#clay is going through it nobody talk to him

[coastalraccoon]

[ID: A redraw of a page from the Lost Heir graphic novel with three panels. In the top panel are Clay, Glory, Tsunami in the foreground, and Starflight. The first three look surprised while Starflight looks worried. They look to their right as "FLAP FLAP" indicates a dragon is approaching. Taking up most of the page and the background is Queen Coral flying upwards, looking down with a small smile. A waterfall behind her casts her in blue light. In the small panel in the bottom right is Tsunami happily shouting "Mother!". End ID]

Redrew a page from the grapic novel for funsies and because I haven't drawn WOF dragons in a while but they haunt me. All of these designs were made on the spot so if I ever draw them again they probably won't look the same.

Original page for comparison:

[acewritesfics]

Beautiful | Jax Teller 

Pairing: Jax Teller x Winston!Reader 

Request: No. Find original here -

Synopsis: Jax takes his old lady out for the night.  

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, swearing, talks of body parts, mentions of dressing and undressing. This was originally a Song-fic. H/C - Hair Color. E/C - Eye Color

Word Count: 2,186

Main Masterlist

Jax beams as he watches the woman he's madly in love with hurry around their bedroom, dressed in her black lace bra and panties set, that just so happens to be his favorite, oblivious to him standing there, focused on trying to decide what to wear. His eyes scan her body, stopping on her ass, admiring his third favorite part of her body. 

He never imagined falling in love with Y/N Winston, the younger sister of his best friend, but something changed when she left for college. When Y/N left Charming for college, she was just Opie's annoying little sister; but, when she returned four years later, it seemed as though she had completely changed. She was now a woman, not a girl. 

Y/N settles on a pair of skintight black jeans and a flowing deep crimson tank top. On the bed, she has her leather jacket that he gifted her for her 21st birthday, laying next to her jeans.  She eventually catches him standing there as she slides her legs into her jeans.  She pulls on her top as he enters the bedroom, a bit disappointed that his second favorite part of her body was now also hidden from him. 

After giving him a short kiss, she walks over to her dresser and gathers up her make up bag and hair brush. "I thought we were going to meet up at the clubhouse?" 

"Church got out a little early," he muttered, his eyes following her as she entered the ensuite connected to their bedroom. He observes her brushing her H/C hair as he leans against the door frame. 

When she put down her hairbrush, he closed the gap between coming up behind her so they're back to chest. He slides his arms around her waist, his fingertips caressing the flesh on her left hip where his crow was inked before resting his hands on her stomach and kissing the side of her head. "I figured I'd be a gentleman and come pick up my old lady." 

"You'll be driving the cage," she quips as she looks at him through the mirror.  

"I know," He smiles looking back at her, his baby blues meeting her E/C eyes. He takes a step back from her as she starts to apply her makeup. 

They got it confirmed last week that Y/N is pregnant again, after speculating that she was a few days before hand. Aside from not being able to ride bitch right now, they haven't told anyone about the pregnancy yet. Being just nine weeks along, they choose to hold off until the second trimester, when the risk of miscarriage is significantly lower. The first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 11 weeks, and it wasn't only them who were devastated by it. 

Despite the fact that they are quite certain their family aren't buying into the excuse, they used her being sober driver as an explanation for her abstinence from drinking and riding on the back of Jax's motorcycle. They noticed Gemma, Opie's, Piney's and even Clay's suspicious looks when she would deny a drink or avoid being on the of a motorcycle. Y/N could tell Gemma was the most suspicious and that she was picking up on more than just those two things. 

Once Y/N has finished applying her makeup, she exits the bathroom to retrieve her jacket and put it on, with Jax close behind. 

"How do I look?" She asks as she slowly spins around, flaunting her appearance. 

He closes the gap between them once again, encircling his arms around her waist and planting a scorching kiss to her lips. He smiles as she responds kissing him just as heated as he was.  Nobody else has ever made him feel the way he does when he kisses Y/N. He knows he had the same effect on her as she always left him out of breath. He knew this because of the small moment after their kiss when her eyes remained closed and her lips pouted. 

Before letting her go, he quickly kisses her and doesn't say anything as he leads her to the car, locking the front door on their way out of the house. 

"I never answered your question," he says as he opens the passenger door for her but blocks her from entering the vehicle. She looks at him puzzled. "You look fuckin' beautiful," he whispers as he kisses her lips again before helping her into the car before getting in himself and driving to the SAMCRO clubhouse. 

When Jax pulls into the lot, the music is already booming from the speakers, there is already a strong odor of weed and cigarettes in the air, and beer bottles and cigarette butts are scattered all over the ground. He exits the car as Y/N gets out and meets him at the front of the car. He smiles as she slips her smaller hand into his larger one and laces their fingers together. As they enter the clubhouse, he brings her hand to his lips and gently kisses the back of it. 

As soon as they are inside, surrounded by patches, friends of the clubs, old ladies, sweet butts and crow eaters, Jax let's go of her hand and placed his arm around her waist pulling her into his side. A few people stared and scoffed at them, he was unable to control the smirk that grew on his lips. The women envious of Y/N and the men who aren't members of the club wishing they were him. 

Jax orders drinks from the prospect behind the bar before noticing Tig and Chibs sitting nearby. He leans close to Y/N to talks to her without having to yell, "Go sit down with Tig and Chibs, and I'll bring the drinks over." 

She gives him a quick peck on the cheek and moves over to the table where his SAMCRO brothers are seated. He watches when both men stand up and hug her before she sits down. 

He catches a few men glancing in her direction with hungry eyes as he surveys the crowded room. As his gaze returns to her, he suppresses the temptation to pound their faces into the nearest surface. Jax is unsure of what he did to earn her love, but he is glad that he did. He couldn't picture his life without her. 

Jax has only ever been in one committed relationship before he got into one with Y/N. Because of Tara's decision to go medical school, his ex-girlfriend ended their relationship but not without trying to convince him to leave with her. He'd been crushed and drowned himself in weed, alcohol, and pussy when he wasn't working his way up in the club. 

All of it came to an end when Y/N returned from college. 

After she returned home, a lot of things changed for him. Y/N became the reason he stayed awake and alone in bed most nights, her face being the one he saw when he tried to take another girl back to his room. When she wasn't with him, he thought of her constantly, wondering what she was doing and if she was safe. He had to stop himself from calling her every chance that he got  He existed solely for her and the club. Even though the guys made fun of him for being whipped, he didn't know where he'd be without her. He couldn't picture his life without her. He didn't want to. 

Jax brings the drinks over to the table and sits in the empty chair next to Y/N's handing her bottle of water to her. She leans in close to him, kissing his cheek once again, and whispers "thank you" as he drapes an arm across the back of her chair. 

"Hey, where's my kiss?" Tig is heard asking. 

"Not here, but maybe if you ask her," Y/N chuckles, pointing to a brunette crow-eater who is gazing lustfully at the club's resident crazy while wearing next to nothing. "She might give you one." 

"You might be right." He smirks, looking in the direction that Y/N is pointing.  He gets out of his chair and moves over to the couch where the crow-eater is seated. 

After an hour and a few drinks, Jax glances at Y/N as Chibs walks away, finishing their discussion. He finds her looking back at him with a small smile and love in her eyes. Now that they are alone at the table, he smiles tenderly at her as everything around them fades, Y/N becoming his sole focus for now. He didn't want to admit it, but she had turned him into a love-sick idiot. 

"How are you feeling?" She asks, concern in her eyes as she takes in the faint bruise on the side of his head. Moving her hand from his leg, she reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair. This afternoon he'd been hit in the head by some thug the club had to deal with, earning him a nasty headache.  However, it vanished when he took a few painkillers before church. His headache was returning, and the loud music was not helping. 

"I feel wonderful," he says trying to ease her worry and kisses her to distract her knowing she'll see right through his bullshit. 

"You're an awful liar." 

"I know." He offers her a small smile. "My headache's back." 

"We don't have to stay. I'm beginning to feel a bit worn out, myself." 

"Let's go home," He stands and offers his hand to her, helping her stand up also. They say goodnight to the most of the club members before Y/N makes plans to meet Gemma for lunch the following day. As they exit the building and walk to her car, Jax hands Y/N the keys. 

"Take these and lay down." Y/N offers Jax a glass of water and some pain relief she'd snagged from the kitchen on her way to the bedroom. As soon as they walked through the front door, Jax made his way into their bedroom, stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed while she double checked that everything was locked up and all the lights were off. He takes them as she instructed and leaves the half empty glass of water on the bedside table. 

He doesn't move from his upright position while he watches her undress till she is only wearing her bra and panties. 

His eyes follow her once more as she walks over to his dresser and picks out one of his SAMCRO shirts before entering the bathroom. A few minutes later, she returns wearing his shirt and with her face make-up free. He continues to observe her as she removes her bra, pulling it from the sleeve of his shirt and discarding it on the chair in the corner of their room. He moves to lay down as she climbs into bed, facing him. 

"How's your head?" She softly asks. 

"The pain is starting to fade." 

"That's good. 

"How are you feeling?" he questions, cupping her face and caressing her cheek with his thumb. 

"Amazing," she says as her eyelids close, relishing in the tenderness of his touch. "Though I was feeling a bit queasy earlier." 

He rolls onto his back to reach his bedside table and switches off the lamp. Y/N moves in closer and places her head on his chest. 

With his arm around her holding her close, he kisses the top of her head. "I know I never tell you I love you as much as I should, but I do love you." 

"I love you too," She smiles. His spoken 'I love you's' are rare but he didn't have to say it for her to know it's true. Every day, in the smallest things he does for her, he tells her he loves her.  

"I don't mean to turn into a huge sap but you're the most wonderful person I know," He kissed the top of her head again. "I don't know what I'd do without you or if anything happened to you." 

"I hope we never have to find out." 

"Me too." He sighs. A silence falls over them but is soon broken by Jax. "We should get married." 

Y/N sits up looking at him in the darkness, a look of shock plastered on her face. "You wanna get married?" 

"Yeah I do." he admits. They've never had the marriage talk until now. They hadn't had the baby talk before she got pregnant both times. "We have a good reason to. I love you, you love me and we're going to have a kid." His hand reached under the shirt she was wearing, his fingers brushing the skin of her belly.  

She smiles. "Okay, let's get married." 

Jax smiles back and pulls her down to him making her giggle. He runs a hand through her hair tucking a few strands behind her ear. "You really are wonderful." 

"Just kiss me already," she orders him. 

"Sure thing, Darling." he laughs and pulls her into a passionate and mind-blowing kiss that was bound to leave both of them breathless. 

[todorokies]

could you write some boyfriend headcanons for megumi? sfw

boyfriend!megumi headcanons

a/n: i hope i delivered to your liking <3

☆ . . . dating megumi would feel like the crisp october air whirling throughout your lungs. soon you hear the chilled wind singing a tune as the red, yellow, and orange leaves join in; you feel at peace like a warm knitted quilt rest upon your shoulders.

☆ . . . you would have to confess first, he’s aware theres some unspoken tension that lingers whenever you two are in the same vicinity but he doesn’t exactly know how to approach you on the subject without feeling like a complete fool.

☆ . . . once he gets comfortable with you though he’s totally a cheeky little bastard.

☆ . . . for the first few months of the relationship megumi would prefer to be secretive and sneak around with you … the closest thing you’ll get affection-wise in public is linking pinkies or him drawing patterns on your thigh under a table when nobody is looking.

☆ . . . around the fourth or fifth month he’ll feel ready to go public (tell yuji and nobara) he’ll ask like a hundred times if you were ready as well and if you weren’t he’d have no problem with waiting.

☆ . . . i could see him with a partner who he shares the same vaules and philosophies with. he wouldn’t go out of his way to personally seek an extroverted s/o but he can find himself gravitating towards people with bubbly/outgoing personalities.

☆ . . . megumi is a quiet lover, choosing to express his affections through gestures rather than words.

☆ . . . spotify/apple music playlists are his go-to !!! i hc that he’s super into poetry so the playlist name would be a shorten quote of a sonnet or poem that reminds him of you.

☆ . . . once a month you guys pick out books for each other to read and annotate (his idea.) he gives you a nonfiction or thriller book while you always give him a romance book.

☆ . . . his annotations will either vary from vague one liners like “nice” and “cool quote” or two to three lines of why the protagonist shouldn’t have forgiven the love interest so quickly.

☆ . . . you know that movie trope where someone says “i’m definitely not gonna do that thing” and the scene immediately cuts to them doing that exact thing? yeah that’s megumi when it comes to doing facemasks.

☆ . . . he’ll be sooo reluctant but as soon as you smear the watermelon cucumber clay mask on his face he practically purrs like a kitten. he’s relaxed and happy to have a lil pampering day with you.

☆ . . . he’s more of a listener than a talker, whenever you’re reciting your day to him or rambling about a new show his gaze is so intense and stern you’d think he’s mad at you or not paying attention.

☆ . . . he assures that he was listening and that he’s always listening to you regardless of what you talk about.

☆ . . . he loves to hold you and be held !! it took him some time to ease into the physical aspect of a relationship like cuddles and kisses but he grew accustomed soon with some reassurance.

☆ . . . his favourite cuddle position is where your head rest on his chest with his arms securely wrapped around your waist as your legs are all tangled up together.

☆ . . . all in all, dating megumi is overall a tranquil and lovely experience, you’ll feel loved and cherished everyday you’re with him, even if his actions aren’t explicit he tries his very best to make you happy with the little things.

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[bambi-kinos]

Would you like to answer a few questions about you opinions about Paul. Peoples read him very different and of course as a human he too has good and bad sides. What are the things that stands out to you the most: pros and cons besides being icon and music genius. Not from beatle historians or anyone else's opinions just your personal views? In the Beatles, pre and post Beatles. How do you view him today vs from decades ago? (Don't know how long you've been a fan) do you think he's mostly happy or sad in private. I'm asking you this because to me you seem like the one on line blogger that seem to "get him". Also would you say that you are attracted to him? Have you seen him live? What are you favourite songs by him both as a Beatle and beyond. I'm a super-Paul-stan fan and proud of it and nothing you say can change my own opinions of Paul but because nobody is perfect. Ok I'll let you go now.

Had to think about this one for a couple of weeks.

My opinion about Paul is that most of positive and negative feelings towards him are earned. He deserves the reverence but sometimes people take it too far like when his stepsister Ruth called him a god with feet of clay or whatever lmao. That kind of behavior is incredibly cringe and its very embarrassing that people can talk that way about Paul. But I think that he's busted his ass for over 60 years so truthfully he's earned the accolades and praise that he gets. There are some people that get really pissy and mad that he's revered so much and the only thing that we can say to them is "get a fucking life." Paul McCartney has been working his shapely ass off for decades to get where he is and is still slamming out music at in his fucking 80s. When you accomplish half as much as he has than you can think about whining that he's too revered and too worshipped.

On the other hand Paul has done a good job of earning all the negative emotions directed at him. He's egotistical and isn't graceful about wearing that praise. He tries to pretend he doesn't care but it's so transparent and see through that it's actively irritating, I think it's this more than anything that can get people to bitch. There is a phony veneer to Paul where he's clearly doing a bit of some sort and it's aggravating because it's not entirely clear what the bit actually is. Like all the posts making fun of him for pretending to be """normal""" are not coming out of no where, it's real aggravation that he's worked his whole life to get where he is and he tries to go "heehee I don't actually want it I'm just a guy like you <3~" like cmon dude really. For fuck's sake.

When it comes to Paul himself, my take on him, idk. I identify with Paul heavily. I like to think I'm more aggressive than he is but who actually fucking knows. I went through a life changing trauma at a similar age. (I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when I was eleven years old which is the insulin dependent diabetes that you hear about a lot on social media. BTW if anyone else has diabetes type 1 or 2 I'm available to talk, my dad and my partner are both type 2 and I know a lot about both.) I can identify with how your life is heavily bifurcated between Before and After. I also identify with how Paul really struggles to come to grips with his family life, while it's clear Jim and Mary did love him a lot they also simply were not stellar parents and a lot of their success with Paul and Mike lies in the fact that they gave their sons a steady home life without chaotic disruptions more than that they navigated the trials of parenthood well. I identify with that as well because diabetes makes my life very chaotic, and my parents did work to smooth those things over; but on the other hand my folks also had nasty and ugly moments with me just like Jim did with Paul. So I know what its like to love your parent immensely and be loved by them and still have a deeply resentful and distrustful relationship with them. And I never had a John Lennon in the mix to disrupt things.

I think it left me and Paul in similar places though our birth order is reversed with him being the oldest and me being the youngest. I realized a long time ago that I was completely on my own in terms of my diabetes and the rest of my life (my mother made some treatment decisions about my diabetes that nearly killed me a few times before I took control of it completely.) A parent can love you immensely, try to do everything right, and still damage you profoundly. With Paul having to endure physical blows and attempted emotional manipulation from his father, I think he too realized that he was totally on his own and that Jim could not give Paul what he needed. That is why Paul has such a strong self preservation instinct and why he comes off as two faced and why MLH remarked that he did not want to be in a dark alley with Paul if Paul did not like him. I've had to do some nasty things for self preservation and I think Paul has had to do it too. Some of them we know about but the majority we never will.

I think that it's hard to be the first born or the last born kid. You get so much of your parents attention but they screw you up in so many ways. I know middle children tend to feel ignored but I'm going to tell you right now, you're being shielded from a lot because you're not getting the Eye of Morder trained on you. Maybe we should all be thankful for what we have, idk. I have a lot more in common with my oldest sister than any of my middle siblings.

Paul is ruthlessly out for himself. I think John dying actually changed that a bit, it made him somewhat less vindictive and he was more open to letting people in but he's never not going to protect himself first. Or else he wouldn't have married Nancy in the first place, Nancy's first cousin was Barbara Walters and through Nancy Paul has a direct line to the news media which means he has yet one more string of influence so that he can control his public image. Nancy and Paul like each other a lot and their relationship is sincere, but Paul also benefits greatly by it. Do you see how this goes with him lol, he can invest in sincere relationships (and to be clear he does love Nancy) while still benefitting from it materially and immaterially. Note that a lot of the negative stuff about Paul started fading out of the press after he married Nancy.

Other fans often think I'm being negative and hateful about Paul when I point out that he is a manipulator and that he has a ruthless streak in him but that can't be farther from the truth. I sincerely admire Paul's ability to arrange his life in such a way that he is safe from most tangible threats and that he has such a way of moving chess pieces so that his hand isn't visible. I find that a great deal more admirable and amazing than John's bluntforce "let me squawk like a chicken to a reporter and they'll shit on Paul for me because I took a photo with them" thing. John was very blunt and clumsy with his sledgehammer and that did get results but I think that Paul is a great deal more artistic and beautiful with his media manipulation. The fact that he can carefully line up his pieces, get the results he wants, and then his influence is never seen (unless you extrapolate your way backwards from the results) is, to me, a great deal more elegant and sophisticated than the Lennono approach to bloviating during interviews.

Paul learned this during the initial Beatlemania rush when he had scads of heterosexual men all on their hands and knees begging him to let them fuck him. He does things exclusively through dangling something people want in front of them and then lets them take a course of action that suits him. And despite the fact that he is the architect of these movements you can never trace anything back to him because he does everything through influence and suggestion, not by out and out coercion or bribery. It's actually kind of incredible. Last week my friend remarked "I think Paul could pull off a bank heist and never get caught" and she's right.

That's what I admire about Paul. That is what I think is beautiful about him. Not necessarily the music or the lyrics or the insane life. Just the fact that he is a very patient and careful human being that doesn't lose his cool easily. I want to know more about him because I want that, you know? Being able to control facets of my life with that much care and harmony.

But that wasn't always the case. Paul was very clumsy during the 1970s because he let his feelings rule him when he should have crushed John like a bug. It wasn't until after John died that Paul started building the fortress, that was when he finally realized "oh shit, I need to build a persona for PR. I can't just be me anymore." Wings Paul is in some ways the most honest Paul, he vomits his feelings everywhere and we get a lot of insights into his mind and home life. That was before he had formed his own network of influence and political chicanry. 1980s Paul is when he's investing in that network finally and then 1990s Paul is when he started putting it into motion culminating in the divorce with Heather Mills. All in all I find it fascinating that Paul was not able to pull these disparate parts of himself together until he was in his 40s and Linda died. What is to be done with such a man?

I think that Paul has always had disparate parts of himself that he hasn't been able to reconcile. This is of course not unusual, it is the work of our lifetimes that we must see, accept, and internalize our contradictory natures. It's Paul's bad luck that he has to do this all in the public eye. No one envies him that. It's hell on earth and my heart breaks for him sometimes.

When it comes to Paul's moods in private, I think he is more or less "happy." Paul himself has said that he doesn't overthink his actions, he just decides what he wants to do and does it and whether it pans out or not is a different matter. I think that he's the kind of person that doesn't ruminate and he doesn't overthink what he's doing. And if he does do that then he goes to his guitar and does the "tell it all my problems" thing which is actually music therapy. It clearly helps him a lot and it clears his head so that he can keep his problems in perspective. I do that with journaling and my common place book, and I should do it more. It clearly helps Paul which is a good habit to have. All in all during his day to day life, Paul is happy and accomplished and has a big family with lots of grandchildren. Clearly loves Beatrice to bits and would do anything for her. The fact that we never hear anything bad about Beatrice is proof that she inherited all the right things from Paul lmao, she knows better than to get in trouble. Interestingly I think Beatrice is Paul's mini-me and considering Heather Mills is the same kind of personality as John Lennon, it makes me think that John and Paul having children together would actually have worked out very well for them.

On the other hand we know that Paul carries his share of anger and bitterness and old grudges. "No one knows the real me, do they." We're lucky that we live in a time where we can be relatively open about our personalities as well as our wants and needs. Paul did not grow up with such privileges and is only just recently starting to feel his way to the place we have inhabited our entire lives. He's suffered greatly for it. He's a naturally reticent person but I think John Lennon is the only person in the world Paul could fully express himself with; even Linda did not get full access to Paul considering comments made by others about Paul's controlling nature which belies anxiety. Why was Paul anxious around Linda, his soul mate? Because there were still parts of himself he didn't want her to know. And so on.

I think that in some ways Paul's lack of rumination and cheeriness is a choice that he's made for himself. He's been "tired" of negativity and hurtfulness for pretty much his entire life, he's always wanted to bring light into the world. John once said that Yoko painting "yes" on the ceiling of her exhibit was what he liked about her because it was positive, unlike the self absorbed 'woe is me' bullshit exhibits other avante garde people put up. I think John was attracted to Paul for similar reasons. Paul tries to take the sad song and make it better. Paul transformed John's life and he saved John from a much harder and painful path like the common belief that John would have landed himself in prison if he hadn't met Paul. I don't think it would have happened precisely that way but it was certainly a distinct possibility that John was aware of and he knew that Paul saved him from it.

Paul does it for himself as much as anyone else. I think he's actively trying to avoid the traps that many of us fall into. Rumination, bitterness, regrets. These are things that poison a person's life and even without therapeutic language Paul realized that he didn't want his life to be consumed by it. That doesn't mean he doesn't have his well of pain to tap into but he wants to live and be happy. He said once that John wouldn't want him to be hurt and depressed and he was right. I think if we all approached our lives with that kind of attitude, "I deserve to be happy and I'm going to do what it takes to get there," we would all be much better off. Paul is a role model in more ways than one.

Paul is a sport, a one off. There is no one else like him and when he dies there will never be anyone like him ever again. Treasure him now while he is here.

I have never seen him perform. When he has his next US tour then I'll go, I don't care what it costs.

Am I attracted to him: yes and yes. I find it more like an aspirational attractiveness but I think he's intensely beautiful and he became more beautiful as he aged (though there is something very special and breedable about 22 year old Paul McCartney. It's deeply depressing that he never got pregnant.) That's different from being handsome, all of the Beatles were handsome but Paul is intensely beautiful. It's the kind of thing that gets memorialized in Sumarian poems. If we were told he was descended from swan maidens or something like that, it would not be a shock. There's a story in that somewhere lol, imagine Paul bathing in a lake and John steals his feathered coat so that Paul will marry him or something like that. IDK. Paul is very intense.

Beauty is sovereign. Beauty triumphs over all things. Paul is one of those rare people that handles (almost) all of his affairs adroitly. Every little thing he does is magic.

I'm a big fan of all of Paul's work, I genuinely enjoy London Town for instance and I don't get why some circles make fun of it. Synth owns what is the problem here. Some of my favorite Paul songs:

With a Little Luck

Probably my favorite "John, I love you, I'm sorry, please come home" song. It's just very Paul, the very carefully arranged harmony, the minor key in an upbeat tempo, with the almost mismatched lyrics before Paul brings it back to a major key resolution. It makes me want to find my partner and kiss them on their lower lip. (My partner has a very pouty lower lip, easily one of their best features.)

Let 'em In

I have an entire animated music video in my head about this song. I've actually been looking up how to teach myself art because I want to pursue it. First learning to draw, then learning to animate and all because I want to animate this sequence I have in my head. Oh Paul. I adore you.

Rock Show

This one actually made me stand up and dance around my house which never happens anymore. I just love the energy and Paul's silly voices. And Paul's platonic fascination with axe wielders rears its head again! I wonder if Paul ever fantasized about killing people with an axe.

Another Day

This is the anthem of my life lmao. At least I have a romantic partner but we're long distance until I can emigrate to the United Kingdom so again I identify very heavily with this Paul piece. Ahhh…

When it comes to Paul's Beatle work, I don't really want to reference anything there because Beatles music was such a community effort, even Paul's songs aren't fully his once the other three got their hands on it. That's not a bad thing but it does mean the Beatles were an engine unto themselves. Paul never had full control of his songs. My choices are not particularly enlightened but they are true which is all I can provide.

This was a really great ask to get, thank you for sending it in. Very flattered if I'm someone who "gets" Paul. I think it's more like he makes a lot of sense to me and it's very rare that he does something that does not make sense to me. I'm probably projecting a lot but we all do that so who cares?

[teecupangel]

I just had a random plot bunny attack me at work. What if Desmond Miles was reborn as Sora from Kingdom Hearts with no memories of his former life? He goes through Kingdom Hearts (the first game) as normal but once we hit Chain of Memories things start to change. The plot of CoM is Memories and what is and isn't real. As Marluxia (or was it Axel) put it, "To lose is to find, and to find is to lose." Rather than Namine, Sora begins to remember his life as Desmond Miles. Kinda scaring Donald and Goofy. However it kinda goes away for a bit when Namine restores Sora's memories, for Kingdom Hearts 2 and Dream Drop. Yet Kingdom Hearts 3 is where it can get interesting again. Change out one of the 13 vessels for either Clay or Lucy and have Sora start to have an existential crisis and by the time of the Remind DLC when Sora uses the power of waking to save his friends, it's such a Desmond move that both parts of him are at peace.

Then he wakes up back on earth near the Grand Temple 11 years later, as the sixteen or seventeen year old Sora, or is it Desmond?

I’m gonna be honest with you, my highschool crush was Roxas so I wanna keep him in this idea but, my god, it would be so fun if Sora’s ‘nobody’ turns out to be one of his Bleeds.

But… we can actually keep Roxas since his looks is based on Ventus who was resting in Sora’s heart but we hint at his connection with Desmond Miles by making the prologue of KH2 dwell on his family and it’s talked about how he has an older brother, younger sister and younger brother. Namine later admitted that she wasn’t the one who wrote that in. It was Roxas himself who added that ‘detail’. ‘DiZ’ suggested that it was Roxas’ subconscious taking a bit of ‘memory’ from Sora but that doesn’t make sense when Riku tells him that Sora was an only child.

The real reason why they needed Roxas to merge with Sora is because Sora’s memories and Desmond Miles’ memories are not stable. His experience in Castle Oblivion and Namine’s powers only served to widen the gap between the two sets of memories.

Roxas, being both Sora and Desmond as his nobody, is meant to cover the gaps to stabilize him.

When the time came when Roxas and Sora became one, Desmond Miles’ memories go to sleep to stabilize Sora.

It wasn’t what DiZ wanted. He believed Desmond Miles’ memories was necessary for Sora to grow and defeat Organization 13 but they have no idea why Desmond Miles’ memories refused to resurface.

Until…

KH3 happens and everyone remembers Xion.

Because sure, one of the 13 vessels turn out to be Lucy or Clay (or maybe even Cross) but the most they were able to do was tell Sora that he wasn’t the chosen one. Desmond Miles was the chosen one. He just so happened to be a vessel to the real chosen one and Xehanort’s goal had been to awaken Desmond Miles to control Kingdom Hearts because Kingdom Hearts was an ‘artifact’ from another dimension that appeared in their dimension.

And Desmond Miles was an otherwordly soul, the only being that can control Kingdom Hearts.

And the reason why Sora can’t fully remember his life as Desmond Miles?

Because he wasn’t the true vessel.

See…

Desmond’s true vessel wasn’t actually Sora.

It was Ventus.

Sora was a ‘replacement’ because of what happened to Ventus.

And that was why Xion doesn’t have any of Desmond Miles’ memories nor did she ever take his face. She was an imperfect replica so she wasn’t capable of even trying to hold Desmond’s memories in the first place.

Cue Sora having an existential crisis of who he truly was because he was honestly getting on board with the whole idea of being Desmond Miles as well.

[writing-whump]

Routinely nauseous

After some time a proper emeto no-plot fic. Isaiah is sick with Matt caretaker.

Isaiah let go of the rim of the toilet only with great difficulty, his fingers curled up around the cold porcelain like claws.

Matthew eased his away from it though and Isaiah promptly collapsed on the floor on fresh folded towel waiting for him on top of the carpet.

Matthew sat cross-legged next to him like they were having some kind of weird pyjama party. He moved with such ease, like he had done this a million times. And Isaiah supposed he had.

"Is this from exhaustion? I knew you were taking on too much-"

Isaiah coughed and curled up around his aching stomach. "Nonsense. There is plenty of other stuff to choose from." He muffled a burp against the towel under his cheek. "Skipped a meal in the morning, dozed off after lunch in the study room and don't forget the weather is changing..."

Matthew gave him an unhappy pat on the arm. Isaiah squeezed his eyes shut against a new wave of nausea. They were rolling through him since midday, the effect of the heart medication worsened by not eating.

He had been doing pretty fine the last month. Almost a proper schedule, law studies, wolf meets and random patrols, training Rip, talking normally with both Matt and Sel...he wanted to appreciate small mercies of being back in shape, except apparently he couldn't.

"It always come back for some incredibly mundane stupid reason..." Isaiah grumbled under his breath, somewhere between resignation and frustrated anger.

His stomach let out a long whine that caused him to wince, gulping the excessive saliva pooling in his mouth. Which was weird, because his tongue tasted dry and horrible, like he was eating clay.

"You are holding up really well, Zaya. It's fine." Matt rubbed his arm in a soothing way that was just underlining to Isaiah how abnormal it all was.

"Just awesome," Isaiah said sarcastically. "Went almost a month without puking. New record."

"Nobody else even noticed. They all seemed to have forgotten, in fact." Matt said it with a grunt, like he expected better of Hector and Arnie.

Isaiah was glad everything was normal on that front though. He spend the weekend with them touring whatever hills there were around Vienna to tour. They treated him fairly, no concerns, no special considerations.

He was immensely glad nothing about his condition reminded them of it. Even if Arnie watched him like a hawk and Hector tried to kinda of leave the topic hanging open in the air, they didn't actually dare to address it, so he was doing well enough.

Except this stupid Monday morning. He got used to the nauseous effects of the meds, but whenever anything in his routine changed—he ate too quickly, skipped a meal or it was too salty or heavy or foreign or his sleep got messed up just a little—his chest would get heavy, which usually led to his digestion process completely stopping.

His stomach was sore, bloated and hard to the touch, currently twisting the remnants of his lunch into confetti he didn't have much hope to hold down either.

Isaiah rubbed at it with distate. Not to mention the tiredness that came with it, he could barely lift his head.

Another angry ripple went through him, echoing with embarrassing loudness through the bathroom.

The slithery disgusting feeling was back around his teeth and he curled his fingers, hiding his face against the towel with a groan.

"Zaya? How is it going down there?"

"God, don't ask."

Matthew sighed. "Come on, up with you. You will feel better once you puke it up."

"Nothing about puking makes me feel better," Isaiah complained, but let Matt slid his hands under his back and prop him up against the toilet.

He was aware he was rather whiny today, but the constant worried frustration with the state of his body that wasn't coming back together like it was, that reacted differently, that disappointed him when it used to hold him up...

He braced himself against the toilet rim, letting some drool hang from his lips. What a sight he must have made.

The next ripple was downright painful, gnawing and he hang his head as a bubble of air forced its way up. He gagged emptily, a shiver running up his spine.

"Are you cold?" Matt rubbed his back with one hand while holding him up by the shoulder with the other.

"Just nauseous. Getting bad again," Isaiah said through gritted teeth, shutting his eyes. The wave started in the pit of his stomach and slithered through him with a powerful cramp.

He heaved with the force, gagging as a few mouthfuls of spit surged out. So much trouble for such meager results.

But the nausea was still rising, so it wasn't the end for sure.

Isaiah shivered again, gagging emptily at the wavy sensation, wrapping a hand around his stomach where it cramped up the most. His heartbeat was in his ears again, chest heavy and he had that shaky feeling in his hands.

"Shhhh. Almost over. Just get the rest up and you will get a break."

"You know something I don't?" Isaiah mouthed, spitting up but he couldn't seem to force the next wave to come. Or end. Or just move. This stuck in state was horrible.

Matthew shuffled behind him so he could wrap an arm around his chest. His hand landed in the middle of Isaiah's back, tense and ready. "On three, okay? One. Two. Three."

He gave Isaiah's back a strong decisive pat and it seemed to be the spike needed.

Isaiah heaved, whole body rolling as a thick wave of vomit came out. Another and another, leaving him breathless and dizzy from the force, having to brace himself against the rim with both hands to keep his balance.

It felt beyond humiliating to be heaving and gagging in Matthew's hold like that, but when it temprered off, he sagged against the red wolf's chest like a ragdoll.

"There you go. Good job. It will get only better now."

Isaiah let him ease him against his lap, content to curl up against Matthew's tight. He was shivering, so Matt grabbed another towel to throw over him like a blanket.

"I'm so tired of this," Isaiah said, downright pitiful and pitying himself, which he hated but had no strength to fight at the moment.

Matt said nothing, cradling his head in his lap. He took the edge of the blanket-towel and mopped at Isaiah's sweaty forehead, freeing the bangs plastered against the skin.

Isaiah sighed, the most content sound of the evening and let the gravity pull his control and tension apart. Completely boneless in Matthew's grip, relieved as the nausea finally eased.

[some-pers0n]

Back on my Peril ramblings again guys

Peril is a character with a lot of polarizing opinions. You've got some people who love her to death, while others who, well, don't. The people who dislike her will go about how she's obsessive. Too clingy and relies far too much on Clay. That or go on about how she's just rude, mean, dangerous, and overall kind of a bad person. I...couldn't disagree more if I'll be blunt.

For starters, Peril is in a difficult situation. She was molded and shaped by her childhood. What she is now is a product of being raised as a living weapon. She was seen as being dangerous and a blight on dragon society. A hazard that, at any moment, could kill somebody. She is danger. She is peril.

Scarlet took hold of that. Scarlet manipulated this tiny dragonet that she stole away from her mother and raised her, feeding her lies in order to keep her docile and dependent. She was never alone. Never to act on her own accord. Anything she did was first of all approved by Scarlet, somebody she trusted and loved in a way. All Peril ever knew was hate and fear, so a dragon showing her any other emotions felt like love.

Peril is...unstable to say the very least. Like I just said, she's got a warped sense of relationships due to her upbringing. She has literally nobody outside the walls of the SkyWing palace. She clings to those she deems as friends and loved ones as she knows nothing else. She craves that feeling of love and especially touch. She has never known the love of a mother's hug. She has never felt the wings of a friend comforting her in a time of crisis. She only wants to be held and loved, but she cannot. She was born wrong. She is unlovable in her eyes. That's what everyone tells her at least.

It's when Clay comes along that things change. For once, she's seeing a dragon who, while still kinda scared of her...is respectful. He holds conversations with her. He's nice, friendly, and when she hears that he tried killing his troop, she immediately relates. It's one of those things that I feel Sick about, where in Clay and Peril both are deemed to be monsters since the moment they hatched when in reality they weren't at fault for anything. Clay and Peril are so good when you actually treat them like characters.

The point is that Peril sees herself in Clay. For the first time ever, she finds a dragon like her. A dragon that at the very least tolerates her. After years of abuse and being shunned and seen as nothing more than a monster, it's basically like Clay is giving her a boquete of roses and confessing his undying love.

She becomes obsessed, even more so when she's eventually free from Scarlet, but that comes later. She holds him to such high regards and views him as a dragon she wants to be around. She's easily jealous when other dragons talk to him. She's protective and constantly wants to be near him. She adores him.

Yada yada, the whole fight scene happens between her and Clay. Scarlet notices that Peril is rather fond of Clay and is using her emotions to manipulate her further. Again, Scarlet is extremely manipulative of Peril. She's the one who molded her into this. She's the one who was responsible for this. She's the one who made Peril feel as though all she could ever be in life was a murder machine, and that Scarlet was doing her a favour by letting that be her existence as opposed to killing her. Scarlet made Peril dependent on her.

So when she's gone...Peril feels lost. She feels like she's the blame for one of the very, very few dragons in her life that at least cared about her being gone. Now she's alone and seen once again as a creep. A weirdo. She doesn't belong here, not in the Sky Kingdom. Osprey is dead (another example of Scarlet toying with Peril's emotions cause the one time she acts out she has to suffer for it) and she's just tossed into the world without warning.

She in turn seeks out Scarlet, eventually finding her. Despite all of the abuse and suffering that Scarlet has put her through, she has nobody else. Scarlet's twisted and distorted love is the only thing she knows. She feels guilty for everything that happened to her.

I think it's easy for people to not really understand Peril if they don't really get her situation. What I lay it out, it sounds pretty easy to understand. Peril is a deeply traumatized and abused character who is shaped by her trauma and struggles to exist in this world as she only knows to kill. She's trying to unlearn all of this. She wants to be better. She's trying to be better.

That's what Escaping Peril is all about: Peril's recovery.

Escaping Peril is the conclusion to Peril's arc, with her coming to grips and terms with her trauma and by the end realizing that she is her own person. Over the course of the book, she struggles a lot. She goes back and forth on her feelings with Scarlet, conflicted on whether she loves her or wants to kill her. Perhaps both at the same time. It's messy and she feels lost and hopeless.

The only real thing that seems to be a beacon of light in her life is Clay, whom is basically not even in this book. Clay is her moral compass here. Anything she does has to be something she believes Clay would approve of. She's doing the exact same thing that she's done for years with Scarlet because, yet again, it's literally the only thing she knows. She is a deeply hurt character who struggles with the whole morality thing because ever since she was a dragonet she's been a child solider. She's trying to unlearn it all.

Which is helped significantly with her friends, namely Turtle. She isn't alone. She has a group of dragons who care for her and like her the way she is. Again, the themes of friendship and togetherness is a very strong one in this arc. The Jade Winglet learn how to be themselves and how they don't need to pretend to be somebody they aren't with a group of dragons who love them for who they are.

Peril...learns. She learns. She grows. I cannot emphasize this enough since some of you guys still don't get that part. Her character shifts and changes and develops over the course of this book. She learns that she doesn't need to depend on somebody for her own actions. Hell, by the end of the book, she burns the scroll of her own volition, knowing fully well that Clay would've hated that. She's acting of her own accord. She learns that she's not a monster and doesn't need to have her flamescales be repressed to be liked.

She's a deeply traumatized character who is trying to get better. She has been getting better, and she will only get better with time. She's happy now. She's happy with her friends and loved ones. Everything will be okay.

[artificial-transmutations]

Max’ Journey - Nordic

When Max appeared in his new surroundings, he didn't have much time to react to the change of scenery. The first thing he felt was a significant drop in temperature that made Max, who was completely naked again, shiver. He was surrounded by grassy hills, some rocks and birch trees, and more importantly, a bunch of people who were shouting at him in a language he did not understand. He tried to speak back, but they only shouted louder. They were pointing at him with their swords, but he couldn't make any sense of what they were saying.

Then suddenly, one of the men pointed at Max with his sword and yelled something. Immediately, four burly armed men stepped forward and grabbed him. Max' newfound love for freedom as well as his cave man reflexes kicked in, and he struggled, but to no avail. He was held firmly by the arms and dragged into a nearby village by the coast, consisting mainly of wooden huts. Max tried to talk to them, tried all the languages he knew, but nobody understood him. There was a huge commotion between the Nordic looking people and the guy who saw him first was gesturing wildly.

They argued for a while, and Max could take in a bit more of his surroundings. The people here looked quite different than the ones in Rome. They had longer hair and lighter skin, and even though some of them wore leather armor, most were wearing clothes made of rough linen, fur and skins. It looked a lot like the portal had brought him into a Viking society. And although Max didn't understand their language, it was not hard for Max to guess that him appearing out of thin air might be troubling for those people. He just hoped that they did not decide to burn him at the stake for witchcraft or something like that.

It turns out that this wasn't their idea - but the alternative wasn't much better. After several minutes of discussion, he was dragged to a wooden block with some old bloodstains and cuts. Apparently, they were planning on beheading Max!

"Noooo! Please, don't kill me! I'm not a bad person! Just let me go!" cried Max desperately, but still nobody understood his language. Did he really barely escape the slave uprising in ancient Rome, just to die shortly after in the Viking age? He was about to start crying, when the crowd parted and a heavily tattooed old man wearing fur clothing appeared. He approached Max carefully and inspected him thoroughly before turning around and speaking a few sentences to the crowd. He then turned to Max again and reached into a pocket.

He produced a small clay vial and held it in his right hand. Then, with the other hand, he took a sword of one of the armed men and offered Max both hands.

It was clear to him that the old man, who appeared to be some kind of leader or shaman, offered him to choose. Max was fairly certain what the sword stood for, but the vial puzzled him. Was it poison? Was the old man offering him to kill himself instead of doing it for him? Or was it something else? Max needed to make a decision now.

Regardless of whether the vial contained poison, there was a chance to survive the contents, which was more than Max could say for the sword. So with the same rush of bravery, he felt when he joined the slave uprising, he took the vial and downed its contents in one go.

The liquid burned through his throat and into his stomach like fire. It felt like someone lit his insides on fire from the inside out and he screamed in agony. His eyes rolled up into his head and everything went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized that he had been thrown onto a pile of hay and straw and covered by furs. His insides still felt very warm, and his head was swimming, but it was just ember inside him now, not a burning pyre. Max groaned and looked around. He was inside one of the small wooden huts, and, apparently, he was still alive. Max groaned and tried, unsuccessful, to get up. However, the rustling of straw alerted another person who was inside the hut. It was a tall and burly Viking man with light brown hair, a short beard and blue linen clothes. He immediately got up and handed Max a wooden cup full of water, who took it gladly. The water was refreshing, and Max only now realized how thirsty he was. He gulped down the liquid quickly, and also the second and third cup the man brought him.

After drinking, Max finally had enough strength to sit upright. He looked at the man who had helped him: "Thank you... Who are you?"

The Viking man smiled at him kindly and said: "My name is Thjodolf." It took Max a few moments to realize that he could understand the other man. Instinctively, he had spoken in another language himself, probably some kind of Scandinavian dialect. He couldn't really say that he spoke the language in a sense that he would be able to translate anything to it. Yet, actually speaking it somehow worked.

Thjodolf noticed Max confusion and smiled warmly. "You must have a lot of questions, I am sure. And I will try to answer them all tomorrow, but for now, you need to rest. The magic potion must still be coursing through you violently."

Max nodded gratefully and laid back down on the straw bedding. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his energy and fell asleep almost instantly.

When Max woke up the next morning, he felt much better. The burning inside him had reduced to a warm feeling and he felt really energized. When he looked around, Thjodolf was nowhere to be seen. Max didn't mind a bit of privacy. Under the furs, he was still naked and this way, he could walk a few steps without exposing himself too much. He got up and looked down on himself. Apparently, his body was changing yet again: He could clearly see the faint outline of muscles all over his body. The body hair, which stuck since he was a cave man had shifted to a lighter shade, appearing almost blonde now. When he brought his hands to his face, he could feel his fingers go through rough stubble on his chin and his hair seemed to be a bit longer as well. His pubes also had lightened to a dirty blonde shade, but it wasn't just this new contrast that made his dick look bigger. No, his package definitely had grown as well. He gave his dick a playful tug, feeling it chub up somewhat. Before he could explore any further however, the door suddenly opened.

"Oh", Thjodolf exclaimed, with a hint of amusement. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a few minutes?"

Max blushed bright red and shook his head hurriedly. "No! Of course not!"

Thjodolf laughed and walked closer to Max. He was carrying a basket with fresh bread and chuckled softly, as Max quickly covered his groin with one of the furs. "I'm glad you are feeling better."

"Yeah," Max replied with an embarrassed smile. "Thanks."

Thjodolf placed the basket down on the table and sat down beside Max. "I thought you might like some breakfast. Or you can first ask your questions. Whatever you like."

Max nodded and looked into Thjodolf's eyes. They were blue and looked warm and friendly. "Breakfast sounds amazing", Max said and took one of the offered pieces of bread. For a while, they sat silently, while Max was eating. The bread tasted really good, and Max was starving.

After he was finished, Thjodolf handed him a rough green linen piece, apparently some pants. "If you want to cover yourself." He looked away modestly while Max slipped on the piece of clothing. It was a bit big and felt comfortable even though it was obviously very basic.

"Thank you," Max said. "So where do I start? What is going on here?"

Thjodolf smiled gently. "You tell me. From what the others told me, you appeared out of thin blue, and that completely naked."

Max nodded, and then paused. "That is correct."

Thjodolf waited for a moment, but when Max obviously didn't want to explain any further, he continued. "Styrkar and his men witnessed your appearance and brought you back here. They thought you were a demon from what I hear and wanted to, well, send you back to where you came from. The man who saved you is Gunnald, our shaman. He had a vision from the Gods, he said, and they spoke to him through the bright yellow mists that a naked man would appear and that he must be given the magic potion."

Max nodded. "I remember that."

Thjodolf grinned at him. "He also told us that you were sent by the gods to help us fight the 'evil ones' who have attacked this village twice before. That the magic potion would help you become a great warrior."

"The evil ones?" Max asked curiously.

Thjodolf shrugged. "I don't know where they are coming from exactly. They are raiders who come by horse. We could barely fend them off the last time they attacked."

"I see," Max said and thought about this for a moment. "So, if I am supposed to protect you, how do I do that?"

Thjodolf snorted in amusement. "Your body is changing from the magic potion, I can see that already. When you were brought here, you were much weaker, and also a bit smaller, I think. You will become a great warrior for sure until Gunnald returns."

Max frowned. He had really wanted to talk to that shaman. 'Bright yellow mists' sounded a lot like the swirling yellow energy portals that were throwing him around in time and space like a ping pong ball. Perhaps a conversation with that Gunnald would shed some light on this whole mystery. However, Thjodolf seemed to be more than eager to move on with their conversation, so Max decided to follow his lead and ask his next question.

"So, am I... your prisoner?"

Thjodolf looked surprised for a moment but then burst out laughing again. "No, no! You're free to go whenever you want! Of course, we would like you to stay and protect us, but you are free to do whatever you want."

"Well, thank you," Max said politely and looked at Thjodolf closely. "You seem to care about me a lot."

Thjodolf looked at him quizzically. "Of course! Who wouldn't want to help someone who has just appeared out of nowhere? Besides, you are quite handsome!"

Max blushed slightly but couldn't help smiling at Thjodolf's compliment. Apparently, the outburst was a bit embarrassing for Thjodolf, too, and he looked away.

"Thank you." said Max.

During the next days, Thjodolf cared for Max devotedly, although Max was feeling better quickly. His changes proceeded fast: He was quickly putting on muscles and gained a fair bit of height. His hair hat lightened to a bright blonde and his face quickly gained Nordic features.

With each passing hour, the cold bothered Max less and less, and each time he looked down on himself, more swirly tattoos formed on his skin. It wasn't long before he found himself looking like an ancient Viking warrior.

When he walked around the village, Max found himself accepted by the villagers quickly. Apparently, the story of him and the magic potion had spread through the village, and everyone was friendly to him. Even Styrkar apologized to him for wanting to kill him, which Max found a nice gesture.

After a few days, when he had dinner with Thjodolf, Max asked him: "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

Thjodolf raised one eyebrow curiously but nodded anyway. "Of course not."

"I noticed that the other villagers are kind of... avoiding you. I also did not see you the day I arrived here. What is it about you?"

Thjodolf chuckled softly before he looked a bit sad. "Well, let's say I'm different from the other men of the village."

Max looked at him curiously. "How so?"

Thjodolf sighed deeply. "I do not love women, but... other men."

Max stared at him blankly. That was all? Thjodolf was shunned because he was gay?

Thjodolf laughed nervously and shook his head. "Oh, don't worry about it. The other men don't hate me or anything. They just don't understand why I prefer other men instead of women."

Max smiled gently. "That must be difficult for you. Where I am from, this is considered pretty normal." Max thought for a moment. "In fact, I prefer the company of men as well, you know?"

Thjodolf blinked several times in surprise and looked at Max carefully. Then he grinned happily. "Really? I mean, I have never met anyone who preferred men before."

Max shrugged. "As I said. It's nothing special. In fact, I suspected something like that when you called me handsome the other day."

Thjodolf flushed red and looked away shyly. "I... I didn't meant..."

Max put his hand on Thjodolf's shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "It's alright. I am glad you find me attractive."

Thjodolf turned back to look at him again. "I... I do."

"Good," Max said and took Thjodolf into his arms. He felt the Vikings heart beat fast - or was it his own? Either way, he was happy to feel it beating strongly against his chest.

"You smell good," Thjodolf murmured after a while.

"Do I?" Max asked, surprised.

Thjodolf nodded eagerly, his eyes a deep sea of blue. "Yes! You smell like pine needles and sunshine."

Max smiled and rubbed his nose against Thjodolf's neck. He liked the scent of leather and sweaty skin. It smelled good, natural. He tenderly stroked the other man’s muscled arms. "I like your smell too."

Thjodolf leaned forward and pressed his lips against Max's. They were soft and gentle, but they still sent a shock through Max's body and made his knees weak. He returned the kiss with equal passion and pulled Thjodolf closer until their bodies touched. When they broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily.

"I want you," Thjodolf whispered in a husky voice.

Max nodded and pushed Thjodolf onto his bed. "Then take me."

Thjodolf moaned softly and crawled over Max's body. His kisses were slow and sensual, making Max shudder with excitement. Finally, Thjodolf lay down on top of him and kissed him deeply. Their tongues explored each other hungrily and their hands roamed everywhere.

Max gasped as he felt Thjodolf's hard cock pressing against his thigh. He reached out to touch it and was rewarded by a gasp from the Viking.

"I want you inside me," Thjodolf whispered between breaths.

Max nodded and rolled over, pulling Thjodolf along with him. He pinned the other man to the bed and started kissing his neck and shoulders. Thjodolf groaned loudly and spread his legs wider, exposing himself completely to Max.

"Please," Thjodolf begged. "I need you."

"I will give you what you need," Max promised, moving down Thjodolf’s body until he could reach his cock. It was already fully erect and throbbing in anticipation. Max wrapped his hand around Thjodolf's shaft and stroked him slowly. Thjodolf whimpered in pleasure.

"Oh gods," he moaned. "I've wanted this for so long."

"Me too," Max said and aligned his hard and throbbing cock with Thjodolf’s hole. He pushed inside slowly, letting his tip slide past the tight ring of muscles. Thjodolf let out a loud groan and grabbed Max's hips tightly.

"Fuck me!" Thjodolf pleaded.

Max thrust harder, pushing himself deeper inside Thjodolf’s ass. The Viking grunted in pain and bit his lip hard, but then relaxed and closed his eyes in blissful enjoyment.

"That feels amazing," Thjodolf whispered.

Max kept up his pace, slamming into Thjodolf with increasing force and speed. The Viking groaned again and dug his fingers into Max's hip bones. He tried to keep quiet, but his voice cracked in half as he screamed: "Harder! Fuck me harder!"

Max obeyed at once and slammed into Thjodolf faster and faster. His balls slapped against Thjodolf's butt cheeks every time he bottomed out inside him. Thjodolf's moans grew louder and more desperate and soon he was crying out in ecstasy instead of pain.

Max growled low in his throat as he felt his orgasm building. He pounded Thjodolf even harder than before, driving his cock deep inside the Viking without mercy. Thjodolf cried out one last time and came violently, spilling his seed all over the sheets beneath them.

Max followed suit a moment later, emptying his own load deep inside Thjodolf.

Panting heavily, the two sweating men held each other tightly. They stayed that way for some time, until finally, they fell asleep together, exhausted by their lovemaking.

The next days were the best ones in Max' live. Even though being gay was not considered quite normal in the Viking village, Thjodolf and him faced no malice, and both men were in seventh heaven. For the first time in both of their lives, they explored hot and intense sex with each other. Both of them were eager to try new things and explore every inch of each other’s bodies. But they also resonated in mind and soul - they were in deep love.

Those happy days seemed like they could last forever, but one night, when Thjodolf and Max were in a tender embrace again, a loud horn disrupted the silence and ripped apart the lovers peace.

"The raiders.", Thjodolf whispered, his face ashen suddenly. They both stormed outside and saw, in the middle of the night, the torches of many riders approaching. They were a lot, a lot more than even all of the village men combined. Although Max body had transformed into a strong Viking warrior, he didn't see a way this could end well. Suddenly, he was experiencing the uprising once more. People dying left and right, screams and blood. Max exhaled. They had no chance, and he knew it. "No..." he whispered softly. "We can't fight them."

Max looked at Thjodolf helplessly. He couldn't bear seeing him die here, having just met him such a short time ago.

To make matters worse, in this very moment, a swirling vortex of yellow energy materialized right next to him, a silent invitation for Max and Max alone.

"No... not yet. I can't..." Max whispered and then shouted at the portal: "I can't leave like that! You cannot do that to me!"

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his muscular arm. Thjodolf smiled at him, sad but encouragingly. He spoke softly: "I don't understand what is going on here, but I do understand that you cannot escape fate. You need to follow through. Don't worry. We will survive, one way or the other. And some day, you will come back to me, and then you will return this to me."

With these words, he took off his necklace and handed it to Max, who could feel tears filling up his eyes. It was no use. If he didn't enter the portal, he would never be able to return to his own time, and he would not be able to save the villagers here either. "Thank you, Thjodolf. For everything."

Tears were running down Max cheek, as he finally jumped into the portal, leaving Thjodolf and his Viking village behind.

That was a long one. You can read how it all started here or just the previous episode here. The next episode can be found here.

[hunter-sylvester]

Why I identify particularly with post-side-shave Hunter.

Simply put: it's the destroyed version of him. The version that's been attacked and hurt. The version that's dealt with the consequences of his actions and still reeling from them. It's the Hunter that is actively hurting, lashing out, and bleeding. And hiding it despite it being so obvious.

I know it seems silly to hang all of that on a haircut. And it's not like he wasn't already traumatized as hell before Skip attacked him.

But we're talking about plot-points in a story. It's symbolic.

It's when the hurt is at a boiling point and bursting from the seams. Despite his best efforts, he can't keep holding it all in. He lashes out more egregiously (yelling at Emily in front of everyone), he acts more irrationally (crashing Clay's sister's wedding).

He's an ill adjusted teenage boy at the start of the film and, possibly counter-intuitively, I don't think he gets healthier by the end. To me, it all feels far too forced. He's been faced with the reality that Kevin's patience for him does have a limit. So he has to reel it all in. He stepped too far out of line and his father abandoned him just like his mother. While Kevin was still there for him, saved him, he also made it very clear that Hunter was on thin fucking ice.

The one person he has left made it clear that he went too far.

But...no-one's actually helping Hunter. Nix is useless (sorry, bro). Alan is worthless (not sorry). Nobody is really helping Hunter manage his emotions. Nobody is helping Hunter deal with himself before he makes himself more palatable to everyone else. Ok, he can't act out, but then what? He's still unstable, quietly bleeding, and traumatized.

Someone this repressed:

Does not simply "get over it"

That anger is going to start turning inward. That aggression is going to start turning inward. You're not allowed to take it out on anyone else, because they will abandon you, but it has to go somewhere.

We see him reel in his outward aggression toward the end of the film but I'm not in any way convinced it's gone. Like he does with everything he can't deal with, he just bottles it up. But that shit will start to overflow. You can't bottle things up forever. It has to go somewhere.

Anyway Hunter Sylvester SH agenda /j

So...that's why I identify more with that version of him. The version that's been through the shredder, ruined by other people's hands, and is trying to quietly bleed his way through life out the other end.

[writingamongther0ses]

Liar

Written with inspiration from @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt Tantrum Entrance. I had a new idea for a Wizard of Oz cartoon, where Dorothy is not present until the S1 finale, where Scarecrow lies through his teeth and tells her that nobody missed her, hoping that she'll stay out of the events of the plot for her own safety.

This is the aftermath of that talk.

-_-

"I don't miss you."

Dorothy closed the door behind her, allowing the smell of paint and drying clay to assault her senses. She couldn't bring herself to go back to her dorm, not when her poor, sweet roommate had nothing to do with this. Instead, she found herself in the spare studio room she had taken over back when she was a freshman.

"I forgot you existed."

Her hands were trembling. Dorothy wasn't sure whether to spread her arms out or huddle tight, because the rest of her was trembling too.

"Who would miss you?"

Each word was like a dagger to the heart. She had been excited seeing Scarecrow, because he was here. In Kansas. It was a ten minute confirmation that she hadn't dreamed up Oz when she was eighteen, a stress dream of new adulthood creating a whole world for her.

"You've made such a mess of things."

She had missed him. She had missed Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. Her hand, still trembling, managed to get her satchel off.

"Nobody's missed you, Dorothy Gale."

She grabbed something. Dorothy wasn't sure what it was, except it was soft and had a heft to it. She sent it flying, revealing it to be a sculpture she was working on. It hit the canvas of a painting, one depicting the red poppy fields.

She screamed.

She grabbed another thing and threw it, enjoying the sound of it smashing against the floor. Dorothy allowed the haze of red to engulf her senses. She enjoyed grabbing things and throwing them, breaking them in a way that definitely would've hurt Toto if he was here. Her art was full of wishes that her dearest friend had just tainted, grabbed and shredded like the painting Dorothy grabbed and yanked apart.

When the entire room was a mess, Dorothy found herself standing there, panting for air that didn't seem to be entering her lungs.

She collapsed. She huddled up on the floor, her hands gripping her clothes tight. It was suddenly freezing in the room, the sensation oddly soothing against her cheek.

"You..." she hissed through tears rolling down her cheeks. "You fucking liar."

Her eyes raised, staring at her satchel. In the haze of heartbroken rage, it had fallen over. A box laid there, untouched by the damage. Dorothy could only faintly remember it being pushed into her hands and stuffing it in her bag as she tried to get away from where Scarecrow and that teenager had disappeared.

She reached out and pulled it close, her hand limply opening it.

The sight of silver greeted her eyes.

...Was it...?

She pulled the silver shoes out. Dorothy blinked, feeling her eyes dry, as she studied the shoes.

Why had Scarecrow... Oh.

She pulled them close to her chest.

"You fucking liar," she said, a smile forming on her face.

[gunkreads]

Tagged by @highladyluck to give 3 book recommendations and tag a few people!

edit alright i didnt read the original. these were supposed to be one sentence each. fuckin whatever

City of Stairs by Robert Jackson Bennett:

The Divine Cities trilogy is one of my favorite series ever. Fortunately, this is actually the weakest of the three and it still rocks ass. This book takes place in the city of Bulikov, once the greatest city on the Continent that ran on the power of highly active gods and slaves from the island nation of Saypur, now a center for the Saypuri counter-colonization of the Continent after a Saypuri guy went on the most successful deicide spree since God of War III.

This is fundamentally a conspiracy story, with the core plot question being "whodunnit" (or, more accurately, who's gonna dunnit). The core theme, though, is "What makes YOU the good guys?" The thing I find so strong in all of Bennett's work is that he presents characters who have actively orchestrated systemic evils, makes them sympathetic and interesting, and absolutely refuses to allow you to forgive them.

Turyin Mulaghesh, the #1 Woman Ever, is in this one. The second book centers around her. I'd confidently say these books are an excellent prelude or follow-up to The Masquerade; they're attacking many of the same questions from a very, very different angle.

Kings of the Wyld by Nicholas Eames:

An all timer for a me for a reason. Pulp fantasy camp elevated to something greater. Eames understands that if you grab a concept and run with it, you can actually run far and fast enough that it's yours now. The cops won't get you.

This book is about a bunch of old retired guys who used to be The Rolling Stones Saga, the greatest rock mercenary band in the world. This world, Grandual, effectively asks the question, "what if being a hero was an actual job and a legitimate career path?" I'm not being cheeky with the strikethroughs. These guys are explicitly supposed to be 80s rock bands. It's an excellently woven bit of absurdity that feels completely diegetic somehow.

It takes place long after Saga's heyday, and Eames does an excellent job of having background characters trickle in half-true anecdotes supporting the protagonist, Clay Cooper, in his belief that Saga really DID go everywhere and do everything. They're going everywhere for the second time, but everything feels fresh because Clay's back fucking hurts.

The core plot is that the former lead singer swordsman of Saga had a daughter who took up the same trade, but got herself into an impossible siege, so Saga is getting back together to go bail her (and several dozen thousand other people) out.

Structurally, it's a fairly stereotypical fantasy adventure, crossing the country through all the standard Danger Zones and recovering your lost bandmates (one of whom is very explicitly just Mat Cauthon), but Eames squeezed absolutely everything he could out out of the rock band and old guy concepts. These guys are celebrities everywhere they go (Clay was the bassist so nobody recognizes him), and they have been EVERYWHERE. Eames layers on their experience with the world in a way that only deepens the worldbuilding, by omitting the initial description of places and phenomena in favor of Clay's second or tenth reaction to them.

Also, it's fucking fun as hell.

The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss:

What are we even doing here. Don't even fucking talk to me. It's as good as everyone says. No, that's not true. It's unbelievably better.

The Name of the Wind is a story about what a story is. It could be about anything or anyone, except that it couldn't, because it's about Kvothe and it's about being alive. I can't even put two sentences together recommending or describing this book. I would be nowhere without it. I have read it and its sequel around 10 times and I'm overdue for a reread. I genuinely could not name a single aspect of the story that I'd consider a flaw. Caveats for certain people, sure, because I'm a critic at heart, but not flaws.

Tagging @pillowfriendly @briannysey @terramythos

[curseofdelos]

honestly though Leo and Piper's friendship in TLH is SO underrated and we don't talk about it nearly enough

Leo always makes sure that Piper has a vegetarian option every time he cooks!!

Piper is the first person in Leo's entire life who thinks his fire powers are cool and praises him for it!!

Leo cracks a lot of jokes EXCEPT when Piper is upset or stressed, and then he makes a genuine effort to check in on her and support her because he recognises she needs reassurance more than levity!!

Piper saves Leo from the clay earthborns at the end of TLH, and Leo is SO warm and stunned that Piper "nobody hurts my friends" McLean not only thinks of him as a friend but one worth protecting too!! Because he's never had that before!!

And TLH doesn't really explore this in that much depth, but I think a lot about how Hera/Juno planted memories in both of their minds, and that they're the only ones who truly understand what the other is going through. They both have these memories of Jason that are not real and that he doesn't remember, and both of their lives were messed with so Juno's favourite Barbie could have friends, and nobody else understands what that's like except for them. It's not quite clear if Piper and Leo were friends before Jason or if they have memories of each other that were fake, but even if their friendship at the Wilderness school wasn't real either, it was still something they both know of and remember - a connection neither of them can have with Jason because he was a blank slate. They can share the frustrations of feeling so close to this person who doesn't know who they are, and their frustrations of trying to discern what's real and fake - all while building a real friendship with each other!!

AND they learned about the demigod world at the same time and were claimed on the same day which is so rare for demigods!! There's just so much for them to bond over!! They approach each other on equal footing!! They're just SO GOOD!!!! we need to talk about them waaaaaay more

[midnight-lurker]

Trolls Special Effects Au Info (Part 1?)

Okay so this au was kinda inspired by the art and comics where the perfect family harmony has a mind control effect and sorry if this is all over the place, I’m just writing down the basics.

So in this au each brozone member gained a different power after their last concert but none noticed until after they were all split up.

Branch got mind control, where he can affect anyone and anything that can hear him talk or sing. John Dory can heal via singing, simple enough- what could go wrong? And Clay has sonic scream. I still don’t know what I want Bruce and Floyd to have but I have a couple ideas.

Either way, Brozone aren’t the only ones with powers. Over exposure to the strings can also affect a troll and give them powers but power from the string is different in that it can have unseen side effects, which is why all the other tribes have them semi-hidden. The funk trolls have it on the guitar(base?) surrounded by the bubble so it can’t be accidentally touched or grabbed and the classical music trolls have theirs hidden in the conductors baton.

That’s where Poppy comes in. She and Viva along with Branch and Clay kind of swap places.Poppy was separated from Viva and Peppy during the escape from Bergen town. She fell out of Peppy’s hair and when she did, she took the harp that held the Pop string with her.

She, Branch and a few other trolls end up at mini golf course and make their home there although without a definite leader, the group is no where near as organized or efficient like in cannon which is why Branch ends up leaving after only a few years.

Poppy hates it there and spends most of her time playing the harp to calm herself. Nobody knows what the string is due to Peppy keeping secrets so they just added some regular strings on it and let her play. Poppy pours all her emotions into her music and as a result develops the power to project different emotions onto others through music. If she sings something energetic then the trolls near her are literally bouncing up the walls with energy, if she plays something sad, then the other trolls are filled with grief, etc. However, she slowly begins to notice that her own emotions are all over the place and that there are times where she’s just numb to everything going on around her.

[marchingfishes]

Who do you think falls for who first out of Clay and Jack ❤️🥰

(I wrote a huge thing and it got deleted when tumblr refreshed for no reason so i had to rewrite it Argh)

If Jack stays Big Evil, then they probably wouldn't ever. They'd never get close enough to really know each other. Jack could have a hell of a crush tho. Clay aint into that evil business, no sir.

I think it depends on where Jack is at on a Being An Asshole scale. Jack is probably physically attracted to him first, but if Jack gets his shit together, Clay might get start crushing on him first. I'm a sucker for Jack eventually making his way to the side of good though.

I think Clay just getting to know this dorky dude who is kinda rude unintentionally, smart but a bit stupid, and funny even tho he doesn't mean to be, and VERY fun to pick on would be a game changer on their relationship. Not much is gonna get done if Jack doesn't drop the I'm Darkness Incarnate act around him. Even Chase has moments where he's not The Supreme Force of Evil and just eats his little snacks or pets his cats or whatever! Jack has no problems dropping the act around his parents or school/job or whatever, but around The Monks, he never does.

Jack might even go through a bit of a crisis himself not really knowing how to act without at least a little of his Badass Evil Genius persona. Maybe he's never really existed for long without it, his grandma being Evil and all, or maybe it's a sort of shield he grew up with he's not used to dropping and just being Normal with. I can see him laughing or giggling without it coming out as a cackle or evil chortle and them both being surprised and Jack being unnerved by it. Too close to Good!Jack, which he tries very hard not to be Thank You Very Much.

Or maybe it's just like Customer Service Voice and it's something he can turn off and on. *shrug*

Either way, I think it would be good for both of them if they were friends. Maybe they'd get a crush on each other at the same time- at that point it would be up to Clay on how to handle it cause while it would be the most dangerous for Jack if Wuya or Hannibal found out he's dating the enemy, Clay has the most to lose by doing anything with Jack.

I was writing a thing a while ago about them starting a friendship that I'll probably never get around to finishing but is cute

They're like 18-20ish and Clay is trying to unlearn some of the stuff his daddy drilled into him as a kid about The Gays, and he doesn't really have anyone else around to talk about this stuff with (other than his sister which is hard enough) except Jack. He's scared of getting kicked out of the temple cause who knows what Master Fung thinks about this sort of thing, and he's just scared in general of having to go back to the farm after his wonderful life here in the temple, but it's eating him up and he's that special specific kind of lonely. Jack's never had a problem being flamboyant and never shied away from being openly and comfortably attracted to other men, something Clay is having a hard time doing.

It would have to be No Good/Evil Politics zone meetings. Jack built a little room under the basement stairs that his parents, nobody really, know about but him that's a Neutral Zone where he can exist outside of the fighting and Wu hunting and evil planning; just watch TV or play video games or do some coding or smth.

Jack would agree to their little meetings thinking it'll be a long con kinda deal in getting him some Wu and maybe finding out some weaknesses (and maybe make some scratch) but ends up enjoying having a friend he doesn't have to pay and is outside the Evil Squad of his (he would never admit to this). It would be very awkward at first but I think they'd fall into a sort of easy banter of pickin' on each other halfheartedly. They'd start with painting Clay's nails, letting him feel weird about it until it's not a big deal in his mind anymore. Maybe watch a queer movie, put him in some eyeliner, eventually take him to a bar or something that ends up very uncomfortable and awkward when poor Clay is swarmed by twinks.

Eventually, it would just turn into just coming over to hang out in their little Neutral Zone and getting smth to eat, going to the beach and the mountains. Clay is 100% "stealing" the wu at this point to sneak out past curfew, which Jack finds hilarious and feels like he's corrupting him a bit. They're corrupting each other, despite the agreement saying No Trying To Turn Me To The Side Of Good/No Trying to Drag Me Into Evil Bussiness. Clay would learn to open up a bit and probably start talking more, and Jack would learn to chill out a bit and learn to act like a kinder, normal-ass person.

In a scenario like that, they'd 100% start to fall at the same time, embarrassing (especially Clay because come on it's Jack...) and scaring the both of them while they try and juggle that with not letting anyone find out about them being friends/anything more.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones I

Summary: A late night call from your informant sets off an unexpected avalanche of gut-wrenching events…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Content: ~ 2.5k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, 18+!, Lots Of Hurt And Hardly Any Comfort, Slow Burn, Addiction (Duh), Substance Abuse (Obviously), Used Needles, A Belt Used As Tourniquet, Clay's Disgusting Living Situation, Clay Being Absolutely Fucking Miserable, Crying…So Much Crying, Talk About A Wilfully Induced OD, ANGSTY AF

A/N: The dove isn't just dead anymore, it actually started decomposing a while ago…

I'll add the appropriate content warnings with the progress of this story!

For anybody interested: I've made a Spotify playlist to go along with the fic!

Find Part II here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

- Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? By Arctic Monkeys

"Shitbum." Pale, white letters on the screen of your vibrating phone proclaimed for the 3rd time tonight.

With each new buzz of vibrations passing by, your eyes narrowed down on the display. There wouldn't be anything good in store for you if you picked up, that much you knew for sure, but him calling three times in the span of an hour and not in one manic rush of back to back calls that ended in nothing but halfway nodded out gibberish on your voicemail was something new. Not one singular voicemail had been left so far and after your mobile phone fell back into motionless silence you waited for a notification to pop up, for the screen to inform you that "You have one unattended voicemail by Caller ID: Shitbum." But nothing like that happened. Just another unanswered call in the purgatory of your push-up notifications.

With curiously arched brows, you forced yourself to take your gaze from the phone and redirect it to your bedtime read. It wasn’t an entirely fruitless attempt, you even managed to read half a page before the screen of your phone flickered up again. You saw the display glowing in the corner of your eye and all of your attention shot right back to the device.

"Jesus, fuck…" You muttered under your breath as you rolled your tired eyes at yourself while practically snatching the phone from the nightstand.

"I need you, please." The message read as soon as you unlocked the display.

For a moment you just stared at the words, frowning and your lips subconscious pursing slightly.

"Help." The cold casing vibrated again in your touch and you felt your stomach dropping.

Clay had never asked for help before, never, not once. He might have been a dope-sick informant but he always carried his head high in his very own way of snarky arrogance and stubbornness.

"Shit, Clay. What did you do?" It shot right out of your mouth as you slid out from underneath your warm duvet and reached for your thick police jacket.

Right now you couldn't be bothered to change out of your checkered PJs, everything happened automatically; your phone got shoved into the jacket while your other hand searched through a drawer as your feet pushed themselves into a pair of sturdy winter boots.

Your fingers held onto as many clean rigs as they could while your pockets got stuffed with FTS kits, the usual you brought with you when you stopped by to check in on Clay. It happened maybe once or twice a month and absolutely nobody at the Boston PD would be pleased with knowing about it but you didn't really care. You saw something in him, something more than just a fucked up addict.

The pockets of your jacked nearly teared open with how full you had stuffed them as you leaned down to tie your shoes before rushing downstairs to grab the keys to your car from the kitchen table. Your mind was almost blank, no thoughts just operating as you threw the door behind you shut and nearly ran towards your car.

At this time of night the streets were practically empty and you very clearly speeded down the set of blocks separating you from Clay's flat...if you could even call it that. His housing situation was that of a stuffy, damp bunker that's been trashed and vandalized for god knows how long. Clean or organized were attributes that didn't exist in his realm of clutter, debris and moldy dishes.

Cold wind hit you right in the face as you left the comforting warmth of your car and hastily stepped down a flight of stairs to the subterranean flat.

"Clay? It's me. Can I come in?" You spoke through the old, creaky door and knocked loudly to make your presence known.

No response. You knocked again.

"Clay?" You heard the tremble in your own voice and you were met with nothing but silence again.

"Fuck that shit." You huffed, took a step back and kicked your heavy boot against the door with such vigor that it easily cracked out of its lock.

The fact that your intrusion wasn't accompanied by just any reaction whatsoever had your stomach dropping and twitching in every possible direction. Jumping right into that nervous cramping right beneath your lungs, a pungent yet sweet stench of decay swept out of the open door right into your nostrils.

"Oh god..", You gagged and dry heaved, stumbling back and coughing a lump of saliva onto the wet pavement, "Oh fuck…ew."

You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the sleeve of your jacket but it was little to no avail, the foul odor nearly burned in your nose as you took careful steps through the trash filled hallway.

"Clay?" You called out again, receiving no answer once more.

As soon as you turned a corner into the hellhole that could be described as his "living room", you learned why.

"Oh no! You better fucking not you fucking idiot!" It rambled out of your trembling lips as you saw his statue propped against the wall, head dangling to the side, unresponsive.

With your heart hammering against your ribcage, you practically jumped over all the rubbish piles and crouched down in front of him.

"Clay! Hey!" Your hand touched his sweaty, cold to the touch cheek before all your self-control left you and you smacked him right in the face. No reaction.

"You better fucking talk to me, Clay!" Your fingers searched for his pulse point under strands of knotted, unkempt hair as your professionalism crumbled into nothingness and a flash of tears dreaded to erupt from your lower lash line. You forced them back with every ounce of countenance you could gather whilst a sharp breath escaped your mouth as you felt his pulse. Low and slow, but still very much there.

"The fuck you think nodding out on me like that, shitbum?" You scoffed, plopping down on your ass with a heavy sigh, a bunch of music and TV magazines crumpling under you.

"Let's get this mess here sorted out.." With a wrinkled nose and furrowed brows, your gaze wandered to his left arm, the sleeve being rolled up until above the crook of his elbow.

"Okay, here we go…" You murmured, hoping, imagining that he could hear you as you raised your fingers to slowly loosen up and carefully pull the black leather belt, he had used as a tourniquet, off his arm.

"Almost done…" You placed the belt next to you before you turned back to him and drew the plastic body of an empty syringe out of his arm.

For a brief moment you just looked at it, in anger and in fear to equal parts, fighting the inner urge to just smash the needle into the ground until it would break. Instead, you placed it with the belt and sat back down, taking a look around. The flat was…bad, even for Clay's standards downright messy. It gave the heavy impression that he'd lost the plot since the last time you had seen him about 2 weeks ago. Your mind hardly knew how to respond to your eyes recognising his floor being littered with used fentanyl test strips but it brought an awkwardly lopsided, faint smile to your lips. At least something. He was using them for a minimum of harm reduction.

As you let your eyes roam through the room, you eventually discovered the source of the deathlike stench filling the flat. Even from afar you saw a thick layer of not only green but black mold practically growing out and eating through the thick paper package of some Chinese takeaway you'd brought him 2 weeks ago.

"I paid for those noodles, asshole." You huffed under your breath, a desperate attempt to ease yourself from some of the relentless anxiety raging in your chest.

The box of rotten noodles wasn't the only thing that doused this room in its odor. Countless small cardboard boxes of strawberry milk with their counterpart straws were piled up high in a corner close to the open arch leading into the dirty misery that had been something resembling a kitchen once.

From early on, you had learned that cheap stir-fried noodles and strawberry milk of all things acted as the two main pillars of Clay's cranky diet and you never really tried to change anything about it. Who were you to tell him what to do only because he worked as your informant? Overall, you just felt content knowing that his still severely malnourished body got any sort of culinary input at all.

"What am I gonna do with you now, huh? Jesus, Clay. Freaked the shit out of me." You turned your body back towards his statue, your fingers carefully rolling his sweater back down to his wrist, your fingertips lingering on his sweaty hand for a moment before pulling back.

For a good few minutes, you just looked at him and pondered over what to do now. He'd freak the hell out if you'd drive him to the ER and the ER would most likely just not give much of a fuck since he wasn't straight up ODing. You also didn’t want to leave him here like that. There must’ve been a reason for him to call and text you the way he had and you'd do jackshit before you knew what all this was about.

"Mhmmm…." Your ears perked up the very second you heard the dragged out, low groan trickling out of Clay's mouth.

"Hey there…" You practically whispered to him, careful not to spook him.

"The fuck…are you doing here?" His speech was a little slurred but he seemed to come back slowly.

"You called and texted me, Clay." You answered to him calmly whilst pulling your phone from your pocket.

Before you turned the unlocked display towards his face, you tuned down the brightness.

"Remember?" He swiped his hair out of his face and squinted at the screen, pupils blown out wide.

Clay didn't answer right away, his fogged up mind trying to piece together what had happened during the last 2 hours. The expression on his face told you that he clearly didn't like what his jumbled thoughts came up with.

"Oh….oh, no…." He stammered, sluggishly trying to sit himself up straight again, the features of his face contorting into a pained frown.

While still holding up your phone, you looked at him attentively, following how he clenched his jaws as his eyes got covered by a watery sheene, indicating the growing distress he found himself in.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm here now and I'll help you." You sought to calm him down as you put the phone back into your jacket and tried to smile at him.

It wasn’t a happy smile by far but one of affirmation and understanding.

"No…no, no…" Clay suddenly started to scurry away from you, unaware that his back was already pressed against the lifeless concrete wall.

"No, what? Please talk to me." You felt your brows arching up in worry.

"This is pathetic.", It ruptured out of his mouth in a choked back sob, "You shouldn't…I wasn't…fuck."

"Hey, now.", You carefully scooted a little closer to the dirty mess of a mattress he was sitting on, "Clay, take a breath and please talk to me about what's going on."

"Fuck off!" He spat back, turning his head away from you but you still could see a few vagrant tears running down his cheeks.

"No." You stated bluntly, stopping in your movements to give him room.

"I-...I can't do this shit anymore..", Clay's voice rendered sore and out of breath with every word, "Fuck…I-...I wasn't supposed to wake up."

At his sudden confession all the pieces in your mind fell into place and you were painfully sure to feel something breaking inside of you. A jolt of emotional hurt and plain dread ruptured through your chest, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs as the man in front of you lost his posture entirely and slumped into you, wailing and crying violently.

You caught him in a loose embrace, you recognised your body doing it but your mind could hardly catch up with what was happening.

"Oh God…I should've texted you back. Should've picked up the damn phone. Fucking hell, shit, Clay, I'm so sorry." Your own voice started cracking and flailing dangerously as the weight of what had presumably happened doubled down on you.

"No…no. I'm not your…not your problem." He sniffled into your shoulder, his weak body shaking with every heavy sob erupting from the depths of his lungs.

His croaked out words served yet another fatal hit against your already rapidly crumbling composure. You felt like simply breaking down right here, too, the need for crying and screaming all the pain and guilt out of you growing stronger with every desperate whimper of his that cut right to your bones. However, you forced yourself to keep your shit together, simply had to for Clay right now.

"Issok…", You hummed into the crown of his head, carefully tightening your embrace around his slender shoulders, "You're not a problem or a burden to me. Don't you ever think that, Clay."

Your tender words were only met by a new, reckless wave of breathless cries.

"Help me, please, help me." He whined out, the realization about the reality of his own situation heavy in his voice.

"I will, I promise. You heard that?! I promise!"

[teecupangel]

Hiya! Could I possibly get more of the "cat cult"? I wanna see Ziio, Achilles, and many other AC characters as kittens.

(Why can I see Ziio being pure black, female kitty? Kinda like this;)

The “Altaïr gets a cult (but nobody cares about that) and gets lots of cats against his will” idea and the “Malik and Altaïr bickers like an old married couple” side-idea with its sorta sequel “Ezio breaks down and starts doubting every cat he sees” idea.

“I have met with them.” Ezio said with the tired tone of a man who had seen god and returned with nothing but a new cape that did not even match any of his usual attire.

Antonio’s lips curved into an amused smile as he asked blithely, “Quite the eccentric trio, are they not? I find it is better to deal with Malik than the twins.”

Twins.

Is that what they believe Altaïr and Desmond were?

He had spent two hours, perhaps three, with them and the two acted more like Desmond was a child to be coddled and looked after. It didn’t remind him of how he and his siblings interacted with Petruccio though. Altaïr and Malik both worried and cared for Desmond as if they were afraid he would shatter in front of them.

Sometimes, Ezio wondered if Desmond’s serene look at everything, even in the face of danger and death, was a sign of something more concerning.

But it was not his place to say anything.

“Altaïr has a lot of interesting opinions.” Ezio said instead.

And plans.

One of which was to take over their cul- Brotherhood and reinstate the “no close relationship with any powerful faction” rule that Ezio had never even heard about.

Desmond had whispered to him that King Richard the Lionheart actually tried to develop a close relationship with the Brotherhood but Altaïr had ‘dumped’ him, whatever that meant.

Ezio supposed that his recounting of how close the Auditore was with the Medici prompted this entire thing. Before that, Altaïr had seemed reluctant to take his rightful place as their mentor. Ezio wasn’t even sure if his uncle would like what was about to happen.

“I’ve actually come here to ask a favor on their behalf.” Ezio said with a sigh, making Antonio raise an eyebrow.

“And is that favor connected to the cats that followed you here and have been staring at us?” Antonio asked lightly even though Ezio could see the wary (and fear?) in his eyes as he glanced at the cats lounging on the roof, peering over them.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me for the late introduction…” Ezio turned to acknowledge the four cats as he said, “The black one is… I cannot remember her name but Desmond told me I can call her Ziio. The black and white one is Achilles. The grey and brown one is Maria. And the white and orange one is Clay.”

Among the four, only the one called Clay meowed, as if greeting back.

“They’re here to… support me.”

According to Desmond anyway.

While they all seemed to follow Altaïr back to their home, it seemed Desmond was the one who talked to them the most and named them.

“They are connected to the favor I wish to ask.” Ezio said and decided to just push through so he could get it over with, “They have decided to travel to Monteriggioni to talk to my uncle.”

And usurp him if the need arises, apparently.

Desmond was quite happy to tell Ezio their plan even though he knew that they were talking about his uncle.

Of course, we’re not going to kill anyone. Especially not Zio Mario!

The easy way Desmond called his uncle ‘zio’ made Ezio confused of their actual blood connection.

But everything about Desmond was a mess of confusion and worry. Altaïr calling Desmond his ‘child’ (said in a jest perhaps?) did not help at all.

“They need someone to take care of the cats while they are gone.” Ezio continued, “Just to feed them and make sure they have ample clean water every day. Perhaps clean any messes they make while playing inside. Desmond assured me that they take care of their ‘business’ outside or in the garden, behind the bushes…”

Antonio stared at him for a moment.

“Would you happen to know anyone who wouldn’t mind taking care of their-” army of “cats?”

“Will you be joining them in their travels?” Antonio asked and Ezio shook his head.

“We decided it would be better if I did not. I do not want my uncle to make a mistake and believe I have any part of this.” Ezio sighed.

The most he had done was explain the current state of the Brotherhood (although Desmond seemed to know about it, now that he thought about it). He didn’t have any hand on their plans or their decisions.

“Then it seems to me you already found the best person to take care of the cats!” Antonio said cheerfully as he patted Ezio’s shoulder.

Ezio blinked.

Ah.

He supposed Antonio was right.

For once…

Ezio wished he was being chased all over by guards.