatively human like, if not for the color. He pulled at his left lip, showing off his teeth. The lips on his ender half formed hardened edges, almost teeth like, and that was not even mentioning the rows of sharp shark-like teeth behind those lips, or the fact that his right jaw could lock on command. That had been an interesting thing to discover. On the other side however, the only real anomaly was his fang-like canines, and even then, many others in the SMP — including the likes of Fundy, Tommy, and Eret — had similar canines. His hands wandered to either of his ears. He had noticed his Ender side seemed to emote purely through his long, hyper-mobile ear. The lack of eyebrows, eye lids, and most lip muscles essentially stoped most normal facial expression in its tracks. Meanwhile, his ear had a large range of motion that seemed entirely dependent on his mood. His left ear, on the other hand, was slightly pointed, but otherwise no more dexterous than a human’s. And that half of his face moved normally too.

He sighed and leaned back.

Recently more and more people had been asking him about his mystery half, either in passing or coming up and demanding answers from him, and it was starting to make him wonder; what was he? He began fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt. Surely he wasn’t the first of his kind. That seemed rather unlikely. His legs moved with out his permission and soon he started to pace the comfort room. He knew what he wasn’t — ghast, demon, some kind of white animal — but he still hadn’t the faintest clue what he was. He and his friends had tried so many different tests, but nothing was working. His hand threaded through his hair anxiously. Aimless experimentation was giving him little answers! There had to be another way! Something that could give him answers! Somewhere that had some kind of information on hand-!

He paused in his pacing.

There was a library in the SMP.

In fact, there were two! But Niki’s was incomplete and probably wouldn’t help much at the moment. Karl’s, on the other hand, might just have the answers he’s looking for! He’s heard small tidbits about it, about its large and varied selection of both history and fiction books. Maybe this library could have something about whatever he is.

With a kick to his step, he quickly finished dressing and started making his way to where he’d been told Karl’s library was, with some help from his memory book, hurrying past anyone he came across with little more than a wave. He felt a little bad for being rude, but he was too excited to give it too much thought.

As he walked into the library, he was completely awestruck. While it wasn’t the biggest build, not by a long shot, it still had a beauty to it that Ranboo greatly appreciated. It had a homely atmosphere that made him feel safe.

He shook himself out of his slight daze. He had work to do.

He quickly set out to read through any books he could find about different monsters and creatures. He didn’t bother with common mobs, having long since ruled those out by now, but perhaps lesser known creatures held the answer? So page after page he poured through, taking notes on anything, anything that may be of use to him.

But, after an hour or so, and a large pile of books, he’d only come up with a hand full of potential options, but none of them really felt right, and there had always been something off about the descriptions, something that wouldn’t match quite right with his left half. He still took note of them, just in case, but he was losing hope of finding any real answers.

Deciding to take a break, he headed over to the fiction section of the library to see if he could find something more relaxing to read. Nothing really caught his eye at first, some stories seemingly based in the history of the SMP, a few cliche romance novels, and a handful of uninspired looking action novels. Then, he stumbled into the far corner of the fiction section. Many of the lanterns were dimmer, or even completely burnt out, and the books were covered lightly in dust, untouched.

He picked up the first book he saw and took a look at it. A simple black cover with the image of a mushroom and a pickaxe crossed over each other with the words “The Blackrock Chronicles” printed in big bold lettering stared back at him. There seemed to be no author listed. Having nothing better to read, he took a seat on the ground and began reading.

He lost himself in the book, in the captivating story of the Enderborn mage and his mushroom loving companion, of their struggle against the men who destroyed their old world, of technology and magic, of love, of loss. It wasn’t long before he finished the book, and found himself hungry for more. He took another off the shelf, another book with no named author, and cracked it open. Book after book he read. He read about a testing facility run by an evil man hellbent on world domination and his dear friend, unaware of the other’s misdeeds. He read about a scientist and his apprentice and their fight to rid themselves of a magical corruption. He read about magic powered by the spilled blood of others, and the people who used it.

Before he knew it, he had read through too many of the books to count, and the late night chills began to seep through his clothes. He got up to leave, not wanting to over stay his welcome more than he already has, and accidentally bumped into the bookshelf, causing a few of the books to come crashing down.

Whilst scrambling to pick them up one caught his eye. The cover seemed to depict the two hero’s of the story, a tall alien and a rugged dwarf, two characters he recognized from some of the other books, with what seems to be the antagonist looming over them in the background. What truly stuck out to him, however, was the antagonist’s appearance. Bleach white skin, lips pulled up into a snarl that shows of his sharp canines, pointed ears, and red, menacing eyes.

Slowly, he picked up the book, and looked it over. Out of all the books he’d read from this section, this was most clearly the oldest. Worn and yellowed pages, cover slightly dented and scuffed up. But it was still in fairly good shape, it didn’t feel like it would fall apart in his hands at the very least. He clutched the book in his hands, careful of the sharp nails on his left hand and the talons on his right. This book cover, this stupid little book cover in a near abandoned part of the fiction section of the library was the closest he’d come to finding what his other half is. How much of this book was likely to be based in reality? The other books from this collection were surely far to fantastical to be real! Then again, the things that have happened in the Dream SMP would probably seem too fantastical to be real to someone outside of it. Maybe there was some truth behind these books. Maybe...

He looked around quickly, finding no one in the library with him. Surely Karl wouldn’t mind if he took this home? It’s a library after all, that’s what it’s for. It’s not like anyone would miss it, if the amount of dust on these books were anything to go off. Quickly, he hid the book away in his inventory, right next to his memory book and the notes he took earlier in the day. Soon enough he was out of the library and on his way back home.

He could have laughed. It was sad, really. He could see more of himself in what was clearly the villain on the cover of this one book than he’d seen in any of the encyclopedic books he dug through. But still, he hoped that perhaps this “Shadow of Israphel” had the answers he was looking for.

[0bfvscate]

I’ve been working very hard to keep my Good Omens hyperfixation off my main writing blog, but I  accidentally wrote a crossover fic with @orbitaldropkick‘s Kill Six Billion Demons, and I like it. So here it is, submitted for general consideration; one of the many stories of 3 Principality Aziraphale Who Guards the Eastern Gate of God’s Immortal Garden With a Flaming Sword, and the demon who much prefers to go by ‘Crowley’.

I like to imagine Aziraphale is wearing something strongly reminiscent of khaki shorts in this universe.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” said 3 Principality Aziraphale Who Guards the Eastern Gate of God’s Immortal Garden With a Flaming Sword. “What was it you were saying again?”

“I said that one went down like a lead balloon.” Said Anthony J Jonah Jameson Crowley Crawly Esquire the Third, Flame of the Sunken Star.

“Yes, it was quite unnerving to find your mask smashed to pieces against the entrance of the maze,” the angel said, worrying at an uneven, protruding quartz crystal on his thumb. “What happened?”

“I was under contract with a sorcerer. He wanted to steal from the Maze of Arun Dat,” he said. 

Arun Dat was remembered most fondly as a master mathematician, but he had a special penchant for labyrinths. Always liked them, never got the chance to explore one himself. He did, however, draw them— copious paper labyrinths, all over his study. Labyrinths like mandalas, meditations that drove men mad trying to plot. When he retired he dedicated his life to finally building a real labyrinth, with the intention of making one impossible to crack. It was rumored to hold a reward at its core, although no record existed among the plans, and Arun Dat was not so wealthy that he could afford to dump the last of his life’s savings just to die with a legacy.

Principality bought them dumplings to share, and left them sitting between them on the stone steps. Crowley wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. He felt small and blue.

“Did you get to the core?” 3 Principality asked.

Crowley shook his head. “No, the team fell apart when we got inside. Three days in, all the humans are gnashing their teeth and accusing each other of old grudges. Turned out the summoner had a habit of writing bad checks. Stuck it out for a week before turning back.”

“Oh, well, the sorcerer must not have liked that.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched, filled with the uncomfortable fact that it was abundantly clear the sorcerer didn’t take well to Crowley’s intuition. 

Crowley stretched his back and gave a loud, theatrical yawn. “I’m glad to be back so soon. Who did the summoning?”

“—er,” the Principality said, chewing his peach dumpling. He had half his helm off, which left the wisps of his eternal flame to curl like hair around his head. Through the eyeholes of his faceplate, he seemed very uncomfortable. “—well—“

Crowley was struck dumb. “You?”

3 Principality Aziraphale fidgeted with the quartz on his thumb. “Well, I was the only one around. I knew your name and your mask, and it wasn’t fair—“

“Angel!” Crowley shouted. “Bloody stupid fool! Brainlessly rockheaded skull, tha! Tha formst a contract with the formless flame, me, to feast on tha light? How could tha be so reckless!?”

The basis of their friendship was a genuine interest and respect for mortal life, paired with a consequential distrust for their respective kin. Aziraphale couldn’t understand why his brothers were so against the wonderfully clever creatures who taught themselves how to traverse the Wheel, and Crowley was always a bit squeamish about treating sapient life like fresh, bleeding meat. For several thousands of years he’d tried to avoid the White-Eyed Woman and the City of Devils underneath, and as a result, spoke the Black Speech with less ease and fluency than others did. 

“Well, you’re my friend,” Aziraphale said, sounding rather put out. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Wouldn’t have the same implications, would it?” Crowley snapped. “Doesn’t have the same long reaching complications, now does it!?”

“Oh, mortals summon demons all the time without any ill effects,” Aziraphale said airly. “And look at how weak their little flames are! Why, this might be the most beneficial contract you’ve ever filled.”

“Oh yes I’m very lucky to find such a gullible angel to feed on.”

“Not to worry, the contract didn’t have any set terms. All you took was enough to get you started.” 3 Principality said cheerfully.

“Tha moth-eaten cottonhead— so you’re the one who came up with this stupid name!?”

“It’s harder then it looks to name an undomesticated flame.” The angel said.

“What’s this ‘Flame of the Sunken Star’ business!?”

“Good friend of mine, awaiting reincarnation in the void. Didn’t think he’d mind.”

“An angel’s— !” Crowley choked, glasses sliding down his nose. His sunglasses were, likewise, smashed by the furious sorcerer that summoned him, but Aziraphale had taken the time to find the make and model Crowley preferred. He’d known demons tended to be smaller after banishment, and tried to purchase accordingly, but the pair barely hung on by their hooks at the back of Crowley’s ears. “That’s the first one I’m shedding. Imagine if your brothers found out you gave a demon an angel’s name.”

“Don’t think they’d care, really,” Aziraphale said, with a bitter hint to his voice. He took a particularly large bite of dumpling and chewed aggressively. “Spend all their time plotting the mass extinction of all life in the cosmos. Call it ‘cleansing the wheel’, they do. Honestly, to hear them talk, you’d think God would pop right back into existence when they‘re done. ‘Good work, chaps, really couldn’t have done it without you’. Can’t expect them to bother with one pesky demon with a plan like that.”

Crowley drew his tongue against his teeth. It was forked, the way it always was. Funny what stayed and what changed between incarnations. 

An awkward silence fell, interrupted by an even more awkward cough.

“Glad you don’t agree with ‘em.” Crowley added.

“Cheers,” Aziraphale said wearily, staring out at the street in front of them. People walked by with barely a glance down, on their own business. Men, women and people of all genders bustling about, some with bags or other luggage, some without. Some in fine clothes, others a bit more plainly dressed. “At least we have a love for life in common.”

“Oh, sure. Lovely, smart mortals. They make clothes and tellies and gates to bridge the spokes of the wheel. Love what they’ve done with the place, me.” Crowley agreed. He crossed his legs and leaned back, in a much smaller approximation of his usual lean. 

“Might be good for business to hang around a copper for a few years.” Crowley mused.

“Former copper, you mean.” 

“Right,” Crowley muttered. “The bookshop.”

“It’s quite fun, actually. You’ll see.”

“Don’t sell many books, do you?”

“I sell enough to get by— oh! Look at that little family!” Aziraphale said excitedly, clasping his hands in delight. “Reach heaven through violence, my dears! May your children grow strong enough to cave the skies! —anyway, the real fun is in appraisals.”

Crowley sighed. It was a sigh too heavy for the small, bony body he inhabited, a sigh borne of many thousands of years walking the spokes of the Red City. He, too, had been present in God’s Immortal Garden. It was where they’d first met.

“--going to estates to view the books, oh my dear you’ll love it. There are so many books of magic with minds of their own! They’re not very clever, sadly, but it’s so funny to see a completely artificial burgeoning soul!”

Crowley’s attention was already starting to drift. He’d never much liked the idea of settling down but, well, he owed the angel. And they got along well enough. Perhaps Aziraphale was right, and he’d enjoy doing book appraisals, or scaring the money out of customers, or some other aspect of keeping a bookshop. Perhaps the books with a sliver of sentience had their own burgeoning soul-flames, he thought mildly as Aziraphale kept up a steady stream of excited chatter.