#anyway that my word vomit

[pants-lint]

Just had a Thought and now I'm curious. What's you guy's strangest comfort media? It doesn't have to be strange as in like creepy/fucked up/whatever, it can just be smthn a lil odd.

[kevinsdsy]

thinking about kevin day winning his first olympic gold medal.

kevin day who appears to the media as a confident athlete who knows how talented he is. everyone knew the gold medal was only a matter of when he’d get it and not if he gets it— he’s the son of exy after all. they might have seen him a bit stiff in his earlier years and people did not forget about his class i exy interviews in which he confirms he had never been skiing or that the palmetto state foxes’ coach is actually his father— but he has always maintained that kevin day winning smile and his polite composure with the perfect amount of charisma.

but then the US exy team wins the final game at the olympics. it’s the first time he has won the olympic medal and when the final whistle fills his ears, he quite literally drops to his knees, he yells out in celebration, and then when he takes off his helmet he is crying. he has finally done it. he has won the gold medal which he was so determined to win ever since he could remember.

and most people do not know the extend of what he had to sacrifice for it. they don’t realise the extend of how hard he had to work to get back to exy after his hand got broken— both mentally and physically. nor do they know the amount of panic attacks he had to deal with and the same amount of times he had to drown his feelings away with a bottle or three.

and he’s crying. the fans cheer him on. and it’s not just the USA fans— but it feels like the whole stadium starts cheering his name in celebration and support. because at the end of the day that’s kevin day and he has finally done it. he has gotten the medal and it’s literally going to be a historic moment.

andrew makes his way to kevin’s side and he helps kevin take off his gloves like he has done many times before. andrew wants to say something, maybe a remark that will get under kevin’s skin— but then he looks at kevin’s expression and he realises this is all they’ve been building up to for the past years.

and it’s not just kevin who has won the golden medal right now. it’s him too. his team. their team. and they’re all a bit speechless and astonished by this moment. so andrew helps kevin up and neither of them say a word to each other just yet, but kevin feels andrew’s weight shifting into him too— they’re both leaning onto each other; they’re both holding each other up.

[eddiesghxst]

rockstar!eddie who only sees you when he’s in your city. doesn’t tell you when, doesn’t hit you up or anything— you really only know he’s coming because of the plethora of billboards and ads that pop up around the time of the performance.

and he doesn’t even really have to call you to let you know he’ll be coming over, you just know— as soon as eddie lands in your city, you’re his.

that’s how it is, that’s how it’s always been.

and you don’t exactly think you’re the only girl. the only one he flees to when he touches down in a new city— but you’re glad you’re his girl for this city. out of the millions of people he could’ve chose in your town, he chose you and that’s enough to get you to open your door for him post show, let him smoke all your shit and spend hours fucking you.

you don’t bother going to the shows— you did once, hated the scene of bitchy groupies that throw themselves at him and you never went again.

so he just comes to you.

probably doesn’t even bother taking a shower or wiping off all that sweat and liquor from another hectic show, just books it straight to you.

plays house with you for a day or two. calls you his girl, fucks you hard and rough and then slow and soft and then rough again. he says he missed you, doesn’t know how he lasted a year without your pussy, swears he’ll lose his mind if he goes that long without seeing you again. snaps a few photos of you. some cute and wholesome, naked and shying away from the lens with the sun beaming through your window. and the others are raunchy, dirty and gross. you split open on his cock, spread open for him. you on your knees for him, worshiping his cock. you cumming on his tongue. you with his necklace swaying between your tits, sweaty and bruised up neck on display.

he keeps them. tucks them in his pants. probably forgets they’re even there, honestly, only remembers them when they fall out in the next city as he’s pulling his pants back up after fucking some random girl.

feels his chest twist up, thinks about booking a flight to you because despite the fact that he’s a fucking player to his core, he really does have a soft spot for you. you really are his girl. his number one girl, best of them all.

doesn’t matter though. because even though you’re eddie’s girl, he still leaves you for another year. it’s just easier this way, really.

[soulerflaire]

So I just want to start by pointing out that this kind of vitriolic response to an offhand comment in the tags is completely uncalled for. If you don't like someone's take on your favorite show, you're free to respond, but there's really no need to dive straight to abusive language like this. You come off as very childish and rude, and most of the time this would just get you ignored or blocked. But you just so happened to catch me on a day when I feel like diving into the reasons I fell out of love with RWBY. So here we go!

For a very long time, I was a die hard fan of RWBY. I first started watching the show around when Volume 3 had come out, and at the time, I was in a pretty bad place. RWBY helped me not think about shit for a while, and I think that's part of why it became so cemented in my heart. Even to this day, I keep my RWBY chibi figures up on my desk, I listen to the soundtracks, and I've kept up with the show. I'm not longer the die hard fan I was, but I don't hate RWBY by any means.

My love for the show was still going strong all the way through Volume 6. In fact, Volume 6 is my favorite season of the show. We finally got to see Bumblebee going somewhere, with real character development for both Yang and Blake, not to mention putting Adam's arc to a satisfying end. We got a massive, fascinating lore dump, the gang all reunites, just all around it's a good time.

Then we hit Volume 7.

We start getting weird forced drama between Ren and Nora that comes out of nowhere. Volume 6 they're fine and happy and everything's okay. Volume 7, Ren starts bickering with Nora because he's suddenly scared to be in a relationship, even though I had pretty much assumed they were together since Volume 4.

There's this whole idea of the Ruby gang training together and going on missions with the Atlas crew, and them all growing closer and bonding, except we only see like 10 minutes of that. I honestly to this day am not sure how much time actually passes during Volume 7. It feels like just a week or so, but the show acts like it's been months. But they don't show us that at all. Which means later on when the Atlas crew "betrays" the Ruby gang, it doesn't have any real impact. We the viewers have known them for a couple hours, of course they're completely loyal to Ironwood. The show tells us it's a terrible betrayal, but it doesn't feel like one.

And then there's Clover and Qrow. You are probably aware of the shitstorm that whole fiasco created, and I will be the first to admit that I reacted very badly to it myself. I will no longer cry foul about queerbaiting or bury your gays here, but I will maintain that Clover's death doesn't make one damn bit of sense. In what world would Qrow ever side with a known serial killer (who specifically targeted Qrow's niece!) over the guy he's been friends with for [insert length of Volume 7 here]? There are so many out of character things leading up to that moment, and it's clear the writers of the show were forcing their chosen plot through regardless of what made sense for the characters.

I stopped watching the show for a while after that. But eventually I dragged myself back to watch Volume 8. Lemme go ahead and preface this by saying Penny was (and remains) my favorite character in the entire show. So you can probably guess how I feel about this season.

This was my first season watching the show with my rose-tinted glasses gone. And I really started to see the problems. Characters being moved around like chess pieces to make the plot work. Fights between characters that come out of nowhere, just for the sake of splitting the party because they needed the party split for plot reasons. And ooh boy the numerous character deaths. The very second the plot is done with a character, ice 'em. Penny's entire purpose this season was to transfer the maiden's powers to Winter. I don't have a lot to say about this season because there really wasn't much to like, for me. Oh also that one grimm is just straight up a hydralisk and how did Blizz not go feral over that?

After that, I took another break from the show. I wasn't happy with the way the writing was treating the characters, and Penny getting killed off again so soon after being brought back just felt like spite and shock value. But eventually curiosity got the better of me, and I tried out Volume 9.

And was pleasantly surprised! It was much better than the previous two seasons. I certainly have my complaints, not least of which being the complete and total waste of Neo as a character. They could have done so much more with her, but instead, much like Penny, she fulfilled her plot purpose and promptly died.

So you may wonder why I still say RWBY's writing is terrible now. I liked Volume 9, I said it was much better than 7 and 8. Clearly they're improving, right? Except Volume 9 is very much a filler arc. Nothing major happens in it. Sure, we see Yang and Blake finally confirm they're in a relationship, and they do actually kiss on screen, but...they were already confirmed in a relationship by the end of Volume 8. So the only actual character progression there was the kiss. And considering how hard they were emphasizing "They're together now!" with characters on three separate occasions saying "Finally!" in response to them doing something romantic, it felt like the writers went into this season with "Yang and Blake kiss" as the only notes for their entire character arcs.

I'm getting sidetracked here. My point is, I shouldn't be enjoying a filler arc more than the main story. It's the same complaint I had after the Skypiea arc in One Piece: the writing for the subsequent filler arc* was much smoother and more natural than for the main plot. And for RWBY, the reason is pretty easy to see: what I hated most about the writing in Volumes 7 and 8 was the way characters were being forced towards plot points. In a filler arc, they didn't need to do that. This was a short, self-contained story with no far reaching consequences, so it was much easier to write around the characters instead of over them.

At this point, I just cannot say that the writing is good. Maybe it will change in Volume 10, but I'm not getting my hopes up.

I do recommend watching hbomberguy's video on RWBY: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81fdKWOHrdE. He's much more eloquent than I am, and goes over way more stuff. But you have to promise that if you disagree with him, you won't leave hate in his comment section. You're welcome to turn off the video and move on with your life.

*I should clarify I am specifically referring to the Marine Base arc, NOT the Foxy arc. God I hate the Foxy arc.

Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - Round 2 Side 2

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[otome-dissection]

Idk man I just think that mizu/ena5 and its progression was really beautiful actually. I just think that the release of the ena5 song was also really beautiful and kind of the nail in the coffin for me and I haven't been able to get the event(s) out of my head all week and that I kind of want to talk about it, actually.

It's about being hurt so deeply and continuously that any kindness that could be offered to you manages to feel like a sin, that it makes you crumble and shatter but for all the wrong reasons, not because of the newfound safety, not out of relief, but something worse and more deeply ingrained in you than kindness ever was. It's about carefully measuring the distance at which you keep others away from yourself, to ensure that it never happens again ("To save yourself the trouble", if that makes it easier).

It's about realizing that the people you've been spending all this time with are drifting closer, that they just might bump up against the unsightly parts of yourself that you've tried to keep locked away, it's about turning around and sprinting at full speed and slamming the door shut and holding onto the handle behind you to stop it from turning, because you're as frightened of the possibility of another wound being inflicted on you as you are of the possibility that kinder, gentler hands will reach out and smooth over the exposed scar. It's about hating eyes that judge and silently condemn you as much as you hate eyes that simply see you and take all of you in without scrutiny, because no matter what they're looking and they're looking at you and they know that your hand's on that door handle and they know that you're hiding something because, as much as you try to keep it shut, they've seen through the crack that you foolishly left open.

(The prominence of eyes in Bake no Hana, specifically eyes looking and searching, and finally landing on you, the viewer, Mizuki, is so fucking. Visceral in my opinion. Every character in the MV stares at the viewer in a deadpan, almost judging way. Even though Mizuki knows deep down that niigo won't really hate them, won't judge them, she just can't stand their kindness either; any gaze directed at her is a loss, another prick in their skin. It screams "don't look at me" while making sure that you know, with horrific certainty, that they're looking for you, that you're being watched. You can't go outside, can't leave your room, because they're searching for you, and while that should be reassuring, to you it's anything but).

It's about not wanting to be dissected, whether it's with hands that want to pull your organs apart or stitch them back together because no matter what they're there, and they're getting frighteningly close to your heart. It's about blinding yourself and covering your eyes to it all because seeing means exposure and exposure means they're taking something from you and you can't do anything about it, much less take it all back, much less have a say in the matter. Everyone's just taking and taking and taking and you wish you could just be alone. You wish everyone would just disappear and you could live in a world all to yourself, for only yourself (but is that really what you want?).

It's about the way that, near the beginning of the Yoka ni Mitoreta MV, Mizuki and her loneliness is represented as a dark, splotchy stain in the shadows. No colors, no patterns, no way to clean it or wash it all away, just raw ugliness marring a blank canvas. It's about the way that Ena reaches out to it anyway, the way she startles when the glass shatters just when she finally starts reaching forward, the way that the rest of the MV/song represents her searching for and reaching only further out to Mizuki, even if the broken shards of glass will only cut her fingers, potentially leaving scars.

It's about how, in every way, subtly, directly, consciously, and subconsciously, Ena shows that she fucking cares.

It's about the way that Ena lets Mizuki have autonomy, despite the situation being so horribly out of their control. And it's such a delicate thing: If she really wants to, Mizuki can take the opportunity to just run away, keep running forever, repeat the cycle over and over, and maybe she'll just destroy herself with it again, but it can't be denied that it's something important to them, something she can't quite live without just yet, their means of survival. Mizuki's autonomy is their identity, it's her tailoring her own clothes and choosing her own ribbons and styling her own hair the way she does. Ena letting them have that is as much about trust as it is about understanding that Mizuki of all people should have this right, when control was something stripped from her throughout so much of her life. She couldn't control how she was born, how people look at her or why, can't control what they think of her; lacking control has only left Mizuki vulnerable to the cruelties of others, has only caused them to suffer, which is why it's so important that it's given to them now.

She had the control to make the choice to see niigo's welcoming love and run away instead of staying, and she has the control to make the choice now whether she wants to keep things the way they are or take a step forward to be at their side again. She has every right to have it, and I think the fact that Ena realizes and respects that, even if it's subconsciously, is really beautiful (there is an entire fucking Verse about this in the new song and just. God Look at this. It's so caring, unconditional, and for fucking What. I think there is something to be said about how much Ena is willing to put aside for Mizuki, and maybe deep down it isn't healthy, but for now I'm just kind of in awe)

It's about how insanely patient Ena has been this whole time. Mizuki says that she basically lied to Ena's face about telling her their secret, even after Ena said with such conviction that she would wait for Mizuki as long as it takes, and Ena is just kept waiting and waiting and worrying like this seemingly indefinitely. It's about how Mizuki danced around it, avoided it, kept the distance, straight up ran when she was finally pushed, but Ena still chased anyway when she saw that she couldn't wait anymore, kept chasing just enough to intervene and get a straight answer out of Mizuki when she really needed to, but still leaving her enough space to leave if that was truly what she wanted. It's about how relieved Ena is the moment that Mizuki finally says outright how much they want to be with her and niigo, how much she wants to try, how much more light Ena's voice sounds when she grabs her hand, relieved, the way that the relief she feels can be felt through the music, throughout the entirety of Yoka ni Mitoreta, the way that warm colors always follow her when she chases after Mizuki, just to hold onto her and stop her from running away completely.

It's about how that careful combination of Ena's directness, Ena's persistence, Ena's warmth, her patience, her bluntness about her feelings, the way she chases and holds on but not too tight and her regard for how unsafe and exposed Mizuki feels actually works and breaks it all down. It's about how she really did reach through to Mizuki, despite the thorns and broken glass shards and nearly-unfulfilled promises, the way that Mizuki did finally let her turn the door handle and step through to see what she'd been hiding all this time, the way that Mizuki's hand, limp, when Ena first grabs onto it, shifts to hold hers back as they cry in the face of Ena's gentleness.

Despite how harsh Mizu/Ena5, and even Ena herself as a character can be (or at least was in the very beginning of pjsk), everything is somehow gentle and warm in the end, blindingly so. And you know what, I think that's beautiful. And what's even more beautiful than that is how Mizuki allows themself to crumble and shatter under that kindness, that warm light, but this time, finally, out of relief.

On a final note, I just want to say that I also appreciate how all that didn't have to solve everything. The scars haven't disappeared, haven't gone away, and Mizuki knows that their desire to run hasn't gone away forever, and maybe it never truly will. But for now they've calmed it, at least a little. She's learning to allow herself to be seen, learning that when someone's fingertips brush over their scars the way Ena's did that it's only out of care, and that maybe taking in that care and allowing herself to feel kindness and safety is okay. They're safe, for now, somehow. They're learning. They're trying. And I think that's cool :)

[sunclown]

Zs dads part 3: Name stories

[haveihitanerve]

Batboys centric in which they come to the realization that Bruce is pretty (not romantically, the kind of pretty when you look at your mom's wedding photos and see her in an amazing dress).

Bruce isn't used to people seeing him as pretty, but her Brucie Wayne persona because that's the whole point of it.

ohohoho i have a hunch this is you and also this is sooooo interesting... lemme see what i got-

“Do you want to come to the tavern with me?” 

The words caught Dick off guard. Both because he hadn’t heard anyone say “tavern” in years, and because Bruce had said it.

“Um?” He glanced up from where he was sprawled over the couch, looking away from his phone. “Yeah? Sure?”

Bruce hummed, reaching up a hand as though to run it through his hair, then thought better of it, and dropped it again. For good reason too.

Dick tripped as he stood, eyes glued to his father, blown wide. Bruce frowned, glancing down at himself.

“What's wrong?” He asked, concerned.

Dick’s cheeks burned and he ducked under Bruce’s arm, heading up the stairs. “Nothing, nothing, I’m just gonna get changed.” He muttered, hurrying up the stairs and ducking behind the corner.

Because what the fuck.

Dick peeked back out, daring a glance back down the stairs at his Dad.

Bruce was wearing a loose fitted light pink tank top, tucked half heartedly into deep navy slacks, hair styled away from his face in a way that clearly revealed his age.

It wasn’t to say that Dick had never seen his Dad in different versions of undressed. Quite the contrary. Their line of work required levels of nudity, whether while dressing an injury, showering, or working their secret identity personas.

But this… Dick shook his head, heading to his room to grab some clothes to change into.

Bruce was… pretty. 

The next time it happened, Dick had witnesses. Jason and Tim were sitting in the den with him, pretending to watch a movie.

Truly, only Jason was actually focused on the story, as it was a movie that had come out when he’d been dead, but Tim would look up on occasion, usually only to draw Jason into a quick debate before dropping his attention back to his phone.

Dick himself was listening to the movie like an audiobook, a real book propped up halfheartedly on his stomach.

“Tim, could you help me quickly?” Bruce called, a moment before he entered the den.

Tim dropped his phone, eager for an excuse to have some work to do, faltering only for a second when he realized the task wasn't case work. No, instead it was much much worse.

Dick lifted his book, cheeks burning, as Jason stared, eyes wide, jaw dropped.

Tim, however, seemed completely unbothered, hands moving quickly and effortlessly to help Bruce out before he dropped back into the seat.

Bruce ruffled his hair with a light smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Thanks Timmy. Boys.” He nodded at his eldest and exited again.

“Tim.” Jason hissed the second he was out of hearing, and Dick dropped his book.

Tim, who had returned to his phone, completely unruffled, glanced up, frowning when he spotted their gagged expressions. “What?” He asked, puzzled.

“You just-” Jason floundered.

“You just helped lace Bruce up in a corset.” Dick hissed. Tim blinked, mind whirring.

“Yes?” He finally agreed, still perplexed. “And this is important because…??”

“He’s pretty.” Jason scowled.

Tim laughed. “Guys, you do realize that our Dad is Bruce Wayne right??? The guy who wins every fashion contest? The guy our classmates call hotter than Superman?? The one person where guys go “i’m not gay but…” and girls go “i’m not straight but…” That Bruce Wayne, yeah?”

Dick scowled. “Yes. We’re aware. I’ve had to deal with those comments about him for much longer than you ever have.” He shot petulantly.

Tim raised his hands, brows furrowed. “Then what's the big deal???”

“We know he’s hot.” Jason snapped. “But he’s… he’s just.” He looked at Dick for help.

“He’s never been pretty.” Dick supplied. “Hot, yeah sure, handsome, okay, sexy, ugh, fine. But- but pretty??? He can’t leave the house like that. My ears will never recover.”

Jason nodded his agreement, looking like a grim military general at war and not a child discussing his fathers attraction level.

Tim looked at both of them, laughed, and propped his feet up on the table, picking up his phone again, chuckling like a supervillain.

“Oh man. And y’all haven't even seen him in a dress yet.” 

um. so.. okay. Firstly, I'm so sorry for the long wait, I just uh have been really busy and unmotivated and yeah im so sorry 😭- secondly, this is not like, even close to what you asked... and i also apologize for that, but i figured better late than never? and its like... kind of in line with what you asked so... yay? anyway sorry and here and hope you like it even tho its not what you asked :)

[ivvyela]

thinking about that theory where peter parker is the mcu's anchor being. and like. the possibilities of it. imagine learning your entire universe's anchor being, the person who pretty much controls the fate of the universe, is some guy who just doesn't exist??? not even dropped off the face of the earth, but there is no proof of this person even existing in the first place???? and maybe strange or the fantastic four or whoever feels responsible for/is tasked with finding and protecting this anchor being but that's kinda hard to do when you have Absolutely Nothing to go off of.

or alternatively, peter himself learning that the entire universe is basically relying on him staying alive, and he already has a lot on his shoulders but this??? having lost everything and everyone and now learning that the weight of the world is literally on his shoulders and fuck!!! he just wanted to be a friendly neighborhood spider-man but that's parker luck for you!!

and like. there's so many ways to take it and i haven't seen anyone considering this and guys. guys. consider it. take it and run with it or what have you. fuck it and throw doctor doom in the mix for the irondad girlies because surely that will be fun.

and i know i know the theory doesn't fully go hand in hand with the mcu cannon but. fuck the cannon. let me scream into the void about this. let me shove it in your faces and hope someone does something with it. let me have my silly where's waldo peter parker anchor being au.

[frozen-seagrass]

The WALL-E au no one asked for

[vulptalia]

re: ur last post with the videos, i’d very much be interested to hear more on ur thoughts abt alfred and arthur’s relationship — the good and the bad — when alfred was growing up if you feel like sharing!

Anon, I could speak for hours on this (under the cut)

I’ll start with a blanket disclaimer that this is all my head cannon based loosely on real history and personal preference, and very very sparingly based on the actual Hetalia Cannon. Oh also TW for verbal/physical abuse.

The Nation personas, as I see them, are human-adjacent manifestations of a society under one sovereign nation. This is very open ended, I have no specifics on what quantifies when a persona is “born,” but nonetheless as far as humans are concerned: they know of these personas and have their own complicated relationships with them.

In blanket terms I think these personas were often deified by their cultures prior to the renaissance. Personas like Ancient Rome, or China, or even Japan were probably seen as immortal gods for long periods of their nations’ history. I’m no theologian so I can’t speak to how their existence would influence real life religions of the time, so for the most part I just say they go hand in hand. But nonetheless, to put it simply, the personas have always been seen as others. As I mentioned they are (practically) immortal, and age at an indiscriminate rate (more or less related to the existence of their nation), so pretty non-human in that regard.

I head cannon that Arthur was born in the Dark Ages, perhaps late-800CE. Because of Christian beliefs of the time he had multiple attempts on his life as a baby, as he grew slowly compared to other new-borns, and (evidently) couldn’t be killed. Eventually left in the woods to die, Arthur managed to survive, and grow, and spent decades away from people to avoid violence against him. However, come the establishment of a unified England under Athelstan (? Forgive my English history knowledge) and the establishment of other nations in Europe around the same time, with their own personas (HRE), the English began searching for their nation’s persona and Arthur revealed himself. He was around 200 years old at this point but physical appearance wise he was probably 12-14.

From there on out Arthur was an established figure of the monarchy and lead, (for the most part) a very luxurious life as the English established themselves as a hegemony in Europe. Ofc there’s things like the Hundred Years War, etc, but at this time I think Arthur was becoming very adjacent to his people; power hungry. He enjoyed the life of conquest and empire. Come the age of New World exploration and the knowledge of native tribes along side English and Spanish colonies in the Americas, Arthur most likely advised the English that another persona was likely born, and should be found as part of the race to claim North America.

I head cannon that Alfred was born in the Roanoke Colony (I found this fic shares the same interpretation and I love that!!! <3), and come whatever happened to the Roanoke settlers, Alfred was taken in by a local Native American tribe. I’ve done some research into local tribes during the time period but, in wanting to respect culture and get my facts right, I haven’t settled on a particular tribe or nation. Though I lean towards the Paspahegh. Alfred was of course a unique baby as well, taking years to grow into a toddler, however in alignment of Powhatan beliefs, I believe the Paspahegh would’ve seen Alfred as more akin to an offering: an example of healthy land, a healthy child. This to say, they had no interest in harming him and were not dissuaded by his slow aging.

Of course, as history would go: following the settlement of Jamestown and the Paspahegh Massacre, Alfred was given directly to Arthur (at his request) to raise and tend to. Alfred would be around 20 but physically he was 4, maybe 5. He doesn’t really remember the Massacre, and Arthur doesn’t talk about it.

Initially in the conquest for the New World I believe Arthur was very head strong and goal oriented, but actually meeting Alfred changed that for him. He had of course planned to raise this child for the sake of the English empire (a loyal colony), however he didn’t anticipate actually caring for him. Arthur falls for him hard and having Alfred actually causes him a great deal of anxiety. He fears Alfred will be attacked by people like he was, and he fears what the future holds for him. At this point in history Arthur had seen hundreds of battles, had fought in bloody, brutal wars, and worst of all had seen what people were capable of doing to things they feared. So, Arthur has a house built outside of Jamestown for him and Alfred, and he begins to raise him in solitude.

He’s strict, and of course very English. Alfred is raised in silks and taught piano with a private English education. He’s not allowed to leave the property and he certainly isn’t allowed to speak to anyone who isn’t Arthur, or the rotating house staff. However, Alfred is lively, and very American. He wants to play in the dirt, he wants to be anything but sheltered. From just the first few years together this sparked Arthur’s harsh parenting (to put it simply).

Think, aristocratic. Children should be seen, not heard. Slouching at the table got a slap on the wrist, dirtied clothes? A harsh lecture. “You should be grateful.” Alfred would misbehave, Arthur would yell.

Arthur was often called back to England, and thus spent months, if not years away from Alfred. During these trips Alfred learned to sneak out, and met Davie. I’ve mentioned this “rotating house staff,” who are obviously human, who serve for a time and then change their post (aka return to England). As my “cannon” goes Alfred grew from ages 4/5-16/17 from 1607 to 1770: meaning he grew about 11 years over the span of ~170 years. This to say Alfred was around different humans, though they were all trained royal staff, aka not personable. They guarded the land, fed Alfred, taught him his lessons, but never stayed longer than 3-4 years before being replaced; to a child living life-times longer than them, those few years might as well be a matter of minutes. So, growing bored and antsy whilst Arthur is away, Alfred escapes the confines of his home and meets colonists. The first human Alfred actually got to meet and speak to on his own, as far as I’m concerned, is Davie.

He visited Davie throughout his life, so presumably at least 50 years of watching what would one day be his nation, begin to flourish. Being "America" he probably not only felt a kinship with the colonists he met and observed, but also longed to be living with them and quickly grew tired of his English life-style, and the selfish rules Arthur imposed on him. I can't recall what the show states is cannon, but I don't think Alfred ever tells Arthur about Davie (at least, not while he's young). When Arthur returns from trips abroad Alfred acts as if he never left the house, and the staff don't snitch out of fear of capital punishment(lol). Instead Alfred spends years attempting to gain his own freedom from under Arthur's strict control of his life, attempting to persuade and getting in numerous arguments. He insists the world is not as horrid as Arthur states, and Arthur doesn't buy it for a second. Under duress of the Seven Years War their relationship fractures even more, and conveniently at the same time the American people are beginning to dread colonial rule.

In his own personal act of rebellion against Arthur, and as a final straw (running away from home) Alfred sought a seat at the First Continental Congress, solidifying himself in alignment with the American people, and revealing himself publicly as the nation’s persona. (Educated folk of the time most likely knew of Alfred’s existence but probably hadn’t considered him a contender this early in the revolution). From there of course, independence in declared, the nations go to war. As they say; the rest is history.

TLDR?;

Alfred was the first chance of a normal, human life Arthur had ever been given. He loved him, he loves him, more than anything but he didn't know how to care for him in a way that wouldn't smother him. Arthur had an ideal version of Alfred and Alfred's life in his mind and he would do anything to make that vision an reality, even if it meant ignoring Alfred's wants, even if it meant yelling at him, or hitting him. However, Alfred couldn't know this, he was a child, he loved Arthur, he loves him still, but he resented him for forcing him into a life he never asked for, and punishing him whenever he rebelled against it. The Revolution is the first of many small steps in mending their relationship, and it takes literal centuries of growth on both their parts until Arthur is willing to admit wrong doing and Alfred is willing to forgive.

[junixscribble]

The Holiday Spirit

I was seized by the spirit of creation and held by the throat till I wrote this. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays I guess! (thanks to the tk server for the fuel!)

Title: The Holiday Spirit

WC: 1621w

Summary: Viktor is stubbornly refusing to get into the Snowdown spirit and leave his work alone for an evening. Jayce uses the only method he knows of to get him to chill, only to realise this deal goes both ways.

-------

Piltover had grown cold with the change of seasons, and with it came a healthy dose of cheer tinged with worry for Jayce. The first snowfall on the city made him anxious and sent him back to the swirling blizzard he had been trapped in before the mage appeared to save him and his mother. It was manageable, but storms left him on edge more often than not. 

Thankfully, Snowdown was a welcome distraction. Houses were lit with warm hues and decor was slung over trees and buildings in the city, so Jayce could find as much business as he wanted in the decoration of his own home. The fire roared in the fireplace, filling the small apartment with heat and light while Jayce stood atop a cobbled together ladder and hung bunting on the window frame. A record blasted holiday tunes to fill the silence and Jayce was happy with his progress.

His peace was interrupted when the door was flung open by an appropriately disgruntled and cold Viktor, shopping bag in one hand and crutch in the other.

“It is fucking shitty out there.” He stated, chucking the bag on the counter and shutting the door before starting to take off a multitude of layers. “My crutch was slipping all over the ground and frankly I’m offended that I left the house at all.”

“Vik, you insisted you’d be fine to pick up the groceries.” Jayce said, coming down off the ladder with a grin. Viktor glared at him.

“Well Viktor from an hour ago was an imbecile and should not have been trusted.”

“You threatened to smack me with your cane if I went instead.” 

“As I said. Imbecile. Now why are you hanging fabric from the roof?” Viktor asked, head tilted.

Jayce shrugged. “It’s Snowdown. Bunting is nice!”

“Ah, yes. Consumerism central masked as a fun holiday.” 

That earned Viktor a long enduring sigh from Jayce. “Vik, you’ve gotta make fun for yourself somehow.”

Viktor hummed and started putting away the groceries, examining the apartment as he did so. “It certainly looks… festive.” 

“That’s the point! Oh, I’ve actually got something for you.” Jayce ran out into the bedroom and came out with a maroon sweater with white snowflakes embroidered on.

“This is for you!” 

Viktor took it from his hands, feeling the fabric over. “This is a holiday sweater, no?”

Jayce nodded, a proud smile on his face. Viktor couldn’t say no to him like that - and from what he could tell the sweater was very well made. 

Viktor took off his cardigan and pulled on the sweater to find it offensively soft and warm. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it before starting again. 

“I was going to say something witty and perhaps a little insulting, but this is… comfortable. Thank you, Jayce.”

“My mother made it. You should have seen the ones she made when she was starting out - they were as wonky as they come. She’s gotten quite good at it though.” 

“Tell her I appreciate it.” Viktor said with a smile, and then pulled out a thick tome filled with taped in notes. He opened it on the table, brought out a pencil, and started puzzling over an equation. 

Jayce huffed. “Seriously, Vik? We’re like 4 days out from the holidays, surely you can stand not to bring work home with you.”

“Progress waits for no one. Least of all a man-made excuse for avarice.” 

“Viktoooor, come ooooon!” Jayce wheedled. “We’ve both been working since the sun rose. We can go back tomorrow.” 

Viktor kept writing, lost in his own head. Jayce sighed and cracked his knuckles. “Well if you’re not going to get into the Snowdown spirit yourself, I’m gonna have to make you.”

It took a minute for Viktor to process the sentence and by the time he realised and tried to scramble out of his chair Jayce was almost on top of him. He braced himself for the awful feeling of fingers on his sides but when the attack came all he felt was the movement of fabric. Viktor stood in shock for a minute before looking at Jayce’s face and barking out a laugh.

“Ha! The sweater is too thick for you! Suck on thahahAT FUHUCK OFF!” 

Jayce had sent his hands under Viktor’s jumper in the middle of his sentence and that crawling feeling Viktor had been anticipating was now directly over his sides. 

“By Janna, how many layers are you wearing, Vik? I’m surprised you’re feeling this at all!” Jayce teased, genuinely amused at how much Viktor was twitching at him tickling through what felt like six layers of fabric. 

“Yohou are a cruel and unjuhust pahartner!” 

“Eh, no I’m not. If you’re that resistant about getting into the holiday spirit, then I think you need more convincing.” Jayce pulled his hands down from Viktor’s sides and found the top layer of fabric, slipping back under it and scuttling up to spider under his arms now. Viktor’s arms pinned to his sides and he hunched his shoulders up, leaning into Jayce’s chest as he laughed. 

“Coal! Coahal and beetles are all you are getting thihis year!”

 “That doesn’t sound all that cheerful to me. Do you need another layer?” Jayce cocked his head and smiled when Viktor buried his face in his neck. 

“Nohoho! Let me go!”

Instead of answering Jayce pulled his hands out again and stuck them under another layer, this time scribbling all over his stomach. He could feel that there weren’t many layers left, and by the looks of Viktor immediately trying to pull his hands away he could feel it too. 

“Jahahayce! You’re a fuhucking fiend and I am going to put snohow in your pajamas-”

“That’s it.” 

Jayce pulled out all the stops and slid his hands under the final layer of fabric, squeezing Viktor’s hips before scrabbling towards his upper ribs, completely unprotected by his brace. In one motion Viktor threw his head back and cackled while losing his footing and dropping to the floor. Jayce took a second to break his fall before going right back to drawing spirals over his ribs. This kind of tickling wasn’t as intense, but Viktor was still squirming around like a fish out of water under him. 

All Viktor did in response to Jayce’s raised, questioning eyebrows was stick out his tongue, so Jayce kneaded and wiggled his fingers between the bones of his ribs. Viktor shrieked and started swearing in Czech, hurling out several that Jayce recognised. As punishment he pulled one hand off his ribs and set it on his tummy, squeezing and spidering over the skin. 

“Are you cheered up now? In the Snowdown spirit?” Jayce asked. Viktor glared through his giggles and Jayce shrugged.

“Guess I’m pulling out the raspberries. Come on, let me at your belly.” 

“NO!” Viktor yelled and in a burst of energy rolled to the side and away from Jayce, ending up face down and protecting himself. “Keep your evil beard away from my fucking stomach!” 

Jayce laughed and sat back, giving up the game. “The beard tickles that badly, does it?” 

Viktor flushed and sat up with his arms firmly around his middle. “What the hell do you think?” 

“I’ll be sure to keep it then.”

Viktor sputtered through some words before standing with the help of the couch. Jayce handed his crutch back to him which he accepted before moving to the kitchen. 

“Get your round ass in here and cook.” 

…

A few hours later Jayce was snug on the couch with a book while Viktor was in the shower. All was well until a high pitched yelp rang out and Jayce jumped to his feet, sprinting to the door.

“Viktor, are you alright?” 

The shower cut off and was followed with some select insults at the plumbing before a reply was heard. 

“The water turned fucking ice cold! Again!” 

Jayce winced. “The wind must have blown the boiler. I’ll fix it.”

It only took five minutes for Jayce to reset the boiler and by the time it was done Viktor was dressed in warm pajamas. Despite the heavy fabric, he was shivering. Jayce stood and closed the closet door, gesturing over to the couch so they could sit down. The two of them curled up together, Viktor leaning into Jayce’s side with his eyes closed. They sat like that, content for a while, until Viktor grumbled and started pulling at Jayce’s sweater. 

“Let me in.” Viktor said, quite literally trying to crawl into the jumper with Jayce. Jayce would have been fine with this if Viktor’s hands weren’t the same temperature as an ice cube. He jumped at the contact, squirming away with half a yelp. 

Viktor was of brilliant, sharp mind, and it didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. He slid his hands further up Jayce’s deliciously warm sides and grinned at the resulting laugh. 

“My hands are cold. I think you can help with this.” Viktor said, and that was all the warning Jayce got before freezing cold, nimble fingers were crawling all over his torso. He pressed into the back of the couch, snickering and trying to take it but all it took was Viktor kneading his belly for him to break into full laughter. Viktor perked up at the sound and a dangerous glint caught his eyes.

“I wonder if you can take raspberries as well as you dish them out?” 

Jayce had less than a second to protest before Viktor pressed his lips to his stomach and sent him into a laughing fit like no other. There was no doubt about it - Jayce was completely and utterly done for. 

[cherrirui-official]

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 1/7)

Since the edited episodes are starting to come out, I figured that bc of that and the fact that I've been keeping this in the back burner for a loooong while now, might as well complete all my friendlocke violet gijinkas!! Some are gonna stay the same while others are gonna have slight/ complete redesigns, so please keep that in mind!

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv

(Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

And that's pretty much it, designs under the cut!

LARK:

HUGE nerd. spent most of his time during the Uva Academy studying different kinds of pokemon as well as different fighting styles he can utilize once he is able to go out on his own journey with his very own trainer! Too bad that didn't really help in the long run...

His entire wardrobe consists of McDonald's related outfits. It's fucking insane. He even has some from long LONG ago that aren't available anywhere else.

The bubble pattern on his hair is able to move and change. Nobody knows how this is possible, not even Lark himself. All Lark knows is that his hair looks incredibly stylish!

Speaking of bubbles, he has the ability to blow bubbles whenever and wherever he pleases!

Often keeps himself extremely clean and gets upset if even a small speck of dirt gets on him, despite this he somehow smells like McDonald's food and axe body spray. Disgusting. He's so cool!

Even after death he still likes to hang around the other team members as a ghost, often getting to know the newer members as well as reuniting with the old ones. Sometimes they see him, sometimes they don't. It usually depends.

SARA:

Due to being a human in her past life, Sara is able to actually speak with the other humans in the pokemon world. However she usually doesn't due to it being seen as extremely weird and out of place. She did slip up once while talking in the presence of Arven, who thought it was the weed making him hear things.

Oinkologne are usually unable to do much with their hooves but Sara spent nights practicing how to knit with her new hooves and now she's able to do it flawlessly. I don't know how she managed to do that but go queen!

When first joining the team she'd often have the urge to eat her food related companions. It was a strange time for Sara, but she managed to overcome it.

When Peppy gets sick, she usually is the one who nurses him back to health. She was a human once so she often is able to figure out whatever sickness Peppy has and treat it properly. I suppose she's like a second mother to him.

The bag she carries with her is full of thread that she collected from various Tarountula she encountered on the journey, as well as little things she knits together in her spare time.

For the most part, Sara forgives... but NEVER forgets.

Did you guys know that Sara has a new YouTube channel? Check it out!

Pastey:

Before joining the team, Pastey was a nameless wanderer. He's been down every road in Paldea and knows almost the entire region (except for Area Zero) like the back of his hand.

He's gotten hurt pretty badly throughout the run (ie. the Mikey fight, the Atticus fight, and ESPECIALLY the final battle), however, he does not gain any (physical) scars from those fights. This is bc he's basically an axolotl, and axolotls are usually able to heal without scarring.

Pastey's "arms" are, to put it simply, mud prosthetics. More info here vvv

Pastey HAS met Mall Bingo once before the run, however, he doesn't recognize her. The only reason he does not recognize her is bc she wears glasses. (You know how people somehow aren't able to recognize Superman bc he wears glasses in his civilian attire even tho his face remains the same? It's basically like that lmao)

Unlike the lightbulbs he eats, the gasoline he drinks isn't really mandatory to his diet. Gasoline is like alcohol to him and he drinks it like an absolute CHAMP.

He goes fishing when there's nothing else to do or when he can't sleep at night. He doesn't do this bc he thinks it's fun or anything, only bc it's a "good time passer" or so he claims. Other members of the team will often sit with him and vent out anything that's troubling them at the moment, and Pastey is always there to listen to them.

And that's pretty much it. Next is Joe, Hannah Ü, and Mykyie!

[pettyprocrastination]

whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her. 

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak. 

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work 

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then 

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place. 

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him. 

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail. 

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench. 

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency. 

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay 

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.” 

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself. 

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there. 

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames. 

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.” 

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did. 

He became a smuggler because of it. 

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way. 

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course. 

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him. 

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles 

“You think she would have wanted this for you?” 

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.” 

All he can do is nod. 

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit. 

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live. 

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago. 

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo” 

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them. 

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands. 

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face. 

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity. 

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?” 

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be. 

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.” 

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again. 

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.” 

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples. 

“One.��� 

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun. 

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.” 

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins. 

“Four.” 

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet. 

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?” 

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless. 

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same. 

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head. 

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?” 

[batboopp]

i like ghostmaker and batman as narrative foils not in the “ghostmaker is incapable of forming relationships with or feeling empathy for others, therefore batman is better” way but in the fact that ghostmaker IS better. literally. more stronger mentally, emotionally, physically. stronger in the way he carries himself and how he sees himself and how he treats others (depending on your definition of strong) and yet, he’s still so so miserable. he can lie to himself all he wants, or ignore everything but blatant fact, but it still doesn’t change the fact that even though he follows batman’s “I work alone” rule better than the actual batman ever could, he still loses to bruce in some way. bruce was willing to shoot someone for khoa, willing to follow and stay, and khoa straight up couldn’t handle it. therefore, he is worse in the one thing that makes batman, batman. that nothing will ever tie him down, no matter what. not Bruce or his city or his rouges.

except, that’s not entirely true anymore, is it? because this time, he does stay. he meets Bruce’s kids and indulges bruce in banter and playfighting and even fake ‘dates’. he stays, and leads, batman inc. and he does it considerably better than batman. of course, he still kills people. he can barely stand batmans kids and the feeling is entirely mutual. he still treats others as expendable next to his mission. but, he stays. he stays with bruce, with someone, in some way this time. he’s learning, he’s willing to learn.

[brotherscain]

precanon wincest hair washing drabble, 2.3k, teenchesters/weecest

The hunt that night went well. Dad had this shifter pinned under his thumb since the first night in town, all they had to do was get to the thing and kill it dead.

If Dad had only brought Dean along, they would’ve weeded it out a day earlier. He wanted Sam in on this one, though, and Sam was still new enough at hunting to warrant a training wheels protocol. It had to be nearest to a sure thing as they could hope doing what they did. And it was. For Sam—for John and Dean right there with him—it was no question. Dean staked the final blow, gravely recognizing it kept Sam from being a killer for however longer.

In the car, John stretched his hand behind Dean’s head and scruffed his nape firmly enough to jostle him. Father to son, man to emerging man. Dad smiled, disheveled and not quite happy, but proud. He wore it to glance at Dean, then Sam. Proud and grateful.

“You boys did good tonight.” John served up no elaboration, he didn’t need to. Dean let the praise wheedle its way into him. He wanted to look over at Sam but didn’t because he knew Sam had already forged himself indifferent to Dad’s opinion. Dean wanted to enjoy it for a second longer, Sam wouldn’t get it.

Back in the motel lot, Dad fished his pocket for a few crumpled bills to give Dean. “Why don’t you take your brother to the vending machines? I’ll unload.” Dad stopped giving them so much junk food change right around the time Sam started wearing Dean’s too small hand-me-downs. Tonight he prompted Dean almost like he had a thousand times years ago, to a different kid.

Dean’s door creaked on its hinge, Sam’s following moments later. An ease settled over Dean. Everyone made it out okay. Dad wasn’t losing his head bunting orders at them about what they should’ve done better. Sam likewise kept whatever brewing comments he had under the lid. Dean figured he could count on at least one of the lit up vending machines having a Reese’s. As far as hunts went, it could’ve been a lot worse. They did do good.

The vending machine’s artificial blue-white beam bugged every so often, dimming before a kick-start into throbbing fluorescence. Sam scuffed his beat up sneakers against the pavement directly in front of it, eyeing up the options and sticking an open palm out in Dean’s direction. Dean slapped a bill down into his waiting hand.

He watched Sam hunch to look down at the buttons while punching in a code. Off behind him, Dad lifted a bag over his shoulder and reached inside the Impala for a second one. All around them cicadas chirped over one another and the night swelled with trapped mugginess. Dean thought about melted chocolate on his fingers and instead of feeding the leftover change into the slot, he stuffed it all in his back pocket.

Sam straightened to his full height, lifted the chilly soda can closer and tapped on the top rim three times before cracking it open. It burst in loud fizzy pops. Sam tipped his head back to swing a short, gulping chug. This way Dean could see parts of Sam in a new light. Small spatters of dried blood flecked the underside of his bottom jaw, a shiny red sheen bloomed on the high swell of his cheekbone. Dean kept himself from lacing his fingers through Sam’s hair, but made a face at the matted mess of it.

“You have monster guts in your hair,” he said, staring as Sam used the back of his limp hand to wipe the carbonated trickle from his mouth. Sam felt around his head curiously, coming away with a tacky coat of muddy crimson and a grimace. Dean laughed at him, couldn’t help but to. “That’s gonna be a bitch to get out, man.”

Sam cut a glare Dean’s way. He was extremely touchy after hunts, and Dean knew better than to prod him. Knowing better didn’t make it any less funny. That was Sam’s fault.

“Eat me,” he threw back dryly, annoyed Dean had the nerve to carry around a sense of humor about these things.

Sam wet his caked hand with driblets sweating off the soda can and cracked a small grin. Before Dean thought a little smarter about what that meant, Sam was dragging the mess all down the side of his shirt. Not that it hadn’t already been stained and ruined with a lot worse, that’s not what mattered. It was his snot-nosed brother thinking he could retaliate.

Dean jumped on him seconds after, first by shoving him away hard, then fisting the ribbed collar of his tee and tugging him closer. This past year Sam’s gone through a growth spurt, shot straight up like a beanstalk, but he still only came up to Dean’s shoulders. Between that and his knock kneed gangliness, Dean could still push and tilt and trip him any way he wanted. His shirt twisted up in Dean’s grip against the current of Sam’s squirming to get away. They were laughing together or maybe just panting or maybe they weren’t making any noises at all except for their shoes on the ground and their hands nipping each other’s skin. Dean thought about wrestling him to the concrete and shoving his face into all the boot prints. It would be easier to wrangle the drink out of his hands and spill it down his boxers. In all its sloshing, it had already splashed them enough times Dean could smell the cola while it dried sticky.

A door opened and shut firmly somewhere close in the long line of identical rooms. Dean didn’t really care to stop their roughhousing until the commanding voice boomed out. “Boys!” Dean positioned ramrod straight, Sam’s shoulders hunched while he uselessly looked to iron out all the wrinkles in his shirt. Dad waited for Sam to finally glance up. He was going to chew them out for being so loud at the late hour, for acting like mutts more than sternly raised men.

None of that happened. Dad stalked a few steps closer to the parked car, raising a brow at them as a wry smirk fixed itself to his face. “Gonna pick up some dinner. You boys get cleaned up before I get back.” He was in good spirits, but it was still a demand all the same.

“Yes sir,” Dean shot off. Sam didn’t say anything, only nodded his head to show he’d heard and understood. And if it had been a worse night Dad would call him out on it, start a whole thing that didn’t need to be started. Dean felt lucky when Dad just tapped the roof a few times before getting in.

In between the engine roaring to life and tires crunching gravel, Sam stuck Dean in the side with his pointy elbow. “Your bet?”

Dean zoned out on the glowing tail lights, thinking. “Burgers,” he finally said, blinking back to Sam. “Yours?”

Sam drew in a heaving breath before pressing his lips together. “Chinese.” They used to bet each other’s left overs on it. Now it’s habit enough just to go through the motions.

Mosquitoes ate him alive, buzzed around the lip of Sam’s drink enough to keep him from sipping any more. He really was a mess. Hair knotted in clumps, face scratched up. Sam wouldn’t mind until he saw all of it in the mirror and remembered other kids his age didn’t track monsters down for a living. Then he’d get all huffy for first dibs on a very long shower and not want to talk much the rest of the night. There was no such thing as a good hunt in Sam’s eyes.

“Come on.” Dean bobbed his head in the direction of their room. “First shower’s yours.”

Inside the A/C churned cool air out through a low and steady humming. It was prone to spit water out, so Dean couldn’t comfortably sit in front of it and soak up the chill. He dropped himself down on the couch and sprawled out, feeling gross and mucky but sated somewhere deep in the pit of his belly.

Sam dug through some bags and came out with a fresh pair of boxers, a towel, and some small miscellaneous bottles. He padded in a direction opposite the shower, Dean didn’t have the energy to search his motive out. But then Sam was behind him, gazing down at him without saying a word. He’d taken his shirt off and since neither bothered turning on any lights when they were walked in, the moon pooled shimmering light across his chest as it fell and rose strongly.

“There won’t be enough time,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Not for both of us before he gets back.”

The solution was easy. It was what it was. Sam knew that as well as Dean. “Okay Sam,” Dean replied slowly. Sam had red marks down the base of his throat, and Dean wondered if that was from earlier tonight or left hy him near the vending machine.

Sam didn’t break their tense staring, but he did inhale a terser breath. “Are you going to make me say it?” He didn’t look pained either way, only impatient and intentionally guarded.

“What are you talking about?” Dean still asked anyway. Like he didn’t intimately know. Like he didn’t lay awake thinking about it a lot more than he should, when Sam would look for him next. Ask for him. And pretending not to know should’ve made it easier, too. To stop letting it happen. But it didn’t.

Sam became fed up with Dean’s pretending. “There won’t be any warm water left for you.” He took off, headed toward the bathroom without turning around or faltering even once.

A panic peeled the skin from around the achy center of Dean’s chest, awoke the crescendo of its relentless pounding. It felt worse than anything Dean’s ever felt before, and it was always the same at this crossroads. One day he should see if it kills him in letting it run its course. One day, maybe.

“Sam.” Dean caught him as Sam’s finger flipped the light switch. “Okay.” He nodded and got up, trying not to give away his shakiness, hoping Sam would still wait.

They shut the door and turned off the flickering light since there was a window in here, too. The bathroom didn’t make space for two people, but neither of them wanted it anyway now that Dean had given in. He brushed past Sam’s warmed skin to turn the shower knob. Then he worked around Sam’s form, pressing into it, to get to the sink. He tried avoiding his own reflection as he bent for a drink of tap water.

Sam set down his things and caged Dean in from behind, his hands finding the hem of Dean’s top, skirting along and underneath it to dance goosebumps across his abdomen. He moved up, up, up. Traced the thick chain of Dean’s amulet, had it bouncing subtly off the plane between his ribs.

Dean rocked back against him, to push him off more than anything. But he was still trying to be gentle. He didn’t want Sam to get the wrong idea. Dean was here, he was with Sam. But— “Get in, it feels nice,” he whispered, pebble skipping his gaze around his baby brother’s face. “Let me wash you.”

Sam understood and found Dean’s eyes before tipping his head in agreement. He stripped completely bare, tapped Dean’s arm to let him through and allowed Dean to pull the curtain back for him. Sam closed his eyes under the stream, loosed some of the tension his body clung to.

Dean got to work, shrugging his top off before reaching for the shampoo bottle, squeezing a dollop into his palm and rubbing his hands together to coat them. “C’mere,” he murmured, even though he helped guide Sam close enough.

It had started when they were both younger, because Sam couldn’t do these kinds of things by himself yet but Dean could. Then, somewhere in all the gunk of their lives, it grew on them. There was routine in it; Sam would shut his eyes tight, roll his neck this way and that as Dean’s sudsy hands directed him, and they tried not to talk too much. Both began to understand there were going to be things Dad just shouldn’t know about.

Dean stayed careful around the tangles, worked them out with his fingers as gently as he could. Sam never winced or whined about it anymore or anything, but Dean couldn’t kick the habit. He threaded his hands through its soapy slickness, dug in by the base of his neck, eased the notches out.

Sam hummed and sighed, drooped and sagged. Content. His hand circled around Dean’s wrist for no reason other than to feel him.

Sometimes, more often than Dean could confess, it grew into more than this. Dean would undress himself, Sam would coax him under the water with him. They’d roam and glide their touch all over their slippery bodies. Tonight they would need to be quick, quicker than usual. So Dean crept in and pressed his chest to Sam’s back and scrubbed them both down without meaning to linger very often. Sam turned his cheek to Dean’s shoulder, pressed his open mouth to the wet flesh and scraped his teeth against him lightly. They were both close to hard, but there wasn’t time and Dean tried to believe it wasn’t about them, only bodies and their closeness.

Dean got to fooling himself this was better, as long as it was just this. Eventually he’d have the willpower to deny it altogether. Eventually.

[pinkytoothlesso11]

Reasons why Jinx is alive– A fully comprehensive evidence analysis

Right. So I've seen a lot of people with conflicting views on if Jimx survived at the end of Arcane season 2, and I have been itching to do a meta post on the subject, so here it goes!

The first piece of evidence that I found particularly noteworthy was the explosion itself. By going frame by frame it was possible to see this:

It's a blink and you miss it kind of scene, but this is right after the explosion, and you can see the clear pink line going into one of the vents. Now why is this important? Well, it's simple, it's the shimmer effect that happens when Jinx is moving very fast! I know that Warwick was holding onto Jinx, but in a explosion its perfectly plausible for her to get out of that grip using the explosion of her monkey bomb.

Then we have the scene where Caitlyn is inspecting the plans for the Hexgates.

There is literally no reason for her to look at these plans. Not unless she thought there was something she missed...

There's no dialogue here, so it's really just based on what she does and how she reacts. Most notably what she's holding.

It's the head of one of Jinx's notorious monkey bombs. What's more, it's clearly damaged and singed. So likely this is the very same monkey bomb Jinx used in the Hexgates. This also suggests that Caitlyn might have been searching for evidence of Jinx's dead body... and clearly didn't find it for her to be holding Jinx's bomb head and then searching on the plans. Which brings me to the focus changing to this:

The vents we see the streak of pink shimmer light go inside correlate to the plans as shown above. The vents connect to the air ducts which connect to the outside. After this, the camera goes back to Caitlyn and we see her look at the monkey bomb head and then smile.

Then we get to the most telling piece of evidence that Jinx survived and left Zaun and Piltover behind, which is definitely a controversial choice on the writers part and does come across that they just want the option to bring in Jinx whenever they want in later stories taking place in Noxus, Ionia and Demacia. Which is very Marvel like lol. This is namely the air blimp at the end shot of the show.

What I find interesting is the fact it mirrors exactly the very first time we see Powder in episode 1 of Arcane season 1 when we see one of these air blimps.

The difference in these shots is that the one from season one is going TOWARDS Piltover, and the one from end of season 2 is going AWAY across the sea. The only difference in the ships themselves is the streak of blue you can just about see on the side of the hull. Maybe a further hint that Jinx is indeed on board that blimp.

Obviously it is what Powder says about the air blimp in season one that truly gives some solid evidence Jinx escaped on the air blimp heading for the sea:

Well, it seems Powder was right about that... the shots being so similar is clearly not a coincidence.

This is made all the more evident with the very last seconds of screen time of the show. It ends with Jinx's signature scribbles taking over the screen for three seconds with the words 'The end' written across.

Some people I've seen commenting on the fact the letter E on 'the' is reversed, but I think that's just a style choice in line with Jinx's graffiti so far. What is significant here is the fact it's so evidently Jinx's mark straight after the air blimp that resembeled the one in the first episode of Arcane season one.

Annnnd there's just one more thing now. I promise I'm almost done lol.

The lyrics to the song Wasteland that plays during episode 8, when Jinx is about to try and end her life are as follows:

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

I used to have strength but I ran out of hope

I know it’s my fault that I'm here all alone

This world is a wasteland

Please let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

But then the lyrics change in the last chorus, they go from Jinx preparing to end her life for good, to THIS:

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

If it weren’t for you I’d be here all alone

I know in my heart this is where we belong

This world is a wasteland

Don’t let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

Don't let me go

I feel it's likely that the line 'if it weren't for you I'd be here all alone' is referring to Ekko. Because it's Ekko who stopped Jinx from killing herself. And then of course the biggest change, from 'please let me go' to 'don't let me go' Jinx isn't ready to say goodbye. She wants to stay living. And I think it's this that plays in her 'sacrifice' scene with Warwick. It's not her giving up on life, it's her accepting that her life has changed and she needs to break the cycle by moving on. Not for anyone else, but for herself.

Let me know in the comments or reblogs your thoughts on this! And thank you for reading if you got this far lol.