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con-fection · 4 years ago

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ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | 6/13

word count: 3.4k

It's strangely easy to get used to James Moriarty. Adapting to his needs is a necessity, and yet, you find that you barely have to change at all.

You slip into his routine fairly quickly. Despite your initial panic, and the feeling that the whole place was a prison, you're able to push that behind you. It's easy to become the person he demands of you, solely because that person is yourself.

There's no way for you to discern what this whole plan is leading up to, but for now, you've managed to gather a few pieces of the puzzle. They don't quite form a whole, unbroken image yet, but you can understand what they're going to comprise.

There is something that Moriarty has that he's very, very proud of. He's going to unveil it to the world, and you've been assured that every single major criminal is going to scramble to get their hands on it. This thing, whatever it may be, has a great deal of power, apparently.

Initially, you'd been inclined to believe that it was some sort of weapon of mass destruction. Moriarty had told you that it had the potential to be one, and you believed him. He was a great many things, and not many of them good, but you didn't think he was a liar. Not to you, anyway.

However, the more he talked about it, the more you began to suspect that this prized weapon over the masses was actually a farce. It was absolutely the kind of thing he would delight in, tricking everybody into competing for his attention. He never explicitly said it, but you did have an inkling that his 'weapon' was more of a party trick that would lead to destruction but not actually cause any on its own.

The second aspect that you were sure of was that something was going to happen to some kids. The thought of it alone churned your stomach, and his words about innocence remained emblazoned on the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you close your eyes. Thankfully, you had persuaded Moriarty not to kill them, but rather just to hurt them. Which would probably be very traumatising, and it did make you wince just thinking about it, but at least the kids would be sent to therapy rather than the morgue.

And somehow, despite all of this - the kidnapping, the being forced into his plans - there was a part of you that remained thankful to him.

Moriarty was a monster, there was no denying that. He liked to hurt others for his entertainment, and he ran a criminal enterprise, consulting with the worst offenders on the planet.

But, he had saved you. By now, Sherlock Holmes would have found you in your hotel room and you would be awaiting trial.

This wasn't freedom, but it was more than you'd ever had.

"Cinderella," You hear Moriarty's lilting irish voice call out, down the hallway from your bedroom. It's still early, you think, and unless you'd overslept, then he was coming to fetch you rather early.

You'd already been awake, though you were lounging around rather than actually doing anything, already dressed in some of the fine clothes from the wardrobe, just waiting for breakfast or a summons from the consulting criminal, which were usually delivered by one of his henchmen.

The door swings open - it doesn't even make a click, and you're left to speculate whether it had even been locked at all.

Moriarty saunters in, grinning. It's a habit of his, to dress impeccably - for today, he's donned a navy blue suit, probably Westwood, which you've discovered he's rather fond of. "Today, we're having an exercise in trust."

You look at him confusedly, not quite understanding. "Like... team bonding?"

"Oh, precisely. Since we're a team, and all."

"We're only a team because -"

Moriarty cuts you off jovially. "Because I kidnapped you and you joined me against your will. Yada yada yada. Yes, let's move passed that. 'S hardly relevant. C'mon, Cinderella. We have places to be."

"We're leaving the house?" You immediately perk up, jumping up and stalking towards him, simultaneously excited and predatory. You're willing to pounce on and devour any opportunity for freedom.

"Yes, yes we are. To get to know each other better."

---

Standing before your house, reduced to rubble, was not your idea of 'team bonding'. Even then, calling yourselves a team was probably an exaggeration. He had all of the power, and you just had to tag along for the ride.

You hadn't really ever anticipated seeing it again in person.

The entire place was blackened and crumbling. It's an overly nice day, the kind where the sky is blue and it's warm, but there's a gentle cool breeze that keeps you grounded. The entire street looks lovely, thriving in the warm weather, but this house, your home, was now a blight on the street, a dark contrast to how happy the rest of the world seemed. Verona's car had been removed, probably even destroyed by now, and there had been some minor clean up done in the garden, with lots of the loose, fallen tiles from the roof having been gathered up.

There's obnoxiously yellow crime scene tape everywhere, cordoning off the house and some of the surrounding areas.

It was just the shell of what it had once been.

It was different, seeing it in person. On the TV, it hadn't even seemed real - it was just another thing for you to celebrate. The last time you were here, it was burning. This ashen, blackened, warped skeleton of your childhood home is a potent reminder of how far you've come, of what you've sacrificed for a freedom you're struggling to obtain.

Moriarty nudges you. There's some of his men on the street, standing tall and stoic - ever silent and ever watching, their presence is likely to prevent you from attempting an escape. He's since put on some sunglasses and keeps pivoting his head slightly to look between you and the charred remains of your childhood home.

"Well...?" He asks, questioningly.

"I really, really don't see how this is meant to build trust." You say, rather numbly. It had felt a lot better when the place was still ablaze. Now that the Archer family were dead and their presence removed from the house, it almost feels like a shame that it had to burn at all.

Almost. But not quite.

It's still a monument to your power, to your ability to maim and destroy. You don't feel half as distant when you remember their suffering, the way that the girls had bled out like pigs when you slit their throats and nearly hacked their heads off.

"Mmh, maybe not yet. I just wanted to see what you had done." Moriarty admits with a shrug. "Look at all you've accomplished, and think how much we could do together."

"I don't want to burn the whole world." You tell him, for the first time looking away from the ashes of the house and up at him. "I want to rule it."

Moriarty grins wildly. "That's the spirit, Cinderella. I can give you the world, you know. All the freedom you want. You just have to stand at my side."

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?"

"Well yes, it is."

The birds are still singing, chirping happily to one another and diving in the air, flapping their wings. It's rather comforting to know that it hasn't changed - that the parts you like have remained intact, even as you'd rained hellfire down upon this place. There wasn't such birdsong in London, and you had missed it.

"Why me?" You have to ask - you've asked so many times and you can never be satisfied with the answer.

"Sherlock was interested in you. At first, you were in my way. And now?" He raises an eyebrow at you. "Now you're the way forward, Cinderella."

It feels like you've come to some sort of pivotal moment. Here, under the sun and staring at the house you had burnt down, Moriarty doesn't feel so much like a captor. Rather, you're beginning to feel that comradery, that stirring of companionship. The two of you weren't exactly alike, no. But you didn't have to be.

"I'm not sorry I did it." You say, staring at the rubble that you had reduced your childhood home to.

"No, I know." He shrugs. "It'd be awfully boring if you were. Remorse is a bit ordinary, don't you think?"

You don't bother answering his questions. Rather, you close your eyes, and let yourself listen to the soft chirps, hoots and calls from the songbirds darting through the trees. When you're not looking at how damaged the house is, it's easy for you to imagine the hazy days of your youth - watching the birds with your mother, running around the garden whilst your father chased you.

"I'd missed the music, though." You admit. "London doesn't have such pretty songbirds. I always enjoyed waking up to them."

Silently, Jim absorbs the information. He's content to look between you, basking gloriously in the sun, bathed in light, and the destruction you had inflicted on those who sought to subdue you. Both were beautiful sights.

You didn't want to be a mirror image of James Moriarty, and you never would. That wasn't what he wanted, either.

Despite the armed guards behind you, you do, for the first time, feel free.

This isn't a scrap of impure, tainted freedom like back at the hotel. This is the real thing - this is feeling weightless, untethered.

There had been a great many variations of Cinderella written. You had admired them all. Perhaps in this version, Cinderella wasn't the only twisted one. Maybe she burns the house down, but she finds kinship in the prince anyway. Perhaps Prince Charming throws his ball to find victims, rather than wives.

That would be a happily ever after that you could enjoy. There could be no need for lies when you were capable of understanding each other completely. Depravity was a universal craving, and one you knew well, whether it was driven by desperation or not.

---

Today is a very important day, or so you have been told.

This is the day when these fragments of plots come to fruition. Moriarty's men mill about the mansion faster than usual, talking to each other in hushed, rapid voices when they would normally be silent. It very much sets you on edge.

When you enter Moriarty's study that morning, he's sat at his desk and he's not dressed the way he normally is. There's no striking blue Westwood suit or something similar. He's dressed casually - he's even wearing a hat.

You can't quite mask your confusion.

"Launch day, Cinderella." He clicks his tongue at you chidingly, like he's disappointed, or as if you even had the opportunity to forget.

"Yeah, I know." You bite out, annoyed that he would presume it could slip your mind. "Just... what are you wearing?"

You much prefer his pretentious luxury suits to this - a boring, beige blazer and a black cap. It just doesn't look like him. It doesn't look like Moriarty. It looks like a random civilian man that would probably ask you for directions around London. It peturbs you that he doesn't look quite like himself.

Then, you're subsequently even more distressed by your own distress.

You've rather established that you've come to view Moriarty as more of a partner or mentor figure than as a captor. Here is the most free you've ever felt, and you owe your freedom to him. Naively, you hadn't planned post-murder, and by now, you would have been caught.

Moriarty has become almost familiar, and you don't like seeing that familiarity vanish.

"I'm a tourist!" He proclaims, gesturing to his outfit. "Aw, don't you like it?"

"Well, no." You say, rather flatly. "It doesn't look like you."

Moriarty creeps up from behind his desk, stalking over to tower over you and look down at you, his dark eyes staring at you intensely. "It's not forever, Cinderella. Just for one night."

"And you're presenting the thing to the world like this?" You ask dubiously, once more running your eyes over him and trying not to wince. It just doesn't sit right seeing him dressed as something he's not - seeing him downplay himself and disguise as a regular person.

"I'll be wearing a crown when they catch me, don't you worry."

Involuntarily, your eyes widen and you're suddenly grasping at his shirt and looking up into his eyes beseechingly, desperate for answers. "You're going to get caught?" You sound aghast, disbelieving and you feel like you've been wronged - like this is a betrayal.

Moriarty scoffs, but he doesn't pry you from his body. Rather, he simply lets you cling to him. "Not for long. Today, I'm going to get caught stealing the crown jewels."

Your jaw drops open and you fist your hands into his shirt even tighter, pulling so hard you're practically chest-to-chest with each other - with Moriarty staring down at you and you gazing up at him. "The crown jewels."

"Then Pentonville Prison, and the Bank of England, too." He says, grinning.

Really, Moriarty's power and influence shouldn't shock you. He's got loads of people here on strings, following his orders and doing his bidding. They scurry about the mansion in a frenzy, completely obedient to him.

"And you're... going to get caught?"

Moriarty brings one of his hands up to stroke just the top of your head, playing with your hair comfortingly. "Not for long. I'll be out of there before you know it. In the meantime, you'll have jobs to do. Is that okay, Cinderella? You'll play along, won't you?" He croons softly.

"I will." You don't feel half as reluctant as you should.

"Good." Moriarty says, proudly. "That's what matters. You're more than welcome to visit me in jail, though I doubt I'll be there for very long."

There's a knock at the door, and that's when you realise just how close you and he are. Your hands are still fisted in his shirt, he's stroking your hair - and he's so devastatingly close, and there's a pang in your stomach but it's not pain, it's pure feeling.

The loud knocking persists, and reluctantly, you step away, dropping your hands from his body and missing the feel of his hand tangled in your hair.

"Come in, then." Moriarty calls out, looking darkly at the nameless employee of his that enters the study.

"Sir, it's time to go."

Moriarty casts you one last look, his dark eyes roaming over your body, seemingly trying to memorise you - like this moment is something he doesn't want to forget.

You've slotted into his life so well - you're a somewhat unwilling and ungrateful accomplice, but he still very much appreciates you despite that. He finds that, knowing he will be absent for potentially days at a time, he wants to emblazon the very image of you onto the back of his eyelids, so that you're always waiting for him in the darkness.

"Well, Cinderella. Until we meet again." He says, softly.

In the next instant, he's walking out, swiftly followed by his men, and you're left alone in his study, with more questions than answers.

---

There were a great, great many rooms in this mansion. Your time was often divided between your bedroom and Moriarty's study. But today, you were lounging around on some expensive white couch, watching TV intently.

You would constantly be changing news channels, waiting for the story to break. You had seen bits and pieces of dreary, repetitive soap operas, listened to fragments of sports shows, and even made your way through half a nature documentary before anything happened.

You would bite at your lip nervously, fiddle with your hands and pull on your hair. You were nervous, frighteningly so. Naturally, there were a few expected concerns flitting around your mind, like what happens to you if Moriarty actually does go to prison, or what would happen if something goes wrong, or what if he turns you in.

But, there are a few that you hadn't anticipated. There's a twisting, nauseating feeling in your stomach. It's like there's some terrible beast writhing around in your gut, eviscerating any organs it comes into contact with and leaving you a whimpering, anxious mess.

You are worried for him.

And you're not just worried about what may happen to you - you're actually concerned for him. As much as Moriarty may be a murderer and a criminal, you're those things too, and he's the only person that you have to depend on.

There is nobody else in your life. Nobody but him.

Your parents are long since dead and buried, and the three members of your step-family slain by your own hands. You had come to London alone, friendless and without a plan. He had been the one to secure your freedom, to give you this.

And then, the news channels all practically explode.

" - there has been a break in at the Bank of England. Reportedly, the vault has opened, though how much, or if anything has been stolen remains unknown to us at this time."

Hastily, you turn the channel over, constantly darting between news sources, hoping for any new information. All of their voices are blaring, and blurring together, but they're not saying what you want them to.

"We can officially report that prisoners at the Pentonville Prison have been - "

And most importantly,

"Following a series of break-ins that include places such as the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison, it has been reported that the Tower of London has been breached, and the Crown Jewels were removed. A suspect has been taken into custody."

"...all broken into by the same man! James Moriarty."

There it is. The news lady finishes her spiel, and the screen flashes up a video. You can't tell whether it's live or not, but it's Moriarty, and he's being arrested, thrown into the back of a police vehicle with his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Oh my god," You breathe, and you have to remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. Moriarty always intended for this to happen.

It does, however, feel awfully perturbing to see him like that. It's like he's tumbled from his pedestal, and been stripped of everything that made him unique. It's pitiful, seeing him cuffed and arrested like he's some common criminal. There is absolutely nothing common about Moriarty, and you doubt there ever has been.

So, this was his weapon. The ability to enter the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison, the Tower of London and who knows where else. If these places were vulnerable to his influence, then surely anywhere was. And that was probably the point. He was showing off - it didn't matter to him whether he was arrested or not.

There was probably a contingency plan for that, too.

This was all meant to happen - this was all part of his design, and you just had to trust in it.

Trust. Wasn't that a funny thing. You frown as you mull it over - trusting in him was probably a dangerous move, but he was the only person you have to trust in, and he had saved you from a fate much worse than this. You would have to believe in him - that everything would work out just fine.

Never in recent years had you been in a position where you had to depend on another person. You had always been the one flitting about, clearing up the mess, taking the abuse and festering in your own anger.

You should be the one in handcuffs - you would have been by now. But you're not, you're here, and Moriarty is the one imprisoned. Perhaps it is time to fight tooth and nail for the freedom of somebody other than yourself.

He would get out. One way or another, Jim Moriarty would make sure that he got free. After all, the game hadn't ended yet, and there were still plans to be fulfilled.

His absence was tangible in the house. There wasn't really anybody else around for you to interact with - his men certainly didn't care to, and you were rather awkward when it came to the realm of social interaction.

All that was left to do was wait, and trust.

#Jim Moriarty #jim moriarty x reader #bbc sherlock

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

Text

Releves

1x12

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems

Author’s Note: Me being angry at hannibal despite it conflicting with my plans for this series are something else

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine.

Official Episode Summary : The BAU team finds evidence linking Abigail to the Minnesota Shrike victims; Will checks Abigail out of the hospital; Hannibal convinces Jack that Will is capable of murder.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll

(not my gif)

You woke up and Will was gone. You must have fallen asleep on the chair beside his bed. You started to panic which had become a much too familiar feeling. You got up and started to walk around. You thought about asking a doctor or something but didn’t want to worry anyone but yourself just in case it was nothing. You walked through the halls, peeking in rooms for your boyfriend who slept walked more often than not these days. You got to the room of the girl who had been under your bed and Will was inside.

“Will?” you whispered. He turned around.

“Hi. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Dont’ worry about it.” You glanced at her. She looked so much better than you had seen her last considering.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly,” she said. “Georgia.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, I heard I kinda crashed under your bed.” You shook your head and laughed.

“No worries there.” You turned to Will. “You should come back to your room.” He turned to Georgia sarcastically.

“Helicopter girlfriend,” he teased.

“Yeah I wouldn’t have to be if you slept through the night,” you confessed. Georgia laughed and you grabbed Will’s pole that he was holding. He nodded and waved goodbye to her before following you out the door.

You walked out of the room and he turned to you.

“She said they would never figure out what’s wrong with me,” he whispered.

“She’s not a doctor.” He glanced at you and then the ground as he shuffled along.

“You’re optimistic.”

“I gotta me. You’re pessimistic,” you whispered teasingly as you made it back to his room. He nodded.

“So you think they’ll figure it out?” You shook your head softly.

“I hope they do. But honestly, I think you’re too complicated for them.”

Will woke up later to a light conversation. You were sitting on the bed and Hannibal stood at the edge of it.

“Well it is complicated,” Hannibal was saying quietly.

“What’s complicated?” Will asked. You looked over at him and smiled comfortingly.

“Nothing.”

“You keeping secrets now?” Will teased, sitting up.

“We were talking about how to make this soup. Y/N said she couldn’t quite cook and I was sharing the recipe,” Hannibal explained.

“He’s brought food,” you said happily.

“Smells delicious.”

“Silkie chicken in a broth. A black boned bird prized in China for its medicinal value since the 7th century. With wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates and star anise,” Hannibal explained.

“You made me chicken soup,” Will said and Hannibal offered a supportive smile.

“Y/N says you’ve been wandering.”

“I was awake. And wandering with purpose and good intentions,” he promised. You nodded.

“Just visiting around,” you promised.

“Visiting that unfortunate young woman suffering from delusions?”

“She’s my support group,” he joked. You hit him gently. “You are also my support group. Relax.” Will got out of bed and sat down at the table while the three of you ate the broth together. “Could all of the things have been the fever Hannibal? Like the hallucinations or the sleepwalking, the loss of time,” Will asked as he sat down.

“It’s possible.”

“What else is possible?” you asked.

“Fevers can be symptoms of dementia. Dementia can be a symptom of many things happening in your body or mind that can no longer be ignored,” Hannibal said.

“Does Jack know?”

“That this could be a fever? No I haven’t told him,” Hannibal said.

“He wouldn’t do anything about it either,” you muttered bitterly.

“But shouldn’t you?” Will asked.

“I believe Y/N may be right. Additionally we don’t know for certain.”

Will walked with you into the room of Georgia who you felt as though you had just spoken to. Her charred body laid across the burn tank.

“Hospital speculates a short circuit could have ignited the fire,” Jack muttered.

“Unit looks well maintained. No exposed wiring,” Price said.

“Don’t know if she suffocated or burned to death. We’ll look for soot in the lining of her airways,” Zeller commented. Will lets out a shaky sigh and puts his hand almost protectively on your arm.

“Horrible way to die,” he whispered.

Will woke up with a start and it woke you up. It was odd not to be laying beside him but you were sitting in the uncomfortable chair beside the bed. He breathed heavily.

“Do you need something?” you whispered. Will grabbed your arm and pulled you to the bed. He wasn’t sweating and didnt’ feel hot. You wrapped your arms around him and he put his head on your chest.

“Sleep here,” he whispered. You nodded

The next day you walked into Abigail's room. It was the first time you had been away from Will since he had been admitted to the hospital. Hannibal had urged you to leave but not come back to work just yet although you would be back the next day.

She looked up and let out a sigh of relief.

“I thought you were Freddie,” she muttered.

“Or Alana who is also watching you like a hawk?” you asked. She nodded. She knew you knew and that was a good thing when it came down to it. She didn't feel like she had to hide with you.

“Just anybody else,” she murmured. You walked inside and sat at the window sill with her.

“How have you been?”

“Do you know that Hannibal is in love with you and Will?” she asked. You choked on the air at the change of subject. She was a teenager. But still.

“Excuse me?”

“I thought it was weird when I noticed. I wanted to know if you had noticed,” she said. You shook your head.

“Will, Hannibal and I are close friends,” you said lightly.

“But you and Will are dating,” she suggested.

“Yeah so?”

“Hannibal loves the two of you as a unit I think,” she said. “I told him I thought of all of you as a weird parental group and he got oddly happy.”

“Abigail-”

“It’s just an observation,” she whispered. “I’m fine.” You laughed at the change of tone.

“Good to hear.”

When you got back to the hospital Will was gone. You were notebally pissed. You walked right into the building where he worked and up to Jack Crawford's office. You could hear Will’s voice from down the hall.

You opened the door aggressively and they both turned around.

“Did you do this?” you asked at Jack.

“He checked himself out. I told him to go back,” he said honestly. You walked up to Will and put your hand on his forehead. Still warm but not boiling like he had been.

“Why did you-”

“Jack thinks she killed herself. I think it’s the copy cat of Garret Jacob Hobbs.” You blinked twice. Even for Will, that was a stretch. But you trusted his instinct more than your own.

“And you can wait to catch them. It’s been this long,” you said, removing your hand. He shook his head.

“I have to do it now. I’m thinking clearer, I’m finally thinking clearly.” His eyes pleaded but they still looked undescribingly broken. You glanced at Jack who clearly didn’t believe Will at all. “Jack also thinks Abigail had something to do with the murders.”

“What?”

“I’m not explaining this to you. You don't’ work for me,” Jack said.

“Neither does Will! He’s not on a payroll is he?” you asked. Jack let out a sigh.

“Will go talk to Hannibal,” Jack said simply.

“Finally something I can agree on,” you murmured.

Will ran up to you. It had been a few days since he released himself from the hospital and you were still annoyed about it. You turned to him, raising an eyebrow as he came out of the office of Hannibal's place.

“The copycat,” he said. You nodded, curious to hear what he had to say. He rarely talked to you about any kind of stuff with his work. “Was planning to frame me for the murder of the doctor.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to do it. I was there,” you said.

“But you’re unreliable,” he said.

“Excuse me?” He shook his head.

“You’re my girlfriend. You would have been accused of lying,” he said. You shook your head.

“I am very reliable. Why are you telling me this?” He shrugged.

“You need to know.”

First day back at work. This was a mistake.

You ran your hand over your head and Jack Crawford walked in. He thought about asking you what he was about to ask Hannibal but decided against it.

“You don’t have an appointment,” you said bitterly.

He opened the door anyway. You were still working when Hannibal and Jack opened the door quickly. Hannibal looked at you and you thought about what Abigail had said. That he was in love with you and Will. You pushed it aside when you saw the pity in his eyes.

“Where’s Will?” he asked.

“At home. Hopefully. Why?”

“Will Graham is at Garett Jacob Hobbs house with Abigail,” Jack said. You scoffed.

“You on something?”

“Where was Will on the night of Marrisa Schuur’s murder? ‘

“Again, at home presumably.” Hannibal stared at you. Hard. “What?”

“Will dissociates into other personalities. Whose personality is it?” Jack asked. “Will got close enough to Hobbs to think he was him.”

You scoffed again.

“Sorry, what the hell is your point?”

“Will is going to kill Abigail. And he killed the girls before,” Hannibal said. You stared in Hannibal’s eyes.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Hannibal you know him! He trusts you to know him,” you seethed, standing up from anger and audacity. You pointed a hard finger at him. “Will Graham didn’t kill anyone he didn't’ have to.”

“The evidence suggests-” Jack started

“Hey Jack, I don’t really care what you’re about to say and so if you say it I’ll have to hit you or Hannibal or something.”

“I’m going to get Abigail,” Hannibal said. Jack walked out of the room but your gaze stayed steady on Hannibal’s.

“You don’t think he did this,” you said.

“A statement and not a question?” You shook your head.

“He didn’t do this.”

1x13

#hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter imagines #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

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tmmyhug · 4 years ago

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Every day I log onto tumblr and see the rapidly rising flames of twitter and instead I just close the door back and block out the noise with minecraft and actual good fandom content. Anyway!! I hope you're okay even with the charred remains of twitter at tumblrs doorstep :))) the whole situation is just wild lmao

[horse staring at ocean] man.

I miss when this fandom was small,,, I’m not an Og og and for a while I was a lurker more than anything, but I remember like, august mcytblr, when it was maybe three dozen blogs who were all mutuals with each other. and we’d pass around the friggin. tapeworm post and and the “being a secret schlattbur shipper feels like being in the closet” post and bully the inniters and for like a week straight every other post on my dash was george in that suit and tie. there was a whole election (though I didn’t pay any attention to it). just, the vibes were so nice? it wasn’t perfect but it was very sequestered. not to say current mcytblr is bad - it’s wonderful and there are so many lovely people who I appreciate every day who didn’t join until later. but it’s big. and that means more miscommunication and misinformation and messes like when we accidentally wrecked the poor communities in the #haunted mansion and #origins smp tags. but it comes with the territory ig

sorry anon, idk if that ramble was even relevant to your ask. yeah, tumblr’s always been the place to find good content when everywhere else is disintegrating. there could be nukes in the air en route to dc and there’d still be people here shitposting about girlboss power and reblogging out of touch thursday. I love it.

this was a much too long response. but thank you sm for the concern! I’m doing okay and I hope you are as well. hopefully the flames will die down over the next couple of days. in the meantime we’ll brave it together :)

#ask #anoymous #discourse #mcytblr #Anonymous

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “The Empty Plate.”

Alright guys, here it is, the reason I haven't been positing for the last week. My first and only attempt at true horror. I have spent hours sitting in the dark pissing myself in order to write this, so I am begging you guys please read it. This is probably the most difficult thing I have ever written.

A couple tings before we get started. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

If you want the full affect of the horror, I suggest reading it in the same way I wrote it, In a dark room with scary ambient noises playing on headphones.

If you dislike horror, I still suggest reading at least parts of it because it is relevant to the plot line. If you don’t want any issues read it in broad daylight in a crowded room.

Seriously guys, I have never written something so difficult before please make it worth while :)

A million hateful eyes glint their fury from the darkness, distant and cold caught up in spirals and clusters of ancient anger and the deepest most resounding quiet. They pull towards each other, spiraling, forever spiraling downwards and inwards into an unknown darkness where, if one were to be caught up, they would be suspended in a state trapped between death and life skewered on the descending claws of time.

We knew man was strange when we first met them, a consumer, one of flesh and of resources and of worlds powered, not by the laws that govern our existence, but by a strange and unknown entity glistening behind their eyes. Man is not man, but a shell powered by something strange, something eerie, something not of our plane. I have argued this many times over the years.

But why will no one here me.

***

Dr. Krill floated quietly on the bridge in the sallow yellow light of an ambient star cluster. Commander Vir sat Stiff and rigid in his seat. His single green eyes glinting with a fine filmy layer of reflected mucus glinting with the pale sickly yellow of that pallid light. The rest of the bridge was unusually silent many silhouettes holding bated breath expressions dark as the unexpected transmission warbled over the line.

It came in sibilat whispers, gurgles and and the distant sounds of guttural wailing crackling backwards into the maddening chatter of static.

Krill examined in mild fascination as tiny hairs, like detached spider legs erupted upwards on the man’s skin. The delicate hairs glittered in response to the insipid, sensuous caress of waxen light down the man’s protruding spine delicate mounds and bumps of bone just visible through the back of his shirt.

The man’s skin had gone ashen like that of a bloated corpse decaying in a static pool of water.

“Can anyone understand any of that.” The man demanded, and despite its strength his voice fell flat crushed and squeezed with the weight of the air around them.

“I’ll try to clean it up sir.”

The transmission had begun without premonition. One moment they had been floating quietly through the vast nothingness of space, and next, they had been bedeviled by this Insidious cacophony of voices that seemed human, though individual words could not discerned.

Under the pressing weight of those horrific voices, the bridge remained hushed as the communications officer attempted to untangle the message.

A shadow fell over the Commander’s back, and a set of three tallenous fingers came slithering down over his shoulder to rest against his clammy skin. Sunny lingered at the Commander’s shoulder luminous golden eyes fixed upon the speakers which still crooned that gastly whispering.

“I think I have it, Sir.” The woman stammered

“Alright then, let’s hear it.”

There was a long moment of silence, like the catatonia that follows psychosis.

“Help, please…. Anyone…. Please help. This is , colony transport…. 331…. Out of fuel….. Running low on food….. The lights… gone out….. eating ….. Can't stop… requesting help.”

The chattering began again in earnest rising upwards upwards upwards until a crescendo, until the room was filled with it’s warbling madness,

“STOP!” The transmission cut and the lascivious whispers died. Commander Vir stood from his chair, “That’s enough.” He finished softly, “Someone take a look in the database for a civilian transport with that flag ID.” He stabbed a finger at their radar technician, “Do you see anything.”

The woman stammered for a moment, spun in her seat and scanned wide unblinking eyes over her console, “Uh ... y-yes sir, I have something, not very far at all, its small, about the size of a colony transport.”

“Well what the hell would they be doing out here?”

“I have no fucking clue.” The Commander muttered darkly glancing towards the eerie image looming over their pathetic tiny ship still thousands of miles away, psr b1509-58 (nicknamed the hand of god) metastasized into the sky less like the hand of god and more like some creeping eldritch horror. The strange, hand-shaped bluish dust cloud writhed from the blackness grasping upwards towards a ball of yellow red fire.

“ID tag confirmed, Sir. The ship has been missing for... Well over a year.”

Commander Vir blinked, “No, that can’t be right.” He shoved past his chair to peer over the shoulder of the technician his face bathed with a hellish red.

“Yes sir, Looks like they lost contact immediately following warp procedures. They did not arrive at their original destination.”

“”Well, I’ll be damned.” He mouthed standing, “Sunny, prep a shuttle and a landing party, get our suits ready. I want the rest of you to try and hail that ship. I don’t have much hope for these people, but done right, a ship can be stocked with enough food to last a year.”

“But…. Commander, what about….” The man’s voice shriveled and ebbed into silence.

Commander Vir nodded expression sombre, “It doesn’t matter. If there is even the slightest possibility that someone aboard that ship might still be alive, than we have to do what we have to do. Come on Sunny, let’s prep a team.”

***

The mood leading up to this mission had been one of inexorable unease, though none of the men or women could really have explained why. Only the Commander had heard the full recording, and as he sat in the pilot’s seat of that shuttle he felt the cold hand of dread slip around his chest, an icy choking feeling on his heart in a way that he had never experienced before, and wished never to experience again. Outside that shuttle window, the icy blue hand of god had beckoned them silently into the lap of eternal darkness.

The civilian transport appeared as a black cancerous spot on god’s wrist,swelling outwards in their vision sprouting sharp, black spines like charred bone pierced through skin. The entire ship, was like that, the mangled corpse of something that had once been now lurking in the shadow of space. But it was odd despite the feeling it gave him, other than the absence of lights, the ship appeared….. Mostly whole. It didn’t look broken down, dilapidated or in any way decommissioned.

It was just, Still, and silent.

The airlock doors shuttered open with a protracted squeal. A wave of putrid humidity washed over them from the pitch black interior. That humid putrefaction slithered past them causing delicate crystal drops to form over the face of their visors foreshadowing nothing but a world of ceaseless decay from within.

And now they had come to stand before a bottomless pit of profound blackness, assaulted by a lurching humid wind that dragged her feted tentacles over his body. Commander Vir felt it, a presence like the weight of an unwanted lover pressing against him with putrid rotting flesh wet and slimy against his bare skin. Like a tongue caressing seductively up his neck, and towards his mouth.

A sensation so malevolent and vile, that began in his stomach, a tingling tightening sensation which wriggled up his throat bringing with it a horrific eruption of tingling beginning at the back of his thighs, trailing up his sides across his back and into his head.

His entire face erupted with that same tingling sensation. His nose and eyes prickled with unshed water, his throat constricted, his cheeks tingled, his teeth gritted. He felt as if he was about to scream, or weep. The impenetrable wall of darkness before him was not just a simple darkness….. It was a message.

GET OUT!

A warning.

Every human in that airlock, every marine, simultaneously erupted into a mass of animal panic. Lights flickered on wildly swinging towards the ceiling as if expecting to see a face come scuttling towards them from the darkness.

“Fuck this.” one marine whimpered crouching low to the ground his weapon raised towards the darkness. The aliens that accompanied them stared in abject terror at the response of their human counterparts. But they could not feel it, the creeping slithering, horror.

“What’s wrong.” Sunny demanded, her voice echoing out around them, thundering down the passageway, not making it very far before being consumed by the dark.

And it was as if, all around them, the creeping malignancy went…. Silent.

Stopped as if holding its breath.

The humans shifted uneasily in their space weapons pointed into the darkness, though the beams of their flashlights seemed to terminate long before they should have. Despite waiting, the feeling from earlier did not return, though Commander Vir still felt…. Something. It was strange, like the buzzing of flies or a soft humming just out of range of hearing, or perhaps a sound just deep enough to be undetectable by humans, but still acknowledged by the unconscious parts of the brain.

Whatever it was sent the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as tiny shutters ran up and down his spine.

The darkness stretched on before them.

One of the marines stepped back breathing loud over the intercom inside his helmet, “Commander, we shouldn’t be here.”

Adam agreed.

And he had never wanted anything more than to agree with the marine, and turn tail. But he knew that wasn’t an option, “Stand your ground marine, we have an obligation to these people.”

The group was somber, “I want two of you to stay back with the shutte. Make sure to keep in constant contact with the ship and update them on our progress, the rest of us are going to keep going. I am going to have our hazmat team meet us down here with body bags. With the way everything is looking ...” His voice fell flat on the dead air, and the marines stayed uncharacteristically mute.

“I’ll take point.” He said lastly, and that seemed to at least galvanize them into action. Pulling his weapon more tightly to his shoulder, Adam faced down the halway following the cold steel line of the floor as it traced it’s way up into blackness, and then vanished.

He took a step, and listened to it echo into the dark passageway down further and further along what seemed like an endless distance.

His heart throbbed, and that same tingling sensation from earlier erupted over his cheeks, “Sunny.” he muttered quietly, Reassured when her voice came over the line distorted and warped, but otherwise familiar.

His team continued on softly, pushing back the reluctant darkness with the beam of his light. The floor ahead of him was bare and clean.

“Commander.”

Reluctantly, he turned to the side just slightly to get a look back at his marines, though his eyes still fixed upon that impenetrable blackness, “What is it marine.”

Ramirez’s face was gaunt in the yellow pallor of his helmet light giving him a sickly jaundiced appearance if not that, than the appearance of wax read to drip off a melting candle, “I can’t do this.” The man’s voice quivered with a strange hum that seemed to match that distant buzzing, “I have to go back.”

“What’s wrong marine?” The commander wondered, “We have to keep going.”

“If you can’t tell why than you’re a FUCKING IDIOT” The marines went absolutely still with shock. Staring at their companion in utter disbelief.

“Ramirez, what the hell.”

“Not cool.”

The man began to rock on his heels, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, “We shouldn’t be here.” The mareine was shaking his head erratically, “We have to go. We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here.” His voice once frantic, raising in pitch and desperation.

“MARINE, calm down!” Commander Vir snapped, “Get ahold of yourself!”and the man quieted, but continued to rock refusing to move one step more.

“Someone take him back to the shuttle.” The commander ordered, and one of the marines quickly volunteered, glared off by his companions. Commander Vir could see it in their eyes, what for a moment seemed like terrible…. Ravenous anger.

He shook it off and turned back to the darkness. Inside, his chest was suddenly filled with the feeling of a thousand scuttling spiders digging their way into his lungs clambering through his alveoli, yet they continued onwards. The pale yellow gleam of their lights continued to show…. Nothing, nothing but the long, dark hallway stretching into blackness.

They came upon a few doors on their way down, which the marines cleared in their usual fashion, but what they found was no more than storage rooms and offices. It all seemed well at first, stacks and stacks of boxes piled atop one another, a desk stacked with papers, the chair pulled out as if waiting for its occupant to return. The life support lights blinked a soft green to demonstrate that they were working.

Commander Vir stared into one of the storage spaces, and inside he felt a deep sense of dread and unease, but these were simply boxes, just stacks of boxes, nothing to worry him at all/ They even checked behind the crates out of a sense of paranoia, but there was nothing to be seen. Out in the hallway, Sunny, and a team of marines kept their eyes down the hall.

Commander Vir turned to position.

Why had those rooms bothered him so much.

It was just then that a deep, prolonged moan echoed down the hallway. The marines snapped into position facing down into the blackness guns raised. Commander Vir felt a rush of bubbles into his nose and throat.

“The fuck was that.” Someone was saying

“Where did it come from?” Demanded another

“It came from behind us, I swear!”

“Shut the hell up all of you!” The commander snarled, “Our ship makes noises like that all the time, it’s simply the beams settling, that's what happens when your ship is in a vacuum.” The marines went silent again. Inside his head the background buzzing intensified, like the static of a TV or the distant muble of a vacuum cleaner.

Inside his suit his hands had gone icy cold. Little eruptions of tingling rolled up and down his left side, like the response one gets when a sensual whisper caresses the ears. His palms and feet were horribly cold, his jaw locked, and his teeth gritted. His face felt as if that distant static had somehow made its way into his skin. Metal clattered and clanged vibrating up into the souls of his feet. The inside of his suit was hot while simultaneously being freezing cold. His only safety came from the reassuring weight of a weapon in his arms.

The floor fell away before him as the dying moan seeped into the metal below his feet and above his head.

Above his head… he hadn’t thought about above his head, and the horrendous feeling of being watched.

Watched by something….. Something stretching down from the ceiling in long gelatinous strings, just inches from his head!

In a panic he dropped to one knee thrusting the muzzle of his weapon upwards images of wild eyes and rotting flesh burned into his mind. Behind him the marines cursed or screamed reacting as their Commander had.

His light fell upon the ceiling and saw…. Absolutely nothing.

Breathing heavily, Commander Vir cursed. His entire body was a mass of static tingling, like his very skin was infested with maggots. His heart beat so hard and so fast inside his chest, the only thing he could hear was it’s frantic beat, “F-false alarm.” he stammered, unable to shake the feeling that something HAD been reaching for him. There was no way a feeling that potent could have been so wrong.

They continued onward, and as he listened, the echoes branched outwards seeming to reach upwards filling a substantial space around them. The marines fanned out in a wide semicircle, two facing back in the direction they had come.

“Cargo bay. Alright marines, this is going to be basecamp. I want those portable floodlights set up, and a guard on any and all exits at all times. Once we have secured the area, I want our other teams to join us.” Honestly, they didn’t really need that may marines for this sort of operation, but Commander Vir was well and truly disquieted, and that trepidation made him eager for more guns.

***

“How’s he doing?” Commander Vir asked, standing at the center of a brightly lit cargo bay made that way by no less than twenty portable floodlights.

Krill’s voice came crackling over the line, “Ramirez… it’s strange, he says he’s feeling better, but he looks terrible, clammy skin pale, rapid pulse. I can’t find anything physically wrong, so I’ll probably get a consult down from psych. He wants me to tell you he’s sorry, says he doesn't know what came over him.”

“Tell him it’s alright, we were all sort of freaked.” easy for him to admit in the comforting light of over a dozen spotlights, but beyond that, where the radius of light gave way to the darkness…..

“Oh… and captain, there is probably something you should know. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you had already left.”

“Oh, go on.”

“It’s Conn.”

The commander stood straighter surprised, “Conn, has he woken up?”

Krill was silent for a moment, “Not exactly, but a few hours ago, he started moving around, mouthing things. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t seem to be registering anything. He seems aggressive agitated, and the uh…. Glados and the others seem very upset too. I have waffles taking care of them, but it’s only so much ...”

“Guess everyone aboard the ship is freaked out, eh, anyway, keep me posted.” He finished the conversation and motioned to a group of marines supervising the setup of the hazmat team, “Alright, you guys, on me, we are going to get this party started.”

Since boarding the ship, and seeing that the life support was still functional, they had chosen to take off their space suits, for gear that would be less cumbersome in close-quarters combat. Commander Vir was still not entirely sure that taking off their respirators had been a good idea. The instant he had pulled off his helmet, he had been nasally accosted by a sickly sweet, rotting pungence that permeated the air and wriggled itself into the very fibers of his soul.

It was also a heavy smell, one that crawled deep into the nose and implanted itself at the back of his throat. So pungent were the smells, that, he felt like he could almost taste it, and was forced to fight bodily against his gag reflex as bile bubbled into his throat. He had quickly ordered better respirators from the med bay, and was currently sporting their crew’s newest fashion trend, a hard plastic mask that strapped around the back of his head but giving his full coverage over his mouth and nose.

Despite their heavy presence aboard the ship, going on almost half a day, no living being had appeared, that in itself did not bode well, considering the remaining options.

Either, no one was still alive to appear.

Or the living had chosen not to.

As for that feeling from earlier? Well here in the floodlit cargo bay, he could almost ignore the distant buzzing of static, and the chills had died down to a cold clamminess, but beneath all the bustling and movement, it was still there, like the ringing in one’s ears that establishes itself as a high pitched squeal, unheard when talking or working, but deafeningly loud when the quiet takes over.

A team of marines formed up around him, augmented by an extra woman to take the spot Ramirez had left. Somehow, she managed to seem surprisingly unphased while the rest of them were close to pissing themselves. Generally, at this point, he would have fallen back to direct from the rear, but left it up to one of the more experienced marines while making his way to the forward middle just behind the woman from earlier.

He knew how to clear a room ,though this wasn’t his area of tactical expertise.

“Ready Commander?” The marine called form the back.

“Ready when you are, marine.”

“Tac lights on, we are going to do a slow sweep, pause the stick at every door keeping watch forward and rear, middle clearing rooms. Let’s go.”

Behind them, comforting glow of the floodlights faded. To their right, the marine on guard duty for the passaged looked at them with an expression of trepidation, her eyes wide and glinting wetly with the dull glow, “I’m not sure if it’s just the ship, Commander, but I… it sounds like there is something down there.”

He did not particularly appreciate her warning though it was taken into advisement.

Soon, the comforting cacophony of the cargo bay began to fade warping and melding into a strange distant hum. The light dimmed with it, leaving only the thin beams of their flashlights to cut through the murk. He could feel droplets of condensation beading onto his skin in hot, humid droplets. Beams of their flashlights cut down the hall moving and warping shadows across the hallway and floors. The distant buzzing from earlier grew louder and louder, until he was accompanied by a continual stream of static.

Their footsteps thudded loudly on the meta floors despite every attempt to stay quiet.

Halfway up the hall, a warm gust putrid wind blew past them carrying with it a soft, mournful moan. The marine at their head slowed casting her light over the distant hallway.

“Everything alright, marine?” The commander wondered.

“Yes….. I just, for a second I thought…” She trailed off shaking her head, “Nevermind.”

The hair rose down the back of his spine.

“Two doors, right and left.” The point marine called, coming to a stop just past that point.

“Clear door.” The column stopped, and Commander Vir turned to assist a marine on the left, while another two took the door on the right.

They found nothing more than abandoned storage rooms, stacks and stacks of crates illuminated in the light of their torches, and continued onwards.

Something plagued him at the back of his mind.

“Commander, the methane levels are climbing. Same with Hydrogen Sulfide.” The group remained quiet at the news.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, surrounding them in a dim bubble of light crowded on all sides by darkness. The hallway ahead was silent and empty but for the writhing of shadows.

“Opening.”

They were directed into a quick fan pattern, one of their members facing backwards against the pursuing wall of darkness as they came into the room. The ambient glow of their torches provided just enough light to illuminate some sort of dining hall, or a kitchen. It was an eerie scene in the dark, chairs pulled form the sides of tables, waiting to be pushed back in abandoned plates left with moldering crumbs upon the counter. Cans and cartons were left abandoned to spoil, like whoever had been here had left in a hurry and never bothered to return. A single lone chair sat isolated in a corner washed of all color transporting them into a dark, alternate dimension of black, grey eeriness.

Long reaching shadows stretched grasping fingers into the darkness.

The illumination of their tac lights roved about the room in a thin nebulous columns showing nothing of great interest….. until

A hunched figure came into sharp relief against their lights.

One of the marines cursed, lights quivered. The commander raised a hand.

Even from here, he could tell the man or woman was dead.

Slowly he motioned the others into the room approaching the corpse himself. Not so much a corpse anymore as grinning skeleton. As the light washed over it, the sockets of the eyes sunk into deep pools of blackness. Teeth, still white in comparison to the stained brown bone, grinned at them with a horrid gap-toothed smile just visible through a ragged tangle of drying hair which stick in vein-like trails over the moldering bone.

The skeleton was undisturbed.

It sat at one of the tables slumped heavily against the wall. Dried brown stains coated the floor and wall around the corpse in a discolored puddle. The putrid discoloration had oozed onto the wall and slowly wormed its way into the minute seams leaving a cracked and drying crust behind it. The clothes, still somewhat intact, clung stiffly to the bone, rigid and brown with dried residue.

But strangest of all was how the corpse sat, propped against the wall bony fingers still clutched loosely about an oxidized fork and knife, a pristine white plate sitting before him on the table. Aside from a small amount of dust, and residue shed from the hands, the plate was….. Clean.

The man looked as if he had died while sitting down for a meal, though there had been no food on his plate.

“Its like he just… sat down and died.” one of the marines whispered

Just then a horrendous screech and crash shook quaked the room. A moment of sheer intense panic seized the commander, like the feeling of being constricted from all sides. The static in his ears roared to a crescendo as their lights sent shadows into a crazed and ghastly dance. Adam would have sworn he saw something large, and fleshy skitter away into the shadows just as his tac light fell on a pan still rolling and rattling against the floor. Frantically he panned his weapon in a tight arc, over the floor and across the walls.

The sound of skittering, like the movement of a million bugs washed over him, so intense he felt as if he could feel the little creatures crawling up his body, burrowing into the fabric of his clothing, and crawling into his ears. His skin crawled and squirmed with a thousand maggots. They invaded his shoes, squelching between his does, filling his mouth and nose, worming their way down his throat.

He could feel them crawling on his insides carving tunnels just under the skin of his back.

He gagged against the feeling batting at his arms and neck dropping his weapon on it tac sling to bounce against his upper thighs as he swatted at his face and skin spitting and gagging.

Something grabbed him by the arm, “COMMANDER!”

The feeling vanished.

He stood in a cold sweat tingling like his entire body had fallen asleep quivering with the remembered feeling.

“Commander, are you alright.”

Adam dashed a hand across his mouth expecting to find bugs, but found nothing more than strings of saliva. He wiped his mouth again, “Shit, what the hell was that?”

“Nothing, sir. No one SAW anything, and we were guarding all the doors.”

His body trembled. So, either it had somehow snuck in, or it had been here the entire time….. If there was in fact anything there? Perhaps one of the marines had brushed the pot handle as they walked past causing it to slip and vibrate against the floor.

He took a deep breath, unable to quell the urge to spit another gobit of phlegm onto the floor wetting his cracked lips with a raspy tongue, “Deploy the micro-drones. Have them get some samples and take pictures, then we will take care of the body.”

While his orders were being carried out, the rest of the marines busied themselves searching the room rummaging through cupboards and drawers though one marine had backed himself into a corner nervously sweeping his light across the floor and ceiling.

There were no more disturbances, and they found nothing but stacks of tins, boxes and packages. They came across a drawer full of pristine, dusty, coated utensils, but nothing remarkably out of the ordinary.

Radio calls were made, and another team came to collect the body. Commander Vir watched from a pool of darkness as the yellow-suited hazmat team worked to peal the skeleton from it’s cracked juices. WIth enough urging the bones came apart, and the man was slowly disassembled into his component parts and crammed into a black bag whose surface glittered and shone like freshly pourn tar.

His hands were the last to go, rusting metal utensils wrestled from the still clutching fingers, and left abandoned on the table next to the glittering white plate.

The sull, hunkered in a bed of its own bones, gave him one last knowing grin, before being zipped shut.

The hazmat team retreated with their group of marines, taking with them the rustling of their suits, and the solemn comfort of their voices. Again they had been left in that dark colorless place surrounded on all sides by the ghost of an evening that would never come to pass.

There was no knowing how long it had been stuck like this, though a thick mat of dust covered the floor. Nervously he glanced towards the fallen pot, but the ground was far to disturbed to determine what had actually happened.

But perhaps that was a hand-print?

No, it couldn’t be.

“I’ll take point,” He announced stepping in front of the female marine as they made their way into position. He wasn’t technically supposed to be here, but the fear…. The fear was starting to overcome him. That feeling, from the first moment they had stepped onto the ship, that cold icy sensation that licked slowly up his back to the point behind his ear. His skin crawled and his heart hammered as he tucked his weapon against his shoulder in a low-ready position. The only thing keeping him here was the desire to protect his marines.

Stepping into the hallway, his imagination wandered with him into the dark. His marines sitting silently on the floor of an abandoned back room, their bodies withering with the slow decay of time, their flesh dripping like candle wax from their bones forgotten in the slow progression of time as the cold darkness of space surrounded them, lost and entombed forever.

He shivered, “Door right.” He called, just before his light passed over a second door, “Door left.” He called out taking a few steps forward into the darkness and stopping while the marines readied themselves to breach the room. He kept his body at a slight angle head cocked towards the doors so he could hear, eyes looking off down the hallway. He heard the door open, and the marines entered. It must have been a larger room, for it required more than one marine to actually enter and make the sweep.

He heard them speaking, calling out to each other, and tilted his head just a little further in their direction eyes, momentarily, closer to the marines than it was to the hallway.

And that’s when the sensation came, a malicious presence rushing headlong from the darkness, a scuttling evil presence fed by spiteful purpose, carried by the slapping of wet feet, and hands upon cold metal. WIth a cry of alarm, he whipped around expecting to find the ravening beast leap at him from the darkness.

But, as before, there was nothing, nothing but the endless dark hallway stretching back into the gloom. Another sluggish breeze cut past him bringing with it a deep and tenuous moan.

The commander felt sick to his stomach, his hands shook and his face tingled. Tears pricked at the corners of his vision, and inside every fiber of his being told him to turn back. There was something wrong about that presence, something more horrific than any monster or beast, though that’s what he had called it in his haste.

Though he had not seen it, he could feel it’s malicious intent, its hatred, its unholy evil.

An emotion no animal could comprehend, no alien reconstruct.

A human emotion.

He told no one what he had felt when they returned, though Sunny seemed suspicious. The rooms had been sleeping quarters at one point, all the beds put neatly away, dusty family photos left forgotten atop nightstands and laying about the floor. It seemed odd how deliberately the beds had been made though family photos were discarded upon the floor.

Though he wished for nothing more than to turn back, he forced himself to keep going reminding himself constantly of the companionship giving him by the marines, and Sunny.

They cleared several more sleeping quarters, multiple offices and the occasional storage room, though all were left in similar states of, perfect tidiness or abandoned disarray. None of it had been touched in months. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever find the rest of the crew, when the buzzing began.

It was a distant sound, similar but not holy the same as that soft malefic buzzing that had plagued him through this journey. It was, somehow, more substantial, and as they moved down the hall, the sound swelled, louder and louder and louder until it was almost deafening.

“Methane readings are extremely high commander.”

In response, Commander Vir panned his weapon about the hallway causing a beam of light to cut upwards onto a set of doors as well as the ceiling and floor beneath, and stopped. The ground outside the door was coated in a glistening greenish-black sludge, the door itself was lacquered in, hot thick moisture, and, somehow, a trail of rotting putrid mold had begun festering upon the ceiling above the door. The buzzing was louder now, louder than it had ever been, and inside Commander Vir knew what he was going to find.

And for that reason, he had chosen to switch spots with the female marine behind him. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew it had to be done.

He positioned himself to the side of the door, and motioned for a marine to open it.

The doors slid open with a sickening squelch. Commander Vir took one step in, and then stopped as his tac light fell on the opposing wall. The very room itself heaved a breath as the walls and floors around him pulsed and throbbed expanding and contracting like a writhing vat of putrid decay throbbing like the beating of the ship’s oversized heart.

And the sound a gelatinous high pitched squirming in time with deafening, droning buzz.

Behind him, a marine wretched.

“Not in your mask dammit!” one of the others yelled at him

Commander Vir, couldn’t move. He was frozen on the spot hands like ice knees locked. His stomach clawed its way first ito his pelvis, and then into his throat seeking escape. The feeling returned, maggots crawling through his skin chewing their way through his brain and out through his eyes. He could feel them, as real as anything slithering about his body.

“Holly mother fuck!” one of the marines whispered, and he too turned away to gag. Finally, commander Vir was able to step away backing out of the door and ordering it closed behind him.

“Call the hazmat team and get them down here. We have a lot of work to do.”

When all was said and done, a staggering sixty percent of the crew was recovered. Krill ,ordered over as the ship’s coroner, had been forced to use skulls to count bodies and determine at least sixty percent of the crew was present. Commander Vir tried not to look at the small skulls instead forced to face the reality that, some of the crew were still in the active stages of decomposition, which, as Krill explained, meant they had died within the last month, some at least within the last weak. He felt his heart sink.

Perhaps, if they had been a couple days earlier….

The issue was, the bodies were in such a state that Krill was having a hard time figuring out what had been their cause of death. Another team of marines returned from the other end of the ship, towards engineering and reported that they had come upon a locked door. The door, they said had been marred with many strange scratches and dents. They were forced to open it with extreme force, and upon coming inside, they had been, again blocked by stacks and stacks of equipment apparently used to block the door.

Another ten percent of the crew had been found inside…..

Nothing was making sense, a least nothing except for what the engineers had found when they inspected the warp core. Whatever it was, it had been a catastrophic malfunction which had taken out all central power to the engines, and sent an emp burst which permanently fried their long-distance communications. The backup life support generator had survived though the main one had also been taken out in the blast. The transmission itself had come from a short-wave radio stored in a sort of faraday cage in engineering. In space, the signal would be practically useless, which is why they hadn’t picked up on it earlier.

The message from earlier repeated on a loop.

Those bodies were only just beginning to bloat, and Krill determined cause of death on all subjects to be asphyxiation characterized by petechial and subconjunctival hemorrhaging about the eyes and under the skin not to mention ligature abrasions about the neck.

truthfully , having Krill here was simply a formality…. No one had been surprised about their cause of death…. Especially not after they had been found, alone, in the dark gently swaying side by side. Not alone…. Even in death.

The real question was…. Where was the other 20% of the crew?

There was only one small section aboard the ship that they had yet to explore, and Commander Vir wagered to guess they would find their answers there, on the bridge.

Most of the ship had been explored by this time, flood lights had been set, and informal safe-zones had been set which included a small team of marines and three to four of the massive floodlights. They began the staging of their last push in the kitchen where the first corpse had been found. It was him, three marines, and Sunny, who with the other female marine had shown no great reaction to the strange eeriness of the ship. The other two had been with him since the beginning, and were damned if they weren’t going to see it through.

He adjusted the mask waiting for the other marines to ready themselves.

His eye was caught by a strange and unusual glint. Turning his head, his eyes were brought towards the darkest corner of the room, isolated from the floodlights and a wide ring of caution tape. The single, white ceramic plate from before glinted at him from the shadows it’s surface empty and glistening, though still coated in a layer of dust.

It seemed out of place, though how a plate could be out of place in a kitchen remained a mystery.

He turned his gaze away as the marines announced their readiness, and together, they began their trek down the hallway, now lit by a hundred pale orbs of light lining the path to that first door, which was now sealed off with caution tape, beyond that, the darkness began again. Despite the sealed door, the Buzzing was still there to remind him of what lay behind that door.

A fly landed on his cheek, its hairlike feet sending shivers up his skin, and he swatted it away in disgust knowing form where it had spawned.

He stepped over the greasy smear of brownish film and aimed his flashlight down the rest of the hallway, there were many doors here, though only this one seemed to show hints of what it contained. The bulb in his light flickered and dimmed before brightening again. He moved forward with his team switching on and off the point position as he moved, sometimes waiting outside, and sometimes falling back to clear a room worried for what his marines would find.

He opened a small door himself, while the two others checked the hall and two more remained on watch. It was a small room no more than a few feet wide with exposed piping and electrical circuits. He reached out attempting to flip on the main breaker, but other than a dull thud, the lock remained stuck and silent. He rolled his light over the floor and paused in confusion when he saw it resting against the far wall.

A can of what appeared to be brand-generic tomato soup. Head tilted to the side, he slowly crouched, and reached out a hand for the can.

His hearing exploded as the high pitched keening swelled in his ears. All sound dulled, and his vision went white fading slowly to black, the light of his flashlight had gone grey and white, tingles erupted down his back, crawling into his face and bringing water to his eyes. His very body trembled with a sense of terror so profound, it was as if the devil himself stood at his back. Even as he thought that, he could sense it, a hateful rabid demonic presence, crouched just behind him. He could feel its hot, rasping breath on his neck, could sense it’s soulless black eyes boring into his soul, and almost feel those slime-coated teeth chattering with anticipation. The sensation was one so deeply profound it was like being stared at by a thousand eyes. The buzzing static in his head became a hissing whisper, a maddened warbling.. The world around him was a slowed grey expanse of eternity, trapped in a state of indescribable panic. Darkness slowly rose up behind him, the presence lifting thin, elongated arms, too long for its body, fingers too long for its hands spreading outwards like he was sprouting an unholy set of wings.

Plunging downward

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he screamed with raw inhuman terror entire body contracting violently away from the touch. Time around his was ruptured, and he clattered against the wall, sending the can of tomato soup spinning across the floor.

“Commander!.”

The marine stood over him with wide confused eyes.

Commander Vir gasped and panted against the gut-wrenching panic that still gripped his chest. His vision was tunneled into blackness, and all the shapes around him appeared indistinct, “How long…. Have you been there?” He stammered.

“I came to check on you sir, you'd been gone for like five minutes and we all got worried.

Five minutes…. That hadn’t been five minutes. He checked his watch, but the marine was right,

“Are you alright, Commander. Do you need to head back?”

“No I…. I’m alright, just… let my paranoia overcome me is all.” The marine reached out a hand, and the Commander took it standing and trying to conceal the fact that his legs were shaking.

There were only a few more rooms left, after all. The door shut behind him closing on that can of tomato soup inside.

The next three rooms were clear, though unlike other places aboard the ship, they did show signs of recent use. Running a light obliquely over one of the surface walls, showed raised discoloration from an oily set of hand prints going all around the room, high onto the walls, and across the floor to meld with similar footprints.

Otherwise, the room was empty.

There was only one door left.

Sunny and the female marine set themselves to the side of the doors allowing Commander Vir and the other marine to breach the room. Commander Vir stepped in first sweeping his light from the nearest corner over and around the center of the room. The other marines took their corners, and together they moved inside.

The bridge, didn’t appear much like a bridge anymore, all the consuls and equipment had been unbolted and stripped from the floor. Stiff, brown fabric buzzing with flies had been strung up from the ceiling and down onto the floor giving the room a strange alien quality to it, like they had walked into a cave, or perhaps the throat of some virulent beast.

To add to the strangeness of it all, almost every available flat surface was piled with open containers, bottles and glasses and jars of water. Pillows lay discarded across the floor their generally white casings stained with filth. The jars themselves seemed to make a pathway through the room.

Sweeping his light forward, Commander Vir followed the trail of stained cloth up towards the end of the path, where a single, stained chair still remained bolted to the floor. It was a large chair sat atop a raised dais, though it was slightly tilted to one side.

The Captain’s chair.

All around it lay bodies, piled together in grotesque poses of death locked into place by rigor mortis

A horrific amalgamation of naked flesh and rot. These people, they lay together in a mass pile before the seat, somehow reminding him of a thrown as if these people had been prostrated in ritual as they slowly expired.

“The fuck.” Whispered one of the marines

Commander Vir remained silent, his eyes roving over the scene before him. The bodies themselves were in a general state of decay, though in better preserved condition than the ones before.

Slowly he moved up the aisle boots making a soft thud against the unseen metal below his feet, muffled by the crusted fabric. A single body atop that pile stood out to him, in the wan light of his torch, it’s skin glowed a sickly, pale grey, like the body of a decaying maggot. The thing, more creature than man, was horrifically thin it’s spine protruding like that of a rabid, starving dog, so thin and knobbly that it’s joints were thicker than the surrounding body parts.

Its fingernails were blackened.

Commander Vir paused to take a closer look at the body drawn in b some heinous curiosity. The other marines stood behind him examining the pile of corpses.

“No…. no no….”

Commander Vir leaned in further.

“What?”

A shuffling behind him and a soft, “They were EATING each other.”

It was then, he realized many things at once…. The missing 20%, the blocaded door, the tomato soup, the clean plate, the storage rooms still full of boxes, the kitchen.

And the fact that this corpse was still chewing slowly, and rhythmically.

“COMMANDER RUN!”

The chewing stopped, and an eye flashed open, a delicate cerulean blue consumed by a black pupils and surrounded by jaundice yellow sclera.

He had no time to react.

He screamed falling backwards as the thing slammed into his chest. His tac light was thrown to the floor and sent spinning across the ground. The room erupted into chaos. He kicked out with one foot catching the creature in the chest and knocking it backwards. It skidded back across the floor on all fours, the greyness of it’s skin thrown into sharp relief, an amalgamation of bruising and torn open sores still weeping clear fluid and infection.

He scrambled backwards, and it scuttled after him. Light rolled around him like a strobe giving him only glimpses of the creature as it crawled towards him gnashing yellowed teeth overcome by bleeding, decaying gums. He scrambled for his sidearm running into something soft, and moist at his back. The lights flashed.

The creature plunged from the darkness, its ragged black nails scrambling for his neck.

He caught it by the arms pushed backwards into a putrid mass. Fabric tore and bone cracked desperately he strained against the creature flailing arms. It was inhumanly strong as it pushed them through the mass of corpses tumbling onto a field of open jars.

Glass shattered.

Water erupted around them. The thing began to shreak so loud that his ears rang. His hand slipped, and the creature got one arm free, more glass shattered. He could see the gelatinous film coating the creature's eyes, watched strings of saliva drip from it’s open mouth. It pulled its hand back fingers curving into talons pressed close together.

“THE EYES.”

The hand came plunging downwards towards his face, and he scrambled back kicking and screaming. The hand came down, again and again and again stabbing down towards his eye. He tried to catch the creature’s hand, but was only able to block it.

It screamed.

Glass shattered as he deflected it to the side it’s fingers stabbing into the glass coming back bloody.

It straddled him by the hips fighting to gain both hands as it jabbed at him again. Greasy black fingernails rocketed towards his face, seeking his eyes.

Teeth gnashed and champed.

Screaming form around the room.

It grabbed him, and together they plunged through a tear in the fabric. Something sharp crunched beneath him, it grew darker, light dissipated by crusted fabric.

He felt it coming towards his face catching the creature’s wrist. Light grew in his vision, withering black nails inches from his face. It pressed down with all its might quivering closer and closer to the surface of his eye.

Something glinted at him from the darkness.

A panic, and desperation the likes of which he had never felt overwhelmed him flooding his body with strength. He screamed, wrenching the creature’s arm from his face, grabbing it by the side of the head, and thrusting it bodily sideways.

The things scream was cut off by a sickening crunch.

The glinting, the tip of a jagged broken rib.

He lay there, on his side against a field of bones staring into the glassy face of this…. No… not a creature.

A man.

A man with shocked cerulean blue eyes faded in death strings of white-blond hair still clinging to his diseased scalp, and the ore he looked the more human the thing became. A man in his thirties emaciated diseased, probably in pain. Commander vir looked down and saw a jacket tied loosely around the man’s waist.

Pinned to the collar was a dull set of captain’s bars.

For a moment it was as if he could see his own face staring back at him. This man, he could be any one of them.

He felt his body heave, and he scrambled away clawing his way through the opening and into a field of broken glass.

“Don’t shoot!” Someone screamed.

“Commander!.”

On hands and knees his body heaved violently again his nose tingled, his throat constricted. Tears leaped to his eyes. The heave turned into a sob, but he choked it back down, staggering to his feet his breath heavy and warm inside the mask. Someone rushed to help him, while another shined his light through the opening.

“Holy shit.”

“Commander, are you ok?”

He waved the marine off his ears ringing, “Order everyone back to the ship RIGHT NOW.”

His orders were not questioned. A radio went on somewhere, and two of the marines helped to support him as they walked down the hall. His body felt numb, it wasn’t that he couldn’t move, but he couldn’t feel his feet on the floor.

Eventually someone else took over for the marines. Two arms supported him from the side, in a strong inhuman embrace. Sunny tried to speak with him, but his mind was too focused to acknowledge her. They had to get out, he had to get them out. He refused to go forward unless he could see his marines checking constantly behind him as they went. Anyone they saw along the way was ordered back to the ship. Leave the equipment they could get more.

He stood in the cargo bay surrounded by bodies filtering through the doors calling out names and checking off crew manifest. Shuttles were launched back to the ship, and he refused to leave until the last shuttle was opened.

Together with Sunny, and his original team of marines, he stepped onto the shuttle. The darkened hallways lined with cheap LEDs stretched back behind him. Something clattered sending echoes up the hall. A marine sealed the door with a sharp his, and with unwavering hands, Commander Vir piloted the ship into space eyes locked forward, body still feeling nothing.

The light that hit him upon returning to his ship was the most relieving sensation he had ever felt, like taking an elevator to heaven from the depths of hell. The crew waited in the cargo bay as they exited the shuttle waiting with fearful, wide eyes. The marines especially gathered around him, but at that moment he felt….. Nothing.

He looked at the marines. He had to make sure they were ok, “The lot of you, get yourself up to psych RIGHT NOW!”

“But captain.”

His voice dropped low, “Argue with me again marine, and it will be the last thing you do.”

The group stepped back

He lifted his head, “THAT GOES FOR THE LOT OF YOU. Anyone who stepped foot on that ship or even listened to that transmission better have a psych referral to me by the end of the week on my desk in signed in TRIPLICATE from all three of our attending physicians psych and medical otherwise. NOW GET MOVING.”

No one questioned him, and standing there in the crowd, he felt his body go numb. Cold sweat rolled from his temples and down his collar, he began to shiver violently. His hearing still hadn't come back from earlier, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded his heart pounded even as a great sense of exhaustion came over him.

Before he knew it, he was sitting on the floor. Someone was speaking to him, though he couldn’t concentrate enough to make it out. Only that memory, of the repeated hand jabbing downwards towards his face.

More voices muttering, they elevated in shock, and a second later something cupped him gently about the face tilting his head back. The movement was gentle almost caring. Lights blinded him for a moment, but then a face resolved itself in his vision, paper white, humanoid and with wide black eyes.

“Conn.” He muttered.

“Sleep, Commander, and I will ease your fear.”

A sensation, like someone pouring clear warm water into his thoughts. His shivering died down, and he felt himself float away.

***

Humans don’t die easily.

And sometimes when they do, when they should leave, they linger.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #HUMANS ARE WEIRD #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #horror #humans are spaceoddities

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slightly-gay-pogohammer · 4 years ago

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Elaborate? 👀 I’m interested but I wanna hear ideas u got for fixing it

OH ALL OF IT but to give very specific details about some things that WILL be changed that i thought so far:

DAVEKAT IS CANON DON’T WORRY

they’re all 18+ of course, that’s canon and i dig this

no meat/candy routes. just one timeline in which john goes to fight caliborn WITH the current gang and whoever/if someone dies during that fight it’s not just nor heroic or can be revived by jane as soon as they get back on earth 3

rose isnt super sick but she IS realizing her powers are getting stronger with time. also both her and kanaya have adopted vrissy, imgoingtochangehernameprobablyevenifireallylikeher

dirk breaks the fourth wall n all with his prince of heart powers and keeps his disdain for john and vriska for “stealing his scene”, but that’s the major reason he’s the bad guy. he was built up until that point to be the hero, why do THEY get to defeat the big bad?

dirk keeps his lowkey abilities to manipulate the others via taking over the narration and that’s why jane is the antagonist, but she’s NOT the bad guy. she’s not a racist dictator. she may have some troubles dealing with trolls mostly due her trauma bc the batterwitch and gamzee but she cares for her family and their alien friends

while jade still has LOTS of relationships, she NEVER pushes kk and dave into it. she lived with them for a while as a buddy but the moment she realizes theres something between them she decides to go living with others. at one point she gets in a relationship with a carapace and she DOES get possibly pregnant with TIFFANY, but it would be literally the begnning of the pregnancy so that’s a big question mark for her

vriska is dead and her death is considered both just and heroic. shortly after summoning the beta kids to defeat lord english she dies trying to protect john and stays death. she is no longer relevant and terezi gets to realize that she idolatrized her a little too much, deciding to focus her life on HERSELF rather than vriska

vriska, gamzee (who’s also dies during LE fight idk) and caliborn are no longer relevant characters We Are Moving On

vri/srezi isnt canon

nor is di/rkjake nor ja/kejane because both dirk and jane talked about it god damnit. they did it. they decided it’s not worth losing everyone’s friendship for a crush and they moved on

john thinks about giving aradia and sollux (who did intervene in the fight with LE with davepeta and tavrosprite) the ring to bring them back to life, but ultimately gives it to tavros bc goddamnit he deserves a good ending

needless to say, john doesnt superdie

less overly complex character designs overall if by any chance the kids/new chars will be involved. as i said i honestly like vrissy, tavros, harry anderson and Tiffy, not counting HOW shes here tbh) and their designs are very cute, but they really dont fit in HS

more to come probably i started to think about it one hour ago ansdfmgs

im going to likely tag this as ACT BC, as in “ACT BEYOND CANON”

#homestuck #gio replies #act bc #Anonymous

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hisoakillumi · 5 years ago

Text

Hello y'all, this is the first post:

I've been out of tumblr for quite a time and decided to return. I don't promise i will be as active here as I am on twitter or insta because I share my art there, lmao... but the amount of interaction from y'all will do all the difference!

Here's some info you might want to know:

I'm 26y/o at the day of this post (may 2020). I prefer minors do not interact, but it's ok to send one ask or another.

She her, they them pronoums for me, the mod/owner of this blog. I'm queer and I do not tolerate lgbtqia+ phobic stuff.

You can send asks direct to me refering to "Mod" or "adm", or starting your ask with the 💛 emoji

Yes, I ship my oc with canon characters. In an overly detailed level. There's actually plenty of story going on, feel free to ask, I am no lite shipper xD

Any ask sent without hate or preconceituous intend will be answered. Anon asks are ok too!

For not sfw related asks, direct to my curiouscat, akiraran_sinbin, and to the same handle on twitter for the answers.

Now about other relevant info:

Those three idiots are in a polyamorous relationship. Be gay, do crimes.

Fem/neutral pronoums for Aki, male/neutral pronoums for hiso, male/neutral pronoums for illu

You can direct asks to a specific char by sending their name. Otherwise I will choose one randomly (or all of them) to reply.

Replies might have doodles with them, because I enjoy drawing doodles sometimes.

Suggest outfits, suggest scenarios, suggest whatever thing as long as its respectful. Life is too short and boring, let's just have some fun.

All posts will be tagged accordingly. Lemme know if something needs to be tagged and I will do it so you can blacklist.

Be smart: if you don't like what you see, don't interact. I won't be posting anything out of the norm and socially disgusting so you don't have reason to send hate~

I guess thats all! Take care and have fun!

#hxh #oc x canon #oc x cc #oc x canon character #hisoakillumi #first post #may 2020 #mod.txt #my art

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butchedyke · 5 years ago

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(for the char thing) stanley uris, mike hanlon, and patty blum

migz!!!! i’m sorry i abandoned this in favour of video games and capitalism i hope i can make it up to u uwu

this is mostly going off the movies but there’s occasional book and miniseries input- i’ve only read the first few chapters, a few wikia pages, and some character meta from the book and i’ve only seen the miniseries once vs the however many times ive watched the movies in the last 2 months so don’t expect consistency between canons

(also i’m gonna put these under a cut because this post got really long)

stanley uris

How I feel about this character:

there is a reason i use the tag baby boy for stan (and also for miniseries eddie)!!!! he’s my favourite loser other than eddie and i want to like. hold him and make sure he’s happy and healthy and i think stephen king should treat his characters better.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

patty!!!!! their relationship in the book makes me so happy and anyone who’s ever spoken to me about stanpat knows that i am at all times thinking about how she calls his car sedanley.

that being said, i respect stenbrough, stanlon, and streddie but overall this is a stanpat household

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

stan with all the losers but especially richie! which isn’t very original since they are literally best friends but their dynamic!!! good!!!! i’ve not been able to stop thinking about that one scene from the miniseries where richie introduces stan as “this is stan the man uris, he’s a jew,” partially because it’s fucking funny because who says that richie what the fuck, but also because stan just instantly follows up by saying that richie has a high metabolism which makes him hyperactive, and maybe it’s because the miniseries is campy and a little bit shit but the delivery of those lines makes it seem like they do this a lot! they have these introductions ready to go! and i love the idea of them as a platonic package deal even if we don’t get to see much of that in the movies

My unpopular opinion about this character:

i don’t think i really have any? i tend to follow people who hold the same opinions as me tho so i have no idea what’s popular outside of that dshfk

i mean i do think fics that save eddie but not stan aren’t really fix-its and going off the amount of fics where stan’s still dead i guess that’s somehow an unpopular opinion? i know everyone’s focused on reddie rn but god like. stan is right there can we stop ignoring him pls

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

i mean the most blatantly obvious answer here is that i wish he didn’t die! he should’ve gotten to go on his holiday and rail/get railed by his wife and live to meet his friends as adults, catch up on the 27 years they didn’t get to be with each other. he should’ve gotten to have kids, once everything was over, and they should’ve been able to grow up with 5 extra uncles and an aunt bc u can’t tell me the rest of the losers wouldn’t be deeply embedded in their lives. i just wish stan had a chance to be completely, 100% happy without the underlying terror of his childhood.

on a smaller note i also wish we’d gotten to see more of his interest in birds in the movies bc like. he’s babie. and who knows! maybe would’ve helped stop the perception that his entire personality is just being a bitch that hates richie jshfd

mike hanlon

How I feel about this character:

part of the reason i wanted to read the book was for more mike content because i adore this lil farm boy and the movies. well. y’know. :). characters who just openly and whole-heartedly love their friends and go straight ride or die like 10 minutes after meeting them have my whole heart! he’s so smart and so kind and just wanted to protect his friends as best he could even though he dragged them into this whole mess bc he doesn’t want to lose them again!!!! mike deserves the whole world and if his way of getting that is by getting out of derry and getting to know that his friends remember and love him and each other then that’s all i want for him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

i wasn’t overly set on any particular mike ship until i watched the miniseries and saw the homoerotic bike montage and now i’m fully on the hanbrough train. choo choo.

just like with stan i support stanlon but endgame hanbrough is just. it’s right there in the text. bill didn’t divorce audra for nothing in ch2.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

this also kinda ties in with the last point, but jane @billdenbrough opened my eyes, in the middle of a very in-depth conversation about audra’s minion strap, to the world of best friends mike and audra who are both with bill which is both galaxy brained and an incredibly good concept which i think about a lot

also i think mike and ben could’ve had something Incredibly soft if mike wasn’t treated like a background character in the first film and a quest-giving npc in the second one :) :)

My unpopular opinion about this character:

i headcanon mike as gay, i have no textual evidence for this, i just think he’s neat. i think it’s a pretty popular opinion that the movies treated him poorly? and i also think that in ch2 he was just trying to protect his friends in a scenario that did not lend itself at all to protection. drugging bill and not telling the others about the full ritual might not have been the best thing to do, but he was in a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation, and he was trying his best to save his friends no matter how impossible it may have been.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

i uh :) i don’t know if anyone’s figured out yet :) that i wish many things had happened with mike in canon :) :) the first film doesn’t give him much but the second film just infuriates me completely tbqh! he’s basically entirely there to push the narrative (his dialogue doesn’t even sound like dialogue! it sounds like prose explaining the plot and the next steps the characters have to take!), or to drug and lie to his friends. i wish they’d kept his backstory the same, that we’d actually gotten to see him find his token, that he’d gotten a token relevant to him as an individual rather than the group, that we’d gotten a flashback for him, that he was given more screentime and development across both films, like... i wish he’d been treated like the other losers and not a plot point.

i also wish we’d gotten to see him on his travels post-canon, seeing the other losers, and just generally actually getting to be happy- we see the start of it but god i just want to see him having a good time outside of derry.

patty blum

How I feel about this character:

if she were not stan’s wife she would be my wife. we don’t get to see much of her in the movie or miniseries and that is a fucking crime!!!! i’ve already mentioned sedanley but like. sedanley. i’ve read patty’s bit in the book and that’s all i need the other 1100 pages can get fucked, she’s just here to watch family feud and love stan which i can confidently say is a huge fucking mood

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

STAN. i guess i already talked about this before but i’ll keep going!!! my love for stanpat overwhelms my usual distaste towards straight relationships bc they’re so good!!!!! the fact that they’re really the only happy relationship to come out of the 27 year gap and they love each other so much and so like... wholesomely? but they still blow each other’s backs out on the reg and it’s what they deserve.

also i sometimes think about patty/audra as like. kind of a crack ship kind of a “i’m a lesbian and i’m desperate to see lesbians” ship. i haven’t thought about it in depth i just want to plant the seed

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

stan introducing patty to the losers and patty becoming an honorary loser is my weakness!!!! patty being comfortable enough to rib richie (and richieandeddie) with stan, but also vice versa going along with richie’s bits. patty and bev getting close because as much as st*phen k*ng and co push bev as One Of The Boys(tm) there’s just something in having another woman around that can be refreshing especially when they’re both bicons. patty and mike enthusiastically sharing holiday pictures and tales of their trips. patty noticing when eddie’s having a bad day, whether it’s anxiety or lingering trauma, and supporting him through it, regaling him with stories about stan and what essentially amount to dad jokes (sedanley!!!) and making sure he knows he’s loved and supported by all the losers. patty, the teacher, and ben, lunchtimes-in-the-library ben who never outgrew his love of reading, nerding out over shit that the others don’t really know about. bill telling patty all about what stan was like as a kid in that way only bill can, richie chiming in with crude comments sometimes but noticeably keeping quieter than usual, and patty returning the favour, telling them about the last 27 years, and not even richie makes a single joke when everyone tears up (because he’s tearing up the most). stan sitting there the whole time not even bothering to point out that he’s right there because it’s enough for him to see the romantic love of his life and the platonic loves of his life bonding, and yeah, maybe it was worth sticking around for.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

i don’t know if this is unpopular but patty pegs. that’s all.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

more patty. let me see my wife.

#eddiekissbrak #migz this has literally taken me hours i hope ur happy #i can't remember if the book specifies what patty teaches so i'm taking some liberties because i don't care what stephen king has to say #kinda went off the shits with patty there rip #i'm also like. not good with thoughts or with words so im sorry if this is underwhelming dgfhjsk

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cerseiofhouselannister · 6 years ago

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"but to run a blog and advertise it as being for a certain character or ship, then not reblog someone's content of that character after they ask you to?" There are plenty of reasons posts don't get reblogged to blogs like that. Sometimes posts just don't show up in tags. The people running the blogs could be busy and not catch every post. I try to reblog all relevant posts to the blog for my tiny fandom, but a bigger one would overwhelm me. Running these blogs doesn't pay and takes energy + time

lol. I feel like you didn’t really read my complaint, even though you quoted it. I know sometimes people might miss stuff. What I have an issue with and, which you even quoted, is when you specifically ask for a source blog to reblog something of yours and they don’t. Which I’ve had happen, tho one blog at least reblogged one of my creations, tho not the other. Other times I’ve just gotten ignored.

It’s annoying both as a creator and as someone who wants to see all the content and honestly, I think it’s rude. Most of those blogs are run by multiple people, and half the time I can see that they are reblogging content that was posted after mine, so I don’t buy the energy + time excuse. To me it seems as if you have to kiss up to people that run these blogs in order to get your stuff reblogged, because I can tell you that my stuff is better then half the crap these source blogs are reblogging, just as well I find a lot of more worthy stuff in the tags from less known people, that doesn’t get reblogged either. Some blogs put out really good content yet I never see source blogs reblogging them, so I’m pretty sure it’s all who you know and being friends with the popular people on here. At least for the GOT fandom. I don’t know about smaller fandoms, but in GOT there are definitely a lot of cliques and stuff.

Honestly, between that and all the people who just like an edit without reblogging it, it pisses me off. Likes should for people who aren’t that into the char or ship but want to be supportive. Not for people that I can see are reblogging other edits and stuff of them. If you like it enough to like it, why not reblog it? It pisses me off that all my stuff and everything else on here too even has way more likes then reblogs and it proves what dicks people are! Seriously, the number of likes to reblogs should be equal or near to it on everything on here, and there are basically no posts on this site that fit that.

Like fuck, if you like it, stop being a jerk and just reblog the damn content. Same with fiction links, I’ve actually had people comment in the replies to ask me about my fics or to ask me to continue them. Like seriously, quit being a dick and just reblog the post ffs if you really are so interested.

This kinda shit is why I basically just reblog from either deactivated blogs or people who reblog my content or text posts at least now. I used to reblog basically everything on my old blog. On my old blog, everything I would like, I would also reblog. Now I’m just to the point where if you don’t support me, I’m not doing the same for you.

#drama #kinda #reblogging #content creator complaints #ppl suck #anonymous #answered

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spicyredpaladin · 6 years ago

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“Meet Me At The Cove” - A Fic For The Shklance Summer Exchage

Hello lovelies! For the Shklance Summer Exchange, partially hosted by the @shancesupportsquad, I was given the lovely @lover-fangirl-writer as my giftee! I actually combined a few of your requests, so, for your viewing pleasure, we have Klance with a mix of ABO, merpeople, and fluffy kisses~!

Title: Meet Me At The Cove Pairing: Klance Relevant Tags: Merpeople, ABO Dynamics, Kissing, Beach, Ocean, Transformations, Fluffy ‘Dates’ Word Count: 2207 AO3 Link

Excerpt: Keith watched the waves lap at the shore of the little beach he'd found, well secluded from the main beach and all the loud alphas and giggling omegas. He didn’t want to be a part of all that stupid, banal bullcrap. Being an omega, he found it insanely ridiculous that he was expected to pick someone to be shackled to for the rest of his life. He’d much rather be his own person, free from the constraints of his secondary endotype. Keith shifted his position, grumbling about the sand that had gotten into his shorts even though he was sitting on a rock.

Keith watched the waves lap at the shore of the little beach he'd found, well secluded from the main beach and all the loud alphas and giggling omegas. He didn’t want to be a part of all that stupid, banal bullcrap. Being an omega, he found it insanely ridiculous that he was expected to pick someone to be shackled to for the rest of his life. He’d much rather be his own person, free from the constraints of his secondary endotype. Keith shifted his position, grumbling about the sand that had gotten into his shorts even though he was sitting on a rock.

A giggle and the scent of salt mixed with lime broke him from his thoughts. He looked around, worried someone had discovered his hiding place. He heard another giggle. This time he could tell it was coming from the water at the base of his rocky perch. Keith gulped and crawled over to the edge. Had someone been here this whole time?

Beneath the rock sat something Keith never thought he would see. A teen about his age, male, pretty caramel skin and wet chocolate curls. And an iridescent, blue tail longer than Keith’s whole body. He stared quietly, mouth hanging open. This was a mermaid. A merman? Did this fish person even have a gender?

The merman chirped a bit, reaching up with one webbed hand. He grinned playfully and chirped again. Keith finally got the hint, reaching down to take the new arrival’s hand. He cried out as he was suddenly yanked down, landing on the merman’s lap and coughing as the wind was knocked out of him. Keith glared up at his assailant, blushing when he realized how startlingly blue his eyes were. He quickly scrambled up, shaking the thought from his mind.

“What the hell, dude? You can’t just yank people around!”

A confused chirp left the merman’s lips, his head tilting a bit to the left. Keith groaned. So this random merman couldn’t understand him. And he couldn’t understand it. Suddenly, the fish hopped a bit, seeming to have remembered something. He tapped his lips with a slender finger and set his hands over his ears before fanning them open with a grin. Keith gave him a confused look and the merman thought for a moment before nodding a bit. He touched his own lips again and then touched Keith’s.

The human understood now.

Keith glared a bit before sighing and nodding. The merman chirped excitedly, leaning forward with a smile. Keith gulped and did the same, closing his eyes as their lips met. He was surprised at how soft the merman’s lips were, quickly relaxing to the tangy scent of lime he gave off. The moment they pulled away, Keith regretted everything.

“You’re an omega human that’s so amazing! I didn’t know humans could be alphas and omegas and betas like Merlaes but that’s so amazing! I’m an omega, too~! My name is Ralanceli, but everyone calls me ‘Lance’ cause Ralanceli is our prince’s name, too. What’s your name? Do you have an alpha? Are you all alone?”

Keith stared in horror as Lance rambled. When the merman finally stopped talking, Keith was still staring. Lance waited patiently for any of his questions to be answered. He took a deep breath before opening his mouth again. Keith slapped his hand over Lance’s mouth.

“No more. Stop talking.”

Lance’s eyes widened and he grinned brightly. Keith looked away, embarrassed by how much his new companion was talking. Should he answer any of the questions? His parents would say no, but, honestly Keith didn’t give a crap about what his parents wanted. Plus, he was a rebellious youth. It would be unheard of if he did what his parents would want.

“I’m Keith. Yeah, I’m omega. And I don’t need an alpha. I’m perfectly happy by myself.”

Lance’s brows furrowed. The thought of not needing an alpha seemed to confuse him.

“But… How can you spawn more of your kind without an alpha?”

“I don’t want kids. I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone.”

Lance nodded a bit, thinking.

“Well, I mean… don’t you get lonely…?”

Keith thought about that for a moment, looking up at the blue summer sky. He sighed. Was he lonely?

“Yeah… I do. My parents have each other, and everyone is looking at each other. But none of them look at me, and none of them want to smell me… So yeah, I’m lonely. But I don’t want any of the alpha brutes that are available.”

Lance listened quietly, nodding as though he knew how Keith felt.

“Have you thought about courting another omega?”

Keith looked at him, surprised. He’d heard of it, but that would be insane.

“But all the other omegas want the jackwagon alphas with strong scents. My scent isn’t strong enough to attract another omega.”

Lance leaned forward, making Keith blush as the merman look a deep whiff.

“Hm~ You smell spicy. I like your scent a lot.”

Keith didn’t know what to do. No one had ever said that to him. It was so far out of the realm of what he believed possible. So Keith did something else that was different.

He leaned in and kissed Lance again. Their lips slid together playfully, and the end of Lance’s tail splashed in the water with joy. The two scooted closer, lips coming apart and together in soft, playful little dances. Both were grinning by the time they actually pulled away, blue eyes meeting purple ones. Lance leaned in again, but Keith dodged, laughing a bit.

“So… I’m gonna be spending the whole summer here. And I don’t know if you have any migration patterns or anything, but… Can I court you?”

Lance nodded, wrapping his arms around Keith happily.

“Yeah! Yeah, you can~! We don’t migrate cause it’s nice here year round, so I’ll definitely be around!”

Keith nodded, hugging back.

“Then I’ll court you through the summer. And every summer that I come back.”

Lance kissed his cheek, snuggling him happily. The two sat together until the sun started to set. Keith cursed under his breath when he noticed the sun going down.

“My parents are gonna throw a fit if I don’t get back to the condo…”

Lance nodded, looking sad.

“Okay… Will you come back in the morning, Keith?”

Keith kneeled down and kissed his merman omega with a soft smile, staying close so he could breathe in their mixed scents.

“Of course. I’ll come back here every free moment I have.”

Lance grinned and nodded, leaning forward for one last kiss before Keith had to go.

The next morning, Keith had a bag of snacks, some water bottles, his sunscreen, and his phone. He sat the bag on the big rock and looked out to the ocean, crossing his arms. Lance must be running a little late. Soon, he felt a smile come to his face as he noticed a long, shimmering shape beneath the water.

Lance popped up, dragging himself a bit so he could sit in the same spot against the rock as yesterday. He motioned for Keith to come over and touched his lips, chirping cutely. Keith shook his head a bit and smiled, plopping down with his legs across Lance’s tail before kissing him.

The two spent their day wrapped around each other, talking about the differences between life on land versus life in the sea. Keith fed Lance nuts and fruits and bits of chocolate from his bags of trail mix, and Lance quickly learned how to catch them with his mouth if Keith happened to toss one.

The two continued to meet, Keith bringing snacks and Lance bringing presents in the form of shells and sand dollars. Soon, Keith’s pale skin was just as dark as Lance’s from how long he sat in the sun with his Merlae mate.

Keith stared at his calendar anxiously. It was the twenty-eighth of July. Tomorrow, he and his parents would leave Angel’s Cove and he would have to go back into society and find an actual mate. But how could he leave when he knew his mate was here, swimming in the waters of the vast, blue ocean? How could he leave the first person he'd ever wanted to open up to?

The omega shook his head defiantly, packing his bag for the day and running from the condo before his parents could catch him. Maybe if he hid somewhere, he could stay. Could stay with his blue, fishy boyfriend and let the the sun char his skin and never have to worry about finding a brute alpha or becoming a baby-making trophy.

Lance was waiting at the little inlet when Keith arrived, playing with little fish and laughing happily with the gulls. The human watched with a smile, scenting the lime in the air. He hurried over, swinging his bag onto the large rock so it wouldn't get wet before running into the water to see Lance.

The two played and frollicked until the sun was high over their heads, at which point Keith dragged himself out to lay in the sand. Lance followed, trilling happily. Keith leaned over, pressing his lips to Lance’s. The Merlae returned it, making a sound of content before flopping down.

“That was so fun~! After you do your eating and rest, we can play again?”

“Yeah. But Lance, I gotta talk to you about something really important.”

“Speak, mate! I will always listen to your words!”

Keith smiled and reached across the small space between them, taking Lance’s webbed hand.

“Tomorrow my parents and I have to go back to the city. But I don't want to leave you...:”

Lance shimmied closer, pressing their foreheads together.

“My Keith… I know a way you can join me, if you want to… but you can’t go back once it's done.”

The young man grew silent, thinking about this offer. Did he have anything here to look forward to? Anything to brighten the existence of an omega? No. There was nothing left on land for him. Lance was his light.

“I don't want to go back, Lance. I want to be with you. No matter what the cost is.”

The Merlae trilled happily, pushing himself up onto his arms.

“Then I have to go get something for you. I don't know how long it will take, but I will try so hard to be back in time.”

Keith nodded, sitting up and hurrying to his bag.

“Before you go, I wanna take a picture. Just in case.”

Lance tilted his head, but trilled an affirmative, snuggling up to Keith and looking up at the little box he brought over. The screen flashed for a moment before his human lover showed him the screen. There they were, Lance and Keith pressed together and covered in sand. Lance touched the picture with a finger, smiling. Of all the pictures Keith had taken of them, this was both of their favorites.

The two broke apart reluctantly, Lance slipping into the sea and Keith perching himself on his rocky throne to wait. He ignored his phone when it rang, finally putting it on airplane mode after a good 27 missed calls and roughly 84 texts. He couldn't back out now, after all.

The sun slowly fell, eventually casting Keith in shadow. The sun continued its decline, and the moon rose high, bringing in the tide. Keith was safe where he sat, but he couldn't leave without landing in fifteen or so feet of cold water.

Finally, he saw a soft blue glow in the water. He came up to the very edge of the rock before Lance popped his head out. He lifted his hands to Keith, who reached out to accept the small pearl his love had brought him. It was a vibrant red, definitely unnatural, but so very beautiful. Lance opened his mouth and pointed inside and then at the pearl.

A deep breath steadied Keith for what he was about to do. He quickly turned his phone data back on, sending the last picture he’d taken to his parents before swallowing the pearl. It was heavy going down, like a pill that had twisted the wrong direction. Lance ushered him into the water, helping Keith out of his clothes in anticipation of what was beginning to happen.

Ripples of fire danced across Keith's skin, leaving behind beautiful red markings that shimmered in the moonlight. His bottom half began to burn as his legs were drawn together and fused, anatomy shifting to allow for the change. Delicate, flowing fins extended from the taper his feet had become, and blazing, red scales slowly grew over his new tail. Lance pulled Keith beneath the waves, their bodies glowing red and blue as gills sprung open along Keith's ribs and throat. He took a deep breath of water, eyes widening. Lance trilled and the former human could actually hear his words.

“You are like me, now! We can be together until we become the foam that lines the shores, and I will love you the whole time.”

Keith grinned and pressed their foreheads together, trilling back.

“And I'll love you even longer, Lance.”

#vld klance #klance #vld keith #keith #keith kogane #vld lance #lance #lance mcclain #merpeople #merman #vld #voltron #Voltron legendary defender #love story #fanfiction #voltron fanfic

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phasestuff · 6 years ago

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3 OC Songs

Tagged by: @dingoat

Tagging: @eldstunga (Ryn, duh) @erinmccomics (Khim)

Character Name: Vyr’i

Race: Shi’ido

I don’t think there’s much by the way of rules for this just share three songs that are relevant to your char/s and explain as much or little as you want idk??

First up: Mask On (Joyner Lucas)

I'm 'bout to put my mask on, my mask on

Stick all these industry (Yeah, not gonna write that word) up until they cash gone

I know you high for the moment but that shit don't last long

I know you wasn't expecting this shit but you asked for it

Vy, as a person, rarely if ever appears as ‘herself’. She’s in a state of transformation 99.999% of the time, appearing as a Chiss Female in her early to mid 20s. She has a strong dislike for the Empire and Republic for their practices, particularly the Empire which uses and validates war as an effective means of generating a sustainable economy. And given her lifespan of roughly 500 years, she knows and has to live with the fact that she will see people come down from that way of life and see it for what it is. She puts on the ‘mask’ of another person because at its core, she won’t even put herself or her people in a situation where she has to deal with corruption on that level.

Secondly: Caravan (Rush)

On a road lit only by fire

Going where I want

Instead of where I should

I peer out at the passing shadows

The galaxy is always in war. Not a moment in the century and a half in her life has it been without war. Her people for the most part stay on her homeworld and in most of their minds, that’s where Vy should be. But she doesn’t want that life. She wants a life that’s her own. It doesnt have to be great - or even notable. It just has to be hers. But because of who and what she is - she has to experience it from the shadows.

And thirdly, and probably the most angst heavy part of this: Don’t Fear the Reaper (BOC)

Love of two is one

Here but now they're gone

Came the last night of sadness

And it was clear she couldn't go on

She only really ‘loved’ one person. They were like a mother, then a sister, then a part of Vy herself. It’s the person who she mimics, and chooses to appear as. The one person who she’ll always choose to remember. The person who after Vy got off her homeworld at a young age cared for her. Treated her as her own and raised her. Their name was Paethi (short for Tlic'paethi'oazutt) and they were just one person. One Chiss who for a good seventy five years took care and guided Vyr’i up to her last moments. Vyr’i had just turned 25, almost an infant for Shi’ido - Paethi found her hiding in the back of a cargo ship. Barely able to transform into just about anything, she took Vy into her home. Taught her basic, treated her with kindness and gentleness. And through the wars and uprisings she took Vyr’i by the hand and guided her through all of it. And when her life neared a close, and Vyr’i was nearing her 100th birthday as an adult, they sat back where it began. On a ship, passing the light of a violet star. Vyr’i an adult woman, and Paethi an elder, in her last moments surrounded by those she considered family dying of age. The feeling of having someone so close and a part of you slipping away is like feeling your entire body being ripped in half. She was a part of Vy, in a way she couldn’t quite explain. They laughed, cried, bled and healed for seventy whole years. And in the last moments of her life, Vy knew who she was. The person she knew and held close couldn’t go on. It just wouldn’t happen. But she could help those memories, and that night live on so that her spirit never died out. She knew she was the person Paethi had helped raised, and she remembered that. Held onto it. And turned her appearance into the first person who had ever helped her, to continue that. So that Paethi’s face would be known to more than one as a face that helped others when they needed it most. So when she died, she also was reborn. Vy walked out, appearing as her. And she continues to do so fifty years after her death.

#off topic #character asks

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thusatlas · 3 years ago

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ALL! OF! THIS!

Every point that has been made here is so on point and accurate, I can't even. I don't know what the original fic that @mightbewriting is referring to, and the author (and any author with this experience) has my absolute sympathies for fielding those comments.

To anyone who is perhaps wondering if this sort of this happens or what it looks like, allow me to provide an example. I'm not trying to hijack the post, it's just extraordinarily relevant to me this week and I can add to the conversation.

I have been working hard on a beastly chapter, 24k+ words of char dev, toiling through a soul bond in a canon-ish foundation for dramione.

I post it. I wait excitedly, my rat brain going haywire, waiting for the reader's feedback. We tell ourselves that we write for ourselves, but the power that the audience holds is unbelievable.

Still, I wait. And then I receive my first review.

(I'll afford the reader some grace that they did not afford me and shall paraphrase)

Why is Hermione focused on everything else in the plot, when she can see Draco trying to be with her. Is she stupid? How did she even get her job? You have made Hermione dumb, to make the story interesting.

Now, keep in mind, I had just spent 2 months working on this chapter, doing all sorts of mental gymnastics, working through the political murder mystery plot that's entangled in espionage and divination. Hermione had essentially done some Sherlockian exposition to get the plot in a workable state for the reader.

The rest of the chapter is char dev of two people who have hated each other for a decade, with all the nasty shit thrown in there. Draco is absolutely no better than Hermione, and yet Hermione is the one who is called dumb, who is shit on, and furthermore, her entire intelligence is boiled down to whether or not she swoons at Draco making her tea and saying a few civil words to her. How dare she not be clairvoyant. How dare she assume that what's between them doesn't mean shit, because it's built on a decade of pain and hate. How dare Hermione not obsess over a man, when the point of the plot is a political mystery. And OBVIOUSLY, she must be bad at her job as an Unspeakable because she's focusing on saving the world and not the emotionally constipated man down the hall.

Not that Draco has been more consciously refusing the whole bond thing. Not that he's being deliberately obtuse, whilst Hermione's just ignorant of its existence. No, he doesn't get any criticism from this reader.

Na, I'm sorry. I couldn't keep my mouth shut on this one, and had to reply, and as you can still see, I am a bitter ass bitch over it still. Because the thing is, I haven't really enjoyed the launch of my chapter as much as I should have, because of this one review.

Sure, there will be fics out there, that cater to all sorts of tropes. Sometimes, char dev really isn't that deep, and it just sets the stage for straight-up good fucking. But the readers have the power to go searching for that, if that's what they want.

Don't pick up a fucking apple and bitch at it for not being an orange.

If you want Insta-love, go read that. Ao3 has a wonderful tag system that allows readers to search for the trope of their choosing.

There's a difference between being frustrated with a character because that's how the author wants you to feel and being frustrated with the character because the author hasn't written them how you want them to.

I hope the original author is ok and continues to tell the story that they want to tell.

And once again to echo the points previously made by so many before me, to all the readers - if you don't like, click X.

me: *reading a fic i’m really enjoying*

me: *reading the comments*

me: *growing progressively upset that said comments include a bunch of folks telling the author how frustrated and annoyed they are with hermione*

*sigh*

i will never not be salty about how much less empathy the dramione fandom has for hermione. i get it. thirst levels for draco are high. but beyond that, in what world is telling an author how annoying you find their character a good way to interact with them? it’s just unkind. even in jest. and comments like that can absolutely disincentivize authors from writing. i, personally, want stories to get finished. i want more. so i’m going to say nice things about the things i like and keep my mouth shut about the things i would do differently.

#writer discourse #fan fic discourse #fandom

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zamantha-ducroix · 7 years ago

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The unspeakable has occurred. Zamantha must kill her husband, Davmir Du'Croix! How does it happen? Tell us a tale about how and why the lady demonologist was compelled to slay her one true love!

First of all. Screw you for making me write this, sir. Secondly, big trigger warning. Death, blood, gore, abuse, etc, etc. It’s a really long read. (I’ve trimmed it down a lot, my google doc for this prompt is 7 pages long- if you’re interested in reading it, message me!) and it’s about Zamantha killing Davmir. So it’s gonna get twisted…

Tagging for relevance: @davmirducroix / @blaireducroix, @penvenomstarkstar, @jagathi-amarjeet

Here lies Lord Davmir Du’CroixPatriarch of the Du’Croix ClanDevoted Leader, Beloved Husband

Darkness was falling over the family’s graveyard, but the newest monument of gray marble stood out plainly. The funeral rites had been completed and the majority of those who had gathered for the burial ceremony had dispersed. Some, however, still lingered and moved about the area.

Two silent bastions stood silent, tall, and firm. Their hands were folded behind their backs. Finn, now donned in the crimson and black of the Crimson Guard, seemed to be chiseled from stone with how motionless he remained throughout this watch. To his left was Aeos, Davmir’s former personal guard. Though both men wore masks of strength, there was an air of grief about them.

Yet it was nothing like the sadness that radiated off the newly appointed matriarch of the Du’Croix clan that stood between the two large men. From behind her dark veil, Lady Zamantha Du’Croix watched as full shovels of dirt were tossed atop her late husband’s coffin.

Per tradition, she had been the one to place the first layer of soil over it and it had felt like she was burying a piece of herself. In that moment, she had wanted nothing more than to run from the graveyard where the reminder of what she did was lay bare for the world to see. But now she found that she was unable to turn away. Even in death, she felt the pulling string that bade her to stay with him.

You killed him.

Pain spiked through her legs as her knees slammed into the ground, a sob catching in her throat as she doubled over. She felt her fingers curling through the tall grass but couldn’t see through the tears in her eyes. Everything hurt. Every part of her mourned the loss of her husband and regretted the events that had caused such….

You killed him. You did this.

She wanted to bury herself under the dirt with him. Together in death as they were in life, as they had been until…

You killed him.

It wasn’t my fault…

Zamantha had been working on a contract with a new cafe opening up in Elwynn, not far from the city’s gates. Drafting up numbers and planning out shipments had taken up most of her night, and she had met with the owner for an early morning meeting. Hours of work had gone into her proposal, and it had ended up working out in her favor. Another successful endeavor for the Order, their name continuing to spread across the kingdoms. The signed contract was waiting on Penny’s desk, accompanied by a note informing her that she would be going home for a few days.

Home. In the past five years, she had only been home twice. Ever since Blaire’s funeral, when Davmir was granted true and absolute leadership of the Clan, Zamantha found that she could no longer remain there for longer than a few hours at a time. Her husband’s advisors had begun questioning her loyalties, though none could deny that she was a valuable asset. Honestly, she simply couldn’t bring herself to remember the life that had been lost. Even now.

It was Penny who had encouraged her to go home. Davmir had come to stay with her in her Stormwind apartment quite often, but now it was time for her to deal with the pain and return home.

But first, she had a research date with a certain doctor. Her usual meetings with Percival had been pushed back recently, delayed in response to her busy schedule. It was past time they were able to catch up.

Dinner had already been laid out by the time she had returned to her apartment. Percy was lounging in the chair he often occupied when he visited. He glanced up from his book as she entered, a brow rising upwards. “You’re late, Chief Advisor. And to think that Lady Starkstar always speaks so highly of your punctuality.” A dark smirk flickered across his lips.

Do not force me to live this again, you sick bastard…

A twisted power coursed through the lady’s veins as she stalked through the manor halls, willing all those she passed to dare get in her way. Whispers and nervous glances followed her to the war chambers where her husband and his council were meeting to prepare the upcoming guard rotations. The majority of them would be unarmed, not expecting an attack here in the security of the stronghold.

Little did they know.

All eyes moved up to the woman as she entered, folding her hands behind her back with a gentle smile and approaching her husband’s side. Her black gaze studied the men gathered before looking over the maps spread out across the table. This was the moment.

“Kill them all,” a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Just as it had for days. “The time is now. Strike!”

“Gentlemen, I do apologize for the interruption, I know you are all quite busy… You must forgive me, though. It has been quite some time since I have seen my husband. You will allow me a moment alone, hmm?”

“M’lady, of course, but- if you don’t mind my asking, are you feeling well? You look pale, and your eyes-”

A twisted hand reached out and shoved Davmir away with an unusual amount of physical strength as her other hand swung forward. In one fluid motion, fel fire sprung from her fingers and engulfed each man. There was no escape. Their dying screams rang in her mind and set her soul ablaze. A wicked smile pulled at her lips and a cackling laugh sounded. With each dying breath, the flames abated and disappeared back into the nothingness from whence they came.

Davmir- her brave, handsome, smart, beloved husband- stood shellshocked for the moment, unable to do anything but watch as his wife burned their own men alive. Men that had served them for all the years they had ruled, that had no prior warning to the attack before it came. But realization washed over him before too long. This was not his wife.

He was on his feet and lunging for her before she could react once more, crashing to the floor beneath his larger form. She hissed, struggling against him. Those black eyes of her seemed blank and lifeless, but he held hope. Somewhere in there his wife remained. He just had to find a way to reach her.

Yet she continued to change before his eyes. Her nails were growing, turning into curved claws, which she used to dig into his arms in order to free herself from his grasp before swiping at his face. He withdrew with a grimace, hastily pulling away from her as they both scrambled to their feet. “Zamantha, this isn’t you. Come back to me. Please.”

“Come back to you? I was never yours to begin with.” A demonic growl had found its way into her voice, her Common heavily accented and dripping with hatred.

Whatever it was that she was becoming, he had to stop it. One way or another.

The creature charged him, ignoring the charred bodies and the ever-growing flames that were beginning to engulf the remainder of the room. Her focus was on him. The one in her way. The one that would continue to hold her back from her true potential. She could be so much more. So much stronger. If only she didn’t have him holding her back.

Decades of combat training had not prepared him for this, but he did what he could. Tables became shields, dull knives became daggers, until he could make his way to the shelves that housed proper weapons. He could make a stand now, though he was not sure how long such a thing would last. It all felt so meaningless.

Each slash of her claws dug deep gauges into the shield. But this could be used as an advantage. The next time she struck out, she found her claws stuck into the wood, unable to be quickly freed. He lashed out in response, slicing across her arms. It was enough to send her reeling backwards in a howl of pain, but it only served to anger her further.

This time, her claws made contact, ripping through his flesh like paper. Blood gushed from his wounds as he collapsed with her demonic form atop him. He was going to die here. She was going to kill him.

For the first time in too many years, he found himself calling out for the Light. And for the first time in too many years, it came to him. He could have healed himself, could have staved off death until proper medics got to him. But his focus was on his wife. His partner. His best friend. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Holy Light filled her mind, chasing away the corruption in agonizing pain. She screamed a blood-curdling scream of absolutely excruciating torment. She saw nothing, felt nothing, but the blinding magic he had unleashed upon her- something he had done only once before, in a moment not so dissimilar to this.

She collapsed beside him as the Light faded, eyes shutting.

Please, make it stop… Haven’t you made me suffer enough?

“What have you done?” She gasped out, fingers tangled into her hair, as if she could tear the whisper of that voice from her head. It all made sense now. The book of mind manipulation spells in his lap that day. The dark smirk that he had worn. The splitting migraines. Davmir’s broken form in front of her. The blood of her husband on her hands... “How-” She shuddered.

Percy caught her chin, tilting her face up to study those slender features. The doctor’s other hand rose to stroke the tears from her cheek. “I’m sorry.” The worst part was that he sounded like he meant it. Then his grip tightened and she winced as his nails dug into her soft skin. A malicious look came about him. “Together, we will make this world burn. Your beloved Davmir was the first of many to come.”

“No.” There was a familiar sensation brewing in her chest, strong and volatile. She was going to snap.

“No?” His laugh was cold and heartless. It boomed and echoed through the small room. When leaned into her ear, his voice was a dark growl. “As if you had a choice.”

“I will never be yours!” The magic tore through her form. Vicious void energy lashed out from her very being. It struck him with such a wicked ferocity that it threatened to tear him apart.

But when the magic faded, Percy was gone. There was no trace of him. She had missed

And she was alone…

Finn’s hand gently grasped her arm, pulling her back to her senses and up to her feet. He pulled his lady close to his side, supporting her trembling form.

“Send for Jagathi,” she murmured, her mind’s eye conjuring the malformed visage of her mentor. “I need his help.” Finn began to offer a retort, but she shook her head. “He will pay for what he has done. Send for Jagathi. I have a Doctor to hunt…”

#thalsianiii #prompts #very long read

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