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strangersteddierthings · 10 months

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The Response

Part Two of The Interview [Part One] [Ao3]

With no exact time given by Robin, Eddie's left to kill time. He drags himself from the YouTube spiral to try and track down Steve on social media. After two hours, he concludes that either Steve has his (and official Corroded Coffin's) socials blocked, or Steve just doesn't have any. He's a bit baffled that people can even find Steve to send hate mail to him.

He shoots a text to Gareth. Can you find Steve on any socials?

He gets an instant reply.

DO NOT CONTACT!!!

WAIT FOR RESPONSE

DONOT MAKE THISS WORSE MUNSON

Eddie frowns down at his phone but doesn't argue. He probably would make it worse. He sends back 'k' and looks back to the laptop. Watches it auto-refresh but Robin's feed hasn't changed.

God, what will Steve have to say?

It's mostly true, that Eddie hasn't thought about Steve in years. That's been deliberate. Eddie was so furious back then. Robin wasn't wrong about him venting his feelings into a song, but how was he supposed to know Hey Steve would be the song the catch the ear of the people? And yeah, the lyrics are very unflattering.

A lot of their first songs were filled with rage. The whole first album is just their collective high school experiences. Songs about growing up in Hawkins and how shit that was for them, a song about Eddie's complicated feelings towards his dad, songs about dungeons and dragons disguised as fantasy ballads, things like that. And, of course, Hey Steve.

He can admit that years ago he reevaluated the lyrics and found it to be more harsh than was warranted. But he figured there was no point worrying about that. People exaggerate in songs all the time. The song is out, people still plead for it to be played during encore performances. Eddie hadn't thought it was hurting anyone to play it.

Hey Steve had taken Eddie less than two days to write. He did almost nothing for those two days except write. Fuck. He was still just a dumb kid when he wrote it, barely graduated high school. And the reason for writing it...

Eddie had know Steve wasn't out to his parents when he'd asked Steve to essentially runaway with him. Steve had worried about things like money, and living situations, and getting food. It had all sounded like excuses to Eddie back then. Like Steve was picking the safety of Hawkins and his parents' house over going out into the world to be with Eddie freely.

They'd fought about it. The worst fight they'd ever had. Yet, here Eddie is, a decade later and unable to recall anything that was actually said. Just a summary of that conversation exists in his mind, now. Steve wanting to wait. To save more money now that his hours at the grocery store would be changing from part time to full with him no longer being in school and able to work the morning shifts. Wait to get his car fully transferred to his name from his parents.

All things that adult Eddie can now see as reasonable. Jesus Fucking Christ. He remembers he'd given Steve some sort of ultimatum. He was leaving on the last Grey Hound from Hawkins to Indy. Steve could meet him at the bus stop or stay, but Eddie was going, with or without him.

Steve had shouted back. He knows they just got louder and nastier until Steve finally told him that he would be going without him, then, because they were over. Even as angry as Eddie had been, he'd held out hope. But that last bus left Hawkins with Eddie on it and no sign of Steve in sight.

So Eddie did what he did best. Channeled that hurt into anger and wrote a song. Never in a million years did he think that, in the very first bar they played at in Indy, they'd meet a man who wanted to take a chance with them and get them a demo. All they needed to do was get from Indy to LA. Eddie had a van and the motivation. The next year of his life was too busy for him to even think, much less worry about Steve and his breakup.

Well, that was a lie. He thought about it constantly and shoved the thoughts aside as quickly as they came. Easier to do when he had no way to check up on Steve. He left Hawkins with no laptop and a pay-per-text flip phone he'd bought at a gas station. Wayne tried his best to provide for Eddie, and that meant they'd had one cell phone between the two, and Eddie had insisted that Wayne keep it.

By the time he got a laptop and internet, Steve had blocked him on Facebook and Twitter. That was the conclusion Eddie had come to when he finally worked up the nerve to swallow his pride and apologize and couldn't find Steve on either platform. Another thing that had filled Eddie with anger and hurt. Steve had broken up with him and then made sure Eddie couldn't reach back out.

Now he wonders, did Steve block him, or did Steve delete his socials to stop the hate mail?

Eddie feels nauseous.

Fuck!

What's worse is that, before the fight, Eddie had been so sure he was in love with Steve. But how can he say that with how quickly he dropped him? With how he's acted ever since? He could justify it to himself when he was still freshly broken up with and hurting but that faded away as fame took over.

Hard to be sad about not having a boyfriend when there were plenty of people lining up to be with him.

He pulls himself from his head to look at the laptop. A new tweet shows on Robin's screen and he scrambled to turn off the auto-refresher.

It's a short tweet, and Eddie sees she's changed her name as well.

Clicking the link takes him to a YouTube video.

It starts with the camera slightly jiggling, presumably from someone hitting record. It's been set up in a recording studio. A stool in front of a mic that's suspended from the ceiling is the only thing in the frame.

"Alright, dingus, last chance to change your mind about this," Robin's voice is picked up from off screen.

"You can't talk me out of this," says a male voice, and without any thought about it, Eddie's hand flings out and slaps the space bar, pausing the video. His heart is pounding, and he has to take a few deep breaths. That was Steve's voice. Of course, it was Steve's voice, it's his statement video, but hearing it again. Hearing it spoken softly but determined.

Swallowing feels difficult. Eddie's last memory of Steve's voice was screaming. This is... this is the Steve he never thought he'd hear again, and hasn't realized how much he desperately wanted to. With shaking hands, he presses play again.

Steve steps into frame, takes a seat on the stool. He looks in the direction of the camera, and Eddie has to pause again, to take him in. His hair is longer than it was in high school, the ends of it touching his shoulders. He's got it pulled up in a half updo, keeping the hair out of his face. His face is familiar and yet so different. He certainly looks older but not in a bad way. The biggest difference is his nose; it's not as straight as it once was, like it's been broken and healed wrong. His strong, square face is as handsome as it ever was, perhaps more so now. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the two moles on his cheek; his eyes have always been drawn there. It was his favorite place to kiss Steve.

He's wearing light wash jeans and a deep blue Henley. And fuck if it doesn't make him look good.

Eddie unpauses again, and waits to hear the retribution he deserves.

"This good, Robin?"

"Yeah, you're perfectly in frame."

"Good. Uhh, hi. I'm Steve. Robin told me that there was a lot of fuss regarding a certain Corroded Coffin song, and that people wanted to hear from me. Which is wild 'cause like, I'm just some guy and I don't really have much to say-" Steve is saying, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Steve!" Robin interrupts him, "I just had to help you move because someone threw a brick through your window! What do-"

"Okay! I get it! But that's not Corroded Coffin's fault. They do that whole anti-bullying thing! It's not like they don't address harassment and bullying. I-" Steve cuts off, seeming to remember he's on camera. His face turns pink. "We can argue this later. Uhh, anyway. There is something I want to say to Eddie Munson, so I hope he's watching."

He makes a 'give it to me' gesture and Robin enters frame, handing him an acoustic guitar. "I thought I'd answer using the one thing Eddie understands best. Music. So, uh, I wrote this song with Robin's help. Lyrics are mine but the melody is Robin. The song doesn't have a title but, uh, okay. Here it goes."

And then, Steve starts to sing, looking down at the guitar for correct finger placement more than singing into the mic but it picks him up well regardless.

"Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me? Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'll tell them put me back in it-" Eddie is sitting down, and still he feels the floor fall out from under him.

"-Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah."

Eddie doesn't hear the rest of the song because of the blood pounding in his ears. This can't be- it doesn't mean- after all this time? After everything that's happened, everything Eddie let happen, unintentionally or not.

His phone buzzes against his leg. He ignores it in favor of restarting the video and listening to the video from the start. He listens to the whole song and it ends without anything else. Once Steve's strummed the last chord, he just stands up, walks to the camera and the video ends.

He restarts the video again, and again, and again. Hears Steve sing How could you think I'd scare so easily and I would do it again if I could hold you for a minute and though I know my heart would break I'd tell them put me back in it.

It's through the tenth, or eleventh, playback that his phone buzzes again and he fumbles to answer blindly, unable to pull his eyes away from Steve on the screen of his laptop.

"Gare- It's not- what did I do Gare? Everything I thought Steve would have to say never came close to what he just sang. I can't- I don't know what to do," Eddie sobs into the phone.

There's a pause of silence before what is very much not Gareth's voice says, "Well, dammit Munson. I was calling to rip you a new one but you're already crying."

It takes Eddie a moment to place the voice, "Robin?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Robin says. "I think Steve's let you off easily, but I also know I kick a hornet's nest with my interview so I think we should work on getting this cleared up, both publicly and privately."

"How did you get my num-"

"Gareth. Keep up, Munson. I'd like us to be able to call off each other's fans. Your PR team and whoever you employee to do that anti-bullying campaign have done a pretty good job so far in telling people to back off, politely. Helps that Jeff has been on top of this from the beginning. Honestly, I think the best decision you've ever made in your life was making Jeff the front man of your band and not yourself. He's much more pleasant to talk to, and so good with people."

"Robin!" Eddie has to shout because Robin keeps saying words and they don't make sense. "What?"

He hears a sign from the other end of the phone. "You are annoying. You know that, Munson? I'll work with Gareth to get this done. I think we should be seen together, publicly. Maybe getting a coffee. So everyone knows we've made up, or whatever it is Gareth and I decide is happening. We should also meet up privately. There's a lot to talk about."

"I'm so confused."

"Nothing new. Now, when are you free to get on a plane to Pendleton, Oregon?"

"Pendleton?"

"Munson!" Robin snaps, "we just established that you live in a perpetual state of confusion. Instead of questioning me, how about you answer my questions. Now, when are you free?"

"Anytime."

"Smart answer. Get your ass to Pendleton by the morning of the twenty-third. I'll work with Gareth for all the other concerns. He's easier to deal with."

"Can I ask one follow up question at least!?"

"You just did but I'll allow one more before I hang up."

"Why Pendleton?"

"It's the nearest airport to our destination. I am not having a private conversation with you in California. I don't want to be caught speaking to you until Gareth and I have a chance to work out the details."

And then Robin hangs up.

Eddie leans forward and restarts the video on his laptop before looking up plane tickets. Fixing things with Robin might be the first step in ever getting try and, he doesn't know, apologize to Steve? Maybe even have a conversation one day.

He doesn't deserve that chance, he thinks, but he's a bad enough person to want it anyway.

#steddie #my fic #the interview #the song steve sings is Francesca by Hozier #i dont do taglists so i linked to ao3 where u can subscribe and get updates #i feel like eddies an unreliable narrator so im adding that tag on ao3 #the boy has got NO CLUE what is happening at any point in time ever #hes just a ball of guilt and regret #also i didn't clarify in the fic because i couldn't find a good way to fit it in #but gareth is not an active CC member‚ he's the PR manager #he used to be in the band but quit to finish college and be a family man #Jeff is the front man so he does the interviews/public appearances/etc #Eddie used to but like rockstar life hit him hard and he had to let someone else take that role

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phantom-z0ne · 3 months

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Serendipity

"Billy wasn't sure what the creature ransacking his train car was.” Alternatively, Billy feeds a stray and ends up with a roommate.

WC: 1215

Serendipity (n): the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

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Billy wasn't sure what the creature ransacking his train car was. Granted, the train car wasn't in the most hidden place ever, but he had made sure to ward it against most creatures. The ward would have made one unable to see the train, and if they somehow saw it anyways, they would have been turned around. He usually was pinged if anything passed his wards, which was why he was so blindsided to see something moving around in his train car. It seemed that this one had slipped through his protections.

The creature was strange and almost hard to look at directly. Its blinding white hair moved independent from the wind and twined around its long, pointed, mint colored ears. It was also small, small enough that Billy thought it could comfortably fit into his cupped hands, and wearing some sort of skin tight suit, black with a stripe of silver along its torso. Or what appeared to be its torso, Billy couldn't really tell when its lower body faded into a long tail.

From his perspective, it seemed to be rummaging through where he usually hides his food, showing slivers of its white paws. Did it pass through the barriers he set because it was hungry?

Billy approached the creature quietly, making sure not to get too close, he wouldn't want to startle it. His efforts were in vain though as the creature snapped its head towards him. It's glowing eyes like headlights, as if staring into Billy’s soul. The green in its eyes swirling hypnotically as the creature bristled at his presence.

Billy watched, amused but vigilant, as the creature puffed up like a cat. Even going so far as to swat a couple times in his direction. So far, it was quite harmless, but the buzzing in the back of his head that he usually equated to Solomon told him to be careful.

Billy slowly dropped to his knees, mindful of the creature's reaction, and shifted his bag to his front. He shuffled through his bag and brought out the small piece of jerky he was saving for later, sliding it slowly towards the creature.

The creature tilted its head, staring at the jerky suspiciously before taking a few steps to paw at it. It apparently passed its test as it devoured the jerky surprisingly fast for its small size. While it seemed to be starving, thankfully it didn't reflect onto its body. It wasn't gaunt or thin, but actually quite plump. Perhaps it just didn't eat for a day or two?

Billy took a small step forward, then a few more when he realized the creature was focused on eating. “So,” He began softly, the creature startling as if it was just realizing he was so close. “What are you doing here, little guy?”

It stared at him silently before once again tilting its head. It was cute, Billy realized. The chubby cheeks and button nose paired with big, shiny eyes made it endearing to look at. His expression melted slightly as he took a closer look at the creature.

The creature's ear flicked as it padded up to him, paws on Billy’s knees. It let out an unintelligible sound, layered and harsh to Billy's ear, yet somehow melodious. Billy blinked, not expecting that noise. The creature looked at him almost expectantly, eyes shining brightly.

Billy hesitantly brought his knuckles closer to the creature, feeling its cold nose as it sniffed him. It was clearly unimpressed and trilled for more food. Billy chuckled under his breath as he brought another piece of jerky to the needy creature. It gobbled it up swiftly, looking up at him and once again begging for more, its eyes almost sparkling.

Billy folded under the cuteness overload and retrieved a sandwich from his bag, splitting it in half. He was worried that it would eat more than it could handle if he kept feeding it. He knew very well what that felt like.

The creature blinked at him, once, twice, before giving him a small, pleasant trill and headbutted his fingers. Billy cautiously set his hand over its silky hair? Fur? All he knew was that it felt divine, though not in the godly way.

“What are you?” Billy asked as he wove his fingers through its hair, genuinely curious on what species the creature was. He had inputted a lot of creatures in his ward but he had no clue what this one was. The tingling at the back of his head spoke otherwise, Solomon knowing very well what it was. He could transform and ask Solomon, since he couldn't really speak to him unless he was Captain Marvel, but that would just scare the creature.

It gave him a look before resuming its lunch, finishing it in record time. Apparently, it deigned him worthy of its presence on his lap as it kneaded his legs then curled up onto them. The purring surprised him, pausing when the creature gave him an impatient look when he halted his ministrations on its hair.

He resumed, of course. Why wouldn't he? It was a nice reprieve from fighting villains as Captain Marvel and watching out for himself when he was on the streets. It was just a quiet moment between him and the strange creature that broke into his home.

…He hadn't realized how lonely he was before this.

He had friends, of course. Freddy, Tawky Tawny, and the Justice League. But… this just wasn't the same. As good as a friend Freddy was, he doubted that he would be willing to just sit and enjoy each other's company silently. Freddy was a huge superhero fan and couldn't help but talk about them in excitement. Not to mention his analyses on Billy’s techniques as Captain Marvel.

The Justice League wasn't any better. They had a professional relationship, thinking of him more as a coworker than a friend. The times he tried to deepen their friendship by inviting them out, he was unfortunately turned down. It seemed that they got along better when they were in battle than not.

Billy usually went to Tawky Tawny for advice, but Tawky Tawny never turned down the opportunity to just spend time in the other’s company. Unfortunately, those times were far and few between, usually because Tawky Tawny was traveling or busy with something else.

With this creature— he’d have to name it eventually, Billy thought absently—all that was expected of him was companionship, nothing more.

Billy felt a cool paw pat his face, the creature looking up at him concerned. His eyes widened before he let out a huff, ruffling its hair. The creature let out a disgruntled chuff and phased through his hands then batted at them, settling down once more on his lap once it was done.

It hadn't been with him long, all he had done was give it some food, and it was already trying to comfort him. Admittedly, it wasn't the best comfort, it stopped once he focused on it, but it wasn't something he expected from a creature he met not an hour ago.

Billy smiled, eyes soft. Perhaps it could stay, if only for a while.

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Whipped this up in a couple hours while trying to get out of my funk

Thanks for reading!!

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Ao3

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yoodokjas · 1 year

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local selfmade terrorist claims he's not interested in men and then in the same breath says his companion's eyes look like stars in the night sky

#orv #joongdok #yoo joonghyuk #yes kdj is an unreliable narrator but have you Seen yjh?? the man is a walking contradiction fr 🤨

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saint-vagrant · 2 days

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4th annual day of my partner & i advocating for our safety in court. please send your strongest most powerful prayers (or whatever) ❤️

i always feel like i must add a bunch of explanations and disclaimers about what's gone on (many years of DV) and what i think of the system (negatively. i think negatively of it) but i'm so beyond fried... you'd think i'd get used to it but at no point has it been or become easier. the fear of it happening is equal only to the fear of it not happening. just gotta get through it.

#if you've not had to do this sort of thing (that's good!) it's hard to explain what it does to you #so depleting... presumption of being a hysterical unreliable idiot about your own experiences #ain't that just the way #and wouldn't you know it— navigating this as 2 trans people (even a trans man! yes!) is like. holy shit #anyway SPIRIT BOMB OF GOOD LUCK PWEASE

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constellationcore · 8 months

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The story of Jonah Marshall is one of rose colored glasses and loneliness, and it feels like the more we learn more about Adam and the formation of the modern iteration of BPS his story gets sadder.

It's easy (and fairly understandable) to typecast Jonah as the cowardly stoner, and that's largely to do with the way his character is framed by a primary character in the story. Much of what we know about Jonah is informed secondhand through Adam. It is also abundantly clear that Adam has a strained relationship with Jonah, and only seems to want to describe him as unserious, cowardly, and a stereotypical stoned slacker. And while I don't think any of that is necessarily wrong, there is potential for there to be more to his character than just a surface analysis.

I'd ask that you consider an alternate framing of Jonah, informed by some of the canon we learn from Adam's diary, Vol 2, and Vol 4.

Jonah gets a message from someone online asking for help with his ghost investigations, likely because of Jonah's interest in the paranormal or filming (probably the latter if we're considering his popularity on the BPS YouTube channel and his tendency to be the one operating the camera equipment). The opportunity is advertised as dangerous and potentially threatening, but at the intersection of living in your successful father's shadow and needing the chance to make something of yourself in a backwater town, any opportunity is a good one. This portion (to the next line break) is informed mostly from personal experience rather than canon, but this sort of willingness to take even the most dangerous opportunity with a complete stranger screams lonely, ignored teenager. The way he interacts with Adam in a potentially annoying, jokey sort of way is exactly how I tend to act when trying to make myself seem more fun while making friends, or how my siblings and I acted when we wanted our busy parents' attention.

Perhaps instead of just being a bored teenager who needed a way to pay for weed, Jonah used the new opportunity with BPS to make something for himself and to not be in the same lonely, isolated space as before. He tries to be friends with the person he works with, joking with Adam at any opportunity. For Adam, these investigations are extremely serious and has a lot of personal importance. But for Jonah, BPS doesn't have the same personal stake, rather it's an opportunity to do something he enjoys (to some degree) with people he's friends with. Specifically referencing a line from Vol 4, Jonah views himself and Adam as best friends, which is telling to how attached he is to Adam: even if the friendship is, in actuality, only one way. Jonah sticks with Adam during the more alternate-centric investigations because he truly wants to believe that Adam is his friend and the investigations will help him find/cope with the loss of his mother. It paints their Vol 2 argument in an entirely different light: instead of it being strictly about Jonah being cowardly during the entire investigation and not wanting to confront the truth/alternates (as Adam seemed to believe), it's Jonah's final attempt to reason with Adam. The rose colored glasses are off, and he's finally understanding that Adam will do whatever is necessary to know the nature of his mother's death and his own existence, and Jonah was just a stepping stone to get there.

Part of what made Jonah's character so effective to me is because he is such an everyman. Instead of staying and witnessing the existential horrors locked away in the basement, he does his best to convince his friend to choose self preservation and their friendship over a veritable death sentence. and when that doesn't work? He leaves. Presumably both with the intention of saving himself and to tell Sarah and any BPS associated party what happened, maybe to get help in some way and dying enroute (which is what occurs in Jonah's biblical counterpart's story). But what makes Jonah's death via M.A.D. so punchy is what he's torn up about: leaving his friend behind. This links directly back to what I mentioned about the argument as a last effort to get make his friend understand the danger he is in, but the way the alternate preys upon him? The most effective way to make Jonah succumb to madness, given the extent of existential terror a being like an alternate is capable of reaping on someone? The guilt of losing one of the only friends he had—and by extension one of the only things he cared about. That he would be all alone again through no fault other than his own.

#constellationcore writes #the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #jonah marshall #adam murray #i want to clarify that this is absolutely /not/ an attempt to villainize adam !! man has his own problems and i adore his character #rather i wanted to use his tendency to be an unreliable narrator due to his.. being an alt.. as a way to explore jonah's character potentia #also NOT A SHIP holy shit this is an exploration into an objectively very unhealthy friendship do NOT tag it as such #this is not a tmc ship friendly blog #also also this is obvs not canon! idk what the intention was behind jonah as a character but this is how i see him! w my big autistic eyes

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thefanciestborrower · 2 months

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The Devouring of Prometheus

Ohh boy this fic has been over a year in the making and by golly am I proud of it. It was mostly an attempt to imitate Mary Shelley’s writing style while adding more classic lit vore into the world cause oh boy do we need it. This fic is a little darker than my usual fluffy stuff because. You know. It’s Frankenstein. But everything is still safe despite what Victor thinks. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore, mentions of digestion, mentions of dying, mentions of cannon character death, minor injury, and vomit

Characters: Victor Frankenstein and the Creature

Word Count: 2,830

Mankind has no greater fear than that of being devoured. It is an instinctual fear, engrained deep within our very beings from the moment we are born, as it is in every living being, and yet it is perhaps one of the most uncommon fears to experience in its true, unaltered form. We are quite familiar with the notion of being killed and eaten by a wild beast, since such a thing, while not terribly common in the more civilized parts of the world, is often talked of in books and by explorers returning from long voyages to strange, wild lands. It is a threat to be sure, but perhaps not the most fear inspiring one. A hungry lion might indeed pounce upon you with his teeth and claws bared as if to shred you to ribbons while you lay awake in agony, but in truth he is far more merciful than even most men and will end you swiftly with a bite to the neck before he ever starts to feed. The fear of being eaten in this way, then, is diluted by the promise of a swift death at the claws of a creature who bore you no more malice than you do a butchered duck.

The terror of being consumed lies not in the act of consumption, but in the method. Stories full of giants and ogres who devour men whole and alive fill the countryside and take captive the minds of all who hear them, filling their dreams with images of gnashing teeth and slavering mouths, capable of sending a grown man down, kicking and screaming, in a single swallow. I must confess I never heard much of these tales growing up, aside from a few Clerval was so fond of telling, and when they did reach my ears, I simply scoffed, laughing such frightening images away in the clear light of day when nothing could seem more ridiculous. They were children’s tales, I thought, simply meant to frighten and entertain, for nothing, man or beast, could swallow whole a living man. Oh, how I wish I had been right.

He came for me in the night. I was asleep, or nearly so, when a sudden noise at my window startled me awake. At first I assumed it to be the scratching of a branch or perhaps even some night creature making its rounds through the garden outside. After all, I was far more unfamiliar with the Oxford landscape than my dear friend Clerval, who had spent much of his afternoon exploring the grounds, so I felt there to be no need for concern. Indeed, I had nearly turned over to drift back to sleep when I saw his eyes. Those wretched, sunken, yellow eyes staring as if into my very soul through the dusty window I had neglected to lock in my naivety. I might have screamed had fear not grasped my throat and strangled my voice, and though I longed to run, terror turned my legs to lead and forced me to watch as the fiend pried open the window with a delicate ease that seemed almost laughable compared to the rest of his hulking mass. I pulled my sheet up to shield my chest like a child might, entertaining fantasies that perhaps this was simply a nightmare, and if I remained still in my bed then he would be unable to harm me, but when he began to climb through the window with the elegance of a lion stalking his prey, eyes never once leaving me, panic settled over my heart and I realized this was no mere conjuring of an overworked mind. The beast was here, looming over me in my chambers as I trembled in bed with naught but a thin sheet and even thinner night clothes to protect me.

“Devil! What do you want from me!” I cried at last, terror loosening her claws from my throat. “I have not forgotten our agreement, so why do you insist on tormenting me so!”

I received no reply, the beast more than content to simply stare at my trembling form. Perhaps he enjoyed how weak I must have appeared before him as his eyes flicked over me, almost sizing me up for reasons I could never have comprehended in that moment. Cold and yellow as they were, I could see an inkling of some mysterious emotion behind those eyes, but it’s identity I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. My thoughts were quickly preoccupied as he advanced upon me, padding forwards like some great and terrible cat, until he stopped just shy of the side of my bed, so close I could have reached out and touched him.

Again, I saw that strange emotion flicker behind his dead eyes, but before I had time to ponder it he wrapped his hands around my chest and lifted me from the safety of my bed with terrifying ease, like one might lift a small child or a doll, and while I screamed and writhed in his hideous grasp, his hold only tightened. My ribs creaked and complained under the pressure and my cries became strangled and choked. With a ghastly popping sound he opened his grotesque mouth, jaw hanging at an angle too wide for any human to achieve, and to my upmost horror he quickly stuffed my head inside with the terrifying efficiency of a ravenous beast. The slimy muscle of his tongue lapped against my face and my body convulsed in disgust as I desperately fought not to be sick. Revolting as my situation was, I did not wish to add my own vomit to the mix, even if it might have disgusted the fiend enough to free me.

I could see nothing but darkness, each desperate gasp for oxygen only supplying me with the barest sliver of foul air. Teeth ringed my neck like a terrible collar, and for a moment I entertained ideas of those teeth, the very same I had picked and sorted by hand, crashing together to sever my head from my body like some terrible executioner. Before my thoughts could spiral much more in this direction, his grip changed and I was suddenly shoved against the slick, fleshy opening of his throat. My blood curdled and, with a sudden, crushing pressure, my head was crammed downwards in the most painful manner which caused me to cry out in despair. My skull felt as though it would shatter, and I screamed a horrible, terrible shriek of agony and terror as my shoulders were crushed down after me, the tight gullet of the beast threatening to break them into splinters. My vision swam, stars of pain and lack of breath sparking and dancing before my eyes, and though no light followed me into my hellish prison, I could still see the blackest pitch wavering at the edge of my vision, threatening to drown me in its inky embrace. For a moment I wished it would, if only to keep me from the terrible suffering I knew lay before me, but fate is a cruel mistress and before I could sink into that comforting ocean of darkness a terrible pressure bloomed upon the crown of my head and forced me into an open pocket of stinking, putrid air.

Coughing and gaging I struggled to draw even a single breath. My ribs, now horribly compressed, creaked and shuttered terribly under the pressure of the creature’s throat, and though my legs still flailed outside, and my hands desperately scrambled for a hold on what I felt to be his chin, I did not dare move the length of my compressed torso for fear of inflicting more damage upon myself. Another painful swallow jolted me down, my face jamming roughly into what I presumed to be the bottom of the creature’s dreadful stomach, and the grotesque flesh not only yielded to accept my presence, but did so with an almost pleased sounding groan, if stomachs can be pleased, as if I really were simply a morsel of food to be consumed and forgotten. The sound filled my heart with a terror I’ve never known, and I cried out, though my voice was quickly silenced by the slick flesh as more of my body was squeezed through that terrifically tight ring of muscle and forced to bend and twist to fit my new prison like some sort of contortionist.

I know not how long it took the devil to consume me: the darkness of my surroundings and constant pain dulled my senses and left me disoriented to the point where I no longer could even tell up from down. I remember no longer feeling the cold air on my body after some time, my entire being now encased in sweltering heat, and searing pain as my legs were crushed down against my ribs. Finally, it was all over. My entire body had been fully compacted into the creature’s stomach, and although this new development was arguably a much worse position than my previous one, I was far too preoccupied with gulping down precious lungfuls of oxygen to care.

Then, all at once, the reality of my situation came crashing down upon me and with the fervor of a cornered beast I began to lash out and fight, twisting and turning in the confined space in hopes of causing my captor at least the slightest bit of discomfort.

“Fiend! Devil! Release me at once!” I panted, gnashing my teeth in fear and anger. “This is no way to treat any man, let alone your maker!”

I had no doubt that he could hear my cries and feel my struggles, confined as I was, and yet no answer came. Despite the nature of my location, I was completely and utterly alone, for what man pays attention to his food after he’s eaten it. Again, I tried to call out, to plead for release as I fought against the smothering flesh, and again I was ignored, save for a light pressure against my back from which I hastily jerked away. It was his hand; I knew it instinctively. The brute was no doubt relaxing after so fine a feast of human flesh, and that touch was nothing more then the satisfied gloating of a predator now sated with a filling meal that would last him far longer than any morsel of bread or wine. I was merely something to be enjoyed, digested, and forgotten.

How many more, I wondered, would be lost in the same way once I had perished. Clearly my current location indicated my captor had grown fond of the taste of human, and with a heart wrenching shudder I suddenly realized I had no way of knowing wether I was the first victim of the monster’s appetite, or if he had already glutted himself with other gentle country folk, just as he had done to me, and I was now resting in their grave. The thought was too much for my already distraught and troubled soul, and the disgust which filled me suddenly became too overwhelming to sustain. With a thick heave I proceeded to retch onto myself, my sick mixing with the beast’s own bile, and I sobbed bitterly for my home.

“Oh, my dear mountains and precious lake. Will I truly never again delight in your sweet air and radiant beauty? Am I to perish so far from all that is fair and wholesome, without even the cold stars to bare witness to my demise?” I lamented; my voice thick with the grief of a man who believes he is to die isolated from everything he once held dear.

The spongy flesh seemed to mute my voice effectively as a heavy curtain might, and my words fell upon deaf ears, for no reply came from my creation. My captor. My killer. Was I really to meet my end as nothing more than a meal? My last breath tainted by the stench of bile and vomit? The pressure to my back returned, and although the touch revolted me, I was far too exhausted from my fear and the quickly thinning oxygen to do more than twitch in protest. What difference would it make anyways, my fate was already sealed.

Each breath I drew grew more ragged and gasping with every passing second, my panic having done nothing but quickly use up what little air I had in the stale cell, and in some fever, I realized that, although my air was quickly thinning, I had not yet begun to feel the slightest tingle of digestion. Oh, what sweet twist of fate was this! I still would meet my end as nothing more than a morsel of food this was true, but I would be long since unconscious and perhaps even suffocated before acids truly began to work on me and thus spared the sensation of digesting alive. It was a small assurance, but so consumed was I by grief and terror of my fate that even the small mercy of a painless death brought me comfort. It was more than a man like me deserved after all I’d done. The innocent blood on the creature’s hands stained mine as well, and I thought bitterly of poor darling little William and dear Justine. Their blood has been spilt on my account, and yet, while their deaths had been horrific tragedies, I took solace in knowing they had left the world far quicker than I would, and that I would be seeing them again soon.

My vision swam before me, and with one last shuddering sigh I slumped against the slick walls, no longer attempting to catch my breath, for what would be the point in trying to breathe when there is no air left to fill my lungs. The stomach clenched around me with a disgusting squelch, smothering and squeezing my helpless form as it worked to knead what I presumed to be caustic acids into my sodden clothing and soft flesh, preparing for the undoubtably difficult task of liquifying my un-masticated body. With a gasping, barely audible sob I pressed a trembling hand out against my churning prison walls, cursing my creation and praying my end would be swift. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

Due to the circumstances in which I had fallen unconscious I fully expected to never wake again, so when I started awake some unknown amount of time later in the very bed I had been snatched out of, I could seldom comprehend what was happening. My first thought was that my horrendous experience had been naut but a dream; an apparition brought upon me by the dreadful task I knew I would soon be required to complete. Then I became aware of the disgusting film of sticky, foul smelling sick coating my body and the dull, yet throbbing pain in my ribs, and my blood ran cold. It had been no dream. My creation truly had assaulted me in the night, swallowed me whole and alive, and, by some miracle, vomited me back out before his digestive system could process me. In fact, aside from my ribs, which were badly bruised, I appeared whole and unharmed. Not even a drop of acid had singed my clothes, and my skin was fair and unblemished as it had always been. I pressed a hand to my cheek as if to make certain of my unharmed state, and then, to my own surprise, I began to laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, but rather one of incredulous shock and relief as I grasped at my warm and unharmed skin. So certain had I been that those final moments filled with slimy blackness and foul reeking air inside the creature would be my last that the cold air of my room and the sting of my nails against my face might well have been gifts from Heaven itself. Even now I marvel at my incredible escape and wonder what could possibly have prompted the monster to give up as filling a meal as I surely must have been. I do not think I shall ever know, but judging from the healthy nature which I possessed upon waking, I can only assume he realized he could not process me as he intended and his body expelled me, though wether such an expulsion was voluntary on his part I still could not say. Nonetheless I knew I was no doubt incredibly fortunate to have survived such an encounter and my resolve had the been strengthened. Where before I had postponed my promise, I vowed to not do so again, for who knew how long the wretched beast would be content to wait and leave me and others be. As soon as I was able, I would set to work creating another who would contain his terrible urges and put this dreadful encounter behind me forever.

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vimbry · 1 month

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#tmbg #I thought the formatting was messed up cause it's an archived page but no. the interviewer's initials are just also JL haha #I love the analogy of investigating something weird on the underside of a rock #imagine being the guy who flipped off and swore at a nice lady trying to help you in a fit of road rage #and then her husband puts you in his song about a self-victimising man with delusions of grandeur #that's it buddy you're going in the unreliable narrator they might be giants song

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arom-antix · 11 months

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Why Yuuri (before 2017) should not be allowed to write an autobiography

Okay, to those who might not follow figure skating as closely, I just need to point out that Yuuri, despite what he insists (unreliable narrator), did not do badly in the Sochi GPF.

We know from the flashback in episode 5 that Yuuri during his free skate fell on at least two of his jumps and touched down on one and it can be assumed he didn't do too well on his others. He says in episode 4 that he falls on jumps and makes up the gap with Program Component Scores (how artistic it was) which can also be seen on the protocol from his short program where his PCS is higher than his Technical Element Score (how technically sound it was). This is not how those scores usually relate except in certain cases (see Jason Brown, also known for his high PCS and (relatively) low TES though this is by choice).

This is Yuuri's short program protocol. If you don't know how to read this then all you need to know is that his total score was 82.80, 40.42 of that being TES and 42.38 being PCS.

Now, to relate that to the real world, in the 2015 Grand Prix Final, Daisuke Murakami scored a total of 235.49, scoring 83.47 in his short program and 152.02 in his free skate and placing 6th. As we can see, that's pretty darn close to Yuuri's score (82.80 in the short, 149.79 in the free, 232.59 total) and I would not be surprised if they were inspired by his scores since they're also PCS centric.

Sidenote: Looking at Yuuri's PCS here and comparing them to Murakami's, Yuuri's are higher, not having anything lower than 8.00. Based on the fact that he was likely very off-kilter, I'd say this is still a very respectable score (duh, Yuuri just can't accept that he's good). Boyang Jin who took 3rd in the short, 5th overall in the 2015 GPF had way lower PCS scores.

Anyway, here's Murakami's free skate protocol.

Murakami has 8 jumping passes in his free, 7 of which he lands with a two-footed landing on one and a stepout on another. He only falls ass on ice like Yuuri does once on his second quadruple salchow (which was supposed to be a combination. The << and REP are explained at the bottom of the protocol). He does not touch down at any point. Otherwise his jumps look fine to me, most of them barely having any ice spray and only his 3Lz+1Lo+2S combination getting a warning for an unclear edge.

If you don't know, falling is (kind of) the worst mistake you can make on a jump and the judges are required to both give a certain negative GEO (grade of execution) and a deduction of 1 point. Other mess-ups just give negative GEOs.

Murakami's FS score is 73.26 TES and 79.76 PCS which would mean Yuuri's scores are likely very similar. But he fell on two jumps, not one meaning his PCS would likely have been higher to make up the difference.

And if Yuuri's insinuation that he flubbed all his jumps in some manner is true (which I find highly unlikely, have some confidence) and he missed elements by either popping (opening too early which costs rotations but saves you from a fall) or just not doing them, his PCS would have needed to be even higher to make up for that.

Missing elements, like popping a double, triple or quadruple axel into a single (at least one double is required), results in that element not being counted at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. You get nothing for it if you can't make up for it later in the program. Even falling on a jump is better because that's at least a few points. So if that happened, he'd have a big gap to make up with his PCS.

To sum up: with everything that could have gone wrong for Yuuri, this is still a very good score, even on the international scene. And to highlight that, Murakami is happy when he finishes, even fist pumping.

And yes, there was still that 103.17 point gap between Yuuri and Viktor which is the same (okay, 94.95) for Murakami and Yuzuru Hanyu who took gold in the 2015 GPF. But, and I cannot stress this enough, Hanyu broke 3 world records with that score meaning Viktor likely did as well. No wait, scratch that, I know he did because Hanyu's score was 330.43 which Viktor beat by 5.33 points. Of course it's not going to be even close, are you kidding me?

Looking at the World Championships in 2016, Yuuri would, with that 232.59 score, still have taken 11th place. He'd have taken 16th in 2023 and that's with a single quad (I don't trust his quad salchow yet) in the age of quads (and that quad being the one with the lowest base value). I'm positive he'd have been able to do a Jason Brown whose PC scores are so good that he in 2023 placed 5th without a single quad and would have placed 3rd in 2016. Now, take that and throw Yuuri's quad toe loop and some confidence in there and you've got a Worlds podium finish before the series even starts.

And then in the season the show is in, he has his quad toe loop, quad salchow and quad flip. He might even have gotten the quad loop down in the 3.5 months between the Barcelona GFP and Worlds. I definitely see a world champion on the next level (if they'd give us it >:[ )

And scores always get higher over time, the world record having gone from Hanyu's 330.46 in 2015 to Nathan Chen's 335.30 in 2019 still standing in 2023 which is still less than Viktor's Sochi GFP score (335.76) (yes, the system has changed since 2015 but it's close enough that it doesn't really matter in this context. Viktor is OP no matter what).

Really, the fact that Yuuri's in the GFP at all should be all we need to know that he's insanely good. It might not technically be Worlds but my stars, Yuuri, it does basically make you 6th in the world.

BE. PROUD.

#trust me i love an unreliable narrator but would you please look at the facts yuuri #that was your first grand prix final of fucking course youre not going to get viktor scores he was 34.30 points ahead of second place #especially not when the man still holds the irl world record 7 seasons later #im sorry but i get that they wanted viktor to be stupidly op but like that post about how insane stammi vicino is #the scores in this show are bonkers #they definitely succeeded in making him op #yuri on ice #yoi #yuri on ice meta #yoi meta #yuuri katsuki #katsuki yuuri #arom antix

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