#my reach is completely nuked

[iamoutofideas]

I’ve been thinking about how to put this into some form of dignification because I’m very upset about my friend getting nuked like that but the only way I can put it is:

for those of you who got bullied growing up, do you remember how you got sent to the principal’s office for fighting back & how the principal would scold & eventually expel you while the bullies got off scot free & the whole time you were completely in the right? this is that

having known avery across 5 accounts now it’s been exhausting to watch the staff get more & more hostile every time she got deleted & to watch as terfs gain more power over the “queerest place on the web”. I guess I’m not the first person to say that it makes me feel less safe on the site I’ve spent over a decade on & I feel even worse for avery essentially being put in exile from the wider community, no one likes being isolated.

I generally keep out of arguments but I’m very upset at the transmascs that bought into the terf divide-and-conquer strategies over the past year, both on & off this website. I kept my mouth shut so I wouldn’t have people barking down my throat & half the time it looked like everyone was just arguing in circles but at the end of the day it’s us trans women that get our teeth kicked in for daring to stand on our own two feet.

I’m not surprised at the staff’s handling of all of this either, with the ceo being as paper thin as he is, the lawsuit they’re trying to ignore & the fact we know that there are terfs on tumblr’s staff, this was a car crash waiting to happen. there’s not much else for me to say that’s already been said, the only thing I’m wondering is how matt plans on getting american authorities involved when avery lives in northern ireland.

I doubt this post is even going to reach outside of the circle of trans women who already agree with my sentiments & if it does I’m probably just gonna be yelled at & be called a crazy tranny but I don’t really care, this shouldn’t have been a thing to begin with but I guess the existence of trans women never makes any of you happy.

[the-nysh]

By the way, if anyone was curious about any more organized close combat choreography from Stampede's ep12 finale, my short answer would be.....uhhhhh lmao, not really? :'D

Except for a few familiar tonfa-gun parries while Vash deliberately shielded Meryl for her to escape (note how he takes his eyes off Knives for a moment to check back on her, likely his nonverbal signal she acknowledges from him to go), the close gunshot that Knives deliberately matrix-dodged away, and the cool midair backflip Vash did outside, the entire final boss 'fight' was pretty much the most elaborate 'disorganized' game of keep away + hot potato (with unleashed knife-throwing & gunslinging around a literal MacGuffin nuke) between two non-human siblings just going completely ham feral: biting, thrashing, slamming, bodily throwing, and kicking each other inelegantly all over the place. (Spiced with tons of 'rule of cool,' staged inside, outside, midair, and in space!)

It's notable because except for that one dodged shot it seemed like Vash aimed at Knives' neck(?) almost all of his shooting was purposely (characteristically) done to disarm and temporarily stun/stagger/disable at places like arms, shoulders, and legs etc to get Knives to slow down and back off. (That, and Knives was basically impervious to bullet wounds anyway, even the 'upgraded' shells with Plant markings.)

This is important because despite how fancy, powerful, and batshit dangerous it seemed, they were not fighting to kill each other. :O Yes, even Knives! Because if he really wanted to (aka if he was pure evil and didn't care about Vash, thankfully untrue), he could have chopped off Vash's other arm & legs (or worse) to get the thing he wanted, but no - that's not how he handled or approached the fight either, despite how pissed off and desperate he was. Most of the time (that I could see) he was thrashing his literal knives (long distance) around to shake him off (ex: grabbing his leg and tossing him) to get Vash to drop/lose his grip on the cube, and up close he was grabbing/flailing with his bare hands (no bared weapons--he kept those off, or even with any...actual technique?? lol Knives is not a trained 'human' fighter) trying to reach the thing while shouting/arguing in Vash's face. (Vash is the one who bit him in response, literally having both his hands full.)

Noteworthy because even after studying gifs of the whole fight and rewatching the ep, not once did I ever catch a lethally aimed attack (with express intent to hurt or maim with malice) from Knives at Vash! :O (Knives' priority was aiming for the cube, not so much at Vash.) Unlike how he instantly slaughtered all the spectating soldiers in half who interfered (and hurt Vash.)

So that's right, the only damage Vash sustained was from the human soldiers who shot at him - at least twice across his chest and once thru his foot (see gifs, the rest his jacket looked bullet-proof, ricocheting off him), and the only damage Knives received was when he purposely threw himself into the final Angel Arm blast, against Vash's desperate pleading at him to stop. :'D Ohhh these poor tragic dysfunctional siblings who still very much care for each other...

#trigun #commentary #anime spoilers #gif #figured i might as well if people were still curious! #the short answer is that this fight didn't really have much as its intent was different #which interestingly to me showed how they characteristically weren't trying to kill each other

[tastelessdrawings]

Debts, Bills and Japanese classes

I have not had the best of starts for 2024, with issues regarding to payments I've had to help my mom with. To help her with them, I took a loan during January which allowed us to afford what we needed, with myself banking on my Redbubble account to generate enough during the month to pay it off this month.

Unfortunately, and unprecedentedly, my Redbubble account got nuked without prior warning, and when I tried to reach out to them I was only received by radio silence, as well as not getting any of my money.

Now, I did manage to pay off a part of what I owed, however, with March coming next week the deadline will be coming back soon again. To add on top of that there are some bills that we haven't been able to afford for in total, trying to make ends meet has been significantly taxing emotionally for a good while now.

As a side note, but still related financially, I should be signing up for my next semester of Japanese at the start of March, but due to Argentina's current economic situation and inflation rate the price of my classes have gone about double of what I originally paid last year. For long time I've struggled finding anything relatively fulfilling in my life, higher education wise, this is something that I don't want to stop doing, I finally have an end goal I wish to accomplish.

I cannot offer much in return for donations, other than offering myself for drawing commissions, or simple requests, or anything. But, I need to be honest and transparent both with myself and you all as well, I cannot promise a certain deadline to which I'd be able to deliver anything I'd draw.

I have been struggling since last year with this, over the same thing of getting small requests or commissioned to draw something, things that should have probably taken me a couple of days, maybe weeks at most has taken me months to complete. My personal life has completely demoralized me from having a set mentality for my art and in turn I've gone down a spiral of inactivity, even when I'm fully aware of the problem.

If, and only if, you're comfortable with this fact, and are willing to wait long enough for me to deliver then please, request something from me. I'll be just as grateful for donations as well, and even if you can't help me financially, I appreciate that you have taken your time to read through all of this, you could still help me out by sharing this post around.

Overall, thank you all in advance.

#shit zeke says #artists on tumblr #signal boost #help #please read #if you can't help at least help me spread it

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (11)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: sexual tension, injuries and injury aftercare, grief

Word Count: 4.6k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

author's note: hiiiiii i'm so sorry i did the post-and-nuke thing again. most of this chapter remains the same, with the addition of one new scene and the removal of another (that will instead be in a following chapter), as well as edits and extensions of another

Neither you nor Miguel say much the next morning when the morning light starts to leak into your apartment and stirs you from your dead sleep, both of you clinging to the warmth and comfort of dreams. Your neck and shoulder are, admittedly, a little sore from sleeping on one side the whole night for the sake of your ribs—and your hips feel stiff.

You don’t need to open your eyes to know Miguel is still in your bed. You can feel his hand on the mattress between the two of you, the end of his fingers barely grazing the skin on the side of your palm. You can hear the soft and near silent sound of his relaxed breath, feel it move softly across the space between you. You breathe in, deeply, inhaling the smell of him wrapped up in your sheets.

Your exhale is a content sigh.

Miguel shifts, the mattress moving slightly under you both as he inches closer. Under the blanket his legs graze yours, the hum he lets out in response is low enough that you feel it more than hear it.

He stills, his leg touching yours.

“You didn’t mention your leg was injured too,” he whispers, voice softly roughed with sleep.

You suppress a groan, not at him, but at the stiff soreness of your body as you roll slightly onto your back. “It’s only surface,” you whisper, nose wrinkling at the sound of your own morning voice. “I don’t even have a limp.”

He hums, as if annoyed that you’ve made a valid point in defense of your injuries.

“I still would have liked to know.” It’s a whisper, a disgruntled admission, and you can’t help but chuckle softly, finally opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him.

He’s laying partly on his side and partly on his stomach, but his head is still turned completely towards you. His hair is softly mussed from sleep, and you can’t stop the small smile that grows on your face at the sight, your arm twitches once with the urge to move it off his forehead and watch it flop back over.

“Why are you smiling about that?”

I appreciate you, you think. You’re beautiful and so ridiculous. “I’m not,” is all you say, and watch him frown in confusion, eyes flicking over your face. You smile wider.

He sighs, hiding his smile in the pillow when you laugh at him.

“Do you at least have food in your kitchen?” He looks at you again, an eyebrow raised.

You scoff, wave his criticism off with a lazy hand. “Of course I do.”

He grunts in acknowledgement before pushing himself up on his arms to rise from the bed, and whatever little quip had been forming in your throat dries up before it can even reach your mouth, eyes locked on the skin and muscle of his arms. 

“I’ll make breakfast. Rest as long as you need.”

And then he’s out of your room.

Miguel is making pancakes and eggs when he hears you emerge from your room and go down the hall, hears the bathroom door close and then open. He listens as you restart an old load in the dryer, hears the soft rumble of the machine become muffled as you close the little door that keeps it out of sight.

“What are you making?” you ask as you take a seat at the counter behind him.

“Pancakes and eggs,” he says, turning to glance over his shoulder at you. “You need the protein. And the carbs—for your ribs.”

“Mhm,” you agree absently, blinking when you meet his eyes.

Your placid expression doesn’t fool him—it’s obvious now, in the light of morning, that there’s fatigue lingering in your body and pain in the dark circles under your eyes. It lurches his stomach unpleasantly when he remembers last night: the blood on your skin and the calm way you sat while he cleaned and patched you up with hardly a flinch. He doesn’t think you even realize how painful it really is, or how hard on your body the fresh wounds are. He hadn’t seen any other marks indicative of such large injuries, not that he had been searching or let his eyes wander—

He flips the pancake on the stove, checking that both sides are done, before adding it to the growing mountain on the plate next to the pan, pouring another circle of batter out.

“Think that’s enough pancakes?” you tease, your lighthearted, dry tone ruined by the following yawn. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that your nose is wrinkling, your eyes squeezing shut and your hand shaking with the effort of the yawn as you try to cover your mouth.

“They’re not all for you, you know.”

“Right,” you say behind him, offhandedly. “Gotta feed all those muscles, I guess.”

He’s glad that you can’t see his face, because there's no way he could hide the surprise and flustered expression sure to be on his features.

He just grumbles a noncommittal response, concentrates on not burning breakfast, and focuses on keeping his mind off of hypotheticals and what ifs and alternative paths of alternative lives.

He's been thinking about those things more, since Miguel-209 arrived.

Miguel shakes his head, blinks hard, and shoves his frown and his thoughts away. Now’s not the time for that particular psychological torture.

“Here,” he says, placing a carefully plated dish of pancakes and eggs in front of you. He tries not to frown at it—he would have liked to add fruit, but the small amount you had had started to go bad.

Still, the smile you give in thanks, no matter how tired, bruised, and shadowed, makes him forget about the fruit entirely.

“Thanks,” you say, and he moves the butter dish closer, passes you the little bottle of syrup.

The first stretch of breakfast is quiet, Miguel watching you out of the corner of his eyes as he eats. You're eating slowly. To anyone else's eyes you would seem to only be taking your time, savoring the taste, but to Miguel… he recognizes the heavy rest of your hand on the counter between bites, the way chewing almost seems to leave you out of breath, the way your eyes droop heavily with exhaustion.

“Alright,” he says, taking your plate when it's clear that you can't eat anymore and need to rest again. “Time to rest.”

He leaves you there in your apartment, tucked into bed and already sliding into the depths of sleep, and returns to his own dimension.

He does, at first, go to Spider Society HQ of course. He has a job to do, a self appointed responsibility to perform. Anomaly alerts pop up, he sends people after them to bring them back—and then be sent home. He works on his extra suit, and on more gizmos and gadgets besides.

And then, again, he caves. Old videos and old pictures pulled up on his floating sulfur colored holoscreens. His mom. Gabriela. Two men who could both conceivably take the title of his father, and neither of whom he would ever willingly grant it to. Old friends—a photo of Gabe and Dana with him and Xina, before things changed.

Miguel pulls up your medical charts, the file that Doctor Parker would have filed after you came in bleeding and heroic from your anomaly capture. He grits his teeth, not for the first time, at the fact that you risked yourself alone, and then his stomach twinges unpleasantly at the memory of the almost-fight between you two. He should have expected that you would notice not getting as many backup calls, and he had meant it when he acknowledged it was unfair.

But he’s not sorry. He doesn’t regret that it kept you safe.

“It looks like they should make a swift and full recovery in no time,” Lyla says. “As long as they take it easy.”

Miguel rests his elbow on his crossed arm, touches his fingers to his lips in thought. He can feel his brows pulled together by the drawstring of frustration—no, stress, that seems ever present these days.

“We’ll have to revisit their backup status after they’ve recovered,” he says.

“You got it boss.”

He pauses again, eyes skimming over your chart. “Are they still sleeping?”

Another, smaller screen pops up with a loading bar, and then makes a pleasant bloop when a vitals snapshot loads.

“Vitals indicate deep sleep.”

“At least they’re actually resting. The anomaly?”

“Queued to go home.”

Miguel nods, eyes lingering on the vitals snapshot, before swiping it closed with a gloved hand.

It’s no longer morning, when you wake. Dim Sunday evening light spills through the blinds, painting your bedroom in shades of gold. You go to stretch and wince at the pain that zings through your body, then freeze, attention going to your side. You release aslow, careful breath when no immediate sensation of wetness or stretching that shouldn't be there makes itself known.

It’s silent, in the apartment. Stillness sits in a way you feel hesitant to break, but even so, you do. Carefully, mindful of the lingering pressure and slight throb in your side from your waking almost-stretch, you rise from bed. The living room is bathed in similar shades of liquid gold and melted warm honey through the uncovered glass of your balcony doors. This part of your home, too, is silent and still, though it sits less heavy now that you are up and moving. You listen down the hall, towards the bathroom, and with a quick look you see the door there is open, the light off.

At some point during the day while you were sleeping, Miguel had gone.

You sigh, shoulders relaxing slightly. Whether that is in disappointment, or relief to be alone once more with space to lick your wounds… Well.

In the hall, your clothes have been put in the dryer with the previous load folded in the basket—thank god it was only towels—and in the kitchen you find the dishes are done, dried and put away. Slightly spoiled fruit has been tossed out, and your garbage and recycling is empty. As usual he has left your home cleaner than he found it; the only trace of his presence aside from the clothes he borrows to sleep in, his lingering scent on your sheets, and sometimes even on your skin.

In your meandering investigation you find that even the dishwasher is empty.

All at once it comes rushing back—your dream of several nights ago, you in the kitchen, Miguel’s hand tracing a torturous path down to–

A knock at your door jolts you out of your reverie, face hot.

Get it together.

A quick look through the peephole reveals an unexpected, but welcome, visitor.

You open the door. “Peter?”

He lifts a box of pizza, the name of a place you don't recognize on the cardboard lid.

“Dinner!” He beams, stepping past you and into the kitchen. “Jeez, kid, did you get more plants since I was here last time?”

“Peter, I’m almost thirty. Come on with the ‘kid’ already.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off. “You've still got a couple years to go. I was in highschool when you were born, therefore: kid.” He gestures at you, plopping the pizza box onto your counter.

You smile begrudgingly, closing and locking the front door. “Fine, whatever.”

“Plates?” He asks, looking around your kitchen and opening all the wrong cabinets.

“There,” you point, careful not to raise your arm too high.

Peter gets the plates down, piling a few slices of pizza onto each plate, and immediately taking a huge bite off of his.

You watch him, your own plate untouched.

He looks at you, sighs, puts the food down. “I overheard Miguel and Lyla talking,” he says, offering an explanation for his surprise visit. “What happened, kid?”

You search his face, finding only concern and sympathy, no shock or surprise or incredible revelations. So you pause, fidgeting with the edge of your plate. “Got a little scrape at the nightclub on Friday,” you say, looking down. “Venom anomaly.”

Peter sucks air in through his teeth. “Ouch.”

You nod, looking down at your food. The sick wet crunch echoes in your head, bodies rent and devoured—

You push the plate away.

“Now, when you say ‘scrape…’” Peter prompts.

You try to muster a smile, but even on your face the half-baked expression feels forced. “Depends, what did you overhear?”

Peter raises an eyebrow at you, something in his gaze evaluating. “Just that it's bad enough for you to get benched.”

You sigh, the sound slightly disgruntled at the reminder, and your hand goes to your ribs. “He got me pretty good.” Your hand draws an impression of the wounds, your fingers a poor imitation of Venom’s claws gashing open your skin. “Can’t lift my arms or stretch ‘til it closes up.”

“Ah.” Peter’s face is sympathetic, but not pitying. “Well. Good thing I came by then to keep you company!” He swerves around the counter and into the living room proper, swiping up your TV remote. “You know, I’ve always been curious about TV in other dimensions.”

You laugh, following him, and grateful for the distraction.

“What is… Ceramic Destruction,” he squints at the screen, even though it’s easily almost the size of your coffee table. Another inheritance from your aunt.

“It’s one of those art competition shows,” you wave your hand off. “They make ceramics. Then they destroy it. It bums me out.”

“Ah.”

Peter keeps searching, eventually landing on something you can both enjoy without too much focus, and setting the remote down on the coffee table.

“Where’s May?” you ask. “It's weird seeing you without her.”

“Feels weird too, lemme tell you. MJ’s got a day off, so we figured it’d be good for Mayday to get some quality ‘Mother-Daughter Time.’ Since she’s always with me, y’know? Felt unbalanced.”

“You’re not worried about MJ being able to handle her little spider-toddler powers?”

Peter shrugs. “I took away her web shooter. And we got creative with the baby proofing.”

You chuckle. “I bet.”

You sit in companionable silence for a while before speaking again.

“Thanks for visiting, Peter.”

“Hey, of course,” he offers a sympathetic smile, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “What are friends for?”

Peter leaves after a little while, mutual promises to talk soon exchanged along with smiles and a careful pat on your shoulder.

You're tired again, or maybe you're just tired still. Having slept through the day leaves you in a strange state of disjointed wakefulness that leaves reality off-kilter, the feeling coming to the front now that Peter is gone.

He had of course put the leftover pizza into your fridge, the plates on the counter by the sink at your insistence that you would take care of it yourself. Which apparently means just putting them into the sink and splashing water onto their surfaces. You don't even move them into the dishwasher, the sleek silver surface reflecting back blurred shapes and shadows.

You brush your teeth and go to bed, and wait for sleep to return.

Miguel doesn't visit that night, but he does the next morning.

It’s early, or at least it feels it, when something gently lifts your mind from the realm of dreams and gently sets you back in your body. Light on your eyelids makes everything peachy and warm, and it's with herculean effort that you open them to find the cause of your waking crouched by your bedside.

Miguel.

Even lowered as he is, he’s still looking down at you with a slightly raised eyebrow. Still tall. Under the calm and collected exterior some softness slips through, just around the eyes. 

“Miguel,” you say, blinking and pulling your head back to look at him better. “Wh’ you doin’ here?” it’s only partially confused and mostly surprised, your sleepy smile betraying how pleased you are to see him.

A quirk of his mouth belies his amusement at your sleepy confusion. “I came to make sure you haven’t bled out yet,” he says, and pats the mattress as he stands. “Come on. Let’s change those bandages.”

You grimace at the thought of getting up, and then—

Dear lord, he’s tall. Miguel towers over you at the best of times, but here where you lie on your bed and he stands over you at the edge of it? You stare unblinkingly at him in sleep-addled amazement before realizing you must be gawking, and then you look down.

A mistake.

Within arm’s reach are his thighs. You can only be grateful that he’s not in his suit, skintight and inky blue-black, but even so the way the fabric of his pants fit over his legs—

Your face heats and you look away. You want to clear your throat, but instead you let your watering mouth choke you.

“Up,” he says, seemingly unaware of your reaction and subsequent predicament as he turns around and exits your room. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

You lay there, willing your face to cool off and your heart to slow, before you finally heave yourself up, stiff and sore from sleeping in one position for the third night in a row.

Miguel is, yet again, in your kitchen. He pulls down a bowl, gets out a spoon, places the box and the milk on the counter for you.

“What, no pancakes and eggs this time?”

He raises an eyebrow, standing there with his hands on his hips until you assemble your easy breakfast. While you eat he goes and gets the first aid kit, brings it back and waits for you to finish eating on the seat next to yours.

“Shirt,” he says softly, gesturing with his hand.

You don't take it off completely this time, that feels too intimate—too much—after the recent reminders of your repressed attraction. So you lift the hem instead, baring your ribs and bandages to him and hold it up as high as you can.

Miguel leans forward, carefully peeling the medical tape and gauze so as not to pull the skin. This time there is no wet field of blood slathered over your ribcage like cheap paint over brick, and so there is no prolonged waiting while he washes your skin, no cool down period from the way your skin lights up under his fingers. He trades the old gauze pad for a new one, taping it down just as carefully as last time. Fingers press against your skin to smooth the tape down, and dip under where the hem of your shirt has started to slip down to put the tape where it needs to be.

The tips of his fingers dip under the waistband of your pants, and your attempt at an affirmative hum–

You tense, swallowing.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling his hands away from under the hem of your shirt.

“‘S fine,” you say, shifting slightly and keeping your eyes down on the counter in front of you.

His other hand is still resting flat and splayed across your ribs, keeping the gauze in place until he gets enough tape to do the job for him.

“Pizza last night?” He says, making small talk.

You shrug your opposite shoulder, smiling lightly. “Peter visited.”

If you weren't so hyper aware of his hand on your body you would have missed the way it shifts, almost relaxing, when you mention Peter’s name.

“Hm.”

He finishes taping the gauze down, his hand sliding away from your ribs to touch your hand that's keeping your shirt up, giving it a gentle ghost of a squeeze to let you know he’s done and you can let the fabric of your shirt fall back down.

“Are you gonna let me see your leg?”

You blink at him, sticking your leg out into the air. He chuckles, shakes his head, and slides off his seat to once again crouch in front of you.

Miguel. Crouched on the floor in front of you.

He barely pauses before he puts his hand on the hem of your loose sweats, rolling the fabric up your leg with careful and efficient dexterity. Here, again, he carefully peels the tape (already peeling and fuzzy with lint at the corners) and gauze back from the injury on the outside of your calf. He sets it aside, a hand remaining on the inside of your leg—holding it in the space between the ankle and the calf.

You swallow, pressing your lips together and breathing steadily through your nose.

When Miguel turns back to face you and your leg, your eyes catch his. He clears his throat.

“Sorry, I just need to turn your leg to see better.”

You realize he’s asking permission to move your leg where he needs it, and so you give a short nod.

His hand moves slightly higher up your leg—no reason to lift it if he’s only going to put it back just an inch or two higher, right?

You swallow again.

Miguel, grip firm and soft, gently turns your leg at an angle so that he can see where Venom scratched you better. “You’re right,” he says, and he sets your foot on his thigh just above his knee to keep your leg in place, give it something to rest on. “Not nearly as bad as the other one.”

You nod, clearing your throat. “Uh-huh.”

He glances at you, then back down. With a few alcohol pads he cleans your skin, gentle and mindful of the scabs working to knit your body back into one piece. These are much shallower, and there's far less dried blood to clean since they never reopened from an inconveniently positioned nap. Lastly he rebandages it, gauze wrapped carefully around to hold the pad in place. Neater than the medical tape from before, less likely to peel and stick and grab at your clothes this time.

“Done,” he says, and pauses, looking at your leg. Your foot still rests on his thigh, the shin just below your knee at his eye level. He blinks, glances up at you, then rolls your cuffed sweatpants leg back down, gently removing your foot from his leg and then standing. “I wouldn't try to rewrap that one yourself, you’ll just stretch your ribs too far again.”

You watch him tidy up and close the first aid kit.

“Back to work?” you ask.

He nods, gives you a sidelong glance. “The multiverse won't take care of itself.”

You nod back, watching him. “Thank you,” you say. “For…” you gesture at your ribs, at your leg.

“You’re welcome,” he says, smiling just slightly.

He stays long enough to wash your dishes again before he goes.

You take the train to a place you rarely have time to visit anymore. It doesn’t help that it’s a bit of a journey, made longer by the fact that you don’t like to come here as Spider, but… it’s overdue.

The grass here is trimmed, freshly mowed and spotty. Bare patches of dirt create clear desire paths through rows of headstones, and you adjust your sunglasses under the gray glare of the mid-morning sun through blanketing clouds. It’s a weekday—Wednesday, you think, or maybe Thursday. Less than a week of healing, but the scabs are thick and itchy under the taped gauze carefully reapplied last night by Miguel. You don’t need them for bleeding anymore, but to resist the urge to pick and to prevent them from snagging or flaking on the soft fabric of your clothing and your sheets.

The graveyard is as sparsely populated as you had hoped at this time of day, at this point in the week. You’ve brought flowers—orange ones, her favorite color—and you carry them with care to the headstone three quarters down this row, three quarters into the graveyard from the entrance.

Her row, her graveyard.

Finally, you come to a stop. The grass here hasn’t been worn away to dust yet, and a sprinkling of grass clippings stick to the base of the headstone bearing the name of your aunt.

You’d thought your story unique, before meeting Miguel. Not the loss of a loved one, no you don't think you're so unique as to be the only one to have experienced grief, but the circumstances and aftermath. Your aunt, shot and dying in your arms with her last words carrying through your following life, and commitment, as Spider. You still oscillate between gratitude that others can understand, and angry grief at this being the fate of so many families across the multiverse, and the fact that you wouldn’t have been able to save her even if you’d been there in time.

Fucking canon.

Of course, you’d found her before she died, and of course she’d said what so many Uncle Bens of so many Peter Parkers had said—with one small, weighted change.

With any real power comes a responsibility to be kind.

You sit there, on the grass of her grave, and set the flowers down. The words there hurt your eyes, carved into stark white stone. Her name. The years she lived. Far too few, in your opinion.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while,” you say, voice not quite hoarse yet. “You know. Multiverse stuff.” You sigh. “Still haven’t met another me, which means no other you. There’s a new Miguel, though. I think he used to know a different me, so maybe there is a you out there, alive.” You shrug, picking at the grass like a kid. “Dunno how weird that’d be. Probably pretty weird, if the other Peters and Gwen and this second Miguel are anything to go off of.”

Your chest tightens, and you swallow against the lump in your throat and the hot feeling in your eyes. You wait for a family to pass down the path at the end of the row, before continuing.

“Miguel, not the new one, the first one,” my Miguel, you think, before brushing the thought aside and continuing, “still visits. I got banged up pretty bad last Friday—I’m fine though, so don’t worry—and he’s been coming by to help me out, since… Well, since all my old friends are gone, and my new ones don’t know either. He changes my bandages and everything.” You laugh, trying not to blink, because then the heat in your eyes will start falling. Your voice falls to a whisper; “I still wish you could meet him. I think he could use someone like you in his life, someone… He would like you.”

You can’t help it now: thick, hot tears begin to fall, and still you don’t blink, head bowed and sitting there on the grass.

“I could use someone like–” you choke on your words, hand pressed to your mouth to keep the sob inside. “I miss you so much, still,” you say, the whisper as quiet as the breeze, your face folding in on itself.

The breeze chills the bare skin of your hand, and you pull your sleeve over it before covering your eyes, crying into the fabric. You stay, lingering long after your tears have dried, both waiting for enough energy and will to return to carry you through the trip home and just to be there. Making up for lost time, and neglected visits.

You tell her about life. The first new friends you’ve made in ages outside of the other Spider-People, since your old friendships withered away after your spider bite. You talk about Gwen, and Peter, and how much you wish you could see them both more often, and how May is growing so fast. You tell her about how Miguel hasn’t cried in front of you again, but you don’t think it means he’s doing better.

When you do finally leave, you kiss your fingers and touch them to her headstone twice, one gentle tap after the other.

“One for you,” you say. “And one for Gabriela, if you see her.”

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

#x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #gn!reader #miguel x gn reader

[nillinlore]

INTRODUCTION

Please re-blog to help me find and reconnect with my mutuals!

I mistakingly thought I'd be able to vibe here, but it was less than two-weeks before I got completely nuked already. So, I'm gonna take one more crack at this, and I guess just heavily censor myself, which sucks but that's just the way of things all over the internet right now. There are no safe places for trans and nonbinary queer self-expression and sexual freedom online.

Yes. I'm bitter about it.

Anyway, I'm Mx. Nillin Lore. I'm an AuDHD, queer, genderfaun, and polyamorous blogger and writer. Most of my advocacy and activism is around sexual and bodily autonomy for adult trans and nonbinary queers. I've dedicated over a decade of my life to this through my very NSFW sex blog, https://mxnillin.com, where you can read about my transition, journey toward understanding my sexuality and gender identity, and all of the intimate experiences I've shared with my partners and friends.

In 2021, my blog was ranked 1st in the Top 100 Sex Blogs from Molly's Daily Kiss.

I'm also a published author! I'm currently hard at work on my first solo-book, "How Do I Sexy? A Guide for Trans and Nonbinary Queers", which releases August 23, 2024 from Thornapple Press. Prior to this I was a co-author for Chapter 11: Sexuality in the 2nd Edition of "Trans Bodies, Trans Selves: A Resource by and for Transgender Communities" from Oxford University Press and edited my first anthology in 2022, "Heckin' Lewd: Trans and Nonbinary Erotica" from Bold Strokes Books.

Please feel free to message me or send me an ask if you like, but do not flirt with me unless you are also a trans or nonbinary queer person. I am otherwise completely open to answering any and all questions related to any of these topics.

My selfies will be under #nillinpics.

Asks will be under #ask mxnillin.

❤️ My husband is @dilutedghost ❤️

Yes Please:

It's okay to share your perspective, experiences, and give tips on posts asking for insight and advice.

If you are a trans or queer author, please feel free to reach out to chat about your writing!

Send me horny asks, flirts, and compliment my sexy pics (as long as none of the DNI below applies to you)!

DNI:

minors,

TERFs, SWERFs, gender-crits, or any other variety of transphobe or body shamer,

queerphobes,

anyone who is racist, ableist, or hateful toward any vulnerable minorities,

cishets,

detransition or misgendering kink blogs (I'm just not personally comfortable with it),

anyone who sees me or treats me as a cisgender man.

#queer #transgender #nonbinary #enby #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtq community #queer books #queer blogging #queer community #queer author #queer relationships #t4t #nsft intro #queer nsft #trans nsft #enby nsft #nonbinary nsft #actually autistic #autistic nsft

[ven-on-trial]

pairing: childe x gn!reader

warnings: MINORS DNI, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex (gn!receiving), chair sex, biting, hair pulling, rough handling, reader on top, switch dynamic, singular brief mention of predator/prey, enemies to lovers but it’s complicated, modern assassin au, mentions of weaponry and scars, childe is referred to as ajax

word count: 1.2k

summary: after spending years locked in a tense purgatory of emotion with rival assassin tartaglia of the fatui harbinger division, something finally had to give.

i posted this almost a month ago and it was nuked from the tags so im making a final desperate attempt to repost it now that tags seem to be working consistently on my other blogs </3

Kissing a man who has been situated between your crosshairs tastes like blood. 

You think it should be worse, a putrid ichor that lingers and seeps into your tongue for an eternity. But instead it is bittersweet like a creamed coffee, with a tang of iron that feels downright addictive as you weave your fingertips through short ginger hair and pull. 

“Tartaglia,” you hum, grazing the backs of your fingers against his cheek as you lean in to steal his lips once more. “We’ve barely started and you’re so needy already. Am I wrong in assuming you’ve thought about this before?”

“Don’t call me that,” he says. He steps back, but not to escape; his hands remain outstretched towards you, beckoning you closer. “Not when we’re like this.”

Ajax is beautiful, sweat glistening like diamonds on his chest. The moonlight is kind to him, paints him tenderly and leaves him glowing just for you. Looking at him stills your heart for a moment, how he glances across at you with lidded eyes, bruised lips and a heaving ribcage. 

He looks completely and utterly taken already, which only serves to spur you on as you cross the room to meet him. 

You push his shoulders down until he’s dropping onto the chair behind him, a soft oof leaving him on impact. Wide eyes watch you step closer, as you kneel before him and place your hands on the plush of his thighs. With teasing touches, you edge your fingers further along his legs. Reflexively, he shudders.

“Ajax,” you purr, “what do you want from me?”

He parts his legs for you, revealing the straining bulge against tight fabric that pulsates as you reach for it. “Touch me.”

The length of his cock bobs as you pull it from his pants, only semi-hard but quickly firming under your hand. You press your lips to the tip gently, smugly observing the sharp intake of breath that draws his chest tighter, before taking him into your mouth. 

His hands find the back of your head, pressing you closer. Despite you initiating this entire ordeal, approaching Ajax like a hunter with prey in their sight, it feels instead as though you’re the one being devoured in this haze of passion. You can feel the way his cock twitches in your mouth, pushing against the back of your throat as you continue to coax him to release for you.

But before you can succeed, he’s gently pushing your head back, removing your lips from around him with a wet pop. 

All you get in explanation is a simple, “need you, please.”

Teeth sink into your collarbone, eliciting a gasp from you as Ajax pulls you towards him. You can feel him throb against your stomach as you sit on his thighs, as desperate for this as you are. 

"You'll regret this," he warns. His words are hollow, no more than a nicety as he chases frantic kisses along your jawline. 

You smile sweetly, letting his lips meet yours just once before you pull back. 

"I know."

Your name slips from his mouth with a whine as you lift up and settle onto his cock. He’s no bigger than you’ve taken before, but the feeling of him stretching you out numbs your mind in such a satisfying way. 

It's a deliberately agonizing process, purposefully slow so you can watch that blissed-out glaze in his eyes as he throws his head back. His cheeks are flushed scarlet, dark enough to drown out those pretty little freckles that dust his skin. He exhales, so very patient under the torture you must be inflicting. 

And then Ajax has had enough of your teasing. 

He grips your thighs harder, as if trying to pry flesh from bone, and holds you down so you can feel the full extent of him within you. As you adjust to the sudden fullness, he occupies himself by eagerly lathing his tongue along your neck. 

Most days, you spew vitriol at this man every chance you can get. But tonight, as his hips start to thrust and his fingers cut impossibly deeper into your skin, coaxing your body up and down to meet each movement, you serenade him with a glorious symphony. 

"Fuck,” he says, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“If it were that easy to kill you,” you huff, “I’d have fucked you years ago.”

He grins, eyes practically glowing as he reaches up to meet your lips, murmuring against them, “if only.”

Gone is the Ajax who seemed shellshocked by your boldness, replaced instead by a man taking full advantage of the situation you’ve put him in. He fucks into you like a man possessed, as though he’ll tear you both apart and recreate you together in a new, better image. Your hands clasp his shoulders, nails pressing crimson crescents against scarred skin. 

Briefly, you wonder if you could map out the marks you’ve made on him throughout the years. There’s a scar across his thigh, at least there must be. You know that dagger went deep enough to mar him. A few stray bullet scrapes litter his shoulders. Some larger, jagged cuts criss-cross down his thick arms. 

You’ve the imperfections to match, of course- a twin wound along your throats from the time you’d had knives against one another, the first time you looked into his eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss that infuriating grin off his lips. 

Perhaps part of the reason you’ve been so drawn to him all this time is that you know what it’s like to have blood on your hands and that bittersweet taste on your tongue. There are rarely people around long enough in your line of work to feel that connection, to viscerally understand the inner workings of a similar mind. 

And now, as he cries your name like it’s a siren’s call, his lips find yours and you kiss him like your very life depends on it. You bring your hands up to his jaw, cup his cheeks tenderly and fuck him until he reaches a breaking point. 

The release of pressure, the cataclysmic wave that washes over him as he comes, brings you to your own peak as he rides out his orgasm beneath you. Though his thrusts turn lethargic, he remains steadfast until you’re clenching around him, tight enough to coax another desperate whine from his lips. 

In the heady rush of post-climax, Ajax rests his forehead against yours. 

It’s a gentle intimacy compared to everything else you had just done, compared to the cock softening inside you and the cum dripping down your thighs onto his lap. His grip on you finally falters, turns into lazy arms circling your waist to keep you close. 

“Was I right?” he whispers, wavering voice more vulnerable than the carnal acts you’ve just shared in. “Do you regret it?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” you hum in thought, “but perhaps I can stay the night and give you my answer in the morning.”

Ajax laughs, bumping his nose against yours playfully. “I’d like that.”

“Okay then,” you say. “I will.”

#ven's spice #genshin x reader #genshin smut #childe x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut

[chrysalizzm]

survival of the fittest: predictions for generation two

i said in rancord sub-boosty chat that i would probably write a comprehensive meta regarding my theories for generation two and then it got nuked bc i wrote way too much in one message w spoiler blinders so here it is!

spoilers for generation loss episodes one, two, and three.

given that i started watching genloss assuming it was an allegory for genetic algorithms in ai due to the language of “generations” (knowing now that generation loss, as a concept, refers to “degradation of quality resulting from imperfect reproduction techniques”) i think that there's an element both of refinement and of deterioration here. a couple of elements are at play:

for those unfamiliar, a genetic algorithm is a method by which self-learning ai acquire and refine their pool of knowledge. very generally speaking, ai are trained in “generations,” with each generation learning from its predecessor and improving upon itself to reach its ultimate goal. to this end, genetic algorithms use process of elimination to narrow down the best ai—in other words, natural selection: survival of the fittest. the strongest wins. 

in the context of genloss, this seems to align with showfall media’s goal: creating the Perfect Hero for their Perfect Show. it also, perhaps, hints at what’s to come in generations two and three. i get the feeling that we will be seeing new ranboos, each one better equipped for the tasks demanded by the show than their previous iterations, and yet also retaining the knowledge that allowed the generations before them to survive. what are favorable traits within the ecosystem of showfall media? complacency? levelheadedness? the ability to perform unflinching normalcy under hellish conditions? at any rate, showfall media wants the generations of our hero, ranboo, to eventually acquire the skills to be the ideal protagonist and engaging pov character, whatever that may entail. it’d behoove us to keep an eye out for changes in generation two that seem influenced by the erratic and even unstable nature of generation one. 

(on a slight tangent: this is also how our brains learn things, and is relevant to trauma formation and retention. we often develop trauma responses to specific things—triggers—because those are what helped us survive traumatic experiences. there is positive reinforcement here: because we survived, we will do it again, and again, and again. parallel to natural selection, our brains prune responses; this is why trauma survivors have altered responses to things that may seem completely normal for people who don’t share those triggers or responses with them. altered response in brain structures, particularly the amygdala (the so-called “fear center”) are part of the observed neurobiological differences btwn those with and without ptsd—but i digress.)

on to generation loss. this has probably already been theorized before so i won’t beat a dead horse, but in the context of knowledge retention and crystallization as mentioned above, i think we’ll also see the next generations deteriorate significantly. this may manifest as more frequent breaks between the narrative of the show and what’s actually happening (e.g. this clip [blood and emotional distress tw] of the showfall media illusion breaking and us being shown ranboo elbow deep in charlie’s blood) and likely more emotional turmoil and derealization on the part of generation two and three. i wonder if generation two will inherit generation one’s cracked mask as a symbolic gesture and as an implicit warning, but that’s just broad speculation (and i imagine that mask is pretty much crushed to bits by now).

also re:the idea of imperfect reproduction causing the phenomenon of generation loss. we have to remember that ranboo is not the only character to be rescripted. charlie has had multiple generations. sneeg has had multiple generations. it’s sort of implied jerma has had multiple generations just by proxy of how long he’d been part of the genloss project. circling back to charlie and sneeg, though: their generations were imperfect. they made mistakes that broke the flow and immersion of the show, and it cost them. the generation that made the mistake was killed, and a new generation—streamlined, scripted, perfectly seamless—was put in their place. i found sneeg particularly rebellious, and also wonder about the importance of that hat and how it seemingly granted him self-awareness. at a guess it was because the hat was a holdover from the previous episode so the continuity error was what fucked sneeg up, in which case the hat didn’t actually have to be put on sneeg for the same effect to happen, but sneeg did hold it together remarkably well—long enough to attempt an escape. i wonder if that, too, was scripted. i wonder if everything we saw, everything we were handed with both hands by showfall and by hetch, was scripted.

ultimately i was super intrigued by genloss and am hyperfixating on it, if you couldn’t already tell. it was an incredible production with an incredible cast, story, costuming—everything. i’m in love with it. thank you to ranboo and to everyone on the cast and crew for genloss and i’m very excited for what’s next.

other stuff that stuck out to me that didn’t quite fit into this prediction:

hetch isn’t the founder, he’s just someone who appears to have control over the production that ranboo specifically was starring in (which is still a lot of executive power). saying that makes me wonder if there are other shows showfall media is in charge of, and genloss is just one of them. i found it interesting that hetch told ranboo to keep his mask at the outset of ep3, and this was the main reason why i personally did not trust him.

according to the genloss bts twitter, there was a “live” ending. that said, i think hetch opening the floor for ranboo to speak directly to the audience was what ultimately swung the vote so far to “die.” i’ve seen people talking about this already: we swarmed the vote en masse for “live” until hetch told ranboo they would just be reprogrammed into the show again, and ranboo begged. they begged us to let them die. look at us. we were never going to be able to say no to them. (i also think ranboo’s death makes for a compelling story in the future regarding my theory of generations, but i don’t know what the “live” ending would have looked like, so this is fully biased.)

thinking about how the show was shaped to culminate to ep3 from the beginning. we’ve seen and heard hetch through it all, and he was the one to break the illusion for ranboo. every last bit was scripted. uhh something something i think ranboo’s rebellion against chat in ep3 was also intended, even if the specific code that he chose wasn’t scripted. it really defeats a person to realize nothing is in their control, you know? the freedom was an illusion after all.

sources

what is generation loss (concept)? how genetic algorithms work human-guided machine learning optimization of knowledge acquisition

#generation loss #genloss #generation loss meta #genloss meta #generation loss spoilers #long post #ranboo #chrys analyzes #this is more concise and focused than the papers i write for school lmao

[shinysamurott9]

How I nuked my 400 Hour Save of Pokemon Heartgold

So, recently I've been playing through the Pokemon Generations doing a Ribbon Master Quest, obtaining every Ribbon a single or set of Pokemon can possibly obtain by sending them up through the series. Just yesterday I was on the tail end of finishing the Gen 4 segment of the challenge.

I have a team of 5 Ribbon Masters currently; Mushi, my Shiny Heracross from Pokemon Colosseum which I hunted specifically for this Ribbon Master Quest, Velos and Seibzehn, a Latios and Metagross I raised to use in Emerald's Battle Frontier, Sparda, my Shiny Arceus I hunted using the void glitch in Pearl and Nero, my Shiny Giratina from Sinjoh Ruins. The only ribbons left for them to get was the Legend Ribbon for beating Red and most pertinent to this story, the World Ability Ribbon.

For those unaware, the World Ability Ribbon is obtained by reaching Rank 5 or higher in the Wifi Room in Gen 4's Battle Tower. Despite what you may think, this is still obtainable thanks to fan made servers which restore old wifi functionalities in Generations 4 & 5. The thing is though the Wifi room is bullshit. The opponents you fight are recorded teams from other players and unfortunately, on top of the highly optimised teams you’ll encounter, you'll also encounter many teams of blatantly hacked stuff like Machamps with OHKO Moves or Sturdy Shedinjas.

This is where I mention the fact that I just so happen to have a modded 3ds, which, among other things, let's me backup save data. So since the game was blatantly cheating anyway, I decided "Fuck it, I'm cheating too". How I did this was to fight one battle in the Wifi Room, and after winning, I'd use the rest option to save and exit the game. Then I'd backup that save file, so if I lost the next battle, I could restore that backup and try again, letting me continue my streak. A slow process but it would mean eventually, I would be able to climb the ranks high enough to get the World Ability Ribbon.

As you can imagine though, I was doing this process of reloading and backing up a lot, and at one point I restored a file incorrectly, taking out the game too early, causing the file to go blank. No problem I'll just restore the file again and if I was competent, that's wherethis would have ended. But, because of how much I was using Checkpoint, my muscle memory got a lite crosswired, so instead of restoring my file, I made a new backup over it, effectively erasing the entire thing.

For reference this included:

400 hrs of Gameplay, A Pokedex roughly 2/3rds complete, A fully developed Safari Zone, Several Pokemon from my various Gen 4 Playthroughs over the years, Every Arceus Plate, (Which are actually pretty difficult to get in HGSS), All 5 of my Ribbon Masters

And perhaps worst of all, my entire collection of Gen 4 shinies. This included:

My near back to back Shiny Luxio and Luxray from Platinum,

A shiny Darkrai and Shaymin I hunted with the Void Glitch

Several Radar and Safari Week Shinies

And a shiny of each Sinjoh Dragon.

Needless to say I was both pissed and devestated. There was some consolation, since I had backups of Gen 3 and Platinum, my Ribbon Masters and Battle Tower mons were safe. Everything else though, initially I was resigned to either losing them forever or trying very likely in vain to recreate as much as I could in PKHex which has it's own issues both logistically and ensuring they were legal, not helped at all by how bad the legality checker in PKHex actually is.

BUT

There was, one, just one saving grace. Fucking POKEMON BATTLE REVOLUTION

The way that Battle Revolution works is that you connect a Gen 4 Save File and it will make an exact copy of your boxes so you can use them in BR's various Colosseums. And of course I just so happened to have copied my boxes from HG a few months ago just after Safari Week meaning every pokemon I had nuked still existed! I had to hack my Wii U to dump the save file but because of that I was able to completely restore almost every single pokemon by copy pasting them back onto Heartgold.

Obviously still lost a lot in other areas but I really can't complain considering what I managed to restore.

As a sidenote, there was a similar incident way back where I accidentally erased my friend's Ruby Master File no shinieswere lost just a lot of progress. I think his reaction speaks for itself.

#Fuck up of cosmic proportions #Pokemon #pokemon heartgold #pokemon battle revolution #Pokemon gen four #ribbon master #This will hopefully never happen again

[dovewithscalesthesequel]

This is the actual DoveWithScales. Tumblr nuked my account and won't answer my support messages, so I'm not coming back, but I wanted something to show up when people search for me on here.

If anyone wants to find me, you can do so under my usual name (DoveWithScales) on cohost, or reach out to me through my website.

I'm also going to be active on a forum that is completely owned by a friend of mine and can't ever be corporatized.

#dovewithscales #otherkin #alterhuman #witchcraft #hellenism

[steadymongerbatscissors]

Leo Valdez Fire Powers

Linking back to my last post about Leo Valdez. I talked about his fire powers and how inconsistent they are and how we never get to see them actually grow and evolve from beyond fireball. Then suddenly in the last book he able to nuke a earth goddess by himself. So what I’m going to do with this post is just simply try to fix this problem going book by book.

So let’s get started

The Lost Hero

Now for the most part this book is fine up until we reach King Midas Mansion. Now the part with Festus and the Leo is completely fine it’s actually a phenomenal scene so we’re gonna leave it alone. The problems only start to arise when Piper and Leo are turned to gold. The reason this a problem is because they try to fight but there powers suddenly don’t work. The reasons that’s given is that gold stops the other powers. Which is a really stupid explanation cause both of Piper and Leo’s powers come from them not an outside source. It really just seems like Rick wanted Jason to look cool so he took Piper and Leo temporarily out so Jason could shine. So how do we fix it? Simple don’t have Leo turned into gold or most specifically have his internal temperature be so high that the effects of the gold touch are slowed. So now Jason can shine fighting Lityerses while Leo keeps Midas busy so that he can’t just gold touch Jason. We even have stakes now since Piper is still gold and could be kept like that if Jason and Leo fail.

(Note:I have Piper still be kept as gold cause you can just say Midas has encountered charm-speakers and built up a resistance like most main villains in Heroes of Olympus)

Next part to fix is with Lycaon and his wolf pack. Here we instead of Leo about to run out of steam we have Leo be able to continuously just put fire onto the blockade until the Hunters come save the trio. Now Leo has more respect and we see he has a lot of destructive power on his side which will be more important later on in this book.

Another piece to fix is that part were they’re crossing the bridge to Aoleus palace in the sky. In this version of the story since we’re consistent this time Leo actually controls himself like he did since his mom died and now since Leo controlled himself. Thalia get to tag along with the trio and get to have more actual interactions with her brother.

The fight with Enceladus goes differently as Thalia and Jason are working together against Enceladus but maybe have a moment where Leo takes a cue from Enceladus with his fire breath and tries to do the same. It actually works though Leo is left unable to speak for the rest of the fight since the inside of his throat is extremely sore from it.

(Something like this)

The fight with Khione would still end with Leo winning but Leo has to put in actually effort so it gives an explanation on he just doesn’t give the drill to Piper and help Jason while he fights Porphyrion.

The last change for the book would be actually having people react to the fact that he is the first fire user in 100 years. By react I mean they react with fear since the last one caused the London fire and the prophecy says there is a chance the world will be destroyed with fire.

So now at the end of the quest Leo is way more comfortable using his fire powers and they have only gotten stronger thanks to the quest. But now people at camp fear him because of his powers and he has to earn their respect.

The Mark of Athena

Now oh boy is this one gonna be a rollercoaster cause instead of having any scenes related to Sammy and the weird love triangle between Hazel,Frank,and Leo. I’m making all of them into training sessions for Leo with them being helped by Coach Hedge.

Why Coach Hedge you ask? Well to answer that I think you need to know that satyrs in Greek Mythology actually lived eternally unless they were killed. Why is that important you ask? Well Coach Hedge doesn’t really do anything aside from mess things up and be unfunny in the canon series so here I’m gonna use him for something. More specifically he’s gonna help Leo train his fire powers because in my version he’s the satyr who found Thomas Faynor and brought him to camp.

So now Coach Hedge has a reason to actually be on the Argo 2 and even had a past connections to the last fire user so now he actually useful. So now that we have all the things set the thing we’re gonna is replace all those useless Sammy,and love triangle crap with scenes of Leo training with Hedge.

The training Leo and Hedge are doing is actually control cause while Leo can contain his powers he needs to learn how to be precise with them. The motivation is because he himself wants to be the one to kill Gaea and being more precise will help. We could even have Hedge say something like “Kid your real powerful even more than your brother”. This line might even affirm that Leo will destroy the world.

All this training comes to a head in the shrimpzilla fight when while Leo tries to go after the Greek fire crate the monster knocks it overboard and grabs Leo. So now Leo using all his training gets a arm free,points a finger at the monster,and launches Greek fire from his fingertips at the shrimpzilla’s eye blinding it and letting the others finish it off. Hell you could even have Leo get so exhausted (cause it would the first time he did it) that when the monster lets from the pain he falls overboard and gets taken by the fish centaur and gets the information they need.

Everything after that is basically the same see how easy this is and how it actually expands on Leo’s fire abilites.

House of Hades

The imp scene goes differently as instead of running after them and looking like an idiot. Leo outsmarts them by using his fire powers to block off wherever they’re are going forcing them to talk to them. Leo makes a gamble and says that if they can beat him in a race to the tower they can keep everything. But if Leo wins the race he gets everything they have and they have to do him a fairer. The dwarfs agree and the race starts.While the dwarfs are making there way there Leo shows the reader a new ability he developed after training relentlessly since Percy and Annabeth fell. So he pulls a human torch and flies ahead of the dwarfs and gets to the tower first winning the race. Then Jason shows up and actually compliments Leo on his trading and new abilities.

Everything after this is completely fine. Yes including the bit with calypso.

It only when we reach the end of the book that we see Leo go real crazy. Here the Clytius the giant actually speaks to Leo and taunts him with fact that he’s basically useless and can’t help Hazel. He then goes on to relate the situation to Calypso and his mother finally hitting Leo’s berserk button. Thanks to this Leo flys out of Hazel safe mist and flies close up to Clytius. When he get close he charges up all his fire into his fist and punch him letting off a little fire explosion.

(Something like this but with fire)

However after he does he basically loses most of his powers and falls into the black smoke. So now Hazel has to save him. This is sort of a teaser to the nuke Leo pulls off at end of the book series.

Blood of Olympus

Leo is actually in a tough spot now since Coach Hedge left with Reyna,and Nico. I would include a scene of goodbye between Hedge and Leo since they have a more son and father relationship since the training. The scene I would replace would be the scene of Hazel drawing Calypso but would include that he’s continuing his training even without Hedge because he doesn’t want to hurt Calypso accidentally though he is still training mostly to get stronger and kill Gaea himself.

So now his new training partner is Percy. I bet your wondering why Percy. The reason is because Percy is the opposite element so he can take a bit of heat from Leo. Not Greek fire levels but probably concentrated orange fire blast. Percy wants to help because he wants to get stronger as well. This also creates a parallel between the two as they are both the main characters of their series. Percy Jackson for well Percy Jackson & The Olympians and Leo Valdez for Heroes of Olympus. This also allows us to see Leo’s growth as he is know able to clash against The Percy Jackson and put up a challenge.

When they reach the island of Delos,Apollo compliments Leo on his fire ability’s and ask if he can prove he has any musical ability to get the curse of Delos. So Leo does his thing and gets the curse of Delos.

When they finally reach Asclepius the guardian machine is way stronger and can’t be hacked because it was made by Hephaestus. So now they have to actually fight and can’t just asspull idiot mode out of nowhere. No mention as the fights happens doesn’t work. So Piper using her charm-speak is able to distract the robot. Then Jason and Leo use the opportunity to combine their powers and hit the robot with everything. Leo uses the power he uses on Clytius and hits it on one side while Jason summons all the lightning he can and hits it on the other side. So yeah the robot is absolutely fried and out of commison. As thanks for them freeing him, Asclepius makes the Physician’s cure and still does his look and comment at Leo. The other two have the same reactions as canon cause remember they have the same relationship in canon which means not very good.

So yeah the final battle goes on and Gaea actually gets to have some dialogue with Leo other than smarm because she has seen his growth and is low-key terrified. Probably has some speech about how no matter how powerful Leo becomes he will never be able to counteract unstoppable force. Then Leo basically goes okay and proceeds to rock her shit until he realizes that killing on the ground doesn’t work. So he just grabs her flys off and goes all supernova on her in the air killing her and him. This completes the prophecy line of him destroying the world cause Gaea is the earth and represents the world in the prophecy. Though he gets revived and goes get his girlfriend and lives a happy life.

(Something like this)

(But green cause Greek fire is the hottest and in the air)

Conclusion

In conclusion Leo’s fire powers were super inconsistent and could have used some more development and retooling. But while I did fixed these issues I also gave Leo the respect he deserved thanks to this fire powers growing and providing more clues to help the reader link up that Leo will be the one to kill Gaea.

#long post #leo valdez #reyna avila ramirez arellano #coach hedge #percy jackson #jason grace #piper mclean #frank zhang #hazel levesque #annabeth chase #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #caleo #calypso #thalia grace #gaea #Leo’s fire powers deserved better #also he is the main character of heroes of Olympus #and should have been as strong as Percy #cause he basically killed a primordial deity #reyna ramirez arellano

[tidekissed]

third time is the fuckin charm

hi. I wanted a complete nuke of all my old posts and to completely start over now that I’m attempting to be active on selfship tumblr again, so here I am.

I’m zale! I’m 22 (nearly 23, actually. time flies.), use she/him pronouns, and have a full carrd over here that tells you my f/os and everything else you need to know. please read this before interacting with me. this is a sideblog, so everything else aside you gotta at least know my main's url to know when I'm hyping up your gushes.

I would love to make new friends! I sort of isolated myself with no warning and nuked everything when my health really declined/wasn’t getting better, but I’m finally not in horrible pain every waking moment and can function like a human being again. having a doctor listen to you is kind of magical.

my interests are pretty clear from the carrd and my blog, but I love marine biology, tons of video games, and octopuses. it is a tall order to find genshin fans that don’t have a screw loose so please god slide into my or my IRL best friend @kuunyaa‘s dms if you're a genshin selfshipper.

I would love to see your content/listen to you gush so please don’t hesitate to reach out! like it says on my carrd I only bite assholes.

#selfship promo #self ship promo

[ofdemonsandangels]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @marley-manson!

I'll be tagging @seaofolives, @alovelyburn, @white-winter-hymnals, @moonlight-blue-rose, and @shiroganeryo

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently six, five complete and one ongoing

2. What's your total AO3 wordcount?

16,145

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Berserk but I also write for D.Gray-Man and dabbled in SK8 the Infinity

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

A Familiar Canvas ➡️ wild (like young volcanoes) ➡️ say me, wight in the bom ➡️ One of Heart, One of Mind ➡️ Encompassing Lust

5. Do you respond to comments?

I always do!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Take Me to the Poppy Field. It's pre-canon ManaCross, so ofc it's angsty, and I do love myself some good ManaCross angst

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Easily One of Heart, One of Mind. It's a Yulma wedding fic and I shoved all the fluff and happy feels into it as possible

8. Do you get hate on your fics?

Not yet and not to my knowledge

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Uhhhhh let's see. Encompassing Lust contains sexual content but I wouldn't go as far as to call it smut. I'd like to write a proper smut fic one day but I'd have to be in the proper mood for it, if you get my gist

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

wild (like young volcanoes) would be considered a crossover by some, but it's really just an au, a Percy Jackson au

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hopefully not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated

Not yet

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

This is hard! Can I cheat and make it a three-way tie between GriffGuts, Yulma, and Matchablossom? I tend to alternate a lot between these three and I love them so much.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My GriffGuts lovechild au. I've shared snippets of it on this blog before but every time I try to work on it, my mind takes me elsewhere. I still want to finish it though! The question is when

16. What are your writing strengths?

That's a very good question that I have no good answer to. I guess I'm pretty good when it comes to descriptions. And metaphors. I love myself a good metaphor, so when I have the opportunity to add one, I will

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'd be here all day if I listed off every one of my writing weaknesses lmao. But if I did have to narrow it down, it'd definitely have to be my perfectionism and chronic revisionism. I can't stand it when a word or sentence structure doesn't sit right with my mind. I'll just stare at it for minutes and if I can't find a solution, I'll just straight up nuke the entire doc because everything else starts to look wrong in my mind. My beta readers can attest to this

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

*traumatic flashbacks of all the VLD fics that had Lance speaking bad Spanish/Spanglish*

I don't think writing dialogue in a different language is bad at all, it's just very obvious when the author is 1) a non-native speaker and 2) uses Google translate. Don't be afraid to reach out to friends who speak the language you're trying to write!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Officially published? Berserk. But first ever? That would be Percy Jackson. It's a stapled five-page, handwritten reader insert fic and I still have it in my room, under my bed.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oh hands down it's One of Heart, One of Mind. Yulma is a ship that means so much to me and it quite literally defined the way that I viewed queer ships in media. It took me forever to write this fic but that was because I wanted to do them justice.

#tag game #violetposts.exe

[dokutah-exe]

Opinions on this? (Original: godfather-doughboy)

let me tell you something

my ex-wife is one of the best, most compassionate people i have ever had the pleasure of re-remembering again. day in and day out, she does nothing but mindlessly devote herself to a single cause: the betterment of her fellow peers. she agonizes over the moral choices she has to make and the sacrifices that probably eat her up every night. i dont think the potentially twisted nature of making the very infected work for their cure is lost on her; she knows, on some level, that its wrong, and yet its the only conclusion in her power she can reach. she refuses to work above others; rather, she works alongside them. she follows and respects as much as possible, within as much reason as possible. she will do whatever it takes to make sure there is a world to come back to, and she will do whatever she can to make sure she can bring as many people with her to that world in one piece as possible.

i dont really fully understand why she hates me. but ive mused about it, and i think the reason why is because i am the manifestation of the execution of decisions she really, really hates. im a weapon: from the very get-go im taken out of cold storage like a nuke, and everyones first desperate mission is either to ensure my survival or keep me five feet under. i think im the complete and total sum of her moral failings, the very shadow of the things she knows she doesnt want to do, and thus has no choice but to entrust in me to do. i wonder if she thinks that its total cowardice that she has to defer military and tactical knowledge to me, to be the one to pull the trigger on a gun she doesnt want to hold. its obvious, then, that she would hate me. i am the extension of her limitations of her morality; where she cant go, i will, to tactics and strategies so dark that it would be wrong to hate me. she has to hate me: for me to preserve her ability to continue to do what she does best, it is imperative she hates me. and, she probably hates that too.

so no matter how much she prattles on about the different cultures and politics about the regions she visits, and the sweeping monologues she has about me or her or everything or whatever is going on, i think you should listen to her. she deserves to be listened to, after so much pain and weight on her shoulders.

Because I will not cease listening to her.

#arknights #kal'sit #plus like she sorta has my memories hostage #seriously i would not remember anything without her closure and amiya #like it is Crucial to Listen To Her You Dont Understand #she still wont tell me where my card collection is

[good-bye-bear]

Okay, after a nights sleep I'm less mad about tumblr nuking my post before I could ever hit the post button.

The Ravening War

(Spoilers)

I think that Raphaniel and Karna dying to the Disposal, being the two that were more closely tied to the bulb and the hungry one, made their deaths at the hand of this third unimaginable force very poetic.

Karna and her extremely close ties to death via the rot and the hungry one; and Raphaniel being close to death via his visions and his vacant ramblings of calls to the singularity that was in his visions. To end up where they did, it was a story of futility. That no matter how well you did or how well you prepared, sometimes it's just not enough and never would have been.

Then there's Deli, hoo boy. I loved the theme of helplessness with him. Such a huge force to be reckoned with on a physical scale but finding himself in a place where things are so much more complicated. To spend most of his life just doing what he thought he needed and to find out that none of it has ever really worked for him. It's a return to the theme of futility, and when he finally comes to terms with that he decides to not be a part of it. I think in the end, while under the guise of trying to save his only 2 other friends, Deli wanted to die. So when it was time to go back to this life that he finally was able to see through, he couldn't do it. So he walked into the north and became an outlander.

Without Lou's input we can never know. but to me it felt like Deli was upset that he lived when 2 of his friends did not and that, alongside his realization of his willingness and enthusiasm to be a pawn, made him wish he died in that tunnel. That his friends would have lived.

Amangeaux seemed like she just wanted to be vindicated in any and everything to me, and she would mimic those around her to do it. She attempted to become a political authority, to become queen, because that's who was around her and it was the life she knew. When she found that she was maybe not as battle hardened as the others, she sought to become like them. Training to become stronger. Even at the very end, she seemed to only follow and mimic those around her. Where in she kept trying to reach out, to the mycelium, for answers instead of just making decisions.

I feel like it shows her lack of control and influence. She started this game as probably the most powerful person in the world of Calorum (As Queen) and to see that she never really knew how to wield it or use it. She lost in her identity from the very beginning and it shows in her epilogue where she choses to become spymaster to Uvano because she doesn't know what else to do. So she latches onto someone else to keep herself going.

Maybe there's a metaphor for co-dependency there too but I feel the helplessness and loss or lack of identity is the big play.

Then there is Provolone. The man who seemed to just be along for the ride. He did not come from nobility or power, he did not seek fame or fortune, he never wished to deal in fate and prophecy. Yet he was found to be right in the middle of it all and to be the one that struck down the avatar was beautiful.

All he ever wanted to do was just get by. He was happy just selling his sword and doing whatever he felt was right in the moment. He never played games with the powers that be because he did not want to tempt anything bad. He always seemed to let the things around him bend and shape him but never change him.

But in those final moments, because he did not try to play at some grand design or try to tempt fate or forge his name into the history books, it seems that fate had chosen him to be the one to end the Disposal.

~~~~~

This is all speculation based on my interpretations of the characters and what I watched. I can be wrong, and in fact maybe am completely wrong, but this is what I took away.

It was an amazing game and it was a beautiful love note to the world of Calorum. Even though I'm not a huge fan of Mercer's DM style, I think he did great here. Maybe he didn't go into as much depth with things as Brennan might but he still did well.

I can't wait to see more crossovers and hopefully more guests dancing through the dome.

~~~~~

Another aside, or P.S.S. or whatever.

Raphaniel was my clear favorite, if only because Brennan with his wide knowledge of the word was able to create just the most unhinged holy many ever. And to be honest I love that.

But Karna get's an extremely close 2nd place. She was just a girl trying to make it in a world that was maybe just a little too big for grand plans she had in mind. But that never stopped her from trying. Also Aabria just makes amazing characters all the time.

#the ravening war #dimension 20 #bishop raphaniel charlock #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #karna solara #colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #spoilers #the ravening war spoilers

[dreamsclock]

OHH YES I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT NO NUKE AU THE WHOLE DAYYY

How will dreams realtionship with george and sapnap look like in no nuke au? Will they be able to become friends again?

IM GLAD YOU ASKED. sorry this took me so long to get to but every time i see it i rub my hands together excitedly SO!! without further ado : no nuke c!dteam edition!!

short answer: yes. they become friends again.

long answer: it doesn't happen quickly, or easily. in fact, it's a bit of a nightmare process. in no nuke, they're all in different factions: dream is with tommy, sapnap is stuck in kinoko, and george has the protection of XD, and is wandering. despite this, they want to reach out - they're not sure how to, but god, they want to.

in the fic i'm planning, sapnap and dream actually meet in the syndicate when they get there :] sapnap was the one that suggested the syndicate start scouting for dream, and kinoko have formed an alliance with the syndicate to try to keep the server at peace (or at least not completely destroyed). it takes longer for them to make up - neither are the people they used to be, and they both owe each other a long story and apologies. but it happens. slowly, quietly. tommy enters a room and sees dream napping on sapnap's shoulders, dark circles under his eyes less prominent than usual. techno calls them for dinner and they come from the training room together, in awkward silence, but not leaving each other's side. it helps, surprisingly for dream, when sapnap finds out properly what happened in prison.

and then george appears. tommy becomes the number one dnf matchmaker, much to the whole syndicate's chagrin. and george slots neatly back in with dream and sapnap, just as it used to be - except better, now, because they've grown. they've changed. and they're still best friends. they have each others' backs more than ever.

#> au: no nuke finale #> c!dteam

[aggravateddurian]

Swooped by a Bird: Part 1

Vega adjusted the jacket. It was always a little big, designed for a guy about a foot taller, and much broader than herself. She was still getting used to the effects of last night's events.

Right on cue, Johnny manifested once again, stroking his chin, a characteristic smug grin on his face. She'd seen it before, being worn on her face, "Vega, what're we doin' today? Rescue a netrunner from a pre-war Miliitech bunker? Perhaps launch a two-man attack on a corpo transport? Or..."

Johnny recognised the new influence... most importantly, the change in Vega's eyes.

"Oh, fuck..."

Vega's accent had changed entirely, the Midwest Nomad accent, merged with Night City street kid. No mistaking it, the voice that came out of the woman was V's, "Johnny..."

"V...?"

"No, Johnny, not V... but I'm startin' to notice a trend," she reached for her hand, rubbing the spot on her finger where a ring would go, "every time I want to reclaim more of V's life... you're there to stop me. Kind of like... you're trying to keep her from having as much influence in my life than you... two years, one consciousness merge, and still the same Johnny Silverhand..."

"Fuckin' shit, V! At what point did you get this gonk-ass idea? Do too much synthcoke and now you think the FIA's got cameras in the walls?"

"Then why're you makin' it hard for me to get back in contact with V's friends?"

"Because it's been two fuckin' years, Vega!" Johnny shouted, "People move on, might not like what you see! I disappeared for fifty years and when I woke up, in the brain of some gonk wannabe Solo, and I saw the world I used to inhabit with my own meatsack, I wanted to fuckin' nuke it again!"

"And what, pray tell, might I not like? Not like Vega, as in me, was personally involved in any of their lives. Thought I made that blatantly clear?"

"Who fuckin' knows? Maybe River's selling government secrets to keep 'imself alive, Rogue retired and Judy grew her hair out? Maybe Arasaka Tower got rebuilt, ten feet taller? The Emperor of Earth, Saburo Arasaka, controls the world from the Golden Throne of Terra? Your Ronin friend Takemura's a feudal warlord in the post-corpo war wastes of what used to be Japantown?"

"You that good at makin' shit up, or did you actually glean some knowledge I somehow missed?"

"Hyperbole, V, don't they teach figures of speech and poetic devices at school anymore... oh, wait, you're a fuckin Bakker, so I assume school consists of clips of Vin Diesel from Fast and Furious. 'Family'."

"Fuck you too, Silverhand."

"Let's just... not talk for a while, 'kay? I'm liable to have a fuckin' aneurysm."

"Sure... what the?"

"V... are you...?"

"What is it, Johnny?"

"Someone's fuckin' with you, trying to breach the system!"

"Quit... Johnny?"

"...what in the...?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHH! FUCK!"

"Oh, shit! Not feelin..."

"C-can't... breathe!"

"N...not like this..."

"V?"

"Oh, shit, maybe I am too hard on the hardware..." the voice muttered as a ghostly hand fell onto Vega's shoulder, "Give me a sec, I'll think of something. Can't leave you like this..."

PROXY PROTOCOL ACTIVATED

"No Relic... that explains it. Jacked directly into her brain... gonk mistake."

"Almost forgot the smell of real air... the taste... no, focus So Mi, get her off the balcony and somewhere safe."

"Now, let's see. Apartment 1242..."

"Almost forgot what walkin' in Earth gravity feels like... careful, don't trip now..."

"Okay... not bad. Get you onto a bed and you should wake up right as rain..."

"God, I hope she doesn't remember this..."

How to Make and Keep Friends, by Song So Mi

Manipulate a dying woman into helping you steal a cure for yourself.

Take the cure and go to the Moon. Hope said dying woman finds a cure.

After two years of complete radio silence, re-enter their life by accidentally causing a neural net blowout that hits them as hard as a major Relic malfunction.

Use a proxy protocol to control their body like a drone and get them back to their apartment.

Pray to God that they don't remember this when they wake up.

Hope they aren't going to be mad at you for the things you did.

With this simple method, you too can have as many friends as So Mi!

#image story #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cp2077 #cp2077 photomode #virtual photography #my vp #fem v #cp2077 au: chorus #oc: vega 'v' howse #song so mi #songbird #lore post