#horrifically blunt honesty

[deathnguts]

Regulus, shifting in that insecure like way: Bee, do you think I’m-

Barty, completely deadpan: no, you’re not ugly, you are so hot I could get off untouched from just looking at you and I’m not fucking around.

Regulus, lowkey reassured: ???!

[winters-mistress]

Cirilla's broken heart.

It's Geralt of all people who breaks the silence between them. Ironic, really, that the man of so few words finds them when nobody else can. After all this time, after everything that happened, it falls to him to speak, to comfort, do to something, when nobody else knows how.

Everard! Gwain! Wake up!

His daughter and his brothers had told him she had yelled, throwing the witch's blade as the two witchers shoot up in their beds. His girl, his strong, beautiful, brave girl, had had a few precious moments of lucidity in the midst of her docility, and with it, she had saved them, imprisoning the demon in her mind.

The time between Yennefer's betrayal and the hard, frantic ride to Kaer Morhen do not make sense to the witcher. From the moment he holds his sword to her throat to that where he pushes her off him as he seeks out his girl, time doesn't add up. That's why he's tried so hard to fill in the blanks, why he asked the two of them, and his father, what had occurred in their perspective. They could handle it, they were strong, and his daughter had made sure they had survived the battle, but coming to his daughter to ask what had happened to her was something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible. The last thing Geralt ever wants to do is hurt Ciri.

"Asking how you are is a stupid question," Geralt begins. He hears his daughter inhale, but he cannot see her, she's facing away from him. "so, what are you feeling?" He thinks that's the best way to go, honesty and bluntness.

Everard had told him the ivory-hilted blade had sat in the wall with a satisfying clunk as Ciri had yelled at them to get back, get to Vesemir, get help, before the demon had taken her again, her face falling slack before falling sly, emerald eyes glowing a horrific shade of neon.

His girl, his brave girl, had fought the demon, and she had won, but it had came at a cost. She's only just recovered enough strength from her fainting and vomiting spells she'd had once they returned from the mysterious sphere. She's not strong enough to walk the keep, so she doesn't know about the destruction and the bodies of the basilisks. Geralt hopes they can rid the bodies and scrub the blood and fix the tree and the walls and the tables before his girl is well enough to start her training again. The last thing she needs is more pain.

"I-" Ciri's voice is tired and soft, it doesn't speak of thirst or gritty like she'd swallowed sandpaper. Geralt had heard her speak in many ways, loud and relieved when they'd met in the forest, monotone and untrustworthy before Nivillen, tearful and shaky once they'd left, strong and stubborn when they would train and spar, angry and bitter when Geralt had denied her the mutations. But never like this, defeated and exhausted, it chills him. "I don't know," she pauses, pushing a lock of hair from her face. It's undone and falls in curls and waves, she hardly ever wears it down, it makes her look younger and more like the Princess she is, especially with the clean white linen tunic she wears. "I don't know what to feel, what to say." Now, Cirilla turns towards him, her legs folding up behind her.

"I understand." But he really doesn't, he doesn't understand it all. He so wants to, he wants to take that pain he sees in his daughter's eyes, he wants to hold her against his chest the same way he felt when they reunited in Cintra. Will she smile if he gives her a few of her favourite strawberry jam cookies? Or will a blade do it? Will she allow him to come closer, hold her and protect her from a world that hunts her for reasons neither of them understand?

By the time Vesemir had came to Everard's room, Ciri -was she still? Or would it be more accurate to call her Voleth?- had gone. She was on her way to the medallion tree by then. Was he there then? Going up the mountain, coming into the courtyard?

Trapped within her own mind, Geralt doesn't know what she was forced to see, and it startles him. No, it scares him. His daughter is so strong, so brave, whatever that demon had forced into her mind had hit below the belt. Ciri had survived the Cintran slaughter and weeks on the run, her night with the beast and the vampire, months with unruly witchers and the betrayal of Yennefer, she had survived it, and had never reacted as such.

"How many?" She looks up at him, eyes tired, but set, as if she's resigned herself to a horrible fate.

"What?" He frowns.

"How many did I kill?"

Ah. He supposes she wouldn't know what she did after the last monster was taken down by Coën.

He knows what it is to be resigned here. Just days ago, Geralt had walked cautiously around the keep, thinking that this next turn would be the one where he would find his girl on the ground, used and eliminated due to the demon's influence. Maybe Yennefer would have gotten to her again, lead her by the hand to her death in exchange for chaos.

Geralt's fist clenches. He's so furious with Yennefer. How dare she. How dare she do that to him? To them?

The battle had begun after Voleth had refused his offer of himself as a sacrifice to save his child. Witchers crowded around her, swords at the ready, after Jaskier had ran inside the room and told them about what Yennefer had done, about how her deal with the demon had lead to Ciri being possessed, and of how the girl clearly didn't want to do them any harm, with how she had broken out of her trance and yelled to alert the witchers of the danger.

Thankfully, all the swords were pointed at Voleth, and not Cirilla. He didn't know what he would have done if Ciri hadn't saved his brothers, and the vengeance had been turned upon her instead.

Ciri had had moments of lucidity, where she had managed to push the demon to the back of her mind, enough to ask him to help her, to warn a brother of an incoming attack, or a weakness in the basilisk, but he didn't know what the girl had been through in the moments where her body was not her own. When she herself had been locked inside her own mind like a bluebird in a golden cage, he had been too busy trying to figure out a way to free his girl.

He cringes as he steps forward, watching her neck as she moves her hair. He remembered the sick crunch when she had been forced into submission, when it looked like a black, shadowy hand had grabbed her hair and forced her back. Vesemir and Gwain had heard too, for they took a moment to stop fighting their shared monster to see the source of the noise, before coming back to reality.

"None." Geralt comes back to earth, realising that she was still waiting for an answer, loathe to leave her waiting for words like he had in those first couple weeks on the winter road. "Do you not remember what happened, after Yennefer?"

"No." she whispers, fiddling with her fingers, looking down in shame. "I don't remember much from being on the road until I fell into you." Ciri pauses, licking her lips, looking up. She meets his eyes, and she looks tired. "I only remember parts of the fighting."

"Would you like to know?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, after Yennefer came into the room, she tried to give you a potion, clear the demon from you that way. All the monsters were dead by then, my brothers all coming over to see what she was doing."

"And?"

"It didn't work, clearly." Geralt walks towards her, and takes her weight as he sits beside her, his girl leaning upon his shoulder. He holds her steady, holds her strong, he will be strong so she can be weak, so she can be vulnerable and upset and frightened. Lord knows she must not have had the chance much since the slaughter. "Then she had an idea, cut her wrist and let the demon come to her instead, leave you alone."

"And that didn't work as well."

"No. It was a foolish plan. All that happened was that she fainted from blood loss quite quickly after."

Ciri chuckled humourlessly. "Sorceresses are always self centered like that."

"Indeed. I don't know what you said, what you did, but you whispered something, and then there was a loud noise. Horrid, really, even for a witcher." He nods. "A large, black figure appeared in front of you, it was shadowy, as if it was a ghost. You looked over at the room, yiur eyes were black, like all the other witchers, and suddenly you woke them all up. Even Marek, with his lack of face-" he notes that Ciri winces as if she was struck. "And Timron, with his no legs, Roose and Lukas, you brought them all back. Even Eskel and Remus, several others, too. They just appeared out of thin air, from boots to head. You brought them back."

"What? How? They weren't there." Ciri is surprised.

"You don't tend to obey the laws of the world, sweet girl. The word impossible doesn't seem to hold weight with you."

Ciri chuckles, her eyes filling with tears. She sniffles, burying her face into his shoulder.

He holds her, calms her, runs his fingers through her knotted blonde hair.

"Thank you, little wolf," Geralt says, once she's pulled back. He's lay a hand upon her cheek, comforting her as much as he is cleaning her cheek of tears.

"For what?"

"Bringing my brothers back. Thank you."

"It seems rather undeserved, when you consider I had no idea or no control over it."

"Even still. Thank you."

Ciri closes her eyes, hiding back in his hair.

"Then what happened?"

"You looked back at the shape, and it disappeared. You fainted into my arms. We thought everything was okay when you woke up, because Yennefer was healed, too, and you were free, before all the doors and windows slammed closed. Fires burned out, the lot."

"Yeah, I remember." She settles into his shoulder. "She came back for me, and I portaled us to-" she sighs. "somewhere."

"Yeah," he shuffles. He wishes he could say something to comfort her about the wraiths, what they said to her, but he finds none. "Yennefer's fine, by the way, you healed her when you healed us."

"And her magic, is that back?"

"No." He whispers, "she still knows all her spells, but she tried to light the fires and couldn't. She was upset, but she's not the priority anymore."

"What'll happen to her?"

"I don't think I can let her go with the knowledge she has, about you and about here."

"What?" Ciri pulls back quickly. Geralt's shoulder is cold, he wishes she was still where she was. Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, bright emeralds in a sea of coal. "Are you kidding? You're letting her stay?"

"She told me she helped you make a portal in Nenneke's."

Ciri hung her head. "About what happened there-"

"Shh, it doesn't matter." Geralt soothes, bringing a hand back to her face. "She took you from me, but we are together now."

She sniffles.

"When did you speak?"

"When you were asleep, two days ago."

"And that's that, then? She's staying here?" Ciri sounds nervous.

"To be no more than a tutor to you. I don't trust her, you don't trust her, my brothers don't trust her, but she told me that she helped you with a portal, and that's more than what Triss ever did. I'm told a portal I'd complex magic, too."

"But-" she starts. "You can't-"

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

"You don't understand what happened. When she took me away, we ended up at Goldencheek's house, you remember, the wife that saved me? The husband that saved you?"

He nods.

"Geralt, the fire man-" she swallows thickly. "the fire man got them. Got them all, her, her husband, and the two boys." Cirilla reveals.

Geralt allows himself a moment of grief for four lives so needlessly wasted. For the two boys who were all in all innocent, yes, he knows one of them caused his girl a bit of bother, but children should never die in their parents' war. He grieves for a woman so kind to open her heart to Ciri for no other reason than that she wanted to. And he will grieve for a long while a man who was so generous and honourable that he qiuld save a lowly witcher and put up with his sharpness and hostility just because he felt it was the right thing to do.

"After I found them, Yennefer-" Ciri takes a calming breath, sniffling as more tears come to her eyes. "Yennefer told me they were keeping you hostage in Cintra. Hurting you. Torturing you, because of me." she reveals.

Geralt says nothing, just stares at this child. This sweet, beautiful, vulnerable child who had been betrayed by everybody in her world apart from a sweet farmyard mother and a handful of mutated witchers holed up in a crumbling castle.

By the gods, how could he be so blind? How could he have fallen for Yennefer's charms so easily that she could disarm him and illusion him into thinking she had his child's best interest at heart? Surely it was because Yennefer's one mission since he had known her was motherhood, and now she had an opportunity, she does this?

As he looks at her now, all he feels is rage for the woman. Her deception aches in his bones, the depths of it startling him. He knew she had trapped Ciri and was going to lead her by the hand to the demon, but somehow this -as small of a sin as it was in comparison to that- was worse. Yennefer had messed with Ciri's mind, told her that he was in danger because of her, manipulated her and deceived her. All for what? Nothing, in the end.

"Ciri," he starts. But he finds that he doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

It seems like he doesn't have to.

The girl sniffles and wipes her tears, a fruitless task as more simply streak her cheeks, before crawling over to him and placing herself into his lap, curling into his chest and neck. His arms bound around her, warming her and keeping her safe.

"I don't want her to be with us." she sniffles. "She betrayed us, everybody always does."

"You have me, Ciri. And my brothers and Vesemir and Jaskier, you should know that I'm not going to forget this. What she's done, to us and you. I promise, I won't forget this. And I will keep you safe from her if she tries anything."

"Where is she now?"

"Infirmary. Jaskier took her there after you healed her. Stitches."

"So, you promise not to fall to your knees to her if she flutters her lashes again?"

He chuckles. Ciri bites a grin, looking so conflicted with her red eyes and her wet cheeks.

"Promise. Me and you against the world, pup. I'll keep you safe. From monsters and men and mages alike."

Ciri smiles.

"I don't want her to be with us, but if you think it's best, then you need to play bodyguard. I won't trust her again, you do understand that?"

"Of course." He wipes her cheeks again. And thankfully, they stay dry.

Ciri cuddles into him. "Rest some more, sweet girl. When you feel up to it, you can come downstairs and meet the brothers you helped."

"As long as they're not all like Lambert." Ciri yawned. "Can't handle another arse in this place."

Geralt laughs. "You can see Remus throwing him off a snowplough if you like."

Ciri smiles. And closes her eyes.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"I will, little one. Rest now."

[emptypassicn-moved]

@angelicgentleman       sent ;;

        “   my punchable url ”

From ;; Send me your URL and I’ll tell you // No Longer Accepting

My Opinion on; Tea (@/angelicgentleman)

Character in general: Pip is a character who, in canon, I don’t much mind. I like his canon iterations, both SP and GE. I do often wish SP Pip had done more with the fact he’s a parody of GE Pip and, similarly, wish interpretations of SP Pip more often used the fact he’s a parody of GE Pip. Though, most “Pip fans” or “Pip writers” seemingly never even bother checking out anything about the source material. Pip is also one of the characters I generally see get butchered the worst by fanon for SP, removing any spine he has and making him horrifically attached to Damien. I’ve already posted something stating my immense distaste for parts of Pip’s fanon portrayal but I figure it’s worth mentioning here as well.

How they play them: Quite well.

Tea’s Pip I was honestly initially suspicious of. I’ve met far too many Pips who write him like the fanon version or, at the least, ignore his episode as well as his “original media” a ton. Her Pip also had some traits that Pips like that have tended to, adding to my initial suspicion and hesitancy. But Tea is the only other Pip writer, aside from one I used to write with, to not only not use the fanon version but also keep in mind his episode as well as his original media. And, in all honesty, it is great to actually great to see a Pip writer that seems to genuinely give a shit about both his specific episode canon and the canon of the original novel.

I didn’t think I’d ever actually get to write my Herbert against a Pip who didn’t default to the “Damien is Pip’s best friend” or “Pip has no friends” thought processes again, let alone one who was actually aware of their relationship in the original novel. Yet here we are. I’ve enjoyed writing Herbert against Tea’s Pip immensely, it’s the first time in a long while I’ve actually been able to enjoy having any form of relationship between those two characters. Not to mention now having an excuse to more consistently use Herbert, one of the two favorites, is nice. /hj

Tea’s Pip is probably the best Pip I’ve seen aside from the one I used to write with. Her Pip is polite but still has a spine, as Pip should. Also still hates French people and agreed to brawl with my Mole, as he should. Honestly, it’s a refreshing take on Pip after so many constantly either being outright terrible or just kind of bland and not taking advantage of either source material.

I’ve only really ever had like a few things about her Pip iteration to make me go “hrm, feels weird” but they’ve been things I’ve been able to understand through chatter or just interacting with her Pip.

The Mun: Tea is nice.

Tea was awkward for me to talk to at first, though things tend to be that way when trying to talk to someone more online. I never really had any “issues” with her either outside of me occasionally not really understanding what she was saying. She’s been nice to get to know and talk to over DMs as well as chattering about shit with as well as plot with.

It’s actually really nice to meet someone who actually did read GE and also is actively interested in it. And seemingly uses it in their Pip since, well, Pip SP is meant to be Pip GE directly (just in a parody sense). I’m someone who really likes GE so being able to grip someone who seems to be similarly interested in it is just nice.

She’s been nice to chat with in DMs about various things as well as joke with. And I “grip (affectionate)” her.

Do I:

RP with them: I do.

Want to RP with them: Of course.

What is my;

Overall Opinion: 0/10 for attaching that punchable Gregory image that broke how I usually format my ask answers /j

But, in all seriousness, I think Tea is great. She’s nice in general and nice to talk to. Would recommend her Pip as it’s one of the best I’ve been able to interact with.

Pip blunt forever ig.

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty

[owedfavors]

ON UNA'S STYLE OF COMMAND ;

una is by nature bluntly honest ( except when it comes to herself and her own emotions ). she grew up on dorvien iv and on illyria amidst expectations that, when someone made a mistake, they would be corrected. how else, after all, could they improve as an individual? in the same way she learned growing up, when una corrects someone’s mistake, she is merely stating a fact; it is never a personal attack and it is never out of arrogance. una appreciates the same honesty from those around her as she gives.

because this tendency is so contrary to the human approach to such things, where criticism is all too often taken personally, where emotions get caught up on both sides, and where it’s considered often rude and harsh, her attitude often causes friction with those around her. as a cadet and during the early years of her career, it gives her a reputation for being a know-it-all, and as she enters leadership positions, it, along with her high expectations, gives her a reputation for being a hard-ass, impossible to please.

her corrections are never out of malice, however: it is always for their own good, and for the good of the ship and crew. accordingly, una is relentlessly matter-of-fact in her strictness. none of her own emotions are involved, and she is far more interested in an individual recognizing their mistake and having a plan for avoiding it the next time than in any blame or apologies. even if an individual truly errs horrifically, they won’t earn her lingering disapproval unless they repeat the same mistake again ( una does not give third chances ). she will be harsh in the moment to impress upon them the true gravity of their mistake, but as soon as the correction is made, she leaves it behind. it is never a judgment on their value or capabilities as an individual or as an officer.

so, she remains terrifying for the high expectations she holds of each member of the crew, and because her bluntness is so unusual that it takes a while for her crew members to recognize that there truly is no judgment behind it. she even takes a certain pride in her reputation, and certainly does nothing to discourage it. una is extremely sparing in her praise and highly exacting in her expectations, but she is also relentlessly fair. she will never say something she does not mean, and you can always trust her evaluation of a situation to be unbiased. she will set expectations and trust that they will be followed, and many members of the crew eventually come to appreciate her unemotional approach to management and how they always know exactly where they stand with her. they know that she will not hold errors against them and will instead help them become better officers, so long as they make efforts to improve.

** if una ever does let emotion into her bluntness — such as if someone she cares about does something stupid and puts themselves in danger and she lets frustration and/or worry into her tone — it is truly an expression of how much she trusts them.

[badmusejail]

Perhaps Giovanni should not have been so blunt about the situation to one that (he assumed, at least) belonged to the species in question, but...

Well, he was always in favor of honesty over lying. Being nice about it wasn't going to solve anything.

"What should I give a damn for?" he replied; an idle, airy statement that somehow didn't have the weight that the words themselves implied.

A snide grin, hand with the cigarette lowering.

"Can't be any worse than some of the humans I've dealt with."

Did he believe that they were saints and pure and holding nothing but good intentions like the modern day Care Bears? No. Did he believe that they were the awful, horrific, child-eating creatures of unfathomable evil that some people painted them as? No.

"But if the time comes and war breaks out, people are going to fight for the people they belong to. That's just how it is."

...or maybe, it should be that simple. But there were still questions regarding just how powerful they were--some people said they were easy to kill, others painted pictures of tremendous power.

Needless to say, Giovanni intended to be on the winning side of that war, whichever group it happened to be.

What an abysmal assessment, predictable in its truths.

"It is as they say," Gaster mused out loud upon the end of the answer received, "There is truly nothing new under the sun. In hindsight, I suppose I needn't have asked." He'd glanced those articles some while prior espousing much the same--in occasionally more colorful--sentiment, but hearing confirmation from someone who presumably lived a normal day-to-day existence that the future of this world may well be extremely rocky was wonderful. People could write anything, but that did not mean it was true. Lived experience was far superior to written word.

The right bad actor in the 'wrong' place at the 'worst' time could cause this already terrible public opinion upon Monsterkind to dive into the abyss; that was his interpretation before, at any rate, and it hadn't changed. It wouldn't doom the world or make it nonviable, but it could cause problems for particular persons and was thus still extremely tempting to consider further.

Nefarious schemes aside, the human's word choice painted quite a pragmatic picture of him. His opinion on the first matter - and that he was entertaining this 'interview' at all - gave the old scientist enough that he could probably discern the next answer on his own, but assumptions only worked well in physics. Humans as a whole were unpredictable creatures, as well, saying one thing while thinking something different.

Which, really, meant that all questions asked of one were relatively pointless. Regardless, he moved on to the next thing he had in mind to inquire about: "And what of you, what are your personal thoughts regarding Monsters?"

[quillfulwriter]

Trephacard Dynamics

From July's patron-only poll, the winner was Trephacard relationship dynamics from Netflix Castlevania! You can see a preview of it below, and join at $1+ to see the whole meta, vote on the August poll, and other benefits shown here. 

Remember, there will be spoilers.

Alucard and Trevor

It's not much of a surprise that these two started off fighting the second they met each other. Mostly because of family legacies, honestly, but the fight quickly evolves into something of a conversation. They are testing each other through this battle. That ability to test one another, push each other's buttons, and come out friendly on the other side really defines their dynamic.

But they're also two of a kind in that few others will understand how it is to be so entrenched in your family name as to be almost synonymous with it. To feel that duty so strongly that, as Trevor says at the end of their first fight, "living through it was just a luxury". He had every intention of killing "Dracula" and didn't care if he lived in the end, and for Alucard, that's essentially what he went into the fight with his father thinking.

Their biggest struggle is that Alucard does care about class and appearances to an extent while Trevor doesn't even a little, so they can get on each other's nerves (more on that later with Sypha, who helps smooth things over with those two). They also understand each other's hidden pain very well and cope very similarly.

Alucard and Sypha

All that blatant honesty and nerdiness they share means so much for them! She won't mince words with him, just like he won't with her. Meanwhile, she won't get extremely offended and gives as good as she gets when Alucard oversteps. Who else can tell him he might be an angry teenager in an adult's body? That frank ability to say what they might not like to hear does go both ways. After all, who will ask Sypha where she dropped the castle when he's afraid he already knows the answer?

Like Trevor and Alucard, they also use sarcasm with each other to make painful moments more bearable, but it's typically more lighthearted. Their reunion at the end of season 4 makes for a good example. Despite the somber atmosphere, Alucard was still making jokes and so was Sypha. The purpose with them is not to change how they feel, but take the edge off the pain through their brighter quips and banter.

The sheer depths of his sorrow do alarm her at times, but Sypha before season 4 is unfamiliar with grief and bittersweet memories as vast as what Alucard is up against with the death of his mother and the inevitable loss of his father. She needed time to see more of the world and the impossible situations (and corruption) in it to really comprehend that side of him and see what he needed.

Sypha and Trevor

Even before they got along, never mind started dating, there was a generous helping of blunt honesty between Sypha and Trevor too. It's harsher than the one between Sypha and Alucard, but that's because their resolves oppose each other. Primarily in the sense that Sypha still has hope when they first meet and Trevor is much, much more jaded.

It's during his time spent with the Speakers that Trevor rediscovers his drive as a Belmont, along with the hope to carry it through, and he shows Sypha the adventurous and purposeful life she does wish to experience more of. Their real turning point was when they worked together to defend Gresit. Between Sypha saving his life and her watching Trevor easily assume command of the townsfolk in order to not only save them, but teach them how to save themselves, they both discovered something new in each other and themselves. 

It's this that really clears the way for them to share parts of themselves with the other. All the adventures Sypha finds so thrilling and fun, burning goat turds and all, have generally been a trial and horrific for Trevor. Even the fact that she likes to travel and live nomadically turns being on the run into just a way to live, another thing they simply do and enjoy. She brightens his lifestyle, and he expands her horizons. This is a gradual exchange that encourages a trust and affection that grows on its own by its very nature.

Trephacard Trio

However emotionally stunted this group can be at times, they do maintain hope, acceptance, and support with each other through an instinctive synergy they developed over spending time together. When Trevor and Alucard are at odds because of their differing approaches to life, Sypha can sort them out and remind them what they have in common. When she's at her wit's end with their nonsense, they can work out matters on their own with dark humor and their biting banter. Trevor and Alucard offer different kinds of comfort for Sypha, one warm and active while the other is cool and unobtrusive.

Each of them has felt alone or lost before, but they have a place to belong together.

[clouds-rambles]

You being a Venti kinnie and a La Signora simp gave me an idea: the leader of the winds(who is simply Venti's best friend in this scenario) falls in love with the harbinger yet feels guilty about it because of what she did, so Venti has to push the relationship forward(possibly with some help from a certain water boy).

Think you could do a HCs post or scenario for that?

Anon you’re calling me out here. . . /hj

I keep thinking about this so I hope that it’s okay ^^;;

Pairings; La Signora x reader

Warning(s);

Keep reading under the cut!

Look the only reason you started hanging about the Goth Grand Hotel was because you really didn’t like the idea of the fatui causing unsupervised trouble, so posing as a bard for them was a great idea

And as tight lipped as the fatui are on the outside the Goth Grand was rife full of fatui secrets and shrines to the tsarista

The one person you didn’t really expect to interacting much with was Signora. But her off clock persona is much different, she often sits and watches your performances before the two of you sit at the bar and talk the night away

She’s harsh and blunt for sure, but she enjoys the conversation. And if you’re honest you’ve got the biggest crush on her

Which is wrong. Especially considering how the fatui have infiltrated your homeland

“[name] you should do it” Venti pushes, you pout

“I know, but you said you feel like something is on the horizon with the fatui. If something happened I-” you explain

“Don’t worry about it [name], you haven’t followed your heart in a long time” he smiles “I can help if you want~” Venti teases, you shake your head

Though his words do stick with you. And maybe not the way that Venti would want you to, you often find yourself seeking out Signora a little more than before

You love to see the small quirk of her lips whenever you approach her. You can’t help but notice the reddening of her ears when you compliment her. It’s almost addicting to see those expressions on her face

“[name]...” Venti trails off after seeing you with the harbinger “You’re horrific at flirting” he adds with a grin

“Shuddup” you groan lightly punching his arm “I just-” you trail off

“It’s time for me to intervine, [name] you’re in the city of freedom. And I will literally perish if you don’t get with her. You’ll be insufferable in like a hundred years when you regret it” you pout at Venti’s words

“I hate you” you sigh “But fine, what does the famous bard of mondstat propose?” you ask with a quirk of your brow

“Ask her on a date!” he exclaims, you nod “And I’ll help set it up~” he grins

Venti does, he schemes like you’ve never seen him do so before. And in honesty if Venti worked as hard as he schemed he would have gotten a lot more done in the last few millennia 

And in all honesty the date plan looked perfect, even with Venti’s intervention. Now, all that needs to be done is the date its self

“Hi” you greet Signora “I’m glad you agreed to this” you smile, you notice a slight smile grace her face

“Hm, and I’m glad for the invite [name]” she greets back, she takes your hand and places a small kiss. You feel your face heat up at the touch. The both of you move to seats and are served a glass of wine each

“I helped create this batch” you mention taking a sip

“Oh really?” Signora asks “How long ago was that?” she follows up, you wink

“I know what you’re up to” you smile “It certainly isn’t proper to ask someone their age on a date” you jest with a giggle, Signora smiles softly and hums

“I suppose not, but I will get it out of you some way or another” she half jests half promises back

“And you’ll warm up to me before then” you grin sending her a wink

“I don’t warm up to anybody [name]” she states in a blunt manner. You chuckle at her

“Of course not” you tease “And if that’s the case you’ll never know my age” you continue. Signora pouts for half a second and the conversation moves onto more suitable things, like your music and her collection of knives. 

Dinner food comes along, the two of you eat, have dessert and have an overall great dinner. 

“Come with me” you tell Signora after dinner, you hold your hand out for the harbinger to take

“Where are we going?” she asks taking your hand, you grin and wink at the woman before dragging her off towards the cathedral. The two of you approach the large statue of Barbatos. “Trying to convert me?” Signora jests with a raised brow. You giggle at her

“Depends if you’re that easily swayed” you joke back tugging her across the small body of water separating the piazza and the statue “Climb with me and see the view” you tell her as you start climbing up the statue, Signora hesitates but follows after you.

You sit in the hands of the statue before you hear the harbinger approach from behind you. You put your hand in Signora’s to persuade her to sit beside you. She does so.

“Wow” she speaks after a moment, you smile softly. This city is, in affect, your baby. To see someone you have such a crush on see it for the way you do is amazing.

“Just because you’re on official business here doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the city” you tell her, she nods with a small smile.

“[name], tell me of how this city came to be” she half asks, half orders. You chuckle and look at her

“It’s a long story” you answer with a giggle

“Another one of the secrets you hold close?” the harbinger offers, you smile and shake your head

“No, no, the stories conflict one teller to another. What one bard sings another reprimands, then the library tells another story” you answer 

“What’s the story as you know it?” she asks, you chuckle

“A long and boring one I assure you, nothing as exiting as the tales of Snezhnaya” you respond. Signora chuckles

“You’re avoiding my questions” she pushes, you smile

“Maybe, but how else are we to continue going on dates if I tell you all my secrets now?” you ask nudging your shoulder on hers “Besides, you keep just as many secrets close to your chest” you smile. Signora hums.

“I suppose so” She replies, maybe for the two of you to share any kinds of secrets is just to show a card at a time. But, you’re cute and Signora doesn’t mind that kind of legwork. “We should do this again” she looks at you, you nod

“Yes,” you grin “I’d like that”

“So how’d the date go?” Venti asks as you walk into your home, you walk past him to drop off your things before coming back into the room

“It was... nice” you smile

Venti claps his hands with a grin “Tell me everything”

[xivu-arath]

i mean i have to ask destiny for the blorbo meme although i bet i know who your blorbo is for that one

idk how you could possibly guess, I sure did not put any identifying information on my blog for that,

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): the hive gods, of course!! their story is what got me into destiny, it's a big part of why I am here. I have written so many posts about what their narrative means to me. but xivu is the most blorbo of all. something about that steadfast loyalty and love, the blunt honesty, the duality of being both so overwhelmingly aggressive and so sentimental (she painted oryx's head with her blood so he would remember her??????). just wow I love her so much, I would swear fealty to her and offer the universe to her to let her be happy, okay ):

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): I do not usually go for this kind of thing! but ghosts, worms, the mini-screebs that spawn under some modifiers and warbeasts are all So Shaped

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): this is hard to gauge when you're a lore person because knowing every single character is pretty much our purview. maybe the vanguard until recently, but the fandom circle I'm in quite likes zavala and ikora? lavinia!! and maybe arach jalaal

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): I could list like every single part of the hive family that isn't the gods but. taox!!! (unless you are a hive lore person in which case taox is the opposite of obscure). I'm also perpetually thinking about the "osmium traitor" hive major in the lake of shadows strike. I think nem wrote a fic about her

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): [gestures at the entire hive species] I love them your honour. I wildly fluctuate between "I greatly enjoy exploring the horrific vast flattening effects of the sword logic on their entire species and want to dig into it forever" and "happy good ending where I do not have to kill my faves" literally every second

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): everyone gets in the horse plinko. but so do the pyramids, because they're obnoxious and talk too much

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): the voice in the darkness, calus

[reelperspective]

I’m generally not the type to mourn celebrity deaths. It’s usually beyond me to truly mourn the passing of someone who is so completely removed from my life. I tend to reserve grief for personal losses. I would say that is still true - I don’t know if you could call what I’m feeling grief, but it’s definitely something akin to it.

When I heard that Naya Rivera had passed away in a drowning accident, I thought “my god that sucks. That glee cast is cursed or something.” Then I moved on with my life, as one does. I felt it in the moment because Santana was my favorite character (well her and Brittany), but I didn’t dwell on it. I hadn’t seen the show in years, so I felt removed from it.

Months later, I go down a YouTube recommended video rabbit hole and end up watching the Glee version of Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide. I’d always loved that cover of the song. From the moment I first heard it, I thought it was beautifully arranged and flawlessly executed, but I digress. The point is, after watching it, I started watching other Glee videos (again, recommended videos). At a certain point I thought, “fuck it, I haven’t seen this show in years. Maybe it’s time for a re-watch.” So, I started to binge watch it. It is just as hilarious and awesome as the first time. And again, just as the first time, Santana proved to be my favorite character.

I think that Santana was the most emotionally complex character on that show. I think she had a great arc as a character that started off not being very sympathetic at all, to becoming a character that people could really relate to and root for. She had a fascinating duality to her as the bully who sometimes had a heart. Her love for Brittany added a significant layer to her character - displaying a side of her that had previously been unseen. A side reserved only for Brittany- the exception to her rule. Which is remarkable because, being that she was an idiot, Brittany should have been an easy target for Santana’s ridicule. Later, Santana reveals in a rant against Rory the Irishman, that she believes Brittany to be beautiful, innocent, and “everything good in this miserable, stinking world.” This revelation spoke to the heart of the character because it showed that despite her blatantly “Evil” characteristics, what Santana truly values most is goodness and purity of spirit. Brittany was the only person Santana never insulted. You could say that this is because she loved Brittany. That’s a factor, for sure, but I think the main reason is that even she couldn’t tear down someone so innocent. This, and other instances of vulnerability, developed Santana into a more three dimensional character - someone real, rather than just the caricature of a mean girl.

Yes, it’s true that the writers can be credited for this nuance in her character, but I believe it can be argued that Naya highlighted these nuances flawlessly. She did a beautiful job of portraying Santana’s *reluctant* displays of humanity. Not to mention how fucking talented she was when it came to the singing and the dancing. Vocally she’s top three along with Amber Riley and Lea Michele - and she’s a better dancer than either of them.

I noticed all of these things during this recent re-watch of mine. I’d always enjoyed Santana’s viscious barbs and her scathing wit, but this time I gained a deeper appreciation of the character as well.

Why am I talking about the character when this post started off being about grief? Well, watching the show again really drove home what a goddamn tragedy it is for the world to lose someone so talented and hilarious. This feeling drove me to look into Naya as a person. I listened to her audio book, and I read what people have said about her, and the general consensus is that she was an all-around amazing individual. She was Kind but sassy, tough yet compassionate, funny and intelligent. I then watched some of her interviews, and her personality was positively magnetic. She always lead with a blunt honesty that she delivered with this matter-of-fact attitude and wry wit. She owned up to things that most people in her position would hide. Despite the bluntness, she never seemed tacky or crass. Then to add to these revelations is the observation that she so clearly loved her little son with a tremendous passion. I’m sure all celebrities love their children more than life itself, but most don’t speak out about it specifically or so frequently. Naya, on many occasions, spoke of her passion for motherhood, and how much it meant to her to be Josey’s mom. With all of the things she has accomplished, she credited her son as her greatest success. Topics that get repeated across many conversations tend to be subjects that the speaker is fairly obsessed with. It is clear that her son was her whole world. He was not only her responsibility and her greatest love, but also her greatest source of joy. I’m not surprised that she somehow found a way to save him even though she couldn’t save herself.

Which leads to the final straw on the camel’s back - the manner in which she died. As was mentioned previously, she saved her son - which kicks you right in the feels. He had to witness some of her final moments - kick #2. Then there’s the tragedy of the circumstances of the death itself. Drowning is a horrific way to die. She must have been so terrified in her final moments. To add to this is the fact that had any of a number of events transpired differently, she’d still be with us today. Had she not gone to the lake that day. Had she gone with at least one other adult. Had she not jumped out of the boat. Had she worn a life vest. Had the boat had an anchor and a ladder attached to It’s side.

Then I’m confused about how this all went down. Apparently, she was sucked under the water by a current - I guess the equivalent of an undertow - but I thought undertows only happened in the ocean! Considering that this is a lake - a man made one at that- and not a river or an ocean, where the fuck did this incredibly strong underwater current come from? A lake is pretty much stagnant water, is it not? I looked at a map of it, and from what I can tell, there are no rivers feeding into this lake. So, I’m confused and this death is not only tragic, but senseless.

It’s just so fucking sad - every which way you look at it. I feel it in my very soul, and as I said before, I never feel celebrity deaths like this. I can’t stop thinking about her poor child having to grow up without his mommy. I lost someone as a child, and it left an enormous hole in my heart. I remember feeling so profoundly and absolutely destroyed. There are no words to describe the depths of my despair, and I can’t help but think that Josey is feeling that now. Though I was older than he is - I don’t know how much his young mind can make sense of or process the reality of his mother’s death. I know for sure that he is feeling it - he will miss her forever. Ryan Dorsey, his father, released a statement in which he said that he had to explain to his son that his mother was in heaven, and Josey asked him how he could go there too so that he could be with her. That just breaks my heart - I know exactly how he feels. I can’t stop thinking about Naya’s mother and how she collapsed on the dock at Lake Piru and threw her hands out in a display of pure, all-consuming grief. As I’ve said, I’ve felt grief like that before. I’ve collapsed to my knees under the weight of it. So, I feel for her family and her friends. I saw an interview in which the actress who played Santana’s abuela says that Heather Morris was so distraught, she wanted to jump into the lake to search for Naya herself.

I also feel a keen sense of loss for all of the wonderful things she will never do, all of the hilarious things she had yet to say, and all of the characters she might have been destined to bring to life with a singular authenticity. Lastly, and least importantly, I feel this keenly because she and I are the same age. The reality of such a thing just slaps one in the face.

That being said, I keep having these moments of cognitive dissonance as I’m watching the show. I feel her loss so much, yet it seems like she’s not dead. She can’t be! Look at her. Look at how full of life she is. She’s so young. That can’t be the reality - but alas, it is. I keep remembering that it is, and the cycle of emotion starts up all over again.

I know that part of the reason for my deep feelings about this tragedy has to do with my own experience with loss. I’ve lost so many people in my lifetime - some of which, I’ve loved more than life itself. At least one of which, I had wanted to follow into the grave because I could not fathom my life without her in it - it just hurt too much.

So I lay this all out here on tumblr. It is very likely that no one will ever read it, and that’s okay. I just needed to express it anyway as it has been building up inside of me.

[alma-berry]

Kit's Secret Fire Message - Intermissions

Masterlist

It was near dawn when Ty finally fell asleep.

Kit was exhausted, the lids of his eyes weighed like those years he lived cemented in darkness, but he couldn’t will them to shut close.

They spent the night in each other’s arms, the same as they did in the two weeks that had past since that day in the cave. They kissed and talked and uncovered every secret that still lay hidden between them. Kit had told him about The First Heir, about his mother and the dangerous paths she took just to keep him alive. Ty had told him about the Scholomance, about how he and Livvy had struggled with their new lives together, although that might be more true regarding the former than the latter. They relearned how to speak without words, how to touch the right places, to melt their bones into one lingering kiss over a hipbone or an exposed neck.

Kit looked at Ty as the first rays of sun netted through the softness of his hair like cobwebs and exhaled a breath he didn’t notice he was holding.

When he slept, Ty’s face transformed itself as if with magic, and he looked so much like that fifteen-year-old boy Kit had first met… had first loved. He felt so unworthy, being able to witness it. Ty had given him so much with every passing day, with every press of lips and fingers to his skin. Kit felt like he was living, truly living, for the first time in his life.

But as the nights grew longer, he found it harder and harder to fall into that blissful sleep that had enveloped him at the beginning. His eyes burned in protest but there was nothing he could do that would ease the gnawing feeling in his chest, it grew bigger and heavier to the point when Kit felt like it entangled every inner organ in his body with it.

He hoped Ty didn’t notice how desperately he clung to him when it was just them, burning kisses on his chest like he was trying to memorize his entire body before the night came to a close… and how he held back when everybody else was around as if the mere presence of them gave him permission to shut down.

Ty’s mouth opened just a fraction, shaping itself into a small O. The sight of him, ivory skin laced with feathered pink marks that Kit bit and sucked and kissed unto him, nearly made him lose his ability to breathe altogether.

He carefully slid off the bed and went towards the door, stopping only when he noticed Irene’s glittering, knowing eyes. He knelt in front of her and took her face in his hands. She leaned into his palm, demanding her fair share of cuddles, and he obliged without hesitation. They sat there, cheeks pressed up against each other until she nudged the side of his face with his nose.

She looked at him as if she knew every thought that passed his mind. A horrific prospect, coming from every other creature - human or not - but Irene made it feel almost comforting. He nodded in acknowledgment, agreeing to whatever it was that she had seen in him, and left for the roof.

*

The morning air was as cold as Kit had feared, and every breath sent shards of ice straight into his indignant lungs. Kit welcomed it nonetheless, he needed that cool slap to focus his thoughts into coherence.

Without intending to, he found himself leaning over the railing, hands hugging his body, restraining the cold from claiming him.

He didn’t hear her glide towards him, but then again, there wasn’t much to hear.

“You’re here, again?” Said Livvy.

Kit jumped and almost lost his balance, a bad idea, considering his current location.

“What are you doing here, Livvy? And what do you mean again? Are you spying on me?” He hissed through his sudden panic.

Livvy rolled her eyes at him. “There isn’t much else to do here, you know.. and it’s not like I can go wander the gloomy streets…”

She had a point, Kit had to admit.

“I thought you and Jessamine are having fun. It must be nice, having someone you can talk to other than Ty…”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes slanting into scolding line. “Speaking of which, why are you spending your nights here rather than with him? And don’t try to change the subject again!” She added before Kit could dodge her question.

“I did spend the night with him. It’s morning, see?” He gestured towards the white London sun.

“technicalities.”

“You were a lot nicer to me when you were alive, you know that?” He muttered back to her and regretted it immediately.

“Kit… come on.” She didn’t sound angry, her voice was soft, soft like the Livvy he once knew. And strong, unyielding in a way that made him look up into her blue-green eyes and feel his heart turn in his chest with a long-forgotten misery.

Kit sighed and grasped for words, suddenly needing to unload his burden, to trust it to her thin, ghostly hands.

“I… I’m scared.”

Livvy stared at him in confusion. “From that faerie thing? Kit, it’s not even-“

“No,” he cut her mid-sentence. “I hardly even think of it anymore, I wouldn’t at all of Ty wasn’t bent on investigating it.”

“So what is it?”

Her eyes momentarily sparkled, like the sun was actually reflected on its surface… but then Kit saw that it was just a reflection from one of the windows of a building near the institute. The realization made him feel ashamed, for some reason, that he was alive, and Livvy… wasn’t.

“I’m… here. I can be here, for as long as I need to. But Ty… he doesn’t belong here. He has to go back to the Scholomance eventually.”

The words tasted bitter in his mouth, like sugarless coffee or one of Bridget’s spinach tarts.

Livvy looked at him, obviously confused.

“Yeah, he probably will… but why would that scare you?” Her eyes cleared. “Wait, do you wanna go to the Scholomance too? Is that what this is about? You want to go and scared that you won’t get in? Cause let me tell you, I’ve seen some of the people that go there and I can assure you, you’ll have no problems getting in if you’d want to.”

Kit gaped at her with such horror, it took him a few seconds to respond.

“Hell. No. Are you kidding me? I don’t wanna go there, I’ve seen one too many Lindquist’s to even consider it, I just don’t want-“

Kit choked on his words but forced himself to finish the sentence. He owed Livvy his honesty.

“I’m scared Ty will leave to the Scholomance and that it would be the end of… us.”

Livvy flinched like he slapped her.

“Why would you think that? Have you seen how Ty is when he’s around you? Kit, he loves you.”

“Yeah, I know he loves me, now.” He said the last word with dark emphasis. “But after a few weeks there, with all the missions and investigations and all the older, hotter centurions lurking in every corner, maybe he’ll…”

“What?” Livvy raised her chin in defiance. “He’ll… Hook up with all of those older guys and forget you ever existed?”

Kit shrugged off a chill in response.

“You are such an oblivious idiot, Kit Herondale. How do you even manage to tie your shoelaces in the morning without the all-encompassing fear that you will step on one of them and fall into the abyss?”

“You were definitely nicer to me when you were alive”, he remarked sheepishly.

“Kit!” Livvy sighed and raised her hands, obviously frustrated by his apparent thick-headedness.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, alright? Ty already hooked up with those older, hotter centurions.”

Kit couldn’t help but flinch from the bluntness of her words. It wasn’t something he didn’t know before, but he still didn’t want to actively think about it.

“And let me tell you, Christopher Herondale, some of them were very, very hot!”

“Okay, why are you doing this to me? Is it because of what I said about Jesse? Did Irene put you up to this?”

“No! Shut up and listen to me!” Livvy pointed a warning finger at him. It was startling how much this eternally-teenaged ghost looked like Tessa. She never shouted at him, but when she called him by his full name, Kit could feel the weight of her true age in every syllable.

“I understand you’re scared because you just got Ty back after all these years… and it feels too good to stay real for long. I really understand that, believe me. I’ve been a ghost for three years now, and I’ve had my fair share of delusions.”

When she spoke, her eyes felt ancient. Not the fresh blue-green on the surface of the ocean, but the shattered green in the depths of the sea, like a penny that was rescued from the bottom of a treasure chest.

“But you don’t see him the way I do, you can’t see how he’s changed. He’s… alive, when he’s with you.”

Kit remembered his own thoughts from earlier that morning, and his heart sang a desperate melody to her words.

“Kit, you’re the one he wants. You’re the one he loves. You know that’s not something that comes easily to Ty. You know, in your heart, that you have nothing to fear from. You’re just not used to being found… but you have.”

Kit stared at her, unable to speak between the wild thumping in his chest. He just nodded, hoping that Livvy will read the gratitude in his eyes.

“Besides,” she continued, and her voice was as mischievous as the moon. “You are a lot hotter than any of those centurions.”

Kit stifled a laugh.

“Enough to be in the ‘Hot Shadowhunters’ calendar?”

“Enough to star in the cover, Herondale.”

*

Kit practically ran down the stairs to his room, and only stooped to catch his breath before he opened the door.

The room was now startlingly bright, and Kit felt a bit disoriented, having come from an open space. When his eyes narrowed down to figure perched on the bed, the illusion of light was explained. Ty had shoved the blanket off his body while Kit was gone, and the pale white of his skin shone against the sun like it sucked in all of its light.

The now familiar wanting worked through his body like adrenaline, but more strongly was the feeling of belonging.

He stripped to his boxers and crawled under the covers, pressing his body to Ty’s with gentle fingers. Ty shivered and moaned in complaint.

“Kit, you’re cold. Why are you so cold?”

“Because you’re not close enough to warm me, Tiberius.”

Something in Kit’s voice must have given him away because Ty opened his eyes only a second later.

He scrutinized Kit with a sharp glance, not missing a thing even through the sleepy haze of morning.

“What happened, Kit?”

Kit cupped his face in his hands and leaned in, breathing the sweet scent of his skin.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he answered with a voice as low as the clenching in his stomach.

“I need you to kiss me, Tiberius. Kiss me until my eyes couldn’t stand the light.”

Ty inched closer and his hands wrapped around the muscles in Kit’s thighs, pulling their hips together.

He brushed his lips softly on Kit’s, making the fine hair on Kit’s back stand in unrestrained anticipation.

“Just Kiss you?” he murmured.

“For a start”.

-

This was a shorter, bonus chapter. There might be more of these to come before the final chapter... stay tuned!

PS - IN THIS FIC THERE IS A RUNE FOR MORNING BREATH. DON’T FUSS OVER THE FINER DETAILS ;)

[giannimaldonado]

Album Of The Day: Satan Is Watching

When most people born after a certain period of time think of the genre that is “country”, and what it has morphed into in the context of this day and age, a lot of unpleasant images spring to mind. Pretty boy, clean cut, poser rednecks who’ve never seen a farm outside of their music videos, trying to pretend to be another “honest Joe” when they couldn’t be any further from such a thing, making trashy, twangy glam rock mixed with watered down trap music/EDM for white southerners who might have interesting views on those of different races, rolling around in million dollar sports cars while adopting the moniker of “working class”...is probably what your mind immediately begins to conjure up in that brain of yours.

I honestly can’t say that I blame you. Country, or, at least, MAINSTREAM country, has lost its way completely. Luke Bryan, Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton polluted this once proud, grassroots, amazing genre with pandering, trite garbage aimed at making money off of dumb hicks in the bodies of frat boys whose trucks cost more than your own damn house.  Gone are the days when country music was filled to the brim talent, creativity, passion, and heart. Now, this “jock country” has taken its place, having thoroughly fucked country up the ass a few too many times that it has lost its way. For good, perhaps.

Underground country’s usually no better. There’s some exceptions (we’ll get to those soon), but for the most part, it, too, has gone off the rails and destroyed itself completely. It’s often just indie folk or what have you with even more acoustic guitars, though perhaps with more twang, whiny vocals that are trying (and failing) to recreate a stereotypical southern accent, a reliance on cheap gimmicks, sarcasm, and irony to carry their trash because the excrement can’t do that itself, and a musical quality that tries SO hard to imitate the great Mr. Cash, but is little more than a cheap, pale imitation that folks who wear WAY too much flannel and wire rimmed glasses will eat up like it’s the second coming of Joy Division.

No matter how you look at it, country has been thoroughly gentrified for the most part, just like many genres that were previously for a much different variety of people. Like trap music, or blues, or hardcore punk, or black metal. All of the original meaning is gone, driven out by money hungry label executives, clueless and ignorant listeners, and musicians hellbent on half-assing their way to fame and fortune.

It’s a crying shame, it really is.

But fret not, dear reader! There is still a soft, seedy underbelly of the country genre that has taken the long dead (yet forever revered and loved) sound of “outlaw shit”, as Mr. Jennings would put it so eloquently, to its most logical extreme. One that would make Nelson, Cash, Haggard, Coe, and others that might’ve been at the top of their “underground”, “anti-mainstream” game seem rather...accessible. These aforementioned artists and their peers are still greats who, in their primes, were powerhouses that made some of the greatest works the genre would ever produce. But when compared to this particular sound...they just don’t hold up as well. The rawness, the grassroots nature, the down-to-Earth (and sometimes below the Earth) attitude, the simplicity, the honesty, the bluntness, the intimacy, the melancholy...all of it gets turned way up to eleven. It’s dark, it’s mischievous, it’s harsh, it’s gritty, it’s angry, it’s bitter, it’s darkly humorous, it’s lonesome, it’s ornery, and it’s damn sure pretty fucking mean.

Call it whatever you want. “Southern gothic”, “dark country”, “death country”, “gothic country”. It doesn’t matter what name you apply to it. All that matters is that it’s country. Real fucking country. Country meant for the guttersnipes, punks, street urchins, hobos, peasants, and forlorn drifters. This ain’t pretty boy music. This isn’t nice, Christian contemporary that you can play at your local uptight establishment. These aren’t harmless tunes your the posers can get drunk and go mudding to. This is country as it was meant to be. The eptiome of the term “outlaw shit”.

There’s a plethora of wonderful bands in this scene. Sons Of Perdition, Sixteen Horsepower, whatever project Jay Munly’s got going on this time around, The Dead South, the early days of The Devil Makes Three, The Builders And The Butchers, Wovenhand, Ghoultown, Coffinshakers, The Pine Box Boys, and, of course, everyone’s favorite descendant of the Williams family tree. The third one, that is.

But all of those fall short of that truly, truly, TRULY horrific honky-tonk, old-time, folksy, backwoods atmosphere that this duo produces. One that hails from the isolated, empty thickets that lie out in rural Wisconsin. A mentally disturbed pair of “prophets of the country doom”, as they have decided to label themselves. A fine example of those who have gone completely mad, completely sad, and doing so makes them feel very glad. They revel in their craziness, and while no album sounds the same, each one is marred by a couple of recurring themes: humanity is worthy of being sent straight to the fiery depths, these boys are depressed beyond your wildest comprehension, a rebellion against both God and Satan, and a desire to document the lifestyle of society’s forgotten ones, hated ones, and feared ones.

Let me introduce you to Those Poor Bastards.

Fitting name for a couple of enigmatic, largely unknown, extremely obscure pair of men known simply as Lonesome Wyatt (impassioned orations and guitar-based melodies) and The Minister (everything else).

The Minister is completely anonymous, with no one having even seen his face, while all that’s known about Lonesome Wyatt is that he’s from Wisconsin, (probably) lives alone, and is likely of an unsound state of mind.

Why is that all important? Well, go listen to their albums, and then you’ll find out why these little intricacies are vital to the dynamic duo’s imagery, music, and cult status.

While all of their material is quite good in my opinion, today we’re going to look at my favorite album from them, and possibly my favorite album from any country artists EVER! Everyone, please proceed to throw on “Satan Is Watching.”

What you’ll first be met with Lonesome Wyatt letting out a loud, wild, manic screech that almost doesn’t sound...human. It’s not even a word. Just an unhinged howl like Lonesome Wyatt’s been possessed by some sort of demon from the pits of Hell, having taken over the “doomsday preacher boy” to spread the wicked gospel. A hell of a start to an album of any kind, let alone a country album. It’s bold, but it lets you know right off the bat that they aren’t fucking around. This is going to be a rough ride from start to finish, and you’ll be left quaking in your seat once Those Poor Bastards has pierced your mind, heart, and soul with their fiendishly unholy sound. A truly nihilistic piece of art about how this world is foul and wretched, and deserves to burn to a cinder.

But that’s just the first song.

Things only manage to get worse from there. Everything from songs about how Lonesome Wyatt’s a degenerate who revels in just how much filth and squalor he lives in, to songs (well, more like suspiciously suicidal rants) about how life is fucked and there’s just no point in living it anymore, to various “take that!” pieces towards lovers who have wronged him in times that have long since passed, presumably. Typical topics for country artists, but contorted and warped to the point where they sound like miniature horror stories being yelled and hollered by a crazy, top-hat wearing yokel than the struggles and strife that are endured by the common man/downtrodden fellow. Hell, there’s even a Johnny Cash cover! A twisted, perverted, scummy, bone-chilling, haunting, eerie take on the previously wholesome, innocent love song The Man In Black made for June. I can’t exactly look at it the same way, what with these mysterious hooligans having thoroughly butchered it.

Instrumentation is minimalist and simple. Nothing too fancy or technical here. It’s quite self-explanatory. Despite how evil it is, the rhythms are still toe-tappingly catchy. The drums, being pounded upon by the fiery hands of The Minister, provide anything from a nice, plodding beat you can stomp your feet to, all the way to a rowdy raucous of a banger that’ll have you doing some sort of line dance with the living dead. Lonesome Wyatt beats upon his acoustic guitar like it owes him money. Not even really playing it. Just smashing the strings until weird, disgruntled, odd noises come out of it. He also seems to thoroughly shatter his ability to talk without a sore throat, pushing his voice to its very limits. The bass compliments everything very well, providing a creepy, fuzzy, dirge-like texture in the background to keep the menacing tone alive and well.

All in all, while this may not “experimental”, “avant-garde”, or even “progressive”, this is certainly an album that’ll give you the heebie-jeebies, and for a country album, it is most certainly “out there”. It takes the usual country tropes, and either turns them into something out of a David Lynch movie, or subverts/plays with them to fuck with the audience and make them contort their face with confusion...and excitement. A spooky bit of acoustic noise that’ll restore your faith in country music, and remind you that there is still a small resemblance of a spark left within the dying genre.

Please, I highly recommend you check this out.

This has been another installment of “Esoteric Warfare”, and remember...

NOISE, NOT MUSIC!

[kastlenetwork]

Forgive me if you're getting this Ask twice-- I couldn't tell if it went through the first time. Thank you for agreeing to help me! I am a grad student working on a literacy learning project in which I need to immerse myself in a form of literacy that I do not have experience in. I am a reader of fanfiction and a huge fan of Kastle, so I decided that I would write my own Kastle fanfic. Would you and the Kastle community share with me what you as readers typically look for in a Kastle fanfic?

The first one did send through, but it’s totally okily dokily! I would also like to preface this by saying I was just sat here and I’d answered with this with an actually not horrific response and then my laptop died out of absolutely nowhere, :) without warning :) [which happens all the time, because my computer is dying in general, but still I’m miserable about the loss lololol anyway] – so, this one isn’t as well thought out.

I’m just gonna say that the main thing that I look for in Kastle fanfiction is close to canon characterization. We’re all different people with different eyes and ears and brains, so when we watch the show, obviously different things might stand out or feel more prominent in who they are, than other things to other people. So, I’m not bothered by different headcannons or anything like that. I mean, it’s fanfiction, that’s the point – I’m reading it to read that writers’ take and have a good time……or a bad time, depending on if the writer is trying to squeeze out hearts lolol. But, there’s a general base line for who the characters are that has to be met for me to really get attached to what I’m reading. I’m this way for any fanfiction for any couple, to be honest. But, it’s super prominent when dealing with Karen and Frank, for whatever reason. If they stray too far away – their characterization, their vibe, their dialogue – I start to slowly check out of what I’m reading. I might just flat out stop. And if they’re in a Different Scenario where one doesn’t want to focus too heavily on the heavy, how that’s adjusted to fit the more lighthearted piece.

I mean, take Frank for example. If I open a fic and he spends the entire thing absolutely miserable with no small bright spots, at all, that’s just as off-putting to me as him being some weird happy sunshine man. Because, Jon’s Frank Castle (and that’s all I can go on on Frank, at all, honestly. I’ve never read a TP or DD comic lol whoops) finds things amusing. I mean, he’s literally lying in a bed having a deal worked out for him to go to prison in Gen. Pop. and he’s making jokes about it. Karen’s screaming out at him that refusing to cooperate with her and his lawyers, so that they can help him, will do nothing but result in him failing to get answers to about his family and have him rotting in a cell. And his immediate response could be more misery and more doom and gloom, but instead he’s turned on impressed and amused by Karen’s outburst. He admires the blunt and fearless goddess before him the honesty and the blowup and he teases her choice of wording. He’s light in a moment where she literally just said the results of his actions might be that he never learns the truth and he’s taking delight in her explosion despite it. 

Yes, he’s angry. He’s violent. He’s depressed. But, sometimes he talks about his family and he’s smiling. He’s laughing. Does it more than likely melt back into his ever present grief? Absolutely. But, it doesn’t mean that show of levity isn’t there. And Karen’s character and characterization faces a similar path in the show, just in the flipped direction. The core of her is built around something traumatic and sorrowful, but her general demeanor is positive and determined. 

Frank is funny. Karen is funny. Frank is sad. Karen is sad. 

They’re feeling a lot of things at various times.

So, the main thing I look for in Kastle fic is the appropriate balance of that. If I feel like it’s too far off the mark, I more than likely won’t finish it. 

The second thing I look for ties directly into the main thing, which is simply the dialogue. How they talk to each other. Especially once it’s starts bleeding further into the actual romance aspect of the story and not just the build up. Frank’s not adverse to endearment – he’s obviously someone that cares EXTREMELY DEEPLY for those he loves. (To the detriment to the gangs of New York). And we’ve seen him call Leo “sweetie” and stuff, this sweet little girl that he gets a big soft spot for. But, we’ve also seen him talk about his wife on multiple occasions and give big romantic speeches about his wife, like when he and Karen were on a date sitting in the diner. He calls her “my old lady” and he says he would literally chop his arm off at the table if he could just have another moment with her and feel what he thinks Karen must feel for Matt (*coughs* k sure, Frank) and it’s all really depressing ‘cause he’s destroyed, but he and Karen are on their date wow what a date sitting there and he’s talking about love and it’s just such a good moment. 

He’s not gonna call Karen the things he called his wife, obviously, unless they’re general terms of endearment. But, I think it’s a good example of the way he talks. I look for as close to canon characterization on the way they speak. Like, if Frank starts calling Karen his “beloved” it’s suddenly not Frank anymore – it’s some guy who happens to be as hot, but there’s been a mind swap or something. If Karen’s calling Frank “sugar plum” I’m kind of scratching my head, because who’s that blonde lady that’s suddenly speaking, what’s going on?

And I think the final thing I look for is simply that Karen is given more agency in terms of the relationship they’ve got. Because, in TP1 and TP2, it’s very much Karen who’s standing there with her arms flung open going, “I want you to be in love with me, like I know you are! I see you pushing it away! I am in love with you! You are allowed to love and have a life! Have a life with me!!!!!” And then Frank basically trying to push her back to Matt for literally no reason. I think a part of this is just Frank himself in his constant sabotage mode, because that’s his entire life after his whole family was murdered. He’s on destruction path, even when he’s trying, in moments, to get out of it. But, I ALSO think part of it is just that they didn’t have Karen for the full season, either season, and, even before they knew Marvel Netflix was heading to the grave, the shows refused to appropriately connect and were instead taking the ’’’easier’’’ path. Because, it was made pretty clear that they’d put her in the whole show if they could, but only could get her for so much time, and they wrote for that time.

So, in fic, I look for Karen getting to have her feelings actually be on display, instead of just being there to bounce his feelings off of, because they didn’t have her for enough time in either season to go more deeper on her end, since she wasn’t actually their character. And for her to get to have more agency in what’s going down with all that wanting them to be in love stuff just feels crucial to me, at this point, seeing as Marvel refuses to just make my dreams come true and announce that they gave a shit about these shows and are bringing them into the fold with the same casts.

Other than those two things, which I consider to be fairly standard, and that one thing where it’s just my exhaustion with my girls always having to fix everything – I’m pretty open to anything in terms of actual story. (I’ll even read a pregnancy/baby fic if it’s well written – and I’m…adverse to fanfic about babies). I just want an appropriate balance of their individual traumas to the sass master’s that live inside them and appropriate dialogue to who they are as people.

(I’ve got a whole thing about what I look for in a fanfic in general, but it’s not specific to Karen and Frank – it’s just like….spaces and pacing, which doesn’t have much to do with this.)

\\\\

What do you all look for in Kastle fic?! Help @chaiteacookiesnglitter out and reblog this and put in your two cents about what you’re inherently looking for. :DDD

[365daysoftododeku]

3rd July 2019

Author: Kenyoda

Admin’s Note: Hallo! If you’ve been following the Candid Shoutos series by @ebonyphd, here is a new update! The idea is inspired by @crzangel‘s headcanon here.

Warning: Mild mention of suicide attempt

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Suffering for S(omeone)ubscribers

Shouto found Izuku to be one of the most amazing people he had ever met. He still had a hard time believing that Izuku was so enamored with him. He was far from social, had enough baggage to fill a moving van, and far more practical than romantic. But Izuku still told him he loved him every morning, still whispered about how beautiful and sweet Shouto was when they were alone. Still mumbled about how lucky he was.

Honestly, Shouto often felt like he was the lucky one in the relationship. On top of all of Shouto’s internal flaws, he had plenty of external ones as well. He had a huge scar that took up a quarter of his face, and dripped down his chest, throat and back. On top of those, he had gained plenty more scars from training and fighting villains through his time in UA. The stress from everything often left him drained, pale… and his weight was dropping again. He hoped no one noticed. 

Izuku though, thrived on the action. He was at his best when he was saving people. Whether it was from a villain, a natural disaster, or simply the fear brought on by a nightmare, Izuku shined. The boy was born to be a hero. Shouto was not. He could admit that now. It wore on him in the worst way. But his boyfriend lived for it. 

Izuku’s usual nature made the present situation all the more confusing. 

They were currently sitting on Shouto’s futon, the laptop in front of them. A game was pulled up, which they had downloaded for a specific purpose. In the aftermath of their accidental relationship reveal, Shouto figured things would go downhill. But things just kind of continued. Sure there were those that had plenty of negative things to say, his father being the worse, but for the most part it was old news within two weeks. The most surprising thing was the outpouring of support. It was really humbling. There were so many people that were happy for them and wanted to see their relationship succeed.  He held that close to his heart for those days that were especially difficult, right next to his love for Izuku. 

In order to celebrate the candid_shoutos page getting 5,000 followers, they had polled their subscribers on what they would like to see more of. Videos was the top choice. So, they naturally asked what they would like their first video to be on. And naturally, they wanted him and Izuku to play a horror game together. Shouto had not felt one way or the other about it, and Izuku was always happy that their followers were happy. So, they began looking. 

They couldn’t do a long one because PlusInsta only allowed short videos. Finding short games was kind of difficult. However, Kaminari suggested a short one that he claimed was not too scary. It was all of a minute long and not too complicated to play. 

So here they were sitting and staring at a black screen with the words Death Trips printed in white block letters. Izuku was staring at the screen like it was going to bite him. They were capturing their gameplay using a game recorder, again thanks to Kaminari, so, Shouto was watching the camera which was showing Izuku’s pale face. He had never seen his boyfriend look so unsettled.

“You know… we can do something else.” Shouto suggested. 

“No, no… this is fine.” Izuku said. Though he made no move to start the game. Shouto sighed. 

“Clearly it is not fine,” Shouto argued. “You are pale, love, I can see the freckles by your collar.” Izuku finally turned to look at him. His eyes held a little fear, but Shouto also noted the hunched posture. It was not saying afraid so much as frustrated. 

“I just— it’s so stupid. It’s nothing, let’s just get this over with,”  Izuku said with a huff. Shouto flinched at his gruff manner. It was unusual. Izuku was normally happy to open up to him about anything. So, Shouto was really worried. What should he do? How can he help? 

“But, you’re upset?” Shouto tried again. Izuku’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“This so stupid! I’m supposed to be a hero and I am scared of a game. There is nothing that can actually hurt me and yet… I don’t want to do it,” he moaned. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. Shouto blinked. He thought this was out of the blue, but then he remembered that Izuku usually skipped out on the class movie nights when people brought out horror movies. The one time he had been humiliated into staying, he cried through the whole thing. 

As Izuku continued to wallow in his self recrimination, Shouto was struggling to find a way to make him feel better. Izuku just always seemed to know what to do or say. Shouto was more likely to make an unintentional joke or make something awkward. He fell back on old habits and decided to be blunt. 

“So? You’re a human being, just like everyone else… and everybody is afraid of something.” he said as he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend, pulling him close. Izuku did not push him away, thankfully, instead hugging him back. 

“I mean, I know… it’s just so unjustified.” he sighed. Shouto looked back at the screen, thinking back to the movies he had seen with some of his other classmates. In all honesty, Shouto did not get the point of horror movies. A part of him felt disgusted that people paid to see people frightened, distressed, sometimes murdered ruthlessly, or frightened into insanity. Shouto did not find it entertaining, he hardly even remembered them once they were over. The SAW movies had been the final straw for him. It had been exaggerated, sure, but it had hit a nerve for Shouto. 

Jigsaw had claimed that he was trying to show people that they really wanted to live, by torturing them until they either had to murder someone else or endure horrific actions to leave. It sounded too close to Endeavor’s  reasoning about his “training”. All the pain, scars, phobias, and complexes Shouto had to contend with on a practically daily basis was seen as necessary at best and imagined at worse. Shouto shuddered at the thought. His back burned at the reminder of the lengths his father would go to. 

“Fear doesn’t have to be, it just is. Besides anyone can bullshit justification. We both know that,” Shouto darkly. Izuku’s glance went from frustrated to concerned. 

“Your dad’s not hurting you again, is he?” Izuku asked, becoming more alarmed by the second. 

“Not yet,” he huffed. There was no use in pretending. Both of the people in this room knew about Endeavor. His father had been blowing up his phone. Back to back phone calls when he was not in classes, most of which were left unreturned. This usually ended up with Shouto having to endure an hour long verbal lashing session when he finally was weary enough to answer the phone. The results of said session would last for weeks, resolving itself just in time for him to start up again. But Shouto would take the man’s vitriolic tongue over his flames and fists. 

“The bastard better not,” his boyfriend snarled. His face contorting into an angry grimace.

“Calm down, Izuku, he hasn’t been near Musutafu in months. I’m fine,” he insisted. Liar… his brain accused. Izuku gave him an exasperated look. Apparently, Izuku knew it, too. 

“Uh huh, but your PTSD is worlds away from my childish monster phobia…” Izuku lamented. Shouto felt himself relax at Izuku’s willingness to move to another topic. This was swiftly followed by frustration and guilt. Even now, Izuku was calming him down, when Shouto was the one that was supposed to helping Izuku!

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Fear is not rational. It just does its job. It’s not like you are freezing up during an attack. You are in the safety of your own room. You can be human here… heaven knows I won’t judge you. I lack Bakugou’s gall, you see.” Shouto joked weakly. Izuku spluttered and dissolved into a fit of laughter. Maybe Kaminari was not joking when he said Shouto was funny. 

“I guess… I just… All Might is counting on me to look after Japan in his place and I just don’t know if I’m doing this right…” Izuku sighed, dropping his face into the pillow. Shouto felt for his boyfriend. He understood that kind of pressure too well. That pressure had been sitting on Shouto’s shoulders since the manifestation of his Quirk.  While Shouto knew that All Might and Izuku had a relationship that was completely unlike the one between him and his sire, the whole protege thing did not sit well with him at all. 

Basically, their meeting was a simple accident. A man who had run into a wall and out of time and a child desperate for a chance. All MIght had basically offered Izuku his dream in exchange for the ability to live his own life. Shouto found himself wondering if Izuku really knew what he had done that day. Even if he didn’t, Shouto knew his boyfriend would not change his decision. Because Izuku was loyal like that. His relationship with Bakugou was telling enough. His father would easily call Izuku foolish for it. 

If Shouto were honest, he was only upset for one reason. At some point, whether either of them wanted to or not, Izuku was going to have to choose between Japan or him. There was just no feasible way to do both, at least in Shouto’s mind. It hurt to think about. What made it particularly rankling was that if Izuku had remained Quirkless… few of those people that Izuku would give him up for would have even cared what happened to him. Shouto himself never would have met him, either. He may not have even made it out of his first year. 

He had never mentioned to his boyfriend just how low he had been then. He had hit some pretty low points since his first year but he now had friends and Izuku to keep him steady. He had not fallen back to that point in a while. Back then Shouto had hurt from the inside out. He had stopped caring. Yes he sniped and snarled at his father, but they both knew it was impotent… his father had found it irritatingly amusing some of the time. After all, the man had ripped out any real teeth or claws Shouto had a long time ago.  

Shouto had been planning to overwhelm his opponents with his ice and take 1st place, then go home and hang himself with the medal. It was a last, desperate ‘fuck you’. Shouto was not stupid, deep down he knew he would never be able to replace All Might… not with ice alone. After all, most people despise winter and pray for spring or summer. Winter and all it brought was constantly used to personify all the things that humanity despised and feared. The sun, Shouto was not. He would have never replaced Japan’s Shining Sun, All Might.  

But then, he met his own personal sun in the form of Midoriya Izuku, a boy that would cry at the drop of a hat, his heart too big for his body. Though lately, it had been doing its best to catch up. Shouto loved and hated it. He loved the feeling of being wrapped in Izuku’s strong arms, sheltered from the world and his worries. He hated it for pretty much the same reason. He had grown soft since they had been together. Shouto had stopped seeking safety or kindness long ago. But since Izuku, he had changed, so much so that Shouto could no longer bare to sleep alone. 

Another heavy sigh drew Shouto’s attention back to Izuku. Right, he can wallow in his own issues later. 

“Look, I know I am no expert, but honestly… there was a reason I singled you out as being related to All Might,” he started. Izuku groaned.

“No! Shouto we have talked about this... “ he complained, a hint of an unwilling smile in his voice. A smile pulled at his own lips in response. 

“Let me finish. You constantly remind me of him… you are always smiling. You always leave a room better than when you found it. When you are present, I feel safer… like everything will be ok. You are so genuine in everything that you do, trust me… that is a rarity. And you care… so much…” Shouto said, letting all the words of praise out that he had often left behind his lips out of fear of being seen as insincere. Izuku lifted his head up from the pillow, eyes wide glistening with tears. 

“Shouto…” Izuku whispered, his name sounding like a prayer. 

“I am sure you are doing just fine.” Shouto said. “You saved Iida… you rescued Bakugou… you saved All Might at the USJ. You have saved countless lives including mine. If that does not qualify as making you a good future hero and symbol of peace… then… I fear for the rest of us,” Shouto said thickly, a lump growing in his throat. Izuku sat up and pulled Shouto into his arms, squeezing him. The warmth of his hug melted the lump in his throat, and it escaped him in the form of tears.  He didn’t even know why he was crying. A wave of misery had just rolled over him and he was helpless to stop it. 

For a long moment, the two clung to one another and cried. Once his sobs died down to sniffles, Shouto pulled away.

“Sorry, Izu, I don’t know what came over me,” he apologized roughly. Izuku wiped at his own eyes with his wrist. 

“I think we both needed that. The accidental reveal… the Sports Festival… training… you and your sperm donor and just stress up to our eyeballs. Something was going to have to give,” Izuku sighed. But he did look better, Shouto’s chest had certainly felt lighter. 

“Yeah,” Shouto conceded. They settled back into each other’s arms. After a while, Izuku let him go. 

“Thank you for helping me through that, Shouto. It still floors me that you think so much of me,” he said with a chuckle. A small but genuine smile on his face. 

“Same,” said Shouto feelingly. Izuku’s smile grew along with a blush on his face. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he said. Shouto noticed that his boyfriend was still apprehensive but he was no longer pale. Shouto nodded. Izuku gets into a better position and finally clicks

play

. A block of text shows up explaining that the player is a detective hunting a serial killer named Lady Death. The detective has tracked her down to a motel. 

The screen lights up to show a simple motel lobby. There were a few paintings to look at but nothing to really interact with, not even a person behind the reception desk. Izuku commented on how strange it was. He mentioned that horror games were usually about the atmosphere, at least according to Kaminari. Shouto snarked about trusting Kaminari as an expert on something. Izuku insisted that Bakugou agreed with him. After that, Shouto did not say anything else.

Izuku finally got tired of stalling and approached the elevator, hunching his shoulders. Shouto realized that he expected to be jump scared. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s midsection, offering reassurance. Izuku turned to him and smiled. Then he pressed the button to go up and waited. The elevator dinged. Izuku stepped on it and squeaked as the doors closed. Shouto squeezed him and Izuku’s unoccupied hand came to rest on Shouto’s. 

The doors finally opened to a dark and empty hallway. Izuku whimpered. Instead of moving forward, he sat back both hands squeezing Shouto’s now. Shouto sighed and freed on of his hands from under Izuku’s and continued the game. The moment the character steps out of the elevator the lights in the hallway come one by one, buzzing in a creepy manner. Shouto was more concerned about the fact that Izuku’s hand was squeezing tighter and tighter with each light. 

“Uh… Izu, I really mean no offense… but I need my hand,” Shouto finally said. Izuku immediately let go, eking out a weak apology. Thankfully, the final light takes a beat to turn on. When it does it is accompanied by a loud horn riff and the villain at the end of the hallway is illuminated. Izuku shrieked. 

“OhnoOhnoOhnoOhnoOhno..! Nonononononononononno!!!!” he cried in terror as the villain, an unfinished model, comes tearing down the hallway towards them. Shouto was pretty much clueless about what to do given the game gave few instructions. Izuku’s panic was starting to rile up his own.

“I don’t know… can we go back…?” he asked, voice trembling vaguely. The model was getting closer and closer. 

“I DON’T KNOW!” Izuku squealed, voice shrill with panic. Shouto was preparing to watch the character get slaughtered...

Then the villain tripped. 

“Wha…?”

“Huh?” Shouto blinked at the screen as the villain continued to lay still, a vase and the table it had been sitting on the floor next to them. He then turned and blinked at his equally bewildered boyfriend. Izuku blinked back. Shouto looked back at the screen in time to watch it transition to the credits. After the credits, there was a single phrase:

Yeah that was it.

Then it went back to the start screen. Then it hit Shouto. 

“Death trips!!!” Shouto howled before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter, snorting and squealing all the while. He hated his laugh no matter how many times Izuku said it was adorable. But there were two things that never failed to get a laugh out of him: puns and slapstick. They were often so unexpected that Shouto almost always laughed. Thus, he became conditioned to laughing at them which only made it worse. This game did both.

“S-shouto… I don’t… wait— pfft!” Izuku snorted before falling into a hysterical heap next to him. They laughed and laughed. Shouto clung to Izuku, moaning in pain but he couldn’t stop. Finally, their giggling faded into breathless wheezing. Once they got a hold of themselves, they turned back to the camera and thanked their followers before promising to do another non-horror related video soon.  They saved the video and Izuku promised to edit it soon and post it. They stretched out on Shouto’s futon and happily basked in the peace that had settled over them. 

They ended up falling asleep that way.        

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Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wrought Iron Machine (Part 12)

“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” P’Li comments as Kuvira fixes herself breakfast. The woman makes no attempt to reply. She doesn’t need to, her overall demeanor is an answer in itself. She sits rigidly in her chair. Of course she hadn’t slept well, she never had been able to sleep well on a couch, it reminds her too much of the days she’d slept in the streets or on sofas and chairs she’d stolen from the driveways of people who were getting rid of them.

Even without such poor associations her head had been racing all night, fretting over just how much time this impasse is going to cost them. She rakes her hand through her hair, why the fuck did he always do this at the worst times? Perhaps they should just stick to their usual style.

But she knows that, that won’t cut it for S.A.S. They need something fresh. They need to put her idea to use.

Just why the hell did he have to fight her on this one?

Was he aware of how much pressure he has added? It is far more stress than necessary. They could be working on a new song and mover, they could be making progress. Instead, nights, spent on the sofa, have gone by. It is taking its toll and she is growing jittery and horrifically anxious. Perhaps downright fearful now that failure is waving itself in her face.

To think, they had come so far…

She rubs her hands over her face and peers at her engagement ring. Somehow it doesn’t seem to shine with as much luster.

Part of her wants to just let it all out on poor P’Li. Instead she mutters, “he’s an asshole.”

“They’re all fuckin’ assholes. Why do ya think I don’t have one?”

“What about Zaheer?”

P’Li laughs. “Got me pregnant. Got himself locked up.” She sips her coffee and takes a good drag from her cigarette. “All fuckin’ assholes.”

Kuvira’s brows knit. “Why didn’t you mention that before? What happened to the baby?”

“Didn’t want it, so I got rid of it.” She pauses. “Didn’t mention it because…” she trails off as if deciding whether or not to speak her mind. “Because, someone didn’t want you. Didn’t know how you’d take it.”

Kuvira balls her hands into a fist and squeezes. The woman always has been blunt, and normally she’d appreciate the forthright honesty. Today it is just another blow to her ego. Without a word she pushes her chair in and heads towards her room, all too aware that she has created another point of tension within Wrought Iron Machine.

She gets to the door of her bedroom before realizing that it is Baatar’s room not hers. “Son of a bitch…” she hisses to herself and then once more before the door opens.

“Kuvira.” Baatar remarks, looking every bit as unamused as she knew he would.

“I need my clothes, Baatar.”

He steps to the side and watches her rummage through her closet...their closet. Her clothes are wedged between his, they hadn’t bothered to organize the space yet. Mostly because, prior to their argument she hadn’t been opposed to wearing something of his every now and again. A sadness wells up in her belly. She finds herself leaning against the wall with her forehead pressed up to it, gently banging the wall with the side of her clenched fist. Not enough to make a disturbance or even a sound, but just enough to release some of the pressure. A sound forces itself from her throat, not quite a sob nor cry, more so a sharp exhale. Her eyes grow watery.

“Can you hurry up, I have to start my morning too you…” He trails off into a deep sigh and moves his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. For a moment she thinks that he is going to offer comfort. Instead he mutters, “Please get your clothes. We’ll talk about this later.”

She feels numb, as she dresses herself.

The machine is breaking and she doesn’t have the skills to fix it.

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Oh my god that fic about Eddie being a bookworm and the bet he made is amazing would you be willing to do part three??

Maybe……

Part 1 Part 2

The van reeked of moldy break. Lights few by just outside ofthe window, the city becoming a blur at their ungodly speed. There was faintmusic that came thought the speakers but the lyrics were drowned out by thebooming voices that yelled over one another. Cigarette smoke drifted to theceiling of the shitty vehicle, lingering there before being pulled out of theopen windows. Eddie found himself squished between Richie and a tall boy, whohad introduced himself as Mike. There were seven now, the number growing whenBeverly had stopped at another bar downtown to pick up her remaining friendswho she deemed, “too cool for that wimpy shit”.

He could feel Richie’s mood shifted along with the newpeople, leaving his stiffness back at The Cocksucker. His loud, obnoxious voicebellowed from his mouth, arguing about something that Eddie didn’t care forwith the boy with the curly hair. The relaxed attitude made Eddie a little moreat ease, feeding off the feelings of his friend. Never in a million years didhe think he would end up in the back of a strangers van, heading to an unknowndestination. This was like the poster of bad ideas, but here he was, leaning onRichie for support.

“All I’m saying is that Waldo has to be a cult leader.”Richie sang, pulling another cigarette from the breast pocket of his jacket.“Honestly, how do you not see it?”

“How do you?” Stan hissed, his body leaning on the boybeside him, Bill, Eddie thought, his name was Bill. “He is a wholesomecharacter, kids love him!”

Richie took a long drag from his death stick, a playfulsmirk dancing on his lips. “He had hundreds of people dress up like him, hidehim in plain sight and you have to find him? He’s like Charles Manson and youare the detective looking for him. Fucking cult man, I’m telling you.

“Were you dropped on your head?” Stan asked, “Or are youthis stupid?”

“Oh yeah, mock the valedictorian of his class. Please, tellme how dumb I am Stan the man.”

Stan narrowed his eyes, turning towards Eddie. “Was hereally the valedictorian or is he blowing smoke?”

Eddie glanced up to Richie’s bright face, his eyes dancinglike lights as he waited for him to answer. “Richie blows a lot of smoke butyes, he was the top of our class.” His friend beamed, laughing in a deep voice.

“Unfuckingbelievable.” Stan growled, shaking his head.“There’s something wrong in your brain Tozier, you need help.”

“What I need is to do is take a piss.” He retorted, crushinghis cig in the ashtray. “Hey sweetheart, how much further?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” Beverly snapped from thedriver’s seat. “That’s only reserved for people I’m sleeping with.”

“I was actually talking to the handsome boy beside you, Benis it?”

“Ben is mine. You have a perfectly adorable boy beside you,flirt with him!”

Eddie could feel the tips of his ears turn red, his gazecatching Beverly’s in the rear view mirror and he gaped as she winked at him.Dropping his gaze his stomach churned painfully, Richie’s playful giggle’sringing in his ears.

“It’s coming up man.” Mike replied chuckling. “Like threemore blocks.”

“Mikey, you are a life saver.” Richie sang, groaning andstretching himself out on the back of the seat. “I just hope you guys don’t goall Texas Chainsaw on our asses. I know I’d make a sexy lamp but I canguarantee I’d taste like shit.”

It took five more minutes before they pulled up to the largehouse. Eddie took note that it need a little TLC but other than that, it wasn’tthat bad of a place. The group spilled out of the car, stumbling over oneanother as Richie forced himself in front of everyone, running behind one ofbushes and reliving himself. Eddie rolled his eyes, ignoring the smile on hisface.

“S-so how long have you t-two known each other?”

Eddie looked over to Bill, who he hadn’t noticed standingbeside him until then. They strolled towards the front door as he answered.“Since we were like 10. I know he is crass but I swear he means well.”

Bill nodded his head, waiting behind Beverly while shepulled out her keys. There was some commotion in the yard as Richie attemptedto jump on Mike’s back, hollering in excitement before being tossed onto thegrass. “And you’ve been together for some time then?”

“Wh-no.” Eddie coked, shaking his head. “No, we aren’t-no.Just no.”

“Eddie is fighting himself.” Beverly explained, brushing offthe short boy’s dirty look. “He loves that dumb boy but doesn’t want to admitit.”

“I don’t love Richie!” Eddie defended, walking through theopen threshold. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever-“

“Then why are you going doing all of this?” She cut, rollingher eyes and turning on the lights. “I’ve never seen someone go this far out oftheir way to impress someone and not have feelings for them.”

“We have a bet.”

“Right.” She jeered, making air quotes. “Bet.”

“You don’t even know us.” Eddie replied, maybe a little tooharsh. “How can you just assume-“

“It’s the way you look at him.” Beverly replied, strollingcasually towards the kitchen, the short boy close on his heels. “It’s like heis holding the stars and you’re desperate to see them.” Her head dipped intothe fridge, a clinking notice followed as she pulled out a case of beer. Eddieonly watched her, amazed at her blunt honesty. Beverly shrugged, handing him adrink. “There’s nothing wrong with it sweetie. I think you’re lucky to fall foryour best friend, those are always the best love stories.”

He wanted to answer but was cut short by Richie’s loudvoice, echoing in the empty halls. “No fear, the party animal is here!” Stan’srude reply didn’t damper his good mood, appearing in the kitchen and smiling atEddie. “What are we talking about in here? Anything interesting?”

Beverly smirked, taking a swig of her beer. “Wouldn’t youlike to know?”

“Okay, truth.”

“Who was your first lay?”

“Oh come on-“

“You picked it!” Richie’s harsh voice cut, pointing adangerous finger towards Ben. The others laughed in amusement, drunkenlyswaying as a blunt was passed between them. “So tell me, who took yourvirginity huh? Was it juicy? A teacher maybe? Oh, no! A babysitter!”

Ben looked to his lap, his face flustering in embarrassment.“Fine.” He grumbled, making a crude face to his legs. “It was Beverly.”

Richie hollered, holding up his hands in delight. “Oh god,that is so kinky! Did she bring another girl? Pleases tell me she brought-“

“Shut your face trashmouth.” Stan hissed from the couch,holding the smoking blunt between his fingers. “God, you are so gross!”

“You love it.” Richie smirked, making a kissy face to thecurly haired boy who merely huffed.

“Alright Mike.” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “Truth or dare?”

Eddie wasn’t sure why they were playing this juvenile game,or why Mike would agree to lick the carpet when he had chosen dare. He feltlike he was in high school, trying to impress the cool kids. Never in his lifehad Eddie been considered cool, by anyone including himself and as the gameprogressed he felt an uneasy feeling settle at the base of his spine.

“Alright Eddie.”

“Huh?” He muttered, snapping out of his trance. “What?”

Beverly smirked, moving to sit on her boyfriend’s lap. “Ipicked you. Truth or dare.”

There was a devious sparkle in her eyes, one that spokevolume to the short boy. It was a tossup, either she he picked truth and sheasked some kind of horrific question or dare which would end in humiliation.Richie snickered from beside him, his voice slightly slurred from intoxication.“I’ve played this game with him before, he never picks anything other thantrut-“

“Dare.”

Richie choked on his own words, looking over at his friendin surprise. Beverly raised an eyebrow, her smile curling over her teeth likethe devil she was. “Okay. I dare you to let one of us give you a hickey.”

“A hickey?” Eddie repeated, a shiver running through him.

“Yeah a hickey.” Mike chimed in, ignoring Richie’s daringgaze. “You know the ones you get when someone sucks on your neck.”

“Have you ever gotten a hickey before?” Beverly asked,leaning forward in curiosity. “Ever let anyone that close to give one?”

“I’m not a virgin.” He found himself saying in defense, histone sharp. “I’ve had sex before.” Once. He’s had sex once with a girl hecouldn’t even remember. From the corner of his eye be could see Richie flinch,nearly cringing at his confession.

“Sex can be just sex, love. Have you ever had anyone makeyou feel wanted? Let their hands roam down you as they bit at your skin. Tellme Eddie, have you ever done the sinful dance with someone who set you onfire.”

“Shut up Beverly.” Richie barked, “He picked dare, stopgrilling him.”

The others looked at him, taken aback by his harsh tone.Eddie looked over to his harden face, his eyes fixated on the girl across fromwhere they sat. She cocked her head, taking a long drink from her bottle beforemuttering, “Alright, calm down there boy. If Eddie doesn’t want to answer thenhe doesn’t have to. The dare stands.”

A ring from the doorbell paused the game, Bill jumped fromthe couch and announced. “Pizza’s here.” The others grumbled happily, themunchies now pledging most of them.

“Best 24hr pizza joint.” Ben bragged, trying to lighten themood.

“Only 24hr pizza joint.” Stan corrected.

“Same difference.”

Eddie glanced over to Richie, noticing his stiff posture.Gently he ran his fingers down his arm, bringing his eyes to meet him. “Are youokay?” He asked, whispering so the others couldn’t hear.

“You don’t have to do the dare.” Richie replied, his gazedistant. “This is just a stupid game, she went too far.”

“Okay Eddie,” Beverly called, pizza in hand. “What’s itgoing to be?”

There was a fluttering feeling in his stomach reminding himthat Richie was in fact right, he didn’t have to do this, not really. But inalso didn’t have to go into the gay bar, didn’t have to dance with Beverly oragree to come back to her home. This entire night didn’t have to happen, but itdid and maybe it was the bet, or maybe it was that he did wanted to impressRichie, none of that mattered. What mattered was the excitable tingle on thetip of his toes, the impulsive want bringing him to a sudden conclusion.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Hot damn.” Stan shouted, smiling at the small boy. “It’s aparty now.”

Beverly nodded in approval. “Who do you want?”

“Uh, I really don’t know.” He answered, looking to all thestrangers staring at him. “I guess it doesn’t matter right? So just anyone whois willing.”

“I’ll give you one.” Mike spoke up, surprising Eddie. “I’mlike the only single person here, and you are pretty cute.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He replied softly, watching the boy crawlacross the floor to him. Mike gently reached out to him, smiling as his handstraced Eddie’s inner arm. There was a slight pinch in Eddie’s stomach, thefeeling making his stomach flip. It wasn’t that Mike wasn’t a good looking guyhimself, it was just this didn’t feel right. He thought of pulling away, ofpacking down but as the boy moved his hand to cup Eddie’s cheek tenderly heknew that he needed to go through with it.

“Stop.”

Eddie’s head snapped over to Richie, glancing his grip onMike’s wrist. “W-What?” The short boy whispered, his brow furrowing. “What areyou doing Rich?”

“I’ll do it.” He answered, his eyes suddenly dark.

“Well look who grew a pair.” Beverly’s voice jeered, earninga smile from Mike as he back down. Eddie wanted to scream, to tell them thatthe dare was off but once Richie leaned in, becoming uncomfortably close, his heartbegan to sputter in excitement.

“Richie I don’t know if-“

“It’s okay.” Richie whispered softly in his ear, practicallycrawling into Eddie’s lap. “I won’t hurt you Eds.” His breath was hot againsthis skin, making his nerves tingle in delight. There was a split second ofanticipation, a second of clarity before Richie’s lips met the crevice of hisneck, planting a soft kiss to the skin first and then biting down hard.

Eddie whimpered at the sudden pain, his body wiggling underthe heated touch. Richie reacted, moving his hand to the back of his neck,holding him in place. The other hand went to Eddie’s, interlacing their fingersas if for encouragement. The pain was only temporary, giving in to the pleasureof it all. Richie began to suck, pulling the blood so that it was forced to thesurface, creating a bruise.

In that moment, Eddie was sure he died. He must have becausehere he was, in some girl’s house recreating a fantasy that he had locked awaylong ago. There was a moan that caught in his throat, the pleasure making himfeel lightheaded. “Richie.” He hummed so softly that the only person who couldhave heard was on him. It lasted for what felt like forever, the feeling ofRichie’s hands on him, his lips around his scorching skin making him drunk.

There was a cheer as Richie pulled away from him, letting goof his grip. For a split moment, it was like he was falling, crashing back intoearth in a heap. Eddie blinked, focusing back on Richie’s flustered face, asmall smile tugging at the comers of his lips.  There was so much that needed to be said, the emotionbetween them was thick in the air as an unmet need began to grow.

“G-god damn look at the size of that th-hing!” Bill’s voicerang out, breaking the tension. “It’s the size of golf ball.”

Richie chuckled, moving back to his original spot. “Ain’t itbeautiful?” He joked.

Eddie cleared his throat, understanding his best friend’snonverbal command. “Okay Stan.” He sang, taking in a deep breath to calmhimself down.

“Truth or dare?”

[noditchablepromdate]

A consideration of the muse via TV Tropes

//Mun comments: these are based on my interpretation of and headcanons for the muse, not just canon events.

Appearance/Physical

American Accents - though Bobby himself is from South Dakota, his accent definitely hints towards a more typically southern redneck. Badass Beard - one of his most distinctive features.  Blue Eyes - sometimes Icy Blue Eyes. Generally when he’s getting particularly enraged. Nice Hat - Bobby is almost never seen without one of his beloved trucker caps.  Older Than They Look - Bobby is in his late fifties when the Winchester boys show up asking for help, and by the Apocalypse he’s sixty. He’s grizzled and clearly not in his prime any more, but is still younger-looking, tougher and much more physically capable than a guy his age would usually be. Seriously Scruffy - Bobby’s usual outfit is heavily worn and frayed clothes - usually jeans, t-shirts and flannel - that he’s owned for a very long time.

Personality Traits

A Friend In Need / The Reliable One - One of Bobby’s defining traits is that no matter what, if someone calls on him for help, he will do whatever it takes to give that help. Even if he’s freaking DEAD. Badass Grandpa - Bobby’s out there fighting evil well into his sixties. Brutal Honesty - He doesn’t really do sugar-coating very well, so if he’s presented with something and asked his opinion he will often be very blunt about what he thinks of it. Catch Phrase - His go-to swearword is “Balls!” and he often expresses his annoyance (or affection) by calling someone an “idjit”.  Character Alignment - Chaotic Good. Bobby gives absolutely zero fucks about legal or illegal, but he’s absolutely committed to helping the fight against evil and is basically a decent and kind person. Combat Pragmatist - He doesn’t fight in a bid to impress anybody, he just aims to take his opponent down and make them stop fighting back as fast as possible, and has no qualms about fighting dirty to get the result. Crazy-Prepared / Properly Paranoid - Bobby regularly doses visitors with holy water, keeps guns to fire several different types of monster-slaying ammunition, and has built a panic room in his basement, made of solid iron coated with salt, that is demon- and spirit-proof. He has also made several copies of all his priceless books and stashed them in safehouses around the country, just in case something happens to the collection in his house. And he does it all because he knows it could happen. He’s even described himself as a “paranoid bastard”. Deadpan Snarker - A fundamental aspect of his personality. No matter what situation, he usually manages to come up with a sarcastic or snarky quip. This can lead to Snark-To-Snark Combat breaking out, especially if it’s Crowley he’s talking to. Determinator - He just will not lie down and die. Even when a bullet to the head puts him in a coma, he spends the entire time evading and holding off the Reaper coming after him so he can warn Sam and Dean about the Leviathans’ plans. Encyclopaedic Knowledge - He’s done so much studying that he’s able to reel off facts about rare monsters, cast spells and recite exorcisms, and draw a number of sigils from memory.  Forgets To Eat / Must Have Caffeine - Bobby regularly stays up pulling all-nighters in order to do research for a fellow hunter, and in such cases will often subsist on strong coffee and/or caffeine pills. This has left him with a reliance on coffee that’s almost as bad as his drinking problem. Genius Bruiser - He looks and often acts like a typical dumb redneck, but spends most of his time at home with his books, doing research for others; when called on to join the fight directly, Bobby proves himself as capable of kicking ass as hunters half his age. Good Is Not Dumb - He might be on the side of the good guys, but Bobby sure as hell is not stupid. Good Is Not Soft / Good Is Not Nice - While he has dedicated his life to helping others and saving lives, and is gentle and caring to those in need, Bobby is also a cranky, short-tempered alcoholic who lives on his own and gives everyone, including the law, angels, and Satan himself an attitude. He’s also not likely to spare enemies out of the goodness of his heart, either - the few antagonists who manage to escape his retribution are usually the ones who talk the quickest and convince him they’re worth sparing. Otherwise he’ll finish them off without blinking. Grumpy Old Man - Has definite shades of this, though often as not he’s just playing it up, for the sake of a cover or to amuse people. Gut Feeling - Bobby’s instincts are usually spot on and he’s learned to rely on them reasonably heavily, to the point where he can usually guess within seconds if someone he knows is possessed by a demon or otherwise not actually themself. Of course, being paranoid, he’ll generally follow his guess up with a test to see how right he is. Handicapped Badass - During the year he spends wheelchair-bound; although he’s no longer able to actively hunt, his mind is as quick as ever and he’s still a crack shot. Jerk with a Heart of Gold - Famously bad-tempered, antisocial, yells at people who ask him for help and calls them stupid, regularly gets arrested and has no respect for... pretty much anyone. Also one of the key players in the attempt to head off the Apocalypse, who loves the weird little family he’s got with all his heart and will do anything for them. Knight In Sour Armor - Yeah, the world sucks and pretty much everything is horrible apart from a few little warm spots... but he’ll step up to fight for its right to exist time and time again, because that’s the right thing to do. Mr. Fixit - As well as earning his living as a mechanic and salvage yard owner, Bobby is able to turn his hand to a number of other practical skills; he’s successfully modified several guns to fire specialised ammunition, and built the panic room in his basement himself, during “a weekend off”. He’s also proven to be very capable when it comes to installing booby traps and surprises around his house, including a trapdoor outside the hall closet that drops straight into the basement and a specially strengthened basement door to keep whoever got dropped in from getting back out.  Nerves Of Steel - He’s faced down dozens, maybe hundreds, of monsters over the years, armed with a few weapons and his wits and, if he was really lucky, someone competent running backup. He’s even intervened in a showdown between the archangels Michael and Lucifer, though that didn’t go terribly well for him. Not much fazes him now. Old Master - Bobby has likely fought, researched and warded off more monsters than Sam and Dean put together, and is known to be THE person to go to if you need help tackling something you don’t recognise. Omniglot - He speaks several languages, including Japanese and Latin, and is able to decipher and translate a huge number of written languages. Only Sane Man - He often feels like this, especially after dealing with hunters who have managed to completely fail at displaying common sense. Physical Scars, Psychological Scars - Bobby has picked up scars from all sorts of monster encounters over the years, many of them reminders of what went wrong on the hunt. He also still has some old scars from his childhood, as his father used to beat him with a belt. Self-Surgery - Given he prefers to avoid the authorities unless it’s really serious, Bobby will generally patch himself up with needle, thread and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Street Smart - Studious as he can be, Bobby is also a capable survivalist and very savvy at bluffing his way into situations - or out of them. Taught By Experience / Seen It All - Bobby’s one of the best in the hunting community simply because he’s made it his business to be. He’s encountered monsters very few others have, he’s studied countless texts to find weaknesses nobody else knew about... and he’s closely linked to the Winchesters, who seem to get targeted by all the weirdest things out there. Which he takes as a learning opportunity. It’s not often he actually gets startled by something. Talented But Trained - He’s a very smart man, that’s absolutely certain, but many of his skills are what he’s picked up over a long, rough life, and he’s honed them till they’re sharp as a razor. The Alcoholic / Drowning My Sorrows - He’s turned to alcohol to cope with the horrific things he’s dealt with, from an abusive childhood to killing his possessed wife to the deaths caused because he wasn’t quite quick enough to take down the monster he was hunting. The Kirk - Usually plays this role between cool, logical Sam and hot-headed emotional Dean. Undying Loyalty - Literally, in his case; he takes lethal injuries several times, at least one of which was deliberately self-inflicted, and still keeps trying to help his boys in any way he can. Workaholic - He doesn’t often take a break from working, at least not for very long. Wouldn’t Hurt A Child / Friend To All Children - One of his more likeable traits - after the horrendous upbringing he had, Bobby will go above and beyond to make sure any kids he spends time around feel as safe as possible. He’s gentle, affectionate, and respectful of their thoughts and feelings, especially if their own parents are harsh.

Personal History

Abusive Parents / Alcoholic Parent - Bobby’s father Ed was a drunk who thought nothing of being verbally and physically abusive, punching his wife and regularly taking his belt to his son. By the time Bobby hit his teens, his mother was also blaming him for his dad’s violence. Back From The Dead - Bobby was killed by Lucifer while trying to help buy time for Sam to regain control of his own body. Castiel, newly resurrected himself, brought him back minutes later after the crisis was over. Bobby will occasionally refer to it as “that time I died” or something along those lines. Calling The Old Man Out - He finally snaps and intervenes with a rifle when his father begins beating his mother, demanding Ed leave her alone. When Ed taunts him and threatens to deal with him, Bobby pulls the trigger. Later in life, trapped in a coma, Bobby sees his father again in the memory and confronts him, fiercely claiming to be far better than Ed told him he was. Dead Partner - This applies to a number of Bobby’s old hunting friends who have died over the years, most notably John Winchester, Ellen Harvelle and Rufus Turner, all of whom he had a particular bond with. Deal With The Devil - Technicaly a deal with a demon, but the same principle. When Lucifer is on the verge of triumphing in the bid to start the Apocalypse, Bobby sells - or, technically, pawns - his soul to Crowley for the final key piece of information that gives them a fighting chance. He also regains the ability to walk, though that was more of a generous freebie on Crowley’s part. (Naturally, Crowley does not keep his side of the agreement, and later has to be threatened about it.) Fighting From The Inside - When possessed by a demon trying to kill Dean, Bobby manages to put up enough of a fight to turn the blade on himself. Hero Secret Service - Technically the hunting community could count as this. Although they are not organised and have no authority figures, Bobby is a major persona within the ranks. Only Child Syndrome - With no siblings around, Bobby took the full brunt of his parents’ abuse; he never really understood why, but his mother once hinted that he was too much hard work on his own for them to handle having another kid on top. Survivor Guilt - Regarding pretty much everyone he knows who gets killed. His attitude is always I should have done better.

Romance & Family

Badass Family - Adoptive version; anyone who spends a while around Bobby will absorb some of his personal badassness, even if they are already damn awesome themselves. First Love - Karen, the first woman he ever really loved, and whom he holds a torch for long after her death. Happily Married - With Karen. Until she finds out he doesn’t want to be a father... at which point they have a fight that never gets resolved, because she’s dead three days later. Honorary Uncle - To Sam and Dean as kids, and to most other hunters’ kids he spends any real time around, he was always “Uncle Bobby”. Ho Yay / Foe Yay - He and Crowley clash repeatedly, but all that snark-laden verbal fencing, long looks, moments of real vulnerability around each other... yeah, there’s definitely something going on there. Incompatible Orientation - One of Bobby’s main attempted defences against the attentions of a certain king of Hell. Like A Son To Me / Happily Adopted - Sam and Dean, who he played a large part in raising until their teens. Also counts for any of the other younger people he takes in and becomes a father figure to. Papa Wolf - Don’t mess with his kids. Just don’t. He will hurt you. Parental Substitute - To many of the young people he takes in or keeps an eye out for, particularly those who have had poor experiences with their childhood. He absolutely relishes being able to be a positive figure for a kid who needs it. Stalker With A Crush - This is how he tends to treat Crowley a lot of the time, especially when the demon’s being particularly flirtatious or overly attentive. Team Dad - To... well, pretty much everyone with the age or life experience to be considered a kid in his eyes. This includes the Winchesters, Jo Harvelle, several other hunters around their age, a freaking Vampire Slayer, and Castiel, an actual angel with the social savvy of a very sheltered gerbil.