18+
I write stuff. Mostly gay stuff, all either Hannibal or The Magnus Archives stuff. Questionable pairings, weird fetishes, and loooooooong fics abound; readers beware.
Do go follow my boyfriend/editor/writing partner/other half of my soul: https://www.tumblr.com/frumious-bandersnatch-ao3
Hi! You can call me Jax or Deed, he/him. Nice to meet you!
I love asks, comments, and literally all forms of interaction. Don't be shy!
But 18+ only, please.
~Tags:
#kink stuff - For all things weight gain related. Filter out if you'd rather not see any of that!
#prompts/#prompt - For prompt fills. Rather self-explanatory
#deed's stupid fish/#deed's stupid cats - This one kind of explains itself, too
#deed's stupid book - my stupid book, Mortifications of the Flesh
#shitpost - Look at my memes, boy
#boyfran's stuff - Boyfran's stuff
Otherwise, I do my best to tag for content and trigger warnings (gore, death, angst, noncon/dubcon, etc.). If you spot a fic or post that needs a tag I've missed, don't hesitate to let me know!
~Housekeeping:
My AO3 account!
Mortifications of the Flesh - my urban fantasy/thriller novel. Constructive criticism and feedback cautiously welcome because I am a wiener
Fed - my collection of short WG stories, the first in a series. Only $3.50 USD! Currently working on the next installment, Well-Fed
Currently open for Project Hail Mary/Iron Lung/Bloody Mary prompts
Session Notes is my series of Hannibal prompt fills on AO3
Cutting Room Floor is my series of The Magnus Archives prompt fills on AO3
We'll Return After These Messages is my series of Deltarune prompt fills on AO3
~Other stuff:
I am working on Titanverse, an extremely ambitious and comprehensive TMA AU, with my boyfriend, who deserves a follow. Hoping to start posting that sometime this year!
I like an Adrian who loves Grace just as much, if not more than, Rocky does. I like an Adrian who understands how important he is to their mate, who regards him as something precious in large part because he saved Rocky. I like an Adrian who took the lead on the habitat project out of a strong desire to help Grace. I like an Adrian who enthusiastically invites Grace into their and Rocky's marriage, if I'm in a shippy mood.
But I also think it would make sense for them to be resentful and jealous of what Grace and Rocky have between the two of them.
We know Eridians pair-bond. Whether that's biologically driven or a social construct doesn't matter. We also know that they have - for lack of a better term - very human emotions, or perhaps a better way of putting is that emotions across social, sapient species are very similar in the PHM universe. And it is unfair but not inaccurate to call Rocky and Grace's relationship an emotional affair.
Adrian is implied (although not outright stated) to have remained faithful to Rocky for nearly fifty years. Which isn't as long for Eridians as it is for humans, but it's more than long enough that no one would have faulted them for moving on; Rocky even mentions to Grace that they likely have a new mate, though the thought seems to cause him pain. But they didn't. They waited for Rocky.
And he came home with somebody else. Someone who shares his experiences and understands him in a way you will never be able to, someone who's the only reason he's still alive, someone who immediately needed a massive amount of round-the-clock care just to survive. So even after Rocky landed, Adrian didn't get him back, not really. Not his full, undivided attention. Even once Grace is stable and everything's in place, there's Rocky, tweaking his suit so he can get as close to him as physically possible when Eridians only touch each other during sleep, and there's Adrian. Adjusting the temperature of Grace's miniature ocean by degrees so it's just right when he asks.
How do you hate the thing who saved your planet, your people, and your spouse? How do you tell your spouse you hate their soulmate? How do you care for the thing that stole them from you?
And how would Grace react to realizing he's (however unintentionally) the other woman?
Ryland Grace and the narrative he occupies are fascinating to me, particularly the roles that anger and fear play for both.
This has probably been done better by other people, but I wanted to get my thoughts down.
We know Grace was incredibly angry as a younger man. Vindictively, savagely, self-destructively furious. He torpedoed his career, torched every bridge he had, and salted the earth behind him - all in defense of a theory that the viewer is unequivocally told is wrong. Astrophage has water in it; in the book, it's made clear that Eridians do, too, and that's interesting. That that rage is never vindicated.
That's not how things usually work - the abrasive young wunderkind might be completely out of line, but he's right! But PHM firmly lets that particular narrative pitfall wither on the vine, along with quite a few others.
When the film starts, Grace has spent years if not excising, then taming that anger. He is gentle, vulnerable, funny. He dresses in soft and eccentric clothing, he works with children, they love him. When Stratt brings out his thesis, he's visibly embarrassed. He is not that person anymore. He doesn't want to be.
(Relatedly, that's why I think that when he tried to literally nope out of Stratt's room of experts when asked to explain Astrophage breeding to them, it wasn't stage fright or intimidation. He was afraid of it happening again.)
Most interestingly is that when you see this in countless other stories, a man who's lost his anger and/or who is no longer working in his chosen field is a tragic, pitiable figure. He's a has-been, he's broken. Washed up. Missing something vital. But Grace isn't presented that way at all.
It is a good thing that he's not angry anymore. (The closest we get is him throwing a little tantrum in the lab after finding water in Astrophage - old wounds resurfacing, a glimpse of who he used to be, and something that's played for cringing laughs.) It's a good thing he's not that person who can't stop and think or take criticism or input or play well with others anymore, because if he were - he wouldn't have survived. Earth and Erid wouldn't have survived!
Even when it would be understandable for him to be angry, he's quickly soothed by Rocky and the pressing necessity of the situation. It's not a useful emotion for the mission or for Grace. It's made so clear that not only is this a net good, but he ends the film as a teacher again, a "lesser" job that he sees as vitally important and personally fulfilling. There was never anything wrong with him or anything missing.
Which brings me to the fear.
I feel like fear is presented as a fairly neutral emotion in the film, especially because Grace's cowardice comes through much more strongly than in the book. His initial refusal to sacrifice himself for Earth doesn't make him a villain. It's understandable, and there is no satisfaction in his being run down, tied up, knocked out, and loaded onto the Hail Mary.
If he'd made it, or if Stratt had listened to his "no," it wouldn't have made him evil...but it would have been the wrong decision for Grace personally. I don't think he could have lived with it. He would have wondered, as people died the world over, how many fewer of them there would have been if he'd gone when he were asked.
In the moment, the fear overwhelmed his ability for foresight and reasoning. Kind of like the anger did when he was younger, at the UNESCO science conference he dug his grave at.
But Grace is a man who knows how to change, how to work on himself, and how to adapt. So when he's presented with the exact same choice near the end of the story, but without anyone to force him this time, he chooses differently. He goes back for Rocky and Erid, because even though he's still afraid to die, he loves him enough to face death down voluntarily to save lives. And that brings his character arc to an immensely satisfying final resting place.
PHM is a story about a man embracing things beyond anger and fear and being a hero for it. You do not have to be angry, it's okay if you're afraid, it's okay if you're wrong. The love is enough, and you won't make it without other people.
Also the fact he tried to use his students as an excuse to stay on Earth even though they didn't actually need him versus actually going back for Rocky, who very much did. What love does for a mfer.
That should've been in the original post, but I can at least bring it out of the tags. Thank you.
Ryland Grace and the narrative he occupies are fascinating to me, particularly the roles that anger and fear play for both.
This has probably been done better by other people, but I wanted to get my thoughts down.
We know Grace was incredibly angry as a younger man. Vindictively, savagely, self-destructively furious. He torpedoed his career, torched every bridge he had, and salted the earth behind him - all in defense of a theory that the viewer is unequivocally told is wrong. Astrophage has water in it; in the book, it's made clear that Eridians do, too, and that's interesting. That that rage is never vindicated.
That's not how things usually work - the abrasive young wunderkind might be completely out of line, but he's right! But PHM firmly lets that particular narrative pitfall wither on the vine, along with quite a few others.
When the film starts, Grace has spent years if not excising, then taming that anger. He is gentle, vulnerable, funny. He dresses in soft and eccentric clothing, he works with children, they love him. When Stratt brings out his thesis, he's visibly embarrassed. He is not that person anymore. He doesn't want to be.
(Relatedly, that's why I think that when he tried to literally nope out of Stratt's room of experts when asked to explain Astrophage breeding to them, it wasn't stage fright or intimidation. He was afraid of it happening again.)
Most interestingly is that when you see this in countless other stories, a man who's lost his anger and/or who is no longer working in his chosen field is a tragic, pitiable figure. He's a has-been, he's broken. Washed up. Missing something vital. But Grace isn't presented that way at all.
It is a good thing that he's not angry anymore. (The closest we get is him throwing a little tantrum in the lab after finding water in Astrophage - old wounds resurfacing, a glimpse of who he used to be, and something that's played for cringing laughs.) It's a good thing he's not that person who can't stop and think or take criticism or input or play well with others anymore, because if he were - he wouldn't have survived. Earth and Erid wouldn't have survived!
Even when it would be understandable for him to be angry, he's quickly soothed by Rocky and the pressing necessity of the situation. It's not a useful emotion for the mission or for Grace. It's made so clear that not only is this a net good, but he ends the film as a teacher again, a "lesser" job that he sees as vitally important and personally fulfilling. There was never anything wrong with him or anything missing.
Which brings me to the fear.
I feel like fear is presented as a fairly neutral emotion in the film, especially because Grace's cowardice comes through much more strongly than in the book. His initial refusal to sacrifice himself for Earth doesn't make him a villain. It's understandable, and there is no satisfaction in his being run down, tied up, knocked out, and loaded onto the Hail Mary.
If he'd made it, or if Stratt had listened to his "no," it wouldn't have made him evil...but it would have been the wrong decision for Grace personally. I don't think he could have lived with it. He would have wondered, as people died the world over, how many fewer of them there would have been if he'd gone when he were asked.
In the moment, the fear overwhelmed his ability for foresight and reasoning. Kind of like the anger did when he was younger, at the UNESCO science conference he dug his grave at.
But Grace is a man who knows how to change, how to work on himself, and how to adapt. So when he's presented with the exact same choice near the end of the story, but without anyone to force him this time, he chooses differently. He goes back for Rocky and Erid, because even though he's still afraid to die, he loves him enough to face death down voluntarily to save lives. And that brings his character arc to an immensely satisfying final resting place.
PHM is a story about a man embracing things beyond anger and fear and being a hero for it. You do not have to be angry, it's okay if you're afraid, it's okay if you're wrong. The love is enough, and you won't make it without other people.
I feel like a very universal experience, for those of us who showed a talent and a drive for writing at an early age, is being earnestly told you're going to be the next King/Meyers/insert-other-mega-author-here by a whole lot of very kind and well-meaning people who don't know shit about dick
Everybody is born with their own magic. We call this a âthaumaturgicalâ or âarcane signature,â which is a very fancy term for a lot of different things all together:
What kind of magic youâre born with
How much magic youâre born with
What kind of magic you can use
How good you might be at that magic
All of these depend on a lot of different things, like what species you are. If youâre an angel, you might have been born with a lot of magic inside of you, and that magic might have an effect on the world around you, like helping plants grow. But you might not be very good at controlling it, or using other types of magic that come from outside of your body. We call that âchanneling.â
If youâre a human, then the opposite might be true for you: you werenât born with very much magic inside of you, but you can use just about any kind of magic that there is - even some very dangerous kinds! But while an angel uses their magic automatically, you might need some help from a special tool, like a wand or a staff, which is just fine.
But you can never be sure just based on what you think somebodyâs species is. Itâs not only rude to assume, it can be dangerous. Thatâs why we have tests that can find out all the things that make up your personal thaumaturgical signature, and give you a score based on that. Â
Depending on how old you are, you might have already had some of these tests in school. They can be pretty fun, canât they?
- Excerpt from The Smart Kidâs Guide to Magic, Lacey Burkett, Simon & Schuster, 1998
I know this is relevant and exciting mostly only to you and I specifically but âïž may I prompt you for some Lukas family incest đ„ș
You most certainly can!
Featuring Conrad, a man who was mentioned exactly once and barely even in the canon series. Or at least our version of him, because between you and me, he's basically an OC by now.
Good for Peter, finally having sex with someone besides Elias.
It was a mild marvel for Peter, just how strong the Lukas genes were. They took in outside blood out of necessity, and because their selection criteria had an awful lot more to do with personality than phenotype, those marriages were to honey blondes, redheads, brunettes light and dark. Green eyes, gray, black and brown, hazel and dark blue. And yet all those who came to the family by birth rather than law came out looking almost exactly the same. Skin pale as milk, hair white-blonde even past childhood. They might have passed for albino if not for the watery blue of their eyes. Men and women who seemed to have evolved to fade into the fog.
Perhaps it truly was some genetic quirk, or perhaps instead due to the cumulative effect of the One Alone, half a dozen generations born worshiping the same colorless god. Or maybe it was some combination of both; Peter honestly couldnât have cared less, which was how he felt about most things.
But the minor mystery of it drifted back into his mind whenever one of his cousins or uncles stood naked in front of him - as Conrad did now - and he saw his own features reflected almost perfectly back at him. The same tall, broad frame, the same forgettable, almost vague face. The main difference between Peter and this particular cousin was that while Peter knew he wore a permanent expression of detached affability, Conrad had one of barely-suppressed irritation.
Lukases married outside, because the family fortune was more than large enough to accommodate it, and because inbreeding served no one at all. The children would be born Lukases regardless, and those that were improper heirs to their heritage would be winnowed away at a young age, as Peterâs siblings had been. But non-procreational sexâŠthat, they kept in the family. It was as close as you could get to fucking yourself, and therefore fucking no one at all.
They did not kiss. Of course not, never. What little talk there was remained curt and monosyllabic, only what was strictly necessary. âOn the bed.â âThere.â âReady.â There was no foreplay - it was the responsibility of the receiver to properly prepare himself, which Peter had done.
Conrad wore a condom, and when he grabbed Peterâs hips, it was with gloved hands.
The rubber did not hide the faint chill of him, which matched Peterâs own. They were a cold people, the Lukases, both figuratively and literally. But Peter had always fancied that his chill resembled that of northern fog on the open ocean, while Conradâs spoke more of the upper atmosphere.
The coupling was characteristically passionless, which was not at all to say that it was gentle. Conradâs motions were aggressive, powerful, violent thrusts that might have wrung cries of pain from a smaller man, or one less accustomed to his hateful approach to sex. Conrad fucked from a place of deep frustration, as if he were barely aware there were even a hole in front of him, much less a body; he fucked as if trying to relieve tension that would never be unknit. And Peter took it, silent, calm, motionless.
There were many different flavors of loneliness. The Lukases as a family ran towards the melancholy, but those members who had been lucky enough to cultivate their own spark of minor divinity were scattered all across the spectrum. Peterâs own particular flavor was that thin veer of strained basic politeness, quickly-exhausted social scripts that only barely hid a yawning void of disconnection and apathy. And ConradâŠwell. To say he was angry both did him a disservice and implied an affinity for the Desolation, which was incorrect. There were strains of that particular emotion that belonged to the Lonely, black fury and loathing that not only fed on isolation but ate a gulf between oneâs self and other people, and it was there that Conrad had planted his flag, intentionally or not.
Peter had heard it made him quite the successful scientist.
Conrad finished; so did Peter. The orgasm, much like the shared color of their eyes, was thin and watery. Stripping himself of rubber, Conrad went to dress, Peter to shower, and it all felt so awfully familiar. Perhaps because it was. Whenever the family gathered at Moorland House, Peter took three, occasionally four partners over the course of the week or so they stayed - which seemed like a lot until you realized they only got together once or twice a decade. One of those partners was almost always Conrad.
That could become a problem, and Peter ought to say so. Instead, he said pleasantly, âSame time next funeral?â
Conrad gave him a look of stony rage, and slammed the door behind himself.
Why is there no content of my OC . Why is it that everyone else isnât also obsessed with him. No one else wants to put him in a blender??? The guy that literally only I and perhaps seven other people know about??
Echoing much of her behavior during her original trial, Whelan showed no reaction to the boardâs decision.
âEveryone knows itâs just a formality,â Loretta Keyes, the sister of one of Whelanâs victims, said afterwards. According to Keyes, she has attended every one of Whelanâs parole hearings and appeals, and plans to continue to do so. âSheâs never getting out. But itâs still nice to see justice being served.â She paused for a moment. âWellâŠmostly.â
âŠ
The United States is one of only two Western countries that currently allow haunting as punishment for a crime. The other is the Most Holy Teutonic Empire, known more commonly as Teutonia.
âŠ
The whereabouts of Whelanâs twin sons are not public information at this moment. Their records have been sealed and expunged, as they were minors at the time of their acquittal.
âŠ
Whelan did not respond to a request for comment submitted through the prison.
- Excerpts from ââKennebec Killerâ Denied Parole, Spectral Relief,â Christopher Palau, Kennebec Journal, May 9, 2019
Elias desires to mark Jon as his in a way that will tie them together long-term. Elias wants Jon more dependent on him. Elias wants to please Beholding, and his god has just provided him with the opportunity to do all three: adjusting Jonâs body so Jon can get pregnant.
Jon realizes that sleeping with his boss might have had a few unexpected consequences.
Ohhhhhh yes.
God, this is delicious. The inherent horror of it (maybe hiding some guilty pleasure?). The forced submission to care and to Elias in general. The mystery of exactly what a child conceived by a full avatar and an up-and-coming one, through the power of the Fear they both serve, might look like.
Also: I kept it light on the aspects of other kinks just because nothing besides pregnancy and possession was specified, but because I'm me, of course stuff snuck in there anyways.
Jon is a coddled, gentle thing these days, a state he cannot help but be extremely aware of. Round and sedentary, pampered and overfed, all in stark contrast to the behavior that put him in this position to begin with.
It was barely a conscious decision to let Elias fuck him, and it was not about the sex. Jon clawed, he bucked, he writhed, he screamed, and even though Elias seemed to enjoy everything he did, he felt for a moment like he was in control again. Fuck the archives, fuck Gertrude, fuck the unsteady and maddening drip of sometimes-inaccurate information, fuck Elias and his eldritch management style that was somehow simultaneously distant and overbearing, fuck Elias, fuck Elias, fuck Elias -Â
It troubles Jon sometimes that he isnât sure whether or not he still would have done it if heâd known Elias would breed him.
Of course Jon did not come gently in the beginning. Months after their tryst, after weeks of Jon noting his slowly-growing middle, Elias called him into his office and told him point-blank he was pregnant, to which Jon responded in what he still feels was a reasonable manner for someone who hadnât been originally born with the equipment necessary for pregnancy. Elias asked him what he expected, having unprotected sex; he told him this was not the strangest thing yet to happen to him personally by half, never mind what heâd heard in statements, and Jon shouted him down. To the extent Rosie came to check on them, only to be turned calmly away by Elias.
In many ways, it was quite magnanimous of Elias not to point out that the fury and disbelief were both mostly performative, Jon having of course long suspected. Perhaps he understood it was the performance itself that mattered. And that without it Jon would not have settled so quickly, albeit outwardly quite grudgingly, into the current state of things.
âYouâll move into my flat,â Elias had said pleasantly once Jon had worn himself out and collapsed back into the chair in front of his desk. âEasier to keep an eye on you, that way.â He stood, came around his desk, put a hand almost tenderly on Jonâs shoulder. âYouâll need a new wardrobe; Iâll supply it. Youâll be put on light duty, and of course weâll plan for a very long maternity leave, in case ofâŠunexpected outcomes. And youâll allow me to see to the rest of the care youâll need.â
âOh, will I?â Jon muttered bitterly, not shrugging off Eliasâs touch.
âYes.â
And so Jon did, and does.
He is seven months along now, by Eliasâs count, which he has no real reason to question except that he feels like heâs much larger than perhaps he ought to be. His belly, high, round, enormous, seems to fill his entire lap when he sits, forcing apart thighs that have themselves grown plush and wide. It could simply be that his frame is so small; it could be that everyone carries differently; it could be that Elias is keeping him extremely well-fed, in terms of both fear and food. Â
It could be multiples. He feels some days as if he is carrying an entire litter, but it isnât as if he would know. Traditional prenatal care does not seem necessary in this case, and Elias - who undoubtedly Knows - will not tell him, because as doting as he has become, he is not any less infuriating.
âIf you want to know, youâll have to Look yourselfâŠbut youâve gotten lazy,â he says pleasantly one night as he kneels beside the tub, running a soaped sponge over Jonâs gigantic stomach and the pert, full tits that have grown in above it. He doesnât acknowledge Jonâs glare.
âIâll know in a couple more months regardless,â Jon mutters after a moment, settling back into the hot water.
âPerhaps.â
âWhat do you mean, âperhaps?ââ
âPhobic pregnancies donât always behave as ordinary ones do,â Elias says mysteriously, and rather than answering when Jon demands to know what that means, plies him into silence with chocolate and lotion.
Jonâs gravid state has not gone unnoticed at work; how could it, with the size of him, the shape that his very obvious weight gain does not entirely account for? He has been offered cautious congratulations here and there, but for the most part, there have been few comments, few questions, no attempts (thankfully) to touch his belly. Perhaps because heâs a man; perhaps because there is no question whatsoever who the father is. Elias hovers, hands on Jonâs shoulders, the small of his back. Checks constantly to make sure he isnât hungry, isnât cold, doesnât need another pillow to lean against, doesnât need to sit down on the rare occasions when he isnât.
They are rarely apart, even at work. The stairs have become too much for Jon so he ventures only sporadically into the archives anymore; he does what managing of the department is necessary from Eliasâs office, which he now shares. When he isnât reading statements, he sits in on his meetings. With department heads, colleagues. Donors. Peers among that small, elite community which serves the Fears at the same level Elias (and Jon himself, if Elias is to be believed) does.
They speak about him as if he isnât in the room. One refers to him as âBouchardâs little broodmare,â another says he looks as if heâs âabout ready to popâ and reacts with shock upon learning itâll be another few months yet. Jon would perhaps be more offended that Elias allows this kind of talk about him with nothing more than a slight smile if he did not take these meetings on the complete opposite side of the office from him, and if he did not react the way that he does to those who dare to try to cross that invisible boundary.
From the way those few violators react, Jon suspects it is the first time that Elias has shown his true strength. That they have been forced to think of him as anything but a rigid and outdated occasional means to an end. Jon thinks working for him for a few months would have cured them of that misapprehension just as well as getting too close to Jon himself doesâŠor carrying his child.
âDid you know this would happen?â Jon asks Elias one night, lying in bed with him in his nest of pillows, feeling rather more like a beached whale than usual after dinner and dessert, hand-fed to him not long previous.
âIâve told you before, Jon,â Elias says, long-suffering. âI donât Know the future, that isnât how it works.â
Jon tries a different tack. âDid you want it to?â
âThe Ceaseless Watcher obviously did.â Eliasâs tone implies that ought to be enough for them both. âYou really ought to sleep. I Know youâre exhausted.â
Jon closes his eyes, and wonders if the warmth he feels is the sensation of having pleased his god, or of pleasing Elias.
I can still hear his stupid voice every time I do anything, like the sound of himâs burned onto my soul. I hope itâs not like that for the others. I hope itâs just because Iâm the oldest and Iâm an archangel, so he was more interested in me than any of the rest of them except for [illegible - a name has been aggressively crossed out]
I guess I donât want to ask just in case they do hear him, like I do. What would I do if I knew they did?
When theyâre trying to relax. âAn angel knows no life but service, and lives only for the Lord.â
When they go out. âAn angel is of Heaven, not of the world, even while in the world.â
When they eat. âThe love of the Lord alone sustains those who have earned it.â
God forbid we actually try to touch someone. Itâs like heâs standing over me again, shouting while they hold me down and [illegible]
âAbove all else, an angel remains pure.â
- Excerpt from therapeutic journal of Camael Angaros, 2013
