#control field

[great-and-small]

Apparently the local university’s undergraduate entomology course sends students to catch insect specimens at the same place I like to go birdwatching, which explains why I saw three enormous frat looking dudes with tiny bug nets and overheard one emphatically say “bro BRO I told you we already have enough lepidopterans”

[r-aindr0p]

Mini-rollo invasion : Pomefiore

Anypov :

Heartslabyul - Savanaclaw - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Ignihyde - Diasomnia

[laswells-ashtray]

One day, someone makes the mistake of mentioning Kate's wife when she's on the field and Gaz, Ghost and Soap expect her to be fine.

John knows better.

It takes John, Ghost, and Soap between them, with Gaz holding a hand over the guys mouth to stop Kate from genuinely being at risk of killing him. John actually lifts her off of the ground and walks out with her kicking and fighting to get out of his grip.

Ghost has to guard the door when he drags her out, Soap and Gaz can be heard getting a little hands-on with their interrogation. John’s grip on Kate is so tight that she'll undoubtedly bruise, but she'll forgive him when he stops her from losing her job.

"Kate- Kate, stop fucking- CALM DOWN- Think about it, it's a scare tactic. Sarah is at home with the cats, and she's fine, he wouldn't tell you about it if he wasn't going to touch her. She's alright."

"You don't fucking know that, you've seen the pictures, John. You know what he does to people-"

"Kate, calm down. Call her, phone Sarah right now and listen to her voice. She's fine, you'll be fine."

Even Simon has an undeniable picture of Laswell in her head. She's unshakeable, she's calm and she's fucking funny when she feels like it. But he's never seen this before, she's downright vicious and he can't help but watch with wide eyes as John grabs her phone out of her pocket and forces it into her hands. Can't help how his lip twitches into a frown that none of them can see as her voice shakes when she talks down the phone to her wife. How she slumps against Price and he holds her up, muttering quietly to her as her wife's voice speaks through the phone.

"She's fine. You're fine. He's a lying git, Kate. Nothing's going to happen to Sarah, you'd never allow it and neither would I. Hell, neither would Nik. The big bugger loves her."

Simon knows better than anyone that they're all human, despite all the rumours and the hero worship everyone gazes at them with. They're people. But sometimes even he forgets that Kate Laswell isn't a Station Chief, she's a woman with a wife at home and a group of cats that John likes laughing at pictures of. It's for that reason that he looks away, offers her the dignity of calming down in peace and slipping back into the Watcher persona without his eyes on her.

He pointedly ignores the grateful look John shoots him.

[housecow]

Pardon my lack of knowledge but what is the difference between feedism and feederism?

i’d like to say that feedism is generally the term most people prefer once you take a look at the reality of things: people see this fetish as predatory. everyone has seen those cash-grab stories about a feeder pushing someone unwilling to very high weights. the person leaves them, loses weight, tells their story—the term they see partnered with those stories is almost always feederism.

however, the fact is that feedees do in fact have agency in these scenarios. just like any healthy relationship (platonic or romantic or anything in between), communication and consent are necessary.

with all of that in mind, feedism is preferred in order to take the focus away from feeders and bring it onto the act of feeding itself. it’s a super simple change that helps covey the reality of what we indulge in: feeding. feeder and feedee, not feeder and victim.

the fact the tumblr guidelines specifically state “feederism” says, to me, that whoever made that change has an implicit bias against us.

.

please feel free to add to this if anyone has more to say, too!! this is sort of what i’ve thought with my use of feedism, but i haven’t seen many other ppl explain their thoughts on the two different names.

[shanastoryteller]

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[fantastic-nonsense]

the thing that gets me is when people act like the Birds of Prey are a generic "girl gang" team that you can just exchange members out willy-nilly and it will still work

like no, the premise is that they're very specifically an international spec ops team co-led by the woman who once ran the Suicide Squad with Amanda Waller and one of the most dangerous non-powered fighters in the world

there's a VIBE. there's a PREMISE. there's a core lineup you can't eliminate and still truly maintain the base premise. almost everyone else on the lineup can theoretically be switched up depending on the mission, but it HAS to be "Oracle!Babs' and Dinah's spec ops team" or it becomes a whole different thing than what it was intended to be

[botanyshitposts]

Sign i saw recently had a bunch of paint worn away with lichen in its place, however i unfortunately did not have my phone on me 😔😔

in an alternate universe where science funding is stable and abundant regardless of monetary gain we have already gotten to the complex root of which lichens enjoy signs but only the letters or only the sign and what about the letters or sign they prefer and this haunts me

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Posuka Demizu's 2025 birthday art for Ray Complementary 2023 art

[hyohaehyuk]

Immortal_AMC: Who's telling the truth? #InterviewWithTheVampire

[dizzybizz]

how long since the last magma dump

[iwtv-az-hours]

Poor man

He just wanted another night of drugs and perhaps some c0ck

Instead he found himself accidently homewrecking the morbidly disfunctional 28year marriage of the one real life vampire gay couple currently roaming the state

[kuiperoid]

The Internet Archive saves the day again

[ezlo-x]

i finally have been able to capture the aesthetic/art direction i would like to take my tloz au!! idk if I'll be able to capture that feeling through my work especially the comic but I think that specific vibe old fantasy games had especially in the old PlayStation era like Shadow of the Colossus, Dark Souls, King's Field. Just whatever type of game fits that vibe

[thymejot]

Having just rewatched AAA, it's really interesting how much of a walking raw nerve Agatha is after episode 5.

She aggressively pushes everyone away with her words, verbally attacking every vulnerability she spots.

She went from this

To a hissing, spitting kitten, who claws at everything and anyone who gets close.

Seeing her abusive mother reverts her back to the witch on the run, her against the world.

Having Billy accuse her of lying, of being the villain she is, of stone cold murdering Alice intentionally, sets her off in the worst way.

It's that same old story, getting told you are evil, worthless, a born monster, often enough, and you start falling into the pattern of behaviour you are accused of.

Why would they call me a monster, a liar, unless it was true.

Which is ironic because Agatha has probably been her most honest and least monstrous in her interactions with Billy.

She tells him the witches road isn't real, she tells him she didn't intentionally kill Alice, she tells him he has nothing to be ashamed of for surviving. Yet he calls her a liar throws each truth back in her face, twisted into a lie, until she just gives up.

Look at her, all defensive, showing Billy the monster he expects to see. Back in that survival mode to protect herself.

I imagine if she hadn't had her mother thrown at her for her trial, the outcome of this story would be very different.

She wouldn't have had her confrontation with Rio, wouldn't have pushed and pushed until Rio gave her the ultimatum.

The irony is that Agatha treated Rio the same way Evanora treated her. She lashes out, heaping all her loss, her guilt, her grief onto Rio making it her fault, her responsibility. The same way Evanora places all her own self-loathing onto Agatha.

If she had time to process things, hadn'thad her own deamons come back to haunt her, there could have been compromise, and the thinnest sliver of a chance at a reunion between her and Rio.

Agatha is a creature forged in neglect, in rejection, in the scorn of her community. She is a scrappy little survivor, the monster everyone believes her to be, a scared little girl uncertain as to why her mother hates her so.

It's what makes her such a rich character because, given the right circumstances, she could be so much more.

[cr1mson5returns]

I have a very soft spot in my heart for Tim being just the loudest little shit on the planet. He was so used to being by himself in the house as a kid, what with how often his parents were out of town. After realizing how cranky he'd get if it was quiet for too long, he started filling the space with noise on his own purely to save his own sanity.

Cue Tim at Wayne Manor being so fucking noisy and Bruce is so tempted to tell him to quiet down but feels kind of bad if he does. And truthfully, it's nice in its own way to have this little weirdo bouncing off the fucking walls and chattering and clicking his pen 80 times a minute and just being his vibrant, noisy self.

[aipurjopa]

Zam: dude spoke’s fighting style is like so defensive and it’s really hard for me cause in 1v1s i’m very aggro

Zam: I need to learn the art of the defensive player

Mapicc: Yeah, he’s a— he’s a Manepear counter. You know Manepear’s one— like one of Manepear’s fully killed, like kitted out situations was cause Spoke killed him?

Zam: Yeahhh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I remember that fight, yeah.

—

wonder how differently that fight could’ve gone if spoke was fighting and they put someone else in the control room (especially considering the cough focus stuff cough)