#i hate that we have a good amount of the same damage

[cancerian]

This is something that many so called feminist fail to understand. Women don’t sell their body out of their own will, If one could choose between a high paying job and selling their body for the same amount, they would most likely choose the former. Unfortunately, feminism has taught many young girls that it is okay to sexually advertise your body; go and sleep with as many men as you want because men do it. In the end, it only hurts women more than men. Even if right wing men claim to hate women selling their bodies, they are the biggest consumers of women who sell their bodies. Whenever there is an RNC event, porn and dating (one night stand) websites have the highest traction. To really stick it to men, is to say “I will not contribute my body to feed your deranged needs.”

I am not against marriages with the right person (in this society good luck finding that), I am not against women finding happiness along side a man, not from a man. It is okay to want to be loved by the persons you find attractive, but for women, we are always selling ourselves short when we enter these relationships. It is the woman that has the most to lose when it comes to relationships. It is their body that will be the most exploited in a sexual act.

Back to sex work, selling your body will never liberate you. Yes, in a way we are all selling our bodies (going to work, and what not). But we all know the physical and psychological damage that comes from selling your body sexually is different from waking up at 5 am to go sit down for an office job. More women are killed engaging in sex work, than their counterparts. It is an industry littered with little girls trying to fend for themselves. Anyone who preaches to women or girls about sex work being liberating is a stain on society.

[ent-is-indecisive]

Adaine is so painful to watch like when she talks with jawbone

[timeisacephalopod]

Funny that every single fat person is accused of promoting obesity for simply existing- but somehow tobacco companies aren't held similarly responsible for selling a product that causes all kinds of health risks and cancers- fat people are held accountable for their "cost" to the healthcare system but never once have I heard anyone argue for shutting down tobacco companies under the grounds of promoting and glorifying cancer and only existing to sell poison to addicted customers for the sole purposes of their own profits.

Like it's very strange how little we shit on tobacco companies for doing everything we accuse fat people of down to actually costing the healthcare system money, which I doubt fat people do more than anyone else as fat people report delaying doctors visits for as long as possible to avoid weight based discrimination. I just think it's baffling that fat people face systemic oppression for existing because we think we can Individual Choice them into being thin, but we can't Individual Choice tobacco company execs into shutting down a business that exits entirely to get people addicted to cancer causing products to the point of being an ongoing public health crisis. We can't shut up about The Obesity Epidemic ™️ but them stats on tobacco deaths? Well I guess no one can be Systemically Shamed into fixing that except the smokers whom we shame via disgusting images on the back of cigarette packages. Because somehow that's how tobacco companies can be held responsible for getting people addicted to cancer causing products, acting like the customer is responsible for the company selling it.

[maxsimagination]

Hope you have a good day,could you do a Hayley Raso one were reader gets injured and Haley gets overprotective but after that she comes over and checks if your alright? Thankyou:)

𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 - 𝙝.𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙤

summary: in a game vs chelsea, yn cops a nasty injury and hayley gets protective.

-> !! mentions of blood and injury !!

-> no hate to chelsea or its players, it’s just for the fic

𖦹 masterlist

𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗦𝗘𝗔 𝗩𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗖𝗜𝗧𝗬. the two strongest sides in the super league.

all the passion and power both teams had was coming to a head today, in the cup final.

to say i was nervous was an understatement, it wasn’t my first major game with the club but i got the jitters before every important fixture.

gareth had published the starting lineup yesterday at training, which i’d immediately looked over and noted that he’d put me in first. starting at centre back, lucky number eight.

when we arrived at the stadium, there was people all around in the stands. you could hear the crowd, not yelling, but the sheer amount of them made all the talking reverberate and was heard from the changing rooms.

eventually, we all ran out to start warm up, spending time running basic drills, gareth shouting instructions here and there, psyching ourselves up to play in our biggest game yet.

you could hear over the loudspeakers throughout the stadium, they announced each player one by one, as we each came up on the big screen. when we were called back into the tunnel, hayley came up next to me, bumping my shoulder with a grin.

“you excited?”

“yea, you could say that. nerves are buzzing in my stomach though.”

her laugh was light and sweet, her eyes sparkling with humour.

“you’ll do great. best centre back we’ve got.”

i could feel the blush spread on my cheeks. it was then that gareth herded us all in the change room, wanting to give us a pre match pep talk.

“go out there and crush them, girls. we got this.”

with one last cheer, we all walked out. the starting eleven lining up behind steph houghton, the experienced defender leading us out.

when we first kicked off it wasn’t an exciting start.

i didn’t get much ball time within the first ten minutes, kiera and georgia kept the ball up in the middle, occasionally passing back to defense who promptly kicked it back up.

chelsea’s first break came in the 25’ minute with sam kerr. she was lightning fast and had the ability to head in goals from anywhere.

lauren james had given her an amazing pass from the mid, and kerr was bolting for the ball down the left wing. i knew that jen was meant to be there, but she was too far up the field to make it back and still defend.

that’s where i came in, sliding along the grass to kick the ball away from sam’s foot at the last moment. it was a brilliant save, if i did say so myself, and ellie in goal was punching the air at my moves.

finally, we broke the stalemate, kiera landed an unexpected but amazing shot from outside the box. it was 1-0 to man city.

the whistle blew for half time shortly after and i dragged myself down the tunnel. chelsea was definitely making us work for it.

a fifteen minute break only seemed like five when we had to walk back out there. gareth had subbed hayley onto the field to play in striker, hoping we had another lucky break.

quite the opposite happened, however.

chelsea had the ball up our end, before it was tackled away; they had a corner kick. guro took that shot, and props to her because it curved beautifully. i had leapt up to header the ball away, but at the same time, lauren james was there.

her body had smashed into mine, knocking me back. however, it wasn’t the crash itself that had caused damage. when i had fallen back i was too close to the goal and my head had been hit on the metal post.

i heard the crack, and an audible gasp, although i couldn’t determine who that came from. a wave of pain consumed my body, from my head down. the first thing i did was reach a hand up to my head. when my fingers pulled away, the tips were covered in blood.

my blood.

i could barely make out what was happening around me, it was a fight to keep my eyes open and my ears were ringing, but what i did see was hayley going toe-to-toe with lauren james.

the medics had reached us then, but for me it was already too late, i closed my eyes and let my vision go black.

hayley was almost screaming in lauren’s face, this was her fault, she pushed me into the goal post and now i was unconscious. our teammates had to physically restrain her before things got out of hand. the ref handed lauren a yellow card for her dangerous play and hayley got a warning for her words.

i was stretchered off the field and taken in ambulance to the nearest hospital before the girls could restart their game.

when i woke up, the first thing i noticed was the white room. everywhere i looked there was white. then i saw hayley sitting next to me. i didn’t know how long she’d been there, but she was currently asleep in the chair so my guess was long enough.

hayley had always been a light sleeper, so when i moved my hand, it was no surprise that she woke up immediately.

“you’re awake.”

she stood up and called for the nurse. a younger woman walked into the room with a clipboard and some paperwork.

“yn yln?”

“yea-a.”

my voice was all croaky from not having spoken in a while.

“how are you feeling? took quite the fall on the pitch today.”

i didn’t have a clue what she was talking about so i just answered the question.

“my head hurts a bit. i don’t remember anything though. what happened?”

hayley was the first to speak up this time, recounting what had happened on the pitch earlier.

“your head was whacked against the goal post.”

turns out i’d split my head open, even if it was only a little bit, and gotten a concussion.

slowly i took in everything that had happened within the last couple of hours. i didn’t say anything just say in silence trying to process things.

the nurse ended up leaving after a bit, telling me i was free to go, as long as i had someone that could supervise me for a couple of days. that left me and hayley in the room alone again.

“i was so worried that you wouldn’t remember me.”

i don’t think she expected me to answer, or even hear what she said in the first place, but i knew.

“i wouldn’t forget you, ribbons. i’d never forget you.”

[evolnoomym]

1. This is me trying

Sugar-Daddy!Joel Miller x f!OC

General Masterlist | ��Runaway Butterfly 🦋“ Masterlist

Summary: You may have gotten out, but the damage is done. As you look back on the past you take a step forward in the present.

Rating: 18+ explicit content mdni!!!!

Word count: 2k

Warnings: no y/n, f!reader, this is how my first OC Moon got born, childhood abuse, self hatred, alludes to sa & suicide attempt(s), 2 separate instances of underage OC getting taken advantage of, nothing to graphic, Weed consumption, panic attack, OC sexualizes herself, she has tits and ass

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: This is the first chapter of my my first Series, it’s been sitting in my notes basically for about 3 months. (Can we believe I’ve been here for 3 months already 😅) I know it’s rather short but the following chapters will be a lot longer. No Joel except in photos, also the Hawaiian Flannel he wears in one of those is the same as @strang3lov3 owns, hers is inspired by Jim Hopper. Bug was also the one that told me to write, so it’s all thanks to her 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Shoutout to @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune for the dividers 🫶🏻

Big thank you to for beta reading @fhatbhabiee & @jennaispunk 🦋🦋🦋

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 👌🏻

Technically you are missing, you didn’t tell them where you’d go, they didn’t even knew you’d go at all. Though, you are sure that they are happy to be ridden of the problem, connecting all of them.

They took your pride, confidence, dignity and hope. They clipped your wings early on so you’d never get away, no chance at getting out of this nightmare. Always destined to be the black sheep, the picture-perfect scapegoat for all of them, and whenever something went wrong you got blamed.

No wonder you started to hate yourself, believing their cruel words. You were never good enough and they made you think it would be better if you would just be gone.

They tore you apart, made you hate the girl in the mirror till you just wanted to give up, they put all the blame on you, they used you as a little girl sized punching bag, they made you believe that everybody grows up that way.

Since both of your parents were equally unstable people, it forced you to grow up quickly, so you could take care of them. Never would you know who that real version of yourself could’ve been, without all the trauma, a loss to carry forever.

How should you have known that what happened was wrong, if you never knew anything else. You thought the violence and the loneliness was part of being a little girl.

With time you became something akin to a shapeshifter, trying to be whatever it took to fulfill their desires, if it meant to be loved. Even just the tiniest amount of recognition, was worth giving yourself up.

But those closest betrayed you. Turns out it was all for nothing at all. All the sacrifices you made were so entirely useless, breaking yourself down to become the version they might’ve liked best, trying fit the shape of their choice and satisfy their deranged ego’s.

You scraped together any amount of savings you still had and sold everything you owned that was worth anything. Your Dad and Grandma gave you some money and that was it.

They had pushed you so far, you felt the need to flee to an entirely different continent, almost a 15 hour fly and 525 miles away from what was supposed to be home, that’s what it took to get some semblance of freedom and peace. Austin became your home, it was a fresh start and that’s exactly what was needed.

To much happened, to many unforgivable occurrences. You couldn’t ever heal in the place they broke you in, surrounded by abusers. They might have forgotten, painted an entirely new picture of the truth for themselves, but you’ll always remember what really went down.

You could still vividly remember your brother’s frantic calls once he realized you were gone. He couldn’t believe you’d really go through on that childish silly dream, he always laughed at you for saying, you’d just pack up one day and leave everything behind.

Guess he’s not laughing anymore.

After countless attempts you finally gave in and picked up, only to met by loud thundering voices yelling at you. It was all about how insane you must be, so incredibly selfish, overly dramatic, over-emotional and weak for simply running away.

A coward.

As always it’s just about them, their feelings and what would be best for them. No care for what you’d want and what the best for you could be.

You tolerated more than anyone else would’ve, before ending the call. It was just an accumulation of empty threats, supposed to put you back in line, but it did the opposite. That phone call was the last time you’d speak to them.

8 months have passed since leaving, its now May and here you sit lounging in the living room of your tiny two-room flat. The soft, grey, cloud-like couch was one of your best investments, making it your second favorite place besides your bed.

Its Friday. The clock shows that it’s close to 6 pm, the early-evening breeze flows in through the open balcony and alongside the bustling noises of the streets outside. Cars honking, tires screeching, kids yelling, people laughing and birds chirping, all of it reminds of the overwhelming world waiting outside of your safe bubble.

You just pulled out your rolling tray, trying to quiet your mind, you’ve barely finished licking the paper. When your phone suddenly goes *ping* *ping*, a sound you haven’t heard before.

Normally that might make you anxious but today you are just annoyed by any sort of interruption to your routine.

„Ughhh.”

You begrudgingly get up to retrieve your phone from the kitchen counter. When you reach it and take a look at the screen you immediately understand what caused the strange sound.

A notification for the Sugar-Daddy website you had started using earlier this week. You have tried those odd websites before, at 16 thinking it would be a good idea. Back then you were already after the attention of a mature, wealthy and significantly older Men.

Looking back you always had a weird infatuation with men outside your age range.

Your first kiss happened, when you were 13 and still played with dolls. He was 21 and had just gotten his drivers license, already moved out and had a job. He took you on a walk, then sat down on an old park bench and just kissed you which felt like heaven,at the time. He was your Bestfriend’s older brother who knew exactly how madly in love you were with him.

Two years later, at 15, you thought that 25 year old police apprentice was seriously interested in you, convinced he’d make you his. But, no, he wanted to fuck a minor, he was after the thrill of something tight and young, to be the first to break you in and then throw you away once you served your purpose.

Even though you were foolish and naive, the perfect opportunity for him to use, it seemed your desperate want for genuine love chased him away before he could go in for the kill.

In those instances you were lucky that nothin worse happened, but at 17 the luck had run out or maybe what happened is what you get for making the mistake of trusting.

It was the friendly guy in your semester group, the one who was troubled himself but made you feel like it’s okay, he seemed to understand you. He became a good friend, he made you feel less alone and in the end he became the biggest nightmare.

Your trust was already broken and played with many times before him, but what he did was one too much. He changed the way you viewed the world, the way you lived.

You were deeply afraid of ever running in to him again, and when it happened you could practically feel the world stop spinning.

It was just a worst case scenario that never came true until it did. You remember that day like it was yesterday, it was supposed to be a quiet run to the grocery store, shopping with a friend. Standing in the bread aisle, you were waiting beside the cart for your friend to make her decision. You just stared down at the ground for a split second before looking back up and there he was. Staring at you with this awful smile of his. Ringing in your ears, shivers running down your spine and shaking hands were all you needed to know that getting out of there was more than necessary.

As you stood at the cash register the thought that it might not have been him weaseled itself into your head. The hope that it might’ve been just some mix-up got crushed when a voice behind you spoke up. That voice, the way he talks, you would recognize it anywhere. He was right there, the monster who looked so nice in the beginning was just a couple inches away. You could practically feel him breathe down your neck, just like he did that night. Keeping your composure was the biggest challenge.

Afterwards on the way home, in your friends car you broke down, never ever would you want him that close again. He contributed to you wanting to get away.

Now at 21, even after everything that happened, you thought about giving the Sugar-Daddy thing one last chance. The money would be nice, of course it would, living free without having to worry, having someone who takes care of you and you get to just enjoy living, is the dream.

You wanted to experience that, so the Profil was created, a few pictures were added showing your face, one displayed a peak of cleavage and another with focus on your backside, wearing tight pants that accentuate your plush ass all while you are just sweetly gazing over your shoulder.

Those photos were choosen with good reasoning, you believed that showing skin would attract more attention from the Sugar-Daddy’s.

A classmate once told you „You know...the only fuckable thing about you is that set of tits and that ass. Nothin else, well except maybe ur mouth,“ all while smugly laughing.

And he wasn’t the only one who said shit like that, so you believed it, showin off the assets it was and it worked but none of these man were really what you were looking for.

After 2 days of being flooded with messages, little to nothing came through anymore which you were a bit happy about, since the overwhelming attention was too much too quickly.

You are a recluse, three friends that’s all you got, two of them not even living in Austin. A lot of times you just want to be alone with yourself. Branching out like 6 years ago is not your style anymore and you started to regret putting yourself out there like this. You would’ve probably deleted the profile if it wasn’t for the awfully handsome Man who apparently took a look at your profile which caused the whole strange notification-sound.

You could only see his name “Joel Miller” but that was enough to peak your interest.

You take your phone, walk back to the couch and sit down. You scutch backwards till you can feel the pillow at your back to lean against. You open his profile and your mouth goes dry instantly. He looks to be about 40 ish, his brown-grey streaked locks are neatly styled, a well groomed beard adorned his face and those grey patches certainly made you squirm in place.

They showed his age and that is what turned you on. His amber brown orbs were quickly pulling you in. In some of his photos he wore expensive lookin suits, all highly professional. In others he looked more casual, wearing flannels and even a cute hawaiian shirt in a picture that must’ve been taken on a beach.

He looked big, 6ft3 tall, tan skin, with broad shoulders, biceps that could crush you and his hands, oh they are a sight to behold, you thought of what he could possibly to with them. How would they feel on your body, holding your hand, caressing your face, stroking your head or squeezing your waist.

You feel your cheeks get warm, heart rate picking up and there is a tremble in your breathing, all because of him.

You can already imagine how much power he would have over you with his entire body, you want that.

With all the gawking and fanning you lost track of the time, 45 minutes where spend looking at him, that realization made you feel a bit embarrassed but it turned into shock when the *Ping* *Ping* sound of again, this time with a notification that read ”Congratulations, The verified Sugar-Daddy has sent you a message don’t let him wait to long, swipe here to answer,“ and then his name ”...Joel Miller“.

Maybe he would be different to those before him, maybe you got your luck back and so you decided swipe.

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

People I think might be interested: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @punkshort @burntheedges @almostfoxglove @taeslarityy @joelsdagger @littlemisspascal

Taglist 🦋: @joelalorian @msjarvis @stevie75 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @beefrobeefcal @baronessvonglitter @sherala007 @moonlitbirdie @thundermartini @sjc7542

Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist or taken off 🫶🏻

[lookingforhappy]

Hi! I just wanted to say I really like your blog and the ideas you have for TUA. I have a question if you don't mind? If you've read the comics (I just got to read You Look Like Death and....my head hurt alot after) is there anything you wished they had kept from the comics for the show or vice versa? Personally I wish they had kept Luther and Five being twins in the show. I get why they chose not to do so but come on.

Five doesn't get his dog and then he also doesn't get his biological brother? I love the Pub scene from season 2 and it would have fit really well for them to learn it (just my opinion)

Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day! :)

Thank you, I'm glad you enjoy my ideas!! I love asks lmao so no problem at all!

I have read the mainline comics and a few spin offs (the Diego & Vanya band AU one comes to mind??) but I'm a show main sadly. I like the comics as an informant to the show, so generally I prefer how the show depicted things.

I do want to briefly (edit: it was not brief... i am so sorry) talk about the Five DNA thing because that's one of the things I love in the show.

in the comics Five is genetically altered by the commission

this only works in the comics for me because every character is an asshole, Five especially (he literally prefaces this moment by bragging that he's fucked a lot of women). So for Five to have this excuse? to show horror at the very idea? that's a redeeming quality.

but in the show, they make every character likeable to an extent (recall that in the comics Allison rumours Luther into loving her), so this wouldn't have the same impact because it just makes Five less of his own person - removes the agency from his actions.

Five in the show is someone forced into a corner, and his actions in accepting and carrying out his job as an assassin, as well as his willingness to kill innocents and his own brother throughout s1 show how his experiences have made him desperate and ruthless in his pursuit of love and happiness.

it's a psychological exploration/study.

which to me, is infinitely more interesting. Five doesn't kill the board because his DNA dictates he will, he kills them because he chooses to. He is not cruel because his DNA dictates it, he is cruel because his experiences have made him that way.

and I think overall, this approach is adapted very nicely to fit the tone of the show, as all the same beats are hit. Five has been made into the Commission's killing machine against his will, and he is resentful of it,

but that doesn't mean he can undo the damage done, his psyche is forever attuned to this line of thinking no matter how much he hates it he doesn't know how to break the cycle of violence inflicted on him,

but because Five hasn't been genetically altered, he is fully responsible for his actions and he has to live with that.

the DNA altering in the show would feel like a cop out to me. and also the interesting aspect from the DNA altering is that he is essentially made into a psychopath (most famous serial killers are - Charles Manson, Ted Bundy, Jeffery Dahmer, etc.), which means removing his empathy.

because despite his dislike of the non-consenual genetic surgery, comics!five doesn't have empathy.

and show!Five is interesting because he has so much empathy, yet he remains a killer. he is never given the opportunity to use that for good.

without that empathy we wouldn't get scenes like this where he admits guilt,

and in all honesty, isn't it more interesting that the best and most prolific killer in the show possesses a large amount of empathy?

idk sorry I got sidetracked - I've seen a lot of people who say they prefer the DNA plot of the comics and I just feel like it's very contradictory to what a lot of people love about Five.

anyway, the only element of the DNA plotline that i'd want to see adapted further is the non-consenual surgery itself

largely because I love Five!whump and despite comics!Five claiming it was painless it's fairly obvious to see that it wasn't (and I love when this is expanded on in fics so much - no time, no time, dear brother o' mine is an amazing read because it deals with this)

but I also think it would do a good job at reinstating the commission as the villians they are rather than the weird, nebulous thing it currently sits as (Five would never entrust Herb or Dot to the Commission it's so ooc and it's canon??? Dot and Herb were both 100% in support of the commission's ethos, even if Herb was a bit shit at his job. Dot literally was in charge of the apocalypse and saw Five arrive & at no point thought that this was fucked actually).

plus, we already know they waited until Five was hopeless, alcoholic potentially passively suicidal, weak both physically and mentally, desperate. all likely to better control him.

what's to say they didn't also pick up him just in time to prevent his death? 45 years in a polluted wasteland can't be good on the body - and I don't about the general population, but most of the people I know in their 50s aren't fully grey. the stress was probably killing him all on its own.

they could have seen his death and gone back a few years/months/days to recruit him. but then that would mean they still have to fix whatever illness was killing him, and how do you do that? surgery.

perhaps that's how they recuit all of their agents. maybe that's how they get away with it not disturbing the timeline, take someone who was going to die anyway, and then force them into a debt of gratitude for saving their lives. idk.

I also think AJ was criminally underused. He's supposed to be the big bad of the commission, his character was originally adapted into the Handler but then they decided they wanted his design in the show or something.

I think his role in the comics is much more interesting, as a person who selected Five from a line up of assassins already in the commission and gave Five personal training, and assigned him to the JFK case,

I think he could have been adapted a lot better than he was, and like the surgery, he could have steered the commission back towards the villains they were always supposed to be - instead of The Handler (as amazing as Kate Walsh is to watch on screen I love her) we could have had AJ manipulating Five throughout s2.

as for Five & Luther, I don't mind them not being twins, because honestly their genetics are so different (Aidan is 20 something and he's probably going to stay at 5'5" while Tom is like 6'5", plus hair colour, skin tone, bone structure etc.) and we already know that they weren't planning on making them twins from the pilot script (Five is born a singleton to a polish teenager I believe).

I do think it would have been fun to repurpose this plotpoint for another pair. of the Umbrella's I actually think Five and Viktor pair quite well as they both have similar heights, hair colour, they both have that square jaw too. but I also think that this could have been an interesting way to give depth to the sparrows - Jayme and Alphonso could have been the twins.

Pennycrumb was... a let down? I don't think he should have been a big part of Five's character, but I also don't think he should have had 0 affect on it either.

otherwise??? honestly Hotel Oblivion was wayyy more interesting in the comics than in the show. I would have preferred something more in line with the comics but I think they were afraid of the classic horror elements and the classic superhero elements.

like the faceless bus boy guards

the hotel rooms, seemingly ordinary, being prison cells

the prisoners having enough freedom to move around the hotel and have relationships with each other but not enough to feel safe hanging around the hotel

i just.. i wish more of this had been incorporated into the show.

also.. art deco buildings.. my beloveds

this could have been the hotel Oblivion..

like ik they planned to go to japan to film s3 and that got fucked over by covid but like.. art deco is such a good aesthetic for a horror setting compared to the japanese style hotel we got (i've heard it called hotel orientalism as well so, theres that too).

if I had been in charge I would have had s3 focus on the mothers, develop their stories & why the umbrellas were given up for adoption & then linked this all to the 43 being the 16 instead. have the reveal be not that theyre dead but missing, non existant. because the children were taken by hargreeves to power Oblivion. if we somehow keep the kugelblitz then we use that as a distraction as to where and why all the sparrows keep going missing, and eventually the umbrella's numbers start to dwindle. until Oblivion is discovered and we find that every hotel room corresponds to a member of the 43 - maybe even have the brellies/sparrows numbers correspond to their door numbers somehow, or floor level.

idk I'm not a good writer but thats a bit of how i feel about the comics being adapted into the show..

sorry idk if i even answered your question? thank you again for the lovely ask!

[cerastes]

Bro any time I think about Valkyria Chronicles I laugh my nipples off, the game is fundamentally flawed gameplaywise but, simultaneously, it's stupidly fun, which is the recipe for any club banger, it has a story that weaves flawlessly between "that's pretty poignant" and "this is some goofy goober shit", it's got the horrors of war but also this fucking pig piece of shit mascot, Hans,

It's an amalgam of white and black without any gray: It exists on extremes, and it never intersects, it's playing two parallel lines and coming to terms with the fact that you'll never see cohesion but that somehow enhances the end product in ways evidently no one intended. You have narrative comparisons with the persecution of jews and, at the same time, the game ends with the bad guy getting German Suplexed.

But I think the funniest aspect of Valkyria Chronicles The First is that the main character is the farthest thing from a war hero they could possibly muster with the expertise of a stoic Japanese swordsmith from the mountains crafting a god-cleaving blade: Welkin.

This Scout From TF2 Put Through An Anime Filter looking mother fucker was chilling in his hometown talking about how much he wanted to be a teacher and showing people his really good sketches of animals because he's also a gifted artist, when suddenly, the Dudes attack, and his reaction to the Dudes attacking is "hang on, I recall my dad hiding his actual service tank in the shed in the back" so he goes and, yeah, his dad's tank from a previous war is just there, chilling, so he takes it for a joy ride while the town baker, Alicia, armed with a rifle and infinite action economy due to the afore mentioned flawed gameplay, sweeps the entire god damn platoon of heavily armed machine gun troops.

The entire game is Welkin using his love for nature and his baker love interest to inflict insane personnel and materiel damage to an entire empire: Welkin and Alicia will come across a heavily fortified bridge, and the dialogue will go something like

"Welkin! They will pulverize us with the heaviest machine guns known to man if we step one foot in that bridge! They practically developed wooden low-orbit bombardment stations! What's the plan!"

"Well... Look at that duck over there. It's flying from the east to the west, right? Well, YOU SEE, that duck is known as a Balkunese Socioduck, and those, during this season, migrate from west to east, and they only exhibit this irregular flight path if a Matrisgel Weasel family is molting by the juniper berry bushes, their favorite food. Matrisgel Weasels only ever molt if they are put under the exact amount of stress caused to them by the sound of distant tank threads on the road, and they are known to hide in sturdy, stable soil."

"Welkin, SIR, what the fuck does this all mean?"

"If we follow the smoldering shrieking of the molting weasels, we'll find a SECRET PATH that will, as always, let us ambush, flank, and surprise our foes! Alicia, you know what to do."

"Ogggeyyyyy"

and then, invariably, no matter the level, thanks to Welkin's impressive knowledge of fauna and flora, and Alicia's literally infinite action economy in a game that wasn't properly beta tested in-house during development, they combine their powers like a piss poor Captain Planet and kill the absolute shit out of an entire Empire's worth of dudes, and it's legitimately one of the most fun and charming games you'll ever touch if you remember to not take it too seriously. I fucking hate Hans but I love this game.

[artyandink]

amoralism | three

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Organised crime, hostage situation, crime syndicate, sexual tension, fantasising, blood, firearms, references to sex, masturbation (use of vibrator and fingers) Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning), hostage situation, crazy aunt and uncle

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Under the Influence - Chris Brown

cynicism

After you and Dean were out of the auction house safely, you found yourself getting a call from Sam, which had you wondering if the FBI kept cameras on you two to see if you’d finally given into the copious amounts of sexual tension.

“Agent Winchester.” You cleared your throat, wiping your smeared lipstick off with a makeup wipe. “Talk to me.”

‘We have a situation down on 7th.’ You heard him sigh out, and you could feel the forehead rub through the phone like it was your own. ‘Hostage situation. Our syndicate’s mark is on the front of the bank. You and Dean are the only two units in the area.’

“We’ll see what we can do.” You nodded, saying a quick goodbye before cutting the call and turning to Dean. “We have a situation.”

Dean perked up, stopping his boots from scuffing against the floor in wait. “Did Sammy pee himself? If so, we’re no longer brothers, he hadn’t done that since ninth grade.”

“What?! No!” You scoffed, pinching the bridge between your eyebrows. “Bank on 7th, it’s a hostage situation. Your brother needs us on the scene.”

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat. “But we’re in, y’know, party clothes.”

“Oh, we’ll get a bulletproof vest, let’s just go.” You groaned, getting in the Impala, while he ran to the driver’s seat, getting in and the purr of Baby’s engine filling the empty street, tires screeching as you both drove off.

You and Dean walked up to the scene of the hostage situation, dressed in your party attire like a couple of melons, but you didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes in the Impala.

That’s why the cops looked sceptical until the badges came out from your thigh holster (Dean didn’t miss the way the guy at the caution tape looked at your bare thigh peeking out from the slit as you got your badge) and the inside pocket of Dean’s suit jacket.

“Well, I’ll tell you somethin’, agents, we’d need special forces in there.” Detective Quixley sighed, shaking his head. “Our criminals are in with the hostages. Refuse to come out, wanna keep an eye on ‘em. They threatened to empty their clips if SWAT stormed the building, and they have men on every exit.”

“They’re meticulous. Know what they’re doin’.” Dean sighed, fixing his cuffs. “We just came from an undercover gig. The lady and I can handle it, but we need bulletproof vests, refill clips and guns with attack damage and horsepower.”

“The recoil is gonna be pretty strong on those ones.”

“We don’t give a damn about recoil.” You cut in, strictly business now that you were on the scene. It was remarkable, how quickly you and Dean could switch. “The guns. And the vests. Quick.”

The tone you were using put some R-rated thoughts in his head, but he shook it off and plastered a smile just as Detective Quixley went away to arrange the guns and vests for the both of you.

“So authoritative.” Dean murmured to you in a lilting tone, a crap-eating grin on his face. “If you weren’t FBI, you’d make a good chef. Barking out orders-”

“Shut up or I’ll kick you where the sun don’t shine.”

“See? God, such a tightly-wound coil. You should release some of that tension. I’ve got a Thai place.” He chuckled under his breath, smirking. “Got a hand of glory there.”

“Workplace boundaries.” You groaned, holding a hand up to his face with disgust. “Really, TMI.”

“We broke workplace boundaries five years ago, sweetheart.” He quipped as you two received NYPD vests, strapping them on. “Well, sort of. We didn’t even breach first base.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “My job depended on first base. I’m not throwing that away for your dumb ass.”

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

You and Dean made your way to the bank’s easiest to access exit that wasn’t the front door, the sound of pacing footsteps telling you there was only one guy.

Your guns held ready, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you both made hand gestures to each other that made absolutely no sense.

You had to abandon all sense of hand signatures altogether.

You’d been much more in sync with the older Winchester five years ago. Before both of you had risen up the ranks. Where you were a growing Major Crimes agent and he worked Narcotics, and the two jurisdictions had to cross.

You two had definitely gotten along better then.

With the whiskey, the laughs, bonding over little siblings, the wet dreams, the near-kisses, the hot sexual tension that threatened to burst.

It’s like meeting after those years had cut the first part and left the second. Only the second.

The second part left you at odds, desperately trying to resist each other and overall frustrated from lack of contact. The contact you almost had five years ago.

God, there’s a hostage situation. Keep it together.

After a fairly obvious mouthing of the word ‘GO’ (Dean’s aggressive mouthing made it seem to be in capitals), you rushed in, grabbing the guard from behind with your arm around his neck so Dean could move in to knock him out.

The guard went limp, eyes rolling back and half lidded as you lowered him with a soft huff of breath as to not alert anyone else. Taking his walkie and his gun.

Dean Winchester laying someone out really did look sexy.

You continued on to the next room, this time Dean holding the guy to allow you to give him an early bedtime. Dean squatted, taking the walkie and gun, storing it in a thigh holster he’d procured.

Is it wrong to feel envious of a thigh holster?

Probably. But you couldn’t ignore the way that thing practically hugged the powerful muscle.

Your eyes even landed on the pout of his lips, the undeniably hot glint in his eyes as he looked down on the unconscious gang member.

“You ok?” You asked while Dean regained a steady breathing pattern, recovering from the onslaught of adrenaline while you did the same.

“Yeah. You?” You didn’t get the chance to answer that, feeling a bat-shaped impact on your back shoulder, sending you crashing to the floor. By the sounds of it, the SWAT team had taken advantage of the brief moment of weakness to storm the room containing the hostages and getting them out.

While you held your shoulder with a low groan, then attempting to push yourself back up, you saw a red headed woman swinging said bat for kicks while approaching Dean. Leather jacket, red-painted lips, leather pants and heeled boots.

She either completely disregarded necessary fighting clothes or she didn’t need them to beat your asses.

“Cheap shot.” You murmured, wincing at feeling tender skin under your vest. That would probably bruise bad, cold compress be damned.

Dean went down easily after a few parried shots from the lady, one leg swept from under him so he stumbled to his knees, her smoothing back his hair and grabbing the short strands in her fist, dropping the bat and grabbing his collar with the other. His hand flew to cover hers, a weak attempt to stop her from doing anything more.

“Dean Winchester.” She practically purred, her thumb rubbing circles into her scalp while she grinned, tongue tracing her teeth. “Famed daddy’s boy. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Dean smiled as cocky as he could while being womanhandled, chuckling. “Oh, I’m famous.”

“I had fun messing with John’s head.” She smirked, tilting her head. “He caved. I wonder if you will. It’s so… satisfying… when they do.” She added that in a murmur, trailing a painted finger down his jaw, having released his collar. “Be a good boy and let this one go for me. Or I could grab my knife, carve out a chunk of that pretty neck and see where it gets you.”

Dean’s eyes flickered to you, struggling to get up behind this random chick, wincing at the pain in your shoulder that you had a hand trying to stabilise, and realised he needed to stall. “Are you gonna kill me or are we gonna make out? Cause I’m gettin’ very mixed signals here.”

“Always such a flirt, aren’t you?” Whoever-This-Lady-Is chuckled, then smirked. “Who would I be if I didn’t introduce myself? Abaddon, handsome. The Knights of Hell say hi-” She was whipped around by you, the fist on your injured shoulder’s side connecting with her jaw. Abaddon’s head snapped to the side for a moment, but then you received the same treatment, your hand reaching to gingerly touch the corner of your mouth and wiping blood from the offending area.

Ah, Jesus.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. “Thought that’d do something?”

“Made you look.” You grinned, and Dean sprang into action, clamping metal handcuffs around her wrists after drawing them together. Abaddon looked up at you in shock and horror, which prompted you to use your good arm to help Dean push her down to the floor and keep her still.

“FBI.” Dean growled lowly, the timbre of voice sending a jolt through you (not the time, get your act together-) as you forced Abaddon to stop struggling and just lay still. “You’re under arrest.”

“I had that under control.”

That was all Dean could say as you held the cold compress to the back of your shoulder, wincing every time it shifted and put more strain on the bruised skin as you sat at the end of an ambulance. It made your blood boil.

“Gee, no problem for saving your ass.” You drawled back, rolling your eyes, which had Dean shifting uncomfortably before scoffing.

“I could take her.”

Your eyebrow raised to your hairline at that. “You mean the woman who- let’s see - had you by your hair and giving you some weirdly sexual innuendos? Yeah, you had it under control. And you can clearly take her one on one.”

Dean couldn’t help but note the sarcasm dripping off your words, and folded his arms with yet another light scoff. He deserved more respect in that regard. He was one of the best of Major Crimes.

He’d cuffed this supposed Knight of Hell.

“Shut up. What are you even doing, huh? First day working this organised crime thing and you’re already busted in the shoulder.”

“I’m doing my job!” You scoffed, holding the compress over your shoulder. It hurt to move it, honestly, but you’d rather take a banged up shoulder rather than Dean Winchester scolding you.

“And I’m not?” He retorted, hands on his hips. “We’re working this case together.”

“The only reason you’re even in Major Crimes is because daddy dearest pulled some strings.” You seethed, which had Dean bristling.

“That’s not how it went.”

“Then how?”

“What happened, princess, is that yes, my dad was your old CO.” Dean folded his arms, bulging biceps straining against the fabric of his suit sleeve as he did. Your eyes flicked to them, that spark of anger quenching for a moment before forcefully reigniting. “But I worked to get to the Major Crimes unit on my own. Just like Sammy did. Believe it or not, I ain’t just a pretty face.”

“And a hot ass.” A female police officer around your age purred in Dean’s ear as she went by, slapping said ‘hot ass’ firmly.

Dean’s eyes followed her own for a moment before he smacked down his tendencies for the sake of winning an argument.

“Emma. Old hookup.” He cleared his throat, then huffed out a breath. “There’s a point to where I’m goin’ with this. For us to work this case, sweetheart?” He gestured between you and him. “We need to sort whatever this is… out.”

“Last time I checked, we didn’t reach that point five years ago. Working this same case.” You deadpanned, your hand tightening on the compress. “I’d argue there’s nothing to sort out.”

“And if I say there is?”

“You know I never answered to you.”

His hands went on his hips. “Yeah, cause you’re Agent Know-It-All.”

“Finally, you’re catching on.” You quipped back, earning an eye roll from his part.

Like you mentioned earlier, the lack of whiskey fuelled bonding and laughing about sibling dynamics really takes a toll on a relationship built solely on how bad you wanna bang each other.

By God, Dean was hot when he was angry.

He was about to retort to your retaliation with equal snark when you heard your name being called from a distance. Your eyes locked on the guy, and a wide grin spread on your face. “Nicky?”

“Querida!” Sergeant Nick Santiago - and your cousin - approached you and gave you a tender hug (he was mindful of the bruise), laughing. “Oh, long time no see. And I love seeing that adorable face.” He pinched your chin affectionately. Nick was five years older than you, hence the smothering affection.

“Shuddup, you’re adorable.” You swatted his shoulder with a snort.

“No, me? I’m… ruggedly handsome.” Then he took your good shoulder. “Hey, I’m gonna need you to check on Aunt Lucy and Uncle Ernie. You know how it is, they’re insane if not handled and I think Aunt Lucy is getting into the tarot cards again.”

You huffed out a disgruntled breath, your nose scrunching up briefly in disgruntlement. Dean noticed, and stopped giving Nick a green-eyed-monster fuelled look to shoot you a genuine smile. “And last time those cards were used, Ernie was suspicious of everything.” You sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll see if I can talk sense into them.”

“They always listen to you. Even if I’m the older one.”

“That’s cause I’m the favourite. But, seriously, I’ll have a look into it.”

Would you go to hell for this? Even worse, get fired?

Yeah, most likely.

Unprofessionalism only could reach an all time high when you found yourself alone in your bedroom, scissoring yourself open, one hand above your head and gripping the headboard, the other very obviously between your legs.

One foot flat on the mattress. The other leg stretched out on the bed, your sweats abandoned somewhere you didn’t bother to note.

Jaw slack, brow furrowed and eyes closed, vivid tapes of Dean’s mouth and fingers working you over playing on your closed eyelids. The tantalising, fabricated images having his name rolling off your tongue.

“I think you’re lookin’ gorgeous, princess.” He murmured, nose nuzzling your cheek as his finger trailed up your neck to gently cup your jaw, your back pressed firmly against his taut chest. Cupping your chin possessively while you didn’t lift your own finger to stop him, instead watched in the mirror while he drew you further into his dizzying arms. Interrupted only by the ring of Dean’s phone.

“Right there, Dean-” You cut yourself off with a moan, hips bucking against nothing, but letting your fingers brush your g-spot as they spread you open, “just like that.” Your hand released the headboard, your back arching and your planted foot allowing you to grind desperately against your own hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. While that newly released hand fumbled for your bedside drawer.

Said drawer was clumsily opened, your hand delving in and closing around something that had you screaming ‘bingo’ in your head and pulling your fingers out, leaving you empty and whining for more despite you being in control.

You could practically hear Dean telling you to take those fingers into your mouth and suck ‘em clean, but you decided to wait for that effortlessly sexy moment.

Wait for the real thing.

Dean thought he had you pinned on the mat, your hands trapped above your head in one of his, both your chests heaving after a long sparring session. His eyes flickering down to yours. “How’s that for a newbie, hm, sweetheart?” You smirked, and decided to answer by quickly using your legs to flip the position. You ended up on top, straddling his hips, and his hands held yours with a breathless chuckle and a possessive grip.

You flicked a switch on your vibrating dildo, your thighs twitching at the sound of the humming until you held them apart with your hand that was occupied prior to that moment, starting to push the toy in inch by inch.

“Dean,” You moaned, then cursed some very Jesus-disapproved words as the vibrations straight invaded your every sense, sending you straight to cloud nine.

Unprofessional, sure, but you didn’t regret a damn thing.

Once the dildo was all the way in- damn, you’d never been that full. And you welcomed the familiar buzz that took control of your ever action and had you grinding forward, pushing the toy in and out and meeting the self-orchestrated thrusts, knowing internally Dean would do it ten times better.

If not an FBI agent, he’d be a musician. Because he’d play you like a fine-tuned virtuoso violin.

“We… can’t.” You could feel his breath against yours. Your hand in his hair while the pads of his fingers put pressure on your waist through your blouse. Soft growls at the end of his every retrained pant as he resisted throwing you down onto that table and giving in to his primal urges. Damn, you brought the caveman out in him. One hand reached up to cup your cheek firmly, biting his plump bottom lip that you wanted to bite and suck on until it was swollen. “But… if we take five minutes. Just to take the edge off.”

Your free hand found your clit, rubbing in calculated, well-learned circles, paired with pleas of ‘Dean, right there’ and ‘don’t stop’ leaving your mouth, wishing it was his cock in you and not a piece of silicone.

Even if it did the job for now.

You worked yourself over and over, making yourself come over and over, climax after climax crashing down on your stressed, sexually pent up body until you were lying limp on the mattress, having lost count of how many times you’d said his name.

Dean.

Ah, home sweet home.

“Niñita!” Uncle Ernie cackled in happiness upon seeing you at the door, Dean with you since he had been working the case with you and had agreed to accompany you to see your mom’s Uncle Ernie. He gave a hearty pat on the back, ushering you in. “Adelante, adelante.” His eyes locked on Dean. “Who’s this?”

“Dean Winchester, sir.” Dean introduced with a swallow, which had Ernie’s mouth grimacing slightly.

“You could do better, mi diamante.” He complained in his Spanish accent and gravelly, grating tones.

“¡Ernesto, detente!” Aunt Lucy chastised, sashaying into the hallway with her bright, tortoise coloured shawl over her shoulders. “Es un chico muy guapo. Podría comérmelo.” That last part had your eyebrow raising to your hairline, while Dean got the message from the way Lucy practically purred at him and looked over his physique.

Ernie and Lucy themselves were quite the match.

Lucy, or Lucía in Spain or Spanish/Latino/anything native to the language’s company was tall- not as tall as Dean - with grey hair obviously styled by a hairdryer and rollers. She had blue eyes that matched her peacock personality, flaunting everything and her eyes looking everywhere on the nearest attractive single man’s body. Sometimes she didn’t know if a man was single and didn’t care otherwise. Dean was her unfortunate target today.

Ernie, otherwise called Ernesto, was a short man (Think Danny DeVito short), with thinning white hairs that was more bare skin than white fluff. He had a black, faux-fur robe with hot dogs on and mid-thigh length neon yellow shorts that would probably send a breeze up there if the wind blew around his ankles. Which were bare and clad in flip flops. Under the robe, he wore a ribbed white tank top. A chocolate granola bar stain on his cheek, and a disgruntled grimace stretching his white goatee-surrounded mouth as he looked up at Dean.

You knew they were an odd combination, especially with Ernie’s scepticism with everything they wasn’t his family.

“Ay, dios mío.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, clearing your throat. “Tía abuela-”

“Ay, no, es solo la tía.” Lucía waved you off, then smirked something sultry at Dean. “I’m the ripe old age of fifty, you know.”

You scoffed, hands on your hips. “Tienes setenta y seis años!”

“Arruinas mi diversión. Estuve a punto de pasar una noche en la cama con él.” She gave Dean a very obvious once over. And it put unholy images in your head. God bless innocence.

“Uf, no.” You groaned, trying to rub the images out of your head with two fingers at your temple as you all made your way into the kitchen. “Just… that’s not why I’m here. Las cartas del tarot, tía abuela.”

Lucía bristled, Spanish tones clipped and borderline anything but dulcet. “What about them?”

“You’re going to pull another ‘neighbour will kill me with their lawnmower’.” You huffed, remembering the incident all too well.

Ernie had waddled in at his top speed (which was slower than your normal walking pace) with wide eyes, claiming that the neighbour with murder him with their mower since Lucía ‘predicted’ he’d die by a spinning blade.

“¡Silencio!” She hushed with a flap of her hands, neon-green nails obvious in the lighting of the kitchen. “There is nothing wrong with my readings. They saved Ernesto’s life, no?”

“Eres imposible.” You groaned, rubbing your nose. Dean’s eyes landing on the scar across the bridge of it and swallowing, folding his arms. He’d rather not involve himself in the family drama.

“Lo sé.” She retorted, raising a threaded eyebrow.

Ernie sighed, taking Lucía by the arm with a patronising expression. “Creo que deberíamos dejar en paz a la pobre niña, Lucía. It’s almost time for that face thing you do.”

“It’s a skincare routine, Ernesto.” Still, she allowed herself to be whisked away.

“Yes, yes, that. My point remains, querida.”

Once you and Dean were alone, you cleared your throat. “Sorry about that.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair with a hand on your hip. “Aunt Lucy’s a handful. She gets her hand on anyone she can.”

Dean was part speechless. On one hand, he got flirted with by a seventy-six year old woman (at least, that’s what the body language told him), and on another, he got to hear you speaking Spanish.

He wondered if you could talk dirty to him one day in Spanish. Wishful thinking.

“Nick’s your… cousin, then, right?” He clarified, trying to stop the stirring in his gut. Down, boy.

“Yep.” You nodded, sighing. “He’s my cousin. My mom’s sister, whose real name is Elánora in Spain talk. She just changed it to a more American name and gave me and Cassie the same. Rick - Dad - he’s Ricardo.”

“Rick?” Dean grinned. “I’d have thought his nickname would be Di-”

“You absolute child.” You groaned, walking off.

“What? You gotta admit, it’s not the most unlikely thing in the world.”

You couldn’t help but moan and let your head fall forward, pressing your forehead against the cold desk to counteract the heat building up inside you until it clouded your mind and no desk would help you anymore.

Your hips rolling back desperately, seeking the friction - the feeling - only he could give you.

“So needy.” Dean chuckled from behind you, your skirt hiked up to your waist and his fingers buried to the knuckle in your soaked pussy, scissoring and curling when he felt like it. “Had a stressful day at work, hm?”

“Mmh,” Was all you could hum out at a response, meeting his thrusts and feeling the tension and/or stress in your body release with every brush against your g-spot but the very core of your body like a nuclear reactor, warming up and building up until your eyes were rolling back.

“Yeah.” Yet another low rumble of a laugh, but a kiss against your clothed shoulder, hot breath fanning over your skin. “Let me take care o’ that, baby. Of you. M’gonna make you feel so good you can’t walk straight. Want that, sweetheart?”

You whined out a response, which earned you a hum and the clinking of a belt buckle clinking, which had you bracing yourself on the edge of the desk. Dean’s calloused hands reaching to take a firm hold of your hips, lining the tip of his cock against your soaked entrance-

“Hey. Wake up.” What felt so much like a warm breath on your shoulder turned out to be the concerned hand of Sam Winchester, which had you groaning and reaching to rub your face with your own. Your eyes heavy and clearly riddled from sleep that you sorely needed to catch up on, but looks like it caught up with you. “You ok?”

You tried to snap yourself out of it, inwardly cursing at the fact that it was a damn dream.

What you wouldn’t give to have the stress and the overall lack of satisfaction that your pussy was giving you hell about the much needed relief by Dean goddamn Winchester.

Wishful thinking.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You sighed, then checked the time on your desk clock with weary eyes.

11:38 PM.

“We just finished cracking the tapes in the IT department.” Sam said softly, looking down on you with worry as well as the majestic mane of hair he possessed. Wishful thinking again, wondering if your hair could fall that perfectly into place. “We could have a look at it, but you’re nowhere in the right mind to try and make heads or tails of them. I think you should go home, Special Agent.”

“That’s bullcrap.” You scoffed, but then your eyes dropped again, sleep trying to lure you but failing as you snapped yourself back awake. “Yeah, I could use a bed.”

“I’ll drive you.” Sam took out his keys, helping you out of your chair (paired with some frantic yet muffled conversation), strong arms then moving you out of the building, into the parking lot and into his car.

It even smelled like Dean. Mm, old leather. Cologne, and whiskey. Beer.

A hand buckled you in, a calloused palm smoothing back the strands that dared be unruly and fall in front of your face. You lost track of time, but beefy arms lifted you up and away, into the safety of a familiar-smelling living room and then into an unfamiliar bedroom.

It wasn’t yours, but your tired mind remembered chucking a glass of water at someone in this very house.

The warmth of a blanket cocooned your body, tucked to your chin as your head nestled in some pillows. Succour of sweet sleep calling your name as you caught a ‘Sleep well, sweetheart’ from somewhere that could be the door before all light was shut out entirely.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in unfamiliar sheets that smelled like… old leather. Cologne. Whiskey, both cheap and expensive with notes of beer. On your stomach, one leg bent and you were still in your office attire.

Note that you usually wear trousers and a blazer to the office in DC. Yesterday was one of those days.

“Sammy told me you’d knocked out at the office.” A low chuckle - one that always made your pussy throb and ache - had you more awake than you would openly admit. Dean was leaning on the door, no shirt, just grey sweatpants.

Every contour of his post-workout toned chest showing to you and making your mouth go dry. You wanted to stain that chest with your lipstick.

Maybe you’d wear your most bold red for the occasion.

“Did you kidnap me?” You scoffed, sitting up fully clothed in the bed, the only article of clothing off being your shoes. Touché.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “‘Course I kidnapped you. I’ve got nothin’ better to do, sweetheart. Nothing other than kidnap my colleague.” He stepped further into the room, his attire reminding you of your almost-kiss five years ago.

His lips inches from yours. Your hand in his hair. His beginning to massage the flesh of your waist. Hot breath fanning over each other’s lips, eyes locked on them too through fluttering eyelashes.

“Just five minutes, sweetheart. To take the edge off.”

You should’ve taken that five before Sam rang his damn phone.

Oh, God, get it goddamn together.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You rolled your eyes, which had him chuckling and shaking his head. Still shirtless. Which still made him the most irresistible man on the planet. He always was; who were you kidding?

Even through your irritation, you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Sammy didn’t think it’d be safe to be home alone, not after Abaddon could have somehow given our IDs to her buddies, the Knights of Hell.” He shrugged. “So I volunteered to bring you back here.”

“Have you slept?”

“A couple hours.”

“And here I am, knocking out until…” You checked the time, “9 the next morning. Ain’t fair, Winchester.”

“I took a knockout nap right after that whole Abaddon fight, hostage situation ordeal.” He laughed, grinning widely. “I’m good on that part. About a ten hour nap; it messed up my sleep schedule. At least, Sammy calls it a sleep schedule.” Then he closed the door and beckoned you over. “Show me your shoulder, c’mon.”

“Is this necessary?” You huffed, but you were unbuttoning your blouse anyway, shrugging off your suit jacket.

Just Dean’s luck that there was only a simple black sports bra there. If it was lace, he’d have you on that bed in milliseconds. “‘Course it is, don’t be a baby.”

“You’re a baby.” You scoffed as you turned around, letting him inspect the blue, part swollen skin. He drew air in his teeth as he looked at it, then hummed.

“I’ll ice that later.” He murmured, trailing his fingers delicately over the skin before pulling his hand back. But instead of letting you put your blouse back on, he stopped you and helped you put it on, but his fingers paused at the buttoning phase, not starting it. His fingers didn’t have it in him. Every brush of his fingers on your heated skin sent jolts through both of you every time he tried to grow a pair and do it for the sake of professionalism.

His lips were right there. You could feel them against yours if you wanted to. Or you could guide them to your neck.

You were pretty sure Dean had that idea when his arm hooked around your waist and tugged your body flush against his, your nose slotting perfectly against his. Your hands instinctively flying to his chest.

Dean’s breath hitched as he felt the contact on his bare skin, licking his lips and biting the bottom as he traced every detail of your face. Your stunning eyes, staring up at him through thick eyelashes, halfway on the journey to closing. The curve of your nose and the scar across the bridge that came with it. The shadow of your cheekbone, line of your jaw and your lips.

God, your lips.

Dean could see every dip and curve of your top and bottom lip from that angle, the slight pout before they parted, showing him a sliver of tongue that made him wish it would lave at his chest. Your lips were a temptation that had his arm wrapping tighter around your waist and his hand resting over your exposed navel.

So close to the waistband of your trousers.

He couldn’t stop focusing on your lips, however boring it may seem to recite it over and over. They were full, but not too plump- in a way that had him wanting to kiss them until they were swollen and his. Wanted them to look pretty and bear his mark. He’d do that to your neck too… if he could. Cover every freckle he could see.

You weren’t faring much better. You could see every freckle lining his face and the pout of his pink lips as he contemplated what to do next. Whether to ravish you - finish what you both started - or to leave you hanging for the sake of professionalism. You saw the sharp contour of his cheekbone and jawline, and the smooth skin of his chest under your hands pressed further into the touch with a barely held sigh, heartbeat pounding against your fingertips.

Fast. Desperate. Wanting.

Your attention diverted from him to glance down at his abs - damn, those abs - and his v-line disappearing into the low-hanging fabric of his grey sweatpants that he wore in this exact same situation five years ago.

You couldn’t think of anything more cliche but there was nothing more hot.

You felt his fingers wrap around and grasp your chin, moving your gaze back up to lock with his and god, were you transfixed. Your breath caught before it left your mouth. Breaking the pattern you’d worked so hard to maintain. It’d break you and then you’d let him lay you down and wreck you.

“Keep those eyes on me, princess.” He murmured, still gently holding your chin and thumbing your bottom lip. Keeping his eyes on you as well. “Don’t take ‘em off.” You wanted to protest. You’d be putting your job in jeopardy if you carried on like this any longer.

But it felt so damn good.

The push, the pull, the heat, the want, wanting what you could so obviously have because he wanted you too. It was all so intoxicating you got lost in it. In him.

Dean Winchester would send you to hell. Even worse, get you fired. But you’d thank him for it.

NEXT UP:

“Being a Knight of Hell makes you bitter.” He swept a thumb over his bottom lip, scoffing and shaking his head slowly. “You do horrible things. To innocent people, too. Most of us enjoyed it. I didn’t. That’s why I ran.”

You rubbed your cheek, sharing a look with Sam, who looked both incredibly concerned and curious. Not only was this syndicate dangerous, they took inspiration off Bible lore, which was how they contracted their code names.

“And your code name was Cain?” You asked, gesturing to him with a raise of your eyebrow. “As in… Cain and Abel? And your real name is William Abernathy?”

“Abel was my brother’s supposed ‘codename’.” William, previously ‘Cain’, deadpanned, sipping some bourbon with a blank expression. “Gave it after his death. Thought it was funny. They thought the same for my beautiful Collette too.”

Like, comment or reblog! I’d love to hear your feedback. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

TAGLIST:

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To be added to any character’s taglist of mine, find my form on my master list.

Like what I’ve written? Let me know!

Why do we reblog/send in asks with feedback?

This tends to make the author more invested in writing their own series.

If they think ‘hey, people actually like what I’ve written and are writing small paragraphs/quoting my story and writing lengthy paragraphs on how they feel’ then they’re more likely to put more fics and chapters out for you.

I’d really appreciate it if y’all do that and the same goes for any other writer on here. Reblogs are worth a lot more than likes on here!

[honeesucker]

Prelude -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count:  2,263

Series Content Warnings: Little bit of a slow start... Graphic Depictions of Past Abuse & Trauma Response | Profuse Usage of Pet Names / All-around Softness | Bakugo Experienced Work-Related Trauma (causing near deafness, being put on leave from the agency, PTSD) | Eventual smut™ (will be tagged in individual chapters - to include but not limited to KiriBaku, HybridxHybrid, Hybrid heat trope, sex toy usage).

*Not Proofread.

Next Part

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t a fundamentally nervous person. Sure, even as a Pro Hero in the public spotlight under constant scrutiny and dissection by media outlets and fans alike he experienced a normal amount of anxious awareness, but he wasn’t nervous – not like he is now, with his right leg jumping up and down rapidly, rubber-bottom boot creating a soft squeak that filled up the sterile room of the Musutafu Hero Recuperation Facility. It had been just over a month since the incident that gave him nightmares and left him with such severe hearing damage that he was currently unable to perform even basic hero duties for his agency – which is why he is sat where he is now, waiting. Hoping the next steps are what could get him back out into the city on normal duty than having his medical leave extended. 

He was losing his mind being left to himself and his thoughts each day, being told by doctors he needed to be still, and take is easy, and he was only losing his patience each subsequent doctor’s appointment that left him no closer to returning to Pro Hero work. 

“Tch,” the blonde ground his teeth as the indignant noise stuck in his throat; he swallowed it down with a harsh gulp. His ears were ringing when the two doctors walked in, eyes unfocused as the room and people in front of him blurred in and out of clarity, everything around him sounded like it was underwater, and he hated it.  

“Mr. Bakugo,” the doctor continued, Katsuki refocusing his attention on the man’s words, annoyed and thinking that Mr. Bakugo is my old man, not me... “we have some support specialists working with the latest auditory data set we took from you and they are getting closer to having a solution to get your hearing back to where it was before, and keep it there – even possibly making it better if all goes to plan.” 

“In the meantime, it is recommended you follow the strict guidelines for allowing your body to heal itself naturally,” the other spoke. “You need to make sure you’re not exceeding the maximum limit for minimal exertion we’ve placed on your physical activity, so you have a better chance of getting back to your pre-incident status.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki sighed out, tired of hearing this same speech each visit. “Don’t overdo it, give my damn body time to heal – I got it.” The two doctors observed Katsuki with cautious eyes, but simply nodded their acceptance of his understanding. It was as good as it was going to get with him. 

“Another suggestion,” one of the two added. “We have provided you with an email detailing a program we’d like you to consider – your colleague Red Riot actually participates and could be a good resource for you if you have any questions about it.” 

“Please take a look when you have a moment and consider this a strong suggestion for helping you progress further in your treatment,” Katsuki eyed the two, irritated at the vagueness of the conversation, but swallowed down his disagreement and simply nodded. 

“Yeah sure,” his chair slid back with a jarring scrape as he stood, moving toward the door to leave, “I’ll read your damn email, but I want progress updates from the support nerds.” He didn’t wait to hear their reply as he pushed through the door and hurried down the hall. He hated hospitals, hated the itch of memory in the back of his mind at the sterilized smell that gave him goosebumps and had him picking up the pace to rush out the side exit before heading to the sidewalk to wait for his friend to come get him after he shot him a text that he was all wrapped up. Another annoying outcome from the accident and the resulting toll on his body – he couldn’t drive himself as it was deemed too unsafe for him.  

Bullshit. 

“Hey Bakubro!” Katsuki’s eyes snapped toward the boisterous voice, seeing his red-headed friend waving his arm out the passenger window of his car. Katsuki ripped the door open and sunk into the passenger seat, Kirishima avoided asking how this appointment went the second he saw Katsuki’s demeanor. The two men drove in silence on the way to Katsuki’s apartment when the silence was cut. 

“Doctors mentioned an email they sent me about this program,” Katsuki tested the water, being unsure what the program his doctors suggested he partake in he wasn’t sure if it was good to bring up with Kirishima at this moment. “They mentioned you’ve taken part in it before... Was curious what it’s all about,” Katsuki wouldn’t add the unspoken because I trust your opinion, but he knew Kirishima knew him and his nuances better than anyone since they’ve been side by side since UA. 

“Program...?” Kirishima wracked his brain for a few minutes until it clicked.  

The Hybrid Rehabilitation Foster Program.  

A program that matches people with hybrids who have been rescued from inhumane circumstances with a person who needs support in their healing journey, and who is believed will benefit from focusing more on rehabilitating another which has been shown to have equally beneficial results with the healing person themselves. Kirishima had first taken part in the program after he was put on medical leave due to a villain fight that nearly left him dead – his body and his mind took almost a full year to heal, and he nearly gave up entirely. On Pro Hero work, on himself... on life. His doctors had mentioned the program and Kirishima wasn’t sure at first – how would he be able to provide a good home to someone who needed stability and support when he could barely pull himself out of bed? He got matched with a wolf hybrid, TetsuTetsu, who had been rescued from an underground fighting ring, having to kill other hybrids just to be able to get locked in a cage alive for another day. TetsuTetsu was surprisingly positive and open for someone who had gone through what he did, but he still had issues – Kirishima slowly helped break him of his more undesirable reactivity and in return TetsuTetsu gave Kirishima a reason to get up every day, make food, go for walks... talk about things that weighed on him, and before he knew it, he was making strides rebuilding his strength with his new training partner. Kirishima still had TetsuTetsu living with him, and Katsuki had met him several times now, but Kirishima never divulged how their relationship came to be – just alluded to him adopting a hybrid in need. 

“Yeah! If it’s the one I’m thinking about it’s a pretty great program,” Kirishima finally spoke. “It’s a rehabilitation program for hybrids who were rescued from bad situations. They place them with a person who they feel would benefit from having something to care for while working on their own journey too.” 

“Tch,” Katsuki snorted out, “sounds like a pain in the ass waste of time.” 

“It’s how I adopted TetsuTetsu,” Kirishima stated out loud for the first time to his friend. Katsuki noted the stiff body language from his friend, knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. “When I was out on leave for that year after...” Kirishima couldn’t finish the thought, the memory still a sore spot. “I was out on leave, and it got bad dude. I really came close to just giving up.” Katsuki had seen his friend in a lot of lights, weak and strong – but Kirishima never revealed what happened after that incident that left him injured when he was on leave for that year. Never thought for a second his life came so close to not having that shitty red hair and sharky smile in it, never thought he’d ever have that brotherhood bond ripped from him. Katsuki swallowed hard, the lump in his throat the size of a boulder.  

“That bad, huh?” Kirishima just flashed a half-smile, watching his friend shift uncomfortably in the seat. 

“Yeah,” Kirishima sighed, “it got pretty bad. I was against the idea at first, not thinking I could take care of someone when I couldn’t do it myself but it’s amazing how your mind overrides itself to keep going for someone else... and having TetsuTetsu around really helped me get back on track to be back where I am now.” 

Katsuki had been chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed into a concentrated death stare before he noticed that they were parked in front of his apartment building. “I do like that annoying rockhead,” Katsuki finally said. Kirishima just laughed and gave a gentle punch to his friend’s shoulder. 

“Just think about it dude,” Kirishima smiled, seeing the cogs turning in Bakugo’s head. “They provide a link to the rescue sight so you can see some of the hybrids they have in their facility right now – and look into next steps if you end up going that route...” Bakugo had stepped out of the car listening to his friends, and before shutting the door with a quick Later, dude Kirishima added - “it’s worth it Bakugo.” 

Slam. 

Kirishima just laughed, watching Bakugo enter his building before pulling away to head back home. Intending to text Bakugo later to see where his head is at and see if he wants to talk more in depth about the program. 

Bakugo made his way up to his apartment – opening the door and stepping into the genkan to slip out of his boots and into his bright crimson and black Red Riot house slippers – a joke gift from his friend but functional enough that Bakugo didn’t mind replacing his old ones with them.  He’d never outwardly admit it but he had a love for sentimentality even when it made him uncomfortable, and Kirishima always had such a shit eating grin on his face when he came over to Bakugo’s house and saw them still being used. 

Bakugo’s apartment was wide open, a minimalistic space with deep chocolate colored wood laminate flooring and a traditional shoji style wall, some actual shoji, and some just styled in a more traditional way with wallpaper and wood accents. The whole living room wall facing out toward Musutafu was made up of large windows that lead to a fairly decently sized balcony with a bonfire and patio set, and down a short hallway was the spare room that currently housed his office where he could complete some more of the menial work from home, and a pull-out couch for guests. His bedroom was an equally large, open space but housed a King-sized bed with plush comforters and pillows, a wall dedicated to All Might memorabilia he collected since he was a child and was connected to a luxury bathroom with a deep tub and natural rock wall shower that doubled as a steam room. 

Bakugo took his time getting showered, changed into loungewear and set to work through some of his most recent light work assignments, and finally his emails where one caught his eye immediately. 

Musutafu Hybrid Rehabilitation Foster Program, LLC <info@MHRFP.jp.com> 

To: Bakugo, Katsuki <explosionmurdergod@endeavoragency.jp.com> 

Tue, Nov 8 at 10:26 AM 

Hello Katsuki Bakugo, 

Congratulations! You have been extended a conditional offer of consideration for adoption as a part of the Hybrid Rehabilitation Program per a request from your medical team at the Musutafu Hero Recuperation Facility. Please note that this adoption offer is contingent upon the completion of the necessary online paperwork and tasks, as well as your attendance to the required hybrid informational seminars prior to the adoption process. Additionally, your offer may be contingent on screening results (e.g., background check, reference check), as applicable for the adoption. 

In advance of you coming to the facility, please follow the link below to complete required paperwork and tasks as stated above. You will also be redirected to our facilities availability calendar to choose a day to come in and tour the facility, speak with staff and begin the introduction process at your convenience. 

Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact the facility and ask to speak to the Managing Director.   

Best regards, 

The M.H.R.F.P. Team 

Bakugo stared at his computer screen for the longest time before deciding to click on the hyperlink that led him to the rescue facilities website. He was on autopilot as he filled out all of the personal information, required questions (both information-gathering and personal) and even wrote in his concerns in a concise manner in a provided box for additional comments before hitting submit and staring as the screen buffered with a loading wheel until it finally read ‘Thank you! A member of our staff will be contacting you shortly to confirm your appointment date!’ He didn’t know why he easily accepted this opportunity despite his growing hesitation, again unsure that he could or should be seeking to take care of something else when he could barely manage to care about himself beyond pushing himself into getting back to his normal Hero work... but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him this was something worth checking out. 

“Hell, if shitty Broomhead can do this program then so can I,” he finally said, shutting his laptop and heading toward his bedroom to sleep.  

Underneath the plush covers, in the darkness of his room, Bakugo drifted off into a dream of what awaited him upon meeting a hybrid. 

[sitronsangbody]

But what about health?? Fine, let’s talk about The Health. Here’s everything I think some of you should know and keep in mind when it comes to health: SOME MYTHS AND MISCONCEPTIONS: - You can’t know someone’s health just by looking at them. You just can’t. And it’s probably not any of your business. - Size is not a reliable indicator of health. There is currently no evidence that being fat in and of itself is bad for you. - Health is not a moral category. - Your body doesn’t need to be The Fittest It Could Possibly Be. What matters is where you need it to get you in life, not some theoretical physical potential. SOME STUFF NOBODY SEEMS TO GRASP: - Health is SO individual. Bodies are complex and incredibly diverse. They come with all sorts of needs and limitations and these fluctuate depending on so many inside and outside factors. We do not all need the same number of calories, the same number of steps, the same amount of rest. And we’re not all supposed to look the same. - More stuff than you probably think is genetic. - Mental health is just as important as physical health, and the two very much impact each other. - Our health is impacted by an array of societal factors beyond our individual control. - Some people will never be healthy for whatever reason, and that doesn’t make them less valuable in any way. SOME STUFF THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT HEALTHY: - Hating yourself. Fat people are constantly encouraged to fight against our weight and size, and it’s statistically a losing battle. One that wreaks havoc on our mental health. - Starving yourself and shutting out your body’s hunger cues. - Minority stress. Discrimination, marginalization and exclusion is not good for you. It impacts you both physically and mentally. In other words: shaming someone does less than nothing for their health. If you’re shaming people because “you worry about their health”, you are actively causing the kind of damage you claim you want to prevent. - Seeing doctors that don’t know enough about the body you have and how symptoms manifest in it. A very real occurrence for many black people, trans people, fat people, disabled people - the list goes on. - Not having universal health insurance SOME THINGS THAT ARE INDEED HEALTHY: - Eating regularly. Eating a variety of foods and food groups. You should find and eat food you like if possible. - Some level of movement regularly. A lot of us already get it at work et cetera. You should move in a way that you enjoy, that does not cause pain. - Staying hydrated. - Getting enough sleep. The amount will vary from person to person. - Resting when you need it. - Brushing your teeth. Wearing sunscreen. - Not overdoing it with drugs and alcohol. - Fresh air. - Being - and feeling - safe. - Love and community. - Being kind to yourself. NOTE: not everyone has access to all of this. People are busy. People are poor. People are sick. People lack accommodations they need. People live in dangerous areas. People are abused and controlled. The world around us has a huge amount of power over our health.

[samonroegf]

⠀ dealer!sam monroe x cheerleader!reader

⠀　　⠀　　⠀ worth the fight

⠀　　⠀　　⠀ series masterlist

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ y/d/n = your dad's name

you wake up to the sound of your mother's shrieking, calling for your father and cursing. you flinch as you wake up, sleep clouding your judgement and understanding.

“what? what? why are we yelling?” you stared at your mother waiting to see what she was yelling about. that's when you remember.

you and sam giggled as you entered through your window, falling onto the bed as you did. the mattress squeaked slightly under the pressure of both of your weights.

“sam, shhh. we can't wake up my parents, I'm supposed to be grounded.” you reprimanded him, to which he just smiled at you. he lounged out on your bed and you knew this was his rightful space. your worry essily subsided, it was so easy for it to whenever he was around.

“eh, I'm not worried about it.” he pulled you against him, you slotted between his legs, just sitting against him comfortably.

your face dropped, your mother still yelling and sam sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. he looked so sweet, you tried not to think about it too much.

“get him out of my house, get out of my house!" your mom is pointing a finger to sam, and that protective nature of yours starts rising again.

“no.” your face went stale, the sight worried sam a little. you were usually so bubbly when he was around.

“what?” your mom's hand falls by her side, just like the other night, she didn't know the person in front of her.

“i said no. this is my house, too. and he's my guest, so he stays.” you were trying so hard to remain calm, choking on your anger. you would teach the entire town that sam was good if you had to. you'd do anything, if it meant you'd keep him by your side.

“i don't want to cause any issues, i can leave?” sam offered. he was chewing on his lip again, bad habits die hard. the anxiety grew in his chest, as you stood up. ready to go head-to-head with your parents.

“shut up.” you and your mother spoke at the same time with polarizing tones. your voice was soft, it said stay. it said i will fix this. your mother's was cold. it said she would never accept this, it said leave.

sam widened his eyes, and went about fiddling with his hands, phone, anything so not to look st the two of you right now. you hated to have him in all of this, but he was finally yours. you weren't gonna just let him go again.

“i refuse to be some girl begging her parents to let her love some boy.” your tone was almost lethal, and anger that's been building for years. building for your entire life. you were done with being some doll to be manipulated to however someone saw fit.

“however, i will tell you this ; if you do not let me, your reputation will never recover. that is a threat. by the time I'm done, no amount of money will fix the damages.” your arms crossed over your chest. your face going completely neutral, an eyebrow quirked.

fear ran over your mother's face, quickly replaced by her own anger. it is the only thing she's ever cared for. your father and her make good face always.

“i will disown you.” she snarled, disgust washing over her face. sam watched this all unfold, and anxiety rests heavy on his shoulders. this was all his fault. but he'd be a damn liar, if he didn't admit that you looked very hot right now.

“do it.” words left you without thought, your mom looked from you to sam and back. he seemed nice enough, considering she didn't actually know anything about him. she's weighing her options, on whether or not the fight was worth her reputation. was worth her relationship with her daughter.

your dad finally walked into the doorway of your room, “is he that important to you?” he spoke lowly, the words cause your mother to whip around. he'd been listening, waiting to see how it played out. but you're winning.

“the most important person in my life." you answered honestly. anger fading for a moment, love blossoming in your ribcage. if you could see sam's face, you'd see he's shocked. he doesn't know what he ever did to deserve you, but he's fucking grateful for it.

“fine. I don't like it, but I'm not losing my only child because my wife wants to seem perfect." your lips quirked into a downward smile, it was all gonna be okay. just as you always knew it would. he looked sternly down at your mother, clearly also tired of her constant bullshit.

“y/d/n. you can't be serious.” your mom's jaw dropped, tears starting to build. her world was crashing around her.

“deadly. choosing between you and her, I'm picking y/n." your dad spoke. his stance now matching your own, his arms crossed his chest.

sam couldn't help but think this is such a odd situation. never in a million years would he ever assume your dad would stick up for the two of you. his lips quirked up only for a second, before falling back into his natural frown.

“i’m going to work." your mom scoffed, storming off. your dad winked at the two of you, held a small thumbs up.

“i'll deal with her. samuel, you better treat her right or i will make you regret it." he flashed a pearly smile and followed after his wife.

you couldn't help but squeal a little, falling back onto your bed. your head landing in sam’s lap. his fingers coming to comb theough the strands.

“am i really worth all this?” insecurity was clear in his voice, he still smiles at you, softly, it's a little sad. he feels so guilty for causing so much tension with your family.

“more than you could ever know. I'm not losing you ever again. you're stuck with me, sammy.” you were cheesing at him, you can't help it. everything was finally falling into place.

“i wouldn't have it any other way.”

[revalition]

OCT 10 - EMPATHY Understand others. Work your mirror neurons.

I really love this guy. Mostly. I rambled about it and then decided to shove it under the cut haha.

So as usual, tons of quotes and rambly commentary under the cut!

empathy!! I love him a lot, he has so much insight to offer. But. I will admit I did not like him at first!

probably not 20 minutes into my first playthrough, I'm on the phone with Sylvie. And yes, fail the empathy check... I'm like oooh no what is wrong with this empathy skill, it's completely broken... why is he *like this*.

but I give him another chance and accept the kingdom of conscience quest! which, uh, made me realize I hate moralism I suppose!!

And then we get to the tribunal... where he very nicely tells you to find a non-violent solution! so I once again. give him a chance (because the only one who dissuades me is half light, who I trust even less) and it ends up in several avoidable deaths... sigh.

he has so much good advice, and invaluable insights into other people. (esp. the working class husband side quest) and then there's these random bad bits mixed in - like all the skills I suppose.

He's like, look at this poor birch tree... and look at this poor dead fly... and I realize this guy is way too much like me. >:(

----

empathy fun facts! from my weird spreadsheet

- he's part of an exclusive group of 8 skills that restore more morale than they damage!

- he says sorry a dozen times and not a single one is directed at you! that's right, he does not apologize to you once!

- he says "we" more than he says "I" (only counting actually referring to himself, not quoting others)

- compared to the other skills I've checked so far, his swearing is at ~3/10 swearing amount edit!! empathy's score is 4.97... a perfectly average amount of swearing

----

here are empathyyy quotes!

this one obviously has to be here. empathy gives a few peeks into Jean's mental state

empathyyyy. interestingly, if empathy doesn't fire here, inland empire will say the exact same thing, word for word

empathy just knows, somehow. it sounds terrible.

kingdom of conscience empathy is so funny. the (only very slowly) at the end always gets me

these guys trying to save you from the evil phone call...

empathy during the tribunal!! at least he can admit when he's wrong... I really felt the limits of empathy's usefulness during my first tribunal. I trusted him and tried to do things peacefully and all that ended up happening was the gardener got shot and I ended up with a bunch of negative modifiers on the bomb throwing check. It's so easy to put some of the skills into the 'good advice' category and forget that they all have a really limited way of viewing the world, and that that impacts their decision making abilities... poor guy.

total annhilation :( as usual, this is in the last dream.

I don't think anyone who even slightly likes empathy wants to look at it, but the Love Quest has to be in here. empathy said it, it's real

these dialogue options...

it's sooo bad. the Love Quest is so painful. euuugh. Empathy is so *enthusiastic* about it too!!

lol.

this one's if you pass the empathy check and then pick the stupid dialogue options he warns you not to pick. you reprimand him sweetie!! empathy almost never reprimands you!

nooo not the cells :((

always love empathy insights into kim!!

another one <3 this one gives you the dialogue option to reassure kim that you'll be able to do it tomorrow

empathyyy :,( I hate (love) you

this is such a cool insight

empathy trying to steer you back... (also rhetoric using them??)

empathy picking up random weird stuff!

I really liked this one. And being able to visit the birch later <3

precious naive empathyy

these two haha

really like this one too. (I like the insects too empathy!! my sweet guy)

viscalc getting distracted by the coins *so* fast, and empathy not letting you forget what you just said haha

empathy is so surprised!

<3

empathy! looking out for everyone

empathy making me feel bad for bringing kim into the room (with the help of savvy and endurance!)

this one's nice too

It really, really is.

Ending it on a sad one today. The working class husband quest is the one part of the game I just can't engage with, which is why lines from it aren't in here. Even though I think it's the place where Empathy really really shines. If you pass the check, it has the one really impactful line - he knows how important your words are, choose them carefully. The failure is incredibly painful too. It's really beautifully done, and I would have absolutely included many of those lines in here if I could.

Anyways, that's sadly 30! I put aside some other nice ones I can share later though. It's a bit hard to find the best of them because the way I usually search for stuff doesn't catch everything... Empathy has so many great lines <3

[good-chimes]

G.I.G.S. PLAY LETHAL COMPANY

STREAM RECAP

Skizz, Grian and Impulse appear in orange spacesuits in a down-at-heel salvage spaceship. They are met with a glowing red display informing them they have 4 days left to meet profit quota.

Impulse makes a good-faith attempt to read the training manual, but this is aggressively ignored by the other two, and even Impulse gives up completely when Scar arrives.

Grian hates that they all look the same and demands they change suits.

They all succeed in changing their suits to exactly the same shade of orange as they have only unlocked one color.

Grian deals with his frustration at being thwarted by jumping over the railing of their ship as it starts to land shouting WHEE!

Skizz: Did he just jump?

Grian: [has sustained enormous amounts of fall damage] MY LEGS

Eventually they discover the main point of the game, a mysterious abandoned facility.

Grian: HEEEEEEE [jumps over the railing into the depths of the facility]

Grian has died.

Grian’s ghost commands the ship to leave early.

The whole party are left by Grian to perish on a hostile planet.

Skizz: So, what did we learn?

Scar & Impulse together: Nothing.

Grian: Falling hurts?

Impulse discovers a valve he can’t pull. Scar asks if he needs a man to come down and pull his valve. Scar finds he cannot pull the valve either and suggests maybe we need someone else to come down and crank it.

Scar: Should we have left Grian to his own devices? [This is slander, Grian has begun to find valuable items for the crew.]

Scar and Skizz are eaten by sand monsters.

Scar and Skizz attempt to abandon the others but Impulse and Grian make it back in time.  

Grian: I can’t believe how bad we are at this.

1 day left to meet profit quota.

New planet! it is raining. Scar and Skizz get lost on an old rail track for about five minutes. When they return, they find the mysterious splattered corpses of their dead friends.

Both of them stand there inspecting the mysterious splattered corpses of their dead friends beside an inexplicable jar of pickles. Scar picks up a corpse. Skizz retrieves the pickles.

Scar get splattered by exactly the same monster as the other two, in the same place, doing the same thing.

Skizz: I saved the pickles!

Impulse’s ghost:  Really? 😒

0 days left to meet profit quota.

Argument over the value of pickles all the way back to the company planet, where a small window with a bell is apparently where to sell their stuff. Impulse tells the others to ring the bell and stand back. A dark force scythes out of the window and consumes their scrap. They return to orbit.

Ship: YOU HAVE NOT ACHIEVED YOUR PROFIT QUOTA. WELCOME TO OUR DISCIPLINARY CLASSES.

The airlock opens and sucks the whole party out into the airless void.

Impulse: Noooooooo!

Scar: Did we get spaced!?

Grian: [in a tone that suggests he thinks the Company have a point about incompetence] We’re being disciplined. In space.

Scar: I don’t like our boss.

Grian announces that he has a NEW STRATEGY. We stick together, we find stuff together, and we leave together.

Grian immediately runs off after landing.

Impulse: I think he’s dead.

Scar: Have faith in him, he’s British.

Grian: [reappears] The profit quota is 130 credits. We can do this if we do it PROPERLY. [These are rich words for a man who has jumped unnecessarily to his death several times.]

However, Grian is absolutely determined they are going to succeed. He finds a whole scrap engine. Meanwhile Scar, wondering if he will ever find anything of value, is delighted to find and recover an ominously glowing light.

Skizz: [hearing the new hum] What did you do?

Scar: I salvaged a lightbulb!

Impulse: YOU TURNED ON THE RADIATION, SCAR.

Scar: That wasn’t me, that was…Grian.

They have collected a big metal cog, an engine, Scar’s ominously glowing lightbulb, and miscellaneous junk. Skizz has died again. In site of Grian’s agitation for efficiency, they are still a few credits short of the quota. They are once more sucked through the airlock into the cold void of space.

Impulse: AUGH!

Skizz: OH NO COME ON.

Grian: [disgusted] We deserved it.

New planet again! They are definitely going to do things better and more efficiently this time.

Impulse: I’ve bought four flashlights! We should see a rocket landing to give them to us.

The rocket arrives playing a jaunty ice-cream truck tune. Skizz welcomes it by standing under it and yelling.

Skizz is killed by the rocket.

Scar: That’s so sad. [steals his flashlight]

Scar has found a horn

Grian: I think—

HORN NOISE

Grian: I think I’m going—

HORN NOISE

Grian: …

HORN NOISE

Grian: I’m going back to the ship.

HORN NOISE HORN NOISE HORN NOISE

Skizz: Well at least I always know where Scar is now

HORN NOISE

Grian: [back at the ship] SCAR I’m going to have to ask you to DROP THE HORN.

Scar will not drop the horn. They travel to company planet to sell. Visibly at the end of his rope, Grian finally convinces Scar to put down the horn.

Grian immediately steals the horn for himself and starts using it.

The next mysterious abandoned facility has nothing to offer but a very difficult parkour jump over a dizzying drop.

Grian: We gotta do the jump.

Impulse successfully makes the jump and gets to the other side. A giant braineating slug instantly drops on his head. The others assist him via encouraging shouts of ‘look at that idiot!’. Eventually it is decided there has to be a rescue party. The other three make the jump and try ineffectually punching the slug (Scar: BANG HIM. JUST BANG HIM!) The slug finishes eating Impulse’s brain and starts eating Grian’s. (Grian: IT’S ON ME). Scar attempts to pick up Grian’s body. The slug lands on Scar. The slug eats Scar’s brain while Skizz runs away and starts the ship.

Skizz: [having abandoned all his friends to die and failed to pick up any scrap] A grade D? This is outrageous.

Scar picks up the horn again in revenge.

They return to the company planet. Grian rings the bell several times to sell their stuff.

An eldritch tentacle monstrosity eats Grian.

Impulse: There was a bell. You knew he was going to press the button too many times.

Scar: WHY DO WE WORK FOR SOMEBODY LIKE THIS.

Newly resurrected, Grian proposes for their next run on a new planet they buy some flashlights. Impulse proposes that they save the money as they will probably die and need them on a future mission. Skizz proposes they buy Impulse some OPTIMISM and BELIEF IN HIS TEAM. This motion is carried.

Scar proposes they all take a moment to remember the airhorn and how fun it was. This motion is summarily discarded.

Grian jumps into a sand creek in his great excitement at the arrival of the ice-cream truck supply rocket and slowly falls to his death shrieking HELP ME.

Impulse: I’M HELPING [Impulse also slowly falls to his death]

Skizz: Here’s the ice-cream truck!

They were too slow and the rocket has left without giving them the flashlights.

In an act of protest at being a ghost, Grian starts playing a Switch game with the music up and his mic on.

Scar dies to another carnivorous slug and Impulse and Grian’s ghosts tell the ship to take off and let Skizz perish on the hostile planet, leaving once more with no scrap and a mission grade of F.

Scar: We’re all dead.

Impulse, the man who originally threw away the instruction manual: Maybe we should read up and see if there’s something we missed about this game.

Scar: I liked the air horn.

Impulse: … What if we played Phasmophobia instead?

[licorice-and-rum]

Gale and Revolutionary Hate

Okay, it's been a while since I last spoke about THG but I'll give it a try because I've been thinking a lot about this matter.

It's been a while since I saw someone on TikTok defending Gale because, if I remember correctly, he was somewhat of a true revolutionary. The person meant that Gale not only believed in the Revolution but also thought violence was justified for it and although I don't disagree with it - I do think violence is justified in the face of oppression - I think this person forgot a crucial part of what is needed in a Revolution: organizing.

When Marx first brought up the idea of hatred as fuel for the Revolution, what he meant wasn't scorching and annihilating the enemies but using the hatred (born out of indignation for our oppression) as motivation to organize. Organization means being able to get together, form a community, and with that be capable of resisting capitalistic oppression.

And that's exactly what is lacking in Gale.

Don't get me wrong, there is a tremendous anti-violence message in Hunger Games - although I attribute it more to the trauma Katniss goes through because of it (which is warranted) than any ideological point Collins could be trying to make. And that message is definitely not one to pass when the motives of the Revolution are fair but anyhow, the point is: message or no message, I still believe Gale isn't a good example of a revolutionary.

That's because Gale, although filled with an appropriate amount of hatred to fuel a Revolution, lacks another essential aspect of a revolutionary, one Che Guevara puts quite well: "The true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality."

That's because love is the thing that should be at the core of your hatred. Otherwise, we fall into a trap: in our hatred and need to destroy our enemies, we forget why we're fighting in the first place - the people who are oppressed by this enemy.

So the fact that Gale is willing to go so far as to explode the people out of the mountain on District 2, that he'd bomb the Capital with no care for the people who are there on the side of the revolution but unable to get to the other side of the fight, is what makes him a bad revolutionary.

Because his hatred isn't filled with the notion of community, he sees anyone who doesn't rebel loudly and proudly as an enemy, which simply isn't true. Not everyone will help the Revolution by making a fuss, or by fighting, not everyone can do that. Gale's unwillingness to understand so shows that his hatred isn't founded in any idea of community between the oppressed or love for the people he's a part of but actually is founded in personal offense of the Capital against him and the people he cares about.

Although that's a valid sentiment if your motivations are wrong, so will your actions.

And that's why I think Prim (in the films) and Peeta are the closest thing to a good revolutionary we've got there:

Prim understands there's a reason for violence, which she doesn't partake in not because she thinks it is wrong but simply because it's not her. More than that, Prim's capacity to empathize isn't blurred by her need to survive like Katniss's (understandably so, of course) so she is able to see the people who become collateral damage with kindness and openness that lack in Gale, for example.

Peeta is the same: he understands the necessity of violence but he won't partake in it unless it's the only way (which reminds me of Fidel Castro's quote: "Revolutionaries didn't choose armed struggle as the best path, it's the path the oppressors imposed on the people. And so the people only have two choices: to suffer or to fight"). Peeta chooses to be kind but his violence stems from the hatred this very kindness creates.

So no, I don't think Gale is a good revolutionary regardless of how The Hunger Games was written.

I really like how this is structured by the way lol (:

[hard--headed--woman]

I briefly talked about it with someone here and it made me think so much that I had to make a post about it - why don't misandrist men get as much hate as misandrist women ?

They are men who think men are horrible and say it. Yet they do not receive the same amount of hate as a feminist saying "I hate men".

There's an example that I find interesting and that I thought I'd share : some decades ago, a very famous leftist french singer, Renaud, made a song that quickly became very popular and loved. It's called "Miss Maggie" and it basically says that men are trash and that women are superior. The thing is, absolutely everyone praises him for it and loves that song. I guess there are some conservatives and incels who hate it, but the vast majority of the country, men and women, loves it ; people say Renaud is amazing and a genius for writing it and that the song is wonderful. Here is a link if you want to listen to it :

(He also criticizes Margaret Tatcher in that song but I won't talk about it in this post because it's not the point).

Here are some lyrics (with the english translation) just so you understand what I'm talking about :

(Bourgeois women or whores

Who are often the very same

Normal women, stars or uglies

Females of all kinds, I love you

Even to the worst moron

I dedicate these few verses

Born of my disgust for men

And their warrior morality

Because no woman on the planet

Will ever be more stupid than her brother

Nor prouder nor more dishonest)

(Woman I love you because

When sport becomes war

There are no chicks, or very few

In the hordes of fans

Crazy fanatics

Drunk on hate and beer

Defying the morons in blue

Insulting the bastards in green)

(The atomic bomb

Didn't come from a female brain

And no woman has on her hands

The blood of Native Americans.

Palestinians and Armenians

Testify from their graves

That genocides are a male thing

Like SS, bullfighters

In this fucking humanity

Murderers are all brothers

Not a woman to compete)

(Woman I love you, above all, at last

For your weakness and for your eyes

When a man's only strength

Is his gun or his cock

And when the last hour comes

Hell will be full of morons

Playing soccer or war

Playing who pisses the farthest)

Everyone loves that song and Renaud didn't receive any hate for writing it. Now imagine if a woman had written it? Just imagine the amount of hate a female singer would receive if she wrote a song like this. That could ruin her carreer and I am not exaggerating.

Renaud is also known for saying other misandrist things. I remember watching an interview with him, in which he's said that "Women are always there to heal wounds, repair damage, get things done... Unfortunately, there are still too few of them in important positions where they can participate in decision-making", "The oldest form of discrimination is discrimination against women. They are the first group we decided to hate and oppress", "Politicians and religions don't want to let women be more than virgins or whores. They don't want to let them be human beings, women, fulfilled people, with a personality, who work...", "It's not long since women have had the right to vote in France. And what's more, when I see women voting for a man, it gives me the same feeling as if I saw a crocodile going to a leather shop of its own free will...".

And in the comments, absolutely everyone was praising him, calling him a king, an angel and what not. No one to call him names or to tell him horrible things. No one to act as if he's said the craziest thing ever, no one to act as if he committed a crime. Sure some people disagree and insult women, but there is not a lot of hatred against him. Again, a woman would have received a lot of hate if she had said things like that. Just read what men have to say about Delphine Seyrig criticizing the patriarchy and the "indifference of men".

The point of that post isn’t to say that Renaud is The Feminist Ally, that he's perfect and one of the good guys or whatever. I just want to point out that a man criticizing men, saying he hates them, calling out their behaviour (and even saying women are superior!) will never receive the same amount of hate as a woman barely saying "I hate men" or ever way "nicer" things. Sounds like everyone knows why we hate men and even agrees with us deep inside, and just hate when women speak up about it. Sounds like they don't have a problem with misandry but with women 🤷🏽‍♀️

[sanctus-ingenium]

i answer your asks vol... 6?

This one made me actually consider how they balance the humours beyond just a simply "they scour it out". Because sometimes a holy beast gets 'sick' and it's not necessarily related to any sort of tissue growth, it's more often a mechanical fault and because the beast is considered to be alive, he is then therefore 'sick'. So how do we deal with this? An enginesmith will make the necessary repairs, but sometimes the sickness is related to environmental conditions. The four humours are arranged on a scale like this:

A mechanical fault associated with being too hot and dry could be something like a lack of lubrication on moving machine parts. So this would be considered the reason for a production of yellow bile (excess of yellow bile, btw, was what Pantera was diagnosed with on his last outing). Whether or not the bile is literal or more symbolic depends on the case. Anyway this was the reason Pantera is associated with fire (originally, when I was designing them all) and Leun, diametrically opposite, is associated with phlegm, water, acid, etc.

But anyway, the way to fix these imbalances in hot/cold/wet/dry is to simply reduce whichever one is excessive. In practice, keeping holy beasts maintained even when they're not out on a crusade is a full time job for an army of workers, where the atmospheric conditions need to be as neutral as possible. Too wet and you've got rust, too dry and the metal fatigues, to hot and it might warp and break, too cold and the joints won't fit properly, etc etc. Although the enginesmiths view this through a lens of The Four Humours, it's also just good practice to try to keep things balanced.

Btw while they do cure an excess of blood by bleeding the holy beast, they don't make leeches big enough :'(

-

There are illustrated representations of dragons that are pretty traditionally dragony (typically a winged serpent with many tails representing the stinging tendrils). These are added to drawings and art as a catch-all symbol for a conscious and targeted Evil. The laity, which is very devout, is unlikely to associate dragons with resistance - dragons cause a lot of damage too, and those stinging barbs will kill you just from the trauma of the impalement before the venom even has a chance to (unless you just get grazed, in which case.. the venom will paralyse you. then kill you)

So active rebellions/civil wars/wars of succession have occurred many times. The subjugated Midaean nation/territory (depending on who you ask) rallies around their beloved Saint Lycaon, a wolf. Flags and signs depicting a wolf devouring a crocodile/a lion/whatever holy beast currently tops the hierarchy of the church would be more likely. Rebellion itself is rarely black and white and as neat as picking a symbol the church hates. It is more likely people would pick a symbol that they love. Outside of Midea, the Mezian empire might not be at its peak but it also has not given its own citizens and laity a reason to take up arms against it.

at the start of the story, at least

-

awesome questions thank you @curious-sootball !

So the nerve cords inside the vertebrae are artificial, but they still perform the same physiological function as a real spinal column. They interface with a knight's dialogue. This produces an incredible amount of heat - this is why the spines are often exposed, even though that might be a point of vulnerability. The spinous processes in particular are very effective heat sinks.

But the tail? In most cases we don't need the tail, really. The spinal column ends at the base of the pelvis. The tail is cropped for most beasts on purpose - we don't need this thing dangling around and becoming entangled, and it has no machinery around it to act as replacement muscles so it couldn't move even if they wanted it to. Krokodilos's tail is the exception and it's just extremely heavy for not much pay off. That's a lot of additional engines we gotta maintain.

So the tail tends to be abandoned. The bones are kept of course but not mounted on the chassis where they're not needed. With no nerve cord running through them they don't run hot either so they won't disperse heat all that well.

Now for replacing bones... they don't. The bones that exist in the chassis are the bare minimum needed to perform the required functions - basic movement. They don't have ribs, they often don't have phalanges. A skull is there to complete the nerve cord - but all you need of that skull is the occipital bone. Nothing more.

If they break a leg, it might be repaired using screw and plate fixation. The bone may deign to knit together (enginesmiths swear that they don't allow tissue growth ever.. but sometimes you need some periosteum. Don't tell the bishops). But if it gets crushed? That's the holy beast done, scrap heap time. The majority of all holy beasts that have ever existed have already broken down and been decommissioned at the start of this story - we only have seven left (eight if you count krokodilos). Krokodilos is an unusual case because he is not dead, so they can't just hold a state funeral and add his heart engine block to the big hall of old hearts in the cathedral. He's sleeping.

But he's the exception. Take Saint Guinefort - dead as a doornail. He had a full funeral, his heart was put in the hall and his body was [redacted] like they do with all dead holy beasts. And then he was [redacted] and now our pal "Sir Victory" with the metal arm uses him as Nosewyse. Circle of life.

I think sidecar motorcycle is a pretty apt way of looking at him lmao. You don't wanna know how many people he's cooked.

-

Hey there! So I know I've mentioned they are similar to pterosaurs but they are not related to them at all. In fact they are cetaceans :) Later art I did of them plays up the mammal traits a bit more. Check out these nipples

However it is a fact that they are not closely related to modern cetaceans - as in, they did not evolve from modern whales and dolphins, but belong to a side branch that diverged relatively early, around the same time dragons were leaving the water for the skies. That art is quite old too, from before I kind of nailed it all down, so if I drew them now I would remove the more derived traits (i.e the single blowhole, the tail flukes, etc) and tidy it up a little. They diverged from the lineage that would become modern whales before the pelvic limbs were lost. I originally depict them having the crowbar-like claws on their feet to lever skin parasites off the dragon, but i think they are more likely to not use their feet much at all, and are more likely to use their single huge beak-like tooth to do the job instead. They cannot walk on flat surfaces.

-

Only insects and, specifically, winged insects :) I know it would be really cool to have various other giant arthropods but milennia ago, when they crossed into Thera for the first time, insects were the only fliers. And there is no other way to get over the mountain range quickly enough for it not to kill you. The mountain range in which the endless city sits is completely and 100% devoid of life. A journey on foot for a tiny bug would be next to impossible - they are more likely to starve or simply turn around and go back to where the food is.

The winged insects, otoh, can cross the range in a day or less, if the breeze is flowing right. And they would find plants already there in Thera - also solely wind-dispersed species from the previous time the mountains arrived and linked the world with Earth. The insects didn't really come by choice, sometimes the wind just blows the wrong way, but they definitely got lucky.

There are wingless insects in Thera today but only because they lost that trait over time (like ants or larviform female beetles). They have managed to colonise every reasonable habitat, including the sea (though the sea is not very salty) and have developed into a lot of very strange forms which might be unrecognisable to us. But a lot of them just got bigger and smarter.

This time round, in the period of time the story is set (early 1900s on earth), the mountains appeared and new animals crossed over who were not insects. Birds have become invasive in Thera, happily taking advantage of the smaller insect species who are completely unprepared for this new threat. There are also some wind-dispersed spiders hanging out now.

EDIT: oh i forgor the parasites on the flying insects that first colonised thera... yes they would have mites and horsehair worms and things of that nature