#how long does it take before human babies can eat solid foods

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 85

Dan is very grumpy. He’s not pouting, despite what the others would claim, he’s brooding. How many times were they going to get de-aged?! And this time they were all clones! He did not sign up for reincarnation, nor for getting turned into a literal baby. 

He doesn’t care if this world has heroes or villains or whatever, he’s going to bite the next person to pick him up. Happily if it’s one of the scientists currently scrambling around as alarms go off. 

Though he’ll happily do the same to the new colorful people too. Honestly he’s just feeling particularly violent, and it’s not like he can murder with his tiny baby hands. At least his so-called siblings look just as ready to attack as he does. 

[kcrossvine-art]

Heya folks! Its been a bit, food insecurity is a bitch, but today on the quest of cooking our way through Lord of the Rings we're gonna be making a dish exclusively mentioned in the 2007 MMO-

We will be making a Rohan Pasty! 

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into a Rohans Pasty?” YOU MIGHT ASKBasics. Meat n potatoes of your meat-in-dough food. .

All-purpose flour

Salt

Baking powder

Vegetable oil

Olive oil

Ground beef

Garlic salt

Ground cumin

Chili powder

Dried oregano

Waxy potato

Garlic

White onion

Egg

"A delicious local pastry filled with beef and potatoes."- LOTRO Rohan is a kingdom of humans in middle-earth, and the description point towards a cornish pasty (yes, pasty not pastry). Oddly enough the image is more of an empanada but you win some you lose some. This heritage informs much of the shape and ingredients of this dish, however we're opting to cook most of the ingredients before adding them in, contrary to going in raw as a cornish pasty calls for. I chose to deviate here because cooking beforehand allows more seasoning to be crammed in. The english hate seasoning.

AND, “what does a Rohans Pasty taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Tastes like the best pot pie youve had, less soggy

Excellent for an after-rugby/martial arts/soccer dinner

The potatoes are foundational

Despite needing the least work

Pasta salad (cucumber, olives, pepperocini) would pair well as a side

And would also pair well with beer

This meal bears the gold star sticker of not having any major issues! Hooray! Maybe its increased comfortability in the kitchen, or maybe its because of how very simple this one is. Chopped roasted bell pepper might be good in the filling in the future.

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Get the dough ready ahead of time- its mentioned in the recipe below but i also wanted to say a foreword here that it needs to sit in the fridge for a few hours. Just so ya dont get everything out and realise itd take too long for dinner tonight. Speaking of dough, i feel like it could have more flavor added to it. Its bland and although its not part of the tradition of the meal its based off of, cornish meat pasty, it might be nice to add some spices like cumin or black pepper to the flour. 

The meal reheats perfect- wrap in papertowl and put it in the microwave for 30 seconds per pasty.

When picking your potatoes make sure theyre "new" potatoes (baby ones) or whichever potato with the least amount of starch you can get. Its important for it to cook inside the pasty that it not have too much lest it get Mushy Bad.

Another thing about its real-life inspo; Cornish pastys were workers food, stuff you could carry into the mines, stuff thatd reheat well. You could hold the crust with your dirty hands and throw it away once you ate the rest. I always feel partial to these foods. Although I'd still eat the dirty crust.

This recipe earns a solid 8/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Dough Ingredients:

370g all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

74g vegetable oil

240g warm water

Filling Ingredients:

2 tablespoons(ish) olive oil

1 pound ground beef

2 tablespoons tomato paste

Garlic salt to taste

Ground cumin to taste

Chili powder to taste

Dried oregano to taste

5 cloves garlic, minced

1 white onion, diced

Method:

Combine flour, salt and baking powder.

Add oil and water into mixer with dough hook running at medium speed. Mix for 1 minute, stopping several times to scrape the sides of the bowl.

When mixture comes together and begins to form a ball, decrease mixing speed to low. Continue to mix just until dough is smooth.

Take the dough ball, safely wrap it, and transfer to fridge. Let sit for at minimum 2 hours.

For the meat, get a large skillet, and add some olive oil over medium heat. Add the ground beef and garlic salt, cook until the beef is cooked completely.

Drain the beef and set aside.

In the same pan, add the garlic, onions, cumin, chili powder, oregano, and salt.

Cook until the onions are softened but not brown, 10 to 15 minutes. Re-add the beef and cook over low heat for about 5 more minutes.

Back to the dough, transfer dough from fridge to well-floured work surface. Roll into log and divide into 10 equal portions. 

Preheat oven to 350f.

Form each piece into a ball and flatten each with a rolling pin.

Add a layer of diced potatos down the middle of the pastys. Add the meat filling to each. Fold the sides of the dough up to seal on top in the middle.

Gently turn the pasty on its side and crimp the edge, alternating a braid pattern. Use knife to cut an "X" shaped slit in the top. Repeat for each pasty.

Place the pastys on a greased baking sheet. Lightly coat each pasty with an eggwash using a basting brush.

Cook for about 50 minutes, or until golden brown, and let cool!

[thisisallthehattersfault]

More of my extremely specific half-undead Wei Clan nonsense

It's kind of amazing how quickly you can get used to being woken up every thirty minutes to the sound of shrill screaming.

Not that it ever stops being awful, of course. Just that you eventually stop hoping it won't happen, and resign yourself to this being your future for the next year or so.

Xiao Xie is still mostly asleep, already clumsily moving to de-tangle herself from the warm circle of her husband's arms. She's stopped by Changze giving her a gentle squeeze, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I goddit, m'love," he slurs. "You go back t' sleep."

The he is gone, and taking the warm circle of his arms with him. He pads across the room to lift their crying son from his cradle. A candle flickers to life, not nearly bright enough to disturb her rest should she decide to sleep on. Xiao Xie rolls over to watch her husband tend their baby.

Wei Changze tucks a-Ying into the crook of one arm and raises the other hand to his mouth. With practiced ease, he bites deep into the tip of his pinky finger, tearing at his own flesh, and offers the bleeding little stump for their hungry son to nurse on. She never gets tired of watching it; the way Changze's whole body curls around a-Ying, the adoring look on his face when he's the one feeding their baby. He looks adoring when she's the one nursing him too, of course, and he loves to come up to her and kiss her hair and her hands and the back of a-Ying's little head, but she thinks there's something special when it's Changze feeding a-Ying from his own body. Something that satisfies him.

"Does it matter?" She asks as the thought occurs to her. "How much of each he gets?"

Changze makes a thinking sound. Says "It won't hurt him or anything if he gets one more than the other, but blood is harder to wean from. Apparently a-Niang had a hard time birthing me, and she was sick for a long while after. She didn't have much milk to give, so Baba fed me almost entirely by himself, and I didn't wean completely until I was seven. Even when I started on solid food, I only wanted meat, and preferably raw."

"That explains why you're still such a big baby about eating your vegetables."

He pretends not to hear her, taking his finger back from a-Ying and draping a cloth over his shoulder to burp him against. Xiao Xie shifts the blankets around until she's completely hogged all of them, tucked around her on all sides like she's the filling of a dumpling. She closes her eyes. A moment later another thought occurs to her, and she pops her head back up. "Do you still need it?"

"You were supposed to go back to sleep, my love," Changze says. Then "You've seen me eat human flesh before."

"Yes, but only once, and it was two years ago! I didn't know if you only did that because you wanted to."

Changze makes more thinking sounds. And then he makes more thinking sounds, until Xiao Xie whines at him not to tease her and he relents. "I don't need it often, and it probably wouldn't kill me to quit entirely, but it wouldn't be pleasant. It would be like... hunger, but with your whole body, not just your stomach. There's a constant ache. It can make us stressed and anxious, twitchy. A-Ying, baobei, can you burp for me, please? You drank so much, your little belly is going to hurt if you don't."

"Will he need it?"

"Hm?"

She props herself up on her elbows. "If only I feed him, and we never give him any meat, will he be able to live like that? Safely, comfortably?"

In the dim candlelight, Changze lifts his head to look at her. It takes him a moment to reply. "Do you want him to?"

"I will not deny my son food," she says firmly. "If he needs it, then he will have it. I knew what you were before I married you."

"Ah, my love. I know." Her husband smiles at her, and she smiles back, and their baby finally lets out a wet little burp. With a full belly, he settles back down to sleep without fuss, and Xiao Xie settles back into the warm circle of her husband's arms, and gets some more sleep for herself.

[lunarscaled]

so i stop writing paragraphs of text in Turbo's DMs I'm gonna unload info here re: Lyric + children / child birth cw for pregnancy, gender dysphoria, body dysmorphia, discussions of post-partum, etc

Lyric is actually very good with kids despite what they think. Lyric's assumption that they are not a good influence around children and a poor caretaker is directly from their own struggle and lack of energy to care for themselves; their biggest concern is they wouldn't be able to maintain a standard of care that a child deserves, especially since their life has been particularly rocky. That doesn't mean they're mean to children or push them away or anything---Lyric tries to be very levelheaded around kids and give them room to make mistakes and learn. They weren't normally offered that as a child, so they try to give it now. They're very compassionate especially for children clearly struggling; they are empathetic to ones who have lost family or parents and try to support them. Garret, Abel, and the Circus were a large makeshift family of people who often had estranged or lost family members, and they put value in forming family out of the people who cared for them and not people related by blood, so that ideal is also instilled in Lyric.

when it comes to HAVING children, I've discussed before how 1) egg laying Dragons in Lyric's lore have low fertility rates as a species whole, which is why they started crossbreeding in the first place 2) Lyric is obviously young and wouldn't ever seriously consider children until they're older.

As far as Lyric getting pregnant is concerned, it is hard for them, statistically. They personally aren't bothered by that, but it's possible a partner may be; it also doesn't mean they're 100% guaranteed to NOT get pregnant, so using protection is still very important. If / When Lyric gets pregnant, as long as it is any period outside of their Nesting ( a two week period in late November / December when their species would be preparing courting couples and laying eggs ), it's basically a standard human pregnancy.

Lyric's symptoms are very heavy, though, especially symptoms like nausea and fatigue. They're much more depressed and emotional, which is compounded by their deep-set unease and disgust with the physical changes of their body that naturally happen when someone is pregnant. They hate being unable to do anything or lift anything; they feel worse the less they can do. They hate people wanting to touch their belly or talking about pregnancy glows or discussing the birth or how their tastebuds are all fucked up and some things smell awful and taste awful now. They don't like the baby kicking. when Lyric does have the baby, they have severe postpartum depression. Realistically, Lyric would be unable to care for their child for as long as the first year. They would rely HEAVILY on the Guild and its members ( who would willingly do so. Garrett and Abel have helped with plenty of kids before ) as well as their partner, because otherwise they couldn't keep it. Lyric is likely to self-harm, either by injuring themselves or by doing things like refusing to eat or care for their body. They cry a lot. They isolate a lot. They feel deeply dysphoric in their own body in a way they didn't before, and it takes a long time before they can calm down and approach even their own child safely.

If Lyric becomes pregnant while Nesting, rather than a standard human pregnancy, after about a month and a half they'll lay an egg! It will be roughly the same size as a child, and it's not any less painful or hard to do, but the majority of the child's growth is in the egg and outside of their body. Lyric will spend roughly until mid Spring incubating and nesting with the egg ( possibly two eggs! ), and because the baby will hatch in a state able to consume solid food, Lyric's body does not go through standard human pregnancy changes. That makes the whole ordeal infinitely easier on them, because they do not experience the gender dysphoria and body dysmorphia human pregnancy causes them; they're still able to work and do things normally when they are taking breaks from their nest, they do not rely on a partner after the hatchling is born (as Lyric's species is only together for the incubation period.) An eggnant Lyric will require a number of dietary restrictions to support their body, like a lot of calcium from cuttle bone, and meats and organs that support the necessary chemicals to properly grow the egg and the fetus. They'll need fresh supplies of snow and ice to maintain the temperature of their nest and routinely add and remove old and fresh snow from it. They spend a lot of time guarding their space as they would from predators who eat eggs or other dragons. Their body may express more draconic features in this period to make caring and laying their egg easier, but likely will return to normal after a year.

Having a kid is still insanely scary for them, and Lyric doubts their general ability to be a good parent, but re: methods of conception it is infinitely easier for them to have an egg than have a baby. they're still not aiming to be a milf though---Lyric would likely only ever have 2 children maximum in their whole life. They find child care to be stressful and only consider it at the interest of a partner. ( do not listen to the Nesting behavior, it is instinct and not the truth. no matter how cute and breedable they are, they will beat your ass later. )

[obeymeluv]

“I Got All A’s! Can I Have Some Dick?” (Bros + Undateables)

Just something stupid and funny I thought about. You had a very tough semester in the Devildom and you got good grades! You want to celebrate and go to your favorite demon to ask for a special reward.

Obvious NSFW warning. No minors allowed!

No Luke. Luke is baby.

I have a personal headcanon that Simeon likes to be totally cozy when he writes. We’re talking big fluffy sweaters or a blanket cozy. I like to think he wears glasses when he writes, too.

Lucifer

He’s part of a special committee who’s notified about your grades/progress so he actually knows before you do

Proud boyfriend is proud

Purrs when he opens up the wax-pressed envelope and reviews your marks

Secretly plans a cute, fancy dinner date at Ristorante Six

Is thinking of being suave and breaking the news to you when you bounce into his study (he may or may not have poured a couple of glasses of your favorite age-appropriate beverage)

He’s got something witty prepped and is ready to toast you and maybe steal a few kisses but you come out of left field like a bullet with a simple “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Lucifer.exe is broken

That’s what you want as a reward? No dinner, no date?

Literally doesn’t know what to say for a few seconds. Totally freezes. Starts to stutter.

His brain kicks back in when you start playing with the folds of his collar and petting his chest and staring at him with those wanting eyes

Sets his glass down, fixes the cuff of his gloves, and hoists you up to plant you on the nearest surface. “I will make it worth every point, and you will say all the letters.” he purrs.

Mammon

He’s just happy he passed.

Mammon actually does pretty well, he’s just a very...chaotically successful type. A lot of last minute turn-ins and such. Not top marks, but no dunce either.

Now that the semester’s over he’s checking his schedule to see when the next shoot is or if he has time to squeeze in a party. Maybe a trip somewhere. Something fun!

He’s feeling lucky! Lucky enough to win some money and make Goldie happy!

If he’s going anywhere, he needs a good luck charm though! He goes to hunt you down and his stomach just warms because you’re smiling and clearly in a good mood

It makes him purr in that cute, curious little way. Basically using the demon’s language to ask you why you’re in such a good mood (but you don’t know that. It’s basically a cute chirp).

You both shout your good news at the same time.

His invite to go tear it up was a bit long so it takes a minute for his brain to process what you said. You want...his dick?

Boy wants to blush SO BAD. HE’S SO RED!

Well now his thing seems stupid, doesn’t it? He wants to do your thing! Your thing sounds GREAT!

“OF COURSE you want to be with the GREAT Mammon!” he’s got his hands on his hips and his chest is puffed out big in that happy, silly way he has about him.

No, really, you do your thing. It’s a great thing.

It’s a good way to unwind from exams, right? He likes it!

Levi

If Levi didn’t get good grades, Lucifer would kill him.

Probably force him to go to school physically ALL THE TIME!

HIS SUBSCRIPTIONS WOULD BE AT RISK,OKAY?

He’s a solid B student (at least). No desire to be all A’s. Too much time away from other passions.

Because he’s well-behaved and leas likely to get on Lucifer’s nerves, he gets a little bit of bonus money for good grades.

Levi’s neck-deep in his charts and comparisons and muttering to himself about where to invest that money when you pop into his room

“I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?!”

You get The Noise

How indecent! How naughty of you to ask! But yes, yes you can. Absolutely. 100%!

He’s really shy about it because it’s sudden and you asked him instead of him having a cool moment or anything, but it ends up being a giggle-filled romp that ends with a cuddle in his bathtub bed and you wrapped up in his tail

He totally suggests a round two with a sexy VR game or just making bets with ‘winner take all’

Satan

He’s a grade juggernaut with lots of self-discipline so Satan expects to get out what he gets in

The type to be smug because he knows he did well. He owes it to himself and he’s glad.

Likes to treat himself to an outing, be it a simple walk or a visit to a cafe or even a new book

Satan’s 100% ready to settle down with some books by the fireplace. At the end of the semester he typically makes a one or two-portion charcuterie board and picks at it while he reads

Thumb keeping his place, Satan’s in the middle of stacking a fancy little cracker with meat and cheese when you let yourself in

His eyes flick to you and he smiles, eating his little cracker

You pick at his tray with him (he’ll let you, of course). “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Chokes on cracker. It’s not a good time

Almost drowns himself/further chokes trying to wash it down with drink

Can’t help but laugh at your...bold request

When he sees he’s kind of sputtered all over himself, he slips out of his clothes and makes a few witty jokes as your ‘naked butler’

Naked butler happily provides his services

Later he makes you picked crushed cracker off the floor with him

Asmo

The second Asmo knew he passed everything (like he always does. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean he’s stupid!), he booked himself a full day pampering experience

His inner circle of beauty specialist know his routine so they save his spots for him

Asmo sweet-talked them into including his favorite human and he’s DYING to tell you and DYING to make his brothers jealous

You skip into his room, so bright and lovely, and hold his hands in the cute excited way he likes. Makes his heart skip a beat every time like it’s young love.

“I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Doesn’t expect it and has probably never been asked ‘Can I have some dick?’ in the thousands of years he’s been alive

Boy gives an airy laugh because he’s surprised and flattered. Of COURSE you want him (because who wouldn’t?) but he always gets a bit shy when it’s YOU asking

“Sounds amazing,” he’s already peppering you with kisses, “and I’m happy to provide but can we do it after our special spa day?”

You guys have a sweet, lazy round the day of the booking to ‘loosen up’ and ‘fully appreciate the services’ and he DEFINITELY worships you when all is said and done because ‘the epitome of beauty deserve the epitome of devotion’

Beel

Boy works hard and celebrates even harder. Usually with food

Because he’s always hungry and looking forward to eating, Beel likes to do his work ahead of time. The sooner he does it, the more time he has to eat!

He has to keep up good grades to stay on the sports teams, anyways

Solid B student, sometimes A’s. C’s and below aren’t a thing. He refuses.

Because he is also best boy and generally acts as Lucifer’s pseudo-enforcer, he also gets some bonus money.

The coach of his local sports team also pitches in because Beel is best boy and a TANK. He could literally carry the whole team

Beel’s all set to hit the town with his food money when find him and wrap your arms around him

He’s all excited and ready to tell you about the food money when you make his face catch fire. “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Brain also stops. BEEL IS SO EMBARRASSED!

You’d rather have him than food? That’s pretty impressive! He’s honored!

But...what if you could have both? He’s totally down for both!

You celebrate your success by staying in (bed) and spoiling yourselves with food in-between rounds

Belphie

Belphie is a ‘C’s get degrees’ kind of guy but C’s are his minimum. Tries for B’s and usually gets mid-to-low B’s.

With exams over he’s 100% down to sleep the day away and there’s NO REASON for ANYONE TO BUG HIM ABOUT IT!

Totally prepared to live in his finest pyjamas until school starts again. Might even treat himself to a new pillow or blanket!

If he hadn’t learned your scent by now, you wouldn’t have a face when you breach his blanket cocoon

Belphie just snorts and smiles at your little face and messy hair (the blankets give it static and mess it up)

You kiss his nose and wait to make sure he’s really awake before sharing the good news. “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Laughs himself to the point of almost choking on one of his blankets

Throws himself out of the cocoon to breathe and wipe his tears away

But yes, yes you can. After he calms down, he pulls you onto his lap to straddle him. 

It’s fun and lazy but a genuine celebration of the end of the semester

Diavolo

He’s the other part of the committee that saw your grades, so he knows

It’s a bit off his plate so he won’t have as many duties to attend to

Diavolo wasn’t sure when you’d come over, but Barbatos assured him you’d be over that day. He did his best to speed through his meetings and arrange his schedule to have a rest period

He asked Barbatos to prepare a small, modest lunch of finger foods and some complimentary tea

You may have thought Diavolo was making himself a plate when you walked in, but it was actually a plate for you

The prince of the Devildom almost dropped that plate when you said, “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Prince of Hell is super blushy and flustered and awkward and almost knocks his teacup off the table. Is suddenly scrambling to make sure he doesn’t know anything else off the table

Tries to compose himself but can’t help the boyish smile and laugh that escapes him

You’re just such a lovely, fascinating person! He’s so happy to have you. His life seems eternal but you make it so fresh and new! His heart just bursts with love and delight.

Is no longer worried about the food or pushing in your chair for you. Offers his lap instead. “I have an opening for that,” he assures, pulling you onto his lap.

Diavolo likes to think he’s thoughtful about taking you on the floor because Barbatos doesn’t have much to clean up.

If your stomach grumbles after you’re settled and sleepy, he pulls himself off your body long enough to grab a plate from the table and put it beside your head. 

Demons have more stamina and it would be un-princely of him not to spoil you, so he feeds you until you’re too sleepy to eat.

Barbatos

It’s exhausting to be able to see multiple timelines and see into the future.

He never knows how far into the future he’s seeing, or if it’s in the timeline he’s currently in

All he knows is he heard you ask him for dick and almost dumped the wrong thing in the soup, okay? 

Had to excuse himself and ask someone on the cooking team to take over for him while he “dealt with another matter” (laughed it out where no one could hear him)

I’m not sure if Barbatos is considered a student at RAD, but Diavolo must be too. We’ll say he is. Boy is a master of self-discipline and scheduling so he’s fine. Flawless, as a butler should be. It carries over into all things.

It’s a delicate balance sometimes, but he’s type A and used to being busy so it works itself out. He does well.

Barbatos simply looks forward to having less to do. Focusing on Diavolo can be a job all its own.

He was planning on making a few sweets for Luke and the others. Diavolo suggested a “pot luck” to celebrate. It’s something the humans came up with and he seems to like it. It turns into sweets for the pot luck

Probably makes you a special mini-dessert or a special portion of the dessert

If he’s in control of plate presentation, you might get a special sauce heart of chocolate heart

When Diavolo is generous enough to include him in the celebration (because he deserves it and you’re there, so it’d be cruel not to), Barbatos makes small talk and woos you subtly

You ask him to “show you where to take the dishes” to get him alone. He can feel it in his little demon bones. You’re about to do it.

You do it.

You’re basically vibrating with excitement because you probably planned this and think you’re very clever. Human enthusiasm is so darling and it makes his heart pitter-patter to think you were simply bursting to ask HIM this.

“But of course,” he helps you stack the plates and guides your hand to the silverware sorter because you’re looking at him instead of what you’re doing. You almost put a fork in the spoon section. “Covered in chocolate? Plain?”

He’s trying to one-up you. He loves seeing his human change colors and not know what to do.

You whisper “I prefer wet,” back in his ear and Barbatos wonders how he didn’t see THAT in any of his visions

You: 1, Barbatos: 0. Helpless. Defenseless. Horny.

“That will be ready shortly,” he’s already pulling you away, down the hall, to meet your request.

Solomon

It wouldn’t serve him to do poorly in the Devildom. Basically wasted opportunity

He’s not a straight A student but he does well. Really pulls out the stops on major projects and things that are worth more points than others

Isn’t perfect at everything but makes up for it. Solid B’s, always really close to A’s. At least a couple low A’s.

Solomon doesn’t quite know how he wants to celebrate. He knows Asmo’s already pestering him to go shopping or clubbing

He’s considering it. He’d like to drink, honestly

You show up, light of his life, his favorite person, and he feels himself warm with joy

He revels in being the only other human in the Devildom. It makes your relationship that much more special, he thinks. It’s kind of stupid, but it’s something to coyly hold over the others whenever he sees fit. All in play, of course (not).

“I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Pretends to think and looks anywhere but your face. If he looks at your face he’ll blush himself stupid and won’t be able to say anything smart.

He can’t lie. He’s already hard. He appreciates humor and wit and you’re all of it.

Very bold of you to come onto him like that, and he’s 100% for it.

“Can you take it?” Solomon wishes he said something smoother, that he wasn’t already slipping between your legs and grinding against you like the weak man he was. He doesn’t regret it though because the friction is good. Something you both need.

He whispers against your skin and gives you light, sloppy kisses with a hint of teeth.

He gives, and he’s generous. He wants to reward your efforts.

Simeon

Simeon makes it a point of personal pride to do well in the Devildom

That’s the utmost symbol of peace and understanding, isn’t it? To embrace their culture and livelihood and do well? To do well means he’s understanding them and walking in their shoes. It’s only right

He works hard and does well. Doesn’t stress himself out with A’s since he’s keeping up his grades because it’s required. He’d rather reconnect with the brothers and try to help Luke enjoy the Devildom.

He’s happy to spend his free time taking Luke to places in the Devildom, trying to visit the House of Lamentation, and maybe working on some things for TSL since editors are clamoring for more

You stop by because he’s been fairly quiet, wrapped up in his favorite writing sweater with his little editing glasses on

Simeon smiles and greets you with his little ‘Hi, angel’ as he kisses your hand. 

Boy almost breaks his favorite pen when you ask him for...for dick?

He’s not absolutely clueless but this boy has been in ‘holy angel’ mode for centuries. He struggles with texting and stickers and you expect him to know slang?!

So confused he takes his glasses off. Boy can’t comprehend

“You’re asking me to procure one? Like...the ones humans use from those stores? You want mine? Well, I certainly hope so because we’re--oh...”

He could write books of poetry about you, and though he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s had those thoughts

“Well,” he’s standing up from his chair and guides you so gently to his bed it’s like you’re floating on a cloud. He lays you down just as gently, fabrics whispering as he slips out of his sweater and it pools at his feet. “I wouldn’t be a very good angel if I ignored the wishes of my dear human, would I?”

Doesn’t really see the point of sex as a reward, but will never turn down a moment to show how cherished you are. 

Hope you liked it :)

[theramseyloft]

Beginner’s housing for a pet pigeon

We can go into the complexities involved in housing multiple pigeons at a later time.

Right now, we’re going to focus primarily on setting up for a single bird who is intended to be a companion animal.

The biggest problem you are going to run into is that the housing commercially available for birds is designed either to display a finch or a parrot.

Finch cages make excellent hospital cages for pigeons, but that is their only useful application.

A Hospital cage needs to be small to discourage the bird from moving around too much and doing anything other than eating and drinking, so that their recovery, be that from disease or injury, can progress with as few delays as possible.

A healthy bird cannot tolerate this degree of confinement for long.

Parrot cages are huge and expensive, but too narrow for a pigeon to be physically able to use.

The bare minimum requirements for any cage a pigeon will be housed in for more than an hour a day is that it be two inches wider than the full wingspan of the bird at the narrowest point, to allow their wings at least an inch of clearance on either side.

They are cliff nesters that don’t roost on branches. Round perches hurt their feet, so they need either flat platforms or square perches.

Pigeons cannot climb the way parrots can. They can only walk or fly, and they cannot comfortably fly if their wings will clip into things like hanging toys or ramps.

So they tend to prefer their enclosure be as uncluttered as possible.

Socialization is best done outside the enclosure, so that’s where most of the toys should be.

Dog kennels set up like this one above are kinder to both the pigeons and the wallets of their care taker than pretty much any indoor bird cage available.

A Labrador sized (usually marketed as a “Large”) kennel will fit bird about homer sized and smaller.

Larger breeds or breeds with longer flight and tail feathers will need a larger size as a base line.

These are very simple to modify.

The nest box is a bunny/ferret corner litter box, about $8-10 at most pet shops. Easy to clean and comfortable.

The perch is a garden stake cut to length, about $5 from the garden center at Walmart or a hardware store like Lowes or home Depot.

Honestly, if I had this to do over, the birds would get a wider, shallower food dish.

Pigeons are ground foragers. It’s easier for them to eat comfortably from a shallow dish than a deep one.

The water dish can be as deep as the pigeon can reach the bottom of.

This is the upper level of a ferret nation Double modified for my first breeding pair of Lucerne waaaay back before my loft was built, when I had a grand total of four breeding pair of pigeons and 16 pairs of Ringneck doves.

This one also has a garden steak cut to fit as a perch.

Their nest box is a large dog bowl full of timothy hay.

Notice that this enclosure has a single hanging bell toy exactly at standing head height for the birds, well out of the way of their wings.

This probably looks unbearably spartan, especially if you come form a parrot back ground.

Remember that pigeons cannot climb and will not fly in a space where their wings may bump into clutter.

The cage for an indoor pet pigeon should serve the same function as the kennel does for an indoor dog:

That is NOT where the dog lives!

At most, it’s where they sleep at night, and where a puppy stays when they can’t be supervised until they’ve learned the house rules.

Pigeons are absolutely smart enough to learn house rules just like a dog or cat.

And pet pigeons are happiest when they have the freedom of motion to exercise, play, and interact with their human flock mates at will.

While they can free fly an entire house, a single bedroom is enough space for most breeds to move around happily.

Pigeon proofing is pretty simple.

They aren’t capable of chewing like parrots, so no need to worry about your electrical chords being damaged and your bird giving them self a nasty shock.

They can’t damage wood or drywall or fabric by chewing.

Pigeons don’t eat plants, but do like the feel of ripping them and will use strips of leaves as nest bedding, so house plants may need to be protected by glass covers.

Things displayed on shelves in the room or rooms the pigeon will have access to need to be heavy enough or well enough wedged in that the bird can’t pull them down if they land awkwardly on them or push them off if they bump into or try to squeeze past them.

Papers need to be stored where they won’t be scattered by the wind that their powerful wings kick up in flight.

Any crevices too high or awkward for you to easily clean need to be blocked some how.

Poop is simple.

The poop of a well fed, healthy pigeon with a good diet should be round and solid enough that it can be easily picked up with a square of toilet paper or a tissue when wet or vacuumed up when dry.

Once you know your bird’s favorite perches, you can make clean up even easier on yourself by laying down puppy pads under them that you can just change out as often as needed.

Once a pigeon has mastered the house rules, you can do away with the cage entirely.

This is the feeding station we set up for Ankhou and Bird-bird.

On the little feed tray for cats were the feeder and waterer with oystershell offered free choice from a dish between them.

Pigeons are one of the very few animals that recognize their reflection in the mirror as a a reflected view of themselves, instead of another bird.

Most like to practice dancing, strutting, their sweeping charge, and bow-cooing in front of mirrors, so those are excellent enrichment for them.

Being cliff nesters, bricks are simply the most comfortable thing for a pigeon to stand on.

Strutting back and forth on the rough surface in front of a mirror will help them keep their claws blunted.

The bricks are holding down a crinkle sack for cats, laid out flat. 

Pigeons love noise stims. Particularly crinkly, jingly, or chiming.

The noise it made made dancing in front of the mirror extra fun on the crinkle mat.

The dead keyboard serves a similar function.

This beans box from Walmart full of straw served as Bird-Bird’s nest box.

She laid eggs fairly regularly, and slept in there most of the time.

Ankhou was a man of simple tastes. 

This baby doll blanket on the nightstand at my bedside was where he slept at night.

Social bird was social and wanted to be as close as possible to us at all times and involved somehow in everything we did.

Pigeons like to take baths, and our free flying pet liked to be offered the opportunity to take one when we showered, but did not like to actually be in the shower with us.

So we got him a little pyrex casserole dish about as long as he was that stayed on the side of the bathtub and made a habit of filling it for him before we got into the shower.

Anhkou didn’t care much for forage pans or puzzle toys, but many pigeons do and they are very simple to make.

A pan or tray with a few fists full of straw, paper strips, sand, or a mix of all three with a high value treat like Safflower seeds sprinkled in to find mimics the way rock doves would forage for seed in the wild.

Puzzle feeders for pigeons are as simple to make as crumpling a sheet of paper with a few high value seeds inside.

Pigeons love crinkly sounds and tugging on the crumpled paper or blowing it around by flapping at it will reward them with a few spilled seeds and a fun noise.

The little wicker balls for kitties with a jingle bell inside complete the holy trinity of stick-texture, shiny, and jingly, and many pigeons love to kick, peck, and toss them.

They like to pick up and shake and toss bread ties with a small jingle bell fastened to the end.

Bird-Bird’s favorite toy was the bell intended to go on a kittens collar. 

She liked to strut around with it holding it by the loop by which it was supposed to fasten and very softly jingling it.

Q-tips with the cotton tips removed and toothpicks with blunted or clipped ends are basically pigeon Legos.

Miniature wind chimes like this little angel and her harp are fun auditory stims too.

If you can swing it (ha!), pigeons enjoy swings, as long as the perch is flat.

Experiment with your birds and see what kind of enrichment they enjoy. ^v^

[adobe-outdesign]

Pokemon Worldbuilding Headcanons

Exactly what it says in the title. Some are based on the game, some on the anime, and some directly contradict both because the Pokemon lore is made up and your feelings don’t matter.

Biology

Pokemon heal faster when unconscious or asleep--thus, they faint easily from pain or exhaustion in order to recuperate.

During evolution, a Pokemon converts itself into energy and reforms itself. Evolution is optional, and a Pokemon can choose if and when it evolves. Evolution is triggered by both an environmental circumstance (ex: winning a battle), and by the Pokemon storing up energy over time until it has enough to transform.

Stress evolutions are when a Pokemon evolves prematurally in order to win a battle or when they’re in a life-or-death situation. This can result in the evolution being smaller than normal and possibly weaker as well.

“Trade evolutions” are a loose grouping of Pokemon that typically evolve when they start working with a new trainer. The exact reasons for the evolution varies by individual, and therefore can have multiple causes.

Ex: a Pokemon may evolve after it learns something from someone else. While the easiest way to achieve this is through trade, they may also evolve by training under a wiser, older Pokemon.

Trade evolutions are somewhat rare in the wild, but not unheard of.

Pokemon that evolve via stones cannot store enough energy to evolve naturally. The stones contain extra energy that they can tap into in order to aid in evolution.

Everstones work similar to sponges; they absorb the extra energy a Pokemon would normally store up to evolve, thus preventing them from doing so. They’re mostly used for medical purposes (as a Pokemon evolving when badly injured could worsen its injuries) and to help prevent stress evolutions in Pokemon that don’t want to evolve.

Pokemon types are based on the type of energy they utilize, rather than moves or appearance. Ex: Charizard is not dragon-type despite looking like a dragon because it doesn’t use dragon-type energy. New energies are discovered all the time and Pokemon are reclassified as needed.

Pokemon typing also changes as they (Darwinian) evolve. A Pokemon that’s normal/grass used to be normal-type, has started to gain grass-typing, and will eventually be only grass-type.

Humans are descended from Pokemon. They used to be psychic-type before becoming normal-type and then losing their typing all together. At this point they no longer are energy-based nor do they lay eggs, so they’re considered a separate-but-related family.

This is why some people still show psychic powers; those abilities never completely went away in some bloodlines.

Pokemon have been domesticated for so long that there’s actually no such thing as a “wild” Pokemon anymore (with the exception of legendaries). Wild Pokemon are technically feral, and any given Pokemon will quickly adapt to living with humans if caught.

Pokemon used to look different hundreds of years ago, and have slowly undergone Darwinian evolution over time as they were domesticated.

“Most trainers will legendaries shortly after their journey starts” statistic false. Most trainers will see no legendaries in their lifetimes. Ash Ketchum, who’s seen every single legendary in existence, is an outlier and should not be counted

However, areas where legendaries are known to live are oftentimes marked as no-catch conservation areas. People will oftentime travel to these parks to admire “common” legendaries (such as the bird trio) in their natural habitats.

Battles

Not knocking out a Pokemon you’re trying to capture is more of a honored rule than a law. The reason it’s done is to give the Pokemon ample time to flee--otherwise, someone may one-shot a Pokemon that doesn’t want a trainer, resulting in the Pokemon being unfairly knocked out and the trainer wasting their time.

If you give the Pokemon time to flee and it chooses to stay and fight, it’s potentially interested in accepting you as a trainer and you just have to prove yourself. If it flees, you should leave it alone.

Pokemon used for battles are specifically trained to not cause permanent harm or injury to their opponents (ex: that fire blast isn’t as hot as it could be, so it’ll only cause minor burns instead of third-degree ones). While the attacks used might look violent and cause some pain, serious injuries are very rare.

Wild Pokemon are also pretty good at restraining themselves if they’re just battling for fun or to test a trainer. They will not, however, restrain themselves if they feel threatened or are hunting. Trainers are advised to use caution when fighting wild Pokemon and return their Pokemon to their balls if necessary.

Psychic-types (Mr. Mime especially) are used to create protective barriers around arenas/trainers to protect people from flying debris and stray attacks.

Refs always have a few Pokemon on hand that know moves like stun spore or sleep powder in order to stop any fights that get out of hand.

Pokeballs

While some trainers different Pokemon by using different types of Pokeballs, decorating them is also a popular way to do it. Some people draw symbols or initials on the buttons, some add stickers, some paint them, ect.

Stores also sell semi-transparent hard shells that snap over the balls. These come in different colors and designs, so you can have a Pokeball that has a galaxy design on top instead of plain red if you want.

Most trainers keep about 40 some Pokemon or less, which they rotate between their party, the PC, and daycares/Pokemon sitters to keep them enriched and active. Some people keep more, but they generally spend all of their time caring for them and therefore aren’t trainers.

The general rule of thumb is to not leave a Pokemon in the PC for more than two weeks. If you fail to take them out after a month, they will be automatically removed and released back into the wild.

Pokeballs create little miniature simulations of nature, making them feel bigger on the inside. Different types of pokeballs have different or more advanced simulations, which may increase how much a Pokemon likes being in it.

Pokeballs create an invisible “tag” for the Pokemon by altering their energy when they’re first caught. These tags affect nothing, but Pokeballs are programmed to automatically check for one before they’ll activate.

Many poachers and other illegal groups produce their own illegal Pokeballs that do not check for tags before capture.

If a Pokeball breaks, it automatically releases the Pokemon inside and removes their tag.

Tags fade after about a month to allow for other trainers to capture a Pokemon after it’s been permanently released. The tag is automatically refreshed every time a Pokemon is brought back into its ball.

The standard Pokeball pattern is based off of the patterns of the Foongus line. Pokemon are very attracted to their markings, so the balls are painted the same to make the Pokemon like them more.

Eggs

Rather than combining genetics, Pokemon reproduce by combining their energy together (this looks a bit like two Pokemon evolving at the same time). Because of this, they lack reproductive organs and chromosomes.

Gender is a loosely defined concept for them. Pokemon can change their sex upon evolution if they want to, and some will change their sex over time (ex: legendaries are usually genderless, but will gain a sex to breed and then lose it again afterward).

If a Pokemon doesn’t display sexual dimorphism, the only way to determine their sex is to have a Pokemon Center do a blood test.

Eggs aren’t laid, but created. The pregnant Pokemon fosters energy in their body. When ready they separate the extra energy from themselves (once again, looks a bit like evolution), which forms into the egg. This causes them no pain, and means they have short gestation periods.

This also means Pokemon never look pregnant. The only way to tell is by getting them tested or paying attention to changes in behavior. Many trainers end up with eggs out of nowhere because they had no idea one of their Pokemon was pregnant to begin with.

In the wild, some species of Pokemon will lay hundreds of eggs (such as fish and bug Pokemon) to ensure their survival. In captivity, Pokemon rarely create more than 1 or 2 eggs at a time, likely because they understand their young are safe with their trainers.

Pokemon develop more quickly in their eggs than IRL animals. They can technically hatch shortly after the egg is made, but they usually spend extra time inside maturing. By the time the egg hatches, the baby already has fur/feathers/whatever, and can walk and eat solid food. This helps ensure their survival against predators.

Young Pokemon are differentiated by being “mature” or “immature”; an immature Pokemon will still gradually grow and change appearance, while a mature one is fully grown until it evolves. A Pokemon cannot evolve until it’s considered mature (excluding mega evolution for single-stagers).

To use Vulpix as a canon example: a newly hatched immature Vulpix is about 8 in tall and has one white tail. A mature Vulpix is about 2 ft tall and has six red tails.

In the wild, Pokemon mostly breed amongst their own species. The exception are Pokemon with uneven gender ratios (so if a Pokemon is 7:1 male vs female, the males will actively breed with anything in their egg group). Inter-species breeding among captive Pokemon is much more common, and usually based on the Pokemon’s personal preferences.

Hybridization in Pokemon born from two different parents is very rare, but it does happen from time to time. It’s more common in Pokemon that look similar or are distantly related.

“Perfect” hybrids, Pokemon that have equal amounts of traits from both parents as well as typing and abilities, are more sought after than shinies. They usually can’t breed due to their mix of energies.

[the-slasher-files]

Hii, i saw your requests are open so I guess I could try asking,

Can I ask how would Michael and Jason (and the other slashers if you'd like) react finding out that it's their S/O's birthday. Like they noticed how much food they prepared but s/o didn't mention the occasion because it's not that big of a deal to them but still celebrates it in a way.

Hey, thanks for the request! I love this idea and it was really fun to write.. also added more slashers so I hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS REACT TO THEIR S/O BIRTHDAY

INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, BO, VINCENT, BILLY and STU

JASON VOORHEES

How he finds out: when you left your wallet face open with your drivers license out.. boy was curious

Ever since living out at the camp you just kind of forgot about your birthday, it never really mattered, you were happy just as is with what you had

but he plans it for weeks, Jason can’t give you much in the day to day and he just wants to spoil you and give you the best day after years of looking after him

Waking up in the morning you smelt fresh coffee and sweets, which was more than unusual in the cabin

Rolling over to look at the nightstand you found your favorite mug steaming with hot coffee and Jason had put in your preferred creamer, just the way you liked it. Beside the mug was a small little note sloppily marked with drawn hearts and the words “I love you”

Jason melted your heart on a daily biases but this... it made your heart feel like it oozed right out of your ribcage

Propping yourself up to sip the coffee there was a sudden crash in the kitchen making you jump out of bed... was there an intruder?? was Jason in danger??... grabbing the heavy machete that was resting against the nightstand you faltered to the kitchen, hair dishevelled, barefoot, only wearing one of Jason’s ripped oversized shirts

oh... OH.. it’s just Jason cooking??? flour was everywhere, about 10 different bowls were scattered along the counter, the bacon was smoking and the pancakes? were burnt

Turning around owl-eyed, with flour on his mask and tattered clothes, Jason gives his biggest grin and signs “happy birthday!!”

Once you help him with breakfast he will be glued to your side all day.. more than usual.. Jason wants to give you back rubs, hugs and kisses as much as he can

His gift to you is a bracelet his mom had worn, it is the most meaningful gift Jason could ever give, and it’s beautiful

In the evening he will take you to a new trail you had never been on, old camp lanterns to light your way through the woods and into a large meadow. A large blanket covers the damp grass and there is a small basket with all your fav snacks

A picnic to watch the sunset and stargaze... perfect

MICHAEL MYERS

How he finds out: Michael knows everything about you, he had watched you for a solid year before you even knew, but it will take him a long time to get comfortable and trusting with you so it will probably be like the 5th year together before he really does something for you

Now Michael is not affectionate and caring is just not in his nature so your birthday is going to be interesting... to the average human it will seem like it is a shit birthday but knowing Michael the way you do it is the best birthday he can give you

All these years together he had done nothing on your birthday so you expected it to just be another day, but nope

Waking up to the smell of fresh tea or coffee (which ever you prefer) a steaming cup was on the nightstand

Michael was still in bed with you which was unusual but it was even stranger when he was running his large hands all over you.. gently

There will most likely be some morning sex but he is oddly gentle, making your pleasure a priority over his own

Michael will allow you to touch him for however long you want and where you want without protest, but ONLY today so take advantage

Going to the living room you will see a present you had been eyeing for yourself for a while now. It could either be a really nice blanket to clothes to cookware to a laptop. Michael is observant about everything so he will notice the tabs in your phone or that time you walked by a clothing store and almost screamed at how nice the shirt was in the window

of course he stole it and there might be a tiny amount of blood on it but who cares lol

That is honestly about the extent Michael will go with you and that’s more than enough for you

BO SINCLAIR

How he finds out: Bo isn’t exactly a gentleman with a lot of things so he really doesn’t mind just asking how old you are or when your birthday is

Most likely Bo will forget when it is the first 2 years but the 3rd year.. oh baby he’s got it now... with the help of Vincent reminding him

Birthdays have never been big for the Sinclair brothers, especially for Bo, he literally has no idea what to do

One of the only ways Bo knows love is through fast pleasure... aka waking up to him eating you out. Like Michael, he will put your pleasure first today and is going to be gentle with you, so enjoy it

Be careful because he might want to spend your whole birthday in bed if you don’t stop him

Your presents will probably be some lingerie he bought you (which is basically his present) and a night out on the town, going to your favorite restaurant and taking you where ever you want

Even in the truck he will let you pick the music which is honestly a miracle

Bo will try to bite his tongue as much as possible and try to be the best gentlemen he can be until you get home ;)

Going home to Ambrose he takes a different road, up a hill that’s long and twisted, Bo just smiles when you ask where you’re going, man is saying nothing for once and it might freak you out

Getting to the destination, it’s a small walk in the woods until there is a large clearing and a small lake to your right, this is where he used to go swimming as a kid and this is sometimes where Bo will disappear to on bad days

He will lead you to the dock and will lay you down, watching the stars and hearing the splashing of the water mix in with the Louisiana nature... It is pure bliss

Bo cannot help himself and will initiate a heavy make-out session

This is the way of showing you he loves you

VINCENT SINCLAIR  

How he finds out: Baby boy is far more observant than his brother thank god, so he will probably check your drivers license if you left your wallet out

Vincent will honestly plan something for weeks if he can

Usually he is a night owl but today Vincent will get up nice and early cooking your favorite breakfast, well at least trying, honestly he can make fantastic omelets

Waking up you will see a small tray of food at the edge of the bed, an omelet, bacon, a glass of juice and some small bouquet of native Louisiana flowers he had picked

Along with a little note card saying “happy birthday” probably with some little doodles on the sides making it fancy

Waking into the room Vincent will have either your coffee or tea, handing it to you with a gentle kiss

It will probably be just a slow, gentle, quiet morning with wandering hands, little kisses and soft words

Today he will let you do whatever the hell you want and will try desperately to get Bo to leave you alone for the day

If you want to go for a walk he’ll go with, if you want to stay inside all day in your sweats watching movies that’s perfect.. whatever you want

Towards the evening Bo will come home with your favorite foods, since Vincent hates leaving town. Dinner will be candle lit with soft music in the background. Vince will try to dress nice and in something that isn’t covered in wax

After dinner he will take you to the theater, watching the old movies you grew up on, even though half of the time you are only paying attention to the tongue down your throat  

For some reason my head kept saying slow dancing in the rain, so I guess when you are coming home it starts to rain and you guys slow dance in the streetlight

Once home he has 2 boxes for you, lovely wrapped. In one box it is your very own knife with a carved handle of your favorite animal to match his blades. In the next box is something you had been looking at getting for a long time, a new pair of boots he watched you look for online

BILLY AND STU

How they find out: Honestly they’re probably just going to ask you

Stu is probably going to be the more outgoing one and screaming happy birthday to you when you first wake up, Billy would just let you sleep in and drink his coffee beside you, running his hands on you and gently whispering happy birthday to you instead

Stu would make you a big breakfast and even try to make you a cake but something would be so off lol.. he tried

Billy just takes a store bought one from the fridge that he had saved just in case this happened

yes, they want cake for breakfast

Whatever you want to do that day they will make it happen, honestly it’s going to be fun regardless with them

An arcade or bowling or crashing some little kids laser tag party is probably going to be it for your afternoon. Winning silly arcade prizes, stu will get you a stupid whoopie cushion and Billy will probably win a little stuffed bear for you

Driving home Billy will let you play your music and he will just drive around the city, just signing your hearts out and laughing and just making memories, watching the nightlife and city lights

Ending up at the City viewpoint, seeing all the lights in the dark never looked so pretty with your boys, it might even leave Stu speechless

Whenever you are ready to come home a horror movie is defiantly on the list, whatever one you want and they will order pizza

Honestly Stu will probably pass out on the couch from the long hilarious day and Billy will quietly drag you to the bedroom.. really getting to show how much he loves you ;)  

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xuexiao Goes to the DMV

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen go to the DMV (aka Where Hope Goes To Die) and share a kiss.

That’s it. That’s the fic.

Xuexiao - T (just for some cursing) - Read on AO3!

*

“If you hear about someone going berserk in a DMV on the news, that’ll be me,” the mechanical text-to-speech voice reads aloud, and Xiao Xingchen turns to Xue Yang questioningly.

Xue Yang reaches over and turns the volume down on Xingchen’s phone. “Meant to send that to A-Qing.”

“Are we going to be escorted out? Again?”

Xue Yang grins and looks around the room. They’ve already been at the DMV for over an hour. Dozens of people are draped limply over the hard orange seats, eyes glazed, going down for the third time in a sea of government bureaucracy.

“Ticket 4352, now being served at window thirty-three,” announces the robotic voice over the loudspeaker.

“It would take an alien invasion to wake these people up,” Xue Yang says as a man in overalls shuffles past. “You should see these people. This must be what a lobotomy post-op recovery room looks like.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Like the world’s most incompetent deli, filled with zombie customers waiting to eat the brains of whatever the opposite of employee of the month is. Well, ‘brains.’ They work at the DMV, after all.”

Xiao Xingchen adjusts his sunglasses. “Let's not be mean.”

“And we can all hear you,” adds a woman on his left. “Not that it made much sense.”

Xue Yang makes a face at her and turns back to Xingchen. “If they make me come back a third time, I’m going to go postal. You know, going postal should be called ‘going DMV.’ It’s catchier, for one thing, and I’ve never so much as stepped foot in a post office—”

“I’m keeping you far away from post offices. Those poor people have suffered enough.”

“How so?”

“Well, there must be a reason they go postal, right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “If the post office has the same taste in music as the DMV, I don’t blame them. Who picked this station? If it’s not Justin Bieber it’s whoever inflicted ‘Kiss Me Through the Phone’ on the world. I’d like to do something to them through the phone, and it won’t be a kiss, I can tell you that much.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a Snickers bar out of the fanny pack Xue Yang has vainly begged him not to wear. “According to the television commercials, this will improve your mood.”

“My mood?” Xue Yang takes a bite. “If I have to hear ‘Baby’ one more time—”

“Ticket 9753, now being served at window fourteen.”

“ ‘Served.’ Ha. As if.”

Xiao Xingchen feels around for another Snickers bar but comes up empty. He should have planned this better. He’d sensed Xue Yang’s mood coming on last night as Xue Yang went through his documents. He’d been cheerful enough until he found his birth certificate in the bundle of papers he’d been given after leaving his last group home.

Then he’d grown strangely quiet, and wandered aimlessly around their apartment for an hour, carrying his phone around with him and switching between a half-dozen different YouTube videos before deciding to bake brownies at 1am and burning them when he got distracted playing video games. He wasn’t paying much attention to the video game, either, going by his cursing as he got repeatedly blown up by what Xingchen suspects was a twelve-year old somewhere in Japan, and eventually gave that up to go take apart their toaster in the interest of “fixing” it.

Now he sits beside Xingchen, jiggling his leg. Xiao Xingchen wants to ask him about his birth certificate, but he hadn't dared to last night, and doesn’t dare now.

“Ticket 9755, now being served at Window 26.”

“Weren’t you 9754?” he asks Xue Yang.

“Oh, crap—” Xue Yang jumps to his feet and rushes to Window 26, brushing past a mohawked man holding a ticket marked 9755. “I’m 9754.”

The woman behind the glass may as well have been carved from wood. “You missed your number.”

“There was no announcement!”

“Or your number isn’t working. It’s not showing up on my computer.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m on the screen! Look!” Xue Yang jabs a finger at the screen above the booth. At the bottom of the list it reads Ticket 9754 – Window 26. “9754! Window 26! All you need to do is take my picture—”

“Get back in line. Get a new ticket. Window 13.”

“Get back in line?” He looks over at the line for Window 13. It wraps around the entire room. “I already have a number! I’m on the screen!”

“Back. In. Line.”

“Just take the damn photo—”

Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll get back in line.”

“Like hell we will! I’ve been here since 5 o’clock—I made an appointment! I even brought my own pen! You ever watch Monsters Inc.? You know Roz? Are you her evil older sister? Because you look exactly like—”

“Back of the line.”

“Younger sister, then. Happy?”

The woman doesn’t bother shrugging. “You’re blocking traffic.”

Xingchen begins to move, heading in the wrong direction. Xue Yang has no choice but to follow or else let him walk into a column plastered with posters emblazoned with, Make your visit easy - download the forms at dmv.gov! , Streamline your visit - make an appointment online today!, and We’re here to help!

“Let’s just go home,” says Xue Yang. “The gray, water stained walls are starting to close in. At any second I expect a giant ball to roll towards us. Well, wrong movie—whatever. I’m sick of this place. It’s cursed.”

“We’re just going to have to come back, and you’ll have wasted the hour we already spent here.”

Xue Yang groans and gets in line behind a woman with three small screaming children. “This whole thing is stupid. We can barely afford rent, let alone a car."

"We will, one day. Besides, it's good to have a license."

"We’ll just take trains and buses everywhere, or you can learn to drive. We'll fudge the vision test."

Xingchen laughs. Xue Yang relaxes slightly at the sound. After a moment, Xingchen slips his hand in his. He’s not one for public displays of affection, but there’s an edge in Xue Yang’s voice that has nothing to do with his return to Window 13.

Xue Yang’s hand tightens in his, and Xingchen rubs it reassuringly with his thumb.

“You again?” says the woman at Window 13 when they finally make it there, twenty minutes later.

“That power-mad dictator at Window 26 wouldn’t take my picture.”

The woman tilts her head at Xue Yang. “She wouldn’t?”

Xue Yang tilts his head back at her, as if to say, I know! Who wouldn’t want to photograph me ?

She smiles, a synthetic smile that reminds Xue Yang of his friend Lan Xichen’s dimpled little fiance. “Strange.”

“ ‘Strange’? I knew she could have just done it had she wanted to—”

The woman blinks at him, her smile growing faker by the minute. “I’m sure what she told you was accurate.”

“Sure, and there is no war in Ba-Sing-Se—”

Xiao Xingchen squeezes his hand, and Xue Yang stops talking and passes her his form. She stamps it a second time and hands him another ticket.

He and Xingchen return to the waiting area. Xue Yang puts his boots up on the seat next to him, resting his head on Xingchen’s shoulder.

“Describe the room to me again,” Xingchen says, trying to distract him from his brooding and, with any luck, keep him from taking out his Swiss army knife and carving his initials into the seat and get them kicked out again. Xue Yang has a talent for describing things, and Xingchen has been trying to encourage him to start writing.

Xue Yang begins to play with his long sleek ponytail. “Purgatory’s antechamber. Humanity’s lost-and-found. A void where time has no meaning. Pit of despair and industrial cleaner.”

Xingchen chuckles, making sure it’s loud enough for Xue Yang to hear.

“If their posters were honest, they’d all be in Comic Sans font, with things like, Where hope goes to die; This is your home now; Nothing escapes our pull, not even time; Human sacrifices while you wait—”

“Human sacrifices?”

"Yeah, I think so."

A crackle of static over the speaker as a new song comes on. “You know you love me, I know you care...Just shout whenever and I'll be there….”

Xue Yang starts up violently, but Xiao Xingchen gently pulls him back down beside him. “Some kind of cannibal conspiracy?” he asks, hoping Xue Yang’s knife has remained in his pocket and is not seconds away from being embedded in a blaring loudspeaker.

Xue Yang settles back against his shoulder. “I’m positive Overalls Guy never returned from Window 17. He’s probably in the office barbecue pit.”

“This must go all the way to the top. Shift supervisor too, I’d guess.”

“Baby, baby, baby oh….Like baby, baby, baby no….���

Xue Yang stops playing with his hair and starts picking at his black nail polish. He’s feeling a bit better, Xingchen’s shoulder warm and solid. “I swear that Roz lady put a curse on me. They all probably dance in a circle around a stack of burning Social Security cards every night, chanting.” He squirms, suddenly bored. “You got any more food? I’m starving.”

Xingchen rummages in his fanny pack. “Just a burned brownie.”

“I swear I set a timer!"

The timer had gone off while Xingchen was in the shower last night. Xue Yang had simply ignored it, too absorbed in trying to virtually blow up his twelve-year-old nemesis. He tends to ignore timers while cooking, usually followed by a mad rush to the kitchen to salvage dinner. “You know dinner is ready when the smoke detector goes off,” he likes to say.

Xue Yang sniffs the crumpled foil surrounding the charred black brownie chunk. “Is this the same foil I wrapped your tuna sandwich in yesterday?”

“We only have one earth!”

“Xingchen, I swear—” Xue Yang stops, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s never met anyone who can be so annoying and endearing at the same time.

Xingchen takes the brownie back. “I'll eat it. I like the burned bits.”

"It's all burned bits."

"Exactly. Perfect."

“She knows she's got me dazing, 'cause she was so amazin'....And now my heart is breakin', but I just keep on sayin'....”

“Who wrote this? I swear I won’t hurt them. I just want their address.”

Xingchen knows he shouldn’t laugh at that, but he can’t help it.

They sit there for another half hour, talking. Xue Yang has succeeded in denuding the nails of his left hand when his number is finally called. He gets his photo taken by a man with glazed eyes and no chin, and is shuffled off to the next waiting area.

“They refused to show me my photo,” he says as they settle back down. “I swear the camera stole my soul and is using it to power the fluorescent lights. I feel at peace now. Kind of floating.” He discovers a piece of gum in his jeans pocket and begins to loudly blow bubbles, making full eye contact with the annoyed Bluetooth Guy and irritated Woman With Facial Tattoo Of Bugs Bunny. “I am one with the DMV demigods, part of something larger than myself.”

“Like joining the army.”

“Or drowning in the ocean.” He lays down with his head in Xingchen’s lap, boots on the edge of Bluetooth Guy’s seat. “Why does your fanny pack smell like patchouli? Have you been burning weird hippie incense again? You promised you’d stop after you set fire to your curtains.”

Xingchen would rather Xue Yang didn’t semi-cuddle him in public, but Xue Yang’s energy is calmer when he’s touching Xingchen, and he lets him stay. “It’s that new candle you bought me, remember?”

“Right. Bought you.”

“What do you—”

“I thought it was peppermint.”

Xingchen bites his lip. Xue Yang is…well, he can read well enough to pass a driving test, but his education was…slipshod at best. Next on Xingchen’s list is encouraging Xue Yang to get his GED.

“You smell like a music festival,” says Xue Yang. “I must have grabbed the wrong one in the store. I sniffed all of them. My picture is probably hanging beside the register of every Bath & Body Works in town: ‘Beware the Candle Perv’—”

“At least someone was willing to take your picture.”

Xue Yang laughs. Xingchen rests a hand on his chest, heedless of the people around them. He likes how Xue Yang feels when he laughs, his whole body shaking, making no attempt to hide his feelings. Xue Yang makes him laugh so often, it’s a special joy for him to return the favor.

They’ve been there almost two and a half hours when Xue Yang’s number is finally called. As if the DMV curse is kicking in again, the loudspeakers creep up another few decibels.

“Like baby, baby, baby no, like baby, baby, baby oh, thought you'd always be mine, mine….”

“Xue Yang—” Xingchen starts before Xue Yang can say anything.

“I know, I know. This is penance for my putting that egg in Song Lan’s shoe last week. The DMV knows all. The DMV was here before us, and will be here after we are gone. The DMV—”

“—The DMV will make us wait in line again, if we don’t hurry.”

Together they go to Window 10, where a drab little man sifts through Xue Yang’s documents. “Fifties, balding, completely dead inside,” Xue Yang whispers to Xingchen.

“I’m thirty-nine,” says the man in a monotone, not looking up, “and you’re missing a birth certificate. And what’s this stain on your Social Security card?”

“Definitely not blood.”

The man stares at him with eyes that, had his life force not already been sucked out of Xue Yang by an afternoon at the DMV, would have done the job. “Current passport, or birth certificate.”

Xue Yang hesitates, then slips a folded piece of pink paper under the glass partition.

The man unfolds it with the sterling speed of a drugged snail and spreads it over the counter. He lines up Xue Yang’s Social Security card, bank statement, and birth certificate, and examines them line by line as if he’s a Bletchley Circle analyst and Xue Yang’s documents are intercepted enemy transmissions.

He looks up at Xue Yang. “Is this a valid birth certificate? There are no parent names listed, and the date of birth has an asterisk—”

“I know what it has!”

“What’s your date of birth?” The man slowly pushes his chair back. “I’m going to have to get a supervisor—”

Xue Yang slams the counter. Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. It’s a miracle Xue Yang’s knife isn’t out. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is what they do when—just Google it, okay? I don’t know what day I was born, they just put whatever date they thought was accurate—”

Xingchen swallows hard.

He had known Xue Yang had grown up in foster care, but had assumed he had been given up by his parents as a child when they could no longer take care of him.

Not—not abandoned as an infant—

“And change the fucking station!” Xue Yang adds. “If I have to hear that stupid fucking song one more time I will go fucking berserk —”

The man’s dead-eyed stare intensifies. “Sign here,” he says after a moment, pushing a slip of paper at Xue Yang.

“You want my love, you want my heart….And we will never, ever, ever be apart…”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Xingchen asks as they step outside. The words sound hollow, and he wishes he had simply remained silent.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. It’s almost cool out, a welcome change from the week’s heat. “Well, we escaped. Now we just have to get help for the others. Or do we abandon them to their fates? I vote we abandon them. You should have seen some of the looks I got. It’s like they never saw someone threaten a DMV employee before, something I’m willing to bet happens a dozen times an hour.”

Xingchen takes his arm as he begins to walk. It’s easier than using his stick in the crowded city. “Xue Yang…”

Xue Yang’s muscles tense beneath his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lip. He’ll have Xue Yang feeling better soon enough. “What street are we on? Turn in on 33rd.”

“What’s on 33rd?”

“Just let me know when we’re there. 33rd and 7th.”

“The train’s on 36th.”

“But the restaurant’s on 33rd.”

“The what?”

Xingchen wants to smile, but is afraid Xue Yang might take it the wrong way after what happened at the DMV. For someone who does his best to project an I-don’t-care attitude, Xue Yang is surprisingly sensitive.

“What’s today’s date?” He already knows the date, of course. It’s been on his mind for weeks now.

Xue Yang’s arm grows even stiffer. “Is this a ‘you-don’t-know-when-your-birthday-is-so-every-day-is-your-birthday’ thing? Because—”

“Not at all… Remember the day we met? You made fun of my shirt—”

Xue Yang frowns at this sudden change of subject, but goes along with it. Better than talking about that damn birth certificate. “It was white, and ruffled. You looked like an escapee from a high school production of Hamlet. What was I supposed to do?”

“You crashed a motorcycle not three feet from me. An unregistered motorcycle with stolen plates.”

"I bought you coffee to make up for it, didn’t I?”

“You had them put four sugars in my cappuccino. It was undrinkable.”

“One was a Splenda, and anyway I took you to dinner to make up for the coffee, didn’t I?”

“Pizza at one of those dollar-a-slice places you have to stand at a counter to eat. I paid for it.”

“And I paid for your kombucha, whatever the heck that is.”

“And I paid for the band-aids we had to go buy after you cut yourself after playing catch with your knife.”

“You were distracting me!”

“I was quietly eating my pizza.”

“The light reflecting off your shirt ruffles got in my eyes.”

“Four dollars for the band-aids. You insisted on Hello Kitty.”

“Spongebob was also on the table." He wrinkles his nose. "I've got about three-fifty in my pocket, if you want it. But what’s your point, exactly?'

Xingchen smiles. He enjoys winding up Xue Yang, and it’s by far the most effective way to distract him when he’s in a dark mood. “Just that you better not put extra sugar in the fondue.”

“The what?”

“A-Qing read me the dessert menu. Chocolate fondue with bananas, blueberries, pineapple, and cherries. Strawberries, too, I think, and marshmallows, maybe even non-charred brownies—”

Xue Yang stops walking. “Xingchen—”

Xingchen lets go of Xue Yang’s arm, takes his hand instead. Kisses him soundly, right there on Sixth Avenue.

“Forget your birthday," he says. "We have a new date to celebrate every year." He gives Xue Yang's hand a little squeeze and kisses him again. “Happy anniversary, Xue Yang.”

*

Liked it? AO3 👉👈

Ruffle shirt reference

Obviously, Xue Yang was simply distracted by how pretty Xingchen was.

[chokemeanakin]

Heyyy first wanna say that I love you!! 💜❤️🤎🧡💙🤍💚🖤

Next, I’ve been really sick lately, like haven’t been bail to take down food for a solid week, and in and out of hospital for the last two weeks, so could you please write up an Anakin small fic or head canon or just anything with a really sick reader, but she finds it hard to exsept help? Your fives have been keep me alive I swear haha

Okay LOVE YOU💖💖

YOOO IVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS FOR WEEEEEEKKKSSS you literally read my mind !!! 😆😆😆 (also I’m so sorry that you’re terribly sick, I’m sending you all my love and I hope you get better soon. I love you too boo thang ❤️) HERE WE GO:

(Also fun fact whump is my area of expertise so if this gets to be really long I apologize — it’s just hard for me to narrow stuff down, anyway, enjoy)

Anakin x Sick (fem) Reader Headcanons:

Gif from @swprequels

The minute you get sick, you immediately shut yourself into your room and hide from the world.

You hate people seeing you at your worst, most vulnerable state. So weak, and needy, and messy and in pain. You’ve always been the type to push people away, no matter how sick you get, because you just can’t let them see you like that.

But like.... imagine you’re new to the temple or something. You haven’t been there for very long, and you still don’t really know your way around. And you wake up at night with the worst stomach pains, like writhing around in bed and crying and begging higher powers for any kind of relief sort of pain.

And you somehow manage to wrench yourself onto shaking legs and dig through the bathroom cabinet, only to find that you have no medicine that can help you.

The next logical step is you go to the medbay, but you have no idea where that even is. And so you’re left to drag yourself down the halls to the only other person who you can think of to help you, the only other other person you want to see right now.

Anakin opens the door shirtless, rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes. You wish you could feel worse for waking him up when he was obviously sleeping, but your stomach is twisting and turning and a layer of cold sweat is forming over you and you need his help. So you swallow your pride and stand there as he asks, “Y/n? What’s wrong, baby?”

He doesn’t hesitate as he gently ushers you into his room, holding you up as he leads you to the bed. You’re glad, because you don’t think your legs can hold you up for very much longer. And he’s kneeling in front of you, taking your face in his hands and wiping away your tears as you clutch at your stomach and tremble beneath him.

“I-I don’t feel good,” is all you can manage before wincing at a particularly painful stab, shuttering as the nausea worsens.

He’s so worried, eyes scanning over every inch of you. He’s less soft now, and more action as protecting you and figuring out what’s wrong is his first priority.

“What hurts?”

Everything hurts, but you settle with the most pressing offender. “My stomach.”

His eyes drop to your arms, which are wound around your middle like you could squeeze the pain away. You’re hunched over, shivering violetently, skin pale in the darkness. Very obviously sick, although now he has to decide whether it’s bad enough where it warrants a visit to the medbay. His heart twists painfully.

“When did it start?”

“A couple hours ago.”

“Did you eat something?”

He’s rubbing his thumb along your cheek, capturing each cold tear as they’re occasionally squeezed out of your eye.

“Not that I know of,” you whisper. “I had the same as everyone else.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment, then stands. He keeps one hand gently cradling your face as he reaches behind you and pulls the blankets back. “You wanna lie down?”

You want to say yes, but suddenly you’re hit with a particularly excruciating twist of the stomach, and you know it wouldn’t be a good idea. If you move even slightly, you’re pretty certain you’ll be spilling your dinner all over the floor. The thought has you moaning slightly, curled even further into yourself, shaking your head. “Can’t.”

“Alright. That’s okay. Do you think you’re gonna be sick?”

A terrible wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you force yourself to nod.

Anakin doesn’t even have to ask to know that you won’t be able to make it the bathroom. He wouldn’t want to subject that to you anyway, knelt on the cold tile floor before the toilet. No, he wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

So he takes his garbage can and makes sure it’s clean before setting it on the floor or in front of you, in case you need it quickly. You’re hanging your head, sweating and shivering and whimpering every so often as the pain builds and builds and washes over you in waves.

“It’s okay,” Anakin sits beside you, hand rubbing your back in grounding circles. “Focus on your breathing. It’ll pass soon.”

You stay there with him like that for a long while. At one point, you’re begging him for some pain meds, or anything that can take the pain away, but he has to refuse because you’re just going to throw them up anyway. He feels awful saying no, because you begin to cry again and lean forward.

He senses it right before it happens. With lightning reflexes, he snatches the bin off the ground and holds it under you just as you begin to get violently sick.

It’s not pretty, and that thought is knocking at the back of your mind as you clutch onto the rim of the bin, emptying your stomach over and over and over, barely able to catch a breath before you’re hit with another round.

Anakin sits right next to you through it all, dragging his fingers along the nape of your neck to gather your hair over one shoulder, rubbing soothing line and circles into your back, hushing you and telling you to let it out, that you’ll feel better once it’s over.

He’s right about that. Throwing up scares you, and you hate it with everything in you, but for the time being you feel a little better. Once your food stops forcing its way back up and you can finally breathe, there’s a moment where the awful stabbing pain in your stomach is quiet and you can open your eyes and lift your head.

“You think you’re done?”

You take a moment to assess your nausea, not wanting to be hit with a surprise attack and make a mess all over the floor. But for the time being, your stomach has settled and now you’re left as a trembling, weak, shell of a human, barely able to sit upright on your own.

You nod and wipe your mouth, disgusted with the contents now on the back of your hand. Your pajamas have been soaked in sweat, and you’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. You’re too weak to care a whole lot, but the shame still bubbles up in your chest.

Somehow he’s got a glass of water, and he’s handing it to you so you can swish and spit. “Small sips, angel.”

Anakin sets the bin down, running his hand over your hair once more before standing. The loss of his warm presence has you shivering violently, teeth clacking together. “You want a bath? Or do you just want to go to bed?”

You don’t think you’d be able to sleep with your clothes stocking to you like this, so you choose the bath. He kisses your forehead once, saying, “I’ll go run it now. Stay here in case you get sick again.”

You nod and he leaves, the sounds of the faucet turning and water splashing into the bath sounding from the bathroom. He comes back to help you up, hands fitting right onto your disgusting sweaty and vomitty body as he half carries you to the bathroom.

And then he helps you get undressed, lowers you carefully into the water, kneels by the side of the tub and holds your hand.

Your eyes are closed and your head is pounding, achey and queasy and tired. You know you have to wash up, but you can’t seem to lift your arms.

So he does it for you 🥺

Squeezing some shampoo into his palm, gently rubbing it into your hair, using his hand to shield your face as he carefully washes it out. Running his hands over your arms and the top of you chest with soap, lathering you up and then rinsing again. And then he’s squeezing water out of a cloth, running the damp material over your face to clean it of sweat and sick.

And when he’s done, he stands and promises to be right back as he takes the bin full of vomit to the communal bathrooms, dumping it out in the toilet and then washing it in the showers. It’s early hours of the morning so no one is there, but he’d do it even if people were looking at him like he was crazy. 🥺

And when he comes back, he helps you out of the bath and bundles you up in a big fluffy towel. Runs it over your skin and dries you up, and helps you stand as you request to brush your teeth.

And then he brings you back into the room and helps you dress in some of his clothes, a pair of his sleep pants that he has to tie the string extra tight so they’ll stay up, and roll the cuffs up to your ankle about 10 times until you can walk without tripping. And he’s also got some sleep shirts that he’s never worn, and you swim in that also so he rolls up the sleeves until you can see your hands.

And now all you want to do is fall back into his pillows and go to sleep, but he asks you to hold on a while longer so that he can get you some meds. And he has you take some pills, encourages you to drink some more water, (“slow, baby”), and then he helps you lie back and get comfortable.

And if you wake up later in the night to get sick again, he’s waking up right along with you, holding you and hushing you and being the sweetest person you could ever ask for.

In instances like this, you can’t help but need and accept his help. And he doesn’t mind giving it, in fact he wants you to come to him. Anything that brings you pain, he’ll destroy.

And he’ll make sure you eat as much as you can, and that you’re drinking water. Constantly asking you how you feel, if there’s anything he can do. Runs a cold cloth over your face to soothe the fever, and massages your aching muscles until you’re all better.

The voice he uses when you’re sick 🥺. He knows that any noise can hurt your head, so he lowers his voice and it’s so smooth and deep and rumbly. So soft and gentle 😭 the sweetest voice bc his baby is in pain and he just wants to take it all away 🥺🥺

In other cases where you’re sick, like you have a cold, you’re more stubborn. You shut yourself away as soon as you get the first symptoms, denying any hint that you might be getting sick, until suddenly he realizes he hasn’t seen you in days and stops by to find you buried under covers, surrounded by tissues, all lights off in your apartment, sleeping fitfully.

And so he’ll sigh a little, clean up your apartment and then sit and watch over you. When you wake up, you’ll groan and burrow deeper into the covers and demand he leave. But he’ll just tell you to be quiet and drink this water.

Demands you tell him the moment you feel sick next time, even though he knows you never will. And then when he gets you some medicine and food, your cheeks are red with embarrassment and fever as you bashfully accept them.

But ofc you’ll get over it soon because Anakin’s here now and you might as well be miserable in his arms. So you push the covers off your overheating body and reach across the bed for him, practically falling into his lap from where he’s sitting on a chair by your bedside.

And he just simply catches you and strokes your hair and hushes you as you bury your wet eyes and flushed cheeks into his chest, sniffling pathetically.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he’ll promise, and hold you in his warm arms and rock you until you fall asleep.

Getting sick on Republic Cruisers is the worst. When that happens, you’re either on your way to or back from war. And so usually people are busy and running around, or exhausted and beat up. The ship is cold and everyone has their own problems to worry about, but you feel like ass and you just want to be alone with Anakin.

He feels awful when he sees you, and will order everyone out of the pilot’s room. And then he’ll clear the passenger seat off, urge you to sit down, wrap you up in as many blankets as he can find, and when he can only find a couple, he’ll sacrifice his Jedi robe. And you’ll nuzzle deep down into the cacoon of blankets and inhale the scent of Anakin’s robe, fall in and out of consciousness as you’re lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of the ship.

Anakin wishes there was more he could do for you in these instances, but the food isn’t good and there’s not usually any medicine. So he’ll keep a hand on your knee, or let you hold his hand in your lap as you sleep, and he’ll send a little surge of peace and soothing energy through the force and into you.

Will 100% find an excuse to carry you off the ship when you land, and then spend the rest of the day lying with you and tending to you and trying to make you feel better 🥺

He’s so caring and so protective and sweet. His gentle side really comes out, because his #1 thing is that he needs the people he loves to be safe, so if an illness is hurting you he will do anything he can to take the pain away.

Yes, he can’t take care of himself sometimes. But the minute you’re feeling a little under the weather, suddenly he has a PHD in medical science and he’s nursing you back to health like an expert 🥺

Also he’ll never deny you kisses when you’re sick, even if you warn him he might catch it, he just hushes you and kisses you softly on the lips. Then on the chin, then the nose, then the forehead.

Will always brush off your inability to accept help. If you say “no” or “leave me alone” or “I’m fine go away” he’ll just roll his eyes and plant himself there. Bc no matter how stubborn you can be, he’s even more.

And when you keep apologizing, obviously feeling awful for having him take care of you, he’ll just hush your worries and hold a tissue to your nose and go “blow.”

And then he’ll stay with you and watch over you until you’re all better. And even when you get back into the swing of things, he’ll watch over you like a hawk while you’re recovering 🥺🥺

You might get shy and ashamed and embarrassed when he tries to help you, but he doesn’t mind. You’ll just have to come to accept the fact that he’s always going to be there for you, to help you and hold you and make you all better ❤️

Sweet boy is so good to you 🥺🥺🥰

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[eyelinerda3euro]

The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction

In the temperate and tropical regions where it appears that hominids evolved into human beings, the principal food of the species was vegetable. Sixty-five to eighty percent of what human beings ate in those regions in Paleolithic, Neolithic, and prehistoric times was gathered; only in the extreme Arctic was meat the staple food. The mammoth hunters spectacularly occupy the cave wall and the mind, but what we actually did to stay alive and fat was gather seeds, roots, sprouts, shoots, leaves, nuts, berries, fruits, and grains, adding bugs and mollusks and netting or snaring birds, fish, rats, rabbits, and other tuskless small fry to up the protein. And we didn’t even work hard at it — much less hard than peasants slaving in somebody else’s field after agriculture was invented, much less hard than paid workers since civilization was invented. The average prehistoric person could make a nice living in about a fifteen-hour work week.

Fifteen hours a week for subsistence leaves a lot of time for other things. So much time that maybe the restless ones who didn’t have a baby around to enliven their life, or skill in making or cooking or singing, or very interesting thoughts to think, decided to slope off and hunt mammoths. The skillful hunters would come staggering back with a load of meat, a lot of ivory, and a story. It wasn’t the meat that made the difference. It was the story.

It is hard to tell a really gripping tale of how I wrestled a wild-oat seed from its husk, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then I scratched my gnat bites, and Ool said something funny, and we went to the creek and got a drink and watched newts for a while, and then I found another patch of oats.... No, it does not compare, it cannot compete with how I thrust my spear deep into the titanic hairy flank while Oob, impaled on one huge sweeping tusk, writhed screaming, and blood sprouted everywhere in crimson torrents, and Boob was crushed to jelly when the mammoth fell on him as I shot my unerring arrow straight through eye to brain.

That story not only has Action, it has a Hero. Heroes are powerful. Before you know it, the men and women in the wild-oat patch and their kids and the skills of makers and the thoughts of the thoughtful and the songs of the singers are all part of it, have all been pressed into service in the tale of the Hero. But it isn’t their story. It’s his.

When she was planning the book that ended up as Three Guineas, Virginia Woolf wrote a heading in her notebook, “Glossary”; she had thought of reinventing English according to her new plan, in order to tell a different story. One of the entries in this glossary is heroism, defined as “botulism.” And hero, in Woolf’s dictionary, is “bottle.” The hero as bottle, a stringent reevaluation. I now propose the bottle as hero.

Not just the bottle of gin or wine, but bottle in its older sense of container in general, a thing that holds something else.

If you haven’t got something to put it in, food will escape you — even something as uncombative and unresourceful as an oat. You put as many as you can into your stomach while they are handy, that being the primary container; but what about tomorrow morning when you wake up and it’s cold and raining and wouldn’t it be good to have just a few handfuls of oats to chew on and give little Oom to make her shut up, but how do you get more than one stomachful and one handful home? So you get up and go to the damned soggy oat patch in the rain, and wouldn’t it be a good thing if you had something to put Baby Oo Oo in so that you could pick the oats with both hands? A leaf a gourd shell a net a bag a sling a sack a bottle a pot a box a container. A holder. A recipient.

The first cultural device was probably a recipient.... Many theorizers feel that the earliest cultural inventions must have been a container to hold gathered products and some kind of sling or net carrier.

So says Elizabeth Fisher in Women’s Creation (McGraw-Hill, 1975). But no, this cannot be. Where is that wonderful, big, long, hard thing, a bone, I believe, that the Ape Man first bashed somebody in the movie and then, grunting with ecstasy at having achieved the first proper murder, flung up into the sky, and whirling there it became a space ship thrusting its way into the cosmos to fertilize it and produce at the end of the movie a lovely fetus, a boy of course, drifting around the Milky Way without (oddly enough) any womb, any matrix at all? I don’t know. I don’t even care. I’m not telling that story. We’ve heard it, we’ve all heard about all the sticks and spears and swords, the things to bash and poke and hit with, the long, hard things, but we have not heard about the thing to put things in, the container for the thing contained. That is a new story. That is news.

And yet old. Before — once you think about it, surely long before — the weapon, a late, luxurious, superfluous tool; long before the useful knife and ax; right along with the indispensable whacker, grinder, and digger — for what’s the use of digging up a lot of potatoes if you have nothing to lug the ones you can’t eat home in — with or before the tool that forces energy outward, we made the tool that brings energy home. It makes sense to me. I am an adherent of what Fisher calls the Carrier Bag Theory of human evolution.

This theory not only explains large areas of theoretical obscurity and avoids large areas of theoretical nonsense (inhabited largely by tigers, foxes, and other highly territorial mammals); it also grounds me, personally, in human culture in a way I never felt grounded before. So long as culture was explained as originating from and elaborating upon the use of long, hard objects for sticking, bashing, and killing, I never thought that I had, or wanted, any particular share in it. (“What Freud mistook for her lack of civilization is woman’s lack of loyalty to civilization,” Lillian Smith observed.) The society, the civilization they were talking about, these theoreticians, was evidently theirs; they owned it, they liked it; they were human, fully human, bashing, sticking, thrusting, killing. Wanting to be human too, I sought for evidence that I was; but if that’s what it took, to make a weapon and kill with it, then evidently I was either extremely defective as a human being, or not human at all.

That’s right, they said. What you are is a woman. Possibly not human at all, certainly defective. Now be quiet while we go on telling the Story of the Ascent of Man the Hero.

Go on, say I, wandering off towards the wild oats, with Oo Oo in the sling and little Oom carrying the basket. You just go on telling how the mammoth fell on Boob and how Cain fell on Abel and how the bomb fell on Nagasaki and how the burning jelly fell on the villagers and how the missiles will fall on the Evil Empire, and all the other steps in the Ascent of Man.

If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do much the same again — if to do that is human, if that’s what it takes, then I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.

Not, let it be said at once, an unaggressive or uncombative human being. I am an aging, angry woman laying mightily about me with my handbag, fighting hoodlums off. However I don’t, nor does anybody else, consider myself heroic for doing so. It’s just one of those damned things you have to do in order to be able to go on gathering wild oats and telling stories.

It is the story that makes the difference. It is the story that hid my humanity from me, the story the mammoth hunters told about bashing, thrusting, raping, killing, about the Hero. The wonderful, poisonous story of Botulism. The killer story.

It sometimes seems that the story is approaching its end. Lest there be no more telling of stories at all, some of us out here in the wild oats, amid the alien corn, think we’d better start telling another one, which maybe people can go on with when the old one’s finished. Maybe. The trouble is, we’ve all let ourselves become part of the killer story, and so we may get finished along with it. Hence it is with a certain feeling of urgency that I seek the nature, subject, words of the other story, the untold one, the life story.

It’s unfamiliar, it doesn’t come easily, thoughtlessly, to the lips as the killer story does; but still, “untold” was an exaggeration. People have been telling the life story for ages, in all sorts of words and ways. Myths of creation and transformation, trickster stories, folktales, jokes, novels....

The novel is a fundamentally unheroic kind of story. Of course the Hero has frequently taken it over, that being his imperial nature and uncontrollable impulse, to take everything over and run it while making stern decrees and laws to control his uncontrollable impulse to kill it. So the Hero has decreed through his mouthpieces the Lawgivers, first, that the proper shape of the narrative is that of the arrow or spear, starting here and going straight there and THOK! hitting its mark (which drops dead); second, that the central concern of narrative, including the novel, is conflict; and third, that the story isn’t any good if he isn’t in it.

I differ with all of this. I would go so far as to say that the natural, proper, fitting shape of the novel might be that of a sack, a bag. A book holds words. Words hold things. They bear meanings. A novel is a medicine bundle, holding things in a particular, powerful relation to one another and to us.

One relationship among elements in the novel may well be that of conflict, but the reduction of narrative to conflict is absurd. (I have read a how-to-write manual that said, “A story should be seen as a battle,” and went on about strategies, attacks, victory, etc.) Conflict, competition, stress, struggle, etc., within the narrative conceived as carrier bag/belly/box/house/medicine bundle, may be seen as necessary elements of a whole which itself cannot be characterized either as conflict or as harmony, since its purpose is neither resolution nor stasis but continuing process.

Finally, it’s clear that the Hero does not look well in this bag. He needs a stage or a pedestal or a pinnacle. You put him in a bag and he looks like a rabbit, like a potato.

That is why I like novels: instead of heroes they have people in them.

So, when I came to write science-fiction novels, I came lugging this great heavy sack of stuff, my carrier bag full of wimps and klutzes, and tiny grains of things smaller than a mustard seed, and intricately woven nets which when laboriously unknotted are seen to contain one blue pebble, an imperturbably functioning chronometer telling the time on another world, and a mouse’s skull; full of beginnings without ends, of initiations, of losses, of transformations and translations, and far more tricks than conflicts, far fewer triumphs than snares and delusions; full of space ships that get stuck, missions that fail, and people who don’t understand. I said it was hard to make a gripping tale of how we wrested the wild oats from their husks, I didn’t say it was impossible. Who ever said writing a novel was easy?

If science fiction is the mythology of modern technology, then its myth is tragic. “Technology,” or “modern science” (using the words as they are usually used, in an unexamined shorthand standing for the “hard” sciences and high technology founded upon continuous economic growth), is a heroic undertaking, Herculean, Promethean, conceived as triumph, hence ultimately as tragedy. The fiction embodying this myth will be, and has been, triumphant (Man conquers earth, space, aliens, death, the future, etc.) and tragic (apocalypse, holocaust, then or now).

If, however, one avoids the linear, progressive, Time’s-(killing)-arrow mode of the Techno-Heroic, and redefines technology and science as primarily cultural carrier bag rather than weapon of domination, one pleasant side effect is that science fiction can be seen as a far less rigid, narrow field, not necessarily Promethean or apocalyptic at all, and in fact less a mythological genre than a realistic one.

It is a strange realism, but it is a strange reality.

Science fiction properly conceived, like all serious fiction, however funny, is a way of trying to describe what is in fact going on, what people actually do and feel, how people relate to everything else in this vast stack, this belly of the universe, this womb of things to be and tomb of things that were, this unending story. In it, as in all fiction, there is room enough to keep even Man where he belongs, in his place in the scheme of things; there is time enough to gather plenty of wild oats and sow them too, and sing to little Oom, and listen to Ool’s joke, and watch newts, and still the story isn’t over. Still there are seeds to be gathered, and room in the bag of stars. by Ursula K. Le Guin

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part Five - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

Previous parts: Masterlist

Summary: Nadja sneaks the reader to the vampire rave and things go--predictably--sideways. As in, the reader is in danger! Featuring more Nadja/Reader bonding and some snuggling with Nandor. The reader is feeling more and more at home with the vampires and maybe even starting to see the allure of the vamp life...

A/N: Hey guys! Really read the warnings here. This chapter has some serious angst! I Hope you guys enjoy it and thanks forever for commenting and reblogging--it means the world!

Warnings!!: Memory loss, Hypnosis, Drug use, vampire attack, angst, hurt/comfort

---

You’re seated at the top of the stairs resting your chin in your hands and watching the rest of the household bustle around the front hallway as they prepare to leave for the vampire rave. Nadja is dressed in a stunning midnight black gown studded with sparkling gemstones. You decide that you must have dreamed about her promising to take you because she doesn’t even glance in your direction as they start to file out the front door.

Nandor tries to catch your eye from below but you stubbornly turn your head. You don’t know how it’s possible after living here for such a short time but it hurts to be left out. Even Guillermo is tagging along. You’re the only one being excluded and it stings. 

Nandor refuses to let you sulk in peace. He walks up the stairs towards you and your treasonous eyes track his progress, drinking in the image of him in his tall boots with the cape flowing out behind him. His legs are long and thick and your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch him. He stops a few steps down and you finally look up at his face. 

“Stop this moping around!” he orders with a whine in his voice. “The whole house smells like sad human.”

“Take me with you, then!” you demand, standing to your feet. For once you’re actually taller than him. “You’re taking Guillermo!”

Nandor shakes his head, “Guillermo is a familiar! They’re off limits to other vampires. You’re just…”

He stops himself from completing the sentence so you do it for him.

“Just...food?” you supply and you’re aggravated to feel tears stinging your eyes. 

“Yes!” Nandor blurts, somewhat oblivious to the way your face crumples. “And I’m not going to spend the whole party guarding you from other vampires!”

You retreat back towards your bedroom with a disgusted shake of your head. 

“You’re horrible!”

---

“It wasn’t really a punishment, not inviting the human to the rave party,” Nandor sits in a tall-backed armchair and looks into the camera. “I was more worried about another vampire eating her…”

He’s silent for a beat, looking off to the side in contemplation.

“But Nadja is a bad influence! The human is becoming very insolent!”

---

You’re deep into your sulk and watching Netflix on your laptop when a scraping sound from the window interrupts the gloom. You look up but, of course, you can see nothing through the layer of newspaper pasted over the glass panes to keep out sunlight. The scraping starts up again and this time it’s accompanied by the faint sound of something flapping up against the glass.

You creep up to the window, body tense with anticipation, and you slowly peel off a piece of newspaper to peer out into the darkness.

THWACK!

You flinch backwards as a bat flies into the glass, squeaking and flapping its wings to be let inside.

“...the fuck? Are you serious!?”

You’re either about to find out that vampires turning into bats is a real thing...or you’re about to get rabies. You heave the solid window open and the bat glides inside, exploding into a cloud of black vapor and appearing as Nadja, looking cool and completely nonchalant.

“You can turn into a bat!?” you screech, forgetting your foul mood at once.

Nadja flips her wrist at you, “Of course, my cheeky darling. That’s, like, the most basic power for a vampire. Very simple.”

“Wow...” you marvel under your breath, eyes wide with admiration. Could she be any more cool?

“Now, come to my crypt, baby human. I’ve laid something out for you to wear,” she snaps her fingers and turns on her heel, expecting you to follow obediently. Which...you do.

Now that she’s really here to take you to the rave, of course, you’re awash with second thoughts. Maybe Nandor was right...maybe it’s too risky.

“I don’t know, Nadja...won’t it be dangerous? I mean, Laszlo said it’s basically a feeding frenzy, right?” you hate how diffident you sound but--hey--on the other hand you really like being alive.

“Pshh, don’t worry about that, human,” she scoffs. “I won’t let anyone eat you. Besides, most of those humans will be fine. You don’t want to drink too much drug blood. You only take a little sip and then erase their memory.”

You stay silent as she leads you into the crypt. You know from experience how disorienting “a little sip” can feel…

But your qualms fly out the window when Nadja holds up the dress she’s selected for you. 

“What do you think, darling? You will look like a real little baby vampire in this…”

It’s a floor-length gown in shimmery black and silver brocade with a high neckline and short sleeves trimmed in lace. It’s like nothing you’ve ever imagined wearing and your mouth drops open in awe. Nadja grins and pushes it into your arms.

“Put it on and then I will do something with your hair. Don’t worry about bloody, stupid Nandor. He’s just being a pig dick because he wants to do sex with you but if he does, it will ruin your blood.”

“Wha--how--?” you choke in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, sweet, stupid human,” Nadja croons and cups your cheeks in her hands. “Nandor is as obvious as a turkey strutting around and waving his feathers in your face. He smells like desire whenever you are near him. Very distinct, very nauseating. He’s just too dumb to know what to do about it.”

Your shoulders droop. It’s obvious Nandor is interested...it’s just a question of whether he’s more interested in you or your blood. You think you know the answer.

Nadja senses the morose train of your thoughts and she interrupts, “But if he sees you in this? He will tear the hair from his chest in anguish until you let him ravish you! Trust me, girly. I know what I’m talking about.”

---

Nadja tucks your hand into the crook of her elbow and leads you up to the doors at the back of the building. A burly vampire stands before the entrance and holds up a hand as you approach.

“Password?” her voice is deep and gravelly. Goosebumps course over your arms and you tuck yourself closer to Nadja.

Rather than respond verbally, Nadja flashes her fangs which seems to be good enough because you’re beckoned through the door right away. Once inside your senses are immediately overwhelmed. Music pours over you, the bass pulsing through your bones. It’s dark except for the flashes of strobe lights and the neon glow of dancers decked in glow sticks and covered in luminescent body paint. Before you’re even out of the doorway someone lurches up to you with a small tube of paint in their hands and presses a finger to your cheek, drawing a heart on your skin. Nadja shoves them away with a curse.

“Fucking, cheeky human! I should kill him for touching you,” she growls.

You’re too busy taking in the sights and sounds to be perturbed. You just pat her arm and yell over the music, “It’s fine, Nadja!”

The vampire shakes away her annoyance and leans into your ear with a giddy grin, “Let’s party, baby.”

Nadja moves through the throng like a queen, expecting the masses to part before her. And they do. You follow along in her wake feeling a bit like a fraud in your borrowed finery. But you suddenly flash back to your early derby days when you’d been petrified of actually going out and skating in front of a crowd of people. Your sister skater clunked her helmet with yours, spit out her mouth guard and said, “Fake it till you make it!”

You lift your chin and for a moment you imagine what it would be like if you were the predator stalking through the night in search of weak, mortal prey. And suddenly it feels like the crowd is parting for both of you.

“Oooo, this looks like a tasty little morsel!” Nadja exclaims, eyeing a petite girl in her 20′s dressed head-to-toe in blinding neon colors. Nadja glides up to the girl and waves her hand in front of her face as she drawls, “You will come with me into the bathroom.”

You trail after them, not wanting to let Nadja out of your sight knowing that there are other vampires here hunting within the crowd.

Nadja clears the bathroom with a wave of her hand and an imperious command. You stand to the side and watch as she takes the girl in her arms and buries her fangs into her soft neck. It should be shocking and terrible but...you’re not bothered. Why aren’t you bothered? Watching Nadja make her attack is like watching a lioness take down a gazelle. She’s powerful and deadly, yes, but also impressive. 

She throws her head back and her blood-stained lips part in a dazed grin. The girl in her arms starts to squirm away and Nadja tightens her hold, drawing the human in with her gaze and speaking just one word, “Forget.”

You watch the girl’s eyes glaze over as Nadja releases her. She stumbles out of the bathroom and back out into the crowd. 

“What if another vampire decides to bite her?” you worry. All these people--yourself included--seem suddenly so fragile and vulnerable in the face of a vampire’s power.

“So?” Nadja asks. She’s licking her lips and swaying a little where she stands, obviously feeling the effects of the drug blood.

“So?” you echo. “So...she could...die…”

Saying these words out loud to your vampire roommate sounds suddenly daft.

Nadja snorts and then she’s overcome with giggles. She leans into your side as you make your way back out onto the dance floor.

“My silly human...you feel bad because you’re still human. I get it. But...you’ll understand eventually,” she says the words directly into your ear so as to be heard over the music. 

“When we...you know,” she mimics biting you and then puts her own wrist to your mouth. You want to ask her what the hell she’s talking about but she’s suddenly dragging you into the center of the dancers and urging you to dance with her. 

The night flies by in a blur of dancing and stalking and drinking. Nadja finds you a “human alcoholic drink” after considerable pouting when you tell her you don’t want to do any party drugs. There are cases of beer and hard cider stacked in one corner and you lose track of how many drinks you have as the evening goes on. You feel pleasantly loose-limbed and giggly. At one point you see Colin feeding off someone in a quiet corner and he sends you friendly wave even as his eyes glow with hungry power. But more and more people pack into the space as the hours go by and it’s so crowded you don’t run into anyone else from the house. You certainly aren’t searching the crowd for a tall, handsome warrior standing head and shoulders over the others.

Certainly not.

Nadja’s just finished feeding from a yummy young man and you’re leaving the bathroom once more when you finally bump into Laszlo.

“My darling, ferocious beast!” Nadja cries, throwing herself at Laszlo, who’s wearing a crown of glow sticks.

Laszlo catches her in his arms and mauls her mouth in a lewd kiss.

“My goodlady wife! At last! Where have you been? I spent twenty minutes fondling a coat rack before I realized it wasn’t you!”

“I’ve been escorting my pet human,” Nadja giggles and reaches out to pat your head. “Cute little human.”

You’re as drunk as you’ve ever been so the insult flies over your head. You rub your face into her palm and smile. Nadja turns back to her husband with a feral snarl and bites into his lips. 

“Come and ravish me, husband,” she growls, pulling him back towards the bathroom. She turns to you as an afterthought, “Wait right here, human. This won’t take long.”

“Hey!” Laszlo complains.

They disappear into the bathroom and you’re left standing by the wall riding a wave of happy drunken delirium and watching the glowing colors swirl around you.

---

Something’s wrong. Something bad happened but whenever you try to recall the details your mind goes blank and a headache twinges at your temples. 

But you know in your bones that something is wrong. 

You can’t bother Nadja and Laszlo while they’re desecrating the bathroom and Colin Robinson is no longer lurking in the corner where you’d seen him. Anyway there’s only one person you want right now. Only one person who can hold you in his strong arms and make you feel safe but you can’t find him in this horrible, pressing crowd. Your face is wet with tears that you don’t even remember crying but now you’re crying again. Big, racking sobs that hurt your throat and you’re shouting his name, trying to be heard over the deafening music.

When you finally spy his broad shoulders under the blood red velvet cape you break into a sprint and collide with his back, wrapping your arms around him and clinging to him without a care in the world for how pitiful you must look.

Nandor stiffens and turns around in your grip. When he finally sees you, your face stained with tears and the collar of your dress torn and soaked in blood, his face darkens and he feels the loose, merry hold of the drug blood leech from his body as fury takes hold.

“Who has done this?” his voice is a low, angry hiss. 

You just shake your head and bury it into his chest. You don’t have any answers for him. 

“Guillermo!” you hear his voice shouting over your head but you’ve retreated, narrowing the world down to the feel of his arms wrapped around your body. Safe. A faint question stirs at the back of your mind. Are you safe here? With him? But...yes, of course you are.

You’re outside the building now, sitting on top of a stack of wooden pallets with Guillermo and Nandor standing before you. Your mind is still buzzing with alcohol consumption and the heavy, empty echo of hypnosis. Nandor tries to fix your dress. The collar is torn and it gapes open revealing the tops of your breasts. You’d surely be mortified if you weren’t currently retreating into your own psyche. He finally gives up with a huff of annoyance and unclasps his heavy cape, dropping it onto your shoulders and wrapping it securely around you. You clutch the fabric in your shaking hands and pull it tighter. It smells like him.

“I need to know who did this,” Nandor mutters to no one in particular. “I will unleash hell upon them. I will snap their neck and stab them with a thousand stakes. I will--”

“Master,” Guillermo interrupts. “She’s been hypnotized…”

“I can make her remember,” Nandor answers and turns to you with his hand raised in front of your face. 

A sudden, intense fear claws up your throat and you grab his hand with both of yours, pushing it away and shrieking, “NO!”

You scramble backwards and nearly fall off the pile of pallets in your desperation to get away. Nandor grabs your shoulders to steady you and you’re shaking under his hands.

“Leave my head alone,” you whisper. Your eyes are wide, haunted and unseeing. 

Nandor continues to hold onto you, rubbing circles into your shoulders and whispering nonsense comfort words. When you’ve finally calmed down he moves to raise his hand up once more and Guillermo shouts, “Master!”

“I can make her feel better, Guillermo!” Nandor shouts back. He looks back at you and the defeated slump of your shoulders and growls in frustration. “Fine! Fu-cking guy…”

He gathers you in his arms, tucking the cape more securely around you and bending his knees in preparation for flight.

“We’ll see you at the house, Guillermo,” he calls and then he’s launching you both upward and soaring into the sky.

The abrupt weightlessness is enough to shake you slightly from your stupor and you squeal in fright, clutching onto Nandor’s lapels for dear life.

“We’re flying!” you cry, looking down at the city lights below before screwing your eyes shut in alarm. “Don’t drop me!”

“I’m not going to drop you,” Nandor scoffs but he looks a little chagrined at the memory of his familiar’s fall during such a flight. 

You wind your arms around his neck and wrap your legs around his waist, clinging onto him like a koala and periodically shrieking like you’re on a rollercoaster. When he finally touches down on the front steps you’re still attached to him with a death grip.

“We’re home, human,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands over your hair. “You can let go…”

You shake your head against his shoulder and utter a muffled, “No.”

Nandor’s rage over what has been done to you is a simmering fire in his belly but now he also feels something unique: a swelling in his chest that feels like pride. You sought him out for safety and protection...and he wants to take care of you…

He walks upstairs to your bedroom, cradling you in his arms all the way. Once inside he lowers you onto the bed and you finally let your grip on him loosen. 

“I’m going to get your bite ointment and some towels to clean your neck,” he whispers and you don’t miss the way his lips curl back from his fangs at the sight of your blood spattered skin. But he ignores the urge to cover the offensive bite with one of his own. 

He leaves for a few minutes and when he returns his arms are laden with bath towels and bandages. You sit with your legs dangling over the side of the bed and mutely observe as he tends to the wound with a gentle touch.

His eyes stay on his work and his jaw clenches as he finally breaks the silence, “You disobeyed me, human. And I’m not happy about that.”

He uses a wet face cloth on your neck and shoulder, cleaning away the dried blood before he applies the antibiotic cream. Your head is still spinning and you can’t really say if it’s from the alcohol, the hypnosis, or the terrifying flight, but you don’t have the energy to reply.

He rips open a band-aid wrapper and continues, “But I’m sorry this happened to you. You’re...special to me. And... I’d be very sad if you died.”

Nandor leans back on his heels and you look into his soft gaze. He looks more open and vulnerable than you’ve seen him and you suppose this admission is as close to a declaration of his feelings as you’re going to get from the vampire.

“Thanks, Nandor,” you reply, tugging the edges of his cape around you.

“I’ll leave you to get changed…”

---

Nandor is standing by his open coffin looking a little lost without Guillermo to tuck him in. He turns in a circle and with the faintest exhalation extinguishes all the candles lining the room. He’s just climbing in when you appear in the doorway, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You hug your arms around you and lean against the door frame not meeting his eyes.

“Hey…” you trail off, unaccountably bashful about your request.

Nandor’s eyes trail down your bare legs before flicking back up to your face.

“Hello, my little one,” he greets you. “Do you need me to tuck you in? Guillermo isn’t back yet…”

Does he think Guillermo tucks you in at night? Oh, has he...ordered his familiar to do so? It’s kind of adorable and your lips tug up in a smile. He’s an ancient, all powerful vampire who needs to be tucked in every night...er, day?

“No, I--” you clear your throat and start over. “Can I sleep in your coffin? I don’t want to be alone…”

An increasingly familiar warmth floods Nandor’s chest and he smiles revealing his razor sharp fangs, which should really be more terrifying to you, but who are you kidding?

“Come, my mortal,” he stretches out his hand and you take it, stepping up into the coffin and settling yourself around him, no longer even pretending that this is anything other than some serious undead snuggling.

He turns onto his side and spoons up behind you, snuggling with his face buried into the crook of your neck so he can breathe in your sweet scent. He reaches up to take the handle on the inside of the coffin lid and gently closes it over you both.

“You’re safe now, my mortal,” he breathes, dropping a light kiss on your shoulder.

And...you are. With his arms around you and his comforting weight at your back you feel as if nothing can harm you. Nothing, that is, except maybe for him.

But somehow that doesn’t worry you. You bring your hand up and twine your fingers with his, lifting his hand to your mouth and pressing your lips to his knuckles as your eyes drift shut in exhaustion. 

“‘M safe with you, Nandor,” you echo and there are other words, unspoken, that drift through your thoughts as you fall asleep.

---

Tags--let me know if you’d like to be added to the list

@festering-queen​ @glitterportrait​ @kandomeresbitch​ @scuzmunkie​ @redwoodshadows​

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

dings a rinky triangle right next to your head Hi guys, it's fic time! I actually put this up last night but I'm telling you right now. It's had a few hours to cool, like a pie out of the oven, but made of words. This chapter will actually contain mentions of ssssself harm, so viewer beware, i guess.

His world stays dark, even though he knows he’s opened his eyes. He tries to understand that, brain feeling foggy. He must be somewhere dark. He’s laying on his back. He can hear muffled voices, maybe, over him? He’s under something. He lays there, listening, but he’s too tired to even try to understand, and the voices are too muffled to be anything recognizable. Maybe, if he really strains, he can hear a familiar voice, or someone who sounds like his baby sister, but the only word he manages to understand is “invisible.”

He falls back into a restless sleep.

The next time he’s able to shake exhaustion from his mind, he tries to sit up. It’s easier than he thought it might be. This time, more aware of himself, his body feeling less destroyed, he actually tries to understand where he is. It feels like he’s laying in dirt, or under dirt, in a mountain of it, the usual soft scent of freshly turned earth overpowering. It still hurts to move, but he forces himself to, clawing upwards, through the dirt, until he reaches a wooden plank, which he goes through, like he’s not even there.

It’s a box, containing something foul smelling. A coffin… he’s inside a coffin. Juno buried him below a pine box, in someone else’s grave. The inside of it stinks, like decay and chemicals, and he doesn’t stop to take in whoever this used to be, just pushes up, and out, until he emerges from the ground like a zombie, like Night of the Living Dead. The ground around him is grown over with grass, and he grabs at it, using it as much as he can, as he crawls from someone’s grave, until finally, he pulls himself free from the earth, and lays there, taking breaths he doesn’t need, to clear the smell of the body from his nose. His suit and trench coat are filthy, but that barely registers, at this point. There are more important things to worry about, like getting home- He sits up, catches sight of the gravestone.

Emily Deetz Devoted Wife, Beloved Mother “Whom Most We Love Reach First the Golden Gate, Leaving Us Desolate”

He stares at the etching on the stone, and feels something in his mind snap, like a rubber band stretched too tight. He’s seeing the world through a fisheye lens, his vision distorted, blurry, as he tries to understand exactly what just happened. Juno made him crawl out of his own mother’s grave. The body he still reeks of was Emily’s. He sits there, a long time, not feeling much of anything, only able to stare, replaying that memory, over and over, and the only thing that makes him move is the sudden realization of what grass over a grave could mean. Emily’s been buried long enough for it to grow. How long has it been since he’s been home? He does his best to push this fun new trauma down, as far as it will go. He’s got to get back to his family. What’s left of it, he thinks, humorlessly.

He stands, off balance, and wipes some of the dust and dirt from his face, and finds that, annoyingly, his glamour has slipped, and it refuses to reapply. Maybe he’s too drained, though he’s not sure how he’s going to get back home, clearly looking as deranged as he must. He’s too exhausted to teleport, and he wanders around the cemetery, avoiding the few people there as much as he can, as the sun dips low, and vanishes. At least by that point he can force his teeth and ears to resemble normal human’s. The moss and eyes, well, he’s too worn down to care. So he’ll look like an extra grubby hobo, he thinks. That’ll have to be his new look, for now.

He reaches a gate, and leans on it, and then falls through it, and blinks, confused. He’s never been intangible by accident, before. Usually it takes concentration to make his solid form incorporeal. He stands, straightens out his suit collar, adjusts his sleeves, fiddles with his tie, as he thinks. There’s got to be someone around here who can call his family for him, or at the very least, a cab. The cemetery is growing darker, and his attention is drawn to the far off flicker of candles. He feels a pull, and he approaches, taking in what he sees.

It’s a group of five teenagers with an Ouija board. Predictable. He snorts, and expects that sound to alert the kids to his presence, but they don’t even turn to see what the noise could be. He steps closer, until he’s fully illuminated by the glowing ring of candles around them, and he tries to be friendly. “Hey, just a normal livin’ adult human man, in a cemetery, at night, approachin’ a group of children. You kids wanna be helpful an’ call me a cab?” BJ tries, but he’s ignored. The kids don’t even look in his direction. He remembers being a snot nosed teen, but this is a bit much. His blood boils, and he leans down, claps his hands in one of the teen’s faces, and she responds to that, but not in the way he wants. “I think I just felt a cold spot!” she tells her friends. “In front of my face, just now!” “Calm down with that,” a red haired girl shoots her a look. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already having a spiritual experience. Yeah, right.” “No you guys, really!”

“Lookit me,” he interrupts them. The children continue to squabble. His gut clenches. “Look at me!” he demands, storming to the center of the circle, and kicking at their stupid board game. His boot goes through it. They don’t react. Why would they, he realizes, sinking to sit on top of the board.

He’s invisible.

He tries to recall everything Juno had said, as he’d struggled to keep conscious, while impaled. Loneliness. Invisibility, being at the command of the living. Being… forgotten. No, no, NO- His impending freak out is stymied when he feels hands go through him, and he shoots up, hovering over the board game, as the teens below him react. “Oh my god, total cold spot! Should we like, make a note of that?” “Come on, come on, let’s start, while there’s still someone or something here!”

The five teens lean forward, each placing fingers on the planchette. “Is there anyone here?” one of them asks.

Betelgeuse stares, and feels a tug, again, clearly coming from the board. He knows some demons use these things to play with their food, before they eat, so he gives it a go, and floats over the game, head down, feet in the air, like he’s diving underwater. Maybe these kids can actually help him. He pushes the planchette with one finger, to land on “Yes.”

“Did you do that?” one boy asks, and the group devolves into the kids blaming each other, and he rakes his hands down his face, and tries to move the planchette, again, but they’re too busy squabbling, they’re not touching it anymore. Fuck, this is frustrating. He’s never wanted a group of teenagers to drop dead as badly as he does right now. Finally, they put their hands back on the pointer, and ask another question. “Are you friendly?”

This time, he pushes the planchette to spell, instead. “S-U-R-E.” “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence,” the redhead from before mutters. “What do you want?” He nudges the pointer along, painstakingly slow. “H-O-M-E.” “You want to go home?” “YES.”

“For fuck sake, yes,” he groans, and then perks as one asks, “How can we help you?” Well… he’s not actually sure. He squints, trying and failing to recall everything Juno had said. How is he supposed to work with this curse thing, when he doesn’t know the rules? He digs his hands in his pockets, frustrated, and then blinks, because there’s what feels like a business card there, one that he doesn’t remember. He pulls the paper from his pocket, studies it.

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE

He remembers the way Juno had chanted his name, before he’d lost consciousness. That must be it, then. His name is his burden.

“M-Y-N-A-M-E-T-H-R-E-E-T-I-M-E-S”

“Oh, wait, wait, guys, I’ve heard of this,” one of the girls gasps. “Demonic entities, they have you do things in threes, to mock the trinity, you know, father, son, and holy ghost. It’s a demon thing! We might be talking to a non-human spirit!” “That means we can’t trust it, right?” A boy asks, and they all look uneasy. He steers the planchette around the board, desperate. “W-A-N-N-A-H-O-M-E-P-L-Z.” The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Do demons use chat speak?” she asks, glancing around the group.

“O-H-M-Y-G-O-D-U-K-I-D-S-A-R-E-K-I-L-L-I-N-M-E.”

“I’m not afraid. Tell us your name, spirit!” a boy calls, and he gives the planchette a push, intent on spelling it. The pointer doesn’t move. “Come the fuck on!” he growls, but it doesn’t matter how much strength he puts into the action, he can’t move the dinky plastic piece to spell out his name.

“Spirit? You there?”

“F-U-C-K,” he spells out, in a rage, because this is pointless, he’s too exhausted and sore to think of how to make this work, and he just wants to go home, and see what’s left of his family. He growls again, and then snuffs all the candles in the circle, all at once, causing the kids to scream, and scramble, and that, at least, forces a rictus grin from him. He’s always enjoyed the sounds of terror. He leaves the children tripping over themselves in the dark, and decides he’s going to have to make his way home the old fashioned way- floating. At least he doesn’t have to walk, he supposes, tucking his legs under himself, and he floats invisibly out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk, trying to focus on how good it will be to see Lydia and Charles, and not on how they won’t see him, and especially not on how every part of him, physically, emotionally, mentally, is hurting. read the rest over here~ If you're totally lost, I find starting at the beginning of something often makes the middle of something make better sense. So you can start at the very beginning right HERE

[thiswasinevitableid]

7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand. 

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest. 

He just wanted to help. 

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident. 

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety. 

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills. 

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots. 

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless. 

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings. 

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries. 

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat. 

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground. 

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

Bitter metal on his tongue. 

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth. 

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed. 

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself. 

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing. 

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.” 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes. 

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

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

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with. 

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness. 

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip. 

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep. 

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

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

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage. 

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness. 

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away. 

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away. 

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans. 

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

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly. 

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors. 

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things. 

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed. 

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

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

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl. 

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around. 

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection. 

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new. 

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever. 

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.” 

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment. 

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest. 

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

[theramseyloft]

Shipping a Pigeon

This is not just important for breeders and rescues to know.

The recipients of shipped pigeons need to know how this works as well.

https://foyspetsupplies.com/new-vented-single/

This is the Horizon Micro Environment vented single box, currently the industry standard for shipping pigeons.

These shipping boxes are designed around the thermodynamics of air and the physiology of the birds.

They are made of sturdy corrugated cardboard, which is surprisingly well insulated! 

The wide vent at the top of the box vents out warm air as it rises, drawing cooler fresh air through the smaller holes all down the sides and across the bottom on the solid side of the box, where the label is attached.

Air holes are covered by a filter, which provides a few benefits: Keeping the bird and its mess contained, moderate protection from outside contaminants, and most importantly, darkness.

Pigeons are diurnal.

Deprived of light, they basically shut off and fall asleep.

If they could see and were active, more than 24 hours with out water would leave them dangerously dehydrated.

But while they sleep, their digestion is drastically slowed; allowing them to conserve water and calories for days longer than they could while active.

I line the boxes with two layers of paper towels and send seeds with them, but there is no safe or legal way to send water, which is why keeping them in the dark for the trip is so important.

Live birds travel mostly by ground, to protect them in case of hazardous materials ending up in the same scheduled shipment. 

If that happens, the live animal is simply delayed until the next scheduled truck or sent along a different rout.

Some times this results in delays. It is not uncommon for a bird to arrive a day or so later than projected, but pigeons travel very well.

If both bird and box are correctly prepared prior to departure, Pigeons are comfortably travel safe for up to seven days.

To prepare my birds for departure, I bring them in 24-48 hours before departure day and keep then in a hospital cage where they have nothing to do but eat and drink and their appetite and hydration levels can be monitored.

Both of which is done by observing the quality of the poop.

Hospital cages are lined with white paper towels to make this easier. 

Paper towels wick the moisture away from a fecal sample, letting you see how much liquid was present in a ring of what’s been wicked from an individual poop.

Too much liquid with a large portion of the first day’s meal left over warns of depressed appetite.

Lots of liquid with very little food left either means that was not a large enough portion, or warns that there may be parasites present that you had no prior knowledge of. 

If you give a larger portion of feed and the solids to liquids ratio corrects, then chances are you underestimated that individuals intake.

If you adjust the portion and the poop is still very sloppy and wet, it isn’t just a portioning issue and shipment needs to be delayed so that the necessary diagnostic measures can to be taken to work out what’s wrong.

If a bird is pooping too dry on the first day, it may just be stressed by the transition into a hospital cage.

If it’s still pooping dry the next day I alert the recipient that the bird is not sufficiently well hydrated and arrange to try again next week.

This is why 48 hour pre-departure holds are better than 24 hour holds.

It is always better to delay and risk the annoyance of the client to be sure the bird is in good enough condition to arrive safely than to assume everything will be fine and risk sending your client an animal that will arrive in need of medical care.

Six weeks is the bare minimum safe shipping age for a baby pigeon, as that is when their baby feathers have generally come all the way in.

New feathers are fleshy and vascular, and requite a LOT of moisture from the bird growing them, so while the baby is fledging, it is extremely prone to dehydration.

Mine go out at nine weeks, because six weeks is the youngest they can safely be vaccinated for PMV and Paratyphoid, and the soonest they can receive boosters and be fully vaccinated is three weeks later.

That puts them well into a travel safe level of development,

A word of caution on adult cocks!

While hens and young birds under four months are generally safe to ship together, It is safest to ship adult cocks with a divider!

Part of what makes pigeons such easy travelers is the close resemblance for them of a shipping crate to a nest crevice.

Adult cocks are VIOLENTLY defensive of potential nest spaces, and his travel partner cannot get away from him!!!

This can result in a travel partner getting scalped to the skull and neck vertebrae if they are lucky enough to shut down in time, 

Or being kept awake and active long enough to fatally dehydrate en rout, leaving only the winning cock and a corpse.

It does not matter if the cock in question was bonded to or friends with this travel partner.

Cocks in driving mode have even scalped and killed their own mates in the confines of the shipping box.

If you are sending out a cock over four months old with another bird of any sex or age, put a divider between them!!!

A length of cardboard running diagonally from one corner of the box to the other is all it takes to ensure that both an adult cock and who ever he’s traveling with will arrive safely and whole, if you do not have the option to send him in his own box.

On arrival, place new birds straight into their enclosure, and show them where water is.

It’s important to give them a few days to get their bearings and adjust to the new normal before being invited out for bonding time.

Human-social pigeons will look to you for comfort after all this change, and will usually beg to be let out on arrival day.

At the very least, wait until you have seen them drink and eat before you let your new bird come out and explore the room at large.

Expect a new arrival by mail to be thirsty and disoriented. They just spent 2-4 days asleep in a box, the jetlag is real.

For the first few days, expect wet poop. The bird will be more interested in water than food for about the first three days, though you should see a steady transition over to water and food intake balancing out over that period.

Ideally, shipping is only done a few times in the life of a pigeon.  If not from their breeder straight to their forever home;

Then from the breeder who hatched them to a breeder that wants peeps from them, and from there to their permanent pet home when they retire

Or from a rescue to a long term foster to a permanent home.

When done correctly, shipping is the safest, most comfortable means by which to transport a pigeon over long distances.

But if done incorrectly, it can be severely injurious or even fatal.

If you are adopting a pigeon from a rescue, purchasing a pet bird from a breeder, or purchasing breeding stock to add to a project, you now know what to ask the rescue or breeder about their shipping procedure to ensure that your birds travel comfortably and arrive safely.

[miyosamu]

Giyuu x Male!Hashira: getting injured

upon his return to the hashira’s base, the first thing he noticed was how several officers, he recognized them as the nurses from shinobu’s, were running around in mayhem.

from experience, he knew that this meant that one of the hashira’s was severely injured, and thus a sense of dread he tried to suppress settled into the bottom of his stomach as he thought of who it might be

the only thing that he knew for sure is that he hoped it wasn’t you. 

out of all the hashiras, you’re the only one giyuu can confidently say he has a solid relationship with. 

and lately, he thinks it’s been bordering on something further than friendship

before you guys were sent off on your individual missions you had told him that you wanted to take him to an upcoming festival that’s being held in the next town

he remembers your face when he had told you he’s never been to a festival. you decided to take it upon yourself to show him the joy of mini-games, food stands, and fireworks

the fact that you cared for him and went as far as trying to get him to experience things he never did really warmed his heart

after everything he’s been through, after being in this line of work for as long as he’s been, joy wasn’t something he ever thought he’d experience again

but for a split second, sometimes when he’s with you, like when he heard you were gonna take him to a festival when you got back, he thinks he’ll be able to find joy with you

you gave him hope

but right now 

as he watched the nurses rushing around yelling for medications and herbs, hearing your name in the midst of it all, it numbed him to the core

-well, that was shortlived- he thought

he felt sick to his stomach and got dizzy. he had to numb all his emotions to prevent himself from panicking and reliving what he experienced from a previous loss 

he grabbed one of the nurses and told them to take him to where you were, and despite knowing that he couldn’t get in until their procedure was done, he just wanted to be as close as he could

he was torn, he neither wanted to be optimistic and give himself false hope nor did he want to think about the worst outcome 

so he just blanked out and sat by the door

after an hour passed though he felt increasingly restless and decided that he had to do something

he walked outside and picked up flowers in your favourite colour and hoped you weren’t allergic to them and he’d accidentally kill you 

…

he was stressed ok 

by the time he found a fitting vase for the flowers and returned to where you were, they were done with the procedure successfully and they informed him that you weren’t gonna die but will be bedridden for a while 

which was more than he could ever hope for

the weight that had been threatening to crush him the entire time alleviated and he visibly relaxed

and when giyuu walked into your room, no one could get him to get out 

like ever

he insists he will stay by your side even if you were asleep the entire time 

and again, while he was sitting beside your bed he felt the need to do something again

so he got some cool water and a soft towel that he regularly soaked in said water before placing it on your forehead

did you have a fever? no.

did you need it in any way, shape, or form? no.

but giyuu did it anyway 

he rationalized it to himself as well, convinced himself that it’s been getting more humid so this will help you keep cool

he’s    baby 

please he’s trying his best he just wants you back

you were asleep for three whole days and because he was adamant about staying by your side they just let him have a bed beside yours

he developed this habit of playing with your hands whenever he became absentminded sitting by your side

he’d talk to you too. tell you stories

he’ll tell you about how his mission went

he’ll tell you about this butterfly that for some reason kept chasing inosuke the entire day

giyuu would surprise himself with the amount he’s talked

it made him realise how it was mostly you who carried the conversations that you two had

he really missed you

and as he reminisced on those memories you had woken up and squeezed his hand that had been holding yours

giyuu would jump to his feet at the sight of your open eyes and he’d be so overcome with emotions

he was happy he was angry he was so pent up and his emotions were in a swirl he didn’t know if he should lecture you about being careful or if he should yell at you to never do that again

so the only thing he could do was hug you, mindful of your injury, and say “from now on, we’re going on missions together.”

as you slowly started gaining your energy back and as you were able to stay awake for longer periods giyuu kept getting happier and happier

your health -> improves == giyuu -> happy boi

HE’D BE !!!! SO PROUD !!!

LIKE YOU’D BE SITTING UP ON THE BED EATING YOUR LUNCH AND TALKING UP A STORM AND HE’D LOOK AT YOU LIKE THIS:

no one:

giyuu: that’s my boy look at him he has a healthy glow to his skin, he’s eating well, he looks great laughing and talking with me

he’d be at your beck and call the entire time and i say you should take advantage of that

omg he’d show you the flowers he’d picked for you and get so happy with a cute little flush to his cheeks when you tell him you love them

listen

praise him

tell him he did a good job

ok

just do it

tell him the flowers make you happy

tell him the cool towel really helped you

tell him that you‘re happy he stayed by your side and made you feel less lonely

reassurance is sexy

and he needs a lot of it

you had apologized to him about missing the festival you promised to take him in but he brushed it off quickly, telling you that he was just happy with you being here with him

you had told him how you were excited to see him in a kimono and how unfortunate it is that you missed the opportunity because of a stupid injury

and in all honesty, you had kinda said it just offhandedly

but giyuu took it to heart so he stood up and excused himself

just to come back an hour or so later wearing a striped dark blue kimono that he just went to town to buy just for you

hE’S SO CUTE

COMPLIMENT HIM

when you complimented him, he just stood there blushing not really knowing how to respond

he approached your bed and brought a bag that he had hidden behind his back

“i bought one for you too”

giyuu,,, i would die for you

he’d help you into your own kimono and you just had a makeshift date in your room and it was on of the best dates you’ve ever had tbh

giyuu is awkward and hesitant about everything regarding this but it just makes him look adorable

by the end of the night, giyuu, surprisingly, took initiative and gave you a soft kiss on the lips

when he pulled back he asked if that was okay to do and you reassured him by kissing again

a bit harder this time

you’d feel him smile into the kiss and he’d wrap his arms around you to bring you closer

you ended up cuddling that night and giyuu had asked “does this make you my boyfriend?”

and you chuckled softly and ran your fingers through his hair and told him that yes, this means you’re his boyfriend and he is yours

giyuu was asked to go to a mission the day after and he wanted to send someone else to do it but you were like

giyuu no this is a hashira-level mission you have to be the one who does it

he begrudgingly caves and is very pouty about it

the mission took him a week in total; traveling took most of his time than the actual mission itself and he was complaining to himself the whole way to and from

he finished the mission rather quickly because he was pissed at the demon that pulled him away from you at such a crucial time

when he got back he got even CLINGIER than he was before he left

he was just following you around like a puppy with their favourite human

you’re his favourite human

if you developed scars from you injury giyuu would kiss them anytime he saw them

when you’re changing or cuddling he’d just lean in and kiss them

giyuu got too used to sleeping by your side that he now struggles when you’re not with him

your relationship just solidified so much more during this period

now everyone knows that you and giyuu are a thing because of the way he was acting

he’d PDA without really knowing he’s PDA-ing

after you completely heal he’d take you to a hot spring because those feel nice and are super good for you

plus he thinks it’d be romantic

physical therapy to regain your stamina has been brutal so the hot spring felt heavenly to your sore muscles

you stayed the night at the spring’s lodge and it was just such a private and intimate setting

giyuu loves to hold you close to his chest and wrap his arms around you cuz it’s both a protective position and also a “he’s my treasure and i cherish him a lot” position

when you start going on missions again you start doing most of them together

and giyuu loves those missions the most because you two can look after each other but you can also spend a lot of private time when you’re traveling so much

he just he cares you ok