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inaconstantstateofchange · 9 months

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Halsin and Silvanus

In the course of my recent research on Bane for a lore request fill, I found myself coming across a lot of very interesting information, previously unknown to me, about the other gods of the Forgotten Realms — in particular Silvanus. There was enough there that it inspired me to direct some extra research hours into this writeup, exploring all the reasons why Halsin is a quintessential Silvanite.

If you would like any more information on anything included here, please feel free to drop a comment or an ask, as there is truly so much that I just don’t have the space to include. (I usually end up with about 12-13 pages of source quotes before I begin one of these meta posts.)

My usual note that, as ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

Silvanus is easily one of the most misunderstood gods of the Faerûnian pantheon. This is even pointed out directly within his section of the 3.5e Faiths & Pantheons (an incredible resource if you are looking for more detailed information on the gods of the Forgotten Realms!):

Nevertheless, most outsiders view the church of Chauntea, as patrons of agriculture, as being favorably inclined toward the expansion of civilization, while the church of Silvanus is the implacable foe of those who would settle new lands. Neither impression is correct, yet the church of the Oak Father is often perceived as little different from those faiths that venerate the Deities of Fury.¹ [emphasis added]

Silvanus is most often perceived as strictly and impassively neutral, and intrinsically opposed to civilization in all its forms. While the former is something close to true – he is a very neutral-aligned deity, albeit not necessarily in a way that matches the popular conception of the term – the latter is certainly not. Humanity (if you’ll forgive the use of the term to designate in broad strokes the non-animal denizens of the Material Plane) is another facet of nature, one given equal consideration to the rest – plant, animal, and other – by Silvanus.²

While as a whole followers of Silvanus have a preference for the wilds and the deep forests, this is by no means a concrete rule. In fact, Silvanite clergy – those known as druids – are not uncommonly found in enclaves in larger cities of the Sword Coast and beyond, including Waterdeep.² Typically these druids will “create gardenlike walled areas of wild forest within the city limits.”¹ Wherever they may find themselves, Silvanite druids work to maintain the Balance of nature around them, through education and direct action both.

Silvanus’s dogma has much to tell us about his philosophy, and that of his followers. I’ll be splitting notable excerpts and their relation to Halsin into sections below.

Hold your distance and take in the total situation, rather than latching on to the popular idea of what is best.¹

Halsin was, from the first moment I met him in-game, so notable for his calm self-possession, and the clear forethought he gave to his actions and those of others. He does not feel bound by the expectations or approval of others – as noted in the dialogue he shares with the player if they compliment his choice of successor – but instead makes his own path following the direction of Silvanus’s wisdom and will.

Resort to violence and open confrontation only when pressured by time or hostile action.¹

This is showcased numerous times throughout the game, but perhaps best evidenced by an in-game note, from an unlikely source: the Priestess Gut. The note that you can find from her, regarding Halsin’s capture, notes the following:

Said he thinks there's somethin' rotten inside us. Inside me. Reckons he can help get rid of the rot. I told him we don't need any help from nobody. Never did. And especially not now the Absolute's taken a shine to us.³

Despite the immediacy of his capture at their hands, and the preceding attack already lodged against himself and Nettie⁴, Halsin’s primary impulse is to attempt diplomacy, and render aid. This only changes when his length of captivity has made it clear that there will be no changing the minds of the cultists, and they must be dissuaded by stronger means.

Banish disease wherever you find it¹

The way Halsin is first introduced to the player is as a healer – and not just any healer, but a masterful one, known throughout the region, who has the best chance of being able to assist with any manner of strange ailment. It is clear in all ways, as well as in the scenario referenced in the preceding section, that this is an aspect of Silvanus that Halsin strives to embody at all times.

Seek out, serve, and befriend the dryads and learn their names.¹

Particularly if we understand the reference to dryads here to extend to all fey spirits of nature, this gives new depth to Halsin’s friendship and devotion to the nature spirit Thaniel. Halsin, as a druid generally, and as an Archdruid in particular, would have a solemn and divinely-ordained responsibility to redress the upheaval of the Balance within the Shadowcursed lands. For that reason alone, it is no surprise that it was his primary motivation and consideration for nigh on a century.

However, even above and beyond that, Halsin had an additional motivator. Even before he became a druid, potentially before he was exposed to the teachings of Silvanus in anything but the most vague and general of terms, he was living them out by befriending the local nature spirit, learning his name, and seeking to understand, serve, and protect him.

Make others see the balance and work against those that would disturb it. Watch, anticipate, and quietly manipulate.¹

The primary source text I am using to draw this connection was written neither by nor about Halsin, yet I believe it still clearly reflects on him, for reasons that will become clear. This text is from a logbook recording activities of the Emerald Grove during the year 1371, 121 years prior to the start of the game’s storyline, and some years before the defining events in the soon-to-be Shadowcursed Lands.

6 Uktar: Sent two druids, some of the newer recruits, up north. Village there has had two years of failed crops and are unlikely to survive the next winter. 9 Uktar: A group from Baldur's Gate arrived. They've set up camp on the edge of the forest. Two bears and a fox came by. Their territory has been burned out. Half the fox's cubs died. Paying this new group a visit tomorrow. 10 Uktar: Visit did not go well. After telling me where to shove it, they said they'd cut down half the forest and burn out any wildlife that dared to stick around. Claimed they were going to 'farm the land and make a new city of their own.' Time to get creative. 12 Uktar: Mudslide did the trick. Buried half their farming equipment and made the rest useless. They won't be back any time soon. Got reports of a Red Wizard in the village south of here. Sending three rangers to investigate. If they catch even a whiff of a red cloak, I'm contacting the House of Silvanus.⁵

Given the timeline, while this is unlikely to have been written by Halsin himself, it seems like a strong possibility that it was written by his master, the previous Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, who perished in the fight against Ketheric Thorm. This is supported by the clear evidence that the author was an individual in a position to give direction and command to those around them, and to make the call for how to deal with various situations. Given too what we know of the druidic leadership structure, Halsin would have been the previous Archdruid’s Second, as Kagha was his.⁶

This man, then, would have greatly influenced Halsin as a druid of Silvanus and as a leader both. We can presume that this watchful duty and deliberation was one that Halsin himself took over, charged with doing his part to maintain the Balance of the region around the grove. This last point especially becomes even more significant in light of the following information, which comes not from Silvanus’s dogma, but rather from a description of his followers and traditions of worship:

Members of the clergy work to redirect development and control populations through covert sponsorship of brigands, breeding and selective placing of predators, and other means. It is essential that such work be as secretive as possible, so that most folk view the servants of Silvanus as essentially benign lovers of trees. Wildlife breeding, nursing sick animals, and replanting trees and wild shrubs are all work that should be done as publicly as possible to support this perception – and as necessary work to redress the slipping Balance, of course.¹ [emphasis added]

It is clear from all preceding evidence, and this excerpt in particular, that the druids as a whole put far more thought and strategy into every aspect of their appearance and the perception of them than they would ever want outsiders to become aware of. Halsin himself corroborates this in-game, noting that, while druids might not like politicking, that certainly does not mean they haven’t the skill for it when called upon.

For the sake of… well. (I have been advised by my legal counsel not to use “brevity” here.) Regardless! For the sake of my sanity and your time, I will refrain from going into further detail on specific instances that show this to be true of Halsin. I will merely encourage you, the reader, to consider the value this brings to his character and druids as a whole, and hope to encourage new appreciation for their refreshing complexity.

In closing, I leave you with one final quote:

Superior patience, natural knowledge, and anticipation are the hallmarks of a worthy servant of Silvanus.¹

¹ Faiths and Pantheons. 2002. p. 63.

² Dragon Magazine #412. June 2012. pp. 22-3.

³ Rancid Note. In-Game Text.

⁴ Halsin’s Journal, Vol I. In-Game Text.

⁵ Logbook XII: 1371. In-Game Text.

⁶ Grove Annals. In-Game Text.

#voidling speaks #my meta #bg3 meta #meta #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin #bg3 halsin #silvanus #realmslore #forgotten realms

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Talk

Title: Talk Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral female receiving, praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #hotbuckysummer2023 #connect4au #pleasure dom bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #female reader #reader insert #aspen wrote something

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 10 months

Note

Could you do a Headcanon with Female Reader like Emily from "Corpse Bride" with the Dorm Leaders (+Ruggie, Jamil and Rook), about what they think about her and feel about her, into three parts, which are:

Part 1

Pre-Overblot (first impressions)

Part 2

Post Overblot (after learning about her and her background)

Part 3

Wedding (Without that part of the poison, but keeping the part of the dead reuniting with their loved ones, and their reaction to finding and discovering that Y/n's ex-fiancé was the one who killed her)

That's alot so I won't be doing all of that 🖤🖤🖤

Corpse Bride Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’re life has a living corpse is truly a unique one, if it isn’t already with your unexpected arrival to Night Raven. Nonetheless you can only hope for your true love most eager suitors and while it might not be your biggest priority with overblots left and right. Those obsessed with you will make it so or at least steam-roll over any rivals you have:

Vil Schoenheit

“What an unfortunate case.”

He’s talking about your dead-rotting state and wedding dress you always wear

Firstly he thinks you’re tragic and that your dress is outdated+

By the end of his overblot Vil has something of a revelation

He simply can’t keep looking down on you

Not with this feeling in his heart

The feeling that all too quickly inspires him to use everything in his power

To bring you two together

Including but not limited to giving people food poisoning, sending fans after them, and outright bullying

Fastforward to your wedding when he’s finally gotten you in his trap

By now he’s perfectly crafted your circle of friends

Now all he has to worry is about you passing on he’s got a plan for that

He already knew about your ex-fiance, you’ve told him about it before

And if he could do anything about it he most certainly would’ve gotten revenge for you

“I’m ecstatic to live with you for all eternity, dead or alive.”

Jamil Viper

“..you have bugs in your head..”

He considers you his greatest enemy

Should you find out his fear for bugs you’ll be the biggest threat to his plans

Post overblot he definitely was right to label you a threat

Not only for bug’s attraction to you

But because he’s entirely helpless to you as the owner of his heart

But he’d sooner strangle your friends than admit it

Either way he tries to brave his fears enough to get in your good graces

Once the wedding comes around Jamil too has a plan

More than prepared to give you something of his own creation that will bind you to him

Dead or alive

He already knows about your ex and if he hasn’t found and destroyed the portal back home

He’ll daydream about killing and torturing him endlessly

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yanderes #yandere twst #yandere jamil viper #yandere jamil x reader #yandere jamil #yandere vil x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere vil

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voidpumpkin · 2 years

Text

A Guide For New Users Fleeing From Twitter, From A User Who Needed One When They First Started:

Hi to everyone fleeing from twitter, Elon Musk is shit and he already has had an actively harmful effect on the site, one that will only get worse. So, welcome to Tumblr, it can be kind of intimidating, given its reputation and how many different features there are, I was certainly confused and intimidated when I first logged on and as I'm active on both I sympathise with y’all, so here’s a guide to anyone new:

Put your hashtags in the hashtag section. This is the only way they’ll actually have any sort of effect, or appear when you search for something. Don’t post them on the post itself.

There is a character limit for hashtags and a quite high hashtag limit. Go wild. Writing entire speeches is common.

Don’t tag lots of unrelated stuff to your posts, that’ll get you reported for Spam and just hated in general

Don’t censor words, users are fine with swearing, doing so especially with triggering content makes it hard for people to limit their exposure to said triggering content.

There’s no such thing as ratioing.

We don’t have quote retweeting, every reblog, comment, etc counts to op’s post. They can see it all, and will be notified depending on their notification settings.

Change your icon, people will think you’re a bot if you use the default.

Give yourself a bio, it’ll make you look like a person.

Follow people and tags, that’s the only way you’re gonna see the content you wanna see. The foryoupage isn’t to be trusted.

Actually reblog stuff, liking has no effect, reblogging is the only important thing here as there is no like based algorithm. Doing so will also make you appear human.

You can hide your likes and who you’re following. Doing so is not frowned upon in the slightest.

You can block tags, similarly to muting words on twitter.

You can have multiple blogs tied to one account.

You can customise your blog, go wild.

There is no word limit, you can write as you want. But if it gets too long make use of the keep reading feature, (the three dots beside the add gif feature)

There is an image limit of thirty, up from the former ten, though for some they may be stuck at only using ten, tumblr is kinda inconsistent. If you want to add more you’ll have to reblog your own post.

There is no reblogging limit when it comes to a post, though there is a daily posting limit, go wild, only your followers will be upset.

You can have videos, gifs and pictures in the same post.

You can just post audio.

Adult content is still banned, but actual moderation and enforcement is spotty, especially if it’s written.

Spam liking and reblogging isn’t a thing. Go wild.

You have an ask box that people can submit stuff to. You can respond or just delete the post. You can remove anon capability from it (which will get rid of most of the hate), or outright bar it.

You can’t private your account but you can restrict commenting and reblogging. Edit: I’ve been informed that you can in fact make your blog password protected, it’s just that it’s a rarely done thing and not widely known.

Block whoever and whenever, it’s not a big deal. Though if someone you’ve blocked has reblogged and added to a post and someone you follow reblogs that, their commentary will still be included in the post you see.

We don’t have muting, only blocking.

Yes, direct messaging is a thing (it’s the little smiley face)

The only way to promote your is through ‘tumblr blaze’, you pay a certain amount of money and your post will be promoted, but not targeted, so no invasions of privacy. You are subject to the employee’s whims on whether or not it gets promoted and unfortunately hate speech has been allowed.

Tumblr has tendency to hide/consume comments, posts and asks, don’t be surprised if they go missing.

Tumblr searching a blog relies on tags, words in the post and the users name, keep that in mind.

Posts will remain after you delete your account or the original post if they have been reblogged.

Years old posts are still circulating and that is considered normal.

You can queue up posts to be released when you’re not using your account. Or you can just post whenever you’re active. Go wild.

Wizards exist and are very popular on this site. Accept it.

There are posts with no notes that will never gain any more than a sing note for your like. Accept it.

There are posts will no op. Accept it.

Trans and autistic people dominate this site.

Don’t get pissy when someone tags a post ‘tw (insert slur)’, or any trigger warning for that matter, most are just being considerate of their followers who may be triggered by such content.

Twitter discourse is regularly mocked, it’s not gonna fly here.

No, we don’t call each other oomfs, or anything like that. We just have mutuals.

Tumblr in general lacks a lot colloquialisms that began on twitter.

We do have ‘blorbo’ ‘poor little meow meow’ etc.

Trying to go viral or trying to corporate is frowned upon.

Tumblr has a tendency to blacklist things tagged like ‘crowdfunding’ so bring that kind of logic you use for twitter posts over to tumblr.

We don’t have twitter circles, co-posting, etc.

Tumblr is surprisingly good at recommending blogs.

There are no verified accounts, and your follower count isn't visible. This is a good thing, trying to change it will get you laughed at.

People are going to just make up stuff, don’t believe everything you see and if it’s a claim about someone, investigate it rather than just believe it.

You can edit your posts after you’ve posted them, but the versions reblogged before said changes will still circulate. This editing of the original has been used as a spruce of comedy

If your worried about people seeing your potentially triggering, or even graphic content and they haven’t blocked the tags you’ve used you can use the keeping reading feature to put the content under the cut and post a warning at the top.

And this is quite important:

Stay anonymous and have fun. There isn’t an expectation to constantly expose inner details of your life, you aren’t expected to use your real face, your real name, age, etc. You’re not even expected to be truthful here. Exist however you wanna exist and have fun, that should be the point of social media.

Also keep in mind that tumblr has its own distinct culture that is going to take some getting used to. As well as a history any user who’s been here a while will at least somewhat understand.

Also I'll be editing the post with additional info and corrections provided to me.

#twitter #tumblr #social media #Elon musk #giude #psa #hellsite #edited to correct some stuff #hellsite tag #edited again to add stuff and correct some information

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 6 months

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Do You Want To Know A Secret (Teen!George Harrison x Teen!Lennon!Reader)

A/N: Hello, Happy Easter! I'm posting another oneshot, because why not? I feel like it could have been a little better than what I wrote, but I was in a bit of a rush to get it out. Who doesn't love some George?

Summary: It's 1961. You're John's sister and he refuses to let you talk to anyone in his band (and vice versa) despite your house being their practice location. George scores some alone time with you one day, and sings you a little song he composed for you.

WARNINGS: SUGGESTIVE BEHAVIOUR; the reader is pretty confident in this oneshot. Mentions of sex, but nothing further than a heated make out session/ neck kissing really occurs in this. Swearing, probably, but I could be wrong. George starts out shy but he is not by the end. There are probably some typos as well oops.

This one is T rated, but just read at your own risk because as mentioned, sex is discussed

It was 1961, a relatively warm Friday evening after dinner, where an eighteen year old George Harrison was accompanied by a nineteen year-old Paul McCartney, on the way to the Lennon household.

Band practice was that night, the newly renamed "Beatles" preparing for their next gig at the Cavern Club just that following evening. George had his guitar case in hand, and Paul, his base, as they walked and talked.

John's house could be spotted from where the two were now, and George, who was talking in that moment, lost train of thought when he spotted someone just outside the front door.

That someone was you. John's little sister. Aged eighteen; like George.

George could feel his heart fluttering as he watched you move around the front garden, watering can in hand as you tended to the little flowers in the window planters.

"Don't stare," Paul lightly chided in a sing-song tone, wagging his finger at George when he came back down to earth, cheeks flush at the idea of having been caught looking.

"But look at her," George groaned, hand gesturing towards you haphazardly before dropping it down helplessly at his side. "Just look at how perfect--"

"And off limits," Paul added quickly.

"... she is," George sighed as he finished his sentence, a rather upsetting frown on his face. The boys had since halted walking, making sure to be far enough away that you weren't in earshot of their conversation.

"Look, Harry," Paul rested a hand on the younger boy's shoulder in comfort. "I know how you feel. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think she was a looker, y'know?"

Paul and George glanced over at you for a moment, before he continued.

"... but if I had a sister, and three lads who couldn't keep their eyes off her, I couldn't say I wouldn't be doing what Lenny's doing right now."

George knew that Paul was right. As much as he hated it, John loved you very much, and was cautious of any guy trying to be near you, especially now that you were a young adult, and not some child.

Every time the band gathered at John's house, everyone seemed to be under a microscope-- including you. The boys weren't allowed to talk to you, and you couldn't even look at anyone without your brother hollering at you to get upstairs, or to refocus back to your homework, or whatever task you had at hand.

But in moments like this, where the protective older brother wasn't around, George took every chance he could to greet you with a smile on his face.

And he wasn't going to stop now.

"I get it, mate. I just... there's something about her." That's the simplest George could have explained it to Paul. He wasn't about to disclose that he dreamt of you almost every night, or that he relished in the moments of excitement and anxiety of being able to see you, if only for five seconds out of his entire week.

And he certainly would not have told him about the songs he was composing; his muse being you, of course.

It was all just one giant secret, and as much as George wanted to tell you, all he thought of were downsides in result of revealing such a thing to you.

George thought that you, for starters, were leaps and bounds out of his league, he was scared of being laughed at, and he would have been absolutely horrified if John were to ever find out.

The negatives drastically outweighed the positives, so he was better to keep his mouth shut.

George and Paul continued their trek to the building, and when they finally made it to the walkway leading to the door, you turned your head, smiling gently and waving to them once you realized who it was.

"Good afternoon, lads," you greeted politely, and George nearly melted at the sound of your voice.

"Hello, Miss Lennon," the boys responded in unison. George cringed a little at that, pushing through the door with Paul following close behind. As much as he wanted to stick around, he knew it would have been too risky.

And thank God he made made that choice. John was waiting for them in the main foyer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't seem too happy, but he wasn't quite pissed off, either; almost as if he were in limbo of the two.

"'Bout time yous showed up. Me n' Pete've been waiting forever. C'mon, now." John waved his hand as he headed for the basement stairs, and the boys wordlessly continued on so they could begin their practice. George only looked over his shoulder once before descending the steps, hoping to have caught just one more glimpse of you, but to no avail.

"We have a show tomorrow, and you boys decided to be a quarter of an hour late!" John complained on as he threw his guitar strap over his shoulder. Pete was in the corner of the room on his drum set just shaking his head as he grabbed his drumsticks and tapped a little on his instrument. he must have been there for a while already.

Paul and George hurriedly grabbed out their instruments, apologizing so the older boy's complaints would cease. "As long as you're ready to play now, I don't care."

John always got sort of tense when the other three boys were over, hyper-focussed on keeping you away from them and vice versa. He was more or less worried about Paul trying to flirt with you, so a lot of John's poor behaviour stemmed from that.

Little did he know that it was actually George who'd fallen head over heels for you.

But that wasn't something to worry about in that moment. What was important was that practice began, and that they had to see improvement before their show just that following night.

Practice was going well. They had been at it for nearly an hour at that point, and the more they worked, the more pleased each boy was with the sound. They took a brief pause for some water, and John was rifling through his pile of lyrics sitting on a table in the corner of the room, trying to decide which one to practice next.

As George finished the last drop of water in his glass, John piped up, "I don't have all my songs here. Must've left them in my room."

"Which ones?" George asked, empty glass still in-hand. "I'm running up for a refill, might as well grab that for you as well."

"I think I left them on my desk at the side. You sure you don't want me running up?"

George swatted his hand as he started for the stairs. "Don't worry 'bout it. Be back in a jiff."

George hopped up the stairs, leaving his glass on the kitchen counter next to the sink before moving down the main foyer. He paused at the front door to peek out the window to see if you were still outside, but he didn't see you from where he was standing. He sighed gently before turning and making his way up to the second floor.

George made his way down to John's room at the end of the hallway. It was the only room with the door open, and before he even made it into the room, he could see the pile of lyrics on the desk, right where John said they'd be.

He picked up the pile, shuffling through them and counting the pages as he did so. He took one more brief glance around the room to make sure he wasn't missing anything else. When he decided this was all he needed, he turned on his heel and headed out to the hallway.

George was just about to make it to the stairs when he felt someone take hold of his arm, and swiftly tug him into one of the other rooms. The moment was a blur for him, and it took him a second to piece together what happened. He was standing in the middle of the room-- your room.

And you were only three feet away from him, back against the door, and cheeks glowing pink.

"Hello," you smiled gently, and George had no clue what to say, pages clutched tightly against his chest as his brain swirled with millions of thoughts.

"Hi," he squeaked, face burning in humiliation at his flustered state, but he was in your room, for Christ's sake. Your room! He had no clue what to say to you, mouth hanging open as he tried to search his brain for some other words.

"Look, I know we're not supposed to be doing this," you expressed, and George could feel his heart doing violent flips in his chest, especially when you pushed yourself off the door to take a step or two closer to him. This was the longest conversation he had with you, to date.

"Johnny would kill me if he knew I had a boy in my room, you know," you took a moment to pause, and all George could do was nod his head in agreement, intoxicated by the way you walked, and the way you talked. There was a hint of something in your voice... but the boy couldn't quite place what it was. Yearning? That couldn't be right... could it?

"But where's the fun in that, huh?" You asked, hands clasped behind your back, eyes staring right back into his, and George couldn't help but break his gaze first, utterly intimidated by your confidence. His eyes fixated to the dress you were wearing, and he could see a playful smile dancing on your lips in his peripheral.

"... You like what you see, Georgie?" You asked lowly after a moment, and his stare shot back up to your face again, certain his legs were numb. The nickname rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, so perfectly. The things it was doing to him...

"I..." he could barely speak, breaths ragged. Not one coherent thought was at the forefront of his brain, other than one simple word.

"Pretty." Your smile was a little more genuine now after he said that, and you reached a hand up to tuck a little strand of hair behind your ear.

"You think I'm pretty?"

George just nodded again. It was only now that he realized how much shorter you were compared to him, as you were only a foot away from him; the closest you'd ever been. He was looking down at you, but you were, in no way, intimidated by him. It was actually quite the opposite.

"You know, Georgie, you're pretty handsome, yourself," you professed, smiling wider as George's face burned even hotter.

He couldn't even thank you, scared of what would have happened if he tried to utter any kind of response to you. You reached out to rest a hand on his arm, and your smile faltered just a little.

"You're really tense... am I making you uncomfortable?" George's eyes widened, swallowing nervously as he shook his head 'no' as quickly as he could. He didn't want-- whatever this was-- to stop. The sincere upturn of your lips returned, and George couldn't help but flit his gaze down to your lips.

If only he had as much confidence as you, he might have just dipped down to have a taste...

"Look, I don't wanna keep you any longer. I know Johnny's gonna be looking for you soon." You thought for a moment before mentioning, "usually after you boys leave, he's down there for another hour or so practicing his own songs. Come back and see me after, yeah? Get to know each other a little more?" You raised an eyebrow expectantly, and George nodded his head again.

"Okay," he managed to whisper, resulting in you rising to your toes, and wordlessly pecking him on the cheek.

He felt like he was dreaming.

"Run along now, before they get suspicious!"

George's feet, though seemingly glued to the floor moments before, took off quickly, opening the door, and disappearing out into the hallway, shutting it closed behind him. As soon as he was on his own, he sighed heavily, the rush of oxygen in his lungs making him feel light-headed.

For someone who seemed so innocent in the open, around others, George could never have guessed how much of a minx you were behind closed doors. One part of him was still in denial that his interaction with you was even real, let alone meant to be flirtatious in any way...

But man, he would have been stupid not to take you up on your offer. It was just another hour he had to spend practicing, and he'd be right back in there, hopefully earning another kiss on the cheek from you.

George looked at the lyric papers in his hands one last time before sighing one more time, and going back downstairs. He passed his forgotten water glass in the kitchen, mind on an entirely different planet.

He returned to the basement, handing John the papers. He thanked the younger boy, pausing for a second to watch him move to grab his guitar.

"Where's your glass, Harry?"

George tensed when John asked that, hand on the neck of the guitar.

"... Left it upstairs," he responded.

"Thought you were grabbing a refill?" John's inquiries had George grasping for what to say next, but he was quick enough.

"Refilled the glass up there, drank it, and figured I'd be fine for the rest of practice."

His confession, though a lie, was believable enough for John, who just nodded his head slowly and drew his attention to the papers after a second, discussing which song they were going to practice next.

George just flew under the radar then, and he mentally cursed himself for being so careless. He look a quick glance at Paul, who was giving him a look; almost as if he knew something happened up there.

But he would never know the truth.

The shared glance fell apart when John advised everyone to get into position for playing, and they did just that.

The hour seemed to drag, George felt; but as time moved on, the more anxious he began to feel again. By the time everyone was packing up to leave, he was almost vibrating with anxiety.

He wanted to be close to you again so badly, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself as he had in the last interaction.

Pete, Paul, and George wished John a good night, and climbed the stairs to the main floor in that order, leaving John alone to continue practicing. Pete left Paul and George in the main hallway with a little wave, and a short "see yous tomorrow," before taking off out the front door.

Paul grabbed the door handle next and turned back to George, who stood in one spot a little too far away from the door.

"... Not walking home with me?" He asked in confusion, and when George didn't have a disposable answer, the pieces seemed to be finally clicking for the other boy.

He opened his mouth as if to lecture George on how bad of an idea sticking around would be, but instead, he tightened his jaw, shook his head, and waved to him.

"G'night Harry," he tossed a little wave out before taking off into the dusk.

He was alone now.

That could only mean one thing.

George eyed the stairs, knowing that if he turned on his heel and walked out right then, it'd be one of the biggest mistakes in his life. But he couldn't deny the fact that he was nervous; intimidated by you, and your assertive, rather sexy behaviour from earlier.

He took a deep breath, grabbing the railing, and hiking up the stairs slowly.

He stood outside your bedroom door much longer than he would have liked to admit, taking deep breaths and reciting words over and over again in his brain, as if this whole interaction were scripted-- as if he knew what was going to happen.

When he finally composed himself properly, he rapped on the door gently, hoping you would hear his presence on the other side. When you finally came around to open the door, his heart skipped a beat.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back," you voiced softly, leaning against the doorframe, handle still in hand. You sounded a little relieved, almost, seeing the boy on the other side of the threshold.

You were in your pyjamas, a set that showed enough skin on your arms and legs that it made George, red-faced, shake his head to reactivate his brain, which pretty much short circuited.

"You goin' to bed?" His words left his mouth faster than he realized he was even saying them. Sure, it was getting late out, but would you have really changed if you were expecting company?

"Well, that depends. Will you be joining me?" You were so quick on your feet in response that it honestly impressed George, the heat returning to his face as he tried to think of what to say next, not daring to drop his line of sight below your chin.

"I'm only teasing you," you laughed after a moment of watching George squirm, pushing off the doorframe and allowing him to enter your bedroom again. As he passed you, he caught sight of you gazing up his body, shrugging and adding a little "... maybe," to the end of your sentence.

You were such a tease, and George set his guitar case off to the side, facing away from you, so he could hide just how giddy and flushed he was just being in there with you again. He rose to his feet and turned to face you. You were only a few feet away from him again, eyes on him intensely, smile still present.

"... I hope you know just how glad I am that you came back," you expressed again, honestly. George raised an eyebrow at that, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wanted to tear his gaze from yours so badly, but your face was just so gorgeous to look at, and he didn't want to be caught looking at your outfit again; he knew some more teasing would surely ensue if he was caught staring.

"Why wouldn't I come back?" George replied bashfully, shrugging his shoulders a little. "Wouldn't miss a chance to be here, with you, for the world."

Your stare softened at his words, beaming as your own cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. George wasn't sure you were really expecting something like that coming from him. "... You really mean that?"

George desperately wanted to elaborate a little further, but he just settled on giving you a little nod, smiling back shyly at your question.

"Maybe I thought I might've scared you off for being so forward earlier," you admitted timidly as you turned on your heel. You took a seat at the edge of your bed, and George surveyed your movements, eyebrows lifting a little when you reached out to pat the empty space next to you on the mattress after a moment.

"Care to take a seat?"

George accepted the invitation, and you felt the bed dip when he sat down. His eyes cast down to the floor, face still red at the idea of being in your presence; having your attention.

"You know, Georgie... my brother can be pretty stupid sometimes. But making this house the place for band practice, I think, was one of the best decisions he's ever made."

His eyes met yours again at your words, and you shrugged one of your shoulders.

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't been dying to talk to you. Or get to know you. You seem so kind, and you're so attractive, and John wants to keep you away from me, and I'm so sick of him deciding what's best for me."

Your eyes cast down between the both of you for a moment, and George could feel his heart trying to leap out of his chest. His fingertips felt numb, mouth hanging slack as you continued your profession.

"I knew the only way to get close and alone with you was to bring you in here. And I saw the way you were looking at me earlier, and I had to get you to come back."

It felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Was he really that obvious when he was in here last?

"It's thrilling... having a boy like you in my room, while John's clueless out there as to what we're doing. What we could be doing..."

George's mind was going places he was never expecting it to that evening, especially with the help of you voicing it aloud. He was in utter disbelief of what you were telling him, convinced he'd fallen asleep throughout the day, and he was caught in some blissful dream he wished would never end.

"I feel a little selfish, springing so much information on you at once... but every time I see you, I desperately want to be with you; and today, I had to jump to take that chance. I couldn't wait another week, another day."

You smiled sheepishly, not really expecting George to say anything after that. You were honestly just trying to get your thoughts off your chest, and now that you had, you felt a lot better. You were also pleased with the little look of shock on George's face. You liked doing that to him.

You decided to break his trance by nodding over to his guitar case sitting on the floor. "So... You have plans to serenade me, Georgie?"

Your question definitely brought him back down to earth, and he took a quick glance at the case before looking back to you. Your confession was still ringing clear in his head like a bell. He felt he didn't have the words to admit his feelings as clearly as you had right on the spot...

He did, however, have the words pre-planned as lyrics, in a multitude of original songs he wrote for you.

"... I do, actually," he agreed, standing up to open his case and retrieve his instrument. George was feeling a little more excited now, knowing any girl these days would swoon at the idea of having music written for them, and he just hoped you would too.

He returned to the bed, deciding against tossing the strap over his shoulder. He faced you so you could hear and see every little thing he did. He was at least glad he didn't get performance anxiety on the guitar.

He gently strummed out a few different notes, deciding in his head which song he wanted to perform for you. One in particular stuck out in his mind, and he couldn't deny that it was the perfect choice.

He was a little worried about how you'd feel about his playing, and the lyrics, but he wanted to show you that he could be confident about this, especially since he was nearly certain now that his feelings were reciprocated. But he had to play it cool.

"It is a work in progress. I've only half of it written, but I really think you'll like it," George explained to you before allowing the notes to fill the air around you both.

"Listen,

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?

Closer,

Let me whisper in your ear,

Say the words you long to hear,

I'm in love with you."

It was only then that you realized this was the first time you'd ever seen, or heard George play. This beautiful genius was being hidden away from you this whole time, and it was a blessing to see his work up close.

His left hand slid along the fretboard so easily, thumb and fingers on his right tickling the strings as if it were second nature to him. You couldn't decide which hand you wanted to look at. His digits were skillful on the instrument, and George made sure to almost exaggerate his movements to impress you.

He pretty much had you in a trance, now, daydreaming about what else those hands could do...

"I've known a secret for a week, or two,

Nobody knows, just we two,"

George had been worried the whole song about messing up the notes, eyes so focused on where his fingers were going... But he glanced up at you, realizing how hypnotized you were, like putty in his hands, and he decided there was nothing to worry about.

He decided to sing right to you now, soft eyes on your face, and when your field of view locked with his, he knew he wouldn't dare break the stare.

"Listen,"

This wasn't a song anymore.

"Do you want to know a secret?"

This was his confession.

"Do you promise not to tell?"

His way of showing you what you really meant to him.

"Closer,"

He wasn't clouded by any insecurities or doubt anymore.

"Let me whisper in your ear,"

Your gaze flitted down just enough to watch George's canines poke out from behind his lips as he sung, and your eyelashes lowered at the sight of his beautiful mouth.

"Say the words you long to hear,"

Your mind was absorbing the lyrics like a sponge in water, every single word eliciting a feeling so strong in your heart, you could hear it pumping in your ears.

"I'm in love with you."

George hummed away as he played the final notes, a little smile still on his lips when he let the last chord ring out into a room of silence.

When that stillness remained for a moment, George couldn't help but ask with a little bit of hesitation, "Well... what do you thi--"

He couldn't even get the rest of his question out before you darted at him, lips smashing into his as if he were about to disappear forever.

He let out a little surprised hum before he pulled the guitar out from between the both of you, and you took it as an opportunity to push your body closer to him, arms wrapping around his collarbone.

He blindly set the guitar down to lean it against your bed, and when he let go of the neck of the instrument, his hands went for your hips, squeezing your sides gently before pulling you right up into his lap. your actions bloomed a type of self-assurance within him he had no idea he could even possess.

It was your turn to squeal excitedly, but George's lips on yours muffled the sound. One of his hands snaked around to the small of your back before it slipped under your shirt, his palm dragging up your spine. His fingertips took note of each vertebrae it dipped up and down into, like the frets on his guitar.

This, George decided, was better than a dream. This whole situation unfolding around him made him feel as though he died and went to heaven.

He pulled his lips away from yours, free hand reaching up to grip your chin and directing you to tilt your head up. His lips suckled on the side of your neck, and the sound coming from your mouth was absolutely euphoric to him. But he removed his palm from your chin to cover your mouth, his other hand still feeling and memorizing every curve and dip in your back.

"You must be quiet, Love. Wouldn't want your brother knowing about all this fun we're having up here, eh?" Your eyes rolled back at his words, groaning into his hand as you felt George drag his teeth gently along the column of your throat.

Knowing you were enjoying this as much as he was only brought more confidence to his actions, and he let his tongue poke out to leave a large, wet kiss on your collarbone.

You were squirming in his lap, fingers sliding up into his hair and tugging so he knew he was doing everything right.

He groaned at the friction you were creating at the hips, and he pulled away from your neck to kiss your lips again after removing his hand and placing it on the back of your neck.

You swallowed his moans as you continued to grind in his lap, but both of your movements paused when you heard the guitar come crashing down to the carpeted floor. It wasn't as loud as it could have been, but it was loud enough.

You both kept an ear out, knowing that might have caught the attention of someone downstairs, and when you began to hear footsteps shuffling around, you began to panic a little, eyes wide and darting back to George, whose face was flushed from the assault of your kisses, and hair was a tangled mess from your fingers.

"You gotta hide," you rushed out quietly, and though you tried to climb out of George's lap, his hands kept you planted right where you were.

"What are you doing?!"

"... What if I didn't?" He challenged you a little, a daring smirk at his lips.

"Had you not been so naughty, with all that moving and teasing, the guitar wouldn't have fallen, eh? And we wouldn't be in this situation at all." The points of his canines were showing again, and you groaned at his words.

"George, I'd love to continue this, but John will kill you if we're caught, and we can't do this if you're dead!"

"Well then we just won't get caught," he responded simply. He was blinded by desire, his confidence seeping out of him like sap from a tree as he placed his mouth back on your neck.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and you both heard a knock, George not showing any sign of stopping his actions.

"Don't come in, I'm-- I'm not wearing any clothes!!" It was the first thing you could blurt out to whoever was on the other side.

"Oh, baby, that'd be a sight to see," George mumbled against your skin, pulling your top down just enough so he could suck a dark spot just above your left breast so you could easily hide it away, and you sighed heavily at the contact, face burning red.

"Just heard a loud thud. Just making sure all is okay," it was John on the other side; completely oblivious to the actual scene occurring on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, a book from my shelf was knocked over! N-nothing to worry about!"

George grabbed your chin again when you were finished talking, shoving his tongue right into your mouth as you both heard John respond with, "oh, okay. Just making sure you're alright. Have a good night."

You listened closely as the footsteps quieted, and when there was no sign of anyone else on the second floor, let alone at the door, you pulled away from George's kiss.

"Well... how was that?"

"Risky," you replied, a rather unimpressed look on your face as you unraveled your arms from George's shoulders and crossed them over your chest.

"Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore, Love," he tried to give you another kiss, but you placed your fingers against his lips. It was your turn to smirk mischievously.

"You know what, Georgie... I think you've had enough action for tonight."

You could see the smug grin fall right off George's face as you removed your hand. Surely you had to have been joking. But when you pushed a little to get off him, his arms fell to his side, a little pout on his face.

"You're serious? Love, you got me all hot and bothered..."

"George, you really thought we were going to go all the way tonight with other people in the house?" You laughed out loud at that; and when you said it like that, he would have had to agree that it did sound ridiculous.

"Trust me, Georgie, I want to," you placed a hand on his cheek in comfort, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he looked up at you as if he was the shy boy you interacted with just an hour before.

"But we both know doing that in an empty house would be far better than having to keep quiet about it, huh?"

All George could do was imagine that situation, eyes drifting shut, and tilting his head into your caressing hand.

"You're such a damn tease," he mumbled, eyes blinking back open after a moment.

"All good things come to those who wait," was all you said, leaving one, sweet kiss on his lips before pulling away, and nodding to his guitar. "We better pack you up and send you home."

You watched as George situated himself, placing his guitar back in the case, closing it and picking it up. You wrapped your arms around him gently, planting another kiss on his cheek.

"By the way... I think that song was beautiful," you whispered to him, and when you pulled away to see him smiling at you, you couldn't help but match the grin on your own lips.

"See you next week? Same time?"

"You don't even have to tell me twice," George responded with, and you just had to lean in for one more smooch on the lips, to which he eagerly reciprocated.

He then opened your window up, and took a step out. You watched as he climbed down the corner of the house slowly, and before he took off down the road, he blew you a kiss, to which you mimicked catching with your hand.

As George headed home, the sun now fallen over the horizon, those intimate moments he shared with you were at the very forefront of his mind. His hands could still feel your bare skin under his fingertips, and his mouth tingled as he remembered what it was like to have your lips on his.

He was just craving for the next moment he had alone with you.

______________________________________

A/A/N: And there we are! hope you all enjoy this, and I hope your Easter weekend was full of sun, and fun! Please let me know if you want to read more so I know it' worth it to post!

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secretlystephaniebrown · 1 year

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I Read Nearly Every Appearance of the Lazarus Pit Before Flashpoint and All I Got Was A Headache: A Meta Commentary

So! The Lazarus Pit!

The Lazarus Pit is obviously an iconic part of the Batman Franchise. We encounter it everywhere, from the Under the Red Hood movie, to the Lazarus Planet event which just ended.

But has the Lazarus Pit always been this way?

It's comics. Of course not.

Very long comic rant with citations below!

The Nu52 and following reboots obviously overhauled Lazarus Lore so completely they're functionally a different thing, so I'm not talking about them. Today, instead, we're talking about post-crisis/pre-Flashpoint Lazarus Pits, their contradictions, and what we can make of them.

The Lazarus Pits have been around nearly as long as Ra's and Talia have been, and even before they appeared, it was clear that Ra's had some method of extending his life.

Batman (1940-2011) #235

The first Lazarus Pit itself seems to be in a chalet in Switzerland, and it's very different than what we will later associate it as. It is instead, a mortuary slab that lowers itself into a pit of "bubbling liquid"

Batman (1940-2011) #243

In these early versions, the Lazarus Pit is portrayed as a medical invention that Ra's has used to extend his life.

It is shown to have consequences, which fandom has, of course, latched onto.

Batman (1940-2011) #244

Here, we see the Lazarus Madness described as including "the strength of ten men", and he is able to be able to resist nearly all attacks from Batman and Lo Ling.

In addition, Ra's claims that he has used the pit too often, which is shown to be the driving force behind his interest in Bruce and his legacy.

Batman (1940-2011) #244

Later appearances of Ra's and the pit throughout this era add a few more interesting tidbits.

He claims that only he can use the Lazarus Pit... but puts Talia in it in that same issue, claiming that it's okay if it's just a quick dip.

Batman (1940-2011) #335

Is Ra's lying about no one else being able to use the pit? Almost certainly. He will start putting anyone he wants into the pit soon enough.

Those with a keen eye might notice that the Lazarus Pit is already going through some aesthetic changes: we're still seeing a slab being lowered into a small pit, but now the liquid within is orange! This will come up a lot!

Next up we have the storyline Grant Morrison refused to read: Son of the Demon.

In Son of the Demon, Ra's claims that there was an earlier version of the Pit, before the final version Bruce has already encountered. In this version, he claims that Mellisande, Talia's mother, was pushed into this proto-pit, and it killed her.

Batman: Son of the Demon (1987)

Denny O'Neil will later retcon this in 1993, claiming that Talia's mother died of a drug overdose, and Ra's refused to bring her back.

But it is consistent in early versions of the story that Lazarus Pits, if not entered with proper care and with the right preparations, can be dangerous.

Bride of the Demon is the next storyline, and Ra's BRINGS the Lazarus Pits in this one. Ra's finds himself a hot MILF girlfriend and puts her in the Pit to make her younger so she can give him kids.

Batman: Bride of the Demon (1990)

This Lazarus Pit is shown to be more experimental than past versions, with Ra's and Dr. Weltmann attempting to prevent the Lazarus Madness factor.

Ra's later puts a child in the pit as a bribe to his father, but the kid had possibly been dead too long, and it was hinted there were going to be long-term consequences for the actions... which were dropped. As was the wife, who was supposedly pregnant at the end of this story. Comics!

This is the first time that limits on the Lazarus Pit are presented, but it is certainly not the last. This idea that there's an upper limit on how long someone can be dead for before a Lazarus Pit doesn't do anything will come back again.

Batman: Birth of the Demon finally brings in a more mystical aspect to the Lazarus Pits, which so far have been vaguely scientific. In this story, we are introduced to the fact that Lazarus Pits are located on the convergence points of leylines (which in-universe have something to do with the electro-magnetic field). Ra's's approximate age is revealed, and it is shown that Bruce and Ra's have been fighting a real-estate battle over sites where Lazarus Pits can be built.

Batman: Birth of the Demon (1992)

In flashbacks, we learn that Ra's figured out how to build a Lazarus Pit, and was not actually the first person to use it. Instead, it was for the son of the Sultan Ra's worked for as a physician.

After the Sultan's son went mad, killed Sora, and blamed Ra's for it, Ra's had his vengeance... by putting the son in a false Lazarus Pit.

This pit was sabotaged by not being built on a Leyline. So uh... be careful with those, I guess!

So in short: by the end of this era of Denny O'Neil/Mike Barr Lazarus Lore, we know that anyone can use a Lazarus Pit, but Ra's controls them with his knowledge of how to create them. Bruce can find where they should be by tracking leylines, and will pass this knowledge on to others over time.

We then enter a new era! The Chuck Dixon era, to be specific.

Chuck Dixon has surprisingly few retcons for us. We first really encounter his take on Lazarus Lore in his mini series Bane of the Demon, where Bane works with Ra's and co.

We get a brief recap of the lore here:

Batman: Bane of the Demon #3 (1998)

We are now introduced to an interesting new layer: the Lazarus Pits can be predicted, not just detected. Ra's has headquarters set up all over the world, in places where Lazarus Pits not only are, but will be. Some pit locations appear to remain the same throughout the years (Ra's has built numerous pits on the location of the first site: at least three that we know of), but generally, Lazarus Pits seem to be a one-time deal.

Ra's clearly has dedicated most of his life to these pits; to acquiring their locations, to predicting where they will be, experimenting with how to make them better... so obviously, he guards the formula for how to make them extremely closely, right?

Well. Not according to Chuck.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (1989-2007) #145

And if you've noticed that head of green hair on the ground there, that's right folks! BRUCE WAYNE PUT A DEAD JOKER IN A LAZARUS PIT HE MADE HIMSELF.

Bruce justifies it by telling Alfred that if he does this, it means Ra's can't use it later. However, it does not change the fact that Bruce put the Joker in a Lazarus Pit. No I'm not going to be over this ever. Jason might have a point, actually.

Ra's decides, after this, that he wants another wife. And he picks Dinah Lance! But whoops, as it happens, Dinah was tortured and can't have kids (also lost her Canary Cry), way back in Green Arrow, before Ollie died! So Ra's decides to throw her in a Lazarus Pit. It... doesn't go well. Lazarus Madness + Restored Canary Cry = one destroyed building.

Birds of Prey (1999-2009) #33

Oh look! We've got locations! And of course every other Lazarus Pit we've seen or will see except Birth of the Demon is nowhere near any of these convergence points!

So! To recap the current state of the lore: Lazarus Pits are a combination of science and magic. They are an alchemical creation, built on leyline nodes. Generally, they are one-use only, or at least they require centuries to be re-usable. They can resurrect the newly-dead, but but Ra's is very cautious about letting other people use them, probably because he's a control freak, and he doesn't have too many of them left.

We depart the Dixon era and enter... the Nyssa Raatko era.

Nyssa is introduced in Death and the Maidens, with Greg Rucka, who is a huge fan of Denny O'Neil, still sticking pretty close to the original lore.

Here, we see that Bruce has still been on his kick of preventing Ra's from building more Lazarus Pits by buying up real estate where they could be. This forced Ra's to try to reconcile with his daughter Nyssa, who he gave a Lazarus Pit to sometime in the 1700s.

Batman: Death and the Maidens (2003-2004) #1

"But hey!" I can hear you say. "Isn't part of the thing that you mentioned earlier is that they're one-use?"

Well they are! For Ra's.

Nyssa, however, is a smart lady.

Nyssa, at some point in her life, figured out how to make a Lazarus Pit reusable. So she's been getting a lot of mileage out of this baby, and has been since the 1700s.

This story also presents an explanation for why the Lazarus Pit is sometimes green and sometimes orange: Nyssa's is orange and Ra's has green ones. I guess maybe the earlier orange pits that Ra's had were him trying to make them reusable like Nyssa? Hmm.

Batman: Death and the Maidens (2003-2004) #4

When questioned about it, Nyssa tells Talia that there used to be more pits, so he was less protective of them when he gave her this one.

Batman: Death and the Maidens (2003-2004) #6

At the end of this storyline, Ra's is dead, Nyssa is the new Ra's al Ghul, and according to Bruce, she has the only Lazarus Pit left.

Batman: Death and the Maidens (2003-2004) #9

Nyssa pops up again in Batgirl, facing off against Cass, and brags about her special pit again. Cass and Shiva both get dips in it. Fun times!

Batgirl (2000-2006) #69

Yes, the torture hooks are a reoccurring feature of Nyssa's pit. I don't know why.

But wait! A brief interlude!

Jason Todd came back to comics in a storyline: Under the Hood, in 2005, which wrapped up in 2006. We weren't told how Jason came back in the story itself, but a few months after Under the Hood ended, we get Batman Annual #25, which shows Talia shoving Jason into a Lazarus Pit while Ra's was using it.

Batman Annual #25 (2006)

There's no discussion about if this is a weird dip. He's got brain activity again though!

This is revisited again in Red Hood: The Lost Days, but it doesn't really add anything from the point of Lazarus Lore, except that Ra's posits that Jason, having already been resurrected, could have suffered some long-term consequences, unlike literally anyone else who had a dip.

Red Hood: The Lost Days (2010-2011) #2

Anyways, enough Jason! Nyssa gets killed off-page in OYL, so she's gone now, Talia's running the show and oh fuck it's Morrison-era. And Morrison never bothered to read any other Ra's or Talia story because it wasn't Silver Age or something. So... retcon time!

The Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul attempts to retell Birth of the Demon, but with a few retcons. The pits were discovered, not made, being the official point in which the Lazarus Pits become purely magical phenomena, rather than a work of alchemy.

Batman Annual #26 (2007)

Bruce also mentions that the Pits are connected to actual waterways, which is a massive difference from the shallow pits from earlier eras.

This era does however confirm the concept that older bodies, further along in the decay process, probably shouldn't be dipped in the Lazarus Pit. At least, Dick convinced Tim of this fact after a little while.

(Also White Ghost wants a perfectly healthy, alive Tim to bathe in the Lazarus Pit, and this is never explained. Maybe it was a distraction?)

Nightwing (1996-2009) #139

In this era, and the Batman: Reborn era following it, the Lazarus Pits are pretty absent, but the few references we do get from this point forward (including in Red Hood: The Lost Days, which are published in 2010-2011), tend to use the Morrison-era canon that the pits are natural. And also we're back to having a lot of them, instead of just Nyssa's singular one in the Balkans, and, since Ra's has a new young(er) body, there's no sense of urgency to buy up/prevent him from making new pits. Potentially, Dusan/White Ghost took advantage of the fact that the Bats thought Ra's was dead to buy back the real-estate and make new pits, but that's using the pre-Morrison lore. I guess in Morrison era, the Bats just... don't know where Pits are until they find one, and then they blow it up.

We also no longer see any one-time-use limitations. One could assume that Talia figured out the formula Nyssa used to keep the pits reusable and told Ra's, if we're trying to merge the canons.

And that's not even counting whatever is happening in the post-Flashpoint era. Lazarus Planet gives me a headache. Let's not talk about it just now.

Anyways, in short: I think the artificial, single-use Lazarus Pits are way more fun. But anyways, here's the citations to help you decide what YOU think Lazarus Lore should be!

#Steph Speaks #Steph Reads Comics #The Lazarus Pit #Ra's al Ghul #Bruce Wayne #Talia al Ghul #Bane #Nyssa Raatko #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #I had more images but there's a 30 image cap so you guys don't get to see Ted and Babs dealing with Lazarus Mad-Dinah #DC #I will go back and add the rest of the image descriptions

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commissions4aid-international · 30 days

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Hello everyone! I'd like to draw your attention briefly to a fundraiser for Ibraheem Safi (here on Tumblr as @sv9sblog), a Gazan who's reached out to us. You may have also seen him online with his name stylized like Ißrâħeem Sâfī or Sâpī.

I would like to emphasize that as of yet, I cannot find verification for this GFM, but there is a lot of evidence suggesting it is legitimate, including but certainly not limited to the fact that his Instagram, which also links to the GFM, goes all the way back to 2016. If you want more information, please reach out (off anon if using the ask box). More information is not too hard to find if you look, but I don't want to share family accounts publicly without his permission.

You can find his and his wife's fundraiser here:

His current goal is relatively small, only $15,000 for three adults and his very young child, but it has very few donations, and they haven't yet managed to raise even $300!

Ibraheem was also recently injured by a bomb and is in need of surgery for his foot. (You can see his post about it here.) Any help you can offer him and his family is urgently needed!

#unverified #donate #gfm #verified #palestine #free palestine #free gaza #save palestine #save gaza #spotlight #gaza fundraiser #gaza mutual aid #palestine aid #help gaza #gaza relief #aid for gaza #humanitarian aid #mutual aid

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Stricken 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, ostricization,and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you were scarred by a storm years ago and its bringer has come to upheave your life once more.

Characters: God of War!Thor

Note: I did this finally.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You always know when a storm's coming. The hairs on your arms stand and your skin burns hot. The smell of rain is tinted by another scent. That of burning flesh and ash. Your scars raze as if struck again and for a moment, you cannot hear or see.

Slowly, the scent of rain returns to you and the noise of the patter, sometimes more a hammering, as if to remind you of its bearer. The thunder is his war cry. The lightning his wrath. You do wonder why then it should’ve come down on you.

You keep your hood up, your chin low. Though you hide, the villagers know who you are, they know of your misfortune. The calamity wrought into your flesh in veined scars. Your face is marked with the storm, zigzagged with lines as your left eye is struck blind and white.

Yet it isn’t your name they whisper as you stop at a stall to buy grain. It is his. The Prince of Asgard. The might God of Thunder. The monster who made you like this.

The air is thick, roiling with unspent moisture, and the clouds threatening in a grey ripple. You should have come yesterday. You should not have waited so long.

You trade your coin and move on, gathering the small rations you can afford. You’ll return to your hovel, gather what you can from the garden, and check the traps for rabbits. It should get you through, though the frost does eat away at your harvest.

As you have it, between the chirping of your disfigurement, there is worse creeping from the north. The snows have fallen heavy and whole lakes have frozen to the silt. You do not believe all you hear but you know better than to disregard the nip in the air.

Your basket remains like but you’ve spent your limit. Your cloak shifts with your movement and you shrink lower as you near the group of adolescents feigning at battle with sticks. Their audience glimpses your passing and you hear their voices mingle with laughter.

“It’s that crone. The burnt one,” comes a bit louder than is meant.

You don’t stop. You don’t show that you’ve heard it. There is nothing to be said.

“Cursed, by Thor’s hammer,” another chortles, “it is said he was forging and struck the blade too hard. In his wrath, he sent a storm. A mongrel like her drew it upon herself, broken like the sword.”

Certainly, that too is a story to be met with skepticism. One cannot guess at what the gods do in Asgard nor why they bring only misery and chaos to Midgard. You cannot disagree that the storm was no favour to you. A curse, certainly, though the meaning can never be known.

You move along, leaving behind their whispers and their sneers. Off to your solace, to your safe. Out of the path of any wandering soul or any blowing storm.

⛈

A storm rages without. Water swirls and batters your small abode, built against the wall of a cave on a carpet of peat. You cover your ears as the winds whistle and wail. You quake beneath your cloak, eyes locked shut as you cower away from the tempest so much as your own memories.

The blinding white flash and the scalding hot pain. Your fingers creep up to your chin and feel the rigged scars. You can never forget, no matter how you try. You can never be as you were. You are marked, you are damaged, and as the villagers have it on their tongues, broken.

Even your family would not have you. You remember your mother’s wail as your father drove you off like some beast. ‘The gods have smited you themselves. You cannot remain or you will wreck ruin upon us all.’

Days of walking and tears, like the very storm that scarred you, a haze through which you trod until you could go no more. Until your head would split and the burnt flesh began to weep. A woman found you on the forest floor, rotting away from the corruption spreading through you.

You don’t remember much of her. Only her touch and how she healed you. She bid you off with the cloak you wear and some food for your travels. Then you were alone and thus you remain. Not even the thieves will steal from you, nor the criminals darken your door. A curse is worth no piece of gold, no drop of blood.

The pounding of rain relents. A chill creeps beneath the slats of your door and seep into the walls. You fill the earth with what kindling you have, the clay chimney puffing smoke up through the center of the roof. You hold your hands out to warm but find little comfort.

You settle on your side beneath your cloak and stare into the flames. You shiver. It’s cold. Very cold. Typically, the rain chases away the chill but this is different. You can feel it in the ground. You curl up tight, clinging to your warmth, let your eyes close. Sleep comes but for lack of and not peacefully.

Your dreams are a maelstrom. There a flames and ice, one after the other, sometimes together. Sharp pointed shards frozen and hanging, then licking tendrils of heat from below. You are lost in the land of sleep, tortured by a world built of your own fears and follies.

You wake stiff and frigid. The fire has gone out. Not even smoke remains in the pile of ash. You move carefully, bones aching, scars tingling. You touch the hard ridging along your cheek and your fingers pulse from the cold. You can see your breath.

How can it be? It was sunny before the rain. You get your feet under you and stand with a groan. Near the door, a strange dusting of white powders around the door, flecking in from beneath and around the edges. Snow?

Were the tales true after all? You wince as suddenly your scars singe and sting. Ow. You recoil and cover your face with your hands, hissing and wheezing through the pain. It hurts terribly. Worse than even the first strike.

You pull your hands away as your eyes water and you blink through your tears. You can see, at least in your good eye. There is no lightning, it is only in your mind. You shakily turn and search around. You cry out again as the agony surges once more in your head.

Why?

Your legs quake. Something is amiss. The frost has come and this meagre hut cannot withstand it. You take your rucksack and put what you can carry into it. Your water skin is strung across your chest and your pack upon your back. You wrap your boots with rags and your hands too. You haven’t the clothing for the cold but you will need to find something. Perhaps skin a hare or two.

The door blows inward almost as soon as you touch it, another gust nearly bowling you over. You sway with the wind and cling to the crooked doorframe. You shove yourself out, just as quickly flattened to the wall by a flurry of snow. It dusts your face coldly and you pull up your neck scarf over your nose and pull your hood into place.

You set off, hunched, reaching with your arms as you lift your knees over the treacherous heaps. You keep close to the rock wall. The thought of turning back stops you but it seems as foolish an idea. The hovel cannot hold for much longer. You need to get to the mouth of the cave and chance a sleeping bear within.

You sidle along, slowed by the snow and the wind, the former soaking through your clothing as the latter whips around your hood. Suddenly, a roll of thunder, like war drums, churns in the air. The word dims and the furor sounds again; louder, closer.

You cry out and lift an arm to shield yourself instinctively. You curl your hand into the rockface and holler even louder, closing your eyes as your memory summons another storm. No, it cannot be. Not again.

A deafening boom shakes the ground and knocks you to your knees. You crawl along, keeping low near the ragged stone, those hidden beneath the snow jabbing against your palms. You whimper and whine, blinded by the thickening curtain all around you.

Yet you never heard of the god raining down snow upon the lands. Only the slaking rains and the hot violence of his bolts. Never this. What sword has he broken this time? Perhaps it was his very own hammer.

The thunder overhead continues its horrid thrum as more pulses in the earth. Boom, boom, boom. You feel it beneath your hands. Your knees come down clumsily as you scramble through the piling powder. You open your eyes and still cannot see. The world is smudge in gray white and black, the sky flashing and darkening from one moment to the next.

You cry out again as your scars burn. You push yourself back on your heels and grasp your face as you shriek. It hurts! So bad! Your eyes well and flow over. Your body trembles and collapses. You writhe in the snow, contorting with the agony as your flesh feels as if it is splitting.

Beneath the incessant pounding comes a rocky noise. Like laughter it curdles in the air and chases after you like the steady boom, boom, boom. Closer and closer, louder and louder, the earth quakes in tandem with the cacophony.

“I’ve found another,” the deep voice scoffs and snickers, “ah, Heimdall, you must see this--”

The craterous voice halts and the air still. The snow drifts but the wind stops and the thunder relents, the world seeming to hum. You scratch at your face as the flames grow unbearable. You must be alight. It can be the only reason for such pain.

The large figure, a blurry silhouette in your skewed vision, looms like a mountain. He steps over you, sliding a foot between you and the cave wall and flips you onto your back. You stare up at the sky, rolling in sheets of grey and black, the dark figure standing above, blotting out the clouds. You sob and plead.

“Make it stop!” You beg as your hood falls back, “kill me! Kill me! It hurts.”

He bends as your eyes roll back and he grabs your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. He pulls you half off the ground, not a single grunt for the effort. You feel whoever, whatever it is, looking down at you; upon you. A rattle rises in his gritty throat.

“And what are you?” He breathes.

You feel another surge and babble, reining in your wild eyes as you quiver uncontrollably. You make yourself look at him. You shudder and shake your head. Shaggy red hair, a braided beard, and eyes so blue they jolt you. Ink marks one side of his broad face as he wears fur upon his soldiers beneath emblems of the godly lands.

“It hurts...” you rasp, “I am dying.”

“You...” he grabs your chin, holding you by your shoulder. His thumb extends up your face to touch the scars and you let out a shrill howl as the agony piques. You latch onto his thick arm and thrash.

“It buuuuuuuurrnssssssssss,” you scream as your spine arches.

“Hmm,” he hums and throws you into the snow. You continue your desperate wriggling, the fire softening but not leaving you completely, “Heimdall!” He calls out like a war horn, “get your skinny ass over here!”

There’s a tinkle of coy laughter and lighter footsteps that land on the boulder above. Your eyes drift over and you see another shadow, this one hazier but smaller. A dusting of snow flies up beside you as the other man lands beside you. No, not a man.

Heimdall? Son of Odin.

“Oh, Thor, what trouble have you found--”

“Another one,” the other growls. Not the other, Thor. The God of Thunder. The beast who marked you. “Father says they all must come.”

“This one?” Heimdall muses as his voice spikes with humour, “why look at her. Pathetic—wait a moment... brother, is this your handiwork?” He squats to see you closer and snickers again, “why how very peculiar.”

“Bring her,” Thor barks and spins on his heel, swinging his hammer, “we haven’t time--”

“You bring her, brother. As you say, you are so much stronger--”

“Just do it!” Thor snarls and a peel of thunder breaks through the clouds. “I need ale.”

#thor #god of war #dark thor #dark!thor #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #god of war ragnarok #stricken

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loth-creatures · 1 month

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Wolf Ezra's final form

Lothwolfwalkers

I've been frothing at the mouth to reveal this for some time, but I also wanted to put together a synopsis of what I imagine he's been through after getting blasted into the unknown and his time on Peridea. Also will include some lore I came up with for Peridea! This post will likely be edited/added to every so often.

Also! I have a sideblog now @lothwolfwalkers

Ezra's many new scars are mostly from the shattered glass flying around the Chimera's bridge. Thrawn has a matching set. Ezra fell into a very deep meditation upon entering hyperspace, using the Force to keep a bubble of life support for himself and Thrawn. During this time he converses with the Purrgil, and beholds way too much knowledge of the universe for one person to hold in their head. He's probably a little weird after all that; frequently spaces out very badly while experiencing intense visions of things he saw and learned but can't remember.

The Purrgil travel much faster than ships. It takes them three days to reach the other galaxy, whereas it takes the Sion a few weeks (I want the Sion's voyage to be very very miserable for everyone) I'm going wild with the ocean metaphors for space and the Force here; Ships only ever skim the surface of hyperspace, whereas the Purrgil evolved to sink far deeper, where the current is much stronger and farther from time and real space. Sort of like how we can cross the ocean's surface on ships but animals like sperm whales can dive to extraordinary depths on the power of their own biology. To the Purrgil an intergalactic voyage is a hop across the pond.

The Purrgil don't drop the Chimera off on Peridea. They track along the very edge of the galaxy and their first stop is a barren volcanic planet that I've been calling Hel in my head (gonna be leaning into the Norse mythology theme). Although if anything its more like Davy Jones' Locker from POTC: At Worlds End.

The Chimera crashes and is grounded here for several months. All the internal systems are dead, everyone is unconscious after dropping out of hyperspace (like after the jump through the star cluster to Lirasan). Ezra escapes the crash as a wolf, beyond delirious and exhausted, forgetting his human body. It's not long before he's tortured into returning to it. It's also not long before the crew of the Chimera regret that. They could barely contain him for long under normal circumstances, let alone while the ship is in shambles and their resources are limited. He certainly spends some time in the walls and any repairs they've made are severely set back by the time he decides to steal a TIE Defender and leave.

Ezra then does the only thing he can. He follows the Purrgil. With no means to navigate and no way to obtain fuel, the only path forward is that of the Purrgil, as fruitless a path as it is, for the Purrgils' destinations are isolated from any form of advanced civilization that might exist in the new galaxy. Ezra is a step ahead in terms of conserving fuel as he can hitch a ride with the Purrgil. However, Thrawn knows Ezra and the Purrgil are their only hope of navigating this strange galaxy, and surgically implanted a tiny tracker on Ezra’s human body while he had the chance. It takes Ezra several months to realize this, as Thrawn is careful about how closely they follow him. When he does, he takes the Chimera on a wild goose chase, trying to run the them out of fuel. By now he's learned he can run alongside the Purrgil as a wolf through hyperspace.

Ezra leaves his ship and body on the most barren useless planets the Purrgil stop by, and continues to follow them as a wolf for as far as he can, trying to map their routes in his head, trying to find the way home. Then doubling back in the ship, zig zagging, going in circles and doing everything he can to cover their tracks. This goes on for about a year. I suppose they must find some form of fuel somehow in order to continue that long, but its inefficient and damaging to the ships.

Thrawn occasionally threatens to recapture Ezra, in order to keep him moving, but doesn't yet know that Ezra knows about the tracker and doesn't want to give it away. Perhaps he does recapture Ezra once or twice. And immediately regrets it. No matter what they do to human Ezra, Wolf Ezra simply can't be contained and tends to short out the entire electrical system as he drifts on and off the ship, straight through the hull in his spirit form. Human Ezra causes lots of problems on the way out when he inevitably escapes. The entire crew just want him dead. But they also know he's their only chance of escaping this exile.

This cat and mouse game takes a massive toll on his own ship though, and by the time they reach Peridea, its completely broken down, out of fuel and will never get off the ground again. At this point Ezra uses the Force to locate and disable the tracker, but has no way to safely remove it from his body, which he's pretty pissed about. He disappears into Peridea's wilderness. The Chimera becomes a grounded fortress and will not lift off again for several years. While Thrawn contacts and makes allies of the Night Sisters, Ezra befriends the Noti and also becomes amicable with many of the bandit clans.

Except I'm not calling them bandits, they need actual names. After googling "old norse word for blank" a few times and taking the first result, I came up with Hundur Ridarri for the howler riders we see in the show, roughly meaning 'dog horsemen' and Vatn Fari roughly meaning 'lake farers' as I imagine Peridea having many massive lakes or seas, and many of the 'bandits' are mariners. Their ships are mostly made from the bones and skin of giant sea creatures, which they also hunt for food.

Wolf Ezra has been known to tow in derelict ships caught in storms or attacked by creatures of the deep, and has ferried survivors of shipwrecks to shore on his back. He is sometimes offered some of their catch in return. He mostly avoids them though, as they occasionally treat with Thrawn and the Sisters.

The Noti on the other hand keep to themselves and are so good at hiding that Thrawn doesn't even know about them. Ezra’s body is quite safe with them and in return he defends them and helps them find food, and is quickly adopted as one of their own. They mostly survive on the washed up corpses of lake creatures, which Ezra can sniff out from miles away, and can tear the carcasses open for them, saving hours of carving through tough skin and bone. Ezra can also stomach it as a wolf but prefers to fish along the shoreline.

Ezra can't stay undetected forever though, he's not exactly inconspicuous as a wolf. As Thrawn now has powerful allies and resources, he's made a project out of capturing Ezra and attempting to study his wolfwalker abilities, something the Sisters are intrigued by as well and keen to experiment on. The Emporer was highly interested even before they knew about healing powers and teleportation. If Thrawn is to return to the Empire, he intends to do so with something to show for it. And a bit of vengeance.

The Sisters do succeed in capturing and containing the wolf briefly several times. One of their smaller strongholds (known as Gleipnir after the string that binds Fenrir in Norse mythology) becomes increasingly dedicated to the project. Ezra always escapes, but it gets harder each time. And if they ever find his human body, it's all over.

Meanwhile, Ezra is still trying to find a way home. He has no way of carrying his human body with him, can only follow the Purrgil so far as a wolf. The further he gets from his body, the more tired and sick he becomes until he simply can't keep up and is slowly and painfully dragged back to his body through the Force. There is no chance of him crossing between the galaxies. But he tries anyway, hoping he can get stronger, run farther before faltering, hoping someday he will make it just far enough to tell someone where to look. He only succeeds in hurting himself. It's too risky to try stealing another ship off the Chimera, as they are actively using their remaining TIEs as bait and he cannot afford to get caught again now that there's a real chance he'd never escape.

The Purrgil may go to Peridea to die, but they don't all die at once; the young escort their elders to their final resting place, the elders in turn show the young where to go to visit their dead and eventually join them.

Back home, Kanan searches for Ezra through the World Between Worlds. He has no luck, as the wbw doesn't extend between galaxies. The new galaxy likely has its own version but they are not connected. Kanan feels in his heart that Ezra is alive, but has no hope of finding him. Meanwhile Sabine often has dreams as a wolf, running through the wbw, following Ezra's faint faint scent, only to run right off the edge of the map and fall to oblivion. Ezra cannot sleep as a wolf without falling straight through reality and onto the paths of the Purrgil, where every minute contains a lifetime and every pawstep crosses light years. It's so very easy to become lost.

#lothwolfwalkers #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #swr #sabine wren #kanan jarrus #ahsoka series #thrawn #sw rebels #rebels au

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