#presumably the same bird from last week

[kil9]

last satuday there was a bird hanging out on my window for like an hour and now today (saturday) theres TWO birds (she brought a friend) but now i have to wonder do birds know the days of the week ???

[when-pigsfly]

WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light. 

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl. 

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”  

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment. 

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did. 

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper. 

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of. 

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up. 

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!” 

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm. 

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said. 

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous. 

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it. 

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today. 

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you. 

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?” 

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

__

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it. 

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest. 

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it. 

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees. 

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum. 

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better. 

Awful timing, that man. 

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact. 

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look. 

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat. 

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt. 

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.” 

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ” 

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough. 

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.” 

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze. 

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were. 

And yet.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post. 

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?” 

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.  

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else. 

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance. 

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.  

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice. 

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet. 

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—” 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all. 

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. 

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.” 

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.” 

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—” 

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

[delphinus-dancer]

A deep dive into a swan lake and flipping the (metaphorical, sadly) bird:

A Mihaly-centric view of JD 2024 story mode

(because they’re my favorite and I’ve thought about this way too much over the past few days weeks) Spoilers for JD 24 in the almost-essay under the cut, including some images!

Starting off with Mihaly’s first appearance in the story mode in Canned Heat, it seems like not too much time has passed since the end of jd23- Sara seems to be at the same party, Jack still at the tower, etc. (how Brezziana got to the beach that fast and had a workout class is something I’m going to guess was preplanned before everything went down).

We can assume this would be the first time Mihaly’s come back to their room since then (which makes the idea of Wanderlust FaceTiming everyone like 5 minutes after they left even funnier). Of course there’s the shot of Mihaly ripping the poster off the wall, which probably puts their feelings into words better than anything else within an E10 rating. <Side note: I don’t know much on lore but does the setting mean there’s a chance they’re from Eternyx? Both maps started in dark crowd/nighttime so wasn’t sure if confirmed or not>

While Sara has the spot pretty much clinched for a Night Swan’s foil, Mihaly is a really close second. This shot literally puts it into perspective- Mihaly’s color scheme has as many color elements of Master Panda’s (shirt/jacket/foot wraps) as it does Night Swan’s (hair-that-perfectly-matches-the-poster/ gold of headphones and glasses/pants). Their dance style also overlaps moreso with hers than the other dancers, with the precision and technique of their moves, from the footwork and leaps of Rather Be to the dramatic powerful motions of their Swan Lake part. It’s pretty obvious who the song is directed to, and what makes the song so interesting compared to their last story mode one is how loose it feels. This is unlike their usual technical style because of the connection to Night Swan with the control demanded of certain moves that they’ve presumably mastered- maybe they were fueled by a desire to achieve her success. Regardless, the song and emotion fueled, less ‘perfect’ dance lets Mihaly basically flip the bird at Night Swan’s corrupted idea of perfection. Either way, it culminates in them achieving a new high in their training with channeling their ‘true’ inspiration of the (master) panda. Although they retain most of their same costume after sort of becoming a furry?, a noticeable change is that the black leggings are understandably switched to something looser- but to the navy color of master panda instead of Mihaly’s black.

What’s also interesting is that the specific point Night Swan interrupts Mihaly’s song isn’t at the beginning like Brezziana/Sara/Jack’s or the very end like Wanderlust, but at the climax of their journey for the song. Not only does this imply that she may have been watching the entire time but choose to interfere later, but she is also the only character to see the Panda form before Swan Lake.

As Night Swan basically invades Mihaly’s //mind/headspace/flowspace?/no idea on the lore// they initially try to fight her off, but unlike Brezziana in her map, don’t fight until the end. Although Mihaly themselves wasn’t being corrupted like the background coaches in Brezziana’s map, they still let themselves, in a sense, lose a more internal battle to Night Swan as they leave the metaphorical and literal height of their understanding and power in the Flow and come back to the real world.

This then takes us straight into Swan Lake, which is really interesting for the Night Swan/Mihaly interactions and how they compare to the other dancers. Although from a format standpoint it makes sense for the movements in the bridge to be different, there are more differences too.

A big one that I only realized once I watched Majesty again is how the other swan soldiers/minions were turned back- and that was mainly by doing the same moves to ultimately come together and bring the dancers back. Here it’s the opposite for effectiveness- what causes Wanderlust and Brezziana to fail is that they think that’s how to stop Sara. Sara matches the moves in a way that <well> matches, if not surpasses the power that they put in. As a result of meeting them head on and assuming control, Sarah actively corrupts the two of them. She makes motions to bring in the smoke, and both of them also are stationary/surrendering as their color drains.

When it gets to Mihaly, the dynamic with Sara changes completely. While Sara starts off watching with the same expression as when the others challenged her, it shifts as she realizes she can’t emulate what Mihaly does, with the movements almost like Night Swan’s-dramatic and slower. It comes to a head when Mihaly channels the panda again and visibly knocks Sara back, so she’s unable to push any of the smoke towards them.

Sara’s expression also becomes noticeably softer for the rest of Mihaly’s part, and she doesn’t reassert that dominance/control she had earlier- with dancing or the smoke. See how she looks almost pensive in the photos above/below, especially compared to the earlier parts.

Speaking of the smoke, this is the key part about Night Swan seeing the panda earlier. She knows it exists and how to force it off after the earlier song, and as Sara is incapacitated/distracted, she presumably sends down the smoke that starts attacking Mihaly in Panda form.

This attack is why despite having a chance to get through to Sara, Mihaly still ends up failing as they return to normal. However, they are the only character to be so dynamic in their active corruption. Not only does Mihaly manage to send a signal out to Jack, which was a display of power never seen from them previously, but they also do it as they are actively losing their color and control. Unlike the other dances, Mihaly still moves as they lose control, possibly having the strength to continue to fight had they not realized that Night Swan was attacking alongside Sara.

Although the signal is in the shape of a pawprint, its underlying meaning is more than just a plot device to send Jack on a wild goose chase (pun intended that I couldn’t pass up). With the way it opens to form a window into the location from such a distance, it almost seems to be a step away from a full fledged portal. With the sudden appearance of a new power, it’s also an interesting parallel to Night Swan, who here uses powers to create a unique form of control that wasn’t seen in the previous game and who regularly uses portals with her magic.

Another note is the lights that appear for each of the dancers in the upper left corner during the song as they take on Sara. While Brezziana and Wanderlust’s fade out a few moves before they fall, Mihaly’s still goes strong even as they completely turn grey, as seen the the photos above. This could be a possible indication to them having a more stable power than the other dancers, or a form of magic more comparable/competitive with Night Swan’s. Also to note about the lights: looking on the floor during the song, the diamonds flash 3 colors: hot pink (Night Swan), a deep green (Sara, especially while corrupted- her original outfit but darker), and a teal (the exact same color as Mihaly’s flow energy). Like everything else, this is a stretch, but it could possibly mean that Night Swan’s control and magic background could have stemmed from a pure form of flow like Mihaly practices.

This could also be a factor in why they retain the most of their original outfit in the corrupted design- possibly a form of resistance like they displayed during swan lake or general flow magic? Notice that while they have significant changes to their robe/face/accessories, their feather motifs are much less pronounced than the others, simply appearing as marks on the robe that can be mistaken for stripes, rather than overt feathers like Wanderlust/Sara or Sara/Brezziana’s feather tights. Unlike the others, Mihaly keeps their leggings exactly the same (which were notably lost in the panda form, as mentioned earlier), and interestingly enough, their wraps. I initially thought that Night Swan would have changed that to something like ballet slippers with ribbons, so I think it’s really interesting that they are the only dancer who had any details remain exactly the same, especially one that had unique opportunities to be changed.

Going off of that, since they were the last to turn and have (some?) control over their outfit and (some?) magic that may be similar to Night Swan, I could see them being the first/easiest coach for Jack or someone else to turn back when he (hopefully) takes on the coaches.

One last note is the number of maps per story mode coach at this point. Counting Stronger /Survivor, and Treasure/Lose Yourself (hopefully coming soon after that ending!), that seems to be setting a trend for the other coaches to potentially have an additional map as well. If so, maybe that would be one where Mihaly could individually be freed, or a chance for them to further explore their rapidly developing powers (maybe in a confrontation with Night Swan?? a girl can dream).

And there y’all have it! Thank you for somehow reading to the end!! Happy dancing!!

this took forever oh my god

[mintymarabell]

i would like to request a part two of imagine this with the yandere elder when the reader run away and probly more parts

Part 1 can be found here part three can be found here

Tick tick tick

The sound of smashing glass could be heard, his fist colliding with the grandfather clock you had insisted on getting.

He groaned, it was like a hammer to worsen his headache. All morning he had sat in a surveillance type room, searching, looking desperately for you.

Any longer he was sure he’d go crazy, oh how he missed you. And oh how he was going to kill whatever who took you.

The nerve. The nerve they had to take his presumed canary. To take his bird from his cage without HIS permission.

He applauded them. Honestly. To be able to get into the manor and take his little flower from right under his nonexistent nose.

How the dog didn’t alert him he had no clue. But what he did know was that he needed to find you.

There was a knock at his door, it was loud.

As he opened the door he was greeted to one of his little goons. “Well?” He leaned against the door frame expectantly.

“We think we may have found them sir.” The elite looked down at his feet.

He stood up straight. “Where?” His voice grew louder as he stepped forward with desperation.

“They are near one of the big city towers, they were seen walking around with another yautja.”

His hand that still held the door frame tightened its grip, the wood cracking under the pressure. “Take me there.”

———————————————————————————————

You had thought that when you’d run away you’d be happy and yet there was a slight pain in your chest. Waking up in the middle of some random forest and being helped by a Youngblood who so happened to be passing by.

Surely you hadn’t loved him. Surely not. He kidnapped you. Took you from your home. But what was this aching feeling?

It had been a few days since you’ve ran, the same Youngblood always at your side as you recovered from your minor injuries. They could only be bandaged seeing as the Youngblood could not afford a spray bottle medicine or whatever it was they used.

He could’ve been but only 17 in human years. He was a sweetheart with helping, always being a shoulder to lean on.

There was always a nagging feeling in the back of your mind, the feeling of being watched nagging at your senses. This wasn’t good. Nor was it good you had another yautja walking beside you.

He would kill him. You were sure of it.

It was now day 7, a full week of being a runaway. The little apartment the Youngblood had put you in was nice, even if it meant having to share it with him. You felt bad for the kid. He had a lot coming for him.

Your wounds were healed and it was time to get going, you didn’t want to risk this guys life anymore. When you had brought up leaving the teen had begged for one last walk through the city. You of course obliged, wanting to be nice.!

———

The walk was silent. Comforting. The Youngblood hadn’t spoke a word choosing to just stare straight ahead.

As the walk continued you looked beside you to make sure he was still there. What met your gaze was nothing.

Where had he gone?

Warm hands came around and shielded your vision, your senses screamed at you to move but you couldn’t.

“Guess who baby.”

[takeyourcyanide]

Mutt

(Soul Eater Fanfiction)

Word count: 3 501

Summary: Stein, after having dissected an injured cardinal, attempts to find out whether or not he’d feel guilt if he were to do the same to his friends.

Note(s): Parts of this have been proofread, parts have not.

A bone-chilling gust of wind whipped along the desert of Death City, rustling Stein’s silver hair, as he walked along the cobblestone paths, observing the marvelously grey, winter skies above him.

The world around him looked disturbingly fake and he scanned it, though he paid that feeling no mind once he came across an injured cardinal on the ground in front of him. It was twitching like a bug on its back, seemingly gasping for air, attempting to flap its wings and fly again. Stein, with his frigid hands encased in the warmth of his favorite pair of gloves, picked the bird up, holding it close to his person. It was evidently too exhausted to work up the energy to peck him, to panic and leap from his arms. It was close to death, it only needed a little nudge to fall over the edge, straight into non-existence.

Stein turned around, marching back in the direction of his and Spirit’s shared apartment. A surge of a welcomed emotion he hadn’t felt in a little while grappled at his chest; it was curiosity. He had never managed to dissect a bird before, as, unfortunately, they possessed wings and the ability to fly, an ability Stein did not.

A victorious grin tugged at the corners of the meister’s mouth for the first time in a long time, as he glanced down at the chirping bird. The noises it produced sounded pained and desperate.

He’d put the poor birdie out of its misery.

……

Stein held the weeping bird in the crook of his arm, outstretching his free arm in order to gently turn the doorknob.

Once he entered the quaint apartment, he saw Spirit to his left, a delicious smell wafting over from their kitchen, as the weapon cooked what Stein could presume was Spaghetti.

“Hey, Stein-“ Spirit turned his head for a brief moment, peering at the male, only to nearly jump out of his own clothing at a certain sight he had not expected whatsoever. “-What the hell?!”

He truly needed to learn to expect the unexpected from his unpredictable partner.

“It’s a bird,” Stein matter-of-factly stated, his expression unchanging as he shimmied out of his coat, playing hot potato with the cardinal.

“Yeah, I can see it’s a bird, but why do you have it?” He questioned, his face contorting into one of disgust, confusion, and surprise. “Don’t tell me that thing’s been dead for a week.”

“No, it’s still alive, but barely. I found it on the ground,” Stein elucidated. “I’ve wanted to dissect a bird for a while, though I really wanted a crane…”

Spirit checked over the pasta one last time before walking over to the pair, giving the blinking bird a once over.

“Poor thing,” Spirit drawled, staring sympathetically down at the struggling animal. “You know, it’s a little mean of you to rip its guts out when it’s so down in the dumps and vulnerable.”

“Am I not putting it out of its misery? It would’ve died a slow, painful death, anyway, no?” Stein pointed out, kicking his shoes off and walking towards his bedroom to lay it down onto one of his steel, medical trays.

“You have a point there,” the scythe admitted, nodding his head back in forth to the side in consideration, making his way back to his former position in order to stir the softening noodles once again.

Stein placed down the creature with a gentle plop, laying a small towel over its body like a blanket. He left his door open upon leaving, hoping to make sure that the bird wouldn’t fall off of his wooden desk.

“That cardinal reminds me of you, Spirit,” Stein plainly said, sending shivers down Spirit’s spine. He was almost certain that Stein wasn’t trying to creep him out, but the way in which he spoke, and the fact that he was planning on cutting the animal open left him feeling queasy.

“Why?” Spirit confusedly inquired, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

Stein moved to stand next to Spirit, observing him with wide, curious eyes as he poured the spaghetti into the strainer.

“Because its feathers are the same color as your hair,” he explained, retrieving the needed sauce and handing it to his crimson-haired partner.

Spirit mumbled a small and distracted “thanks,” dousing the noodles in pasta sauce.

A sudden and wicked smirk appeared on Stein’s face whilst he watched the clumpy red liquid smear over the pale yellow food.

“What are you so giddy about?” The weapon chuckled, grabbing both of them bowls and silverware.

“Oh, nothing… Just thinking about all the blood that’ll pour out of that little bird’s body,” the mad meister spoke in a sing-song, happy-go-lucky voice.

“Fuck you, dude, that’s weird,” Stein giggled malevolently as the two of them sat down at their round dining table.

……

“How can you do that shit right after eating?” Spirit yelled out to Stein, of whom was already slinking back into his bedroom.

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t bother me,” Stein shrugged his elated shoulders, bouncing off towards the dying cardinal.

‘It doesn’t bother me.’

It really never did bother him, did it? Even despite the fact that he knew he was taking advantage of, exploiting the bird’s vulnerability, he felt nothing but excitement.

And even with the care he did have for his friends, the care he thought he’d never be able to feel at all, it seemed as though he viewed them the exact same way.

Stein spun his chair around, getting comfortable in the rolling seat, and gathering the necessary tools. He lifted the hand towel from off of the bird’s body, of which had dropped further in temperature despite having been introduced to the warmth of their apartment’s heater, as well as the towel.

Every once in a while, the cardinal blinked. And every once in a while, the cardinal twitched. But it was clear to anyone who happened to lay eyes on the animal, that it was just a few minutes, if not a few seconds away from its inevitable demise.

Stein took his shining, silver scalpel in his right hand, holding the bird down, as he began. The creature did protest a little at first, whilst he drug his scalpel through its thoracic cavity, all the way down into and through the fat and muscle tissue of its abdominal cavity. But the frightened, writhing, and exhausted cardinal eventually went limp under Stein’s frigid hands.

Beads of blood trickled against the razor-sharp blade, as the scientist continued to hack the animal open, ultimately exposing its uterus. He smiled to himself, nodding his head in a curious delight after noting that the cardinal was, in fact, female. He had never seen the uterus of a female bird before. At least not in person.

Stein, upon finishing revealing the innards of the bird’s torso, returned once more to its chest, satisfyingly cutting its sternum in half. A flood of dark, dark crimson streamed out, the animal’s formerly beating heart shone a mesmerizing red. With precision, he attentively retrieved the layered organ from the subject’s chest, giddily placing it down onto another medical tray he had placed beside the one in which the bird had died.

The male’s cheeks hurt, as he could not remember the last time he had smiled so largely and for such an extended duration. He kicked his feet in a pleasurable excitement, back and forth and back and forth. He chewed inquisitively on his bottom lip, spinning himself in his chair.

Stein then, as opposed to finishing his hollowing of the bird’s thoracic cavity, directed his childishly elated attention back to its abdomen, grabbing onto its large intestine with crucible tongs (of which he used for everything except crucibles), and pulling them steadily outside of its body. It always reminded Stein of a magician pulling a seemingly endless string of ribbon outside of a large, black top hat. He utterly adored it.

As he placed both the large and short intestine onto the tray, proceeding to take the rest of its innards out, even diving into the bird’s skull, grabbing its brain, gouging its eyes and tongue out, and dissecting every organ he saw, he found himself pleading with any being that would listen to him, that that moment could last forever.

……

Stein observed as the blood and small bits of guts that had been previously stuck to his utensils swirled about, interlocking with the mixture of hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and Dawn dish soap he had poured into one of his larger beakers. His little concoction worked decently well as an amateur antiseptic.

The blueish, bubbly, formerly clear menagerie of liquids turned a little murky, especially towards the bottom where the ends of the blades and tweezers and tongs happened to be resting, pieces of brown and scarlet floating about.

He repeatedly swirled his tools around, a rag laying beside the beaker for the sake of wiping the set off when ready.

And as Stein rocked himself in his chair, peering down into the glassware, he pondered whether or not he’d feel even a lick of guilt if he were to harm his friends in a similar fashion. He certainly enjoyed their presences more than that of the cardinal’s. But he also felt just as little, well, nothing at all, as he had for the creature, as he did when thinking about dissecting his companions.

Stein rolled his bottom lip in between his teeth, tiny flaps of skin lifting from off of the pink mound, tasting of an unmistakable metallic.

Did he even care for them? Was he capable of care? He was never very good at viewing people as people, after all.

Perhaps he could perform some sort of experiment? But simply pinching or insulting his comrades certainly wouldn’t hold the same weight as ending them, right? What could he do?

He stirred the steel utensils throughout the dirtying liquid once more, watching the way in which small, thin, bloodied bits of God knows what as little as the skin he pulled off of his lip with his teeth swam throughout the beaker, appearing almost similarly to the white pulp you’d find in a cup of lemonade.

Maybe he should simply stick to imagining being the reason for their deaths? Should he consult another? Ask them how they’d feel if he were to purposely conspire against them and hurt them in some way?

Perhaps that would be the best way. Unless he were to rip them all to shreds, though he’d certainly be linked to each one of their deaths.

Stein squinted his tired eyes, mildly crinkling the skin in both of their corners. He’d decided he’d question them, at least at first.

……

Spirit grimaced, flashing Stein an overtly critical look, as his meister dumped the nasty collection of liquids down into the sink, where the yawning redhead had been scrubbing away at their dishes.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Stein teasingly rolled his clouded eyes, stepping back with his dripping beaker in hand. The droplets gently ran down the fragile sides, flattening once they had reached the bottom. “Like I don’t have to stare directly at your used condoms every time I take out the trash.”

Spirit’s eyes widened significantly, his face turning the same shade of red as his long hair, effectively earning a snicker from his sadistic partner.

“We all have our shit, Spirit. Don’t judge,” he wagged his free finger in front of the blushing boy’s face. Spirit huffed, opening and closing his mouth in search of some witty remark to slap Stein over the face with.

His shoulders eventually slumped in defeat.

“Just ‘cause you’re not normal doesn’t mean I have to stop-“ Spirit paused abruptly, seemingly in a bout of humiliation. “-You know what with girls.”

Stein chuckled. “Don’t act so shy now. The amount of times I’ve had to put my headphones on is astounding,” a grin filled with the utmost malevolence found its away onto his face, as Spirit stuttered, trying desperately to redirect his attention back to the chore of which he was nearly finished with.

The weapon scrubbed with gloved hands at the last few plates, washing the suds off once done. He still felt the younger’s burning gaze upon him, however, as he attempted to ignore him. The ginger began to hum to himself, fully aware of the fact that Stein absolutely hated it when he did as such.

“Spirit,” Stein broke the awkward silence.. Well, awkward to Spirit.

“What? Wanna embarrass me some more?” He pouted childishly, stuffing the dishwasher and activating the machine, tearing the sopping yellow coverings off from his sweaty hands.

“No. The STIs you’ll end up with will do that for you,” he continued to mock, giggling to himself like a little schoolgirl.

Spirit whipped his offended head around, glaring daggers into Stein’s apathetic soul.

Stein held his hands up in defense, as though he were waving a white flag in the wind. “But for real, though… What would you do, or feel, or say, or whatever if I were to kill you?”

He raised an eyebrow immediately, placing a guarded hand onto his protruding hip, leaning against the counter.

“What the fuck?” He laughed, narrowing his eyes at the male standing before him, of whom was not laughing anymore.

“It’s a serious question,” he declared, his expression just as solemn as his tone.

“Why? Are you planning on murdering me in my sleep or some shit?”

“Just answer the question, Spirit,” the weapon looked him up and down confusedly, and frankly, in a threatened manner. He straightened his no longer relaxed frame, his arms falling silently to his sides. “I’m curious.”

“Well… I guess I’d say ‘I always knew this would happen’ in, like, a funny way? Y’know, to lighten the mood a little,” Stein nodded, his eyes practically spilling over with an intense and childlike curiosity. “And I don’t know how I’d feel exactly… You can never really know, can you? How you feel, I mean.. But I guess I’d probably feel incredibly betrayed. Maybe even a little scared? I don’t know… I might try and fight back. I’m really not sure, I’ve never thought about this before…”

“Thank you for your response, Spirit,” Stein offered his partner a simple nod, trudging back into the solitude of his bedroom.

Spirit shook his head whilst staring down at the ground beneath his feet, a little nervous and still particularly confused.

Stein was always so random.. unpredictable, even. You never really knew what the aspiring scientist would do next.

Spirit pursed his lips, spinning his hair around his pointer finger, finding himself hoping and almost praying that he’d be able to properly read the creepy bastard one day.

……

The DWMA’s seemingly never ending corridors bustled with the cacophonously booming voices of its student body, piercing Stein’s ears as he walked quietly beside Spirit.

“Did we have a test today?” The scythe sighed, glancing nervously at Stein as the both of them begrudgingly entered the E.A.T. classroom, which had already been filling up with a plethora of children.

“Yeah,” he responded, taking his seat, of which was surrounded by the rest of their little group. “Why? Did you forget?”

Spirit hung his head, mumbling a bashful, “Yeah, I forgot to study.”

“Oh, I didn’t study at all,” Stein shook his head with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but you always get good grades, anyway,” Spirit continued to complain, pouting at Stein’s teasing gaze.

“I forgot, too,” Marie pitifully stated, Sid agreeing.

“Am I the only one who actually studies?” Azusa pridefully questioned, her arms crossed tightly over her puffed out chest, after having grandiosely adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“I do sometimes,” the blonde was just as pouty as Spirit.

“Oh, hey, Marie?” Stein called out, turning his slumped head to the side, an inquisitive expression present on his visage.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“What you do, say, feel, etc., if I were to dissect you?”

Marie appeared entirely dumbfounded as she confusedly let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“Oh, are you seriously gonna ask her that, too?” Spirit allowed his head to fall towards the side, gazing at his meister with an “are you serious” look.

“Uhhhh,” she contemplated how she could possibly respond.

“Come on, you don’t have to answer that,” Spirit interjected, waving his hand dismissively in front of Stein, of whom shot him an almost indiscernible glare.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Marie politely nodded, smiling sweetly at both Spirit and Stein. “I’m sure he’s just curious,” she unassumingly gestured with her head in the direction of the grey-haired male.

Stein flung his arm out towards Marie, declaring her point as being ‘obvious,’ as he stared intently and with fervor into Spirit’s suspicious eyes.

“It’s for an experiment,” Stein elaborated vaguely on his motives.

“It’s always for an ‘experiment,’” Azusa found his behavior to be particularly conspicuous as she rolled her darkly colored eyes into the back of their obnoxious sockets. “Just admit you’re a sadist.”

“Why do you think I’m so one-note? There’s more to me than that,” he snarled, shoving his hands into the white pockets of his woolen coat.

“Anyway, to answer your question, Stein, I’d hope you’d never do that, and I hope that I’d be strong enough to keep you from doing that,” Marie explained with a chuckle. “But I suppose that I wouldn’t be exactly… surprised. I would feel kinda sad, though, I think. Hm. I’m not exactly sure what I’d feel.. You can never really know until it happens, no?”

Spirit sprung up in his seat, eyes wide and attentive. “That’s what I said!” He exclaimed.

The bell rung, steadily quaking each classroom, and abruptly ending their conversation, much to the annoyance of Stein. The group departed, making their way to their own seats, internally groaning at the sight of their strict, ‘no nonsense’ professor.

As the class settled, Stein rested his heavy head upon his hand in contemplation, not paying any attention to the instructor’s incessant rambling, nor to the questioning side-eyes he received from Spirit.

So far, both Spirit and Marie responded eerily similarly. They each remarked how it was difficult to truly tell what one would feel unless one happened to be in the moment. And if that was the case, how could Stein know if his seeming inability to experience guilt would also apply to his friends? Perhaps logical thinking? He had never felt anything when harming them before, whether by accident or not.

And each time they seemed to blame him for not being able to care. Or was it simply that he refused to even do so much as to fake an apology? But anytime he asked why they felt a certain way, and why they felt that he needed to apologize, he was met with nothing but yelling and contempt-filled faces. He supposed they didn’t recognized that he truly did not understand. How frustrating.

It seemed they’d never understand. And it seemed he’d never look back on anything he had ever done with something even resembling guilt or remorse.

……

Rustling underneath his comforter in the shadow-plagued darkness of his bedroom, Stein reflected upon being forced to dispose of the bird with disappointment, for he had wanted to observe as the subject decomposed. Unfortunately, a recognizable odor, the trademark of decomposition would’ve consumed his room, and eventually the entire apartment.

He rubbed at the fuzzy ears of his stuffed animal, of which was a little white rat he named Svetlana, tucking it close to his chest. He laid his head gently over the rat’s nuzzling into the softness of its fur.

He breathed a huffy and hushed sigh into the air, disregarding the ever-present and crippling feeling of a person or being behind him, slowly approaching him. He could feel it as it crawled up his spine, upturning the hairs on the back of his neck, as it swirled in the pit of his abdomen.

Stein cuddled the stuffed animal closer, shutting his eyes and falling into the hole that was his mind once more.

He had bared witness countless times to the foreign glimmer of empathy and guilt in their eyes, as they’d apologize to one another from the bottom of their hearts. Stein was beginning to wonder if he had that same bottom. After all, he hadn’t felt anything when Spirit said he’d feel betrayed, and Marie said she’d feel sad.

He was clearly not born of the same flesh as they. Was he even human to begin with?

He was not meant for the world he was living in. He had overstayed the welcome that he was never given in the first place - that much they all made very clear.

In fact, they had made it obvious that they did not even view him as being human. Only an untamed mutt that needed to be whipped into submission.

Stein was an alien who had simply learned to adapt.

[pigeonwhumps]

A hole in the family

Sanctuary masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @mirasmirages @flowersarefreetherapy @whumpinggrounds @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Samantha, aka Lea's, family mourns.

1.2k

CWs: BBU setting, grief and mourning, presumed dead, implied assault, self-neglect

Samantha's declared dead two months after she goes missing. The police have pulled a body out of the river and apparently there's evidence that it's hers.

Omari... doesn't say much, when he's informed. What is there to say? His daughter's dead. And then he has to tell everyone else.

It's hard to believe it. He's not sure he can. He has to write an obituary, and he's starting to get why people are always described as perfect in them. It feels like tainting her, somehow, to put down anything less. She had personality, life, so many quirks that made people argue with her but he can't put them down on paper. She is was, still, his perfect daughter.

He avoids the river, now. He used to go there with Sam to feed the birds, a bag of dried peas every week, and he wonders, sometimes. Is it an insult to her memory not to go there anymore? Do birds remember? But he can't. Not knowing they pulled her body out of there.

He still goes to the orchestra concerts, him and Kayla. Sam's gone but for a few hours they can pretend she's still there, unable to see that she's not with their eyes closed, just listening to the music and forgetting, just for a little bit, that it's not Sam performing on stage. That that's not the reason she's not sitting with them, even though it should be.

_

Mariano cleans the flat, almost obsessively. Everything is sparkling, now, more than it ever was. It helps that Samantha's mess is out of the way, in her bedroom, but that just makes Mariano feel worse.

Everything is sparkling except for Sam's room. All the winter coats are tidied away, except for Samantha's. After all, she might need it. She might come back and need it and then what would they do?

And she can't bear to go in Samantha's room. She just can't. Ade and Faith and Alaia do, she knows Alaia sleeps there sometimes, but she just can't.

Her daughter is dead. Or missing, as Ade says, but gone all the same.

It's time to clean the good coats. It's almost time for the spring concert. She'll clean Samantha's too, and her shoes. Maybe they'll get a miracle.

The funeral was beautiful. Too beautiful. The orchestra played Venus, with a seat left free for her daughter, and it was as cheerful as Samantha would've liked it to be, and packed full to bursting, but she could hardly bear it. Her daughter is dead, and no matter the type of funeral that's not going to change.

_

They're having another argument, her and Faith. Pizza toppings, this time. After Faith being wrong for the umpteenth time, Kayla turns automatically to Sam. So does her sister.

She's not there.

Of course she's not there, she hasn't been there for months.

It hits Kayla like a truck every time, bowling her over. Her chest is crushed and she can barely breathe.

Sam is dead.

Her baby sister, who was born so tiny, who has always loved music, who would have been world-famous if she'd had a chance to grow, if she hadn't hated the idea so much. Who she'd put her first paycheck towards so Sam could continue the violin lessons she loved so much when the cost went up.

Their last conversation was an argument. She doesn't remember what about anymore, it doesn't matter. She thought they'd make up later, they always did, but then Sam had gone to her concert and something had happened to her and they'd found her violin a few days later, the case scuffed from what the police said was likely a struggle, and what happened to her?

And now... now they won't see her again. She can't make up with her baby sister, or apologise, or even just see her.

She still goes to watch the concerts, with her dad. It feels like she should. Not going would be abandoning Sam for good. And it feels like, just for an hour, Sam is with them, somewhere. On the stage, in life, but... Kayla doesn't believe in ghosts, but if she did, she'd say that this is where she would be.

_

It's family film night. They're watching a film. Or trying to, anyway. No-one can agree.

Samantha's vote goes towards a horror film. She'd have to hide behind the nearest person, first jumpscare in, but she'd vote to watch one anyway.

Eventually, Alaia votes for a horror film, holding Hugo tight. And so with two votes they start one.

Faith misses having Sam curled up beside her, head pillowed on Faith's shoulder, feet tucked under her. Face ready to be hidden in Faith if she needs it.

Her dad starts the film.

She watches, tension rising, until the first jumpscare. The lack of a squeal of fear, a tightening of pressure on her arm, a face burying itself into her, popcorn spraying, it's worse than the jumpscare. She stifles a sob and stands up.

"I can't watch this."

Sam rubbed people up the wrong way sometimes, she didn't always get on with her family and Faith wouldn't have wanted her to, but she's Faith's sister and she's gone and Faith wants her back.

_

Sammy's teddy is lonely now. Alaia is looking after him, so he's still warm and hugged and loved, but he must be lonely without Sam. There's no music now, filtering through the flat from Sammy's room as she plays.

Played?

Plays.

Alaia is careful to keep Hugo clean and tidy and in nice pyjamas, but it's not enough. He must still be lonely. Alaia is. She's always empty now. She hugs Hugo when she feels especially sad or anxious, her tears making him soggy as she remembers Sammy and their games, but it's not the same. It's not the same as hugging Sammy.

Especially when Sammy can't do anything about the pain this time. She's the cause of it and she can't do anything about it.

_

Ade's devastated. It's not romance, not quite, what they had. They never defined it, exactly. But for all that it was, she's the most important person in his life.

And now she's gone.

He doesn't know what to do with himself. What is he supposed to do, now that Sammy's gone?

It takes a week. A week, before his brother shoves him in the shower and orders food.

He's lost his job by now, probably. He doesn't care.

Everything he sees reminds him of her. The Foodhall Project, where they first met. Black and red braids, a yellow top. A black woman laughing, head thrown back, unselfconscious. A violin on a tram, patches carefully stitched or glued onto the case. A snippet of music by Holst, her favourite composer. Dual language books, Swahili CDs, adverts for language lessons.

He hasn't been able to keep up the Swahili lessons without Sammy there to poke and prod and tease him.

Some days, it's all he can do to wake up.

Eventually, he makes it onto the darker, more secretive corners of the internet. Darker is maybe the wrong word, because what they're doing is good, hope. He gives them a description of Sammy to circle around the safehouses. Maybe she's not dead. Maybe she'll turn up.

Nothing comes of it.

[salamanderinspace]

So I've been going hard on touching grass (or rather, brick--but sometimes grass) since we moved in April. I've been out in the public space a lot, because I don't drive and I like to explore and experience. I take the bus, I walk for hours, I sit on benches. I push on fences. I go to shops and libraries and cafes and cemeteries and investigate public restrooms.

This my news report. Reality-contact. One: I haven't had COVID yet. So either I'm immune/resistant, or it's pretty dead in this area.

Two. I've never seen anyone using tiktok in public. The endless posts about that on here ... must be discussing a very different place and culture than where I live.

I do still occasionally see noise wagons--people blasting their music loud from car stereos.

There's a lot of homeless here, it's true. They don't look quite as bedraggled as the homeless in upstate NY did, but maybe that's just the magic of summer.

I was in a bank last week, a Chase. It was very weird. It didn't have teller windows. It was just this weird apple store type place with one lady in the middle. About my age, maybe younger. There were some restaurant booths on the right side. I was like "is this a bank?" and she was like "yes it is" and so I changed ones for the bus. Wonder if this will catch on.

At the Currier Museum I saw the Picasso. A docent was giving a tour to some middle schoolers. This is the piece:

Woman Seated in a Chair. The docent was asking a lot of questions like, "how do we know she's a woman?" I don't know if he was talking about gender presentation on purpose, but if he was, that was pretty bold. Given that New Hampshire is one of the states where LGBTQ conversations in school environments are now criminalized.

Most of the people who work in the city live in the suburbs. Well, that's nothing new. It's cheaper to live out there. My building is a lot of young yuppies. I saw a couple in the office signing their lease last weekend, and their parents were with them. Presumably paying first and last. Most of the stuff people throw in the dumpster here is nicer than the stuff I grew up with.

Chicken wings cost the same whether you order them from Wal*Mart and cook them, or get them Door Dashed from the nearest place.

Demi Lovato is popular. I've overheard "Cool For the Summer" a few times.

About 3-5 trains go by every week.

I'm the only one who uses the basketball court.

Ubers come in less than 30 minutes. Faster than the old taxi days. People do seem to use the BIRD scooters, which is interesting, because isn't an Uber about the same $? And the BIRDs run out of charge, too.

I don't live near a school or playground so I don't see a ton of kids. I did see one coming out the Science Museum, crying. The parent was threatening, "if you keep acting like this we are NEVER coming back here."

I saw a guy catch a fish in the river, which was very impressive. He put it back... I doubt they're safe to eat, anyway.

[snazzynacho]

Snapdragon & Co.

The Hobbit fan fiction/Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!fairy!elf!oc

Masterlist

Chapter One: Last of their kind

Chapter 2

Love had always felt like a distant dream to Nessa.

A fantasy one's imagination makes up to cope with the everlasting loneliness of what it meant to be a ranger. Even more so when she was turned away from the only place she could call home.

Even if she never particularly liked the elves, her being half-elf meant she grew up in the core of Elvish life. Rivendell. Her mother who was dying of a broken heart didn't help either. Especially since she is still knocking on death's door years later. Nessa presumed it would be easier to deal with her mother as if she's already passed than to watch her slowly dying.

It's not like her mother would care anyway. The last she heard of her was that she was doing much better since Nessa left. Seeing her daughter obsess over everything fairy-related must've been the cause for her decline. And Nessa's leaving, despite how horrible it sounds, made her survive.

Being Half-Elf and growing up in Rivendell meant Nessa would have always been fighting to fit into a world that saw her as a joke. A 5'3 half-elf half-fairy whose loud bubbly and, at most, eccentric personality only made her stick out like a sore thumb. I guess she could blame the fairy genes for that...But she never wanted to blame her fairy heritage for anything! The few times she had heard about the Fae from her mother appealed to her greatly. The lost race of the fairies would always hold a place in her heart. She was proud of her origin.

The Fairyland, though practically nonexistent today, sounded like the perfect place for her. If only it wasn't for the major depletion it accumulated in all of time, she would be living the dream by now. Thus her Elvish mother took her to Rivendell when she was a baby.

Also, because her fairy father flew off. (Literally.)

__________________

In a quiet clearing on the outskirts of a woodland, near a village in Bree, Nessa received a letter.

Upon opening, almost unreadable scribbles - assumed to be due to someone's shaky old hands scrambling to write their last words from their death bed - become clear and her theory of someone old writing this letter only made more sense to her as she began to read;

Dear, long lost sister.

                            My name is Rogue. All I've been told is that we have the same father. Sometime after he left you he became my father also. So, I am writing you this letter in the hopes that you may want to talk. You don't know me and I don't know you and yet we're sisters. Deep down I know you will do anything for me and I'll do the same for you.

This is why I want to ask, Would you like to meet in person? I will be arriving shortly.

We sure have a lot to catch up on. Time is of the essence, my dear sister.

From,

Rogue.

Nessa's eyes were as wide as her pet Owl's when she refused to give her another treat, and her mouth was agape. Nessa's had a long-lost sister this whole time and only finds out now?!

If this sister is who they say they are, they must be old now, as she speculates. Half-human. Half-Fae. Rogue is right, time is not on their side. Death seems to follow Nessa and even still, plagues a half-Fae-half-human.

The sweet hoot of her owl (Pilvi) and the gentle flapping of its wings brought Nessa back to her surroundings. She must pack a bag immediately. Food. Water. Medicine if needed. What state is Rogue in? Are they ill? Is that why they've waited all this time to contact them? Humans don't live long after all. Or had they only just heard about Nessa, as Nessa had about them? Is it too late to meet them? She received this letter weeks ago...

Her pet owl hooted again.

"Aw Pilvi, sorry, were you hooting for me?" Nessa caressed her bird and watched her enjoy it. Pilvi's eyes squinted and her head relaxed as if the loving touch could melt her.

Her precious hoot filled the room once again and Nessa cooed back, softly speaking to her.

Interrupting them, a knock sounded. It was uncommon for Nessa to receive visitors. Not after the fairyland practically died out. This must be some kind of trick, ironically.

Pilvi was flustered. Her wings sprayed in and out continually. After calming her owl down, Nessa grabbed the nearest item that she could find, which could be used as a weapon.

A frying pan.

Nessa slowly opened the door, peering out. An unknown figure stood in the pouring rain. Their fur cloak visibly weighed heavy on their shoulders as it soaked with rain. Along with wet blue locks of hair that peaked from under their hood.

"Oh, my, are you lost?" Nessa asked worriedly. She pondered to herself as to what might have happened to this poor soul out there in the woods in the rain.

"I am Rogue, your sister."

"Oh. You're not old,"

Rogue blinked in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You're human. Aren't you supposed to be old? Dying on your deathbed?" Nessa waved the frying pan about as she confusingly tangented. "That's why you asked to meet. And your handwriting...very shaky!" She pointed the pan in Rogue's direction who, in return, produced a blank stare.

The frantic waving of the frying pan returned along with another tangent from Nessa and before they knew it they were bickering like sisters do. Amongst the chaos Rogue managed to snatch the frying pan, tired of Nessa waving it too close to their face for their liking.

"GIVE IT BACK!" Nessa shrieked.

This continued for a few moments until Nessa suddenly screamed

"OLD CREEPY MAN!" as she pointed to someone not that far behind Rogue.

Rogue turned around and tried not to show her annoyance at the man. "Speaking of old, that is Gandalf. He's not creepy, he's a wizard."

A long pause comes as all three take long looks at each other.

"OLD CREEPY WIZARD?!?!" Nessa screamed again and in this moment of distraction, she grabbed the frying pan back and held it up as if she was going to do damage.

Rogue yelled out for her and swiftly snatched it again. "I'm half human. HALF. I'm not old."

"Then stop flailing like a child." Gandalf scolded as he walked closer to them, staff in hand.

"She started it!-" Rogue began as Gandalf stopped them again.

"Long-lost sister. Wizard. I think I'm going to faint." Nessa felt her forehead with her hand. The cold rain did nothing to cool her down.

"Let me help with that," Rogue declared as they took a purple glowing flower from their bag and the next thing Nessa saw was darkness.

_________________

Nessa stirred in her sleep, her nose twitched at the smell of

Pipe-weed. She had the weirdest dream. There was a wizard and her long-lost sister!?

She opened her eyes, expecting to be in her bed. Alone. Maybe with Pilvi by her side. And a book. But no. A figure with long blue hair, braided sporadically, leaned over her. Her dream was real. Though, no wizard in sight. Maybe that was the part her dream made up.

Before she could start to question anything and everything, Rogue placed a hand over her mouth and sent her a look, asking for trust. Nessa nodded and the hand was taken off her mouth.

Rogue slowly held out her hands for Nessa to hold. The single touch of their palms caused a glimmering shine to arise across their skin almost as if they were made of glitter. Their glowing veins painted the room in gold.

They studied their skin for what felt like years, unable to look away. "Fae markings," Nessa whispered, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Fae markings," Rogue repeated, pleased that her trick worked.

"You're my sister!"

"Of course I am. Now let's get down to business," They gently let go of Nessa's hands, and the glow dimmed until it was no more.

Rogue took a chair, spinning it around to sit on it backwards,

"Would you like to help a group of Dwarves take back their land?"

"Too right!" Nessa wholeheartedly agreed. She had nothing to lose. With the died-out fairyland and all, she also most certainly understood their wanting to take back land. These sisters finally reunited, the last of their kind would be helping the dwarves reclaim their home, as they wished others would have helped the Fae.

"You didn't make up that wizard, by the way."

"How did you know-"

_________________

A/N:

omg hi I have so much planned for this fic it's insane.

I started this with my bestie and we have made so much lore for the sisters and I literally cannot wait to show you all!

Btw We started a lotr fan fic before this one but we've not added onto it nearly as much as this one although they do have similarities (fairies & angst lol)

So idk when we'll pick that up again (probably after I finish writing this) but for now enjoy this fic <3

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed reading! look out for chapter 2👀

Also I made Nessa and Rogue in sims 4!!!

[kodi-makes-art]

Meet my girl Nightwatcher! She is my oldest OC created way back when I was 12 and just reading Warriors for the first time. Her appearance has changed several times over the years but her lore has pretty much stayed the same. Here's a brief description of her life.

She was born to an Riverclan she-cat with her brother Littlefield, her birth mother did not survive the birth and the two of them were taken in by Snowleaf the late deputy who raised them with her own kits. Once becoming an apprentice she became fast friends with Mousepaw (a young Longstar). She could often be found in trees just observing the world around her in her free time. Which led to her name Nightwatcher.

On her warrior ceremony she was taken by the Reds a group of rouges that have been terrorizing the four clans. They ripped off her tail leaving it behind to make the clan cats to believe her dead. 

She was presumed dead for 3 seasons (3 years) and was held captive for 2 and a half of those seasons. Far from the clans. There she met Willow and Rock two loners who were expecting kits and had been captured as well. During this time Nightwatcher is called the Scared one or just Scar. 

She is made to fight in an arena like thing to survive, losing means death. This is where the majority of her scars come from.

Rock is killed not long after their arrival and Willow along with two of three of her kits don't survive the first week after their birth. They're too weak. Nightwatcher takes the last kit, a tom and names him Lark after a bird his mother often talked about. She vows to get them out and raise him as her own. 

She manages to get them out and they spend the next six months making their way back to Riverclan. They arrived mid battle and shock everyone who believed her dead. They help win this battle and everyone is happy to have her home and welcome Lark to their clan. Before Nightwatcher can ask for Snowleaf she sees then Longscars half star mark on his forehead marking him as deputy. Her mother is gone and she never got to say goodbye.

She settles back in and fights many battles with her clan mates. And later has three kits with Longscar. She is the winning factor in the last battle against the Reds and her life is taken as she takes out the Rouge groups leader. Leaving Foxkit(Foxchaser), Claykit(Claytail/Star), and Stormkit(Storm) to be raised by their father alone.

Once I redo Longscar/stars reference sheet I'll add him here, his old one is up on my Instagram (Renniguess) if you want to see it.

[greta-van-chaos]

Crossroads

Jake and Sam Kiszka x Reader

Request | I wish I could write but the one that’s been in my head for a hot minute is you go on vacation with the guys, you and Sammy are best friends since kidhood so he’s unfazed by anything you do. You both are early birds and he joins you to sun yourself by the pool and of course to not get tan lines you go topless. Well jake eventually comes out and is like 👀 Sammy my boy if you ain’t gonna kiss that golden skin I will and it eventually leads to you X Sam X jake morning poolside

Warnings | Explicit sexual content, cursing, exhibitionism, oral (m and f receiving), hair pulling, overstimulation, getting interrupted

Word Count | 2.7k words

Authors Note | So i got this request and i'll be honest, I'm a bit hesitant but this particular pairing has been asked of me multiple times. Although it makes me nervous to post, I will do it for you my lovely anon <3

~

Almost every summer you and the boys go on vacation to the famous Kiszka cottage-house and this year is no exception. You've all known each other since what feels like the dawn of time and once a tradition has been made between you five, it will be carried out for the rest of your lives.

You and Sam have grown the closest over the years, from you both being the youngest sibling to the fact that you both play piano. Something inside you has always felt more for Sam that you'd like to admit but after having been around him so long you've learned to repress your feelings and accept the fact that he probably just views you as more of a sister. Instead of dwelling on your feelings you just embrace the friendship more, not letting it get in the way of enjoying being around him and of course, that's what you plan to do this week at the cottage, like you would any other time.

This morning the weather is perfect. Hot, the sky cloudless and effortlessly blue. It poses as the perfect opportunity to spend the day lounging on the dock, a glass of lemonade in hand and some peace and quiet. You change into a random bathing suit that you shoved into the bottom drawer of your dresser when you were here last. Once you're dressed and have retrieved a towel, you head downstairs, opting to make a pitcher of lemonade before you make your way outside. It's still early and the house is quiet, clearly no one else is awake yet. You love the feeling of having the house all to yourself, even if everyone is just sleeping and you're not actually alone.

"Whatcha doin'?" Sam's voice cuts through the silence, light and yet somehow still fairly thick with sleep, it shakes you. Of course he's awake, you two are the early risers of the group.

"Making some lemonade before I head out and soak up all that beautiful sunshine."

He smiles, casting his gaze to the sliding glass doors that lead to the glittering lake. "Mind if I join?"

Although you planned for peace and quiet you can never say no to spending a day with Sam, he always manages to make things that much more fun, he's like your own personal ray of sunshine. Sometimes you wonder if he feels the same way about you...

With a shake of you head to clear the unwarranted thoughts you put on a smile "Of course not, I'd love it if you did. Want me to grab you a glass?"

With a contented hum he nods and then murmurs a meet you outside before he pads back down the hall, presumably to change into a bathing suit of his own.

As soon as you step outside the sun warms you from head to toe. Setting everything down on one of the small lawn tables that adorns the dock you stretch your arms above your head, a groan passing your lips. Before laying down on the patio chair you pull the strings of your bikini top and let it fall to the ground. If you can avoid embarrassing tan lines, you will.

"Did you put on sunscreen, young lady?" Sam has a goofy smile adorning his lips as he approaches you, throwing his towel down on top of yours and sitting in the chair next to you. His eyes briefly flicker down to your chest but nothing in his expression says that the sight has effected him in any way... it almost bothers you. Self consciously you slip an arm over your breasts to cover them.

"Not yet, do you wanna help me out with that?" You lend a flirty cadence to your voice and wiggle your shoulders.

"Well lookie here, what are you two little deviants up to? Getting it on nice and early when no one else is awake to see?" Jake, not usually one to wake up any time before noon is dressed in a pair of bright red swim trunks and has a book tucked under his arm, he cuts into your conversation, walking up and taking the open seat next to Sam.

"Shut up Jake, you know it's not like that." Sam is so quick to respond that you almost want to be offended but Jake puts an end to your thoughts with his typically wittiness.

"Well if you won't, I will."

"Really fucking charming Jacob, thanks for that." You give him the finger and scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. "You still gonna help me with my sunscreen Sammy?"

The younger of the brothers looks away from you, possibly a bit embarrassed about what Jake said... but why? It's not like he feels that way towards you.

So of course, with Sam's response or... lack thereof Jake steps forward. "I'll help you, lay down."

You briefly uncover yourself to lay down and as Jake passes by Sam you hear him mumble just fucking look at her. Obviously you weren't supposed to hear his remark but it lights a fire in your stomach. Even though you and Jake are known for your mindless flirting and whatnot you can help but admit that it does feel like a little bit more sometimes. The fucking Kiszka's, each stealing your heart in their own way.

You feel Jake mount the chair, putting his legs on either side of yours so he can kneel over you. You unconsciously roll your shoulders back, awaiting his touch. Straining to listen you finally hear the sound of the sunscreen and then Jake's hands are on you. You shiver at the coolness which greatly contrasts the heat of the sun and Jake lets out a small chuckle.

His hands slowly work up your back, thumbs gently pressing into your skin. You can feel that he's leaned over you fairly close, his hair tickling your shoulders when his hands trail farther upwards. You tilt your head to the side and when yours eyes find Sam, he's watching intently.

"Fuck, Jake!" You suck in a breath through your teeth when he presses down a particular spot that sends a sharp jolt of pain up your spine but quickly it ebbs away into pleasure when he keeps rubbing his fingers over it. You can't really complain that this has basically just turned into a massage.

"You like that? Hmm?" His breath is fanning over your neck now, lips dangerously close to making contact with your skin. "You wanna get her legs, Sam?"

Although it isn't necessary for them both to be applying the sunscreen, something about makes your mind fuzzy with lust. Having both boys touching you like that at the same time feels like a dream.

Sam doesn't verbally respond but you watch him get up out of his seat and walk to the end of the chair. Jake gets off of you and kneels at your side, gently taking your arm and massaging the sunblock into your skin.

You once again hear the sound of the bottle opening and closing and the familiar cool feeling strikes you when Sam puts his hands on you. It feels like he's holding back which you want to point out but once again Jake presses down on a particularly tense spot and you cry out, arching your back slightly but not enough to be overly visible.

"You sound so pretty." Jake whispers and it probably should feel weird, he's your childhood best friend but something about the way he's touching you makes all of that melt away.

Sam's hands continue to travel up your legs and when he starts to rub the sunscreen into the tops of your thighs, carefully moving around your bathing suit you tip your head up to look at him. "You might as well just take them off."

Sam's eyes widen, pupils blown wide to match. So maybe you've misjudged the way he feels about you? He slips them down your legs tentatively and takes a deep breath, then starts to dance his fingers over the flesh of your ass. A breathy moan slips past your lips and without thinking you reach back and card your fingers through his hair, pulling his face so that it's just hovering over your skin.

"Look at you, so needy." Jake is sitting in front of you now, holding your other hand and massaging it.

"Jake--" You breathe, fingers tightening in Sam's hair. You squirm against the chair and press yourself back against Sam's touch which is still focused on teasing over your ass. "Touch me, Sammy."

"I am touching you, baby." You can feel his breath against your skin and it makes groan. The pet name is new to you and floods your stomach with warmth.

"Please, Sam!"

"What do you want?" His voice is soft yet teasing and to add to your frustration Jake starts to kiss each of your knuckles one at a time before making his way up your arm.

"I want you to touch me." Ever the tease, you roll your eyes.

"Where," the word shakes you to your core, arousal heating your entire body even more so than the sun.

You spread your legs for him and with the hand in his hair you move it to circle his wrist, bringing it between your thighs.

"Look at her, she wants your fingers in her cunt, how precious." Jake has now made his way to your shoulder, lips trailing up to your neck.

Sam pulls away to wipe hands on the towel to your right and the he finds his position at the end of the chair again. His fingers tease over your entrance but from the angle he doesn't have much space for his hand. Pulling away from Jake you bring yourself up onto all fours and arch your back, pushing yourself into Sam's face.

Jake has stood up now, towering over you and when your eyes lock your entire body goes stiff, the way he's looking at you like he wants to eat you alive is one of the hottest things you've ever witnessed.

"Kiss me, Jake."

"You're just full of commands today, aren't you?"

As you scoff at Jake, Sam pulls your hips back and finally slips his fingers inside of you, gently curling them and drawing a moan out of you, all the while Jake has bent down and taken your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. "You want it?"

"So bad, please, Jakey."

The kiss is surprisingly gentle which totally contradicts the roughness you were expecting. You clench down on Sam's fingers, the sensations filling every crevice of your nervous system. Sam's hand recedes from between your legs and you whimper into Jake's mouth at the loss of contact but soon enough you feel the younger of the two pushing your knees further apart and the tickle of his hair brushing your legs as he slots himself under you.

"Sit down, pretty girl." He chimes, biting and grabbing at the flesh of your thighs.

You probably should be embarrassed by how quickly you follow his order but with his and Jake's hands and mouths on you, it's very hard to think straight. Sam's lips latch onto you as you slowly lower yourself but he can sense your hesitation.

"Come on, sit down, don't be shy."

Giving in you let yourself sit down, still holding a small bit of weight off of him but successfully trapping him beneath you nonetheless. You lurch forward when he dips his tongue into your experimentally, instinctively reaching your hands into Jake's hair and pulling him closer. He smiles against your lips and keeps the smirk when he pulls away and straightens up your eyes now level with the very prominent bulge in his swim trunks.

"Wanna do me a favor and put that mouth to good use?" He teases, petting your head and letting his hand find home at the base of your neck.

Once again your body steals forwards, Sam's tongue drawing circles over your clit already has you seeing stars. You moan in response to Jake's words, unable to form a coherent thought. You reach forgot to palm him through the fabric and his head tips back, hips jutting forward to meet your touch.

"That feel good J- Jakey?" Your body has begun to tremble as Sam continues to work under you, coaxing out an orgasm like no one else ever has. The fingers of his right hand dig into your thigh and the others slip up between your legs to push into you again.

"Open your mouth." The command is issued harshly and you now find yourself desperately rocking your hips, losing yourself in the pace of Sam's fingers and tongue.

Jake pulls his hard cock out of his swim trunks and gives it a few strokes before he taps it against your tongue, teasing you.

"Give it to me, Jake," You practically growl when he pulls away to jerk himself off in front of you, putting on quite the show. At this rate you're so close to cumming that you can practically taste it.

Without wasting another second Jake slowly slides himself into your mouth, putting his hands on either side of your head to guide his own pace. He goes slow at first, allowing you to get used to the intrusion but when you start moaning around him, reaching out to dig your nails into his hips he really starts to move, basically fucking your mouth without mercy.

"Fuck-- You're taking me so well, such a pretty mouth--" The sight of Jake's head tipping back, mouth open in an o shape and his eyes squeezed shut mixed with Sam's unrelenting fingers and mouth sends you sailing over the edge.

Your body stiffens, so lost in the pleasure that you can't move at all. Your moans only spur Jake on further as he still thrusts into your mouth. He pulls away as you come down, switching to a slower pace as he works himself in front of you.

"Fuck, Sammy, that was amazing--" You try to pull your hips away but he holds you still, keeping you pressed against him. He shifts enough so that if he speaks you can hear him properly.

"Oh, I'm not done yet baby, sit back down."

A whine tears it's way out of your chest when shoves his fingers back inside of you mumbling so wet into your cunt which vibrates throughout your entire body from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes.

"Open back up, I'm not done here either."

Nudging your lips with the head of his cock you part them for Jake without a second thought allowing him to fit himself back into your mouth. Again he sets an aggressive pace, very clearly chasing his release and nothing more.

Your thighs shake around Sam's head, the feeling of his tongue becoming overwhelming but also somehow dull, as if its not quite enough to satiate you. You try to focus on Jake instead, now bobbing your head in time with his thrusts and zoning into helping him chase his release.

"I'm so close-- Fuck-- So pretty--"

Out of nowhere you feel yourself teetering the edge of another orgasm. It's different this time, a far more electric feeling building in the pit of your stomach. You grind yourself down onto Sam's lips harder, shamelessly riding his face.

"Where do you want it baby?" Jake huffs out, pulling his cock from your mouth to let you reply.

"In my mouth, please Jake, do it--"

With a groan and another tug of his dick Jake cums all over your outstretched tongue and lips. Your body once again goes into a state of shock, the pleasure filling you with a pleasant buzz that renders you immobile.

"You're mouth is magical." Jake chuckles, tapping your lips with his pointer finger before tucking himself back into his swim shorts.

From under you Sam slides out from between your legs and stands so he can stretch. You notice a fairly obvious print in his own shorts and you reach for him, pulling him by the waistband of his shorts.

"You want me Sammy?" You're looking up at him through your lashes and a groan escapes his lips, his eyes glued to your mouth.

"So bad, you don't know how long-- Shit, put your bathing suit back on!" Sam pulls away, anxiously running a hand through his hair while raising the other in greeting "Morning, Josh! Coming out to enjoy the sun with us?"

Jake laughs at Sam's babbling and you can't help but crack a smile as well as you fasten the strings of your top around your back and struggle to grab your bottoms and slide them back on.

The eldest brother of the Kiszka's pads up onto the dock and takes a seat next to you, barely taking notice of all three of your guilty looking faces and your extremely disheveled state.

"You guys gonna go for a swim?"

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[sashi-ya]

➡𝐈𝐌-𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀, 𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒, 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒. a theory. ⚡ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ. ᴏᴘ ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ Sᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀs

So, since last week when ch. 1060 was released I've been thinking of something. As I adressed some days ago here. So... Many have said that Im’s weapon was something similar to a spaceship while I do not see that AT ALL. In my opinion that thing looks pretty much like a snake or a dragon. So, many people in the community thought -as well as I did- that that weapon can be no other than Uranus, right? And it makes a lot of sense that Im has an ancestral weapon since what could give them such power if not something that scary? How could they be the king of the world if they don’t have an extremely powerful tool so nobody can defeat them?

Ok, so, let’s say that that thing that destroyed Lulusia was no other than the third ancestral weapon, Uranus. Right? It would make so much sense since we know that Pluton (Ruler of Hell) is buried under Wano, Poseidon (God of the Seas) is Shirahoshi who can control the sea kings and Uranus is meant to be the God of Heavens (Zeus)… so, where should Uranus live if not in the sky? Then it would be logical to think that, that thing that sent 16 destructive (that number is hella important, too. But I will discuss it later) presumably rays from heaven to the earth is in fact Uranus.

Now, back to what Uranus might be: - Pluton is probably a machine since it has plans (those Franky burned and memorized during Ennies Lobby), - Shirahoshi, a person, is Poseidon. - What could Uranus be? Probably a creature. And… do you remember what Roger had on his ship when we saw the flashbacks of him getting to Laugh Tale? The damn EGG that we only saw but had 0 info about it. So, what kind of animals hatch from eggs? Birds, and reptiles. REPTILES…. Snakes… dragons… Oh, and do dragons fly?

Surely they do, right? And… do you remember who lives over the fucking red line? YES, the CELESTIAL DRAGONS… Oh, and what is the celestial dragon’s mark? Yes! No other than “the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon”! That mark used to identify their slaves, as if the hoof of a dragon over their backs was their superiority putting a step over them. But wait… there is more! do you remember Punk Hazard? There were dragons, that were created by Vegapunk… but for who? So… what if VP who works for the WG has been asked by them to create dragons that would be similar to Uranus?

Good good, now let me show you WHY everything made sense now. So, I was scrolling through twitter where I saw someone posted a cropped photo of Zoro and Chopper. That photo came from Volume 82’s colour spread. Let me show you…

Now, take a closer look at Zoro’s clothing… doesn’t it look like a snake? Somehow like a dragon? And isn’t he looking UP? The light comes from the hanabi up in the sky! Usopp is pointing at it, they are all beautifully being illuminated by it… so, does this reminds you of something? It does for me… I don’t know but you, but what Zoro’s yukata has printed in it seems pretty similar to the silhouette over Lulusia…

But, you could say, Sashi… wtf has Zoro to do with this? well I don’t know, but we don’t really know a lot about Zoro either… so, let’s discuss what we DO know and why it might be linked to it then:

He is linked to Ryuma in some way. Not only he looks exactly like Ryuma when he was young, but he also fought him and the samurai gave Zoro his Shusui.

Shusui, the katana that killed that DRAGON attacking Wano, for which Ryuma became a Wano heroe.

Zoro, who defeated King (with Enma, let me tell you about this later pls) USING THE SAME TECHNIQUE. Both panels from when Shimotsuki Ryuma defeated the dragon (you can read it in Wanted) and Zoro’s cut King’s DRAGON attack are EXACTLY THE SAME.

also... for some reason, Dragon the leader of the RA visited Koshiro while Zoro was just a little kid training at the Shimotsuki village… why? Maybe they know something else about Zoro. Specially because we know he arrived to the village all of a sudden (that said by Koshiro to him when he thanked Zoro for being Kuina’s friend)

Cool, now, let me address something that’s also linked to Zoro, and it is about Enma and AME NO HABAKIRI. Both Oden’s swords. Enma, given by Hiyori to Zoro, and Ame being now on Momo’s hands. I have a theory that -of course wasn’t a prediction, but still is related- speaks about this… do you know what Ame no Habakiri means? Feathery Cutter of HEAVEN/ SNAKE-SLAYER. Snake… heaven…

So, we could say Zoro is related to dragons a LOT, and, even if it might be just a coincidence (at this point, there aren’t coincidences in Oda’s drawings but let’s say there are) I wouldn’t be surprised that he used our precious marimo to give us some kind of foreshadowing there… maybe a little hint of his past? Who knows, maybe he will be the one who slays that snake during the ultimate war…?

But wait… there is even more. Let’s go back to the look of that silhouette in the sky… what if it’s not some kind of snake related to Japanese culture but from Mayans? Yes! Do you know Quetzalcoatl? The feathered serpent? Let me show you a little bit of this beautiful creature!

You have the FEATHERY SERPENT (ame no habakiri) form and the God form… also the Temple of Quetzalcoatl in Teotihuacan (moon and sun pyramids) , Mexico (I’ve been there several times and it’s AMAZING)

Awesome so, does this remind you of something? It does to me… SKYPIEA! So, you probably remember Skypiea’s snake, don’t you? And also their architecture… pretty similar to these ones, right?

Cool. That’s good… now, who was the bad guy in Skypiea? Enel, right? And which was Enel’s power? RAYS! And didn’t he create the “Raigo” (Advent of Thunder)? That ball was pretty similar to the thing that destroyed Lulusia!

NO, BUT WAIT THERE IS MORE!!! THERE IS A CERTAIN ATTACK ENEL USES AGAINST LUFFY, IN WHICH, OF COURSE, IT DOES ANYTHING TO HIM SINCE HE IS MADE OF GUM… YES, THUNDER DRAGON!! Again… DRAGONS!

The dragon and snake pattern KEEPS repeating!! This is a plain parallelism with Skypeia (not to mention Nika being first addressed RIGHT THERE WITH FUCKING DRUMS! You know, now we know Luffy is in fact Nika)

But, even if everything looks "similar" we have to get something in consideration... there has been a little bit of confussion regarding those "rays" destroying Lulusia. Many people -myself included at first- thought of them being lightining like Enel's. However, if you take a closer look at how Oda draws lighting you can see how different those falling from the sky to Lulusia are to Enel's.

While lighting is always depicted with zig zag motions, Imu's attak look different. They are straight and have no continuation. (YES, IT IS ODA, IT'S IMPORTANT)

And so I thought of... if those are not lightings... what could be "spitted" by a dragon then (if not fire?) well... do you remember Kaido's attacks? Bolo Breaths look pretty similar, huh? Isn't Kaido a Dragon?

But wait, please, I know you are actually hating me RN for this… BUT I have more.

You know Enel did manage to get to the moon, right? Yep, he did. So, look what he found when he arrived to the moon? YES, THOSE CUTE CHOPPER LOOKING HABITANTS! And look what they are showing him? OH HELL YES.

A sun with SIXTEEN swirls (swirls that look like Luffy’s eyebrows when in gear 5th), Humans (that look pretty much like Mayans and Quetzalcoatl itself in his God form), probably… Lunarians? An ARC (Noah), Sea kings and AND THAT THING THAT LOOK LIKE A FUCKING SNAKE.

So can we please PLEASE start thinking URANUS IS A FUCKING SNAKE/DRAGON? Thank you.

Now, I promise I will shut up after this… You know Uranus, the planet? (jokes aside, please)

So Uranus is the seventh planet from the Sun (16 rays ➡ 1+6= 7 -also remember Doffy’s attack 16 HOLY BULLETS? I mean that man knows the secret of Marie Joise after all-)… and it is called that way of course because of the God Uranus, but… do you know that Uranus is an ICE planet?

Do you remember where does Im-sama have that GIANT strawhat? YES, FUCKING ICE.

So tell me… does Im come from the outer space? Which is their connection to Uranus? Do they have the ancestral weapon Uranus? What is their connection? Idk, but I’m sure all of this has to hide some kind of hint.

[themotelchicks]

🚨NEW BEB🚨

Let's welcome the newest addition to The Motel Chicks, Baby!! She is as her name says, a baby 🥹 I estimate her to be roughly 9months old. She's been with us now for two weeks.

& while she did immediately integrate herself to the flock, the rest of the hens still haven't fully accepted her and chase her off a lot. Will put her full rescue story under a read more in case it gets rambly bc her situation is one I had Opinions on lol

So I'm not saying I kidnapped her, but I'm not denying it either shhhh 🤫 she showed up in my neighborhood last July, with two others & at the time they all looked like they were around 3 months old based on their size (compared them to pics of my girls when they were the same size). I assumed they were strays since we get a lot of random chickens just wandering around in my area bc lots of ppl keep them but don't keep them as contained as I work to keep mine.

Anyway turned out they belonged to someone & she had bought them for her kids (this is how I acquired the rest of my birds, bc the neighbor's girlfriend kept buying them and then they broke up and she left them all and the neighbor didn't really care about them much) so they were just left to wander the street for a while

They didn't have a coop until a month or two later. I never saw anyone close it up at night.

One day, there were suddenly only two of them. Not surprising. We have hawks, raccoons, tons of dogs in the area. Something probably got her.

It's been a few more months now. The 2nd baby turns out to be a rooster. Which is good, at least the little hen will have protection now. They started hanging out in my front garden more and more often.

I maybe started to feed them since I never saw them being fed, there weren't any dishes or anything out for them aside from one small water thing.

Fast forward to the beginning of January: the rooster has suddenly disappeared overnight. Presumably taken from the coop that had still been left open 24/7. Baby was now alone & there were more hawks flying around lately and it had been really cold and raining.

So I did the only thing I could think of: I opened my fence and let her into the yard with my flock (ahh bad biosecurity i know but I'd been keeping an eye on her this whole time and checking her poo for weird stuff, she's healthy)

She slept in my coop that night, and the next night and the next... Nobody came asking after her like they had before when I caught all 3 thinking they were strays. It's been weeks now and not a peep from anyone wanting her back.

So I guess she's mine now! She's very sweet.

[winemom-culture]

My endocrinology appointment wasn’t good and I’m sad

My heart rate and blood pressure were both high. These things, weight loss, and my eye symptoms were the initial symptoms of my Grave’s back 2 years ago. So my doctor was like… I think you might be hyperthyroid again based on your heart.

But I don’t really know if my heart is a great metric. Bc like, my heart rate is always high. Especially at the doctor when I get anxious. I told her this, but in order to consider it not related to the thyroid she wants to see my bloodwork (expected) and a cardiologist work up. Which, that part feels a little excessive to me when I don’t necessarily think there’s anything wrong I just have a little bird heart. Arrhythmia runs very heavily on my dads side but it gives them problems with palpitations, I don’t really have those often, just like a fast baseline constantly. When I first got diagnosed with Grave’s my HR could’ve been 130-40 easy RESTING, so I sorta feel like 120 while anxious (what it was today) is relatively better? When I’m at home it definitely feels like normal until I exert. She’s like “You have to stay on beta blocker until you get your heart under 80 bpm” and I’m like lol. No offense but my heart is like never consistently under 80 even on the beta blockers 🥲 beta blockers became a big crutch to me last year and I feel like getting off them made me feel weird even though they are non-addictive I am semi-convinced that’s why I became so hyperfixated on my heart in my big anxiety spiral in 2021. I really don’t want back on them….

The thing I’m definitely NOT experiencing now is weight loss. I did the math and I’m like 80 pounds heavier then when I started going to her in 2020. And she has said that is from the thyroid medicine. Not that the medicine is bad, it’s doing it’s job of blocking thyroid hormone, but in turn that slows my metabolism a lot. I’ve tried to express my concerns about the constant weight gain, the fact that I feel like a ravenous monster, that I just can’t get a grip on it at multiple past appointments and I feel like she kinda brushes that off, always just “so anyways about that heart…..”

So now I get blood work next week for a moment of truth to see what the deal is. If I’m hyperthyroid I have to get back on my meds and probably consider surgery to take it out (that I don’t have time, money or a support system for- because my parents would be against this. That’s a whole other insane can of worms.) OR I am still in a balanced thyroid state but have to go figure out what’s wrong with my heart.

My health OCD is immediately revving up about being alone at my place, like “you don’t want to be alone all the time with high heart rate and blood pressure do you? What if you stroke out and die? Right there where you’re sitting?” Which is funny, ‘cause yesterday I didn’t know any better and was perfectly fine being alone, while presumably in the exact same boat healthwise. Ignorance was bliss

I’m feel like I’m gaining like 5 pounds every time I step on a scale and it’s so frustrating and upsetting, I literally have to get it figured out and under control this year. I’m totally just overwhelmed and don’t know how to start or how to truly stick to it. I cried my whole way home and I’m getting myself worked up again venting this out. Hope I can keep that pain fresh in my mind as motivation. Real meltdown hours. I don’t want all these problems at 26. It’s making me think about stuff down the road, what if I decide in 2 or 3 years I do want to have another kid after all? I genuinely don’t think as it is right now I would be medically advised to try. It only gets more high-risk as I get older. The thyroid and fertility/complications go hand in hand. It’s like, y’know, that’s awhile down the road there’s still time, but I’m 2 years out from initial diagnosis and as of right now I feel much more vaguely unhealthy in a general sense than I did then.

I just wish there were a more receptive endo around here but as far as I can tell from looking in the past, this office is really the best we got rn.

[thenativetank]

Native Fish Hunting - Interlude!

So last week, the wife, parents and I took a family trip down to Florida. We like to head down to the Gulf coast about once a year; this time we went to Sanibel Island. Love it there - lots of shells and native life to see. Though we did see some neat Iguanas, Birds, and a handful of alligators, I’m focusing on the freshwater and brackish life! I have a handful of pictures to post, so hope you’ll enjoy over the next few days.

We stopped first in Tampa to go to the Dali Museum, but hey who can resist checking out the beach? Though I saw lots of fish I couldn’t get photos of (I believe Needlefish and Grunts) there was lots of neat flotsam and jetsam washed up. First was this little dude I recognize from back home - it’s Sea Lettuce (Ulva spp)! It’s a brackish tolerant algae (from about 1.011 to 1.025) that I also recently learned is also edible for humans. It can be dried and crushed for use as a salt substitute.

Also washed up are lots of egg cases from various molluscs. These are apparently from an American Crown Conch (Melongena corona); thanks iNaturalist! I just find these things neat.

I’m still trying to figure out what kind of algae this is... I’m fairly (?) certain that this is a Sargassum spp, but I suppose it could be a bleached out Laurencia spp. Either way, I like them.

These little guys are propagules (little baby trees) for the Red Mangrove (Rhizophora mangle) that you find a lot down here. While the adult trees themselves are protected, the propagules are generally fine to take unless you find them in a wildlife sanctuary. You plant the knobby brown ends down and hope the green ends sprout leaves. I took a dozen back on a previous trip as an experiment - not super hard to get started but I don’t recommend them as aquarium plants.

Skate eggs! I have a jar of them on the shelf from different locations and presumably different species - folks on iNaturalist think it might be a Clearnose Skate (Raja eglanteria) but heck if I know.

Lots of sponges washed up on the shore - I found a few that were bright orange and others that were this neato purple color. I’m not going to even guess about species here - I wouldn’t even know where to start - but I love them all the same.

Funny story, looking for shells (and keeping an eye out for stingrays), my wife had to shout and alert me to the crab I was about to step on. I thankfully didn’t. This guy is an Atlantic Ghost Crab (Ocypode quadrata), a very cool native species. Their closest relatives are the Fiddler Crabs you may see in aquarium stores - we have a few species local to VA.

A Lace Murex Shell (Chicoreus dilectus) I found! Apparently a rare shell in the area. I don’t know anything specific about them, I just wanted to share :)

Pretty sure this is a Laurencia spp red algae. They do kind of look like a red version of Chaetomorpha or Gracilaria. I do wonder how well they would do in a brackish aquarium... but a brackish aquarium needing strong lights would be a rare sight.

[faintvibes]

Rights lads I'm here on my bullshit (as usual) because I've come up with an absolutely ludicrous theory- but a really sweet one. So, the story goes:

(added a keep reading cause it's not exactly SHORT)

I was drawing templar as part of one of my drawings for the upcoming historical hetalia week (first event I'm putting actual effort into! Can't wait to post those drawings :D) and my mind got stuck on the thing it always gets stuck on: his hair. Look at this boy's bangs!

(Getting all the pictures I'm using from hetarchive btw)

They've always stuck out to me, for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on. I mean, they're ridiculous (and I have, HAVE to wonder at the logistics of that. Like?? Is it a bird's nest?? Huh?? Does he CHOOSE to have a clump of hair on his forehead?? Has he even realised it's there??) and it's such a distinctive feature, too. I can't help but wonder if there's some significance behind them- though at the same time, perhaps Himaruya just thought it looked cool/suited him. Certainly, though, I always thought one thing about their shape, which filled me with a degree of fondness towards them: they look like a bird, minus the head. And it was as I thought about this similarity that an idea struck me.

Gilbird. Prussia's bird companion, which he had not always noticed to be there. A fan favourite character, certainly whose origins are shrouded in mystery... Could there be some sort of connection between Templar and this beloved bird?

It's ridiculous, I know! That's part of the appeal to me. How would that even work? But at the same time, Templar's a certainly long-gone character, presumably having faded around the time of his order's dissolution (to my knowledge, there's not any canon info beyond the couple strips he appears in with Prussia- then Teuton), and the idea that- in some form or another- he stuck around as a companion to an old friend is really sweet to me, and I'd like to believe it to be true. But for that to be the case, he can't have appeared in any strips where Templar is clearly alive. So, I began to dig.

In the strip where Teuton and Templar talk about singing, there's a very close call, where Gilbird appears... but Templar suddenly vanishes from the comic. Here's one panel:

Templar can clearly be seen, though Gilbird is nowhere in sight. However in the next panel...

Gilbird appears, but Templar... disappears. My mind? Boggled. Clearly, just a second prior, Templar was present and Gillbird was not- but now the opposite is true! How can this be??

Can Templar shapeshift?

Going along with the idea that Templar IS Gilbird, it's a possibility. Of course, magic is a known fact in the Hetaliaverse, so this is not so beyond the realm of possibility as it may at first seem, though it certainly is shocking. But this was further confirmed as a possibility to me when I looked back at the last thing Templar says in his panel- an offer to sing together with Teuton. That certainly seems to be what is happening in the second panel.

(Of course, what Teuton says in the second panel could hint that it takes place a bit of time after the prior panel, giving time for Gilbird to show up. And Teuton does seem to be talking to Templar, which must mean he is simply out of panel... But Teuton's eyes are shut. Perhaps he has not noticed his friend disappear and be replaced by a bird, as he rarely seems to notice Gillbird in the first place.)

So, I was certain. There's no definitive evidence, just circumstantial, but it's a possibility, and one that I'd like to believe in.

OR IT WAS

Because upon taking another look at the panels before me, I saw my Anti-Christ D:

THERE, ATOP TEUTON'S HEAD

H E

So yeah, all of this was for nothing!! But I choose to believe it anyway, because it's just the right amount of silly, sweet, and canon divergent! Also, it makes the the fics where Prussia's fading immortality kill Gilbird hurt even more!

[flightofaqrow]

bird hc masterlist

(some of this was from a prior version of that meme so it was an excuse for more compilations, yay)

tl;dr:

he’s not actually a specific type of corvid but the twins both being ravens is closest

he can talk (some), and he sounds like Hamlet the parrot from tiktok

his hair acts like feathers

he does some bird-like things as a human

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I was thinking this morning how rwby doesn’t actually specify much about Raven and Qrow’s shapeshifting, we just kind of assume.

What we’re actually told is that they’re birds. Weiss refers to Raven as a raven once, but otherwise, and according to script notes, they’re just birds.

“I gave them the ability to turn into birds.” “Raven…? Qrow…? They’re birds!”

And looking at their designs, they look similar in size, and if anything, Qrow’s is the more complicated one with extra feathers.

This is a long way of saying that I’m officially announcing a headcanon that qrow also turns into a raven. and that’s why he can talk. This is how he talks.

he doesn’t necessarily know this. he can be referred to as any corvid, and just kind of thinks of himself as a generic black bird.

based on your last headcanon do you think he would be a different kind of corvid? like a magpie with white in the wing feather or a blue jay? spies use different identities and clothes so it could tie into that. probably defeats the meaning of his name but i think it’s a pretty cool headcanon.

I don’t see why not!! I think it leaves interpretation pretty well open, and I like to throw in a lot of non-corvid bird references/puns into my writing just for fun (I often mention him parroting people, for example).

If you look at some of the reply discussion, you’ll see some good points too:

@huntsman-ash​ reminded me of the Huginn and Muninn allusions… which definitely points strongly towards both of the twins being Ravens, like their counterparts. And that’s what I work with and picture most strongly.

BUT

@reallifejedi​ replied: If we borrow from a series I really like, shapeshifters make their animal forms based on their own mental images and suppositions. So Qrow’s unique hybrid of multiple birds, and his weird lil cape, *and* their red eyes, can be entirely pulled from their own mental images, and the fact they ‘aren’t quite right’ could very well be because humans are very fallible.

Qrow especially, does not fit the typical feather anatomy of a crow OR raven. There’s no reason their own perceptions or needs can’t be tweaked a little bit each time they shift, if they want. It’s meant to be a disguise, after all, like you said!

We can presume Raven keeps her form relatively consistent, considering Yang was able to recognize her. And Qrow’s has some features which stay the same, but there is just so much room within canon and headcanons to play around with. ‘Hey, it’s ~magic~’ is a good argument for a lot lmao.

Also the meaning of his name is still there, a bit jumbled but still a bird reference, and still the tie-in to being a sign of bad luck and possibly (to some people) the ‘lesser desired’ Branwen.

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qrow’s hair

qrow’s hair when he started at beacon was slightly shaggier, and mostly unstyled.

Shortly before getting his crow form, he cut it to what it is now.

It never changed after that, even if he tried. He couldn’t grow it out further; he could cut it, but it would return to the same length either within a couple weeks, or as soon as he changed to crow form and changed back.

Because in time, it partially became feathers. Separate strands of hair still exist, but they part together in pieces like feathering, and form the shapes that makeup his hairstyle.

It grew naturally into the style it has, he does nothing to it to make it happen. It’s resistant to being changed with heat or product, and eventually he gave up, for what little he cared anyway.

Each ‘pieced’ collection of strands moves like a separate feather, and when he moves his head everything shifts around in a unit together, bounces off itself, etc. (This is literally how it’s animated. I’m pretty sure it works that way for everyone just because of the show’s style but whatever, I’m using it.)

Yes, it will fluff up and/or ruffle slightly if he’s suddenly excited or upset.

Canon feather hair floofage (it might be a stretch but let me have it)

Combing fingers through it still works like normal, it will separate, but return once the person stops. It can be mussed up, but likewise, will return to its original style quickly without any help.

It also secretes oil similar to feathers which gives it some water resistance. Rain will bead off of it to a certain extent before it starts to actually get wet, and it takes basically being completely saturated to lose its style. This is the part he gets most nervous about people possibly catching on to if they’re paying enough attention in a relevant situation. 

(If you squint, that oil gland specifically kind of gives him a faunus trait.)

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The bandit tribe used the common technique of communicating with each other using bird whistles and clicks while scouting/raiding. The twins have thus adapted this to their own language using corvid-specific noises for use while exploring, battling, and while in bird form.

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Meta on Birds?

this qrow doesn’t have as… strong opinions on other birds as some seem to, haha. some kinds can be annoying. most leave him alone. actual corvids seem to know something is off about him, and treat him with the same wariness as other people do. he doesn’t fit in anywhere.

some of them can be helpful.

between his time in the tribe - knowing nature as signs of danger or weather or the movement of other creatures - and his time in the air - personally learning some ins and outs of their instincts and communication - he has learned to read their behavior pretty well. what species live in what environments and what it means if they move beyond boundaries. how close to somewhere or something he is if he sees one. it’s one more bit of info he can use for his missions.

qrow has a particular affinity for bird faunus. his corvid side helps him understand them better too. he likes to surprise anyone with feathers at how he seems to have some innate sense of how to handle them properly, how it feels to have them, what it’s like to have some birdbrain yet still be mostly human.

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So question, a lot of people like to see how Qrow handled his bird form. What does your Qrow think of it? Are there any tics he has picked up from going back and forth between man and bird? ( like collecting trinkets or the like? )

To the first question,

He thinks of it, mostly, as a tool. Granted, a meaningful one - it’s special to him and Raven alone which is pretty cool; it’s a symbol of Ozpin’s trust; it’s also kind of a reward for being one of the best so he can take pride in that. It’s a secret which can feel like a powerful little ace up his sleeve, even if it’s not really relevant at the time; like a confidence booster if he’s intimidated by other “regular” humans.

As a man with a frequent need to escape his own mind, he loves the freedom his bird form offers, flying through the air unburdened, dipping and weaving in full control of himself, getting to see the whole world in all its beauty and darkness, learning secrets and being able to watch over people. but he respects the responsibility also tied to it, and thus rarely indulges or risks giving himself away without a purpose. Sometimes he can’t help it.

I guess you could say he considers it a blessing that evens out his curse, just a little bit.

To the second,

I do like the idea of picking up some tics! It becomes another self that you’re bound to pick some new habits up from just like if you started frequenting a new place or new people, after all. (I really really love the bird-like head twitching they gave Raven in vol 4, but haven’t seen any equivalents for Qrow really?)

Here’s a list of things so far:

an affinity for eating seeds as a snack. particularly sunflower seeds.

staring longingly out windows, missing the sky and all the information that comes with being out there. you’d be surprised what kind of secrets the changing winds and trees carry. also, he’s kinda always keeping an eye out for Raven.

he can whistle in birdsong. Yes, I know corvids only make ‘ugly’ sounds. No, I don’t care. It’s a general bird thing. Also magic. Also they can learn to imitate other sounds.

he’ll make clicking/rattle type noises sometimes when he’s thinking. Probably only if he’s by himself. Granted, it sounds a little different since in human form it’s with his tongue instead of his throat.

Shiny things do catch his eye, but he usually doesn’t do much about it. It might make him consider switching up his rings sometimes. What he will do is pick up and leave little trinkets for other people, he doesn’t ‘give gifts’ exactly, as he doesn’t present them to people. He’ll just discreetly drop them off on a counter, or windowsill, or their bed when they’re not around. The more he knows someone, the more complex gift they might get, including things he crafts together as a human with all the little bits he picked up as a bird.

The one exception to being discreet that he allows himself: If he’s so happy he doesn’t even know what to do with it, or so upset it’s practically a tantrum (both are rare, but) - he will turn crow and hop around like crazy to get the energy out. It’s his version of screaming into a pillow, I guess. This video is 100% to blame for that one.

he gets some of the really weird positions he puts his legs in, one from them being so long, but also from going back and forth from bow-legged bird legs.

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qrow can be, and has been, in bird form while drunk. crack shenanigans can ensue, especially for pestering Tai, but for main actual headcanon this is only true for flying over distances, not when he’s, say, in a town scoping things out. it’s erratic and hysterical. he has been confused for a really big bat.

on the opposite side, there have been missions that have required (or at least were easier for) him to stay in bird form for a few days straight. these would be spent sober! But not for long once he changes back.

he will also sleep in bird form on missions or sometimes just because.

still building off of the first - most of his ‘people based’ intel came from being able to poke around towns and buildings and watch people or listen in on conversations because he could simply be there, inconspicuous. this is slightly less so after Salem finds out about the birds (or at least, the way she talked about him being an eye blinded I assume she knows even before the show starts?). Her higher up agents knew to at least try to be in a small room or something.  

his crow has the crest feathers on his head unlike Ravens, and yes it does feel nice to be scritched under them.

the grimm leave him alone unless he instigates something, and once he did go after a small pack of ravagers just because he could. he picked two of them off with beak, claws, and tactics, but had to change to wipe the rest of them out because they swarmed.

bonus

yes he poops in bird form if it comes to that, no not on things or people. except maybe on some atlas droids. once. maybe. you can’t prove it.

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vagabonds-and-wanderlust:

You sympathize with crows. After all, you too are a collector of shiny baubles and useless castoffs. And you, too, occasionally give them away to people you’ve taken a liking to.

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crow-suggestions‌:

how to befriend a humble crow: a guide

give me food - peanuts are my favorite :^

stay six feet away at all times. i’ll go up to you if i trust you

hang out with me often so i don’t forget about you

be a nice person!

talk to me when we’re hanging out. tell me about what’s going on in your life.

know that i appreciate you as long as you are kind and generous.