#anyone who sees this that's at the very least remotely aware of the anime and is intrigued should give it a go

[vnynv]

Selection page & introduction mockup of my Fear and Hunger 2: Termina OC! They're the animal handler and just so happen to go to Prehevil motivated by an internal problem, as they just so happen to be a marriage of Sylvain. Also a (non-canon) scene with Daan and a doodle page, including their moonscorched form, Janus.

They're really shy and uncomfortable around people (especially new ones and crowds), but with the mask, it just results in them seeming aloof and scary. At least it's something they and Marcoh can bond over at the start! They also slowly come out of their shell with Olivia's interest in plant biology and theirs in animal biology.

On day one, they'll be around the train and riverbank; on day two they'll be in and around the moldy apartments, and day three they'll be in the Virgin Maiden Forest, where they'll eventually moonscorch.

Skip Character History?

(⤵ Under the 'read more' is a very lengthy post! 2.5k words. You've been warned ^^;)

CHOOSE CHARACTER

CLASS/ Animal handler (Kirkas)

AGE/ 29

INFO/ Experienced with the toughest of animals, the animal handler knows their way around nature and the dangers that hide within. They aren’t afraid to stick their head in the mouth of a lion.

Incomplete soul

— Intro

The soothing sound of the railtracks... You are not used to such peaceful and tranquil atmosphere.

You can't help but let your mind wander. You reminisce what has lead you to this point in life…

You grew up in a remote city that Voroniya claimed as its own, though you would never see much support in the aging administrative buildings and cracked concrete. The town itself was big, very big, but only one trainline cut through the fields and forests that surround it. When you played at the playgrounds, far away from the other kids, your hands would come back raw from the chipped paint.

It wasn’t as if the other children excluded you specifically, not at the start, but they could never find a connection with you. Or maybe the other way around. 

It didn’t seem that you belonged with them, or anyone else for the matter. Even around your own family, you started to clam up and not find the strength to push the words out. This alienation got so bad at one point you tried to leave this world. You failed.

You still craved a connection, but every other half didn’t fit with yours, like a missing puzzle piece. So instead, you searched for solace elsewhere.

>Isolate yourself at home

You closed yourself off to the world, though even your parents had trouble connecting with you once more. They tried to be understanding, then mad once you were adamant about hiding in your room for ages. You wouldn’t leave for class, you’d get left behind, and your muscles would atrophy. You had to fake going outside just for some peace and quiet, but you would in actuality hide in the closets and under the beds. You grew familiar with the mice that would scratch under the walls and the birds that would land on your windowsill. You learnt the skill Mastery over vermin.

>Run off into the woods

You run off one night, suffocated by the row of houses and families who can all talk but you. For the next two weeks, you find yourself in the ever sprawling forest, surviving cold nights by sleeping in the moss and sucking on rocksides to hydrate yourself. You had to learn which plants were safe by experience. Your uncle found you with hives and a deeper face than usual, but you can’t say you were ever scared in the woods. You never learnt the distinct cues of bird chirps or had the same gait as a burrowing fox, but your affinity with Vinushka rose & you learnt the skill Undergrowth awareness.

>Get close with the stray dogs outside

They were whimpery things, ribs poking out and gums gnashing, but you soon were able to get close to them after stealing pastries from the dinner table. After school was out, they wouldn’t run away from your beckoning hand, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t learn when they got too overwhelmed and ready to lunge. You were lucky for any bites to not get infected, but it was a lesson for you to maintain yourself. You got close enough to take naps with them hidden in rubble. Eventually, some adults noticed your interactions and tried to help by sending the dogs to kennels and be adopted. Perhaps the hounds had gotten a better life with a family, or they were culled for attacking a child. You never found out. You learnt the skill Unleash the hounds.

Your parents had you on a tighter leash once you came back. No running off for you anymore, and the remainder of your childhood years were once more silent and lonely. 

It gave you ample time to throw yourself into studies, however, with no other kids inviting you out for outings once your class got older. Not surprisingly, you aimed for animal care studies. You then slowly worked your way up from a local animal shelter, to bigger things. Learning to talk to other humans, like a human, was the greatest survival tactic you had to overcome, however.

Impassive and skilled, you found yourself leaving your big, desolate city, to work for an organization that helps with wildlife clean up. Years ago, before the second Great War, you had heard of Voroniya experimenting with chemical power. Of course, it ended up as an irradiated disaster, but the media coverage was much easier to clean up than the actual station in the wilderness. The codename for the location was ‘Hell.’ 

(Gain DOMA gas mask.)

You were good at what you did, and many a times were specifically called upon to do field work with these… mutated animals. It felt emotionally filling, you think, but you still came to an empty home. Many a time did you think of getting a cat, but even then, you worked random and long hours. It’d smell the other animals on you, anyway. 

The more you worked at the cleanup, the more you learnt of the branches of the organization. Or rather, it being a branch. It has ties to the Eastern Union military, and the goals weren’t to just observe and take care of the mutations, but to militarize them for its own use. 

The most surprising thing, however… was that you met someone. Someone you could hold a conversation with. 

A soldier, technically, but this person was a pencil-pusher and focused on archives and annotations, and DOMA’s project now fell under this associate’s jurisdiction. The two of you were grouped together, among others, and they took an interest in you as much as you did them. 

The task was to move some specifically aggressive animals into containment, at least for a higher branch to study them. You partially wished to be one of those scientists, but by now, your gas mask has become a second skin. 

The animals were contained in cages and kept in the basement while your team waited for pick-up to arrive, though you hoped that the tranquilizers worked well enough so they slept through the ride and discomfort.

Just as you watched your teammate note things down, the two of you heard noises from one of the cages. It was one of the dog-beasts, who had half-scales forming over its body by the time spent in Hell, and a rough personality that made for its lost years. It took the whole active half of the team to get it down. At any moment now, it was going to burst from its metal imprisonment and enact revenge.

Your friend was much closer to the exit, but you knew you had only one second to figure out what to do, being much closer to the cages.

>Subdue the beast yourself

As it lunges out, you think fast and fall back on adrenaline and skill to handle it. You have faith in your dear friend and colleague getting out the tranq gun, so all you need to do is be the muscle and pin the animal—no, beast down. Easier said than done. With its gaping and jagged maw, it gets you on the arm and shreds it. Past the pain, you realize you can’t move it anymore. It must have bit into your nerves. No matter, your vision is sharp and focused as you’re able to wrestle it down with your remaining strong arm. You have to pin the neck with your knee just as the tranquilizer is shot. Your arm is left bloody, but you learnt the skill One-handed.

>Brace for impact

Just as the lock breaks, you put one hand in your pocket and take out a syringe. Your remaining arm is held up to guard your throat as your feet get into a strong stance. This is as most prepared as you’ll get, it seems. The beast is but a blur as it jumps on you, and even in your uniform and split-second preparation, absolutely bites through your arm. You’re dragged down with it, and fumble with the tranquilizer in your other hand as you yell through the pain. It is muffled by your mask. For a moment, you’re afraid that you can’t penetrate the scales of the dog, but it soon goes limp in your hold. It ended as fast as it started, but you were left worse for wear, clutching your injured arm. You learnt the skill Perfect Guard.

Once more safe, the adrenaline leaves your body and you find yourself lightheaded from the blood loss. Just as your conscience slips away, you feel two hands support you before you drop to the tile floor.

The next time you wake, it is in a hospital. You have a cast on your arm, and even find a leg bandaged. You didn’t know at the time, but you ended up twisting a knee. Your partner-in-crime is sitting on a chair, and they turn out to be delighted in you waking up.

After the nurses made sure your blood levels were normal, you were discharged. You also found your gas mask to be cracked from the scuffle after you passed out, as your friend succinctly put. Oh, well. The organization told you to take an extended leave, so it wasn’t like you would need it in the near future anyway.

You had to learn to do things one-handedly back in your apartment, and it was more of a struggle to make yourself breakfast than it was to traverse the irradiated Hell. Days later of you rotting on your couch, you would slowly limp to the front door and find your only friend waiting. Turns out, they asked for time off as well to take care of you.

After that, the two of you got much, much closer, even after you regained most control of your arm. While you were resting and couchbound, your beau told you many stories of their hobbies to fill the time. Turns out, their archiving habit spanned their work and into their interests, namely of the Old Gods. 

The place you grew up in was quite secular. Sure, grandmothers told kids stories about spirits, but there was no construction for any God like other cities, towns, and villages have. At most, you just had the faintest connection to the deceased Vinushka’s traces, but your beloved’s interest was not devotional (and not for only one God), but rather of appreciation. You learnt of Alll-Mer’s ascension and what most people don’t know of just as you learnt of how Gro-goroth and Sylvain’s amore. 

There wasn’t a specific day that the two of you crossed from ‘friends’ to ‘lovers.’ It felt so natural that you could’ve blinked and missed it. You really couldn’t believe there could be a person like this, who’s caring, understanding, and talking to them feels like second nature to you. So, when your partner brings up experiencing a marriage of flesh for Sylvain, you see no downsides. 

Everything truly was perfect. You had heard of horror stories of failed ‘marriages’, but the two of you coming to one was as if fate had always intended for this to happen. You had Sylvain’s blessing.

The month off from work after you two became one was the most beautiful month in your lives. You never knew you could appreciate each brick that made your apartment until you left the house the next day. 

This euphoria didn’t last for long. Everything had been prim and fair at the start, with while you both were fused in conscience, inner conversation felt like a giddy secret you were in on. It was almost time to go back to the workforce, but the 50/50 train of thought didn’t remain much for long. It started to become more of ‘you’ and less of ‘them’, until you couldn’t feel their presence any longer. The day you couldn’t hear a single thought from them, as if they were locked away in full. 

They were still here, you still felt the twitch of a finger, or a tic only they grew up with, but there was a barrier put between the two of you. There was no body to mourn, but with you wearing half their face, there was equally no other head to caress, mouth to kiss, and to ask if they’re alright. You’re not sure if it would be better if they could hear your thoughts, freaking out at the loss of theirs, or not.

Just days before you’d go back to work, when you decided to buy a ticket out of your region. As they had told you the tales of all the Old Gods, a memory came to the front of your head of one conversation. The ascension of Alll-Mer, a special man who ascended once an Old God died for his spot. It wasn’t just the birth of Alll-Mer, that day, but the Sulfur God as well. One was locked far, far away, and most people know it to be the latter that was chained up and banished…

But if what some people say it to be as Gro-goroth took the skin of man and walked as one of their own… This memory of yours had been so strong, it was as if your lover was still guiding you along. A way to figure out to cut the chains, that’s what you need.

You don’t think you could ever reverse the process of Sylvain’s marriage, or if you even wanted to, but to at least hear your beloved’s voice again… That’s enough.

If by the desire of a Sulfur Priest to cause ruin and destruction, or by the desire of an Alll-Mer Follower to do good unto this world, you could reunite with them, you’d do anything in your power to achieve it. Your ticket is for a land reasonably far away, far enough that they start worshiping these Old Gods, but close enough that it falls under the Eastern Union’s current domain.

How do you prepare for your travels?

>Stock up on medical goods (Gain x2 Blue vials and Cloth fragment)

>Stock up on protection (Gain x2 Bear trap and Leather armor)

>Stock up on food (Gain x2 Dried meat and Moldy bread)

A lifetime ago, you would’ve hated talking to people, but to help get your partner back… Talking to a priest and a cashier should be similar enough, right?

— Extra

Incomplete soul skills:

Unleash the hounds: Be able to recruit the headless hounds, along with extra scenes with Moonless and August. -40 Mind if a recruited hound dies.

One-handed: Be able to use two-handed weapons with one hand and have 25% chance to not use up ammo.

So incomplete I haven’t thought of at least two more. Lol.

Other introduction trivia:

With Mastery over vermin, get extra mini-quest and scenes with the vermin.

With Vinushka’s affinity, get extra scene with Iki Turso about Vinushka being dead.

It is not confirmed which of the two sides is the original, and which was the partner.

DOMA: Дикие Обслуживание & Милитаризация Ада (Wild Observation & Militarization of Hell)

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

violently smashing my two major fandoms with an F together as a form of procrastination

A question for the ages: WHICH Avatar character matches up with WHICH Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle one and WHY the fuck should anyone (besides me) care? We'll answer at least one of those questions for you tonight, dear viewers!!!!

First up

Neteyam - Leo

Eldest son, blue theme (like I could say this for all the Sullys, but shush), can do no wrong except when one of the siblings stubs a toe and then the Guilt, daddy's favorite solider who's also a huge dork (like we don't see a lot of evidence of this in canon for Neteyam but let me have this), Neteyam's Untimely End vs Leo getting treated as such a punching bag by each TMNT iteration that throwing him through a goddamn window is an established franchise staple by now.

Kiri - Donnie

A case can be made for April-Kiri parallels (particularly for psychic powers re 2012 April, my beloved, and dead mom syndrome) and also Karai-Kiri (for dead mom syndrome, how often I've mixed up their fucking names while writing), but Kiri-Donnie fits the siblings theme, so there. They're tech nerd-nature nerd solidarity, autistic Entities of unparalleled death and destruction, happy to destroy government property, younger siblings pretending to be above the Chaos while very much not, and in desperate need of a nap and a stiff drink.

Lo'ak - Raph

Rage issues. Daddy issues. Big brother issues. Relatively smol and Keenly aware of that fact. Adored by the (smart) fans, cursed by Eywa/God. Makes strong bonds with animal fwends and also collects traumatic experiences like magnets collect nails. 100% either in a fistfight or sobbing into his pillow rn. In a family living at the bottom of a fucking sewer and/or on the run from the government, still manages to feel like an odd one out. Someone needs to introduce Lo'ak to emo music, it would fuck him up so much /pos.

Tuk - Mikey

Youngest and most excitable sibling, heart of gold and jaws of steel. Optimism that remains in the face of innocence slowly being shaved away by Events. Hates being left out or left behind, committed to various Schemes and Plans with historically mixed outcomes. Has definitely either killed a man or will do so as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

Spider - Karai and April

Spider's kind of an unholy amalgamation of April's Token Human We've Shared Traumatic Experiences With journey and Karai's At Odds With Creepy Undead Father Figure And Complex Relationship With Less Creepy Father Figure (see below) arcs. Basically part of my ongoing psyops plans to Feminize That Boy (don't worry Karai-Kiri and April-Kiri parallels, I still love you). Also, Leorai/Apritello and Speteyam/Spiri (mix and match at will) have exciting interspecies and/or vaguely incestous vibes we should all strive for in our weird fanfics.

Jake - Splinter/Hamato Yoshi

Tired dads trying their best and just so happening to raise The Kids as soldiers-warriors along the way. Exciting and confusing relationships with the concept of this thing you call "death." Shameless species hoppers, even though Jake did it on purpose while TMNT writers in various iterations have to come up with increasingly more convoluted ways for it to happen to Yoshi against his will. Is not afraid of violence, especially when it comes to their homoerotically homicidal relationship with

Quaritch - Shredder

Big Bad of the story, or at least the one everybody pays attention to. The Bitch Who Refuses To Die. Unhealthy, possessive, genuinely quite creepy (/pos) obsession with sort-of-kid who ended up in his care through Unfortunate Means. Will destroy everything he remotely cares about and sit in the ashes with surprised Pichaku face before finding someone to blame. Refuses to let go of a fucking grudge, be it with aforementioned homoerotic-homicide buddy or various children.

Neytiri

Technically the best Neytiri parallel in terms of family relationships would be Tang Shen, Splinter's wife and the pseudo/actual (depending on the iteration) mother of his children. However, Tang Shen has an unfortunate history of being Dead Girled and Ghost-Momed in a way that puts her more in common with Grace or Tom Sully (rip). Still, Neytiri has a lot in common with the vengeful demon ghost version of Tang Shen that exists primarily in my head.

BONUS

Payakan - Casey Jones

Outcast from society, defender of the weak, wanted by the authorities. Combines genuinely passionate belief in justice/revenge with an equally genuine talent for wanton violence and destruction. Has an interspecies bromance with Lo'ak/Raph that puts Achilles and Patrocles to shame. Someone definitely needs to introduce Payakan to emo music, too, not to mention death metal--he'd start a band to put those Little Mermaid fuckers to shame.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Arguments? (you're all wrong btw) Only know me from one of these fandoms and have no idea what the hell I'm taking about? Hit me up in the reblogs!

[squadrah]

You've brought up a few times that Prosciuttos' stand has alternated Prosciuttos' taste buds has anyone else's stand had some kind of physical or maybe mental effect on them? Thank you take ur time and relax tis the holidays

Haha, thank you for your consideration! Where I live we don't celebrate any holidays at this time, but to everyone else I am wishing (very belatedly since this post will have to wait its turn in the queue) a very happy holiday! You are all lovely and deserve a celebration!

Risotto: Compared to the others, he first and foremost sees himself as a host or vessel to Metallica, and the idea of his Stand wreaking havoc within him has crossed his mind many times. Physically, I have seen fans attributing his eye condition to the Stand, which I like even if I have a different interpretation. To me the physical impact is that he has become slightly magnetic (strong fridge magnets will stick to him up close), and he pays way more attention to his iron intake than anyone else on the team.

Formaggio: Despite a slight inferiority complex at present, it used to be worse and his self-image actually improved a lot when he gained his Stand and went from some vagrant punk to a real trickster who can also slash your throat if nothing else gets through to you. Physically he feels no different, though some of the others sometimes take jabs at him saying Little Feet has probably been shrinking his brain, his balls, or both. If they suspected he had often entertained permanently shrinking them a little, they'd stop.

Prosciutto: His Stand has mostly damaged his palate, having been for a long time in his life without the ability to speak out, and restraining himself so often that his Stand sometimes activates automatically and dulls his nerves a little before he might flip a switch and unleash the fury of ten gods. Being a short sleeper, he already had a higher threshold of pain tolerance than most, but The Grateful Dead has actually made this worse without him being much aware of it himself, which is a huge hazard on missions.

Pesci: He had always been a very observant person, both by nature as well as the necessity of reading the room and knowing when he is in danger, and Beach Boy has only heightened these sense by giving him further information he is now able to sense. Like Formaggio, he thus received a confidence boost. Physically, his Stand has not affected him directly, but indirectly, since Pesci started exercising in earnest in order to build up the core strength required to wield his Stand and bear the weight of any victim(s).

Ghiaccio: Another person whose self-confidence was improved by gaining a Stand. On the physical side of things, I loved the anime's decision to show him emanating cold fumes when he was experiencing terror at the sight of Sorbet's body. They know when he is overcome by the sight of those fumes, and that it's time to either defuse him or take cover. He's also in the same boat as Pesci, but with greater willingness to exercise in general because it helps burn his stamina and calm his mind.

Melone: Though he cannot actually prove it, he is convinced that gaining a Stand improved his mental faculties from his memory to the time and effort it takes to theorize and calculate. He also gained a sense of safety because even when he's down, his Stand has energy enough to go and alert the others. Physically he doesn't feel different as a whole, but whenever Baby Face Laptop eats something it shouldn't have, he not only feels abdominal pain but can also very remotely taste whatever entered it.

Illuso: He is the one who was most *and* least improved mentally by the acquisition of a Stand. On the one hand, his wish of complete control over his own space was granted and it gives him a sense of power as well as smug self-assurance, but on the other hand, having the means to hide in order to assert his dominance has done nothing to help him address his many issues. Physically he has been improved as well as "confused" by the mirror world and can read text normal and mirrored, but mixes up the directions of his letters.

Sorbet and Gelato are non-users to my mind, so they are unaffected that way, but I'll include them because they do see Baby Face Laptop moving about and think it's interesting/funny, have seen White Album's armor, and have been subjected to literally every Stand effect out of curiosity and the willingness to understand. This is another one of those things that made the others think both of them batshit crazy indeed.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #199

Have you ever bought a YouTuber’s merch? I have two Cloak shirts, which is owned by Markiplier and jacksepticeye. I would love to have more products by YouTubers with how much of my time goes into watching their shit lmao

Do you think oatmeal tastes better when made with water or milk? MILK. It's not even a competition.

Have you ever left a note in a library book? No.

What time of day do you prefer to wash your hair? Daytime, because I have more strength in my legs early in the day.

Has anyone ever spread lies about you? Yeah, I'd say by the time you're an adult, most people have dealt with this to some severity.

Have you ever taken a photograph with a celebrity? If so, did it turn out the way you wanted, or do you wish you could retake it? No. I'm kinda scared to do this even if I had the opportunity, because first of all I'd feel annoying, but also, I'm sure I'd hate how I looked in it lol.

If you could move out of your home country permanently, would you? If so, where would you go? Not by this phase in my life. I know and cherish too many people here to leave. I hate the U.S., but I love these people more than I hate this county.

Do you think that after we die our spirit is still alive? I think so, at least in some way, but I won't bet my life on that. Honestly I'm fine with the concept of after death, there's nothing. No awareness. I really think it adds more beauty to life while we have it.

Have you ever felt like you were someone’s rebound? No.

Did you have a lot of role models as a kid? I wouldn't say A LOT. It was mostly people like Steve Irwin or Jeff Corwin, Jane Goodall too.

Do you feel like anyone looks up to you? Why or why not? Big no, because what's there to look up to? What've I got goin' on over here? I don't mean that in a pity-hungry sort of way, I just factually am not doing inspirational things, other than fighting mental illness I suppose.

Who is the nicest person you know? My mom.

Do you feel safe in your country? Not really, no, because I'm just waiting for a bomb to drop on the capitol, and certainly NC would be in the blast radius. I'm pretty convinced that's how I'm gonna die, tomorrow or 40 years from now.

Do you know anyone who has been struck by lightning before? Not directly, but my mom did get shocked one night during a severe storm when she was just running water into a soda can to clean it before disposing of it. She's joked that she's still waiting for her new powers to come in, lol.

Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? An Eevee or Vulpix.

Do you like marshmallows? Yes.

Have you ever fostered an animal? No, I'd never be able to let it go.

Have you ever thrown up from cramps? No, thank christ.

Would you ever start a vlog? No.

What are your favorite spicy foods? Hot wings or things like spicy Cheetos or Takis.

Did you feel insecure in high school? I was WAY more confident in myself than I am now. Like yeah, I did have some insecurities, but they're NOTHING compared to now.

What was your favorite class in high school? Art.

If you’re female, would you feel uncomfortable having a male gynecologist? I would 1,000% refuse to see a cis male gynecologist. If you do not have a vagina yourself, I'm sorry, I don't trust your reasons for wanting that career.

What gives you nightmares? Just going to sleep, dude. I have some sort of nightmare condition that's baffled the doctors I've seen.

Were you ever hospitalized as a child? No.

Did you get senior pictures taken? No.

Would you rather wear ivory or white on your wedding day? What color will your bridesmaids wear? I'm probably wearing black. I want the theme to be black and gold, but I'm going to assume gold bridesmaid dresses are expensive, so we'll probably do orange, idk.

Do you think babies are cute? Some are, but very rarely are newborn/very young babies even remotely cute. It happens, but. If I think your baby is cute, you did good lmao

Have you ever moved to another state? No.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? No.

If you were to make videos on YouTube, what would they be of? I have no idea, I've thought of this.

Posting pictures of yourself in a bathing suit on the internet - ok or not? Of course it's okay, I personally just wouldn't do it because I'm too self-conscious.

If you’re in a bad mood, would you rather be with friends or alone? Alone.

What’s the last thing you took a picture of? My cat being cute.

Are you good at remembering birthdays? god hell no, I wish.

Do you listen to podcasts? I don't, except sometimes when I'm in the car with Girt, he'll occasionally have one on instead of music.

Would you rather watch a movie in a theater or at home? The theater, for sure. I enjoy that experience.

Who’s the messiest person you know? My sister's kids, lol. I know the vast majority of young children tend to be messy, but those three are next fuckin level, my mom can't stand it because she raised us girls completely the opposite.

Are you close with any of your exes? No.

What’s your favorite type of cheese? I'm such a basic bitch, American. Most cheeses I don't like.

Can you read sheet music? I could once upon a time, I played the flute all through middle school and almost all of high school, but I couldn't anymore.

Have you ever lived in a mobile home? No.

How many times in the past week have you eaten fast food? Once, I wanna say.

Do you prefer carbonated or uncarbonated drinks? Carbonated.

Favorite thing that you can see up in the sky? The moon, stars, aurora borealis... so muchhhhh

Friend asks you to hide drugs, booze etc for them, do you do it? Nope.

You fill your best friend’s Xmas stocking, what do you put in it? Some Sour Patch gummies, maybe a pair of socks, a Buffalo Wild Wings gift card or something, uhhhhh... I'm not sure of the rest. He is so super hard to buy for, considering if he wants something, he's able to just buy it. It's not just me, even his mom and sister struggle with presents for him.

You fill your worst enemy’s stocking, what do you put in it? Nothing, because I'm not interested in investing my time into her.

You fill your OWN stocking, what do you put in it? A Mountain Dew Voltage, my favorite Reese's bar, a book, gift cards I guess, maybe some video game.

If someone gave you a kitten, would you keep it? I'd like to, but I don't think Mom would be game for it because Tobey (landlord) would supposedly have a cow.

Favorite type of cracker: Cheez-its.

Animal you like to watch but sort of creeps you out: Centipedes.

Bagels or English muffins? Bagels.

Who is a family member you look forward to seeing on a holiday? My dad.

Do you do anything to recognize St Patrick’s Day? No.

Who mows the lawn at your house? Well because it's winter we haven't needed to, but during the warm months, Mom used to pay Nicole's ex to do it, but she hasn't been pleased with his supposedly very uneven and rushed work, so she gave the daughter of a dance mom a try last, and she was super impressed. I'm definitely assuming she'll pay her again this year.

Where do you keep your phone at night? Normally, it sits under the pillow that Girt uses when he's here, but if he spends the night, then I just sit it on my bedside table.

Best Happy Meal toy you ever got: Oh I have no idea.

Do you like the color yellow at all? It's one of my least favorite colors, actually. I do like a very light, pastel yellow, though.

Who sings the last song you listened to? Till Lindemann.

Have you ever watched South Park? Who’s your favorite character? I have, with other people. I was never really into it.

What member of your family are you most similar to? In which ways? My half-sister Katie. We struggle very similarly mentally and are alike personality-wise.

If you could have any animal as a pet, what would you have? At this current time, a tarantula. Preferably a Brazilian Black.

Do you ever shop at Aldi? Do you even have one nearby? We have one very close actually, and Mom will go there every now and again, primarily with Nicole if she wants to go there.

Do you enjoy rhododendrons? Look man, I enjoy basically any flower you could name. I just love them.

Have you ever met someone who supports Nazism? Yes, Sara. She liked to be "technical" about it in calling her branch Neo-Nazism, but she was still a fucking Nazi, I had her explain her way of thinking plenty because I was trying to understand that she wasn't politically evil but never did. She didn't believe Jews deserved to die, but Hitler and his doctrine were her political idols. Which is evil, if you somehow forgot.

If you’ve ever been to another country, what was the best thing you did there? I haven't. :(

What’s the worst sickness you’ve ever had? Some fucking insane stomach virus I had as a teen, I'd say. I will never forget hurling my guts up past the point where only bile was coming out. The abdominal cramps were mental.

Is your favorite animal something you can have as a pet? In certain countries, but thankfully not here in North America. I aggressively wish that it was illegal everywhere, like there is no case of you giving a meerkat everything it needs to be well, all the while saving your house and personal relations with how territorial they are.

Are you good at gardening? To be fair I've never really tried. I did help Colleen's in-laws with their personal garden quite a bit one summer, and I can tell you I FUCKING hated it, because of how out of shape I was but even moreso because of my hyperhidrosis, but I've never tried it on my own. I'd actually quite like to get into plants, and I'd LOVE to grow specifically berries when I have my own place, but I have strong doubts I'd care enough to maintain everything. Depression already makes that challenging with other things.

What was the last classic novel you read? Did you enjoy it? The Yearling, I loved it.

Do you own any pet fish? What kind of fish are they? No, pet fish aren't my thing.

When was the last time you took your pet to the vet? What was wrong with it? Quite a few months ago when Roman apparently had an ear infection.

Have you ever known someone who was in an abusive relationship? I know multiple people who have, and one who still is.

[giftofshewbread]

Let’s Get a Grip on Reality

 By Dave Hubley   Published on: June 15, 2022

For quite some time now, I have watched and listened to many, many people in many, many venues talking about the myriad of events and “news” that abound in this country, and I am not surprised that we, as a nation here in America, and the world in general, are in the mess we are in.

In addition to God’s prophetic warnings contained in His Word, there is the overwhelming weight of world history that provides all the proof anyone could reasonably need as to the patterns we see developing.

Cognitive reasoning and simple application of common sense seem to have been abandoned. This is not the least surprising, both in a world that is in open rebellion against God and as the fruit of modern “education.”

If, as a population/nation, current events noted below (and this is a very short list) don’t stimulate people to wake up, the consequences will be staggering.

This is not “out there.” No, it is at the door.

Let’s take a few examples into consideration. I am not an educated man (perhaps that is a blessing in the current times), and I don’t think it requires a degree or some alphabetical suffix to make these associations and draw these elementary conclusions. It simply requires the most basic form of situational awareness.

Am I imagining the elephant in the room? Or is it about to trample people to death under an avalanche of reality? I’ll let you decide.

1) This country is constantly referred to as a democracy! It is not! It is/was a Constitutional Representative Republic! There is a PSYOP being perpetrated in this narrative, and people don’t seem to see it. Referring to America as a “democracy” plants a subliminal association with “Democrat” and implies that that party is more in line with our country’s founding principles than the “rebellious” Republicans (not that the majority of “Republicans” are in line either).

Let me ask you, does the current Democrat Party ideology and actions have even the faintest resemblance to America’s founding principles?

Worse, you almost never hear the Republican “legislators” call our Constitutional Republic by its proper nomenclature. You would think that they would know better. “Democracies” eventually turn into a reversed form of mob rule with a fluffy name that evolves into some depraved aristocracy. Like now.

This link (https://bearstatebooks.com/blog/2021/03/07/the-tytler-cycle-suggests-a-democracy-only-lasts-200-years/), I believe, will make the case well, especially if considered in light of the current state of things.

2) Biden is referred to by both Republicans and Democrats alike as “the president”! Based on the overwhelming evidence that has come to light, do you think that is even remotely true? Yet, some sort of warped legitimacy is assigned to this travesty by the very people who should be stopping it.

3) Cadets in US Army uniforms marched wearing women’s red high heel shoes! This debacle can be readily viewed by a simple internet search. It happened twice! America’s enemies are rightly mocking and laughing at this sickening absurdity WHILE they are cleaning their weapons and sharpening their bayonets. Make no mistake about it.

4) The Afghanistan “withdrawal”; No stronger message could have been sent to our enemies (and they are many) than was sent by this action. But the greater harm is that:

a) These advanced weapons will most likely be used against us at some point. By “us,” I don’t mean American troops only. I mean US! Potentially all of us!

b) We don’t have some sort of unlimited supply of weapons within our borders. These will be badly needed for the defense of the homeland in the not-so-near future (in my opinion), and they will not be here.

c) The “coincidental” loss of food processing factories, agricultural production, and destruction of animal resources (cattle, chickens, pigs, etc.), dearth of fertilizer supplies, and farmland taken out of production. The lack of baby formula! The general population is clueless as to the end result of these events. It is ongoing worldwide even now. How does anyone expect this is going to end?

If you have ever cut down a dead tree and found it infested with carpenter ants, then you saw that when the nest is exposed to the light, the ants immediately scramble to protect the nestlings. They grab their eggs and run for cover.

However, that is not what the globalists are currently doing. They see that their tactics and plans have been exposed. And now, instead, they must “go for broke.” That is what is really happening.

It is common practice (because it is common sense) to correctly diagnose any illness before treating it.

The world’s diagnosis is clear. The verdict is in with all necessary evidence. This is all being intentionally engineered!

Anyone who actually accepts that this is all coincidental needs to have their head AND heart examined.

According to Walt Kelly’s Pogo, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”

The reality that we need to get a grip on is that the God of our creation has been ignored and His word trampled. And worse, His Son, Jesus Christ, has been made a mockery of by so many people for so long that this world has become like a compromised ship, burdened with the rust and decay of sin that eats away at the integrity of the hull until it leaks. Once that hull has taken on more water than it can displace, it will sink.

Consider for a moment how many times over the course of a single day that the Name of God and of Jesus Christ is used as a common epithet or intentionally mocked and abused.

“You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain, for the LORD will not leave anyone unpunished who takes His name in vain” (Exodus 20:7).

I believe that the final events prophesied in God’s Word are now set in motion, and they are irrevocable. The Word of God has been available for many centuries, and its accuracy is 100%; yet, for many centuries, it has been ignored. Just like an approaching storm, it will soon break and run its course.

“Although you wash with lye and use an abundance of soap, the stain of your guilt is still before Me,’ declares the Lord GOD” (Jeremiah 2:22). There is no “God of the Old Testament” and no “God of the New Testament. There is only the One True God who has made that fact clear:

In the Old Testament – “Remember the former things long past, For I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is no one like Me” (Isaiah 46:9).

In the New Testament – “Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am” (John 8:58).

The mountain of fulfilled prophecy is abundant evidence of this fact.

I would state that this mountain of evidence is irrefutable, but at this current time of delusion and depravity, where truth is (relative??), anything, no matter how obviously true, will be vainly disputed by someone or, unfortunately, multiple someones somewhere.

However, that secular, worldly argument does not put the slightest dent in reality.

The reality, as I believe this world will find out soon, is Truth from God’s perspective.

So, what am I offering as a solution? I don’t believe there is a solution in human terms. It is human activity, sin, rebellion, and depravity that has led us here.

“But because of your hard and unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath against yourself for the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed. God ‘will repay each one according to his deeds.’ To those who by perseverance in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality, He will give eternal life. But for those who are self-seeking and who reject the truth and follow wickedness, there will be wrath and anger” (Romans 2:5-8).

And now to the crux of this article.

To you who call yourselves Christians but have fallen under the spell of the modern, “progressive church,” easy believism and its focus on this world instead of the Lord Jesus Christ, I say with all love and compassion, GET OUT THE DOOR OF THAT CHURCH NOW BEFORE THE DOOR OF THE AGE OF GRACE IS CLOSED FOREVER! Find a church that preaches the unsullied Word of God, or if you can’t find one you can attend in person, you are better off to stay home! There are still numerous churches that are true to Jesus and stream their services online. Heed this warning by the Lord:

“To the angel of the church in Laodicea write: The Amen, the faithful and true Witness, the Beginning of the creation of God, says this: ‘I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot; I wish that you were cold or hot. So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of My mouth. Because you say, ‘I am rich, and have become wealthy, and have need of nothing,’ and you do not know that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, I advise you to buy from Me gold refined by fire so that you may become rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself, and that the shame of your nakedness will not be revealed; and eye salve to anoint your eyes so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline; therefore be zealous and repent.

‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me. He who overcomes, I will grant to him to sit down with Me on My throne, as I also overcame and sat down with My Father on His throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches'” (Revelation 3:14-22).

For anyone who may read this article and has not trusted in Jesus Christ and therefore has no hope or peace in your life:

You can have hope. You can have the peace that Jesus has promised to all who have made Him their Lord and Savior.

It requires that you come before God on His terms.

And, what are His terms according to His Word?

Genuine repentance (turning to God instead of continuing to reject or ignore Him).

Confession of sins (that you are a sinner and acknowledge that to God).

That you understand that the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23).

To acknowledge to God that you are unable to pay that debt.

Belief that Jesus Christ paid your death sentence for you on the cross.

To believe that Jesus is the Way, the only Way, that God has established by which humans may be saved from the consequences of their sin and rebellion.

God has made it absolutely clear that there is no one who comes before Him, under His terms, that will be refused.

No one: no race, no color, no country of origin, regardless of any previous belief system: no one.

No matter what your past sins have been, God can and WILL forgive you because He says He will.

Salvation is available to everyone without any exceptions.

If you put all your trust for salvation in Jesus and Him only, you can follow that prayer up by simply saying, “Thank you, Father God, for hearing my prayer and saving me,” because we can trust Him to keep His Word. He always has. He always will.

John 5:24: “Truly, Truly, I say to you that he who hears My words and believes the One who sent Me has eternal life and will not be condemned. He has crossed from death to life.”

There are no answers and there is no hope in the world by governments, organizations, politics, or politicians. There are only lies and deception. But you can have the Truth and the peace you seek.

The answers are in the Word of God – the Bible. If you ask God with all your heart, He will hear you.

“And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart” (Jeremiah 29:13).

Pro Salvator Vigilans

[flailing-feathers]

One of the most obnoxious, nagging things my autistic brain has to deal with sometimes is gauging how candid to be about certain things publicly. My usual inclination is that if there’s no logical reason not to be, then I’ll just say something. If it’s a topic I don’t care to talk about or that it would do nothing of benefit for me to participate in discourse, I won’t, but if it’s something that materially affects me and is in fact something that is common and worth my input, I will. However, an issue arises when it’s something that materially affects me and is commonplace but it is equally if not more so commonplace for people not to be completely transparent even if they’re in the same boat. Since barely anyone sees this side blog I wanted to just dump these thoughts here, because they’re about a particular topic that I still can’t wrap my head around exactly why one “shouldn’t” be candid about, but I’m still self aware enough not to write this on, say, Twitter. It’s about money and how ridiculously hard it is to turn a skillset into income.

I got a BFA in animation in 2012, and though I had a good-paying job for a couple years after that, I lost it and wound up stuck in underemployment limbo to just get by while my art kind of stagnated. Then because of the pandemic, and the way it was handled by both the government and my employer (which also neither provided health insurance nor paid enough for me to afford it), I finally quit in April of 2021, several months before I would have even been eligible for a vaccine, because I wasn’t going to remain at risk any longer than I had to be. I was very lucky to have been able to save up a decent amount to give myself time to restart my career I never should have had to stop in the first place.

I have spent my life since then living on those savings and trying to dust off old skills and learn new ones so I can do the only job I can do remotely - art. I have had a Ko-fi since April 2020, but even when I started pushing it last year, I’ve made all of 20 bucks with it. I also opened commissions in August 2021 but have had a grand total of six since I’ve been open. Every single person who commissioned me has been wonderful and even tipped, but I am effectively paying a couple of small bills every couple of months. I started streaming art in October 2021, though more for community building and publicity for my work than for direct income. I made Twitch Affiliate this past Easter so that will at least help a little, too, to get a tiny bit back for spending the time I’d already spend doing art for free. I’ve had several shops open for years that also at least trickle a buck or two my way here and there.

I’ve also of course been hunting for proper remote art jobs for basically all of 2022 since I’ve fleshed out my portfolio better last year and continue to do so. I’ve long lost count of how many positions I’ve applied for, or how many times I’ve ranted to my bf about the sheer volume of listings that have absurd requirements like 3 or even 5 years experience in a specific position for what gets labeled as an entry level job or needing to have shipped at least one AAA game or that no one who writes job listings knows what an “illustrator” is. Being in that awkward zone where you’re more experienced than a fresh grad (and too far removed temporally to qualify for positions only available to them) but not enough for mid-senior positions is abysmal. The pandemic making it impossible to do in-person event networking that is usually the easiest path to a job is equally frustrating. I don’t really have an end for this rant, and I guess it’s something that in itself hasn’t ended so I suppose it’s fitting.

[rushipedia]

hellu!! ((spoilers for the new event if you haven’t done it!)) I’ve had this idea for like an albedo x reader where it involves his impostor from the new event & i was wondering if you’d be interested in writing something that involved his impostor 👀👀? ITS SO VAGUE SORRY HAHA BUTJFJKGLG I’d love to see what you write if you’re inspired by it 😳💖

A Lonely Encounter - Part 1. (2)

A/N: OH THIS ASK IS SO WONDERFUL I'm a little worried about the vague spoilers in the ask though so I apologize to anyone that happens upon this and doesn't know yet!! Ty for the asks anon!!!

Edit: ok I just finished writing this and it ran a little long, but it's not too lengthy. I just got a burst of inspiration.

The actual fanfic is underneath my rlly long theory ramble in case u wanna skip that part LOL i just needed to tell someone about it...Tumblr is a gr8 place for that. (Maybe I should make a separate post for it, but I'm too lazy. sorry anon.)

Pairing: Albedo x GN!reader (pre-relationship or pre-existing relationship, your choice.)

Genre: There's really no theme... mystery perhaps. Tbh its kind of wholesome. One-shot (or maybe not... will there be more? idk...)

Word Count: 1086

Warnings: MAJOR Spoilers for the recent Albedo event!!, Albedo is acting slightly possessive again (idk why i always write him that way), but tbh he just wants to protect you.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Theories!

There are 3 Albedos I believe (not just in theory, I think there were actually 3.), 2 were creations of Rhinedottir and one was the creation of the imposter Albedo (But it wasn't actually an Albedo, it was simply a mutated plant that was used to mimic and distract him from something else.)

I believe that the 1st Albedo is the Albedo we know to be the "impostor" and the 2nd one is the Albedo that we know and that the first Albedo was somehow not what Rhinedottir wanted and she attempted to dispose of him. (Not very nice dude...) Anyway! Since Albedo calls the impostor "Master's failed specimen in the dragon's belly", I think he may be either referring to the impostor just being in Dragonspine OR that Durin was used to dispose of the first albedo. (Weird, I know...) That could've been how the impostor ended up in Dragonspine. No theorizing there, he also could've just walked LMAO.

Also, during Albedo's monologue during the end, I feel like it was definitely from our Albedo's point of view, at least up until the very end where he talks about being human and being brought into the world. Maybe it's to show Albedo's astounding amount of empathy despite being synthetic, or it's to show the original Albedo's true feelings? Not sure there. Either way, it is extremely sad.

Things were different now that the two of you were aware of it. The feeling of being watched couldn't simply be blamed on the wild animals and camouflaged creatures in the area anymore. You would be working quietly when suddenly you would share a look with him. Then his sword would be out.

He had made the choice to let his imposter live. But at what cost, he now wonders. The cost of his focus? Or his sense of safety in solitude?

You weren't all that bothered by it. Nothing remotely deadly had happened since what had gone down a few weeks ago.

"Albedo," You said to the blonde, who was currently staring blankly at the vial in his hand. He was shaken from his thoughts and focused back on the vial, which he now noticed was not the color it was supposed to be. He made a slightly disappointed expression before turning towards you.

"What is it, Y/N?" He asked, setting the vial back into the rack.

"We're out of mint," You say, rocking back and forth on your heels. "I'm going to go collect some."

So far, Albedo had refused to let you out of his sight. You hadn't been able to go looking for ingredients or get a moment to yourself for days.

"Ah, okay." He said, before retrieving his sword. "Let's go."

"Well, um... I was hoping I could go by myself." You said, avoiding making eye contact with him. His arm with which he brandished his sword sort of went limp and he kind of just looked at you like he was thinking about something.

"I have a sword too, you know." You laughed nervously, pulling out your own. The one he'd given you. The one he'd said only you could brandish. He was silent for a moment more.

His brows knitted together slightly before he nodded.

"Okay. Be careful. Shout if you need me." He said, looking into your eyes rather intensely from where he stood a few feet away, "I will hear you."

You nodded, before waving and turning away.

You weren't all too worried about being alone, given that nothing eventful had happened. But maybe that was because the two of you hadn't been apart since then. Then again, it didn't seem to have any trouble with causing problems for groups of people. You thought back to the avalanche.

You picked mint carefully, placing it into your bag. It was rather nice to be alone, even if it's just for a little while. You adore Albedo, but his presence can be smothering. Anyone's is when you're unseparated for that long. It was no fault of his for wanting to keep you safe.

You wandered from the path to collect some Starsilver you'd spotted growing from a rock. Leisurely, you collected the brittle material to bring back to Albedo. You heard a rustle a few feet away from you and flicked your eyes towards the sound. It was too quiet.

Just then, you heard heavy steps crunching in the snow behind you. You whipped around quickly, sword drawn in an instant.

It was Albedo. You glanced immediately at his neck. No diamond, this was not your Albedo. He simply stood there and stared at you, it was rather unusual.

You clutched the Starsilver in your hand and tried to open your bag to drop it in there so you could make your escape.

"Why do you carry those?" He asked, suddenly. His eyes glanced down to the ore in your hand. His face remained blank. No trace of curiosity. Just blank.

"The Starsilver...?" You asked, extremely confused. He closed his eyes momentarily and nodded. "It's for paint."

He shook his head. "I know, but they are the lackluster sort like you talked about."

His eyes seemed to dull. You glanced down at them, but you couldn't tell the difference, despite the advice of Albedo, Paimon, and the traveler last time you'd collected some.

"Well, it'll all be turned into silver paint, anyway. I'll use it if Albedo doesn't." You shrugged, strangely feeling like you could let your guard down. Your arm relaxed a bit.

He took that moment to lunge forward to grab you by your shirt collar.

"ALBED-!" You tried to yell, but he covered your mouth. You struggled.

"Teach me how to paint." He muttered, gripping your clothing tighter. You dropped your sword and lifted your leg to kick him away. He stumbled but regained his composure quickly.

You simply stared at each other. He grits his teeth in frustration and turned away, walking back in the direction he came from.

Teach him to paint? Does he want to create more creatures? You don't want to be responsible for something like that if that's what he is trying to do.

But maybe he wants the simpler aspect of it. Surely there's not much for him to do up here. He'd needed Albedo's notes to create the Whopperflower, so he's clearly not a genius at alchemy either. It's a good way to pass the time, the same reason that Paimon had wanted the traveler to learn.

You snapped your head towards the sound of quick footsteps coming towards you. Symbol-clad neck. Your Albedo. His sword was out.

You didn't know what to say when he stood there a few feet away, seeing that there was nothing wrong with you. He straightened up.

"What do you need?" He asked. He didn't mind that you weren't in trouble. He was relieved, actually.

"Nothing..? Ahh, well." You said, still dazed from the events that had just taken place. You quickly formulated a lie. You weren't protecting the impostor or anything like that, right? Just making sure Albedo wasn't worrying about you anymore.

"I picked some mint and a Whopperflower surprised me..." You laughed nervously. He seemed to relax. "I guess I'm still a little paranoid from last time, sorry."

"Don't apologize." He said, "It is merely human nature to become wary of things that have affected you in the past. Especially if those same events can occur again." He said, stepping closer to you. He wrapped his arm around your mid-section and looked towards the top of the mountain.

The wind blew cold.

"Let's go back now." He said after being silent for a few moments. "I'll cook dinner."

"Okay," You mumbled. You looked back over your shoulder as you walked beside him back to camp. You swear you could see a flash of blue eyes between the brush and snow.

rushipedia ☆ 2021

[rocorambles]

Home Schooling

Pairing: Stepdaddy!Meian x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, NSFW, Invasion of Privacy, Overbearing and Controlling Behavior, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Non-Con/Rape, Degradation, Overstimulation, Humiliation

Summary: Why would Meian let you go to college in Tokyo when he can teach you everything you need to know right here in Osaka?

A/N: Happy birthday @iwaasfairy ! Of course I need to dedicate my first ever Meian fic to you on this very special day~ I hope this fic manifests a real life DILF Meian for you!!!

Meian has always been protective, even before your mother’s untimely demise. You remember how uncomfortable you had been about this handsome man waltzing into your family home one day, acting like a father figure almost since day one. Only your love for your mother and your desire for her to find happiness again kept your mouth shut, although when she wasn’t in view, you not so subtly found ways to keep your contact with the older man as minimal as possible.

There’s nothing necessarily “wrong” with Meian. In all honesty, if he weren’t so overwhelmingly involved with your life, you’d even argue that he’s a great guy. You can tell he truly cares for your mom, maybe even loves her— although you gag at the cheeky winks and flirtatious touches they generously dote on each other in front of you. And you’re happy for her! You really are. It’s been a long time since you’ve been forced to rely only on yourselves, only on each other. You’ve seen how hard she’s tried, keeping a strong front whenever you’re around, working twice as hard as anyone else to try and fill the aching hole in both your hearts from the loss of your father. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s her.

But there’s something unnerving, even aggravating, about the way Meian interferes with every aspect of your life. You can’t help a strange foreboding feeling twisting inside of you as a heavy gaze trails after you wherever you go, as he begins to rope you into every conversation he has with your mother, almost demanding and insistent about not letting you withdraw to your room despite your well-meaning wishes to give them their privacy.

You try to be on your best behavior, not wanting to be the reason your mom’s new relationship is ruined, especially when you can see just how much she likes him. But every time he opens his mouth and questions everything you do, everything you wear, and everything you say, you can feel your temper rise, wondering where his audacity to act as a father figure comes from.

It’s easy enough to retreat to your room, closing your door and sighing in relief as you escape those sharp eyes. You find comfort in the fact that you have at least one safe place he can’t breach, finding false security in the hope that he’d never invade an adult woman’s bedroom. Except he does, and your heart drops when you notice the miniscule adjustments in your room — your underwear drawer slightly ajar with some pieces missing, your bedsheets slightly rumpled in a way you know you hadn’t left them this morning. Things you know you could never bring up to your mother without sounding like a madwoman. So without irrefutable proof, you keep quiet, knowing that at least there’s not much more time left before you can truly run away from all of this.

Being an adult comes with many responsibilities and adventures, and together, your mother and you pore over myriads of college pamphlets, debating which locations make the most sense, planning how you’re going to make the finances work, and thinking about which colleges have the courses best suited for you. It’s a fun and stressful rollercoaster, but you beam when your mother proudly ruffles your hair, when you both agree on you leaving Osaka behind and adventuring out, creating new memories and beginnings in a different city.

(“Plus, I’ll be able to visit you and play tourist”, your mom excitedly says, and you giggle, letting her affectionately hold you as you stare at the universities you’ve narrowed your choices down to.)

The future seems bright and exciting as you studiously sit down and scan over textbooks and practice exams, dutifully attending your tutoring sessions, cramming for the college entrance exam. It’s all going to plan, except Meian has different opinions. And this time, you can’t hold back the scowl when he yet again goes on and on about how he doesn’t understand why you can’t just stay in Osaka for college.

It’s not a new argument by any means. Just the same few questions being twisted and worded differently and tossed back in your face on a daily basis.

“Don’t you think your mom will be lonely if you move away and only come back for the holidays?”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for? To keep her company?”

“Don’t you feel bad about spending your mom’s carefully saved money on room and board when you could just continue living with us instead and just pay tuition?”

You silently thank your mom when she steps in, firmly telling Meian that she doesn’t mind, that this is exactly why she’s saved up.

But the arguments keep on coming, and you can feel the tension growing in your household, your own stomach churning with guilt and worry, wondering if you’ll end being the cause of their breakup after all as you constantly hear their raised voices going back and forth about you leaving or staying in Osaka.

So despite your discomfort and wariness towards Meian, you can’t help the relieved grin that stretches across your face when your mom comes squealing to you, flinging her arms around your body and shoving her gorgeous engagement ring in your face. You even muster up a slightly tight smile, that only feels a little forced, as you look to the tall man who leans in the doorway, muttering congratulations before directing your attention back to your mom, fondly smiling as she continues raving about her new piece of jewelry, ignoring the way Meian continues to loiter around the both of you.

Your mom is the most beautiful bride as she walks down the aisle and you stare in awe at how she glows, hoping one day you’ll look even remotely as mesmerizing as she does. And while you look on, star-eyed and in wonder, at the woman who had raised you, you miss the way dark eyes intently gaze at you, eyes that should be on the woman he’s about to publicly vow to be with his entire life.

Maybe if you had been more aware, more cautious, you wouldn’t have so eagerly waved both of them off on their honeymoon, wouldn’t have been so excited to shove your mom towards the airport, giving her one last hug and kiss before sillily demanding that she enjoy herself and have the best time of her life.

Maybe then your heart wouldn’t be shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as you collapse in Meian’s strong arms, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking your head in denial when he returns by himself and breaks the news of your mother’s passing.

You delay going to college in Tokyo for a year, allowing yourself time and space to grieve. Or so you had planned, but it seems that Meian has no intention of letting you have your privacy. You share the house with him after your mother’s funeral, unable to argue against him completely moving in when he now owns the property.

He’s still up to his usual overbearing ways, although his tone is softer as he treats you like a wounded animal, carefully handling you as he rouses you from your sleep in the mornings, startling you the first few times he sits on the edge of your bed and wakes you up by tenderly stroking your cheek, preparing all your meals for you and scolding you when he thinks you haven’t eaten enough. It’s almost frightening how easily you fall into his rhythm, not even flinching after a while when his large hand finds itself on your face, your shoulder, your back, your hand, your thigh. Tiny, seemingly platonic touches border the line of what’s appropriate for a guardian and their ward. Although, deep down, you know the two of you are diving in dangerous territory when you feel his knuckle brush against the swell of your ass briefly, his calloused fingertips quickly skimming your breasts, his palm squeezing just a tad too high up your thigh.

But you seek any remaining softness your mother had instilled in your heart for a man who’s lost his wife of just a few days, letting your new guardian (you don’t dare call him father) do as he pleases, not wanting to deal with any more conflict when your heart is still mending. And maybe, just maybe, you find some solace in his touches, in the love he forces upon you, seeking even just a hint of the parental affection your mother had bestowed upon you.

Time heals all wounds, or so they say. You can’t agree that it resolves everything, but you can admit that you’re feeling much better now that a year is almost up, ready to move on, live your life, and make your mother proud. You start re-looking into Tokyo housing, comparing the expenses of living off-campus versus living in the dorms, typing and reworking budgets over and over again in your Excel sheet until your eyes burn and you let out a huge yawn.

Coffee now. Budgets later.

You trudge to the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of dark caffeinated liquid, letting out a pleased sound when the aroma fills the air, happily making your way back to your room to revisit some of your calculations, mug in hand. But you freeze when you see Meian sitting at your desk, clicking through the different tabs of apartment and dorm options you had been looking at, scrutinizing your planned expenses.

There’s no reason for the guilt that claws at your chest when you see the way his jaw clenches as he turns to look at you, hurt in his eyes as he silently demands an explanation for what he’s looking at. But it’s guilt that has you slamming down the mug on your desk and planting your firsts on your hips in a confrontational stance, that has defensive angry words spewing from your lips as you yell at him for invading your privacy, that has you storming towards him and trying to shove his much larger and stronger frame away from your computer.

But it’s futile and you gasp when you’re pulled into his lap, his hands easily pinning you to him and holding you still as he holds you in a mockery of an embrace, your back against his toned chest, his mouth right against your ear.

“You were just going to leave for Tokyo without telling me?”

You want to stay angry, want to continue twisting and fighting against his grip. But the vulnerability you hear in his words has you staying still, has you anxiously biting your lower lip as you try and find the right words to soothe the man clutching you.

“I- I didn’t think I needed to tell you anything. This was always the plan. You knew I only put off attending college for a year to take some time for myself. But I’ll come back and visit during the holidays-”

Your words are cut off by a pained gasp as thick arms tighten their hold on you, but the growled threat in your ear has your anger bubbling over, masking any other feeling.

“You’re not leaving.”

The matter of fact tone, the final decisiveness of the words, the way Meian leaves no room for discourse or arguments, has you lashing out at him and before you can second guess yourself, the position you’re in, or the difference in power between the two of you. In a matter of seconds, you’re snarling right back at him.

“You’re not my father! You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

Righteous pride swells in your chest and you spare him a sharp, wicked grin, haughtily tilting your head up condescendingly, basking in the viciousness of your words. But what you aren’t expecting is the hearty laugh he responds with, something dark and gleeful swirling in his eyes as a cruel smile cuts across his face.

“You’re right. I’m not your father, not even your guardian. So this is fine, right?”

You scream as the arms still wrapped around you haul you up, your limbs thrashing and flailing as you try to force your way free from his iron grip to no avail. Fear and anger make you hysteric as you register the fact that you’re quickly approaching the room that once belonged to your mother, the room Meian now resides in. Disbelief and nausea overtake you when you’re assaulted by the familiar four walls as you’re haphazardly tossed onto the bed, sobbing as memories of your mother surround you and invade your thoughts while calloused hands easily tear your clothes off your body.

But you’re immediately silenced, sobs turning into choked whimpers as a large hand grabs the bottom half of your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, a palm suctioning your mouth shut.

“Where are all those manners your mother taught you? What would she think if she heard you throwing a temper tantrum like a child?”

The callousness of his words hits you like a ton of bricks. Meian smirks at the new round of fat, watery drops that stream down your face, mockingly cooing down at you, calling you a good girl, praising your newfound silence as his hand slowly drags down until it's wrapped around your neck, where he lightly squeezes, reveling in the adorable whimper you release.

But as pathetically amusing as you are, sniveling and choking under him, there’s more that he’s keen on seeing. You feel like a slab of meat under his observant gaze. Prized meat, but meat all the same as he runs his hands across your figure like a butcher testing the firmness of his livestock, pinching and prodding almost methodically, coldly. Only the amusement and hunger in his eyes are indicative of how much this is truly affecting him. Yet it’s tolerable, barely, if you just stare up at the ceiling, pretending you’re at an incredibly invasive medical exam.

He’d be offended by how hard you’re trying to ignore him if it weren’t for the telltale signs of your arousal that you desperately try to deny. He grins at how your nipples harden from just a few teasing circles, how your clit stands to attention, your pretty folds already beginning to glisten as he pets your velvety walls. You’re even more beautiful than he had imagined after watching you prance around the home in your skimpy loungewear. And suddenly, his pants are far too tight, cock straining uncomfortably against the fabric he’s quick to rip off. It’s music to his ears when you shakily say his name over and over again, as you try and resist the way he forces himself between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart, toned body pinning you down, something hard nudging at your tight entrance.

“Meian, please. Please! Please, Meian.”

He ignores your tears, ignores the other words of resistance that slip past your mouth, head dipping down to your mouth and neck, kissing and marking every part of you he can reach, murmuring for you to call him by his first name. And when he loses patience with your whining, you finally acquiesce as he forcefully shoves himself balls deep inside you, a sneer ruining his handsome face as he lightly slaps your face in approval when you wail his first name, “Shugo” howled in an agonizing exclamation as you try to somehow dislodge him from ripping you in two.

“Look at that, the little slut can behave when she wants to. I bet your mother would be so proud.”

You hate how he drags your mom’s name in the ground as he defiles you, violates you in the bed they had once shared. You hate how his large frame feels crushing you, overpowering you, making you feel so incredibly helpless and weak. But mostly, you hate the slick lewd sounds your pussy makes as he pounds hard and fast into you, the undeniable proof that your body doesn’t hate this nearly as much as it should. Hot angry disgusted tears roll down your face as you glare up at him, desperately fighting back the rising moans threatening to humiliate you even more.

Your little defiant attitude is punished by Meian thrusting even harder into you, practically bending you in half as he pushes down on the back of your thighs, forcing you into a mating press. And he laughs at your wrecked face, hungrily taking in the way your eyes roll back in your head, the way your jaw drops wide open, your tongue and rivulets of drool trickling down your face, wanton moans loudly filling the room.

“For all your whining and complaining, you sure do look like you’re enjoying this, sweetheart.”

You wish you could deny his words, retort back with a scathing remark, do anything really. But when he reaches a hand between the two of you and rubs rapid circles against your erect clit, hips still pistoning against yours, cock stuffing you full, your mind blanks and an animal-like howl tears through the room as your body convulses, pussy walls clamping down and quivering as you cream all over the shaft still dragging against your sensitive walls, only heightening your peak.

Meian briefly wonders if this is what heaven feels like (or as close to heaven as someone like him is going to get) as he groans at the way your velvety walls milk his cock, gritting his teeth to not be dragged over the edge with you. He’s not delusional to think that any of this is right, the photo of his ex-wife, your mother silently watching you from the nightstand only emphasizing just how wrong this all is, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re a fucked out mess underneath him, so obediently and submissively slurring his name over and over again, drowning in pleasure and bliss.

There’s nothing more he wants than to just lose himself in the feeling of your tight walls, to fill you, mark you, claim you with his seed, but he’s not quite ready for a full house just yet. He has a few more years alone with you all planned out in his head before he breeds your pretty little womb. So just as his control teeters on the edge, he pulls out of you, casually sitting back and spreading his legs, slowly stroking his cock as he orders you to come and suck him off.

He’s almost proud of the little fight you still have left in you, lips quirking upwards at the way you try to ignore him, trying to look anywhere but at him. But his balls are almost painfully tight, his cock aching for release.

“Suck me off like a good girl or I’m going to cum inside of you over and over again until you’re knocked up. Bet your mother would have loved that for you. Her precious college-bound girl turned into a pregnant uneducated whore.”

It’s an empty threat, but you don’t ever need to know that, not when it has you obeying so well as he threads his fingers through your hair, groaning as your hot wet mouth sinks down on his cock still covered in your essence. All it takes is a few harsh shoves of your face, his hand pulling you up and down like a warm fleshlight, and as he finally reaches his end, he completely pulls you off, arching your neck back in a way that leaves your mouth open as he spurts thick white stripes all over your face and in your orifice.

You make to wipe your face, grateful at least that this is all over, but before you can move even an inch, you yelp as you’re shoved back down on your back, hands instinctively trying to push at broad shoulders as your legs are once again forced open. You’re a quick learner though, and with one dark warning look from the man whose face is now hovering over your spent hole, you instantly bring your hands down to your sides, clawing and fisting the ruined bed sheets instead as Meian ravenously licks and laps at your dripping cunt. The disgusting wet sounds echo in your ears as pleasure and shame swirl inside of you, a crescendo ascending too quickly, too high.

But your thrashing and blissed out pleas to stop, to let you rest, only serve to whet Meian’s appetite even more. Time becomes surreal and meaningless as you drown and float in a mixture of pain and pleasure, brought to climax over and over again until you feel boneless, your pussy and body ceaselessly twitching, mind broken beyond repair as you babble incoherently, unsure of anything except the lips and tongue at work between your thighs.

You cum one last time, body barely moving aside from a slight shudder, too worn out, too dazed to even comprehend the fact that Meian unravels himself from you, wiping his face of your arousal and taking a few swigs of water before making his way towards your desk and dialing the admissions office number he finds. And as the phone rings and he leans back in your chair, he adoringly gazes at the sinful display you make, looking like the epitome of debauchery as your body splays out, a stupid blissed out expression on your face, reeking of sex and sweat.

He strokes his cock as it rises back to life, raring to go again as he licks his lips, tasting your sweet juices on his tongue, never stopping even when a voice finally comes through the line. He only pauses slightly to bite back a laugh when something shatters in your pretty eyes, a sliver of realization piercing through your dazed look as you hone in on his conversation.

But you do nothing to stop him, unable to do anything but listlessly stare and watch as he cancels your enrollment in front of you, hangs up the phone, and casually makes his way back towards you as if he hadn’t ruined years of hard work and decimated your future plans in mere minutes.

“There’s no need to go all the way to Tokyo for education, sweetheart. Not when I can teach you everything you need to know right here. Now open up your mouth so we can get your first lesson started.”

[pinknatural]

After a long while, Jack straightens back up, wiping away his tears.

“Sorry about your shirt,” he says again. Dean waves his hand in dismissal. What’s some snot and tears? 

“It’s fine,” he says again. “I mean it, kid.”

Jack looks like he might begin to cry all over again, but he sniffs and makes a valiant effort not to. They’re in a motel room--Dean couldn’t bear the Bunker, and Sam and Eileen’s honeymoon phase. He’s happy for them, of course he is, but seeing them so in love is kind of painful, and Dean could tell Sam was trying not to be overt about it to spare Dean’s feelings, and Dean just felt that, well--he might as well remove himself from the situation, at least for a little bit. 

(Plus, now he has some peace and quiet--the motel room is littered with books and research, scrolls and files and other pieces of lore--all on the afterlife, of course. All on how to get there.)

“Okay,” Jack says. “Okay.” He raises a glowing hand to his own forehead, but he pauses when his fingers are about an inch away. He swallows. 

“Come on, kid, what are you waiting for?” Dean asks. 

“I could bring her back,” Jack whispers. “I should bring her back.” 

He lowers his hand, turns a stricken gaze to Dean. 

“Who?” Dean asks. He thinks, Kelly. He thinks, Maggie. He thinks, absurdly, Charlie. 

“Emma,” Jack says. 

Dean feels as if he’s been hit over the head. 

“What?” he says. Has he turned into a fish and been left out on the docks? Where did all the air go?

“You’ve been thinking about her,” Jack says, like a confession. “Praying.” He has, if only because he’s been wallowing in what he can’t have, the husband, the daughter. He has, if only because he’s been wondering if the way to the Empty could be through Purgatory. Would he have time to sweep the place first? Would he be able to find her, unlike the last two times he was there?

“Yeah,” Dean tries to say, but no sound comes out. He tries again. “Yeah. You could really…?”

“I can do anything,” Jack says, with a sad, bitter smile, and Dean reaches for him. Jack falls into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back, clinging to his shirt. Dean runs a hand up his back, cups the back of his neck. 

“You don’t have to,” Dean says. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever said. “God, kid, I’d like nothing more, but you don’t have to. You gotta do what’s best for you, you hear me?”

“I know,” Jack says. He sniffles. Dean thinks he might be crying again. “And I love Claire so much but I just want my sister. Dad, I want to bring her back.”

Dean squeezes his son. He closes his eyes. 

“Then bring her back,” he whispers, and one of Jack’s hands leaves Dean’s back. Golden light shines, starting behind Dean and filling up the room, making it brighter and brighter and Jack gets smaller and smaller and Dean just holds on, tighter and tighter. 

The light fades. 

A little boy has his face buried in Dean’s gut, arms wrapped tight around Dean. They don’t even go all the way around, anymore. Dean runs a hand through Jack’s hair, stunned even though Jack told him this was what he wanted, even though they’d talked and talked about it before Jack decided to go through with it. 

“What?” a tiny voice says, and Dean turns around. 

Emma is standing there, only she’s not--she’s not exactly the Emma Dean remembers. Instead of being sixteen, she’s something like eight years old, eyes wide and hair tangled with leaves. She’s splattered with blood, and wearing the same clothes she’d died in--the same clothes Dean buried her in. They’re too big for her, and she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. 

“What happened?” she asks, looking around the motel room wildly. “Where am I?”

“Emma,” Dean says, untangling himself from the three year old on the bed and kneeling, reaching out gently. He stays near the bed, afraid of spooking her. “You were rescued from Purgatory. You’re safe.” He turns to Jack. “Why is she little?”

“She’s human,” Jack says, shrugging. He’s chewing on the end of his sleeve, eyes wide. His clothes, at least, are three-year-old sized. Dean wonders where he’s supposed to get Emma some clothes, but there’s a pink suitcase sitting beside Dean’s duffel. The sight of it is too much, and he looks back at his daughter. 

“Safe?” Emma repeats, looking down at her hands. She flexes her tiny fingers. 

“Eight years have passed,” Dean says, still holding out his hands--he’s not sure if he’s trying to soothe her or reach for her. “You’re safe, you don’t have to kill anyone, I won’t hurt you.”

Emma looks around again. She sees her suitcase and stares at it, then swings her gaze back around. “Who’s that?” She points at Jack. 

“That’s Jack, that’s my son,” Dean says. “Your brother. He brought you back.”

“How?”

“He was powered up--he was God--but now he’s just a kid,” Dean says. “He, um, wanted to bring you back.”

“Dada was prayin’ for you,” Jack says, voice muffled around the sleeve he’s still chewing. Dean reaches out and gently removes it from his mouth. “He wanted you to come back. I wanted to meet you.”

“Oh,” Emma says. She looks down at her pants. “I’m all dirty.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “The bathroom’s over there if you want to--shower. I can help you if you want.”

Emma shakes her head and reaches for her suitcase. She goes into the bathroom, turning around and looking back at Dean and Jack, eyes wide, until she shuts the door behind her. Dean collapses back onto his feet, running his hands over his face, laughing incredulously. 

“I did good?” Jack asks, sliding off the bed and crawling onto Dean’s lap. “I did good?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean says, voice cracking. He hears the shower turn on, the water begin to run. He curls up tight over Jack. “You did great.”

--

The first thing Cas is aware of is big blue eyes. The rest of the features on that face sharpen into a nose and mouth, grace smearing around the small face, and although it seems impossible, it can only be--

“Jack?”

“Daddy!” Jack cries, and he throws himself onto Cas. Cas catches him easily, holds his tiny body within his arms. Oh, he’s so small. His golden wings stretch as big as they go, which is not very big, to wrap themselves around Cas, and reflexively he wraps his own around Jack as well, holding him tight, rocking slightly back and forth.

Then he remembers--everything, and that he’s supposed to be dead, and he looks up.

Green eyes. Freckles, slightly crooked nose, beloved mouth, beloved jawline.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, and he falls to his knees. Cas is on the floor, legs crossed and Jack curled up on his lap. Cas doesn’t want to let go but Jack wiggles away, and Cas is afraid to reach out but helpless to do anything else.

Dean crawls toward him, falls against him. He presses his face into Cas’ neck and breathes, in and out, and Cas thinks he might be crying. But Cas is breathing Dean in, and he smells like the Impala (home) and guns (safety) and lemon (Dean) and Cas’ eyes aren’t very dry, either. 

“You dumb son of a bitch,” Dean says, voice tucked safe into the place between Cas’ neck and shoulder. “You goddamned idiot. You stupid fucker. You dumbass, you, you.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean shudders out a shaky breath, breathes heavily against him. Dean is alive in Cas’ arms, and he couldn’t be happier.

He tilts his gaze up, looking for Jack, and he finds instead a little girl with brown-blonde hair. She’s wearing a pink t-shirt and denim shorts and one of Dean’s flannels. She’s practically swimming in it, but her sleeves are rolled up and her eyes are the same apple-green as Dean’s, and Cas holds Dean tighter. 

“Emma?” he asks. She nods and looks away uncomfortably. 

“Emmie, Emmie, my daddy’s back,” Jack says, bouncing over to her and dancing around, wings flapping madly. 

“Yeah,” Emma says. 

Dean clears his throat and finally leans back from Cas. He reaches out an arm and Emma comes over to him, sitting on the floor beside him and tucking herself against his side. Dean wipes away tears with his other hand as Jack barrels back around, throwing himself into Cas’ lap. Cas holds him and looks around. 

They’re in a motel room, two queen beds, identical to the countless ones Sam and Dean have stayed in over the years. But there’s a pink suitcase next to the TV and a blue duffel with sharks on it beside it. On one of the beds there’s a pair of stuffed rabbits, one pink and one yellow. There are various books and scrolls piled on the little table beside the couch and also piled onto the couch itself. Spell ingredients are on the floor, spread out over a placemat. 

“Daddy,” Emma says, and Cas looks at her, tugging on Dean’s overshirt. His heart melts. Dean deserves nothing less, of course, but he knows what toll gaining then losing a daughter has had on Dean. He’s so glad that Dean can have her back, that she can have Dean, too, that she can have another chance. She deserves it, and already Cas looks at her and sees her hair in a careful braid and her Wonder Woman socks and he knows he would die for her. “If me and Jack are siblings and you’re Jack’s dad and that’s Jack’s dad, too, then. Um.”

She looks at Cas nervously. Dean squeezes her shoulders. 

“Me and Cas have to talk about all that,” Dean says. Cas is astounded that it’s not an instant denial. 

“We do?” he asks, and Dean meets his gaze head on.

“Yeah,” he says. “We got a lotta stuff to talk about, you and me. Kids, why don’t you watch some TV and Cas and I’ll go outside.”

Jack scrambles off of Cas’ lap and turns around, presses a wet kiss to Cas’ cheek, then he climbs onto the bed with the stuffed animals. He grabs onto the yellow bunny and Emma crawls beside him, putting the pink bunny on her lap and pointing the remote at the TV. Cas stands and offers his hand to Dean, who takes it, lets Cas pull him up.

Dean goes outside and Cas follows, of course he does. They don’t let go of each other’s hands. 

“Why are we in a motel?” Cas asks. Dean shrugs. 

“Needed some space,” he says. “Then I wasn’t sure how big of a house to get.”

“A house?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Can’t raise kids in a bunker, come on man.”

“What about Sam?”

“He’s fine,” Dean says. “On a hunt with Eileen.”

“Oh,” Cas says, slightly confused. 

“Yeah, I dunno,” Dean says. “Salt-and-burn in Orlando, I think. So, um, listen, man…”

“Thank you for getting me out of the Empty,” Cas blurts, afraid Dean is about to reject him. He has always known Dean would do so, but he thinks to hear it would be--upsetting.

“Of course,” Dean says. “You’re, um. I couldn’t just leave you there, you’re--”

“Family?” Cas suggests.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He takes a step forward. “Though, you know, I’ve been thinkin’ about what we are to each other.”

“You have?” Cas takes a step back when Dean takes another step forward. 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Living together, raising a kid together, dying for each other. Never wanting to be apart.”

“Oh?” Cas says, and his back hits the wall. Dean stands over him, caging him in with only one hand--the other still wrapped around Cas’ palm, their fingers intertwined. 

“You know what that sounds like?” Dean asks, breath ghosting along Cas’ jaw, and Cas can’t really think. Why is Dean standing so close to him?

“Family?” Cas croaks, brain stuck on the word. Family, they’re family.

“I was thinking it sounded like husbands, Cas,” Dean says, and then Cas doesn’t have to worry about why Dean is standing so close anymore, because Dean kisses him, and Cas’ brain ceases functioning--but it’s okay, because if Dean says they’re husbands, who is Cas to argue?

--

Sam pulls up to the motel after dropping Eileen off at the Bunker. She was tired from driving all night and Sam doesn’t blame her, but he can’t believe he’s missed everything while he went to one measly salt-and-burn.

He parks the car and gets out, crossing the parking lot. He knocks on the door and Claire opens it. She looks the same as always, except she has a purple stuffed bunny peeking out of her jacket pocket. Sam is smart enough not to comment on this. 

She steps aside and lets him in, and Emma squeaks and practically climbs up Dean when she sees him. It’s a work in progress, with her, and Sam feels terrible but he’s not sure what he can do besides give her time, so he looks away and instead turns to Cas, who smiles when he sees him. 

“Sam!” he says, and he stands up from the couch, crosses the room and hugs him. 

“It’s good to see you,” Sam says, clapping Cas on the back.

“Sam!” Jack says, and he barrels towards Sam’s legs with the determination of a battering ram, and Sam intercepts him before he can make contact, picking him up and swinging him over his shoulder. Jack laughs and laughs, and Kaia waves at Sam from her spot curled up on the couch. 

“This motel room is very full,” Sam says, looking around, and Dean grins at him. 

“That’s why we’re shopping, Sammy,” he says, and he points at his laptop. 

“Find anything good?” Sam asks, crossing the room to sit on the couch so he can see the computer. He deposits Jack into Cas’ arms, and Dean comes to sit on his other side. Emma stays on the bed, hiding behind Claire, who’s obviously taking guard-duty pretty seriously since she’s half-glaring at Sam.

Sam looks away and turns his gaze toward the computer. 

“We weren’t finding any good listings so we’re looking for some land, now,” Dean says. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the Bunker? We’ve got a lotta room,” Sam says. 

“Nah,” Dean says. He slings his arm around Cas, who’s perched on the arm of the couch. “We need a house.”

“Windows,” Cas says solemnly, tangling his and Dean’s fingers, and Sam notes the movement with a pleased smile. 

“But if we build a house we can add-in wards and stuff, right into the foundations,” Dean says. “We can make sure it’s safe, and good.”

“Will you build it?” Sam asks, even though he knows the answer. 

“Damn straight,” Dean says. The silver band on his ring finger flashes as he shuts the laptop. Jack crawls into Kaia’s lap, and she wraps her arms around him. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” she says. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. He meets his brother’s eyes. “Me too.”

(ao3)

[i-need-air]

"Dude" — Bakugou Katsuki x Reader.

Summary: Your former bully, Midori, has confessed her undying love for one of the most famous guys at U.A.; you're just venting gossiping about it with Mei, not knowing Bakugou Katsuki is right around the corner, listening;

Warnings: None. Well, Bakugou Katsuki having various anger induced strokes > the normal > no warnings; light crackfic? subtle ending;

Word count: 4.5k;

[ Part 2 ];

"She confessed to him." You grinned, throwing a bunch of fries into your mouth like the absolute animal you were.

Mei on the other hand continued her work on whatever in the world her new prototype, or "baby", was. Still, you had the honor of having half of her attention, which was a compliment to say at least.

She just smiled, shaking her head, leading you to continue, not knowing a blond was quite literally behind the corner, just outside the door leading to the support department, frown on his face.

"She came to class giggling like an idiot saying she's got a plan." You made a face into the distance, remembering your classmate's obnoxious squeal. "Ugh, she started telling the Divas how she's gonna have The Bakugou Katsuki in the bag." An ugly snort left your body, which earned an amused chuckle from Mei.

Both of you were pretty well known to be very good friends, and as much as you hated to admit it, you were both quite the social pariahs too. She was a little bit strange or weird, as some called her, but not for a single second she cared, which was the reason you admired the girl so much in the first place. Meanwhile you've taken the role of the bitch of the whole school by far. Sadly, you were placed in the same class as your archenemy, only increasing your chances of being called said endearing term.

Middle-school was a nightmare to say at least, getting bullied for your looks, the way you spoke or dressed, anything really as long as you were the one being mocked. And who was the one doing the bullying? Midori. Stunning, graceful, baby-faced Midori. Petite yet elegant, a devil in disguise. Whoever crossed her path suffered her malice unless she had something to gain from them.

And now, sweet Midori was in the U.A.'s General Studies, coinciding with you in the majority but not all classes. It had to do with the tragedy that your quirk was so rare that the principal Nezu had to adjust a new schedule just for you. Just kidding, it was amazing. The actual tragedy was seeing her face every day.

Back to your heartbreaking backstory and origin; time made you tough, comments made you build a wall so tall and thick nobody could crumble it. Backstab after backstab made you learn that not everyone has good intentions, but in your loneliness you found Hatsume Mei. So honest and dedicated, so raw and passionate. A good person. The type of person your parents promised you'd someway cross paths with and gain such a strong friendship that nothing could tear it apart.

Becoming friends with her was easy, kinda. It took snapping back at Midori when she started her normal bullying routine on Mei, which ignored it without a care. You stepped in and the rest is history. It did feel good though, calling her a pathetic bitch before turning to the stranger with a cool gadget in her hands to compliment it. And, since she's a sucker for her babies, you had to deal with an hour of sparkly eyes and monologues about her plans and prototypes.

Funny girl, Mei. You remember thinking but the following day you passed by her usual spot to fill your curiosity, asking if she did solve the problem she was complaining about.

"He was the one she was planning to ask out?" She screamed at you, head inside a giant metal gauntlet and the reason you two started talking about said man in particular. News were extra-fresh anyway.

"Oh, yeah!" You shook your head, ashamed to exist in the same general proximity as a person like your former bully. "He's gonna be so rich and famous!" A high pitched squeal left your mouth as you tried to copy her voice. "Poor fucking guy, if only he knew."

"But people know she's a bitch!" She screamed again, repairing or adjusting something with almost all of her body inside the gauntlet. A smile, genuine and soft this time, formed on your face. The pink-haired girl wasn't one to talk bad about others or even care, but it was clear she wasn't particularly fond with Midori either, although the conversation was more for you to vent rather than gossip. Sure it was.

"Like the people from the Hero Department even care about us, the commoners." With a roll of the eyes, you followed. "If he's smart, he'll run away. If he's an asshole, he could use her too."

"What do you mean?" Pink flocks of hair suddently submerged from the gadget, eyes curious zooming on you. That probably got more than 50% of her attention and it was a new personal goal while she was at the workshop.

With shrugged shoulders, your answer came nonchalant. "He could date her and dump her like she's nothing. Would serve her right for all the shit she's talking about him." But the only response you got was a short quizzical look, followed by your exagerated sigh. "She's talking shit about him constantly, but then says he's hot and that his personality doesn't matter anyway. Money, fame, looks. She has a whole fucking life-plan! Then calls him a rabid dog!"

"Woah—" that surprised her.

"Woah indeed! Insane. It's insane. I don't know the guy but no one deserves that shit." When you got no response, you continued your speech, munching in the food with passionate hunger, words coming out almost indistinguishable. "Doubt he'd play her though. He looks like a smart guy. I've seen the Sports Festival—" you picked up your burger, giving it heart eyes. "—and I've seen the news. He's probably a good guy too, the issue is people don't see that and... Well, I understand what's it to be judged... Not many have what it takes to be a real hero but he does. Hope he finds happiness in life." Much talk for someone that doesn't know shit about the guy in particular, but even so faint, your gut instinct was trained well enough to spot malice and he lacked that. "And a therapist." And there's the little shit in you that had to drop a cheeky comment.

Mei's gaze turned downwards and even if you could see her brain do mental gymnastics to solve whatever problem she had in front of her super-eyes, she also contemplated your words with great care.

"He comes here from time to time—" she grins, smacking the grenade looking gauntlet with her weird utensil. "I noticed you two are similar." Your face twisted, eyes wide towards the girl.

Similar how? He was loud, bold with a foul mouth, definitely needed a therapist for those unresolved anger issues... But he was also bright as in whenever he went, people looked in his direction, like he shined; obviously strong, also from what you've heard smart, popular, lucky to be surrounded by kind people. Example being that very nice pink girl that had a joyous conversation with you the very first day of school and, much to your surprise, continued greeting and having sweet small talks with you every single time you saw each other. Or the blond haired guy that showed off a little bit too much and made dumb flirty comments with no bad intentions, the same blond that waved at you with enthusiasm when you'd cross paths. There was the red-head, Kirishima, that was an absolute gentleman, opening doors for you even if you had two functioning hands and smiled so bright it made your corneas burn, or also the dark haired guy, Sero, that you've seen helping literally anyone in need around the school campus with an easy going attitude and gentle grins. Bakugou Katsuki was surrounded by good people, good heroes just as amazing as him and if they liked him, he must've definitely had some good in him, right? Another point appeared in your mental presentation about the brash hero in the making was that he was way too attractive but the wise burried deep inside of you made that particular point dissappear. No need to think about that. Overall you weren't even remotely similar. Not even close. Two completely different human beings from two completely different worlds that would never collide. With that being said, there was the small chance that Mei hinted for you to get a therapist too, who knows.

"How even—"

"I mean!" She screwed something in place. "I mean in your— determination?"

"I wouldn't know that." You muttered.

"He screams I'm gonna be the best every time he's here—"

"Cute..." You vomit that endearment without thinking, but thankfully it got ignored.

"—and it always reminds me of you." A small chuckle left your mouth.

"Don't make fun of me."

"You say it too~"

"I just heal, Mei, it's not the same." Principal Nezu's speech, the speech he gave your parents months into the first year as they found themselves aware of your power made you hold your words. You had it in you. The potential. If incredible people like your teachers, like Shuzenji Chiyo or Principal Nezu twisted things around for your quirk, for how rare and powerful it is, you'd accept it.

"But you're gonna be the best healer ever, aren't you?" She taunted.

"Of course. Which reminds me—!"

"Hmm?" Her attention faded away slightly, but it wasn't a problem.

She cheered, both at you and at her finished masterpiece and proceeded to eat too, passing through the lunch hour without interruption.

"Recovery Girl is putting me on active duty at the infirmary from now on. Finally!"

Innocent pale purple eyes stared into deep crimson ones, furrowed brows covering them.

—

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't one to enjoy being annoyed or surprised and this extra managed to make him feel both things in a short notice.

Everyone around him froze in fear or wonder, awaiting his response without breathing or moving an inch. Meanwhile Whoever-she-was held a pink envelope in front of him, a perfume too sweet coming from it making him want to literally gag in the spot.

Another thing the boy did not appreciate was to have someone bullshit him. His senses were telling him to back off, alarms ringing in his head and those purple eyes held hidden intentions; he wasn't having any of it.

"Fuck off." He snapped, yet his stance was casual as he refused to move out of her way since she was the one that had the audacity to run into him.

Some gasps, even coming from his so-called idiotic friends, could be heard and an indignant Bakubro behind him as he got slapped in the shoulder but he did not care. Not until her lips started to tremble as she retreated her confession letter towards her chest dramatically. His eyebrow started to twitch at the sight.

It was a spectacle for anyone surrounding him.

"What's going on?" Shushes and whispers.

"Bakugou Katsuki just got a confession!" Gossip.

"What!? Who?!" Confusion.

"You said Bakugou Katsuki?!" Shock.

"Oh, she's pretty!" Awe.

"He told her to Fuck off! What an asshole!" Outrage.

"Is that Midori?" Surprise.

"The nerve—" Anger.

"Midori from—" Disbelief.

"Oh, my God, she's really doing it~!" Giggles.

He frowned deeper. If people were to talk about him, they should be talking about all the crap he's been doing and all the lives he saved, not because of a fake bimbo decided to cross his path.

Bakugou wasn't stupid either. With time he knew these things would eventually come in his direction, stuff he'd have to deal with in the future as fame would take over, but not now. He did not have time to entertain this show anyway.

There was only one destination in his mind and she was keeping him in the middle of the whole school cafeteria with prying eyes on them both.

"Bakugou, do something, she's about to cry!" Dunce Face harshly whispered, but turned towards the white haired girl that looked devastated in front of them. "Ignore him! Ask me out, I would never make you cry!"

He rolled his eyes so back in his head it almost hurt. With a need to hurl the food he just ate, he made a step to leave the scene but small hands with claw-like fingernails gripped his arm and he looked at her in utter disgust.

"No, I would never! He—" she sniffled but had no tears in her eyes. He gave her a scowl, trying to take his arm out of her grip but she scratched him in place with her tiny rat hands. "You're the one I love! I—" her bangs covered her face as she continued her show.

"Bakugou! Dude! Do something!" Shitty Hair said, his dumb and blind trust in people buying the act. A vein almost popped on Bakugou's forehead.

"I fucking said—" he pulled his arm so hard she fell on her knees by his side. "Fuck. Off."

Another set of gasps filled the room.

"Bakugou!"

One thing he did not want, even if he could tell it was a foul theater, was to hurt somebody. His asshole act ended at that but his pride stopped him from saying anything.

Glancing to see if she's hurt, Pink Idiot was by her side, helping her up and asking way too many fucking questions.

"No, I'm fine..." she said with such a meek voice he scoffed, also hearing all the shit everyone around him was talking.

"He's such a brute."

"What a mean guy—"

"She's crying!"

"Fucking asshole."

He gritted his teeth.

After the disaster with the League of Villains in the first year, people started to respect him for who he was yet one single, minuscule shit like this and they were all at his jugular.

"I took Bakugou-san by surprise." She excused his behavior to Ashido, which then suggested they should eat lunch together sometimes to make up for the trouble after apologizing in his behalf.

"Yeah, we'd love to have you around! Isn't that right, Bakugou?" The apologetic and almost pleading voice of his blond friend, if he ever was going to call him that anymore, just made him bare his teeth. If they wanted to get played like fools it was their problem, not his.

And that's how he found himself eavesdropping on the weirdo and an extra.

And with a single "Whatever." he left the cafeteria, going to check if his gauntlets were ready, annoyance oozing off him, making the sea of people part from his path. Except he didn't notice you rushing away a little bit in front of him, holding a bag of food, all amused.

Why the fuck was everyone talking about him? Can't they fucking keep his pretty name outta their mouths? With time and without finding a reason why the hell he was glued in place, he listened attentively, his suspicions confirmed and his ego hurt, but whoever was talking about him calmed his nerves a lot. He just needed to put a face to that voice. Just to see who's gossiping about him, nothing else.

—

With a full belly and a whole afternoon to study by Recovery Girl's side, you marched towards the infirmary after you bid your farewell to Mei. There was still time to walk around, grab something sweet for later and save any poor soul that Midori decided to sink her teeth in. It was common at this point, you getting in between her and her victims and taking the hit, yet somehow also being called a bitch by everyone. That's how high-school worked. She did have friends and they spread any word she spat. Vultures.

It was fine though. Hero [Y/N] is there to save the day no matter what. You scoffed at your own stupidity, turning the corner just to step on a leg that was sprawled on the floor.

He clicked his tongue, getting up with no worry in the world, but made no action to leave, settling for observing and analyzing you way too intensely.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, idiot." The man of the hour, the guy you've defended in front of your friend just screamed at you as he dusted off the imprint of your shoe left on his pants. Meanwhile you just paled in place before regaining your composture.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" You said, tilting your head with a frown, already knowing you will not apologize.

Unimpressed by what was going on, even if you truly couldn't point out what really was going on, you made an attempt to move past him towards the vending machines not far behind, but he caught your arm in a firm grip.

You blinked stupidly at the skin contact.

"Heard you were talkin' shit."

Your stomach dropped. Legs almost gave up too if it weren't for his iron grip holding you still. In the silence and at the satisfaction of the reaction you let out, he smirked and raised his chin, only Mei's singing voice coming from her workshop could be heard. Realization hit you. Hit you? Bitchslapped you in the face and left a mark for sure, because your cheeks started feeling heated, tingly.

He dragged you away, maybe to have the privacy to murder you in peace, but your common sense kicked in and you came back from the land of the mortified.

Much like he did before, action you saw with your two own eyes and repeated, you pulled out of his strong grip and stared as he turned towards you, mouth already opened to probably eat you alive.

"I wasn't talking shit about you, dude." You quickly spoke first.

"You don't fucking know me." He growled back, taking a step towards you but like hell you'd back down.

"Don't need to be besties to say what I said." Without understanding why he was so agitated, the only thing left to do after this beautiful turn of events was to defend the honor remaining in you, so you raised your chin to be at par with him. The action clearly took him by surprise, making him glare more, if even possible.

"I don't fucking appreciate when extras talk about me behind my back!"

"I don't give a shit what you appreciate, dude." Your laugh was the complete opposite of his menacing loud voice, like ying and yang.

"Bakugou, the name's fucking Bakugou, you extra!" Bakugou recovered quickly at your snappy self, getting more bothered as you talked.

"Okay, dude." His hands fisted, shaking in place as he stared you down but did not continue.

Silence; the hallway was now filled with silence as he boiled in his own anger and as you raised your brows in confusion. Now what? Was it time to leave? You've never met anyone like him, this was peculiar—

"NOW IT'S WHEN YOU FUCKING TELL ME YOUR SHITTY NAME, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS!"

A second passes; two; at the third you're wheezing your lungs out, laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario.

"What the fuck are you LAUGHING AT?!" His voice got louder just to top your howling. You did not expect that.

Through a sigh, regaining your breath, you say "It's [L/N] [Y/N].", seeing him retreat in his form and cross his arms. He was still seizing you up.

"If you have shit to say to me, say it to my fucking face, understood?"

"I—... Say what now?"

"I—." He copied in a mock, getting an incredulous look from you. "You stupid or what?" Your upper lip lifted, ready to cuss him to infinity and beyond but he continued. "Like about that bitch from before and shit—" even if he still was loud, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked more interested in the way the tiles on the wall were placed instead of your person. "An' like you told the weirdo—"

No time to be shocked at the implied; his last word enraged you, making your body shake with rage. "Don't fucking dare to call her a weirdo ever again."

Like a challenge, he snapped his face back at you, ready to take it.

"Or what?"

"Listen here, fucker—" now that was a nice surprised face he was pulling. "Just because I gave you a pat on the back in there doesn't mean you can disrespect people just because you think you're the shit. You're not. Now get out of my fucking way." With a final push to his shoulder, your mind was focused on going to the infirmary, steam almost coming out of your nostrils.

"Hey, extra!"

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. went through your mind, marching away without a glance back. Not until—

"[L/N]! You're a healer, hah?" That's interesting. He stood where you left him, watching.

"What's it to you?"

Someone sane would've left at your tone but this guy walked towards you then showed you his arms, recently scratched. Images came back to you about the cafeteria incident but did not underst—... did he want to get healed?

You scoffed.

"They're scratches, dude."

"They annoy me. Now heal." All the energy you had left in your body was channeled towards the slow blink you threw at him, at which he scoffed. But they did look nasty— and Midori did them. It was a curse by itself to look down at your own arms and remember that face, so the guardian angel in you decided to take control and be the better person.

Gentle fingers barely tapped his muscular arm. Smile crept up on your lips, feeling absolutely delighted at his obvious stiffness at the skin contact and the clear interest in his eyes, specially when the scratches started disappearing into nothing, leaving smooth silk skin under.

"Hey— Wha— Where the fuck do you think you're going?!" raspy voice got lost in the distance and one thought in your head.

"Want a lollipop for being a good patient too?" You mock and his face explodes in all shapes of red. It would've been great to mock him more, enthralled by his reactions, but with that you turned and left, ignoring the tingling under your fingers that should not be there and your stomping heart.

Did he wait all the lunchbreak to talk to you?

—

A long queue was ahead of you, earning the longest sigh out of your lungs. Life was pain sometimes. Mei couldn't hang out, food was too far away, the delicious croissants Lunch Rush made ran out as far as you could see. Pain. Just pure pain.

And disappointment. When you walked away with your food in a bag, maybe to sit under a tree and enjoy some peace and quiet, you saw her. Midori sitting at a table you did not expect. At the same table where Ashido Mina, Denki Kaminari, Kirishima Eijirou and Hanta Sero sat at. Good people. Honest, good people about to get bitten by a snake. If she was there, then Bakugou decided—

"You. Sit."

Thinking about the boy somehow summoned him behind you. Food in hand and bored expression on his face, he passed you not without giving you a stink eye. Indeed, disappointment.

You shrugged, trying not to pay much attention to the pang in your heart as you moved forward, but a voice— his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You. Get the fuck out of my face." His growl made everyone around him turn to watch, you being one of them. There was no excuse to what came next, no way to run away past it and dissappear. He nodded his head at you out of all people and pointed at the seat still occupied by Midori; her purple eyes big, shocked, running between your frame and the blond's.

Do you know what it felt to be put in the spotlight without warning? Well, congratulations because that was your life now.

"Ba—Bakugou-san?" Her voice, now highed up and meek followed, then a small scream as Bakugou slammed his food on the table. His friends sat there, wide-eyed, but made no attempt to interrupt.

"Did I fucking stutter, bitch? Or want me to turn into a rabid dog for fucking real?"

You choked on your own spit, bag of goodies about to drop on the floor once you saw her horrified face. She knew that he knew. And when her pale eyes, filled with sudden malice, act dropped, turned to you it's when you realized she figured out where he found out from.

Not like you cared, really, but the little shit that always had to poke out every time she was in the same room as you decided to finally show up, making you wave and send her a wink.

"I said MOVE!" now— that growl, raspy and filled with anger startled her. The orange juice in her hands spilled all over her uniform and woke her up from whatever delusion she was in. With zero time to reconsider, every belonging of hers was picked up with trembling hands and she ran away to her group of cockroaches.

A smile was already settled on your face; your brain was storing that whole interaction deep within, ready to bring it back up whenever you needed a good laugh.

Life was pain and disappointment, you say? No. Life was great. Or more importantly, Bakugou was. Not like he needed to know. But he was a decent guy as he proved—

"THE FUCK YOU STANDING THERE LIKE A DUMBASS?! I SAID SIT!" —to be a pain in the fucking ass and the bane of your existence.

You gave him a face then turned to walk away, even rushing more when you heard his chair screeching on the floor. The exit was so close, so near, freedom never felt this great, the sunlight kissing your skin giving you a new hope to live. But not for long because he grabbed your hand and started dragging you towards his table.

Your hand was in his hand and he was dragging you—

Your hand— his big, warm, a little bit sweaty hand—

How could you ruin such a beautiful moment? Eyes on you two, shocked, silence, his adorable red ears being the only thing you could see as he was completely in front of you, still dragging you towards his friends...

"Did you wait all lunchbreak yesterday to talk to me?" You collided into him as you finished the sentence, his way taller form stiffened so much you felt you single-handedly broke Bakugou Katsuki for good.

But when he turned... Oh, when he turned. Biggest deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes you've ever seen on anyone, cheeks painted so red you almost melted in the spot, lips trembling as his head worked a thousand miles per second just to find a retort. And you prepared yourself for—

"NO, I FUCKING DIDN'T! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FUCKING EXTRA? I'D NEVER WAIT FOR SOMEONE LIKE YO— ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!" Mina's waving hand caught your attention and smiled at her. Your hand was still in his, gripped harshly as he still hasn't noticed it's still there.

"Hey! [L/N], long time no see!" She cheered, ignoring the living shit out of her screaming friend, like she's used to it.

"FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU—"

"Hey, chill, dude. Now let go of my hand, I wanna talk to Ashido." You smiled sweetly, making extra effort to wave your linked hands arond until he finally noticed. He zapped his hand away so fast, like he's been bitten by a wild animal. Maybe even a rabid dog, if you will.

You couldn't ignore your own flustered state as you walked past him, giving him a one up, adding the absolute scandalized face he had into the back of your mind for safekeeping.

"Come sit with us!" The pinkette offered.

"Oh, hey, I know you! You're by Hatsume's workshop all the time!" Kirishima intervened with a surprised face that broke into a grin. "Nice to officially meet—"

"I fucking said." he appeared, sitting in front of you. "My name's Bakugou."

"Ok, dude, but I'm talking to someon—"

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI!" Could be heard from the stratosphere.

Note: I just realized Midori means Green [ fucking duh ] but I'm not gonna change the name or her description. I think her parents fucking up her name was the start of many accidents leading into the Midori we all know and hate. Also, I know you understand. We all know a Midori in our lives. Much love.

Note 2: I keep editing it but tumblr dot com slash Install App on Phone fucks my editing and switches paragraphs all around! If you find any PLEASE tell me, I'd really appreciate it!!!

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 26, part two

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Content note: This episode has a lot of lightning, but this post does not have lightning flashes--I’m using mostly stills for those parts, or I’ve snipped out the unfriendly frames before giffing.

Qing-Jie

Having successfully ruined Jin Guangshan’s party plan to get the Yin Tiger seal, Wei Wuxian dashes off to tell Wen Qing where her brother is. She hops up to hit the road with him, but then sorta-faints because she’s starving. In a rare moment of tenderness between these two, he catches her and gently sits her down again. 

Normally they’re busy out-toughing each other, both before and after this moment, but right now Wen Qing is openly vulnerable. Wei Wuxian responds to that, predictably, with all of his kindness and with his usual slew of unwise, impossible-to-keep promises.

As she eats the bread he’s brought her--a parallel to an important piece of bread in his early life--he says they have to believe in Wen Ning’s survival. Cut to: Wen Ning, not surviving. 

I mean, yes, yes, he’s only mostly dead, but he’s never going to be fully alive again, so.  

24 Hour Party People

Back at the party, Jin Guangyao, deliberately, I think, goes to offer his pops a drink while his pops is still super furious and looking for someone to take it out on. The servant lady is like, better you than me, pal, and helps JGY get his drink ready. Pops, predictably, knocks the drink onto Jin Guangyao.

(more behind the cut)

Lan Xichen is standing by with a hanky and a face full of worry. Lan Xichen is so Lanny that he thinks JGY needs to go change clothes after getting clear alcohol spilled on him, rather than just letting it evaporate and smelling pleasantly of booze for the rest of the evening like a normal party guest. 

JGY launches into a criticism of Wei Wuxian, which Lan Wangji listens to very carefully, frowning. Lan Xichen, Nie Huasang and Jiang Cheng listen as well, and don’t speak up. 

A Clear Conscience

Then Lan Wangji *literally* steps out of his brother’s shadow, and speaks in defense of Wei Wuxian. This right here is Lan Wangji’s turning point, as far as I’m concerned. Xichen is gazing at JGY, totally on board with JGY’s spin of the situation, and his shadow falls away from Lan Wangji’s face as LWJ steps forward.

Lan Wangji says, isn’t what WWX said true? JGY puts on his customer service smile and says that the truth isn’t something you’re supposed to go around saying out loud. 

I’d like to say this is what’s wrong with cultivator society but this is really a universal human thing; every society has rules about upsetting the social order, and they are very frequently at odds with basic compassion and morality. 

Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng stay silent but Lan Xichen goes and throws Wei Wuxian under the bus carriage, saying his character has changed. 

Lan Wangji nods decisively at this, and bows to Lan Xichen, silently asking permission to follow Wei Wuxian. Lan Xichen grants permission, telling Lan Wangji to do his best. Lan Xichen probably thinks he and Lan Wangji are in agreement, in this moment, but that nod of Lan Wangji’s was nothing of the kind.

That nod was Lan Wangji agreeing with himself; he is going to try to bring Wei Wuxian back but he is also going to listen to him.  Meanwhile Lan Xichen is tying himself in knots to appease Jin Guangyao. The divergence between the brothers will just grow, from this point onwards.

Lan Wangji leaves to go follow his boyfriend conscience, while Jiang Cheng continues to silently listen to the commentary of others, and gets so mad he crushes a wine cup.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night.

Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian arrive at the prison camp, and the first person they encounter is Granny, with a defaced Wen Banner in her hand and Wen Yuan on her back. 

Whenever I read a meta or a fic that talks about how the juniors are so sweet partly because they are “untouched by the war” I want to point to this moment. A-Yuan endures an absolute truckload of war trauma by the time he’s four years old, and while Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji both deserve a lot of credit for saving him at great risk to themselves, Granny and Uncle Four are the first heroes of A-Yuan’s story. His kind, mellow personality has a lot in common with theirs. 

This is followed by an eternity of Wen Qing running around asking if anyone’s seen her brother. Eventually Wei Wuxian gets tired of this and gathers the guards together, threatening them with Chenqing. 

He doesn’t need to play it; just holding it up has every Jin dude instantly kneeling and scared. 

The guards send him and Wen Qing go to a giant field of corpses, where Wen Qing runs around checking to see if any of them is her brother. Wei Wuxian starts off kind of detached and angry, but eventually snaps out of it, tucks away his flute and starts helping her to search. 

Wen Qing finds Wen Ning, mostly-dead with a lure flag speared into his belly. Wei Wuxian grimly takes in the situation from across the field of corpses. 

When he arrives at Wen Qing’s side he sees this talisman in Wen Ning’s hand. 

This is the talisman that Wei Wuxian made for Wen Ning back in Gusu summer school, before the war. It’s the one that Wen Ning was wearing at his waist when they met up after the massacre of Lotus Pier. It’s supposed to literally protect Wen Ning from having his spiritual consciousness snatched, as well as being a symbol of Wei Wuxian’s sense of responsibility for, and affection for, Wen Ning. 

Wei Wuxian, understandably, loses his shit at this point. Less understandably, he is about to decide that the best way to express his sorrow and rage is to re-animate the corpse of his friend, right in front of the corpse’s sister. Like, seriously, dude. Dude. 

Ghost General

This super-questionable decision leads to one of the most badass sequences in the show, which is unfortunately chock full of lightning flashes, so not everyone can watch it. Wei Wuxian and his flute and swirls of resentful energy come marching out of the darkness of the corpse field, back to the guards. 

The guards have decided to slaughter all of the prisoners and then run away, which would be a good plan except they should really have skipped right to the running away part of things. When Wei Wuxian accuses them of killing the prisoner in the corpse field, they claim that the Wens have a habit of falling off of a hill and dying. Wei Wuxian can relate. 

At this point Wei Wuxian summons up Wen Ning 2.0, ultra badass edition, who comes flying through the air with his odd, straight-armed fighting stance and cool solid-black eyes and rock-and-roll hair. 

Soundtrack: *Four Sticks*

Wen Ning proceeds to whale on the guards and scare the shit out of his relatives.

Then Wen Qing shows up and begs Wei Wuxian to stop. She explains that Wen Ning is only mostly dead. Like, if he was fully dead would she be okay with this? 

Wei Wuxian tries to reel Wen Ning in and realizes that he is not actually in control of Wen Ning. Ok, see, right from the first day of Wen Ning 2.0, WWX is aware that his control is iffy. Why does he think he’s going to be able to control him later? 

Anyway, this is where we learn Wen Ning’s grown-up name is Wen Qionglin. Wei Wuxian yells this name, and Wen Ning looks up like a cat hearing the “food noise,” and then proceeds to get control of himself. 

This is such a nice symbolic moment, that will be replayed later in the temple, when Wen Ning saves Jin Ling from Baxia. 

Wen Ning has a remote-code-execution OS vulnerability throughout the story; his soul is at risk of being stolen, and he is magically controlled by Wei Wuxian, Xue Yang, Su She, and Baxia.  Meanwhile Wen Qing, Wei Wuxian, and random kids on the street mostly treat him as a child, despite his clear adult capabilities. Wen Ning’s journey in The Untamed is at least partly about asserting his full adulthood, and his ability to overcome magical control is directly connected to that journey.  

After getting Wen Ning to chill, Wei Wuxian calls the floating resentful energy back into his own body, which looks about as comfortable as swallowing a burp. 

On the plus side, apparently resentful energy keeps your hair dry even when it’s raining.

Wei Wuxian should take a page from the guards’ book and slaughter all the Jin witnesses to this situation, but he decides to be the better person and let them live. They go running off down the road, where they encounter Lan Wangji and give him the 411, saying that Wei Wuxian resurrected dead people.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian collects Wen Qing--half-fainted, again, in an echo of the start of their journey--and collects the Dafan Mountain Wen group, who are hiding, wisely. When they see Wen Ning, Uncle Four and some others start to freak out, but Wei Wuxian tells them that fierce corpses are cool, and they all grab horses and mount up.

Where Are You Going?

Lan Wangji is waiting for them, nonconfrontationally indulging in some visual poetry while he waits. 

In a show where every prop is exquisitely, carefully designed to enhance our understanding character, his Gusu-toned umbrella reveals surprising red and yellow threads woven in, right above his eye line as he looks at Wei Wuxian. 

Wei Wuxian speaks first, saying “you came to stop me?” Lan Wangji doesn’t answer, but asks him where he’s going. Then Lan Wangji warns him that he’s about to abandon orthodoxy forever, if he follows through. 

Wei Wuxian challenges this idea of orthodoxy, asking if Lan Wangji remembers the promise they made together, back in Gusu. It’s worth noting that they both appear to think of it as a co-promise, even though Lan Wangji didn’t speak aloud at the time. 

The conversation will continue in the next episode, because what’s better than a rainy romantic cliffhanger?

Soundtrack: Four Sticks by Led Zeppelin

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (April 12/2021) - 72 Hours

Quackity takes a trip down memory lane, recounting the events that led up to his visit to the prison.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tommy

HBomb94

Foolish

Quackity

Badboyhalo

Karl Jacobs

Ranboo

Eret

Captain Puffy

---

- Ponk’s room in Niki’s city is decorated with posters of anime, his favorite people, pictures of Ponk and Sam next to each other, and his Enderman named Speed Wagon

- He wants to get a poster from both Foolish and HBomb

- Ponk waits at the Community House and Foolish boats in.

- Foolish notices Ponk’s stump, not knowing what it is at first. Ponk tells him that “Sam happened,” and Foolish replies that Ponk needs to get Sam out of his head. Ponk then tells him that he’s been taken into a communist cult, and that he’s missing an arm, and it oozes red stuff. Foolish freaks out.

- Ponk remarks that Foolish has a good sense of style, and he would like to commission something. He leads Foolish to the city. Foolish asks about his arm again, and Ponk says he’ll tell Foolish about it in time.

- Foolish says at least Ponk seems to be in good spirits. Ponk says that it’s because of the medication that Niki gave him. The salmon in his roof produces a drug that makes him happy.

- They mess around with the posters in Ponk’s room some. Ponk mentions that Sam took his arm, and Foolish is shocked. Ponk’s said too much. He wishes Foolish luck and says he’ll pay him well later before leaving Foolish to the room.

- Foolish says he knew Ponk and Sam were on rocky terms, but it’s a bit much of Sam to take Ponk’s arm...

- He puts a picture of himself in the shark outfit on Ponk’s wall and leaves to continue working.

---

LAS NEVADAS: EPISODE TWO

---

Two shadowy hooded figures ride on horseback across the wilderness. 

There’s a third who rides a skeleton horse. 

They approach Eret’s castle from the direction of Antfrost’s animal sanctuary. As they ride down the Prime Path, sirens can be heard in the background.

---

There is a montage of Quackity going to the prison each day, rain or shine. The waivers are shown, and Quackity’s name is signed.

On screen, the day numbers are shown as Dream runs around the cell, punching the air.

It starts from 2. At day 16, Dream is in the respawn pool as Quackity approaches. The numbers go up to 29.

-

72 Hours before The Visit

-

- Quackity rows to a remote island, where he meets Awesamdude. Sam is confused at how Quackity knew about this place.

- Sam has been busy farming in a small patch of land to get away from things. He started not long ago.

- There’s a gravestone with a disc and a jukebox dedicated to Tommy.

- Quackity tells Sam that Tommy’s death wasn’t his fault. Sam disagrees, saying it was his responsibility.

- Sam shows Quackity his beach full of turtles and his horse

- Quackity tells Sam that he’s a very caring person. Sam shows Quackity his house. 

- Quackity then tells Sam that he’s not the only one who thinks Tommy’s death wasn’t his fault, but Dream’s. To accept that is the only way to move on.

Sam: “I could’ve done something, Quackity. I could’ve...I don’t know. I could’ve done something.”

Quackity: “No, you know what you could’ve done? You could’ve gone back into that jail cell and put a sword right through his neck. That’s what you could’ve done, Sam. That’s what you could’ve done to Dream. Because guess what, Sam? this isn’t the first time he does it, and this isn’t the last time either. Sam, look at me...the only way he’s gonna stop this is if you get rid of him, Sam. That is the only way.”

- Quackity says they should do it right now. They go back into the house and Sam activates a secret door with a potato, leading down into a basement full of weapons and armor. They head out in boats as Quackity encourages Sam to do it.

Quackity: “Feel that fury in your fucking heart, Sam, and know that’s all because of Dream. Let’s go. Let’s go, Sam. It’s all because of Dream.”

Sam: “You’re right! I couldn’t do anything! Dream would’ve killed him anyways if I had gone in there, there’s nothing I could’ve done!”

Sam: “I can just kill him! I can just murder him! He can’t get away, he’s stuck in there, he has nothing! He’s so weak! This is the perfect chance! I can just murder -- no one would even need to know that he died! I can just say he was still locked up there, I could -- yes -- you’re right, and if I kill him no one will die! I don’t want any visitors already!” 

Quackity: “Exactly! No visitors! No visitors, Sam! No visitors, no one’s allowed to see Dream ever again, it’s a secret between you and me, Sam...we’re not gonna tell anyone. As far as we’re aware, Dream is in that prison, and no one’s allowed to visit him ever again because he committed that crime against Tommy. Guess what? no one’s even gonna wanna see him, Sam, nobody! Because he killed Tommy, and everyone’s scared of him. But guess what? You and me, we’re not gonna be scared, Sam, because we know Dream is going to be fucking gone.”

Sam: “‘Cause he’s stuck in that cell anyway! There’s nothing he can do! We could kill him, and when he’s a ghost, I could go in and kill him again! And kill him again! And kill him again! And kill him again! And I can kill him a thousand times for the one death he gave Tommy!”

“Do you wanna come with me? You wanna help me do it? You can hold him down, and I'll chop his head off! We can kill him just like that, and there’s nothing he can do! Yes! He can just cry, and scream, and he’ll die -- I wonder if he’ll laugh now!”

- They reach the prison entrance and enter the portal. Quackity tells Sam that this is all for Tommy, and it’ll make him feel better.

- Before they can go through the defenses, though, Sam hesitates and starts having doubts.

Sam: “Quackity, we can’t kill him! That’s the whole reason we put him in here to begin with! Tommy trusted me to keep Dream in here! And now Tommy’s -- Tommy’s dead, I can’t do this to Tommy! Tommy trusted me, and he might’ve died, but that doesn’t mean we can let this happen! No, no! Tommy would want us to keep him locked up! The whole reason we locked him up was -- if someone else dies, Dream’s the only one who can do anything about it!”

“I can’t ruin what I promised to Tommy more than once.”

- Quackity says this is his chance at redemption, but Sam insists they can’t kill him. Quackity stops and then says he’s sorry he got ahead of himself. Quackity goes to leave, but then hesitates and goes back to Sam one last time.

- One way or another, someone will have to do it. If not Sam, Quackity. He reminds Sam that Tommy’s death wasn’t his fault.

Quackity: “Sam, before I leave...you gotta get it together. Las Nevadas will have no place for emotions, or for any personal ideas that you may have, or feelings, Sam. If you’re gonna be my business partner, you gotta do more than this. Understand?”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Sam.”

- Quackity leaves.

-

48 hours before The Visit.

-

- Quackity is speaking with someone. He thanks someone for giving him the spot, telling them that they can’t tell anyone about it. 

- Quackity is near Fundy’s house. He digs straight down into the ground, landing in an underground area made of nether brick. It’s an extensive series of hallways. Quackity has a bunch of TNT.

- He finds the Egg Room and starts putting TNT around the Egg.

- He notices Bad and Punz approach and backs into the area behind, brandishing a redstone torch. Bad warns him not to do it.

- Quackity tells Bad that he doesn’t need the Egg, he knows that there’s still a part of Bad that isn’t doing this, and that they can work together.

- Bad replies that if Quackity gets in the way of his mission, he won’t have anything. 

- Rat starts barking. Quackity says he’s doing this for Bad.

Punz: “Bad, don’t let this guy manipulate you.”

- Quackity shouts that he’s going to light it up and places more.

Quackity: “We’re all gonna go. I’m doing this for your own, Bad! I’m doing this for your own good!”

Bad: “You’re doing this for yourself, Quackity! I need this! I need the Egg!”

- Quackity gets Bad to order Punz away and keeps negotiating with Bad. He tells Bad that before the Egg, Bad was one of his closest friends, and in order for them to do great things together, Bad has to let go of the Egg.

Quackity sets off the TNT. The explosions go off, and the Egg turns to obsidian.

---

On one heart, someone slowly makes their way through the burning remains of the nether brick area, holding a single redstone torch as the Egg whispers. 

HOW DARE YOU TRY AND TAKE THIS ONE FROM ME.

YOU WILL SUFFER FOR THIS.

HOW DARE YOU TRY AND TAKE THIS ONE FROM ME.

They stumble down the hall and the screen goes black.

-

24 hours before The Visit.

-

Quackity rides Boner down the Pogtopia highway.

He pauses at Tommy’s summer home, looking at the prison, and rides down.

- He notices George standing at the entrance, looking towards the portal. The two have a happy reunion. Quackity asks him why he’s here -- George says he’s just chilling.

- Quackity hasn’t seen George in ages. George is surprised by the scar on Quackity’s eye.

- He shows George Boner, who he has renamed to Ossium.

- He asks what George has been up to. It’s been ages since he’s seen George, Karl or Sapnap.

- Quackity tells George that he’s taken a break from El Rapids and has been working on a new project called Las Nevadas, a country full of casinos. An entertainment haven. He wants to set up a meeting with George, Karl and Sapnap about getting them all casinos.

- George asks, what about Kinoko Kingdom? Quackity doesn’t know what that is. George tells him, and says that Karl said he told Quackity about it.

- Quackity wasn’t told anything about this. He asks how long ago. It’s been a while.

- Quackity thought they had El Rapids going. It’s been hard to get in contact with them. George says he can still join.

Quackity: “I was working on this project, and I wanted to p-- no, no no, you’re...that makes sense. That explains so many things.”

- George tells him the direction that Kinoko is in. Quackity asks if they aren’t a part of El Rapids anymore. George says he supposes they can’t be in two countries at once.

- Quackity asks George not to tell anything to anybody about Las Nevadas. It will open soon, but he wants all the details to remain between them. As far as George knows, it’s just a country with entertainment.

- He says goodbye and leaves, telling George to say hi to Karl and Sapnap for him.

---

There’s a shot of Eret’s tower.

The Socializing Club and Purpled’s Walmart.

The old remodeled Community House.

The cobblestone version of Tommy’s house with the spruce trees around his land.

Skeppy’s original blackstone house with the three-door entrance.

Ze Haus.

The Spawn trap.

The camera pans up to a view of L’manburg, with blackstone walls, and the rebuilt Camarvan made of dirt.

The Elton John House and Space Program within the walls.

King’s Court.

It’s the Election Debate, Quackity and George arguing with Wilbur and Tommy.

---

- Quackity is out on a walk with Wilbur. He wants to know more about Wilbur. He asks why Wilbur has done the things he does.

- Wilbur tells him he wants protection for his people. Quackity asks to talk to Wilbur off the books. He wants to talk to Wilbur not as politicians, but people.

Wilbur: “Um, I mean I appreciate it -- No. The election’s in twelve days.”

- Quackity insists, and Wilbur says he’ll try.

- Quackity says he appreciates the Wilbur is trying to protect his people, and he doesn’t aim to overthrow him. 

Quackity: “None of this is about fighting to me. I think there’s just a big difference between you and me, and I like to see the good side on people. I like to think that there’s a side of everyone that is willing to work for wanting to see a better future for everyone, and I think that’s where you and I are very, very different.”

“See, when I got here, when I got to these lands, and I wanted to join L’manburg, I was told I couldn’t. I was told to walk away because I wasn’t allowed to join L’manburg. And to me, that was a lack of belonging. And if I have to become President and tear down some walls in order for no one to ever feel unwelcome again, then so be it. I do believe that everyone has a good side to them, and I do believe that everyone has something to contribute to the nation.”

Wilbur: “Your aspirations of optimism are not going to be subject to my nation’s security, I’m afraid. I -- I completely disagree with everything you said...”

“You say everyone has a good side, Quackity -- and you’re right. You’re right. Everyone has a good side. But that good side is only there to help themselves. If you’re really gonna help people, you’re gonna need power, Quackity. You can make a movement, you can make a resistance, right, you can go out and you can come back, and they’ll give you a ticket-tape parade. They’ll cheer for you in the streets, but you will change nothing. If you have a revolution, everyone will hate you. You will sacrifice everything, and you will lose everything you ever had, but you will come back and everything will be changed. And Quackity, if you wanna change things, you’re gonna need power. That’s what you really want, isn’t it. Look at me..”

“And power isn’t gained from diplomacy, and bureaucracy, and giant courthouses suspended in the sky, blah blah blah -- it’s gained from swords, Quackity. It’s gained from blades. It’s gained from steel. Iron. Even if everyone has this good side that you’re talking about, then anyone who wants to prove it has to show their dark side first. You’re going to have to kill. You’re going to have to torture. You’re going to have to maim. When I look at you, as a fellow outsider...you’re not ready for that.”

“I’m leaving.”

 - There’s a montage: 

Quackity watching as Schlatt destroys the White House the day he left to join Pogtopia.

The Mexican L’manburg Revolution, Quackity facing Dream outside Church Prime.

Dream destroying Mexican L’manburg.

Quackity facing Technoblade in the Final Control Room.

Dream and Quackity outside of Church Prime again.

“I understand that you -- that you wish to cause problems on the SMP, and that’s your number one goal. You are, by far -- you are the biggest enemy on the SMP right now.”

---

Present Day.

---

He’s at Wilbur’s resurrection shrine. There is a chest marked “For Wilbur.”

- Quackity writes in a book.

“My dearest friend, Wilbur...

You were right all along...

And I won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

- He signs the book “PROJECT NEVADAS” and puts it in the chest.

- Quackity rides off on Ossium and dons the black hood as the sirens sound.

---

- Bad sees the sign about concrete that Ranboo left at his house and assumes that it must be some sort of cryptic scavenger hunt. He and Skeppy go to try and figure it out by reading out the other signs throughout the server

- Skeppy eats part of Jonald

- Karl builds a Party Island in Kinoko Kingdom with Pokimane

- Ranboo gets a wither named Logan to mine for him

- Eret works on their fortress

- Captain Puffy does a late night stream and does some mining

---

Upcoming Events:

- The Red Banquet

- The Las Nevadas business opening

- Dream’s lore video

- Ranboo’s lore (April 23)

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Dream SMP’s one-year anniversary

[plush-rabbit]

Relationship Headcanons W/ Spinner

Request: What if spinner had an s/o that also had a reptile based quirk? Maybe a snake? 🐍💕 They’d still have human legs but have a snake like-tail and a forked tongue. Their bite is venomous and to top it off they have little clawed hands, they love to holds hands with him and give him lots of praise ❤️

A/N: Spinner deserves more!! Spinner rights!! I want to be a degenerate with Spinner!!

-

He’s still awkward around you, still apprehensive to hold your hand or to do anything remotely romantic with you. Shuichi grew to be isolated, and grew to know that there are organizations out there against the way that he looks. He knows what he looks like. He can feel the scales, feel the claws and shed himself out when his skin has grown too tight and lackluster. He knows that he isn’t the most desired and it’s awkward. He wants to be vulnerable around but finds it hard to do so. There are times where he’s resting on your lap, your hands held in his while your tail moves to wrap itself around his leg; it’s during these times that he finds the most solace he can in the life he lives.

Soon enough, he grows to be comfortable around you. You both share a similar mutation quirk and in doing so, share similar experiences that can derive from it. He’ll come to you during rather private moments with his head held down a dark hue against his snout, skin flaking and stuck around him in odd parts. In the beginning he sat with his head down as your hands worked around him, but as time went on, he started to become more animated, allowing you to touch where you could without him flinching away from you. His skin is sensitive afterwards, new and soft. He’ll lean onto you, watching as you soothe his skin, his canines digging into his tongue when you comment on how pretty his scales look- a bright green that fades around into something darker, bits on his palms that are paler and his belly so soft under your touch.

Despite how venomous you might be, it all depends on a bite or rather at least a nick. Kissing you can be a bit tricky, having to avoid from accidentally being nicked by your canines but it isn’t too difficult. He’s joked about placing marshmallows under your fangs, his thumb running gently under your canine, feeling the soft press of your tooth press into his softer skin on his palm. He’ll kiss you slowly, hands clawed around your waist leaving lines that puff up in their wake. He’s always nervous to kiss you first- whether it’s his apprehension to touch or fear of your venom- you don’t know, but he kisses you with a shaky press of his lips against yours, whimpering against your mouth before pressing himself closer to you. After his initial apprehension fades, he’s much more passionate, kissing you heavier, pulling you close and grabbing your hands, just desperate to feel you touch him.

He can get flustered easily with anything romantix in the relationship. Not used to being praised for much of anything has left him so new to it that he is unable to respond coherently with anything other than a mumbled ‘thanks’ and quick nod of his head. He’ll take each word of praise but he isn’t going to reciprocate it because at that point, his words will slur together and he’ll only be able to call you ‘pretty’ as he holds your hand. He’ll learn to be better, to sit beside you and nod his head when you call him all the things he should have heard as he grew older. Tears will prick the corner of his eyes and his face will burn as it hides in the crook of his neck. He holds you tight and during nights is when he’ll tell you how nice you are, compliments that spill from his lips and while he is no poet, he tries and means every word that he says.

He’s already quite touchy during the night but when the weather hits low degrees, he’s clinging onto you. You hold him tight, alternating between holding him and having him hold you. His scales are cold and rough when he curls against you, your tail hooked around your legs and he is buried into your chest, eyes closed and listening to your heart beat, a soft melody for him to sleep to. He holds you tight and when your hands run up and down his arms he sighs, pressing himself closer to you, desperate to feel every bit of you, every bit of your warmth and the cream that you use.

Much like a cat with a feathered toy, your gecko partner is very enamoured with your tail. He watches it constantly, often his attention drifting to it during meetings that run for far too long. He’ll watch with your tail swish, the scales glisten under the light and the tip of it going towards him. His eyes will glance towards you who holds a serious look and he wonders if the tail thinks for itself or if youre the one controlling it. No matter the reason, he holds in his hands, the thick appendage teased and with each motion he can see you grow rigid, the tail smacking against his stomach and he has to hold back a snort. Due to your quick not affecting your entire body, he does help with your shedding process wherever the scales tend to form. Since they rest primarily against your back, he’s careful to touch. His claws pinch at the molted skin and pull away to reveal new skin that is clean and bright. Afterwards, he kisses the edge of where your skin meets your scales, a soothing cream layered above to prevent irritation.

If you paint your claws, he’ll ask that you paint his nails since he’s rather sloppy. He wants to match most of the time or hold onto something neutral like black. He’ll watch you, teasing remarks as you hold his hand. Soon he’ll grow silent, the air light around the both of you, as you raise his hand and blow cool air against his claws. It’s a tender moment that he hadn’t realized had happened, something so strangely close of you simply painting his claws. It isn’t romantic but isn’t platonic either. It’s a deep emotion where you hold onto his hand and where he trusts you to touch him, something that he doesn’t think he would have allowed anyone to do in this scenario. Under a shower, he’ll stare at his hands, careful to not have them chip.

There are dates where you both just sit in his room and do your own activities. Taking each other out can be quite difficult with the notoriety he holds. You’ll lay on his lap, a video playing on your phone while he plays a video game, grumbling about a boss while he watches in-game currency. He likes having you close by, to hold you in his arms and just enjoy an activity together even if it might be a different activity that you both partake in. He simply just wants to be in the same room as you. An old movie will be thrown on and he’ll sit back with his arm thrown over your shoulders with a bowl of popcorn on his lap. Dates will consist of indoor activities, oftentimes inviting other members of the League who will gladly take advantage of doing something fun. Holding a rather morally right attitude about the virtues of hero society- even if he is a villian- he does not cheat but is fully aware if you do, often stopping to your level to help his own team win while avoiding your narrowed gaze.

You both have inside jokes that mostly stem about scale related stuff. Anything that esmelbesa sort of molt is often teased to be each other, sharp grins when one has managed to win the little “argument”. Due to you having a forked tongue, he’ll often ask for you to stick your tongue out and it’s become a staple of your appearance. You’ll roll your eyes, only to stick your tongue out, the split ends reaching past your chin. It’s become a daily occurrence that you’ve simply started to do it unprompted, your eyes wide and hands into a clawed motion. Other jokes stem from molting periods, to the arly kisses where he confessed about wanting to put marshmallows against your canines and his awkwardness in the beginning of the relationship.

At the end of the day, Shuichi just appreciates you in ways that he can never confess. You brought him out of such a heavy place, something he was sure that while he would have had friends beside him, he wasn’t ever sure of finding someone who would mean so much to him in a romantic sense. He holds you close, his lips against yours and he is dependent on you. He sleeps beside you, he makes sure you are safe and that you have eaten before him. He can be awkward and tense in the beginning but he means well and he cares deeply, so new to relationships that when he feels your hands against his body, he leans into it with closed eyes and smile on his closed lips. You are his comfort and he cares for you with everything he has.

[thekisforkeats]

The Way You Say My Name

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set immediately post-MAG 22. Martin is trans and Jon is amab non-binary.

CWs: Guilt, self-recrimination, worms (mentioned), arguments, shouting, crying, lying (Martin lying about his CV still), transphobia (mentioned), misgendering (mentioned), child abuse (mention of Martin Blackwood's mother) 

Summary: Just after MAG 22, Jon apologizes for his treatment of Martin over the past few months. Or tries to, anyway. It's hard to apologize to someone when you don't understand exactly what it is you've done to upset them.

(Of course, once Jon's apologized and Martin's relaxing, well... that's when Jon will finally notice he actually likes Martin, isn't it? Not that he's going to admit to that, even to himself.)

Shoutout to the Martin Blackwood Lovers Discord Server, without whom I would not have written this up and posted it. ;) Jon’s dialogue was (mostly) written by @marianfuckinghawke.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Recording ends.”

Jon reached out and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder. He sighed and looked at his phone. The message from Jane Prentiss was still glowing on the screen. He ran a hand through his short hair, aware he was mussing the grey-streaked black and deciding he didn’t care.

He had listened to Martin’s account of the encounter with Jane Prentiss with trepidation and worry. Now he could feel his face settling into something more drawn with concern. First, concern for his two assistants who were out of the Archive at the moment. Second, concern for Martin. The man had gotten himself into this mess because of Jon’s words. Due diligence. Was he really such a hardass that he had put one of his subordinates in harm’s way? How had he not realized that it might come to this?

Martin sat fidgeting, shifting in his seat, and Jon could feel the other man’s soft brown eyes on him. He had the look of a frightened, cornered animal and it cut Jon to the quick. He had done this. Jon was responsible for the man’s state, and he had to figure out how to make it better.

There was silence for a solid three minutes. Then Martin opened his mouth to say, “So if I’m going to be--”

Jon started speaking at exactly the same time. “So obviously you’re--” He blinked and said, “I’m sorry--”

“No, no, you go,” Martin said, raising his hands and waving them rapidly.

“No. It’s alright… go ahead,” Jon replied at the exact same time, then frowned.

Martin cleared his throat, then seemed to gather his courage. “Well. I was going to say. If I’m going to be staying here, I’ll need… things. Like, uhh, there’s a cot, but I’ll need, like… a toothbrush? I mean, you don’t have a stash of those sitting around, do you?” He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner.

“No, I do not,” Jon replied. “Nor do you have a proper change of clothing… you can hardly wear the same outfit for however long this will take, and you won’t want to sleep in what you’re wearing.” He had a sudden mental image of Martin sleeping naked, and cleared his throat while he shoved it away. Hardly an appropriate thought about a co-worker, even if it wasn’t remotely sexual. “We will have to go out and get such things for you… perhaps after I brief Tim and Sasha on the situation.”

Martin nodded. “There’s a room that might be, umm… did you know one of the rooms that’s filled with boxes is supposed to be the break room?” He gave that self-deprecating laugh again. “‘Course you know that, stupid, what am I saying…” He glanced aside, cheeks flushing. “Umm. Anyway. Umm. It’s bigger than the room you’ve got the cot in? If… if… I’m going to be staying here… I could clean it out… make it livable, maybe, umm, get some snacks and tea and things in, and there’d be more room for extra cots… in case you need somewhere to stay late or… something…” A pause. “Or not! Or just. You know. I’ll just. Have lots of time, so. I can. Clean. The break room.”

Jon did not, in fact, know that they’d had a break room at all. It had been frustrating to have everyone going up to the Admin break room on the ground floor, and he’d said so more than once. No, wait… had someone told him, and had he just told them off about clearing the room out?

He was suddenly horribly aware of how many times he’d griped at Martin for going up there to make tea that he had then gone ahead and drunk. How had he been such a prick to this man?

When Jon had started as Head Archivist, he’d had all sorts of plans for team morale, bonding exercises, and the like. He’d always hated them personally but they were the sort of thing bosses were supposed to do. The trouble was that all of his “how best to run the Archives as a team” ideas had flown right out of his head once he’d gotten down there and found himself at a desk where a woman had maybe died, struggling to record statements, dealing with doggy messes, and that damned persistent feeling of being watched.

Well, now was as good a time as any to start acting the way he should have all along.

“Martin… we will clean the break room. Together. As a group.” He ran his hand through his hair again. He really was going to look a mess. “It is a communal space, it will be a communal job.” He added quickly, “Yes, I know you’ll be here more than the rest of us, but I want us all involved. We need…” He sighed. Time to apologize. “I have been… less supportive of you than I should. And…” He swallowed, aware of the flush rising on his cheeks. “I feel I must apologize. So… I am sorry. But we should do more together, especially given that circumstances have escalated.”

Martin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re… sorry. For… being less… supportive than you should have been.” There was a hard-to-read undercurrent in his tone.

“For being… rude to you… and for punishing you…” Jon replied. “Unjustly.” He gestured to the recorder. “All of this… happened because of your adherence to my instructions…” He frowned. “So. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Martin snapped, “at least you’re finally realizing that it was… unjust.” He glared at Jon, who suddenly felt pinned to the spot by eyes that were no longer soft but had gone hard as agates.

Jon blinked at Martin. “Are… are you alright?” He was apologizing! He couldn’t be messing that up this badly, could he?

Martin drew a long breath in through his nose. “Yeah,” he said, in a high-pitched, clipped tone. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He went to stand abruptly, pushing away from the desk, and in that same tone, “Well, you’d better get to… briefing people, then. I’ll just… go see how far my paycheck can stretch in Chelsea.” His tone was dripping with bitterness by the end.

Jon stood up. “Martin!” He was vaguely aware of saying it in the same irritated tone he always used for the man’s name, aware that Martin visibly flinched at the word, and tried to moderate his tone. “What is going on? I am apologizing! Is… am I missing something?” He moved around the desk to try to be sure Martin didn’t just leave without finishing the conversation.

“No,” Martin said, stopping while facing the door, tone still a good two octaves above normal. “No, it’s fine. You’re apologizing, and that’s good.” His whole frame was stiff, though, and his tone practically screamed “lying.”

Jon couldn’t read people all that well, but even he could read the signs Martin was giving off. “While your words are clear, your body language says quite otherwise.” He tried to moderate his tone again, but he couldn’t help sounding mildly irritated. He didn’t like being lied to, especially concerning his own actions, and he wasn’t sure what he had done incorrectly in this situation. “Now will you stop and talk to me?”

Martin turned away from the door, faced Jon, jaw set firmly. “What do you want me to say, Jon? Do you want me to… to forgive you? To say ‘oh, sure, you’re sorry, so that makes up for the last six months where you’ve made me want to quit my job every day?’ Am I supposed to… to… just… oh, well, there’s danger, so now you’ve realized I’m an actual person, now you’re going to stop kicking me around, now you’re going to pitch in to help around here as I’m not already the one spending all his time trying to clean up the mess while Tim and Sasha run out to research things so you don’t have to send anyone to double-check my work? Never mind that I’ve been trapped for two weeks, I could’ve been dead and none of you bothered to check on me!”

Martin was all but shouting by the end of the diatribe, every line of him stiff and furious, and Jon was suddenly very aware of the fact that Martin was taller and bigger than he was. He cringed away from Martin, took a step back. “I… I…” He turned away to his desk, grabbed his phone. “Here…” he said, handing it to Martin. “Look!” The phone would solve the problem, if Martin could just see… “There… I… just… please…”

The moment Jon had cringed away Martin had hunched his shoulders, deliberately making himself smaller. Now he was taking long, deep breaths, his expression ashamed. He reached out to take the phone from Jon.

The display was still on the screen of Jon’s message history with Martin. Before the last message from Jane Prentiss was a long list of messages from Jon--numerous messages inquiring about Martin’s health, worried and concerned. He had linked articles about foods to eat when feeling ill, then when he’d realized some of those might be hard for Martin to make alone, found new links that had easier recipes.

There were also, Jon knew, greyed-out deleted messages.

Martin, know that your presence is missed here at the Archives. I am wishing you a quick recovery.

I know it’s sudden, but I find myself missing you. Just thought you should know.

And others, so many others, as Jon had tried to figure out how to pierce the wall built by the texts he’d been getting back from what he now knew was Jane Prentiss, asking to be left alone.

As Jon watched Martin reading the messages he nervously bounced in place, one arm folded over his chest to hold the other. He could feel his skin glowing from embarrassment and he wasn’t even sure why. The blush faded, however, as he watched Martin. Watched the anger fade, and realized what lay underneath. The pain that had been underlying that anger, the way it lifted as Martin read through the message history--it was like a revelation. Martin must have walked in here convinced nobody at his place of employment really cared about him, and Jon realized that that was, indeed, what he must usually think, if something as simple as text messages was making something like hope bloom on his face.

It occurred to Jon, suddenly, that nobody had checked on Martin. For two weeks. No friends, no family. Nobody had even noticed the man was gone.

Jon had to fix this. Somehow. And not by wrapping Martin up in a fierce hug like he very much wanted to; that would not be appreciated from the man’s asshole boss. Even if Martin looked like he really, really needed a hug.

By the time Martin handed the phone back to Jon, his breathing was shaky and unsteady. He dropped back into the chair, like his legs suddenly weren’t working. “S-sorry,” he managed in the barest of whispers. “Sorry.”

“That’s… my line,” Jon said. “I am sorry. I should have said more to make it clear… you are a valued member of this team.” He shook his head, wincing at how… canned that line sounded, but pushed on. “I should have said it at least once. And… I never did. I held you at arm’s length and ostracized you. And… I understand how you felt all that time now…” He sighed. “And… yes, it may have taken this incident to make me realize how terrible a person I’ve been to you since… since you started working here.”

Martin stared down at his hands; Jon could see he was crying, but silently, without sniffling or sobbing. “Why?” he finally managed. He looked up at Jon. “Why? What did I… do? I mean… there was the whole ‘dog’ business at the beginning… what, do you hate dogs that much?” There was a kind of desperation in his tone.”

“No… I mean, sure I’m more of a cat person, but… no… I don’t hate dogs.” Jon frowned. “I… I’ve given that a lot of thought these past two weeks and I think I figured it out.” He sighed. “It wasn’t you I was angry with.” He took a breath. “I was angry at Elias. I like to have a sense of who I work with, to get to know them before I get into anything serious.” Oh, no, wait, that sounded… he hadn’t meant it like… work. He’d meant work! No, he was overthinking that; Martin knew he meant work. He stammered for a moment, though. “It’s… part of who I am… as a person.

Jon took a breath, to steady himself. Focus on the apology. “When Elias… placed you here without telling or consulting me about the selection process, it… felt like a betrayal. I felt that agency over my department had been taken out of my hands. And yes… I know he runs the Institute, but he should have at least consulted me about who is in my department.”

He dropped his head and reached to take a box of tissues from the side of the desk, to slide them towards Martin. An olive branch. “I took out that anger and frustration on you. And that was wrong, I know that now.”

“Not like I wanted to be here either,” Martin mumbled, reaching out for a tissue and wiping at his eyes. It didn’t do much to stop the tears. “I mean, I didn’t even want the damn library job, I j-just…” He stumbled, stammering, “It’s… it’s harder to get a position with a degree in parapsychology than you might think.” He sniffled. “B-but… even on top of that… you and Tim and Sasha, you’re all friends already, you requested them. Even if Tim and Sasha and I get along they don’t really know me, and you… well…” He sighed. “When Elias said I was going to work for Jonathan Sims I just about freaked out. You’ve got a… reputation, you know? I just… I knew it’d be… lonely down here, and it really has been.” There was a furrow between his brows now as he looked at Jon.

Jon frowned. He’d known he had a reputation around the Institute, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. He took a deep breath; this wasn’t about him right now. “Then let us work on fixing that. Starting now. Like I said, we need to be working together more, improve the… office atmosphere. I… have come to admire your dedication to your work. ‘Due diligence,’ as you put it.”

Martin regarded him quietly for a moment. Then he said, “The thing that really bothers me… I don’t… I don’t think you’d understand.”

Jon frowned. Then, finally, softly, “Try me. You might be surprised.”

Martin swallowed. “I… I’m trans,” he blurted. “Like, I was… I had a girl’s name, when I was younger. Figured out I was a guy when I was a teenager, started hormones, and… well…” He took a deep breath. “My mum’s never approved, you know? She’s always been… difficult, she’s… sometimes she’ll… well, I mean, you know how parents will… say your name, right? Like, when you’ve… disappointed them.”

Jon’s frown deepened. He did not, in fact, know how parents said one’s name, but he could remember his grandmother saying Jonathan in tones of deepest disapproval when he’d come back from wandering off. So he nodded; he understood the feeling, at least.

Martin wiped at his eyes again. “The way she said my name… it made me hate my name. My deadname, I mean. But it… helped me realize I was trans, because when I thought about something else I’d want to be called, I came up with ‘Martin.’ And… and I’m kind of glad sometimes, that she… misgenders me, and refuses to call me Martin, because it means she’ll never, ever say it in that… disappointed tone. I have never regretted that choice, not once, until…”

Martin took in a long, shuddering breath, then straightened himself, looking Jon right in the eye. Like he knew what he was going to say wouldn’t go over well, but he had to say it. “The way you say my name, when you snap at me? It’s exactly like my mother says my deadname. And nobody has ever made me regret that choice. Not… ever.” He swallowed. “Until I met you.”

Jon stared at Martin for a long moment, horrified. He was non-binary himself, and yet he’d never changed his name, never even asked people to call him by different pronouns although he might have preferred it; he’d never had the courage to do so. He’d always been terrified of what people might think of him. Yet here was Martin, strong enough to change himself outwardly despite his mother’s disapproval, strong enough to keep coming in every day to deal with a boss who made him regret the name he’d chosen for himself.

In that moment, Jon felt very much like he did not deserve Martin Blackwood. That the Institute did not deserve Martin Blackwood. They would have to do better, somehow.

Finally he managed, “I’m… I didn’t know. I--” He curled his mouth in disgust. How did one respond to that? Do better? That was only a marginally acceptable platitude. “I will endeavor to change my tone.” He didn’t like that any better, but it was the best he could do.

Jon really, really wanted to offer Martin a hug. The man looked like he needed one. Tim would have offered a hug, workplace hugs could be acceptable… but, no, Jon was Martin’s boss, and Martin had just said how much he hated Jon--because if Jon reminded Martin of the mother who deliberately misgendered him, then he had to hate Jon--and who would want a hug from someone they hated?

There was something he could do to help, though. To pay Martin back, as it were. So he, too, straightened, and said, “Well. You were talking about how far your paycheck will stretch in Chelsea, but I think that will be quite unnecessary. Given that you encountered Jane Prentiss while in the line of duty, as it were, I think we can expense your essentials to the Institute without too much trouble.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “W-wait… won’t that… I mean… won’t Mr. Bouchard be… upset about that?”

Jon actually smirked. “Don’t you worry about Elias; I fully intend to take out my irritation about his habits as a supervisor on him instead of you from here on out.” Not directly, of course, but Elias would be irritated by the entire setup, and some petty part of Jon enjoyed that thought.

Martin was staring at Jon now. “I… I wouldn’t want you to… get in trouble…”

Jon waved a hand. “It’s the least I can do.” He stood. “Let’s get to the shops for toiletries before they close and then we can see about getting some clothing delivered. And, ahh, do you have any… prescriptions you’ll need…?” He was thinking about hormones. “I suppose I could send Tim ‘round to your flat, but I wouldn’t want to put him in danger either…”

Martin stood, hesitating. “I’ll… figure all that out. It’s alright. Really.”

Jon came around the desk to grasp Martin by the arms and look up at him, intently. It was the closest thing to a hug he’d let himself get to. “Martin,” he said, as gently as he could manage, with as much respect as he could manage, “you put yourself in danger because of the way your superiors at this Institute have treated you. Let me at least begin to partly repay that debt. Please.”

Martin was blinking down at him. “Uh… umm… aren’t we having… Mr. Bouchard repay the debt…?”

Jon smiled up at Martin as he dropped his arms. "Ahh, but we’re not going to ask Elias to come help clear out the breakroom. Can you imagine him moving boxes?” He could feel the smile edging into a grin. “His arms would break just from trying to pick one up.”

Martin had started to smile, hesitantly. That was what Jon had been going for; he hadn’t realized how much he actually liked Martin’s smile until he hadn’t been around for two weeks. “I-I mean… you’re not the biggest guy yourself… you might have the same problem.”

“Mmm, fair,” Jon replied, “but I am willing to scrub a floor if I must.”

Martin’s smile widened. “Y-yeah, I can’t imagine… Elias… scrubbing a floor.” He giggled, suddenly. “He probably pays people to do that stuff. He… he’d probably have been hopeless stuck in his flat for two weeks.”

Jon laughed at the mental image of Elias Bouchard stuck in a flat, living off canned meals, a laugh so full he actually threw his head back a bit. “Good lord, Elias, having to live off tinned peaches? Can... you... imagine?”

“H-he’d… probably… start shouting for Rosie.” Martin was giggling so hard he could barely get the words out. He put on a bad posh accent and said, “‘Rosie, why do we have all these tinned peaches? I did not approve this budget!’”

They both dissolved into helpless laughter, both reaching out to the other to hold themselves up. There was a moment, as the laughter waned, that their eyes met, and Jon felt something swoop and flutter in his gut. Martin had such a nice smile, and such a pleasant laugh, and it would be wonderful to have both around more often, and it was making him a little dizzy if he was being honest. When was the last time he’d felt that swoop and flutter? Georgie? Briefly, with Tim?

No, no, that was the laughter and the proximity. That was all. They were bonding over dislike of Elias. That was all.

At least he’d managed to clear the air.

Jon straightened, and kept smiling as he turned toward the door. “Come along, then, Martin,” he said, and again deliberately infused the word with as much respect as he could muster. “Let’s get to the shops.”

Martin nodded. “Thanks for this, Jon,” he said, and oh dear there was another swoop at the way Martin said his name. Had he always said it like that? Had Jon just not noticed? “Really. Thank you.”

Jon turned away to school his expression. This would not do. He was not going to let himself feel any more… swoops for a subordinate. It just wouldn’t do. No matter how nice of a smile he had. He did not have a crush on Martin, because he could not have a crush on Martin, and that was that.

Feeling a little better--it was always a relief, sorting out his emotions--Jon headed out to help Martin get settled into the Archives.

[dwellordream]

“...Where the show had sensibly added yurts and merely forgot to have any way to move them, Martin has the Dothraki live in “palaces of woven grass” (AGoT, 83) which I assume the show did not replicate because the moment someone described doing that everyone realized what a bad idea it was and moved on to something more sensible like a yurt covered in leather. Grass and reeds, of course, can be woven. However, as anyone who has done so will tell you, the idea of trying to weave what is essentially a grass basket the size of a tent in a single day is not an enviable – or remotely possible – task.

Trying to move such a giant grass basket without it coming apart or developing tears and gaps is hardly better. And at the end, a woven-grass structure wouldn’t even really be particularly good at controlling temperature, which is its entire purpose! It is rather ironic, given that unlike the show’s Dothraki, Martin’s Dothraki do seem to use at least some carts, because Viserys is forced to ride in one (AGoT, 323) and so could bring yurts with them. They just don’t.

More to the point, it is very clear that Martin imagines the Dothraki subsistence system to consist almost entirely of horses. The Dothraki ride horses, they eat horses, they drink fermented mare’s milk. The Dothraki – as in the show – are presented as eating almost entirely horsemeat. They eat horsemeat at the wedding (AGoT, 84), and Daenerys’ attendants are surprised that she asks for any kind of meat other than horse (AGoT, 129), although Daenerys herself seems to have access to a more agrarian diet (AGoT, 198) and other characters observe that the Dothraki prefer horsemeat to anything else (AGoT, 272). There is no mention of herds of anything except people and horses moving with the khalasaar.

There is also no sense that the Dothraki are hunting big game like one would in the Great Plains; Drogo kills a hrakkar – a sort of lion, apparently – as a display of bravery (AGoT, 495) but there is nothing that would suggest the kind of bison-based subsistence system (at the very least, if that was the system, Daenerys would be well aware of it, because the camp would be awash in bison-products). I found no references to larger game and the Wiki only offers, “packs of wild dogs, herds of free-ranging horses, and rare hrakkar” which is, needless to say, not enough to make up for the absence of large herds of bison, especially for trying to feed Drogo’s camp of perhaps a hundred thousand people (or more!).

They clearly do not herd sheep. This becomes painfully obvious with the raid on the Lhazareen village. The Dothraki – Khal Ogo’s men – in raiding a sedentary pastoralist settlement, kill all of the sheep and leave them to rot. Dany sees them “thousands of them, black with flies, arrow shafts bristling from each carcass” and only knows that this isn’t Drogo’s work because he would have killed the shepherds first (AGoT, 555). And we are told that the people there “the Dothraki called them haesh rakhi, the Lamb Men….Khal Drogo said they belong south of the river bend. The grass of the Dothraki sea was not meant for sheep” (AGoT, 556).

We are told that the Dothraki have “vast herds” but this can only mean herds of horses, given that they apparently take offense at any other animal being grazed on the Dothraki and look down at shepherds in general (AGoT, 83). To be clear, for a nomadic people moving over vast grassland to spurn the opportunity to capture vast herds of sheep would be extraordinarily stupid. At the very least, thousands of sheep are valuable trade goods that can literally walk themselves to the point of sale (we’ll get to this idea that the Dothraki also don’t understand commerce a little later, but it is also intense rubbish; horse nomads in both the New World and the Old understood trade networks quite well and utilized them adroitly). But more broadly, as I hope we’ve laid out, sheep are extremely valuable for subsistence in Steppe terrain.

But Martin does not even do horse-string logistics right. While Daenerys eats cheese (AGoT, 198), we never hear of the Dothraki doing so. The Dothraki do have an equivalent to qumis, but no qulut, no yogurt. Even the frankly badass bit about drinking the horse’s blood as a source of nourishment does not appear. The horses themselves are also wrong. First, Daenerys and Drogo each have one horse they use, seemingly to the exclusion of all others. If you have been reading this long, you know that is nonsense: they ought to both (and Jorah too, if he intends to keep up) be shifting between multiple horses to avoid riding any of them into the ground. Moreover, Martin has imported a European custom about horses – that men ride stallions and women ride mares – into a context where it makes no sense. Drogo’s horse is clearly noted as a red stallion (AGoT, 88) while Daenerys’ horse is a silver filly (AGoT, 87). But of course the logistics of Steppe raiding revolves around mares; in trying to give Drogo the ultimate manly-man horse, he has actually given him the equivalent of a broken down beater – a horse only able to fulfill a slim parts of its role.

Finally, the group size here is wildly off. For comparison, Timothy May estimates that, in 1206, when Temujin he took the name Chinggis Khan and thus became the Great Khan, ruling the entire eastern half of the Eurasian Steppe, that the Mongol army “probably numbered less than a hundred thousand men” (May, The Mongols, (2019), 43), though by that point his army included not merely Mongols, but other ethnically distinct groups of steppe nomads, Merkits, Naimans, Keraites, Uyghurs and the Tatars (the last of which Chinggis had essentially exterminated – next time, we’ll get to the nonsense of the Dothraki being a single ethnic group).

That is, to be clear, compared to the armies of sedentary empires of similar size (which is to say, huge) a fairly small number! We’re going to come back to this next week, but the strength of Steppe nomads was never in numbers. Pastoralism is a low density subsistence strategy, so the steppe nomads were almost always outnumbered by their sedentary opponents (Chinggis himself overcomes this problem by folding sedentary armies into his own, giving him agrarian numbers, backed by the fearsome fighting skills of his steppe nomads).

Khal Drogo’s khalasaar, which moves as a single unit, supposedly has 40,000 riders (AGoT, 325-6); Drogo is perhaps the strongest Khal, but still only one of many. With 40,000 riders, we have to imagine an entire khalasaar of at least 120,000 Dothraki (plus all the slaves they seem to have – put a pin in that for later; also that number is a low-ball because violent mortality is clearly very high among the Dothraki, which would increase the proportion of women and children) and probably something like 300,000 horses. At least. Of course no grassland could support those numbers without herds of sheep or other cattle. As noted above, Isenberg’s figures suggest much lower density in the absence of herding – just under 70,000 nomadic Native Americans on the Great Plains in 1780 (and less than 40,000 in 1877), including women and children! But more to the point, no assemblage of animals and people that large could stay together for any length of time without depleting the grass stocks.

Even if we ignore that problem and even if we assume that the Dothraki have Mongol-style pastoral logistics to enable higher population density on the Dothraki Sea, my sense is that the numbers still don’t work. Even before Drogo dies, we meet quite a few other independent Khals with their on khalasaars – Moro, Jommo, Ogo, Zekko and Motho at least and it is implied that there are more. Drogo’s numbers suggests he should be roughly at the stage Chinggis Khan was in 1201 or so – with Chinggis controlling roughly half of the Mongolian Steppe, and his old friend and rival Jamukha the other half. But Khal Drogo has evidently at least a half-dozen rivals, probably more. It is hard to say with any certainty, but the numbers generally seem too high. Having that entire group concentrated, moving together for at least nine months (long enough for Daenerys to become pregnant and give birth) would be simply impossible inside of a grazing-based subsistence system, sheep or no sheep.

In short, no part of this subsistence system works, either from a North American or a Eurasian perspective. This isn’t actually much of a surprise. Martin has been pretty clear that he doesn’t like the kind of history we’re doing here. As he states: I am not looking for academic tomes about changing patterns of land use, but anecdotal history rich in details of battles, betrayals, love affairs, murders, and similar juicy stuff.

That’s an odd position for an author who critiques other authors for being insufficiently clear about their characters’ tax policy (what does he think they are taxing, other than agricultural land use?). Now, I won’t begrudge anyone their pleasure reading, whatever it may be. But what I hope the proceeding analysis has already made clear is that it simply isn’t possible to say any fictional culture is ‘an amalgam’ of a historical culture if you haven’t even bothered to understand how that culture functions. And it should also be very clear at this point that George R. R. Martin does not have a firm grasp on how any of these cultures function.”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part II: Subsistence on the Hoof.”

[kit-herondale-carstairs]

TDA Characters on TikTok

Julian: doesn’t post very often because he is a father but when he does it is always him painting or drawing something with lofi music or him sharing a tidbit about one of the children or other family members (Kieran, Cristina, Diana, Emma and Aline included and always with their explicit permission). 

- He’s very popular without even trying and most assume he is a young single father (which isn’t wrong).

-  Mostly finds himself on cottagecore or parent side of tiktok. 

- doesn’t understand all the thirsty comments he gets because “I don’t even show my face, Emma, why would they think I’m attractive?” but always shares them with Emma because they make her laugh.

Emma: Does it for the girls and the gays, that’s it. Posts nearly every day and page is generally a mixture of self defense videos, vintage makeup/dress tutorials, and videos slamming the patriarchy but also always does the latest dancing videos and other trends.

- always tries to get others to join in on her trend videos, mostly joined by Mark and Cristina when she can rope her in.

- Nearly broke tiktok when she got Julian to do the “You could have been nicer to me” trend because NO ONE KNEW THEY WERE DATING  AND EVEN THOUGH THEY COULDN’T SEE HIS FACE EVERYONE RECOGNIZED HIS VOICE AND HE WAS SO SWEET WHEN HE OFFERED TO TAKE HER TO HER FAVORITE THRIFT STORE AND BUY HER SOME DRESSES AFTER HE PUT THE “BABY” DOWN FOR HIS NAP. 

- - everyone knows the “baby” is actually at least seven but no one ever said his name because he’s too young so everyone collectively knows him as “the baby”

- solidly on gay tiktok even though she’s straight. 

Mark: Daily blogs. Everyone thinks he’s shit posting because it’s all wild things like standing in a middle of a circle of flowers and talking about “this pixie named Aelia lives here and she’s a BITCH”. Often shows videos of him cooking or baking wild concoctions that range from “Okay, I’d try that” to “this is why God has abandoned us”. 

- Does dancing videos with Emma all the time and often acts as the “creeper” in her self defense videos. 

- Caused a meltdown on tiktok when he casually mentioned his “partners” and started creating videos to raise awareness for polyamory. 

- Revealed Julian was his brother when he posted a video of Julian yelling at him for a solid minute because “the baby is covered in honey, why is the baby covered in honey, Mark? We don’t let the baby bathe in honey even if he really wants to Mark -” 

- solidly on cooking and gay tiktok, often takes a sharp left into “crackhead” tiktok

Kieran: Posts videos of cats he finds and rates them. The lowest ever was a 9.5/10 because “she bit me fairly hard but I scared her and I deserved it for trying to pet her without permission”. 

- does not do any trends or reveal much personal information. 

- Was always considered wholesome until he (on a dare from Dru) posted a video joking about choking a bossy sub that rounded up on kinktok. 

-- everyone went through a brief freak out trying to figure out if he had a partner but it was never solved. 

--- No one noticed that Mark posted a video joking about how “one of his partners was absolutely in the doghouse” accompanied by someone sitting in a cardboard ‘doghouse’ around the exact same time. 

- solidly on animal tiktok but occasionally veers into kinktok with more (less explicit) dom/sub humor. 

Cristina: Does not have her own tiktok but often appears in videos with Emma and occasionally shows up in Mark’s. 

- Absolute sweetheart always, even when she is demonstrating a self defense move with Emma, and is always commended for trying Mark’s foods. 

-- especially commended when trying the foods while, offscreen, their other partner yells about “Hell food” 

- is flattered with all the comments begging her to start her own tiktok but doesn’t feel like she has the time to fully commit to one properly. 

Livvy: (She’s alive, don’t @ me) Does absolutely all the new trends and also does various acting POVs 

- her soulmate POVs are most popular but she also is known for dueting act-along POVS with other popular creators

- also occasionally posts videos rating the best male actors/superheroes and once got into a long drawn out back to back war with someone on whether or not Captain America really had “America’s ass” 

- had a very popular multiple-part series about being a girl in the MCU dating the various Avengers but ended it abruptly after Endgame because “Natasha Romanoff deserved better and it hurts too much”

-she used to post occasional videos where she laments on being the “only single person in the family” but she started getting some very creepy duets and comments from actual adults so she told Julian and they both agreed it would be better for her to stop them

-- Julian did take the time to duet the people being inappropriate and explained very clearly that their actions were wrong and directed towards a LITERAL CHILD and shamed multiple accounts into flat out deleting

Ty: Posts literally whatever interests him. Has two animal series - one where he shares facts about his favorite kinds of animals and one where he showcases various animals he’s found in the tidepools or around the house. 

- has done several video series of rescuing animals and has at least one where Julian could be heard lecturing him on trying to raise wild animals in his bedroom again 

-- tiktok freaked out because this happened right around the same time as Julian calling out all the creeps on Livvy’s tiktok and no one knew that the twins he talked about were them  

- also does videos about his favorite literary works - notably Sherlock Holmes - and true crime/mystery videos 

-- he always makes sure to carefully put in warnings for anything remotely violent or triggering and has never had a single video taken down for violating the rules even when he did a multiple part series on the Black Dahlia and how her crime was ‘absolutely solved but because the man who did it was rich and white, he got away with it and probably also killed at least two other women, one of whom was killed in the Philippines” 

-  sometimes does twin videos with Livvy because she likes them and it makes her happy. 

Dru: Queen of witch/horror/true crime tiktok. 

- got in trouble with Julian for showing actual runes in videos but everyone just thought they were for the aesthetic so it was fine

- most popular videos is a series where she rates horror movies on how they do on the bechdel test 

- sometimes duets Ty’s or Livvy’s videos just to drag them (with love) 

- Has a very popular series on “women who snapped” and is known for almost rarely during part 2s (and therefore having to speak very very fast) 

- also complains constantly because her videos will get taken down even if they aren’t that violent and includes clips from far worse videos from male creators to point out the double standard

- occasionally dives into tiktok drama just to dabble and then sits on the sidelines and watches it happen

-- 100% built a balloon arch to flex on That Balloon Girl 

- solidly on witchtok and horrortok

Kit: King of petty/messy tiktok who also posts random videos about crime and occasional blogs

- switches from either sharing no information to borderline oversharing childhood trauma

- shares videos on borderline illegal ways to get back at exfriends/expartners/exfamily members/general enemies 

-- putting fish in people’s vents, subscribing them to magazines under various similar names, sending them glitter in the mail, opening their oreos and taking out the middle of all of them, putting baby locks on their cabinets and in the outlets they can’t see (like under the bed so they can’t get plug in their cellphone charger at night), etc. 

- is always eating some sort of snack, no matter what he is doing

- also posts videos about personal safety like what locks will actually keep people out and what ones are easy to break into

--caused several minor freakouts when he casually mentioned his father taught him how to do it

- occasionally posts videos with an adorable toddler and a young couple who he refers to as “mom and dad” even though they look at MOST five years older than him and he often makes parental abandonment jokes/comments

- no idea where he lives because he speaks in an American accent and talks constantly about American/California life but everything around him looks very British 

- absolutely dives head first into every tiktok drama and will go for the throat for anyone who makes ableist/sexist/racist/homophobic comments without hesitation

-- his drags are legendarily savage and he has caused numerous problematic accounts to just straight up disappear

- duets videos from Livvy, Dru, Mark, Emma and Julian ( with lots of savage drags) but no one knows how he knows them because he is absolutely somewhere in the UK and all of them are based in California/US

-- he also notably NEVER duets Ty

--- the mystery is finally solved when Kit does a livestream and reveals that he met all of them because he was briefly living with them before getting placed with his family, the young couple who actually are his mom and dad 

---- he is very vague about the living situation but everyone assumes he was a foster child 

- he once caused a mass freakout on Tiktok (that actually spilled over to twitter and buzzfeed) when he announced he was going back to the US to visit friends and then posted a video with the caption “when you see your boyfriend in person for the first time in MONTHS but he’s too distracted by some wet 🐱” 

-- the video panned out from Kit’s unamused face to Ty gently rubbing a tiny wet kitten  with a soft cotton towel