#Could never have predicted how badly they'll fuck it up

[japrilmusings]

Random..

I was really cooking with 'Say you'll love me again". If only greys hadn't fabulously pissed me off starting with the Minnick SL, I might have finished. Ah well.

[ronearoundblindly]

Dirty Water

Steve Rogers x deep sea mermaid!Reader

Prompt from this dirty ask game with our pairing from the Sun, Salt, and Shield series.

Summary: After a very long (but unofficial) courtship, where Steve is too shy to bring up your anatomy and his compatibility, a cultural misinterpretation quite literally sinks his resolve.

Warnings for smut (I'm gonna have to call this what it is and just say it's monster-f**king, or the one where Steeb gets maybe-CNC-boinked by a 'monster.' Sorry, babes. Ro's dipped a toe into the darkside for a smidge.) MINORS DNI. Poorly--or rather, not--edited and I have no idea the word count...

Steve swallows harshly and tries not to nervously splash his feet in the pool.

"What?" he chokes out.

He can't think of anything more articulate to say, not that it would matter when so much is lost in translation.

All you did was ask about the singing outside the doors of your 'room'--the retrofitted gym pool at the Avengers compound, the one is the basement without windows for your highly sensitive eyes--but he...could never have predicted why you were so curious.

"They're just enjoying themselves," he'd chuckled, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Do you sing?"

The look on your face, jaw slack and head tilting in contemplation, it should have warned him. You unfurled from your relaxed posture, the stance where your arms cross behind your back and fit atop the swell of your--he'd say tail, but it's more like your ass--rump, the rest of your body bent in a curve until your fin nearly touches the surface, and inched closer to his feet in the deep end.

"Yessssss," you hissed slowly through three rows of sharp teeth, crawling up his legs, out of the water, dripping over his lap as you braced large, webbed hands on either side of his hips.

Even in the very low light of damp room, he could see the lavender of your stare drop to his crotch.

"You sing too?"

Steve's an idiot. He didn't understand yet, so that dumbass actually began humming 'You Are My Sunshine' because nothing else occurred to him.

Then he noticed your tail glowing beneath the scales.

Then he realized you were pressing yourself to his legs.

Aaaand then Steve Rogers looked down your body to witness his knee disappearing in a spongy spot where the armoring swelled apart.

Oh god.

"What?" he now asks like an frightened teen seeing boobs for the first time.

"I make you sing?" Your broad green lips turn up in a smile. "Show me."

Suddenly, Steve's forgotten more english than you've learned. "Huh?"

Your flowing, textured hair, shapely even out of the water, sways when you cock your head to the side, looking through your lashes at him.

"How Stevie sing?"

He shivers for the first time in the cool water and lets an involuntary grunt leave his lips.

He's tried to stop himself from imagining your body and how it works to...ya know, and how he might...oh god, he's going to hell, but apparently, you've already been imagining that humans are either masturbating or fucking outside your door at all hours all the time--

--and oh shit, that means you sing as a part of sex.

He turns his head to the almost black ceiling and fails to think of anything else as the light from your body reflects in waves on every wall. He whimpers when he feels a ripple of muscle through the wet cotton of his jeans.

"Doll make Stevie sing?" Your voice is hoarse, and just as quickly as you say that by his throat, you flip back into the water. You can only breathe air for so long without hurting your throat and lungs.

He thinks he's off the hook, praying the tightness in his pants dissipates faster than they'll take to dry, but he lowers his head to find you peeking from the water, intent as ever on learning his ways.

He should be ashamed, so very fucking ashamed, of how badly he wants to take himself out of his pants and watch the wonder of those pretty eyes as he comes at the thought of you, but Steve's drowning in the hope that he can have you. It's been so long that he's wanted this, even in the most innocent ways.

Your final plea bubbles to the surface.

"Show?"

Steve inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair and licking his lips.

This is wrong, he thinks. You should not be doing this.

Yet he does it anyway because he wants to; he wants to so badly.

He sits up straight at the edge of the concrete, popping the button of his jeans and aches as he lowers the zipper. He can't meet your eye while he pulls out his semi-hard cock and fists it harshly.

You're so long that even looking away leaves your shimmering tail in sight, and he thinks he sees you rattle in excitement. It makes him shiver again, and the vibration shakes the moan escaping his tight chest.

Yikes, it does sound a bit like he's singing...

What the hell are you even doing?

Of course, he knows he's touching himself and he knows well enough how to do that, but he shouldn't be doing this in front of you, much less enjoying it. His blood is running so hot beneath his skin, though, the chilly pool feels soothing over his shins where he rolled up his pants (to no avail).

The heat floods his veins and mind to the point rational thought quiets, and Steve's eyes slither up your demure form.

Your eyes get wider and wider the more noise he makes, and his rampant imagination feeds off the sight of that gap in your scales visible as it undulates in the refraction beneath his feet.

He leans his head back and closes his own eyes at just the wrong moment.

Mid-whine, he misses the splashing sound that would have warned him you were coming, and instead Steve is pummeled by the end of your tail and topples into the pool, shocked and sputtering salty water until his body is pinned to the flat of the concrete wall he used to be perch on.

As he scrambles to toss his arms over the ledge, he feels claws dragging his jeans farther down his legs, and the fabric hangs like an anchor while the silky-slick webbing of your fingers glides up and down his thighs.

Then your tongue runs the length of his cock, making Steve moan embarrassingly loud and thrust his hips forward. If he weren't in the water, he'd be a puddle.

Pleasure races up and down his spine, fighting for dominance over the feeling of cold when he slips from the ledge and submerges briefly.

He barely registers the loss of your tongue and your quick lap of swimming before you're backing into him again.

It's on your ass, too, the soft entrance like you rubbed against his knee, but he could not have imagined what it could do--what you could do--how you could manipulate your muscles inside your tail.

He has no brainpower left to describe it. Steve just lets go, trusting your body to hold his weight as one hand grips the mossy softness of your waist and the other hand spreads over your lower back. Out of instinct, he tries to get leverage to push himself in and out of you, but that's useless.

There's a strong ripple of muscle that pulls him in, and in, and in, delicately tight on his sensitive cock and wide enough to slowly suck his balls into the massaging cavern.

Steve's eyes roll far into his head. He's going to pass out if this keeps up.

"Doll," he gasps, but it's too quiet in the slosh of the water. "Please, I'm--"

A clear, high note crescendos from the deep below, something disturbingly pure and paralyzing, and Steve can't move. He can only feel and experience a siren's song in action.

His body twitches violently before his cum is milked sensually, desperately, methodically from his cradled and ravaged pelvis, and never in Steve's long life has he ever been so fucking spent.

He whimpers when your cunt releases him, only faintly aware that he's propped on your back by his elbows as you swim to the shallow end and let him 'stand' on his shaky legs.

The screeching hinge of the door startles him.

"Cap," the junior agent yells over your hiss from the bright light spraying in, "everything okay? I heard..."

Yeah, I couldn't describe it either, Steve thinks.

He spits water from his mouth. "Fine," he huffs back, "we were...singing, and I fell in."

"Oh. Alright. Sorry to disturb you, Miss G." The man nods his apology at your hand-covered eyes and leaves.

Steve can't help but laugh like an insane person, laying to properly float in the water, uncaring what you're up to until he gently hits the stairs leading out of the pool.

Your head rises out of the water hopefully, and he cups your cheeks, still chuckling. He has zero words to describe...anything at the moment, but he can show you a human tradition of affection in return.

Shifting as easily as a feather in the water, he pulls you two together and sweetly presses his salmon lips to your seaweed pout, letting your long locs fall over his own shoulders.

Soon, he's gasping for air again, yet just before you dunk below the surface, you grin and coo at him.

"Stevie sings lovely."

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

what...the hell have i done. *hits post before final two braincells protest*

@fandom-has-taken-me-hostage @leah2901 @blogbog710 @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @jamneuromain

[questforgalas]

Sibling moments in the Bad Batch that live rent free in my head

S1E15 "Return to Kamino"

Alright babes, if you've been along on TBB ride before, you know these next two are tension filled extravaganzas. The "sibling moments" are definitely going to be more on the hurt/emotional side, but we're gonna get through it together!

The tension between Hunter and Crosshair is supreme sibling angst. They're both so hurt by the other and so mad but have the literal emotional IQ of a 10 year old and are so bitter

"They'll still come for you" dripping with venom with the pause and pointed look back

Also wonder if he feels slighted at Hunter explaining the squad knowing it'd be a trap - Crosshair has predicted their every move during each of their encounters, of course he knows they'll know it's a trap. I don't think this was malicious by Hunter but I think Crosshair could take it that way

Echo taking on the role of distracting anxious sis and keeping her hands busy

"If I go any lower, we will be in the water" Tech just listen to your sister

"Never doubted you for a second kid!" Wrecker is so supportive of everyone and especially Omega 😭

Tech is so stoked about the tube system 😂

"You, uh, alright?" ECHO NOTICING OMEGA'S DEMEANOR AND TRYING HIS DARNDEST TO COMFORT HER STAHP IT

Echo's look up at Tech and Wrecker when Omega deflects 😭

Hunter constantly glances at the stormtrooper walking with him and Crosshair cause he wants to be alone with Crosshair so badly to knock him on his skull and try to knock some sense into him

Literally, his eyes only narrow when they go on the stormtrooper. Even when he faces Crosshair and keeps his Sergeant face, his eyes soften each time they land on Cross

Hunter's eyes are literally pleading with Crosshair

Dear god these rewatches and detail catches are going to be the death of my heart

"They'll come to us. They don't leave their own behind. Most of the time" HUNTER IS STARING DOWN AND TO THE SIDE WITH SHAME IN HIS EYES WHILE CROSSHAIR SAYS THIS

Hunter now doesn't give a fuck if the stormtroopers hear him, he's in desperation mode

"Hm. And I did" said while the same score that was used during the platform scene in "The Outpost" makes me want to throw myself off the roof now that I've realized this

This has turned into a Hunter and Crosshair analysis instead of sibling moments so sorry

"Is that true?" "How could I possibly know that?" said with an eye roll. Iconic

Hunter's attempt at trying to reason with Crosshair, his eyes are so soft the whole time 😭

Wrecker's amused and excited "Oho, he's waiting"

"Welp, guess you were wrong about that" at Tech thinking they were expected to come in the main entrance and not the lift BUT CROSSHAIR KNOWS HIS BROTHERS AND KNOWS WHAT THEY'LL DO

Hunter's shock and pain when Crosshair says "You weren't loyal to me"

Crosshair's entire speech is a desperate sibling needing his brothers back

"Omega belongs with us" when Hunter says "us" he doesn't turn his head to indicate the group behind him and himself, he leans towards Crosshair, emphasizing the word and widening his eyes like he's trying to drive the point that Omega belongs with the Batch and that includes Crosshair aka Crosshair belongs with them too

Tech noticing the pucks, elbowing Wrecker, and they both lower their shoulders slightly - that's a sign of trust

"Why would we trust you?" Hunter doesn't say this aggressively. He's in a casual position, his body sideways to Crosshair. His stance is not of action but observation. At this point, he feels no actual threat from Crosshair, and that line is a test

"Don't become my enemy." "Crosshair, we never were" SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 😭😭😭

COORDINATED BATTLE SCENE COORDINATED BATTLE SCENE AND THEY FALL INTO STEP LIKE THEY'VE NEVER BEEN APART

Honestly, what sibling pairing hasn't had to solve their issues by body slamming each other to the floor

So many pointed looks between Hunter and Crosshair trying to size each other up and figure out where they stand. They want to be on each other's side so badly

Hunter's face is so desperate during his final plea to Crosshair

The shock on Hunter and in Tech's eyes when Cross says he removed his chip 😭😭😭

Waist high hugs from Omega

Hunter immediately checking if there's a chip scar on Cross 😭

[erikahammerschmidt]

so here are some of my thoughts on the idea of "longtermism."

i.e. the idea that we should focus on human well-being from a big-picture perspective, including all the possible future generations of humans, perhaps even before considering the well-being of people currently alive.

which to me sounds like mostly absolute nonsense.

Not because I don't care about the thought of distant future humans still thriving and happy thousands of years from now.

I do! I think that would be awesome, and I hope it happens.

BUT

for the most part, we CANNOT predict anything far enough in advance, in this chaotic world, to have ANY IDEA what actions today will even BE good for humans thousands of years from now.

And, the few things where it does seem kinda brainlessly obvious what would be good? like, "don't blow up the world today"?

ARE ALSO THE THINGS THAT ARE GOOD FOR PEOPLE RIGHT NOW.

so, why would it be a question? why would you even have to choose?

example:

for some of these longtermist thinkers, the main goal is space travel.

from this viewpoint, the big fear is that the planet Earth and the Sol system won't last forever, no matter what we do…. and if humans don't travel to other planets, other star systems, by that time, humanity will be wiped out and nothing we ever did will matter.

now. setting aside for a moment this dismal view of what it means for one's life to "matter"…

HOW exactly can humanity get to space? well. we would have to figure out a whole shitton of things that we are not even close to.

how can we get space travel to speeds that would get us anywhere in an even imaginable timeframe?

how can humans survive the radiation in space, for a long enough time to get anyplace even at the maximum conceivable speed?

how would we sustain the basic food and air and water needs of human populations during such travel?

and, to me, that last one seems like the most obvious place to start. because we DO NOT have the technology to keep a self-sustaining, human-sustaining biological ecosystem going inside a space colony! either on the surface of an alien planet, or inside a space station or a generation ship.

we have barely even tried to figure it out! …ok, we tried, once, decades ago, with the Biosphere 2 project, and failed and never really tried much again as far as I know.

we are failing kind of badly at even maintaining the sorta self-sustaining ecosystem that Earth itself gave us! the one that took millions of years to evolve! which ONLY sorta works to sustain us because our species literally evolved to fit into it!

…and the techbros who currently talk about colonizing Mars seem to be talking as if this is all some super easy soft thing that they'll figure out when they get there!

you know what would help us get to space the most? first priority, before anything else?

figure out how to manage a damn ecosystem.

Not only because it'll be an obvious necessity for the space travel itself.

but also because it is gonna take a DAMN LONG TIME to develop workable long-distance space travel, IF (and this is a big IF) it is even physically possible in any way.

AND, during that damn long time, WE STILL NEED TO BE SURVIVING ON THIS PLANET.

Not to mention that, even if some of our eggs get into other interplanetary baskets someday, Earth is gonna keep being ONE of our baskets for a very long time.

ideally as long as fucking possible! because it's the one that works best, and probably always will be, for as long as it exists. WE EVOLVED HERE.

and, guess what!

the steps we could take toward advancing space travel in that way? the managing-ecosystems steps?

ARE ALSO THINGS THAT WOULD MAKE LIFE BETTER FOR PEOPLE HERE ON EARTH RIGHT NOW.

another thing that comes up in the longtermism discussion is "overpopulation." The idea that distant future humanity will be better off if current humanity does things to reduce our population to save resources.

now. i think it's pretty damn clear that the problem with human population and resources is MOSTLY that the rich and powerful elements of present-day humanity are doing a terrible job of distributing the resources that currently exist to the population that currently exists.

and this is mostly a greed issue.

and regardless of what happens to actual population numbers, the most obvious benefit to future generations of humanity would be figuring that mess out.

starting with the goddamn greed.

...now. there ARE, in some ways, challenges in this endeavor that are particularly difficult because of certain ratios of human populations to resources.

like for example (though I am not an expert on this) I have heard this discussion among local progressives about the resource of water, for the population of southern california.

before european settlement, before the aqueduct, this particular area naturally got enough water to produce enough food for a certain number of native people.

then, the aqueduct made it possible to sustain the much bigger population of non-native people who were settling here.

And that whole process damaged the ecosystem so badly that, if the aqueduct stopped working today, the population sustainable by the natural resources here would now be much smaller than it was at the beginning.

and there is uncertainty about how sustainable the aqueduct is... and what other options would be possible for supplying the current enormous population of this land with water.

but... even assuming that this would become significantly easier with fewer humans...

none of the malthusean ideas about population reduction are anywhere near ethical. and from a viewpoint of cold heartless numbers, they don't even seem PRACTICAL. genocide and forcible sterilization tend to focus on the groups that are using the fewest resources per person anyway.

and populations adapt to what is available! currently, this is happening through the mechanism of "younger generations aren't having kids because no one can afford to have kids."

this kind of adaptation sort of works-- although, like other population control methods, it still allows the wealthiest and and most lavish resource-users to breed pretty freely.

BUT it is… kinda sorta ethical, in a sort of terrible individual way.

at least… it's more ethical than other types of "population reduction"... and it is much more ethical than the opposite goal of "forcing everyone to reproduce no matter what they can and can't afford."

and THAT is the dystopia most likely to happen now! THAT is what'll happen if we don't VICIOUSLY defend body autonomy and access to birth control for those who want it.

there was a time, decades ago, when I was a bit brainwashed by that same paranoia about overpopulation! BUT, the more i learned about the issues, the more clear it became that the way to a sustainable population is to let people decide how many kids to have. THAT is how populations adapt to what the society can sustain.

so even from a "omg overpopulation scary!" viewpoint, the best bet for the happiness of distant future generations is probably gonna be a combination of:

"figure out how to manage resources in a goddamn reasonable not-greedy way"

and

"protect goddamn REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS."

both of which-- guess what? ARE ALSO THE BEST WAY TO MAKE THINGS GOOD FOR THE DAMN CURRENT POPULATION.

so… longtermism, to me, is both important and a non-issue.

it works itself out best when we ignore it and take care of our community right now.

[alldogsarecomrades]

Strike Against the Reich

We have seen and heard the war-like attitudes of Amerikan capital. For generations they've infected every layer of society with the “if you don't like it, go work somewhere else” ethic. A sitting Senator is being charged by UAW with making threats against strikers, although the NLRB is not a serious regulatory agency and predictably saves all real repercussions for workers and their representatives. And contrary to the cosmetic changes that have been trumpeted by labor officialdom, the Board will do nothing but protect capital when the inevitable class war counteroffensive begins. It's not a matter of “if” but “when” another air traffic controllers strike happens, and both organized labor and the left must be prepared.

I don't know which is more likely: that capital is so hellbent on returning to the days of the Pinkertons, or if they have enough forward-thinking minds in the room to know that labor cannot be controlled with blunt force alone. If the former is the case, a capital strike will occur just before the election in order to torpedo the re-election of Biden in favor of a Republican that will swiftly use jail, fines and state violence to put down the ensuing labor unrest. If it's the latter, mass layoffs and plant closures will proliferate no later than December 2024 in response to the current labor renewal we are experiencing and a Biden win is secured.

This leads us to the question of which strategy we will end up using to respond to either Biden's or Trump's responses. A Republican administration will reliably use heavy-handed Reaganite tactics. Biden is also a Reaganite, and let's be honest, Reaganism is the dominant ideology of American fascism, just as Hitlerism was to the Third Reich. But Reaganism is also chiefly interested in maintaining the status quo, by hook or crook. In this case, the hook may be wielded by a man who needs to do any and every thing possible to regain the confidence of the elites if he's going to avoid dying in prison. The crook, we all know, is the accomplice in office who has allowed the military and police state to seize virtually all public assets, and granted them broad discretion to re-establish order. But even now, after 3 years of the Biden counterinsurgency, labor has entered the chat and we have some words.

Before I arrive at my fucking point, let's establish one thing: I believe working class people are the only class of people that contribute any godamn thing of any actual value to society. White collar, unemployed, disabled, caregivers, industrial proles, the precariat, you name it, we do it. Anyone that's not a boss, a landlord, a politician, a lawyer, a bureaucrat, a social worker, you get the idea. As a member of the only class that matters, I don't mind telling you that we are capable of absolutely anything. And more to the point, no one can seriously argue that even a badly-run society of self-managed stateless communes could somehow be worse than how things are being run right now. If we wait much longer we may never see it.

But this polemic isn't about 'after the revolution.' I told you that so I can tell you this: we can run entire industries—now, today—better than the ruling class does. In fact, the only thing that is currently keeping our society afloat is the fact that working people bring skill and planning everyday to every workplace in the Fourth Reich of Amerika. We already run this shit, we're just not paid like it.

When push comes to shove, the time will come when broad multitudes by the thousands of working people will find themselves with a renewed purpose and vision for the organizations they've spent the last few years building and revitalizing. Starbucks would rather close every last store in Amerika if they expected (reasonably) that the federal government would bail them out, if it means not having to tolerate a union contract in the temple of customer worship. Corporate is currently testing the NLRB to see how far they'll go to enforce the law, and so far General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo has said or done nothing to suggest that she will ever escalate to anything that might approach a serious confrontation with capital. Starbucks has racked-up record numbers of sustained ULP complaints, and yet the company is still free to ignore their legal duty to bargain under the most pro-union president in history. Starbucks knows firsthand that only the working class can emancipate itself, and they are preparing to liquidate our nascent capacity to carry out that task.

Under Biden in 2024, the federal government will undoubtedly launch a counterinsurgency program akin to Defund the Police that will use the carrot of redirecting labor militants down blind alleyways of the state bureaucracy long enough for the insurgency to fizzle. This will be coupled with the stick of violent scabs with badges, in the same manner as what was done to the movement against police violence in 2020, and what the Sanders campaign did to the elements of Occupy Wall Street that survived Democrat-led police assaults nationally. That is the essence of Amerika.

In 2023, labor is the vanguard, just as the Floyd rebellion was the vanguard in 2020. A riot and a strike are two means with the same ends. Capital knows this, and (just like the knowledge that the task of our emancipation is ours alone) so should we. If we don't we will fail to anticipate once again the shape of counterinsurgency.

Here's the main point: a capital strike can be defeated, but only if labor and the left are prepared. Like the UE union members at the Republic Windows and Doors factory occupation of 2008 declined to wait for the incoming Obama administration to rescue them, today's working class must seize the moment and up the ante. The Republic workers were prepared because they were members of a democratic rank-and-file-led union, one of the few at the time who could credibly claim that mantle. As syndicalists have always demonstrated, rank-and-file democracy is the new world in the shell of the old. If we run our labor organizations without bosses, so too will we run our industries in the service of society and the Earth.

Don't get me wrong: I have no illusions that we're on the cusp of social revolution. Indeed, we've never been closer to losing that possibility forever. We are, however, very much at a stage where power vacuums will be filled and it is critical that working class organizations are the ones to fill them.

Another example (aside from occupying shuttered businesses, expropriating them and administrating them under workers' control) would be the likely scenario in which the 2024 election will once again be contested aggressively by both sides. Elsewhere I've written about the likelihood of civil war and how it will likely be a showdown between, what I'll call, “status quo Reaganism” versus “insurgent Reaganism.” Or how about this: Reagan as he apparead on Amerikan television, versus the Contras. That's basically where the Overton window is at in the Fourth Reich.

Anyway, the terrain as I see it tells me there has been a very slowly awakening giant in the federal government since January 6th. It took two years but the sectors of the security state that remained neutral on that day for fear of committing too quickly to one side or the other have finally decided to try and muster some semblance of a challenge to the Neo-Contras. Indictments have piled up, the mainstream is at least pretending to deny Trump ballot access (ha), and most interestingly, Fulton[?] County made a very loud political declaration. Perhaps the first loud anything in the history of status quo Reaganism. In one breath the DA declared war on both the far-right and the far-left.

Not since the Johnson administration has centrism managed to get off the can long enough to say something about the Klan, and we must be clear that in 2023 and 1963 alike, every inch of breathing room we find ourselves with is due without exception to our efforts as militants. The strategy was always to turn the ruling class's strategy in on itself by pitting one faction of the state against another. In the near future, our many years of battle may finally yield an opening while the rank-and-file-far-right of the security state slugs it out with the federal bureaucracy. I think there's an outside chance that Starbucks might be on its own for this fight, and even if not we should act as though they will. The truth is we can only win if we believe we'll win.

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

COMING BACK TO THIS ACTUALLY BECAUSE LIKE-

Look at where we start from!

Look at this stereotypical fairytale! He just rescued her from a tower and they fell and love and it's sappy and cliche and predictable, but they're happy!

And then he gets sick and dies and she goes a little bonkers trying to petition the gods to resurrect him, because being trapped in a tower for most of your life means your emotional control is shit when you lose a loved one, who knew.

But then -just like Alucard!- she gives in to anger and despair at her lowest nadir, because that's easier than admitting that she made a mistake or facing the emotional devastation caused by her hurt and grief. You know what, if gods won't bring her beloved back to life because of their stupid "respecting the delicate balance between life and death" rules, she'll MAKE them give him back! Surely lashing out at divine beings won't go badly for her!

Needless to say, it goes badly for her.

And then do you know what the gods do, when humanity re-evolves centuries later? They fucking resurrect Ozma. They tell him that a calamity has befallen the world and they'd like to see if the new humanity deserves redemption, so if he could get the new population to work together in harmony and then call the gods back, that'd be great. He'll have to reincarnate into new bodies and merge his consciousness into each host, because this'll take him a while and they don't want him to be alone. Also, if he fails to unite humanity by the time he's called them back, they'll just nuke the entire planet -for real, this time. Ozma politely declines and asks to go back to the afterlife to join Salem: when he hears that she's still alive, though, he goes "SIGN ME THE FUCK UP" without waiting for more details.

And do you know what? Despite the warning signs, despite the gods explicitly telling him that the Salem he loved is gone, Ozma ignores it all and homes in on her like a magnet.

And they still recognize each other! Even after Ozma is literally an Entirely Different Person and Salem's been corrupted by the Unholy Monster Goop, they still know each other on sight. They still love each other! They even start a family!

Ozma wants to unite humanity, so Salem suggests they play gods, since they're both functionally immortal and have magic unlike anything the second wave of humanity has ever seen. This goes great until Ozma notices how ruthless she's become and tries to explain to her why he wants to unite humanity: she reacts with disgust, because why bother trying to redeem these humans? Humanity isn't redeemable. She would know: after all she's seen, shouldn't she know?

Ozma then realizes that maybe the Salem he loved is gone, and tries to sneak out of the castle with their kids. This goes badly enough that all four kids die and Salem deliberately kills her husband -the man she defied the gods for, the man she gave up everything for, the man she loved past all sense or reason- with a blast of fire to his face. I'm talking kicks-him-over-on-his-back, stomps-foot-on-his-chest-and-magic-flamethrower-to-the-face-from-her-hand. It is vengeful.

And so it goes, for god knows how long afterwards: Ozma and all his hosts are trying to protect and unite humanity while Salem is trying to divide and destroy them. But the thing is, Salem can never quite shake her ties to their past: because, like Alucard, she's calcified in her moment of grief and rage and hurt and anger. No matter how much she acts otherwise, she can't move on from it.

And while Ozma is still trying to live up to his duty as a protector, he has -by nature of his own curse- been changing this entire time. Each new host gives him a new perspective: he's blessed by the gods, sure, but isn't this also a curse in its own way? To constantly become someone new, to create someone with each finished incarnation that isn't the host but also isn't fully Ozma anymore.

How much of Oscar, his current host, is going to be left when they're done merging? How many more times is Ozma going to have to reincarnate before it's over and he can finally lay both himself and Salem to rest?

And look at how Salem initially treats Oscar. This is not Ozma, this is not him, this is just his latest host. Oscar is recent enough to the process that Ozma is still a voice in the back of his head, not his inner monologue. Salem knows this and acknowledges this. It's obvious. She's known Ozma for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, and this is not him.

But for a significant portion of this conversation, Salem is still talking to Ozma, treating Oscar like a radio receiver or a telephone line.

"So small, this new host of yours." I know you're in there.

"The lies come out of you so easily... like-minded souls, indeed." You lied to me, you lied to me, how could you, do you know what I gave up for you-

And then later, when Salem is decidedly not as composed as the above scene, she forgets the host entirely. Despite Oscar being the one fronting the entire time the duo interact with Salem, all she can see is Ozma.

Again, Ozma hasn't even spoken to her this whole time.

Oscar's been in the driver's seat the whole way down: in fact, the only time Ozma even talks when Salem is present is to telepathically tell Oscar not to panic, that he's going to be okay, just as they're regaining consciousness from being kidnapped. Otherwise, Ozma's silence is deafening.

Props to her VA for the delivery of this line, because the frustration and barely-checked rage that have both been seething for centuries is palpable.

I burned the world for you, I destroyed myself for you, I corrupted myself for you; and that would've been fine, but then you came back. I was cursed with immortality that has broken my mind with the despair of eternity trying to raise you from the dead, but then you came back on your own. I tried to raise a family with you, I loved you again, but you betrayed me and I killed you but then you came back again, making a mockery of all my sacrifices, everything I gave up to try and bring you back myself.

How could you. How dare you. Why are you still haunting me like this. Why can't you give up. Why won't you stop coming back. I loved you once, but I want nothing more than to see you dead now.

Anyway I just think their story is neat and again, if I was a lot cleverer than I am, I'd find a way to make it into an Andercard fic.

Ramble post because I’m thinking of Alucard and Anderson again but like…

If I was a lot cleverer than I am I’d write an Andercard story using Salem and Ozma from RWBY somehow. It’s been fluttering in the back of my head ever since V6C3 because their relationship can be so Andercard-coded if you let it, and the only thing that’s stopping me is how heavily Ozma and Salem are tied to their series and how difficult that makes lifting their themes/doing an AU.

But still. It’s the “devotion that corrupts” of it all. It’s the whole “In the name of the divine or demonic, a monster’s still a monster in the end” that Salem and Ozma inadvertently end up acting out with the series as their stage. 

It’s Salem acting out against the gods and the world to bring Oz back, only for the gods to smite him and give her the vilest punishment that they can: immortality. It’s Oz turning his back on the afterlife without a second thought if it means he can see Salem again. It’s Oz agreeing to become an existence that reincarnates into the back of people’s minds and consumes them, all in the name of being the gods’ instrument, because it will get him back to Salem.

It’s Salem and Oz recognizing each other when he comes back on sight, even when Oz is in a different body and Salem has been altered irrevocably by the Grimm pools. It’s how Salem’s love made her into the monster she is and how that love transmutes seamlessly to eternal and undying hatred after Oz turns his back on her. It’s how Salem is still so stuck in the past she hisses his name, the first name he had, even thousands of years later and after all the countless bodies and faces and names he’s worn in between, like she can’t see anyone else.

I love you so much that it will shape the world. I love you so much the gods will never forgive me for it. We will love each other and it will destroy us both. Our love will leave only inhuman monsters behind and we will not stop or hesitate because we care too much to do so.

[xtrash-writing-trashx420]

Toxicity At It's Finest, Reader x Draco Malfoy

"I've been holdin' my breath, I've been countin' to ten, over somethin' you said..."

The weather is a mirror to the emotions swirling through the air.

Thunder shatters the silence, roaring just above the manor. Lightning splits the skies, the blue light flashing across both of your faces, seemingly accentuating the flaming anger of his clenched jaw and fiercely glaring ice blue eyes. Rain drops, big and heavy as hail, pounds the windows in earnest.

You can't believe what had spewed from his mouth, and the sting is worse than as if you've been slapped in the face. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and choose your next words carefully, as your voice breaks and you choke back a sob.

"... Alright,"

Now it's his turn to look as if he's been slapped. You don't miss the shock on his face, but you continue anyways, feeling as if it's for the best.

"I'll go."

You turn on your heels and run for the stairs, scared to stay a moment longer, lest he talk you out of it.

Though blinded by tears, you don't miss a single step, and you reach your shared bedroom without making any more of a fool out of yourself. The door slams shut behind you, and the sound echoes through the mansion, as if trying to voice your determination for you. Still, you finally let the tears flow freely and you scream out in devastation as you back against the door and slide down to the marble floors.

You had finally had enough. After twelve long years of staying by Draco's side through his ridiculous bi-polar emotional episodes and abuse, through his breakdowns from the abuse of his father, through his cheating on you with that disgusting pug Pansy Parkinson, through his suicidal pact with the Dark Lord, and almost dying for him in the Battle of Hogwarts, you had finally had enough.

"I've been holdin' back tears, while you're throwin' back beers and I'm alone in bed..."

These kind of fights were not uncommon while Draco drank back his pain and sorrow, but it used to end in the two of you coming together in the heat of the argument to say your apologies through some sort of carnal physical activity, since neither you nor Draco were ever ones to voice your feelings in the lovey-dovey chit-chat sort of ways. But for the past eighteen months, there had been no apologies at all, carnal or otherwise. Things had steadily been getting more and more aggressive and tense between the two of you, spiralling out of control as Draco drank more and more often. He often would try to find any reason to start and argument, almost as if trying to distance himself from you. You, on the other hand, had simply taken everything in stride for the first few months, knowing that one of the consequences of being committed to the Malfpy Heir was his rollercoaster of emotions and admittedly vindictive and toxic nature whenever he was caught in a downward slope.

But things were different this time. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and no matter how often you tried to break through his wall and try to get him to open up to you again; to become the soft, sweet yet damaged boy that you knew was behind the façade, he wouldn't crack.

You had even tried to break through with seduction, as it was a last-resort that you had used more than once before. You had even donned his favorite lingerie; an emerald green and black sheer lace set with a black sheer lace kimono. You had cornered him while he was in his father's old study, hunched over some sort of paperwork with his hands stuffed into his silky, platinum hair. You had approached quietly, draping yourself over his shoulders and kissing his ear while you whispered a breathy,

"Draco, come play..."

into his ear.

And the bastard had the audacity to take one sideways glance at you and scoff, looking back to the papers and muttering something snide under his breath about having no time for games.

More and more layers of wall went up with every brick you had managed to scrape off in the past, and it had finally come to a peak.

"You know I, I'm afraid of change... Guess that's why, we stayed the same..."

Even the beginning of the fight had been strange. Usually the arguments you two had were over something real, something serious. Whether it be you, trying to help him break away from his carefully sculpted mask of anger and spite that had been constructed over the years and getting blind-sided with some vindictive comment by the character he had forged; or by said character being a few too many butterbeers in and trying to deconstruct you for something extremely irrelevant and simple, like doing the dishes by hand instead of instructing the house elves to do them, there was a predictable pattern to his emotional explosions.

This time had been different.

You were simply lounging by the fire, delving deep into your favorite muggle-writen novel, when he had appeared before you. You couldn't exactly remember what had happened at first, only that he had torn the book from your hands and thrown it into the roaring fireplace. The next thing you can recall, he's pushing you back against the black leather couch, forcing his mouth and body upon you as if he hadn't been completely depriving you for over a year, as if he hadn't brushed off your advances and let you cry yourself to sleep alone in the bed you had once shared for over a year.

So you did what any sane woman would do: You slapped him and shoved him off of you, hollering over your lost novel and his shitty advance.

"You must be joking?!" You had screamed, standing over him as he clutched his face in pain and looked up at you with liquor-glazed eyes wide in apparent shock.

The shock didn't last long, though.

You don't know if he actually hit you, because everything happened so quickly, but your recollection counts you on the floor, and him above you, screaming profanities in your face as spit flies from his mouth while he roars at you through clenched teeth. You've never been one to back down though, and you remember quickly finding your feet and shoving him backwards into the coffee table, almost tripping him as you scream back profanities that would make an Irish sailor blush.

Things escalated so quickly, you can't remember exactly what each of you said, you just remember how bad each word hurt. Whether you were receiving or dishing them out, each word split your heart into tinier pieces, syllable by syllable. The last thing you remember was what ended the argument and sent you flying up the stairs.

"So tell me to leave. I'll pack my bags, get on the road..."

"So why don't you just tell me to fucking leave?! Why the fuck are we still doing this?! Why waste either of our time anymore?! I don't fucking deserve this!! You've been playing fucking games with me since the first day we fucking met, you don't fucking love me, you barely love yourself!!"

"Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know. 'Cause you remind me every day, I'm not enough, but I still stay..."

You had regretted the words instantly, for they had sobered you of the outright rage that had blinded you for however long the fight had been going for. Draco, however, had no sobering experience. No, your analysis of his drinking and abuse had simply proved to anger him further, and he screamed the six words that shattered your world to the core.

"THEN GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT, YOU HALF-BREED WHORE!! YOU'RE BARELY WORTH MY TIME, I COULD FIND TEN WOMEN WHO WOULD LOVE ME BETTER!! AND THEY'LL ALL KNOW THEIR BLOODY PLACE, TOO!!"

"Feels like a lifetime, just tryna get by, while we're dying inside. I've done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one, but I can't move on..."

Silence ensued between the two of you, even though it was swallowed by the crack of the thunder above your heads and the deafening pounding of the large raindrops on the roof.

And this is what brought you here, locked away in your once shared bedroom, crying your soul out in rivers as you packed what mattered as quickly as possible, not that you were getting very far with your task. You could barely see, after all. In fact, you were sobbing so openly and loudly; you didn't hear the quiet flapping of clothing and clap of footfalls on marble that come with someone apparating into appearance.

"You know I, I'm afraid of change. Guess that's why we stay the same..."

You growled in sorrow and frustration at your clumsily packed trunk, slamming down the lid to try and close it; to no avail. You could barely see through your tears, so you could scarcely be expected to notice the small corner of a shirt that was tucked just slightly into the slot where the latch was supposed to slide in. You simply growled and cried in aggravation, slamming it over and over, faster and harder, trying to get the latch to catch in the slot. After a few tries, you gave up. Sliding to floor in anguish and defeat, you brought your legs up and crossed your arms over your knees, tucking your face into your jeans to hide your tear and snot-streaked features. You still can't hear anything over the deafening storm and your own cries, but you know it's Draco when you feel his touch. It's soft, as if he's trying not to frighten you away like you would a feral cat.

Just a gentle stroke of his palm on your hair, and you dare take a glance at his shoes through your arms, before looking up at him through your tears. You can see his expression change when he takes a good look at your face, and you can see the pain in his now sobered eyes. You can tell he's sorry, but that's not enough this time, and you turn your face back into your legs and take a deep, shuddering breath.

"So tell me to leave, I'll pack my bags, get on the road. Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know. 'Cause you remind me every day, I'm not enough, but I still stay..."

"(Y/N), please..." You can hear his voice cracking, and you want so badly to turn to him and push away his fears. You want to tell him that you won't go anywhere, that you'll always be here, that you'll never let him push you away... But you can't. You don't have it in you right now, and you're not sure if you will again, not this time. For the first time, you find yourself imagining a life without Draco in it. Would you be happier? Would the pain end? You don't think you even remember what it was like before being with Draco, before being a slave to your blind love for him and that scares you half to death.

So you don't say a thing, you simply begin to cry even harder, and that prompts Draco to drop to his knees beside you, enveloping you in his arms and whispering desperate 'I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry's. His chin comes to rest on top of your head, and for a split moment you think the roof has sprung a leak, before you realize it's his tears hitting the top of your head as he cries in earnest.

"I don't know what to do, (Y/N)... I don't know how to fix this... I love you so much..." He chokes back a sob, and you sniffle as you begin to cry even harder.

"Please, please don't leave... I'm so so sorry..."

You stay like that for a few hours, wrapped in his arms while he cries out his apologies into your hair, before you finally cave into him, shushing his sobs and kissing away his tears.

"If you want me to leave, then tell me to leave, and baby, I'll go. You remind me every day, I'm not enough, but I still stay..."