#weekly publishing is hell

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you know . i keep saying that i’m gonna make a post abt chapter 268 and i probably will as soon as i can get my thoughts in order but ………. i’ve been thinking a lot about the conclusion to sukuna’s and yuji’s relationship . and even though i wish we had more buildup beforehand i do think the ending itself is really really good…. even if sukuna is technically yuji’s uncle, yuji’s soul still represents the soul of the younger brother sukuna ate in the womb, so for yuji to accept sukuna, to not curse him at the very last moment…. it feels very . intentional. like the younger brother is forgiving the older brother for doing what he had to do to survive. sukuna rejects the forgiveness, which makes sense, but i wonder if he felt that way too…. that he was being pitied, forgiven, and loved by the first weakling he devoured……..

idk. they make me insane though

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting a book to end enshittification, because Amazon will not carry it

My next book is The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation: it’s a Big Tech disassembly manual that explains how to disenshittify the web and bring back the old good internet. The hardcover comes from Verso on Sept 5, but the audiobook comes from me — because Amazon refuses to sell my audio:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-internet-con-how-to-seize-the-means-of-computation

Amazon owns Audible, the monopoly audiobook platform that controls >90% of the audio market. They require mandatory DRM for every book sold, locking those books forever to Amazon’s monopoly platform. If you break up with Amazon, you have to throw away your entire audiobook library.

That’s a hell of a lot of leverage to hand to any company, let alone a rapacious monopoly that ran a program targeting small publishers called “Project Gazelle,” where execs were ordered to attack indie publishers “the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”:

https://www.businessinsider.com/sadistic-amazon-treated-book-sellers-the-way-a-cheetah-would-pursue-a-sickly-gazelle-2013-10

[Image ID: Journalist and novelist Doctorow (Red Team Blues) details a plan for how to break up Big Tech in this impassioned and perceptive manifesto….Doctorow’s sense of urgency is contagious -Publishers Weekly]

I won’t sell my work with DRM, because DRM is key to the enshittification of the internet. Enshittification is why the old, good internet died and became “five giant websites filled with screenshots of the other four” (h/t Tom Eastman). When a tech company can lock in its users and suppliers, it can drain value from both sides, using DRM and other lock-in gimmicks to keep their business even as they grow ever more miserable on the platform.

Here is how platforms die: first, they are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

[Image ID: A brilliant barn burner of a book. Cory is one of the sharpest tech critics, and he shows with fierce clarity how our computational future could be otherwise -Kate Crawford, author of The Atlas of AI”]

The Internet Con isn’t just an analysis of where enshittification comes from: it’s a detailed, shovel-ready policy prescription for halting enshittification, throwing it into reverse and bringing back the old, good internet.

How do we do that? With interoperability: the ability to plug new technology into those crapulent, decaying platform. Interop lets you choose which parts of the service you want and block the parts you don’t (think of how an adblocker lets you take the take-it-or-leave “offer” from a website and reply with “How about nah?”):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

But interop isn’t just about making platforms less terrible — it’s an explosive charge that demolishes walled gardens. With interop, you can leave a social media service, but keep talking to the people who stay. With interop, you can leave your mobile platform, but bring your apps and media with you to a rival’s service. With interop, you can break up with Amazon, and still keep your audiobooks.

So, if interop is so great, why isn’t it everywhere?

Well, it used to be. Interop is how Microsoft became the dominant operating system:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

[Image ID: Nobody gets the internet-both the nuts and bolts that make it hum and the laws that shaped it into the mess it is-quite like Cory, and no one’s better qualified to deliver us a user manual for fixing it. That’s The Internet Con: a rousing, imaginative, and accessible treatise for correcting our curdled online world. If you care about the internet, get ready to dedicate yourself to making interoperability a reality. -Brian Merchant, author of Blood in the Machine]

It’s how Apple saved itself from Microsoft’s vicious campaign to destroy it:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Every tech giant used interop to grow, and then every tech giant promptly turned around and attacked interoperators. Every pirate wants to be an admiral. When Big Tech did it, that was progress; when you do it back to Big Tech, that’s piracy. The tech giants used their monopoly power to make interop without permission illegal, creating a kind of “felony contempt of business model” (h/t Jay Freeman).

The Internet Con describes how this came to pass, but, more importantly, it tells us how to fix it. It lays out how we can combine different kinds of interop requirements (like the EU’s Digital Markets Act and Massachusetts’s Right to Repair law) with protections for reverse-engineering and other guerrilla tactics to create a system that is strong without being brittle, hard to cheat on and easy to enforce.

What’s more, this book explains how to get these policies: what existing legislative, regulatory and judicial powers can be invoked to make them a reality. Because we are living through the Great Enshittification, and crises erupt every ten seconds, and when those crises occur, the “good ideas lying around” can move from the fringes to the center in an eyeblink:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/12/only-a-crisis/#lets-gooooo

[Image ID: Thoughtfully written and patiently presented, The Internet Con explains how the promise of a free and open internet was lost to predatory business practices and the rush to commodify every aspect of our lives. An essential read for anyone that wants to understand how we lost control of our digital spaces and infrastructure to Silicon Valley’s tech giants, and how we can start fighting to get it back. -Tim Maughan, author of INFINITE DETAIL]

After all, we’ve known Big Tech was rotten for years, but we had no idea what to do about it. Every time a Big Tech colossus did something ghastly to millions or billions of people, we tried to fix the tech company. There’s no fixing the tech companies. They need to burn. The way to make users safe from Big Tech predators isn’t to make those predators behave better — it’s to evacuate those users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/18/urban-wildlife-interface/#combustible-walled-gardens

I’ve been campaigning for human rights in the digital world for more than 20 years; I’ve been EFF’s European Director, representing the public interest at the EU, the UN, Westminster, Ottawa and DC. This is the subject I’ve devoted my life to, and I live my principles. I won’t let my books be sold with DRM, which means that Audible won’t carry my audiobooks. My agent tells me that this decision has cost me enough money to pay off my mortgage and put my kid through college. That’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means that my books aren’t enshittification bait.

But not selling on Audible has another cost, one that’s more important to me: a lot of readers prefer audiobooks and 9 out of 10 of those readers start and end their searches on Audible. When they don’t find an author there, they assume no audiobook exists, period. It got so bad I put up an audiobook on Amazon — me, reading an essay, explaining how Audible rips off writers and readers. It’s called “Why None of My Audiobooks Are For Sale on Audible”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

[Image ID: Doctorow has been thinking longer and smarter than anyone else I know about how we create and exchange value in a digital age. -Douglas Rushkoff, author of Present Shock]

To get my audiobooks into readers’ ears, I pre-sell them on Kickstarter. This has been wildly successful, both financially and as a means of getting other prominent authors to break up with Amazon and use crowdfunding to fill the gap. Writers like Brandon Sanderson are doing heroic work, smashing Amazon’s monopoly:

https://www.brandonsanderson.com/guest-editorial-cory-doctorow-is-a-bestselling-author-but-audible-wont-carry-his-audiobooks/

And to be frank, I love audiobooks, too. I swim every day as physio for a chronic pain condition, and I listen to 2–3 books/month on my underwater MP3 player, disappearing into an imaginary world as I scull back and forth in my public pool. I’m able to get those audiobooks on my MP3 player thanks to Libro.fm, a DRM-free store that supports indie booksellers all over the world:

https://blog.libro.fm/a-qa-with-mark-pearson-libro-fm-ceo-and-co-founder/

Producing my own audiobooks has been a dream. Working with Skyboat Media, I’ve gotten narrators like @wilwheaton​, Amber Benson, @neil-gaiman​ and Stefan Rudnicki for my work:

https://craphound.com/shop/

[Image ID: “This book is the instruction manual Big Tech doesn’t want you to read. It deconstructs their crummy products, undemocratic business models, rigged legal regimes, and lies. Crack this book and help build something better. -Astra Taylor, author of Democracy May Not Exist, but We’ll Miss It When Its Gone”]

But for this title, I decided that I would read it myself. After all, I’ve been podcasting since 2006, reading my own work aloud every week or so, even as I traveled the world and gave thousands of speeches about the subject of this book. I was excited (and a little trepedatious) at the prospect, but how could I pass up a chance to work with director Gabrielle de Cuir, who has directed everyone from Anne Hathaway to LeVar Burton to Eric Idle?

Reader, I fucking nailed it. I went back to those daily recordings fully prepared to hate them, but they were good — even great (especially after my engineer John Taylor Williams mastered them). Listen for yourself!

https://archive.org/details/cory_doctorow_internet_con_chapter_01

I hope you’ll consider backing this Kickstarter. If you’ve ever read my free, open access, CC-licensed blog posts and novels, or listened to my podcasts, or come to one of my talks and wished there was a way to say thank you, this is it. These crowdfunders make my DRM-free publishing program viable, even as audiobooks grow more central to a writer’s income and even as a single company takes over nearly the entire audiobook market.

Backers can choose from the DRM-free audiobook, DRM-free ebook (EPUB and MOBI) and a hardcover — including a signed, personalized option, fulfilled through the great LA indie bookstore Book Soup:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-internet-con-how-to-seize-the-means-of-computation

What’s more, these ebooks and audiobooks are unlike any you’ll get anywhere else because they are sold without any terms of service or license agreements. As has been the case since time immemorial, when you buy these books, they’re yours, and you are allowed to do anything with them that copyright law permits — give them away, lend them to friends, or simply read them with any technology you choose.

As with my previous Kickstarters, backers can get their audiobooks delivered with an app (from libro.fm) or as a folder of MP3s. That helps people who struggle with “sideloading,” a process that Apple and Google have made progressively harder, even as they force audiobook and ebook sellers to hand over a 30% app tax on every dollar they make:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell/posts/3788112

Enshittification is rotting every layer of the tech stack: mobile, payments, hosting, social, delivery, playback. Every tech company is pulling the rug out from under us, using the chokepoints they built between audiences and speakers, artists and fans, to pick all of our pockets.

The Internet Con isn’t just a lament for the internet we lost — it’s a plan to get it back. I hope you’ll get a copy and share it with the people you love, even as the tech platforms choke off your communities to pad their quarterly numbers.

Next weekend (Aug 4-6), I'll be in Austin for Armadillocon, a science fiction convention, where I'm the Guest of Honor:

https://armadillocon.org/d45/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/31/seize-the-means-of-computation/#the-internet-con

[Image ID: My forthcoming book 'The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation' in various editions: Verso hardcover, audiobook displayed on a phone, and ebook displayed on an e-ink reader.]

[nihildes]

"Luigi Galleani, author of the anarchist classic, The End of Anarchism? (1925) was, during his lifetime, among the most significant and best-known anarchist-communists. Largely forgotten for decades he has recently been re-discovered by the generation of anarchists politicized during the alternative globalization struggles. A supporter of “propaganda by deed” Galleani’s weekly newspaper Cronaca Sovversiva, published while he was in exile in America, gained international attention during the trial of Sacco and Vanzetti. The supposed association of the two accused anarchists with the paper was used as evidence of their avowal of violence.

As a defender of “propaganda by deed,” the perspective used to explain acts of violence and attacks on property, Galleani refused to separate individual acts of rebellion from the context in which they arose. Likewise he declined to separate individual acts of rebellion from the broader revolutionary process, seeing it as a necessary phase between theoretical affirmation and insurrectionary movement. For Galleani, there is no point in condemning such an act because it originates in an intricate convergence of predisposing conditions which, at certain times, demand it. Galleani presents “propaganda by deed” as the manual counterpart to the intellectual labour of speeches, writings, denunciations and public meetings. One fulminates, the other acts; both are necessary." - Jeff Shantz

"The State sees only a criminal in anyone who breaks a law and, by delivering him to a dozen bigots or butchers, is certain to have him committed to the executioner, to the penitentiary, to hell in any case.

The conventionally-minded cry out contradictorily that “Human life is sacred and inviolable, and whoever attacks it offends both divine and human laws”; while they are fattening their wallets and their bellies without the least scruple; condemning the helots toiling in the fields, the factories and the mines to starvation, despair and early death, their women to prostitution and their children to the gutter. Or else, they push them over frontiers into monstrous slaughter tor the sake of a killing in the stock market." - The End of Anarchism? by Luigi Galleani

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter five:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ warnings: fighting, misunderstanding, mentions of cheating

➴ word count: 3.2k

➴ author’s note: shit hit the fan yall… who the hell is going to fix this mess..

YOU woke up at ten to two after sleeping for seven hours straight. One thing about stressed you, is that you'd sleep for twenty-four hours if given the opportunity.

But you were thirsty and you needed to get your hands on a glass of water before you died from dehydration.

So, you got up, and made your way to the kitchen, only stopping when you saw your phone blowing up on the counter.

Frowning, you picked it up, confused with the hundreds of notifications on your lock screen.

You completely forgot about your need for water. With your heart on your mouth, you sat on one of your stools, unlocking your phone and texting Grace.

Usually, you didn't care about gossip. You'd always just joke about it on Twitter with your fans and move on.

People liked to invent things and you couldn't exactly stop them. So you just let it happen.

But apparently, Jack was involved in this too. Which left you confused because people didn't know about you two. Or at least, that's what your media team would say, whenever you had a meeting with them— a weekly occurrence, ever since the album was announced.

Typing your name on Google, you didn't have to dig too deep: an article published five hours ago was the first to show up. "Former Flames: NHL Star Jack Hughes Moves On with New Flame After Breakup with Pop Singer, Sophia Montenegro".

What the fuck?

Opening it, you could swear your heart would stop any moment. Hands shaking, you read every line, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time.

It seems love off the ice is just as fast-paced as the action on it for NHL star Jack Hughes. The hockey player, known for his fierce plays and competitive edge, is making headlines for his personal life as well. After a low-profile breakup with pop sensation Sophia Montenegro, Jack Hughes has already moved on-and he's not keeping it a secret.

According to our anonymous sources, the athlete and singer had started dating back in April, after they met at the New Jersey Devils [Jack Hughes' team] charity gala, and kept everything in the dark for six months straight: nothing more than a few Instagram comments and likes to prove anything.

However, despite the chemistry, the relationship ended after Jack was seen with one of his exes last night, Ava Mitchell. Jack Hughes is known for his short-term relationships so it wouldn't be anything new.

We hope Mrs. Montenegro is okay, after her second break-up in less than two years. Maybe our sweet girl, Sophia, has bad luck with relationships.

You didn't bother reading the rest, locking your phone and gently placing it on the counter again.

The rational part of your brain was telling you that none of that was true, and that this was just a gossip magazine doing what’s supposed to be doing, but you recognised the girl in the photo, it was the same girl on Jack’s lap yesterday. And that was obviously Jack, holding her hand like some kind of loving boyfriend.

You sighed, running your hands through your hair. You knew that something like this would happen. All of the good moments you had with Jack apparently were just that: good moments. And now, bad memories.

You knew what you had to do. Keep going, just like you did when Harris broke up with you over text after cheating on you the night before. Keep going, just like you did when your name got dragged into the mud because of that.

But doing that with Jack, for some crazy reason, was harder than you thought it’d be. Maybe because you had a lot of expectations and watching them getting crushed right in front of you sucked.

Your phone buzzed in front of you, Grace’s picture shining. You sighed, before picking it up. “Hi,” you whispered, remembering that you were still thirsty and this was the first word you said in seven hours.

“Hey, baby, how are you?” She sounded worried, and you understood her. This was the first somewhat scandal you’ve had in months. So yeah.

“I just read it…” you took a deep breath. “Gosh, what the hell. What happened after I left?”

You heard Grace move something around before she started speaking again. “Honey, I wish I could tell you something entirely different but… I did see Jack leaving with that girl. I am so sorry. Like, genuinely.”

Your entire body felt like it weighed three times more. Your heart shrank to the size of a pea and you could feel your hand tremble a little bit.

You had seen the picture, you knew that Jack had left the party with the girl but still. It hurt.

“Did you talk to him?” Grace asked, voice worried.

“No, I— Grace, I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, feeling something tickle your cheek. You wiped it with your hands, just to realize that it was tears. You were crying. “I like him so much. I had finally accepted it, I told you— I thought he felt the same.”

“I did too. I don’t know what happened. Maybe… God I hate to say this but maybe you should talk to him?”

You let out a wet laugh. “No way in hell I’m talking to him. I made that mistake with Harris. Every time he’d do something shitty, I’d go after him and talk to him, accept his excuses, his behavior. I’m not that Sophia anymore.”

“I know, I know… I just…” she sounded uncertain. “God. Why are men like this?”

You wiped your tears, smiling for the first time in hours.

“I don’t know.”

“Also, that song you sent me… is it about him?”

You were confused just for a second, before remembering the song you wrote last night— morning?

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling just the tiniest bit of embarrassment. “Couldn’t get it out of my head. What’d you think?”

“It’s perfect. Just like everything you write,” you could hear her smiling. You smiled too. “I love you so much, Soph.”

“I love you too, Grace. Don’t worry, I'll be fine,” you sounded like you were trying to convince yourself, and not her. “Let’s just focus on the album and the launching party, right? Fuck Jack Hughes.”

“Yes, you’re right. Fuck him and not in a good way!”

You laughed, feeling the pain inside your chest ease up a little bit.

It was going to be fine.

— ♡

JACK called you three times in the past three days.

You felt shitty not picking up any of his calls because you knew he was away for the entire week, but honestly, you weren’t ready to hear any of his excuses.

So drowning yourself in work was the answer for all of your problems. Day and night, you went to photoshoots and interviews, none of the questions being about you and Jack, thankfully. You knew it was all your team’s doing but still, it felt nice to talk about yourself and your work, and not about men who did nothing but make you hate yourself.

Grace thought you had to at least hear Jack out. But you knew that if you did that, the chances of you forgiving him were high. Higher than they should be. Because you’re still very much in love with him and want to be with him at all times.

“Good work today, guys,” Russel, your choreographer, shouted, everyone clapping together. You were all rehearsing for your launching party, a mini-concert with only a couple hundred people, something to introduce your album.

“Thank you, guys, love you.” You breathed, remembering how you should go back to the gym because singing and dancing at the same time required a lot of effort.

You headed back to your house, staring at the sunset through your car’s window, sighing loudly at the traffic in front of you. It was seven p.m. and you were tired and famished, thinking about all of the take-out options you could order when you got home.

“What the…” you muttered, when you tried entering your garage, but was unable to since there was a car there already. A car that you unfortunately knew very well. “The hell is he doing here?”

Jack was leaning against his car, a crazy thing to do during winter but whatever, wearing a beanie and a Devils hoodie, while looking at something in his phone.

He was supposed to be away. For a week.

Opening your door, you welcomed the cool breeze on your skin. The workout clothes felt too tight on your body and the bag on your hand felt too heavy but you held it tight. He still hadn’t noticed you so maybe you could walk past him without him noticing you?

“Hey, baby,” and yes, of course that didn’t work. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You looked at him like he was out of his mind, but he just kissed your forehead and grabbed something from inside the car. A Five Guys takeout bag. Fuck him for knowing your favorite burger place.

“I got us food but I think the guy there messed with my order on purpose because he recognised me and he was wearing a Rangers pin which I thought was forbidden during work hours? But I never had a nine to five job so I can’t really tell.”

You continued to move, asking yourself why the hell Jack was so talkative today. Usually, he’d just answer your questions and leave it at that. But he must’ve spent too much time with Luke because damn, this man was a yapper now.

Opening the door, you let him in, not really sure why. Maybe Grace was right and you did need closure, but you expected to have this conversation with him through texts, and not face to face like right now.

He looked so dreamy. He’d shaved, so he looked eighteen years old all over again. His hair, hidden by the beanie, looked longer now and you desperately wanted to run your hands through it. He was standing there, cheeks and lips red, blue eyes looking directly at yours.

Why did he have to be so handsome? It’d all be much easier if he was ugly.

“You’re so quiet today, did something happen?” He asked, yanking you out of the train of thoughts about how handsome he was.

And suddenly, you were back in Harris’ living room, one year ago, watching as the man cried on your lap, apologizing over and over again, saying that he’d never lie to you and that he’d never let you down.

Your stomach was starting to hurt and you felt yourself breathing faster.

“I ran this conversation in my head a thousand times, but I never once imagined you’d just not talk about it and move on, y’know?” You mumbled, heart racing in your chest. “Was it worth it, Jack?”

His confused face made you hurt even more because, somehow, it looked genuine. “What are you talking about? Was what worth it?”

“So you’ll keep denying it?” You raise one eyebrow, feeling the sorrow being replaced by something uglier, something heavier. Something like anger.

“Denying what, Sophia?” He stepped closer, hands reaching to your body, which you dodged. If you’re going to do this, you’ll need every ounce of space in your house. “Sophia, what—”

“I know I have no right to be mad at you for this, because I know we were just fucking,” you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hell, I was the one who said I didn’t want a relationship first. So I understand why you didn’t reach out to me, why you’re not apologizing, why you’re playing dumb, but—”

“Sophia,” he cut you off, his voice one octave deeper. You shivered, watching as he frowned at you. “I don’t know why you’re saying all of this shit. What the hell happened?”

You looked at him, analyzing his face and, once again, seeing nothing but pure confusion in his expression. You found it hard to believe that he didn’t know about the article, didn’t know about how people were saying that no one stayed with you for a long time, didn’t know about his ex announcing to everyone on her Instagram page that they were together again.

But unfortunately, you also knew that Jack wasn’t a liar. He’d never been, and probably would never be.

“So you don’t know about the article?”

“Article?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you talking about gossip pages on Instagram? Soph, you know the only thing I do in that fucking app is like your photos, watch the weird ass reels you send me, and send pictures of ugly animals to my brothers and say it looks like them,”

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you google the article that you had every word memorized by now with how much you’ve read it. Showing it to him, you saw his face go through all stages of emotions: confusion, anger and understanding.

“You didn’t know about this?”

“I don’t read the articles people write about me. I don’t give a fuck about people’s opinions,” he growled, handing your phone back to you and taking his beanie off so he could run his hands through his hair. “I don’t know who the hell sent that information about us.”

“Can’t you see that the problem here isn’t people knowing that we were fucking?” You snapped, almost crushing your phone with how hard you were gripping it. “The problem here, Jack, is you leaving that fucking party with your fucking ex, after she spent half of her night on your lap.”

“The hell is wrong with that, Sophia?” He snapped too, looking angry and annoyed at the same time. “You left with fucking Quinn and didn’t even say goodbye to me. Me leaving with Ava isn’t any fucking different.”

“‘Isn’t any fucking different?’ Fuck you, Jack. Fuck,” you touched his chest with your index finger. “You.”

“Sophia, what is going on? You’re mad at me because I left with Ava? She was fucking out of her mind, drunk as hell, and I just took her home!” He raised his arms, like that was enough of an explanation. “It’s not my fault someone took a picture of us leaving and wrote a fucking article about that.”

“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” you whispered, staring into his eyes, losing yourself all over again, just like you did six months ago. “I’m mad at myself for falling in love with you.”

You were both taken aback by your statement. You had zero intentions of telling Jack how you felt about him because that would just be too much humiliation to handle but now the shit hit the fan and he knew.

“It’s…” he stared, biting his lips and averting your gaze. “It’s not like I cheated on you, Sophia. We aren’t dating.”

Oh.

Right.

You knew something like this would happen and still. Your heart hurts all the same. It isn’t that serious, your brain was yelling at you, get a fucking grip.

“I know,” you whispered, trying to count your breathings. “I know that, Jack. You don’t need to tell me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He stepped closer. “About how you feel?”

“Was it going to change anything?” Your voice quivered with sadness and you hated yourself for it. The plan was to tell him to fuck off and leave him but now you were almost crying and losing your shit in front of him.

“Yes, Sophia, fuck,” he put his hands on your arms, squeezing you slightly. “Of course it was!”

“Jack, no,” you freed yourself from his touch, walking around your living room, with your hands on your head. “I didn’t tell you that just to watch you pity me, I was trying to make a point. Don’t start lying now just for the sake of it.”

“Lying? I’m not fucking lying, Sophia,” he sounded angry now. “If you had told me this before, I would’ve—”

“‘Would’ve’ what?” You raised your voice too, tears now streaming down your face freely. “Would’ve said you’re in love with me too? Would’ve abandoned your whore days just to be with me? Fuck off, Hughes, we both know that isn’t true.”

“Just because you like to paint me as the man whore of the Devils it doesn’t mean that that is true,” he snapped, again. “I’ve been with you for six months now, and I never, not even once, touched another woman, or even thought about doing it. Because I just wanted you, Sophia, can’t you fucking see it?”

You sat on the couch, covering your face with your hands, trying to hide the fact that those words affected you more than you would ever admit.

“I get it that your fuckhead ex-boyfriend fucked you up and I am sorry for it, baby, I really am, but I’m not like him—”

“Jack, no,” you stopped him and removed your hands from your face, not caring if you looked ugly or destroyed. “Just leave. It’s better this way.”

“Leave? Are you insane?” He raised his voice. “No, I’m not leaving. I’m telling you that I am in lo—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Hughes,” you got up, walking until you were toe to toe with him, looking up until your eyes met his. “I don’t want to hear it. Leave, please.”

“What the hell, man, you’re— you’re not even hearing me out!” He sounded desperate.

“I don’t want— I don’t need any more of your lies or pity. Sorry if you lost a good fuck, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else to get your dick wet.” It hurt you saying this but you needed to hurt him in order to make him leave, even if only God knew how much you wanted him to stay.

But the people you loved, the men you loved, never stayed.

Eventually, if you both started dating, he’d get tired of the routine and he’d find someone else. He’d start lying and cheating and apologizing just to do it all again, stepping on your heart like he did to the ice.

So you needed him to leave.

“So you think that you were just that to me?” He scoffed. “A good fuck? I took you to my parents’ house. I introduced you to them. I talked to my friends about you and I made time for something else besides Hockey. I wanted you in my life and now you’re telling me that it was all just sex to me?”

His eyes have never looked bluer. Your entire body felt cold, and you knew it wasn’t because of the weather. It was because you could feel Jack distancing himself from you, and it hurt.

“Leave, Hughes.”

He stared at you for a full minute, the room quiet. Then, he nodded once and twice, before stepping back and making his way to your door.

Opening it, he turned back and looked at you again. “I hope you know that you can’t keep your heart locked away forever, Soph.”

Wanting nothing but to be in his arms, you stared at him until he softly closed the door. You don’t know how much time you spent looking at the wooden entrance, feeling like you just watched your forever walk away.

[recoord]

Why Good Omens season 1 has already fulfilled Sir Terry Pratchett's wish

Neil Gaiman said he wouldn't make a sequel to Good Omens

Neil Gaiman at SXSW in Austin, Texas in 2019:

[Gaiman also confirmed the series will only be six episodes, with no intention of trying to go for another season if successful. "The lovely thing about Good Omens is it has a beginning, it has a middle, and it has an end," he said to appreciative applause. "Season 1 of Good Omens is Good Omens. It's brilliant. It finishes. You have six episodes and we're done. We won't try to build in all these things to try to let it continue indefinitely."]

Source: Entertainment Weekly (2019)

2018 - Neil Gaiman on X- Twitter

Tweet link here

Also Neil Gaiman in 2023:

["It won't be confirmed unless enough people watch Season 2 to make Amazon happy...

...But obviously Season 3 is all planned and plotted and, if I get to make it, will take the story and the people in it we care about to a satisfying end."]

What happened?

Were the profits and ratings high enough to create two more seasons out of thin air? At this point, seasons 2 and 3 seem more like a greedy stretching of a beloved story already told in its entirety in the first season.

Has the first season already fulfilled Sir Terry Pratchett's wish?

As read above, Neil Gaiman himself said: "Season 1 of Good Omens is Good Omens."

Gaiman was very opened about how pleased he was with Season 1 and how he made it having Sir Terry Pratchett's wish in mind.

Interview for The Verge (May 30, 2019)

Link : Neil Gaiman had one rule for the Good Omens adaptation: making Terry Pratchett happy

Interviewer: Do you feel pressure from knowing this has to be the definitive best adaptation it could be?

Gaiman: No. All I wanted to do was to make something Terry would have liked. It wasn’t like, “Make the best thing.”...

...Gaiman: The lovely thing about Good Omens [the miniseries] is that it’s still Good Omens. If you loved the book, this is that thing that you loved. And I will make you fall in love even more with Sergeant Shadwell. I will make you fall even more in love with Newt than you thought you could, I hope. It does demonstrate that I do kind of know what I’m talking about, which is a nice thing to know.

...Gaiman: So with Good Omens, I feel like what I got to do was put the thing I made with Terry on the screen and then buttress it. What I added isn’t completely different from the original. It’s not out of left field.

Neil Gaiman on an interview for The Guardian in 2019.

Link: Neil Gaiman: ‘Good Omens feels more apt now than it did 30 years ago’

There are times, he insists, when “you make something you like so much that you don’t really care what anyone else thinks of it.” There’s a clue to this, perhaps, in the show’s final frame, which reads “For Terry”. “He didn’t believe in heaven or hell or anything like that,” Gaiman says, “so there wasn’t even a hope that there was a ghostly Terry around to watch it. He would have been grumpy if there was. But I made it for him.”

Why was Good Omens season 1 so good and you could really feel Sir Terry Pratchett's contributions?

Gaiman himself has already told us the answer:

...Gaiman: So with Good Omens, I feel like what I got to do was put the thing I made with Terry on the screen and then buttress it. What I added isn’t completely different from the original. It’s not out of left field.

Neil Gaiman for The Verge (2019).

There was original material to work with (Good Omens, published in 1990), on which we certainly know that Sir Terry Pratchett himself actively worked from start to finish.

Is there a proper sequel to Good Omens the book on which to base 2 more seasons of the series?

Neil Gaiman says the following on an interview for GQ in 2019.

Link: Neil Gaiman Says No to Adapting His Own Books—Except This Time

...But with this, it was like: Okay. Terry is gone. He wanted me to do this. He wanted me to do it for him. And that gave me a kind of weird impetus. And it meant that I felt very much at liberty to take every conversation that Terry and I had ever had about Good Omens. Not just the book, as written, but everything beyond it. We planned a sequel, never written, so I got to steal the angels from the sequel. I got to steal from every conversation Terry and I had about how we would do this. It felt very personal, and I guess kind of… holy. If that doesn’t sound too ridiculous. But it was a mission.

Two conclusions can be drawn:

1) Informal conversations about the plot of a sequel do not equate to an officially written sequel.

2) Neil Gaiman has already used many of the ideas he and Terry Pratchett had planned for a never-written sequel to Good Omens and those ideas were largely added to and executed in the TV adaptation of Good Omens (2019).

Why keep stretching those ideas if the co-writer is no longer able to actively contribute and help to create a proper sequel?

If Gaiman were the sole creator of Good Omens we'd have a different conversation, but that's not the case. The first season of Good Omens was already a beautiful homage to Good Omens and Sir Terry Pratchett's work on the book.

Did Terry Pratchett write around 75% of Good Omens?

Link for the post here.

Link for the post talking about the video and sharing the video here.

Edit: I wanted to bring this point up to point out Terry Pratchett's important contribution to the making of the book, not to highlight it as an excuse to distance Gaiman from the novel. We will have to accept that he also contributed to the creation of the book.

Sir Terry Pratchett's last wish

2017 - Rob Wilkins on Twitter (X)

Terry Pratchett’s Unpublished Work Crushed by Steamroller

By Sophie Haigney - The New York Times

Terry Pratchett, the well-known British fantasy author, had a wish fulfilled two years after his death: A hard drive containing his unpublished work was destroyed by steamroller.

Mr. Pratchett, a wildly popular fantasy novelist who wrote more than 70 books, including the “Discworld” series, died at 66 in 2015. That year his friend, the writer Neil Gaiman, told The Times of London that Mr. Pratchett had wanted “whatever he was working on at the time of his death to be taken out along with his computers, to be put in the middle of a road and for a steamroller to steamroll over them all.” Mr. Gaiman added at the time that he was glad this hadn’t happened.

Now, though, it has. Mr. Pratchett’s estate manager and close friend, Rob Wilkins, posted a picture of a hard drive and a steamroller on Aug. 25 on an official Twitter account they shared.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Wilkins wrote that the deed was done.

I have not been able to find the exact reasons why Sir Terry Pratchet wanted his unfinished and unpublished works destroyed, but we can respect his last wish as a way for him to have control over what he felt he was ready to share with the world and what he was not.

Is Good Omens the exception?

With all that has been presented so far, I can only conjecture, but not be sure. I can believe that there was Terry Pratchett's permission and desire to make an adaptation of Good Omens, the original book published in 1990, but to my mind, creating two more seasons of a never-written sequel doesn't fit as part of Terry Pratchett's desire.

He is not among us to actively participate in a sequel and if his last wish was to destroy his unfinished works, I can't believe that he would have wanted to give his approval to something new published under his name and without his supervision.

Sir Terry Pratchett talking about a never-written sequel to Good Omens

“Neil and I thought about a sequel an awful lot initially. We talked about it on tour. And I think it was a big relief to both of us, when one day we looked one another in the eye and said, 'I thought you wanted to do a sequel.'..

Interview for the Magazine Locus. Locusmag archive page

This is me speculating, but I don't think there was real enthusiasm for creating a sequel until Gaiman alone saw profitable potential in the TV adaptation....

Good Omens also belongs to the those who love the story

I think it's okay to still love the story of Good Omens. Personally, I will always be grateful with the story and the characters for giving me confort in troubling times, but I find seasons 2 and 3 as some kind of excuse from Gaiman to keep profiting and benefiting from the story (more now than ever due to the SA allegations*).

Aziraphale and Crowley will always live happily in a lovely cottage as long as we want to. Even before season 2 was announced, many of us had already accepted that. Many artists have imagined lovely endings for our innefable husbands and in my eyes their works won't be any less valuable than whatever Gaiman had planned.

Note:

I don't like talking about Season 3 of GO without mentioning the current 5 SA allegations against Neil Gaiman (Main writer of seasons 2 and 3 and showrunner), so in case you want to know more about the allegations against Neil Gaiman. Here there's a great Round Up link (Podcasts links, transcripts, etc.)

Credits for the Round Up link to Muccamukk. Thanks a lot!

*more thoughts on supporting season 3

[just--vi]

2024 in Fanfic

In 2023 I wrote 185,542 words, and in 2024 I wrote 185,996, so at least I'm consistent?

I think it's interesting to look back at my 'goals' of 2024: Write something other than a Muggle AU (failed), convince everyone to ship Moonchaser (halfway there), write more smut (nailed it), read more (honestly, kind of nailed that too).

In 2025 I want to care less, write whatever I want, finally get that Armageddon AU out, and read ~even more~.

Anyway, here's what I did this year!

For the Love of Ducks - Wolfstar, started in 2023, finished in 2024.

Remus Lupin has always been sick, and he'd just like to feel normal for once. Sirius Black seems like the perfect man with a perfect, exciting life.

The Art of Getting Off - Jegulus

Regulus is a demisexual romance author who has one big hangup: Smut. After a mountain of bad reviews on his latest novel, an awkward meeting with his publisher, and a conversation with Remus, he decides to take the leap. Unfortunately the only person he really wants to sleep with is James Potter. Alternative title: "The art of fucking your brother's best friend six ways from Sunday without falling in love in the process."

Happily Never After - Jegulus

It’s a flurry of limbs. James doesn’t waste a second pulling him inside - or maybe that’s for practicality sake. If Sirius saw them together he’d lose it on account of them being them, and if Remus saw them together he’d lose it on account of it being the night before his wedding. Or, Regulus and James are friends with benefits. All hell breaks loose.

And They Were Roommates! - Wolfstar

Sirius scoffs, and when Remus doesn’t turn around to look at him says, “Face it Moony, you’re drying up. You need me.” “What?” Remus laughs tightly, squirting an aggressive amount of soap in the sink and twisting the tap with a little more viciously than it probably deserves. “So, you’re planning on playing wingman all night?” “Yep,” Sirius says, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “And you’ll play wingman for me. It’ll be perfect.” Or, living with Remus Lupin is torture. Thankfully, Sirius has a plan to address the tension.

Deerly Beloved - Prongsfoot

Over a night in the pub a series of escalating dares result in Sirius and James waking up married. It should be quick and easy to fix the mistake by getting an annulment, so why are they dragging their feet?

Love at First Bloom - Wolfstar

Remus Lupin took over his mother's flower shop after the passing of his parents. Now, he splits his time between catering to the floral needs of sleepy Hogsmeade village and pining helplessly over the devastatingly handsome man who buys weekly arrangements for his boyfriend.

Wreck the Halls - Jegulus

When Regulus is invited to spend Christmas with Sirius and the Potters, the last thing he expects is for James to bring a brand new boyfriend home for the holidays.

[storm-angel989]

🎀IM SORRY FOR BLOWING UP YOUR INBOX! But Val/Vox(idrc which one) x Anorexic Daughter Reader?🎀

PLEASE READ BEFOREHAND

Hi Friend,

You’re not blowing up my inbox- I keep every request in a google doc and when inspo hits I work on it! If I ever decide I won’t do a request I won’t just delete it- I’ll post and say it directly <3 

Preface for this work:

 I’m considered a plus sized equestrian/plus sized human. Eating disorders come in all shapes, sizes and issues. I believe it’s Blythe Barid who said “If you develop an eating disorder when you are already thin to begin with you go to the hospital. If you develop an eating disorder when you are not thin to begin with, you are a success story.”

Stories like these are based on my own experiences and issues- and on this topic, I’ve had quite a few. Please remember that all bodies are worthy of love and respect, care and concern. It's a tough concept to wrap our heads around, and admittedly I still struggle with it. 

A little background info: 

ED’s are a huge part of my writing that I haven’t published. Ana and Mia are characters I have created (or maybe my own food issues created them). Either way, they’re  separate entities for separate stories- demons that I imagine have their own place in hell as well as in my writings (all of which have been in existence far longer than Hazbin). That being said, naming your ED is something I did and I have done. Even for the purpose of writing this story, the entire thing felt wrong without Ana running the behind the scenes. 

With this one I tried to pain the pain, the anger and frustration behind that never feeling good enough feeling. I would be open to doing part two if folks would be interested. Please also know I’ve written on this topic in several other forms if you explore my masterlist (or I can directly send you the links if you PM me). 

<3 Mandy 

I stepped on the bathroom scale and looked at the number that flashed below. The words of my coach echoed in my mind- I needed to lose the summer weight, or else I would be benched for the rest of the season. She had helpfully provided me with a journal to keep track of my weight, what I ate in a day, activities I did and how many calories I burned in accordance with my VoxTech watch. 

A month ago, I had met her goal, thus ending the weekly weigh-ins. According to her, I had lost enough weight to maintain my place on the team. It was on me now to make sure that I maintained that weight, or lost more. In her exact words, you could never be too skinny. 

“Bebita? Breakfast,” my fathers voice called from the hallway. “Come on, before it gets cold.”

The number told me I hadn’t gained weight, but I hadn’t lost weight either. I picked my backpack up and slung it over my shoulder. 

“Sorry, Dad! I’m late! I’ll eat at school, I promise,” I answered back as I rushed out the door. 

Surely skipping breakfast wouldn’t hurt. 

Skipping breakfast turned into skipping lunch. Skipping lunch turned into avoiding dinner. Sugar free jello and skinny pop became my go to snacks as the numbers in my book slowly but surely began to get smaller. Somewhere, a little voice inside my head began to cheer my successes on the scale. Over time, I learned that she had a name. 

Ana. My secret diet partner. My invisible cheerleader. The willpower I needed to keep going on the hardest days. And most importantly, someone who paid attention to me, 

With each passing day, Ana grew louder. She encouraged me to keep my diet a secret from my family. After all, they wouldn’t understand. Pleasing her, it became almost like an addiction- a game I played with myself to see just how little I could become. Food became nothing more than numbers, an obsession that consumed every minute, every second of my thoughts and desires. 

In my household, it wasn’t hard to keep it to myself. Hell, one could argue that I wasn’t technically even keeping it a secret. My father had a very important job, after all. And my Auntie Velvette and Uncle Vox also wouldn’t have had the opportunity to make the connection. A quick, I ate earlier, sorry! And I got off scott free. Ana cheered with each no thank you I uttered. My head between my knees after practice had become a ritualistic practice. Waiting for the black spots to fade, taking deep breaths to try to regain the energy to stand up and walk out to the awaiting limo. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting at home for me anyway. 

On the daily, I kept a careful eye on my voxtech watch. The first time my blood sugar dropped, I got a call from Vox. Paniced waves rushed through me. A suggestion from Ana to bribe to a friendly tech demon. A brief trade later, I had constant vitals being sent from my watch, my real ones hidden behind a password. With this newfound freedom, outside of homework and practice, my time normally devoted to hobbies or hanging out with friends became time to sleep. After all, I was working on the perfect body. I needed my rest. 

For almost six months, Ana and I were best friends. 

Saturday morning. Game day. One of the busiest days for my father. After all, lust and depravity raked through the weekends like wildfire. Or at least, that was what he claimed. I stood in front of the mirror trying desperately to tighten the drawstring 

“Hey bebita?” I heard my fathers voice call from the hallway. “Baby, are you up?”

“Yeah, Dad. I have a game today,” I snapped as I tied another knot in the string. 

Why the fuck wouldn’t these stupid shorts stay up? I fumed to myself. Every part of my body ached, and even yanking on my shorts sent black spots and exhaustion rushing through my body. I leaned my head against the mirror and tried to take a deep breath. I could do this. I had to do this. 

The next thing I heard was my fathers voice, felt his hand shaking my shoulder. It took every ounce of energy to open my eyes. 

“Bebita? Reader, can you hear me?” Valentino asked frantically. “Princessa, wake up, now!”

“I’m fine,” I muttered as loudly as I could. Somehow, I managed to push myself upright. 

“You most certainly are not fine,” he replied sharply. “I’m taking you downstairs to the doctor, right now.”

Doctor. That meant I would miss the game. No, I had an obligation to my teammates. Somewhere in my head, Ana screamed.

Get up, fatass!

You really want to fuck this up for everyone?

You better not let him take you to the doctor, you do that and you’ll never find perfection. 

“I’m fine,” I growled, louder this time. I pulled myself to my feet and black spots dotted my vision. I felt my fathers arms around me and in seconds, I was off the floor and in his arms.

“Put me down, I can walk,” I tried to yell. Inside my head, Ana screamed louder, demands and insults about my current predicament. I pressed my hands to my head and curled my fingers in my hair, “Dad let me down NOW!” 

He ignored me as he carried me down the hallway. 

“Vox? Velvette? Both of you, with me. Now. We have a problem.” He said loudly. 

“Woah, what’s going….” Vox’s voice began. 

I shoved my hand against my father as he walked through the living room.  To my relief, he set me down on the couch. 

“What?” I snarled as three sets of eyes stared at me. “What the fuck are you looking at?” 

Vox checked his phone and then walked over to me. With one finger, he lifted off my Voxtech watch. 

“Hey! Give that back!” I demanded. “I’m going to be late to my game!”

All three of them ignored me. Wordlessly, Velvette walked away and returned moments later, bathroom scale in hand. She set it infront of the couch and gave me a hard look. 

“Step on.” 

“Fuck you,” I snapped as I stood up. I tried to ignore the black spots that danced just out of sight. “My weight is none of your fucking business.”

“Reader!” Valentino said in dismay. “That’s no way to talk to your Aunt.”

“I’m leaving, I’m already late. Thanks, Dad,” I continued sarcastically as I kicked the scale aside. 

Inside, Ana cheered. I bent down to pick up my backpack and the world around me spun. Three steps,  and Vox’s hand gripped my upper arm. The last thing I heard was Ana’s voice screaming indistinguishable words. 

When I came to again, I found myself in a room of gray and blue. Wires stuck out from my chest, and I tried to cough and spit the feeling of something painful in the back of my throat. I tried to reach up, to shove my fingers down my throat, and my skin met padded white cuffs. 

What the fuck?

You’re going to have to work hard to get yourself out of this one, Ana taunted. Great job getting caught, fatass. 

“Hey, baby, it’s alright, Papi is here,” I heard my father’s voice say somewhere far away. 

“Mr. Valentino, I promise we’ll be in touch when she’s more stable,” a new voice said. “For now, it might be best to give her some space to…”

Indistinguishable arguments. My fathers refusal and reminder of who exactly was in charge here. My Uncle Vox and Aunt Velvette chiming in, a mix of talking him down and agreement. 

Panic shot through me as the haze slowly began to wear away. Realization. Through the fog, only one word came to mind. 

Fuck.

[entwinedmoon]

This month is the 40th anniversary of John Torrington’s exhumation and autopsy. I’ve been doing real-time daily updates over on this post to show just how long and drawn out the process was. It took over a week, starting from when Beattie arrived on Beechey to when they first started digging to when they finally got the coffin open. Right now, those updates are in a bit of a lull because, after they dug down to the coffin, they had to wait for permits to move onto the next part, so there won’t be another Daily Torrington Dig update until August 17.

While we’re waiting for Beattie to get his permits to crack open a cold one (Torrington’s coffin) with the boys (his scientific research team), you can check out my Torrington blog posts to keep the spirit of the season going. The posts Sacred to the Memory of and A Star Is Born would be especially applicable right now as they explore Torrington’s death, exhumation, autopsy, and the media’s response to the photographs of his well-preserved body.

But there’s something else I wanted to share here, another type of media response that I’ve known about (and had a copy of) for a while. I shared it years ago on Twitter, thinking it would get a laugh there, but that was, er, not the reaction I received, so I’d held off on sharing it anywhere else because I thought most people would find it inappropriate. However, I was reminded recently by a friend (don’t know if they want to be tagged here or not, so I’ll go with not) about the existence of this particular piece, and I realized that this might be something that would be more appreciated here on Tumblr, where we like to photoshop Torrington’s corpse into memes, ship him with the guy he’s buried next to, and want to see what he would think of Takis and flavored vapes.

The article I’m referring to is the story about Torrington that appeared in the Weekly World News.

If you’re not familiar with the Weekly World News, it was a notorious tabloid that made up absurd stories and pretended it was real news. Some news stories were actually true—so it wasn’t completely like today’s The Onion—but there were also plenty of clearly fictional articles, featuring bizarre, often supernatural stories, such as Elvis sightings, a double-decker bus mysteriously found at the South Pole (“scientists” claimed aliens did it), or Bat Boy, a boy who was part bat, part boy.

Torrington’s level of fame within the cultural consciousness of the time meant that he, too, got to experience the tabloid treatment.

(CW: pictures of Torrington’s mummified body beneath the cut)

Published on March 3, 1992, was this front-page story:

Man buried in 1845 brought back to life!

Sailor’s coffin frozen in arctic ice 147 years!

Hush-hush new drug revives corpse, say doctors!

Yes, according to the Weekly World News, John Torrington was brought back to life in 1992. There’s even a full article all about how it happened.

MAN FROZEN SINCE 1845 BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE!

Scientists revive seaman trapped in ice 147 years!

Sailor back from the dead still thinks James K. Polk is President of the U.S.!

By Cal Sanders, Special Correspondent

The perfectly preserved corpse of a British sailor who was buried in an icy grave after he died on an Arctic expedition in 1845 has been revived by scientists—147 years later!

And while Petty Officer John Torrington’s health is fragile at best, the team of doctors who illegally plucked him from his grave and brought him back to life say he is aware of his surroundings, walking with help and might very well be able to lead a normal life “if this man has the psychological strength to adapt to the 20th century.”

“It’s hard to believe but this man thinks James K. Polk is President of the United States and insists that horses and sailing ships are the best and fastest ways to travel,” Dr. Hermann Richter said in his report on the experiment that brought Torrington back to life.

“Electric lights literally scare the hell out of him and to be perfectly frank about it, he hasn’t quite decided if he’s dead or alive. About the best we can do at this point is take his recovery one day at a time.

“If Torrington survives we will have produced a living piece of history. If he dies, at least we’ll be able to say that we tried to do something that might ultimately have benefited all mankind.”

The decision to steal Torrington’s corpse from its grave in northern Canada couldn’t have come easy for the Richter team, which issued its report to selected European newspapers “from an undisclosed clinic in Germany.”

For starters, the young man’s grave has stood as an unofficial monument to the courage and determination of 128 adventurers led by British explorer Sir John Franklin—adventurers who gave up their lives to chart the last 300-mile-leg of the treacherous Northwest Passage between 1845 and 1848. Torrington’s body was exhumed once before, in 1983, but it was carefully reburied after scientists took a small tissue sample to determine the cause of death. As it turned out, Torrington died from lead poisoning after eating provisions out of tins that were sealed with the dangerous and often lethal metal. Needless to say, news that Richter and his associates secretly exhumed the body a second time, smuggled it into Germany and succeeded in bringing it back to life have infuriated many experts, some of whom consider the theft of the body criminal. Richter himself insisted that Torrington is in good hands and will be free to go when he is strong enough.

The doctor went on the say that he understands why the experiment might sound extreme to some people but he believes that the revival of Torrington “furthered the best interests of medicine and science.” Richter’s report did not include any of the techniques that were used to revive Torrington but it did mention “an exciting new drug” that might one day make such revivals routine.

Because he died of lead poisoning, it is also believed that Richter and his team somehow cleansed Torrington’s tissue of the deadly metal before bringing him back to life. For the record, Torrington was a man of 20 when he died. Now he looks like a man of 80, photos supplied by Richter show.

“A century and a half of death is enough to age anyone,” said Richter.

There’s a lot to unpack here—the morally dubious German doctor with a mysterious, Frankenstein-esque resurrection method; the burial and exhumation dates both being off by one year for some reason; the short, skinny guy in the obvious bald cap that they thought would pass as Torrington; and so much more. Interestingly, a lot of the article seems to focus more on how scandalous it is that Dr. Richter stole Torrington’s body, as if the writer thought that the revival of a long-dead corpse wasn’t enough of a scoop. Also, I’m not sure if Torrington would even have been aware that Polk was president in 1845—was he the sort of guy who paid attention to international politics? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to think Victoria was still queen?

Many people might be offended by such an article, but the Weekly World News never cared about who they offended. Unsurprisingly, one of those who did take umbrage with the story was Dr. Owen Beattie.

In a short article in the Times-Colonist Metro about a week after the Weekly World News story ran, we got to hear Owen Beattie’s reaction.

HEE-(T)HAW . . . It was standard checkout rag fare. “Man Buried in 1845 brought back to life” shouted a recent front page of Weekly World News. “Hush-Hush New Drug Revives Corpse,” it continued.

These startling revelations bore some significance for both the wax museum’s Ken Lane and University of Alberta anthropologist Owen Beattie. The man purportedly thawed like last night’s dinner was John Torrington, one of three sailors from the Franklin expedition buried on Beechy [sic] Island. The Franklin expedition—and John Torrington—feature large in the wax museum’s arresting Frozen in Time expedition. Torrington’s body was exhumed from its Arctic grave in ’84 by Dr. Beattie, who determined death was from lead poisoning.

Neither Ken nor the anthropologist felt their respective professional worlds crumbled with the News article. (It ran with a photo of an emaciated looking chap being assisted by doctors and reports that Torrington is terrified of electric lights, still believes Polk is the U.S. president, and horses are the only way to go.) Ken shrugged it off with a what-can-you-expect-from-a-checkout-rag laugh. The anthropologist wasn’t quite so forgiving.

He refused to comment on it at all, insisting that his research speaks for itself. Apparently John Torrington was quite dead when he was exhumed and equally so when buried after the autopsy. But then that’s not the sort of stuff that sells check-out rags.

While it’s perfectly understandable that Beattie would not appreciate something like the Weekly World News’ fake story, what I find most interesting about this snippet is that there was a wax museum with a Franklin Expedition exhibit that included Torrington??? Does that mean there was a Torrington wax figure???? Where is it now????? Can I buy it?????????

These very important questions aside, it’s fascinating to see that Torrington was well known enough to make it into a “checkout rag.” Maybe it’s not the legacy he would have wanted, but at least it’s worth a good laugh.

[bonesox]

OM! Brothers and What They Do When They Miss You

a/n: Sorry for not posting in a bit. I have been very busy! Also i hope my writing is alright.. i haven't written in some time.

Lucifer:

While he may try and hide it everyone can see it eating him from the inside out. Since you've been gone he's dealt out even more punishments than usual.

The brothers can hear his footsteps pacing back and forth in his room at all hours of the day. He's not used to not having a human sitting in the corner of his room keeping him company. Without you he is lonely and he is more spaced out.

Sometimes he goes into your room and walks around. He'll lay on your bed, touch the belongings you had left behind, and maybe even tidy up a bit. He realizes that it help his brain calm down so now he works in your room.

Mammon:

He tries not to show that fact that he misses you by pretending he doesn't miss you at all. The others can tell that he does in fact miss you by the amount of times he says he doesn't miss you.

Whenever he hears your name in a conversation his ears perk up and he listens. Of course since he's so occupied listening to the conversation/s he has bumped into many things like lampposts, tables, and other people.

He calls and text you constantly at all hours of the day asking how you’re doing and what you're doing and where you're going and.... just anything he can think of really.

Leviathan:

Ever since you left he has been cooped up in his room playing video games. He cries at any character that acts like you, has the name hair color as you, and has the same first letter as your name in their name. He thought video games would help distract him from missing you, but obviously not.

When his brothers try to get him out of his room he will become very irritated and lash out on all of them (this had ended in several repairs needing to be done to the house.)

He made a dating character look just like you so he could talk to them, but they aren't the real you. After a while he desperately misses talking to you so he ask if you want to play video games on a call.

Satan:

Books are what kept him sane while you were gone, but once he ran out of books to read all hell broke loose. It started out with simple bickering with his brothers and then developed into full blown fights. In addiction to that Lucifer of course would punish him for his actions which made him even more furious.

While reading all his books he couldn't help but see you in ever character. He then becomes obsessed with the character that acts just like you. He buys merch for them (going to leviathan for most of the help) and puts it all around his room.

He started writing a book about you and your amazing adventures in the human world. Though he may never publish it he always holds it near and dear to his heart.

Asmodeus:

As soon as you left his spending habits increased. He would buy any little thing that reminded him of you. In his room there was a little area dedicated to you and the things you enjoyed.

Lucifer punished him many times for going over his weekly spending limit. No matter the punishment he would always fall back into spending more money.

Now he sleeps with a bunch of pillows next to him to replicate you. Of course he calls you and chats nearly every day, but nothing can compare to you actually being there with him. Just to have you close he buys a ticket for you to go back down to devildom.

Beelzebub:

Since you had made your way back to the human world most of the food in The House of Lamentation had been eaten. Piles and piles of wrappers, boxes, and containers filled Beel and Belphie's room. He had resorted to eating even more since you had left, but no amount of food could fill his heart.

The family had started eating meals without him due to him devouring everything. He would eat alone in him room and imagine you there with him keeping him company. Many of the brothers have walked in on him talking to "himself."

Once a month (or even once a week) he takes trips up to the human world to spend time with you. From eating at buffets to eating at cafes, he does it all with you.

Belphegor:

Since you went to the human world he had found it extremely difficult to fall asleep. He would lie awake staring at the ceiling imagining what you had been doing or how your day had went.

Since he was quite sleep deprived from the restless nights he became more irritable. With any wrong word or move he would lash out. This of course lead him to constant punishments by the hands of Lucifer.

Now he has you send him some of your clothing so he can fall asleep at night with them wrapped around his hand (or even pillow). This method works fine, but of course it would be better for you to be right there with him.

[etherealising]

One more request/ask this time for aiekoy 🍑/🐻/🧡 could you write something on if baby and carm would get together if Mikey were still alive? Or just if they would cross paths and still never say anything? If you’re up to it if not no biggie- again congrats on 1k!🥳

ohhh i love this so much, giggling because i get to play with aiekoy cannon and i am living for it. gonna be honest i don’t even remember writing most of this but it is chaotic and i actually kinda love it.

this was going in so many different directions before this became my final thoughts, thank you for requesting and please enjoy!! 🫶🏽

warning(s): addiction | violence |

mikey lives, does barby?

in this scenario the only ‘aiekoy’ chapters that would still be canon are ch. 1-3, interlude 0-1 and any pre-aiekoy lore that i may not have published yet 🫣.

and for the sake of consistency, we’re throwing all ‘the bear’ canon out the window!

but now is where we start to change things, so we’ll say baby moves back to Chicago beginning of 2019 Christmas showed you just how much you missed being around your surrogate family and so we kiss the west coast goodbye.

and with baby back in town the trio (baby/nat/richie) with all the time they spend around mikey begin to realize like he needs serious help. his deterioration is so clear to anyone who looks at him that if things don’t change soon we all know what’s gonna happen.

it's a bit of back and forth cause mikey is stubborn as hell and he definitely doesn’t take kindly to his addiction being called out. man is feeling cornered right now.

i don’t think mikey would just agree to rehab out of nowhere, growing up as the man of the house i think he definitely has some underlying issues with toxic masculinity.

something big would have to happen for him to see the error of his ways like baby finding him just strung out in his office at the beef pills scattered everywhere and of course, it hurts you to see him this way.

so you begin like trying to dispose of the pills, searching his office for anything more and lecturing him because you love him ya know. obviously reasoning with an addict hardly if ever works.

sadly to say i think it would get a bit physically violent like mikey kind of just lashes out just like grips baby by the arms, and pins you to the wall so hard it alerts the staff.

and it's an ugly scene as richie pulls him off of you. you’re just standing there glued to the wall scared shitless as richie holds himself back from beating the shit out of mikey.

nat gets wind of the whole situation i feel like tina would definitely call her because wtf is going on with mikey?

a few weeks later baby’s distant with mikey, richie is genuinely physically disgusted anytime he’s around his best friend, and nat bless her heart is just trying to keep the family together. she explains what happened to mikey between the two of you because his memory is spotty and the man just breaks down like heaving sobs as he asks nat to help him get better.

they decide a long-term stint in rehab might work best, considering how long he’s been using and the toll his psychological state has taken we’ll say a 6 month program that as it progresses the whole gang will be involved in family counseling sessions.

baby and richie obviously go with nat to drop mikey off setting aside their issues with him (you obviously haven’t forgiven his transgression yet but you want to be there for him) and the whole thing is so emotional i’m talking group hug full of sobs and snot this shit is heartbreaking. but mikey’s adamant that he wants the help.

baby definitely thinks someone should tell carmy but both richie and nat are iffy about it and they table that conversation for the time being.

fast forward a few months mikey is in rehab detoxing and participating in counseling sessions, they aren’t allowed to contact him yet but they do get weekly updates on his well-being.

baby is in new york for work profiling executive chef alex johannes (he didn’t have a name in the show so now he does) about his work ethic and michelin stars or some shit.

he invites you to the restaurant hours before the dinner service so you can observe him and the kitchen during prep and this man is laying the charm on thick!

he’s definitely scummy and you’re genuinely fed up with him so you tell him you need to walk around to get a feel for the kitchen but you just want to be rid of him.

you’re doing your cute journalist thing taking notes, trying to talk to chefs about what the kitchen environment is like working under alex but these people are giving you nothing!

there’s a commotion at one of the prep stations and you’re obviously curious the whole kitchen is trying to pretend they aren’t watching this shit go down.

and you’re just listening to this poor chef get verbally abused as they’re working on their prep, jotting all this down in your little notepad.

but the sight of the chef slamming a cutting board against the counter has you flinching and you just can’t let that happen irritation radiating through you at this bully you’ve been assigned to profile.

you’ve seen enough stepping up to defend the poor chef with a few choice words to the older man ultimately getting in a verbal argument with him and being sent out of his kitchen, but not before he makes the poor chef join you, and whatever bravado you had to rip that asshole a new one is gone as carmen fucking berzatto begins walking in your direction shoving past you to get to the staff lounge.

what are the fucking odds that you end up at the same exact restaurant carmy works at after being ghosted by him again that one christmas. (I’d say they’re great since I’m writing this)

you’re standing there in shock for a minute before turning on your heel to find the man.

he’s pacing back and forth hand pressing into the space where his heart lay. as soon as he sees you he’s hurling questions your way; “what the fuck are you doing here?” “why the fuck couldn’t you just mind your business?” “he didn’t need your fucking help.” blah blah blah.

your anger from earlier is back and you’re just like alright bet “guess it’s still fuck me right carm?” grabbing your bag and getting the fuck outta dodge.

you don’t make it far before carmy finds you, the man doesn’t apologize but he asks you to stop by when he gets off.

you’re a loser for carm so you do. he’s takes you back to his place, it’s awkward as fuck but you finally give in and tell him about what’s going on in Chicago, mikey’s addiction, the “fight” you had with mikey at the beef, him being in rehab.

and carmy is surprised as fuck, to say the least, he tells you that he’s miserable in new york. feels like the restaurant might kill him before his anxiety ever could.

neither of you are sure how any of it happens but the next thing you know you’re naked under him giving into pent-up desires, promises whispered into each other’s skin.

you can’t stay in new york forever but the both of you decide it is for the best not to start anything with all the distance between you.

you try talking carmy into moving back to Chicago and homeboy actually gives it some thought.

after that the two of you are in constant contact like not a day goes by without a phone call or text.

you’re back in chicago mikey’s been doing good in rehab, the family counseling sessions are going well. next thing you know his 6 months are up and he’s out.

you talk carmy into visiting for a bit, he and mikey def have things to work out.

surprise surprise, COVID hits carmy gets stuck in Chicago (man is not complaining though if that means he gets to see you)

you get a roommate who doubles as a lover and everything goes from there!!!

a/n: reading this is so chaotic it actually made me giggle. on a serious note in no way am i saying all addicts are violent or have violent tendencies but from my experiences that has been the case. also i think canonically (7 fishes ep) that mikey did have violent tendencies whether it be the drugs or not.

[fluffyzoey]

a nischa oneshot i just never published???

here. *shoves a generic sickfic in your face* eat up

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing. 

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition. 

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose. 

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game. 

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move. 

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through. 

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was. 

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up. 

“Hey babe…You alright?” 

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone. 

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.” 

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up. 

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out. 

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step. 

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell. 

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.” 

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom. 

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.” 

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem. 

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up. 

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa. 

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.”

[alex31624]

Comic Review: Uncle Scrooge and the Infinity Dime

The Duck Comic Reading Club went mute this week, and since I kinda like talk about one comic per week, is time for the review of Infinity Dime.

I not going to go deep in the cover topic, since that has been discussed enough. And yeah, that cover shouldn't have been published. This is the first comic on this weekly reviews that I physically own, I have the Alex Ross cover, because, how could I not?

The story begins with a Christmas that never was. Donald and the boys were supposed to get together with Scrooge but couldn't make it. That turned Scrooge in a even bitter and angry old man.

This is a What if…? scenario, and I'm on board with that. I like those stories. My favorite is What If… The Punisher's Family had not been Killed in Central Park?

They cut down the phrase for Ducktales '17.

Scrooge loneliness and bitterness consumed him. He knew something was missing. That's when he got a crazy and vicious idea.

And now, this story is going into the multiversal route. Everything has to be like that now.

But, if is fun…

We see then a different Scrooge, who's sees in horror how the entire Bin is being stolen.

At first, he thought it was another Beagle Boys heist, but he eventually found out what we already knew. This is the work of….

I really like the design here. How the Scrooge Above All wears all the dime he had take from all the others Scrooges. Is kinda morbid and tetric in a way.

Scrooge receives the beating of a lifetime and has no other choice but retreat. He now seeks the help of Gyro.

Who looks way to happy.

The babies are there too, and they look adorable.

That freaking guidebook has a section to everything imaginable.

They said the thing.

They think the dime is a universal constant and that's how Scrooge Above All can travel to different universes. But turns out the dime wasn't the constant, it was Scrooge himself. Kinda like Harry Potter being a horrocrux.

Scrooge traveled the multiverse to get himself some help.

Is so funny to see kid Scrooge there.

The Scrooge army beat the hell out of the Beagle Boys. They had the upper hand, until the Scrooge Above All appeared and kicked all their asses.

But the Scrooge army had one more card up their sleeve.

Ok, that hyped me up.

A horde of rage-driving Donalds must be the most scary thing ever.

With the Donalds attacking, the Scrooges turn the things in their favor, retreat the dimes from Scrooge Above All, who lose his magic, and is defeated. Nice and quick.

All the Bins return to their respective Scrooge, and Scrooge Above All learns what was he really missing. His family.

Because, family is the greatest adventure of all.

By the way, is that Webby? It has to, who else would it be? Nice to see her.

It was no masterpiece, or a must-read comic, but I liked it. It was simple and fun. I don't need that much more to have a nice time.

The comic had one more story, Christmas on Bear Mountain. But that's a tale for another day.

[supernova-stardust]

A Tender Thing

a jegulus long fic wip with background wolfstar, rosekiller, dorlene, pandalily, and emmary

ao3 is down so i figured i would post the first chapter of my fic here for y’all - there are currently 9 chapters published and i update weekly!

full chapter after the break, rating: 18+, chapter word count: 5,145, or read more on ao3

Remus always hates patrolling. It doesn’t matter who it’s with or the time of day, walking for so long always irritates his hip and quite frankly, he’d rather be spending his time doing… basically anything else. He does appreciate spending time with Marlene and Peter right now though. He hasn’t been able to see them as often lately, so he’s trying to be optimistic. But his hip really does fucking hurt.

“I don’t really know why we need to be patrolling anyway,” Marlene complains. “It’s broad daylight, it’s not like they’re really just going to come out right now to kill any muggles, right?”

Remus and Peter shrug in unison. To be honest, Remus isn’t sure why they’ve been going on so many patrols lately either. It seems like they’ve all been working longer and harder these days with very little results. Voldemort is still keeping to the shadows and the Death Eater activity has been more and more sporadic.

They turn down a back alley, the stench of stale piss and garbage filling the air around them. “Really would hate to die in a place like this, let’s keep moving,” Peter says frantically. Remus can feel his nervous energy all around them but really, why does Peter always have to bring up dying? Frankly, it’s annoying.

A flash of green light flies past in his peripheral vision, the three of them ducking behind a dumpster. Peter trips as they go, Remus pulling him into their hiding spot. The three of them exchange a worried look. Okay, so he has to admit that maybe this is why Peter is always bringing up dying. Fucking hell.

He hears a maniacal, half-crazed laugh echo down the alleyway and immediately knows who it belongs to. “Oh, did I scare the alley rats into hiding? Come out and play!” Bellatrix sing-songs as her heeled boots click clack on the pavement. Another flash of green lights up the alley as Remus and Marlene get ready to cast stunning spells. Bellatrix has reflexes like a cat, so the only way they’re getting out of here is to overwhelm her and block off escape routes. If they both cast, hopefully one of them will get lucky.

Flashes of red fill the space as Remus and Marlene cast in different directions. Marlene does in fact get lucky and lands a blow on Bellatrix as she dodges Remus’ spell. Peter lets out the greatest sigh known to man as Marlene screeches and jumps for joy. Marlene runs over to Bellatrix’s prone form, kicks her for good measure, then dances around like nothing in the world could stop her as Peter slowly lurches to his feet. Remus looks up as Peter holds his hand out.

He grasps Peter’s had and as he rises, he can tell that his hip is well and truly fucked. The moon just passed a few days ago and yeah, Sirius told him he shouldn’t have come out at all, but he’s sick of everyone coddling him. He’s only 26 for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be this damaged. And yet, he is. Every full moon he aches a little bit more, the transformations taking more and more away from him.

“You know Sirius is gonna go mental over this, right?” Peter laments to Remus, Marlene is still in her own world and neither of them want to be the one to try and pull her out of it. “Yeah, I know. If we didn’t have to give a debrief to Moody I wouldn’t want to tell him at all. You know how he gets.”

Everyone in The Order knows all too well how Sirius gets.

***

Sirius is relaxing on the couch when Remus comes through the door to their flat. He looks particularly worse for wear, his clothes are filthy and his hair is more rumpled than usual. Sirius feels his heart stop in his chest. He really doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to Remus.

He jumps up, crossing the living room at record speed, reaching Remus before he’s even finished taking off his shoes. “What happened?” He stretches his hands up towards Remus’ face, cupping his cheeks with his palms and searching his eyes as Remus sighs heavily.

“I’m fine,” Remus insists instead of answering him.

“I know what you look like when you’re fine and it’s not… whatever this is. I knew Moody was sending you out too soon after the full moon, you’ve barely recovered.” Sirius feels frantic now. He knows that every time one of them leaves the apartment they could die, but the way Remus looks right now is making it all feel far too real.

“I don’t want them to coddle me, Pads. I really am fine. It was just a little altercation, Marlene and Pete were with me, we’re all okay. I just need a shower and I’ll be good as new, promise.” Remus kisses him softly, a chaste and sweet kiss. Full of promise and love.

“What do you mean by a little altercation, Moony?”

Remus gently grabs Sirius’ wrists, lowering his hands from his cheeks to his lips, placing gentle kisses up and down his palms. “I’m fine, Pads. Please drop it. Wanna join me in the shower?” He’s trying to distract him and they both know it.

“Not until you tell me what happened,” Sirius is feeling stubborn about this but he can’t help it. He needs to know why Moony showed up at home covered in filth and sweat, looking mildly shell shocked.

Remus lets out a sigh and drops his hands. “Fine, Bellatrix showed up. It was brief, barely anything happened. She tried to curse us but she missed, Marls and I knocked her out, we debriefed with Moody, then I came home. No harm, no foul, yeah?”

“What curse, Remus?” Sirius feels frozen in place and time. Bellatrix? She hasn’t shown her face in years, far too important to Voldemort to be risked skulking about in London. There’s no way this was a coincidence. She had to have been here for a reason and Sirius will find out why, even if it kills him. He doesn’t care how hypocritical that seems right now.

“Is it that important? She missed,” Remus mutters under his breath. He’s decidedly avoiding eye contact at this point and Sirius feels like he’s going to lose his mind.

“She tried to kill you, didn’t she?” Sirius can barely breathe. He could have lost Moony today. He could have lost Marlene and Pete too. They’ve become far too relaxed on these patrols lately, especially if Bellatrix is showing up in broad daylight. They all could have died if they had been a moment too late. Sirius could have lost them all.

“She missed. That’s what’s important here. She missed, Sirius.”

“Remus, you nearly died! She has to know what you mean to me by now, this was personal. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise,” Sirius starts pacing around the apartment and talking with his hands. His nerves are officially wreaking havoc on his body and he’d very much like this war to come to a close so he can stop worrying about everyone he loves every minute of every day. He feels like every day it gets more horrific rather than coming closer to an end. What the fuck are Moody and Dumbledore even doing to stop it at this point? Everyone is dying left and right. Last week they nearly lost Frank and he was on a mission with Kingsley, one of their strongest fighters. Kingsley trained them all and if he can be caught off guard, who’s to say they all can’t?

“Love, I’m fine, I swear.” Remus crowds Sirius, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ neck and backing him into the kitchen counter.

“How would I have known if you weren’t though? I should be going with you, we shouldn’t be separated anymore.” Remus starts nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “I know what you’re doing,” Sirius groans.

“Hmm?” Remus starts trailing open mouthed kisses down from behind his ear to his collarbone, “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re trying to distract me and it’s not going to work. I mean it, I’m going to talk to Moody about this. We should stick together, we make a great team. The only reason they keep us apart is because they don’t want our emotions getting in the way, but mine are getting in the way of me thinking straight at this point.” Remus’ hands begin to wander down his body, making him shiver.

“Do you really have to be so serious about it? It’s not a big deal, I’m fine. I can prove it to you right now,” he says as he pushes his hips into Sirius’ thigh, gripping his waist with both hands.

“I am literally Sirius,” he gasps. Oh he’s a weak, weak man.

“Oh, shut up.”

Remus sinks to his knees and Sirius does in fact shut up for now.

***

James walks right into Sirius and Remus’ flat, arms full of beer. He hasn’t felt the need to knock on their door since the first day they moved in together. They were all roommates for so long, they’re brothers, and Saturdays are their weekly ritual to get pissed drunk together anyway. He’s the last one here, as expected. Marlene is laying on the floor next to Peter who’s sitting up and watching Sirius like he’s an animal at the zoo. Sirius is already drunk, pacing around the living room and ranting about Remus nearly dying. What the fuck did he miss?

“I still can’t fucking believe they’d try to kill my boyfriend when I wasn’t even around to do anything about it,” Sirius complains, his words slurring together.

“Pads, come off it,” Remus sighs. “It didn’t even come close, honest. Pete, you were there the whole time, it wasn’t as close as he's making it out to be, right?”

“Uh, I mean– yeah, it wasn’t as bad as what you’re thinking, Pads, honest,” Peter tries, and fails, to soothe Sirius.

“Moony, you almost fucking died. I don’t believe Wormtail for a second,” Sirius huffs, plopping onto the couch next to Remus.

“Wow, thanks for that,” Peter glares and grabs a case of beer from James, ripping it open the moment he sets it down on the coffee table. James wanders over to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and piles the rest of the beer inside. As he comes back to the living room, he helps himself to a beer, popping open the can and taking a long sip. He’s going to need it, based on the way Sirius is behaving already.

“So, we all had a good day, huh?” James jests, trying to lighten the mood. Everyone glares at him as he plops on the floor across from the couch where Remus and Sirius are perched.

“Oh just lovely, considering Remus almost died and doesn’t want me to be upset about it,” Sirius pouts and grabs himself another beer. None of them mention that he probably doesn’t need it.

“Well, you’re going to love this then,” James braces himself for Sirius to fly off the handle with his news. “I heard from Mary today that your little brother is getting married, they’re hosting an engagement party tonight.”

Sirius drops his beer, splashing the cold drink all over the couch and himself. “Fuck, you can’t be serious? Married to who?”

Remus gets up and crosses over to the kitchen, grabbing a towel to mop up the mess. Sirius is unphased by any of this, too fixated on the news to even register that his pants are wet. Peter hands Sirius a fresh beer, not that he needs it.

“Narcissa, apparently. Blacks really do love to keep it in the family, huh?” The moment James heard about it from Mary he couldn’t believe it. He knows that the purebloods are having a hard time keeping their bloodlines pure, but really? Regulus’ first cousin?

James takes another long sip, steeling himself for Sirius’ reaction to the news.

“Oh no fucking wonder Bellatrix is here, her fucking sister is marrying my fucking baby brother. See Remus, I knew this was personal,” Sirius looks like he could murder, he probably would if they don’t calm him down.

James will never pretend to understand what it’s like for Sirius. When they were young, he and Regulus were inseparable. Sirius looked out for Regulus no matter the cost. Sometimes that cost was deathly high. When Sirius refused to take the Dark Mark, he begged and pleaded for Regulus to come with him and he outright refused. He hasn’t had a real conversation with him since. A few years later, they found out that Regulus had taken the Dark Mark and Sirius announced to them all that his brother was dead to him. That’s the last time any of them had even so much as mentioned his name in Sirius’ presence. Until now, that is. James couldn’t keep this from him, no matter how much he wanted to. If Sirius knew that he knew about it, James doubts that he’d ever forgive him. James wouldn’t forgive himself either.

“I have an excellent idea,” Sirius practically whispers, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. James can guarantee that his idea is not excellent.

“Sirius, love, whatever it is, let's just wait until morning, yeah?” Remus coaxes, placing the towel down and rubbing his hand up and down Sirius’ thigh. In hopes to distract him, no doubt.

“No!” Sirius pushes Remus’ hand off his leg, jumps from the couch, and starts pacing around the living room. “We should go to their stupid fucking party! How would they even know it was us? Everyone has to wear masks at those events besides the betrothed and it’s not like I’ve been around Mother and Father dearest in years.” Sirius has that gleam in his eyes that tells James there’s no way any of them are going to be able to change his mind, but he has to at least try.

“Oh fuck yes, we could go undercover, it’ll be great!” Marlene squeals, clearly the woman has no sense of self preservation.

“Sirius, your parents may not recognize you but there’s no way that your brother won’t lock eyes on you the moment you step foot in Grimmauld Place. You know this! It’s like he has some weird secret Sirius sense or something.” James feels like he’s yelling, but he’s really just desperate to have his best friend listen. Regulus would absolutely have the four of them thrown out, if not executed on the spot, for crashing his engagement party.

“Nah, Reggie wouldn’t rat me out.”

“He might not rat you out, but I can guarantee that he’ll murder the rest of us the moment he knows we’re there. Please, just drop it. I just thought you should know before you saw it in the Daily Prophet,” James begs.

Sirius absolutely will not drop it and that’s how the five of them find themselves outside Grimmauld Place for the first time since Sirius was sixteen years old, masks in hand and wands tucked up their sleeves.

***

Regulus sits at his desk, hunched over and writing his “sad boy poetry” as his brother always teased him. He’d never admit it out loud, but he misses Sirius and all the stupid shit he said. He’s been gone for almost ten years now and every day he misses him a little bit more. Honestly, how pathetic. No wonder his brother tormented him.

Sighing, he glances out the window. He was so engrossed in his writing that it’s already gotten dark outside, the lights in the garden blinking on, one by one. The roses are in full bloom and with the windows open he can smell their sweet scent billowing into his bedroom on the breeze. He stretches his back, arms rising above his head. He knows he has to get ready for the party soon, but really who would notice if he didn’t go? The real star of the show is Narcissa anyway.

Narcissa.

Of course his mother would arrange his marriage to his own fucking cousin against both of their wills. He had thought if he casually dated other purebloods for a while that his mother would simply allow him to figure it out. And by figuring it out, he means finding a lovely woman who doesn’t care that he’s gay as can be and will agree to a farce of a marriage.

But really, Narcissa?

At least he knows neither of them wants anything to do with this wedding. She is eating up the attention that the engagement brings her though. For someone who the family neglected to name after a star, she really is the brightest of the bunch.

“Okay so I was thinking-” Dorcas bursts into his room. “What the fuck, you’re not dressed yet?” She storms over to the closet, pulling out his dress robes that Mother so kindly had custom tailored just for this event. “Did you even shower? You’re expected to make your appearance with Narcissa in a half hour, Reg! I know you think I can perform miracles, but I can’t make this bullshit end.”

She’s standing in the middle of his room now, his robes draped on the bed, glaring at him. He hasn’t moved an inch.

“Yeah, yeah. I just got caught up with things.”

“What things? Writing prose and lamenting at the flowers?”

“Yes, actually.”

She smirks, clearly proud of herself for knowing her best friend so well. “Go shower, you stink,” Dorcas practically rips his arm off as she pulls him from his seat and shoves him to the adjoining bathroom.

When Regulus emerges from the bathroom, a towel around his hips and his hair dripping on the floor, Dorcas is perched on his bed, reading the book from his nightstand. “What were you thinking when you came in here?”

Dorcas looks up, clearly trying to recall what he’s talking about. “Oh! I brought whiskey!” She reaches over to her purse on his bed and pulls out a flask. “You can’t very well be sober during your engagement party to your loveliest cousin, now can you?”

They share a conspiratorial smirk and pass the flask back and forth as Regulus changes into his clothes and dries his hair. He’s putting on his shoes when they hear his mother knocking on the door, demanding that he meets with her and Narcissa at the top of the stairway to the parlor. A few moments and some breathing exercises later, he’s making his way down the hallway to meet them.

He’s never been good at controlling his anxiety, but the breathing exercises do help. He can’t help but think about how his brother found him one day when he was much younger, curled in a ball in the corner of his room, hyperventilating. He crossed the room and crouched down with him, gently brushing his hair from his face, begging Regulus to breathe with him. In for five, out for five, in for five, out for five. He hasn’t had his brother to breathe with him, but he still counts in and out for five multiple times a day.

Narcissa and his mother are whispering under their breath to each other, but when he finally gets close enough he overhears Narcissa saying something that peaks his interest. “I can’t stop Bellatrix from being Bellatrix, Aunt Walburga.”

Of course Bellatrix would do something to try and steal attention from Narcissa’s special day.

“I don’t care what it takes, we need to reign that woman in. She’ll be too impulsive one day and ruin the good name of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” his mother, Walburga, sneers. “Ah, finally. Regulus. You two will enter the parlor arm in arm after we’ve made the announcement. Don’t do anything that could jeopardize our good name. You’re the only heir to the family and we have high hopes for this match. Do not disgrace us.” With that, she leaves him and Narcissa alone to prepare for their grand entrance on her cue.

“How do they still not know?” Narcissa chuckles, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Know what?”

“That you’re so gay we’ll never produce an heir together.”

“You’ll just have to find someone who wants to produce my illegitimate heir, Cissy, she doesn’t need to know at all.” Once, when he was young, Regulus had considered coming out to his family. Once, when the world wasn’t so dark. Once, when Sirius was still his safety net, always willing to catch him when he fell. Now, he doesn’t think there’s anywhere he could be safe. He doesn’t think he’ll ever know what it’s like to live his life with any semblance of freedom.

“I mean, obviously. You could find someone to love, you know.” The tenderness that she speaks those words hits him like a train. Never had he considered that he could seek love in this marriage too. This entire time he’s just been thinking of Narcissa, of how they were going to pretend they had a happy marriage and sex life, of how they were going to further the family tree. Could he experience love?

If he’s honest with himself, he gave up on love a long time ago. Back when Sirius was still at home and sometimes invited Regulus along to visit James Potter. Those days were much brighter, warm and golden. They were only allowed to visit the Potter Manor because the Potters were technically purebloods, once considered pure enough for their family trees to intertwine. And then the dark days came and the Potters refused to kneel for the Dark Lord. Now, Sirius belongs with James in the sun and Regulus is cold and alone in the dark.

“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, let’s get through this party.” They smile softly at each other, linking their arms, and descend the stairs.

***

James is thankful that the man at the entrance didn’t recognize any of them since they had to exchange the masks they brought for silver and black ones at the door. It looks like everyone in Grimmauld Place is wearing the exact same ones, so he’s hoping that they’ll be able to blend in with the crowd. He grew up going to parties like this, but since Lord Voldemort began his thirst for power the Potters haven’t joined in any of these pureblood farces. Everyone is fake here. They all hate each other and James really doesn’t understand why they don’t just say it.

He sways a bit as they make their way through the crowd of people. He hadn’t realized how many people would show up, but I suppose that the most powerful pureblood family having an engagement party for two of their own would make for a large turn out. Everyone will be trying to arrange their own marriages for their children in hopes to secure a spot in Lord Voldemort’s favor. Scanning the room, he recognizes Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. whispering to each other, leaning against the wall near the stairway.

He’s not surprised to see Evan, he’s from an old pureblood family that allied themselves with Voldemort immediately, but he is surprised to see Barty. James is pretty sure that Barty’s father still works at the Ministry, but he supposes that the integrity of the Ministry has been up for debate for quite some time.

“Cygnus and Druella Black and Orion and Walburga Black are pleased to announce the engagement of Narcissa Black and Regulus Black,” someone announces to the parlor, pulling James from his thoughts. The entire room pauses, looks to the top of the stairs, and offers a polite applause as the couple descends.

Sirius bumps into him and they both take in Regulus standing arm in arm with Narcissa. Sirius can’t stop staring at Regulus, eyes wide and tearing up and immediately James can tell that Regulus feels Sirius’ gaze on him. His entire body stiffens, his steel gray eyes sharpen like daggers. The long separated Black Brothers lock eyes and James knows that’s the end of the game. There’s no way Regulus is going to let Sirius out of this party without a confrontation.

As soon as Regulus and Narcissa have joined the crowd and the chatter begins again, James gets Sirius moving. They need to avoid Regulus at all costs. Coming here was such a bad idea, but he really can’t fault Sirius for it. In the end, he knows this was just his way of wanting to be here for his brother. Being disowned didn’t mean he stopped loving Regulus, even if he acts that way to the rest of the world. James knows in his heart that there’s a whole lot of love between them.

He scans the room as they go, noticing that Regulus has joined Evan and Barty near the wall. Regulus is clearly freaking out, even if he’s trying to keep it quiet and subtle. Maybe to everyone at this party, he’s just excitedly chatting with his friends, but James knows better. Regulus is pissed. They should have never come here.

They stumble out to the garden, Marlene leading the way. Remus and Peter finally catch up behind them.

“Regulus saw us come this way, I think we should get out of here,” Remus says, a little out of breath. “C’mon, you showed up, it was a bad idea, let’s all go home, yeah?” They all turn a corner, trying to find their way out of this mess, and Marlene barrels head first into Dorcas. Regulus’ best friend. Oh, they’re so fucked.

“What the hell are you guys doing here? This is the last place you lot should be,” Dorcas whispers, clearly alarmed. Her amber eyes glaring in turn at each of them, light twinkling off the golden charms in her braids piled on her head.

“Dorcas, please, we all got a little drunk and carried away, we’re leaving, right Sirius?” Marlene begs, trying to walk around Dorcas to make way for their escape.

“Go now, I won’t be able to cover for you if anyone notices that you’re here, but I won’t say anything either,” Dorcas moves aside, making her way back to the party. “If you keep going that way you’ll find a back gate, it’s hidden behind some shrubs, just make sure you close it after yourselves.”

Remus takes Sirius’ hand, clearly begging him in that secret language that only they speak. In that way only people who know each other inside and out can. Soulmates.

Sirius reluctantly nods, James watches as the four of them make their way deeper into the gardens, searching for the back exit to avoid being caught. He knows they expect him to follow, and he will, but first he wants to scout out who else is at this party. This information is surely valuable to The Order, right? He’s already here, so he might as well, he knows that he can blend in well enough. Besides, it’s not like Regulus will recognize him. James turns on his heel to head back into the parlor, but instead he finds himself face to face, chest to chest with Regulus Black and he never realized just how beautiful he is.

***

Regulus could have run into any one of Sirius’ friends, but of course it had to be James Potter. James Potter with his stupid smile. James Potter with his golden eyes glowing in the twinkling lights of his favorite garden. James Potter staring at him with heat that he’s never seen in his eyes before.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he snaps. He can’t believe how terrible his luck is that James Potter would show up here tonight, when he has to pretend to play the dutiful heir. The universe really hates Regulus, he just knows it. Why else would James be here, taunting Regulus with everything he’s ever wanted and could never have.

James stumbles back a bit, catching his bearings. He seems drunk, wobbling a bit on his feet, his cheeks slightly flushed. He’s so beautiful it hurts. “Look, I just wanted to stop by and tell you congratulations. Innocent stuff, I swear. But then you just looked so pretty and I thought it’d be such a shame if I had to leave you alone with your cousin, or, er - fiancée I suppose, for another moment.”

James Potter just called him pretty and Regulus is absolutely positive that he’s going to implode. His brain is spiraling. Regulus has wanted to hear James call him pretty since he was ten years old and first learned what a crush was, this can’t be real.

“What?” Regulus needs to hear him say it again. Needs to confirm that he didn’t just hallucinate James Potter calling him pretty.

“I mean, I’m sure the formalities of all of this is exhausting. Narcissa will be fine in there, she’s the sister who got all of the manners you know. Your mom picked the best cousin for you, I suppose. Way better than Bellatrix, eh?” James smirks as he rambles and Regulus wishes he would just stop and tell him he’s pretty again.

“Shut up, you idiot. What did you say before you got fixated on the fact that I’m marrying my cousin?” He’s getting impatient now. James is so insufferable. Why is he even asking him to say it again? It’s not like he can act on his childhood crush looking at him like this.

“Oh, er, I said you were pretty. And Godric, you really are beautiful…” James trails off, staring at Regulus with a type of longing that no one has looked at him with before. Regulus feels frozen in time. He can’t believe this is real. He wants to kiss him so badly it hurts, but he’s also aware that James was clearly at this party for nefarious reasons. This could all just be a game. Regulus’ heart couldn’t handle it if it was just a game. Instead, Regulus shoves James further away.

“You shouldn’t have ever come here,” Regulus feels like uttering these words betrays his very soul, but James doesn’t belong here. He’s innocent, free from the clutches of the Dark Lord and the dark, cold things that lurk beneath Regulus’ skin. James belongs in the sun.

Suddenly, James looks around the garden, grabs Regulus’ hand, and pulls him along the path. He hesitates at first, but James is relentless, tugging at him until they reach a willow tree. The branches reach down towards the ground in a thick curtain, James holds them aside and they slip under the willow. It feels like they’re in their own world, dark but not cold. Warm, because Regulus is holding James Potter’s hand.

[saturdaysky]

Creepin on your tags… Mayfic? Mayhew fic?? Mayhew fic for us Mayhew lovers???

Is it is a WIP or is there anything published so far?

Mayhew fic for us Mayhew lovers!!!

Nothing is published yet. I will be completing the fic first, and publishing it weekly once it's done and edited. I also am hoping to illustrate it like I did for my friend's critrole mercaleb fic! (like so: one, two)

The premise

After events of the game, Gale leaves to become a god (but pinky promises he'll come back), while Wyll, Karlach, and Mayhew (now a very grudging mind flayer) go to Avernus to find a cure for Karlach. All four of these people have just leapt into the crucible. What shape do they choose to become?

I'm exploring what actually happens in those six months between the endgame and the epilogue party.

Mayhew/Flayhew: What is it actually like to become a mind flayer, and how long can you ignore the fact that you did? What if it gives you the power you've always wanted? It will cost you the better self you're trying to be, but your clock is ticking. How much faith can you put in promises made by someone who left you behind?

Karlach: What is it actually like to walk back into Hell with only trust and wishes in your pockets? How do you keep going when those wishes run out? The friend who wouldn't let you die is now slowly dying inside himself, so what do you do now that the shoe is on the other foot?

Wyll: What is it actually like to be a powerless warlock who swore to protect your friends? Hell will kill all of you if any one of you is the weak link, but you're not trapping yourself into another pact. How do you make up the difference? In your duty of protection, when does a friend become a monster, and when does a monster become a threat?

Gale: What is it actually like to become a god? What do you do when you play for ultimate power and win? Your divine future awaits, and mortality already seems distant and petty. You can leave everything behind to claim perfection, right now, and no one can stop you. So...do you keep those old, mortal promises you made?

Altogether, these are novel-length ideas to chew on, and the word count reflects it. It's novel-length already 😂 but this is because I want the fic to be robust enough to stand on its own and prove its own points, like a novel must do. I also want it to be readable even if you haven't played BG3. It's a ton of work to write, but it's very fun.

The shorter premise is: sometimes, just sometimes, if you play out two bad endings long enough, they can become one good ending.

[elenasharemofmikaelsons]

EHOM Update: It's the Great Tumblr Backlog, Charlie Brown!

While I've been collecting a nice little GIANT backlog (because I'm the worst 😇 and everything is a little a lot right now irl *gestures everywhere* 🫠), the Elena's Harem of Mikaelson's Discord has nevertheless been busy little bees.

While I catch up on all the posts I owe everyone, here is a quick summary of what's on my To-Do List! - A

Member Fics

Title: Sleeping Queen (Chapter 5) Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: Clinomania28 | @clinomania28 Published: 2024-11-04 Chapters: 5/8

Title: Sleeping Queen (Chapter 6) Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: Clinomania28 | @clinomania28 Published: 2024-11-04 Chapters: 6/8

Title: The Loving (Chapter 7) Ship: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson, Author: Clinomania28 | @clinomania28 Published: 2024-11-06 Chapters: 7/7

Title: Pink Pony Girl (Chapter 1) Ship: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson Author: Clinomania28 | @clinomania28 Published: 2024-11-11 Chapters: 1/2

Title: Do I Really Have to Tell You How He Brought Me Back to Life (Chapter 2) Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: VisionsinCrimson | @katherineholmes Published: 2024-11-19 Chapters: 2/4

Title: Hidden Protections Ship: Elena Gilbert & Bonnie Bennett & Caroline Forbes Author: MystidPurple Published: 2024-11-20 Chapters: 1/1

Title: Ultimatum Ship: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert, Elijah Mikaelson/Klaus Mikaelson Author: Clinomania28 | @clinomania28 Published: 2024-11-21 Chapters: 1/1

Title: The Best of All Possible Worlds (Chapter 1) Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson (Minor), Elena Gilbert/Damon Salvatore (Past) Author: JohnathansNightFlight | @jonathansnightflight Published: 2024-11-23 Chapters: 1/6

Title: I'd Be Home With You Ship: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson Author: moonysmate | @moonysmate Published: 2024-11-24 Chapters: 1/1

EHOM Weekly Fic Club

Remember the goal is to show your appreciation and love in the AO3 comments of the fic itself! Give fic authors some love 🥰!

Week #6: October 22 - October 28, 2024 Title: A Game of Trust Ship: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson Author: wheatear Posted: April 10, 2011 Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 3,739

Week #7: October 29 - November 4, 2024 Title: Possessive Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson/Elijah Mikaelson/Kol Mikaelson Author: MissNMikaelson | @missnmikaelson-main Posted: June 28, 2019 Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 2,281

Week #8: November 5, 2024 - November 11, 2024 Title: The Monster in Her Mind Ship: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson/Klaus Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert/Damon Salvatore (Past) Author: VisionsInCrimson | @katherineholmes Posted: August 14, 2022 Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 9,717

Week #9: November 12, 2024 - November 18, 2024 Title: Join Me In Hell, Darling Ship: Elena Gilbert/Kol Mikaelson Author: sevensistersofsussex | @sevensistersofsussex Posted: August 8, 2022 Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 1,302

EHOM Fic Club: Multi-Chapter Read (The Stars Were Brightly Shining)

We picked up the pace on this, realizing it would take us forever to read multi-chapter reads one chapter a week so here's a quick summary of the new speedier format!

Remember the goal is to show your appreciation and love in the AO3 comments of the fic itself! Give fic authors some love 🥰!

Week #3: October 22 - October 28, 2024 Title: The Stars Were Brightly Shining Chapters: [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: adlyb | @livlepretre Posted: December 22, 2019 - December 31, 2019 Chapters: 3-6/54 | Total Work Word Count: 115,649

Week #4: October 29 - November 4, 2024 Title: The Stars Were Brightly Shining Chapters: [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: adlyb | @livlepretre Posted: January 2, 2020 - February 2, 2020 Chapters: 7-10/54 | Total Work Word Count: 115,649

Week #5: November 5 - November 11, 2024 Title: The Stars Were Brightly Shining Chapters: [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: adlyb | @livlepretre Posted: February 3, 2020 - February 16, 2020 Chapters: 11-14/54 | Total Work Word Count: 115,649

Week #6: November 12 - November 18, 2024 Title: The Stars Were Brightly Shining Chapters: [ 15 ] [ 16 ] [ 17 ] [ 18 ] Ship: Elena Gilbert/Klaus Mikaelson Author: adlyb | @livlepretre Posted: February 23, 2020 - February 27, 2020 Chapters: 15-18/54 | Total Work Word Count: 115,649

[thurio-edau]

im not doing okay. my mom's friend that i go weekly for religious talks made us watch a transhobic program for an hour and half. fuck matt welsh.

hes going around asking people what a woman is then hes trying to deter them with stupid questions. trans or trans friendly doctors, a detrans trans man, a man who had legal complications for denying his trans son, and they cut them to the dumbest parts. and she kept pausing and yapped about devils work and forced propaganda or someshit. and ben shapiro's an executive producer as well. ive been fragile for a few days and this is like the last straw. im walking home right now and feel something is watching me and following me again.

it ended with him telling trans people theyre predators and publishing a transphobic children's book. then he went to ask his wife what a woman is and she just answered an adult female who needs your help opening a fucking jar.

i hate this place. it just made me feel worse about myself. this woman is like an aunt to me and she'll talk behind my back with people i used to call my friends, give me as an example, and tell them how i am the devil or something. souya's there but he cant reach me. probably because i can feel a psychotic break approaching. theyve been worse lately and i just cant do it.

i dont know how the fuck im gonna fix this. my family is not only gonna reject me but talk behind my back like that as well. im just thinking about it and it hurts more. i dont know what im gonna do lately. what do i need? acceptance? affirmation? i dont know. theyre going to label me as a delusional girl who cant accept shes a girl because shes mentally ill and this is a result of the 'woke propaganda'. what the hell is wrong with me? just typing out those 'she's made my want to throw my phone. i dont know what im gonna do. i hear footsteps and its goddamn 10 at night and im walking home but i look around and theres no one.