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strkie · 2 months

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dog eared. logan/wolverine x male, wolf mutant, reader

logan finds you by chance in the mountains, the first mutant he meets since his memory wipe. he spends his best days there with you, up in your cabin.

notes. yea just saw the new deadpool movie ;;

details. guns, death. no pronouns for reader, but implied masculine pronouns. hurt/comfort. set before the 2000 film.

He meets you in the middle of the Colorado mountains, funnily enough. The trees glower over him and the rock beneath his feet are just starting to develop a frosted layer of snow, then there you are, standing with a rifle pointed at him.

This doesn't immediately intimidate him— a lot needs to intimidate him, and you pointing a weapon that won't kill him at him doesn't deter him in the slightest, especially when it's just the two of you up here. The winds howl and the only thing that indicates Logan's presence is the way his hands tighten on his backpack and the smell coming from him. He has long since tuned out his own scent, but the way your nose twitches lets him know you can acutely sense it. Not entirely human then, he decides, even without your own mutant smell coming off you. It explains why you're so easily pointing a gun at him— mutants are still a rare breed these days, but as you analyze him the barrel of the rifle gradually shifts downward instead. You blatantly stare at him for a moment before promptly turning away and hiking back to wherever you came from.

Logan is young still, not scarred by the X-Men and their enemies just yet even though having gone through the two World Wars, so the sight of another mutant throws him off a little. Mutants aren't a publicity known thing just yet even with all the speculations, and seeing you so nonchalantly dismiss him grates him a bit, if he's honest. It's easy to decide to follow you.

Regardless that there's no one for miles around up here, he doesn't shout to get your attention back, and just stumbles after you instead. He follows your scent as you zigzag through thick tree trucks and bushes, ducking under branches and leaping over a stream until you both get to a cabin. The home is wooden and obviously handmade, but something in Logan lurches unexpectedly at the sight of it. You easily sneak inside the doorway leaving him along to look around, though apart of you knows he will follow you inside. As his feet take him to the house, he slowly gazes at the vegetable garden in a small fenced off yard, can hear the sounds of a chicken coop nearby and the rushing of a fresh water source. It's picturesque, and he longs to live in a place such as this.

When he does open the cabin door though, the sight that greets him as just as unexpected as the house, if not more so— there's a herd of dogs lounging inside, all peeking up to look at his arrival. Logan stops instantly, taking in the situation. The dogs aren't hostile and seem to follow your lead as you stand in the middle of the group, shotgun still nestled in the crook of your arm and head held high. Still, you don't immediately shoot him, so he takes it as a good sign.

You continue to stare at him for a moment, your masculine energy shining in Logan's senses.

"You are a mutant." You say calmly, though there is still a tense way to your voice. Obviously it's futile to deny it, so he agrees, looking into your eyes but still aware of all the dogs.

"So are you." Logan says, cocking his head a bit. You shift your feet, uncomfortable, but then nod in affirmative. The dogs crowd around you in a mass of fur and dark eyes, acutely noting that you are anxious, but they do not seem harmful unless you make the first move. Logan can't help but notice it, stare lingering on the biggest mutt.

There's a stiff pause between you before you speak again.

"Want a beer?" You say more casual than Logan excepts, putting your rifle down on the nearest surface. You turn your back to him and head to the kitchen, but all the dogs continue to watch him if he does something wrong, and Logan knows you're the head of the pack just from that. He grumps, but slowly follows you through the herd of dogs and to the refrigerator as you pull out a beer bottle to hand to him, careful not to step on any tails or paws.

"What's with the dogs?" Logan can't help but ask, and sees you smile for the first time.

After that afternoon, it became a sort of routine to have Logan on your property. He usually only comes for the beer, but apart of you knows he also likes your company, if not because of your personality then because you're also a mutant. Sometimes you see him cutting firewood or tending to the chickens, sometimes looking at the gardens with obvious confusion, but whichever way it warms you.

Having lived on your homestead for so many years just with your dog pack, you don't necessarily know how to interact with him normally at first, but seem to learn quickly. You only go into town for the basic necessities, like milk or bags of dog food, occasionally bringing back the stray dog as well, so being with Logan in your own environment is weird sometimes. You do like it though, you like him, having another humanoid to count on.

At first he was obviously begrudgingly attracted to you, staying at arms length despite curing your fridge of alcohol, but you don't mind. You never kick him out, never shout and are always polite and patient, even when he makes mistakes. He keeps coming back for that, to the point of sleeping on your couch and being a cushion for the friendlier dogs. He still doesn't know what your mutation is even after five months of this, and you don't know his. He thinks you know about his healing abilities though— he can't help but be a little clumsier because he knows he can heal, and you always make him a bit more vulnerable, so it's easy to accidentally physically harm himself. But he has never shown his claws to you before, and at this point is scared to do so. Regardless that logically you won't be afraid of him, he still wonders about it sometimes.

When he does eventually find out about your mutation, it's not super difficult to understand.

Logan wakes up on morning from hearing a wounded animal call outside the cabin, realized you weren't there, and rushed out to find a dead deer with a giant wolf over it. The rest of the dog pack were calm and collected, helping the wolf with the deer or just staying around it. The wolf is much bigger than any dog, but when Logan takes an actual look at it it's obvious the wolf is you. You seem quiet and anxious, though when Logan helps you carry the deer into the butcher shed is when you realize you are completely safe with him.

After that you slink around in your wolf-form much more and for longer periods of time, rubbing against his side like a cat or laying near his feet. And, honestly, it's the most authentic you have ever shown him, so Logan doesn't complain. He hardly feels the need to— seeing you as a wolf is as magical as it is terrifying, and he loves it.

When you see his claws for the first time, there is nothing too dramatic about it. You're sharing a bed— not the first occasion this happens, but it still feels more important, somehow— and he unleashes his claws from him skin to show you. He tells you almost everything that night— how he doesn't remember his past but knows he's been alive too long, how he knows the metal in him is not normal, and how he's afraid of it. You kiss him first afterwards, sharing a meaningful silence and gripping his hand in a tight fist, promising him that he could never hurt you, no matter how he doesn't believe it. You kiss him long and hard at first, but then ease into a smile and a soft moment of weakness, tearful and gentle. He lets you hold him, but you both wake up with his arms around you instead. It feels like this is what you both are destined for.

One day, after coming home from wood chopping, Logan finds you dead in the cabin with a mutant hunter's bullets in you. The hunter himself is dead too with your dog pack surrounding his corpse, but all the dogs are whimpering or crying in anguish. Logan buries you out by the stream, leaves the hunter's body in his truck on the base of the mountain, and leaves with a newfound emptiness in his chest.

#male reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x male reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x male reader #wolverine #logan x male reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader

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todays-xkcd · 3 months

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If you repeatedly rerun the development of technological civilization, it turns out that for some reason the only constant is that there is always a networking utility called 'netcat', though it does a different thing in each one.

Network Configurations [Explained]

Transcript

[Ponytail is sitting on an office chair at her computer with a headset on. A zigzag line indicates what is shown on the computer screen] Ponytail (typing): Ugh, your connection is so laggy. Computer: Yeah, sorry.

[Cueball is sitting on an office chair at his laptop] Cueball (typing): It's because I messed up my network configuration and now I have to rebuild a separate civilization from scratch for each packet.

[Ponytail at her computer] Ponytail (typing): Huh? Ponytail (typing): What are you talking about? Ponytail (typing): ...Hello?

[Beat panel]

[Cueball, with dirt on his head and around him, is at an old computer setup with an agricultural tool resting on his now non-office chair] Cueball (typing): Sorry, got stuck in the Neolithic that time. Cueball (typing): Inventing farming takes forever.

#xkcd #xkcd 2949 #network configurations #webcomics

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justhereforxreaders · 8 days

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The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part Six: Pieces and Players

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: your party arrives in King’s Landing and the venom of the city begins to take hold.

Warnings: anxiety/panic attack

soundtrack

part one: the oath

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part four: the test

part five: precipice

part seven: the rift

Little was said the morning of your departure to King’s Landing. The sun had not yet risen but a dim light through the morning fog was growing over the waves to the east, indicating that the dawn was not far off. Yourself and the Princes had mustered your dragons and gathered among the cliffs above the docks of Dragonstone to watch as the servants loaded the ship with the royal family’s possessions.

You and Jacaerys sit next to each other in the sparse grass as Tempest and Vermax seem to chase each other through the mist above. During your starlight ride with Jace last night, the dragons effortlessly fell back into rhythm like long lost friends. Watching their lighthearted dance overhead brings a wistful smile to your face.

While the two of you watch the dragons in comfortable silence, Lucerys remains upon Arrax’s back, resting his chin upon his crossed arms, looking on somberly. Seeing as Jace’s attempts to lighten his mood during the walk to the dragonmont had been unsuccessful, you decide it’s best to leave him to his thoughts for now.

Shortly after the first rays of sunlight begin to peek over the horizon, you look down to see the last of the parcels and trunks are being placed onboard the ship. Moments after, the procession of guards and handmaids file down the pathway, followed by the remaining members of House Targaryen. A torch is raised up into the air by a guard from the deck of the ship and Luke commands Arrax to take flight. You and Jace stand and stretch your tired muscles then call for your dragons. As Tempest and Vermax make their approach, Jace turns to you with a grin.

“Ready?” He beams.

You roll your eyes playfully as the dragons land beside each other.

“As ready as I can be,” you smile back at him.

Though the three of you could have easily covered the length of Blackwater Bay and reached your destination within a few hours, Rhaenyra had instructed that you remain within eyesight of the ship so that you could all arrive at King’s Landing together.

What began as mindless circles above the vessel, quickly evolved into a race across the width of the bay, zigzagging between the coastlines. Even Luke’s melancholy was not enough to keep Arrax from joining the game. Although distant shouts of protest could initially be heard from the young Prince, they soon become cries of joy as he allows himself to delight in this new experience.

As the sounds of merriment echo through the sky, you are struck by a sudden feeling of nostalgia. Having spent the last three years peacefully on Dragonstone, it had not occurred to you that venturing out into the unknown was something you found great joy in, something you missed even. Only now, you were not alone. Journeying through the sky, alongside the two people you held most dear, was not something you imagined you’d soon grow tired of.

As the day went on, the bay steadily began to narrow as you made your approach towards King’s Landing and a foul stench permeated the air. Though your journey across Essos lead you near many great cities, none of them radiated such a distinctive odor.

Once the ship has docked, you follow Jacaerys and Vermax’s lead over the crowded cityscape towards the dragonpit. The massive domed structure sat atop one of three hills within the walls of the city. It reminded you of fighting pits you had seen littered throughout Essos but far grander than any of them could ever hope to be.

You land in a clearing outside where a small gathering of Dragonkeepers wait, each with large quarterstaffs held aloft. They greet the Princes as they dismount and bow politely to all three of you. Surprised by their cordial greeting, you bow your head in response from behind Tempest’s head. Though as they approach the three dragons, Tempest becomes uneasy and grumbles a warning, eliciting hisses from both Vermax and Arrax. The Dragonkeepers stop in their tracks but stand firmly in place.

“What are they doing?” You ask nervously.

“They escort the dragons inside,” Jacaerys responds, nodding towards impossibly large bronze doors at the base of the dome.

You look down at their expectant faces and gently shake your head.

“No, thank you,” you utter, trying to be stern while remaining polite, “I’ll lead her in myself.”

You urge Tempest forward and the Dragonkeepers make way for her to pass. Upon crossing the threshold, you are greeted by the sight of an impressive stone arena within. You are so enamored by its scale and grandeur that you fail to notice Jace and Luke walking beside their dragons following behind Tempest.

“Spectacular isn’t it?” Jacaerys calls from the ground, a proud grin plastered across his face.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you admit with a smirk.

Vermax and Arrax excitedly rush forward to a ramp leading below and disappear into the shadowy passage. You dismount Tempest with a groan and move around to her face. Reaching your hand to her snout, you look into one of her golden eyes and nod before pressing your forehead into her scale’s.

“I’ll see you soon,” you mutter then move out of her way so she can join the others.

Whatever progress had been made in lifting Luke’s spirits was immediately lost the moment the three of you filed into the wheelhouse waiting outside the dragonpit. He quietly stared out the window while Jace pointed out various landmarks to you.

Although you had seen The Red Keep while flying over the city, it became more imposing as you drew near from the ground, the red hue of its walls felt like a warning to proceed with caution. As you enter the gates, the sounds of the crowded city behind grow quiet and an eerie silence takes its place. A kingsguard greets the three of you as you exit and hastily leads you into the fortress.

A second guard awaits within and moves towards you, offering a halfhearted bow.

“Please follow me to your chambers,” he says flatly and takes a step in the opposite direction of Jace and Luke.

You look to Jace in confusion and his brow furrows as he moves to stand beside you.

“Where are their chambers?” He asks, emulating both Rhaenyra and Daemon with his authoritative tone.

“The servants quarters, my Prince,” he bows fully, “as instructed by the Queen.”

“Nonsense,” Jace scoffs, “there are an abundance of vacant rooms that are perfectly suitable.”

He wraps his hand around your forearm and gently pulls you away from the guard.

“See them moved into the apartments near ours,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes, my Prince,” you hear the guard mumble as you are led away.

“Come with us until this is sorted,” Jace says with a smile, “I want to show you the training yard.”

Despite the unabashed stares that follow as your trio passes by, Jacaerys walks with his head held high. You watch with admiration at your friend’s defiant confidence, imagining what it must have been like to grow up under the shadow of such scornful eyes. Though your skin crawls at their glances and whispers, the idea of someone so young having to endure this treatment day after day makes your stomach turn.

When you reach the training yard, Lucerys perks up momentarily. The sound of combat echoes off the stone courtyard and Jacaerys rushes forward to place his hands on a divot in one of the walls.

“See?” He calls back to the two of you, “I told you this would still be here. And you thought you could swing Criston’s morning star.”

He runs back to Luke and rustles his hair.

“Nearly took your own head off,” he laughs and begins examining the weapons laid out before them.

Upon receiving no response, Jace finally voices his frustration.

“What’s your problem?” He snaps at his brother.

At this, you back away quietly and join the circle of onlookers surrounding the sparing match, giving the Princes privacy to air their grievances.

As you enter the crowd, you watch as a dark haired man swings a morning star at a silver haired figure behind a shield. The morning star sails through the air, missing its mark, and instead finding purchase in the dirt. He quickly pulls it from the ground and swings again at his opponent, this time taking a chunk from the shield on impact. The silver haired man discards his broken shield, revealing an eye patch over his right eye.

With the silver hair and the one eye, you immediately recognize him as Rhaenyra’s half brother, Prince Aemond, the man Lucerys took an eye from. A quiet gasp from behind you confirms your suspicion and you turn to see that the Princes have joined you. You reach out a hand to Luke but are interrupted as a quiet applause erupts from the crowd, bringing your focus back to the finished match.

“Well done, my Prince,” the dark haired man says with a smirk, “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time,” the dark haired man continues.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he utters flatly then turns your direction. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

You puff up your chest defensively, willing yourself to become a wall in front of your Princes. The remaining eye of Prince Aemond shifts to you briefly before the gates fly open and everyone’s attention is pulled to a lord and his escorts as they trudge through the yard. You look back to ensure Aemond’s focus has moved from Jace and Luke, only to find his gaze still lingers on you.

He looks you over, assessing you closely. You adjust your posture slightly, allowing you better access to your daggers, and he takes notice of the subtle shift. He finds your eyes before turning away with the slightest smirk.

You watch as he walks away, not enjoying the idea of having your back turned to him, until Jace places a hand on your arm.

“Let’s find my mother,” he says and you look to see his gaze fixed on Aemond as well.

Your trio departs with the rest of the crowd and continue to pass through endless staircases and passages when you happen upon Rhaena wandering the halls, walking alongside a girl of similar age.

“Baela!” Jacaerys calls and runs forward to meet them, “I’m glad to see you here.”

“You as well, Jace.” She says with a laugh.

When you and Lucerys reach them you bow politely at the new face. You had heard of Daemon’s eldest daughter but had not met as she was at ward on Driftmark.

Jace places a hand on your shoulder.

“This is y/n,” he proudly introduces.

“Well met, Dragon Rider,” she smiles and nods a bow while Rhaena scowls from behind her.

“Have you seen our mother?” Jace asks of both of them, releasing your shoulder.

“I left her not long ago with the Princess Rhaenys in the godswood.” Rhaena mutters, avoiding eye contact with you at all costs.

“Thank you,” Jace says with a small bow and moves past the sisters, walking forward with purpose.

Lucerys follows suit, leaving you behind momentarily.

“Pleasure to meet you, Baela.” You say quietly before chasing after the Princes.

As you run after Jace and Luke, they come to a sudden halt and you nearly run into them as they make way for a silver haired woman storming down the hallway. The woman glares at the Princes as she passes by and, for the first time since your arrival, Jacaerys shrinks back.

You duck your head as she passes and only once she has disappeared around the corner do the boys continue through a doorway leading to a courtyard where Rhaenyra stands alone beneath the blood red leaves of a heart tree.

“Mother,” Lucerys calls and rushes forward to embrace her, shaking her from her quiet contemplation.

“Hello, how was the journey, my love?” She asks, returning the embrace, making an effort to appear animated for her second son.

You and Jacaerys join the two of them beneath the tree as Lucerys regales his mother with his highlights from his first long distance flight.

“Have you gotten settled in your chambers?” She asks, a faraway look in her eye.

“Not yet,” Jace informs her with an exasperated sigh, “Alicent left instructions for y/n to be housed in the servants quarters. I told them to find something near our rooms instead.”

Rhaenyra smiles but it fails to touch her eyes. She then turns to you.

“Have you enjoyed the capital thus far?”

“It is very different from Dragonstone, just as you said, Princess. I imagine it takes some getting used to.” You admit honestly.

She nods and pulls Luke in once again before planting a kiss atop his head.

“Go get some rest,” she says and removes her arm from around her son, gently guiding him towards his brother, “Jace, please see Luke to his room. I’d like private word with y/n.”

Jace looks back and forth between the two of you, concern clear upon face but he nods regardless. Luke scrunches his face in confusion as he’s pulled away and you shoot them both a reassuring smile before leaving you alone with the Princess.

Once they are out of ear shot, she snakes her hand into the crook of your arm and guides you over to a nearby bench.

“I am very grateful for your friendship with my sons,” she begins in a gentle tone. “As you have already seen, they were not treated as they should have been by their peers and subjects.”

She lowers herself down onto the bench and invites you to sit beside her.

“I know that you and Jacaerys are especially close,” she pauses, taking your hand between hers, “which was harmless enough when you were children, but now that you are both grown, I am afraid I must ask that some distance be put between you.”

Her words force you to inhale sharply and it takes everything in you not to pull your hand from hers as she continues.

“There are certain duties required of an heir to the throne. And I fear your close proximity may restrict his opportunities to perform those duties.” She releases your hand and you pull it back slowly, balling it into a fist as it returns to your lap. “He has been the victim of slanderous murmurs since the day he was born and I do not wish my son’s name to befall any further insult or injury. Whether true or not.”

Her hands fold across her growing belly and she searches your eyes, “Do you understand?”

You turn from her to look at the face carved into the bark of the tree in front of you and nod silently.

“I am sorry to ask this of you,” her tone becomes empathetic and she follows your eyes to the tree before continuing, “I do not wish to cause you strife. But the time for us to gain further allegiances may be approaching faster than anticipated and we cannot afford for Jace appear ineligible.”

“As you command, Princess.” You speak with a quivering voice.

“It is not a command,” she corrects but it makes little difference to you, “it is a request. You may choose to ignore it.”

She stands and places a hand on your shoulder.

“But I know that you truly care for my son. And I trust you will choose what is best for him.”

She removes her hand and walks towards the exit. Before passing through the door, she pauses and calls back to you.

“We would be pleased to have you in attendance tomorrow,” she says with a slight grimace, aware of how conniving her words must sound, “we need as much support for Luke as we can muster.”

“As you wish, Princess.” You stand and turn toward her to bow lifelessly.

A tightening takes hold within your chest and you force yourself to breathe slowly and deliberately. Once the Princess has vanished into the darkness of the castle however, you collapse to your knees, clutching your chest. Quiet sobs begin to radiate through your body and you turn around to lean your back against the bench, tears pouring uncontrollably.

As lovely as the picture of the future Jace painted for you just the evening before was, and as hard as you willed yourself to believe it, you knew the part you were destined to play would inevitably be revealed. And though Jace’s words in the cave had given you some glimmer of hope that you would be allowed to remain by his side, Rhaenyra’s command made it clear that your continued presence in the Prince’s life would not go unnoticed, or without consequence. And neither would your growing affection for him.

You had always known his destiny and thus always knew you would not be able to play a meaningful part in it. Which you had convinced yourself was enough to keep any deeper feelings from arising. But in the skies over Dragonstone, that destiny felt far enough away that you had unknowingly begun to falter in your resolve.

It was easy enough to hide those feelings from yourself. Hiding them beneath the friendship. But now that that was also being stripped away from you, an ache tore across your chest like fire.

You pick yourself up on shaking legs and stumble forward, catching yourself on the trunk of the heart tree. Its eyes ooze a deep red sap and you look upon it like a mirror. A dragon’s screech from above breaks you from its gaze. You jump back and wipe the tears from your face, searching the sky for the source but finding nothing. Suddenly desiring nothing more than to run back to Tempest and escape to the sky but knowing that is a luxury you will be forever denied. Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you turn around and return to the labyrinth you have sworn yourself to, now fully understanding the consequences of such a vow.

• @eywas-heir

#house of the dragon #jacaerys valeryon #jacaerys x reader #hotd #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x you #jacaerys valaryon x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jace x reader #jace velaryon #friends to lovers #slow burn #queer yearning #nonbinary reader #jacaerys velaryon #young love #dragon rider

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fandumb-whimsey · 1 month

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Scarecrow Leg Observations/Headcanons

aka I thought about it too much and now it's everyone else's problem.

(important note: I am not in the medical field and I learned/looked up a lot of this with the help of Dr. Google)

The leg brace seems like a simple detail which can be overlooked in the larger design. On the surface, it's pretty straight forward: leg got damaged and now needs an orthopedic brace to function. This in and of itself is interesting since the artist undoubtedly referenced actual braces, specifically old ones, to fit Scarecrow's aesthetic:

This is a running theme with him; he seems to favor old, antique items and will repair things (like the use of duct tape or zigzag stitching for tears on his costume) before replacing them, which fits an image of someone coming from a background of poverty. Not entirely important to the conversation, just an interesting aside.

There is official material which states his leg is "permanently broken", which is probably the easiest, most succinct way to state this issue, but it's not entirely an accurate way to put it. If a leg is considered broken beyond repair, it's likely to be amputated. Bones which don't heal correctly the first time can be broken again and realigned to heal properly, often through surgery with the use of pins, rods, plates, and/or screws. However, "permanently broken" could also be implying he has suffered irreparable nerve damage which affects the use of the leg (more on that in a moment). One possibility: The bones in Scarecrow's leg do not heal properly due to the severity of his fractures likely needing surgery. Unable to access such resources after his run-in with Croc, this results in a malunion. In his case, the misalignment could be subtle as there is no obvious bend or twist in his leg, but still causes problems which requires use of a brace.

Another possibility: Perhaps he is lucky and his leg does heal well. Maybe there's no malunion at all. Unfortunately, whether the bones mend together well or not, evidence strongly implies that it was broken seriously enough that it damaged his peroneal nerve, leading to muscle weakness and foot drop, which necessitates the use of the brace to function.

If you look closely, you can see there is additional support around Scarecrow's ankle that would otherwise prevent rotation of that joint. You can see this in the game when he circles Batman on the airship:

youtube

When he takes a step with his good leg, the foot remains more parallel to the floor. Compare that to the foot in the brace, where the toes point upward with each stride due to being in a fixed position. I feel this is a strong indication of him having lasting damage here (such as foot drop) and part of why the leg brace is vital to his mobility (and undoubtedly one of many reasons why he's so furious at Batman).

Something like this often has trickle down effects. Having to compensate for a weaker limb can throw the body off balance, especially if it's a leg. This can create joint and back pain outside of (or in addition to) the issues related to the initial trauma. Combined with the other things he has had to deal with, there is something to be said of Scarecrow's tenacity. He is very driven and ambitious, even if it's the pure, seething drive for vengeance which causes him to persevere. It's a quality one can admire. :)

The rambling ends here, thanks for reading. And an extra big thanks to a very special someone who, without their help, none of this would be possible...I'm of course talking about my guy KILLER CROC for going absolutely feral in those Asylum sewers, really gave Jonny here a spooky glow-up, am I right?

Pictured: Scarecrow regretting his fear toxin frivolity into the sewers.

#enjoy the rambling #jonathan crane #scarecrow #arkham scarecrow #not much going on here but there's some interesting tidbits to chew on

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years

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🎭 masks & meaning 🎭

Thank you, TWST merch, for giving me a clearer view of the masquerade mask designs 😂 Here’s what I noticed…!

Individual Character Masks

Riddle’s mask resembles the collars that appear when he uses his unique magic, Off With Your Head! It is also a recurring motif on his dorm uniform; note that the crown is on the same side on the mask as it is on Riddle’s dorm uniform sprite. Additionally, his lapels and boots have the split heart design incorporated into them. The checkered pattern inside the hearts looks the same as the background of Heartslabyul school uniform cards, which makes sense, as Riddle is their leader.

Deuce’s mask has a spade on it, but it just so happens to look like an inverted heart. This may represent his allegiance to Heartslabyul. The checkered pattern on the bottom half of the mask denotes his status as a card soldier; the checkerboard pattern recurs on his dorm uniform’s right sleeve.

Ruggie’s mask has rough edges, with the black part resembling an animal’s mane (I’m going to assume it’s a hyena’s mane since that’s what Ruggie is, but it could also be a lion’s mane to allude to his dormitory). The lower part of the mask looks like it could be sharp fangs or claws. Finally, the zigzag pattern reminds me of a jester’s hat: the points end in circles, which could be the bells. This would suit Ruggie’s playful but mischevious nature.

Azul’s mask is very intricate, with many swirls and what looks to be white pearls or rhinestones. The design and color are indicative of octopus tentacles and the ink they spill, with the jewels placed to represent the suction cups running along the tentacles. (Fun fact: Azul’s masquerade suit has several tailcoats, which also resemble an octopus’s tentacles. His necklace resembles the seashell one that Ursula wears.)

Jamil’s mask is very obviously a viper (the snake appears to have a hood) curling around one eye, so close to one of his ears... almost like it could turn and whisper to him. The mask also has red diamonds in the viper’s skin and around the eye area, which could be a reference to the infamous “diamond in the rough” quote from Aladdin.

Epel’s mask has a particular shape to it that resembles an apple. It’s also notably more of the color of an apple, rather than the deep violet associated with Pomefiore. (Maybe this is meant to show that Epel is “not like the other boys” in his dorm?) Then, of course, we have white flowers on both sides of the mask, which are likely young apple blossoms.

Rook’s mask has a golden part which forms a bow and an arrow nocked into it. These are items that are associated with his character, as he is a huntsman. Interestingly, his mask also contains the pattern that appears in the background of school uniform Pomefiore cards (the scattered moons and stars). Perhaps this denotes his loyalty to Pomefiore--and, more importantly, to its queen.

Idia’s mask has far less color than those of his peers. This suits him, as both he and the dorm he represents have a gloomy atmosphere about them. (His masquerade suit is also mainly black, with blue as the accent color.) Those skeletal hands that form Idia’s mask may very well be the cold, merciless claws of Death itself, come to claim another soul... which, very understandably, ties in deeply with Idia’s guilt related to his past (see episode 6 of the main story, you’ll know what I mean). The geometric pattern on the fingers resembles the jackets of Ignihyde dorm uniforms, and the prongs that stick up at the top of the mask looks similar to the lower halves of the skull which holds his magical gem.

Malleus’s mask is also predominantly black (as are the masks of his vassals), which, again, is likely associated with dreariness (though in Diasomnia’s case, it may also be tied to mystery or olden times and a lack of change). We’ve got the spikes and the glorious outstretched dragon wings, which are the very same wings that appear on Maleficent’s throne in Sleeping Beauty. The green gem set in the center might as well be Malleus’s crown, representing all the power and the responsibility he holds--and the dragon scales hiding behind his bangs.

Silver’s mask is done up to resemble a rose, true to his princely demeanor. It’s cool that the stem of the flower curves beneath his eye!! There’s exactly three green gems dripping off of the stem, and all three of them seem to be on thorns. These three could represent the fairies in his life: Malleus, Lilia, and Sebek (half fairy). Why do I think this? Because there is also a fourth item on the stem that stands out and doesn’t have a gem on it: the leaf, the one pure human in the Diasomnia quartet, Silver. And it is the leaf, Silver, that opens up to the petals of the rose--like many fan theories speculate that Silver is the key to a happy ending (ie “he is the sword that slays the dragon”).

Sebek’s mask is, perhaps, the harshest of them all. It’s very angular and point, likely to resemble thorns, as the latticework of the mask itself looks like a network of tangled briar. (It makes sense; Sebek is the most openly abrasive and “pointed” of Diasomnia.) The lattice pattern actually works with the solid parts of the mask to form what vaguely looks like a thunderbolt shape (do you see it?), which is Sebek’s motif. His mask tapers into a single green gem that is bigger than any of the gems on Silver’s. That gem? It’s symbolic of the young master that he has sworn to protect and serve.

Shared Dorm Features

Heartslabyul’s additional elements are straight laced and no-nonsense, just like the stern Queen of Hearts. It’s a simple combo of two ribbons in solid colors (with one always being black). Maybe that’s a nod to the “black and white” nature of Riddle’s interpretation of the rules!

Savanaclaw boasts beads and tassels! The beads resemble the ones that its leader, Leona, wears in his dorm uniform. The tassels may seem a little out of place at first, but then you realize that tassels look like a lion’s tail—just like that of the King of Beasts.

Octavinelle’s ribbon is a little twisty and tapers into a point, like the tentacle of a shady deal maker like Azul or the Sea Witch. It has the same white dotted pattern as the actual mask, which, again, mimics suction cups on a tentacle. The holding stick has a segment (where the mask and the ribbon connect) that forms the shape of plumes of ink dispersing through the water. *NOTE: this may just be Azul’s design, not Octavinelle’s design. We don’t have either of the twins to compare. See the final bullet point for more details.

Scarabia’s ribbons are more slim than that of the other dorms; the more serpentine look may be to make the ribbons more closely resemble the Sorcerer of the Desert’s famous staff. The red diamonds also show up again, promising worth and feelings that may not be apparent at first glance—not unlike the twisted story of Kalim and Jamil.

Pomefiore’s ribbons are two very different ones; they’re both done up in bows—a more traditional look befitting of the oldest dorm at NRC—but in very different shades and widths. Notice that one ribbon seems to be inside the other! Perhaps one represents the conventional definition for beauty, and the other represents alternative definitions for beauty. Vil and the Beautiful Queen can have them both: outer beauty and the strong will and to passionately pursue it.

Ignihyde’s holding stick is the most unique shape of all the dorms. It looks less like a holding stick and more like a torch, lighting up the dark path to the Lord of the Underworld’s domain. The sleek look of the ribbon makes me think of a gaming console, especially with the little color it has and the blue dots, true to Ignihyde’s high-tech dorm. The only element I’m not too sure about are the black feathers! I probably just lack knowledge on Hercules and Greek mythology, but all I can think of is maybe it’s pegasus feathers??? *NOTE: this may just be Idia’s design, not Ignihyde’s design. We don’t have Ortho’s to compare. See the final bullet point for more details.

Diasomnia also has two ribbons (simple yet elegant, like the Thorn Witch), one light and one dark. It’s a dorm that is associated with mystery (the dark), which we will soon receive revelations for (the light), particularly with Malleus opening up to others and learning more about the world. And of course a spinning wheel, representative of a pastime that is sacred in Malleus’s kingdom, is incorporated into the design of the holding stick!

I noticed that the characters with SSRs (Azul, Idia, and Malleus) have fancier holding sticks than everyone else. Their holding sticks are entirely different shapes than the SRs and Rs do. In the case of Malleus (who has Sebek and Silver for comparison), his holding stick has additional details (a gem, plus a black pattern snaking up his ribbons, and a ball of thread where the holding stick connects with the mask).

#twst #twisted wonderland #Azul Ashengrotto #Idia Shroud #Malleus Draconia #notes from the writing raven #spoilers #outfit analysis #disney twisted wonderland #Deuce Spade #Ruggie Bucchi #Jamil Viper #Rook Hunt #Epel Felmier #Sebek Zigvolt #Silver

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starwrighter · 1 year

Text

I am not a baby!! (Yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(Part seven lmao)

Sometimes Danny hated being right. Mentally he cursed himself as he clamored into his lifepod. The Aurora was spilling radiation into the water just like predicted it would. A damaged drive core... That didn't bode well for him or the local wildlife. He was a Fenton! He knew the terminology for "This might blow up," in every language, no matter how needlessly complicated you said it.

A radiation suit would be helpful when the ship blew up, if not for him, then for the other survivors. Danny grew up surrounded by radioactive material, he was about as fucked up as one could get, but there was still time left for the other survivors. If there even were any left.

Shaking his head, Danny opened the storage plucking out the remaining Creepvine clusters, and started fabricating. It was hypnotic, Creepvine clusters to lubricant, copper and mushrooms to a battery and copper wire all that and a piece of titanium gave Danny a functioning Seaglide. The device was heavy, the PDA altering the blueprint so it was usable for him.

Opening the hatch up, eager to test his new toy out, Danny dove back into the water faster than ever before. Propellers spun at speeds that would chop his finger clean off if he touched them. A glowing map at the top and a flashlight he could turn off by squeezing the handles. Quick enough to keep up with the peepers while still being able to make quick sharp turns.

The Device whirled as he swam in circles, up, down, left, right, zigzag! Through coral tubes, around stone arches till he got dizzy, divebombing fish and kicking up sand.

"Congratulations, survivor. you have exceeded your weekly exercise quotient by 500 percent. Data indicates that swimming was your favorite activity,"

Heck yeah it was! Swimming is great! He's fast as hell man, radiation could eat shit! Stalkers wouldn't stand a chance, he'd just outpace them! Swimming around, breaking outcrops, and taking samples of table coral for a computer chip. Danny was having a blast!

In time he would have the materials to fabricate a habitat builder and in turn a super cool sea base! A home away from home while he's stuck outside federation space. Currently, the seabase blueprints he had were...limited, but he could work with that!

Rushing to his fabricator the blue lights felt agonizingly slow as he bounced on the heels of his feet, flippers squeaking against the floor. A habitat builder fell into Danny's impatient hands.

Back in the water, Danny scoped out the area. Access to an abundance of resources, food, and water was a necessity. Along with awareness of local predators. The shallows are a perfect place for him to build right now. A temp base to rest and store stuff before moving somewhere more convenient as he explored and met up with any of the other survivors.

Deciding to test out his new tool, Danny placed down a basic compartment. A tiny little tube that would've been big enough if he only needed a place to sleep. Yeah, that wasn't going to work. How was he supposed to pace aimlessly while he wrote notes? How was he supposed to work and live in a high-tech pool noodle? Disassembling the pathetic tube, Danny swam through the shallows plucking up the quartz needed for glass. More materials would be needed to build his base. Thankfully, he’d crashed in a ship made from and carrying the materials he needed. Danny saw no moral issue with “borrowing” titanium from supply crates light enough to lift, but the PDA seemed to have a small issue with it. With a few minutes of tinkering, it was easy to change the machine’s artificial mind.

A loop, he was going to make a base shaped like a zero because that’s how many fucks he gave about Alterra’s dumb rule. Placed upon foundations was the start of his perfect space base. The sides of the Zero became glass compartments, a perfect place to observe the local wildlife. Solar panels mounted jumpstarted the oxygen production, lights blinding when they snapped on. Fish drifted by his base, some ducking underneath his foundations settling comfortably in the shade provided. Maybe if he was here long enough, he’d grow some plants for fish to nibble on?

A hatch was placed on the front of the Zero, finally giving him access to his new base. Cold air punched him in the face as he stepped inside, but it was a welcome attack. Air conditioning at last! Throwing himself to the floor, Danny giggled, noise bouncing against barren walls. A sterile smell cycled through the base with the air filtered in. Like his parent's lab or a hospital room freshly sanitized. Familiar, it smelled like home.

Peeling off his flippers, Danny propped them against the wall. Bare feet against metal floors, Danny took to running through the loop. Brushing his hands against empty walls, he ran laps like it was gym class. The only difference was this wasn't gym class, so it didn't feel like hell. Several laps ran throughout his base until his breath ran out, and he collapsed to the floor.

Winded and panting, he glanced around his base mentally, planning where everything would go. Blueprints were limited, but brainpower wasn't. Making new blueprints for shelving units or a bed should be easy enough. The hard part would be finding the space for it. If he tinkered with the PDA, he could fabricate some blankets and pillows that he could sleep on and store away when he was awake.

First things first, he needed to get a fabricator and some storage set up. A few wall lockers on each side of the fabricator made his little crafting station. His base still felt bare. White walls would get boring real fast. No paint or paper he could use to decorate. No stickers or wallpaper to paint his base to match the stars. Untapped Potential, something to add to his to-do list. If he couldn't decorate anything else, changing the locker's text font would have to do.

Walking in a loop, Danny muttered, his brain working better than his mouth. Words failed, coming out jumbled if they were more than one or two easy syllables. Fangs created a lisp that'd get him verbally castrated if he was back at Casper. That was if he didn't maul them with his newfound face knives. Like a piranha, he was dangerous! Fierce!

Tap...Tap...Tap

Feet freezing, Danny turned to the window, heart jumping to his throat. Several glowing eyes stared back at him, burning a hole into his soul. Stripes of colors ranging from blue, purple, and forest green ran along its massive scaly body and dragon-like head. Two razor-sharp fangs poked out of a closed mouth. Arms glowing blue that faded to pitch black when reaching its four-fingered hands, each claw sharper than a sword. Hands, oh ancients, why does this one have hands? The other one didn't have hands! Curled up, it would be the same size as his base. Danny pointed his scanner at the guy, the results striking terror into the deepest depths of his core...

What the fuck do you mean this guy's a juvenile!?!

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim

#Danny the moment he gets a seaglide: I'm fast as fuck boii #Danny upon seeing Damian: I'm scared as fuck boii #Imagine playing Subnautica and you're chilling in the shallows and you see a ghost gargantuan hybrid leviathan at your door #I'd simply perish at that point #subnautica au #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #DPXDC #DCXDP #All the tags so people can filter

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yesterdays-xkcd · 6 months

Text

Her daughter is named Help I'm trapped in a driver's license factory.

Exploits of a Mom [Explained]

Transcript

[Mrs. Roberts receives a call from her son's school on her wireless phone. She is standing with a cup of hot coffee or tea (shown with a small line above the cup) facing a small round three-legged table to the right. The voice of the caller is indicated to come from the phone with a zigzag line.] Voice over the phone: Hi, This is your son's school. We're having some computer trouble.

[In this frame-less panel Mrs. Roberts has put the cup down on the table turned facing out.] Mrs. Roberts: Oh, dear – did he break something? Voice over the phone: In a way –

[Mrs. Roberts is now drinking from the cup again looking right. The table is not shown.] Voice over the phone: Did you really name your son Robert'); DROP TABLE Students;-- ? Mrs. Roberts: Oh, yes. Little Bobby Tables, we call him.

[Mrs. Roberts holds the cup down.] Voice over the phone: Well, we've lost this year's student records. I hope you're happy. Mrs. Roberts: And I hope you've learned to sanitize your database inputs.

#xkcd #xkcd 327 #exploits of a mom #little bobby tables #a classic

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kradogsrats · 11 months

Text

Okay, so here's what I'm thinking. Here's some relevant chunks from Patience and Ripples:

The stars/great/first elves are strongly characterized as having godlike power and authority over the world that includes Xadia. Humans are not meant to have primal magic, the power is undeserved, and the stars punish them for it. They look in a mirror and see themselves as divine, and this is right and proper.

The stars/great/first elves built something that Aaravos intends to destroy, largely out of spite.

Nowhere in either of these stories are other elves mentioned at all. In Patience, the first humans are described, and the world is characterized as their world.

I feel that this is all leaning heavily toward "the stars/great/first elves created or brought primal magic to Xadia." Because let's look at something else: the Border.

The Border is not a naturally-occurring feature, in that we are told that the Archdragons split the continent of Xadia in two and banished humans to the west. A thousand years later, that half of the continent is not entirely devoid of magic—there are still naturally-occurring magical creatures in basically every biome—it is thoroughly, distinctly less inherently magical than the east of Xadia. In Xadia, the dirt is magic. The dirt. You can pick up a fucking handful of the ground, and it is inherently magical.

The west was not always like that! The Moon Nexus is in the now-magicless territory, indicating that the area was settled by elves. (I would bet, however, that the Moon Nexus is and was the furthest west nexus out of the six.) I've speculated before that a thousand years of dark magic use completely depleted the inherent primal magic of the west, but actually that doesn't make a ton of sense from a logical standpoint—I mean, the sun and moon aren't going anywhere, and neither is the sky. The magical dirt of Xadia presumably doesn't stop like six inches down from the surface or something, the Earth primal permeates throughout the actual earth, presumably.

Now, I do think dark magic use still contributed to the state of the west, but here's why: the actual true source of all this magic, established by the stars/great/first elves, is tied to something in the east, and the division of the Border severed it from the west. After being cut off that way, ambient primal magic slowly drained out of that half of the continent—accelerated by being consumed for dark magic. (The source or conduit for all primal magic being focused somewhere in the east also makes sense from the standpoint of "why are all the primal nexuses clustered in one half of the continent, that's really weird.")

Let's also consider: in the west, at least, we have entire species and biomes populated by species that are not connected to a primal source. There are normal horses, normal deer, normal cats and dogs. And there are humans, also not inherently connected to primal magic. We also have an entire other ancient and forgotten system of magic, that does not rely on the primal sources! Why, unless the primal sources are not native to the world?

Furthermore, as I noted earlier, Patience refers to "their world" when talking about humans, and while this definitely indicates a separation of the stars that are the subject of the story from the world of Xadia, it's also an interesting turn of phrase to use—especially when, as I also noted, there is no mention of other elves.

What I'm saying is: what if humans and non-magical creatures are the native species of Xadia and this world, and the entire construct of primal magic, elves, dragons, and everything was artificially cultivated and introduced?

Here's where we can also get a little woo-woo pinboard-with-red-string crazy. Check out the two biggest tears in the map of Xadia:

They extend the Border beyond the edge of the continent... suspiciously well. Like, that furthest south part of the Border itself did not have to zigzag that way.

And it really makes me wonder which side of that map line the Starscraper is on, given that the Starscraper is very much set up to be a figurative and possibly also literal bridge to the heavens, or whatever realm the power we call the stars inhabits. It's probably not the channel that pumps magic into Xadia, but it wouldn't be completely insane if it was.

#the dragon prince #geography of xadia #primal magic #anyway this is also why everything is focused on this one fairly small continent #it's either the eden or the petri dish depending on your view of things #but then SOMEBODY had to mess with the fucking control group and now the whole experiment is useless #kradogsmeta

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chaifootsteps · 3 months

Note

there were a lot of bits about s1e7 that were great but in other ways it was the canary in the coal mine for what was to come, looking back at it

even at time of release people noticed Blitzo and Moxxie's 'we'll try to become real friends' convo didn't go anywhere - after all, it's essentially following an episode where Blitzo wants to be nicer with one where he has no qualms crashing M&M's anniversary. Fans tried to spin it like Blitzo sticking up for Moxxie was the evidence of him being nicer but that's a pretty minimal understanding of what 'nicer' is given it happened in the middle of, again, Blitzo crashing the anniversary after being told not to

same thing with the divorce too - there's this sudden offscreen jump of Stella apparently having moved out with no real protest despite her ordering a hit on Stolas literally two episodes prior (and she didn't demand Stolas send all her stuff over until s2e2, even though she's characterized as super materialistic...?). Once again it's not about character consistency or progressing this stupid divorce plotline in a straight line but instead making the house empty so the viewer can see how empty Stolas' life is when he's not neglecting his daughter

same with Stolas suddenly going from primarily about the sex to in longing love with Blitzo and wondering why he isn't being loved back. one episode prior he called him his plaything. The most affection we see him show before this is calling Blitzo 'darling' - followed by a speech about how he was proably spying on him again and being cool with Blitzo paying him for saving his life with sex.

come season 2, none of this has been fixed. Blitzo isn't any nicer to Moxxie, the divorce is the most frustrating stop-start plotline in the show and Stolas being Blitzo's childhood friend does little to explain why he keeps zigzagging between sex obsessed and romantic and sentimental to the point of not engaging with reality

It's a total mess. None of it ever matters, none of it ever means anything, and come Apology Tour, if past history is any indication, we'll be treated to another 20 minutes of whatever slapdash ideas Viv thought sounded good in the moment.

#Anonymous #helluva boss critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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good-to-gl0w · 3 months

Text

" flower gleam and glow . . let your power show "

⇢ healthy hair !

Hey you! Do you want gorgeous, healthy hair that shines? Well you are at the right place! Whether you’re dealing with frizz, split ends, or just want your hair to look its best, we’ve got you covered on all of that and more !

Say goodbye to bad hair days and hello to fabulous, healthy hair !

( make sure to follow as we will update with new info for more glow-up tips ! )

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

before we get into the tips, we must understand our hair first, its like our foundation we use this first then we can build on top of it :) !

hair types:

Type 1: Straight Hair

1A: Very straight, fine, and soft with a shiny appearance. It tends to be oily and difficult to curl.

Type 2: Wavy Hair

2A: Fine, barely-there waves that are easy to straighten and can be frizzy.

2B: Wavy with a more defined S-shape pattern. It tends to be frizzier and harder to straighten.

2C: Thick, coarse waves with well-defined S-shaped curls. It is prone to frizz and can be more difficult to style.

Type 3: Curly Hair

3A: Loose, large curls with a definite S-shape. The curls are often shiny and springy.

3B: Tighter, ringlet curls with more volume. It can be coarse and prone to frizz.

3C: Tight, corkscrew curls that are dense and coarse. It has a lot of volume and can be very frizzy.

Type 4: Coily/Kinky Hair

4A: Soft, defined curls with a visible S-pattern. The curls are dense and springy.

4B: Less defined curls with a more zigzag pattern. It is very dense and can shrink up to 70% of its actual length.

4C: Tightly coiled with no defined curl pattern. It is the most fragile and prone to shrinkage, often shrinking more than 70% of its actual length.

Each hair type has unique characteristics and requires different care routines to maintain its health and appearance. Understanding your hair type can help in selecting the right products and techniques for styling and maintenance !

hair thickness:

Density vs. Thickness

It's important to differentiate between hair density (the number of strands on your head) and hair thickness (the diameter of individual strands):

Hair Density: You can have fine hair with high density or thick hair with low density.

Hair Thickness: Focuses on the individual strand size, regardless of the total number of strands.

1. Strand Test

Take a single strand of hair between your fingers and observe:

Fine Hair: The strand feels thin and is difficult to see or feel between your fingers.

Medium Hair: The strand is noticeable and feels substantial but not coarse.

Thick (Coarse) Hair: The strand feels thick and strong, easily noticeable and felt between your fingers.

2. Thread Comparison

Compare a strand of your hair to a piece of sewing thread:

Fine Hair: Thinner than the thread.

Medium Hair: About the same thickness as the thread.

Thick Hair: Thicker than the thread.

3. Feel Test

Run your fingers through your hair:

Fine Hair: Feels silky and soft, but can be prone to tangling and static.

Medium Hair: Feels smooth but with a bit more texture.

Thick Hair: Feels coarse and substantial, more resistant to styling.

hair porosity:

(Hair porosity is the hair's ability to absorb and retain moisture)

The Float Test

Take a clean strand of hair: Ensure your hair is free from any product buildup by washing it thoroughly and letting it dry naturally.

Fill a glass with water: Use a clear glass and fill it with room temperature water.

Place the hair strand in the water: Place the clean, dry hair strand on the surface of the water.

Observe the hair:

Low Porosity: If the hair floats on top of the water for a long time (over 2-4 minutes), it indicates low porosity.

Normal Porosity: If the hair slowly sinks and stays in the middle of the glass, it indicates normal porosity.

High Porosity: If the hair quickly sinks to the bottom of the glass, it indicates high porosity.

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firefly--bright · 19 hours

Text

september coffee

jean kirstein x reader, modern au

summary ; september feels alot like the start of the year. jean brings you pastries while you make coffee, and september feels less daunting than january. warnings ; none! a/n ; im sorry for the last atrocity. please enjoy this domestic slice of life and forget i ever wrote the last one. thanku. also this is just me revealing my mocha recipie. enjoy :3 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿

middle tile art creds ; @ppushable !

september feels a lot like the start of the year. more than january, a better fit. maybe it's the air, maybe its the cool breeze, maybe its the fact that your hair falls a little better, maybe its the fact that your coffee tastes like how you know how to make it, or that your music fits the occasion of the leaves falling on the ground. orange, a little soft still, littering the entrance of your apartment building.

or maybe it's none of those. maybe you're reading too much into it. the wind holds your face with its coolness and you think it's okay to breathe a little better. you think it's better to forget you were ever fourteen. its okay if your bedside table is lined with coffee cups, a dark band running on the inside of them, indicating that it has been used well enough to know it isn't forgotten. youre barely there but its okay because the year is just starting - nine months in.

or maybe it's him. his hands in his pockets, waiting outside your door with a brown bag holding croissants and some cheese. the good one, he says, holding a grudge against everything that doesn't meet his taste. his coffee is black and made by you, just how he likes it, sitting on your kitchen counter patiently, cooling down.

maybe he just happens to breathe life into the september's stillness to make it a little fuller. which is an important title to give to someone, akin to god, being the one your risky and dangerous hopes are pinned on, an unknown specter.

he balances his coffee on his laptop, carrying the both of them - dangerous, risky, hopeful. places both on top of the kitchen counter in front of your quarter-made coffee. it's barely starting, the brew of your present concoction being only planned out and the mug is empty when he peers into it, curious.

"what's it gonna be this time?" he asks, taking a sip from his cup with gentle breaths, knowing just how hot the coffee is going to be. this is not hope. no, its the fullness that comes with being with him. being with him is to feel september around you, semi-crunchy leaves on the ground being forgotten by everyone else but you even if you're in your home making an iced mocha.

"you'll see." you say, speaking about hope. he'll see. you'll wait.

he nods, slowly, twice, uncalculated movements that you have somehow counted and known since you'd met him. "show me." he says. this is also not hope, and you dare not to mix the two - his voice isn't a command but its a plea. not a hope, because he knows you enough to know you'd comply. its certainty. not risky, not dangerous. safe and sound in your home, cup of quarter-made coffee, marbled floors, september air, his voice. safe. easy.

you've been too focused on stringing hope together. beady rocks of what people describe as a glimmer. you'd describe it as something more of a small weight. beads. something that required effort to be collected together once they scattered away. hope came with the dangerous of risk and its own existence, a mapped road that you had been down to several times, hoping against hope. but this was good. the little shine in his eyes, looking at you without expectance.

"two spoons of coffee." you start, taking your shitty pack of instant coffee, crumbled at its zigzagged edges, cut unevenly. jean's face scrunches up at your choice, something you cant show you agree with. "why this one?" he grumbles, and you spare him a glance from the corner of your eye.

"its backup coffee." you say, shrugging. the plastic crinkles under your fingers as you slip a spoon inside it.

"backup coffee?" he asks, pushing the cup closer to your spoon - things that dont go unnoticed by you. its not about actions being added up in the end, you think, because you were always taught that it was the sum of all your actions that determined if you were good or bad, but its not. in this moment, you decide that everything - little or big - that he did made your heart feel like it actually mattered. every thing had its own consequence.

"my actual coffee's finished. this is the one i use when i have to wait for the next grocery run to buy the good stuff." you answer, and he hums, his hands folding themselves over his chest, nodding, attentive, certain. You turn your attention to another cabinet – the one containing the sugar and cinnamon – and jean’s attention rests on you. the music sounds different, you think, clearer. another thing about September stillness. Another thing about the normalcy of hopelessness. Despite how big and scary the word sounds; hopelessness isn’t a curse. It doesn’t have to be, not when jean’s eyes are on your hands and the way you turn the cap of the sugar jar, careful, certain. Hopelessness is certain. It’s a favour. it’s the lack of hope, the lack of the blood-curdling risk that comes with it. It’s the lack of the expectation for something to be perfect, you keep thinking, take one spoonful and dumping it on the coffee powder in your less-empty mug.

Another spoon. Your mind shifts - you're going to add chocolate syrup in this, that’s going to have sugar too - you shake some sugar off the spoon and back into it’s jar, grains falling in-between the space of the jar and the mug, spilling on the counter. Hopeless. Jean snickers. “shut up,” you say with a smile of your own, capping the lid back on before moving on to the next step.

“cinnamon?” he asks, tilting his head. You nod, flipping the lid open to the part with tinier holes than the other side and sprinkling some in. “how do you know how much?”

You shrug, but your moves are decisive. “just eyeball it.”

he rolls his eyes, hopeless. “I need measurements.” He says. you scoff. “and you’re going to actually make this?” “yes.” He says as if its obvious, “for when you want it but cant make it.”

Little things. You were always taught about adding things up to make them count more, but this counted just as much. You pause, taking a breath to take in the fact that he admitted to the act of loving you. admitted to the fact that he’d love you into routine.

September air breathes a little more into life.

“just… trust your gut.” You say, a little hopeful, you think, because your heart’s beating a little bit faster. Risky, dangerous. pearls of hope are scattering away from you. in the silence where you don’t speak, jean seems to have made up his mind, giving you a deadpan expression when your eyes meet his. “don’t give me that bullshit.”

“what? I trust your gut. Why cant you trust your gut?” you challenge, closing the lid, placing the bottle on the marbled counter, turning your face towards his. He runs one hand through his hair, shaking his head. “my gut cant even digest lactose.” “and yet you eat blocks of – what is it you got?” “gouda-“ “gouda with wine.” “yeah that’s because…that’s my duty.” You laugh in affectionate disbelief. “then its my duty to drink how much ever cinnamon you put in my coffee.”

The same silence spreads across the room again. Contemplative, comfortable; an unsaid recognition of your own version of a confession, just as his was. And jean thinks about how you claim you don’t know how to talk about things in a way that make sense and have shape, but then you do. You always somehow find a way to make everything into a prayer, into a sentence that hopes to be something more than itself. And then he thinks about how comforting it is. The fact that he’s the only one that can decode your false bait into its much more real, much scarier reality. Each phrase hoping to be an “I love you” that only jean can hold, seeing it to be something akin to a scripture rather than three countable words.

A duty to make coffee for his beloved; a penance, an act, a confession. And then the duty to drink the coffee if it turns out worse than promised; a recognition, an act, a confession.

You move to get the milk from the fridge. Its half empty, half full, and you pour just enough for the milk to cover the powdery mix in your mug, filling up around one-third of the glass.

“hmm. Milk. Right after you made fun of my disability.” He says. you laugh. It’s a ritual. “being lactose intolerant is a curse, not a disability.” He waves his hand around in dismissal. “whatever,” he says, just as you place your mug in the microwave. The action catches his attention more than the rest of your actions do.

“microwave?” he asks, tilting his head again, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Your hand reaches forward, brushing it back, your fingers tangling in his hair. His eyes flutter, cheeks tainting a watery red.

“helps the sugar melt faster.” You say. You watch his adam’s apple bob, his eyes opening to meet yours, your hand still in his hair. He hums, and you're almost afraid he’s going to fall asleep – standing up, leaning against the marbled kitchen counter, with your hand where its supposed to be, soft strands against your fingertips, just where he’s supposed to be, the slope of his shoulders relaxed, calm, only moving with his breath.

The microwave dings. Once, twice, and you open it before it reaches it’s last beep. Another ritual. The song changes, playing another soft tune, and jean’s shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, scratching the back of his neck and hiding his stupid blush from you even though you’ve already seen it and taken pride in it. You’ll grant him the illusion of having gotten away with it. Just this once.

placing the mug on the counter again, you stir the sugar into the milk and coffee and cinnamon. “how do you know if the sugar’s dissolved?” jean asks. He leans back to his left foot, shifting closer to you. his chest is against your arm, just enough space to let you mix the liquid, it’s warm scent filling the room, taking up space, mixing with your breath. September air lulls – its all just shitty instant coffee and cinnamon now, and the old, burnt-out candle on your coffee table not even three steps away is long forgotten.

“chocolate next.” You say. Jean nods, moving off of the counter to the cabinet beside him, and you try not to focus on his movements too much. It proves to be hard when his forearms flex with little effort and his face lights up subtly when he spots the bottle of the syrup, reaching forward to grab it. Another confession, you think, that you didn’t ask him for this. You didn’t ask him to come to your apartment just to watch you make your coffee, you didn’t ask for him to waste his time while you could ramble about the day you spent without him. He didn’t ask for you to look at him as if he was doing you a favour, but he was. Is it a favour if you didn’t really ask for it? You didn’t ask him to open the bottle for you, you didn’t ask him to squeeze whatever was left at the end ontop of your warm coffee. And you mumble out a “thanks” anyway, because what else can you do?

“I kinda… stab the cup? With the spoon? To feel the bottom…if there are any grains left, id feel it though the spoon.” You say, demonstrating exactly what you were saying. Your spoon hits the bottom of the mug, and you feel a crystal of sugar through the tip of your spoon. “complicated,” jean whispers from beside you and you try to stifle a laugh.

“not really. Youre stupid.” “im not.” “sure.” “im not.”

Pearls of dangerous hope string themselves together without your say in the matter. You breathe out and watch as the remaining ribbon of smoke from the heat of the coffee distorts around your exhale. Jean’s hand rubs the flesh of your arm, the un-asked for warmth leaving it’s traces on your skin. You didn’t ask for this. His hand is on your shoulder now, and you cant help but enjoy it. You stir the chocolate into your concoction, and jean leans forward to place a small kiss near your collarbone without prior notice. But you don’t flinch from surprise, relaxing under his lips. He pulls away before you can start wondering again, and your mind lulls.

“I just followed some video at first and then I hated it. And then I just fucked around and found out. my first coffee was with my cousin sister when the lights went off. We all went to the grocery store because that was the only place with the a/c still on, and she got a can of cold coffee and I had a sip and now my only goal in life is to make coffee that was exactly like the shitty can of coffee we had then.” You said, overexplaining while the ice in your now full mug of coffee melted slowly. Jean took a sip of it, nodding to your story. His brows lift in little surprise after taking a sip, shaking his head in appreciation. “don’t know if this counts as shitty,” “you like it?” you ask with a smile, and jean pretends it doesn’t affect it as much as it does. The coffee settles in his stomach as do the butterflies. He nods.

You love him. there are no favours to ask for. After making sure the chocolate’s dissolved, the colour of the coffee changing from what it was before, small bubbles gathering at the edge of the liquid, you move to the fridge to get some ice. Jean’s eyes follow your figure, glued to your face as you reach into the freezer, prying the ice cubes out, holding them in your hands.

“you could’ve just got the mug near you,” jean says, watching you pour the handful over the coffee. “and I’m the stupid one?”

“shut up.” You tell him with a smile in defeat, unable to come up with a clever response. You wipe your now damp hands on your pants, and jean grabs the milk, pouring it over the ice, knowing just how much you’d like. A couple of the cubes float to the top, just as he stops, and now its your turn to lean on the counter beside him, hands resting on the marble as he stirs the coffee.

“if this were a glass mug-“ you say, and he looks at you with a soft smile you cant quiet place, “-you could see the layers of the coffee and the milk and it looks really pretty,”

he hums in response. “when did you find out you liked it like that?”

“its good. Sweet,” he remarks. You tilt your head knowingly, “you pretend to like black coffee but I know you’d tear up a frappe,” “I would not-“ “literally last week.” “that was different.” “how?” “I bought that for you!” “and you drank all of it before I even knew you got it for me-“ “I was tempted.” “sure, jean.” You say, laugh laced in your words. Jean pushes the mug towards you as if to prove you wrong.

You take a sip. The song changes again, and jean’s hand finds its way to the small of your back. With your lips still touching the cup, his lips touch your cheeks. His stubble tickles your chin, but you don’t flinch. September air is calm, quiet, there’s little breeze. Jean kisses your cheek. “how was your day?” he asks, ready, quiet, calm.

you breathe a little better, turning your face to his and pecking a kiss to his lips. He unwraps the pastry he bought not too long ago while listening it you, hopped up on the kitchen counter with a cold iced mocha in your hands, jean’s eyes on you. pearls become a necklace, and the string is stronger than before because he’s here. His eyes are on you.

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirschtein

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