#lookit me learning things from Tumblr

[nym-wibbly]

I'd just about kill for the canonical backstory on this statement. 2014 Cas was so different, so damaged - so differently damaged to his timeline-equivalent Dean, who's all hard edges and cold purpose. Yet the episode implies they've made the journey together.

What left Endverse!Cas soft and bleak and open and emotionally articulate? Did he crawl through broken glass hell to get here, dragging himself up from nowhere to achieve this level of function and resignation, or has it been a slow, blurry slide from grace into decadence with the bumps softened to meaningless by drugs, booze, and orgies? Why does he package the last one with the 'love guru crap' as if there's still a point to existence, a meaning beyond the moment, then act with Dean (both Deans) as if there isn't? And when did 2014!Dean stop looking at him the way 2009!Dean does?

THE END (5x04)

[lakesbian]

how do i learn to read like you do it's amazing

aww i keep getting so many nice asks i can't even answer them all without spamming up the dash so i have a little collection going now. y'all are sweet. i dunno dude my brain just does this. i just wake up and say shit and you guys like it. i like this post as an articulation of what i do when i'm having book opinions. it is abt analyzing media analysis vs analyzing books themselves but it does work as a useful checklist for making your own analysis. i'm tragically incompetent at explaining my reading process in a useful way because it's not so much something i consciously built up so much as it is just. me saying shit. but the main things i did while reading worm were

- shuffles flashcards. uh. taking notes? i don't take traditional notes for anything but my version of taking notes is immediately shouting any and all thoughts i have in my book nook discord channel, causing them to immediately become at least 50% more coherent in the process. doing some form of jotting down which details you found most relevant and or interesting + your Thoughts is a good way to start figuring out what you actually think and piecing together details that support it instead of just keeping everything swirling around in your brain. every alec essay i've made stems from thoughts that were generated via a series of inane rambles on discord. and u would not believe how many taylorposts i get notes for are just shit i said at 5 am and cleaned up for tumblr

- make sure you like. haven't Lost The Fucking Plot while you're reading. i occasionally stop while reading to make sure in my head that i could accurately explain what's happening wrt plot and/or character developments to another person, and if there's something i don't either Get or feel like i'm in the successful Process of getting, then i sit there and rotate it in my mind until i've caught the fucking plot again. when i was reading the end arc of worm i did a lot of stopping and staring into space while i shuffled the details around in my head like a jigsaw puzzle to decide what i thought was happening and how i felt about it

- lookit what other ppl are saying and decide if you agree or disagree and then figure out Why. ask for opinions from other ppl even. most of my more detailed wormthoughts stemmed from seeing other ppls posts and thinking "i agree with all of this except this part, which i think could be extended further because xyz" or "i disagree with this entirely because abc" or "oh this is fully true actually. my opinion now." power of book club lets u add patch notes to your own worm thoughts by having more details & theories 2 consider and shape into the most defensible position

also i recommend entering autistic fugue states all of my best posts are made in autistic fugue states

[shadowling-guistical]

Sit and Bleed.

Roman asks Remus for advice, and Remus delivers. In his own, mildly disturbing way. Somehow, bonding ensues.

Yeah idk either. I shared this to one of my friends and they said, and I quote, "Hey mishi i love you but wtf? Did remus posess you?"

So like, enjoy?

WARNING: Extensive blood talk, period talk, mild injury, mild gore, and generally just canon typical Remus shenanigans.

---

"Do you think that it's true?" Roman had asked him one day, "That writing is easy? That you could just sit at a typewriter and… And bleed?"

It had been dusk, and somehow, Roman had Imaginationed the setting sun to send it's final rays streaking across his room. From where Remus had been lying, splayed out on Roman's carpet like a human sacrifice waiting for a malevolent god, it looked sickeningly beautiful. The gold that bathed the room, the warmth and splendour, he thought it was just saccharinely horrid.

Roman turned his chair to face him. Remus turned his head. A heartbeat turned into two before he scoffed.

"Please," Remus idly picked his nose, rolling the products he found jammed up in his sniffer into a small hard ball and flicked it off to god knows where. He hoped it landed on Roman's pillow. "If writing were that easy, I'd twist my foot off and feed it to Virgil's tarantula,"

"It used to be,"

Remus sighed, swinging his legs up before he leapt onto his feet with a soft oof. Roman went back to his writing, ignoring the sound of Remus' spine popping when he straightened himself. The Duke sauntered to Roman's desk, looking over his shoulder to see…

Nothing.

Well, nothing substantial .

Bits of writing here, a doodle there, scratched out ideas at the corner, angry scribbles at another…Oof.

His twin must have noticed, because Roman’s tone was bitter.

“Not anymore,”

"Yeah well," Remus muttered, thinking of glittering yellow eyes filled with mischief and a sly smirk underneath a shadowy hood, "A lot of other things used to be easy too,"

"Well? What do you think?"

Riiiiight, typewriting and bleeding. Remus scoffed, "Well willya lookit that. You never asked me before, why start now?"

Roman groaned, "... Remus I’m serious here,"

"Hey! It's true," Remus swiped the paper and crumpled it into a ball. Without looking, he threw it over the shoulder. Roman scowled when he sees it bounce onto his bed, "What's up, Prince stink-a-lot? You ask me to come hang out. You didn't kick me out when I wiped boogers onto that skinned angora cat you call a carpet, and now you're asking me questions? What gives?"

"...it's just…"

God, it’s just this and it’s just that , Remus wanted to pull his hair out already. He wished Roman would just spit it out. Just vomit it out and get this over with. Really, getting his stupid twin to just spew whatever was rattling in that noggin if his was worse than pulling teeth out of a gator. And Remus would know, he tried it a lot over the years.

"I just wanted to be like you,"

And there it was, whatever thing that had been sitting in his twin’s gut like a 5 foot long tapeworm.

…

Like him.

Like Remus.

The Duke of Dastardly Deeds.

Mr. Dark and Disgusting himself.

Roman "Pretty Boy" Sanders wanted to be like him?

Remus leaned forward, far more amused than shocked.

"...You're fucking with me,"

"No, I am not," Roman was looking at him with those intense green eyes of his and woah… the guy really was serious, wasn't he?

Huh.

Curiosity reared it's head, familiar and cloying somewhere inside of Remus'  stomach. Then again, it could have been the extra potent shaving cream he had over his deodorant earlier today. Who fucking knows.

"Why?" He finally asked.

"Because… You've always made it look so… easy," Shaking hands ran through unruly curls, "It comes easier for you than it did for me. Always did. Just— How do you do it, Remus?"

The other twin considered it for a moment.

Had it really? Admittedly, Remus didn’t really notice it. He hummed. Sit on a typewriter and let yourself bleed , huh?

Well. He apparently had a crisis to handle.

Remus leaned against Roman's desk. Lightly, he ran rough, clumsy fingers on a splotch of dried ink absorbed into wood.

The tone that his Other Half (Don't make it weird Tumblr, he didn't mean that way. So put those pitchforks down and back away. Thanks.) had used while gesturing to the stack of papers and feather quills on his desk now morphed into disgust, "it feels like I just don't have any flowing in me anymore,"

"Well duh," long, dirty fingernails tapped against polished wood, "It's because bleeding isn't supposed to be easy, you doofus," He sighed, and Roman’s expression caused him to nearly want to groan and drape himself over the table. God, it was so fucking obvious that Roman really had no idea, did he? "You know, If you wanna go all gross metaphor with me, you gotta at least not half ass it,"

"Okay, but half ass it how? That how the saying goes,"

With all the tact and delicacy of a blunt axe, Roman’s words were cut off.

"Then it's a shit saying,"Before Roman could protest, "Look do you want me to help or not? Yeah? Then good. Just shut up for a sec and spill the juicy details," Pause, "Okay, what do you know about periods?"

Roman stiffened, obviously beginning to not like where the conversation was steered to. Because not even Jesus could take the wheel when Remus was behind it. However, Roman reluctantly let his shoulders relax when his twin brushed him off with an eye roll. Cautiously, because Remus still needs to be handled much like a skunk would.

"Remus— “

"Oh just relax. This is going somewhere. Trust me. And I won't do any shit I can't clean up. Just answer the question,"

Roman looked queasy, but swallowed heavily. He supposed he did ask, "I guess, just what Thomas learned in Sex Ed,"

Hm, he could work with that.

"So absolutely shit! Great! I just love the educational system in Florida. Wonderful. Wish the Nerdy Wolverine was here to tell you. But you only got me so it'll have to do— Should've prepared a whole musical number about it too—"

Remus held out his palms, and Roman sees the skin tighten. It strained and stretched before it ripped into a bloody gash.  Roman grimaced, the other unperturbed. In fact, he daresay Remus looked curious. Like he was mulling over what to say.

"Eh, Follow up— Have" Remus let the blood pool into his cupped hands. A tablespoonful turned into a cupful and soon it was overflowing. He tipped his hand so that the blood dribbled down. Drip drip drip, a small stream of blood hit the floor in splatters, "Have you seen it before? Period blood?"

"What?” Oh god, he feels like he could gag, “Gross—! No of course not,"

Remus rolled his eyes.

"Unfeminist much?" The dry tone was met with protest.

"I'm not!—" Roman spluttered, "I don't go around looking for what comes out of people's pants, Remus!"

"Yeah yeah, but did you know they're chunky though?"

"I— What the fuck Remus?"

"Just...humour me for a sec. So they're chunky," Remus sort of flicked his hand, sending smaller droplets flying. A particularly large droplet streaked across Roman’s floor, "Thick goopy, disgusting— Hey, think of that the next time you scoop out some Crofters eh?"

Well, there nearly goes Roman's lunch.

"Oh god.” He pushed down the tickle at the back of his throat, “Please don't— Just, get to the point,"

"Okay okay. Jeez. The point is," two scarred, calloused hands rubbed together, letting the blood smear, "Is that even blood flows differently,"

The hands raised up, tinged red and both of them marred with an angry, red, jagged tear.

"Look at this shit. See? Not everything that comes out is the same. Some places will drip. Others flow and some? They're chunky. That's just how it is. you can't expect chunky blood to flow as easily as fresh blood,"

Without letting Roman mull on the morbid metaphor, he ploughed on.

"Oh yeah— And blood coagulates. It dries up and turns to scab. It won't stay bleeding forever. It's not supposed to. And expecting it to is just stupid, so write that down with your fancy quill,"

Blinking, Roman's mind slowly caught up with him.

Flowing blood and drying and scabbing— He soon deflated.

Oh.

Oh…

He just watched wordlessly as Remus wiped his hand against the fabric of his outfit. Flakes of dried blood sprinkled down joining the droplets on the ground like some sort of morbid snow.

" And just in case you forget, because of course you do. Scabbing is good. Personal experience guaranteed. It heals things. Plus…" the hand with the cut waved again. Exaggeratedly, mockingly, and even Roman couldn't help but to crack a smile, "You gotta make a pretty deep cut if you wanna bleed a lot,"

Maybe Roman was imagining the softer tone that Remus had let bleed into his voice.

"And if you bleed a lot, you gotta let yourself scab,"

A long, slow exhale.

He had to let himself scab.

"And… You've kinda been bleeding a lot, didn’tcha?"

"I…" Roman swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, "...Yeah...I think so,"

"Been making some huge cut lately to get it flowing?…"

"...Mmmm…" Shaking breaths, fragile and soft. Okay… okay… "Remus?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you… do you think I can… I should—"

Should he stop?

"... Course you could, you stupid bleeding heart…" a hand found itself in Roman's hair, gently carding it. Really, almost petting it, "...But fuck Ro, if that isn't the thing we all love about you, you doof. Of course you can. And you should. In fact, I am telling you to,"

Hesitantly, a pair of arms circled themselves over Roman's shoulder, pulling him close.

Remus didn't mention it when he saw broad shoulders decorated in tassels begin to  shake. He didn't pay attention to the soft sobs that sent a Prince, unwavering and strong, shaking. He didn't care about the way Roman's face had crumpled.

"It's time to let it scab, Roman. And try not to pick at it too much,”

Outside, the figure that had been leaning against the door for the better part of the last 10 minutes smiled.

Heh… Credit where credit's due, he supposed.

He tilted his bowler hat forward and began walking down the hallway. No need to worry.

Who knew that the Duke had it in him.

[rainoverthemountains]

Siren Cash Story

Here’s a chapter of that Atypical siren Cash story (universe and characters belong to @itsladykit ) I was talking about earlier. I still can’t decide how I feel about it, or how anyone else will feel about it, but here it is. I’m posting it directly to tumblr because I have even less idea what to say about it on Ao3 than I usually do with new stories. Reader response will have a very strong influence on whether this one goes anywhere, because I like it, but I’m not entirely sure about sharing it with other people.

Summary-ish thing: Sex happens, problems happen, three supernatural beings are confused by each other’s views of babies, and Pup worries.

Smiling, Pup snuggles up against Cash. The siren has been unusually clingy tonight, going so far as to drag Pup off with him to Pup’s bed instead of returning to his pool or staying with the others, much to Rus’s consternation. Edge and Twist must have successfully distracted Rus, because Pup has now spent hours happily wrapped in the embrace of a very affectionate siren without any suspicious sex demons breaking in to separate them.

Cash’s bones line up so nicely with Pup’s, as does the powerful tail wrapped around them both. At Cash’s insistence, Pup’s clothes and Cash’s wrap are both long since discarded in a pile on the floor. They haven’t done anything except snuggle, but it’s been some very insistent snuggling, with Cash pulling Pup over to lay mostly on top of him quite a while ago and not moving since then. As nice as the snuggling is, Pup wouldn’t mind taking things a little further – and judging by whatever just popped into existence between Cash’s legs, he wouldn’t mind, either.

“wanna do something with that?” Pup teases, brushing his leg against it. Cash gasps, pushing hard into the pressure – with something that doesn’t feel much like one of the usual two options. Pup smiles. It’s not often Cash wants to play like that.

“what have you got down there?” The siren grabs his hand and pulls it down for a personal inspection of what’s clearly his rarely-seen cloaca. Pup laughs. “okay, okay, i get it, enough talking. i take it you’ve got some better ideas?”

Cash does have some better ideas, and so does Pup. A tentative brush of a finger against the opening has Cash gasping. A finger inside earns Pup a voiceless screech. “is this okay?” Cash has never reacted quite like this before, especially not to using his cloaca. He and Twist both say they’re just not usually that sensitive, which is why they never use them. But Cash is going insane, pressing Pup’s finger in as far as it will go. “cash?”

‘more,’ Cash manages to sign, before crushing Pup against his ribcage.

“more?” Pup asks, wanting to be sure he’s picking up on the right cues. On the one hand, it seems pretty obvious, but this is all moving really fast, and getting Cash this worked up usually takes more effort – and why the sudden desire to use his cloaca? Since learning how cocks work, Cash has gotten quite fond of using his own.

Cash grabbing Pup’s pubic symphysis provides some pretty clear clarification. Well, no need to ask Pup twice. Getting hard takes no time at all with Cash writhing against him, and if he had any more doubts about where this is going, Cash wipes them out pretty quickly by grabbing Pup’s cock and shoving it inside him.

That one takes a minute to get over. Cash is still silently keening when Pup comes back around from suddenly having his cock shoved inside a tight, warm opening. Thinking Cash might need a minute to get control of himself, Pup freezes, but Cash has other plans. The feeling of his pelvis being lifted up a few inches and dropped back down into Cash’s opening is more than a little stunning, but it gets the message across, so Pup starts to move. He probably should spare a few thoughts for what in the world is going on with Cash, but, well… their current activities are a little bit distracting.

They keep going for quite a while. Pup comes easily the first time, and a few times after that – Cash in this state is possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen, so it isn’t exactly a challenge – but eventually he gets tired. Stopping is starting to sound really good right about now, but Cash still hasn’t finished. “cash?” But Cash just wraps his arms tighter around Pup’s back, thrusting as much as he can from below.

Pup keeps it up for one more round, but then he’s done. He’s really done. “cash? i’ve gotta take a break.” Cash just grinds against him, not even acknowledging that he’s heard him.

“cash. hey, cash! listen. i want to stop now.” But Cash just clings tighter, resuming the thrusting motion between them. What the hell? Cash wouldn’t keep trying to fuck after Pup wanted to stop. That’s not something he’d do. “cash!” Pup snaps, trying to wiggle away from the arms surrounding him. “i’m done. let go.” Cash just clings tighter. “let me go! this doesn’t feel good anymore. i’m done!” Cash hisses when Pup tries to get away from him. What the fuck is happening?

“There a problem in here?” Twist’s very welcome voice comes from the door. Cash turns and hisses at him, too, but that just earns a growl from Twist. “Nuh uh. None’a that, sweetheart. I c’n see yer in heat an’ stoppin’ feels awful, but ya can’t be actin’ like that. Lookit Pup. Yer scarin’ him.”

Cash does look at Pup, frowning in confusion… then his socket widens in horror and he scrambles out from under him, nearly sending Pup off the side of the bed. Too surprised to catch himself, Pup almost hits the floor, but fortunately Twist is close enough to save him from a very undignified landing. More undignified that he already is, that is. Nothing like being thrown off one of your boyfriends in the middle of sex and then caught by another one to really make a guy feel like he’s got his life together.

“thanks.”

Twist scoops Pup up and sits them both on the bed. “No problem, sweetheart. You doin’ alright?”

Talking doesn’t want to work too well yet, so Pup switches to sign. ‘yeah, i’m okay. we were having fun; he just wouldn’t stop. what’s going on?’

They both look at Cash, who has curled himself up into the tiniest possible ball in the farthest corner of the room. Twist’s stern look melts into one of sympathy. “Heat – or I’m pretty sure that’s what it is. Smells diff’rent in diff’rent species, but it sure smells like somethin’ in here, and he’s actin’ like he’s in heat. Ain’tcha, sweetheart?”

Cash whimpers, not much more than a tight rush of air from him, but they both know how to recognize his voiceless sounds by now. His cloaca is still manifested, the glow faintly visible through the tangle of bones and protective tail. He looks utterly miserable.

“cash?” Pup asks, finding his voice working better than a minute ago, which is good, because it’s hard to sign to someone with their face buried in their knees.

Cash just signs, “sorry” and curls into a tighter ball.

“it’s okay,” Pup tries, not really sure what to do, “i don’t think you meant to do it, and i’m not hurt. is twist right? are you in heat?”

Cash nods, not saying anything else. Twist doesn’t ask anything else, either, like they both think that’s that, but Pup thinks he’s entitled to a little more information after what just happened. “i really don’t know anything about heat. can you tell me about it?”

Cash raises his hands as if to sign, looks at them, then lowers them again, shrugging, which probably means he doesn’t know the words, or maybe that he can’t think well enough to put them together right now. Pup understands; he’s not terribly inclined to keep putting words together, either, and he’s not restricted to a language that he’s still trying to learn.

Possibly realizing that he hasn’t been terribly informative, Twist tries to fill in what he can. “Dunno much about sirens, but if they’re anything like dragons, he really needs ta get off right now.”

Pup arches a browbone. “tried that.”

Twist snorts. “Yeah, guess ya did. Problem is, I’m not sure he can with you.”

Pup’s browbone arches higher. “always could before.”

Twist waves off his skepticism. “Yeah, but heat’s different – at least if sirens ‘re like dragons. Hey, Cash, are sirens like dragons?”

‘give or take some brains and too big wings,’ Cash manages to sign, because of course he remembers how to insult Twist when he can’t think of the words for anything else.

“Yep, ‘cause yer skull’s just full a those,” Twist chuckles. “But what I mean is, are our heats the same? Do ya need another siren fer yours?”

Cash nods.

“Is that like need need, or does it just make it go better?” ‘need,’ Cash signs. ‘eggs.’ He waves at his lower abdomen.

Pup gasps. “eggs? as in, you could get pregnant?”

Cash shrugs.

Woah. That’s as good as a yes. Not that monsters of either gender doing that is unheard of, but Cash? He doesn’t seem like the parenting type. He’s also not acting like this is anything new. “have you had… eggs? before?”

Cash nods, looking surprisingly uninvested in that answer, considering what it is.

“wait, does that mean you have kids out there somewhere?”

Cash shrugs. He doesn’t know if he has kids?

“how do you not know?” Pup asks. Maybe that’s not the most sensitive way to ask it, but Cash has kids? And Cash doesn’t know if he has kids? What? ‘why would i?’ Cash signs.

“because… don’t people usually know that? i mean, i guess not everyone, but i’d think the person who… laid the eggs? would usually know.” Maybe Pup should shut up now. For all he knows, he’s walking right into a very sensitive topic, but Cash sure isn’t acting like he is. Pup might as well be asking how Rus ties his shoelaces, for all Cash seems to care.

“Pretty sure sirens ‘re more like fish than humans, far as havin’ kids goes,” Twist explains, patting the bed to try to invite Cash to come join them. Cash doesn’t budge, so Twist shrugs. “Just lay their eggs somewhere an’ leave ‘em. That right, Cash?”

Cash nods. ‘humans… keep them?” He only looks halfway sure of that.

“Yep, all the way till they’re grown, usually. Dragons, too, fer a while.” Twist’s face darkens for a moment, but he shakes it off. “Anyway, are ya sayin’ ya gotta get someone ta fertalize yer eggs ta get outta heat?”

‘don’t dragons?’ Cash asks, perplexed.

Twist shrugs. “Eh, kinda. Might hafta do it with another dragon, but I never tried with nobody else, neither, an’ I ain’t gonna start now. But nah, don’t gotta let any eggs catch unless I want to.”

Cash frowns, looking very confused – possibly for different reasons than Pup, who is also very confused. ‘why would you want to?’

“Some people just do. Lotsa reasons, I guess, but it’s never seemed like a good idea fer me, so I don’t.”

“wait,” Pup asks in dawning horror, “are you saying that you have to… lay eggs? get pregnant? something like that? when you go into heat, even though you don’t want to?”

Cash nods, not looking any more upset than he has since accepting that he didn’t hurt Pup. Pup, though, is devastated. “but that’s awful!”

Cash frowns in continuing confusion. ‘why?’ he signs.

“because…” the words close off in Pup’s throat. He looks to Twist, hoping the dragon will understand.

“I think Puppy’s upset ‘cause fer humans, bein’ pregnant when ya don’ wanna’s a big deal. ‘s a bad thing. Right, Puppy?”

Pup nods.

Cash still doesn’t look any less confused, though. ‘why?’

“Because… I dunno. Just is?” Which is about what Pup should expect, really, relying on a dragon to explain human problems to a siren. Does Twist even understand the problem, himself, or does he just understand that Pup’s worried? If neither of them see a reason to be upset, should Pup be, either? But neither of them want kids, and Twist can avoid it but Cash can’t, so how can they not see that as a problem?

“do you… not care if you have kids?” Pup tries.

Cash shakes his skull, looking relieved to finally be understood.

“you really don’t care? not as in, you’ll put up with it because you can’t do anything about it, but as in you really don’t care at all?”

Cash shrugs. ‘just happens. doesn’t matter.’

“okay.” What else can Pup say? It seems inconceivable that having kids could just be such a non-event in someone’s life that they just don’t care – but then, they said it was like with fish. Do fish care about laying eggs? Probably not much. But Cash isn’t a fish! But he said he doesn’t care, and it’s not like Pup knows what Cash thinks better than Cash does, so… grrr. Sometimes figuring these guys out is a lost cause. “so what do we need to do now?”

Cash huffs in annoyance, signs sharp. ‘i find a siren. get fucked. come home.’ He shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah, an’ from what I walked in on, I’d you’d better find one pretty soon.” Twist scowls. “Shit, sweetheart, what’d you think you were doin’, gettin’ Pup ta fuck ya while yer in heat? You got any idea all the ways that coulda gone wrong?”

Cash looks away in shame, curling back up into the defensive ball that he’d just started to come out of.

“hey, no, it’s okay, nothing happened! i’m fine!” Pup rushes to reassure him, giving Twist a sideways glare that the dragon ignores. Way to go, Twist, going all overprotective dragon when Cash already feels like shit.

“Sure, darlin’, and I’m glad, but ya might not ‘a been. There’s a reason ya don’ ever see me around here when I’m in heat. It fucks with yer mind, and with a whole lotta insticts taking over, too, so ya can’t really count on remembrin’ who yer with or what ya can and can’t do with ‘em. Now, maybe sirens don’ get as rough when they fuck as dragons do, but I doubt it, and he still wasn’t lettin’ ya go, even if he didn’t mean no harm.”

“that’s not his fault,” Pup insists. “you just said heat fucks with your mind.”

“Yeah, which is why ya don’ let yerself end up in that position in the first place. How the hell’d that even happen?” Twist asks them both.

‘i-’ Cash starts, fumbling for the signs, before curling up with a whimper. ‘sorry’, he signs again, not even looking at Pup.

“hey.” Pup climbs off of Twist’s lap, ignoring Twist’s protests as he makes his way across the room to crouch down in front of Cash. “it’s okay.”

Cash shakes his skull.

“it is. look, i knew you weren’t acting right. i could have stopped us, too, but i didn’t, because…” Pup blushes, but makes himself keep going. Cash doesn’t need to carry around this much guilt. “because you were really, really hot like that.”

Twist snorts, crouching down beside them. “Bet he was. Wouldn’t mind seein’ it myself, but Cash, we really gotta getcha to the ocean. You ‘n Pup wanna try somethin’ some other time when yer in heat, we c’n probly work that out – I’d feel a whole lot better about if ya did it together with someone who’d have a easier time stoppin’ ya if ya got carried away. But Pup looks pretty worn out, an’ I c’n see yer havin’ ta work pretty hard ta hold yerself t’gether, so how ‘bout fer now I jus’ give you a ride ta the ocean?.”

Cash sighs. At least he doesn’t look quite so freaked out anymore. ‘let’s get it over with.’

“Great! Let’s head out. Know when you’ll wanna be picked back up?”

Cash shrugs. ‘a few days.’

“I’ll just fly over the place I leave ya a few times a day, then. Wouldn’t wanna miss ya. How ‘bout that rock we used ta like?”

Cash shrugs again, a faint shiver starting with the movement. Heat related? No one seems concerned, so probably. He doesn’t look entirely with it, either. Pup sure doesn’t want to send him out into the open ocean like that, but what’s he going to do, go find Cash another siren and bring him here?

“Hey, yer voice won’ be a problem, will it?” Twist asks.

Cash shakes his skull.

“i guess i’ll see you in a few days, then” Pup says, trying to stay upbeat. Cash leans over and taps him with a surprisingly sweet kiss, then climbs to his feet and walks out of the room.

Twist rises to follow Cash. “Forgot his wrap, but I guess he won’t need it fer too long, anyway.”

“will you look out for him?” Pup asks. The whole thing still seems really wrong to him, but it’s not like he worries when Twist goes into heat. Of course, Twist has his dragon friend, and the only way there would be any eggs involved is if Twist wanted there to be, and Pup knows perfectly well that there are things in the ocean that can hurt Cash, especially when he’s not at his best… so he worries.

Twist, though, just smiles reassuringly. “Course, darlin’, but he won’t need much lookin’ after. Heat ain’t a bad thing, ya just gotta know what yer doin’ with it. I’ll have our grumpy siren back home in no time, good as new.”

[alwaysspeakshermind]

Varchie Appreciation Week~Day 1: Favorite Quote/Scene

I’m late on this because I just saw the post for Varchie appreciation week, but I love this ship and have been saying for about two years now that I’m going to write all the Tumblr essays on why I love them and I’ve yet to put my money where my mouth is, so, here goes. 

(Note: I don’t want to swear this is my favorite Varchie scene of all time, because there’s just so darn many scenes I love, but the quote is definitely one of my favorites, so I’m going with it.)

**Warning: rambling post ahead**

“I’m messed up, Veronica.”

“We all are, Archie. And honestly? You less than most.”

Veronica says a lot of stuff to Archie in S1 that I absolutely love, but this particular exchange in 1x10 really stands out to me because it sort of encapsulates both their individual outlooks and why they work so well together. Archie, by his own admission, is (duh!) messed up. He tries and fails. He bungles simple things. He makes stupid decisions, frequently in public. His mistakes weigh on him.

But when he brings it up to Veronica, she doesn’t respond the way most of the other people around him do. She doesn’t laugh, leave, ignore him, change the subject, or offer comfort by contradicting him with an optimistic, feel-good lie. She just smiles, tells him the truth as she sees it, and makes it clear that she doesn’t view him as a terrible person, even if he does. To her, mistakes are a part of life and should be taken in stride; Archie laying everything out in front of her doesn’t put her off or change her opinion of him, because her opinion of him isn’t based on the Good Guy reputation he has in Riverdale. She sees through his clean-cut, cardigan-wearing, All-American-Boy-Next-Door persona from the moment in the Blossom’s coat-closet on, and the many, many flaws he’s been revealing over the course of their acquaintance don’t make her like him any less—if anything, they make her like him more, probably because she can relate.

And that’s a small but important detail, because Archie is a character who struggles a lot with guilt and insecurity, and he doesn’t have very many people in his life who are patient enough to bear with his mistakes and accept that he sometimes does extremely dumb things because he always has the best intentions in the world. Veronica, as a person who makes plenty of mistakes herself and has learned to own, apologize, and then set about making amends for them, exerts a much-needed calming influence on him because the support she offers is steady and realistic. She doesn’t scold or ridicule him for his bad decisions, or start dropping advice on what she thinks he ought to do. She just stays with him when he’s feeling low, listens to his concerns the way he listened to hers in the kitchen, gives him some misery-loves-company commiseration, and cheers him up by making jokes and encouraging him to look on the bright side of things.

So, yeah. 

Anyway.

It’s a scene that’s sweet, poignant, and jaded in a way that simultaneously feels old and young, hopeful and cynical. 

Also…after this quote, they stare at each other for way too long and then Archie kisses Veronica, and Veronica’s in shock for like 2.5 secs and Archie gets this “!!!!!!! but is she gonna kiss me back or nah? oh no what have I done” look, and then Veronica kisses him back and smiles while she does it, and it’s super cute, and it gives me little butterflies, and I love it, and I really ought to stop talking about it but I can’t, because LOOKIT. The gif is terrible, but LOOKIT. 

Every time I watch this scene I end up re-watching it like ten times because there’s just something so darn special about it, and whatever it is, I can’t get enough. The quote, the kiss, the music...it’s just so b e a u t i f u l.

[dragondroid]

Writing!

I'm writing a story about a team of modern operatives sent into the Feywild. It's been loosely inspired by SCP, hard science fiction, changelings, and the fey stories I've read around Tumblr. This is what I've got so far, let me know what you think- I'm always open for constructive criticism! So, without further ado...

“Sir, your son is stable. We’re still waiting for the test results back, but-”

“It’s not my son.”

The doctor fidgeted with her name badge as she sighed. “Professor Mann, I know it’s hard to accept that your child has a cognitive dysfunction, but this hospital has several qualified professionals who-”

“I know all about ‘cognitive dysfunction,’ you bitch. That thing is not my son. My son could feel. Could love. Could-” The man in the sweater choked slightly as he held up a hand, tears in his eyes. “Excuse me… I just…”

The one in the white coat looked down before looking at the one in the sweater. “You haven’t lost him, Professor. He’s still your son, he’ll just be… Different in how he communicates.”

The one in the sweater sighed as he put on his coat. “For the last time. It’s not my son.”

The one in the white coat raised her hand as Mann stormed out of the waiting room, before lowering it with a defeated sigh.

As Dr. Mann got into his car, he simply sat in front of the steering wheel, tears in his eyes as he looked ahead. Looked at the forest where that cursed creature came from. in the rearview mirror to the backseat where his son sat on the way to school. To the passenger-side seat, on which was lying a simple manilla folder with a sheaf of papers sticking out. He slowly looked out to the dark, strange woods surrounding this town before he started his car.

He was going to get his son back.

***

Jonathan Parker sat in the back of a nondescript white van, looking warily at the man across from him. Jonathan was wearing simple attire for this kind of mission- a simple shirt and jeans, on top of which was a tactical vest, containing magazines of rifle ammunition chambered for the ACR that hung from a sling around his shoulder. On his head was a simple combat helmet, a pair of night-vision goggles strapped to it along with a simple headset. On his arms and thighs were thick composite armor, strapped tight to his limbs with Kevlar and Velcro, and on his shoulders were two patches- one distinctive of the American Marines, and the other showing exemplary service in wartime.

The man across from him, on the other hand, was dressed in a black suit, with a red tie hanging in front of his black undershirt and Kevlar vest, which carried only a few magazines for the pistol that was no doubt holstered just under his jacket. His body was deathly thin, and his face deathly pale. What cemented Jon’s distrust, though, was the silver barcode running across the right side of the man’s forehead, accompanied by silver, mechanical eyes and two gloved hands that moved a bit too precisely to be human as the man looked Jon up and down.

“You got a problem?”

Jon was taken aback by the statement, before he spoke in an even, metered voice, choosing his words carefully. “What’s with the barcode?”

“What,” the man barked back in a thick Cockney accent, “you got some kinda issue with Amalgams?”

“No,” he lied, “I just know where they come from.”

“Oooooh, lookit big Mister Pureblood over here, thinkin’ he can judge anyone he frickin’ wants. Yeah, I grew up in the Lowers, so what? Ya think you know everyone’s story just ‘cuz they got augs? Ya don’t even know my name.”

“Fine… What is your name, anyway?”

“Steele Armstrong. Forensic Anthropologist for the FB-goddamn-I. Not all of us are loony cultists, ya prick.”

Jon nodded as he eyed the cyborg. “Steele… Virtue names, right?”

“Yeah. Virtue names. Wanna see why they named me that, ya bigoted arsewipe?”

“He has a point,” chirped a female, static-laced voice next to Jon. “Racism doesn’t tend to be the best first impression.”

Jon turned to look at the slim, catlike robotic frame sitting next to him on the van’s floor, looking rather like a dog as she sat. Her “face” was a small, simple screen, showing lines of diagnostic data as a camera mounted on top of the “head” stared at him, unblinking. An arm sat on her back, folded, but clearly ready for use if needed. Jon, nonetheless, spoke.

"You haven't seen what I've seen."

"If you're referring to your combat record, I’ve seen plenty of footage in your file. Including the seven Geneva violations committed during the Human-Amalgam war and the fifteen committed during your employment with Artemis, Inc."

Steele laughed as laid back in his seat. “Good girl.”

The robot simply looked at Steele in a way that almost conveyed a glare. “I appreciate the solidarity, but my designation is LY0726-B, or ‘Ellie’ if you are feeling cordial. Or 'sir,' if you wish to address me in your proper place," she chirped in an eternally cheerful tone.

“Oooooh,” Steele said as he chuckled some more, “I like this one.”

“If you wish, as your handler for this mission, I could always suspend your participation from this contract. That would, of course, nullify any payment you may have negotiated.”

That, for whatever reason, seemed to immediately shut Steele up. Now it was Jon’s turn to give a brief chuckle before clearing his throat.

“How far out are we?”

“Seven klicks,” said the van’s driver in a voice that exuded boredom.

“You know, I always wanted to see Ireland.”

Ellie turned her head to Jon. “Forgive me for stationing you in a place that values mission-relevance to tourist attractions.”

The two sat, the van filled with nothing but silent, constricting tension, Ellie looking between the two, as if sizing them up, evaluating whether they were really the type who could complete this mission.

“So,” Steele ventured, breaking the silence, “What do you make of the intel?”

Ellie tilted her head to the side. “I do not understand what you mean.”

Jon shrugged. “I’m with the bot. Doesn’t really seem to be anything to make of it. This Mann guy worked a blacksite, his kid went nuts, he blamed it on the stuff he worked with. Open-and-shut case of a pissed employee.”

Steele looked at Ellie, waving dismissively at Jon. “You gotta learn to question things, meatsack. The file said they just found some weird plant growth and a few undocumented species. Why the hell would they lock that down?”

Ellie simply turned her head and stood up. “We do not have sufficient information, and you do not have sufficient clearance, Mr. Armstrong.”

The van suddenly came to a halt, signaling the two to get up as Ellie’s arm pushed the van doors open, the bright light of the outside grating on Jon’s eyes as he climbed out of the van and shut the door behind him, signalling the driver to simply speed off down the road.

Immediately, Jon was on alert. The woods made him uncomfortable as his instincts from his Marine days kicked in. At any point, from any number of angles, a hostile could be watching. Waiting. Taking aim. It certainly didn’t help that, for some reason, in these woods more than any other, he felt as if there were hundreds of eyes staring at him, taking stock of his every move. As his ears strained for the sounds of crunching leaves or breaking twigs, Ellie’s voice cut through the still forest.

“Satellite footage indicates that Dr. Mann entered the forest on an unmarked path near this location. Mr. Parker, seeing as you are the most protected of us, I recommend you lead the way.”

Jon nodded as he shouldered his rifle and the three made their way forwards, slowly disappearing into the dark, warm forest.

[renardtrickster]

I’m pretending @space-coyote-judal tagged me in this and doing one of those dashboard games.

Nicknames: kitsuneTrickster, Kitsune, kT, Trickster, Renardie

Zodiac Sign: The Terezi one.

Height: 5′10″ and casting a shadow over my smaller mutuals. Though I wish I was a foot shorter sometimes.

Hogwarts House: It’s 11 at night and I don’t have time to do one of those quizzes so I’m gonna say Ravenclaw because I’m a genius.

Last Thing I Googled: star fox miyu

Favourite Musicians: Christopher Larkin, Jake Kaufman, Shoji Meguro, Toby Fox (and anyone who contributed to the Homestuck OST), Widdly 2 Diddly (Taitoki & J-Dubbs are good at remixing his songs)

Song Stuck In My Head: Power Fantasy from the Cherubim album. Plz listen to this song.

Following: 513 and several of them are inactive or pornbots please help me.

Followers: 456 and I’m not even counting my seemingly infinite amount of online girlfriends who want my credit card info.

Do You Get Asks: Only on one of my sideblogs and all of those are requests for stuff I’m not very interested in I’m ding

JUDAL YOU FIEND YOU FORGOT THE 11TH SLOT

Lucky Number: Don’t have one but I like to imagine it’s 12.

What Are You Wearing: T-Shirt, socks, undergarments, and for once in a blue moon, shorts (my pajama pants were dirty :[). Also glasses.

Dream Job: Writer, Artist, Game Designer.

Dream Trip: Either Colorado (I wanna move there), Japan, or Bulgaria.

Instruments: Keyboard. I also tried to learn the French Horn but the teacher didn’t do shit and I wasted money and an entire year of middle school fuck the French Horn

Languages: English. I also tried to learn French but my second teacher didn’t do shit and I wasted an entire year of High School fuck the French

Favourite Songs: Climax Reasoning, I’ll Face Myself -Battle-, Power Fantasy, Truth Beauty & Hatred

Random Fact: Apparently the reason people have foot fetishes is because the part of your brain that handles feet is right next to the one that handles genitals and it gets confused I hate feet I made my email address when I was 13-14 and I fucking hate it and every day Google doesn’t let you change it is another day it sucks. That was my first tumblr URL and once I realized it sucked (almost immediately) I chose an objectively cooler one and haven’t looked back since.

Aesthetics: I don’t know what an aesthetic is but I can guess. Danganronpa, Gravity Rush, Hollow Knight & other things that have cute styles in a grim environment, computers @ night, foxes, and tricksters. Also capes.

People you lookit this post pretend I tagged you.

[donnysartblog]

Whelp, forgive the phone shots because my printer is still boxed up but I did it. I could not resist the pull of @vivziepop and her edgy demon children who I have all adopted and are precious to me wether I like it or not lookit this fluffy boy and his many arms I love him

Naturally, I had to give it a shot doodling a demon type so have Mac! Mac is a wild ass and also a donkey demon who died in the 80s but his fashion sense didn’t. Okay it did but sometimes his tiny roommate from the 2010s dresses him and it’s a drastic improvement. He’s also easily smitten with anything fluffy and…had a face at some point that was melted off after he shot the wrong denizen of Hell in the tush with buckshot. He smokes a lot of pot and tends to be rather mellow all things considered, but I still wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

Bonus doodles of Dusty because once I drew his hair I couldn’t stop I mean lookit his floofy little chest seriously I love him this horrible trash boy has so much of my love he is a precious garbage bean

All and all, I am so stoked for this show haha.

NOTE: Literally had to reupload this whole thing because Tumblr changed it to a text post and made it impossible to see the images full size. Can Yahoo please learn to be competent for five fucking minutes please? I’m sorry, this is just ridiculous at this point.