#don't talk to me or my son or my son or my son or

[kirkwall-age]

exploring Origins Toolset (a gift that keeps on giving) and the V.A. directions for Arl Howe are FASCINATING. he has a secondary thought appended to every line of dialogue during the opening scene of Human Noble Origin -- and the insight into his psyche is somehow even more fucked-up than I thought

Bryce: I'm sorry pup; I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my daughter? Howe: I see she's become a lovely young woman. Pleased to see you again, my dear.

Friendly, but hollow. "Here's the necessary exchange of pleasantries nobles must go through. I'm kind of preoccuppied with making sure your father is on track for my secret plan."

Cousland: Is your family here, Arl Howe? Howe: Oh no, I left them in Amaranthine, well away from the fighting in the south. They do send their best wishes.

Distracted. "I left them well out of harm's way. Though I don't want you to know harm is coming."

Howe: My son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time.

Gauging the player's reaction. "My son wants to marry you. I don't approve, but mentioning it may get you to trust me."

Cousland (version 1): To what end? Howe: Ha! "To what end", she says! So glib, too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that.

Friendly, slightly menacing undertone. "You don't fool me, girl. You're playing dumb, but you're smarter than your reply suggests. I won't underestimate anyone in your family."

Cousland (version 2): ...Thomas is a few years younger than I am. Howe: As you get older, those years make less difference. A lesson often hard won.

Elsewhere. "It doesn't matter how old you are. You won't be getting any older."

THIS IS CRAZY. THIS IS A CRAZY THING TO SAY. OR THINK SECRETLY AS YOU'RE EXCHANGING PLEASANTRIES

[gingermintpepper]

As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version

Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].

So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.

This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus

Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.

Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺

ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.

I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!

That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.

For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)

Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)

Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:

(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)

Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:

and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...

(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)

And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!

Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)

And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)

Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)

But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)

Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.

These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.

(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)

Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')

And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:

But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.

It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.

Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.

All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?

The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.

[jewish-vents]

When my mom was 8 she broke a 15 year old boy's arm when he would not stop bullying her siblings for being Jewish, including trying to drown my uncle. Not as a joke, he was actively trying to kill him. Being 19 and on my second year of jiujitsu and breaking my antisemitic instructor's shoulder because his dumb ass thought he could thrash me with illegal moves repeatedly without consequences feels like a defining moment in my life. I really am my mother's son. My 5"3 ass can and will beat your 6"4 one despite the 100 lb weight differential. And I don't even need to make illegal moves to do it.

This is what it's like to be Jewish. You deal with people twice your size who don't play by the rules and you fight fairly and yet even when you're defending yourself, eyewitnesses get antisemitic and say your response was disproportionate. He had me in a lethal chokehold. I'm the one who had to talk to police for assault. He doesn't even get a reprimand from the university even though he's employed by them and murder on the campus is, even now, a bad look.

The police were, fortunately, swayed by the video footage. They said my lack of guilt was disturbing. I stared at them in disbelief. "I'm not going to feel guilty for not wanting to die," I told them incredulously, "I have elderly parents to support, a girlfriend to propose to and a dog to take care of. I'm 20, I have shit left to live for!"

I'm being forced into therapy by the university. I look forward to it. Sure would be a shame if I'd, I don't know, hypothetically, scoured the internet to find other accounts of people he'd used illegal moves on. It'd sure suck if I brought those up and had those entered into the school record. Sure would be awful if those accounts found their way into his RateMyProfessor listing in addition to, say, theoretically, being sent to local dojos and other dojos throughout the state, thus ruining his ability to find work or fight competitively.

All sarcasm aside I am not afraid to nuke his career. I am my mother's son but I am also my grandmother's grandson. When a KKK member tried to kill her dad, my great-granddad, she wrestled the man's gun off of him and shot him in the knee. He never walked again.

Nobody in my family starts fights. But I don't mind finishing them.

This is what it's like to be Jewish. Someone tries to kill you. You do exactly what's required to get out alive. They get angry at you. They want you to feel guilty for wanting to live. You get up and go to class hours later with bruises on your neck and refuse to feel guilty. I have as much of a right to be alive as anyone else. I will not be gaslit into thinking I don't deserve to live.

The school said I wouldn't have to do therapy if I apologized. I will not apologize for surviving or defending myself.

I have as much of a right to be alive as anyone else.

.

[fordkisser08]

MY BESTIE MADE ME BILL STUFF AS A LATE BIRTHDAY PRESENT

[kcrabb88]

It's Talk Like a Pirate Day, so I would be remiss not to plug my recently-completed trilogy! Not that I don't talk about it a lot, but today feels like a free pass :D I like to call it a Les Mis meets Black Sails meets Robin Hood story about stories, historical narratives, and the power they hold. It's got queer pirates of all different stripes, complicated antagonists, ruminations on empire and colonialism, found family, messy blood family, and a whole lot of ships and swords. You can check it out here, and I'll drop the summary of book 1 below! Thank you to everyone around here who has supported me for years while I got this out! <3

In the 18th century West Indies, stories hold the ultimate power. Sailors spin yarns about pirates. Newspapers tell tales full of half-truths. Myths spread like whispered wildfire. East India Company sailor Nicholas Jerome has no patience for pirates, determined to leave his father’s thieving past behind. After a convict and an enslaved woman escape his grasp with the aid of an aristocrat’s mysterious wife, he faces one last chance to save his career. Finding an unexpected home with a new crew, he gains a chosen younger brother in René Delacroix, the son of his wealthy captain and the grandson of Jamaica’s cruel governor. But there’s a storm brewing in the Delacroix household. For René and his best friend Frantz, the Robin Hood tales about legendary pirate Ajani Danso and his famed female quartermaster are a lifeline amidst the governor’s abuse. Danso robs greedy merchants, frees slaves, and shelters queer sailors, inspiring the downtrodden across the New World. When death and betrayal shatter the lives they knew, René and Jerome each face a obey, or rebel. A war for history’s favor begins, and as an uprising against colonialism erupts on the ocean, everyone must choose a story to believe in

[queerprayers]

I’m unemployed dropped out of school before I reached high school and am unbaptised. Does God care about someone like that

Welcome, beloved, to the blog of a high school dropout who walks dogs (but has never actually been employed anywhere), and was baptized as a baby and so did not have any choice in the matter! God cares about both of us, and has given us ways to serve Them in our own lives, as we are now.

Your employment status can obviously matter quite a bit in terms of survival, because of the world we live in, but itself has no bearing on your relationship with God. Whatever the reason you don't have a job, you have a life worthy of care, from those around you and from God. Being employed has never been a Christian focus--devoting your life to God has. Capitalism has changed so much, but please know that the ways the system (and those misled by it) shames you do not reflect the will of God. No human system can decide your worth.

Your level of education, similarly, doesn't say anything about you that God cares about. I dropped out of school for health reasons--whatever yours are, even if you don't feel they're good, whatever! High school was invented like 200 years ago, and has nothing to do with God's care for you. Education is holy--reading, talking to different kinds of people, learning about history and the natural world, thinking about God. This knowledge is in schools but it's also everywhere else. I'm not telling everyone reading this to drop out of high school, but I am saying that there are so many beautiful paths without it. I would also point out that in many places, there is support for people who left schooling early--my city, for instance, has free GED (high school equivalency diploma) programs. If that's something you want to change (of your own volition, not because God will care about you any differently), it's very possible that you can.

Baptism is the most easily changed thing on this list, if you seek it. Most churches require some discussion beforehand, maybe a class to learn about the denomination, but there aren't huge barriers (and there is no test of worthiness). If it's not in your future, for whatever reason, I can still tell you God cares about you, fully, as you are. Baptism is lots of things for lots of people--a symbol, a physical manifestation of grace, a welcoming into a Christian community, a sealing of a covenant--but it has never been the first moment of care from God. That has already passed--it was the first moment you existed. To say you need to be baptized for God to care about you is to say that God doesn't care about anyone from any other religion, or about those who die before baptism--what a sad life that would be. What a limiting belief.

I don't know you, but I have faith you treat others well. I have faith you wouldn't tell me God didn't care about me because of my job or schooling. So don't do that to yourself. I hate to break it to you, but you have no say in the matter. It doesn't matter how worthy you are, or how much you're succeeding by our current society's standards. God is love, a love which keeps no record of wrongs, a love which does not weigh with the measures of this world, a love which cannot be contained in the rituals of an institutional church, a love which does not require knowledge or action or belief to surround us. We are saved by this love, not by a diploma or paycheck or a pastor's words.

Go in peace, beloved. Glorify God with your life, not with someone else's. And anyone who tells you that there are limits on God's care is not talking about the God of the Bible--who works through the underdog, who turns any idea of worthiness on its head, who picks the younger son and the tax collector, the unwed mother and the poor father. God comes to where we are, and takes us by the hand.

<3 Johanna

[syndrossi]

The Daemon/Laena marriage discussion in the last chapter has me thinking about Jon and Rhaegar being big brothers to itty bitty Baela and Rhaena 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Rhaegar finally having younger siblings to love without the need to protect them from Aerys 🥺 Happy about being named twinsies with his littlest sister and spoiling her rotten 🥰 Helping Rhaena overcome her natural shyness and not letting her get overshadowed in this ridiculous family (unless she wants to, and then he shows her how to use that to her advantage)

Jon giving Baela his old clothes and taking her down to the training yard, and when someone (coughs, Cole, coughs) tries starting shit about this Very Obvious Princess in too-big trousers starts doing warm up exercises with a wooden sword, Jon's like "oh this is just my new squire Bael, don't worry about it." Using his status to get Baela the training she wants, how he could never do that for Arya 🥺

The four of them being all grown up and having inside jokes together 🥺 Baela volunteering for the dangerous mission of routing Rhaegar from the library. Rhaena and Rhaegar both answering when someone starts to say "Rhae—" . The three of them calling Jon "Lord Commander" when he's being bossy (not that the girls know about his past life, just that they copy Rhaegar doing it 😂)

Both of them would enjoy having Laena as a stepmother better than any other options I think. She's fiery and light-hearted and cares deeply for her loved ones. And obviously she gets extra points for having Vhagar (rip to Aemond's increasing rivalry with Jon, who now gets to be up close to the biggest dragon on the regular)

Also lol at Daemon being the father of two sets of twins. He's the most efficient father in the whole family 😂

Awwww I love all of these! Especially them all being older and knowing exactly how to manage each other, and all of their individual dynamics. (Baela and Jon butt heads a lot, but are also thick as thieves. Baela adores Rhaegar and loves dragging him and Rhaena into mischief. Rhaena being thrilled whenever Jon can be talked into courtly intrigue because he can be so deliciously, unexpectedly catty, and enjoying quiet moments with Rhaegar, when they need a break from their exuberant twins.)

I've been going back and forth lately on whether Daemon will marry Laena. My original plan was "no," and Laena would have her twins in another marriage, given the very different priorities between her and Daemon. (Daemon's...just not that interested in marriage now, with all the upheaval he's just experienced. Unlike in canon at this point, he has two sons, and Rhaenyra's not available, and his top priority is keeping the twins safe. Whereas Laena needs to get married yesterday for her family's sake.) But the twins having twins sisters is so hard to give up. I might write up my waffling in a separate post lol.

[carefreejules]

don't talk to me or my son ever again

(both Parti plushies were designed by @nappotuna!!)

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Sorry this took so long. I moved city and pretty much have a new life. Still obsessed with Rust, though, so some shit sticks

Warnings: 18+, talk of war, alcohol, drugs, sex work, talks of past domestic violence, smut, just genuine misery between the two of them

America venerates suffering, that's what Travis had always told Rust. Sacrifice isn't pure if it isn't coated in a blood so red and so hot that your family can smear over their words, for centuries to come, excusing their comfort, their indulgence, their ignorance. They are afforded that comfort off of slaughter beyond their imagining. At least, that's what had happened after 'nam. A hero for his fucking country was the propaganda they had fed Travis; squash the bug of communism and, along with it, massacre millions of innocents, because what is America without its sons who are willing to fight for it.? Yeah, a fucking hero for a father, who's night terrors kept both of them up at night and who kept his engraved lighter saying High Speed Low Drag in his hunting jacket, always. That same lighter that Rust had used to light his first cigarette: rolled up flimsily in newspaper with the leftover tobacco and tufts of filter that he'd scraped from Travis' cigarette butts. The same lighter that Cassandra is now using to light her Marlboro Gold, hands shaking,

'Rust. That's all I get, huh? Not even a fucking surname?!' she spits, through a shaky exhale.

'I ain't gonna give you my surname. The less you know about me, the better,' Rust says back, his stoic demeanour attempting to mask that churning in his stomach. One that he has realised isn't for him but for Cassandra.

'Is Rust even your actual name?'

'You want a fuckin' social security number, too?' Rust drawls dryly.

'Don't you-Don't,' Cassandra's head shoots up from where it's been in her hands, her shaking tone now gaining a momentum of uncontrollable anger, 'Jesus-fuck. You men are all the fucking same. I-I ain't staying in this fucking place, anymore. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck every goddamn person in this wasteland of a place!'

Rust regards her with an even look,

'You ain't going anywhere. Not tonight. You ain't in the right state.'

'You ain't my daddy, motherfucker.'

'Goddamn right, I ain't but I'm also the only person you have who doesn't want to take advantage of you. So, hedge your bets tomorrow, baby, but tonight you're stayin' here,' Rust's voice is lapidary, stopping Cassandra in her tracks as she starts to shove clothes and books into her duffel bag.

'I said: you ain't my daddy and you sure as hell ain't keeping me in a place where I don't want to be,' Cassandra says in a tone equally as gelid, throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. That elegant, fine-boned shoulder tinged with its bronzed hue; some of the love bites that Rust had left a few nights ago decorating Cassandra's collarbone. Rust fears that the sentiment festering under his skin is nostalgia. A nostalgia that scares him and, then, makes him cruel,

'No, Cassandra. I ain't your daddy cause all he did for you was get heavy handed with you and cut you up with his empty liquor bottles when he really wanted to teach you about mouthin' off at him.'

The colour drains from Cassandra's face,

'How the fuck do you know about that?' a sudden spark of spite reaches her as she sneers, 'Pull my file in your spare time, huh?'

Rust grabs her arm and yanks up her tank top, ignoring her yelp. He nods to the fine, white line along her ribcage,

'I ain't a fuckin' idiot, Cassandra. Skateboardin' fall, my ass,' Rust snarls, holding her ribcage with a calloused hand. Cassandra viciously claws at his hand, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,

'Get off! Get the fuck off!' and Rusts lets her go cause in that moment, the smooth, sultry cadence made slightly husky from after-sex cigarettes reverts back to the pleading of a little girl. Cassandra's words are devoid of any real bite, Rust notes. All that rage has been stripped away and all that she is left with is the panic of a little girl's voice turning into burning sobs in her throat; the stale cookies in her stomach turning sour from terror. There's that wide eyed looked, too. He can see it as Cassandra hastily covers herself back up and rearranges the duffel bag back onto her shoulder.

'Fuck you, Rust,' she says his name like it's a poison that she needs to spit from her mouth before it corrodes the flesh into a pulpy mess. Corrosion. Rust. That's what he is, it's what he does because sometimes corrosion is needed to get to the bone of things; to see what everyone else in too caught up in their delusions or affectations about fucking Natural Law to truly comprehend.

'Don't you fu-Cassandra!' Rust's voice boils up from his chest in a rough bark, watching Cassandra explode out of the trailer door, almost stumble down the rusted metal steps and collapse into the red dirt. He thinks he can't get any angrier until he realises that she's pocketed the keys to his Harley, on her way out, and sees her bolt over to where it's parked, behind the trailer. A cloud of dust rises up as the bike rumbles out of neutral and Cassandra desperately revs on the accelerator; her legs hardly off of the ground before the Harley tears away. In other circumstances, the dramatics of the exit would have made Rust scoff and chalk it up to youth's thirst for impact: the flurry of a scene. Not now. Not when this kid is tearing down a highway in a bike that doesn't have enough gas to make it to Liberty, let alone wherever the fuck Cassandra thinks she's headed. A kid, Rust thinks, A fuckin' kid that I've pulled into the abyss with me. Rust calls her a kid now but knows that when he finds her, he'll treat her like she's grown. A sentiment that propels him into his truck, cursing to himself as the engine splutters.

It doesn't take long to track Cassandra down; there's only one road from the trailer park that lead to the freeway. No doubt, where Cassandra is headed to. Ride fast and hard, and get the fuck out when the heat starts to sting: the classic cocktail of self-preservation cooked up by kids who've already been burned. There are too many of them down here, below that Mason-Dixie line. Rust would know. Fuck, if he hasn't spent his entire career on the force witnessing the aftermath. Drugs, abuses, assaults, homicides: you name it. The abuser becomes the abused; Nietzsche's infinite return has those poor kids falling flat on their faces into the nice shit storm of generational maladjustments that their parents left for them. Shattered dreams, skin sucked dry from mosquitos, teeth black and rotting from sweet tea, underneath that sticky southern sun. Rust wants to believe that it's an innate sense of duty towards these kids is why he's currently violating every Highway Code there is. And for part of him, it is. The other part, however, won't allow himself the comfort of what he knows is a lie. What started as pure sex appeal has started to morph into something deeper, messier.

The bike has even less gas than he thought as, the first Texaco that he sees, has Cassandra next to the pumps trying to wrench open the bike's gas lock. She wants to be caught, Rust knows, Wants me to chase after her, show her I give a shit. If she didn't, she would've gotten a hell of a lot more reckless. He watches her, almost with pity, as her pulls into the gas station and slows the truck to a halt, the breaks groaning with their lack of galvanisation. Rust shoves the car door open, his leather boots landing heavily on tepid asphalt,

'Get your ass over here,' his voice rough, as he strides over to Cassandra.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me,' she whips around, her fury making her abandon her previous task.

'Get in the fuckin' truck, Cassandra. I ain't doing the whole scorned boyfriend act for these nosey fuckers,' Rust deadpans, his ice blue gaze conveying to her just how fucking pissed he is.

'Did you hear me, motherfucker? I said to go back to your junkie biker brothers, find some hooker so that you can fuck out your half-baked emotional needs and leave me the hell alone,' Cassandra says with such venom dripping from her mouth that she almost fully means it; warm milk out of hand, she resorts to spite. Not fully, though: Rust can see the tears glazing her eyes and that's enough for him. A firm hand comes to grasp Cassandra's arm and put her in what is practically a headlock as Rust drags her to the truck. Cassandra's duffel bag slips off of her shoulder as Rust holds her firmly against his chest, bicep right up against the column of her throat. Some old man up from his pump, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he calls over,

'Everything alright over there?' Not from the area, Rust notes. Not solely due to the licence plate and milky arms but the slight wariness of his expression. A man unacquainted with the imperatives that the arrid terrain commands. The violence. Cassandra takes it upon herself to drop the unwanted attention as she chokes out,

'They don't teach you to mind your own fucking business in Iowa?!' the rage in her voice stemming from a deep humiliation in how she must look, Rust's arm tight against her neck. Rust takes in the man's mortification and grits into her ear,

'Shut the fuck up.'

He opens the truck door and shoves her in, slamming the door and heading over to the driver's side to catch her as she climbs out. Rust concedes her a heavy slap to the face before getting in, essentially crowding her back to the passenger's side. As he starts the ignition and pulls out of the gas station, Cassandra is eerily quiet, tears leaving hot tracks of salt and mascara on her cheeks. Rust debates on whether it's shame at getting caught or just pure desolation at, once again, finding herself completely fucked over, until he feels his jeans' waistband go slack. He feels the air hit that sweaty patch of back where the barrel of his .38 S&W was pressed and licks the inside of his cheek in an almost smirk. There she is, Rust thinks, knowing full well Cassandra's loathing of acquiescence as she points the gun at his temple, sweat curling his caramel hairs.

'Pull over or, I swear to God, I'll put your brains all over your goddamn car windows,' Cassandra's voice is firm but Rust sees her fingers trembling. Red. Her nails are lacquered the same colour as a Shirley Temple, poised on cool gun metal of the safety.

'You don't want to shoot me, Cass,' Rust says, his tone flat.

'Oh, I don't?' Cassandra scoffs.

'Nah, you wanna make a fuckin' scene so that I'll burst into tears and beg for your fuckin' forgiveness or some shit. That ain't gonna work on me, baby. I'm around too many pussies who ain't man enough to pull a fuckin' trigger, as it is. I can tell when someone's bluffin'. And you, Cass, I can sure as hell tell when you're bluffin'.'

'How are you so sure?'

Rust looks at a small trail leading off of the main road before sparing a sideways glance,

'That gun ain't even cocked.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes and pulls the hammer back,

'Happy?'

Rust steers the truck off of the road, onto the rocky country road, before stopping and turning to her,

'You wanna go? Go.'

Cassandra's gaze falters before she contrives it into that practiced indifference,

'You're kicking me out?' she says, her voice so fragile that Rust almost feels bad for putting her in this situation but tough shit: wisdom comes hard.

'Nah, just callin' your bluff. You got 30 seconds to go, if you want to,' Rust says, not even facing her but staring straight out ahead.

Cassandra stares at him, lowering the gun, and looks around helplessly. The tears come back, not when she looks at Rust's stony expression or the destitute surroundings, but when she looks at her duffel bag. All her life fitting into some beat up gym bag and, now, she's about to throw away the one thing that can protect her. A gun isn't shit compared to his hand on her ass and his fingerprints bruising her thighs; not to these fucking animals. Rust gives her the mercy of two minutes of silence before speaking,

'You ain't movin',' he says more as a statement than a question.

'Don't mock me,' Cassandra murmurs out.

'I ain't mockin' you.'

'You know that I ain't gonna go. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to.'

'You can and you will, eventually.'

'I ain't sure, Cra-Rust. You ain't either.'

'Use Crash. I don't need you gettin' confused and fuckin' this up,' Rust says, gruffly.

'You sure that's it?'

'Am I sure 'what's' it?' irritation starting to creep into his tone.

'That the reason you don't want me using your real name is cause I'll jeopardise your cover.'

'I thought you were smarter than that, Cass.'

'What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Cassandra suddenly straightens, her voice hard but still slightly tremulous.

'I thought you were smarter than to get your emotions mixed up with what is gonna keep your ass outta the crossfire.'

It's a low blow but it hits home. Cassandra looks down at her scraped knees, gravel and raw skin, before looking up again; her voice now a whisper,

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

Rust clenches his jaw, the simple juvenility of the question making him feel sick. He knows neither of them will be able to bear whatever tidal wave of sentiment is about to breach their carefully instated distance. The partial revelation of his true identity has already been more of an unmasking than he can stomach; especially to someone he cares so deeply for as Cassandra. Her knowledge of 'Rust' throws whatever the fuck they are doing with each other into something that goes beyond sex and protection, and Rust can begin to feel everything veering off track. He won't allow her to expose herself to him like this, not when he's already emotionally fucked her over so much, today. So, Rust finally turns to her and says,

'Take off your top.'

Cassandra falters, her voice still that hoarse whisper as she ask,

'What?'

Rust wills himself to turn his pity into scorn,

'Did I fuckin' stutter? Take off your top. Those shorts, too,' he says, his tone unnervingly even and made rough from his Camels. Cassandra stares at him for a moment before indulging him: shirt discarded first before she lifts her hips and awkwardly shimmies out of them. Rust notices her holding her side, her hand cradling the scar; something she's never really done until now. Not until Rust had forced her shame into the searing white light of recognition. He knows what Cassandra must be thinking, grouping him into that homogenous, male blob of ill-intent: her next job, her next dance, her next humiliation. He tries to pretend that it doesn't slightly tear him the fuck up when she looks at him with those eyes, now cold.

'What now?' Cassandra asks, sitting up with her spine long and upright, shoulders terse.

Rust pats his lap,

'Come here.'

'Rust, I-'

'I ain't ever remember sayin' you could call me Rust, Cass,' he says harshly, completely disregarding whatever appeal Cassandra's about to make over how to treat her. Pretty words that don't mean shit to Rust nor to this godforsaken part of the country. A place where women bring guns in their purses to hookups and there are wards for the babies born hooked onto opioids, has no use for floral, storybook sex. Here, it's fast and it's hard and it's painful and it's often paid for. Cassandra knows this type of sex, or rather its corruption. So, she shuts up and sits in Rust's lap; swallowing the bitter pill of docility.

'Move 'em to the side,' Rust taps the waistband of her panties with his knuckles. For a moment, a light tinge comes across Cassandra's collarbones at the crassness of the act. She hooks her fingers into the waistband, moving to pull them down, before Rust grabs her wrist,

'I say to take 'em off, Cass?'

'No,' Cassandra murmurs, trying to asses if Rust is pissed beyond belief or on some pretty loopy downers.

'So, you can hear me. I was thinkin' otherwise, given some of the shit you've managed to pull,' that dangerous mix of anger and worry begins to seep into Rust's tone. He can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties; almost disappointed that she can get turned on by this shit. Old habits die hard, Rust thinks, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into his seat,

'Undo my belt.'

Cassandra stares at him, holding unflinching eye contact as she unbuckles him and unzips his fly. It's like a game of fucking chicken: which of them is willing to degrade the other more, for the sake of self-preservation. Rust exhales a slow stream of smoke watching Cassandra's thighs tremble from the exertion of holding her position. He quirks an eyebrow,

'You gonna tap out on me, baby?'

'No.'

'You wanted this shit that bad, didn't you, Cass?' Rust says, the forcefulness in his tone coming out of the pit in his stomach when he thinks what he's done to her.

'I did. I wanted this shit. Don't paint me out to be some dumbass little girl who opened her legs to the first man who reminded her of her daddy. That ain't what this is. I'm tougher than that, you know I am,' her voice starting to tremble again. Her hands absentmindedly wrapped around her midsection., as if to protect herself from the next laceration.

'You want it? Then move those fuckin' panties to the side.'

Cassandra stares at Rust with that fucking stupid bravado of rapacity, before gripping the crotch of them to the side; the tepid truck air mixing with the heady scent of her arousal and Rust's cigarette smoke,

'Go on. Fuck me like a man.'

Rust looks up at her while he pulls down his boxers, before grabbing her bruised hips and slamming her onto him. Not giving a fuck about the sharp, shuddering inhale. The lamb must learn to run with the wolves and Cassandra is far from a lamb. Especially as she is now, gulping down her whimpers of pain, desperately rocking her hips against his coarse hair to stimulate her little nub. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, nose rubbing against his jugular as Rust lands a firm slap on her ass,

'Don't get sentimental on me now, Cass,' he manages to grit out, feeling her arousal literally drip down him, 'Fuck am I gonna do with a weak lil' thing, huh?'

Cassandra tries to nod, her eyes squeezed shut and her groans muffled into the leather of Rust's jacket. Rust wraps his arms around her, holding her in a vice grip for the third time today, all of which have been some form of degradation or excavation of the dirty, nasty shit that Cassandra keeps hidden under sultry, bedroom eyes and that cutthroat tongue. At least this time, the aggression of the act is more tangible; neither of them are allowed any delusions. Not with how Cassandra's spit smears against Rust's stubble when he fucks into her especially hard or the cutting of taught lace on her hipbone or Rust's still lit cigarette burning dangerously close to Cassandra's dark waves. Apt symbolism, Rust thinks, as she angles her head to inhale from the tip; eyes starting to roll slightly at the mixture of in adverted friction of her bundle of nerves, and Rust's angry, frantic pace. She turns to look him right, as she leans her head in him, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Rust catches some powdery grey wisps, shoving Cassandra down once more onto him. As she groans, her hands never loosening, Rust leans in to mutter into her ear,

'You never fuckin' learn. Do you, baby?'

[yuyu1024]

Lettuce

Pairings: Mingyu × y/n

Genre/tags: non idol, dating

Warning: 🔞 fluff but still smut, pet names (babes, baby, love, honey, sweetheart etc.), cursing, unportected/protected sex (always be safe), kinks (size, breeding, tits, etc), mention of small age gap, mention of low self-esteem/confidence and insecurities

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 2.6k

Disclaimers:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

A/N: been away. I didnt know if I should post this or delete but then... I dont want effort to go to waste so.. 😅 i hope this is an okay one.

Have a nice day.

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

"Are you still waiting for your ride home?"

You look at the group of girls standing a few feet away from you. They are from the department across your office.

"Is your boyfriend late?" She adds a follow up question

You smile, "I am." You cautiously asks.

They are not your friends so you are not comfortable to share more than that. And also they are known to be the gossipers in the officr so, any details about your personal life would be the next topic for the next few weeks if you share anything with them.

"It's already late... are you sure he's still coming?" One girl asks.

Luckily, the bus arrives just in time for them to hurry in. No time for you to even chat with them anymore.

"Thank goodness..." you sigh feeling relieved.

*pings*

🐶: sorry, im late. 😭

🐶: i helped an old lady cross the street.

🐶: didn't know she would ask me to also help her get boxes of soju in her shop.

🐶: she admitted to pretending to struggle crossing the street so she can ask anyone to help her and his son 🙃 and then made me buy a whole bunch of lettuce.

🐶: like a whoke bunch😶

🐶: you like lettuce right babe?😚

You smile as you read your boyfriend's text. You don't know if its you imagining him pouting because he feels sorry he made you wait or its because he felt used and scammed.

💖: you're so silly.

💖: its still a good deed so its okay 😊

🐶: but i am 10mins late.

🐶: i cant let my princess wait for me.

💖: i can wait. As long as its you... ♥️

You see him read the message and then not reply.

"Hello stranger..."

You got startled when Mingyu embraces you from behind and kissed you on the cheek.

"Yah! You scared me." You slap his arm

"Sorry..." he giggles and kissed you again. This time on the lips.

"Stop..." you say, blushing. "We are outside."

"So...?" He grins and then puts his arm around you. "We are a couple. Who the fuck cares?"

You roll your eyes. "You know people judge..."

"No... they are just jealous because I am dating a wonderful woman..."

You shake your head. "No... they are not jealous because of me..." you push him away. Forcing a laugh. "Probably because you look good in that double denim look."

Here you go again with your self pity and self judging. You always do this. 'This' notion that you are way below over any other girl and that you are just lucky Mingyu is your boyfriend. You always make an effort to put yourself down without even noticing that Mingyu does not like it.

He fucking loves you. Inside and out. From head to toe. From front to back. He even loves it when you are not at your best behavior nor position. He just... loves you. Period.

But on your end, even with a million reassurance, you always doubt yourself for him.

***

Arriving at his apartment, the first thing you did was announce that you are going to take a shower. You didn't even looked at him when you said it. You're not mad at him or whatever. You are just guilty and feel sorry for being down out of the blue. You didn't even talked that much during the ride home.

"Hey..." he takes you by your arm and pulls you close for an embrace. He kissed the top of your head and then forehead. "Take your time... I'm going to cook dinner."

You smile with no teeth showing. "Okay..." your voice sounding almost a whisper.

"Anything in particular you want? We have meat, fish and vegetables... like a lot of lettuce..." referring to the whole plastic the old lady sell him. "You want something with soup or fried? Ramyun or pasta?"

"Hmm... I like pasta... and a salad on a side?"

"Okay... as you wish my princess..."

The whole apartment smells like a five star restaurant. The fragrance is to die for and makes your mouth water. When you got out of the bedroom, hair still damp, you got suprised by how extravagant Mingyu arranged the dining area. Fancy plates, lit candles, wine glasses and a bottle of his favorite red win. All of a sudden, iy felt like you entered an Italian restaurant wearing your baby pink pajamas and hello kitty slippers.

"Hi, babe." Mingyu is a ray of sunshine while putting on a few more finishing touches on the table. "Ready to eat?"

"Aww..." your heart is aching with pure joy. He is the sweetest man alive.

You stumble your way to him, caused by your own feet. He managed to catch you giggling with you. You look silly but he find it cute. And then as your eyes met he immediately captures your lips for a kiss. Small pecks that got deeper and more seductive. The kisses are loud that it echoes and bounce off the walls of the apartment. He can't also stop touching every curve of your body. From your hips, to your ass and to your tits. He even lifted your shirt so he can access your bra and yank one side down exposing you boob.

"M-mingyu...." you giggle as you try to pull away from the kiss. He does not want to let you go. He keeps on chasing your pink lips whenever a gap starts to build in betweem his. "We need to eat... the food will get cold..."

He didn't answer. He leans lower so he could give love on your exposed bud. He suck it first before he lets his tongue lick it and make your squirm.

"M-mingyu..." you inhale. "The food...?"

He finally lets you go, smiling. "Fine." He chased one more kiss. "But after we eat..." and another one. "I'd like to go straight to dessert." And another one. "You know I love my dessert." He says, bitting his lower lip while grinning like a mad dog.

"You're crazy!" You pinch his nose.

"Crazy over you..." he growls and suddenly picks you up off the floor. He puts your legs around his waist and you automatically hang your arms over his shoulder to hold on.

"Yah!"

"I can't wait. I think I want to begin our dinner with dessert first." His eyes is filled with desire and he is ready to wreck you.

Kicking the door open to your bedroom, Mingyu lays you down gently but in a hurry at the same time. He is on a mission. He is not going to make love to you. He will FUCK your brains out tonight. You know that look in his eyes.

"No condoms... I need to feel you... skin to skin..." he pulls his shirt off and throws it, hitting the wall, then begins to unbuckle his belt and pants. "And I'll like to fill you up until it leaks out of your pussy." He adds, grinning

"Oh God..." you try to get a hold of yourself. Not ready for what is coming

He pushes down his pants and underwear in one go. His length springs free and is up, steady and hard. It's tip glistening with pre cum.

"Turn around..."

You do as he says and go on fours on top of the bed. He pulls your pants down, revealing a bare and wet pussy ready to be torn.

"No panties huh..."

You blush. "Well... I know we'll have sex today... I just didn't know its going to be this soon..."

Mingyu hovers on your back, hand sliding up and down your curves. "Do you want me to stop and just go on with dinner?"

You lower your heard, embarassed, even though he's not seeing how turned on and red you are. "No... I would never say no to you..." after a few breaths in you look back, cheeks red and warm. "You know sex with you is my only addiction."

"Fuck yeah it is..." he says proudly and satisfied

He eases himself in, slowly but deliciously. He skipped prepping you. He can't wait anymore. His dick is aching and wanting to feel your walls.

"I'll be a little rough to you today, babe." He smacks your ass and a moan escapes your lips. "I didn't like what you did earlier..."

"Ughhh!" He slams strong and consistent. It's driving you insane how he could hit the very back of your cervix. Actually he could hit every thing inside you. Thats how long and thick he is. "W-hat... what did... I do?" You arch your back and pushed your upper body up so he can embrace you and touch your body as he thrust your brains out.

"You know..." he grunts as he adjusts and tries to go deeper, even though he is already at the deep end of your insides. "I don't like it... when you don't appreciate yourself..." he inhales and exhales as he feels you clench and make it tighter. "Fuck! Babe!" He kisses the curves of your neck and bites on your shoulder when he feels the tightness thats make it fucking sensational for him

You ubotton your top to give him access to your chest. You didn't unhook your bra though. You just pulled the ladies out and the bra helps give them a push up.

"You are beautiful... sexy... and a wonderful woman..." he pushes your hair out of his way so he can kiss your neck. "Love yourself... the way I love you."

He then pulls out, almost making you cry and beg. But them makes you turn around to face him.

"Can you?" He asks with the most loving eyes

You crash your lips to his. Pushing your tongue in him. You didn't stop until you hear a moany cry from your boyfriend. His brows then creases when you playfully bite his lower lip. "I want to..."

"But what?" He carries you off the bed and pins you to the wall, beside the window of your bedroom. Your one leg touching the ground while the other is hooked over his forearm. "Answer me, babe."

He slams back in you. Stronger and much deeper. Which confused you coz how? Its not like your cervix can expand. But thats what it felt when he slammed you. It didn't hurt. It felt insane actually. Insanely goodm

"You are kind... sweet... caring... hardworking... knows what you like and dislike... respectful..."

You are catching your breathe in your throat. Its like you are choking from excess pleasure. You try to speak but you can't let go of the high. So instead of speaking, you just shook your head.

"You don't agree?" He asks. Mingyu looks at you with his puppy eyes and showered you with kisses. Then he kept repeating all the good qualities you have as a person and even physically.

He really is telling you every bits about you. Everything that he loves and dislike but accepts coz it is you. It is part of you. He really do love you.

"What can I do... to reassure you?"

You put your hand over his mouth. Not to shut him down but to hush him for a second. Just for a moment until you get it all out for him.

"Fuck me!" You cry as you can't help but  cry more of his name. You are so close to your orgasm. "Nggghhhh...!"

You shut your eyes ready to explode but then Mingyu pulls away from your hand, takes you back in bed to finish, when he suddenly says the two words you didn't expect him to say while he's fucking your brains out

"Marry me..." he says.

Your eyes opens, looks at him in pure shock and bliss. "W-wha..." you can't finish your words. He was hammering you. You can't answer. "Mingyu!" You moan his name so loud when your world spun around.

"I love you." He grunts as he see you melt and when he pushed into you a few more times, he finally begins release himself you. All the warmth and every drop of him in you. "Fuck!" He exhales, dropping his body on you but not his weight. "I love you..." he says again. "So much..." he kisses your shoulder and then your cheek. "So... what do you say?" He smirks

"Suddenly?" You look at him, confused.

"Hmmm..." he scrunches his nose, still wearing the smile on his lips. "Not really..."

He then gets up, pulling out of you, which felt like you got more naked than what you are now. More exposed.

"Wait lemma clean you first."

He runs into the bathroom and takes a towel to wipe you clean. Just clean enough to be presentable but not totally wipe his seeds off you. He wants that in there.

And then he runs out of the room.

"Where are you going? Babe?" You are confused. Why is your man running outside the bedroom ass naked

Giggling as you see him comeback in and carring the plastic bag of lettuce.

"Huh? What's that for?" You sit up and wrap the thin white blanket to your body.

"I lied. Well... we still going to have salads and all..." he is mumbling. "This should be over dinner... but... I could not help myself earlier so..."

"Mingyu... what is going on...?"

Laughing but still trying to pull a serious face. "It was true that an old lady sold me this but... as I was helping her she took the paper bag the came wit this... and I panicked." He sits down beside you. "I didn't want to put it in my jacket or pocket coz... it will be obvious... and when we walk and your cold you always put your hand in my jacket's pockst so..."

"Mingyu!" You grab his face and kissed him. To make him focus. "Just say it..." you are giggling now too.

"Okay..." a soft smile spreads to his lips. "I know... you may think... I'm still young and naive."

"No you're not..."

"Yeah but... still... anyways..." he nervously laughs. "Like I said... you are an amazing woman. Anyman who you choose to love will be the luckiest. And thankfully its me..." he then goes down to his one knee and pulls out a black box from the plastic of lettuce. "I said I didn't like what you did earlier... you looking down at yourself... but that does mean I hate you or mad at you for it... I just say that because I care.. I want you to feel... assured and happy." He opens the box and shows the most brightest ring you ever saw in your life. "If I have to always reassure you for the rest of our lives... I don't fucking care. I am up for it. I love you and I can't live a day without you." Pulling out the ring and taking your hand. "Please marry me... I will serve you and love you forever..."

You watch him put the ring on your finger.

"So...?" He looks at you with doe eyes

Letting you of the blanket covering your body, you launch yourself to him, making you guys fall on the floor. "I love you Kim Mingyu..." you say first before kissing him. "Forever is not a bad idea..." you kiss him again. "Of course I will accept."

"Sorry if I proposed to you after sex... at diner would've been fantastic"

"Don't say sorry... I do love your way..." you get up from embracing him. "It brings back to how we started."

He sits back up. "Right."

Then you stare at your ring. "Who could've guessed that... I will be marrying the guy I met and fucked at a friend's birthday?"

[kleinblue52]

Since everyone's playing, let me add my two cents about the Agatha All Along/Teen theories.

First of all, I've read several posts mentioning that Teen said his mother is dead. Unless I missed something, I don't think that's the case. When he was talking about his mom seeing Alice's mother in concert before she died, I think he meant before LORNA died. Did I interpret that wrong?

So, if I'm right, Rebecca Kaplan might be alive and well. I do want Teen to be Billy. At the same time though, as soon as Nicholas' room appeared and we saw the lock of hair, I was immediately drawn to the Nicholas Scratch theories. I DON'T want him to be Nicholas, but it would make so much sense.

Right now the biggest mystery to me is that damn rabbit. There's a strong connection between that rabbit and Teen's identity, much stronger than the rabbit simply being named after Nicholas/Agatha's dead son. In WandaVision, Billy is very attached to the rabbit, and Teen is shown petting it as well. That might be a connection between the two. BUT, at the same time, Teen is shown next to the picture of a rabbit and he's also shown hopping around when he's bound. So those might be clues that connect Teen to the name Scratch. THEN AGAIN when we see Nicholas' room, his music award is shown next to the figurine of a rabbit. Which made me think... what if Señor Scratchy is actually Nicholas? Rio is supposedly Nicholas' mother as well and she spoke to Agatha in Spanish in more than one occasion. The rabbit being called Señor might be a nod to that. Maybe when Agatha tried to sacrifice Nicholas for some selfish reason, Rio intervened and made it so that Nicholas would only be (temporarily?) transformed into Agatha's familiar? I have a feeling that Rio is being painted as a villain because Agatha doesn't exactly remember what happened, but it's probably Rio who has a good reason to hate Agatha, and not the other way around.

SO my final theory here is that the rabbit is actually Nicholas. Agatha might find a way to remember about him and maybe save him from the spell he is under at the end of the Witches' Road and with the help of Rio. Teen is Billy, he knows that he's Wanda's son for some reason and he wants to use the Witches' Road to bring Wanda back, and he'll probably end up betraying the Coven in order to do that. He already has power and he's lying about his ultimate goal.

I would LOVE that storyline, not only because I want Teen to be Billy, but also because it would create such deep and moving parallels between Agatha, who barely remembers that she has lost a son, Rio, who is grieving that loss and maybe is manipulating Agatha to get to the end of the Witches' Road to get Nick back, Teen/Billy who is manipulating everyone to get his mom back and Wanda, who manipulated the whole Multiverse to get Billy and Tommy back. A finale in which Billy manages to bring Wanda back would be the perfect lead-in to a Jac Schaeffer Wanda movie.

[littlesweetchurro]

Malfunctioned

When Dynamight's gauntlets malfunctioned two things happened:

1. You were 1000% sure you were going to end a crispy support engineer because you couldn't keep your mouth closed. 2. You must have been going through some caffeine induced trance because you might actually have a crush on Bakugou Kaksuki.

Dynamight's smirk didn't fade, much to your mortification. "Fine. But don't think I didn't notice you checking me out, nerd. I might have to start charging admission."

You groaned, eyes glued to the screen. How in God's good name did you get here?

Chapter One:

Bakugou

Bakugou's boots pounded the pavement, his eyes scanning the streets below. Perched on a rooftop, he surveyed the streets. The setting sun cast long shadows across the city, perfect cover for the scum that crawled out after dark. 

His fingers twitched. Sweat beaded on his palms, ready to ignite. It had been too damn quiet lately. He needed some action, needed to blow something up.

"Come on, you bastards," he growled. "Give me a reason."

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Down in an alley, three figures huddled around a fourth. Bakugou grinned. Showtime.

He launched himself off the roof, using controlled explosions to guide his descent. The rush of freefall sent adrenaline surging through his veins. This was what he lived for.

Bakugou landed with a resounding boom, concrete cracking under his feet. The thugs whirled along with the man they had caught in the streets.

"D-Dynamight!" The nearly-bold man exclaimed.

The thugs' eyes darted around the alleyway looking for an escape, when they found none, they dropped the middle-aged salaryman.

"Beat it," Bakugou ordered the portly man, who simply nodded and  scrambled away.

"Well, well," Bakugou sneered, rising to his full height. "What do we have here? A bunch of fucking pathetic losers."

He took in the scene with a practiced eye. Three villains, probably small-time. The one on the left, a hulking brute with arms like tree trunks. Likely some kind of strength enhancement quirk. Center, a weaselly looking fucker with unnaturally long fingers. Those nails looked sharp—some kind of claw quirk? And on the right, a twitchy bastard whose skin seemed to shimmer and shift. Camouflage, maybe?

"Dynamight!" The leader, Claws, hissed. "We ain't done nothin' wrong!"

Bakugou's lip curled. "Yeah? Then why's that guy running like his ass is on fire?" He jerked his chin toward the fleeing civilian. "Face it, you third-rate villains. You're fucked."

Muscles cracked his knuckles. "Big talk for one hero against the three of us."

"Three?" Bakugou laughed, harsh and mocking. "I could take you extras down with both hands tied behind my back!"

He raised his gauntlets, savoring the familiar weight. One good blast would send these losers flying. 

"Any last words before I turn you into smoking craters?"

Claws snarled and lunged forward. Bakugou's finger tightened on the trigger. 

Nothing happened.

For a split second, Bakugou froze. What the fuck? He squeezed again. A pathetic puff of smoke wheezed from the barrel. 

"Shit!" 

Bakugou barely had time to dodge as Claws swiped at his face. Those razor-sharp nails whistled past his ear, slicing off a few strands of hair.

Fucking shit.

The fucking gauntlets were malfunctioning. Again. He was going to murder that glasses son of a bitch when he got back to the agency.

No time to dwell on it now. He'd just have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Bakugou's grin turned feral. "Alright, you want to do this up close and personal? Fine by me!"

He ducked under another swipe from Claws and drove his fist into the villain's solar plexus. As Claws doubled over, gasping, Bakugou grabbed his arm and used the momentum to hurl him into Muscles.

The two villains collided with a satisfying crunch. But where was the third? 

A flicker in his peripheral vision was all the warning he got. Bakugou threw himself to the side as Camouflage materialized, swinging a length of pipe. 

The makeshift weapon clanged against the alley wall. Bakugou rolled to his feet, hands already sparking.

"That the best you got?" He taunted. "My dead grandmother hits harder than you!"

Camouflage's form shimmered, starting to fade. Ah nah, fucker. Bakugou slammed his palms together, creating a concussive blast that filled the alley with smoke and debris. 

A hacking cough gave away Camouflage's position. Bakugou lunged, tackling the now-visible villain to the ground. A few well-placed explosions, and Camouflage was out cold.

Movement behind him. Bakugou whirled just in time to see Muscles charging, meaty fists raised. 

Time seemed to slow. Bakugou's combat instincts took over. He waited until the last possible second, then dropped and swept Muscles' legs out from under him. As the villain stumbled, Bakugou planted both hands on his chest.

"Die!" He roared, letting loose with the biggest explosion he could muster.

Was it over kill? Yeah. But he was too angry to give a fuck.

Muscles flew backward, smashing into a dumpster with bone-jarring force. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Claws, the only one left standing, looked from his fallen comrades to the snarling hero. His nerve broke. He turned to run.

"Oh no you don't!" Bakugou snarled. He pressed the triggers on his gauntlets, muscle memory taking over. Nothing. Useless piece of shit!

With a growl of frustration, Bakugou launched himself forward. One hand latched onto Claws' jacket. The other ignited, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a controlled blast.

Bakugou landed on top, pinning the struggling villain. "Stay down if you know what's good for you," he growled.

Claws went limp.

"That's what  I thought."

Bakugou stood, surveying the destruction around him. The alley looked like a war zone. Scorch marks blackened the walls, and the dumpster Muscles had hit was crumpled like a tin can. 

Not bad for hand-to-hand. But it should have been easier. Those gauntlets were designed to concentrate and amplify his explosions. He could have easily finished the scum with one blast.

He raised one arm, squeezing the trigger again. Nothing but an anemic spark. 

"Fuck!" Bakugou slammed his fist against the wall. This was the third time in as many weeks that his support gear had malfunctioned. It was getting beyond a joke.

He needed those gauntlets. Sure, he could fight without them—he'd just proved that. But against a real threat? A high-level villain? That malfunction could get him killed.

Bakugou's jaw clenched. He knew exactly who to blame for this clusterfuck. That smug bastard in Support. The one who kept insisting he knew better than him what he needed. 

He'd told him the calibration was off. Told him the firing mechanism was sticking. But the fucking nerd had the nerve to tell him it was normal.

Bakugou's blood boiled. He was the number two hero, for fuck's sake! He deserved better than this second-rate crap. 

Bakugou activated his comm, barking orders for a police pickup. As he secured the villains, his mind raced with all the choice words he had for a certain support technician. 

"Get the fuck out of my way!"

Bakugou's snarl sent interns scattering like roaches. Good. He was in no mood for pleasantries.

The agency hallways blurred as he stormed through. His hands sparked and smoked, itching to wrap around a certain four-eyed bastard's throat.

He caught his reflection in a glass door. Blood-spattered. Uniform torn. Looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a meat grinder. All because that smug piece of shit couldn't do his fucking job.

Bakugou's lip curled. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

The door to the support department exploded inward, nearly flying off its hinges. Startled yelps filled the air as techs dove for cover.

"Where is he?" Bakugou roared. His eyes scanned the room, locking onto his target. "You!"

Haruto's eyes went wide behind those stupid glasses. “D-Dynamight, sir! I wasn't expecting—"

"Shut it." Bakugou's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. He stalked forward, backing the other man against a workbench. "You want to explain to me why I just had to take down three villains with my bare fucking hands?"

"I-I'm not sure what you mean," Haruto stammered. That fake confusion only pissed Bakugou off more. "Did something happen with your gear?"

"Did something—" Bakugou's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "You're goddamn right something happened! These pieces of shit gauntlets you swore were 'working perfectly' didn't fire!"

He slammed the malfunctioning gear onto the bench. The impact left a dent in the metal surface.

Haruto flinched. "Now, now, I'm sure it's not as bad as all that. Perhaps you're exaggerating a bit? After all, you did defeat the villains..."

"Exaggerating?" Bakugou's voice went deadly quiet. The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. "You think I'm exaggerating ?"

He seized a fistful of Haruto's shirt, hauling him close. "Listen here, you arrogant fuck. I am the number two hero. When I go out there, lives are on the line. Mine, and the people I'm protecting. So when I tell you something's wrong with my gear, you fucking listen ."

Haruto's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "O-of course, sir. I apologize if there was any misunderstanding. I'm sure we can sort this out—"

"Oh, we're way past 'sorting out,'" Bakugou snarled. He released Haruto with a shove, sending the man stumbling. "You're going to fix these gauntlets. Now."

"Fix them?" Haruto's eyes darted nervously to the damaged gear. "Well, you see, that might be a bit difficult. The, ah, the calibration is quite delicate, and—"

"I don't want excuses!" Bakugou's fist slammed into the workbench. The metal buckled. "I want results! Now fix the damn things before I lose what little patience I have left!"

Haruto's shoulders slumped. "I... I can't."

For a moment, Bakugou was sure he'd misheard. "What?"

"I can't fix them," Haruto repeated, voice barely above a whisper. "The truth is, I... I never fully understood how they worked in the first place. I've been trying to replicate the original design, but—"

"You what ?" The words came out as more of a roar than a question. Bakugou's vision went red. "You've been bullshitting this entire time?"

Haruto flinched. "I-I thought I could figure it out! I didn't want to admit—"

"You're fired."

Haruto's mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out.

"But... but sir, you can't—"

"I can, and I fucking well am." Bakugou's eyes blazed. "Pack your shit and get out. Now."

He turned to address the rest of the support staff, who were all doing their best to look invisible. "Any of you other extras know how to fix these?"

Silence. A sea of wide eyes and shaking heads.

"Un-fucking-believable." Bakugou ran a hand through his hair.

A thought struck him. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but desperate times and all that shit.

"Fine," he growled. "If you useless fucks can't handle it, we'll go to someone who can. Get me a list of the top support agencies in the area. Now!"

There was a flurry of movement as techs scrambled to comply. Bakugou's scowl deepened. He hated relying on outside help. But he'd be damned if he'd risk his life—or worse, his reputation—because of faulty equipment.

He'd find someone who could fix this mess. And when he did, they'd better be prepared for the highest standards in the business.

Bakugou's lips curled into a feral grin. Oh yes, he was going to put whatever poor bastard they found through absolute hell.

It was time to separate the extras from the real deal.

You

You stepped into your workshop, the familiar chaos of the space making you instantly smile. The room was a jumble of organized disorder, with workbenches cluttered with half-finished projects and shelves lined with an eclectic array of tools and components. Holographic displays flickered in the air, projecting schematics and data readouts that cast a soft blue glow over the room.

You made your way to your primary workstation, carefully navigating around a precariously balanced tower of circuit boards and a robotic arm that was in the middle of some much-needed maintenance. The air hummed with the soft whir of cooling fans and the occasional spark from a nearby soldering station.

As you settled into your chair, you pulled on a pair of magnifying goggles and picked up a set of micro-precision tools. Before you lay Chargebolt's support item - a circular mechanism designed to be worn on his wrist. It was an intricate piece of technology, meant to aid the pro hero in aiming his Quirk by shooting disc-shaped Pointers.

You lost yourself in the work, your hands moving as you carefully adjusted the internal components. Your fingers danced over the delicate circuitry, tweaking and fine-tuning with a level of precision that came from years of experience. The world around you faded away.

"How's it coming along?"

The voice startled you out of your concentration. You looked up to see Ryoichi Kuroda, your colleague and fellow electronics specialist, peering over your shoulder with interest.

You leaned back, stretching out the kink in your neck. "Pretty well, actually. I think I've managed to increase the accuracy of the Pointers by about 15%."

Kuroda's eyebrows shot up. "Impressive. Chargebolt's going to be thrilled."

You smirked, unable to keep the smug pride out of your voice. "Well, he should be. I've been working on this thing for weeks."

Kuroda pulled up a chair, his eyes fixed on the mechanism. "Mind if I take a look?"

You shrugged, sliding the device over to him. "Be my guest. I could use a fresh pair of eyes."

As Kuroda examined your work, you found yourself explaining the modifications you'd made. "See, I've recalibrated the targeting system to account for atmospheric conditions. It should help Chargebolt aim more accurately, even in less-than-ideal weather."

Kuroda nodded. "Clever. But won't that put more strain on the power source?"

You grinned, reaching for a small component on your desk. "That's where this comes in. It's a new type of micro-battery I've been developing. Twice the power in half the size."

Kuroda whistled. "You've really outdone yourself this time."

You smiled. It was nice to have your hard work recognized, especially by someone as talented as Kuroda. "Thanks. But I'm not done yet. I still need to run some final tests before I'm ready to hand it over to Chargebolt."

Kuroda handed the device back to you. "Well, if anyone can pull it off, it's you. Just don't forget to eat and sleep occasionally, okay?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Yes, Mom. I promise I won't work myself to death."

As Kuroda chuckled and stood to leave, you turned back to your work. Your fingers itched to get back to the delicate circuitry.

You were so engrossed in your task that you barely noticed the hours slipping by. The workshop around you gradually emptied as your colleagues headed home for the day, but you stayed, determined to finish just one more adjustment.

It wasn't until your stomach growled loudly that you finally looked up, blinking in surprise at the darkened room around you. You glanced at the clock and groaned. It was well past midnight.

With a sigh, you carefully set aside Chargebolt's support item and began tidying up your workspace. As much as you wanted to keep working, you knew you needed to get some rest.  

You trudged into the izakaya, tired but damned grateful to grab a beer. Mai was already there, waving enthusiastically from a corner booth. You slid in across from her.

The lighting in this place was crap, it made the dark circles under your eyes 10 times worse, but it was cheap and good. And there was no way you would skip on good and cheap food just because the lighting made you look crappier than normal.

"Rough day?" Mai asked, pushing a cold beer towards you.

You took a long swig before answering. "Just busy. This new project for Chargebolt is kicking my ass."

Mai's eyes lit up. "Ooh, tell me more! What are you working on?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It's a redesign of his wristband. We're trying to improve the aim assist for his Pointers. The tricky part is balancing the electrical output without frying the circuitry."

"Sounds complicated," Mai said, her brow furrowing.

You snorted. "That's putting it mildly. I've been knee-deep in schematics for weeks."

Mia nodded and took a sip of her drink. "You should be knees-deep between someone's legs, not with some project."

You laughed, "I wish."

Just then, a commotion near the entrance caught your attention. A tall, armored figure had walked in, and the entire izakaya erupted in excited whispers.

"Oh my god," Mai gasped, gripping your arm. "Is that Ingenium?"

You glanced over, confirming it was indeed the speed hero. "Yep, looks like it."

Mai was practically vibrating with excitement. "We should go say hi! Or get an autograph! Or-"

You cut her off with a gentle pat on her hand. "Mai, relax. They're just people doing their job, same as us."

Mai's gaze snapped back to you, her eyes narrowing. " Just people? Are you kidding me? Have you seen them?" She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Heroes are hot as fuck."

You snorted, nearly choking on your beer. "Seriously? That's what you're focused on?"

"Oh, don't act all high and mighty," Mai teased. "You can't tell me you've never thought about it. All those tight costumes, rippling muscles..."

You actually had thought about it, but your friend didn't need to know that. "I'm a professional, Mai. I don't ogle the people I work with."

"Bullshit," she said, grinning. "I've seen the way you look at Deku's ass when he's in the news."

You spluttered, indignant. "I do not-"

"Oh please," Mai cut you off. "It's okay to admit it. They're like walking wet dreams in spandex."

"Fine," you gave in. "Maybe they're... aesthetically pleasing. But that doesn't mean anything."

Mai's triumphant smirk made you want to crawl under the table. "Knew it." Her eyes were still tracking Ingenium as he made his way to a private booth.

"God, I bet he's fast in bed too. Can you imagine? Those powerful thrusts, over and over, until you're screaming his name." Her smirk grew "his real name that is, or maybe his super kinky and he likes it when girls call him by his hero name."

You groan, dropping your forehead to the sticky tabletop. Thank God Ingenium couldn't hear them over the bustle of fans. "Jesus, Mai. TMI."

She ignored you, lost in her fantasy. "I wonder if his stamina translates to other areas. He could probably go all night long."

"For fuck's sake," you muttered into the table. "Can we please talk about literally anything else?"

Mai's attention snapped back to you. "What's your problem? How are you not impressed by him? He's Ingenium! One of the top heroes in the country!"

You sit up, scrubbing a hand over your face. How do you explain that after years of working with heroes, the shine has worn off? That you've seen them at their worst - sweaty, bruised, and bitching about malfunctioning gear. That you know the unglamorous reality behind the carefully crafted public personas.

But more than that, how do you admit that there's only one green hero who gets your blood pumping these days?

You settled for a noncommittal shrug. "I guess I'm just not into the whole speed thing."

Mai's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? And what exactly are you into, then?"

You take a long swig of beer, avoiding her knowing gaze. "Nothing. No one. Shut up."

Mai finally tore her gaze away from Ingenium, focusing back on you with a sly grin. "Speaking of seeing people... when are you going to get back out there? It's been ages since you've been on a date or gotten some for that matter."

"I get—" you started to protest.

Your friend rolled her eyes, "that doesn't count. You need to get railed," she took a swig of her beer, eyes drifting to the speed hero. "Or at least go out on a date."

"Not this again. I've told you, I don't have time for dating right now."

"You have to make time!" Mai insisted. "You can't just work all the time. What about that cute guy from accounting?"

"The one who thinks Excel is a type of turn-on? Hard pass."

Mai laughed, shaking her head. "Okay, fair. But seriously, you need to get out more."

"I'm out right now, aren't I?" you countered, wildly gesturing to the izakaya around you.

"With your best friend doesn't count," Mai said, rolling her eyes. "I mean real dates. Meeting new people. Having fun!"

You sighed dramatically. "Bold of you to assume I find other people fun."

Mai snorted into her drink. "God, you're impossible. Fine, be a hermit. More cute guys for me."

"I thought you were happy with Kenji," you teased.

Mai's eyes softened at the mention of her boyfriend. "I am. He's... he's really great, actually. We're talking about moving in together."

 "Wow, that's a big step. Are you ready for that?"

Mai nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I think so. It feels right, you know?"

You actually didn't know, not really, but you were happy for your friend. "That's awesome, Mai. I'm really glad you found someone who makes you happy."

"Thanks," Mai said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "I just want you to be happy too."

You squeezed back. "I am happy. I've got my work, my friends, what more do I need?"

Mai opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off by a sudden increase in volume from the TV mounted in the corner. You both turned to look, seeing the familiar explosive hero on screen.

"Breaking news," the anchor was saying, "Pro Hero Dynamight has just apprehended a group of villains attempting to rob the National Bank. Witnesses say the confrontation was over in minutes, with minimal damage to the surrounding area."

The screen cut to footage of Dynamight, looking typically surly as he spoke to the police. His costume was singed and there was a small cut on his cheek, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"Minimal damage?" you scoffed. "That's a first."

Mai elbowed you. "Come on, give him some credit. He's gotten a lot better at controlling collateral damage."

You had to admit she had a point. Dynamight had made significant strides in reining in his more… destructive tendencies over the years. Still, old habits died hard, and you found yourself rolling your eyes at his gruff demeanor on screen.

"I guess," you conceded. "But he's still an ass."

Mai laughed. "True. But a very effective ass." That smirk that let you know she was up to no good painted her face, "a very fine, tight ass."

You rolled your eyes and threw an edamame at her.

As the news moved on to other topics, you found your gaze lingering on the TV, your mind drifting to thoughts of explosive quirks and support gear. Maybe there was something in Dynamight's technique that could help with Chargebolt's design.

You shook your head, forcing yourself back to the present. This was supposed to be your night off, after all. You turned back to Mai who continued to not so subtly ogle Ingenium.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 48 (He Had Him At Hello, Bromance Edition)

Leaving her friends in Old New Henford after dark, Heather, Ash, and Conrad returned to her childhood home with her parents.

They found River and Cassandra still in their work clothes, the two having spent most of the evening trying to get their infant son to sleep. "Doctor Scott says its a phase, it'll pass, but when he doesn't sleep well, we don't sleep well," lamented River. "These days we're thrilled if he sleeps for more than two hours at a time."

Conrad already felt at ease around her siblings, and Heather left them chatting upstairs while her parents showed her the new plants in their always impressive garden. When Michael woke up fussy, she soothed him back to sleep to give his tired parents a break.

Upstairs, River studied Conrad with keen interest. His sister's taste in men had always been a little...off, and he wanted to be sure this one deserved her. "Driving between San Myshuno and Brindleton Bay must not be easy."

"We make it work," said Conrad. "We're waiting for me to get a transfer, but all that driving can be pretty tiring."

"Sometimes I dance just to keep myself awake," said Cass, grooving a little to the music. "Since I left the art studio to help my mother-in-law with her floral business, it's been a bit easier working from home. I never realized the artistry involved in floral arranging, but I can be just as creative with a bouquet of flowers as I can with a palette of acrylics!"

Conrad couldn't relate, but he empathized with their lack of sleep. "I don't know much about raising kids, but Ash likes a story I tell him that my mom used to read to me when I was a kid. The Giving Tree."

"I love that story," Cassandra mused. "I think I saw a copy at the bookstore in the square."

River nodded. "I'll try anything. I'll pick up a copy tomorrow." Despite his fatigue, River's wall crumbled as he got to know Conrad. "What made you think our sister was worth risking your career?"

The question was sincere. Conrad had asked himself the same thing a thousand times. "At first I thought it was because her son needed her more than the Landgraabs needed a win, but then they dropped the charges and I couldn't stop thinking about her. I booked a vet appointment four hours out of the way just to run into her again."

"Why didn't you ask her out, then?"

"River, stop interrogating him," Hazel pushed, but Conrad smiled.

"I wanted to, but I knew she'd been through a lot and I wanted her to be sure she was ready. I sort of knew it would be it for me if I knew she was interested."

"It's a good thing Holly intervened," said Hazel, smiling. "You might still be waiting for her, otherwise."

River grinned. "He definitely would be."

Hazel left to meet Nicola and some friends at the Gnome's Arms, and River and Cassandra finally changed and sat down to dinner. Because they could know no peace, Ash talked their ear off about dinosaurs. "Conerd say t-rex no swim, we safe," he babbled. "T-rex roar!"

"You know there were less scary dinosaurs," River said. "Smaller ones who ate plants. Also big ones. Like brontosaurus."

Ash listened with intense curiosity. "Bront-so-us?"

"Yeah, they were even bigger than your dad's apartment."

Cassandra stifled a laugh. "River, hush."

They were interrupted when Michael woke again from his nap, wailing from the bedroom. With her plate still full of food, Cass left to tend to her son as Heather walked into the kitchen. "We should probably head out. It'll still be an hour on the Simmerloop at this time of night, and we should get Ash to bed before midnight."

Cassandra brought Michael outside for their goodbyes, but the fussy infant didn't last long in the cool autumn air.

River, meanwhile, had found a new best friend in Conrad. "When I found out my sister was dating a cop I wasn't sure what to think, but now I'm pretty confident you've never played bad cop in your life."

Conrad shrugged. "I mean, I don't see the point. It doesn't get me to the truth any faster. But I admire what you and your father do. Building green infrastructure for your community is just as important as what I do."

River laughed. "Please, don't flatter me. You deal with hardened criminals like my sister."

Daisy turned to Heather as they watched River bond with Conrad. "Riv grew up with a house full of sisters, but I think he always secretly wanted a brother."

When Conrad left to get the car, River turned to Heather. "I recognize the way he looks at you, and he's not going anywhere unless you tell him to. I know you like to think you're better off single, protecting your independence, but he's the guy who's perfect for you. You and Conrad finding each other is one in a million, like the day I met Cassandra. He's your Cassandra."

(Can confirm, Jane Simsten's Soulmates mod kicked in for these two way back on the night they ran into each other with Holly and Kris in San Myshuno, but Heather's unflirty and she's been burned in the past, so it's had to be this way. I'm sorry!)

River's beautiful wife gazed at him with love while he spoke. They were so sweet together, and their love used to make Heather feel like she was missing out. Now she had Conrad, who was as close to perfect as anyone she'd ever met, and she couldn't shake her insecurities.

"I know raising Ash with his father isn't easy and you're afraid to get hurt again," River said. "But that is a guy who's waiting for you to say 'I love you' so he can say it, too."

Neal frowned. "Huck, you don't know that. Don't test your sister's emotions-"

"I do know that, and I'd die on Old Mill Hill defending that take!"

"He makes me so happy," Heather admitted. "But what if he moves in and I find out he's a criminal mastermind masquerading as a detective?"

"Then you're even more perfect for each other than I thought."

Heather couldn’t deny her feelings for Conrad, as afraid as she was to put them into words and make them real.

Despite her fears, she was grateful for her family's approval, and she embraced her brother warmly when Conrad brought his car around. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: This got it's own post because Conrad and River literally said hello to each other and were basically best friends (they became official best friends later, when it mattered for Conrad's Friend of the World aspiration. tbh by then I thought they already were but either something glitched or broke with the Lovestruck patches or I never bothered and forgot). Their instant bromance felt so right - River looks up to his older sister and wants the best for her even though he can't help but tease her, and he and Conrad are both responsible guys focused on bettering their communities. It's a perfect match and I loved this development.

[sleepymaven]

The Bsd "Fyodor is Atsushi's Father" Theory:

My Not-so-Deep, Not-so-Serious Explanation on Why This Could Totally be Canon

Signed: A Sleep-Deprived Idiot

(Spoilers for the Entirety of Bungou Stray Dogs)

So... with Chapter 118 in bsd releasing, I have noticed a lot of Fyodor as Atsushi's father related things popping up and... I'm not mad about.

If anything, I'm happy the theory is getting more attention. People even seem to be taking it as canon fact, even if just jokingly.

Really, I believed the theory was plausible since it first was brought up in the fandom, but I never actually thought it would be canon because that just seemed too crazy. But those were the thoughts of a sweet summer child since the manga has gotten to the point where that might be the least crazy thing possible.

So, here I am at my keyboard yet again, ready to ramble about how, if this does somehow turn out to be canon, this might be actually rather predictable even to those who don't dive deep into the nitty-gritty lore.

Now, I won't ramble on and on endlessly about the book and Atsushi's ambiguous past and how he may be the book or a page from the book and yaddy-yadda. Instead, I'll focus on some key aspects of Atsushi's character design. First off...

His hair.

As I said, this is not all that serious or deep, so take my words with a grain of salt before you start bashing me or something for being ridiculous. You signed up for ridiculous when you started reading past the title.

Anyway, back to Atsushi's hair.

As we almost all know, Atsushi used to have a black streak in his hair that was later removed for unknown reasons, but he also has white hair.

Now, I could jokingly proclaim, "Hehe, biologically impossible Fyodor x Nikolai lovechild," and be done with it, but I am no clown, unlike Nikolai. No, I have a better, probably completely wrong, idea.

Most of us know that Fyodor has a thing for white-haired men.

Exhibit A: Every fucking member of the Decay of Angels

I rest my case.

Also, I feel the need to mention that 3 out of 6 of them have red-ish eyes while the other two have purple-ish/blue eyes. Just pointing out that little tidbit I noticed while finding pics for them.

So, it would make sense for Fyodor to pick and choose which attributes to give to his quote-on-quote "son" when he made him from the book, picking out certain traits he found appealing and pleasing to the eye.

(Also, yes, this could mean that Fyodor could have chose specific attributes that were similar to Nikolai. Boom, lovechild route.)

This could explain certain similarities between the characters who seemingly have no biological connection between one another. Their only connection then only being through Fyodor by just knowing him.

Got all that? Alright, next up...

His eyes.

Now, Atsushi's eyes are rather unique, even for the world of Bungou Stray Dogs. What also sticks out about them is the fact that they are pointed out and focused in from time to time.

Example:

(Fucking gorgeous eyes he has, btw)

To break down the colors of his eyes... While in normal lighting in the anime, they appear to be normally purple and yellow with just a hint of green in it, but under the full moon (as seen here) we can see that his eyes are a light green-yellow at the bottom and purple on the top that fades into blue.

(There are also a few times where his eyes also change while using his ability. Like when they turn almost fully yellow.)

I want to point out the colors of his eyes and the fact that they change due to certain circumstances (i.e: using his ability, being under the full moon), which is clearly not normal in their world seeing as how other ability users don't seem to do that at all.

(Edit here: I actually would like to mention that, in the manga, Nikolai's eyes also change color. The green one sometimes will change to match his normal eye whenever he uncovers it. I saw a theory talking about how it might change depending on whether or not he is lying at the time, which is pretty neat. More Atsushi and Nikolai parallels.)

Now, this might seem like a bit of a stretch just like the rest of this post, but the colors used for his eyes are similar to the eye colors of people Fyodor knows, though they are different shades.

Purple like Fukuchi. Green and blue from Nikolai.

Fyodor's eyes are also a shade of purple, kind of, so... Yeah, that works too, but Fukuchi's shade of eyes are closer to Atsushi's.

Yeah, that's all I can think of now and this is already way too long (if I start talking about Atsushi's mysterious past, I'm going to make this a mile long. Maybe later tho), so I'm ending it here for now.

Alright, bye ya'll.

[works-of-heart]

The fandom is so lucky to have you! We appreciate having you here and all that you contribute to it ❤️❤️

1. What brought you into the fandom?

2. What character(s) do you feel the most connected to and why?

3. Out of all of SJM’s books, which one means the most to you and why?

4. Out of all of the SJM couples (fanon, canon, endgame, etc) which one means the most to you and why?

Keep doing you ❤️

Awww!! Thank you so much! This really warms my heart!

1. I got into ACOTAR in 2020, I am not sure why I delayed so long, I was eyeing the series since 2018, and decided to dive straight in. Since the first book I was hooked and immediately picked up the rest of the series! I loved it so much but there wasn't anyone else I knew to talk about it with. So I found reddit and wanted to share my feelings.

I found some parts of the fandom so polarizing, and many of my thoughts and likes were the unpopular ones, so I retreated for a while. I recently stumbled back into Tumblr when I found that there were quite a lot of people here who enjoyed the books as I did and art and fics to share. I wanted to add to that, to be in this space and contribute my own works that I've been dying to share and geek out with others.

I've met so many incredible people in this fandom, many who are super talented and skilled artists and writers, others who contribute in their own ways, and I have been glad to be here ever since!

2. Honestly? Lucien and Elain.

Lucien because he doesn't ever really fit in. He's made a home for himself in spring yes, but then thar fell apart. He lost everything and is with two others who have been his companions and made their own way. He doesn't think a whole lot of himself, he doesn't believe he's needed, as he said "a whole lot of nothing." I resonate with this so much. I've had friends whole dumped me and left me for their own group, I've known what it's like to be invited into gatherings but feel so utterly alone and unwanted, those moments really sat with me when reading his parts of the story, and so I'm excited to see him find himself and grow into truly valuing who he is, realizing he isn't just some seventh son of a lord.

With Elain, the way she's seen by her family is something infeel all too well. She's the people pleaser, the one who tries to balance out the bad with good. She's the one people think is just simple, plain, and 'pleasant'. People think she's uninteresting because she isn't causing waves, that she just enjoys her hobbies and that's it. No one thinks she's capable of more and generally deny her of trying anything else. This really spoke to me on a personal level.

I resonate a lot with Elain who tries to make the best of every situation, but also has a side of her that many have yet to see.

3. I don't think I particularly have one that means the "most" to me persay. At least not yet. I would say the CC books hold a special place in my heart. My husband bought HOEAB on audio book and during a long road trip we listened to it and he was so into it, that it made me smile. He enjoys the series and eagerly bought HOSAB audio book so we took a long drive to listen to it.

4. This will come as no surprise to anyone that it's Elucien for me! The moment Lucien lunged for Elain to try and stop her from being thrown into the cauldron, I was already shipping them, and him whispering with shock "you're my mate" I was sold!

I don't know what it is about them, but the potential they have, the slow burn, the thought of Lucien having given up on true love after Jesminda, only to be given a mate in Elain??! I want it all! I want to see Elain and Lucien having the most tsundere romance, the kind where she's denying her feelings aloud as if it would assure her that she's totally not falling in love with him. The way we can see how their powers will sync, and find home in each other. Their relationship reminds me so much of my own journey with my husband that I can't wait to see it unfold.

I could go on and on as to why I personally love these two together, but at the end of the day, they bring me so much joy and have been the inspiration to so much of my artwork. ❤️

[fountainpenguin]

I'm sorry if I'm annoying you. But I can't get over you City Lights AU Dale. The man looks like he has all the issues and is hanging on by the thinnest thread. One more problem and he will just fully collapse.

😂 I'm eating your asks like sandwich.

^ He is overworking himself in a desperate attempt to make peace with the fact that he never got to hear his late father say "You did everything I ever asked without complaint; you are such a good son and you've made me so proud."

Push him near a goalpost and he'll panic and kick it across the room. We don't know how to process feelings of achievement and pride in this family. Those are Bad Emotions that will get the company steamrolled by competitors... You could lose everything... Is that how you want to be remembered?

I've been waffling on whether to share this WIP or withhold it for in-the-moment drama, but just for you... a treat.

His back ached from hunching; his feet stung from dirt. Vicky didn’t leave me down there; she always came back. “Do you know what that means?” Without waiting for an answer, Dale grabbed Timmy’s shoulder with one hand and pumped his fist with the other. “I’m still her bestie! She didn’t replace me!” “She locked you in a cellar for 7 years,” Timmy started, but Dale cut him off by slamming the bathroom door. And he laughed at nothing, clutching fingers in his hair, because… He really had to talk to her. They could clear this whole mess up! Now, let’s get one thing laid out crystal-flat. Dale knew Vicky had locked him up down in Dimmsdale’s tunnels, sure. He wasn’t stupid. But she wouldn’t have done that at all if he hadn’t threatened to tell untrustworthy adults about The Accident that kicked the lemonade business off in the first place, and it wasn’t her fault he’d been a disloyal friend. He really put her in a bad position there- That can’t be denied. Dale dragged his hands down his face (and dragged his butt down the door) until he thumped on freeze-dried tile. His toes gripped the bathmat. He wrapped his arms around his knees. I’m sorry. I’m sorry… I'll be better. I'm ready to listen now.

Prompt #96 - "You Deserve It"

My terrible headcanon is that if it took 7 years for Dale to work up the courage to open a trapdoor and crawl out, and he didn't file charges severe enough to stop Vicky from babysitting Timmy, he is not the kind of person who would stop hanging out with her SDLFKJ.

Also, here's a sketch I made for this post. I opted not to post it there, but I think it captures My Vision really well:

Toxic ex-BFFs with a very weird dynamic post-lemon pit torture, gossip buddies, and a secret 3rd thing... silly little guys.

He hates the fighting, but he craves the structure... Being nice to Vicky is the safe option... It's such big "Get real, Dale- No one will ever want to deal with you and your problems; I'm the only one who can put up with your baggage" vibes...

He can tolerate the bruises; he can make little exceptions; friends forgive each other and not forgiving her would mean throwing away the 3.5 years they had before the Real Trouble Began... Do u understand...

I've been brainstorming another WIP of Dale fantasizing about terrible things he wants to do to Vicky, but I'm not sure I'll actually write that one because it's pretty dark SLKDFJ

Listen, I just want Dale to slam Vicky against a wall and it turns out Mark was shapeshifted as her handbag and OH, HE PROTEC-

It's extremely important to me that Dale is nice and sympathetic enough that Dev believes if he can just pry his dad away from business, they can play and have fun. Dale being "sweet and engaging and loving" around his wife and during the holidays has done a NUMBER on Dev's psyche.