#I think the Curious Cat's 'You do not go to the tree the tree goes to you unless of course you're me' line makes sense now lmao

[almea]

Oh, I'm very slow and just realized the thing where they'd get stuck walking in a loop was most likely specifically because they were trying to get to the tree rather than because they weren't following Alyx's story.

[charliemwrites]

Men At Work - Part 3

I know this has been a little slow to start, but things should progress a little more quickly from here. I wanted to establish some of the groundwork for this weird dynamic they all have but unfortunately, these men don't know the meaning of slow, even in my own head.

No Content Warnings

“How are the repairs going?” you ask.

It’s just Nikto today, returning your Tupperware from dinner the other night. He’s covered head to toe once again, all that’s visible are those glass blue eyes. One way mirrors - hiding everything beneath the surface.

They remind you of… something. 

Hmm. When you figure it out, they’re sure to make an appearance in your next novel.

“On track,” he answers in that sharp, staccato way you’re learning is just his way.

Unfortunately for him, that just makes you more curious. You know it’s a bit obnoxious - you’re not entitled to information, you know that. And most of the time you curb the inquiries tapping at the back of your teeth. But he’s in your house, snuggling your traumatized cat. If he’s got a problem answering casual questions, you’re certain he’ll have no problem letting you know.

“You’re redoing the whole thing?”

“Most of it. Foundation is good. The rest - дерьмо.”

You don’t know a lick of Russian, but you can guess.

“Good bones,” you hum in understanding. As if you know anything about construction. “That helps. When do you think it will be done?”

He shifts, sharp eyes flicking between your busy hands, the door, and Rasputin holding him lovingly hostage.

Little guy is currently perched on your shoulder, face buried against your collar in abject despair that his bestest friend hasn’t come to visit. Shithead is poaching (or attempting to, anyway) the sandwiches you’re assembling. So far, she’s only swishing her tail, biding her time. You’re keeping an eye on her.

“Two months. Three if any of us are called.”

You hum, reach for the tomatoes. It’s only because you’re looking at him that you notice the slightest twitch around his eyes. Beneath his mask, you’d bet he’s scrunching his nose.

“No?”

“I will eat.”

You leave the tomatoes off. Guy mews sadly, you tilt your head to press a kiss to his little ear.

“So, two or three months. Krueger said you’ll move in then.”

“Da.”

You top the sandwiches with a final slice of bread and turn to the oven. Spin back just in time to catch Shithead’s paw reaching for Krueger’s designated sandwich. Nikto eyes the plate of brownies in your free hand; you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What about the yard?”

Nikto tilts his head. If he didn’t give the impression of a particularly large predator, you’d call it cute. As it is, even spiders and snakes endear themselves to you somehow.

“What about yard?”

“Any plans for it?” You sneak an extra brownie onto Nikto’s plate. Reward and apology for wrenching conversation out of him. “Grass? Trees? Flowers?”

He blinks. Just once. Some sort of intuition tells you that even that behavioral tic is a big social step for him.

“No.”

“Oh, uh… gravel then?”

“We mean no plans,” he corrects.

“Oh! Alright, I suppose that’s a long way off anyway. There’s still so much work to do on the inside.”

But it does get you thinking. What even goes into fixing a house? And how do they know all this stuff? The electric, the insulation, the… whatever else goes into a home. Is it just Weird Things they picked up from the military?

You stare contemplatively at the house’s exterior as you walk the plates across the street with Nikto. (Ras is riding on his shoulder and Guy refused to detach his claws from yours. You fear for the state of your home with Shithead left behind, but neither you nor Nikto had a spare hand to wrangle her with.)

Nikto practically kicks the door in, shouting for the others as he goes. Guy chooses that moment to start crying - uncanny sense for appearing pathetic as possible.

Konig must hear him halfway down the stairs, because the steady boot steps get faster after a moment.

“Oh, bubchen! Why are you sad? What has happened?” Konig coos, nearly running to your side.

Of course, now that he’s gotten what he wanted, Guy’s volume lowers. He makes a pleased little “mrow” and slinks off your shoulder and into Konig’s reaching hands. You’d call him a traitor but you’re a damn sucker for a big man with a cute animal. 

“You two are ridiculous,” you laugh, setting the plates on the counter.

It’s already been replaced since last you saw it. Black granite, very sleek. You like it. (Which of them installed it? Nikto? You usually catch glimpses of him on the ground floor.)

“He is a baby, Biene,” Konig protests, “he must be treated like one.”

“He’s already five!” You reply, like you don’t have a papoose for when your hands are too full to snuggle him.

“Did I stutter? I do not think so. This is a baby.”

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, pretending that taking the foil off the lunches requires your full attention.

Krueger steps up behind you while you’re not looking. The heat of him is what alerts you, the only reason you don’t jump when his rough voice comes by your head.

“Where is the Shithead.”

“Hello to you too, Krueger. How is your day?”

He grunts and reaches past you, trying to snatch up a brownie. Without a thought, you slap at his hand - balk at the sharp whack sound it makes. He jerks his hand back in shock.

“You deny me my dearest friend and you attack me in my own home.”

You spin on your heel, mouth already open. False start as you realize he’s even closer than you expected. The height difference doesn’t seem like much until you’re eye level with his neck. You untangle your tongue and ignore the smirk growing at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“This is barely a house, never mind a home,” you scoff.

He snorts - that smirk turns to a full blown grin. A little crazed. Unfortunately, that makes it more attractive. (And the bastard probably knows it too.)

“You insult me too, now.”

“Sure, but I brought you food.”

He flicks his eyes to the plate behind you and arches a brow.

“Bring me the little Sheisskerl and I will forgive you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Go get her yourself.”

What the hell did you just say? Inviting a man into your house unaccompanied?! You may not be a true crime writer, but you know better.

You still don’t take it back.

He locks eyes with you, gives the distinct impression that he knows exactly what you just thought and he’s amused by your obstinance.

“Fine.” He reaches past your hip. Smells like sweat and something that reminds you of heat. Solder? Certainly not anything you’re used to. “Behave, eh? Konig is easy to take advantage of.”

You snort and glance at Konig over his shoulder, who’s glaring now. (Somehow no less intimidating even with Guy nuzzling at his mask.)

As Krueger turns, he takes a big bite of brownie, humming appreciatively under his breath. You shake your head, then turn to Konig.

“If you want to steal one of his sandwiches, I’ll look the other way.”

Konig barks a short, sharp laugh of surprise. It startles you a bit, but not enough to wipe the grin from your face. You know he really means it when he sounds like that.

“How are the bathroom repairs going?” you ask.

“They are going well!” he answers. Then launches into an in-depth explanation of all the ongoing projects. Replacing walls, rewirings, outlet and light installations. What doesn’t go over your head is almost too fast to understand as his accent thickens with excitement. You nod along anyway, because you asked, and he’s stupidly endearing - big muscular man getting a bit squeaky while he rambles about pipes.

He barely even notices Guy’s little paw reaching until it’s shoved into his open mouth. He sputters as you burst into laughter, gently tucking Guy’s arm against his chest.

“Why would you do this?!” he asks, only to receive a slow blink in response.

“He’s saying you need to eat,” you giggle, nudging Konig’s plate.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for the lunch!”

Barely a couple bites in and you hear the door open again. Krueger stomps in with Shithead bundled in his arms, one hand under her bottom, the other around her tummy. She’s got her head tilted all the way back to chirp and chitter at him.

“Why are you carrying her like that?” you ask, choking back a giggle. 

“It is how she wishes to be carried.”

You blink at her - but sure as shit, she’s perfectly content being held like a child’s toy.

“Well good luck eating like that.”

“You won’t feed me?” he leers.

“I don’t want rabies if you bite me.”

His laughter is even harsher than Konig’s. You like it instantly.

All that’s left is to hear Nikto’s.

Agatha is outside when Nikto walks you back home.

(Krueger huffed that he had too much work to do for the day, but he would see you for dinner. While you were still blinking in shock at his self-invite, Konig transitioned Little Guy back into your arms. All the while grumbling at Krueger’s impatient German.)

She scowls as she notices your two-person parade. Nikto’s juggling Little Guy and Rasputin; you’ve got a firm grip on Shithead and the stack of dirty plates. You snort a bit just thinking of her paranoid comments about them being bad men. Sure, they might be in some ways, but it’s a hard sell when Ras is trying to lick at the edge of the mask around Nikto’s eyes.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” you call, just to be petty.

“When is your fiance coming by again?” she calls back. “Such a lovely young man.”

Your mirth dries up in an instant. “I broke up with my boyfriend four months ago. I thought I told you.”

You did. You know you did. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass that was asking about your Easter plans with him (trying to invite you to church once again) when you told her that you left him. She’d even fussed about it at the time, saying that there’s hardly anything that can’t be healed with time and understanding.

(It was only your commitment to your own privacy that kept you from asking how much time it takes to smooth over someone cheating with your cousin.)

At your side, Nikto grunts. You glance sideways at him, wondering what he must think.

But his eyes are on Agatha. Even Rasputin has paused the grooming routine to narrow his one eye at her.

“Is this the one that looks in mailbox?” he asks, louder than you’ve ever heard.

Loud enough that she hears. And flushes redder than the poppies in your flowerboxes.

“That’s her husband, actually,” you answer. She sputters, and an incredibly immature bolt of satisfaction suffuses you.

He grunts again. Eyes her up and down. “Maybe we leave surprise for him next time, da?”

You press your lips together, but it does nothing to prevent you from grinning. He’s deadly serious, though, which somehow makes it even funnier to you.

“Maybe!” you reply in a tone that really means absolutely.

Nikto shuts the door on her face before Agath can get out a threat to call the police.

“You’ve got a petty streak,” you say, grinning at him.

He tilts his head. “You like.” He doesn’t even sound sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “I like it.”

He grunts and takes the plates from your hand. “We wash. You think about dinner and revenge. Da?”

You plop yourself onto a stool by the kitchen counter. “Da.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[semisolidmind]

Drops these thoughts in exchange for absolutely mauling your art.

Saved catnap would be down right horrifying to encounter in the woods-

If your just going for a quick walk, I think he’d just stalk you, ensuring you never get close to Angel’s property.

If you’re there for other reasons……well….CatNap has been debating making a new shire for Angel….(much to everyone else’s dismay and horror…)

And if the person sneaking onto the property has features resembling Angel (hair, eyes, clothing, etc), it gets a little…..off putting to into the barn….

(Also the image of CatNap just licking poor Angel while they’re sleeping beside him is so strong. Even more if he’s doing it to annoy DogDay and rub his scent on angel. Gotta lay your claim to your savior somehow!)

(oh god...catnap barn shrine.... consists of some stolen shirts, a comb, perhaps a throw blanket and some pillows, a picture (with anyone other than y/n scratched out) stolen from the mantle, a spare hairtie or two...anything catnap can get his paws on while the others are distracted or out of the house)

and the idea of catnap occasionally "borrowing" his savior has been on my mind. like, he'll get just close enough to them, quietly from behind, to subtly breath a little red smoke on them. just enough to knock them out. then he'll gently carry them up to his nest in the barns' hayloft. he just wants to hold them, but knows y/n doesn't trust him enough to really let him close.

he spends that time where they're knocked out nuzzling them and purring up a storm. he knows the stupid dog will be breaking down his door to retrieve y/n as soon as he realizes they're gone, so....catnap makes the most of his time with them.

–

ive also been imagining a scene where y/n leaves dogday and the girls inside to make dinner, and goes out onto the back porch. it's dark, and they can't really see much beyond where the porch light can reach, but...they know catnap is out there. they can see the barest trace of his lanky silhouette in the trees beyond the barn.

his white pupils glow through the gloom. his heavy stare pins y/n in place.

with no better ideas, y/n sits, legs dangling over the edge of the deck. they maintain eye contact with catnap. after a beat of silence, they make the one noise no cat can resist.

pssp pssp pssp.

catnap is confused, if the perk of his ears and small tilt of his head is anything to go by.

but, he does take a slow step out of the trees, recognizing the sound as a summons. he begins to cross the yard, getting closer, never taking his eyes off of y/n. his slow stalking gait is anxiety inducing, but y/n tries to keep it together. they have a plan.

they want to get catnap more comfortable with them, with the house, to help better integrate him into their little family. perhaps a little TLC will make the stray cat more personable.

he looks ready to run despite his intimidating facade. his long tail flicks from side to side. curious, but cautious. his eyes never leave y/n.

catnap slowly gets closer and closer, eventually coming into the light. y/n always forgets how big he and dogday actually are; that sheer size is less threatening on dogday, who y/n knows won't hurt them. they're not so sure about catnap.

the massive toy looms over them in spite of his cautious, low posture.

y/n slowly raises their hands, palms upturned. an invitation.

catnap's eyes flicker to their hands for a second before returning to their face. y/n can only hope he understands what they're inviting him to do.

the feline slowly, carefully, steps forward. he sets his heavy head into y/n's palms. he begins to purr when they ever so softly begin to scratch his chin and behind his ears.

moving out of y/n's space, catnap backs away. quiet and uneasy, y/n lets him go. they know that the process of "rehabilitating" him will take time and patience. getting him used to them and the others will be a struggle. but for now, they're just happy that they could get him to accept touch at all.

he knows that the small, tentative smile on their face is...proud, perhaps. happy that he's accepted their care. despite his hesitation, he soaks in the feeling of his savior's hands on him. he can't remember the last time he'd felt a gentle touch. catnap leans into the motions, eyelids drooping a little in contentment. his white eyes remain locked on y/n's face, his pupils dilating a bit. they seem more at ease with him like this. he basks in their simple affection for several minutes, his purring the only sound; he's thoroughly enjoying the peaceful moment between the two of them.

however, a crash from inside and the raucous voices of the other toys startle him into alertness. his eyes widen, pupils shrinking back to slits and his ears lay flat against his head. he hears y/n gasp in surprise, pulling their hands back. catnap's a bit disappointed at the loss of their touch, but knows that it's better not to invite the ire of the other toys by lingering too long. the moment has passed, and he can feel y/n's unease growing again.

the large toy stalks off into the darkness. y/n waits until he's safely beyond the trees to stand and open the door. they cast one last look into the night before heading back inside to mediate whatever accident just occurred.

catnap, as standoffish as he appears, treasures the small gesture he's just received. he returns to the woods, pleased and purring to himself; thinking about the scrap of affection he's been granted from the hands of his beloved savior. he'll be sure to seek them out for more.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Hello! You said your EJ is a feline demon, right? Could I request him with a s/o that's interested in all his feline traits and thinks they're cute? ^-^ Thank you!

You sure can! I was thinking about his traits I've given him, and I remembered I wrote a request a while ago about his partner being interested in his jaguar spots, so I'll link that here for you too if you click here, so I didn't really mention his spots in this one!

I hope you enjoy!

Jack isn't used to being found cute. He's almost seven feet tall, he's got sharp claws on his hands and his pawed feet, he's covered in scars, he's got a monstrous aura to him when he's around strangers (which ironically is due to his nervousness), and the fangs that protrude out of his mouth aren't exactly welcoming. However, none of that seems to deter you at all, and it quite honestly throws him for a loop and baffles him in a way he's never felt before. He's used to people outside of the mansion avoiding him or outright being scared of him, so when you come along and think he's "the cutest little thing in all of the Underworld", he just feels so shocked that he's at a loss for words.

Even throughout your romantic relationship, he still feels he'll never understand how you can find him so adorable. However, despite that fact, he's also never going to tell you to stop because the feeling of being coddled by you is something he never knew he needed and he just wants you to do it all the time once he gets used to it. He used to get massively confused about your interest in him when it first started, but now he's just amused and intrigued by it. He can't help but laugh when you grab his large hands, squishing the paw pads on his hands and running your fingers over his claws. You've actually taken to trimming his claws every now and then, which honestly he feels quite thankful for because he was never any good at it and they can be quite annoying, causing him to have to file them on things like trees, and the demonic variety of feline demon scratchboards. Although, he is still a little confused by your interest in his feet. They're quite large and digitigrade (and they also have paw pads just like his hands), so you often tell him it's just because his feet and lower legs are just so different from a human's, so you get curious about them. 

Your attention, though, is most commonly on his ears and tail. They're both large and fluffy, spotted with jaguar markings like his body, even if colored differently than a normal jaguar, and you seem to be quite obsessed with them. It's a very normal occurrence when the two of you are sitting together for your hands to either be gently stroking his ears or gently stroking his tail, running your hands through its thick fur. Sometimes he's started teasing you a bit, much to your chagrin, twitching his ears or his tail just out of your grasp before you can get to them, and he can't help but chuckle at your annoyed sounds from his actions. Of course, you also always get excited about his purring. Whenever he gets content the deep, low rumble of his purr starts flowing out naturally, and while it shocked you at first (as it sounds much more demonic than any normal cat purr), you've come to love the sound of it, getting excited because you know he's truly content and happy. 

You've even become accustomed to the sound of his growling (a growl I've said sounds so scary it can even give Slender a fright), and while he wishes for your own safety that you would also fear the sound of his growls, he can't help but have a warm feeling in his chest that you're the first person to truly never be scared of him. The major thing he wishes you'd be more careful with is his fangs. They naturally protrude out of his mouth, resting on his lower lip, but when he goes an extended period without feeding and grows hungrier and hungrier, they grow longer and sharper, and can be quite dangerous. You do always make sure to be careful with them when you're touching them intentionally or kissing him, but he always gets nervous that one day you'll hurt yourself on them. At the end of the day, though, it gives him a deep, deep happiness that you're not scared of any of his traits, and that you find everything about him to be so cute and lovable. It's something he's not used to, and he finds himself incredibly grateful for it. It allows him to fully relax around you and just be himself, and he always makes sure you know how much he appreciates that fact, always cuddling up to you and getting incredibly affectionate. You're the only person in the world who gets to see that side of him, after all, so he hopes you enjoy and appreciate it, and you always assure him that you do and that you also couldn't be any happier.

[bellaxgiornata]

This is sort of a headcanon one but also a bit like the title one too I guess?

I’m curious how Matt and reader (from whichever of your stories you think fits best) would react getting back to find a raccoon has gotten into some alcohol and they now have a random drunk raccoon in their apartment?

Honestly I have no explanation for why I’m asking this, I just thought it would be hilarious to find out how they would react. I also have no idea if alcohol harms raccoons but for the purpose of fun, let’s assume the raccoon is completely unharmed, just intoxicated

(Yeah idk 😂. Have fun figuring this one out)

I am so sorry for the delayed response to this one (and the others I still have from my follower celebration, which I promise I will get to them all at some point, I have not forgotten)!

I've also been internally dying every time I read this one because it screams FFTD Matt and Reader. Like, I have no idea how a raccoon makes it up to the sixth floor of an apartment in Hell's Kitchen, but I don't care because I love this so let's go with it!

Headcannon is below the cut as usual!

Matt and Reader are coming home from a night at Josie's where they'd been drinking with their friends. Both of them definitely have had a couple of drinks and are feeling a little buzzed.

The entire way up the elevator to their floor, Matt is being a little handsy and whispering his usual flirty comments into Reader's ear. Her body's reaction to him as per usual is further riling Matt up.

But when they finally step into the apartment, Matt sobers up a little bit because he notices something is off. Something doesn't smell right and he hears noises that don't appear to be coming from where Mittens is sitting in his cat tree.

Reader immediately catches onto the way his demeanor has changed and asks him what's going on, but he only holds up a hand to quiet her and whispers, "Stay here."

Matt gradually makes his way down the entry hall, his head shifting back and forth as he tries to focus his inebriated senses on whatever is happening.

Eventually he stops by the leather couch, a look of sheer confusion on his face that Reader can see from the bright light of the billboard across the street.

When she asks what's going on, Matt slowly replies, "I...think there's a raccoon in the kitchen. And it-" he stops to audibly sniff, "-smells like it's gotten into the beer."

Completely shocked, Reader cautiously hurries down the hall over to Matt in the living room, flipping on the lights as she goes. She spots Mittens in the top of his cat tree by the window first, noticing how he's sitting pin straight with his ears back and focused on something in the kitchen.

When she slowly turns to follow both Matt and Mittens' gaze, she spots a chubby raccoon sitting on the kitchen counter and partially leaning against the opened jar of trail mix she just made yesterday for Matt, looking as if he's struggling to hold himself upright. On the floor in front of the fridge, there are two empty bottles of beer.

"Oh no," Reader mutters, which immediately has Matt asking what's going on. "He definitely drank some of your beer, Matt. And he's--he's eating your trail mix..."

Matt's expression immediately changes to something dark and serious. "I'm sorry, he's eating my what?"

Before Reader can respond, Matt's hands are on her shoulders and he's ushering her back away from the kitchen. "Take Mittens," Matt orders her, "and get in the bedroom. Let me deal with this."

"What're you going to do?" Reader asks, scrambling to grab a confused Mittens out of the cat tree.

"I'm getting that thing out of here and saving my trail mix," he answers, heading over towards the closet with his suit.

"Matt," Reader says, eyes going wide as she backs into the bedroom with Mittens in her arms, "please tell me you're not about to beat up the poor drunk raccoon for eating your trail mix."

Matt stops in front of his steamer trunk and glances back towards Reader and Mittens, a scandalized look on his face. "Of course not, but I'm also not about to approach a drunk raccoon without any sort of protection on. I'm not crazy."

Reader slips into the bedroom with Mittens in her arms, sliding the door shut after herself as she shakes her head, whispering under her breath, "So help any man, woman, or drunk raccoon that gets between the Devil and his trail mix."

"I heard that!" Matt shouts back.

Moral of the story, don't touch Matty's trail mix. He'd even fight a drunk raccoon for it--and honestly, I'd love to see an inebriated Daredevil wrestle a drunk raccoon away from his trail mix and out of the roof access door. Though...I'm not sure how clean that jar of trail mix would be now after tiny little raccoon hands were all up in it...

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Docktown, Minrathous (in the daytime, in contrast with the gameplay reveal video), reminding us that Minrathous is built on an island. maybe the magic-monorail-looking bridge here is actually the single bridge that goes to Minrathous, like in the lore?

Docktown is the home of Neve. the distinctive floating building is in the distance again. compared to Ferelden, the buildings in Minrathous are like another planet entirely! Tevene architecture/design is so hostile - spikes on chairs, spikes on the sides of buildings.. I wonder if the doorway here is the entrance to the tavern/bar here [second image]. if you look in the window to the left of the door, the figure on the right could be the 'bouncer' at the top of the steps in the bar image. also, outside of here are tables and barrels, like you might expect outside a tavern establishment.

I'm curious about the heraldry of the boat in the harbor with the blue unfurled flags. it reminds me a bit of this Fereldan heraldry, but the animals are the wrong way round and it isn't quite right. either way, the heraldic animal is also present as the prow of that boat and one other.

Elf Rook (either City or Dalish but without vallaslin applied in CC), Emmrich and Harding. Rook is a sword-and-shield warrior here, Veilguard symbol on their chest plate, Warden symbol on their shield. Maybe this Rook has the Grey Warden background? anyways, looking closely at Rook's chest plate here, with the gray metal armor, the purple Veilguard symbol on the left, the 'bandolier' of three brown leather pouches across their chest, and the diagonal lines on the plate going the other way, it looks like maybe this Rook is wearing the same 'iconic[?] Rook outfit' as in the key art, or at least the torso piece. They both also have the metal shoulder plates, purple fabric over the elbow area, brown leather gauntlet etc. It's just that in this screenshot Rook isn't wearing a helmet/hood (or has them toggled off in the Options menu? ^^). anyways, I love that purple seems to be the 'iconic[?]' color for Rook, and also look at how this long-haired Rook's hair flows and sits around their neck and shoulders! and again the detailing is cool, like scratches on the shield and stuff.

Harding's arrow is glowing. Is her bow or arrow enchanted or have some kind of stat buff, or could this be an example of her magical powers in action, like her tarot card art might suggest? also, we can see from the tall skeleton/undead statues in the background and the skull-lid vases in the foreground that this shot is from the Necropolis.

The groupshot at HQ is so [cat crying screaming].. 🥺🥺 I love it so much, with the round table it has like Knights of the Round Table vibes or something and it's so nice to see everyone together and in their casual outfits too. I hope there are lots of moments like this in the game. ^^ Davrin is whittling wood, something that reminds me of Halsin and my Inquisitor (who is Dalish, and also had that hobby). Did some people.. bring their chair of choice to the meeting room hh? Davrin's looks like it was carved from a tree stump. Harding and Neve have a comfy sofa. Emmrich's looks kind of gothic and Nevarran. Taash's stool [?] is gold and practical-looking.

Taash looks so bored hhh. here we can see Bellara without her magical gauntlet. Do you think Manfred and Assan come to the team meetings..? :D Lucanis has impeccable tailoring, with lil bird-skull looking buttons at his collar. he's buttoned right up and professional looking even in his casual downtime, even when some of the others are the opposite. unsurprisingly his casual clothes have that blue-black corvid feather sheen. surely he has coffee in his mug. ^^ I wonder what Neve's drink of choice is though? from the way Lucanis leans here, do you think Lucanis and Emmrich is one of the companion-companion relationships that might develop like Taash and Harding?

Harding looks so cute and cozy on the couch with the cushion and her slippers, I can't take it. and I really love Neve's casual look with her scarf and hair like that!!

I think this scene is probably from the Lighthouse. Game Informer mentioned that it had a library, which is the central area of the The Lighthouse, and that it's there the party will often regroup and prepare for what’s next. Could this be one of those moments in there? ^^ in the background are stacks of books, and books on shelves, like a library would have. on the table is an assortment of scrolls, maps, papers. you can see a feather quill pen and red wax seals. having the maps in front of Davrin, a Warden and monster-hunter who has probably travelled far and quite a lot, is a nice touch. some of the books look quite ornate and arcane-ish, and are there a few of the 'Bellara'-style triangles on the table as well? and what do you suppose is the blue diamond-looking thing with white veins on the table?

(I'm also curious what the golden thing in the top right is.)

we can tell from the way it looks but we also know from a file name that this is the Rivain Coast. it's beautiful, it looks so bright and hot, the water is so blue. we first saw this locale in the Thedas Calls trailer from Dragon Age Day 2023. again, in the distance, we can see that statue.

From a file name, this is Arlathan Forest. everything is suffused in soft golden light, almost whimsical and Fable-like the Game Informer piece said. this shot is framed with those familiar trees with orange foliage e.g one, two, three. this place reminds me of some of the elvhen ruins we got to see in Trespasser. in the top right is green Veil/Fade shenanigans. a place where the Veil is weak, or the edge of this particular Veil bubble? past the wall of green it looks like some of the buildings are broken thanks to the warping, and there are floating rocks.

and look closely at some of the assets -

there's an owl, which are associated with Falon'Din and Andruil. lots of those howling Fen'Harel wolf statues. they look just like they do in DA:I (I don't mean that they look bad graphically or old or anything, just that the details are the same!!) which is awesome for consistency (also cool to see these return, so many of the art assets in DA:I were rly cool), and might even be the same assets being re-used (which is sensible and sensical for game design, something Mark Darrah talked about before). nb, just in case, I'm not saying this as a comment against asset re-use, it makes sense to do and I was excited to see these DA:I or DA:I-style ones in these caps!

[marlynnofmany]

Starseed Apples

“Here you go,” I said, putting down the last box. “Uncut fabric, plumbing supplies, and three cases with a fungus biohazard label. Do I even want to know what’s in those?” I cast a curious look at my fellow human as I handed over the signing pad. She was shorter and rounder than I was, dressed in a crisp uniform of a type I didn’t recognize. Big pockets everywhere.

She signed with a wry grin. “Those are dirt.”

“Dirt?” I repeated, looking around the admittedly spotless loading dock of this particular space station. “Dirt warrants a biohazard here?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she said, handing the pad back. “Organic mulch that could contain anything from decomposed animals to fungus to poop? With uncountable amounts of bacterial life and potential germs? We’re lucky they only focused on the mold aspect!”

“Hm, good point,” I said.

Zhee, who was busy moving boxes off the hover sled, muttered something disparaging. I expected him to complain about how gross it all was, since he was always the first to point out when humans did something to offend his bug-alien sensibilities, but it sounded like he was griping about the strict station rules this time.

The human continued. “We have to keep a clean room between the greenhouse area and everything else. Even there, most things are in pots. We’ve got a great crop from Johnny Starseed right now!”

I’d heard that name before. “Oh, was he the one who sells little potted—”

“Apple trees, yeah,” she said. “Tiny and convenient, but they make an impressive number of apples as long as you feed ‘em quality dirt.” She bent down to pat a box.

Zhee finished freeing the sled. “Reasonable business plan,” he said, sounding almost complimentary.

“The guy named himself after Johnny Appleseed,” I told Zhee. “A human from centuries ago who got famous for traveling around and setting up apple orchards on Earth. Everybody likes a guy who brings food wherever he goes. And drink — I think some of those apples were supposed to be the cider variety.”

Zhee flicked his antennae. “Sounds like a very human thing to do,” he said drily.

“Have you tried the Starseed Reds?” the other human asked. “They’re very good.”

“No I haven’t, but I’d like to!” I said. “I’ve heard good things. I was kind of hoping to cross paths with him at some point. I wouldn’t mind a tiny apple tree in my quarters. Of course, the cat might get at it, and I’d probably have to find a grow lamp…”

She opened a boxy hip pocket, and pulled out the shiniest red apple I’d seen in a while. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” I said, taking it eagerly. “That’s very generous!”

She waved it off. “Like I said, we’ve got a big crop. And I’ve got a different one that I’m saving for when I get off shift.” From another pocket, she produced a red apple with distinct orange stripes. “Which should be as soon as I get the supplies back to base.”

I laughed. “Is that the booze kind? I didn’t think those were real!”

“Oh yes,” she said with relish, putting it back in the pocket. “Starseed Cider Apples, no fermenting required!”

Zhee cocked his head, faceted eyes looking at both of us. “Poisonous apples?”

“Alcoholic apples,” I corrected, knowing full well that he considered that to be the same thing.

Zhee pushed the hover cart back toward the ship with a dramatic head tilt and antennae swirl. “Now that sounds like a human thing to do.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” I said with a smile. I thanked the other human and followed him, taking a bite of my non-alcoholic apple. It really was good.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Six

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV

a/n: so we are in for another heavy sitting. as always, my goal is always truth, nothing gratuitous, but honest. my DMs are always open, I'd love to hear what you're thinking about this one.

..........................................

Step into the light poor Lazarus

Don't lie alone behind the window shade

Let me see the mark death made

I dream a highway back to you

I dream a highway - Gillian Welch

.........................................

Where does the thaw begin? It is always gradual. Always give and take. Taking tentative, preening steps out into the sun one day, only to be snapped back into place by a sudden snarl of cold the next. But eventually, that perpetual dull thrum of white starts to melt. The streams in the mountains swirl and slurry up with it, a froth of life that churns down into the rivers that run a faint thread along the highway. Boulders will be moved,  small trees uprooted, a whole new season breeding activity. The landscape rearranged, reconfigured until eventually, settling, eventually, green.

The flock is certainly happy for it, proud and relieved bleats, their heads tossed back in the clear, cool morning air. The two newest members of the group are still getting their legs under them, a little uncertain in maneuvering around the remaining slush, quick clipped jumps and jolts to catch up with their mother. And Dove is never far behind these days. Not even Dolores in his mind any more. Dove, Dovey, Dovey-girl whenever they go down to the bar and she’s beating him or John at darts. 

Punch and Judy might like her just as much as they like their mother, necking and nuzzling up against her shins like cats, contented sounds whenever she greets them in the morning. Joel tends to hang back, letting her make her rounds, inarguably the favorite of both flock and feather. A gift, bells of laughter and the bright glint of her smile, even when she catches his eyes from across the field, like maybe it could be for him too.  And then he remembers that is it for him too, because she always comes back, always comes to him with her eyes squinting into the sun and her smile slanting with the scrunch of her nose.

“They’re getting bigger everyday.” He thinks to himself that he wishes she wouldn’t remind him. Time has a way of getting parceled and pinched out here. Secret time, stolen time, no one paying much attention to time. How long has it been? Counting months in his  mind as they make breakfast. He figures nine by the time they sit down. So much time. Time he has been greedy with. Enough of it that she may no longer need to stay. Or may no longer want to. He winces into his mug, small, sharp hurt that he is all too familiar with. Doubt makes him sulk, makes him slump. But then she always does something like she does right now. Touching just to touch. Something curious about it, like she is still unsure if she is allowed to, like this is not something she has had before now. Careful fingers curling around his wrist from across the table, coaxing his palm up to the ceiling so she can press her hand flat against his. He can feel her pulse where the pads of his fingers rest against the soft inside of her wrist, steady, with the occasional stutter. 

“Do you want to go tonight?” 

“If you do, yes.” Who says what, it doesn’t matter. Call and response goes both ways for them. If you do, then I do, and if I do, then you do. 

“We don’t have to stay long.” Always giving her an out. She curls her hand around his.

“You just don’t want to lose at darts again.”

“You always win.” 

“Don’t be a poor sport about it, I won’t want to play with you any more.”

“Hey.” That smile is for him, no question. 

…

It isn’t often that Joel gets anything in the post. There is a mailbox at the end of the dirt road leading to the house. It has a large dent in its side, and has since he bought the place, near impossible to pry open. The mailman’s frustration with it is clear in how the lid is now hanging off its hinges, some sort of envelope, thick and obvious, sticking out of it as they drive home in the afternoon. 

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t expecting anything.” But he knows exactly what it is when he opens it, the knife he used to slice through the top of the padded envelope clattering onto the dining table when he pulls out a thick stack of documents from inside. 

On top is a birth certificate. A hospital in Lincoln, Nebraska, and the first name is Dolores. And he shouldn’t, but she’s still toeing out of her shoes and hanging up her coat, so he quickly thumbs through the rest. A packet, and he recognizes what it is immediately. All those years ago, with Sarah’s mom, he got a packet that looked just like this. Divorce papers. 

“Joel?” It startles him, and he knows he’s been caught, quietly setting the stack of papers down on the table, not quite able to meet her gaze.

“Those are for you.” He can’t watch, only catching a glimpse of the way her brow pulls down, a slight frown as she pads around the side of the table to get a better look. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t pick them up, just drags her hand across them to fan the papers out on the table. And it’s a posture he hasn’t seen from her in a long time, the way she curls her arm back into herself, everything shutting and shuttering up tight and small. No, he can’t watch, but he can’t walk away either, shifting in his boots, his eyes landing on her only to flit away fast. She’s not moving, and he’s not sure if she’s even breathing, it’s that silent, save for the soft creak of the floorboards with his anxious shuffling. 

“Do you have a pen?” It takes him a breath to realize that she’s asking him, and then he sets himself into stuttering motion. His hands feel too big, too shaky as he fumbles through the junk drawer in the kitchen, though something has changed in Dove, her shoulders straightened and smoothed out when she takes the pen he offers her. She hunches over the table, squinting through each page, a quick flurry of signatures that he knows she shouldn’t be dashing down so fast. But there’s no stopping her. Rampage and war path all in one, she huffs when she gets to the end of the packet, pinning the whole stack down with the pen and stepping back from the table like she escaped from something just in time. 

“When do you want to leave for the bar?” She asks it light as air, a strange rolling back of her shoulders, her eyes settling somewhere just past him, not quite meeting him. He has to gather himself before he answers, stunned, and a little spooked, if he’s being honest. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

“What does that mean?” All edge and ice, his stomach lurches quick and awful at this new thing, this very new, very frightening thing that she seems to be doing.

“Nothing, Dove, it doesn’t mean anything. But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.” 

“Okay.”

Dinner is tight and silent as a fist. Neither of them looking at the other. She pushes the food around her plate, though he’s not sure if any of it actually gets eaten. And he can feel his own frustration mounting, that urge to get just a little big, and a little loud, to tell her no, to put his foot down, to stop whatever this is. But he knows that whatever this is, no matter how mean she makes it look, it is a hurting thing. 

So they go to the bar, and he lists at the periphery of the small crowd, making meaningless conversation with Rod about the weather while he keeps the lion’s share of his attention on Dove. 

She doesn’t like to drink, not usually. Most of the time, she’ll politely sip down half a beer, promptly handing it to Joel for him to finish. But tonight, she has already lined up three tidily finished bottles on the table next to where she’s playing darts with John, and while everyone else is jovial, enthused and amused by this sudden outgoing shift in her demeanor, all Joel feels is a nervous stutter in his chest. 

He watches, quietly and carefully, until he cannot stop himself from stepping in any longer. It’s quick, the way she stumbles back into a table, sending a few bottles rolling over onto the floor before John can hook a steady arm around her shoulders. It’s enough to get Joel moving. 

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” 

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” It’s slurred and stilted, a garish mimicry of his voice that she punctuates with a hiccup and a fragment of a laugh, still slightly swaying from her hold on John’s arm. And when Joel reaches for her, a murmured please, Dove, pain wraps itself around his heart, an awful throb of it, when she jerks her arm away from him, stumbling over her feet and in turn nearly causing John to lose his balance. She is mean like this, he realizes, meanness that he didn’t know she was capable of. A hot scoff and an I’m fine sharp from the back of her throat, steeling herself away from John and holding onto a table to steady her shake.  Joel swallows around heat and sickness in his throat watching the broken sigh that curls in her shoulder blades. Not mean, after all, but hurting. 

“Yeah, I’d say so. I think Dovey-girl here had a little too much fun tonight.” He knows it’s John’s weak attempt to smooth whatever tension seems to be hissing. Right, fun. Joel tries for what he can of a smile, though it’s more grimace than anything else, quietly coaxing an arm around Dove’s waist, not even sparing John a second glance as he shuffles them out of the bar and into the quick snap of cool night air. 

She’s laughing, her head thrown back on her neck, lolled to the side. And it isn’t the laugh he has gotten used to. It’s a bitter thing, an ugly thing, mingling and mixing with that broken rasp of hers. A miracle that he can get her into the car. Usually so tentative with touch, her hands are everywhere, skittering up his chest, tugging in his hair, pulling at his coat, his belt, all while slurring soft iterations of his name. He feels like he’s going to throw up. And maybe it’s a little mean, the way he collects both her wrists in one broad palm and tucks them pointedly in her lap. For a moment she stills, a tremble in her lip that he thinks is threatening tears, but then she tilts her head back in another sharp giggle, distracted enough with her own unraveling that he can shut the passenger-side door and hurry around to his side of the car. 

The roads are dark, the mountains the faintest purple shadow in the distance. He rolls all the windows down, hoping that the swift whip of wind might help sober her up. She’s silent in the passenger seat, but he can feel her heavy stare, her cheek dropped down to her shoulder to look at him. 

“Joel.” Lilting and long, a little sing-songy call of his name, Jooooel. He doesn’t indulge it with any attention, keeps his eyes focused on the road getting eaten up by headlights in front of them. But she doesn’t abide by that for long. He tries to shake it off at first, jostling his knee like that might make her take her hand away. A quiet don’t, do not, Dove, when her palm starts to skirt higher, curling around his thigh.  And it becomes too much so suddenly, so quickly. 

“Godfuckingdamnit!” 

In a blink, in the time it took for her hand to brush against the in-seam of his jeans, he has driven them off the road and into the soft, new grass on the side of the highway. He has gotten loud, and he has gotten big, shoulders hulking up toward his ears as his eyes flash, frenzied, over to her. And she has gotten small again, pressed back against the passenger-side door, silent and unblinking. He has scared her. But she has scared him as well. 

Neither of them say a thing. He allows himself two deep breaths, and then he guides the car back onto the road. 

She is still, subdued, and when he finally parks in front of the house, he realizes that she has fallen asleep, her lips parted and her head tilted back. He had hoped that she wouldn’t, but she stirs when he opens the passenger door, an indignant sound in the back of her throat as he unbuckles her seatbelt for her. He moves to take his hand away, but she catches his wrist, a weak hold that he doesn’t resist. 

At first, he cannot understand what she’s saying, something mumbled and murmured, her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. She says it once, twice, and it starts to become clearer. You, me, you don’t, me, you don’t want me. 

“That’s not true, Dove.” She sighs, running her thumb over his knuckles, her weepy eyes flickering up to his beneath her brow. And it’s terrible, tearing something open inside of him when she tries to lean forward, tries to pull him closer, tries again. Terrible that he has to press a hand to her shoulder to keep her from doing something that she will surely regret. Something he doesn’t know if she would even want, if not for the haze she is in. Maybe the most terrible part of it, actually. 

And then that same chorus. You don’t want me, want me, want me, you don’t want me. And he could laugh, and he could cry, because all he has been doing is wanting her, and trying to stop himself from wanting her. 

“Not like this.” He says it so quiet, he doesn’t know if she hears it, listing somewhere between consciousness and sleep. If she does, she shows no sign of acknowledging it, just letting out a long string of sighs as he helps her out of the car and into the house. 

Her face is tucked into the side of his neck, blowing hot breath against his skin as he makes the awkward stumble up the stairs with her clinging under his arm. He manages to get her shoes off, and her coat, which once was his, but has been hers for a while now. It’s silent, save for her quiet murmurs of protest to any movement, eyes scrunched shut as he coaxes her under the covers. All she offers is one more sigh of his name, like penance or prayer, before she slips back under merciful sleep’s thumb. 

Joel doesn’t get into bed with her. He can’t. He knows that he can’t, not right now. So instead, he sits down on the floor with a quiet groan, letting his back rest against the wall across from the bed, his head tipping back, like maybe there might be some sort of answer in the vertical.

There is no answer.

…

The difference between grief and mourning is noun and verb. Grief, the thing, and mourning, what you do with it. Never pretty, never perfect, never graceful, or gracious, any of it. 

When Sarah was in middle school she went through a phase of being interested in the paranormal, in death, and what might come after it. Every night, Joel would come home and find her on the couch, watching the same show in which people recounted all their various and supposed hauntings. It had worried him at the time, going to his mother, even to Tommy, asking them if they thought it was strange. It would pass, the advice he received from everyone around him. Being young, it’s natural to wonder if and when the time for all of that to end will come. So when he would come home at night, he would wordlessly join her, somewhere between awake and asleep, half-listening to the television. But now, he remembers something that was said through the thick static of cable. Unfinished business, right, hauntings happen when patterns must be returned to and repeated. Phantom figments playing out all that was left unsaid, undone. 

What happened last night had nothing to do with him. He is pretty certain it could have been anyone sitting in the driver’s seat alongside her. All that Dove needed was a willing participant, a captive cast member, to enact a haunting of her own, to close some gap, stitching some snapped thread in her mind. No, nothing to do with him, nothing at all. 

At some point, sleep caught him, slumped to the side, a sharp pain in his neck when he wakes up, still seated on the floor. Dove isn’t in bed, a rumple of sheets where she had been laying. He’s too tired for that quick pulse of panic to fan into any real flame, but he does consider it. That maybe this is what leaving looks like. 

But no, he stumbles out onto the porch, hurting with how bright it is, no. She is out there with the flock, still in her clothes from last night. He can only see her back with the way she is sitting in the field, spine curled over and into itself. 

Shame settles thick and toothsome in his gut, though why he isn’t sure, anxious and awkward in how he comes to stand just in her periphery, letting presence be known, but not needed. She is crying. 

“I am so sorry, Joel.” She says it plainly, voice flat and distant. And he isn’t going to say that it’s alright, because they both know that whatever that was, nothing about it was right. Purposeful, but not intended for pain. When cornered, a wounded animal will lash out against anything that moves, innocent or arbiter. 

“I know you are, Dove.” When he takes a step closer to her, Avril lets out an indignant bleat from where she is watching a few paces away, part of her flock, a warning that she will do more if she does not like what she sees. Under any other circumstances, Joel would roll his eyes at the animal, ridiculous, but today it keeps him at a distance, sitting down far enough from Dove that he could not reach for her if he tried. And he would like nothing more than to reach for her, to forget what happened last night, to go back to the way things were. A stupid wish, a childish wish, one that cannot be made real. 

“I don’t ever want to be like that again.” 

“You aren’t like that.” And he means it. That wasn’t her, not the present her. A ghost somewhere inside of her that found its way to the surface, breaking beneath her skin. 

“I understand if you want me to leave.”

“I don’t.”

“I was awful to you.” He doesn’t speak at first. Because yes, it was awful. An awful thing that makes him feel sick now even thinking of it. And awful too, that he knows he would forgive her of anything. Already forgiving this. 

Punch comes wobbling up to her, taking the laces of her boots in her mouth before snuffling up her leg, nosing under Dove’s palm, intent on affection that she is so willing to give. Maybe they have let these girls get too domestic, a little too comfortable with humans, but he doesn’t care, watching a watery smile try to spread across Dove’s lips as she scratches behind the lamb’s ears. 

“How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts, but I deserve it.” No, he thinks, none of this has been deserved. A strange cascade of poison. Cause and terrible effect. 

When he reaches for her, Avril abides, plodding away, if not a little indignant. He takes up her hand in his, and though ligament and lines remain limp, she lets him, still not looking at him, but letting him. 

“I am so sorry.”

“I know you are.” 

…

He takes care of it for her. Seals the packet of paperwork back in the envelope and writes the requisite address on the front, tucks the whole thing in the backseat of the truck. And they move like careful planets, still in orbit, but trying hard not to touch, to linger. 

The first thing he does after dropping her off at the diner is go to the post office, though he thinks twice of it. Reopens the envelope in the driver’s seat  for the third time now and reads through the whole thing, every condition, every clause. A clean break seems to be the sum of it, nothing glaring to any of it. So he closes the envelope one more time, and posts it back to Nebraska. 

It’s a wordless communication, the way she turns in the passenger seat to check for it when he picks her up in the afternoon, settling back when she sees that it is gone. Still smarting, both of them, they move carefully through their usual errands, the grocery and the library, the drugstore for a new bottle of Advil for her. 

Her voice has gotten worse over the months, since what happened in November. The word that she uses for it, not what he would call it, worse. Usually the hardest to hear her in the mornings, words cracking into whispers or suddenly stuttering up a pitch. He knows it upsets her, how she will quickly close her mouth mid-thought, lips pressed in a thin line like she couldn’t stand for any more of that sound to come out. He brought up the idea of taking her to see a doctor in Denver once, and she had scoffed, the whites of her eyes showing with their roll because no insurance, and what money she has, set aside for a different problem entirely. She hadn’t let him even begin to say that he would help her cover it. 

Today, it is particularly bad. Not in how it sounds, at least not to him, but in how it is clearly painful for her to speak, wincing around the few things she does say, the menial mundane things of errands, clearing her throat in between each response, a hand curled and hovering over the front of her neck, not touching, but sensing something that has seemed to change permanently. 

Maybe the alcohol, he thinks, the abrasive slip of it down her throat. Or maybe the fact of loud, the loudest he had ever heard her, those clipped laughs. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever it is, he can see her frustration mounting with it, until finally, she sits with a terse crease in her brow and her lips kept in a stoic pinch on the drive back home. Betrayed by her own voice, in more ways than one. 

The only thing she does say, once the groceries are put away and Joel is preparing to help her make dinner, a rattling rasp, I’ll do it. A wave of her hands, away and behind her, and he won’t argue, worried she might cry if she has to speak any more. 

Disappointed that it’s him and not her doing the evening rounds, the sheep are at best tolerant of his care, keeping a dignified distance as he fills their water troughs and checks on the lambs. The chickens are less loyal, and more stupid, he thinks to himself, but even they seem a bit jaded when he is the one that shuts the coop for the night. 

The house is warm when he comes back inside, windows spilling syrup into the oncoming night. It smells good, salt and savor, something simmering on the stove. A strange contrast, the inherent life that a kitchen suggests, and the solemn way she is moving around it. Recompense, remorse, heavy things pulling at her shoulders, curling her smaller over pots and pans.

“This looks good, Dove, thank you.” She nods, passing him a full plate, warmth seeping into his palms from the bottom of it. But when they both sit down, he recognizes it immediately, so many steps back. Her hands are in her lap, and he already knows that she’s waiting for him to start. Doing that thing again, and he can do it too. Fork and knife remain untouched, he sits back in his chair, a small challenge. Maybe ten minutes pass like that, the steam from their plates long dissolved into the air, when she finally looks up at him, frustration clear in the pull of her brow. 

Something that she learned. Something that was taught to her, just like all the rest of her fear. Back when she first came to stay with him, she was always apologizing, always thanking. And the cooking, and the waiting for him to start before she would even consider her plate. Like punishment, like always being aware of some score, and afraid of what might happen if she does not balance it. And he’s watching her sink back into it, all of it, right now.

“Dove, please.” She blinks at him, a slack frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“You should eat, Joel.” She puts every ounce of sound she can behind it, and it still comes out quiet, a quick burst of decibel on eat, like her voice tried to kick up in her chest just enough to end on a good note, though his name comes out the softest of all of it, a whisper that seems to hurt. 

“So should you.” 

“I will.” 

“Now, please.” 

“I feel terrible.” And he knows that she isn’t talking about her lingering headache, not even the pain in her throat. He knows that she has probably been exacting perfect retribution on herself in her mind, all day. She looks miserable, because she has made herself miserable with guilt that has festered into shame.

“I forgive you, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flicker, so small he might have imagined it. But no, something shifts behind her grimace, and he realizes that he might be wrong, that there had been some truth to her want last night. A want that she doesn’t know how to manage, a want that she doesn’t know what to do with. A want like his. 

“I don’t know how to, Joel.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“I don’t think I can stand it.”

“What can’t you stand?” 

“For you to not–” She cuts herself off, a sharp breath that threatens tears. But he knows it’s the same thing he’s afraid of that she is speaking to. Want can be so violent, so rash, so wicked and wretched in how big and bold and blustering it can get. But really, it is a child, hoping that someone will hold its hand, hoping, for once, that someone will walk it home, see it through the night. 

“It’s the same for me, Dove. I can’t stand it either.” 

On her terms, the only way this will ever work, he offers a quiet come here, please, pushes out his chair from the table, and waits for her to respond, to react. And yes, it takes time, but eventually, she does. 

“Warm.” Said to herself, maybe not meant to be said at all, her eyes intent on where her palm splays over his chest. He places his hand over hers, keeping it there. 

There is no one around for a good few miles, but here is what the coyotes see in the yellow drip of light coming from the kitchen windows. A man, sitting in a chair pushed back from a dining table, and a woman, standing between his legs, her hand on his chest, and his hand on her hand. And they are not smiling, neither of them, and they are not speaking either. They are looking at each other. The man places his other hand on the woman’s waist, and he gives her a small nod, a making sure, making okay. The woman nods too, and she lets her other hand settle along the man’s jaw. 

But people are very boring to coyotes, especially broken ones like these, so they do not stick around to see the rest, skittering off with a chorus of yips and clackering sounds, seeking their own small satisfactions. 

No, the coyotes do not see when the woman carefully dips her face down, nor do they see the man tilt his chin up in answer. And the coyotes certainly do not see the small, shivering kiss that is over as soon as it starts. Two shadows turning into one, and only the smallest sliver of light between them when they separate again. 

The coyotes have much more interesting matters to tend to than such human things. After all, spring has finally come to the mountains.

..............................

taglist: @cassiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @narxisus

[morbus-mlm]

Gravity Falls Headcanons/Things I Think About Often (Cont.)

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- Blubs & Durland got married on the 2nd anniversary of Weirdmageddon. They picked that day specifically so instead of tragedy, it's their love that's focused on.

- the Manotaurs find the Several Timez boys and raise them, make sure they get proper care (look i really don't want them to do some weird genetic freak shit)

- after being on the Stan O' War II, Stan starts drawing again. He & Ford try to learn from each other and draw in each other’s styles.

- Stan is a canonical erotic fiction writer. He has self published work and sold it on amazon. He also uses Ao3,

- Mabel and Dipper would try & help Ford catch up on new music like they try to do with Stan, it goes about as well as you would expect

- Fiddleford & Tate have father-son bonding, Fidd finally teaches his son the banjo like he said he would when he was younger

- You know how McGucket reads at the library to kids. I feel like he works there, doing something like archival while working on his inventions on the side

- When the grunkles get back home from their adventuring on the Stan O’ War II, Ford asks about the Axolotl. Stan says that it just appears sometimes, & has been doing so since he's lived in the house.

- Ford thinks that it's Frilliam (he's right).

- in Lost Legends Dipper recives a new journal with his pine tree hat mark on it. it functions like his own diary rather than a super scientific, documentation thing like the journals did

- the twins do a lot of research & work to make sure Waddles gets properly taken care of in suburban California, he lives the good life

- Mabel learns boxing with Stan, Dipper learns forensics from Ford

- Giffany develops romantic feelings for Hatsune Miku

— Bill is an unreliable narrator. I feel like some aspects of his story are either made up or half-truths. He isn't exactly a master manipulator for example. Bill's just a being that utilized Ford's pride and insecurity to get what he wanted.

— Tambry feels like a creepypasta girlie. She wrote her own in the 2010s & she's actually pretty good with horror writing.

— Manly Dan and Mayor Tyler are at the very least besties. these guys hang out, watch wrestling, drink at bars together, they are each other's hypeman.

— Soos got McGucket into anime, Ford hears what anime is like through him and is honestly a bit confused

— the Pines family during one summer went to disneyland for a week. within 2 days they have killed walt disney's disembodied cryogenically frozen head, stolen some of the pyrotechnics, pet all of the stray cats, and ate the strange pickledog

— Mabel would introduce her family to it, Dipper would be confused and curious but not want it. Stan would buy it for Mabel but not eat any himself, and Ford would be just as curious Mabel and eat one.

— Robbie starts working hospitality at his parent's mortuary. He still has his attitude but overall, hes more mellowed out than before.

— in their elder teens Mabel, Candy, and Grenda become kpop fans. I say this because oh my god would they all love doing the dances, toploader decor, the lightsticks

— Stan's exes will sometimes visit the shack. In Eda's case it's to catch up, in Rick's case it's to either do karaoke or to get something from him. In the case of his biker ex Stan will just run him off the property because that man sucks.

— Mabel learns how to paint on leather to create a new design on stans old biker jacket. She does it because she notices that it makes him sad when he looks at it

— Once Mabel shows him what she did Stan just starts bawling in joy and pride. He wears it whenever he and Ford go on adventures.

— When Fidd visits the Mystery Shack, he will always gravitate towards Frilliam. Fidd and Ford can usually be found feeding him, changing the water in Frilliam's tank together, talking in front of him.

— Gideon has a twitter

— Soos is pretty business savy. He's really good at appealing to people online, he knows the trends but doesn't stick to them religiously, he maintains that work-life balance. He is the perfect man.

— Toby Determined x Tad Strange ???

— Multibear and Dipper do karaoke in front of the family, it doesn't matter how, I need them to do this

— Mabel, though she doesn't get visibly like, buff, does get super strong due to her practicing boxing and carrying waddles as he grows

— McGucket doesn’t really live in the mansion. He just really isn’t comfortable in there, + he prefers smaller spaces regardless. He has like, a trailer he lives in that actually serves as his home.

— all the windows of the shack get changed to circular ones or normal, square windows.

— Manly Dan is willing to do the work because he's wanted to punch that triangle ever since he saw it in Weirdmageddon

— Soos suggests full on question mark windows, the next best thing they would do is create question mark designs within rectangular/circular windows

— Ford and Stan sometimes donate what they find to museums. It's usually stuff neither would want in the house anyways

— like old ass art that isn't cursed, anything related to taxadermied heads (they can make their own, thanks), all false gold/money, wax figures

— neither Stan or Ford use hard labels for their sexualities, i feel like labels dont really connect with them specifically,

— Stan would go with unlabeled (he’s fine living life not knowing exactly what he is, he cares more about how he feels)

— Ford would use the word queer (reclaiming how he’s been labeled as odd as a good thing)

— aromantic Mabel, i feel like she would experiment a lot with labels before settling on it (girl likes the idea of love, just like me)

— trans Dipper. doesn't matter, they could be transmasc, transfem, genderqueer, agender, dipper is trans

— lumberjack lesbian Wendy, self explanatory

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Two

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: none (for now)

Ao3

Chapter One | Chapter Three

You learned that the garden is also where Orpheus goes to exchange books with Mister Joseph. The hunter and survivor sides of the manor have two different libraries. 

Every other week, he will either return a book or exchange a book for one from the hunters’ library.

Mister Joseph, the Photographer, is a very respectful man. Old for sure and has certain expectations for those who interact with him. You bow, call him ‘sir’, and he, in turn, treats you with respect. He is quite charming too! The sort of charming you study to write for a character in your story.

Currently, Nightmare is doing multiple matches this week so you won't be seeing him in the garden.

The spot in the manor you enjoy being in but are sharing the space with another usually is the living room. Frederick Kreiburg practices his pieces here. The man keeps to himself and you are too busy in your own world to bother him.

Like two cats in the same room.

Currently, the Composer is in a match leaving you in the living room full of silence save for the crackling of the fireplace. The door creaks open but you are too lost in this particular scene to notice.

“Hypnos.” Familiar rich baritone voice.

To say you have a crush on the person you admire does not seem odd to you, however, you do not expect him to like you back. Being realistic you both are on two different levels and social status.

He is well renowned while you are nobody…

Lifting your head and turning it to see Orpheus not far from you, “Good evening.” The door closed behind him, “Need something?” Curious as he crosses the room to sit beside you, his body turning towards you.

“I have an inquiry for you if you are inclined to answer.”

You place the pen inside of your notebook before closing it, “Okay.”

He smiles, a polite one that does not reach his eyes, “Seems you and my counterpart seem to be close.” The Novelist begins, “Going by the setting and his behavior, this has been going on for quite some time.”

“A few days! I think. We met by chance.” You add.

“Ah, I see.” He adjusts his monocle, “Interesting.”

“What about you and Mister Joseph? Don't you both enjoy each other's company? Talk about books and such?”

“No, we keep our interactions limited. Best to not establish bonds.”

“That sounds rather sad,” Not realizing the hint in his last sentence, “What if you read a really good book and he read it too? Wouldn't you want to share the joy?”

Twice he blinks before frowning, “This is not a social party, Hypnos.” Stern, “Such familiarity can cloud judgments and clouded judgments can cost us.”

You stare then finally it dawns on you the implications of his words, “He… You…” Trying to find the words.

“He is a hunter. There will come a time when you will face him. Then what will you do?” He takes your hand gently, “It will be painful to see someone you befriend attempting to harm you.”

This is true… Many of the survivors keep to themselves and if they seek out comfort it is momentarily. No one uses the hunter/survivor neutral areas because… Would anyone want to befriend a hunter?

Yet… It is lonely here. Even though all the survivors work together, party together, and gather together to meet a new survivor; they all have their own goals.

Orpheus included.

“I appreciate the worry but it is hard to think you are being sincere when I can't tell what your true intention is.” It is no secret that Orpheus hides his emotions well. His charm and demeanor are well practiced, like an actor built for a role. You pull your hand away uneasily, “Sorry.” And you truly are.

“Take it as advice. Whether you adhere to it is your choice.” He does not stay on the topic as you expected and his body language adjusts from formal to informal, relaxed. “Might I ask what you are writing of late?”

Maybe he is curious, or maybe he is trying to ease the tension he created, you do not think about it before you light up like a Christmas tree.

“It's a science fiction story!”

Orpheus listens to you ramble, naturally charmed as a fellow author, but it irks him. Or maybe it hurts him to see you are one of the survivors that are trusting. You so freely speak about your book without considering he could steal the idea. He has more pull than you and none would suspect him to be a thief unlike you who has not one book released.

Or rather, those that have been released are ghostwriting.

How does he know? Easy, one of the authors he had assisted with a promotion for had you ghostwriting for them. Little secrets spilled between many glasses of champagne.

“I asked Mister Balsa about the logistics. Tesla’s inventions are fascinating.”

Orpheus nods as you hold his attention.

“Mr. Orpheus, what inspired you?”

“Hm,” Pretending to think about it, “I could ask the same of you, Hypnos. Though you have said it is your name, its meaning is interesting.”

“Hypnos, god of sleep.” Was there something symbolic about it? There were strange symbols at times on the walls, Alice points out at times mysteries of the manor with no answers and mounting questions. “If you think I'm part of this game—!”

“Not all. It is an observation. All these people selected and promised, which leads to the question: what was promised to you?”

Everyone has secrets, a past, a reason to fight. Each has an agenda, and most have already spilled blood on their hands. Terrifying honestly.

“Nothing exciting…” Going quiet, “Sorry, I am not as exciting as the others.”

Orpheus does not push, things like this take time, and well, this manor gives plenty of it.

There are a few more idle conversations you have before heading off to lunch. Orpheus asks to accompany you if you would have him. 

Time flows, like water pouring out of a basin into a river. Poetic. You like poetry, it always says so much in a few words. As you stare off into the distance, your warm breath is seen in the cold as you stand outside waiting for someone. 

The manor will be celebrating the usual winter solstice soon, with plenty of games and gifts. A joyous time from what Emma told you— Almost. The horrors are still there, they are part of this new life. A life you want to make the most of.

The snow has made your spot a winter paradise, though not ideal to stay and write at, but it has a different use. Here you stand in the snow all bundled up, silent at first then the sound of crushing snow as your friend approaches you. Nightmare looks rather silly in the Christmas outfit he is made to wear this year.

“You made it!” The Hunter finds himself hugged immediately by you, one that lingers. “I got you a gift!” Pull out the gift from the inside of your coat. 

The birdman tilts his head and then gingerly opens the gift, the neat wrap torn by pale gold claws, his body once slouching now stands at its full height as he holds a book in his deformed hand.

“It's the first print,” What is in his hand is your book. “Edger made the cover.” Pointing at the painted cover, “Thank you, Orpheus.”

The first print is always the most important, it is the start of the journey for an author. It is proof that years of hard work have gotten you here, and if the book fails then so be it! No one can take away the joy of the poof of achievement. The fact you are sharing this with him both hurts and warms him. Hurts because he is not the man you see every day, he is no longer the novelist searching for answers to a past he has no answers to; he is a monster now who hurts those like yourself every match with a sadist glee he knows is not himself. Yet, it warms his heart to see you look upon him as if nothing has changed, that he is still the novelist you admire, and thank him for the guidance.

Nightmare's head nudges against your forehead, twice he does this before lifting his free hand towards your face, the heat of your breath (it smells of the cinnamon apple from a treat you had) against the beak of his mask. His thumb outlined your painted lips smudging it in the process while making you suddenly aware of what he is trying to do.

You kiss the bird creature's thumb softly and lean your head to the side as you close your eyes, your hand grips his bicep, and he makes a sound similar to a chirp.

“Orpheus.” In the voice he never heard, the sort that is slightly above a whisper to be heard by one person within your personal space and shy enough to be unsure how to go forward.

[bestworstcase]

Honestly still can't get over how you go into such well in-depth and coherent narrative deep dives! They're always such a joy to read ✨❤️ (I swear if I had your grasp of articulation I'd finally get around to polishing my note doc about Tang Sanzang/JTTW and how it relates to Starr Sanzang being the prime Summer Maiden candidate fsdf.).

ANYWAY. I just wanted to say that I didn't put two-and-two together about Alyx and Little being possibly connected until I read it in passing during one of your posts. Like after reading it, I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes as I wrapped my brain around it fsdf

It makes sense omg! Like of course Little could be Alyx in a new form!!! Alyx=Alice Liddell=Little!

I always thought that maybe Alyx was reincarnated into Juniper, because of the rabbit pin she wore + her hair tie, etc., yada yada.

And like yeah, sure Juniper is Jaune's companion, but:

-Little is implied to be a new/or a new version of an Ever Afteran since they have no purpose or even a name.

-They're scared if cats (I mean yes, they're a mouse, but Alyx was also killed by the Curious Cat, so ✨past life trauma ahoy!✨)

-They're also drawn to Ruby, who goes on a similar narrative journey to Alyx in the Ever After, while also acting as a guide for Ruby

-Which in by helping Ruby/guiding her, is in turn able to fulfil Alyx's desire of 'fixing everything she broke' (i.e. by being by Ruby's side until their 'death', they inadvertently lead Jaune to the Ever After Tree=allowing him to meet the Blacksmith, and then go home to Remnant.)

GAH! THAT THEORY MAKES SO MUCH SENSE. So, uh, apologies for the mini tangent, but just wanted to thank you for this unintentioned big brained moment! Now I'm gonna see V9 with a new perspective on my next rewatch! 🥰✨❤️

<3

there’s also this moment:

where the facsimile of penny’s sword manifested from ruby’s grief transforms into alyx’s dagger when little wakes up, and then as she lifts it up and tilts it toward little, the reflection of alyx’s face appears. it’s little’s reflection, just as the reflections of penny and summer are really reflections of ruby—her grief, her insecurities, manifesting as images of her fallen friend and her missing mother because she can’t recognize herself.

and then:

alyx lied -> little is a child playing pretend (“i’ll be your trusty guide!”)

alyx tricked the peddler -> little steals the jade mannequin for ruby

alyx cheated at the red king’s game -> little helps ruby play the prince’s game

the cat, on alyx’s book: “yes. oh, please! i simply must know more. what did she write about? how was i portrayed? and… do i smell a mouse?” <- the cat knows alyx didn’t write that book because they know they killed her and she ascended. the heart, as they say, very rarely forgets. thinking about alyx and lewis brings little to their attention—their heart knows who little used to be!

alyx broke her promise to the cat, and the cat killed her -> the cat betrays ruby in turn, and little bites them and goes you’re not a friend.

alyx wanted to go home no matter what -> little wants to help ruby get home no matter what

alyx acted selfishly but her dying wish was to help put things right -> little is a selfless but very helpless child who dies trying their best to help ruby -> they become somewhat, who is both selfless and able to take action to help others

alyx’s rabbit pin and narrative role as the white rabbit -> somewhat adopts juniper as their steed

also. the narrative makes a point of emphasizing that ruby didn’t see little in the tree, although we do see the blacksmith making their new face. but jaune does see alyx during the same time.

[pssy-wagn]

Day 7: Black Cat

Shopping for tools, Halloween decorations, food, and everything in the middle, Dean and Castiel stop by Walmart. Filling their cart with everything they need and want, they make their way through the congested aisles just to wait in a long line. 

"See, I told you to make several trips instead of a one-stop shop. We've waited fifteen minutes for a clerk to open the case for your tool thing."

"It's a dremel, Cas. Plus, it's badass."

"It'll break within a week." Cas mumbles under his breath. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

When they finish paying, Cas stops the cart outside to take out his pork rinds to munch on on they way to find their car.

"No. You are not eating inside Baby, Cas. We've been over this so many times already."

Taking a big bite, he looks at Dean, "then you're going to have to wait for me to finish."

As his munching gets too annoying, Dean moves to stand. Stepping a few steps away from his husband, he sees a small group forming nearby. Dean turns to see Cas reaching into his little bag for another pork rind, oblivious to what Dean is confused about. When he looks up again, Dean nods his head in the direction of the mini commotion. Pushing the cart, they are curious as well as to what can make people form with "oooh's" and aaah's."

Not wanting to intrude too much, they stay back until they catch a glimpse of a girl and her mother sitting on the bench. 

Cas leans into Dean, "What's happening?"

"I don't know. Maybe…girl scout cookies?"

"No. They always have a sign."

When Castiel strains his neck to look over everybody, a little girl and her father comes away carrying a little white cat with blue eyes. 

"Oh that's what's going on. They're either giving away or selling some cats. Cas, no."

But Dean is too late. Cas is already inching his way through everyone. As Dean lets out a sigh, he pushes his cart until he sees his husband kneeling down into a box. 

"Dean, look."

The little girl kicks her dangling feet as she speaks, "last one. Free to a good home."

Dean peeks inside to see only one small kitten left.

"Cas, babe, we gotta go home."

The mother gives them a sympathetic look, "it's okay, we'll be here again tomorrow. Nobody wants this one; this is our third attempt giving him away. It seems nobody wants a black cat or the runt of the litter and he's both."

"Third attempt?" Cas says as he pats the head of the little cat who is trying to climb out of the box. 

"Yep. That's why we'll be back tomorrow. Mommy said we could only have the momma and one kitten. But we can't have all six."

"Hmph. Understandable." Dean says as he puts his hand on Cas' shoulder, "Babe? Sunshine?"

Cas stands and turns towards Dean with the little kitten in his arms, "Dean?"

"Cas. No."

"Dean.." Cas smiles softly down at the little bundle who's trying to attack his finger, as he gives in, letting soft teeth try to munch on his finger. 

"Please, Dean? Look at him, look at his little face. Isn't he cute?"

"He's cute, Cas but-"

"Honey?"

Dean lets out a deep sigh, "you have to stop using that on me. I can only do pet names."

"Pet? That's a sign, Dean. We need him as a pet now."

"Ugh, you'll be the death of me, Cas."

"So did we make a decision, gentlemen?" the woman asks. 

Cas kisses the top of his newest fur baby as he boops his little nose. 

Dean looks at the women, "he's made up his mind. Thank you, ladies," as he gives them each a forced smile. 

Back at home, Dean struggles getting everything in the house, making a few trips back to the Impala. Finally bringing in the last shopping bags, he shuts the door with his foot, "Yeah, it's not like I needed help, Cas!"

"I'm busy!" Cas calls from another room. 

As Dean puts all the bags in a pile on the floor, he goes in search of Cas. Spotting him near the cat tree tower, he sees him holding up the little black cat to their orange one. 

"Look, Dean, I think Claire likes him."

[gazingstarsabove]

Hi! Thank you for your services, I love your headcanons!

I have a request, can you share your thoughts of what the SQ was doing before the madness? Not just work, but lives, relationships, goals, that sort of thing.

If it comes more natural as story than a list, I'm perfectly fine with that, too!

Thank you!!! <3

interesting! I'll list you some little headcanons for the main SQ, this is a thought I haven't really think about, but it makes me curious! and thank you!! I put a lot of effort in my headcanons, glad to see you like them! ^^

•Hank, before he became the psychotic bloodthirsty murderer we all know, he was just an average guy. Just an average grunt walking down the street, rather, a really buff one. Even before he did the killing, he was still just a quiet as ever, but he'd speak a few words and I think would hold longer in small talks, listening in carefully. Not the best in socializing, but he does give the best hugs, I assume.

·He lives a quiet life, he resides in an apartment dorm with a stray cat he decided to take in. He doesn't really have relatives nor friends, he's just really introverted and prefers time to himself. He's the type to take in volleyball training and sports, it would be actually pretty fitting for him. But he keeps popping the ball, he doesn't really mean to, but he strikes the ball a little too hard.

·He would just be your average (buff) nevadean. I think he likes sweets and likes to spend some time playing guitar while sitting beside a tree, strumming the chords as he hums his little tune.

·His relationship with anyone? He's not really interested. He doesn't really see anything in anyone, rather, just other people trying to live their lives. He views the world a little monotone, but that's just his way of living things.

•2BDamned, or Doc, would be a medical student before the madness.. to say it didn't really go as planned. He wasn't as attentive as the other students, he was slightly overwhelmed with the projects and board exams he had to take before actually becoming a doctor. But that wouldn't stop him from practicing. He dropped out of medical school and decided to make his own path for himself. He spends his free time learning the (human) grunt anatomy, studying the different organs, bones and joints, etc..

·He was determined to atleast try and attempt to be a good doctor, something his parents and he himself would be proud of. He doesn't have a PhD, that much was obvious. He was socially awkward, but he was nice. As time goes on he started to realize that him being a doctor would be impossible without a PhD.

·He was quite serious about his goals, but he never seem to bring himself to actually accomplish them. He'd still continue studying, but an actual goal was never set on his mind, only temporary tasks that he needed to get done, ones like; 'oh I need to do this project', 'oh I'm curious about this thing guess I'll do research about it'.

·He's not with anyone, though a lot of people do know him, he only finds them as acquaintances. But he has been curious about his own sexually, questioning himself and not getting a clear answer about anything.

•Sanford is a mind breaking one! I'm not sure if before the madness, he'd be a weightlifter, some sort of coach or a lifeguard. But I suppose him being a weightlifter and a lifeguard makes sense? It just sticks with me! It fits his personality, imo. Him being a weightlifter might be a good explanation as to why he's so lean, and he's probably one of those kind, and more socializing lifeguards. He can swim, yeah, but he'll probably scream or whistle at someone if they run in the wet paths, especially tiled floors. He's just concerned they'll fall and injure themselves.

·I feel like his dream was to just live in a little home, away from the city, and have a peaceful life. He's good all on his own, but knows a few contacts and a few friends he always checks up on. He'd be a good friend. He always thought of adopting a dog, but never really had guts to handle the responsibility.

·He didn't have a relationship with anyone, but he has thought about getting a girlfriend or boyfriend. He always thought what it would be like coming home to his lover, he always thought it was quite cute. But he gets all quiet and introverted around women, he's not the best at flirting but he tries.

•Deimos even before the madness already lives a fun and chaotic life, hanging out with several friends and living his life like it ends tomorrow. He always wanted to do insane stuff like sky diving, mountain climbing, and other stuff. He'd be a fan of race cars, I think. He lives in an apartment, and his bedroom is always so messy it's astonishing. He can go days without washing his clothes.

·He only learned how to smoke when he was recruited in SQ, so that being said.. his lungs were still healthy back then!!! Though his liver wasn't! He'd be chugging energy drinks all night, while he plays his videogames.·He isn't really the healthiest guy, but he's really fun to be with! I'd like to imagine there isn't a moment where he's not smirking or grinning. And he's not the most organized person, his wardrobe is always either empty or always full of unwashed clothes.

·He was quite the loudmouth, but getting a girlfriend/boyfriend was difficult. Mostly people only find his flirting to be annoying, which he doesn't really mind since there's a lot of fish in the sea. But it kinda stings his pride though.

[msperfectsheep-posts]

Natsume's Book of Friends Reaction Blog - Episode 1

(Below the cut as to not destroy my followers' feeds)

My pure unfiltered thoughts, in chronological order, for Episode 1:

[DISCLAIMER]

oh great we're starting off by calling women despicable--i see how it is, show /j

"just think of all the babes and bikinis you'll meet" what an odd sentence

ooh i love natsume's eyes

they're like a bronzey copper

"is everything okay with you? since you're, like, covered in dirt" "i'm good. anyway--" natsume my friend you were just running from something that called you a despicable woman

"what's weirder: the weather, or natsume" my man is running for his life don't bully him too

nevermind natsume is yokaiphobic. kill him girls

RIP bozo he didn't even make it to a shrine

well that was a short anime

ARE YOU DEADNAMING HIM?

HIS NAME IS NOT REIKO!!!

oh god we have an evil advisor yokai edition

everyone keeps misgendering my man natsume this is so sad

AND they're misogynistic towards him

unbelievable

my poor man

"lets tear out her tongue so she can't utter a word" MY MAN CAN'T EVEN SAY HIS PRONOUNS?

KICK TO THE EYEBALL RUN RUN RUN

oh god this kid has been seeing The Horrors

Takashi Natsume... we have his first name, folks

this poor fucking guy

he gets misgendered and misnamed several times

he gets slammed against a tree and probably breaks several ribs

he's threatened to have his tongue cut out

he has been seeing yokai since he was a kid and was labelled mentally ill and attention seeking for it

he just tripped over a giant rope and landed on said probably broken ribs

THE TRIP JUST UNLEASHED A DEMON

AND INSTEAD OF DOING ANYTHING HE JUST LOOKS IN FEAR AND SAYS "ah. here we go"

THAT CAT DEMON IS SO FAT??????

the smug fat cat demon: "are you not afraid?"

takashi, clearly dissociating: "i'm just used to it, that's all"

HIS NAME IS NOT REIKO!!!!!!!!!! LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!

my god the entire yokai world is trying to either deadname or convince him he's a transwoman named reiko

oh that makes more sense. his grandma is reiko. but now this just says more about reiko if her grandson looks practically identical to her???

"unlike humans, we do not concern ourselves with things as inconsequential as gender" based???????

DAMN THIS CAT DEMON REALLY DID JUST CALL HIM A LONELY BITCH

oop cat's gone

"i'm fit as a fiddle, honest!" (had all the experiences above)(takashi you are either Lying or very out of touch with what it means to be fit)

oh AND he's an orphan too

leave the cat in the wall

GIVING A CAT WATERMELON???

> calls it the book of friends

> is a roster of every yokai his grandmother took down in combat

AND THEIR NAMES BEING WRITTEN DOWN BOUND THE LOSERS TO HER FOR LIFE

BASED GRANNY

EVIL ADVISOR DUDE IS BACK

TAKASHI MY MAN HE JUST TRIED TO EAT YOU

oh wait he actually listened to me

the way takashi takes physical pain/damage is so concerning to me. he is constantly falling/running/getting squeezed to death and he just brushes it off afterwards but it isn't in a plot armor-feeling way. it's in a way where it feels like he's just not processing the pain and that's Worse

"and if i happen to die in the process, then so be it" TAKASHI PLEASE

CHOMP HIM

Super interesting first episode!!

Other thoughts now that the episode is done:

I love the animation--I'm by no means someone who can really tell good animation from bad animation because all animation is really cool in my opinion and it's hard for me to usually distinguish what's stylistic and what isn't, but NBoF's animation is so simple but pretty to me??? Like I love the way Takashi is drawn and how he's so deeply expressive with micro-expressions that are usually hard to make on anime faces without being super exaggerated. It has a cozy slice-of-life look but then it hits you with what i saw above and I'm like????? curious to see if it goes further with "Takashi Natsume experiences the horrors in a nice setting" or if it cools down and becomes much more chill with time. I'll have to see but I literally have NO clue

And because you specifically requested this, @versaphile! Hope you enjoy :)

[gh0st-eaterr]

4, 13, 18 for the (one or more) sylvari occupying your brainspace lately

(my main three are always rotating in my brain like rotisserie chicken, so wheeee)

popping this under the cut because this will be Long(tm)

Will be answering for my sylvari Abhartach (Av), Oiliphéist (Ophie), and Rhynn

4. How was their awakening? Did something particular happen? What's their first memory?

None of them had particularly eventful awakenings as such, though Av distinctly recalls coming-to and going 'Hm. Body does not match gender, the fuck's up with that?' lmfao.

Ophie is/was a Valiant, i.e 'has a Wyld Hunt', so for him awakening was mostly just...disorienting. 'What do you MEAN I have bullshit responsibilities already, I crawled into this world an hour ago!'

Rhynn remembers the first hours of his awakening and realizing that he...fundamentally had no ability to empathetically connect to other sylvari. A lot of sylvari have this uncanny ability to get a read on each other pretty well, perceive emotions a lot more readily through a shared connection to the Dream -- Rhynn didn't have this. If you asked him nowadays, he'd also tell you he doesn't remember what he dreamt, either.

13. How do they feel about death? Does it make them curious or scared? Do they wish to understand it or do they simply accept it?

Av has a...very complicated relationship with the concept of death -- not even because he's a scholar of necromancy. He's been alive for some 24 years, and dealt with a lot of shit; death, for him, used to feel like it would be a matter of 'sooner rather than later'. Now, years after making a pact of protection with a lesser deity of Grenth himself, he's afraid of not being able to die. He's functionally immortal. There were some...oversights, when that pact was made.

Ophie accepts death for what it is; if it's his time, it's his time, so long as he goes out swinging. It's something he made peace with a long time ago, after he managed to escape the Nightmare Court; if fighting back against them becomes his end, then he takes solace in the fact he went out fighting the good fight. He's had a few close-calls in the past, but the fear wasn't dying as such, it was more 'I'm not done here, yet'.

Rhynn's the sort of egotistical maniac who hasn't really given much pause to the idea of death -- he's under (wrongful) assumption that nothing could match him, let alone best him. With the backing of some of the worst kinds of power the Nightmare has to offer, he thinks of himself as nothing short of a god. There's no curiosity or fear of it, nor understanding or acceptance -- he denies death as something that can (and will) happen to him.

18. [Free space for 3 pieces of trivia about your sylvari!]

Av

He's Soundless, and takes far more solace in revering the human gods than the Tenets of Ventari and the Pale Tree...if you could call his attitude towards the gods 'reverence', even. Dream or Nightmare, he sees both sides as the same set of shackles that people cling to far too much.

He's left-handed! Though dependent on the task, he's just as capable with his right hand as the left. Can only really write with his left hand, though.

Adores cats. He has a sylvan cat by the name of 'Missy', short for Mischief. She's a sylvan cat specifically because he's very allergic to regular cats.

Ophie

He's one of a rare number of people born (or, I guess awoke) without an innate ability to use magic. At all. Which is especially strange and rare for a sylvari, whose entire being is practically saturated in magic. (In our canon we call it being 'Null' or 'null of magic'). It causes Problems.

He did actually used to be in the Nightmare Court. Canon says once you go to the NC there's no coming back, homebrew canon says 'nah' to that notion. Current hypotheses on how this is actually possible boil down to 'being a valiant' or the aforementioned 'utterly fucked and nonexistent connection to magic' making this less of a dire issue.

He's an environmental 'subtype' of sylvari that makes him particularly inclined to wetlands environments. He can hold his breath for a damn long time underwater.

Rhynn

He's something we've dubbed a 'Nightmare aspect holder' -- he embodies a particular facet of the Nightmare itself. Not unlike how Kryptis can be facets/aspects of emotions. Though, we came up with this well before we knew SotO would be a thing (by about a year or two).

He's also something we've dubbed as a 'Shade' -- a particular attunement to shadow magick. It's my take on the Specter class ingame.

(And now for something completely different!) For some reason, my brain decided he's a violinist. Couldn't tell you why, maybe it's that thing of 'asshole villain plays violin' or whatever.

[asm5129]

RWBY v9 e4 Thoughts and Analysis

Genuinely might be my favorite opening of the entire show. 

Also, genuinely, screw everyone who ever said Ruby didn’t have a character arc. 

RWBY is really, really good at keeping stories going in the background even as the main focus shifts around. So just...stop with that shit, okay? CRWBY are very particular with what they choose to do and when. Not everything's perfect, but if you get hung up on things you didn’t like from the past, you’ll never be able to fully appreciate what’s happening now. It’s always gonna bother you in the back of your mind. Ruby wasn’t always the most important person in the show. Let it go so you can talk about what led us here, to this exceptional story. We good? Good. 

“You do not go to the tree, the tree goes to you! Unless of course you’re me, you see?”

Yeah, so the Curious Cat (referred to as CC from here on out) is definitely in some position of authority in the Ever After, but they do not control it or anything like that. I suppose we shall find out their role soon enough. 

Regardless, it seems that the Tree decides when you’re ready to leave, not you. CC can bypass that it seems, but i doubt that will work for our heroes.

If the residents of the Ever After exist to facilitate a story, then the Tree will let them out when the story is done. 

Maybe the Ever After only rained when Ruby was sad (rather than, for instance, Weiss) because it’s deemed her the protagonist of the story that must reach it’s conclusion before RWBY and co are allowed to leave? Just a thought.

“it’s a matter of perspective” that’s an intriguing line

Also, Little does not have a history with CC like I thought they and the other mice might. However, that’s not to say CC liking to eat mice has no impact on whether the mice know what a cat is, especially since last week Little wasn’t even completely convinced they were a mouse.

It’s been said before, but CC really is a standout character. The design, the performance, the power set,  even the dialogue make literally everything about them engaging. As does, of course, the characterization, cuz this Cat is just as impossible as any cat irl. Now i actually like cats, but I’ll be the last one to say they don’t tend towards being completely absurd and impossible in their behavior

CC just takes that to the next level. Honestly though CC is basically just ADHD: the animal

Craving a steady stream of interesting conversations to keep them focused

too real 😅

“Got ‘im! Totally roasted”

From the tone of Yang’s voice, i genuinely think she was just throwing poor Weiss a bone here  😄

Missed a chance to have CC making a cat video tbh, but “Luminous Rectangle” and “why is it printing tiny flat versions of me” is still amazing

CC just briefly giving voice to some of the common complaints about RWBY is kinda nice

its CRWBY saying “We’re listening. We hear you. We are working to address your concerns, but only to the point that it won’t compromise our story.”

Also roasting the gods is fun. Does seem like it’s clear that the Gods have nothing to do with the Ever After then, though, if CC both didn’t know and is super comfortable calling them out this way

More information about Alyx, from a new source. Love how everyone who speaks about her has a different take, it makes her really interesting. 

Also rare smiling v9 Ruby Rose sighting

I love that CC is still a cat, with all the usual catlike behaviors. Would've been easy to anthropomorphize them more, I’m happy that didn’t happen.

“Each acre is made specifically for it’s inhabitants and their roles”

Intriguing. So...does CC not have an acre to call home? If not, why not? What makes them unique among this world’s rules?

a grogurt parfait, huh? Sounds gross. 

“Well I’m sure we’ll cause a lot less trouble once we’re back to normal” oh Weiss, honey, I wouldn’t count on that  😂

Ugh CC Blake’s right, they've got enough problems without you reminding them of what’s happening in remnant

“Oh no, i wasn’t paying attention” Ruby you are one of 5 people and your entire bag of trauma just got poked, it’s not your fault. You gotta work on that self-blaming instinct, he says knowing full well how hard that is from personal experience (seriously, i see so much of myself in Ruby)

The Lonely carpenter and the rusted Knight

one sweet, one handsome

Guessing we’ll meet them soon enough

Also that confirms the Knight in the trailer and intro isn’t Jaune. the Knight was in the original book.

So yeah was wrong about the Chekov's butterfly

Couple interesting lines here

First

”I’m the herbalist. Until I’m not, anyway” 

Our first hint that roles are not set in stone.

and second

“Everyone needs help these days. Everyone.” Who else is Herb referring to?

“Huntresses are heroes. We protect those who can’t protect themselves” Blake is really following in Ruby’s stead, this is literally the line Ruby gives her all the way back in volume 1 when they talk about their love of books. Of course, she’s doing it after going through all the healing Ruby hasn’t done yet.  It is cool to see this dichotomy of Blake stepping up and embodying what she valued in Ruby while Ruby becomes more like she was in volume 1 and 2

Also, I like that Ruby’s answer to “What does a huntress do” is “fight monsters”. it shows that she’s still thinking about things wrong

“In order to help you become whatever it is you need to become, you really ought to have a better understanding of what you are now”. Great line. Cuts straight to the heart of the issue.

.”This is how a king winds up a prince”

So...the Red Prince used to be the Red King? And he became the Red Prince, perhaps because he didn’t understand who he was, and thus who he wanted to be wasn’t quite right? We’ll see. But clearly there’s a much more complicated transformation process that can happen here than we expected. Perhaps a far more literal one, as well.

“You don’t have to go forward you know. You could go back. Back to before.”

Before she lost her arm. It’s not about her arm though--it’s about everything. It’s about going back to what things were like before beacon fell. Going back to who she was like before beacon fell.

Yang is shocked--but she doesn't immediately reject the idea. Unlike Blake...

“You could just be human. Or just a cat. It’s up to you.”

“Why would i do that?”

“I told you. It’s simple. Much simpler than trying to be a bridge between human and faunus. Why struggle with that responsibility?”

So it’s clear now. The reason Blake wasn’t front and center on injustice during the Atlas arc. 

This is what she was struggling with. Well this, and taking the life of an actual living, breathing person

Doesn’t matter that it was Adam, he was still a person.

So for a couple volumes she just...stopped trying to be that bridge. Focused on proving to her loved ones that she had grown, and that she wouldn’t run away again. Showing them--and especially Yang--that she loved them.

“You could be a nobody. Isn’t that what you want? to be free?”

God i’m so proud of these girls. This is such a beautiful scene. It’s so well directed, so well written, and there’s so much we can all learn from it, purely on an emotional growth level..

And then we come to Ruby. And unlike her friends, she doesn’t have it in her to reject the part of herself that appears here. Instead, she gets this brutal face-to-face with all of her worst insecurities, worst impulses, all her imposter syndromes and her habit of putting everything on her own shoulders. honestly this section deserves a deep dive all its own.

“You don’t even have to be Ruby Rose. So. Who are you gonna be?” 

Ruby is gonna go through a major transformation this volume. I can only hope it’s the one she needs.

I’m really curious why exactly CC was so angry about what Herb was doing. What exactly did he do wrong? Hopefully we will find out tomorrow. 

the “That’s a bit much” lien from herb intrigues me though.  Was he affected by the pain the girls--and Ruby in particular--were being forced to confront?

“Take a little bit of my heart”

Really curious about CC’s powers

and little being adorable again. Can’t wait for tomorrow!!