#wednesday is so much better

[eidolons-stuff]

*Wednesday swiftly turns back to Ajax*

Wednesday: "I was unconscious in the forest trying to see how I can help Enid control when she wolfs out so she doesn't hurt herself"

Ajax: *stunned*

Wednesday: "What have you done?"

*Thing & Enid eavesdropping from outside the infirmary*

Enid: "Oh my god. Did you know this?"

Thing: *signs* "Shhh, I can't hear the drama"

[evgar]

guess who's back in her wenclair era

[mangozic]

michael shelley I would die for you

[vinelark]

i'm being haunted by nightwing bruce

join me in my protective circle where we imagine a better world in which, given the event that someone has to temporarily take over for nightwing, it’s obviously tim drake in the suit.

beyond the fact that he has the skillset and a closer physique and that he’s not, to my knowledge, even up to anything right now, it would be so narratively satisfying! he was dick’s protégé! he’s currently trying to figure out his own identity and has always been both striving to be dick and also lurking in dick’s shadow! how would dick feel seeing tim put on another one of his suits and face down even more of his enemies! it would be such a good dynamic and heal so many wounds (including, on a meta level, offering the tiniest bit of redemption for dc doing ric grayson instead of putting tim in the suit the last time).

🕯️ 🕯️ 🕯️

[sysig]

Wuh oh (Patreon)

Bonus:

The novel experience of being crushed by a giant rock, a visual metaphor

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

I honestly think 90% of the storyline issues in Sonic Forces could have been fixed if they'd made Tails the player character.

[season-77]

When we post for Half-Naked Wednesday, we instinctively think of the upper half, but let’s not forget there’s a lower half too—the one so often overlooked, forgotten, and neglected by all of us (yes, Tumblr community, I’m looking at you).

So today, here’s a post that’s meant to make up, if only slightly, for years of neglect.

Presenting a tribute to (as the owner himself once called them in an interview) the "pig trotters."

And to wrap things up, here’s this work of art...

[ferretrade]

like if they want to break up David and Tommy, fine whatever (I mean I don't AGREE but that's different) but the problem is in the last tommy appearance he THOUGHT DAVID WAS DEAD STILL and was MOURNING HIM. what totally bizarre whiplash to pick up NYX #1 and David's living with (?) a new guy with nothing in between

[remusjohnslupin]

"Outcasts, freaks, monsters, fill in your favorite marginalized group here."

[quietwingsinthesky]

was writing this down for an ask but realized i was quickly getting off topic for that ask lmao. let’s talk about Dean’s handprint, the wild misinterpretations of it, and how those have affected how people read Anna covering it during her sex scene with Dean.

We have to establish the obvious first: the number one way the handprint is misinterpreted is to establish a romantic connection between Dean and Castiel from their very first meeting. Because of how popular the ship is, we’re now left with the unfortunate aftermath of people knowing the ship first and the show second, and therefore being more inclined to interpret the show through the lens of the ship. Needless to say, while looking at season 4 through that lens for hints of destiel is fun, it doesn’t lead to a thematically cohesive reading. The handprint is the best way we can demonstrate this. If we take the handprint to indicate that Castiel has been romantically interested in Dean since minute one, or even that he sees Dean as a person rather than an instrument of Heaven’s will at first (put a pin in that), then the rest of his character arc for the season is incoherent and meaningless. To assert that this is what the handprint is about takes the conclusion Castiel needs the entirety of season 4 to reach and transplants it onto him at the very beginning in order to make it easier to find evidence for the ship.

There’s a lot of media out there where interpreting it through the lens of a ship, even one unintended by the author, can enhance the original text. (Lest we all forget our Winter Soldier roots.) Supernatural does not have that relationship to interpreting it to be about destiel. A season 4 where the handprint means Castiel is in love with Dean is a weaker story and does a huge disservice to Castiel’s actual character arc.

So, now that we’ve established what the handprint isn’t, can we talk about what it is? Yes. It’s pretty simple, actually.

Think of it this way: To Heaven, Dean is livestock, and the handprint is the brand telling everyone (but especially Dean) what ranch he belongs to.

Let’s start with the obvious: it isn’t a metaphorical brand at all. It’s literal. It’s burned into his skin permanently (or at least, when the makeup department wants to put it there.) I’d argue that from the nature of it being notable as the only scar Dean has from being raised from Hell and later showing up during his sex scene with Anna that even if we don’t see the handprint, we’re meant to interpret it as continuing to be there for… well. The rest of his life, most likely. And that’s horrifying. The handprint is telling us two things when it shows up: one, letting us know that Dean’s resurrection was intentional and through a manner we as the audience don’t have the information to guess at yet. Anyone who watched the show airing, or watches it now without knowing about angels would have assumed demonic deal intervention as being the cause of Dean’s new lease on life, and this. handily. discards that theory. But secondly, it tells us that this resurrection was violating. All resurrections on Supernatural are.

We assume from Castiel’s line, you know the one, we all know the one, Mr. Gripped-You-Tight, that he’s the one who put it there. However, to then make a further leap that it was Castiel’s personal decision to do so is, I think, a misunderstanding of his role. Take that pin out now. Dean is not a person to Castiel at this point. They’re not friends. Dean is a tool for Heaven to use, a tool that should be honored and grateful to be picked up at all. Make no mistake: Castiel branded him for Heaven, not for himself. Castiel’s a ranchhand. They aren’t in the business of letting the cows run free if they look a little sad to be slaughtered later.

Castiel needs to start here for his arc to be as impactful as it is. He can’t begin rebellious. He has to learn how to doubt. He has to develop a personal friendship with Dean that threatens his allegiance to Heaven. He has to see Anna having chosen to fall rather than obey Heaven and to be betrayed by Uriel being so desperate that he’s turned to killing their brothers and sisters trying to find a way out from under Heaven’s control.

There’s another line I think gets misinterpreted a lot in this initial meeting. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” On its face, easy bait for someone looking for shipping fodder, but that misses the actual point of the line. It’s a powerplay. We don’t learn until later why Dean wouldn’t think he deserves to be saved (aside from his general Winchester levels of self-esteem, but knowing that trait about him actually serves as a pretty good red herring to mask real reason Dean is thinking about himself as irredeemable now until the reveal. It’s not that Dean had a low opinion about himself in general, but that he tortured people in Hell and can never forgive himself for that.) , but Castiel does know. All of Heaven knows what Dean’s sin in Hell was. Without saying it, Castiel can remind Dean of it here. This line isn’t about Dean being so inherently good that Castiel had to rescue him. It’s about making sure Dean knows that the only way he can be ‘redeemed’ is through obedience to the heavenly powers who own his ass now. This is how he deserves to be saved. Because God commanded it. Because they have work for him.

And if he doesn’t bow? Then, as Castiel puts it in the very next episode, “I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” This threat hanging over Dean’s head won’t go away for the rest of the season, not from Heaven. The only shift is that Castiel’s continued doubt and disobedience levels the playing field between them. They’ll both be punished, rather than Castiel taking on the role of disciplinarian. (It’s a really clever way of dealing with that power gap between them, actually. There’s always a bigger fish.)

The handprint and Castiel’s early conversations with Dean serve as a reminder of the precarious position he’s in. We shouldn’t take him ‘being saved’ at face value, no more than we should take Heaven being good just because they’re the angels in this equation as a given. Dean hasn’t been saved. He’s being used, just as much (if not arguably more) than Ruby is using Sam. (Because at least Ruby truly believes this is for Sam’s benefit, in the end.) And the worst part is how aware of it Dean is. How could he not be? His entire stint in Hell is defined by how Alistair used him. He’s just been handed off to a different owner, one that will still happily push him into the thing they ‘saved’ him from the minute it proves useful. Dean needing to torture Alistair reminds us just how little his circumstances have actually changed. He’s not allowed to say no to this.

So. The handprint is Heaven’s mark of ownership. It’s Dean’s status as their tool, their victim, burned into his flesh and inescapable. What does it mean when Anna places her hand over it?

I’ll lay my cards on the table. I’ve been thinking about this for so long because the aforementioned tendency to assume that the handprint is evidence for destiel means that the scene between Anna & Dean also gets lumped into being interpreted as more evidence for destiel. For over a decade, I have endured people joking about Anna being jealous of Cas for getting to leave a mark on their boytoy. And that’s one of the nicer things the Supernatural fandom will say about a woman who they perceive as a threat to their ship.

So, not to be rude or anything, but fuck Castiel. This ain’t about him.

This scene—It’s a lovely scene, a fantastic continuation of Dean and Anna’s previous conversation into the language of a sex scene—is about two people who have both been used and threatened by Heaven connecting over that shared trauma. Before, Anna gives space for Dean to open up about Hell, but he can’t, not yet, and though she knows what he’s gone through, she hasn’t been there herself. But when it comes to what Heaven has made of them, she does understand. It’s an incredibly vulnerable moment.

You make the handprint about Dean and Cas, and you erase what that scene is about entirely: the way Heaven’s abuse has tangled itself deep into Dean and Anna’s lives, into their bodies, and how they can resist it, if only for a few moments together.

The handprint was never about Castiel at all. It was about Heaven and its dehumanization of Dean.

[inklessletter]

I did this once

And also this

And also this

And also this

And also this

And also this

And also this

And also this

And also this

... And I'm honestly kind of sick of pretending that I didn't.

[gardenoblues]

ok these are pics of him i just really like and some random silly pics taken. (ok i love all his pics) OMG I ALMOST FUCKING FORGOT TO GREET MY BOY!!! ANYWAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HYDE MONSTER, HONEY BUNCH SUGARPLUM, UNICORN CUPCAKE!!!!!! ILYSM AND I WILL NEVER STOP WRITING AND CRYING ABOUT YOU!!! YOU ARE SUCH AN INSPIRATION TO ME AND TO A LOT OF PEOPLE I HOPE THAT YOU KNOW THAT, IF ONLY YOU CAN READ THIS OR SEE HOW MANY PEOPLE SUPPORT YOU!!!! WISHING YOU A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUNTER FUCKING DOOHAN!!!~~~<;33

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday (MLC longfic again!)

Now that my amnesia fic is posted, it's time for more of my MLC longfic! At long last, LLH is awake again . . . and not doing that well.

(You can find earlier excerpts here.)

CW/TW: Panic attack, bicha flare, suicidal ideation

Something was different. The pain was there as always, waiting to devour him whole once he acknowledged it, but there was something else, something blanketing it, muting it somehow.

Li Lianhua stretched out his senses like a limb and tried to make sense of it.

Ah. Warmth. That was the strange sensation. Warmth–heat, even–all around him–his back, his chest, his legs, even his fingers, which had been more like blocks of ice than flesh and blood these last few months.

He leaned back, pushing into the banked heat behind him. The solid core of warmth tucked against his front from navel to neck twitched, then pressed against him more securely, as though it could make a home for itself inside his sternum, ribs, and spine and heat him from within.

He felt warm everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere.

He rolled forward slightly, wiggled further down on the bed, and tugged the core of warmth up higher. He curled his arms and shoulders around it and nestled the bit in his hand between his face and the pillow until it cradled his cheek. 

Much better.

He smiled into his new, warmer pillow and let himself start to relax back into sleep.

“Xiangyi?”

The warmth against his face gradually took shape as his skin and mind began to wake. That was a finger–no, several fingers. A hand. A large hand. And those calluses–how could he not know them when they had clashed steel with him, choked him, clinked brimming cups of wedding wine with him, even been inside him, taking him apart with a gentleness he hadn’t known they could profess.

He let his awareness spread throughout his body, setting aside the pain, and yes, that was a-Fei’s chest he had pressed himself against, like Huli Jing requesting head scritches, and those were a-Fei’s legs, tangled with his, and that was a-Fei’s breath rustling his hair–less now than it had been a moment ago–and that was indeed a-Fei’s arm he was clutching like a child would a favorite toy. 

But a-Fei had been holding him first.

Why was a-Fei holding him? It was one thing to wake up in each others’ arms in the newly wed room, after their  . . . exertions. Before a-Fei knew that any real dream of a future was doomed to fail.

But to hold him now? After he’d given away the wangchuan flower and left a-Fei behind, left their promise behind? To hold him like he still mattered. Like he wasn’t a curse who killed everyone he’d ever cared about. Like he was some sort of treasure . . .

Treasure . . . 

Cabinets stained in blood, Xiaobao’s blood–

“Xiaobao,” he gasped, flinging himself free and to his feet. Where was Xiaobao? He had to find him, had to heal him, before it was too late–

“Xiangyi! Sit down!” A-Fei caught him as his legs buckled and lowered him back onto the bed. 

Why wasn’t Xiaobao here? Had he killed him, too, just like he killed everyone he cared about? 

“Duobing,” a-Fei roared. “Get in here. Now!” Callused fingers cupped both sides of his face, turning it gently but firmly toward him. “Xiangyi, look at me. He’s alright. He’s on his way.” 

“How could he be alright?” Li Lianhua gasped, clutching at his shoulders, the already blurry world turning more hazy. “I saw the blood!”

“I healed him. He’s safe,” a-Fei said, cradling his head as though he could hold the shattering pieces of his mind together. “Now breathe.” 

Li Lianhua choked on an inhale, his lungs spasming, only managing to draw in a desperate wheeze.

A-Fei cursed and dropped to his knees by the bed, pressing one hand to Li Lianhua’s back and the other to his chest, filling both with a familiar warmth that began to break apart the iron bands strangling his throat and lungs. “Try again. Feel my hands. Press against them when you inhale.”

The next breath shook and spluttered like a dying candle but some air squeaked through nonetheless.

“Good.” A-Fei gave his back a short supportive pat. “Again.”

Lotus Tower shook as footsteps pounded toward the bed. “What’s wrong?” panted a beautifully familiar, impossible voice. “Xiaohua’er?”

“Bicha,” a-Fei growled, rising from the floor to kneel on the bed at his side, his hands still bracketing him on either side. “He thinks you’re dead. Show him the scab.”

“Shit,” the Xiaobao-shaped hallucination cursed. It seemed especially cruel of hallucinations to now match the blurriness of their surroundings. It made them seem far too real.

The hallucination knelt at his feet and took his hands. “It’s me, Xiaohua’er,” it said, tears in its eyes and voice. “I’m alright. A-Fei healed me. See?” It brought his hand up to a spot on the back of his skull and pressed his fingers to a crusted, raised line on its scalp. “I’m right here and I’m alright. Do you believe me?”

He could feel it. Why could he feel it? His fingers had always passed through hallucinations before. And even when he’d dreamt of Xiaobao, or of a-Fei, of holding them again, it hadn’t felt as real as this. His fingers traced the ridges of the scab–a perfectly neat seam–then the silk curtain of hair that covered it. 

This was Xiaobao’s hair. The texture, the thickness, what he could see of the color–no hallucination could do justice to this. 

This was his Xiaobao.

He was alive.

“Xiaobao,” he cried, turning his head this way and that to make sure it was the only injury. “You’re alright!”

Xiaobao’s bright smile shone through despite the haze his eyes imposed on everything. “Told you. No harm done. So focus on taking care of yourself, ok, lao huli?”

Li Lianhua huffed out a wet attempt at a scoff and bopped the side of his head. “No harm? What do you call this?”

Xiaobao captured his hands with his and brought them down from his head to rest between them. “Less serious than a Bicha attack. How are you feeling?”

Li Lianhua blinked. A Bicha attack? He turned his attention inward to his qi, and–

Ah. There was a-Fei’s Beifeng Baiyang, somehow wrapped around his Yangzhouman and pushing the last of the poison back into the recesses where it would lie in wait, coiled and ready for the next attack. The black tinge was almost gone from his veins.

He had been so worried about Xiaobao that he hadn’t even realized.

A-Fei had probably saved his life. Again. 

He shouldn’t have bothered.

[owenhcrper]

Will Turner Wednesday - 7/?

[ramenwithbroccoli]

happy Walter Worker Wednesday / early Fanbot Friday / GG getting a physical plastic body Spiderman Unboxing Sunday

[click for better quality!]

sorry if i got something wrong guys i realised i was using old references way too late

walter worker Joyce belongs to @steamanband, Buzzer belongs to @boneinator and Boopsy Doodle belongs to @brooklynisher :]

[sunsetofdoom]

@man--eater tagged me in her WIP Wednesday extravaganza, so I guess I'm posting about my Stolitz Fingersmith AU for the first time. Wherein they are both seventeen, and Blitzo has taken a job as an accomplice to a con artist- to become a young prince's valet and convince him to elope with the con.

Blitzo swallowed, very hard, and abruptly tried to bow for the first time since he’d stopped performing. It was a reflex to make it grandiose, to sweep out his arms and make it huge, but ah fuck the water. He caught it just in time, trying to just bend a bit at the shoulders. “Uh, your- Highness,” he half-guessed. Was that right? Striker warned him that one of them meant the prince and one was the king and getting them messed up was bad. “I’m the new, uh. Valet. The Count sent me.” Calling Striker a Count felt fucking ridiculous. Asshole. He straightened, and checked for the prince’s response. The birdlike face was unreadable, but he blinked all four of his bright red eyes at slightly different times. Creepy. The house creaked in the unbearable silence. How did these people live without any city sounds at all? “Brought this up for you,” Blitzo managed, twirling the drugged water almost elegantly. It splashed up onto his hand, and he didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing- the dress code in this place wouldn’t have allowed his gloves, so he kept his sleeves pulled down as long as possible to cover the scarring. “Reginald said you take it at night? Whenever you’re ready, I guess.” Prince Stolas tilted his head to the side, and shut his book. The noise was quiet and final in the still air. He brushed his crest of feathers back from his eyes, set the book down, and stretched until he stood, every movement haughty and debonair. He must have been at least ten feet fucking tall; Blitzo wanted to kneecap him immediately. He walked with long, even strides, barely blinking. A few steps in front of Blitzo, he leaned down, tilted his head again. Reached out his hand, sheathed in an elegant, pearl-buttoned glove, and perched his slim fingers on the glass. Then he plucked it out of Blitzo’s grip and hurled it at the wall.

Blitzo shouted, covering his head involuntarily; the drugged water left a spreading stain on the gorgeous golden wallpaper. The glass itself was in shards all over the hardwood floor. Prince Stolas stood up tall, turned around, and flounced back to his divan, his long tail brushing Blitzo’s shoulder as he went. He picked up his book, and sat back down to read.

Tagging @blitzwhore @hazbin-helluva-itch and @nyxofdemons (HI I see you in my notes I want to be friends) and @gloriousmonsters; plus @miss-spooky-eyes, who does not know what Helluva Boss is yet, but who loves Fingersmith absolutely to death and trusts me (unfortunately) to write just about anything.