#(well minus for like. necessities like food)

[zoekrystall]

Hate how I didn't even think until now abt how zelda was alone as a dragon for so many years until the present. I wonder way too much abt how everything was for her and esp now as a dragon like mineru did say you lose yourself completely iirc but reg the tears shed do I believe it's not fully true. Maybe depends how strong your spirit is. Like yeah she can't really communicate well anymore but she recognizes us and her eyes. Her eyes I still can't get over them they're so full of emotion that's absolutely her eyes. Like. You're still inside that dragon when you become one if you try your best to remember is what I think (or want to believe). It's 5am I am not going to try to explain my already barely coherent thoughts better. Too much possibilities where I think some border on denial. I am a fluff not angst person. Anyways I wonder how long all those years felt what do you do as a dragon did the sages try talking to her dragon form or like anything-

[astrofons-highderich]

Having sad Al cos thoughts.

That kid spent two years not remembering his time inside the armour when he couldn't eat or sleep or feel. But when he got his body back minus those memories, he probably took being able to do those for granted, or even a nuisance when he wanted to hurry up and find his brother. He had family and friends there to support him, to hug him and show him the affection that he had been unable to feel when he so badly needed it before, but now in his body, he feels so distant and distrustful of the same people, who seem to have given up on Ed or won't tell him what happened.

And then when Alphonse does finally get his memories back, once he's fully able to understand just what it's like to have his body again, he has to deal with being stranded in a new world and a country barely recovered from war and on the precipice of another, with his brother being the only familiar thing. They'll probably be unable to work well with their alien status or afford the inflated prices, and he'll have to go without the food and comfort he had for those two years again out of necessity, but this time able to feel the physical pain of it all. He gained his body but lost the meaning, then gained his brother and memories but lost the life he wanted for so long. He will never be able to hug winry, or eat pinako's stew, or run through the fields outside his home with Den again.

At the end of 03, both Al and Ed made very conscious decisions to sacrifice themselves for the other, but I wonder how much Al fully understood before he followed Ed through the gate at the end of cos? Did he get his memories back before he decided to go? Could he even comprehend everything that was happening at the time? Did he actually understand all that he was losing just to stay with his brother, or was that part of the price; the ignorance of his actions.

I don't think he regretted going with Ed, but wonder if he felt bitter once he had time to think about his situation. I guess it depends how much of the Al he lived as for the last two years survived after remembering, and how much of the old Al surfaced. Was finally getting his body and Ed back enough to make it all worth it, or was he angry at his naive self for wasting the short gift of a "normal" life his brother had given him? I wish we could have seen more to find out :'(

[mahi-does-some-art]

For your Servamp Game Show AU, did you ever make a post explaining the plot? I saw the ones regarding the premise and thought they were very interesting. Have an excellent day!

HI HELLO YES I WOULD LOVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!! I'm just gonna go over the premise again because its been a couple of years since I talked about it.

The "Game", which I still have not come up with any clever name for, is this show where contestants are picked from public polls to participate in what is essentially running around Japan for as long as they can without getting caught for money, love and/or jobs. There are two sides to this game: The people who run and evade the advances of the others (Runners) and the people who are chasing them, who can be people looking for date or recruit the people running (Hunters. Someone help me come up with better names please).

Basically, the longer the people running away stays not caught by any individual or corp, the more money they'll get when they either do get caught or the 6 month season of the show concludes and they win. The "Runners" each get a card they can buy hotel rooms in, food, necessities, ect but they can be disqualified for purchasing unnecessary items they intend to keep like luxuries and a specially made device they wear on their person that acts as both a safety tracking device and a means for "capture" by anyone they're running from. The fingerprints of the "Hunters" are put in a database the device recognizes and if a Hunter manages to hold their finger on it for long enough, the Runner is captured and they go back to the show's HQ to collect prize and work out what they want.

They also get issued phones so they can make video updates that the show's production team put up online and eventually string together on TV episodes for the general public to enjoy. Think of it like "The Most Dangerous Game" just no hit-men and it's aired to the world.

Now that that's out of the way, the plot is that the initial entering period of the show's contestant poll, the school quartet thought it'd be funny to enter themselves into the poll for shits and giggles minus Sakuya for Reasons. They don't think any of them would get picked and it was more a "I bet you won't!" dare while having lunch at a cafe they like one day.

And none of them were expecting for Mahiru's profile to get boosted to the top qualifiers because a bunch of people on the internet decided to troll by pushing up some random kid as a joke. Until it wasn't a joke anymore.

They get worried and Mahiru debates completely opting out before having the idea that maybe, if he gets far enough and gets enough money from it, his Uncle wouldn't have to work so much to provide for him and he could take a break and Mahiru could return the favor of being adopted by him. So with the encouragement of two of his friend and against the advice of one, Mahiru participates.

Everything goes well for a while and he ends up being decently loved by the audience but, as we all know, Mahiru's luck in these aus go out of the window and stay out thanks to his stubborness and overwhelming want to help people. He meets Kuro, another runner who he somehow manages to team up with and together Mahiru finds out that this Game is more twisted on the inside than meets any public eye.

I... Haven't really thought about this au for a good while so I have no idea what'll actually happen but I will take any ideas if y'all have any. It's an excuse to get all of the characters running around and also for Mahiru to get way more popular than he ever wanted to be.

[https-maxine-stuff]

Chapter 3.

Vampire empire

𓆩♱𓆪

It has been several months since my last encounter with Dick minus him invading my dreams every night. It's gotten to a point where I've had to keep myself awake but I'd end up falling asleep again.

Which brings us to right now;

I tried to fight it off, I really did. I drank so many cups of coffee, you may be wondering where I got coffee from? Smuggled it in on one of the supply runs a week ago, it isn't a necessity, that's what Oliver told me but it's a necessity for me.

My eyes closed as the mug that was in my hand slipped onto the floor, funny enough I was already sitting on the floor so, it probably didn't break but if it did I didn't hear it.

I could already see the outline of him as I looked up.

"I've been waiting."

"I know, trust me, I know." I sighed as I stood up, I was sitting in my dream how funny.

"You drank coffee?" He smirked, his fingers trailing my jaw. I smacked his hand away.

"Don't touch me,"

"Feisty."

"Fuck you."

"Don't be rude," he spoke with a tinge of anger in his tone.

"I'll be as rude as I want." I glared at him. I looked around at the new setting we we're typically in his 'throne room.' But right now we are in his bedroom. "Looks nice," my finger traced the bed post.

"I made it to you're liking.. I'm sorry about Rachel, seems she didn't see the bite coming."

"You aren't sorry, you're happy to have another magic user on your side." I looked at him. "I just wish it hadn't been her.. she's.." I looked down. "She's been through enough."

"You're right, I'm not sorry." He walked over to me, grabbing my chin and forcing me to meet his eyes. "Come back to me."

"I won't."

"How many times do we have to have this dance?"

"As many times as necessary. Even with Rachel gone she still did her job," I spoke.

"She got super girl to where she needed to be?" He smirked.

"How did you-"

"She told me, very loyal girl."

"I hate you."

"You love me." He smiled, everything about him was No is intoxicating, his scent, the way he held himself, his voice. Everything drawing me into him, into his trap of false hope and commitment.

"Stop.." I whispered, his scent growing more stronger by the seconds. "Please.."

"I want you.. I need you." He growled, his lips now pressed to my neck, even in my sleep I could feel him and smell him. Almost like he was there.

"No you need the idea of me," I hissed pushing him away. "I don't need you."

"Yes you do.." he cooed.

"No, only you think I need you." I closed my eyes, I could hear his protests as I awoke.

"Well that's over for now.." I grumbled. Turns out I did break the coffee mug.

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Vampire Empire

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

"Another dream?" Barbara looked at me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, talking about how he needs me and stuff." I looked down taking some food and shoving it down my throat.

"Jesus." She slumped down into her chair. "He's one desperate man."

"Tell me about it," I sighed as I sat down next to her, Dinah entered and looked at us.

"Another dream?"

"Yep."

"Jeez." She turned to grab some food herself, a good quantity considering how many of us there are.

⋆｡‧₊°꧁ ༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻ ꧂‧₊˚.⋆

Well here I was, back in my room. I decided that fighting a punching bag would be better than coffee that seemed to not help me at all. I was angry, pent up, my bones hurt and I couldn't even sleep without having to see him every night.

I'm a very patient woman but my patience is growing thin. I know I can't stay cooped up in here forever, but I want to. I want to be stuck here, I want to feel safe.

I felt my body begin to shake as I slumped down to the floor. I was crying again, god I hate it when I cry. It's honestly embarrassing at this point.

I could hear my door click open, I looked up and there was Oliver. A frown on his lips.

"Don't give me that look.." I looked away.

"Lucia.." he knelt down placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "Kid, you can't keep beating yourself up like this."

"I'm not trying too.." I whispered.

"It doesn't seem that way." His face was sad but then in a moments flash he was smelling the air. "Coffee."

"Fuck.." I sighed.

"You- you smuggled in coffee?"

"..yes."

"Really?"

"I don't want to fall asleep.." I looked down.

"I'm sorry.." he sighed and pressed his head against mine. He'd always been like a dad to me, always saying all the right dad things.. I think, I'm not sure. "I wish you didn't have to go through this at all." He whispered.

"Thanks, Ollie.." I smiled sadly as I pulled away.

"I'm serious kid, I would switch places with you in a heartbeat if it meant you could sleep properly.." I felt tears brim in my eyes again as I tried not to cry. "Oh, Luc.."

"I'm so tired.." I felt the tears spilling down my cheeks. "I can't keep going like this.." he held me in his arms, in an almost protective hold as he just let me cry. Him and Dinah are probably the only two people who are actually keeping me sane.

⋆｡‧₊°꧁ ༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻ ꧂‧₊˚.⋆

"You're infuriating you know that?" I hissed.

"I know; but I miss you so dearly." He sighed, wrapping his arms around me.

"You are the worst."

"I'm the worst? I'm the only one who can make you feel things.." his lips hovered over my neck sinking soft kisses as he trailed down to the end of my shoulder. I tried to hide the shudder from my body but that didn't work. "See?"

"Fuck off."

"Don't be that way.." he cupped my face in his hand, forcing me to meet his blue eyes. "Don't be bratty."

"Bratty?" I scoffed. "It's not being bratty."

"..."

"I hate you."

"I love you." He smiled.

"No. No you don't." I pulled my face away as I looked out over the window in the room. 5th street, in Gotham. Noted.

"But I do, I'd crawl to the ends of the earth for you, when I was turned, I was scared.. I didn't know what to do, and in the middle of my chaos was you." He spoke softly. "All I could think about was you, and Haley. Who would take care of you both?"

"Dick-"

"I'm serious, I don't wish to lie to you."

"You-" I looked down. "I.. I hate you." His hands reached for my hips, his eyes locking onto mine. "Please.." the plead leaving my lips like a broken symphony.

"As you wish.."

He woke me up this time. My eyes wide as I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest as the smell of him lingered in my nose. "Dick.." I looked down as tears escaped my eyes.

[absolute-hooligan]

only reblogging myself to say I updated the fic juuuuuuuust a little (like, 950ish words more) soooooooo ye! same ao3 link, so ill just slap the bonus below here too :)

Dinner last night was - to put it simply - downright delightful. Minus the initial stares from the diner’s regulars, Tad was welcomed into the joint with open arms. He’d say it was all because of his natural charisma, but having the collective support of the Pines family certainly helped his case.

When they got back to the shack, everyone began settling into their nightly routines. The kids started getting ready for bed, Ford retired to the basement for Ax only knows how long, and Stan parked himself in his chair to watch TV for a bit.

Tad - on most days - would flit about the Shack as a whole. He’d stop by the kids to say goodnight, see what Ford was up to - and maybe help if he could, then crash on Stan’s armrest to watch some trashy human television. However, with the whole being human thing, magically slipping in and out of human perception got much harder. He wasn’t used to having to glamor so much… him before! According to Ford, the more strain he put on this faux human body, the quicker this trial run would run out. 

Despite the fact he much preferred - and likely always will - being in his true, square glory, he wasn’t ready to quit playing with this form. There were still so many human-adjacent activities he hadn't tried, getting food in a public space was just the tip of the iceberg!

…and he may want to get Stan as - if not more - flustered as he was when this first started - but that’s besides the point!

What was all this about again? Oh right, routine! Well, forget about that, cause now Tad was faced with a far more pressing issue.

His clothes weren’t real. If he tried to take them off, they would dissipate. He had no tangible, permanent clothing.

After discovering that the clothes he was wearing were essentially part of him, he decided to square- no, man up and ask Stan to borrow some of his.

The man stared at Tad for a moment or two before laughing. “If you wanted to steal my clothes, you coulda just done it!”

Tad rolled his eye, “Please, like I’d choose to wear anything of yours outside of necessity.”

Stan takes a sip of his soda, “Ya basically did earlier, y’know.”

“You don’t own the retired grandpa look, Stanley,” Tad scoffed. “You’re just mad I wear it better than you.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever makes ya happy, princess,” Stan said dismissively. “But really, what do you need my clothes for? You can just… I don’t know, make ‘em?”

Tad sighed - but to be fair, the fact that all the clothes he’s currently wearing are not actually clothes, and instead a weird facsimile of clothes *was hard to grasp. 

“Okay, number one, you’re probably the only person in this house with clothes that could potentially fit me. And two…”

Tad began unbuttoning his shirt, much to Stan’s audible surprise. The other being swore he heard the human mutter “Jesus Christ” under his breath when he shucked off the shirt, but he chose to pocket that reaction for later. Right now, he had the offending article of clothing in his hand, and the second Stan stopped looking at his torso, Tad dropped the “shirt” to the floor.

The second it left Tad’s hand was the second it began to rapidly decay. It was like watching an ember pop before fizzling out into nothing. The only evidence it ever existed was the fact that Tad was now naked from the waist up.

“That happens if I try and take them off,” Tad continued, hoping Stan was still listening enough to connect the sentences.

Stan - Ax love him - looked like he was in heaven. He was soaking up everything. The neatly groomed chest hair, the “hits the gym, but never says no to a stack of pancake” body, and the criminally visible happy trail-

“Stanley?” Tad said questioningly. “You uh, you still with me, high roller?”

Stan shook his head before hurriedly throwing out “yep”s and “yeah”s like he was an auctioneer. After a moment or two, he cleared his throat, an seemingly regained the ability to speak coherently.

“I got your point, ya freak,” the human turned his face away, propping it up with one hand while the other vaguely waved towards Tad. “Just- take what fits, I don’t care!”

Tad studied the blush slowly gaining on Stan’s cheeks, and decided to really turn the tables on the guy.

He planted a hand on the armrest he’d normally occupy, and gently pulled Stan's face back towards him with the other. He delivered a soft kiss to the man’s forehead before swiftly making a break for it. Stan’s shocked sputtering made him stop in the doorway - much like what had happened to him only hours earlier. 

“Thank ya, doll!” Tad threw Stan his most award winning smile before disappearing around the doorframe. If you ignored how he immediately lost his bravado the second the human wouldn’t hear or see him, you’d think he was the smoothest man shaped being in this reality! The only thing that kept his illusion from shattering completely were the assorted “Grunkle sounds” - as the kids described them - audible over the TV. Those disgruntled grumbles and indiscernible flustered noises were proof whatever game Tad was playing was paying off.��

He’d get better, and Stan would too, upping the ante like they always do. Two professional con men attempting to schmooze each other shouldn’t work, but they do. They were playing a game of their own making, each move more bold than the rest. It started as a little prank, but that first day changed it all. This was a game, and the best part? 

No one loses.

hi yes hello @void-dude's silly stan and square man adventures has me knawing on the walls, and i've written a silly (probably a little ooc) human(ish) tad fic in a fixation induced fuge state lmao. it's not beta'd, and only lightly edited (so far), so it's all a little subject to change, but hey! it's here! and it'll probably get more added to it tbh

i hope it brings y'all a little bit of joy :)

(ao3 link for anyone who wants to read it there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59529469)

“T… tad… Tad! Grunkle Tad wake up!”

Wha… why’s everything sound like it’s underwater? Who was… wazat Mabel? Hehe, I like Mabel, real wildcard she is. Sounds kinda worried though…? Wait- MABEL?!

Tad shot upright, nearly bashing his head into Ford’s on the way. He looked around frantically for Mabel - who sounded pretty distraught while he was… why was he passed out? Not important- the kid he was looking for had just thrown herself into his arms.

“Mabes, sweetie, are you okay?” Tad asked, one hand coming to rest on her back, and the other reaching to cradle her face in a palm.

The poor girl was sniffling, eyes still watery from tearing up - her tears must’ve stopped before any could fall. “Grunkle Tad, we thought you died!”

Tad almost wants to laugh - death? Him? Don’t be ridiculous! - but the sincerity in her eyes stops him. Suddenly, Ford - who he’d forgotten was next to him the whole time - cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both him and Mabel.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, Tad,” the man said, the genuine nature of it coming through his gaze more than tone. “And that you’re um… adjusting well.”

Tad quirked his brow at that- wait… wait that’s not right. That- two of them just moved. And wait a minute, his hands- holy carbuncle he has HUMAN HANDS-

Uh oh.

The last thing he heard before everything went fuzzy was Ford shouting his name.

By the second… okay, third time Tad had recovered from his fainting spell, he’d been relatively caught up with the situation:

Ford and Mabel - and himself, of course - went on a little mini adventure to collect some things in the secret bunker. Ford also apparently wanted to make sure that the shapeshifter was still frozen, and make sure that it wouldn’t ever be not frozen again. Mabel insisted she tag along - she’d defeated it before, after all - and with a wildly impressive “puppy dog eyes” maneuver, she got her way.

Tad, well, he came along for moral support - and backup, if things got real dire.

Long story very, very short, Tad found and touched something he shouldn’t have, and now he was stuck as a human for a few days. What was he going to do while he was trapped like this? Well, the only thing he ever found worth doing, messing with Stanley Pines.

As they were leaving the bunker, Tad made sure to clue Mabel in on the scheme - she was more than happy to help. Ford took little convincing - something about needing to be honest about the situation first and foremost - before Mabel’s eyes worked their magic a second time. It also probably helped that messing with one’s sibling was written into a brother's blood m, genius or no.

With the plan set, the three excitedly made their way back to the Shack, ready to prank the pants off of Grunkle Stan (Mabel’s words, not mine).

•••

It was a dry spell at the Shack, and everyone minus Soos was bored because of it. Dipper was frantically writing something in his own journal - a gift from Ford - and muttering to himself. Boring. Wendy was out today, her old man was taking her and her brothers camping again. Again, boring. And Soos? Eh, Soos was around somewhere, Soos-ing the place up as per usual. 

Boring.

“We’re back!” Mabel shouted, smiling wide as can be as she flung the door open.

Stan, Dipper, and Ford cringed as the door slammed against the wall. “Ya don’t say…”

“What did you guys get?” Dipper said, hopping down from the barrel he’d been sitting on. “And where’s Great Uncle Tad?”

“Nothing important, Dipper,” Ford said, closing the door behind himself after Mabel skipped in. “Just some notes I thought I’d lost long ago.”

“And Grunkle Tad’s taking a nature walk!” Mabel grinned, “Said the bunker was too cramped, so he needs some outside time!”

Stan chose to ignore the pang of hurt that explanation brought. Instead, he tossed out a half hearted, “Hah! Wuss.”

If any of the other Pines present heard, they ignored him. Mabel was already debriefing about their adventure to a diligently writing Dipper, and Ford was shuffling through his coat pockets to find whatever he’d gone out for in the first place.

Domestic? Yes. Boring… also a little bit, yes. 

Stan sighed, leaning an arm on the desk to prop up his chin, and his free hand coming up to drum against the well worn wood.

A few minutes - seconds? Who knows, he’s not countin! - pass before Stan hears the bell above the door chime. Snapping out of his staring spell, he quickly puts on the Mister Mystery act.

“Welcome, dear customer, to the Mystery Shack!” he’s all smiles and customer service before he even looks at who just walked in. “What can I do for you- Holy Moses…

If Stan had any brain function right now, he’d be embarrassed by how he’d whispered out the unplanned part of his spiel. But right now? Every neuron in his brain was either shut down or rapidly firing, because a beautiful man had just walked in. That’s beautiful with a capital B, folks!

The guy was tall - maybe a good three inches taller than him - broad shouldered, and judging by his face, was probably in his late fifties. His skin reminded Stan of the sand back in Jersey, with a squarish face and nose that he could tell fit the man without hearing him speak. And that hair- talk about a silver fox! The guy was rocking a relatively laid back pompadour, a couple of strands that refused to stay back dangling over his face. If Stan squinted, he could swear there were thin streaks of blue broken up into the gray, but maybe it was just the light? And call him crazy, but the dude hasn’t opened his left eye at all since he walked in.

Ah shit- how long has he been staring?

“Mystery Shack, eh? Seems like a scam, if ya ask me,” the man chuckled to himself - it sounded eerily familiar. “You run this joint?”

Stan - sensing a challenge - squared his shoulders back, hands now perched on his cane. “Maybe, who’s askin’?”

The guy smirked - and Stan was briefly distracted by how good it looked. “Just a curious tourist,” he drawled, leaning forward and placing his relatively large hands on the table. “Vagabond passing through, y’know?”

Stan swallowed, and prayed the guy didn’t see or hear it.

“Cat got your tongue, boss man?” the man tilted his head in question, but the amusement in his eye didn’t wane. 

Stan was quick to wave his hand dismissively - knowing damn well he’d been caught. “As if! You just uh… remind me of someone, that’s all.”

Guy’s voice is almost too close. But it’s not him, it can’t be. There’s literally no way it could be!

The guy lifted one hand up, taking one finger to tilt Stan’s chin up to coax their eyes to meet. He smiled slowly, “Do I sound like your husband?”

What? What?

The guy- no, fucking Tad’s hand dropped back to the counter, a well suppressed fit of laughter now freely flowing.

“Yes! Oh man, I got you, got you!” he turned on his heels to grin at Mabel, who was bouncing on her heels. “Nice plan, Mabes!”

She preened at the praise before settling her hands on her hips, and nodding to herself. “My work here is done.”

Stan - absolutely fucking dumbfounded - just looked between Tad, and every other person in the room, but mainly Ford.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Stan asked, not quite angry, but definitely not calm.

Ford immediately held his hands up, “I didn’t do anything! He did this to himself!”

Stan’s gaze flicked back to Tad, who smiled sheepishly in response. He sighed, long and weary, before straightening up, and taking a steadying breath.

“I’m gonna need everyone-” Stan jabbed a finger towards Tad, “not you- to get out of this room in about five seconds. One…”

Ford quickly ushered the children away, Mabel throwing double thumbs up, and Dipper sputtering syllables that desperately wanted to be questions. Once Stan heard the door to the actual house shut, he sighed again.

“Turn the sign on the door, wouldja?” he asked. “Blinds too, if ya don’t mind.”

Tad - suddenly losing any and all upper hand he might’ve had in this situation - did just that. What was he supposed to do? He… he didn’t know. But holy dungarees was this human heart thing hammering-

“Oi, square eye,” Stan said, much softer than he had any right to. “C’mere, I wanna get a good look at ya.”

Tad silently obliged, making his way over and around the desk Stan stood behind. He stood there, waiting for his next order - Stan simply leant his cane against the wall, and set his fez down on the desk.

His eyes ran over Tad appraisingly, and sweet grilled cheese, did all human bodies feel like this when someone looked at them? His hands were trembling at his sides, and he almost cringed at how his breath hitched when Stan met his eyes.

“You come up with this yourself?”

“Huh?”

“The body,” Stan said, “Threads too.”

“Oh! I uh- yeah, yeah I did,” Tad chuckled nervously. “Not too shabby for a first timer, eh?”

Tad saw something flash in Stan’s eye at the phrasing, but the human laughed all the same. “It looks nice. You look nice.”

He was dying. Stanley Pines was going to kill him with compliments and Tad couldn’t be happier about it.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” Tad admitted. “Made sure I looked more your dating range.”

Stan snorted at that. “I’d call that a low blow if you weren’t right.”

The two fell silent again, Stan looking over Tad while the other squirmed from the attention.

Stan wasn’t lying when he said Tad looked nice - his internal dialogue earlier made that very clear - but gosh, knowing it was Tad made it so much better. It’s like he’d modeled himself off the guys Stan privately appreciated in passing when he was young. There were clearly parts inspired by Dean or Presley, but it was all buried under the fact that this body was so uniquely Tad.

“I like to think I got the clothes pretty spot on,” Tad said, more to break the silence than anything else. “Tried to get as close to “random sleazy schmuck” as I could.”

A slightly unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, and some khakis? Yep, that’s about right… wait-

“Are you makin’ fun of me?” Stan asked, holding back a laugh at the scandalized sound Tad made.

“What? No- I would never!” Tad huffed, his tone sarcastic as all get. “I’d never copy an outfit you’ve worn before, call it slutty to your face, then deny I ever said it.”

“Ya just did, bud.”

Tad’s face took on a confused look, “Did what?”

The two stared at each other for about three seconds before cackling in chorus. Tad was - as he tended to be - less raucous than the human, letting him appreciate the genuine laughter he could bring out of Stan.

Sweet sarsaparilla, I’m so fucking gone for this man…

As their laughter peters out, Stan mimics the  chin move Tad did minutes ago, only now he’s gently coaxing him to lean down. Tad oblibliges, pointedly ignoring that damn human heart trying to escape his rib cage - it’s not his fault they were nearly nose to nose!

Stan’s eyes dart to Tad’s mouth for a split second before flicking back to the other’s eye. 

Suddenly, and without warning, Stanley Pines kisses Tad Strange’s cheek.

Tad feels his entire body lock up, and it’s suddenly too hot, but he also feels like if he looked at an ice cube it would melt instantly, but that has nothing to do with the fact he can’t move-

“Thought so,” Stan chuckles. “You blush blue like this.”

Tad just blinks, his jaw - metaphorically, of course - on the floor. He’s left bluescreening as Stan leaves the desk to rejoin the rest of his family. Tad follows the movement, still speechless.

The man stops in the doorway, turning his head to look over his shoulder. 

“Gonna get Greasy’s for dinner,” he said casually, “Wanna come with?”

“I uh… yeah- yeah! Yeah, sounds fun!”

As embarrassing as his inability to speak was, the snort Stan gave in response to it almost made it okay.

“Then get your ass over here, big guy.”

[anonofseasons]

3 & 10 for Sophie!

3. What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? While it is technically a necessity, Sophie buys expensive clothing. It might even seem beyond her means, but I channel my personal real life wish that we made items to last a long time again, and these are clothes that will last her for decades. The most expensive being her favorite winter wear. That starts with the custom cloak in lilac purple with the white fur hood. It detaches from the wool cloak for washing, although wool requires specific care to avoid shrinkage. It's also some fancy wool, like cashmere. It isn't her only cloak, but it's the favorite and most expensive one. Then there are the boots. White leather is a pain to manage, and they're made to last. Her rabbit-fur lined white leather gloves match the boots. Beneath these, she tends to wear a lot of fancy blouses and belts with her impeccable trousers. None of it comes cheap, all of it is custom commissioned, and she wears it damn well. She tends to wear these for special occasions and in the worst weather. Mind, even her "run to and from work" winter ensemble is fancy, but not nearly as costly as this one. She's equally indulgent about bedding materials, and you don't have Graham for a father and walk away without being a little snobby about furniture and interior design. Sophie's other indulgence is going out with her spouse on their days off. There is usually only good memories to show for that. So most of her disposable income is used to go the extra mile with items she would usually own anyway. She just owns fancy as fuck things that will last her decades. As an immortal, it certainly saves on money in the long run. She does bake in her free time, but once you buy the tools for it, the ingredients aren't usually that expensive outside of maybe fancy fruits for filling and such. (I do not touch on it much, because I had to cut the chapter, but there are mentions of a food shortage they all experienced that led to rationing. Acquiring ingredients then would've been incredibly expensive, but she also would've still needed to eat. So I really had trouble thinking of this as an indulgence, outside of the fancy fruits she might select sometimes.) 10. What objects do they always carry around with them?

In this world, it's expected to always carry some kind of knife on you. Not just as a precaution against attackers, but as a practical tool for cutting. She has a pearl-handled folding knife. (She has a matching one for gift wrapping materials at work.) She also carries identification, since she had to make herself an official citizen when finding jobs and marrying. House keys, emergency cash, a folded mirror case, her personal handkerchief she's using for the day, and a packet of disposable tissues. She uses her handkerchief; the tissues are for offering to other people, since her job is with the public. Specifically with children. She needs them on hand to offer to kids. :) All of these items fit inside her cloak pockets, which are hidden in the interior of her cloak. Minus the knife, which is sheathed and strapped to her calf.

[definitely-not-a-wasp]

I'm okay with a bunch of disorganized rambling honestly 😂. But if I had to narrow it down then I guess I want to know about main and side characters and how they compare to the original?

I know that tumblr is the Prime Site for disorganized rambling, but I have perfectionism issues. But that is a great question, nonnie, and I will be happy to ramble is a slightly less disorganized fashion.

When reading Maximum Ride as a somewhat-formed adult who discovered they enjoy English classes about 3.5 years ago, I noticed that JP, when writing, doesn't understand consistency. At all. Which means, in many ways, I have a free sandbox to work with.

Spoilers for my rewrite WIP, because I strongly believe that if a story would no longer be good if one had spoilers, then it wasn’t a good story in the first place.

I'm trying to keep the backstories the same, plus or minus the scientific method and a few characters (RIP my OCs. I want to bring you back so bad but it wouldn't fit with the thematic narrative). I've mostly kept their (starting) abilities the same, too. Without further ado, I'm going to introduce some WorldBuilding. (If I'm good at nothing else, I'm good at world building)

First off. Logically.

How are they getting Cable?

How are they getting internet?

How are they getting money to eat and stuff?

JP's answer: handwave it off. Sometimes you need to ignore logistics for the sake of plot. This is an answer I'd accept from an author that I like, such as Julie Kagawa, that makes amazing worlds, characters, and narratives that I will happily handwave a few things that wouldn't work in the real world. James Patterson, on the other hand, did not make any of that; he made a cool concept, some good rough-draft characters, and nothing else, and therefore this is an unforgivable sin.

Wasp's answer: They are not getting any of that.

Introducing Cottagecore.

The house is off the grid. Solar Panels and a wind turbine create electricity. They have their own well. They grow their own food, raise livestock for eggs, milk, and wool, and trap fish for meat. They get money through dumpster diving and pawning. They still have to steal half of the necessities they can’t make themselves. They do have a TV, but it can access about three channels on a clear day. Internet is only a thing when they go to the public library.

Giving the flock a background that’s heavy in farming and livestock rearing shores up the plot holes mentioned above, but in my opinion, ties the flock more tightly to the environment, thus giving them something tangible to lose when they have to leave the E-shaped house. Because they’re not just leaving a house and a safety net— they’re leaving their entire way of life with no promise of getting it back. It also gives them a tangible connection to the earth in case I want to actually pursue the global warming themes.

Main Characters

Maximum “Max” Ride (Birthname: nonexistent)

First off, I'm letting her be Latina, James Patterson.

In the original, Max was very much the headstrong, independent, action girl. Leaning into Strong Female Character (TM), but overall she had a strong, solid foundation and enough character consistency through the first three books for me to not have to just make an entire new character. However, I felt that she was, in some ways, a bit too Action-Girl and Strong and Capable. Yes, Max is incredible and competent, but she’s also fourteen. She’s a child.

In the rewrite, Max’s character is still headstrong, independent, capable, and sometimes not the best at listening to others. All of that’s the same. But she’s that way not because of girlboss energy, but because there’s no one else to do it. She doesn’t want to lead, necessarily. She wants to get some rest and let someone else handle the problems life keeps throwing at her. But she knows if she did that, the responsibility of leader would fall to Fang and Iggy, and she can’t ask that of them. She doesn’t want to place that burden on anyone else (Look, there’s a reason I chose Ayano’s Theory of Happiness as one of her signifier songs, okay?). Her narrative is very much centered around burden, and also around loss. She lost her cultural heritage when she was taken away from her birth family, she lost her childhood to being a leader, she lost a good deal of her friends to the school (RIP my OCs), she lost Jeb, and then she lost her stability. And she’s going to lose a lot more before the end of the story. So a lot of her character arc deals with learning that there are some things she can’t fix, some things that can’t be recovered. She can’t get the E-shaped house back. She can’t get her Little Baby Angel back, even after they rescue her. She can’t get her friends back from the school. And instead of working so hard to recover those or find something to replace them, she has to learn to live with that sense of loss and move on with her life without feeling guilty for leaving things behind. And she has to learn that asking for help and sharing her burden is selfish or weak.

Other changes I made that don’t necessarily fit into her narrative arc, but you asked for rambling so rambling you shall get:

Max hallucinates, because mental illness is also a prominent theme in the rewrite. She doesn’t have a psychotic disorder, but her C-PTSD causes visual/audio hallucinations, especially when she’s stressed or sleep deprived. 

Max ends up having a Gender Discovery throughout the story and goes by He/She pronouns eventually. I don’t know when, but it will happen.

As far as genetic modifications/special quirks go, she can fly faster than the rest of the flock, but not 300 miles per hour. She averages about sixty mph with diving speeds of 240. She cannot breathe underwater or shut down her organs on command. She also has the Super Special Power to predict the weather, but that’s not because of genetics, it’s because she has chronic pain in her right arm that gets worse when weather fronts change.

Her favored weapon is her trusty rebar that she picked up from a condemned building. I think she’s going to name it eventually but I don’t know what yet.

Fang (Birth name: Gabriel Xue)

In canon, Fang is characterized in early books by being the “dark, strong, silent type”. He’s probably the most reserved member of the flock, to the point of falling into the Brooding Mystery Man trope in parts of the book. They care a lot, but they’re not the best at conveying that, especially with the younger members of the flock, and at times their high empathy leads them to making mistakes. Despite the high empathy, he’s often compared to a robot due to his lack of expression and external emotions.

Well, first change is that they’re not a man, so jot that down—

If Max’s narrative is centered around burden and loss, I would probably say that Fang’s is centered around humanity and moving on. None of the flock was treated as human while in the school, but Fang was more often than not treated like a wild animal due to “behavioral issues”, and therefore had and continues to have a difficult time considering themselves real and alive, let alone human. This manifests through a several different ways— where in canon Fang definitely had a ‘fight’ reaction, in the re-write they have a ‘freeze’ or ‘shut down’ instinct. They’re selectively mute for multiple reasons (including derealization, jaw pain, the fact that they didn’t learn how to speak until they were 10, and genuinely forgetting it’s something they’re capable of), a period of Cotard’s syndrome, and a tendancy towards self-loathing and self-sacrifice. In short, Fang is still halfway stuck in the mindset that most of the flock grew out of when they escaped in the school, and doesn’t know how to move past it.

Much of their character arc revolves around not necessarily seeing themselves as human, but learning to treat themselves as human even when they don’t feel like one (or even feel real), and knowing that just because they don’t feel human all the time doesn’t mean anyone else can treat them the same. They never start easily expressing their emotions, and they’re always going to be selectively mute, but they learn to accept that those aspects of themself aren’t character flaws or signs that they’re sub-human. 

Other additions to Fang’s character include:

They don’t get their hair cut in New York. It stays long through the entire series. They have the longest hair in the flock by the end of the series, and they can wear it in so many styles.

Fang uses they/it pronouns because themes of reclaiming the weapons used against it and, more importantly, Gender.

They’re actually really good at spelling compared to the rest of the flock, because they and Iggy communicate with Print-On-Palm when they’re nonverbal, and they’re nonverbal for some pretty long stretches of time. 

They and Max have... zero romantic tension. At all. There is none. The number of times Max calls them her sibling/little sibling in the first arc alone is staggering, and that will not change.

Igneous “Iggy” (Birthname: Jamsetta “Jamie” Griffiths)

I’ve talked about Iggy before. Canon doesn’t give us much to go off of, but from what’s shown, he’s smart, sarcastic, has sharper edges than Fang and Max, and also has a sizable ruthless streak. So that’s what I have to go off of.

The big difference between Iggy and Fang&Max is that Iggy has a much better memory of the School. Most of the flock have areas (months or years) that they don’t remember, or people that they’ve blocked from their mind, but Iggy... doesn’t. So he’s the one that remembers all of the other AVIAN test subjects that were old enough to have names and identities but died due to complications. Max might have the burden of leadership, but he has the burden of memory. And that has lead to both a massive fucking guilt complex, because why did he survive when they didn’t, and, as mentioned above, a ruthless streak that he doesn’t shy away from.

Which is to say, by the end of the story, Iggy has the highest kill count.

I love, love writing Iggy next to Max and Fang. I love writing Iggy next to Gazzy and Nudge. Because, I say this with all of the love of the world, but Iggy is not a good person. He is loyalty and love incarnate, and the world can burn down if he and his siblings are safe. Max and Fang will always try to save as many people as they can. They will wonder what’s wrong with them the first time they kill and don’t have a mental breakdown about it. They are good in a way that Iggy is not. He’s okay with killing Erasers. He’s okay with killing humans. He’s okay with killing people who might not necessarily deserve it, if they show themselves as a threat or are simply in the blast radius. He knows perfectly well that most of those Erasers he’s murdering are four and five and he is okay with that, because a lot of the AVIANs were that age when they died. (Yeah, in the rewrite it’s not Fang who has an issue with Ari; it’s Iggy who wants the 7-year-old wolf-boy dead.) 

And this is, of course, juxtaposed with Iggy being really, really good with Nudge and Gazzy (especially in the beginning). Because, again, he actually remembers being a child. He remembers a lot of kids that died and is therefore fiercely protective of the kids that didn’t, as well as fiercely protective of the innocence that he never got. So he’s the one that cooks their favorite foods when they’re having a bad day, always makes time when they want to talk about something, and convinces Max to let them go to that toy store in New York because, yeah, he Max and Fang aren’t kids. They never were. But Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel can be. (And if he has to be a murderer to preserve that, then he’s perfectly okay with that.)

He and Angel don’t get along very well, though. The telepath doesn’t like hanging out with the person with the most clear memories of the school.

Other additions:

Iggy is trans and says trans rights

He also has paranoid episodes, because C-PTSD. Sometimes they’re very helpful. Sometimes they are not.

I actually decided that he’s one of the flock that doesn’t meet their parents. I know in canon he did, but I always found that very clunky because it didn’t add to his character. He was one of the characters who, until it was convenient for the plot, seemed to care the least about his family. I’d much rather give that to a character whose arc would benefit from it.

Iggy! Gets! Older Sibling Rights! Seriously, he’s two months younger than Fang, he is just as capable.

Iggy does not know braille because Jeb decided it wasn’t necessary for him to know. Iggy is also the best speller in the flock, because Print-on-Palm was the only way to talk to Fang for a solid year. Yes he mocks everyone over this.

Iggy is the only member of the flock that enjoys swimming and can take into the air from water. Everyone else in the flock is incredibly jealous.

Nudge (Birthname: Monique Robinson)

If Iggy is defined by his memories, Nudge is his polar opposite. She was seven when she left the School, but she has next to no memories of it. She is missing a lot of time in the first year she escaped. And that causes... a lot of things. It makes her feel disconnected from her older siblings, it gives her the ability to function in society in a way the other’s can’t, it lets her feel less grief over the ones that didn’t make it and she doesn’t remember, it makes her feel guilty that she doesn’t remember what she’s old enough to know. 

Basically, in order for me to keep the character of Nudge as I saw her (more extroverted, not afraid of the world, fascinated with humans like her siblings aren’t, desiring to fit in instead of isolate), I had to put a little bit of distance between her and the flock. Of course, she loves them— that will in no way change— but she’s old enough that she should remember the school (and her dead friends) unlike Gazzy and Angel, but she can’t, and she very much fears forgetting the flock if anything happens to them. So she’s trying desperately to keep the flock close and wants desperately to experience the world at the same time, and doesn’t know what to do when she can’t have both. That’s her biggest character conflict throughout the series, along with that in-between area where she’s not quite where her older siblings are but understands so much more than Gazzy and Angel, and where she stands in that.

So yeah. Nudge’s journey is that in looking for belonging in the world, in her family, and in herself.

This is why she’s one of the ones that gets to find her parent, James Patterson. 

Other additions include:

She never straightens her hair. Never. Her resources at the E-shaped house aren’t perfect, but she still has learned how to take care of her hair and has a few styles she cycles through.

She becomes the default person Max sics on people when the flock is trying to befriend them. Also their de-facto diplomat around strangers.

As in canon, she does take some time away from the flock to expirience ‘normal life’. This does not last long due to the stress of being separated from her siblings/not being able to help them and [REDACTED]

Nudge is... not the only person in her head. I’m not focusing on it much because she doesn’t actually know and neither does the flock (I don’t know if they ever figure it out during the series, either), but she has dissociative identity disorder. She’s not aware of her alter(s?). Her alter isn’t super aware of her, either. 

The alter that I’ve developed is named Oxy and is not super aware of the outside world. In her eyes, she’s still seven and they’re still at the School. She would not recognize the body as her own if she looked in a mirror.

Nudge actually leaves the flock for a while to pursue her dream of living a normal life. She deserves it. She learns how to make muffins and the basics of software development. These things are unrelated.

Gasman (Birthname: No first name, surname “Falk”)

Honestly, writing Gazzy is kind of hard for me. Partially because I’m not great at writing kids, and partially because I feel like he’s a pretty surface-level character in-series that... isn’t super compelling in canon. But even if that’s the case, I try to treat all of my characters with respect, so here we go. In my rewrite, he escaped when he was four, which was half a lifetime ago for him, so his memories are ill-defined. Therefore, he managed to circumvent a lot of the trauma that the rest of the kids have, and not in the way Nudge did, which is by creating an elaborate blockage in her memories. 

Which means Gazzy... really doesn’t know how to deal with all of this traumatic stuff happening. So much of his development turns out to be a coming-of-age narrative. Learning how to deal with the horrors of what his siblings grew up with. Learning the fears that they had the entire time. Losing his innocence when everyone around him never had it in the first place, and being so terribly alone because of it. Because, really, how can you explain such a deep loss to people who never had what he had? How can they help in a way that matters?

Also, relationship-wise, I’m slowly deteriorating the relationship between him and Iggy. Slowly. Or, changing it, at least. Gazzy hero-worships Iggy in-series, and for good reason, because Iggy is super cool, especially in the eyes of an eight-year-old, and especially when Iggy has taken care to cultivate parts of his behaviors to be child-friendly. Part of growing up is seeing the flaws in your heroes, and Gazzy has to learn how to deal with it. End of the series Gazzy is much less closer to Iggy than beginning of the series Gazzy, and neither of them are really okay with that, but they learn to live with it, because that’s really all they can do.

Notes:

I’m keeping the mimickry! It plays a bit of a bigger role because that’s how Gazzy learned to talk. I’m debating whether or not he has his own voice or if he just borrows the flock’s as he sees fit. He also uses it to scream really loudly and occaisonally burst the eardrums of Erasers.

At one point he cosplays as Jessica Jones. No you don’t get any more context than this.

He has a horrible sense of fashion.

I’m changing his name eventually because it sucks. He’s either going to change it to Gannet, Garrison, or Ivy Mike temporarily, and permanently to Zephyr. (I never said I was going to make his name GOOD, because he’s eight, but it’s changing. You’re welcome.)

Angel (Birthname: No first name, surname “Falk”)

It’s just... a completely different character, at this point. I’ve changed so many things about her in an attempt to make her consistent and act like a six-year-old and work in the whole “telepath before she has a solid sense of identity”, so it’s a different character. Also, I’m tired of writing coherently or in paragraphs, so have some interesting facts.

She has epilepsy! Super severe epilepsy! I think she might also develop juvenile MS in the future because her brain has so many scars from being a fucking six-year-old telepath. There’s no way she could get out of that unscathed.

She has more memories of the school than Gazzy, but only because she keeps accidentally reading the minds of Max, Fang, and Iggy. On a related note, she interacts with Iggy as little as possible.

The mind reading means that she has a hard time developing as a normal child with a normal sense of identity or reality. She can’t tell how much people are individual people and how much they’re just extensions of her. Conversely, she can’t tell how much of herself is actually her instead of the thoughts/opinions/identities of someone else. It’s... kinda fucked? But also super not-her-fault. 

She’s albino because white wings. Also, because I thought it was cool. This also means that her vision sucks, though. Also she has the biggest straw sunhat and the most stylish sunglasses a six-year-old can have.

She’s responsible for Max shaving her hair off.

She has the highest swear count because I think it’s funny. She’s the only person allowed to say the fuck word in writing. Everyone else can only say ‘hell’ and the occasionally ‘damn’ but she can say whatever she wants for dramatic and comedic value.

She is NOT THE FUCKING VOICE, J*MES P*TTERSON.

Honorable Mentions

Jeb

I’m skipping Jeb because of how little I care about him. He’s a little bitch, next character.

Ari

STILL HASN’T BEEN REVEALED AS AN ERASER. I’ve been writing for 50,000 words and he’s over here saying ‘nope nope not yet, not dramatic enough’. He’s had speaking lines but has refused to make himself known to Max. I am so frustrated with this seven-year-old wolf-child that I’ve already considered how I would kill him, if I decide I want to kill yet another child in my writing.

So, my main thoughts for Ari is that he... really just drew the short end of the stick in every possible way. While Jeb didn’t sign him up for Eraser expirimentation, he didn’t do anything to stop it, and pretty much cut his losses when he realized this expiriment made a wreck of his ‘perfect, unflawed’ son, because Jeb doesn’t consider children of any species to actually be humans. So, Ari really hates his dad, which makes things complicated, because he also really loves his dad and really wants his approval. 

Which means that he also really hates Max, because she’s the child that always got Jeb’s time and attention, even when Ari was human. I think, on some level, he knows that trying to tear Max down to a less-favored level isn’t actually going to help his situation— infighting for the love of an abusive parent won’t make them any less abusive— but he’s also seven, and his development is already severely stunted due to becoming an Eraser, and he doesn’t see ‘leaving ITEX’ as an option like the Flock does. ITEX is his everything. It’s all he’s ever known, and they tell him he’s doing the right thing, and he wants them to love him. He wants his father to love him. He knows that if he ever questions ITEX, his father will never love him. So it must be his older sister that’s ruining his life and being a horrible child, and once Ari drags her back down to his level, Jeb will realize who the best child is and love him properly again.

Ari, on an even deeper level, does care for Max quite a bit, because she’s his older sister and he wants that to mean something in a way that ‘Jeb being his father’ obviously doesn’t. He wants what she made for herself, and he hates the Flock because she loves them and obviously doesn’t love him. 

Ari, if anything, is the product of neglect, and both loves and hates everyone who shows a chance of caring about him. And he’s seven, so he can’t notice these patterns, let alone break them.

So. Notes!

He doesn’t look like an adult. I thought that was gross and unnecessary. He’s seven, but he looks closer to thirteen or fourteen. Still young enough that he looks like every Eraser’s little brother, and the Erasers high-key treat him like it.

On a related note, he’s the only Eraser who can talk. The others don’t have the mental capacity or vocal structure to replicate human speech, but they can understand language (at about the level of a two or three year old) and are very good at nonverbal communication. This is why Ari managed to climb the ranks despite only having three years of “service” and also looking like a tween.

He doesn’t have an expiration date because that is SUCH a stupid plot point.

I’m giving him a chainsaw! I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but he deserves to have a chainsaw and GODDAMN I will give it to him.

Emergency and Gene

The OCs that I love and also killed pre-series. They don’t have any scenes, because they’re dead, but their deaths greatly effected Max, Fang, and Iggy, and they are very commonly referenced. Their voices are probably Max’s most common hallucination, to the point where she sometimes pretends they’re ghosts that she can talk to. They’re not ghosts. They’re dead.

Dr. Valencia Martinez

I’m actually keeping her pretty close to canon— loving, supportive, the type of person to take in a gsw victim with minimal questions. The difference is that rather than kindness fueling her actions, it’s incredible guilt. She has three goals surrounding Max: Give her as much support in any way she can, teach her as much about chicane culture as possible, and never let Max know that she’s her birth parent.

(She’s probably going to fail at AT LEAST two of those, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Notes:

She has a pet fox named Robin Hood that she rescued from an exotic animal salesman that got arrested.

I think I’m going to kill her. I don’t know yet, but it’s on the table.

Anne Walker

Y’know, the fake FBI Agent. Who’s not actually a fake in my story because I hated that plot point. She’s genuinely an FBI agent who put the Flock into pseudo-witness-protection in order to build a case against the Institute of Higher Living, accidentally got attached to her prime witnesses, raised them for a few months, realized a [SPOILER] and promptly had to let them get the hell out dodge.

I really like the Anne Walker that lives in my head. She is a VITAL part of the Flock’s development, their mental/emotional recovery, and adding to their safety net to fall back on. She serves them as their first adult role model, and is the first adult to show them what parent/child are supposed to look like from a healthy perspective. Though she has several fuck ups, she becomes someone that the Flock genuinely trusts and loves, which makes it all the more difficult for them to leave when [REDACTED].

Notes:

She and Max do butt heads initially, because Max is paranoid and also afraid of becoming uneeded. This ends up being incredibly important because Max needs to learn how to live and find meaning in life without being the designated Leader/Parent/Big Sister

Anne, at one point, sits the entire flock down to teach them about consent, which was something no one ever talked about with them before. She goes in talking specifically about consent in a romantic/sexual sense (because they’re fourteen and that’s something they need to know), but quickly turns into a full-fledged no, people are NOT allowed to do that to you, what the FUCK.

She’s responsible for giving the flock a laptop. It’s because Angel is online schooled (bc telepathy makes actually learning difficult) and was therefore provided with a computer.

Anne is also allowed to swear, but only when it’s funny.

Michael “Grey” Rivers

Aka Grey from the Sewers Aka GR3Y H47 Aka Mike from the Bronx Aka Gifted Child Syndrome Incarnate Aka Would-be-in-MIT-if-his-parents-weren’t-horrible. He’s my son, your honour.

Basically, his backstory boils down to him being a genius, getting into MIT at 14, his (horrible) parents wanting a perfect child who could “make it out” of the Bronx and represent his family/neighborhood/borough to the world. When he inevitably failed their expectations due to stress, a schizophrenic-spectrum disorder that completely alienated him from the rest of his support network, and refusing to take his psych meds because the side effects were horrible and they made it harder to think (and therefore pass his classes), they kicked him out. He fully intends to go back to MIT when he turns 18 and has control of his finances/scholarships/medication/therapy.

So that’s how the flock meets him. 

Mike ends up in a very prominent support role for the flock both in technological persuits (helping them track their parents, helping them get information from ITEX, trying to disable Max’s chip and failing multiple times until it becomes a matter of personal honour—), in helping the older members of the flock figure out how to deal with hallucinations/delusions (because he’s actually been to therapy, unlike them), and in being one of the only people who talks to them and helps them without any ulterior motive. He’s not trying to build a case against ITEX/The Institute of Higher Learning, he’s not double crossing them, he’s not plagued with guilt. He just genuinely wants to help them, and they genuinely want to help him, and that’s their first introduction to a healthy, non-codependent relationship.

My many disorganized notes on Michael Rivers:

He’s from specifically Morris Heights, Bronx, NYC.

He would say that his last name is actually Rivera, but his grandparents changed it to Rivers so it would sound more English, and his family has been in America for so long that he doesn’t know much about any Latino heritage he may or may not have. He identifies as African American, not Afro-Latino. He’s just bitter that his family felt the need to change their surname to have better opportunities in New York.

Nudge aggressively befriends him pretty much the moment she meets him, bullies him into teaching her how to code, and he very quickly adopts her as his pseudo-little-sister.

His delusions in the book seemed to involve government conspiracies, but as that’s the one delusion that is proved correct in the book, I’ve decided it would be best if his delusions and reality intersected a bit less if I don’t want to write him having a manic/paranoid episode in the second scene he has screen time. So his delusions are more based on “none of this is real”, “someone is recording everything I do and setting me up to fail” and “my ill-wishes on people can and will come true if I dwell on them too long.”. Government conspiracies are one of things he is skeptical about because he thinks most conspiracies are either “CIA admitted to this twenty years ago” or “antisemitism”.

He’s taking online free college classes that don’t actually give him any college credit, but they have good information and help him feel like he’s working towards something. He plans to double major in computer sciences and electrical engineering, minor in marine biology. He’s wanted to join NOAA since he was twelve and he is nothing if not stubborn.

There you go. These are my characters, now. I have custody.

[badatstuff]

Acquire Your Desire Dining Room along with the Right Household Furniture Item

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In order to the area in between pair of customers, the best one would certainly be actually 24" -30" to stop cleaning of elbow joints as well as any sort of clumsy bump ins. A typical restaurant calls for regarding 18" to 24" of area out of the dining table to pleasantly rest as well as draw the bench in. There should suffice area for the hold to become capable to offer. You require at minimum a proximity of 4-5 feets for the individual to relocate around. There are actually routine tables in lavish designs rounded, egg-shaped, straight and also a lot more unique forms made for smaller sized family members. You do not yearn for a snobby household furniture part resting weak around the dining table. Apart coming from the in-stock eating concepts, you should spend focus to dining room storing that consists of,. Made use of as storage space furnishings for your priceless china as well as flashes, you can easily utilise the cafeteria and also feature through positioning it near the table. The leading of the cafeteria is actually usually made use of as a solution region as well as in mobile properties; it is actually a good thing to possess a cafeteria around. Sideboard: Furnished along with a broad compartment, the dining table possesses cupboards on each edges. The furnishings is actually mostly made use of for keeping offering plates and also foods and also for offering food items. Hosting server: Pretty like the sideboard however minus the cabinetries, it is actually utilised to position food items on the dining table prior to fulfilling it on the dining table. A hosting server is actually a superficial dining table along with cabinets. Listed here go a couple of overall regulations you ought to observe while obtaining eating home furniture by visiting more here.

[yukipri]

Bad Batch end of season thoughts/ramble, bc it's been a week and I just wanna get it all off my chest...

(end of season spoilers and very disorganized rambling)

First off, I do want to say that I enjoyed watching the show. It fulfilled its primary purpose: entertainment. It was nice having something to look forward to every week, and even though it wasn't quite what I was expecting, it was fun. The animation was gorgeous, I liked all the references and tie ins. I will likely watch it again, and will watch season 2. This is by no means meant to be a hate post.

That being said, it is critical so please just skip if you're not into that!

The thing is...it takes very, Very little for me to love a clone. He doesn't need lines, or a face, or even a name, and the default is that I will love him. He can even be a little bastard, like Slick, and it's fine. I always want to know more about them, and wish they had more screen time and time in general to develop their characters. So given that we were getting 16 (20 eps total if we count TCW S7 pilot arc) centered around these guys, I was expecting to absolutely adore them by the end.

And I wanted to love the Bad Batch, I wanted to love them so damn much, and I tried. But I think one of the reasons why they never fully clicked for me was that their thing seems to be "we're unique, we never fit in, we're outsiders in our own home, among the people who are supposed to be our own family, and so we've found our home with each other."

Which! That's usually a wonderful message, and not a particularly rare or unique one either for stories! I usually dig these kinds of stories!

The problem here is the extremely unique situation of the clones. They are literally created to be identical, brain washed to be uniform. They must conform, or are killed off by their creators, and their conformity isn't a choice in the slightest, but one of fear and necessity.

Their uniformity is something that they are also entirely aware of--it's unavoidable, they're clones. Once out in the real galaxy, they all strive to find and establish unique identities for themselves, struggling against a galaxy that just wants them to be faceless products. It's a shared struggle, and all they have are each other, and their brotherhood is sacred as a result. Shunning unique identity is the opposite of who a clone is--it's what they all want.

So on one hand, it's understandable that the Batch stuck out (when all others who would have also stuck out were culled, when individuality isn't allowed). It's understandable that they would have yearned for the brotherhood shared by the other clones, and when they couldn't have it, they stuck closer to each other. It's even understandable that they would feel bitter, having experienced bullying at the hands of the other clones (but isn't it also understandable that the other clones would feel bitter that the Batch gets special treatment, when their own brothers with less-than-beneficial mutations were taken by the Kaminoans to never return?).

And so we have this batch of clones, who the Kaminoans call "mutated," but also specify that their mutations are "desirable" (implying what happens to mutations that are undesirable...). They have their own unique unit, in which they're able to improvise and act freely with seemingly little to no oversight, so long as they complete their mission. No Jedi to obey, no nat-born officers who look down on them. In fact, they look so different from standard clone troopers that most of the galaxy probably don't even know they are clones. They have their own ship (personalized), they have their own possessions (which we don't really see any other clones have), they have their own barracks (probably also very unique), and they even have access to superior weapons and armor (most of the Batch, minus Echo, seem to be wearing modified Katarn-class armor which is supposed to be for Commandos. we KNOW it holds up better than standard trooper armor).

So I'm sure they had some unpleasant experiences growing up, and I do get it. But at least at "present" end of clone wars, they honestly seem to be living infinitely better than all other clones? They still need to follow orders but they have more freedom, and perhaps most importantly, they have clear uniqueness that is denied almost all other clones. And yes, some of the clones on Kamino bully them, but we've seen NONE of the "regular" clones that we know to be particularly nasty to them, and in fact it's Crosshair who starts it by calling them "Regs."

And how does the Batch respond to this situation? By acting superior. It's Crosshair who says and it believes this firmly, and I do feel that the others are likely mostly influenced by this, but it's also true that Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech don't really deny this either. They don't like the "regs," they do act like they're "better." Poor Echo, who they repeatedly seem to forget is in the room, and who they call "machine" and such...yikes yo

So I guess the point is, I just really struggled to feel sympathetic towards them, and was already on a kinda eh about their premise. They're marketed as "the special clone squad"--and yet they're not nice to the clones I love. I thought that wasn't great, but also hoped that the series would work towards them understanding the other clones better, and I love character development so that woulda been fine--but, nothing. A glance from Hunter at Howzer. Extended camaraderie from Gregor, who I feel they mostly just tolerate for the mission, other than Echo who genuinely cares.

And on top of feeling not feeling particularly sympathetic towards what I saw as a pretty privileged group of clones, the Batch seems to place primary blame of their woes on the "regs" themselves, who again, honestly seem far worse off! There isn't blame directed at the people who demanded the conformity from the other clones in the first place, that made it so the Batch couldn't fit in. The Batch was modified due to the Kaminoans (and implied specifically Nala Se). She's the reason why they don't fit in. And the Kaminoans are also why the other clones have to be so uniform, why they must fight to be people and not products.

Bitterness and pettiness can be fine in characters. But it's frustrating to see in a group supposed to be competent and elite, especially when those feelings have consequences. Sure, it sucks when someone throws a food tray at you. You can throw food back. It's not an equal reaction to feel no remorse when you shoot that guy dead in a blaster fight, when for all other clones, having to kill another clone is one of the most horrible, tragic things that one can do (thanks, Umbara).

Fives was the only clone to actually point a blaster at Nala Se.

We know Omega has deeply personal history with Nala Se. She was Nala Se's personal medical assistant. We see her cry when she takes off her head ornament that matches Nala Se. We know that being back in the lab gives Omega complicated, and probably not entirely positive feelings. But we barely learn more about this relationship, other than these glimpses.

And I get the feeling that to Omega at least, Nala Se wasn't all terrible. If Omega grew up with mostly only Nala Se for company, she had to have gotten her sheltered outlook on life, and her willingness to help others from somewhere. Nala Se intentionally let Omega go, to be "safe."

I think Omega's adorable, and I do like her. But I wasn't able to fully love her to the extent I wanted to, because there was always the fear that she was involved in the creation and implantation of the chips. She knows about them, she would have been positioned to do so. I want to think she would never, and I was hoping the show would reassure us of that, but it never did. We don't actually know how Omega feels about Nala Se, or even the chips and their presence in other clones. Instead, all we know is that Omega doesn't like "regs."

And again, "they call me lab scrubber," and "I helped put (or am complicit in putting) mind control devices in their heads," are kinda, unequal. Again I hope it's not the case. But it definitely kept me feeling uneasy throughout the show.

It really boils down to I don't trust or forgive Nala Se, and the Batch's lack of stance against her and the other Kaminoans, and clear distaste for their other clone brothers, really puts them in a situation that makes it difficult for me to take their side entirely.

And then gosh, Hunter. During Crosshair's whole "you never came back for me," spiel, I couldn't help but think he's kinda right. He had 15 episodes. Sure, it's difficult to get Crosshair back. But they could have done something. They could have done research. We could have had scenes of them wondering where Crosshair is, discussions on how best to find him, even if that discussion ended in, "but we can't risk it right now." They could have grilled Omega for information on the chips, which they really shoulda done either way, but especially since that knowledge is important to understanding what (they thought had) happened to Crosshair. Instead, they just ran every time Crosshair showed up. The show could have done better to show that they cared, and were trying, instead of just, y'know, doing chores for Cid. One, "I kinda miss him," doesn't really count as working on getting him back, at least in my books.

The sole exception to all of this, of course, is Echo. Who really, he works with the Batch fine, he's a former ARC and can more than keep up. Skillset-wise, he fits in well enough. But this season really made me wonder why he's with them at all. Crosshair's revelation and true feelings at the end of the season were no surprise to me, as they're consistent with what we've seen of him from TCW S7. But for Echo, a former "reg" to have to work with someone like Crosshair...even if Crosshair thought Echo was "different" enough to accept him, those are his brothers that Crosshair thinks he's so superior to, and has no issue speaking disdainfully about.

The increasing tension between Echo and Hunter, Echo's interest in helping Rex, in helping other clones, in doing something...I do hope they reach a point where Echo demands they go help, or he's leaving.

They gave Crosshair a chance, despite the fact that his choices were willing. I really hope Echo can convince the Batch to help save the other clones who don't have a choice. Because even if the Batch doesn't consider them their brothers, they're certainly Echo's. They matter just as much as Crosshair, and I really hope season 2 shows it narratively.

To conclude, again I'm interested in seeing what happens next, and I want answers about Omega and Nala Se. I find it interesting that they tied the facility where they took Nala Se in with the scientist dude collecting data on Grogu in the Mandalorian and those cloning labs. All of this is interesting, but at the same time I feel like it's trying to build up to Snoke/Palpatine stuff in the sequels which...I don't care nearly as much about, but who knows, could be neat ^ ^;

I'm okay with, and have made peace with the fact that the Bad Batch probably isn't the "clones-centric" show I wanted, and that they'll continue their own story, and probably continue to not care much about other clones in upcoming seasons. That's unfortunate, but alright. I'm interested enough in their story too.

But at the same time...I can't help but think man, if they have the time and budget to do a season 2, after seeing what was (or wasn't) accomplished in season 1...I wish they'd also make a Rex/Cody/Wolffe/"regular clones" show, because in the end, if you're going to do a "clones show"....that's who I want to see most.

If you got to the end, thank you for reading, and being an ear to my ranting ^ ^; Again this is literally just getting this off my chest. If this take isn't one you agree with, please just ignore. For people who did fall in love with the Batch, I'm happy for you, and regret that it just couldn't happen for me. But, I'm hoping that S2 will change my mind, but we'll just have to see! ^ ^;

[osir-ethria]

.... Debating on whether or not I should do something other than the Schneeblings...

Well here’s another thing about them anyway.

Whitley loves fashion and designing with a much more creative aspect to clothing. Jacques however found out and called it far to feminine and that he should be focusing business and other things (minus fighting).

Winter would always let Whitley choose the dress she would wear to business meeting with Jacques and tell him about the guests reactions and how many compliments she got because of his choice. She did this in the form of a letter that Klein would hand Whitley because if she was seen anywhere near Whitley he would be reprimanded by their father. She’d first give him a list on what the event was about, how she was to be represented, and if Jacques was there to enjoy himself a little or purely just business.

This helped Whitley with his look when he went out on formal events and got to choose. (This is me saying please change his outfit for once. Maybe inspired by Weiss?)

Even though Winter never directly told Weiss but Whitley was the one who designed her outfits minus the Volume 7 one... I’d have to say Weiss looks good but like, the pounds of hair in that braid is unnecessary. She has a lot of hair but why make it not proportional to the rest of the head. Other than that she actually picked up a few things from Whitley just by studying what she’s been wearing.

After the half of the group that got to Vacuo arrives at the main kingdom they need new gear. The Atlas gear is going to give them a heat stroke. They are trying to decide what to do and they see an obviously emotionally unavailable Winter write a few things down, hand it to Whitley, and tells him to go all out.

Later she explains the whole fashion thing with them and tells them that if they’d trust him with their outfit designs to just list necessities, color schemes, any requirements that’ll help with how they fight, and what style of clothing they are comfortable or uncomfortable with. When Whitley receives these papers from the group he starts crying, they aren’t seeing it as weird and actually trust him with it. Remember, Jacques hated this side of Whitley.

Whitley works with Pietro to design the new gear and everyone loves it. Comfortable, looks good, and does its job. I also remember that the Schnee dust company doesn’t only have dust mines in Atlas even though it was the majority, there are some all over Remnent. (This is from the World of Remnent episode Rooster Teeth did about the Schnee Dust Company.) The Schnees however stay with the refugees instead of going somewhere else so they can help them. They also have enough money to help provide for the refugees like buying tents, getting food and water, and any other necessity. Whitley gets a good feeling from helping and not keeping it all to himself.

Whitley better ask Winter to train him or Winter forcefully teaches him because she can’t handle losing another sibling. This is just with a sword he hasn’t gotten his semblance yet.

He’s smarter than a lot think he should be, the only thing that’s stopping him from being a huntsman is how young he is, like I would prefer if he was around Oscar’s age, and he’s not of the physical or aura capability of a huntsman. You could argue Jaune was like that but Jaune was of the age to go to beacon, had a weapon, and was physically fit to the point he could play it off as maybe going to the school. The only thing he was lacking was skill which was remedied by Pyrrha.

Whitley hasn’t had any of that but I wouldn’t doubt that he’d be a good fit. I can imagine him trying to use his left hand but it doesn’t work out so he forces himself to switch and it works but he wanted to use his left hand for that. He’s not as nimble as Weiss but more so than Winter so he’s slowly forming into a mix. Best part would be he keeps his sarcastic attitude and teasing only being serious in serious situations.

I think all Schnees are brutally honest with everything but understand and feel bad when they hurt someone who hasn’t done anything bad to them or has gotten on their nerves. If they are misunderstood for what they say and they know it wouldn’t be easy to understand said topic they go soft and attempt to explain, Winter and Penny at the Schnee manor in Vol 7.

I also like to think that each of them are slightly gifted in the others area of art. Whitley is better with design, art, and visual concepts.

Weiss is better musical and hearing as well as being able to take quickly to anything she was forced to learn by Jacques or genuinely wanted to know. Weiss and Whitley also share common interest in design from a mathematical stand point because it gets their motors going which was derived from Jacques trying to control them and force how they think, what they do, and what’s going on.

Winter is more about art through movement. She taught Weiss how to dance and is probably the only person who could stand a chance against Yang with Martial Arts. With her being the most controlling of her emotions she could easily do acting which she was forced to do while in school before Atlas Academy.

Whitley learnt how to play the piano from Weiss with videos Klein recorded where Weiss explained how to play. This was an assignment by Jacques to prove she was practicing but Whitley caught them once and asked Klein if he could see the videos. Jacques thought he had the natural talent for the piano, nah he just practiced a lot with Weiss’s help.

Winter hasn’t listened to any of Weiss’ personal songs. By personal I mean the RWBY soundtracks. I head canon that those songs are Weiss describing their journey and how she believes their friends, enemies, and family feels.

I like the idea that Weiss’s songs were used as protest. Now Winter has heard a few she just never put two and two together that that was Weiss singing since she always had a soft pitched opera voice. Well not until she heard someone in the refugee camp blast This Life Is Mine which included the more opera segment. That broke Winter. The idea was on a head canon post but I forgot the name and I’ve liked to many posts to the point I doubt I’ll find it.

Whitley got two copies of Weiss’s songs, using a bit of money for himself and Winter there, and as a bonding activity between them and if they ever feel stressed listen to her music and voice. This is how Whitley realized that Jacques had been lying to him about his sisters just abandoning him and not caring for him at all that they left him, but rather Jacques pulled him away from Winter to ensure he wouldn’t end up like Weiss. This Life Is Mine hits close to Whitley as for Winter as much as she agrees with Whitley that it hits close she knows that Weiss’s song Path to Isolation hits more for her.

Weiss had managed to submit War, Until The End, and Fear to the people who published her songs before everything the evacuation using Pietro. Pietro questioned why and she just gave a quick summary, not explaining everything but just enough. Those publishers got though the portals and with the help of Whitley and the Schnee money got Weiss’s ‘final’ track out.

The songs are played everyday which was new for the Atlesians that survived compared to the survivors in Mantle. No one expected Weiss to be so defiant and see how abusive Jacques was to her and which they can assume the rest of the family. How they weren’t picture perfect.

......... I should stop now. Written to much again. I’ll most likely try to find the post with the idea that Weiss’s song were used as songs of retaliation in Mantle. If I do I’m going to reboot it so here me go, deep diving.

[babbysquid]

Not A Whiskey Drinker Pt. 4

Author’s Note: Okay so I got a bit carried away with this chapter but I couldn’t help myself so it’s about twice as long as previous chapters. This is where things really start to get more plot based so the story will really get moving from here. The way I’ve planned out the plot so far though it’ll be several chapters long so get buckled up!

Warnings: mild cursing, suggestive language, Jack “Whiskey” Daniels needs his own warning

Length: 2,586 words

Not A Whiskey Drinker Masterlist

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

“She almost broke the man’s arm Champ!” said Whiskey, phone to his ear.

“I don’t care. If you’re exaggerating this skill of hers she’ll be a liability.”

“She won’t be a liability!” Whiskey was seething at this point. Yes it had only been a few days, but somehow he had become protective over you. Seeing you twist the man’s arm back at the bar lit a fire somewhere deep inside his stomach. Whiskey heard a sigh through the phone.

“Fine. You’re training her and she’ll be your responsibility. Don’t fuck it up Whiskey.”

With that Champagne hung up. Whiskey was buzzing with excitement. With the combination of your quick wit and your apparent hand to hand combat skill you were definitely capable of becoming an agent with the Statesmen.

The ding of the elevator stirred Whiskey from his thoughts. Strutting out of his office he quickly caught up to you.

“Whiskey.”

“Mornin’ Y/N. How’s my lovely little lady today?” you rolled your eyes and shook your head, continuing towards your office. Along with your normal bag you had also brought a tote bag that contained some office necessities. After setting your bags down you pulled out an electric tea kettle and made your way towards a shelf to find a spot for it.

“Y/N think fast!” came Whiskey’s voice as he threw the mug that sat on your desk. You quickly spun around and caught the mug before it could smash on the floor.

“You’re the absolute worst.”

“Not a coffee drinker either?” Whiskey said, eyeing the variety of teabags you pulled from your tote.

“Nope. Coffee is a slap in the face. Tea feels like a hug.”

Whiskey gave his standard full body laugh.

“You really are somethin’ darlin’.”

“Out.” you said, ushering him out of your space. “Come back if you need me.”

“Ya know if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re the boss and I’m the assistant.” Whiskey leaned against the door frame as he said this.

“Whiskey…” you said with a grumble, trying to push him from the door, but the man wasn’t budging. Bending down he whispered in your ear,

“I am a mighty fan of switching up the dynamic every once in a while.” he said and you could almost feel his smirk against your skin.

“Out!” and you shut the door on his face.

‘I swear to god this man will be the death of me.’

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

The rest of the day was fairly standard. Random errands Whiskey needed, picking up lunch, sorting through notes, etc. The only difference between today and the previous was the fact that Whiskey kept throwing things at you any chance he got.

“So I organized these files and highlight all the—“ Before you could finish your sentence you looked up as a pen, a baseball, and a full bottle of whiskey were flying at you. Quickly you caught them all and managed to keep the files you were holding in your hands as well.

“Whiskey what the fuck?”

Initially it felt like Whiskey’s standard teasing, but at this point it was ridiculous and was getting on your nerves. If you didn’t catch the whiskey bottle it would’ve made a huge mess and you were most likely the one who would have to clean said mess.

“Wouldn’t have thrown ‘em if I knew you weren’t gonna catch ‘em.” said Whiskey from behind his desk, propping his feet up on the wood and stretching his arms behind his head.

You were too focused on the files when you entered his office that you didn’t realize Whiskey had taken off his blazer and tie. He was wearing his standard white dress shirt and some suspenders. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and you couldn’t help but stare at his tanned arms. You didn’t realize how much muscle the man had. You shook your head.

“Why do you keep throwing shit at me?”

“Oh darlin’,” Whiskey stood up and pulled the bottle of whiskey and the baseball out of your hands, set them down on his desk and leaned on the wooden table. “just testing your reflexes and reaction time.”

“Ginger was right.”

“Hmm?” said Whiskey, pulling his suspenders off his shoulders and popping open the bottle of whiskey. You stared as he brought the bottle to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he took a swig. He licked his lips and you felt a shiver run through your body.

“I’m waiting darlin’.” he said with a smirk. He knew you were staring. He had made sure you were staring.

“She said you were a character.”

“I have been called larger than life.”

“Uh, anyways here are the files.” Reaching out to hand the files to your boss, his hand met yours and once again the two of you froze. The only movement coming from the room was the rise and fall of your chests and Whiskey’s thumb making slow circles on the back of you hand.

“Jack I— oh.”

You immediately moved your hand and Whiskey took the files from you at the sound of Ginger’s voice.

“Sorry.” said Ginger, giving you an apologetic look. “Champ gave me some…” Ginger paused, looking for the right word. “updates — classified updates — that you need to hear Jack.”

“Guess that’s my cue.” you said, making your way out of the office.

“Get home safe Y/N.” said Whiskey giving you a smile. Your heart fluttered in response.

‘Stop. You cannot have feelings for your boss. Especially Whiskey.’

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

It was finally Friday after work and to say you were exhausted was an understatement. The rest of the week had been pretty straightforward minus some odd behavior from Whiskey. He continued to randomly throw things at you or ask seemingly random questions.

‘How quickly can you run a mile?’

‘About 7 and a half minutes.’

‘Ever got in a fist fight?’

‘No, but I’ve prevented some from starting.’

‘How flexible are you?’

That question you decided to ignore. There was one question, however, that kept replaying in your mind over and over again.

‘Have you ever shot a gun?’

When he asked the question you stopped in your tracks. Sure he was from the South so he most definitely had experience with firearms but you? Nope. Frankly, guns scared the shit out of you. Why did he want to know?

‘No. My dad and brother would go to shooting ranges occasionally but never took me. But if they asked I would’ve said no.’

You pondered his reasoning for all these questions as you took a shower. The questions could’ve been an attempt to get to know you better but they were nothing along the lines of ‘where did you grow up?’ ‘do you have any pets?’ or ‘what’s your favorite color?’. You were stirred from your thoughts by a knock at the door.

Parker.

“One second!” you called, stepping out of the shower and pulling a towel around yourself. You rushed to the door leaving a small trail of wet footprints behind you.

“You really had the audacity to knock while I was—“

“Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes.” came a thick accent. Your eyes widened immediately and you swallowed.

“Whiskey?”

“You gonna let me in darlin’?”

You were too shocked to do anything other than follow his request. Stepping aside to allow him to enter you shut the door behind you.

“Nice place. Nice getup too.” he said with a wink.

You were suddenly hyperaware of the current state of your appearance. Your hair was dripping wet and you were naked other than a much too small towel wrapped around yourself. Your boss (your very attractive boss) was in your apartment and you were essentially naked.

“One second.” you said, and ran back to the bathroom to change into the clean clothes you pulled from your closet before. Throwing on your sleep shorts and a large shirt you stormed out of the bathroom to confront Whiskey.

“Firstly, how the hell did you get my address and secondly, why the fuck are you here?”

“Firstly,” said Whiskey, putting his hands on your shoulders attempting to make you calm down. “I told you we did a background check. And secondly,” he guided the two of you over to your small couch and placed a plastic bag on your coffee table. “I brought dinner.” You narrowed your eyes and glared at him.

“What is it?” your voice still tinged with anger.

“Sushi.”

After a minute you responded.

“Okay fine you can stay.”

Whiskey took several boxes of sushi out of the bag and all your favorites were there. Your mind was doing flips to figure out much all this costed. Sushi was not cheap, especially from the restaurant he got it from.

“How’d you know sushi is my favorite?”

“Background checks.”

“Okay now I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” Whiskey just gave you a smile and dug into the food. The two of you ate in silence. While scarfing down your sushi as politely as possible, it had been a long time since you had your favorite food, you observed the man next to you. He still had his black Stetson and black cowboy boots, but his slacks and blazer had been replaced by some tight fitting jeans and a matching denim jacket. The same camel coat he wore when you first met was hanging on the hook on the back of your door.

“Those gears in your head are turning darlin’.”

“Why’d you actually come here? I doubt it was just to buy me dinner.”

“Straight to business sugar? I do have to admit you’re not wrong about my intentions.” Whiskey pulled off his hat and sat it down on the coffee table. A hand went up to smooth his hair down and he turned to face you directly, a serious look on his face.

“As you’ve probably noticed Statesman Brewery is… different. We are a brewery but we’re also something more. First and foremost we are a secret independent intelligence agency.”

You choked and almost inhaled the gulp of water you were swallowing.

“I know it’s bizarre darlin’ but please don’t hurt yourself,” he said, placing a hand on your knee. “even if I wouldn’t mind doing some CPR on a catch such as yourself.” You gave him the standard look you gave him when he said these types of comments. “I wasn’t just throwing shit at you to scare you and those questions I asked? Bit of a verbal test if you will.”

“Okay now tell me the actual truth.”

“I’m serious Y/N.” his eyes darkened slightly. “You have the makings to be an agent.”

“And you think that because I caught some random crap you threw at me and because I can run a mile slightly faster than the average person?” you leaned against the couch, arms crossed. Whiskey seemed serious about what he was saying, but you weren’t fully convinced yet.

“You were at The Parking Lot on Tuesday.”

“Okay what the fuck are you stalking me now? More ‘background check’ stuff?” you said, making air quotes with your fingers.

“That was pure coincidence. Promise on my late mama’s soul.” Whiskey raised a hand and traced an ‘X’ over his heart. “I saw that ungodly man try to have his way. Was close to stopping things myself before I saw you twist his arm around his back. You were faster than a jackrabbit.”

“You saw that?”

“Sugar, the whole bar saw it. But even if the bar didn’t, I still would’ve. The second I saw you and your friend walk in, well, let’s just say I wasn’t interested in watching the football game anymore.”

Whiskey had been watching you. He saw you act fast and save yourself from that dick at the bar. Subconsciously you pulled your shoulders back and your heart swelled with pride.

“You showed him who’s boss.” Whiskey winked, repeating the phrase that seemed to keep coming up.

“Okay okay so let me get this straight. You’re some sort of secret agent, whose coverup is a business man in the alcohol industry.”

“So far so good sugar.”

“And you’re suggesting that I join this secret intelligence agency?”

“Not so much suggesting as I am insisting but other than that you’re right on the money.”

“Did you hire me as your assistant with the intent of offering me a position as an agent?”

“That, darlin’, was all you. You impressed me that night. Spoke to Champ and Ginger about it and convinced them that you’d be a good agent.”

“Champ and Ginger are agents too?” Your eyes widened. “Is Sara the receptionist one too?” Whiskey laughed at this question and your curiosity.

“No Sara is not an agent. Only a handful of people in the New York and California offices are agents. The rest of them are at the Kentucky branch.”

You paused thinking about your next question and looked down at your hands. You couldn’t help but fidget, anxious about how Whiskey would answer the next question.

“And what if I say no?”

“That’s not really an option.”

You swallowed hard and looked back up to meet Whiskey’s eyes. He had a serious look, but that seriousness slowly melted into something softer. Hope? Encouragement? Something else? He shifted on the couch so his knees touched yours.

“I have seen what you can do. You’ve got reflexes like a cat, almost broke a man’s arm.”

“He deserved it.” you grumbled.

“No arguments there darlin’. You have what it takes. Sure you’re gonna need training and whatnot but you’ll get the best of the best at Statesman. Besides, you’ll have the top teacher we have to offer. Me.” There was that million dollar smile again.

“Okay initially I was on board, but after hearing that I’ll have to spend more time with you? Kill me or dispose of me or whatever the ‘not option’ option is.” You jumped at the intense laugh that came out of the man in front of you.

“Darlin’ you’re breaking my heart.”

“And you’re breaking my sanity.” you rolled your eyes and started to put away leftovers from dinner. When you closed the door to the fridge you heard Whiskey’s voice in your ear.

“You haven’t said no.”

You turned around, practically chest to chest with Whiskey.

“Doesn’t really feel like I have a choice cowboy.” giving him a smirk. Whiskey reached around your waist to grab a pen that was on the kitchen counter. It felt like he was cornering you, but something inside you welcomed it. Whiskey scribbled on the notepad that sat next to the pen, ripped the page off, and pressed the paper into your palm.

“Pack your stuff for a week long trip. Meet me at that location on Monday morning at 6am.”

With that Whiskey turned and grabbed his coat and hat, making his way to the door.

“Sweet dreams darlin’.” he said, tipping his hat and closing the door behind him. You glanced down at the paper. His handwriting was much nicer than you were expecting. All that was on the paper was an address located in a really nice part of the city and a phone number. You could only assume it was Whiskey’s cell phone number. The only other thing on the paper was a small heart with a ‘W’ inside it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, but seeing that doodle made warmth spread across your chest.

taglist:  @absurdthirst @space-daddy-owns-me @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @littlemissoblivious @agingerindenial @mack4676 @loveforminato @thats-one-tender-foot @xwingsandohs @purplepascal042 @harami-mami @nova646 @lesbianlena @computeringturtle @cassandras-nest

[livixbobbiex]

So I got bored and made up a... kind of complicated but fun sounding BOTW challenge. It's a combination of permadeath and nuzzlocke, I think. More of a realism challenge.

General Rules

Permadeath

If you die, you're dead. You have to start again from the beginning.

Drowning and falling into the void are considered deaths

You can use fairies

Master Sword trial deaths don't count

Champion abilities

Mipha's grace can only be used once

Daruk's protection, Revali's gale, and Urbosa's fury can only be used three times

Once you see an ability recharge, you have to deactivate it

If you choose to complete Champions Ballad, you unlock the ability to use the abilities infinitely

Transport

You must set your HUD display to pro mode (removes the mini map and other information). You can open the slate to look at the map though

You can only register one horse through your entire playthrough. If it dies, you have to resurrect it

No ancient horse armour or bridal

You can only use the Sheikah Slate to teleport between towers (you have to climb it to use it), and you can use the travel medallion like normal, but otherwise no teleporting

Master cycle zero is allowed

General misc.

You must save all travellers from monster attacks if you see them

You must have at least one meal a day

Within reason, all food needs to be cooked. You can eat things like apples raw, but meat etc. needs to be cooked

You can't have the same meal two days in a row

No eating during combat. If you move a sensible distance away from the enemy you can refill health, but you can't just go to inventory right in the middle of a fight.

You should try and sleep every night. Fires, inns, stables, and Link's house are all options.

You may continue to travel through the night, but you can't pick anything up or fight any monsters, you just have to run away

The no night restriction can end in two ways: carrying a torch or flame weapon, or wearing special night armour (dark set, radiant set, upgraded sheikah set, tingle set)

Glitches and physics exploits

Nothing helpful is allowed

This includes BTB, wind bomb, moon jump, heart glitch, shield clipping etc. etc.

Flying machines are allowed, plus using magnesis to push things.

Armour

Combinations

With the exception of quest necessity, the following sets of armour can only be worn when you have all three pieces together:

Ancient set; Barbarian set; Climbing set; Dark set; Desert Voe set; Flamebreaker set; Gerudo set; Radiant set; Rubber set; Sheikah set; Snowquil set; Soldier's set; Zora set; Armour of the Wild; Tingle's outfit; Phantom set; Royal Guard set; Salvager set

The Hylian set and Worn set can be mixed and matched with the following items:

Champion's tunic; sand boots; snow boots; thunder helm; warm doublet; all jewellery; single DLC items

Banned

Majora's mask (Kilton's masks are still okay though)

You must fully upgrade and customise whatever armour you bring to the Calamity Ganon fight

Weapons, bows, and shields

Generally, once you break a weapon, you can never pick the same type weapon up again

Permanent exceptions

There is no limit to the following items:

Anything rusty; korok leaf; tree branch; wooden mop; pitch fork; farming hoe; fishing harpoon; boat oar; drillshaft; iron sledgehammer; woodcutter's axe; double axe; pot lid; torch; bone arms

If rusty weapons are cleaned by octorocks, you can keep whatever they turn into

Items that are directly dropped by bokoblins, moblins, lizalfos, Yiga clan, or wizzrobes

The master sword

Items given to you or sold by NPCs

One time exceptions. This means you can pick up any item in these cases, even if you've had it before, but after the blood moon you can't revisit the same location.

Anything used in the master sword trials and Eventide island

Chests

Items dropped by guardians in shrines

Special locations (such as hidden caves, mini games)

Hyrule Castle

Each mini boss (including lynels)

Main tasks

The main quest

You must complete the main quests

You must complete all memories

You must get the master sword

The master sword trials and champion's ballad are optional

Side quests

The following side quests must be completed:

Hylian Homeowner (Link's house); From the Ground Up (Tarrey town); By firefly's light, flown the coop, find the fairy fountain (to unlock the stolen heirloom); Hunt for the giant horse and The royal white stallion; Find Kheel; The korok trials; The priceless maracas; The statue's bargain; Medical molduga, The secret club's secret, The mystery polluter, Tools of the trade, The search for Barta (to unlock the thunder helm)

Permanent world changes

All towers

All shrines (and shrine quests)

All dog treasures

All fairy fountains

Hateno and Akkala tech labs

Unlock Kilton

All mini games

Basically any other permanent change task, minus korok seeds

Other tasks

Fully upgraded runes

Complete map

Well, good luck if anyone tries this!

[thatkidwhodreams]

Spidey Uno, Spidey Dos

After a long while I finally decided to post this because it’s my birthday (October 15). This fic is inspired by this picture I found in my camera roll from 2018 (it’s not mine btw). I might make this into a series and call it Shawter Shorts because that’s their ship name.

Peter Parker, Shawn Mendes.

Yes, you heard right. There were two spideys in town. 

You were best friends with both of them but one was the one you were dating, that was the gossip. Which one? None. Many people assumed there was some sort of polygamy going on because you were so close with the both of them. 

If only they knew. 

THAT YOU WERE NOT IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH EITHER OF THEM. 

Peter Parker, the one who you constantly told looked like Tom Holland. Of course, every time he’d say “no I don’t, I don’t even l know who that is. I’m my own dude, born and raised in Queens. Now I bet you Tom Holland isn’t from Queens.” You'd laugh and shake your head. 

Shawn Mendes, that dude could sing. Of course singing isn’t a necessity when you’re part of the Avengers but it was his special talent. One which no one else in that squad had and you loved him for it.

Of course there was that one time when Peter and Shawn were supposed to help guard the entrance so that the rest of the team could rescue you from your captors and all Shawn did was sing which nearly blew the whole thing off and got you killed. But it was all good. You didn’t die, Shawn nearly got murdered by the team but it was fine. 

It was a habit of Shawn’s to sing wherever and whenever he could. Let’s do the math, Shawn’s singing + Peter’s constant talking = mission set to fail. You loved both your best friends, you guys were the youngest of the avengers so you got along so well. But Shawn and Peter (aka Shawter) together is not the ideal combo. 

Of course they didn’t care and they loved hanging out with each other (minus the death threats every five seconds) so who were you to stop that?

You were currently at a cafe with the whole team and not surprisingly, the three of you took seats next to each other. You were on one end, Shawn was on the other and Peter was in the middle. The rest of the team were close but spread out a little. Peter was discussing to the both of you how he got a bad grade because of Ned and all you and Shawn could do was laugh.

“Of course Peter, blame Ned as the reason why you failed. You should have been studying rather than playing cops and robbers on your own.” Shawn said. 

Peter turned to him and put his hand over his mouth. “Shut up, you don’t want the grown ups to hear do you? Mr Stark will totally beat my ass.” You rolled your eyes at that. Peter had always been one for the over exaggeration and you were never afraid to tell his over dramatic ass to keep it to a minimum. That’s just how you guys were.

Shawn continued to laugh at his friend. “I am all for it. Seeing Peter get his ass whooped by Tony will be a real sight.” Shawn’s chest heaved up and down which caught Tony’s attention.

“Who’s getting their ass whooped by me Shawn?”

“No one Mr Stark, absolutely no one failed an exam and got a bad grade and may be getting scolded by you for playing around instead of studying.” Peter said frantically, avoiding eye contact with Tony.

You had to back the poor boy, he looked like he was going to piss his pants. You nodded and agreed with Peter. “Yes Uncle Stark, listen to every word Peter says. He is totally not lying.” Tony looked at the three of you, squinted his eyes at you alone to show his annoyance and then turned back to continue his conversation with Steve and Bucky. Of course Tony wasn’t actually your uncle, you just loved calling him that to push a few of his buttons.

“Phew that was close.” Shawn started singing one of his original songs and the one he was singing happened to be called “stitches” and the “I’ll be needing stitches” part definitely left Peter a little shaken up and fearing for his life if his secret came out. 

Once everyone had gotten their food and spent the billionaire’s cash you all got up and left. You didn’t get to spend time with the group as a whole because at least one of them would be too occupied with something else so this was nice. You all made your way back to the tower and you heard Shawn and Peter bickering again. You shook your head again and did everything possible to ignore them. 

When they were finally not together you finally had some peace and quiet. You knew Peter was in a room with Steve and you wanted to hear what they were talking about as you were quite the eavesdropper and what you heard shocked you.

“I really like her man. It’s been growing in the past few years and I might be in love with her.”

Peter was in love with someone? Never in a million years would you have thought Peter would fall in love but here you were. 

You knew that Peter liked someone and now the question was who?

Permanent taglist: @musicalkeys​

I hoped you liked it! Remember feedback is always appreciated!❤️

[peachy-inserts]

Oof! I love your writing! ❤️ Could I request HCs for Todoroki, Midoriya, and Bakugo, when their (s/o) is given a virus through a Villain’s quirk, and they have to be locked in quarantine for multiple days?

First quarantine request! Let me just say.. thank you.. for including Bakugou... baby boy

Midoriya:

Oh my gosh, even though you’re sick, it’s like he’s the one suffering. You’re sick??? Not good!!!

He’s literally so dramatic. Deku is sympathetic to a fault. Anything you do, he does so it’s ‘fair’. The moment he hears that you’re quarantined, he decides to stay home with you for the entirety of it. It’s a win win, because now you two get to spend extra time together, and he doesn’t risk getting the public sick since he’s coming in and out of your shared home

However, he’s not really the cleanest person. He’s got a good sense of what to do when there’s a virus, but expect a lot of phone calls to his mom. He’s not super panicked, just thinks that it kinda sucks

But hey! Quarantine can be fun when you’re with someone you love, so long as you have everything you need. He picks up a few necessities to last you through the next few days and then settles in at home

Deku handles it pretty well when he gets sick, so he spends the whole time worrying over you. Anything you need! Need some tissues? Hand sanitizer? Want a snack? Have some water! He’s got you covered for literally anything

Covered physically, too. Literally attached at the hip like a child. What can I say, it’s not that often you have this much time alone

Ok but… he ends up getting sick too before too long. A sick Deku is sort of out of his mind

Like he handles it pretty well, takes care of himself, and for the most part is relatively fine, except… he’s completely mental! Will be asking you the most bizarre questions, telling you how much he loves you, asking you about crazy stories that never even happened

Please help him… please

Did somebody say movie marathon? Because he’s totally having a movie marathon with you! Tries to make snacks and everything… well, he at least tried. Boy can’t cook for shit to be honest. But hey! It’s the thought that counts, nevermind that he just wasted all the food you can’t replenish yet due to being on lockdown

Todoroki:

Let’s be honest, he’s an anxious mess. He takes all of the standard precautions and such, but is still a little timid. He’s caring and all, but nonetheless tries to stay away from you. It’s not that he has a weak immune system or anything, but he simply can’t stand the thought of being sick

After a few days of quarantine he’s pretty much calmed down, sitting a small distance from you reading a book while you binge a tv show. Shouto is content with at least having you in the room with him; while he is incredibly touch starved, he’s also still a little come and go. He needs his space, and when you’re sick he’s willing to comply

That’s not to say he won’t keep you warm if you have a fever, though. Like I’ve mentioned before, he really loves it when you ask him to use his quirk to keep you comfortable. Given his upbringing and relationship with his own powers, it’s actually a lot better for him than you may think

Such a tough love guy though; the rest of the time though, he’s a softie -- so this comes totally out of the blue! He’s romantically submissive whenever he becomes comfortable with you, so it really is a shock when he tells you to get off of him and go back to sleep

I promise he means it with all the best wishes but the way it comes out of his mouth is just so cold, ouch! Tease him about it and he’ll be on his knees in apologies, but he still won’t budge. You’re sick, and you need rest. Exposing him isn’t good for the public, either, and he’s still got a job to do!

Once he gets a cough, though, it’s game over. The moment he feels even slightly ill he’s in the covers next to you, a shivering mess. Cuddle him please or he might actually cry out of frustration and pain. He’s a terrible patient!

Sick days with him though are honestly a dream. Minus the being sick and on quarantine of course, though. It’s cuddling and soft blankets all day long, drinking elusive teas and listening to soft music while he continues his book. If his throat isn’t gone, he’ll read it to you out loud

Bakugou:

Oh boy… even if you weren’t forced to be on quarantine before, you’re on total lockdown now

Katsuki is a clean freak! And knowing that there are germs? Uh oh… He, like Deku, also quarantines himself after getting some supplies and then proceeds to spend an entire week deep cleaning

Such a sweet asshole about it. Get in bed! I’ll do that for you! Stop trying to watch tv! I’ll keep you warm! He is just absolutely all over the place; he’s like a strict grandma to be honest. He just wants to keep you safe, and has his wits about him when it comes to these things!

For the first few days after the virus hits, he’s taking care of you at every second of the day, catering to anything you could possibly need and then some. He acts in a huff and like he’s being overrun, but in reality he’s the one offering to do it; if anything, you’ll be asking him to calm down and take a break

He knows that being there with you, he’s going to get sick eventually. His philosophy is that if he takes care of you and gets you back on your feet, you’ll be able to help him out, too. He’s not selfish, he just expects to get out what he puts in. It’s only fair! 

Video game competition?? Video game competition???? Hell yes! Katsuki hardly has time anymore to sit down and play a game, so this moment with you is one that he truly cherishes; it becomes a memory he thinks on and smiles, even if you beat him like 20 times in a row

Making spicy food to clear your sinuses because he’s evil… but only when you’re feeling well. The rest of the time, he’s setting up humidifiers beside your bed, giving you shoulder rubs, making you soup (listen we all know he’s a great cook, it just sucks that you don’t have an appetite) and so so much more

Tl;dr Katsuki is the perfect boyfriend when you’re sick and being quarantined

[beard-marine]

Importance Of Marine Air Conditioning In Jupiter And Miami, FL

Being a boat owner may fill one with pride and justifiably so. Spending a relaxing weekend on the water or traveling to an island in the hope of a fantastic vacation are made possible courtesy of a sailboat or yacht. Investing in a watercraft can be a brilliant business idea as well. The demand for charter tours is constantly rising, and numerous fishing trawlers are hoping to make a living by providing fresh fish and marine animals to the local market. Having a yacht ice maker in Deerfield Beach and Vero Beach, FL, onboard is essential regardless of the purpose behind operating the boat. ​ Indeed, the tourists on the boat clamor for ice-cold beverages, while a top celeb owning a yacht cannot be found without an iced drink in hand. The food stored in the kitchen and pantry needs to be kept refrigerated too. A portable ice maker may become essential when one needs extra ice immediately. Ditto for the fishing trawlers that can go without stocking enormous amounts of big ice blocks to keep the fish fresh while traveling to the nearest market. It is not too difficult to find an ice maker. The operator or the boat owner needs to make a wise purchase to fulfill the necessity without any additional hassle. The right way of picking the portable ice maker for use on a watercraft includes checking the following features:- · Speed- Guests or tourists on the boat are eager to have a fantastic time. Waiting for a long time for the ice to cool their drinks at the make-shift bar is likely to discourage them. This is a definite minus as one can lose business on account of ice cubes. It is thus advisable to opt for a quality ice maker that can provide ice within minutes. Using it repeatedly will help the tour operator/host to cater to a party. · Temperature- It is most important to remember that an ice maker does not double up as a refrigerator. It is thus essential to calculate the quantity of ice needed before using it for the first time. Sure, a hot and sultry summer sees the demand go up. Manufacturers recommend having enough space in the boat refrigerator to store additional ice cubes if it is impossible to spare 10 minutes waiting for the ice cubes to be formed. · Capacity- There are multiple varieties of ice makers available to be used on a watercraft. Tour operators recommend finding the right-sized ice maker that is portable and fully functional. A boat owner who travels solo for recreation may find a small ice maker sufficient for the needs. Charter boats require bigger sizes to cater to tourists. Likewise, for people who love to host parties and events. The interior of a boat is often cramped, making it difficult for the passengers to attain comfort without using superior marine air conditioning in Jupiter and Miami, FL. The best manufacturers offer maintenance services as well.

[wafflewarriors]

Runaway Winchester

Through all your years with the Winchesters, after running from demons and vampires and ghosts. After sticking up for one another and having each other's backs, it had never crossed your mind that you might run from them.

Here you were, bare necessities held by straps on your shoulders. A silver knife at your waistband and a loaded gun on your hip. A vial of holy water, a little bag of salt, an iron poker, all in your drawstring bag. Flannel, jeans, and steel toe boots were your current friends.

You stopped at a nearby bus stop. It was an hour wait until the next bus came, but you were confident you were far enough from the boys to relax a bit. Most shops were closed, so you just quietly minded yourself on the bench, admiring the crickets' songs and the soothing dark of the night.

To most hunters, the night was their enemy. But you couldn't see what was to blame it for. Despite the chaos that occured with monsters in the night, they also lurked the same amount in the day. There is an equal enough balance of time of day and monsters' activity that it was stupid to fear it. Fear the monsters, not the dark.

You were going to stay alert for this last trip and then crash at the next motel. You were covering your tracks alright, you thought. You had ditched most of your identification, minus your backup one that they weren't aware you even owned. You had set your phone to the bare minimum apps, only still with you to call emergency services if it ever came to that.

You were tired. Bone tired and ready to sleep, but not so exhausted that you couldn't wait an hour. You had to wait an hour. This was your only shot to cover up your trail. You'd been purposely leading the Winchesters east awhile, but you planned on do a 180° on them. You had a rough idea of what you wanted. To go far west, lay low in the country, help out at a farm to earn some kind of pay.

And avoid hunting at all costs.

Because that would lead the Winchesters right to you.

It wasn't that you hated them. It really wasn't. They were the bravest, best men you'd ever met. A little too selfless, a bit harsh, maybe... but good-hearted and well-meaning.

You just… you just didn't mix.

Specifically with Dean Winchester.

He said your music taste was terrible; he said that you were too girly, that he didn't want the chick flick moments; he always rejected your attempts at hugs, which usually were more for yourself than anything, and it made you feel worse when he withdrew and gave you stupid excuses; he offered you no reassurance when you failed at something because 'there's no room for mistakes' even though he made them everyday, more so than you ever did.

He was just so frustrating.

There were arguments. Over everything. So many long, tiresome circling arguments of the same topic like you were both in a time loop. There was always something to blame about you. You were too careful, or too pushy, too confident, too determined. Your personalities were polar to his and it led to heated discussions like whether they should gank the seemingly moral werewolf, or to run in a vamp nest on a whim.

Dean would always throw it in your face when you were too reckless. They would throw it in your face when you were wrong, and when you had screwed it up. Like you didn't know it already. Like you didn't tell yourself again and again a million times in your head, each day, every night. Reminding yourself of your failures so repeatedly that there was a rhythm to it. No, they didn't need to do it for you. That was already your job.

After those terrible arguments of raised voices and mean, glaring eyes, Sam would then try and console you. Honestly, it just made you feel worse. Even if he didn't try to, he always took Dean's side in the long run. He'd tell you what Dean really meant to say, without his swearing and impulsive wording. 

And every single time, you were in the wrong. It seemed as if the world was spinning in the opposite direction as you were.

So you left.

In fact, you didn't really question it. You just wanted to clear your head for a while. You didn't know how long… just… a while.

You knew they would look for you. And as much as you were a friend, you were also a responsibility. A chore. Something to save and protect and hoard. But you knew that if you waited long enough, a larger, meaner priority would come along and rip away their attention. And hopefully, they would slowly forget about you.

At least, that was your plan.

Still curled up against the bench, you felt a drizzle of rain against your face. And as your flannel began to soak with cold water, you wished you were still in the warm safety of the bunker with a leather jacket around your shoulders. A little laugh bubbled up and you let your hair shake and drip down onto your jeans in hilarity. 

It was a stupid wish.

///

After Dean called your name for the third time with no response, he was fed up. He was already livid; you had, once again, run into danger even though Dean had specifically told you to wait in the car. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but the ghost had been disemboweling young women for the past two straight weeks, and he had been admittedly nervous for you. Was that too much to ask?

He got out of his chair, throwing the useless, stupid research on the glowing table map thingy that he hadn't really named yet. He went marching over to your room, irritation carved into every feature of his face. He said while throwing open your door, "I swear if you don't come out of here, we are going to have some issu—"

You weren't there.

He spent several seconds blinking at the scene, and it took several more to connect the dots. Dean ended up standing there for twenty seconds, bow legged and leaning against the doorframe. His irritation quickly melted into a look of utter bafflement. Where..? Nobody was in the kitchen. Nobody was in the war room. Nobody was…

Your room was empty. Too empty. Kind of a spotless empty. You weren't a very neat person. There was always a little clutter, usually a flannel or two thrown about. You weren't a slob, you were on the road too much for that, but you were never this excessively clean.

From bafflement, came fear. His eyes widened, his mouth too, and soon he was shouting your name through the bunker.

Dean's heart stuttered when he heard footsteps. He breathed, "Oh, thank—"

But it wasn't you. It was Sam.

"What is it?" His brother asked.

The million dollar question.

Sam became concerned as the silence grew and he continued to observe the panic drawn in Dean's eyebrows. "Dean?"

"She's gone," Dean blurted. "She's… she's… her room's spotless, and her gun, and her knife, and her—" Dean tugged at his hair and swore. Loudly.

"Hey, calm down. We'll find her."

Dean shook his head. "We taught her all there is to know about hiding."

"Yeah. We taught her. We know all her tricks."

"Knowing her tricks and knowing how to get around them is a lot different, Sam! How are you going to track a disabled cell phone? Huh? And how, pray tell, are you going to track someone who usually makes all the ID scams? She probably has ID's we don't know exist! Sam, she could be anywhere."

Sam look lost in thought. "She always liked the country," he murmured.

"What?"

"Dean, come on, think. Her country music that you always complain about? She grew up on a farm before she started hunting. Come on, you know that. She loved it."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Of course it doesn't. God, Dean, no wonder she left! You don't pay any attention to her!"

He scoffed. "Course I do."

"Yeah? Then what's her favorite color?" Sam asked quietly. He looked down at his brother with a disappointed look.

Dean decided he hated that look. "Her favorite color? Come on, what are we, second graders?"

"You don't know," Sam whispered in an uncomfortably sad awe, like Dean forgot his birthday or something mushy like that.

Dean decided he did not like that at all. "Blue," he said, trying to sound confident. But as Sam's face fell further, and all that confidence deflated like a popped balloon. His brother had on those stupid puppy eyes of his and it was giving Dean a headache.

"It's green," Sam told him. "You know why?"

"Why."

Sam leaned up against the wall, amazed. "She likes your eyes. She thinks they're nice."

Dean's ears must have malfunctioned. "What?"

"I can't believe you are that clueless. For someone who constantly dishes out pickup lines and hooks up with girls, you sure can't read her, can you?" Sam shook his head and decided to lay it out as flat and as plain as he possibly could for Dean's sake. "She likes you, idiot."

Dean's face was unreadable. His stupid head wasn't computing any of this. All his mind could do was could do was ask stupid, stupid questions. Why did she leave? She liked me? Do I even listen to her? Do I yell too much? Do I dismiss her? But there was one he couldn't help but single out. One he couldn't help but pour his focus to: Why didn't I take it easy on her?

Dean's face finally broke into one of overwhelming regret. "What have I done, Sammy?"

///

Just three days after settling at an orchard with the Carter family, you were finally finding yourself again. Finding your usefulness. Sure, the days stretched long and hot, but each one was as rewarding as the last. You were healing from the hunts, slowly, but surely.

It felt really good. Like, really good. Healthier than you'd been in weeks. Rich, homemade meals, and no fast food made you feel incredible. You even managed a regular sleep schedule, and while it wasn't perfect, it was something. Nightmares still plagued you, but they felt far away. Unreachable in such a wonderful home and environment.

You forgot how much you missed the country.

The Carter family was extremely kind to you. You simply had asked them for a bit of shelter from the rain and they took you in under their wing without question.

They were so wonderful that the Winchesters probably would have been suspicious. And as much as you didn't want to be skeptical, the hunter side of you was screaming. This punch in the gut feeling that something wasn't right, something wasn't normal. And you couldn't shake it.

But this happened all the time with hunts, didn't it? And then you would screw everything up to a gut feeling. So maybe this time you could just forget it. You were sick of messing up. You deserved this. This little bit of happiness.

They were older, late sixties, but so pure and kind hearted. Mrs.Carter made pies, and it reminded you of Dean. While Mr.Carter would often read in his lonesome, and you couldn't help but think of Sam.

Was this what they were? Replacements?

This? This gut feeling was just a little home-sickness. You weren't used to the eerie silence; you were used to blasting 80's music, the rumble of the Impala, or the tap of keys on a laptop. Hell, you were used to Dean shouting at you.

Here, you were without the faint smell of whiskey and instead sweet hay. The country had become so unfamiliar that half of you had shut down. You had locked the door and chucked the key into the farthest reaches of your mind, because it hurt. You lost your home and farm to supernatural creatures, and had lost yourself in the world of hunting. You forgot the peaceful life that came with the country.

You traced the symbol carved into the bed frame. Where had you seen this before? It was clearly old, and you'd seen it several times throughout the farm. On the barn doors, the mailbox, even the front door. What was it? Why couldn't you remember?

See? Again, here you were, doubting the Carters. You couldn't believe yourself.

You opened your phone. Six missed calls from Dean were painfully lit up on your lock screen. Biting your lip, you turned off airplane mode. Hovering your finger over the 'call' button when you heard someone shouting your name.

It was dinnertime. 

You had tossed your phone on the bed, scoffing at how ridiculous you were, doubting such wonderful people.

You made your way to the kitchen, where a beautiful meal was laid out for the family. You were just amazed at how fantastic the food was. It was like a dream Thanksgiving. Heavenly mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, stuffing, and a large, golden roast. You didn't know where to start.

"Wow," you whispered.

Mr. Carter patted you on the shoulder. "Please, eat as much as you'd like."

The food was good, as always. Really good. And after you were satisfied, you began to excuse yourself and walk to the sink to put your plate in.

"Where are you running off to?" Mrs. Carter asked. "There's still desert!"

You paused. "Oh, no, I'm okay—"

"I insist," she said, putting a plate of pumpkin pie at your seat. Just as you were about to protest, she set a spoonful of whipped cream on top of the giant slice.

A bit reluctant, you sat back down, carefully picking up your fork and taking a bite of the pie. You supposed you could eat it, if it would make her happy.

She beamed at you. "You were such a scrawny thing when you came here. Now look at you! Full meals! I nice bed to sleep on!"

You slowly nodded. "Thank you for all this, really, but I think I'll get out of your hair tomorrow morning." Something felt off. You didn't really know. But this gut feeling wasn't disappearing.

Mr. Carter sighed. "Unfortunately, we can't let you do that."

You were completely frozen. You had your fork in your mouth, staring up at them in something akin to terror.  You were internally cursing yourself for not trusting your instincts.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHY THE WINCHESTERS WERE RIGHT, something inside you screamed.

You had thought something in the whipped cream tasted funny. Good thing you just kept on eating, idiot. This is why Dean is so harsh on you. This is why you shouldn't have run away.

"Just let it sink in. You'll feel so much better," someone cooed in your ear. "So much better."

You didn't like it. All you could hear was the rattled sound of your panicked, shallow breath, and you realized your eyes were closed.

"So much better."

///

Sam and Dean were on their own little search party for three days.

Dean was antsy. "Sam, I don't know, maybe she's not here. There are so many other towns with farms."

"This is where the bus got off. Dean, look: I mapped out the entire bus system and this is the shortest and easiest way to get anything near the country. She has to be here."

"I know, it's just, where is she then? We checked twenty-two families already. Twenty-two, Sam!"

"I know, but I have this… I dunno, this gut feeling that we missed her, and I—" 

"The Carters'." Dean cut Sam off, eyes flashing with horrified realization. "That—that symbol on their front door. I couldn't put my finger on it, but those are for pagan gods, Sam."

Sam shifted his feet. "How do you know for sure?"

"Don't you remember the scarecrow? The… the…  That town that took couples and sacrificed them? There was that book on pagan gods. But I saw that symbol." He shook his head. "I knew I had seen that symbol somewhere, damn it. I should have said something."

"You're saying the Carters' could have kidnapped her?"

"It's a start."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jeez."

"Yeah, no kidding."

///

You came to with a blazing headache. You managed a squinty glare, keeping what little dignity as you watched your captors defiantly.

"There you go, little hunter." Someone's hand, their cold, clammy hand, rested on your shoulder. "We saw your little bag. You're a hunter, aren't you?"

You didn't respond, finding little reason to.

"Yeah, we thought so."

This guy was getting on your nerves fast, so you decided to bluff. "Sam and Dean, they're going to be pissed when they find me. I'd watch out if I were you."

Mr.Carter came into view. "I don't think you believe that, do you? You came here to hide. And it sounds to me like you did a pretty good job of it."

Your jaw clenched. "They're coming."

"Sure they are. You keep telling yourself that," Mrs.Carter murmured. "Hope they come soon. Our boy, here? Trust me, he's very hungry. A century of fasting does that to you, dear." Her smile was deceivingly warm. "Think he'll like that pumpkin pie, dearest?"

Mr.Carter grinned. "How couldn't he?"

You were so uncomfortable and lost and scared. How did you get here? Why couldn't you have just chosen the next farm over? Why does stupid hunter luck always lead you to monsters? From their conversation, it sounded like they were making a sacrifice. And something was going to eat you. Alive.

Through your evergrowing panic also came disappointment with this reality. Maybe this was God's will. Maybe he wanted you dead. Maybe this was good—you wouldn't be a problem for the Winchesters any longer, right? A lone tear tracked down your face—God, I don't wanna die.

The Carters would see to it that you did, though.

And this time, the Winchesters weren't going to find you. You had made sure of it. Your tracks were covered, so unless they got really innovative, they weren't going to track you down. To find you, you'd have to practically map out every route you could have taken.

As if they had the time to do that.

You worked your hands at the bindings, but your wrists and ankles were raw and sore. The knife stored in your pocket was too far from your hands to reach, so you were helpless. How the hell did Dean escape all the time?

You hurt a rattle of chains in the caged room in front of you. It was a dark cell, and the light was too murky to see what lied beyond the curtain. But there was a silhouette, and from what you could see, it wasn't human.

"It's a rabid werewolf, if you're curious." Mrs.Carter cooed at you, tracing your chin. "It won't hurt all that bad. Really dear."

Liar.

It was then that a chime rang through the house. The doorbell. The Carters sent you a wide eyed look, but before they could threaten you, you let out your loudest, shrillest scream.

///

Sam brought his hand to the doorbell, hesitating. "Dean, if she's not in there, we'll just be attacking an innocent family. Are you sure those markings are legit?" He couldn't see beyond the door of old wood and screen, only that the light was on and there were, in fact, people home. That wasn't much to go on.

"Sam, I'm sure. Let's do this, c'mon. Ring the doorbell. She could actually be in trouble right now."

Sam swore under his breath and pressed the button, listening to the soft chime echo throughout the house.

And after a pause, they heard a scream.

Both their eyes flashed. Dean kicked down the flimsy door, shoving past the kitchen to the source of the noise. As did Sam.

///

To your relief, you heard a thud from upstairs. The Winchesters had actually found you. They had kicked the door down and they were coming for you. They were coming. That was the only possibility because the Carters were petrified.

The cage jolted behind you. Before you could let out another yell for help, you were slammed to the ground. Mrs.Carter forced a cloth into your mouth and you gagged around it. She brought a belt around your neck and pulled, choking you and lugging you toward the cage. You struggled, kicking your feet at nothing and clawing at your throat, but whatever monster she was, she was much stronger than you.

By the time your face was red from a lack of air, there was a rapping of shoes against the wood of the stairs, and finally Sam was sprinting down the staircase. He wielded a stake in his right hand. Dean came down a second after. Sam lunged for Mr.Carter while Dean took on Mrs.Carter.

Both (pagans, you now assumed) fought hard, hissing and spitting at the hunters. But the Winchesters were trained fighters. Dean staked Mr.Carter right in the chest, growling as he twisted the stake into the monster's flesh. Mrs.Carter, however, wasn't staked in time, because she managed to snag the cage's lever. The cage yawned, and there was a pause. Then, the beast flew out at Sam, howling and slashing.

You gasped, grateful, but terrified. "Werewolf!" You hoarsely called. "It's a werewolf!"

Dean took a second to process that, but the second he did, the werewolf had two silver bullets to the chest.

The beast rocked, freezing in confusion and pain before it fell back.

"Timber," Dean said sarcastically. He made his way over to you, stepping over the corpses. "Are you… good? They didn't hurt you?"

You coughed, rubbing your sore neck but mostly alright. "I think I'm in one piece."

"Good." He threw down a hand.

You took his offer, wincing as he helped you to your feet, and you wavered a little.

He sent you that look.

You were quick to assure him. "Uh… she was dragging me. Lifted my shirt and scraped my back against the floor." You adjusted your rumpled shirt. "It's nothing."

Dean crossed his arms. "It's not nothing. None of this is nothing. Why the hell did you leave?"

"Because I screw everything up! I'm a liability, Dean. Every hunt you either bench me or I get captured or hurt or something, and that makes me a weakness in the next hunt. I'm pulling you down. I can't even leave right! I can't do anything without you having to swoop in and keep my ass out of trouble." You took a long needed breath, feeling weightless. "I don't want you to feel like I'm your responsibility. Like I'm just another chore."

Sam's face tightened. "You don't actually think—"

"I was trying to make this easier. I was trying to stay hidden, so that you two would give up and actually move onto things that are important. You guys constantly have things on your mind and you can't afford a distraction."

Dean and Sam's frowns both deepened.

"Look, I'm really grateful for this. I literally almost got fed to the wolves, here. But how in hell did you find me?"

Sam shifted. "We tracked all the routes you could have taken. I figured you'd always loved the country. We talked with a few families—"

"Twenty-two," Dean cut in.

"—er, yeah, twenty-two. Um, but Dean remembered the pagan symbols, so we figured this was the place. Turns out we were right, thank god."

You deflated. "I... saw those. Didn't think they meant anything." They always mean something. Do your goddamn research next time instead of blindly trusting a family that so generously takes you under their roof. You really thought people other than monsters would do that?

You brought your eyes up, observing them. And then a little part of you thought, they did that.

Yeah, they did. The Winchesters took you as their own. Maybe that's why you put your blind faith into these monsters, because they had reflected your life with the boys. Maybe the monsters did that on purpose, luring in their prey with things they loved and missed.

The Winchesters were confused and hurt, and probably didn't understand, but you were still family. With time, they would work around this.

"We'll work around this," Sam said, as if he had read your mind.

Sometimes, you wondered if this life was just a dream. That all these events were so coincidental, that there was always a monster around the corner and a Winchester at the next, ready to save you.

"You're not a burden. You're family and you're a hunter. That means something. If nobody made mistakes on hunts, there would be nothing to learn from. Nothing to grow off of. Listen, you can't have possibly made more mistakes than Dean or me, and you certainly aren't less forgivable. You do remember I started the Apocalypse, right?"

"We both did, Sammy," Dean said, nudging him.  He looked at you thoughtfully, and then pulled you into a tight hug.

You were too shocked to say anything.

"Hey I’m really sorry if I made you feel less important. That’s not what I wanted. You just scare the hell outta’ me and I don’t know… I get scared for you. I know this hunter life is scary and unpredictable, but nobody can do it alone. Nobody. That's a lesson Sam and I have learned after years and years of mistakes in this life. The mistakes don't end, and neither do the monsters, but if we got each other, we can learn to solve these problems together, alright? You got me?" He kissed your forehead. "God, I love you kid."

You allowed yourself a little happiness in his arms. But after a moment, you couldn't help it. "Damn." You paused. "Did you just have a chick flick moment?"

"No."

"You totally did!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam, back me up here."

Sam laughed. "It's okay, Dean. We all know you're a softie."

Dean scoffed, but soon he was laughing too. He clapped a hand on your back.

"Let's go get some pie. Pie solves everything."

He was right. It did.

And by God, did he blast country music the whole way home.