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randomfoggytiger · 3 months ago

Note

I’ve been an x files fan for years now (since 2008ish) but fan fic has never been my thing. If I wanted to give it another go, what writers or pieces of fic would be a good place for me to start? Thanks! 😊

What a dream request, thank you!

Not much of a fic reader? Hm. I drifted to fanfiction because I wanted a canonical hole plugged in; but it sounds like you're looking for quality.

I'm narrowing these suggestions to long-form fics, and going to try to keep them as "fandom approved" as possible. (I'm also cutting back on the "famfic" recs because that's not everyone's cup of tea~.)

Authors whose works could (one could argue, should) be published as novels, in no particular order:

@amplifyme/Lydia Bower, @aloysiavirgata, @slippinmickeys,

@cecilysass, @teethnbone, @dreamingofscully, @sixhours,

@mashnotesofthemythopoeic/Penumbra, @sigritandtheelves/Darla,

@onpaperfirst, @melforbes, @ghostbustermelanieking/skuls,

Jenna Tooms, @seek-its-opposite, @settle-down-frohike,

@frostbitepandaaaaa, @leiascully, @darwin-xf, Beshter,

@scenes-in-between/scullywolf, @scullylikesscience

Here's a brief rundown on each author, to the best of my abilities:

amplifyme

My mother's embraces are frightening in their intensity, and I can feel her fear as though it seeps from her pores. Mulder's arms hold me easily but fully. And there is a calming effect in his touch. He restores me to myself, makes me strong again. I wish I had taken the chance and discovered that years ago.

-Dance Without Sleeping

One of the OGs. Her writing explores the paths of Mulder's and Scully's minds. The Scully in her stories is pragmatic, matter-of-fact, and protective of her secrets. The Mulder in her stories is tender, predictably mercurial, and secretive, as well. The most direct admittance can be the most damaging, and the most healing. Her longest work is, I believe, Dance Without Sleeping; but my favorite, though short, happens to be Light Don't Sleep. Her Ao3 is here.

aloysiavirgata

“That’s a fair question, Senator,” Scully observes in her liquid nitrogen voice. She leans forward in her seat, just a little, just enough, to remind him that predators have eyes at the front of their heads. Scully crosses her legs and gives the Senator the full force of her blue eyes, the hard angles of her good cheekbones.

She is magnificent, Mulder thinks, smitten. She is Themis, she is Ma’at. One day she will devour the hearts of the unrighteous, his own included.

-Singing of Mount Abora

One of the OGs. She treads the line between poetry and prose so seamlessly you are left, baffled, by her intelligence. Her writing features Mulder and Scully with a little bite: neither are fools, and neither will be trifled with. (They're also wickedly intelligent nerds.) Mulder is Jewish (though that rarely comes up) and was married before (though that only comes up when it comes up.) Canon halts in Season 7, but that doesn't stop her from writing Season 9 masterpieces with Mulder and Scully and their son-- which is where I'd recommend you begin, with By Falling In and In. If that's not your cup of tea, I'd say catch up on her canon divergent Waters of Babylon, Petrichor, and Singing of Mount Abora. Her Ao3 is here.

slippingmickeys

The boy winced and inhaled sharply as her fingers ran over the cleft where the fibula met the talus and she rocked back on her heels, eyeing the darkening horizon. Did he have people nearby? Could she leave him here without guilt? She didn’t really have the time or inclination to take on a project — she and Mulder had tried that before — banding together with other survivors, and it had always ended poorly. And boys his age, as few as she had seen, made her uncomfortable. Her subconscious would scan their features, looking for a genetic echo of the Scully-Mulder’s. Mulder would have to pull her aside and whisper “it’s not him,” and she didn’t have the space in her heart for the guilt. Even now she had to ignore the blue of his eyes and the way his gritted teeth had the same gnathic slant as the only man she’d ever loved.

-North of Zero

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are practical, capable, sleek survivors. Her writing exists somewhere between the clack of a gun slide and the omnipresence scent of a wild pine forest. She's written extensively on... everything: Colonization, space, POL, case files, mytharc, everything; and well. I'd recommend North of Zero for a starter. Her Ao3 is here.

cecilysass

It’s Mulder, she reminds herself. No matter how long you may have been gone, or what has happened in your absence, you know what to expect from Mulder.

At last he shuffles through the door, and it’s him, definitely him: head bent, looking weary and wilted. He turns to lock the door again, evidently not paying very much attention to his surroundings.

Her heart constricts. “Mulder,” she voices softly.

She can see his whole body go still from behind, but he doesn’t look right away. His back remains to her.

-Pause

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are weighed by secrets, by their unspoken. Her writing dwells in the silences; and the tones of her work shift depending on the narrative: insular and psychologically exploratory, fast-paced and bitterly overwhelming, slow and unspooling and peaceful-- but always with a bittersweet aftertaste. I would do a disservice if I didn't recommend A Boy on the Beach first; but my personal favorite is Pause (and All the Dead Mulders and Not Orpheus, Not Eurydice.) Her Ao3 is here.

darwin_xf

Mulder. Her genius. Who happened also to be her blithering idiot. A fresh swell of affection overtook her. This is how it was for her, even just talking to him. One minute she was standing in the shallows enjoying or enduring or surviving a day at the beach, whichever kind of day it was. The next she'd find herself walloped and rolled by the rogue wave of her feelings for him. Then she was surfacing, sputtering, salt-blind, struggling to find the steady line of the horizon.

-Vox Mulder: Fired and Wired

One of the OGs. Darwin's writing is clipped and "action" focused. Her Mulder and Scully are fond and quippy and silently torturing themselves with their own repressions or secrets. Vox Mulder: Fired and Wired covers the IVF arc concurrent with Mulder's (secret) brain disease diagnosis; and her notes tearing into canon's handling of the latter arc are incredibly detailed, incredibly satisfying, and incredibly hilarious. Her Ao3 is here.

dreamingofscully

They searched, staying together with Scully’s single flashlight. As she suspected, they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The cellar was devoid of sound and light, not a single rat or insect scurrying about. No more traces of the unknown substance.

They followed the trail of viscous fluid back to their room. Their adrenaline-fueled trek left her exhausted, and she was hopeful she would be able to sleep for a few more hours before dawn. Not even her fear could break through the cottony haze that clouded her mind. Collapsing on the bed, Mulder pulled off her slippers.

-Surely, to the sea

One of the OGs. Her writing is practical and pleading-- the veneer that Mulder and Scully front, and the truth. Her Scully has teeth but prefers silence and distance. Her Mulder stubbornly walks the thin line between opening his partner up or closing her back together tighter. Trust-- in each other, in themselves-- can be broken and mended with the right words, the right meaning. I recommend starting with Surely, to the Sea (and my favorite short fic is this one.) Her Ao3 is here.

Frostbite Panda

“I make you a whole person,” she whispers. The slam of sudden memory is heady, destabilizing, threatening to spin her clean from reality.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, a sound escaping him that she cannot identify. Truth be told, he looks a bit ridiculous— wrapped in a green sleeping bag looking like a dormant pupa, not the wrecked and ruined man he was.

-Four Days on the 63rd Parallel

One of the OGs (I believe.) Her writing is grand and touching, a microcosm of the macro effects Mulder and Scully face alongside, and with, each other. Her Scully is reluctant, doubting Mulder's beliefs but trusting him; and her Mulder is courageous and wallowing, afraid to try for fear of rejection. Four Days on the 63rd Parallel (and its follow-up In a Perfect World) explores what would have happened if Mulder and Scully had been trapped in Antarctica, in a snocat, alone, until help arrived. Her Ao3 is here, and requires you to be logged in.

Jenna Tooms

Then there's the matter of Mulder and his reaction to scissors and the razor. When he was first released from the hospital I took him to his old barber. He made it into a seat, and even let the barber tie the cloth around his neck. At the first flash of the scissors, though, he was up and out so fast for a moment I only stood in the waiting area dumbfounded, the baby in my arms.

He will, however, let me cut his hair and trim his beard--which he grew to cover his facial scars. I let him keep it as long as he lets me keep it neat.

-An Acceptable Level of Happiness

One of the OGs (if I recall.) Her writing is just north of canon, veering off to give us better, brighter spots to land Mulder and Scully. Her Mulder and Scully are soft, seemingly delicate with a touch of steel underneath. They've taken a beating, have internalized that beating, and are being supported wholeheartedly by the other person in their partnership. If you want canon-ish, I'd recommend An Acceptable Level of Happiness; if you want mytharc-ish further down the timeline, I'd suggest Truly, Madly, Deeply, and if you want canon veered off from and returned to-ish after Requiem (16 years later), then I'd strongly lobby for Shooting Star. Her Ao3 requires a log-in, here; but Jenna's works are also on Gossamer (here).

leiascully

“Did you see this?”

She blinked at the screen of Mulder’s phone and gently pushed his wrist until it was at a distance she could focus on. Technology changed but Mulder didn’t. She couldn’t count the near misses with magazines and file folders, the threat of papercuts across her cheeks.

“Ford isn’t going to make Tauruses anymore,” he told her before she’d had a chance to actually read the headline. That was also standard procedure. Mulder was a scrolling marquee of odd headlines and interesting trivia. He was the original clickbait, drawing her in with his promises to change her world and alter her perception.

-Taurus Season

One of the OGs. leiascully's prose captures the essence and magic of ordinary things. Her Scully is secretly a wanderer, her Mulder an errant domestic. There is reciprocity in their strengths and weaknesses; and the world is always more beautifully strange together. I recommend her Visitor series, which rewrites Revival canon along necessary lines. Her Ao3 is here, and requires a log-in.

Penumbra

They slipped among the dumpsters at the back of the building and into the empty quivering night, jaywalking the shadows up the hill streets, ringing the manhole covers. False planetary lights floated about in the foggy sky. Scully opened her fawn umbrella. Mulder glanced often behind them, his fingers pressed into the suspension muscles of her hard young back.

-Bad Radio

One of the OGs. Her Scully is strong and silent and will not be swayed; her Mulder is withdrawn and foreboding. Her most infamous work is Heuvelmans' On the Tracks, but I know her better through this post Gethsemane cancer arc fic: its darkness, its inevitability, its immovable-object-meets-unstoppable-force. Her Ao3 is here.

Prufrock's Love

"He says a horse bit him," Duana translated for her mother. Duana stripped off Lord William's tunic and ruined shirt to reveal the wound. "He damages more clothing..."

Lord William stooped to show Caithrin the twin rows of tooth marks on his left shoulder, still telling his woeful tale....

Not sure what was expected of her and thoroughly intimidated, Caithrin did as she would with her own sons. She made the sympathetic face and clucked over him like a mother hen. Lord William, pacified, settled down on the stool by the fire to let Duana doctor him.

-Hiraeth

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are messed up, secrets upon secrets, love and miscommunication and chaos towards each other and themselves. Prufrock's prose and dry wit can't be denied; and she's most notably known for Belghor's Prime, a Mulder time-traveling story, and Paracelsus, a Civil War fic that loosely locks into her sprawling, transformative "past lives" series. I, personally, prefer Hiraeth, because the Mulder and Scully I read there aligns (mostly) with my interpretation of canon. Her Ao3 is here.

onpaperfirst

The chip was round and under a microscope the texture looked like fish scales.

The procedure was over in ten minutes. Three tiny stitches at the back of her neck with a gauze pad taped on top. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

-Snakebitten

One of the OGs (if I recall.) Her Mulder and Scully are inherently bound, even if the plot has driven a wedge between them. They speak the same language with different words, they work back to each other with lightning speed, they are chummy, they are contented. Their humor is fantastic. Her longest, angstiest work is Snakebitten, a rewrite leading up to The Pine Bluff Variant; but my personal ones are (surprise, surprise) her "part one" and "part two" short fics, Home, Home and Honey Hi. Her Ao3 is here.

seek_its_opposite

She leaves her rumpled partner in the car with the window cracked while she goes to the front desk, glancing back possessively over her shoulder as the woman behind the counter gets their keys. One room, two beds. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Mulder.”

She keeps seeing him like she found him, on his knees before the ghosts of his childhood. She sees him praying to the barrel of his gun.

-photosensitivity

One of the OGs (I think?) She writes incredible meta on the series; but she's also written one of my favorite short fics, ever (and I have a lot of those.) You can navigate to the rest of her Ao3 through this link, but you'll have to get through photosensitivity first. >:DDD

settle-down-frohike

“I’m fine, Scully,” indignantly going back to the task at hand. And she’d have believed him too, if he wasn’t looking through her, if his pitch hadn’t been a little too high, if he hadn’t forgotten the fact that her shoes were the very last thing to put on and she wasn’t even out of her hospital gown yet. She allowed it out of pity, mostly. Or humor. But his hands shook, fumbling with the laces like a feening alcoholic.

-for the WIP prompt: hospital

One of the OGs. She writes distraught Mulder incredibly well; and balances him with a Scully who is dry, caring, and bouyant all in one breath. I can't rave enough about her short fics (their links can be found here); but I'd recommend this and this and this because they tie together to form a Redux II whole. Her Ao3 is here.

sigritandtheelves

The world is different now, after so much has been lost. It moves a little slower, takes for granted a little less. It is still a dangerous place—because fear is catching and learning that things are not as they seem can make some go mad with denial and rage and terror at the loss of their footing. But it is also more peaceful, in some ways—because loss reminds us to hold love close. Because all the hearts that stopped beating are still felt in their absence. Because people, in the end, come together in crisis. They don’t only tear each other apart.

“I think we did okay,” he murmurs. “With our quarter century.”

Scully leans her head back to look at him. “Just okay?”

“Mm hmm.”

-Advent

One of the OGs. Her writing is pure sensation: cotton and earth and jeans and nine o'clock shadows and soft skin and the tangible grasp of wishes come true. Advent is her longest fic; but I implore you, on my hands and knees, to read all four of her pages on Ao3-- they're not only the gateway drug to other incredible, incredible short fic writers (ghostbustermelanieking, @baronessblixen, @o6666666, all the authors mentioned here, and so many, many more) but are also a shining example of family fic done well-- a very hard skill to pull off. Her Ao3 is here.

sixhours

Back to sleep. Sleep. No big deal. Just go to sleep.

A minute passes, then two. He’s not tired, in fact, he feels incredibly awake. His heart is pounding, a distracting pulse in his ears. The bed is too soft, too deep, too…real. He can hear her breathing next to him, feel the warmth radiating off her body, his senses screaming at the level of detail, the texture, the vividness of it all. Instinct is a dog with a bone, and it won’t let go.

Something’s wrong.

-Lucidity

One of the OGs. Her writing clips along at an even pace, the story driving Mulder and Scully ever forward. Mulder is most often on the outs, Scully most often peering at her partner silently, trying to figure him out and draw him in. But mostly, the two function independently of each other, content to drift further or nearer as long as they are together. I would recommend Lucidity as a primer. Her Ao3 is here.

touchstoneaf

He did not soften, at first. Did not edge away, nor did he lean into her. Much like that awful night when their office had burnt he simply stood cold with shock and while she supported him; the steadfast fidelity of their bond never questioned in the decade that they had been together.

“I was there,” she murmured into his shoulder. /I’ll always be here./ He could accept it now. She was finally able to press her arms about him in the night. Feel the strong bones beneath unblemished flesh; amazed that he was even alive for her to hold after an ordeal that had indeed taken him from her for so long that she had lost all hope. She shuddered and cinched her arms tighter; felt his ribs shift beneath the silky envelope of his skin. They creaked in protest, but he did not move, and she spoke like one driven.

-Amor Fati: Destinata (The Fated Love), Act Three

One of the OGs. So OG, in fact, that the butchery of Season 9's mytharc pushed her to write a mythology replacement. Scully is fearful, anxious, but strong to her core. Mulder is lonely, and loving, and afraid to slip back into dark places. Both push each other to become better than they believed they could be. Her Amor Fati, Destinata (The Fated Love) series is still being written; but it's detailed reconstruction is well-worth the read. Her Ao3 is here.

I separated these two authors out because they're the x and y axes of my personal taste:

melforbes

She falls asleep before him. In some ways, it’s a burden to share a bed with someone, not a pleasure; if he moves, he fears he’ll wake her, but it’s horrible to stay so still for so long, especially when he can’t sleep. But he can see her eyelashes in the dark, and her cheek is squashed against her own pillow, and she checked the room when they arrived to make sure that there were plenty of tissues. Had there been a couch here, even a divan, he would’ve taken to that instead, let her sleep soundly without him. The day of the wedding - he almost tenses at the word wedding, not because he dislikes it but because it feels so strange and unreal, as if it never really happened even though he remembers it so easily and comfortably - they had a makeshift reception in her apartment, just cutting cake with her mother and then sharing slices with the Gunmen after her mother left. If anything, it felt more like a funeral than a wedding reception, so many questions tiptoed around, everything too urgent and human to be a celebration, but between guests, she grabbed part of her slice with her bare fingers and pressed the cake against his face unexpectedly, and he looked at her with surprise, and she laughed in an inward way that made her shoulders move.

-seaglass blue

One of the OGs (I believe.) I have to start here because seaglass blue is grafted onto my heart. Set before Gethsemane, the author based it on a real couple's journey with impending death; and the way she wrote Mulder's POV-- how she kept us always locked in his head each and every day of his honeymoon with Scully-- is forever burned on my psyche. I don't see the emotional damage, if you will, as unnecessary or melodramatic or traumatic-- it's just a window into the slow approach to the end, or a fear of it. (However, if the writing is too "overlapping" or "run-on" for your taste, I'd recommend aloysiavirgata's gorgeously succinct prose, mentioned above~.) All of her works are fantastic; and, oddly, the rest are usually beautifully cozy (if you can find them on her page.) (Note: authors with their own uniquely similar styles include @teethnbone and @enigmaticdrblockhead -- can't recommend their work enough, particularly The Ansted Graft and this list here, respectively.) mel's Ao3 is here.

skuls

They follow Mulder's trail, Scully's heart thudding too hard against her ribs. Skinner is telling her that Mulder wouldn't do anything crazy when it comes, the headache. Pounding against her skull. And then she hears Will crying out: Dad!

Scully bends over, stomach against her knees, clutching her temple. “Scully?” Skinner is saying. “Scully, what's going on?” But she can't hear him over the roaring in her eyes. William is still speaking, rapid-fire in her mind: They're hurting him, Mom, they're hurting him! Make them stop!

In a flash, she can see what William sees. Mulder barely conscious, being dragged outside through the snow. An axe in the hand of his attacker. “Scully, are you alright?” Skinner protests.

-silent conversations

One of the new recruits (I think.) Her writing is an art form: painting broad, sweeping pictures on the tiniest canvases, in the shortest sentences. Her descriptions, characterizations, and dialogue all serve the plot-- not a hair out of place and not a nook or cranny neglected. I will never be over her short fics, but her longer works are crafted carefully, too. If you want a complete rewrite of the entire series' mythology, then the Half-Light universe does it, and does it better; if you want a Season 8 casefile, then snow in april manipulates Mulder and Scully to a very sinister town; if you want Season 7 to properly deal with Mulder's brain disease, encephalon's got you covered; if you want William to stay with Mulder and Scully, William AU (relent, silent conversations, noises echoing, not out loud) bends in that direction; and if you want a complete rewrite of Samantha's abduction, california winter is where I'd start. Her Ao3 is here.

And lastly, do you want to read long-form fill in series? These three are masterfully done.

Beshter

There were few things in the world that Dana Scully could imagine were more arduous in her the world than family dinner night. Perhaps climbing Mt. Everest in the middle of a howling blizzard would be one. Maybe crawling out of the Amazon rainforest with a broken limb would be another. Even walking single-handedly into the desert with just one canteen of water between you and horrible death under the scorching sun could trump the monthly gathering of the Scully clan at her parent's house in Baltimore to have dinner with her parents.

One of the OGs. Her X-files Seasons covers every crack, crevice, and canyon in the show: Scully's life and family separate from Mulder, the journey drawing her closer into Mulder's world, and her own transformation from the green agent she was to the woman of diamond she became. Her Ao3 is here.

scullylikesscience

Over the course of the weekend, Mulder hardly talked at all. When he did speak, he was abrupt, flippant, and sometimes defensive. He still didn’t want to be touched, nor did it seem to Scully that he wanted to touch her. He kept a wall up around him, a protective shield. She tried to give him what she thought he wanted, space and distance, while at the same time trying to let him know that she was there if he needed her. It was a difficult balance. He seemed glad of her company, yet disinclined to talk to her at all.

-Chapter 87

One of the OGs. Her He is the Master of His Fate, She is the Captain of Her Soul series exquisitely fills in Season 7, Season 8, Season 9, IWTB, Season 10, and S11 while filing over and rewriting the incredibly stupid canon decisions along the way. Her Ao3 is here.

scullywolf

Mulder stirred again and mumbled something she couldn’t make out, and she wasn’t sure if he was talking in his sleep or actually trying to tell her something. She leaned over to put her face closer to his, listening.

“They’re not the same.”

She frowned. “What’s not?”

He shifted, blinking up at her. “Moth men. You might think they’re the same as the Jersey Devil, and the circumstances are similar, but they’re not the same.”

“You mean aside from the fact that this is Florida, not New Jersey?”

-Detour

One of the OGs (I believe.) Her TXF: Scenes in Between series plucks one moment from each episode and builds upon it, providing a window into either Mulder's or Scully's psyches. She even tackles Mulder's (alleged) Season 7 brain disease. Her Ao3 is here.

If you want more fic recs, I have lists catalogued under my Collector's Edition tag. If you want even more fic recs, I wrote a fanfic resource post here. And if those aren't enough to appease your hunger, @lilydalexf and @fine-nephrit have pinned master posts that will probably have something for you.

Hope this helped~! And drop back in sometime-- let me know if you read something you enjoyed, or found fanfic still isn't your preference. :DDDD

#txf #fic #mine #rec #thanks for droppin in~#I feel woefully inadequate to tackle this subject #but seriously: drop into their Tumblrs and ask for recs #which of their pieces they'd recommend you read etc.#they love to chat~#long-form fic writers #I'm a short fic lover for life #but these make me want to pull up a chair and read all over again

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noramakesstuff · 1 month ago

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Ninth house fibula i made for my halloween costume last year :)

The costume itself was a bit cheap because i put too much time and energy in the fibula and not in the rest 😔

Also the sword. Like clearly the sword tool some time as well^^'

#nora makes stuff #my crafts #metalwork #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth

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giganticmarshmallow · 1 year ago

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So. Quick concept! Finrod. Wearing all bling to a big event, in The Great Hall of Nargothrond. For unnecessary details- see below

Here I’ve combined elements from several backgrounds. A “typical elvish” flower crown (great for sindar and noldor alike) has a dwarvish central disk, noldorin fibulae are paired with dwarvish bracelets, vanyarin cloak is worn over a noldorin high collar tunic etc. The sash is especially important - because I have this weird idea about sashes being a traditional gift during calanquendian coming-of-age ceremonies. They are embroidered by a family member and the blank space is left to be later filled with one’s heraldic symbol or anything else the owner would like to display. Here, an old vanyarin design clashes a little bit with the emblem Finrod created later in Beleriand. Plus! His capelet with a floral trim is also vanyarin and brought from Valinor! The under-sash with suns, on the other hand, is a gift from the noldorin side of the family. And long flowing trains made from light fabrics, like the one he’s holding, are from the telerin fashion!

#silmarillion #noldor #sketch #finrod #nargothrond #weirdly detailed jewelry explanation #I am soooooo exhausted after finishing my diploma oh Valar help me

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spellboundrose · 1 year ago

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Made another tadc oc aswell🎉🎪 I named her fibula :^]]

She was super fun to design

//oc x cannon stuff//

I also ended up shipping her with pomni lol

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc oc

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son1c · 1 year ago

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Fibulah is the best ship everrrrr 💖 A match made in heaven fr (yknow, cuz they’re both dead?)

Although, pressing question, how’d they meet?

they met because one of the chaos emeralds just so happened to be taking up residence in lah's haunted mansion! fibula was able to track its scent to the premises, and quickly deduced it was hiding somewhere inside. of course, once he actually WENT inside, lah's two ghostly admirers tried everything in their power to scare him... but they had no idea who they were up against LOL and he scared the both of them silly instead.

as it turned out, lah had found the chaos emerald before fibula ever got there, and was keeping it in her room. so, after fibula crept his way through the rest of the mansion and saw the prize being guarded by another ghost, he figured he'd have to scare this one too in order to claim it.

lah of course was surprised to see him there... she figured the other two ghosts would've scared him within an inch of his life, as is what happens to most travellers who stumble across her mansion. all except for one... who she remembers quite fondly... she even has a picture with him...

intrigued, lah attempted to get closer and see what set him apart from the rest of the trembling lot. but before she can get TOO close, his head suddenly fell off and rolled across the floor to the tip of her tail! WHAT! she was startled by the sight, but also DELIGHTED. she was not expecting the stranger to die just like that--it was an extremely rare treat for her to see a real death.

THEN. just when she thought things couldn't get any better, the head winked and said "gotcha!" and she realized he wasn't dead but UNDEAD. a monster, just like her... and this girl lovesss all manner of spooky beasts. plus, i think it'd be really funny if her werewolf fixation switched to a zombie fixation, or if she just rotated interests in halloween monsters to keep things fresh in general. gotta spare some love for the vampires every now and again, right?

ofc while she was distracted with his decapitated head, the rest of fibula's body had snuck behind her to snatch the emerald. i'd imagine she would willingly trade it if he was able to bring her some good pictures of people being scared... and the ghosts use OLD cameras, so he might even be familiar with them... you know, the polaroid, print-on-the-spot type...

and OFC fibula's pictures are the best she's ever seen. no one is better at getting a scare out of poor unsuspecting people than him!

#catiecat1320 #she's fascinated by his undead swag <3 #fibula the hedgehog

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leonsliga · 6 months ago

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Keeping On

–> It's been a long road back from injury for Manuel Neuer, but at 38 he is once again integral to Bayern München's success. After breaking the Champions League clean sheet record against Arsenal in the quarter-finals, he reflects on a career that still has plenty of road ahead.

Manuel Neuer is in a reflective mood. Now 38, the Bayern München goalkeeper became a father for the first time in March - something which can add a fresh layer of perspective to anybody's outlook. Yet right now, as he sits speaking to Champions Journal, his focus is on another event which prompted much introspection on his part - the career-threatening lower-leg break he suffered in a skiing accident in December 2022.

"If we were to ask the medical staff and the rehab team, they would scarcely believe that we are where we are today because I think out of every ten people only one or two manage to come back from that," he says. "Particularly after the injuries and with the games I played, it couldn't have gone any better than it did, for me to be standing in goal and performing well again. It was a big strain for me, which is normal for a serious injury. I think everything takes time and ultimately nature decided if it would work out or if I would never be able to play again.”

That he was back playing for Bayern ten months after the fracture to the tibia and fibula in his right leg was down to "thinking positively and the desire to play football and play professional sport again". That determination should surprise none of us given the admirable longevity of a player who, among the goalkeeping fraternity, is second only to lker Casillas for most appearances in the Champions League, with 138 (prior to this month's semi-finals) to the Spaniard’s 177.

Moreover, with his clean sheet in the quarter-final home victory over Arsenal, he did not just help his team into another semi-final but surpassed Casillas's record of 57 shutouts in the competition. "It's not the most important thing there is but it's nice for my team-mates - and all the colleagues I've played with in the past - if we think about our defensive work. I started with Schalke and then continued at Bayern, right up to the present day, and it's great that it's not over yet."

Those clean sheets are part of a bigger picture in which he has made over 500 appearances for Bayern and worn the captain's armband since 2017 - earning a special place in the club's pantheon as one of only three goalkeepers to have held aloft the European Cup along with Sepp Maier and Oliver Kahn.

As an interviewee, Neuer speaks with the clarity and maturity of a man on the verge of 500 Bundesliga games and - ahead of this summer's EURO - 117 senior caps for Germany. He is polite to the point of shaking the hand of every member of the film crew present as he introduces himself.

Since his early days at Schalke, his first club, he has been considered a pioneer of the sweeper-keeper role though in his eyes, defensive security still represents the most important thing a goalkeeper can give his colleagues. "I think being able to give the rest of the team the feeling that they've got someone at the back that they can rely on to provide assurance, that's the decisive factor.”

That assurance was there again in Bayern's semi-final first leg against Real Madrid as he flung himself to his left to keep out a deflected shot from Toni Kroos, then stood tall to foil Vinícius Júnior in a one-v-one. Arguably, it has always been there - at least to some degree. His first clean sheet in the Champions League was on 3 October 2007 in a 2-0 Schalke win at Rosenborg. Then he was a fresh-faced 21-year-old playing for his home-town team. Looking back on his younger self, and how he has changed, he says: "I would just be more relaxed [nowadays] and also not try and decide everything on the pitch - that is kind of the difference from Manuel at the beginning, at Schalke, who wanted to take a lot into his own hands, to do a lot himself. I also know that I cannot influence everything. I'd say I was a bit wilder - I didn't have this sense of calm and maybe the charisma as well. I was, of course, always an attacking goalkeeper who tried to join in the build-up play.”

"It's obviously been a long time since then when you look back on it. It's also very normal, given that I'm now 38, that I've developed a fair bit since then. But it's nice to cast your mind back to those days, and how things were at that time."

Now we are back in those days, let's stay there a little longer. With Schalke, he reached the Champions League quarterfinals in his debut season of 2007/08. In 2011 he helped the Gelsenkirchen club into the semi-finals where they lost to Manchester United. That summer he headed south to Bayern. Remembering the move, he says: "It certainly wasn't easy. There was a lot of media scrutiny about my character in making the switch from Schalke to Bayern. There were lots of fans who weren't thrilled about it.

"I think that the support of the club, of the team, was very important. I already knew lots of the German players from the national team - they were definitely very excited that I was coming to Bayern. That was something that I realised from the first day when we started training at Säbener Strässe [Bayern's training ground in the south of the city] and then at the training camp. And so, I felt very comfortable from the beginning."

His first campaign in Munich ended with a Champions League final defeat at Bayern's home stadium against Chelsea. He had shone in the preceding semi-final victory over Real Madrid, saving from Cristiano Ronaldo and Kaká in the concluding shoot-out. These were not his first spot-kick heroics, mind: two saves against Porto had taken Schalke to the last eight in that debut season.

"You have to radiate confidence and try to show your opponent that you are stronger than they are," he says of the mano a mano challenge that penalties bring. Yet he tasted the downside of those duels in the final against Chelsea, with Bayern beaten despite his stop from Juan Mata. "Fundamentally, we were satisfied with how we performed on the pitch, but in the end we didn't get over the line," he recalls of a year in which they also finished runners-up in the Bundesliga and German Cup. "It meant that we were extra motivated when we went into the next season and that made a difference. I think that the coaching staff around Jupp Heynckes were also very motivated. From the first day, it was clear that we all wanted to achieve something that season, and you could see that from then on."

Cue a treble-winning campaign, with successes in the German league and cup allied to a 2-1 Champions League final success over Borussia Dortmund at Wembley. Back-to-back clean sheets against Barcelona in the semi-final had underlined, in Neuer's own words, that he was "someone that can be relied upon". It meant he ended his first two campaigns in the competition with Bayern with a total of ten clean sheets. And his development continued the following year with Germany’s World Cup triumph in Brazil, where he racked up four more shutouts.

He relates: “I gained a lot of experience from 2012 to 2013, from the success, and also the next stages because we had coaches who taught us a lot. I think the team developed too, which we also benefited from, and then the German national players became world champions. We had a lot of self-confidence. I was able to learn a lot from the good coaches and from my good team-mates and no one can take that experience away from you. That is why I can always play to the best of my ability, even in big games."

If that was one golden chapter, another came in 2020 when he lifted the Champions League trophy again, with the Bayern team who defeated Paris Saint-Germain in the final in Lisbon. That was the competition that concluded in empty stadiums in Portugal owing to the pandemic. "It meant a lot to me; he remembers. "I think it was the best team performance that we put together for the club. It was a bit harder given the conditions that we had to play under during the coronavirus period. How we prepared, and the spirit and fitness we went into these games with... put simply, we earned that success. It wasn't always clear that we would beat Paris in the end. We worked really hard to stay in the game and then Kingsley [Coman] made it 1-0.

"That was a team success and, unfortunately, you could not celebrate with the fans. That was the downside, that we won the Champions League in Lisbon, which of course meant just as much to us, but it would have been even better if the spectators had been there."

Neuer, for the record, registered clean sheets in both the one-off semi-final against Lyon and then that final versus Paris. His enduring excellence has been on display this season too, since his return from injury - with four shutouts in seven outings up to the semi-final stage.

It would be no surprise if the first of those, clean sheet no55 of his Champions League career at home to Copenhagen on 29 November, had felt especially sweet, coming 421 days after the previous one against Viktoria Plzen on 4 October the previous year. If this takes us back to the difficulties - physical and mental - of his injury, he cites a silver lining.

"I think every break and every injury also has some good in it. Nothing comes at the right time. The injury was supposed to be simple but you have to look deep into your eyes and say, 'Hey, I will take this challenge on and will try to come out of it stronger.’ That took a little while of course but I couldn't expect anything else."

Once again, Neuer has experienced enough of football's ups and downs to see the bigger picture. And right now, it holds more than one reason for optimism, including the prospect of playing in Germany's home EURO this summer - home town Gelsenkirchen and adopted home town Munich are among the ten venues. He has not forgotten the feeling of the last major tournament his nation staged, the 2006 FIFA World Cup. "In 2006, I was watching in public viewing areas and soaking up the atmosphere - it was just sensational how Germany hosted the world," he says.

Back then he was 18 and had just completed his first full season with Schalke's second team. We go back to the question of his evolution as a player over the years. "I would say that maybe I am a bit calmer, and also more disciplined in my actions, though it always depends on the team-mates we have, who is playing, how do I have to adjust as the goalkeeper, what game plan we have, what does the coach want, how high is the line, how are we defending, how do we want to play out from the back? There are always little things that change and that is the case whether I play for the national team or for Bayern, and it is the same from coach to coach in the seasons when we have competed in the Champions League - there are always nuances that are different, but fundamentally I have always stayed true to the way I play." And while that involves Neuer's work with the ball at his feet, he has not lost sight of the one thing that matters above all for a goalkeeper: "The clean sheets."

~ Written by Simon Hart for Issue 19 of the Champions Journal

#it’s such a simple gesture #but I love that he took the time to shake hands with everyone on the film crew #manuel neuer #fc bayern #fc bayern munich #fc bayern münchen #footballer quotes #interviews #ucl #ucl 23/24

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nine-of-words · 16 days ago

Text

Out in the Cold (Part Seven)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG ||

Wordcount: 3909

Content Warnings: Sick Reader, Discussion of Abuse

I think we could all use some fluff after this week. Conveniently, that’s exactly where this chapter was already going!

You’ve made it through the night without freezing solid, somehow.

Warm thoughts alone just aren’t cutting it anymore.

You want your lovingly crafted winter cloak. You want the nest of furs piled high on your slept-in bed.

Most of all, you want your lover.

But as you remind yourself, sullenly tracing over the details carved into the face of metal fibula in your fingers in thought, all of those things have been forsaken now.

…And you can't help but feel like you've made a horrible mistake.

But it's too late to turn back. He wouldn't take you back now…

Would he…?

No, you force yourself to stop thinking about it. No use in giving yourself false hope.

What's done is done.

The last paltry flame of your campfire burns out. Looks like it's time to move, even if light is just barely breaking the horizon.

You sneeze, feeling pitiful; chilled to your very core.

LAST SUMMER

The weather is perfect for outside work today. It’s sunny, but mild, with an occasional gust of breeze. The last of summer is still holding out, but the autumn crisp is starting to creep in at the edges.

Because you are still essentially a floater when it comes to work assignments, you’ve been doing some of the care tasks of the communal flock of alpigs for the last week, since the normal shepherd is on bedrest. Which, while not ideal for them, is great for you, because you absolutely love these cute little guys. They’re dangerously smart, with sturdy, rotund bodies, and wooly fur covers their bodies and hangs down in a curtain over their eyes, only their wide snouts and a set of tusks each poke out from each of their heavy fringes.

They seem to like you as well, but you have a sneaking suspicion it's because they can use their body mass to bully extra food from you when you’re feeding them, since you're so much smaller than their usual keepers.

You sneeze dramatically into the elbow of your tunic, blinded by the summer sunlight.

Maybe you’re allergic to something flowering right now?

You thought at first you might have an allergy to alpig dander, but Torg informed you their fur is naturally hypo-allergenic, so they most likely aren’t the culprit.

He also told you to go to Shaman and he’d take over your tasks for today. But he’s just being his usual worrywart self- The last thing you want to do is visibly start slacking so soon after moving into the Chieftain’s household. It's a bad look, and you've put in enough work becoming the settlement's beloved oddity that you don't want to lose it now.

And you don’t even feel bad- so why make a big deal out of a sneeze or two?

You’ve finished milking, now you set about feeding them. They only almost knock you over once, even!

But, you still have to muck out the pen… then give them some love and brush out their coats. It's apparently almost time for the last shear of the summer, so you want to make sure to do a good job of maintaining their fuzz. Today is tusk cleaning day, too… better pick up the pace if you want to finish before sundown.

You head over to grab the pitchfork, but you don't even make it inside the building.

Suddenly, you feel rather dizzy, the colors of the pen around you smearing into a beige soupy mess. You manage to catch yourself and sit on a bale of hay instead of falling over, but just barely.

Just need to… sit down for a minute…

You collapse back against the bales of hay, suddenly completely overcome with fatigue.

Why am I… so tired? We didn't even do anything very strenuous last night…

You think to yourself in a lightheaded haze, absentmindedly petting the fluffy back of the alpig that’s hopped up on the bale and made itself comfortable at your side.

Too bright…

You squint, raising a gloved hand to shield your curiously over-sensitive eyes from the caustic brightness of midday sun.

And when’d it… get so hot…?

Your world goes black after that, your next blurred memories consisting of being lifted from your straw nest and carried somewhere with a softer light and more varied swirling colors.

Your whole body aches, every muscle fiber crying out in complaint like you’ve just pulled a full day of physical activity, despite you being at rest. Your head throbs dully, your throat is raw and scratchy and your eyes are just so hot - burning in their sockets like two smoldering coals.

And it’s not just your eyes- You’re burning up all over. Even though you’ve been stripped down to smallclothes and covered in minimal bedding, you're still soaking them through with clammy sweat.

Strangely, the ceiling you’re looking up at looks nothing like where you’d expect to wake up, and instead the vaulted ceiling of a noble’s home.

You’re back in your childhood bedroom at the jarl’s castle, somehow. You’re overcome with instant, deep seated dread.

Someone is sitting at your bedside, but you can’t make out any of their features from the distorted shape.

“Mother?” You question piteously, unable to think straight through the heat of your fever.

The dark blur of color at your bedside speaks to you, but their voice is warped to your ears, the words indistinguishable, sound both a low rumble and a high pitched ringing.

You choke out a sob, gripping their forearm. You know words are coming out of your mouth, that you’re arguing desperately over something that feels so important at the moment, but they might as well be a foreign language to your own ears.

You’re barely sure what is real and not, memories of your past bleeding into your current senses. Time melts together like the blurs of color in your vision and the distorted ringing in your ears. Eventually you give up on communicating and fall back into fitful sleep, but you have no clue how long it takes.

The next time you open your eyes and manage to keep them open for longer than a few moments, you see the correct wooden beams on the ceiling of Torg’s - and you suppose yours as well, now- bedroom.

“H-Huh-?” You sit up, the damp rag slipping down from your forehead from the sudden movement. You slump back again immediately, reigned in by the sense of exhaustion hitting you in return.

Torg reaches out, collecting the rag to douse it again. He’s pulled up his behemoth of a well-worn armchair to your bedside.

“Torg?” You rasp his name through your hoarse, pained throat, more of a greeting than a question, comforted by the mere sight of him.

“I’m here.” He smiles, but looks tired; his hair messily gathered up and his shirt heavily crinkled. The beginning of faintly purple bags are starting to form under his eyes, the kind he gets when he’s been working too hard with too little sleep.

He pours you a glass of water from the nearby pitcher. You drain it immediately, then half of a second one before your throat is damp enough to speak again.

“...What happened?” The last thing you clearly remember was dozing off in the alpig pen. You know time has passed since then; judging from the evening vermillion visible out of the window, you’ve lost at least most of the day.

“Tusk flu. But don’t worry, Shaman said you’ll be fine."

"I don’t feel fine." You croak weakly, then pout when Torg chuckles at your plight. “Everything hurts.”

“I told you to go get checked out.” His grizzled voice gently chides you with a weary sigh. Even getting scolded, the sound of his voice is music to your ears. Torg reaches out, feeling for your temperature on your cheek and forehead with his hand. “The fact that you have the strength to complain now means you’re already doing better, anyway.”

“Mmmh.” Your eyes flutter closed at the welcome feel of his comparatively cool skin on yours. You don’t have it in you to plead your case- mostly because you know he’s right.

“Good. Much cooler than before.” You can hear the relief in his voice as he judges your temperature. He smiles down at you warmly, and pulls one of the fur blankets back up over you, now that you’re slightly colder. “Your fever must’ve finally broken.”

“Hmmm… Before?”

“Yeah. You’ve been in and out since yesterday morning.”

“That long?!” You wheeze, turning your head and feebly covering your mouth as if it would help at this point. No wonder he looks tired, if he’s been caring for you for that long. ”But won’t you get sick too?”

“I won’t. I already had it as a child.” He leans in and gives you a quick peck on the lips as if to prove his point. “Apparently it's only this bad when you get it for the first time as an adult- at least according to Shaman. And I doubt you had been exposed to it, wherever you came from."

“The alpigs-” You say forlornly, remembering your failed task.

“Relax.” He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s all taken care of already.”

A sigh escapes your tired lungs as his hand gently strokes through your hair and comes to rub at one of your soft ears. You sink down into the blanket, eyes closed in pleasure, and smoosh your face into the touch. You have to forcefully keep yourself from purring.

“This reminds me of when you first came here.” He laughs fondly. “Should I get used to finding you passed out?”

“Mmm…” You pout and whine, but still enjoy the feeling of his affection too much to swat his hand away in indignance. “Give me some credit! It’s only happened twice…”

“And twice is much more than never.” The deep rumble of laughter that comes from Torg’s chest almost makes the teasing worth it. …Almost. “When I came to make sure you went to Shaman’s and found you laid out on that hale bale instead, I thought you were just taking a catnap in the sun.”

“I would never do that.” You lie, blissfully.

“Hah, right… I’m glad you’re back to yourself.” Torg says quietly, his eyebrows beginning to furrow in a deep, furtive slant. “...You were saying some strange things while you were burning up.”

“Mmn-?” One eye finally pops open, staring up at him quizzically.

Cold fear grips you.

Oh no.

Did you blow your cover while you were out of your mind?

“You called me ‘Mother’, for one thing.”

“Oh, pfft-” You snort, breaking into laughter. Then you take his large hand and press a kiss to the back of it. “Don’t worry. You don’t look very motherly, I promise. Especially not like mine.”

“Heh. I feel like one after the last day or so.” His amused smile falls a bit at the seriousness of his next words. “Most of what you said was nonsense, but some of it was… Well…”

"Scandalous?” You try to laugh it off with a cock of your eyebrow. “Or just embarrassing?”

“...Concerning. Like you were being made to do something you didn't want to do."

“Oh. Well, my life up until I came here has mostly been doing things I didn’t particularly want to do.” You shrug, nonchalant.

"I don't want to pry into what those things were, if you don't want to tell me. Though, I admit I am curious." He scruffs his beard with his hand in thought.

"It's… Nothing all that interesting." You fiddle with the edge of the blanket. “Nothing worth talking about, really. Nothing good.”

"Right." He says, noting your discomfort and seeming to back off of the idea. "I just want you to know that you can tell me anything."

You have to admit, that is a tempting prospect.

You could tell him. You could just… tell him everything. You’ve essentially been given an invitation on a silver platter.

You have to wonder what would happen if you did. You assume you would be kicked out- or worse. But… maybe you wouldn’t? Maybe he could help you get out the mess you’ve made for yourself…

Then, you snap back to your senses.

…No, that’s nonsense, you decide. Nothing could ever be that easy. Not for you.

The fever must’ve gotten to you for a moment.

You have to stop yourself from laughing incredulously. It's a lovely sentiment, but you have a feeling it just doesn't extend to deceiving him with the intent to steal from him for all this time.

But you should tell him something… Otherwise the fact he doesn't know something will keep nagging at him. You know him well enough by now that you know that to be the case.

"Oh, you know how it is... Classic sob story, really." You say flippantly with a wave of your hand. "My mother never really wanted me and it showed."

You decide on information that is not inherently false, but won't have any bearing on keeping up your deception.

"Ah. What makes you think that?"

"Well, the general disinterest for my wellbeing from a young age was probably the biggest sign. After my father left, she lucked into getting remarried to the jarl of our village, somehow... It became pretty clear that I was only a nuisance to her after that. Getting in the way of the life she deserved, I suppose. Because after that, he always came first."

"Hmm." He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. "He was no better than her, I take it?"

"No. He was a slimy weasel of a man. Heartless and miserly. He had to control everything down to the smallest detail.... Enjoyed tormenting people below him. He's the reason I ran away when I did."

"Ran away?"

"I left home when I was 14."

That was more than a decade ago now. Time flies when you're struggling to stay alive every single day…

"That's so young." Torg can't hide the look of deep concern on his face, no doubt thinking of any of the tween-aged orclings around the settlement he's responsible for having to endure the same strife.

"Being on the street seemed like the better option."

"I’m sorry. It must've been unbearable, then."

"It was a culmination of a lot of things, really. The day before I left, he caught me in the pantry sneaking food after I was sent to my room without dinner, and he cornered me and wouldn't let me by until I guessed what he wanted as 'toll’- You know, because I’m a troll. He thought he was so funny. I may have been young but even by then I knew that wasn’t going to lead to anything good. I was lucky a servant showed up when they did and he had to pretend to be normal."

"Your mother did nothing?" It's subtle, but you see Torg's jaw clench in rhythm like it does when he tries to keep his temper in check.

"I knew she wouldn't listen, but I told her anyway. She told me I was making things up for attention- that I was ruining things for her like I always do, and if I hated her husband and his hospitality so much, that I could leave. So, I left and never looked back. I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t wanted." You shrug, putting a mirthless smile on and deciding to hand-wave the rest of the details between then and now, so as to not rouse suspicion. “As you can imagine, it was a lot of doing unpleasant things after that, to not starve. Not many lucrative jobs for underage runaways.”

Living in the settlement has been the most security you’ve ever had, especially in terms of reliable access to regular meals. A hot, communal evening meal every night is something that you could have only dreamed about, before. That’s not even to mention the quality of the food… You’ve definitely added a couple pounds since you’ve been here, just from never having to skip a meal, as was a norm for you before now - even after joining a thieves’ guild.

"You shouldn’t have had to endure any of that." Torg gives you another soft stroke on the cheek, his hand trailing down your neck to squeeze your shoulder for emphasis. "I'll make sure nothing like it happens to you again."

You hum in approval, your heartbeat picking up in your chest from the intimacy and the fondness of the statement. For being such a large, gruff and intimidating man, he sure is tender with you.

“Are you hungry? ” Torg seems to remember something, getting to his feet. “Dinner should be ready soon, but if you’re feeling peckish, there should be more than enough in here to tide you over.”

Torg moves a brightly colored basket to the nightstand within your reach. It’s stuffed dangerously to the brim with seasonal fruit, jars of preserves and honey, and other treats. There’s a piece of thick paper stuck into the middle of it.

You take the card, and unsurprisingly, can’t read the text, because you still haven’t picked up Orcish script. There’s a large phrase at the top, with the rest of the paper filled with several smaller pieces of script scrawled in different handwritings. There is also a large, crudely drawn cat smack dab in the middle.

“You’re quite popular around here, you know. Looks like you’ve been fully adopted.” You can hear the approval in his voice. “The knuckleheads dropped it off this morning when they came to check on you, but you were still out of it at the time.”

“...Cute…” You can’t keep the silly grin from your face, looking at the wonky face on the cat.

“The big part says ‘Get well soon’.” Torg points to the text with a large index finger, chuckling at your look of intense focus.

“I know, I figured that out, context clues…” You mutter, ears laying flat black and flicking in annoyance. The sight just makes him chuckle harder.

Torg returns to the stove, but you keep looking at the card, pouring over all the signatures even if you can’t actually read them.

Emotion pricks at the back of your eyes, and your throat tightens the longer you look at the paper. For just a moment, you had forgotten you’ll have to actually leave eventually, when you take your quarry back to the guild.

But no one at the guild has ever given a fraction of concern as the orcs here have. There was no care given when you were sick or injured, just considered dead weight. Even if you could call some of your ties with your fellow thieves friendly, it’s laughable to think any of them would do anything for you that didn’t have some sort of mutual benefit for them. There were certainly never any gift baskets or ‘get well soon’ cards.

The thought of leaving now fills you with a horrible, crushing sense of loss.

Your body wants to cry, but you’re not about to let it, and struggle to force the feeling down and keep it buried.

You weren’t supposed to get attached. And here you are, having done exactly that. You’ve been a fool, and now leaving is going to be that much more painful…

No one to blame but yourself, you suppose…

Finally, you select a beautifully colored honey-pear from the basket, hoping that eating something will make it easier to quell your emotions.

You chew in maudlin silence, trying to think as little as possible, until his voice finally breaks the silence again.

"You know… I left home on less than amicable terms too.” Torg says from the kitchen area.

He keeps his back to you as he works, and his posture is the smallest bit tense, like he has to goad himself to even speak about this matter in the first place. You study his broad back muscles moving underneath his light linen shirt.

"Ah. Are you a runaway too?" You speak through pauses of nibbling on the piece of fruit. It’s juicy and perfectly ripe, the viscous nectar soothing your irritated throat.

"No, I was exiled from my birth tribe." He sighs, shaking his head in scorn. “Though, I was of age already, so it wasn’t quite as hard for me to get by on my own as it sounds like it was for you."

“You- exiled?!” You nearly spew chunks of fruit across the bed in your hoarse outburst. “But you’re so… orderly!”

“Everyone has a breaking point.” He says grimly.

“True enough… What happened?”

“Fistfight with my father.” Torg says in the most matter of fact manner possible as he stirs whatever he’s cooking.

“Did you win?” Maybe not the most emotionally intelligent of follow up questions, but it’s the first one to pop into your head.

“Hah- I knocked him flat. Broke his nose in front of the whole tribe.” There is a hint of pyrrhic pride in his voice, even with his back to you. “I may be an orc, but I take after my mother in a lot of ways. I was already bigger than him at that age, and tired of his bullshit. He didn’t expect me to finally stand up for myself.”

“Oh, he sounds lovely.”

“Nicest man I’ve ever met.” Torg quips mirthlessly. “An absolute joy to be around.”

“This all sounds like a personal matter, though? That’s exile-able?”

“My father also happened to be Chieftain... He lost a lot of respect for it, I’m sure. Losing a test of might, then throwing out the winner because you’re bitter? And his own son at that? Dishonorable.”

“Oh wow.” You chuckle and cover your mouth with your hand, and can’t help but feel a strange surge of fondness for him. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you- That’s just so unlike you! I don’t think of you as a violent person at all...”

“Good.” He returns from the kitchen with a full tray and a grin. “I prefer it that way. ...Here.”

He hands you one of the steaming bowls off of the tray, keeping the other for himself as he takes a seat next to you.

“Hmm?” You reach out to take it, the rising steam already making your face feel better. “What is it?”

“Summer Root Stew.” His voice barely hides his amusement. “Though, it might not be seasoned how you like…”

You groan. You’ll never live it down.

Your comically overblown grimace quickly is replaced with a melancholic smile as you eat in comfortable silence.

“Something on your mind?” Torg asks after a while of you zoning out and picking at your stew.

You shouldn’t verbalize what you’re thinking about, but you can’t help it. He can see right through you when you lie about something like this, anyway.

“I’ve… never really had a place where I felt like I could stay. I always had to leave, for some reason or another. Usually not by choice...” You sniffle thoughtfully, fiddling with your spoon, hoping in some way to cushion the blow of what’s bound to happen someday soon. “I suppose part of me feels like it’s only a matter of time until I’ll have to leave here too...”

“You can stay here.” He says your name for effect, firm but gentle.

And you wish so badly that you could believe him.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x reader #orc x reader #orc #monster x monster #male reader #mxm #mlm #male x male #fantasy romance #queer romance #series: out in the cold #oc: torg #oc: reyr #nine of words

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tg-headcanons · 4 months ago

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Quadrobics in Kakuja (and mildly Ghouls) ✨🐾✨

Kakuja have heavier/denser RC cells in their Kagune and they rely more on instincts.

The fact their Kagune is heavier, they balance it by giving more points for impact/connection making less strain on their legs. (Sry bikaku or ukaku Kakuja.)

Kakuja have longer arms so they look a little funky when they stand on just their legs, speaking of legs they stand on their toes (digitigrade).

Them walking quadrupedally makes them develop a weird way of walking bipedally. Often still on their toes or hunched over.

In addition to longer arms; longer metacarpals in their feet and (slightly) shorter fibula and tibia, again making it more comfortable to walk on all fours that not.

All of these characteristics get more noticeable when they spend less time around/with humans. (Aogiri, I'm looking at you.)

Since they rely more on instincts, it makes them more sporadic (speratic?) and unpredictable when fighting; but also means they could accidentally hurt someone they love if they're stressed enough, which is easier to do to Kakuja than to ghouls. (If the CCG keeps Kakuja they totally do this more to them, just to be like 'look at these monsters! they hurt their allies!' tbh I bet they would never admit their 'allies' are their friends)

While ghouls also do quadrobics, because it's not as often, they don't commonly develope these characteristics but if they spend enough time away from populated areas then they will develop mild-moderate

I've barely fleshed out these ideas, feel free to add to it!

Bonus; here's a drawing I made of Centipede but I am wayyy too tired to finish it currently: (it's not even close to done but :/

(think snow leopard/jaguar for tail pose. Why tf do their feet look like hands? Idk. Kakuja mutations? Cheers to ((hc)) Centipede having weird proportions)

Based with:

HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE SO RIGHT

#ONE OF THOSE REFS IS ONE I LITERALLT BASED A SUBSPECIES OF SEMI QUADRUPEDAL GHOULS ON #YOU UNDERSTAND #tokyo ghoul #submission

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moonblossom · 11 months ago

Text

Where I've been for a week...

This gets graphic about physical injury below the cut, so please don't read if that's something you're not up for right now. TL;DR I fell down the stairs and massively fucked up both my legs.

So last Tuesday, I was working from home as I usually do. I went upstairs to have a coffee and some banana bread my dad made. While up there, I realised I'd forgotten to set my work phone to DND so I hurried up and ran down the stairs to my room where my office is.

Big mistake.

The stairs into my room are varnished wood, awkward heights, and not very well lit. I slipped and missed my footing, which has happened a million times before.

This is where things get unpleasant. Read on with caution.

Somehow, both the tibia and fibula in my right leg snapped in half with enough force to drive them both through the front of my shin.

I was in and out of consciousness, but I do remember being surrounded by what felt like 40 EMTs (was closer to ten according to my folks - three ambulances showed up), one of whom was utterly charmed by my lizard. He looked about twelve. Bless him for distracting me while one of his partners cut open my favourite lounge pants and shoved the bones back inside my leg. I was not wearing underwear at the time.

We get to the Montreal General Hospital in... mediocre time, due to a fuckton of construction and detours. Bienvenue a Montreal, fuck right off.

They put me straight into a trauma unit and pumped me full of fentanyl and antibiotics. I vaguely remember one of the EMTs referring to my pain level as a "fifteen out of ten". They checked my entire body to make sure nothing else was injured, both manual and ultrasound to make sure I still had my spleen and shit. Thankfully, all my innards are still functional. They cut the remaining shreds of my pants off but managed to get my tank top off without too much drama. Someone was kind enough to drape a hospital gown over my boobs and... possibly my crotch? I was in too much pain to give a crap at this point.

They manage to take a few x-rays while I curse them and their ancestors and the hospital and just... the entire fucking world, and then fill me up with some delightful cocktail of propofol and ketamine. I remember very little after this point, but apparently they yanked my leg into place, noticing my right left ankle was severely sprained in the process. So that was fun. Apparently I cursed a bunch more, and made a bunch of jokes that were likely inappropriate but broke the tension I guess?

I "woke up" from the cocktail feeling like I was underwater, and then convinced I was inside Disney Dreamlight Valley, which frankly was a lovely way to come out of sedation. I think I was picking flowers with Mirabel Madrigal.

At some point during all this nonsense my mother managed to get in touch with my boss who was adamant that I take as long as needed, which was a good thing. My dad came to the hospital with me but they wouldn't let him into the trauma unit. It was very chaotic and crowded and likely gross to watch so I get it.

After the realignment, they pushed my gurney to the space between X-Ray and CT to get better scans. They were both occupied so I sat in the hall for a few minutes and vaguely remember saying "Bonjour, hi!" and "Can I help you?" to random people who passed me. Once a retail worker, always a retail worker, apparently.

CT confirmed I also had a broken bone in my left foot. They moved me into ER main, put a boot on the left and bandaged up the wound. I was told I'd need surgery but they were so overwhelmed (ER was like at 160% capacity or something) so they had no idea when I'd be cleared.

They brought me dinner which claimed to be frittata and mashed potatoes but I'm fairly certain was actually upholstery foam and wallpaper paste. Thankfully it was so unappetizing I didn't eat more than a few bites, because my nurse was like "Hey so you're next on the OR list. If they ask if you ate, say no." XD Bless you Meagan, you saved my arse multiple times. You are a sarcastic, foul-mouthed, adorable angel among nurses (and really all the nurses were lovely). About an hour later they wheel me up to the ER, wash me down as best they can, and start prepping me. I meet the surgeon, who is as brusque and no-nonsense as orthopedic surgeons tend to be, but he did take the time to explain the whole procedure and risks, and make sure I was comfortable and understood.

What they were gonna do was drill down through my knee and insert a titanium rod down the centre of the entire tibia. The fibula was close enough and a clean enough break that it could rely on the tibia's stabilisation. Fun note about this particular surgery - you can walk on it within days of it being installed. No cast or anything!

The anaesthetist suggested a sedative and a spinal block (similar to an epidural) rather than a full unconscious anaesthetic because of my medical history and they're just generally less dangerous. However, it turns out the sheath around my synovial spaces in my spine is made out of fucking Kevlar or something. They bent SEVEN NEEDLES trying to get a shot in. Took about 45 minutes. I was numb so it was nbd but it was like... ten PM at this point and everyone was tired so when the anaesthetist was like "I think we should do a general" I was like "sign me the fuck up where's the consent form" I woke up a few hours later in the PACU (post-anaesthetic care unit) with a titanium upgrade, 37 staples in four separate locations, an incredibly fashionable thigh-high bandage, and my mother at my side. I faded in and out for about an hour and then remember being in a tiny little private room with its own bathroom. A total luxury in our older hospitals (The MGH as an institution has been around since the 1800s and the building I was in was built in 1955 - the bathroom even had adorable black and white tiling typical of the bathrooms of that era). That's pretty much all the dramatic bits of the story. They kept me for a week working with nurses, orthopedic residents, and physiotherapists until they were comfortable enough that I could move around enough at home to attend to my basic needs. I have crutches, a walker, a rolling commode so I can do the needful literally a foot from my med, a desk that slides over my bed, and thankfully two incredibly patient and indulgent parents. I'm fairly certain they never expected to be cleaning their 42 year old daughter's poop out of a bucket, but what can you do?

If anyone is genuinely curious, I have photos and would be willing to write up the hospital stay itself but 90% of it will be me complaining about the other patients on the ward who screamed at the nurses for everything and if I'd been able to walk I would have smothered with a pillow, or the "food" they tried to feed me which got increasingly inedible as the week went on.

If you've read this far, bless you. If you leave a note or message me I'll do my best to reply but I'm floating in and out of a dilaudid-infused haze so it might be a while.

At this point I'm not too proud (or possibly I've just lost whatever shame I had left when they cut my pants off), if you feel like sending me a get-well gift my amazon wishlists are here: general wishes | https://www.amazon.ca/hz/wishlist/ls/1K85M74WULR1N?ref_=wl_share

craft supplies | https://www.amazon.ca/hz/wishlist/ls/PXBKTW4UK0AQ?ref_=wl_share

US wishlist | https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/2MT3KS1ZDZG0O?ref_=wl_share

(stuff will be delivered to my boyfriend and I'll open it whenever I'm allowed to fly down there)

#personal story #trauma #medical #emergency #multiple fractures #read at your own risk

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ninepiecesofcrait · 3 months ago

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Me like, “I wish Nine would explain this to me like it was in one of her a/n of Unforced Error”

https://www.reddit.com/r/interestingasfuck/comments/1fagp8u/leaked_audio_of_what_an_ejection_looks_like_in_mlb/

Also Hi! Hope you are well ❤️

wow, i've never been so delighted to answer an ask in my life

someone does a solid job downthread in that post explaining, but what can i say: baseball ben is my favorite child and i will take any excuse to bring him up, even tangentially.

okay, so lots of hot mess involved, but the batter, chase utley, was suspended the previous season for committing what's called a "rolling block slide" aka a slide meant to break up the possibility of a double play. however, when he did this slide, utley slid right into the legs of the mets' shortstop and subsequently broke his left fibula.

this kind of slide was permitted at the time, but utley was suspended for it and accused of purposely injuring the shortstop. (utley has always denied this, but it is a lowkey dirty slide, imho, and i say that as a dodgers gal/utley liker) the mlb banned this kind of slide before the following season, but the suspension was overturned in appeal and utley did not face any other consequences.

this, understandably, pissed the mets off--especially because this happened during the playoffs.

now, that's all backstory.

the clip in that reddit post comes from the first game between the mets and the dodgers the following season, iirc, in 2016. and, as was pretty much expected, the mets intended to hit utley with a pitch in retribution. you can tell because syndergaard's pitch is way, way off--and not in a "whoops, i missed my target" way, but in a "i am going to bean you with a bad pitch because you hurt one of our teammates last year, you ass." his pitch also misses along utley's back rather than his legs or feet, which clearly telegraphs bad intent.

(beaning, by the way, is an expected baseball behavior, believe it or not, and you generally get a free bean and a free "hey don't do that" from the umps before steeper consequences are levied.)

but the pitcher, syndergaard, missed. and because it was clear what he was trying to do and because the mlb was trying to crack down on these kinds of shenanigans, he got ejected straight away.

at the time, syndergaard was one of the mets' best pitchers, so that's why the team manager comes out hollering and fuming. he's saying "you gotta give us our shot" aka you are supposed to warn us first, as losing syndergaard would have been a huge blow to their chances in the series.

but, if you listen to the ump, he basically says "i can't do that because my bosses would be on my ass," because the pressure was on the umps to calm the situation down. in fact, the ump says "you had your shot" aka syndergaard shouldn't have missed because now my hands are tied.

essentially, the pitch was, as one redditor described it, "so gratuitously malicious" that they couldn't give him a warning. (the league has continued to add rules in the past 10 years to discourage beaning.)

.... aren't you glad you asked

#nine's end notes cannot be contained to ao3 #baseball ben

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acacia-may · 6 months ago

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4, 11, 52, and 65 for the 100 writer asks? 👉👈💖

Thank you so much for the ask, Erika! I'd be delighted to answer these questions for you! Cheers!! 💖

4. What is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread?

SO.MUCH.EXISTENTIAL.DREAD.

I answered this question here and talked about my Langris x Finesse Beauty and the Beast AU. Super fun stuff that I never got around to writing at all unfortunately. I have a lot of plot bunnies, but I think that's the oldest I'm still carrying around and have never made any concrete progress on.

11. What's something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

...do you want to know how the human knee joint works in excruciating detail??? I now have my honorary PhD in Patellar Instability thanks to fanfiction.

Jokes aside...I think a lot of the things I've learned for fanfics are related to injuries. I know way more about corneal lacerations, punctured lungs, broken fibulas, amputation recovery, and direct blood transfusions in World War I than I ever expected to know (among a lot of other things).

I also try to research the personal experiences of people who have similar struggles to the characters I'm writing if I don't have a personal frame of reference. For instance, I think I've read at least 100 first-hand accounts from widows and widowers who eventually remarried detailing their specific struggles in processing their grief and opening themselves up to love again. (A special thanks to the Widowers Support Network. They were very informative.)

Sometimes I just disappear down the research rabbit hole. I once spent literally an hour and a half researching cantera fountains for one throwaway line in a one shot. If the story takes place in a historical setting, I'll spend a lot of time researching that or (more often than not) researching whether or not certain things existed yet.

Recently I have been learning a lot about bridges. (I have this OC who is super passionate about bridges, but I know absolutely nothing about them 🤦‍♀️ so it's been a struggle). Last weekend I watched a 45-minute documentary about cantilever bridges just so I'd know how they work--only to discover that the cantilever bridge in this city where the fic was taking place had been torn down at this time and a new cable-stayed bridge had been built. So then I had to watch a bunch of YouTube videos about how those work too.

Oh I also do a lot of canon research too (i.e. going back to reread or rewatch relevant moments from the story because I generally want my fics to be as close to canon as possible. There is nothing worse than catching continuity errors in my work. Yikes 🙈

So yeah...needless to say, I do a ton of research--probably WAY too much because it's most likely that nobody even notices these things but me. But it's still important to me to be accurate to the source material and as realistic as possible.

52. How many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

I try to only actively write one story at time, but I generally work on actively drafting and outlining up to and around 5 at once (by shuffling around the ideas in my head). I specify "actively" because I constantly juggle a lot of WIPs and story ideas, but I can only make concrete progress on a few of them at a time. That doesn't mean I've abandoned my wips, just that they don't have my attention and therefore, won't get concrete drafting, outlining, or writing progression.

Going back to question #4, this also fills me with existential dread.

65. What is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

Probably "A Ceiling Made Of Stars" (which is DRV3 fic). In a once-in-a-lifetime event for me, I actually titled that fic before I wrote it. It just came to me when I had the initial idea for that story, and I think it's poetic, especially in context. I'm also very fond of "The Hero You Loved" (which is an OMORI fic) though I haven't written the 2nd chapter of that fic which would fully explain where the title comes from yet.

It's worth mentioning though that a lot of my fic titles are borrowed from/inspired by lines in music so I felt I should share my favorite titles in this category too (the fandom is in parentheses): "Tackle The Monsters" (DR UDG) "Hearts In Tune," (OMORI) and "Lights Will Guide You Home" (EOA)

My favorite cheeky title is probably "Everything I Need To Know About Love I Learned From Latin" (Horrible Histories; The Movie) though "How To Catch A Mermaid" (OMORI) is a close second. 😁 "It's a Future Problem" is another fun one especially given what that story is about (and that's actually a Black Clover fic unlike the rest of these😅).

To be honest, I think some of my unfinished wips actually have some of my favorite titles I've ever come up with so I'll mention them too: "Lightning In Their Eyes" (Fairy Tail; about how each of the members of the Thunder Legion first met Laxus) and "Dissonant Melodies" (YTTD; about the Yabusame Siblings' (who are both musicians) extremely strained relationship). But alas, these stories never got finished...maybe someday...

#thank you so much for the ask 😊#i have so much existential dread about my wips...🙈#acacia's ramblings #writer asks #answered asks

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