#surlier

[bobtheacorn]

THERE IS !!!NO WAY!!! YOU ONLY WATCHED !!!!!!ONE!!!!! !!!EPISODE!! OF SAMURAI RABBIT!!!!!1

I didn’t watch the full episode, I watch fifteen minutes of it, decided “This isn’t for me.” And switched it off. I have, however, been eating up volume after volume of Usagi Yojimbo, which is much more tailored to my tastes!

I guess it’s time to confess that I only chose to write Yuichi for my fics instead of Miyamoto because Yuichi had an interesting (malleable) backstory that I wanted to get my gay little farm girl hands on, and a sort of desperation to prove himself that didn’t suit Miyamoto, who is much more grounded (in a “things won’t stop happening to me so I may as well deal with them” way). Of the two of them, I thought Yuichi might mesh with Rise!Leo with a bit more ease. Also I just wanted to crack him open like an egg and dig into all of that juicy potential. 👀 And I liked the ancestor angle.

[ofdarklands]

presenting his other other dad to ameliance i see

[ceilidho]

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

-

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours. 

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. 

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you. 

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you. 

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing. 

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock. 

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console. 

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff. 

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him. 

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning. 

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away. 

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?” 

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under. 

The first week of December hits town like a truck. 

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance. 

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue. 

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first. 

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you. 

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that. 

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark. 

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake. 

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. 

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water. 

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there. 

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out. 

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance. 

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed. 

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering. 

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur. 

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again. 

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan. 

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. 

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch. 

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip. 

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back. 

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you. 

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside. 

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized. 

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured. 

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble. 

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly. 

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache. 

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor. 

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you. 

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky. 

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs. 

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body. 

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you. 

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

How about lookism boys shopping with his girl. Must include Gun and Eugene!

Hey anon, I've done a shopping headcanons here for Johan, Gun, Jake, Goo! But 2 lil scenes with Gun and Eugene :)

Shopping with your boyfriend: Gun Park, Eugene

Gun Park x Reader

Gun sometimes worries about his own sanity. Especially where you're concerned.

5 minutes with Goo can leave Gun murderous, 10 minutes with Kouji has him considering strangling the little purple-headed idiot, 15 minutes with Crystal often leads to thinking about resignation.

Yet with you-

It's been 5 hours. 5 whole hours. 300 minutes. 18,000 seconds. All this time spent traipsing around store after store as you flitter around clothing and gadgets and junk.

And he still wants more of you.

Gun carries your bags with endless patience. Smiles as your face lights up when something catches you eyes. Offers up his credit card without complaint. Files away other things you like but not love, intent on purchasing it all for you anyway.

He worries about how he really is wrapped around your finger, but when you grab his hand and drag him to yet another store, he can't find it in himself to care.

Eugene x Reader

Eugene taps away furiously on his phone.

Seriously, it's one afternoon. How can everyone not deal without his instructions for one goddamn afternoon. And great, the 5G wavers. So much for the fastest and best connection in the world.

His hand comes up to readjust his glasses, a telltale habit whenever he feels stressed.

No, no. Enough is enough. He had promised you time, his most precious resource. Time completely focused on you.

When you had shown him some pretty outfits, or a cute plushie that reminded you of him, and realised his attention was once again on work, your smile gradually faded away.

Your jaw clenched tighter with each shop you visited, mood grown surlier the longer Eugene click-clacked away, the frown deepening with each email sent.

With steeled resolve, Eugene turns his phone off.

Everyone can just cope without him for the rest of the day.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 3

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: None really. Angst. Dean being a bit of an asshole. A brief, near sexual encounter. Smidge of fluff.

Word Count: 3,654

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So, here I am with chapter 3. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for all the very kind comments that this series has received so far. You're all fabulous.

Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

The next morning Dean was sitting at the table in his tent, listening to the camp waking up around him, when his tent flap opened and Cas strolled in. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, we gotta put up a piece of wood on the tent poles or something so people can knock.” He said in a surly and growly, early morning voice. When Cas didn’t respond, he challenged him with an even surlier tone. “What? Why are you here?”

Cas walked further into the tent. “I saw you gave Y/N back her daughter.” Dean raised his hand and then dropped it, conceding the point. “And,” Cas continued, raising his hand in the air and waving it slightly, “no more manacles.”

Dean spread his arms wide. “These are all things I already know, Cas; why are you telling me this?”

Cas shrugged slightly. “So, can I assume this means you no longer think she’s going to turn into a monster at any minute?”

Dean blew out a puff of air. “It means, she’s been here a week, and hasn’t turned yet. And since that isn’t really something that happens to people who get bit, I think I can be reasonably certain she won’t turn, randomly, out of the blue one day. And I gave her back her kid so she can look after her, and I can get Risa back as a soldier instead of a nanny.”

Cas wore a very enthusiastic expression as he moved closer. “Come on, even you have to admit that this is exciting.”

Dean arched a brow. “Exciting?”

Cas’ voice became awestruck. “Dean, this is the most hopeful sign we’ve had in…years!”

“Aw, don’t come at me with that hopeful bullshit!” Dean’s scowl and fierce countenance was immediate and slightly intimidating, even to the angel. 

“Hope is nothing but a fucking lie, okay? We know it. We HOPED we could stop Lilith breaking seals and we didn’t, we HOPED we could stop the apocalypse, but we failed at that too. We HOPED we could save everyone, and well, we’re doing a pretty piss poor job of that, aren’t we? Every single time we go out on a raid, I hope we come back with the same number of people we left with, but it doesn’t happen very often, does it? We hoped -” 

Dean cut himself short and swallowed hard, lowering his voice. “We hoped that Sam would be strong enough to say no, but…he wasn’t. I hoped I could save him. And-” He cut himself off again and rubbed a hand hard across his face. 

“So just don’t come at me with ‘hopeful’.” Dean said, sneering the word.

He tapped his fingers against his chest. “Cause I gotta live in the reality of this situation. And look, if you wanna hide away from that reality, you wanna get blitzed and bombed every day, and pretend like you’re some kind of sexual guru, fuck around with dozens of girls, I don’t really give a shit. Okay? Do it. But I,” he banged his chest with his whole fist this time, “I have to live in the reality of our lives.”

Dean stood up and stepped closer to Cas, swinging his arm out sideways. “And the reality is I have no fucking clue why that woman hasn’t turned.” He shrugged dismissively. “Maybe the person who bit her wasn’t fully turned themselves, or maybe they didn’t fully break the skin so it didn’t take completely. Who knows. All I know is that she’s probably not gonna turn and so now we’ve got one more mouth to feed. Two, actually.” He said holding up two fingers. “And two more people draining our resources.”

He stepped back and turned away, giving Cas his profile. “That’s the reality. So you wanna join me in it, great. If not,” He turned his head to look at him, lifting his hand towards the entrance, “there’s the door. Or, you know, the tent flap.”

He dropped down onto the chair he’d vacated and rubbed a hand across his lips. He looked up when Cas spoke softly. 

“I don’t wanna live in this reality, Dean. I just can’t anymore. So I choose hope, I choose to be hopeful that maybe she marks a change, maybe things can be different. I’m telling you, this reality isn’t the only option.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s my only option. I learned a long time ago, and you should’ve too - hope is dangerous. Reality can’t hurt you like hope can.”

Cas’ expression was discouraged and disappointed as he nodded, looking away from Dean. He said nothing more as he turned and walked away.

***

A little while after Cas left, Dean moved out to his campfire and cooked and ate his ration of eggs and potatoes. As he drank his coffee, he was actively trying to push the argument with Cas out of his head. He had a camp to lead, he didn't need this crap clouding his judgment.

It was ridiculous to think the woman represented some kind of new hope for mankind. He rolled his eyes at the very notion.

Still, he found himself calling out to Johnston as the soldier walked by. The man stopped abruptly and turned fearful eyes on Dean. It drove Dean a little crazy that after more than two years of Johnston serving the camp, of protecting it and helping to run the day-to-day work and activities there, he still seemed petrified of Dean. 

I can't possibly be that scary, Dean thought with a deep scowl. Not like I've had him flogged for looking at me wrong or something.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the fear radiating from the other man.

“You settled Y/N and her daughter?” He asked.

Johnston's blue eyes were slightly bulging and his prominent Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Dean waited a minute for him to elaborate before prodding him gruffly. “And?”

The other man seemed at a loss and Dean snapped his fingers impatiently. “And where did you put them?”

Understanding finally lit in Johnston's eyes and he began nodding. “Oh, yes sir. I put them in the southwest corner. Fourth row, the tent on the end.” He seemed proud to get that much out. But then he raised a finger. “Oh, the tent is red.”

Dean nodded and waved at him. “As you were.” 

Johnston saluted (even though Dean had told him a million times not to) and hurried on. Dean sighed deeply and without thinking about it too much, he headed in the direction of the red tent. 

When he got there he shouted out a hello, feeling slightly foolish and vowing then and there to make it a project to put some kind of wood near tents’ openings so people could knock.

The flap opened and Y/N's face lit up with a beaming smile when she saw him. “Hi!” 

Not knowing what to do with her enthusiasm, he just nodded. There was a slightly awkward moment and then Emma, her big blue eyes staring up at Dean, poked her head out from behind her mom, keeping her arms tightly wrapped around her hips and leaning her head into her side.

Y/N lifted her arm a little so Emma could shuffle out from behind her a bit more. She combed down Emma's slightly flyaway curls with her fingers and then settled her hand on the little girl's thin shoulders.

She gestured to Dean. “Say hi to Mr. Winchester.”

The little one just pressed closer and looked away from Dean to bury her face in her mother's side.

Y/N gave him a slightly chagrined look. “She isn't usually this shy.” She said by way of apology. 

But Dean simply shook his head. Unlike Johnston, he understood all too well why this blue-eyed moppet was scared of him. She'd watched him nearly end her mother's life - not something she was ever likely to forget.

Dean hated that that realization came with a trace of guilt. Feeling very annoyed with himself, he straightened up and nodded curtly.

“Good.” He said succinctly, responding to nothing. “I just wanted to make sure you were settled properly.”

He turned in an abrupt about face and started walking away. 

“Dean, wait!” Y/N called out to him. He turned back to see her wave Emma back into the tent and head towards him. When she reached him she wore her bright smile again, and he frowned deeper as a result.

“I wanted to ask you about something.”

Dean said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She seemed to be a little nervous, fiddling with her hair. She finally clasped her hands in front of her and continued. 

“So, I was talking to Eric?” She said as though it was a question. Dean did give her a puzzled look.

“Eric?” He asked.

Y/N had opened her mouth to continue talking, but then closed it and gave her head a shake, pointing to the side at nothing in particular. 

“Eric Johnston? The…soldier that brought us to this tent and helped us set it up.”

Dean nodded in recognition. Yes, he remembered now, that was his first name. He never used it. “Right.” He waved her on. 

“And I was asking about school for Emma, but he said there isn't one.”

Dean shook his head. “No, the parents, guardians, they look after that themselves.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, but I was thinking…well, I was a third grade teacher in the…before.” She thumbed behind her as though their former, normal lives were just right behind them, around the corner, instead of existing eons ago.

She shrugged. “So, I was thinking that maybe I could start a kind of school for the kids here. Eric figured there were about 35 or 40 of them. So I thought we could hold lessons somewhere outside most days, but if the weather's bad, maybe we could use the main cabin.”

Dean was scowling harder now, so she rushed on. “It would only be for a few hours a day. Wouldn't be anything spectacular, but it could help them with reading and math, and just some basics. Keep the kids' minds occupied and give their parents a couple of hours on their own.”

She shrugged. “It's nothing much, but it might help people feel a little more hopeful about the future.” She finished with another bright smile.

Dean felt his ire rise with that word again - hopeful. This woman was going to upset everything, tip the precarious balance of the camp on its head. 

He shook his head angrily. “We don't do shit like that. This isn't a fucking gated community, okay? These are survivors who get by together. That's it.”

Y/N's eyes were so earnest it almost hurt to look at her. “But, don't you see, it could be a community. Not gated, but open. We could do more for each other than just survive.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, if you're unhappy with being here, we can happily help you on your way.”

Y/N raised her hands. “No, of course not, that's not what-”

Dean cut her off with a cold, hard voice. “And you can't teach kids like this.” He waved a hand towards the red rings encircling her irises. “You'd scare the shit outta them. Take one look at you and freak out, thinking you're gonna turn into a monster any minute.”

That pulled Y/N up short and Dean could see by her slight flinch that his words had hit home. She was quiet a minute and her smile was dimmed as she nodded.

“Right. That's…no, you're right.” She gave an imitation of a chuckle. “There aren't many mirrors around, so I…sometimes I forget about…” she gestured to her eyes.

She shook her head. “I was just trying to find a way to be helpful, you know.” She shrugged. “But yeah…” She trailed off and Dean felt a sick gnawing sensation in his stomach as she gave a final dull smile. 

“Okay, well thanks.” She said as she turned away. Though what she could have possibly been thanking him for, he had no idea.

He thought about Cas’ disappointed expression, and Y/N's bent smile and he gritted his teeth. This morning was not going well for him.

The day didn’t get much better from there. He spent most of it planning their next raid for canned goods. They were running low, and it was September already. Over the next couple of months they’d have to make sure they had whatever they needed for the winter. Once the snow hit, the winter roads were sometimes impassable for weeks at a time. 

They were having to go further and further out from the camp to find supplies. The area was becoming picked clean. There were four or five other, smaller, groups of survivors within about a hundred square miles of their camp. For the most part they all rubbed along together alright, pretty much just leaving a big buffer of space between the camps, and leaving each other alone.

However, Dean was starting to worry about what would happen now that resources and supplies around them were starting to run out. In this last year, they’d started having to drive hours and hours away from camp to find un-ransacked grocery stores and restaurants in the abandoned cities. They could manage it because of their size, but some of the smaller groups had very few working vehicles, making it harder for them to travel. Dean worried what would happen when they got desperate. 

He wanted to be ready for winter.

So, he tried to spend the day planning the best route to hit as many cities as they could without hitting too many known Croat hives, or cleaned out cities. But he kept getting interrupted by his soldiers. The concerns of the camp were unending, and sometimes felt completely overwhelming. 

The morning kept being interrupted by issues and grievances his soldiers brought him from some of the camp inhabitants. He tried to put out as many fires as he could, while continuing to plan the raid.

Then he ended up spending far too much of the afternoon talking about drainage and irrigation with the young guy who used to be an engineering student, and an old farmer who’d spent his whole life in the fields. The two very different men were teaming up to try and see about making bigger winter crop plots this year. They’d grown some winter vegetables last fall and winter, and even that small amount of fresh food had made a big difference in the health of the campers. So this year they were hoping for more. 

Finally the men went off to plan some more and Dean folded up his maps. He hadn’t made much headway into the raid route, but the light was getting low; he’d have to come back to it. He fried up some spam and a few of the cooked, frozen potatoes they’d put up in the spring and sat beside his fire for a while before tossing water on it and going inside his tent. He lit a lantern and started to try and look at the maps again, but he was interrupted by Risa.

Dean lifted his chin towards her by way of greeting. She came forward and dropped a small piece of machinery on his table. “Here’s the piston for that Ford we towed back last week.” She said, referring to the truck they’d found abandoned on the side of the road with no owners in sight. “Should work.”

Dean nodded. “Great.”

Risa lingered a moment and then walked closer to him. “How are you?”

Dean shrugged. “Fine.”

She moved forward to stand between his legs and then reached out to run her hands over his cheeks and down his neck. She bent over and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

“I miss you.” She said, her voice softer and more intimate than it ever was when they were soldier and commander. “You haven’t been to see me in weeks.”

“Sorry.” Dean said gruffly and then let her kiss him again, kissing her back for a moment before pulling away. 

Not willing to give up, Risa straddled his outstretched thighs and reached for his zipper. “It’s okay, I bet I can find ways to entice you back.” She said, dark brown eyes flashing with heat.

But Dean grabbed her hands and pulled them away. He kissed her briefly to try and ease the sting of his rejection. “Sorry, not tonight.” He nodded towards the maps on his table. “I’ve got shit I gotta finish.”

Risa bit into her lip, looking down at their hands entwined in his lap, and then nodding before she stood up. She lifted her mouth in a smile. “Yeah, sure. ‘Kay.” She nodded again and pointed to the piston as she left. “Let me know if that works.”

Dean sighed as his tent flap fell back into place. And that was the third person he’d disappointed today. Without his permission Y/N’s face floated into his mind. Despite what he’d said to her, he couldn’t deny how beautiful that face actually was. The red pigment in her eyes made no difference to that beauty.

He couldn’t erase the image of her crestfallen expression when he told her she’d scare the kids. That was complete bullshit and he knew it. Five seconds in her shiny presence and the kids would be eating out of her hand.

He growled slightly as he could feel himself caving. But would it really be so bad to let her teach the kids somewhere? They’d have to stay out of the way, and she’d have to keep them all quiet when they were together in a mob. But it might actually free their parents up for more of the endless tasks it took to maintain the camp.

If he let her do it, he’d have to make sure she knew he was only saying yes so that they could have the kids out of the way for a while. This wasn’t some hopeful mission for the future. It was just a practical solution for improving the camp.

He nodded. Yeah, I'll tell her tomorrow. 

But even as he though it, he got up and walked out of his tent, moving towards the southwest corner of the camp. Within a couple minutes he was standing in front of the red tent and again found himself clearing his throat and embarrassingly calling out a hello, like he was the Avon lady.

Y/N poked her head out of the tent and smiled. But she lowered her eyes a little and wouldn’t look directly at him. He wanted to punch himself.

“Hi.” She said softly, and then stepped out of the tent into the cool, late evening breeze. She waved towards the tent. “Emma’s sleeping.”

He nodded. She rubbed her arms and he frowned. “Didn’t they give you a jacket?” Then he noticed she was still wearing the grubby clothes she’d been wearing when she came. “And clean clothes?”

Y/N nodded and even in the dusky twilight Dean could see her blush. “Yes, but I realized…I’m all dirty.” She shrugged. “Nothing but basin baths for weeks. I’d like to get cleaner before I put on the clean clothes. One of your soldiers said there was a place where people went to bathe nearby. But he didn’t have time to take me.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, there’s a river about four miles south of camp. It does the trick. I’ll take you tomorrow.” 

He scowled; he didn’t know where that offer had come from. He could have had one of his soldiers, or any other camper really, take her out to the river. But he didn’t rescind the offer and Y/N nodded happily.

“That would be wonderful.” She said rapturously. 

Dean nodded curtly again. “Yeah. And uh…you can do the school.” Y/N looked directly at him now and her face was surprised, but clearly thrilled. 

“Really?” 

He nodded and scowled. “Yeah, the kids'll get over it." He said with a nod to her red eyes. "But just make sure you all stay out of the way of the work in the camp. And let the parents know we’ll have some work for them during the hours their kids are gone. We can use the extra hands.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to help out where they can.”

Impulsively it seemed, she threw her arms around him, squeezing his arms tight to his sides as she hugged him. Shock coursed through him and he didn’t know how to move. Thankfully it was a brief hug and she was soon pulling away.

“Thank you so much, Dean. I’m so excited. I think it’s going to make a real difference. Just wait.”

As she bid him goodnight and bounced back into her tent, he shook his head, frowning deeply. 

Fuck, he thought, everything is too different already.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @deangirl96

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

[jmagnabo92]

“I don't like how Sirius acted throughout nearly the whole book which is why I think Rowling should've done a few things differently with him, especially since he ended up dying in the end.

Let's look at everything of him in the book:

Chapter 4

He is not at all happy to see Harry and only grimly greets him, barely acknowledges him by screaming at his mother's painting telling her to shut up

Chapter 5

When discussing the Dementor attack (which was traumatising for Harry), Sirius shows Harry no sympathy and when Harry hopes for comfort due to his lousy summer, Sirius not only said he had no idea what Harry was complaining about as he would've welcomed a Dementor attack, but he also dismissed Harry's problems and whined about how his problems were much worse since he wasn't allowed to step outside and that was really selfish since he was comparing a Dementor attack where Harry and Dudley nearly had their souls sucked out to him not being able to go outside, comparing Harry being alone all summer to Sirius being locked up and surrounded by his loved ones. While this is hard since Sirius wants to be in action, he should've been sympathetic.

Chapter 6

When Harry simply tries to say he didn't know about Bellatrix being Sirius's cousin, Sirius snaps, which takes Harry aback and just makes Sirius grumpy and terrible.

Chapter 9

Sirius isn't exactly happy that Harry would be returning to Hogwarts, instead he's moodier and surlier than he was before.

Chapter 22

At the Black family home, after Harry tells Sirius his worries about Arthur being attacked, he disregards everything Harry says, telling him that he needed sleep, that it was just a dream and that his anger meant nothing. And Sirius finishes this conversation by telling Harry to stop worrying, making him no help whatsoever to Harry and in turn makes him struggle worse.

• It might've been better if Sirius was more the way he was in the movie version (especially since Sirius ended up dying in the end and all readers remember is him being a jerk to Harry):

The reunion with him and Harry was heartwarming since Sirius excitedly hugged him

Sirius was able to calm Harry down after Arthur's attack by telling him he was not a bad person, but a good person whom bad things have happened to, then assured him they were family and hugged Harry.

Unlike in the third and fourth books, Sirius was completely out of character in the fifth book.

Especially when you remember him doing these selfless things for Harry:

Risking to get him a new broom and to get his money out of Gringotts via Crookshanks

Risking his identity to watch Harry playing Quidditch

Living in the Hogsmeade cave to be near Harry and living off rats

Going at any length go protect Harry

One thing Rowling could've done was to write Sirius as his Book 3 and Book 4 self and have him switching in between his home and someone else's home via a Vanishing Cabinet or even maybe Floo Powder.

But I also wish Sirius could've been revealed as innocent in the third book.”

Thoughts??

The thing about Sirius in books 3/4 and book 5 is that in book 5, JKR already knew that she wanted to/planned to kill him, so I think that factors into things, but there's obviously canon reasons for the different behavior.

In Books 3/4, Sirius doesn't have to answer anyone and he's on the run but he's FREE. This, I think, is the important difference between Sirius in books 3&4 ad Book 5.

Sirius in books 3/4 has the same goals as he does in book 5, but in book 5 - Sirius is stuck in prison a second time. He is in a comfier prison (I'm sure), but prison none-the-less.

He's stuck in the one place that he hates more than any other (and Harry even comments that he doesn't think he would be doing any better if he were stuck at the Dursleys after finally escaping).

and that's the biggest point I have - he ESCAPED GP, moved on with his life, went to prison as an innocent man, ESCAPED PRISON, was free even if he had to live in a cave, and then WAS FORCED TO RETURN TO FIRST PLACE HE EVER ESCAPED FROM.

Sirius was dealing with his trauma from both GP and Azkaban, he was imprisoned a second time (because JKR just wanted to punish him, 'cause let's be real there are MULTIPLE ways he could've not been in that situation), and ON TOP OF ALL THAT - he had everyone and their mother taking potshots at him, telling him he was a terrible godfather that everything was all his fault and treating him like a criminal in his own house.

So his mental state crumbled.

Sure, he had people he could talk to - but did any of them act like they wanted to talk or be around him? No. So, that's a bust.

Plus, most of those people were talking shit behind his back and to his face.

He had a bed, but that bed was surrounded by haunted memories.

And he wasn't allowed outside. Do you remember what Covid Lockdowns were like? I live alone (and I LOVE IT), but like, it was *Hard as fuck* to be forced to *not leave* and I was allowed to *go outside whenever I wanted*. Can you imagine. - NOT BEING ALLOWED TO GO OUTSIDE FOR FRESH AIR FOR A FUCKING YEAR???

And then, on top of it, getting shit on by the people around you, stuck in a place you hate and have terrible memories plaguing, worried about your godson - who *everyone* is telling you have no real say over - and you can't do anything to help him when the previous year you were allowed to A) write him, B) live near him and C) help him WHEN NO OTHER ADULT DID???

Like, you have to understand that Sirius was in a terrible, terrible place mentally, physically and emotionally in book 5. He literally does the best he can, and yes, he's a bit callous, but he's *struggling*.

The fact that there's SUCH a big difference between book 4 Sirius and Book 5 Sirius tells us a lot about how *bad* and how *quickly* his mental state deteriorated.

So, I guess my thoughts are that Sirius deserves a lot of slack for Book 5. I feel like he's not exactly OOC, but we really have to get inside his head to understand *the why* he's behaving this way.

It sucks, honestly. I don't think he does too bad considering everything, but he's not perfect - no one is.

Sorry, this was ... long. Hope I answered what you were looking for.

thanks for the ask :)

[risingscorchingsuns]

Do you think it had to be rengoku who died? Or could it have been a different character or hashira and still give the same effect?

AA THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION!! Okay im likely gonna go back and edit this later once i think of Better Words, but prepare for a Long Ass Leon Analysis Post

I think that while a similar effect could have happened had it been another Hashira, the fact that it was Rengoku affected not just Tanjiro, but the rest of the Corps in a massive ripple effect. I’m assuming that by asking this you’ve read my “why Rengoku’s death impacts the outcome of the series” analysis post, but regardless, im gonna start rambling now lol

Let’s turn it into a cause-and-effect formula. If [Hashira] dies after the Mugen Train Incident, it affects Tanjiro with [x] and the rest of the Corps with [y]. When Rengoku died, it devastated Tanjiro because of both his personal connection to Rengoku (Flame Breathing vs Sun Breathing, as well as Rengoku’s infectious brotherly attitude) and his respect for the Hashira as a whole. X is Tanjiro’s devastation and his exposure to the Actual Strongest Demons. Y, on the other hand, is much more powerful, because of Rengoku specifically. He was like an older brother to Mitsuri. He was an icon of strength and persistence for Tengen. He was a beacon of encouragement for everyone he encountered, and Rengoku was uniquely inspiring in that way. Rengoku, specifically. The latest link in the Flame Hashira chain, the Rengoku family legacy, he was really more legend than man. He was an unfalteringly blazing beacon of constant courage and flaming strength, and his loss hit especially hard, because of how unstoppable he always strove to be. Even the surlier Hashira like Sanemi and Obanai respected him, because he’s just that bright. He’s open, and approachable, and kind. He may be a legend, but he’s a human, living legend. He was friends with everyone, and impacted everyone’s lives just by being in them. The unceremonious and sudden nature of his death is what causes X to hit so hard for Tanjiro, and what causes Y to extend far beyond him.

If, for example, Sanemi was the one who dies at Mugen Train, things would’ve turned out much differently. Sanemi never accepted Nezuko, and probably would’ve died scorning her. This would cause X to be much less impactful for Tanjiro. He would still be devastated, because he’s Tanjiro, and because he holds a deep respect for all the Hashira, but Sanemi’s refusal to acknowledge Nezuko would significantly dampen the impact of his death. X would still hit hard, because Tanjiro is exposed to an immensely powerful warrior being unceremoniously taken out by a demon like Akaza, but Sanemi’s generally unapproachable nature as well as the fact that he stabbed Nezuko would significantly dampen the impact on Tanjiro. Additionally, Tanjiro doesn’t know Genya yet, so he wouldn’t have any personal motivation for sympathy. In the case of Rengoku, when he mentions Senjuro, that hits hard for Tanjiro, because they’re both eldest brothers. As for the rest of the Corps, they’d be devastated for the same reasons as Tanjiro- a Hashira has fallen, and that’s a rare and devastating casualty of war. But Sanemi doesn’t have the same social impact that Rengoku does, so ultimately I think neither X or Y would hit as hard.

Honestly im trying to stop myself from plugging every Hashira into this equation just for the sake of analysis, so I might come back to this later when I’ve gotten a bit more sleep lmao

Now let’s take a Hashira that Tanjiro has a personal connection to, like Shinobu or Giyuu. If Shinobu had come with Tanjiro to personally investigate Mugen Train, he would almost certainly blame himself for her death, and X would be a different flavor of powerful, because of her conversation with him in about Kanae’s dream. The death of any Hashira would cause Y to have some ripple effect, purely because it’s a Hashira, but ultimately, the only Hashira I believe could even start to rival Kyojuro’s influence is Gyomei, purely because he’s been a Hashira for so long. But no other Slayer had the same warmth and personable character that Kyojuro had, and that’s why his death in particular hits so hard. If Giyuu had died, Tanjiro would likely have been just as upset as he was with Rengoku- he’s witnessed Giyuu’s strength on multiple occasions, and Giyuu has staked his life on Nezuko. That’s something that Tanjiro won’t easily forget, and if Giyuu had died, it would easily devastate him to push himself harder, giving X the same emotional weight as Kyojuro’s death. However, because it’s Giyuu, Y would be MUCH less impactful, because a lot of the Hashira actively dislike him. ( @princeblue actually has an excellent analysis post on why he pisses the other Hashira off, I would recommend reading it, they make some excellent points!!)

Anyway, to restate my thesis, Rengoku’s death was as impactful as it was not just because he was a Hashira, but because he was Rengoku. He’s an infallible beacon of hope and warmth, and his unceremonious death sent a ripple effect through the entire Corps. He touches the lives of everyone he meets, intentionally or not- it’s just who he is. Much like Tanjiro, his passion is infectious, and his spark and drive spread to everyone who loved him after his death. It would still devastate Tanjiro to no end to watch a Hashira die in front of him, but it was Rengoku’s personal connection to not just Tanjiro, but the entire Corps that ultimately made him as impactful of a character as he was.

That last paragraph was a little shaky, I have a nasty habit of only doing analysis writing when it’s 4:30am and I should be sleeping, please ask me to clarify anything if I fucked up! I promise it makes so much sense in my head lmao

Thank you so much for this ask I’m literally happy stimming sitting here poking away at analysis posts nothing makes me happier than media-dissecting my blorbos

[howsdeanshole]

cas and dean vs. clothes shopping small fic

after they get cas out of the empty there’s a lot of mundane shit to do. he’s human again, and it’s permanent this time, or as permanent as things ever are for a winchester, but that’s a terrifying thought so it gets locked up in the for later box in deans head. but cas needs food and toiletries and clothes and he’s decided he hates the bedding in the bunker so he has to get new sheets too.

most of this is easy enough. last time cas was human he learned the basics—digestion, hygiene, money—and when he was sick on stolen grace he learned a bit more about preferences. they get him set up with 3-in-1 shampoo and a tooth brush and when dean makes the trip out to the city to do their monthly bulk shopping, he drags cas with him to get some sheets he won’t bitch about. on the way back, dean stops at a secondhand store run by a local church.

cas doesn’t seem to like shopping. he was pleasant on the ride to the city and effusive about the cheap hotdogs they ate for lunch, but about 20 minutes into hauling cases of water and table salt into their cart he got surly. he got even surlier when dean suggested he could go wait with baby. by the time they checked out, dean had written him off and decided to wait out his silence.

the thrift store smells like every thrift store he’s ever been in, dusty and a little bit like cats. the clothes selection isn’t huge, but it’ll do for getting cas started. thats deans hope, anyway, but when he told cas to grab whatever catches his eye and wanders off to a rack of casettes, he hoped cas would get a few days worth of shirts, maybe even find some serviceable jeans. instead, cas dumps an XL shirt with “FALLSTON COUNTY MIDDLE SCHOOL TURKEY TROT 2013” across the front in orange bubble text and a faded grey bucket hat into deans basket.

“that’s all?”

cas shrugs. apparently still not talking. dean knows from experience that forcing the issue right now will, at best, start a fistfight, and at worst, cause cas to fuck off for who knows how long. maybe if he was still an angel dean would go for it, press his luck, but with cas freshly back and freshly human and apparently here to stay, dean swallows the impulse. he buys the admittedly very soft turkey trot shirt and the hat.

after two weeks, it becomes apparent that cas is uninterested in obtaining possessions. he’s content to wear his wholesale underwear and deans shirts and a pair of shorts abandoned by one of the apocalypse world hunters. there are infinite good things about cas coming back, and there are infinite terrifying things about him being human now, and there are infinite things about his return that dean has been trying to stuff in the For Later box, and unfortunately that leaves him kind of pissed off about how he can never find the shirt he wants to wear when he wants to wear it, and also the way his own wardrobe is dwindling due to cas never fucking returning anything. not that he minds sharing! but that would require cas to bring anything back.

not that dean plans to confront him about it. which is maybe cas’s play here? damn. well. deans done great at not bringing up anything heavier than meal planning for over a month already. no need to ruin his streak now.

there’s still hunts. sam and eileen have been out on a few since cas got back. now that dean is better, sam hasn’t been hovering so much. but cas brings the job to dean in the dean cave, pulled up on his phone to show him. it ends up being easy to wrap up, just a matter of destroying a cursed 35mm camera properly and getting the formerly cursed women to the nearest hospital. they don’t even need to put on the fed suits for it, which is good, because dean forgot that cas’s old suit got ruined in his rescue. in deans defense, he wasn’t really thinking that hard about clothes that day, or about anything besides cas heaving himself upright on the other side of that rift, alive and back.

when dean brings up the need for a new fed suit, cas just hums like it’s inconsequential. and because dean is still practicing non confrontation, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

the suit is easy. he goes with the same cut jimmy novaks suit was, in black, and a few dress shirts. ties seem to be one of the few things cas likes to shop for, so dean only grabs one—boring, professional blue and white stripes. it comes in handy days after he hangs it up in cas’s closet, when they have to haul ass out to tennessee to deal with a werewolf pack and have to play fed to get access to the bodies.

after that, it’s a blue fleece-lined hoodie he picks up while he’s canvassing for witnesses hunting what turns out to be a shifter. cas wears it the whole time they’re in the motel looking over the facts of the case, and he wears it in the car on the way back, his strong squared fingers catching deans eye in the rear view mirror whenever he fidgets with the hoods drawstring. there’s a stack of weird novelty tee shirts he picks up in the city the next time he does the bulk restock, this time alone. cas wears them all in a rotation, mostly under his hoodie or one of deans flannels.

when cas asks him to grab a jacket for him, dean cracks on his non confrontational policy. “you should choose it yourself,” he says. cas just hums.

“i like wearing what you’ve chosen,” he says after a minute. “i trust your judgement.”

which, leave it to cas to turn this into—something.

dean buys him a jacket.

he buys him socks, and pajama pants, and new boots and some henleys and a few thrifted flannels, soft from wear. he buys a scarf. house shoes. and cas wears them all, and never returns deans clothes before dean asks for them.

[talxns]

gonna share some headcanons on specific ways that i think bruce changes behaviorally, physically & psychologically after taking in lil dickie (and touch on how it leads to his codependence)

bruce eats more “indulgent” food.

before taking in dick, bruce was incredibly strict with his nutrition. he was single-mindedly focused on performing optimally and that extended to how he ate and trained. food was strictly about the energy it could provide him and he thought little of how it tasted. during this period of time, bruce is the leanest and fastest he’d ever be as batman.

dickie is brought under his wing and there is a shift nutritionally. alfred is making sweets, and bruce is now taking a cookie (or two) from the tray, since dick is sitting with him and crunching on one. dick is offering him animal crackers in the car and bruce is not going to say no. dick wants ice cream and when bruce takes him to get it and dick asks which flavor bruce wants, bruce concedes to a small scoop. dick is hand feeding him his french fry order on a roof during a reconnaissance mission. bruce finds eating enjoyable again.

bruce puts strong focus on strength training

bruce always did strength training. but now that he has robin, he is training with heavier weight to account for however much dick weighs at any given point + his equipment. he wants to make sure that he’s able to be just as effective in case he has to carry robin around, and so he incorporates that into his training regimen.

bruce’s flexibility increases

dick encourages bruce to stretch much more often, something they do together, which improves bruce’s flexibility and lessens his instances of injury. additionally, he carries less muscle tension.

he gets more sleep

bruce has had trouble sleeping his whole life. for one, he’s not sleeping enough to begin with. when he tries to sleep he has insomnia. when he manages to fall asleep there is a high chance of having unpleasant dreams. when he can’t sleep he gets up and does things like research or training. the lack of sleep makes him (surprise) more susceptible to injury and illness. it negatively affects his concentration and memory. it makes him even surlier than usual. the only way bruce gets a “good” nights rest is collapsing from exhaustion.

and then he takes in dick. and dick is absolutely crawling in bruce’s bed. because now, dick is struggling with those same issues: insomnia, nightmares. and he is not used to being so alone at night and lacking physical reassurance. both of them are getting the delicious oxytocin they are deprived of and it increases their sleep quality exponentially. it’s much easier to fall asleep again after a nightmare when you’re being held or at least feel the presence of another next to you. and they can both cry against each other and be vulnerable and let their emotions out if they need to.

he learns to enjoy life outside of the mission

bruce did not “waste” his time with “unproductive” things like watching movies or playing games. that is, until he had dick, who wanted to have fun, as a child naturally does. dick wanted to watch movies, he wanted to play games, he wanted to spend leisure time. and bruce finds himself, surprisingly, enjoying those leisurely moments very much. this is how we get version of bruce and dick who do everything together. they are playing chess together, watching tv together, playing sports, playing games, reading poetry, studying, learning about the world around them, etc etc. bruce is able to take his mind off batman and relax. this is the kind of thing alfred is talking about when he says how good dick is for bruce (and the sleep thing!)

the physical effects

bruce gets bigger. he gains weight after he takes dick in. but it’s not all fat (there is a healthy level of fat, he’s not a dehydrated bodybuilder, he’s got a tummy) but a lot of it is packed into muscle that he is focusing his training on, especially as dick grows and gets heavier and bruce is compensating for that still, into dick’s teenage years. bruce has gone from lean to bulk. not quite a “dad bod” but he is noticeably bigger. he still retains his agility from frequent stretching.

he is healthier overall, with less injuries and instances of illness. the dark circles under his eyes are less pronounced. he smiles and he laughs more often.

he also probably gets his first few gray hairs during dick’s first proper year as robin out in the field.

most importantly, more than the behavioral and physical aspects, the most important thing that changes within bruce after taking dick into his life is:

appreciation for his own life and an active resistance to death

bruce was passively suicidal in his first years. he would jump into fights he wouldn’t be assured he’d make it out of. he’d make leaps he wasn’t sure he could make. he was sloppy and careless with his own life. he did not value himself.

he probably has a harrowing revelation one night after needlessly risking his life when he sees just how agonized dick is over it. he sees that fear of losing a loved one in dick’s eyes. and he realizes that he must live, because he is important, he is needed, and he is loved. despite all his self-hatred and flaws, he cannot deny it when he sees dick. and so! a novel appreciation and respect and reverence over himself previously never fathomed.

and so….

these are huge reasons why bruce was so nervous and upset about even the THOUGHT of dick leaving for college. he would absolutely, unquestionably miss dick. but he must have been aware of all of these improvements that dick brought to his life, behavioral and psychologically and emotional. and he is insecure because he knows that once dick is gone he will revert back to passively suicidal, surly, insomniatic, depressed and anhedonic. he isn’t going to keep eating indulgent foods if dick isn’t there. he isn’t going to watch movies or play games by himself. he does not believe himself able to continue these improvements because he has tethered them to dick, it’s all conditional, it’s whether dick is there or not. and that’s where we see this co-dependence to dick coming from bruce.

i think this is why when jason is put in front of him, bruce takes him in. because he is a child in need because he misses how life was with dick. because it was a vast improvement psychologically. and he doesn’t want to go back to how it was before he had dick

[purdledooturt]

drink break

Summary: Astarion didn't often run into Tav awake when he drank from her at night - not since the first time, anyway. But he can't say he doesn't enjoy it.

Note: I'm extremely grateful to the members of Cinnamontails's discord for their part in getting this out of WIP hell - it's so cool being surrounded by other creative people and there's something about it that pushes one to keep creating, so please come and join us! They also helped me come up with our fruit-based nickname for Astarion 🤠 [AO3 Link]

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

He often took on first watch – he would take the time alone to hunt, get a break from the chatter of his companions, and he would read uninterrupted, winding down from a full day of travel or exploration or combat. It was the benefit of being an elf – he’d seen his companions running on less-than-ideal amounts of sleep, and their performance always suffered when they were poorly rested. Meanwhile he was free to hunt, crawl back into his tent, trance for four hours and be back to his usual perky self. He liked to lord the fact over Lae’zel, who begrudgingly agreed that being able to enter into a trance was a lot handier than needing to sleep – he cherished what wins he could have over her.

He had nowhere to be tonight – he had drained a bear the night before, spotting it sniffing around towards their camp chest which had just been restocked with supplies carefully catalogued by Gale. It wasn’t much of a challenge, and probably the closest he would have to a restaurant experience as a vampire, but the bear was extremely filling, and he didn’t want to be picky. He was feeling sated enough and didn’t really need to hunt, so he took the time to catch up on his reading while he sat watch, lounged on his carefully stacked pile of plush pillows at the entryway of his tent, enjoying the sounds of the forest and the mild breeze on his skin.

He greatly valued these moments. He occasionally wondered if this was how he would have spent his nights if he were still alive (minus the outdoor aspect of it). Often, he would look up at the sky and think about his old life at that wretched castle, and it would steel his resolve to never return. He prized his freedom, however temporary, and other than the occasional intrusions from his guardian, his mind was his own. His companions (tadpole included) made for far better company than his siblings. His companions listened to him and there was a friendly camaraderie that the surlier members of the group refused to acknowledge. They never told him to be silent, never tried to sabotage him, never told him he wasn’t good for anything but lies and seduction. They valued his input, and he, in turn, begrudgingly depended on them. It was the closest thing to friendship for him (although he couldn’t tell exactly what it was the stopped it from completely crossing over).

But what he appreciated the most was the ability to manage his own hunger. Gone were the days of mind-numbing starvation. Gone were the days where he fed on rats and bugs, getting what little sustenance he could from fetid and rotten blood. He was free to hunt as he pleased, though he stuck with animals as he’d been requested to, save for the times he got to bite into the necks of the less-friendly thinking creatures they encountered.

The most delicious of all, however, remained his first. Which reminded him —

Tav, their leader, had offered herself for a drink this morning, and he was waiting until she was well within her dreams before he wandered off to top himself up. While he didn’t explicitly need to feed, he always took her up on her offer as he couldn’t miss the opportunity to have some of her blood. Hers, for some reason, cleared up his mind the best.

He decided it was a good time to do so when Halsin woke up to take over – the two elves had an arrangement where they took turns to watch while the rest of their companions got their eight hours (or as close to it as they were afforded to). It worked out for everyone, and it meant Astarion would get his me-time guilt-free. He watched as the druid wandered towards the fire with blocks of wood and his beloved set of carving tools – he was in the process of creating little wooden trinkets for some of the party, after Shadowheart had requested he made her a little trinket of what animal he thought she would be if she were a druid. She got a little wooden goldfish the next day, which she carefully hung at the entryway of her tent, dangling like a sad, friendless mobile. She was so very pleased, smiling wider than usual as she cooed over the gift, and Astarion was surprised that the idea of being a forgetful fish didn’t offend the Sharran.

Neither of the elves said anything – they were both very good at keeping silent, not wanting to interrupt their companions while they slept. Astarion pulled himself up, leaving a folded note about camp chore allocation he’d been left one day as a bookmark. Wordlessly, he headed towards Tav’s tent as Halsin began carving away – tonight’s project seemed to be Karlach’s, and it looked to be a bear that looked more like Clive than an anatomically accurate one.

Astarion pushed past the flaps of the tent, careful not to let too much of the light from the campfire through. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he was a bit soft on Tav, wanting to make sure she got her rest and was inconvenienced as little as possible by his feeding on her and accepting her generosity. Normally he would find her sleeping peacefully, exhausted from the day’s travels, and he would sup just a bit generally as a dessert before he left for his bedroll feeling lighter and happier.

He blinked at the sight in front of him as he let the tent flap fall behind him, and the sliver of light that came through from the campfire shrunk into a line and then nothing. His dark vision meant he could see her clearly even without the light.

She was hunched over, in such a poor posture he had to actively bite his tongue to not comment on it. Her hair was showing signs of chaos – she always was a bit of a wriggler in her sleep, and so her hair often tangled from the back (or so he noticed – he also noticed it tangled worse when it was freshly washed, as was the case tonight). With one eye open and the other closed, she lifted a finger at him in a gesture that he took to mean as ‘hold on’, while she chugged down the contents of her waterskin.

She looked charming. Adorable in a very unruly, wild gremlin kind of way.

She popped the cork lid back on the skin, smacking the top of it with practiced precision. Keeping one eye closed, she began to lay back down on to her bedroll, her hand gesturing towards him with palms up, inviting. Tensing her core, she brushed the hair from her neck and pushed her hair up on to the pillow, making things easy for him to access. She closed her eyes.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, as he began to kneel alongside her. Was she… sleepwalking?  Was she conscious? He’d never run into her awake for feedings since they started their arrangement. She adjusted her position as she laid down, laying her entwined fingers together over her stomach like a princess in a coffin, ready to rest. It was a comical sight with the unruly bedhead looking like a nest-crown.

The eye closest to him fluttered open briefly. She muttered, “yes,” like a childish princess impatiently waiting for her true love’s kiss. He wanted to snort at the sight.

“Shall I come back another time, darling?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. He watched as she pursed her lips and let out a forceful sigh through her nose. It had been a while since he’d fed from her while she was awake, and while the first time went better than he expected he didn’t want things to be awkward given how intimate the whole experience tends to be.

“It’s fine,” she replied, muttering under her breath. She cleared her throat quietly. Her voice was a bit scratchy despite the water, and Astarion wondered if she was perhaps getting sick. Humans were always so susceptible to illness. He wondered if the ground was too cold for her despite the bedroll. Maybe the bedroll was too thin?

Ah – he really was soft on her. The others must not be allowed to know, but he tried to scan through his inventory in his mind. He may be able to spare her another blanket to tuck under her bedroll, just to stop the cold from seeping into her back. But he’d have to do it in a way that made her think she “made him” give it up.

He enjoyed teasing her – it was so easy when she was so gullible.

He began to position himself over her neck, like he often did when she was in deep sleep and lightly snoring. “Well, at least you’re not snoring this time.”

Her eyes popped open and her mouth fell slack in shock, and she smacked his chest lightly, though she tensed when she noticed that he had his arms over her like a makeshift cage. Why did everything about vampirism hinge on sensuality? “I don’t snore,” she argued. She was on the verge of pouting, staring up at him as he hovered over her. Her eyes looked so large and so round in the dark. He could stare at them forever.

“You convince yourself that, darling,” he said with a smirk, as he lowered his mouth towards her neck. He could hear her heartbeat speed up, thudding loud in the silence of the tent. Gods, teasing her was just so fun. Excitement made her blood taste a little different. He made sure to let his breath hover over her skin. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She tilted her head away to give him easier access to her neck, almost reflexively. He glanced at her from his periphery, noting the full pout and frown that marred her eyebrows. Petulantly, she snorted. “Absolutely not do I snore,” she whispered furiously, relacing her fingers together over her diaphragm. She closed her eyes again, but the small pout remained. It looked like it could be dispelled with a kiss, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

He shushed her, enjoying the way she shivered from the base of her spine from the sensation. He knew a thing or two about appealing to someone without actually touching them. Breathily, he whispered, “Now, now – let’s be professional about this, darling.”

“Yes, let’s,” she said, quickly sparring against his flirting like she always did. Gods – he loved the sparring. It kept him on his toes, and not in the fight-or-flight manner he had grown accustomed to. “I always am. I think this is a you problem.”

He sighed again, dreamy and content. His hand found its usual place against the other side of her neck to keep her still. “I do so love dessert,” he muttered – his lips brushed against her skin closely before he bit down and began to feed. She stiffened at the action – she always did, even when she was asleep, but she remained stiff. He rubbed slow circles against the skin of her jaw near her ear. He pulled away briefly, keeping his lips mostly against her, to whisper, “relax, pet.”

She melted under his touch upon instruction, and he resumed his meal. He hummed in appreciation.

He tried to take little – he was still full, after all, and he didn’t technically need to feed. He just wanted to accept the offer, selfish as he was, to help clear his mind. He gave the puncture site some kitten licks, cleaning up the remaining blood, leaving nothing wasted. “Let me wipe that up,” he said, as he pulled back and straightened back to sitting position, studying his companion who now seemed to be at the edge of sleep. Her head lolled back as if trying to follow the sound of his voice.

“M’kay,” she slurred, as she began to turn on her side. He knew she was a side sleeper – she liked to sleep with her knees tucked up towards her chest and one hand tucked under her head. She often complained about pins and needles the next day, but never did anything to change her sleeping position. He knew she drooled, too, when she was extremely tired – he usually wiped the drool off when he was cleaning her up post-feed. “Thanks.”

“Do you… want water, darling?” He asked, as he tipped out some of the healing potion they kept explicitly for clean up into a clean handkerchief. He approached her and gently held her chin as he took care in dabbing the handkerchief against her wound. He checked for drool – nada. Good.

“D’be nice,” she muttered, her words fading into silence as sleep began to take her back into its arms. “Thanks, melon.”

He frowned. “Excuse me, darling – melon?” Where did that nickname even come from?

She hummed in agreement. “You’re my melon,” she said simply as her voice gave way to a light snore. Her breathing evened out, betraying slumber.

He shook his head as he took her empty water skin, making his way out of the tent and towards the big cauldron they used for clean, potable water. Halsin watched him with mild interest as he carefully refilled the water skin, before cautiously punching the cork back in place. No words were exchanged as he strode back to Tav’s tent, sliding in to find her with her arm stuck up.

“Gimme,” she muttered, and he rolled his eyes to hand the water skin to her. She sat back upright, eyes lidded and hair still a mess. “Gods, I’m so thirsty tonight.”

“That’s because you drool.”

“I do not,” she disputed, lips wrapped around the mouth of her water skin, but he was amused to find her reach up to her cheek anyway. She grumbled, before taking a big drink – he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d emptied the damn thing again. She gulped down the liquid greedily, before she let out a light ‘ah’ as she put the lid back in place.

Astarion’s hand shot out, offering to take the item. With a confused look, she passed it to him, and he put it back on top of the crate she used as a makeshift table. He stood and prepared to leave. “Thanks, Astarion. You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, with a dopey smile that made her eyes crease at the corners in the way he adored. It made her look so innocent.

Never one to let opportunities pass, he countered, “well, nice of you to remember my name now, my dear. You called me a melon a few minutes ago.” He didn’t address the rest of her statement. He didn’t know how to deal with gratitude – so he didn’t.

She laid back down, closing her eyes and trying to paint herself as a picture of peace. It didn’t seem like she noticed his avoidance. “I didn’t call you ‘a melon’,” she clarified, though it did nothing to demystify the topic to Astarion, “I called you ‘melon’.”

“Yes, okay, darling – but where in the hells did that comes from?”

She frowned and one eye cracked open. “I thought you knew Elvish. Isn’t that ‘friend’ in Elvish?”

Oh. She meant ‘mellon’, but she used the wrong tone, didn’t elongate the correct syllables, and got essentially nothing of it right. He pursed his lips together, unsure of whether to correct her. It would be funnier to… not. Plus, he found he wasn’t very pleased with being called ‘friend’, but he was somehow fine with being called ‘Melon’. It was… cute. And it was special because no one had ever used that pet name on him before. He could let it pass.

“Yes,” he lied, “well, you just butchered the pronunciation a tiny bit, darling, but I see what you’re going for now.”

The single open eye rolled. “That’s what I get for being friendly. Get out of here, you melon.”

He scoffed. “Well, goodnight, my sweet,” he whispered, as he turned to head out of the tent. He cast her one final glance. He could make out her beady little eyes peeking at him and the telltale crease in their corners betrayed a grin she tried to hide beneath her threadbare blanket. He could imagine the little wrinkle her nose would make when she made such a face – it was his second favourite feature of hers.

He felt the intense urge to bundle her up and take her away – she looked so vulnerable and innocent at rest, and the fact that she trusted him while she was in this state gave him conflicted feelings. A part of his mind told him she was an idiot and the perfect target – too trusting, too naïve, too stupid. Fell quickly for a pretty face and a kind word. His insidious mind whispered there must be an ulterior motive to it all – a fetish or some such she was wanting to fulfill. Surely no one was this kind? This giving? If she were in Baldur’s Gate she would have followed him to slaughter without question. And he would have led her there, and the world would have been less bright without her in it.

It made his phantom heart clench. Another voice in his mind asked – what does that make you? You fell quickly for a pretty smile and a generous heart.

Well. It seemed they were just two fools meandering around.

“Sleep well.”

She let out a sleepy chuckle, followed by an impressive yawn. “Goodnight, my melon.”

Astarion emerged from Tav’s tent to find Halsin still carving away, deep in focus. The larger elf looked up at him and his expression softened, before returned to his work with a slight smile. The vampire walked over to his tent, slid in, located the spare blanket he was going to bait Tav into taking in the morning, and laid down to prepare for his trance. He was surprised to find his cheeks hurting.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of melons and wood carvings, and the faint scent of the rosewater that always lingered in Tav’s tent.

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

[oonajaeadira]

FLUFFBRUARY 7: potatoes | blue | glass (Pero Tovar)

ADIRA'S SELF-IMPOSED FLUFFBRUARY RULES:

Six sentences.

Must be fluffy.

All 29 ficlets must feature a different Pedro.

All three words must be used (Fluffbruary prompt list here).

Use the words in order.

I reserve the right to break rules and/or cheat.

"Ay dios...fucking--!" Pero Tovar growls as he dives for your basket, catching a handle deftly in one fist, and shoots you a look of deadpan irritation, underscored by the armload of potatoes he's carrying--was carrying--thudding and pattering to the ground, wincing only slightly when the biggest one lands on his foot.

You'd only turned to waive goodbye to old Baba Hawthorne and the Spaniard had come out of nowhere, right into your path, and while he hadn't been seen in the village in his armor for more than a year, he still made for a surprisingly solid collision--

A collision that still has you in shock until you realize the basket is back in your hands and the man is on his knees, grumbling, gathering his potatoes, trying to make a balanced stack of them in the crook of one arm.

You've known the retired mercenary long enough to intuit that an apology will only make him surlier, so in a muted alternative, you kneel beside him, and begin stacking the potatoes in the basket--now empty after selling your last bolt of dyed flax--and he stops both his action and his mouth when you lean forward to tip his armload in on top of the rest.

And he reaches forward as well, although slowly, and not for the basket, but for your hands--hands that embarrass you, that show you are of low working class, stained blue and red from your dyes--turning them in his own with a reverence you've never seen in him, a shiver racing along your skin as he traces one palm with a finger and tells you in a hushed, awed voice, "I have fought in many countries and seen many churches that have glass like your hands...like the colors of your hands..."

When his finger stops moving on your palm, you look up to find him focused on you, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips, and continues, although you wonder if he is still speaking of your hands as he mutters, "...beautiful..."

___

@fluffbruary

FLUFFBRUARY MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[dragongodryss]

Rogue headcanons (featuring Sabertooth) (Part 1)

Likes frogs (very normal about the frogs)

Can draw, but will only draw frogs, unless he's seen a really cool butterfly or something recently.

Can draw insanely detailed backgrounds for his frogs. He can draw anatomically correct frogs, if he really tries. He chooses not to. Because frogs are supposed to be fun. Either he scribbles a bunch of vaguely froglike creatures onto a sheet of paper or he scribbles a vaguely froglike creature and draws a comically detailed background. Sting thinks it's hilarious.

He gives Frosch the sheets with a bunch of frogs so she can make comics out of them. He insists that they are highly moving. They are nonsensical at best and incomprehensible at worst, in Minerva's unhumble opinion. Sting and Lector understand them fine. (50/50 chance, but they aren't going to tell Frosch that)

He chills on top of wardrobes and other hard to get places sometimes. Just because he can. Who's gonna stop him?

He has a house key, but doesn't use it when he's alone. He doesn't need to.

He is scarily quiet. Like, metal boots, can sneak up on anyone who isn't a dragonslayer quiet.

He can pick locks. He doesn't need to, ever. But he can do it.

He is simultaneously the best and worst on his team at reading social cues. Don't ask how. He doesn't know. He has the easiest time telling when someone is annoyed, but is the worst at telling when someone is joking.

He gets surlier around large groups of people because he can hear all the noise they make, but unlike Sting, he can't seem to tune it out.

He will not touch bitter food.

He wears his bangs the way he does in part because they take some of the glare off the sunlight. He's pretty sure they do, anyway.

He can see in the dark, but needs time to adjust to changes in light. That's the second reason he has the bangs. When the lights go out, he tucks them behind his ear and closes the normally visible eye until it adjusts. Until then, he can still see.

The third reason is that Sting and Frosch said his hair looked cool the first time he wore it that way and he hasn't looked back.

Rogue sometimes uses his Dragon Force when it's raining to avoid getting wet. 1) Because he wears a lot of clothes and they add a lot of weight when they are soaked. Also they cling to him and he hates it. 2) If his lacrima doesn't make him stronger than Gajeel or Natsu or Laxus, then he might as well find other uses for it. 3) Because fuck you, that's why!

He has autism. Not the science genius kind, the kind that makes you draw 100 frogs in one sitting. He doesn't actually know that much about frogs. He just thinks they're cool.

His record for frogs drawn in one sitting is 267. Sting keeps track. Rogue does not know that he keeps track. Sting insists that that would corrupt the database. Rufus calculates the average frogs per sitting.

He and Yukino are the only ones who can consistently get away with directly sassing Minerva. Yukino because Minnie likes her and Rogue because she either really really had it coming or more often because she's not sure he meant it that way (he does about 77% of the time.) Sting and Rufus are counting. He doesn't know about that either. If he did he'd suggest they get a hobby. Yukino knows and finds it funny. Minerva doesn't know because Sting likes Rogue's face where it is. Orga tries to corrupt the database by dropping veiled insults in casual conversation and hoping Rogue will repeat them. Dobengal knows he does this and annotates the instances where he uses those insults accordingly.

Rogue and Yukino drink ice tea (store bought) out of a teapot and teacups. Yukino does it because it makes Rufus squirm and Rogue did it the first time he drank ice tea (poured it from the bottle into the pot) and Sting thought it was funny and so did everyone who found out, so no one corrected him. He doesn't drink a lot of ice tea though, so Rufus hasn't corrected him yet.

Rogue speaks dravic/draconic/whatever you wanna call it and Fiori/Fiorean/whatever. He also understands several other languages that he can't really speak from before he joined Sabertooth.

He doesn't commit crimes if he can avoid it. That includes property damage. As a result, he has decent savings (not having your reward docked will do that for you, Sting!)

Rogue saw Orga give Yukino a piggyback ride once and totally doesn't want to try. That would be absurd. Why would he want Orga to give him a piggyback ride? Yeah, it would be fun, but- Good grief! He wants a piggyback ride. He'll never admit it, let alone ask for one.

Rogue considers Skiadram to have been a good parent. When Yukino asked him and Sting what kind of parents ask their five-year-olds to kill them, he stormed off. Not ready to unpack that today. When he found out that Skiadram altered his memories, he went to Yukino and treated it like a gotcha moment. Yukino told him that was worse. Sting, meanwhile, is a bit disillusioned with Weisslogia's parenting skills. He's not sure if it's better or worse than what Natsu, Gajeel and Wendy's parents did, just that it's not stellar. Rogue simultaneously supports Sting in his stance and fervently defends Skiadram by use of mental gymnastics that rival his physical capabilities.

Rogue is scarily flexible. He rarely uses it for anything, but occasionally he'll bend over the wrong way (backwards) to pick something up. He does it rarely enough that his guildmates largely forget he can do that and get heart attacks every time. One time Saber got five different property damage complaints in the same day and Sting dropped the papers so he did the thing (While all six were in the office) and was like 'I keep having to bend over backwards to pick up after you lot.' and Orga choked so hard Rogue had to do the Heimlich maneuver on him.

He has decent medical skills. Out of the dragonslayers, he's the second-most reliable medic after Wendy.

He likes chocolate a normal amount.

Will add more later

[jtl-fics]

Do you have some background to spare for the Andrew First AU?

Andrew First

Background info in general because this one is a little bit more nebulous than the Math Nerd AU but this is ANOTHER one of those time travel AUs that I've mentioned live rent free in my head.

In this one, Andrew regains his memories FIRST. It's while he's still in high school that he remembers his other life. He realizes that Neil is still ALIVE right now and he wants to find him. He also realizes that well...why not get filthy rich off of his memory? Like lotto numbers, the rise and fall of companies, and what remains of his share of Tilda's insurance money is all right there.

Besides, he has NO idea where Neil is right now. He knows where Neil will be in like half a year though. So he makes a shitload of money, gets Aaron into rehab, pays for Nicky to go visit Erik, and he contacts the Moriyamas to buy the right to Nathaniel Wesninski. It's heinously expensive but of course it is, it's Neil, he's worth every penny.

Then Andrew sets out to find whoever Neil Josten is right now.

It's not his Neil but it's Neil and Andrew will never love him the way he had loved his Neil but he loves Neil no matter what. He's made plans y'see? He wrote 'em down because even if his memory is perfect sometimes it's easier to plan when it's solid and in front of you.

Except when he finds this Neil, scared bleeding and trying to get away from Mary and Nathan, it's his Neil. They reunite and Andrew lets Neil know that the Moriyamas don't own him anymore, no one does.

Andrew brings Neil home to Columbia and Nicky and Aaron are confused by it when they get back but eventually are fine with the new housemate. It's all okay, good even, and then Neil sees the 'plans' and realizes that Andrew hasn't done any of them with him. The thought hits him that Andrew maybe...wanted the not quite so fucked up Neil Josten.

Neil runs because he really can't handle Andrew being disappointed that it's him. (This is the furthest thing from the truth but y'know what this is my quasi-angst fic so I get to make the misunderstandings).

Andrew is despondent but Andrew gets an offer from Wymack.

Neil will never give up Exy right? Neil's a fox. He'll come back home for Exy. Then Andrew can fix this.

Andrew is even surlier his freshman year because he wants Neil back, he's unmedicated, and he has to deal with these fifth year assholes again.

Then Kevin Day is there and it's slightly better to have something to focus on. There's a difference this time though and the USC offers Kevin a chance for some spring training for his hand. Andrew figures it's butterfly effect. Kevin goes for 2 weeks and comes back for a bit to rest his hand. Kevin is floating, he's elated, he just had the time of his LIFE.

He mentions that the USC has signed a striker for next season.

It's Neil.

Thus begins Andrew's courtship of one Neil Abram Josten of the USC Trojans.

[asimplevampire]

so thanks to angelapleasant's take on Buzz in Something Wicked (brilliantly written btw), I've been thinking about how I want to do the Grunts, because I was never satisfied with how I was writing them. If I ever bring back my modern uberhood (I have the canon URL!) or if I want to play them in medieval PV or what have you. and well.

I do like the fanon more than she does, but I also want it to be more. complicated. tastier. a bit less... teenage. and seeing angelapleasant's depiction of Buzz and Tank made it click, the exact dynamic I want.

so in order to make this work we first need to accept a postulate: all the Grunt boys are neurodivergent. yes, all. None of them will ever get a proper diagnosis while they're living under Buzz's roof. But...

Buzz is the kind of middle-aged white guy who yells at everyone if he can't keep to his strict routine, and only eats three foods, and has Strong Opinions about sportsball statistics. He's very invested in Looking Like The Right Kind Of Person-- he's constantly masking, honestly-- and very invested in Being Normal. (Incidentally, this is why Buzz hates PT- not aliens in general, PT and the Smiths. He can't stand that someone so Weird is better at Being Normal than his family.)

Tank takes after his dad, and also has the profound misfortune of Taking Ideas Seriously. When Tank believes in something, he genuinely believes it with his whole chest. This is a rarer quality to have than one might think. It is also a deeply unfortunate quality to have in a place like Strangetown.

Ripp doesn't like routines. Or being told what to do. Or having to focus on anything but the, like, three things he cares about. And none of those things are Normal- he likes art and music and writing terribad romance novels. He's also flamingly bi, and since he's a Romance sim, he's not very good at keeping it under wraps. He started talking about having crushes on boys in kindergarten.

Buck has exactly one interest (pet fashion!), is also an incredibly picky eater, doesn't like loud noises or crowds, and can't tie his shoes or tell time on an analog clock. He talks a lot with family and friends, but completely clams up around strangers.

And so we've got this family dynamic where...

Buzz is harder on Ripp than he is on either of his other children. Buzz desperately wants Ripp to be Normal, for both selfless and selfish reasons. The world's a cruel place to be Not Normal, after all... and it's a cruel place if your kids reflect Weird back on you.

Perhaps a bit too hard. Perhaps pushing into the realm of "asking Ripp to do the unwise or impossible". Perhaps getting worse and more unreasonable the older (and surlier) Ripp gets.

Ripp resents this, ofc, and pushes back. They've got a vicious cycle going where Ripp rebels harder every time the General puts more expectations on him, which makes the General push back harder with more expectations, which makes Ripp rebel...

Tank has been watching this horrible cycle his entire life. And no one bothered to tell him that the expectations Buzz puts on Ripp are not the same expectations that Buzz wants him to live under.

And Tank takes ideas seriously.

So Tank is desperately struggling to live up to this impossible ideal that no one asked or expected of him. He's trying to be the perfect soldier, get perfect grades, be perfect at his job, keep his room perfectly tidy, be Better At Being A Good Normal Person than anyone else in the family, hate the people the General wants him to hate...

If Buzz knew what Tank has internalized, at this point, he'd be horrified. He mostly just wants his kids to do their best... and mayyyybe not publicly embarrass the family.

Buzz is also easier on Buck than either of his other children, because he's the baby and you just kind of ... instinctively want to take care of him. It doesn't hurt that Buck looks more like Lyla than either of the other kids...

So Tank is desperately struggling to live up to an impossible ideal that no one asked him to live up to; Ripp is desperately kicking against the pricks of an impossible ideal that everyone seems to want him to live up to; and Buck is alternating between Getting Forgotten and Getting Spoiled Rotten.

You've got this horrible, horrible family dynamic, that could probably be resolved with, like, three honest conversations and some honest renegotiation around expectations. But all of these men (except maybe Buck?) are incredibly emotionally constipated and Will Not Talk To Each Other without some severe goading from an outside force.

idk, that's just where I'm at at this point, and I don't think I've seen anyone else with this specific headcanon. especially not neurodivergent!Buzz.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Swim

G/N. Fluff. Missed this menace.

Finally. After all the time.

There's a sport that Taehoon doesn't excel at.

That he looks sorta pathetic doing. A fish out of water, except... Literally. Or maybe literally the opposite.

Seong Taehoon is a pretty atrocious swimmer. Sure he can swim, but he's neither fast nor skilled. Which is surprising considering his height and his long limbs; his strong shoulders and wide back and legs no one wants to be on the receiving end of.

You outlasted him after lengths and lengths of the pool with breast stroke. You're far quicker at front crawl and somehow he doesn't float particularly well for backstroke.

(Neither of you can do butterfly for shit, but that's a stroke for the weirdos or the gifted, likely both, so you ignore that.)

It's hilarious, and his silent outrage at his un-athleticness makes it all the funnier. Mood growing surlier as your swimming session goes on, only staying due to competitiveness and denial.

You do nothing to help. Taunting and teasing, mocking and provoking. So much so, that even you in your swimwear doesn't uplift him anymore.

Taehoon's saving grace is, he's a pretty comma atrocious swimmer.

And heavens, is pretty an understatement.

He's distracting enough when you're out and about together, fully clothed. Strip him of his jeans and jackets and even the absurdly tight shirts; put him in a pool and in swim trunks... Well.

There is hard muscle as far as the eye can see and legs that go on for miles. Rivulets running down his chest and highlighting his abs. Skin tantalising, flushed with exertion and cheeks tinged pink.

Even the stupid mullet that you at first tolerated, then grown fond, is slicked back. His hair, maybe for the first time ever, is hot. Oh so pretty features on full display and you know everyone here has given Taehoon at least a glance.

If you weren’t so obviously better than him, consistently beating him in the water, you would have no doubt had trouble keeping your hands off him.

"Let's go," he says, interrupting your ogling and shoving you towards the ladder.

"Taehoon~" you whine, trying to plant yourself to no avail, and he gives you a look, "Don't you wanna swim a bit more?"

"I've had enough of your gloating, you lil asshole," he gives you another push, "and enough of people staring."

"You're too pretty for your own good," you scoff, "Cry me a river."

Taehoon exhales, short and sharp to signal he's at the end of his patience with you. It takes a good while longer to get there than for other people, yet he gets there nonetheless.

"I mean at you, dumbass."

"Oh," You notice him practically snarling at a group of boys nearby who have been looking for a moment too long.

"Yeah oh,” he mimics, “Now let's get the fuck out of here."

"Like you care," Taehoon might be right, but why give up the chance to poke the bear one last time? "You're only saying that because you're a sore loser."

He narrows his eyes, displaying full well his annoyance. "You want me to beat your ass?"

"Only if you can catch me!" You kick off the side and start swimming away at speed.

Taehoon shouts, swallowing a mouthful of water as he ungracefully cuts through the water.

"You fuck-!" Cough, sputter. "Get back here!"

[bullet-prooflove]

"sleeping on the couch that night" with this beautiful man? He and his fiancée can't always be all lovey dovey, come on 😆

The exile is self-imposed. Stuart knows what he’s done is wrong, that he deserves to be punished for it, it’s why he’s sleeping on the couch on tonight. He runs his hands through his hair, exhaling deeply. He’s been lying to you over the past few days about where he’s been, what he’s been doing.

He hears the bedroom door click open and he tilts his head to see you standing there clad in his shirt from the academy and very little else.

“Are you coming to bed?” You ask him, your shoulder coming to rest on the doorframe.

He rubs his palm across his jawline before he meets your gaze.

“I’m not sure you’re going to want me to, after I’ve said what I need to say.”

Your eyebrows furrow into a frown.

“I told you I was at the Securities Conference in LA over the last couple of days but that’s not where I’ve been.”

“I know.” You sigh as you sit down beside of him. “You don’t have a tan, like at all. What I don’t understand is why you felt the need to lie to me.”

“I don’t like who I become sometimes.” He says quietly, his hands clasping together. “When it gets to this time of year.”

You know what he means, September is always a bad month for him. The closer it gets to the date of Doug’s death the surlier he becomes, the more closed off. He hates that he shuts down like that, that he snipes and needles and snaps at the people around him because it’s better than admitting how vulnerable he feels, how torn up and angry he is inside.

“I took off to a hotel for a couple of days, I thought I could get my shit together.” He shakes his head with a strained smile. “All I did was drink myself into a coma.”

“It’s ok to need a little space.” You tell him, your hand coming to rest on his. He looks down at your fingers as they entwin with his. “There’s no shame in that, what happened to Doug, the circumstances, it would fuck anyone up. Just… next time you need to take a beat tell me ok? There’s no judgement on my part, I just want to support you the best way I can.”

“I’ll try.” He tells you squeezing your hand tightly. “I promise you I’ll try.”