#(very vaguely implied)

[arginnit]

it hurts to imagine what he would think of you right now

[merakiui]

thinking about a concept in which your parent and step-parent are going through a bit of a rough patch in their relationship, so in order to resolve this tension, keep you and skully (mostly) out of it, and hopefully return with a stronger bond, they decide to live in separate spaces for the time being while the idea of divorce is constantly whispered about. you remain in the city with your parent and your step-parent takes skully back to their hometown—that little, misty town in the mountains and trees. the one where all the eerie folklore and stories skully adores comes from. the one with such a small population that you often tell your friends at school it's "that weird cult town."

well, (un)luckily for you, your parents want you to have an amicable relationship with your stepbrother. so when the winter holiday comes around, they make plans to ship you off to that weird cult town so you can spend the next two weeks shacked up in the woods with your step-parent and stepbrother. and skully will get to return to your home come summer break! the whole arrangement feels much too complicated, and at this point you just wish your parents would stop trying so hard and divorce already. :/

but there's no getting out of it, so you pack your bags and are shipped off to the place you've not-so-affectionately dubbed Cult Town.

you've actually never been here before. when your parents first met, it was in the city and so you've only ever known the rush that is city life. but everything is considerably slower here in a comfortable sort of way. there's no hurrying after taxis or packing yourself into a crowded train. it doesn't smell like the city either. also, the internet connection is horrible. you spend your first few minutes in this town trying to get proper reception while you wait to be picked up. it's only two weeks, though. you're certain it will go by quickly.

skully is…still strange. you were never really close when you lived in the same house. he kept to himself just as you did, but right now he’s immensely welcoming. he carries your bags, offers to show you around town, and seems so pleased you've come to visit for the holidays. your step-parent notes he spent an absurd amount of time cleaning up the guest room just for you, but skully just flusters and babbles about how it's only right to treat a dear guest with hospitality. there's even a vase of pretty flowers waiting for you on the bedside table when you enter the tidy room.

you're not very thrilled to be here, but you content yourself with the fact that it's only two weeks. skully has a long list of things he'd like to do with you while you're here. you're not sure what you can possibly do in a town this small other than look at the same trees and meet the same townsfolk over and over, but anything's better than boredom.

you fall asleep in that old, creaky cabin that never seems to settle, and your dreams are filled with macabre imagery. claws scraping at the door in angry, jagged crisscrosses, as if something wishes to get in. frostbitten corpses frozen in permanent poses of agony. a faceless, shapeless monster lurking in shadows. and cold. so much cold. snow. ice. frozen lakes. you even wake cold, shivering even though the blankets are thick and warm. it's too quiet and too dark when you look out your window. no civilization in sight unlike in the city, where there are plenty of people and buildings and traces of humanity.

out here, the people hardly use their phones and it feels so old-fashioned and it's cold.

skully doesn't like it when you talk about divorce. he's still hopeful that your parents will mend their frayed bond and then you can all live under one roof again. :D you can only roll your eyes: "they're basically divorced already. maybe not legally, but definitely physically and emotionally." skully frowns at that, refusing to argue your point further. when you continue onwards down the dirt path, bundled in a woolen coat and wrapped up in a scarf (a gift from skully), you miss the way his expression sours. the way his orange eyes cloud over.

skully tells you they find bodies in the woods all the time. accidents. murders. suicides. "a forest is like an ocean," he says conversationally while the two of you stroll parallel to a dense treeline. "sometimes you happen upon things that just don't belong. things you don't expect to find in the vastness."

that night, you're tossing and turning again. your sleep schedule has been a wreck ever since you came here and you're almost certain this cabin is haunted because you keep feeling sensations that aren't there. like a whisper of breath on your neck or a hand on your cheek. and something's moving around in your room or beneath your bed or just outside the door at night. something from the forest, maybe? a monster? one of the many restless spirits left to wander aimlessly, never to know peace? you bring it up with skully the following morning: "do you ever feel...watched?"

he smiles around a mug of hot chocolate. "of course not. we drive malevolent spirits away every halloween. there's nothing that can bother you here. aah, if only you could have been here during halloween. it's simply wonderful! you must come next year."

somehow you aren't satisfied with this response, but skully's sliding a mug your way and suddenly any thoughts of local haunts disperse from your mind.

supposedly, chamomile tea aids in sleep. hoping to get at least one good night's rest while you're here, you purchase some from the market with skully when you go on a grocery run for your parent. "there's something so beautifully quaint about shopping together!" he notes, perusing a stall of various winter fruits. "it's very intimate. wouldn't you agree?"

"sure, i guess," you reply with a shrug, not quite understanding the point he's trying to make. maybe that's exactly the point: you're never going to understand him and his unusual ideals. "but isn't that why people spend quality time with one another?"

skully beams and plucks a frostbitten flower from a nearby bouquet, tucking the beautiful blossom behind your ear. "we have similar thoughts, you and I."

do we really?

you make yourself a cup of chamomile, bundle up in the warmest sweater you packed, and drink in front of a crackling fire. skully's sat at the kitchen table, scribbling away in a book and humming to himself. you asked him about it before and he told you it was "a catalogue of daily musings. nothing of great importance." you wonder what he writes about in there... probably stuff about how wonderful jack skellington is, a figure revered in this little cult town. you've never heard of him, but he seems interesting from what skully's told you.

miraculously, you drift off in the armchair, and you sleep through the night, enveloped in sweet, sugary warmth. your dreams are pleasant, too. it's the best night's sleep you've ever had.

skully asks if you like it here. his definition of 'like' is very different from yours, but you decide to humor him anyway. "it's a fine town," you say even though just the other day you were trying (and failing) to text your friends about how unsettling this place is. how life here is just so different from the city. you can't explain it, but if you stay here any longer you think they might accuse you of being a witch next with your city slang and fancy technology box (phone). "the atmosphere and the town are both very cute. it's like a little dollhouse when it's all dressed up and festive like this."

"what a flattering description! as expected, you view the world through the eyes of a poet, seeing loveliness in every little thing," he praises, holding his hands over his chest and swooning.

you feel just a little lovelier now that your sleep schedule is fixed, so you're inclined to agree.

usually, the chamomile knocks you out for the entire night. this time, though, you've awoken to a ghost. you crack your eyes open and slowly but surely shake the heavy sleepiness off. something's on top of you, holding you down in bed, their fingers cold and bony like the ones in your nightmares. you shift slightly, and the ghost freezes, still and silent as death. in the shadows, a pair of eyes search for your face.

a mouth at your ear. something stiff prods at your thigh. "shh," the ghost murmurs. "go back to sleep."

somehow you do. you feel warm again, cradled in the fluffiest of dreams. there's an encroaching coldness, though, a frigid draft threatening to creep in. you sleep through it. you'll talk to skully about it tomorrow.

maybe some ghosts aren't banished during halloween.

maybe some ghosts are made of flesh and blood.

[yarmiko-art]

First base is mutual threats

A redraw of this thing I made two year ago. Still love the dynamic

Engaging in verbal passive-aggressive conversations with each other is actually very entertaining passtime. This is why their post-Robobot\pre-Star Allies interactions are so fun to me: this is a very shaky ground, riddled with mutual loathing. Susie, who really isn't doing very well after Max dying (technically her fault) and getting the CEO's status to pressure her. Also not actually processing her trauma in AD, but repressing it along with most of her emotions. And MK with his wounded pride, who is frustrated with himself first and foremost. And genuinely not trusting the new CEO of intergalactic corporation, which is kinda valid

I guess I just love the trope of "this evil\annoying person you preserve them as, turns out to be not so evil/annoying"

[turtleblogatlast]

Hey haha what if the first place Leo got zapped to in the universe was a barren wasteland with low gravity that reminded him of the Prison Dimension? What if he didn’t know if he’d accidentally got sent back there somehow and panicked?

Then when he tries portaling again and lands somewhere else he’s relieved for all of two seconds before the reality of his situation hits him and he realizes he doesn’t know how to get back home? So essentially the worst thing about the Prison Dimension (his isolation) was happening again? Haha what then?

[oatmealdaydreams]

Picture this: you're Stanley Pines, recently kicked out and barely passed high school, on your way to the only college that will accept you while your brother gets into his dream school. It's a long road ahead as you drive through nowhere and a bunch of country land. You meet your roommate, who is a year ahead of you and actually super smart. You meet some of your peers, including this clever and determined woman who seems to believe her transcript is going to change the school as you know it. Tragedy occurs, feelings get EXTRA confusing, and now you're on the trail of a murderer because apparently crime-solving becomes your college days norm.

There's more going on with your brother and whatever he's gotten himself into...and you cannot seem to catch a break.

ANYWAY: I'm working on the Pilot (Prologue) for the Calming Seas fic and just now realizing what this poor man is going to be put through. Uh, whoops, I guess?

Oh, and I guess there's codes and stuff, but shh

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases

"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."

"I belong to myself and only myself."

"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."

(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."

"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."

"I can think for myself and take care of myself."

"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."

"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."

"I am a good person."

"I have a right to be treated with dignity."

"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."

(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."

(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."

"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."

"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."

"I do not need to lie to protect myself."

"I am allowed to love myself."

"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."

(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."

"I am a person, not a pet."

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

Cupcake hasn’t been sleeping well lately. With anyone else, Simon would assume it was the whole being a prisoner thing. But this one is tough. He doesn’t seem to think he deserves better, even if his pride gets in the way sometimes. There are no longing glances toward the windows, no getting lost in daydreams. Cupcake just wants a beer, some TV, a place to sprawl and relax.

Last night Cupcake dozed off on the couch for a few minutes. Simon watched as bushy brows twisted, as the scarred chest hitched under the wifebeater, as rugged fingers twitched at his sides. He woke too soon and reached instantly for his bullet-riddled right leg.

The pain is keeping him up. Simon almost feels bad about that, although they’ve gotten to have less sessions, this week, with the little thrills he’s getting seeing that pain all day long.

He’s asleep now, though. Cupcake is on his back, on the floor instead of his bed - which is strange, although he probably gave up on the blankets and tried the carpet, instead, in his pained tossing and turning. Leaning in the doorway, Simon feels his attention slide off the man that he’s watching, straying to thoughts of groans and muffled screams. Maybe if Cupcake eats well enough at breakfast, he can suggest they have a session. Could be fun. The itch is there under his skin.

Into the room he pads softly. His pajama pants brush softly against his ankles, long hair warm and comforting across his shoulders. It’s a peaceful night with the cool air after last night’s rain and the crickets chirping outside. As Simon draws near, he can make out the very faint freckles across Cupcake’s cheeks. His short brown curls that make him look so much younger than the previous bleached mess. Twenty-seven, his file says. But Cupcake cannot read, can barely add numbers in his head, struggles to come up with words that are more than two syllables long.

Violent, antisocial, sadistic, restless, said the file. Cupcake’s never shown his violent side, here. Head tipping to the side to ponder as he watches the man sleep, Simon wonders if Cupcake is really violent by nature, or if he lashes out when provoked, like a malnourished dog in the back corner of a shelter. Antisocial makes sense, with Cupcake barely bothering to talk about the outside world and taking so long to try to get out. Must not have family. Sadistic - Simon can’t speak to that. There’s rage in his eyes, sometimes, but that’s normal for his position. There is no one here for him to hurt but himself.

Restless is the most fitting of all his descriptors. Simon finds himself reaching out, despite wanting Cupcake to stay asleep. There are dark smears of exhaustion under those closed eyes. He’s been healing slowly, he needs this. But traitorous fingers creep forward through the air until they find a stray lock of that soft brown hair. Why does Cupcake hate it so much? Enough to fry it into straw, and change its color, and grow it out in a frizzy mane. It feels reminiscent of how Cupcake ignores mirrors like they aren’t reflective at all, they’re just a normal stretch of dull wall.

His rumination wandered, and his fingers laid too heavily against Cupcake’s scalp. The soft bed of hair disappears suddenly, and the body that was so still and relaxed a second ago is moving sharply. Simon barely has time to widen his eyes before Cupcake jolts and slams bodily into him, sending them both tumbling across the floor.

A flurry of brown hair, round eyes, fists. Animalistic grunts punch their way out of Cupcake as he tries to beat Simon away from him. He can punch, Simon finds, winded into silence by the second blow and then struggling to escape a single hit. It’s like a brick is being driven into his ribs, his head, his upper arms.

Above him, straddling him chaotically, Cupcake bares his teeth and looks like a child trying to beat back a demon. Simon finds himself trying to contain the violent swinging arms rather than truly fight back. The panicked growls and grunts get louder as Simon manages to roll over and get Major onto his back, locking him in a bear hug.

“Nngh, nnh, nnh,” Cupcake grunts, breaths hissing out through locked teeth. He is shaking, vibrating under Simon, who is focused on setting his knees against the floor and tightening his arms to effectively snuff out the fight. “No, no, nnh…”

As close as they are, Simon can hear the tears clogging up Cupcake’s throat and suffocating the pleas out of the air. As soon as his hold is secure enough, Simon lifts his head.

Mistake. A collision with his head, pain blooming hot in his nose. Violent, antisocial, sadistic, restless. One of Simon’s arms unwind from around Cupcake’s back and twist fingers in his hair to pull his head up and slam it back down.

It didn’t feel forceful enough to knock him out, but Cupcake goes still with a shudder. Simon pulls back farther to urgently look into his face, hand sliding down from the short curls to tug on Cupcake’s face and check his eyes. But Cupcake is still awake. He tries to squeeze his eyes shut, and turn his head away, and only croaks out a soft sound of defeat when his head is yanked back and his eyelids pulled open, one at a time.

Simon’s not even sure if a concussion would appear as oddly sized pupils so soon, but they look fine for now. So he pulls back, planting firm palms on Cupcake’s shoulders to help him remember to stay down.

It seems to be dawning on the pinned man that he just fought back. That he beat Simon into the ground, if only for a minute. As soon as he can, he closes his eyes again, breathing hard through flared nostrils.

“What was that?” Asks Simon, voice soft. The blood dripping from his nose and onto Major’s bare chest doesn’t register to either of them as a pressing issue. “What was that, Cupcake?”

Cupcake is afraid. He’s always quieter, when he is. His angry is loud and energetic, his excited is stunned and hesitant. His afraid is very still, breathing hard, trying to process things and largely failing to. The rusted cogs in his head only turn so fast. Cupcake doesn’t know what to do now that he lashed out, doesn’t know what comes next.

“I won’t punish you,” Offers Simon, leaning down harder to show that he can keep the man pinned. “If you talk.”

Cupcake sniffs, and grimaces at how snotty the sound is. He never looks more silently furious than when he sounds pathetic. “Talk?”

Simon runs a thumb back and forth near Cupcake’s collarbone. He either doesn’t notice it, or doesn’t want to be caught showing he hates it. The silence that comes in the stead of an explanation from Simon doesn’t help.

“‘bout the…” Cupcake clears his throat. Opens his eyes, which instantly skitter away from Simon’s kind, curious face. “...Freak out, when I wake up, and… and there’s someone on me. Okay?” He lashed out. He could be killed for this. He knows it, it’s got his chest still lurching with shallow gasps. “‘m sorry. Didn’t know it was you.”

With a sympathetic nod, Simon adjusts his weight to be more on Cupcake’s hips and less on his stomach, to make breathing easier for him. “Who did you think I was?”

Silence. The pain of his shot let has him twitching, trying to change his position without it looking like he’s trying to throw Simon off. No answer.

“We’ve been doing this for a while, Cupcake.” Simon lifts a hand from a pinned shoulder to take hold of his jaw and force eye contact. Cupcake looks angry, but maybe not at the man above him. Or not just at him. “I let you get away with things. Have things your way. It’s better for both of us, to not be too strict.”

The reminder of his place is working, already, without the threat being spoken. Simon can see it in how Cupcake’s breaths miss a beat, how he holds still and waits for the promise of things getting worse.

“Would it be easier for you if I held the gun to your head?”

“...Don’t.” It is quiet, almost a whisper. “Make me. Too fhh-... dumb as, too - stupid. To make something up. I just… don’t make me talk.”

There is something in the vulnerability, there. Something more than pain in his voice. Simon is curious, so curious. But should he really devote energy to punishing the guy having a nightmare, or a trauma response, or whatever that was? Should he tear Cupcake open and expose his fears to the air, just because he wants to know? Maybe Cupcake has earned some grace.

“Okay.” Hand sliding off of Cupcake’s jaw, he draws back and stands. Cupcake slowly, achingly drags himself toward the bed. Climbs up onto it, eyes on the floor the whole way. He needs space, needs to be left alone. “Sure thing, Cupcake. Try to sleep.”

Cupcake is silent until Simon is all the way out the door. In the dark of the room, he mutters, just barely audible, “...Thanks.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite, @wollemi-whump,

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska

[wickmitz]

you know rereading the comic got me thinking and i feel ur the best person for this. im very intrigued by mitzi and asa's dynamic pre, during, AND post atlas. i really wish we saw more of what happened before atlas' passing bc mitzi herself said asa used to be so nice to her and i'm just like YO WHAT HAPPENED anyways hi hello love ur blog

hi! i’m flattered you love my blog! and even more so by the fact you think i’m the best person to go to for this question! i’ve briefly talked about mitzi and asa before when analyzing the lunch scene in my long analysis for mitzi’s and wick’s relationship, where i said this on the matter :

to touch upon asa’s treatment of mitzi, even from as early as the phone call we see that mitzi is forced to have a conversation with asa on his terms rather than her own terms. mitzi sets out with a clear goal in mind -- learning why asa sweet would attack the lackadaisy in the way that he did -- and she's repeatedly talked over and threatened, with her questions remaining unanswered. it’s very clear very quickly that asa doesn’t respect mitzi nor view her as someone worthy of his time like atlas was, and almost appears to approach her in a misogynistic manner. he demeans something as simple as her ukulele as a ‘teeny little guitar’ and acts as though mitzi’s tears would be bothersome to him, some sort of burden he’d be forced to deal with rather than a valid emotional response to threats, degradation, and the likes. while asa is by no means wrong with some of his observations, he’s certainly rude and uncaring with how he goes about it. when he tells mitzi that he’s here to suggest that she step down, because he so generously has her interests in mind, she doesn’t buy it ; once again bringing up last nights events, where asa willingly armed the pig farmers with the lackadaisy’s arsenal and sent them over her way without so much as a warning. asa dismisses this coldly, once again dodging any fault and claiming it was ‘happenstance’ and entirely mitzi’s own doing. even now, when he’s actively threatening her and making it clear they won’t stay friendly if she keeps trying to make it in this business, he still won’t fully admit to any sort of responsibility for the disastrous night he helped put her through. while this seems rather typical of asa given his disrespectful streak ( something even mordecai, as valued and as useful as he is, suffers because of ) it’s worth noting that this side of him is new to mitzi and not one she was at all expecting. she even says as much here, in heartstrings.

we also know that mitzi only met atlas due to her performing at the marigold speakeasy first, and it’s likely asa was rather present in her life due to his bond with her now husband. asa even admits that mitzi may be confused because they’ve ’managed a friendly coexistence for so long,’ once again hammering home this idea that up until this point, asa was indeed kind to mitzi, or at the very least cordial. but with atlas out of the picture and mitzi trying to take his position, suddenly asa is more than okay with getting her killed or taking all she has left -- even his plan is nothing short of apathetic and cold, an afterthought, expecting her to give up something important to her and only offering a one time offer to play at the marigold room ‘sometime’ with that ‘old band of hers.’ what’s important here is that mitzi is ruthlessly betrayed by a man who used to like her and is treated as a lesser thing due to his view that she’s too incompetent to run a rumrunning business. he also brings up atlas to, in mitzi’s eyes, ‘intimidate ( her ) into agreeing with him,’ and towards the end of the lunch, she looks particularly kicked and undoubtedly hurt. she leaves this meeting that could’ve stayed a phone call with a potential enemy made and with the world on her shoulders, now more determined than ever to be someone people like asa would be forced to respect. instead of being dissuaded, she’s been encouraged, and it’s not hard to realize why.

so, i suppose those are my very brief thoughts about them post atlas! but as for pre and during, i don’t think there was ever anything really there outside of peaceful coexistence. as atlas’s wife, mitzi garnered respect she probably never had before as a traveling musician! asa wouldn’t dare insult her or belittle her once she became atlas’s wife and probably felt no need to do so in the first place. especially since, after all, asa’s the reason atlas found mitzi at all, back when she played for the marigold room where i assume she was treated well enough given asa’s rather friendly mask. he’s a jokester! he’s well meaning and goofy, always smiling and his eyes permanently upturned looking due to the patterns on his face … mitzi wouldn’t ever really see the asa that many other people deal with, and even when comparing asa to her rather quiet and eeire husband, well, he’d still seem leagues impressionable by default. asa purposely acts like he’s approachable and harmless, and while mitzi definitely knew he wasn’t some angel, i do think she fell for that mask more than she’d like to admit.

how i’ve always viewed their relationship is that the very nature of it was dictated by atlas may simply existing and owning her. his mere interest in mitzi was something phenomenal, and by default, something people had to respect. asa sweet was kind to her because she likely didn’t linger in the marigold room for too long before atlas snatched her up. he’s then very cordial to her, probably armed with compliments and generous gestures of interest because she’s atlas’s wife and asa can respect that role wholeheartedly. it’s only when atlas is removed and mitzi begins putting her paws where they ‘don’t belong’ that asa seems to drop the ruse, because there’s no need to keep it up anymore. even though mitzi isn’t harming anyone and hasn’t tried to step on asa’s toes once, he still steals from her and puts her in danger without care -- not once burdened by any real guilt as he continues to threaten her when she doesn’t back down immediately. with how clinical the removal of affection is here ( because even mordecai hasn’t managed to remove viktor, mitzi, or ivy in such a careful or ruthless way despite his awful actions and words ) i find it hard to believe he ever truly cared for mitzi as an individual person outside of atlas. the way he so casually oozes disrespect and belittles her without blinking an eye is … interesting!

all of this is to say that i don’t think asa and mitzi were ever personally close. they probably never knew each other deeply nor made any real steps to try. they’d see each other because asa had a habit of appearing in the lackadaisy just as much as atlas had the habit of being at the marigold room, and so they’d greet each other and asa would be excessively kind in that bumbling fool way he keenly presents himself and mitzi would be pleased by his presence. very simple ‘this is my friend’s wife’ vibes and nothing more. i doubt asa would even be interested in cozying up to mitzi due to atlas’s implied possessive behavior lol … but it was kindness and it was caring to an extent. it just wasn’t as deep or loyal as mitzi might’ve hoped it would be.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

and happy pride to these assholes. it's still june so i can technially still make that joke right

[tikurrdurr]

i feel like the cc fandom sometimes forget that a majority of the cast r in fact children and a lot of behaviors r learned from somewhere..........

like yes obviously they should be held accountable (anyone with a working brain knows this) but saying that "[this character] should DIE because of this bad behavior" is silly. thats a whole troubled kid

[alchemocha]

You must try to be brave little one. Make a wish for each sad little tear. Someone's waiting to love you.

When Ivo was much younger, still living under the orphanage’s malevolent roof, he often spent time alone. With no friends and being often forgotten about, he’d take his stuffed little cat named Java and tuck himself in the corner of his shared, dingy old room. There he would tinker with small gadgets, draw up blueprints for his dream machines, and watch movies. He found himself entranced by the stories, the ones that tugged at his aching little heart, the ones that made him feel more seen than he had in his 11 sad years of life so far.

So that’s where he stayed while other kids played. It was lonely, terribly so, but in a sense, these little films, with Java held tight, brought him comfort. In fact, those lonesome days in front of that crummy old tv were some of the better ones he’d had in that nightmare of a place.

He wondered, privately to himself, if anyone would ever love him, too. He dared to hope so.

[fable-non-canon-ship-bracket]

I genuinely cant decide so poll

[thevioletcaptain]

🙍🏽‍♀️🐷🪷 (i scrolled and picked three random emojis pls enjoy)

“You wanna run that by me one more time?”

On the other end of the line, Patience lets out a long-suffering sigh — as though Dean’s the one making unexpected phone calls at quarter past three in the morning — and says it again. The words don’t make any more sense than they did the first time.

“In fourteen hours and — now seventeen minutes — a pig in Lotus, Illinois is going to die, and unless you save her life, she’s taking everyone in a 50 mile radius with her. And yeah, before you ask me to say it a third time, I am acutely aware of how stupid this sounds.”

“And when you say pig, are we talkin’ Babe, or—?“

“My visions aren’t symbolic, Dean. It’s an actual pig. Her name is Princess.”

“Right. Just… wanted to be sure before we started trailing all the cops in uh, where’d you say? Lotus?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t find one there anyway. Internet says it’s an unincorporated community — looks like there’s maybe three farms there, total.”

“Looks like?”

“Satellite images,” she says.

“Right. Hey, hold on a sec.”

“‘Kay.”

Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm, Dean pushes the rest of the way out of bed and throws on the same jeans he took off two hours ago. Switches out the ratty t-shirt he’d been almost-sleeping in for a fresh one, and yanks on his boots.

For once, he’d been planning on sleeping a solid seven hours. He was going to make maple bacon with blueberry waffles in the morning. Jack was going to help him mix the batter.

Depending on how things shake out with Patience’s vision, he might never be able to enjoy bacon again. Or for a few months, at least.

Fully dressed and heading out into the hall, he puts his phone back to his ear.

“I’m back,” he says, making his way toward the kitchen. He thumps twice on Sam’s door as he passes it, barking out a gruff hunt in response to Sam’s bleary huh? “Please tell me you’ve got some idea of how exactly Peppa’s gettin’ popped so we can try to do something about it.”

“I have no clue.”

“And you didn’t see anything else? Any details at all. A barn, a farmer, anything? Because this is…”

“Impossible. I know. But that’s all I’ve got. The pig just keels over, then bursts in a blinding flash of light, and ten seconds later Illinois has a brand new crater the size of New Jersey.”

“Okay, well — that’s something.”

“What?”

“The light. What color is it?”

“White, mostly,” Patience says, then hums a little to herself. “But… huh, actually, there is a bit of purple. Right in the center. Right before it goes supernova.”

“Purple light usually means witchcraft,” Dean says, approaching the kitchen. He can see the light on; can hear the telltale sound of Cas stirring sugar into coffee. “Maybe the pig is the final ingredient in some kind of magic bomb?”

“Could be,” Patience agrees. “But hey, listen, I gotta try and get a couple more hours sleep — huge test in the morning. But if anything else comes to me I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good. And uh— thanks. And good luck.”

“You too.”

The line goes dead just as Dean steps into the kitchen, and Cas looks up at him from the table, where he’s reading an article in one of the Men of Letters’ old issues of The Farmer’s Almanac. He frowns at the sight of the phone in Dean’s hand. Frowns harder still when Dean heads directly for the coffee machine with nothing but a brief brush of a hand over his shoulder.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s a day ending in Y,” Dean says with a sigh, pouring a cup from the thankfully still-hot jug. “You up for a road trip?”

“Of course. Where are we going?”

"Illinois," Dean tells him, leaning back against the counter as Sam arrives, his hair sticking so far out to one side that Dean suspects it’s generating its own electric charge.

He eyes it over his mug and has the grim thought that all that static electricity might be the thing to light Miss Piggy's fuse. Oblivious to Dean's train of thought, Sam lets out an explosive yawn. Dean bites back the kind of mildly-hysterical laugh that can only come when sleep-deprived and preparing to drive toward impending danger.

"What's in Illinois?" Cas prompts him, and Sam yawns again as he waves a hand for Dean to explain, and Dean takes a long sip of his coffee as he searches for a better way to put it than Patience had managed on her first try.

He's not sure that he succeeds where clarity of substance is concerned, but as far as style goes? He thinks he's nailed it.

“Short version? Royal rescue mission, but the Princess is a pig."

Cas squints at him.

“I think,” he says, looking over at Sam, who is blinking slowly as he tries to parse Dean’s words, “We’re going to need the long version.”

[written for this prompt game] [find me on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

[averlym]

" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)

[transingthoseformers]

Oh yeah here's that one alien oc!

If Tumblr murders the quality then so be it

Currently their name is Thrin, and I'm gonna use he/they pronouns for them

As I mentioned before, his role is being part of the Galactic council (kinda), and they serve as an antagonist towards the Cybertronians

Big. Big bug. Very big bug. I bullshitted the anatomy without any insect references, but his design based on praying mantises, a general alien aesthetic, and the vest is lightly based on the Star Trek vests.

[strawberrystarcake]

legend of zelda and the tragedy of a hundred lives under your belt and a divine thing cursed to fight itself for eternity and some ancient part of your soul looking across the battlefield at your enemy and whispering i know you. and of children and gods and not, mind you, children who serve as soldiers of the gods, but children who are the gods, have been abandoned by the gods, who cobble together their birthrights again and again and fall back into their roles in the story. and a curse that you regret making, a hundred or a thousand or a million lifetimes later. and a wish. just one wish. and the nobility of making that wish for anyone other than yourself.