#screw the fandom menace

[lilyvalerieorchard]

Don't watch Kaiser Shounen.

He likes and follows members of the Gamergate/Comicsgate/Fandom Menace hate group like...

Literature Devil, Manga Kamen, LostChord, Critical Drinker, Just Some Guy...

and E;R, A LITERAL, HARDCORE NEO-NAZI.

These are not "critics" or "media analysists", these are vile hate mongers using "media analysis" as a trojan horse for their white supremacist, misogynist, anti-LGBTQ+ hate speech, all under the guise of "wanting better writing". Gamergate/Comicsgate/The Fandom Menace do not care about "wanting better writing", all they want is to chase women and marginalized people out of video games, comics, animation and film so they can gatekeep nerdom as an "apolitical", cishet male, whites only space.

This has been documented: https://thisiscomicsgate.wordpress.com/category/discrimination/racism/ https://angrywhitemen.org/2014/12/01/neo-nazis-for-gamergate/ https://angrywhitemen.org/2017/12/25/mike-peinovich-and-eric-striker-complain-that-feminists-and-jews-ruined-their-video-games/ https://web.archive.org/web/20180216050304/http://www.wehuntedthemammoth.com/2017/10/06/the-5-nazi-est-moments-from-buzzfeeds-expose-of-the-milobreitbart-alt-right-sausage-factory/ https://web.archive.org/web/20221129035022/https://www.wehuntedthemammoth.com/2015/08/24/weev-gamergate-is-the-biggest-siren-bringing-people-into-the-folds-of-white-nationalism/ https://rewritingripley.medium.com/in-plain-sight-how-white-supremacy-misogyny-and-hate-targeted-the-star-wars-sequel-trilogy-and-2fd0be4b242 https://thisiscomicsgate.wordpress.com/category/discrimination/transphobia/ https://thisiscomicsgate.wordpress.com/category/discrimination/sexism-misogyny/ https://thisiscomicsgate.wordpress.com/category/discrimination/homophobia/

Kaiser Shounen has fallen for their acts, spewing the very same hateful bile they propagate.

Don't give any of these ghouls a platform

P.S despite what these creeps tell you, "Mary Sue" is not and never has been a legitimate form of criticism. It is a sexist buzzword used to bash women/minority characters with agency and gatekeep marginalized creators from telling their stories.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

I Spy With My Little Eye

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: Joaquin got you a little present for when he's away on missions for a longer time.

A/N: This is based off a tiktok I saw about a husband bothering his wife with the Ebo Bot while he's deployed

"...Joaquin, what is this exactly?" you look at the device inside the box.

Your boyfriend looks at you excitedly, "It's a little robot that I can use to communicate with you while I'm away on missions."

You pull it out along with instructions, "Honey, this is sweet and all, but our phones work just fine."

"But our phones don't roll around looking all cute like!" You watch as he downloads the required app and sets up the bot. Soon enough, the round, white and black bot is rolling around your living room floor. Joaquin controls it from his phone.

"See!" He then taps his phone again, "And I can talk to you through it like this!"

Honestly, you still didn't see the purpose of the bot, but it made Joaquin happy and it provides another form of communication with him while he's away.

"It does look pretty cute," you say, giving him a soft smile, which makes his own smile grow wider.

__________________

You're in the kitchen cooking dinner for yourself when you hear the rolling of wheels, "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

You chuckle and look down at your feet. The ebo bot is angled up at you as your boyfriend speaks through it, "Making soup?" Joaquin asks as he notes the pot in front of you.

"Close. I'm cooking stew."

"All of that for you?"

You roll your eyes, "No. I'll eat what I can and then I'll freeze the rest to eat for another time. Or if you want to eat it when you come back, all you have to do is heat it back up."

"Oooohh smart."

"Everything going okay?" you ask as you go back to cooking.

"Yup. Probably will be back in a day or two....can you pick me up and put me on the counter?"

You snort, "Really? Why?"

"So I can get a better look at your beautiful face, obviously." You hear the grin in his voice.

You roll your eyes again but you oblige. For the past few missions, Joaquin has used the ebo bot to talk to you, mess around, and be a little nuisance. You could tell he was enjoying it way too much.

"I hope Sam never gives you your own Red Wing. I can't imagine the nonsense you'd pull with something more advance," you smirk at the bot that rolls around the counter beside you.

"I've already asked and he refuses to give me one."

You laugh, "As he should! You're a menace with this little thing," you gesture to the bot with the wooden spoon in your hand.

"I'm just making sure you're not lonely when I'm away!"

"Baby, I love you, but we both know you're the clingier one between us."

You laugh as the bot turns around and rolls towards a corner, appearing as if Joaquin is pouting.

"Take it back."

"No, because it's true! And I didn't say it was a bad thing, Joaco!"

"No, no, no. It's fine. Screw me for being super duper in love with my beautiful and amazing girlfriend." he proceeds to roll towards the edge of the counter and you stop him.

"You're so dramatic," you say with a smirk as you pick up the bot and raise it to eye level.

"But you love me."

"Yes, I do. Very much," you kiss the bot and set it back on the counter, "Were you going to watch me eat dinner?"

"Nah. I'll let you go. I need to work on reports or Sam will get on me again."

You snicker, "Alright," you set the bot onto the floor, "Love you. Bye!"

"Love you! Byyyyyeeeeee!" he elongates the word as rolls all the way back to the dock, causing you to laugh to yourself.

[three-realms-archive]

Unhinged™

(inspired by this post by @leniisreallycool. the pure madness of obey me is the reason why I typically write chaotically-comedic slice-of-life scenarios; because i can honestly write these guys doing the stupidest things and argue that it might as well be canon, these dorks. anime canon, tho. the anime is just another beast of its own to the game ahahaha.)

(so while this may not be anime canon-level obey me content, i hope it comes close. if they’ve actually done any of these and i just haven’t experienced it in-game yet, let me know! it only proves my point.)

There was a time when Solomon brought an extremely-long baguette everywhere with him, insisting it was his magic wand. Even as the days turned to weeks, and the bread crust turned to mould, Solomon would still carry it around everywhere; unbothered by the rancid smell and waving it like a idol group light-stick whenever he spoke an incantation. Then, one day, he showed up at RAD with sandwiches to share. Sandwiches… with suspiciously green and white bread. Turns out, this whole thing was Solomon’s interpretation of dry-aging.

Belphegor and Asmodeus have an ongoing vlog series on Deviltube called ‘Beauty Sleep’. They go somewhere trendy, find some inappropriate place for Belphie to sleep, and Asmo takes some #aesthetic shots whilst timing how long Belphie can nap before being kicked out. It’s incredibly popular and sometimes features cameos from the exchange students and the other Avatars of Sin. Once, a subscriber milestone came with a special surprise: a live-streamed episode of Beauty Sleep in the Demon Lord’s Castle! They never got caught, because Diavolo was busy watching the livestream in his room - too invested to realise it was his own house.

The dining table in the main room of the House of Lamentation has its own fandom on the DevilNet. There are multiple fansites speculating the exact materials used to make it; the exact number of fasteners it uses; and, most especially, its exact length. There are posts, blogs and entire DevilTube deep-dive videos centred around the mystery of how long the table is. This is because, in every piece of media involving the table, it appears a different length despite the decorations and location remaining the same. What the Devildom doesn't know is that the table was made retractable shortly after MC arrived in the Devildom. It was a custom job, done solely so that the table could be used as a runway for a makeshift fashion show (Asmo and Mammon's idea) the brothers held with human world clothes one time MC was feeling homesick.

Once, for a whole month, Mammon dedicated himself to creating a new currency. For the first week, he was an absolute menace, stealing metal objects (like small screws or unused kitchen utensils) around the house to melt down and form into coins of his own design. Beel cried for five days over the lack of cutlery and Asmo kept shrieking whenever he realised he’d had another piece of jewellery had been stolen from him. The rest of the month was spent attempting to rope people into investing; then failing; then celebrating because he had so much of his money to himself; and finally crying because none of it would be accepted at stores.

When he had first gotten into reading books, Satan started a website called ‘Ampbook’ where demons could upload personal writing projects, as well as comment on and share them, too. It’s now incredibly popular, especially amongst younger demons, and is well-known for romance. Well. Much to Satan’s chagrin, it was actually better-known for romance… and fanfiction. He’s constantly torn between allowing his beloved site users their freedom of expression, or immediately taking down any fanfics shipping MC with any of his other brothers. He’s also faked MC x Satan as the most trending tag, permanently.

The height of Beel’s appreciation for Leviathan was shortly after MC’s arrival into the Devildom. They had introduced Levi to an anime centred around four students in a high school swimming team; including a protagonist who Beel thought had a dubiously-intimate love of water. Regardless, Levi tried out for the RAD swimming team - got in and won a bunch of gold medals - and then proceeded to quit the team after a new, different anime he had been waiting for came out. All in the span of a week. To Levi's disdain, Beel brings this up at least once a month: by parading a handmade display of Levi's medals and a framed photo of his older brother in a swimsuit around RAD, showing it off to everyone who asked. And everybody asked. Maybe not so much for the medals.

[cynthiav06]

Question. do you think Percy should have stayed Single? Or ended up with somebody other than Annabeth? I Really think he should have stayed Single. Because I personally don't Like Percabeth, I don't Ship Percabeth and I don't Like Annabeth at all because of the way the Shippers act, or The way the characters themselves in Canon Act, like how Percy just does whatever Annabeth says, or how Percy is scared of Annabeth, Or how fans make it seem like Percy would become an Emo Edge Lord if something happened to Annabeth, Or How much she Belittles and Degrades him (I hate the nickname Seaweed brain), Especially since she acts like Percy cant do anything without her That moment when She and Reyna were talking about how ("Percy Couldn't find his way out of a Paper Bag without you")Made me SO mad it made me Dislike Annabeth even more and Dislike the Percabeth Ship as a Whole, I even hated when she Pretty much Restricted percy of using his powers You Know? "The sea doesn't like to be Restrained" well here it is.. being restrained...Exactly what it hates, and I hate how the Fandom makes Percabeth a Godly Ship saying they are the "It Couple" which they aren't and how They treat anyone who doesn't like Percabeth or Ships Percy with someone else other then Annabeth, but the one thing I HATE the most is how they make EVERYTHING percy Does Romantic for Annabeth like she's the only person who matters to him (Percy Only Remembering Annabeth (a Girl he's Known for only a couple years) Instead of The woman Who RAISED him by a goddess who isn't even the goddess of Love Made me SO MAD and Even when Annabeth made Percy remember when he was in the River Styx when it should have been his Mom made me mad) which is why I mostly believe that Percy Should have just stayed Single (I'm all for an Aromantic Percy) or At least Give him a Love interest who he can be Comfortable around and doesn't have to Constantly walk on Eggshells around her (I wished he Dated Rachel) or Hell Even make him Gay i've saw characters who have Better chemistry with Percy then Annabeth IMO but this all just my opinion.

You honestly don't know how long I could rant on this exact subject.

It's partly Annabeth's fault, and it's partly Rick's fault.

Anyone and everyone who has read the Pjo and HoO series should have noticed how illogical Percy's personality change was.

Percy Jackson, the hero of Olympus and the strongest demigod to ever live, sassy as can be, laid back but scary beyond measure if you cross him and an absolute menace to his enemies and loyal to death.

That's who he is, and Rick remembered that initially, and even till Son of Neptune then he just forgot how Percy someone he himself wrote to be this way is.

It's like Percy has no identity of his own, and he is only significant if he is with Annabeth. Like hello, he's the main character people, is the Fandom seriously going to degrade the main character, especially when the said mc is Percy Jackson???

Percy, despite his own issues, is and will always be foremost in helping people. He would be the first person to help keep the seven together. He would be the first to try and make a bond. He wouldn't have some stupid and illogical and totally ooc beef with Jason. Instead, he would help Jason be more sure of himself to stand up to Jupiter and for himself.

He would help Leo personally to bring back Calypso and they would both shit talk Olympians and how fickle their oaths are.

He would literally do anything to save Nico. Like hello, are you telling me that the boy who at 14 took it upon himself to bear the Great Prophecy, which he thought who end up killing him just to save Nico from that fate????? He would go absolutely madly feral to save Nico from the Giants.

If Piper and Reyna had their screws all properly fit they would see that Annabeth and literally everyone else would be all left to die if it wasn't for Percy. Percy gets himself out of everything by his own efforts and his own strategies. (Annabeth's rarely work). It's time the Fandom acknowledges that the best strategist in the verse is Percy, no questions asked and finally give him due credit for all HIS efforts.

Percy would never ever leave Sally unless it was for a quest, especially not when she was pregnant and absolutely not to go to college, something he hates especially when it concerns New Rome.

Here's a thing about Percabeth shippers they care about Annabeth's plans and her dreams, not Percy's. It is literally so out of character for Percy to want to live in New Rome a place that invests in a child army, a place that despises his father and wouldn't even build him a decent temple, a place so extremely cut off from the sea.

If Percy wanted to live in peace and grow old, he would do it in a place of his choosing close to his mother, Paul and Estelle, and close to the sea. But here's the thing about Percy.

I don't think people get this, but Percy can't just up and leave, nor would he want to. His damned fatal flaw is LOYALTY. He would never ever leave demigods or anyone helpless by leaving Camp Half Blood. Sure he would take less quests on but he would ALWAYS stick around and Rick did him so dirty by making all his thoughts revolve around Annabeth and insinuating he would let others suffer just fine to be with Annabeth.

Percy gave up immortality because he took Sally's teaching to heart as she did so too when she denied Poseidon's offer. He did it for himself for demigods it didn't have shit to do with Annabeth, but of course, he would look at her because she represents his life as a demigod.

Rick making Percy see Annabeth near the Styx and making him remember Annabeth instead of Sally is just him bullshitting. We all know Percy is a mama's boy, and he would do right by Sally always, so him giving a girl who he has known for barely long enough has no basis to it.

And Percabeth stans literally can't take a mention of a single alternate Percy pairing that alone is the biggest red flag. Because they know their ship is toxic and that Annabeth is the root of it.

For the PEOPLE IN THE BACK aka toxic stans:

Annabeth's fatal flaw is HUBRIS, and she is by nature controlling and condescending, and her character had the chance to GROW and CHANGE, and it would have been the most epic character growth sequel but she did not and she is CONTROLLING, DISMISSIVE , DEMEANING.

The newest Read Riordan entry literally has Annabeth saying that she needs to catch up to Percy cause he scores a better grade than her in school (even there Percy is smarter folks there you have it) and she literally says if she doesn't catch up Percy might start calling her SEAWEED BRAIN. So it is a demeaning nickname she gives Percy and continues calling him that even after knowing how Gabe similarly verbally abused Percy.

This is the fandom's IT couple? Wow. Percy literally is going against his own nature of being free and unrestrained like the sea because of Annabeth's controlling nature.

The worst of her behavior is when she blames Percy for his disappearance when she dismissed him when he was talking about his trauma induced by Gabe, her beyond toxic treatment of Rachel, especially when she unreasonably asked Percy to supress the use of the very power that got them out alive (she is scared naturally but she cannot force her own fear on Percy when he did nothing wrong).

So yeah, Percy Jackson with anyone but Annabeth. I am all for aromantic Percy, but personally, I find Perachel to be more appealing.

Trust me, I could rant about this for hours, especially how Rick butchered Percy's personality and made it full of Annabeth, especially how he threw Percy's insecurities and trauma and PTSD out of the gutter post tartarus.

[cruyuu]

Absolutely insane to me how Sukuna had 24/7 access to Yuuji and could pull him into his innate domain whenever he wanted and yet he never once tried to break his spirit and torture him into submission??? Lmao okay, not sus at alllll since we all know damn well he's not above that 💀

Hi anon!

Thank you for the sukuita ask since I have been rubbing my hands excitedly just waiting to talk about them because man. Do. I. Miss. Them. Man. Like I wish jjk was still ongoing. I wish the skit fandom was more active. I wish we are all back and swooning like we did. I miss everything 😭

But anyway, back to your little rant.

Early chapters (aka S1 of jjk, or pre-Shibuya jjk) sukuita was so damn weird and yet addicting. That's what sparked my interest in them- this weird rivalry? that they had was so damn entertaining. The first time Yuuji fought Sukuna in his Domain is in my top 5 all time favorite jjk moments just because he's being extremely silly and Sukuna's being silly too (for no reason). What's crazy is that we didn't know the extent of Sukuna's power back then (even if we did get like a brief introduction it wasn't enough.) and once we got a glimpse of it— I literally had to pause reading for a while because it was so ???? You're telling me Sukuna who wrecked Shibuya for funsies and had everyone shook to the core laughed like a school girl and tried to appear as elegant and menacing as possible in front of Yuuji? He even offered him a deal? Even spoke to him a lot despite Yuuji ignoring him like all the time? Really?????

To sound more serious now, that little moment in the Domain makes Sukuna appear far less harmless and rather human-like more so than the legend that paints him as a mystical and omnipotent figure. He's mean and arrogant too but that is frankly, and I dare say it, tongue-in-cheek type of mean. It's really soft. We see the difference later on and the difference is what makes this so confusing. Anything that Sukuna calls worthless gets diced into pieces without consideration or gets totally ignored. Anyone who dares try to attack him gets killed. The contrast between how he treats others and Yuuji had always been vastly different, eyebrow raising-ly so.

Just what was so entertaining about Yuuji? The fact that he was his vessel? The fact that he tried too damn hard even if he was "bound to fail"? His overall silliness and kindness? His ability to learn and adapt rather nicely to anything that he's being taught?

It's just like you said anon. We knew Sukuna kinda fit the trademark evil guy so then why didn't he try to get Yuuji to submit or to mold him into a vessel? I'm not saying he hadn't done nothing because he had threatened him, assaulted him and mocked him but outside of Shibuya and that time he laughed at him with Mahito, Sukuna had never tried to do anything when it comes to Yuuji. Like this is your vessel, this boy is perfectly tailored and made to hold your soul and you'll just... do nothing about that? Won't even try to manipulate him, make him change his mind, play any games... nothing? Hell, even if he didn't want him as a vessel, it could've done him good to play around with someone like Yuuji. After all, the infuriating fact (to Sukuna) is that weak Yuuji is his vessel. Sukuna's mean enough to mock him but not mean enough to psychologically torture him? I don't think so.

[While we're still on the topic of the Innate Domain time, look at his exasperation (dare i say disgruntlement/disappointment too) when Yuuji doesn't thank him for healing his arm, instead focusing on the fact that he ripped out his heart. I knew from that little exchange right there that I was screwed.]

It's always fun to revisit old moments when we know what the hell happened 200+ chapters later. It's actually rather hilarious because it makes it seem like these two had a weird crush on each other that grew and because they love in different ways, they ended up crashing and burning but acknowledging the fact that they do love each other (kinda).

It'll never not be funny to me how even when Yuuji talked about himself, Sukuna still wouldn't dare share anything about himself, even dismissing him liking flowers. Then he proceeded, I shit you not, to follow him around for a long time, listen to him rant about his life, shoot arrows with him, fish with him only to say "Ok shut the hell up and end this". Like hmmmmm. Do you really want it to end? Hmmmm. After all, you keep not killing him. Hmmmm.

Thank you for indulging me anon and I hope you have a wonderful day or night. <3

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Folie À Deux

Little Nightmares x Teen Wolf

Title: Folie À Deux

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandoms: Little Nightmares (Masterlist) x Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles and Derek fall through a portal and get lost in the world of Little Nightmares, running from all manner of monsters as they try to find their way back home.

They wake in a nightmare world filled with all manner of horrifying monsters far more menacing than any they've ever encountered before, navigating their way through the depths of a creaking old vessel at the bottom of the ocean. They spend what feels like days there, scavenging for scraps of bread and cheese (though Derek warns them against eating the meat, something about it doesn't smell right.) They find a flashlight and a silver cigarette lighter tucked inside of an over-large suitcase filled to the brim with old newspaper clippings, and use it to coax flames to life in quaint little lanterns scattered across the landscape, warding off the chill from the constant drip drip drip of the pipes threatening to burst and flood the lower levels with saltwater. Stiles likes the lanterns, likes the way they bathe the walls in a soft golden glow, at odds with the hazy grays and twilit blues of the gloomy depths, igniting a little spark of hope inside him that somehow, some way, they'll find their way back home.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

The nemeton is active, blurring the lines between Beacon Hills and other worlds. Not your average alternate timeline or parallel universe, mind you. These other worlds, they aren't supposed to exist, thought to be nothing more than the musings of madmen, myth and legend, fairytales and folklore. 

Then again, so are werewolves.

It starts with little things, slipping through the cracks at the collapse of the gateways, bleeding in one obscure anomaly at a time — technology that shouldn't exist for another hundred years, fantastic beasts leaping from the pages of fictitious magical worlds, odd little creatures that scurry and scratch at an unfamiliar earth.

Then come the disappearances — people, buildings, whole sections of town, sucked into the ground like quicksand, vanishing in the blink of an eye, only to reappear seconds, hours, sometimes months later, and never quite in the same place as when they'd been stolen. It had taken the better part of a year for the pack to seal off every portal, with more than enough near-deaths and almost gone forevers to last a lifetime, until only one remained. The trouble was, they hadn't been able to track down its exact location…until now.

In the middle of a forest sits a battered old television, clumps of dirt and autumn leaves stuck in the little plastic grooves that comprise the speakers, vines twisting and winding their way around the extendable metal antennae. Stiles stares down at it with one eyebrow quirked in confusion, wondering who in the hell had managed to drag this broken down 90's relic into the middle of the woods, and then had the nerve to leave it there. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, he crouches down in front of it, hands splayed over a crack in the screen, fingertips absentmindedly fiddling with the dials, when the television blares to life, emitting a high-pitched static and a low, moaning drone. Stiles screams as the palms of his hands begin to sink into the depths of the screen, an invisible force tugging him through to the other side. 

In an instant, Derek's arms are wrapped around his torso, urging him back. Within seconds, he's flanked by Scott, Peter, and Chris, eyes screwed up in equal parts effort and agony, eardrums threatening to burst from the shrill shriek of the broadcast. But the pull is too strong, forcing them forward like the current in an undertow, until they're tumbling head-first through the screen, sending a powerful blast backward that knocks Peter, Chris, and Scott off their feet. The television trills one final ear-splitting note, and when the screen goes black, Stiles and Derek are gone.

• • •

They wake in a nightmare world filled with all manner of horrifying monsters far more menacing than any they've ever encountered before, navigating their way through the depths of a creaking old vessel at the bottom of the ocean. They spend what feels like days there, scavenging for scraps of bread and cheese (though Derek warns them against eating the meat, something about it doesn't smell right.) 

They find a flashlight and a little silver cigarette lighter tucked inside of an over-large suitcase filled to the brim with old newspaper clippings and mildewed clothing stretched far too tall and thin, and use it to coax flames to life in quaint little lanterns scattered across the landscape, warding off the chill from the constant drip drip drip of the pipes threatening to burst and flood the lower levels with saltwater. Stiles likes the lanterns, likes the way they bathe the walls in a soft golden glow, at odds with the hazy grays and twilit blues of the gloomy depths, igniting a little spark of hope inside him that somehow, some way, they'll find their way back home. 

He's wary, at first, of the attention they attract, but quickly learns that the shriveled little creatures akin to sentient rotted mushrooms mean them no harm, and are merely looking for a means to warm their hands, too — little lost things, adrift in a vessel of horrors beneath the waves. Stiles takes to calling them no-names, which Derek shortens to nomes after begrudgingly accepting their company. Sometimes they bring them things — little trinkets, scraps of food, a little music box that plays a haunting, hypnotic melody — as a means of thanking Stiles and Derek for keeping them safe. And then, one day, entirely by accident, one of the little creatures leads them to the way out.

There's something strange about the proportions of this world, as though it was built for giants, or perhaps Stiles and Derek are just very small by comparison, because they manage to fit through the series of port holes, tunnels, and ventilation shafts that wind through the ship like a maze with relative ease. Level by level, they make their way through the bowels of the ship, dodging the watchful eyes of a spotlight that nearly turns them both to stone, narrowly avoiding bloodsucking leeches the size of mountain lions that drop down from the ceiling and squelch up through the splintering floorboards.

A floating staircase leads them to a bedroom with dresser drawers that tower above them and curl to the side like a crooked finger. With a tarnished golden key stolen from a nightstand, they make their way through a rickety lift and down a darkened tunnel, through a room filled with a sea of shoes and an unseen monster that lurks just beneath the surface, through dusty old rooms lined with ticking grandfather clocks and libraries filled with books piled high that twist and spiral to the ceiling, all the while outrunning a blind janitor with limbs like a venomous spider. 

He traps them in a room with no escape except for a hole in the wall that's been sealed shut set high above them, spindly arms reaching for them from underneath the doorframe, feeling for them in the semi-darkness, at the ready to grab and squeeze the air from their lungs. Together, they manage to pull the bars from the cage crushed underneath the door, holding it aloft, and trigger it to slam shut, severing the monster's arms. The sealed port above them loosens from the impact, and the two of them sweep into the tunnel without a backward glance, journeying so far into the claustrophobic darkness until the agonized screams of the janitor are snuffed out by the creaking of the ship and the crash of the ocean waves.

The rest of the climb passes by in a dizzying blur as they outrun a pair of bloodthirsty chefs, narrowly avoid becoming part of the foul fest the grotesque guests so feverishly chase them through, and outwit a demon woman wrought from shadow and smoke with nothing but a mirror and a trick of the light, until finally, they reach the top-most level of the ship, where golden sunlight bathes the walls of a staircase leading to the way out, the cries of seagulls and crashing waves and the smell of salty sea air a welcome change from the clanking and groaning of the ship, the rot and mildew of the lower levels.

Derek heads toward the light without a second thought, but Stiles falls back, lured by a curious crackling sound emanating from a corridor just behind them, cast in shadows and filled with a hazy, violet glow. Time seems to slow as Stiles makes his way toward the door at the end of the hallway, fingertips brushing the bronze handle with an all-seeing eye carved into its splintering frame. With barely a ghost of a touch, the door opens, and there sits another one of those battered old televisions, identical to the one they first came through. Stiles lets out a triumphant bark of laughter and falls to his knees in front of it, tinkering with the dials. 

Derek's heart gives a stutter, and a surge of adrenaline — a warning shot — white hot and acrid, courses through his veins as Stiles presses his hands to the screen. He urges Stiles to run, to come with him while they still have the chance to escape, but Stiles insists that this is their way out, that it must be connected to the portal that led them here, and if he could just figure out the right frequency to activate it, he knows it'll lead them home.

The cacophony of changing channels pierces through the darkened room, drowning out the inviting sounds of the world beyond the walls of this terrible vessel, the blinding light of the screen bleaching the damask wallpaper patterned across every inch of the lady's quarters, each scene fading and flickering to life in the span of a few seconds as Stiles toys with the dials — an old cooking show set to a children's nursery rhyme, a handprint with an eye embedded into its palm, a series of triangles with more of those same eerie eyes adorning their centers, an old horror film featuring a looming shadow creeping toward its sleeping victim, crackling static overlaying hues of heathered gray, and then—

The television gives a low hum, and a figure flares to life on the screen, swathed in shadows and blurred at the edges by a faint glittering darkness. Stiles's fist punches the air with a shout of victory, exclaiming that it must be Scott, or Chris, or Peter, calling out to them, calling them back home, but Derek is far from relieved. With each ebb and flow of the glowing screen, the figure grows closer, until all they can see is a pair of long-fingered hands pressed against the other side, and Stiles, far too wrapped up in his own excitement and desperation to heed Derek's frantic pleas, mirrors them.

History repeats itself — only this time, Derek reaches out to grasp the back of Stiles's shirt a fraction of a second too late. In an instant, he's gone, disappearing faster than a changing channel, the impact of the transit shattering the screen before Derek can follow him through. Panic floods him like a wildfire, shards of glass digging into his knees and the palms of his hands as he sinks to the floor in front of the broken screen, trying desperately to piece it back together, begging it to come back to life and allow him passage. 

He doesn't know how long he stays there, curled into a ball on the floor, waiting for a sign, a flash of light, the relief of Stiles's voice, something, anything, to tell him where to go next. In the distance, a seagull cries out to its pack before the sound is swallowed by another thunderous crash of ocean waves against the hull of the ship, and Derek's head perks up, eyes following a pathway of golden light. Limbs aching, muscles static and straining from the coiled tension his panic had kept them locked in for so long, Derek slowly makes his way up the winding staircase, blinking against the blinding light of the sun, mesmerized by the way it dances across the surface of the sea, bursting into a kaleidoscope of fiery yellows and tranquil blues.

He weighs his chances of survival against jumping head-first into the unknown depths of an ocean on another world and simply swimming until he reaches the shore, but then remembers the slew of terrifying creatures they'd faced on the ship, and thinks better of it. If his own world was once home to the great megalodon and mosasaurus, he can only imagine what horrors must lurk below. 

Luckily, he doesn't have to wait too long in the sweltering heat to figure out a better way. Another sailor's misfortune blesses Derek with a makeshift vessel, and with nothing but hope and faith to guide him, he sails west on a scrap of old shipwreck until the shore meets the edge of a forest, and he descends into a canopy of pine trees shrouded in mist, the cold, dew-soaked grass beneath his bare feet a welcome change from the coarse heat of the sand and salty sea. 

He's so exhausted, and the grass that surrounds him is so tall, that he doesn't notice he's been snared by the hunter's trap until he hears the screech of the clanking metal, and a pain like he's never felt before shudders through his left leg. His world blacks out, and when he wakes, he's in the basement of an old cabin, with nothing for company but the sounds of groaning, wheezing, and scraping as the old hunter quakes through the upper floors.

He tries his damnedest to escape, clawing at the door with what little of the shift he can muster, but he's still healing, blood oozing from the fang-like wounds where the jaws of the bear trap had clamped down on his thigh. Derek heaves a defeated sigh as he slumps against the wall and slides into a sitting position, wincing as something sharp digs into his hip. Annoyed, he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the music box one of the nomes had given him while he was on the ship.

Oddly, it's this little trinket that gives him hope. After all, if something so small and fragile can survive the treacherous journey, then why couldn't he?

• • •

Stiles wakes in the middle of a forest at twilight, the smell of salty sea air married with fresh pine and rain-soaked leaves filling his lungs, a battered old television at his feet. For a moment, for one beautiful, delirious moment, he allows himself the foolish overconfidence of believing that his plan actually worked. A swell of relief rises in his chest as he scrambles to his feet, calling out to the space beside him — Derek, we did it! We made it back to Beacon Hills! We're finally…Derek? — but he's alone.

An icy chill that has nothing to do with the rainy atmosphere skitters across the back of his neck, nerve endings igniting with the buzzing of a thousand angry hornets as the all too familiar pang of panic coils inside his chest. The world around him spins until it's nothing more than a blur of malachite and midnight blue, the knees of his jeans soaked with mud as Stiles sinks to the forest floor. He's alone. He's the farthest from home he's ever been, and this time, he doesn't even have Derek by his side. 

By the time he manages to get his panic under control, the forest has slipped into even deeper shades of nightfall. He lifts his head, swiping at a swatch of dirt and grass imprinted in his cheek, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, the blurred outlines of towering trees and jagged cliff faces slowly taking shape in the distant fog. The wind howls like a wild, wounded animal, and a frisson of fear runs down the length of Stiles's spine.

This isn't anything like the preserve. This forest is far more sinister. 

Slowly, shakily, Stiles coaxes himself to his feet, and sets off into the unknown. He weaves his way through the wilderness, dodging bear traps with jagged rows of teeth like shark's jaws and fallen tree trunks that threaten to crush him under their weight, until finally, he comes across a cabin hidden in the heart of the woods. 

Stiles heaves a frustrated sigh. He knows how this goes. He's seen every horror movie known to man. He knows exactly how this cabin in the woods trope ends, and let's just say that it doesn't exactly bode well for his character. But — and again he lets out a weary sigh — it's also the first sign of life he's seen in hours, and he hasn't exactly been thriving in the wilderness. 

His stomach chooses this well-timed moment to speak its piece, letting out a low, rumbling growl to remind him of just how little food he's eaten these past few…days? Weeks? He isn't sure how long he's been here, but the stale bread and cheese they'd scavenged on the Maw hadn't exactly been filling. Cursing every choice that has ever lead him to this point in his life, Stiles takes the path so many fools before him have traveled, and slowly, cautiously, sneaks his way up the creaking wooden stairs of the front porch.

One of his sneakers accidentally kicks aside a couple of glass bottles as he climbs through the open window, the resulting crash like a bomb detonating in the eerie silence. Stiles freezes, one leg poised on the countertop, one still straddled over the ledge of the window, knuckles whitening as he grips the frame. He waits for the inevitable screech of rage, the rattle of a door banging open, the barrel of a shotgun aimed between his eyes — but nothing happens. Whoever lives here must not be home.

Stiles releases the breath he'd been holding, shaking hands clinging to the countertop to steady himself as he eases the rest of the way inside. Any hope he'd had of finding even a scrap of food to steal dies as he takes in the sight of the room he's just landed in. Every inch of the dimly lit kitchen is covered in a thick layer of filth and grime, from the cracked stone countertops to the crooked cabinets splintering between layers of acid green paint, a cloud of flies swarming over a corroded cooking pot filled with a lumpy stew that looks and smells as though it's been sitting there rotting for weeks. 

Swallowing back a retch, Stiles bypasses the wooden tabletop littered with old tin cans and empty beer bottles, a thick syrup of rusty brown blood dripping from crude cuts of questionable meat onto the mislaid wooden floorboards rife with rusted nails — a veritable minefield of tetanus — and wrenches open the door. He lands in a corridor lined with dust-coated picture frames and hunting trophies amidst peeling wallpaper and poorly patched holes dotted with black mold, and nearly trips over a mildewed, moth eaten throw rug leading the way to a cellar door, ever so slightly ajar, at the end of the hall.

He isn't stupid enough to venture down to the basement — or so he tells himself, until the faint sound of a familiar, haunting melody makes him stop dead in his tracks. Throwing all caution to the wind, Stiles sprints toward the door, wrestles it open, and bolts down the creaking wooden steps. The further he descends, the louder the music grows — but it's still muffled, locked behind a door that bears the unmistakable marks of a set of wolf's claws. 

A thrill of hope bubbles up inside his chest like an uncorked champagne bottle. He calls out, but his voice is hoarse and ragged, the music on the other side of the door so loud that it drowns him out. He scans the dingy cellar, searching for a key, a tool to help him pick the lock, anything that will allow him to break through. 

And then he spots it — a hatchet, propped up in the corner, standing on its head. Like everything else in this world, it's monumentally bigger than it has any right to be, but Stiles manages to pick it up, an almost satisfying vibrato radiating through his forearms as he drags the sharpened metal across the grooved wooden floor.

He positions himself in front of the door wrecked with desperate claw marks, axe poised over his head, ready to strike. There's a sharp gasp, and the wistful melody of the music box stutters to a halt as the blade cleaves the door with a resounding crack. Satisfied with his destruction, Stiles steps over the splintering threshold. 

The room is small, cramped, and somehow even lonelier than the shabby ruins of the upper levels. A sinister array of meat hooks hangs from the ceiling like eldritch stalactites, flecks of dust spiraling in the silver glow of the moon shining down through the grimy window set high above him, casting a spotlight over a small woodworking table backed against the opposite wall. And, lurking in the shadows just beneath the table, a pair of all too familiar eyes fading from a bright, glowing crimson to a soft forest green, staring at him in equal parts awe and disbelief.

The name leaves his lips on a sob as he rushes forward, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around the other man's shoulders. Stubble burns his skin as Derek buries his face in Stiles's hair, breathing him in with a series of deep, shuddering breaths. Strong hands cradle his face, thumbprint smoothing the curves of his cheekbones and the jut of his jaw, fingertips tracing a series of freckles and moles scattered across his skin like he's mapping them from memory, charting constellations. 

There's a fierce, determined look in Derek's eyes just seconds before they flutter closed, and then he's leaning forward, pressing his forehead against the top of Stiles's, warm breath ghosting over Stiles's lips. His hands shake with an entirely different brand of nerves as Stiles grasps the collar of Derek's shirt and tugs him closer, reveling in the soft little whine it elicits. He can feel Derek's heartbeat thrumming a staccato beneath his knuckles, wild enough to rival his own.

The sudden clamor of thunderous footsteps overhead sends it into overdrive, snuffing out the spell of the moment like a hurricane through candlelight, a cruel reminder of where they are and how desperately they need to escape. Together, they creep their way through the floors of the cabin and venture once more into the twilit wilderness, submerging under swampy waters and threading through perilous prairies as they dodge the watchful eyes and buckshot bullets of the horrible hunter. He chases them across the landscape, cornering them in an old shed, the sound of his fists pounding against the door swiftly replaced by a deafening ringing as they dismount one of his shotguns from the wall and fire a round straight into his chest.

When they recover from the shock enough to leave the shed, they find themselves at the edge of the shore, gentle waves lapping against the moonlit sand a stark contrast from the horrors they'd just endured. Together, they climb aboard the same driftwood door that Derek had used as a vessel to escape the Maw, and sail east through a sea littered with a peculiar assortment of flotsam — hundreds upon hundreds of those same old televisions, bobbing up and down out of the water like the fins of a terrible sea monster. Dense fog shrouds them in a world of white, the sea a muted black beneath them, until finally, the mist clears just enough to reveal the hazy outline of a landscape cloaked in an everlasting storm.

Icy raindrops pierce their skin like tiny daggers as they make their way through a pale city crowded with scoliotic skyscrapers, through a children's boarding school and a hospital, two places that should be safe, though in this world, are anything but. Together, they shatter the heads of demonic porcelain dolls who might once have been innocent schoolchildren, dodging deadly traps and sneak attacks as they wander through the school, narrowly outrunning a sadistic teacher with a neck like a serpent who snaps at their heels as she chases them through a ventilation shaft, and meets a similar fate to the spindly armed janitor as Stiles's wishful thinking triggers the window to slam shut and sever her head.

The abandoned hospital haunts them with severed hands that skitter across the floor like spiders, living mannequins frozen by torchlight that click and shutter as they chase after them in the dark, and an experimental surgeon who crawls around on the ceiling tiles with a thunderous gait, escaping him just long enough to trap him in one of his own incinerators and warm their freezing hands by the firelight. They travel across a misty cityscape in the swell of a constant storm, watching in horror as citizens fall from the rooftops in droves, driven mad by the broadcast. They make their way through a collapsing building and seek shelter in the last flat left standing in its crumbling ruins, raiding the pantries for scraps of food.

They're settled against the wall that marries the kitchen with the living room, a pile of snacks and cereal split between them that tastes simultaneously bland and far too rich, when they hear it — a low, groaning hum and a crackle of static emanating from a room at the end of the hall. Curious, they get up and go to investigate. The moment they enter the room, a television, its legs half swallowed by the splintering cracks in the floorboards, blares to life, bathing the room in an ivory glow.

Seconds later, an image flickers across the screen — that same shadowy figure that had stalked them on the Maw, faint and blurred around the edges, as though the creature itself is made from electricity struggling to find the right frequency — a man, tall and thin in stature, growing steadily larger as with each glowing, groaning ebb and flow of the transmission, it comes closer to the edge of the screen.

"Scott?" Stiles says softly, a tentative thread of hope bleeding into the uncertainty and wariness of his tone. Just as it had before, the figure places a pair of long-fingered hands against the screen, and without thinking, as though hypnotized by the steady hum of the broadcast, Stiles mimics him, placing his hands against the glass and feeling a warm, electrical buzzing just beneath his fingertips.

"Stiles," Derek cautions in a voice that shakes despite his conviction, reaching out an arm to splay across Stiles's chest like it'll be enough to hold him back. "I don't think that's Scott."

"Then who—" Stiles starts, but the rest of his words die on a terrified scream as the figure defies all laws of logic and emerges through the screen, one long, wiry limb at a time. 

A faint, crackling, glittering darkness still swarms around it like a cloud of fireflies, but they can see its face clearly now, lips curved upward in an impish grin, pale skin a stark contrast to the blackened bruises under its sunken eyes, Stiles's own visage reflected back at him, exactly as he'd looked when the nogitsune had possessed him. Before he can heed Derek's desperate pleas to run, before he can so much as scream, the nogitsune grasps him by the collar of his shirt and drags him toward the screen, disappearing in a crackle of electricity.

Determined to rescue him, Derek swallows back the tidal wave of panic threatening to overtake him, and crouches down in front of the still glowing television, pressing his hands against the screen in the same way he'd watched Stiles do it mere seconds before. It's a strange sensation, like a live wire licking the outline of his fingertips, currents coursing through his nerve endings, igniting them in an all-encompassing warmth that's almost too much to bear. A steady vibration makes his bones feel like they're rattling, and then the screen quivers and his fingers begin to sink through it like quicksand. All at once, the world tips him forward and he falls through, hurtling through darkness tinged at the edges with a hazy, violet glow.

• • •

An agonized scream pierces through him like a poison-tipped arrow, and Derek wakes in a world at war with gravity, objects floating in mid-air, disappearing into the depths of the sky-swallowing ceiling. Even he seems to float here, his feet lifting off the ground with ease as he runs, soles slapping against hard concrete. He follows the heartbreaking symphony of cries that had haunted his nightmares ever since the connection to his living anchor had made it possible for them to share each other's dreamscape, up winding flights of stairs leading to dead-ended corridors and doorways that seem to be portals all their own, until finally, he finds him, locked in a room in the tallest level of the tower. 

But he isn't alone. The nogitsune, wearing Stiles's face, stands at his shoulder, binding him with invisible shackles, a cruel smile curling across its lips as it taunts him, whispering all manner of vile lies in his ear.

Terror tears through Derek as scenes from a nightmare made real play out right in front of him. He knows this one by heart, had heard it recounted nearly a dozen times by a sobbing, inconsolable Stiles, curled up in a ball on his living room couch. But nothing, not even glimpses of the memory plucked from Stiles's dreams, can compare to seeing it in the flesh. Derek watches in abject horror as Kira's katana materializes in Stiles's shaking hands, and though he cries, though he begs, though he struggles to resist and fight back, plunges it through Scott's stomach with a sickening squelch, twisting the hilt as blood drips scarlet down Scott's lips. Stiles lets out a wounded whimper and collapses onto his knees, face buried in the palms of his hands, but the nogitsune isn't in a patient or forgiving mood, and forces him back up onto his trembling feet with a rough tug at his collar. 

Anger courses through Derek's veins, overpowering the paralyzing fear that had kept him frozen to the spot, and he rushes forward, placing a bracing hand on either side of Stiles's shoulders in an effort to keep him steady. He tries to call out to him, to get him to snap out of whatever trance the nogitsune has him under, but it's no use. Stiles is far too lost in his nightmare spiral, a prisoner inside his own body. He blinks a few times, staring up at Derek with vague recognition in his glazed, glassy eyes.

"Derek?" Stiles asks softly, an almost disbelieving expression on his face, like he hadn't expected to ever see him again, like Derek is part of the hallucination. Derek wonders, with a heart-wrenching jolt, whether time passes differently here, and just how long Stiles has been trapped inside the tower.

"Yeah, Stiles. I'm here. I've got you," Derek whispers with his best attempt at a reassuring smile. He lets a hand slide down between them, threading through Stiles's fingers, and gives him a gentle tug forward. The ghost of a smile quirks at the corners of Stiles's lips as he stares down at their linked hands, allowing a small spark of hope to take residence inside his chest.

"Well, isn't this a touching scene?" A cold derisive laugh echoes through the chamber as the nogitsune appears a breath's width behind Stiles's shoulders. "But shouldn't you tell him the truth, Stiles? Shouldn't he know how much more a simple gesture like this means to you than it does to him?"

Stiles stiffens and instantly drops Derek's hand, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. The nogitsune circles around them to Derek's side, warm breath against the shell of his ear making his stomach roil.

"It's pathetic how much he loves you," the nogitsune croons in a stage whisper, and Derek's heart leaps into his throat in spite of himself. He knows it's lying, trying to get a rise out of him, trying to hit him where he knows it'll hurt most. That's what the nogitsune does, and Derek isn't going to fall for it. But then, this is Stiles's nightmare, not his, so why—

"He really thought you were going to kiss him when you reunited in that cabin. Isn't that just adorable?" the nogitsune teases, taking great pleasure in the way Stiles seems to collapse in on himself, angry red blotches blossoming beneath his pulse points. In the seconds that it takes for Stiles's curiosity to outweigh his embarrassment, their eyes meet, and what Derek finds there is enough to make his insides melt like snow in sunlight. 

He's so caught up in the moment, he almost forgets where they are, the nogitsune's mocking voice buzzing in his ear like a pestilent fly.

"Even though he knows in his sad little heart of hearts that he isn't good enough for you, that you'd spurn him faster than it took for him to fall for you," the nogitsune lilts with a theatrical sigh. "Which, by the way, was all of two seconds the moment he saw you in those woods."

"So go on, Sourwolf. Break his heart." The nogitsune tilts its head to the side, a venomous smile curling across its pale features. "I'll watch."

Stiles takes a deep, steadying breath as Derek approaches him, steeling himself for the inevitable, crushing blow, eyes fluttering closed in spite of himself as Derek reaches forward and places a hand on Stiles's cheek.

"You are, without a shadow of a doubt, the dumbest person I have ever met," Derek says, fond smile and soft, breathless chuckle at odds with the harshness of his words. "…if you think for even a second that you're not good enough for me."

A smile bright enough to rival the sun spreads across Stiles's face as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against the top of Derek's, a soft surprised little huff of laughter escaping him on a sigh of relief.

Manic glee warps into a scream of outrage as the nogitsune's divine move backfires. 

"Fine," it spits viciously, fuming with such unbridled fury that its very essence seems to burst into flames, curling around it like a cloud of smoke. "If I can't make him hurt you, then I guess I'll just have to make you hurt him."

A sliver of fear shivers through both of them as the nogitsune reanimates the dreadful scene from before, only this time, it's Derek in place of Scott, arms bound behind his back by invisible restraints, panic flooding him as he watches the nogitsune wrestle for control of Stiles's arms, hazy hues of violet and rose reflecting off the silver blade as the katana materializes in his hands. 

The look of premature grief, of resignation in his eyes, as Stiles confesses on a broken sob that he's afraid, that he doesn't think he's strong enough to fight this, pains Derek more than any stab wound ever could. A spark of defiance spears through him, spurring him to fight for Stiles while he's too consumed by guilt and fear to fight for himself. He does it in the only way he knows how, in the way the two of them have learned to show each other stubborn, unwavering affection steadily budding between them over the years. 

He argues with him. Tells him how strong, and smart, and brave he is, that he should have told him every day from the moment he met him, should have kissed him in the basement of the hunter's cabin, should have kissed him countless times before then, because he's been in love with him for years. Because he didn't come this far and outwit this many monsters only to be taken down by a villain who doesn't deserve the right to wear his face.

A triumphant smile curves across Stiles's lips, and for the first time since it stalked its way into this world, a flicker of fear flashes across the nogitsune's features. With renewed determination, Stiles breaks free of the nogitsune's hold on him, takes control of the katana, and plunges it into the nogitsune's chest, twisting the hilt until it stutters on a rattling breath, and bursts into a cloud of glittering smoke and golden fireflies.

He doesn't know which one of them moves first, but the moment the katana leaves his fingertips, he's rushing forward into Derek's open arms, cradling the curve of Derek's stubble-strewn jaw in the palms of his hands, and capturing him a kiss. Time is a fool's riddle in this strange, mystical world, but for a moment, whether real or imagined, it holds its breath just for them, an eternity existing within the span of a single kiss. Unencumbered for the first time in weeks by the desperate need to run, hide, and survive, they allow themselves to get swept up in the rhapsody of finally being together, the rest of the world falling away until it's just the two of them. 

Suns could rise and set over a blur of landscapes cycling from spring to winter in the blink of eye, the moon waxing and waning a thousand times over as it waltzes with the rising ride and sings a siren's call to all the supernatural creatures fallen under its spell; galaxies could collide and turn the world as they know it into nothing more than stardust, and yet, all they would care to know is the taste of each other's lips, the sound of each other's names whispered between dulcet confessions and promises that they'll never lose each other again.

The only thing strong enough to rip them from their reverie is the literal collapse of this world, the walls quaking with an ominous groan as they begin to crumble, the ground beneath them cracking like layers of ice melting on a lake. Hands find each other's in the encroaching darkness, and together, they make their way through the crumbling ruins of the nightmare tower, dodging falling debris and escaping through narrow passageways just seconds before they cave in. They climb steadily upward until they reach the top of the tower, where a suspended stone-wrought bridge leads the way to a door set into the opposite wall. 

Relief floods through him as Scott — the real Scott this time — pokes his head through the doorway — the portal — and calls out their names, urging them forward. The world gives another great quaking moan, and Stiles stumbles, momentarily letting go of Derek's hand. He whirls around behind him to see the bridge beginning to crumble, Derek trapped on the other side. Stiles's look of utter terror is mirrored back at him in Derek's eyes as more and more pieces of the bridge fragment and fall into the cavernous depths below. 

There isn't anything else to be done, no time to concoct a better plan. Crouching down onto his knees and establishing as strong of a foothold as he can, Stiles holds out a hand over the splintering ledge, a silent plea for Derek to take a leap of faith, to trust that Stiles will catch him. Terror and trepidation still outlined on every inch of his face, Derek steels himself for the possibility of either paradise or oblivion, holds his breath, and jumps. Warm hands close around his as he swings perilously over the ledge, suspended above the swirling darkness threatening to swallow him whole. 

For one paralyzing moment, he worries that Stiles will let go, decide he isn't worth the effort, reveal himself to be the nogitsune playing the long game and waiting for the opportune moment to seek its revenge, but then more hands join the effort — Scott, Peter, Chris — and together, they work to drag Derek up and over the ledge to safety. Cries of reunion drown in the wake of the crumbling tower as one by one, Scott, Chris, and Peter sprint through the doorway emanating a brilliant, blinding white light.

With only seconds to spare, the two of them make it through the portal before it closes and collapse onto solid ground in the Beacon Hills preserve, breathing in great greedy lungfuls of crisp, clean autumn air, wrapped tightly in each other's arms, refusing to let each other go. Upon impact, the screen of the battered old television shatters with a satisfying crack, closing the portal to that strange and terrible nightmare world for good.

[anonymous-existences]

Danny Behind Jazz Sticking out his tounge like the menace the boy is.

Jason is just making fun of Phantom over the phone outside of a JL meeting in the watch tower. He keeps calling him out and taking the piss, saying Phantom won’t do shit cause the JL are there.

The entire League are just staring at each other and Batman silently and awkwardly and they hear Red Hood mock someone saying “shove that in your grave, oh wait you didn’t get one” and losing it.

Eventually Red Hood comes back in still crying from laughter under his hood after that 40 minute call. Just as the JL are about to restart they just hear a banging from the space window(?!)

Everyone turns to see a feral looking 14-15 years cussing up a storm so bad even Constantine flinches(how can they hear someone talking when they are in space how are they just there?!?).

Only to hear Red Hood go “Oh Shit” and dead sprint out the room as the teen phases through the window and chases after him saying something about a Creep Bat (Flash asks if he missed another Bat Kid, Batman refuses.)

[fandom-gt]

FANDOM: DCU & X-MCU Crossover

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”If youre fine with a little crossover story, Deadpool and Logan get sucked through a portal and end up in the DCU barely 1cm tall each. On the head of a half asleep Clark Kent's cock. They get a good look at the landscape of a man and see his massive hand loom over them ready to”

CHARACTERS: Logan Howlett, Deadpool (Wade Wilson), Clark Kent

WARNINGS: Unaware

COMMISSION TYPE: Quick Fill (+tip, thank you!)

——

The pair of them get a good look at their surroundings, and it takes a moment to truly sink in for them both. Even Wade is uncharacteristically silent in awe at what sprawls out before them – although, of course, that barely lasts two seconds before his mouth is running with an emphatic, “Holy Attack On Titanic Cock-”

Logan, as per usual, does not acknowledge this quip. Instead, he’s too busy rounding on the masked menace and ejecting his claws with a violent, angry snikt, his nose wrinkling into a furious snarl. “This is your fucking fault, why the fuck are you screwing around with shit you don’t have the first idea how to use-”

“Woah now, Adam Sandler in Anger Management and the beginning of Happy Gilmore, let’s not do anything hasty, you need me if you wanna avoid getting re-spermed by Henry Cavill as Eren Yeager-” He pauses. “Wait, I just heard myself. That was too many references, wasn’t it? Was that too many references? No, no, it’s the horny readers who are wrong…”

Before Logan has a chance to personally decapitate Wade to make Headpool 2.0, there’s a rumbling movement. An earthquake-sized upheaval that sends them both sprawling onto their stomachs, clinging to the smooth, velvet flesh of what they both know to be the head of an enormous cock. Above them, a hand looms into view, and Wade squeaks a little, “Oh, crap.”

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Hi, just wanted to remind you that I still love all the ego stuff you wrote. I was a big lurker during the time you actively wrote it but dude it was so fucking good.

When I think about the egos, I mostly think about your stuff bc it made the characters come to life. It was so good. I can’t say it enough.

The stuff I’m pulling from memory rn is Anti’s time in The Forgotten. Like my bro, my dude, my homie. That shit pulled at my heart. The fact that he was only gone for like a day or smt in our dimension but he had actually been gone for like 10 years in that dimension experiencing horrors unknown. AND NOBEDY KNEW???? Good shit.

The relationship between the Host and dr. Iplier. Still one of my fav bromances. Like the trust between them and how it was made through hardships. It came to a point where Host even trusted Doc with his name??? Which gave him power over Host, something he was so afraid of. Doc made him a better man. Stopped him from being too cruel. But than he had to forget it bc he went insane. BUT BECAUSE HOST IS AN ASS, HE MADE DOC AND ANTI FORGET EVERYTHING. My guy, that’s your platonic husband and adopted son. Yes I was screaming about that. That still gets me going.

There is so much other stuff too though. Like Anti and Doc becoming family. The egos all getting closer. Phantom being an absolute menace every time he appeared. The Googles becoming more and more human over time.

You introduced me to Wiggles. Didn’t know anything about PJ before I started reading your works.

What it all boils down to, is me wanting to thank you. I don’t know how you look back on those ego stories but it got me through some dark times. You updating it always made my day better. I still carry a piece of it with me everywhere I go and has also inspired me a lot. So thank you!

Oh man, thank you so much for taking time to send this! It's honestly insanely encouraging to hear those stories stuck with you. I still love them a lot myself, cringe or no, because they're such a fun time capsule of that period in my life, and this blog and all the people who followed it (lurkers and all) also helped me get through college in one piece.

Gosh I did put Anti through so much, but in my defense, it was for character development! He and Ollie were always one of my favorite dynamics to write, personally. I mean, the computer glitch demon and the sentient android with a heart of gold? I still haven't made up something that good since. Also the Mare and Phantom dynamic, which they were always managing to screw up somehow. Unhealthy sibling dynamics are the best.

It's also insane that so much of the Host stuck with you because he was always my favorite to write and the one that felt the most like mine at the end of the day. The fact that Mark announced he'd retired him as a character and we all collectively agreed to kidnap him and give him a story is still one of this fandom's shining moments in my mind. In fact, I've kinda snagged Host for different original stories I'm writing now just because I miss writing him so much. I've also kept The Forgotten as a concept, which is definitely getting used in a setting I'm working on now because the angst potential is indeed too good to deny.

Also, while we're strolling down memory lane, what one writer gets to wipe their entire canon midway through and start over again in an alternate timeline whilst using references to the previous timeline to terrorize their readers? Ending one timeline of the blog to begin another was a wild but fascinating experiment on my part to see how I could use it to play with foreshadowing and all that jazz. Plus nothing will ever quite beat letting the audience reach into the narrative and start making their own waves from time to time.

But even though I do mostly original stories now, I'm still loving writing found families and platonic soulmates and maybe the redeeming of one or two villains, so I appreciate all the practice and the feedback I got from these stories! I'll probably keep sneaking Ego references into my stories forever. I'd also be curious to know which story arcs stuck with other people??

[samasmith23]

This scene between Nuke (aka, Frank Simpson) & the Kingpin from Daredevil: Born Again really surprised me given how pro-military & uncritically nationalistic Franky-Boy later became after 9/11.

Like, there’s some legitimately intriguing commentary here about the connections between American corporatism & organized crime as Wilson Fisk uses his corrupt economic & political connections to gain favor with the corrupt US General whom Nuke serves under. Plus, it’s fascinating how Fisk weaponizes rightwing propaganda lies about protesters mistreating Vietnam veterans in order to convince Nuke to commit war crimes in the Hell’s Kitchen district of New York in order to lure Daredevil out of hiding.

Like seriously… what the heck happened to THIS Frank Miller?!

Also, I find it so ironic that the Comicsgate & Fandom Menace chuds who simultaneously lie about comics in the past being “apolitical” and uncritically adore Franky-Boy (including his more modern sexist & Islamophobic works…), seem to conveniently forget that Miller’s work back during the 80s (aka, his GOOD era…), was overtly political! Like seriously, Frank “Nuke” Simpson is an unflattering portrayal of American nationalists & military/gun enthusiasts, and how could a superhero fighting a supervillain who has the American flag tattooed on his face be anything BUT political?!

Speaking of which, considering what a deranged psychopath mercenary Nuke is portrayed as, @atopfourthwall jokingly speculated in his Daredevil: Born Again patreon sponsored review that we finally had a backstory for the bigoted Batman knock-off, the Fixer, from Holy Terror (i.e. the WORST comic of all-time) through Nuke’s characterization here!

Again, to quote Linkara, the Fixer’s non-existent backstory “is the laziest bullcrap motivation and writing that I have seen in a long time!”

Such a shame that Franky-Boy forgot that Nuke was supposed a bad guy when he later rewrote him as the Fixer in 2011…

From Daredevil (1964) #232 by Frank Miller & David Mazzucchelli.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: When the battle in the department of mysteries heads south, Harry finds herself flung backwards in time to 1942, where Tom Riddle is a prefect in his fifth year. Armed with this knowledge, but little else, Harry desperately tries to find a way home and for once in her life not screw it up. Tom, for his own part, wonders when Harry Evans will head back to the mothership.

Author: @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin

Note from submitter: Incredibly funny time travel romcom ft. exasperated female Harry and perpetual menace Tom (though they tend to switch between these roles often enough lmao)

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Thank you for your response and reflection. Definitely one of the best analysis I have read about them in a long time. Thank you for being honest and holding the characters to what they actually do, and how the text is trying to guide the narrative of them, instead of the fandom's perception.

I don't think I have encountered this argument for their relationship before (I mean I might have, over the years… but I couldnt remember when) , but it is absolutely valid, because it's reassured by the text.

Later on Equius does mention to her that he 'shudders to think' what he might ended up as, were it that Nepeta was not his moirail.

And this what the text tells us, as in, what the point of moirallegiance is. Trolls are described as an angry race, who need the help of others to avoid causing damage to themselves or their surroundings.

In essence this is a effed up responsibilty. Everything about trolls is messed up but. If you think about it, even this is too. Like "I dont really care for or like that guy but somebody needs to hang out with them or theyll kill everyone". This is the kind of shit Alternian kids need to think about. Kids and fun.

Yes he definitely *tries* to mold her into something of his own image, but fails, because Nepeta is resilient and also because he is a massive screw-up. Like an ineffectual villain that destroys his own doomsday device, and makes himself look like a complete imbecile.

And yes Nepeta is indeed just simply a nice person. As you said, she is an optimist, and because of this, a little naiive. She can detect bad intentions but still wants to give a chance to basically anyone. In the chaotic and cutthroat world of Alternia someone like her wouldn't really fit in, but she still manages to survive and keep being an optimist.

I definitely like this being added to their narrative because it makes them imperfect.

And yes. That is something that is important. Because now, meowrails no longer have this 'pristine perfect model relationship' flag hanging above them, as the fandom so graciously awarded them this honor.

I admit I am a complete and utter hypocrite, because I too was always a part of those people who loved to sing praises about meowrails to the moon and back.

I still do, I still love them. But I think it's important to take them as they actually were. Instead of always living in tooth rottingly sweet headcanonland. So with all this, I feel like this pairing gained some layers as far as my interpretation goes.

It's a complicated matter. He's misguided and doing shit that is morally wrong, but aligns with the stuff he was taught. She thinks he's putting up an unnecessary front, but doesnt have the worldlyness to really dig into it. She's a little disconnected from everything, but can sense the potential goodness in all. He, as a blue blood has privileges that were granted to him, and even encouraged to do, so he tries to single her out and shut her off from the others. Even Eridan had black flirt-flarping sessions with Vriska. But when most trolls would try and completely avoid him, this one, Nepeta, stuck around. He can't let that go. He can't let her hang out with potentially dangerous trolls. He doesn't want to be alone.

She can do without him though. But she's afraid if she's not around he might do something that everyone would regret. So she sticks around. Its scary. He looks really menacing. But then ends up kind of genuinely liking him? Because he is actually less rigid than appears to be.

It seems they're getting the hang of it. All of Nepeta's mannerisms rub off on him. It's real psychology, we all adapt our friends and surroundings way of being in small ways. It really seems like they have made such progress.

And then they were gone.

But the point is, Nepeta is struggling with complicated, multi-layered feelings regarding him. Not to fall off too much into romanticism (because I will like the bleeding heart moron I am), but I think that's great, because it makes it seem more real. It wasn't the absolute most perfect relationship that popped out fully formed from Hussie's head. No. Like real relationships there's a bit of hurt in each of us. We don't always mean to hurt those we love. But sometimes we end up doing it anyway. The question is, if we can learn from these points of our lives.

Him failing at a critical moment, perhaps the most critical moment in paradox space, was all that bad shit finally catching up with him.

That's why I agree with Hussie now. I know him now, like you do Hussie. And yeah a massive force of whiplash was always heading towards him, courtesy of the universe.

But the aftermath is important too. I remember how I always feared that the actual meowrails reunion would be absolutely completely bitter. Just cuss him out and leave him to rot. I always thought, "well that's what he deserves", so that's what he'd get.

But the eternal shining light of friendship proved me wrong. All off-screen of course (nepeta already furgave you for that). Figures. But still. Maybe we can continue after the hurt feelings? After the damage? Maybe we can start over? Maybe we don't have to burn the bridges? Guess we'll never know. It doesn't make it easier IRL neither. I don't know if holding on is a good idea. I don't know if Im letting them 'get away' with stuff, or if Im using them for my own purposes. I dont know if Im holding them back or if its other way around.

But for a small, fleeting moment it seemed like friendship was real and unrelenting. And that's all I cared about.

This is wonderfully put, anon. This might be the first time I've read such a thoughtful reflection of Meowrails that acknowledges the relationship's flaws, yet still comes out with a positive outlook on it.

Though our preferences may not align, I find your perspective valid and I can definitely understand the appeal it holds for you. Thanks for sharing this with me.

[reconstructwriter]

Finally Broken Down and Watched the Prequels

I honestly don't remember if I've seen them all before or just clips. But after a few years of being a Star Wars fan on a steady diet of fandom, I broke down and pulled out the Phantom Menace to cap off my birthday. I’m spoiled to hell and back and a couple decades older than the intended audience but what the hell. So here’s my two cents (or more) arrogant opinion on The Phantom Menace:

Heads up, long post.

Shmi surprised me the most of any character. After reading fanfics about Jedi or Qui Gon pressuring/coercing her…she’s the one who asks them to take Anakin? For education she can’t give him? Okay, fair. And I’m 100% onboard with Shmi as Force Sensitive and/or taught Jedi beliefs cause her lines are peak Jedi. Anakin not only betrayed Jedi teachings but ALSO HIS MOM’S when he went Darth Vader. Congrats, you become not only Galaxy’s Worst Father but also Galaxy’s Worst Son.

Shmi is also clearly enslaved by the plot. Not even Anakin selling the winning pod racer was enough money to free her…but somehow Cleigg Lars has the cash? Is he supposed to be running a plantation here?

Jar Jar was annoying but given how low my expectations of him were set? Eh, the worst thing about him was the blatant racist portrayal (and he’s not alone) in a film whose MAIN THEME is equality. Bad enough to have a bigoted cliche show up but George Lucas are you deliberately shooting your movie’s message in the foot?

This is especially bad when another blatant racist portrayal is Watto and the Jedi are Space Jewish Buddhists! Enough idiots buy the Sith propaganda that Jedi steal children or whatever that attitude does NOT NEED REINFORCEMENT!

Especially not IRL.

Qui Gon harping on Anakin needing to be trained but NOT being the one to train Anakin was also a bit unexpected, given his fanon portrayals. I mean on the one hand I’m glad you’re not screwing your Padawan over completely but on the other hand you found and freed Anakin and now you want to pawn him off? Which he did, in the end.

Poor Obi Wan though, like I get this isn’t an easy solution and Qui Gon is backed in a corner but man you'd think a diplomat would be a little better! But kudos for Kenobi he looked past his hurt and rallied to support his Master for a nine year old’s sake.

Tales of the Jedi seems to imply the Council sent Qui Gon to Darth Maul like a lamb to the slaughter but that was not what I got. No one, not even Qui Gon or Obi Wan, seemed to think they couldn’t handle him. Not entirely certain they didn’t write off his appearance as a 100 on the random encounters table but anyway…

I’ve seen the clip of Anakin standing before the Council and unlike a lot of scenes it feels more open to interpretation – is Anakin cold cause of the Dark Side growing from his fear or cause he’s used to Tattooine? Does he fear for his enslaved mom or for his own pain from losing her? Is Anakin behaving himself better because he’s intimidated or because he has his serious pants on like everyone else? Does he think the Jedi will kick him out on the street or does he know he’ll still be taken care of?

Also the movie ends with Mace and Yoda - The Two Top Ranking Jedi - discussing the Sith Master, so the Jedi are clearly jumping onto that investigation.

[koala-fluff]

Tickletober Day 1: Anticipation

Fandom: Wednesday

-Enjoy!

-----------------------

Xavier knew he was screwed as soon as she let herself in. Actually, he knew when he saw her sitting grumpily at lunch.

"Bad day?" He asked, eyeing her warily.

"Yes." Wednesday replied curtly, gathering up some of his paint and preparing a canvas.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No." The reply made him freeze for only a moment. He cleared his throat and watched, to his horror, as she set up her space directly next to his.

They painted in silence. To anyone else, it would seem like a nice scene. Just two friends, comfortable in each other's presence without need to speak.

For poor Xavier though, it was anything but comfortable.

His movements were stiff and his face was slightly pink. Every few seconds, his eyes were drawn in her direction. His nerves were buzzing as he waited for her inevitable attack.

During one of his passing glances, Wednesday looked at him slyly. He inhaled sharply, watching her closely. She deliberately reached for a thicker brush and wiggled her fingers before picking it up.

Xavier's eyes widened and he turned away immediately. What was he painting again? It was so hard to focus with her right there.

"Hm…" the evil Addams hummed, tilting her head. "Maybe…"

Her hand shot towards the boy, fingers formed into claws. He yelped and dropped his brush. His arms went down to defend and he closed his eyes, preparing for…

… nothing?

He carefully opened one eye, then his jaw dropped, offended.

She stood there, head cocked in confusion. Evidently, she was just being a little menace, for she had stolen his magenta paint.

"Hey!" He huffed, relaxing only a tiny bit. "I was using that!"

"No you weren't." She said, looking back at her own canvas. "You were too busy waiting for me to tickle you."

He spluttered, his face going scarlet. "Wha- no! I wasn't- why-"

She held a hand up and slowly turned to face him again. She hummed thoughtfully, her eyes going from her canvas to his face, then back to whatever masterpiece she was creating. Xavier peaked at it and saw that it was covered in a light, redish color.

"I've been having trouble with my background." She said, slowly putting her brush down. "I just can't seem to get the right shade of red."

Xavier looked like a deer in headlights. His own eyes tracked between her and her canvas. A shiver ran down his spine as she cracked her knuckles and stepped towards him. He, obviously, stepped back.

"I think," she said, a smirk growing on her lips, "if I can make you blush only a little more, your face will be the perfect reference…"

He gulped.

Yep, he was so screwed.

[ao3feed-ateez]

Rough and Dirty

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/XGhMpUN by Titant (Atlantas) And that’s how the idea is planted in Mingi’s mind. Not like he hasn’t thought of Yunho fucking him six ways to Sunday, holding him down through the mattress until there was nothing left on Mingi’s mind but the older’s name slipping from his tongue, but there was a certain line that he didn’t let himself cross, and it was all shattered thanks to Wooyoung. So, screw Wooyoung. The idea is planted so deeply in his head, that it is the last thing that Mingi thinks of before falling asleep, and the first thing in the morning when he wakes up. Words: 11102, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Kang Yeosang, Park Seonghwa Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi (ATEEZ) Additional Tags: Jung Wooyoung is a Menace (ATEEZ), Bottom Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Love Confessions, Jeong Yunho is Whipped (ATEEZ), this took me so long to write, but thats because i didnt like it, this was supposed to be 5k, ended up being 11k of pure smut, this is self indulgent, I REGRET NOTHING, no beta we die like mingi's pussy, Boypussy, Boypussy Song Mingi (ATEEZ), why isnt that a tag, Unsafe Sex, Creampie, Belly Bulge, Love Bites, like Yunho mauls Mingi, Rough Sex read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/XGhMpUN

[anghraine]

I was just thinking about how I tend to really engage with characters who have great capacities for good combined with significant personal flaws. Sometimes the flaws are disastrous—I've loved many a tortured villain (but generally not unconcerned, pure-evil-with-panache villains). Sometimes I like anti-heroic characters who are charismatically edgy, but not only edgy—there's got to be something more going on with them, moments when you can hope for better things (like with Mary Crawford).

Sometimes the significant flaws almost lead to disaster, but after much struggle are overcome before the disaster happens (like Luke Skywalker in the OT). Sometimes the flaws do lead to disaster, or at least significantly contribute to it, but that capacity for something better—either in the future or in the sense of possibility—is essential (like with Anakin). Sometimes the external effects are minimal but the flaw is still significant to the character, at least as far as I'm concerned, especially if it's surprising (like with book Faramir).

But sometimes a character is presented as so overwhelmingly good and right-thinking, with such minimal development or flaws I find so ephemeral or unconvincing, that I'm like ... they're fine, I guess? But I don't really love them. I need some sharp edges, at least in my own perception of the character.

Faramir probably has the least of this of my faves, but his mixture of menace and graciousness in TTT and his lashing out in ROTK sells the virtue for me, you know? It's like when people in Austen fandom go on about why would you choose Darcy as the favorite JA hero when you could choose heroes who don't screw up nearly as much and are therefore more deserving, and I'm just, uh, Darcy's powerful virtuousness (which is very real) works for me because he screws up so badly, and does so in large part because of his personal flaws, and has a whole arc involving them.

Of course, it's not just any personal flaw that makes characters like these appealing. There are definitely characters who mix admirable qualities with significant flaws that I find deeply annoying or even repellent. Generally, there has to be a reason for the development of the flaw/flaws that makes intuitive sense to me and which I find more or less sympathetic (Attolia Irene), or an external pressure that winds up the flaw/flaws dramatically and drives the character on (Denethor). Also, some characteristics are just personally irritating or unappealing to me (or alternately, ones I just like—hard, intense, and determined female characters, to the point of of occasional ruthlessness But There's A Reason, are probably my favorite type of female character).

But yeah, "What about X? They don't screw up in any meaningful way, they're just soft and good" is always going to be a tough sell for me.