#either way the best part of this is you farm both at the same time so we'll see how it goes

[c6jpg]

I give up on the new artifact domain scara is just gonna have to make do with this 2pc/2pc set bc I can't beat it's stats with the crap this domain is giving me and I'm actually quite okay with his current damage anyways. also I'm behind on my gilded/deepwood farming and I kinda rather be doing that instead lol

[kaleldobrev]

Old Man

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary: Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: Age Gap, Cursing (13x), Sexual Innuendos, Dean talking bad about himself, Frat guys giving Y/N the disrespect she doesn’t deserve Authors Note: Me and Jensen have a 17-year age gap – what’s your age gap? | This came out A LOT longer than I expected | I don’t know how to write frat guys xD | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You and Dean pulled up in front of a gas station; needing to stop for gas and maybe a few snacks before the two of you continued your almost four-hour long journey back to the Bunker. You and Dean had just spent the weekend in Lawrence, due to the very rare occurrence that there were no cases. You had told Dean that even though you’d been living at the Bunker with him and Sam for the past couple of years, you had never once been to Lawrence even though you could have easily made a day trip out of it. With that being said, Dean was more than happy to take you and show you around, reminiscing about some of the things that he remembered doing all those years ago back when he was four; back before everything. But that’s not all the trip was, you had done some other things too; like visiting the Biodiversity Institute and Natural History Museum – which was considered to be one of the best museums in the entire state of Kansas, along with Grinter Farms – who prided themselves on their sunflower photo-ops. You enjoyed both places immensely, and were happy that Dean did too, even if he wasn’t initially keen on going to either place at first.

“I’m gonna grab us some snacks while you do the pump.” You said, grabbing your wallet from the glove compartment. Once you closed it and before you exited the car, you looked over at Dean, who was currently giving you the most serious look on his face. “What?”

“You already know what I’m going to say Sweetheart.” His tone sounding just as serious as his facial expression had looked. 

“Pie.” You said in unison.

“Cherry or apple?” You asked, the two of you getting out of the car at the same time.

“Like you have to ask.” Dean stated, opening up the fuel cap.

“Just making sure Dean. I mean, I don’t want to come out with apple when you really wanted cherry.” Your comment earned a slight chuckle from him.

“I’ll be getting some cherry pie later, don’t you worry.” He winked.

“I don’t think that applies to me anymore.” You smirked.

“We can always pretend.” He started fueling Baby just then. 

“Now that’s a roleplay idea I can get behind.” You winked at him before making your way into the store.

As soon as you walked into the store to grab some snacks for the two of you – one of which needed to be pie; a car pulled up the next pump over with a group of about four men who all appeared to be from the University of Kansas solely based on their Jayhawks apparel. “I don’t know dude. I’m pretty sure that chick was into me.” One of the men said, causing the one that he was talking to, to roll his eyes.

“No dude. She was into me. She was giving me the old fuck me eyes. Did you not see that? Or were you too busy looking at her ass?” He laughed. It was the other guy’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Can you blame me? You could bounce a quarter off that thing.” The young man replied.

“Hell yeah you could!” The other one agreed, giving each other a high five. 

There was a part of Dean that found their conversation funny because he had remembered when he was like that; but it hadn’t been for some time. Yes, there were times when he was still like that, but it was solely reserved for one woman: and that woman was you.

“Check out that piece of ass in the store there.” Another one of the men who hadn’t talked before was talking now. His comment caused Dean to turn in their direction and then back into the store. There was no other person that they could be talking about but you, as you were the only person in there besides the clerk behind the counter; and Dean was pretty sure they weren’t talking about the balding clerk.

“Bet she’s a good fuck.” One of the men said. Oh you have no idea. Dean thought to himself. 

“I’ll bet you thirty bucks that I can convince her to have sex with me.” The first guy said, the one that had noticed you in the first place.

“Dude, there’s no fucking way she’d have sex with you.” The next guy said. “Look at her! She’s way out of your league. Plus, even if you could pull her, where are the two of you gonna do it uh? The dirty gas station bathroom?” 

“Sure why not? I bet she wouldn’t mind it at all.” He winked. His comment caused Dean to chuckle a little to himself, knowing how wrong that guy was. You and Dean have had sex in a variety of different places, but never a gas station bathroom. “Dean, as much as I love you, I’m not fucking in a gas station bathroom. That’s honestly my only limitation.” You once told him. “So, Waffle House bathroom is okay then?” He joked back, causing you to give him a playful smack on the arm from his remark. 

“Dude, she’s not gonna give you the time of day. She needs a real man. And that ain’t you.” The man started walking around to the other side of the pump and started making his way toward the store. You ain’t a real man dude. Dean thought to himself. None of them were what he would call a man, only boys pretending to be.

“Watch and learn boys!” The guy said using his most charismatic voice. Dean wasn’t worried at all; he knew that you would never give the guy the time of day. You two had been together for the last couple of years, and the group of quote on quote men weren’t remotely your type in the slightest. Dean had seen pictures of your previous exes or have worked cases with them before. All your previous exes besides about one were all hunters; not varsity jock looking guys, and that’s what those guys were.

“Hey kid, I wouldn’t if I were you.” Dean finally chimed in. At first, he wasn’t even going to say anything. He had almost wanted to see the boy come back out the store with the look of utter embarrassment on his face when you had rejected him; which he knew was going to happen. But the jealous side of him won in that moment. He knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself – you were one of the best hunters he’d ever seen or worked with. He’d seen you get hit on plenty of times either when you two went to the bar together or while working a case; but those men never seemed like threats to him. But this time, this time felt different for him.

“I’m sorry?” The guy questioned.

“I said, I wouldn’t if I were you.” Dean said, his voice a bit more stern than usual.

“What’s it to you?” The guy asked, giving a slight snort.

“She’s going to reject you buddy. Trust me.” Dean finished filling the car up and put the pump back in its place. “Just trying to save you the embarrassment in front of your buddies here.”

“Oh yeah? Why do you say that?” The guy turned to look at you. You were currently standing at the counter laughing, probably at something the clerk had just said with two apple pie containers in your hands. Although Dean couldn’t hear your laugh, the sound of it echoed in his brain. God, he loved the sound of your laugh.

“That piece of ass” Dean began to say, hating using the words that they had used to describe you, “is my girlfriend.” Dean smirked. He had hoped that his usual tactic would work like it had done in the past. In the past, whenever Dean was with a woman; regardless if she was his girlfriend or not, the minute he said the word girlfriend to another guy that was hitting on his girlfriend, date, etc. the guy would usually back off, not wanting to get into any trouble. But his usual tactic didn’t work, it had simply just made the guy laugh.

“Your girlfriend?” The man laughed again. “Yeah, okay Old Man.” 

“Old, Old Man?” Dean was caught off guard. No one had ever really called him an old man before; the only one who ever did it was Claire, but she was the exception, because she was basically family to him.

“Yeah. What are you? Like 50?” The guy behind him chimed in.

Dean turned around. “50? You think I’m 50? I’m 42 dude.” Yet more laughter from the men.

“Close enough.” The man that was close to the store said. At that moment Dean had saw you wave goodbye to the clerk and started to head out toward the door. The man looked at you, and then eyed his buddies, making his way toward Dean. “Listen, tell her that if she wants someone that can keep it up without the use of meds and doesn’t go to bed before 6, to give me a call.” The guy said, giving Dean’s shoulder a slight pat before going into the car with his other three buddies.

Dean started to take out his gun just as the guy in the driver’s seat started the engine. Before he could fully take out his gun you were standing next to him, two boxes of pie in your hands and a slight look of worry on your face. “Can I shoot them?” He asked you. 

“Not in public.” You responded, handing him one of the boxes. “What did they say to you?” You were curious, and you had every right to be. Even though you were accustomed to Dean pulling out his gun, you were confused as to why he had wanted to pull it out in that moment, especially since you were pretty sure that the men in the car weren’t any kind of monsters.

“Nothing.” Dean was quick to respond, but his response sounded angry, almost hurt.

“It didn’t look like nothing. Especially since you asked if you could shoot them.” Dean handed you back the box of pie that you had just given him, causing you to give him an even more worried look.

“Can we just leave?” His voice was panicked now, maybe with a small hint of embarrassment.

“Yeah.” Was all you said as the two of you got into Baby.

There was a strong silence between the two of you, and it wasn’t the comfortable kind like you were used to. That was one of the things that you had loved most about Dean; that you and him didn’t constantly need to fill the silence with talking. It was something that you enjoyed because your past boyfriends always needed to have some kind of conversation going because they hated the silence. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Always.” You turned your attention to Dean.

“Am I…Am I old?” He asked. His eyes flicked in your direction and then back onto the road.

“Old?” You asked, not sure if you had heard him right. Him asking if he was old was something that had caught you off guard.

“Yeah. Am I old?” He repeated again.

“Did those guys back there say you were old Dean?” This conversation topic was something that Dean would have never brought up, not unless someone had specifically said something to him. The last time he had this conversation with you was because Claire had jokingly called him an Old Man.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Dean stated. You were positive that’s what it was.

“No. You’re not old Dean. I don’t even know why you would think that.” You knew why he would think that; you were pretty sure that the men back at the gas station had said something to him about it. But you didn’t know why they would have said something to him.

“Those guys back at the gas station called me…Old Man.” His voice sounded slightly defeated, like he was embarrassed even though he had no reason to be. “I caught those assholes looking at you, making comments.” He turned to face you for a slight moment before looking back at the road, his knuckles started to turn white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “They were trying to make a bet about who would be able to pick you up. When I confronted them about it, telling them that you were my girlfriend, that’s when they laughed and called me an old man.”

“Dean –” You began to say, but he cut you off before you could finish.

“Sweetheart, I know you could have handled that yourself. You have a black belt in three different martial arts and you don’t take any kind of shit from anyone. Hell, a part of me had wanted to see you embarrass the guy because I know for a fact that he isn’t your type but…he was your age.” He was your age. 

“Well, you’re not old. It’s not like you’re 90 Dean. You’re 42. That’s still young.” You stated, putting your hand on his thigh, a small gesture that you knew he loved. You had hoped that your comment would make him feel slightly better.

“I’m not young Sweetheart, you are. I got like 15 years on you.” His response made your face drop.

“That’s never been a problem for you before. I mean, it’s not like I’m 17 Dean, I’m three years shy of 30.” When you first met Dean, it was roughly five years ago when you were 22 and he was 37. Initially when you had first met him, you had figured that the two of you would be nothing more than just friends due to the semi-massive age difference that there was between the two of you, despite the fact that you did find him attractive. For the first couple of years that you knew him, you didn’t try to pursue anything; and neither did he, although the two of you had similar feelings. Dean had figured that you wouldn’t want to be with someone his age, and you thought that he didn’t want to be with someone your age. It wasn’t until Cas said something and both of you almost dying on a hunt that caused you two to realize that maybe you should give it a shot – and you’ve been together ever since.

“Exactly. You’re three years shy of 30. I’m far, far past that. You know what I was doing at 30? Trying to stop the Apocalypse. When I was 30, you were still in high school. You weren’t even on my radar back then.” 

“Would have been pretty good jailbait though.” You joked.

“Not funny.” He responded.

“I’m not laughing.” You said back.

“Can I ask you another question?” His knuckles were still white against the steering wheel. 

“Of course.” What else could you possibly say?

“Why me? Why out of all the guys you could possibly be with, that are your own age, that you actively choose to be with me? I mean, I know I drink too much, I have way, way too many screws loose, I’ve been to Hell, Purgatory, been possessed more times than I can count, I have major trust issues, PTSD.” He looked over at you again. “The list goes on and on. I’m all kinds of fucked up Sweetheart.” Your heart sank at Dean’s comments. You hated more than anything when he talked bad about himself, because there was no reason for him to do that. 

“Pull over.” Was all you said.

Dean looked at you with a confused expression. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I said pull over.” Your voice was stern now, but it made Dean pull over on the side of the road.

“Dean, the fact that you even have to ask me why I’m with you shows me that you don’t actually realize or understand the reasons why I love you. You’re right, I could be with someone my own age. But you know what? I don’t want to. I’ve dated people my age, and they honestly suck. Hunters or not, men my age or even a year or two older have no fucking clue what they want in life. The only thing they’re positive about is wanting to fuck anything that has a pulse and gaslight women.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “My parents used to tell me, ‘not all men,’ and I knew that. You may have a slight case of alcoholism –”

“A slight case?” Dean interrupted, raising an eyebrow. He thought you saying that he only had a slight case of alcoholism was a tad too generous.

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t interrupt me.” Dean put up his hands in defeat. “As I was saying. You may have a slight case of alcoholism, are insanely prone to nightmares, get angry more often than you probably should, enjoy murder every now and then, have been to Hell and Purgatory and back, but wanna know something? I’ll take all of that, gladly! Because you are honestly the best man I could ever ask for. Yes, you have some flaws, but who doesn’t? I mean look at me for example.” You went into your jacket and pulled out your hunting knife. “I’m someone who brings a hunting knife wherever they go like it’s a security blanket. No normal person does that Dean.”

“As you should. You need to be prepared at a moments notice.” He agreed.

“Exactly! No sane person would agree with me.” You said, putting back your hunting knife.

“Y/N, are you saying that part of the reason you’re with me is because I’m not sane?” He raised an eyebrow. He’s been called crazy or insane more times than he could count, so this wasn’t particularly newsworthy for him.

“I was thinking more…cautious.” You shrugged. “I mean…No, cautious isn’t the right word. You are cautious but…” You were really trying to come up with the right word to tell Dean, and you could feel it on the tip of your tongue. “What I’m trying to say is, any other guy would be freaked the fuck out if they saw me walking around with a hunting knife in my jacket. You? You couldn’t give two fucks. And you wanna know something else? I’ve worked with a lot of hunters over the years before I met up with you and Sam, who just looked at me and laughed because of my age, thinking that I don’t know the difference between rock salt and holy water.” You took one of his hands in yours intertwining your fingers. “You, not including Sam of course, accepted me as someone that actually knows a thing or two about hunting despite my age. You treated me like your equal. Hunter or not.”

You treated me like your equal. Your words rang in Dean’s mind. “Of course I treat you like my equal Sweetheart. What man wouldn’t? ‘Sides those other hunters and the Jayhawks spirit squad back there.” He chuckled, and you let out a small laugh too.

“Exactly. You’re a feminist icon.” You smiled.

“A feminist icon uh? Who knew?” Dean finally smiled.

“In all seriousness, I could give a rat’s ass about your age. You treat me right and my parents love you. What else could I possibly ask for?” You gave his hand a slight squeeze as you shot him another smile, but a softer one this time.

“Still amazed that your parents love me.” He said, starting to lean in closer to you.

“You treat their daughter right. That’s all they care about.” You confessed. When you had first told your parents about Dean, one of the first things they asked is if he was treating you right, they never asked about his age. And when they had met him, they still never commented on that fact, even when he wasn’t in the room.

He caressed your face. “I really am lucky to have you.” He smiled and leaned in fully to kiss you. “I love you so much.”

You smiled. “I love you more.”

He let out a slight chuckle. “Show off.”

“Always.” You responded, leaning in to kiss him again.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Furiosa viewing #3 for me last night and I figured something out. I have heard multiple people say that the pacing of the movie felt off or weird or even "slow," even though the plot consistently moves along at a brisk clip. But what people were noticing was not the speed of the story but the structure.

I realized the pacing feels weird because the movie has two third acts.

The overwhelming majority of movies released by Hollywood studios follow a very standardized three-act structure. This is certainly not the only way to structure a film story, but it's the most common one in the Anglophone film world, so common that you have probably absorbed its pattern without even thinking about it. The previous Mad Max movies do generally fit this structure, and Fury Road fits it like, down to the minute.

When we get to the big fight sequence at the Bullet Farm, where we know Jack has prepared everything for Furiosa to leave and they just have to get through this one last mission together, my gut story sense was like this feels like it should be the third act. The fight in the Bullet Farm and the chase with Dementus that ends in Jack's death feels like it should be the climax of the movie. And not just because we are around the two-hour mark at this point, although we are.

In terms of themes and plot arcs and story beats, Jack's death feels like where the movie should end. We start the story with Mary Jabassa telling Furiosa to leave her behind and make it home safe. I'm sure Mary knows she's on a suicide mission at this point, but maybe she can hold off their attackers long enough for her daughter to escape. But Furiosa can't leave her mom behind. So she goes back, and she watches her mom die brutally and gets trapped by Dementus.

Then, at the Bullet Farm, Furiosa has her best chance yet at getting home. She has a fully loaded vehicle, and she's outside the Bullet Farm gates while Jack is stuck inside. Jack, too, tells her to run and save herself. (While it's never spelled out, I'm sure we're supposed to intuit that the green flare means GO.) He probably thinks he's dead either way at this point, but maybe Furiosa can make it out. But once again, she can't do it. She goes back to defend Jack, and we have this little bit of hope of, maybe this time she'll be able to save the person she cares about from being killed by the same warlord who killed her mother. Whether she succeeds or fails, narratively, this feels like it should be the climactic action sequence of the movie.

But there's still another 30 (ish?? I need to watch with a timer) minutes to go after that, in which we have a whole other plot arc of Furiosa getting back to the Citadel, making her prosthetic arm, and going off on her quest to hunt down Dementus. And if this part all feels a bit grueling, it's because your brain expected the movie to end half an hour ago.

(I should pause here to say that you absolutely can write a movie in three-act structure that's longer than 2 hours--you just have to stretch all the pieces out equally or it starts to feel lumpy. And the place where our attention spans are going to be least forgiving of lumpiness is at the end of the movie.)

Well, you might say, maybe Furiosa was just not written with the three-act structure in mind. And that could be true! But I would argue that the oddness of the end of the movie comes primarily from the film not being clear on what narrative question it's trying to answer.

Because an ending that focuses on Furiosa's choice between finally getting home or going back to try to save Jack is addressing the question of, "Do you prioritize saving yourself, or do you fight for the people you love, even if you may end up in a worse situation because of it?"

An ending that follows Furiosa's revenge quest seems to focus more on, "What does seeking revenge do to your humanity?"

Both of these questions are rich territory to be explored in the wasteland, and the other Mad Max movies deal with both of them. But I would argue that the first question is very clearly set up in the beginning of the movie as a thing we expect to be exploring, and the second question, not so much.

I think the story would have benefitted from picking one or the other. And if they wanted to tell a story about the price of revenge, then highlighting this earlier--either by making revenge Furiosa's primary motivation from the beginning, or highlighting it thematically by showing how the quest for revenge warps other characters--would have made the last section of the movie feel more like a payoff and less like a sudden left turn into the desert.

[smuttyreaders]

Forgive me for I have sinned…

March X Farmer 🩷 Event

~~~~~

You walk into the blacksmith shop after receiving a letter from March. He asked you to come by to talk to him. He’s normally not very interested in talking, so this peaked your interest right away.

You’re covered in sweat from tending your crops this morning, and there’s dirt under your nails. You nervously pick at them while you push the door open. Your eyes lock onto the red hair in the back corner of the shop, bent over the desk intently studying something you can’t see. March tilts his head as your footsteps tap over the stone flooring but he doesn’t turn around.

“I wasn’t sure you would actually show up,” he says as he turns around and slowly walks up to the front desk. You observe his posture, as he does his best to look calm and collected. You see his veins popping in his toned forearms as he clenches the edge of the desk.

“I hear you’ve been making yourself useful around town, helping out and running errands for everyone… seem to be making quite the impression,” he bites out the last part, rolling his eyes.

“You act surprised. I came here to help the town. Is this the part where you apologize for your piss poor attitude?” I say, putting a hand on my hip. I try to come off as cocky to match his energy, but he sees right through it.

“Ha, as if,” he scoffs. “We both know what you’re actually doing here, farm girl.”

My eyes scrunch at the insinuation. What does he think is going on? “What are you-“

“You’re just here to get free shit. The second you make enough money, you’ll leave this town and everyone here high and dry,” he comes out from behind the desk and leans casually on the front of it. “You seriously think you can just show up, fake your way through running a farm, and everyone will just fall to their knees thanking you for ‘all you’ve done’?” He starts to walk toward me. I take a step back and my back hits the table behind me with several tools laid out across it. I hold his gaze the entire time.

“I don’t know what you think you know about me, but that’s not true. I came here to help the town. I have no intention of-“

“Cut the shit,” he bites out and cuts me off and takes another step toward me. “You are just like everyone else that comes here. You’re all bright eyed and excited for this ‘new life’. The second real work starts or you get bored, you’ll be gone. I’d give it till the end of fall.” He takes another step. My heart is pounding out of my chest and he looks me up and down.

“You ever been in a small town in the winter? None of the luxuries you have the big city. You know you have to get your own firewood, cook your own food, trudge through the snow into town,” he takes another step.

“Just because I lived in the city doesn’t mean I don’t know how to work hard. I’ve worked for everything I’ve gotten, you don’t know anything-“ his hands come down on the table on either side of me. I try my hardest not to jump, but I failed.

“I know enough, princess,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Everyone is the same. The second things get tough, they bail. You can’t trust anyone, ever.” His eyes are locked on to mine. My breath hitches.

“We don’t need some outsider coming in here to fix all of our problems. We can fix it ourselves. I already tried telling Adeline that I would help Ryis fix the bridge, but her nose is always stuck in that notebook,” he says, his gaze falling to the side. “It’s fine though. You’ll leave eventually, and it will be on us again. And we’ll be fine without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, March. You’ll have to get used to it, or don’t. It won’t make a difference to me,” I spit out. His eyes snap back to me and he smirks.

“Oh really? It won’t make a difference at all?” He questions and tilts his head. His gaze falls to my mouth and he slowly drags it back up. He leans in so close I can feel his breath on my face. My breathing stills. Any fake confidence I had vanishes immediately. “Is that a challenge, princess?” He barely whispers, and I don’t even believe he said it at first. I open my mouth to respond then-

“MARCH! How’s it going with that new-“ Olric bursts through the door. March doesn’t move an inch. “Bro what’s going-“

The second March drops his arm from my right side I jolt out of his grasp. “Nothing! March was just, um, showing me these new tools he was working on! Thank you, March I will, uh, be back to purchase that new pickaxe.” I stumble over my words and rush towards the door, my face blood red. I try and use my hair to cover my face. “Good to see you Olric! I’ll, uh, see you both at the Inn tonight!” I rush out the door.

I walk back to my farm, waving at everyone as I pass, but I don’t hear a word they say. My head is spinning. What just happened?

[blossombriefs]

Agora Hills | A Goku OneShot [NSFW]

Authors note: hey guys! Be sure to drop a follow and a like! The support goes a long way! I'm also happy to take requests - please be following me and shoot me a message. I can work of prompts such as songs, locations, colours, scents. Give me a brief description and the characters you'd like. This also has potential for a fully smutty part 2 so if that's something you'd want to see let me know! Prompt: Doja Cat's song 'Agora Hills' "who's that man with the big strong hands?" "You're the one you're the only man, me and you on my OnlyFans" Summary: The reader is an OnlyFans model and after being threatened at a party has to come clean to her boyfriend, Goku Content: afab!reader x Goku, mature themes, blackmail and drama (Vegeta being a total asshole), mentions and details of anxiety, story heavy, soft smut near the end Word Count: 2836 words

Times had been a bit financially straining on you since you tried to settle down with Goku. You both shared a lovely home and with plans to start a family together, you needed to find a source of income to start planning ahead. Goku was constantly off either fighting insane battles on faraway planets or was off training with his friends. Sure, you could have just looked for something in your local area like in a store or on a farm, but when Bulma encouraged you to look into the site OnlyFans, it piqued your interest. Bulma is the best source of motivation you have. You were a little unsure about it but with her lovely compliments toward your appearance, you couldn't help but try it.

You had set up a tripod with a ring light in the corner of your spare room to get the perfect shots, using your phone to capture so many pictures of you in cute lingerie sets you had. You also used a couple of your boyfriend's t-shirts for a baggier look on your body. Your income was plentiful as your platform grew and grew. It covered bills, put food on the table and even left some over for you to treat yourself and Goku. However, one question always lingered in the back of your mind.

"How long can I keep this hidden from him?"

You hated keeping secrets from Goku, transparency was such a huge foundation your relationship was built on. He was always honest with you, would this hurt his feelings?

On one of the evenings he had free, Goku had invited you along to a gathering at Krillin and Android 18's home. Everyone was going to be there and you could tell from his eagerness that he was excited for you to finally meet the rest of his friends. You felt that it had been a long time coming and you put so much effort into how you looked while Goku sported his traditional orange gi. Hopping onto the nimbus cloud, he held you tightly as it whisked you toward the Kame House. As you approached your destination, you were both greeted by waves as everyone gathered outside on the beach. You nervously held onto your boyfriend's arms as he waved gleefully to them all, keeping the same wave and smile through your descent. You both bounced off together, greeting everyone. Going around everyone, you were introduced to his friends one by one.

"Y/N this is Krillin and 18," he extended his hand toward a slender, tall blonde woman and her opposing counterpart. You smile as you shake their hands and introduce yourself. Gradually he made his way around the rest of his friends; Master Roshi, Piccolo, and Yamcha were part of the introductions. Finally, your attention was directed to Bulma and her partner, who you hadn't yet met. He stood beside her with his arms folded over a buttoned up blue shirt, his aura nothing short of intimidating.

"Y/N, you haven't met my husband Vegeta yet have you!" Bulma chirped, taking his arm and yanking him toward you and Goku. You smiled at him timidly, admitting you were kinda afraid of him wouldn't have been the best first impression in your mind. You could sense him looking you up and down, choosing to address you with a scoff.

"So this is Kakarot's harlot, yes?"

You looked to Bulma in disbelief as her hand slapped his shoulder harshly. Goku was quick to wrap his hand around your waist as he spoke up, "Hey, c'mon Vegeta you know that's not very nice!"

He simply huffed in your direction as he followed the rest of the group inside, Bulma not far behind screaming an earful toward him. You felt uneasy, Goku rubbed your arm to try and ease you. You weren't someone to take comments like that to heart but something just didn't feel right. You all took your seats in the living room and for the most part the evening was going well. You all shared some drinks, had a laugh, shared some food. You hit it off so well with everyone that you felt like you were part of the family... all besides one person.

Crossing paths in the kitchen, Vegeta glared you down as you look a fresh glass from the cupboard. When you sat it down again to pour another drink you glanced back in his direction, "Can I help you?"

"Don't think I don't know your secrets," he slowly walked toward you, you felt as if he hadn't uncrossed his arms from your initial introduction. If looks could kill Vegeta would've buried you 100ft underground. "You know your vulgar acts aren't suited to him, that clown deserves a woman with a bit more self respect."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you retort. Your hands shaking as you unscrew the lid from the top of the bottle. Deep down you knew what he was referring to but how did he know?

"That woman runs her mouth to me about everything," his reply was cold. He turned his back to you and began walking toward the door that led to everyone else. "You tell him or I will."

A shudder ran down your spine. The tension left behind lingered with his words. Your heart raced, the weight of your secret growing heavier on your shoulders. You took a moment to collect yourself as you decided Vegeta couldn't be the one to tell Goku. Just as he was about to reach the doorway, you spoke up and the tone in your voice was full of determination.

"Wait, Vegeta please." you plead as you set the bottle down. He turned to look back in your direction with his arms still crossed and his expression staying cold. You look to your feet, "I'll tell him but please could we continue this conversation outside."

Vegeta continued to eye you for a moment, his pride more than evident, but eventually he nodded. Hoping you had cracked him he turned away and led you out the back door to the beach, the soundtrack to your serious conversation being the crashing waves of the sea. You lowered your voice and spoke soft, revealing your own vulnerability beneath what you were portraying as tough, "I never intended on keeping anything from Goku. It's just complicated and I never knew how to bring it up."

His response was a shake of his head and a scoff as he stared you down intensely, "He deserves to know what kind of person he's with, that woman refuses to tell him. I don't even understand what it is you're up to! Y-you're lewd-"

"I have an OnlyFans account," you confess with a deep breath. "It's just a way to bring in some money for us and I just didn't want him to worry about our future. I never intended on disrespecting him I-"

As his scowl deepened and his silence remained, you could tell he was taking in what you were telling him. Wether he'd allow you to tell him yourself or not was on the table was another story. He grunted and without allowing another word to leave your lips, he turned and walked back inside with you close on his heels. Your heart felt heavy with what could follow. You didn't know what would be said. You reentered the living room, Goku glanced at you with a sweet smile, blissfully unaware about the conversation you had just had as you took your seat beside him.

The living room buzzed with conversation and laughter but as you cuddled into Goku's strong arm the weight of the conversation with Vegeta was weighing on your mind, you could feel his intense gaze follow you from the other side of the room as you tried to settle in. A silent threat that you had to tell him sooner rather than later.

As the evening continued, you'd engage in small talk with the others to try and keep your composure but what made your heart feel warm was seeing how happy Goku was. He's an incredibly social person, much more than your average person, and was more than happy being in the company of his friends. After a while, Bulma pulled you into the kitchen. She had noticed how reserved you had become throughout the night and was growing concerned, "Is everything okay?"

You nodded with a forced smile, "Just a little burned out and tired, that's all."

She looked at you with sympathy, placing her reassuring hand on your shoulder, "You sure? You know you can tell me anything, right? If it's because of Vegeta's comment earlier I can always talk to him?"

You shook your head and smiled gently, "Thank you Bulma, honestly, but it's fine! I didn't take it to heart."

You lied through your teeth but she bought it, patting your back as she left you alone with your thoughts. Your anxiety was gnawing at you, you knew what loomed ahead.

As the night gradually wound down, Goku yawned and stretched as he turned to the remaining few people left. With a thankful smile he suggested that you both head home. He stood up, spinning you in his arms to face him. "You look beautiful. You're perfect. Your dress you picked is so beautiful I just can't wait to get back home."

You beamed looking up at him, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. He smiled as he kissed you back in return. However, your loving moment was interrupted by none other than Vegeta.

"I bet you won't be the only man to see what's under that dress tonight, Kakarot," he smirked.

You looked up, witnessing the glee in your boyfriend's face shift into shock. The panic surged through your body as you clung to him tighter, Vegeta's words hanging in the air. You looked towards him with a disapproving look but Vegeta remained totally unfazed, his arms crossed and a sly grin plastered on his face.

"What are you talking about, Vegeta?" Goku furrowed his brows, his hands slipping from your waist.

His response was sharp, leaning in with a wicked glint in his eyes, "Oh, nothing, Kakarot. Just saying that some things... or some people... aren't as pure or nice as they appear."

The air was heavy with tension, your throat was running dry as tears began filling your eyes. Bulma stepped in between the two men swiftly, placing a hand on her husband's chest, "Vegeta enough. Stop it! There's no need for this you're making the poor girl cry!"

Goku's face was still taken over with confusion, turning his attention from Vegeta to you. You could hear his own worry take over, his eyes like a puppy's, "Baby what's going on? What does he mean?"

You were hesitant and unable to string your words together. Again, stealing your opportunity, was Vegeta, "Ask your precious partner about her little online endeavors. She's not as innocent as she appears."

You sigh, placing a hand gently against his chest as you look up towards him. Taking a deep breath and your voice was trembling, "Can we talk when we're home about this Goku, please."

The arrogant Saiyan prince wasn't done. It wasn't good enough for him. Purely with a sarcastic tone he chimed in once more, "Oh, how touching. Wanting to keep things private now? The woman who claims she loves you oh so much is selling herself online for a few extra zenies! Showing herself off to other men, tarnishing your trust."

Unable to process what he was being told, he hung his head as he let go of you entirely. Your arms dropped from his shoulders. He sighed gently, "I'll be outside Y/N. When you want to come home come meet me. We'll talk about this at home."

"Goku plea-" your words couldn't stop him from leaving, slamming the door behind him. You couldn't do anything but tremble. You knew why Vegeta did this, he loved seeing Goku weak or vulnerable. You also knew Bulma wouldn't let him live this down. You smiled sadly in her direction and thanked your hosts, leaving behind a now perplexed group of friends. Sat in the sand outside, creating little patterns in the sand with his finger, was your boyfriend who sat in an overwhelmed silence. You took a deep breath, shuffling in the sand beside him which left your dress covered. The beach was serene at night, the waves crashing against the shore heavy at the other side. "Please, let me explain,"

He sat in an almost child-like silence, his eyes fixated on the shapes he had drawn. The gentle sea breeze carried your tension and sadness. You had never seen him so hurt, it was all your fault. He looked up at you with tears starting to form in his eyes, "I can't believe you'd cheat on me with Vegeta..."

"Goku what?" you said, shocked. "I just met him today?"

"Look, Y/N, I love you. I don't want to lose you. If you've been chatting with him online and-"

This is where everything clicked, Goku had no idea about OnlyFans and what the site was. He took Vegeta's words at face value. You shook your head and cupped his face in your sandy hands. "Baby no, it's not that. I have an account on this website where I sell some pictures of myself and it brings us in lots of money."

Goku wiped his eyes, blinking back anything else that could spill. "What do you mean?"

"These men that buy these pictures don't see me in person. They don't touch me. We don't have sex. It was just an easy solution to our money problem and I'm sorry I wasn't honest. Vegeta knew because Bulma told him. I can't be angry at her for that..."

"So-so you're not sleeping with other people. He made it sound so filthy."

"I can show you what I do when we're home." you reassure him. His face softened as the weight of the misunderstanding started to lift from his shoulders.

"I should've trusted you, I'm sorry." he whispered. You held him close to you, you thought through that night you could've lost him.

"I should've been honest from the start, I just didn't want you to worry. I'd never have wanted to have hurt you."

As he gently pulled back from you he summoned his nimbus cloud. Kissing your forehead gently he softly spoke, "I just want to understand everything. We can move forward together afterwards can't we?"

You nodded gratefully at his understanding words. Together, you climbed aboard your transport home. You could tell from the way he held you that he was still skeptical and his emotions were mixed. You wanted to do your best to help him understand.

Once you arrived back to your house, hand in hand you led Goku upstairs to show him the tripod and ring light set up in your spare bedroom. Sitting him down on the bed, you ran through how the site worked. He nodded along taking in every drop of information. You shown him how much income you brough in each day and explained what everything went to. Finally, you handed him your phone to look through the photos. His eyes widened in a gleeful way as he began to flick through them.

"Babe, you look smoking hot in these!" he beamed. You could feel the negative tension lift off your relationship and a new tension start to brew. Looking up with a smirk, "Can I help sometime?"

"You wanna help?" you gently smile. He nodded his head fast. His hands wandered to the front of your strappy dress, carefully slipping it down to reveal your bouncy, perky tits to him. You flushed red a little. Once your phone was propped up on the tripod, you posed for a few photos with your ever supportive boyfriend. You tried letting him control the ideas, however his Saiyan instincts were close to kicking in and wouldn't leave much time for many pictures. He stayed behind you in most of the shots, cupping your breasts with his big, strong, calloused hands or encouraging them down to play with your pussy. You hadn't done anything sexual on your account yet and allowed him to assist with teasy photos. His hands grabbing your ass, his hands squeezing your thighs. He was giving you the content that could only grow your platform more.

He gently left little bites and bruises on top of your breasts, neck and shoulders. With a cocky grin and a chuckle, he whispered in your ear, “Now they’ll know you belong to me.”

Finally, he took some of you sitting on top of him. You gently straddled him as he slipped his fingers in your mouth for the final shots, your spit dripping down his hand as he looked up at you in pure amazement.

"That's my girl," he said with a gently slap to your ass. You tilted your head gently as you looked down at your strong, sexy boyfriend pinned under your thighs.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"When can I fuck you for all your fans to see?"

[softer-ua]

I think Hori did a great job showing that societal changes can happen, the world has gotten better before and it can again, but that change isn’t always linear or noticeable in the moment unless you actively choose to see it and be grateful for it

Because the fight for change takes everyone consciously doing their part as well as creating systemic changes

It will be full of loss, big and small, in the end it may not even feel like much has changed and the accomplishments don’t always measure up to amount of grief accrued

because it’s the next generation and the generations after that really get anything from our efforts

Think of society as the field where we plant ourselves, and think of the oligarchs(rich fucks in charge) of the past who stole the people’s harvests, limited what was allowed to grow, and forced overworking the land to the point of poisoning crops

They do the same now stealing the fruits of our creativity passions and dogged work ethic, they limit where we can direct those efforts so we only grow in ways that benefit them, and they demand we drive ourselves to burnout and all creativity must equal profit

You see the land and your people dying, so you work yourself to the bone to turn the inhospitable over farmed land into something farmable again and you do your best everyday to inspire others to join the cause

In the beginning crop yields are still small and people are barely surviving off the rations, so much work for so little, but you beg they remember that what they grew is heartier than the failed crop last year, the effort wasn’t in vain

You have to work with a lot of shitty people, and they don’t all get less shitty, and those that do can’t undo the harm they caused. But over all less harm is being perpetrated, pieces of the cycle have been broken off giving room for something better to grow.

This is the cycle for a few years, only small sections of land have seen change and it’s a delicate balance because it could easily be over farmed and collapse again, it feels hopeless at times but a dedicated few keep inspiring others to keep going

Then a decade goes by, nights of going to bed hungry become a distant memory for the children, even while you go to bed haunted by the memory of those who didn’t survive the winter.

Some ghosts are leave a lighter touch, it’s unfair their bodies gave out but they find rest in knowing the world is changing and you held their hand the whole way.

The worst ghosts are from those whose soul fled long before the wasting took them, the ones who festered in fear/anger/resentment/isolation . Those whose suffering made them cruel and leaked rot on to the lives of others.

They claw at your nerves, demanding the unanswerable, why? Why didn’t change come sooner, why wasn’t this all prevented, why them, why not you?

Could you have given more of yourself to save them? They were hurting others, all your empathy couldn’t change that, so you hurt them and all our empathy doesn’t change that either.

B&W thinking, or nuanced gray. Both have their place, but neither replaces grief, you can’t intellectualize away a hit nerve.

Pain demands to be felt, but the future demands your present and to get through everything you closed that door and put so many locks on it

It feels like it was a life time ago, it was such a different versions of you, the one who closed the door doesn’t seem to be here anymore and what if you can’t recognize what’s left of the you that’s been locked up for so long.

There’s ghosts on both sides, how many are malevolent? All the benevolent ghosts bid adieu, so what if that old you has soured and become the most malevolent of all?

It’s been rotting behind the door with all your unresolved fears, bloated with your insecurities, everything about yourself that you didn’t believe could survive and yet it’s still there, but you have changed so completely so is it really still there?

Pain demands to be felt, the future demands that you are present, you must make space for the past, the past doesn’t exist, you can’t move forward holding on to all this, the future is NOW

You let some of the ghosts go, some don’t let you go. Some we wish we could have kept

Sometimes building the future means you never get to reconcile all of your past, sometimes closer is just time passed

You can never be the same again, some doors stay locked, you take whatever closure you can get, and you stay grateful for whatever the future brings

You serve the children hardier meals, they grow up strong enough to keep tilling the land with the knowledge you gave them about what greed does to the land and how we hope to prevent it.

And sometimes, every so often through your life, you get to greet a day that is so different from the world you were born into that you can feel lives being saved just because they were born in a world you held create

What’s more, sometimes, sometimes you do get everything you ever wanted, and you get to share that future with the people you loved through all of it

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 23 - Beyond

What Lies Beyond Peel Godred:

Duke sat at the end of a works train, trying his best not to grumble at the boring task. The Mid Sodor was expanding beyond Peel Godred, planning on extending into the mineral-rich foothills of Culdee Fell and around to Kirk Machan, where the start of the railway’s new tourist attraction was taking shape. It was a mountain railway, one which would run right the way up to the peak of Culdee Fell.

Duke wasn’t sure if he liked either plan. His driver certainly didn’t. “It’s not right,” Duke’s driver muttered crossly as the steel rails stretched out beyond the walled city and curved down through the thick woodland towards the base of Culdee Fell. “We are trespassing on it’s land.” “On who’s land?” asked Duke curiously. “Lord Barrane owns the most land around here. Is this part not his?” Duke’s driver just shook his head. “No, no – they say something far older and wilder is the true owner of the lands around here. Anything beyond Peel Godred and to the North-East of Culdee Fell is its home, and it does not take kindly to outsiders.”

Duke thought his driver was being very odd indeed – but he still listened. His driver, after all, was a local to this part of the island. He often ducked back to the farm where he had been raised for lunch while Duke was at Peel Godred for a water break. If anyone knew the local legends and tales, it was Duke’s driver.

Part way between Peel Godred and the hamlet where the mountain railway was being built, a spur split off. It was being built by a mine, searching for minerals further around Culdee Fell. Duke’s driver called them insane; Duke was just thankful he didn’t have to go down the little line. It looked very rickety, as if the mining company had simply slapped down the track on the ground with no care at all.

Duke wondered how far off he was, considering how greedy some of those companies could be.

The mines owned a large tank engine named Freddie, who ran the works trains out towards the new construction site. Freddie was a pleasant sort, if not a tad too boastful for Duke. “Fastest in the hills!” Freddie would chirp every time he arrived ahead of schedule. “You should worry less about your speed and more about being careful,” Duke would warn him, but Freddie took no notice. Duke, remembering the fate of Albert, kept on trying to get through to the young engine, especially as the mining line grew closer and closer to rounding the base of Culdee Fell.

The workmen said odd things about the land out there. Apparently, no one lived out there, beyond the edge of Peel Godred. Not even a lonely goat herder made their living on the rocky slopes – it was just… nothing. There were animals of course – but even they seemed to cower in fear of the mountain itself, wary of the lands upon which the railway now intruded. Still, the work pressed on. Sometimes, Duke would even deliver supplies part way along the line, to where a camp had been set up.

Every time they did, his driver would recite something under his breath, speaking in the old Sudric tongue. “What is that… little thing you keep saying, every time we go near Culdee Fell?” asked Duke one day, curious about his driver’s odd little habit.

“It’s a prayer of protection,” replied the driver. “This is Fell-y-Deighan, after all.” Duke knew what that meant. “Driver, that can’t be,” Duke spluttered. “This is Culdee Fell.” “It’s both,” replied the driver darkly. “On the far side of Culdee Fell stands the Gob-y-Deighan. Stay far from there, or else it will come after you. The prayer keeps the devils away, and don’t you forget it!”  

Duke decided to trust in his driver, and asked to learn the little prayer that same evening. His driver was more than pleased to teach his engine the same protective prayer which he entrusted his own safety too.

Then, the new engines for the mountain railway began arriving. Engines two and three – Wilfred and Ernest – arrived together first. They were pleasant chaps, quiet and unassuming but with a good sense of humour. The end of the extension reached right to where their new railway was to be, and so Duke helped to unload them from the carts used to drag them up the valley. “It’s a lovely place!” grinned Wilfred. “Oh yes,” agreed Ernest. “The people are great here,” promised Duke. “Just… be careful up there. There are old legends which tell of how dangerous this mountain can be.”

Ernest and Wilfred heeded Duke’s warning, as did Culdee and Shane Dooiney when they arrived.

But it was the engine who arrived between these four – the line’s Number One – who stuck out to Duke. He was named for the ancient king of the island, Godred, and took to the name and its meaning like a duck to water. He grew very conceited very quickly.

Duke’s driver thought it very worrying, especially as opening day for the new Culdee Fell Railway loomed.

“He’ll anger it,” Duke’s driver hissed in the evenings. “Not even Thorfinn the Mighty attempted to explore that part of Sodor.” He sounded almost… fearful of what potentially lay hidden on that side of the island.

Just then, Freddie returned from his evening run. He looked oddly excited. “We just found the strangest thing!” he exclaimed. “You’ll never believe it!” “Oh?” quizzed Duke. “What did you find?” “There’s a giant boulder up behind Culdee Fell!” Duke’s driver went deathly pale. “It’s angered,” he gasped. “I won’t go up there again!” Freddie seemed confused by the outburst, and even more so when Duke’s driver practically sprinted away, muttering the prayer under his breath.

Duke wondered just what exactly the Boulder represented.

Weeks passed, and everything seemed normal. The Culdee Fell opened on time in a grand ceremony that was attended by thousands of people, all excited to climb the infamous Culdee Fell.

What struck Duke as strange though, as he picked up the passengers that afternoon, was that none of them mentioned a boulder. Considering how excited Freddie had been about the thing, he had half expected that the tourists and locals would have been able to see it from the summit.

“Didja miss the darn Boulder?” a voice snapped. Duke looked up, watching as Godred and Culdee got into yet another argument. The two were like oil and water – where Godred was conceited and difficult, Culdee was kind and cautious. Duke knew which he would have rather had working on his railway. Still, it was Godred talking about the Boulder, and not Culdee.

“No Godred, there was no boulder,” replied Culdee gruffly. “Now if you don’t mind, I want to go to my shed, and not listen to your irrational fantasies.” Godred just huffed indignantly. Duke sidled alongside.

“I’d be careful if I were you youngster,” he murmured. “That boulder is a bad omen.” “Pah!” exclaimed Godred. “Boulders aren’t omens and I’m named after the greatest king this sorry island ever had! Nothing will hurt me.”

Duke rolled his eyes, and puffed away.

It was only a month before Duke would be proven right. Godred was flung from the side of the mountain – no one ever knew how; people thought he must have hit a stone lodged in the rack system. But Duke feared that that was not the case. The little purple engine was barely a bucket of bolts and bits when the traction engine dragged him back to the sheds.

Godred was gone.

The line to Kirk Machan closed the next day – people were terrified, they didn’t want to go to the Culdee Fell Railway at all. They quickly ripped up the rails and took them away; they could be used elsewhere. Now, only Freddie went down that line. Duke continued to fret – the fearless engine was going beyond the end of the line every single day and bringing back tales of odd accidents happening all around the construction site. On some days it would be mild – candles blowing out, tools moving from one place to another – but on others it would be dynamite exploding on its own, destroying mineshafts before they could be reinforced. And every single time, Freddie just barely dodged the threat.

Duke tried to warn Freddie, but the little engine would hear none of it. “I’m too fast for anything to catch me,” grinned Freddie. “They call me fearless! Fearless Freddie, fastest in the hills!” “Fastest is not best,” reminded Duke sternly. Freddie just chortled.

And then Freddie was gone too. He’d left in the morning as usual, but didn’t return come nightfall. Duke watched as another mining engine was sent out to search for Freddie, and he watched as it came back with nothing.

“The miners are gone,” the engine gasped. “And so is Freddie, and all the rails, and the tools and dyna—” There was a massive explosion in the distance, so powerful it could be felt from the sheds at the bottom of the valley.

Duke feared that he knew exactly what had happened to Freddie. He hadn’t been able to outrun this particular threat.

Officially, the Mid Sodor Railway terminated at Peel Godred, in a little station just outside the city walls.

Duke knew better. Beyond Peel Godred, there was more to the Mid Sodor Railway, even if no one used it. Indeed, the section of line was half-buried under weeds and greenery, all but left to the whims of nature despite how young it was. It was nearly impossible to find the entrance to this abandoned section, as it was now bricked off with a goods shed stealing the original siding. But Duke knew it was there, knew that the navvies had been too terrified to go back and rip up the rest of the rails. He knew exactly where the track ended too, near an insignificant little wooden trestle bridge.

All Duke wished was to know what truly happened to Freddie that day.

Back to the Master Post

[bobamilkk]

TF2 HEADCANONS PART TWO ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

I told myself I’d get these up one of these days👍 I finished this list at 4 am last night so none of this makes any sense and every word is more chaotic than the ones before it and no I’m not sorry y’all sighed up for this bs

Scout

-Can understand a good chunk of French but can’t speak more than a few simple words if that, has no clue how he understands it (Spy spoke a good amount of French around him as a baby or something idk)

-Can be just has hard to find as Spy-once you loose sight of him he’s impossible to find if he’s actually trying to stay hidden-Like father like son

-Can and will steal your food-this includes Heavy and Medic-He has no fear whatsoever and has been sent to respawn god knows how many fucking times because of this-And yet he still does it

-Loves scifi movies and comics and if you watch a movie with him half of it is him pointing out random trivia facts because he’s incapable of shutting the fuck up (this is also what happens when you watch a movie with me irl. My grandparents are sick and tired of it. Yes this is even more self projection what of it?)

-has mastered the younger sibling talent of fucking climbing people if it means getting something that’s held over his head. He also bites

Soldier

-it’s impossible to tell if he’s insulting you or complimenting you 90% of the time

-Has stabbed Scout’s hand to the table to prevent him from stealing food before and no one stopped him

-The team has movie nights once a week and Soldier always puts on the same inaccurate WW2 documentary he made himself when it’s his turn to pick-he used to put on 10 hours of the American National Anthem but someone (read: The rest of the team working together) lost (read: Violently destroyed) the tape after the third time

-I said he was from Missouri once in a rp cuz my rp friend and I are both from different parts of Missouri so that’s my hc now

Pyro

-I always hc him as Irish for some reason idk why

-Can casually pick up every merc except for Heavy-He struggles a bit with Medic because that man is pure muscle but they can indeed pick him up

-May or may not be a cannibal-it’s a little uncertain but either way they’re banned from the kitchen and cooking duty

-I’m a sucker for the hc that he does not like water whatsoever-Getting this man a bath is like trying to bathe a cat except somehow even more deadly

Demo

-This may be the impulsive sleep deprivation but my brain randomly went “What If he can see general ghosts because of his possessed eye socket, not just Eyelander or the scream fortress ghosts” so sometimes people walk in on him casually having a conversation with the air. Considering he’s made out with his own organs in his head, this is one of the less weird things they’ve walked in on him doing

-Surprisingly he’s the best with kids out of all 9 mercs, Heavy is a good runner up though and Spy’s not far behind but will never admit it

Heavy

-Accent gets thicker when he’s talking to people he cares about

-Was the one who suggested the movie nights in the first place

-Actually cleans up in the base unlike literally everyone else

Engie

-People don’t realize how unhinged this man is ok??? Anyways he’s a caffeine addict and has developed the habit of pulling way too many all nighters if it means getting work done (like me. It’s 4 am as I work on this list. Help)

-What’s a southern farm boy without a few dozen concerning stories about pushing cousins out of second story barn windows or near drowning fishing story? My cousins lived on a farm when we were kids and they scared the shit out of me I swear there was a new broken bone every summer

-probably once had a sleep deprived mental breakdown on his workshop floor because the sweet tea one of the mercs made him wasn’t sweet enough idk man I’m sleep deprived rn and could really use a southern style sweet tea

Medic

-Mann vs Machine hc that his hometown would rather deal with the robots than having Medic anywhere near them ever again. They want him GONE

-Sleeps like a fucking corpse-You can’t even tell he’s breathing unless you look closely. He even crosses his arms like a corpse

-Will take you graverobbing for a romantic date-gotta get experiment canvases somehow he’s running out of room on the other mercs without them just dropping dead from it all

Sniper

-The opposite of a morning person, but his internal clock won’t let him sleep in ever. The suns up? He’s up! Someone help him

-Has befriended a wild owl and feeds it at night-The offense trio very violently helped him name it (They fist fought eachother over who’s name was better while Sniper spaced out thinking about random gator facts)

Spy

-An adrenaline junkie but will never ever admit it

-Spy can mimic voices to a near perfect even without his disguise kit-he however rarely uses this and instead simply mocks everyone instead because he finds it funny (“This is Scout! Rainbows make me cry!”)

-Wears a corset because I said so-It always matches perfectly with his outfit and underwear too-He feels SO bonita

Bonus since it’s Pride Month

-Scout is gay and so many levels deep in the closet it’s embarrassing-He’s also trans because I said so

-Soldier is trans, bi, and poly :) his list of wives consists of anyone and everyone /j

-Spy is bi and a cis man who wears dresses regularly he’s gnc af and I love that for him he’s my wife now

-Medic is gay and still legally married to his wife they’re mlm wlm solidarity married for tax benefits /j

-Pyro is trans, non-binary, and pan and uses he/they pronouns because I said so

-None of these men are straight ok

-Medic did both Scout and Soldier’s top surgery but both of them instead have overly extravagant extremely gorey stories on how they got their scars

[teecupangel]

What if after Desmond runs away from the farm instead of ending up in the city he finds himself where his ancestors are at the same age

Also side idea that I had while typing runaway Desmond ends up after the ancestors have the children who lead to Desmond so that we can have them being paternal about the kid who keeps slipping away somehow and Desmond being like "wow the people dad sent after me are rant persistent" before finding out they don't know Will at all

So I had a post about Desmond being pushed into either the Third Crusades or to Renaissance Italy when he ran away but I can’t find it TTATT It’s somewhere here in Tumblr, don’t know where though. Hopefully, I can get to it during my Tumblr posts to AO3 ‘copying’ (still in Dec 2022 XD).

Anyway, in a nutshell, that idea had Altaïr and Desmond being very close to one another because they’re both isolated and had nobody else and it would be so easy for them to tip the scale to fall onto “us versus everybody” mentality for the two of them (especially since that idea had Desmond not become an Assassin so Al Mualim is using him to keep Altaïr in check).

The Renaissance Italy idea is more light-hearted, if I remember correctly? More on the side of Desmond having a happy family life thanks to the Auditore family.

I didn’t include it but Ratonhnhaké:ton’s version of this idea was pretty much reused for the Yew Branch A New Way To Do Things.

The main idea is that, since this is a Desmond that has not been in the Animus, he has no idea who these people are and the events that will happen (hell, he won’t even be able to know their language immediately) so he’s just trying to survive and live the best he could. This means he cannot stop the tragedy that will happen (or, in Altaïr’s and Ratonhnhaké:ton’s case, he would be too late to stop it). The Renaissance Italy version could have a happier ending since Desmond would be there for the arrest though. Probably. At the very least, Giovanni would order him to take Petruccio and run, so… at least Petruccio would survive. Probably.

Now, as for the second idea.

Since this is a Desmond that never went to the Animus, he wouldn’t know how important these children are so we will have…

Sef and Darim

It would be Sef who finds him and he’s just a traveling merchant who went to Masyaf to sell his stuff. Sef would always visit him and ask him about this and that.

Darim finds him while looking for Sef and Desmond just gives him another one of the sweet breads he buys for him (and Sef).

This goes on for days until Malik finally visits his stall and talks (interrogates) him. That’s when he finally learns that the two kids he’d been talking to are the kids of the head honcho of this place. And he’s currently out and the kids are a handful (Malik may or may not imply that their parents’ frequent journeys are to blame) so he offers Desmond a job as their ‘caretaker’. Meals and lodging are included, the pay is great and Desmond is getting tired with all the traveling. Plus, Malik promises he doesn’t have anything to do with the Brotherhood.

At that point, Desmond is already fond of the kids so he agrees.

When Altaïr and Maria returned to Masyaf, they’re greeted with Malik going “I found your sons a caretaker and they might like him more than they like you. You have no one to blame but yourselves.”

Flavia and Marcello

But for this one, Desmond could be working in Firenze for a merchant that Sofia likes to go to. Flavia and Marcello would go with their mother and they’d get close to Desmond.

One time, Marcello gets lost and Desmond finds him. He brings him home and that’s how Ezio meets him…

And now for the kicker. This would be the angstiest of the three ideas to be completely honest considering how old Ezio died and the fact that Desmond doesn’t even know about his connection with Ezio during this time, which will only serve to hurt Ezio.

Io:nhiòte and her older siblings

For this one, we’ll have Desmond become part of the homestead. He got there by ‘accident’, he was just walking around and found their homestead. Luckily, Oliver and Corrine needed help in the inn so he helps out, in exchange for lodging and food.

Io:nhiòte is the one who finds him first and Desmond just plays with her and shares his food. Her two older siblings find them together and Desmond becomes close to them.

Ratonhnhaké:ton would visit the tavern one time and thank Desmond for playing with his children. Perhaps he’d try to recruit Desmond into becoming an Assassin but Desmond would say no to it which Ratonhnhaké:ton would understand.

In this one, Ratonhnhaké:ton sees Desmond primarily as his children’s favorite friend.

[spurgie-cousin]

I really appreciate you introducing some nuance into the trad wife convo. I read the Ballerina Farm article and it definitely made me more sympathetic to her, but at the same time, I don't agree with all the analysis fully taking away all her agency for her choices when looking at the situation. Same thing with all of them for the most part, I can acknowledge the power differentials and conditioning from their communities that make the choices seem like the only ones and best ones. At the same time, that doesn't mean that those choices can't be criticized, particularly when they make the choice to put themselves out there publicly.

Right exactly, I think the whole villain/victim framing is really telling of the way we collectively think about women. Men in popular culture get to be complicated in ways that are not allowed for women, particularly controversial women. I feel like we can see that a little with the people who are rushing to defend Daniel Neeleman on both sides.

In the context of modern women in high-control religious situations, it is just the truth that many of them will be both perpetrators and victims in some way, and I think that is definitely the case for all of the high-profile "trad" wife content creators out there. without knowing their entire background, it is just going to be impossible to place them definitively in a "good" or "bad" category, and people just need to be ok with that grey area sometimes. But that seems to be really hard for people to do, because we're taught to think in very black and white terms when it comes to women as a whole, she is either a slut or innocent, she is either a bitch or nice girl, she is either the manipulator or the one being manipulated, and it's so hard for people to imagine anything in between for some reason.

[charleslee-valentine]

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fan Works Event Day 5: The Saw is Family

Ship(s): Lefton

Word Count: ~2,000

Warnings: Pregnancy and sexual themes, pregnant ftm trans character, discussion of abortion and miscarriage, implied abusive family dynamics, period typical transphobia, brief misunderstanding about consent.

note: This is the groundwork of an au where Drayton is Sissy’s father who raises her like a brother, rather than being just her brother. Inspired by this post from @fry-house

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

________

Still living with his mother, it was nothing short of humiliating that he fell pregnant.

Leave it to Drayton to get himself knocked up just as soon as he got even a few folks to recognize his chosen name. Even mama was starting to be willing to call him by something other than a throwaway nickname like “girl.”

Not if he comes home with a round belly.

Boude would be the one to know what to do, but he’s also the one waving his dick around gettin’ people pregnant. One time. Let him get that horrible thing near him just once, and he ends up with child.

He’s heard the horror stories. About men like him so desperate to not carry a little one to term they end up bleeding out in their own bathrooms. That could never be his choice. Drayton’s too much of a coward to take his own shots, let alone perform an operation on himself.

He’ll have the baby. It’s just, he doesn’t have to pretend to be thrilled about it.

Can’t un-dead this rabbit, though he’ll certainly try to ignore it as long as he can.

When mama's sister Nancy was pregnant, she was out working on the farm ‘til she couldn’t even stand anymore. He’s got at least three or four more months in him before he’s resting in bed.

Except Nancy never had her baby. Maybe following after her isn’t the best idea.

Cold, sickening dread settles heavy in every bone that makes up Drayton body. Some things you just can’t wish away. Like the damned organs in his body that make it possible for him to even be in this mess, God knows Drayton tried to wish that the lady parts away.

Maybe this is punishment. A cruel fucking trick from the big guy in the sky himself for changing what ought not to be. Too damn bad God gets to sit on clouds all day while there’s mortals in their human body’s going through the evil he placed onto this earth. So fucking what if being a predestined, pretty little baby factory wasn’t the life Drayton wanted.

Damn it all to hell. Burn the bridges of the past self.

As much as he hates to admit it, if he’s going to be this stubborn, he can’t do it alone.

Already he’s suffocating under the weight. Or maybe he needs to loosen the bandages some. It’s the same damn issue either way, and he needs his boy to help fix it.

Drayton usually pays his visits under the guise of business. Trading meat for dairy, wool for fruit. Just in case the folks are home and he shows up without reason knowing damn well they don’t approve.

Though that cover today doesn’t go as gracefully as he’d hoped.

The packages he and mama wrapped up this morning for the job smelled something awful. Usually it don’t bother him at all, being raised in meat and everything, but he was off the path and hurling up his guts before he was even halfway to the neighbors. Heightened sensibilities.

That’s of course, how Lefty found him. Doubled over in the weeds. Sweaty and pale and a disheveled goddamn mess. No worse than the done deed itself, Drayton supposed. At least this time, he wasn’t totally vulnerable.

Still, he’d like to not be gawked at. He swipes the back of his sleeve, pulled over his hand, at his mouth, “You just gon’ stand there, Enright?”

“Right. Sorry.” Lefty goes into action mode quick, taking both of Draytons hands and steadying him, letting him choose how much contact he needs. Drayton settles for leaning into his side, so Lefty throws one arm around him to support him best he can. They walk together, at a pace set by the weaker one between them.

Growing a human ain’t easy work.

It’s silent until Lefty asks, hesitant but too concerned to let the unknown linger, “You.. alright, Dray?”

Before he can stop himself, Drayton scoffs, “You should know..”

Those big blue eyes sparkle with worry and remorse, “Did I do something?”

If he weren’t relying on him to walk, he’d be pushing the oblivious asshole away, “Oh yes sir. Oh-ho yes…”

Lefty gets him into his yard and sits Drayton down on a random crate, taking away the little excuse package. Thankfully nobody else from the Enright family is home at the moment, won’t be for a while either, so they’re free to talk in the open air. Mama’s lazy ass surely won’t come snooping.

Maybe he shouldn’t say that about her; Drayton’s not the only one going to have a baby. Mama’s six months or so along. Just a few ahead of her son. That’s half the reason he’s fucking terrified. Having kids that close together, they might as well be siblings.

Lefty don’t know the reason yet to be afraid as he should be, so he keeps prodding, “Whatever I done.. Let me make it right, lover.”

He’ll blame the sickness for how red his face gets, a fever at fault for the warmth under his skin. Blame that quickly turns into frustration and lashing out at him, “This one, you can’t fix. Can’t just, fuck it away, ‘cause- ‘cause thats the damn problem, you hear!”

Lefty’s face sinks. The dread and the anguish in his features, tells Drayton he gets the wrong implication.

He sounds like he’s choking, “I’m sorry, I-I thought we both..”

Drayton cuts him off. Angry as he is, he doesn’t want that kind of anguish in Boude’s heart.

“You’d be right, Enright. But it’s your damn hair-trigger got us into this mess anyhow.”

Confusion. Revelation. Something else unreadable. Almost.. pleasant.

“Are you telling me you’re-“

“Yessir.”

“Drayton that’s-“

“Don’t tell me. I don’t need your damn opinions. I’m keeping it, damn it.”

Really, he shouldn’t be as confident as he is. Lefty Enright can be trusted, sure, but that don’t change that he’s an open transsexual, and now a pregnant one at that. A poor little farmer's child in the most fragile of situations, acting like he has total control.

His Boude is more than used to that. Lefty smiles gently, “I was going to say it’s great.”

“You’re not the one lugging it with you.” Drayton counters.

He won’t argue that it’s a positive. Or even that it’s amazing really. Every part of him is just so afraid, so not used to this particular struggle on top of all the others that he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Really, he feels guilty for taking it all out on his boy.

The very same who so heroically offers, “I would if I could. For you.”

Lefty bullies his way onto the crate seat next to Drayton and holds him. Proving even more of his gentle and sweet nature. His face won’t show it, but Drayton knows he’s desperate. Trying to be heard.

His heart wants to give in. So badly. To roll over and show his (swelling) belly and let Lefty have the validation. For the moment, he’ll indulge some, by leaning heavily into his embrace.

Something rises up. Not just bitter bile, but even harsher words. Mostly, dear.

“That don’t make you some saint, you know that? You still got an unwedded man, a queer, pregnant.”

And then he hurls onto the grass. Instant Karma.

Lefty just rubs his back through it. Soothes him. Only argues with him a little bit, “But I’m a lover, right? A partner, who done nothing but care for your little ass. That makes me a father too.”

A father. They both will be.

They’re only young. Not too young to handle it, but life just started for real. Popping kids out is a lifelong investment to no longer goin’ sneaking. Experimenting. Whatever you could call what it is they’ve been doing together.

It’ll be expected that they get married right away. Before this damn bump starts to show itself would be ideal. A nightmare for someone whose legal name on the certificate wouldn’t match the one his favorite people know him by.

Drayton isn’t ready to face those realities. He shakes his head, pulls away from Lefty just a little, “We can worry about that in a few months.”

It’s not outright denial. He wants Lefty involved and that is thankfully obvious. The intricacies really can wait. For the sake of him not losing his mind already.

Lefty agrees, focusing on the present as well, “What do you want from me right now?”

“Take me inside. Please.” Drayton holds his arms up, finally allowing himself to be as weak as he feels.

He’s not expecting to be fully lifted up and carried there, but since he’d just delivered some relatively life changing news, he’ll let that slide as well.

Lefty assures, as strong willed as he is physically tough, “We’ll figure it out, Dray.”

That’s not the part Drayton was afraid of. He never doubted that Lefty would want to do right by the kid. A man who places that much value on his family isn’t going to just kick a child he’d created to the curb.

His partner is maybe another story.

Lefty loves him and he loves Lefty, easy, but it’s not been as simple navigating what that meant when halfway into their almost decade long relationship, Drayton confessed the truth about the disconnect between body and identity. His boy has always been perfect with it, which is what makes it so terrifying. Unlikely as it is, there’s always that whisper that he’s only been pretending to accept it.

Now that Draytons put out, and of course got knocked up on the very first time doing so, there’s no real reason to keep him around. Lefty could pick up the kid on the weekends, settle down with a nice woman. Move the hell on.

They’re so in sync at this point, Boude sort of reads his mind, “I’m not gonna leave you.”

Tears burn in his eyes and ball up his throat with emotion. Drayton just nods a little in acknowledgment of his boy, not saying a word still.

It’s exactly what he was thinking and it still blindsides him. Some wounds, like the ones that come to be when his daddy left years ago, well maybe they never close up.

Lefty can’t take the silence. He tries to prompt, “I lov-“

“Enough.” Drayton stops him there. He knows it already. But talking about it isn’t his thing. Loving somebody is enough without all the sappy bullshit. “I’m not ready to talk.”

Lefty looks sad. Frowns a little bit. But he doesn’t argue. Never does. That sort of makes Drayton feel worse.

But they really will talk. One day down the line. Give it some time and he’ll be ready.

He places a hand on his belly. The baby is too small to be moving yet. Probably about the size of a pebble. There’s time. Mama will have her baby first, almost like a trial run.

Yeah.

They’ll be able to do this.

Shaking, Drayton takes Enright’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do with it, it’s awkward, but he wants to show him, in some minute way, that he gives a shit about him too.

A small smile is all the acknowledgement he gets. It’s enough.

Hopefully it’ll be enough to save them until Drayton is ready to talk more. Best he can do now is stay curled up in Lefty’s arms for the few hours he’s able. Going back home at the end of the day won’t be easy, it never is, but neither will parenthood be, so. Guess it works out anyhow.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Invisible, tugging strings, Pt. 1

When - chronologically after souls stripped bare, which means the Chupacabra episode of Season 2.

What - Daryl is hurt and hallucinating at the bottom of the ridge, while you are at the farm, wondering why you are overcome with really insistent dread that he’s hurt.

Relationships - why do the two of you feel like there’s a string tugging at your chests? (slow burn Daryl x Reader)

Perspective - Him 3rd, You 2nd

Pronouns - they/them neutral

TWs - language, description of pain and injury, and those signature crappy screenshots from the episodes the Slowpoke Series tends to have, and one poor pic from the internet of Patricia

What stories should I read first? - souls stripped bare! A measure of reverence Parts 1 and 2 came before it, but definitely souls stripped bare so you get what went on

Will reading this one take me all day? - no, slowpoke, about 15 minutes :)

Can I check out the Masterlist? - please do! There’s the official one here in purposeful nonlinear publishing, and the purely chronological one here. They both have the same Slowpoke stories, just in a somewhat different order. (Reader Requests are in the official one)

There’d been that damned snake, so the horse reared, and down Daryl went.

His neck should’ve gotten snapped, tell you what. For real, he should’ve broke a few fingers or something on his way slip-sliding down the world’s most painful fucking waterslide that was the rock ridge he’d tumbled down before finally crashing into the water below. Maybe he did break some shit on the way down but just doesn’t notice yet?

Whatever, he’s just grateful Y/N ain’t here with him. Because if they’d fallen too, with the injuries they already got going? The two of them would be in this shit instead of just him, and he has no idea how he’d be able to get Y/N out of it. He can’t even get his own damn self out of it.

All his lazy-ass has gotta do is just—fucking—ow! He can’t seem to get any higher, come on! He’s halfway!

It’s because the bolt notched in the top of his crossbow decided to move out and notch its damn self in his left side while he was busy careening his way down the goddamned ridge. Least he was able to fish out his crossbow from the pool at the bottom. And most importantly, he has the doll.

He found her doll! Yeah, that’s right, the one that little Hispanic girl—sorry, ‘Lila’ or ‘Liza’—the doll she gave to Sophia.

He’s seen it from the top of the ridge and was trying to figure out a way down, was walking the horse along the top to find the best spot to climb, when bam. There was a rattler, it scared the poor nag, she fucked off to who-knows all while Daryl crash-banged his way down the slope in record time.

And now, he can’t get any higher. ’Cause he’s a damned pussy.

Son of a bitch, and even now, he’s glad Y/N isn’t here to hear him call himself a ‘pussy’ because they wouldn’t like that shit. At least that invisible string that felt like it was tied to Y/N, whatever the hell that was, either snapped on his way down or he can’t feel it as much right now because everything else hurts so damned much.

Okay, Darylina, all you need to do is buck up and prove your balls dropped and get your ass up the rest of the way and get back to the farm.

He groans in pain and wills his nausea to go down.

“Oh, come on. You’ve done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy,” is his version of a pep talk, and with one final “Come on,” he uses all his strength to lunge himself up closer!

Yes!

Only — it’s the dizzy part he isn’t expecting, along with the way everything in his stomach lurches up, and the way the soil is far too loose and he can’t find a decent grip. Panting to help curb him from upchucking right then and there, he feels himself fail to find a root or branch to grasp.

Next thing he knows, his world is spinning again.

There’s a snapping sound, a searing pain in his side that spreads everywhere, and before he can think, his breath is gone an—

................................................

You

Daryl is hurt just jumped into your mind again and you have no idea why.

He’s gone out on his own before, why are you filled with dread all the sudden? Whatever happened late this morning to you two is really throwing you for a loop.

This morning, you don’t know, but after all happened with him, you feel like you’re welded together. You know it sounds weird.

Still, you do not like that he’s not here, that he’s alone. You know the feeling will ease, but it really sucks right now and you’re really not liking how that sudden dread just appeared in your brain, and loudly, way more loudly than when it happened the first time, like 30ish minutes ago? And the invisible string is still tugging away.

Maybe it’s just the caffeine crash after the espresso incident early this morning. That, combined with latent worries about the blood transfusion and how thoroughly exhausting today was. How the past few days have been…

“Carl, baby, how do you feel?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Creeped out that blood is going into my arm.”

Lori kisses her boy’s hand and shares a quiet laugh with Patricia. Rick cracks up, Hershel smiles politely from his chair.

“Does your back hurt or do you feel itchy? Cold?” Those are the things Patricia said to be on-alert for.

“Nope.”

“Are you out of breath?” Heck, you’re out a breath…

“Y/N, you’re making me nervous.”

Okay, fair, you need to get out of this room, you feel like you can’t breathe enough.

You stick your tongue out just in case Carl notices there’s something off with you (that punk notices almost everything). “Doct—Mr. Greene, would you like me to get more sweet tea?” you check, hoping you seem normal.

Genuine concern for him aside, it can’t hurt to be extra polite after Jimmy went on the search with Glenn today without consulting Hershel or being clear with his mother about it, turns out. And how Daryl…stole a horse.

Mr. Greene nods from the chair he hasn’t left since donating a pint of blood about 40 minutes ago. “I wouldn’t mind, in fact. Thank you.”

Slightly unbalanced from having your injured arm slung and tied to your side, you take his glass from the crocheted coaster with your free hand. Once in the hallway, you close the door behind you and start to hyperventilate. You aren’t really aware of walking there, but you end up at the kitchen counter pouring tea into the glass while tears pour from your eyes and you gulp down air.

Your hair’s still wet from the shower, so riddle you why it feel like it’s 105º in this place? What the hell is going on, dude? Why are you panicking over Daryl, he’s fine, he’s always fine! Just say a prayer and get on with it, you got shit to do.

Wipe, sniff, swallow. Okay.

With a final wipe for good measure, all you need to do is poke your head back in and put the filled glass on the counter. You’ll be nearby to help if anything happens to Carl or Hershel. Nothing should, but you never know.

After delivering the iced tea, you begin to make your way to the porch—but then pause, because don’t want Shane seeing you right now. Every heaving inhale makes your sore stitches burn and your shoulder/chest injury pinch, but you can’t seem to stop! This isn’t cool, this really isn’t cool.

There’s a side-door in the kitchen, you’ll use that. You need air.

two hours ago

“Sweetie, what happened to you two?”

“I don’t know.”

You couldn’t and still can’t shake off the feeling you’d gotten a glimpse into Daryl’s very soul. You didn’t want to take your eyes off him as he ran to—you weren’t sure, but probably to the stables.

There was a tugging in your chest as you watched him hurry away. You didn’t want him to go far.

You didn’t want him to go, period. It felt wrong that he was alone, that you weren’t going with him.

Carol asking you “What do you mean?” got interrupted when Maggie called from inside the house, “Y/N?” and ran out to the porch where Carol was escorting you in.

“Hey,” you panted, finally dragging your eyes from Daryl and looking at her frown. Her coloring matched her last name as she stared at the bloodstained part of your shirt.

“Did one of the infected people do that, Y/N?”

“No, it’s the stitches. Don’t tell your daddy? He already thinks I’m an idiot,” you asked, nervous.

Letting out an exhale and nodding, she said, “I’ll get Patricia,” before jogging back inside.

“This is why I changed my shirt before comin’ back, didn’t want no fuss,” you muttered to Carol.

She was crying softly as she continued to guide you inside. “Well, it looks like you bled through it.”

“Shane and Rick ain’t come back yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” was all you could respond to that. You were in too much pain to be in any patient mood.

One, Shane not being back meant he and Rick might have come back with Sophia in tow, and two, it meant that you could get cleaned up before your brother saw what a mess you’d made of yourself.

If he saw you like this, he’d get angry, use it as proof about how you all shouldn’t be out there, then would go off about how there’s no point in searching anymore because statistics say that the little girl’s dead.

And you didn’t like how you were tiptoeing around him. That in itself was a red flag, he’s better than that, and yet…

 A final, exhausted glance to see if you could still see Daryl, and Patricia was there as you and Carol entered the farmhouse. “Come into this room to your left, let see what the damage is,” she directed, kit in hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Patricia,” you whispered.

Carol took your backpack off carefully and murmured that she’d wash your bloodied shirt(s) and grab you fresh clothes from the line. Patricia has her take off your soiled top right then and there, Carol also takes Dale’s watch off you to return.

It was only Patricia in there, so it was okay, you didn’t feel too exposed without a shirt.

She sanitized the area and snipped the sutures. You did need new ones. They hadn’t popped, but the skin around them tore and pulled and bruised.

That her now-dead husband was the one to so expertly do the original ones hurt more than the actual physical pain, believe it or not. Maybe you were feeling too much elsewhere or simply felt too drained and numb from earlier to have that strong a reaction to more?

“Sweet pea, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Ain’t no need to apologize,” you heard her tell you. “Otis wouldn’t want you to be.”

There was a brief pause in the suturing process because you broke into a cold sweat and she worried you were about to get sick. “Once we’re finished, I’m going have you head upstairs to take a nice, warm shower again. There’s plenty of fuel left in the generator. Don’t worry, we won’t be shy about sending y’all out for more when the time comes.” She handed you the small emesis basin for you to hold with your good side, and continued.

Halfway into resuming the stitches you ended up needing to use it. As you did, Patricia made motherly shushing noises and cooed how it was okay, then took away the container and put it on the tiny shelf near the door.

You like how she talks, she’s twangy like you are.

“Alright, what happened to you out there, Y/N? Didn’t you go searchin’ with the, uh, Dixon—Merle Dixon from the prescription bottle—his younger brother? I heard the bike drive back.”

“We had a rough morning.” You stifle a sigh in relief and pain in as you felt her make the final suture. The snip of the scissors cutting the excess surgical thread was music to your ears. “Daryl d-drove me back ’cause I hurt too much.”

Daryl. Just the thought of him out there, alone, made your chest tug again and a lump grow in your throat. And you really hoped nobody noticed that he most likely stole a horse 10 minutes before.

“How’d it happen?” she pressed. Finished cleaning up what she used for the stitches, she stood to check your shoulder. “You weren’t like this this morning, Y/N, this mornin’ you were the energizer bunny.”

The front door opened, and a knock came on the door of the room you were in. “It’s me,” Carol spoke from outside.

“Come on in.”

She opened the door and slipped inside, carrying a complete change of clothes for you, and promptly moved to take away the container you’d just vomited in.

“No, Carol, leave that, I can do it. I just need my shirt on.” Having so much skin exposed isn’t your usual.

Granted, that’s when Patricia requested, “Let me get a look at your range of motion and all that first before puttin’ a shirt back on, it’s easier when I can press against the skin directly.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t taken care of before, Y/N,” Carol softly reminded you, and took the container away.

To be polite, you asked Patricia to grab the hand sanitizer from your backpack before she did her thing. Smelly underarms are caused by bacteria and sweat; you knew you’d gotten sweaty. You already felt so humiliated and raw, you didn’t have a damn shirt on, you just threw up in front of her, you were crying; smelling less offensive was something over which you still had some control.

Patricia then started to do similar movements to what Mr. Greene did last night. Everything ached worse than yesterday, so much worse.

“Now, how’d this happen? It weren’t this bad before, certainly not this morning.”

“I overdid it,” you mumbled.

“I’ll say.”

The pictures of the family you’d just buried started to pop up in your mind. The image of them in their grave, that big blanket over them, popped up, too, as did the sensation of carrying them in your arms to get them there. The tears fell harder. “I-I had to.”

“Sweet pea, I’m sure you had a very good reason,” the woman soothed.

Really, if you had a dollar for every time you’ve cried in the past four days (not that you could do much with it, but), you’d probably have a $50 bill.

The door opened a second time.

You were grateful it was just Carol again, not Hershel or Shane. She brought you a small glass of sweet tea, which you held in your free hand but didn’t drink.

“Y/N, I wanna make sure that Daryl didn’t hurt you or try to.” Patricia was blunt.

You weren’t offended on his behalf; that she asked meant she was concerned and wanted you safe. “The opposite, ma’am,” you responded softly.

“Hm?”

“He picked me up and carried me when I couldn’t get myself up.” You tried a sip of tea to help swallow back more tears. It was very sweet tea, you gagged at first. “He dug when I couldn’t no more.” A sob worked its way up as you coughed out “God, I r-really wish he weren’t all alone out there right now.”

Carol took the mostly full cup from you and placed it on the dresser, while Patricia’s hands slowed where she was examining you. “Why’d y’all dig?” she asked.

You slumped where you sat. “The family who’d boarded up their house, the ones from Mexico?”

“The Bardales?”

Your lips wobbled and you could only nod to tell her yes, that was them, then shake your head back and forth to try and relay what happened to them.

She understood. “All of them?” she whispered.

“Th-there’d been a break in, and they’d,” you had to wait until your voice stopped shaking, “they all caught the fever, besides.”

That’s when her hands stopped and you could feel her go rigid. “Was they dead or infected?”

You had no idea what she meant and were too tired to get clarification. “Both.”

“Patricia, I’m going to get you a glass, too,” Carol murmured, and stepped out.

You and the woman sat in silence. When you tried to put your shirt back on, she put a hand on your arm to stop you.

Carol came back and handed Patricia the glass filled with iced tea.

“How did you know they was infected if they was dead?” she finally voiced.

You looked to Carol because you didn’t know what to say or what Patricia meant. She returned your concerned expression and spoke up. “I think she’s asking, um…in what way you found the family.”

Patricia nodded.

“Turned.”

And the words “Infected doesn’t mean they were dead,” cursed from Patricia’s mouth in a tone of voice you’d never heard her use before.

Talk about feeling humiliated and naked and having your soul bared, you literally did not have a shirt on.

“That is what infected means,” Carol disagreed out loud, to your surprise.

Patricia countered, angry and quiet. “Infected means sick.”

But Carol remained gentle and even. “I know it hurts when you’ve lost a loved one to it, but there’s no cure because the person dies first.” She looks down and shrugged in her shy, unsure way. “That’s the one thing we can’t cure.”

“But they come back, we see it.”

“Not alive,” you were able to verbalize as your stress stutter decided to make an appearance. “Not even the CDC c-could fix it. All they found was that infected people die, and the virus takes over.”

“They ain’t found a cure yet,” the woman spat. “A lot of things can look like dyin’, the heart rate can slow—”

“—They die and you know it. What we see walkin’, it-it-it’s just their bodies, ma’am, just the basest part of the brain. The soul is,” there you went swallowing back another sob and failing, “gone because they died and are still dead.”

“We were there, Patricia,” Carol spoke up again. “At the CDC, we talked to the only man still there, we saw proof. There’s nothing left.”

“Don’t lie to me in my own home,” she warned her.

“Don’t insult guests in your own home,” you hissed back, furious that she’d accuse Carol of lying. You clenched your teeth, held back your groan as you stood, wiped the hot tears from your cheeks with your good arm, and tried to put on your shirt so you could walk out with Carol—who stopped you.

She hadn’t lost an ounce of her gentleness yet. “Y/N, don’t get angry. This family hasn’t seen what we have.”

“Well, w-we seen one who’s head got sliced off and it still tried bitin’, but they still think we’re stupid, heartless murderers for laying their bodies to rest!”

“Look what they’ve done for us.” Carol gestured to your stitches. “Look at what they’re doing to help us, what they’ve already done.” She then gestured outside to your group’s campsite, then toward where Carl’s room is.

You still fully expected to get thrown out, but Patricia sat there, lost in thought. She inclined her head to where you’d been sitting by way of inviting you to stay. You remained by the door anyway, you felt too absolutely-fucking-like-garbage to have sat down then.

“You saw one with their head cut off still tryin’ to attack?” the woman then asked, staring at nothing with her brows drawn close. “Wasn’t no nerve reflex, or, or…” she trailed off.

“They’ll keep attacking unless their brain is damaged,” Carol replied. “That’s where the virus, um—you know.” Her eyes turned wet again and she bowed her head as tears of her own fell on her lap.

After more silence, you whispered to Carol for help getting your shirt on. “I just want to lie down before Mr. Greene expects me.”

“No, sweet pea, come back. I wanna help you get some range of motion back, come on.” Patricia, who apparently could hear your whisper just fine, waved you over and patted the spot on the bed. “I’m sorry. Thank you for sharin’ with me. There’s some…things I’ll need to think more on, discuss.” To herself, she muttered, “I need to, I need to talk to Hersh about this.” She next locked eyes with the two of you. “But until then, any walkers you find on our property, tell us. Don’t do nothing, just tell us first.” Then, she pointed to you and made an apologetic smile. “And here,” she held out the mini tissue box from the far end-table. “You need one awful bad.”

The mood in the room improved. She gave an extremely thorough, long massage to your neck, shoulder, and arm muscle on your bad side. Homegirl must weight lift or something, because she gave you back so much range of motion that you created a false memory of having taken painkillers.

“You didn’t give me anythin’, Miss Patricia?”

“No, but I will before you head upstairs to shower off, maybe antibiotics, too, but let’s wait and see if you develop an infection first. Oh, and you’ll need a waterproof bandage, let me find one in here.” She rummaged around her kit, found one, and handed it to you. “Take it off the site once you towel dry.”

now

Daryl is hurt. He’s alone and hurt!

Use the walkie, brainless.

Those words snap into your (brain?) where you’re hyperventilating against the brick chimney in the back of the farmhouse. Carol has the pink one, Glenn has the yellow one; all you need to do is find one of them.

It crosses your mind that he might would’ve radioed if he was hurt.

Which in the next moment, flips into the idea that what if he’s too hurt to even use it?

Which then quickly devolves into wondering why you’re being such a dramatic idiot. He probably doesn’t even remember he has it, it’s probably turned off, and he would be too proud to use it, anyway…

…who cares, you still need to try, you need to know if your friend is safe.

You push off the wall you were leaning into and — ohh whoa.

What is — oh no, you remember this feeling.

You waver where you stand, then turn to press your forehead against the cool, rough bricks. Shoot, how are you gonna get out of this, how are you gonna get back inside?

Your body flushes with heat, your stomach turns cold, and a sensation in between pain and panic burns your chest and lungs as you try to catch your breath; you’re about to pass out for the dumb-ass mistake of not drinking enough fluids. Shittttt, why didn’t you drink that glass of tea, in the least?

“Y/N?”

Rick. That’s Rick’s voice.

“Ricky,” you slur, “don’t freak and don’t tell Shane, but I need f-faint for sec…”

................................................

Him

“Daryl, why aren’t you usin’ that walkie? This was the whole point of them, mangy hick!”

Y/N.

Y/N?

He tries to open his eyes. Did they get stitched up and have enough to drink? Is their shoulder okay? They probably have a sling again, he’d bet money on it.

“It’s okay, man, leave your eyes closed. I know you’re exhausted.” A nudge. “M’sorry, I should oughtn’tve chided you about the walkie.”

No, he wants to open his eyes, he wants to see Y/N! Everything hurts so fucking much but their voice makes him feel safer. The tugging in his chest is back full-force — Y/N is here!

“Dude, I ain’t really here, you know that.”

What? He tries to pry his damn eyes open so he can see them, he needs to see their face.

“But you do know that you’re gonna need to get up soon. Find the walkie if you can, call for help, okay? Please.” He feels their hand lightly touch his wrist. “I’m worried about you, so is Carol.” Their voice sounds like they’re smiling now. “And our Carl’s gonna want to see the doll you found. Daryl, you found her doll!” A giggle. “And you know I’m gonna wanna tease you about how you’ve ripped the sleeves off yet another of your poor shirts.”

He finally got his eyes open and saw…a blur. Green. Leaves, branches.

Y/N.  

Ugh, fuck, opening his eyes made his head hurt, though. “I can’t believe you were right about the damned walkie talkies,” he grumbles, cracking up as best he could but fuck, it hurt.

A strange static noise comes from his left. Is that the…that’s the walkie, isn’t it?

Y/N makes a face. “At least it’s nearby. I’m glad. It sounds funny, though, might could’ve gotten broken on the fall down. Maybe waterlogged.”

“I wish you were really here.” Hell, if they’re all in his head, he can be as big a pussy as he wants.

Their smile fades. As they trace their fingertips along his hairline, he could swear it felt real. “Daryl, you need to get up. I know how bad it hurts, and I’m so sorry you’re alone right now, but you need to get up. Please.”

He tries to lift his head. Pain and spinning and nausea.

So he tries to twist to his side instead and is met with more pain, that damn bolt is still lodged in there. Shit, he feels like he’s gonna hurl. “Y/N. I don’t think I can,” he admits, unable to hold back a groan.

“Quarter.”

He would have snorted, but it would make the pain worse. “Fuckin’ serious, I d-don’t—I don’t think I can—” Great, he’s starting to cry, which is making everything hurt worse because his breathing gets faster. “I don’t think I can, Y/N.”

“Bullshit. You can and you will. Now, honey — turn your head, you’re gonna get sick.”

Sure enough, he feels his mouth water, his stomach lurch, and there it comes.

Their cooing reaches his ears, just like earlier today when he was bugging out over some dirt.

It was only a second, and he was done. He turned his head back and rested it against the rock or whatever it was he was laying on. Just so damned tired…

“No. Daryl, you can’t do that, not now.” They sounded firm but still so gentle at the same time. “I-I think you need to get that thing out — I get leavin’ it in until you make it to help is the usual way of things, but it’s gonna do worse damage with it in there ’cause of where it is. You’ll be able to stop the bleedin’ better once it’s out.” They look him in the eyes again. “Do what you need to do to get yourself home to us.”

“Back there ain’t ‘home.’”

They huff. “Not with that attitude, it ain’t.”

He can’t help but smile. That’s how Y/N would’ve reacted, no damn doubt.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not so bad at this imaginary stuff,” they tease him. “Maybe you should imagine yourself a chupacabra, encourage you to move.”

When he wills himself to open his eyes again, hoping to see them smiling, they aren’t. Instead, they look like they got the wind knocked out of them. They’re sweaty, drained, like they’d been when he’d left them back at the farm.

“This is goin’ to be rough as hell and it’s gonna hurt like it, too. But ain’t that just like so much other shit you been through? Now, you listen good,” and their finger pressed against his chest right where the tether between them was. “Don’t die, don’t get bit. I told you that as you left, Daryl. But if you don’t get up and get that thing out of your side so you can wrap it tight and come home, you are gonna die. Even if there weren’t dead people walkin’ and making things ten times more dangerous.”

How was it that he was strong enough to dig and carry and do so much just a few hours ago, and now he can’t manage turning onto his side or lifting his head? Even talking hurts right now.

“Just—Y/N, how do I get up?” he groans and winces, trying and failing again to sit upright even a little. “Why am I bein’ such a pussy that I can’t I get past this part?”

After grimacing, then mumbling for him to not use that word that way, they point behind themselves with their thumb. “I think he’s gonna have to help you with that part. I wish it could be me, but you know. Stitches and shoulder.”

“‘He?’” he repeats.

“As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.

He looks again to try to see who was there. Didn’t see nobody.

Y/N included. They were gone.

Upset to be alone again, and zapped from trying to lift his head and strain to see who was there, he lowers his head back down and rests his eyes.

................................................

You

“He probably doesn’t even have it on. Asshole.”

“You’re like, really upset, Y/N.”

“I guess!”

Glenn rolls his eyes. “What happened to you guys today, why are you like this? And with a sling again? And you literally fainted, Rick said?”

He’d been trying to recover an escaped chicken when he noticed Rick sitting with you on the ground, against the chimney out back while you glugged down a glass of sweet tea and a bottle of water.

“We j-just,” you don’t know how to describe it, “it was heavy, a-and I just want him back safe at home, is all. With Sophia.” You make one last attempt to contact him, lightly blowing into the walkie’s mic… before finally giving in and whispering “Daryl, please answer!” After a few moments in expectant silence that proves fruitless, you slide the walkie back into Glenn’s pocket and reach with your usable arm to pat the successfully-caught chicken he’s got snuggled in his arms like a football.

You lean back against the brick chimney and picture a teapot being taken off the burner. “And I passed out for only a mite, nothin’ exciting. Didn’t hydrate enough.”

Glenn nudges you gently with his tennis shoe. “Day’s not over yet. He’ll be back when the sun goes down.”

You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. “You’re right.”

“Tell me about earlier?”

You shake your head. “Later. Now, um, n-now’s not good.”

“Okay.” Glenn nods and looks down. “Sorry it was a bad day.”

“Maybe Sophia will come home and it’ll be a good one,” you mumble, not really believing it but wishing you did. “But we are pettin’ a chicken, so it can’t be all bad. Tell me about your day before I head back in?”

“I…tried talking to Maggie this morning. I don’t know what I was trying to do.” He rubs his face. “I brought the guitar we found on the highway over to the porch, and, I don’t know, was hoping she knew how to play so she could teach me, or something?”

Oh my. “You walked up to somebody’s front porch with an instrument you can’t play in the hopes she knew how?”

He gets red in his cheeks, forehead, and ears.

Good Moses, your face is warming on his behalf, too. “Glenn, is that where you were while we were goin’ over the day’s plans?”

“It gets better. I tried to act all tough, too.”

“You are tough, though.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you,” then stops stroking the hen in order to scratch his neck. “But, like, I tried to act all confident.”

“Confidence ain’t a bad thing,” you offer, albeit 100% out of your depth. You can offer objective advice only, not really anything from experience.

“Cockiness is, though…”

“Oh no.” Glenn acting cocky? That ain’t kosher. Maybe he’s misreading his own actions? “At least you tried? You weren’t rude or pushy or nothing, right?”

“I don’t think so? I wouldn’t want to be.”

“Did you say anythin’ that if somebody said it to you, you’d feel unsafe?”

“Ew, no.”

“Good.” You have to rub your chest for a moment to get rid of the tugging. Leave it to you to dramatize a caffeine crash and dehydration as a sign from heaven that something bad happened to Daryl. “I’m gonna head back in, Hershel donated a pint to Carl. Best make sure both are doin’ well.”

“He what? Shoot, let me find Jimmy, I’ll do more stuff around here to help out.” He helps you stand. “And hey, if Hershel brings it up—dude, I had no idea that all Jimmy’d told his mom was that he was ‘gonna help’ us, and that he didn’t end up asking Hershel.”

“That was way more on Jimmy than on you and the rest of us. You kept him safe out there, that’s gotta count in our favor.”

“Except Daryl stealing a horse is definitely not in our favor.”

You sigh and feel that strange tugging again. “We’ll make it up to them.”

................................................

Him

It felt so much better to keep his eyes closed, but someone’s standing over him now. Must be whoever Y/N said would help him get up.

What was that they said about ‘missing’ and ‘bully?’

He strains to get his eyes open so he can see whoever is above him.

His eyelids feel so damned heavy, man, he just wants to close them again.

All he can see is the green of the treetops at first.

The outline of a person’s head come into view once his vision stops being blurry.

Then it clears.

A smile finds its way to the corners of his mouth. He’s missed him. Felt so lost and out of place without him. His own blood.

“Why don’t you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better.”

Yeah, that was him alright. He’s missed him so much. 

“Merle.”

................................................

next part > here! <

> Masterlist link here <  

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat @darylsmavis​

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here!) 

................................................

Bonus for those who survived til the end of Part 1:

This is why he doesn’t have any sleeved shirts left.

follow for more DIY shirt ideas #upcycle

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A couple of questions today! Replying to replies about other replies + a couple of shippy ones + the OruMal Anon is back with more juice lol

Anonymous asked:

Now, why would you say that? Now I’M thinking of Idia wearing just a jacket, thanks a lot

You’re very welcome lol Isn’t he perfect dressed like that? I mean, barely dressed.

Anonymous asked:

to the Idia plush anon, i'm so jealous~~ i thought the outfit Ortho would come with would show off his cheeks but it covers them instead orz i want to buy doll clothes that let him show them off, maybe even sew them myself. btw i think our plushies should kiss new

I demand pictures of kissing plushies… Anons irl meet-up just for the sake of kissing plushies lol

Also! Sewing clothes for a plushie yourself is such a cool thing to do. You’re cool, Anon.

Anonymous asked:

Marja is the epitome of a southern granny, and as someone who has three, I can tell ya they’ll kick your ass. Like I saw Marja and was wondering how Epel still thinks girls are weak when Marja is a badass, like that lil ol’ lady probably kicked his ass more often than Vil did and then told him to get his ass to the farm.

Exactly! Epel surely complains a whole lot for someone who’s been disciplined by this scary woman for his entire life lol

I think it’s also due to the fact that there aren’t any girls around his age (or any other kids) in Harveston, so ma and meemaw, as well as the rest of the women in the village feel as if they’re not quite the same thing as girls. Of course he knows that they are, but I feel like he still has this “yeah but this is different” idea in his head lol Which is kind of stupid, but Epel is still figuring things out so…

Anonymous asked:

Do you think any of the nrc students is interested in Trein (could be sexually or Romantically) ?🎤

I took some time to think about it, Anon, and I’m sorry to give you a disappointing answer: I can’t think of anyone who could be interested in Trein like that… Maybe we just haven’t seen them interact enough. But still, have three boys with the best potential when it comes to this:

Azul, because he wants to be the teacher’s pet very badly, and pretty much always has his tongue up Trein’s ass (metaphorically), but neither of them would see this as sexual or romantic. Azul wants to be the best because he is the best academically! Earned favouritism only!

Ortho, because he gets to hang out with Trein when Idia is taking tests! I don’t remember where we got this fact from, but it’s cute lol But then again, it isn’t either romantic or sexual thing…

Lilia, because you know. Talked about them here.

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

Do you think Rook ever goes down on Vil? You think he'll ever teach the ways of what to do down there to make the Queen shiver and cry out to Neige or Epel or ANYONE who's brave enough to actually be in Vil's bedchambers?

I think Rook lives down there. This is the base of his diet lol

Rook would be more than happy to teach someone the art of making Vil feel this good, both because mentoring someone in such a complicated craft is always rewarding, and because he is a possessive dick that doesn’t fully want Vil to be alone with someone else without him also being a part of the process somehow lol

Anonymous asked:

I'm glad a few people like my OruMal ask :)!! I was disappointed when I went through the ship tags on ao3 and found absolutely nothing. I just had to speak up 😔 I know most fans don't like to ship ortho, but c'mon, the POTENTIAL of it all!!!!!!!

With that in mind, heres a few more ideas I have 🥰

• With Malleus, it makes sense why he's interested. Ortho is a freak of nature to him!!! He'll get used to treating him like any other student, but then Ortho keeps doing the most strange and bizarre things, like he can just pull off his arms and legs as though it's nothing! He tries to think of it as though it's some kind of magic, but I imagine if he ever voiced that, Ortho would be like "oh, no, I can't use magic at all," and go into a long tangent about how it works and just perplex Malleus even more

• Why Ortho would be interested is a whole other can of worms. He does have a base level of curiosity for everyone, and that would apply to Malleus too, but is there anything more than that 🤔 if Malleus were actively pursuing him, I bet he would think his chances are certain that Ortho will reciprocate because he is an extremely powerful prince. Whatever reasons Ortho has for entertaining Malleus, I definitely don't think it will be what he expected. Probably because he's a bit of a loser... like his brother <3

• Holding my breath for book 7, but assuming nothing major happens between Ortho and Malleus (unlikely) then I actually think they will only consider each other seriously way after their days at NRC. They might have a fling while they're in college, sure, a bit of a flirt and tease and maybe a fuck or two if the mood is right, but there's so many other interesting boys here to see and do!! I think it will only be centuries later when they've both gotten tired of losing loved ones that they seek each other out, for the comfort more than the curiosity. They would tease each other for it, but I don't think either of them actually want to be left alone

• Malleus eventually learning to be a pillow princess and just sit there and starfish out while Ortho does his thing would be funny 😭 he likes to toy around, and Ortho seems to enjoy it when he plays with his motherboard, but... after enough times getting smoke and explosions directly to the face because he pressed the wrong button or pulled the wrong wire, he's unfortunately told to cool it 😔 honestly, he's lucky if he hasn't permanently damaged his core!!

That's all I have, thank you ❤️!!!!

Anon! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us again. Yeah, I can imagine how little Ortho-related stuff there is on Ao3, let alone stuff about him and Malleus, so we’re truly on a rareship territory here lol

I like the first two things that you’ve said because yeah, the mutual interest they would have for each other is a very nice fuel for their ship. Both of them are so curious, and quite experimental, so they’d have a lot to show each other and to talk about.

Oh my god the last one, Malleus don’t touch anything, you’ll just fry him again! Mister “I break every phone Lilia gives me” absolutely should not play around with Ortho’s motherboard… lol but it’ll still be a thrill for them, at least until it gets dangerous and Malleus is prohibited from touching anything ever again. But it’s okay, because Ortho is perfect at handling pillow princesses…

[bluestar22x]

The End

The Journey - The End

Summary: You and Pero search for home

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ series

Warnings: A brief mention of menstruation and a hint at oral sex (f!receiving). Lots of anxiety and fluff. Choosing to avoid some plot related warnings.

Word Count: 2,537

Author’s Note: Nervous about this one, but I think it turned out well.

xxx

Searching for your new home with Pero was a lengthy journey which you’d taken to calling an adventure. You’d ridden north, with no particular destination in mind, your only intention to get away from warring territories and to put distance between anyone who might recognize you if they ever stumbled into your new village.

It shouldn’t have taken as many weeks as it had, but you’d insisted on exploring several villages before deciding on which one suited you best. Pero was not afraid to voice his annoyance over it, but you understood it was rooted in his fears over your safety while out on the trails.

Fears that seemed unwarranted in the north. You hadn’t run into trouble since Pero had been injured by the soldiers, and your travels had been generally pleasant outside of getting caught in bad weather on occasion.

The more weeks that passed, the more you were certain you’d made the right decision to stay by Pero’s side. His default personality was grumpy for outsiders, but with you he was warm, kind, and giving. He respected you far more than you’d thought any man was capable of, and he wasn’t afraid to let you make decisions. It felt good to be on the same level as a partner, even if the rest of society would likely never see it that way.

You learned a lot about him in that time, about the battles he’d taken part of that led to his scars, and in turn you’d let him know more about your past. Mainly your childhood still, though in the last few weeks you’d spoken more and more of your time with your first husband.

With time you’d realized Pero couldn’t actually magically heal your trauma, but by allowing you to speak to him about it you were able to process it and that came with its own kind of healing. What usually came after - your mouths clashing and limbs intertwining - certainly didn’t hurt either.

Though it wasn’t without its own consequences, you soon found out.

At first you thought your body was just out of kilter, not used to the long days outdoors in direct sunlight, not used to the assortment of new foods you were being exposed to on a regular basis, etc. But even if it was possible you weren’t adjusting to it all, even if you could explain away the fatigue and the occasional vomiting as your body simply being incompetent with new experiences, it was harder to brush off the fact that you were well overdue to bleed.

For some women, that was normal, but it was not for you, your bleed so predictable that you could wake up the morning of and bet by the end of the day it would be upon you and always win that bet.

Even with that knowledge though, you brushed your concern off because you were barren. You hadn’t fallen pregnant once the entire time you’d been married, for over a decade. There was no chance that you were anything but.

Your body didn’t seem to care about that though, your pregnancy symptoms getting increasingly worst with every week that passed. You continued to try to ignore it, to hide it from Pero, in some sort of denial, until one day you glanced into a mirror at an Inn and noticed that your belly was softly rounded in an unmistakable way.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, tossing and turning in the bed you shared with Pero until the sun began to rise and, in defeat, you rose to sit by the windowsill to bear witness to it.

It did not soothe you like it typically would. Not when you knew you’d have to tell him that day or else you’d risk losing your mind.

The problem with that was that as far as you knew, Pero didn’t want children. He never interacted with them. He never had mentioned taking in an orphan once you both established a farm. For all you knew he could hate them and that was why your inability to have children hadn’t even made him blink.

You were terrified. You didn’t think he was the type of man who’d abandon you for being pregnant, but you didn’t want to burden him with something he didn’t want either. Children were a long-term commitment. They were needy, messy, and expensive. Pero wasn’t rich, and you had no idea if he would be able to adjust to fatherhood. He had to be convinced owning a farm would be a good idea, for crying out loud.

Still, you had no choice. It wouldn’t be long before anyone looking at you could easily tell you were pregnant, and you didn’t want him to find out that way. You didn’t want him to think you were deliberately keeping it a secret from him.

You sucked in a deep breath as you heard Pero stir in bed.

After breakfast. You’d tell him after breakfast.

x

She was unusually quiet that morning. It wasn’t the first time she’d been, but it was the first time since she had made the decision to be with him, and that worried Pero.

Had he said something wrong? Was she starting to regret choosing him? Did she miss her siblings?

Endless variations of those questions ran through Pero’s mind while they ate breakfast and as she cleaned up after. He wasn’t sure if he was going to ask any of them, afraid of getting an undesirable answer, but when he noticed that she was dragging her feet, taking much longer to finish the chore than typical of her, he spoke up.

“What’s bothering you, angel?”

“Nothing,” she quickly replied, in an almost knee-jerk like reaction.

“Something clearly is,” he argued. “You haven’t said a word to me since I woke up. Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head vigorously. “It’s not you. I promise. It has nothing to do with you.” She paused, frowning at her choice of words. “Well, it does have something to do with you, but not in the way you’re probably thinking.”

Pero was not even a little comforted by her statement. “What is it then?”

She turned away from the clean dishes she was wiping dry to face him and gestured to the chair by the bed. “You should probably sit for this.”

He followed her suggestion though it confused him, and stared back up at her, hands on his knees. “I am seated. What now?”

She sucked in a deep breath, and when she released it, she was still a bundle of nerves. He could see that she had to force herself to meet his eyes. It was strange behavior from her. She’d never been this anxious around anyone, except when they’d been facing ill-intentioned men out on the trail, and none of those types were in the room with them.

“Pero,” she said slowly, voice unsteady. “I’m pregnant.”

Those words knocked the air out of his lungs. She’d been wise to have him sit down. He couldn’t remember another time he’d been rendered breathless by someone else’s words, but the meaning behind hers warranted it.

His eyes darted to her stomach, and for the first time, he studied it with a keen eye. His jaw dropped slightly as he noted the subtitle curve to it, the kind of roundness only pregnant women had.

“How?” he inquired, eyes wide, stunned. “You could not conceive for twelve years. What changed?”

“I mulled over that for the entirety of breakfast,” she admitted. “And the only conclusion I could come up with is that I wasn’t the one who was infertile. He was.” She chuckled to herself, disbelief in her eyes. “All that time he blamed me when it was he who couldn’t get me pregnant.”

Pero clasped his hands together, rested his elbows on his knees, and pressed his joined hands against his mouth as it all sank in.

She hadn’t been barren after all. Her husband had been sterile. And the evidence for it was that she was pregnant with his child.

The number of different emotions that washed over him was overwhelming. Panic, fear, pride, and most surprisingly wonder took the lead.

“Are you mad?” he heard her ask timidly.

His head shot up and he noted how she’d turned into herself, with her right hand seemingly shielding her tiny bump. An automatic protective reflex he’d witnessed expectant mothers have when they were worried. Seeing that reaction from her made his heart jump.

He rose to his feet and strolled over to her to give her arms a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not mad,” he promised her gently. “I’m just processing it.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” she told him, eyes downcast. “The only reason you didn’t take any precautions is because I said I couldn’t get pregnant.”

“You couldn’t have known it wasn’t you,” Pero said, rubbing her arms reassuringly and kissing her forehead tenderly. “It will be alright. We’ll figure it out. This only means that we have a deadline on figuring out where we want to live.”

She nodded quickly and met his eyes, hers far more watery than he’d have liked. He hated seeing her so upset. “Did you ever want children? We never talked about it.”

“I never truly thought about it,” he replied honestly. “I did once conclude that I might die in battle, and if I ever had any offspring, I wouldn’t likely know of them.” He let a hand drift downward, over her ribs, to her waist, and anchored it there with a gentle grasp for a moment before allowing his fingertips to fan out between her hips. 

He smiled at the feel of her soft swell beneath his hand, as he became certain of his emotions and what he wanted. As joy bloomed in his chest. “This is much better than that. And not just because it doesn’t involve dying.”

She chuckled at his last sentence, and when he glanced back up to her there was a bright, hopeful expression on her face. “You think so? You want this?” The happiness in her voice acted like a vise on his heart.

“I do,” Pero confirmed, leaning his forehead against hers, knowing she found it comforting. “You?”

“More than anything,” she admitted with a blissful sigh. “Before I was married off, before I thought I was barren, I’d dreamed of having children with a man I loved. I want no more.” 

He swallowed hard at the profound confession. It was difficult for him to feel worthy of being called a dream come true. “I love you as well, angel. And I will love and protect this child, our child, as I do you.” He meant it with every fiber of his being.

She pushed herself away from him, mouth spread out into a broad smile. “I could ask for nothing more.”

He gave her a peck on the cheek and walked her over to the bed, gesturing for her to sit on the edge. Once she had, he fondly cupped her face with his right hand. “How have you been?”

“Alright,” she answered, tilting her head to lightly kiss his palm. “I’ve been sick a few times, and I’m a little tired right now, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He pursed his lips, knowing that even if she was downplaying it, she wouldn’t admit it to him. Tough as ever, his angel was. Or maybe just stubborn. “Of course not.” He kissed her cheek again. “Come back to bed with me for a little while. Get some extra rest before we hit the trail once more.”

“Only if that’s not all we do,” she teased playfully, her hand grasping onto his shirt.

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her. “You want to celebrate, angel?”

She gave him a sure nod.

“Then lay back sweetheart,” he ordered firmly. “Let me take care of you.”

She grinned at him as she let herself fall back on the bed and scooted up on it high enough so he could climb on and kneel between her legs.

He grinned back at her and crushed his lips against hers excitedly as she threaded her fingers in his hair, humming happily as he explored her mouth. 

He took his time, being thorough about it as he undressed her, before moving down to her neck, then her chest, sucking and licking at her skin attentively as he bared it. He paused when his mouth found her soft belly, lingering there to meet her eyes meaningfully, before giving it a feather light kiss that a stranger would never know he was capable of. She beamed when it was accompanied by a quick nuzzle.

It was such a sweet moment that she was blindsided when he threw her his classic devilish smirk and dipped his head between her thighs, getting to work.

He didn’t stop until she was shaking uncontrollably underneath him.

x

It really was like a dream, cresting the hill on horseback to view the new home you and Pero had chosen out. It was a cottage, twice the size of the one you’d stayed in while he had healed, but just as homey, and less dusty. The previous owners had just moved a month or so ago to a village far away. It had been like fate, the cottage becoming owner free right around the time you’d realized you were pregnant. 

The land was lovely too, sitting in a lush green valley that probably got a lot of sun in the summer, but with it situated at a higher altitude the area was guaranteed to have cooler seasons than most elsewhere. You were, oddly enough, looking forward to it.

By then you and Pero would be parents, the village midwife having estimated that you would deliver in early spring.

There would be a lot to do before then, a lot of things to fret over, but for that day you’d decided to live in the moment.

You patted your mare’s neck and glanced over to Pero, who shared a smile with you before leading the way to your new home. 

He helped you off her to make sure you wouldn’t fall while dismounting and guided the horses into the old but sturdy barn a few yards away while you wandered the interior of the stone house, marveling at the architecture until it was time to cook supper.

The night was as busy as the day had been, with you and Pero moving in your belongings and setting up the furniture as you saw fit.

Once you were done though, you both were able to retire to bed knowing that the worst was over. Nearly as exhausted as you were, Pero pressed up against your back, an arm draped over you, holding you close as his hand splayed protectively over your unquestionably swollen belly. His breath quickly evened out as he fell into a peaceful sleep, and you smiled into the darkness, trying to remember a time you’d felt happier and failing.

Pero had been right. You would’ve never fit into his previous life, but that was alright, because it was clear that he could fit into yours.

xxx

Masterlist

My Fanfic Masterlist

[mylordshesacactus]

The Feathered Serpent Part III

Or: In Which The Gang Gets Negged By A Primordial Arch-Snake From Before The Dawn Of Time.

The first to step forward, swallowing her fear and stumbling into the unknown, is, of course, our paladin Andromeda. She asks her question, opens her mouth to follow it up, and--

Time stops.

The entire five-part set of negotiations goes by in the span of half a second, the entire party bound in a telepathic circle--witnessing, but unable to interfere, as each must decide for themselves.

And damn, though: The Feathered Serpent is not cruel by nature--too ancient for it, she's above such things--but they're not here to hold back, either. She challenges each of the party in turn, laying out her offer, sometimes encouraging them to look at it with new eyes and sometimes just goading them to see what they do with it.

The sacrifice she asks of them is not small. It's the traditional price; a warlock pact. A lifetime in her service, acting as her eyes, gathering information and rare magics and ancient artifacts, in exchange for the full and complete answer to a question important enough to be worth it. The knowledge they seek is too dangerous to handle carelessly. It's not cruelty--there is no retribution for stepping away, deciding that the price she asks is too high. But once the bargain is made it cannot be unmade. She's making sure they enter this agreement of their own free will.

In order, the Feathered Serpent's offers to the party.

Andromeda (Paladin)

Question: Does the Faerie Queen have a weakness we can use to kill her?

Hail indeed, I see; Pelor sends his most beloved. But is that love enough, daughter of the sun? Perhaps the third time will be the charm after all—you who have power and purpose but nothing to do with them. Or when the rift heals and the curtain falls on a world saved, will you be left exactly in the place you started? Shall I grant wisdom where it will not be used? I do not let go what I have won so lightly, even for the fire of the sun itself. Give me a reason.

Andromeda agonizes for a timeless moment; she has no objection to helping the Feathered Serpent as long as the missions aren't hurting innocents, but while they remind her that their many eyes are precious resources and driving them to rebellion and thus death is senseless as it means they lose those agents, they will not make this easier by giving her any assurance that she will be able to just refuse requests without consequence or allowed to prioritize Pelor's will over the Serpent's--that isn't how this works.

While Andromeda wrestles with her loyalties, in the same moment-outside-time:

Farrah (Fighter)

Question: Is there anything we can give the faerie queen as a bribe in exchange for the spellbound dominion?

No. Try again.

Farrah (Fighter), Take II

Question: Is there anything within our means that could get the Winter Court to invade the Summer Court?

Child of two worlds, you interest me beyond your mother’s blood. A warrior who seeks to create; child of a legend who chooses anonymity; the half-devil plainspoken to a fault. What might you become, free to choose? What answers might you seek? What might you do with power?

Next: Our wizard.

Audie (Wizard)

Question: How to separate the planes and close the portals.

You hesitate. Why? What great plan, what purpose do you fear to lose, child? Are you not halfway mine already? Farm girl, archivist, second best always, the one left behind…you think me cruel to say it. Child, you will know venom when I mean for it to sting. You are a seeker without direction—and I who have ten thousand thousand eyes still cannot see all. Know all. I would make you ten thousand and first, grant you my mark and my teeth—and ask no service of you but the knowledge we both desire.

Nimbus (Ranger)

Question: How do we lure the Queen out of the Faewild? (This had been previously established as one of the possible ways of weakening the Summer Court and likely an essential part of any ability to distract or weaken the fae army and give any plan a better chance of succeeding.)

Do you tire of the silence, rootless one? If it was peace you sought, young hunter, you would not have left your home. And when this great purpose is resolved, what then? Shall you return to the house that strangles your breath in your chest? Turn soldier inside stone walls? Dragon-caves are the least of the secrets in your world. What purpose is served by a deepwoods path not followed? I would have you go where I cannot.

Max (Bard)

Question: Is there a way within our capacities to cause a civil war in the summer court and, if so, is it more likely to let us succeed in our mission than convincing the winter court to invade?

(He is cut off halfway through the word "and". The deal is one answer, not two, it doesn't become one question just because it's joined by a conjunction.)

Ah…the man who would not be spymaster. A born liar’s tongue is wasted on you…but it is yours to waste. Still. It is a poor bard with no regard for the power of a story. The words we use shape everything—in this world and in your own. What stories will live and die without ever being sung? What golden truths will be twisted and buried beneath mortal sewage, with none to speak on their behalf? Can you live with that, little fiddler? When a word from you now could give you the power to change it?

Also, you're not slick, I saw that second question coming. Bards.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

You have previously mentioned, several times, holidays you created for yourself that you celebrate now instead of the holidays you were brought up celebrating. I respect it, I respect it. But as a person whose love language is giving gifts to the people I love based on their interests, I have to know... do any of these holidays you've created involve gift giving?

BILBO'S BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

It's a work in progress, so traditions are not set, but because it's actually celebrating both him and Frodo at the same time, and the hobbits are great party people, I figured it was a lovely way to add a celebration that includes the usual call for big festivities. So yes, big yummy meals, large gatherings, and exchanging gifts are all in order, possible dressing up and maybe a DND one shot are some things I've considered too, but of course any LOTR fan is welcome to create their own traditions around it in the spirit of all things Tolkien.

Current holidays so far:

March 15 - The Ides of March. Traditions include getting a tattoo and/or piercing in the event of "getting stabbed", buying Little Caesars pizza

June - Pride Month. Self explanatory.

June 19 - Juneteenth. I'm white and currently don't have any black friends to celebrate with; hopefully that changes. I either donate or support black owned businesses or charity foundations.

August 23 - Chandrayaan-3 Moon Landing Day. Yay space! But specifically landing on the dark side of the moon. Space themed activities encouraged. This is, of course, very new.

September 22 - Bilbo and Frodo's birthday. Food, friends, gifts, general geeky shit of the Jirt nature.

October 9 - Indigenous Peoples Day. Once again, I'm white, so there's not exactly any cultural traditions I've felt appropriate to take part in. I try either donating or supporting indigenous owned businesses or charity foundations. I typically will get something from Ioway Bee Farm.

October 31 - Halloween/Samhain. I mean, that's the accepted time of year. I personally just enjoy Halloween spirited things year round, but October especially is when I can get other people in on the bit. It's Espooky Gay Pride!

November 24 - Native American Heritage Day. Same as October 9th.

New Years Eve - Self explanatory.

This list will certainly be added to and edited in the future. The attitude behind creating these new traditions is to decolonize and de-Christianize the nature of my celebrations. I'm happy to share these with other people and encourage everyone to find a way to celebrate and commemorate life and their beliefs in a way that truly harmonizes with their ideals and their loved ones. If anything here doesn't jive with you, no worries! There's plenty of existing holidays, both religious and secular, to take part in, so long as they're done respectfully. Creating your own is one of the best things about life, IMO. No one can take that away from you.