#Good ol' boys

[endlessbittersweetdreams]

"Good Ol' Boys" (Christian Kane & Jensen Ackles)

One of my favorite moments in season 15 of "Supernatural."

And here's a nice little fan video that I found.

[midnight-star-world]

Josh Turner - This Country Music Thing

#CountryMusic

So today on the MSR (Midnight Star Review), I will like to talk about the latest Country Music Album from Country Music Singer Josh Turner. The new album is titled "This Country Music Thing" and was released on Friday August 16th, 2024, but as always before we dive into new 11 track project. Let's talk about Josh's career highlights for a little bit first.

Some of the biggest hits from Josh are songs like "Your man", "Good ol' boys", & "Why don't we just dance". Other big hits from Josh as well include songs like "Long black train", "Me and God", & "Time is love". But before we dive too far off track, let's jump back to this new CD next.

The title track is "This Country music thing", "Down in Georgia", & "If you ain't with me". Other songs from this album you should also check out include "I just wanna kiss you", "Somewhere with her", & "Whirlwind" The stand out songs in my opinion are "Heatin' things up", "Two steppin' on the moon", "Pretty please", & "Unsung hero". He also mentions Country Music Legends Randy Travis, & John Anderson. Josh had a hand in co-writting 3 out of 11. Rhett Akins also co-wrote as well. Let's see the rest of the track list up next.

Track list.

Down in Georgia.

If you ain't with me.

I just wanna kiss you.

Heatin' things up.

This Country Music thing.

My side.

Two steppin' on the moon.

Somewhere with her.

Whirlwind.

Pretty please.

Unsung hero.

And that's a wrap for the track list. And on the MSR (Midnight Star Review), I would give this new album a 4 out of 5 stars. Pretty good album that just needed a little more in my opinion. There are 3 stand out songs in my opinion. Thanks for taking the time to read this review. See ya all next time.

[canisalbus]

✦ I've been saving all my summers for you ✦

[wishfulsketching]

They both need a nap

[peachesandcreames]

A Good Ol' Southern Boy 🔥🥵

[casart]

..•Perception Distorted•..

[surreal-duck]

some business to take care of

[shotmrmiller]

taking that kink quiz thing with cbf!Johnny as a joke and swapping phones. He goes abnormally silent, reading each one of your results 10 times.

he's a big goof and is all about the gaffs usually so sitting there in complete silence, set brow and blank face is unnerving. even the usual bouncy leg he tends to have is absolutely still.

until he reaches like breeding kink or something i know he aint reading nothing else like that's all she wrote now take your clothes off before they get ripped off.

[pistachi0art]

biblically accurate Barney digital sketch

[dollypopup]

that 'have you ever been punished as a child?' line Pen drops hits different when you realize that in the books, Colin was horsewhipped by his father the morning before he died and then went to Eton where they literally had something called 'flogging Fridays' during the time he attended

like Julia, Miss. Quinn, what do you mean you just threw that information in as a random throwaway line that is never mentioned again? do you not realize how WILD that makes Colin's background?

He was twelve years old??? His dad saw him hitting Eloise and then horsewhipped him, and after horsewhipping his twelve. year. old. son. he then goes to comfort Eloise by taking a walk with her and the bee stings him and he fucking dies

Colin would be out here blaming himself for that death forever are you kidding me???? Wondering if he didn't hit his sister (when they're children playing together), would his Dad still be alive? Would he still have gone on that walk? Would he still have passed away as Colin sat sobbing in the stables, hurt by his hand?

And then he goes to Eton where the only time he had off was 3 weeks around Christmas, but still has to stay there, and 3 weeks in the summer when he can finally go home to Aubrey Hall?

This timeline is BONKERS. Like. . .we know Edmund dies not too long before Hyacinth is born, and she's born May/June. Colin's birthday? Yeah, it's in March. So you mean to tell me, the order of events of all this mess could be as followed: Edmund horsewhips Colin when he's 12 years old (sometime before March), he DIES that same day, Colin turns 13 (in March), Hyacinth is born (in June), and not a few months later Colin has to go to Eton (after the summer break. Social season is Spring and Summer, and ends either July or August, so let's be merciful here and say he leaves in August) and doesn't come back for an entire year?

You mean to tell me this boy has had what? Half a year to get over his father's death after he whipped him for a minor infraction and then he's waltzing into an institution where canings and whippings and floggings and bullying are the norm when he's a teeny tiny little boy?

How is this man not filled to the GILLS with trauma???? No wonder he's so close to his mum and listens to the women around him more than the men and never talks about his dad. And he still turns out so nice and empathetic and kindhearted? He still listens so much to Pen and is so gentle with her and has a good sense of humor and cares so deeply?

That man is never raising a hand to their children. He probably won't even raise his voice at their children. Oh my god.

[thenaturalfriends]

Greg: It's gone from being a bit weird, cause I just called him 'Good Boy' one day--and afterwards he went, "Good Boy?!?"--and now we really only call each other Good Boy. And I do think we are good boys. Alex: Course we're good boys! Greg: I do think we are. Alex: We're good boys.

Bless @ninaolive for posting this video from the S17 New York Q&A.

[forlorn-crows]

𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏 & 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔

pairing(s): ivy/cowbell words: 795 rating: everyone

notes: cowbell is nonverbal, but has his own system of sounds for communication. for @wrathofrats who i know hasnt been feeling the best lately. here's some sickfic boys for you ♡

Ivy cracks open the door, careful to glide past the creak in the hinges in case his mate is sleeping. “Bellflower?” he calls into the dark room.

There’s a slight rustle in the blankets, but otherwise no response.

Ivy squints. “You sleepin’?”

Another rustle, the mass of blankets shifting until the bright flash of an eye peeks out between the folds of fabric. It’s a mistake on the other earth ghoul’s part, though, because he screeches and groans, turning away from Ivy. 

Ivy sighs. “Can’t hide from me forever, sweetheart. C’mon, up.” He walks over to the curtains, parting them just enough to let a sliver of cool afternoon light filter in. 

Under the blankets, Cowbell hisses. 

“I made you the canned soup with the sta-a-r-ss,” Ivy sing-songs. Cowbell, many weeks ago, had snuck a can into the den after seeing it in the Sibling’s pantry, no doubt stocked for some of the children still running around the abbey. Ivy turned his nose up at it (even though it did smell delicious), but Cowbell slurped it down in three to four gulps with the roundest eyes he’s ever seen. Like a dog’s eyes widening as it licks whipped cream from a cup.

Consequently, he’s been fixated on it ever since, to the point that Omega had to make sure it was on their grocery list. Ivy doesn’t understand it—he could make so many better, more hearty, more fulfilling soups than this. But he thinks it may be the only way to get the other ghoul to eat anything at the moment. 

Ivy watches Bell’s horns hesitantly pop out from the covers. A curious trill follows. The bribe is working. 

“Mm-hm. But’cha have to get up if you want it.” 

Cowbell sighs. Clicks through a series of sounds that translate to Fiiiiine, give me the soup.

“That’s the spirit, bellflower,” Ivy smiles. He sets the soup on the desk he scooted across the room to serve as a bedside table while Cowbell’s been equally voluntarily and involuntarily bed-bound. Ivy draws the covers slowly away from his eyes, chirping when his eyes and nose are revealed. “Hi darlin’, let’s get you set up.”

Though Cowbell grumbles again, he lets Ivy set him up against the headboard, cushioned by pillows and still tucked into the comforters. Warm fingers brush away the jagged wisps of hair away from his slightly damp forehead, which are swiftly replaced with a cool washcloth smoothing over his face. 

Bell hums a relieved mmm, leaning into his touch. 

Ivy cocks his head, considering his mate’s condition. “Seems like your fever’s finally breaking. Still feelin’ hot?”

He whistles through his teeth. A little.

“Better than ‘on fire’ like yesterday.” Ivy trades the cloth for the bowl of soup, precariously climbing onto the bed into the space beside him. “Alright, open up.”

Cowbell sticks his tongue out between his fangs, making a sound that’s a cross between a growl and a screech, reaching for the spoon.

Ivy rolls his eyes, holding tight to the utensil. “I know you can do it yourself. But don’t pretend like you wouldn’t immediately toss this spoon aside and drink straight from the bowl, you little devil.”

He hisses. But instead of looking threatening, Cowbell slips into a lung-clearing cough. 

“And that’s why I’m not lettin’ you do that,” Ivy says pointedly, trying very hard not to sound like a mother scolding her child. 

By Lucifer’s grace, Cowbell recovers from the coughs quickly, narrowing his eyes at his mate but ultimately allowing him to spoon warm, sodium-ridden soup into his mouth. It only takes four or five spoonfuls before he’s purring, closing his eyes in appreciation with every swallow. 

“Laaaast one,” Ivy says softly once the bowl is empty, making sure to scoop up all the star noodles that are left stuck, catching them all with the spoon. Cowbell’s eyes are droopy as he takes them off the spoon, comforting warmth no doubt radiating from his belly. “Good?”

He trills and licks his lips, reaching for Ivy as soon as he sets the bowl down. He whistles a low tone, pulling him close. Cuddle.

“Do ya always gotta pull me into your sickbed, Bells?”

An indignant chirp, limbs still grabbing. Yes.

Ivy smiles fondly and shakes his head. “Alright. A little cuddle.” Ivy guides him back down into bed, stealing a pillow for himself as he slips under just one of the blanket layers. Instead of tucking himself into the crook of Bell’s neck like he normally would, he opts to cuddle around his middle, pressing his lips to his (now warm) belly. He presses his nose to his hip and hums, closing his eyes.  

“Get some sleep, bellflower.” Above him, Cowbell trills and threads his spindly fingers through Ivy’s hair.

[astracora]

The Cat Curse - MC Edition

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Heavy hurt|Some comfort, Semi-canon compliant heart condition, Spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content).

Word Count: 4170

Written: 23rd December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Monster, by STARSET

Masterlist

Next ->

You've been responding to his messages, Sylus notes, but something's off. He's been away on some inane business trip, ever since you, the doctor, the fish, the prince and he had visited a new kitty cafe opening. He rarely gets to see you visibly excited, you are worse at showing your feelings on your face than he is. Whenever you're faced with animals, of any kind, even Mephisto, your eyes sparkle and you could easily spend hours upon hours sat with them. Even more so if they let you pet them.

The first time you'd seen the evol kitties, according to the doctor, you'd been unsure. They didn't look like cats. Something off and a little wrong, but they mewed at you and straight away you'd gently stroked their noses. As if unable to hold back.

Since then you would drag any of them along to play kitty cards. You didn't like the game, had no patience for strategy, but you did like petting the cats. Sitting there between every round, barely looking at the board, and tickling small whiskers. Much to the fish's distress.

While Sylus doesn't really care if he wins or loses around you, he's almost assured a win when playing with you because it's simply not something you care about. Distracted and unbothered by the game. He's only relieved that when he sprouted ears and a tail (of the caracal kind), you had been just as enamoured with those. Finally smothering him in affection in the same way, and being distracted by his tail. Though he'd never confess to competing with cats, at this point it's just an everyday occurrence.

He found he enjoyed playing most with the doctor, unlike when the man played with you, he took no soft approach with Sylus, and it was fun to butt heads with him. Stubborn as they both could be. That left you to lean your head on the fish's lap, the prince asleep against your side already, and play with cats, to a backdrop of 'You're cheating', 'I'm simply better at this than you.', 'If you would stop getting distracted-' that you mostly blocked out.

Rounds later, he paid the bill before anyone else got chance to, and picked up some cakes to take back.

Then he'd had his business trip to attend, having moved things around so on your rare day off, you could see everyone. It was never fun to drop you off, Sylus missed you anytime he could not see you, and though he was prideful, he had been honest about not being able to sleep without the sound of your voice. A confession you'd flushed at and tugged at one of the straps of your prosthetic.

He'd watched you waver over how to respond, biting at your lip, and fidgeting, as you fought against your urge to run away from him.

Trying didn't come easy, you'd told him. Honesty and openness, it got even harder when you'd lost your family, it got easier with every day you were given room to breathe by all of them, and every friend you held dear to your 'broken' heart. He didn't want to dig, or poke at old wounds, not now you were trying to live... but he often saw too much of himself in you.

Whether it was because of the way you'd grown up, or his soul inside of you, it made him even more careful and aware of offering you what you offered him.

"I'll miss you too, Sy. Call me, alright?" Your finally settled on, cool metal hand taking his in yours and squeezing. Before he'd left you, reluctant and complaining, he'd pressed kisses over your face, down your neck, and finally pushed you to the wall of your apartment building, to steal all the air from your lungs. Thigh holding you up, as he tangled his hands in your hair.

When he'd tried to pull away, he couldn't quite, leaning back in once, twice, three times, chasing the warmth of your mouth. Over and over.

You'd laughed, pushing him back to breathe, gasping, "It's a week. We'll be fine for a week."

A week... you aren't possessive enough, he thinks, spinning his pen in his hand. Half listening to Luke and Kieran talk. He feels as though he's emptied and lost, missing parts of what makes him who he is, and your messages feel... the same.

He could be reading into it... you're not exactly one to put your heart on your sleeve, or cling. You're independent because you've had to be, and he still hasn't had enough time to get you to lean all of your weight on him.

So he sends a message into the group chat without you, made in order to plan surprises or outings.

🐦‍⬛: Is everything ok back home?

⛄️: Aren't you busy?

🐦‍⬛: I'm taking a break.

They don't have to know he's tuning out his business partners, hoping they'll talk themselves out so he can leave.

🐠: lucky, some of us have r busy

🐠: [Attached photo]

🐦‍⬛: Please tell me that's not paint on my walnut table.

🐠: won't answer u then

⭐️: looks more colourful now

He rubs the space between his eyes, already dreading returning to the mess, and regretting letting the fish use his space for storing work while his studio is being fumigated. The partners at the table tense at his action, but he doesn't bother sparing them a glance, so they relax and resume talking.

🐦‍⬛: Is anyone going to answer my question?

⛄️: Is there a reason you're asking?

He hesitates, it's just a feeling, if he worries everyone, and it's nothing...

No, he didn't get this far by not trusting his instincts.

🐦‍⬛: Kitten's messages have felt off.

Two exclamation reactions are his instant response, the fish and prince. They start to type, then stop, then start again.

🐠: what way?

⭐️: have U called them?

⛄️: Calm down, they took some time off work because of a cold.

🐠: y didn't anyone tell us?

⛄️: I thought they would have asked Tara to contact you, or contacted you themselves?

🐦‍⬛:  They didn't.

⭐️: ive been on mission for a couple of days, i can stop in tomorrow when its over

He puts his phone down too forcefully and looks at the room. He's... irritated. Not like he normally is when it comes to you, a childish way where he can't have enough as he likes from you. Like you're a toy he cannot stop playing with. He's almost angry, but mostly sad.

He's been patient, surely you can at least talk to him if you feel sick?

Sylus is done with this trip, he's bored of listening to people talk nonsense, and he has no need for anything they have to offer. "We're done here, Luke. Kieran."

Waving his hand absently and ignoring protests behind him, he leaves the room, phone in hand.

🐦‍⬛: I'm coming back now.

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

Jenna had sent you home, it's not the first time she has. You're terrified one day she'll get bored of having to keep track of your health. Or you'll really let her down, and get you... or more importantly someone else, hurt.

It's probably not a normal mindset to worry so much about what your boss thinks, or to fear disappointing them like they're your parent.

It's not like you have parents to know what's that like... but gran's disappointment every time you got into fights growing up... well it was enough.

Caleb used to cover for you, within reason. He lectured you, told you to pull yourself up and figure it out. That fighting every battle against every jerk you met, reckless and stupid, would get you killed. "Come on pipsqueak, use that energy for something better. Something worthwhile."

So many reasons you didn't want to or couldn't, you wanted to tell him... a hand clenched over your chest.

You were so tired of disappointing them both though, so tired of seeing worn eyes tending to cuts and bruises. Bandaging your back, or fixing the set of your arm.

Being a hunter was that answer. If you used what little life you had in you, unsure when your busted up heart would give out finally, then you could greet Caleb and Gran with pride. Your life was a tool, to make others better.

So every day you weren't working, felt like a day you were failing them... failing to be worth anything other than the core in your chest. A vessel with no purpose or value but to hold something you hated. That could kill you.

It wasn't like you could work like this though... you'd laughed at your partners when they'd sprouted ears and tails. Especially Raffy, he'd been so disgruntled at the fate that had befallen him. This was... probably karma. Pointed, soft ears on top of your head, pinned back against your skull. Pristine white, so they at least blended into your hair.

At your back, a bristled tail, huge and furry... already having picked up some dirt to sully what had been pure white.

It hadn't settled since it had appeared, and you wondered what that said about you...

Fucked up mess. Stupid fool. Useless.

Too loud, everything was too loud. You could hear your neighbours through the walls, all the cars below your apartment, every child crying, dog barking, cat mewling.

It hurts.

You covered your ears with your hand, but noise filtered in through the new set you'd acquired.

Hurts.

You'd grown accustomed to the state of your heart. If you don't pay attention you can miss something, and you care now... perhaps you always did, just too raw like an open wound to let yourself.

It's racing and panicked. You don't need your hunter's watch to know it's too fast. 

Burying yourself into your bed, you cover your head with the duvet, grab at your headphones to shove them into your ears, turning them as loud as they can go, and bury your head under the pillows.

Your phone buzzes at your side, and you don't want to touch it. Scared to leave the cocoon you've built for yourself.

You'd begged Tara to tell Zayne you were sick with a cold, that you would be fine soon. She'd given you a heartbroken look that had made you bristle further, pity. Always pity.

You didn't want pity.

Before your fraying emotions could get the best of you, you'd fled the hunters association, hood up over your head and run home.

You can feel your tail trembling, struggling to swish under the blanket as you struggle to calm down, to at least get some sleep.

Maybe if you sleep it will go away.

Maybe when you wake up you'll feel better.

Useful.

Worth having around.

Not on the cusp of disappearing with nothing to show for yourself.

-----

When you'd woken up, tail still bristled, and newly acquired fangs digging into your bottom lip. Blood staining the bedsheet, you'd finally fished your phone out from your nest.

3am.

The world was quieter for it, and you wondered if this was part of why Sylus preferred the night to day.

You didn't remove your headphones, but you did finally open up your messaging app, seeing messages from everyone.

TaraTara💖: I hope you're ok bestie, if you need anything let me know.

Number One Lumiere Fan: Tara said you were sick, if you have time, I have a few shows you could watch to waste time. Only one is about Lumiere! Promise!

Simone (the one whose guns explode): Hey! Tara said you weren't doing so hot, if you want some company for a movie night, I make the best soup you'll ever have!

Captain: Remember to actually get some rest, take advantage of the break, alright? Everything will be fine here.

🐠cute fishie 🐠: hey cutie, wat do u think?

🐠cute fishie🐠: [Attached Image]

⭐️little star⭐️: missions going well, how are U?

⛄️sweet snowman⛄️: Tara said you're sick, I'll come over to check on you as soon as I can. Make sure you eat and drink.

🐦‍⬛pretty bird🐦‍⬛: Meetings are always more boring without you kitten, I hope you're missing me as much.

Your tail settles, curling against your side, fur flattening and you try really hard not to cry. You wish you'd thanked Tara when you left instead of fleeing, overstimulated and hurting.

Wounded like the cat you're teasingly referred to as. Feral and ready to hiss and scratch. You've spent so many years shutting people out.

Shutting Gran and Caleb out.

Shutting them out you wasted so much time until it was too late.

Why can't you learn?

You force yourself to respond, trying to sound as much yourself as you can... it's unnerving, to wear a mask over a mask. You wonder if you'll ever recognise your reflection.

You hesitate as you go to respond to your partners. You should tell them, reaching up to roughly pull the ears on your head. They'd understand, they've been where you are. Your brain says you should go to the kitty cafe, find out how to fix it this time around... but being out there, in the noise...

Instead you send some version of you're fine, and things are fine, everything is good. You're good.

You're together. You're useful. You're not a burden.

You aren't fragile and sick and useless.

You are worth keeping around, even when your heart picks up speed again, beating so hard against your chest that you fear the core wants to escape its fleshy vessel.

The straps attaching your prosthetic are digging into your skin, rubbing it raw, but you ache to even try to remove it. Fighting with the buckles and biting at the bit. You're still in your uniform, and you're sure by now you need a shower. The idea of water shooting a shot of anxiety straight into your chest, flaring up your tail, and your ears flatten as far as they can.

No water...

Maybe later.

Or you can really fill out how shit you feel with a wet wipe bath.

Caleb would kill you.

You don't want to think about it anymore. You want to let the quiet take over, or reasonably so with the screamo in your ears. Blasting the noise outside into nothing.

So you go back to sleep. Easing the pain in your heart with the only sure fire way.

---------

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Bolt upright in bed, hissing through your teeth, chest so tight you can feel your ribs.

You flounder, pulling at where your straps should be, but they're gone, no leather under your fingers. So you move to claw at your chest with one hand, gasping.

Hands grab you, and you struggle and you fight and you hiss. Fangs out, feral and ready to claw your way free. Arms far stronger than you pull you against a warm chest, tilt your head back and pills are placed in your mouth. You try to spit them out but a hand is on your throat, rubbing at your larynx. You swallow and then water follows it.

You splutter and cough, and you wriggle and struggle. Your head is pressed against skin, and you sink your fangs in.

Out. Out. Out.

"It's alright, you're alright, I'm here."

Blood fills your mouth and his scent surrounds you and you shiver. Blinking as your heart medication begins to do its job, easing the fractured organ in your chest. You spit, trying to clear your mouth of the taste of metal, shivering and shaking but your chest isn't constricting you now.

"Sy-" You cry outloud, he holds you, not bothered by the blood tricking down his shoulder. Of course he isn't, he heals it, the pain nothing in comparison to watching you choke on air you can't breathe. "Sorry. Sorry." You mumble against his skin, licking where you bit, crying and shaking. Wrapping your arm around his neck.

He assures you, and he rocks you both in his arms, rubbing your back and running a hand through your hair. Careful around your ears, not going far enough down to touch your bristled tail.

He hums and he rocks, and he squeezes you tight enough to ground you.

It's an hour or two later when you can finally feel any semblance of stable. You can't bring yourself to look at Sylus, he's stroking your cheek and wiping tears from your face, and all you can do is stare at the bed. You can't think of what to say.

You didn't take your medication, you hurt him... it's not the first time, but when this happened with Caleb you didn't have a cats' fangs.

Between you opening up and me prying, I prefer the former. He'd told you, after a terrible day, listing every way he would support you.

With all your sharp edge, you place your hand over his on your cheek, "I'm sorry, Sy."

He huffs, turning you in his arms so you're facing each other, but his one hand grips your hip, sturdy. Solid, strong. He doesn't hurt, but escaping would be hard. You try hard not to.

Though you can feel the... your tail swishing.

He looks at it, at your ears, then at you, red nosed and disheveled.

"Explain."

It's a command, brooking little argument, and though normally you'd refuse to take orders, you duck your head now. Avoiding molten eyes and seeking out something to focus on. The hand that was on your head, stretches out in between you both, palm up, and you take it quickly. Toying with his fingers, squeezing it in your own. Finding connection in your hand on his.

"Jenna sent me home, my evol doesn't work, I can't fight. I... it hurt. Everything's so loud."

You can't see it as he frowns, as your ears prick, then settle, seeking out all the things that hurt them. "I went to sleep, thought it would make this go away, but it didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You hear it then, the pain, like he's biting down on glass. Your eyes dart up and his eyes are glassy, warm red gone dull. "You left your prosthetic on. It was rubbing your skin raw at the angle you were sleeping. There was blood on your sheets." He presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in, "Then this. Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks, and you want to be sick.

You twine your fingers with his and choke on the words, "I didn't want to be a bother."

He hisses, his grip on your hand almost hurts, but you probably deserve so much worse. You lied to him, to them, and you hurt him. More than just biting at him.

"You need to tell me. No matter what. No matter what I'm doing, beloved. No matter the issue." He kisses your forehead, over and over and over again. "Promise me."

You nod, and curl your pinky around his, just like you used to with Caleb when he made you promise to come to him with an injury. The words are too stuck in your throat, your voice too sore to use, but you nod. Desperately.

"You're not a burden to be carried, kitten. Ever. Do you understand?"

You don't. You want to, but it's hard. There is no part of you that feels easy or fun, but you do love him. So much. More than you thought yourself capable of. More than you wanted, on borrowed time.

"I'll try." You promise, and it feels like you've cycled back around to the start. Promising to figure things out at home, promising to aim for something. A future you're not sure you're going to ever see.

He takes it in earnest, you do not go back on your word. You are loyal and once you trust, you trust with your heart and your soul. It is yourself you do not trust.

Instead he eases you back into his lap and stands, you flinch and release his hand to grab his neck with your hand. "You need to be cleaned up, I'll help." You go to tell him no because it's water, and you're more a cat than even he teases you for, but you have your head in his neck at this angle, and his scent is so strong. Your tail flattens and begins to flick, lazy and soothed. You hear him chuckle, vibrating through his chest and through yours. "I'm not going anywhere."

-----------

Sylus eases you through steps. He's seen you injured, he's seen you with phantom pains, and he's watched you battle nightmares. Wanderers with swords through your chest, your heart stopping, an explosion you can't stop. He knows what you look like when wounded, he also knows that you fear his reaction when you are.

It takes time to heal wounds, he knows that intimately. You'd never shed your rage or anger, not really. When someone has made mention of gods you'd scoffed, when someone has talked about EVER and their many plans to help humanity, you'd snarled. You trust no king, no god, no corporation to fix the world or the people in it. He knows you're always scared but you keep walking forwards anyway, and he admires and loves you for it.

He just wishes you'd take his hand when that happens.

He has not felt fear like seeing your heart failing you in his arms before, and no matter the violence of your struggle, he would let you rip him to pieces to survive.

He has so much time, and his greatest fear is losing you too soon.

He cleans, and he dries, brushing hair and rubbing lotion to ease the burns on your skin. He helps you dress, finding clothes that don't irritate your tail, because at least he is intimately familiar with that, and then he sits you down on the couch with vegetable soup. Not handmade, though he'd rather have done so. He doesn't want to leave you alone, so he orders what he needs. Sending the twins running around. He's sure you'd like to see them, but he's worried their exuberance will agitate the overstimulation you're combatting.

Watching your ears flick this way and that, picking up too much. As though you don't already struggle with the world's input.

He almost feeds you, wanting to heal you with his own hands, like he's anything like the doctor... he's not. His skills are in bloodshed, and he is as sharp edged as you are.

Except you have made yourself a weapon, to be worth the pain, and he was made a weapon, to survive the pain.

He does not move far away, however, kneeling at your feet, and massaging your calves while you eat. You try to pull your legs away, but he keeps them held, and continues his movements. You have soothed his body before, stitched his wounds, kissed where his scars would be, and he will not have you lacking his own love and affection.

A dragon does not love lightly. Though you don't remember the depths he has gone to for you. This is an easy act of devotion.

"You need to tell them too." He finally speaks, as you clear your bowl. He's relieved to see your ears are no longer flat, your tail is not bristled, you are as relaxed as you can be. You nod, guilt written in your face, and he retrieves your phone for you on black and red mist.

Sitting at your side, he grabs your brush and begins to brush your tail. You almost leap into the air, startled and dropping your phone onto the couch cushions. "Sy!"

"Cat fur can get tangled, especially long fur." He smirks, pulling you closer, and brushing through it with long fingers, "So let me take care of it."

You flinch at the contact, stare at where his hand is in the new found attachment, then keeping your eyes trained on your phone, you nod.

He's content to let you write out what you need to, to be honest with the others, he doesn't want to have that job. It's your mission to step out of your self made cage. So he brushes quietly, the twitching tail in his hands restless, but soon as soft as you can be in your relaxed moments.

Your head hits his shoulder, ears twitching in sleep as all the pent up energy and stress escapes you. Held in long white furs in a small brush. You mutter in your sleep, words he can't understand, and whistle through your nose, little noises that make him laugh.

The best, however, is the purring in the back of your throat, broken up by sleep, and the tail that has found its way around his wrist.

He does not move you, but he retrieves a blanket and holds you against him, cheek pressed to the top of your head, against your fur ears, and keeps watch while you finally find some peace.

⛄️: Are they alright?

🐦‍⬛: They will be.

[edwinspaynes]

Dead Boy Detectives being canceled is still one of the Top 10 Worst Feelings I Have Ever Had, but hey. Could be worse. Guess it could have been canceled on a cliffhanger with the obvious Set(TM) on different planes of existence, not speaking to each other after a desperate kiss

[scatterbrainedbot]

Hello :D

You're so cool

Anyway have you thought that in your rat sons au Splinter might outlive the boys?

You're very cool :D love your stuff dude

(tw for some blood, light gore, implied overdose (kinda??))

hi copper!!! this is a fantastic question!

so obviously typical irl rats have far shorter lifespans than the average irl tortoise. according to google (yes, be awed by my spectacularly in-depth wealth of research) the average pet rat lives between 2-4 years ish, and the oldest on record lived to be about 7. meanwhile, an African spurred tortoise (Splinter's species) averages more around a 50ish year lifespan in captivity, tho is suspected to possibly exceed 75 or more in the wild.

Now, the mutation does give us a lot of wiggle room for playing with these numbers. For the rat sons boys, id say their natural lifespan probably clocks in at about 45-55 years old? definitely not old by human standards, but not young young either. (though, its also important to note that the boys were exposed to the mutagen just days after being born.)

For Splinter, meanwhile, aging is slightly more complicated. He lived the vast majority of his life as a regular normal African spurred tortoise (well, non-mutated at least. there were perhaps some shenanigans of a more mystical variety going on before he was mutated, but thats a separate matter) He was about 70ish i think? when the boys were born and they were all exposed to the mutagen. so he is already distinctly an old man turtle papa. id guess he'd probably still have another eh lets say 25-30 years after his mutation. he could probably push it a little farther even with some mystic nonsense, but when push comes to shove id say his 'natural' post-mutation lifespan would put his death like a solid decade or two before his sons.

of course, the tricky part of the matter is that theres no way for Splinter to know any of this. theres no way for him to know how the mutation affected them all, or if it even affected them all in the same way. especially since the boys dont show many physical signs of mutation for the first few years, and just kinda look like normal rats, (albeit with a more human sort of intelligence) — what sort of health standard do you hold them to? what if they simply dont show external signs of sickness or old age anymore? how do you actually know if something is wrong?

for a while there Splinter is very worried that one of his babies will just essentially reach the end of their normal rat lifespan, fall and not get up again.

so mostly, he just tries to live in the moment, enjoying whatever time he does have with his little ones, taking each day as a gift <3

still,

that fear

never

really

goes

away.....

[roughridingrednecks]

Spurlock in Indiana