#ethical climbing practices

[wanderguidehub]

Vertical Escapes: Climbing and Mountaineering in Boulder Canyon, CO

Scaling New Heights Welcome to Boulder Canyon, an iconic climbing destination nestled in the heart of Colorado. With its diverse rock formations, challenging routes, and breathtaking vistas, this canyon offers a haven for climbing and mountaineering enthusiasts of all levels. Whether you’re a novice seeking a thrilling introduction or a seasoned climber chasing new challenges, Boulder Canyon…

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

[justabeewithapen]

i bet Chiquitita grew up not being able to do any general roughhousing because of his condition </3 but now the kids are helping him get caught up with important childhood milestones such as: climbing and falling out of trees, hitting each other with sticks, running with sharp objects, mudball fights, and other common child deathgames! poor Mr Shrimp is having a rough time adjusting

(And some close ups)

I have so many thoughts on this ask, I am so sorry XD

Firstly, Mr. Shrimp is 1000% having a rough time adjusting, and for very good reason. While we don't know what Chiquitita has (and I tried to do some research to get a rough idea of this sort of thing in humans) we for sure know he has to be anemic to some degree--or whatever their species's version of that would be. Before they had a consistent source of blood transfusions I am sure that Chiquitita was practically bed ridden at times, frequent blood loss makes it hard to do anything without getting woozy and sick. Now that they have that source he can do a lot more, but he still has limits that are way under where a kid his age actually should be. If it wasn't for his work ethic and Chiquitita's insistence he was okay, Mr. Shrimp would be walking Chiki to school almost every day. The idea that his son can just, do things now, hasn't really clicked. Chiki (who is roughly 6-7-ish seeing as he is a first grader) is actually fairly aware of his own limits, but, with the encouragement of both other kids (<- link to a bonus chapter) and his babysitters, he has been trying to push them. We know from one of extras staring Chiquitita (<- read this bonus chapter first) that he probably doesn't have much interest in play fighting, but I feel like he would be very into athletics. Still, no matter how well he thinks he knows his limits he has 100% had to be picked up from school or brought home after getting faint. Those are the moments where Mr. Shrimp probably gets a bit too smothery, he is the biggest cry baby but I can't even blame him. This is where I dive headfirst into total headcanon territory, but I know this man has some intense insecurities about his ability to raise his son and finding the balance there is so hard. He has the space and time to think about this sorts of things instead of trying to survive day-by-day and I know it is eating him alive. He very openly blames himself for the death of his wife when he explains his backstory. He calls himself an alien word that very clearly is meant to be something like "Weakling" or "pathetic" and you can just feel the hate oozing off the page. He has issues. How long was he fighting every day just to see the next and make sure his family could too, like, this is the stuff I am talking about when I say he has PTSD. He was 100% willing to beat a teenager unconscious for the sake of a paycheck. (I know his singing is def just because he is kind of a silly guy, but imagine if he was doing it to distract himself from his horrible job. Singing about his son to remind him why he was there, do you see the vision????) I am constantly thinking about how his and Acrosilkie's stories are so similar, only, he came out of it with a good ending. Even when his life was safe and his son was safe he felt so indebted to the gang that he was willing to die in the Space Globalist Arc for a battle that wasn't even any of his business!! His life is the only thing he feels he can offer that is of any value man.... Anyway!! Do we think that Mr. Shrimp and Chiki bleed red when they are in their human disguises, or white still? I am leaning towards white but idk how I want to handle their shapeshifting fully. Also, hopefully I articulated my thoughts here okay T-T My brain is too full of them. (ASKS STILL VERY MUCH OPEN!!)

[kdogreads]

Dirty Gibbs smut please & or Christmas Santa smut?

Honestly the image of Gibbs in a Santa suit is too much for me to handle 😂🥵🎅

Merry everything, sweetie pies!!

“Please, baby,” You whine from outside your bedroom door, “Just a little peak?”

“What’s in it for me, Mrs. Claus?” Jethro’s gruff voice had an unusual lilt to it as he cracked the door open barely an inch.

“Anything you want, Santa,” You answer a little too excitedly, not even slight sexy.

He lets out a huff and swings the door open wide. You stare with glee as he lifts his hands up and motions as if to say, Happy now?

It’s quite a sight to see — Jethro Gibbs, known for his cold demeanor and unwavering work ethic, dressed up in a full Santa suit complete with black work boots, a fuzzy red hat and his home-grown, lush white beard. It was so adorable, and somehow still so Jethro.

You can’t deny it, he looks a little ridiculous is his get up, but they needed someone to play Santa your work Christmas party, and you were quick to volunteer your husband up for the task.

“Anything at all?” He questions playfully, an eyebrow raising up so that it’s just barely shows from under the white fluff of his hat.

The pure domesticity and wholesomeness of his costume should remind you of all the sweet reasons you married him. He’s fun and will do anything to make you happy and loves to be around kids, but somehow, even with his fake rounded belly and gaudy red covering every inch of him, a fire starts in your belly. A fire that can only be contained if he takes you to bed. Now.

A sultry smirk spreads across your face as you nod in response, “Anything, Santa.”

You step through the doorway and grab his hand to lead him towards your king-size bed, stopping only to kick off your shoes before climbing on.

“Jetty?” You question sweetly as you start working on the buttons of his red jacket.

He hums in response, sliding his hand up to cup the side of your face. You turn your head to plant a kiss onto his palm before continuing your thought.

“Everything else has to go, but I guess the hat can stay,” You stifle a giggle as he becomes more urgent, hands shoving yours out of the way to make quicker work of all the buttons.

He lets out a low laugh, almost as his he’s practicing his best ho ho ho.

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Claus,” He’s still smiling as he moves to place a peck on your lips before sliding his lips to the shell of your ear, “Anything you want.”

[honeyjars-sims]

3.23 Making an Impression

Part 1 of 2

It’s the day of my hike with Lucy and Lacey. I somehow manage to convince a few other coworkers to come with us even though a lot of us aren’t particularly athletic. Robi, Clara, Quinn, and Lilly are joining us and I’m feeling pretty good about my plan to help Lucy make friends.

While we’re waiting for Lucy and her brother to show up, Lilly shows off her hiking fit. She always has the craziest outfits and they’re usually themed, which is fun.

Today she’s wearing a fishing hat with fabric fish attached to the brim. As Lilly poses for us, Lacey swats at them and they swirl around each other like they’re in a chase. “What’s with the fishing hat?” Lacey asks her.

Lilly starts untangling the fish. “It’s the most outdoorsy thing I own,” she explains. “I thought it really completed the outfit.”

“I think it’s cute,” Clara tells her. “No one said you had to be practical.”

“I don’t think Lilly could be practical if she tried,” Robi laughs.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“I meant it as one!”

“I think that’s Lucy,” Quinn says, looking toward the entrance to the trails. She abruptly slaps herself on the neck, which makes all of us stare at her in confusion. “Mosquito,” she explains, her face flushing red. “They always eat me up.”

Lucy and her crew approach us. A guy I assume is her brother is with her; he looks like the stereotypical Tartosan with his jet black hair and I can see a family resemblance. There's another girl with them, which is great because if there's one thing this trip is lacking, it's female energy.

Lucy introduces them as her brother Paul and his best friend Danica.

Once the introductions are done, we all start making our way up the hiking trail.

“What do you two do?” Clara asks Paul and Danica.

“We’re both students at Foxbury,” Danica answers. “We’re in undergrad now, but I want to be a Psychologist and Paul’s going to be a doctor.”

“Wow, that’s really cool!” Clara replies.

“What kind of doctor do you want to be, Paul?” inquires Lacey.

“I’m not sure yet,” Paul admits. “I want to wait until I’ve done a few clinical rotations in med school before I settle on anything.”

“That’s really wise,” Lilly says, sounding impressed.

All of the girls make their way towards Paul as soon as they hear the word "doctor." They start talking to him about his bright future.

Wow, Paul, it’s so cool that you got a full ride scholarship!

You must be really smart!

I love when guys have a strong work ethic!

I hate to admit that I start feeling a bit irritated. A few weeks ago they all gushed over me when they saw my drawing, but now it doesn’t seem as impressive.

We come to a cliff that Lucy informs us is a popular climbing spot. “If you feel confident in your climbing skills you can go up this way. Otherwise the trail takes you to the top,” she explains.

“I think I’ll climb up,” Paul says confidently. The girls look at him in admiration. I can practically see the hearts forming in their eyes.

I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I blurt out, “Yeah, me, too.”

As soon as we begin to scale the rocks, I realize I made a big mistake. Why would I think climbing was a good idea? I don’t have any experience and Paul is clearly in better shape. Of course, he reaches the top of the wall with no problem and I’m left struggling halfway up. All I can think about is how badly I need a cigarette.

“Johnny, do you want to just climb back down?” Lacey calls up, with more concern in her voice than I feel comfortable acknowledging.

“No, I’m good,” I lie. It takes what seems like forever for me to get near the top. Every passing second just fills me with more embarrassment.

As I approach the top of the cliff, I see Paul crouch down at the edge and reach his hand out. “Need some help?” he offers.

No, nope, not going to happen! I scream internally, but then I start to lose my footing. Faced with the possibility of this horrible moment being my last one on earth and forever cementing me in everyone's memories as The Dumbass Who Fell Off a Mountain Trying to Impress Girls, I see no better option than to take Paul’s hand. I feel defeated, but at least I still have the rest of my life ahead of me to try and save face.

“I have a lot of climbing experience,” Paul tells me once I’m secure at the top of the cliff.

“No problem, I was just trying to be funny.” Liar! Now that the moment is over and done with, I realize I’m more embarrassed by trying to engage in some sort of macho competition for the girls’ attention than I am in my lack of skill. It’s not the sort of thing I usually do.

“Oh, okay,” Paul responds. He doesn’t sound convinced but at least he doesn’t call me out.

“Are you okay?” Lacey asks me once we catch up with the others.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her. Just a bruised ego is all.

“We’re almost to the top!” Lucy exclaims. We round the corner and Lucy guides us to the edge. “Be careful,” she warns, and I ignore that she’s looking right at me when she says it.

Cautiously, I peek down over the edge. I’m surprised at how much of the city I can see. It doesn’t seem like we went that high up, but laid out below us are hundreds of buildings and trees that seem surreal in their tininess. “Cool,” is all I can manage to say.

“I can see the studio!” Lilly points below, and the rest of us look excitedly at the building we spend 5 days a week in. It’s funny how something we see everyday seems so much more impressive when it’s viewed it from a different angle.

“There’s where the food truck parks!” Clara shouts and we all turn our heads like we’ve discovered a hidden treasure.

“Great, now I want tacos,” I joke, and I feel the embrace of laughter surrounding me. Maybe the day won’t be a total waste.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[marriso1]

Part one:

Severus Snape wasn’t the gift giving type, even in his youth the amounts of time he’d spend shopping for such had been very little, dwindling down to searching for only one for the majority of his school years. Thus, Severus was greatly befuddled when beginning to christmas shop for Harry. The child had been taken in by him at the young age of ten, after the discovery of how horribly his relatives had treated him. He hadn’t personally shopped for really anyone in awhile, let alone a child.

The malfoys had revoked his gift giving rights to Draco the moment he’d been born, claiming that he wouldn’t be able to match a gift to their standards. This didn’t bother Severus as they were most definitely right and thus didn’t mind once they forged his name down on a present they picked themselves.

So, there stood Severus in the middle of Hogsmeade without the slightest idea of what to do. Severus needed to make sure the gift he got for Harry made up for the many years he went without. He refused to return home without securing the best for him. Severus decided to think about the things Harry had taken an interest in, DADA, magical history, art, and unfortunately quidditch. He had gotten some books pertaining to the first two. Two focused on the research to be studied surrounding the subjects while another set he had bought were more childlike flip books, including nicely drawn illustrations and glittery pages. Severus decided on buying Harry a sketchbook with graphite and watercolor supplies. He ended up buying several different sketchbooks as they came in different sizes and had particular uses. The art supplies were the best he could find, nothing professional as Harry was very much a child, but nice nonetheless. Severus decided on getting Harry a broom, nothing too complicated, but with add ons to provide Harry with more safety. Harry was ten after all. Severus mainly just hated seeing him in any kind of pain, so he was naturally nervous about him being so infatuated with quidditch.

Severus had felt quite satisfied with what he had gotten Harry, and yet he hadn’t felt as if his duty was complete. He felt as there was something else he needed to get for him. Something that surpassed the gifts according to his likes, he needed to buy something of greater sentimental value. Severus was more practical, relying on ethics and such rather than emotion, especially in his later adult years. Yet, he knew exactly what he should get for Harry.

Severus found himself wandering down a toy isle, and there lie the perfect option. A stuffed bat that smelt of rosemary, by the looks of the stuffed animal it had been handmade, it was beautifully crafted. As the two had grown closer, Harry had begun to tease Severus, remarking that he was like a giant bat. He found himself fondly thinking of Harry’s progress so far. When he had first been introduced, he had been quite quiet, flinching at every raised hand, tiptoeing through the house. Harry had worn a solemn expression. An expression that had quickly faded as he got used to Severus. He had become quite loud, which Severus hadn’t minded and would only not mind if it was Harry. You could hear his footsteps from a mile away. He’d practically climb on Severus now, as Harry saw him as his outlet for comfort. Again, Severus didn’t mind that Harry’s main love language seemed to be physical touch, nor that it had been him to receive it. Of course, it would only be Harry who would be allowed to hug him, or lie next to him as a storm raged on outside. He thought of the bat as the perfect present, as it was symbolic of how far he had come and how much he’s grown into his own person, not the shell he was molded into. He had also taken into an account that Harry was quite clingy, so the stuffed animal also serving as a reminder of Severus would serve as extra comfort. Although Harry had become comfortable with Severus, he had still ways to go with others, particularly adults. Most kids had tormented or avoided him, seeing him as what the adults would whisper about him. Adults however, were far more harmful. It took a lot of self control not to deal with Harry’s relatives himself.

Suddenly, on top of all his previous gifts, Severus had found himself shoveling a treacle tart, a fine selection of winter sweaters and jackets, a variety of wizarding toys, and a gingerbread house kit into his inventory, along with several types of wrapping paper. He found that he wasn’t frustrated with the hole the venture had left in his wallet.

He was however, appalled with himself, especially the night he set the gifts out. He had gone into the trip with getting a singular gift in mind. The christmas tree which he and Harry had picked and decorated had what looked like a mountain of gifts piled under it. He wasn’t regretful of the gift amount of course, as he couldn’t see Harry’s first real christmas going any other way. Or any future ones for that matter. The warm feeling brought upon him couldn’t smother the desolate feeling when thinking about Harry’s past christmas experiences. He had been forced to watch his relatives open their luxurious gifts while he’d been gifted the likes of tissues. No matter what it took, Severus would make sure to always have gifts prepared for Harry. It hurt him to know that Harry would never enjoy the belief of Santa claus. Petunia had him wrap his cousins presents since his was quite young.

It was early christmas morning and Severus heard Harry’s footsteps come downstairs and freeze as he made it to the living room. He turned to see the child’s mouth wide open, his face portraying a state of shock. Severus had waited until the night before christmas to put the gifts under the tree.

“What’s all of this doing here?” Harry questioned.

“It’s for you, Harry. You didn’t think you’d go without some gifts today could you?” Severus answered.

If it was humanly possible, Harry’s jaw dropped even lower. He walked over and stood in front of the tree, taking in the sight before him.

“Some?” Harry teased.

“All of this. All of this is for me?”

“Yes, every single last one.”

He watched fondly as Harry opened every single gift, gasping at the unveil of each present. Severus watched his smile grow even bigger once he mentioned the treacle tart in the kitchen. You couldn’t imagine his surprise when Harry had went upstairs to return with exactly eight different christmas cards. Each with their own unique designs and individual passages of writing. He was wished about several Merry Christmases. Harry explained that he couldn’t choose just one. Severus had his favorite of the cards, of course. It had been the one featuring himself and Harry. It had detailed how much Harry’s life had changed since moving in with Severus, and how happy he was to have him. It remarked adventures the two had gone on, and some of their favorite memories made together. He could feel his expression soften once more, a smile forming on his lips. He gently thanked Harry and went to grab a purposely hidden present under the tree.

Severus watched as Harry had unwrapped it. There was no reason to explain the gift as the moment Harry had seen the stuffed bat it was as if he understood immediately. He watched a little notice escape from Harry’s mouth before his eyes began to fill with tears. Severus reached for Harry, who had welcomed the embrace immediately. Severus tightly held Harry, knowing that if he’s done anything right, it would’ve been this. He had realized nothing had made him Happier than seeing his boys face light up the way it did today. It was as if the sun itself been in the same room as him.

As they both grew older, Severus found the people he needed to christmas shop for increase. He’d been granted gift giving rights by the Malfoy’s again. He’d couldn’t also help getting trinkets for each of Harry’s friends besides Draco. Books for Hermione, chess sets and candies for Ron, trinkets for Luna, herbology equipment for Neville, wizarding robes for both Draco and Blaise. Being a parent sure had made severus soft. No matter whose presents had entered the area under his tree, the majority would always contain things for his son.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Hello! Recently my family discovered a place called "Sustainable Safari" that promised people they could pet kangaroos and see exotic wildlife. It ended up being a store in a mall, with no windows and claustrophobic amounts of space. I don't know enough about kangaroos or the behavior of the other animals, but they seemed lethargic, one kangaroo was attacking another and had to be wrestled by an employee, and one weasel-like creature was running and pacing the length of his cage. Is there somewhere I could report this place to? Or some sort of welfare check?

Oh America why are you like this? Researching this place gave me psychic damage so I apologise for the long winded response.

What you've described sounds like an absolute nightmare. So I looked through their website... And it's... really bad. They boast over 100 species - they have a Coati! Binturongs! Capybaras! Thomson Gazelles! In a mall in very small enclosures! And they say they're getting even more species! What the heeckkkkkk

Most of them are species that have absolutely no business being in a mall under artificial light all day - including endangered and threatened species and nocturnal species (Bush Babies have eyes specifically for seeing the the dark but sure lets flood them with light all day). This facility is very much prioritising "exotic" encounters over practical and reasonable species with the welfare of the animals in mind.

Way too many hands on that Binturong - please give him some trees to climb omg

Not appropriate substrate for red kangaroos, no grazing/foraging, way too many animals (not surprising they're probably needing to breed a lot of them for the joey holding)

They also have a timed holding of wild animals (including a need to have a constant supply for kangaroo joeys for holding - just a new form of cub petting with a less regulated species), with nothing said about whether they're rotating multiple animals, if animals are getting breaks ect.

There's no informations about animal living conditions outside of the mall except that they rotated from "a farm" - big red flag for transparency.

I really hate what is essentially "conservation washing" with something like this. They claim this is all about education and conservation of species - but these animals aren't in anything that resembles their wild habitat to make those conservation message connections work. And there's just no way that nocturnal animals and animals that live in very isolated areas of the world - in jungles, rainforests ect. Are appropriate ambassador animals for conservation messages.

I'm actually shocked at this list: https://sustainablesafari.net/safari-species/ this is insane.

The emphasis on each holding being so cheap and only 4 minutes feels like a way to get as many people through the door holding animals. And you'd have to have *a lot* of Fennec Foxes and kangaroo joeys to make that sustainable and not just an animal that's forced to be touched for hours.

Every "Guided Safari" has about 5 time slots which all involve handling and interactions with "exclusive species". It honestly makes me physically ill seeing the species list.

Yeah no animals should be kept like this. Ambassador species should be appropriate for the environment they're brought out into. Not just the most exotic and rare species you can get (seriously how the hell did they get these animals this is insane, not even accredited zoos have some of these species)

Since they're licensed by the USDA, that would be the place to send a complaint. The fact they got a license for interaction programs with these animals is insane to me. USDA is.... not great at holding facilities accountable.

Maybe someone knows more about this facility and will say its fine but honestly I cannot ethically condone any sort of interaction program like this.

[preet-01]

3,B Maxiel:))

3 - Celebrity AU; B - "How did you even find me?"

Daniel had gotten used to how things were in Monaco. No one cared who he was or what summer blockbuster he'd just starred in. There he was just another pretty face with more money than sense and no one cared because he was far from the richest person there.

But Daniel wasn't in Monaco anymore, or LA and New York. And he definitely wasn't in Perth where people had seen him grow up and leave to become a bigshot actor. Instead, he was in Amsterdam for a press tour, and people here weren't used to him.

Shockingly, he had more than a handful of fans in the Netherlands which was a big fucking shock to him. Daniel had found out about it as he got chased by fans from where he'd been buying his mum a gift to wherever he was now... in some shady alleyway. Fuck, he should've listened to Blake when he said that Daniel should take his new bodyguard with him. But no, Daniel had wanted to blend in with the crowd (and it definitely wasn't because Daniel didn't know how to not make a fool of himself in front of his beefy, thick-thighed, mesmerizingly blue-eyed bodyguard. It definitely was not because of Daniel's inability to be normal around Max.)

Daniel's thinking of how to contact Blake without getting an 'I told you so' when he sees Max. "How did you even find me???!" Daniel questions, utterly shocked to see Max.

"Find My Friends," Max replies with his phone held up. Of course. "Hop on," Max says, and while Daniel has thought of that more than he'd admit to Max, he doesn't think it would be practical for them to fuck while there are hundreds of fans and paparazzi looking for him.

"What?"

"Hop onto my back," Max clarifies, "I don't have a car or a bike. So it will be easier for you to be on my back."

"On your back?" So Max doesn't want to fuck in the alleyway, pity, Daniel could've been easily convinced to drop his pants.

"You will be able to hide your face in the space between my neck and I can run us back to the hotel with no one figuring out that it is you," Max explains as if it was very obvious, which it wasn't, but Daniel won't say that now. Right now he'll climb Max like the tree he is and wonder how ethical it would be to seduce his bodyguard. He'd seen enough movies about people falling in love with their bodyguards, hell he'd been in one himself. Maybe he should watch it for some creative inspiration.

[ali-anne-undertale-stoof]

Happy New Year! Here's a chapter with a shift in the narrative!

Chapter 14: Papyrus Gets Schooled!

Papyrus was a lot of things. Great, cool, amazing, intelligent, funny, bold, clever, witty. And after this video goes up, he can add popular to that list of positive adjectives that describe him. He's been keeping up with the trends! He knows what the people like! And it doesn't involve drinking bleach this time!

And all he needed to make this video perfect was the company of his dear brother.

"SANS!!! SANS!!!" Papyrus called out, practically leaping off the stairs. "SANS, I HAVE AN AMAZING IDEA FOR A VIDEO, AND I PROMISE, IT DOESN'T INVOLVE ANYTHING DANGEROUS!!! OH, YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE IT, THESE PEOPLE ARE PLAYING VIDEO GAMES AND-"

"that's nice, bro."

Papyrus slowed down to see what Sans was actually doing. Putting on actual sneakers? Tying his shoelaces? Getting his phalanges stuck in the laces? Struggling to untie them, which ironically tangled them up even more? What was he up to?

"SANS, AREN'T YOU GOING TO...?"

"sorry, bro. i got work. those hotdogs aren't gonna sell themselves. and besides, we got bills to pay."

"SANS, DON'T YOU REMEMBER THE MONEY WE GOT FROM THAT RESORT?"

"yeah, and we spent it. we gotta get some more, y'know? otherwise we won't have electricity."

Progress on untangling Sans' phalanges from his shoelaces was slow, but he's getting the job done.

Sans hates shoelaces.

"OH, WELL... I APPLAUD YOUR WORK ETHIC, BROTHER!" Disappointed? Papyrus wasn't disappointed! He was proud! Yeah, totally!

But he couldn't deny that Sans was right. They did have bills to pay. The video can wait.

Sans finally managed to get his phalanges unstuck. "thanks, bro. see ya after work. love you."

"I LOVE YOU TOO!"

And just like that, Sans was gone.

Oh, well...

--------

The next day, Papyrus set up one of his (and Sans') favourite video games: Super Monster Brawl! It's been a while since he hung out with his brother! Surely, this would be the perfect time to do so!

"HEY, SANS! I BET I COULD TOTALLY BEAT YOU IN SUPER MONSTER BRAWL! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE A STRATEGY THAT COULD... BLOW YOU AWAY?" He snickered to himself at the pun. Especially since his selected character was an air elemental. His favourite.

Unfortunately, Sans didn't look as receptive.

"yeah, sorry, bro. i have a gig tonight."

"O-OH." Papyrus initially deflated, but then he had an idea that perked him up again. "WELL, HOW ABOUT I COME WITH YOU?! I'D LOVE TO SEE YOUR AWFUL JOKES IN ACTION."

"bro, as much as i would like you to be there, do you have a reservation?"

And Papyrus' smile was gone. That said enough.

Sans sighed. "sorry... i'll get alphys to record it for you, alright?"

Papyrus deflated almost instantly. "OKAY... J-JUST MAKE SURE YOU DON'T GET CRUSHED BY A CONCRETE SUN!"

Sans laughed. "okay, i won't. love you, bro."

"LOVE YOU..."

The door closed. Once again, Papyrus was alone. Darn.

"WELL... LOOKS LIKE I'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL SANS COMES BACK!"

And thus, Papyrus played. Over and over. Round after round. Until midnight struck.

Click!

Papyrus whipped his head around, and his face lit up when he saw who came through the door.

"SANS! WELCOME HOME! HOW WAS YOUR SHOW? DO YOU WANT TO PLAY NOW?"

Sans didn't respond. Instead, he wobbled over to the sofa, his eyes drooped shut... and promptly collapsed. His snores reverberated through the living room.

For what felt like the millionth time, Papyrus deflated. Of course he was tired. Who wouldn't be when you work so much? And, of course, Papyrus was the one who had to take Sans to bed. Where would Sans be without him, hm?

Cradling his sleepy brother like a young child, Papyrus climbed the stairs and placed Sans in his crusty mattress. He really needed a proper bed, he thought. And a good clean, by the looks of things.

Looking down at Sans' sleeping figure, the taller couldn't help but feel... disappointed. It's like he never had time for him anymore. No games, no videos, no...

"...HMPH. YOU DIDN'T EVEN READ ME A BEDTIME STORY." Yet another thing Papyrus missed out on. "GOOD NIGHT, SANS."

And with that, he left.

Is Sans always going to work himself to the bone like this? Does he even have time for him anymore? What is a brother to do?

--------

A new day, a new opportunity to hang out with...

Papyrus bounded out the front door, his mind full of ideas. They could build snow castles! Or explore the woods and find something new! Or maybe...

Or maybe they could check the bills in the mailbox?

Seemed like Sans already had a head start on that.

Not the most fun thing in the world, according to Sans' body language. Papyrus' face fell as he observed his brother, who leaned against his mailbox only to bounce his knee rapidly. Now, Papyrus wouldn't necessarily call himself the best when it comes to reading expressions, shockingly enough, but he knows his brother. The way his eyes darted around, the tightness of his grip while he read the paper, his strained smile that tried way too hard to look nonchalant... Seemed like they were having money problems again.

Papyrus bit down on his scarf. It definitely needs another repair soon, but that's besides the point. For once, Papyrus felt that... there was something wrong. Seriously wrong. This arrangement wasn't working for either of them. As it was, Papyrus isn't doing anything except fail to find jobs and drift around haplessly seeking out friendship, all the while Sans had taken on multiple jobs just to make ends meet.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't good.

For once, Papyrus felt... useless. And that just won't do! The Great Papyrus is always useful! He can prove it! He just has to... has to...

What can he do?

Tap tap tap tap tap...

What job does Sans have today?

...

His hot dog stand. He always sets up his hotdog stand on Tuesdays.

His scarf fell out of his mouth as he smiled. An idea struck. A great idea, actually! A marvellous idea! An idea that would benefit both brothers!

--------

This job was pretty boring, Sans thought. It's always the same. Make hotdogs, sell hotdogs, maybe throw in a couple of jokes here and there, but most of the time, it's mostly the same boring questions. "Small, medium or large?" "Ketchup or mustard?" "How was your day?" Just thinking about having to ask those questions again made Sans want to bang his head on the crate.

So he did.

"uuuugggh."

Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch...

Another customer, huh? Welp. Time to get his customer service face on.

Sans looked up at the would-be customer, ready to greet, only to stop short when he realised who he was about to greet.

His face brightened significantly. "hey, bro. i didn't take you for the hot dog type. i thought you hated greasy foods."

"NO!" A facepalm. "I MEAN, I DO! BUT I WAS JUST THINKING... YOU'VE BEEN PROVIDING FOR BOTH OF US AND I THOUGHT..."

Sans blinked, patiently waiting for Papyrus to finish. Spotting this, Papyrus steeled his resolve.

"I WANT TO WORK WITH YOU, SANS!"

Sans blinked again, absolutely dumbfounded. Papyrus? Working at a HOTDOG stand? Why?

"uhh, really?"

"YES, REALLY!" This was the most effort put into Papyrus' cheerful persona Sans had ever seen. Is he okay? "I JUST FIGURED, YOU'VE BEEN WORKING HARD AND I DON'T HAVE A JOB AT THE MOMENT."

Not for lack of trying, of course. For some reason, people kept rejecting his job applications. What's wrong with a resume underlining his best qualities in his own font? It's practically Papyrus!

Oh, why does Sans look so unsure? That didn't look like the face of a monster who was on board with letting his brother work alongside him!

Papyrus stepped around the crate and sat at Sans' side as his eyes softened. If spending years and years with Sans had taught him anything, it's that being gentle and kind was the best way to convince him to do anything. Except pick up his sock. Or do any chores really. But at this point, Papyrus no longer blamed him.

"IT COULD ALSO BE NICE TO, YOU KNOW... SPEND SOME TIME TOGETHER, BROTHER! YOU'VE SPENT A LOT OF TIME OUT OF THE HOUSE AND WELL... YOU COULD USE A HELPING HAND FROM SOMEONE YOU TRUST, RIGHT?"

Well, he does trust Papyrus... But that's not the thing that tipped Sans over. He studied Papyrus' expression, catching glimpses of kindness, eagerness, anticipation... and a bit of sadness. Sans knew what that meant.

Papyrus was lonely.

Oh god... He's been an awful brother, hasn't he? All Papyrus wants to do is spend time with him, and he was... He acted like HIM. Sans never wanted to act like him. Not in a million years.

He has to turn this around.

"well, if you want to." Sans sat back and lounged, trying to come off as nonchalant. "but i gotta warn ya, it's very greasy work."

"W-WELL... I CAN HANDLE IT!!! DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE ME, BROTHER!!!"

"heh heh. never in a million years, bro."

"YEAH, RIGHT!!! NYEH HEH HEH!!! THANK YOU, BROTHER!!! NOW WE CAN WORK TOGETHER!!! THE DREAM TEAM, YOU AND ME!!! TOGETHER!!! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!!"

"yup. together."

And together they worked. And they were making great progress together! At least, Papyrus thought so! He didn't understand why some customers were put off by his sales pitch.

"WEINER DOGS!!! COME AND GET YOUR WEINER DOGS!!! YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT WITH YOUR WEINER DOGS!!! CHOMP THEM, SUCK THEM, DO ARTS AND CRAFTS WITH THEM!!!"

And then when they actually DID get customers...

"say, whaddya want?"

"I'd like a-"

"PUZZLE DOG?"

...

"What's a puzzle dog?"

"I CARVED IT INTO A PUZZLE!!!"

"Wow... How much?"

"20g."

"O... kay."

Who wants to solve a puzzle dog? Well, at least the customer brought it.

With an hour left of the shift, the brothers quickly grew bored. Well... what better way to pass the time than messing with your brother?

SLAP!

"WHAT THE? HEY!!!"

"what?"

"DID YOU JUST HIT ME WITH A HOT DOG?"

"no..."

Sure. Papyrus could clearly see the water sausage behind Sans' back. But instead of pointing that out, he decided to make it fair.

SLAP!

"eep! oh, you're on."

The resulting war was legendary. Well, as legendary as slapping your brother's face with a hot dog could get.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that legendary.

Their mediocre sausage battle was, however, quickly interrupted by none other than... Uh oh.

The fuzz... y puppy Royal Guard.

Lesser Dog was patrolling, of course, because why wouldn't she be?! She's a Royal Guard! But the presence of what is supposedly the law around here reminded Papyrus of one very crucial thing about Sans' hotdog stand.

It's illegal.

It's barely even a hotdog stand! It's just a box and some water sausages!!! But he's still technically running a stand without a permit...

And now, by selling hotdogs with him, Papyrus is, too, breaking the law!

And the thought of that made Papyrus PANIC.

"OHH DOG. OHH NO. SANS? SANS!!! WHAT DO WE DO?!"

Sans, who remained as calm as ever, gently put a hand up to placate him.

"relax, bro. lesser ain't exactly the smartest cookie in the box. i'm sure she wouldn't even notice."

...

She noticed.

And now she's bounding over.

Why is Sans so calm about this?

"SANS, WHAT DO WE DO?!"

"relax, bro. i got this." The nonchalant skeleton brother pulled out what looked like a battered up tennis ball. Oh. So that's how he evaded the Royal Guards. Balls.

Doing this job must have taken a lot of balls.

Sans raised the ball up high so Lesser could see it. And unsurprisingly, she immediately spotted it!

"hey, lesser! fetch!" And there it went, straight into the bush! And subsequently, there SHE went too. Sans' hotdog stand was safe. And Papyrus could finally let out that breath he didn't realise he was holding. Where was the air stored anyway?

"PHEW... QUICK THINKING."

"yeah, guard dogs are easily distracted, especially when they're not particularly well-trained."

"THAT... MAKES A LOT OF SENSE."

As Papyrus looked back on what just happened, including the sheer terror he felt when the guard discovered Sans' stand, he realised one thing: He was not cut out for this. Sans only got away with it because of his wit, but Papyrus... While he was witty, of course, he also felt... really bad. Avoiding the Royal Guard, who were definitely popular and cool, felt like an absolute betrayal. Especially since... since...

They were really cool! Not as cool as Papyrus is, of course, but... Royal Guards must be popular, right? They protect monsters and make a lot of friends, not to mention, they're super tough, just like him!

Sans must have caught him staring at the bush Lesser dived into, because he suddenly spoke up.

"hey. you good?"

Papyrus hesitated for a moment. Would it hurt Sans if he told him the truth? Or worse... disappoint him?

No. No, Sans would understand. They're brothers! Papyrus can always be honest with him!

"SANS..."

"hm?"

"IT'S BEEN GREAT, HANGING OUT WITH YOU AGAIN. AND THIS WAS A LOT OF FUN."

"really?"

"REALLY!" Papyrus smiled. "IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE DID SOMETHING TOGETHER, YOU KNOW?"

Sans deflated. "yeah... sorry about that."

No no, pick it back up, pick it back up! "IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT, SANS! IF ANYTHING, I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN A REAL JOB BY NOW..."

"it's okay, bro. i know you're struggling. you'll find one, and then you'll be the backbone of the house again."

Cue the facepalm. "OH MY GOD, SANS!!!"

Cue the laughter.

And the dramatics. And the falling over because Papyrus forgot this so-called "chair" didn't have a back.

"OOF!!!"

"aw, c'mon, pap." Sans leaned over him, smugly smiling, because WHY WOULDN'T HE BE?! "is that any way to behave in a professional world?"

"OH, SHUT IT, YOU!!!"

If Papyrus was going down, he might as well bring Sans down with him! A few moments of tussling later, both brothers were on the floor, laughing.

Laughing... Until it finally stopped.

"hey, pap?"

"YEAH?"

"look... i get where you're coming from. it has been a while since we were able to hang out like this. and... i guess i haven't been the most attentive brother... heh."

The taller brother slowly looked over at the shorter one empathetically. He brought a hand out to touch him...

"but... i had an idea." Sans looked towards his brother beside him and smiled. "once you get a job, i can try to find a way to work alongside you. howzaboudit?"

Papyrus' eyes sparkled. "REALLY?"

"yeah. i have a lot of jobs, but... i dunno, maybe i could set my stand up nearby or work in a place near yours. whatever fits. just as long as we're together, right?"

That sounded... excellent, actually! More than excellent! It was... It was...

"NYEHARVELLOUS!!! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!!"

Sans couldn't help but stifle a chuckle. Seriously? That phrase? It was so silly, yet so appropriate. Ah, he missed his bro.

"THANK GOODNESS YOU SAID THAT, SANS, BECAUSE I DON'T THINK I COULD TAKE THE CRIMINAL LIFE!!!"

Papyrus had no right to be this funny to him. It was criminal in itself.

"yeah, i figured. you tried your best, though. i'm proud of you."

Of course he was proud! Sans will always be proud! But.... Hearing those four little words... It made Papyrus' soul swell in ways he couldn't even describe. But he can't show it! Not in front of his brother! So he acted as cool as he can while he's lying down, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs. Huh. It was kinda similar to Sans' pose actually. It was almost like- NO! It was cool! He wasn't mimicking Sans! Sans was mimicking him! He didn't look up to Sans, it was the other way round! Yeah! Sure!

"WELL, OF COURSE YOU ARE!!! AS YOUR INCREDIBLE BROTHER, I AM ALWAYS FINDING WAYS TO IMPRESS YOU!!! IN FACT, I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO TRY!!"

"hehehe, if you say so."

It was warm smiles all around from there. This might not be what Papyrus actually wanted, but as long as Sans was close by, he knew he would be okay.

--------

The walk home felt lonely, but at the same time, invigorating. Papyrus had a bounce in his stride and a skip in his step. Normally, Papyrus is very good at keeping track of his surroundings, but right now, he still had Sans' words in the back of his mind. So much so that he almost didn't notice the kid who tripped and fell right in front of him.

"NYEH?!"

"Ah!! Yo, watch out!"

"NYAAAAAHHH!!! OH!!!" The tall skeleton kneeled down to take a better look at the orange, small, armless monster kid sprawled across the snowy ground. He must say, that's not exactly the best place to take a nap. "APOLOGIES, CHILD, I ALMOST DIDN'T SEE YOU THERE!!! LUCKILY, MY NATURAL REFLEXES AND KEEN SENSE OF AWARENESS PREVENTED ME FROM DOING SO!!! NYEH HEH..."

Sheepishly, Papyrus helped the monster kid to their feet. Smiley as ever, they brushed themselves off before looking back up at him.

"Thanks, mister!"

"WHY, OF COURSE!!! LIKE I SAID, IT'S MY KEEN SENSE OF REFLEXES AND NATURAL AWARENESS THAT PREVENTED ME FROM CHILDING... OVER... TRIP. WAIT!!!'

The kid giggled and ran circles around him. Literally. Papyrus couldn't help but squeal and stomp his feet to match their energy! Finally, someone that gets him!

"WOWIE!!! YOU'RE ENERGETIC, AREN'T YOU?! NYEH HEH HEH!!! YOU REMIND ME OF, WELL, ME!!! WHAT DO YOU EVEN DO WITH THAT ENERGY?! NYEH HEH HEH!!!"

"Oh!" All of a sudden, the kid tripped over. "Don't tell my parents, but..." Despite not having arms, the resilient child got back up without assistance. Gosh, they were so sprightly! "Sometimes I like to visit Waterfall to see the Royal Guard. They're, like, the coolest monsters ever!"

The Royal Guard! Papyrus' jaw dropped as his eyes sparkled once more. So people DID think they were cool! He knew it!

"I BET THEY ARE!!! ARE THEY, UM... POPULAR?"

"The most popular!" This kid skidded across the snow. "For a good reason too! They beat up bad guys and never lose! They're the heroes of all monsterkind! Especially Undyne!"

"UNDYNE?"

"She's the leader! The Captain of the Royal Guard! She's the one who recruits all the best warriors to fight alongside her! Only the toughest and the coolest get to join!"

The toughest? The coolest? That description sounded familiar... Almost like it's describing... him!

"OH, REALLY? AND SHE ONLY RECRUITS THE TOUGHEST AND COOLEST, AND WHEN THEY BECOME ROYAL GUARDS, THEY GET... POPULAR?"

"Yes! That's how it works!" The kid tripped and fell once again. It seemed to be a normal thing for them. A normal thing that's not going to change any time soon.

But what did change that day was Papyrus' mindset. All his hopes, his dreams, his goals... It seemed like the Royal Guard is the key to all of that. And this "Undyne" was the key to getting into it!

Oh yes... Yes! It's the answer to all of his problems! This kid was not only an adorably energetic klutz, but they're also a miracle messenger sent to set Papyrus on the path to popularity and fame! And... friends.

"SO, THIS UNDYNE..." He started to get dizzy following this kid around. "WHERE DID YOU SAY SHE LIVED?"

"Waterfall! She lives in this big fish house near the dump! You can't miss it! I'd suggest getting there as soon as possible if you wanna meet her! She never stays in one place for too long!"

Much like this kid.

"WOWIE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH, UHM..."

"You can call me Kid!"

"KID. HOW... CREATIVE! THANK YOU SO MUCH, KID!" And with that, they parted.

Well, then! It's settled! Filled with this new burning desire, Papyrus' joyous stride turned into one of power, of confidence!

"SO, THE ROYAL GUARD IS COOL AND POPULAR LIKE I THOUGHT!! I CAN'T BELIEVE I DIDN'T THINK OF THIS SOONER!! IF BEING A PART OF THE ROYAL MEANS MEANS BEING POPULAR, THEN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE THE COOLEST ROYAL GUARD EVER!!"

Instead of heading home, Papyrus found a nearby rock and started climbing it.

"LOOK OUT, WORLD!!! FOR STARTING TODAY, I WILL NO LONGER JUST BE PAPYRUS!!! I WILL BE THE GREAT PAPYRUS!!! THE NEWEST MEMBER..."

Placing one foot on top of the rock, Papyrus pointed at the ceiling of the cavern, striking a heroic pose. His tattered scarf flew in the wind, his eyes sparkling with the determination to make a name for himself. For this moment, this one moment, the spotlight was all on him!

"OF THE ROYAL GUARD!!!!"

[leonenjoyer69]

Do you got some angsty headcanons for Elias? Elias and anyone else?

Apologies that this took actual weeks to get to, but we're so fucking back (this is also an answer for @dustmint who asked the same >:3)

Okay, starting off, (I think I may have mentioned it before but who knows,) Elias is lowkey a workaholic, for many different reasons tho!!

First of all, out the gate he has that work ethic that Lanyon Sr. tried to encourage Robert to have. Elias has to keep himself busy somehow, so why not get things done? Like previously stated, he has more of an affinity for all the doctory stuff Lanyon learned, so he tends to play doctor for the society. Otherwise, he also helps Jekyll with paperwork, no matter how boring, because the light thanks he gets at the end makes it worth it.

Secondly, and back onto the keeping busy part, Elias is restless af. Being more emotional and such, he's very prone to over thinking and spiraling over things- thinking he's not enough, or that people hate him, etc.- and gets overwhelmed by his thoughts quite easily (think like Hyde in Shatter me!, when he's getting chased and such, his thoughts becoming more base and fearful.), he's generally able to hide it though. When he's around Jekyll/Hyde these thoughts tend to go away, and when he's actively working or being praised/complimented for his work, they also tend to calm. So, when Jekyll/Hyde are unavailable and Lanyon let's him take over (usually after much nagging, bribery, or pleading) he buries himself in work. Whether that be medical research, paperwork, cleaning, or anything else he can do to keep occupied, he doesn't really care.

Because of this excessive emotional instability and restlessness, Lanyon tends to snap at him a LOT when they're alone together, Especially because Elias avoids going into the subconscious as much as possible. Being outside with only the presence of his other half? Overwhelming and usually not great, but being completely alone and numb in the subconscious? 100x worse to him. After the first time Lanyon finally bullied Elias into the subconscious, he came back a couple hours later near hysterical. after that debacle, Lanyon just decided that Elias bugging him and floating around with minimal breakdowns and complaining was better than having to deal with that again.

Also, Elias is absolutely obsessed with Jekyll and Hyde. Practically codependent, he's like a puppy. He yearns to be around either of them at basically all times, and when he isn't he, of course, becomes super restless and lowkey depressed. Also, the thoughts that tend to mess him up the most are ones related to them, like Jekyll or Hyde actually hating him, or thoughts of something horrible happening to them, like getting caught or hurt, or even killed.

There are times though where he's able to sit and think without absolutely spiraling though. Usually when he feels this sort of emotional content, he'll go to a park and climb up and sit in the trees (usually at night, to watch the sky). These tend to be the nights where Lanyon and Elias have more of their heart to hearts, since Elias is more mellow and less likely to get emotional. Also, any trinkets or gifts from Jekyll/Hyde tend to soothe him a decent bit, as well as wearing or cuddling up with any stolen clothes.

Those heart to hearts don't tend to help with their constant disdain for each other though. Elias wants to constantly be in control and occupied and around Jekyll/Hyde. Lanyon, of course, also wants to be in control, because he does NOT like having that control stripped from him, especially when he's forced to watch his other half live the life that HE wants. They tend to fight for control a lot, and quite quickly have accidentally done half transformations multiple times ( I actually have a fic idea for this teehee :3). Otherwise, like previously stated, Lanyon is VERY jealous of Elias, for many reasons-- His work ethic and the praise he gets, how forward he is with Jekyll, how much more people seem to enjoy his company than Lanyon's, things like that.

Quick thing for Jekyll and Hyde too! Jekyll tends to get a bit self conscious when Elias gets touchy, mainly because he's half convinced that no part of Lanyon really loves him and that he's just gonna get used and heart broken again, despite how utterly romantic Elias acts (which Jekyll still tends to absolutely eat up). Hyde doesn't have such qualms, he absolutely thrives on all the physical contact and kissing and such. The romanticism tends to throw him off though, makes him super flustered and kinda makes him shut down a bit.

Okay! That's all I've really got for now. Once again, sorry this took so long 💀 if there's anything more specific or questions about how he would react to specific situations perhaps, feel free to send an ask, my inbox is always open, even if it takes a minute for me to get to it 💀

[fathercharlesoffdensen]

In my experience as a fandom veteran of [redacted] years, hyperfixating on fictional people is a lot more fun a) as a curated experience that maximizes enjoyment and minimizes 'hate-watching' and ship wars and harassing franchise creators and trolling; and b) when the end-goal of every interaction, fandom contribution, etc. isn't mining for ~problematic elements in a piece of media and/or amongst those who 'like' something the 'wrong' way. I spent last summer mired in health issues from mold poisoning and the house renovations that followed, during which consciously escaping into beloved fictional worlds via Tumblr and AO3 kept me sane(r than I probably would have been otherwise) - knowing that they're there when I need/want to visit is probably going to factor into my survival of the current summer as well ngl. Fandom! Come for the .GIF sets, fanart, meta, memes, (civil) discourse, and friendships; weed out unnecessary drama as much as possible.

Case-in-point, I've been working my way through the original Uncanny X-Men comic run from the 1960s, and Charles Xavier's moral ambiguity is on dazzling, four-color, two-dimensional display, as well as some rather ~dated representations of disability and the era's gender roles. Indeed, those who balk at the Rogue / Magneto ship likely have even more ire for Professor X's old-school skirt-chasing, pipe-smoking incarnation, especially when he struggles not to make his mentor-student relationship with Jean Grey even more inappropriate than it already appears to be. In my personal life, I try to avoid relationship drama, behave ethically, and communicate clearly because, like daydreaming about gay ships, doing so enhances my quality of life. On the other hand, I want to roll around in the stank of all of my favorite fictional hot messes and their bad decisions and 'unhealthy' relationship dynamics and weird sex preferences, essentially for the same reason. Below are clues for an in-post skeevy Charles scavenger hunt for your continued enjoyment:

Charles out-skeeving Mister Sinister;

Chillaxing at the Hellfire Club with Tony Stark;

Mystique remarking on Krakoa! Charles' "gross" notion to create / continue a mutant leg of the CIA;

Early 60s Wolverine isn't a fan of old-school Chuck either;

Charles scaring the crap out of Scott Summers(/other mutants);

The X-Men rough-housing and nearly harming Charles;

Odin Charles in a jaunty wizard disguise;

Jean practically climbing onto Charles' lap during a battle;

Jean taking up both nursing (!!!) and cooking (!!!) duties for Charles and like four gross teenage mutant dudes;

Charles and Jean icing out the other X-Men regarding Charles' impending death(/'death' - he gets revived almost as much as she does), much to Scott, Hank, Iceman, and Angel's discontent.

TL;DR: In the immortal words of the great philosopher, Thor Christopher Hemsworth, "Do stuff, be nice, have fun" aka don't be a dick. Have a great summer!

[ssahotchnerr]

who do the twins take after? looks and personality wise, at least? do they have a favorite parent? how alike are they with jack?

i feel like in terms of looks, the twins would favor aaron for the most part, and i love the idea of them being identical as well <3 they both have his dark hair, the same brown eyes, they even happen to be lefties, which aaron was absolutely ecstatic about 😭 but they have your nose, your lips, they share your height as they get older.

plus you always tease aaron over the fact that you carried them for so long, only to have them coming out looking like him 😭

and i don’t think they have a favorite per say, but they’re definitely daddy girls <3333333

personality wise, definitely a mix of both you and aaron! they've mastered furrowing their little eyebrows just as he does - when they're frustrated or upset. they're so driven and goal-centered when it comes to hobbies, school, or just anything - they have the same work ethic as aaron. meanwhile, their talkative and more open/flexible side definitely comes from you. (i would go more into detail about reader's personality, but i don't want to make this exclusive :))

and i feel like your personality would rub off on them a teeny bit more - only because aaron travels for work and you're around them constantly. but the girls are both so equally similar to you and aaron it's crazy. hehe it takes both of you aback all the time. one of the girls would do something in front of you, and you're just like ?? you are your father. and vice versa, aaron will catch a glimpse of you in one of the twins and doesn't know what to do with himself 🥹 and as the girls get older, maybe one favors aaron more, then the other you, in terms of personality. it's ever changing <3

and the twins are so so so alike to jack, because they look up to him so much 🥹 they've been utterly fascinated by him from day one, ever since they first met him in the hospital, just staring at him as itty bitty newborns <33 as soon as they're mobile, they're always crawling towards him, trying to climb on him, and bringing little stuffies or toys to him to play. and jack absolutely loves his role as older brother- he's always asking you if he can help with them, give them their bottles, in the morning- he's the one going into their nursery to wake them up (admittedly earlier than you and aaron would like hehe, but you can't even pretend to be upset🥹) he loves snuggling them. if one is upset, he'll do whatever it takes to get them to smile, and he loves teaching them. he loves showing the girls how to do things, helped when they were learning how to walk, taught them colors, and he's always talking to them, even if they can't understand 🥹 they're all practically inseparable 🥹 the sweetest kiddos ever, and both you and aaron can't believe how lucky you are <3 they get into soccer because of him, and the girls always show interest in his hobbies to begin with - they just want more reasons to spend time with him 🥹

[vague-humanoid]

Below is a transcript of the keynote speech I delivered for the 14th Conference on East-West Cross-Cultural Relations at the American University in Cairo.

How the fuck am I supposed to teach Mark Twain? 

I repeated this question as I sat on the bus traveling to campus.  It was my first time meeting classes since October 7.  I would be walking onto the same campus, but the world in which it is situated had forever changed.  Trying to separate campus from Palestine was no more viable than trying to separate Christ from the crucifix. 

Mark Twain has something to do with Palestine—he wrote about it, after all, in a way that would please Zionists a few generations later.  With a bit of imagination, everything has something to do with Palestine.  This is so because Palestine, while formally absent as a nation-state, exists as both a historical and sociological presence in the minds of people across the world.  Indeed, we affirm the reality of Palestine with every refusal to grant legitimacy to its occupier. 

Still, Twain wouldn’t cut it.  Nor would the more politically-oriented readings assigned to my other two classes.  I wanted to discuss Palestine as Palestine, without analogy, without mediation.  The beginnings of a genocide were already evident.  There’s a simple, inviolable rule about genocide:  normal life must come to a halt until it is defeated. 

What can a literary critic and college instructor do to help defeat genocide?  The obvious answer is “nothing,” but I’m not willing to concede the point so easily.  What we can do depends on how we conceptualize the scope and purpose of literary criticism.  Scholars like to call emphasis on revolutionary outcomes prescriptive, and I suppose they’re right, but certain events in the world demand a kind of vigor socialized out of us by graduate school and the job market.  I’m saying that sometimes it’s okay to be prescriptive.  Who does it help when we spend all our time slogging around in nuance and ambiguity?  What purpose does it serve other than social climbing and self-gratification?  In Palestine right now, not too far from where we’ve gathered, millions of people are being bombarded, starved, displaced, imprisoned.  I condemn it without qualification or concern for the bourgeois etiquette of higher education. 

And I can condemn it in literary criticism without sacrificing the creative touch that often makes the genre so rewarding.  Ghassan Kanafani has already shown how it can be done.  So have Toni Morrison, Robert Warrior, Raymond Williams, Viet Nguyen, Audra Simpson, James Baldwin, and Christina Sharpe.  In his book On Zionist Literature, recently translated into English, Kanafani offers a rigorous analysis of Israeli culture and society, adeptly interrogating Zionism’s discursive norms, philosophical assumptions, and ethical inconsistencies.  He fulfills all the conventional tenets of literary criticism and still manages to affirm national liberation.  There’s no contradiction.  The liberatory aspects of criticism have been suppressed by publishers, by tenure committees, by culture magazines, by scholars affiliated with the CIA—in short, by various organs of the ruling class.  National liberation isn’t considered an unacceptable methodology because of some natural, ahistorical standard of proper literary study.  The standard is political.  It was always political.  And it’s most political precisely when nonpolitics is the demand. 

[deersaints]

⤑ martin sensmeier, 38, cis man, he/him 𓇢𓆸 here they come, one of blackwater’s finest— montague "monty" simmons. everyone thinks they're so altruistic and stalwart, but i know that they’re really intransigent and doleful. whatever the case, it seems like weird stuff happens wherever they go, ever since they got here five months ago, especially at their job as a worker ( odds & ends ) at coyote creek campground.

content warnings for... tbd.

profile.

full name — montague simmons.

nickname(s) — monty; tag; simmons. will respond to any name if said with enough conviction.

place of birth — anchorage, alaska.

date of birth & age — september 23rd, 1986. thirty8.

gender / pronouns — cis man, he / him.

orientation — bisexual.

occupation — odds & ends worker at coyote creek campground; general handyman; hunter ( of the regular kind ).

astrology — libra sun, gemini moon, capricorn rising.

kind of being — angel.

abilities — healing, sedation, dream - walking, heightened senses; a slight sense of danger.

residence — a relatively well - kept mobile home in cricket hill. small but cozy; easy to tell that he doesn't spend a lot of time home. bed is always made; the faint smell of bacon in the morning.

interests — wildlife preservation. fishing, ethical hunting. cooking meals that don't necessarily taste great but are sustainable for his body. yardwork. giving a helping hand whenever able. minimalism. black coffee. diet coke. pretending like he doesn't listen to lana del rey. cowboy hats. plaid shirts; plaid in general. standing out in the sun like a plant gaining photosynthesis. goes crazy for a sprinkler honestly; get this man to a water park. minding his own business when it comes to matters of the heart. mechanical bull riding ( he's really good at it ).

aversions — cooking for others. spending too much time indoors. the riverman, fuck that guy. giving advice; why are you looking at him? too much attention on himself. people who quote shakespeare at him; he doesn't get it. he wasn't a big english literature guy. real bull - riding; got concussed real bad once before. love, maybe; no he's not bitter. shut up. people who pry too much into his personal life and try to "help". people who offer their help to him to begin with; he can do it all on his own. being told he's too stubborn ( it's true ).

quirks — wears exclusively boots but once he wore sandals and it was a whole issue. keeps socks on his feet at all times now. practices lassoing when nobody is looking. presses flowers in an old journal of his and accompanies them with small poems. refuses to sing at karaoke but 5 shots later and he's blasting that shit. he's climbing on tables. listens exclusively to "sad old man" music; whatever that means.

most played — elderly woman behind the counter in a small town by pearl jam.

notable features — stubble that sometimes turns into facial hair that everyone yells at them to shave back down. overall strong features, including a sharp jawline and thick brows. he thought the goatee looked good. apparently not.

general disposition — built tall and built strong; confidence in the muscle gained from farm work. complimented with a smile just short of shy.

character study — ben hargreeves ( the umbrella academy ) & bob belcher ( bob's burgers ).

background.

tldr; never one to stay in one place for very long, monty goes where he feels he's needed. a habitual helping hand. not quick to fall in love, but falls hard once he does. if only things could've lasted. moved down to blackwater to accompany his friends, offer his skills. an angel can only do so much with what they do not know. was once a lover; now their soul's gone, taken by the riverman for reasons monty cannot fathom.

details.

to be discovered.

[renpil]

returned to this abandonned cold room, probably a former restaurant's, in which people recently removed a large panel from the insulating wall i guess as an attempt to uncover a hidden room. only to find the cave-like walls of the basement behind

cold room's hygrometer still in place on the opposite side ; this whole part of the buildings is semi-underground and windowless

then climbed to the empty apartments on the two highest floors, had to literally *cut* through lots of brambles to manage to enter there. the whole place is devastated and has like 8 entire apartments empty, a good chunk of it really dark

got an opinion : i don't know how u feel about "urbex", but personally i kind of disavow the term. i did such things way before i was even aware of the word, and i think children and people probably always entered and spent time in abandonned and empty places. it makes me think that in a way the simple act of trespassing in empty places doesn't fully overlap what "urbex" is.

so, what "urbex" would mean then, more precisely ? as it can't simply be trespassing, i think it is left with a few specific things like the broadcasting of the activity, as well as seeing it as an activity on its own, and more importantly, its commodification. you can sell blogs, books, exhibitions, and even actual places using "urbex" as a signifier. the "aesthetics" of devastation as a whole became commodified ; occasionally, you'll see professional urbexers go further and defend "urbex ethics" : do not take anything, do not deteriorate the place further, do not move anything, do not *use* the place (in short, make it a museum)

these fairly common "rules" alongside with commodification are kind of bullshit in my opinion ; it transforms it into a purely aesthetic experience, dismissing as illegitimate any form of squat or scavenging, or to deliver yourself from frustrations, breaking some shit. so many times i thought that the discourse of some professional urbexers radiated a weasely desire to privatize abandonned buildings and control what happens in them, even though they're doing something illegal like us all.

empty and abandonned places have fairly common uses like occasional squatting, and i use them for that ; to find seclusion and space to do stuff i otherwise wouldn't feel comfortable to do, when i'm surrounded with people ; it's an opportunity for some people to sleep a couple nights with a roof above their heads, crack some beers, smoke some joints without being seen ; if there's something interesting to take, i will surely do rather than letting it rot, and i think that's fine and cool.

though i don't want to dismiss "urbex" entirely because it would be a bit pretentious, and i don't think that "urbexers" are broadly responsible for its commodification. some of them seem like geniune chill guys. some people and practices can be blamed in some ways though imo. anyways, some more pics of these apartments :

wish i could someday paint bullshit on my walls like that without having to fear the annihilation of my face by some landlord

roofs, etc... there's even more empty and abandonned buildings on the same block but i think the rest of it is either innaccessible or still somewhat in use. so that's all for now.

[marriso1]

A very much deserved first real christmas

Snapes POV:

The malfoys had revoked his gift giving rights to Draco the moment he’d been born, claiming that he wouldn’t be able to match a gift to their standards. This didn’t bother Severus as they were most definitely right and thus didn’t mind once they forged his name down on a present they picked themselves.

So, there stood Severus in the middle of Hogsmeade without the slightest idea of what to do. Severus needed to make sure the gift he got for Harry made up for the many years he went without. He refused to return home without securing the best for him. Severus decided to think about the things Harry had taken an interest in, DADA, magical history, art, and unfortunately quidditch. He had gotten some books pertaining to the first two. Two focused on the research to be studied surrounding the subjects while another set he had bought were more childlike flip books, including nicely drawn illustrations and glittery pages. Severus decided on buying Harry a sketchbook with graphite and watercolor supplies. He ended up buying several different sketchbooks as they came in different sizes and had particular uses. The art supplies were the best he could find, nothing professional as Harry was very much a child, but nice nonetheless. Severus decided on getting Harry a broom, nothing too complicated, but with add ons to provide Harry with more safety. Harry was ten after all. Severus mainly just hated seeing him in any kind of pain, so he was naturally nervous about him being so infatuated with quidditch.

Severus had felt quite satisfied with what he had gotten Harry, and yet he hadn’t felt as if his duty was complete. He felt as there was something else he needed to get for him. Something that surpassed the gifts according to his likes, he needed to buy something of greater sentimental value. Severus was more practical, relying on ethics and such rather than emotion, especially in his later adult years. Yet, he knew exactly what he should get for Harry.

Severus found himself wandering down a toy isle, and there lie the perfect option. A stuffed bat that smelt of rosemary, by the looks of the stuffed animal it had been handmade, it was beautifully crafted. As the two had grown closer, Harry had begun to tease Severus, remarking that he was like a giant bat. He found himself fondly thinking of Harry’s progress so far. When he had first been introduced, he had been quite quiet, flinching at every raised hand, tiptoeing through the house. Harry had worn a solemn expression. An expression that had quickly faded as he got used to Severus. He had become quite loud, which Severus hadn’t minded and would only not mind if it was Harry. You could hear his footsteps from a mile away. He’d practically climb on Severus now, as Harry saw him as his outlet for comfort. Again, Severus didn’t mind that Harry’s main love language seemed to be physical touch, nor that it had been him to receive it. Of course, it would only be Harry who would be allowed to hug him, or lie next to him as a storm raged on outside. He thought of the bat as the perfect present, as it was symbolic of how far he had come and how much he’s grown into his own person, not the shell he was molded into. He had also taken into an account that Harry was quite clingy, so the stuffed animal also serving as a reminder of Severus would serve as extra comfort. Although Harry had become comfortable with Severus, he had still ways to go with others, particularly adults. Most kids had tormented or avoided him, seeing him as what the adults would whisper about him. Adults however, were far more harmful. It took a lot of self control not to deal with Harry’s relatives himself.

Suddenly, on top of all his previous gifts, Severus had found himself shoveling a treacle tart, a fine selection of winter sweaters and jackets, a variety of wizarding toys, and a gingerbread house kit into his inventory, along with several types of wrapping paper. He found that he wasn’t frustrated with the hole the venture had left in his wallet.

He was however, appalled with himself, especially the night he set the gifts out. He had gone into the trip with getting a singular gift in mind. The christmas tree which he and Harry had picked and decorated had what looked like a mountain of gifts piled under it. He wasn’t regretful of the gift amount of course, as he couldn’t see Harry’s first real christmas going any other way. Or any future ones for that matter. The warm feeling brought upon him couldn’t smother the desolate feeling when thinking about Harry’s past christmas experiences. He had been forced to watch his relatives open their luxurious gifts while he’d been gifted the likes of tissues. No matter what it took, Severus would make sure to always have gifts prepared for Harry. It hurt him to know that Harry would never enjoy the belief of Santa claus. Petunia had him wrap his cousins presents since his was quite young.

It was early christmas morning and Severus heard Harry’s footsteps come downstairs and freeze as he made it to the living room. He turned to see the child’s mouth wide open, his face portraying a state of shock. Severus had waited until the night before christmas to put the gifts under the tree.

“What’s all of this doing here?” Harry questioned.

“It’s for you, Harry. You didn’t think you’d go without some gifts today could you?” Severus answered.

If it was humanly possible, Harry’s jaw dropped even lower. He walked over and stood in front of the tree, taking in the sight before him.

“Some?” Harry teased.

“All of this. All of this is for me?”

“Yes, every single last one.”

He watched fondly as Harry opened every single gift, gasping at the unveil of each present. Severus watched his smile grow even bigger once he mentioned the treacle tart in the kitchen. You couldn’t imagine his surprise when Harry had went upstairs to return with exactly eight different christmas cards. Each with their own unique designs and individual passages of writing. He was wished about several Merry Christmases. Harry explained that he couldn’t choose just one. Severus had his favorite of the cards, of course. It had been the one featuring himself and Harry. It had detailed how much Harry’s life had changed since moving in with Severus, and how happy he was to have him. It remarked adventures the two had gone on, and some of their favorite memories made together. He could feel his expression soften once more, a smile forming on his lips. He gently thanked Harry and went to grab a purposely hidden present under the tree.

Severus watched as Harry had unwrapped it. There was no reason to explain the gift as the moment Harry had seen the stuffed bat it was as if he understood immediately. He watched a little notice escape from Harry’s mouth before his eyes began to fill with tears. Severus reached for Harry, who had welcomed the embrace immediately. Severus tightly held Harry, knowing that if he’s done anything right, it would’ve been this. He had realized nothing had made him Happier than seeing his boys face light up the way it did today. It was as if the sun itself been in the same room as him.

As they both grew older, Severus found the people he needed to christmas shop for increase. He’d been granted gift giving rights by the Malfoy’s again. He’d couldn’t also help getting trinkets for each of Harry’s friends besides Draco. Books for Hermione, chess sets and candies for Ron, trinkets for Luna, herbology equipment for Neville, wizarding robes for both Draco and Blaise. Being a parent sure had made severus soft. No matter whose presents had entered the area under his tree, the majority would always contain things for his son.

Harrys POV:

Harry groaned in a fit of frustration as he racked his brain over what he could possibly gift Sev for christmas. I mean, he was ten after all, it wasn’t like he had money lying around to buy Severus something. He also doesn’t have the free range he used to have with the Dursleys, so he couldn’t exactly leave to go find something on his own. Harry would rather not find someone else to accompany him to the shops either, as he didn’t really trust anyone, let alone another adult, that wasn’t Sev. After all, no other adult had truly proved themselves to be quite trustworthy to Harry, and he wasn’t sure if anyone other than him ever would. Harry had planned to make pastries but decided against it as Severus didn’t like for him to be in the kitchen unsupervised. Despite Harry’s insistence that he was skilled in the food industry, Sev had downright refused to let him cook like he used too on behalf of his safety. This left Harry feeling frustrated because he wasn’t trusted. He was a child but he was a mature one at that. He could handle a few burns. Yet, a part of him feels warm when thinking about new rules like these being in place, as it meant Severus cares about his safety.

The week of christmas Harry had finally came to a decision, he was going to make Sev a christmas card. He thought of it as a lousy gift compared to everything Sev has done for him, but Harry would find a way to make it up to him. Although, he couldn’t exactly do much housework as payment as Severus forbid him from doing basically anything. It was as if he was quite the opposite of the Dursleys and their expectations, which had proven to be both a blessing and a curse. He was incredibly thankful to not be forced to do extreme labor, but Harry found himself missing certain aspects of freedom he had once had. If he wasn’t completing the chores Vernon or Petunia assigned to him he was often left to his own devices. He was basically allowed to go anywhere he wanted without supervision as long as he wasn’t interfering with the Dursleys. Now that Severus had custody over him Harry wasn’t allowed to leave the house without him. Although, Harry found his time spent outside to be a lot nicer with Sev around, and again, it was nice to be a priority in someone’s life for once.

Despite the card being the gift Harry had decided to go with, he was quite anxious about Sevs reaction. He had tried giving cards to his relatives once, it hadn’t ended well. Petunia had let out a laugh at what she called a pathetic excuse for a birthday card and had thrown it out in front of him. Vernon had gotten angry, taking his own card as a joke, which ended in Harry picking up what was left of the paper while sporting a new mark on his chin. Thus, Harry was even more motivated to make Severus the perfect card. A card that wouldn’t be described as pathetic and such. The first design he made contained a christmas tree with green and silver ornaments decorating it. Harry wrote it off as too basic and restarted. The second was centered around potions, having a cauldron as the main illustration at the front of the card. Harry dismissed this card too, Sev quite enjoyed potions but not as much as he did defense, so Harry decided to focus on that. The third card consisted of wizards fighting off a cloaked bad guy. Harry thought this was too off topic. The fourth combined defense and christmas, replacing the wands with candy canes and the wizards being decked out in holiday gear. Harry didn’t fully like the card, as he felt it was too much. The fifth through seventh cards consisted of combinations of defense, potions, and christmas. The eighth however, depicted two poorly drawn illustrations of Harry and Severus decorating the christmas tree together, the art inspired by the two decorating earlier on. After finishing that one, he laid each card out on the rug of his room, taking in and judging each one. After much consideration, Harry knew he couldn’t choose just one, rather he must choose them all. Each card had aspects the others missed out on, and thus multiple cards had in a way, made the perfect card. He couldn’t shake the nervousness that came with the last card as he thought Severus would think it to be too sentimental, it included memories the two had shared and described funny moments the two had experienced with one another. Harry would just remove the card from the stack once he gave it to him.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt for not being able to gift Severus anything more extravagant. His measly cards didn’t compare to the house and attention Sev had given Harry the privilege of. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now though. He just hoped the cards made Severus happy enough.

Finally, it was christmas morning. Harry woke up with a start, excited to give Severus the cards he crafted for him. He opened his door as quietly as he could and listened in for Severus, unsure on whether or not he was awake yet. He figured Sev was up once he heard the shuffling of dishes in the kitchen and decided to head downstairs. Harry stopped in his tracks once he arrived at the living room. He felt his jaw drop. What stood before him were mounds of presents under his tree. Who were these even for? Harry had never felt so confused. He turned towards Snape who had been awkwardly standing on to the side of the couch.

“What’s all of this doing here?” Harry questioned.

“It’s for you, Harry. You didn’t think you’d go without some gifts today could you?” Severus answered.

If this wasn’t some sick joke, this may be the first time Harry would be getting presents on christmas. He strode over towards their tree, taking in what was in front of him. It was as if there was a never ending amount of presents, more than even Dudley had been gifted.

“Some?” Harry teased as he had no idea how to even respond.

“All of this? All of this is for me?”

“Yes, every single last one.” Severus responded.

Harry had recieved several books surrounding DADA and the history of hogwarts. He had gotten books full of writing and others with pretty pages and exciting drawings. Sev had also gotten him sketchbooks which he was most thankful for, he used up the last of the paper he had making the cards for Severus. They came with art supplies that had Harry gawking, he never got the chance to use anything other than a pencil. Even at school no teachers had trusted him enough with anything fun. He audibly gasped at the sight of the broom he unwrapped, stoked that he’d have the chance to learn how to fly before enrolling in Hogwarts. It was perfect. The next gifts he opened turned out to be a plethora of clothing, all being sweaters and jackets. Harry had found himself being the type to be awfully cold no matter where he had been, so more warm clothing was much appreciated. He was also gifted several cool magical toys that had soared, screamed, and glowed. Even the gingerbread kit he got seemed to have magical touches as the box explained it would come alive once it had been constructed. Harry felt himself light up even more, which he hadn’t thought to be possible, at Sevs mention of the treacle tart waiting for him in the kitchen.

Harry had almost forgotten about the christmas cards he had made! He went upstairs without a word and quickly snagged the cards from his dresser upstairs. Once he came down and gave the cards to severus, he anxiously watched the man go through and read each and every one. Harry hadn’t expected the man to read through each card, but was greatly appreciative and partly embarrassed that he didn’t. Harry felt himself freeze once he watched Severus take in the last card. Due to all of the excitement, he must’ve forgotten to separate that one from the rest of the batch. Harry held his breath, expecting a negative reaction from him, whether that be a good laugh at Harry’s feelings or awkward silence. What if Harry had overestimated how close they were? What if the card overstepped his boundaries?

All of the fear Harry had felt initially dissolved once he saw Sevs gaze soften, a gaze completed with a true smile that made Harry far happier than the gifts had. He resisted the urge to immediately jump into his arms and cry out of sheer happiness, he was too old for that. He was too old to cry.

Despite Harry thinking he got through all of the gifts, Severus brought out another from the back of the tree. He guessed he had just missed it. Harry untied the ribbon that had closed the box and taken off the lid. It was as if there was a river trapped behind his eyes, only to be let out at the sight in front of him. He held a handmade stuffed animal, a bat. Harry knew that ever since Severus had taken him in, he had become quite clingy, which was quite the opposite of how he had behaved before. He knew this bat had meant to be a symbol for how much he’s changed and how close the two had become. Harry felt as if the bat served as a reminder of Severus, as he had previously teased him about his extreme resemblance towards the animal. Harry couldn’t help the tears that were now streaming down his face. In the corner of his eye he noticed Severus gesturing for him to come over and Harry immediately obliged, sinking into his side. Harry had never felt happier, for once someone had cared about him just as much as he did them. He finally had his person. Someone he’d come to for comfort and help, a parent to hold him through a rainy day.

Harry hummed to himself as he poured the chocolate cake batter into the pan. He and Sev had been relocated to the order headquarters for the time being. This new arrangement wasn’t that great, and Sirius and Sev had been at each others throats every other day, but things worked out. Sev was leaning against a wall in the corner, watching Harry bake and sipping coffee. The morning was still fresh, as the two were early risers, enjoying the quietness the dawn had brought them before the others were to come too. They coexisted in comfortable silence, opened gifts and cards lying on the free space of the counter. Harry had already made Sev his own pastry, a coffee cake, which had been next their things. He was gifted his own food instead of sharing it with the rest of the order. Their once quiet holiday had spread over to many others, and although that quietness was more limited, the extra company was most enjoyed by them both. The two made their way to the sitting room as they heard shuffling coming from upstairs, chances are they would be opening even more presents very soon.

i’ll be posting this on my Ao3 account (angelique1222)