#A Familiar Story

[driftward]

A FAMILIAR STORY

I never made a master post for this! This is essentially the end to the adventure that started with The Incident and continued into Junelezen: Echoes. Relative to the other two, A Familiar Story is shorter and simpler, but it ties up many of the loose ends established by the other two and finally sets Zoissette on the path to new adventure. Big thanks for my Free Company, without whose support I'm not sure I would've written nearly so much. I am glad to have been a part of the group for these past years.

---

Collected Logs of Anima-Based Eos-Class Scholar Tactical Field Medical Assistant 'Lavender':

Log Entry 1

Log Entries 15-38

Log Entries 40-57

Log Entries 59-112

Log Entries 113-140

Log Entries 141-407

Log Entries 408-411

[random-xpressions]

Writes an entire paragraph and cancels it in a second...

Random Xpressions

[johnschneiderblog]

In my wheelhouse

Son Justin gave me the Kindle version of this book for Father's Day,

You can tell by the subtitle that the book tells a grim story - one that affects me personally. I can hardly put it down.

The calamity described by Carson Prichard is not exactly news to someone who has pursued the mighty chinook salmon for 30 years - from the peak of the Lake Huron salmon fishery to its present-day nadir.

Although the causes of the collapse are still being chewed over, most experts zero in on a disruption of the food chain caused by invasive species - plus the fact that salmon are, in truth, also an invasive species to the Great Lakes.

Although I miss the heyday of the salmon fishery, I'm grateful I was here to participate in it. Meanwhile, I'll continue to chase lake trout, the species that actually belongs here.

(The fish in the bottom photo, taken on July 25, 2018, was one of our last big ones.)

[nyctosaurid]

don bluth films occupy a weird space because he's both inarguably an auteur who directs very strange, earnest, often "ugly" films but also a guy who near exclusively made movies for 8 year olds in the home video era. so basically everything he's ever done is a grimy, dreamy rumination on death and spirituality and has a direct to video sequel called something like secret of nimh 2: mrs. brisby's holiday adventure

[quibbs]

just had SO much fun with the fallout tv show... i love you missus okey dokey

[proxycrit]

LINKTOBER DAY 7: goron hot springs!

Link and zelda are sent to death mountain to “deal with the problem” via Purah. Yunobo is tired.

(Recasting Death Mountain to be slightly on fire! I love it when things are on fire.)

More of my zelda au here! (It’s totk without the time travel)

My patreon’s here if youd like to support my crimes :0

[tibli]

i have been trying to figure out why the whole 'fae god' and katniss everdeen things with kendrick lamar on here were bothering me, and i think i finally put it into words.

most posts like that are probably coming from well-meaning white people (i am also partially a White People, to be clear), who otherwise dont really listen to rap. they cannot find a way to 'relate' to this black man who sings largely about issues that affect the black community– and rather than try and meet him where he is, they have to fit him into these little tumblr cultural boxes before he can be 'palatable' to them.

they have to shave off the rougher/more abrasive aspects of his work and activism because it makes them uncomfortable, that way they can pigeonhole him into something that allows them to enjoy his work without the critical analysis that MUST come with it

he is not your fae god, he is not a YA protagonist, he is not a little gremlin or a cinnamon roll or a blorbo. He is a human being with opinions and beliefs that deeply permeate his work, and to ignore that truth is to ignore the entire point. PLEASE try to engage with artists' work outside of the lens of tumblr fandom, and i mean that as nicely as possible. you are doing YOURSELF a disservice

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

71 / 2.1k / part 4 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

nsfw; dubcon, group sex, predator/prey dynamics, degradation, manhandling, sex while on substances. also monsterfucking and sex pollen if you squint.

...

You're not stupid. You know fur won't save you. Their hunt is sweeter for prey that changes skin.

You'll pay for this. And they intend to make you pay in more than just blood--they want your fear, your pleasure, your vulnerability. Everything you've refused them until now.

You run until you reach the ancient chapel in the middle of the woods. Right as you reach the empty space where the front doors used to be, enormous paws slam into your back. The henbane's power ebbs. Your palm bleeds where glass shards remain embedded. The cracked stone steps, laced with overgrown brambles, press cold on your naked skin. Gaz's paws dig into your back as they shift into clawed fingers. You hear Soap's approach, too--the way he shifts halfway from crow to human as he lands behind you. The half-beast shape sharpens the look of starvation and lust in his bright eyes.

Gaz's claws dig into your shoulders as he flips you onto your back. You writhe as Soap's hands close around your legs and pull you between him and Gaz. Your body is human, but adrenaline and henbane trap your mind partway between animal instinct and human nerves. Your body is hot and your cunt swells and glistens as their rough hands grip you, squeeze you, drag you away from the entrance of the holy sanctuary, and spread you open over the forest floor. The chapel's crumbling walls loom over you, moonlight slicing through broken stained glass to paint your naked skin in fractured colors. You were so close.

Soap's claws carve crescent moons into your hips. "Think you're clever, aye?" His hand wraps around your throat and presses his thumb to your frantic pulse. "Playin' games with us."

Gaz pins your wrists above your head, his catlike pupils blown wide. Henbane still clouds his movements. He watches Soap spread your thighs. "She's dripping for it. Nothing better than a chase to make rabbits want to fuck."

Soap licks a stripe up your thigh and chuckles against your skin. "Knew you wanted to be caught. Should've stayed a rabbit. Och, but this is better," he groans against your skin, cock already pressing against your leg. "Fightin' us even when you're fucked raw on poison. Perfect."

The henbane twists everything--their snarls into hymns, the pain of being chased and held down into a perverse sacrament. With Gaz holding your wrists above your head and Soap holding your thighs apart, you're completely exposed. Your heartbeat makes your skin warm, makes it flush, and you know they can see how wet it makes you. Both sets of eyes are glued to your cunt.

You buck uselessly as your human pride compels you to fight. Then rabbit-like instincts compel you to lay still. Your throat is ragged from the chase.

Soap laughs. He splays his hand over your lower belly, pins you there, and leans mouthwateringly close to your cunt. From above your head, Gaz leans over you upside-down and drags a messy, open-mouthed kiss up your sternum. "Poor creature."

"Should've known she'd like this. Witch with a martyr complex. Gets off on being punished."

"Could've let the villagers take you," Gaz croons. "Would've paid good coin to watch 'em try to torture our witch. Bet you'd rut against their stakes just to feel something."

You feel Soap's breathy chuckle against your core and jerk. He holds you fast. "Could've just tied her spreadeagle to the old tree, aye? Let the whole village watch us fuck her. Ghost can have first go."

"Now that's just cruel."

Their cruel words braid into praise in your henbane-fogged mind. Soap licks a hot stripe through your folds, and your back arches against your will. He chuckles again, breath fogging your wetness. "Think she'll come on my tongue before Price gets here? Five silver coins says she screams."

Gaz's free hand pulls your head back to expose your throat. "Ten says she bites like a hare."

You writhe, but Gaz's grip is iron. Soap's mouth seals over your clit and sucks hard enough to blur your vision. Your thighs tremble. The pleasure is a serrated knife sawing through your weak resistance.

"Fuckin' starved," Soap growls against your cunt. His fingers spread you wider to lap harder at your clenching hole.

They move in tandem. Soap's tongue fucks into you, long and relentless, while Gaz’s hand angles your face toward himself. Gaz laps at your mouth and the beads of sweat saturating your skin to take his fill. As Soap's claws dig into your hips, your body betrays you over and over--arching into their mouths, cunt and throat clenching around nothing. You writhe, but Soap pins you harder and harder with each lathe, grinding you against the moss until your thighs shake. The henbane amplifies every sensation--the drag of his tongue, the scrape of Gaz's stubble against your neck, the damp earth beneath you. Every rough touch ignites nerve endings you didn't know you had. Your vision blurs at the edges. Rabbit instincts scream for you to submit even as your hips lift greedily for more.

Gaz releases your hair to palm your breast. "Slow down, Soap. Price'll skin us if we don't leave some fresh."

Soap's obscene groans vibrate through your core. He pulls back, lips glistening. "Better get here faster if he wants some, then. Him and Ghost both."

You moan at the loss of contact. Your hips chase his mouth, and his self-restraint snaps.

"Nah, fuck 'em." He flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up, and pushes a finger inside you eagerly. Anything to get you wetter. "Let 'em hunt for themselves."

You're so high and dizzy, cheek pressed to the broken stone below, that it takes you a few seconds to notice when Gaz runs his hands up your arms, over your shoulders, and cups your jaw in his hands.

"Beg," he says softly. "Beg your servants to fuck you."

You whine as he lifts your front half up to kiss you. He practically cradles you in his arms--protective, but completely unyielding--and slips his tongue into your mouth to devour all he can.

You squirm and gasp around his tongue. The command surprises you enough that your humanity--your pride as a witch--surface over the instinct to submit. You sink your canines down on his invading tongue.

Gaz pulls back with a hiss. His eyes narrow and his pupils slit.

Soap laughs. "That's ten to you, then. Rabbits do bite, don't they?"

Gaz ignores him. His grip tightens around your jaw. He takes your mouth in another searing kiss that lasts until your lungs burn and you taste his blood in the back of your throat. He holds you captive there and enjoys the way Soap's finger-fucking forces your desperate moans into his mouth. Then he pulls back.

"Good rabbits," he growls, "know when to play dead."

Gaz's hand fists in your hair and yanks your head back. It forces a deeper arch into your back just as Soap slips a second finger into your cunt. You clench around the inclusion. God, it feels to good. You've been so careful, looked over your shoulder, smudged sage into every dark corner. So much tension, protecting yourself the way you need to, and nowhere to channel it. Even lying awake at night in your house, gritting your teeth and thumbing tight circles around your own clit, the release wasn't enough. Wasn't even practical. The animal in you never left; it only slept.

Soap's fingers curl inside you, calluses scraping your walls. He chuckles. "Greedy."

Gaz chuckles, too, at the sounds you're making. "Chatty."

Your back arches further as Soap adds a third finger. He stretches you ruthlessly. Gaz's other hand drifts down to circle your clit, fingers pressing hard enough to make your thighs twitch and shake.

"Look at her," Soap rasps. "Fightin' for more. Fuckin' made for this."

Ghost's howl rolls through the trees. A warped distortion of an owl's screech calls back in response.

"Price is coming," Gaz says.

Soap withdraws his fingers with a lewd schlick. He drags you upright and presses his chest against your back. "Better get our fill first, then."

Gaz spreads your legs wide. "Hold her open."

Soap grips your thighs as Gaz lines himself up. His cock drags through your slick--teasing at first, and then slow and rough with sudden hunger. You can't remember how to form words. Just as well--if you spoke, you'd only beg him to take you. So much for pride.

Then Price's shadow falls across all three of you. He descends from the trees as something resembling a screech owl--but larger, older, something that blurs your vision at the eddges with instinctive fear. But by the time he lands atop the leaf litter, his talons have already morphed into boots, and his enormous wingspan is gone.

"Having fun, boys?" Price's voice is venomously calm. "While I track our wayward witch through three miles of cursed thicket?"

Soap doesn't lift his eyes from his new view down your body. "Just securing the kill, Cap'n. Didn't you hear our signal?"

A lie. "Move."

Soap sighs and wipes his glistening chin. "That's five more coin."

He pulls away, but before he can withdraw--if he intended to at all, still eying you with hunger--Ghost is there. He grabs Soap by the neck and hurls him away as easily as a sack of cats. Soap skids across the moss, leaving furrows in the earth.

Ghost doesn't pause to see him react. He pins your hips down with a hand the size of your face. Gaz watches from above you with careful eyes as Ghost's claws divot your skin as he leans down. Gaz glances at Price, but wisely does not stand in the way.

Soap straightens up casually. "She's high as fuck on henbane, LT. Go easy."

The divots under Ghost's claws deepen. "No."

He replaces Soap's mouth with his own. The difference is immediate. Brutal. Where Soap languished, Ghost devours. His tongue spears into you, thick and unrelenting, fucking and scooping into your cunt with the same merciless rhythm a wolf would use to feed. You choke on a sob, heels digging into the loam.

Price's hand fists in Ghost's hair and yanks his head back. "Enough. She's not some tavern whore to be ruined before the main event."

Ghost licks your slick from his lips, gaze burning into yours. "Could be."

"Later." Price steps over you, boot between your splayed thighs. "Up. Now."

They haul you upright. Your legs buckle. Gaz catches you and bands his arm around your waist. You try to stand, leaning into him, but you're struggling to remember how. The sudden movement blurs your vision and your body aches from the chase and from the torment of pleasure still thrumming through your muscles.

The threshold of the church--holy ground--looms so close, still. Then, to your shock, Price crosses over that threshold. Right into the old hallowed church.

Your breath hitches. "How--?"

The chapel gives an echoing groan. "Sacrilege," Price mutters. He glances up at the half-collapsed rafters. "Good."

He turns, backlit by moonlight pouring through the broken windows. His shadow stretches long and strange across the altar. "You really thought a pile of crumbling stones could keep us out?" He taps the tattoo on his inner forearm--your mark, seared into his flesh the night you bound them. "We go where you go, darling. Even into God's own house."

Gaz's hand slides up your ribs and plucks at your nipple. "You're ours down to the marrow, love. Nowhere holy enough to change that. But we admire the effort. Running, hiding, getting us good and hungry." His too-sharp teeth graze the shell of your ear.

He pulls your head sideways to expose the scarred sigil behind your own ear. The one you branded there the night you summoned them.

Price unbuttons his coat. "You bound us. Fed us. Let our filth seep into your bones." His belt buckle clinks open. "Now you'll take your communion. Ghost," he commands. "The altar. Bind her."

Ghost pulls you out of Gaz's arms. Your fuzzy, drug-addled brain struggles to keep pace. Then the cold bite of iron shackles snaps shut around your wrists, chaining you to the marble surface of the altar. Ancient restraints meant for darker rites.

Soap whistles low. "Harsh even for you, LT."

Ghost stands. "Witch needs to learn her place isn't in the dirt." His boot nudges your spread thighs wider. "It's on her back."

...

← part 3 / [part 4] / part 5 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[lotus-pear]

HIII SORRY FOR NO NEW ART have some concept sketches for the fic i'm working on instead

[imvec]

Scene from chapter 7 (!) of “living is a gamble, baby (loving's much the same)” by @stbot

And their ‘fake’ wedding

[evanzzz3]

been getting really into l4d lately

[driftward]

Log Entries 113-140

Log Entry 113

She woke up late. She never wakes up late.

At least we still went for her morning run. Well, morning. Barely. It was lunch time when we got back. She washed up, changed outfit, went to the meeting room where the company usually has their lunch, and announced to everyone present that the courtship between her and the Chirurgeon had ended.

And then she retreated.

The Madam Commander is acting in paradox. Frantic, yet still. Bubbling full of emotion, silent as ice. Hands reaching for tasks, yet nothing accomplished.

I have seen her here before, and I am afraid. I cannot keep her safe this time.

I want her to take care of herself. I want to prepare. She is going to self isolate. We need food, water, books.

Stupid, stupid.

Log Entry 115

The Madam Commander’s brother is still at headquarters, which I did not fully appreciate. She went to him. The Leftenant was there as well, but whatever they were doing, they put it aside to let her stay.

Nothing happened. We’re well fed and there’s plenty of tea.

Log Entry 117

She sent the Mathye a fruit basket. I looked back through Lily and Foxglove’s notes. I’m pretty certain this is the wrong way to handle a break up. I referenced some stories from the archives.

They’re no help.

My own guidance recommends that, if opportunity presents itself, to send someone with relationship difficulties back from the field to sort it out so they are better able to focus on what’s right in front of them.

Guess we aren’t meant to be counselors.

Log Entry 118

I was so worried that I didn’t notice at first, but!

Something’s changed.

She wakes alone, but from that moment, she does not stay alone. If there is nobody where she intends to be, she seeks until she finds somebody.

Our friends accept us. She does not talk as much, but they seem happy to just have her there, and it’s a relief, I’m relieved, she’s not brooding, well she IS but she’s brooding with company, and most importantly, no running off to perform ill advised experiments with insufficient supervision.

I am not sufficient supervision. Noting that here should it come up again. She’s too big and too heavy for me to move by myself. That’s important to note. I’m noting it.

Log Entry 119

She could stand more variety in her diet.

Log Entry 124

She practically lives in the workshop, now. I think she’s determined that’s where her friends are likely to either be, or where they’ll look for her first. And she’s taken to machinery with enthusiasm.

Which is great! I can also access schematics! In theory. Fairies did lots of things back in ancient Nym. I am an Eos-class, so while I am specialized for helping my Scholar in field triage situations, fairies like me had other jobs, too!

And I am so much more than most fairies. I bet I could pick this up no sweat. Just me and her and her crew, working on these submersicraft and aerocraft.

Soon as I can interact with reality I’m going to bite everyone and everything. This is terrible has been terrible and continues to be terrible.

Log Entry 130

The Madam Commander is more worried about the Crystalficer as time goes on, and I think she’s right! Whatever has happened to the Crystalficer is eerily familiar to what happened to us. Everything was fine, right, until everything was very. Not fine.

The Marine seems to disagree. Where’s her fairy. Where’s Glitterdust. I want to talk to her instead.

A joke! I am hilarious. I still can’t talk to anyone.

Anyroad, worries about the Apple are on pause for now. It seems that someone else has recognized the Madam Commander’s excellence, and asked for her services.

An investigation. This is great, actually! It is well past time. The Madam Commander has recovered her strength well enough, if not her essence. She has been practicing with gunblade and chakram; so she is armed enough. She is smart, and clever, and even without me, she will be alright. The Marine and the Leftenant are never far from her side, and there are others she can call on.

And frankly this is better than her spending all her time in the workshop avoiding thinking about the Chirurgeon.

So, murder most grisly in the home of the land spirits! I wonder if they will be able to see me. We are off!

Log Entry 138

I have missed this.

Lily told me stories of their early adventures, and I have bits and pieces of Foxglove’s gestalt, to say nothing of my own memories.

Simply, my Scholar is an investigator.

And it is in an investigation that she is most in her element.

We’ve been directed to examine some bodies. I want to tell her what I can see! I want to help! I can see what’s wrong almost immediately. Their physical form may be whole, but their essence is depleted - further than even death would suggest, given how long they have been dead. If I was more here than not here, I could help perform the autopsy work.

But my Scholar is an investigator.

And while I have been helpful in the past, she doesn’t NEED need me for this.

Watching her work is a marvel. The way she notices every detail of a scene. The way she manages to see things nobody else does, not even me. The care with which she acts. The way she puts pieces of information together.

I thought I would try to help. And I think she managed to see the world I do, just for a moment, I’m… I’m not sure. But she saw the essence depletion, same as me.

A small puzzle piece! The Adept and the Marine are both here. She called on them both, and set them to work, and began to put the matter together.

It’s so good to be back in the field like this.

Log Entry 139

The Crystalficer was still on her mind, and so we went to their home. A small living craft, worthy of any proper Nymian. Her and the Marine disagreed on some matters, even as she examined the ship and noted it had been abandoned.

She wanted to go inside. The Marine disagreed.

It was a risk, but we took it. Just the slightest nudge, right? Just a brief touch, through, and I had her hand through the door and opening it from the other side.

I don’t think the Marine noticed. We examined the boat, and oh, my Scholar is so very very clever! I thought we were only working on the one case, but in fact, we were working on two! She determined that the Crystalficer was very probably the grisly murderer in the home of the land spirits!

Or… something infesting and controlling the Crystalficer.

A voidsent.

We are about to go investigate further.

Log Entry 139 addendum

IT WAS NOT A VOIDSENT HOLY SHITE IT WAS NOT A VOIDSENT THIS MAY BE MY FINAL LOG

Log Entry 140

The Crystalficer is back home, safe.

She had… summoned… a unique sort of egi. Now, I don’t know as much about egis as I would like. They are creatures of aether, like me. They are created via sophisticated geometry, like me. But while I tap into anima energies and am formed of symbolic logic, an egi… borrows… primal aether. Sort of like living aether, but elementally charged, and shaped by some kind of conceptual logic.

It was a terrible creature. I could call it a voidsent, I think, for it was full of the chaotic aether with which I am now all too familiar. It had many arms of dangerous blades. It was fast, and dangerous.

I was faster. I am still not sure how I did it, but at one point, I reached, and pulled myself and my Scholar through the in-between.

We avoided the worst of its strikes. We fought back.

It did not dissipate fully when defeated. A part of it is still part of the Apple. It will always be part of her, the Scholar opines.

I look upon it with a faint feeling of horror.

We may be different, but we are the same. Her egi… my Scholar’s fairy… me.

Our aether showing streaks of the strong mix of static and chaos. I know not where her egi got it from. I got the static from the Atelier, so long ago, pulled from the malfunctioning device, to protect my Scholar. And the chaos… again. That from the spaces we visited abyss. I took it to protect my Scholar.

But what if … I am the same as that thing?

A fairy is a symbolic construct that serves their Scholar.

But that thing defended the Crystalficer as viciously as I would defend my Scholar.

And I am clearly not a proper fairy anymore.

No. I won’t do it. And that’s that.

[chez-cinnamon]

Zombie story OCs <3

Felt like doodling my OCs some more, probably expect me to post more of them fgbjgnjh

The basic premise atm is a group of survivors in a town running a zombie fight club with unusually mutated and conscious zombies !!

[jesncin]

sigh just. What gets me about these pinkwashed readings of my immigrant Clois comics is that they go out of their way to make the only non white character (Lois) functionally useless in the story.

Like if Private Interview really was about "Superman being trans" in those flashbacks (because apparently the brown girl in the past is not the brown woman in the present day) what are Lois and Superman connecting on? When they share their names to each other what's that supposed to be? Their dead names? Geez. It says something that I'm depicting a brown girl surviving a sinophobic riot and people are instead centering it on "no this is about a white man figuring out his gender instead!"

Someone recently said they interpreted Clark and Lana's relationship in Today Tomorrow not working out because Lana is a lesbian and Clark is trans and?? Just because Lana has short hair when she's older and I drew her as a butch? How does Lois connecting to Clark even make sense in that reading. The whole point was allegorizing struggles interracial couples go through, and an Asian American Lois connecting with Clark because she gets it.

I know some people like to sass me by saying "art is all about interpreting your own take" but like. There's such a thing as misinterpretation too. And I'm all too wary of white queer people projecting a more palatable experience on my immigrant comics because they refuse to connect to an experience that's too othering for them. While it's fine to have queer readings of how Superheroes handle dual identities, it becomes an issue when that reading pinkwashes the artists' intention to depict themes of immigration and alienation under xenophobia and racism.

[blizardstar]

Me when Ashton Greymoore is denied honorable and meaningful self-sacrifice, and now must face the reality that they MUST keep living after it’s All Over

[canisalbus]

machete is like a delicate looking white flower, one where the petals turn transparent when it rains. vasco is a marigold for many reasons.

Ooo I like that! It never even crossed my mind to assign marigolds to Vasco, but it makes perfect sense. I had to look it up but the flower that turns transparent in the rain is called skeleton flower, and yeah, I can see how that would fit Machete.

I tend to associate irises, damask roses, and forget-me-nots with Vasco

And red carnations and poppies with Machete