#like it's unhinged but that's a feature not a bug

[starplusfourletters]

Move aside whatever I last said was the funniest thing in Star Wars; THIS is the funniest thing in Star Wars

[awritersrejections]

I had a film professor who wouldn't let us use the word "movie" because it was slang

ah fuck lads

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

Now for the final round!

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

What's more happy holiday cheer than cheering on the destruction of a giant straw goat?

The birds may have won 2023, but I believe in humanity's capability for arson for 2024 <3

a vote for me is a vote for arson! This message was approved by hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

gavle is SUCH a public service and holiday feature

what's more tumblr than comical destruction and holidays?

sometimes you just gotta vote with your matchsticks

Bringing a cultural staple to tumblr since 2021

Arson is so much more fun

It would be really funny and ironic if it survives the tournament

you have no idea how much joy watching the chronicling of the gavlebocken brings me every year

hasgavlebockenburneddownyet provides an essential public service

always love seeing a bit of Swedish history on my dash 'Swedish bamboo season'

the goat account is peak gimmick blog

If I don't get to beat the goat then nobody does. -pointless-achievements

Never ask Tumblr to choose between lies and arson! The winner threatens by nature to rip apart the very fabric of our DNA!

goat statues made out of straw are exciting and interesting

I wanna see things burn

the goat is an essential part of tumblr culture and the goat blog is a sacred keeper of the tumblr high holidays

watching to see if the big straw goat has burned down each year is a true delight, something I never knew existed until tumblr and the blog dedicated to it

the incredibly focused nature of @/hasgavlebockenburneddownyet is what makes their gimmick superior.

Please guys bite gavlebocken

Look, I'm Danish. I was put on this earth to annoy the Swedes and vice versa, but even I voted for @/hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

gavlebocken is also such a fun name and this blog informed be about its existence, so for that I am grateful

hasgavlebockenburneddownyet is providing a vital service! Every year, people rely on their updates regarding the fate of our most beloved Yule Goat! How could they NOT deserve the win!?

sacred anti-corporate arson

a vote for gävlebocken is a vote for anarchy!

pls vote for them they're the funniest gimmick keeping track on the funniest phenomena in recent human history, like when i look at their acc i think to myself this is what tumblr was created for

the goat is the GOAT

HASGAVLEBOCKENBURNEDDOWNYET DESERVES TO WIN, I have them on post alert for a REASON

the holiday season wouldn't be the same without them

they do important reporting. Do you look at the news and be like 'the reporters aren't doing work they're just telling you whats happening.' Have some respect for the goat news

let the weird burnt sacrificial ritual of it all appeal to you

nothing makes my December more interesting, arson should win

doesn't barge in on other peoples posts which is always a good thing in my books. not a fan when obnoxious gimmick blogs turn a decent post into a garbled mess

[bangtanintotheroom]

On the Nose (M)

I'ma put this pussy on your face

Open up boy, come and get a taste

🔊 just wanna - iggy azalea (spotify | soundcloud) 🔊

• Pairing: Dokyeom x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Humor, Smut, Friends to Lovers

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 2.5k

• Summary: Seokmin thinks his nose might be too big. You’re quick to give him reasons as to why he’s wrong.

• Warnings/themes: insecurity, reassurance, OC with the compliments 🥹, Seokmin getting carried away, face-sitting, oral (f. receiving), groping, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

• Notes: Look, all I'm going to say is that my thing for noses flares up whenever I look at DK and that was the inspo for this drabble. So sit and enjoy AJ's unhinged mind 🤪✨ thanks again to @wooahaeproductions for being an awesome beta! 💖

Reminder that I have a permanent taglist if you’re interested in all future fics I post!

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Is my nose too big?”

Your friend’s out of nowhere question made you pause your mobile game and look up in bewilderment. You found him standing in front of his dresser, head leaned in close to the mirror.

“What? No, it’s not.”

Seokmin hummed, the tone unconvinced.

“Are you sure? You can be honest with me, y’know.”

Frowning deeply, you set your phone down and rose from the bed to walk over and stand next to him.

“Seokmin, why would I lie? Your nose is fine. Did someone say something about it?”

“No…”

His trailing off did not deter you from digging deeper.

“Seokmin.”

Your biting tone and hard stare made him flinch, not wanting to feel your wrath.

“No one said anything, per se, but they were looking. Really hard.”

“Who?”

Seokmin’s reflection shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Multiple people. We’d be having a conversation and I’d just notice their eyes going to my nose at some point.”

His explanation gave you some clarity now, but were they really thinking negative thoughts about it? You couldn’t understand why the poor guy was so concerned about his nose all of a sudden. To you, it was one of his best features.

Yes, he had a blinding smile. Yes, you would kill to have his cheekbones. Yes, he was just a handsome guy in general.

But having a dignified and regal nose increased his looks by at least fifty percent (if you were being modest).

It just suited him so well that you couldn’t picture him with anything more basic or minuscule. Anything less pointy and upright would not fit Lee Seokmin.

“Seokmin, maybe they were looking because they like it.”

Your friend turned away from the mirror to study you with interest.

“You think so?”

You gazed up at him confidently.

“I know so.”

“But don’t people usually prefer smaller noses?”

A scoff left before you explained, “Fuck what beauty standards say, I think big noses are one of the best things anyone could have. Think about it. When people get plastic surgery, they can only go smaller, not bigger, right?”

”Right…”

“So it’s something that’s natural and only special people are blessed with! Like yourself!”

Your reassurance was paired with a tap to said special feature, pulling a bright grin from Seokmin.

“Y/N, you know just how to cheer me up, don’t you?”

“Of course, dummy. That’s what friends are for!”

The both of you giggled, the atmosphere lighter than before due to your affirmations. It felt good to ease his worries, but as you laughed, one last fact came to your brain.

It wasn’t as innocent as the previous ones, but it was a truth for you. One you had personal experience with on more than one occasion.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?”

“You know what else big noses are really good for?”

Seokmin’s dark brown eyes watched you with curiosity and a hint of eagerness.

“What?”

You looked up at him, face blank like a sheet of paper.

“Sitting on.”

He became a cartoon character immediately, eyes bugging and mouth flying open to let out a yelp while his hands covered his ears.

“Y/N! What?!”

“Hey—” You reached up to rip his palms down so he could hear properly. “—it’s true!”

“Is it, you…you…pervert? Or are you just making things up to make me feel better?!”

A scowl came across your face as you lightly punched his arm.

“I’m serious, idiot! Have you never heard of a girl using someone’s nose to get off?”

“No! Well, I mean, maybe, but I wasn’t paying attention if anyone did say that.”

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms and readied yourself to continue convincing him.

“It’s true, okay?”

Seokmin blinked before squinting his eyes.

“And who’s your source?”

You met him with nothing but passiveness.

“Me, myself and I.”

All he could do was gape at you like a fish, stunned that you were revealing such an intimate secret about yourself.

Now, you were used to Seokmin’s dramatic reactions to mundane or extreme situations, but he usually did it out of fun. Yet something about the way his eyes darted all over your face told you that it was genuine astonishment he gave.

Which led to you challenging, “What, you’ve never had anyone sit on your face before?”

“No!”

Huh. Shocker.

“Really?”

His frantic nod only made your brows raise in wonder. It was a shame that this man had never been privy to the act. God strategically placed his nose at such an angle to reach crevices deep within women and it was being wasted for everything else but that.

An idea began brewing in you, wanting to convince him that he was missing out on something fun.

Licking your lips, you cocked your head to the side and let your suggestion out.

“Wanna try?”

Seokmin became too stunned to speak. All he could do was sputter at your offer.

“I— Y/N, you—!”

“Seokmin, I’m serious. It’s an experience.”

The way you grinned slyly was akin to suggesting your friend cut class with you, not let you use his face as a grinding pad.

“How am I going to convince you if you won’t let me sit on your face?”

Seokmin’s ajar mouth finally shut, jaw clenched as he looked you over from head to toe, gauging the seriousness of your offer. He saw little deceit and seemed to relax a bit.

“Y/N…would you really do that?”

You nodded.

“If it’ll make you feel better about your nose, absolutely. You’re welcome to say no if you don’t want to, though.”

The other pulled in his lower lip as he mulled over his answer. You were middle of the road right now. If he said no, you would take no offense and carry on like nothing happened. But if he said yes…

“Then…let’s try it.”

Oh. Neat!

Smiling in triumph, you held your arm out towards the bed.

“Go get comfortable.”

Seokmin’s lips quirked lightly at your instructions, walking over to lie on his back in the middle of the mattress. His head lifted to peer at you with query.

“Is this a good position?”

“Perfect. You’re a beginner, so it’s best if you stay completely flat.”

Humming at your reasoning, his eyes widened when your hands reached for your bottoms, undoing them as if you were undressing at the end of a long day. You saw him visibly swallow when your pants pooled around your ankles. But then he clutched the sheets when your fingers crept under the elastic of your panties, sliding them down your legs.

Seokmin tried his best to look less petrified as you looked up after stepping out of your clothes and walked over. Climbing onto the bed, you kneeled next to his torso, raising a brow down at him.

“Ready for me?”

An audible gulp came from your friend before he nodded quickly. With a sigh, you eased, “I’m not gonna suffocate you. Relax.”

The reminder seemed to lessen his nerves as he laid back again, giving you a jerk of his chin. The invitation prompted you to straddle his chest and keep an eye on his facial expression, only to catch him staring between your legs.

“What?”

Seokmin’s cheeks reddened before he shook his head quickly. “N-Nothing. So how does this go?”

“Literally just eat me out like you would with any other girl. But throw your nose into the mix.”

“Like, nudge you with it?”

“Mhm. Just follow your instincts, there’s not much wrong you can do with it.”

The man underneath you nodded before taking in a deep breath. As soon as he motioned you to scoot up with his eyes, you moved forward to hover over his lips. Trusting your core to keep you balanced, you let out your own held breath.

“Ready whenever you are.”

Seokmin gave a thumbs up, waiting until you lowered down so your folds were a whisper away from his mouth. He leaned up to brush his lips against them, the light touch making your spine straighten. It felt as if he was testing the waters, wanting to see just how sensitive you were. But he didn’t wait long to up the pressure, pulling the quietest of gasps out.

“Better?”

You would’ve giggled at the way his voice came out somewhat muffled if it wasn’t for the warmth starting to build in your gut.

“Yeah. Just do what you usually do, ‘Min.”

“Let me know if I have to switch it up.”

He returned to work, bringing his tongue into the mix to trace up and down. A louder noise came from your mouth at the thorough sensation, eyes fluttering. The question of whether Lee Seokmin was good at oral never crossed your mind, but now the answer was going to remain cemented in there.

Especially when the appendage sunk in between to run up and down your entrance.

“Oh shit—”

You were too distracted to see Seokmin’s eyes crinkle at your low moan, continuing the action to be rewarded with more. But after a while of this, you remembered the main reason why this was even happening in the first place. Swallowing a sound, you croaked out, “Seokmin.”

“Mm?”

“Your nose—”

The reminder had him make what you imagined was a noise of realization. And just like you wanted, the end of something soft yet sharp nudged your swollen clit.

“Ah— There you go.”

You gave encouragement, hoping it would push your friend to use his God-given gift to the fullest. It took some time, but Seokmin nuzzled the bud harder while simultaneously working his tongue below. Your warmth expanded into a tingling heat that traveled up and down your spine and into your fingers and toes, soft pants beginning to fall from your agape mouth.

You weren’t sure how long he had been at it, but you began to feel the telltale signs of a climax approaching. Not wanting to throw him off his game, you bit your tongue and allowed yourself to continue enjoying this experience of Seokmin learning the benefits of having a perfectly sculpted nose.

As the throes of ecstasy began to wash over your body, you hoped that he would carry this lesson through the rest of his life to treat any lucky girl.

Panting softly as you came down, the attention between your legs paused for a bit. But just as you were about to climb off and congratulate your friend for a job well done, the motions started up again, forcing you to gasp in sensitivity.

“’Min, what are you—”

A harsh bump to your still throbbing clit interrupted your query and a poke to your twitching cunt silenced you completely. All you could do was sit above Seokmin in utter shock as he continued to please you with his mouth.

Your complete surprise melted the further he went, brain shutting down to simply enjoy what he was giving you. At one point, you felt vibrations and started to hear something akin to mumbling from between your legs.

“Huh?”

The vibrations went on, but you still couldn’t make out what was being said.

“Seokmin, I can’t hear you, stop for a second.”

What might have been a groan sounded against your slick folds before Seokmin pulled back to husk out, “Sit on my tongue.”

Your mouth dropped, stunned at the request and the way he stuck out said muscle between his slick-coated lips.

But your hips went on autopilot and moved forward to grant him his wish. As soon as you sat down, the desire to use his tongue as a grinding pad came over. It seemed to be a wise choice as you could feel the strongest vibration so far against your pussy.

Seokmin surprised you again when one of his hands moved from the bed to rest on your waist before sliding over and up your torso. It seemed to be on autopilot as it aimed to touch your covered breast, only stopping short just as his fingertips were about to brush the bottom curve. Clicking your tongue at his unwanted hesitation, you covered his palm with your own and brought it to its intended destination.

“Don’t hold back.”

As soon as you let go, Seokmin took your command and ran to the bank with it. Long fingers groped and massaged at the mound, making your back arch in enjoyment. Enjoyment that pushed you higher and higher to another precipice, faster than before. While you trembled above your friend, you couldn’t believe that he kept this up. You figured that once would be enough to prove your point, but he just would not stop.

He continued even after you came for the second time, giving everything he had. You could feel yourself hurtling towards a third orgasm as Seokmin wouldn’t let you be. But when the tip of his nose felt too pointy and the flat of his tongue too rough for your sensitive folds, you decided to put an end to the experience.

“S-Stop—“

Pointless. He just kept going.

Stifling a whimper of discomfort, you were forced to reach down and pull at his dark brown locks.

“Christ, Seokmin, stop!”

Finally, your prayers were heard. Seokmin winced at your tug and removed his mouth from you to gape incredulously.

“Yah, why’d you stop me?”

You ignored the unusually titillating rasp of his voice to scowl down.

“I think you proved my point…too many times!”

Your emphasis was supported with a flick to his wet nose.

“You trying to kill me?!”

“No! I just got caught up in the moment! I’m sorry.”

The genuine remorse in his explanation made you relax a bit, soothing his scalp with a gentle ruffle of his hair.

“It’s alright, ‘Min. You did good…too good.”

As expected, Seokmin’s smile outshone the sun itself, thanks to your praise.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Returning the grin, you realized that you should give your friend some breathing room and climbed off to lay next to him, a tingle still present in your toes.

“So what have we learned today?”

Seokmin puckered his lips as he looked up in thought.

“I learned that my nose is big, but there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Um…that I can use it when I’m eating someone out.”

Your lips tilted.

“Go on.”

A melodic hum came as he continued to rack his brain.

“Mm…oh! How could I forget the most important one?”

You watched as his head turned to fixate you with a sweet grin.

“If I’m ever feeling insecure about anything, I can come to you for help.”

His answer made you smile wide, heart warming at how at ease he seemed to be now. Granted, you never expected to sit on his face, but if it made him feel better, you’d do it a hundred times over.

“Anything for you, ‘Min.”

©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Crossposted to AO3. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

[slasheru]

Whoaaaa that's right Act 2's Alpha/Early Access has a SEXY OFFICIAL RELEASE DATE! Come on down to bonertown (non-gender-specific) this Feburary 14th for Part 2 of America's Horniest Horror Movie University!

🔪 https://suiteddevil.itch.io/slasher-u-act-2 🔪

WHAT'S NEW IN ACT 2:

Main Quest: Continue solving the main murder mystery!

Dateables Storylines: Tons of reactive choices, scenarios, and quests abound as you continue each dateable's storyline! (Currently Implemented: Tate, Juno, Hex, Laila)

The Passage Of Time: Experience a whole gore-geous Fall world palette (and events!) when Football Season hits during Act 2!

Side Quests AND New Quests: Finally get around to managing and decorating that speakeasy - and more!

Pass Your Midterms with new major-specific questlines and bigger scenarios - like Paisleigh's timed Saw trap (with contextual differences based on who you're dating)!

Brand New Layered Outfit System & Wardrobe UI: Outfits are now layerable with separate parts - design your fit with tops, bottoms, jackets, facewear, and more!

Piercings and Tattoos: Enter the body mods shoppe for realistic piercings (get pierced and swap out jewelry!), or get a tattoo! Story events will trigger characters to possibly get tattoos, as well!

New (Huge) Zones: Explore a world beyond campus, from Juno's hometown of New Ontario, to the bustling cyberpunk town center Slasher U is nestled next to, to the elaborate Final Girl Ball at the mysterious Heatherington Mansion!

New Minigames: Explore the art of slushie-making, fight Mr. McGillicutty to the death, and more!

New Characters: Tons of new folks integrated reactively into the Slasher U campus ecosystem!

New Scenarios: Just like Sawyer's big party and Hex's Rapture blowout, there's tons of new adventures, inset scenarios, and puzzles with brand new mechanics within the world!

ROADMAP: COMING SOON IN THE NEXT FEW MONTHS

Sawyer Main Quest - just like in Act 1, since Sawyer is a later addition, his content's just a little bit behind! Expect the full Sawyer suite to be up in the next few months.

New Repeatable Scene Content: New text messages, hookup scenes, dorm scenes, and more!

More Common Chats: Topics for each dateable to talk about, now that Act 2 is underway!

More Customization: Empty holes in those UI slots in your Wardrobe window are waitin' to be filled!

ROADMAP: COMING IN THE NEAR-ISH FUTURE

Steam Version: Once the game's out of beta and as un-buggy as I'd like it, it's off to Steam!

Headless Horsemike Hookup: You'll notice the START of a Horsemike flirtationship in there already, but the full thing's yet to come! (This was a reach goal from the Crowdfundr!)

This is an ALPHA / EARLY ACCESS game, so there'll be some chunks missing, things will ALWAYS been changing and be added, and bugs will feature aplenty - but as Just One Guy (tm) I could always use your help hunting them down so I can fix 'em! If you were here for Act 1's launch, it'll be almost entirely like that! (Although with more people here. Hi, people!!)

Thank you SO SO SO MUCH for all your support, love, playthroughs, and absolutely unhinged fanart throughout these last two years! May your campus always be horny and your goblet always full (of blood, maybe), Student Disembody!!

xoxoxooxoxoxoox Professor Plutonium

[aphel1on]

so funny how gale pulls himself out of his suicidal slump purely by finding something new to unhealthily fixate on. just complete 180 immediate full steam ahead to the next unhinged idea. he sees that crown and goes Ok im not mentally ill anymore! 🥰 (is obviously still mentally ill. in a new and exciting way)

like people will complain about the lack of emotional resolution to the plotline and while i get it, to me that is a feature not a bug. my mans is not Emotionally Processing a fucking thing. this is the guy who had a year to brood in his tower and learned nothing. zero personal insights. act 3 gale is manically distracting himself from dealing with anything all whilst backsliding into hubris bc he is unable to comprehend a middle ground between Gods Specialest Boy and Gods Wretchedest Fool. i love him so much

[timrand1953]

@rolandeep7 @kian-stonezzz

Rand’s vision fades to black as he loses consciousness, sleep overtaking him quickly. 

He feels himself awaken rather quickly afterwards, though, and suddenly, he’s in the woods, hands shaking and flashlight shining straight ahead, into the scattered trees. He looks down to see he’s wearing a muddied pair of jeans and beat-up sneakers, and his dad’s leather jacket over a Guns n’ Roses tee. 

He remembers this exact moment all too well.

Rand doesn’t want to move forward; he actually tries to will himself against it, but he can’t help but step further into the darkened bayou, mud squelching beneath his feet. 

He needed to find Rachel.

As the boy continues into the swamp, wading through ankle-high water, he glances around frantically, as if something was out here with him. It was a school night, and he was already out way too late, so he didn’t want to be caught. He freezes as the beam catches a figure, but it’s… Rolan?

Oh. Right.

Rolan scrunches his face as the flashlight blinds him, and he puts his hands to his face, trying to shield his eyes.

“Dude!” he whisper-shouts, Rand taking it as a sign to lower his flashlight again.

“Sorry,” he replies, voice lighter than normal, “I, uh- just forgot. Got- startled.”

“How far are we going?” Rolan asks, probably choosing to not respond to Rand’s comments. He sounded tired. Rand feels a twisting in his chest.

“Um… I don’t- know. I was gonna go until I reached the edge, but, um…” he’s unsure of what he’s saying. He doesn’t feel like this is anything more than some weird scene his brain is imagining, but he knows it’s a memory. It feels too authentic to not be one.

“My mom’s gonna notice that I’m not home eventually, and I’m sure yours is too. It’s already, what, 10? 10:30? It’s getting late, Tim, we should-” Rand holds his hand up, and Rolan stops talking.

Click click click click click…

Rand’s eyes widen in horror as clicks erupt through the woods, and he goes to run, but he doesn’t seem to have any control over his body. He continues towards the sound, Rolan following close behind. Neither of them say anything as they approach the biggest tree in the middle of the woods; the one they used as a hangout spot frequently. Kian couldn’t sit still for the life of him, so he would always climb as they talked, and Rolan, for some reason, said he found some sort of comfort in the tree. 

Rand fumbles for his pocket, putting his thick-rimmed glasses on in order to see just what his light was illuminating that was on this tree.

It was his sister.

No, it wasn’t. It was a red, pulsing mass, made up of what looked to be the insides of a human body: blood, guts, viscera. In front of it was his sister. She was actually there.

He turns back to look at Rolan, but he’s gone. He frantically whips his flashlight around, trying his best to find the other, but he couldn’t. He thinks, in passing, this is what he always does. He wished he had stayed with him, for once.

Turning back around, Rand is face to face with Rachel, whose eyes are pure black and throat is a translucent, pulsing red. Something akin to a stinger emerges from her mouth, as her body contorts in order to contain the awful, bug-like features. 

She tilts her head back, and begins to click.

Rand’s lip is trembling, and he grabs onto her arms, interrupting the inhuman sounds erupting from her.

“Rachel- we gotta go, Mama’s been so worried about you,” he tries to reason, his drawl becoming thicker in his panic, “come on- please, we gotta get home, it’s really late.” Rachel stares at him, mouth still hanging agape, almost unhinged.

Rand goes to say more, but Rachel blinks, and her eyes shift back to brown, white scleras reappearing. It looks as if she shrinks in on herself, before she collapses, face-first into the mud. He gasps and drops to his knees immediately, flashlight falling next to them.

“Rachel, come on- I-I know you’re tired, sissy, but I can’t carry you. We gotta- we gotta go.” His voice is almost hysterical, shaking Rachel harshly and trying to pull her upwards. She barely budges.

His hands shake as he gently presses two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. He can’t feel anything anywhere, no matter where he checks, or how long he holds for. He can feel his own body now; he hears everything so clearly, his vision is blurring with tears, and he feels a scream tear from his throat. 

---

Rand jolts upright, not realizing he was screaming until he hears rustling on the other side of him. He takes a minute to breathe, hands gripping his hair to try and ground himself, and for some reason, that works. His tears slow as his breathing steadies. He knows it isn’t real, and he knows that didn’t happen to her, and everything is fine…

…but he can’t get the image out of his head. He feels sick.

[sebstanaddict]

The Debuggers Assemble

Sebastian Stan x Reader Unhinged One Shot (Feat. The Avengers)

Summary : Behold! The 2nd version of this chaotic and unhinged story of Seb as a wannabe coder and this one features the Avengers!

A/N: This is just another stress induced story I came up with as I try to debug actual code on my project XD Hope you guys like it.

Warning: none at all, just an all out funny, unhinged and ridiculous story, somewhat like a sitcom XD

Word count: 1.7k words

Read more Sebastian and Bucky one shots here

---

It started as a normal Tuesday. Y/n was working on a client's website, surrounded by empty soda cans, a half-eaten granola bar, a cup of coffee that had been refilled countless times, and the dim hope that this web application project wouldn't kill her. She was almost done when she hit a wall—an infuriating wall in the form of a bug so elusive it might as well have been a mythological creature.

"What in the name of Jeff Bezos is wrong with you?!" she yelled at her laptop, slamming her hands on the desk.

"BOOM, BABY!"

She jumped, nearly knocking over her coffee as Sebastian burst into the room like Kramer from Seinfeld. He was wearing an Avengers bathrobe, a Viking helmet, and inexplicably wielding a hockey stick.

"Seb," she said, already exhausted by his mere presence. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he said, dramatically tossing the hockey stick aside. It hit a lamp, causing it to crash to the floor.

"You're not helping. You're breaking my furniture."

"Pfft. Material possessions are temporary. But debugging is eternal."

"No," she said firmly. "Not this time. You're not touching my laptop. The last time you helped, the TV turned on by itself, showed me a cooking tutorial in Portuguese, and called me by name."

Sebastian gasped, clutching his chest like she'd insulted his honor. "You loved that tutorial. You said the flan recipe looked great."

"That's not the POINT!"

"Come on," he said, sitting next to her and grinning like a kid who just found a pack of fireworks. "I'm serious. Let me help."

She gave him a withering look. "Do you even know what CSS stands for?"

"D'uh. It's..." He paused, clearly making something up on the spot. "Cool, uh... Code... Stuff."

Y/N smirked. "What about HTML? Know what it is?"

"Of course I do," he said confidently. "It's... um... Hot Tacos Make Life better?"

She stared at him, deadpan. "Seb, I bet you don't even know what Javascript is."

"No, but I know about.. scripts?" He answered innocently and she rolled her eyes.

"Seb, just leave me alone and do whatever it was you were going to do with this.. outfit." She said, gesturing towards his Viking helmet.

But Sebastian ignored her, dragging his chair closer to her. "No way. I can help. I've acted as a hacker in movies. I know all about... coding stuff."

"Seb, no you haven't, and do NOT touch my laptop." She warned.

"Relax, babe. Let me at least look at it."

She reluctantly slid the laptop toward him. "Fine. But if you break something, you're sleeping on the couch."

Sebastian cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Alright, let's see what we've got here."

He squinted at the code for a solid thirty seconds like it was written in ancient Greek. "So, what's the problem?"

She sighed. "The JSON data isn't parsing correctly."

"JASON? Who's Jason?"

She groaned. "JSON. JavaScript Object Notation. It's a way to structure data."

Sebastian's face lit up. "Got it. So, it's like... Legos?"

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night." she rolled her eyes.

Sebastian cracked his knuckles and typed furiously.

—

<script>

let data = {

name: "Sebastian",

talent: "Acting",

debuggingSkill: "undefined"

};

console.log("Fixing everything like a boss"); // Motivational

data += "magic sauce"; // This'll work, right?

alert("IT WORKS... probably.");

</script>

—

He hit "Save" and refreshed the page. The screen went completely white, then flashed red like it was possessed.

"What did you do?!" she screamed.

"Magic sauce!" Sebastian said, pointing at the code.

"Magic sauce?! That's not a thing!"

"Not with that attitude," he muttered.

"Just give it back." She said, trying to grab the laptop back but he held it tight.

"No, no, babe. Let me try something else." He insisted, holding the laptop hostage.

She sighed, "Fine, just one more thing and if it doesn't work, give it back to me."

"Okay, okay, hold on. This will work. I can feel it!" He said enthusiastically, his fingers typing furiously.

—

<script>

let data =[ {

name: "Y/n",

character: "beautiful",

debuggingSkill: "powerful"

},

name: "Sebastian",

character: "chaotic",

debuggingSkill: "questionable"

},];

let love = data["Y/n"] + data["Sebastian"];

console.log("Y/n, you're the light of my life, and this code is dedicated to you.");

alert("Success, just like us.");

</script>

—

"Seb, that's not how you call JSON data." She protested but she couldn't keep a smile from escaping from her lips.

"Sometimes you have to go outside the box. Besides, love fixes everything." He said, winking at her and she rolled her eyes. He then pressed enter with a dramatic flourish.

The website blinked. The error message was gone, the navigation bar worked, the grid was perfect, the contact form sparkled like it had been kissed by the gods.

Sebastian turned to her with a smirk. "Told you. Love fixes everything."

Y/n's jaw dropped. "Wait... did you just—"

Before she could finish, the screen exploded into chaos. Every element on the page multiplied, filling the screen with hundreds of buttons labeled "Love you, Y/n" and an animated gif of a dancing cat in a tuxedo.

Sebastian leaned back, hands behind his head. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

She buried her face in her hands. "This is a nightmare."

"Okay, okay," he said, "Time to bring in the big guns."

Before she could grab the laptop back, Sebastian's hand flew over it again.

—

function callTheAvengers() {

alert("Avengers, assemble. We have a coding emergency.");

}

callTheAvengers();

—

"Seb, that's not gonna work." She protested.

"Wait for it." Sebastian said, raising his index finger to silence her and he hit the refresh button dramatically.

"Just give me the laptop back before I hit you with the hockey stick." She threatened.

"Babe, please. Trust me. Wait for it." He insisted and sure enough, suddenly she could hear the sound of a jet overhead. She glanced out the window and nearly fell out of her chair. The actual Quinjet was descending in the middle of their suburban street.

The neighbors were peeking out their windows in confusion, one even snapping pictures. "Sebastian, what did you do?!"

He smirked, "You saw the code, I called the Avengers."

Before she could protest, there was a knock at the door. Sebastian jumped up and opened it with a flourish.

Standing there were Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Thor, Natasha Romanoff and Bruce Banner.

"We heard there was a coding emergency," Steve Rogers said seriously, stepping inside.

Y/n slapped her forehead. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening."

"What's the situation?" Tony asked, sunglasses on with a latte in hand.

Y/n sighed. "It's just a stupid JSON error."

"Ugh, JSON," Tony said, grimacing. "The silent killer of sanity. Move over."

Natasha Romanoff rolled her eyes. "Why am I even here? I don't code."

"Neither do I!" Thor announced, holding aloft his Mjolnir. "But I shall bring thunderous ideas!"

"Don't touch anything!" Y/n cried.

Bruce Banner set up his laptop. "Let's divide and conquer."

Sebastian handed everyone a keyboard which came out of nowhere and connected to nothing.. "Alright, team, let's do this."

Tony was the first to dive in.

"Alright, Y/n, let me show you how it's done." He typed on her laptop furiously:

—

<script>

function fixJSON() {

let billionDollars = true;

if (billionDollars) {

console.log("Hire someone else to fix it.");

} else {

console.log("Do it yourself, cheapskate.");

}

}

fixJSON();

</script>

—

"Tony," Y/n said, glaring, "that doesn't even make sense."

"It makes sense if you're a billionaire," he quipped. He hit refresh and the website turned all red and an iron man logo blinked in the middle.

Y/n slapped her forehead. "This is a nightmare."

"Here, let me try." Bruce Banner said. His approach was more... scientific.

"I think we need to test various inputs."

—

<script>

let gammaInput = [1, 2, "Hulk"];

let result = gammaInput.map(x => x + " smash");

console.log(result);

</script>

—

He hit refresh and the code ran. The screen displayed: '["1 smash", "2 smash", "Hulk smash"]'.

"Great, Bruce," Y/n said dryly. "Now my website is smashing things."

"You're welcome," he replied, adjusting his glasses.

Natasha sighed and leaned over. "Let me show you how to be efficient."

—

<script>

let secretSpyHack = () => {

console.log("Bug? What bug?");

};

secretSpyHack();

</script>

—

"That didn't do anything," Y/n pointed out.

Natasha shrugged. "Neither did I."

"Alright, alright, my turn." Steve said and he started typing with the enthusiasm of a soldier going in for battle.

—

function captainAmericaFix() {

let website = "running on freedom and justice";

let bugs = "punched out by the good ol' stars and stripes";

console.log("This code stands for something bigger.");

}

captainAmericaFix();

—

The website loaded. Patriotic music blared as an eagle soared across the screen, dragging the American flag behind it.

Y/n put her head on the desk. "I'm going to scream."

Thor stepped forward. "Stand aside, mortals! BEHOLD! I SHALL WRITE CODE AS MIGHTY AS MJOLNIR!"

He slammed Mjolnir onto the desk, causing the laptop to spark.

"Thor, no!" Y/n cried but Thor was already typing furiously.

—

<script>

let hammer = "Mjolnir";

function summonThunder() {

return hammer + " strikes!";

}

console.log(summonThunder());

</script>

—

He hit refresh and the website now displayed nothing but lightning bolts and the phrase "FOR ASGARD!" in Comic Sans.

Sebastian was laughing hysterically, tears streaming down his face. "This is the best debugging session ever!"

All of a sudden Peter Parker swung in through the window. "Hey, I heard there's a coding emergency?"

Tony groaned. "Of course the kid's here."

"Don't worry, I've got this!" Peter said, taking her laptop.

—

<script>

let webFix = bug => 'Spidey fixed ${bug}!';

console.log(webFix("JSON error"));

</script>

—

The website turned into a Spider-Man fan page.

Y/n buried her face in her hands. "I'm doomed."

"Enough!" Sebastian shouted, standing on a chair. "It's time for my genius to shine."

"Seb, NO!" she screamed.

"Seb, YES!" he yelled, typing with reckless abandon.

She glared at him as he continued to type nonsense but he suddenly stopped.

"Wait, I think you just missed a comma here." Sebastian said, deleting everything he typed before and adding the comma into her code.

He hit "Enter." The page refreshed. Miraculously, everything worked perfectly.

The room went silent. Even Tony looked impressed.

"How, how did you know?" She asked, her jaw dropped.

"Sometimes JSON is finicky like that." Sebastian shrugged.

Tony looked over his shoulder. "I was just about to say that."

As the Avengers packed up and left (after Tony insisted on taking credit for everything), Sebastian sat beside Y/n, who was still staring at her now-functioning website.

Sebastian leaned back on the chair, looking smug. "Told you I'd fix it."

"That was just beginner's luck." she shrugged.

"Oh come on, babe. What I did was genius." He insisted.

"I wouldn't say genius, but I think you know enough JSON now to be able to debug code."

"Yeah.. who's Jason again?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed and she threw a pillow at him.

"You're lucky I love you." She commented and he smiled as he pulled her by her waist and leaned in to kiss her.

For the rest of the day Sebastian strutted around the apartment, still wearing the Avengers bathrobe, Viking helmet and adding sunglasses while carrying a hockey stick and singing "We Are The Champions".

Y/n just stared at him and rolled her eyes, accepting her fate that she was dating a chaotic but somehow genius boyfriend and she wouldn't trade him for anything.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Funky hcs, cybertronians purring when content or happy, or making small chirps to eachother when too lazy to use words (cliffjumper would do this)

Smoll sparkling instinctually climb on their parents backs like possums do, so imagine starscream with the jettwins clenched on his back sleeping while he's working.

Dreadwing easily get flustered if someone flirts with him.

Starscream thinks dreadwing is attractive, but would never say it even if you torture him lol

Prime finial move like cat ears

Soundwave probably has stray cats in his quarters

When it becomes too cold, cybertronians curl around eachother for warmth.

Sparklings have 4 stages in early years before becoming a youngling, bean, too smoll to move, only chirp and sleep and eat, waddly stage, they're still pudgy but they're grown a bit, their optics open and they waddle to get to places, serval kitten, lanky limbs and unproportioned body structure, zoomes everywhere, uncoordinated as all hell, loud, and finally semi youngling, or a nibbling, where they start to walk on two legs intsead of four limbs, this is the stage were they become more talkative and have longer conversations.

Well since this isn't super specific, here are some additional headcanons of mine to go with this.

In relation to sparklings:

Newforged sparklings are practically animals. The youngest can hardly move most times, but frag it all when they really put their spark to it they can be terrifying and bolt on all fours.

Sparklings, when without a caretaker, travel in small packs. The youngest will magnetize themselves to the oldest and they roam wild until they develop higher processing abilities or are adopted.

Newforged sparklings have denta sharp enough to rival a scraplet and can and will bite when approached.

Sparklings have a natural desire to seek out civilization through special code and find said civilization via a special set of sensors that allow them to detect spark signature density.

They lose these sensors as they age, often signifying the activation their higher cognitive functions. However if left stranded once these sensors are lost, the sparkling in question will turn out to be more wild in response to lack of exposure to other mecha.

Sparklings have zero preferences when it comes to fuel and will devour anything with even a hint of energon in it. This includes but is not limited to dirt, bugs, small-mechanimals, any energon powered tools, and even energon crystals five times their size.

Sparklings can unhinge their jaws slightly to devour larger energon portions. This can lead them to get things stuck halfway down their intake after a failed attempt to eat it.

Sparklings choose their own caretakers when left to their own devices. These chosen caretakers often end up doing better in raising their charges than those not selected personally, but this is not always the case.

It is incredibly rare for two sparklings to choose the same caretaker and get along because most refuse to tolerate a sibling who is in their minds, competition for scarce resources.

Sparklings are slow to bond to their caretaker but surprisingly possessive even before a bond is established.

Sparklings are known to fight over potential caretakers when there are not enough or two or more take an interest in the same one.

Once bonded to their caretaker, sparklings will make their claim clear to any others they see, often hissing, chirping, or otherwise making a racket to prove that the mech they chose is theirs.

Grounder sparklings will magnetize themselves to their caretaker's back so they can still see what is going on, fliers will hang off the shoulder, minicons prefer hiding in their caretaker when possible, and triplechangers/beastformers are more fond of hanging onto an arm or leg.

Sparklings shed armor as they grow and develop new plating as they age. They start off fairly smooth and round but gain more sharp edges and defining features with time. Wings and other such kibble grow in right before younglinghood.

In relation to Cybertronian Habits:

Cybertronians are not a very touchy race. They do not physically touch one another often because they have EM fields to make up for body language.

Touching is considered a very intimate thing when not in a professional setting. It is only done between those who trust one another or are familiar enough to be somewhat at ease.

Shoulder touches and small lingering interactions of similar variety are common among co-workers and friends.

Clasping arms or being particularly close is something found only among close friends, Amica bonded, or political allies.

Full blown hugs are something meant for family and family alone. It is a rare gift.

Touching helms is considered the highest form of intimacy and is reserved solely for Conjunx Endura or caretaker's and their sparklings. There are rare cases where it is seen between abused mecha bound together by trauma, but beyond that it is a sacred thing.

Caste, or rank determines how much a mech is allowed to express themselves.

Low caste mecha are expected to keep their helms low and be quiet, but are otherwise not forbidden from being more touchy and interactive.

Middle caste mecha are required to be chaste in all sorts of interaction. Their EM fields must be held close and their outward expression must be carefully controlled. Intimacy of any kind in public is frowned upon.

High caste mecha, depending on function are either required to show nothing or allows to express themselves however they see fit.

This bleeds into behavior in both Autobots and Decpeticons due to how deeply these stigmas were rooted.

When startled Cybertronians flare their plating to look bigger.

Most Cybertronians have built in tracking systems and will automatically track small lights like laser pointers when unfocused. This behavior has been largely trained out of the bots involved in the war, but it can still be seen when the bots are tired.

Even Optimus Prime can end up whipping around to track a small light when exhausted before he refocuses.

Cybertronians naturally do not speak but rather sing to communicate. Spoken language was introduced by the Quintessons but has since only been used in formal situations to show attention and understanding.

Cybertronians don't really get cold. Their sparks keep their internals somewhat warm, but when they do end up reaching an environment so cold it can reach their cores, they group together and connect via special cables to share heat.

When too hot, Cybertronians can shed their outer layers of armor. More often than not they simply flare their plating and work their fans to cool down since it can take weeks if not months for shed plating to regro.

It is also healthy and normal for a Cybertronian to shed their plating after a few centuries of wear and tear so that fresh plating may grow in its place.

Shed plating is often eaten by the Cybertronian who lost it as a way to conserve resources.

There are even special recipes designed to make eating shed plating more palatable.

Cybertronians all have mandibles in their intakes which they use to process energon. They can extend their mandibles and the tubing attached to it if required, but it is uncomfortable for those no longer sparklings.

Mecha left alone in groups will form clans on instinct. The biggest among them automatically ends up activating more protective codes while the smaller become more sensitive to changes in the area.

After the Quintessons invasion, all Cybertronians forged from the Well are coded with an instinctual hatred toward the invaders and are all modeled to be best able to resist the invaders should they come again.

Random tidbits:

Optimus had sensory panels when he was still wild, ones that flared out from the sides of his helm much like insect antennae. They were far more sensitive then and have since been armored and largely hidden. He still brings them out on occasion though just so that he doesn't forget how to use them.

Arcee originally had a bright pink and white paintjob. She only changed it after the war began to inspire fear in her foes. She actually misses her old paint dearly but it too involved in her persona to drop it now.

Being from the early ages of Cybertron's history, Ratchet has a few modifications that no modern mecha possess. One such mod is his innate ability to operate with less energon. His frame was designed to retain energon and use it more efficiently, therefore making it less common for him to fuel as often as the others.

Bulkhead actually wanted to be an architect before the war but was denied entry into school because of his frame type and instead joined the wreckers after being rejected. In his free time he still comes up with building plans sometimes.

Bumblebee was known to have one of the most beautiful voices among Autobot troops before he was made mute. He could reach pitches that no others could and was even able to perform feats of song known to only be possible to those with mods or highly sensitive vocalizers. Losing his voice didn't hurt most because he couldn't speak, no, it hurt more because he could no longer sing.

Ultra Magnus received a frame upgrade sometime in his past that was highly experimental at the time. It made him larger, sturdier, and overall a force to be reckoned with. However he gets pains and phantom aches where old kibble used to be due to the relative newness of his mods at the time.

Wheeljack almost invented space bridges by accident before they were conceived by council scientists. He was trying to make a bomb that would tap into the void to create a mini black hole and instead made a small portal. He brushed it off as failed experiment at the time and didn't learn till long after that he had concocted space bridges before they were even a thing and didn't even know it.

Megatron has not shed his plating in over two millennia and continues to refuse to do so for various reasons he will not state despite the fact that his armor is old and getting rather frail at the base. He works around this by strengthening his armor with special salves and injections so that he need not shed it.

Starscream once had a far more appealing frame that he ended up getting changed during the war after receiving an injury that nearly shredded his entire outer armor. He never had much of an opportunity to change it back to how it was after that, but he does dearly miss his previous appearance even if he never says so.

Soundwave was once a very bulky mech and only slimmed down after he left the senate to try and emulate spark eaters in a rather quiet act of defiance toward his previous companions. He much prefers being seen as similar to the monsters of old instead of as an intimidating but ultimately fallible mech.

Shockwave sometimes has moments where the shadow play wears off long enough for his previous personality to make an appearance. It is very rare, but when it happens he is often kept locked away so he can't go running to Optimus who was once a friend back when he was Orion Pax.

Knockout used to be a flight frame and only lost his wings due to an accident. He pioneered the way to changing his alt-mode to fit in, but he still misses the skies and sometimes likes to stand on tall structures to feel the wind. He even likes to skydive if he is sure there is a landing place for him or some sort of security to keep him from falling to his death.

Breakdown actually once wished to work in sparkling care but was denied because of his alt-mode and frame type. The skills he picked up and the knowledge of sparklings he accumulated has largely found use with the Vehicons due to their relative youth. He tends to baby the Vehicons when he can and they appreciate it.

Dreadwing once had a duel to the death with a noble back when he was very young. He won, but got a nasty scar across his chassis in the process, one that never fully recovered and has since been covered. Skyquake got an engraving in the same place to match the scar so Dreadwing didn't feel so alone.

Arachnid almost joined Sentinel's science division as a researcher and only left at the last moment because of the threat of being shadow played.

The Vehicons play dead when it battle against Optimus. They have long learned that if they stay down after being hit Optimus won't kill them and they won't be punished since they were "hurt".

[neverchecking]

AYO

Do I see sadistic reader possibilities from you and lovanmari

Just a rough idea, for context they are sitting in a dinning room booth kind of deal right next to each other. Used they for reader.

"That man from last night said he'd be down here in the morning," they glanced around the tavern floor with a light pout and yet, "perhaps he's oversleeping?"

Sage could see the sharpness of their eyes as they took in each and every corner of the dining floor. The faintest smile curling at the corners of their mock disappointment. No, his vixen's eyes were very, very pleased.

They knew what they were doing all along.

Leaning their body over the corner while they spoke to that man. Smiling innocently as if they didn't see him running his disgusting eyes over their angelic body. He had been so concerned over the gaze of a parasite leeching onto what's his, he neglected to look at their own. Staring down the bug they wanted him to squash.

"You knew what you were doing," Sage leaned to their ear to whisper, "I can see it in your eyes."

At first they turned to the mock, innocent shock he knew too well, before it all too soon melted away from a blooming burn of passion igniting over their features. This look was new- well, outside of his bed that is. That ever loving, wicked smile twisting across their innocent features to match the slight close of their delicate lashes. They was his god, ever beautiful and kind to him. All they wished was his command.

And they knew they could have anything they wanted from him.

"I don't care for people insulting you," their precious fingers gently rested against his cheek, "and if I can't do something about it... I know someone who will."

Just a loose cannon thought o-o -🧶

🧶 anon. Listen, you and I need to talk.

Because this- all of this- is so good? Like it absolutely feeds my feral little brain. It's the good shit.

Between myself, @lovanmari and @wayfayrr, we are just braining Sage as this absolutely feral man who now has access to nuclear weapons. Especially with a Sadistic! Reader? Omfg, they're a match made in hell heaven.

Like- especially if Sage doesn't catch on right away?

Because he's too enamored by his sweet divinity to see the red flags right away. He's super glued rose colored glasses and has no plan on taking them off, turning all those red warning signs into just...background. He's too swept away by the sweet words and gorgeous smile, hyperfixated on the rats trying to impose on what was his, his, his.

The way this is worded is perfect, because he probably would've remained blissfully unaware, had Reader not brought up the man. Why did they care about whether or not that vile creature would show his pathetic face? Why did they care about if the man had overslept? Why had they cared about anyone other than him?

That was what clued him in. Because, like it or not, Sage had trained his vixen, his sunflower, the absolute light of his miserable life to only think of him. And they would never go out of their way to upset him. So what were they going on about?

Sage is probably the first one to recognize the familiar spark of bloodlust in their eyes. The way their fingers twitch and the trepidation of not knowing. Then it would all click.

His beloved liked seeing him loose control. Liked these unhinged, probably feral, parts of him that he would rather hide away from the world. They enjoyed teasing the scum of the Earth, dangling their own supple body in front of them like a treat on a stick only to set their guard dog on them the second they overstepped.

It was wicked.

He loved it.

When his love confirms his thoughts, a whole new obsession begins. One filled with nothing but joy and ecstatic insanity at the thought that he wouldn't be condemned by his God(dess) for his more unsavory actions. No, he would be praised and uplifted, blessed with their smile and delicate fingers tracing his jaw.

And to know their own motives circle back to him? To know that you have as much distaste for others touching what was yours as he did?

Drove him positively mad.

And the best part of it all? He won't stop. No, he has your blessing now. Anyone who gets in his way, even for miniscule things he may have let slide for your sake, is slaughtered without another thought.

All as offerings for his sweet vixen.

[hanabus-a]

some undergoing original projects that I've been hunking over instead of (staring at ongoing visdev projects since 2017), here we go i guess i guess:

Liar Service (temp name), language: English, medium: comic. Yuri romcom between an unhinged office worker and a... clown? Very clowncore although I've never consumed media with clowncore, I am appropriating clown culture. Progress: Got storyboard of first chapter done, there are some visdev I need to get over with although I'm happy with the current development right now! There's nothing to show off at the time except for recent WIP.

PAMELA, language: ENG or JPN depends on engine limitation, medium: visual novel. The name based on the flower thingy, probably a long-term project similar to the EVA comic in which it's going to take six years to get everything done lol. Mostly an idea I came up on a whim about magical boys and boring dating sim format in which I had to learn yu-ris engine for. YU-RIS engine is supeeeeeer fun though, I really want to play around with its existing features. Visual development is still in progress and I'm not comfortable to disclose about the characters + story on my public pages yet. I'm more worried about the amount of writings I will have to commit though.

Mushikou (full name 虫の子, but might rename it), language: ENG and/or JPN. medium: comic. I'm still at the stage of whether write the text in English (then having to change the name to Bug Child or something anglo-linguist), which is honestly, not my scene. Or write entirely in Japanese again and everyone be like "wow I don't understand but the art pretty" or something like that. My English writing skill only reserves for like... conversation and professional settings, not writing fiction and impose "voice" onto characters - This is why I can't roleplay lmao. We'll see once I get to the storyboard + experimental writing stage. Some visdev should be ready to show off maybe later this week.

If you like hearing me ramble I have a newsletter in which you can sign up for free, I should be writing a newsletter for 2024 soon... My last newsletters was like DECEMBER last year i think? Why am i so busy wtf.

[wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee28374728]

fantasy au. pls pls pls someone else see the vision. It probably takes place in the same time period but in a world where magical shit is known. Not common, just known and not unheard of. Also, writing this I'm thinking about the movies. Sry nbc fans, this is just my preference, but u can expand on this with books or show or whatever

Hannibal is a vampire, ofc, it just fits. He's a rich guy from Europe and consumes humans.

Clarice was rlly hard. Part of me wants to make her a vampire hunter, and part of me wants her to be a centaur. You know what, fuck it, she's both.

Will is both a psychic and a werewolf. His empathy thing is the psychic part, and the werewolf part relates to how he fights with the fact that he can think like the killers he hunts. internal struggle thing you see in a lot of werewolf media.

Francis is an actual dragon ofc. But I think it's more like a slow transformation that acts more like a curse. Like the more people he kills the faster it progresses.

Buffalo Bill was also hard, bcs there aren't any well known bug based mythical creatures(I don't count the Mothman, that's an urban legend). So I did some light google research and decided to just make them a Chimera with mostly moth/butterfly features, so they've got wings and antenna and stuff.

And that's all the characters that I could come up with something good for. I might make a pt 2, or, if you lovely people feel like it, you can also expand this au(pls tag me) this fandom doesn't have enough fun AUs. So share whatever u got. Fantasy au, sci fi au, post apocalyptic au, animal au. All of it. high quality media doesn't mean we can't have fun being an unhinged Tumblr fandom.

(Also if u asked nicely I might have the motivation to draw them🥺)

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

Pet Peeve of Mine

Sometimes I'm reminded that folks don't know how to regulate and curate their online experience, most notably in fandom or in fictional media but also just in general. I understand everyone has their likes and dislikes, someone's yum is someone's ick. I also get that plenty of folks have stuff going on that makes them distressed when they do see certain images or topics etc. Certainly, one should do what they need to do to make sure they're comfortable and aren't becoming overly distressed by their online experience. This is why block buttons on social media exist, this is why there are filters and search functions on nearly every site. To help curate content you like in art, topics, tropes, settings, images, text, or animations etc and block content you dislike in these as well. There are ways to navigate things online, by using those tools provided by the site or even by using add-ons etc. The Internet is a Public Space, there are many different types of sites and topics and activities for everyone including topics, activities, and people one might not like or might find odd. For example, Someone with a fear or distaste for insects and other invertebrates might not like an entomology enthusiasts group or a bug appreciation community.

However, because the Internet is a Public Space, the responsibility of ensuring one doesn't see things or interact with things they don't like falls on the person. It falls on the individual to block the topics and contents one finds distasteful or upsetting. If an individual doesn't like bugs then they must block the bug and/or insect tag or exclude it from their feed/search on the site they're using with the site's filter. If an individual finds yandere, dark fics or angst distressing then they need to utilize the functions of that site to remove it from their feed. It is not the job of the entire Internet and/or community one is in to completely censor and cater itself to that individual especially if the site or platform they're using has features and tools for them to use to prevent this and to help them personalize their online experience anyways.

What's truly odd is when these individuals take it upon themselves to harass others instead of simply using the features of the site. To throw a tantrum while completely ignoring the built in tools provided to both prevent this and to address this. It's extremely rude and immature to harass another person, another human being, simply because of an inability to self-regulate. Especially in fiction. Does every dark topic in fiction beget a murderer or criminal? By the logic of many of these individuals, people interact with fiction and immediately embody it. Do you read about the mafia and then immediately search your local area for a recruiter for organized crime? Does fiction truly manifest in reality so completely? If so, then the entirety of the horror genre must be churning out Hannibals and Freddy Kruegers everyday in the millions. Does everyone who reads a single Sherlock Holmes book or who watches a single Conan episode become a top notch detective as well? Do these people also think that you can rival Gordon Ramsey if you play enough Cooking Mama? To think this and then lash out at people with this thinking is immature and petty behavior. It shows A lack of comprehension and an extreme underestimation of people's ability to think and to determine their own selves. This is childish and mainly shows that such an individual is unable to take care of themselves and doesn't know how to use or is unwilling to use the site features but is willing to lash out at a stranger for this. For someone to go after artists, blogs, writers or site users for something that didn't have to be interacted with, that could've simply been blocked or filtered is unhinged especially if that creator/site user has never initiated interaction with them in the first place.

This is just my pet peeve hence why there are no super specific tags besides my own plus the ones i use for my blog. It's just deeply irritating to see and to encounter because it's the same movements and talking points that have happened before since the beginning of fandom, since Star Trek (arguably the oldest and one of the first fandoms though if you stretch the definition then it definitely goes beyond then to when written novels first came around etc). Technically, Fandom discourse has been around since humanity could share stories and discuss them. It's just now you can be an anonymous tantrum ghost on many sites specifically to bicker and it's not even fun like a book club or gossip or getting heated discussing different takes over snacks and drink etc. No, it's usually someone being a faceless no name ghost that's likely obsessively refreshing a page hoping to see a reply or response on whatever site, platform or forum they're on.

It's just annoying to see the same age old stuff but rehashed. Much of it isn't even particularly interesting or different. Same rants about purity (mental, emotional or otherwise), same rants about worrying that it was destroying society, same rants same words same message. It's been rehashed since Victorian times and beyond, concerns about fiction have been around since the days people thought the human body was made of humors and biles and have been rehashed since the days people worried a woman's uterus would fly out of her body if she got in a train. I truly can't bring myself to care or take it seriously tbh... Half of these folks sound like the reincarnated soul of Sigmund Freud. I keep Half expecting some to even spout off about how there should be a way to cut these thoughts out of the brain (reinventing lobotomy) or how "you can just tell by the way someone looks" (reinventing phrenology, the racist idea that someone's head shape can detail their entire life, morality, and their destiny).

Like i just can't. (This isn't direct at anyone really, more so a general phenomenon)

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@official-boob-posts

This blog was featured in the video ‘Depths Of The Tumblr Gimmick Blog Iceberg’ on the YouTube channel ‘STRANGE ÆONS.’

Boobs ( . )( . )

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 10, Number 2

Ballister

It’s a leap year, so we all get an extra 24 hours to listen to February music.  Why not try some of these selections from our endless piles of when-i-get-to-its?  We’ve got unhinged beatmakers and noise-addled Canadians, smashing, grabbing jazz men and psychedelic post-punk.  And really a lot more.  February always seems long.  This year it’s even more extended.  Use your time wisely.  Play records. 

This month’s contributors include Patrick Masterson, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Jim Marks and Andrew Forell. 

8ruki — POURquoi!! (33 Recordz)

This ain’t your mother’s TTC. Bilingual Parisian 8ruki takes most of his cues from Atlanta, acting with a whole lotta Whole Lotta Red in mind and squeezing 22 songs into his third album — about right for contemporary hip-hop in this vein, which frequently abandons ideas after less than two minutes and leaves a trail of incomplete sketches in its wake; like others his age, 8ruki has evolved to consider this less a bug (especially for stans forever thirsty for the next “project”) than a feature, the default mode of working. I don’t know what good it would do to comment on a song called “Andrew Tate!!” or “Elon Musk!!” at this stage other than to suggest the guy’s just being (what the French call) a provocateur, but peek elsewhere and you’ll find an unexpected beat switch on “VAris//PIENna,” not to mention a world-shrinking reference to the Golden State Warriors; the high-pitched squeaks of “CA$h!!” and “GIVENCHY MARgiela!”; the string sample and rolling bass of “EDQuer!!”; and a whole lot more to enjoy. Ignore the annoying tendency to turn caps off halfway through a song title; this is a fun record with a lot going on that’s even better if you more than half understand it.

Patrick Masterson

ALL HANDS_MAKE LIGHT — “Darling The Dawn” (Constellation)

The credits for this duo’s second release are deceptively simple; Ariel Engle (La Force, Broken Social Scene) as just “voice” and Efrim Manuel Menuck (Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Thee Silver Mt Zion) as just “noise.” But there are whole worlds contained in voice and noise, and there’s a sonic, emotional, and political complexity here that makes it feel much weightier and more elaborate than the work of any two people. (It also had one of the best song titles of last year in “We Live on a Fucking Planet and Baby That’s the Sun.”) There are distinct songs here, even some refrains, but the whole of “Darling The Dawn” also feels like one long ebbing and flowing movement, culminating in lovely, shattered grandeur with the closing one-two punch of “Anchor”/“Lie Down in Roses Dear.” Shoegaze without guitars (although not without occasional strings or drums, from Jessica Moss on violin and Liam O’Neill, respectively), emotional noise music, kosmiche played in a paupers’ graveyard; it’s hard to know what to call what ALL HANDS_MAKE LIGHT does, other than impressive. Maybe voice and noise is enough description after all.

Ian Mathers

Ballister — Smash And Grab (Aerophonic)

In Chicago, the smash and grab game is strong. People aren’t just breaking windows but driving vehicles through them. Ballister apply that spirit of aggressive enterprise to performance on this memento of saxophonist Dave Rempis, cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm and drummer Paal Nilssen-Love’s reunion at the Catalytic Sound Festival in Chicago in December, 2022. The reeds wail and probe, the strings splinter and scrape, the drums smash rhythm in the air and reshape them. And that’s just in the first few minutes. Over the course of the set, they find ways to apply that assertive spirit to quieter passages and slower passages, fashioning rough thickets and inconsolable laments from the same rough material. While Dusted does not recommend literal application of the album’s title when acquiring it, we confidently predict that you’ll find the record sticking to your fingers, obliging you to return it to the playback device for another go around.

Bill Meyer

Cuneiform Tabs — Cuneiform Tabs (Sloth Mate)

The Sloth Mate label is the psychedelic tendril sprouting from the flourishing vine that is the modern Bay Area post-punk scene.  There’s certainly an affiliation with Famous Mammals, Children Maybe Later and others of that ilk, but there’s a tendency to stray from traditional idioms that is unique to the Sloth Mate catalog.  Violent Change, headed up by the imprint’s owner Matt Bleyle, is at the center of this sub-underground cabal, coming across like a garage punk band noisily banging out Face to Face-era Kinks jams after gobbling some mind-altering flora.  Sterling Mackinnon’s The False Berries on the other hand is a lo-fi ambient electronic project that recalls the early beat-inclusive work of Christian Fennesz.  Bleyle and Mackinnon collaborate remotely under the Cuneiform Tabs moniker (the latter musician is based in London, England).  The cross-pollination works incredibly well, with the most listenable aspects of each unit rising to the forefront.  When it appears, Mackinnon’s Dan Bejar-meets-Marc Bolan warble acts as a foil for Bleyle’s deeper crooning.  Similarly, the former’s atmospheric tendencies highlight the beautiful melodies hidden beneath the latter’s noise-baked tunesmithery.  Cuneiform Tabs’ psychoactive sonorities require work to decipher, but the endeavor is certainly worthwhile.       

Bryon Hayes

Mia Dyberg Trio — Timestretch (Clean Feed)

It’s tempting to take the title of Timestretch ironically, since this Scandinavian trio compacts a lot of action into 43.18.  There are 14 tracks, all but three composed by bandleader and alto saxophonist Dyberg. But more likely, it addresses this paradox; while the music never feels like it’s in a hurry, there’s a fair bit going on. Tonally, Dyberg shifts easily between slightly sour and just sweet enough, and her phrasing is mobile, but never busy. On a few unaccompanied tracks, she unburdens herself more directly, mourning for those laid low by conflict. Bassist Asger Thomsen anchors the music with stark, strategically placed notes, and adds dimension with occasional sparse, bowed comments.  But it’s drummer Simon Fochhammer who gives the music shape, sometimes with a quick rustle, other times by building an eventful structure around his partners.

Bill Meyer

Kali Malone — All Life Long (Ideologic Organ)

Swedish composer and organist Kali Malone takes a rigorous, structured approach to making music, crafting deliberately pared-back and laser-focused pieces that make the listener acutely aware of the shifting harmonic dynamics within thick layers of sound. This 78-minute album presents an intimidating edifice to a casual listener, but it is organized to allow curious immersion in more easily digestible sections. The longest tracks are organ pieces stretching to around 10 minutes in duration, aching with melancholy. However, there are also shorter vocal and brass pieces that deviate away from held drones into more spacious, overlapping progressions that are, on occasion, almost buoyant. All Life Long feels like music for a less easily distracted age; to be patient enough to bear witness to its full, solemn unfolding requires commitment, but how often do you hear music this awe-inspiringly pure?

Tim Clarke

 Michael Nau — Accompany (Karma Chief)

Accompany rides the line between cosmic country and garden variety indie pop, its gentle melancholy enlivened by radiant runs of twanging guitar. “It’s an impossible life to get over,” Michael Nau croons in “Painting a Wall,” sounding beaten down but not quite broken, grounded in the ordinary but yearning for transcendence. Nau, you might remember, fronted the indie chamber pop Page France in the early aughts and the slightly more countrified Cotton Jones in the late ones.  This fifth solo album hits its peak in plaintive “Shape-Shifting,” where an otherworldly echo sheathes both Nau’s voice and the rumble of piano, and a glow suffuses everything, making it more.

Jennifer Kelly

Note — Impressions of a Still Life EP (The North Quarter)

Manchester’s Note hasn’t been around all that long — the earliest traces of his Soundcloud only reach back to October of 2021 — but just within the last year, he’s demonstrated a knack for fusing airy, sultry R&B moods with the breaks n’ bass of UK dance music’s storied past. Late January’s Impressions of a Still Life EP out via The North Quarter imprint, helmed by Dutch producer Lenzman (himself a veteran of labels like Metalheadz, Nu-Directions and Fokus), is another fine example: Aside from the stirring “Vespertine” that debuted last summer and features poet and spoken word artist Aya Dia, plus “Cold Nights” that came in November, Note fills out the EP with three additional songs of varying speed and mood. The best might be “EVR,” which again features a vocalist, this time singer-songwriter Feeney. Employing deep bass, fluttering percussion and featherweight piano flourishes, the production here is top-notch Brit-inflected R&D&B. Watch this space.

Patrick Masterson

Plaza — Adult Panic (Self-Release)

The novelist and rock critic (and one-time Dusted writer) Michael Fournier spent the pandemic on Cape Cod with his wife Becca, he learning the bass and she the drums.  Adult Panic collects 11 spiked and minimalist cuts from this experiment, almost entirely instrumental (there’s a shouted refrain on “(The Real) Mr. Hotdog”) and rife with lockdown agitation. The drums are pretty basic, a skitter of high-hat with snare on the upbeats, but the bass parts wander and jitter intriguingly. The title track has a Slint-ish post-rock open-ended-ness, repeated riffs left to linger and shift in the air. “The Tomb of Santa Claus” moves faster and more insistently, letting surf-like bent notes flare from rickety architectures. The whole experience is rather dour and claustrophobic, right up until the end when “(The Real) Mr. Hotdog” clatters into earshot and the two Fourniers seem to be, finally, having some fun.

Jennifer Kelly

Caroline Polachek — Desire, I Want to Turn to You: Everasking Edition (Perpetual Novice)

I’m not gonna sit here and tell you all about how big Caroline Polachek’s 2023 was; if you were paying any attention to the conversation, you already know Desire, I Want to Turn to You was universally, justifiably acclaimed. The Everasking Edition tacks on seven additional songs, five fresh out the box, one an acoustic rendition of “I Believe” and one a cover. Regarding the latter: Anyone paying attention to the machinations of the modern music business will know the name Jaime Brooks, who was half of Elite Gymnastics and now works as Default Genders in addition to unflinching commentary on whatever the fuck is going on with Billboard charts and the ugly realities of how no one’s getting Spotify royalties. “Coma” was originally theirs from Main Pop Girl 2019, a beautiful, delicately skipping adrenaline rush of a love song. Polachek doesn’t radically reinvent what’s already great; instead, she leaves the music alone and takes ownership of the rendition with her lower pitch and breathy delivery. A heartfelt nightcap on an imperial year, you couldn’t have scripted that Valentine’s Day release any more perfectly.

Patrick Masterson

Proton Burst — La Nuit (I, Voidhanger)

When the wife of storied French comics artist Phillipe Druillet died in 1975, Druillet poured his grief and rage into an idiosyncratic graphic narrative, La Nuit (1976); it’s full of mutant biker gangs, Druillet’s signature fever-dream architectural forms and hair-raising violence. French thrash metal weirdos Proton Burst loved the book, and in 1994 they produced an album-length project, part response, part soundtrack to the comic’s maniacal intensities. I, Voidhanger has given that Proton Burst record a deluxe reissue, including the original music, an extended live performance of it from 1995 and a booklet including eye-popping images from Druillet’s comic and an essay. If you’re in this for the music, the real treat is the live set, which is nearly as unhinged as Druillet’s illustrations. The band rages, rants, foments and froths—and is that a harp? Who knows. Like the original graphic narrative, what matters here is the volatility of the feeling tone, more so than any sense-making (or sonic) throughway. Lose yourself in the violence of it. Maybe that feeling of dislocation gets closest to the irrational agony of loss Druillet drew La Nuit in the teeth of, some 50 years ago.

Jonathan Shaw

Mariano Rodriguez — Exodo (self-released)

Mariano Rodriguez is an Argentinian guitarist in the Takoma school tradition with a large and high-quality back catalog. He often focuses on playing with a slide but is equally adept at playing without one and sometimes incorporates experiments with sound, as on Huesos Secos (2020), and fuller traditional instrumentation, as on Praise the Road (2017), into his recordings. Exodo, released late last year, is a set of mainly guitar soli. The playing is typically inspired, impressive without being flashy, and the compositions are tuneful and well-developed. Included is a 12-string anthem (“Lazaro”), Rodriguez’s signature slide work (such as on “The Desterrados”), bluesy 6-string meditations (“Diaspora”), and a couple of experiments with studio effects and overdubs (“The River and the Blind”) and drone (“Mother of the Road”). Over all, Exodo is a fine set of tunes that flows cohesively.

Jim Marks

Twin Tribes — Pendulum (Beso de Muerte Records)

Pendulum by Twin Tribes

It’s unclear precisely which tribes are twinned here, but if the music on Pendulum is any indication, it’s the deathrock freaks (with their long-standing romance of moldering, undead bodies) and the coldwave kids (who like to dance in place, furiously, disaffectedly, bodies frosty for entirely different reasons). Twin Tribes hails from the bastion of moody electronic music that is Brownville, TX, and somehow these Latinx fellows have managed to survive their local cultural climate long enough to release three LPs, a live tape and a whole bunch of singles and remixes. Pendulum refines the essential sonic template laid down in 2019’s Ceremony: tuneful, shimmery synths; snappy, brittle rhythm tracks; baritone vocals about zombies at the disco. If that sounds like fun, it surely is—but you’ll have a hard time convincing the kids in black eye makeup to crack anything like a smile. This reviewer can’t help it. The songs are too good, the vibes are way too goofily gravid. Dance, you flesh-eating misfits, dance.

Jonathan Shaw

Volksempfänger — Attack of Sound (Cardinal Fuzz / Feeding Tube)

Attack Of Sound by Volksempfänger

Attack of Sound’s swirling boy-girl harmonies instantly call to mind shoegaze luminaries Slowdive, but Volksempfänger’s noise-strewn guitar latticework is more aligned with The Jesus and Mary Chain.  Furthermore, the Dutch duo’s melodic flavor is as sweet as 1960s AM radio.  Ajay Saggar (Bhajan Bhoy) and Holly Habstritt combine these disparate sonic strands to create tidy noise pop gems, which they wrap in Phil Spector sonics.  The wall of sound approach imbues each song with a pulsating thrum.  This is the beating heart of their sound, underpinning the delightful vocal harmonies, shimmering guitar melodies, and waves of coruscating feedback.  The pair attains a balance between saccharine and savory aromas: dream pop wistfulness (“What the Girl Does” and “Your Gonna Lose Hard”) interchanges with propulsive garage rock (“How We Made It Seem” and “Damned & Drowned”).  The album closes out with the kaleidoscopic psychedelia of “You’ve Lost It,” introducing yet another aspect of Volksempfänger’s oeuvre.  This last-minute shift in mood adds a quirky sense of quietude to an otherwise exhilarating journey.   

Bryon Hayes

Ian Wellman — The Night the Stars Fell (Ash International)

The Night The Stars Fell by Ian Wellman

Recorded in the fire swept forests and deserts of Southern California, Ian Wellman’s The Night the Stars Fell plays like a Disintegration Loops for natural disasters. Wellman’s treated field recordings encourage the listener to subsume themselves in the natural rhythm of the wind that fanned the wildfires much like Basinski’s seminal work. While Disintegration Loops drew its potency from the association with 9/11, Wellman’s project is a more deliberate meditation on destruction. He coats his field recordings of deteriorating human structures — railcars, homes — and landscape ambience with short-wave radio static and decaying tape loops. There’s a concentration on both the violence of the destruction and the desolation of the aftermath. Huge swells of sound are interspersed with howls of wind, coruscating swathes of static and the creak and crank of burnt timber both natural and manufactured. The Night the Stars Fell is an absorbing evocation of nature’s power. 

Andrew Forell

Wharfer — Postboxing (Self-Release)

Postboxing by Wharfer

Wharfer’s Kyle Wall has long made the kind of shadowy, pared down indie-folk singer/songwriter music that elicits comparisons to Bill Callahan and Will Oldham. This time out, however, he ditches vocals and verse chorus structure entirely and enlists Chuck Johnson (pedal steel), Ian O’Hara (acoustic bass) and Duncan Wickel (violin) for a set of ambient, piano-forward reflections. These tracks are quietly riveting as, like “Wishing Well in White Noise,” the blend the chalky, elegiac tones of the piano’s upper registers with limpid pools of sustained pedal steel. Not quite ambient, the piece swirls and rounds to its own subtle rhythms, a faint thunk of bass ordering it forward. “Alto” brings the long, bowed vibrations of violin into the mix, then a sprightly sprinkle of pizzicato strings. And in the title track, a ritual voice flickers in and out of focus, but only as tone and texture. The piano carries the narrative, as string washes build and bass notes drop in and seagulls cry in the distance. It’s a subtle but powerful voice on its own, and you don’t miss the words one bit. 

Jennifer Kelly

[sseanettles]

For the WIP ask game, oh you know I'm going to ask for more on Ruin. 😁 This series is my Dreamling life blood at the moment.

ohhhhh @windsweptinred yes, yes indeed, I did know you were going to ask for more on Ruin, but what to give you, what to give you, what to giveeeee youuuuuu....

you know what. you have been my biggest champion of nothing grows in corpses and this AU-verse as well as my buddy in "actually Hob and Dream are incredibly cruel and destructive and selfish people and we shouldn't whitewash that, it's a feature not a bug." So I think I'm gonna quickly do some typing and give you That One Fucking Scene where everything falls apart and we hit rock bottom as a reward. (this is a first pass draft below the cut so apologies for any errors or slight OOC-ness)

Gwen has been planning to leave Hob for a couple months now, as it has become clear that this is a dysfunctional dynamic that Morpheus and Hob can’t help but be bound to. She got a job offer at a university back in the States anyway, and he needs to stay here. What she’s planning to tell him (and what she’s practiced with Matthew) is a variation of “Morpheus needs you, and you need him. I need someone who can be present for my lifetime. Because I only get the one.” But then, Destruction comes for dinner. She never gets the chance to use it.

BIG spoilers and long excerpt ahead for ruin (of bitten lips and broken hands). The chapter song will be 2WEI's cover of Crazy for those who like to play along. and...tag warning for gore, violence, and discussions of assault. Talking about Nada's canon gets harder after all the NG fuckery but in light of that especially, I do not shy away from it.

+++++++

Hurt him, the voice, that voice, seethed within him—gnashing its teeth with black eyes and paper-white skin and hair as black as the pitch that filled the throats of animals and men mired alike in its fields until there was nothing left to do but gasp for air and die. Simpering, sickening, make him SEE—

Make him see that which he proclaims he loves in the blackest of mirrors.

“I killed my son, yes,” Murphy agreed, proclaiming the words with something that could almost be called pride, and he saw the flinch in Hob’s eyes as he spoke. Saw the confusion, the uncertainty at his delivery in response to what the man had intended to be context to behavior, not proof of Morpheus' malice. Oh, how blisteringly wrong the low-born idiot was, and when he continued, there was no more Murphy. There was only the truth.

Only Morpheus.

“But I disowned him first.” He stepped closer. Gadling’s balance tipped further, unsteadied. Morpheus’ lips curled, baring teeth like fangs, and he let that light into his eyes that he had kept smothered for so long in this suffocating home: that light of Endless righteousness. “Left him dismembered and begging for the mercy of death and refused him it when I was one of the few who could grant it.” He guided his advance by the backs of the stools at the kitchen island, by the chair Destruction had left pulled out at the table when he had bid his farewell, both too early and too late in his departure. He closed in on Gadling like a predator, like a spider upon a web the humans were only now seeing had been spun about every inch of their home far, far too late. “And when I did grant it?” Was he smiling? Grimacing? Laughing with the tears of the unhinged and anguished in his eyes, with the heat of a manic king? Morpheus could not tell, but his face was doing something, his blood boiling in his veins with the same wild, untethered thing that twisted within him in the way that Destruction laughed and laughed and laughed and— “I did not do so until it served my purposes.”

Gadling looked distinctly ill. Gwen was not far behind him, her normally warm cheeks taking on a decidedly more ashen tone as she stood there with one hand still braced on the counter, near the cutting board and the barely touched bird sliced open upon it.

Perfect. Ill was what Morpheus wanted, disgusted was what he wanted. Enough of this charade, of this pretending. Gadling wanted to preach of his missteps, of betraying his evolution? Gadling wanted to scold him? In the same breath that he championed themselves?  Their journey?

Then, let the charlatan face that which he upholds.

“I damned a woman to hell for no greater crime than refusing to love me,” Morpheus spat, drawing closer still, his hands clawed and shaking. Gadling stood tall, unmoved not with conviction but with the paralysis of the doomed deer in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. But there was no truck, there was only his Stranger before him, stooped and unfurling like a kettle about to explode. Morpheus’ words came faster, unraveled, more impassioned. “Condemned her for thousands of years—starving, alone, tortured, in agony for millennia.” Hatefully. “For exercising her right to consent!”

None of this was news to the immortal; he had seen it himself in the prison of Fawney Rig. And yet, Gadling’s face had grown as flat as stone. He scarcely seemed to breathe, and somehow the dispassionate response only fueled the molten rage burning away the fallen Endless’ insides. The heat fissured through to the surface, turning his skin brittle and fractured until it was tearing him apart. Morpheus laughed, his eyes creasing, and something as searing as acid cut its way down his cheeks as he did. He dragged himself forward another step by the guideposts of the furniture. His hands shook. His legs trembled in kind, and he forced them to steel.

“I let a universe burn into madness because I could not kill a single child, my pride and my principles were to great a treasure to me,” he intoned, slowly drawing his stooped height up to its full towering form. “I rotted in a glass and iron sphere for a century rather than succumb to my pride and plagued the world with my absence! Robbed millions of their lives, robbed the Kincaid family of normalcy and joy!”

He was so close to Gadling now. Close enough to strike him, and he threw a hand toward the man—a damning, condemning jab, as the furnace blew.

“AND YET YOU FAWN OVER ME, EVEN NOW!” Morpheus bellowed, and Gwen screamed at his sudden, uncharacteristic roar, something clattering across the counter behind Gadling’s back. The mercenary seemed to grow taller and broader at the sound, interposing himself squarely between them.

Between the halves of his heart, Morpheus sneered, and went for the kill, grabbing the man by fistfuls of his shirt front.

“YOU!” Gadling grunted, startled, and took a half-step back only to come up short beneath Morpheus’ stunning strength—an evolution he had kept a carefully guarded secret in this prison of a home. Gadling’s eyes flashed, taking him in head-to-toe in the manner of a soldier, a killer, and not a friend, and Morpheus’ eyes burned brighter at the returning grip that seized his wrists on fighter’s instinct. He laughed again, mocking, scything, aching. “My only friend,” he sneered, almost sing-songy, fracturing, and once again the acid cut its way down his sharpening face, “a human who profiteered over the slavery of other humans, the chattel of Africa—”

He felt the shift in the man beneath him. Felt the grip go from steadying to defensive, from stilling to get the fuck away from me, and he struggled to hold fast as Gadling tried to push him away.

“—who acquired a wife and son as if they were naught but more trinkets to collect—” Gadling tore his hands free and slammed him back a few steps with open palms to the chest—his face, god his face, it had gone pale, his eyes wide, red, stop, stop, too far—

Morpheus caught his balance easily; his stance braced, battle ready, to Gadling’s own, and he glared blindly into his friend’s setting face.

Destroy him.

“A GLUTTON!” he finished in a roar. “And yet!” Morpheus spread his arms, laughing, laughing, laughing—crying, you are crying, stop, breathe— “He preaches to me!”

Gadling was trembling. Head to toe, the man was trembling, his face going from pale to now dark with abject rage, his hands curling into fists, his arms tensing to iron in turn, his back heel grinding as his knees began to bend, and Morpheus’ chest heaved. His mind had gone fuzzy and beyond the bounds of control or sanity. He knew where to go next. He knew, precisely, where to go next, where he had to go next, to destroy this man at his very core, to take a sledgehammer to the last, threadbare beam holding his illusion together like glue and tape—

Destroy him.

He took the breath…

Destroy me.

And the plunge to follow.

“And your latest conquest?” Morpheus prompted with a mocking, taunting saunter back into the man’s reach, a chin jerked toward Gwen where she was still ducked behind him. “Is she merely a method by which you can alleviate your guilt or—”

Pain split across Morpheus’ mouth, his lip scything open on his teeth that knifed with white-hot pain all the way through his skull as something cracked, his nose shattering into a spray of hot blood and crunching agony—

His head snapped back, and he hit the ground just as hard, the air and his words knocked from his chest in kind. And as the stars and the tears cleared from his eyes, Morpheus worked himself up onto his elbows. Gadling loomed above him. His right hand was splattered with their blood, split where the knuckles had struck teeth, and his chest heaved, setting his whole body trembling with the depth of his fury.

“YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” Gadling’s rage shook the very rafters, echoed clear out onto the street even through the closed windows, left their ears ringing, and Morpheus lay beneath it in silence, slowly touching a hand to his wounded face. “YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ELEANOR! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ROBYN! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT LIZZIE!” He paused, his breath stuttering, his body shaking so terribly that for a moment words failed him until his teeth bared in a clench. His eyes glittered. “BUT YOU ‘SPECIALLY DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” His hand swung around to point toward the last place he had seen Gwen, the rest of him remaining fixed upon his Stranger, and he glared down at the man beneath him as if he could not fathom his very existence, as if he were a wholly alien species, unknown and unknowable to him, disgusting. Incomprehensible. “AFTER EVERYTHING SHE’S DONE?!”

What an impressive display for such a hypocrite, Morpheus glowered back at him. He lowered his hand from his nose and lips as he forced himself back up into a reclined seat, balanced on a single arm with his weight tipped onto his healed hip. His fingers were coated in rapidly darkening red, and he felt the blood coursing down his face, soaking into the black of his shirt, never to be seen again, and spattering the wooden floors. He spat out a mouthful of blood, licked his lips with a reddened tongue, and looked up.

When he did, it was not at Gadling.

“Has he told you?” he panted, his eyes dark, his voice a sickening combination of goading and truly wondering. “Has he told you all he did on those ships of his? To your ancestors?”

Gwen gulped and stepped back from him on shaking legs, jumping near out of her skin as she hit the cabinets, and immediately swung the carving knife to point down at him, gripped in two trembling, pale-knuckled hands.  

Murphy just laughed, fragile and mad and mocking.

“Do you know, truly, the man with whom you share your bed?” he pressed and saw in his periphery the way Gadling’s expression changed. “Or has he got you fooled with his stories of woe and regret?”

His final words grew wicked and sharp, deriding, and his matching gaze slid from the shaken Gwen to Gadling as the man let out some kind of twisted, whimpering exhale.

His face…his face was a most exquisite betrayal, as if Morpheus had just plunged a knife into his very heart down to the hilt and twisted. His hands had gone limp at his sides, the fingers still trembling but slowly unfurling from their fists. His shoulders still heaved with battle breaths, those gulping, grounding things that filled your head with oxygen and your limbs with energy, yet every bone in him seemed to be fracturing. Every muscle seemed to be losing its strength, and his eyes….

His eyes were so very filled with heartbreak.

“…How could you say that of me—”

“Were you on the ships?”

Gadling froze at the sharp, wavering demand, his own achingly genuine question to the man he had laid out on the floor dying on his lips. And he followed Morpheus’ unblinking, dark eyes to slowly, oh so very slowly, turn on his heel.

Guinevere stood where she had been stood before, backed against the cabinets with the knife held before her in both hands. But where once she had been terrified, defensive, holding the room at bay with shaking hands, her stance had firmed. She was no longer recoiled against the wood but braced against it. Her eyes had recovered some clarity, some strength, and both sharpened the longer the silence dragged on. Her grip on the blade adjusted, eased from throttling to sure.

“What?” Hob asked.

Her eyes never wavered from his, and she took a step forward, gesturing between him and Morpheus with the blade. The silver gleamed in the warm glow of the island lights, and Hob watched it move with a prowling of disquiet deep in his gut.

“You told me that you profited off the slave trade,” she accused. “That you owned the ships that stole my people across the Atlantic, took cotton one way and my ancestors the other. And I thought…” Hob watched her, held her glittering gaze with quiet somberness. Her chin trembled on her next words, the shine in her eyes brightening. “I let myself think….”

“But the shit you’ve described,” she gritted out and swiped at her eyes with her free hand, “the things you knew they did…” She pointed to him with the knife again. Took another step forward until she was standing alone on her own strength, with no wall to hold her.

Gadling did not move so much as a finger; his breaths grew careful, damp. On the floor, Morpheus grew extraordinarily still, shrunken back toward the floor, as if rendered to stone, and watched all that was unfolding with unreadable eyes.

Guinevere no longer held the room at bay.

She just held the room.

She took another step forward. And she repeated her question, the wobble in her voice worsening even as she tried to embolden her stance, tried to square her shoulders and stand tall.

“Were you on the ships?”

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he loved, with her microbraids and her beautiful, dark skin that smelled of coconut oil and her earth-after-rain eyes and the stray bits of paint around her cuticles that she hadn’t quite managed to clean away. He beheld her height, her strength, her soul, her gorgeous face that had the most beautiful smile and laugh now caught in a horrible moment of realization and denial. Her artist’s hands that were now clenched around an implement of cooking turned lethal weapon….

He slowly raised his hands to his shoulder. Her chin shook and then clenched shut, and she shook her head in a vicious denial.

“Gwen,” he started, quiet, apologetic, placating, and she took a final step forward, bringing him to a standstill with the point of her carving knife.

“WERE YOU ON THE SHIPS, YES OR NO, GADLING?” she screamed.

Silence rang in her wake. Morpheus’ heart was in his throat, his words all dried up inside him as if they had never been there to start with, and he watched Gadling’s back as the man took a deep breath and slowly released it. He could see Gwen’s control spiraling, her mind buckling under the realization of what was coming, the inevitable truth, the truth Morpheus had forced to the surface. Her second hand came up to support her wrist, to steady the blade, and the tears in her eyes neared the tipping point. But still Gadling did not speak. He only stared at Guinevere, held her anguished eyes, held his hands where they were at his shoulders, and breathed.

What was he thinking? What was he doing, what was he—

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he was partly responsible for creating, seeing through her to her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother—to whoever it was that his industry had kidnapped from her home, whisked away to be little more than an animal bound in servitude and cruelty until death. The true answer to her question was a complex one. It was a simple one. And there was a way to say it that would shatter her heart but end with the knife clattering from her hands to the floor as she sobbed and wailed and screamed at him to get away from her as he moved on well-meaning but ill-timed intent to comfort her. There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But the corner of his mouth itched to smile, to crack open wide like the pavement artist and laugh and laugh until he cried, until he sounded manic and battle-mad and hollow…so very hollow.

There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But that was not how Robert Gadling wanted this to end. And so, with his last full, painless breath, he answered Guinevere’s desperate cry with the bluntest, simplest truth he could. He gave her a small, sad, I’m so sorry, love, I’m so, so sorry smile—a tragic acceptance, an I forgive you for what you’re about to do, an it’s okay.

He shook his head. Let out that breath in a heavy, sepulchral sigh.

Where you on the ships, Gadling, yes or no?

“I started it all.”

The pause as Gwen processed his words, as she struggled to parse the reply to a yes or no question, as she realized what he had just admitted to, the implications of it, seemed to last an eon. The way her face frowned, first in bafflement, in dismay, in refusal, in rage, in anguish—all the stages of grief switching between each other like a flip book repeating endlessly, mis-bound in the wrong order—it filled Hob’s heart with a sickening lead. But in truth, it took no more than a breath, for he had not completed his next inhale before her tortured countenance made its choice.

And on the floor, Morpheus’ heart stopped beating as Gwen loosed an anguished, desperate scream. It echoed from her very soul, raked its nails up her throat as it tore from the fibers of her heart. It spilled the tears from her eyes, left her eye-teeth bared like fangs, and the grief of generations turned to pure anger as, in a single, life-changing moment, their beloved lady of Camelot moved.

Gadling let out a strangled, animalistic wail of pain as a single line of slicing agony split open his abdomen, and he stumbled back, crashing into the island counter and the stools, as his hands clutched for the source of the pain and immediately found themselves full of something writhing and hot and thick like sailing rope. Something that could not seem to stop expanding, that just poured and spilled, meters of it, endless—

The scream came again, and he forced himself to meet Gwen’s hate-blinded eyes, forced his arms to remain at his eviscerated gut, cradling his spilled intestines rather than defending himself, as she followed him down and stabbed the blade down again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again—

They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, a wet splat of blood and viscera and flesh and bone, and Guinevere was left straddling a mess of blood and gore where once there had been the man she had loved. His gut had been split from nearly hip to hip, leaving his innards to spill out, to entangle his hands and bind them in his own sinew and flesh. Even now, she could see the intestines moving, the peristalsis causing the organs to shift and squirm in his twitching hands like snakes. His eyes were still open, still blinking through the blood spray that had flecked into his lashes. They looked agonized, terrified, yet somehow accepting all the same. His mouth, filled with blood, continued to try to swallow, to push the pulsing crimson from his airway with his tongue to no avail, and when he coughed, weakly and growing weaker, the blood sprayed and bubbled. His ribcage, riddled with holes, sputtered and quaked as he tried, even now, to breathe through lungs that could not expand, could not deflate—that could only drown and drown and drown. His legs beneath her twitched and kicked, desperate for air, for the fear to be gone.

Drowning, he had once told her. Always hated drownin’ the most.

And as she stared down at him, she saw not the individual pieces of horror detached from context, not the murder of a man who had had it coming for centuries, not the murder of one of the founding fathers of chattel slavery, not justice. Not peace.

She saw the crimson-soaked blade clenched in her shaking hand yet held aloft for another strike. She saw her other hand fisted in the ribbons of his shirt, a shirt they had picked out together last summer break. She saw the blood drenching her clothes, her thighs, could taste it in her mouth.

She saw Robert.

She saw Robbie.

And Morpheus watched the scene in silenced, terrified horror from his paralysis on the floor as Gwen’s mask of rage faltered to a mirror of his own, and she began to wail. Her hands clapped over her mouth, smearing her face with Robbie’s blood, the killing blade still clenched tightly in her fist. She pushed herself off of him, slipping on and crashing to the blood-soaked floors in the process as her sneakers transformed to ice skates in the viscera.

“Uh-uh,” she begged, whimpering, shaking her head desperately, “nuh-uh, wh-what did I—wh-what did I—no! No, mm-mm, no—” The word drew out in a choked-back wail, and she scrambled to her feet, fleeing, as she saw the tears falling from Gadling’s eyes that watched her even now. “No! Nononono—”

And, the knife still clenched in her hand, Guinevere bolted.