#also that is SUCH a smart use of bulk like damn.

[ofieugogyshz]

i got a free pin of my husband today, made straight out of one of his cards x3

[adolin]

I'm always thinking about how G— was an engineer. A damn good one: the sole engineer of the cryo project, good enough that of all the ten billion, the FTL project chose him to inspect their work, back when the project was still a pipe dream. He was a man from an immigrant family in an underprivileged area who became arguably the world's best engineer, which is impressive in its own right, but it gets me thinking... Pre-Resurrection, John says they can't grow food on Mars (and for all John's unreliability, that's pretty believable, given that the high perchlorate concentration in Martian soil is one of the big obstacles to carrying out a sustained Mars mission), and as silly as this might sound, the engineer and scientist divide is real, and of all the nerds that John resurrected, I can't imagine it was the artist or the contract lawyer or the medical and chemistry experts that made the Mars installation viable. Gideon made a House out of it, and one that accepts recruits from across the Dominican system! "Saint of Duty" is said to fit him, evident in his loyalty and commitment to the Cohort and fighting the Resurrection Beasts, but I have to wonder, how much of that was his commitment to making shit work? I can't shake the image of a couple million people awaking to a ruined world, and someone had to get the other Houses settled, figure out spacecraft and space habitats using what little supplies they have left, and what better candidate for that than the man who canonically engineered spacecraft twice?

ANON I love this so much. You're SO right, and you put into words something about G1deon and John's shared background that I've tried to articulate for a while. In the very first chapter, John says, "It wasn’t that they didn’t have the money for a bigger team; we were simply the only ones capable of what they were asking."

This was an incredibly elite team. They were a brilliant bunch of hyperspecialised nerds. And, like, among John's squad, A- and M- and everyone else started out as colleagues — very smart people he probably met in academic circles, where being smart was kind of a prerequisite. It was their research that brought them together to begin with.

G1deon, though! He was John's friend growing up. John knew his grandparents. They spotted each other spare changes for snacks!! Then John went on to Dilworth, then to university and then overseas, and G1deon had his own (probably different) academic path, and maybe they only stayed vaguely in touch, but when it was time to look for an engineer that could help them build spaceships constructed to provide life support to the whole of humanity for centuries — and G1deon was the guy for that.

The fact that two boys from similar underprivileged backgrounds individually made huge breakthroughs in their chosen fields, and got to work together on a project that was meant to save the world... I bet at the time it felt like a miraculous coincidence. I think they thought, if they'd made it that far, that they could do anything.

(yet another layer to the tragedy of what happened etc etc. G1deon torn between John and P—. John stopping G1deon's heart)

Thank you so much for all your thoughts about the Mars space installation, also — I wonder how long there was between Mars becoming the Second House (founded by G1deon! he and Pyrrha did the bulk of the work!) and the institution of the Third House, which doesn't have a named founder and might very well have been a shared project built on the blueprint of what G1deon set up. "the man who canonically engineered spacecraft twice" — my god I love this so much. It's G1deon emo hours today

[xyrill]

i ate an edible

so i made one piece admirals costco headcanons

have some doodles i made beforehand lolzies

bors

i feel like borsalino would obliberate a costco hot dog! they are literally $1.50 in the US! like wtf he would totally buy 5 or more, eat a few, and put some in the fridge.

he'd also buy a ton of snacks. maybe even $100 worth of dried nuts, fruits, and chips.... a junkie since i'd call him a stoner

he'd also buy ramen packs to stock; damn i feel like he would just eat ramen everyday-- restaurant ramen, home made ramen, and mf instant ramen

go to the optometrist section, try out sunglasses, but never buy them because he's attached to his yellow ass sunglasses

buy alcohol on sale

frequents costco with another admiral-- he goes by himself if he has to buy groceries

sak

sakazuki would totally fucking demolish a chicken bake. but honestly, like buy one to eat for lunch and buy a frozen pack from the freezer section of costco and reheat them for the next following lunches.

he would also sometimes buy the $5 rotisserie chicken. they have the best seasoning MMM

the karen of the admirals. complain to the manager if his rotisserie chicken is taking more than 15 MINUTES to cook

buys a pack of beer every week

he goes by himself and gets annoyed when someone asks to tag along

kuzan

kuzan? he would absolutely love to prepare dinners and buy bulk.

he'd eat up an entire potato salad.

buy fruit and fresh produce

even hit up the bakery

stock up on gift cards like a smart man

he stocks up on vitamins, probably even buys fish oil pills

fujitora

frequents the clothes section

he would dress up like a dad/uncle, buying the best flip flops/sandals

he'd always buy the 24 pack eggs or more

the very opposite of sakazuki, he'd be the most patient person with busy employees

self checkout but with the help of an employee

try out the occasional massage chairs

buy packs of melatonin gummies :)

aramaki

this fucker doesn't even have a costco card

he would sneak in with another admiral or pair up with some random person with a card to get in

he buys all the toys and cool looking comic books at the book section

he would only try samples and buy snacks

he gets a cart, not just to put his stuff in, but to have the right of way and be fast.

sengoku

would buy gift cards to restaurants -- he would definitely love olive garden

always asks an employee where stuff is

a bit impatient, especially if he's behind a slow person walking

looks at all the books

goes to the produce section just to find food for his goat :)

he buys ugly/cute stuffed animals

he'd be a fucking squishmallow collector omg...

garp

buys sweaters and clothes for koby from the clothes section

fuck, he probably loves koby more than asl >_> (probably not true)

would go to the headphones section and listen to the random songs that it plays

ACTUALLY, he would bring koby around in costco and be an absolute dad, embarrassing him with whatever chance he gets

frequents coscto with sengoku

he would go to costco with sengoku if he loses his costco card-- which is almost all the time maybe

edit: there are so many grammar mistakes oh my god HAHAHA

[mysticdoodles]

hi i saw a post about the fish playing with the human child and even though your addition to that post is 3 years old by now i would love to hear more about ftm sheephead fish :3 (no pressure btw!)

Fish curiosity, in my inbox?? It's more likely than I think, apparently! xD

First off, there's actually multiple fish dubbed 'sheephead'! There's the sheepshead- note the extra S in there- and they look like this:

And yes those are their teeth. Horrifying tbh, but they're very good at what they do- crushing invertebrates and other shelled snacks! They're an Atlantic species that sticks to temperate and warmer waters, and they max out at about half a meter in length.

That's not the fish we're talking about today. The focus of today is the California sheephead wrasse- note the lack of a second S- also known as the 'sheephead' for short. Not confusing at all! We definitely don't bash our heads into walls over the naming conventions and lack of record-keeping of our scientist predecessors.

THIS is the sheephead wrasse, the species of the lovely and now Tumblr-famous Red! :D With a length of up to a FULL meter, they're a whole different size class of fish! They can be found along the west coast USA from the Baja Peninsula all the way up to Monterey, and dwell almost exclusively in kelp forests and nearby environments. I will use one of Red's pics as an example of female coloration-

The lighting isn't great but you can see how her body is streamlined, and besides the white underside of the jaw, has a salmon-pink coloration! Females can be pink or a dull silver-beige. And much like other large marine wrasse, MALES have a drastically different appearance.

This thing is built like a damn tank!! Sheephead are a species of wrasse that shift colors to gain those striking black scales and physically bulk up when becoming males- because guess what? ALL OF THEM ARE BORN FEMALE! By default, all male California Sheephead are FTM trans :) They use that bulky head and extremely tough set of jaws to not only hunt their preferred prey- mollusks, gastropods, and bivalves, etc- but also to bash and chomp down on rival males. This one has won many battles, look at that scarred up muzzle!

The sex change is determined by several factors, as it's not guaranteed all sheephead will eventually become males. Because sheephead school in a harem system- many females to very few males- in order to maximize pressure of stronger offspring, the biggest and healthiest sheephead male will drive out competition from the school. Naturally, a sheephead that lives longer and gains a greater size will have a much higher chance of shifting from a female to a male, if the conditions are right. Stress induced from competition can suppress the hormones that stimulate this transition in females, so they're less likely to gain size and shift from female to male if there's already strong competition taking place. However, in the event there are too few males to mate with the females, or no males present at all, the biggest female will start transitioning to fill the empty slot! It's a long process that can take as few as a couple months, or up to years, depending on resources available.

Conversely, if there are TOO MANY males, they can revert back into females! This process also takes a long time, and is a lot more rare to witness, especially because right now male California sheephead in particular are being spear-fished into becoming an Endangered species :c Sheephead adult males in good condition are considered a trophy animal in spear-fishing and similar marine trophy hunting off the West coast, and because males in particular are being targeted, the gene pool is being reduced when it wrecks the harem structure of schools.

As a fun fact- they're also an incredibly smart fish, and can form relationships with humans, as demonstrated with me and sweetiepie Red cx There's many documented cases of large marine wrasses forming long-term friendships with divers! Here's a humphead wrasse that made friends with a diver she learned would crack snails open for her with a hammer:

I don't work at the facility with Red anymore, but I currently work with two unnamed adult male sheephead, and once again they both like me and seem to despise all my coworkers, even if I never had the opportunity to train them like I did with little Red xD They pick favorites I guess? Now if only I could make friends with the garibaldi...

[sgiandubh]

The Year of the Red Herring

I kick the brakes for a couple of days - lo and behold, we instantly have some well planned ahead kerfuffle!

The Saturn Awards are not the BAFTAs. Yet, because the end of The Strikes is still fresh, there were many people (Real VIPs, Wannabes and the Has Been Crew) on that red carpet: Nicolas Cage, David Cameron, Patrick Stewart, that Data guy. And also (oh, sweet Mother of God), Shitner - albeit I have no clue if he brought along his Cryptominion, Paul C. All in all, I have to say that despite the Big Names listlessly loitering on that Red Carpet, at the Los Angeles Marriott Burbank Airport, it was a rather sad and contrived affair. Smart for S to not show up, less smart for C to not even thank those people for her *** strongly promoted bought (yes and I stand by this POV: they needed it for the sale, of course - wake the damn up!) award.

At this point in time, there seems to be an odd & rare consensus around this fandom: she DGAF anymore. Various reasons are being peddled, according to each and every one of the fortunetellers' agenda. Either she is on an imminent propelling path to fame at bullet speed (unlikely) or she is focusing on her current projects, life and recovered freedom after OL (my take). Her cinema/TV projects still sound unconvincing to me (same goes for S, before you start screeching: don't, it's unpleasant and uncalled for). But at the end of the day here's probably the truth of the matter: the only thing we know is that we don't know anything at all. And these reactions speak volumes about this fandom's dynamics only, adding little (to zero) valid and useful content.

But then lo and behold, we have some BOMB news. With not one, but two sets of fresh-faced, perfectly unknown Young Turks and a Plot Twist that Herself apparently gobbled like cod liver oil. My only cynical bet is revolving around the intensity with which *** is able & willing to sell an OTT artificial ship, in order to deflect attention from the 'Crazy', Inconvenient, but Obvious OTP.

First to jump in will be the Rabid Tumblrettes, who also make the bulk of the Gay Crowd (people who don't know the difference between a barista and a barrister, for example) - perhaps the least (ahem) subtle and most predictable subset of this fandom. And that surely will help pave the way for a decent audience score, at least for the first couple of episodes (will S narrate something? - it's always been about S, at any rate). The carefully curated blogs already see to it, with a subtle shift to BOMB in their reckless scouring of social media - true colors showing, perhaps and an order is seldom questioned, let alone discussed.

Will I watch? Of course I will, but with zero expectations, zero emotional investment, a pang in my heart and a cynical eye. For if perhaps a hefty chunk of humanity is preparing for the start of the Year of the Wood Dragon, I am afraid we already started the Year of the Red Herring, in here.

[lewis-winters]

here's an excerpt from the Harry Welsh/Kitty Grogan Canon Divergent AU where you have Kitty on the front lines with Harry because I felt like it... and also because I don't think I'll be finishing this this year because of work and... Baldur's Gate 3. Heh.

--

The thing about Kitty is: she hates beating around the damn bush.

It's a by-product of her mother's mind games, she thinks. Nothing quite like weaponized bluntness to incite the Queen of Pennsylvanian Roman Catholic Passive-Aggressiveness into actually spitting out the god-awful truth for once. It might've earned her a slap or two in her younger years, but the second she learned to dodge and run, then later on sneak back into the house through her little brother’s open window, her mother has been powerless against her.

Of course, she tried other tactics after that. "No good boy's going to want you and that smart mouth of yours."

But Kitty found ways to fight those, too. "Lots of good boys like smart mouths, Mama, on account that they belong to smart girls. Not that you'd know, of course."

Her Mama had scoffed and sputtered at the idea, raising a hand out of habit, faltering badly when all Kitty did was laugh in her face and dance right out of her reach, reveling in her impertinence instead of cowering. A year after that, Wel—Harry, with all his smitten smiles and dopey eyes, had dropped into their lives, and suddenly her Mama didn't have much to say at all. What could she, when Harry was everything she'd told Kitty she'd never have and more? Marisa Grogan never did like being proven wrong.

By the time Kitty enlisted and was on the train to basic, neither mother nor daughter had said a single word of substance to each other for nearly a whole year.

Kitty likes to say that the silence didn't hurt. It'd been used as a weapon enough times for her to get used to it, after all. When she was younger, it came intermingled with hunger, too, on account of being sent to bed with no supper every time she was impertinent. Which was a lot. Kitty had joked at dinner the Christmas she'd gotten lucky enough to score a weekend pass, with the part of the family that still wanted to joke with her, that those childhood punishments had done the bulk of preparing her for the inevitable starvation she'll face out on the front. Her Mother had gone sheet-white upon hearing it. It wasn't a surprise that the joke fell flat with her.

She'd tried to talk to Kitty after dinner that same day, though. And Kitty didn't want to hear a single word out her mouth, and had decided to go back to camp a day early, annoyed as all hell that her mother had given up the game so easily. Not the most rational of responses. Her brother, Andrew, had even gone so far as to point out in a letter that she was acting exactly like their mother. Good, Kitty had written back, infuriated enough by the comparison to lash out at her longest ally in this particular fight. Let her have a taste of her own medicine. She can have her chat if I get back.

If. Needlessly cruel. Just to drive the point home. War and all its brutality had been naught but a distant future, then. She still had it in her to be foolish.

After Normandy, Kitty remembers telling Harry; "I don't think I regret it."

Harry had scoffed at her, something akin to disappointment mixed in with his concern. "We lying to each other, now?"

He doesn't like beating around the bush, either. It's what they most like about each other.

Today, the elderly couple at Harry's billet are out to church and won't be back until supper, so it's Harry who answers her incessant knocking. He's clearly expecting someone else. Nix, perhaps, on account of the sour tells of a hangover hovering over him like a cloud, and the curse that's halfway out of his mouth. But when he sees that it's her, he snaps out of it and immediately goes still in surprise. "Sgt. Grogan."

"Lieutenant," she stands at attention in greeting. "We need to talk."

"At ease," Harry says, blinking up at her before rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."

He steps aside, and lets her in.

[keef-a-corn]

Dat’s right, People, it’s time for ‘Keef watches TFP and you just get the notes!’

This is for season 1, episode 22: Stronger, Faster

Please reblog or comment on this with your thoughts! I really want to know what your opinion of the episode was!

I write down the timestamps, but I watch Transformers Prime on Stan (an Australian streaming service) so they may be slightly off.

ALSO! I try my best to note points for every character, but tend to get a little caught up by Bee (although I think I do a pretty good job with the notes regardless) so do be warned.

~~~~Transition~~~~

00:03 - Said no one to a transformers fan ever.

00:15 - I don’t know what happened to Ratchet’s lip-sync.

00:26 - *throws to the Ratchet fans* FEAST!

00:33 - Raf’s a smart character, wouldn’t he know that Ratchet needs to test it a few times to make sure it’s stable? …Or does Raf want to put Bee’s life at risk?. O-Ó

00:58 - I get the other shots, but why the Cliffjumper one? His death didn’t have a negative effect on the energon supply.

01:41 - It’s like listening to your parents discussing the taxes.

01:59 - aww.. baby no! I wanna put him in a blanket.

02:08 - could you imagine being a parent in the early 2010s, thinking your child’s just watching an innocent show, then walking in and watching this scene? The episode is honest to goodness about drug addiction and there’s nothing anyone can say that would disprove it.

02:19 - Imagine if that had actually killed him? Like everyone returning after a mission to find Ratchet dead on the floor.

~intro~

03:12 - an amusing sight

03:24 - Ratchet’s first move to check if he was better than fine was to rotate his arm/check his shoulder. For anyone who theorises hidden, long-term injuries on the bots, there’s one for ya.

03:28 - I’m sad that his energon was so low… but which one belongs to the others? A possible consideration would be that Optimus is the bottom, then Bulkhead’s above Ratchet, then Arcee, then Bee, from their frame sizes and such. Where Bulkhead and Optimus use up more energon due to their larger sizes.

03:56 - that’s so strategically cruel.

04:49 - Oh Damn.. Optimus ain’t playing around (obviously) but he doesn’t use that tone at any other point. It’s so… uncharacteristically in character of that makes sense.

05:08 - way too high risk. Slim odds of reward. Arcee has a bad habit on taking on too much during fieldwork. It’s incredible how she hasn’t been held back more often.

05:53 - Mm.. there’s not enough appreciation for the way vehicon’s prepare to land.

06:10 - why would he put the ground bridge up there?? HOW ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO GET BACK? + could you just imagine Bee, Bulk and Optimus waiting behind the rocks, trying to make small talk.

06:18 - Slay Ratchet. Damn.

06:50 - so that idea from before… still imagine that. Just because it doesn’t work in canon, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be pictured.

07:16 - now I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that the fact that they included this shot could’ve meant something important, especially how the camera lingered on Bee for a second before the zoom (he’s the focus point in the shot. He’s the least blurry in the zoom). This will not be the last comment I make that’s probably me just thinking too hard.

07:22 - the side eye.

07:23 - That sounds familiar..

HA CALLBACK.

07:32 - *cri* He looks so proud. Good.

07:36 - Oh n o ✨ he’s now become aware of the size difference in a way that isn’t making him worried for the safety of the children (also Ratchet’s canonically called Raf ‘little fella’ I will now abuse this fact.)

07:46 - ‘no secret’ then proceeds to reveal that he’s on drugs.

07:48 - you can see the shift in the other bots features.

07:57 - … what. Did. He. Say?. W H Y A R E T H E R E N O H I N T S ? !

08:04 - this one’s a quick translation.. *concerned husband noises* + that slight glare though.

08:09 - Now kids remember, don’t do drugs. And if Arcee suggests it’s a good idea. It isn’t.

08:20 - Optimus probably has some history with drug addiction/abuse (might not have been him, but a friend *cough cough* Megatron)

08:26 - Damn, Optimus really on edge this episode.

08:43 - expressive story telling.

08:46 - Under influence or not, Ratchet still called Bulkhead ‘Bulk’. He must’ve done so before, but still.

08:50 - Bulkhead’s more likely to respond with a nickname if he gets addressed with a nickname.

08:51 - Ratchet just bitch-slapped Bulk. Damn.

09:16 - oh hells no. Ratchet’s fist should never be that close to Bee’s face like that. + From experience, when someone air punches so close so your face, once you recognise that you’re not actually going to be punched, you relax, but if you still believe you're in danger you're going to remain on edge. Bee keeps himself tilted away, meaning he still sees Ratchet as a threat.

09:22 - *cri*

09:25 - Bee’s eyebrows raise higher after Ratchet insults him.

09:29 - pretend he was straight? Yeah. But seriously, what an uncomfortable situation for all of them.

09:42 - that’s a dependency. It’s never a good thing.

09:52 - Arcee’s tone indicates she’s still upset, otherwise she would’ve been a bit higher pitched.

09:57 - There’s something about the way Optimus reactions (physically) when Bulkhead stops him that’s really interesting. I cannot work out what though.

10:05 - that’s how Knockout stands.

10:10 - I very seriously doubt that Ratchet chose Bumblebee to stay back as a randomised choice. If he had called him ‘Bee’, maybe, but he didn’t. He said ‘Bumblebee’. It was intentional. Considering that Ratchet’s still very strategic, despite being under influence, he would’ve been more likely to put Arcee on the sidelines (she goes against orders, makes unnecessary risks and is not as good at fighting compared to the others + the others are a bit more durable.). There are a few reasons why he might’ve chosen Bee. Although I want to say that it’s super unlikely, I cannot rule out the idea that a drugged up Ratchet could be a bit ableist, explaining why he’d first remove the disabled bot- but, as I said, highly unlikely. What’s more likely is that he’s putting Bee on the sidelines because he sees him as the weakest after he immediately backed down from a challenge. Then you also have the idea that there’s still apart of Ratchet that would put himself in the face of danger to protect Bee.

10:13 - WHAT DID HE SAY?! THE SYLLABLES RARELY MEAN ANYTHING WHEN IT COMES TO BEE’S DIALOGUE SO THERE’S NO HINTS!

11:01 - He’s an ass, but he’s got a point.

11:47 - what was gonna be the plan?

12:03 - this is a serious part, why would they include something so comedic? + he do be having a really good aim tho.

12:29 - Torture for the location of something important… the irony. (IYKYK)

12:41 - Optimus’s reaction shot is like every animal reaction to a loud noise in the distance.

12:44 - Really reflects on how often Autobots torture someone from the way everyone reacts.

12:47 - the shot would’ve been more impactful had Ratchet been kneeling, rather than leaning over.

12:57 - Nothing can stop the indestructible force that is Optimus putting his hand on someone’s arm/shoulder to make them calm down.

13:02 - Bulkhead and Arcee standing in the back watching them.

13:08 - Miner vs Minor. Both make a lot of sense before the rest of the dialogue.

13:11 - ‘servant class, not warrior class’, I need to do my research, damn. Are there classes between Servant and warrior? I imagine there’s probably ones below Servant and above warrior, so the lowest class the autobots would fight is warrior. Are the classes the same for the autobots? *

13:14 - his headlights weren’t coloured properly.

13:17 - with each shot the camera gets closer to them. + Optimus’s really fed up.

13:20 - he got the Lego mouth.

13:33 - I refuse to believe that the nemesis isn’t moving every five minutes.

14:24 - OH. WOW. Low blow.

14:59 - That was quick. Especially considering that that was not the original coordinates.

15:18 - they established early on that Ratchet could do that.

15:23 - ..where is he going?

15:34 - they either removed a scene or there’s a giant error. Bee wasn’t with them.

16:11 - domineering: asserting one's will over another in an arrogant way.

16:34 - I stand corrected, Megatron isn’t on the ship… for some reason.

16:51 - Knockout hasn’t fought Ratchet before.

17:16 - underrated line + delivery.

17:20 - Megatron’s got a big hand.

17:23 - that’s what it feels like to loose an arm wrestle.

17:31 - Knockout immediately suggesting drugs.

17:37 - WTFRaG.

17:49 - …Okay but like I know he doesn’t mean it this way, but I prefer to imagine that Megatron’s witness Ratchet sitting in Optimus’s lap.

17:53 - dude wants to drug a whole army.

17:56 - first move. Call out husband’s name.

17:58 - second move. Admit to wrong-doings.

18:05 - Optimus grabbing onto the handrails (I wasn't able to get a clear shot)

18:08 - He’s so concerned.

18:10 - FRAGGIN FINALLY I CAN GUESS. ‘Yeah? -on it.’

18:14 - Optimus didn’t even finish his sentence before running to the rescue.

18:23 - her legs are moving faster than she is.

18:26 - NOTHING CAN STOP HIM NOOOOW.

18:32 - he won’t stop moving. It’s beautiful.

18:38 - Oh dear.. oh Ratchy no!

18:44 - Knockout’s had like a 0% success rate with that saw.

19:35 - his eyes are blue

19:50 - THAT LINE DELIVERY!

20:07 - he k n e e l s

20:12 - that pool of energon wasn’t there before and he wasn’t actively bleeding.

20:14 - smexy scenery.

20:21 - babes has been by his side the whole time.

20:24 - ‘you bled out’ >:)

20:31 - Aww! But also.. he punched Bulkhead.

12:32 - shut up. You’re crying.

20:35 - he finished his sentence.

20:41 - AAAAAAAAA

20:52 - so energon is a blue crystal that needs to be mined, where it’s then turned into glowing light blue cubes where it becomes a dark blue liquid and is injected into the arm? But if it’s purple it’s dark energon. If it’s green it’s Synth-en. But dark energon stays in crystal form and doesn’t need to be replaced, while normal energon needs to be stocked up and can burn.

21:24 - this is just the plot of Hercules (the Disney movie)

———————

And that was Stronger, Faster

A lot lighter and darker than I remembered it. A very good watch and even if it’s just known for being the drug addiction episode, I’m glad that it’s known.

It’s a very dark topic, but I think it was addressed well. 10/10 would watch in a binge and when being selective about episodes.

*so this touches on my question

[obscurushydrae]

💬

[Warning: Brief mention of K slur, read at your own discretion.]

If looks could kill, Kar's could certainly end a life, resurrect them, only to kill them again. She was also smart, kind, funny, and even at thirteen years old, was ready to throw down at a moment's notice. Her temper was almost as blazing as his-- he wouldn't like to be her enemy. But he was damn proud of his kid sister.

"Oof. Kiddo. I should see the other guy, huh?" He greeted as he tried to rest his bulk on the hospital chair. She closed her eyes and sighed with annoyance, a reaction he was finding more common these. She's a teenager now. One of her eyes was an unfortunate shade of purplish black, some faint black ichor remained from her bloody nose. Lip cracked and swollen. Knuckles raw and blackened with her nonhuman blood.

She hated hospitals. Hellboy knew that all too well. What he gathered from Frankie (who was chatting away with a police officer outside of the hospital room) was this was just to make sure her head injuries weren't serious, or trigger a seizure. They'd become more infrequent much to everyone's happiness. Still he fucking hated it.

"You're not even eating your eema's soup?" He asked incredulously. The thermal container of matzoh ball soup was made by Frankie's wife, Ava. Yellow eyes set in the thermos. Ava's soup was so good.

"Mind if I?"

Kar shrugged, indifferent. She wasn't hungry. Now he was really concerned. Ava's soup was like gold.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" He asked after a few slurping mouthfuls of rich chicken and matzoh ball. The thermos cradled ridiculously in his stone hand.

He knew some of the story: She snapped and went after a kid. Kar wasn't some loose cannon, unlike him she'd always been able to keep it in check. To a point. Then even Hellboy would keep a wide berth.

"He called me a kike." She stated with venom, seething in her hospital bed. His eyes flicked down to brownish black marks around her neck. Before there had been silver and opal magen David around her neck. Months ago it had been gifted to by her mom's for her bat mitzvah. It clearly looked like someone tried to use it to choke her. He wondered where the necklace wound up.

Hellboy sighed. "Kidd--Kar. There's always gonna be idiots spewing hateful shit around. If I went after every asshole that ran their mouth at me, there'd be a lot more folks with broken jaws."

He paused, savoring more of that delicious soup. It really was her loss.

"It's not worth it. You can't fight everyone-- believe me of all people! I'm famous for punching things!"

That got a twitch of a smile from his sister. He called it a victory. Satisfied in giving his obligatory older brother should encourage his sister to do better speech, he leaned in a little conspiratorially and asked in a low rumble. "But it felt good didn't it?"

She nodded.

"Yeah." She agreed. "He fucking deserved it."

[kurowrites]

entigral or just super fluff gym meet cute - uh butcher nmj? Librarian lxc? Children’s librarian lxc?

BEHOLD, I WROTE A NIELAN.

---

The new guy had been coming in regularly for around two weeks now, and seemed determined to become another permanent feature at this gym. Which was… good.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t proud to admit it, but he too had been very sceptical in the beginning, assuming that this new guy would come two or three times, realise that this just wasn’t the thing for him, and then stop coming for good. But then, he hadn’t looked at him with disdain like some other members of the gym (never that), and so had actually been relieved to see himself proven wrong. It had been two weeks, and the new guy still came in every other day, ready for another workout, with a friendly smile to spare for everyone that crossed paths with him.��

Today too, the new guy was here again against all previous expectation, and Nie Mingjue redoubled his efforts lifting weights as he carefully resisted the temptation to turn his head after the new guy had walked past him with a polite nod of his head. 

It was rude to stare, even at a gym like this, where the biggest dudes occasionally engaged in friendly competitions to determine who truly was the biggest and strongest of them. 

(Nie Mingjue wasn’t always the biggest, but he definitely was the strongest. It wasn’t bragging if it was the truth.)

The new guy wasn’t like that at all. Though his workout gear revealed toned shoulders and strong arms, he lacked the bulk that made guys like Nie Mingjue look so imposing. This new guy was built along slimmer lines. Still fit, but clearly not aiming for a bodybuilder look.

Some of the other guys had taken this to mean that he wasn’t very strong, and had scoffed behind his back. But they had quickly been taught better when Mr. Newbie had started lifting weights. 

The man could certainly lift. Like, really lift. 

Even Nie Mingjue had been impressed.

Nie Mingjue didn’t really dare to approach the man, though he couldn’t help but be curious about him. He was friendly, with mild, polite mannerisms that seemed to be so at odds with the way he trained; an intensity and focus that spoke of determination and a clear goal that he must have in mind. 

Whenever the man passed him by, he would nod at Nie Mingjue, and Nie Mingjue would nod back in acknowledgement. That had been the total of their interactions at the gym so far. He didn’t even know the man’s name. 

But even though Nie Mingjue didn’t know the man or his name, he couldn’t help but keep looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. Nie Mingjue kept watching him, fascinated by the seemingly effortless elegance that he brought to exercises that looked very different when the bros at the gym did them. Nie Mingjue tried not to notice how nice the man’s hair looked in a braided ponytail, or how nicely his shirt stretched over his chest while he lifted weights. He wasn’t supposed to be watching at all, after all. 

It was ridiculous, really. He was here to work on his own fitness, not ogle other men while they were training. 

With a disappointed huff, he chastised himself for letting himself be distracted like this in the middle of a training session, and returned to his exercises with even more effort. 

---

After finishing an intense training session that left no more room for idle thoughts of pretty men, Nie Mingjue headed back towards the changing room, his mind now occupied with the thought of showering. He quickly slipped out of his training gear and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pour over him with a sense of relief and completion. 

He had just started to wash his hair when another person entered the shower. Looking towards the entrance, Nie Mingjue hastily averted his eyes, because the man entering the shower was no one other than the newbie, entering the communal shower completely naked (of course, it was a shower). He didn’t allow his eyes to linger, but one moment had been enough to ascertain that the man’s excellent physique extended to all parts of him. 

Now feeling distinctly less relaxed, Nie Mingjue hurried up with his shower and left hurriedly to get dressed. He was usually fine with being naked, and had no issue being around other naked guys, but being in the shower with a man like that… nothing to make you more self-conscious than a really attractive man. He was usually confident about his own appearance. Not right now, though. 

But Nie Mingjue didn’t have much more time than slip into his underwear and shorts. Just when he had sat down to slip into his socks, the new guy also returned to the changing room, now (thankfully) a towel slung around his hips. 

And Nie Mingjue, unable to check his impulse, looked up. And inadvertently locked eyes with the new guy, who was already smiling at him. 

“I think we haven’t been introduced yet,” the man said, and his voice was calm and smooth. Like one of these ASMR things that Huaisang had shown him once. “My name is Lan Huan.”

“Nie Mingjue,” Nie Mingjue replied, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. He fidgeted with his sock and added, “Nice to meet you.”

Lan Huan smiled again, as if there had been something amusing in his reply.

“You seem to be here rather often,” he observed.

“I like to let off steam after work,” Nie Mingjue answered. 

“Oh? What do you do?” Lan Huan asked. And then, as if sensing Nie Mingjue’s apprehension, he added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Nie Mingjue sighed. He didn’t really like talking about this topic, because there were lots of… unprocessed emotions still there. 

“I had to take over my father’s business at a young age,” he eventually replied, his tone more curt than he’d really like it to be. “The business is doing well, but it’s a lot of hard work.”

“Ah,” Lan Huan answered, and smiled a sympathetic smile. “That is quite a big responsibility.”

He nodded once to himself, as if he understood what he was talking about. 

There was something so earnest about it that Nie Mingjue found himself asking a question of his own, without really thinking about it. 

“And what do you do?” 

Lan Huan smiled again, and this time, it was a joyful smile. 

“I am a librarian,” he announced. “I specialise in children’s books.”

Nie Mingjue raised an eyebrow almost against his will. Sure, that kind of job fit perfectly with his mild character, but was totally incongruent with the training that he did. 

“My family has a holistic approach to personal improvement,” Lan Huan explained, apparently interpreting Nie Mingjue’s look correctly. As if that actually explained anything. 

Lan Huan noticed his evident scepticism and chuckled. 

“My brother and I were encouraged to excel both in our academic studies and in martial arts when we were younger,” he added, pronouncing the ‘encouraged’ in a way that suggested that there had been little choice in the matter. “It’s different now, but the training has become a habit. I don’t use it to hunt down people that have late fees. Generally.”

That had Nie Mingjue laugh almost against his will. Damn the man, he was not only handsome, but also smart and funny. 

Completely out of Nie Mingjue’s league. 

“My father had never much left for academics,” he offered. “But he took me to the gym as soon as I was able to lift a dumbbell. And here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed,” Lan Huan replied with the sweet smile that Nie Mingjue was becoming accustomed to far too quickly. 

They were silent for a moment, and Nie Mingjue looked up at Lan Huan, trying not to notice the low-hanging towel or the very nice, toned chest above it. 

This man was everything that Nie Mingjue was not. Technically, he should have resented him for it. 

If only things were so easy. 

“So,” he said awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Are you in a hurry after this? I could go for some coffee.”

Lan Huan smiled again, and this time, there was something in his eyes that glittered with what might be private amusement. 

“I am more of a tea person,” he said. “But as things are, I am free after this.”

And with that, he turned around and walked to his own locker, on the other side of the room. 

Nie Mingjue tried not to stare too much at that very nice back. 

But these shoulders were definitely worth a look. 

He should, he mused as he distractedly pulled on his second sock, probably go to libraries more often. Maybe Lan Huan would have a few suggestions for him. Over tea. Or something.

[poguesofthebau]

paranoia

summary: meeting dylan einstein, a genius forensic scientist from indianapolis, musters up some unknown insecurities about your relationship with reid. however, morgan-- and reid, once he figures it out-- isn’t willing to let you think that way. warnings: mentions of bombings (as pertaining to the case)

word count: 3k pairing: spencer reid x female!bau!reader

a/n: set in season 10, episode 14, this one was requested by @koc-help! as per usual, it took me forever to write, so i hope you can forgive me for that and enjoy what i came up with!! 

bombing cases were stressful. it always seemed harder for you; figuring out a motive, pushing down the overwhelming sympathy for the victims, convincing yourself that all of your team members were safe. because of your unshakable paranoia in the wake of those cases, you were already on edge by the time the team was boarding the jet to indianapolis. and, of course, spencer caught on to the way you were feeling almost immediately.

with the limited information the team had at that point, conversation about the case was reasonably brief. the file was reviewed and discussed, and hotch delegated a role for everyone to take when the jet landed. when the conversation came to a lull, you slid out of your seat, tossing the manilla folder onto the leather before moving to the back of the jet to make a cup of coffee. jj and derek’s voices were audible as they continued to spitball off of each other, masking the sound of spencer approaching where you stood. “hey,” he called to you as he neared. having been enveloped in the chatter your other friends were creating, you jumped at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. when you looked up at him, his eyebrows were raised in concern at your reaction, immediately making you recoil into yourself. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathed, pulling the coffee pot out of its place to pour the liquid into your empty cup. “i’m fine.”

“that’s not very convincing, you know.” you turned to face him then, sighing and internally shaking the dread away. “what is it?”

“i’m not a huge fan of bombings,” you said sarcastically. spencer scoffed a laugh at that, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear as you continued with a bit more seriousness. “just a little worried. it’s nothing, spence.”

“i’m not used to seeing you worried in this way. are you sure you’re okay? i mean, do you want to talk about it?”

the soft-spoken concern in spencer’s tone along with the expression he was looking at you with warmed your heart. if there was one thing that could take your mind off of a murderous bomber, it was spencer. your eyes flickered over to the rest of the team, making sure no one was paying any attention to you and your boyfriend huddled up in the back of the jet, before you leaned up and pressed your mouth to spencer’s. the kiss was quick, but it was also just the reassurance that you both needed. “i promise, i’ll tell you if i need to talk. for now, i just want to get this son of a bitch and go back home.”

being present for the disarming of the second bomb only worsened your initial paranoia. the thought of an explosive device made you anxious enough; having to stand your ground and comfort an intended victim while a bomb was armed less than a foot from you was a whole new feeling. you trusted morgan to clip a wire without killing you, but the adrenaline in the heat of the moment was hard to shake. it had been a few hours since the scene had unfolded, but you still felt like your heart could possibly jump out of your chest at any moment the morning after the disarming. despite the underlying terror running through your veins, you were critically analyzing everything going on around you. your focus was completely dedicated to the case unfolding around you, because the sooner you cracked it, the sooner your thinly veiled fear would dissipate.

you were digging around in the bed of the pickup truck while einstein, the local forensic scientist, examined the bomb itself. out of your peripherals you saw reid and morgan approaching, but the bulk of your energy was going into analyzing the scene as best you could. your boyfriend’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds as he neared, immediately gauging the nerves you were trying so hard to conceal. reid made a mental note to address that as soon as he could get you alone, but fought the urge to do so right then. spencer knew you well enough to know that, no matter how freaked out you currently were, your mind was concentrating on the scene before you, and anything else would simply be considered a distraction. he swallowed down the lump in his throat that formed at the thought of not being able to help you before tuning in to the comment einstein began to make. “he really went for a bigger boom this time.”

the short conversation that ensued between the two following that comment was something that shouldn’t have bothered you. you knew it meant nothing; reid wasn’t the only genius in the world who memorized excerpts from anarchy cookbooks or mathematical theories. just because some young, brilliant, beautiful girl knew the same book as spencer didn’t mean you had anything to worry about.

nonetheless, you became very worried about it.

you strolled around to the passenger side of the truck, sliding into the empty seat with a quizzical look on your face. “you know, it’s a wonder that he even realized he triggered the bomb.”

opening the driver’s side door as he spoke, reid slid into the truck next to you. “maybe he heard something when he stepped on the pedal.”

“and knew not to move? i mean, what’s this guy got, an ex-paramilitary background we don’t know about?”

the back and forth continued a few more times, and within a minute you and reid had developed the idea that allen archer, the bomb’s target, could potentially be your unsub. upon this conclusion, einstein spoke up again. “that’s what you guys do. you just talk a lot.” her voice was joking as the words left her lips, and a bright smile graced her face as she spoke. regardless of the playful tone you immediately identified, the words triggered something in you.

“well, there’s also a lot of kicking down doors involved,” morgan interjected from outside the passenger door, shaking you out of your internally-mortified state. you watched as einstein announced her departure then, mustering up a measly close-lipped smile in return to the courteous and friendly glance she offered you before leaving.

as she walked away, her words repeated in your mind. it was so simple for her to summarize; you just talk a lot. a woman so young and so intelligent had just condensed your entire career into a five-word sentence so simple that you couldn’t even disagree. was that truly all you were capable of? talking? bouncing ideas off of your coworkers’ ideas and hoping you’d end up catching the killer that way?

you spent the rest of the day arguing with yourself. in all honesty, your own inner monologue was starting to get on your nerves. despite your most sincere attempts to focus on the case in front of you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that  einstein was right. and maybe she was-- maybe your job was nothing compared to hers, and maybe she was a better match for spencer than you could ever dream of being.

this new uncertainty of your career and relationship definitely didn’t help to settle your previously established fear of being blown up at any given moment.

given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time until someone on your team noticed how uneasy you were steadily growing. they knew you. you were y/n-- sometimes stubborn, oftentimes overprotective, and always capable. sure, you had off days at work, just like everyone else. you weren’t always the one to solve the case, but you were always present and attentive, engaged in the investigation with your mind and body. however, right now, your mind was in two places at once. for that reason, you weren’t surprised in the slightest when morgan approached you at the station.

as you walked toward the conference room to find hotch, you were stopped by the familiar voice calling out. “hey, hold on little lady.”

“what’s up, morgan?”

morgan shook his head at that, a knowing look crossing his features as he began to speak. “nuh-uh. what up with you, y/l/n?” you threw him a falsely quizzical look, trying (and failing) to get him off your back by playing dumb. sadly for you, morgan was too good of a profiler and friend to fall for it. “don’t play with me, girl. i know cases like this always get to you a little, but i also know how badass you are. normally you would’ve bounced back from our brush with death by now, so what’s the problem?”

you squinted at him as your face morphed into dismay. of course you couldn’t fool morgan. your mind flickered to penelope, suddenly relating to one of her more commonly made complaints: damn profilers. “my first problem is that you might know me a little too well.” derek scoffed at that, waiting for you to continue. “my second problem? well, my second problem might be that i’m not smart enough, or maybe that spencer is too good for me, or maybe that our job is too easy, or maybe--”

“woah, woah, woah. slow your roll, little missy. ‘spencer is too good for me?’ where’s that coming from?” you blinked slowly in response, not quite willing to give up any more information than you already had. “fine-- i’ll figure it out myself. let’s see: you’ve been acting weird since we got this case, but that’s not what this is about. i’ve seen you on bombing cases before, and this ain’t that. so... oh, i know. is this about a forensic scientist, maybe? maybe one who has the same name as a very smart, very famous--”

“okay, morgan. i get it. you’re a great profiler, and you know my thoughts better than i do. that doesn’t really change the way i’m feeling right now.” your tone was a little sharp, but the look in your eyes was a mixture of sadness and contempt. “and, in case you needed me to put it simply, i’m feeling like shit.”

a look of pity overtook morgan for a moment. he knew what you were going through. sure, he wasn’t dating a genius with an iq of 187, but he knew how it felt to doubt yourself, and especially how it felt to feel belittled for your work. “y/n,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching a little to get on eye-level with you. “don’t do that to yourself, kid. don’t forget how hard what we do is, and how important it is. you save lives every day. no matter how you do it, or how much brainpower it takes, there are people all around this world who are alive because of your work. whether they admit it or not, everyone has respect for that. especially our resident pretty boy.”

“i know, morgan,” you sighed. his hands slid from your shoulders as you finally gave in, looking him straight in the eye as you spoke. “sometimes it just feels like he deserves better.”

“just because it feels that way doesn’t mean it’s true. and i can promise you, reid has never felt that way. not about you.” after giving a comforting pat on the arm to go along with his final words, morgan was walking away.

damn profilers, you thought again. why are we always right?

before you got the chance to speak with reid, the team was off again. instead of splitting up this time, you were simply spreading out; hotch and rossi were scouring the crowd of civilians and news crews at the staged ceremony for allen archer, and the rest of you were divided into two suvs with morgan and kate in one and you, jj, and spencer in the other. your talk with morgan had lifted your spirits a bit, but there was still a tightness in the air as you sat beside your seemingly clueless boyfriend.

unbeknownst to you, spencer wasn’t all that clueless. not only had he caught on to your behavior long before anyone else on the team, but he’d also spotted you and morgan’s secretive moment from across the police station. (and, yes, morgan may have whispered “check on your girl” to spencer when you weren’t paying attention. he just wanted to help.) so, while you thought he was in the dark about your current insecurities, reid was very much aware of what was going on in your head. as much as he hated it, though, he was hesitant to acknowledge it with jj in the backseat and the rest of the team on comms. so, like the considerate boyfriend he was, he waited.

it wasn’t until you got back to the police station that spencer got the chance to catch you alone. everyone else was busy preparing to leave for the jet, the bustle of having solved yet another case causing an uplifting distraction for the team. while your friends were distracted, spencer grabbed you by the hand and pulled you into a nearby empty conference room. the surprise on your face was evident when he looked at you, and he couldn’t help but smile. you laughed nervously at his expression, not completely sure what he had taken you aside for. “hi, spence. you okay?”

“i was actually going to ask you the same thing,” he admitted. ���except, i already asked you that once during this case, and you weren’t very willing to share, so i was going to approach it in a more insistent way.” although you were amused by this mysterious behavior of his, you were still confused about what exactly spencer was implying that he knew. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice that you were upset?”

“no,” you said unconvincingly.

“y/n, why won’t you just talk to me?” the desperation in his voice almost shattered your heart. the whole time that you’d been in your own head, spencer had been in his. all because you were scared to talk to the one person you trusted more than anyone in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, taking a step toward him. spencer’s right hand slid around your waist once you got close enough, and your forehead dropped onto his chest as you sighed. when you looked back up to him, spencer was already anticipating eye contact. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything. i just didn’t want to worry you, or to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong, because it’s not your fault, i just-- i don’t ever want to feel like i’m holding you back.”

“holding me back from what? you could never hold me back.”

“i could, though! you’re this amazingly brilliant genius, and there are so many people out there who are so much smarter than me, and i--”

“is that what this is about? you think you’re not smart?” you felt his hand tense from its place on your lower back, his disbelief clear in his voice.

“no, no-- i mean, i know i’m smart enough. but sometimes when we have cases like this we meet some really, really smart people, and i can’t help but wonder if you would be better off with someone on your intellectual level. someone like einstein.”

“y/n,” spencer seemed stunned at this revelation, and you realized then that morgan had been right. the idea of you not being enough had never crossed spencer’s mind. “you are the person that i’m better off with. you. i don’t-- i’ve never even thought of anyone else as a possibility since i met you. there isn’t anyone else. i mean, before i knew you, i wasn’t even sure that i believed in love at all. the only reason that i know it’s real now is because of you. i can’t think of any statistics of mathematical theories or scientific discoveries to explain or defend it, but i have always known that there isn’t anything for me aside from you. i mean that. no matter how smart anyone else is, or how cool anyone else is, or how compatible anyone else’s intellect is with mine. i love you, y/n.”

and, just like that, your fears were gone. your inner monologue went silent, and the serenity that spencer’s words brought you washed over your entire body. spencer’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. his free hand moved to the side of your face, brushing back your hair as he waited for you to reply. the anticipation on his face sent another rush of absolute love through you, and you quickly closed the gap between you. as your mouth met his, your hands found their way to the sides of his neck, slowly wrapping around until they were laced together behind his head. for what could’ve been an hour, you stood there, melting into spencer as his words of reassurance replaced the chants of uncertainty that had filled your head hours prior. you were forced to pull back from him eventually, but even then your hands remained around his neck and the distance between your faces was minimal as you reopened your eyes. “i love you.”

a knock on the door suddenly interrupted the moment, causing you to release each other as a third party entered the room: morgan. “hey, lovebirds,” he grinned. “nice to see that you’re back to normal. it’s time to head home.” you smiled knowingly at the man, lacing your fingers through reid’s as you followed morgan out of the room. grabbing your belongings on the way out, the three of you headed toward your designated suv, where jj was waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. “so, you finally confessed, huh?”

“of course i did,” you laughed. “no secrets in this relationship.”

“yeah, and i would’ve figured it out eventually anyway.” at spencer’s interjection, it was morgan’s turn to laugh.

“oh, yeah, 187?”

“he is a genius, you know,” you added smugly.

“well, apparently so am i, because i figured it out before he did. oh, and by the way, pretty girl, i told you.” and with that, morgan was jogging off (in a fit of giggles) to the suv, hopping in the passenger seat before you had a chance to jokingly scold him.

damn profilers.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Hello, sweetheart! I have a prompt for you ❤️ Geralt has chronic pains since the mutations. Sometimes he can't get up, because everything hurts so much. Sometimes he does not eat for days (weeks...), because he cannot go out hunting. As the years have passed, he has managed to mask the pain on his face. Nobody needs to know. His brothers have already looked for a cure, but the potions only ease the pain for a few hours. +

+ When Jaskier started following the witcher on the path, whenever the pain became unbearable, Geralt told him that he had picked up a contract. A contract that would perhaps take days. And then he went into the forest as far away as possible, so that no one would be able to hear his cries of pain.+

+Jaskier knew he was lying. But he just didn't know what he was lying about. Until one day, tired of this situation (he's his best friend, for God's sake!), Jaskier decides to go after Geralt and find out what's going on. You can change anything you want ❤️

BAAAAAAABBBBEEEE 

listen I lived the chronic pain life for a while and if someone would have just told me to shut the fuck up and confront the problem things would have been WAY easier lmao 

Warnings: Lots of swearing. ye ole self-depreciation. chronic pain.

__________

His back had ached for the last six decades; this sort of twisting torment was nothing new. His second round of trials had induced horrible spasms and, according to Vessimir, Geralt had broken the restraints usually used for young witchers and damn near writhed off the table before the sorcerers had restrained him. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in sixty years because of it.

Eskel and Lambert had sourced out different potions and spells over the years, sometimes putting him under Axi just so he can sleep despite his body, but with the extra mutations came heightened adaptability. If he took any potion too frequently it stopped working, used any spell too often it would barely touch him. While this made his job much easier, and much safer, he was in a never-ending nightmare of shooting and radiating stabbing pain emanating from various points in his spine. It was worse than any stab wound or monster bite he’d ever endured on the bad days, a dull throb on the good days. 

Traveling with Jaskier was surprisingly helpful in this aspect. He made it easier to get rooms with real beds and didn’t care that Geralt’s limbs draped over him in the only comfortable sleeping position he could find most nights. He insisted on getting Geralt hot baths he would never be offered on his own and once blackmailed someone into letting Geralt into a sauna. Of course, Geralt had never told him, there was no point, but having an advocate when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend himself was nice. 

However, as with most things in Geralt’s life, things eventually went to shit. A fall off a two-story roof chasing a vampire the week before had depleted the few potions Eskel had scrounged up for him last they spoke and, bed or no bed, there was no way Geralt could stay with the bard and pretend he was fine. The longer he tried the more explosive his behavior, and well that wasn’t fair was it?

He had gotten up early, before the pain had time to settle in the pit of his stomach and make him nauseous, to head off to the foothills. Giving Jaskier a lie about a contract a town over and meeting up later, he headed to collect Roach and disappear. 

Mounting was a miserable affair, even with a hay bail to help him up. His leg nearly gave out from what felt like one of Yennefer’s electric shocks running the length of the limb before he had the bulk of his weight over the saddle. But once he was on, he was relatively fine. Not trotting fine, but comfortable enough to go at a steady pace out of town without groaning or screwing up his face in agony. It wouldn’t do to scare the townsfolk if he wanted to come back and collect his bard. 

He let Roach meander as far as she wanted off the road running parallel to a stream, letting her choose where they’d be camping for the night once they were far enough from civilization. 

He hated doing this, letting his guard down and in the wilderness no less, but he was holding himself upright on the pommel by the time Roach found a sandy bank next to the stream. He practically fell out of the saddle, unbuckling the girth and giving its bulk just enough of a tug to let it fall off the mare’s back. Even the little effort put into untacking was agony, but he needed his bedroll off the saddle and Roach needed a break. He collected the wood he would need for a fire before he let himself rest, knowing that as soon as he stopped moving the muscles would tighten and cramp up, making it impossible to move until morning. 

He was peeling his shirt off ever so gingerly when he heard a twig snap. Dropping the garment back over his shoulders he gingerly turned to peer into the woods in the sound’s direction. If something or someone came upon him now he was at their mercy unless he could muster enough energy for a sign. 

“A contract, huh?” Jaskier stepped out of the treeline with his arms crossed and a surprisingly parental look of disappointment on his face.

Geralt relaxed a little, plastering the mask of calm on his face as he got back to tugging his shirt over his head, “You followed me?”

Jaskier deflated, dropping his bag and lute next to Roach’s tack as he moved to help Geralt out of his clothes, “I knew you were hiding something from me, but this? Geralt? How long have you been injured?”

The witcher laughed, wincing at the dull ache through his entire torso from the previous effort of keeping himself in the saddle, “Half a century? Give or take.”

“What?” Jaskier sounded offended, why was he offended?

Geralt just grunted, clenching his jaw to keep from yelling as he stood and waded into the stream of snowmelt. All the air left his lungs when he lowered himself into the freezing water, but as it lapped over his back and sometimes even his shoulders he felt a small bit of relief. Being able to lean back a bit and be supported by the current was almost intoxicating after all his muscles had nearly turned to stone over the course of the week.

Jaskier was now standing at the bank with his arms crossed and a look of fury on his face, “I’m your best fucking friend- don’t look at me like that we’re using the ‘f’ word today- and you tried to hide a debilitating long-term injury? Geralt what the fuck?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Geralt huffed, doing his best not to get angry. He hurt and he was vulnerable and Jaskier was using the ‘f’ word and getting his hopes up.

“Oh shove it up your arse. You make everything else my problem, why not this?” Jaskier was on the verge of yelling and Geralt still couldn’t figure out why. 

Geralt stared forward in silence, calmly noting his hands shaking from the cold, or maybe it was the pain, he didn’t really know. 

Jaskier swore and turned to rummage through their things, arranging and rearranging things as he waited for Geralt to get out. 

However, Geralt didn’t want to get out. He wanted to be left alone to be miserable in peace. He wanted to have one fucking day where he didn’t have shooting pain running through most of his body. Long ago he’d given up hope of a day free of pain, now he just wished for an aching sensation rather than this bullshit. He also found he was liking the water. It wasn't as cold as it first was and his breath was coming easier. 

Jaskier rolled up his trousers and waded out to the middle of the stream where he sat, “C’mon Geralt, you can’t stay here all night. You’ll die.”

Geralt frowned up at him, “I like it in here. Hurts less.”

“Dumb Fuck, you’re turning blue. Out. Now.” Jaskier held a hand out and Geralt found raising his arm was nearly impossible. He got it about halfway to the bard’s palm before he stalled out, shaking and staring at his hand in horror. 

“I- Jask I can’t-”

Jaskier sighed, “You’re damn near hypothermic, here.” He reached down and hauled the witcher out of the stream, ignoring his grunts of pain as he walked him back to the fire he’d started. Jaskier went about stripping his soaked pants off, toweling him off with his old shirt, and redressing him all while glaring at him. Jaskier made him sip some boiled water before he bundled the both of them in one bedroll, wrapping himself around the still shivering witcher as completely as possible.

“Th-thank you.” Geralt gasped as Jaskier angrily shoved his arm beneath Geralt’s lower back, the warmth alone was lovely but something about the way his spine laid over the extra bulk was even better.

“You’re welcome.” Jaskier growled, head tucked into Geralt’s chest, “I’m still furious with you. It’s been over a decade and you didn’t think to tell me?” 

Geralt swallowed back tears as he felt some of the tension ease in his back, “No one else really cares…”

Jaskier tilted his chin up to look at the witcher like he was sprouting a horn out of his forehead, “The fuck do you think I’m doing here? You think I enjoy being run out of towns and almost dying every other day? Shit, Geralt, you’re smart but sometimes you’re fucking thick.”

If it wouldn’t have hurt Geralt would have playfully smacked his shoulder, but moving any part of his body was a risk at the moment, “Thought you liked the adventure.”

“No, dumbass. I care about you. A lot.” Jaskier settled his head back down over Geralt’s chest, “In the morning I’m taking you to a healer. Or a sorcerer or mage or anyone who will give us answers.”

“Julek…”

“Shut the fuck up and sleep. Cute nicknames won’t get you out of this one. I’m still furious.”

[onecornerface]

why i hate economics

I find the whole topic of economics very frustrating. Here are some features which, cumulatively, lead me to feel gross about the whole thing:

1.       It is extremely important! It is important for understanding the causes and solutions to poverty and the horrors which result from poverty. It is important for understanding what sorts of government or cultural programs are likely to succeed or fail in their aims. This means that getting correct answers is more high-stakes than most other topics. Without making progress in economics, it seems questionable whether we can make progress on many other issues.

2.       In my own aspiring-scholarly work, discovering the causes & solutions to addiction, and the results of drug prohibition vs. legalization, requires a lot of knowledge about topics such as poverty, social programs, and black market vs. legal drug economics. There are many forms of analysis and activism in this domain which I cannot effectively pursue until after I learn a lot more economics

3.       Can I skip the hard parts by deferring to the experts, as I can in many other domains? I’m not sure. It’s difficult to identify the proper experts or reliable expert consensus. The most obvious experts are economists. But it is hard for me to tell when there is a reliable consensus of economists on a given question. Both in general, and for any given issue, there are seemingly serious criticisms to the effect that the bulk of economists have fundamental flaws in their methods, guiding assumptions, or standards of comparison.

4.       A lot of economics appears committed to dubious theories of human psychology and sociology. Some of this, I grant, is self-aware and deliberate use of simplified models, which I believe can be justified e.g. if it has predictive power within relevant parameters. Nevertheless, it still seems too unconnected to relevant fields of psychology and sociology. Also damningly (in my view), the bulk of mainstream economics seems to be largely out of touch with the perspectives and decision-making structures of both the domestic poor and the global poor. As such, its attempts to identify the causes and solutions of poverty are likely to be seriously flawed. Moreover, there seems to be decades of controversy over what kinds of dubious philosophical commitments most economists do or don’t have, and over whether these commitments are or aren't damning to their empirical reasoning. (To be clear, I suspect psychology and sociology are also suffering from similar problems.)

5.       Although mainstream economists seem to be of questionable reliability, I do not know anyone else who *does* seem highly reliable on economics. There are heterodox economists and non-economists. I don’t see why I should think any non-economists are experts on this stuff at all. And as for heterodox economists, there appear to be a dozen different schools of them which promote a dozen different wildly contradictory theories. For all I know, they are all crackpots (as indeed many mainstream economists believe). Or, if some of them are *not* crackpots, I find myself powerless to figure out which ones I *should* listen to! Sure, it may well be possible to show that the mainstream neoclassical economists (or whoever) are crackpots. But then why should I believe that, say, the Marxian economists are any better?

6.       The process of actually reading an economics article is usually extremely boring and difficult to understand. I am deeply pessimistic about my ability to make progress in understanding economics by doing this. Even if I can get good at understanding the papers, it will be hard to get good at fairly evaluating the arguments, given that I am a non-expert. I think I will need immensely more education in statistics, perhaps also decision & game theory, and various other fields, in order to do this properly. And even then, it is unclear at best whether I will eventually become smart enough to reliably judge and overrule the judgments of economists themselves. Only a few commentators on economics seem to be entertaining enough to sit through—but when they’re entertaining, then I tend to worry that I’m at risk of giving their arguments too much credit as a result of their mere rhetoric.

7.       Moreover in general, I find economic arguments very difficult to evaluate. I always recognize that there’s a good chance that I’m reading something which either *is* bullshit, or which at least many very smart people *think* is bullshit, and that in general I cannot tell what is or isn’t bullshit. For most topics, after reading enough about it, I usually develop some degree of basic confidence in my own abilities to evaluate arguments and arrive at conclusions, even if these conclusions are extremely vague and provisional. But with economics, I have not yet developed even a minimal degree of confidence or competence, and I’m not optimistic about my prospects for doing so in the next few years.

8.       When economists criticize one another, they seem to do it very uncharitably. They usually treat economists in other schools of thought as essentially being brainwashed into a commitment to egregious and obvious errors of basic facts. Some portion of these attacks seem to be strawman or weak-man arguments, but I am not sure how many. In any case, I rarely see economists grant that the members of other schools of thought could be reasonable people who made an understandable mistake. (I’m guessing there are exceptions, but I don’t know who they are.) The same goes for non-economists who disagree with each other on economics, as I will describe below.

9.       Given the social circles that I’m in, and the types of scholarly and activist literature/discourse that I read, I tend to find myself associating with libertarians, left-liberals, and leftists. As I am using these terms, libertarians favor minimal-regulation capitalism, left-liberals favor highly regulated capitalism, and leftists favor abolishing capitalism. Some of this divide stems from their disagreements on empirical economics—e.g. what type of system will create the incentives and distribution system that will sustainably alleviate severe suffering, e.g. poverty, in the long run? Each group accuses the other two of making proposals that will over time collapse due to bad incentives. Most adherents of these positions seemingly do not think much common ground can be discovered, and many of them think almost any scholarship or activism which proceeds from a different position than their own must be bankrupt. It is also commonly assumed that the rival views are driven largely by wicked motives: libertarians by anti-poor bigotry & status-quo bias & corporate shilling, leftists by envy & reckless utopianism, and left-liberals by some combination of these. This all seems to imply that almost any scholarship or activism that I engage in risks either being bankrupt or being seen as bankrupt by other people who I admire. It also means that many people who I admire seem committed to viewing one another’s scholarship and activism as bankrupt.

The several factors above, individually and cumulatively, make economics a seriously unpleasant subject for me. I hate all of this very much.

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Stone Cold

Ok so i love this prompt but it took forever to get to. And as soon as I did its like suddenly I was swamped with everything. So frustrating. But I finally finished it. And I love it. @vixen-uchiha​

              Marinette was six-years-old when her parents died in a car crash. She had been at school when the vice principle, Mrs. Valmontes, stopped by and pulled her out of class. The little black haired girl had known something was wrong instantly as Valmontes had smiled just a little hard at her and much more gently than what she was known for.

           Still, she had been really surprised to see Office Raincomprix, her classmate Sabrina’s dad, waiting for her in the principle. Marinette always thought he was really nice; always jolly and quick to lend a hand to the teacher at the end of the day if he got to class early to pick up Sabrina. However, he too, seemed rather despondent when Marinette entered the room. His partner, a rookie named Lorna, looked really sad too.

           They took her down to the station where she was led to one of the back offices. Sabrina’s dad waited with her there. And then woman name Susanna LeFlont, who Marinette would later learn was a grief counselor. Then they told her.

           Susanna held her as she cried and begged and called them liars, until she couldn’t cry anymore. And then they gave her a stuffed animal, and said they would try calling her relatives to pick her up.

           They came back an hour later, saying they got ahold of her parents’ emergency contact…

           Marinette’s Uncle Jareth Dupain.

           She had frowned when they said his name because to her he had never been Jareth Dupain. No, he was always her cool Uncle Jagged. So it took her a second to remember that his real name was Jareth Dupain-Stone, her father’s younger half-brother. Marinette even briefly remember her dad mentioning having to change their emergency contact after his mom, Gina, passed away a few ago.

           He was only 20 when Marinette born and he was always a budding Rockstar so he wasn’t around too much. And 6 years later he was the biggest rockstar in the world. Still, that didn’t stop him from rushing to the police station, Penny hot on his trail, and pulled his sweet niece into the biggest hug he could.

           Jagged took his niece to the hotel room to get her settled and had Penny go back to the bakery to get some of her things. He didn’t think it was a smart idea to take her there yet; not when the wounds were still so fresh.

           Still as the twenty-six year old Rockstar stared at the small form cuddled up to Fang, he realized for the first time that he was all Marinette had in the world; the only family she had left. The only family he had left.

           So he knew, despite the lawyers taking days to contact him regarding who Marinette’s guardian would be, that it was him. Jagged was the person Tom had entrusted to protect and watch the most precious thing he had the entire world; his daughter. And he wouldn’t let his brother down.

Tom had always been the best big brother anyone could have. And when Jagged’s own father, Tom’s Stepfather (as tom’s own father had suffered a heartache when Tom was a teen), had walked out, Tom had stepped up. He showed Jagged, who was still called Jareth at the time, how to be a man. He believed in Jagged’s rockstar dream when Jagged didn’t even believe in them himself.

Jagged would do right Tom, by Sabine; he would do what they would do if the situation was reversed and they were given Jagged’s kid to care for.

He would raise Marinette as he own. And though he knew would never come close to being the father that Tom Dupain had been…

Jagged would damn well try to be.

…

…

Jagged Stone, Shattered Roses, Nightmare’s Hail Mary, Unmasked Dragon, True Born Rejects, and Emancipated Mirrors were some of the biggest rock band in the world. Whenever, they went on tour together, they were the epitome of what people thought Rock Stars were. They were loud. They partied all night. Groupies hung around everywhere. To them, it was paradise. When all the bands were invited to go on the Kings of Neverland tour, with Jagged Stone headlining, they expected very much the same as they were used to. Jagged always had the most Rockin tour bus. His parties were legendary. They came to expect it.

However, when Neon Savage (front man of the Shattered Roses), Austin Knight (Leader of Unmasked dragon and lead Guitarist), and Niklaus Bane (Lead vocalist of True Born Rejects) showed up with beers and all other sorts of alcohol the day before their opening concert for the tour, they came across something very unexpected.

Or rather someone.

A little Asian girl with pigtails in her Blue hair, a tiara on her head, in a rainbow tutu paired with a black too large Guns N Roses shirt, her hand on her hips, no shoes, and a rather large crocodile next to her.

“What’s with the ballerina?” Austin asked. He had dyed silver hair done in a stereotypical emo style, grey eyes, and too many piercings. He was slim and tall.

           Niklaus sighed in relief, “Oh good, you see her too!” He had curly blond hair, dark brown eyes, and wore mostly black. He had ripped jeans and a red tie. The tie was as red as the whites of his looked. “Why is your hair blue?”

“Because Uncle said I could,” She answered and pointed a figure at them, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Savage scoffed, “You got that twisted, kid.” He was a bulk guy, with long dark hair, and a severe expression on his face. His arms were covered in tattoos. He played in a metal band, and it was obvious. “Where’s your mommy?”

“Dead,” The little girl said bluntly. “I live with my Uncle Jagged now. This his tour bus, and you’re not supposed to be here.” She glared at them. “Fang, Stranger Danger!”

           What happened next was a bit of a blur. One minute they were fine, the next they were being chased around Jagged’s tour bus by a rather vicious crocodile while pint-sized twerp laughed.

           Lucky for them, their yells for help were overheard by Penny and Jagged who had been working in back, “What’s going on?” Penny asked as she ran in.

“Mates, what the h. e. double hockey sticks is going on?” Jagged asked right on his assistant’s tail.

           Austin, who had jumped on top one of the shelves, gave Jagged a confused look, “Better question; what the hell did you just say?”

“Ooohhhh! There’s five bucks for the swear jar!” The little girl taunted.

           Jagged glared at rockstar, “Watch it! A Kid’s in the room!”

           Savage glared at his longtime friend, “Who the fuck do you think set Fang on us?!” He cast a dark look at the crocodile. “Stranger danger my ass! I’ve known you sent you hatched, you overgrown cheap pair of boots.”

“That’s ten buck for the swear jar!” The girl said.

“Ten bucks?” Austin frowned. “Kinda of steep for just two swear words.”

“I swear to God-” Savage growled but was cut off.

“Chill, mate,” Jagged said. “This is my niece Marinette.” He gave her a loving smile. She beamed up at him brightly. He had been taking care of her for a year now. “I told ya about her.”

“You didn’t say she was Satan!” Austin whined. Fang had bitten him, the slowest of the three, quite a lot, and he had a giant hole in his jacket.

“I’m not Satan,” Marinette huffed. “I’m a ballerina, princess, Rockstar on my way to a tea party with Duchess Rosy Sparkles, of the Unicorn Fairies. And guess what, you’re not invited!”

“Oh that’s just mean,” Niklaus complained.

“She sicked a mini dinosaur on us,” Savaged hissed.

“Yeah, well, now she hurt my feelings.”

           Jagged sighed. The guys were some of his closest friends, and by the look up the “entertainment” they brought, they were ready to raze it up like always. But things had changed. Jagged couldn’t be that guy anymore. “Marinette’s staying with me from now on,” He reminded them. “No parties on the tour. She has a bedtime. And doesn’t need to see “us” at our finest, no matter how Rockin we are.” Jagged shrugged. “Spread the world, my bus is off limits.”

The rock stars grumbled a bit but didn’t leave. They could hang with Jagged without presence of booze, weed, loud music, and groupies. It would be a little weird but they’d managed. Jagged was their friend; they’d known him before any of them became famous and stayed close well after. They hadn’t been there for him as much as they wanted to after Tom died; too many commitments, too many required appearances in different countries that had taken them away. But they were there now. And if being there for one of their best friends meant regularly chilling with a six-year-old, then they’d deal.

Savage grunted, “Austin, get rid of the booze.”

“By ‘get rid of’, I assume you meant put back in my tour bus,” The silver haired guitarist corrected.

           Niklaus raised his hand like he was a student in class, “I get the whole no alcohol thing; that stuff will kill ya. But what your feelings on pot?”

           Jagged just sighed. It was going to be a long summer.

           The three musician, and even the other Rockers on tour, slowly but surely got used to the seemingly near constant presence of a six-year-old around Jagged or running around backstage. And the swear jar was a serious thing. It didn’t count when they were singing on stage but off it and anywhere near Marinette and they found themselves forking over five dollars for ever swear word. It added up a lot. And quickly.

           Jagged’s tour bus, instead of being the Party palace it used to be, now was the chill zone. It was also the cleanest of all the tour buses. No empty beer bottles everywhere. No one random passed out anywhere. No having to watch out for throw up. No rabid fans, as Jagged had increased his security to Tony Stark worthy levels.

           All they had to do was mind their manners and remember that Marinette was very impressionable at her age.

“OH screw you!!!!!!” Savage roared as he jumped up and frantically mashed buttons on his controller. “I’m not losing!”

           They had been babysitting Marinette all day while Jagged did an interview Buzzfeed.

           Austin snickered, “Says you.” His character raced past Savage’s. Only for something to hit him and send poor little Yoshi spinning out of control. “Did you- did you just blue shell me, bitch?” He hissed at Niklaus.

“Nooo!” Niklaus said sarcastically. “Hey!!! Not nice, brat!” He told Marinette after a banana caused him to slip off the ice.

           Marinette smiled easily, but there was a determined look in her eyes. Her hair was jelled into a faux-hawk courtesy of Ashley Crimson, from lead singer for Emancipated Mirrors, an all-girl punk rock band.

“Die, scumbag!” Ashley roared as her racer zoomed by. She was a vivacious redhead. Her and her bandmates got used to being some of the only girls around that weren’t either working for one of the rock stars or were scantily clad fangirls who do “anything” to get backstage.

“You’re going down, twerp!” Savage told Marinette.

“Bite me!” She snapped back just as Jagged and Penny walked into the tour bus.

           Jagged crossed his arms, “What did you morons do to my sweet little niece?”

“Nothing!” Niklaus, Ashley, Savage, and Austin chimed together.

“Savage taught me to throw a punch, and or kill a man.” Marinette smiled happily. “I helped Austin set up a glitter bomb in Nightmare’s Hail Mary tour bus. Niklaus and I are banned from Chuckie Cheese. Ashley and I spray painted her ex boyfriend’s car. Cleo and I got arrested. We disturbed the peace!!” Cleo was a pink haired girl who played drummer from Nightmare’s Hail Mary. She had to rush off for her own interview. “Oh and we’ve only been Playing Mario kart for an hour but they each owe like a hundred bucks to the swear jar.”

           There was silence as the words were processed.

“And not one of us taught her how to keep a freaking secret?” Ashley face palmed.

           Jagged just sighed.

…

…

           For the next few years that was Marinette’s life. Austin, Niklaus, Savage and Ashley became pseudo Uncles and Aunt to Marinette.

She spent most of her childhood on tour with her Uncle; going from to place, concert after concert. Marinette was homeschooled and didn’t mind it. Jagged went on tour with a bunch of different people over the years and she got to meet all sorts musicians; Clara Nightingale, Ed Sheeran, Adam Levine, Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco, Taylor Swift. Her favorite were the award shows though. Through them, she got to meet all her favorite actors. And was inspired to start designing on her own clothes after seeing so many fabulous looks. She got to model and do some acting. In her free time, she ran a very popular fashion blog/youtube channel.

The press had always loved her. To them, she was Marinette Stone (Jagged didn’t want her real name released to the media). She was always on the best dressed list, frequently seen with various celebrities, and could be found on the cover of various magazine.

However, when Marinette was eleven, she begged her Uncle to let her go to school with other kids. She was getting older and she wanted to have some type of normal childhood. It took him a year to agree. Her uncle Jagged had become quite protective over the years.

So Marinette went back to Paris. She cut her hair, used her given name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her Uncle bought a grand penthouse not too far away from her new school, and whenever he was gone her bodyguard, a sweet woman named Harlow who was former CIA, was in charge of her. She started at her new school with a smile on her face.

Not long after, she became the hero Ladybug.

Everything was great. She had friends, a normal social life, went to school with other kids her age. She wasn’t constantly being followed around by paparazzi. She still ran her fashion blog and had frequently updates. It was perfect.

It took two years for it to go bust.

The reason’s name was Lila Rossi.

And she was the biggest liar Marinette had ever met. And Marinette had grown up in the entertainment industry.

Lila made wild claims that the other kids just ate up. A simple google search could refute all of them. The ones Marinette could stand was always about Jagged. Like her Uncle, or an airline, would be reckless enough to let a kid race on to an airport to save a cat; not that Jagged had ever own one. Fang was territorial.

Lila made her out to be a bully, and slowly Marinette lost all her friends. Her only one left was Adrien, her partner Chat Noir. The blond and Marinette had modeled together a few times and he had recognized Marinette despite her new looked but he kept it a secret. Because of their history, Marinette developed a crush on the other and Adrien was quick to lose his crush on Ladybug once he found out it was his dear friend behind the mask.

When Marinette was exiled to the back, Adrien was quick to join her (much to Lila’s fury) and nothing could change his mind. Mostly because he was sick of Lila always touching him despite his vocal protests, and Bustier not doing anything about it.

Soon Marinette things started being messed up or destroyed; her homework, her sketchbooks and pencils, her jacket. She was tripped and called rude names. Her cellphone, (Well one of her phones. She had two; one she used as Marinette Stone. One for Marinette Dupain-Cheng; a number only her classmates had.) was filled with mean texts.

Bustier caved to demands and had her excluded from class trips and events due to being a negative influence; again Adrien decided not to go either, and Lila was Akumatized once he said this. Marinette hadn’t been surprised. Bustier always ignored the bullying and harassment clearly happening in front of her. Still, Marinette decided to start recording her classes a hidden camera on her desk, on the corner of the celling and even on top of the whiteboard behind Bustier. It was just in case anything took a serious turn.

Still losing all her friends because of a few promises and dreams of glitz and glamour had been a wakeup call. Her Uncle had warned her. Her Aunt Penny, who Jagged had married with Marinette was ten, had warned her. So did Savage, Ashley, Cleo, Austin, Clara, and Niklaus. They told Marinette to watch out for fake friends and gold diggers, coattail clingers and desperate wannabes; people who would sell out every secret she had to the paparazzi behind her back just for five minutes in the spot light. So called friends who would do anything to get ahead, to get famous.

And it was clear that’s who most of her ex-friends were. Even Lila learned the hard way. When she told Alya about her mom meeting with some important celebrity about their Go Green initiative, this wasn’t a lie as it would turn out. However, the glasses-wearing girl posted it online, despite Lila legitimately asking her to keep it a secret. Lila got in big trouble with her mom apparently.

The teacher, Bustier, was awful but she always had been. Marinette ignored it in the past because at least she had her friends. But if that witch told Marinette to be a better example one more time, it was over.

           Everything came to a head after Marinette got expelled, granted she was brought back after evidence that it was impossible for her to have cheated surfaced, and the bluenette decided enough was enough. She finally gave in and told her Uncle everything.

           Jagged was pissed. He cursed up a storm; enough to fill the swear jar ten times over and buy Marinette a car.

           It took a while to get him to calm down. And to convince him that Marinette could handle it. She had a plan.

           Still, she remembered that Uncle was a wild card.

           Friday, during lunch, Marinette was eating in the cafeteria, when suddenly the lunchroom doors burst open, “Marinette,” Jagged called as he entered, trailed by a happy Penny and bodyguards “Where’s my favorite little fashion designer?”

           Marinette just sighed.

Adrien smirked at her; looking way too amused. The jerk must’ve known. She had thought it was strange that he wanted to eat in the cafeteria. The two rarely ate on the school grounds, opting and preferring to go to local restaurants rather than deal with terrible food and pesky classmates. Still Marinette didn’t mind as long as they away from her classmates. And they did.

Kagami, Aurore, and Claude gave her perplexed looks.

           The students in the cafeteria went wild. Girls and guys screamed, and tried to get pictures. Jagged ignored them and went straight to Marinette’s table, walking passed where Bustier’s student at lunch. Alya shook Lila’s shoulder and pointed at Jagged, and loudly asked if Lila could get her an interview. Lila looked horrified.

Jagged beamed when he reached Marinette, “There you are, you’ve been ignoring my texts,” He accused. Which to be fair, Marinette had been. Her Uncle had been coming up with way too many revenge plots to be healthy. “I decided I need a new look for the VMAs; something rockin, something tasteful, something to show remind the world the amazingness that the Rock Gods have blessed them with.”

“I’m at school,” Marinette told him.

           He smirked, “Then Learn to answer a text,” The Rock star shrugged. “But fine; we can talk later. How about at my concert, yeah. You and your friends” he motioned to the kids at Marinette’s table, “Can have backstage passes. We’ll talk then. But I really want you to wow me. Maybe get a matching hat for Fang too.”

“Fang?” Adrien asked innocently. Still Marinette could practically hear see the script he was reading off of.  “Is that your cat?”

           Jagged gasped as if insulted, “Cat? Do you think I’d ever own anything as ordinary as a cat? Me? Jagged Stone?! I should be insulted, mate. I hate cats, always have. Never owned one, never will. Fang’s a crocodile. Marinette’s knows. Fang loves her.”

“That is strange,” Kagami shot Marinette a smirk which caused Marinette to nearly hiss at the betrayal. Kagami knew too?! “Lila said you did.”

“Lila?” Jagged asked. “Who’s Lila? I don’t know a Lila.”

“Lila Rossi?” Aurore offered. “The Ladyblog practically swears in an interview that Lila Rossi saved your cat from being hit by a plane or something.”

           Jagged scoffed, “What a loud of bull! Any journalist that believes that is not worth the pen they write with.” Gasps were heard. “But I heard that rumor. Didn’t know where it was from. Thanks for letting me know who I should sue. This Ladyblog and Lila Rossi will be hearing from my lawyers.”

           It was a photo finish as to who fainted first; Alya or Lila.

           Lila went home right after that. This caused the reactions of the class to be split. Half the class still defended Lila; refusing to believe their golden ticket was lying. The other half was ready to burn her at the stake; they had carried her books, done her homework, wrote her notes, nearly everything for her.

           Marinette just sat back and watched with amused eyes. If they thought this was bad, they hadn’t seen anything yet.

           That weekend Marinette Stone released a video on her blog about bullying. She had been mentioning her own trouble with bullying for months and people had asked her for more information.

           The title of the video was:

           Bullying Stone: The Expose

           In it Marinette revealed that at her school she went by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, her real name, and had a new look. She told about how much she liked school at first. And they what changed; that it all started when a new girl arrived and started telling lies about celebrities about Marinette. She told the story of how she was expelled; and just how many procedures were broken when it happened.

           Marinette used the recordings she had of class, and even showed up the horrible texts she got.

“As you can see the teacher does nothing,” Marinette frowned. “It’s all happening right in front of her and she does nothing. In the next video, you’ll see someone being sexually harassed, in front of the teacher and she doing nothing about it. And then what victim blaming looks like. Again, as a reminder, all these videos and pictures are unedited.” She had offered to blur Adrien’s face but he declined, and even appeared in the video too and talked about his own experience.

           At the end of the video, Marinette looked straight at the camera, “Anyone can be bullied; famous or otherwise. If you’re being bullied; speak up. Tell your parents, your Aunts, your Uncles, your siblings, your cousins, teachers who you know will actually do something about it. I waited too long to tell someone. I regret that. They thought what they were doing was hurting me.  They thought I’d be miserable without them. They thought I’d cry and break and come crawling back to them. They thought wrong. You can bully Stone but it takes a hell of a lot more than that to break it.”

           The video went viral in an hour. And people were angry. The people who knew Marinette and loved her were beyond furious. Jagged, even more so, as he hadn’t seen the videos before, read the texts.

           Marinette Stone’s phone blew up with texts and calls. She was tweeted and retweeted thousands of times. And she got far too many, ‘You want me to kick their asses for you. I can kick their asses for you,” texts. But she had known she’d get them.

           The Ladyblog was ripped for lies by celebrities who been lied about on site and fans.

           Gabriel Agreste, Adrien told her, was pissed about what had been happening to Adrien, in front of a teacher no less. Lila Rossi fired. And if Lila ever had dreams about working in the fashion industry, they were over.

           Savage, after berating her for not kicking Lila’s ass, told her he and the gang (Austin, Cleo, Ashley, and And Niklaus) was coming over for some Mario Kart and artery clogging fast food.

           When the call disconnect, Marinette got a text from him.

Why did you sic Fang on them?

And that���s a five for the swear jar!

           Marinette couldn’t stop laughing.    

[aliwritesfic]

If you are taking requests… I just went mini golfing today with my 4.5 year old. It was low key torture in a way since the concept of rules were out the window. Made me wonder how the Triple Frontier boys would be like mini golfing with Frankie and his daughter. Please and thank you. ⛳️

Ooooh this is such a fun concept! Also mini golfing with kids is the worst, I have to take my nephews individually otherwise they start hitting each other with the putters 🙄 (also now I can’t get the imagine of the boys in their princess dress out of my head)

Word count: Good question, I have no clue I did this on my phone

Warnings: none

It was Everly’s idea to spend the day mini golfing. It was her birthday, and she decided she wanted to do nothing more than spend it with her favourite uncles. Of course, when she approached them about it, they had readily agreed that princess themed mini golf sounded like a fantastic idea. After all, you only turned five once.

Each had gotten their own princess colour, chosen specifically by Everly, though she wouldn’t reveal her process no matter how Santi tried to bribe her. Benny was quite happy with this, claiming that he had always looked ravishing in purple and glitter. Will was stuck with green, his least favourite colour. Santi and Frankie were a bit lucky, in blue and red respectively. Everly, of course, claimed pink for herself.

So that was how they arrived to the mini golf course: colour coordinated tutus, craft glitter sparkling on their skin in the sun, each with a tiara that was too small for their heads. Each wore make up carefully applied by Everly that morning.

“Morales party?” The young teenager at the front desk gaped at them. Frankie couldn’t blame him, he probably would have done the same. Everly jumped up, trying to see over the counter.

“I’m five today!” She declared proudly, holding up five fingers. The teenager grinned at Everly and told her happy birthday as he handed them each a putter and ball that matched their outfits.

“It’s all yours for the next two hours,” the kid handed them paper to write their scores on, but Frankie knew that within a few holes the paper would be all but worthless.

The putters were comically small in the hands of the burly men who carried them, especially Will who had bulked up over the summer. They walked to the first hole, a simple one to warm up.

“I’m first!” Everly said, as if there had been any question about it.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Frankie crouched down beside her, placing her bright pink ball on the start mark.

“Yes!” Everly rolled her eyes at her father and raised the putter above her head. Frankie ducked out of the way just in time for her to swing wildly, missing the ball completely.

“That’s half a point for E-Bee,” Santi said, making a show of writing it down on the paper.

“Half?” Everly swung at the ball again, this time sending it sailing through the air, along with the putter, surprisingly close to the hole.

Benny clapped and stepped up to take his turn. He adjusted his purple feather boa, throwing it over his shoulder with a dramatic flair.

“Step back gentlemen, the pros are at work,” Benny grabbed Everly and whispered something in her ear, making her cackle and face her father and uncles with wild brown eyes.

“Demon,” Santi whispered, making Frankie snort. He’d seen this child at her worst. He was prepared for anything.

Benny landed a hole in one and smirked triumphantly as Will went to take his turn.

“Add ten to E-Bee’s score, we’re combining ours,” Benny told Santi with an air of smugness.

“You can’t do that,” Will said.

“Try and stop us,” Benny said, placing his hands on his hips. Everly copied.

“Yeah, try,” Everly pursed her lips, a frightening copy of her mother in a less than agreeable mood. Frankie already didn’t like where this was going.

Will took his shot and tried not to look too mad that it wasn’t a hole in one. Frankie had warned him before they arrived about not getting too competitive. They were all competitive, but Will was the worst for it.

Frankie stood to take his shot, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The tiara was a poor replacement for his usual ball cap, but he loved his daughter, so the tiara was it for the day. He carefully lined himself up, went to take his shot and-

“Daddy!” Everly yelled as he hit, striking wide and missing the hole completely. Frankie turned and raised a brow at his daughter.

“Yes, sweets?”

“I just wanted to say I love you,” she smiled sweetly, the picture of innocence.

“Don’t fall for it!” Santi urged, handing the scorecard to Frankie as we went to take his turn. “She’s using your paternal emotions against you.”

“She’s too smart for her own good,” Will agreed, lifting the birthday girl in question up so she was dangling upside down. Everly shrieked with laughter as Santi scored a hole in one, and tried not to let the pride show too much on his face.

“Ten for me,” he said but Everly shook her head.

“Five,” she said, still upside down. Will put her right side up and handed her back the pink putter.

“Five?” Santi spluttered, unable to believe that he was truly being swindled by a freshly five year old. Everly nodded but offered no explanation as to why, not that anyone should have expected one.

The rest of the game passed with the rules somehow becoming even more blurred and the sabotage tactics becoming more and more thought out and almost vicious.

By the final hole, the Everly and Benny Perfect Princess Posse was ahead by six hundred points, but how that happened was anyone’s guess. Everly stepped up to hit her final ball, her tiny face serious with determination.

“Remember what I told you,” Benny called out, “Five Guys for a year!”

Frankie glared at his friend. “I didn’t agree to that.” Benny shrugged innocently.

“Too late,” he said. Frankie made a mental note to never leave Everly and Benny alone again, if this was the kind of schemes they got up to.

Everly hit her final ball with all the flair and pazazz of a true princess.

“A hundred!” She cried out as the ball landed several feet away from the hole. She sprinted forward before anyone could stop her, and kicked the ball with her sandaled foot, kicking until the ball landed neatly in the hole.

“I win!” She jumped up and down, pumping her arms in victory. Benny whooped and ran to scoop her up, placing her on his shoulders, running a victory lap around the final turf.

“Remind me how many five year olds are here today,” Will muttered. Frankie grinned, happy to see his daughter so damn elated.

“Cake and Five Guys! Cake and Five Guys!” Benny and Everly were chanting. Frankie found himself agreeing to the plan, scooping Everly into his arms.

After all, it wasn’t every day your daughter turned five.

[defilerwyrm]

⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.

[typinggently]

for the prompts: 8 + wincest? :)

8) a stray dog, an unexpected kiss, neon lights

Dean hates those fancy clubs. He hates the Scandinavian indie pop and he hates the gleaming black tile bathrooms. He hates the overprized G&Ts and he hates that everyone wears silk shirts tucked into dark jeans instead of a proper and decent three layers of flannel.

“I’m naked.”

Sam hardly looks up from where he’s crouched down by the wall by the backdoor, since even fancy clubs need emergency exits that lead out into dingy back alleys. “I’d personally thank God that that’s not true, but I’m kind of busy right now.”

The bass seeps through the walls and some traces of the neon lights reach into the shadows, blue and purple catching in Sam’s hair, tracing the folds of his white button down in light pink and glinting on his watch. He squints, fingers almost-tracing the layers of graffiti for anything that would explain the fact that in the last two weeks, five Chanel-slick assholes have been puking their guts over their Macs the morning after they were seen in the silk-shirted crowd on the dancefloor of this sleek-fancy club.

“Found it.”

Dean blinks, snaps his eyes up from where they’d been caught by the way the shirt pulls over Sam’s shoulders. Ballpoint scribbles, roughly on hip level, illuminated by the glow of Sam’s phone.

“Ancient blood magic behind the Dorsia.” Dean scoffs. “Back in my day the yuppies just snorted lines and daydreamed about dismembering hookers.”

“Back in your day when, in 1985?” Sam finally turns his head to look up at him, one eyebrow raised.

Dean extends his hand to help him up and is about to say something no doubt awfully witty in return, when they hear something close to the entrance of the alley. Movement in the dark, rustling. Footsteps?

Their eyes meet and fragments of thoughts flit through Dean’s brain at the speed of shattering glass. Two guys in in an alley. It’s too fancy a place to think they’re pissing. If it’s the summoner, they could – Their guns, left at the damn room – Two guys in an alley – Ancient blood magic – Warlock, most likely – Two guys in –

Sam takes his hand, hauls himself up, uses his grip to spin them. Dean’s shoulders hit the brick wall, he gasps and Sam in his space, long hair and the ridiculously expensive eau de cologne he insists on wearing for jobs like this because people know the scent of Old Spice, Dean and oh. Two guys in an alley.

Two writhing figures in the dark.

It’s good. Onlookers probably wouldn’t even be able to spot him, not with the shadows and how Sam is leaning over him, wrapped around him, tall as he is and with his broad back. And he’s being smart about it, too, dipping his head a little between his shoulders, rolling them back to have some movement in his back, make it look convincing. Dean’s hand on his arm, squeezing, adding to the illusion. Rolled up sleeves, white against tan skin, warm under Dean’s palm.

It should be ridiculous, how fast they settle in it, how quickly they fit together. But they’ve lived in sync for too long now, were raised for this. Think fast. Sell the act. The bricks bite into Dean’s shoulders through the silky-thin shirt and Sam’s breath is warm on his cheek.

Dean’s eyes flick down, pulse hammering in his throat. Might as well, right? Realism, and all that. Sell the act. Raised, made for this. He tilts his head, fits their mouths together.

For all it’s worth, Sam doesn’t freeze, doesn’t bulk out these massive shoulders of his. His mouth falls open in shock, then he melts right into it, hot-soft.

Heat seeps down Dean’s spine. He squeezes Sam’s arm, his shoulder. Good boy, he says with his hands, fast reflexes. Of course the shirt Sam is wearing is slippery-thin as well, bunching under Dean’s hands, barely obstructing the warm shape of his shoulder. The sharp-clear taste of Gin, the fresh-hot scent of lemon and ginger, amber. Sam tilts his head to slip his tongue into his mouth.

Dean’s knees don’t buckle. He’s selling the act. The person standing by has to be uncomfortable enough to leave and this – Sam catching him around the waist, pulling him back up, big paws warm through one thin layer of fabric – ought to do the trick. Sam’s hands on his waist, squeezing, slipping to his hip, thumb brushing Dean’s hipbone and slipping back to – Oh, the knife in his back pocket. Good boy, Sammy. Dean arches his back a little, dip in his spine to make it easier for Sam to slip his hand into his pocket.

To distract the shadows, Dean lets his hand slide up Sam’s arm, squeezes his shoulder, slips underneath his collar and up into his hair. Silk-soft, inviting. He tugs, Sam bites his lower lip. His knees buckle, Sam squeezes his hip. Sell the act.

He tugs again, lets his head fall back against the bricks to bring some distance between them, clear his head. Lemon and ginger, Sam’s lips brushing his jaw, his pulse. He picked the other side, further from the entrance of the alley, thus hiding most of what he’s doing from possible onlookers and instead putting the spotlight on Dean. No problem, Dean’s an actor. Sam’s mouth hot-sweet on his throat and his lashes are fluttering, grip on Sam’s hair tightening, thigh twitching. He tips his head to the side just a little, flutters his lashes open, glances to the entrance of the alley.

Empty. A stray dog sniffle-shuffling in the shadows, unconcerned.

Dean exhales, trembling with adrenaline. Cold bricks against his shoulder blades, Sam warm against his front, one hand on his hip, the other in his back pocket, on his knife. Dean licks his lips, kiss-hot, and tugs Sam up again.

Just a few more minutes, then he’ll tell him their audience has left. Just a few more minutes, to make sure.

~🥃~

Thank you sm for the prompt :’) <33

Dean justifying his actions to himself will never not be delicious to me.

(Also yes, I had to squeeze in some American Psycho references and yes, Sam’s wearing Chanel Bleu which was the first scent to come to my mind.)