#International Donkey Day

[lionofchaeronea]

Braying Donkey, Gao Qipei, 1713

Today is International Donkey Day, so please enjoy this little salute to one of the humblest, yet hardest-working and most reliable, of creatures.

Text: BURRO

Where Apache and Comanche have galloped, where cowboys black and white have thrashed their herds into frenzied movement: a burro, climbing slowly.

He forgets the burden of his drowsy rider, thinking only of the sand that slips beneath his hooves, the wind past his nostrils, the scents it brings.

After ten miles of silence he brays, thanking the setting sun: its rays have laid a scarlet carpet down the arroyo, all, he dreams, for him.

[tumblydove]

Happy International Day of Friendship!

[camelidae]

Does anyone still do Talk Like a Pirate Day? Aye? Nay? Either way, I hope you don’t mind if I take it as an excuse to post my donkey pirate, Jackstock – if you like pirates (or donkeys!) he’s got a little illustrated book of short stories just full of pirate vibes (and donkeys!) in my shop!

[hedgehog-moss]

I’ve been having a bit of a hay shortage lately—January was very cold and snowy so the animals ate a lot, plus I have an extra mouth to feed this year, and I hadn’t realised Poldine would eat so much in her first year! Next summer I’ll make sure to buy enough hay for 4 animals rather than 3 and a half.

In the meantime I’ve been offering various hay substitutes, such as brambles, or my Christmas tree. It was waiting on the pile of green waste I intend to burn in early spring, until I remembered seeing someone’s ad in the local paper that went “if you want to recycle your Christmas trees, give them to me, my goats will love them!” I figured well, llamas are tall goats, maybe they’ll enjoy a bit of Christmas tree, and they did !

(Baby Poldine is always very circumspect about new foods, but she did end up tasting it.)

Pirlouit was also pleased with this unexpected breakfast. They all took turns nibbling at the tree until only the trunk was left :)

Still, I was trying to contact nearby farmers to ask if they have some hay to spare (it’s not that I’ve run out, I just want to be prepared in case of another cold spell), and I also moved the animals to my other pasture down the road, as there’s still some dry grass there. It’s not well-fenced though, and I wasn’t very confident in this pasture’s ability to contain Pampe, but I figured—there’s no grass to be found in any nearby pasture, so why would she try to leave this one?

(Because Pampe.)

I left the llamas & donkey frolicking in this exciting new place (Poldine looked enchanted to explore a new pasture, she was bounding around like a baby goat!), and I went skiing today, as a (late) birthday gift to myself. The skiing station is just half an hour away and this has become a very anticipated birthday ritual since I moved here! This year I waited until I had found some way to keep the animals busy before taking a day off, so there would be no llama leaks in my absence.

So of course I got a text from a neighbour in the afternoon, telling me my llamas had been spotted on the road, going towards the village. (“Pampe looked determined. She was going to the grocery shop to get muesli.”) (Pampe is so famous, people even know her favourite snacks 😭)

Since I was literally on a ski slope I decided to turn my conscience off and pretend I hadn’t seen the text. I thought, if the llamas do end up in the village I’ll get more texts updating me on their position and I’ll be a responsible llama owner and go home (promise), but they’ll probably get off the road and into the woods somewhere between my house and the village and they’ll spend the afternoon eating communal shrubs and they’ll be fine.

When I went home a few hours later, I found my donkey alone in the pasture where I’d left him in the morning—we both had to wrestle with a moral dilemma today, and Pirlouit’s was “do I loyally follow my friends and potentially starve to death, or do I stay by myself in this place with very adequate dry grass to munch on?” He really hates being alone, yet he chose food over friendship.

I brought Pirou back to his normal pasture (he wouldn’t have liked to find himself alone after sunset) and went looking for the girls. I’d had a neighbour on the phone who had talked to someone who’d talked to someone who had seen the llamas and had “shooed them in the general direction of your house.” That was some very helpful shooing, because I found them just a couple of kilometres away, and indeed going in the right direction.

Pampelune leading the way, determined to go home before night; Pampérigouste last, internally grumbling that it was still early and they could have explored the world some more.

I usually jog with the llamas when I bring them home so we don’t spend too much time in the middle of the road, but there aren’t many cars when the road is icy and also after a day of skiing, you don’t really feel like jogging a few km at a brisk pace in heavy snow boots. So we went home in a slow and solemn procession.

I called the people who had told me about the llamas’ whereabouts to thank them, and explained that this escape was the result of a failed attempt to move the animals to my poorly-fenced second pasture because I don’t have a lot of hay left—and one of them told me he could spare a bale and he’d bring it to me tomorrow!

“So I’ve done everyone a favour” (is probably Pampe’s conclusion.)

I gave them hay as I figured they hadn’t had time to graze much in the other pasture, but only Pampe was hungry. Well, Pirlouit is always hungry, but Pampe indignantly rebuffed him. “You chose food over adventure. You don’t get to eat the food I’m getting as a reward for a successful adventure.”

Pirlouit is completely resigned to the fundamental unfairness of a dutiful donkey’s life.

[n64retro]

Main titles released for Nintendo 64, by year*: 1996: Super Mario 64, Mario Kart 64, Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire, Mortal Kombat Trilogy, Killer Instinct Gold, Pilotwings 64, Cruis 'n USA. 1997: GoldenEye 007, Star Fox 64, Diddy Kong Racing, Turok: Dinosaur Hunter, Mystical Ninja Starring Goemon, Mischief Makers, Doom 64, Duke Nukem 64, Bomberman 64, Blast Corps. 1998: Banjo-Kazooie, F-Zero X, Star Wars: Rogue Squadron, 1080 Snowboarding, Turok 2: Seeds of Evil, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, Mortal Kombat 4, Yoshi's Story. 1999: Pokémon Snap, Resident Evil 2, Super Smash Bros., Quake II, Donkey Kong 64, Jet For Gemini, Harvest Moon 64, Rayman 2: The Great Escape, Castlevania Legacy of Darkness, Shadowman, Beetle Adventure Racing, Star Wars: Episode I Racer, Mario Golf, International Superstar Soccer 2000, NBA Courtside 2. 2000: Banjo-Tooie, Excitebike 64, Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards, Mario Tennis, Ridge Racer 64, Sin and Punishment, Indiana Jones and The Infernal Machine, Perfect Dark, Ogre Battle 64, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, 007 The World is not Enough, Mega Man 64, WWF No Mercy, Mario Party 2. 2001: Paper Mario, Pokémon Stadium 2, Conker's Bad Fur Day, Animal Forest, Mario Party 3, Madden NFL 2002, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2. 2002: Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. *the date for the titles in this poll matches the North American release.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

In the Eyes

summary: marc is dating the most competitive mario-kart player he’s ever met. and he loves them.

prompt: reader and marc are playing mario kart and getting very competitive (but still fun, no actual fighting). they both end up ordering pizza and snuggling up on the couch watching ancient aliens cause why not. idk

pairing: marc spector x gn!reader, implied reader x steven grant/jake lockley

contents: fluff, internal angst, cheating during mario-kart (a cardinal sin), food mention, cheesy love confessions

gif credit: @nowritingonthewall

word count: 2.5k

an: this is a little late but, happy year anniversary to moonknight! thank you to @juneknight for putting together this moonknight anniversary fic exchange. all the smooshes and all my love bb. and to my lovely friends in Marc’s girls i love uuuuu 🥰 (p.s. internal angst is a must with marc spector so sorry in advance)

moonknight masterlist | requests are open

Nights like tonight are the sort you look forward to all week. And they’ve started to become a staple in your relationship with Marc. It’s partially because you like to have specific things that you do with each of them— the other half is that Steven and Jake suck at MarioKart. Marc is the only one who’s any real competition and with your competitive nature, it’s a requirement for game nights such as these.

Marc shows up to your apartment on time, as always, and just the sight of you has all of the tension that habitually sits in his shoulders dissipating. You look mischievous, mouth turned up in a smirk that he can’t help but want to kiss. Although your eyes say it all– bright and sparkling– it's abundantly clear that you’re ecstatic about him being here. It's something he still adapting to but would it be so terrible for him to believe that you genuinely do enjoy his presence? Horrible no, but terrifying. Nevertheless, he’s trying and will continue to show up if only to see that twinkle in your eye, no matter how hard it is to believe that he is the reason.

His self-deprecating train of thought is interrupted when you reach for him, pulling him in for a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Marc melts against your mouth, a hand raising to cup your cheek. There’s nothing that clears his mind like the feel of your lips against his– he would happily give up oxygen to kiss you for the rest of his days. But eventually, you pull away, grinning at him.

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Spector?” You huff breathlessly into his mouth.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it teasingly before saying, “Ready to do the ass-kicking, actually.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

Marc is all about routine, it's just who he is. It's the only thing he’s taken from his time serving that he is grateful for as it helps balance his mind– all of their minds. So when the two of you get the game loaded and make it to the characters screen he chooses Donkey Kong as he always does. Sometimes to mess with and throw him off a bit you’ll choose Donkey Kong. He has his list of backups– Link, Mario, and begrudgingly, Toad– but those never feel exactly right. Tonight you decide to give him a break, you’ll prove to him that you can beat him in his element or not.

The two of you are neck and neck on the last race, with Marc starting to lurch forward ahead of you. There’s a healthy distance between you, ample room for dramatic turns and frustrated bouncing without either of you accidentally elbowing the other. But, when he starts to leave you in the dust on the last lap around you know exactly how to distract him. Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you scoot an inch closer to him. He’s well aware of your movement, heightened observation comes with Khonshu but he makes nothing of it, focusing on making it to the finish line. The sly grin on your lips spreads and you shift even closer, this time your shoulder rubs against his. Marc stiffens, his grip on the controller fumbling a bit. It's the perfect opportunity for you to make your move, and you brush up against him again to ensure that he’ll glance over at you.

“What’re you doin’?” He asks suspiciously, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that for just a moment his eyes flicker over to you.

You grin, eyes firmly glued to the screen as you watch his character slow down. You pass him easily, your voice innocent as you say, “Nothing.”

When his eyes return to the screen they widen in disbelief as you cross the finish line a few seconds before him. “You cheated!” He accuses, looking over at you with narrowed eyes.

Your mouth drops open in feigned offense, “Did not!”

“Bullshit, baby, I know what you’re doing when you move closer to me.”

“You’re warm, I was cold.”

“Liar.”

“Alright, since you’re so sure, let’s go again. Best 2 out of 3. I’ll even sit on the ground this time, can’t cheat that way,” You insist, before shifting off the couch to sit crossed-legged between his knees.

As nonchalant as ever, Marc bends to wrap his arm around your waist and lifts you with no effort to place a pillow underneath your butt. The simple act of care contrasts with the competitive look on his face as he hands you your controller once more, “No funny business this time baby.”

He lets you get comfortable, waiting to strike. He’s trailing a few places behind you up until the last lap. You’re sure that you’ll win and halfway around the last pass you relax back against the couch. Unseen to you, Marc grins just before he starts to shift his knees back and forth.

“Hey now,” You quip, but you don’t look away from the screen or make any movement, assuming that he needs to readjust in his seat. But it continues and you glance up at him with a knowing look.

“Oh now, who’s cheating?” You ask, trying to lean away from his knees that he’s bumping into your shoulders.

“What was that? I can’t hear you over my impending victory,” He teases, nodding his head toward the screen.

When your eyes follow his over to the tv, you watch as he shoots you with a red shell before zooming away over the finish line. The shell disrupts you completely, and you’re passed by half of the computers. You end up in 7th place and huff in frustration, “Marc!

“Hmm?” He hums through a laugh, bending to press a kiss to your cheek.

You try your best to glare at him, but with his smile this wide and genuine, you can’t even hold the expression for more than a few seconds. “You only beat me because you cheated and I’m hungry.”

Marc frowns at you, setting his controller down on the coffee table before fishing his phone out of his pocket, “What? Why didn’t you say that before? What do you want— pizza?”

“Pizza’s good. I want—“

“I know, baby.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What if I was gonna say something different?”

He looks up at you with an expression that says ‘really?’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was upset, genuinely feeling impatient with you. But, in the time that you’ve gotten to know him— all three of them— it’s become much easier to read them. It’s always in the eyes. And when it all boils down, no matter what he’s feeling or saying, all you ever see in Marc’s eyes is understanding and adoration for you.

“Ok, fair, I wasn’t but if I wanted to?”

He shrugs, a knowing smile on his face, “Then I would know.”

Your cheeks warm and you rest your head on his knee, looking up at him with this soft look on your face that makes him feel melted. To know and be known. It’s all either of you have ever wanted.

Marc clears his throat to distract from the flush in his cheeks he knows is there, “While we wait…y’know, Steven told me about this show— we don’t have to watch it if it doesn’t sound interesting to you.”

“I’m listening.”

Marc goes into an entire spiel, using his hand as he and Steven always do, though Marc’s movements are sharper and smaller. You’ve known that Marc is nerdy by how easy he navigates technology, casually throwing out terms here and there that you never understand. But to see him like this, with bright eyes as he explains the contents of the show, it displays you that similarity between him and Steven that’s always buzzing beneath the surface.

“Are you talking about Ancient Aliens?”

He snaps, eyes going wide, “Yes! You know it?”

You resist the urge to cup his face and dust his cheeks with a flurry of kisses, a difficult feat when he’s looking so adorably excited, “Hell yeah I know it, I watch it with my dad sometimes. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”

“Who doesn’t wanna know about aliens? Atlantis?”

“You always poke fun at Steven for stuff like this,” You say matter of factly.

“That was before I gave it a chance.”

While you get the controllers put up and decide on an episode, Marc heads into your kitchen to get drinks, the tube of parmesan out of your fridge and the red pepper out your fridge knowing that these are all necessary for pizza night. When he returns, you’re curled into a blanket and he sets everything down on the coffee table before pressing in beside you, his arms caging you into his chest.

Both of you are distracted. Not by the usual attraction— that’s manageable. Snuggled together on the couch like this, you both feel it. There’s this pool of some overwhelmingly delightful feeling neither of you has felt before. You can identify it immediately as love. Pure and gooey, like the warm insides of a chocolate chip cookie. Marc on the other hand refuses to look it in the eye, pushing it deeper and deeper until it’s light and fuzzy, ignorable. The last thing he will do is love someone who won’t love him. It isn’t the same— this time he is simply unworthy, not easy prey to a wounded predator— but he’s been there and done that. That wound sits on his chest, refusing to heal no matter what he does.

You lean back, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him, “Marc?”

He paused the show and met your gaze before you finished saying his name, “Yeah, honey?”

The remote almost slips out of his hand at the look in your eyes. Could it be more? Marc’s only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other— luckily after everything he and Layla are on amicable terms. But could he really have something like that again? Is that twinkle in your eye what he craves so much that his bones ache?

Under his intense gaze your resolve flatters, your heart, feeling as if it will beat right out of your chest.

“I—,” You breath catches in your throat that’s suddenly gone dry. What if he doesn’t love you back? Losing him means losing Steven and Jake. It means losing the only love you’ve ever known. You swallow those words and opt for others, “Tonight has been one of my favorite nights yet. Thank you.”

He can hear it in your tone. He knows that isn’t what you were going to say and by the look in his eyes, you know that he knows. He stares at you for several moments longer, giving you a chance, hoping that you’ll take the plunge because he can’t. Not yet.

Eventually, the pizza arrives and that cuts some of the tension that’s in the room. Something is clearly off but neither of you can find the courage to say anything as you finish eating and the credits roll on the episode you’d put on.

You let him leave. You kiss him goodbye and watch as he crosses the hall to the stairwell, only closing the door once he’s down the first flight. You feel like an idiot— why couldn’t you have just said it? He was waiting, eyes practically pleading, and yet the words wouldn’t form.

It only takes two minutes for you to decide that this isn’t how the night should end. Fears be damned, he deserves to know— they all do eventually. So you grab your keys, knowing that if you’d left your door unlocked for even the short time it would take to get him back, Jake would scold you about it.

Despite the quickness of your decision to chase after him, Marc is well down the street once you make it out the front door of your complex.

“Marc, wait!”

He stops immediately, recognizing your voice even from so far away. His eyes scan the street when he turns around and as soon as they find you, he’s walking towards you, brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” He pats his pockets, noting that his wallet and keys are there.

Maybe you’d decided to tell him what you were planning to say earlier and his heart begins to hammer again. His mind goes to the worst-case scenario, that maybe you weren’t going to confess deeper feelings for him. That you’re ready to be done with him, that he’s not worth it. That every disparaging thing his mother had ever said about him is true and you’ve just come to realize it.

“No, it’s just that I—“

“Yeah?” He prompts when you go quiet for a minute. His voice is fused with preemptive disappointment and he begins to prepare to leave the headspace, to retreat so far within that not even his alters can find him— Steven or Jake can deal with the aftermath of you. He’ll sulk and disappear like he had promised Steven a couple of years ago.

“I love you. I don’t know what I didn’t just say that before, I’d planned to but then you looked at me and it’s like I was scared all over again,” You whisper, eyes slipping down to look at the ground.

He tilts his head at you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. His voice is tender, and confused as he asks, “What do you have to be afraid of?”

“You know what,” You mumble, refusing to look up at him.

“That I wouldn’t want you? That I’d be stupid enough not to love you too?” He says the words as if they’re blasphemy like they’re the most ridiculous thing imaginable and you can’t help but look up at him.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

His other hand raises so he has both your cheeks in his hands, “Because it's complete bullshit, of course, I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, now come here,” He pulls you closer by his hand on your cheek, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. He kisses you fiercely, licking into your mouth with a fervor like never before. You match him, just as hungry and needy to show him how deeply you feel for him not just with words, but with actions.

He pulls away, breathless, “Steven’s saying we shouldn’t make out on the street.”

“Yeah, and what’s Jake saying?” You ask, though you can imagine his opinions on public indecency.

“You don’t wanna know.”

You giggle, before saying once more— firmly this time, unafraid to take the plunge because you know he’ll catch you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” He repeats, his mouth brushing yours as he says it.

You arch a brow at him, smiling against his lips. “Enough to settle who’s won and stay the night?”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” He murmurs cheekily through a grin, pulling you back towards your apartment.

It’s safe to say that you both got it.

moonknight taglist: @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @julydaydream, @welcometostayingawake, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @minigirl87, @campingwiththecharmings

[positivexcellence]

genpadalecki: It’s International Donkey Day AND #WalkerDay! 🫏 So in honor of these beautiful animals, let’s not make an ass outta you and me — watch #Walker with us tonight!! 😂

[moonymelly]

— The Start of Something New —

The small mule slept outside in the grass, the soft wind of the morning tickling his long soft ears. His eyes slowly fluttered open, but he stayed put. There was no reason to get up yet, if he wasn't needed.

He was a verryyy laid back guy.

He looked around with those half-lid, bored eyes of his, smacking his lips. Lots of grass, even though the family he was now a part of wasn't very good at maintaining it. They had a bad habit of uhh...accidentally killing what they grew from time to time.

But it was fine, he guessed. If he could shrug he would, it didn't bother him all too much. His ears swiveled to the sound of stirring from within the house, loud voices chattering like chipmunks.

He heard two little boy voices faintly from inside the house, even though he couldn't really, y'know, understand what they were saying.

"...DONKEY?!" "MULE?!"

"Yes dears, I brought you a baby donkey!! He's outside, go do whatever ya want with it."

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" And before he knew it, two little boys came tumbling out of the house, their shoes not even on and their bodies still clad in pajamas.

The baby mule tilted his head, even raising a brow. Two? Of the same person? They looked exactly the same, sounded exactly the same...He huffed. He didn't care, whatever.

The two boys swooped and cheered upon laying their eyes on the animal, tripping over each other as they bounded over to it.

"MULLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEE" "DONKEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" Before he could react, the two small humans jumped on top of him, making him involuntarily roll over onto his back.

"I'VE ALWAYS WANTED A--" "--DONKEY!!" They giggled while poking his nose and and tickling his ears. The mule brayed in slight annoyance but once again internally shrugged. Whatever. This was his family now, he supposed.

"BOYS!! C'mere and get yur breakfast!! We prepared it already!!"

The two identical children perked up and immediately they beamed, jumping off of the mule and running over to what the the baby guessed to be their mother.

And just like that, the two were gone, leaving the baby mule covered in torn up grass and leaves, his eyes perplexed.

Well....back to eating grass. Or sleeping. Whatever.

He shook off most of the dirt from his fur, then slowly settled back down into a comfortable position.

Just as the wind slowly rocked him to sleep, his baby eyes slowly drooping into slumber, he heard that same door click again.

He huffed. Great. Just as he had gotten comfortable.

With a mule-like-sigh he lifted his head up, eyeing the door with perked ears.

Huh...a different small human.

This one eyed behind him nervously, then eyed the small donkey, then back and forth until finally, he held his breath which inflated his round youthful face, tip-toeing outside.

Once he slowly closed the door behind him, he immediately beamed, running his small body over to him as he giggled cheerily, tripping over small pebbles and his own feet.

The baby mule braced for impact, shutting his eyes as he expected the same treatment from him. This child had to be from the same family, so he must also be pretty rowdy.

Instead, however, he...wasn't tackled? Wearily opening one eye, he now saw that the small child was on his knees, a big smile on his round face, his blue eyes and their lashes blinking with joy, his smile showing gap where a recently lost tooth had been.

The mule tilted his head, carefully inching his snout to the child, sniffing it. The child laughed, tickled by the warm breath tickling his face.

After his giggling died down, he pouted, brushing off the rest of the torn up grass and soil from the mules fur.

"Awh no...what'd they do to you? How mean..."

The baby mules eyes showed a rare emotion of his: Being intrigued. This small child was...helping him out?

The child smiled once he brushed off all the dirt, then placed his small hand on the mules snout, petting it softly.

"I think they're gonna forget about you in around two days, baby. But dontcha worry, I won't!! I'll be your friend, if you'd like."

He cheekily smiled and gently grabbed the mules head, making it nod and mimicking a dopey voice.

"Oh yesss Mr. Onceler!! I'd love to be with you every day!!"

The child giggled, letting go of the mules face and instead now snuggling into it warmly, his soft black hair tickling the mules snout.

"I can't wait to have so much fun with you, baby mule. We're gonna be the best of pals, right?"

Something inside of the mule’s heart warmed and he snuggled back into the child as well, huffing out another warm breath which caused the child to smile, closing his eyes.

This child was sweet, real sweet. Yeah…he could tolerate this kid.

[what-even-is-thiss]

It’s one of those days where I have a low level migraine that won’t go away and I’m existing in a weird vague fog all day and my reduced mental capacity is defaulting to my current hyperfixation which is still elder scrolls.

My current thoughts today are about iconic characters in the series and how Lydia is one of them.

I think she’s iconic because she’s one of the few characters that literally everyone comes across. There’s housecarl followers for every hold in Skyrim. You become thane and you get a housecarl. But whiterun is the one that everybody becomes thane if almost every time if only to push the activate dragons button and save whiterun.

And Lydia gets assigned to you. Who is Lydia? Your bodyguard, essentially. And that’s all she is. She’s a generic tough Nord wearing generic steel armor who yells out generic Nord battle cries when she fights. She levels up to level 50 and therefore can work as a companion throughout most play playthroughs. Unless you’re grinding to fight the ebony warrior or staying on a save for an abnormally long time Lydia will probably keep up with you all throughout your adventure.

Idk what’s so special about her. There’s been songs written about her. People make jokes about her being a pack donkey because she has no personality and will carry your stuff. Shouting her off of mountains is an international pastime.

She’s a blank slate. Just like all the housecarls are. But she’s Lydia. And it’s kind of amazing how such a nothing character just meant to be a blank slate loyal bodyguard became so famous.

And do I feel bad for Lydia? Not particularly. She’s exactly what she needs to be. Sometimes I feel bad for blank slate characters, especially women. But Lydia? She’s a stoic. She’s a professional. She’s a blindly loyal hired muscle. And that’s all she needs to be. And I find her largeness in the minds of elder scrolls fans despite all of that to be endearing. Sometimes a nothing character can still be incredibly memorable and I find that to be fascinating.

[delicatestones]

Out of pure donkey minded contrariness and commitment to the bit I want to joke about becoming the first and only Brian/Alec shipper (Brian not mentioned in WoG means he could be bi if you close your eyes and believe, Alec confirmed bi) but my curse is that even for the joke I can't stop my brain from going "but they wouldn't". Even in bi Brian universe Alec would be the last guy in the universe he'd consider that way, it's not even "Taylor I think of you as a little sister" levels of self-determined refusal to Make Things Complicated it's "Alec I think of you as a guy who is definitely around" type thinking of Alec as a guy who is definitely around. Meanwhile if the thought even fleetingly drifted up to the surface of Alec's mind he would look at Brian and go "hm...nah" for reasons he wouldn't even think to articulate to himself but would boil down to Brian simply not being his type + Alec is Not equipped to navigate anyone through internalized homophobia and in fact would probably make it worse on purpose if anyone was annoying him about it, and Brian would be so annoying (read: distressed) about it.

What could happen in bi Brian universe is Taylor (she's straight she's straight she's a straight heterosexual girl by the way) would find out both Brian and Alec are bi and assume this meant they were dating on the downlow and THAT'S why Brian isn't falling for her awkward charms. She'd make the most passive aggressively miserably supportive comments about their Lifestyle that would be incomprehensible to both of them for a week or so until she said something about being glad Legend the Gay Icon's activism means they can get married one day like Normal People and Alec would laugh so hard he'd start wheezing as Brian put his face in his hands and regretted every decision in his entire life (special bisexual edition).

[accidentalcookies]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

self-done stitches / alcohol as sanitizer / "It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

tw: blood, but i think that kind of goes without saying, haha

caretaker: celestinus

whumpee: shaoyuan

no oc intro post yet because i am a chronic procrastinator, but someday i'll link it 😅 for some context, both celestinus and shaoyuan are part of a mafia/criminal underworld-type thing run by aristides, with celestinus as aristides' personal bodyguard and just general medic, and sy as aristides' assassin. this is relatively early on in their relationship, after celestinus has warmed to sy, but before it has been made clear to sy that the others actually care about him as a person. there's also a brief mention of some sort of technological enhancement that sy has, which i hope to elaborate on in future fics, but for now, you can essentially think of it as just your bog standard sci-fi enhanced human-type thing (strength, speed, healing factor, etc.)

enjoy!

---

The elevator doors slid open—and, catching sight of what was inside, Celestinus groaned.

“No,” he said. “No, you have got to be kidding me.”

Shaoyuan raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Hi, Shaoyuan,’” he deadpanned. “‘It’s nice to see you, Shaoyuan.’ I’ve been led to believe that that’s typical for greetings.”

Celestinus leveled him with an unamused stare. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

And just in case Shaoyuan didn’t get the gist, he pointedly swept his gaze down to his side, to where he had one hand pressed to a suspiciously dark patch on his clothing.

“No idea, actually,” he replied blandly. “Can I get through?”

The absolute gall of this man.

He reached in to take Shaoyuan’s arm—not the one that could have been holding in his internal organs, for all Celestinus knew.

But instead, his hand closed around air as Shaoyuan neatly sidestepped around him.

“Thanks,” he said, and turned to leave. “See you later.”

“Nope. We’re not playing this game.”

He dropped his bag and followed. In just a few words, Shaoyuan had already eaten up half the hallway with his lanky stride, and didn’t slow his pace as Celestinus caught up either, forcing him to do a sort of awkward half-jog just to stay at his side.

Shaoyuan didn’t turn. “What game?”

“The one where you swear up and down that you’re fine, and then I have to peel your sorry ass off the floor when you eat it.”

That had been a harrowing experience, loathe as Celestinus was to remember it. Aristides had only noticed because Shaoyuan, ever the most diligent member of this organization, had missed reporting in to him after his mission. When he’d gone searching, he found him flat on his face, bleeding out from a set of gunshot wounds—ones that normally would not have been a major problem, had his internal hardware not been compromised.

But it had been, and there was literally no one else left alive on the planet who knew how to un-compromise it, and so Celestinus had spent a long, stressful night playing “pin the tail on the donkey”—if you substituted the donkey with Shaoyuan and the tail with life.

“That was extenuating circumstances,” said the donkey, surprising absolutely no one with his wildly understated description. “There was an EMP involved.”

“That wasn’t extenuating circumstances, practically everyone tries to hit you with one nowadays,” Celestinus countered. “And the consequences were very much real and very much inconvenient and I’ll be damned if I have to deal with it again. What happened?”

“...It’s just a scratch,” he replied. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I asked.”

“Weren’t you about to do something for Aristides?” he asked. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Celestinus had been about to run an errand, true, but that was before something else took priority. Namely, corralling their resident idiot into letting him throw a first aid kit at him.

Preferably at his head. Patients were much more convenient to work with when they were unconscious.

“Really, beanpole?” he sighed.

Looked like he had no other choice. It was time for the big guns: appealing to Shaoyuan’s unwillingness to inconvenience others.

He looked back over his shoulder. “You dripped blood on the floor.”

“I know I didn’t,” Shaoyuan said.

Despite that, he still slowed to turn back, and in that moment of distraction, Celestinus’ hand shot out to yank Shaoyuan’s away from his side.

Things proceeded to devolve. Shaoyuan ducked to one side, then again as Celestinus lunged for him, then a third time as he lunged for him again, at which point Celestinus gave up, decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and jabbed him in the solar plexus.

As Shaoyuan wheezed and folded over, Celestinus pulled his hand away—and then  had to fight through the various layers of fancy clothing both he and Aristides preferred to find the bloodied skin below, yanking them into disarray.

Ever the joker, Shaoyuan croaked out, “Dinner first.”

“Ha hah, you’re so funny,” Celestinus deadpanned, staring down at a large gash that would most definitely need stitches. “This is not ‘just a scratch.'”

“It hasn’t breached the abdominal cavity,” he pointed out. “That’s a scratch.”

Celestinus sighed and let it go, knowing that trying to argue injury definitions with a man who thought breaching the abdominal cavity was a good indicator for when things were starting to become bad was a lost cause. “You’re coming with me.”

“Your errand–”

“Can wait. Keeping you from bleeding on the carpets is the priority.”

Shaoyuan looked pointedly at the ground. “I’m noticing a severe lack of carpets.”

“Oh, because bleeding on marble isn’t just as bad?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m helping whether or not you agree. All arguing’s gonna do is waste my time.”

He made direct eye contact with Shaoyuan and held it stubbornly, until finally the man relented and looked away.

“Fine,” he said.

Internally, Celestinus breathed a long sigh of relief. “Then come on,” he said.

---

tagging: @whumperless-whump-event

[milkyplier]

Okay, they’re a Rescue Ranch. Let’s go over the details:

Time and Malon own Lon Lon Horse Rescue Ranch. It was Malon’s father’s rescue, and was passed town to the couple shortly after they were married.

The Rescue Ranch includes a couple hundred actes of land, most of which is flat open fields, but there is some forest area and mountainous areas within their property. They use most of it for pastures.

Their barn houses fifty total horses, and is hurricane/proof, however only twenty-five of those stalls are taken*. Total, there are twenty-one horses, a cow, a donkey, and two mini-horses. Chickens roam freely, as well.

*Taken, as in that’s how many animals are on the ranch. The stables are used almost exclusively for medical purposes/feeding. Otherwise, the horses occupy the many pastures.

The Ranch includes the barn, the main ranch house, and several cabins. The main ranch house is where Malon and Time live. There’s plenty of room in the two story house, so Wild, Wind, Four, and Hyrule all occupy rooms there. The cabins are built on the land specifically for the ranch hands, in case they wanted to live on site but with more privacy than the main house allows. Warriors, Sky, Legend, and Twilight all live in cabins.

At the Ranch, several things occur:

1) Rescue horses—they come from situations of abuse, neglect, or ignorance—are taken in, rehabilitated and oftentimes re-homed. Malom and Hyrule are the head rehabilitators, both having extensive knowledge and experience with horse medicine. Malon just grew up around horses, while Hyrule went to school specifically to learn how to treat horses! Beneath them, everyone helps out with rehabbing the horses :)

2) Training—horses can be boarded there and trained. Some horses need to be broken in, others need to be trained out of a bad habit, or re-trained after being owned by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Time, and Malon are the head trainers at the stable, with Wild, Legend, and Four. They work as closely with the owners as possible, so that the owner knows what’s happening and can learn to handle their horse in those circumstances properly.

Legend only trains horses with certain temperaments/jobs in mind. Four trains all kinds of horses for English riding.

3) Riding lessons, specifically Western. Warriors, Legend, Sky, Four, and Malon are all instructors.

Warriors and Malon are the only English and western instructors around the barn. They work with all levels of riding, but Malon takes most of the little kids and Warriors takes intermediate and advanced.

Legend knows how to ride English, but he doesn’t like it and so chooses not to teach it. Legend is a Western instructor, for advanced students and little kids. He originally only did advanced students, but then he had to fill in for Malon one day and did surprisingly well with the little ones and they all loved him. After that, Malon would tell him about how all her students would ask when Mr. Legend was coming back and he caved and now takes on the little kids.

Sky and Four take all levels of riding, Sky is only western and Four is only english (although he can ride western too). Sky and Four specifically take kids with dreams of competing, either for fun or professionally in their respective riding classes.

Wind is an intern! He currently shadows Time and Malon officially, learning to ride and train both horses and people. Unofficially, he shadows Legend. Legend is mysterious but experienced, and Wind is nosy and eager to learn. Time also thinks the kid will get Legend to soften up a bit—Legend is a chill guy but something’s hurting him and keeping him little closed off. Time thinks Wind will smooth those rough edges and get him to open up. Wind also hangs around Warriors, just because the captain’s endless patience makes him fun to annoy for hours.

[distressednoise]

Cassian necked five pints at the airport and spent most of the flight asleep under Brasso’s coat. Brasso has no real memory of him moving, but when he reclaimed his jacket it was loaded with trolley-sized bottles of JD, and now it clinks tellingly as Brasso makes his way through the resort’s cramped corner shop.

The owner squints at him from the far side of the international crisp aisle, and Brasso wants to say I’m not your problem here, but that wouldn’t be strictly true. Brasso has been part of the problem since he was twenty three and didn’t dob Cassian in for stealing from his young offenders’ apprenticeship. Since then they’ve been two halves of the same crime: the guilty party (outside, smoking, getting sworn at in Catalan by 12 year olds) and the one responsible (inside, clinking, making a resigned, supervisory face at the cashier).

When he pays up the cashier peers judgementally into his basket, as if 90% of his clientele aren't after the same combination of Pot Noodle, cans and overpriced factor 10. Brasso's about to make a joke out of it when he says, "You need to get him to stop that," with a nod toward the door, and Brasso turns to see Cassian has negotiated a truce with the children by handing out the last of their cigarettes.

"We're down by the beach," Brasso promises. "We won't be around much." Those are both lies, but he can keep Cassian out of view, probably. Stash him between the novelty beach towels and racks of glittery jelly shoes and hope his hideous fucking patterned shirt blends in. The only reason Brasso hasn't been ripping him about it constantly since they set off is that it's so awful he suspects it was Clem's.

He gets forty Richmond just to make the cashier glare and heads outside to discover what sort of trouble has coalesced around Cassian in his absence, only to find that the children have been dismissed and Cassian is staring at him, face hard, nails newly bitten. "You've brought us to the shitty island," he accuses, as if he thought they were going to Ibiza. He'd actually been uncharacteristically passive while Brasso threw this whole thing together, so maybe he did.

"We're on the Pegla's-nan's-free-apartment island," Brasso corrects him. "Sorry it's not ideal for a rager."

"I know you're decrepit - " Brasso is twenty nine, thank you "but not all of us have given up on life."

"You said you needed to lie low."

"That doesn't mean be bored."

"What did you think it meant?"

"I - " Cassian flounders. "I just didn't expect to be here."

"Cos you didn't fucking help," Brasso points out, but he doesn't add that Cassian brought this on himself in the first place, and in return Cassian takes one of the creaking carrier bags for the schlep up the hill.

"Pegla likes you better."

That's true, Brasso thinks, but people tend to like doing things for Cassian more. He's fun to indulge: wide-eyed enough that you feel good about helping him, shifty enough that you feel rebellious doing it. He could have found himself a bolt hole easily. There's no real reason for Brasso to be here at all. Well, no - to stop Cassian drinking alone and making another set of terrible friends, maybe. To stop Cassian filling the flat with anyone else.

The flat, when they find it, is wedged in the middle floor of a relative high rise, four white-and-terracotta rooms groaning under the weight of Pegla's nan's knicknack collection. There's not a single surface that isn't occupied by a doily or a commemorative plate or one of a seemingly endless set of pink clam shell ashtrays; the clock and the fruitbowl and the light fitting are all bakelite relics from the days when the only good household fixture was one that looked like an exotic, sunbursting weapon; every dish in the kitchen is smoked glass; every furniture that can be nested, nests.

"That's 'your place or mine?' answered, then," Brasso says, dumping his suitcase in a bedroom largely given over by a set of ragdoll donkeys in the costumes of the world.

"Girls will love this," Cassian shouts from the kitchen. "We bring them here. We give them some sangria. We give them tea from a clock and… whatever this is -"

"It's for oranges." Brasso's nan had one. Had the clock, too, and a similar rug. The whole place feels like it should smell of tinned potatoes and death.

"- oranges, on a plate with the queen's face. They'll love that. We take them out on the balcony - "

"Are you sure you've done this before?"

"Trust me, we go out onto the balcony -"

"We go over to the hotel," Brasso says, "and we pretend we're part of the all-in, and then we have sex in the pool like normal people."

"We're lying low."

"Not this low, I'll have nightmares." The donkeys have multiplied since he came in. "Come on."

"I don't want attention."

"That's a fucking lie."

"You're not supposed to encourage me," Cassian complains. He's right, but fuck it - Brasso's on holiday too.

[themegachessatron]

A Review of my time in Skyrim's Prisons (Featuring some followers): Riften Jail

Part 5 of my Skyrim Prison Review series. This chapter finally breaks the "every interior looks the damn same" chain by looking at Riften, Skyrim's capital of corruption, inequality and... fishing. I think that last one might be important.

Since my last review the inner circle has grown a few notches. Joining me this time is Dunmer heartthrob Teldryn Sero, Whiterun's finest donkey Lydia, Jordan the peak Riekling specimen and the returning Inigo and Sofia. Actually getting arrested and put into the cell here proved surprisingly difficult. We first tried punching one of the homeless people on the streets unprompted but nobody batted an eye when we did. Then I tried stealing food from a nearby cart but again, nothing. So for the third attempt I thought of a real humdinger. I went into the orphanage and suplexed the old lady running it so hard that her spine broke and she died instantly. The children in the orphanage were naturally very happy and- wait, happy!? I was shocked to find them all celebrating her death! I mean she was called Grelod the Kind for Diagna's sake! I swear, kids these days are so ungrateful! Nobody even called the guards! I murdered an innocent old lady without consequence and I have no idea why. In the end we had to literally beat a guard to death to finally get in enough trouble to warrant an arrest. So much hassle, and for what? Well let's see...

Riften's cell is oddly nice, with a full bed provided in each cell as well as a desk, lighting setup and chairs (no rug though, unfortunately). It was also quite cramped inside the cell with all us inside of it due to the relatively small floor size. Had we all not decided to investigate as a group this would've likely been far more adequate of a cell. There are even multiple other cells in this jail, so it's clearly built for capacity (Maven has a lot of enemies it would seem).

Attached to the back wall was a pull ring. The ring in question somewhat blended in with the dark colouration of the walls and pulling on it opened a secret entrance and revealed a secret tunnel behind the prison walls. The actual outline for the secret entrance was quite clearly visible so identifying it as a possible escape route was easy. Normally in this situation I'd leap at the opportunity to criticise the laziness of the guards in not being able to identify the obvious avenue for escape, likely by making some joke about them being more blind than a Falmer or the like, but given the very obvious and deep-rooted corruption in Riften hold (which on fear of my life I know nothing about), it's more likely the guards know about it but are paid to turn a falmer's eye. This isn't as bad as the guards being incompetent at their jobs. It's worse. It shows just how tarnished the internal systems of this city are and is beyond shameful.

Further down the path we were greeted by... a bathing spot? Excess water flow point? Fishing training spot? Given the large Riften fishing scene I'm inclined to assume it's the latter (See? Told you the fishing would be important!). Unfortunately when we arrived there were no fish in the water or indeed fishers-in-training doing their practice reels. Perhaps they were taking the day off?

The path continued downward to eventually lead to a sewer grate (very original, Riften. Veeeeerrrry original). We sent Jordan ahead first to ensure the path ahead wasn't too mucky and/or filled with waste. He (She? It?) was hesitant at first but a quick reminder of her (His? Its?) position in our tribe proved convincing enough to put its (I'm going with its) mind at ease.

We were dropped out of the grate into the depths of Lake Honrich. Hardly the most glamourous escape but it sufficed. Inigo wasn't particularly happy getting his fur so wet but the damage had already been dealt. We took this opportunity to return to the jail normally using guard armour and a few brilliant false moustaches as disguises to look at the space outside the cells.

As previously mentioned, there are a lot of cells in this jail, significantly more than most and the building is well-designed to accommodate these large cells. Though if the rather pompous-looking man in the top left corner is any indication some of the more well-off prisoners can quite easily obtain certain luxuries for their cell. It's also worth noting that (while not pictured above because I forgot to take a visual illustration of it at the time) the prisoner belonging chest is in a wholly separate room in the jail, multiple rooms apart from where the cells are located so no optimistic burglar is picking their cell lock, breaking into the belongings chest and retrieving their beloved Nightingale Boots easily, that's for sure!

Overall... wow. This jail is something else. Much like Riften itself it's simultaneously a brilliant location that operates highly efficently or the biggest sack of Chaurus droppings I've ever encountered. Much of it's defining strengths only exist due to deep seated corruption and the influence of one particularly angry middle-aged woman making them so (which again, I reiterate, I know *nothing* about). As such I can't in good faith call Riften Jail an adequate prison.

Final score: Three Nightingale Boots out of Ten Nightingale Boots

Thank you for reading this review. Next time we go slightly more formal and investigate Imperial HQ, Solitude and the Castle Dour Dungeons

[a-french-coconut]

Part 1

One year ago, he opened his eyes and saw darkness as water engulfed him. His whole body hurt but he found the strength to get out of the river.

He has no idea of where he is or who he is.

A rescue team found him there, laying on the filthy ground, and took him to the hospital. Three ribs broken, lung punctured, a blow to the head and internal bleeding. The doctor said it was a miracle he was still alive when they found him.

Amnesia caused by the blow to his head they say. He must have fallen from somewhere when a freaky tempest hit Manhattan.

The doctor said that surely a missing poster about him will be put on the streets and he will go back home. However he cannot stay at the hospital now that he is fully healed and will be put in foster care.

Days turns into weeks and weeks into months and not one fucking poster with his face or name on it.

Maybe he's been alone since he was born.

Maybe his family just wanted a reason to abandon him.

Who the fuck knows ?

He is not going to dwell on people he never met and maybe never existed. Even more, the scars lingering his body tend to make him think he lived on the streets. No parent can be twisted enough to scar their child with arrows and daggers.

The other children at the orphanage are scared of him and don't come near him. Good for them because he finds them very annoying and bratty. He is sure the supervisor thinks the same thing about him, he heard her mumbling "that boy may only be 4'6 but he sure has another two feet of attitude".

There is never one moment where he is at peace and that worsens his already hot temperament. He snaps at anyone coming too close to him, hands always reaching for something that is not there, his body remembering what his mind does not. One kid tries to touch him while they playing tag. He ends up with a broken arm and him with a scolding from the director.

Not remembering anything is bad enough for anyone. Seeing fucking monsters who seems straight out of horror movies is even worse.

A girl with a donkey leg. A giant with one eye. A massive dog with claws and red eyes.

They ignore him so he'll happily ignore them now (even if his instincts are screaming at him to kill the bastards).

It's been one year since his new miserable life began and he stopped entertaining the idea that someone out there is looking for him. He blows weakly on his birthday cake (he doesn't even know his age. The director guessed that he must be 11 years old, like the other boys. He hopes not. Otherwise it means that his comrades are fucking slow), ignoring the tear sliding down his face.

I'm sure you guessed who it is but not tagging him until I reveal his name 😆

part 2 and 3 posted !

[whererubbermeetstheroad]

[Inspired by “Pinocchio (1940)”]

Pleasure Island, an international gang known across Twisted Wonderland, has come to curse all of Sage Island. By sunset on the third day, the entire island will transform into braying donkeys.

The price for lifting the curse is simple: bring them Deuce Spade.

As it turns out, Deuce was much more of a delinquent than you thought. He got caught up with the one crowd nobody should mess with, and they’re none-too happy about him abandoning their ranks.

You know what they say: those who leave Pleasure Island don’t live to tell the tale. But will you and your friends finally be the first to defy this terrifying premonition?