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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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."

#sometimes I write #r76 #reaper76 #work in progress wednesday #WIP Wednesday

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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."

#sometimes I write #six sentence sunday #r76 #reaper76 #mob!au #steampunk vampires

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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.

#sometimes I write #WIP Wednesday #r76 #reaper76 #mob!au

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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?"

#sometimes I write #WIP Wednesday #r76 #reaper76

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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#jesus #non fandom #cosmic horror #eldritch horror #good writing #death

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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.

#sometimes i write #r76 #reaper76

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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Space Raiders

#Overwatch

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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.

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.

#shitpost i guess #still angry over this shit

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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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

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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

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gyromitra-esculenta · 2 years

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A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”

___

…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.

“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”

___

…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.

“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.

“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”

“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”

___

…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”

“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”

“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”

“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.

The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.

___

A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.

They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.

___

…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.

The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”

The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”

But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.

“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.

“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”

“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.”

___

…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”

___

“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”

“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”

___

…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”

___

…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”

___

…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”

___

“I love you,” said the scorpion.

The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”

The frog swam on, the both of them silent.

___

“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”

“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”

The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”

“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.”

“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?”

“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”

“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”

“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”

___

“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.

The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”

“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”

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