Stupid things I write.

Because, how do I English? I write stuff. A mixed bag of stuff really. Sometimes I shitpost. If You are here, You accept you might be spoiled on things I write. Mileage may vary - content not always suitable for minors.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

well, almost died twice in the meantime *fingerguns* the time travel fuckups are back, but it's marjory and her guest(s)? you have no idea how weird someone's family is. tagging it because it technically is.

*

Marjory watched them drive down the dirt road on the security monitor. Reasonably convinced they wouldn’t turn back and surprise her, she put on the water and prepared the tray: two cups, two spoons, a sugar bowl, a plate with some soft cookies turning stale, and a teapot.

Outside, the hot air remained unmoving, and the evening cicadas were waking up. She put the tray on the table on the porch and poured both cups, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to one. Then, she sat down in her wicker chair, stirring the tea. It was sweet and steaming hot, just how she liked it, perfect for forcing the body to try and cool off.

“Now,” Marjory looked to the trees in front of the house, “after all this time, you could at least come out and say hi.”

She sipped her cup. The porch light came on and the night birds tentatively started their calls. With a metallic rustle, a dark figure materialized in the chair on the other side of the small table, a clawed hand reaching for the remaining cup. Marjory hmmed at the dark droplets left on the scuffed but still vaguely white tray.

“I hope you’re going to tidy up the shed after, I’m a little too old and frail to be digging graves somewhere in the woods on my own again.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Lo and behold, it speaks.” Marjory kept her tone flat while her companion removed his mask to drink. “Old age’s an ugly motherfucker, I’ve got arthritis acting up, and you look like you’ve got it worse.”

She heard the quiet snort.

“Maybe.”

“So, why are you here?” Her answer was an object dangling from a short chain, held over the table – a dog tag – old and worn down, bent irregularly, and at points opalescent. In this light, she would need her glasses, but it didn’t matter. She nodded. “What are you going to do about it?”

The silence between them stretched, neither uncomfortable nor heavy, just uncertain.

“I don’t know.”

“Fair,” Marjory pulled her shawl off the railing where she had hung it out to dry earlier in the day and wrapped it around her shoulders. She poured herself another cup of tea; the evening was turning out to be a pleasant affair after all.

“The Bigfoot story,” Reaper spoke for the first time without prodding. “Is it true?”

She smiled.

“Everyone needs a little bit of magic in their lives.”

[onebigwhale]

when ghostsoap meet reaper76

[mothtarts]

I feel you all on feral Jack. My personal go to thing is archiveofourown(.)org/series/1242530 . The whole question of 'who ripped off the sink and why's it in the ceiling' never ceases to amuse me.

omg i just read this its so fuckinf good. i just can’t get over the characterization of them. sombra also carried lol. their so shitty and bitter i love it. their obviously in love too but they hate each other for a while. just so good

[gyromitra-esculenta]

of all the posts to land on my recommended, and of all the stories to get recommended, well. anyway, pretty stoked something was entertaining :)

ah. depending on what you're looking exactly for, you might enjoy from the crack 'uncle herman' or 'awkward doesn't cut it', and in more serious vein, 'died on saturday'.

fuck, i feel like such a shill.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

work in progress wednesday - steampunk vampires still. only a warning for jack’s oc!twinsister, i guess

*

“Your future, and only, brother-in-law,” Baptiste chuckles, pulling his surgical bag from under the table and setting the tools out. “Off with it.”

“Why are you letting your fiancé bully me?”

“Oh, so dramatic,” Jayne blows him a kiss. “It wouldn’t do if you croaked before you hand me off at the altar. I’d rather have someone puppet your warm corpse, and this is a promise, before I’d push back the date for the appropriate length of mourning.”

*

bonus from ‘unnamed thing’ (it’s not what you’d expect, working title is solomon grundy 2)

The kid was broken: downright vicious in that certain personal way only a human thoroughly mangled by malice and circumstance could be. With bared teeth and broken nails, swiping with his left hand at blood on his upper lip, he stood on the training mat, knife held steady in front him.

“Again.” Gabriel found himself calling out, and dodging out of the swing’s way – grabbing the kid’s wrist, and slamming his elbow with a fist. The kid collapsed with a shriek of pain, immediately pawing the mat for the lost knife with his other hand. “Too slow. Up and again.”

*

2nd bonus sketch:

"Would you believe time travel?"

"Sure. If cousin Remy fucked a bigfoot..."

"For fuck's sake! For the last time, it's not a bigfoot, it's a guy with hypertrichosis that just like streaking through the woods with his dong out and swinging!"

"Time travel it is, then."

"...am I that predictable?"

[gyromitra-esculenta]

work in prgress wednesday - steampunk vampires. well, from perspective, it’s quite probable that whatever’s going on in this fragment is not what’s really going on.

*

Jack gestures at the other side of the bed with his head.

“If you’re not coming, draw the curtains shut on the way out, would you?”

A mistake, one of his own making, without the grace of a pretense of seduction as he leaves his coat and jacket – even the gloves – folded over the back of a solitary chair, and crosses the room to sit at the edge of the bed.

‘Yet the world moves ever forward.’ Trite, if true. The endless procession of faces throughout the centuries, from the banks of Arga turning red with lifeblood of Iruña, till now, with only one constant.

The mattress shifts behind Gabriel, hands reach over his shoulders – fingers unhurriedly finding buttons of his shirt – the boy leaning against his back, pulling the fabric away from the waist of his pants, palms sliding over his stomach. He catches Jack’s wrist and runs his thumb over the wide raised scar almost circling it; the boy, chuckling into his shoulder, bloodied even before his ascension – the same hand cupping his cheek and turning his face to meet the unearthly blue of Jack’s eyes.

“I know what I want. Do you?”

[theslowesthnery]

another one of my monsterfucking posts took off a little bit and once again the tags are full of people naming conventionally attractive, mostly-if-not-completely human-looking men

i will strangle you with my feet

[shrimpmandan]

SERIOUSLY ILL FUCKING SAY “oh im a monsterfucker” AND SOME FUCK WILL SHOW ME A PICTURE OF A TWINK LIKE NO NO NO THATS NOT A MONSTER THATS KEVIN FROM ACCOUNTING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[knightoflodis]

With your feet you say?

[dashaibo]

I mean…

Let’s not pit bad bitches against each other, there’s enough man-meat for everyone

[shrimpmandan]

Both is good SOMETIMES I just don’t know how to communicate to people that me being a teratophile literally means I’m attracted to people who are not conventionally attractive I do not think Chris Pratt with fangs is sexy

[theslowesthnery]

“both is good” not when it’s a post explicitly about big, scary monstrous dudes!! keep your human-sized, conventionally attractive human-looking guys to yourself or make your own post, i’m specifically talking about boys who look like this

if your average person wouldn’t scream and run or straight up faint from fear upon seeing them for the first time, my monsterfucking posts aren’t about them and i’m tired of seeing the same geralts and hannibals and other run-of-the-mill mostly-conventionally attractive human-looking men being tagged in the notes

[theslowesthnery]

BECAUSE HE’S A BIG SEXY BEAUTIFUL MONSTER MAN WHO DESERVES TO BE BENT OVER AND BRED, THAT’S WHY

[lucenorthstar]

I see your big beautiful horned demon and will humbly bring forward some 7-8ft tall sexy alien lads

[gyromitra-esculenta]

okay. i applaud all of your choices, because those are some sexy choices, but i have to stand in defense of geralt of rivia being at least a little bit in teratophilia category since everybody seems to be referencing netflix series or game geralt, or at best first comic books geralt, and NEVER the original one: the one and only book geralt.

like, he's more shaped like a human than less, but he does have a monstrous look to him. he's not handsome at all. he appears more like a zombie, albinism and other mutations included. actually, he looks like he's been on a heavy alcoholic binge for past few months and is just reaching sobriety for the first time since the start, with sallow unhealthy complexion, like he's going to break into delirium tremens, shakes included, any moment.

it's a motif that monstrous - and unlike other witchers he cannot hide his otherness - attracts monstrous, metaphorical or physical - this includes sorceresses, renfri, etc. he has to pay for sex, otherwise.

that's all. book geralt is not nice to look at, definitely, and his otherness is obvious.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Work in progress Wednesday, the dreaded ‘steampunk vampires’, and the things I had to google for the short transition, like plotting a reasonable route to get to London from ‘nothingwhere’ somewhere in the south of Crimea, or ‘what would be a colloquial name for morphine in 1910-20s’, or ‘what high class hotels were in 1920 in Copenhagen’, or ‘remember, it’s Constantinople, not Istanbul, in 1920′. Well, barely anything happens, but a wedding is mentioned. Also, mostly unedited.

*

The drive to Odessa takes well over a day, and to Jack's utmost satisfaction Gabriel has to forgo his wide-rimmed hat for the time as it turns out to be anything but aerodynamic. He doesn't ask about the Andalusian, sure it will find its way to the owner when needed. Then the situation gets turned back on Jack when his credit line at the bank is refused due to his lack of perceived regality until Gabriel vouches for him as his ward, which he, in the legal sense, probably is. He wouldn't put it past father to do so, the miserable fuck.

Only in the cabin of the ship bound for Constantinople, Jack lets himself rest, with a little help from Miss Emma for the insomnia and his shoulder, painful and contrary now after the stretch behind the steering wheel over the dirt roads and fallows. He dreams of the ghosts of Bosporus pulling him down into the depths of the strait and of teeth in his neck - the afterimages last until hours past the boarding of the train, the automobile sent back separately via the sea route. The days slip by in a flurry of indifferent phantasms punctuated by mostly polite non-conversations with Gabriel hovering over him as Jack medicates for the pain. The wound, left alone, is stiff but healing properly, and shouldn't bother him in the foreseeable future.

Jack leaves off the morphine a day before they arrive in Copenhagen; the city itself welcomes them with sunny disposition and crisp air regardless of the talk of a plague sweeping through Europe said to kill unfortunates in less than a night. Yet, there is no delay or any other trouble at the zeppelin terminal to book a seat on flight to London for the next day. Jack, with barely suppressed glee, spends the whole evening soaking in a hot bath at Hotel Terminus, a luxury if there ever was one. He emerges from the water red and overheated, and plunges straight into cool satin sheets spread over impossibly soft mattress, such decadence almost unthinkable after over a year away from his home country - and privilege afforded him by his birthright.

Unsurprisingly, half the night is sleepless until he moves to the floor and wraps himself with a blanket, and even then his irritated skin makes the sleep nigh unattainable as he dozes off only to wake at the smallest of sounds, making his disposition in the morning foul - but having his moment of solitude together with a glass of subpar cognac on the front of the empty deck of the zeppelin does wonders for his mood. The clouds are low and dense, the air chilly and humid, the wind trying to get into his buttoned up leather jacket.

"Just in time for the wedding," Gabriel speaks from the side, and Jack resolves he should put a bell on the man, to have at least an idea of his approach.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, I told you I was on my return trip." Jack rolls his eyes, exasperated.

"The peace accords were signed months ago. What was the reason for the expedition to Crimea?"

"Oh, yes, the peace accords, I heard about those," Jack pushes away from the balustrade and sits at the table. "Took me by surprise, because how could they be signed if Tsar is dead?"

"And how would you arrive at such conclusion?" Gabriel inclines his head, almost imperceptibly, moving to take place at the other side of the table.

"A séance." Hearing the quiet scoff, Jack continues, unbothered. "Not one of those sideshows. A spontaneous one."

"Why trust it?"

Jack spins the cognac in the glass.

"Because it's been the first time I've seen soulfire animate a corpse. Don't have to trust it now that I have proof for the Home Office, so we're stopping by the Diogenes first thing."

*

Bonus: (to keep the tradition of godawful dialogue for this specific au - don’t ask me about Jayne complaining about the vicar on the estate and how he spends his stipend)

So it's good that a glimpse of silver catches his eye out on the street: two Maltans outside of a hotel, both mounted on ridiculously embellished artificer's horses.

"Someone should tax the Vatican, the stones on them are worth as much as the horses themselves."

"Knightly Orders maintain their own upkeep after the tithe to the Vatican," Gabriel states matter-of-factly.

"Oh, excuse me for not keeping up with the latest Catholic lore."

"But," Gabriel continues, corners of his lips creeping upward, "someone should tax the Vatican."

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Six Sentence Sunday (also to motivate myself not to ruminate on ‘projects’). The first is a bit from mob!au (the context is ‘there are going to be people buried alive in the woods, finally’), the second’s steampunk vampires (the less context’s here, the better)

*

Jack moves with understandable stiffness to his side - there's the same twitch in his lips Hanzo's seen before. The tension in his body grows with the diminishing distance until he's wound up like a scared animal, so unlike Gabriel's relaxed stride. Hanzo barely catches the interaction: the hand brushing against the back of Jack’s head showing in the scarf shifting on his shoulders as it's pulled back slightly. The shift in the posture is instantaneous, Jack’s expression morphing into something more neutral. Docile.

The tension itself isn't gone, only changed - rendered safe; Hanzo still wouldn't put his trust into it.

*

"I am not fuming, Viscount," he says after a stretch of silence conveys his irritation, even stronger at Gabriel's subtle delight in his plight. "I am merely furious. You used your glamour on me."

"You can take comfort in your ability to differentiate between glamour and geas."

"For future reference, Viscount, I'd strongly prefer not to wake up in my garments crusted to my body."

"Fuming still, I see."

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Work in progress Wednesday 2, mob!au. *sigh* warnings, probably for violence, imagery, and drug induced psychosis, I guess?

*

Her breath tickles the back of his neck, smells of mint and citrus, mixes with her shampoo, so sweet and cloying, mango drowned in sugar. And he's lost in the aroma, he's lost, and isn't himself, or maybe never before was. Lips grazing on his shoulder, fingers tracing his bicep - circling the jut of the elbow - her breasts press into his back - and Jack's too gone to think anything of it. Her palm closes around his and slowly she lifts it up, lifts the gun up too because he's holding it, isn't he?

"He told me the truth, about Gabi's death," she whispers and leads his arm to point at the man's head - beaten within an inch of his life and muzzled with dirty bloodied duct tape - one of Maximillien's, Jack recollects vaguely.  "They took him from us. They will pay."

It's all a lie, a theatre, he knows. She needs a scapegoat.

She wants a war.

Maximillien is a shrewd businessman, too good with his money and blackmail, and underhanded dealings, believes it will keep everyone in check. There's profit in it. 

But she - she's a young bloodthirsty lioness ready to rip the territory from under old lions as she goes for their throats with no pomp or warning.

Her finger curls around his but it's Jack who pulls the trigger, his eyes focused on Gabriel standing behind the chair, burned skin sloughing off his face, and even with it melting and dripping his smirk is visible. 

"Good doggie," Gabriel's ghost hisses.

It's too far. 

Too far, too far, too far.

There is no coming back from this, not now, not ever, but there was no coming back before from any other time he had pulled the trigger. She takes the gun from him.

"You're too good to me, Jack. To good," she whispers, pulls him back. Up the stairs and up the stairs, her palms holding his face, her hair aglow in the sunlight from the window, oh, how is this name of hers so misleading.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Mm, let it be work in progress Wednesday no. 1, since I’m kind of happy with this bit of the bane of my existence dubbed ‘steampunk vampires’. No warnings, unless one wants to read into mentioned relationships.

*

Gloved fingers wrap around the cup, leather brushing against the naked skin as it changes hands; Jack snorts at the vampire's expression of disgusted bewilderment to the sweetly sour drink, its color a lighter shade of molasses. 

"It's made with fermented bread."

"It's swill" 

"As long as it gets the job done, I have sorrows to drown. Now, excuse me, Viscount," Jack reaches for the jug, "why are you here? Is that man dying finally, because the last time I heard he still remained locked in the study, refusing to take his meals anywhere else."

The minute turn of the vampire's lips betrays the sensitivity of the subject; between the injured shoulder and the buzz of alcohol clouding his judgement, Jack doesn't care if his words are knives twisting in old wounds, whoever's they are.

"I'll never understand how one could ever love a man such as him," he continues, unabashed and bitter, and utterly convinced of own safety. "I should know, I'm told I'm my father's mirror image, both in body and soul. Isn't that right, Viscount? So I ask again, why are you here?"

[lindsaychrist]

[puertohurraco]

Roadside picnic

[bigwordsandsharpedges2]

Cosmic horror, except you’re seeing it from the other side

[kmclaude]

the-angriest-jew replied to your post “Au where all your comics, every headcanon, every story is just Jehan…”

Okay but Jehan cross dressing and pretending to be this “Annemarie” persona, dominating and abusing her “poor brother Tiefer” may be the best thing to ever happen, and I’d kill to be the fly on the wall when it’s brought up between them.

Someone asked “Jehan: do you even have a sister? Tiefer: no. Why? Jehan, as he steps…”

Jehan: do you even have a sister? Tiefer: no. Why? Jehan, as he steps on Tiefer in full Annemarie costume: just trying to figure out if I should invest in a therapist

Normal AU is the new gift to this world we all need

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Monster Under the Bed

Warnings: Weirdness, Imagery, There Is Indeed A Monster Under the Bed

*

Jack's always a little too lucky, a little too blessed, and a little too crazy, with things turning a little too well in his favor, a fearless (and so, so stupid) hero in the vintage comic books Gabriel had been collecting once, the ones from the time when the morality was black and white and there’d never been a hard question of right and wrong.

"It's my monster under the bed," Jack would answer both the questions and the reprimands.

Gabriel won't remember why he'd been angry then, about what exactly: probably Jack playing at the golden era hero, or something different, inconsequential in the grander scheme of things, but he will remember the shape crawling from under Jack's bunk. He will remember claws nipping at the skin of his cheek, the faint lines of scars will remind him of it every time he looks into a mirror – and he will remember the voice, rustling like the spilling of metal shavings and swarming insects joined together.

He won’t forget the words.

"You will break him and kill him, and when you do, I'll be waiting for you."

He will remember the marks on Jack's body – not the ones left there by war or him – but the other ones, long red raised lines carved into the skin of the shoulders and back, and swollen bite marks made by a mouth full of a predator’s canines.

He will understand, years – decades, really – later, looking down at the boy lost at night in the woods – and he will scoop him up in his arms, smiling a death’s head’s smile full of fangs gleaming from behind rotting lips – and he will say:

“Don’t worry, I’m the monster living under your bed.”

Because Gabriel, when he finally admits it to himself, is a selfish man who sows the seeds of his own downfall, and he will do it again and again, for he refuses to let go of the only thing that has ever refused to let go of him.

[petitecreme]

Space Raiders

[just-antithings]

Hey quick question, is mod noodle CharmedNoodle on twitter? Because if so that person had their friend write revenge porn of a real minor who made them mad, and told their friend to tag the minor, then said it was sexual harassment to call that behavior predatory. Is Mod Noodle that twitter account?

So fun fact: I do not have a monopoly on the word Noodle. Anyone can use it! There are tons of usernames with the word Noodle in it out there! That is to say - no that is not me. I don’t even have a twitter account. I’ve never even had an account with the moniker Noodle in it before. I only came up with it after I already joined this blog and was trying to come up with a mod name. And while I’m confident this ask is in bad faith seeing as there has literally never been anything I’ve posted that could possibly make someone think I’m connected to that account or would do any of those disgusting things, I’m still answering it because I need to say how gross it is that people jump to these conclusions and throw dangerous accusations around so easily nowadays. There’s literally no reason for it other than to create drama and feel some kind of fucked up high from tarnishing someone’s name regardless of if they’ve actually done anything. Don’t do this. If you do this unfollow this blog. You are not welcome here. There’s a reason we don’t post submitted accusations without proof included, and this goes for our mods as well. Do not send shit claiming our mods have done something on some other account unless you can include proof that it is actually them and they’ve actually done what you claim.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Also, they are fucking lying. Several people, including mentioned user, were dealing with really awful case of impersonation on Twitter. Like, awful bigoted racist and sexually abusive stuff. I'm not going to point who did it, but both sides know well enough who (group of proshippers who very well are antis just don't like the anti moniker). In last ditch effort they decided to have fun with it since Twitter doesn't care for normal users and wrote sexual RP of themselves using the handles of impersonating twitters. And then suddenly account who was posting bigoted and sexually explicit stuff went 'i'm a minor!'. Which is very contested to this time with no proof. And even if, that person 1. entered adult space. 2. concealed their age. 3. posted abusive sexual and else stuff pretending to be another user. 4. was cheered by the group behind the impersonation.

Like, i don't interact with this user, but c'mon. Stop fucking lying you probable Faia anon.

[ewa-jednak-chce-spac]

TFW you get to know that there is a Polish writer, who wrote a couple of animal horror books set in our beautiful country, featuring animals that usually are perceived as harmless, innocent etc.

I unironically love the covers:

Murderous Ducks 

The Murderous Mole

The Murderous Anteater

Murderous Chickens

The Clatter

The Pack - The Revenge of the Possessed Ones

[lunius-art]

Hello, here's a picture of nbc hannibal trying to murder and cannibalise naruto (but it was a shadow clone)