#Just so everyone knows

[likedrotten]

small

[frozenjokes]

Cub knows of the ponies. Grian had a fixation in college. He does not know enough. Cub is going to call grian ten thousand times until he picks up. no context will be given. he will just demand information and scar will hear the entire fucking conversation through the door. After this cub will be going directly to his bedroom (without acknowledging scar at all) to Do Research.

no amount of begging would make cub watch mlp in college but he’s unprepared for one (1) social interaction and he must immediately find out why friendship is magic and what to do about that.

there might be a part 2 of this because all i care about now these fucking idiots and their ponies

Grian’s take of their sonas

[ifr1t]

how do I explain that this is actually one of the best, well-written fics I’ve ever read?

[littlebosslady7]

[shallowseeker]

Today, I'd like to say how absolutely adorable I find Cas's crush on the anchor lady.

Also/// Literally, sometimes Cas's earnest "smooth talk" works 200000% better than Dean's tryhard posturing???? WTH, Cas!!!

I mean. Good God, she goes from closed off

to

CAS: "you're tough one second...compassionate and tender the next..."

CAS: "Sorry I took up your time."

///

(blooming into a big smile, despite herself) "Wait..."

//

CAS: THANK YOU. And she throws him a bouncy lil' smile. }:]

[loricnerd]

A post about Number Five

Five is literally the most complicated character in the series He lost his guardian, and not even to the Mogs, which could radicalize him against them, but to disease. He specifically,spitefully calls it "some *human* disease. (While this could be a writing flaw because, surely on Lorien people could get sick) The Mogadorians picking him up, grooming him into The Traitor, Setrakus Ra *actually* seeming like he didnt want to kill him, this shit made him into this warped person. He has this strange inherent bloodlust and also sadism that everyone childishly calls insanity. We also have evidence that Number Nine is actually particularly, specifically FATPHOBIC. and no im not trying to be all tumblr but Nine is especially weird about the two fat characters in the series and its not even funny. No one is a fan of the way he bullies others. So after losing his guardian and being re-educated he finally encounters the "brainwashed fools" and some of them are really nice... nice in a way surely Mogs arent with him.

What does he do? Smash cut to the War Marina took his eye, he feels immense guilt, in the final battle he sees what "progress" looks like with the creature they fight before they reach Ra. A hideous bastardization of what Legacies are. Hell he's drowned in the Ooze by Ra in the final battle and then... In the Epilogue, hes described as "a ghost" by John Marina notes he can definitely see her, and them. She notes hes probably begging for her to kill him, finally put him out of his misery. But he's described as emaciated. Self imposed solitude and self flagellation possibly forever. The next time he shows up in the story he's seen to be tormented by his past and his natural tendencies and by his mind. Overly violent to the point of needing sedation at times, sedation mind you that he BEGS for because he "doesn't like feeling this way". He uses his externa on a shapeshifter legacy and is elated to be "made whole" using the power. elated to have his eye back, the dead flesh from the ooze (at least visibly) healed. body trauma is all that he is now. He was the odd one out. He was insulted for his size and perceived worthlessness.

Then he was the Traitor. Unwanted, better off dead, deserving of what came to him. Then he was The Beast. Monstrous, Unstoppable, powerful. Horrifying, Terrible.

And i havent read return to zero yet but i know for a fact it still doesnt end alright for him

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober Day 12 - Starvation

title: eve or the serpent?

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: starvation

~

“Please.”

Cleo growls at him—at Joe, they trusted him, they can't believe that they could ever have trusted him—

“It's safe, I promise.”

“No, it's not,” Cleo snaps, even as her stomach stabs through with lancing pain.

An apple. An apple is all that Joe holds out to her, and Cleo doesn't know if he's the serpent or if he's Eve but they know that to partake would be the end.

“Cleo.”

They had given him their name. That's how much they had trusted him.

They were so terribly, terribly stupid.

Joe was different, she'd thought. They were friends. They were inseparable, as nervous as it made everyone in town.

The artist’s daughter and the púka. What a foolish pairing.

Cleo still remembers when they met—as she strayed a little too close to the forest during recess, kicking a rounded pebble along in the grass, only seven years old and already well-versed in avoiding the fair folk. She carried a cold iron ring, a protective charm in the necklace that was commonplace for children, a salt packet in her pocket and enough knowledge to recognize and keep away from any fairy circles.

This fairy wasn't what she'd expected, though.

He was a little boy, with goat horns and dirty clothes, tears pouring down his face as he tried fruitlessly to pull his leg free of an iron trap clamped around his ankle.

He was bleeding, blood trickling down between his toes, and he blinked up at her with big, golden eyes and she knew that she wouldn't leave him, fae though he clearly was.

“You can call me Scully,” she had said, because of course she had been taught to never give her real name.

The little boy couldn't have been older than six, and Cleo's chest puffed up as the oldest and therefore the one in charge, and she set the fairy free.

You aren't supposed to do favors for the fae, but Cleo didn't know that.

When the boy showed up a week later as she played at the park and helped her spin the merry-go-round, she just thought she'd made a new friend.

He became Joey when he turned up one day with tall ears and a thick tail (they had read an an alphabet animals book the day before, and he had been enraptured with the kangaroo), and she had laughed and told him he was too small to be a real kangaroo, but maybe he could be a joey. She carried him around in a makeshift sling like a mama with a pouch, both of them giggling the whole time.

Everyone in town avoided them. Cleo's father was angry at first, then scared, then resigned. It makes her want to smile, remembering the fear in his eyes slowly fade to tired acceptance the first time Joey had come to dinner, when she was around eleven, and they had caused far too much chaos together without a word of communication between them.

For the most part, it was just Joey and Scully, together against the world. Cleo didn’t mind that she didn’t have any other friends. She had Joey, and Joey he stayed until Cleo was fifteen and Joey was too young of a name (he was a teenager too, hair long and face scrawny and floppy dog ears hanging down to his cheeks) so he became Joe.

“Don't tell him your name,” her father had said, again and again and again, once he gave up on trying to argue with her. “I won't stop you from having a púka as a friend, but never give him your name, all right?”

Cleo should have listened to him. She should have taken that one piece of advice, even if she ignored all the rest.

It was her eighteenth birthday when she told him her name.

They had thought, at that time, that they might be in love with Joe. They hadn't felt so close to anyone ever, so they gave him their name in case something was truly there.

Joe had gone still, his golden eyes blinking owlishly at her (an apt description, his mouth beak-like, his ears pointed and feathery). “Scully—you shouldn't—”

“I don't care,” Cleo had said brusquely. “I'm Cleo. Freely—”

Joe cut her off with a hand to her mouth, head swiveling around to make sure they were alone.

“Don't say that,” he had implored. “Never say that. Freely given can be accepted by anyone, Scully.”

“But there's no cost. You don't owe me anything.”

Joe had just let his hands fall to their shoulders, concern writ in every line of his face. She had always been able to read his emotions so well, no matter what face he wore.

She had loved him, but not like that. She had loved him as her closest friend, her Joe, who had always been there.

Even now, he's here, at their side, at the end.

The traitor that he is.

He had carried them, taking the form of a horse as he so often did, through fields and over streams and into the forest, and Cleo had known the way and had laughed and enjoyed the wind on their face until everything went dark.

They awoke in a labyrinth.

A maze of twisted trees, Joe nowhere to be seen.

She wandered for days. She had so trusted Joe that she had neglected to pay any mind to wherever he took her, and that had clearly been her downfall.

She walked, and walked, and walked, until she was faint with hunger and thirst, until she had collapsed and could barely even crawl.

Days, she thought. It felt like months, but it was probably just days.

Laughter rang from the trees around them, and they covered their ears. This was what she’d always been warned away from as a child—a fairy circle, sometimes a dance, sometimes a maze, always a disappearance.

There was no way back home. There was no way of telling how long it had been out there, if anyone they loved even was still alive.

All she knew was that it had been long enough for her to die, and now—if Joe wouldn’t stop pressing this apple into her face—she will.

She doesn’t want to eat it.

“Please, Cleo,” Joe begs, and they register vaguely that Joe never uses their real name. She had given it, but he never used it.

Not until he was trying to make her do something that would change her forever.

“I . . . I don’t want it,” they say, lacing their voice with every ounce of venom they possess. “You . . . you. . . .”

“I know,” Joe says, and Cleo thinks he might be crying for some reason. There’s a shift, and then their head is in his lap, and Cleo can’t help from melting into him as his fingers gently comb through her hair.

She was nine the first time she practiced braiding on Joe, and he had made it extra long just for her to practice.

He learned how to braid, as well, and she gave up on braiding her own hair and just let him do it whenever the fancy struck him.

His hands are more familiar in their hair than their long-gone mother’s. Isn’t it cruel, to find comfort in his touch now?

“I’m sorry, Cleo, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long. But you need to eat something, we need to get you out of here.”

“But—but—”

She turns away as he presses the apple closer. Her stomach jerks with piercing pain again; her breath is stolen from her lungs.

“I know,” Joe says again, his voice soft. “I know. But you have to. I’m sorry, but you have to. Then we can find our way out, okay?”

If they eat that apple, they might never die. They might be bound to Joe forever.

Is that worse than starving to death?

Cleo looks at the apple out of the corner of their eye, glaring at it. “I don’t . . . I don’t like . . . Red Delicious.”

The apple changes in front of them, Joe just twists his hand a little and it’s green, a little bit of condensation dripping down it in the most appetizing way.

“Granny Smith, your favorite,” Joe murmurs, his free hand still caressing their hair. “We can leave afterwards, I promise. But you have to eat.”

Cleo closes her eyes.

A tear slips out.

Then they take a bite.

[iphyelly]

i had a check-up today and my doctor said i have almost regenerated my blood since hemorrhaging… insane that i’ve just been sitting around making some new blood

[kiuda]

btw i am really excited for the project

[squirtbagging]

fine

[evienyx]

In completely separate news, the end of Book 1 means that rewrites are officially beginning!

I'm planning on rewriting a certain number of chapters before I actually post the rewrites, but I thought I'd mention it. Currently, I've just finished the rewrite of Chapter 1.

Now, there are a few reasons for these rewrites, but the main one is consistency. There are a lot of decisions with characters and plot that I didn't make until later, or ones that I dropped in favor of better ones. I want characters and plotlines to be more consistent, and so I am rewriting a good number of the chapters. I'll also be cutting out a lot of filler from the beginning, and making things more concise where they can be.

I know, though, that a lot of people really like the start of Fractures. People have a great attachment to some of it. So, once the rewrites are done and the chapters in the main work have been edited, I'm also going to be posting a "Fractures Archive" essentially, which is where I will post all of the original versions of rewritten chapters, so if you still want to read them, you can.

[haroldherald]

i always shipped funtime freddy x ballora but as a butch and a femme lesbian

[undercoverangell]

storyboarding legendary animatic . it hurt !

[the-greatest-detective-ranp]

a different Ranpo is flirting w ur man

lemme at 'im, lemme at 'im!!

[ofscalesanddatabanks]

Things I have confirmed about Ray today:

✅️Is a furry

✅️Has a foot kink

✅️Likes a good touch

[petrichorium]

Feeling ill over shanks today just btw