#don’t acknowledge this post i just needed to save this somewhere

[bestworstcase]

@cryptidblues tumblr ate this one too, maybe drop tumblr support a line to check if you’ve been erroneously shadowbanned 

Oscar is dying! He’s dying! We’re getting the full weight and crisis of the merge in volume 10 I NEED IT. The image of him collapsed on the sand as the sunrises with his back to the long memory OOUGH just like Ruby and crescent rose after she drank the tea, before the tree took her. The reversal on “I don’t want to be me anymore” / please let me stay myself. The lad is being eaten alive! From the inside out! By an unstoppable brain parasite that will kill him! And Replace Him! I Need the slow build up of horror from Oscar and everyone involved. “And Oscar…just isn’t himself” they’re place setting. Getting the table ready. Ooh yknow he’s hiding those merge episodes/attacks from his friends. I NEED the existential terror and dread! BUT I NEED THE CATHARSIS OF OSCAR BEING KNOWN, SEEN & SAVED TOO ;-;

NOT to make a post oscar about ozma instead but the thing that is really, really pulling the hinges off for me is the implication that this is happening because oz started actively fighting the merge. as long as oscar resisted and oz kept up the drumbeat of “this is inevitable, there is nothing either of us can do,” the curse kept on quietly eroding oscar as the boundary became thinner and thinner between them. it was, for lack of a better term, stable. 

the moment oz tries to resist, the curse starts trying to rip him forward. to force him to take over, inflicting what seems to be torturous amounts of pain on both of them. the subtle, silent, invisible violence that was inflicted on oscar before explodes outward to attack both of them. 

how many times have i said this curse is specifically designed to make it impossible for ozma to change? that the whole point is to prevent ozma from ever changing his mind or defying the god of light? never doubt me. the literal fucking instant ozma tries to break free, the curse becomes YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE. 

the curse had a failsafe the whole time.

/ozma tangent

oscar though. this poor kid. like the greatest burden on his shoulders in the last four volumes has always been that no one wants to openly acknowledge what’s happening to him and the nature of the merge’s violence being so completely internal means that no one has to look at it except him. and he’s been so isolated in that existential dread but he’s also grown so accustomed to being treated like just. the next ozpin. that when the violence abruptly becomes externalized in reaction to oz’s resistance, oscar… hides it. keeps it to himself. somewhere deep down the idea that it doesn’t matter to anyone what happens to him got lodged in his brain so deeply that he keeps it hidden!!

and i’m obsessed with the emotional complexity the layers of what he’s feeling with regard to ruby, because it’s not as simple as that he misses her and aspires to her optimism; there’s also some underlying resentment there (“you were always so sure that everything would work out…right up until the moment it didn’t” <- paraphrasing) because she was wrong and he wishes he could borrow her certainty but she was wrong. she fell. she was wrong. 

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, everyone else believes that they’re gone forever. that they’re dead. oscar doesn’t. he’s thinking about it in terms of where they might have gone, what might have happened to them, he’s doing research because deep down, there’s a teeny tiny spark of hope that hasn’t been extinguished yet. so there’s this subtext of i wish i had your certainty. even though you were wrong. i’m still trying to find you. we’re still fighting this. you always saw me for who i really was. i don’t know who i am anymore.—there’s this tension throughout the monologue between bitterness and hope, and i don’t know if oscar is even capable of seeing that he is still hopeful or that he does have, if not ruby’s kind of certainty, something of his own that rhymes. he’s feeling this bleak about everything and still trying to figure out where they are because he doesn’t believe they’re dead. 

it was oscar’s idea to put the memorial where the portal had been. it’s taller than a person and shaped like a door. it’s a memorial but it’s also a symbol; the portal is gone, but they were inside it still, we should build our own door so they can find their way home. and then they do, according to the context given. the blacksmith gave them a doorway that went right through their memorial.  ETA: never mind, misremembered

ruby confronting and facing his mortality after running away from it for three volumes to galvanize her to really try to save him vs oscar doing whatever he can think of to somehow save her while roiling in all these complicated painful feelings about how no one cares to know how he’s suffering because it isn’t like there’s any real hope for him. tasty!

[emcscared-whumps]

SHIFTING PHASES - Part 1

[PREVIEW] Chapter 7: No Wish Without a Price

Shifting Phases Masterpost

Here's the next chapter! This is the last chapter I will be previewing for a while, but, since I don't post as I write, I wanted to give you guys something a little more to chew on, you deserve it for being so patient with me :)

Big shoutout once more to @whump-cravings for beta'ing this chapter <3<3 Thons feedback has helped me improve my writing out of sight, thankyou <3<3<3

Previous

CONTENT and WARNINGS: Beating, blackmail, bullying (school bully, but they're out of school), drowning (attempted, but is a big focus), emotional whump/angst, guns, mer whumpee, transformation, vague threat of sexual assault (not explicitly said, but still definitely happens). All characters present are 18 or over. wc: ~4.8k

Pete's Perspective

He’d really fucked up, back under the whitebeam.

For weeks now, Pete had been pushing Burton’s limits, intentionally or not, whether by hiding money, lashing out to escape a particularly painful hold, or something else. Burton’s patience had been thinning already; he’d barely needed one more reason to corner Pete somewhere far from help.

Pete had given him three.

And Burton’s reprimand under the whitebeam was the final straw.

“L-Liz, ye s-ssshould go,” Pete stammered, shoulders pinching high as his heart began to race. He couldn’t drag her into his problems again; he couldn’t bear the thought of another friend getting hurt because of him. He swallowed as Burton smirked and stepped close, and shivered when a hand snaked around his shoulder. Tension lined every muscle. With his eyes, he begged Liz to listen, please; it’d be so much worse for them both if she fought.

She didn’t even acknowledge him.

“You should listen to your silly little boyfriend, Dovey,” Burton smiled. “This isn’t your business.”

“If ye think I’m dumb enough ta just leave Pete alone with you sacks of shit, ye’re dead wrong,” Liz said, stance firming up.

“Liz, d—don’t—” Pete started, but was cut off by a sudden, painful pressure ensnaring his neck. Burton’s large hand had wrapped around the edge of Pete’s scarf and yanked back, leashing him with the knitted fabric. A couple of sharp, experimental tugs forced Pete’s hands to his neck, as if by testing the hold, Burton dared him to resist.

“Go,” Burton said darkly.

“Make me,” Liz snarled.

Burton let out a low growl and shoved Pete into the group. The eager, grasping hands of one were quick to snatch the scarf and reapply the pressure while the others grabbed his arms and shoulders, wrestling him firmly into their hold. Pete coughed weakly as the fabric pulled tighter still. Through wet eyes, he watched Burton prowl over to Liz and rasped thinly, “D-don’t—Liz—” Every movement, every syllable hurt. How could fabric so soft be so unyielding? His fingers dug in against his neck as he tried to give himself the barest room to breathe. “Don’t, hhhk, don’t f-fight…! ‘S’not wor—th… it!

…I’m not worth it…

“Listen to him cry!” one mocked.

Another laughed, “Wah, wah, p-p-p-p-please! Lizzy, come s-s-s-save me, I’m sc-c-c-c-cared!”

This was funny to them.

Burton towered over Liz. “Last chance, Millen,” he said, “Leave.”

But still, she did not back down.

Inwardly, Pete cursed her fearlessness; the two of them were badly outnumbered—this was hardly the time to fight, but she couldn’t see that, or the yellow and black handgun that appeared at her temple. Pete opened his mouth to cry a warning, but his scarf cinched too tight to speak, making him squirm despite the pain. Colette’s thumb hovered over the safety.

Pete jerked, panic and dread shooting through him. He tried again to wriggle free. Don’t hurt her!

Liz froze, but flashed her teeth in a wicked grin. “Too chicken ta fight me fer real, Colette?” she said, turning slowly to face the hunter’s handgun, and the young lady behind it. “And what are ye gonna do with darts that don’t work on humans?”

“Oh, these ain’t darts, Dovey.”

The strength drained from Pete’s legs and the gang easily forced him to his knees with a hand on his head. Blood roared in his ears, yet colour drained from his cheeks. The missing bullets, the small, dark object that Colette had snuck from Miss Moore’s bag... He should’ve said something. Mentally, he kicked himself, stupid. STUPID. His cowardice was going to kill them both! The scarf grew tighter still; he had to fight to make his voice form anything more than pathetic, gurgling whines. “Liz pl-pl’sse, d-don’t—Liz—don’t r-res-ssist…!” ‘S’not worth—“ he choked. He couldn’t breathe. “Le’go…!” he gasped.

Liz’s expression darkened.

Oh Powers, no, no—!

In a split second, Liz slapped the barrel of the gun away, launched her fist toward Colette’s chin in a vicious uppercut, and howled, “Let him GO!”

Colette gave an enraged shriek as the two tussled. Liz’s fists flew, catching her face and stomach while Colette’s rings grazed Liz’s cheek as her hand flew to her hair with lightning speed. Liz nearly screamed when Colette yanked her head back, nearly tearing out her fiery red curls. Above them, the gun’s muzzle swayed aloft, bobbing almost forgotten above their heads.

Liz fought hard, catching Colette’s wrist in a vice grip. Her arm shook with the effort of keeping her opponent in place, but she staunchly resisted every plot to gain the upper hand, and snarled through gritted teeth when her hair pulled tight.

They staggered further from the fountain, but Burton, in his pursuit of a front-row seat, stepped into Pete’s line of view. The girls yelled, but he couldn’t see what triggered furious caterwauling.

Boots slid over stone, fabric suddenly shifted, and—

CRACK!

The muzzle flash was as blinding as the shouts and resounding shot were deafening. Amidst the chaos, the boys’ hold on Pete slackened, allowing him to drag in a desperate breath and wail, “LIZ!”

His stomach lurched; from the corner of his eye, he saw Burton move in—towards Liz, who laid on the ground below Colette.

Nothing the boys could do would stop Pete from struggling. Fuelled by terrified fury, he writhed and kicked against their hold, and through the bruising pain, wrenched his scarf from their hands. The release was sudden, but he had no time to stop; one final buck let him bury his elbow into someone’s ribs and launch himself away, toppling another to the ground. With his full weight behind him, he sent a clumsy punch flying into Burton’s face. Hot pain bloomed across his knuckles.

The punch connected with a muted crack, jerking Burton’s head to the side. Pete drew back his shaking hand, cradling it as it throbbed.

A hush fell over both sides.

Burton slowly turned on Pete, wiping his jaw and working it slowly. He eyed the dark smear on his hand before lifting his wrathful gaze to Pete, baring his teeth like a hound denied its fun far too many times; and, like the prey it hunted, Pete shrunk back with eyes as wide as saucers.

“B—B—Burto—” he began to plead.

Burton stormed forward, seizing Pete’s arm in a bruising grip and wrestled him back into the gang’s hold, heedless of Pete’s frantic thrashing and yelling. A stray backwards kick caught one of his assailants in the leg, throwing him off balance. As he fell, his sudden weight almost pulled him free, but one wobbly kick could never have been enough.

A fist slammed into Pete’s gut, leaving him coughing and choking against the spasms of his diaphragm. Not a second later, his arms were again pinned tightly behind his back. Between wheezing pants, Pete let out a whine at the sudden, painful strain on his shoulders.

Liz growled again, spitting and cussing up at Colette who stood triumphantly over her, “I’ll make ye sorry,” she seethed, “I’ll fuckin’ kill all ye useless wank stains. Ye’re dirt, Burton.”

Pete gasped with relief. It was like a massive weight had lifted off his chest, and he could finally breathe again; Liz was okay, she was alive.

It didn’t last long though. Anxiety quickly resumed its grip on his heart when his eyes found the gun still strained down at Liz.

“Try it, bitch,” Colette sneered, victory turning her voice smarmy. She flicked off the safety the second Liz twitched to strike. “Ah-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dovey.”

Liz bared her teeth in a snarl, but laid still. “Ye’re a fuckin’ coward, Colette,” she spat, “ye’re pissweak, ye’re nothin’, that’s why ye need the gun. Can’t beat me on yer own. How does it feel provin’ that I’m better than you even when ye win, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Colette snapped and spat on Liz, “slag.”

Liz’s features twisted with disgust, but before she could retaliate, Colette yanked her up by the arm and half-dragged her back along the path. Liz yelled as she went, but Pete couldn’t discern the words over his heaving breaths and roaring blood in his ears. He just hoped she had enough sense to stay away—the guilt of getting her caught up tonight weighed on him enough.

…And, after this… he would want to stagger home and tend his wounds alone.

Once they were gone, Burton seized Pete’s throat with one hand and buried his other in his wiry auburn hair. “Since when did you have a death-wish, Spencer?” he said, fury melting into sadistic triumph. In the dim light, his eyes glittered with the obvious glee of Pete’s thundering pulse beneath his palm. “You know what happens when you resist.”

“Y—d-don’t—ye w-wouldn’t—! Pl—please, don’t!” Pete choked out.

Burton smiled. “You can let go now,” he said to the boys holding him, “I think he got all uppity because his girlfriend was involved; he knows better than to make things worse.”

“Hey, what’re’ye talkin’ about, Burton? What’d’ye mean?” asked one, though he and his friend did as they were told and released Pete’s arms, leaving him to stumble forward toward Burton.

In less than a second, the bastard had a cruel grip on his shirt and wrist. “Let’s just say I know a dirty, little, secret,” he replied, shifting his weight, forcing Pete to move with him… back toward the fountain.

Pete’s pulse quickened, his stomach dropped, and his blood turned to ice. He shook his head. He had to run, had to get away as quickly as he could—but he’d never be strong or fast enough to escape, if he was even able to stand by the time Burton was done. But, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t actually—! It’d be too far; Pete would die! Surely he knew that!

“It really would be a shame if your silly little friends were to find out,” he said, digging his nails into the fresh burns on Pete’s palm, drawing a choked yelp. “Oh, but I wonder what your mummy would think. Are you scared she won’t love you anymore, Petey?”

Pete squirmed against his grip, holding back panicked tears and biting out, “No! Sh-she would—she would!”

“I’m not so sure about that, Petey, and I don’t think you are either,” he purred before leaning close and whispering in to his ear, “looney.”

She would! She—she has to—she’s my ma!

“She could never love a worm like you.”

Tears streamed down Pete’s cheeks. “Ye’re wrong!” he cried, and surged forward, slamming his head into Burton’s with a sickening crack.

Burton howled and grabbed Pete’s neck again, squeezing tight and moving his other hand to his hair. Pete screamed and choked, clawing at his neck with blunt nails and stumbled back with a sudden push. Suddenly, he was moving, going down, down—

A blinding lightning bolt of pain seared across his vision.

Pete cried out, writhing on the ground, kicking at Burton’s legs, anything to make him let go. His head throbbed with sharp, stabbing pain.

“Oh, does that hurt, worm?”

Pete’s lips parted, but little more than a squeak escaped. Yes! Yes! So much—let go—!

“Stop struggling and I’ll let go,” Burton said.

It took every ounce of strength in Pete to stop fighting the agonising, choking pressure at his neck, but when he did, Burton kept his word and let up, though still kept him pinned to cold stone with a knee at his chest. “That’s better isn’t it,” Burton said. “You’re starting to remember your place, Spencer.”

“Woah… he’s just… laying there. What the fuck Burton,” breathed one of the boys who now stood behind him. “How do you get him to do that?”

Burton merely smiled down at Pete, who gulped, ducking his chin.

The other said, “I bet he’d let you do anything,” and made a crude, terrifying gesture.

Pete tensed and his eyes grew wide, but he didn’t dare twitch with Burton atop him to feel the slightest hint of resistance. Burton didn’t move either. Their eyes met only briefly, though it felt far longer than the fleeting second it was. Pete expected to find cruel hunger in those earthy depths. Instead, there was an odd, unreadable expression that cast his features further into shadow.

Pete swallowed.

Burton’s eyes moved to the side to catch his other friend in his peripheral, face twisting as if he’d tasted something foul.

Before he knew it, Pete was being dragged upright by the hair. Each yank drew another pathetic yelp, but he dared not resist, not even when the tension tore small wounds in his scalp. “No,” Burton said flatly. “He’ll listen to this.” With his full weight behind him, Burton violently shoved Pete’s head down to the water’s rippling surface.

A short scream forced itself from Pete’s chest. He managed to catch himself on the cold, stone edge with a strained grunt, but Burton did not let up. He pressed his head down further until he was so close, he could smell the faint, crisp scent of water, could feel the coolness radiating from it. Pete was in no position to fight, but still he resisted, gulping down air, holding his position with all his strength despite the terror that lit his nerves on fire and threatened to send him down. He shook under the strain. Burton could easily force Pete’s head into the water, but didn’t, toying with him; and he was entirely at Burton’s mercy.

“No—nonono, n-no, don’t,” Pete stammered, eyes wide.

“What’s the matter, Pete, afraid of a little water?”

Pete couldn’t think. With his mind frozen by panic, he could only utter a single, frightened plea; “Burton, d-don’t, p-please—”

“You should’ve thought about that before you humiliated me in front of everyone and jeopardised my school record,” Burton said with a growl, and plunged Pete into the icy water below.

Horror and adrenaline shot through Pete’s body, shocked by the cold. He didn’t even have the chance to scream; instead, he was forced to clamp his mouth shut and expel the water before it rushed down his throat from a reflexive breath in. Pete fought again—he had to get out—but Burton’s hold stayed firm.

In that position, bent over the fountain with the bastard pressing his head and shoulders down, it was impossible to get back up. His muscles burnt with the strain of resistance. He needed air. How long could he hold out for? He’d lose everything if he gave in now.

Without warning, Burton jerked Pete’s head, tearing loose more auburn strands.

His lungs burnt. It took everything in him not to breathe, the water beckoning him with its cool, relieving caress, but the precious few seconds he had left were running out. Darkness crept across his vision.

Burton… let me up, please…

He did not.

He’ll let me up… right…? Powers, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t let me die, would he…?

Pete would be as good as dead if Burton held him down too long, he had to know that. He had to. Even though Pete was fairly sure Burton didn’t have it in him to kill, a spark of doubt flickered in his mind; just how valuable was his punching bag?

His consciousness was slipping.

After what felt like an eternity, wind finally hit Pete’s face, turning the chilly water clinging to his skin bitingly cold. He hung limply from Burton’s tearing hold, mouth gaping desperately, trying vainly to swallow down as much air as he could. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Burton watching him, with glittering eyes and parted, upturned lips. Pete couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t make a single sound, he couldn’t breathe—

Pete tried harder still to drag in breaths, but his lungs remained stubbornly sealed, instead forcing air through the set of gills that flared beneath his scarf. It was enough to delay the darkness that threatened to swallow him, but not to relieve the burn of his muscles. Pete blinked hard and gasped again, a wet, horribly choked sound. His lungs loosened the tiniest fraction for a split second, allowing a minute wisp of fresh air past before closing again. Tears streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the water dripping down his face that he blindly mopped up with his sleeves. Thankfully, only the tips of his hair were soaked.

“Aw, what’s wrong, runt?” Burton sneered.

Between his body’s weak attempts at coughing and his instinctual fight for air, “C—C—” were the only sounds Pete could manage.

“Can’t speak either?” Burton jeered, encouraging the others to join his fun.

Finally, the last of his strength ebbed, and he faltered, stumbling in Burton’s grip, teeth bared in a grimace at the tear of more hair. His world tilted and faded. Dimly, Pete heard the muted laughter and shouts from around him, but they drifted further away every second. He could barely hear Burton speak; “I can fix that for ya,” he said, spinning Pete to face him. Despite how distant he sounded, the steam of his breath rolled against Pete’s face.

Pete folded when a fist sunk brutally into his stomach. All at  once, he wanted to cough, retch, and try again to gasp for air. He found himself on his hands and knees with his head resting on the cold stone. More tears streamed down his face, this time, from the violent coughing that gripped his chest between the ragged, wheezing breaths that signalled his body’s switch to air.

Pain blossomed where the punch connected.

It hurt. He’d probably find a dark welt later. His limbs were weak, his stomach churned, and he shook so badly he almost crumpled the rest of the way down, but the immense relief of the cool air he gulped down outweighed it all. Thank the Powers, he thought over and over, thank the Powers, thankyou.

The respite was short-lived.

More pain exploded across Pete’s cheek, swiftly followed by the dull crack of his head colliding with the fountain’s ornate stone wall behind him and the dull thud of his body hitting the ground. Pete groaned. Everywhere ached and throbbed.

Burton kneeled in front of him, dragging his head up once more to take in the sorry sight before him, to relish the power he held so tightly in his fist. He hissed, “Don’t ever cross me again.”

Pete made a choked sound, unable to control his trembling. He couldn’t stand bending to Burton’s every whim, allowing himself to be beaten and robbed at every turn without so much as a word of protest. Shame heated his cheeks, but what more could he do when this was the furthest fighting would take him? There was nothing he could do, not when he stood to lose so much more than his dignity and lunch credits. “Y—yes, yes Burt-t—Burton,” he wheezed, voice breaking into coughs.

“Good lad,” Burton said, carelessly releasing Pete’s head to roughly pat his cheek before standing, “Let’s go. I think he’s learnt his lesson.”

It was over. It was over.

The notion repeated in Pete’s mind while his body sagged with relief and exhaustion, still heaving, drinking down the air with ragged pants as if he’d been starved for a lifetime. He was thankful that Burton hadn’t taken it as far as he could’ve; it would’ve been so easy—just a couple more seconds was all it would’ve taken. Though the fountain’s cool wall at his side steadied him as he regained his breath, his heart skipped beats at the thought, sending a weakening queasiness through him. Footsteps crunched along the frosty grass, continuing until they clacked unmistakable along the cobblestone surrounding the fountain.

Burton yelled, “Enough! I said enough! Don’t you dare, you stupid pricks’ll drown ‘im!” but the footsteps continued, their owners cooing.

Pete tried to stand, to crack open his eyes to see his assailants and run the other way, but the sudden, intense light of the moon blinded him to all but hazy silhouettes. They grabbed him easily, mocking Burton, “Only a pussy would walk away now, Burton, you’re not chicken, are you? The bitch is so easy to push around! But if you insist, we’ll have a turn with ‘im.”

Every vein in Pete’s body iced over. Their turn.

Before he knew it, Pete was yelping in protest as the boys ripped off his scarf with bruising force and dropped it to the ground to be trampled and forgotten. “No—Help!” he cried, “Burton!”

“Aw,” said one, “Pete doesn’t want his poor scarf ruined!”

Burton yelled again, but no help came.

Once again, Pete was plunged into the frigid waters far deeper than Burton had ever forced him. Credits gleamed on the bottom, their rectangular faces glimmering with reflected moonlight broken only by the waves of Pete’s struggles. Two of them, no doubt, belonged to him and Liz. They were beautiful, like the quiet moment they shared before… this. If not for the hands buried painfully in his hair, or the danger of the position he was in, Pete could easily have felt at peace among the silvery wishes.

It took even less time for his lungs to scream for air, for him to start struggling ever more desperately; he couldn’t withstand this again, but he could only scrabble uselessly against their hold. They yanked his head back up, holding him up for a second before thrusting him back down.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take that precious chance, that invaluable sliver of time to steal a breath and save himself. Their hands were so close—how could they miss the glaring difference between him and them? Someone cussed when Pete struggled again, clumsily kicking his leg out behind him. As punishment, they shook him. Pete’s lungs burned. He needed to breathe; it took all his strength to hold the little air he had left. His gills ached, begging to take over and keep him alive, but he couldn’t let that happen; he couldn’t give in, he couldn’t. If he failed, he’d die. Pete placed his hand on the bottom and pushed hard.

Another violent jolt shook Pete’s world, sending the last of his breath bubbling to the surface, torn from his grasp. With empty lungs and exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs, his assailant’s weight pressed his chest further into the hard rim of the fountain, though the pain seemed far away. His eyes drooped. Darkness crept from the corners of his vision. Pete’s struggles died down further, but none of Burton’s gang seemed to notice until Pete’s hand slipped with another jerk, sinking him.

Pete had no choice but to surrender.

Cold, relieving, terrifying water rushed down his jaw to his gills, and he opened his mouth to greet it. Greedily, he gulped it down, gills flaring with each deep, shaky gasp, and as he did, the sensation of impending change flooded every corner of his body.

I’m goin’ ta die.

Slowly, Pete’s features began to change. The tips of his ears grew pointed, poking above the water to meet icy air, and the webbing between his fingers grew further and further. Under his sleeves, fins began to protrude from his skin and press against the fabric of his shirt, and scales slowly emerged to cover the skin of his hands and forearms, but still, the cruel hands of the humans held him down. How long would it take for them to notice the strength drain from him? His legs buckled from under him, too weak to take his weight. Unease permeated the atmosphere above him, punctuated by the loosening and changing grip.

It took multiple of Burton’s gang to haul Pete from the water by the scruff of his coat. They expected him to move, to keep struggling, but Pete hung limp in their grasp, too exhausted to do more than curb the loll of his head and weakly gasp for air.

“What the fuck? Is he dead?!” one exclaimed. “He wasn’t under long enough!”

“Oh my Powers,” said another, “look.”

Pete shuddered when fingers brushed his gills. Tears streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the water that ran down from his hair. At the base of his spine, a thick tail pushed itself out over the waistband of his jeans, and his legs were more than halfway fins. There was no way out.

“Shit,” Burton breathed.

When Pete opened his mouth to beg for mercy, all that came out was a bout of hoarse coughs and horribly choked gasps for air. He brought a scaled, webbed hand to the wrist of whoever was closer, but his grip was too weak to pull them off. Instead, they yelped, and Pete felt himself drop. It took a moment for his mind to register the sudden, splitting pain at his forehead, and the warmth dripping from his hairline to his brow from where he slammed against stone. Everything spun. His whole head ached, his ears rang, and he could barely make his eyes focus on the figure that lingered while the others fled, leaving him to finish shifting on the ground. Pete could barely see his silhouette, but the voice, unusually perturbed, belonged to Burton, who swore again at the way Pete’s long, pointed ears drooped, and a weak, gurgling whine caught in his throat after another bout of wheezing coughs. He too turned and fled, discarding Pete as if he were a broken toy.

Pete was so weak. Along his still-growing tail, glimmering, snow white scales surfaced, mottled by an orange hue identical to the colour of the fins that grew from the small of his back and tip of his tail… and the ones where his legs used to be.

He couldn’t move.

Small sobs built in Pete’s chest. Blindly, he turned his head, searching for his satchel. He needed the small towel he kept inside it, but like this, he couldn’t see more than a foot ahead. The cobblestone was chilly beneath his hands as he groped along it, hoping, praying to the Powers that his hand would brush against it, but it never did. He cried. His world still spun, and his head throbbed harder still; it felt warm. Pete didn’t realise he’d fallen back to the stone again, he just hurt. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even tell which way was up. For a while, Pete laid there, trying and failing to control the overwhelmed tempo of his ragged breaths and stifle his anguished sobs until the mist that seeped through the shadows finally crawled across the open ground, obscuring all but the closest objects.

Where was Liz? She was there earlier. She’d been hurt. Pete tried again to get up, only for the slipperiness of his scales to yank his hand from under him, sending him crashing back down. He heaved another sob, curling his arms around his head, bracing himself against the sharp ache that lanced through his skull. The lone gunshot echoed in his mind in time with each throb, over and over, tormenting him—he needed to get up and find her, help her, make sure she was safe, but he was too weak, too useless to be anything but a burden. He couldn’t remember when the shot rang out, if it was before or after she was dragged away.

He was so tired. The uncertainty weighed heavily on his soul.

How long he spent splayed out on the cobbled surround, propped awkwardly against the wall of the fountain shivering, he couldn’t be sure, but it was long enough for him to wonder if there was any real reason for him to try to get up anymore when all he did was hurt people. As the haze that blanketed his mind grew thicker, his consciousness drifted, he found himself hoping above everything else that Liz was okay. She had to be okay. She always was.

…Where was she…?

“Liz…?” Pete whimpered, but there was no reply.

Pete needed something too, he had somewhere to be, but the thought, as easily as it came, slipped from his mind. He was so, so tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d remember… Maybe he’d wake up in his bed warm and safe and not hurting, and this was all a dream.

Where was he…?

A long sigh escaped his cold, battered body, eyes finally drooping shut. Several pairs of booted footsteps jogged over frozen grass.

Previous

If you read and enjoyed this, please consider a reblog ^-^

Taglist:

@a-crumb-of-whump

@dang-i-like-whump

@gem2117

@onlywhump

@nowjustanothermain2notjudge

@painful-pooch

@pigeonwhumps

@snaillamp

@vampiresprite

@whump-cravings

@whumplovers-collaborate

@willowtreewhump

If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know <3 More info [here]

[suusoh]

About pre Rurenheim Johan!

I always imagined being interested in someone would very much contradict his whole “im not a person thing” cause, the way i see it, the second we acknowledge desire or possession, basically wanting something outside of necessity, we acknowledge our personhood.

He could get himself food or clothes or guns or cars without questioning it because he needed it to survive or to fulfill his plans, but wanting something out of just desire is different. I don’t think his weird little murderous shenanigans or suicide plans would register as desires to him.

But i think he’d have to face some conflict with romantic interest or desire for someone else. Nina is his sister and Tenma falls into the “dad” category after saving his life, but he’d have to do new mental gymnastics for anyone outside the family i think.

Exactly anon exactly!!! I don't have much else to add to this because I agree with everything you said.

I also wrote somewhere in another ask about how Johan will go about with darling if they met pre-rurenheim. I think Johan won't ever acknowledge his feelings for them. He knows they've piqued his interest, but he wouldn't pinpoint exactly on why or what.

Only after rurenheim and post-monster does he really sit himself down and accept he has a thing for them that runs deeper than a shallow interest. Like you're absolutely right, this will be the first person he genuinely feels affections for that isn't because of a familial bond. Like he's actually able to feel attraction now, something that's so individualistic.

I do feel like he'd rationalise it really fast but he'd lowkey still not accept it. Like he knows what's going on, but that doesn't mean he has to come to terms with it so quick. So yes, Johan will be competing for gold medal in the mental gymnastics til then.

[nighttimeebony]

My reactions, thoughts, and predictions that I had while reading Percy Jackson: The Titan's Curse. At least the ones I bothered to write down. Spoilers below the cut. Also, fair warning, this one is way longer than either of my previous reaction posts. I had a lot of thoughts.

EDIT: part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5

I feel I should mention that the Percy Jackson books have objectively the best chapter titles

The mental image of Sally driving Percy and his friends to get their ass beat like it's just an after-school sports club is hilarious to me

Ooh, Thalia has hypnosis wind

So Thalia didn't age while she was in that tree? Because I remember she was much older than Annabeth at the time of her death, but now she, Annabeth and Percy are all the same age. Huh. Okay then.

NICO DI ANGELO!!! I've heard about you! You're gay! And he has a sister! Oh I am delighted and ready to love them!

Thalia insulting Grover's music taste.

ANNABETH IS TALLER THAN PERCY

Aww, Nico defending his sister.

OH SHIT, IS THORN A MANTICORE??!???!!

"They're not dolls! They're figurines!" Sure, sweetie.

CALLED IT

Bianca is great.

Oh my God, Nico, you beautiful nerd! XD

HUNTING HORN?!!?!!! SILVERY ARROWS?!!?!??? IS IT ARTEMIS?!!!! PLEASE TELL ME ITS ARTEMIS!!!!!

HOLY FUCK, ARTEMIS'S HUNTERS!!!!!!!

Zoë Nightshade is easily the most badass name I've ever heard in my life.

ARTEMIS!!!!!!!

Please tell me Annabeth is okay. I will not be okay until I know that she is

Oh my God, Nico! XD Also, chill, Percy, he's just a baby.

"Besides, I hear they rebuilt the cabins you burned down." Excuse me, what?!

Percy, leave Bianca be! Besides, you don't even know her! She can be a badass warrior hunter lady if she wants. What even are your hang-ups about Artemis's hunters? They saved your life.

Oh, wait, that's right. Camp Half-Blood needs more people to keep it protected. That's right.

Good for you, Bianca, but I can't say that I would ever leave my little brother to become an immortal virgin. No offense to them, but girl, your brother needs you. You may have a new family, but you're all he's got.

Oh, I love Artemis calling Apollo her annoying brother. Do we get to see them interact? I pray that we do.

Grover simping for Artemis is so valid.

Thalia thinking Apollo’s hot is so valid.

Apollo being an obnoxious kind-of hippy going through an anime phase is the greatest idea anyone has ever had. He's so stupid, I love him.

Apollo's comment about pretty girls turning into plants reminded me of the myth about the time where one of his boyfriends turned into a flower after he died. Hyacinthus. Because we cannot forget that Apollo is canonically bisexual. If Rick Riordan doesn't (at some point) acknowledge how gay ancient Greek mythology is, I'm going to riot.

Dating must be really weird at Camp Half-Blood. And between demi-gods in general, right? Because, technically speaking, they're all kind of related to each other. I guess it just works differently since the gods aren't human, so there's not the same case to be made about genetics and the potential for incest. Or maybe that only applies to kids who have the same god parent. Like how Percy sees Tyson as his brother. I’m wondering if the kids from other cabins feel the same way. Like, do kids from different cabins consider themselves siblings? Does Annabeth see the other kids from Athena’s cabin as her siblings? What does the dating scene even look like at Camp Half-Blood? Is it considered scandalous to date other members of your own cabin? Or do some people think it’s taboo or whatever to date other demigods in general? I don’t need sleep, I need answers!

Ohhh. Okay. So apparently Thalia has aged while she was in the tree, just very slowly. So if Percy is 14 and Thalia can pass as an 8th grader like him, and she should be somewhere between 12 and 19, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say she's about 15 or 16.

Oh, hey, I was right. Thanks, Apollo.

Aww, poor Thalia. Lol. I was the exact same way when I drove for the first time. Literally had a panic attack on the spot, and I wasn't even controlling the Earth's temperature.

Yay, Tyson! I was worried we wouldn’t see him again until, like, the last book or something.

Aww, it’s so sweet that Tyson wants to see Annabeth. And it’s adorable how cool he thinks she is.

Wow, Luke really is an unbelievable bastard. Annabeth is smart, she was smart to question him, but when the rocks started to fall, her instincts drove her to protect Luke, because even though he’s an unbelievable bastard, Annabeth still can’t help but harbor positive feelings for her. For the longest time, he was family to her and she loved him, so of course those feelings are still there, even if she knows it’s illogical.

Wait. Annabeth is holding up the ceiling of a cave, which Percy acknowledges that she shouldn’t be able to do. So… is the cave ceiling actually the sky? Like how, in Greek mythology, the sky is held up by the titan Atlas? In the mythology, Heracles trades places with Atlas holding up the sky while Atlas helps Heracles complete one of his twelve labors, and when Atlas is about to leave, Heracles tricks Atlas into taking back the sky before bolting. Like how Luke tricked Annabeth into holding up the cave ceiling before leaving her alone to hold it by herself.

Okay, Grover, chill out with the stalking, bud.

I guess Grover and Annabeth take turns getting damsel-ed. Last book was Grover’s turn and this book is Annabeth’s turn.

Don’t worry, Percy, I forgot about that scarf too.

Okay, not liking how the Hunters are portrayed. Because when Artemis says to give up love, she only means romantic love, which is clearly not the only kind of love. Greek mythology practically invented the concept of differentiating and identifying different kinds of love. The Hunters should know that, but the way they act towards the other campers is really… I dunno, gross? They act like their way of life is the only way that matters, which is super fucked up coming from the people that follow Artemis.

“I wondered if there was any way I’d looked that ridiculous when I’d first arrived.” Percy, that was literally only two years ago, get off your high fucking horse. XD

Thalia static-shocking people when she’s annoyed is golden and I love her.

Oh, fuck.

OH, FUCK!

Oh, we love the prophecies… Yayyyy.

Okay, guessing time. Artemis is chained to a rock, which immediately made me think of Prometheus, the titan that gifted fire to humanity and was punished by Zeus to be chained to a rock and have an eagle eat his liver every day for eternity. But then the Oracle mentioned that one must withstand “The Titan’s Curse,” which could be another reference to Prometheus, but I don’t think so. Because in the myth, Heracles killed the eagle and freed Prometheus from his punishment, so I’m pretty sure it’s not that, but you never know. Then I remembered Annabeth and my prediction that she’s currently holding up the sky like the titan Atlas, and the Oracle said that “one must withstand.” Admittedly, my knowledge of Atlas and his mythos is shaky at best, and I don't remember him ever having a "curse", but I guess holding up the entire sky is about as "cursed" as it's possible to be. And the Oracle saying that “one must withstand” makes me think that something happened to Atlas, so now someone needs to hold the sky in his place or else the sky will collapse to the earth and the world will end, or something like that. So that’s my prediction, that someone will need to hold up the sky in Atlas’s place for the rest of, well, forever. I don’t have a guess as to who it could be, though.

Also, someone is apparently going to die. And be killed by their god parent. Awesome… Super looking forward to that inevitable heartbreak… I hope it’s not either of the di Angelo kids, but they’re both new characters, and I know Nico becomes more important later (purely by accident and through pop culture osmosis), and since I had no idea that Biance even existed until I started reading this book, I am terrified that that means Bianca is going to die. I pray that I am wrong.

Wow, Thalia is petty and I’m kind of living for it.

I love that the Stoll brothers are basically Greek Fred and George Weasley.

Wow, Zoë’s kind of a bitch. She won’t travel with Percy because he’s a boy, and apparently Grover doesn’t count as a boy because he’s a satyr. Super fucked up.

You know, Artemis did have male Hunters. It didn’t happen often in the mythology, but there was a pretty famous male Hunter of Artemis named Hippolytus. The thing about Artemis’s Hunters isn’t that men weren’t allowed to be Hunters, it’s just that men typically didn’t choose to be Hunters, because one of the reasons why Artemis’s Hunters joined her in the first place is because Artemis protected the women in her care from the sexist constraints placed on them by Greek society at the time. The reason why men didn’t typically become Hunters is because they didn’t need the same kind of protection and escape from Greek society that women did. And Artemis didn’t hate men on principal, she hated the fact that men were the ones who used their positions of power to discriminate against and abuse the women in their society.

Aww. Grover’s such a sweetheart.

I love Sally.

Percy has so many damn Dreams™ and nightmares I have to wonder if this kid ever sleeps.

Apparently Percy knows the names of the pegasi, which is adorable to me. And this one is apparently Blackjack, which is a great name for a horse.

Aww, I want a baby serpent cow.

Aww, Nico. He's precious and I love him. Protect this child at all costs

Oh, I know about Ariadne. Theseus ditched her on an island after she helped him navigate the labyrinth and kill the minotaur. That's how she met Dionysus. I'm pretty sure they got married not too long after.

Aww, Dionysus and Ariadne are still married. That'd be kind of sweet if Dionysus wasn't such an asshole.

Yup, I know about Medea too.

Did they really just give Dionysus the Snape treatment? He hates all heroes on principle because one of them was cruel to his wife? He thinks he’s justified in harassing children because they’re training to be heroes, and he thinks that all heroes suck? Wow, dude. Get a life.

Oh, cool, Bianca’s forgetting things now. Nothing sketchy or sinister about that, I’m sure.

Is the General the titan Atlas? If my earlier theory was right, then he's gotta be.

Excuse me, teeth?! Plant them?!

Oh, wait! I think I know what that’s talking about. In Jason’s myth, he had to yoke a field with the teeth of (if memory serves) fire-breathing oxen. I don’t remember what planting the teeth did, but I’m guessing it wasn’t anything good.

HAH! Saber-toothed tiger kitties popped out

The General talks about mortals the same way I talk about fanfiction and anime

OH FUCK THE NEMEAN LION

“Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters.” Truth.

Wait… what’s going on with Bianca? There’s something fucky going on with her memory.

“‘Bianca,’ Zoë said. ‘How long ago…’ Her voice faltered.” FOR FUCK’S SAKE, RICK!

Ain’t no way this friendly homeless guy isn’t some kind of hell monster.

Oh. I stand corrected. Not a hell monster. Probably a god. The gods love disguising themselves as old people to test mortals

The Mountain of Despair. Sounds fun. I wonder if this is the mountain Prometheus was chained to, since it’s powered by titan magic and all that.

Ladon… I know that name. I recognize that, but I can’t for the life of me remember his myth or anything about him.

*in reference to one of Percy's dreams* Oh, wait. Is this Jason and Medea?

Oh, nope. It was Zoë. I figured she had some kind of bad break with a boyfriend or something, but I dismissed it at first because I figured she was too young. But I guess if she was around during ancient Greek times, that sort of thing doesn’t matter.

Oh, hey! I once visited Cloudcroft, New Mexico! It was a nice little place.

“I was never very comfortable talking one-on-one with girls anyway…” Okay, Percy, you and I both know that is a lie. Annabeth is, like, your best friend.

"'Bianca,' I said. 'That hotel you stayed at. Was it possibly called the Lotus Hotel and Casino?'" Oh no.

Seventy years?!

Oh, fuck.

99% sure Aphrodite is the one in the car.

WAIT, HOLD UP! IF BIANCA AND NICO WERE BORN MORE THAN 70 YEARS AGO, THAT MEANS THEY WERE BORN BEFORE THE BIG 3'S OATH, RIGHT?! SO DOES THAT MEAN MY THEORY ABOUT HADES BEING THEIR GOD PARENT IS RIGHT?!?!??!! OHHHHHHH, SHIIIIIITTTTT

"When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth." AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Aphrodite is the patron goddess of shippers.

What the hell, Aphrodite, chill, lady.

"You act like it was real." Percy, this is Greek mythology. Every single star/constellation was either a person or an animal before this whole mess.

"It... it was for Nico. It was the only statue he didn't have." OH MY GOD!! ToT

"If anything happens, give that to Nico. Tell him... tell him I'm sorry." WHY??!!?!?? LITERALLY DON'T!!!!!

"Here we were in the desert. And Bianca di Angelo was gone." WHAT THE FUCK?!!??!!! WHY DO YOU HATE ME!???!!??

No, but please tell me she's not dead. The prophecy just said "lost", not dead. And there's no body, so she could still be alive. Rick hasn't killed anybody yet, Bianca cannot be the first. I refuse.

The Hesperides! That's why Ladon sounded so familiar! He was the dragon!

"'But--' Gurgle, gurgle, the naiad spoke in my mind." RICK!!!!!! FINISH YOUR GODDAMN SCENES FOR ONCE!!!!! THIS IS THE KIND OF STRESS AND ANTICIPATION THAT MAKES PEOPLE LOSE HAIR!!!!

I like that Grover, Percy and Thalia actually listened to Annabeth ramble about her special interest enough that they can just recall random facts like that. It's an adorable little friendship detail, but also fucking sad. I miss Annabeth.

Hah. "Dam". Let these kids swear. They deserve it.

"'Nah,' I said. 'Not that high.'" Aww, Percy's a good friend.

Hah. Statue fucking.

Oh no! Is Bessie the monster! No! But she's so cute!

PLEASE DON'T KILL THE BABY COW SNAKE

"'This is Atlas's mountain,' Zoë said." LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO

"'Yes,' Zoë said bleakly. 'Atlas is my father.'" THE GAME JUST FUCKING CHANGED

*after finishing chapter 18* ......... Fuck, man.

Wait, why isn't Hades a part of the Twelve Olympians? And why haven't we heard any mention of Demeter's demigod children? I can't remember the last time the Demeter Cabin was even mentioned, if it ever was.

Well, I guess Thalia joining the Hunters is a pretty roundabout way to have the prophecy be about Percy.

"But I will be watching, Percy Jackson. I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter." Well, then you're gonna hate what happens later.

Aww. Percy and Annabeth have matching battle scars. Sort of. Still sweet.

Oh, no, Nico.... Baby.....

"It was a statue of Hades, Lord of the Dead." OH FUCKING SHIT

"A son of Hades." OH FUCKING SHIT

HOLY SHIT, PAN HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Being A Time Traveler And Meeting Nicholas

Nicholas D Wolfwood X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of near death and weapons

Word Count: 843

Requested by @ceylon-morphe286​

(A/N:) Sorry it took me a little while to get this finished. I wanted to sit down and write several times last week but alas life once again got in my way. Thank you for your patience and I am so pleased with finally getting this posted for you! Thank you so much again for your request I had a lot of fun writing this, it was something that made me think and try my best with! I hope you enjoy it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

As a traveler of time and universes, you had visited many places and many different times and you could honestly say you enjoyed every single one. But now this place that you found yourself called Noman’s Land was the worst place you decided. As it was most likely going to be your doom as the sun beat down upon your exhausted form. You had no water nor food and it was taking it’s toll on your body. The desert seemed to trail on forever and you just knew that you were not going to make it much further at all. You were beginning to give up, resolved to just rest and become worm food when you saw a shadow on the horizon. You chalked it up to a desert formed illusion. The shape of a man with a large cross in tow just had to be a cruel trick of your near impending death.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood couldn’t understand what brought him this way. He had been heading to the next town over when he had gotten turned around. It made him frustrated as it wasn’t like him to get turned around unless he meant to be. When he spotted a figure sprawled out in the sand, he couldn’t help to think that it was fate that brought him this way. You could barely speak once he got to your side but when he shared some of his water and gave you a little food, you perked up a little bit. He seemed to be skeptical as you explained how you got there and your powers. Until he started to think about how he was virtually unkillable and lugging around a machine gun no ordinary man should even be able to drag, so he just shrugged and continued to listen. Once you finished he helped you up.

“It’s a little hard to believe,” he said. “But who I am I to judge? You’re not going to make it on your own until your powers return.”

“If,” you interrupted. “I really don’t want to be stuck here but I can’t help but realistic either.”

“Guess it’s up to me to teach you the ropes. C’mon we need to get you somewhere safe before your worm chow.”

“Worms,” you shivered at the thought.

Nicholas grunted in acknowledgement, grinning wickedly as he knew he was going to have fun teasing you as well.

It didn’t take you long to realize after you met Nicholas D. Wolfwood that he was a man you didn’t cross and he was also a snot. He teased you constantly as you floundered, trying to find your place in this unknown world and how little you understood about survival. All you could was glare as you didn’t want him leaving you alone. Though it pained you to admit, you’d be dead ten times over if he hadn’t stepped in and rescued you. If it wasn’t creatures, it was people. If it wasn’t people, it was plants. You honestly felt like you couldn’t win for losing. You missed home greatly and Nicholas always listened closely as you told him of your home. He seemed amazed at first, but you could tell that even he had grown skeptical at whether you were telling the truth. But if he didn’t want to believe that’s okay. If he had been in your shoes in your timeline, you most likely wouldn’t believe him either as this whole place was just utter chaos with a side of insanity. You questioned your sanity a little bit, though you were glad that you met this weirdo of a Punisher. He had become your saving grace many times over, you just hoped that he thought the same of you. He was a great teacher as he showed you the ropes and taught you to defend yourself. 

You found that the weeks you had been here had passed by quickly and you were growing wiser in the ways of treading across Noman’s Land. You found your own food, your sense of direction and finding places improved, and bandits found themselves at your mercy now. Nicholas could sit back and watch in pride as his new creation flourished in the harsh environment. When he thought about you leaving, he did grow sad. He enjoyed your company and it made his travels a little less lonely, and he begrudgingly admitted, safer. You grinned up at your mentor now friend, grinning widely as your skills grew better and better. Part of you hoped that you never returned home, though you couldn’t deny the homesickness deep inside. But if you could remain here with Nicholas, it didn’t seem so bad as you had grown attached. You hoped that maybe he had grown a little attached to you to. The little voice in your head finally spoke up and you knew that he did. It made you feel giddy that he cared enough to protect you, but it meant more that he taught you and made you a part of his world. Maybe Noman’s Land wasn’t so bad after all.

[heyclickadee]

Yeah, okay, here goes:

I think some fandom infighting would be less toxic if we a really understood that all of us are here for different reasons.

And I don’t just mean that different kinds of stories are going to be helpful for some and hurtful for others and vis-a-versa, or that different people are going to tell different stories, you know, differently, and that should do our best to let people enjoy things. I mean that, at the end of the day, there’s a spectrum of the parts of fandom people enjoy.

For example, I have a sibling who’s in some fandoms strictly for the transformative aspect of fandom. Canon is more like a jumping off point and, to some extent, an afterthought. Their primary interaction with whatever a fandom is centered on might be fanfiction and other fan works. The characters and world they interact with in those fandoms are often completely unrecognizable from canon. The goal is often to create characters—self-inserts or otherwise—to exist in completely new stories that are (vaguely) informed by canon, but not beholden to it in any way. Most everyone in that fandom has a self-insert OC or a Y/N. The whole point is taking something you like, or wanted to like, and shaping it to fit you better. That’s fandom for them. And that’s great!

And then there’s me, who’s almost the exact opposite. Canon is more of a focal point. I love seeing fanfiction and fanworks that completely veer away from canon events and characterization, I appreciate them, but I don’t like making them myself. I love to write, but I have a hard time writing fanfiction, I couldn’t write a fic-it-fix to save my life (no, not even in the highly unlikely hypothetical scenario where it turns out a lot of us are wrong and Tech is dead for real). The closest I get to fanfiction are either short little half analysis/half story blurb posts, or doodley fanart that’s either a theory for something I think could happen in the future in disguise, or silly drawings about scarves. I compartmentalize fanon, my headcanons, and actual canon a lot. And I love seeing people’s OC’s, including the self-insert ones, but I dont want to make one myself. I don’t want to be in the story, because it isn’t about me; one of the things I love most about interacting with fiction I didn’t write is that it helps me get outside my own head and see things from a different point of view. I write a lot of metas and theories, but my favorite thing is being able to look a story that’s completely told and done, and getting to tease it apart. And that’s also okay.

Now, the two points I’m using as examples aren’t really opposites; there’s a ton (A TON) of very good character analysis and interpretation in fanfiction, and there’s often (maybe even usually) transformative aspect to analysis/intepretation. And I’m betting that most people in fandom fall somewhere in the middle of the range between transformative and interpretive when it comes to what they like about fandom. A lot of people write great fanfiction and equally great meta posts, and honestly, I think being good at the one makes you better than the other. But they are different approaches to enjoying and interacting with fiction, and I think at least a little of the friction in fandom can come from not recognizing that we all often have different approaches to this fandom thing.

Edit: I need to also mention that when it comes to interpretation and analysis, there’s a lot of wiggle room for contradictory conclusions that are all equally valid. Do I think that interpretive conclusions not supported at all by the text exist? Oh boy howdy, yes. But I also think there’s a lot of space before you get there, and a lot of ways for even one person to interpret the same thing, let alone an entire fandom.

Edit 02; I should probably also acknowledge that, as a lifelong Darkwing Duck fan, I also really enjoy shows or even books where ‘canon’ is more like a loose set of guidelines or a basis premise and the whole idea of the show is to do wacky things with that premise. I’m way more likely to get involved in the transformative side of things when this is the case.

[rhetoricandlogic]

One Day All This Will Be Yours by Adrian Tchaikovsky My rating: 5 of 5 stars

(This review was originally posted on Goodreads in 2021):

“We were the time warriors, and we killed time.”

Somewhere, no – somewhen, at the edge of Time (or whatever is left of it after the time-shredding Causality War) is a peaceful idyllic farm where the last survivor of the time war spends his days tending the crops, restoring old Soviet tractors, feeding his pet allosaurus — and murdering any remaining time travelers that come to his “when”, a bottleneck in Time. This is the only way he sees to prevent yet another Time War.

“They all end up here, because this is the end-time. This is all the time there is. This is the trailing edge of what comes later, after the breach in regular transmissions left by the war. A bottleneck, you understand. You want to fling yourself forwards past the badlands of the war, this is where you end up. And I’ll be waiting for you. Nobody gets by me. I have literally all the technology in the world, culled from every moment that anyone ever had a Big Idea, to make sure of exactly that. I am the ultimate surveillance state.”

Except for – of fragging course! – things will not go the way they are supposed to. Many many times. Because threats don’t only come from the shattered past. There will be tractors and dinosaurs and murders and statues and unpleasant visitors and even polite tea time, and bonding over mutual misanthropy and assassination attempts, and it all will be funny and twisted and darkly humorous.

“By setting up shop here where the regular passage of time recommences, and denying access to the future to all comers, I am saving the unseen future from interference. I am time’s gatekeeper, and without me the future would become the same ruin as the past.”

Adrian Tchaikovsky is a guy I’d love to hang out with and pick his brain and share a drink or two with. He’s obviously brilliant and wonderfully funny and can pull the rug out from under you with a few sentences that you need to reread a few times just to understand how throughly he just messed with your expectations. All while having a blast with the sardonic and misanthropic and yet objectively funny story that comes from dark places and leads to those even darker — but chuckling along the way. Oh, and you betcha there’s going to be a grandfather paradox — but presented Tchaikovsky-style, with a fresh irreverent take on it and a healthy dose of sarcasm.

“How I love the rugged outdoors life! Living out here with nothing but the fields and the animals and literally the best technological support that anyone ever invented.”

I start to think that there’s nothing in SFF that Tchaikovsky cannot do. He is yet to disappoint me. His books have all been solid for me, and if he doesn’t eventually become one of SFF acknowledged classics, I will be quite baffled.

And if you don’t feel a shiver of dread at hearing the word “twee” after finishing this book, then you, my friend, will need to give that last page or two another read.

[doggoneloser]

post-canon tma fic - calling all betas…!?

short and straight to the point: if anyone knows The Magnus Archives and would be interested in betaing and/or talking about a post-canon fic i’m working on i’d shower you in kisses??

basic synopsis: jon pulls some fucked-up eldritch bullshit at the panopticon and manages to save his dead friends. it just comes at the cost of all his remaining humanity — so now his friends are alive but instead of jon they’ve just got… full Archivist in his place. martin did very much not agree to this and wants to fix it, please.

first draft of the summary (from ages ago):

They’ve rebuilt the Magnus Institute.

God knows why they did it. There’s a million and half reasons not to—or, rather, there’s eight billion reasons not to rebuild the pedestal of the Eye, themselves included—but something drew them towards it. This “something” isn’t voiced among them and remains only privately acknowledged, but it is there nonetheless.

Because there is a voice, and it calls to them. A voice not unfamiliar to them. One that speaks of feeling terror rather than feeding it.

I am lost, the voice says. I am lost. Bring me home.

None of them have it in their hearts to let Jon down again.

under the cut are a couple tidbits of the writing from the actual fic. none of my friends have listened to tma despite my best efforts and i desperately need to talk to SOMEONE WHO GETS IT about this idea 🙏 please and thank you

#1: Excerpt from the Panopticon

Martin is holding him upright, and his hands feel cold but firm on Jon’s arms. Distantly, Jon wonders if the temperature is an issue of Jon’s inhumanity, or if the Lonely is trying to steal Martin back so soon. It makes little difference in the end.

The ringing persists in Jon’s ears, robbing him of Martin’s voice, but he sees his lips and Knows that Martin is again pleading with him. Don’t leave me alone. That feels like a promise that Jon is bound to break, but right here and now, all knowledge is at his fingertips. Surely there would be no harm if the Archivist takes a second look, if only to assure Martin that there truly is no other way.

Everyone, and everything, has to die.

Except a second look proves that isn’t true.

***

#2: Excerpt from Somewhere Else, regarding Alice “Daisy” Tonner

In front of him lies a road. It’s an unbecoming, backwards road, stomped into place by his own footfalls and failings. At the time, he did not know this was the path he was walking. Later, he knew about the path, but did not know a way to undo it.

Now, there is nothing that the Archivist does not know.

Daisy lays nearest to him. She is wolfish and bloody, unmoving and undone by the Hunt. Its mark burns when he approaches. He remembers receiving it well: the terror of being prey, of being caught, seeing his life come within an inch of its end. The Hunt earned its mark on him, but the Archive has no further need for prey. He would call himself a predator, but in a world ruled by the Watcher, there is no hiding and no hunting. It is obsolete, and therefore can be discarded.

The Buried must go with it. Its mark upon Daisy is far newer than the Hunt, and the dirt has not sunk in nearly as deeply than the Hunt’s claws, but it is there nonetheless. Reviving her means parting with both of his Marks.

All the better. The Archivist has no use for them, and Jon won’t be fooled into receiving them again.

The thin scar on Jon’s neck opens into crimson. His blood does not flow down, but away, traveling through the air like liquid smoke until it reaches Daisy. There, it plugs the holes put by Basira’s gun. Dirt from under his nails shakes itself loose and jumps across the ground like hail to her. More and more fall from his hands until there is an avalanche between them, encasing her body in earth. The soil shifts and pulses and groans from the weight of a thousand pounds closing in around her.

With a creaking moan, the dirt rattles loose and collapses. Daisy lies there as she once was, human and unmarked, but lifeless still. His marks returned her to the form that the Fears had taken, but there is far more to a human than their shape.

The Archivist can do no more for her. The only feeling the Archive stores is fear, and that is one Jon is not eager to give back.

So he gives what he has left: the good. He remembers Daisy as she was, battle-tough and unafraid; protective and fiercely loyal, filled with both dedication and determination. And the kindness— that one is hard to let go of. She was a true friend to him when he was nothing more than a monster. Softly spoken and caring, but so fragile in her desperation to cling to humanity. He supposes she must have recognized the same in him.

But it goes all the same, until everything Jon knows of her has left him to fill her body again with her spirit. The effect is immediate in them both.

[claireverlasting]

41 and 12 for the ask game?

41. What are some lines from musicals you really like?

Don't be afraid of death, Winnie. Be afraid of not being truly alive. You don’t need to live forever, you just need to live - tuck everlasting

Try to walk all over us, we'll stomp all over you - newsies (this makes me wanna bang my head against the table/pos)

To the world we dream about, and the one we live in now - hadestown

You're not good, you're not bad, you're just nice. I'm not good, I'm not nice, I'm just right - into the woods

How can you soar when you're nailed to the floor? - tick tick boom

But when you’re gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story? - hamilton

12. Worst stage to screen adaptation?

Short answer: Dear Evan Hansen, no one asked for a movie why didn’t they give us a proshot with the obc

Long answer:

Oh boy, ohhhhhh boy *crack knuckles*

It has to be Dear fucking Evan Hansen. For a show that has the og team in the writing room I don’t know how on the fucking earth they missed the whole story completely.

They did not realize the original plot has already walked on the edge of That Is Fucked Up and was on thin ice from falling into the Problematic Cringe Theatre Hell. They were like oh it’ll be fineeeee we can totally remove these import parts and it’ll be fineeeeee. Like bro. BRO.

A huge part of the story relies on a) Evan’s connection towards Connor, and b) The story acknowledges how Not Okay Evan’s actions are. And what did they do? Butcher the script until it highlights the worst possible part of the story. I don’t even give a flying fuck about Ben Platt being too old for the role or whatever, I can’t tell people’s age anyway, but not even the most talented and 17-years-old actor can save that monstrosity of a script, and that’s the same guy that wrote the musical one! Like how👏did👏you👏not👏see👏it👏

The thing that motivated Evan to do all the stuff in the story is that he saw himself in Connor, and you can see a lot of his action was based on “What if I’m the one that was dead, what would I want people to do”. You got Anybody Have a Map, Disappear, and ghost Connor, you cut those, you cut the connections between the two characters and Evan’s inner struggles. And they made Alana the one to suggest a Connor Project as an attempt to make Evan looked more blameless in the whole ordeal. I can’t believe I need to spell it out but it did😑not😑work😑like😑that😑, you just make Alana looked manipulative, and the whole thing can be avoided if you didn’t cut Disappear. And there are Jared and Good For You, without someone that is boinking Evan on the head like “Dude please stop”, it just looks like the story is excusing his actions.

In conclusion, they thought it’ll work better if they make Evan more out of control of his situation and overall more “Opps shit happened around me and I just went along with it”, I saw a post somewhere that said that making the character directly responsible to the thing that happened makes them more sympathetic (or smt) and it applied to this situation so much. In the musical we see a teenager that make terrible decisions as an attempt to make things better, but in the movie we just see an opportunist that is manipulative and did all of the stuff to get into a girl’s pants

[carbo-ships]

Post Hoc - Chapter VI

Start: Chapter I Previous: Chapter V

"We should chat," Papa told Aether after breakfast the next morning when he caught him alone in the hallway.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Aether said with a nod. He followed the man to his office. They walked in silence, not daring to speak a word of what was on their minds until they were somewhere private.

When they reached his office, Papa shut the door behind them. “Please, take your mask off,” he insisted, moving to the window and drawing the curtains to ensure their privacy. “It’s just the two of us. I imagine you don’t have many opportunities to, nowadays.” They sat next to each other on the long bench, their backs to the upright piano that Papa kept in his office for when inspiration struck during menial tasks. Papa let out a slow breath, folding his hands in his lap. He’d found himself having quite a lot of these meetings recently. First Terzo, then Ardis, now Aether. He was stressed. "I've already spoken with Ardis, and she assured me that she was alright and that I didn't need to talk to you, but I feel it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge it in some way," Papa started, turning his head to look at the ghoul.

"The bite marks," Aether sighed, feeling his cheek flush. He suddenly wished he’d kept his mask on. "I know. It won't happen again. I apologized to her when I came home last night."

"Good, good," Papa nodded. "I can appreciate your desire to state your claim over her, especially given the recent changes around here,” he said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “but I’m sure you know now that it was excessive.”

"Yes, sir," Aether nodded. It had seemed a perfectly proportionate reaction in the moment, but the morning light had delivered him a clear head and a heap of shame.

“It’s unlike you. I’ve never seen you act like that.” He gave Aether’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Aether averted his eyes for a moment, embarrassed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He mentally prepared himself, looking the man in the eyes. “Sir, what is Terzo really doing here?"

Papa frowned. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Is he here for Ardis?" Aether pressed.

Papa didn't respond. The look in his eyes was telling enough.

"Shit," Aether sighed. It was just as he feared. This was bad. "I imagine your hands are tied?" he asked.

"I can't intervene, no matter how badly I want to," Papa groaned. "If it were up to me, he'd already be gone!"

Aether couldn't blame him. He understood that there was likely more than just Papa's reputation on the line. Terzo's state was a chilling reminder of what the Ministry did to those who failed to meet their standards. "I see."

"Her feelings for you may be what saves her, though," Papa offered weakly. "Terzo's certainly in his element — merda, it's like he was born for this — but you know how Ardis feels about you."

Aether paused. "Am I being reinstated?" the ghoul asked, excitement building in his heart at the notion.

Papa couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at his lips. “I never said that.” The twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “And remember, Aether: rehearsal is tonight.”

The ghoul caught what was left unspoken: a silent request for him to woo her. "Will Terzo be there?"

"I'm sure he will be. He'll likely ask to join in for a song, and I'll have to oblige." 

That afternoon, Aether examined himself in the bathroom mirror, ensuring his uniform was neat. He checked his breath — acceptable. He had every intention of encroaching on Ardis's personal space that evening. He'd already polished his mask and trimmed up his beard. He wondered if he was going overboard as he spritzed his neck and wrists with cologne. He hardly ever wore it, but these were desperate times. After making sure there was nothing in his teeth, he gave himself another once-over in the mirror. Had he missed anything? He wracked his brain for anything Ardis had admitted to finding attractive about him. It was mostly his arms and his voice, he realized. Broad statements about how big and burly he was. Nothing he could enhance in front of the mirror. He'd just have to flaunt those traits at rehearsal and remind her that he was everything Terzo wasn't. Not enough to make her swoon, just enough to take her eyes off that bastard's painted face.

When Aether marched into the rehearsal room, Ardis and Terzo were already there. They were sitting in chairs against the wall. Terzo had his arm draped across the back of her seat and had her locked in a conversation. She giggled at something he said. It seemed he already had work to do, Aether thought to himself as he lifted his guitar off of its stand and hung the strap over his shoulder. He propped one foot up on the monitor while he tuned his guitar. He had it on good authority — the ghoulettes — that Ardis liked it when he did that. Something about how it made his legs look. Stealing a glance at Ardis, he could see he'd already caught her attention. She was trying and failing not to stare. Good. She was in for a show. He went ahead and rolled up his sleeves to show off his toned forearms, as suggested to him by Swiss earlier that day. There was never anything particularly lascivious in her stare as she ogled his muscular forearms. Awe was a better descriptor. Terzo shot him a mischievous grin in a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken battle.

The final couple of ghouls straggled in a few minutes later, followed finally by Papa. “Mi dispiace, tutti,” he said quickly as he strided into the room. “I had some paperwork to finish up.” He and Terzo locked eyes briefly as he shed his jacket. Terzo quirked his eyebrow and smiled at him innocently. “Ah, it seems we have another guest!” Papa said, skillfully hiding his unease and irritation. He was not happy to see his predecessor, but he’d mentally prepared himself for Terzo’s attendance. Papa and Aether shared a glance, which calmed his nerves. He could trust the ghoul to keep things under control.

“Shall we get started, then?” Aether asked, referring to more than just the rehearsal.

Next: Chapter VI

[many-fandoms-13]

Lover is underloved and I hate it It has a special place in my heart because it was my first era and it has all my favorite things pastels, glitter, unicorns, love, sunsets, etc. I understand why a lot of people hate it because I would agree that ME! And you need to calm down weren’t they the greatest lead single choices but they were at the same time let me explain. I read somewhere that artists pick the “worst” songs to be the lead singles to save the “best” ones for the album so said the album would do better on the charts and stuff and in my opinion I think ME! And you need to calm down and really encapsulate the lover era meaning to a T because of ME! Is about self-love and you need to calm down is about queer love and The Lover album is mostly about all the different types of love familiar love with soon you’ll get better, significant other love with lover, paper rings, false god, etc. The ME and You Need to calm down music videos also encapsulate the aesthetic of the lover era to a T with all the bright happy cheerfulness and the pastels and sparkles and neon etc. I think another reason why people hate Lover is that the era was very short-lived thanks (not really) to Covid and Loverfest being canceled and it felt like it ended without any real closure like a canceled tv show to just quickly switch to the folklore era which I can somewhat get it because maybe Taylor wanted to move away from it and replace it. After all, it made her sad because she had all these plans for it that just fell threw but she could have at least put it to a proper ending and maybe released a deluxe version with all of the girls you loved before and need and the rumored afterglow ft Ariana Grande. Something that saddens me is that Taylor was so happy during that era and everyone just puts shit on it for no reason and now Taylor barely acknowledges it. Another reason why I think Lover gets shitted on is that it was overshadowed by the greatness of folklore which I can somewhat get because we can all agree that Folklore is a brilliantly amazing album but Lover is amazing on its own and we shouldn’t be comparing all the albums because they’re all great in their own way. I wanted to add on to this post. i think another reason that people hate this album is because it’s “to happy” because if you ask a lot of Swifties what their favorite album is many of them would say folklore or evermore or red or speak now which all have a very similar theme that they’re all super sad and full of break up songs even though I hate the stereotype type that all Taylor writes is break up songs and not to long ago my sister was listening to a Lorde song and she mentioned how a lot of Lorde fan didn’t like the album that song was from because it was “to happy” because I guess Lorde is very similar to Taylor in that she writes more sad songs I don’t know I don’t listen to Lorde which got me thinking kind of how that feels very similar to how Lover was received by fans and why Taylor wrote Death by a thousand cuts and that thing she said in the tiny desk performance about how she felt that she wouldn’t be able to write break up songs because she was so happy and in love so I just thought of that as like another reason why People don’t like a lover and like what's wrong with Taylor being happy and in love cause don’t we want our mother to be happy even though we all kind of hate Joe now after hearing you’re losing me at least the man made Taylor happy for maybe a few years and she wrote this beautiful album because of him

[renegadesfic]

Repossession - Vex/Zahra

Vex/Zahra smut, set mostly within the bounds of TLOVM. This is pretty much entirely gratuitous NS/FW so if that's not your thing, scroll past. Spoilers for early TLOVM season 2. Posting from mobile so if I need to touch up formatting later I will. AO3 Link

"You still owe me."

Vex quirked an eyebrow. “I had kind of assumed that would be disregarded, considering… everything.” Osysa letting her go had been an indicator of that in itself, she had figured, although it wasn’t unlike Zahra to pursue her own avenues of repayment for a debt. Vex remembered too many hookups for that - and cursed herself now for even thinking about them, trying to turn her head before Zahra could see her cheeks brighten just a little.

“Not money, Vex. You showed me up. I don’t take well to being shown up.” Zahra, either not noticing or ignoring Vex’s attempt to break eye contact, stepped back into her field of vision. “So you owe me.”

“How exactly do you expect me to repay a debt that isn’t much more than a stubborn woman’s metaphor?” Hopefully the flush had faded from her cheeks, because Vex really wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever teasing Zahra would have her endure that was more than she was already putting her through.

She mustered a dramatic roll of her eyes. At least there was that.

Zahra didn’t answer immediately, instead grabbing Vex’s arm - oh gods, she could feel sharp nails dig into her skin ever so slightly and it was ever so slightly too much - and pulling her several steps away from the rest of the party. “You plan on resting for a night before pressing on, yes? I have some ideas…” she trailed off. Vex knew damn well why she was trailing off, not that she wanted to acknowledge it. This was a proposition, and even if she didn’t know Zahra’s mannerisms well enough to notice it in itself, she certainly knew the subtle transition - not subtle enough - from fingertips on skin to sharp, almost claw-like nails.

“You are fucking insufferable.”

“And yet you have suffered me so many nights before. Can you really tell me you’re not interested? Have you found some new commitment since you made off with the Take’s hard-earned coin?” Vex blushed again, this time not turning her head away quite fast enough for Zahra to not catch the heat in her cheeks. “No, you’ve not. Are you still living in fear of commitment? Still-”

“I am not afraid of commitment,” she hissed. “I am, if you haven’t noticed, rather busy saving the world.”

“Yes, of course. You do well at keeping yourself busy, Vex’ahlia.” Was that meant to be taken at face value? Was there an intentional, if subtle, innuendo somewhere in there, or had she been spending too much time listening to Scanlan talk?

Or, worse, had she been indulging in her fantasies too much to not read more into it?

“I get it, you want to have sex,” she growled - was it a growl or a grumble? “But as I said, I’m rather busy. And you and Kashaw had probably better be going home.”

“And miss the opportunity to spend a night with you again? Do you think I don’t miss you?” Zahra smirked, earning another grumble from Vex. It wasn’t something she could ignore at this point, the heat slowly pooling in her gut, but she would have to try - she wasn’t giving in to this. Not now, of all times, when they were so busy, when she had just-

She’d rather not think about what she’d just done. That was the last thing she wanted to think about.

At some point, thinking about Zahra’s nails dragging lower than they had any right to had climbed several spots on that list.

“I don’t think you missed me at all. I think you will take any opportunity to get under my skin.”

“I don’t want to get under your skin, Vex’ahlia.” She paused, contemplating. “Just under your clothes.”

Ah. Pretending to contemplate. Gods forbid Zahra ever say anything unplanned. She was, unlike many other members of the Take, incredibly good at restraining her impulses. Rough-and-tumble mercenary work does tend to invite people with a tendency to jump the gun, to stab first and ask questions later. Zahra, she presumed, had gotten as high in status as she was by doing things the slow, cautious, and painstaking way - by thinking before speaking, thinking before so much as twitching a finger toward a weapon.

“Bear got your tongue, darling?” Vex was drawn from her thoughts by a snide remark, punctuated all the worse by Zahra’s nails pricking marginally deeper into the skin of her upper arm.

“Shut up,” she half-hissed. “I am not in the mood for games, Zahra. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. Dying will do that to a person.”

“Understood,” Zahra said, immediately pulling her hand away.

Was that it? It was that simple?

When Vex dared to steal a glance at the tiefling again, she caught a glimpse of what might have been guilt crossing her face.

Oh. She genuinely did feel bad about it.

Well, that made her feel worse, not better.

“Zahra?”

“What?” There was an edge to her response, a bite to it that Vex knew from experience only came up when she really was upset. She swallowed her pride. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in what Zahra was proposing. It was just…

“It’s been a while,” she finally said, “since I’ve done anything like that.”

“Done what?”

Was she really going to make her say it?

“Had sex,” she muttered. “Since I’ve had sex.”

Zahra quirked an eyebrow at her, finally turning to face her attempted conquest again.

“Is that an invitation?”

“It…” she hesitated. The rest of the group hadn’t seemed to notice, even now, that they had drifted from them to talk, and it seemed they were settling down for the night. If there was a time, it would be now, before things got too dark to find a good place for their… activities.

“It could be,” she finished, “if you’re still up for the challenge.”

Zahra smiled. Not a smirk, not this time - a genuine smile.

“I am always up for a challenge, Vex’ahlia.” She turned to the others. “Vex and I will be back in a few,” she called. “We’re going to have a meeting of the minds.”

Is that what she was going to call it?

Her brother, ever wary, narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure, sister? It’s…”

“It’s been a long day, yes, I know. I’ll be fine. Just away a few minutes.”

She didn’t miss the look of fear that crossed his face, if only for a moment.

“Fine,” he acknowledged. “Be careful?”

“I always am,” she smiled, and turned on her heel.

—-

“So,” Zahra began. “How do you want me?”

“Getting straight to the point, are we?” Vex smirked, which earned her a wink in response.

“We did say we wouldn’t be long.”

“Mm… and here I was looking forward to taking our time.”

“Maybe you should have come up with a better excuse then,” Zahra purred, pushing Vex back a few steps. She felt the bark of one of the pines lining the clearing they’d found prick into her back.

“You’re the one who told them we were leaving,” she grumbled, resisting the urge to arch her back as the other woman placed her hands delicately around her waist. “Maybe you should have come up with a better excuse.”

Instead of saying anything back, Zahra closed what had previously been a rapidly narrowing gap between their mouths, kissing her hard and fast and warm, gods, her mouth was warm, she knew tieflings ran hot but fuck…

She pushed back into the kiss, a whimper escaping her throat as the tiefling nipped at her lower lip with her teeth, sharper than average, sharp enough to sting. Zahra’s right hand moved from its place around her waist to find purchase in her hair, first curling her fingers lightly between the strands. Vex knew what was coming, of course she did, they’d done this more times than she’d care to admit - she cared to admit less that she’d lost count - and braced herself.

The moan that escaped her when the fingers curled hard, sharp, sudden into her hair, pulling it tight from her scalp, was not something she was quite capable of bracing herself for. Vex felt the other woman grin against her mouth, pulling away only long enough to take a breath before going back to her work, tongue hot and wet in Vex’s mouth. She moaned again, hands grabbing more desperately than she’d like at Zahra’s clothes, trying to draw her closer despite their bodies already pressed together. The tiefling’s other hand trailed up her stomach now, sliding carefully under her top, testing the waters. Rewarded with another whimper and an obvious arching of her conquest’s back, she continued, finding the soft, delicate skin of Vex’s breast and running her nails gently over the sensitive flesh.

Oh, gods.

Zahra pulled away again, mouth separating from Vex’s with an audible pop.

“Having fun yet?” She smirked, winking at her prize.

“Stop talking and take me,” Vex growled, and the tiefling’s smirk grew wider, her lips curling further as she suddenly tightened her grip around Vex’s breast, her mouth moving from just in front of Vex’s lips to the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking at the skin.

“Don’t you dare leave a mark,” she hissed, but Zahra paid no mind, catching a mote of skin between her teeth and biting down. That earned the loudest noise Vex had made since this whole thing began, her hands tightening on the fabric she had been holding onto as if it were a lifeline. Again, she felt Zahra’s lips curl against her skin, the kissing stopping for a brief moment as if she needed to savor the moment.

Vex was sure as hell savoring it, so she couldn’t really blame her.

The pause ended as suddenly as it began, Vex beginning to shudder as Zahra kept at it, tugging at her dark, now tousled hair again as she continued toying with the skin she had been given free rein to torment. Whimpers came more quickly and openly now, bubbling up and spilling out of Vex’s open mouth, desperate, wordless pleas for more interspersed with loud gasps, attempts at keeping air in her lungs as Zahra forced more out with each bite, each movement of fingers over skin. She flicked a nail across Vex’s nipple, and the half-elf very nearly came undone at the motion, a long, loud whine escaping her as she almost crumpled. Zahra took the hint, stepping back just a few inches and nearly dragging Vex to the ground, forcing her legs apart with one hand and placing herself between them.

“You want me?” She looked directly into Vex’s eyes, a burning passion reflected in the expression she wore. Whatever carefully curated energy Zahra normally carried herself with had been tossed away, as Vex’s shirt now was, a mix of ferocity and desperation taking its place.

“Please,” Vex gasped, digging her hands again into the loose fabric of Zahra’s clothes.

“You can ask nicer than that.”

“Please, Zahra. Please, gods, take me.”

“Please what?” As if Vex’s cheeks couldn’t get any brighter.

“Please, ma’am…”

“Good girl.” From there, the tiefling wasted no time, pulling the fabric away from Vex’s lower half, tugging hard to expose sensitive skin to the cold air of their environment. Vex shivered for a moment, a chill setting over her.

That chill was quickly replaced by two warm fingers at her cunt, aching and wet and wanting. Fluidly, slowly, not quickly enough, the digits were pushed inside her, Vex moaning low and long and loud as Zahra touched her in a way that was familiar despite years of its absence, the slickness she had produced making every movement nearly effortless as she slowly came undone. Zahra pressed deeper, free hand coming to trace patterns from Vex’s jawline down to her collarbone, one thumb pressing gently against her throat as the other rubbed small, fast circles against her clit. The noises Vex made were unignorable, she could only hope that they had gone far enough away that no one would hear.

Or she would hope that, if her mind were not entirely consumed by the almost too warm fingers thrusting and curling inside her, nearly bringing her to her breaking point within barely a couple of minutes. It didn’t feel like such a short time - it felt like hours, Zahra continuing to drag desperate whines and ragged breaths from the half-elf with every movement of her fingers, Vex squirming and writhing beneath her as her entire body warmed with the all-encompassing pleasure of being touched like she hadn’t in years. Whatever she occasionally indulged herself in with her own fingers, in the privacy of a rarely-earned room to herself in an inn, was nothing compared to what Zahra could do to her with just a few minutes of undivided attention. And undivided it was - the fierceness in her eyes did not seem to fade, at least not for the moments where Vex could keep hers open long enough to look at her.

“Good girl, Vex,” Zahra purred, the half-elf still whimpering beneath her fingers, wet and warm at her touch. “Very, very good.”

“Zahra,” she gasped, the first actual syllables she could muster the will to release from her mouth in place of the desperate whines that had been filling the air before. “Zahra, please-”

“Please what, darling?” Darling. How dare she turn the pet name she loved to use against her, what a cruel twist to her words. What a way to get under her skin. What a way to make her come undone, the heat in her gut bordering on burning her up, her hips rocking hard and forceful against Zahra’s torturously steady movements within her.

“Please let me cum, ma’am,” her voice broke as she forced the words out, no choice but to acknowledge the unavoidable sensation of her body being pushed to its farthest limits, her restraint barely holding itself together as Zahra continued her pace.

“Good girl,” Zahra purred again, but did not give her further instruction, and Vex knew what would happen if she came without the woman’s permission, so she couldn’t, instead resorting to desperately grinding her hips in the vain hope that Zahra would let her finish.

“Zahra- ah- please, ma’am, please-”

“Cum, Vex,” and with the simple, one-word order whatever was left of her restraint left her, a strangled scream tearing itself free of her throat as Zahra curled her fingers just right, just right into that sweet spot that made Vex come entirely undone beneath her, writhing and moaning and gasping for air as her body shuddered with wave after wave of blinding orgasm, her vision going white for a moment.

When the haze over her mind cleared and her body stopped the worst of its shaking, she opened her eyes just enough to see Zahra licking her fingers clean, the tiefling leaning in close to bring their lips together again. Vex could taste herself on the woman’s tongue.

She had, in fact, missed her. And after that display, she was pretty damn sure that Zahra had missed her back.

Zahra offered her her clothes back, Vex still struggling to hold herself together as she clumsily dressed herself again. She shook as she stood, steadying herself against the tree Zahra had pressed her against just a few minutes before - how long had it been? Minutes or hours? - as the tiefling wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Well?” Zahra asked, her lips curled up in a smile again.

“Holy fucking shit,” Vex breathed, no other words filling the space.

“You definitely missed me.”

“Yes.” Vex answered without hesitation. Zahra just smiled wider.

“I think that will do as repayment for that debt, Vex’ahlia.”

[adultjazz]

NO SENTRY

TRACK BY TRACK #1

this post is about No Sentry, track 9

we love tim’s trombone loop,  the jarring note switch and the way a kind of slower melody gets threaded through that, we listened to the variations for hours and hours in a now defunct studio near carisbrooke castle. it always had ballad energy for us, so when @hepostsclouds sent over the glorious strings and it drew out a kind of latent lament quality, we knew it had what it needed 

when experimenting with the autotune early on i liked the clunky and slightly dopey sound that the subtle formant shift gave the voice 

i started thinking of kind of lumbering creatures, oafs with arrows in them, sad + slain dumbasses maybe 

I made some homemade latex prosthetics  to help scope him out 

i think the special animal figure was born maybe as a relief from the idea of us as solely pernicious and other leech/parasite/sadist metaphors 

which we understandably resort to when talking about human harm ecosystems

maybe this allowed for more sympathy and absurdity, or pathos and tragedy ?

the idea of a god figure instructing a flower to withhold bloom, or a raincloud not to provide release long into the future, further than us as the fossil record as a kind of mourning

i don’t think the planet is a god or even that god is necessarily a god - but maybe there is a kind of cosmic regret held somewhere about all this

that’s what i suddenly feel without warning at least

MadMax cliche is hard to avoid when talking about an uninhabitable planet. its hard not to imagine extreme dry and extreme cold or hot and wet and the extremes of everything, dead soil. but an uninhabitable world like that is another invitation to dominate, terraform and problem solve. i just know we can’t, won’t refuse the offer. 

i imagine all the technology needed to cling, and i also hope for it, but also hope for a concurrent shift that allows for other ways of being - imagine having to invent stuff forever, better to slip off gracefully no? let the worms have it

with the abrahamic notion of us as stewards/namers/custodians/sentries, it means that, when we are extinct, stuff is reduced to its semantically blank constituent parts

east is north, doesn’t matter 

just a slab of stuff, granite, ice, miles of it, no story, stop all geomancing, stop narration, stop narrative, pop words empty

the sound that matched it was like a balloon deflating was the eeeeeeeeeee you hear a couple of times in the record  - felt better than oooh or ahhh, less mannered and sadder i think

anyway i am trying to be hopeful about it - these are thought experiments to reach a more sustainable pattern of living alongside other species and things 

i always loved nature scientifically and mechanically and aesthetically but had been allergic to fanciful extrapolation about any inner worlds or sentience beyond human meaning- for animals it felt anthropomorphising, and for the planet it felt too mother nature-y - but i also think it was a way of not facing up to harm done

but i can’t really be allergic anymore, acknowledging a deeper life in these systems seems to be the only hopeful avenue and being fanciful is a low price to pay 

so maybe a story is needed , but maybe we first need to face the blank terror of no story to prompt the better retelling 

for our listening party i put the lyrics over a video of a locust i saved from a swimming pool

it preened with its forelegs and looked like it was trying to plead with me to me, maybe for safety maybe for extermination

it died anyway, it was too far gone

[normal-newt]

Bit of post for people who were unlucky + saw me mess up + upset by me.

If want context is here. But if just want simple best way to not see my posts will be explain in next post and can just skip to that. Please not re-blog this as only want for people who already see blog or who clicked through from other blog.

If helps any think understand better how made problem. Think was partly missed a metaphor + managed missed also miss whole entire point.  but also not explain well at all. and now person hurt from me and me hurt from me and no way fix not make more hurt.

didn’t even realise could describe own problem so so bad. already use mobility aid everywhere is why people will touch so often but was not able to even say it.  Scared I do so bad now people come to make sure know I did bad make sure feel as bad as am. Don’t worry already do. Just use above option + save time for both.

Not sure how apologise properly when can’t even know sure won’t make same mistake. So this. This is stand in until can make proper apology because still wanting to acknowledge that did wrong and made hurt even if still figuring out exact details.

If hurt by what said by me, am so so sorry. Know sorry just not enough here.

Will try best improve especially at not bother people on their posts.

If you need to not see me in tumblr, is fair and is not problem at all and will do best helping this because people deserve not having to watch me fuck up while figuring out. Off top of my head options are:

Can block me, even if already follow me.

If wanting to, can ask in comments here me block you so you not have to see posts made by me. Will do this no question asked or comment made at you. If want me to delete so people not see you asked, will do this also. If for some reason change mind in future ask someone message me + will unblock you. 

Can maybe make tag for own original posts so people able block this if think will help.

If want unfollow with not block this also option but means might still bump into me.

Know isn’t enough but not want hurt anyone from not able to do enough. If need this for own happy please do. Promise will try hard so if meet again somewhere else will be able be nicer to you. But big goal now is want reduce chance will hurt someone in meantime.

Not needing or wanting comfort. Especially if not see original words may think am being harsh on self. Thing is know I will be okay but want others also be okay, so more important honest words to others than nice words to self. Will delete comments try make comfort because not what this need be about.

If original person I hurt seeing this. Am so sorry. Said wrong and know hurt you. Not want make big apology on your blog because know maybe you want me leave you alone. But maybe you want see if am understanding now. Am so sorry. Maybe is thing where takes week or two to process and maybe will figure out but not fair ask you doing it for me . If want can copy-paste or re-blog post saying how to avoid me so people see your blog can avoid having to deal with person who rude to you. Know apology currently wrong but hope bad apology better than ignore problem. Hope at least able to tell you do know was wrong and am trying make sure not happen again.

[ajvocals43]

Birthday

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader 

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: Fluff, Dean (yes, a warning for him here) 

Summary: A small, after celebration celebration of Dean’s birthday. 

A/N: Full disclosure, I wrote this on his birthday this year but completely forgot to post it. So here ya go! 

Possible prequel 

“Surprise!” The lights in the kitchen of the bunker flipped on to reveal Sam, Bobby, Cas, Jack, Mary, and Charlie surrounded by just about a thousand birthday decorations including a giant banner that read “Happy Birthday Dean”. I watched Dean’s face light up at the sight of all of his friends and family here to celebrate his special day. 

“Wow. You guys didn't have to do all this for me. Thank you!” Dean said, looking around in amazement. I knew this was a surprise for him, that anyone would do something for him without asking. He was always the one to take care of all of us, this was the least I could do. 

“Don't thank us. This is all Y/n’s doing.” Mary said, gesturing back towards me. 

Dean turned around to look at me, shocked. “You did all of this?” 

“Well, not just me. Everyone helped.” He was still staring at me and I started to doubt whether he actually liked the party. “Do you like it?” 

Before my thoughts could continue their downward spiral, his lips fell on mine softly. It was a quick kiss but still filled with love. He pulled apart and told me, “You're amazing.” It was his version of ‘I love you’. 

I couldn't help but smile at that, especially when his grew brighter as Charlie yelled, “Let’s get this party started!” I pushed him towards our family and let him enjoy his party. After all he’d been through, he needed this. Nothing to worry about, no one to save. Just time to be with his family and be happy. We talked, played a couple of games, and ate. I of course made pies because I wouldn’t have been a good girlfriend if I hadn't. I'll never forget the look on Dean’s face that night as he relaxed. Well, as much as was possible for a full time hunter but still. He was happy. Truly happy. And that was something I would always take pride in bringing him. 

It was a great time, there wasn't a moment where I ever saw him upset or worried. I was so happy to bring him that kind of joy. The whole night I watched him be surrounded by those he loves, and I knew that I would never forget this night. 

It was a long time before everyone decided to turn in for the night. I didn't mind staying behind to clean the dishes and decorations after everyone except Sam and Dean had gone to bed. They were having their typical brother moment somewhere else in the bunker while I cleaned up. Before I got started though, I went to Dean and I’s room to grab the speaker that Dean had gotten me for my birthday. 

As I returned to the kitchen to begin cleaning, I connected my phone and began playing a random station on Pandora. I hummed a little with the songs as I went through and cleaned up the bunker. By the time Dean came back, telling me Sam had gone to bed, I was finishing up with the dishes. 

“Perfect timing, I'm almost done.” I said without turning as I heard his heavy footsteps come down the hallway. 

He didn't say anything, and I was about to turn around to face him when arms wrapped around my waist. I tensed as the arms pulled me back against a chest but I relaxed when I recognized his scent. I leant back into the comfort of his arms and couldn't help my sigh of content. 

He bent down slightly to kiss my check softly before whispering, “You remembered.” 

I smiled before saying “Of course I did.” I leaned my head back slightly to make eye contact with him. “How could I forget? You're the best thing that’s happened to me.” He blushed slightly at that and I could tell that even since he’s been with me, he's still not used to people actually acknowledging and appreciating all that he does for us. 

Just then the song changed. I heard the opening notes of Chris Stapleton’s Tennessee Whiskey and smiled. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing. I just… I love this song.” I sighed. But then he pulled back from me. I immediately missed his warmth. I turned around to ask what was happening but before I could he held his hand out to me. 

“Dance with me?” He asked. 

“What happened to no chick flick moments?” I teased. 

He rolled his eyes before he said, “I think I can make an exception.” With that he pulled me into his arms, so close I could feel his heartbeat and I could lay my head against his shoulder. “Just this once.” He added. With that, we started to sway softly to the music. 

We swayed in comfortable silence until the chorus hit and he started to sing softly in my ear: 

You're as smooth

As tennessee whiskey 

You're as sweet

As strawberry wine

You're as warm as a glass of brandy 

And honey I stay stoned 

On your love

All the time 

He went back to humming as we continued swaying softly in the kitchen. I couldn't imagine a more perfect moment. Later, as the instrumental kicked in, he pulled his head back slightly. I looked up at him, silently asking what he was thinking? 

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure. It was great to see you happy again.” 

“This was truly amazing. I don't deserve you.” 

“Dean, you deserve this and so so much more. You do so much for all of us, I can't even begin to thank you. I know you don't see it all the time but the one that's amazing here is you. I'm so grateful that I met you and that you're a part of my life.” I smiled. Instead of answering, he leaned down and kissed me. Softly, slowly. It was pure love. It said everything that he couldn't. When he pulled back, I rested my head back against his shoulder as he said - more to himself than me - “Amazing”. 

This time, I sang to him: 

You're as smooth

As tennessee whiskey

You're as sweet 

As strawberry wine

You're as warm

As a glass of brandy 

Honey I stay stoned

On your love 

All the time

And then he joined me. The song became a soft duet, written for the two of us. 

You're as smooth 

As tennessee whiskey

Tennessee whiskey 

Tennessee whiskey 

You're as smooth 

As tennessee whiskey 

Tennessee whiskey 

Tennessee whiskey

Then the song ended and we slowly followed suit. I had to admit, I never wanted that moment to end. I could've stayed, swaying in his embrace for eternity and never have gotten tired. I loved this man with all my heart and I couldn't wait to see where the future would take us. I knew that no matter what happened, I would always have this perfect moment on this perfect day. 

We went through the bunker, doing the last checks to make sure it was secure and all the lights had been turned off, eventually meeting back at our bedroom. As we laid down to sleep, I had to tell him one last time. 

“Happy Birthday Dean.” 

Masterlist