#fingers crossed ill get back to posting more art more often

[justarandombrit]

goat man goat man goat ma-

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[grungelvrr222]

what i think the dps boys each read at the meetings

okay so the poems i picked i wrote the whole poem so its a longggg post (i worked really hard to find a poem i thought suited each of the poets)

neil: When I read the book by Walt Whitman

When I read the book, the biography famous,

And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man’s life?

And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?

(As is if any man really knew aught of my life,

Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life,

Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections

I seek for my own use to trace out here.)

todd: A dream by Edgar Allan Poe

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed—

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day

To him whose eyes are cast

On things around him with a ray of

Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream— that holy dream,

While all the world were chiding,

Hath cheered me a lovely beam

A lonely spirit guiding.

What thought that light, thro’ storm and night,

So trembled from afar—

What could there be more purely bright

In Truth’s day-star?

pitts: The last word by Matthew Arnold

Creep into they narrow bed,

Creep, and let no more be said!

Vain thy onset! all stands;

Thou thyself must break at last.

Let the long conversation cease!

Geese are swans and swans are geese.

Let them have it how they will!

Thou art tired; best be still!

They put-talk’d thee, hiss’d thee, tore thee.

Better men fared thus before thee;

Fired their ringing shot and pass’d ,

Hotly charged— and broke at last.

Charge once more , then, and be dumb!

Let the victors, when they come,

When the forts of folly fall,

Find thy body by the wall.

knox: An explanation by Walter Learned 

Her lips wear so near     That what—else could I do?  You’ll be angry, I fear, But her lips were so near— Well, I can’t make it clear,      Or explain it to you,  But—her lips were so near       That—what else could I do?  charlie: I am he that aches with love by Walt Whitman 

I am he that aches with amorous love; Does the earth gravitate? does not all matter, aching, attract             all matter? So the body of me to all I meet or know. 

meeks: How pleasant to know Mr.Lear by Edward Lear 

“How pleasant to know Mr.Lear!”      Who has written such volumes of stuff! Some think him ill-tempered and queer,       But a few think him pleasant enough. 

His mind is concrete and fastidious,      His nose is remarkably big; His visage is more or less hideous,      His beard it resembles a wig.

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,           Leastways if you reckon two thumbs; Long ago he was one of the singers,       But now he is one of the dumbs.

He sits in a beautiful parlor,       With hundreds of books on the wall; He drinks a great deal of Marsala,       But never gets tipsy at all.

He has many friends, lay men and clerical,               Old Foss is the name of his cat; His body is perfectly spherical,    He weareth a runcible hat.

When he walks in waterproof white,      The children run after him so! Calling out, "He's come out in his night-              Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!"

He weeps by the side of the ocean,      He weeps on the top of the hill; He purchases pancakes and lotion,      And chocolate shrimps from the mill.

He reads, but he cannot speak, Spanish,     He cannot abide ginger beer: Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,      How pleasant to know Mr. Lear! cameron: I used to think by Trumbull Stickney

I used to think The mind essential in the body, even As stood the body essential in the mind: Two inseparable things, by nature equal And similar, and in creation’s song Halving the total scale: it is not so. Unlike and cross like driftwood sticks they come Churned in the giddy trough: a chunk of pine, A slab of rosewood: mangled each on each With knocks and friction, or in deadly pain Sheathing each other’s splinters: till at last Without all stuff or shape they ’re jetted up Where in the bluish moisture rot whate’er Was vomited in horror from the sea.

[introloves]

commission for: @kattsamu, @chaotickatts thank you SO MUCH for being so patient with me my love, it means the world.

this is a commission, body type described, skin color also mentioned.

hard dom! sakusa + daddy! sakusa + impact play + praise + pet names + impact play + oral fixation + creampie + f! reader

— word count; 2.2k

he loves you. sakusa kiyoomi knows he’s in love with you when he reaches out to you past the first couple of dates, swallowing down the shake of anxiety with the thought of you possibly saying no, but you never do.

he knows he loves you when he finds comfort in the way he wraps thick arms around the warmth of your body, even on days where the distaste for any contact weighs heavy- he finds his way to you, wanting to bury a masked face to your neck right after practice, knowing you’re there with open arms. 

even past the fabled honeymoon phase- sakusa kiyoomi is still irrevocably in love with you.

now the both of you have settled into a pleasant rhythm. 

off days don’t come often, but they’re usually spent in your arms- that's what they are normally like anyways, but there’s something different to him this time around. 

he’s found something interesting.

he’s not normally a curious person, but seeing your screen propped up to a certain website certainly piqued any and all curiosity he harbored. twitter was normal, he knew you used it to post art, that wasn't what was so interesting. 

it was what was playing that had sakusa kiyoomi stop in his tracks. 

hearing you preoccupied with something else let him snoop for a second, his own face lighting up at the video playing- eyebrows shooting up with the content of the video, cock already twitching with the thought of doing all of those things to you.

he’s seen enough, quickly straightening up and making his way to you, plan already cooking up in his head, because if there’s one thing sakusa isn't, it's ill prepared. 

and now, he’s lulled you into a false sense of security, eager palms running down every curve, digging into the plushness, blunt nails curling into the warmth.

he eats up every shiver, every keen- he truly wonders how he’s never seen it before, wondering why he didn't read into the shy glances of eagerness when he digs his fingers in harder-

why he didn't connect the way your cunt clenches with vigor with each reminder to keep your eyes on him in the moments you get too lost in the pleasure. 

he thinks he’s the biggest fool for not being so adventurous, knowing deep down that the role you want from him is one he could step into easily. 

so he does, leaning down, lips barely pressing against the heat of your neck, tongue outstretched to lave a lick up the pale skin there. 

cock throbbing, heavy in his sweats while he curls his body down to meet your own- a whispered statement leaves him before straightening up- lips curling up in a knowing fashion at the absolutely flustered expression painting your already pink face. 

“w-what?” you question, trying hard not to squirm even more underneath him. 

he thinks it's really cute, watching your eyes regard him with worry. curls following gravity when he bends down once more, tickling your forehead, sloppy kiss pecked to your lips- huffing out a chuckle before coming away once more. 

“i know, sweet girl.” 

there’s a moment of crawling anxiety when you think back, trying to decode if there’s anything you’ve been hiding from him, because surely he’s not talking about the needs, fantasies, wants you have. 

you’ve kept them tempered down for now, knowing that it’s still too early to spring things on like this- but with the way he’s regarding you, dark eyes pinning you back onto the bed with intensity, you’re not too sure. 

“k-kiyoomi, i don't know what you’re talking about.” you whisper, hands coming down to push against his chest, wanting to run away with the thought, but all he does is catch your wrists- pulling up your hands to lay pretty above your head, fingers on one hand easily capturing both, the other resting right between both tits- slowly crawling up and up. 

“mm, i saw- you left a porn video up... and i saw.” he nearly purrs, cooing at the way you finally squirm, head tilting up against the bed when his hips come down to rub onto the heat of your cunt- grunting at the way your legs kick around him. 

“‘omi-” 

you want to shy away, but he doesn't let you- clearly enjoying the reaction you’re giving him. 

sakusa tsks at the nickname, the slow crawling hand finally reaching your neck, pinching any words or thoughts before he even puts any pressure to the sides of your neck. 

“daddy-” he interrupts, eyes wide with eagerness at the cry you give him, letting you wiggle underneath him before grunting out your name. “i’m your daddy pretty girl, always have been- ‘ts a shame i had to learn what you wanted from a twitter video first.” kiyoomi grunts, giving the hands wrapped up in his a push into the bed, stern reminder to keep your hands there. 

“getting that sweet pussy wet from a nasty little video, when i’m right here-” his eagerness feels like it's teetering over; wanting so badly to have you, wanting to prove to you that he can give you what you want. he brings his hands to the waistband of your underwear, swiftly tugging it down- throwing it carelessly to the side, reaching for the band of his own underwear and getting rid of them too- just a glance at his cock you can see how hard he is, the thought of indulging you in what you crave is nearly too much for him. 

his cock is a pretty pink, deeper at the head. glistening in the light available to you both, thick veins crawling up his length- he only looks at you with lidded eyes, lips parted slightly to pant while he strokes himself. 

your silence has his lips curl up in a kind smile, hand reaching down to bite the pads of his index and thumb on either side of your face, making you look at his dark colored eyes instead of his cock. 

even with the way he's gone stern, there’s still the edges of him rounded out for you- still finding his heart beat in excitement at seeing your cunt, wet and clenching for him. 

he thinks it might be too much to prolong this any longer, so in a swift move- his thighs knock against your own warm and thick ones, slotting his lean and muscled body between the cushion. 

bending his body down to meet your lips, tongue swiping along the pout of your lower lip, sucking noisily while he guides himself to meet you. 

it’s always an effort to take him, but with the newfound eagerness you’ve unknowingly brought sakusa, he wastes no time in sinking his cock down to the hilt in one smooth thrust. 

lips still messily slotted against your own, he swallows up that cute little moan you give him, hands tingling with the effort to keep them off of him, and of course he notices it. 

heavy breathing only heard while the two of you get accustomed to his length, he pulls away just enough to hungrily grunt- hiss that you can go ahead and touch him, voice near warbled with the way it feels to finally be plunged into your cunt. 

“be real sweet about it-” he grunts, stopping any movement of your hands to his body, letting you nod and gaze up at him with pure want at the instruction. 

“mm, ‘ts my good girl.” sakusa grunts, hips stuttering against you when the warmth of your palms meet his neck, fingertips curling up into the already damp curls atop his head. 

the soft whines you give him, your hips already starting to wiggle against him have his eyes shut momentarily. 

he can’t help it- everything about you is just so intoxicating to him, every squeeze your cunt gives him brings a soft grunt, deciding that you're a sweet girl, you can take the first, hard slap of his hips down onto your own. 

and you do, fingers holding onto either side of his head pressing down with it. wasting no time, wanting to hear the sharp slap of skin against skin- he brings his cock back into you, balls squished down onto your ass with the force of it, body crumbling down towards your own. 

glazed eyes meet your own, keening with the way you react at every hard, body trembling thrust, thinking to himself that it’s a shame you’ve kept quiet about wanting to be fucked like this, thick, muscled forearms resting onto the bed by your head, whispering soft coo’s of, ‘it’s okay-’ ‘you’re taking me so well.’ 

you need the reassurance, unable to keep your body still under him, squirming with every jiggle of your tits and stomach and ass- all from the force he’s fucking you with. 

it’s nearly too much and you try to keep still, you do, but he’s never brought his strength down onto you, crushing the air right from between your lungs thanks to it. 

sakusa can only look down, trying to bite back the gentle reminder to keep still, knowing it won't get to you with how hard he’s sinking his cock back into your leaking and pulsing cunt, so he resorts to a way he now knows that will get your attention. 

he pulls away near completely, watching you gasp, trying to reach up and take him back- but he keeps his course, hand coming down to reach your thick thigh, tugging it up and over- bicep curling as he does, keeping his cock inside you while he turns you over, immediately reaching down to hook hands into your hips, helping you perch your knees into the mattress. 

“poor baby-” sakusa grunts, bringing his cock back into you even harder this time, hardness of muscle digging into the fat of your ass- hand reaching back, tips of his fingers coming down onto the already jiggling skin, nearly laughing at your reaction- 

he sees your body tense, feels a gush of arousal leak down his balls at it, watching your ass turn red from the impact before bringing another harder slap. 

“already fucked dumb- arent you?” 

he coos, and of course you can't answer, tongue heavy with lust, eyes crossed as your cheek squishes onto the bed- but that doesn't stop him from hissing out an,

“answer me, brat.” 

the call forcing you to turn your head, legs helplessly twitching, already on the precipice of a blinding orgasm, all thanks to his unending pounding of your pussy. 

“y-yes! daddy-” you sob, hands twisting helplessly into the bedding, whole body once more seizing, unable to breathe when you finally cum, all joined with another slap to your ass, no longer hearing the slap of his hips to your own while you do. 

sakusa stops for a second, just a second to really take in the sharp arch of your hips, the pretty, sharp scream tumbling from your lips while you squeeze his cock. 

it takes him squeezing his eyes shut for just a second, hands still digging into your sides while you shake to keep his own orgasm down, barking out a- “you should see your face.” through a tight clench of his teeth, lilting tone nearly laughing with your whine calling back as a response.

he cant help but look at the way your mouth drools onto the bed, reaching to slide two fingers into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue, urging you to, “suck” with frenzied eyes when you do. you’re so good for him, of course you would.

he leaves heavy digits into your mouth while he lets your body twitch, groaning with every sweet suck you give him.

he waits patiently for his own turn, waiting until you stop squeezing, until the shake of your body comes down enough to resume his own pursuit to cum, wanting you to be fully aware while he shoots his cum inside you. 

hand landing heavy on the curve of your back to push, wanting you nice and pliant for him, and of course you can’t do anything to oppose him, too tired from a blinding orgasm, only able to coo and listen to the even wetter snap of hips down onto your own- 

eyes zoned onto the strings of your cum attaching his pistoning hips to your own, he knows he won't- can't last long. 

but it’s all okay, slowing himself down enough to whisper one more command-

“mind your manners, and say thank you.” 

sakusa grunts, smooth strokes coating his cock completely with your wetness, twitching with every squeeze. 

your eyes shut tight, still sensitive- letting him have his way with you, and just like he says, spurred on by the final, bone jolting thrust he gives you- he seals himself against your hips to let his thick cum paint every inch of you- you call back, words mixing in with his huffed grunts-

“t-thank you- thank you daddy.” you coo, waiting for him to give you everything, everything he has before letting himself join your twitching form. 

“mm, you’re welcome my sweet girl.” 

he whispers, spent- his own body weak, all with the way you make his heart thrum in his chest. 

sakusa kiyoomi knows he’s in love with you, when he swears he’d bring the stars, and moons, and sun down the sky- he knows he is when he’d do everything for you, finally wrapping strong arms around your form, tucking his face into the heat of your neck- lips finding the quickened pulse of yours and leaving loving kisses there, all while he makes sure you’re satisfied.

[theodora3022]

Playing tricks with the trickster

Summary: Failed escape attempt from yandere Childe. He lets you play your cards, even playing along, just for his own amusement.

Notes: My first genshin piece yay... I had a sweet and terrible dream of me running from Childe in the woods. Also some inspiration was drawn from @cinnamonest‘s this post, one big virtual hug to her! I hope I did Childe justice, what can I say I love manipulative smiling boys. It has become a pattern as I dash from one fandom to another. This is had turned out to be longer then I expected...Ginger boy demands my time and energy too much omg. Mind the warnings, although there is nothing extreme in this.

Fun fact, I was looping to Nintendo game by Alessia Cara when writing this down. I believe it fits the theme of this fic quite well.

Tagging: @akutaguagua a great friend who patiently beta-read this mess of a horror dream and gave me lots of kind praises! 

(Offical art belongs to miHoYo! This is a cover page of this video, if there is any issues, contact me and I will remove it at once)

Warnings: Implied past abduction,dub-con touching, mild degradation, drugging(not on reader), implied non-con/dub-con at the end, this is not healthy love and I do not condone this irl.

It has been nearly a month since the youngest Fatui Harbinger had “taken you in”. After a few tries, you were too horrified by the punishments to continuously fight him. You learned on the first day that Childe’s smiling, the friendly mask would come off towards you. Your behaviour would decide if that is a curse or a “blessing”.

So you had quieted down, struggling to restrain yourself from yelling or screaming, carefully not to provoke his anger. Despite being compliant to his orders, you never truly showed him any affection either. Sure, you would sit on his lap if he asked, but you never initiated anything intimate with him. No matter how much Tartaglia spoiled you with clothes, books, jewelry or other luxuries, he is still the one who holds the commanding end of your shackles. It’s the best not to get used to all of that when your sight is set on the door.

Although he has taken your freedom away, you are not kept in a windowless room. On the contrary, you have too many outings now. Wherever he goes, you have to be present in a 2m radius, including meetings. Being a Harbinger is no easy job, so he prefers not having to worry about your safetly during buisness hours. The best way to do that is never let you out of his sight.

“Love, no one should witness our little problems. Well, no one alive that is.” Of course you wouldn’t want to put innocent people's lives at stake. You never dared to act out when you two are in public, and no one would bat an eye if a Fatui had taken a lover. 

You had taken an emotionless approach towards him. If Childe wants a kiss on the cheek, you’ll give him a quick light peck. If he wants breakfast, you’ll go make some pancakes with the topping he likes. Luckily, Childe had not done anything too extreme yet. If cuddling to sleep does not count as extreme that is. The only time you slipped up is when he suddenly hugs you from behind when you’re cooking.  

You thought maybe, just maybe, by being as boring and dull as you could, this bastard might just get tired of you and let you go. Childe only loves the fun of it right? Or maybe it could lower his guard.

Oh, how naive you are. You should have known better than to underestimate a Fatui harbinger. See, this is exactly why he needs to keep you around. Yes, unfortunately for you, Childe loves you, so very much. Speaking to him with a monotone voice isn’t going to alter that fact.

You have been devoid of emotions as of late. While Childe does appreciate fewer screams for the sake of his eardrums, this schemer can sense you are up to something. Perhaps this is the peace before your “storm”(he thought of it more like a drizzle)

You want to play a game? Okay, why not? Childe cannot wait to see what tricks you got on those sleeves. Are you ever getting away? Does an amateur ever win when they play a game with a professional trickster? Never.

Still, nothing bites like a cornered rat. You are no airhead, and he is fully aware of that. Just not as cunning and observent as him, that’s all.

The way you just kept your emotions sealed up is impressive, even to someone like him. Even when he got hansy, you did not flinch and just stared at the corner. Childe can only catch faint glimpses of anger when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Hm, when are you pulling your trigger? Tonight, or tomorrow night? Not that Childe is impatient, anything from you is worth waiting. But he would need to dismiss his patrolling underlings in the nearby woods beforehand. No extras would be allowed to disturb this game.

There is no chance during the day, a somewhat mutual understanding for you two. Night time in comparison, is a different story. 

Anyone’s sleeping hours is their most vulnerable time of the day, Childe is no exception. You do not plan to harm him, not that you don’t want to. But you are willing to swallow the pent up frustration towards him if you would never see his face again after this. Maybe beating up some slimes would help with the release?

You somehow managed to slip a mixture of herbs into his tea. Since he would buy cooking ingredients for you from time to time, you had requested a bunch of herbs along with the ingredients of a sleep inducing medicine you remembered. Although Childe does all he can to keep you near him, there are inevitable hours that he needs to be somewhere without you. He cannot jeopardize your safety with troublesome monsters. On a side note, he loves showing you off to anyone, his colleagues, acquaintances, business partners, anyone he does not deem a threat.

Enough time for you to make those herbs into powder and cover it up with a few spoons of milk. Tea with milk has become quite popular in Liyue as of late. Childe has grown to love them, so you have learned how to mix it up. He always let you handle his food and drinks, saying that he “trusts you”. What you do not know is this is one of the openings he exposed on purpose. It’s not like you can aquire anything deadly under his suffocating supervision.

Your plan will work, or so you think. Childe will not wake up when you wiggle out of his grasp, because dreamland will keep him occupied. All you need is a glider and a usable sword from Liyue and you’ll get your life back. Bottling up extreme emotions has certainly taken a toll on your mind, but it will be worth it if that is the prerequisite of being free.

Something about this being so easy sits ill with you. Have you really been with the youngest Fatui Harbinger this whole time? But that was brushed off your shoulders by the sheer excitement of regaining your long lost freedom. You know Liyue is in walking distance, all you need to do is cross these woods and-

The moment you dive into the forest, you think you heard an amused chuckle. 

That smooth voice terrifies you to no end, the same voice you took orders from for the past month.

Oh, how Childe loves seeing you happy. It’s priceless, both literally and figuratively. No matter how many things he buys you, you had not shown him even one small smile. Enjoy your sweet freedom, because it ain’t going to last. You certainly will know your place after this right? If not you are just dumber then he give you credit for.

That glow of relief in your eyes is worth every last bit of this intense dizzying feeling to Childe. To make sure your plan go through, he had drunk the tea without hesitation, quick enough to catch the momentarily excitement you expressed. He knows the game is on, therefore he had given the night patrol guards the entire evening off. Forcing himself to stay concious by digging his nails into his palms, Childe followed you into the woods.

Your potion is quite strong. Excellent, you’ll have to give him the recipe for informational purposes later. Especially how you managed to achieve such effects with a few herbs you had. He never took you to be anything less than a smart girl, but this has exceeded his expectations. Where’s the fun in a game without challenges?

How you storm through the forest wearing that cute terrified expression looks so endearing, it’s surely not his fault if he wants to enjoy this sight to be longer right.

So, each time you feel the slightest at ease due to whatever reason, expect Childe to make some sound to send you running like your life depends on it again. The sadistic man is hunting you down playfully, like a cat chasing a stray mouse to the inevitable corner.

You know he is toying with you. There is nothing you can do to make him shut up though.

“Love, you had scratched your leg. Must hurts by the looks of it.”

“Liyue is that way, you know.”

“Are you tired? If you want to jog in the middle of the night, you should have called me to come along!”

How can he say those things nonchalantly while you are trying to escape from him?  Here he is, daunting you with that signature smile he wears so very often. That is when reality slaps you right in the face. No matter how hard you plan, no matter how fast you run, there is no getting rid of him.

When your stamina runs out, a simple pull and push on your left wrist is enough to let you fall onto the ground panting. Even now, you still refuse to beg for mercy. You would take the cold grounds to the warmth of Childe’s embrace anyday. 

“Aw, burnt out already? Pathetic. Looks like we need to work on your stamina more. But this is not the place for exercise.”

“Look at me.” His slender but forceful fingers tilt your head up, making you look into those ocean blue orbs. There is anger present in his eyes, but those emotions are more a mixture of delight and that. His smile had also been replaced by a mocking smirk. “You, trying to leave me? Your sense of humor is...well, let’s just call it unique. Lucky for you, you amused me nonetheless.”

“I know what you’re thinking. How I’m a selfish jerk and you hate me. Why be so ungrateful? You get to live in luxury thanks to me, you know. I am selfish, yes, but look how stupid you are. I know you added something extra in my evening tea, my beloved.”

“Come now, we are going to do some exercises suited for a night like this once we’re back home. It is our one month milestone, after all. You had already given me your gift, it is only fair for you that I do the same.”

Childe is not making a sarcastic remark. The thrill of that chase was the best fun he had in months. And you are going to love his gift too, maybe not right away, but surely sometimes after. 

You have to mentally prepare yourself for the worst as he dragged you back to the prison, hopefully you’ll still be able to walk properly after whatever Childe got in store.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

UH WHOA not only am i posting art but theres so much of it lmfao

ive been meaning to do this for mmmm a long time, and i decided to get it cleaned up so i can present folks with my homebrew/headcanon/thingy for the d&d playable races !! i know ive missed a few off but these are ones ive seen more of over all in my own travels in Nerd Game lol

ive only DMed one thing so far (our lost mines of phandelver adventure was a total blast but oh boy the shenanigans) but im like ... drowning in it all, have been for a loooonng time since i first played Neverwinter Nights when i was like 11, i just didnt have a party to mess with yet lmao (fingers crossed our schedules get sorted so the campaign goes ahead soooooonnn).. so ive been developing some of these various homebrewy headcanons for uh over half my life

getting them all together in one place like this was unbelievably fun !!

gonna yell under the cut for a bit about it more but very shortly i’ll be opening for d&d character / item / creature commissions so watch this space or pop me a message to get in a queue <3

these headcanon things are half based on “that looks cool” and Sciencing. a lot of the more humanoid in some way races ive really pulled on human ancestors a lot, as well as muscle development in different sports. And Animals, because ye

i haven’t included humans in this mammoth endeavour because we should all know what a Human People looks like, and their proportions aren’t any different in the world of D&D i run at least lol similarly, because they’re an exact intersection between humans & either elves or orcs, the half-species arent included on here either [shrugs] i WILL talk about them some here though !!

i might eventually update this with some npc generators ive made using my own descriptors and headcanons >.>

ELVES av height; 5′6 | heads-high; 8.5 generally long limbed, with fine wispy hair, elves senses are very heightened. helping in this, their eyes are almond-shaped with slightly narrow pupils, their large radar-like ears are very mobile, and the underside of their noses are covered in a lightly damp pitted leather. part of their ability to maintain grace with an elongated frame, aside from longer springy feet, is aided by a tail built somewhat like a horse, with a skirt of hair down its length, only with a slightly longer bone to it than would be seen in the typical pony. excepting a very light dusting on their lower limbs, they typically have very little body hair. sometimes their skin shimmers, or freckles sparkle.

GNOME av height; 3′6 | heads-high; 6.5  gnomes are almost like diminutive elves with a few key differences. their hair tends to be wild if left alone, but is often styled wildly anyway. set rather low on rounded but long faces, their large almond eyes are keen, and small hands very nimble. it’s not sure if its due to their close environments or frequent encounters with accidents in experiments, but their skulls are surprisingly hard, and they possess small horn nubs made of bone and coated in keratin. their small petal-shaped ears are set low and point outward, and are able to move a little to catch sound. they may look fragile due to their size and build but they are pretty hardy and more than capable.

HALFLING av height; 3′ | heads-high; 6 a very hardy but soft and welcoming folk, halflings are built for walking and surviving well, often coming from a semi-nomadic tradition. they typically have round faces with stronger jaws and soft round eyes, and their large ears are pointed upright. their figures easily get a little curved and chubby, especially when they have easy access to decent food, in preparation for harder times and the odd period of hunkering down for some downtime, say in poor weather. truly the most functional part of a halfling is their short powerful legs with big fairly flexible hard feet, and lion-like tail for balance, both insulated by hair.

DWARF av height; 4′3 | heads-high; 6.5 dwarves are accustomed to life in tougher terrain, typically with large parts spent in the ground. their broad frames are also squat down with thick short limbs, for huge power and for life in tunnels. wide feet keep them steady and sensitive to significant seismic energy in the earth, and wide hands aid in their work and the feel of the rock. their large round ears stick outward and are slightly mobile, large noses help condition the air, and high-set eyes with huge irises aid their vision in darker spaces and the ability to peek over things without being fully exposed. their skulls are also very thick just in case of falling rocks. all dwarves are very hairy and grow beards, taking pride in keeping and styling it.

GOLIATH av height; 7′6 | heads-high; 10 a totally different variety of rock & mountain people to dwarves, they do share a few traits. a goliath’s thick limbs are long with a big reach and huge stride, with big hands and feet for steady movement. as well as being hugely tall, they are broad, especially in their shoulders, with a long neck elevating their head further. their facial features tend to be very sharp, but long. they have little to no body hair, and they often dont grow head hair either, but decorate their skulls with tattoos. as they get older, the upper surfaces of their body develop pebble like growths under the skin, often in similar patterns to their habitats.

FIRBOLG av height; 7′6 | heads high; 9 firbolg typically live in deep forests but are actually a giantkin - although not too unbelievable given their huge height and thick build. large parts of their body are hairy, nearly furry, and their head hair is thick and wild, and they often have facial hair too. their large heads have long thick noses with an almost bovine leather to their top lips, and wide set eyes. their fluffy ears are very mobile, but when relaxed they drop and point downward. their nails are thick and sturdy, aiding in being even more dexterous while being so big. sometimes they are covered in layers of clothing, but they possess a tiny goat-like tail.

DRAGONBORN av height; 6′6 | heads-high; 8 dragonborns diverged from true dragons in the ancient past, likely due to a strong magical influence of some kind, but not so long ago that the bloodlines of dragons are absent from the race of dragonborn. (the illustration shows the typical head-shape and placement of ears, each bloodline has its own features). their chest is still very round like an animal, with deep chest muscles, a slightly less mobile shoulder, and short upper arm. their 4 clawed hands and feet somewhat resemble that of a true dragon, but smaller and a little less dangerous. the length of a dragonborn’s tail can vary from just the length from hips to floor, or up to their full height, and as well as being very useful for balance and dexterity, can be used for fighting. different bloodlines can interbreed, with it being a matter of chance which line is present in offspring (although metallic is more dominant over gemstone, and chromatic over both ... (ah yeah gemstone, ill get to that soon))

AARAKOCRA av height; 5′ | heads-high; 8.5 as an avian species, especially one capable of flight, the aarakocra’s bones are hollow, making them on the one hand very agile but a little fragile. their large wingspan nearly brushes the floor, and their wings attach high on their back, through to a deep avian keel. their arms have a long forearm, which is covered in bird-like scutes, and their 4 clawed hands are still remarkably talon like which quite short palms and very mobile thumbs. their legs are very long and powerful, and backed by a typically wedge shaped tail. more often than not, their physical appearance takes after raptor species of birds, but different populations can trend towards many different appearances, including parrots and waterfowl.

TABAXI av height; 6′6 | heads-high; 9 tabaxi are an unusual sight in many places still. their cat-like bodies are very flexible and suited to their athletic climbing lifestyle. their long hands and feet have very a powerful grip, and they can retract their front claws. their long feline face is something like a cheetah or a clouded-leopard, with large highly mobile ears, large eyes and a strong nose. 

ORC

av height; 6′6 | heads-high; 8

orcs are very powerfully build, with heavy muscles and thick bodies overall. compared to other humanoids they can look a little gorilla-like. their short legs are usually a little bent to carry weight better instead of busting knees when locked. their course wiry hair grows profusely all over their body. their strong nails often grow out a little pointed. their large thick heads have high heavy brows and protruding lower jaws, short round noses and low bud-shaped ears which stick outward. the lower jaw and sometimes upper contain tusks, sometimes multiple tusks, which are greatly cared for and very impressive.

HALF-ELVES av height; 5′6 | heads-high; 8.25 a half-elf’s build will be somewhere between human and elf, often inheriting something of an elf’s eyes and nose leather, shorter elf ears, and maybe a small tufted tail something like a rabbits

HALF-ORCS av height; 6′ | heads-high; 8 a half-orc’s build will be somewhere between human and elf, often inheriting something of an orc’s skin colour and dark and profuse wiry hair, shorter orc ears, and some small tusks.

GOBLIN av height; 4′ (stood straight) | heads high; 5.5 bat/cat-like ears, nose something like bear/cat, domed head, arms/legs same length, sparse wiry hair, claws, short digits, lithe but very strong and hardy

HOBGOBLIN av height; 5′3 (stood straight) | heads high; 8 bat/cat-like ears but pinched at the base, nose something like bear/cat, very domed head, arms slightly longer than legs, claws, sparse wiry hair, quite broad

BUGBEAR av height; 7′ (stood straight) | heads high; 7.5 bat-like ears, long domed head something like a lion/bear, arms very long, nearly totally covered in thick fur, big tusks and often fangs, very bear-like hands/feet, big claws, very broad

TRITON av height; 5′2 | heads high; 7.5 lithe but well muscled, quite streamlined for a humanoid, frilled ears, pretty flat face, fins on limbs/back, “hair” is tendrils/fins/etc, short strong legs & long arms, long webbed fingers, long flipper feet, gills along front/side of chest

YUAN-TI PUREBLOOD av height; 5′9 | heads high; 9 domed angular faces, lips are not humanoid, triangular eyes, scales, quite flat nostrils with sense pits following along underside cheekbones, very little cartilage in ear, some may have cobra hoods extending out of ear instead, very tall and thin with small hands/feet, reptilian claws

CENTAUR av height; 7′ | heads high; 10 fairly stocky pony body (usually about 4′10 at withers), very muscled front end, long neck & sloping human-shoulders, long faces with long broad noses, prominent lips, horse-like ears sticking up and out, their whole scalp can grow hair but shaved sides are common, can grow hair nearly all down human-spine

KOBOLD av height; 2′6 | heads high; 5.5 almost alligator-like head & eyes, tiny nub horns, quite animal-like chest, arms/legs same length, thick stubby tail same length of body, 4 digits with stubby claws, lithe but strong for their tiny size

KENKU av height; 4′ | heads high; 5.5 corvid features, deep chest but no keel, longer arms than legs, 4 digits with talons, hands human-like but scaled, wedge-like tail half of leg height, not-quite fully bird feet.

LIZARDFOLK av height; 6′6 | heads high; 7 iguana-like, egg-shaped head, neck wattle, line of back spines varies in height, long arms and legs, very reptilian hands and feet with long claws, elbow spikes

GRUNG av height; 3′ | heads high; 6.5 large heads, neck leads nearly directly into torso, super flexible, very long limbs, triangular body, short upper arm, shorter thigh, large hands/feet, 4 digits

LOXODON av height; 7′6 | heads high; 5.5 large head, trunk as long as torso, short legs / long arms, huge bones under thick muscle, thick skin, 4 digits with thick nails, large hands / rounded cushioned feet, v e r y broad and thick build, small tail with tuft at the end, 

TORTLE av height; 7′6 | heads-high; 7 thick wrinkled skin encased in huge shell, stooping posture with neck extending forward, very long arms & short legs, 5 digits with reptilian claws, boxy head, heart shaped from above with features set far forward, tail to balance stoop

MINOTAUR av height; 7′ | heads-high; 9 powerful build with thick bones, typically well muscled, bovine head on thick neck, often very large horns, fairly long tufted tail, big hooved feet, broad 4 digit hands with thick nails, hair length varies

PLANE THINGS ???

listen this was a lot easier in the edition i first encountered lol anyway, until anything else comes up in extra material im just applying a few square & rectangle venn diagram rules

a useful word; planetouched. i dont really know why WotC seems to have dropped that term for at least 5e (i missed 4e entirely) but it refers to a “mortal native outsider” with lineage or influence from a plane other than the material, so “a material plane native creature with non-native plane influence, which can die”

GENASI height depends on material plane parent the result of a material plane / elemental pair (usually genies). they usually take after their material parent in build and broader features, but their elemental heritage comes through in features like magical hair, bright coloured eyes, unusual body temperatures, innate magics, etc.  genasi can interbreed with themselves, and the crossing of two elements can produce some interesting results (im working on that :>)

TIEFLINGS height depends on material plane parents this is the first of the squares & rectangles, and tbh its basically canonical. a tiefling is the result of a material plane humanoid being born with fiendish* influence. the word ‘tiefling’ refers specifically to a human with fiendish influence, but is also an umbrella term for ALL fiendish planetouched creatures. these DO have some names mentioned in the play material ! fey’ri = elves, tanarukk = orcs, wisplings = halflings, maeluth = dwarves, etc. so all fiendish planetouched are tieflings, but not all tieflings are human-based. the fiendish influence can be dormant for years or just string along for decades. AnyWay, all of them have horns, most have tails, odd skin or eye colour, and others can have all sorts of extraplanar features. *(fiends are another venn diagram thing in D&D, its an umbrella term for both demons and devils) 

AASIMAR height depends on material plane parents aaand this is the second of the squares & rectangles, the not-strictly-canon one. okay duplicate what i said about tieflings, but make it about celestials not fiends, basically lmao. aasimar is an umbrella term, but also a human/celestial planetouched specifically! unlike the above, since its my homebrew concept i dont have other words specifically for other races’ celestial planetouched, but i’ll get there watch this space lol EnyHoo, they all tend to have a strange glow about them in general, but usually in their eyes, and maybe hair especially. it isnt uncommon for them to have a kind of halo around themselves, or glowing glyphs/runes/sigils on or around them either. while MOST dont have full wings, a dusting of feathers isnt unusual. the features of celestials can vary a lot more. for example, unicorns and leonals are actually celestials!

aaand the slightly odd-ball;

WARFORGED height depends on build purpose these are an interesting case, as warforged are actually constructs, brought into this world by the fusing of organic muscle (like wood or leathery material) to an inorganic shell (like stone or metal), imbuing a life-giving fluid of some sort to act like blood, and bringing life to it by a powerful ritual - a unique glyph etched into their heads. as their name suggests they are usually created to become soldiers, or other army positions, although they could be suited to other purposes. unlike most constructs, they are fully self-aware and have a mind on par with humans. they do not need sleep (but require rest) and they also do not naturally reproduce. if they live longer than their purpose, then they are turned loose to deal with the world as they wish. as they are MADE they can vary greatly depending on who made them, and for what exact purpose - although they tend to have beak-like mouths, and 3 digit hands and 2 toed feet.

AV. HEIGHT CHART FROM LEFT TO RIGHT !!! human - elf - dwarf - gnome - halfling - orc - goliath - firbolg - dragonborn - aarakocra - tabaxi - kenku - hobgoblin - bugbear - yuanti - triton - kobold - grung - lizardfolk - tortle - centaur - minotaur - loxodon

oooboy that was a lot of waffle :L

[lunetheaveragefan]

one day...

Hi! This is the beginning of the first fanfiction that I’m posting here! I hope people like it!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Some cursing and quick mentions of anxiety/a panic attack. If you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 1,691

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CHAPTER ONE

Virgil Tempest is having a bad day.

First of all, he’d woken up late. 30 minutes late, to be exact. That left him only 10 to get ready for school, so he didn’t have time to put on his foundation. Now, the feature he hated most about himself — his freckles — would be visible for all to see. 

Secondly, his favorite hoodie was in the wash, so he had to wear his old, plain black one that he hadn’t worn since at least seventh grade. It was buried in the way back of his closet, wedged between a leather jacket he’d completely forgotten he owned and the suit he had only worn once, at a funeral for some distantly related family member.

Thirdly, he forgot his headphones at home in his rush, and so now he had to suffer the whole day, unable to block out the noise of his idiotic school. He thought he had a spare pair in his backpack, but when he looked once he got to school, there weren’t any in sight. 

Earlier, he thought it couldn’t get any worse, but he is sure now that it was just building up to this.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Roman Princeford apologizes loudly from above him. To say Virgil dislikes Roman would be an understatement. Roman has a ridiculously pompous name and a personality to match. The star theater kid, popular king of the school, and friend to everyone. Well, everyone except for Virgil. Even Virgil’s only friend, Logan Wise, a class-A nerd, likes Roman. 

Needless to say, Virgil doesn’t see Roman’s appeal. Maybe, if Roman could stand to be a whole lot less arrogant, say, every day, or if he stopped being so excessively extra, or if he just took the time to do something other than theater and bragging, he might be tolerable. The key word there being ‘might.’

“It’s fine,” Virgil mumbles from the floor, where he had landed after Roman knocked into him while Virgil was walking. Roman had been talking to his usual group of fans, taking up most of the hallway since pretty much everyone wanted to listen to him, and had thrown out an arm in one of his usual grand gestures and pushed Virgil right over. He’d landed on the floor, books strewn everywhere, being watched by the whole hallway. Of course, it’s more crowded than usual thanks to the tall tale Roman was describing that apparently no one could afford to miss out on. It didn’t help that Roman had decided to make a big deal out of it, either. 

Wishing this terrible day could just end already, Virgil shifts to a crouch and begins to gather his books. To his utter dismay, Roman bends down to help him. Annoyed as he is, Virgil can’t get up the courage to tell the other boy to leave him alone. Even so, the work goes quicker with the other boy helping, and, as much as he would hate to ever admit it, Virgil appreciates it. 

They both reach for the last book on the ground at the same time, and their hands knock into each other. 

“S-Sorry,” Roman says, and Virgil thinks he hears a stutter in his voice. Roman Princeford, the theater prodigy who never messes up a line, stuttering? But when Virgil looks up at Roman, there’s a blush working its way across the other boy’s tan cheeks. Strange. This close, Virgil can see the bluish specks in the other boy’s green eyes. 

Roman must feel Virgil’s eyes on him, because he looks back at him, handing him his last book. Dread settles in Virgil’s stomach as he realizes that Roman must be able to see his freckles. Just as he remembers, Roman’s eyes drop to the other’s nose, where the freckles are the most noticeable. Shit, Virgil curses. 

Yanking the book away from Roman, Virgil turns away and stands up, and Roman soon follows suit. There’s a redness on both of their faces now, but on Virgil’s pale skin, it’s much more visible. How long was I staring at his eyes? He shakes his head, letting his dyed-purple bangs fall over his face. 

Resituating his books in his arms and weaving his way through the people, he starts the walk to his next class, art.

“Have a nice day!” Roman calls from behind him. Virgil sighs and pulls up his hood, wishing now more than ever that he had his headphones.

“Whatever,” he mutters, but the whole next period, all he can think about is Roman Princeford’s bright green eyes, tan skin, and wavy blond hair. 

I must be going crazy, he decides. I mean, I know I’m gay, but gay for Roman Princeford, of all people? I don’t know him at all, and from what I’ve heard — and experienced — he’s not someone I would ever get along with. There’s no way I could possibly have a crush on him. 

Right?

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

At lunch, Virgil drops down in the seat next to Logan with a thud. 

“Greetings,” Logan states professionally. “Am I misperceiving your body language and demeanor or was your day thus far below average in terms of relative happiness and unpleasantly abnormal?” Virgil looks at him around his bangs, puzzled.

“What?” Is he even speaking English? Virgil wonders.

“Pardon me, I forget that you are intellectually compromised when it comes to my copious vocabulary. Let me rephrase,” Logan proclaims. He clears his throat and lays his hands on the table, his fingers pressed together to form triangle-like shapes. “Did your day suck or are you just being your—” Logan waves a hand at Virgil’s body— “regular grumpy asshole self?”

Virgil is taken aback for a second before he rolls his eyes. 

“Roman fucking Princeford bumped into me in the hallway, and then had the nerve to say, ‘Have a nice day!’ afterwards in that disgustingly cheery voice of his!” Virgil complains, poking at his food. He doesn’t really intend on eating any of it; the school’s food is terrible, and besides, he isn’t too hungry anyway. He has some crackers in his bag if he really needs something to eat later.

“I do not understand why you antagonize him so often, but I suppose if you refuse to change your opinions of him, there isn’t much I can do on the matter.” Logan pauses, and Virgil has a feeling he knows what’s coming next: one of Logan’s rare discussions of emotions. “But you shouldn’t just assume that everyone is out to hurt you, Virgil.”

Yup, there it is. Virgil likes Logan’s company because he isn’t too tied up in his emotions, unlike Virgil. He knows the facts, and that’s relieving when Virgil is in the midst of a period of overwhelming anxiety. But sometimes, Logan thinks he knows what’s best for Virgil, especially when it comes to matters concerning Roman Princeford.

Scoffing, Virgil crosses his arms and leans against the back of the chair. “Whatever,” he sighs.

Logan takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm his temper, which has a habit of getting out of control, and responds, “Virgil, this is unhealthy. You have—” But before Virgil can find out what Logan thinks he has to do, another voice cuts Logan off.

“Heya, guys! How are you?” Virgil looks up to see a shorter student standing there. This new kid’s hair is a mess of amber curls, tumbling over his forehead and slipping behind his round, wire rimmed glasses. Tan skin covered in freckles and a round face gives him a youthful look, but Virgil knows that he’s a junior just like him. 

His name is Patton Hart, and Virgil, surprisingly, doesn’t hate him.

Patton is known for being one of the kindest people in the school. No matter who it is, Patton will find a way to cheer someone up. Back in December of their freshman year, Patton helped Virgil calm down during a panic attack around finals. Virgil harbors no ill will towards the kid, but it’s still strange that he’d show up at their table randomly. 

Then, Virgil remembers that Patton’s best friend is the one and only Roman Princeford. 

Roman probably sent Patton to tell me something. Damn, I hate that stuck up asshole. Before Virgil can open his mouth to ask Patton what he wants with them, since Logan and him are the only ones anywhere near, Logan talks first.

“Hi, Patton!” His voice is so upbeat and joy-filled that Virgil has to look over at Logan to make sure he did, indeed, speak. In the seat next to him, Logan’s face is lit up with a smile, and he looks so…well, not-Logan. And, wait, is that a blush on Logan’s cheeks?

Virgil raises his eyebrows in shock and blinks a few times to make sure what he’s seeing is real. When nothing changes when he opens his eyes, Virgil ignores the strangeness of whatever’s happening next to him and looks back at Patton. 

“Hey, Patton,” he greets. “What do you need?” He tries to keep his voice annoyance-free, so not to hurt the other kid’s feelings. Patton’s a little puffball of innocence and positive energy, and the whole school has made an unspoken agreement to keep it that way.

“Oh, I just came over to talk to Logan about our science project!” 

“We were paired together as lab partners today,” Logan explains, still with that wide smile on his face. 

Weirded out by the scene unfolding in front of him, Virgil pokes at his food one last time and decides he’s not so hungry to risk getting food poisoning. 

“Alright, then,” he says, standing up, “I’ll leave you guys alone so you can talk about your nerdy physics stuff.”

“Actually, Virgil, it’s chemistry we’re taking,” Logan informs him, some semblance of his usual professional manner returning. 

“Well, it’s still science, and it’s still nerdy, so my point stands.”

Patton giggles, and Logan seems to blush, but at this point, Virgil doesn’t trust his own eyes. 

“Well, goodbye, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, waving. Virgil laughs at Patton’s use of ‘kiddo’ even though they're in the same grade and waves back. Telling Logan that he’ll see him later, he turns and dumps his try, finally exiting the noise of the cafeteria.

[kingofthewilderwest]

One of the major flaws of HTTYD 3 in comparison to its predecessors is how childish the movie felt. The first two movies had the occasional joke but were still extremely mature in their storytelling. Have you read the article "Dreamworks execs have an incredible reason for why their films are unpopular" ? It came out a year after the second movie, and explains why they dumbed down the third.

It’s an interesting article and I’ve always thought there was some truth in the opinion: to their detriment, DreamWorks’ latest films haven’t focused on the creatively wild, often more mature spark that made things like How to Train Your Dragon, The Croods, Rise of the Guardians, Megamind, or The Prince of Egypt quality films. As the article writer notes:

Animated films, if anything, attract a much broader audience of older children, teens, and adults than they ever did in the Eighties and Nineties. Ironically, DreamWorks’s own films in the 2000s played a significant role in expanding the public’s perception about animated features. Now, DreamWorks is betting against its own history as they try to get back on track.

That said. Many of the earliest DreamWorks productions have a somewhat mature appeal to them, but I feel like DreamWorks has long played the game of wide audience appeal commercialism. For a period of time, they balanced their “artistic” or “venturesome” films against their “safer cash” films. The fluffier Turbo was released just one year before HTTYD2; Kung Fu Panda 3 and The Boss Baby were released a year apart, too. There was a sense of balance, letting the fluffier, probably more kid-appealing films earn money, while allowing them to take risks on more unique ventures. I’m not sure if that was their actual strategy, but regardless: balance of maturity. (And for the record, calling some DreamWorks movies “fluffier” is not intended to be an insult; I myself love their Mr. Peabody & Sherman).

And I think the reason I was so hardcore on board the DreamWorks train is that, whether it was an ill-conceived mistake (Shark Tale) or a big “what the fuck” (Bee Movie) or feeling somewhat adult (Antz), DreamWorks was willing to take those risks. DreamWorks was willing to be quirky. And DreamWorks was willing to put heart into everything; Mr. Peabody & Sherman definitely has heart to it, as does Home, as does Turbo from what I remember (only saw that one once).

I feel like advertisements for Trolls and The Boss Baby is where my friendship circles started to feel less enthused about DreamWorks. At that point, I saw some trust failing for DreamWorks’ creative direction - that DreamWorks was dumbing down their movies for children rather than making fluff family films with heart. The key phrase is “dumbing down.” There’s a huge difference between writing children’s stories and dumbing down for children. And that’s what this article writer was calling out, too.

Ghibli movies are written for children. Disney 2D animated films bring awe to children. How to Train Your Dragon understood that lots of its audience members would be children. But you breathe life into a quality story that children and adults can enjoy! Making a bunch of crappy jokes dumbed down to children is stuff like... at its worst... Norm of the North. When you’re making something shoddier, with half-assed fart jokes, because of an implicit idea children’s media doesn’t have to be as quality... because children allegedly aren’t going to notice quality... that’s where we run into problems.

Now, I’m not going to say whether or not I think DreamWorks has actually begun dumbing down its films. I know that’s the impression in my peer group. I know that’s an impression I’ve felt inside my heart, too. But I haven’t seen Trolls or Trolls World Tour or The Boss Baby so I can’t judge. But I think it’s safe to say there has been a gradual shift over time. And that escalated post-2014, where we got this from DreamWorks execs:

…the company's slate changes are more realistic/in-tune with the evolution in changes in the box office market as the 2012-2014 film challenges were tied to films which skewed older right as the box office began to see changes whereby animation demand was increasingly skewing younger as kids began to age out of the genre earlier. While we view the ability to reduce P&A as more difficult given the need to advertise to two distinct groups (kids and moms), the combination of both cost reductions in production and a younger skewing slate, do position the slate better in our view.

And my impression is it’s escalated lately (but I only have a small sample size of films, so I take what I say with a grain of salt). I remember during the NBCUniversal acquisition in 2016, fans feared DreamWorks would lose its sometimes mature, sometimes quirky heart. That the company would be in a downfall state for quality.

I had hoped that HTTYD3 might be a bastion against efforts to commercialize with cash-easy, not-as-heart-ful “kid” appeals. THW grossing a lot of money could help leadership remember that diverse audiences, not tiny children, can and do watch animated films - 3D animation’s just not a guaranteed success because it’s a more saturated market. It could at least let the tradition of some DreamWorks gutsier creative films perpetuate.

And I do think that THW doesn’t have as many problems as, say, The Boss Baby probably does, when it comes to “kid-specific appeal”. I feel like the tone in THW has a middle ground. THW was never going to be as dark as HTTYD2; DeBlois made that clear since the release of HTTYD2; but I do think there might have been an effort to lighten tone in places (ergo the large number of gag jokes that cluttered the film). There’s absolutely mature ideas inside THW: the concept of parting ways with someone you love because it’s better for both of you... that’s meaty... that’s something that even adults grapple with. Hiccup’s flashbacks with Stoick have the simple but in-depth storytelling mood I know of the How to Train Your Dragon brand. So I would phrase it as it’s not a case of complete dumbing down so much as it is some imperfect tonal choices and plot focuses (too much spotlighting on the Light Fury romance, for instance, and not weeding out an excessive amount of jokes... that again... cluttered the film). The first two HTTYD movies feel like carefully honed storytelling, capturing the essence of what their story needed. The third needed tonal and content reorganization. The presentation of stakes and plot progression weren’t on par with the first two films. The Hiccup-Toothless separation didn’t pack a hard punch to me because the steps we took to get to the end weren’t the tonal footsteps we needed.

There’s a reason I charged to theatres the weekend Abominable released (mind, this was before the map controversy over the film came out). I was hoping Abominable could be a DreamWorks film with art and heart. And you know? I think that Abominable was one draft short of being *INCREDIBLE*. The problem is it was one draft short. It stayed superficial instead of diving into the meat. The plot pacing was slow because we didn’t get into the meat, the characterization felt awkwardly paced and whiplashy because it didn’t get into the meat, and the humor felt childish rather than taking full advantage of things like character relations. But the inside heart - the inside potential - of Abominable is monumental. It’s still not a bad film! If they’d gotten that next draft, Pearl and DreamWorks could have had a piece on par with Megamind and The Croods. I absolutely believe that. If I had time, I would rewrite Abominable in fanfiction and show how much potential this thing had.

DreamWorks is no longer a young studio exploring whatever the crap it wants because it’s the new guy finding his voice or rebelling against the other voice. DreamWorks is an established powerhouse. And with establishment comes a certain degree of safety-playing and standardization of content. I don’t expect we’ll get as many wild tone shifts as Bee Movie (11/2007) to Kung Fu Panda (6/2008) or How to Train Your Dragon 2 (6/2014) to freaking Penguins of Madagascar (11/2014).

That’s not to say DreamWorks does or doesn’t make quality films. I admit I don’t have high hopes on some things like The Boss Baby 2. I do have my fingers crossed for The Wizards of Once; I hoooope that DreamWorks can treat TWOO as they did HTTYD... something with simple, powerful, overflowing, artistic heart.

Who knows. Guess we’ll see.

[chikkou]

I'd ask this on your Lisa sideblog but you don't have anon on and I'm shy lol, but do you have any headcanons relating to Lisa the First? Like Lisa's views on religion, her relationship with her mother, if any of the various worlds we see mean anything?

hoh man i didnt even know anon wasnt on LMAO... ill turn it on after i post this!

also fuck YEAH i do holy shit i fucking LOVE lisa the first!! i know its sort of the black sheep of the lisa series, since it is a completely different type of game and was clearly austins first game, but i fucking ADORE it dude. the music - which he made ENTIRELY IN THE FREE TRIAL OF FL STUDIO BY THE WAY - is FANTASTIC, the art direction is actually pretty fucking incredible for an rpgmaker game that uses a good deal of basic assets, and the gameplay.... ok yeah that part is a bit lacking but its a yume nikki-style game be nice it was his first time LMAO

ANYWAY back to ur question. first and foremost, i think this is not even a headcanon so much as straight up canon, but lisa DESPISES christianity. marty is christian, probably catholic given the golden crosses everywhere, and he is a fucking scumbag hypocrite. lisa likely associates all of christianity with this line of thinking, as there is one room in the bile area where the melted martys (although i suppose we can just call them joy mutants now LMAO) simply stand in a circle surrounding one big cross. the role of the melted martys is up for interpretation of course, as is everything, but after playing the painful and seeing them described as “mindless sheep,” i think this is how lisa viewed them. so they likely represent other people that, to lisa, are probably just as sick and disgusting as marty

lisas relationship with her mother... i go back and forth on this one a lot. i can never decide if i prefer the headcanon that lisas mom died in childbirth, and so lisa never met her, or if i prefer that lisas mom was around for a very short time and then either left or died. the fact that she says “i didnt want to leave” at the end of the first leads me to believe that she most likely died. in either case, the memory of her mother was clearly important to lisa, as she wears her pendant through the entire game and its explicitly noted as being a gift from her. in either case, i think that the death/absence of the mother is heavily implied to be the primary cause behind martys descent into alcoholism and lisas abuse, since the white room strongly implies that marty did at one time sincerely love and care for her as a father properly should 

as for the meaning of each of the rooms, i think most of them are fairly self explanatory, but some of them are a bit more vague, so ill break it down in terms of how i see it (and ill put them under the cut because its long as hell):

martys house - this is the most literal one. pretty self-explanatory. the dark, yet vibrant colors and the ear-bleedingly loud tv are pure sensory overload, something lisa probably deals with on a regular basis. when lisa goes outside and it turns into a sky of marty faces, i think this is the transition into the psychological part of the game

the lobby - this is honestly just pure yume nikki ripoff LMAO... but if i had to ascribe a symbolic meaning to it, i think its probably a quiet and safe area for lisa to retreat to in her mind when she needs it, but even that eventually gets sullied as tricky rick makes his way there, too (and tells her hes “just waiting” when she talks to him). the majority of gameplay is lisa searching for items with which to kill tricky rick, who always abuses and disparages her whenever she talks to him, telling her she’ll never forget. as for the reason why... well, take one look at him and its pretty clear whats going on there. (the name is also a reference to richard nixon, whose nickname was... well, you can figure it out!)

the town - the bar area is 100% my favorite from this world; lisa clearly hates alcohol and anyone who drinks it, associating them all with marty, and that music... all i can say is YUCK. the entire section also consists of lisa having to give up something in exchange for what she needs to move on, and usually getting the raw end of the deal out of it (she gives one marty a banana, he gives her a banana peel in return). she does all that while avoiding a marty following her outside who repeatedly tells her “you cant escape,” and upon reaching tricky rick (who is atop a narrow, columnar, PINK mountain), it becomes pretty clear whats happening to her. 

the sea room - fucking marty spiders man. im assuming they represent the sickly feeling of crawling skin she gets when she looks at him or is anywhere near him, but holy GOD they are annoying to deal with. she kills tricky rick with pills here - we dont know what kind of pills these are, but i interpret them as sleeping pills, and given the rumbling music and the rapid cycling marty background, i wonder if he forced her to take these. marty is everywhere here, but the only one she can speak to is seen chilling on a raft of some kind. marty likely spent much of his time recreationally, i.e. drinking, so it makes sense why this would be here

the rope room - theres no symbolism here this is just pure comedy (LMAO). if i HAD to assign some meaning to this area, it would be that lisa likely is so despondent at this point that putting in effort to do anything feels utterly pointless, much like climbing this long-ass rope was

the white room - as i mentioned earlier, i personally believe that this area depicts the previous relationship between marty and lisa (and also has one of my favorite songs in the game). he is shown doing traditional fatherly things - he is no longer wearing sunglasses and is wearing a suit, meaning he was likely employed, and is actually smiling. he also spends time with her in a completely platonic, familial way. when she interacts with him, there is a little heart over his head. after lisa walks through the golden statues (which will reappear later), the entire world becomes filled with bile, and martys appearance returns to that of the other martys, but with an extremely warped, grotesque face. the item she needs in this area to kill tricky rick is found between two golden crosses.

notice that all of the items she kills tricky rick with - a razor, pills, and now a plastic bag - are things that a child could plausibly get their hands on; none of them are explicitly weapons. i think this shows both her age and how often she must have considered using those things against him. 

the bile room - probably my favorite area in the game, and also features what i consider the quintessential lisa song. this area really drives home lisas disgust with marty and with christianity as a whole - it almost certainly has the highest concentration of crosses, and it is also quite literally covered in wall-to-wall bile, dirty water, and disgusting houses. a lot of the most graphic sights, like the melting martys and the pond martys (no idea what to call them LMAO) are here, so i think this is pretty much the lowest circle of hell for lisa. marty gives lisa a freshly cut finger in exchange for a napkin here; im not necessarily sure what that represents, but i think the napkin was used by marty to masturbate (as he says “i needed that” after he takes it), so perhaps the finger is martys?

lisa kills tricky rick here in a cave that is not-so-subtly shaped like a penis, and gets a vhs tape in which he pretty explicitly states what is going on in the game; he even pretends like he doesnt know who lisa is at first, which somehow makes it even more disgusting. the fact that vhs tapes play a role here sort of makes me wonder if marty really WAS filming some of what he was doing, and given that lisa the joyful confirms that brad was forced to somehow participate in lisas abuse, that is.... horrific to think about, honestly

the marty tape - this tape just has the player (as marty) walk up to lisa and suited marty, who are having a tea party with a plastic tea set. they both get hearts over their heads if you talk to them. i think this drives home that he and lisa did once have a normal relationship, and perhaps theres some part of marty who misses that? theres a LOT of ways you can interpret this; having the player become marty really calls a lot into question.

the mansion - the room leading here has a marty staring directly at the player who informs lisa that she needs a sword to progress. unsubtly, the sword must be placed into the crotch of a womans statue. the mansion inside is beautiful and ornate, and easily the most gorgeous area in the game - and it all leads to what appears to be a proto-joy mutant marty, sort of looking like jabba the hutt. i dont doubt that this is intentional, given that jabba the hutt is associated with slave leia, and its not at all a far leap to call lisa martys slave. the golden statues of women, as well as many golden crosses, are everywhere in this area. its actually quite a large space with a lot of thought put into it, so im really upset that i cant figure out more of what it represents LMAO

the final area - lisa seems to go back to her actual house, but upon leaving her room and entering whether the living room would be, the whole area changes. she encounters herself in a blood red room, but when she talks to the other lisa, she turns into marty. i think this represents a clear question - who is lisa without him? IS she anyone? or is she just a vessel for him to do with what he pleases? she encounters a naked marty telling her to give up shortly after, and flees from him, but is followed by voices repeatedly telling her that she must accept her fate. i think this clearly show the mental state of lisas last days. she was tormented, eternally. she truly felt there was no escape from marty. even the background becomes nothing but martys face, over and over again, as the end screen flashes.

at the end text, she finds a video tape, and in the tape sees someone who is ostensibly her mother from behind. she apologizes for not being there for her, but when that figure turns out, its martys face that she sees. the sky turns into marty. the music becomes corrupted and overrun with pretty fucked up laughter. she tries to run, but marty is already everywhere. theres nowhere for her to run. and then the game is over.

note that the video tape comes AFTER the games end screen, which stops not long after the appearance of the naked marty. so i personally believe that the “game over” represents her deciding to take her own life, rather than just give up and accept her fate. by running from him into the blackness, she got away from marty the only way she could have. it is sad and horrible, but that is honestly the best ending that she could have gotten in this game.

the first is definitely not as good as the painful in terms of gameplay, that much i can agree on, but i really think people miss out on a lot by not playing it. i think its really crucial to see lisas life from her own perspective before you can see it from brads - after all, brad may have known more than anyone else about what was going on, but he did not experience it like lisa did. for brad, lisa is a symbol of his own regrets and failures, but lisa was a PERSON (well, in-universe anyway LMAO). she suffered on her own, with pretty much no one to help her, and then she suffered so much that she couldnt take another second of it. 

[thestarkerisobvious]

The Books of St. Berthwald and the Books of St. Cyprian

amazing art work by @starker-sorbet​        

A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy​

With great thanks for the betaread by @mrstarksbaby​

You know who you are.

Sixteen:        6. The Books of St. Berthwald and the Books of St. Cyprian 

“The Post sons cast from the German books, but the Post daughters, from the True Book of St. Cyprian, the Thesouro de Feiticeiro, the Book of the Witches of Evorá,  The seals from the German book were set once a year, and changed as the Post land increased.  But the Post Daughters set the seals of Evorá  many times a year.  They loved those rituals, they dreamed of them often.  Spoke of them often.  So delightful, they found them so delightful… there were candles and singing and joyful dancing… such joy…”

“Wait, wait…”  Peter said when Tony’s voice faltered again.  He slipped the last two fingers of his left hand into Tony’s mouth while he tried to think.  Tony gripped his wrist firmly as he sucked, but at least he wasn’t clinging to it like a drowning man any more, no longer whimpering as he fed. 

Several times during the story Tony’s eyes had fluttered closed and he began repeating himself, his voice fading away like a man going to sleep.  Those times Peter had taken Tony’s chin in his hand, turned the pale face to him and forced his tongue into Tony’s mouth, letting his friend feed that way until he revived. 

But Peter couldn’t ‘kiss’ Tony and ask questions at the same time.  He wasn’t sure why Tony was telling him about the books the Post brothers and the Avis family had brought over from Europe (although he had asked Tony to “start at the beginning.”)   Of course he wanted to know about the trail of dead animals, ending with Old-Blue, but now that Tony was talking Peter couldn’t stop asking questions.

“Are you saying… are you saying there were spellbooks that only the men could read, and one only for women?  But… but you said Beatrice’s’ father gave her that book…”

Tony gave another drunken chuckle.  Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about this punch-drunk Tony.  He had seen Tony pale before, but never so weak. 

“No, Master Peter.  The boys were only taught to read in German.  They could not read from the Book of the Student Athanásio or the Thesouro de Feiticeiro because they could not read Portuguese.  And oh, how their sisters guarded their treasures…”

“But, what was the difference?”  Peter asked, but Tony was stroking his chest and nuzzling at his neck again.  He let Tony suck the vein there again for a moment before insisting on an answer, all while puzzling it out.  He had originally imagined that it was the men of the Post household, but only one at time, reading from some ancient book and using it to command Tony.  But now he was picturing the entire sprawling family, each with rival spellbooks, each competing against each other to… what exactly?”

“The seal of Berthwald hurts to cross.  It binds me inside.  I cannot leave Post land without permission, and even when tasked to do so, it takes some effort.  But the seals of Evorá, set all over the hollows and the bottoms and the groves and the glades… and the cattle field… and the lake, oh so many they made for me… they feed me.  They feed me strength from the land.  So many times Enid and Ada and Ada-Joy dreamed of new places.  So many new places to cast the seals…”

“You were making them dream about the seals of Evorá,” Peter scolded gently.

“Of course I was,” Tony murmured against Peter’s throat, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice.

“So let me get this straight,” Peter said, cupping Tony’s head and bringing his mouth back the vein.  Even though Tony had been feeding all night, Tony’s hand tightened on Peter’s shoulder and he drank with a small moan. 

“So the German books bind you to the land, so you can’t escape.  But the Portuguese books turn the land into food, so you don’t want to leave.  One is a punishment, one is a bribe.  I get it.  Wait… is that because the German books called you a demon,?  Are the Portuguese books the ones that called you a muse?

The Thesouro de Feiticeiro calls me an ‘angel.’”  

“Okay that’s… that’s important.  You can tell me more later.  Tony…”  Gently but firmly he forced Tony’s mouth away from his neck.  He was beginning to wonder if Tony kept feeding to avoid answering the question.  (Still, it was almost impossible to resist – especially when Tony kept clinging to him, whimpering when pulled away.)

 “You still haven’t explained to me why you killed my dog,” he whispered, stroking Tony’s face.

Tony’s eyes closed again, but he obeyed. 

“You told me the DeSlaughter lad lived within the Post landholding.  But forgive me master,” Tony whimpered, reaching out and stroking Peter’s face with pleading fingers.  “You were mistaken.  That household stands on the other side of the border.  That land belonged to the Beekmans, and then the Bergens.  I had to cross the border…”

“But… no… the Post family… they sent you outside the property all the time.  When they tasked you to take messages… you went all the way to New York City.  Evan Post sent you out to kill the pigs…”

“But never without feeding me first.  A fat cow, or two swine.  The seals of Berthwald require it.  But Jedediah never cast the seals of Berthwald at the border, and Evan did not know how.  The seals at the border have faded with time.  On the southern border it has faded to nothing.  But to cross the eastern border, it did take great effort.

“And I was foolish, prideful, I beg you to pardon me.  You had never given me a task before… and it was St. Cyprian’s Night!  I was unwise.  I trusted the seals of Evorá  to give me strength enough to return.  The Post Daughters had always cast their seals, even unto the very day that they departed!  I thought, certainly, I could feed as soon as I returned to the land.  Then I would have strength enough to return to your bed.”

“Oh, I get it, the seal of Berthwald was stronger than you thought.  So took more effort than you thought to get across.  But you did get across, you made those dreams.”

“Oh, such dreams I made Master Peter…”

“But I didn’t know making dreams took so much out of you.  You were so weak the first time we spoke in a dream.  You had hardly fed at all.”

“To enter a dream existing, it is a little matter.  I stepped into your delightful dream of the dark castle.  You welcomed me there, you looked for me there.  To make a new dream?  That takes great effort, so much effort.  But oh, see how I faired, Master Peter!  See how I faired!  See the tapestry I wove for you.  I am a very skilled weaver.  The Post daughters made me very skilled.  So many sweet dreams I wove for them, all their neighbors loved the Post Daughters.  Doted upon them.  Make me your beloved, Master Peter, for I served you so well.  The DeSlaughter lad will never speak ill of your house again…”

On some matters Tony was clearly reluctant to speak… but he described his dreamweaving with pride.  He reminded Peter of the kids in his old school in New York City describing their science fair projects in ridiculous detail.  When you created it, and it worked, you had a reason to be proud. 

Tony was proud.

As Peter listened he marveled at Tony’s skill.  How the demon appealed to both hopes and fears.  To the best instincts of the person he was manipulating.  To not just search for their fear, and utilize it, but to also search for their self-image.  Peter had read a lot about a person’s self-image, how every person secretly thought they were the Hero of the story.  Tony knew how to twist the story until the Hero had to be nice to Peter Parker.   And all because generations of Post girls enjoyed using Tony to stop their neighbors from gossiping about their strange practices.  Especially on St. Cyprian’s night.

As Tony described the dream he had used to convince Mike and Matthew DeSlaughter, a dream about a classroom (where they had unfortunately arrived without their clothes.)  He described Mrs. DeSlaughter’s encounter with an orphanage from a musical, and Mr. DeSlaughter’s decent into a pit of snakes all seeking revenge, only to be rescued by Mike and Peter, his star students, who saved him utilizing all his revered teachings.  As he spoke it became clear to Peter why Tony had been so foolish, had spent so much energy at the DeSlaughter house and leaving himself no strength to get home.  How many times had Peter stayed up until 2 in the morning reading, or designing an invention in his notebooks, only to pay for it miserably in school the next day?  Tony and he had more in common than he had ever realized.  He wasn’t sure, yet, what to do with that information.

“But when it came to the little one, I was too weak.  I could create no dream for her, so I entered her dream…”

“Let me guess.  She dreamed that Superbarbie had to rescue me.”

“Yes, she dreams of superheroes, just as you do Master Peter.  But her heroes are very different.  They are all under curses.  They must stand on their tiptoes at all times and can never wear clothes…”

He placed his fingers in Tony’s mouth again.  Tony fed with a moan.  Peter looked away, thinking.

Something was happening in his head, something he was desperately trying to ignore, even while it was happening. 

He couldn’t deny that it had been an incredible day.  Aunt May had been as happy as he had ever seen her, feeding three boys at her kitchen table as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  He thought about how Uncle Ben and Mr. DeSlaughter were still talking to each other long after the boys were ready to go home.   How he had heard Uncle Ben laughing all the way from inside the house – something he also hadn’t heard since New York City. 

And then there was Peter.  Being the center of attention at the DeSlaughter house.  Being the tour guide at his own house.  It was exhausting, of course, he wasn’t used to more than one person talking to him all at the same time, but he could make adjustments.  Tony could make adjustments.  Tony could arrange things just the way he wanted them.

It wasn’t like the Twilight Zone, Peter realized as he pressed a kiss on Tony’s forehead.  Tony wouldn’t grant his wishes in ways that were secretly horrible, because Tony was actually on his side. 

But  Tony could make mistakes, and that was sobering.  Whatever else Tony was, he wasn’t all-knowing.  Peter had to remember not to forget that.

Tony had finally stopped feeding.  He pulled Peter’s fingers from his mouth and kissed the back of his hand.  He reached out and stroked Peter’s face with hesitant fingers.

“A great feast, many day’s worth, was the St. Cyprian feast,” Tony whispered.  “All night there was feasting and dancing.  Then at midnight the girls would gather in a circle and summon me and tell me all their secrets.  The boys they wanted to come court them.  The boys they wanted to stop courting them.  They told me all they wished their parents would allow them, but I could not enter their parents’ dreams without announcing myself…”

“…because their parents already knew your tricks.  Because they had done the same thing when they were younger. 

“Alright, Tony.  I think I get it.  I said I wanted Mike to stop talking about me behind my back, and that was a normal Post-thing to ask for at this time of year.  But you still haven’t told me why you killed my dog.  I explained the difference between pets and not-pets.  If it has a name, then it is a pet.  We talked about this.”

Tony’s eyes closed wearily and he turned his head a little.  He was clearly ashamed.  Peter caressed the side of his face, running a thumb across the pale lips.

“I’ll let you rest, I promise.  I’ll turn around and you can hold me in your arms and feed all night if you want.  But first I need to understand, Tony.  Last night I dreamed about you and you sounded panicked.  Help me understand what happened.”

“I failed you, Master Peter,” Tony whispered, turning and kissing his hand.  “I tarried too long.  My dreamweaving was most excellent, but I tarried until almost dawn.  Back to the land I went, but the seals of Evorá there could not feed me.  The eastern seals were each dry cisterns.  I fed as much as I could.  I was determined to return to your bed…”

“But you killed all those animals, and you didn’t even stay and consume the bodies…”

“No time!  To consume them all takes time.  The sunrise would catch me, I am not strong enough to hide in morning shadows.  I took what I could.  I rushed home to you, Master Peter.  I longed for you, I rushed home to you…”

He fell quiet, but Peter did not speak.  He stroked Tony’s face, waiting.

“I came to the house.  The sun was shining.  I was blind.  I was desperate.  I did not know what I had done until I felt the pain…”

He put a weak hand on his chest, his fingers slipping into the opening of his shirt.  When Peter saw what he was pointing at, his eyes went wide.

Tony was wearing the same white, old-fashioned shirt he always wore, with blousy sleeves, a large neck and slit down the front.  Tonight Tony’s body was pale and thin, and when Peter pushed the shirt open it revealed a great deal of his neck and chest, including a deep, circular scar in the center that Peter had never seen before.

“Tony… how… what?!” Peter gasped, pushing the shirt aside in an attempt to see all of it.  The scar looked old but angry, forming a white puckered circle in the center of Tony’s hollow chest with jagged lines emanating from it in all directions.  He allowed Peter to examine it without comment, looking into his face with tired eyes.         

“How did this happen?” Peter asked finally, his head swimming, covering the scar with one hand, as if, by hiding it from view he could make it go away.  

“If it has a name, it is a pet,” Tony whispered, touching Peter’s hand apologetically.  “I was blind.  I did not know what I had fed upon until the pain pierced me to the core.  I had disobeyed my master.  But still I returned to you, I will serve you well, you will give me pardon sweet Peter…”      

Peter moaned and buried his face in Tony’s chest while he spoke.  Tears formed behind his eyes as Tony argued why he should be forgiven.  Tony had described the pain that the Post Patriarch had subjected him too if he disobeyed commands, even if the commands contradicted each other.  Peter had been disgusted by the idea.  His stomach knotted as he understood -- Tony wasn’t weak because he had over-exerted himself, he was weak because he was injured. 

Peter kissed the scar, covered it with his hand again and looked up.

“Tony I never… I never would have done this to you… I’d never hurt you.  I don’t understand.   I’m not your master…

“I didn’t mean it like that, no…”  he said quickly as Tony’s face crumpled.  Seized with a sudden understanding Peter pulled the frail body close and held the man tightly to his chest as Tony begged and pleaded, sometimes in English, sometimes in German.  With one solid arm across the man’s back Peter held their bodies together, with his other hand he rubbed circles in between the pronounced shoulder blades, sometimes pausing to comb his fingers through the salt-and-peppered hair, shushing him.

“That’s not what I meant, stop.  Shhhh….”

Peter rocked the shivering man for some time, trying to get his thoughts into order.  Finally he loosened his grip, smoothed Tony’s hair away from his face and spoke.

“Tony, when I came here I was 13 and I was a basket case.  I cried all the time.  I cried, like, every week.  I cried when I found out that the neighbors were raising rabbits, not for pets but to eat.  I cried when May and Ben decided not to raise chickens because I would get too attached to the chickens and cry when we ate them.  And then I cried because I knew they were right.  I cried almost once a week.  And that was before I had to attend Robert E Lee K-12.  

“I was reading books out loud in my room because I had to do something other than cry all the time.  But then I’d read about the endangered animals and that just made it start all over again.  So I read Mad Magazine and Erma Bombeck just so I could feel something other than despair and pain.  And then you started talking to me and I started talking back because I needed you, Tony.  I needed someone to talk to, and you were there.

“You’re my best friend, Tony.  That’s what I mean when I say... I can’t understand how I’m your… I’m not a magician.  I don’t have any… I never read any of those books that Evan Post burned and put in the lake.  I’m confused.  I thought you called me “Master Peter” because…”

He closed his mouth hard.  He had let Tony call him “Master Peter” for the same reason Batman let Alfred call him “Master Wayne.”  

Besides, he kind of liked it.  But it had never occurred to him that...

“You fed me.  You called to me,” Tony was saying gently, stroking Peter’s face with long, slender fingers.  “You conjured me from under the bed.  You named me.  I am yours, now.”

“But I’m not even a Post.”

“But still, I am yours.”

“But I would never do this to you,” Peter said, forcing himself to look at the white scar beneath his hand.  

“It is the nature of the spell that called me to this plane,” Tony whispered, nuzzling the top of Peter’s head.  Peter felt, strangely, as if Tony were comforting him now.  He leaned down to kiss the raised white lines against the pale skin.  He realized that meant he was kissing the man’s bare chest, but that didn’t feel strange to him.  That didn’t feel strange at all.

“Alright,” he said finally, laying his face gently upon the center of Tony’s chest.  “Tell me how to heal you.”

“Let me sleep.  Do not call upon me on the morrow, or the next.  Feed me as you did at Mabon.   Let me rest, Master Peter, let me rest and then I will serve you well.”

“Okay,” Peter said, kissing Tony on the top of the head, pulling him back into his arms and rocking him slightly.  “You can rest.  You can rest as much as you want.  And I’m not going to “call on” you, but I am going to give you something to think about.  (He winced when he realized he was quoting Aunt May word for word, but he plowed ahead anyway.)

“When you are better you are going to explain to me how this works.  How all of it works.  In detail.  And you are never to cross any seals unless you check with me to see if it's necessary, and to tell me how much feeding it’s going to take for you to be strong enough to do it.

“And you are not going to do ANYTHING I ask you to unless I say the words: “Tony, I need you to do this for me.  I really, really, seriously, Just Say No-joke, really really mean it.”

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

The Master (Post)

Please direct all questions/comments/constructive crit to @witchwayisright​

[scrumptiousalpacadeer]

A Note on the ‘F’ Word - (Forgiveness is Willy Wonka)

I’ve come to think that forgiveness is a bit like the scene in the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory film where Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory is opened to the public after years of secrecy. In this classic scene, the crowds are gathered at the entrance of this most magical of places - a place that grandparents told their grandchildren of at bedtime in hushed tones; a place of flowing nectar-chocolate and sweets that burns like heaven in our hero Charlie’s imagination; a place they had never truly dared to believe in but dreamed of many times; a place run apparently run by some weirdo eccentric that the cynical masses had given up on long ago. 

That is until five Golden Tickets are sent out into the world...Willy Wonka is opening his factory again.

In the scene, Gene Wilder approaches the eager crowd, leaning and limping heavily with his cane along a red carpet; a look of grim severity on his face. The whole falls silent; all that is heard are the regular steps of Wonka and the taps of his cane. What the hell? This is not what anyone is expecting; this God-like man of mystery and invention  a miserable invalid? The opening of the Chocolate Factory is meant to be an epic event; the whole world is watching.. 

Wilder suddenly stops walking right next to his baffled fans and the world stops, holds its breath; locked in Wonka’s charismatic spell. Then something very weird happens; he begins to topple forward away from his cane - as if he’s had a stroke, or has suddenly died or fainted.... the crowd gasp, utterly horrified. Its the end of everything and it was meant to be the beginning. 

And then....well, Willy Wonka does a perfect forward roll and springs up beaming from ear to ear: it was all a façade of ill-health; a silly joke. The crowd goes wild with relief and joy and the factory’s golden gates open for the day, signalling a new era. 

 The other day I had a phone call out of the blue from an old friend; a friend I hadn’t seen or heard from for eight years. Rahul; my party hard philosopher; he who introduced me to the basics of meditation in my student digs 1996, whom I’d shared hundreds of fags with and laughed and danced hard with at house/techno nights ‘down the Student Union in my final year at London University, 1997. Rahul who I’d watched Sideways with and had half a lager with when I was seven months pregnant. Rahul who often got so insanely drunk and gobby at a party that no-one knew what to do with him. Rahul, wild man of peace; loose canon. Rahul who years became a Maths teacher as I became an English teacher. 

I very nearly didn’t answer the phone because I didn’t recognise the number, but I was in a care-free mood, listening to Radio 3 in the kitchen (how times have changed since 1997), so I picked up. 

One of the first words I said to him was ‘sorry’. ‘Sorry, Rahul!’ - It was weird because I’d been thinking of getting in touch with him for a while to ask his forgiveness. I hoped for an opportunity to say sorry to him for being such a crap friend; for taking him for granted; for being a selfish shit-bag; for not answering his calls, for the years of silence; for draining his resources then abandoning him when I found new pastures. I needed to say thankyou to him for being there for me at times in need; times I’d been hollow in spirit and he’d stepped in, but I hadn’t grasped it at the time. 

“What do you mean? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, “ he said. “this is how it works with you. Years go by.” That's the thing with forgiveness; it hurts. It pained me that he forgave me without a second’s thought when I knew full well I hadn’t played fair. One time, in our mid-twenties, Rahul had bought me a ticket to go and join him in Atlanta America where he was working in I.T. His generosity was always off the scale.

Since our last meeting Rahul had lost half of his family and was now an orphan. His younger sister had died from a ‘cancer thing’ he told me; his mother crossed the threshold in April this year after contracting Covid in hospital. Her death was a relief, he said. “She was so happy to get the virus; all she wanted was to join her two children.” Apparently there had been a cot death. Rahul was the only one left alive now. He was talking to me from his flat in Hounslow, looking out over the town. 

I had to steady myself on the windowsill as he told me how his world had imploded. I felt the disappearance of his world in my stomach; and a sudden revelation of the nature of our connection. I hadn’t realised it before, but Rahul and I were conjoined by our exiled status. He, more visibly - a boy of high Indian descent inhabiting a West London life of hedonism, doing the drugs and the booze but also somehow accepting an arranged marriage foretold in his stars - a marriage that ended in disaster...Me; a girl from a house of shame and smutty lies and buried criminality, trying to climb the ladder and be so gleaming white and impressive... We both knew how hard it was to play the game in this world; feeling all the time we could only exist outside it.  Perhaps that's why, back in the 1990s, filled with the possibilities of our lives - born out of joint as we were - , we could feel the beat so keenly and dance so crazily together. Rahul and I knew the art of getting wasted and causing trouble.

I enforced the point that I’d been a real bitch and I told him how and why and that he deserved better. I told him of my stark memory of his mother singing sweetly to my baby daughter in Summer 2012, distracting her, so that we could sit and chat in his garden.  I told him I lived in the country now; that so much had changed. “Are you comforted?” he asked. “Are you still Chrissy Woo?” It was always his nick-name for me - a nick-name I didn’t mind. “I don’t think I am,”  I said. “I couldn’t go on like that.” 

Did he know that my father had died...that I was an orphan too? Rahul and my father had met many times so I didn’t inform him of my father’s subtly racist jibe after he’d come over for fish and chips one time. I didn’t tell Rahul about my revelation that my father was, on one level, arguably, as far as I was concerned, often, a ball-less sack of shit (that’s a W.O.P.E. Whole Other Post Entirely - very much related to the ‘F’ word) Out mutual disappointment of our hopeless fathers was the subject of a much longer conversation.  

I think the thing that’s so frickin’ scary about forgiveness as I am just as the very beginnings of understanding it, is the sheer unknowability of the space that comes after it. For my part, all the resentments, angers, prejudices, judgements, pulsing hatreds at times, these were very loyal friends that I woke up with each day without even having the faintest idea I was doing so. Sure, they were ugly and they caused merry hell enough, but, well, at least I knew where I was. At least I was livin, and sometimes that's really hard to do. They were the furniture I manoeuvred around; the reliable chairs I sat in for comfort when I was never good enough; when I just couldn’t keep my head above water. What happens if I let that all go? What will I hold onto? If I know longer want to stab my father with a screw-driver in the manner I meant to stab the lawn today as a form of irrigation for my new grass seed (see previous post and the WOPE I referred to earlier is coming soon) what the fuck happens then? I will have absolutely no idea who I am. Everything has the potential to start looking like Wonka’s Oompa Loompa Land with giant toadstools and chocolate rivers and that’s just too much happiness for anyone, surely, to stomach. I will know that I don’t know anything, and I’ve spent my whole life pretending to know everything. Surely the space will swallow me up, won’t it? How on earth do you start something entirely new? 

There’s that terrifying moment of suspension before something new comes in - like Willy Wonka topping over his cane. There’s those seconds when, learning a new guitar chord, our fingers hover in space over the fret; the new contortions our fingers must make to strike a new sound feels so awkward; so wrong; the muscles tearing into a new shape.. There’s that burning second that we leap out in the dark, blind, towards the possibility of a new tune, we take a mad punt and see where our clumsy fingers land, risk making a new sound... Chances are first few times around we’re gonna fuck it up. It’s agony. Forgiveness feels to me, when it comes in, like a hard grounding grief, a thunderstorm of reluctantly received understanding that wipes out the old and invites me to the chocolate factory. And some days it leaves me entirely and I feel like I’m back in the dumb days again. 

But, and I’m riffing here, I think the answer partly has to do with a belief in change and a steady embracing of transformation; or at least a basic faint belief that it might just be possible. Cynics and miseries say ‘people don’t change,’ ‘things don’t change’, but this is of course undiluted horse-shit. People  transform utterly on a daily basis, all the time...One of the tricks, I’ve learnt, is to spend as large a proportion of time as possible with people who also believe in change and progress - a bit like stocking up on sunlight for those dark hours that must be spent with angel eaters - ( translation: rampant materialists/misery guts who refuse to believe in magic of any sort).

But oh the rewards; oh the sheer mad silly fun of Wonka’s gates opening and guzzling on that chocolate.. The ecstasy of hearing a G major chord sung from your own fair hand. 

I hope to meet up with Rahul this Summer - to see him in the flesh. No doubt it will be somewhat awkward; he’s forgiven me - in fact; he doesn’t see what the problem is. I’m a different person; I’ve had some chunks taken out and they’ve been filled in with wholly different colours. He’s a different person too; I made him promise me on the phone that he would look after himself - so he’ll be made of different colours too. How will we talk to each other? What words will we use? How will we navigate such unknown waters? How do you build something new with someone who looks the same, but is wholly other?..

I have no idea. I think we might just have to chuffing well make it up as we go along; trying to forgive ourselves for all the mistakes we make along the way. 

                                                    *    *   *   *   *

As a random and seemingly unrelated end-note - I went out for a walk down the lane to catch some air mid-blog. What with it being a Saturday night and me being a party fiend, I thought I would ‘pick up some litter’ for fun. I picked up a can of cider and a paper plate. Two cars zoomed past. It struck me that had the drivers of these vehicles happened to take a passing interest in the woman in a camel coat walking alone along the side of the road with an unsteady gate (wellington boots rub my right heel real bad!) and an empty can of cider in her hand they would surely been able to draw only one conclusion: PISS-HEAD!.. OLD SOAK! lonely Saturday night Sussex forty something alcoholic staggering along the lanes with empty cans of cider for company... 

Ah the deception of appearance...

And so, dear reader; Happy Saturday and judgeth not a lady who walketh with a can of cider down a country lane. She might just be a blogger on a break.

I hope you enter the chocolate factory of your choosing some time soon or are already there sampling the delights....

Love from Christine x

[punkpoemprose]

Comatose- Kristanna Bodyguard AU

Hi @frenzy5150! I’m your secret santa! So sorry I’m a wee bit late on the posting! I’ve been having an... interesting weekend to say the least. You said that you wanted some hurt/ comfort and some Kristanna being loving dorks, and I intended fully to deliver on both counts. I wrote this in the universe of my bodyguard AU X X which I hope is alright! I hope you like it!

Now with Art by the lovely @epbaker

Universe: Modern Royalty/ Bodyguard AU Rating: T (Teen & Up) Length: 3226 Words

Kristoff combed his fingers through Anna’s hair as Elsa left for the night. They’d said that they would take shifts, but really it was more that they both sat at her bedside all day and well into the night, only taking breaks for the two hours in the day where nurse rotations and other hospital policies asked respectfully that they wait in a room other than Anna’s. They had, however, made the agreement that it made much more sense for Kristoff to stay with Anna between the hours of midnight and 9am as, despite the fact that the hospital had excellent security, particularly in the royal wing, Kristoff was her bodyguard after all. He was also her fiancé, although no one outside Elsa and a handful of others were aware of that.

“I miss you Anna,” he whispered, tucking bits of hair back behind her ear. “Wake up soon, okay?”

Her car had been struck by a drunk driver while she had been returning from a visit to a children’s hospital, and while she’d been able to walk away from the crash, she’d been on the ground by the time Kristoff could extricate himself from the security car following hers. He’d been the one to hold her until the ambulance arrived. He was always the one holding onto her after something awful happened and it made him ill. He’d wanted to be her in car security, but she’d insisted that she didn’t need him there.

Of course, it was because they’d had an argument that morning about when they should be going public with their engagement, and she hadn’t wanted him so close by until they’d both cooled down. He’d expected to find himself in her bedroom before the end of the night to talk things out and work off their stress and anxiety in the way they usually did once her heavy soundproofed bedroom door had closed.

It was four days after that now, and he hadn’t even been able to tell her that he was sorry for asking her to wait, and for presuming to know what would be best for her. The doctors said that she would be waking up “soon” and “any time now” for the last few days, but the tabloids were already running half mad stories such as “Arendelle’s Princess on Deathbed! Queen Silent on Sister’s Condition!” and “Assassination Attempt on Crown Princess??? Palace Insiders Confirm!”. Kristoff frankly, didn’t care if it was all some kind of PR nightmare, or if people in their tiny kingdom were wondering what was going on. He only cared about Anna.

The doctors were optimistic that she’d make a full recovery, but the longer she stayed comatose, the less certain anyone felt. Of course he wasn’t a stupid man, he knew that she must have hit her head fairly hard in the crash, but when people tossed around phrases like “possible traumatic brain injury” and “uncertain recovery period” he felt less confident.

He let his hand shift, trailing his fingers gently over her arm. The doctor had told them that keeping her stimulated would help. It felt strange to touch Anna so openly, and technically without her consent. There’d never been a day that had gone by where she’d objected to his touch, and in fact she was often the one to initiate contact when he didn’t instantly do so. He liked the way she looked at him when he was touching her the way he was now. She’d give him a conspiratorial smile and lean into him, her eyes pleading with him not to stop. He’d thought a couple times since she’d been admitted that maybe she was smiling when he spoke to her or when he touched her, but he couldn’t be sure.

He wasn’t even sure that she’d want him there when she woke. They hadn’t been on particularly good terms before the crash, and it made him wish that he’d just taken the time to talk with her about the reasons why he was worried about making a public announcement of their engagement. He wished that he’d been in the car with her when it had been hit, not that he had any certainty that it would have made any difference, but if nothing else he would have liked to have been there for her when it happened instead of being there seconds after.

The only thing he was certain of was that he loved her very much and that the doctor had said to keep her senses working, and so at least for the next hour that’s exactly what he planned to do.

He held her hand and shifted so that his other hand could trail slowly up and down her arm.

“Do you know how many deliveries of flowers and chocolates I had to send elsewhere today feisty pants?”

He paused, as if she would answer, and was only slightly disappointed when she didn’t.

“You wouldn’t believe how many gifts people are sending you. You’re very popular my Princess. I keep telling the delivery people that we can’t bring the gifts into your room because it’s a safety concern, but I keep having the guards safety check all the sunflowers first. You should see it in here Anna, it’s like the fields we used to play in as kids, you can’t turn without bumping into a sunflower. I think the doctors are going to tell me any minute now that I need to get some out of here because they can hardly make it to your bed.”

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile cross her lips but he couldn’t tell for certain. He had toyed with the idea of kissing her. She’d loved fairy tales when they were young, and it would be just like Anna to wake up to true loves kiss. He didn’t want to test the theory, not only because kissing her lips while she was out felt uncomfortable to him in a way it never had before when she’d simply been asleep, and also because he knew that there would be nothing more disappointing to him than her not waking up if he did so.

Instead he settled for kissing her forehead. He leaned in close to her, just looking at her face for a moment, taking her in, noticing the lack of expression on her face, like a baseline from which he might determine if she was cognizant at all of what he was about to do. He pressed his lips to her forehead, just below her hairline, and let his lips rest there for a moment. He tried to be gentle, he wanted her to feel his kiss, but not any pain on her nearby bruises.

“When you wake up,” he muttered against her skin, “I’m going to beg your forgiveness and kiss you senseless if you’ll let me. Then I’ll go check through all those gifts and let you eat as much chocolate as you want, hell I’ll have some sent over from the castle or that fancy chocolatier you hire for all the parties if you want.”

He pulled back slightly and noticed no changes on her face, something that he had half expected, and yet something that still disappointed him more than anything.

“I hope you can hear me Anna, because I love it when you hold me to a promise. I’d be happy to hear you yell at me about the engagement or about not being in the car with you. I just want to hear your voice baby.”

He shook his head, “You know they don’t want me to keep Sven here with you, but I think I’ll bring him tomorrow. Maybe dog slobber is just what you need, yeah? If you don’t mind being covered in dog hair I’ll fight someone on the rules, I know he misses you and I’m sure you miss him too. He’s just moping around according to everyone else on staff and I think maybe you’d do well to have him around.”

When she still didn’t respond he sighed and readjusted his gun belt and turned his walkie down to just audible. He wasn’t on the clock, he hadn’t been since the accident, but he was still prepared, even as he was about to fall asleep in the chair beside her bed.

“Please wake up Anna,” he said again, this time softer, “Or just give me a sign you hear me please. I’m going crazy missing you.”

He closed his eyes, and almost swore that he felt her hand make the tiniest squeeze against his own.

***

Anna blinked against the light. It was harsh and fluorescent, and it hurt her eyes. They stung anyway, like they were too dry, and her head felt like it was full of rocks. She felt like she was suffering through the worst hangover she’d ever had in her life, but she couldn’t quite recall drinking anything. She only remembered being in a car and now she was somewhere with a strange ceiling and her limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.

She couldn’t really even move her head though with a little bit of effort she managed to roll it to the side slightly as she blinked her eyes again and again, trying to remoisten them even slightly. When she managed to make a somewhat full head roll to the side she felt the crick in her neck begin to abate and saw a bleary eyed Kristoff looking at her.

She opened her mouth to speak but found her throat too dry to produce much of anything for noise. Her “Kris?” came out like something more of a squawking sound than any real word.

He was off his feet in an instant, calling for someone to come into the room, and just as quickly as he’d moved, there were dozens of people around her, there were lights in her eyes, someone scratching notes down on a clipboard and while Anna was somehow tangentially aware that this was all somehow important, it was also all rather annoying to her, particularly because she couldn’t see Kristoff anymore and she didn’t know any of the people around her.

She opened her mouth to speak again and she, this time with a bit more concentration managed to call out his name somewhat satisfactorily.

Then he was there, on his phone, but there, with one hand extending toward her. She saw the worry in his eyes, the bags under his eyes and his mussed hair. He was usually so put together and calm, so prepared for the worst, so to see him that way caused her great concern. Her arms still felt heavy, but she managed to reach her hand up, albeit shaking as she did so, to take his hand. Everything was too loud or too quiet. She knew people were talking but she couldn’t quite hear what was being said, she was mostly watching their mouths move and listening to her own heartbeat above the din of everything else.

Kristoff squeezed her hand and said something to one of the people scurrying around her. She couldn’t figure out what he had said, but she calmed at the sound of his voice. If he was there things were going to be alright, whenever Kristoff was there everything was alright.

Soon enough the crowd of noisy people left the room, and Anna was quite embarrassed with herself that it was only when the last scrub wearing nurse left that she realized that she was in the hospital. Kristoff was seating himself, once again next to her bed when she started working through the fog in her head to figure out how to ask him how she’d ended up there.

“What the hell?”

When he started laughing she smiled.

“You’ve been in a coma for five days and the first thing you say to me, other than my name is ‘What the hell’? The doctors were worried about you being yourself when you woke up,” he said with a grin that lit up his whole face, erasing the look of exhaustion and replacing it with more of the exasperated look she was familiar with.  “But sounds to me like you’re fine.”

Anna shook her head slightly, it still felt heavy and she had a headache, but it was bearable. It took her a little longer than usual to process what he was saying, but she knew he was teasing her just from his tone, and that was good. She liked it when he teased her.

“I’ve been…?” She was still having some difficulties responding, but she could feel words coming back to her, and her throat, while still scratchy, was no longer at odds with her tongue, allowing things to come out of her mouth more or less as she wanted them to.

“In a coma. Anna you’ve been in a coma. The doctor said you might not remember what happened. Do you remember why you’re here? Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” she replied quickly, having already had the thought, “No. I don’t know. Well you said coma, but why?”

He frowned then and she immediately pouted in return. She didn’t like it when he frowned.

“We were on the way back from the children’s hospital on the other side of the city and we got to an intersection and there was a crash. You walked away, then fell unconscious.”

Anna frowned then fully, “Oh no! Was anyone else hurt?”

He shook his head, and a ghost of a smile returned to his lips.

“Just like you to come out of a coma, find out what put you in it and ask about everyone else.”

She nodded, because yes, it was like her, and she knew it, and that felt good.

“No,” he added, “no one else was seriously hurt, just some scrapes and bruises, you took the brunt of the crash. The driver walked away too. He’s in a cell somewhere waiting for a court date.”

She didn’t like the sounds of that, “It’s not serious is it?”

“Drunk driving,” he said back, “And he went through a police barricade to get into the intersection in the first place, so yeah, pretty bad.”

She frowned again and teared up a little bit, “That’s so sad. Does he have a family?”

He rolled his eyes but scooted closer to her bed and leaned in close, “I’d say you hit your head too hard, but no. It really is just like you to start worrying about the family of the drunk driver that put you into the hospital.”

She smiled and made the effort to put her arm up to pull him in closer. She wanted a kiss and she would have one.

“I’m the Princess. It’s my duty to look after my people, even when they make mistakes.”

Kristoff sighed and kissed her. She knew that he knew that arguing with her was futile. She was still a little confused and it was taking her a little longer than normal to think about what she wanted to do or say, but Kristoff knew her and she knew him.

She also knew that she was supposed to be mad at him. Or at least she was pretty sure that she was much earlier in the day, before the crash. He’d made her take the ring he’d bought her off before they went to the hospital. He didn’t want people to know that they were engaged until they made the official announcement, and she’d been ready to go tell the world since he’d popped the question. It seemed silly now, for them to have fought about it. She had wanted to announce it to the world, but she should have been ready to give him a little more time before he had an even bigger spotlight placed on him. She should have been more willing to be flexible.

“I’m sorry we argued,” she said just as the thought came to mind. “But I’m glad you weren’t in the car.”

He huffed, “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“I remember everything important.”

He grinned slightly and gave her another kiss, this time on her forehead, “So the car crash isn’t important?”

“Not as much as arguing with you,” she said in return, confident in her answer despite the look he was giving her over it. “I’m sorry, we can wait before we say anything.”

He grinned, “Well it’s a little late for that,” he said gently, “I had to tell the hospital staff I was your fiancé for them to let me stay in the room instead of outside the door and when they didn’t believe me your sister confirmed it. While they’re supposed to be quiet about it, but you know someone will overhear something and it’ll be front page news any day now, if it isn’t already.”

She smiled, “Does that mean I can wear the ring?”

He leaned back and picked up her hand in his own before placing a kiss on her knuckles, “You already are.”

She glanced over to see that she was in fact wearing the ring he’d given her just a few weeks prior. The stone didn’t glitter quite so much under the fluorescents as it did in the sunlight, but it was absolutely her ring.

“I kept it in my pocket after we fought, and I put it on your finger after the doctor’s gave me permission. I hope you don’t mind.”

He seemed almost sheepish, but she was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t mind as long as you don’t mind the fact that I’m never taking it off again.”

She felt more awake now. Things were making sense, her brain was getting up to speed and she was able to move a little better.

He chuckled, “Even in the shower?”

She grinned, “Especially in the shower. You never know, some water droplets in the kingdom might not know I’m a taken woman.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time letting her take her fill of him. She relaxed into the mattress and sighed against his lips, her hands, while still heavy, moving to card through his hair. They only broke apart when a nurse came in and coughed politely. She needed to check some kind of level and informed Anna and Kristoff both that her royal majesty had just arrived again to check on her sister.

Anna had a feeling that it was less of a notice to her than it was an indication to Kristoff that he might want to unmuss his hair. When she left to fetch Anna a pitcher of fresh cold water, Anna giggled.

“We were caught! So much for constant vigilance Mr. Bodyguard.”

He smiled and leaned back down to kiss her again, “Oh I knew we were getting caught,” he said before resting his forehead on hers, “I just didn’t care.”

Anna giggled again and did her best to straighten herself before her sister arrived. She felt like she needed a shower, and maybe also a tray of chocolate cookies, and also maybe for Kristoff to take her back home as soon as possible and give her some specific affection that she knew neither of them would like very much to be caught in the act of.

[justauthoring]

No Reason To (19/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to link previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!” found in my bio.

A/N: SURPRISE!! I couldn’t wait for tomorrow, so I decided to just upload today as a little thank you for being patient with me and supportive!!

And we’re BACK!!! Thank you for being patient with me last week and allowing me to have a week off! I can’t promise it won’t ever happen again, but it’s nice to know that you all are supportive and patient enough to let me catch up on some much needed rest!

AND WE ARE FINALLY ON 3B~!! MEANING... VOID STILES!!

Yes, I am very excited for Void Stiles, lol. I have a lot planned and I just can’t wait to get started. Plus, this is the half of the season where Y/N and Stiles are really gonna grow close and discover their feelings for one another. So, look forward to that ;)

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 03x13 and 03x14

“Witches are human beings who are endowed with the magical arts of sorcery, but those who view it as a religion are Wiccans. Witchcraft, in historical, anthropological, religious and mythological contexts, is the alleged use of supernatural or magical powers. Historically, it was believed in early modern Christian Europe that witches were in league with the Devil and used their powers to harm people and property. Particularly since the mid-20th century, "bad" and "good" witchcraft are sometimes distinguished, the latter often with healing.”

Biting on your bottom lip, you let the tip of your finger hover across the words you whisper aloud. Every word you reach, you take to heart. It’s about time you learned more about what you were and how you could use your powers to advantage. Not to mention, you needed to learn how to use your powers better, so you had full control over them.

Given the life you lead, there was no telling what was going to come next and you needed to prepared for anything that came your way.

Jennifer had told you that there was so little you knew about your powers, and you were determined to find out more.

Flipping through a couple of pages, your attention is caught by a particular picture. It’s the picture of hand, resting upon another, and within the drawing, red mist almost seems to be floating around. As you lower your eyes, you begin to read the small passage underneath.

“Witches have the power to feel the emotions of those they have a emotional tether to. When a witch has bonded with another, supernatural or not, emotionally, physically or mentally, they can gather enough power to feel the emotions of that said person. It only works with some though, and a lot of the time, it is because of a deeper understand-”

You’re interrupted by the sound of your door opening. Lips parting, your head snaps upwards, groaning internally when you meet the eyes of your father. Almost instantly, you shut the book you’d been reading, hiding it within viewing of your father as you push yourself off your bed and onto your feet. 

“You know you’re not allowed in my room, dad,” the words roll off your tongue with distaste and you scarcely avoid his gaze as you begin shoving your textbooks and notebooks into your bag. Once they’re all settled, you throw your bag over your shoulder and move to walk out the door, only for your father’s frame to block your way. Huffing, you take a step back, glaring up at him.

“I wanted to know if you’d like me to drive you to school today,” your father offers, a hesitant smile falling on his lips.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your brow up at your father. “You offer Scott?”

“Yes,” Rafe nods, before pausing; “he declined.”

“Well, sorry to say pops, but i’m gonna have to decline as well.” You offer a mock pat on his shoulder before squeezing yourself past him, shutting your door behind you.

You don’t pay any mind to your father as you head down the hallway, ignoring his burning gaze on your back.

 As you turn to head down the steps, a sudden thud echoes, pulling your attention in the direction of your brother’s room. You end up arriving there just as Melissa does, and coming to a stop beside her, your eyes widen at the sight of Isaac on the floor, your mothers painting on the ground next to him.

“Hey!” Melissa calls, pulling Isaac’s eyes on the two of you. “You two supernatural teenage boys. Don’t test my entirely un-supernatural level of patience.” She signals Isaac to pick up the painting with her hands before turning, along with you, back down the hallway.

“Must’ve been about Allison,” you comment after a moment, shrugging your shoulders as you and Melissa head down the stairs. It’s the only thing that made sense. And it wasn’t like you were unaware of what was happening between your friend and ex-boyfriend. It might not bother you all that much, but you knew Scott still held some feelings for Allison, despite everything. “I’m pretty sure Isaac and her are dating, or, they really like each other.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Melissa questions, pulling your eyes on her as she raises a suspicious brow. “Your ex dating one of your best friends?”

Shrugging your shoulders once again, you nod; “Isaac and I agreed that we were better as friends. Besides, he can date whoever he wants to.” Though the words slipped past your lips with ease, you couldn’t help the bit of discomfort that flooded you. You were happy for Allison and Isaac, truly, and you held no ill feelings towards them.

But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you a little uncomfortable... and slightly jealous. Part of you still cared for Isaac, maybe even loved him, even if he’d been right that day when saying your heart belonged to another. It did, but that didn’t mean the moments you shared with Isaac no longer mattered to you.

Seeing him share those moments with another, well, you can’t help but feel a little jealous.

-

“Well, well, look who’s no longer the crazy one.”

Rolling your eyes at Lydia’s words, you fall in step with her and the rest, glancing back at Allison over your shoulder as she speaks up. “We are not crazy,” she denies, which therefore causes Lydia to pause, spinning around to face the four of you, though it’s clear her words are directed towards Scott, Stiles and Allison. So, everyone but you.

“Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis?” She questions, “yeah, you guys are fine.”

After a moment of silence, Scott speaks up; “well, we did die and come back to life,” he reminds, and his words cause a frown to fall on your lips. What him, Stiles and Allison had done was to save your parents, sure, but it was also to save you. Scott had literally died to find out where you were, and part of you feels responsible for the things that was happening to them now. “That’s gotta have some side effects, right?”

The second Scott finishes speaking, the school bell rings.

“We keep an eye on each other, alright?” Stiles speaks up, nodding his head slightly. As his eyes fall on you, you nod up at him, sending him a reassuring smile as you step forward with him, heading to class. The other three hang back a moment, you and Stiles shoulder to shoulder as you walk down the hallway.

Though, just before the two of you walk off, Stiles mumbles to Lydia; “and Lydia, stop enjoying this so much.”

“What?”

-

“Morning everyone.”

Flickering your gaze upwards, you set your attention on the new face of a teacher stood before you, sitting up slightly in your seat.

“My name is Mr. Yukimura,” he continues, walking around his desk to stand before the rows of desks. “I’ll be taking over for your previous History Teacher. My family and I moved here three weeks ago. I’m sure, by now, you all know my daughter, Kira. Or you might not since she’s never actually mentioned anyone from school. Or brought a friend home for that matter.”

A loud sigh, followed by a thud, echoes in response to Mr. Yukimura’s speech. Your, along with almost everyone else in that classroom, attention is turned behind yourself, towards the left back corner of the room where you find a girl with long black hair with her head in her arms. 

“Either way, there she is.”

As all eyes fall on her, she hesitantly raises her head, offering a short wave in response. Your lips curve into a soft smile in response, your first thought being how kind the girl looked. Though, you notice how her eyes seem to fall stuck on a figure before her, and as your own eyes follow her line of direction, a smirk falls on your lips when you realize it’s Scott.

And if your brother’s facial reaction is anything to go by, you’d say he’s just as star-struck.

“Now, let’s begin with American History at the turn of the 20th century.”

Pulling out your notebook, you flip it open to an empty page, taking out a pencil and copying out the notes Mr. Yukimura begins to jot down across the chalkboard.

Though, your attention is stolen when you feel an unsettled feeling flood your entire being. It causes you to freeze, and the first thought that pops into your mind is Scott.

Turning your head around your shoulder, your eyes fall on Scott who’s staring down at the ground as if the floor is about to jump out and attack him. Briefly glancing back at the front of the class, you lean forward, lowering your voice to a whisper; “hey, Scott,” you call, pulling his eyes on you. He blinks a few times, as if settling on the sight of you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies, voice hoarse. “Yeah, fine.”

You nod, reluctantly, turning back to the front, but the both of you know he’s not.

-

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a second.”

Stiles and Scott nod your way, turning to the right as you halt by the classroom door. You turn your head over your shoulder, watching as Kira finishes packing up her things before swinging her bag over her shoulder. She waves to her dad along the way, who in response holds up a finger, telling her to wait a moment.

You take that as your chance.

“Hey, Kira?”

She blinks at the sound of your voice, her head turning to the left with wide eyes. When her own settle on yours, you smile brightly, offering her a wave in a signal to come forward. She does so, and you meet her in the middle, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. She seemed a little nervous, and in all truth, you were as well, but you pushed it down, grinning brightly in attempt to reassure her. “So, I couldn’t help but over hear what your dad was saying...”

Kira’s cheeks burn at your words, and she lowers her gaze, sighing. “Yeah, i’m sorry about that-”

“No, no,” you shake your head, smiling at her. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to hang some time? It could be just me or you, or I could introduce you to my friends? I imagine it can be hard being the new girl, so I just want to make sure you feel welcomed.”

The burn in her cheek quickly disappears as your words register within her. A small smile fall on Kira’s lips, she stares up at you in almost awe; “i’d love to!” She exclaims, before seemingly catching herself, “um, yeah, that’s so nice of you... Thank you.”

Nodding your head, you rip off a piece of paper from your notebook, quickly jotting down your number. “Of course,” you comply, “here’s my number. I’ll text you some time soon, okay? We can meet up?”

Taking the piece of paper out of your hands, Kira nods, biting her lip; “sounds great. Thank you once again.”

“No need to thank me,” you assure with a shrug of your shoulders. Then, taking a step back, you glance down the way Scott and Stiles had gone, catching sight of the two watching and waiting for you. Shaking your head, you turn back to Kira; “I got meet up with my brother, but i’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Kira nods again; “okay.”

-

“Maybe we need a little more time to get back to normal.”

“Yeah, try not to forget we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures. There’s a pretty good chance things are never going back to normal.”

Letting out a sigh at Stiles words, you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the locker to Stiles’s right as you stare up at the ceiling. As much as you hate to admit it, Stiles is right -- what they did to save you and your parents, it isn’t just going to go away with a snap of your fingers. You wish it could, but, you knew it wouldn’t. Not realistically.

“I hate to admit it,” you speak up, letting your head lull to the left as you meet your brother’s gaze, past Stiles. “But he’s right.”

With a sigh of his own, Scott nods as his shoulders fall; “yeah.”

As silence falls over the three of you, your attention is stolen by Stiles who, abnormally, tugs the lock connected to his locker repeatedly. His attention is solely focused on the lock, so he doesn’t notice your gaze as he continues to shake it, before halting, blinking, almost in confusion. 

“What?” Stiles mumbles to himself, causing your brows to furrow in bafflement.

“Hey,” you call, softly, noticing your brother distracted as you meet Stiles’ eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles only shake his head, lips parting; “I can’t...”

Then, he blinks once more, and it’s like everything seems to suddenly makes sense to him. He lets out a sigh of relief, tensed shoulders slumping as his eyes remained trained on his lock.

Setting your hand on his shoulder, you pull Stiles’ gaze on you; “you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, turning his head as his eyes flicker over to your brother. “Yeah, i’m--oh, dude, your eyes.”

Glancing up, you see what’s caught Stiles attention, your eyes widening themselves when you see the red glow of Scott’s eyes. His alpha eyes. Instantly, your body tenses as you shuffle forward, behind Stiles, shaking your head.

“Scott!”

Brows furrowed, Scott mumbles; “what about them?”

As you glance over your shoulder, looking for anyone that might’ve seen Scott’s eyes, Stiles speaks up; “they’re starting to glow,” he explains, voice pitched with panic.

“You mean like right now?”

“Yes,” you urge, shaking your head. “Right now.”

“Scott,” Stiles calls, doing his best to keep his voice quiet; “stop. Scott, stop it.”

Scott lowers his head, his hand raising to cover his eyes as his breath starts to quicken. “I can’t,” he breathes, voice hushed. “I can’t stop. I can’t control it.”

Meeting Stiles’ eyes, there’s a moment of stilled panic as the two of you try to figure out what the hell to do. Then, you glance behind yourself, Stiles seemingly catching onto what you’re suggesting and he turns back to your brother, pressing a hand against the back of his head to keep his head lowered. “Okay,” Stiles whispers, following your lead as he shuffles backwards. “Okay, just keep your head down.”

“Here,” you call, gesturing to an empty classroom you’d found. Somewhere along the way, you come upon the realization that your guys attempt to not make a scene has only made a bigger scene, so, grabbing the door knob, you practically yank it open, antsy on your feet as you urge Scott and Stiles to hurry up. “In here, in here!”

You slam the door shut behind them, instantly turning around to your brother as he stumbles into room, yanking off his flannel hastily as ragged breaths escape his lips.

Stiles falls in line next to you, and the both of you step forward, intent on helping Scott before he turns around, holding up his hand. “No, get back, get back,” he bellows, his voice raspy. “Get back away from me.”

“Scott,” Stiles calls, “it’s okay.”

“We just want to help,” you add, taking a small step forward.

You don’t make it very far before Scott spins to face you once again, and his frightened eyes meet your own. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he cries, practically pleading with the both of you. “Get back.”

You listen, against your better judgement, standing there, at a lost on what to do.

Scott finally stops stumbling forward, turning to face you and Stiles as he slowly raises his hands. Your eyes widen when you notice him clenching his fists, his elongated nails digging into the palm of his hands. The moment you notice blood pouring out, your own hands raise, covering your mouth in disbelief. You feel the slight tingle in your own palms, before it grows progressively worse, causing you to hiss out in pain.

“Jesus... fuck!” You hiss, just as Scott falls to his knees, his clenched fists easing.

“Y/N, are you okay?’

Blinking, you meet Stiles’ gaze, only then realizing how your own position had changed as you cradled your hands against yourself. Nodding quickly, you dismiss Scott’s concern; “it’s just this... thing we have. I’m fine.”

Your attention, along with Stiles’, falls back on Scott as he slumps against one of the desks. Taking hesitant steps forward, you and Stiles crouch before him, and your wide eyes fall on the blood coating Scott’s hands, forgetting about the tingle in your own hands as Scott pants breathlessly before you.

“Pain makes you human,” he explains, chest rising and falling as his eyes fall on you. “I’m sorry.”

Looking down at your hands, you shake your head; “it’s fine, Scott-”

“Scott,” Stiles cuts in, “this isn’t just in our heads. This is real. And it’s starting to get bad for me too.” Your face falls at Stiles’s words, curling into yourself. “I’m not just having nightmares. I’m having dreams where I have to literally scream myself awake. And sometimes i’m not even sure if i’m actually ever waking up.”

“What do you mean?” You ask softly, causing Stiles to turn his gaze on you.

“Do you know how you can tell if you’re dreaming? You can’t read in dreams. More and more, in the past few days, i’ve been having trouble dreaming. It’s like I can’t see the words. I can’t put the letters in order.”

“Like even now?”

Stiles stands up, slowly, his legs shaky underneath him. Your eyes follow his movements as he glances around the room, his eyes falling on the posters and boards located in the classroom. Then, with a shaky breath, Stiles shakes his head.

“I can’t read a thing.”

-

“Witches have the power to feel the emotions of those they have a emotional tether to. When a witch has bonded with another, supernatural or not, emotionally, physically or mentally, they can gather enough power to feel the emotions of that said person. It only works with some though, and a lot of the time, it is because of a deeper understanding. It can be in a romantic sense, or someone you share a close connection to, like a parent or sibling.”

Sibling. If that was true then...

Inhaling sharply, you steal your nerves as you raise your hand, knocking lightly on Scott’s door. As you wait for a reply, you glance back down the hallway, the way you came, making sure no one’s coming. Not Isaac, Melissa or Rafael. You need to talk to Scott, alone.

Because right now, he’s the only you trust not to laugh in your face or think you’re crazy. And, you’re almost a hundred percent sure this’ll work with him.

“Come in!”

Placing your hand flat against Scott’s bedroom door, you lightly push it open, peeking your head in. You find Scott at his desk, spinning slightly in his chair to face you. His face lightens up at the sight of you. “Y/N,” he greets, pushing himself up to his feet. “What’s up?”

You offer a short smile, stepping into his room before quietly shutting the door behind yourself. Scott watches your movements in confusion, raising a brow when you turn back to look up at him. Once again, you steal away your nerves, clasping your hands before yourself as you rock on your feet slightly. “I need you to do something for me.”

Scott, not oblivious to how nervous you seem, instantly nods. “Anything.”

Taking a step towards Scott, you inhale sharply. “This is going to sound crazy,” you warn, finally meeting his eyes. “But, you know how when you touch someone, you can take their pain away? Like, just by grabbing onto to them, and making contact, suddenly you’re able to have this sort of connection with them?” Scott nods. “Well, I think I might be able to do something like that. But it only works with certain people.”

“Okay...” Scott says slowly.

“Give me your hand.” After only a moment of silence, Scott obliges, holding out his hand towards you. You stare down at it, taking a deep breath before slowly raising your hand and setting it into his own. Instantly, you gasp, your body flinching in response as your eyes fall shut.

For a moment, Scott seems to drift to the back of your mind as you become overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.

Then, what feels like a second later, but must’ve been longer, your eyes snap open, and you heave heavily, stumbling forward. Scott catches you, staring down at you in concern as he holds you upright, helping you stay steady. Your breath had quickened, your chest rising and falling, and your skin feels clammy.

It was exactly like that night in the motel. With Isaac.

“It worked,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper.

Shaking his head, Scott pulls your eyes on his own. “What worked? Y/N, it looked like you blacked out. I-”

“You’re worried. And scared. Scared of what’s happening to you, Stiles and Allison. You’re worried about dad being back, and you’re worried about me and mom. And there’s a tiny part of you that’s jealous of Isaac and Allison, but that girl... Kira! She overrides some of that jealousy. She hasn’t left your thoughts all day.”

Scott doesn’t say anything at first. At first, there’s just silence as he blinks up at you.

Then, letting out a shaky breath, Scott shakes his head; “how do you know all of that?”

“I read in this... book, that witches can feel the emotions of others. Of people they’re strongly connected to,” you explain in a haste, your lips working a bit faster then your mind is. “It worked with Isaac, back at that motel. At the time, I didn’t know what it was... but I touched his shoulder, and I felt this overwhelming flood of pain and agony... Scott, everything you’re feeling, I felt.”

“Like our pain?”

“Yes,” you nod, “but different. This wasn’t just pain. This was true emotion -- as if I was experiencing it.”

Scott nods, slowly. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you, because he does. It’s just a lot to take in.

“So, because we’re siblings--”

“It worked,” you finished, nodding.

Scott nods once more, at a lost on what to say.

“I’ve got to go read up some more,” you say in a haste, taking a step back from Scott with a wide smile plastered on your lips. You don’t really give Scott time to argue or say anything in return before you’re out the door. But, just before you make it very far, you peek your head in once more into his room.

“Oh! And that girl, Kira? She was checking you out too!”

-

“Okay, so what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?”

“And is unable to tell what’s real or not?”

“And is being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives?”

Biting your lip, you let out a sigh as Allison finishes off the list of shitty things that have happened to her, Stiles and Scott. You don’t have a clue on how to answer their question.

“They’re all locked up because they’re insane,” Isaac answers, letting out a huff.

“Ha.” Stiles mocks, letting out a fake laugh as he shakes his head. “Can you at least try to be helpful, please?”

“For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer.” Isaac begins, turning to Stiles with narrowed eyes. You raise a brow at their argument, leaning onto the bench in your spot next to Stiles. “So, being helpful is king of a new thing for me.”

“Hey, dude, are you still milking that?”

“Yeah, we are still milking that.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes, setting your hand on Stiles arm as you send a glare Isaac’s way. “Enough. The both of you.” At the look the Isaac gives you, as if he expects you to back him up, you huff; “we are actually trying to figure out how to help them-”

“Hi!” A sudden voice interrupts you, pulling your focus on the right of you on Kira. She smiles down at the six of you nervously, clutching her books against her chest tightly. “Sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing what you guys were talking about.”

Glancing back at your friends, you raise a brow.

“And I think I actually might know what you’re talking about,” Kira continues, pulling your eyes back on her. “There’s a Tibetan word for it. It’s called ‘Bardo’. It literally means ‘in-between state’. The state between life and death.”

“And what do they call you?” Lydia questions, sending Kira a forced smile.

You open your mouth to answer Lydia before: “Kira,” Scott answers for you, his voice soft. You can’t help but smile to yourself slightly as you glance down at your notebook, biting your lip. “She’s in our history class.”

“Here,” you speak up, pushing Stiles slightly to make room for Kira. “Sit,” you send her a bright smile as her eyes fall on you. She hesitates a moment before taking a seat just as Lydia speaks up once again.

“So are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?”

“Either, I guess,” Kira shrugs. “But all the stuff you guys were just saying? All that happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful and wrathful deities.”

“Wrathful deities?” Isaac repeats questioningly, “and-and what are those?”

Shaking her head slightly, Kira shrugs; “like demons.”

“Demons,” Stiles repeats, disbelief at his situation flooding him. “Why not?”

“Hold on,” Allison speaks up, “if there are different progressive states, then what’s the last one?”

“Death,” Kira answers, a little too cheery. “You die.”

-

“That doesn’t make any sense, dad! Who are you helping?”

Brows furrowed, you hastily make your way down the stairs, rubbing at your eyes tiredly. You’d been catching up on some homework, headphones in your ears so you hadn’t heard Scott nor your dad. It took having to go to the washroom for you to finally realize what the hell was going on and almost immediately you made your way for the stairs.

“Just get out!”

As you reach the living room, you notice Melissa making her way inside from the other side, your eyes briefly meeting hers before refocusing on the two males in front of you.

“Scott,” you father calls, voice hesitant, unsure. 

“What?” Scott snaps in response, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that you’d do this to my best friend.”

Stiles?

“I’m not doing anything to your friend,” Rafe tries to explain, “i’m doing my job.”

“Your job sucks!”

“Some days I can’t argue that.”

“Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” Melissa speaks up, eyes wide.

Taking a step forward, you nod, your eyes trained on Scott. “What’s he doing to Stiles?”

“He’s trying to get Stiles’ dad fired.”

At Scott’s words, your entire body freezes, disbelief flooding you.

“No,” your father argues, turning from you to Melissa in seconds. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing?”

Rafael pauses, then; “conducting a case for impeachment.”

Raising your hand, you rub them against your face, trying to keep your steadily racing heartbeat calm as Scott’s words echo in your head.

“That sounds a lot like getting him fired,” Melissa snaps. 

“The lack of resolution and ability to close cases is what’s going to get him fired. My job is just to collect the information.” As Rafe continues to explain, try to defend himself, you’re oblivious to Scott, who’s getting angrier and angrier by the second. Mainly because you’re getting angrier and angrier by the second. “And it’s the job my superiors have given me.”

“Your job sucks,” Melissa repeats, glaring up at your father.

“Scott,” you hear Melissa call, finally causing you to raise your head. It’s then that you notice Scott’s eyes glowing once more and his nails have grown, not to mention that he’s struggling to breathe. “Sweetheart,” Melissa continues, “calm down.” She takes Scott’s hand in her own, leading him away. “Come with me, right now.”

She meets your eyes briefly, and you nod, stepping in front of your father before he can follow after the two of them.

“Y/N-”

You scoff as Rafael attempts to explain himself to you as well, shaking your head as you glare up at him. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you snap, your lip snarling up in disgust up at him. “I don’t care if it’s your job, if your superiors are making you do it, or whatever. I don’t care. This is Stiles’ dad we’re talking about.”

Rafael just remains silent, and you roll your eyes, clenching your fists tightly, in attempt not to punch him.

“You disgust me.”

-

“Here’s where we found the den. It’s right in the middle of the hiking trails.”

Leaning over Stiles’ shoulders, your eyes fall on the spot he’s pointing at with his finger, lip in-between your teeth in thought.

“Well,” Allison speaks up, pulling your gaze on her as she raises her own to meet yours. “That could narrow it down. Coyotes travel on fixed trails. But I think you’re right about her not going back to the den. Coyotes don’t like wolves. And they’re really smart if they want to be heard, they actually walk on their toes.”

Brows furrowing, you pause as Stiles questions exactly what you’d been thinking. “Coyotes tip-toe?”

“They tip-toe.”

Just as Allison finishes speaking, the bell rings.

“We gotta go,” she continues, shuffling back. “Send me the pinned location.” She pauses though when she realizes you’ve yet to follow her. Pausing right by the door, she turns to you; “Y/N?”

Blinking, you nod over at her, “coming,” you smile softly, leaving Stiles’ side as you quickly make your way over to Allison. Though, your eyes linger on Stiles’ a moment more than usual, his own remaining stuck on you, before you eventually have to turn, falling next to Allison’s side as you walk down the hallway, heading to your next class.

It only takes you a second to realize Allison’s eyes are still on you, and she’s smirking.

“What?” You question, raising a brow her way.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, hugging her textbooks close against her chest, the smirk slowly fading as silence falls over the two of you. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask...”

Slowly, your full focus falls on your friends when you notice her obvious anxiousness. Glancing at her briefly as you both weave your way through the hallway, you patiently wait for her to continue.

Brushing back a strand of loose hair, Allison laughs nervously. “Well, Isaac and I have recently gotten closer and I know that you two used to date, so... I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. Or making you uncomfortable in anyway.”

Blinking, you pause; “are you asking me for permission to date Isaac?”

“Well... yeah.”

Shaking your head, you smile over at Allison. “You don’t need to ask for permission, Allison,” you assure, letting your hand fall on her arm. “Go for it,”

“You don’t mind?” She questions, almost unsure.

“Not at all,” you nod, “I promise.”

A wide smile falls on Allison’s lips at your words, and a small exclamation of glee leaves her lips as you laugh up at her excitement. “Thank you!” She exclaims, leaning to the side to give you a hug.

You easily return her embrace.

“Of course.”

-

“What you did was really sweet.”

Scott blinks up at you at your words. Smiling down at him, you take a seat next to him on the bench he’s perched upon, bumping his shoulder lightly with your own. “Saving her like that,” you continue for explanation, smirking slightly. “Girls love that hero crap.”

Scott rolls his eyes at your teasing, scoffing at your words. “It was the least I could do,” Scott shrugs, “she was returning our bags.”

Your eyes fall on the bags Scott gestures to, slowly nodding.

Before you can say anything more, Stiles comes to a stop between the two of you, calling out for your attention. “I think I know what she was looking for,” Stiles explains, holding his back, referring back to Malia. Standing up, along with Scott, your eyes falls the doll Stiles pulls out of his bag.

Scott sighs; “you took the doll from the car?”

“Why would you take a piece of evidence from the crime scene?” You pester Stiles, keeping your voice lowered as you slap him lightly on the shoulder. He winces in response, curling into himself as he pouts at you getting mad at him, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Hey!” Stiles calls out in defense, “I thought Scott could use it, you know, for like her scent.”

“Where did you get that?” You blink at the new voice, turning your head around your shoulder as a man steps forward. You briefly remember Noah introducing him as Malia’s dad. “Where did you find this?” Hastily, he pulls the doll out of Stiles’ hand, causing the three of you to take a step back in precaution as his narrowed eyes glower down at the three of you.

Staring down at the doll, his anger fades into sadness; “it belonged to my daughter.”

Just then, Noah steps forward; “Mr. Tate, I don’t know how you heard about this. If you got your own police scanner or what... But you can’t be here.” Noah steps forward, setting his hand on Mr. Tate’s stomach in attempt to push him back before the two of them freeze. Your brows furrow in bafflement, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait.

Slowly, Noah pulls back Mr. Tate’s jacket, revealing a gun.

“I have a permit,” Mr. Tate quickly explains, holding up his hands on either side of him.

“California schools are gun free zones,” Noah reminds, “permit or no permit. You need to leave, Mr. Tate. Now.”

Noah steps forward, causing Mr. Tate to shuffle back as he calls another policemen forward. Before they can pull Mr. Tate away, he turns back to Noah, his face twisting in desperation. “You find that animal. You find that thing.”

-

“Anyone else think we might be doing more harm than good?”

Sighing, you briefly glance at Stiles who’s beside you at Lydia’s words, before letting your gaze fall on the forest floor.

“We’re trying to keep a father from killing his own daughter,” Scott eagerly reminds, his voice desperate for you all to understand.

“Actually,” Isaac speaks up, pulling your eyes on him. “We’re trying to keep a guy from killing a coyote who is actually his daughter, who we don’t know how to change from a coyote back to his daughter.”

You let your eyes fall shut at Isaac’s words, shaking your head.

“And again,” Stiles sighs, “with the not helping.”

Scott turns to Allison, “did you bring it?”

Only hesitating a moment, Allison nods, turning towards her trunk and pulling out the tranquilizer gun she’d brought. Holding it ready in her hands, she turns back to the rest of you, nodding her head.

-

“It took the doll again. What the hell is so important about the doll?”

Sighing, you bite your lip as Stiles spins to face you, phone in hand as he talks to his father. You can’t tell what Noah is saying in response to Stiles, but if the expression on Stiles’ face is anything to go by -- you figure it isn’t good.

Then, realization floods Stiles’ eyes and his chin raises, his focus falling elsewhere other than his father.

“It’s the doll.”

Blinking, you glance up at Stiles’ eyes fall on you, the phone in his hand falling limply at his side. His eyes widen, realization flooding them.

Scott, Isaac, Allison and Lydia have run off, the two of them teaming in pairs, leaving you and Stiles. You would’ve followed after your brother or even Isaac, but seeming like Stiles right now, when there was a coyote on the loose and he had nothing nor no one to defend himself, seemed like the better idea.

It seems, you’d been right.

“It’s the doll?”

-

“All right, but why would it go all the to the school and then all the way back to the house just a doll?”

Hugging yourself tightly, you pace as Stiles continues to ramble on, shrugging your shoulders helplessly at his question.

“One that was in the car wreck firstly,” Stiles continues, “we didn’t find it in the coyote den.”

“It likes the doll,” you huff, tucking your hair hastily behind your ears. “Who cares?”

“Yeah, it likes the doll. A lot,” Stiles sighs, crouched down before you. Silence echoes, then, a question pops into your mind. “What kind of doll is it?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs, voice pitched in desperation. “It’s a doll, you know. It’s got little arms, a big baby head and dead, soulless eyes. Actually, I took a pic.” Stepping forward as Stiles to turns to face you, you lean over his shoulder, squinting your eyes to see the photo clearly.

Raising your hand, you point at the young girl in a blue coat; “that’s Malia?”

“Yeah, that’s the jacket and the scarf we found in the den.”

“Stiles,” you call, shaking your head. “She’s not holding the doll.”

“That’s Malia’s younger sister,” Stiles explains, pointing at the younger girl in a red coat. “It’s her doll.” Slowly, Stiles raises his head, turning to meet your eyes. “I know what she’s doing.”

“What?”

“I know where she’s going.”

-

“Stiles?”

Feeling your entire body freeze, everything Stiles has been saying over the phone to Scott goes in through one ear and out the other as you stare down at the bear trap. The bear trap your foot is directly placed on. You don’t move a muscle, in fear of the clamps shutting around your ankle.

“Yeah-”

Slowly raising your head, your entire body shaking, you meet his eyes from a far.

Instantly, Stiles rushes forward, coming to a stop next to you. You let your eyes fall shut as Stiles calls out; “Y/N, don’t move!” You want to snark back that you weren’t planning on doing so, but you keep your mouth shut, terrified that even speaking will trigger the trap. “Can’t you... use your powers? Hold the clamps down while you move your foot?”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head. “N-No. If I move, it’ll trigger the trap and I don’t think my reflexes are that fast.” Your voice is shaky as you try to explain yourself to the best of your ability. Forcing your eyes open, you meet Stiles’ eyes who’s lowered to the ground, now crouching before you. “Stiles, look for a warning label.”

“A warning label?” Stiles repeats questioningly. 

“Instructions on how to disarm it,” you explain, voice pleading.

“Y/N,” Stiles breathes, “why the hell would they put instructions on the bottom of a trap?”

“Because animals can’t read,” you remind, voice pitching.

Your body tenses as you try to keep as still as possible, impatiently waiting for Stiles to find the warning label you told him about. Then, a moment later, Stiles mumbles, “Y/N, we’ve got a problem.”

“What?”

“I can’t read either.”

You’d forgotten.

Inhaling sharply, you try to your best to remain calm, shaking your head. “You don’t need the instructions,” you dismiss, “when was the last time you’ve ever used instructions? Am I right?” Meeting Stiles’s eyes, you nod your head this time, smiling down at him despite the tears welling in your eyes out of fear. “You don’t need them because you’re too smart to waste your time with them, okay? You can figure it out. Stiles, you’re the one who always figures it out.. So you can do it. Figure it out.”

Listening to your advice, Stiles leans forward, brushing back some leaves. You’re too scared to lean down and see what he’s doing.

“Okay, here we go,” Stiles finally says, “ready?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you finally lower your gaze, letting out a soft whimper as you nod.

“Okay,” Stiles breaths, “here we go.”

He turns the valve, and letting out a tiny cry, you take your foot off the trigger, leaping to your left and falling into Stiles’ arms. His arms wrap tightly around your waist as yours wound around his neck, pulling him close as you let out breath of relief. 

Settling the palm of your hand on his chest, you glance back at the trap, your lips parting at the sight of the clamps shut against one another. If it hadn’t been for Stiles, or if you had taken just a moment later, it would’ve been your foot in-between those clamps.

Still breathless, you flicker your gaze over to Stiles’, meeting his eyes through your lashes. You can feel his breath fawn over your face as he returns your gaze, the two of you staring at one another in a mixture of shock, relief and disbelief. Then, before you can stop yourself, you whisper; “you did it.”

The words seem to register in Stiles’ mind, causing him to blink as he shakes his head; “I did it.”

He did it.

“Thank you.”

-

Part 20? Let me know what you thought!

Tag List: @potterheadbbc - @sunsetblake - @mythicalamphitrite - @loverofwaytoomanythings618 - @minuteandahalf - @mnk - @gazebros - @colie87 - @quilliamfears - @quellum - @pessimisticbullshite - @desired-love- @kaylinfayezink - @maiabiovillage - @tr1chst3r - @arkcangel - @quirkytwinkles - @thegirlwhoimagined - @noones-girl1980 - @illumminated - @fairchild345 - @all-will-be-well-love - @animemes-trash - @starryrevelations - @literallyhelpme - @theskytraveler - @jinandton1c - @ilovemymoose-blog @bibliophilesquared - @stilessarcasmqueen - @mersuperwholocked-lowlife - @newtsshelbys - @wyattgoleft - @pancakefancake - @saturno-in-the-night - @pizzamelon7384 - @riskregretting - @mdgrdians - @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia - @franchisefan14 - @lovingpeterparker - @audreysduvxl - @kararanae23 - @alioop3818 - @a-gir1-has-n0-name - @andyl394 - @sclestial - @jayymocha - @2ptonpt - @itsfangirlmendes - @deafeningmusicdetective - @alex–awesome–22 - @nicholerodz  - @kellbell44 - @serrahruby - @agentmarvel13 - @egg-in-a-spork - @nickigv - @vxidnik - @marvelousgab - @emmaleighrose - @danielag1969 - @digicharr - @shantayok - @cherry3bombshell - @thatprofessionalfangirl - @itsjaynebird - @grippleback-galaxy - @dafukbish - @randomfanfictiontime - @unicorn-sparkles123 - @sammyrenae68 - @myfanficlibrarium - @liveforthenight130318 - @booknymph02

[ofwhiteknuckles-blog]

(BEN BARNES / THIRTY EIGHT / HE/HIS ) – ( lucas felix ) has been spotted in the castle. they said to originally be from ( detroit ) and is often seen to be ( conniving ) but seemingly ( adaptive ). After being in Wolfenstein for ( two years ), they’ve come to ( be hesitant of ) the council in their own way. They work as ( sector patrol ) and are known around these parts as ( the sycophant ). better watch your back with that one around.

A LIST OF (AT LEAST) 6 AESTHETICS FOR THIS CHARACTER: ( abyss-black eyes tracking the motion of a conversational partner as they stalk away, the rhythmic tapping of calloused fingertips over a crossed arm, the rasp of a soft hum under the continuous hush of wind, sweet words clinging to the tip of your tongue, gears of thought grinding continuously and without halt, a smile that never meets the eyes but feels genuine regardless (and isn't) )

THE SONG YOU SEE AS THIS CHARACTERS THEME: ( amarillo sleeps on my pillow - fair to midland )              “ ... no one turned over leaves, no one branches out, no one went out on a limb when he belted out: get gone.          some one looked for a clue, someone got the ax, someone yelled in the wake of the great collapse: get gone.             minced words from anonymous cowards fell down from kingdom come. the threatened source of this obstacle course had cornered in a guessing game.       every attempt turned a kettle of fish -, and loves making it’s waves.                   if i had to guess, he’s still making a mess worse than any                                   thunderstorm.”

triggers: abuse, neglect, drug references

YOU ARE A CHILD OF POISON, THEY SAID.

      one thing was incredibly clear to lucas felix from the moment he could comprehend the hand that life had dealt him: nothing would come easy, and nothing would be worth the time if it was.       his mother always had the means of making a decent living for her son and herself, but squandered all of her earnings on selfish means instead. she was certainly a beautiful woman: alluring both physically and with a wit sharp as a blade’s edge, but all of her attention had always been selfish. surely it was habit taught to her from a young age, something she never bothered to break before she involved herself in other human interactions. but it was likely her beauty and charm that had seduced the man who impregnated her, and the likes of his name were never so much as whispered around offspring. lucas has never known the man’s name.       babies should be a joyous occasion, and yet alessia felix found a way to make it entirely self-involved. her body had to bear the pain, her child was what made everyone so pleased, her creation. anyone who dared to involve themselves in the mess of his mother’s life was sure to see how narcissistic the beautiful italy born-and-bred woman was, and yes no one pressed a finger onto the issue.       but such is the way of the world, so often are children abandoned to their fates.

      he was a beautiful baby, but grew to be an awkward toddler, an awkward little boy. alessia made no attempt to hide her disgust at how her creation could be so gangly and ungainly, could stow away for hours with quiet toys that suggested knowledge more than play with other children. but perhaps that was for the better --- she couldn’t very well brag and show up with something like him, her offerings would be meager in comparison to children who were the spitting images of their beautiful parents. simple genetics, the awkward transitional period of a child, were held against a child who knew nothing of the world or such disgust from his mother. lucas was six, and alessia felix was the love of his life. all mothers should be, for little boys.       but as he grew older, as his awareness developed, and as the blinders fell from his eyes lucas became aware of his mother’s feelings. while he was utterly devoted to her, drew pictures of her at school or told stories about my mom and me, she was ashamed of his too-long legs and chubby cheeks. his loss of innocence came across the dinner table (boxed macaroni and cheese again, so mom could go out again for the night), when he told her “i love you, mommy” and alessia heaved a sigh and responded with a purfunctory, “yea.”

      grades meant nothing. educational achievements meant nothing. unconditional love from a child meant nothing, and lucas began to realize that if he wanted something more than boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner every night (if alessia even bothered to make it) he would have to get it himself. however it wasn’t as simple as taking it --- simply taking things earned him a swift but stern slap across the face and if he hadn’t learned in his younger years, lucas surely understood alessia’s feelings with those.       he learned his charm from her, but it wasn’t easy being the odd child he was. still, with a desire to achieve, lucas applied himself to the art of manipulation. he discovered it was simple with the charm of a child: people were more likely to assist if you added a few tears, a little naievety. his teachers began to understand his plight as home as difficult when he spun the yarn of his mother having become deathly ill. his peers found him appealing when he shared goods pilfered or traded from others (without their knowledge for the former), and the reputation he earned himself in his youth formed the personality that perfected at puberty.

      while all of these tricks worked outside of the household, lucas never managed to pull the wool over his mother’s eyes. but where unconditional love once stood in tolerance for alessia and her narcissism, now contempt remained. lucas fell out of love with his mother at twelve, and never looked back.

CLEVER AS THE DEVIL AND TWICE AS PRETTY.

      on the summer at the end of his freshman year of high school lucas left an odd-looking boy. in the fall of his sophomore year he returned transformed, as if the summer heat had been a chrysalis and the ugly caterpillar emerged a butterfly. now if you held up a picture of alessia felix beside lucas you could see he was her child, all it took was a shot of growth hormone and the deepening of his voice. abyss-black eyes were the stark difference between the two of them (ignoring the thick black hair that sprouted from his face if he didn’t tame it back to stubble every four or so days), and alessia noted how much she despised the way he stared at her now. it made her skin crawl if only because it seemed as if he was looking through her.       and he was. now he saw her for what she was: a selfish woman who had only wanted him to brag about her own achievements. but he hadn’t been worth bragging about when he was small, and now that he towered over her she wanted him to be seen with him. but lucas refused, perhaps a little too politely for her to understand at first, and it was only in a binge of some substance abuse that he took a stern hand with her. only when she struck him first out of a dead sleep --- staring at him for near twenty minutes before lashing out at him. it was the threat of never touch me again that he punctuated so perfectly, threatening to hold back no means to defend himself should she raise another hand at him.       alessia mourned for herself the loss of her baby boy. all that was left was a man who was nothing more than a reminder of her failed relationships throughout the years. you’re just like them. you’re just like them.       but he was nothing like them. perhaps the only similarity being how much he despised her, as they all did in the end.

      over-achieving won him an early high school graduation by one year and excellent grades a near free-ride through college. he was always good with numbers, always good at calculations and the choice to step into the mathematical field was easy. alessia was notably absent when he gained his college diploma, if only because lucas couldn’t be bothered to let her know of the date. any by now he’d escaped the clutches of her den and made his own home somewhere on the other side of the city. he was sure he would never purposely cross paths with her, and if they did meet it was purely accidental. purely venomous.        his first steps into the world of banking began the same as any other bland story: a teller whose talent for numbers opened gateways of opportunity. lucas was twenty-two when he was offered the position of personal finance. he was twenty-four when he began taking private, rich clients, and it was only a few months into that position that he met “slick ricky” dimatteo. the meeting wound up more fateful than any singular moment he had with his mother, at least it was opportunistic. silver-tongue and charm allowed for lucas to step into the world of second set of books, illegal numbers ... extra money,       now he looked exactly like the son of alessia felix. fine suits, hundred-dollar hair cut, winning smile the smiles never met his eyes --- that died in his childhood, with his innocence, but he when he wagged his tongue people listened and were apt to believe the words that oozed from his lips. honest life turned to opulence ... he was sure he could have had more if he wanted it, but sitting on the outskirts of a life of real crime was comfortable for him. when he stole away in the middle of the night to confirm the collection of illegal debts owed he kept his own two hands clean (so what if his command got people hospitalized, right?) and lucas prided himself on the ability to forget what he had seen. things are so often lost in the black abyss.

      a much-needed vacation found lucas in austria when the world ended, on a small trip around europe that had begun in italy. abject horror is the best way to describe lucas’ initial response, and though it took time for him to find wolfenstein he learned the climate of the post apocalypse. survival meant utilizing the one skill he’d been perfecting since his youth: a silver-tongue. people were less likely to trust in this world (and he couldn’t say that be blamed them), but they were also more insipid. it was a new hurdle, a new obstacle to decipher how to overcome, though ultimately lucas is of the impression that he’s doing quite well for himself.

FELL DOWN FROM KINGDOM COME.

      it’s been two years since the sycophant stumbled into wolfenstein. at first he was unsure of his position in this small but growing civilization --- there are too many eyes that would be all-too willing to tear him apart for his less-than-honest means of surviving. but even here it’s simple to discover those who are willing to hear a good word. silver tongue found the correct ears to earn him a relatively safe, relatively useful place among these people where he’s already begun to weave his empire of secrets and misconceptions. when he was offered his place on the council he was hesitant, but accepted when adept eyes deciphered the usefulness of being in the know. people were easier to craft when you understood the workings.       he’s not fond of the weight of a gun in his hand, but there’s no room to be picky when the large threat-at-hand doesn’t want to listen to his greatest weapon. if the creatures that roamed outside of the castle walls were able to listen to sweet nothings it would be an entirely different story, and so lucas once again has adapted. ultimately he is wary of the council, understanding the corruption that seeps within it but keeping his lips stiff on the matter. depending on who approaches in privacy, they will hear a different story of lucas’ opinion on the matter: sometimes he agrees wholly with them, others he can’t trust them as far as he can throw them, and his own personal truth is the most well-kept secret of them all.       in wolfenstein lucas is the most careful of his lies overlapping, ensuring that what he tells one person never directly intersects with another --- it’s been more than thirty years since he learned his art and he isn’t so careless to let it fall apart now. while the creatures that roam the world are certainly a looming threat, in the post-apocalypse humans are the most dangerous monster of all and lucas is all-too aware of that.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

      i’m open to anything with lucas, really. he’s been around the castle for two years and i’m certain that he’s built any array of connections in that time. he’s a relatively social creature (which is needed for him to work his art), but he doesn’t really trust anyone. should we venture into any semblance of romance, please be aware that lucas is strictly heterosexual and has never been devoted to one partner, however i am willing to develop something given time and chemistry.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Work Leave

Story Post; Art at End

“I see... So I expect you'll be needing leave then when the time comes?” Nathan was in the principal's office after class discussing his new circumstances. With the twins on the way, he was very worried about how his work would be affected by the pregnancy. So far though, Ms. Liu was nothing short of understanding. “Yes... The doc said I'd be on bedrest near the end of the pregnancy,” Nathan said. “I'd rather it didn’t interfere with my class...” Ms. Liu shook her head and raised a hand. “Mr. Cassidy, everything will be fine. You’ll have whatever needed leave. We'll manage to find a substitute for your class. In the meantime... Rest well. Stay healthy.” “Thank you, Ms. Liu,” Nathan accepted. “I won't let you down.” “And congratulations.”

“Huh? Oh... The pregnancy,” Nathan blushed sheepishly. “Thank you.” “Twins are a big responsibility. I hope you and your partner are ready for it.” “Oh. Um, it's just me actually,” Nathan admitted. “Oh. I'm sorry.” Ms. Liu's usual stone face broke to show sincere humility. “I'm really sorry... I shouldn't have assumed.” “It's okay. I get it.” Nathan waved it off. “It's a big leap for one person alone, but I'm excited too. I'm gonna do my best.” Ms. Liu regained her composure. “Well, do let me know when the time comes that you'd like the leave.” “Thanks... Also, I'd like to keep it between us for now,” Nathan requested. “Of course. I won't inform any of the other staff without your permission,” the principal said. “You have my word.” Nathan nodded. “Thank you. I really appreciate it... I can see how a teacher taking leave so soon after the school opens could be a problem.” “We're dealing with all kinds of circumstances and exceptions for our staff...” Ms. Liu said. “Allowing a teacher their rightful leave is hardly the worst thing to deal with. Relax, Mr. Cassidy. Take it easy, take your leave as prescribed to you, spend time with your children, and when you feel fit to return, you'll have your job here waiting for you.” “Thank you so much.” “Now, I have some work to do before I head out for the night,” Ms. Liu said, motioning to some papers. “I'm sure you'd like to get home too.” “Uh, yes. I'll leave you to it,” Nathan said, getting up from his chair. “Thank you for meeting with me.” “Any time you need something regarding your work, you can come to me,” Ms. Liu said. “Yes, of course. See you tomorrow.” “Have a good night, Mr. Cassidy.” Nathan waved and left. He'd gotten quite used to living at APID that on non-wolf nights he contemplated staying there anyway for the convenience of the location. He didn’t have to worry about commute or forgetting things at work. Also, while it was no Montana's, the fresh cafeteria food was very affordable. His plan was always to go eat first before the sun dropped so as to help satiate the wolf overnight. He'd also been informed that the wolf was quite tame now having a regular source of food and shelter, although often restless being cooped up in a small room. Reid had talked about proposing an outdoor pen to the board for the wolf to use that could also double as a recreational area for residents and staff during the daytime. If they got that up and running though, Nathan would hope they made it extra fortified. After quickly dropping off his work bag in his room, he hurried off to the cafeteria. He liked to arrive as soon as dinner service started to get the freshest food. He'd be cutting it close now after having talked to the principal. Thankfully when he arrived, there wasn't much more than a few people in line so he took his place in it and waited for the food to open up. When time arrived for it to open, a man came around from the back to unlock the front gate. To his surprise, this young man happened to be very familiar. “Mr. Hamlin?” Nathan asked as the vice principal came back around. “Nathan?” Pierce beamed when he spotted his co-worker in line. “What a surprise. And please call me Pierce.” “Right, sorry,” Nathan said. “What are you doing here? Is vice principal pay that bad?” Pierce let out a good chuckle. “No, I volunteer here.” “Why haven't I seen you before?” Nathan asked, before realising that he'd given away the fact that he frequented the budget food. “First chance I got since school starter. You know how busy we've been,” Pierce explained. “I'm happy I've had a chance to finally get back into it.” “That's cool, I guess,” Nathan said. “But why'd you choose to volunteer?” “Well, when I was a kid, I had to live here a bit,” Pierce said. “My mom called it camp but really, the EID—or, uh APID wanted to make sure I could blend in with the other kids, and they did a bunch of tests and things... The kitchen staff were always really cool and nice to me. So I figured I'd give back.” “That's really nice of you,” Nathan said. “Naw, it's really nothing. I like the free food and conversation,” Pierce said. “Plus I get to meet a whole bunch of cool extraterrestrials and the like.” He then looked Nathan top to bottom. “Are you an alien too?” “Me? No, no...” Nathan answered quickly. “I, um... I have a condition APID's helping out with so I sometimes have to sleep over.” He crossed his fingers that Pierce didn’t ask more about it. “Oh, okay,” Pierce said smiling. “Well, that's good then. So you must be semi-regular here. I'll have a new face to look forward too seeing around here. And it's good to see they've been feeding you well without me around. When you first showed your face at the staff meeting, you look near sickly, no offence.” “Ah, none taken...” Nathan was still a little offended though since he figured it was a comment on his weight. “Do you know what's for dinner tonight?” “Do you have any food restrictions?” Pierce asked. Nathan shook his head. “But I need a lot of protein these days.” “Ah, then you're in for a treat. The chefs smoked a brisket today. It is absolutely...” Pierce kissed the tips off his fingers. “I should head back in though. I'm on service.” “Alright, see you on the other side,” Nathan said. Pierce patted Nathan's shoulder grinning. “I like you, Nathan.” He headed back inside. Once Nathan had his food he went to go sit down. It had taken multiple meals to get his lunch friend Wano to trust him again after he missed breakfast one time. He promised to show him how to use chopsticks to eat as an apology and so far, he was learning fast but just needed more strength control. Pierce had gifted Nathan an extra helping of brisket so when Wano’s chopsticks scissored violently, sending his piece of brisket flying half way across the cafeteria, they had a spare. From that point on, he went back to a fork and knife and informed Nathan that they would be practicing the next morning with eggs, before heading back to his own room. Nathan stayed back a bit to catch up on reading some parent emails. He’d never thought about it before but was not surprised to find out that other planets had holidays so a few of his students would be missing class. It was good to know, but he ultimately didn’t see it impacting their kindergarten education too much so he replied to the parents to assure them it would be fine. A cafeteria tray slid up beside him which nearly made him jump but he turned to see Pierce slide in beside him. “Oh hey,” Nathan said, making room for him. “Done volunteer work?” “Naw, but I figured I’d take a break to eat,” Pierce said, waggling his fork. “You don’t turn off, do you?” “Turn off what?” Nathan looked at his laptop but didn’t really think he spent a lot of time on it. “Being a teacher.” “Oh. I was just replying to some emails before heading back to my room,” Nathan said. “No, not that. I saw you with Wano,” Pierce said. “You can’t pass up a chance to teach.” “I didn’t really volunteer exactly…” Nathan said. “It is…like, really hard to get an Eclulan’s trust.” “Yeah, and yet you’ve managed to get one that’ll save a seat for you.” Nathan was a bit alarmed by how much Pierce had seen. “So you’re watching me?” Pierce just shrugged. “Part of volunteering is keeping an eye on the tables. So, yeah. Not to mention, four eyes.” He blinked open his lower set of eyes a few times. “Anyway, how was the brisket?” “It was really good,” Nathan said. “Almost as good as my grandmother’s recipe.” “Oh yeah? You want to bring her in and give us tips?” “Uh, she’s not with us anymore.” “Oh.” Pierce placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” “It’s been a couple years. Don’t worry about it,” Nathan shrugged off. “I know you shared your brisket,” Pierce said, pushing his tray against Nathan’s arm. “You can have mine.” Nathan shook his head. “No, I had my fair share… Thank you though.” “You sure? You said you’re on a high protein diet,” Pierce said. “I nibbled on some brisket in the back. I’m good.” Nathan bit his lips. The smell of the brisket was making his mouth water. “…Are you sure?” “Positive.” Pierce pushed his brisket onto Nathan’s empty plate. “Enjoy.” Nathan started cutting up the brisket for himself. “Thank you… This brisket really is good. Well cooked through. I didn’t know they had a smoker here.” “Multiple,” Pierce said. “They’re set up outside. They’re top notch.” He started nibbling on some broccoli. “So, what’s this condition you’re supposed to have anyway if you don’t mind me asking?” Nathan paused and acted like he didn’t hear. “Hm?” “You’re not an alien and yet you live in the deportee department according to your access pass,” Pierce said pointing to the lanyard hanging from Nathan’s back pocket. “So you must have some kind of terrestrial thing going on. And you call it a condition, so it sounds like an illness, not something natural for you. So that rules out things like…merman, demon, driad. It’s more like…vampire. Or—” “I’m pregnant,” Nathan blurted out. Pierce blinked. “Really?” “…” Nathan thought about retracting it but it felt too late. “Yes.” “I knew it!” Pierce said. “That’s why you…you know, look so healthy.” “I’m fat. Just say it,” Nathan huffed. “You’re not fat,” Pierce said. “You’re still like this skinny guy. It’s just the midsection. But honestly, I was sceptical because I would never have pegged you as trans.” “I'm not trans,” Nathan said. Pierce raised an eyebrow. “You're not? But you're pregnant. Is that why you're at APID? Because you're a pregnant cis man?” “Yeah, mostly,” Nathan lied. “And, um... I'm having twins.” He didn’t know why he was telling Pierce so much about himself but it just felt nice to have someone to talk to about it who wasn't directly one of his ‘handlers', like Reid and Ms. Liu. “No way. No way!” Pierce said, wrapping an arm around Nathan and patting his back. “Congratulations. Twins, that's crazy. That's exciting.” “Yeah, it's wild,” Nathan confirmed. “I talked to Ms. Liu about it after class today. I didn’t really plan to tell anyone else at work yet... Nothing about this was planned. But I don't know, you're easy to talk to. Must be why you're vice principal.” Pierce chuckled. “Maybe... I never thought about it.” He scratched the back of his own head. “Um, okay. I have a request but...um, no I probably shouldn't ask.” “What? No, ask me,” Nathan said. “No, it's stupid,” Pierce said. “It's private.” Nathan tried to figured out what the vice principal was on about. “What? Is it...do you want to see it?” He lifted his shirt, revealing his stomach. Pierce lit up in excitement. “Wow, look at that...” He lifted his hand but stopped himself. “Oh, I shouldn't...” “Just go ahead, dude,” Nathan said, taking Pierce's hand and putting it on his stomach. “It feels weird, right?” Pierce rubbed it a little bit. “Yeah, so firm... I bet you can't believe it.” “It gets a bit more real every day but yeah, it's overwhelming,” Nathan said. Pierce took his hand away and blushed. “Um, so... I suppose you'll have to take leave?” “Yeah. It’s what I talked to Ms. Liu about today,” Nathan said. “I don’t know when yet I’ll be off.” “That’s fair… When are you due?” “Uh… I haven’t even thought about that yet.” Nathan did a little counting on his hands. “…So, I'm supposed to be...like, seventeen weeks pregnant now... So March maybe?” “Wow, that feels so soon,” Pierce commented. “Yeah, I guess it really is...” Nathan said. He hadn't yet put into perspective how soon he'd suddenly go from single bachelor to parent. It was increasingly overwhelming. Pierce put a hand on his shoulder. “That's a lot to look forward to for the new year. But I've seen you with your students. You're going to be a stellar parent.” Nathan did feel a little relieved. “Thanks. I'll do my best.” “Hell yeah, you will.” Pierce checked his watch. “Well, my break is over. I'll see you tomorrow at work?” “Yeah, absolutely.” Pierce left back to the kitchen and Nathan hurriedly gathered his things to go to his room before night properly fell.

[river-witchery]

So you practice in the arts, and I'm with someone who does too. I know so little. How could I support them? Also I wish you best in getting better. Illness is hard.

Tumblr keeps eating this post, so fingers crossed. (I also decided not to use as much formatting this time to see if it works, even though it makes it a little harder to read the wall of text)

I assume you're talking about witchcraft (and not, like, drawing and crafting and writing), so I'm going to be answering this ask from that angle. Regardless of Your Person's interests though, wanting to learn about and support them is the first, and arguably most important step! (And judging by the fact you sent this ask in, I'd say you're on the right track nonny.)

- - - - -

I have been practicing witchcraft for... 6 almost 7 years now (or is it closer to 8? Idk 😂). And my partner in crime doesn't. In fact, he's a skeptic! So a lot of this advice comes from personal experience of what makes me feel supported in my practice.

- - - - -

• Listen to Your Person.

This may seem like a no brainer, but it is really important. Active listening goes a long way in any relationship, and it is especially important to make sure Your Person feels supported in their interests. When they are talking about witchcraft, really try to focus on it. Ask questions without fear of sounding uneducated. Cherish the way they light up when talking about something they care about. Find joy in their passions.

- - - - -

• Learn together. And on your own.

If you've been listening to Your Person, you have probably already learned a lot. Keep in mind that witchcraft is very personal, so in learning about it, you are learning about them too. Consider asking them of there are any books or articles you could read to get a better understanding of what they do. But also consider going out to do research on your own. This is where your listening skills become really important. Witchcraft is a broad and ever encompassing topic, so think back to specifics. Has your person mentioned herbology, or tarot, or traditional witchcraft? Do they seem interested in Wicca or other kinds of paganism (often associated with witchcraft)? These are good starting points for research that aren't as overwhelming as trying to understand all that witchcraft can encompass.

- - - - -

• Be willing to challenge your own beliefs.

No exaggeration here, witchcraft changed a lot of my beliefs and preconceived notions about the world. I know more now about history, art, science, and nature than I ever would have thought possible through my craft. I also understand more about social inequalities, cultural appropriation and differences, and how we treat our fellow living beings. It is not uncommon for witchcraft to open your eyes to such things, in my experience. But the process can be hard and painful—it often is when our worldview is challenged. Lean into the idea that you could be wrong about many things in the world, and support Your Person as their beliefs and thoughts change over time.

- - - - -

• Get involved!

Your Person may want to do rituals with you, or involve you in making and gathering supplies, or so much more. If you are comfortable with it, I definitely encourage you to get involved. Even my skeptical partner offers to join in occasionally, so don't fret if you don't completely buy into what they are doing. Just let yourself enjoy the process and the time with Your Person, and trust me, they will be very thankful for it.

- - - - -

• Offer to pay for tools and supplies.

If you have the means of course, offer to buy things Your Person might need or want for their craft. I wouldn't suggest going out on your own to buy them things though (at least at first, unless you are very certain about it), as witchy things can be very personal, but go shopping with them, whether that is at a physical storefront or an online one, and offer to help buy them. Of course, once you get to know their personal flair for witchcraft, you might be able to surprise them with things you bought on your own for them. I would trust my partner to buy me witchy things without guidance, but we have been together for a long time, so he knows me and my practice very well.

- - - - -

And that's about all I've got! I hope you're able to find some good advice in that wall of text 😂. Thank you so much for the ask and the well wishes. Illness has definitely been kicking my butt, but talking to y'all has been good for my soul. 🖤