#longwinded rambling time

[toxicnorn]

i can’t necessarily speak to discussions of transmisogyny in hp pre-2010s/2020s for virtue of the fact that i was not personally tuned into spaces that discussed this in the 2000s (this was also obviously before jkr went very publicly off the rails, though in retrospect, that was always lowkey an aspect of the series even if i didn’t pick up on it at the time; i will say that i recall jkr showing her ass on trans stuff on twitter before people give her credit for it, but i don’t remember the specifics of my timelines) but i’ve seen people very seriously say that there were no discussions of any of the problematic (i hate using that word because i associate it so much with 2013 Tumblr but there’s not really a better alternative) aspects of the books until very recently, and that’s categorically untrue and i’m going to give you a history lesson

this is very rambly and unedited. i am also coming into this with the perspective of a white AFAB culturally christian person, which obviously affects how i interact and interacted with the world. for better or worse, i have been extremely online since 1996 and i have been interacting with fandom since before some tumblr users were even born, which is like. not actually a good thing. i don’t see fandom as something inherently bad or inherently good; it’s a hobby i’ve had the same as editing pixel dolls or playing on pet websites. tho you have no idea about the drama of pixel dolls and pet websites. it has no innate value save that which we make of it, which is the same of most things. and, being an artificial construct, it’s inherently influenced by the shitty stuff that goes into it.

anyway

especially towards the ends of the 2000s/early 2010s, there was a lot of discussion on LJ particularly about racism, antisemitism, homophobia, misogyny in the series, often on people’s personal blogs and usually more mild than what you’d see on tumblr, which is not a tone argument thing but which i’m merely bringing up to highlight the fact that people sent death threats over people going “i think maybe the narrative doesn’t treat girls well here.”

it’s just that this was met by a lot -and i mean a lot- of hostility: think the worst tumblr anons and make it on main but also make it more pseudo-intellectual. a lot of it was couched in language that anyone with criticism of any aspect of the series was not actually a fan (and an imposter, possibly a soccer mom) and that if you didn’t 100% enjoy an aspect of something, that’s on you for consuming it, the whole general “don’t like, don’t read” attitude that still gets shilled whenever someone says they don’t like something. a lot of fan culture is ultimately based on a very “us vs The Other” mentality while raising up products for enjoyable consumption (ie the canon book or movie or whatever, and also the fandom built up around it) as something elevated above (perceived or real) reproach, and that obviously is still very much an aspect of fan culture today, hence all of tumblr and people making ideological stances (and by this, i mostly mean strawman arguments shouted into the void for people to misinterpret however they want) about fanfiction a core portion of their online or real identities. which is to say, dysfunction is inherently built into fandom because it’s a microcosm of a dysfunctional society, a hobby whose adherents try to argue that it’s inherently a refuge from the greater world but which can never fully escape its influence, existing as a reflection of society at large while denying it.

or, if you want to translate that out of loser pseudointellectual speak, fandom at large was and continues to be racist, antisemitic, etc. as fuck and harassed the shit out of people for saying that cho chang is kind of a dumb name and that the whole house elf thing is kind of fucked up. seriously, the hp fandom was racist as fuck in 2009 and probably still is because fandoms are large are often very white, very tme, very culturally christian even if they deny it (i am saying this as someone who is all three things) and close in when those things are threatened unless it’s to the point that no one can deny it anymore (and even then), but i cannot personally verify the current vibe of the harry potter fandom because i don’t go there.

anyway, it’s not really a coincidence that when there were more widespread discussions about racism/sexism/etc. in fandom on LJ that it started to decline in popularity among fandom types and fandom culture latched onto tumblr. a fair number of shitty people flounced and migrated over to this website and that’s had way more to do with how fandom’s shaped up on tumblr than anyone really likes to admit. if you were a Big Name Tumblr User in 2012, there was a really big chance you were a former livejournal user who left for a site where less people recognized you for doing both stupid and heinous shit or just generally being a dick. this resulted in a tumblr culture that would very much try to silently drown out any criticisms of the series with vague positivity and “we have to UNITE” and a lot of other stuff whenever someone went “guys have you checked out what she’s done with native american belief systems. it’s uh. not great.”

this is not to say that fandoms have not gotten better in a lot of respects because they have, but, like, obviously it’s still shitty in a lot of ways, though sometimes i wish people were just outright homophobic instead of couching their dialogue in disguised language. a lot of tumblr/twitter culture revolves around not sounding -ist rather than like actually changing anything in any meaningful way.

anyway

this is all a lot of words to say that a lot of the current discussions going on in fandom have been going on for over a decade, but a lot of people in fandom today have no clue about that because the fandom also very deliberately tried to bury it, and by burying it, i mean virulently harassing people because they said something was a little sexist or whatnot

[minticecodes]

I'm slowly getting through devil may cry v and got inspired enough to doodle again. Sure they aren't polished but I love looking at others' sketch dumps, it's like looking at a smorgasbord of ideas. So here you go. Read more for close ups of the other doodles. The ID in alt are the same as written in the text.

[I.D. Digital art. A boy in a shirt hoodie, Nero, sits cross legged as he leans backwards to smile up at his companion. Said companion is a tall horned knight, Nelo Angelo, kneeling behind Nero. Nelo gazes to the side, but braces his broadsword by Nero, and his cape drapes around where Nero's sitting. Nero is rendered in light blue and red, Nelo is rendered in light blue, and they're brightly illuminated. End I.D.]

(Was thinking of 'Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please' by Indigomoods on ao3 while doing this one).

[I.D. A number of digital art sketches, most prominently featuring Dante and Vergil from the Devil May Cry series. From top to bottom, right to left:

Headshots of two boys, Dante and Vergil. Short comic of a man (Dante) ruffling a boy's (Vergil's) hair. Sketch of two boys on a couch, one (Dante) looking concerned at the other (Vergil) in foetal position. Branches curl under the couch. Sketch of child Dante and Vergil in red and blue, running hand in hand. Thumbprint sized chibi child Dante and Vergil. Nero and Nelo sitting together.

Semirealistic headshot (DMCV Vergil) in blue. Boy (Dante) curled in a fire, and fire demon (SDT Dante) gazing at his palm against a black background. Loose sketches of a man's head, roughly scribbled out except one, and an angry cat with a sword. They're labelled in blue and red writing. Side profile of a young man in blues (DMC3 Vergil), face shadowed, a yellow ribbon curled in the background. Side profile of DMC3 Vergil. End I.D.]

[I.D. 4 black and white digital pen cartoony sketches of child Dante and Vergil. Head and bust shot of a boy with slicked back hair and black turtleneck (Vergil) looking right. His brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed; he looks unimpressed. Below is a head and bust shot of a boy with shoulder length hair and white shirt (Dante) looking left with wide eyes and a fang toothed, wide grin. Centre close up of a cloaked boy (Vergil) glaring up, brow furrowed. His hair hangs over a shadowed face. One narrowed eye is visible. Right sketch is of a cloaked boy (Vergil) hugging a book to his chest, referencing a Visions of V panel. His one visible eye is wide as he gazes down with a small expression. End I.D.]

[I.D. Coloured digital art over a black background. Two panels. Panel one is child Dante, arms hugging his legs as he sits within a fire raging around him. He's buried his face in his arms. Panel two is an adult Dante in his demonic SDT form. He gazes down at his clawed hand while the fiery core in his chest glows as the main source of light, casting shadows and red light against his armoured form. The tips of his claws seem to glow in the reflected light. End I.D.]

[I.D. Messy sketch of child Vergil and Dante, running hand in hand. The two look at each other with smiles, Dante with a wide grin and Vergil with closed lips and determined brows. Their full expressions aside from the smile cannot be seen; Dante's hair whips back and covers his face while Vergil's face is eyeless. They're softly rendered in light blue and red, and bright lighting. End I.D.]

[I.D. Messy sketch of child Vergil and Dante sitting on a couch, shot from behind the couch. Dante directs a concerned gaze to Vergil, his hand braced on the couch back as he leans closer. Vergil only looks down. His arms are curled around his knees. From the angle, his expression cannot be seen aside from a small frown. Under the couch slithers Qliphoth tree roots. End I.D.]

[I.D. Chibi doodle of child Vergil and Dante, holding hands. Light blue and red ovals were airbrushed on the page, and a pen lined out their features. They have round cheek patches, like budgies. Vergil has a cartoony pout and a book tucked under an arm, labelled with a V; Dante has a toothy grin and is making a bunny ears hand sign. End I.D.]

[I.D. 'DANTE' is evenly block printed in blue pen. Underneath are what looks to be the start of three portraits of Dante in black pen, but they're roughly scribbled out. The most detailed of the three scribbled out portraits is Dante's grinning side profile. He had sunglasses on. The only intact portrait is a shot of Dante from behind, from the chest up and face not visible aside from a grin. Carried on his back is the Devil Sword Dante, rendered in more detail than Dante.

Meanwhile 'VERGIL' is written in orange/red pen, but strikethroughed. Written above instead is 'PURR-GIL!!', an arrow pointing at a doodle of a cat holding a roughly drawn katana(Yamato). The cat is grimacing with furrowed brows. It has spiky fur on its head, a spiky curled tail, a thorn pattern on its arms resembling Vergil's coat sleeves, and fat round blushy cheeks. End I.D.]

[I.D. Semirealistic rendering of DMCV Vergil from the neck up in three quarter view. He's painted in blues, with soft red shadows. He glares at the viewer, brows furrowed. His irises are a soft red, and he has eye bags. His lips are somewhat glossy. To the side is the blue color palette. End I.D.]

[I.D. Stylised depiction of DMC3 Vergil glaring downwards in profile, from the chest up. He's rendered in blues, his face shadowed from the light against his back. Running over his skin are cracked gold lines, reminiscent of kintsugi. In the background curls a yellow ribbon in the same gold. He's wearing a sleeveless turtleneck and cravat. End I.D.]

[I.D. Stylised black and white lineart of DMC3 Vergil glaring in profile, lips sneering, from the neck up. He's in a coat and cravat. End I.D.]

[I.D. Messy comic.

Panel 1: DMCV Dante ruffling child Vergil's hair. Dante's face is out of the panel

Vergil (grimacing): "Dante!"

Panel 2: Vergil's staved off the hair ruffling, lifting up Dante's hand with both his hands. His brows are furrowed as he looks up at Dante. In the background is a laughing sound effect, that tapers off. 'HA HA ha...'

Panel 3: Adult Dante gazing down at child Vergil, arm hovering over him. His expression seems sad, despite the small smile.

Dante: ... I missed ya, Verge.

Vergil gazes up at Dante, a small question mark by his head. End I.D.]

[icewindandboringhorror]

Daily Log 8

Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.

Activities: Dr's appointment early in the morning, then had to go to the bank and pick up one other thing after. Of course since minimal exertion somehow makes me exhausted for the entire day because of the many wretched curses upon my physical form, I didn't accomplish much else lol..

Took pictures of the avocado pit carved items. Not sure when I'll have the time to edit and post them.

FINALLY did plant the Nasturtiums, and a few other plants! I dislike most "yardwork", especially pulling weeds, because it's hard for me to tell what counts as a "weed" or not, since some of these apparent "weeds" are also pretty flowers and I feel bad for destroying them. A while ago at a relative's house they were doing yardwork and I saw a pile of some of these "weeds" on the ground, so I took a few home to try and replant them. I finally got around to putting them in real containers today, and most of them seem to be doing well so far.

Unfortunately the 'forget me not' flowers (some of my favorites because of blue being one of my favorite colors) never seem to transplant well, after multiple attempts at saving them from people's yards and thinking I've dug down deep enough to get all the roots this time and etc. etc. , they just seem to kind of flop and die after replanting them.. epic gardening fail.. misery and sadness . so on and so forth

Edited next sims let's play video for like barely 15 minutes.

Thought about a few ideas for the story I think I mentioned in the first Daily Log about a doctor and magical experiments. :3c

Had a lot of what seems like nerve pain?? or something?? in my arms radiating down to my fingertips and wrists (likely something to do with my shoulder blades/chest/back of upper neck/shoulder area being perpetually problematic), so I didn't do a lot of work with my hands or computer stuff for long.. stimky

Sketched out one of the border sections for the tapestry painting thing, but really Thought About It more than Did Any Tangible Progress.

Washed like two miserable little dishes in my cringe fail kitchen sink with my loser lame achy fingers and hands

Notable sights: SAW SOME GEESE when walking past a park today!!!! I rarely ever see geese, mostly just ducks and common birds and squirrels around here. There were also some interesting plants I briefly got to look at in a store on the way home from my appointment. I don't even want much in life (yet it all seems so unattainable for someone in my situation lol), like I don't want to have a mansion or anything, but just a modest little house with a small yard would be so cool.. I would love to actually curate a real permanent garden instead of everything having to be in pots all the time. connection across time with my very likely peasant ancestors, looking up to the sky like 'ah, if only I were part of the landowning class'

Goals moving forward: SUPER focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with ones I have, because I keep ignoring this for weeks and I am never going to have a social support network if I don't actually build one lol.. Living in a broad interconnected society where social tethers are pivotal for survival (unless you're rich - and even then, social connections likely help substantially in career and etc. - most currently rich people had rich parents, etc. etc.) is so antithetical to my hermit nature.. aughhh....Why so inherently difficult for brain to Process Socialization And Communication. >:V

Physical therapy exercises. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc. Do the new costumes I've planned. MAKE SCULPTURES at some point, I miss them.

Notable foods: ASPARAGUS DAY FghdhVGVTYYEAAAAA!!! asparagus squad1!!!!! Also went against the evil nutritionist diet and allowed myself one serving of bread which I used to make a spicy turkey wrap sort of thing. >:) I miss being able to make spicy pickled onions and stuff. Still wishing for heartier food too.. I get blood testing soon, so maybe I'll find out if I'm actually deficient in something that's giving me constant cravings lol..

[charlieism]

why has language shortened why was it so long and complicated yknow a few hundred years ago and further than that a few thousand years ago. how did language go from just being invented, to each sentence being a mouthful u gotta chew thru, to yalln't

[alpydk]

This is a cameo that only me and one other person know of (even my partner does not know of this). I got this in secret for my birthday a few months back, basically just asking for a little pep talk after a really bad year (you know the story, mostly) - Any ways, this arrived as I stood in a Netto store and proceeded to cry at the till like a looney BUT it also spawned all the writing, from the first poem (The Waystation) all the way up to the smut last night and probably so many other things to come. It is all because of this beautiful person that just took the time to waffle on about Sugarbabes, and smelting.

He created a monster with his words - "Go and create stories" - Yeah, I accidentally took this too literally, but he's brought such light to my life from this one video. Not just all the creativity I get to spew, but all of you guys who I've got to meet. The crazy cult of Gale with their unquenchable thirst, the angst lovers wading through the smut to find diamonds, but mostly just the friends I have made who let me ramble, and click the ao3 links that should not be seen with human eyes. (Pre-sex checks are a thing in Top Gear smut by the way.). Those who write me poetry that makes me sob like a child, and those who create artwork that inspire me further to tell more stories. I really don't know what I'd do without all of you.

So thos was my longwinded oversharing of the week. Thank you to everyone, thank you to my friends, thank you to Tim Downie for pushing me down this path of no return.

[goatcheesecak3]

Art teacher

Adam Stanheight x reader (with a sprinkle of Daniel Matthews & Brent Abbot)

Fic type: basically just a very longwinded headcanon, wholesome, platonic.

Summary: your boyfriend, Adam comes home and excitedly tells you about the art lessons he's been teaching for two boys he met at survivors meetings.

Adam arrived home, his already tatty clothes covered in specs of paint.

You turned to look at him, a proud smile stretching across your face.

"Looks like you and the boys had a lot of fun" you chuckled, kissing Adam's cheek as he kicked his shoes off and hung up his bag.

"Yeah, they're really smart kids y'know? They've both got real talent" Adam grinned.

The aforementioned "boys" were two teenagers by names of Brent and Daniel. Both rebellious and rambunctious, but sweet at heart. Adam had met them at jigsaw survivor meetings and over the last few months, the two boys had grown pretty fond of Adam. Aside from their similar trauma, they all had quite a lot in common, their love of punk music and art had been easy to bond over, and the two teens saw Adam as a sort of big brother figure. After a while of getting to know eachother at meetings, Adam had asked the boy's mothers if they might enjoy taking some art lessons from him, as a way to try and find a positive outlet for all their emotions left from various traumas.

Since both boys had recently lost their fathers, their mother's were more than eager for their children to have a positive male role model back in their lives, and jumped at the offer.

Adam flopped down on the sofa, visibly exhausted but with a satisfied smile.

"I really think I'm starting to get through to them, you know, y/n" he beamed, patting the seat beside him for you to sit down.

"Daniel's art is so intense and thought provoking, and Brent's been trying different mediums- he's gotten so good with spray paint!"

You couldn't help but swoon, watching how excited Adam got over the boys' progress, he really was ever so good with kids.

You took Adam's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm so proud of you" You beamed, taking his face in your other hand and lightly caressing his cheek.

"Heh... thanks" Adam chuckled shyly, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

"Y'know.." he said, a look of realisation creeping onto his face, "it's funny that that asshole, jigsaw claimed he was trying to make me appreciate life more, he didn't need to shackle me up in some prehistoric bathroom to achieve that, all I needed was an afternoon teaching those boys how to paint, and that's enough to turn me into some sappy, life is beautiful maaaaan hippie guy"

Adam chuckled, he seemed more able to talk about jigsaw ever since being in those survivor meetings, and his sardonic sense of humour had returned in full swing, it was nice to see.

Adam continued to mentor the two boys, growing close with their mother's and really becoming part of each boy's families. Years and years down the line, he was best man at both of their weddings

"It only makes sense," They would go on to explain, "you're my brother".

Hello!! I've had this idea in my head for a long time, it just made sense to me that Daniel and Brent would be friends, and that they would look up to Adam as the cool older punk guy at the meetings :'^)))) sorry it's short and kinda rambly, I just needed to get these thoughts out in some way because brainrot etc etc

[randomwriteronline]

If there was something Onewa would not neglect to mention, that was that the rest of the Toa Metru were wimps.

Another one of his qualities (if one could call it that) was his ability to explain, at length, each extremely precise and specific reason as to why the rest of the Toa Metru were wimps - which after a small amount of his rambling lectures could then essentially be boiled down to the singular problem of none of them being Po-Matoran and thus not having lived in Po-Metru.

Because that meant that they'd never spent hours working at an actual genuine real job - by which he meant carving, as everything else was too cushy and didn't make your hands hurt like hell once you finally finished nor force you to spend entired days outside with your scalpel and hammer several bio off the ground under the blistering heat of the twin suns in certain occasions; it also meant that they'd never forcibly shaped a cave into their own home by themselves, without any outside help, because that's how the Po-Matoran do it, and that just in case they weren't too keen on breaking their backs that much and joined a welder's village instead they'd never had to fight off wandering Rahi that decided to storm in out of nowhere to pick off a few neighbors just for the fun of it.

And that's how we liked it!

At least, he concluded each of his rants like that.

The first general silent consensus on the matter was that there was no way the Po-Matoran could actually honestly like living in what was essentially a smaller replica of Karzhani.

The second general silent agreement was that everybody would have very much liked for Onewa to shut up before they felt compelled to resort to the only other apparently available solution to the problem by tossing him off the Lhikan II and into the unknown waters.

Due to the whole "unity" thing, they were trying very, very hard not to do that.

Nuju most of all.

Not due to any affection towards him (Great Spirit forbid), but mainly because it would have been extremely easy for him to enact the procedure so quickly that the Toa of Stone wouldn't even have had the time to stop his rambling, and also the longwinded blatherings were very quickly depleting whatever reserves of his already barely existent patience for being around people he still had, meaning he was left scraping at the bottom of the barrel for just about enough of it in order to try to survive this blasted journey of theirs without infringing the Toa code.

They knew arguing would have solved nothing: Onewa would have just argued back even harder and louder, and that would have just made things worse.

But Whenua, in his infinite wisdom, figured out a plan at last.

So when during a rare moment of collective respite their brother of Stone began once more his unprompted tirade about the rest of them being good-for-nothing seat warmers who wouldn't have survived a day at his jobsite, whether due to exhaustion, poor safety conditions, or a wide variety of environmental hazards, the remaining four Toa quickly tuned out of his ranting in order to watch curiously as the former archivist approached the carver from behind so quietly that he might as well have been wearing a Huna instead of a Ruru.

Just as the other interrupted his endless complaint to take in a breath, Whenua struck: his arms rested oh so gently on his brother's waist to pull him a little closer in a sort of hug, surprising him enough to make him stutter a moment more.

"Then shoudn't you be treated tenderly?" he spoke softly, mask close to the other's, with the gentlest tone he could muster.

If Onewa's head could have exploded, it probably would have.

It was frankly mesmerizing to see him shortcircuit in real time. He was, suddenly, completely paralyzed in the slightly reclined pose within Whenua's embrace and totally incapable of speech beyond a few bewildered monosyllables such as 'what', 'wuh', 'who' and sometimes even just a plain old 'w'; his eyes were wider than the entire protodermis sea, frantically shifting from the Great Ruru to the complete void as though his desire to ask for an explanation for the Toa of Earth's unexpected behaviour was battling for dominance with cosmic forces far beyond his comprehension.

Matau understood the plan in the matter of an instant. His hand flew to Onewa's knee - the part that was closest to him from where he was sitting - and cupped it gently, stroking it with his thumb. He could have sworn the other had burst a brain spark the second the contact had hit.

"You're right, Toabrother," he cooed with a grin that hopefully came off comforting enough to hide his amusement: "He's had a rough life! It's our duty to easecuddle him up a little!"

Onewa's attempt at a reply came out as a warbled mess of phonemes.

It was distinctly not helped by Nuju of all beings catching his hand to nuzzle it against his mask, muttering: "Poor thing," in a rumbling tone.

Before he could work through the fog these puzzling interactions were muddling his neurons with and ask who exactly the three cuddling him were and what they'd done with his brothers, his thoughts were once again stunned into static by the pressure of Nokama's palm on the top of his mask and her voice worming into his audio receptor with unimaginable sweetness: "You've been through quite a lot and we haven't shown you nearly enough compassion for it, haven't we? Come, sit down, sit down..."

Eight hands moved him around without him being able to do anything about it, and when he blinked he was indeed sitting down, fellow Toa all around and over him: Whenua was pressing him to his sternum while still loosely hugging his waist, Matau had crawled closer to take over one of his arms and placed a hand on the side of his chest, Nuju had shifted his gentle grip to raid along one of his legs and Nokama had instead taken his place nuzzling one of his palms.

To say this felt immensely unnatural would have been an understatement of planetary proportions.

Actually scratch planetary, these were downright universal proportions.

What in Mata Nui's name was happening?

Why were they so nice? Why were they agreeing they had it easier than him? And why in Karzhani were they cuddling and comforting him about his (to be honest fairly turbulent) Matoran life?

At least the firespitter hadn't joined in, he managed to think in short spurts while the gentle words and motions flustered him to no end, making his heartlight bloom brighter from the weird feeling - he'd been nothing but rude and condescending to him, certainly he wouldn't dream of pitying him or coddling him or lifting a single finger on him kindly, and why did that thought actually kind of hurt all of a sudden when just earlier today it would have had no effect on him whatsoever--

A caress on his mask fried any last working neurons he still had going for him, which was why it took him a few moments to realize there was also a hand tenderly wrapped around his calf.

"You don't have to go through something like that again," Vakama's voice reassured him before he managed to focus once again on his vibrant yellow eyes. His thumb stroked his cheek slowly, making Onewa almost shake in his hold before he continued: "We'll take care of you. That's what a team does, isn't it?"

The Toa of Stone barely managed a peep back.

A gentle laugh at his speechlessness made him almost very visibly self-combust.

The rest of the team cuddled a little closer to him, not once stopping their affectionate touches, humming or murmuring little things he couldn't hope to process within the swelling swirl of feelings agitating through his entire body.

It was just...

It was just too much!

Who were these people? Why were they caring about him so much? He could have had this his entire life instead of rolled eyes and angry looks and envy and hatred and loneliness? And where had that last thought come from?

Someone nuzzled his mask. Then someone else, and someone else again. And again. And again.

Soon enough Onewa was completely silent, still tense and yet also somewhat slack in his team's hold as the gentle thrumming of five bodies wrapped around his own completely erased his thoughts in a storm of fluster and embarrassment that made his heartlight flutter in a fast paced but overall stable manner.

Ah...

Finally.

Peace at last.

The unspoken plan could now be archived a resounding success.

If the five of them detached from him right now, they each reasoned separately, he would have probably sat there for a few hours trying to digest the sudden tornado of care slapped right on him. Who knows? He might have even stopped screaming his life story to the sky and stuck to mumbling it instead. There was no chance he'd shut up fully about it, of course - but at least he would have been much quieter.

That sounded perfectly reasonable.

For about a good five minutes, none of them made any attempt at moving from their positions.

They could leave him there.

Seriously, they could.

Nothing was stopping them from doing so.

Literally nothing.

Matau leaned a little closer to rest his head on his brother's chest. Vakama raised his leg to rest it on his lap, absentmindedly running his hand over it. Nokama whispered another reassurance.

Oh, screw it.

They could cuddle a little more.

Just a little bit...

[sheawritesstuff]

Cover-Up

[A longwinded ramble / theory about Gabe's death]

[Angst - 569 words]

[TW: Character Death, Alcoholism, Drunk Driving, Grief]

It was already dark when Gabe finished up his security gig and drove toward home. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just a crisp autumn night in early September. He had the radio on in his truck, listening to whatever songs came up without a worry in the world. He came to a green light, quickly checked both ways and progressed.

Colm was also on his way home after a night of relapse at the bar. He was leaning over to the passenger’s seat to grab another beer - one hand on the wheel, lead foot on the gas pedal, no eyes on the road. He sped through the intersection, oblivious to the red light and Gabe’s truck passing through the center. 

The alpha had tried to avoid it, but what could he do? By the time he saw the little black car charging toward the driver’s side door, it was already too late. His truck slid sideways across the street, smashing the other side of the truck against the traffic light pole. Gabe was dead on impact, never knowing a member of his pack had been the one to kill him.

It was just past midnight when the police came knocking on David’s door. He was still half asleep, barely conscious as the police tried explaining what happened. He almost thought he was still dreaming, stuck in some fucked up nightmare. But it wasn’t. His dad was dead, and some drunk driver killed him. 

He didn’t feel the need to ask who this mystery driver was, he honestly had no desire to know. It was easier to think of the driver as more of a concept than a person. Drunk driving killed Gabe Shaw. It was more palatable than the crushing reality that another living, breathing person had been the sole reason that his dad was dead and his pack was without an alpha. Knowing Colm had been that unnamed driver would not have helped anything, and it certainly wouldn’t have made stepping up into his father’s role any easier. 

David lost all the family he’d ever had and, on top of that, the entirety of his pack looked to him for guidance and leadership in his father’s stead. There was no space to worry about the poor sonofabitch who ran that red light with everything else he had to shoulder. So he didn’t know any better, and neither did the pack. DUMP made sure of that.

The department made sure no one knew one of their ex-investigators had driven drunk and killed the alpha of his pack. They knew it would not have helped their already strained relationship with the general empowered public, so they kept it under wraps. They got him into AA and made him pay a fine that was nowhere close to punishment enough and sent him on his way. 

Colm had already made a great deal of progress with his gambling before the accident, but the crash really set him straight. He quit drinking, he stopped going out to the casino, and he tried being a better man. The guilt ate at him and served as the ultimate encouragement to fix himself and get in line. He was given a second chance, he wasn’t gonna waste it. He lives with the shame of what he did, keeping it buried in his chest where it will stay with him until the day he dies. 

[sonjuponju]

now YOU tell me about YOUR ocs...!!! (if you want) is your pfp enix...🧡

IT IS IT IS!!! that drawing turned out so good i just stick it everywhere now 😭

the thing about my ocs is that i hardly get anything done with them if i don't have someone to constantly validate my choices and help me build ideas and stuff so most of my stories are pretty incomplete and all over the place 🥲 but i do have some bits and pieces that i can share!!

ima put everything under a read more cus there's gonna be a LOT of stuff. you really don't have to read all of it if you find it longwinded, i just really love rambling about my dudes (but only if someone asks 😭)

ENIX, he/him - he's actually one of my older ocs, i created him way back in 2017 when i was like 11 😭 fun fact! his original name was vixen but due to the definition of the word bugging me i recently changed his name to enix :3 another fact but kind of an embarrassing one - he used to have DID, and my 11 year old ass played RIGHT into the "evil alter" trope, so yeahhhh... the only good thing to come out of that was that the "evil alter" eventually became a wholly separate blorbo, named feliks! who we will get into now B)

FELIKS, he/him - my fucking sweet baby. my angel. he has gone through so many transformations it's hilarious

here he is in his "evil alter" days. already got the black eye to signify his "evilness". though i don't think it took very long for me to decide that he was actually the host of the body, not enix. in any case his usual day-to-day activities included pissing everyone around him off and trying some evil schemes every now and then

in like 2018 i got REALLY into this visual novel called "the arcana" and feliks was the ex best friend of the MC my friend cooked up for our version of the story. i didn't want him to be a cyclops for this iteration because i thought it didn't fit the theme, so he had to get a human design. he didn't have DID in this version, but he did have an identical twin brother, named vance. in this story feliks killed vance and became the boyfriend of the villain of the story, also becoming one of the villains in the process. his ex best friend ellis ended up defeating him and he got hanged with his boyfriend for their crimes

now here's where the story gets really juicy. feliks reincarnated in the modern world, and i think i ditched him having DID and instead the "alters" turned out to be the fragmented parts of feliks' dead brother's personality. vance had basically come back to haunt him in a form that was kind of comparable to alters, but also not really

the main arcana characters alongside ellis also reincarnated and ended up finding feliks (who was still evil btw). they were kind of like a friend group for a while until shit hit the fan when everyone found out that feliks killed his brother way back in their past life (they had no idea up until now). ellis became incredibly angry with him and him being a magician turned feliks into water and put him in a vase so he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again

before this happened though i think ellis and his also magician boyfriend were able to piece vance back together and give him a body, so he was reincarnated too. after receiving a second chance at life, vance got himself a boyfriend, and even got married with him. the happiness didn't last for long though when feliks was able to sneak himself in his water form into vance's husband's water bottle. the husband drunk the water and ended up possessed by feliks 🙃 feliks killed vance AGAIN, was able to return to his own body by also killing vance's husband, annnnddd... then ellis caught up to him and beheaded him with his scythe. (god i still love this story)

after death feliks became a demon in hell, and that's basically where his story ends. idk i must've gotten another interest at this point because i didn't get any further with the story

in 2020 i decided to revamp him AGAIN, this time making my own fantasy universe for him. i got a couple of my friends involved with it too (this was basically a species i made specifically for that thing and my friends made ocs of that species). the story for it was really juicy too but im not gonna be telling about it cus it's almost identical to my current project with him and i might wanna make it into a real thing one day so.. SPEAKING OF WHICH

HIS CURRENT DESIGN. MORE PHOTOS.

I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM!!!!!!! GAAGAHAJJSDJDKSK

anyway. yeah, there isn't much i can tell about the story, but i can tell you about how SHIT it is trying to come up with fantasy clothing. i am no fashion designer, not by a longshot, so my boy has his tits out 24/7 because i can't think of anything he could wear (and also i just love seeing him bare chested ❤️). i kinda don't even know where to start with the clothes cus i don't want them to be the generic european medieval stuff you see in fantasy CONSTANTLY and i am awfully lazy at researching anything that isn't my number 1 interest so. yah. to combat not being able to draw him with a canon design, i made a domestic modern au 🫶

here's feliks and his roomie clancy :3 they are my biggest blorbos rn and i would REALLY love to talk more about them but um. yeah this post is long enough especially considering there is still one oc i wanna mention

here's valo!! she is feliks' sister. you might think wait you didn't mention feliks having a sister? no i didn't because she is his BROTHER. I GENDERBENDED VANCE. BECAUSE IT WOULD FUCK. and yeah she is absolutely incredible i love her from the bottom of my heart. valo and feliks still have kind of a complicated relationship but at least in the au feliks doesn't kill her :D she's just kinda chilling with her gf until i come up with a story for her too

so ya that's all i wanted to talk about for now!! if you read this far then thank you 😭🫶 i had so much fun writing this. i was busy the whole day today but i just kept thinking about how much i wanted to answer your ask haha. i didn't plan for it to get so long though but im super grateful if you read this far 🥹

[thesherrinfordfacility]

it's high time that i redid the ✨masterpost✨ of all the shit floating around this blog where i say anything arguably insightful, existential/philosophical, or even just teetering on the cusp of being vaguely intelligent, so voila here you go and fucking enjoy:

worth having a looksie through this: longwinded anon (LWA)✨ masterpost

and then because i am actually so proud of these i did video edits to lewis capaldi (he's my hozier fight me) and im sorry but my beat matching is insane, godlike even:

season 2 (forget me)

season 1 (heavenly kind of state of mind)

also:

did i get emotional over crowley's fall and having to leave behind his creations and aziraphale's various conflicts in faith? you're goddamn right i did (credit to hillywood for the fall scenes that sent me into a frenzy)

stuff that is potentially relevant to s3 or is essentially my safe space to shit on these two incompetent-ass characters for being the most ridiculous beings god ever conceived:

(be warned, all of these will conflict each other bc im a loose cannon, a wildcard, and can't settle on a single thing)

(no seriously my opinion changes over time so interpretations that i once held might no longer be the interpretation that i have now, ya feel me)

you wanted a s3 plot prediction, right?

aziraphale brought an ak-47 to a fist fight and ohooo boy did it have Consequences

god i really ought to work out a tagging system in here, huh - this is my ramble on what i think could have happened during the fall

just a small one on the 1967 scene and the holy water thing (tw: suicide)

crowley found the book of life and tbh it was very james bond of him

saraqael rapidly slotting into my top 5 GO characters based on a singular hc wahoo

fuckin ✨1941✨ (this also upsets ALL of my interpretations of the Final Fifteen which... well what can u do)

a fucking rug just put shivers down my spine

more on raphael/azazel/scapegoat/fall theory, glorious smart anons are feeding me yummy soup

perhaps a more comprehensive rambling on omelas, scapegoats, and Those Promo Photos

an updated maggie rambling why not, she's still giving me a headache (and this ask neatly summarises some stuff too!)

my boy crowley really doesn't like change, does he wee baby (may develop this into a full meta who knows)

you know i think heaven might just be the bad place, i know - shocker

god i hope i was possessed by agnes nutter when i wrote this

a gifset format bc i cba to write, but aziraphale might have been, or might become, raphael

ive lied like a rug in previous theory posts: THIS one, this time travel clusterfuck, is the bottom of the barrel

spent hours studying michael sheens face in utter disbelief that he is capable of portraying every emotion known to man, and wrote about it (ie my take on the kiss)

i think goob might have been more important in the mega miracle than we initially thought (and no - not in the way you're currently thinking)

aziraphale and suffering are pretty well acquainted with each other (warning: i absolutely HATE this meta it's so bad)

um i guess you could term this as god is dead theory? nietzsche strikes again anyway

we REALLY hit rock bottom in the theory stakes with this one, lads (it's about whether crowley does in fact fully remember the fall)

(REWORKED) greasy johnson is the second coming. that's it. that's the post.

finally wrote about the book of life well done me

crowley was offered the same chance as aziraphale, im fairly sure, and as far as ive seen noone noticed??

the motif of lies in job made me come over all poetic

relativity is NOT my milieu especially in GO but giving it my best shot

hahaha is everything aziraphale's fault hahahaha

fuckinnnn BOOOOOOKKKSSSSS

EVERY DETAIL MATTERS? YEAH I SHOULD FUCKING THINK SO (and im still keeping this on here bc if im right in s3 im never going to shut up)

job is crowley and crowley is job except job didn't get sent to sit on the naughty step

never thought id see the day where i analyse richard curtis' 4WAAF but this show has got me whipped, jumping through hoops and over stalls like a fucking show pony

i have the dreadful feeling that we might have been fools by sleeping on aziraphale's own angelic importance all this time

did the costume department just simply go ham in s2 or are the angel costumes Important?

more on outfits

ruminations on the fall, morality and omniscience vs. free will, and making choices as if i have any idea what im talking about

okay this one is a little shitpost-y but the message is sound and im an un-apologetic aziraphale supporter, sue me

a sprinkle of s2 symbology, a dash of ineffable plan speculation, and laure girlbossing on how the two go together mwah

this was sooooo tasty i love talking about nietzsche

honestly this one doesn't even have a theme i just like talking to people

okay so this is the genesis of my aziraphale defence league (population: like 15% of the fandom) but i will not stop until he gets the recognition and empathy he mf deserves

Cancel Metatron 2k23

this was pre-s2 but the concept still stands: something feels icky about crowley's fall narrative and the book of life is ringing alarm bells

the concept of pedestals is one of my juicy favourites in psychology and you will find out just how much if you stick around this blog long enough (aziraphale's critique)

and lastly crowley's narrative of his fall? hm, big issue there and honestly the root of all Crowley discourse on this blog, be duly warned

old stuff if you fancy having a giggle at my expense

come chat to me about things

[gendervapor14]

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

9. How do you find new fic to read?

10. How do you decide what to write?

(if not answered already), and 37 & 38! Fanfic ask meme❤️

ooh hello!! thank you for these!! i did answer #38, but i'll answer #37 for sure!

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

ooooo as a music nerd i love this question and i apologize for how longwinded my answer is XD i don't do many songfics or much song-related writing [*shoves the title of two fights for freedom under the rug*] but i do have a ton of playlists and songs that make me think of specific characters or fics. to answer this question, i'll just pick one called "Fever Dream" by Dirt Poor Robins. specifically the part starting just after the 4:00 minute mark. the lyrics make me go INSANE with this idea for a dark/horror dq bros fic where doflamingo realizes that corazon is just a false identity and he can't do anything to get his brother back and it drives him even more insane. these lyrics make me crazy Now here comes the liar (lion) Clawing at your door Drunk on the blood of your brother And he's back for more (apparently the lyric is actually "lion" rather than "liar", but i hear "liar" so therefore i declare it is "liar" for the sake of my own brainrot) imagine a fic where rosinante is the one psychologically tormenting doflamingo!! unsure if i'll ever get around to writing it, but it'd probably have a similar vibe to blood gone sour.

9. How do you find new fic to read?

i usually do a nightly prowl under the one piece fandom on ao3 and either filter by most recent fics with rosinante or bell-mere. otherwise i read recs that are bumped on discord servers, or stories friends write! i'm actually terrible at reading tho i don't read nearly enough. when i have free time, i usually use it to create.

10. How do you decide what to write?

excellent question. i make a list of priorities. sometimes it's disorganized lists on my phone, sometimes i use calendars. first and foremost are things with due dates, so zine work, or gifts for exchanges, birthdays or holidays. next i prioritize stories that are works in progress, but already posted on ao3. i hate having incomplete works posted on ao3, so i strive to get them wrapped up asap. then it's a rabid thunderdome of all my other wips and ideas all wrestling for victory for who gets to be created XD i'm constantly bursting with ideas i never get to work on, unfortunately.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

i'm gonna go ahead and promote spitfire and ice because i busted my ass on this for the crackpair event and i was actually really happy with the result? i was assigned makino x kuzan, so i threw bell-mere in there too just to shake things up, and then i fell madly in love with bell-mere x makino and their flirty banter. it captured my heart in a way i was NOT expecting. i guess the tags aren't particularly interesting to most, so it's relatively unknown with only 4 kudos and 31 hits. but look at this!! “Hey, I’ve gotta ask you something.” She leaned over the counter once Makino settled herself and refilled the pitcher for the next round. “Would I still be wanted here…after hours?” With a tight smile, Makino rested her hands over the tabletop. “We’re closed for customers after hours. I need some time to tidy up the place.” “Right, right…” Pretty gray eyes wandered. “But in this situation, I wouldn’t be a customer.” With an amused chuckle, Makino folded her arms over her stomach. “What do you want me to say, Miss Bell-mère? Do you want me to welcome you to my private quarters upstairs?” That exposed chest filled with air. “I wouldn’t be against an invitation.” smh. well, at least i'm proud of it!

ahhh sorry i got so rambly XD i had fun answering these! thank you so much for the questions!! here's the list if anyone else has a question, or wants to reblog it for themselves!

[shallowseeker]

Was it you that pointed out that Dean gets showered with hate for allowing Jack to make himself into a bomb, when in season 11 his entire family was willing to let him do the same? I've been thinking about this a lot...

Sorry, not me. But I do talk about this and other Jack stuff in some of my ramblings about #SPN parenting, and I believe @jackgirlbluntrotation and I batted the tragedy of the Jack-and-Dean soul bomb parallel back-and-forth a few times, so you could look there as well.

But to get what what I think you're getting at, I think yes: Dean, is judged more harshly for this. I have some vague ideas why below. And I can't answer without being longwinded about all of it, and because I am NOT feeling very cohesive this week, behind the cut it goes...

Not meta, just random thoughts... I tried to edit it into something that made points. But I couldn't. Sorry. I'll try to revisit it later. This is like...three separate unrelated topics.

Sam & Cas + violence + getting onboard with Dean's sacrifice:

Sam and Cas do not object to Dean becoming a live bomb in season 11 to serve God's Big Kill-Amara-Cause. I haven't seen this held against Cas or Sam, and certainly not as a moral transgression. (This is not a hit piece against Sam or Cas. It's just a note that they're a little differently tied up with the idea of war-as-sacrifice.)

Furthermore, when talking about child sacrifice, I don't typically see a lot of Emma or Oskar or even Jane the Nephilim crop up in conversation, and when it does, people sometimes get annoyed about it ("I just don't care about them that much.") I do occasionally see Cas re:Jessie the Antichrist and May Sunder. Occasionally I see Sam:Emma. But hardly ever Oskar or Jane. But Dean is the caretaker. He's not supposed to cross this line of killing complete innocents. Also, as "parent," he has an obligation to Jack that adds another layer.

My point is...and I'm not certain about this...but I suspect that if Dean had overseen any of these above murders, it would be a much more daily appearance on the dash, especially Jane and Oskar, who were completely innocent.

Of note, re:Oskar.. Sam and Cas are The Two Men post-Lucifer that Rowena identifies as Love Matches. (She reserves her ire and hatred re:Oskar for scapegoat child, Crowley.) To Rowena, maybe even to the audience(?), the violence of Sam and Cas is expected, maybe even sexy? Maybe even the mark of a strong protector. Who knows? All I know is that we politely look the other way. And so does Rowena...

And I'm not trying to keep score in a murder show. Just...yeah. Something about this is tied up with Dean's role as heart/hearth/caretaker, I think. Maybe. Also parental roles. But that's always going to be conjecture. Let's look at more interesting stuff, which is how family sacrifice gets passed around:

Dean + sacrificial bomb

Dean -> The bomb sacrifice is framed as Dean's choice, even though it is just as coerced as what we see in season 15 with Jack. To make Dean's bomb even uglier, the reason Dean is the bomb in the first place is part-strategy, part-gross. "The enemy is sexually attracted to you, ergo, you can get closer to her." Dean is, once again, rendered as sexual (?) bait.

Cas -> Cas is the one who came up with the idea of the soul bomb, but he immediately shows regret and offers to die with Dean. Which releases the tension of how awful it is that he doesn't object... After this, Cas is forevermore anguished at the thought of sacrificing Dean and in season 14, he completely Objects to Dean's Suicide as Solution, even when solider mode!Jack suggests it. Of note, it may also be that in season 11, Cas put up a strong front about sacrificing for the God partially because Chuck was present(?)

Sam -> We are sympathetic to the idea of Sam being "okay" with sacrificing Dean because, at the start of season 12, we-the-audience are shown Sam's guilt over it, and that eases the narrative tension of how horrific it is.

Maybe the guilt over everything wrought in season 10 is what makes Sam and Cas more willing to not object to the bomb in season 11... But overall, for the audience, Sam and Cas's emotions about it make us more likely to look upon the situation favorably. Plus, neither of them is Dean's "parent." We'd be much harsher if John came up with the bomb idea, or Mary for that matter.

To reiterate, no one is responsible, exactly. I'm really just bringing it up as a point of contrast. Each character's relationship to war swings like a pendulum and is greatly affected by their psychological-wounds-of-the-moment. They all tend to swing the extremes, from Apple Pie Escapism to Holy Cause to Black-and-White Rules, etc. (And no one, save Metatron, has the proper mindset in season 11 with regards to war. And he gets killed for his trouble, too...)

Dean + Ma'lak box + "Jack iSn'T fAmiLy"

Notably, in season 14, Sam and Cas flipflop on the idea of sacrificing family. They strongly object to Dean climbing into the Ma'lak box--a stark and welcome contrast to season 11's soul bomb.

Of note, sacrifice MUST BE a complicated topic for Dean here... When you look at the two sacrifices, in Dean's mind, they were collectively rewarded for his hero's sacrifice/soul bomb (the return of Mary) but punished for his "selfish" non-sacrifice/Ma'lak box (the loss of Jack's "personhood" + Mary's death). So yeah, sacrifice is complicated topic. It never emotionally feels like the right thing, but in media and religion and hero stories, it's the heroic thing.

Finally, Jack's bomb is also complicated by the "Jack isn't family" of it all. Dean has more trouble sacrificing and walking away from "family," whereas Sam n' Cas, were always more pragmatic commanders by nature, and have seemed, at least from a distance, way more comfortable sacrificing their (military) family members (See: Balthazar, Rowena, etc). Thus, Dean sunders Jack from family role in order to make the loss more tolerable. It's awful! But very real.

Honestly, I think it gets at the heart of the matter that they're all soldiers struggling with soldier relationships to Cause, especially Dean. The longer Dean fights, the more he becomes like season 4 Cas or AU Earth Michael in terms of feeling insecure in his wayfinding.

The grayer morality gets, the more he can feel the tension of his own wrongdoing and the less "real" everything all feels (derealization/depersonalization). The soul bomb parallel plays into what they're ALL struggling with in season 15--purpose. Purpose/meaning is The Answer to AU Michael (and Chuck's) nihilism/nothing matters theme. But they don't even know what's real anymore.

The war and the horror and the heartbreak has dissolved all the meaning.

That plays into what each of them is struggling with in the terminal seasons. Their shadow selves and their best selves.

Sam - "Martyrdom Versus Heroism" -> You and you alone can do it / Save the world / I won't break your independence even when your safety is at stake / Saving the world at the expense of your own life is brave and noble and heroic -> (Sam's tentative answer to that problem: "I still think it's wrong, though.") He seems to realize, somewhere in there, that restricting power can be protective; that disinhibition of all boundaries doesn't look so great from the other side of parenting. He has an "aha!" moment where he understands Dean's relationship to him re:the complex nature of protection. Yet, Sam's eureka moments don't quite hit. It needs more time to resolve, possibly in the form of parenting his son, Dean, IMHO.

Cas - "Destiny Versus Genuine Hope for the Future" -> Serve the right cause and even heinous actions take on noble meaning / Live up to the big destiny / Be the God I couldn't be / If you're alive, then your life has to Mean Something Big and Awesome / Wield the totalitarian power the right way, in My Image and in Your Mother's Image and in My Chosen Family's Image, and bring the universe to its feet -> (Cas's tentative answer to the problem: "We don't love you because you're part of some grand design. We love you for being you." Cas squeezes in a late "aha!" moment only after the revelation of Jack's incoming second death. Cas rediscovers his faith, but it takes him awhile to have faith in the Small Things, not just the Big Things. Having faith in the future is healthy. Having faith in predestination is not. Like Sam, Cas is not quite given enough room to resolve, but his gets the closest of the main three.

Dean - "The Law of Purgatory Absolutes Versus the Complicated Gray of the Real World / Nothing matters I don't matter" -> Kill the right enemy and the law becomes just / "My life's work is a hoax" / I've been burying my anger all my life and it's finally spilled out like angry Leviathan chompin' at the bit for blood / So, get revenge / Take out the threat / Serve the ugly cause at the cost of our own lives so others can be happy / We are already ruined heroes / We don't matter / Save our loved ones (Dean's tentative answer: "The ultimate killer is not who I am." ) Like the other two, Dean never quite resolves. It would need another good one or two seasons to do so. The Winchesters actually helps with the above! He specifically talked about it in 1x12: The Tears of Clown. However, in SPN Prime he at least doesn't seem to be languishing in a complete loss of hope, which is one positive way to spin the finale. Nor is he switching to a complete pacifism at the expense of the lives of the two Crowther boys they wind up saving. He's not running away/escaping. He's really trying.

And finally... Through all this, there is also the parallel of giving up ("sacrificing") your son to War or to God's Cause, so that you can finally retire, which is the entire Ugly Thing with War as a Concept. Non-fighters (typically symbolic mothers & daughters) + aging fathers are sold the lie that they must give up sons to the Cause in order to preserve and enjoy Freedom (which is WHY Jack's AU Earth nightmares are directly juxtaposed with Dean's dreams of Hawaiian shirts and beaches in 13x23).

Always peace OR freedom, never peace AND freedom.

More than any other character, Jack is symbolic son. He is treated as Heir to his fathers' burdens and responsibilities. And the burden is too heavy.💔

One last set of parallels, then, with Jack AS each main character's Symbolic Fate:

Jack as doomed child (Sam; Boy-king/gold)

Like Sam at various points, Jack becomes the cursed child, kneeling to accept his execution for the crime of "murdering" his own mother.

It's the Sacred Executioner's suicide, too, because this is truly, as Cain said, "The murder that Dean would (literally) not survive." Like with Sam, Dean balks at the order from the father-God and throws the gun away. Tragically, Dean is excommunicated and tossed into a literal headstone, a motif for his eventual Death in the story. Jack dies. Dean "dies."

Sam wounds God in the shoulder and suffers a left shoulder / heart connection with God. For a time, this "infects" Chuck with hope.

Jack as tool of war / blunt instrument / bomb (Dean; Death/myrrh)

When Jack takes the rib-bomb, he becomes Dean from season 11. He feels "unworthy," so he "might as well be the hero / blow himself up to ensure the happiness of others."

The would-be victims and civilians even thank him for it. As Dean told Death, "I don't matter." Heroes matter only so much as their sacrifices are worth.

Also, in comparison to Sam, Jack is fundamentally WAR SON. Whereas Dean was love-offering-object-sacrifice chosen by Amara's hunger, Jack is simply "Simba." He is heir to the burden of Heavenly hero by birthright, outranking Sam and Dean in terms of hierarchy.

Furthermore, Jack is not Earth-son; he's a Heaven-son (the "son" to Sam's earth-son "daughter" role here...I hesitate to use gendered language, but it's about the hierarchy an the expectations of War as a Concept. Jack outranks Sam in terms of hierarchal expectations).

It's also why it's a rib that is blowing up Jack. The rib also calls to mind "Mother," or the simpler, non-gendered poetic: "Earth," as Jack is literally being sacrificed by Earth.

Like with Dean's soul-bomb, Jack survives the lighting of the fuse. Dean survives by getting defused, and Jack survives by detonating in The Empty.

Paralleling the Equalizer confrontation, Death tries to take Jack anyway, the way God took him even when he survived his initial Moriah trial. This time, it's Dean who takes action. He wounds Death with her own scythe, in the shoulder, just as Sam injured God's shoulder.

Jack "escapes" bomb death and Death!Billie, and Dean sets into motion the death of Death!Billie. (Sam's enemy is Chuck!prime and Dean's enemy is Death.)

Jack as God (Cas; God-king/frankincense)

Finally, when he takes God's power, Jack accomplishes what Castiel could not.

This is the final destiny that Jack seems unable to escape--"eating" up all the power and becoming more God than God.

Despite Cas's change of heart in the final episodes, it is ultimately Castiel's burden of Being God and the expectation of Heavenly destiny that Jack inherits when he ascends.

Since during the Equalizer confrontation, Sam wounded God, and with the rib-bomb confrontation, Dean fatally wounded Death, the narrative parallel for Cas here would be to fatally wound or seriously injure powered up!Chuck-mara. But instead, he sacrifices himself for love. (I saw a meta about SPN being a battle royale between Chuck and Cas...this lends some WEIGHT to that!)

In the final confrontation, Cas is absent (dead!KIA in this case), as Cas tends to be. (It's one of his absent!father motifs.) So Jack, as Heavenly son in terms of rank, has to stand-in for Cas, and the price is TOO HIGH. :(

It's a terrible fate. Even when Jack wins, he loses. He becomes nothing and everything.

Sorry. sorry. That was a lot. I was stuck at medical facility, so.

[brightgnosis]

Sometimes I'm really glad that I don't celebrate the standard Wheel of the Year, because it means I get to miss all the most common (and completely ahistorical) bickering and bullshit that comes around every year like clockwork; I can just Blacklist it and move on with my life, content in the fact that it's not my Monkey and I don't have to care about it.

Other times it's kind of isolating because I have no one to share in the joy of Adam's resurrection with, or to crown symbolically for Chava's ascension to the Throne, or dance around a Pine Tree with. I just have my Husband who acts as my silent Chauffeur and Sentinel. And while I love him to pieces and he humors my longwinded rambling, it's really just not the same, ha.

I think it's a big part of why I cling to @msgraveyarddirt / @graveyarddirt's Hagging Out events (and @portersposse, when it was still going) so much, honestly. Because even if I do bork the standard, it still gives me at least some sense of being a part of something greater in an almost holiday or holiday-adjacent sort of sense within the Pagan and Witchcraft Sphere, which I don't really have or get otherwise.

[rontra]

Pls tell us more about ur summer/salem rare pair cuz I'm so interested

ok ok stupid ass post incoming its also at least a couple thousand words long so be warned

like i CAN yes, but it'll be rambling and inconveniently longwinded!

this is because my thoughts on this and the context for the pictures i drew actually hinges on a bunch of rwby analysis that has to be established First for any of my conclusions to make sense. i actually thought about making a comic about them to lay this stuff out in a more convenient format…maybe i will do it, but until then, umm. i'm sorry about this level 9000 nerd wizard post. it's the autism and passion for women kissing (the 2 reasons behind everything i do)

as an aside before i lose my lucidity, i'm not claiming the stuff i'm about to set up is 100% absolutely indisputably true and if you disagree you're wrong. it's just sort of my interpretation of a bunch of different stuff. it's fine if you disagree or have your own reading! but for the purposes of this specific content we're discussing, in the context of the women kissing AU if you will, these are presupposed "truths" . idc if you think i'm wrong as hell in real life! but in the world of the pictures i drew/my feelings on this ship, this is the list of Things That Must Be True.

(the salem/summer torment nexus is built on a bunch of overthinking rwby and then a little bit of lesbian high romance, so we do reach a point where we finally veer off from "analyzing rwby" and into "and that is why women kissing women", but that is, all i can do . because just putting down the "here's why they should kiss" conclusion makes me sound insane. so before we go into why they should kiss in the way i've depicted, here are some points that must first be true)

Summer is alive and well, and

Summer is Salem's unseen lieutenant at Beacon, and is working for her by her own free will, because

Salem is right (caveats about being evil rn notwithstanding) and

Remnant treats them in similar ways, for opposite purposes (thus in the women kissing women world, they are not only women who should kiss, but foils who should kiss: a far more powerful gameplay unit that inflicts a Brainrot DoT on its target (me))

i'm not going to be completely thorough here: i'm omitting anything that doesn't feel immediately important to understanding me, so if it feels like i skipped something, i definitely did. please bear with me bc this post's existence is already hilarious. the omissions probably aren't me missing things (depending on what it is) i'm just genuinely trying not to get derailed by factoring in every nuance and perspective (which rwby has, A Lot, of,). do not tweet at me

1 and 2 are almost self-explanatory, so they're quick: scenes about summer are nigh-universally conspicuous in how they talk about her, and there are too many questions raised about her/her fate that only she (and salem) could answer. her just being dead is too straightforward for all this effort, so something else is surely going on. in v8, the "Hound Summer" idea is raised, but i don't think they would let a character onscreen spill the beans ahead of time if it was actually the truth. (additionally, salem herself describes the hound as "an experiment", indicating there isn't like a bunch of them running around or anything...)

HOWEVER, letting ruby draw the "hound summer" conclusion on screen leads me to believe the actual truth is not FAR away: it'll be a knife-twist on what ruby said. the More Harrowing version of "my mom is alive but a tool for salem against her will" feels like it's naturally "my mom is alive and working for salem on purpose".

for 2, salem has an additional lieutenant that we have not been shown; being at beacon working on the Beacon Relic Puzzle ever since the Fall. we see salem contacting this agent to give them verbal instructions over the grimmphone, which is…not typically how she directs grimm, suggesting it is a person. we aren't privy to any further information about this person except their station being Beacon, which…i hate to say it but that's a "dramatically seeing summer rose alive" ass place….

the REASON for summer being salem's lieutenant as opposed to A) dead, B) a tool, C) a double agent, D) literally anything else, is because of 3 and 4.

this is where things are gonna get really cringe and potentially deranged but i need you to stay with me. let's go in order and focus on 3 first: salem is right.

saying this will cause some immediate pushback from some people, but to those people, please set that gut reaction aside for now and play in the space with me; i'm not saying that her current plan of action is like, nice, or Good, but i'm saying she is ideologically the one in the right. like Thematically. it took a lot of work for the world to make her be evil (across quite literally millions of years, potentially hundreds of millions) and now she's like "fine i'm about to be hilarious", but in the fundamental conflict rwby is about, she hasn't stopped being RIGHT.

just before this, someone on twitter asked me what i think salem's goal is, because a lot of people jump to assuming it's planet-destroying stuff; i had to make it a twitlonger just to answer them because (in case it wasnt obvious already) im head FULL thoughts SALEM mouth RAMBLING. instead of spending time and wordcount rehashing all of that i'll just relink it here because all of it is important to THIS discussion too: http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1ss7lck

You Have To Read That Post Because I Won't Re-Type It. But It Is Important For This Post. TM.

ok. you're back? hi. sorry about that. let's continue

okay so we have the "disquietingly genocidal if carried out to its natural conclusion, which is that we should surrender ourselves to the complete custody of the World Destroyer" guy, and the "humanity inherently has a right to exist and doesn't need babysitting from someone who believes otherwise" guy. One of these sides is currently in control of remnant. and it's not the one you'd hope! and it's not the one the show agrees with.

(sidenote before it's too late I should clarify i have a Lot of thoughts about ozma's side of all this and like i said rwby is incredibly rich when you begin to mine for nuance and in-universe perspectives; i love that guy to bits and pieces. there are a lot of angles to this dangle. it's just that neither the twitlonger nor this post is About Him, so if it sounds like im dismissing his own nightmare situation i'm NOT im just not posting About Him Right Now. love you oz sorry you're also in the bullshit swamp etc amen)

i mention this very briefly in the twitlonger, but ozma has a vested interest in A) wiping salem from history/humanity's knowledge, and B) making sure the people who DO know about her see her as completely incapable of being reasoned with, the source of all evil, and so on. he's been pretty aggressive in these efforts, successfully paring salem's perpetual existence in remnant down to a spectrum ranging from "i have never heard of this woman in my life" to "exaggerated fairytale image that can be safely ignored" and maybe like "scary witch story to keep kids from wandering into the woods (FAKE, NOT REAL)". and to his circle, she's evil incarnate, and nothing more—still the fairytale witch, just an actual threat this time.

there seems to be a belief among some of the characters in the show that if you stop salem, you win; you've Fixed The Problem. in this way of thinking, salem is the one thing holding remnant back from being Normal And Good. she is the single cog not turning in time with the rest of remnant, and she is Fucking Up The Machine For Everybody. obviously this is a very simple and easy way of looking at her, and it is also desperately encouraged by ozma's version of the story. for his story to work, salem MUST be the source of all evil, the well it all springs from, the clear villain who's behind every bit of suffering and wants to destroy humanity; if she is NOT, his own comprehension of his trauma falls apart, his life's work and mission loses meaning, and the world he's built on them falls apart too.

(unfortunately, you cannot fix a dysfunctional world by destroying a single woman (no matter how much some certain gods try to tell you otherwise) if the dysfunction is systemic and foundational the way remnant's is)

with that in mind, summer rose (aw hey girl i forgot you were in this post) seems like a pretty stark opposite to her. but i would like to argue the…opposite. opposite double reacharound combo: They Are The Same edition. aka 4

okay, so, another facet of ozma's ideology that goes pretty visibly hand in hand with his own baggage (rip) is the fixation on this, idea of, a Hero. a Guardian. a "simple soul". specifically, he tends to nominate a Lone Hero, who must shoulder an unfathomable burden—usually a secret one—with little to no support (because they cannot share the burden). and this is, demonstrably and in no uncertain terms, a practice that breaks heroes.

(without getting too distracted: this is pretty obviously what was also done to HIM, and ozma continuing this pattern is not surprising with that fact in mind; i do sympathize. but girl…<3 you are crafting the crux of an insane post on rontra.tumblr.com and you dont even know it)

the Lone Hero is perfect. they fight alone, carrying humanity's light, and when they die they do so heroically, righteously, bravely. they are a symbol, praised and exalted even into their own deaths. their torch doesn't burn for long, but it's beloved whilst it does! the superhero dies young, but dies well.

this idea is a motif that recurs in rwby; all four Maidens are historically isolated, working alone, their very existence a secret except for when they swoop in to save the day. Huntsmen can become Lone Heroes if they're exemplary or unlucky enough. it was done to Pyrrha on-screen, by backing her into a corner and nominating her for an unfathomable burden she could not possibly refuse—and it lead to her death, alone, in a fight she knew she could not win.

of course, it also intersects with the Silver-eyed Warriors, who are (like Maidens) secret and largely isolated, but (especially when combined with being Huntsmen) make extremely powerful Lone Heroes. THERE'S our girl we've been waiting for! summer came out of the extremely notable team STRQ, and she's got silver eyes; with her pedigree we've got another legendary Grimm Reaper on our hands!

ha ha…

the weight must be crushing.

i can't say for sure why summer left; maybe she really thought going in guns blazing could finish this. maybe she had encountered a piece of information that alarmed her, or even seemed to corroborate something Raven tried to tell her team years prior. maybe it was something else that drove her to take the fight to salem on a solo mission. maybe being a Hero from a broken team just does that to your brain. we don't know yet! but she went out alone and she met up with salem.

this was never going to work, and not ONLY because salem can't be killed: it's doomed because rwby, the show, does not give praise to self-sacrifice. it is opposed to the very idea of the Lone Hero. when characters break the buddy system and face the bullshit alone, they usually don't get out unscathed, and usually don't succeed in accomplishing much of note. if anything at all, they usually attain something temporary or minor that isn't at all worth the sacrifice they made. because how can anything be worth that? rwby so far is pretty against the idea of both a lone hero and of "good death"; you can't die heroically, because you only ever die tragically.

but the Hero, Lone or otherwise, is needed. it's a twisted hope, but it is hope: there are people, real heroes, who will do anything to save us; including die, over and over and over and over and over again. remnant runs on hero blood. the academies are major arteries that pump out more of it, and even while you're at an academy you're not in the clear, because the students are included as a layer of protection around the relic. if something comes for the school, you are intended to die for it.

Like it or not, the people that hired me are going to change the world! You can't stop 'em, I can't stop 'em! You wanna be a hero? Then play the part and die like every other Huntsman in history!

and the selected Lone Heroes, even more so, are intended to die fighting an unwinnable fight, bearing unfathomable burdens. proverbially speaking, it keeps the lights on: keeps the fight going. keeps humanity from losing its grip on faith. and it completely robs each Hero of their humanity.

this kind of hero is not human: it's romantic like a fairytale and reduces a human being to a symbol. one of hope, sure, but a symbol nonetheless. the perfect hero isn't permitted to doubt or fear or hesitate. they're something distant, something else, something beyond humanity, something conceptual. and THIS, (points at it) is BAD

but it is the other side of the coin. the Lone Hero who represents all of humanity's hope has a natural obverse: the Sole Evil responsible for all of the world's darkness. the Single Enemy who springs forth all the things the Single Light stands against. these two concepts together pull an astonishing amount of the weight to make ozma's ideology function. without them, the wheels do not turn.

it's important how successfully ozma has eradicated salem's humanity and cast her as a force of blind evil. you can't reason with her, it's futile to try… but we know that salem may be very fucked up indeed to people, but she's also plenty willing to talk; essentially the only reason no one even thinks to try it is because her carefully designed reputation precedes her. the ruling world ideology prominently features the bastions of humanity, the bulwark against evil, the Lone Hero figure; the Guardian…and it hinges almost entirely upon the Sole Evil of salem, who can't be reasoned with but must be destroyed, even though the war against her is eternal, impossible, unsustainable.

by design, neither one is permitted any humanity at all.

Summer Rose and Salem are both ideological work-horses. in the world of remnant, neither of them can retain their humanity: they are conceptual existences that pull ozma's world through the motions, step by agonizing step. they are both yoked to the same plough.

if those two TALKED—and salem is very much willing to talk—i think a lone hero with a passion for humanity and way too much skin in the game would be repulsed by the system she lives in. she would recognize that she (and huntsmen as a broader institution) would be in the Wrong to support ozma—and by extension the gods, who look at humanity as a thing to be corralled and punished, something that must actively justify its own right to exist—

—that she's got two kids in this world, and she suddenly hopes to high heaven that they never get pulled into the same cannon fodder machine that created the Guardian summer rose, who bleeds and bleeds so that all humanity can cling to a hope that is bound to be false because the arbiters of their worth do not find them inherently worthy of life—

But, baby, please don't do what I did; I don't want you to waste your life in vain.

the reason women should kiss is that there is a mutual understanding that they are both beasts of burden to this world: two less-than-human icons, unpersoned on purpose, merely representing a concept. they perform roles in a narrative written by somebody else. they are not human! they are bearing unimaginable weight in service of an idea!

and they don't want to see humanity's fate be shackled to that idea for a moment longer.

i think when i say summer/salem most people think im trying to conjure like a dark spicy image full of like, power and control, and tension, and stuff. and there's nothing wrong with those, i do make a lot of those. but in reality im picturing the most tender secret in all of remnant. could you imagine?

...they are both yoked to ozma's ideology in these weird twisted ways so theres a lot of understanding and sympathy there, even if their Functions are different. opposite even. perhaps like foils one could say...

it's a ship built on that kind of understanding. the theme tying it together is that grueling dehumanization and the tenderness of seeing that you're both human to the core regardless. remnant yearns to grind them both up, one in service of the other, for a horrifically cruel ideal they can't just lie down and surrender to. humanity deserves better. so do they.

salem is right. summer rose knows it.

in the pictures i made, there's a protective angle to their poses and interactions: sort of a knightly, HER Warrior, type thing. "NOT YOUR SACRIFICE". etc. i guess salem is a lady with a tendency to attract the heroic knightly type (rimshot)

and that's why summer and salem should kiss. i dont know. i know im the one that locked you in this room but we should get out of here before i transform like a werewolf. wanna listen to Until The End in the car?

to live free or die, it’s all the same the enemy was right, there’s no reclaiming in waves of shame, we’re desperate to make amends but through a simple soul we lie complacent.

awoo...

[slothquisitor]

Contrivance

Look fam, I never wrote bite night. And you know what? That needed to be remedied. Astarion wonders if Cazador's commandments still hold weight now that he's tadpoled, so he tests that theory. Astarion x Liv, pre-relationship angst and shenanigans. TW: blood. 4.5k.

Also on AO3.

It’s been three days since Astarion awoke unharmed in the blazing sun, and he still hasn’t seen a single sign of Cazador. He fully expected the vampire lord to show up in their shabbily constructed camp that first night, ready to flay him for failing to return home, for being able to walk in the sun. He spent the first two nights sleeplessly listening for any sign, any sound that might be his old master come to call. He tossed between memory and waking nightmares, all the while plagued by the ever-present hunger for blood. It’s a feeling he’s used to, and his mind used to pass over it, use to not categorize it as a concern, but it’s getting more and more difficult to ignore.

He has been hungrier than he is right now, but the long days of walking and fighting seem to sap all of his energy, all of his patience. Gale, the bombastic and longwinded wizard cheerily cooks meals with their meager rations, and Astarion hasn’t ever eaten a bite. His traveling companions have probably assumed that he’s turning up his nose at the fare out of snobbishness. 

As long as it keeps them from discovering the truth, he’s fine with that. 

But on the third night, his mind is clouded with hunger, with need. So, he sneaks away from camp, checking over his shoulder all the while. He feels slow, sluggish, and utterly careless in ways he doesn’t usually allow. He stalks through the underbrush, searching for prey, but always, always sure he’s being watched. 

He catches a rabbit first, snaps its neck and drains the small creature dry as quickly as he can. The rabbit’s fur is dirty, he can feel the grit in his mouth, but at least this meal is soft, at least it is alive. The blood is warm and fresh, and that alone is a luxury he hasn’t often had. When he is finished, he swiftly discards the body, tossing it away into a bush where it lands with a flat thump, as if he could hide the evidence. He runs then, hurrying away from that place, as if the distance will give him plausible deniability. 

Because he is waiting for the consequences to fall. They always do. He waits for Cazador’s ire, for lashes on his back. He has eaten without permission, he has drained a creature dry. Cazador must know; he always knows. If the punishment doesn’t come now, it will come later. This much he is sure of.

But as he kneels in a dirty clearing, alone in a dark forest, there is…nothing. Nothing but indifferent moonlight and the sound of the nearby river. There are no glowing red eyes searching him out in the darkness, no stinging compulsions. Maybe…just maybe…he’s free? Or free enough, anyway. As long as he doesn’t sprout tentacles. But it hasn’t happened yet, and…well, he might as well make the most of the time he has. 

He drains two more rabbits and a boar. It is an absolute glut of blood, more than he has ever had at one time. He feels pleasantly drunk, more than a little off balance. And there was no one telling him he couldn’t, stopping him from taking what he wanted. It’s incredible. He sneaks back into camp, into his tent, and as he finally closes his eyes to rest, he realizes that for the first time in two hundred years, that ever-present hunger, the ache behind his teeth, is gone.

His new companions are much easier to put up with now that he’s not constantly distracted by his hunger. It allows him to observe so much better. The famed Blade of Frontiers is more ridiculous than he imagined, and quick to empathize with the very person his patron had asked him to kill. Karlach is not only loud but far too friendly for his liking. She’s the first to ask questions, to tell stories, but if he asks her the best way to kill certain types of demons, she’ll ramble on unprompted, leaving him alone. The cleric is entertaining, at least, but that’s more despite herself than because she actually is. Besides, every time he and Shadowheart appear to agree on something she looks distinctly troubled. It fills him with an odd amount of glee. And then there’s Lae’zel, who is terrified of. Obviously. 

Truthfully, beyond the tadpoles in their heads, their group has little in common. Except that they all seem content to follow around their de facto leader, Liv. She’s not exactly leadership material; she’s soft-spoken and seems a little too invested in everyone getting along. But Shadowheart was already deferring to her when they’d met on the beach, so he’d followed suit, just like everyone else. He has no desire to be in charge of this little band of misfits anyway. No, he is more than content sitting back and watching what happens. This group seems to be his best chance of survival for now, but the second he sees his odds could improve with literally anyone else, he’ll abandon them. 

Besides, everyone in their little group is rather hellsbent on getting rid of this tadpole, and while he has no desire to turn into a mind flayer, the tadpole is the one thing that’s made his life better in the last two hundred years. He’d rather not get rid of it just yet. Especially when he hasn’t yet figured out the full potential of what he can do now. 

Oh, he can walk in the sun, pass over thresholds of homes, and even cross through running water, but do Cazador’s compulsions and commandments still hold? He has been chafing at his bonds for two hundred years with so little to show for it, but now, finally, he has some semblance of freedom, and yet, he doesn’t know just how free he actually is. But he’s itching to find out. 

Cazador had many commandments, but this was the first: thou shalt not drink the blood of a thinking creature. For years, Astarion has told himself that blood is blood, surely it doesn’t matter the source. And that was all fine and well when he didn’t have any other options but whatever animals and bugs Cazador allowed, but now? Well, now perhaps he should see just how free this little tadpole has made him. 

The idea hits him as they trek through the hills toward an abandoned village that’s likely overrun by goblins. He is traveling with several thinking creatures…and it would be oh-so-easy to drink from one of them during the night. They might not even notice. 

But who to pick? He’s sure that Gale will taste exquisite, like a fine aged wine. Wyll would also be delectable, all that righteousness bottled right up. Karlach is a no-go though, since she’s literally on fire. Shadowheart is a cleric, and it seems likely that she’d kill him for trying. Lae’zel is far too scary, though he’s very curious what she might taste like anyway. And then there’s Liv. 

Boring, nice, polite, Liv. 

Astarion has learned very little from their would-be leader so far. Somehow even when he’s eavesdropping on her conversations with the others, she avoids saying much about herself. She’s quite skilled at deflection, at dancing away from questions about herself. She’s from Baldur’s Gate, that much she’s said. Her accent is Upper City, so she’s from the wealthier part of town, though he hasn’t gotten a last name. Which could mean she’s trying to keep her connections, or lack thereof a secret. 

He doesn’t exactly care. He’s mostly trying to keep an eye out for knives in the back, and Liv seems too busy sneaking off to retch after every fight to be someone he should be afraid of. 

And that’s why he ultimately settles on her as his first target. Her kindness makes her weak, but he also knows she’ll do just about anything to avoid a fight. Maybe he’ll get a chance at the others some other time, besides, one doesn’t imbibe for the very first time on an expensive vintage, that’s something to be worked up to.  

He nearly abandons the whole idea when their little group finds the boar he’d killed and drained last night. It had been sloppy, leaving it out in the open, where their group could just stumble across it. Liv’s inquisitive nature means that she asks a lot of questions, and he makes some deflections about there being a vampire on the loose. He’s just grateful that Wyll’s not with them this morning, but then they move on, and Astarion resolves to be more careful in future.

But as the day drags on, his impatience and curiosity win out against any caution he might have exercised. He is desperate to find out if can break this little commandment because if he can break this one…then he really is free. And if he’s free, then Cazador can’t control him. And if Cazador can’t control him…he’s getting ahead of himself. 

He reads a book by the fire while he waits, only half paying attention to the words on the page while he observes everyone in camp. Tenuous friendships are forming, still stilted and awkward, but present nonetheless. He notices that he and Lae’zel are the only ones not sought out over the course of the evening. Not that he cares of course, he doesn’t want friendships with these people, just their protection. 

Finally, everyone retreats to their respective tents and Gale is on first watch, doing the rounds. Astarion deposits his book back at his own tent and then waits for Gale to drift to the far side of camp. He sneaks toward Liv’s tent, sure that Gale hasn’t seen him, but feeling watched all the same. Cazador couldn’t possibly know his plan, couldn’t possibly still have control of him, could he? Once he drinks Liv’s blood he’ll know for sure at least. He pads silently across her little threshold, closing the tent flaps behind him. 

She is curled up on her side, her perfectly delectable neck bared and waiting. Her dark brown hair pools her, and a threadbare blanket hangs off her shoulder. This is the moment he’s been waiting for, he’s practically salivating as he bends over her, inching closer to her neck. He can hear the strong, steady beat of her heart, pulsing in the darkness. The rhythmic beat drowns out everything else around him. He’s a breath away from closing his lips around her neck when she jerks awake with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the scene: him bent over her, fangs bared, caught proverbially red-handed. 

“...Shit.” 

She scrambles away from him. “What in the hells are you doing?” 

“No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear! I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood,” he says, words quick, running together as he retreats to the far side of her tent, putting as much distance between them as possible. 

He watches her put the pieces together, the realization burning in her eyes. “You - you’re a vampire. Of course! No wonder you didn’t want me investigating that damn boar.”

He’s losing the run of this conversation. He hadn’t really considered what would happen if he was caught…only that she was least likely to kill him. “It’s not what you think - I’m not some monster!” 

She gives him a hard look. “Waking up to you leaning over me with your fangs bared is going a long way in convincing me otherwise.”

He decides to ignore the sarcastic jab, though it might be the first time she’s ever been sarcastic with him. She’s suddenly a little more interesting. “Listen, I feed on boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now, too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” It’s not quite the truth, but it is contiguous to it. As he speaks, he watches the anger and surprise fade from her face, instead replaced with disbelief. 

Things could be going worse, he supposes. What would appeal to her at this moment? How can he get her on his side? It hits him then, like a lightning flash. He doesn’t know her well, but he does know that she can’t seem to turn down anyone who asks for help. So that’s exactly what he does.

 “ Please .” He infuses the word with as much genuine need as he can. 

Unbidden, their tadpole connection awakens. He’s not sure what she’s getting from him, but for a moment he senses a bone-deep need, bordering on desperation. She wants so badly to have something to offer, a way to be useful, to be needed . There is an undercurrent of fear within that need, but he would have to probe deeper to find out the why. And he is tempted, but but he doesn’t really care, actually. She wants to help. He can work with that. 

Still, these feelings transmitted across their connection make him pause. They are so at odds with the impassive, utterly unflappable facade she has turned toward all of them. For a moment he’s not sure that the feelings are really hers at all. 

She shakes her head with a grimace, the connection fading. “You could have just told me.”

Right, talking . He’s sure she would have loved to have a whole heart-to-heart about this. He rolls his eyes. “At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” That’s unlikely, he’s seen her do many things with her magic, but she doesn’t seem vaguely capable of stabbing anyone. That’s why he’s here. “No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

She’s the trusting sort, anyway. She’s rather devoted to optimism, to looking for the best in their situation. He can see that she’s warring with herself, trying to be skeptical, to be cautious, but it’s against her nature. It takes almost no time at all for her to reply. “I do trust you.”

Good. Now he just needs her to agree to help him, so that he can finally know if he is free. “Thank you. Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

She stares at him and the moment catches, snags on this little request. He’s pushed her too far. She’s clever and observant, and he’s almost sure that she can see through this mild deception. He’s already resigning himself to hunting down some of the local wildlife, perhaps now that she knows what he is he can simply drain a cultist or bandit or - 

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.”

“Really? I -” The agreement surprises him, and for a moment he’s rather speechless before he gets a handle back on himself. “Of course, not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” He lowers his voice a bit, she’s agreed and he’s back in control. He gestures for her to lay back down, and she reluctantly does, eyes locked on him the whole time. 

There’s something strangely intimate about this arrangement as if her awareness of him has somehow heightened the moment. His own excitement is palpable, feels like it might burst right out of him. It’s time to find out just how free of Cazador he really is.

He moves slowly, deliberately, more confidently this time, and then he strikes, sinking his teeth into her neck. She might have gasped, but he’s not sure because at the first bright bloom of blood on his tongue, he is lost. Until a few days ago, he had not been sated, not once in two hundred years, but he didn’t realize quite how much he was starving until this moment. He drinks deeply, desperate for more, more, more. His hand is in her hair, clinging to her as if he is a man drowning, and perhaps he is. No wonder Cazador forbade this, the blood of a thinking creature is more incredible than he ever imagined. 

Distantly, he realizes he should probably stop before he drains her dry, but every swallow of blood is too powerful. Gods, he never wants this to end. 

Suddenly, her hand is on his shoulder, shoving him away, and at the unexpected contact, he is wrenched back into himself. He releases her immediately, dropping her gracelessly back onto her bedroll as he pulls away. The euphoria makes him lightheaded, and he sucks down breaths he doesn’t need on instinct alone. “That…that was amazing,” he manages, pressing a finger to catch the blood dripping down his chin, he licks it off without a thought, savoring every drop. He closes his eyes and straightens with a sigh. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel…happy.” 

Liv looks a little pale, and a little alarmed. Has she realized how little control he really had? He hopes not. He confidently meets her gaze, until she looks away, reaching for her neck. Her fingers come away shining with blood. She stares at them a moment before wiping them off on her blanket, the concern fading to something impassive. “I guess all we need now is to see how you fight.”

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing,” he says, unable to look away from the small rivulets of blood that stream down her collarbone. He very much wishes he could bend down and lick them away. And that is precisely why it’s time for him to leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

He doesn’t actually need anything of the sort. He is sated. Truly. There was a void within him that he didn’t even know could be filled, and now he feels more…solid. More real. Perhaps he’s been a ghost of himself for two centuries. He wants more of her blood the way he might want just another sip of the most exquisite vintage he’s ever had, but he doesn’t need it. Her blood was amazing, but would someone else’s taste even better? He very much wants to find out. 

She still sits on her bedroll, watching him with a complex look he’s not bothering to parse. She hasn’t said anything else, hasn’t attempted to fill the silence. Which is fine. He needs a moment, to consider all that this might mean. On his way out of her tent, he pauses. He is…strangely grateful. She has no idea what she’s given him. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.” And then he leaves, and stalks back to his own tent. 

The world is sharper, somehow, more alive than he’s ever seen it, even in the darkness. He’s never been more sure of himself, of his abilities, but he’s also never been so off balance. Cazador’s commandments don’t govern him, not anymore. Which means…he’s free. Cazador will be looking for him, that much he is certain of. He will not rest until Astarion is back in his clutches, but Astarion has been handed an opportunity here. An advantage. 

Things are different now. He is no longer bound to Cazador’s commands. And that means that perhaps he could stay free. Especially because he’s now surrounded by heroic do-gooding types who would jump at the chance to kill an evil vampire lord. But Astarion isn’t stupid, these people are unlikely to simply help him because he asks. And he knows he has very little to offer this group of warriors. He’s proficient enough fighting from the shadows, taking his time to land critical shots, he can even handle himself hand-to-hand if he must, but he’s no warrior Karlach or Lae’zel. He cannot do magic like Liv or Gale or Wyll. And he has no god standing behind him like Shadowheart. When compared to the others, he is utterly expendable.

So he must utilize some of his other talents to get them on his side, to keep him safe. There will be a price, there always is. But perhaps he could mitigate that by ingratiating himself a bit more, especially with their leader. It would be easy surely…to seduce her, manipulate her feelings. And then she’d never turn on him, would she? He’d be safe, and she’d want to help him with whatever he asked. And perhaps there might be more of her exquisite blood in his future. A win-win all around. 

The next morning, Liv wanders over cautiously. She’s plaited her hair down her shoulder, no doubt in some attempt to hide the bite mark on her neck. But it’s still rather obvious, and Astarion is sure their other companions have noticed. 

He keeps his voice light as she approaches. “Good morning, how do you feel?” He asks because he thinks he ought to and because he needs everyone in camp to see that there’s nothing of concern here. 

“I’m fine,” she replies, words somewhat automatic. “But there’s…there’s no after effects I should be worried about…?” 

“Oh no. I’m not a true vampire. A bite from them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self. All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of the powers.”

If she is relieved, she doesn’t show it. “Is that how you can stand in the sun? Because you’re not a true vampire?”

And here come all the questions. He really doesn’t want to answer any of them, but across camp, their companions are watching the exchange tensely with unhappy eyes. He keeps his chin high, his voice loud enough to be overheard by all. As if his affliction was just something he wasn’t hiding, but had instead failed to mention to them, but certainly not to her. 

“Oh no, by all accounts I should be cinders by now. I hadn’t seen the sun for two hundred years before we crashed here. Someone - or something - wants me alive. They’ve changed the rules. Standing in the sun, wading through a river, wandering into homes without an invitation, they’re all perfectly mundane activities now. As for my other quirks, well we can figure those out in time.” He says the last line conspiratorily, angling himself toward her as if he could will everyone to believe that this makes them…friends. 

And because she’s nice and polite, she smiles. “Well, I’m glad you’re well.”

He puts a hand on his chest. “And I’m glad you’re being sensible about these revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks. Although there’s still time…” Their companions have drifted near them, suspicion etched into every line of their faces. 

He feels a prick of fear. He is outnumbered. If they all turn on him, he’ll be utterly outmatched. But he refuses to cower. 

“So we’re traveling with a vampire, are we? Of course, we are,” Gale says. “A word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful.” With that remark, the tension eases somewhat. Besides, it sounds rather like a challenge. 

“I just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat,” Shadowheart replies cooly.

Lae’zel’s face is contorted in disgust. “A vampire among us, so be it. But should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him.”

Liv steps in before anyone else can get a snide remark in. “It’s alright, I trust him.” She says it so simply, so full of surety. She really means it. 

“Maybe we could get him to wear a bell, dissuade any night-time prowling,” Shadowheart shrugs. 

He knows that if he simply lets them carry on everyone will have something to say, so he steps in. “There now. We’re all friends again. Shall we go? There’s a long day ahead of us.”

The group reluctantly disperses, but Liv hasn’t gone anywhere. “We need to talk.” She looks very serious, and he doesn’t want to talk anymore. 

“Oh, come now. Everything’s fine! That went rather better than I was expecting.” 

But that’s clearly not what Liv is here to talk about; she’s not being dismissed that quickly. “I’d like to know what our plan is for keeping you fed in the future.”

Our plan for what now? It takes him a moment to realize that she’s not kidding. It’s a genuine question. He dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “You really needn’t be concerned. I’ve got it all perfectly under control.”

She gives him a doubtful look. “It felt in control last night.”

“And no one died,” he reminds her with a glare. 

She sighs, holding up her hands. “I just want to make sure that you’re fed. No one in our camp is going hungry if I can help it.”

The concern sounds damn genuine. It takes him by surprise. “I…I appreciate that. I suppose that now that you know what I am, I can fight with all of my weapons - teeth included. No innocents. You have my word. Only villains we need to kill anyway. If I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what’s the harm? They’re just as dead.” He’s not sure if he’s given her the right answer. 

She nods. “That works for me, but if you do find yourself in a tight spot, you can always ask. Preferably ahead of unsanctioned midnight snacking.”

Oh? An offer to come back for a bite? He smiles. “Of course. That sounds eminently reasonable. No more late-night surprises. You have my word on that. You know…you’re being awfully pragmatic about this whole thing.”

“You sound disappointed, would you prefer I cry or have a fainting spell over the revelation?” Is she joking with him, is that what this is now?

“Well, now that you mention it you do look a little peaked this morning.” The barb isn’t a very sharp one, but it creates distance between them all the same. He’s got a plan for her, but he doesn’t want it to feel like familiarity. 

Her voice is thick with sarcasm. “I do so love compliments first thing in the morning.” 

Oh, that’s an opening if he’s ever seen one. He steps close to her, lowering his voice. “I can try again if you like. I’m very good at compliments first thing in the morning.” He expects her to blush, perhaps she’ll demure, or maybe she’ll tell him to go on and compliment her. 

Instead, she steps back, utterly unfazed. “We’re going to be heading out soon.”

He grins as she walks away, oh, this is going to be fun. 

[fastcardotmp3]

twirling my hair around my finger, heyyyyyy. so how can i bribe you into sharing all the thought and comments you say you have about meta?

i don't really have any specific questions because ideally i'd want to open up your brain like a book and browse through absolutely everything, so i'm not sure where i should 'aim' so to speak?

is there smg in particular you'd like to share about? an area you want to expand on, because there's more than that's on the page that you'd like to explicitly discuss or just because it's your favorite to talk about?

i'm chin hands, and would be thrilled at every crumb you felt like sending our way queen

oh my GOD the can of worms here you don't know what you're doing I want to talk about METAMORPHOSES all the time always 😭

it's the fic I'm proudest for having said exactly what I wanted it to say without going on tangents the way my other longfic did and it's the fic I'm proudest for having completed both at all and the way I did narratively and I just!!

thanks for humoring me I know my rambling about this fic can get longwinded and annoying but it means the world to get to ramble at all tbh I am also twirling my hair kicking my feet etc super grateful for you, anon 💚💚💚

I've been sitting with this ask all day thinking about what little thing I could go on a self-indulgence about, but instead I just keep adding to the list of topics and giving you nothing so! if you would be so patient as to indulge me, a list in no particular order of things I worked hard on in the writing of that story:

(under the cut because, surprise surprise, I got longwinded again)

a motorcycle as a symbol of independence, meaning it's the thing that carries him to acts of joy but also acts of self-destruction, but also ultimately being something he gets to keep in the long run because relearning he does not have to earn independence and freedom by being good is kind of his whole deal during his healing process. he's human and he's allowed to fuck up and that doesn't mean he gets stripped of the right to potentially fuck up again in the future!

ourboros and cycles and the destruction/recreation-isms of recovery in the way Eddie has to rebuild all but from scratch post-Kas, and that when he relapses and falters the cycle starts over, only this time "from scratch" has a slightly stronger foundation

El. Just El in general and the reasons what she does in this fic is the most in-character thing I've ever written for her I LOVE HER SO MUCH AND I LOVED WRITING HER IN THIS FIC

the collective theme of our young adults as people who don't "turn out" the way they're expected to, who end up following paths that make sense entirely even if they don't look like they do on the surface, particularly for both Steve and Nancy who shirk careers that everyone on the outside perceives as being perfect for them in favor of ones that feel right, even accomplish the same things but in a way that's more natural to them (and also the way this aligns with Eddie's own journey of not being what he looks like on the surface)

MEDUSA. just. yeah. seeing being seen the danger in both the necessity of both the difference between a gift and punishment and so on and so forth

control over one's own physical appearance as grappling with control over literally anything else for both Eddie and El, and the ways they both go from that as a desperate sort of coping mechanism to a calmer and more joyful one

honestly just the formatting of the openings to each chapter and whose voices get bolded versus italicized (specifically later on in the fic) and why because it does change and it is on purpose fjadskl

Steve's pov of when Eddie runs away!!! I almost wrote a whole chapter of this but knew it would fuck up the pacing too much so I held myself back, but I think about his utter panic all the time when he realizes that Eddie is just gone and the last thing Steve did was say something bitchy and slam the door on his way out

Nancy and Eddie's dance lessons as a goofy bit of light-heartedness but also so much more than that

AND I'M GONNA STOP SORRY BUT YOU OPENED THE FLOOD GATES AND I CARE ABOUT THIS UNIVERSE TOO MUCH HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY AND THANK YOU DEARLY FOR ASKING I OWE YOU MY LIFE 💚🐍