#and its not like they Only show they care in the latter half

[wolfnight2012]

The way the entire latter half of 5x06 leaves zero room for doubt about how much these asshole vampires truly care for each other.

Nadja and Nandor are both ready to risk their lives for their family members.

Nadja in particular was intensely protective of Guillermo, the entire last half of their plot is about how much Nadja (and Nandor) CARES

From the moment the doctor says he'll have to perform more tests, Nadja starts to worry. She seeks Guillermo out to sneak out of the hospital before his "secret" is revealed. This has no bearing on her, its solely to protect Guillermo from a hypothetical/possible threat.

She outright claims him, (TWICE) "he's our familiar" and the "he's mine"

She searches desperately for him, she sounds SCARED while calling for him, and it's 100% fear for him, Nadja is not on the hook (yet), the doctor doesn't blame her for Guillermo's freakish half-transformation

Fighting off several workers, putting herself between Guillermo & danger--putting herself IN danger (she does not let up/fly herself out of harm's way when the doctor turns on her, she calls for Guillermo's help but never Once does she rescind her claim on him) and claiming Guillermo in every way she can.

I really do think her "he's mine" is a personal claim. Guillermo is Nandor's bodyguard, her family's shared familiar, and he's her's.

She does say Nandor deserves to kill him, but that excuse immediately falls flat when the doctor starts trying to kill her, and yet she keeps herself between him & Guillermo.

Wwdits really said these guys will do anything for each other. Nandor would undergo a painful (and dangerous) energy transfer to save Colin Robinson. Nadja would fight off several vampires in order to protect Guillermo.

Laszlo would keep Guillermo's secret (even from his lovely lady wife) & ask her to implicate herself with him, all for Guillermo & Nandor's sake

They love each other your honor 🥺

[dandyshucks]

whyyyy does nobody ever come back to this group fjdkdl they show up once for a first time and then never return !!! its kind of crushing bc some ppl I've been like... excited at the prospect of seeing them again and then they just never show up ever again :')

and I didn't even get to draw anything good while sitting there !!! AUGH

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 (3)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, some profanity, reckless drunk driving(I do not condone), grave scratches(non sexual), mentions of smoking, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑: 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

A/N: I feel like I can make an updating schedule for this, Wednesday every week (at least, its Wednesday for me)? How does that sound? wc around 2.3k (got longer than intended)

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐

“What’s the time?”

“Hmm?” Tossing his half burnt cigarette into the trashcan, Sukuna answers, “Quarter past eleven?”

“Right.”

Said so, you have hung up the call.

.

Sukuna knows he is reckless.

Often times has he found himself in situations due to this attribute of his. Although he manages to spare a laugh or two while recounting these situations, sometimes having you join in as well. That impulsivity is brought out by his need of chaos and to prove time and time again to everyone else that he isn’t someone they should mess with. Whereas this impulsivity—where he is driving down the expressway with his foot pressed on the accelerator, barely staying below the speed limit—is brought upon by you.

He zooms past all the cars on the road, the wind from the open window serves to tousle the fringes of his hair from one side to another.  A mild headache ripples through him a second later, the effects of alcohol finally showing its fangs. The fog of inebriation doesn’t necessarily cloud his eyes as he navigates the car past the pedestrians and vehicles; courtesy to his high alcohol tolerance.

His lips are twisted into a constant frown while adrenaline surges through his veins. And he will blame the entirety on you. What’s with you in the first place? Sure, he might have been out a little later than usual. Maybe he missed a few calls from you but that doesn’t mean you will return the same treatment. He has his reasons—good reasons. Unlike you who is just holding a grudge on him.

He clicks his tongue, rotating the steering wheel as he changes gears and just as he is about to pick up speed, the car comes to a screeching halt.

“What the fuck?!”

He curses out loud, eyes trained on the stray object lounging right in the middle of the street. Quite literally, right in the middle of the street as its eyes glow with the impertinent illumination of the headlights. The object in question is commonly called a cat.

“Not this shit,” He rolls his eyes, smacking his palm on the horn – disrupting the rather quietude of the neighbourhood and trying to get the feline to run off; It doesn’t. Instead, it lets out a yawn, nestling its head between its forelimbs and completely ignoring the driver.

Sukuna’s eye twitches. He smacks the horn again.

It doesn’t move.

Again.

It can only flutter its eyelids shut and pretend to be asleep.

At last, Sukuna has to take matters into his own hands. He steps out of the car, groggily walking up to the disturbance and looks down on it. His stare only passes the single message – Get the fuck out of here.

The cat has a bemused glare plastered on his features, probably to show that it doesn’t care.

Sukuna crouches down, extending his hand to grab hold of its collar when- “Agh- Fucking shit!”

He swears out loud as soon as the feline scratches him. He grasps his injured hand, staring at the pierced area with widening eyes and a twist of insanity causes his lip to curl up. The claws have made its marks over the scraped skin as a tad amount of blood oozes from the cuts.

“Oh, you did not just do that,” He mutters and in a second he has the cat in his grasp. Holding it via its nape, he dangles it before his eyes while the latter lets itself be held on air, without any protest; save for the unwavering glare it is shooting at him. “What? Got something to say?”

The cat merely lets out a high-pitched meow from its end.

Sukuna huffs, rotating on his heels and ready to toss the cat aside. “Fall back in your beauty sleep somewhere else.”

Slightly does he loosen his grip on the cat did it let out strangled sound; shaking its head vigorously.

Huh? He blinks, swaying the cat from one side to another which only incites displeased purrs from it. At last, he pivots his wrist and brings it closer to his face. The previous glare is still etched on its mien but the intensity has significantly lowered.

He scoffs, returning a scowl with a same fervour. “Listen here you piece of shit, my girl is already raging like a volcano and if I am anymore late then I will intrude your den and-” He pauses, “That’s a promise.”

The cat blinks like it understands anything, answering him in its language which comes out as a choked affirmation. Sukuna is about to drop it again and the same pattern as previous follows.

“Alright, what the hell is up with you?’

Irritation is flaring in his bones as the cat refuses to be let off. He takes a moment for himself, noting the physical attributes of the feline. Thick black far rustles under his palm, sharp yellow eyes and it’s staring at him with an expression which only evokes mischief.

Just a regular black cat and from his least bit of knowledge about the societal norms, he knows they are considered to be the bearer of bad omens.

For the next five seconds, he contemplates on all of his choices.

He finds himself making the worst one.

.

You are seething when he returns home.

No, you aren’t blowing up or throwing any temper tantrum as Sukuna expected. Rather you aren’t regarding him with anything at all.

When he steps inside through the doorway, purposely slamming the door with a bit more pressure than necessary to make you aware of his arrival; you don’t come to greet him let alone grace him with an answer.

As Sukuna strolls through the corridor and finally into the living room, he finds you perched on the couch and clicking through some channels on the TV before halting in one.

He clears his throat and you crane your neck to glance at him before shifting your attention back on the program.  

For obvious reasons that causes an irk mark to form on his brows. He saunters to the couch and sits beside you, calling your name; you don’t answer.

Alright, you’re mad. He squares his shoulder, “How long will you keep up that attitude?”

You pass him a look which extends a second too long and for some reason, Sukuna finds something drop to the pit of his stomach. “What’s the time?”

There’s that question again.

“I know, it’s pretty late–"

“I am asking you the time not records of your unpunctuality.”

“Christ,” He rolls his eyes. “It’s only a one-time thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, “One-time thing, really?”

“Fine,” An exhausting sigh leaves his lips. “Maybe not a one-time thing but I am back now.”

You merely roll your eyes, turning away from him. Sukuna is about to speak again but something just has to intervene.

“Meow!”

Instantly, you perk up, twisting your body from the direction of a feline’s voice. “What was that?” Before your boyfriend can answer any of your queries, said feline is striding inside the living room with a graceful yet suspicious poise which causes disbelief to cloud your visage. “Where did that come from?”

The black cat tethers a corner before halting just near your feet. It looks up at you and Sukuna has to suppress the flurry of retorts filling his mouth as the cat gazes at you with sheer innocence.

What the hell was up with that attitude earlier?

It nuzzles its head over your ankles, letting out a tender purr while doing so. Just like that, you find yourself falling under its charming spell.

“Aww come here, cutie,” Cooing, you pick up the feline, cradling it into your arms as if it were an infant.

As for the cat, when it finds refuge in your arms, it doesn’t hold back from nestling into a better position.

“Where did you find it?”

“On the middle of the road,” He replies, leaning back as his eyelids narrow. “Quite literally.”

You take your moment to run your hand on its fur, sighing out of content. “So you brought it home? That’s so sweet.”

“I tried to toss it away more times than I can count but this fucker won’t budge.”

“Hey,” You protest, shooting his a playful glare. “It’s so cute and wait-” Shifting, you reach the conclusion. “It’s a boy.”

“Wow…”

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, you pat his head, “Aren’t you such a good boy?”

Physically, Sukuna has to stop himself from cringing at the attention you’re pouring over the filthy feline. However, before he can descend into that spiral, a wave of nausea overrides him. Sooner than he can comprehend, he is rushing to the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet. The expunged contents is flushed down as he takes a moment of rest.

He hears footsteps and a second later, you’re kneeling beside him. Greeted by your mien which evokes concern, your hand is placed over his shoulder.

“Hey,” You call softly. “You okay?” He nods, refraining himself from giving you a verbal answer as the sense of nausea still lingers. You rub circles over his back, trying to soothe his momentary queasiness. It does work as the tension starts to wear off. “I will bring you some water. Stay here, ‘k?”

Before he can affirm, you’re out of the bathroom. The next seconds are a blur and Sukuna refuses to let the silence mess with his head. You return soon after as you push the glass to his lips. He gulps it down in one go.

“Better?”

He nods.

“Should I get you some medicine or will you be fine?” He shakes his head negatively but he should’ve known you are stubborn. “I will get you one just in case.”

You are about to leave again but Sukuna is quick. He grips your wrist, tugging on it as he beckons you to sit with him.

Tilting your head, you ask, “Hmm what?”

As for Sukuna, he has his eyes lowered to his lap while he chews on his bottom lip. Surely, he’s got something to say to you but to get the words out is a task on his own. “I- I’m uh… fuck, this isn’t supposed to be this hard.”

In response, you can only stare at him with confusion flickering in your irises. “What happened?”

“I’m… uh, I’m sorry.”

You blink, “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” He repeats, raising his eyes to meet yours. “Sorry for… uhm not caring about the- the time and making you… you worry.”

It’s almost like he is mumbling the words to you and he doesn’t even know if you’re able to register half of it. A silence stretches and he finds himself in a position where he might’ve to repeat himself. Until he doesn’t.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Aww, ‘kuna,” An amused smile curves up your mien and for reasons unknown a heat swells in his chest. “You’re so adorable.”

That heat now permeates to his face and he arrives to the conclusion that he is only burning with a fever. “No.”

“Aww, but you are.”

“Stop right there.”

“But baby…” You jut out lower lip, leaning forward as you hold his face in your hands. Sukuna is on the verge where he feels he might pass out any second. “I am just telling the truth, you’re so adorable. My adorable baby.”

He arches his knee, ready to leave after prying you off but you don’t relent.

“Alright, alright sorry,” You laugh, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “I accept your apology, ‘k?”

He hums, again refusing to meet your eyes before he adds, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Ay, ay captain,” You raise your hand, holding it on your forehead as a salute.

This time, Sukuna doesn’t refrain from letting that taunting grin slip into his lips. However, just when he thought both of you were having a moment until you aren’t. The new addition of life in your abode comes loitering inside the bathroom and you are swift to nestle up the cat in your arms.

“Were you lonely? I didn’t mean to leave you alone though,” You speak to the feline again, apologetically. One which is returned with an affirmative tone from the latter’s whimper.

You continue the tender conversation with the cat and Sukuna takes the moment to just watch the two. “He likes you.”  He comments after a second, garnering your attention.

“I like him too,” A wide smile has curled in your lips as you scratch behind his ear earning a soft sigh from him. “A lot. Kinda reminds me of you, don’t you think?”

“Please,” He scoffs, a frown forming on his face as if the comparison hurts. “I am far better than this annoying pest.”

“Don’t call him that,” You rebuke tersely which he returns with a roll of eyes. “Give him a name.”

“I am not going to do anything like that.”

“Sukuna…”

The warning in your voice doesn’t elude him but he isn’t giving in either. “This thing doesn’t even like me.”

“This thing is ours so you better give him a name now.” Sukuna looks like he’d rather watch paint dry, inciting a low sigh from you. You bring the feline near his face. “C’mon, you brought him home. You should name it.”

If he acquiesces to your command, you might let this charade drop. Well… The cat is black so… “Kuro.”

“Kuro?”

He nods, “Kuro.”

“Kuro, it is then.” Your eyes gleam with excitement as you rock the cat in your arms. “Do you like your name, Kuro?”

“Meow!” He replies and you take the high pitch squeal as his likeness to the new name.

Sukuna lets out a sigh, leaning back as his head rests against the basin cabinet. Maybe he can get used to a cat.

The said cat passes him such a mischievous smirk from your arms that he has to rethink his choice.

He grumbles under his breath, “Fucker Kuro…”

“Meow!”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒

A/N: ik the title is misleading but y'all as someone who doesn't want kids ever this is self indulgent wish + I can never see Sukuna as a genuine father so you have that lol.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @o-ikawaii

[whorediaries-09]

Hey!! Could you do one where Sirius and reader were dating during hogwarts but they broke up after harry was born but they were already his godparents. After James and Lily die, Sirius doesn’t go to Azkaban so they have to reunite to take care and raise Harry.

hi love, thank you for sending in the request. it's a great idea, and could have been longer than what i have written to be honest, but i was running short on time. i still hope you like it <3

maroon;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, drinking, alludes to sexual assault. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- i wanted to write a fic using this song for so long. anon i love you cause i have the perfect opportunity to do that now 👯‍♂️

the slut club

and I wake with your memory over me that's a real fucking legacy to leave,

you're sure you can still hear his ringing distinctive laughter through the photograph. the photograph you hold has faded away its brightest hue, along with the smile of james potter and his heartbeat. you cradle his almost doppelgänger on your knee if it wasn't for his bright emerald eyes. he sucks on his thumb, while brandishing a twig in thin air. (after you had successfully convinced him it was a wand)

'honey, look, it's your papa,' you say, flashing his father's picture on his eyeline. you wonder if he recalls his features as his grubby fingers grab at the photograph. you wonder if you'd had to introduce his father to him if he weren't dead.

the doorknob clicks. the footsteps knocking on the floor are similar but it still sends a wave of coldness through your veins. your jaw tightens.

'i'm so sorry i'm late,' he says running his fingers through his hair. he picks up harry, and places a chaste kiss on his chubby cheek. you get up from the sofa.

'it's okay sirius, he's my godson too,' you say, loosening your tightened jaw. you crack your knuckles.

'buddy where'd you get this...twig?' you hear sirius ask harry. he flashes him a half toothed grin, shoving the twig in his ear.

'hey, hey no,' sirius scrunches his face in pain. you suppress a smile, throwing your coat over your shoulders.

'i convinced him it's a wand. he saw me using it to turn down the blinds and yeah, you know he's just like his father, stubborn,'

'you seen moony?' you ask. remus was the only person you could confide in at that moment. somethings seemed to be overwhelming. swallowing it up would seem like a great idea, but it wasn't. not in the long run. the run hadn't even started and you felt like your joints were rusted, lungs exhausted and heart beating too slowly. perhaps it was the after effects of a lorn tragedy. your breathing palpitated with the way sirius' gray eyes ran over your body.

'he's sulking as usual,' he replied, his mood suddenly in the halt of a shift.

'home?' you ask, your feet jittery.

'hm,'

you're not sure whether it's a tone of disapproval or jealousy. the latter seems dimensionally impossible, so you disapparate, to lupin's house.

*******

your eyes are torn of sleep, the half moon shining stark against the dark sky. the stillness of the night enveloped you, an uncomfortable warmth surrounding you. the night seemed stuffy, a prison of your thoughts. it was as if a weight of restlessness settled upon your bones, your mind and body battling to fall into a slumber. the darkness thundered a dance of troubled thoughts, which instead of providing solace was a battle against the dreams that awaited you on the other spectrum of sleep.

it's thud against your door. is it the wind? you search for your wand, and slowly whisper,

'lumos,'

the tip of your light enlightens into a beautiful solemn blue. you curl your toes, walking down the hallway. your voice is sore, dry and cracked when you speak, pressing your ear against the wood of the door.

'wh-who is it?'

'it's me, sirius.'

your hand wraps itself around the doorknob as your turn it, around, unlocking the door. it's not the first time he showed up at your house in the middle of the night. last time, when he came in he was drunk and red-eyed, searching for a bestowed comfort. while it wouldn't have mattered if it was someone else, it felt so wrong back then. he'd hugged you tight, your ribs almost breaking from the pressure. it made you reminisce of the days when he'd hug you, whispering i love you's in your ear. it made you reminisce of the days when he'd tickle you and you'd laugh till your ribs hurt. you remembered how he'd reeked of alcohol and tobacco, so unlike yet like him.

he stands there before you, his nose dripping blood, tears staining his cheeks. you stare at him hollow-eyed, your heart bleeding with an urge to hold him. but it seems like you're stuck, as if your blood is frozen, your senses too numb. he stammers, walking towards you. he smells like a flowery scent infused with the stench of beer. his words are broken when he speaks into your hair, his arms dropping on your body.

your lips are dry as your arms close around his shaking body.

'who did this to you?' you whisper. you feel his heartbeat beating against yours. his slows it's pace and yours picks up the pace as he lets the cruel words out of his mouth, offering you a broken story.

'this-this girl, she groped me when i was dancing with her. i thought it was by mistake a-at first, but-'

he breaks down, his sobs shattering every shard of your broken heart.

'it's fine, we'll get you a warm bath,' you whisper, slowly running your fingers down his spine. it's as if by instinct, or maybe old habit, you kiss his shoulder.

'i-i miss you.' he says.

'i'm right here,'

'no, i miss us.'

'sirius?'

he looks at you with an utmost expression of genuine love and it scares you. his gray eyes almost absorb your soul. it's as if your heart beats maniacally against your ribcage, while he captivates you. he feels like the perfect muse for your poems. he feels like the last bite of your cornetto. he feels like home.

he feels like he's yours.

you're scared. maybe the incarnations were roses after all.

[lunarw0rks]

Hello!! Could you do one with how the 141 boys would take care of their sick partner who is also in 141 with them? Like when would they notice that you were sick or didn’t show up to training because you were sick?

I love your writing!!

Taking Care of Their Sick S/O (+Ale)

Warning(s): gn!reader, established relationship, emetophobia tw, hurt/comfort, mild language, fluff ˳✧༚/✿ Word Count: 1.1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? 𓆩♡𓆪 ask box

SYNOPSIS; if there was any unspoken rule in your line of work; it was that you show up to work, with no excuses. No absences unless an injury has rendered you disabled, or you're bedridden. For you, right now, it was the latter. You picked up a bug, some sort of flu that had you convinced you were dying. You found yourself too beat to tell anyone but those on a need-to-know basis.

Price

John let out a groan when his work phone rang, interrupting his paperwork. He figured it was yet another thing that had gone wrong or another phone call to take up an hour of his precious time.

But it wasn't; it was your voice — your scratchy, exhausted voice.

One portion of you called him because you had to, as his soldier. But the other half was his significant other, yearning for any comfort he could spare. It was the type of flu where you'd convinced yourself you were on your deathbed.

His soothing voice is what you needed, and it's what you got once he heard your sniffles and coughs. ❝You stay in bed until you're well, got it, sweetheart?❞ He spoke sternly, fiddling with his pen on the other line. Though he wanted nothing more than to tend to you personally, he just couldn't spare the time.

He sent one of his trusted men to check on you every few hours, taking a request for an errand, a file you wanted to review in bed, or something as trivial as a water refill. In addition, you got as much covered absence as you needed, probably even a few extra days to be sure of a full recovery.

Simon

Simon was the first to notice you acting off — the slower response time when asked a work-related question, how you had gone to bed hours than you usually would, and how your form had gotten sloppy in training.

Then, the following day, when you weren't present; he had been proven correct once again. The nasty flu you picked up was so hellacious you didn't want to risk getting the rest of them sick, so you stuck it out in your barrack.

He did check on you — startled you, actually. You rolled over when your nap had been cut short by a fierce cough, nearly adding a concussion to your reason for absence when you spotted the figure sitting beside you. Simon grabbed your arm before you could fall off the cot, feeling the sheer warmth of your fever, ❝didn't mean to startle you, love. Was worried, is all.❞

His fear of getting sick was non-existent, due to his alarming ability to push through the worst of colds and flu strains. Simon brushed a sweaty strand away from your drowsy eyes, merely watching as you lay feverish in your cot.

Soap

Let's be honest; Soap probably gave you the flu, only he was lucky enough to show the symptoms of a mild common cold — so the correlation was never made.

Of course, it had to hit you at its worst when he spent the night with you. You ran to the bathroom in the middle of the night, vomiting last night's dinner. ❝Ye alright in there, sweetheart?❞ Soap asked groggily at the sounds of your retching, only plagued with a runny nose and a deeper voice.

He stretched his muscles and waited outside the door, flashing a look of concern at your appearance. Though you had brushed your teeth, you still felt horrendous — and looked it.

❝I'll go make you a tea, hm?❞ He did just that, shuffling over to the kitchenette with a silent yawn. If he weren't sick himself, he wouldn't be half as drained as he was right now.

When he returned, he sat you up enough for you to keep the steaming mug upright. He passed it to you, watching as you sipped it to soothe the burn in your throat. ❝Best tea of your life, I promise.❞

Gaz

Gaz only saw a glimpse of you through the small window on your barrack door, the outline of you as you choked back some water. Even through the metal door, he heard a raspy chest cough you emitted.

He knocked a few times, taking a few steps back when you opened the door, looking dreadful. Dark circles, sweat formed on your forehead, and your pajamas still on. ❝Christ, babe, have you gotten any rest today? Go back to bed.❞ He gave the order from intense concern for getting you back in action. Not to mention, the day was boring without you on the field.

As much as he wanted to embrace you, he didn't want to risk catching whatever flu you had caught a strain of.

Once you were a few feet from him, he followed you inside, draping a spare quilt from the linen closet on you, then distancing himself once more. ❝How about we... video call until this is over?❞ Kyle made his best attempt at a kind smile, though he had already found the doorway.

Alejandro

He knew you were ill because the report made its way up the chain of command, eventually finding itself on his desk.

Alejandro couldn't spend a lot of time searching for you when he passed the training room, though he did find it strange you hadn't texted a good morning to him.

But, once he found out you had picked up a nasty flu, he set aside some time to get you a care package. Electrolytes to keep you hydrated, an extra blanket, and some soup he had a rookie drive across town to an authentic Mexican restaurant for (though not as good as one he would make for you if he had the time).

When you weakly opened the door, seeing the folded blanket and a takeout baggie of soup and bottled drinks, there was a neatly folded note;

'Te deseo una pronta recuperación' — A

Laswell

Unfortunately for her and you, she rarely had the luxury of being on base. Most of her working days were spent with Shepard, or halfway across the world gathering intel. Communication rarely came through texts, only calls with her.

It was both your luckiest and unluckiest day, however. You were ill and bedridden — but she was on base today.

The door to your cot closed softly, a gentle palm resting on your hip. She found out about your absence through Price, instantly taking a few minutes from her day to check up on you. ❝The Captain's worried about you,❞ she rubs circles on your blanketed hip, and the only sign that you're even awake is the active sniffling from your stuffy sinuses. You don't turn to face her, and she wouldn't want you to either, but the comfort eases the upset a bit.

You hear the faint rustle of a purse before she's handed you a few tablets to take, holding them in front of your mouth, then passing your water bottle. ❝Take these, they should knock you out for a few hours, let you get some rest.❞

[antiphilosophia]

Crowley's pre-fall name is BARAQIEL (THEORY)

THIS POST MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS OR RATHER CLUES FOR GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 CONTENTS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION 🤍

Very well. Who doesn't love the Crowley is the Archangel Raphael theory (I am certainly of those people who do). During my first watch of Good Omens S2 I was even somehow almost confident that that was the case.

However, my second, more careful, viewing of this lovely (but equally heartbreaking) season made me change my mind, likely for good. In episode 4, Furfur's book "Demon's Guide To Angelic Beings Who Walk The Earth" shows us a name of a certain angel Baraqiel. (see photo below) Knowing Good Omens that can hardly be a coincidence.

Unfortunately, the very text is quite unreadable. One thing, other than the name, which is pretty clear is the subheading "Angel of the Sky" and since the episode 1 lets us take a look at how Crowley did indeed take part in creation of what is to be seen in the night sky, one can hardly find that entirely non-fitting. One other sentence I was (at least I think) able to read is "Often draped in red."

(On a different note but certainly worth noticing are scribbles that generally just roast Crowley – his suspiciousness, hair and name (though I am not absolutely sure of the latter) "His hair is bad!" Wow, Furfur really does hate Crowley.)

Then there is something written above the name of Baraqiel, unfortunately in none of the picture frames does it get a bit readable. I wonder though, couldn't it be "former"? Since it comes precisely after mention of Crowley to whom should one report on Aziraphale.

Crowley is very powerful. Dominion

A word that is not exactly readable but can be deduced from its placement (it is situated just as Aziraphale's "Principality") is Baraqiel's rank – Dominion Angel. It should be noted here that I very much lack proper knowledge of either Jewish or Christian mythology and I would hate to provide any incorrect claims. I therefore think it is better for me not to overly state things, even more so since everyone can look into it on their own and figure out what that might mean for our beloved demon. What I will say, however, is that they are (as I understand it) very powerful and, placed within the 2nd triad in the angel hierarchy, ranked higher than the Archangels. This would go well along with the emphasis that was in my opinion laid on Crowley's powers quite a lot this season.

For example: "A miracle of enormous power happened last night. The kind of miracle only the mightiest of archangels could've performed," said Shax to Crowley, to which he replied: "How'd you know I didn't do it?" He didn't get an answer.

What I think (and I may be very wrong, obviously) is that a miracle of this vastness wouldn't have happened simply because of a regular angel and a regular demon did together half a miracle each. What is also worth noticing is that the tool with which Crowley created the Nebula is the same as the one he used to temporarily stop time at the end of season 1 right before Satan's arrival. So much to the size of his powers.

Baraqiel, lightning of God. Fallen angel

Finally, to Baraqiel himself. My lack of knowledge concerning this matter still stands and frankly I don't even know where to find valid information about angels and such on the internet. Baraqiel should, however, stand for "lightning of God" and is also regarded as the angel of lightning. In season 2 there are (as far as I remember) two occasions where Crowley is put in correlation with lightning. (1) His poor anger management issues in episode 1 and (2) his not at all better matchmaking in episode 3 ("I haven't done weather in ages"). Furthermore, Baraqiel is considered to be the one who taught astrology to people. Nevertheless, what points to Crowley and Baraqiel being one even more is that Baraqiel is indeed a fallen angel.

•

So... That is probably it. I usually tent to theorize about stuff in quiet, in fact, this is the first time I've used Tumblr for anything other than reading Neil Gaiman's posts. I didn't even think that I would actually post it but then I've searched on Twitter, TikTok and here on Tumblr if anyone else has already come up with this theory. The only post I could find (hopefully I haven't missed anything) was by @valaza_04 on Twitter (click here) where they refer to the same frame shot as I do here.

Now I know, we are still recovering from heartbreaking (but if you ask me, absolutely amazing) finale and the main thing currently on our minds is figuring out why would Aziraphale choose as he did and the many wonderful theories that come with it. However, considering the utterly virulent look that Metatron shot at Crowley before walking out of the bookshop with Aziraphale and also his "Well, [Crowley] always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too." makes me think that he absolutely does not care for Crowley and whichever angel he was before the Fall. And I reckon it won't remain unnoticed in season 3 and might even be really important (or that is just me wishing for more pre-fall Crowley scenes). Hence I decided that I will post this. And it doesn't matter if no one will see this in the end, it was quite fun to write. However, if there is someone who will read this all the way through, I hope they will accept my apology for the mistakes I have most possibly made (English is not my first language) and also for the ridiculous length this post has come to gather. It turns out, I am just as chatty of a writer as I am speaker.

Well maybe I will come around to write one more post about this theory, only with a proper research this time. Till then thank you and, please, support this season by streaming as much as you can so we can have season 3 of this masterpiece of a show. And be kind to those bringing it to us in your comments regarding the ending, even though it is very frustrating and heart-shattering, it is also maybe the best ending we could have hoped for with the prospects of season 3.

Thank you for letting me talk my heart out, Tumblr.

[aziraphales-library]

Heya, recently got finished binging the whole series and was looking for some heavy angst/whump and or torture for my good mans Crowley.

If it can also include his snake form that’d be a plus :)

Thanks! — Spaghetti

Hi. We have plentiful posts with loads of fics on our #hurt crowley and #crowley whump tags, so check those out! Here are more to add to the whump. Mind the tags and warnings!...

Pietà by crowleys_hips (M)

In the final moments of the last battle to save Earth, Crowley deals the last blow and he watches triumphantly as the Metatron collapses before him. But he doesn't come out unscathed. With a holy weapon pierced into his abdomen and time slipping away from him, he makes peace with his doomed fate as he awaits death in his angel's arms. Aziraphale will -not- have it though, as he does everything in his power to save the being he loves the most, risking everything to keep him.

Displaced Anger by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

Crawley becomes the target of Lucifer's wrath when he answers a simple question wrong. Demons are not allowed to trust, to show gratitude, to be weak. When Crawley meets an angel in the Garden, will his life change?

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by midnightdragons (T)

Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly, crossing his arms over his chest and casting a disapproving eye down to the clearly-in-a-lot-of-pain demon. Crowley groaned half-heartedly, and then, without Aziraphale even having to speak a word of chastisement or scolding, he gave in — which was concerning in and of itself, Aziraphale thought worriedly, for him to so quickly admit that something was in fact wrong. “Ffffine,” he mumbled exhaustedly, and then, stubbornly ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts to move forward and help him, he sat up the best he could, hunching over slightly and wrapping trembling arms around himself for a moment as if in minute comfort. Crowley hissed through his teeth as he began to peel up his black shirt with shaking hands, digging a fang into his upper lip so hard it looked painful and snarling in the back of his throat, an almost chillingly animalistic sound. 

Aziraphale comes to Crowley's aid when the latter is attacked and left beaten by demons, and the angel takes care of him while he's too weak to do it himself. Very unapologetic whump and BAMF Aziraphale.

When it all Went Wrong by flowing_river (T)

Adam refuses to start Armageddon. Heaven and Hell decide to have their war anyways.

Morose Delectation by Unuora (M)

The nightmare began when Crowley woke up in Hell. To most people that would seem like an expected place for a nightmare to start, but to Crowley, even with all its various trappings, Hell was mostly just a place. “We have a new assignment for you, Crowley,” Beelzebub says. There’s an ominous hum in their voice. For the first time in many eons it sends a shiver down Crowley’s spine. “Directly from the top. We think you’ll find it interezzzting.” Beelzebub snaps and then they’re gone. In their place is an angel. Not just any angel. In their place is Aziraphale.

brought by the sunlight of the spirit (to pour into rain) by midnightdragons (M)

He was a demon, he was Fallen, and he was used to it. Used to punishment. He and the other Fallen angels had been the first to ever experience pain; of course they would be experts in it. But what they did this time was something done only by the cruelest of demons, and it wasn't just torture. It was a violation to the nth degree. Crowley is punished by Hell, and is left in a state that leaves him, in his own words, broken. Aziraphale tries to pick up the pieces. (Heed the tags; this is a RECOVERY story, and it gets worse before it gets better. But it does get better. Promise.)

- Mod D

[kkochang]

Do you also just think about klance and how domestic they could've been if DreamWorks weren't cowards?

Like, it's canon that Keith is an early riser and Lance likes to sleep in late. So, I'm imagining Keith trying to get up for training and stuff, but he finds himself pinned down by his boyfriend, leg over his hips and arm resting on top of his torso (I like to think that Lance has a habit of keeping his palm on Keith's chest, where he can feel his heartbeat). So, Keith finds himself in a heated argument between wanting to get out of bed and not wanting to wake Lance up.

He sighs heavily, having been over this more than once, and tries to slid out of his boyfriend's embrace carefully. But, of course, he fails (because Lance is a clingy bastard) and the half-embrace only grows tighter, a sleepy 'don't' leaving Lance's lips.

Keith's gives up for now, sparing some time for his dear lover, scattering messy kisses all over his face and playing with his soft bed hair with one hand, while the other one rubs mindless circles on Lance's tanned skin. It's lazy and cozy but then Lance finally rolls to his other side because Keith runs hot, which gives the latter the perfect possibility to start his day (of course, only after giving Lance one last kiss on the temple).

*

Since Lance has lots of siblings and stuff, he had to learn how to cook from an early age, tho with all that world saving and now forming a steady ground for peace he doesn't have much time left for that. So, whenever he has time (and energy) he cooks some delicious meal, taking the kitchen all to himself (music blowing and his singing+dancing combo in its full glory). Keith does offer his help, but the most he's trusted with are vegetables cutting and mixing the ingredients.

But most of the time he just likes to hug Lance from behind during those rare moments as he stands relatively still or annoying him, teasing and messing around at 'his' kitchen. Keith also knows how to cook but it's something easy and quick.

*

Imagine Lance catching a flu and Keith is freaking out, because he has no idea what to do. He never takes care of himself nor did any of his foster families offered him enough love and care. So, he remembers all what Shiro and Adam did when he was sick as a teenager and does the same for Lance. He cooks a chicken soup (bland and the chicken is a little rubbery, but, hey, it's the thought that counts after all), brings him warm tea with lemon and honey, never leaves his side and makes sure he has every needed medicine or whatever his poor boyfriend wants.

At first, Lance is perplexed by this side of Keith, the one he rarely lets slip out to the surface. But he soon finds himself completely pampered in love and care, trying to cover his flustration by teasing Keith for being a mother hen. But deep down he's endlessly grateful.

*

Both of them suffer from nightmares, so they learned all the best ways of how to calm each other down, how to show support and what lines aren't supposed to be crossed.

They both require physical contact, for Lance it's a tight hug, whilst for Keith it's hand holding or a gentle hand in his hair because he hates feeling trapped in his panicked state the most. For the most part of the night afterwards, none of them gets to sleep, so sometimes they watch a show or just hold each other close as if giving silent promise to protect one another no matter what.

[alphynix]

Crystal Palace Field Trip Part 1: Walking With Victorian Monsters

The Crystal Palace Dinosaurs take their name from the original Crystal Palace, a glass-paned exhibition building originally constructed for a World's Fair in Hyde Park in 1851.

In 1854 the structure was relocated 14km (~9 miles) south to the newly-created Crystal Palace Park, and a collection of over 30 life-sized statues of prehistoric animals were commissioned to accompany the reopening – creating a sort of Victorian dinosaur theme park – sculpted by Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins with consultation from paleontologist Sir Richard Owen.

The Palace building itself burned down completely in 1936, and today only the ruins of its terraces remain in the northeast of the park grounds.

The Crystal Palace building then and now Left image circa 1854 (public domain) Right image circa 2011 by Mark Ahsmann (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Six sphinx statues based on the Great Sphinx of Tanis also survive up among the Palace ruins, flanking some of the terrace staircases. They fell into serious disrepair during the latter half of the 20th century, but in 2017 they all finally got some much-needed preservation work, repairing them and restoring their original Victorian red paint jobs.

———

…But let's get to what we're really here for. Dinosaurs! (…And assorted other prehistoric beasties!)

The "Dinosaur Court" down in the south end of the park still remains to this day, displayed across several islands in a man-made lake. Over the decades they've been through multiple cycles of neglect and renovation, and are currently cared for by the London Borough of Bromley (Crystal Palace Park Trust are due to take over custodial duties in September 2023), with promotion and fundraising assistance from organizations like Historic England and the Friends of the Crystal Palace Dinosaurs charity.

Just about 170 years old now, the Crystal Palace Dinosaurs represent fifteen different types of fossil creatures known to 1850s Victorian science, with only three actual dinosaur species featured. Although often derided for being outdated and very inaccurate by modern standards, they were actually incredibly good efforts at the time, especially taking into account that the field of paleontology was still in its very early days.

They also just have a lot of charm, with toothy grins and surprisingly dynamic poses.

Unfortunately on the day I visited in early August 2023 most of the statues were heavily obscured by plant growth, both on their islands and on the sides of the paths they can usually be viewed from. Since I'd seen images from about a month ago showing things being less overgrown, this was probably just some unlucky timing on my part coinciding with some explosive summer foliage growth.

The first island on the trail features a few Permian and Triassic animals which were only known from fragmentary remains in the 1850s. These "labyrinthodonts" were recognized as having similarities to both amphibians and reptiles, and so were depicted with boxy toothy jaws, warty skin, stumpy tails, and long frog-like back legs.

Today we'd call these particular animals temnospondyl amphibians, specifically Mastodonsaurus, and we know they were actually shaped more like giant salamanders with longer flatter crocodilian-like jaws, smaller legs, and long paddle-like tails.

———

Somewhere in the foliage beyond this specific "labyrinthodont" there was also supposed to be a pair of dicynodonts, but I couldn't see much of them at all and didn't manage to get a remotely visible photograph.

Crystal Palace Dicynodon when much less overgrown Left photo by London looks (CC BY 2.0) Right photo by Loz Pycock (CC BY SA 2.0)

These Dicynodon are depicted as looking like sabre-toothed turtles complete with shells. That was fairly speculative even for the time, but considering only their weird turtle-beaked-and-walrus-tusked skulls were known it was probably the best guess Hawkins and Owen had. Today we know these animals were actually synapsids related to modern mammals, but Victorian understanding considered them to be a type of reptile.

Modern reconstructions of dicynodonts have a slightly different face shape, along with squat pig-like bodies and semi-sprawling limbs. They may have had fur, but currently the only known actual skin impressions from the genus Lystrosaurus show leathery bumpy hairless skin.

———

Next time: the Jurassic and Cretaceous sculptures!

[sinvilles]

Gathering my thoughts: Danielle Stopframe analysis

also like. I'm not concerned with whether any character in the series was "redeemed" or not. the show was cut in half, and so was every character arc. hence we end up with a show that got cancelled when all the main characters were at their lowest point of development in the narrative, and all the surrounding characters getting half developed to a point of mild satisfaction.

Danielle seems to get the least amount of interest when it comes to what makes him tick. He's a favorite of mine because of all the characters in Moralton, he's one of the few who is very unashamed of who he is and wears it on his sleeve. And I like that his weird presence is built up from the very start of the series. He's over the assumptions of others, and chooses to be himself, which in a show where the major theme is repression juxtaposes him as a foil to the rest of the town.

I wanted to make a mental inventory of this character, starting with some of his personality traits:

The Coach

Danielle is a body builder, and athletic coach to both adults and children. He's coached tennis, track, plays golf, figure skates- he understands discipline, long-term goal setting and is patient enough to work with others to achieve what they're trying to get. Being good with kids has nothing to do with it- its all about being consistent and doing it every day. He seems to approach everything like this- more of that obsession quality. Though he's not beyond trying to perform witchcraft to speed thing up a bit when he gets impatient.

He doubles as your typical gym bunny gay man. Self eroticized, willing to do anything to achieve that romanticized ideal. This brings us to the next bit.

Narcissistic qualities (classic + clinical)

Stopframe is obsessed with appearances. Good appearances means discipline to him, which might be what attracted him to Clay in the first place. But its all very surface level of course. When he sees people without discipline- like the hedonistic satanists, many of whom were overweight- their indulgence, both sexual and gluttonous, turned him off so hard he called it a night and went home. Which is funny coming from the guy with a piss kink.

"Sorry Clay, its just not worth it."

It echoes back later, when he throws out Clay's picture the moment he calls him up for a nightcap at midday. It seems he was either unaware of the extent of Clay's alcoholism or that it had never been that bad up until that point. I think the latter is more likely, since Clay's drinking isn't as pathological throughout the series until we get to Nature. Also suggests to me that Clay, while already having drinking problems prior, started drinking more after he met Danielle. We do see Stopframe say he's "better when he drinks" at least once, and Clay can only really go out and see him at Forghetty's. But this is a tangent for a Clay alcoholism analysis.

He cares very little for his family- Shapey is little more than a long distance trophy to him. I guess. I think. Shapey hugged him that time so I wonder if he ever gives him presents or comes to his birthdays (he was at Orel's). He only spends time with Joe when he's foisted upon him, otherwise ignoring him. He assumes he isn't any good with children, I think because he dislikes Joe's attitude.

A big reason I think his development is unfinished- and this is under the lens of character arcs as want vs need, where getting something they needed makes the character whole- is that we don't see him own up to the fact that he's as flawed as anybody else. He admits he has a problem, but he didn't find the root of it- namely that real love involves accepting the flaws of others and choosing to be there for them anyway. He didn't even own up to disrupting the Puppington home, which he had done intentionally and calculatingly for years. All interesting paths for his character.

Person Addiction

Danielle, much like Clay, has an addiction. It's a lesser known thing called Limerence, or "Person Addiction". Not everyone is aware it's even a thing- some people go through it once in their life, some people cycle through it over and over. There are people who mistake it for love. Scott Adsit once mentioned in a promo that Stopframe is "obsessed with Clay because he hasn't slept with him"- it's one way to describe it, specifically the way a lot of men tend to experience it. Having been through it once I can say with full clarity that it makes you feel temporarily insane and can mirror both anxious attachment and OCD. Realistically, it only feels much creepier than it actually is, because very few who go through it in real life ever want to indulge it the way Stopframe does- pictures everywhere, seducing the guy's wife, fathering a child with her just to insert his DNA into their family, so that Clay raises HIS son alongside his own... absolutely cuckoo bird. Even the part where he says Bloberta is only sexy by her association to Clay- that is the logic that person addiction runs on. Because Clay is literally a hit to him, he gets an oxytocin high from being near him or thinking about him. When he's away from Clay he goes through a withdrawal, sitting alone in the shower and holding himself. Clay is his worst habit.

So, walk with me… his plan to sleep with Clay involves sleeping with his wife first. Because if she commits infidelity, what's to stop Clay from doing it? and then he just has to wait years for the ball to drop and for Clay to eventually walk out. He has no problem fixating on this for almost a decade, but actively puts off ever interacting with Clay until the first episode of the series- even then its just to watch him piss on the wall, and then walk away. He avoids knowing Clay, because I think for a long time he's afraid of ruining the idea he has of him in his head- the idealized Clay that doesn't exist, the built up image. This is not to say that Limerence doesn't happen if you know the person well (its worse somehow), but he's able to easily quit him the moment that Orel tells him what Clay is really like.

Loneliness

It's not easy being queer in a place like Moralton. For one, the gay dating pool must be tiny since so many would be in the closet, or move out altogether. The culture is so 50s adjacent he might have to limit himself to cruising public bathrooms or exchanging letters long distance- its no wonder he fixated on Clay. Something about it might feel "safe" to him, compared to actively getting to know somebody. I don't think he has a problem getting laid so much as a problem connecting to others, which was why it was so sweet to see him make an effort to have a fun day with Orel in the finale.

Family

I might be in the minority on this but I don't think Stopframe is related to Bendy. If the Secondopinionsons wanted to keep Joe's mother a secret they needed to fully cut ties with anyone in her family- and she was a child at the time, so some hush money was definitely involved, maybe enough to send her to nursing school. For Stopframe to be babysitting Joe, he'd have to be in the immediate family of his father- the fact that he has a different name is of interest to me, and the fact that he's so much younger than Dr. Secondopinionson. He could very well have been a bastard child who either changed his name later or was raised primarily by and named after an unwed mother- perpetuating the cycle with Shapey so to speak.

The Romantic Agnostic

He's a big fan of Gothic Erotica, and vampires. Big on fantasizing. Open to trying anything. He is wishy washy on the topic of religion, switching from worshipping God to Satan on a whim. Makes sense, if God loves all his children, but hates homosexuality, and Satan hates all humanity, and loves homosexuality- you've got a 50% chance of pleasing either. I think he probably loves Halloween.

andddd thats all I got

[oddclan-askblog]

More slig stuff plus lore below the cut (there is a lot.)

Slig growth differences: 

free sligs can see well and do not need goggles. They maintain their lower set of mandibles which are used to feed food into their moths as well as taste. Teen sligs steel guns, ammo, and goggles from older sligs when they're not looking. While most of this goes to new escapees sometimes cool stuff "slips through". Teens don't really need any of it, they're seldom allowed to fight or raid. It all just looks really cool so of course they snag it. 

Adult tribal sligs new or original, are expected to leave the old gear behind in favor of copper jewelry and tattoos. Some keep their old gear but most move on. 

Slave sligs are blinded and their lower set of mandibles are removed while they're young. This makes tough food harder to eat and disincentives them from fleeing the factories in adult life. Additionally their tails are bound and cut short making movement without pants very painful. 

Occasionally baby Sligs are smuggled to freedom but very very rarely. Rescuing a squawking sadistic slug is quite difficult compared to a mud egg. 

New blood: 

Slaves who try to become free can not enter the community at will. They are required to bring their weapons and gear (unloaded), whatever they can snatch food wise, and must mark themselves to show their commitment. A mark consists of a very obvious "X" across the head or chest, anything hidden is likely to be missed and the latter will be shot on site. The X must be scarred over by the time they arrive unarmed. 

When this policy was first implemented there was a lot of success and their numbers grew by the day. Once the cartels caught on the deserters thinned out significantly. Recourses have dwindled. Some suggested the policy be changed so marks could be carved across other parts of the body, so as to be more hidden. Treun will not allow it he wants the mark to be obvious.  

Village life: 

There is only one above ground settlement left in Oddworld, the rest are numerous connected by a maze of caves. Escapees are allowed to congregate at the aboveground settlement but no further. Any interaction from the other clans require natives from above or below meeting in the middle. A free queen is rumored to exist but this has never been verified. The sanctuaries constant need for new support and supplies suggests otherwise. 

Sligs live minimalist lifestyles, their tents are woven fabric with leaf littered over the top to blend in with the ground. Each member hunts and gathers together for the clan. Trade with mudokon allow for the acquisition of new art and the occasional tattoo. Muds are not allowed into specially marked sections of the slig tunnels. 

Underground is more complicated, most of the smaller settlements are only three to ten homes strong. The inhabitants feed on cave mosses when desperate but otherwise eat off of dead animals swept into the caverns. Their homes are short dead end tunnels dug into a horizontal "s" shape. A flood room is built into the lower curve so excess water stays in the front half of the home. At the high point of the second curve a long vertical tunnel is dug up toward the bedrooms and other chambers. 

Almost everything is made of some form of clay with fabric and food being stored indoors. Rotten food and waste are disposed of ahead of the village by several kilometers so it flows down current come the storm. Sligs responsible for this travel on specific days of the week. In the interim, trash is carefully sorted and clutter is discouraged. 

The Catacombs: 

Under the swamps lie the ruined Slig cities and shrines. Tunnels and hidden enclaves dug deep into the earth over thousands of years weave a beautiful and dangerous tapestry out of the rock. They can be navigated and shrines can still be accessed but doing so requires careful effort. The biggest danger below is not getting stuck, crushed, or lost, its drowning. Rain is hazardous and inconsistent from above, mountain melt, swamp mog, and anything small enough to drag under, will flood even the largest chasms. 

Bells and bridges connect the highest non flooding point of the caverns. They are specially designed with grooves on their exterior so they will ring as the rain pours. If one can not make it to a bridge above, death is assured. 

The deepest settlements have specially dug water drain offs and bastions so other caverns remain safe. Many ancient cities and statues are closed off by collapsed tunnels or completely submerged underwater. All point to a powerful past where queens warred for power and free sligs thrived in abundance. 

Some areas are inaccessible due to toxic gas which can spread to other caverns if opened. Sligs have a variety of ways for assessing the danger of rooms ahead. Birds are the old-school method, less preferred given the scarcity of food. Repurposed gear can be used especially gas detectors if stolen.

The most common method is tying a trained rat to a string and allowing it to skitter through a small opening. The opening will be closed momentarily with food occasionally added in. The short string keeps the animal close by, its breathing and squeaking being an indicator if the environment is unsafe. If the rat stops squeaking all together the chamber has no oxygen. If the chirps are frantic and it begins scratching at the lid the room is toxic. If all is normal the room is safe. When the results are in the string will be pulled like a leash and the pet returned. This keeps the sligs and their fuzzy buddies alive without wasting resources or much time. 

As Ratz serve a vital role their is much cave art and carvings in their honor. Indeed it seems even ancient sligs understood these creatures genius. Rats and Mize are bred and sold across slig territory for looks, colors, size, and sometimes food. Other Odd races would find this disgusting but Sligs could give less of a damn about their opinions.

Beliefs: 

Sligs are not religious or particularly spiritual at present, they are mostly focused on day to day survival. Some settlements are zealous in their practices and preach their own version of a coming end time. A world borne anew from a great ancient flood where only the most steadfast are saved! Treun blows these isolated settlements off, his people are experiencing enough pain as is. Wouldn't help to preach of imminent death even if most would ignore the rapture too. 

[braveclementine]

October 22: Sex Pollen (Loki Laufeyson)❤️

Warnings: could be seen as non-con, royalty kink, induced sex

Copyright: I do not own Loki (please kidnap me Loki) or any other Marvel/MCU characters. I also do not condone any copying of this.

"What exactly is it?" You asked Bruce as he showed you a new, interesting specimen that had been found in space and brought back to Earth.

It was a beautiful flower of sorts, bright pink with white teardrops on the petals. The stem was green and a little purple where the stem curled up to the petals.

"I'm not sure yet." Bruce said, moving away from the table to go and sit behind his computer. "I do know that it is from the planet Kuth." He said, showing you a picture of an Earth-like planet with a turquoise sky and a field of these flowers that had signs around them, as though warding people to be careful of the flower patch. "Could be dangerous, might not be. Perhaps Loki or Thor or one of the Guardians will know. Loki's coming. . . when?"

"This Saturday." You said happily, missing your best friend and crush- though no one actually knew about the latter part.

"Excited to see him again?" Bruce asked skeptically.

"I know, I know, he's a terrible Midgardian killing God, but we're friends and that's behind him now." You said. "Plus, he was being slightly controlled by Ronan and Thanos, just like Bucky was controlled by HYDRA and you all like Bucky."

"Fair." Bruce relented. "But not everyone sees it like that either."

"And some people still think Bucky ought to be given the Death Penalty." You pointed out.

"Fair again." Bruce admitted. "Anyways, make sure that you keep away from this until I can figure out what it is. If its' poisonous, we wouldn't want a disease to break out over the city."

"Will do boss." You said cheekily and then made your way out of the room.

You couldn't wait to show Loki!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"It's a flower?" Loki asked skeptically.

The two of you were standing on the balcony, overlooking the pool. The other Avengers were stripped down to swim trunks and two-piece bathing suits, enjoying the nice day. Steve and Fury were barbequing on the grill with some help from Sam, while the girls were sunbathing on the law chairs.

Tony, Stephen, and Bruce were deep in conversation about something, a handful of beers on the table in front of them.

Thor was sitting in the pool, Parker and some of his friends from school in there too.

Bucky meanwhile was playing cornhole with Clint, Rhodey, and T'Challa.

"A beautiful flower." You clarified. You and Loki were pretty much alone on the balcony. Loki was wearing his normal Asgardian wear as he hadn't felt like wearing anything from Midgard, and you were wearing denim shorts and a shirt that you had tied off above the belly button.

"It's still a flower." Loki deadpanned, placing his hands on the railing, "What is this gathering they are doing?"

"It's called a pool party Lokes." You sighed, "C'mon, I want to show it to you."

Loki sighed, looking over at you. "Don't you want to join in on this pool party instead?"

You felt frustrated. You knew your crush was one-sided (as they always were), but you thought that Loki at least liked you as a friend. Or at least, you seemed to be the only one he tolerated. But friends shared things with each other all the time, right?

"No, I want to show you the flower which I'm not really supposed to show you because Bruce doesn't know what it is yet." You sighed, pushing away from the banister, "But it's okay. I realize guys don't really like those sorts of things. It's kind've hot, I'm gonna go inside."

Loki started for a moment, staring after you. He hoped he hadn't offended you, but flowers- well you even seemed to know they weren't something he'd want to see. But shit, it wasn't about him, it was about you.

"Wait!" He called, hurrying to catch the door, coming back into the building.

You were half tempted not to stop, but you did anyways, turning to look at him.

"I do want to see the flower, but I just didn't know if there was something else you'd rather do. The party looked like something you would've enjoyed." Loki explained.

Why the hell did he have to look so sexy? You wished you could see him in his pool garb. Black or green or gold swim trunks. No shirt. You imagined that he had a fit body underneath the layers of Asgardian leather. You could imagine black aviator shades on his face, his hair possibly pulled back into a ponytail.

You quickly shook your head to clear your thoughts and said, "Well, I knew you wouldn't enjoy the party. You don't really like them. Anyways, the flower is this way."

Immediately, he was caught off guard of your awareness for his likes and dislikes. Sure, he knew all of yours, perhaps even knowing more about you, than you did. But the fact that you were just as aware as him was strange.

Different.

Almost likable.

You led him down the hallway, taking the elevator to the bottom floor. You slipped into Bruce's lab, the door shutting behind the two of you. You led him over to the case display where he'd set up the flower under examination.

"It is quite unique." Loki admitted after looking at the flower for a moment. In reality, he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You were a strange mortal, no doubt, perhaps as unique as this flower in the right place. After all, this flower didn't stick out in its home, but it did on Earth. And he supposed each human was unique in their own way. You were just more special.

"I hope its not harmful." You said wistfully. "I want to know what it smells like."

Loki suddenly plucked the glass case off of the flower and you stared at him in shock, "What if it's poisonous! Loki put it back!"

"Calm down Y/N. A measly flower cannot kill me." Loki smiled, before lowering his nose down to smell the flower. After inhaling the scent, he pulled back. "Perhaps it is just me, but there seems to be a very strange smell coming from the flower. It's almost like. . . honey and almonds but that can't quite be right, can it?"

You bent down to smell the flower next. After all, it didn't seem to have affected Loki so it was probably safe.

Well that was strange because you didn't smell any of the things that Loki had smelt. Instead, you seemed to have smelt expensive leather, expensive cologne, and vanilla. Actually. . . it smelt a lot like Loki.

You laughed, "Kind've reminds me of Amortentia."

"What in the world is that?" Loki asked.

"It was a love potion in Harry Potter. Smells like the person that you are in love with so each person thinks the flower smells like something else." You explained.

Loki's cheeks flushed pink. "Ah I-"

But whatever he was going to say didn't matter, as two small pink hearts actually popped out of the flower. They were extremely small, small enough to fit on your pinky fingernail. They weren't filled in, but seemed rather a stencil. They floated upwards and you felt one land on the tip of your nose and looked to Loki in time to see the other hit him on the nose and then sink in.

"Are we dead?" You asked with fright.

Once again, he didn't get to answer because your lips were pressed together, your arms around each others necks. The kiss was messy and erotic, a clashing of lips, tongue, and teeth. It was like you were trying to devour each other, and neither of you were able to get any closer.

"This needs to come off." Loki growled, ripping the shirt from your body and you had no room to protest as you were feverishly stripping him of his Asgardian uniform, cursing the amount of layers he was wearing.

Loki attached his lips to your neck as you kicked off your own skirt, leaving you bare in front of him. Most of his clothes were off, though he wouldn't let you go to take his pants off. Those he shucked off himself.

It was like a very chaotic dream as the two of you seemed to almost wrestle with each other, over to one of the desks in the middle of the room. Loki swept everything off of the desk, making glass shatter, pens scatter, and papers drift out across the room.

Loki seemed to suddenly slam you down on the table, before plunging into you in a feral way. Your back arched off the table at the sudden intrusion, but you found that it had been a very easy entrance, as there was almost no pain.

"Fuck." You moaned, "Loki, faster."

"It's your highness to you." Loki growled again.

"Your highness!" You nearly screamed.

Everything seemed heightened, yet fuzzy. Like you couldn't even believe that your orgasm was already fast approaching and he'd barely been inside of your for a minute. Nor was he overstimulating you in any way that would make an orgasm approach so fast.

Your fingers dug into his forearms, spurring him on to move even faster inside of you, hips snapping against yours. You might've sworn that his balls were hitting you so hard in the ass that you'd have bruises tomorrow. His hands were definitely going to leave bruises all over your body from how tightly he was holding.

It was fuzzy though, like your brain wasn't really working. A small part in the back of your mind was telling you that this was bad, that this was wrong. It was going to ruin your friendship with Loki after all. How were the two of you going to recover after this? You were going to lose one of your best friends because of a stupid flower!

But that part was clear and the rest was fuzzy and you couldn't really focus on it with so much chaos going on around you. You were mostly feeling euphoric, barely even thinking about anything at all as your orgasm hit you like the impact of the bottom of a cliff.

You weren't sure how long you went or how many rounds or even how many orgasms. You know that you went from your back on the desk, to riding him on the floor, to being fucked into a chair, and then back to the floor.

It was like a dream and then the two of you seemed to slow down, things seemed to become clearer. The lights seemed less harsh and you realized that though the room was freezing cold, you were both covered in sweat.

You collapsed against Loki's chest and his arms drew you into him.

"Shit." He muttered. "I wasn't expecting that."

You were silent, heart pounding. You had had a crush on him for the longest time. You had wanted this for the longest time- but not like this. It was supposed to be mutual. It was supposed to be remarkable, rememberable.

You sat up slowly, searching for your clothes when Steve, Bruce, and Tony came walking in. Steve backpedaled so quickly upon seeing the two of you buck naked that he slammed his head into the doorframe, denting it rather effectively.

Bruce turned a nice shade of pink, covering his face with his hand.

Tony meanwhile, turned red and pointed to the stuff on the floor. "What did you do?!"

"I think that's very obvious Tony." Steve muttered, leaning his forehead on the wall so he didn't have to look at the two of you.

Loki seemed unconcerned, snapping his fingers so that clothes appeared on him again. Or maybe it was just an illusion, but either way you wished he could've done it for you.

You wrapped one of the office blankets around you and then you said, "Well, Bruce, we found out what your flower does."

[coochiequeens]

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. “

When 50-year-old Anna Jenkins, the founder of We Are Fit Attitude (Wafa), a woman-only health and fitness club, looked online for images of older women exercising, she was irritated by the pitiful size of the weights: the stock image is of a woman with grey hair lifting a 1kg weight, as if doing so were some kind of milestone. My personal bugbears are the photos in which there is a personal trainer with an expression of infinite patience next to the older woman, as if the latter is weak and half witted.

Stock photos are the internet’s idea of what the world should look like, sets of generic images intended to illustrate articles and advertising, often revealing more worldview than they probably set out to. There are famously a lot of photos of white women laughing near salad, meant for healthy eating content, but also reinforcing inane cheer and self-denial as cornerstones of femininity. If fitness imagery of the young is all about aspiration – six packs, muscle definition and impossible body fat percentages – fitness imagery of older people is almost anti-aspirational. Its message is: “You probably can’t do anything at all, but look over here, there’s a lady managing this tiny thing.”

Jenkins runs the Wafa classes remotely and in person for women ranging from their late 30s to their mid-70s. One Saturday, at a class in Merton, south London, they decided to create a new set of photos, repopulate the ecosystem of stock photographs, so that when you search for “older women exercising”, you will be able to see what that really looks like. “These are proper weights,” says Annette Hinds, 60. “We’re not pussyfooting about.”

Jenkins went into group work and coaching from personal training because she had noticed that, in the gym: “Women would go straight to the cardio machine because they knew how it worked. It’s a frightening environment when you think you don’t belong, when you’re unhappy in your body shape. But they didn’t need more cardio – at 45-plus your body needs strength work. Especially during the menopause. It’s just a fact.”

As your bones lose density, the only way you will protect them is by keeping your muscle mass; building strength in middle age is part of what will define the shape and tempo of your old age. But as Glenda Cooper, 51, who usually does this class remotely five times a week, says, there is more to it than that. “Women at this time of life have parents we’re caring for. I’ve got two kids. You don’t want to take up too much space, you feel invisible anyway, you don’t make time for yourself. It’s so important to have a sense of your own strength, which I think is absent from the rest of our lives.”

The atmosphere is fierce: as Lorraine Turner, 59, says: “I never used to think I was competitive, but later in life, I’ve realised that I am. I get a lot out of it if I push myself more.” Karen Silvestri, 60, remarks archly: “My husband’s a chef so I eat a lot and drink a lot. I still manage to retain this normal shape.”

Palmer’s daughter paid her a compliment on her butt the other day: “She said it wasn’t flat like a lot of women my age.” Downward comparison is very motivating, and it is also fun to watch when people are so unabashed about it.

“We’re a funny bunch, women, aren’t we?” Teresa Klasener, 61, says. She was very active until she got rheumatoid arthritis, then it all hit the skids until she started with Wafa two years ago. “We have all these mental blocks, we don’t prioritise ourselves, but once we’re in a group, we’ll fly.”

Jenkins says: “When I first became a personal trainer, I’d see a lot of women who were yo-yo dieters, and it was often because they were trying to be skinnier than their bodies were meant to be. I think exercise makes you confident in your shape as it is.” That might be the ultimate break with the visual norms of the fitness industry, that these are images of strength and exertion for their own sake, not for how they’ll make you look in spaghetti straps.

“I never knew what people were talking about with the endorphin thing,” Redford says. “And now, I do feel a sense of joy and self-congratulation, knowing that I just fucking went for it.”

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴛ. ꜰᴏᴜʀ||

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

Getting kidnapped was not on the checklist today.

Saving an old lady from a speeding car? Check.

Show up to class barely on time? Check.

Grab a burrito on the way to meet the girl who needed his help from yesterday? Check.

But getting kidnapped and signing a contract he never wanted? Not on the list. Never was it on the list.

Miles stares at the girl before him for a second, then down at the contract in her hands. He contemplates using his webs to grab and tear it up so it’d be rendered useless. 

Unfortunately, she seems to have sensed his intentions because she turns around and waves the contract in front of him with a teasing smile. 

“Sorry dude, I already took a photo and sent it to all my emails. Living in the twenty-first century really has its perks.”

Damn it.

How did he even get into this situation in the first place? Maybe it was when he didn’t knock on wood after he talked about nothing bad happening with Ganke. Yeah, it was probably that. But it still doesn’t completely explain how you found out about his identity. He’d been so careful too!

“How’d you even find out?” He finally voices his curiosity, unwrapping the sub in his hands and taking a bite. He pauses, looking down at it with intrigue. It was given to him as an apology after you had both left the store, and it’s surprisingly good. He recalls the bemused glance the owner had given them both when he opened the door, only to let her go without another word or further question.

It was almost impressive.

Then again, this is Brooklyn, after all. He'd probably seen weirder. 

Now, he and the girl are on the rooftop, the latter sitting down a short distance from him and starting to sketch absentmindedly in her sketchbook. He’s still guarded, having intended to treat her coldly for how she had borderline kidnapped and blackmailed him. 

Scratch that; he did, in fact, get kidnapped and blackmailed.

But her calm demeanour throws him off. What was one supposed to do in this scenario? He’d never encountered this before, not even once in the three months or so that he’d been Spiderman.

“Y’know, the usual.” 

“The usual?” He repeats, raising a brow before taking another bite. He still has half the mask on, not fully taking it off around her even though she knew who he was.

“Yeah, just did a little digging. Y’know, you’d think you’d be more careful for a superhero.”

“I was!” He defends himself, a sharp edge to his words. 

She chuckles, lips pulled into a half-smile as she looks up at him with amusement. “Then you might want to be more careful about how you sneak in and out of your dorm, Morales.”

He flinches at the use of his last name. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

His dorm? Since when was she around his dorm? 

“Did you stalk me?”

She looks up again from her sketchbook with an offended gasp, holding her hand over her heart with a frown. “I would never! The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.” 

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “So much for secret identity.” He mutters to himself, taking another bite of the surprisingly addicting sub. The bread is fluffy, albeit slightly soggy from the sauces that coat the vegetables and meat. He tastes a hint of cinnamon, arching a brow in intrigue. 

Little odd, but it works. 

“It’s good, right? Mr Perez does the best in the city.” 

He merely shrugs in response. He hears a soft sigh, choosing to stare at the citizens on the sidewalk below.

“I’m sorry,” He hears her speak up, turning around with a sceptical frown. An apology? Now?

“If you’re sorry, you’d forget my identity and tear up the contract,” he mutters. 

“Yeah… I can't afford that.” 

“Why not?” He’s taken aback by her sheepish smile. 

“Here’s the thing… I kinda need you to be my model regardless. I’m an art student in need of a muse. I’ve been in such a slump lately, and I’m a little…desperate.”

“And I’m that muse?” He questions, oddly flattered yet still wary of her true intentions.

She shrugs. “Yeah. Look, you’ll get it once you see this.” She rifles through her backpack, grabs a large sketchbook and hands it to him. Instead of taking it from her like a normal and trusting person, he uses the web shooter on his wrist to spray a thin line, tugging it toward him. It dangles from the web, and he double-checks it in case it’s another trap. 

“There’s like, a mustard stain from years back, and the white powder is chalk.” Her comment makes him scoff, already having recognised the powdery residue. He flips it open, scanning through the pages. 

The first few are rather good, with sketches of people he doesn’t recognise. The shading is done well, putting his own to shame, actually. He continues to turn the pages, the next few a lot more colourful with the added use of watercolour pencils and charcoal. A soft coat of bright dust rubs off on his fingers, and he rubs it off quickly before continuing to look through the sketchbook.

He notes the slight wince on her lips in his peripheral, taking great care to ensure he doesn’t accidentally tear the pages. If she’s really an art student, then from one artist to another, allowing someone to view their sketchbook — containing their most private thoughts and inspirations, is practically sacred.

And just for that, he pauses eating his sub, wrapping it up and stowing it away for later.

Miles recalls his own sketchbook at home, the first pages already occupied by a half-finished sketch of Gwen. He subtly shakes his head to rid himself of the lingering nostalgia, focusing instead on the drawings before him. He frowns from the sudden and apparent lack of motivation. Though details were technically accurate, it was as if they had no life, just flat, one-dimensional drawings against the blank paper.

His breath hitches when he turns the page to see a full sketch of him leaning against the wall. He subconsciously leans in close, studying the details on his suit he hadn’t even noticed. It’s good. Really good. It’s only half-coloured, but even then, the way she did it can’t help but draw your attention, as if he’d step off the page and give himself a playful salute.

“So?” Her voice is calm. He senses her thoughtful gaze. 

“It’s good.” He replies simply. “Was this on the day we met?” He turns the book around to show her the drawing he's referencing. She nods, and he hums in response.

“I need your number, by the way. To schedule our next meetup.” She holds out her phone for him, the keypad on her screen and waits for him to key it in. He stands up, walks over, stops two feet away, and hands her back her sketchbook.

He reluctantly puts his number into her phone. He has half a mind to put in a random number instead, just to inconvenience her. He decides against it, however, and taps away at the keypad. 

She’d probably find out his number somehow if he did that.

“May I at least have the pleasure of knowing my kidnapper's name?” Miles asks sarcastically, keeping an eye on her as she continues to tap away at her phone. 

“The name’s Ray, Ray Paynt.” 

He chokes on his drink. 

“What?” He asks through the tissue he grabs from his pocket, wiping his mouth of any orange juice that had spilt from hearing her name. Unique is one way to describe it.

“But you, however, can refer to me as Ray.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel. 

“Ray, short for Rachel?” He asks. She nods confidently.

“Right.” 

She stands up, brushing off the dirt on her pants before sending him a halfhearted grin, and he nods in response. “Well, this has been…fun. But I gotta get home for dinner. I’ll text you when our next meetup will be. See you soon.” She says briefly, heading to the door that leads to the staircase. She opens it, pausing to glance back at him.

“Also, you might wanna check out the side of your head just in case,” she adds sheepishly before shutting the door behind her.

He reaches up to the left side of his head, only to wince when he massages the slightly sore spot. Right. He forgot about that.

Swinging back to his dorm room is peaceful, crossing the familiar well-lit streets and the occasional pickpocket on the way. In contrast to the chilly night air and calm breeze, his thoughts overlap like crashing waves on a once-calm shore.

Who really is she?

What kind of person is she?

Why him?

Even though they had spoken (rather begrudgingly on his behalf) after she knocked him out and made him sign a contract that was surprisingly in his favour, he knew next to nothing about her. 

Besides her name, he supposes. But where is she from? How did she find him in the first place? Did the store owner know her? 

Is she an enemy?

He sighs, walking under the subway bridge. Whatever she is, he has to figure out if her intentions really are as simple as she says. From one artist to another, he understands having an art block. It’s one of the worst things in the world.

But from one superhero to a civilian, she’s an enigma. 

All this thinking was making his head hurt.

“Yo, one pack of the usual painkillers, por favor,” Miles requests upon walking into the small convenience store he frequents. The owner looks up from his phone, reaching down and handing him a palm-sized red box. 

“Thanks, Lenny. How much do I owe you for this?” He reaches into the suit’s concealed pocket for his wallet, eager to return and get some well-deserved rest.

“Ten bucks. What’s got you so roughed up?” Lenny asks curiously, leaning over the counter after taking the cash he hands him.

Miles sighs, shoulders slumping at the question. How was one supposed to explain the series of unfortunate events that happened to him in fifty words or less? 

“Nothin’ much, just a little tired, I guess.” He chooses his words carefully. 

“Ah, I hear ‘ya. I got one regular who’s always walkin’ in here looking for energy drinks.” Lenny chuckles. “Man, the bags under her eyes were insane. Haven’t seen her in a while, though. I’m tellin’ you, kids these days have to rest more, not stay up all night studying. Y’all gotta have fun.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Miles nods vigorously, agreeing with the sentiment a little too deeply. He exits the store with a final goodbye, continuing to swing his way back through Brooklyn.

He crawls up the wall back to his dorm, pausing near the window as his fingertips brush over the edge. He takes a moment to look around and survey the area. His eyes land on the alleyway nearby, in clear view from his current location. If he could see it from here, then that meant whoever was there could see him, too. 

“The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.”

He groans, hanging his head.

“Damn it.”

— — — — — 

A brand new day always means a brand new start.

In your case, it takes the form of a signed contract, framed and hung on your bedroom wall. You stare at it in satisfaction, smiling giddily at the fact that you had finally, finally, secured your muse. 

Even though the method used was a little unethical.

But that didn’t matter, because he signed the contract!

He. Signed. The contract.

It’s set in stone now, and this particular reminder sends a rush of adrenaline through you, the physical contract cementing this fact. It had been a couple of days since the incident, and this had become your new routine every morning. 

“Honey, it’s time to wake up!” You’re startled out of your thoughts when your mother calls you from the kitchen, having already almost finished getting ready. All that’s left is to get out of the bathrobe you have on into proper clothes and brush your teeth.

Once done, you enter the kitchen cheerfully, patting the leftover bits of moisturiser into your skin before greeting your mother with a big hug. She laughs as you pull away, raising her brows curiously. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” 

“Not much,” You hum, taking the bowl of stew she hands you and sitting down at the dining table. You begin to dig in, alerted to your father's presence, who walks into the kitchen with a groan.

Your mother hands him another bowl of piping hot stew, the scent of spicy chilli flakes helping to clear his head. He sits down opposite you with a soft grunt, your mother sitting beside him with concern. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask through mouthfuls, blowing on the spoonful of tofu in your hands to cool it down. 

“Someone accidentally hit me on the head with a binder at work yesterday,” Your father replies with a wince, sending your mother a thankful smile when she starts to feed him spoonfuls of stew. You watch his hand massage the spot on his head with a tinge of guilt, recalling how you had gotten Morales to be your muse. 

You should probably get him a gift as an apology.

“Get well soon, Dad. You should go see the doctor if it gets worse.” You add, placing your now-empty bowl in the sink after the last mouthful. 

“Will you be back home for dinner today?”

You pause, tilting your head in thought. “I don't think so. I’ll message you guys if anything comes up, though,” You promise, grabbing your bag and heading toward the door. 

The walk to school is as usual, nothing out of the ordinary besides the weather being a little sunnier than normal Brooklyn weather. Luckily, you have your trusty portable fan, using it to stay cool in the heat.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you take it out to see a new message from Morales.

Ray (Paynt) [ 10:00 PM ]: Yo, you free tomorrow at 3 for our first session?

Morales [ 10:30 PM ]: When you put it that way, no.

- [ Morales ] has changed your name to [ The Kidnapper ] -

- [ Morales ] has changed their name to [ The Kidnappee ] -

The Kidnapper [ 10:30 PM ]: Boooo. I’ll take that as a yes, though. Anyway, meet me at Fort Bridge Park at 3. I hope you like waffles :)

The Kidnappee [ 07:50 AM ]: Who doesn’t?

Ray Paynt. You have to admit, few can come up with such a good fake name on the fly. You mentally pat yourself on the back for it, grinning at how easily he had believed you. Ray, short for Rachel? Absolutely priceless.

“Are you texting your crush or something?” 

You yelp at the sudden hand around your shoulders, instantly shoving your phone in your pocket and glaring at Michael’s mischievous smirk. You push your elbow against his rib, but he’s already prepared for your reaction, moving away before he can get hit.

“How’d you even meet, anyway?” He continues to ask, undeterred by your response. You shrug.

“Just ran into him and recognised his face,” You answer simply, entering the school gates together. 

“What’s for lunch today, anyway?” Michael changes the subject, already bored with your short responses. He’d probably try to dig deeper into it another time. 

“From what Greta told me, it’s lasagna for the special. I think it’s something else for the regular.” 

“I don’t know how you got her to do it, but you gotta hook me up with that staff discount of hers sometime,” Michael complains, sticking to you like glue through the crowded hallway as you make your way to your locker. 

“Just be better,” You say nonchalantly, reaching your locker and taking out the textbooks you need for the day. You huff in amusement from his eye roll, greeting Nicole with a smile when you spot her a few feet away from you both.

“Hey, you got something here.” You grab a wet tissue from your locker and lean down slightly, using your thumb to brush against the corner of her lips where a spot of grease is, wiping it off and tucking her messy hair behind her ear. You straighten your back with a soft smile, noticing the slight pink that coats the tips of her ears when you do so.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on.” 

Pausing at Michael’s words, you watch him lean down, reaching his hand out to try and replicate what you did. Instead, Nicole twists his hand, bringing him to his knees with a glare. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“But-”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Nicole warns clearly, finally letting go as a sign of mercy. You smile sympathetically, helping him to his feet and massaging the sore spot on his wrist. He mutters his thanks, pulling his wrist away after. 

School passes by in the blink of an eye, and you find yourself at the gates ready to leave at Two P.M. Nicole had her chess club — she had a match coming up that she couldn’t afford to lose. You’re more than certain that she never will, having watched her break her opponent down mentally during a previous match. Michael had his neighbourhood basketball game that he rushed off to, promising to introduce you to a new cafe another time.

Cafe. Right. 

The plan for today is simple. Grab some amazing waffles from the cafe you’d seen people rave about online, and meet Spidey-Boy at Fort Bridge Park, where you’d chill out and draw him in different poses or something. 

You’re still not entirely sure how this muse thing is supposed to go. But that’s okay! You’ll figure it out along the way.

Public transport is a blessing to have. The thought of owning your own car in the future makes you excited. You’d never have to deal with other people’s bad body odour ever again. The lack of hygiene of some commuters makes you determined to push forth a project on personal grooming in the future. 

Standing next to a man grabbing the handles in the train, revealing the sweat-soaked spot under his shoulders, only reaffirms this resolve. 

You finally hear your stop being called out over the speakers, all but rushing out the doors and inhaling deeply. Your lungs burn from the shallow breaths you took standing next to him, grateful for the existence of oxygen. 

Surprisingly enough, Google Maps gets you to the cafe in only fifteen minutes, and you order your waffles to go, waiting patiently in the store while blissfully inhaling the smell of freshly baked croissants and ground coffee. 

You’ll definitely be coming here again for a study session. 

You hear your name being called shortly after, thanking the server who hands you your order before exiting and heading to Fort Bridge Park with, yet again, the help of Google Maps. Thankfully, you reach five minutes before the scheduled time, choosing to sit down at a random bench and waiting for your muse to show up.

The Kidnapper [ 02:55 PM ]: I’m sitting near the bridge. Hope you’re hungry 

The Kidnappee [ 02:55 PM ]: Are you the one looking down really intensely at your phone?

“I am not looking intensely, thank you very much.” You say with a lighthearted scoff once Morales plops down next to you seconds after you read his message. 

“Right,” He replies sarcastically. “Where’s the promised waffle? And my ten bucks?” 

“Here’s your waffle. Payment will only be made at the end of each session.” You hand him the waffle, and he takes it without complaint, though his eyes narrow at the last few words. 

“That’s not what you promised.” 

“It’s in the contract,” You reply with a hum, taking a bite and grinning in delight at the fluffy texture. “Eat, eat!” 

He reluctantly pulls up his mask slightly, unwraps the waffle and bites down at your strong encouragement, lips pursed as he chews. “It’s…not bad.” 

“Not bad? It’s insanely good! No wonder it got so many popular reviews. The kaya in this one is incredible. You gotta try this.” You hold up the half-eaten waffle to him, and he looks at you warily.

“Here,” You tear off a piece of your waffle instead, eagerly holding it out to him. 

He takes it. “I think this is better,” He holds up the one in his hand after eating the piece you offered. 

“To each their own,” You comment, finishing off your waffle in mere minutes while he’s still slowly enjoying his. You dust off the crumbs on your hands and pull out your sketchbook, making yourself comfortable and crossing your legs before turning to face him. 

You notice him stiffening from the sudden attention, chuckling at his reaction. It was kinda cute. 

“Just pretend I’m not here,” You assure him, smiling warmly. “Just do what you normally do when you relax or when you’re not off fighting crime in lovely Brooklyn.”

His shoulders are still tense, but he slowly rests against the bench backrest, watching the people pass by. They notice his presence but ignore him in favour of rushing off to their own destinations, as are the lovely people of your city. Some linger around but quickly get bored once they realise that there’s nothing exciting happening.

“So, what’s your favourite food?” You break the silence with a question. You need him to relax so much more than his current self, who looks as if he’d bolt any chance he gets. 

“Pasteles, they’re probably the best food to ever exist.” 

“What’re those?” You pause, looking up with interest at this new dish you’ve never heard of. 

“Oh, pasteles are like, this food. It’s got pork and adobo in it, and it’s just amazing. My mom makes the best,” He answers excitedly, animatedly using his hands to describe the food. You grin in amusement, nodding at his words. 

“I’ve never tried them. The closest thing I’ve tried is a rice dumpling.”

“Rice dumpling?” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Yeah. Usually, when you hear dumpling, you think, like, gyoza or whatever, but these rice dumplings I’m talking about are on a whole other level. It’s basically pork or chicken, filling in sticky glutinous rice, wrapped in banana leaves in a triangle, and then steamed. It’s so good. I’ll bring some next time!”

“Cool, I’ll bring some pasteles too. But why are they triangle shaped?”

“That’s a good question,” You pause when you realise you don’t know the answer, pulling out your phone and doing a quick Google search. It proves fruitful, with Wikipedia being your one and only saviour. 

“Says here that they used to be in bamboo tubes, but they wrapped them in chinaberry leaves so dragons wouldn’t consume them. That’s actually pretty cool. I respect the dedication,” You remark, turning your screen to show him the Wikipedia page. He leans in, scanning the words with an intrigued hum before leaning back.

“Imagine having dragons, though.”

“I dunno, man. I’m talking to Spiderman right now. Dragons aren’t that far-fetched to me.” You crack, watching his shoulders shake with his laughs. You pick up the pencil and sketch as quickly as possible, satisfied with his relaxed state. Quickly finishing it up and polishing a few strokes here and there, you realise you’d gotten so absorbed in your drawing that the sun was already beginning to set.

He’s waiting patiently for you, scrolling through his Instagram feed. You pack your tools, feeling guilty for keeping him here for so long. “Thanks for waiting for me,” you say gratefully, zipping up your bag and standing up.

“Couldn’t leave without my ten bucks.” He quips. Your eyes widen at the reminder, patting your pockets and feeling for the ten-dollar bill stowed away in one of them. Once you find it, you pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it happily.

You’re both alerted to a food truck playing a short jingle over the speakers. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a gelato truck. 

“Their stuff’s pretty good,” He says, eyes trained on the sign offering a special discount from now till next weekend.

“Here’s a fun fact: I’ve never tried gelato,” You admit.

He scoffs. “And you call yourself a foodie.”

“I do not,” You defend yourself, lips pursed into a slight playful frown. He strides off to the cart, returning with two small cups. A single scoop of vanilla rests in one, and he hands you the other with a scoop of chocolate gelato inside. 

You take a quick bite, eyes widening slightly at the heavenly taste that greets your tongue. You take another spoonful, then another. 

“It’s good, right?” You nod vigorously in response, his lips tugging up into a satisfied smirk at your bright smile. The gelato is absolutely decadent and insanely creamy to the point that it feels like you’re just drinking it.

Wait. Creamy?

“Does this have dairy in it?”

A quick nod from him confirms your fear. You look down at the gelato in your hands, taking another small spoonful and sighing blissfully in your head. You sense his eyes on you, filled with slight worry. “It’s fine; I can deal with anything. I’m not that weak,” You chuckle with a dismissive wave of your hand. You both soon finish the gelato and part ways with a simple goodbye.

You’d deal with the consequences later.

At least, that’s what you told yourself before now, hunching over the toilet bowl while cursing out the inferior genes you had inherited from your parents. 

So much for being able to handle anything.

— — — — — — — — —

taglist:

@oh-kurva @brunnettiwik @queerponcho @sleepingnova @1theestallionyas @horologiumwise @ken-zah @sockgoblin @itstooearly-its3am @anuncalledbridge @ditto737 @sophipet @mirophobic @dilucpegg3r @urmotherswhor3 @arraxthatsonjah @ameliabs-world @superiorbyfar @swaqlover @janyiahsucks-blog @choco-malk-blog @akemiixx01 @a-cult-leader @berryunderscore @scarletrosesposts @stargirlhayven @bellstwd @edgyficuselastica @psyche404 @sukisprettyface

[pedanticat]

Danny Phantom Hot Takes

Now that I've finished Danny Phantom,  here are my biggest takes on the series as a whole:

Season 1 is the best season of the show. 

I believe that Danny Phantom is an overall good show, but its a show that would have benefited from being more serialized.

Reign Storm has a better story than Ultimate Enemy though the latter has a much better villain since Pariah is forgettable

I’ve heard a lot of criticisms about Tucker and Sam but I found them to be entertaining. Sure there’s some grating moments and poorly aged jokes with them, but I found both to be fun characters with a fun dynamic with both Danny and each other. I legit ship those two together more then Danny x Sam. 

Danny x Valeries > Danny x Sam (along with Valerie being a cooler character then Sam). 

I don't think Danny x Sam is inherently bad as they do have some  fun interactions and I enjoy their friendship, but the show didn’t commit as much time to their relationship as they should have been given that this pairing was endgame. They’d get a cute moment every couple episodes, but their relationship never got much focus with their romance only being pushed until the last few episodes. The biggest problem I would say about the relationship is that there was no reason for them to not get together until the series finale since the show never explained or explored what was stopping them from finally getting together. Now I know that some people think that Sam only likes Danny due to his ghost half but for as little as I care about this relationship, I wouldn’t go that far. I do think that Sam likes him for who he is as a person rather then for his powers. 

Penelope Spectra is one of the best villains of the show and she should have had more episodes. 

Season 3 is regarded as the worse season, and while that is true, the writing for the show started to go downhill halfway though season 2. Its only in season 3 does it get truly bad. 

Reality Trip was absolutely pointless. As bad as Phantom Planet was, at least that special shook up the status quo and later gave us A Glitch in Time. 

[gaslightgirlsummer]

At this point with lestappen (in whatever context) can it even still be considered a soft launch? It feels like almost everyone in their bubble has brought it up at least once by now lol.

you are so right anon because at this point it feels less like a soft launch and more like a damn rocket launch. as always, we can only make an educated guess about what's going on, and i have a lot of them, so strap in

first of all, to me it's one of the three:

at some point of the season, most likely somewhere around singapore (where we got the infamous reel of charles and max walking together, implying charles is on max's pre-race checklist, and lestappen alert) or right after qatar (the padel match) something happened between charles and max privately that made them - maybe not closer, because there's no proof they weren't like this already in private - but more comfortable showing that closeness in public

ferrari and rb pr teams greenlit more interactions and content about the two of them because they saw the engagement lestappen are getting. the timing, however, would be very strange - middle of the second half of the season, charles not really in contention with max, the first of the interactions posted literally being them walking together. which leads us to point 3:

charles is either in talks or has already signed a pre-agreement with red bull. lestappen gate 2023 tag has it all

we can't deny that something CLEARLY shifted, just as we got our first official confirmation of max and charles hanging out outside the paddock. and i want to underline "official" here, because max has mentioned before that he and charles "see each other in restaurants and cafes around monaco" and we never got a confirmation if he meant they accidentally run into each other or they meet up intentionally. with the padel date, i'm a bit more inclined to believe the latter.

"but why did we never gate any pictures then?"

first of all, probably because paparazzi are actually not allowed in monaco. it is illegal there, hence a lot of celebs enjoy its privacy. second of all i don't think most citizens of monaco would care about seeing these two having dinner together, as monaco is small and its population even smaller (36k citizens, not all of them living there full time). most of them wouldn't be moved by this. and seeing a famous athlete having dinner with another famous athletes feels less special when a large chunk of the population is famous athletes. the third option is fans and tourists visiting monaco, but i don't think these two would be hanging out at tourist spot restaurants.

when we got our first official confirmation of these two hanging out it came out from them, not a random picture, but these two intentionally showing everyone that yes, they hung out together, and no, they are not acting like it's a big deal. charles also answered a question about padel with max in his ferrari q&a, which informed people who don't keep up with charles' instagram that he did, in fact, see max in private.

there's no solid conclusion here, only ramblings, but what i can say to sum it up is: charles and max are clearly intentionally and openly showing that they are friends now. and we can only imagine and theorise what comes next, and enjoy every minute of it