#i do realize these characters and stories are fictional | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onceuponapuffin · 2 days

Text

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

61 notes · View notes

cripplecharacters · 3 days

Note

I'm writing a story set in the 1800s that has an intellectually disabled character. how would you recommend I get across that they are intellectually disabled given that the respectful terms wouldn't really have existed then?

Hi!

I think that the best idea would be to just show the symptoms of their disability. Show them struggle with tasks (which ones would depend on the severity of their disability), if they are able to do so they could speak differently when compared to other characters - I often forget words when speaking, repeat myself because I didn't understand the answer to a question (or realized that it was the answer), or have to ask someone for a TLDR because I got lost in what they were saying (even if I'm actively paying attention). Sometimes I also have to circle multiple times to a single idea to "get it out" properly because it's hard to conceptualize it all at once. Your character could also get overwhelmed or stressed more easily.

Also, often ID comes with physical symptoms so they could have dyspraxia like me! In case their ID is caused by a syndrome, it could work to describe the facial features that come with it, e.g. I think most readers would be familiar with how a person with Down Syndrome looks like. But the most important part is to show the actual symptoms of the disability!

If you want to name the disability without using slurs, "delayed" or "mentally disabled" or "having a slower thought process" could also work. They wouldn't be my primary choices in most contexts, but for historical fiction it's a bit different. "Handicapped" also started being used in the late 19th century, it's not necessarily a slur but it's still offensive. You could go for something like "fallen behind their peers" if you want.

I think that it would be a good idea to mention in some kind of author's note that your work is a piece of historical fiction and that those terms aren't preferred now (and show those that are, i.e. intellectual disability in most places and general learning disability in the UK). A lot of people don't know this, so it could be genuinely educational!

Thanks for your ask, I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #intellectual disability representation #terminology #historical fiction

54 notes · View notes

hiyyihrts · 3 days

Note

Oh my goodness I made the mistake of going on that subreddit, and wow. Unhinged. I know this is so generalising but why is it mostly Kathony fans sending abuse? If they really don’t like the show, then please stop watching. They claim they the show is racist to Simone and prefer Nicola, when it’s literally the season that the former is having her love story, of course they are doing to promote it, and from what I hear they literally bullied Charithra Chandran from Twitter with racist abuse. A couple of years since the show and they are still annoyed and sending hate to actors over promo and scenes. I’m sure they would have loved to have promoted it more, but they couldn’t due to COVID restrictions.

I can’t speak to times when I wasn’t here, but since the trailer has been released and the promos have started I’ve seen so much hate thrown at Luke and Nic from both KA and BS stans, which if they don’t like Pen/Colin that is totally okay! Everyone is entitled to like the ship or pairing they want to like, but sending hate and vitriol to the ACTORS who play the characters is where I think people need to step back and realize these are fictional characters and the actors who play them are not, in fact, the characters come to life. Especially too since I’ve been seeing Chari hate as well!! It baffles me!! She didn’t take Anthony from Kate and she didn’t stop them from ending up together, there’s no reason to be so hateful to her 😭

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton season 3 #ask #answer

19 notes · View notes

pinkeoni · 11 months

Text

What Exactly Do I Mean When I Say "Will is Jesus Christ?"

(or Why Will is the Chosen One)

Do I mean that Will is actually the second coming of Christ? Well, no, at least not in a literal sense. All I mean to say by this is that—

Will is the chosen one, and he is the hero of the story who is meant to save the world from the apocalypse.

Apocalypse imagery and references to Revelations is all over the place in season 4. The four victims representing the four horsemen of the apocalypse, Henry "One" effectively being a God-like figure, references to Revelations 1:8 regarding Henry, hell I'll go as far to say that Robin playing the trumpet at the beginning of the season is a nod to the sound of trumpets that is meant to signal the beginning of the apocalypse.

The important thing about Revelations being that at the end of the day, the second coming of Jesus Christ, the chosen one, saves the day.

This really robust old post that I made, which was also one of my first theory posts, goes into detail on how Will fits the criteria of a Christ-figure, or a figure in literature or media that is allegorical to Jesus Christ. Will's biggest piece of evidence being his full on burial and resurrection in the first season.

If I'm talking about Christ-figures in the show then I should probably talk about El, who admittedly has much more in your face Christ-coding than Will does. Walking on water, performance of miracles, the mother who got pregnant out of strange circumstances, along with her own resurrection and so-on.

So then, if El clearly has more Christ-coding than Will, why am I placing the title of Jesus onto Will? Is it just because I like him more than El? Is it because I see Will as a more important character than El?

Just as a general disclaimer, I will admit that I do have a major Will bias, anyone who follows me knows that. He's been my favorite character since I first watched the show. Although, my labeling of him as the chosen one has nothing to do a dislike of El or a belief that she is not an important character. I love El, and it's plain to everyone that watches the show how important she is. However, I just don't believe that the chosen one who saves the day is what her arc is building towards.

They've been building up El's chosen one status while also quietly breaking it down in the background, in the same way that they've quietly been leaving bread crumbs pointing toward Will's Christ status while also seemingly suggesting that he isn't that important of a character. Why have a character tell El that she's "the cure," then make a point that she loses against Henry at the end of the season? Why sideline Will for the past two seasons, but throw in lines of dialogue pointing toward his involvement with the Upside Down?

What I believe they are going for is a classic bait-and-switch to subvert expectations in the final season. Lead the audience to believe one thing, while still leaving clues to suggest the other so that when the twist is revealed it doesn't come out of nowhere.

So what is El's arc actually about? I won't deny El's role in the final battle of the show, it's not like she's going to be completely sidelined, but I don't think that her saving the world on her own while everyone else watches is what her arc is building towards. The real core of her arc is El discovering who she is as a girl, rather than becoming a superhero.

I actually made a post awhile ago talking about El’s monster/superhero dichotomy, and it’s actually incredibly important to my argument. The post itself is more in depth, but tl:dr: El believes that she can either be a superhero or a monster, and bases her worth on her ability to save the world and others, an unfair expectation to place onto one girl.

If at the end of the season, El single-handedly saves the entire world, wouldn’t it feel counterintuitive to her arc? She needs to learn that her self worth doesn’t rely on her ability to save the world, and if she ends the show this way, it wouldn’t create a solution for her cyclical train of thought.

Furthermore, wouldn’t this ending be a bit expected, and even boring? This is what El has been doing for the past four seasons of the show. Continuing that pattern would only feel anticlimactic. From a writer’s pov, if you wanted the ending of you show to be dynamic and interesting, you would want to do something new.

So why do I think that Will is the chosen one?

It’s not like I’m pulling the chosen-one-Jesus-Christ label out of my ass just because I like Will. I actually do have many reasons to believe this.

The first one is the confirmation that Will is going to be a big part and focus for next season. It’s been theorized that this means Will is going to become a villian, and while I do love a good Will villian AU, there are many reasons I could list off as to why he wouldn’t become a villian. Without going into it all right now, let’s just say that it would not only go against what Will stands for, but also what the show itself stands for.

Even in show, we have signs pointing toward Will’s chosen status. Let’s start with the fact that Will is the one who kicks the entire show off in the first place, when he is taken by who we later learn to be Henry. Now, this could have just been wrong-place-wrong-time kind of thing, but given how much has been revealed has actually been part of a larger plan constructed by Henry, I highly doubt that mere coincidence is the case.

Let’s look at some more evidence within the fourth season. Let’s talk about the fact that, despite not even being present in Hawkins and gone for much of the supernatural action, Will is still being brought up by name and even implicated in the strangeness of the Upside Down.

Do I think Will is gonna solo-kill Vecna in the climax of the show? Chosen one doesn’t mean only one. No, despite all my rambling about El not being the hero, I’m not gonna deny her importance to the supernatural plot. I think something else the show keeps building upon is the importance of support from friends and family— saving the world is likely gonna be a group effort. I do think, however, that Will possesses some kind of unique ability that is going to be crucial to winning.

What would being the hero mean for Will’s arc? Well, it would give him a sense of control that he hasn’t had before. Will has had a lot of agency and autonomy ripped from him in past seasons, and this would be his way of reclaiming that. It would be the perfect subversion of expectations as well. The character that everyone expects to be just the helpless victim, or hell even the villian, is the one who rises to become the hero who saves the day in his own way.

#i wanna disclaim here in the tags that i dont think will is a weak person for being a victim #nor do i think that he needs to save the day to reclaim autonomy necessarily #but looking at him as purely a fictional character following beats of a story… then yes this is what i believe they are building towards #also its very likely will is going to save the day in a way that aligns with him and his beliefs #and likely not in a violent way #i know this is very wordy but its been sitting in my drafts for a while #and i realize its kind of an important post for like… the main thing im arguing for #which is wills importance in the story #so *gestures hands forward* here you go #byler #<- target audience #will byers #stranger things #will byers has powers

148 notes · View notes

lady-merian · 1 month

Note

storykeepers Jesus is the only valid Jesus

he’s the best, this series was the best, and I love love love the way they did it.

From a Watsonian perspective it’s Ben the baker telling these kids the stories, and there’s no need to embellish things because the true stories are both too important for that, and astonishing enough on their own! The kids aren’t overfamiliar with the events —for the younger ones especially they’re hearing it for the very first time, often in contexts where they can apply Jesus’ teachings directly— and there’s no need to add extraneous details to keep their attention. But from a Doylist perspective rather than draw out the stories to a reasonable length for a video by inventing names and backstories for the people in them to characterize them, Storykeepers set the historical record of Jesus within historical fiction about a different period of church history. Someone growing up in a Sunday School setting may have been told the stories in the gospels so often they know the details by heart, but by setting this series up as first century Christians telling each other the stories and giving kids a picture of what living as a Christian under persecution looked like, I think it really helps put their importance into perspective.

and I think that lack of embellishment in the stories makes a difference.

#I’ve read historical fiction which involves adding details to things we don’t know about to flesh out characters #And even some biblical historical fiction like this *can* be done well. Really well sometimes!#But I do think the lack of any of that in The Storykeepers is what sets it apart #And okay maybe I’ve always loved adventure stories and spies and secret agent stuff and goodness me in a way this series just had it all #Or maybe it was more formative for my tastes than I realized 👀#It’s been years since I’ve seen any so would I see it the same way if I watched it now? Not sure. It could be my memory is painting it as #better than it was (but I doubt it)#The Storykeepers

10 notes · View notes

five-of-cr · 5 months

Text

here's the thing about matthias: he isn't the honorable, reformed hero some of the fandom seems to see him as.

yes, he was raised by a tight-knit family of comrade soldiers and decides to betray them in the end. of course that took incredible strength. i don't deny that. but we also need to recognize that the drüskelle are not just some rogue cult. they are a core part of the fjerdan government, who is trying to wipe out the grisha because they are seen as dangerous. that's literally just genocide. however indoctrinated someone is, this is something that is evil from every angle, even if the character can't or won't see it.

and look, i love a good redemption arc, but matthias is such a passive actor in his. he falls in love with nina against his will. she changes his attitudes toward grisha because she's beautiful and kind so all grisha can't be bad, right? this a classic example of the trope of separating the "good ones" from the rest, where you cherry-pick specific individuals to point to as exceptions to a group's nature, which is still implied to be evil. you have to do a lot more than fall in love to truly unearth and address the roots of bigotry.

tbh, this is my biggest critique of the books as a whole. i loathe the "love conquers all" trope that pairs together a character from the oppressed group and one from the oppressors, letting the one show the other through the power of love that being bigoted is not nice. it puts all the responsibility on the former to prove their humanity, and gives all the credit to the latter's ability to be persuaded to recognize it. and then it inevitably leads to forgiveness, because the character has "earned" it by changing their views, once again making the victim seem like the villain if they don't absolve the oppressor of their past "mistakes". also, it's incredibly unrealistic for someone to fall in love with a person who actively hates them and considers them sub-human. in real life, people have to work on their bigotry before that happens, not use the relationship as a plot device for character development.

i think the idea of writing a character like matthias is neat. i think portraying someone's struggle to throw off the suffocating, hateful dogma they've been fed all their life is a story we need more of. i think personal growth of this variety should be celebrated, because otherwise people would never change. but i don't think the people, fictional or real, get to do this without facing profound consequences. it is not enough to feel sorry. it is not enough to apologize. it is definitely not enough to fall in love. and i think writing that lets people off the hook like this grossly oversimplifies power and oppression, and ends up being a feel-good way to romanticize people who cause a lot of harm.

a last note: my opinion is 100% influenced by my being bipoc. matthias is a classic aryan supremacist, even if being aryan isn't the thing he's being supremacist about. my gut reaction to that type of character is always going to be mistrust, both because people in real life have given me reason to be mistrustful and because characters like these are often written in a way that makes you sympathize with oppressors. i don't think matthias earns that trust, and i don't see why i owe him my affection as a reader.

#i know i'm usually a 'haha silly little textpost' blog (and don't get me wrong i still am) but this has been on my mind for a while #to be clear i don't think you have to hate him as a character to be a morally upstanding person #and there's nothing inherently wrong about relating to him either #but i do think we as a fandom (a very white one at that) need to acknowledge this #especially because it carries over beyond fiction #stories are powerful and the messages we take from them stick with us even after we close the book #plus even by the end he still is very bigoted #and i realize that he would have had more time to work on himself if he hadn't... y'know #but that's why i like fanon matthias a lot better #he's usually further along in his unlearning process or he actually has to experience that process in a realistically painful way #in fact i really *like* matthias fanon where he actually grapples with his hatred and comes out a better person for it when it's done well #i.e. when he isn't simply forgiven by everyone (especially nina) because he says sowwy #i am thankful to leigh bardugo for creating this universe AND i think she fumbled the matthias redemption arc #nuance!! it exists!!!#ok rant over #also absolutely NO calahan hate on this post #in this house we do not equate characters with their actors #soc #soc spinoff #matthias helvar #helnik #nina zenik #sab #six of crows #save six of crows #save shadow and bone #shadow and bone #crooked kingdom #grishaverse

17 notes · View notes

demadogs · 2 years

Note

can you share your first kiss vision

GLADLY!!! also this is more just a fun concept to think about than a genuine prediction. this got kinda fanficy ngl.

so i envision it mid s5 pretty well into whatever danger will is in and mike and el are completely broken up. in this scenario its more of a thing like max where hes still himself just in danger of being tranced or something like that rather than s2 when he was possessed. (tho i dont think his danger will be the same as max’s. i think he has a deeper connection to vecna that will lead to a completely different kinda danger than what max was in.) anyways, the gang is all together and will is always being monitored whenever hes not in immediate danger just in case, similar to max. like 24/7 even when they sleep.

usually jonathan has this role but something else requires his attention so mike volunteers to keep an eye on will one night. they share a bed bc this is my vision and i make the rules and of course im only giving them one bed. as theyre getting ready to sleep mike seems visibly anxious and will asks whats wrong and mike just tells him that hes scared for him. i imagine this is the night before some big plan to defeat everything and mikes scared it wont work.

ive had this vision in my head for a while of them both in a quiet bedroom at night sitting on a bed and mikes talking about how ever since he went missing hes had such a fear of losing will for good and mikes silently crying. mike tells him “i saw your body. did anybody ever tell you that? when they lifted the fake body out of the water at the query, i was there. we were all there.” will didnt know this. mike tells him that the party rarely talks about all the upside down stuff when theres no danger present but they all have ptsd and nightmares. he tells him that their nightmares are about demogorgans and demodogs or the mindflayer or being shot at but mikes… mikes nightmares are just reliving the moment they lifted wills body out of the water.

mike tells him how the day he thought he was dead was the worst day of his life and how when he got him back he never wanted to let him go but then when the mindflayer got him he was so terrified of losing him again and he just has this terribly feeling that this time hes gonna be taken from him for good.

theyre both crying and will hugs mike super tight. a REAL HUG WITH EMOTION AND TEARS!!!! mike tells him “i cant lose you” and will says “im not going anywhere”.

eventually mike pulls away from the hug a bit but is still holding him. he rests his forehead on wills and stays there. will brings his hands up to his face and wipes his tears with his thumbs and leaves his hands there. mikes looking at his lips and its obvious that hes thinking about kissing him but hes not doing it because hes scared of risking their friendship and losing will in a different way.

then i love the idea of will knowing that mike wants to kiss him and he just nods and whispers “do it” and then mike kisses him.

mike pulls away but still leaves his face really close to his and hes kinda mentally freaking out and we can tell but will just smiles so big cuz hes so fricken happy and that instantly calms mike down and he kisses him again.

isnt my imagination great. someone send this to the duffers.

if someone wants to write this into an actual fic go nuts but plz tag me in it and credit me in the notes on ao3.

#i have like three other byler first kiss concepts in my head too lmao #i love this one tho #i have so many concepts like these of every show and every book ive ever read to the point where i genuinely didnt realize that most people-#daydream about themselves in a scenario with someone they like or something they want #couldnt be me my brain is full of fictional characters and nothing else #sometimes i even mix book universes and make an entire new story and new characters #like not a crossover a completely new character by taking traits of like 6 other book characters and giving then all to one #but im not a writer so ill never do anything with it #but i can outline the entire thing and give it to someone else to write #id be nothing without fiction #stranger things #byler #eden answers

107 notes · View notes

autumnalwalker · 6 months

Text

The Melts

Author's Note: A while back I had a bit of a ramble on how I wished that it was more common to find examples of human bodies artistically warped into new and interesting configurations presented in a manner other than horror and gave an off-the-top of my head example of a hypothetical episode of a slice-of-life series going on that theme. A couple months passed, and then with Halloween approaching, I decided on a whim to slam out a rough draft of that story over the weekend. So here we are. Summary: What if your entire body slowly melting over the course of the day got treated as being no worse than the common cold and you still have to go to work because you work retail and already used up all your sick days? Wordcount: 5,295 Content Warnings: Descriptions of the sensation of one's body slowly melting into a fleshy pile of goo, various weird anatomical modifications, spider-like creatures crawling all over people, having to go into work while sick.

Mil had the melts.

They became aware of this approximately four and a half minutes after waking up when their hand made an unfortunate squelch sound upon palming their alarm clock’s snooze button. They held their hand in place in denial for another half minute while their arm slowly stretched and drooped down into the space between bed and bedside table. They reluctantly opened their eyes and groaned at the sight of the clock’s contour pressing up through a hand whose bones had gone limp and elastic.

It was going to be one of those days.

The thought of calling in sick today briefly crossed their mind, but no, it was close to the end of the year and they’d already used up all of their sick days. Any more would have to come out of their precious holiday leave time.

It was fine, they told themself while throwing back the covers of their bed and pointedly ignoring how that arm curled back around on itself from the momentum. It was only a mild case and it would probably clear up by the time their shift was over. Enough to be annoying but nothing worth making a fuss over. Unless it was a severe case, but that almost never happens.

As a small mercy, Mil’s legs weren’t as melted as their arm so they only almost fell over immediately upon standing up on appendages that bent and swayed in spots that don’t have joints. Thank goodness for counterbalancing tails. People often called their look basic, but Mil preferred to think of it as classic. Feline ears and tails had been among the first reshapings to see mainstream adoption and Mil had personally always found more complicated additions of prehensile limbs and sensory organs to be a nightmare of overstimulation. Plus, the ears and tail were a nice aid in emoting to make up for the difficulty Mil usually had with expressing themself by voice and face alone.

By the time Mil reached the kitchen they’d found a workable rhythm to their unsteady gait that managed to keep them mostly upright. No time for anything complicated for breakfast, and probably best to keep away from the toaster in this state, so cereal it was. That had its own complications of course - grip the spoon too loosely and its weight would stretch their fingers down and apart, but too tightly and their whole hand would roll itself up and try to retract back into their arm - but several minutes of grumbling around mouthfuls of wheat byproduct and dairy tree milk where enough to convince Mil that it wasn’t really all that bad and that they’d be able to manage at work today.

They pointedly ignored the ensuing contrary evidence that came in the form of their legs getting stuck on the inside of their pants and rolling up into lumpy balls until they gave up and went with a skirt. They’d already spent all the time they normally would have devoted to their morning workout on trying to pour themself into a tight turtleneck while getting the right body parts through the right holes. Supposedly wearing snug-fitting clothing like this was an effective way to hold your shape relatively solid in a bad case of the melts - which Mil definitely (probably) didn’t have - but in practice it was not as useful a tip as its popularity would suggest.

But hey, they were fed, dressed and out of the house almost on time, so that was a victory. And it meant they were almost on time to catch the tram before it left. Oh. Wait.

It’s fine, they told themself while fiddling with the straps on the mask they’d donned on their way out the door. It would only be a few minutes until the next tram scuttled up. They’d only be a little bit late to work. Everyone would understand. Afterall, who hadn’t had the melts before? In the meantime it gave them a few extra moments to try to get their mask to squeeze their head into a less embarrassing shape. If Mil had to go in sick, it was the least they could do to try not to spread it. But if they could be considerate while not having their skull get squished in the middle into the shape of a peanut, that’d be great.

A few pats on the side of the face, a push on the the top of their head, some hard nodding, get their fingers untangled from the mask straps aaannnddd…. A plop and a dizzying snap as Mil felt their jaw distend and the lower half of their face slide fully into the mask just as the next tram arrived. Checking their reflection out in the tram’s shiny carapace confirmed that their head was an acceptable shape. Maybe a little bit snout-y, but they could write that off as being part of the feline look. So long as no one saw the mess under their mask.

The good part of being out at the end of the line like this is that Mil almost always got a decent seat on the tram and plenty of time to listen to their audio books. It almost made up for the long commute. Of course, today one earbud kept falling off the top of their head every few minutes from that ear not holding its shape well enough and the other one was worming its way uncomfortably far into an ear that seemed to be trying to swallow it through a series of expansions and contractions that mirrored Mil’s breathing. By the second stop Mil gave up and shoved both earbuds back into a skirt pocket, resigning themself to ride stewing in silence.

That silence only lasted one more stop when the bulk of the other commuters started to pour in. By the fifth stop Mil was firmly wedged between a shell-backed construction worker and a twelve-armed switchboard operator who had enough respect for personal space to keep those arms wrapped around zemself but not enough to not press three different elbows into Mil's ribs. Mil tried not to hold it against zem. It was the morning rush hour. Getting pressed together was to be expected. Even if that meant winding up half a foot taller and considerably flatter. Mil tried not to think about how many people they were spreading their melts to.

At the ninth stop Mil extruded themself from the over-packed tram and toddered over to a bench to catch their breath. If they were going to be late anyway, what was an extra minute or two to let their shoulderblades stop overlapping and left and right halves of their ribcage stop interlacing? Just a few deep breaths to puff their torso back out and they were good to go. They could fix their hair later after they got into a restroom to wash the public transit funk off their hands.

Walking into the store’s employee entrance a couple blocks down the street, Mil was greeted with the terrifying visage of their manager, Baroft. The smile wasn’t terrifying because of the fangs (Mil had been considering getting some themself for some time now but couldn’t quite justify it with how little meat they ate), nor because of the extra pair of slit-pupiled crimson eyes (pretty standard for those who could adapt to the extra sensory input), nor even for the contrast with the face’s second mouth that wasn’t smiling (that one never smiled, it wasn’t the customer service voice mouth). No, that smile was terrifying because if Baroft was happy - even worse, relieved - to see them walk in the door late for work, then that could only mean one thing.

The store was short-staffed today.

Mil would have to deal with customers.

Mil was - generally speaking - not good with people even on the best of days, and today was - as the flesh of their hand pooling at their fingertips under the force of gravity like ripening fruit would attest - not the best of days. Most of the time they got by on trading duties with coworkers to spend as much of their workday as possible on the backend duties; stocking inventory, cleaning, feeding the weavers, updating displays, etc. If one good thing could be said about Baroft it was that after seeing Mil awkwardly stumble through enough customer conversations and fitting attempts, yt had realized that putting them in a customer-facing role was more likely to lose the store money than earn it.

But now Baroft was complaining about Rangel being out on jury duty at the same time as Kalei being unable to come in due to thons kid pupating, and Paras from the evening shift had called in sick, so Mil could just imagine the sort of morning Baroft has been having, and Mil was going to have to be a team player and pull through just for today all the way through until closing time, and yes there would be overtime compensation once they made up for arriving late, and what’s Mil complaining about it’s just the melts, if they were able to get here then obviously isn’t that serious, now no attitude and best behavior in front of the customers, it was already bad enough that yt had had to call Leolani and ask eir to come in early today.

That last part cut through Baroft‘s blizzard of words and caused Mil’s heart to skip a beat. Leolani usually arrived just as Mil was getting ready to leave for the day so they didn’t know eir all that well, but the handful of brief conversations the two of them had shared always left Mil wanting to change that. It wasn’t a crush per say, only that everything about Leolani struck Mil as indescribably cool and made them wish they could be friends and hang out. Eir jacket covered in punk patches that ei left draped over the chair in the employee breakroom that no one else dared claim. Eir perfect eyeliner. The way ei could multitask taking one customer’s measurements while uncoiling eir twelve-foot neck over to help another customer pick out a suit off the rack. Eir taste in music that had made the basis for the longest interaction Mil had managed with eir.

Under other circumstances, the opportunity to spend the day commiserating with Leolani over being the two youngest employees by a wide margin and how awful the holiday rush that started earlier every year was might have almost made up for having to work late. Now though, they were suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way their spine had started to go limp in places and force them into a slouch.

Mil’s trip to the restroom to straighten up in front of the mirror was a perfunctory one. They might have arrived late to work, but no way were they going to be late to feed the weavers on schedule. Elam - in early and still in nir fall look of leaf-like orange hair and skin covered in gray keratin growths mimicking tree bark - gave a marginally less brusque than usual greeting when Mil pushed aside the heavy curtain separating the dim tailoring room from the shop, even going so far as to offer nir sympathies for Mil’s melts. Mil’s more solid hand glorped over one of the nutrient slurry canisters on the shelf as they insisted that they were fine. Just a minor case of the melts that would clear up by the afternoon.

Elam raised a skeptical woody eyebrow and offered to handle the feeding duties today, but Mil declined and stepped into the weavers’ enclosure. The way Mil saw it, they were something like an apprentice to Elam who had finally promised to teach them how to direct the weavers once the new year rolled around, so any chance to prove themself… well, it wasn’t so much welcome as not something they could afford to pass up. Experienced weaver handlers were always in demand (as evidenced by Elam being able to afford four full-body reshapes a year just to keep up the image of a tree changing with the seasons), and honestly it was the closest thing Mil had to a career advancement opportunity.

Besides, Mil genuinely liked working with weavers, they thought as the small swarm of arachnoid bio-tools began crawling all over them to get to the nutrient slurry. It was important that the weavers were well-fed in the morning before any clients came in for a fitting lest they get either too tired or too carried away with their purpose. As it was, a few of the weavers must have failed to recognize Mil’s scent and shape due to their illness and mistaken them for a client, forcing Mil to gently shoo the engineered creatures off before the threads of their turtleneck could be unpicked and reassembled into whatever pattern the weavers had last been installed with. Most of the chittering swarm sloughed off to feed once the nutrient slurry had been dispensed and Mil was able to encourage the stragglers to depart from their body heat without too much trouble.

To Mil’s chagrin, once they stepped back outside of the enclosure Elam leaned over and plucked a weaver off the back of their neck that had pushed their unusually pliant skin into a little bowl to nest in. Mil’s stammering apology was met with a laugh and an encouraging slap on the back that made their whole body ripple unpleasantly. Better than a reprimand.

Back out in the main store, Leolani had already arrived and engaged with the first customers of the morning, signing at one with eir hands while stretching eir neck over an aisle of racks to explain the fitting process to another. When ei caught Mil staring, ei sent the second customer their way. The next few minutes constituted the first grueling attempt of many that day to talk someone who wasn’t really all that interested (whether due to boredom, intimidation, lack of intent to buy, or just wanting to get their stuff and get out) through pricing options on bespoke versus alterations by limb configuration and fabric type. Or failing that to sell something off the rack, even if it was just an expensive pair of socks with the store’s monogram on it. Or failing that at least collect an email address for a mailing list. This is what made the holiday rush so awful. The rest of the year most of the store's customers were regulars who mostly had a specific goal upon walking in, but for the next couple of months traffic would surge with only a minimal uptick in actual sales to show for it. All the same, everyone that walked in had to be treated as a potential new regular just in case. As if it wasn’t already anxiety-inducing enough to deal with people whom Mil possessed at least a passing familiarity with.

By noon Mil’s ears were pressed flat back against their skull. In part, this was an expression of their mood, but mostly it was a matter of the ears’ swivel muscles losing cohesion and getting stuck in the last used position. It was making it a little bit difficult to hear clearly, but they had long since learned the hard way that making a rough guess and sticking to a script tended to be received better than asking people to repeat themselves. At last the lunch-time lull arrived and Mil was able to steal off to the break room for a reprieve. It was blessedly quiet in there save for the hum of the refrigerator holding the protein shakes Mil had stashed for days too busy for a proper lunch. Mil dipped into that stash today. Their melts were getting worse before they were getting better and the prospect of trying to wobble down the street in their current state to their usual lunch spot where they would surely be recognized struck Mil as lethally embarrassing. And exhausting.

They took the opportunity to examine the patches on Leolani‘s jacket (draped over eir chair in undisputed claim as ever) while they struggled first with the shake’s cap and then with their mask. Their fingers weren’t cooperating much at all now, between having gone mostly limp and being plumped up with all the flesh their normally-flatteringly-body-hugging turtleneck was now squeezing out of their torso and arms and into their extremities. At least one or two of the patches on the jacket had to do with bands, Mil was fairly certain. Would it make for a better conversation starter to ask Leolani about those bands, or to look up and listen to the music up themself first in order to have something in common? Mil mulled the question over while nursing their shake. Better than thinking about the similarities between their lunch and the weavers’ breakfast.

As Mil threw their head back to drain the last few drops from the protein shake’s bottle, they felt their spine come loose and their head just kept going back. And down. And around. Until it bumped into the back of the low-backed chair, upside down and just above their own waist.

They had folded themself.

Mil took a breath, held it, let it out, and came away even less calm than before. Lungs not making up their mind where they should be will do that to a body.

It was fine. This sort of thing happened. Annoying, but nothing serious.

Mil tried to swing themself upright, but it was the sudden lack of back muscles that got them into this position. They tried grabbing the chair and pulling themself up into an unbent vertical, but the strain just stretched out their hands. They tried to do the obvious thing and just stand up, but folded like a wet, heavy towel as they were over the chair’s back, they couldn’t get the proper leverage and just scrambled their feet, scooting the chair along the floor with a teeth-itching squeak.

Mil heard Leolani walk in before they saw eir. Not that they could see much besides the floor behind their chair. Leolani asked if they were alright and Mil’s mind raced with enough potential responses that it might as well have gone blank. But then fear of getting stuck won out over pride. There was no salvaging this one to come out looking cool.

Mil asked for help. Just a little bit mind you. They’d be fine if they could just get themself unfolded.

Boots made for digitigrade feet stepped into Mil’s inverted view, followed by a round face with perfect eyeliner that then rotated to match their perspective in a motion that suddenly shifted the impression from serpentine to owlish. A light joke about the view from down there was quickly followed by a warning that came at the same time as a pair of hands gripping (very literally) into Mil’s shoulders and lifting. Once ei had them upright ei asked if they were good. Mil said they were and then immediately slumped forward, overcorrecting and refolding in the opposite direction.

Leolani, neck now coiled up over and around eir own shoulders like a scarf, told them to hang for a minute and then came back with a mop handle and a roll of duct tape. A comment about a friend of eirs once having done this for eir and an apology about this feeling weird was all the warning Mil got before the Leolani began working the mop handle up the back of their shirt. Ei called it the scarecrow method of stabilization. After producing a pair of compression gloves from eir messenger bag and helping Mil get them on, Leolani let them apply the duct tape in private with a reassurance that it was the cheap stuff and would come off after a decent soak in a hot bath, if not sooner.

Trying to walk with the improvised back brace was awkward, but better than the alternative. Mil shambled out of the employee break room, wondering how much longer their legs would stay semi-solid, just in time to see a regular they recognized but couldn’t put a name to walk in. Somehow additional legs were far less popular than additional arms, so this regular’s centaur pattern group body configuration stuck out. Not that Mil knew for sure whether it was hooves, feet, or claws beneath those patent leather shoes and it would be rude to ask. What Mil did know at a glance was what xe was here for. The regular’s bat-like wings (aesthetically impressive and flexible enough to clasp in the front and fold into a cloak, but almost certainly not flight-, or even glide-rated) hadn’t been present on xyr last visit to the store. Now here was something that was as close to Mil’s comfort zone as anything got.

They greeted the regular and went through their mental script for this sort of interaction, making the appropriate vague inquiries about xyr wellbeing, complimenting xyr new wings, trying not to drip on anything as their melts slowly got worse, guiding xem through the booklets of fabric swatches and catalog of styles, and dancing around the fact that they couldn’t remember xyr name for the life of them. Once the regular made their selections, Mil led xem back to the tailoring room where they handed the selections off to Elam. Strictly speaking, Mil should have left it be from there and returned to the main display floor of the store, but they liked watching this next part and were even more willing than usual today to take any excuse for a break. If anyone asks (no one will) they’ll say that they were taking notes. Or would saying that they were assisting sound better? Whatever the truth would be on most days, this time Mil simply leaned on a wall for support and watched Elam type in a console to install the selected pattern on the weavers, guide the regular into the weavers’ enclosure, and start speaking in the language of clicks, snaps, and command phrases the bio-tools had been trained on. What before had been a disorganized collection of individual lab-created arachnoid creatures became a precision swarm washing over the regular (who had been through this enough times not to flinch too much), taking xyr measurements by touch with sensitive legs able to estimate and account for offsets due to the regular’s clothes by pressure and texture alone. Once each of the individual weavers was in position on the regular’s body Elam snapped nir fingers to send the swarm skittering into a different position, held for a few seconds of processing, then snapped again for a third configuration. A larger swarm could have generated a full three dimensional scan of a target’s body in one go, but the upkeep costs on swarm size wasn’t generally seen as being worth it just to shave off a few seconds. A final command word cleared the swarm back into the corners of the enclosure.

Like most customers, the regular elected to come back later in the day to pick up xyr new suit and have any last-minute alterations made then. As opposed to partially undressing and allowing the weavers to weave the new suit directly on. Supposedly the latter option would get a truly amazing bespoke fit, but for most it wasn’t worth standing still for an extended period of time with bug legs crawling all over you and working miniaturized biological sewing machines millimeters away from your exposed skin. Maybe one day when Mil had Elam‘s job and income they could find out for themself. For now though, Mil simply offered to lend nem a hand with loading in the fabric feedstock to get the assembly process started. It seemed that pinstripes were making a comeback this season.

The next few hours were, all things considered, not too bad. A decent portion of customers were regulars rather than randoms, Mil got to watch a couple more sessions of the weavers at work, the one song that they weren’t tired of on the station the store had been running on loop for the past three weeks came on, and - most importantly - they’d managed to keep up something like an ongoing conversation with Leolani in between customers. Now if only their melts hadn’t been getting steadily worse instead of better. By the time Mil’s normal shift would be ending they were having trouble standing up for more than a minute or so at a time. Elam even offered to talk to Baroft on nir way out - ne still got to live at nir usual time today - about letting them go on home. Against Mil’s better judgment, they turned nem down, citing the appeal of overtime pay and silently fearing that leaving might reflect poorly on their performance or attitude.

So, of course, two hours later Mil’s skeletal structure gave out altogether, reducing them to a fleshy puddle on the floor. They’d felt it coming on and had just barely been able to make it back to the breakroom and out of sight of customers. Leolani came rushing in moments later, having seen their attempt at a distressed and hasty exit. If there was a silver lining to the gross (they were on the floor in a public building) and embarrassing situation, it was that their skirt had flared out enough to preserve some semblance of modesty and mostly cover up the skin-covered blob slowly spreading across the linoleum.

When Leolani asked if they were alright, Mil’s response came out garbled and bubbling. So, no, not so much.

After several rounds of “One blink for No, two blinks for Yes,” Mil managed to first turn down an offer to call an ambulance (it might be a severe case, but it was still just the melts; they would sleep it off and be fine by morning) and then to direct Leolani to retrieve their phone and its neurolink adapter from their skirt pocket and attach the adapter to Mil’s forehead (or at least a spot on Mil’s increasingly amorphous form slightly above their eyes). Neurolinks like this one were a clumsy technology, still in its infancy, so Mil had to concentrate on a single letter at a time for a second or three apiece to make words appear on the screen, but it beat the alternative. From there the two of them were able to talk - after a fashion - and settle on the plan of laying Mil out in the tailoring room, out of sight of both customers and Baroft. If Baroft asked where they were, Leolani would cover for them and say that they were handling some task or another that Elam left for them. Afterall, with Mil only being able to sort of writhe and flop around, it’s not like they were going to be able to get themself home, so may as well just sleep it off here.

Unprompted, Leolani input eir contact info into Mil’s phone before leaving them in there. Being able to exchange text messages made lying there barely able to move in the dimly lit room for the remaining hours until closing time considerably more tolerable. Almost pleasant even, despite how exhausting trying to type with the neurolink for extended periods of got to be. The white noise of the nearby weavers’ chitters and skitters helped.

And then, as the store’s closing time was approaching and the last customer left for the night, Leolani offered to take Mil home instead of leaving them in the store overnight. Mil could keenly feel the spike in their heart rate at the question rippling through their not-quite liquefied form. The added clarification that Leolani had realized about an hour ago that the two of them both lived roughly the same part of town with the same tram stop so it wouldn’t be much of a detour for eir to drop them off at their place quickly dispelled the wilder fantasies (terrifying and idealistic alike) that Mil’s mind had started jumping to.

Mil was aware, objectively speaking, that they didn’t really know Leolani all that well outside of the off-and-on conversations about hobbies and interests they’d been having most of the day and that letting someone like that know your address and handing them your keys wasn’t really the smartest idea. Subjectively speaking however, Mil was tired, young, and platonically infatuated with their cool coworker whom they seemed to be hitting it off well with.

A few minutes later Mil heard Leolani‘s and Baroft‘s voices outside the backroom’s curtain and caught snippets of Leolani offering to close up the store for the night and lying that Baroft had just missed Mil leave a minute ago. Another minute or two of silence followed before Leolani pushed aside the curtain and strutted over to Mil carrying a large bucket. It took some doing, but ei got them to fit. The melts made flesh as compressible as it made it elastic.

Somehow being scooped up, poured into a bucket, and pressed on until they fit was not the most embarrassing experience Mil had been through that day.

Leolani was able to lift Mil’s bucket with relative ease. Surprising at first, but on second thought, Leolani must have had some manner of musculoskeletal reinforcements for strength and balance if ei was walking around with all that extra weight from eir neck sitting on eir shoulders all the time.

The conversation on the way back home was fairly one-sided. It was simply too hard to concentrate on typing through the neurolink with all the novel sensations going on. Sloshing slightly in the bucket as it swung with Leolani‘s gait. Staring straight up into the night sky (or eir face) while moving. The uncomfortable warmth generated from being their own folded blanket stuffed in a tight space. The rumbling of the tram transferred through the floor and sides of the bucket making their whole body quiver and vision blur. It was fine though. Mil had never been a big talker and Leolani seemed more than willing to fill the space. Or was ei intentionally trying to keep Mil distracted from all those other less pleasant aspects of their current situation? If ei was, it was working. And it turned out Mil hadn’t even needed to ask about the band patches; Leolani had started talking at length about them all on eir own. Best of all, stuck looking out of the bucket up at the ceiling like this, Mil couldn’t see anyone else staring at them and could almost pretend it was just the eir and them without the eyes of strangers that had always made them uncomfortable.

And then Leolani was standing at the door to Mil’s apartment, holding their keys. Ei let eirself inside, carrying Mil’s bucket with eir, found their bed, lifted them from the bucket, and laid them out flat on top of the sheets. Being exposed to cool air again was a blessed relief. They would absolutely need a shower in the morning, but for right now they were too exhausted to care. They tried not to think too hard about how being rather literal putty in Leolani‘s hands felt.

Duty done and aid rendered, Leolani left the neurolink on Mil’s face in case anything came up in the night before they solidified, left the keys on the bedside table, left the lights off, and left the apartment.

On eir way out, ei suggested hanging out together sometime when they weren’t sick.

*******

Mil’s hand made a perfectly normal pap sound upon palming their alarm clock’s snooze button. Their hand was hand-shaped and none of their bones wobbled. And why wouldn’t that be the case after a good night’s sleep?

It had only been the melts.

#writeblr #my writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #body horror #sliceoflife #slice of life #short story #Halloween #If I were ever to go back and do a second draft of this the two main things I'd want to do are add dialogue and make it weirder.#More mouths and eyeballs in places they're not supposed to go. Everyone loves those right? Maybe some tentacles.#Maybe add another coworker who used to be two or more separate people before fusing their bodies together into a lovely chimerical mess.#Going all in on the neopronouns and giving every character their own individual pronouns was a fun exercise.#Mil using they/them is part of them being “basic” and boring.#I'm a little sad that I wasn't able to work a “nyanbinary” pun in there somewhere #but with binary identity already being out the window to begin with I realized that it would have been out of place/redundant.#Mil's name derives from me watching “Milo and Otis” as a kid then naming our first orange cat that #then having an old recurring catboy OC named Milo that I used a lot of games and stories I never wrote down #and then shaving off the “o” for this newest iteration to make the name a little more gender-neutral to my ears.#Everyone else had placeholder names until after I finished the story and then filled them back in via random generator.#The real monster here is capitalism and the real horror is having to go to work while sick.#I've never actually worked in retail myself so most everything I know of it comes from movies and TV. And seeing it from the customer POV.#There's a semi-upscale clothing store near where I live that I briefly visited years ago and I got halfway through this going by that memor #Then to refresh myself I went there again and straight up told an employee I was writing a story and asked what it was like to work there.#It was a strangely liberating experience. Especially with my usual social anxiety issues. (Sorry Mil those are yours too now. Lacuna too #That's where I got the thing about regulars being the normal main customers the detail about the one liked song song on the looping radio #most of the staff being older and the tailor/bespoke clothing guy being sort of a separate business within the store.

9 notes · View notes