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crissiebaby · 7 months

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Double Diaper Dare: Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, public humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, WAM, hypnosis, diaper filling, slime transformation, and other ABDL themes. This series is a direct follow-up to the short story, Codi’s Trick, and while you don’t need to read it to understand this, I highly recommend it. I hope you enjoy!

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Codi’s Diary: Entry 141

I was alone for a long time, longer than the deepest reaches of my memory banks would ever allow me to remember. No name, no goals or aspirations, and barely any consciousness to speak of. Floating along as a pile of amorphous goo in zero gravity apathetic to everything around me. I didn’t know at the time if anything else or anyone else was out there. Heck, I didn’t even know what time was.

That was until my form was sucked into and sent hurling past the event horizon of a black hole only to be spat out on some barren rock in the middle of a dead star system. It would’ve been a bleak ending to a dismal existence were it not for a parting gift that my sudden trip through time and space had left me with. I didn’t understand it then but I had been given the unique ability to create wormholes at will. Wormholes that I could use to travel the cosmos.

With the farthest reaches of space within my grasp, I traveled the galaxy and watched countless civilizations across millions of stars rise and fall, learning from them and developing consciousness slowly over time. However, there was one planet I found myself coming back to again and again. A small, underdeveloped planet with sentient life that was only beginning to take its first steps, much like I was. These bizarre and complicated life forms were called humans, and if only I had known then what my newfound love for humanity would lead to…

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“I dare you.”

Three little words that, while seemingly insignificant, had the power to turn tides and wage wars. To turn down a dare would be to bring unparalleled shame and dishonor.

“Bawk bawk!” shouted Crissie repeatedly, flapping her arms up and down like a chicken as she encircled Codi’s drawing corner. She lifted her knees high with every step to add to the animal caricature, her double-thick diaper rustling in Codi’s ears like a trash bag full of leaves, “I didn’t know my favorite roomie was such a chicky-chick-chicken! Bawk bawk!”

Focusing on her tablet as her eye twitched uncontrollably, Codi was nearing her daily limit of Crissie’s annoying antics, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Having been living within Crissie’s pocket dimension nursery for several months, there wasn’t a day that went by without the aforementioned diaper lover finding some new and unique way to pester her. And things had only gotten worse since the big Halloween reveal. “For the last time, no! You can say whatever you want but I’m not going to shift into my slime form and that’s final!” she said, blushing as she once again was forced to acknowledge her species.

Despite the humanoid form that Codi took, she was actually a goo-person from a different dimension. And while she could move between forms with ease, she preferred to keep her human form whenever she could even before rooming with Crissie. Sadly, that hasn’t stopped Crissie from asking her to change into a slime every single day since she found out. Her latest approach: the ‘dare’ tactic.

“Awww! But it could be so much fun!” whined Crissie as she thought back to how amazing it felt to have Codi’s goo swirling around in her diaper. If only that witch’s spell hadn’t been temporary, then they could have horny playtimes like that all the time. Flopping her arms over Codi’s shoulders, she sank to the floor pathetically, “Pleeeeeeeeeease! I promise I won’t ask for anything else!”

Shaking her head, Codi snickered, “Oh, pleeeeeeease, yourself! We both know that’s not true. You said the exact same thing after you asked me to draw those diaper nudes of you AND after you got me to put that suppository in your…you-know-where!”

“Hehehe, yeah,” said Crissie, forgetting the plot for a brief moment as she fondly remembered the outcome of that suppository, “...but I really mean it this time!”

Rolling her eyes, Codi ignored Crissie’s pleas and attempted to resume her work. That was until the brat reached over her body and snatched her drawing pen out of her hand. “Crissie, I swear if you don’t give that back-”

“You’ll what?” said Crissie, pulling open the front of her diaper and dropping the pen inside, “Ooh, and I think I’m gonna have an accident pretty soon.”

Frustrated and over Crissie’s brattitude, Codi stretched her hand out quickly transforming her fingers into strands of purple goo, and wrapped herself around Crissie’s wrists and waist. She then pulled Crissie in close and promptly stuck her free hand down the front of Crissie’s diaper, retrieving her pen in seconds. “There, I’d say I lived up to my end of the dare,” she snarked, blowing the remnants of powder off of her drawing pen with a satisfied smirk, “So, now I dare you to shut up and go play in your crib until I’m done drawing.”

Puffing up her cheeks into a big pout, Crissie made a series of angry noises before stomping off and plopping herself down in her crib. She may have been pissed at how Codi got around the dare, but she was much too proud to not follow a dare given to her. Grabbing the bars of the crib, she slammed them up into place and folded her arms as she sat cross-legged on the plush mattress, her eyes locked on Codi.

Codi, meanwhile, got back to work despite feeling Crissie’s eyes burning a hole in the back of her non-existent skull. Thankfully, knowing how short of an attention span Crissie had, it wouldn’t be long before her mind was occupied by something else. At least, that’s what she hoped, anyway, failing to calculate precisely how petty Crissie was feeling.

After a few minutes of staring at her artistic adversary from behind a row of crib bars, Crissie finally gave up on the stoic approach, knowing that she’d need to step up her game if she was going to get Codi to focus her attention back on her. Luckily, she had perfect equipment ready to go within the comfort of her crib. Pulling out a Magic Wand from under her pillow, things in the nursery were about to get very loud.

“Mmmmmmm! Uuuuuugh!” moaned Crissie as she pressed the head of the large, white vibrator against the front of her diaper. She wasn’t nearly as horny as she was making it out to be, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to get on Codi’s nerves, and in that department, she was definitely succeeding.

Placing a hand on one of her ears, Codi furrowed her brows and attempted to block out the world around her. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, as Crissie’s sexual noises only got louder and more “passionate.” She swore that Crissie had to be one of the worst actors of all time. That sadly didn’t mean that she wasn’t accomplishing her goal of being an outright distraction.

Slamming her pen down on her desk, Codi promptly stood up and stomped over to Crissie’s crib. “You’re lucky I can’t create wormholes anymore or else I would be so outta here. I’m seriously about to tape your mouth shut,” she said starkly with zero humor in her tone, continuously dreading the fact that Master had stolen her powers from her when she had first arrived in the nursery.

“Kinky,” responded Crissie, giggling as she stuck her tongue out, “Wait a minute, you got up from your desk! That means you’re done drawing, which means I won the dare!”

Pressing her thumb and forefinger on her eyes, Codi let out a long, painful groan. “I was literally getting up to tell you to can it. But sure, if it makes you feel good, you beat your dare. Now can you let me draw in peace?!”

“Nuh-uh! That means we’re tied one to one!” shouted Crissie, leaping to her feet and peeking her head over the side of the Crib, “So now it’s my turn to give you a dare again! Those are the rules.”

Throwing her arms in the air dramatically, Codi yelled, “What moronic rules are you talking about?!”

“The rules of Double Diaper Dare, of course,” said Crissie, acting as though what she was saying was common knowledge, “We’re supposed to give each other dares until one of us fails to do their dare or they chicken out! It’s like Double Dog Dare, only all the dares are supposed to be diaper-themed. I don’t get where the confusion is.”

Resting her head on the side of one of the crib posts, Codi couldn’t believe how self-centered and ridiculous Crissie was behaving. It wasn’t like those adjectives weren’t normally used to describe Crissie. However, for some reason, she was even worse today than usual, “The confusion is how your baby brain possibly could’ve perceived that we were playing a game at all. I don’t remember agreeing to Double Diaper Dare or whatever you sai-”

“Bawk! Bawk bawk bawk bawk!” Without hesitation, Crissie instantly launched into another series of mocking chicken noises, refusing to let Codi get a word in edgewise.

Balling up her fist, something inside of Codi snapped as her ears were once again assaulted by Crissie’s ceaseless gibberish. Whether it was her inner-competitive spirit or the result of all the mind-numbing ways Crissie had gone out of her way to be annoying, she refused to let this indignity stand. As much as she didn’t want to play Crissie’s stupid game, this was the perfect opportunity to change the status quo within the nursery for the foreseeable future. If Crissie wanted to play games, she was going to make the bratty Little suffer as much as possible. “Fine then! You wanna play Double Diaper Dare? Bring it!” she said, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at her opponent, “But if I’m playing, there’s gonna be some stakes involved. If I win, you have to leave me alone and play quietly whenever I’m working. Deal?”

Getting exactly what she wanted, Crissie's mouth curled into a sly smile. “Deal!” she said, officially throwing down the gauntlet with her dear roomie, “And if I win, I get to play with Slime Codi again!” She extended her arm through the crib bars, offering her hand to Codi to seal the deal.

Codi instantly returned the gesture, gripping Crissie’s hand tightly as she shook it. “Alright, CrissieBaby, hit me with your best shot. What’s my dare?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Edited by AllySmolShork

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callmelyc · 10 months

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Written for Twitter julance:

#2023JuLance

Week 1: Sharpshooter, Part 1- The Birth of a Name

If anyone on this planet had looked up they'd think lance was a shooting star. Blue lighting up the night as she hurled down to the planets surface to crash-land like a meteor in the night

And now here lance was hiding in the desert rock formations watching galra swarm the wreckage. It's just his luck to not only be separated from the others but to also have fallen smack dab into the center of a galra invaded planet.

"Shit-" lance curses watching them poke and prod at his baby blue from a safe distance but he knew he wasn't in any shape to fight right now and he sure as hell didn't want to be a prisoner. He'd barely spotted them to begin with with his head injury and all making his vision spin.

Just when he thinks the soldiers might turn to come his direction lance feels a small hand touch his own. It takes everything in him to not full body flinch and risk blowing his cover so he holds his breath.

He glances down slowly.

And is surprised to come face to face with a small....gecko?...looking closer lance thinks they remind him a lot of the Geico mascot but large enough to be a small child. They're about three feet tall, pastel yet colored like an oil spil when the sunlight bounces off their scales. It's honestly pretty mesmerizing to look at he could admit, if only his head wasn't swimming and everything hurt-

Stop it lance ur getting off track!

"Uh...hello?" Lance whispers warily only earning a smile from the little creature.

"Hello! I am selkie!" They say brightly "please follow me"

"W-wait I don't even kno-" but his protest fall quiet as his hand is taken in a surprisingly strong grip and he's pulled through tunnels that exist through the cliff sides. Selkie stays quiet throughout their trek and though lance had the second thought to fight the alien off he felt it was safer to trust this geico mascot over the galra anyday.

So here he is in a tightly fitted cave following behind someone smaller than pidge noting that every change in lighting causes selkies skin to shift both in pattern and color. It's....very distracting and it's not until they come to a stop that lance realized he didn't watch their path here.

"You are safe here!" Selkie says proudly looking up at lance with the cutest smile drawing him out of his own head and back to attention.

He glances up to take survey of the location only to find them still inside the cave system it's just a dead end "where are we?"

"The caverns" a new voice announces causing lance to finally be more on edge yet turns to see another small gecko alien of the same height as selkie "it is the only place the galra cannot navigate. Their large stature causes them to get stuck in the tunnel systems."

Oh. Well that makes sense lance thinks "and you are...?"

"I am Lorix, I am the leader of the Gekkota people." Lorix squints at lance taking in his stature "are you of the crashed vessel?"

"Oh you mean Blue? Yeah a mission gone wrong I was separated from my team and crashed here" lance watches how Lorix reacts to this for a moment deeming him a little trustworthy "My name is Lance, I'm the Blue Paladin of Voltron"

Lorixs eyes widen just a fraction "Voltron is real?"

"Yep! And it's our job to help where we can so-" lance kneels down to be eye level with the two "why don't ya tell me a bit about your galra problem."

As it turns out the skin shift wasn't just for show nor their small stature. The Gekkota people are known to be able blend into their surroundings through color reflection off their scales. That paired with their ability to fit into small tight spaces meant they could be practically invisible intruders and the galra wanted them for forced spy work.

"When they overtook the planet most fled into these caverns to hide-" selkie added before turning somber "they have started to flush us out through poisons, we fear they may result to other means soon"

As he watched these two share their story lance had already known hed help them but looking at them now only solidified his resolve.

"Hey-" he says into the silence gaining both their attention "how far up do these tunnels go?"

~*~

Lance finds himself learning the cave tunnels over the next day and a half because if his plan was gonna work he needed all the pieces in place perfectly. As it turns out the tunnel systems go all the way to the top and deep into the ground below the base surface level. It reminded him a lot of how ant farms or burrow systems might look: tight passageways, circular dead ends, and hundreds of interconnected pathways.

The point is it's easy to get lost and he doesn't wanna die down here especially if he's aiming to help these people by fending off the galra as they come.

So he's memorized the paths he needs, he knows the positions he'll switch between like the back of his hand. The galra won't ever spot him and they'll be falling before they get the chance. It's more ruthless than he's used to being, but lance was alone here and he had an entire planet of innocent people to help. you can bet your ass he was gonna do it by any means necessary.

Lance sit here now waiting for his moment to act. There's specific times the galra will send out people to do the rounds in an attempt to capture more of the people here and with blue close by they might even be looking for him. Little do they know lance won't let them get that far.

He's crouching in his first position atop the left cliffside just out of sight, Bayard drawn and formed into a sniper rifle. When the first galra patrol comes into view he lets them get a little too close just to make sure they don't catch on too quickly.

A deep breath

In and out

Three shots fired in quick succession followed by three bodies hitting the ground. The bombs they'd had in their hands go off but this time no one in the caverns is fighting the poison.

Score 1 for Lance and 0 for the Galra.

This continues over the course of the next three days, galra appear each group growing larger than the previous and lance strikes them down one by one from altering positions so they never spot him.

He rotates the choices, ya know to spice things up a bit, really lay on the confusion and he knows he's winning because they've grown increasingly more frustrated.

The galra attacks grow more violent too, they've gone from smoke bowms filled with poison to flat out trying to crumble the caves themselves. Eventually they switch it up from simple small patrol groups to full on fleets of galra and sentry combined, both more heavily equipped.

So he switches his tactics too, lance doesn't let any get close if he can help it. He's shooting from further away now, further than he thought himself capable of hitting his mark, but with every shot fired he never fails to hit it like a bullseye. The moment he sees them in the distance, the moment he can tell it's an enemy and not an innocent bystander he lines his rifle and takes his shot.

His cover provided Selkie and Lorix with the time and safety to gather more of their people into the same tunnels as well as gather more needed provisions. It also allowed for Intel gathering.

"They have grown weary of you Paladin Lance" Lorix says one day during a down period "you have taken so much of their forces here they had to request for backup"

Lances alien sandwich falls from his hand "backup?"

"Yes! They seem to have contacted a secondary fleet in a neighboring galaxy-" he says between chews "we are a dead zone, the only life in this galaxy exist here so they did not think to send more aid until you arrived."

"Yes yes!" Selkie adds "there is much radio chatter about the missing blue paladin. They do not have the equipment to move your crashed vessel but with the backup they seem hopeful in gathering it"

Lance let's that information sinks in while continuing to eat his previously dropped sandwich-dont judge him!- before his mind zeros in on one part "did you say there was radio chatter about me?"

"That is correct, from various sources it seems" Lorix confirms with a nod "some galra some otherwise-"

Lance grips lorixs tiny shoulders "otherwise?? Did you happen to catch any names or descriptions? Do you know what they were saying?"

"Ah- well," he says seeming to think it over "there was a mention of a coalition? And a princess Allura looking for a blue paladin"

"Oh thank god-" he sighs "that's my team, if they can get a signal they can give us backup."

Selkie and Lorix exchange glances before frowning "how will we do that?"

Lance looks back at them pausing to think it over for a minute and smirks "actually....I have an idea"

~*~

It's nightfall when they choose to act, lance knows for a fact they've stationed a heavily armed set of guards around Blue and he also knows she has her particle varried up and loaded. So all he needs to do is get in just close enough to phase through it, run in, set off her emergency signal for his team and hightail it out of there.

First things first though, the guards.....

There's surprisingly only three sentries but for some reason this really sets lance on edge. Something doesn't feel right about this but he can't back out now. He takes his stance, sends a small hang signal to Lorix and Selkie who are on standby and runs out into the open guns ablaze.

It's the first sentry getting shot down that tells lance what's wrong. They were decoys, once shot they send off a visual signal while simultaneously blowing up, which lance found out the fun way.

Aka getting thrown back a few hundred feet and gaining yet another head injury.

Fighting to get back up he knows he has to work fast, that signal couldn't have been anything good, so lance runs. He runs as fast as he can dodging the best he can when the remaining sentries charge towards him because if he can just get to blue she'll let him in.

He feels her weak energy reach out to him and smiles.

He can do this.

Throwing himself into a clean slide he slips right under the final sentry and luckily right through blues partial barrier that flies back up the moment lance is safely inside.

"that's my girl!" Lance cheers climbing back into the safety of her hull.

"I know your hurt baby girl but don't worry-" he pats her side gently while sifting through things to get to the emergency panel "I'll get the team right on it"

Lance works the fastest he can through the dizziness, sets off the SOS signal and does a repeat of his initial fight only this time to leave. It's a narrow escape made possible only by the help of Selkie who manages to trip a sentry into another just long enough for them to get back into the underground.

They move quickly for a bit only deeming themselves safe once back to the center "what do we do now paladin?" Lorix ask worried "the beacon the sentry sent us worrisome-"

"I know" lance sighs "the only thing we can do now is wait. I'll take watch, hold em off as long as I can and hope my team catches the distress signal fast enough..."

Selkie puts a reassuring hand on his arm "you are not alone in this fight paladin lance, we can do what we are best at-" she smiles at him and it clicks "if you are a ghost to them, then so shall we be"

The battle that ensues is a tough one, lance positioned at the highest possible point sniping down enemy after enemy while the Gekkoas work from the ground camouflaging themselves so quickly it confuses the galra enough to be taken down by them. Together they make a deadly team, moving in silence and to the galra invisible the waves that hit them go down like rain.

By the time daylight has arrived on the final day, Voltron arrives and gives a helping hand. They're quick to pickup on lances strategy and in less than an hour they've finally freed the planet Euble and all it's people.

And with their victory lance can finally rest.

~*~

"Sir, we have a report" a large galran says to his commander.

The commander turns, his frown a permanent fixture yet he doesn't glance up from his small device "What is it Vox?"

"It's about Euble, the ghost won sir. They have been freed with the aid of Voltron."

The device in the commanders hand snaps in his crushing grip, the frown turning into a snarl "What?!"

Silence hangs heavy before the commander turns to hit his fist angrily on the nearest wall "we have to report this to the main fleet-"

A com system appears, a video transmission going through before a higher ranking officer picks up the call "what is it Commander Krox?"

"Euble has fallen, The Ghost Rite won"

An angry tsk can be heard through the screen "and who is this Ghost Rite that took down all your men?"

"The sniper of Voltron..... The Blue paladin"

#lance vld #vld lance #voltron #bamf lance #julance #this came from twitter im sorry if it reads weird #im teaching myself how to write fics be gentle with me

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wyrdify · 11 months

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( cross posting from my Facebook )

It's Pride Month.

There are still places in the world where it is not safe to be part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Uganda is the latest example of such a place with the laws it just passed, which are being rightfully condemned, but there are others. We know this. It's not uncommon knowledge, and it's part of why LGBTQIA+ activism continues: to fight for global equal rights.

The United States shouldn't be one of those places where it isn't safe, but it is. We still hear the stories of teenagers getting kicked out for coming out to their parents. We know homelessness is high in the LGBTQIA+ community, as are mental health issues and a high suicide rate. In almost every single state right now, legislators are trying to pass laws that make existing as a transgender person extremely difficult. The book bans are also part of it as local school districts take one look at anyone who is "other" and say, "We don't want our students knowing about you."

It's disconcerting to say the least. Honestly, it's terrifying. Florida scares me the most, and DeSantis just officially declared he's running for President for 2024. I'm scared of that future and what it could mean for me as a trans person.

Pride Month isn't just about the parades and the rainbows. It's about the continued fight for equal rights for all. It's about taking up a brick and saying, "This isn't right, and I'm not putting this down until it is." It's about fighting for those still in the closet, the ones who are out, whether willingly or not, and those who can't be with us anymore. It's about fighting for the right to peacefully coexist and love on this rock hurling through space.

And sometimes, that fight is simply just to exist as who you are. That is more than enough.

Happy Pride Month, y'all. Tell your queer friends and family that you love them. ❤️

Love, Kai

A queer as hell trans person

#thewriter; post #tbd #pride 2023 #politics tw #long post tw #[ my mother laugh reacted to this ]#[ so I'm posting it here to see if that makes any sense ]#[ also because I thought I wrote it well ]#[ still taking a hiatus from writing for now ]

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redorich · 3 years

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for the hermit canyon, i humbly request:

Etho messing with Karl and maybe like, Lazarbeam or Fundy, by pretending he’s moth man.

Quackity stalks through the woods, blissfully unaware of its other inhabitants-- not that he would care, if he knew. No, tonight, under the full moon (because it's romantic) he makes his move.

The Hermit, as Quackity is completely sure of, is a beautiful young woman with long flowing hair as white as snow. Because she is a creature of untold power and beauty, fairy tale logic obviously applies. Therefore, if Quackity can steal her clothes, she will have no choice but to marry him and they will live happily ever after as big booty bitches in love.

Nodding to himself, Quackity feels assured in his logic. He's wearing his favorite assless chaps, his best pair of knockoff Yeezys, and no shirt. He is ready for what is to come.

---

Karl lurks deep in the forest, illuminated only by the moon. He leans against a tree, taking care not to disturb his outfit-- he is camouflaged as a bush. Dangling strips of green and brown fabric cover his body, and his limbs are completely hidden in the costume so long as he stands still. It's a daunting task, standing still in the dark, dangerous woods at night. Nevertheless, Karl knows that this is what he must do.

"Triclops Mothman, my beloved," he whispers into the night. He will find Mothman, and he will marry Mothman. There is no alternative.

---

Far away from both Karl and Quackity, though still in the same spruce forest, Sapnap angrily prowls. Well, he'd describe it as a prowl. Truthfully, it's more of a pouty stomp. He knows that this forest has had multiple "Hermit sightings", and Sapnap wants-- no, needs what he's after.

"Hermit!" he screams into the night. "Come out and fight me, you little bitch! Man on man!"

To emphasize his point, he bangs a pot and a pan against each other several times. Sapnap is getting his revenge for that little ravager prank, one way or another.

---

Deep within the canyon walls, the Hermit complex looks like an overturned anthill with all its activity. It's Halloween night come early.

"I'm not wearing a dress," Etho insists.

Grian whines, "But Etho, I made it just for you! It matches Stress's outfit."

Stress, upon hearing her name, looks up from her book and waves. Cleo is currently fiddling with the thick mane of synthetic white hair Stress is wearing, styling the wig into a princess-y type braid.

"I'll say it again," Cleo says, looking very intently into Etho's eyes, "I could take your place."

"No," Etho sighs. "If what Puffy said about these guys is true, you'd probably bite someone's face off by the end of the night."

"You're no fun," Cleo huffs, but acquiesces.

"At least put on the wig," Grian demands.

Grian and Etho have a staring contest for a solid ninety seconds before Etho snaps his fingers in front of Grian's face, causing him to flinch and blink. "You cheater--!"

"I'll wear the wig," Etho interrupts Grian. Instantaneously, Grian loses his outraged moue.

Cleo sighs. "They're the same wig, right? Do I have to braid Etho's hair, too?"

"I think I'll be fine with my new flowing, luscious locks," Etho says with a humorous crinkle to his eyes.

They all laugh as Etho dramatically flips his fake hair, whipping himself in the face with it in the process. He also receives a thumbs up from Joe, who is in the process of searching for his contact lenses because "Herobrine doesn't wear glasses", according to Bdubs.

Night falls, and the Hermits are prepared. They hope their victims aren't.

---

Quackity catches a glimpse of silver-white after so long searching in the woods. With a little gasp, he eagerly pursues it. His beautiful maiden, ethereal and distant like the moon, darts between trees and leaps across creeks like she is flying, like her feet barely touch the ground.

He follows her to a clearing, but when he bursts through the brush into the open space, she is nowhere to be found.

“Mi rey!” he wails, “Fantasma hermosa! Come to papi!”

Etho, hiding in a tree about five feet away, has no clue what any of those words mean. He affects a terrible falsetto and throws his voice. “Hello, Quackity.”

Quackity jumps, looking around wildly for his beautiful girlboss queen. “Hermit?! You know my name?”

“Of course, Quackity,” Etho says, hefting a large rock in his hand. “Come closer, I have a cask of Amontillado we can share.”

Quackity turns toward Etho's voice just fast enough to catch a glimpse of the Hermit's mask, his (fake) long white hair, his decidedly not female appearance. Quackity looks the Hermit up and down. Etho has never felt more Perceived.

"What's a place like you doing in a guy like this?" Quackity says, flirtatiousness dripping from his voice.

Etho eyes the man's assless chaps with distaste from his crouched perch in a tree. Quick as lightning, he chucks the heavy rock in his hand at Quackity's head, knocking him out instantly.

Etho jumps down from his tree with a huffed sigh. "Well," he says, grabbing Quackity by the ankle and dragging him, "time to get to work."

---

"Pspspsps," Karl whispers, "heeeere Mothman..."

The sound of a twig snapping to his right makes Karl freeze, then turn ever so slowly. There's no one there. Karl holds his breath for what feels like an eternity, but is eventually forced to admit that the noise was probably just an animal. Surely, a creature of Mothman's size would make more noise when he walks, given the weight of his strong legs.

"Mothman," Karl says. "I wrote you a poem!"

Joe, who was up until this point hiding behind trees and ominously snapping twigs, feels a twinge of morbid curiosity. As a poet, he absolutely has to know what Karl considers an adequate love poem for Mothman.

With red cheeks, Karl professes his love:

"Your feelers make me feel so sweet

Your hindwings set my heart aflame

Fern-like antennae make me melt

And Mothman, you're to blame."

Despite himself, Joe is a little bit impressed. It almost makes him feel bad about what he's about to do-- almost.

A soft eerie glow seeps into the forest, catching Karl's eye. He investigates, creeping forward until he turns around a tree and sees glowing white eyes. He screams, but there is no sound, and the forest has disappeared. Only those eyes remain, and they too flicker out of existence.

There is a dim corridor ahead of him, narrow and lit by redstone torches. At the end, there is an iron door. He runs to the exit, but as soon as his hand touches the door it disappears and he is engulfed by swirling purple-- like a Nether portal, but so much more terrifying.

The purple is gone and he can just barely make out the menacing image of a man with glowing white eyes T-posing in the blackness. Karl opens his eyes and wakes up on the forest floor, prone and sore.

"Right," he mutters breathlessly to himself, "Mothman is not interested."

---

"--YOU BITCH ASS PUNK, I'M GONNA RIP YOUR LEGS OFF AND STICK 'EM ON YOUR HEAD!" Sapnap screams, banging the only pot he owns against a non-stick frying pan he stole from George.

"Well, that's not very nice, innit?" says a feminine voice. Sapnap looks left, right, behind him, up in the trees... then down.

Big brown eyes peer up at him through white bangs. A displeased pout set into a moon-pale face attached to an equally moon-pale woman chastises him without words.

"...You're the Hermit?" Sapnap says disbelievingly. He has his doubts that someone as small and pretty as this woman could wrangle a ravager onto his front lawn.

"You wanted a fight," she huffs. "And for the record, you totally had it coming, with Pamela's Revenge-- remember, the rava--"

"Yes, I know the ravager was named Pamela's Revenge! There were like eight hundred million death messages in chat about it, you jackass!" Sapnap snaps, trying to cover up his unease. It's not that he's hesitant to hit her because she's a girl; he would deck the shit out of Niki or Puffy with absolutely no provocation whatsoever. It's just that... she looks soft. Like a non-combatant. It would be too easy, too cruel--

Stress punches Sapnap in the jaw with a wicked right hook. "Stealing is wrong," she says.

While Sapnap is dazed and quite possibly mildly concussed, Stress follows up with a brutal kick to the shin. Sapnap makes a genuine effort to fight back, and he’s no slouch, but he’s been taken so thoroughly off guard that the best he can do with his head spinning as it is is to swing with a wild haymaker and hope it hits.

His fist makes contact with something soft and squishy. He hears a grunt, but Stress shoves him over onto the ground and dumps a bucket of glitter over his head. It burns his eyes, but more importantly it burns his pride. He doesn’t remember at what point he dropped his pot and pan (he must have at some point, because he punched the Hermit with an empty fist), but he’s angry enough to open his watery eyes through the magenta glitter and snatch George’s frying pan up off the forest floor, hurling it at the Hermit with devastating accuracy. She yelps, blocking with her forearm at the last moment.

“Knew I shoulda let Etho...” Sapnap hears the Hermit mutter. What’s an Etho?

Stress irritably bonks Sapnap on the head with the pan he threw at her. He goes limp like a ragdoll, and Stress sets about maneuvering his body into a sitting position leaned against a tree so she can do his makeup while he sleeps.

“Hope I don’t poke his eye out!” she says. “Ah well, he’s got two anyway. Now, should I go for a cute, summery look, or a dark evening look?”

---

In Atrium 1 of the Hermit Canyon complex, Puffy laughs loud and clear, clutching her paper cup tightly so she doesn’t spill her fruit punch. "No,” she chokes out, “he didn’t.”

Cub, holding a similar paper cup, waves his hand in a vague gesture. “Yep. That��s Etho for you. You know, one time he got Doc to run around with a snowman head on, eating spider eyes?”

“Oh man,” Puffy sighs, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. “I’m so glad I snitched on Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap. I can’t wait to see their reactions!”

Cub grins evilly. “Stress got pictures before she left.”

Puffy gasps, stars in her eyes. “I’ll bake you a whole cake if you get me a copy.”

“I’ll bake Cub a whole cake if he gives them to me instead,” Grian interjects from across the room. “I don’t need them, I just want to take them from you.”

“Nooooo!” Puffy wails melodramatically. “Grian, please spare me!”

“Five diamond blocks,” Grian makes his demand.

Puffy continues to fake-sob, pretending not to notice Scar sneaking up on Grian until Scar drops an anvil on Grian’s head, like a Looney Tunes episode but slightly to the left. While Grian is distracted, Cub slips the pictures to Puffy, who puts them in her inventory without looking.

Etho walks into the Atrium, now dressed as his normal self, including his natural hair, which looks like an angry wet cat perched atop his head, just the way he likes it. Everyone cheers.

“So, how’d it go with Quackity?” Puffy asks with a smirk.

“Well...” Etho says.

---

Quackity wakes up with the sun in his eyes. In front of him is the public Nether portal, and standing right in front of it is a wide-eyed Sam, staring directly at him. Quackity looks down.

He’s naked, covered in half-dried honey, and tied to a pole like the world’s sexiest flag. And he’s got the world’s worst hangover-- it feels like he’s been hit in the head with a large rock.

“Not again,” he groans.

“...This happens often?” Sam asks.

“If I had a nickel for every time something like this has happened,” Quackity says, wiggling his way out of the ropes tying him to the pole, “I’d have enough money to go buy myself a pair of pants.”

Sam averts his eyes to the sky, abruptly aware of exactly why Quackity would feel the need to buy a pair of pants.

“Damn it,” Quackity says. “Those were my favorite pair of assless chaps.”

“Were they now,” Sam says numbly. The sky is quite blue today, it’s rather beautiful.

Quackity huffs in aggravation, finally having freed himself from his binds. “Yeah, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to, you know?”

“Not really, no,” Sam says slowly. “I wouldn’t know much about-- assless chaps.”

The naked man shrugs. Haltingly, Sam unclasps his cape, pulling it off his shoulders and offering it to Quackity.

“Nah,” Quackity says, “I’ll just streak.”

“Please don’t,” Sam says with pain in his eyes.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #quackity #karl jacobs #sapnap #grian #ethoslab #stressmonster #zombiecleo #captain puffy #joe hills #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #awesamdude #me.cpp #me.txt

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natromanxoff · 3 years

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Queen live at Elland Road in Leeds, UK - May 29, 1982 (Part-2)

Fan Stories

“We got a coach from my home town (about 2 hours from memory) and drank an ocean of lager on the way, by the time we got there we needed the toilet so badly we could have exploded! We got into the stadium and waited for the first band of the day. Soon enough a not very well known (to me) American band came on called Heart. They weren't bad but did nothing for me. Then came The Teardrop Explodes who tried and who I reckoned did quite well despite the flying bottles of liquid being hurled at them from the crowd. After them was Joan Jett complete with Blackhearts who got the crowd going with "I Love Rock'n'Roll" mainly because Brian appeared at the side of the stage with his daughter to have a look. Eventually after a long wait the stage lights dimmed and a strange cranking sound started up and then you were suddenly aware of the drum beat to Flash thumping out and spotlights chasing around the stadium. This went on for a minute or so and the excitement was unbearable. All of a sudden in an explosion of smoke, lights, guitars, drums... Brian, John and Roger are there blasting out the opening part of The Hero. Seconds later in a gleaming white leather jacket out runs Freddie and it begins... A moment I will never forget along with many others from Queen shows since and before it. I can't say which show was my favourite as I loved them all but that moment WAS Queen, the sheer power, the anticipation, the fantastic musical ability and above all else the way they gave people what they crave more than anything... wonderful memories.” - whiteman

“29th May 1982 - a really nice warm day. We only lived a few miles away so walked down to Elland Road - I can't believe it - Queen live in my home town at the home of the greatest football team in the country (well maybe not now!). Got to the ground early and were allowed in by security, such a relaxed atmosphere. Saw band's soundcheck - great! So hot sun, never went behind stadium roofs. Got best suntan I have ever had! Heard Teardrop Explodes - not bad. Then you are aware of the beat of flash thumping out around the stadium, the smoke rises and bang - they are on! The greatest gig I have ever seen from the greatest live band in history. God bless you, Brian, Roger and John. Rest in peace, Freddie - we will never forget.” - Michael Quine

“This was my second ever gig, the first being Rory Gallagher the year before (I am sure I once read that Rory was one of Brian May's favourite guitarists). Anyway, being only 14 and not yet in the habit of getting off my face at gigs,I can remember that day very clearly. I am convinced I saw someone throw a hamburger at Julian Cope (Teardrop Explodes were going down like a lead balloon), and just as Julian was opening his gob to sing, he CAUGHT IT IN HIS MOUTH. A huge cheer went up, then they stomped off. Somebody, possibly Queen's manager, came on and told everbody to behave. I also remember a fan getting on stage and Freddie expertly rolling him off the stage. I didnt like the Hot Space album much but was chuffed they were still a hard rock band. I bought the next edition of Kerrang mag and the write up of the gig said STUNNING. Great memory.” - Edwin

“I was 15 years old in 1982 when I attended my first ever concert. Fortunately for me, it was QUEEN's show at Leeds AFC ground in the North of England. I remember when my ticket arrived in the post, possibly 2-3 months before the concert, as was often the case in those days. I stuck my ticket on a cork notice board in my bedroom and could barely contain my excitement over the coming weeks. Every morning, I would wake up and look at the yellow ticket, wishing the days away. I imagined everything that could go wrong would. Queen would cancel the gig, I would break my leg, the family pet would die on the morning of the concert and it would be too insensitive of me to go, the transport wouldn't turn up or would break down, there would be a pile up on the motorway, I'd lose my ticket en route, etc, etc. As it turned out, May 29th 1982 was a hot and sunny day, perfect weather for an outdoor gig. I was CRAZY about Queen and had been since the age of 9 but I really didn't know what to expect on that day. Myself and three friends took a coach organised by my Dad's company from Lancashire across the M62 motorway to Leeds. Our excitement began to really take a hold when we arrived at the football ground and we followed the droves of people towards the turnstiles. To me, this was something on a really big scale and I could already hear the hum of the crowd inside. Not really believing that we were actually about to witness a Queen concert, we found our seats on the West Stand, offering a great view of the stage. I remember marvelling at Queen's new lighting rig and the equipment that adorned the stage, shining in the afternoon sunshine. The ground was almost full at this point and the pitch was heaving with people. The atmosphere was relaxed as people bathed in the sunshine. I remember two guys climbing the fence from the stand and attempting to get a better spot by running into the crowd and losing themselves on the pitch. Their efforts were in vain however as they were quickly located and ejected back into the stand by two security guards. We bought some black Hot Space tour shirts (I wore mine with pride until it literally fell apart) and a programme from a vendor inside the ground and waited for the first band to take the stage. A guy near us shouted and punched his way through Heart's set and then left just as they vacated the stage. Obviously not a Queen fan! The Teardrop Explodes suffered at the hands of the Queen congregation and found themselves battling against a shower of bottles and assorted missiles. Other than that, I don't really remember much about the support bands. I think that Bow Wow Wow were billed to play (an odd choice) but I can't recall if they actually turned up. No matter, we were about to witness what is still one of the best gigs I have ever attended.

As the dusk descended upon us, the giant floodlights were extinguished one by one and the memory of the roar that followed still sends shivers down my spine. Dry ice drifted across the heads of the crowd on the pitch as the intro tape of Flash thumped out of the PA and the strange 'grating' noises added to the recording created a foreboding atmosphere. Two of our party were on the pitch and to this day remember their chests thumping in unison to the powerful rhythm. A sea of hands clapped in perfect time to the beat. To me, this was already an amazing experience. And then the big moment. Freddie, resplendent in dazzling white made his entrance to The Hero and the blaze of the lights. An apt number to start with. Before he had even sung a note, the audience were locked tightly in the palm of his hand. Such an entrance, such a showman. "You're a F***in amazing crowd", he exclaimed after the first rush. The beginning of the gig is, in truth, my strongest memory of the show itself. In particular, the "Flash!!!" vocals cutting through the night air with so much volume. I recall being shocked at the sheer power of Queen's performance and the clarity of the huge sound they harnessed. Morgan Fisher's keyboards during 'Action This Day' sounded bright and hypnotic. Freddie's intro to Fat Bottomed Girls caused quite a response too; "the bigger the t*t the better it is!". I also remember the follow spots darting wildly over the crowd during 'Tie Your Mother Down' and everybody going crazy. Oddly enough (and this is something I still swear by to this day), I was in a Maths lesson at school the following Monday and I swear I had a flashback of this and could actually 'hear' the music being re-played in my head. It was a weird moment and life was never quite the same again. We talked endlessly about our experience for months to come and one of my biggest regrets is not jumping on a train to attend the filmed Milton Keynes show a week later. Having been to so many gigs since, I can honestly say that there is nobody who has been able to top Queen live; I was lucky enough to see the band five times between 1982 and 1986, including Wembley Stadium and their last show at Knebworth. I think that my personal favourite was their performance at the NEC in Birmingham on 'The Works' tour in 1984. People were literally stood there with open mouths, unable to believe how good they were. Leeds is definitely up there too. I recall Brian May stating that he thought it was one of their best performances ever. I can't argue with that Mr May. I've often wondered if an audience shot cine film or even just photographs exist from the Leeds gig. It would be a dream come true to see my memories come to life again.” - Keith Lambert

“I can't believe it was 30 years ago that I attended my first ever gig at Elland Rd Leeds in 1982. I was 17 years old at the time, I was into Queen when I first heard seven seas of rhye, which was so different to all the other stuff around at the time. I'd heard them live on tv, and had Live Killers. Also I used to buy bootleg cassettes of all of their tours from 74 onwards. But nothing could prepare me for that day. They should have played this gig at Old Trafford Manchester, my home town, so I was gutted when the residents opposed it. Tickets were very easy to come by, believe it or not, cos Queen were not seen as a relevant band at that time. Also touring the Hot Space album didn't seem to excite anybody. So, Billy no mates had to go on his own, haha. My memory is a bit hazy, but I will try my best. I got to the ground about 1pm, and was lucky enough to have a pitch ticket. I got right to the front, well about 10 yards from the stage, slightly off centre and to the right. If I told you I never moved from that spot all day and never spoke to anyone, would you believe me? One of the reasons for this is the rivalry between Manchester and Leeds, also I was only a kid, haha. Not sure who was first on, probably Teardrop Explodes, Julian Cope, I remember while they were throwing bottles at him, picked one up and started hitting himself with it and stretching his arms out saying he was an Argentinian bomber or something. It was during the Falklands war, remember. Then Heart came on, not really my cup of tea, and I had a lie down on the tarpaulin and tried to go to sleep. Then Joan Jett, who was better than the rest, but not really exciting. During the band changes, I remember the roadies polishing Roger's drum kit and climbing up ropes and those threepronged lights, which before I saw them move I thought they were cameras. Queen took ages to come on. From my recollection and I might be wrong, they didn't come on until 10pm and went off around Midnight. I heard later that they got fined so much per minute for being late on stage but they wanted to wait until it was dark for the lighting rig to take effect. If you watch the Bowl DVD you will notice it was light when they came on stage there. But that was being filmed by Channel 4. But it was absolutely pitch black when they came on stage at Leeds. Then the floodlights went off, smoke started to appear and strange noises started, which I can't describe, sorry. Then Flash's Theme started, it was loud, very, very loud. I knew they were supposed to be loud and this was the part that scared me. The ground was thumping, the bass just pumping away. The these 'cameras' flicked into life, with men on them. The intro seemed to last for a very long time. Then BANG Brian appears with the first chord of The Hero and a flash of the biggest white light I've ever seen and will never forget and the absolute loudest noise I have ever heard just hit me. The intro was quite in comparrision to this. When I play Live at the Bowl, I tend to repeat the intro and The Hero, virtually every time, because it was definitely a life changing experience for me at that moment, just incredible. Then Freddie appeared in brilliant white again, I was that close, I swear His hair seemed blue because of the mass of white lights. His voice, so loud, so clear, honestly, I can't describe that moment properly. I heard Freddie swear, saw Roger spitting, quite a lot, over his drum kit and onto the stage, I was bewildered.

When they did Play The Game and also Somebody To Love, when Freddie was doing the intros for them and it will sound strange to those that weren't there, but I didn't know what the songs were. I thought they was new unreleased songs. The reason was they was so loud, It kind of deafened you and then kind of sunk in what they were about to play. Then the rest of the gig flew by and I was singing my head off. Everyone was, but you could only hear Queen. Again my memory may be wrong, but I read afterwards that Queen had paid for residents to move out of their homes for the day. These houses were monitored and they said that the sound was like Concorde flying 10 feet over your head... Yep I will buy that. For all that and for all the bad things said about it, The Works tour, which I went to all the 4 origional England gigs they had planned, was the best tour they ever did. The set list was fantastic and the lighting rig was incredible. Not as loud, I also add. I also saw them in Manchester, 86. They had to be off stage by 10pm and noise levels had to be adhered to. I was too far awy to see them and the screens didn't come on because it was too light. Also I couldn't here them properly. I've watched the mMagic Tour gigs on DVD etc, but for me, that was the poorest tour they ever did. So that's it, hopefully some of you can confirm my bad memory, or say I'm wrong. Hopefully not bored you all. But it was the greatest musical experience I ever witnessed and I am proud I was there.” - Paul Wakefield

Part-1

(x)

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

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tagedeszorns · 3 years

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About fanart and fanfiction

There's this great, super tasty restaurant. They make the most amazing, shall we say, omelettes. Everyone raves about it. And I love the taste of omelette. But I'm vegan. I can eat some things in this restaurant, but I have to give up the omelette. So I study the menu down to the smallest detail, learn all about the spices and how to prepare it.

And then I go home and make the omelette with silken tofu instead of eggs. And it tastes great! I and the other vegans are happy. The people who like to eat eggs don't have to have silken tofu. They don't even have to see it. The silken tofu omelette only exists for those who actively want it.

And it's the same with fanart. I draw things the way I want to see them. I know the recipe of the omelette down to the last detail. I am an absolute fluff bunny (years of lore-discussion, on convetions, online and in person with my friends, and dozens of books have me prepared for most topics). I know the rules so I can break them for my own pleasure. Because what I want doesn't exist in the canon. Or doesn't exist in a way that I find aesthetically pleasing.

I am not attacking the canon with this. And if someone pays me for a commission that has to look official, I draw everything so canonically it squeaks. Someone wants gigantic man-meat? No problem! I'll draw the love-child of The Rock and a monster truck! There will be no neck whatsoever! Just meat.

But for me there'll still be graceful twinks and twunks. My aesthetic, my fanart. I respect the canon - but I'm Fabulous Bill and I build what I feel like.

I don't eat everything in the fanart/fanfic restaurant either. Some slash-pairings are just not what I like. Or some themes just don't interest me, even though they're in the fanart/fic restaurant all the time (uuurrrggghh ... Eldar ...). But I will fight tooth and nail for the right of every fanart/fic artist to make the most absurd pairings or draw bootypixies!

Of course, the silken tofu omelette exists in the same virtual space as the official restaurant and its omelette. Which is why you'll notice each other every now and then. You share tags and no doubt you'll see things you don't find appealing. Just like in real life!

The best thing to do then is to look at everything (if you feel like it, there's no obligation) and maybe you'll understand what the artist meant. Eldar artists - you are great. Thousand Sons fans ... I have no idea what you've been smoking, but me and the Wolf Bois are cheering you on!

Second best thing is to just keep scrolling. The menu is big, there's something for everyone.

Absolutely not a good idea to open a discussion about realism and whether something is canonical. Most universes are so consistent that small trucks drive through the plotholes practically all the time. We open this barrel when, in the Star Wars universe, travel times have been equalised and the pronunciation of Twi'lek has been agreed upon, in Star Trek the timeline has been unravelled and in Warhammer the origin stories from thirty years ago have been disposed of. Ah ... and realism. Hmmmm. Well. I hate to say it, but basically it's not a good idea to hurl gothic cathedrals through a hard vacuum. Not even if there are people inside who can spit acid, get the memories of a corpse by eating it and metabolise old shoes.

TLDR: I love you all, you great fanart/fanfic-producing disasters, you make all the beautiful fictional worlds even more colourful. You are the salt of the earth.

#Fanart #Meta #Fanfiction #Canon #Warhammer #Star wars #Star trek #All the verses #Escapism

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michaelbogild · 3 years

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Quotes by Lord Byron

Adversity is the first path to truth.

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts

And when we think we lead, we are most led

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Being of no party, I shall offend all parties

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think

Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest.

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, -- the throne Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth

For Earth is but a tombstone

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Had they been wisely mingled; as it is

Hath all the energy which would have made

he knew how to make madness beautiful

I am ashes where once I was fire...

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, – and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, – thou livest forever!

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

In solitude, where we are least alone

In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Mix'd, and contending without end or order

My pang shall find a voice.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Opinions are made to be changed – or how is truth to be got at?

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

The dew of compassion is a tear

The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain

The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment..

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,— And glowing into day.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is same. Only love

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

There is no instinct like that of the heart

There is the moral of all human tales: ’Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory - when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption - barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, he would have written sonnets all his life?

This should have been a noble creature: he

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come

To have joy, one must share it.

To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.

Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven...

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

With just enough of learning to misquote.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.

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real-jaune-isms · 3 years

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RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 13 Review/Remix

We should have guessed something would go wrong. Things were going way too right at the end of the last chapter. But shit didn’t just hit the fan, it hit the ground and then bounced over the edge into an abyss. And with only the finale chapter left in this Volume, I can’t imagine how they’re going to fix all of this before we have to wait another year for more good news.

Since we can’t have bad without first knowing good, the writers are kind enough to open this episode with some hope. Jaune’s half of the group, that is to say JNR plus Oscar and Emerald, see one of the portals open for them in the communications room. They don’t know if people will actually know to use these things to evacuate without the message Jaune was trying to send, so they decide to do some portal hopping and spread the word on foot. But first they have to make sure these things actually work, so they need to send a giunea pig through. Just his luck, they send Jaune and it does not pair well with his history of motion sickness. He doesn’t hurl, but he does land on his face and rise to his hands and knees when he safely comes out the other side of what looked like the trippy space rift from 2001 a Space Odyssey. The others follow close behind and take a moment to be in awe of this pocket dimension they find themselves in. Jaune recovers quickly and takes command. He and Nora will be going from portal to portal spreading the word about evacuation to Vacuo, while Ren Oscar and Emerald will be leading the pack and calling Shade Academy once they’re in Vacuo that they need to prep for hundreds of refugees. They part ways and Oscar gives a playful little salute, then Jaune leaps over the edge of the platform they were on. Someone should have told him about Ambrosius’ dire warning last week... Okay fine, we see a frame or two of him opening his shield so clearly he’s gliding down to the nearest other portal not falling into the void. Meanwhile Nora is once again riding Magnhild like a rocket powered broomstick to fly away into a portal of her own. We abruptly cut to a subway station where everyone is comedically hiding behind the stairway and peek out to look at the portal before them. One civilian is coaxed into stepping forward and checking it out, so he throws a rock at it. Because his luck continues to screw him over, Jaune comes through at that exact moment and gets hit on the head with the rock. His sudden appearance scares everyone into diving behind the stairs again, but they do peek out once more after taking a second to realize they just saw a person come through to talk to them. Jaune pulls out his Scroll to show them his Huntsman license so they’ll take him seriously, and presumably it works out great. We see Penny and RWBY coming in through their own portal and likewise being amazed by Ambrosius’ handiwork before seeing other people starting to pour in while Nora and Jaune are calling out directions and reassurances, such as the Happy Huntresses and the refugees under their protection. They wonder aloud about how few people have come through yet, but the priority is getting Penny and the Staff into Vacuo safely so they’ve got to trust Jaune’s team with this. Speaking of Vacuo and Jaune’s team, we see what happens when the green team gets into the desert outside the city. There’s an intense sandstorm raging around the area where the portal lets them out, and they can’t see which way to go to reach Shade. Worse still, cell service is down so they can’t call anyone. And civilians are starting to come through into this chaos so it’s just getting worse and worse. Ren can mask them from any Grimm that might catch a whiff of all that negativity, but only for so long.

As Nora is leaving one crowd of incoming civies to go help bring in another, Cinder arrives hiding beneath a cloak and we see her give a little smirk. Next thing we know, and explosion goes off and at least a dozen innocent people are launched into the void below. Irreversible consequences there, as far as we know, and it causes a real panic. Team RWBY tell Penny to just keep going into Vacuo while they deal with this, and we see Cinder gleefully flying around looking for the object of her hatred. She spots which way the team is heading and blasts some fire in the path to cut Ruby off. Cinder makes a clear reference to something Oscar said in an earlier conversation the heroes shared, and this throws the girls for a bit of a loop but they’re still ready to throw down.

With a swing of Crescent Rose, we cut back to Cinder and Watts meeting with Neo in the alleyway. She’s learned you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so she apologizes for how she’s treated Neo and promises she will get the revenge she wants so badly this time, but in order to do that Cinder will need to use the Lamp. Neo reluctantly does some magic of her own and pulls the Lamp out of her hat. The two glare at each other for a moment as Neo refuses to let it go, but she conceded and through unknown means tells Cinder the password. Maybe she wrote it on her Scroll and showed her? Either way, Cinder uses the final question to ask to be shown what Team RWBY’s plan is for the handoff with Ironwood. Jinn seems upset to hear she has to go against those nice kids, but the rules of her existence must be obeyed so she grants it anyway. I got some real “Jafar steals the lamp from Aladdin” vibes, and I can’t say I minded being reminded of that great Disney film. Cinder’s trio get to see every conversation the heroes have planning out all the successes we just saw last episode, and now we know they’re totally prepared to make it go wrong at every turn. Seeing Cinder so in control and prepared brought me back to Volume 3 where she was at her most dangerous as a villain, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s been a long time coming and justifies her continuation as a threat. What quelled the pit in my stomach a bit was the look of betrayal when Cinder realized Emerald switched sides on her. She recovers quickly and suggests they help Watts finish what he started and tear the Kingdom down with his intellect. To that end they break into Atlas central command and slaughter just about everybody inside. This would seem to include that devil of the workplace Bill who spilled coffee and microwaved salmon at work. And if that was Velvet’s dad as we liked to theorize, then that’s a real shame. The ladies leave Watts to his work, but on her way out Cinder tells Watts this is everything he deserves, possibly as a way to mend bridges between them. I prefer to hope she sealed that door shut behind her and she’s leaving him to die with the plummeting city because she’s still mad he roasted her. We see that Jaune’s warning broadcast getting cut short was indeed Watt’s doing, and just to be more of an asshole he wipes a bloodstain off an apple and eats it while he does so. With that sabotage taken care of he shifts focus to the airship hangar where the birds are cuffing the Ace Ops. But they only manage to restrain Elm before Watts sends an AK (Atlesian Knight) into the area and has it charge right at them primed to self destruct. It almost gets Robyn but Marrow jumps in the way and is knocked out. That means his Semblance wears off and Harriet is free to sprint into the airship the bomb is still loaded on to. She’s intent on finishing this last mission even if it means killing herself. Vine runs after her and manages to grab the closing cargo door with his stretchy arms before it’s too late. Robyn and Qrow are left quite worried.

Speaking of desperately destructive military personnel, Ironwood regains consciousness in his cell to the sound of crumbling debris and the realization of his failure at the hands of these teens. Jacques is in the next cell and wastes no time criticizing him for failing to keep Atlas afloat. He’s happy to gloat that his fellow man has lost, though he does wistfully admit he’s lost too. Ironwood looks like he might have a breakdown as he processes the fact that all his efforts have been foiled and he can’t be the hero of this situation, that those he thinks are the dangerous insurrection who will ruin everything are going to win... when he hears a buzzing sound. The door to his cell seems to be glitching before shutting down entirely. He’s hesitant to walk out but it stays deactivated and he finds his weapons just casually lying on the ground a few yards away from his cell. Jacques seems to not understand there are consequences to insulting a person every chance you can get and pleads for James to let him out of his cell too. Ironwood just silently loads up his big laser gun and turns it on the door of Jacques’ cell. Sure, he’ll open the door, he says emotionlessly. And the man opens fire. Jacques has a moment to realize what’s happening and seems fearful, but he lost the pity of the FNDM 4 Volumes ago. Whatever Ironwood calls this cannon of his, it leaves behind green fire and annihilates Jacques’ cell... and him along with it. Weiss’ father in name alone is dead and the Schnee family will never get a chance to settle things properly with him for how he treated them. Weiss arresting him, Winter promising him Weiss wants him to be rescued from the falling city, gods only know what Willow had said to him last, and whatever obedience Whitley showed him before he was dragged off to jail. There are the last things they said to him and they have to live with that forever. Question is, who’s going to tell them Jimmy did the deed? He’s got no time to do so, he’s a man with a mission.

We go from one fiery dilemma to another as Team RWBY are still struggling to deal with Cinder even 4 on 1. She flies upward and creates a cyclone of fire beneath her to make it that much harder to reach her, before complimenting the team on the depth of their plan. She acknowledges she wouldn’t have been able to deal with it by herself, so in a way she’s grateful these girls taught her to ask for help. That help indeed comes from Neo, who’s approaching in disguise from behind Ruby. Yang notices Neo approaching, and charges in to push Ruby out of the way. But that means Yang takes the hit instead, and it takes out the last of her Aura. She hits the ground hard, and tumbles over the edge of the platform. In a threefold shot we see Neo mad that someone got in the way of her surprise attack, while Ruby and Weiss are freaking out and Blake immediately sprints past the latter to try and make a save. She throws Gambol Shroud as far as the ribbon will let it go, but it’s not far enough. Yang falls into the void below, dissolving into gold sparkles once she reaches a certain depth. This has all seemingly happened in a matter of seconds, which would explain why Ruby didn’t have enough time to get back on her feet from being shoved to the ground and use her Semblance to try and save her sister, and why Weiss didn’t have a chance to try and catch her on any glyphs or summon a Lancer to ride down and catch her. She’s not the fastest with making those summons anyway, she’s still got some room for improvement before she can make instant saves in that way. Long story short,

Don’t give the writers shit for having Blake be the only one able to try and help.

The fact that she fails to save her partner is of course very upsetting for Blake and she screams Yang’s name with all the appropriate despair and sorrow. Ruby doesn’t have a lot of time to process the fact that her sister may have just died since Neo wastes no time attacking her and all her focus has to go into self defense and trying to win that fight. We can see in the background Weiss holding Blake back, because this poor woman seems to want nothing more than to dive in after Yang either out of suicidal despair or a last feverish hope that she survived and can be rescued. The denial and depression soon turns to anger though, and she grabs her weapon with a look of murderous rage before charging in to attack Neo for what she did. She grabs Neo with her ribbon and tries to slice her in two, but it’s just an illusion and the real one is fighting with Ruby heading up a pathway towards one of the portals. Weiss turns her attention back to Cinder, and is doing an okay job of holding her own but not getting any hits in of her own. The tables seem like they could turn for our protagonists when Penny flies in to join the fight and punches Cinder in the face. But Weiss didn’t want Penny getting involved, and Cinder seems pretty glad to get another rematch with her. And she certainly is more prepared this time, compared to Penny who tries to summon her swords and forgot she doesn’t have them anymore. She takes a hit and lands in a crowd of civilians, though she does land on her feet and quickly improvise by making some new swords with her magic and then flying back into the fray. Weiss skates on her glyphs up a path to get a better vantage point, and pulls Cinder out of attack mode with a black holding glyph that seems to yank on her like gravity. Turns out the glyphs are vulnerable to fire though, so Cinder burns through it and quickly finds where Weiss is so she can send a flurry of fiery glass blades her way. Weiss happened to choose a spot right by 3 portals so there’s about a dozen innocent bystanders around her that are in danger. She thinks fast and summons her Knight’s sword to shield them, but some of the blades do go through a portal and send some other people diving for cover in the train station. Jaune is there to defend some of them with his shield, and immediately realizes the evacuation job just got a lot harder. Unfortunately for Weiss, these glass shards superheat and explode at her feet, sending her flying off the platform. She still has Aura though, and catches herself on a glyph to catch her breath. In the meantime, Cinder goes back on the defensive against Penny and Ladybug continue to tag team against Neo. Blake hears screaming and realizes she could also try and help Weiss and Penny deal with Cinder, but feels really conflicted about it. Who needs her more, can she just give up on getting vengeance for Yang? What can she even do against a Maiden? She just doesn’t know.

Back in the skies, Harriet is getting close to Mantle when she gets an alert of a disturbance in the airship’s cargo hold. Putting the controls on autopilot, she goes down to check on it and sees Vine made it aboard. She’s about to arm the bomb, but he stops her and voices his thoughts that this may not be the best plan for them anymore, much to her annoyance. She asks him if this is really the side he wants to take here and now, and he doesn’t want to call it a divide like that. But he lays out the facts: Their commanding officer has been deposed so his authority is moot, the city is going down and there’s likely going to be no stopping that, and the people are going to be brought to safety regardless. So why bother bombing a city full of innocents whose other options are run away to the barren desert or be crushed under a giant hunk of rock? But Harriet isn’t having that shit. It’s the principle of the matter, it’s about following through and standing with her decisions. If she’s not obeying what Ironwood ordered... then what is she anymore? To disobey him or let the teens continue their rescue efforts means acknowledging they’re in the right and she’s wrong. And after the last few days of seeing them as her enemy and losing a fight to them... her pride just won’t allow it. She has to see this through, because it’s what Clover would have done. He was a good soldier, he died doing what the general told him he had to. Vine admits that doesn’t mean he was right to die on that hill. He wasn’t an infallible paragon of good judgment. Harriet doesn’t like hearing that either, but she can’t seem to find the right words to defend her stance on Clover. Probably because those words are something to the tune of “Clover was my friend, and I want to do right by him because I miss him dearly”. But to say that would mean the Ace Ops were also wrong after the mission in the mines, when they were so condescending in telling Team RWBY that you have to just be coworkers with your team and you can’t be friends. And she seems to prefer suicide bombing death over admitting some teenagers knew more about friendship and teamwork than her and her squad. That ego and temper really need some working on, and one starts to worry she’s too far gone to ever get a chance at working on them. Before Vine can give some heartfelt reassurances about being allowed to feel their feelings for each other the airship gets bumped hard and Harriet goes back into angry work first mode. She arms the bomb and tries to dump Vine out the cargo doors before rushing back up to the cockpit and regaining control of the ship. The bumping was caused by Robyn flying another airship into them to try and keep the bomb from being delivered, because how was she to know Vine was about to defuse the whole situation? She does have the good sense to let up on her efforts and come around behind the other airship to rescue Vine when she sees he’s hanging on for dear life. In the meantime, Harriet has to deal with another angry bird as Qrow uses his bird form to fly right up to her windshield and turns back at the last second to crash through the glass and tackle her to the floor. The two fall down the ladder back into the cargo hold, where Qrow seems ready and willing to give Harriet the rematch she’s been wanting so badly. But since nobody’s at the controls and Harriet didn’t turn autopilot back on, the ship’s going to crash... except it’s not because Watts overwrites that too and makes sure the bomb is gonna get where he wants it to.

Down in the Vault, Winter is trying to call any of the teens she can reach to get an update on the plan’s progress. No signal, we know now to thank Watts for that, but what she does find is a red dot appearing on the ground and quickly moving to the center of her chest. She promptly realizes its a laser sight and puts up a glyph to shield herself, but it’s a real strong green blast. Ironwood is coming down the elevator with his greek fire cannon, and he fully intents to put his former lieutenant down for betraying him. For all his paranoia he never thought she would stab him in the back, but that’s just what happens when you have good people at your side while you go mad with power. James tries one last time to insist he knows the right course of action for Atlas. Winter should just step aside and let him kill Team RWBY to reclaim the Staff and Make Atlas Floating Again. But she won’t back down, it is her job and her passion to protect Atlas and its people, and she’s not quitting in the face of this new enemy of the peace. Because Ironwood is the villain here, as much as he thinks he’s right. The extremes he considers necessary are too far. Ironwood actually sheds a tear when faced with this declaration, but I think it’s the last of his heart and humanity leaving as he shuts himself off from all but his machine like devotion to the cause.

Back in the Vacuan desert, Ren’s Aura runs out after spending a few minutes masking thousands of refugees, and the three green teens wonder where the heck Penny is, since she should have been among the first through the portal and her Maiden powers would be able to make quick work of the sandstorm. Oscar grows especially concerned and tries to run back into the pocket dimension to go check on her, but he hits the portal hard and gets bounced back. Oz realizes this new issue is Ambrosius’ doing, and we flashback to when Weiss was telling the big blue builder how to make the central location and all its portals. She happened to use the phrase “a one-way ticket to Vacuo”, since they had no intention of going back to the crashing Atlas. But Ambros took that too literally in the wrong way, and made the Vacuo portal the only one to be one way. They can hop around between Atlas portals all they want, but once you’re in Vacuo there’s no going back to help with the fight they don’t even know is happening yet. But these three have problems of their own, because bat-like Grimm are swarming in and attacking the unguarded civilians. We end the episode there, and boy am I not ready for the finale to only make things worse before 8 months of no resolutions. Are you?

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haberdashing · 4 years

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Heart, Don’t Fail Me Now

After Jon calls Martin his boyfriend, Martin has a confession to make about how that term isn’t entirely accurate.

on AO3

The mortal garden was well behind them now, though what waited for them up ahead was still unclear, Martin and Jon walking together in the eerie space where one domain bled into another.

The calm before the storm, perhaps. Or after it, when the smell of petrichor seeps out from rain-laden strips of grass. Or both, even, the eye of the hurricane, with thick storm walls on both sides but a brief moment of respite in between them.

Things were relatively calm here, was the point, whatever flowery metaphor Martin chose to use to describe it. The two of them hadn’t spoken much since Jon explained his reasoning behind killing Jude Perry but not Arthur Nolan, explained that he didn’t seem to be helping people no matter what he did, explained that getting rid of other avatars had been out of revenge more than anything else. The silence between them now wasn’t an unpleasant one, though, not exactly.

But something had been bothering Martin since before the two of them left the mortal garden, and he wasn’t sure how long he could go without saying anything about it, so he cleared his throat and prepared to break the peace.

“Jon?”

“Martin?” Jon’s eyes locked on Martin’s in an instant, and Martin could read them like an open book: first wary and worried, searching for threats that had somehow gone unseen, then warming up at the sight of Martin still whole, still unharmed, and only somewhat anxious--was the color getting brighter, or was that just a trick of the lighting?

Martin thought he had never really understood the old expression that the eyes were the window to the soul until after getting to know Jon.

“I- I want to talk to you about something. Something you said to Jared back there.”

Jon stopped walking, and Martin followed his cue, the two standing face to face. “What is it?”

Martin paused, hesitated, biting his lip for a long minute, wanting to savor the moment before he explained his thoughts. They were in the middle of an apocalyptic wasteland, and yet Martin felt--no, Martin knew--that what he was about to say might upend his life far more than any statement Jon read.

“You- you know how Jared asked if I was your boyfriend, and you said I am?”

Martin was pretty sure that even if all he could see of Jon was his eyes, he still would be able to identify every one of Jon’s emotions as his expression flickered from one to the next. Wide-eyed confusion, first. Anxiety, in which he couldn’t quite meet Martin’s gaze, his eyes looking slightly off to the side instead. Concern. Horror. Finally, a sorrow that looked dangerously close to grief.

Jon couldn’t quite keep his voice steady as he responded, though Martin could tell he was making an effort to do so. “Are, are you not-”

Martin’s stomach lurched as he realized where he’d gone wrong, how Jon had been led to entirely the wrong conclusion here. “It’s not- not what you think. We’re still together, or, or dating, if you can call it that...” Martin made a vague hand gesture pointing out their surroundings; anything that most people would consider a “date” was well out of their reach now. “At least I, I want us to be. And I hope once I’m done explaining, that you still want us to be too, that this doesn’t change anything between us...”

Jon’s expression softened, the grief replaced with idle curiosity mixed with confusion--a not-uncommon look for Jon, especially these days. “What do you mean, then?”

“The issue--or, or issue makes it sound bigger than I mean, but--it’s not about us being together, it’s the word. I don’t think I’m your boyfriend.”

Jon considered this for a moment, tilting his head to one side slightly as he thought. “It does sound a bit juvenile, I suppose. Though ‘manfriend’ doesn’t have the right ring to it, I don’t think...”

Martin laughed weakly. “No, no it doesn’t.”

And Martin could see a world where he left it there, maybe ribbed Jon some more about using such a childish term to describe their relationship, didn’t touch on the bigger issue behind it all, didn’t rock the boat. That would be safer. It wouldn’t be the full truth, but it would be safer. The calm would remain undisturbed.

But then again, Martin had already rejected a life full of safety and calm and letting his true self fade away into oblivion in the process, and he had no intentions of going back on that particular decision.

So Martin made himself speak up again.

“Even if it did, though, manfriend wouldn’t really be any better. Because I’m not- I’m not a man. Or a boy, for that matter. I’m not male.”

“Hmm.” Jon’s tone was neutral; Martin suspected that he was working hard to keep it that way, to conceal his true feelings, and he couldn’t quite read whatever was behind Jon’s eyes. “Are you female, then?”

Martin remembered a brief litany of insults hurled at him throughout his childhood--pussy, sissy, girl--and gulped.

“No, no, I- I don’t think I’m either one. I don’t think I’m anything. Does that makes sense? To just... be nothing?”

“You’re not nothing.” The chiding tone of Jon’s voice made Martin flinch, and only after, only when he saw the concern in Jon’s eyes, did he see that Jon might have interpreted things differently once again, might have thought Martin was making a comment regarding his self-esteem rather than his gender or lack thereof.

“I didn’t mean it like that, just, just gender-wise.”

“Ah. Well, then, it’s certainly possible for you to be nonbinary, perhaps agender then, though I don’t mean to force labels on you-”

Martin snorted. “If I can’t get a label from post-apocalyptic Google, where can I get one?”

“I knew those terms beforehand, actually.”

Jon went quiet rather suddenly, averting his gaze, and Martin wondered, then, whether Jon had meant to speak of his pre-existing knowledge so casually.

Had Jon known because he’d come across the terms during his own gender identity exploration, or because he had a friend who’d gone through what Martin had now, or because he’d somehow suspected the truth of Martin’s identity before Martin himself realized it, or just because he was bored one day and did in-depth research into gender identities as nonchalantly as he would do research into spelunking or alchemy or any number of other things that were just idle bits of trivia to him?

Was this the sort of burning curiosity that Jon felt just before he asked someone to tell him their story, whether they wanted to or not?

Well. Martin wasn’t going to force it out of him--he couldn’t do so as literally as Jon himself could, and he certainly didn’t want to pressure Jon into sharing anything he didn’t want to, either. Instead he just stood there and waited for the silence to become less awkward, waited for Jon to speak up again.

Jon did, eventually. “You didn’t mention this earlier.”

It wasn’t a question, certainly, but Martin wasn’t quite sure whether it was meant more as an accusation or as a simple statement of the facts. Either way, Martin could feel his cheeks heat up as he prepared to explain himself.

“I, I’m just starting to figure it all out, didn’t want to bog you down rambling about something I don’t even fully get myself yet. It’s just... all my life people have assumed I’m a man, and I just kind of took it for granted that that meant I was, didn’t think about it much until after we got to Scotland, and usually I’m fine with it, usually it doesn’t even bother me, but there’s a few terms where when they get used it gets under my skin and... and I guess boyfriend’s on that list now.”

It took Jon a moment to respond, and Martin felt like he was getting warmer and warmer by the second as he waited, like he was about ready to spontaneously combust.

“I see.”

Martin forced a grin onto his face, hoped Jon couldn’t tell how false it was. “Of course you see.”

Jon snorted in amusement, and Martin took that as a victory.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, though, Martin, whether you’ve figured it out already or not.”

“I know, I know, just... seems a bit foolish, when I don’t even mind half the assumptions, and, you know...” Martin gestured vaguely at the hellscape around them. “We’ve got a lot going on at the moment already.”

“Still. Your feelings matter, Martin.” Jon paused. “Should I still call you Martin?”

This threw Martin off a bit, and he took a deep breath as he processed it. “That’s my name, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be, you know. If it’s too masculine, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Martin hadn’t actually considered that, and he took a moment to ponder the possibility of changing his name to something else, anything else, before shaking his head. “Think I’ll stick with it. I like the way it sounds, and I’m used to it by now, anyway.”

“Honestly, I like how it sounds too, but that’s not what’s important here.” Jon leaned over and gave Martin a quick peck on the cheek, and Martin’s mind was racing.

“You’re... you’re so calm about this.” Martin threw his hands in the air. “How can you just... accept all of this without even blinking an eye?”

Jon shrugged. “I care about you whatever your gender is, Martin. And I know what it’s like, having to come out, explain your gender, navigate all that. Guess how long it took me to settle on the name Jonathan.”

Martin squinted, looked at Jon for a long moment. “I don’t know, how long?”

“No, no, you have to guess.”

Martin hadn’t seen Jon with that particular kind of shit-eating grin on his face very often before.

“...year and a half?” Martin didn’t know how long was the norm for that sort of thing, but he padded his estimate a bit, knowing well enough that Jon was the type to overthink those sort of decisions.

Jon let out a low whistle. “Thirteen months. You were close.”

“Guess I know you pretty well, heh.”

“Guess so.” Jon tapped his fingers against his leg as he considered his next words... “Do you know... what pronouns you want to use? He still, or she, or they, or any number of neopronouns I could name for you...”

Martin didn’t know what a neopronoun was, but he did know that asking would probably get Jon rambling on about the topic for a good half hour or so--or what would be half an hour, if time worked like it should, anyway--and he wasn’t quite ready for that just yet.

“’He’ is... ‘he’ is fine, I guess? I mean, I don’t mind it, it’s done the job for thirty years now and all, I suppose. ‘She’ doesn’t sound right to me. And ‘they’... all I can think of is my old schoolteacher telling me singular they isn’t grammatically correct, and I need to stop using it in my essays.” Martin grimaced a little at that particular memory.

“Don’t worry about the grammar of it. I think the grammar’s fine, but that’s not what matters. Does it sound right to you?”

“...dunno.”

“Want me to give an example?”

Martin silently nodded in response.

Jon looked Martin right in the eyes. “Martin Blackwood is wonderful, and I love them very much, and I think they’re the only reason I can keep going anymore, that I’d give up on it all if it weren’t for them and their determination.”

Martin’s face turned hot again, but for a different reason this time around. “Stop it!”

“It’s true. All of it.” Jon was grinning again. “So what do you think?”

Martin thought about it for a moment, tried to divorce what he thought of the pronoun as applied to him from what he thought of the pronoun in general, and more specifically from Mrs. Jameson’s old reproaches when it came to his essays. It wasn’t easy to do, but once he did... “I think I like it? Not entirely sure, though.”

“That’s fine. You’ve got time to figure it out.”

“All the time in the world. Such as it is.”

Martin shot Jon a wry smile, and Jon reciprocated.

“Quite.”

“Now, about the ‘boyfriend’ thing... what other terms d’you know for that, without the, the gendered bit of it?”

Jon took a second to respond. “Joyfriend?”

Martin’s eyes widened. “Joyfriend?”

“It’s a thing! It’s a word people use!” Jon threw his arms in the air. “And it’s like boyfriend, but without, well, the boy part. And you do bring me joy, after all.”

“Still sounds weird to me, and if you thought boyfriend was juvenile, well...”

“So that’s a no, got it. What about datemate?”

Martin hummed to himself for a moment before making a wavering hand gesture. “Maybe? I like that better than joyfriend, anyway. The internal rhyme’s rather nice.”

“Alright, we can keep that in mind for later. Significant other?”

Martin wrinkled his nose and made a face. “Too proper.”

“Fair enough. Besides, I think if anyone’s going to be the significant other in this relationship, it’s me. I seem to be significant now, after all, and I’m certainly other as well.”

Martin snorted. “And to think there was a time I believed you didn’t make jokes.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you know better now.” Jon paused for a moment, hesitation clear in his expression. “What about partner?”

Jon’s eyes kept darting between Martin’s own gaze and the ground, and Martin wondered if his thoughts were consumed with the same thing his were when the term “partner” came up. It reminded Martin of Basira and Daisy immediately, and Martin glanced down at the scar Daisy had left on Jon’s neck. Their partnership was why Jon hadn’t ended up dead that day, sure, but it was also, in a sense, what had allowed things to get that far in the first place.

But then again, the two of them weren’t entirely innocent these days, either...

And that partnership between Basira and Daisy, that sense of having each other’s backs no matter what, of trusting each other come hell or high water, that was something Martin could certainly see the value in.

“Yeah, I, I think I like that one.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “Well, next time a fear avatar asks, I’ll make sure to let them know you’re my partner then.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Because it’s such a regular occurrence.”

“Better than Jude Perry thinking you’re my valet, anyway.”

“Right, the valet for the car you definitely have.” Martin gestured to the space around them, which was entirely lacking in cars.

They’d had a car, once, back at the safehouse. Martin knew now that taking it wouldn’t have actually sped up this process any, had heard Jon’s speeches about how “the journey will be the journey” loud and clear, but still, part of him wondered now what would have happened if they’d taken the car with them when they’d started.

Would the car have insulated them from the worst of it, protected them from the horrors that surrounded them?

Would the car have broken down early on, as any normal car would when confronted with the obstacles that surrounded them now, having to be abandoned amidst the chaos?

Or would the car have become an eldritch being in its own right, like the safehouse was, feeding on the fear of those within it?

Martin shuddered at the thought and decided he was probably better off not having found out the hard way.

“Martin Blackwood, my partner.” Jon reached for Martin’s hand, and as Martin reciprocated the gesture, intertwining his fingers with Jon’s as he had so many times over now, Jon gave Martin’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I rather like the sound of that.”

#tma #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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doctorthedoctor · 4 years

Text

A Far Cry From Nothing

After their return from the 17th century, Yaz finds solace in the words she's carried with her for years, and the familiar voice behind them.

Ao3

“Here.” Yaz settles on the floor beside the Doctor, placing a steaming mug in front of her. “A cuppa should help warm you up.”

“Thanks, Yaz,” the Doctor says, defeated. Silence falls between them after that, but it’s the comfortable kind, asking for nothing in return and mingling with the gently crackling fire burning in front of them.

They’re in the library, which is a room the TARDIS has, apparently. Yaz only just learned of it as the Doctor guided her through twisting corridors upon their return from the 17th century. She’s never been this far into the ship before, and she’s certain Graham and Ryan haven’t either. The room isn’t the vast and lavish display she’d expected. It’s small and quaint, dimly lit by candles and oil lamps, with uneven rows of tattered books lining the walls. There is proper, solid wood beneath the edge of the crimson rug they sit on. It feels special, almost like a time capsule tucked away in a lonely corner of the ship.

The Doctor slouches underneath several quilts, only slipping her hands out to reach for the tea. Warm light flickers on her skin as she takes a sip and hums in appreciation.

“Added some cinnamon to it,” Yaz says after taking a sip of her own. “Something my mum used to do back when I had a bad day at school . . . which was most days.”

A corner of the Doctor’s lip twitches into a smile, just for a second, and then it falls.

They’ve been on a few adventures since the Punjab, each a little different but all following the same sort of rhythm. Monsters wearing different faces. Victories with losses in between. Grey areas and deaths that linger as a permanent lump in Yaz’s throat—the kind she knows she’ll never get used to. The kind she doesn’t ever want to get used to. Because what happens when all of that becomes second nature to someone?

The Doctor, she’s learning. That’s what happens.

She can tell this life is one the Doctor has lived for quite some time. Yaz can feel it on her skin, rough fingertips calloused from the hours of work she busies herself with. She can see it in her eyes too. The way they mute and fall every so often when she thinks no one is looking. Sometimes even when she knows they are.

Their most recent adventure had been different, though. It’s not uncommon for the Doctor to become a target to the foes they confront. That is, in fact, painfully common. But something had snapped inside of her this time—almost like she finally put on her glasses and read the fine print of being who she is now. There’s more to consider, the Doctor is realizing, than simple matters of pockets and the like. There are obstructing forces that extend far beyond her control, baring their teeth and snarling over her words.

This is what it means now, to be her. Patronized. Silenced. And, in 17th century Lancashire, tethered to a tree and plunged into a river. Tried as a witch at the command of an ignorant king.

It’s all so clear now. And ridiculous. And wrong.

“Want to talk about it?” Yaz asks softly. The sincerity in her voice is almost warm enough to thaw the Doctor’s growing numbness. Almost. She meets Yaz’s gaze, shaking her head slowly as she breathes an empty laugh.

“You humans,” she mumbles, almost in disbelief. “You make it so hard. So much harder than it needs to be.”

“Make what harder?” Yaz has a feeling she already knows, but that’s not the point. “Existing,” the Doctor explains, her words taut with frustration. “As if it isn’t exhausting enough on its own, you lot have to go and make up all these silly little rules for it. Who’s allowed to do what, and when, and how. Like there’s only one right way and anyone who does it differently is wrong and less than because of it.”

“Yeah,” Yaz admits with a crushed sigh. “We’re pretty good at that, aren’t we?”

“Thirty six women, in one small village, in one tiny pocket of time. Thirty six. Dead. For no good reason.” The Doctor’s eyes fall down to her mug, chasing the swirling flames reflected in the white glaze. “There’s never a good reason,” she murmurs.

“Never,” Yaz agrees. “I’ll never understand it. How people can know they’re hurting someone and decide to keep doing it anyway . . .”

The Doctor looks up at her, surprise and a touch of embarrassment written on her face, as if she’s just realized she isn’t the only one in the room. “Look at me,” she says sheepishly. “I’m sat here sulking as if this is the worst of it.”

Yaz stays quiet, like the words haven’t even reached her, but the Doctor watches intently as her body does the talking. Her jaw flickers ever so slightly and her breathing begins sounding more like a chore. Social cues don’t come naturally to her this time around, but the Doctor finds that Yasmin Khan is a language she can understand almost innately.

“I’m so sorry about Izzy,” she whispers. “I had no idea.”

Yaz’s chest tightens as she forces down a trembling breath. “Don’t like to talk about it much.” She shrugs, trying her best to keep everything in. “It was the worst year of my life. She made me believe so many awful things about myself. Made me feel like nothing.”

“You’re a far cry from nothing, Yaz,” the Doctor insists, hazel eyes beaming as if they reflect the whole of the universe in them.

Black curls mask Yaz’s face as she looks down at the floor and traces a finger over the amber lit grain of the wood. Only part of her is still in the room, the other part tangled up in bitter memories. “Tell that to the little muslim girl with ‘terrorist’ carved into her notebooks,” she says in a small voice. The words might as well be a rock crashing through a mirror; there are no tears, but everything seems to shatter.

Without hesitation, the Doctor slides close, leaving no room between them. She sheds half of her quilts and drapes them tenderly over Yaz, keeping one arm wrapped around her while the other guides her sunken head to rest on her shoulder.

“I’ve got all of time and space in arm's reach,” the Doctor whispers, “maybe I will.”

Yaz cracks a smile and relaxes, letting her body sink into the embrace as she rests her hand on the Doctor’s thigh. Without any forethought, the Doctor dips her head down and feels the soft silk of Yaz’s hair against her lips. It’s like diving into a jar of honey glimmering in the afternoon sun, and it’s in that moment the Doctor knows with certainty that Yasmin Khan will linger on her skin until the end of time itself.

Neither of them say anything, but neither of them feel like they need to. They sit wordlessly, drinking in the comfort of each other’s presence as they so often do. The kiss is quick and gentle, quiet in a way that makes it feel like something that happens all the time. It seems almost like an instinct, but there’s a newness to it—one that plunges Yaz into a pool of rippling warmth and makes her heart stutter. It’s special, she thinks, to have an anchor in the wake of everything else that is.

If only existing outside of these timeworn walls were just as easy.

* * *

Yaz finds herself cozied up on her bedroom floor with an old shoebox later that night. She’d unearthed it from the clutter beneath her bed after deciding to give her room a long overdue cleaning. The box is blanketed in brown craft paper decorated with hand-drawn stars of every color, though she’s always favored the purple ones. The corners have dented over the years and edges of the paper are now frayed, but everything that matters on the inside is still there.

The box is brimming with memories. Yaz stumbles into so many pieces of herself she’d forgotten about over the years. Photos from her football days in primary, filled with wide grins and missing teeth. A friendship bracelet her friend, Aisha, had made on their school camping trip. Even one of the daisies Danny had picked for her during their first of many strolls in Endcliffe Park together. And then, at the very bottom, she finds a message scribbled on a ripped piece of notebook paper. The blue lines have since faded, but the words still look as fresh and crisp as the day she found it.

There had been a small electrical fire that day. The entire school lost power, forcing the students and faculty to evacuate with no time to pack up. They waited out in the parking lot for about an hour before learning that they wouldn’t be allowed back in until the following day.

Yaz found all of her belongings sitting exactly as she had left them the day before, with the exception of a tiny shred of paper sticking out of her maths notebook. It was tucked behind a page marked up with an assortment of ugly names that had been hurled at her one too many times before, but in her night away, the names had been firmly—and mysteriously—crossed out.

She never did figure out who was behind it. No student in that school offered her any semblance of kindness with Izzy around, so she’s always chalked it up to having been done by a teacher or janitor that took pity on her. That note was the first flicker of light she’d seen in a long time. Desperate to cling to it, Yaz started a collection of anything that twinkled and made her feel lighter. Her little box of stars, she called it, and she held them close for a very long time. Even after she was rid of Izzy, they continued to bring her endless comfort and warmth. Those stars were her anchor. They still are.

Though she now sits alone in her room, Yaz feels anything but as she raises the note and studies the loosely scrawled letters once more. The handwriting is sloppy, like the words had been jotted in a hurry. The message itself has never translated as careless, though. In fact, those words have nestled into her chest as some of the most sincere words ever spoken to her:

There’s more than this.

You’re more than this.

With one corner of her lips curled into a smile, Yaz runs her thumb over the letters, now realizing that the stranger behind them is actually no stranger at all, but a friend still making their way. An extraordinary sight she’d yet to behold. An entire universe longing to be discovered.

Yaz reads the message over and over, feeling more renewed than she ever has since the day she found it. The words settle further into her chest, nestling deep into the dusty chambers of her heart and warming her from the inside out. Except she can hear a voice with them now, one she knows will echo through her mind long after these stars have found their place back underneath her bed. It’s okay, though, she doesn’t find herself needing them nowadays anyway. The real ones are much brighter, exceptionally warmer, and more stunning than she ever could have dreamed.

And for the first time, Yaz is glad she stuck around to see them.

#thasmin #thirteenth doctor x yasmin khan #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #fanfic #the witchfinders

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baidar-oroq · 4 years

Text

13-Home

I originally wrote this story just after 5.3 launched as something I only shared with @voidsharkffxiv, as we’d always RPed Baidar and two of his characters, Kagetake Okeya and Naoh’li Nelhah, as collectively experiencing the Shadowbringers MSQ. In a lot of ways, while it is clearly resolving a lot for them, it also has served as the launching pad for what’s become my FFXIV Write 2020 work, and since today is a you pick day, I felt it fair to post it! Has spoilers for the 5.3 MSQ, especially the trial, so it will be tagged accordingly.) (Setting: Mor Dhona, the Rising Stones, the Source/The Crystal Tower, the First, the end of the 5.3 MSQ.) He has to will his hands to not shake as he places the crystal holding the memories and soul of Y’shtola by her head-it had been agreed, when the three had passed through the Rift, that Naoh’li would carry them, him having the most connection to all of the Scions, the longest friendships. But when the time came to place their souls and minds by them, it had been Krile that had offered Baidar Y’shtola’s, simply nodding at him. He remembers that day when he had carried Y’shtola out of the Barber at Rhalgr’s Reach in the aftermath of Zenos’ brutal raid, how Krile had wanted to ask what there was between him and Y’shtola. She had never asked in the end, but by then, it had become obvious what there was. He doesn’t quite realize that he has sunk to his knees beside her bed, Kage and Naoh’li standing at the end of it, waiting to see if this insane scheme was going to work. How can we know what will happen? What if she regains her soul but not her memory? What if something goes wrong? What if Krile screwed up somehow and this isn’t her soul and she turns into Urianger or something?

He closes his eyes, the slightest smile coming to his face at that last thought. Baidar is faintly aware that the last thought is ridiculous, but these aren’t normal events in the least. Despite the time they spent on the First in saying their farewells, his body is still bruised and worn from the war against Elidibus and the specters of Light that he had summoned to face them, to fuel his ascendancy into godhood, to become the primal he was in truth. The desperate race across Norvrandt, battling beside old friends and allies, until it had been them, and the Exarch, climbing the Crystal Tower to bring it all to an end had been etched into his bones, and it never takes much for him to recall those last desperate moments…

Light storms down on them from the armored figure that Elidibus had ascended into, the first Warrior of Light of myth given form. Portals explode into being around them, figures of Light appearing and racing at them, weapons raised. Kage’s shield is up, his feet braced, the power of a goddess manifesting itself as wings unfurled from his shield and his very body. Every bolt of power, power that shakes the Crystal Tower, that Elidibus hurls at them, alongside blows from his immense sword, hits the Rock of Hydaelyn and does nothing but elicit grunts of effort. “That all you got?” Kage yells in defiance.

Under the cover of the shield, Baidar and Naoh’li fight, Naoh’li throwing magics out as if they were party favors, Baidar’s katana a blur in the light. The specters try to rush them from both sides, but neither give way. Baidar in fact is laughing, laughing yet again as he kills, and Naoh’li shoots him a look. “What are you laughing at?” he yells.

Dragonsong draws a complex pattern in the air that destroys a dragoon made of energy just before he lands on top of Baidar, who is still laughing. “That all you got?” he yells, grinning madly at Kage. “Been fighting beside me too long!”

Kage gives him a smile as he weathers another desperate assault from Elidibus. Then his face snaps back into its serious mode. “We can’t keep this up though! Going to clear you two some space and then give the bastard everything you’ve got!”

“It won’t be enough!” Elidibus roars, racing towards them, sword raised, glowing with the power of a star, like a landslide coming to wipe them from existence. Kage waits, waits, balanced on that edge that he’s learned to walk so well beside Baidar and Naoh’li, and at the last possible moment he strikes. He parries the sword with an impact that causes shockwaves in the air, and then with every ounce of his strength he barges the Warrior of Light in the face with his shield with a sickening impact. Elidibus falls backwards, staggered, as Naoh’li’s codex snaps open in his hand and he says an incantation that sounds as if a dragon had roared. A roar that is answered as a form appears in the air above Naoh’li, wings flapping with dread menace, the Calamity himself making itself manifest from aether.

A shade of Bahamut, the destroyer-god, ender of worlds, appears above them, infused with as much aether as Naoh’li can spare from what he has gathered in this battle, and as if it was a falcon cast from the falconer’s glove, Bahamut races towards Elidibus, trailing the same flames that had devastated Carteneau. The construct explodes in a fireball that drives Elidibus into the floor, smashing the Crystal Tower’s surface. “Baidar!” Naoh’li yells hoarsely, “Finish it!”

Baidar raises Dragonsong over his head, the crimson aether of Nidhogg roaring upward in a pillar of rage as Kage and Naoh’li step behind him, Kage with his sword and shield at the ready, the words in Naoh’li’s codex glowing with aether as Elidibus slowly rises to his feet. More power than Baidar has ever raised fills him, drawn from the aether of two of the most important people in his world, and the floor craters under their feet as the power builds to a crescendo in their souls. He remembers something he said to Y’shtola on the night before they attacked Vauthry on Mount Gulg, as he was falling prey to light sickness, and it comes to his lips in a shout that he directs at an embodiment of hope. “What do we do?!”

He slashes Dragonsong a dozen times in the air in front of him, drawing lines of power in front of him before focusing all of his might into a colossal beam of crimson that races out towards Elidibus, the ultimate art of the samurai, the Doom of the Living. “WE HOPE!”

For a moment, an endless moment, the last of the Unsundered, child of Amaurot, the Warrior of Light, resists the attack, but in the end, he is driven to the floor by it, his armor rent and torn, a god taken down by mere mortals…

Baidar realizes that light is beginning to glow around each of the crystals by each of the Scions, and he can sense as one by one, aether moves into the bodies of each one of them. He hears, distantly, Alisaie and Thancred sit up and speak, but all he can see is Y’shtola sitting up by him, becoming a blur as his eyes fill with tears, and he doesn’t properly register what she says until he realizes she has spoken his name. He looks for a moment at Kage and Naoh’li, neither even bothering to hide their joy, then he turns and takes her hands in his and smiles as tears run down his cheeks.

“Hey, Y’shtola. Welcome home.”

#FFxivWrite2020 #ffxivwrite #5.3 spoilers #ffxiv spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers

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bowlegsandbiceps · 4 years

Text

Suptober Day 2: Earth

A Case of Space

Explicit / Destiel / 3,500 words

Read on AO3

Castiel sat in an uncomfortable chair, listening to the head of finance blather on about fuel budget and fought the urge to vomit. He tried to tell himself that the seesawing feeling in his chest was all in his imagination. The floor under his feet was firm and level, and even though they were hurtling through space faster than the speed of light, the equilibrium sensors absorbed any changes in density. He designed the system for god sake. The ship was not rocking back and forth.

His stomach didn’t seem to get the memo. A cold sweat broke out across his upper lip, and there was no way he was going to be able to sit through the rest of this meeting. Not with the inky blackness of space looming oppressively from the wall-length viewing glass on the other side of the table. What idiot decided it was a good idea to include that in a boardroom where important decisions were to be made.

Oh, right, it was him.

Something was wrong. Had to be. Castiel knew the Impala as well as he knew his own body. Lived, breathed, and thought her into existence from as early as secondary school when he’d stare up at the stars with bare feet on solid earth and dream of when he’d be up there one day.

Castiel stood on shaking legs, holding up a hand in apology as he stumbled to the exit and made a bee-line for the maintenance port hidden discretely behind a wall, the only indication it was there a small security pad near the wainscoting. He waved his hand over it, the dot on the inside of his wrist glowing white as the security pad blinked green. His stomach gave another precarious lurch like he’d reached the apex of a roller coaster and his mouth began to fill with saliva, a pulse of anxiety shooting through him when he wondered what it would feel like to start the descent.

He slipped through the opening, trading the artificial daylight of the main hall for the shadowed maintenance corridor, and took the stairwell down until it leveled out, hearing the clink and hum of the Impala’s systems and engines hard at work. He hurried along the suspended walkway, making his way to the heart of the ship, and something about the twilight heat made him breathe easier.

Another wave of his hand at the last security point, and he was able to hurry down the tight circle of stairs to the bottom of the ship, resolutely avoiding the panoramic viewing glass that looked out under the bow. His heart gave a pitiful lurch anyway, the pressure on his throat immense as he sidled up to the main terminal and began doing a system check.

The longer he searched, the faster his heart seemed to beat, finding everything to be in perfect working order. In fact, the levels were better now than they’d ever been in their pre-flight tests. He ran a report on the equilibrium sensors and gravity apparatus, the numbers blurring in front of him as he started to hyperventilate.

Something was wrong. Maybe if he did a complete system restart…

He’d given secondary clearance when he heard an angry shout echo down the maintenance shaft as the sirens began to wail, warning of a complete system shut down in 10…9….8…

Castiel was shoulder checked out of the way, tumbling to the ground as a young man in dungarees and an A-shirt covered in sweat and grease, welding goggles perched atop his head was scowling at the board. His fingers flew over the glass as he bypassed screen after screen, adjusting numbers here and there before pushing the commands to the system.

The siren cut off mid-wail, and Castiel glanced up, seeing the propulsion sphere begin to ascend again as it orbited around them, the frenzied whir dulling to its rightful, pleasant hum. Castiel’s eyes fell to the man who was also watching the inner workings of the ship, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, broad shoulders loosening a bit before he huffed a sigh out his nose and ripped the goggles off his head, hurling them, so they skidded across the floor to clink hard against the viewing glass. Castiel’s stomach lurched, and he was suddenly terrified that the glass was going to crack, and he’d be sucked out into the void.

“I don’t know how the fuck you got down here, but you nearly killed us all!” A large hand closed around Castiel’s bicep, jerking him to his feet.

This time Castiel’s stomach lurched for an entirely different reason. Green eyes, furious but clear as a summer lake and fringed with thick lashes so long it was practically obscene, especially on a man, held Castiel’s. Full pink lips were moving over hateful words but glistened as if he’d just wet them, and a stubbled jaw sharp enough to cut glass flexed with his frustration. Castiel was so mesmerized by the constellation of freckles spreading across the man’s nose and cheeks that it took Castiel a full beat to realize that he was looking up, a few inches shorter and much more narrow, the other man’s broad shoulders and bowed legs holding space the way Castiel’s lithe frame never could. His eyes lingered on the corded muscles of the man’s arm, moving down to the large hand with thick fingers that dug into Castiel’s arm. Castiel looked back at the face again, tuning back in to what he was saying…well, yelling.

“…insane, great. I oughta knock your fucking head off, but I’ll let security deal with you.”

“Something’s wrong!” Castiel blurted, planting his feet when the man began to drag him towards the stairs. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. Come on, I’m sure they’ve got a nice jacket around here for you somewhere.”

“I’m not crazy!” Castiel ripped his arm from the man’s grasp, and he gave a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as he turned before he gave Castiel a placating smile. Castiel scowled. “The equilibrium sensors have to be down. The system isn’t showing it, but if they were damaged or if there was some kind of surge-”

The man waved a silencing hand before he cut Castiel off. “We’ve had clear skies since we launched and electrical has been steady the entire ride-“

“Even if it fluctuated by 1 to 2 Oms, it could trip another system to surge into another without setting off the alarms.”

The man lifted a brow and then laughed. “Do you know what kind of perfect storm in the machinery would have to occur for that to happen?”

“Yes, I do, in fact.” Castiel glared hard, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his upper lip. “If the surge happened in the gravity channel-”

“Gravity channel has barely moved half an Om either way since we took off. Look, man, I been running this thing since the very first tests. She’s my baby and ain’t nobody knows her better than me ‘cept maybe the designer-”

“Castiel Novak, nice to meet you.” Castiel thrust his hand forward, and the man’s face went sober, eyebrows shooting to his hairline.

“Uuuuuuuuuh…” the man took Castiel’s hand, blinking at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“And your name is? Certainly, it’s not ‘uh.��”

“Uh - shit!” The man used his free hand to rub at his forehead and heaved a sigh. “It’s Winchester. Dean. Dean Winchester. Sir.”

Castiel waved a hand as he let go of Dean’s and realized it came back with black fingerprints smudged across the back. Dean grimaced and pulled a rag from his back pocket, offering it to Castiel. He wiped his hand methodically, trying to calm his racing heart, but the panic still crackled along his skin. Dean was eyeing him up and down, and he felt a flash of heat that had nothing to do with anxiety.

“Shit, my brother is gonna freak,” Dean muttered as Castiel handed him back the cloth and shook his head.

“We need to do a full system restart.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he held out a hand, a cautioning gesture. “You… you know that will literally kill all of us, right? Like, you’re supposed to be smart, man! You gotta know that shutting down all systems when going hyperspeed through deep space is a death wish.”

“It’s dangerous, I know, but-”

“Dude, the climate shields will freeze over, and the slightest density shift would shatter it like glass. That’s game fucking over.”

Castiel frowned. “They wouldn’t freeze over.” Wait…

“Yes, they would, and I can see, now, you realize that.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, something is wrong!” Castiel’s voice cracked at the last word, arm flinging out towards the panel, and Dean’s face shifted from disbelief to suspicion.

“Wait…”

Castiel was trying to judge if he could sidestep Dean and get to the panel, shivering at the thought of their bodies colliding, so he didn’t hear what Dean had asked. He blinked at him, head tipping to the side.

Dean rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh, and Castiel found himself being corralled back against the wall, Dean invading his personal space. His brows were drawn, green eyes searching blue, and Castiel had the strongest urge to kiss him. What was wrong with him? Castiel was so freaked out he didn’t even flinch when Dean’s wrist pressed warmly to his forehead, then the backs of his fingers to Castiel’s cheek.

“How long you been off-planet?” Dean’s brow was knitted in concentration. Castiel shifted, very aware suddenly that he was half hard in his slacks.

“Three days…”

Dean’s mouth did something interesting that stole all of Castiel’s attention. “Hey? You hear me? Is this your first time? In deep space, I mean?”

“Oh,” Castiel felt his cheeks heat up and was further embarrassed when the backs of Dean’s fingers returned to his face, undoubtedly feeling the warmth of his blush. “Yes, actually.”

Dean gave a perfunctory nod. “You got a case of space.”

Castiel’s brows pulled down, and his head tipped to the side. Dean grinned. “Case of… what?”

“It happens to everyone,” Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Well almost everyone the first time they go deep. You get all queasy and panicky and… other things. It’s the artificial gravity.”

“No one…” Castiel swallowed hard as that sudden sense of falling hit him again. “No one mentioned that.”

“Probably thought you knew, man. You being… well, you.”

“Well I’m definitely queasy and panicky. What’s the other things?” Castiel’s eyebrows rose when Dean blushed, looking away, putting a good foot of space between them.

“Uh… well…” He huffed a laugh as he reached up to rub at the shell of his ear. “It can do things to… well…” Dean gestured vaguely between them.

Castiel’s head tipped to the side and squinted. “I’m sorry I don’t-”

Dean sighed. “It makes you really horny.”

Castiel blinked and looked down. “Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.” Dean chuckled. “My first trip deep, I almost got fired because I spent the first week disappearing to jerk off every hour.” Castiel’s eyes widened, and Dean’s smile slipped away, adam’s apple bobbing in a way that made Castiel want to bite at it. He was fully hard now. “That was an overshare, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s eyes flicked down. “You’re just saying that because you got a steel rod in your pants right now and I’m…. well…” Dean flicked a hand up indicating himself, and the cocky grin that spread across his handsome face made Castiel step forward right into his personal space.

“You are quite attractive.”

A subtle blush covered Dean’s cheeks making his freckles stand out even more. He chuckled. “I uh… don’t think it’s a great idea to fuck the boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “My boss’ boss’ boss then.” Dean let his eyes drift down, pausing at Castiel’s lips before traveling all the way down and back up again. “Shame, though.”

“How long does this last?”

Dean shrugged. “Week or so.”

“And masturbation…”

“Helps, yes.” Dean smirked, and Castiel felt a tug between his legs that made him shift forward, hands reaching to grip Dean’s face.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Dean didn’t move. “Okay then.”

It was tentative, Castiel trying to remember the last time he kissed someone, much less another man. Dean’s lips were soft and warm, and he almost seemed to melt into the kiss, letting Castiel lead, which surprised him. After a few moments, he pulled back, finding Dean’s eyes still closed, lips even cushioned into a soft pucker. Green eyes opened and the insistent pull Castiel felt in his balls nearly made him whine.

“Uh… so…”

“Your room is in the residential wing or down here?” Castiel knew it was down here. He designed the ship after all.

Dean’s lips quirked. “We’re going to my room?”

“It’s closer.”

“Thought you didn’t know where it was?”

Castiel nearly hissed as Dean’s hands landed on his hips, the heat searing through the fabric between them. “I wanted to give you the option to decline one more time before I take you right here.”

Dean’s eyes grew large, his pupils blown wide, and Castiel had to have lost his mind, but who could blame him with his erection throbbing the way it was. He wondered if he’d regret this later, once the fog wore off. They didn’t say anything after that, lips colliding over an over in a heady rush of teeth and tongue, pin-balling off various panels and encasements until Dean managed to pull them through the door of his small room.

Only a double bed with a small side table and a tall dresser filled the space barely larger than a closet, but the wall next to the bed was entirely viewing glass, and Castiel remembered wanting to make sure that the ship’s crew had views as spectacular as the residents. He was momentarily frozen, but a quick whistle from Dean and his attention was back just in time to catch the small bottle of lube as it hit him in the chest.

It was suddenly very easy to ignore, with Dean tugging his tank top over his head and tossing it aside before dropping his pants and boxers. Castiel tossed the bottle on the bed and made quick work of his own clothes as Dean stepped into his personal space, grabbing up the bottle and squirting some into his hand, grabbing Castiel’s cock as soon as his pants and boxers slid past his thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Castiel groaned, his forehead thunking against Dean’s as his slick, warm palm moved over his flesh, and he didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life.

“God, you’re so hard,” Dean murmured, voice a low rumble that sounded wrecked with want. “Fuck I want you inside me.”

Castiel didn’t need any more coaxing, grabbing Dean by the biceps and spinning him to face the bed, a firm hand going to the back of his neck as he bent him over the footboard, one foot tangling in the pants around his ankles to kick his feet further apart. Dean moaned, hands gripping the metal bar of the footboard, arching his back.

The head of Castiel’s dick brushed against the back of Dean’s thigh, leaving a trail of precum across his skin as Castiel got more lube, giving his dick a sharp jerk before pressing the pads of his fingers to Dean’s hole. Dean whimpered, the sound tugging in Castiel’s balls, and he applied pressure, the tips of his fingers pushing past the tight ring of muscle and immediately began scissoring as he pressed gently forward.

“Fuck, Cas, yes, open me up.” Dean’s head hung loose on his neck, and Castiel admired the muscles in his back as they tensed and rolled with each twitch and roll of his hips.

Castiel’s fingers were seated to the knuckle after only a few moments, Dean hissing while urging him not to stop. Castiel couldn’t take it anymore, all the pent up, nervous energy threatening to burst from his skin. Dean’s whine when his fingers left him was immediately covered by a gasp as Castiel guided the blunt tip against Dean’s hole, prodding experimentally before applying pressure, and they both moaned when the head popped in.

Castiel felt frantic, hands moving to grip Dean’s hips, and he tried to press in slow, sweat gathering on his brow, but Dean was pushing back, and they met in the middle with harmonizing groans. Castiel’s fingernails bit hard into Dean’s skin, begging silently for control, but he knew this wouldn’t last long.

“Dean…”

“Give it all you got, Cas. I ain’t fragile.”

Castiel’s accompanying moan was drowned out by the sharp sound of skin smacking skin, and the rest was a blur of savage thrusts and slick skin. Castiel’s orgasm hit him hard, body curling in and over Dean as his hips kept working against him. Dean’s body began to tremble, moans turning to shouts as the new angle sent pulse after pulse against his prostate. Castiel’s arms wrapped around Dean’s waist while one hand trailed down, finding Dean’s own fist working himself furiously. All it took was Castiel’s hand closing over his for Dean to shout, his release flowing over both their hands as his ass clamped down, milking the dregs of Castiel’s pleasure from his tender flesh.

They both ended up on their backs, feet still tangled in pants and boots but neither cared. The bed was barely big enough for the two of them, so they were pressed thigh to thigh, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and Castiel was half surprised not to see steam rising from their cooling flesh.

Dean heaved a sigh after a while. “Well that was definitely not how I envisioned my day ending.”

Castiel let out a reluctant snort and made the mistake of glancing over at Dean, which got him an eyeful of the inky black outside, a nebula in the distance splintering the dark with purples, pinks, and blues. Dean’s arm lifted at the sound of distress pulled from the back of Castiel’s throat, tucking Castiel in against his chest and shushing him softly.

“It’s hell the first couple-a days.” Dean patted his hair placatingly. “You go up to medical they’ll be able to give you something for the nerves.”

“But not the lust?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Uh I dunno. Most folks only talk about the panic and paranoia.”

Castiel glanced up at him. “You never took it?” Dean shook his head. “Why?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m a badass.” Dean jostled him, grinning. “Now, my brother, Sam? - He thinks the sun shines out your ass, by the way-” Castiel gave a startled laugh. “First time I took him deep, I had to lead him around with his eyes closed any time there was viewing glass. Dork slept in the bathtub for a week because he said it felt safe. Space does screwy things to your psyche.” Dean rolled his neck, digging his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes. “The sex helps.”

“It seems to, yes.” Castiel peeked over Dean’s chest and out the viewing glass, the clouds of the nebula shifting. He shuddered. “Thank you.”

Dean chuckled, his voice turning to a silken purr. “Oh, it was my pleasure.” A pause. “You know I could be persuaded to let you stay down here, you know until you get evened out… Walk you through the logs every day… other things.”

Castiel blinked, his eyelashes brushing against Dean’s skin, and watched it pebble to gooseflesh. “That’s kind of you. What do you have in mind?”

“Welp,” Dean grunted as he dug his arm over the side of the bed and tugged out a book. Castiel’s head lifted, realizing it was his book. “Maybe you could sign this for my kid brother?”

“Sam?”

A fond smile pulled at Dean’s lips. “Yeah, Sam.”

“I find your terms agreeable.” Castiel wiggled back down and planted his cheek over Dean’s heart, exhaustion settling heavily on him suddenly. Dean snorted.

“Shoulda pushed for a video call.”

“We can do that too,” Castiel murmured, eyes sliding closed and felt Dean’s muscles tense.

“Wait, for real?”

“Someone needs to teach him that the sun is located in the Local Interstellar Cloud and not my ass.”

It took Dean a solid minute to quit laughing.

Three weeks later, after a complete overhaul of the Impala’s technological maintenance schedule, two video calls with Sam Winchester, and frankly a disturbing amount of sex with Dean, it was officially concluded by medical that his cells and organs had adjusted entirely and all his bloodwork came back normal. Dean’s casual observation that with most of Castiel’s stuff was already down there and the mechanical maintenance evaluation kicking off, it was probably for the best he just stayed down there. Castiel, without hesitation, agreed.

#suptober20 #suptober #destiel #deancas #casdean #spn fic #fanfic: supernatural #writing by me

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jobujabu · 3 years

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I'm a little... oh, let's say for a lack of better words "cooked" right now, and tonight is just another flurry of thoughts, random or otherwise, like any other night that I've had over this year. It's soon to be 2021. We're all still moving through it. The motions, the rituals, the memes, the moments, we are just here, on a rock that supports us while we hurt it hurling through space towards the end, whatever the fuck the end is. A man so ripe with treachery could be elected for president of the Unit*d St*tes tomorrow, for the second time, during a pandemic and massive social unrest, technology and power blossom and bloom, and I just found out Roald Dahl was an anti-semite. It's as if none of it was ever real, ever. When I was a kid, I was just here, in some physical form merely roaming around as the sun would rise and set, and now it's me somehow outside myself all the time watching everything fall apart. In many ways, it's something I'm grateful for, as it has chipped away at the many, many lies I was lead to believe as a young person, and I see much more clearly the pain and suffering that so many people are a part of. That the life I was told I could have when I was young really was a fairytale, that once that story's thread was spun, it was up to chance and fate, and the slightest pulls and pushes I could inflict with my own free will, as to what would happen. As an individual, it's completely up to me and is my responsibility to make it through somehow, and I am no better or worse than any other individual. Of course, I'm leaving out a lot of key things: the magic of life, the warm and tender things, the intimacies of it all, true. But perhaps, for me in my warped perspective of the existence we all pass through, this is recognizing one half of the duality of life, the good and bad yin and yang you scratch my back I scratch yours positive negative I need to calm down.

Yeah, I need to calm it down.

#just shoutin'#just passin' through #should probably avoid #stupid #cooked

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homespork-review · 4 years

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Homespork Act 3: Insane Mindscrew Haymakers (Part 3)

FAILURE ARTIST: We cut to PM, WV, and AR in the far but not that far future. WV is trying to obey the letter’s direction to give the package to PM but AR keeps shooting. Yet WV and PM take cover behind a rock and WV is able to complete the task. The letter calls PM “Miss Mail Lady” so we now have a gender.

Back to Dream Jade. She flies to another golden tower and peers in on John sleeping. This bedroom is also defaced like his one in the waking world, plus there’s a creepy harlequin doll next to him. She isn’t sure if he got her present or if she even sent it, so she decides she’ll ask later.

CHEL: Dream John is fitfully asleep, but Jade intends to let him wake up on his own. Here, it’s established that Dream Jade does not know everything waking Jade does, as she decides she needs a system to remind her of things, which in the waking world she has (remember the COLORFUL REMINDERS).

The moon on which the city is now revealed to be placed is moving close to Skaia, the gargantuan sphere of cloudy blue sky mentioned by Nannasprite as the crucible of creation. Apparently it’s not safe to be outside during the “eclipse”, so Jade heads back to her tower.

FAILURE ARTIST: We cut to John alchemizing a bunch of stuff, some useful and some never to appear again. One of these things is a Cosbytop computer and that hasn’t aged well. John feels like it’s both his birthday and Christmas and though he thinks that’s impossible these pages came out a few days before Christmas. This fourth wall wink and nod comes up during another alchemizing frenzy.

CHEL: He contemplates a “1980s time-lapse montage” but instead we have to sit through him alchemising everything item by item.

GET ON WITH IT!: 12

Though he does come up with some useful stuff, including a rather snappy suit. By combining his glasses with the PDA he gets hands-free internet, and the sledgehammer, telescope, and Sassacre book together create the TELESCOPIC SASSACRUSHER, an extremely powerful weapon which unfortunately he can’t lift. Nannasprite’s ectoplasm and the gushers make healing candies, and ectoplasm, the fake arms, and the PDA solve the giant hammer problem by making REMOTE GHOST GAUNTLETS. One of the funnier items is a steam-iron-hammer he calls the WRINKLEFUCKER.

Dave, meanwhile, is STILL strifing with Bro, who apparently doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the fact that the city is being flattened by meteors around them. Not doing a good job of showing “yes, this fight should be taken seriously”.

TIER: Neither does Dave for that matter, fucks given remains at a cool absolute zero on this roof.

GET ON WITH IT!: 13 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 6

CHEL: At least it’s captioned FINAL ROUND now. Surrounded by watching crows, Dave hurls himself at Bro, and their collision results in the snapping of Dave’s sword, the bisection of Lil Cal (hooray!) and, somehow, the splitting of the picture of the record on Dave’s T-shirt; not cutting the cloth, turning the picture of a whole record into one of a broken record, which it will remain for the rest of its time in the story. Lots of analysis has been done by fans about how this represents Bro’s abuse shattering Dave’s true inner self, but in the context, it just looks like even sillier cartoon physics than we already had, if one even notices it (in the rush of visuals it’s easy to miss the first time round). It probably doesn’t help that Bro never actually says anything (nor do either of the other living adults), so we don’t really know what his thoughts on the matter are.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 12

Dave goes flying, rolling and skidding across the roof, landing in a rather battered-looking heap but with no serious harm done, and Bro chucks the game discs at him and… flies off on a hoverboard which I guess he has? Yet again, not adding to a serious tone here. Are hoverboards normal in this universe? Like the sylladexes, it was never established. Dave messages John, matter-of-factly telling him “bro just kicked my ass”. It’s still unclear how literal John thinks this ass-kicking is.

BRIGHT: This is apparently a universe in which some form of combat with one’s guardian is apparently routine, so John might well be thinking of Dave’s strifes with Bro as just a more intense version of a normal practice. On the other hand, by that same token, there’s nothing at this stage to say it isn’t just a more intense version of a normal practice. In fact, both John’s and Dave’s reactions suggest this is the case.

The problem really comes later on. If Dave’s situation is going to be taken seriously, then so should everyone else’s. Right now, although there are suggestions that all is not well, the tone of the text takes none of these situations seriously. It keeps everyone on a more even footing.

CHEL: Back on the golden moon, the eclipse is happening; during same, the moon and Jade’s tower thereupon, which are chained to the planet, swing right inside Skaia, surrounding it with clouds. On the surface of the clouds, we see images of events which happened earlier, including John’s house in the Medium, Rose’s house aflame, the tree in the desert, and the meteors falling on Dave’s city. This, we gather, is from where Jade obtains her mysterious information!

Dream Jade types messages to John, while the Dreambot types them out on a keyboard in the real world so he can actually get them. We proceed to see the same conversation about the package and SBurb we saw when Jade was first introduced, but this time I think a recap of it is actually pretty useful, especially the reference to the explosion. What happens is a little hard to parse, but as far as I can make out, a cloud shows a vision of a meteor emerging from a space portal, and the meteor actually emerges from the vision, becoming a cloud in the process. Said cloud-meteor then passes into a vision of Jade’s island when the volcano was still active and strikes down as the real meteor did in that time period. Jade, in her tower, hears it; I guess this is why it’s not safe to go outside during the eclipse?

In the volcano vision, we pull into a close-up shot of the lava-filled crater beneath the volcano, and a very familiar featureless canine head starts to emerge from it. Creepy.

Jade leaves the tower to check, and finds a vision of the lava with a blossom-like lit-up spirograph emerging from it, but when she tries to look, vision-Bec blocks her view of it, as the real Bec flies back and forth in front of the Dreambot. She messages John again, saying Bec doesn’t want her to go near the meteor crash site.

In John’s dream tower, the bed is empty; Dream John is now hovering outside it, eyes firmly shut. Jade sees him and drifts toward him, while John’s eyes slowly open. (This bit fuelled a fair amount of shipping at the time.) We see again the shaped clouds and the slowly approaching silhouette of Jade, revealing this to be the time when John fell asleep earlier, and at the exact same moment, real Jade and real John awake.

Again, we have a repeated conversation, this one being the one where Jade implores John to wake up. Now we know what she meant! Again, I think recapping this is reasonable, but maybe it could have been trimmed down so we just got the important points? That should have been done with all the repeat convos, really.

TIER: Personally speaking the little blurbs of repeated conversation shown during the flash would've gotten the point across without having to completely rehash the conversations.

With Jade awake properly, we get another convo rehash (now with proper context from both sides). Jade then consults her COLORFUL REMINDERS, as the visions of past and future events visible in the clouds as she sleeps can get very confusing very fast and the things help her put everything into usable info! With is fitting because dreams are trippy and easily forgotten. Jade notes two things: that this time there wasn't that much of future being shown, and that this is the first time that her dog guardian Bec has shown up a dream.

Bec has apparently never let Jade wander into the weird temple that is such a strange landmark of her island, but with the overpowered pooch taking a nap at the feet of his master's corpse, this is a good a time as any to try and pull one over him!

As Jade zip lines towards the temple and Rose continues construction on John's house, we cut back to Dave in the aftermath of the strife.

Dave is slightly saddened by poor Cal's “unfortunate” bisection (personally I was hollering because fuck that thing Jesus). His strife kind has also been turned into a ½ bladekind, courtesy of Bro fucking up his shit blade. Fucking rude man.

BRIGHT: Fighting with half a sword never seems to hinder Dave, but it still seems a silly thing to do when Bro quite possibly knew Dave was headed into heavy combat. It’s funny at the time though!

FAILURE ARTIST: When I first read Homestuck, I was sad Bro didn’t seem to care about Lil Cal, but with later revelations...would be better if that puppet never existed.

TIER: Dave attempts to grab the beta that he worked so hard for, but wouldn't ya know it his dang inventory is all filled up. Mostly with useless crap, as Dave admits as well. After a quick setup change for his modus, Dave finally has the beta! Congrats!!

CHEL: *looks pointedly at GET ON WITH IT count*

TIER: While Dave attempts to pester her, Rose has finished building up John's house, which marks the end of how much more she can help John as his server player. There's not much else to do for her till Dave shows up. She's also nearly done with John's gift, that'll show him that Rose is the God King of, and I am quoting right now “facetious sentimental gestures”. That's a peculiar and slightly worrying sentiment to have. What an adorably wordy yet cheeky little goth.

With that, we jump back a few months into the past, when it was Rose's 13th birthday. She's opening a package from John (signed under his old handle ghostyTrickster) containing the gift of knitting stuff (yarn and knitting needles) and a very dorky yet endearing letter from the blue boy. What a goof.

Rose is then pestered by one of the trollslum inhabitants, this one by the name of grimAuxiliatrix! They type Like This, And I Think It's Very Neat. Also quite verbose this one. Like personally I kinda need to carefully read and reread their words to get what the fuck they're trying to get to. In this case, it's politely bitching about humans while weird time related fuckery gets explicitly name dropped. Mainly the weird situation that is the trolls being/not being from the future. It's as confusing as it sounds.

CHEL: I think here’s the first indication that the trolls aren’t just other humans. Meanwhile, notice that one of the names in the Trollslum is “centaursTesticle”. Lovely. That character will, as the handle suggests, be the source of a LOT of CALL CPA PLEASE points. But anyway.

GA: No We Arent From "The Future" GA: But We Are All Already In Agreement That You Dont Get It And Never Will TT: I thought you said we spoke in the future. GA: We Did GA: Your Future GA: For Me It Was Only A Couple Minutes Ago TT: I understand. TT: You exist in some temporal stratum through which you have communication access to various points of my timeline. TT: It's not that complicated.

TIER: While that confusing thing keeps happening, we jump on over to a younger Dave, whole record shirt and dumb not-Kamina anime glasses wearing. He too is opening a birthday gift, which consists of his iconic aviators and a letter as well. The letter is just as endearing as the one John sent to Rose. Might just be my bias talking concerning how much John is undoubtedly and unchallenged my favorite character overall.

CHEL: I think so too, but I’m still giving him a point for him telling Dave his “gay butt stinks”, even though he is a twelve-year-old boy - it never gets called out or presented as bad that the kids say -ism-based insults until near the end, and that part has its own problems which we’ll get to then. The rest of it’s cute though.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 11

I’d like to bring up another webcomic which is known for its incredibly offensive humour; R. K. Milholland’s Something Positive. Specifically, I’d like to contrast the offensive humour of it with the offensive humour of Homestuck. In S*P, the point of the offensive humour is that the characters saying or doing the offensive thing are horrible people who should not be emulated, and even they disapprove strongly of homophobic/racist insults. Here is one of the tamer examples, from 2003 (so later comics have no excuse). Please note the character saying all this is both very drunk and very frustrated by having read a lot of terrible writing at the time, and his decision to do this comes back to bite him later.

In contrast, the point of Homestuck’s offensive jokes seems to be that either offensive things are inherently funny or the writer doesn’t realise why they’re offensive.

John tells Dave he thinks he needs to get out of his brother’s shadow, showing no concern for Dave’s actual wellbeing; more evidence that either they don’t know about the strifes or don’t care. The gift John has given is the glasses worn by Ben Stiller, which John suggests could replace Dave’s current anime shades. John worries that they’re “sort of a shitty present”, which again makes me wonder about the Egberts’ financial status - we weren’t able to find an actual figure for them but those things would cost thousands, so what the hell makes him call them “shitty”? How much did Hussie think movie memorabilia cost? Name of the count aside, we’re using it for when their economic statuses are weird in general, so here we go again:

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 8

TIER: Dave too is dealing with a trollslum inhabitant, this one by the name of adiosToreador. It's around here that the trolls typing starts to get head tilt worthy. As Dave so eloquently puts it, toreador types like a tool. I mean, lOOK AT THIS, lOOK ME IN THE EYES, aND TELL ME THIS AIN'T RIDICULOUS.

CHEL: AT opens by telling Dave he’s awful, and Dave responds with frustration at having to deal with the trolls yet again. He complains that he’s “wasting good material on you guys” and that there’s no substance to their trolling; he also mentions one of them thinking he was a girl, which I think is the original source of the fandom’s popular female-to-male transgender Dave headcanon.

FAILURE ARTIST: I think it’s just that Dave is a popular character.

CHEL: I don’t know, it started well before the fandom started getting really enthusiastic about assigning identities to everyone, from what I saw, but maybe.

TIER: My two cents concerning this matter is that it's probably a combination of the two. Dave seems to resonate quite well with a great majority of the fans, so from what I've seen they more readily project onto him.

AT: i KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE, AT: oR WILL DO, aCTUALLY, AT: iT'S THE MOST AWFUL THING, tHE WORST YOU CAN EVER DO,

CHEL: The readers immediately start wondering what this thing is, but Dave is unconcerned, and immediately accuses AT of perving on him. Here is where the CALL CPA PLEASE count really starts to ramp up, because on one hand, yes it’s hilarious to watch the tables being turned, but on the other, this coming out of a boy who literally just turned thirteen that day is… uncomfortable for a lot of adult readers, especially since we know his home has obscene material lying around all over it and as mentioned before that can really mess up a kid, even if Bro was not in fact putting him in his movies directly.

TG: and i want to know exactly when i got to clear some space in my calendar for when some fuckwit blunders out of a magical phone booth and makes a ballad-inspiring play for my throbbing beef truncheon AT: sHOULD i BE PERTURBED BY THESE ALLUSIONS, TG: no man TG: look TG: i just need to know when to be there TG: when the stars come into alignment and your flux capacitor lets you finally sate your meteoric greed for crotch-dachshund TG: i wouldnt want to miss it and cause a paradox or something TG: itd suck if the universe blew up on account of you missing your window of opportunity to help yourself to a pubescent boy's naked spam porpoise AT: uHHH, AT: oK, THIS IS SORT OF STARTING TO UPSET ME, CALL CPA PLEASE: 5

TIER: How many words does a 13 year old need for his private parts? Asking for a friend. I get that Dave is a little gremlin but holy shit y'all.

CHEL: To quote Hiveswap, “SOUNDS LIKE SETUP TO ‘RIDDLE’ OR PERHAPS ‘JOKE’.” Or maybe a really weird rewrite of “Blowin’ in the Wind” and I just realised the (in)appropriateness of that song title. Anyway, I’m giving one CPA point for each of those elaborate descriptions. AT, perturbed, announces his intention to leave, but Dave continues.

TG: we're motherfuckin entrenched in this bitch TG: you and me TG: welcome to nam TG: now grab my hand and shimmy your soggy ass off that muddy bank before charlie gets the fuckin drop AT: uHHH, wHO, AT: wHO'S CHARLIE, TG: hes the guy whos gonna read our vows TG: im feeling pretty friggin MATRIMONIAL all a sudden TG: take a look down by your foot see that little bottle TG: stomp on that shit like its on fire TG: noisy ethnic dudes are flipping the fuck out and waving us around on chairs til someone gets hurt TG: im your 300 pound matronly freight-train TG: and my gaping furnace is hungry for coal so get goddamn shoveling AT: oH MY GOD, CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 14 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 9

Hey, our first double point assignment! Two points for using the same racist joke again, as if it wasn’t offensive enough the first time. And another one for the fat joke.

FAILURE ARTIST: Lifting the newlyweds on chairs is a Jewish tradition so I guess Hussie’s antisemitism didn’t start this year.

CHEL: Isn’t stepping on a bottle a Jewish thing too? Does that count as more than one anti-Semitic joke or is it all part of the same one?

FAILURE ARTIST: Yeah, that’s also a thing. But I’d say it counts as one big joke.

CHEL: Does the Vietnam joke count as a separate one? I’m not sure what the general attitude to those is since about half of 20th-century British comedy revolves around WW2 jokes and no one minds those.

TG: thats what you see TG: a kaleidoscopic supernova of all your hopes and dreams all swishin together TG: radially effevescing arms of more little boy peckers than you can imagine TG: turning out insane corkscrew haymakers of a billion dancing vienna sausages strong CALL CPA PLEASE: 7

CHEL: All the counts aside, I can see what Hussie was going for and the general idea’s still amusing, culminating in one of the funniest bits in the comic when all this leads up to adiosToreador [AT] blocked turntechGodhead [TG] - I think we’ve all wanted to be Dave here. I’m fully aware that this sequence was meant to be somewhat uncomfortable, but given that Hussie later tries to tell us that Dave’s home life scarred him for real, yet he presented this as funny, it adds to the general feeling of Hussie berating the reader for laughing at the comedy. I think he was just trying to pander to the woke side of the fanbase with that, but we’ll get to it when we get there.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 13

FAILURE ARTIST: We go to AIMLESS RENEGADE, who has finally run out on his clip without hitting anyone. Apparently, some nitpicker on the forum (not me) pointed out the AR’s gun is magazine-fed, not clip-fed, but AR doesn’t give a shit about that.

CHEL: “A clip is not a magazine, a mag is not a clip; neither is a grip a stock, and "stock" does not mean grip.”

FAILURE ARTIST: AR examines the murals and declares the amphibian and reptilian images illegal pictography. AR arms themselves with a rocket launcher but wonders if they should befriend WV and PM - particularly PM. However, AR decides the two have committed too many crimes that make AR’s carapace steam. AR dresses as a judge (to complement WV as a mayor and PM as a mail carrier) and declares order in the court. AR wants to go down the moving platform to catch WV and PM but it isn’t operating right.

Closer to present time, Jade puts her gift to John on top of the monument. The gift disappears, just as Jade planned. Back in the future, PM looks at her drawing showing where she’s supposed to go. The drawing seems to be inaccurate until the tower is shot down. It turns out AR accidentally launched a rocket at it. AR tries again to hit the criminals but is distracted by PM’s beauty. Instead, AR shoots the mobile station. WV throws a can of Tab and PM grabs the package in a clever callback to SBaHJ’s sock ruse comic.

PM gets the package to the Appearifier and Sendifies it into Jade’s toddlerhood, back when Grandpa was alive and shooting butterflies. Inside the package is a letter from John, a too-big t-shirt with a blue ghost on it, and pumpkin seeds. So we have the root of Jade’s friendship with John and the others and her interest in gardening. That’s a very elaborate time loop.

CHEL: Get used to elaborate time loops. Anyway, the letter’s painfully adorable again. John thanks Jade for her years of friendship and for being the reason he met Rose and Dave. He gave Jade pumpkin seeds because future Jade had been upset that her pumpkins kept disappearing so he wanted to help her grow more. Unfortunately his declaration that three people is “almost like, TOO MUCH FRIENDSHIP” was cute at first glance, but given how he has no contact with anyone but them that we see, it becomes a tad creepy. Did he not expect to ever have any friends, or more than one friend? The implication that Dadbert kept him locked in his room all the time is looking more and more likely!

We cut to a cartoon sound effect, WHOP, and You bear the vicious brunt of this story transition directly in the face, “you” now being Archagent Jack Noir. The sound effect is the result of Dad Egbert punching Jack in the face. Jack pulls a switchblade, but Dad retaliates by lighting Jack’s hated jester hat on fire, throwing it to the ground, spraying shaving cream on it, and stomping on it. Jack immediately sets Dad free.

Jade is instructed by the prompt to “Play guitar to summon giant lily pads”, which she does, and it works… somehow? I’m not sure how that happens. Anyway, she uses the lily pads to hop over to the frog temple, finding in it a wall covered in tiny lime green glowing symbols.

Cut back to Dave, who has finally succeeded in installing the beta, and not a moment too soon as Rose’s room is now full of red light, soon to be aflame. Rose is calm enough to join Dave in a SBaHJ joke, and we go into the act-ending animation, [S] Enter.

Dave dramatically sips his fortunately-really-apple-juice and draws cartoons as the game loads, while Rose plays with Vodka Mutini and Jade scurries through the temple. For clarity’s sake, I’ll describe each character’s actions in a separate paragraph.

"Homestuck - [S] Enter [End of act 3]" (Watch on YouTube)

In Rose’s burning house Dave quickly deploys the necessary machinery. There’s so little safe room left to use that he has to throw Rose’s bed into the burning forest for one, put one in the observatory, and put the third on the nearby roof; fortunately Rose is able to get to them all. Dave uses the wizard statue to knock open the Cruxtruder, then drops it outside, breaking its hand off and sending the hand flying. He moves the cruxite to the lathe, where Rose produces a totem for her entry item, a bottle. Rose flings the dead Jaspers into the Kernelsprite and Dave grabs the Eldritch Princess doll to put in too, but the flying wizard statue hand knocks the entry item into the nearby waterfall. Rose leaps out over the drop, successfully catches it, and is in turn caught by a long purple tentacle....

Flaming whirlwinds approach the house; Rose swings the bottle to shatter it, and the meteor lands.

In the temple, we see an enormous flower atop another countdown device, noting four-and-a-half minutes till disaster, but Jade suddenly falls asleep again, waking up with only nineteen seconds to go. Unlike John randomly falling asleep mid-battle, this has been happening often enough to seem to be a legitimate problem with a story-based cause. Keep an eye on that.

Dave, meanwhile, is still in his room, which is now filled with crows. He seems flustered at first, but in a later shot he’s back at his computer with a crow perched on his head, seemingly fine.

Back at John’s house, Nannasprite opens up his newer copy of Sassacre’s book and starts to inscribe the very message we read earlier, so she didn’t in fact know about it during her life. Seems odd that she’d bother doing this rather than just saying it, though, especially since when she finishes, she drops the book into the chasm, where it plummets through grey clouds, emerging over a dark-blue land scattered with tiny lights and black rivers. John, covered in oil, runs up the many stairs of his remodelled house, smashing imps left and right with single blows from the WRINKLEFUCKER and directing the SASSACRUSHER with the GHOST GAUNTLETS to take on the ogres. When he reaches the top, he slams his hammer down one last time and bounces upwards to the spirograph portal, entering whatever’s on the other side. Fade to white.

Generally, a very good flash! Exciting but doesn’t sacrifice useful information for drama, and now two characters have reached their current goals but more is still going on. Lovely music too. I think the Flash animations are one of Hussie’s greater strengths here.

FAILURE ARTIST: The animation was what drew me into Homestuck and this is a particularly good one.

CHEL: A couple of static pages wrap up the Act; we pan out from John’s house to see it and the pinnacle it’s perched on are now looming above the same dark-blue land covered with thick clouds that the book fell onto, which we now see is in fact an entire very small planet. Curtains close.

So that’s the end of Act 3! What does everyone think?

FAILURE ARTIST: It was fun seeing Jade and the Exiles but sad thinking about how underutilized they ended up. Especially poor AR.

BRIGHT: This is where the elaborate time loops really started to kick in, and I’ve gotta say, I’m not a fan. I recognise that they’re a key feature of Homestuck, but I found some of them too confusing on my first read through. (Though they do make more sense on subsequent reads.)

I think on the whole this Act is quite well paced. I really loved the bits with Jade, and a lot of nifty background info gets introduced without being infodumped.

TIER: I wasn't even aware that webcomics on the internet were a thing at this point, but I do believe that it's around here that Homestuck's popularity was starting to pick up, no? This chapter went a lot deeper into the strangeness of the game to!

FAILURE ARTIST:

Homestuck was popular but I don’t think it became a phenomenon until Act 5 when the trolls were fully introduced. Lots of people even skipped Acts 1-4 and the Intermission to get to them. I think a lot of the pre-Act 5 fans were my age (20s) while after that many were teens or tweens. Admittedly, I didn’t do much in the fandom except check the SA thread until Act 5 came around.

CHEL: I don’t think I got into it until Act 6 - I remember the first time I got further than a few pages in I gave up when the Alpha kids got introduced because it was way too complicated.

As for my thoughts on the act, well… Before, I was able to more or less chalk up the racist/sexist/fatphobic/homophobic remarks as being from the characters’ mouths (they are, after all, twelve to thirteen years old) and not the author’s, but they don’t really get called out by the narrative and Hussie has sufficiently drained my goodwill that I have to complain, and I suspect after recent events that it actually was him speaking there, if you get my meaning. Most of the dialogue is still as sweet and funny as I remember it being but those bits really taint it. Hypothetical rewrite would definitely remove those.

I’m in two minds about keeping Dave’s hurricane of euphemisms to AT for said hypothetical rewrite; on one hand, considering his home situation, it’s worrying, but on the other the whole point of the joke is to make AT uncomfortable and it’s hard to do that without making comments that would also make the reader uncomfortable. Maybe if Dave’s home life was adjusted a bit the reader would be more easily able to assume he just picked them up from Urban Dictionary.

Speaking of Dave, his storyline here is where we really start to see a thing which is a recurring problem with the comic. Namely, reliance on theme and symbolism over what is actually happening. If Hussie was indeed trying from the beginning to portray Dave’s situation as serious abuse, then he shouldn’t have chosen to represent said abuse with ridiculous cartoon physics while literally portraying Dave as unharmed onscreen. Dave’s behaviour does hint at some issues, but they’re easy to pass off as related to other things, and swords so sharp they cause printed pictures to change are not most readers’ first assumption for the cause.

Other than those, though, I think we’re still mostly fine; none of the problems are problems with the underlying structure of the story, so it wouldn’t require a huge retooling. That state of affairs will continue on for another couple of acts, but when it fails, it fails.

COUNTS ALL THE LUCK: 0 ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 13 CALL CPA PLEASE: 7 CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 14 GET ON WITH IT!: 13 GORE GALORE: 0 HOW NOT TO WRITE A WEBCOMIC: 14 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 6 IN HATE WITH MY CREATION: 0 RELATIONSHIP GOALS?: 1 SEND THEM TO THE SLAMMER: 0 SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS: 0 WHAT IS HAPPENING??: 2 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 9 TOTAL: 79

#homestuck #Homespork #homestuck review #homestuck meta #homestuck reread #let's read homestuck

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