#anyway i know none of this matters and i know there's a problem differentiating these two and i had to check if it was kon or jon too but l | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naivesilver · 1 year

Note

ASK MEME HUH? 😏 prepare yourself here :^)

okay okay so. (for the kid fic ask) 2 or 8 (toddler) or 3 (teenager)? with any parent child combination you feel like

I know this is a prime chance to write some angst but I have entered silly mode at some point lately so you get AU silliness only SLIGHTLY tinged with angst, I hope that's alright ssadkajshdnkbfk

(It also got longer than I'd anticipated, F in the chat for us all)

Kid/Parent Fic Prompts

3. "Everyone makes mistakes, it's okay."

"Hey, August, your dad said I'd find you..." Emma trails off, stopping halfway through the door as she takes in the scene before her. "...here. What are you guys doing?"

To Marco's credit, his son is, in fact, sitting in the shed just like the man had said. The only issue is that he's not alone - in fact, a swooping three of the kids in his care are crowded around him, typewriter pushed to the side as they peer at something taking center place on the table.

August looks up from it momentarily to shoot her a slight grin, which does nothing to soothe her confusion. "Scientific research."

"On a lamp? Thought that had been patented a while ago."

"Yes, but this is a monad lamp. We're trying to figure out if there's actually a cricket in here."

Emma's gaze moves to the object in question, eyebrows raised. "And that other guy's letting you? Isn't this literally attached to his hip most of the time?"

"We traded for the day!" The smallest of the puppets chirps excitedly, all but bouncing on August's knee. "Gina's showing him around, and we get to hang out with Gemini!"

"I see."

The problem with these kids, in Emma's mind, is that while they might have fairly contrasting personalities, there's something in them that betrays their connection even at first glance. Cedar's a sweet girl and the strange one with the metal arm is prone to brooding, and the two younger boys (she needs to find better nicknames to differentiate them than Big One and Little One, honestly - they bring to mind Tweedledee and Tweedledum, sometimes, but they'd probably take offense to that) are just unruly children like any other, and still they all share faint traces of past events that make her understand August a little bit more.

Right now, for example, the man has got a boy perched on his lap and Cedar leaning onto his shoulder, the other boy sitting on the tabletop with his ruined legs dangling over the edge, and yet they're all looking at her like they're about to tell her to take a leap of faith...or blow something up and ask her for help, at least, given Big Pinocchio's tendencies and those of the guy they call P. Emma should be backing away before it's too late, honestly.

"Doesn't that thing talk, anyway?" She hears herself asking instead, as if that were the most pressing matter. "Can't you just ask?"

"He's recharging," Cedar replies, ever the most helpful of them all. "That's why P left him at home. Grandfather said Gemini's not allowed to be around us unsupervised anymore, since the last time he tried to teach some nasty words to-"

"Hey!" The Pinocchio sitting on the table glares at her, a thunderous look on his face. "That's none of your business! Don't be a snitch!"

"It's not snitching if it's true! You only want to know because you've got a point to prove, anyway."

The boy sniffs haughtily, turning away. "I don't need to prove anything. I'm right. We've all got a cricket, so P should have one too."

"You're wrong. I never got a cricket, and Dad doesn't have one either-"

Emma can clearly see August barely stifling a laugh, the bastard. "Don't let Jiminy hear you say that, Cedar- I can assure you, he helped me quite a lot before he got a degree."

"I don't have a cricket," the little one says, beaming, seemingly unbothered by the squabble. "I just have Gina."

"Gina counts."

"Gina does not count, she's a duck." Cedar sighs, shaking her head of dark curls. "Why are you so worried about this, anyway? Your cricket isn't here, either."

One would expect Big Pinocchio to have a snappish retort for that, as well, and yet, none comes. Instead he seems to curl even further into himself, his glower even deeper, like a turtle tucking head and tail into its shell. "Yeah, but he was there," he mutters, much lower than before. "No one else could see him, so they thought I was making him up, but I wasn't. He was real, and I wasn't crazy."

The two adults exchange a look, the mood grown a tad more somber all of a sudden. This, perhaps, is the other thing these children have in common, and it's much less amusing than the first one - they have had some awful experiences already, for being so young, and sometimes they mention it in such an offhanded way, it sounds like everyday stuff, like making the bed or running errands.

Maybe it was everyday stuff for them, before. That doesn't make it more reassuring, either.

"That's okay." August sounds softer, too, as he leans closer to the boy and tries to meet his eyes. "We know you're not crazy. Those boys in your old school- they didn't have the full picture. Everyone makes mistakes, when they don't have the full picture."

And that, a smidge more teasing, once he has finally gotten Pinocchio to look up: "And I mean everyone. You know, Emma here, she didn't believe I was made of wood, in the beginning. Guess who proved her wrong later."

"Seriously?" Emma exhales heavily, relieved that her friend has been able to handle the situation so well and yet resigned to the fact that August continues to be, well, himself. "You only butt into this argument to throw me to the wolves?"

"You wouldn't want me to get in the way of a scientific debate, do you?"

If this were a normal conversation between the two of them, she would tell him to stop being so cheeky; but as it is, there are three more people in the room with them right now, people who have barely stopped looking wary and guarded before returning to their analysis of an otherworldly piece of machinery. There is little Emma can do beside playing along, distracting them from whatever effects the past still has on them all. She owes them that, at least.

"Alright," she says, dragging a spare stool closer and finding a spot near the table, mindless to how Cedar moves to lean on her instead, as is the nature of things.

"Let's crack this, then. I came over to ask something else, but you guys got to me. Show me what you've got, Gemini."

#okay I know I wasn't very good at looking out for henry but I DID try so #please keep an eye on these little idiots if I can't #lizardthelizard #ask meme #fanfic #ouat #au: stray saplings #LOOK I SETTLED ON A TAG #also I'm going to go on a tangent now sorry not sorry #because I'm an “emma and august are besties” truther first and foremost #but I am CERTAIN that eventually he'd be like #she's like. their fairy godmother but better cause she isn't a fairy #she's got...mixed feelings about her godchildren tho #cedar? wonderful. genuinely looks up to emma. as normal as a kid in her situation can be #the baby? traumatized but sweet. you can't have beef with a 5yo #but p and mokku? they would TEST her patience even though the former isn't even a child technically #regina would find it extremely amusing #pinocchio #kashi no ki mokku #anyway august as a passable father figure who at least is TRYING and emma as the tired aunt who loves those kids a lot but needs a fk drink

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i-stand-with-survivors · 2 years

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Hey there! This blog is pretty cool, but I've noticed that some TERF posts have snuck into the stuff you've reblogged in defense of Amber. One of the unfortunate things about this case is that TERFs are trying to co-opt it to attack trans people and they're hard to differentiate from good faith actors. One thing that really helps is the Shinigami Eyes extension which flags users who've posted transphobic attacks so you know right away if they're acting in bad faith. Thanks for this blog.

Hi anon, I appreciate you reaching out and your kind words, as well as the thought and consideration I know it takes to call somebody “in.” I’ve been thinking a lot about how to respond to this and how to best articulate my stance.

I double checked a few pages to make sure there wasn’t some passing sentence that slipped by me or something, and as far as I can find none of the posts I've reblogged have said anything about trans people whatsoever -- with the exception of one calling out JD making transphobic remarks about a friend of AH -- so I don't think I've reblogged any of the posts you're referencing. Since obviously a post that doesn't even mention trans people can't be attacking them.

I want to be clear that I would not reblog any posts calling for harm of trans people (or anybody else for that matter). I don’t support posts like that.

Past that, I have a lot of thoughts about some of the implications here. I feel that expecting a person to only reblog from people who they 100% agree with on every issue is unreasonable. Reblogging a post means I overall agree with that specific post. It’s not an endorsement of the blog or anything else the blogger has posted.

For me, this isn’t just about “I’m not going to dig through their entire blog,” although that’s also true -- I’m speaking beyond this specific topic, as there’s no extension that is going to flag every single thing that I would find offensive or harmful. But more to the point, we societally have spoken for the past ~8 years about the problems caused by the increasing political polarization and the online echo chambers that are likely both a symptom and a cause of this. I personally do not feel I can object to echo chambers and then turn around and completely refuse to interact with everybody I disagree with.

I also feel that many people -- and I don’t think this is you anon, as I interpret your ask as being in good faith -- jump at any excuse to discredit and shut down any conversations around feminism. I am unwilling to feed into a dynamic that silences women speaking out about our oppression. When I see so many of the pro-AH blogs I follow get repeated messages like “Are you a TERF? This sounds TERFy. Are you a TERF?” when they often either have only ever talked about the trial or even have actively spoken in support of trans people, it feels for me like I’m seeing just one more way that society has painted women as not credible or not worth listening to, by conflating feminism with bigotry.

Anyway I think I’ve been talking long enough lol plus I don’t want to derail from the focus of this blog so that’s all I’m going to say on this topic. I do recognize that some people may be uncomfortable following me in light of this, and that’s ok -- everyone can curate their online space however they want or need to.

#answered

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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WIP #59b

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

@purfectpurple asked for more of this one! Which, tbh, I get the feeling a few of you wanted, judging by your reactions to it.

So, we’ve had our nasty accident and a nice healthy dose of emotional and physical whump for Scott. Let’s see what the rest of the brothers are up to, shall we?

(If it wasn’t obvious by now, I’ve had so much fun writing this one. It’s definitely getting revisited once I have the time. And no, this still isn’t everything I have written for this wip because it’s a pretty long one... considering it was supposed to be a oneshot)

Gordon was last to the scene, summoned by Alan’s shouts and John’s too-loud voice transmitting from every speaker in the den, and arrived just in time to see Scott disappearing from the room with hunched shoulders. In front of him was carnage: Alan wriggled in Virgil’s grip, determined to escape the thickset Tracy even though Virgil showed no indication of releasing him, and John was hovering with crossed arms above them, eyebrows furrowed in an expression of worry more usually seen on Virgil.

He didn’t need any explanations. Late to the party he might have been, but he had ears and he was fairly sure Alan’s explosion could have been heard in Australia.

“Let. Me. Go. Virgil!” Alan ground out, but the bear of the family simply held tighter and made his way over to the nearest sofa, writhing brother in his grip.

“What’s got into you?” their elder brother demanded.

“Nothing!” Alan snapped.

“Nothing doesn’t lend itself to you telling our eldest brother you wish he was the one presumed dead,” John cut in coolly. Gordon startled, not expecting their space-bound brother to be quite so harsh towards Alan. The two astronauts tended to band together, and a division in those ranks meant things were serious.

“I never said that!” Alan argued back, giving up on trying to escape Virgil’s death grip and assuming a pose that could only be described as sulky.

“Maybe not in so many words,” John conceded. “But that’s what I heard and, more importantly, that’s what Scott heard.”

“He’s just being so annoying,” Alan defended himself, as though there was really any defence for saying that to anyone, and Gordon knew once he calmed down he’d be regretting it. “Alan don’t do this. Alan, don’t do that. Alan, you’re too young,” he mimicked, kicking his legs out. Virgil took the hits without commenting.

“He’s trying to protect you,” he said instead. “He does it to all of us, you know that.”

“I know,” Alan grumbled. “But it’s too much! How are we supposed to save people if we’re being smothered into being safe all the time? He’s going too far!”

“He was there,” John cut in quietly, reclaiming all of their attention. “You might not know – you were all away at the time – but Scott was with Dad on that mission.”

Something heavy and unpleasant lodged itself at the bottom of Gordon’s stomach, and from the sudden look of horror on Alan’s face, he wasn’t the only one. Virgil looked sad, like he’d already suspected it.

“Scott was there?” Alan’s voice came out strangled. “Then… how…?”

“It was supposed to be his mission,” John continued, and Gordon felt sick at the idea that it might have been Scott lost back then, or worse, both Dad and Scott. “Dad changed his mind at the last minute and told him to hang back.”

“‘I couldn’t save Dad’,” Virgil murmured, and Gordon’s attention snapped to him. He wasn’t restraining Alan anymore, instead holding him in a hug that wasn’t being protested. “He said that to me, once.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Alan sounded small, even younger than his fifteen years. In Virgil’s hold he looked it, too. “I was just frustrated… he knows that, right? Scott knows I don’t actually wish we’d lost him?”

“I’m sure he does,” John said, sounding more like his usual self and taking Alan’s side once again. “But you should still apologise when he gets back.”

“Where has he gone, anyway?” Gordon wondered out loud, and John checked something out of their sight before frowning.

“His comm signal is by the pool,” he said.

“But sitting still isn’t Scott’s thing,” Virgil pointed out, and John nodded in agreement, lips pressed together thinly.

Gordon took it upon himself to head out onto the balcony and sneak towards the edge, only to find what they already suspected. “He’s not there.”

“Maybe he dropped it?” Alan sounded hopeful, but Gordon knew he didn’t believe his own words – their communicators were designed to stay with them no matter what. The only way it would come off of Scott’s wrist would be if he took it off on purpose.

He couldn’t imagine what Scott could be feeling to intentionally cut himself off from the rest of them.

“He’ll be back in his own time,” Virgil said, heaving a sigh and finally letting go of Alan. The youngest sprang to his feet and ran straight down the stairs; Gordon watched from the balcony as he rooted around beside the pool for a moment before bending and picking up something blue. It didn’t take a genius to know what it was.

If he’d gone for a run, they were probably looking at an hour before he came back. Resigned to an awkward wait, Gordon followed his younger brother down the stairs and flopped onto the nearest lounger. The pool gleamed invitingly at him in the early afternoon sun, but his swimming gear was in his room and he couldn’t muster the motivation to leave the poolside.

Alan stood at the edge of the paved section, staring out down the path around the island, Scott’s communicator clutched in his hands.

Together, they waited.

And waited.

“He hasn’t come back.” Alan’s voice was quiet and trembling as it broached the silence. Above them the sky was changing into greys and oranges as dusk loomed. “Why isn’t he back?”

Gordon tapped his own communicator.

“John? Any sign of him?”

“He isn’t back yet?” the ginger asked, popping into holographic existence immediately. “It’s been four hours.” His fingers flew over an invisible keyboard, and Gordon watched his face get more and more frustrated. “Scanners can’t tell him apart from the other wildlife,” he finally admitted. “But there aren’t any lifesigns on his usual trail.”

“Well we know he hasn’t left the island,” Virgil said from behind them, a second holographic John hovering over his wrist. “None of the jets are unaccounted for.”

“We have to find him!” Alan sounded close to tears. “It’ll be dark soon!”

Earlier, Gordon – like Virgil and John – had been of the opinion that Scott should be left alone to chew through the argument in peace. Now, he agreed with Alan.

Four hours was too long and his squid sense was prickling uncomfortably.

“Alan, you’re with me,” Virgil said. “We’ll check the main trail first and try to find which route he took. Get your boots.”

Boots.

What had Scott been wearing? Gordon couldn’t remember.

“I’ll take the trail the other way,” he said. “Meet you halfway.” Virgil nodded and they scattered to change.

“Don’t forget a torch,” John said from his wrist. “You have just over an hour until sunset.” Gordon threw one into the bag he was hastily packing, alongside a first aid kit – hopefully not required, but better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it – and a grapple with several packs.

He didn’t reconvene with Alan and Virgil, simply striking out as soon as he was ready with a quick message across the comms to let them know. Scott’s favourite trail was easy to follow, well pounded into the earth by years of running, but Gordon knew he wouldn’t find him on there. If he’d ditched his comm, he didn’t want to be found, and John’s minimal information confirmed that the trail was still devoid of life.

Scott would have taken one of the other, tougher, trails. The problem was that Scott was the only one who knew all of them. Alan knew the rock climbing trails, Virgil knew the ones that led to good viewpoints, and Gordon knew the ones nearest the ocean. To find him, they’d need to use all the old fashioned tracking knowledge they had, drilled into them by Dad and Grandma with the threats that technology wouldn’t always help them.

With Scott’s comm still firmly in Alan’s possession and too many lifesigns on the island to differentiate which one was their brother, technology was decidedly useless.

Gordon almost missed it – unevenly spaced footprints snaking away from the main track and up over a steep incline. He called it in, but Alan and Virgil were almost at the other side of the island already. By the time they reached him, the encroaching dusk would make the trail too hard to spot. He made the executive decision to proceed alone.

It was slow going, the path tough and often fading into little more than craggy outcrops the closer he got to the summit of the volcano. Scott did these for fun? He always knew his eldest brother was crazy. Said crazy brother was currently missing, though, and Gordon couldn’t bring himself to poke fun at him when he’d been gone for too long.

A gash yawned in front of him – a jagged line cutting diagonally through the rocks – and Gordon eyed it carefully as he started to manoeuvre his way around it gingerly, only to stop as he caught sight of something that didn’t look like it belonged there.

Darkness was looming, encroaching on his visibility too much for him to confidently identify it with the naked eye, so he dug through his pack for the torch John had told him to bring. He almost wished he hadn’t when the something turned out to be a scrap of light blue fabric caught a little way down the crumbling edge of the rockface.

He knew that colour, just as he knew what the dark smear accompanying it was.

“John,” he called, and his brother appeared instantly. “Any of those life signs directly below me?”

Please say no, he begged silently as he stared into the darkness.

“There’s one,” John said after a moment. “About fifty feet below you. It’s not moving.”

There probably wasn’t a worse thing to hear right then. The first aid kid in his bag suddenly felt heavy, and he reached for his grapple.

“I’m checking it out,” he said, pleasantly surprised that he sounded in control still.

“What have you found?” Virgil cut in – of course John had linked them all together. Gordon didn’t answer as he shot the line and, praying it would hold and that the rocks wouldn’t give way like they clearly had earlier, swung down over the edge.

It narrowed quickly, the chasm turning into a slit barely big enough for Gordon to get through. Virgil would never have fit, and Gordon wouldn’t have expected Scott to except the smear of blood dragged all the way down through it, more snatches of blue shirt snagged on outcrops at random intervals.

He had to push the pack through first so he could get through, and counted the seconds until he heard it thud against something. Only two – not too bad of a drop. If you had a grapple line.

He touched down easily, sweeping the torch across the volcanic cavern to first locate his pack, and then the source of the life sign.

It didn’t take long for a shadow to look wrong, and he hurried over, heart in his mouth.

The good news was that it was Scott.

The bad news was that Scott didn’t look good, at all.

“John, see if you can find another way into this cave,” he said. “Virgil, if he can’t, make one.” His torch caught the unnatural angle of Scott’s leg and he bit back a curse. “And bring a stretcher.”

WIP #59c>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #wip excerpt #gordon tracy #alan tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #scott tracy #thunderwhump #thunderangst

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

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The Three Words to Remember in Dealing with the End

I’m trying something new y’all, this is a third person POV because I want you to unveil the actions at the same pace as Jason and not MC/reader. I absolutely loved writing this, so hopefully I did it right and you will enjoy this adventure like I did!

ps: this isn’t something fun or light hearted, it might be triggering for some people. if you are in a fragile mindset right now (especially with everything that’s happening right now), maybe it would be best to save it for later. Please take care of yourselves xx

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader (ish)

Word count: 5060

Warnings: death (major theme), language

Summary: Jason finds something deeply unsettling during a not so typical night in Gotham (I’m not saying more y’all, read and find out).

It had been a strange night for Jason. Things had been quiet, not too quiet to become suspicious, but enough to underwhelm him at an unsettling level. Everything from the gloomy, yellow-ish night sky above him to his tensed muscles screamed trouble--and his instincts were rarely wrong--but there was nothing big happening. He was almost tempted to pick a fight with the wrong person just for the sake of it, just to shake off this nagging feeling that serious shit was about to blow in his face. Although starting beef again with Sionis would be quite entertaining, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with another tantrum from the eccentric man on the longer term.

So instead, he kicked the door from the building’s roof on which he was hanging around and half heartedly climbed down the stairs. Plastic tarps were flapping around in his face like badly designed Halloween ghosts, and the wind in the half constructed walls were whispering unintelligible songs in his ears. That specific construction site had been abandoned as the recurrent vandalism had weighed the construction costs into the negative, making the company leaving it behind completely as a rotting proof the poorer Gotham neighborhoods were no longer a concern to city hall. Jason thought about the community center that had been bulldozed down to make room for the apartment complex, leaving dozens if not hundreds of children and teenagers without an after school hangout place, and it made him sigh. Now the cheap carcass served to shelter squatters, or well, him when he needed a hideout in between safe houses.

The building in itself wasn’t very high like the skyscrapers one could find in the diamond district, it was rather on par with the rest of the apartment complexes around. From a distance, you couldn’t even differentiate it from the rest. Cheap, smog stained concrete looked the same whether or not it was a finished product. The aesthetics wasn’t something developers around here were aiming for, nor were the resident seeking lodging. Low income neighborhoods didn’t get to benefit from trendy landscaping. But the city didn’t really care about that, they claimed nobody really came around here anyway, like poor people weren’t people in the first place. But Jason knew, and every day he resented those officials on the city council a little bit more.

A thud coming from the floor he had just passed made him halt his descent, his ears strained to try and catch some more noise. He waited a few seconds, and concluded it must have been a squatter tripping and falling on the floor when no other sound followed. But he hadn’t taken a full step down that a loud and clear cry for help bounced on the unfinished plaster on the walls. Without much more thinking, he turned around and climbed back up the five steps he had already taken, going straight for the origin of the sound. He was about to round the corner of a threshold when he bumped into a frantic young woman, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Please help!” She cried, gripping the sleeves of his leather jacket like it was a lifeline. She had an angry, scabbed rope mark on her neck and bruises the size of fingerprints around. “Somebody’s after me, he tried to strangle me!”

Well, that was a new one. Usually, there would be little punks making graffiti or trying to steal material from the structure, petty non-violent crimes like that, but he had never seen homicide, especially not since he started coming around. Nevertheless, he gently pushed the woman aside and pulled out his gun, ready to investigate.

“Stay close” He said, and she nodded vigorously. He carefully walked inside the room, analysing his surroundings for any thread or hostile individual. The floor creaked lightly under his boots, making the woman jump every other second. However, his search eventually came up empty, so he clicked the safety of his gun back on and slid it back in his thigh holster. He faced the girl and shrugged. “If there was anyone here, he’s long gone”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah” He replied. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m not sure” She flinched, still visibly. “To either questions, to be honest. All I remember was seeing this blurred figure grab my head and slam it on the floor, then his hands were around my neck… And I woke up, and there we are”

“Do you have any idea who did this?”

“No really” She rubbed her temples. “I was grabbed on my way back from work and dragged in here. I know it was a man, but he was masked”

“Damn” He muttered, looking around. There wasn’t much left to do now, beside making sure that woman got home safely. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Do you have somewhere safe to go?”

“Yeah, I have an apartment a few blocks away” She nodded timidly.

They climbed down the stairs, Jason following a pace behind her. She was recoiled on herself, her eyes darting from one place to another like she was expecting to be jumped at any time now. She was shivering from the harsh wind, clearly not dressed for one of Gotham’s cold September nights. He thought she was lucky to have fallen onto him and not someone with ill intentions. The people coming here usually left each other alone, but with the lady’s assailant on the loose, he wouldn’t be so trusting of everyone’s intentions around here.

“Here, we’re almost out” He said as the front door came into view. She sighed in relief as she took the last step down and closed the distance with the door. She reached for the handle, pulled, but nothing moved. She then tried to push, but it didn’t move any more.

“I-It’s like it’s locked” She stuttered in disbelief.

“Let me try” Jason stepped forward, pushing and pulling the door like she did before. Strange, that door was never, ever locked. He then tried to pick it, even break it, to no avail. The door simply wouldn’t open. He huffed and took a step back, thinking. “Let’s try the backdoor”

The pair moved through the ground floor, passing in front of a few empty sleeping bags on the way. Jason went straight for the small door, only to be met with the same problem.

“Alright, you wanna play this game?” He muttered harshly, pulling out his gun and aiming at the handle. He fired a shot, but the bullet bounced right back on his red helmet. “Son of a bitch!”

He muttered a few more curses before kicking the stubborn door in frustration, then turned to the woman.

“Well, somebody doesn’t want us to leave '' He stated with bitter humour. “Maybe your wannabe killer is still around, after all”

“Oh god” She gasped, her chest suddenly heaving quickly. She was having a panic attack. “We’re trapped. We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Hey, hey” He tried to reassure her, an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let him get near you. He certainly didn’t plan on having me around, so he’ll stay away if he knows what’s good for him. We’ll find a way out”

She bent over, hands on her knees, and shut her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing until it somewhat calmed down. She then nodded slowly, standing straighter again. “O-okay”

“You sure?”

She took a deep breath and nodded again.

“Alright…” He drawled out, looking at her for a second more to be sure she was actually okay. “Let’s go around and see if there’s anyone in here tonight, and if they have seen anything”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She eyed him with uncertainty. “...He could be out there”

“Then it’s his mistake” He shrugged. “Come on”

Like earlier, she followed closely behind him as he checked each floor in detail. He came across a few homeless people he had seen around before, none of which could ever commit murder, or attempt to for that matter. He saw it in their eyes, they were harmless. They had been on the second floor, the only one which seemed inhabited at all that night. The third floor came up empty as well, so Jason didn’t waste time there either. However, he was a little more careful on the fourth. It was where he had found the girl, so there was a slight chance the assaulter might still be hanging around there. He began with the first apartment on the left, then the one on the right he initially searched. He paid specific attention to any detail he might find; hair, cloth, blood splatter, anything. He was crouched over a suspicious stain when he heard it.

A deafening scream.

In less than a second, he was on his feet and through the threshold of an adjacent room, only to come face to face with a decaying corpse. The woman was staring with horror like she was in a trance, a hand covering her mouth to either hold back any more screams or her own vomit. Probably both, Jason thought.

“That definitely complicates things now” He hummed.

“How can you be so calm?” She was freaking out again. “There’s a body! A dead body!”

“Yeah, I know” He replied, unbothered, taking a step closer to observe. The nauseous smell of decomposition was starting to get through his helmet, and he genuinely wondered how she hadn’t barfed her guts up already. Her state of shock perhaps helped to keep her together, at least for now. “Looks like it’s a woman. Probably has been there for two weeks or--fuck this is nasty”

He backed up and gently pulled her out of the room, away from the corpse. She didn’t need to see anymore of it.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news” He sighed. “Bad news is your guy and this poor woman’s killer are most likely the same person. Good news is that you, unlike her, escaped him”

“Oh god” She gagged, but dry heaved on air. “This can’t be happening”

“Okay, listen” He sighed, “I’m sure this is a lot for you, and you didn’t ask for any of this. But the killer is potentially here keeping us trapped, and I need you to hold it together a little bit longer until I figure this out, kay?”

She gave him a wild look like he was crazy. “How can you expect me to hold it together?”

“Is there anything you can focus on?” He tried, getting a bit impatient. Things weren’t adding up in his head and he needed to concentrate, but he couldn’t if his new unwilling investigation partner started freaking out every other minute. Then, he noticed her fingers fidgeting with a necklace around her neck, a small ring with a azur gem hanging from it. “What does that ring mean?”

She looked down at it, like she was surprised she had subconsciously showed it up. “Uh, it was my mother’s. Family heirloom, y’know. She gave it to me when I graduated college”

“It’s very pretty” He said. “Look at it and think about your mother, okay?”

She nodded, and he took a step away to pace around in peace. So there was a killer who managed to trap them into the building, or intended to trap only her, which was why he was hiding away now that Jason was here too. But then again, Marty on the second floor didn’t see or hear anything all night, and that guy had a sharper ear than a cat. Then came the question of why he didn’t see or smell the body on his first general scouting of the place. Surely, a decaying body would have ticked him off way sooner. Maybe the killer dragged the body from a higher floor? It would make no sense as to why he would have done that, but there was no other logical explanation.

He went to rub the bridge of his nose, only to be met with his helmet. He let out another muffled curse and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “This is the one time I could use one of my stupid brothers”

“Why?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “They’re idiots and annoying as fuck, but they’re better detectives than I could ever be. Solving this nonsense puzzle would be an easy game for them”

“Then what’s stopping you from calling them?”

Jason paused, staring at the woman for a moment. No, it wasn’t that simple. “Last time we spoke, I… We fought pretty bad. I don’t think they ever want to see me again”

“I’m sure--”

“We’re on our own for this, trust me” He interrupted, his tone dry enough to make her recoil. He coughed and relaxed his tense posture, taking a deep breath. “I can solve this, I don’t need them. I’ll go check the body again, stay here”

“Wait!” She called before he could turn around. “What if he comes back?”

He blinked a few times, then began patting his side and pockets. He wouldn’t leave her a gun, or she’d hurt herself in the state she was in, or accidently shoot him for that matter. Nervous firing rarely even found their intended target anyway. A knife was also out of the question for the same reasons. Besides, she didn’t seem skilled enough to hold her own with a blade, and he had no idea what weapons the killer carried. The knife would basically be useless, if not more dangerous for her. He finally felt a small lump in his pant pocket, then fished for it. He pulled a small taser that definitely wasn’t his, remembering he had disarmed it from a goon earlier that night. He had no idea he had kept it, but it would do.

“Here” He held it up to eye level, pressing the button. A blue-ish current was formed, crackling and fizzling. “You hold it out and press the side button to turn it on. Don’t point it at me or yourself. Got it?”

“Uh-- I guess--”

“Great” He pushed the device in her hand and turned on his heels without more ceremonies.

He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he returned to the corpse, thinking about a thousand better ways he could have been spending his Friday night. He crouched next to it, grimacing at the decaying skin that made the victim’s identity barely recognizable. He noticed the dried out hair first, it was the same color as the poor girl on the other side of the wall. The exact same, he could have sworn. The killer must have a very specific m.o. he stuck to. There had been a couple of girls going missing in the last weeks, it must have been one of them. Nobody would think to check here, or rather nobody would bother. He turned his head to the side, coughing as he worked to catch his breath despite the putrid smell. He forced himself to return to his half assed detective work, scanning for any trace of struggle or aggression. The rope the killer used to choke her was still around her neck, but that was nothing Jason could work with as he already knew about the obvious neck fetish that was in play here. He poked the rotten skin with the end of his gun, pushing hair and clothes away to try and find something he could have missed with a first glance. No viable piece of information could be found in the teeth or under the nail since he was about two weeks too late, and he could not make the distinction between decomposition marks and actual contusion marks. Dammit. He had nothing.

He was about to give up when something shiny got his attention on the victim’s chest. There was a chain plunging into the neckline of her shirt, and with his gun he carefully pulled it up. He was certain his brain physically broke in two when he came face to face with a stained, yet recognizable ring with an azur stone.

“What…” He trailed off softly. “... The Fuck”

Thinking about it, the victim’s clothes were awfully similar to what the lady on the other side was wearing, beside the obvious dirtiness difference. He looked over his shoulder, to where she was pacing nervously, then back to the corpse. Same hair, same clothes, same ring. Same approximate size, same bone structure, rope position coinciding with her strangling mark. Jason did not want to be thinking what he was thinking, because only crazy people were seeing ghosts. But was he totally sane? That was debatable. It would explain why they were locked in the building for no goddamn reason, or why Marty didn’t hear anything, or why he did not notice the corpse or the smell during his initial search, or why that lady did not stop once to rethink asking an armed stranger in a red mask for help, or why…

Besides, ghosts would not even make the list of the weirdest things he’s seen. He himself came back from the dead, so the idea wasn’t actually that far fetched. But now, the question he faced was, how do you tell someone they’re dead, when they’re convinced they’re alive? Bruce’s training did not prepare him for that, and honestly neither did Ra’s.

He slowly stood up, trying to scour his brain for a gentle way to break it to her. He couldn't just rip the bandaid off, that would be insensitive. And if she really did control who could get in and out of the building, would sending her into ghost shock--if that was even a thing--risk trapping him here forever as well? How does one even deal with a bloody ghost? Reluctantly, he returned to the other room, where the woman looked at him with hopeful eyes. Jason felt a pinch in his heart, knowing he would be the one to break the news to her.

“Anything?” She asked, her arms wrapping around herself. He gave a sad nod, and she sighed in relief. “Good, I just wanna go home”

“I…” He struggled to find the words. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)” She said, uncertain.

Jason was glad his mask hid his expression. His eyes closed as his suspicions were officially confirmed; she had disappeared a little less than three weeks ago without a trace. She had been presumed dead by the GCPD, apparently rightfully so, he found out.

“(Y/N), I have good news and bad news”

She kept staring at him to let him speak. She didn’t seem to grasp the undertone of his words, or how he somehow said it completely differently than the previous time. She really wasn’t aware of her situation.

“Good news is that I found who the victim is” He began, his voice heavy. He wasn’t the type to just get emotional for strangers like this, but this one especially struck a chord in him. “Bad news is… You’re--you’re not going home, (Y/N)”

Her face fell. “W-What?”

“The… Body, on the other side” He half heartedly pointed behind him. “It’s you. You went missing three weeks ago, and you’re...”

“That’s crazy!” She shrieked. “That’s impossible! I’m here, I’m right here, I’m real…”

Her voice faltered at the end, like she was starting to doubt herself. Jason softly jerked his head to the other room, silently making his way back to the corpse with her carefully following behind. He stopped and crouched like he had done minutes ago, and in the same way, lifted the ring. Something clicked in her face, a newfound horror etching on her features. This time, it wasn’t because she found a corpse, but because she found out the corpse was hers.

“No…” She stumbled back, and Jason hurried to steady her. He didn’t know if it was necessary, since she probably couldn’t even feel physical pain anymore, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He escorted her out of the room once again and waited beside her as her entire reality came crashing down. It felt surreal for him, he couldn’t even imagine what it was like for her. He let her slide down the wall and rest her head in her hands as she processed all of this. “I can’t be… My family, they must be worried sick”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)” He sighed, sliding down next to her.

“But I’m--” She tried to argue, then a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m not ready to go”

He took off his mask for the first time, ruffling his hair in the process. The least he could do was to give her a human face as the last she would ever see. “Take all the time you need, I’ve got nowhere else to be”

She eyed him with confusion, at both the removal of his mask and his words. “Why?”

He smiled sadly at her. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’m Jason, nice to formally meet you”

“I don’t think it matters now” She mumbled, casting her glance downward. She handed him back the small taser, realizing she wouldn't need it anymore. “I’m dead. I don’t even know how I’m even still here, or where I’m even going. I don’t understand anything--”

“You don’t have to,” He interrupted softly. “It’s okay not to understand. And it’s okay to be afraid. But death is a part of life, and despite how scary it might be when it rings at your door, sometimes it’s better not to fight it”

“Easy to say for someone who is still alive” She said, making his lips subtly curl up. At least she was calming down now.

“I died years ago” He admitted, and her eyes widened comically. “No, I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re wondering. I was resurrected through magic… But I know what it feels like”

“How did you die?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Jason hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking about this, but he figured he could at least vent to a ghost. It might even make her feel better about the circumstances of her death, he thought. “I died in an explosion” He finally revealed as he looked away. “I realized I was dead when the countdown reached two seconds and nobody came for me. Two seconds isn’t a long time to come to term with the end of your own existence, and everything that comes after”

“I suppose not” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky I have time to figure it out. What’s it like, on the other side?”

“I honestly can’t really remember” He shook his head. “My memory from the moment I closed my eyes to when I reopened them is scrambled. And even if I did recall, it might be different from you”

“You think so?”

“I hope so”

He did not elaborate on that, and she did not ask. Jason wasn’t sure whether his visions of hell were from his time in the grave, or if the pit messed with his perspective, but he certainly hoped this girl wouldn’t have to go through something similar as well. They waited in silence for a moment as neither felt the need to speak up. He respected her need to have a moment to herself to absorb all this like he had wished he could have had. He had never felt as vulnerable as when he waited, helpless and unable to move, for the bomb to go off. He had been terrified, clinging to a last hope it was just a nightmare, or that help would have swept in at the last second like it always happened in the movies. He had been truly alone then. Perhaps it was why she had found him earlier, she felt his connection to death and his ability to relate. She seeked one last ray of warmth before disappearing, one last attempt not to be forgotten by reaching out to someone with the best chance to understand her. He doubted it was a coincidence he was the one she let help her.

“You didn’t have to stay with me…” She spoke up. It could have been ten minutes or more, Jason couldn’t tell. He had been in his head the whole time. “But you did, for what it’s worth. Thank you, Jason”

“You’re welcome, I guess” He half shrugged. “It’s… It’s just things I wish had been said to me in my last moments, comfort I wish had been brought to me when it was time to go. I’m glad it helped ease this transition for you”

She gave him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her unnatural cold radiating on him, see the bleakness of her skin and the absence or a steady rise and fall of her chest now that he was up close.

“Well, I’m glad you found me” She muttered, letting her hand fall back down to her side. “I… I think I’m ready to go. But before, could you do me a last favor?

“Sure” He nodded.

“Could you bring back my necklace to my mother?” She asked, staring straight into his eyes. And probably his soul, by the looks of it. “This case might never be solved, I don’t want it to be lost in an evidence bag”

He was initially surprised by the request, but it made sense. This would be the last thing her mother would have of her daughter, and it didn’t belong in a locker kept away forever. He nodded. “I can do that”

“Thank you” She gave him the first real smile he had seen on her face. Her eyes had lost the life in them, that was obvious, but there was this peacefulness that hadn’t been there before. Her resolve to accept her faith showed more and more in her expression, and it was steadily becoming clearer she did not belong to this plane of existence anymore. Two weeks trapped in between life and death without being heard or seen must have been so exhausting, and now she was ready to let go. “Just one more thing”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at her sudden knowing expression. He could see it clearly despite her image slowly fading away. Was she even aware of it? He didn’t know, but it didn’t seem painful. He hoped it wasn’t, she deserved an undisturbed rest for what had been done to her in this life.

“A piece of unwanted advice from a dead girl?” Her tone was a bit playful. He let out a quiet chuckle, his shoulders barely raising. “Call your brothers”

She became serious, and so did he.

“The worst thing about this, is that I left this life without even being able to say proper goodbyes to my family” She explained. “I wish more than anything I could just see them one more time to tell them I love them, but I can’t. Don’t take for granted there will always be a later for it, because there might not be”

“I…”

“Please, for me” She said, almost entirely faded now. “I hope I see you again one day, Jason. Thank you for everything”

And then she was gone. Jason stared at the empty space beside him, like there had never been anyone there. The cold spot was gone, and with it the last image of her smiling face. The smell of the corpse returned at full strength now that she wasn’t there to manipulate the surroundings, but he couldn’t be bothered by it as much as he was before. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from where she had been seconds ago, struggling to tell whether or not it had actually happened. But it must have, the entire experience had felt way too real to be a product of his imagination, and the dead body served as a material proof his head didn’t conjure it all up. Slowly, he stood up and went back to the body for one last time. He’d have to place an anonymous call to the police to tip them to the body tomorrow, after giving a heads up to the squatters to steer clear of the building until the situation died down. He bent down and only took the necklace without disturbing anything else, slipping it in a pocket for safe keeping. He’d also have to find a way to give it back to her mother without making it seem like he had killed the girl…

With one last silent goodbye to a new found yet ephemeral friend, Jason made his way down to the first floor, his step a little slower and heavier than last time. The first light of the morning peeked shyly through the sky of Gotham as the clouds appeared clear up, like it was their way of reflecting the peaceful passing of a soul on the other side. He never believed in symbolism in nature, but this once, just this once, he could make an exception. He reached the bottom of the stairs and carefully made his way to the main doors, pausing in front of it. The birds in the walls didn’t seem to mind him as they sang the arrival of the morning, and he put back his mask to face the outside once again. He gripped the door handle, pushing even so slightly.

It opened with a groan.

Sighing, he stepped outside and fished for his phone in his back pocket. He went to his contacts, scrolling down until he found the name he was looking for. Reluctantly, he pressed it and came face to face with the taunting call icon. Surely he would still be awake, his patrol would have ended not too long ago. Or he’d be asleep, and then he’d disturb him. Hesitating, his thumb hovered above the lock screen button, then over the call one, then again, the lock screen. He let out a frustrated huff, looking at the sky. There might not be a later… Or perhaps there will. But was he ready to take that chance? He looked at his phone again, taking a deep breath and making his decision.

As the first sun ray reflected his helmet, he called Dick Grayson for the first time in years.

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thejustmaiden · 4 years

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I’m honestly hoping with the current movement of #saveourchildren and the lgbtq community calling out pedos will give the sequel backlash if Rin is the mother. Also I hope none of those shippers are a part of the movement because than it’s just hypocrisy at it’s finest. I’m honored praying sunrise gets the backlash if they decide to do that, especially since it’s 2020, NORMAL and SANE people will be shocked. I’m pretty sure everyone’s sick of the “it’s normal in Japan.” People want change.

Hey, nonnie! I'm not sure if you're the same person who sent me the previous anon ask about what Jaken's VA sent during the livestream or not. I'm assuming that because I received them almost back-to-back, but maybe I wrong. Whatever it may be, happy to have you. 😊

It would be hypocritical in many ways, yes, but at the same time many Sessrin shippers say they would never condone acts like child grooming and the such in real life. I really believe them for the most part, too.

So where does that leave us? Well, what it all really comes down to is at what point do we start acknowledging the spaces both fiction and real life occupy and the (in)direct impact they're capable of having on each other.

In my opinion, Sessrin shippers refuse to accept their correlation- whether that be due to denial, lack of awareness, or a bit of both. Regardless, it's safe to say they simply don't take how linked these two are as seriously as antis do.

As has become a habit of mine in recent blogs/asks lol, I'd like to refer you to a great write-up by boycottyashahime. Read their thoughts on this very subject here. They always put it better than me anyway. Here's a preview excerpt:

"Predators have and continue to use fictional relationships to convince their victims that the abuse they experience is perfectly fine. I think that it would behoove the SessRin community to make sure that those in their midst who are young and vulnerable know the warning signs, understand when an older person may be trying to take advantage of them, and encourage drawing a clear line between the fictional ship and real relationships."

Sessrin shippers would respond to this by saying that shipping a fictional pairing- yes, even if it has harmful implications- isn't actually bad since it's not real and therefore can't be viewed in a negative light. A common misconception of theirs is that antis can't separate real life from fiction. Let me break down why these two reasonings lack support and are basically justifications:

1) Inuyasha is aimed at a young audience, and at no point in this series should a teenager watching be subjected to controversial dynamics closely reminiscent of pedophilia or child grooming. Period.

2) Most of us who have a problem with it CAN in fact differentiate between real life and fiction so please stop missing the point, be it intentionally or not.

The main issue we have is why are we exposing young minds to a heavy topic they are not mature enough to handle yet. Whether you agree or not, it's common knowledge that Sessrin raises a lot of red flags. Antis aren't overreacting because of dumb shipping wars or anything trivial like that. What we're reacting to is the typical Sessrin shipper's response to this pairing. Ship it if you want, but please don't tell us how we should frame our opinions according to your "historically accurate" portrayal, especially if it morphs the truth into something unrecognizable in order to fit your narrative.

Here's an example to give you a better idea of what I mean:

Let's say my favorite animal is the koala bear and yours is the kangaroo. Both are marsupials, right? Both lovable, but one is friendly and the other can be quite dangerous. Now imagine you trying to suggest a kangaroo is as friendly as a koala- so essentially something it's not. Shouldn't I correct you? Sure, you can love the kangaroo (Sessrin in this case) all you want, but shouldn't we stick to the facts presented to us? Accurate identification is the key to appropriate representation! (Say it with me! I like alliteration and rhyming, what can I say? lol) This way there isn't any confusion and we can help prevent our young ones from misinterpreting potentially threatening situations. By attempting to pass the kangaroo off in a category among docile species like the koala (aka healthy ships), you risk putting others in harm's way. Who's to say a child won't take your word for it and just run up to a kangaroo someday and get gravely injured (aka they've now exposed themselves to a real life predator). All this could've been avoided from the get-go if a certain group of people didn't refuse to admit that the kangaroo is indeed dangerous no matter how much they wish it wasn't. Trying to convince us that a kangaroo can be like a koala or something it's not is never going to happen. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that either so there's no need to get defensive. The kangaroo can still survive and thrive and so can your ship, but just in a different environment/genre.

(Did that analogy work? xD)

And nobody as far as I've witnessed (with the exception of maybe one or two occasions) has straight-up called Sessrin shippers pedophiles. Pedo apologists, perhaps, but those two aren't one in the same. Petty and ugly name-calling on the other hand? Well, that's taking place on both sides so you can't really use that against antis.

People do want change! Not only am I tired of Sessrin fans speaking on behalf of an entire country regarding the popularity of a ship despite a strong presence of antis there, nonnie, I'm sick of those same fans telling us we don't have a right to be critical of the content we consume. "If you don't like it, then stop watching."

Since when did it become wrong to demand we do better and improve in areas? It's only normal we care and expect our entertainment to be aligned with our real life morals, because how else do you think fans relate to characters? Of course fiction can push the boundaries as is its nature, but like with everything else in life there are limits. After all, the stories we make up are but reflections of the human experience and we're taught that there are some lines you must never cross.

I'd like to end this off by saying that I hope you're right, nonnie, and that Sunrise and everyone else involved in this sequel receive all the backlash they deserve if they decide to go through with Sessrin. It's possible that movements like Save Our Children can help people who are struggling to understand why making this ship canon is problematic. On top of that, it can help them re-evaluate their values and put them in better perspective in regard to this pairing's close connection to serious acts of abuse like child grooming.

Maybe this whole time we've just been underestimating Sunrise and Rumiko's ability for profound and consistent storytelling. *knocks on wood* All along maybe we had nothing to worry about, who knows? Don't break my heart, readers, and just let me be the half-glass full kinda gal I've always been. It ain't over till it's over. 🤗

Edit: I recently discovered that a right-wing conspiracy pro-Trump group by the name of QAnon is trying to hijack the Save Our Children movement as their own. As much as I support anything that brings more light to children's issues, I do not support Trump, this terrorist organization, and their conspiracy theories.

#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #anti sessrin #save our children #anonymous asks #answered ask

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ink-and-flame · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 8 : Darkmoon Darkness [WARCRAFT]

Kinktober Day 8 Prompts: Rope body harness ~ Fisting (vaginal) ~ Riding the horse (crotch tort.) Fandom: World of Warcraft Tags: Exophilia, Dom/sub, size difference, rope play, vaginal fisting, BDSM furniture, BDSM scene, crotch toruture, pain/pleasure, sadism, darkness, Pairing: Goblin(m)/Tauren(f)

[Author’s note:This is another shameless indulgence. It is based very loosely on a roleplay I did a while back. I thought the concept of a goblin and a tauren was fun and wanted to explore a what if things went further sort of scenario. I am using Zonk (Zonkle) with permission of my RP partner. Miakoda is a variation of a character I actually play and I didn’t want to use my ingame name for this.]

The Darkmoon Faire was typically known for its rides and games, but there was another side to the Faire that if you knew where to look, you would know its darker secrets. There were tents off to the side, out of the way, almost hidden, that held wares and delights to tantalize the mind and the flesh. If you could think it, most likely it could be found. From potions, to performers, from toys to furniture, nothing was off limits and nothing was without a price. If it could be made it could be sold.

Items and potions weren’t all there was for sale. Someone with curiosity and coin could also buy experiences. Either with a paid performer or just on their own. This was what brought Zonkle to the Faire. Word had spread in the back alleys about the other side of the Darkmoon Faire. The offerings appealed to him and his curiosity had to be sated. The goblin wasn’t sure what he would find, but as long as he found something, the night wouldn’t be a waste.

The tents looked the same as any of the other tents at the faire. It was easy to miss the little symbols on the signs that differentiated them from the employee area or the tents selling normal wares. The biggest difference was the flaps of all these tents were closed, and staff stood outside. They were in charge of keeping the young, and those that had already shown themselves to be a problem, out.

Having never been to this area of the Faire before, Zonk wasn’t sure what to expect when he stepped into one of the tents. This one seemed to be more for selling wares. There were booths with goods stacked up. Potions that did all manner of interesting things. Some of them were too interesting to pass up and the goblin found himself purchasing more than he had intended. Moving on he smirked at the table of sex toys. These he was familiar with, though some of them were more unusual that anything he had ever seen or used before.

There were several booths of clothing and bondage gear. Much of it appealed to the goblin and he found himself doing mental calculations on how much gold he had brought with him, and if it would be enough. He was already aware of this side of himself, but had only just begun to explore it in depth. Zonk knew he liked pain, but he liked the pain of others much, much more. He enjoyed the sight of his partner restrained and helpless. The sight of rope criss crossing the soft curves of a feminine figure aroused him more than just nudity alone.

While the trip through this tent of wares had been hard on his coin pouch, Zonkle was not too bothered. He could make more gold easily enough, and what was the point of having it if not to purchase the things that were worth more than the gold itself. Still, the sights, the textures, the ambient sounds coming from the other tents. It aroused him and he wanted to see more. He knew that experiences could be purchased as well. While he had never needed to pay for sex, there had been times he had done so anyway just for the thrill of it. Knowing he was paying to use the body beneath him, and that his gold bought him some leeway in what he could do. It teased at something darker in him, something coiled and silent that slept within him.

Wanting to see more of what this side of Darkmoon offered Zonkle exited the tent and looked around at the others. They weren’t clearly marked, probably on purpose, so he would have to just explore until he found what he wanted. The current choice was a longer, more narrow design that seemed much larger on the inside than the outside. The other noticeable feature was the silence. Once inside the tent none of the outside sounds could be heard, and it looked like there was a main area and a long hallway with sectioned off rooms. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what might be going on here, though to be sure he walked up to the desk nodding to the goblin there.

“Would you like to browse the offerings?” The goblin pushed a large book over to Zonkle.

Opening it, it was just pages of pictures and stats with prices listed. He could purchase sex from anyone in the book it seemed. Males, females, races of all kinds. Faction didn’t matter here, and Zonkle was eyeing the Alliance races pretty hard.

“Looking over whats offered at all the tents. This seems,” There was a pause. “Good, may come back, but I was looking for something a little. Eh, spicier? More intense. Sex is great and all, but I like what I like.” Zonk was vague, not wanting to give too much away.

The other goblin smiled, a dark sort of smile that Zonk had to admit he liked. That smile had promise, and that promise was he just might get what he wanted tonight.

“We have that too, just not here. Are you looking for a show or something more interactive?”

“I could do both, a show could be nice, but eventually, well a guy has needs.” Zonk chuckled and pushed some strands of his red hair out of his face. “What would I get with a show?”

“Right now we have a line of girls on horses, bound up nice and pretty. They are lowered onto the horse, letting it snug up against their crotches, and we see how long they last before coding out. From what I understand, it hurts, and feels good, depending on the dame I guess.”

“Horses? Like, animal fucking? Not really my gig.” Zonkle liked some strange things but he wasn’t so sure about that.

“Bondage horses. Made out of wood, shaped like a triangle. The point is where they rest. They can be bound to it, some of them have a removable point so it's more flat to lay on. Makes it easy to fuck em from behind if you are dealing with some serious size difference.”

“Oh, ok yeah that. That I wanna see. How much for the show?”

“Head over a couple tents. The orc at the door will tell you. Depending on how long the show has been goin on, is how much you pay. If it is almost over its free unless you wanna stay for the next show but there is a long break in between to reset everything.”

Zonkle nodded and headed over to the tent as directed. Lucky for him the show had only been going for a few minutes and while he didn’t have to pay full price, it was still a bit more than he had anticipated. He eyeballed the orc suspiciously before handing over the gold. The show had better be pretty damn spectacular for the price they were asking. Though he wasn’t really sure what to expect once inside.

There were still some good seats and he noticed they were spaced out. Considering what was most likely going to happen in the audience while the show was going, that wasn’t a surprise. Zonk wasn’t too worried about himself. He had control and patience. He wanted more than his hand, and this would serve as a nice tease to get him even more in the mood.

The horses already had women on them, all races, all sizes, it was a sight to behold. Their thighs spread wide strapped down to the wooden horses beneath them. Some were bent over and cuffed to a loop on the front. Others were sitting up, their hands tied behind their backs. One rather large breasted tauren had her whole top half bound intricately with rope. It continued down her sides to her hips and thighs, but the angle made it harder to see that part.

It was the rope that caught Zonk’s attention. He had never been aroused by tauren women before, well not often anyway. He did find himself staring at their breasts often enough, but the rest of them were usually a bit too unusual for him. Too close to an animal. This was making him change his mind. He wanted her, and he wanted her somewhere alone, private, and dark.

The show continued as one, after another, slowly either tapped out or coded out in whatever way they had available. Eventually only two were left. A long legged night elf who looked on the edge of orgasm, and the tauren who looked strangely serene even though it was clear now that fluid was dripping down the sides of the wooden horse. Zonkle hoped it was cum, but she seemed too relaxed for that to be the case. Maybe she was just really that wet and that got him even more worked up. He wanted her, needed her, and he was going to have her.

The night elf came, crowning the tauren the winner of the show. Though no real prizes were given, at least not as far as the audience could see. All around him Zonk saw people getting off or cleaning up after finishing themselves. Yes he was hard, but he wasn’t going to waste his orgasm, not on just watching. No he was going to find her, entice her to come play with him. See how far she would let him go.

Waiting for an opening Zonk slipped towards the back of the tent, making sure not to alert the staff to his presences. The shadows were his friends, they always had been. He could control them, though that took more energy and concentration that he wanted to bother with at the moment.

Locating the tauren he waited until he was sure they were alone before speaking to her. “That was quite a show and I was wondering if you did private sessions?” It was risky, but he wasn’t exactly thinking with the smart part of his brain.

The tauren turned and looked down at the voice, a goblin. He didn’t look to be staff, but he also looked confident enough to be there, so she wasn’t sure. There were a lot of goblins on staff after all, she couldn’t be expected to know them all. Mia was aroused and if the goblin was offering, she might be tempted though she wasn’t sure he would really be able to satisfy her.

“That depends on what you plan to offer me, and just know, I am not swayed by gold.”

Zonkle had a pretty good read on her. Judging from her reaction, she liked what she had felt. She had clearly chosen the more complex and intricate rope work. The soaked fur between her thigh was also a pretty clear indication that pain aroused her. He could work with this. “I can make it hurt so good you wont know pleasure from pain, better than you have ever felt.”

Mia tilted her head. He was small but clearly confident. She knew that this was a chance to experience something different, and if he didn’t give what he promised, she could just step on him for the trouble. “Ok, I am intrigued enough to give this a try. Follow me.”

The tauren walked swiftly through the back of the tent, winding around, exiting through a small back slit and slipping into the back of a much smaller tent. This one didn’t have much in it and looked like it could be used for storage. She sat on a crate crossing one leg over another, her thick thighs squeezing together.

“Ok goblin, what do you propose?”

There was a lot going through his mind as he followed her. The sight of that wide plump ass giving him some interesting ideas. There was one thing he had wanted to try, many times, but even after paying for it he could never get anyone to agree.

“As you can see, goblins have big hands.” He held his up, spreading his fingers and wiggling them. “You seem to like pain, and I like to provide it.” He waited, watching her expression bounce between curious and suspicious. “Lemme fist ya?”

Mia’s head jerked up and back in shock, but the throb she felt between her legs had already made the decision for her. She was going to say yes, despite knowing this was a bad idea, she was going to say yes and damn the consequences.

“What do you get out of this?”

“Don’t worry about that now. This might just be enough. So is that a yes?” Zonk was already walking up to her.

“Yes.”

Eyes darting around the small space it took him a minute to arrange the crates so he could stand on a smaller one between her thighs. Having her lay back on a large one, legs off to the sides. He was glad that among the potions, he also bought lube. As we as she was, he wasn’t stupid. He wanted it to hurt, but not tear or she would put a stop to it.

Zonk let his gaze travel over her form. Those massive breasts bound tight by the rope winding its way over her torso. Around her arms, down her stomach. Her crotch was left open, but it seems like knots connected a few bands of rope around her thighs to the ones on her sides. She was beautiful like this and Zonk realized that he might want to just keep her for a while. Not for any emotional reason, just that her body seemed strong enough to handle what he might put it through.

Pouring some lube on his hand he rubbed it over her folds, teasing her clit gently, watching as her opening winked at him, a clear sign on her pleasure. He would have to be careful of his claws, but that wouldn’t be too hard once he had stretched her a bit. Of course, their size difference made things much easier, and Zonk found that he could get all three of his fingers in with very little effort.

Licking his lips Zonk used his thumb to rub her clit as he spread his fingers inside of her, stretching her. “Looks like ya might be ready.” His accent sliping the more aroused he got. He had tried, long ago, to lose it. Not liking how it made him sound. Right now he didn’t care. His eyes flashed as wisps of shadow danced around him and then disappeared. “Ya want more?”

“Yes, more, please!” Mia did not expect for it to feel this good already. This goblin was god with his hands and she was ready.

Tucking his thumb against his palm Zonk pushed his hand in slowly, when he felt resistance he added more lube, then used his free hand to rub slow circles on her clit, then around the edges of her opening. As he felt her relax, he pushed his hand in, watching as she closed tight around his wrist. Her moans made him throb in his pants. He could hear the twing of pain mixed with her pleasure. It thrilled him. Wanting more he pushed his hand in farther, splaying his fingers, stretching her deeper.

Zonk made it all the way to his elbow before stopping. She was panting, her sounds more full of pain than pleasure. As much as he wanted to push, he had to find a balance that would let him keep going. Leaning in, his long tongue snaked out and lapped at her clit. Wrapping his lips around it he sucked, gently at first, until he could feel her hips bucking. His forearm was clamped tight inside her, and he could feel the muscles in her rippling. Slowly pulling his arm out just to the wrist, he poured lube from his wrist to his elbow and pushed back in with one fluid motion.

This time her cries were more pleasure than pain, something he could live with. He was curious if she would actually cum from this. He assumed she probably would. Her body was giving all the right signals. He wiggled his fingers inside of her, letting her feel his hand splay out and stretch her. The arch of her hips was all the encouragement he needed to begin pumping his arm in and out slowly. He pulled back and added more lube again until she was slick enough that he felt significantly less resistance.

Now she was arching and grinding against his arm, perfect, slowly he formed his hand into a fist, his hard knuckles brushing her most sensitive places as he pushed his arm in hard almost up to the shoulder. She screamed, it was a beautiful sound. So much pleasure wrapped in so much pain. His cock was so hard it had almost broken the latches on his pants. Not wanting to stop he looked up, trying to see her face but he couldn’t, not in this position. Worried that speaking might remind her that she could say stop and he would have to honor that he leaned in and sucked hard on her clit.

Zonk pushed his fist in faster until he hit the absolute depths of her. His thick hand stretched her wide as he moaned around her clit. Her voice hitched, it almost sounded like she might be crying. Whether from pleasure or pain, it was hard to say. The sensation of her throbbing and pulsing around his arm let him know that she was cumming. The thought of her crying, and cumming despite the pain was enough to send him over the edge into a small orgasm of his own. His cock twitching and leaking cum into his pants as his hips rutted against nothing.

Forcing himself to stop wasn’t easy and Zonkle slowly pulled back. Taking his time to remove his hand from her. Twisting it around a few times once he hit the wrist, watching her twitch and spasm. His eyes locked on how tight she gripped him.

“Keep that up, I will cum again.” Mia panted.

Zonkle looked up with wide eyes. She had lifted her head and was watching him with fascination. She had been crying, he had clearly hurt her, but she wanted more? Afraid to ask, afraid that speaking would break the spell he twisted his fist again and watched as both pain and pleasure crossed her face.

This time, his eyes moved away from her stretched hole, to just watch her face as he twisted and thrust his fist in. He stayed shallow, not going in as far. His knuckles bushed a lump, hard but also spongy. She cried out loudly, and a slow grin spread on his face. Pushing his fist in he moves his hand from side to side, rocking his knuckles across that spot. Watching as she clearly lost control.

Reaching up he pinched her clit, softly at first, then a little harder. The pinch was hard enough to make her yelp in pain and then moan loudly again. Zonk kept it up, pinching with varying degrees of pressure as he rocked his knuckles against that sweet spot inside of her. She was getting wetter by the second, and he was sure she would cum soon.

What the goblin had not expected was the power of the orgasm the tauren would have, or just how hard she could squirt with the right stimulation. He was sprayed in the face, his hair was soaked as was his chest. She had cum all over him and that alone had him snarling with a feral sort of arousal. Tearing off his pants Zonk roughly yanked his arm out of her and thrust himself in.

The feel of her loose ruined hole around him was heaven and he dug his claws sharply into her hips as he rutted into her with animalistic abandon. His sharp teeth scrapped and nipped her abdomen as he hunched against her. His thrusts wild, hard, deep. He hadn’t asked, but it was implied from the beginning that sex was going to happen. As far as he was concerned this was all part of his plan and not him losing control.

The previous smaller orgasm was the only thing that kept the goblin from cumming embarrassingly fast, but it still wasn’t enough to have him last as long as he usually would. She felt too good, so hot, so wet around him. He was used to a little more tightness, but something about how much he had stretched her, the feel of her being used first, that was a whole different thrill and soon, far too soon for his liking, Zonk was cumming with a loud snarl.

The goblin collapsed onto the tauren, panting hard. Oh yeah, he was going to keep her. One way or another, he was going to make sure this happened again and maybe more. Now all he had to do was figure out how to convince her that she wanted it too.

#exophilia #goblin boyfriend #goblin/tauren #warcraft fanfic #Kinktober 2020

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dmitri-smerdyakov · 4 years

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The Fantastic Beasts Franchise and JK Rowling

Alright, so...hi everyone.

I don’t know how many people follow this blog anymore because my main blog of operation is now @alwaysahiccupandastrid - I still try to keep this blog relatively active though, just because it was my original blog, I’ve had it since I was 13, and I have so many memories attached to it.

I’m aware that a lot of the people who follow me, especially since late 2016, do so because a) I was a loud and proud Fantastic Beasts fan, b) I wrote some Newtina and Jakweenie fic, and c)...I don’t know. I literally don’t know why people bother following me anywhere because I don’t feel like I have a lot to say. But, anyway, many people probably follow me due to Fantastic Beasts and my posts/fanfics within the fandom.

Those who follow my active blog will already know my feelings and thoughts, but because of the fact many things about this blog - me, the posts for the last four-ish years, the url itself - are Beasts related, I felt it was necessary to come and write an actual post here instead of just reblogging things and calling it a day. I’ve always been very outspoken online, but I’ve been avoiding a certain topic of conversation on this blog for years now, and I’m finally in a place where we can discuss it.

I am, of course, talking about the hot topic that is JK Rowling.

Back in the days between FBAWTFT and FBTCOG, I was a very outspoken defender of JK Rowling and her decision to defend Johnny Depp’s inclusion in the films. Now, this is something I still stand by to this day, and due to the evidence that has since come out, I’m even more steadfast in the opinion that keeping Depp was a great decision. I am fully in support of him and the way he’s currently battling against his abuser. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about right now. As I was saying, back in the day, I was outspoken about the opinion that “we don’t know the full story” etc., and as a result I received very colourful anon messages. Now, to my knowledge, none of these were about JKR being a TERF/transphone, but I think it’s important to mention that at the time I scoffed at the idea she could be one. I openly admit that I didn’t listen to what other people - including actual trans individuals - were saying about JKR and her transphobia because I frankly didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to admit that the person who wrote something that saved my life could be so hateful and a bad person - that, and at the time I passed it all off as “wokeness out of control”.

It is now 2020. Up until last Saturday night, I was still in support of JK Rowling - I didn’t agree with some of the stuff she had said, but I was trying to be positive and have hope by telling myself that she didn’t mean to be transphobic, that she just didn’t know what she was doing was wrong, even though the evidence clearly showed otherwise (I.e. her liking transphobic / radfem tweets). I said to my followers on my Beasts page that instead of cancelling people outright, we should be attempting to educate them instead, and if they choose not to learn then fine. And, being 100% obvious, I didn’t want to admit it because I frankly already was feeling annoyed at two different Beasts cast members for different reasons: Ezra Miller (for choking a girl) and Dan Fogler (for his tweet about BLM - admittedly that was probably him being well intentioned but not saying it right). So yeah, I didn’t want to cancel another member of the Beasts “family”.

I had JKR’s tweets on notifications, and for the most part over the last few weeks, it was all about the Ickabog. However, on Saturday night I noticed that she had suddenly tweeted something completely different, and I looked at it. Given that I had adamantly defended her and said “freedom of speech” for so long, it’s telling that my first thought upon seeing her tweet was literally “for fuck sake, Jo, why”.

I won’t post her tweets here but to sum that first tweet up, it was her being annoyed over the term “people who menstruate” being used in an article instead of “woman”, and mockingly saying “there used to be a word for that” before pretending she didn’t know the word. She knew that tweeting it would start arguments and anger, and yet she still made the decision to do so. Her follow up tweets frankly dug the hole deeper; she tried to defend herself by saying, to sum it up, “I have a butch lesbian friend who agrees with me” “I just care about women’s rights!” And “IF trans people were marginalised I’d march with you!” (“If”, of course, being the real kicker here because what do you mean IF. They ARE. Every DAY.)

Since then, JKR has written an essay on her website defending herself and her opinions, and yes, I read it. I read it a few times, in fact. At first, I felt my anger simmer and felt I had been too hasty to make anti JKR jokes, that I was wrong...but then I read it again properly and realised that what she had written was a piece that turned herself into the victim, and that despite putting on the appearance of her saying she supports trans people, including the phrases “I support trans people” and “of course trans women are real women”, she still spewed much transphobic vitriol and hate. She cited no sources for any of her proclamations or statements about statistics, implied that trans men transition to escape their “womanhood”, that trans women are men in dresses, that trans women are dangerous to “real” women (aka cis women) and shouldn’t be allowed into women’s changing rooms or toilets. There was also the autism comment, and the implication of autistic girls somehow not being able to make decisions or whatever.

I’m going to get straight to the point: I don’t support JK Rowling or her radical feminism.

As someone who is a proud feminist (libfem?), I can honestly say that never have I felt threatened or like I was being silenced by the inclusion of trans women in feminist spaces or conversation. Never. In my second year at sixth form, I was in charge of the LGBTQ+ club until a new leader with better leadership skills could step in, and - put simply - that year, the club was made almost entirely of first year transgender students. Even though I had called myself a trans ally for years, I realised there was a lot I didn’t know, and I learnt quite a lot from these students. I continue to still learn today. They were some of the nicest and most intelligent people I got the chance to meet, and I can truly say that at no point was I ever worried to be in a room alone with a trans woman, nor was I concerned about which bathroom they went in - bathrooms are bathrooms. Speaking of bathrooms...when I was at uni during a particularly tense rehearsal a few weeks before our final show last year, a guy in our group made me cry and I ran to the women’s bathroom to escape. Not only did the other girls come to comfort me, but you know what? The guy came in and apologised profusely to me. Did any of us girls give a shit about having a guy in our toilet? Absolutely not. It’s a fucking toilet. And, on that note, I was never worried about a trans woman or even a cis man attacking me in the toilets. You know who DID attack me in the toilets regularly? Other cisgender women.

As a feminist, I fully support trans women and am not threatened by the inclusion of trans women in women’s spaces or in women’s rights discussions. While I agree that cis women and trans women inevitably go through different struggles, at the end of the day, we all identify as women and are women. I think that if your feminism is so threatened by the existence of trans women - TERFs, RadFems, JKR, looking at you - then your feminism is flimsy and not feminism at all.

As a woman, I find it highly offensive that JKR and many RadFems focus so much of womanhood and feminism on an involuntary biological function that, frankly, many of us would rather do without. Yeah, I’m talking about periods - no matter how proud I am to be a woman, I still fucking hate periods and would get rid of mine if I could without erasing my chance of having kids someday. I can hear the RadFems accusing me of “internalised woman hatred” for saying I hate my periods, but you know what, they suck and they hurt and fuck them. The fact that JKR (also the the radfem movement) reduced “women” to just people who menstruate and can have children, and vice versa, is incredibly offensive and misogynistic. For a start, trans men menstruate, intersex people can, non binary can etc. Next, not even ALL cis women have periods - women who are menopausal, young women who haven’t started puberty yet (some do start very late), some women don’t have regular cycles, some women have medical problems that affect their cycle, some women are on birth control that can stop their cycles. So the idea of women being defined as “those who menstruate” is offensive not only to trans/intersex/non binary individuals but also to cis ones too.

As I write this, I’m a 22 year old woman who is still learning and changing every day, and one of the things that I’ve found myself thinking about recently - especially since we’re in lockdown and we have nothing BUT time to think - is about myself and my identity as a woman. What prompted this was when I saw Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s beloved book, “Little Women”, which I’ve since read, for my birthday back in January, and I left the cinema feeling exalted and powerful with my own identity as a woman. (I’ll be returning to LW in a bit)

After some thinking, I’ve realised some things. For me, my identity as a woman is not just because once a month my uterus decides to shed; I do not identify as a woman just because I have certain physical features. I am not a particularly feminine person either, and I’m what some may call a “tomboy” (a phrase I actually don’t mind but I know a lot of people do for understandable reasons since it’s a phrase designed to differentiate people who don’t conform to society’s expectations etc) because I prefer video games and more geeky stuff to shopping or dressing up or make up.

For me, there is no one way a person has to be or appear in order to identify as a woman. Women are beautiful, complex human beings; we are not defined by our genitalia, by an involuntary biological process. Women are strong, intelligent, and interesting people - no two are the same. For example, some decide to raise families, some choose to pursue a career, some do both - all of these are valid and none are more “feminist” or “womanly” than the others, because it’s our as women. I guarantee that if you lined up every single woman in the world - cis AND trans - no two would be the exact same.

I mentioned “Little Women” earlier, and as I was pondering over what makes me identify as a “woman”, I thought a lot about a certain quote from the 2019 film that has stayed with me since it was first said in the release of the trailer. It’s spoken by Jo March to her mother, and I’ve started to understand what for me makes me a woman.

For me, being a woman is all of this: having minds, hearts, souls, ambition, talent, and being beautiful each in our own ways. Women are capable of love and empathy, capable of desire, capable of the most complex and human feelings and emotions, and coming out the stronger for it.

Sex is one thing; gender identity is another.

I won’t dissect every single thing JKR wrote in her essay, but I will just say this: her comments regarding autistic girls are extremely tone deaf and she does not speak for those with autism. I’m going to be honest and admit something here I haven’t before: I have not been diagnosed with autism or aspergers but I AM currently on the waiting list to see someone who COULD diagnose me. Apparently I show signs of a potential diagnosis, so...we’ll have to see. But I have friends who are autistic, and they’re disgusted by JKR trying to use them to support her TERF arguments. Autistic and other neurodivergent people are absolutely capable of making decisions and are NOT people who need to be babied or have their hands held, to be told who they are. It’s incredibly ableist of JK Rowling frankly.

I would also like to point out... I’ve seen people saying “but she doesn’t hate autistic people, Newt is autistic!!!” - yes, but JKR didn’t write him as autistic. Eddie Redmayne chose to play Newt as autistic - JK Rowling didn’t do shit.

It’s also time that I acknowledge that both Potter and Beasts inevitably hold JKR’s problematic views, and that by denying her ownership of her work, we’re not holding her accountable for the horrible things she’s done. This includes - but is not limited to -:

Anti-Semitic stereotypes in the goblins

Lycanthropy being used as a metaphor for AIDS - an illness that is heavily associated to the gay community, and also there was the panic of the AIDs crisis in the 90s where much misinformation and homophobia was generated and spread because of it.

Adding further to the lycanthropy point, one of the infected individuals - Greyback - is stated to have a sick preference for infecting children. Not only are werewolves tied to harmful gay/AIDs stereotypes, but also to the disgusting and frankly wrong notion that gay people are pedophiles.

The only Asian character is called Cho Chang. Cho Chang. That’s two steps away from outright just calling her “Ching Chong”. It’s not a name an actual Asian person would have.

The Goldstein sisters are probably distantly related to Anthony Goldstein, who JKR confirmed (on Twitter of course) is Jewish, meaning that Tina and Queenie are most likely Jewish too (and Goldstein is a Jewish surname). However, despite the fact that the first FBaWTFT is set DURING Hanukkah in 1926, there’s zero signs of them celebrating or observing it. Maybe that’s more on set design than anything else, but come on - if I, a fanfic writer, can do some research, JK/the crew of a major movie can too!

Adding on from that, gotta love how one of the JEWISH main characters then decides to join the Wizarding world equivalent of Hitler. I already had problems with Queenie’s characterisation in CoG, but that’s the icing on the cake.

POC/Black characters - in both series but since I’m a Beasts blog... Seraphina Picquery, a Black female president serving a term during a MAJOR wizarding world crisis, is severely reduced to have only 3 lines in CoG. Nagini’s only purpose is to be the only friend of Credence, a white man, before he joins Wizard Hitler and abandons her; she’s also an Asian character who we know one day permanently becomes a SNAKE, and who goes on to actually have a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of her?? And some do see her as his slave, though you could argue that she’s actually the only being that he holds any love or respect for. Leta Lestrange is a half-black woman who is killed/literally sacrifices herself for TWO WHITE MEN, and who’s death was literally confirmed to have been added in last minute.

Also, the whole Lestrange storyline was fucking nasty: white Lestrange Sr imperius-ed a black woman (Yusuf Kama’s mother), raped her, and she then died in childbirth. I’m sorry, what the fuck??

In Harry Potter, Seamus is a terrible stereotype of an Irish person - he likes to blow things up. Look up the IRA and their bombings. Fucking Irish stereotype. As someone with Irish grandparents and who is proud of their Irish heritage, this really pisses me off.

Let’s not forget the whole Native American cultural appropriation. That truly speaks for itself.

So here is where I speak candidly to everyone who follows me and/or sees this post. While Beasts is no longer my No. 1 fandom these days, it and Potter still hold a huge piece of my heart. I have 5 wizarding world tattoos, so much merchandise, and I can safely say that being a fan of both series has shaped me as a person. Both of those series helped me get through the darkest days of my life, including bullying at school, my Nan passing away, and my mental health struggles.

This is why what’s happened has impacted me so much and broken my heart. For me, it feels like it’s tainted now because of Jo and her views. I know that we should separate the art from the artist, but when her views are so clearly woven into the very fabric of the Wizarding world, it’s a huge problem.

Here’s another part of the dilemma - I do not wish for the Beasts films to be cancelled. I’m well aware that the *cough* people who dislike me will say I’m trying to be negative, trying to boycott the series blah blah blah, but that’s truly the last thing I want. I still love the story, the characters, the soundtrack, and I want to know how it ends, if only for my own piece of mind. It’s also important to add that by boycotting Beasts, it’s also harming the hard working thousands of others who worked on the films: the cast, the crew, the extras, the musicians, etc., not to mention the fans who actually are invested in the series and have taken solace in it. It’s not fair for them to all suffer over the actions of one TERF.

This is one of my biggest worries, however: the Fantastic Beasts films do NOT have a good reputation as it is. The second film was boycotted by some due to Depp, and now there’s talk of people boycotting number 3 because of JK Rowling. Lots of people already talk hatred about it, and this will only fire that hatred up even more.

There’s also talk of Eddie Redmayne potentially being kicked from the franchise due to a “leak” that he doesn’t want to work with JKR anymore, but this could be sensationalist news reporting. But if it came down to it, I can honestly say that I would rather continue to have Eddie play Newt than keep JKR as a writer. Eddie has done more for Newt than even JKR has, and if he goes, then that will be the last straw for me within the fandom. That will be when I take a sharp exit out, sell my FB merch and have my tattoos covered.

To add, the Fantastic Beasts scripts are...not great. Or, at least, what we saw on-screen wasn’t. Maybe that’s David Yates being the literal worst (fuck you, Yates, you suck) and cutting all the parts with strong female characters, but I honestly don’t think that JKR can write screenplays well at all. I think she’s clearly better at writing books, and that’s fine - books obviously allow for more time to explore characters and story/plot arcs etc, and film scripts offer way less of those chances. I don’t think screenplays allow her to write what she needs to in order to tell the story she wants to, hence why CoG was kind of a hot mess. So maybe it’s just that she’s not suited for screenplays and should stick to books.

Honestly, I kind of just wish that WB would hire another person to finish writing the Fantastic Beasts movies - obviously they’d have to keep JKR on board to tell them the actual plot, but get someone who can actually write screenplays and not be problematic to write them.

By now I’ve gone on long enough that I’ve forgotten my original intent while writing this, so I’ll try to sum up and end now. In short, I am extremely disappointed in JK Rowling and do not support her or her views any longer.

I don’t know how any of you guys are feeling but I would be interested to hear other people’s thoughts, especially other Fantastic Beasts fans. I want to also add that, as always, my DMs and inbox are always open - if not here, then always at @alwaysahiccupandastrid where I’m more active nowadays.

Finally, you guys don’t need me - a white cis woman - to tell you this but you’re all valid and magical and fuck JK Rowling. Her characters would all be ashamed of her, and the characters we grew up with would not stand for the bigotry and vile hatred she spreads under the guise of ““protecting women””. Several of the amazing actors from Potter and Beasts have spoken out against her and her tweets: Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Bonnie Wright, Katie Leung, Chris Rankin, Eddie Redmayne. Some have been...less inspiring (Tom Felton, Evanna Lynch, looking at you two 👀)

I’m sending love to everyone right now. I wish I could say something more useful but I’ve spoken enough - I’ve made my opinion clear. I love you all, please stay safe.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald #jk rowling #harry potter

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kittsfics · 4 years

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Overdue Conversations

Start of series: x Sequel to: x

"Geralt can tell you about the Witcher code, Little Lion. It's something along the lines of letting no innocents be harmed, and, of course, always making sure you get paid. But we both know he's one of the kindest people either of us have met. Plus he has the patience of a saint.”

“I have to.” Geralt deadpans with a significant look in their direction and Ciri giggles at Jaskier’s dramatic gasp.

“I don’t appreciate your implications, my good sir.” He carries on exaggerating his offence to keep Ciri laughing, it’s such a rare sound, and catches Geralt’s soft smile.

“It’s probably best you learn from us, Jaskier has an… interesting view on morality.” Jaskier automatically opened his mouth to start arguing but Geralt just raises an eyebrow, and he can admit maybe the witcher has a point. “If he had 3 wishes, his first one would be to kill another troubadour. Do you know how I know that?”

Ciri laughs as if she doesn’t believe Geralt, and, yes, Jaskier will admit it wasn’t his finest moment. He’d just come from the Novagrad poetry competition where the judges had been biased and Valdo had been unbearably smug at his undeserved victory. And Jaskier, after several sleepless nights following rumours of Geralt had not been at his best, so both of his wishes were unfair and vindictive. But he’s self aware enough to know he’s not exactly a paragon of virtue at the best of times.

Shaking it off, he reaches for his lute and Ciri immediately drops onto one of the benches. He doesn’t know where her sudden desire to learn to play came from, she’d never shown any interest when he visited Cintra. He has a feeling Geralt knows more than he’s letting on, but hasn’t managed to get anything out of him so far. However it doesn’t really matter, she’s a good student as long as she doesn’t get distracted.

They run through some simple tunes as Geralt settles a little way down the table, getting out his travel pack to check his ingredient stocks over. By the time they’ve moved onto discussing performing he’s started to sharpen his small blades.

“In a crowd always be aware of the overall mood, and keep an eye out for instigators, anyone that’ll cause problems. Or anyone that looks like they might have useful information, it’s possibly the most important commodity. Especially for someone like you.”

“Says the spy.”

“Geralt, I am offended.” The over the top gasp and dramatic reeling back with a hand on his chest gets its intended effect, hiding the sudden tense line of his shoulders and making Ciri laugh again, distracting her from questioning him any further. He knows Geralt doesn’t mean anything malicious by it, but it’s something he isn’t quite comfortable being casually thrown around.

They hear heavy footsteps approaching the room and the sudden, frantic scrambling beside him is probably Ciri fleeing out the other door but Geralt rises before he can check, moving towards him. He shakes off the witcher’s hand as it comes to rest on his hip and moves towards the window as Vesemir briefly appears in the doorway, frowning at the two of them, before carrying on.

“What are you doing Geralt?”

“Are you alright?” Geralt’s voice is soft and Jaskier blinks up at him as the witcher shifts uncertainly, looking like he’s stopping himself reaching out again, “I just ... Ciri has this view of you and…”

“Maybe that’s the way I want her to see me.” It comes out more defensive than he intends and Geralt stares at him in confusion. He makes a conscious effort to relax and takes a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. It’s not hard to see Geralt doesn’t understand; he doesn’t swap personas like clothes, always in the most practical one for the occasion. Geralt’s always all of himself, usually aggressively so.

But he’s seen more sides of Jaskier than anyone else, and maybe he shouldn’t expect him to differentiate between the viscount and the professor, the court bard and the travelling one, between any of the other faces he wears. He just looks at Jaskier and sees someone he cares for, loves, and the weight of that can be exhausting. So he just steps closer and rests his head on Geralt’s collarbone. Arms come up to circle his waist and he can feel a kiss pressed to his hair.

“I’ll stop if that's what you want, but Ciri’s not going to think any less of you.” Jaskier just closes his eyes and sighs, he doesn’t have the energy right now to explain that that wasn’t the problem, that he wanted to share things in his own time, not having things forced out in the open.

---

"There's something for you on the desk."

There's actually three somethings Jaskier finds as he approaches the desk. Two silver daggers, one palm sized that's actually more of a throwing knife and the other longer to match the one he usually keeps in his boot. They're both resting on a notebook, thick and expensive, with blue leather binding and a small embossing of a bunch of wildflowers in the bottom corner.

“What’s the occasion?” He gently runs a knuckle down the notebook cover, it’s good quality, probably something he picked up in one of the cities he’s passed through before they met back up again. And he deliberately decides to think about what that means later, when he’s more awake to appreciate it.

“It’s nearly midwinter, besides I’ve missed a couple of birthdays.”

Geralt comes up behind him, hooking his chin over his shoulder and resting his hands on his hips, kissing his cheek when Jaskier turns slightly. He picks up the knives, weighing them in his hands, they're perfect as he expected and he notices small etchings of runes along the blade.

“For the next time you need saving, right?” Geralt huffs in response and reaches down to set the knives back on the table, and Jaskier turns in the circle of his arms to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He gets a small smile in response but it settles back into a frown after a moment. “Something on your mind, my dear?”

“You don’t have to answer, but Ciri pointed out something earlier.” Geralt steps away, catching Jaskier’s wrist and gently tugging him so he’s seated in the witcher’s lap as he drops down to sit on the bed. Geralt rewraps his arms round him and lets him tuck against his chest, so he can avoid looking at him if he wants. “You look the same as you did when I met you.”

“Did it really take you twenty years and a child for you to realise?”

“Hmmm.”

"My mother was a half elf I think, or had fey blood, that's what the servants told me anyway. She died in childbirth, any other siblings I've mentioned before were from my Father's second wife. But my ears were not quite the shape they should be, and I was always… different. But the main issue, at least for me, was one of gender.” He tenses automatically, waiting for Geralt’s reaction, but he only presses a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head and catches his hands to link their fingers together. “I wasn’t always… I mean I was but …”

“I understand.” He gently cuts across Jaskier’s stuttering explanation, no judgement, just a steady presence.

"Anyway, I'd heard rumours that sorceresses altered their appearances, that they could reshape their whole bodies almost perfectly if they wished. So I found myself a magic user with a good reputation, and spent all the money I inherited from my grandfather.” He shrugs, trying to play off possibly the single most important event in his life as something small. He doesn’t think Geralt falls for it, but there’s no questions, no pulling away. In fact Geralt tucks him closer under his chin, thumb stroking along Jaskier’s in silent support. “It wasn’t long after that when we met. I was travelling, getting used to myself again. The way people looked at me, treated me. Before I headed onto Oxenfurt for the university."

“So, even though they changed your appearance, you still age slower."

"Seems so, it took me a few years to notice of course. And I was never sure how much of that was my heritage, and how much was the magic effects on my appearance keeping me the way I wanted to look.” Jaskier takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I've always been conscious of how others perceive me, how I can shape that, control it, be seen the way I want. Even after… That's why I was upset with you, with Ciri."

“Jaskier.” He slowly turns, arranging himself so he’s straddling Geralt’s thighs and the witcher slowly reaches up to cup his cheek, resting their foreheads together before kissing him. “I’m sorry, I never meant...”

“I know.”

---

Jaskier is playing jigs for a very tipsy Lambert’s amusement, Geralt warm against his side, arm thrown across his shoulders. The rest of the group is spread out along one of the tables at the side of the hall, loud and happy. The fire’s roaring and the snow had melted enough to allow for hunting, so they’d had a decent meal for the first time in a couple of weeks.

"Dance with me Geralt." Ciri sounds so happy as she tugs on his hands, and of course Geralt's helpless when she's looking at him like that, he has been since Jaskier met up with them. Right now she sounds so full of happiness and hope, it's so rare and she's been through so much that neither of them (and honestly none of the residents of the castle) can say no.

Vesemir worries they’re spoiling her, and maybe he’s right, but she’s a princess after all, used to more than they can currently give her, and gentleness and support alongside her training is what she needs right now. She’s a tough child, grown up before she should, but she is still a child. Jaskier absently wonders if he feels it more than the others because, although he wasn’t there all the time, he had been to Cintra regularly enough over the last decade or so to see her grow up. She had been a toddler he first met, wobbling around after her mother, entranced by the soft music he had played just for her.

So Jaskier just watches as Geralt lets her lead him away from the tables, swaying slightly from whatever concoction the witchers have been drinking that they wouldn’t let him near. They almost trip over Eskel’s goat who’s running around loose for some reason, neither of them as graceful as they usually are. But Ciri’s laughing as her hair swirls around when Geralt spins her, their audience is clapping and shouting encouragement and Jaskier doesn't think he’s been happier than amid all the chaos.

---

But later that night Jaskier is dragged out of sleep with a start, automatically rolling sideways out from under the blanket and stumbling over to the window, heart racing in his chest and his gasping breath loud in the quiet room. He’s vaguely aware of the bed creaking behind him as Geralt shifts but doesn’t speak, but he blocks it out, focusing on trying to get his breathing back under control. After a moment, his urge to move gets too much and he starts pacing round the small room, scooping up a necklace from the desk to run though his fingers.

It takes a few minutes for his breathing to begin to settle, still too fast, although it still feels as though something is constricting his chest. He forces himself to gather his courage, mind feeling like syrup, and quietly starting to hum. It’s shaky, but the fact that he can hum calms him as he moves onto scales. He's not choking on blood on the side of a lake. He’s safe in Kaer Morhen, he was teaching Ciri songs that Geralt doesn’t approve of just hours ago, the younger witchers dancing drunkenly around the main hall, under Vesemir’s exasperated eye.

“Jaskier?”

He jumps, having almost forgotten that his witcher is still in the room, and twists back to face the bed as his breath instinctively catches and he stills facing him. Geralt’s leaning up on an elbow, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes, hair coming loose from his braids and framing his face as the blanket falls from his bare chest. He looks so far from the annoyed and sleep deprived person he was that day with the djinn as he reaches a hand out.

“Your heart’s racing.” It takes a moment for Jaskier to recognise the confusion in Geralt’s sleep roughened voice and another for him to take the offered hand, using the contact to ground himself. “What’s wrong?”

“Nightmare.” Jaskier steps close enough to drop back to the bed, keeping their fingers loosely linked. It’s honestly been a miracle he hasn’t had this rough a night since they’d met back up. His chest aches and his heads fuzzy and he can feel himself starting to tear up, but he feels slightly disconnected from it somehow, like he’s an echo rather than a person, yet he can’t stop himself from talking.

"Geralt, even though I've forgiven you, the effects are still there. From the dragon mountain, from the djinn. I still struggle, I still have nightmares. I..." He hates both the way his voice cracks and the hesitance with which Geralt reaches out to wrap his free arm round his waist, seeming unsure if it’ll be welcome. “I started doubting things, my friendships, relationships, the people I care for, how much I rely on them. I got us so wrong for over twenty years, who knows what else I was missing. If people were just putting up with me.”

“I didn’t mean it, I…”

“I know that now, but it doesn’t change what happened.”

“Hmm.” He presses a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s neck with a sigh. “I regretted it as soon as I calmed down, but I didn’t know if you would want my company. I missed you before the week was out.”

“A week huh?”

Geralt huffs against his skin, and more of the tightness in Jaskier’s chest relaxes, leaving him feeling drained. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Right now?” He half turns and presses Geralt back down with a hand on his chest, and curls up against his side, trying to focus on the witcher’s slow, steady heartbeat. “This.”

Geralt’s hand settles on his hip and he quietly starts to hum a lullaby, one Jaskier’s sung to Ciri over the last few weeks. Both his presence and Jaskier’s exhaustion are familiar weights and it doesn’t take him long to succumb to sleep again, as the blankets are tugged back over them and another kiss is pressed to his head.

Toss a Coin to your Writer

#Also on AO3 with the same name #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #stolen moments verse #my fics

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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

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Talk Too Much || Blanche & Winn

TIMING: Saturday, May 30th, 2020, Late Night LOCATION: Dell’s Tavern PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Winn comes clean. Blanche wants to drink. WARNINGS: Extremely brief mention of assisted-suicide-by-hunter.

Blanche was still irritated with the whole Winn situation, but if she were being truly honest with herself, she just didn’t have enough energy to be truly angry. No one had died, and at the end of the day, none of it mattered. It was a string of unfortunate events that were, for the most part, corrected by Winn coming back. If anything, the bigger headache was going to be with Ariana and Noah and any of his other possible-wolf friends that he left behind and not with her. She pulled into Dell’s parking lot, parked her Jeep and asked for a booth to settle in. Winn wanted to talk, and she didn’t know how responsive she’d be, but she would at least try to not lose her shit like she had with Theo before… She had just been browsing the cocktail menu she saw Winn. Leaning out of the booth, she waved. “Hey! Winn. Over here.” She gave him a strained smile. “I hope you know I’m getting the biggest burger there is.”

Winn could be honest: He was frustrated with the chain of events that had unfolded in his absence. Noah had clued him in, and the pack’s general sentiments had solidified that Noah hadn’t been in the minority. But, really, aside from Noah’s special case, Winn could handle the pack’s anger. It had been a stupid miscommunication, but it was his stupid miscommunication. He could fix it. What he couldn’t fix, what ate at him, was Blanche’s trust in him. Winn slid into the booth, across from Blanche, and smiled tentatively. “B, you could buy out Dell’s and I’d pay for every cocktail, every inch of grease to make you a burger of your dreams.” Winn sighed, rolling his neck. He needed to be drunk for this; he couldn’t possibly be drunk for this. “I slept through half the day, the entire pack doesn’t trust me, my father I guess lives with me now? But, Blanche, I’ll be honest. I don’t give a shit about any of that because I am so scared you hate me now. I know it’s selfish. But I—” Winn glanced down at his hands, hesitant to meet Blanche’s eyes. “If you don’t want to… be around me. I understand. That’s one answer I don’t have for you tonight. I don’t… I don’t know what happened, after you threw me. But,” Winn looked up, “I am going to find out. It will never happen again.”

Blanche opened her mouth to start talking, but Winn started in on the serious things before she could even start with some mild small talk. She faltered, unsure what to say for a moment as she rubbed the back of her neck with a low sigh. She supposed she was supposed to feel bad, but all things considered, her emotions were a little fried. “Winn, I wouldn’t have met you here if I didn’t want to be around you,” she said pointedly. “I like free food, but not that much. Come on.” Tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear, she considered her next words carefully. “I heard the words ‘loss of control’ being thrown around a lot,” she said finally, with a shrug. She remembered, vaguely, Winn’s wolfish form coming at her with some sort of bloodthirsty look on his face. That was the only reason Blanche was able to differentiate the first attack from the second, though she was still a little peeved he hadn’t told her he couldn’t understand human words. Noah was right, they were both morons. “And no, it won’t happen again, because we’re not doing that again. You want to spar with me? I get to punch you in your big, dumb human face and hopefully no one will scare me so bad that my brain thinks I have to chuck you across a clearing and into a tree. Which— Sorry. Again. Truly. I didn’t mean to.” And even if they did that, it would preferably be around the New Moon. She frowned slightly, and ran a hand down her face. “I’m sorry that the pack is angry with you, too.”

Winn couldn’t help a small smile from forming on his face. Not quite dopey, but not subtle either. They could work through this. “Naw, B. I can take being thrown into a tree. Uh, or… Physically, anyway?” He laughed, weakly, as the server came over to take their orders. And, Jesus, was everyone in this town brutally attractive? The guy could be a Pine’s brother. Winn leaned on his hand, scratching at his chin. “Well, not… all of the pack? Just mostly. And I prolly deserve it. I should’ve left the note somewhere smarter. I should’ve replaced my phone before leaving town. I should’ve checked my account or my email to make sure weird shit wasn’t happenin’. It was… I don’t want to make excuses. But a lot of shit went down, and me freakin’ out and comin’ at you was not the weirdest — or worst — part of my week. And given that it was extremely bad… Anyway, I’ll get to that, but: You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, far as I’m concerned.” Winn scratched at the wood of the table, nervous. “But, uh— Sorry. I don’t mean to be a bummer, just didn’t want… I know shit’s not great, with you, so maybe this is a dumb question, but: How’re you checkin’ in?” He’d explained the concept to her before, a while back, but this was the first time it felt… right to use it, instead of just chattin’. This felt more… not formal, per se, but different. A boundary that he needed to respect.

“I’m trying to not make it a habit. Throwing people, I mean,” Blanche said, running a hand through her hair. The server came and went and she let out a low sigh as she settled back into the booth as she listened to Winn. They could go over should haves and could haves for hours, though she didn’t particularly want too. It was a waste of time, especially when they could easily move on from mistakes and do better. Especially when no one had died. Even the feud between herself and Adrien seemed so small in the wake of Bea’s death. Adrien and Blanche could hurl cruel words at each other all day, every day, but at least they were both still alive. At least they were there so they could do that. The thought made her want to call him, but she knew he still needed space from the explosion that happened with Regan. She looked at Winn and just gave him a shrug. “Things are shitty,” she said. Checking in was harder and harder — she just wanted to forget and be numb to it. She had told Adam that it was easier that way. “Possession sucked. I’ve been staying with Nell because I can’t stand feeling a ghost near me for too long. It’s been a thing.” She gave another shrug, not willing to go into it. “Are you going to tell me where you went that made your week so weird and shitty? And, uh, for the record, I’d also like to address the killswitch thing as well, if you don’t mind.”

Oh, right. Honesty. That pesky thing that Winn had committed to, with Blanche and Noah especially. “This is going to be… a long story,” Winn warned, hand around his water for when he inevitably needed to pause. “So, uh. You don’t know… a fuckton about my past. That’s… by design, or was.” He stopped himself. Okay, he could be less confusing. “I was born Winthrop Linton Zhou, don’t say a fuckin’ word, and grew up in Falls Church. My dad, Daniel Zhou, taught at Georgetown for years, and my mom is, uh, Congresswoman-then-Speaker-of-the-House? Elaine Delacour. We like Dad. We have… extremely mixed feelings on Mom, to say the least. I, um, went to college, went through some shit, got the Bite, and then a couple years later… killed a Hunter, in self-defense.” He sighed, remembering that both his dad and his former partner didn’t blame him, and they thought he’d been in the right — that Winn didn’t need to carry that guilt quite so heavily. “Shit got… weird, from there. I was in a pretty dark place. And, uh, I… actually don’t remember a lot. I’m pretty sure that I was a wolf for, like… a lot of the time for the next year. But then there’s a whole other year, and… Anyway, more on that later. I ended up in Europe in early 2018, took on Winn Woods as an assumed name, falsified some documents, and eventually applied to school here. Couldn’t tell you why, to be honest. I’m— uh, well, okay, so that answered exactly none of your questions, but I’m gonna pause here, ‘cause I can see you steamin’ like a tea kettle.”

Blanche sat there in silence for a long time, staring at Winn with a mixture of… Well, actually, she didn’t know. Disbelief? Not quite right. And she wasn’t sure she was angry either. Blanche didn’t come in swinging with her “#TRAGIQUE” backstory either because as much as they all liked to make fun of their personal shit it was still personal and there were things that hurt. Things that couldn’t be glossed over in a joke. If Winn didn’t want to discuss his background that was his prerogative. She sat there digesting the information. At some point, the waiter came and went with their drinks. Blanche had a water and a lemonade because she always wanted both and it was easier for a second to watch the little lemon slice floating at the top of her drink than think about the information that was just dumped onto her. Blanche took a big drink of water. And then a big drink of lemonade. …. And then a big drink of water. And then a big drink of lemonade. And then she rounded off with a - guess what - big drink of water. And then, she folded her hands in front of her, and looked at him. “... Asdmgph.” Oh, good going, Blanche. Real intelligent answer. Sure using that college experience to help you out there. So, she tried again. “.... Winthrop?” Oh, that was an easy one to start with. “You have a problem with me calling you Winnifred when your name is Winthrop?”

Admittedly, Winn thought this conversation was going to go worse than it had. He expected anger, or yelling. But no. Blanche just stared at him, well, blankly. And drank a truly gargantuan amount of liquid, taking in water, and lemonade, like a fish in Georgia. And then short-circuiting, like a fish in Georgia when you dropped a toaster in the water. Okay, jokes. Winn could do jokes. Blanche and his entire relationship was built on a cornerstone of gentle ribbing, because both of them were ridiculous. That said, “I said don’t say a fuckin’ word about the Winthrop thing. I haven’t gone by that since I was, like, five.” Winn remembered cryin’ on the first day of kindergarten to his dad, beggin’ him to not make him go by Winthrop ‘cause all the other kids had such cool names, and they thought he was gonna be mean ‘cause his name sounded like an oil baron. (Granted, it was his grandfather’s, so… not far off.) “And I didn’t say I had a problem with you callin’ me Winnifred, I just thought it was lazy, Blanche.” He pointedly didn’t make a joke of Blanche’s name, needing her to realize this conversation was still, like, fairly serious. “Uh, also my dad’s a fox?” he tried, eager to move on from his name or what had led him to White Crest. “Like, um, not a literal. Like, a supernatural fox? Huxian-called-by-the-Japanese-kitsune kinda fox? He has tails. It’s kinda rad.” Winn, no.

“Okay, Winthrop,” Blanche answered immediately, grimacing slightly. Apparently, she had two settings at this moment, and one was watering herself like a plant and the other was, well, being a dick. “Sorry.” Blanche frowned slightly at the mention of his dad being a … fox. Furry genes. She had to swallow the word whole, before her eyes widened as she looked up at Winn in horror. “I’m turning into Adam,” she groaned quietly, running her hands down her face as she leaned over the table. God. Okay. Reroute, Blanche. Be serious a moment. She took a few deep breaths, and then looked back at him. “Huxian?” Blanche repeated. “Fox. Right. Okay. Cool cool cool cool cool cool. Cool. That’s cool. Like a werefox? … Don’t answer that.” Blanche shook her head. “Keep going. I’m assuming there’s more?”

“Um,” Winn started, and then stopped. “I— Yes. There is. So, I should… backtrack a little. My week itself was, like, fine. It was… getting back, that made it weird and shitty. Noah was mad. I think we’re okay, but he was mad. Everyone thought I abandoned them, ran away, or, shit, was dead. I’m… I don’t have a right to be mad about it, but I am, a little bit, and it’s not your fault, ‘cause I didn’t know and I should have been clearer and I— I’m doing it again.” He took a deep breath. “Adam is my killswitch. Which means, like, if I ever… hurt someone, during the Full Moon, then I trust him to make it painless when he takes me out. I don’t— The pack would try to protect me, but that’s not who I am, not who I want to be. I became a werewolf by choice, but I won’t become a killer. Accidents happen, I get that, and I don’t— I’d protect any of them who did something, but, for me, I just… If Adam didn’t do it, the guilt would kill me. I— Um, I know I said I’d answer questions about that, but, I’ll be honest, I really don’t want to talk about it. It won’t happen. If it does, you can’t stop me.” His voice had gone hard, taken on an uncharacteristically cold tone, almost emotionless. “Blanche, I really need you to bear with me here.” It was his first time saying it aloud, first time admitting to, well… admitting to the truth. What was probably the truth. “I don’t have all of my memories.”

#wickedswriting #para #Blanche #Talk Too Much #Sunshine Riptide #suicide tw

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rayinberkeley · 4 years

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I'm confiscating the word LITERALLY from the English language

Yes, we all know that person who is "literally" this, and "literally" that, all the time. It's a word as mindlessly used as when people just learned a big word and want to stick it into every sentence to sound smart. Or as thoughtless as how people respond to everything, no matter how shocking (or even not slightly surprising) with, "Oh my god!" I've known people who say it with just as much gusto if they see someone getting hit by a car in the street, as they would if they saw a pair of shoes they want on sale.

And I don't just mean people using "literally" when they are saying something that can only be taken as figuratively. That is problematic, but is hardly the crux of the problem. I mean those who think they're technically using it correctly, but in fact, would be better off if they just abandoned this word all together.

Those of you overusing the word, literally, in the stupidest ways imaginable lately have begun to drive me out of my freakin' mind. And clearly I am not the only one to have noticed its rising use, worse than when teenage girls use the word like as every other word of all their damned sentences:

youtube

Now please notice I didn't say you're "literally driving me out of my mind," because obviously that's NOT how that word is used. Clearly "out of your mind" is a figurative use of words. Yes, I know this. But that's not even the biggest problem with people over-using this word.

Apparently it's not new to misuse this word, as the following video demonstrates, showing the many people in literary history who have done the same...

youtube

So if above I'd said teenage girls used "like" as "literally every other word," that would be believable hyperbole, but I didn't use it there because it's just stupid and unnecessary to do so. I refrained. Please do the same.

Besides, in that case, it's not really needed for hyperbole. It's not witty when you people use it in this manner. It's merely this crazy trend for people to use it constantly without any thought whatsoever. It's the opposite of witty. It's witless. Notice I didn't say it's literally witless because there's NO NEED to use the word there. The sentence functioned just fine without it.

Again, everyone is aware of the way it's incorrectly used by people like Zack here:

youtube

But even still, I don't even care if you're using it in what you think is a technically correct way according to a dictionary, or if you're using it in some intended hyperbole. I'm pulling the plug on this word NOW.

Listen up people. There's a way that this word is meant to be used and a reason most of you are not intelligent enough to do so correctly. And that reason actually cannot be stated through cold dictionary terminology. The only reason for this word to be used is to differentiate from the figurative meaning of a literary phrase.

Are you constantly doing this? Then you're using a word you don't need in a way that isn't even for its purpose. It's just verbal filler.

A literary phrase, such as blind as a bat, is a phrase used so often that it's become known as a dead metaphor. When you are going to use such a phrase, but you really mean it in the literal sense rather than the figurative, only then does it make sense to use the word literally. That's the ONLY reason to ever use this word.

Notice I did not say, "That's literally the ONLY reason to ever use this word," because that would make no goddamned sense whatsoever, yet this is the manner in which you people keep using it.

Not everything in life is literary. Not everything in life has a dead metaphor behind it that you need to distinguish your overblown thing you're talking about so as to differentiate it from a figurative meaning. Not everything you do is a literary moment. You "literally just went to the store," but I don't understand how you can figuratively go to the store, or why you going to a store would be such a moment of literary worth that you should want to add such emphasis. Just say, "I JUST went to the store," if you wish to add emphasis that you were just there, because "just" does the job for you.

Of the past 100 times that I've heard the word used, I would have to say that merely 3 or 4 of those times had the word used correctly. (Notice I didn't say "literally 3 or 4 times" because there is no reason to. The word is NOT supposed to be synonymous with "merely" or "virtually" or other emphasis words, despite what that lady in the above video said. I said merely. It did the job just fine. I wanted to put emphasis on the number, but I didn't use literally to do so, like you all seem to do all the time, because THAT'S NOT WHAT THAT WORD IS FOR!!!!!

Imagine if I'd just learned the word, "anthropic," and I read in the dictionary that it means, "of or relating to human beings," and I realize, I'm a human being. Technically it means I am anthropically writing this blog post. Are you going to argue with me that I'm a human being? Well I am! So I'm anthropically using the word right, and you are just anthropically a moron if you think otherwise!

Does that sound dumb? It is dumb. It's what you're doing with "literally" in every sentence. If I said that all the time, you'd be like, "Why is this guy constantly confirming that he's a human being?" You'd be suspicious that maybe I wasn't, and I was hiding the fact, and you'd probably call for scientists to do experiments on me because I might be from outer space. It comes across as a little desperate for you to be convinced I'm human and not a brain-eating invader from the planet Zirploxicon.

So why are you constantly begging people to believe you really mean the words you're using? It comes across as desperate, like your words are carelessly thrown out, but this time you're not being a word salad tosser.

Before you ever again use the word, literally, please ask yourself if you're using it for its actual particular purpose. I'll give you an example of its proper use, where it makes sense to say it:

"I really didn't want to stay through the entire show. I was just there to see the number where my sister sang her song and then I left. So you can literally say it was over for me when the fat lady sings."

If the answer is no... then DON'T FUCKING USE THE WORD! If you're offended that I just fat shamed my sister, you never met her. She deserves it.

You'll notice you probably don't need any word in most of the moments when you do use it. Your words probably stand on their own. Trust more often that they do. Like when I said I haven't heard the word used correctly the past 95 out of 100 times I've heard it used. That right there said all I needed to say. To add literally is to add an unnecessary word that is only being used stupidly anyway.

In the example above, there is a proverbial or figurative saying that something isn't over until "the fat lady sings." In other words, people often use that saying even if there's a situation that's over, but nobody's singing, and nobody's fat, and there might not even be a lady involved at all.

In this sentence the speaker is actually differentiating between the figurative by saying that he means an actual fat lady is singing, and therefore, his interest in the play is literally over at that point. This is the only reason you'll ever truly need to use this word.

Why do I keep repeating myself? Because I want this shit to sink in to your skull. I do not want it to literally sink into your skull, no, but I also feel no need to say that I want it to figuratively sink into your skull, because you already know what I mean. No reason to use literally or figuratively there. None whatsoever.

Literal and figurative are opposites. You only need to use either if you are making yourself clear which of the two you mean, much like in osteology the word distal and aproximal are opposites. You have no need to constantly use either of those words all the time to add emphasis to things that are neither distant or close by, do you?

Am I getting through to you here?

These are literary devices, used for rhetorical purposes. Your life is not so fucking profound that everything in it is literary. You don't literally go down to the store, and that's because you've never figuratively gone down to the store. You just go to the fucking store, okay? You don't need to add drama to going to the story. You don't need to add "oh my god" to everything you do either, because not everything about your every day experience requires you harken to a deity! And even when you do want to add emphasis, please add dramatic words that make some goddamned sense. Like, "I practically just went to the store," or "Wow, you won't believe what I just saw at the store."

So let's stop using the word all together. Because let's face it, I really can't trust you to use it correctly. And again, notice I didn't say "I literally can't trust you" because THAT'S..... NOT..... HOW..... YOU..... USE..... THAT..... WORD!!!!!!!!

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knivestothroats · 5 years

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Part 7

Previous Parts

I’m excited about this one! And even more excited about the next one, but we’ll get there when we get there. This is set during Luke and Ace’s captivity again. It’s a little longer, but it’s chock full of good stuff.

THE GOOD STUFF/BAD STUFF depending on your preference: Mind control, captivity, broken bones, knives/stabbing, forced to hurt others, forced to hurt self, defiant whumpee, hurt/comfort but like... mostly hurt and not much comfort

Luke didn’t know if he was ever getting out of there.

He had been stuck in Miranda’s hideout for… it had to be more than a month now. Maybe two? There was very little to differentiate the days from each other. It’s not like he went anywhere. It’s not like he knew what Miranda and Ace were up to when they left him behind. Just boring days and restless nights. His whole body ached from weeks – months? – of sleeping on the floor, never quite able to shake the soreness of the last time Ace beat the shit out of him.

Although it should have been the least of his problems, the loneliness was the worst of it.

Ace couldn’t hold a conversation, despite Luke’s best efforts. Miranda wouldn’t even look in his direction.

That’s probably a good thing, he kept reminding himself. He hated it none the less. Why had she even taken him captive if she didn’t care enough to spare him a glance? And they kept fucking leaving him. Alone, in this fucking prison of a… what was this place, anyway? It was like a shitty apartment.

If Miranda did acknowledge him, it was only when she was telling Ace to do something with (to) their “chew toy.” If Luke had to hear her call him that one more time, he was going to...

“I have a fucking name, you piece of shit.”

…Say something he shouldn’t.

At least Miranda finally looked at him.

That probably wasn’t a good thing.

Luke doubled down. What did he have to lose?

“You can’t just keep people as toys and pets,” he spat.

Miranda had not deigned to speak to Luke since she had “gifted” him to Ace, and she wasn’t about to change that now. She merely drew her arm back to strike. Luke readied himself for the backhand that was clearly coming, but it never landed.

Ace caught Miranda’s wrist. There was a moment of shock from all parties before Miranda wrenched her arm away and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ace faltered. “He’s… my toy… and you have to keep your toys – you can’t break them if you want to keep them,” they struggled to get the words out.

“You’re right,” Miranda said, mouth twisting into a cruel smirk. “It is your toy. So you do it.”

Ace looked at her. “Do… what?”

“Hmm…. Break a bone.”

Ace knew this was wrong. They have to keep their toys in good condition if they want to keep them. Just how Miranda kept Ace in good condition so they could fight. Breaking part of it directly contradicts that. But ultimately, it didn’t matter. Miranda told them to do something, so they were going to do it.

They turned to Luke, who looked back with pleading eyes. Ace wasn’t paying attention to his expression, however. They were running scenarios in their head, deciding what bone would be the easiest target, what would do the most damage, what would do the least damage, how best to cause a break.

Ace put out their hand to Luke. Palm up, waiting.

“I… what..?” Luke stammered.

“Give me your hand,” Ace said flatly.

“Ace, come one,” Luke begged. “You don’t have to–”

“Don’t wait for his permission, Ace, just do it!” Miranda roared.

Ace quickly grabbed Luke’s arm and pulled it forward. They took ahold of his pinky finger.

“Wait, Ace, wait–” Luke started, but Ace didn’t listen. They wrenched his finger backwards, snapping it easily. Luke cried out in pain, but Miranda wasn’t satisfied.

“That was too easy,” she said. “Break another.”

Luke didn’t try to protest this time. He just tried to steel himself as Ace took his ring finger and broke that too. Luke screamed and swore. Ace did not react.

“Look at me, Ace,” Miranda said. Ace turned to face her. “Where is the knife I gifted you?”

“In my pocket,” Ace said.

“Take it out.”

Ace did as they were told.

“Open the blade. Now, stab yourself… here.” Miranda poked Ace in the lower abdomen, a couple inches above their waist. Ace did not hesitate to follow the order, plunging the knife into themselves. They let out a groan of pain through their clenched jaw.

“When I give you an order, you obey it,” Miranda spoke sternly. “You do not question me, you do not argue with me, you do not defy me. The pain you feel now is a punishment. Give me the knife.”

Ace pulled the knife out of their abdomen and held it out to Miranda. Blood began to flow steadily from their wound.

Miranda took the knife and said, “I want you to stand here and let this lesson sink in.”

With that, Miranda returned to her room, leaving Ace wobbling on their feet as their blood dripped on the floor. As soon as her door was closed, Luke, ignoring his own pain, ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He hurried back to where Ace was standing, staring glossy-eyed at the floor.

“Here, hold this tight over the wound,” he said, trying to staunch the bleeding. Ace did as they were instructed, and took hold of the towel.

Luke returned to the bathroom to scour for some kind of disinfectant. He opened the medicine cabinet to find it empty.

“Ace, what did you use to clean that cut on your face?” Luke called out. No response. He poked his head out to make sure Ace hadn’t collapsed.

They were standing where they had been left.

“Ace, is there disinfectant somewhere? Like, hydrogen peroxide, or… fucking… Neosporin? What did you use when you stitched up your face?”

Ace gave no indication that they had heard Luke, so he went back to searching. As he was grappling with the thought that maybe Ace hadn’t cleaned their injury, he found something under the sink.

Rubbing alcohol. This was gonna suck.

“Okay, let me see real quick,” Luke said gently when he returned to Ace. He guided their hands away from the wound and carefully pulled up the hem of their shirt. “This is, uh, I mean, it’s gonna hurt, but, we have to do it. Okay?”

No response.

“Okay,” Luke whispered to himself before tipping the bottle over the wound.

Ace let out a scream of pain and sucker punched Luke in the stomach. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground, wind knocked clean out of him. After a few agonizing seconds, he drew in a painful gasp of air, and then another.

“S… Sss…” Ace was trying to say, face twisted in pain. Their knees were shaking, but they remained on their feet.

Luke ignored what he assumed was Ace hissing in pain and pushed himself off the floor, careful to keep all weight off his broken fingers.

“Okay,” Luke sighed. He pressed a clean towel over what he hoped was a sufficiently sanitized wound. “Keep this here, I’ll take the old one,” he said, easing the bloodied towel from Ace’s fingers and guiding their hands over the fresh one. “Press – keep pressure on it, like that.”

Luke didn’t know what else to do. He hadn’t found any bandages, nor had he found the needle and thread Miranda had made Ace use on themselves previously. Not that he believed he had the stomach to try that himself. Beyond that, it wasn’t exactly like he could get Ace to a hospital. He thought about trying to appeal to Miranda, but he wasn’t optimistic about his odds. All he could really do was hope that Miranda was still invested in her “weapon” staying in peak condition, and that she would return to remedy the situation herself.

And then maybe, after Miranda went to bed, he could ask Ace to help him finagle a splint for his fingers. Hopefully that wouldn’t get them in any more trouble.

After several long minutes, Miranda did return, staff in hand. Ace was pale and unsteady on their feet, but they were still standing, just as they had been told.

Miranda instructed Ace to move their hands – and the now bloodied towel – and held her staff up to the wound. Both glowed for a moment, and the bleeding stopped.

“You are supposed to be my perfect fighting machine,” Miranda said. “Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” Ace said.

“I can’t leave you injured as long as I need you to fight for me. But, if you stop following my orders, I won’t need you to fight for me. You will be useless, and I won’t care if you bleed out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Miranda suddenly swung her staff, catching Ace on the jaw. Ace, already unstable, toppled to the floor.

“When you feel pain,” Miranda said, “remember my orders.”

[Continues Here]

#writings #original #ace #whump series #mind control #captivity #knives #stabbing #broken bones #broken fingers #whump ocs #whump blog #magic whumper #defiant whumpee #hurt/comfort

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ladylynse · 5 years

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I didn’t think I’d have time to write anything else for the Phic Phight, but there was a reveal prompt, and I love reveals....

Prompt by @duckapus: Reveal- Jack starts to question why ghost hunting equipment malfunctions around Danny. Exclusively around Danny. [FF | AO3]

Jack hadn’t questioned it at first. Not more than usual, anyway. Most of his inventions were prototypes, constantly undergoing revisions as preliminary testing revealed potential improvements. He expected problems. Bugs. That was normal.

But somehow, none of those potential improvements ever dealt with a problem he’d had from the beginning: the way all his ghost hunting equipment malfunctioned around Danny.

Exclusively around Danny.

The first time he’d mentioned it to Maddie, the first time he’d really noticed it, she’d simply told him to double check that he had everything in the proper order—no wires crossed, no incorrect balance of internal chemicals, no improperly calibrated sensors, that sort of thing.

The second time he brought it up, she’d suggested ecto-contamination. Danny hadn’t worn his HAZMAT suit in years—they didn’t even know where it was anymore—and Jazz would at least don one of Maddie’s when she thought the situation was desperate enough to warrant it.

But no amount of tweaking had helped, and Danny had started spending as little time in the lab as possible. He shouldn’t have built up enough contamination to be so consistently pinpointed by their weapons—especially when those weapons had no trouble differentiating between their samples of ectoplasm and a semi-sentient ghost blob.

Jack hadn’t bothered bringing it up a third time to Maddie. She was busy, and while this was important, he knew she hadn’t forgotten about it. He suspected that she was looking into it on her own time. He’d decided it was best if he did the same. For Danny’s sake. If they couldn’t solve this problem by putting their heads together, maybe they’d get further if they went at it separately for a while, coming at it from different angles instead of convincing each other of a promising but ultimately wrong viewpoint. As long as they solved the problem in the end, it wouldn’t matter how they got there.

Really, it was a safety issue at this point. Their weapons wouldn’t do any lasting harm to humans if handled properly, but accidents happened, and a blast from an ecto-gun was still a blast from an ecto-gun. It would still hurt, at least in the moment, and a sustained blast would burn.

And, honestly, the fear of one of their weapons accidentally locking on to Danny kept Jack from developing things he was interested in, like missiles keyed to the particular ecto-signatures of ghosts which repeatedly attacked Amity Park. He knew it was possible. He already had the technology in the Fenton Booo-merang. Adding it to an explosive that would go off on contact wouldn’t be terribly difficult.

But he hadn’t yet solved the problem of why the Booo-merang was attracted to Danny, and he’d rather not send explosives meant for ghosts after his son.

It was the Booo-merang that Jack had in pieces in front of him again. The kids were at school and Maddie was out most of the day running errands, so he’d moved from the lab to the kitchen table. Interference from their samples in the lab shouldn’t be a problem, but he’d run out of ideas when it came to what actually could be the problem, so he was trying very hard not to rule anything out, however unlikely.

Unfortunately, the Booo-merang had been built exactly as it should have been. By this point, it had been rebuilt—with both old parts and new—no fewer than six times. He’d done the math again. Had Maddie do the math again. Their calculations weren’t wrong.

He could get the Booo-merang to home in on different ecto-samples, could successfully switch between them, but he had a sinking feeling that the moment he set it to seek out the strongest ghost within range, it would find its way back to Danny again.

Like it always had before.

Jack hadn’t had any success correcting the Fenton Finder, either. It would point to Danny. No matter what he did to it. It would still register other ghosts, however weak, but Danny’s blip invariably showed up stronger than all of them. If the reason for all this had been ecto-contamination—somehow—Danny’s dot shouldn’t be displayed as brightly, not now that Jack had revamped the interface so that the brightest dots represented the strongest ghosts. He’d meant for it to be a way to find the likely leader or the strongest opponent, should they face multiple ghosts at once, but he wasn’t convinced his efforts had paid off. If the Fenton Finder persisted in finding Danny, he should have been barely there.

It never should have marked him as the greatest threat.

The Ghost Gabber was no different. No matter what Jack did to it, it would always ‘translate’ Danny’s words. He’d adjusted its sensitivity to the point that it wouldn’t even register the incoherent garbles of an ectopus, but the moment Danny said something….

Jack sighed, pushed the dismantled mechanics away, and stood to get some water. He was missing something fundamental, something dreadfully important, however small or basic it seemed. The reaction was consistent. Repeatable. As far as his equipment was concerned, there was no mistake. If it reliably sought out Danny, there must be some reason for it.

Trouble was, since it didn’t seem to be a flaw in the equipment, and earlier trials had shown that it wasn’t an oddly high level of ecto-contamination, Jack had no idea what that reason could be. Really, Jack had doused himself in ectoplasm by mistake once and hadn’t even registered as a blip on the Fenton Finder. It knew the difference between the activated ectoplasm ghosts controlled and the ectoplasmic remnants those ghosts left behind.

It would be different if it weren’t only Danny, if it weren’t always Danny, or even if it weren’t every invention.

After all, experiments with repeatable results were more likely to be true. Particularly when the conditions of the experiment varied. When the environment changed. When the parameters were tweaked. Jack’s inventions always pointed to the same thing, no matter the circumstances.

But the result had to be wrong. Danny wasn’t a ghost. How many times had he jumped to that conclusion with Jazz and it had turned out to be nothing? Maddie would have his hide if he kept doing that, and Jazz would give him another lecture about how he was ruining Danny’s childhood, and he only wanted what was best for his family.

But if his inventions weren’t wrong, and if Danny wasn’t a ghost, what was left?

Jack drained his glass of water and made up his mind. He scooped the pieces of the Booo-merang into a box, cleaned the grease-stained newspaper off the table, and dropped the box off in the lab. He’d reassemble the Booo-merang later. Right now, he wanted to go for a walk. To clear his head. And maybe to get some answers.

Maddie had the GAV, but that was just as well. It was harder to sneak up on a ghost in that, even if they were easier to chase when he wasn’t on foot. Still, for what he wanted, the Fenton Finder would do the trick.

Jack checked the weapons supply in his suit one last time before heading out the door, Fenton Finder in hand. There were no ghosts nearby, so he fiddled with the settings and expanded its range. It was less precise the farther it stretched, but it was easy enough to shrink the range and increase its accuracy as he got closer to a ghost.

Following the Fenton Finder’s instructions to a pair of ghosts was easy enough, and Jack wasn’t entirely surprised to find himself spitting distance from Casper High. He caught the tail end of Phantom’s fight with Technus, and while the ghost was gloating to himself over capturing the technology ghost, Jack fired a net-gun at him.

Phantom squawked and tucked to protect the thermos as he dropped. Jack approached cautiously, not remotely surprised by the suspicion in Phantom’s eyes—or by the slight coating of ice that was forming over the net. He’d seen Phantom pull that trick before.

Jack held up the net-gun and an ecto-gun and very visibly put them on the ground where Phantom could see them. “I didn’t come here to fight,” he said. “I just want to talk, and I needed to make sure you stayed here long enough for me to ask if you will.”

Phantom frowned. “Release me, then.”

The net was now completely coated in a thin layer of ice. Phantom could get free on his own with one good ectoblast, but Jack took the offering for what it was and untangled the net. Phantom floated up to his eye level but didn’t leave—or release his hold on his stolen Fenton Thermos. Jack wasn’t overly happy about Phantom’s theft, but it was good advertising for FentonWorks, so he’d long ago decided to let it slide as long as Phantom stopped stealing from them. (The Fenton Ecto-Skeleton might have been used well by Phantom, but he’d also destroyed it, and Jack was only willing to lose so many prototypes.)

“What do you want?” Phantom asked. He was watching Jack’s hands as much as his face, and Jack wondered if Phantom knew he hadn’t surrendered all his weapons.

Jack opened his mouth and found himself hesitating. He knew what he wanted to ask, more or less, but he wasn’t sure how to ask it in a way that made sense—much less in a way that made sense to a ghost. It was just as well that he’d found Phantom. Of all the ghosts that plagued this town, Phantom was the one who was most likely to give him something approximating an honest answer. Jack wasn’t sure what he’d have to promise in return, but the ghost wasn’t above cutting deals—and he tended to honour them, as far as Jack had seen.

“Do you just want to meet me later?” Phantom offered. “I’ve, uh, got someplace I should really be getting back to, and—”

“You know my kids, right?” The question had tumbled from Jack’s mouth without his permission, but at least it was a starting point.

Phantom blinked at him and looked slightly uncomfortable. “Um. Yeah? Jazz and Danny, right? They both go to Casper High. I’m, ah, there a lot. As you can tell.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the school.

Jack nodded. “Yes. They’re often targeted, being our kids.”

“Right.” Phantom nodded, though Jack had no idea if he actually agreed or if he was merely trying to keep Jack happy. “That makes sense.”

“And Maddie and I know they support you,” Jack said slowly, “despite everything we’ve taught them.”

Phantom winced. “I swear I’m not brainwashing them or anything like that,” he muttered. “They just know that not all ghosts are evil.”

“Not all ghosts believe they are evil,” corrected Jack. Phantom’s frown deepened, but he held his tongue this time. “In fact, few truly accept that they are. They’re so caught up in their own beliefs and perceptions of the world that they can’t see how horrible their actions truly are.”

“Right.” Phantom’s voice was flat now, as if he remembered enough of what his life had once been to approximate human emotions. “I promise not to attack your kids. Was that all you wanted to talk about? I can go without you shooting me in the back again?”

“No, I…I want to make you a deal.”

Phantom’s eyebrows shot up. “A deal? After saying that? You just told me you think I’m evil but I can’t recognize my own evilness! What kind of deal do you want to make with someone you think is evil?”

It wasn’t worth correcting Phantom now. He wasn’t in the mood to argue over semantics, and he had never been very good at that, anyway. “I’ll replace that battered Fenton Thermos of yours if you help me with a problem I have.”

Phantom crossed his arms. “How about promising that you won’t keep trying to catch me and tear me apart molecule by molecule?”

He wasn’t jumping at the chance to replace his Fenton weaponry, so either he was comfortable with breaking into their place or Maddie’s suspicions were correct and one or both kids was helping him.

And if the kids were helping him, it was even more likely he’d know the answer to Jack’s question.

“You’d have to help me with more than one thing before I’d agree to that,” Jack said dryly. “I can appreciate your twisted sense of self-preservation, Phantom, but sometimes sacrifices must be made for science.”

Phantom glowered at him. “You’re just making me want to help you way less. You know that, right? My sense of self-preservation isn’t twisted, especially when you’re a ghost hunter. I’m willing to work with you guys on keeping this town safe, but only if we call a truce. I don’t want you to shoot me the moment the opportunity arises.”

He wasn’t going to make any wild promises without consulting Maddie. If they were going to strike up any sort of long-term alliance with Phantom, her input would be invaluable. She was a better negotiator than he. Besides, at this point, he didn’t trust the ghost enough. Trust had to be earned. He knew it went both ways, but Phantom was never defenseless unless they managed to suppress his powers—and he could disarm them more easily than they could do that. “I can give you one week. If you can help me. Beyond that, I’d have to discuss it with my wife.”

To Jack’s surprise, Phantom smiled. “Really?” There was something…hopeful in his voice. “Okay, yeah. I’ll help you if you don’t hunt me for a week. What’s this thing you need help with? Do you want a tour guide for the Ghost Zone?”

The idea wasn’t a terrible one. He’d have to bring it up with Maddie later, maybe when he broke the news that they couldn’t hunt Phantom for a full seven days. He was sure she’d understand once he explained that this was for Danny. She knew how much he was willing to sacrifice for their family. “No. I need to know why my inventions target you.”

Phantom’s smile fell off his face. “What?”

“What exactly is it about you that my inventions find? Why do they work?”

“You…. Why are you asking me that? How should I know? You invented them!”

“My science isn’t perfect.” Jack hated to admit it, hated to admit folly or fault to a ghost. “Until we can break a ghost down to its components, until we can figure out what triggers its cohesion or the composition of its ecto-signature, we’re guessing.”

“And you think I can tell you all that? I’m not a scientist! Go talk to Plasmius.”

Jack frowned. He didn’t like the Wisconsin Ghost, not after he had tried to attack Jack’s family. “I trust him less than I trust you.”

“Yeah, but he knows more about all of that stuff than I do. I’ve never studied it. I can’t tell you anything about that. I still don’t even understand how I exist like this, and he’s tried to explain it to me.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You died, Phantom. There are a number of reasons ghosts form—”

“That’s not what I— You know what? Never mind. If this is what you wanted help with, I can’t actually help you. So why don’t you just let me go this once, and we can go back to normal next time you see me? I should really be going anyway—”

“That’s not the only thing I need help with.”

Phantom sighed. “Are you sure? Because if it’s science-y, and it sounds like it probably will be, you’re better off talking to Plasmius. I mean, believe me, I hate that idea, and he’ll hate that idea, and I can’t guarantee he’ll help, but he’ll at least understand what you’re talking about. I don’t.”

“No.” Jack had known even before he set out that he wouldn’t ask help of Plasmius. Phantom, aggravating though he was, was preferable to Plasmius. He had never seen Phantom directly harm his family, and Plasmius had tried that right in front of him. “I…. This is about my son.”

Phantom froze. “Your…son?”

He looked scared now, which was interesting. Maybe it was Danny who was helping Phantom after all. Maybe Phantom was the reason all their weapons— But Phantom had no reason to lie to him about this when it would mean he wouldn’t have to worry about the town’s best ghost hunters tracking him down. Jack highly doubted he’d tell the whole truth, but if Phantom knew anything, however insignificant, he could have given it to them—even if he knew whatever he told them wouldn’t help.

“There’s something about Danny,” Jack admitted quietly, “that sets off our weapons. I can’t figure out what it is. Maddie can’t figure out what it is. Our weapons are designed for ghosts, not humans, but something that would destroy you could still hurt him.”

Phantom’s eyes were wide. “Comforting,” he squeaked. If it was an attempt at humour, Phantom had no idea of his ill timing. Then again, Jack wouldn’t expect anything else from a ghost.

“This is serious, Phantom. My son’s life is in danger. If something goes wrong with one of our inventions…. Accidents happen, but I want to prevent the ones I can. And finding out why our weapons target him and stopping it will go a long way toward that.”

Phantom stared at the ground and said nothing.

“Help me figure this out. If we’re successful, Maddie and I will discuss the possibility of a long-term truce.”

“I…I don’t think….”

“Please.” It was easier to get the word past his lips than he’d expected. “Please. For my son. You claim to be a hero, to want to protect this town, don’t you? Help me protect my Danny-boy.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Phantom muttered. Louder, he said, “This involves Danny. You should talk to him, too. I’ll, um, come by sometime after school—or at this rate, detention—is over.”

Jack frowned. “Why not help me now? Then, whenever Danny gets home, we’ll be ready for him.” He was tempted to ask why Phantom thought Danny might get detention when he hadn’t all week, but Jack was unfortunately aware that Danny got detention as often as he didn’t, if not more. He shouldn’t condemn the ghost for acknowledging that fact, not when he needed Phantom’s help. Not when he was asking for Phantom’s help.

Phantom gave him a goofy grin. “Because I have someplace to be right now. And you have to tell Maddie she can’t shoot me when I show up.” He offered a mock salute and vanished.

Jack didn’t know if he’d done the right thing. Alliances with ghosts made him…uneasy. Even when they were for his family. Even with a ghost like Phantom, who thought himself good. There was never a guarantee with ghosts, not in matters like this. Phantom could go back on his word. If this venture endangered his family….

He’d make sure it wouldn’t happen. He’d take every precaution he could. When Phantom came, he’d be ready.

And, hopefully, by the end of this, Danny would be safe.

XXXXX

Maddie looked over the lab and bit her lip. “I don’t like this,” she admitted. “Lowering our defenses risks the whole family, and—”

“—and it’s only for a week. We can be extra vigilant for a week,” Jack pointed out. “And if Phantom attacks us, then we get to tear him apart molecule by molecule!”

Maddie smiled. “You’re right. You agreed not to hunt him for a week, but if he attacks first, then it’s self-defence.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Good thinking, sweetums.”

She was still nervous. He could see that in every line of her body. She didn’t like this. But he’d trusted Phantom before, made a deal with Phantom before, and the ghost had kept his word. Jack wanted to believe he’d do so again. “This is for Danny,” he reminded her.

“I know. I’ll abide by your terms. For Danny.” She checked her watch. “I’ll make a fresh batch of cookies. If Phantom is going to be under our roof and unrestrained, we can at least learn what we can from him while he’s here.”

“Double the recipe?” Jack asked hopefully. He loved Maddie’s cookies—the entire family did—and if it turned out Phantom could and would eat, Jack wanted to make sure there were enough.

Maddie leaned closer and whispered, “I’m going to quadruple it,” before pulling back with a laugh. Halfway up the stairs, she added, “They never seem to last long enough anyway. Just don’t anger Phantom before we at least get that data!”

“I’ll do my best, sugar plum,” Jack promised, but Maddie was already back upstairs, and he was left waiting.

XXXXX

Danny came into the lab some time later—late enough that Jack knew he must have gotten detention for one reason or another—and he looked almost as nervous as Jack had ever seen him. “Your mom told you what we want to do, right, Danny-boy?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Kinda. I got the gist from Phantom, too. After school. He’s, uh, gonna be late. The Box Ghost showed up again.”

“The Box Ghost doesn’t usually give him much trouble.”

“He, um, had a lot of boxes.”

Jack nodded slowly. He didn’t know if Phantom hadn’t told Danny the details or if he hadn’t been truthful about any of it, but it didn’t matter in the end. He wasn’t here now, and if he didn’t show up by the end of the day, then that meant he didn’t intend to uphold his end of the deal—and that Jack and Maddie had no reason to keep theirs.

Danny grabbed the rolling desk chair by the computer and sat down. “Do you need me for long? I have homework.”

Jack sighed and leaned against the examination table. “What I need, Danny-boy, is for you to tell me the truth.”

Danny stilled, the fingers drumming on his knee freezing mid-beat. He looked…wary. Tense. Scared. “What do you mean?” Now that Jack was listening and looking for it, he could hear the falsehood in his son’s voice, the forced nonchalance that was betrayed by his body. “What do I have to lie about?”

He was a teenager. Likely as not, he thought he had a lot to lie about, even though he was wrong about that. “Danny,” Jack said instead, “this is important. You need to realize that. Our weapons could still hurt you, and your mom and I don’t want that to happen. That’s why we’re doing this. But we can’t help you if we don’t understand what happened.”

“I never said anything happened!”

“It could have been something small,” Jack said, though he didn’t really believe that. Whatever it had been, the effects were significant. “Something that you didn’t notice right away. Just think. You’ve spent a lot of time in the lab over the years. Has anything unexpected ever happened?”

“No.” The response came quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, you guys take a lot of safety precautions.”

“Mads and I do,” acknowledged Jack, “but when was the last time you or Jazzy-pants wore a HAZMAT suit while you worked down here?”

Danny winced.

Jack just nodded. “Now, your mom and I don’t think this is just a case of contamination. Everything reacts so strongly to you, and the effect just seems to be getting worse over time.”

“Of course it does,” Danny muttered. He’d no doubt been hoping this entire mess would just go away on its own. Truthfully, Jack had, too, but he and Maddie had known better than to do nothing and wait in vain.

Jack handed him the Fenton Finder. “You never stuck around long enough for me to explain my changes, Danny-boy, but if you turn that on, you’ll see how bright your dot is….” Jack trailed off. Danny had obeyed him, but the screen was blank.

“Hey, it doesn’t think I’m a ghost anymore!” Danny looked thrilled. “Awesome, Dad! What did you do?”

Jack just stared at the screen, half-expecting the dot representing his son—which had always appeared so faithfully—to belatedly pop up.

He hadn’t done a thing to the Fenton Finder that should affect Danny.

Wordlessly, he reached for the recently-reassembled Booo-merang, turned it on, and tossed it. Danny ducked, but all it did was crash into the drying rack and shatter half a dozen test tubes, a couple of beakers, and a graduated cylinder. No matter how many times Jack had built and rebuilt it before, it had invariably locked onto Danny. Now, it was like there wasn’t even a ghost in the vicinity.

Danny reached for the Ghost Gabber before he could. “My name is Danny Fenton,” he said into its microphone, and this time—for the first time in Jack’s memory—it didn’t repeat his words.

The next thing Jack knew, Danny had his arms around his middle. “Thanks, Dad!” He sounded so relieved. It was almost painful to hear that, to hear how much of a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a weight his own parents had placed there. “I don’t know what you did, but I don’t care because it worked. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Danny gave him another squeeze before releasing him and bounding for the stairs. “I’m gonna tell Mom and Sam and Tucker and Jazz!”

Jack just stared after him, knowing he should call out to stop him but not knowing what to say.

Danny should still be targeted. He should still be identified as a ghost. Jack hadn’t…. Nothing he’d done would have affected that. Should have affected that.

Jack wasn’t sure how long he sat there, going over everything he’d done in his head, before he began double checking his instruments. He did know that if Phantom hadn’t coughed, very pointedly, Jack would have never noticed him.

That, above all else, told him how much this had shaken him.

“I’m assuming you talked to Danny,” Phantom said from where he floated a foot and a half off the floor, well away from the examination table and any of their weapons that would reach out and grab him at a touch of a button. “So what do you need me to do? How can I help?”

Jack had never turned the Fenton Ghost Gabber off, and despite what he’d done, he now expected it to still repeat Phantom’s words.

It didn’t.

Which meant Jack hadn’t gotten things wrong. Not that way, anyway. He hadn’t…hadn’t…. “The Fenton Finder,” he croaked, making a vague gesture towards it. “Do you still show up?” He had to be sure. He thought he was, but Maddie would want more proof than a gut feeling when he talked to her.

Phantom didn’t ask why, like Jack had expected, though he was appropriately wary as he flew over to pick up the device and turn it on.

Jack wasn’t surprised to find that Phantom knew exactly which one the Fenton Finder was or how it worked.

“No,” Phantom said, turning the screen in Jack’s direction so that he could see it was still blank.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Jack whispered. This was the result he had expected, but not after getting the same result for Danny. He shouldn’t have gotten the same result for Danny. Not if…if….

“Why? What’d you do?”

“We have your ecto-signature on file,” Jack said slowly. “It was easy enough to get, and we can get it again if you try to sabotage our data.”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “I’m not planning on breaking into your vault to destroy your precious data. Even if most of it is wrong. Besides, the thing’s phase-proof, isn’t it?”

Jack might have once been surprised that Phantom knew so much, but not anymore.

“I promised not to hunt you for a week,” Jack continued, ignoring Phantom’s remarks for now. “If you were able to help me, I wanted to be sure I could keep my end of the bargain.”

Phantom frowned. “Were? What’s that supposed to mean? I haven’t tried to help yet.”

Jack made sure to look him in the eye. He needed to see Phantom’s reaction, needed to see that he was fitting the pieces together correctly and that he wasn’t still missing something. “I fed your most recent ecto-signature reading into our weapons and taught them to ignore it,” he said.

Phantom looked at him blankly for a long few seconds, and then his eyes widened in panic. “Oh, crud.”

“What happened?” Jack asked gently. He thought Maddie might know how to best address this, how to deal with this sort of thing better than him, but she wasn’t here, and he was, and…. And he just had to let Phantom know he wasn’t going to lunge for any weapons or activate the Fenton Anti-Creep Mode or anything else. He had to let Phantom know he was willing to listen, that he was ready to listen, if Phantom was willing to tell him.

Phantom broke his gaze, guilt and discomfort written all over his features. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t try to fly away, either.

Slowly, he dropped until his feet were planted on the floor. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and crossed his arms, huddling in on himself, but Jack wasn’t going to give in. He wasn’t going to speak first, not unless Phantom tried to run and he had to catch him with the Fenton Fisher.

Phantom was still staring at his boots when he finally spoke, his voice barely audible. “It was an accident,” he breathed, and Jack could no longer be surprised.

All their (extensive) research pointed to the fact that each ghost’s ecto-signature was unique. Not static—ecto-signatures were influenced by a ghost’s experiences after death just as they were in the moment of their formation—but never the same for each ghost. It was impossible. Even ghosts skilled in mimicry wouldn’t be able to fully replicate another’s ecto-signature, as their own would still carry its own tell.

So if he had fed Phantom’s ecto-signature into his inventions and now they didn’t recognize Phantom or Danny?

“I’m sorry,” whispered Phantom. “I didn’t know how to tell you guys. And then I’d waited so long, too long, and I just…. It was easier to keep it a secret, I guess.” He was mumbling now. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t….”

Jack crossed the distance between them and scooped the ghost into his arms. “It’s okay, Danny-boy,” he murmured. “We know now. You just tell us what you need, okay? We want to help you.”

Phantom—Danny—was very still in his grip. “You believe me? You’re not…mad? Or thinking this is some kind of trick?”

Jack had no idea how this was possible, no idea what had happened or what Danny had been through since—the fact that Danny and Phantom were one and the same proved his ignorance on the subject—but he did know that he wasn’t mad. Besides, he didn’t know how a ghost could pull off a trick like this—or what would be gained by doing so, especially when it could be so easily disproven. Maddie might have some ideas on that front, but Jack was already sure that he was hearing the truth.

He just…knew it.

He didn’t even need to weigh Phantom’s actions against those of other ghosts, or scrutinize his verbal slips, or continue to assess his familiarity with their family and their technology.

“Accidents happen,” Jack repeated. He didn’t know how they were going to break the news to Maddie. She might be horrified, might blame herself—for not doing enough, for not noticing, for what she had done, what they had both done, in their ignorance—but he couldn’t let her. They needed to focus on what they still had, not on what had happened in the past—at least beyond preventing it from happening again. But he’d let Danny tell her, maybe over a plate of warm cookies once they were out of the oven. Cookies made everything better.

“Sometimes,” continued Jack quietly, “life’s lessons are expensive, and sometimes the cost can’t be paid with cash, but you’re still here. You’re still you. You’re still my son. You always will be, and I’ll always love you.”

Phantom twisted in Jack’s grip to throw his arms around him and hug him tightly, and then there was a brilliant flash of light and Jack was holding his son, his Danny-boy, and—

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed to hear that,” Danny murmured into his shoulder. “Thank you, Dad. I love you, too.”

(see more fics | my phight phics)

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 19 #dp fanfiction #phanfiction #jack fenton #danny fenton #my writing #ladylynse #my phic phight phics #snippets #dp snippet #I wrote this instead of responding to most of the reviews on my last fic #only so much time

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