#i think tumblr is chewing on this ah well

[meamiki]

5% of a color headcanon.... two versions since b&w emphasizes the dagger more i think but i still like the warm tones ASFSADA

i am not biased towards rainbow daggers whatsoever i promise (lie)

((also friend is streaming now and im there too!! bit more info linked here, its rated mature tho))

[dandylovesturtles]

And here it is, part 4 of the Room Fic! ...or well. part of part 4.

see, Part 4 is going to be pretty long and take me awhile, so I decided to release it on tumblr as I go, in parts. and since we're already in a numbered list, I'll go by letters now. So this is Part 4 Part A!

it's fine, it makes sense!

I'm going to release it here on tumblr in parts, and then when it's all done I'll put it on AO3, and probably do some proper editing and may add/fix some things up once the whole thing is written. So consider this a semi-WIP. but I doubt it will change much because I usually don't change things too much after I finish writing them haha

anyway, hope you enjoy!

content warnings: discussions of food issues, anxiety, aftermath of torture

also, if you're confused, start here!

-----

Raph spots the change in Leo’s train car on the way to breakfast. He stops and tries to make sense of it for a minute, before making his way to the kitchen.

Mikey is already there, as is Splinter, making some tea. “Morning!” Mikey trills, scraping some scrambled eggs into a big platter.

“Mornin’,” Raph echoes back. He meant to sound neutral at worst, but his tone still earns a worried look from Mikey.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” Raph says quickly. “I just… noticed Leo did some redecorating.”

“Oh, yeah…” Mikey chews on his lip. “What’s up with that?”

“I dunno, but it makes Raph uneasy.”

“What is it?” asks Splinter, looking at them each in turn. 

“Leo covered up all his windows,” Mikey tells him.

“Ah, I see.” Splinter sets cups in front of them, followed by the tea pot. “I will go check on him.”

Splinter leaves Mikey and Raph looking at each other uncertainly.

“Why would he need the windows covered?” asks Mikey. “What does he need to hide from here?”

“I dunno, Mike.” Raph sighs. “I guess he doesn’t feel safe yet.”

“But he’s home,” Mikey insists. “He’s with us.”

“Yeah,” says Raph, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I told him to talk to us if anything’s bothering him.” Mikey taps the spatula against the empty skillet. “He said he would, but…”

Raph doesn’t know if he should feel surprised or not. “He hasn’t talked to you about anything?”

Mikey scowls. “Nothing important,” he says.

Raph chuckles. “Well, you are his little brother-“

“I’m not that little!” Mikey snaps, throwing the spatula down and rounding on Raph. 

Raph’s a little surprised by the sudden anger. Sure, Mikey has been insisting on his independence more and more, but this is more aggressive than usual.

“Raph didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, but Mikey doesn’t stop glaring. Raph is saved by Splinter’s return.

“He is sleeping quite soundly,” their dad announces, hopping up onto a stool and grabbing for the platter of eggs. “He was even drooling a bit.” Splinter chuckles.

“Okay, but you’re going to ask about it when he wakes up, right?” asks Mikey.

“No.” Splinter scoops the eggs onto his plate. “If he wants to explain, he will.”

“You don’t think it’s… I dunno. Concerning?” Raph asks.

“It is not hurting anyone. And it has helped your brother sleep. There’s nothing wrong with it,” says Splinter, and it has an air of finality.

Mikey looks unsatisfied with that outcome, but he doesn’t say anything. He fixes a plate for Leo and puts it into the microwave for safekeeping.

Raph isn’t sure where he lands. All he knows is that he sure as heck isn’t going to be the one to ask about it.

-----

Leo comes in about twenty minutes later, after they’ve already finished eating. He’s still wearing his pajamas, one of his thinner throw blankets, with the Jupiter Jim logo, pulled around his shoulders like a shawl. If you focus on his torso, he almost looks like a healthy teenager, thanks to his shell.

But his hands are still drawn and thin where they grip the fabric, his wrists bony where they peek out of his sleeves. His cheeks are still sunken in and his skin hasn’t regained its usual vibrancy. And there’s a subtle shake to his movements, like the effort it took to walk from his room to the kitchen was immense.

Oh, and there’s the absolutely devastated look on his face when he sees the empty plates.

Raph remembers, again, when Leo had practically begged them not to let him sleep through breakfast in the motel, and he feels a sick twist of his stomach.

“Geez, you guys didn’t leave any for me?” he asks, and his voice sounds light and joking and completely at odds with the expression on his face. Raph is pretty sure Leo doesn’t even know he looks like that; their self-appointed face man, who usually has so much control over his appearance, not even aware of how far his heart has slipped onto his sleeve.

“We have you a plate right here,” says Mikey, scrambling to open the microwave. “Want me to warm it up any?”

“No,” says Leo a little too quickly. His eyes stay locked on the plate even as he pulls on a smile that is so carefree it’s in obvious opposition with the rest of him. “I’m sure it’s fine - thanks, Angelo.”

Mikey tries to smile as he hands the lukewarm plate of eggs and toast to Leo. Leo takes it and grabs his fork with urgency he tries not to show. His bites are so steady and evenly paced that Raph bets he could clap the beat out if he wanted to - Leo doing all he can not to look like he’s scarfing.

Okay, so Leo clearly isn’t better yet; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Any conversations Raph wants to have about what happened in that room will have to wait. That’s okay - he can be patient.

To keep from watching too obviously, he takes out his phone. April texted the group chat twenty minutes ago, saying she had some homework to catch up on but she’ll be coming over later today. Raph’s glad, because having her around keeps them all in better spirits. He spends way longer than necessary trying to find the exact gif to use as a reaction to the news.

“Can I have another piece of toast?” Leo asks, pulling Raph’s attention from his phone. He’s already eaten the ones Mikey gave him, and about half his eggs. He taps his fork against the empty half of his plate at a quick pace.

Is this the first time Leo has actually asked for something outright? Raph isn’t sure.

Mikey grimaces and checks his phone. “Barry said to give you that much… Oh, but if you’re still hungry, you can have yogurt!”

He opens the fridge to retrieve it. Leo scowls, scooping up a bite of eggs with more force than before, the scrape of metal on porcelain.

“Barry said,” he grumbles. “How long do we gotta listen to that guy?”

“He’s doing a lot of work to help you, Leo,” says Raph. “He seems to know what he’s talkin’ about.”

“Aw, come on. It’s one piece of toast!” Leo leans toward Mikey. “It’s not gonna hurt me!”

His voice is light, almost joking, but he’s doing it again: that sad, pitiful look. Raph is sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

It feels impossible to deny that face. Raph looks at Mikey, who looks back at him, both of them equally unsure.

“Well…” says Mikey weakly, glancing back toward the toaster. He’s going to give in, and Raph can’t blame him. Splinter doesn’t step in to help, either. “Barry said…”

Leo smiles. It looks almost manic. “What Draxum doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says in a singsong.

“What won’t I know?”

Raph jumps. Everyone jumps - some family of ninja they are.

Draxum stands at the foot of the escalator into their makeshift kitchen, arms folded. Raph has to hold back a sigh of relief, and he sees Mikey’s shoulders sag in turn. Leo scowls, whirling to glare at Draxum.

“Oh, come on!” he snaps. “Don’t you have other teenagers to torture today?”

“It’s Saturday,” says Draxum, crossing the room to sit at a chair. “So you have the benefit of my full attention.”

“Auuugh,” Leo groans, slumping dramatically at the table, and ignoring the effect his casual use of the word torture has had on everyone else in the room. Raph feels ill. Mikey looks it.

“Can Blue have another piece of toast?” Splinter asks, cutting through the awkward silence that follows this. He sounds almost annoyed as Leo, but as far as Raph can tell he’s letting Draxum take the lead on this one. Raph wonders if they’ve talked about it without him or his brothers around.

“Hmmm…” Draxum looks at Leo’s plate, considering. “Finish your eggs and yogurt first. If you’re still hungry, you may have another piece. But only if you’re hungry.” His expression turns even more stern, leveled directly at Leo. “Do not eat if your stomach is full. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m not gonna make myself sick,” Leo argues.

“Hmph,” says Draxum, the short noise coated thick in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything more. Leo goes back to his rhythmic eating.

Raph grabs the empty plates from Mikey and Splinter and takes them to wash. Anything to keep himself from staring at Leo. And it’s his lucky day: there’s a whole stack of a distraction waiting for him in the sink. He runs the hot water and gets to work.

“Morning, family,” comes Donnie’s sleepy voice a few minutes later. Raph doesn’t look, and he doesn’t have to, because Donnie characteristically beelines straight for the coffee pot on the counter. Raph knew he went to his room after their talk in the lab the day before, but he’s not sure how much sleep Donnie actually got.

He leans sluggishly against the counter and checks his phone while the coffee brews. Raph keeps his focus on the dishes. Leo finishes his eggs and Draxum agrees to half a piece of toast - Mikey scrapes his stool against the floor as he jumps up to make it.

Donnie fills his mug and immediately takes a drink with no fear of scalding his mouth. Then he turns around and says, “Why’d you cover all the windows in your train car, Leo?”

Raph fumbles and drops the dish he had just pulled from the soapy water - thankfully it doesn’t break on the way down. Next to him, Mikey freezes. The toaster dings into the silence.

“Oh, that,” says Leo, nonchalant. Raph doesn’t turn around, so he has no idea if his face matches his tone this time. “I was just trying to envision how the room would look with curtains.”

“Using towels?”

“What can I say, I’m a visual guy.”

“Hmm…” Donnie pushes off the counter and disappears from Raph’s view. “Well, did you decide you want curtains?”

“Uh, yeah… I think it would really up the feng shui in the joint! And our old rooms didn’t have any windows, so too much light gets into the train car when I’m trying to sleep, anyway.”

The argument rolls so naturally off Leo’s tongue that Raph is impressed.

“Okay,” says Donnie simply. “I can install curtain rods in your room later. I actually have some leftover scrap metal that I’ve been trying to find a purpose for, and I think it will work well for this.”

“Really? You’ll do it today?”

“Yes. I don’t have anything else on my to-do list… that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Leo chuckles, but he sounds genuinely happy when he says, “Thanks, Dee.”

“And I have some leftover fabric I can sew into curtains,” Splinter adds. “You can use them until you’re well enough to find some you prefer.”

“Yeah? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Blue! It will be a nice little project to keep my old hands busy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” says Leo sincerely. There’s some shifting around like he’s getting an ever-coveted Splinter Hug. It lasts a beat longer than those hugs normally do. Raph can’t blame his dad - if he could, he’d pick Leo up and never let him go again.

He hears a clink next to him and turns his head. Mikey has buttered Leo’s toast, but now he’s standing still, a pensive frown on his face, the butter knife clenched in his fist.

“Hey, Leo,” he says, turning around, and Raph senses danger. He turns around, too, watching as Mikey approaches the table. “Is that the only reason you want curtains?”

Leo looks between the toast and Mikey’s face. He tenses up, the empty yogurt cup crinkling in his grip. “Yeah, that’s all,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Mikey asks. He still has the half slice of toast in his hands. Leo’s eyes keep catching on it.

“What’s there to be sure about, Miguel?” he asks. “It’s just curtains. Lots of people have ‘em.”

“It’s just that you never said anything about it before. And now suddenly you need curtains today?” Mikey’s hands wave and take the toast with them - Leo’s eyes track the movement. “You told me, if anything is-“

“Michelangelo,” says Splinter sternly, making everyone jump for the second time this morning. “That is your brother’s toast - give it to him.”

Mikey seems to remember the food in his hands at that exact moment. He grimaces, quickly depositing the toast onto Leo’s plate. Leo’s face has that sad, desperate quality to it again as he grabs the toast in his fingers, like he has to make sure no one else will take it.

Mikey backs away from the table, crestfallen. The silence that ensues is uncomfortable again.

“Uh… well I think the curtains will look great!” says Raph. “Snazzy!”

Snazzy? Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky help him.

“…Thanks, Raph,” says Leo, and takes a bite of toast. It doesn’t have the same warmth from before, and the awkwardness is thick now.

Raph dries the dish he has in his hands and sets it on the counter, pops the drain plug, and quicksteps for the doorway.

“I’m going to do my morning training!” he calls, to convince everyone, especially himself, that he isn’t running away.

-----

Leo sits alone in his dad’s recliner, staring very hard at the opposite wall and willing himself not to barf.

The piddling amount of eggs and toast he ate at breakfast would not have been enough to fill him up even three weeks ago, but now it’s stuffed his shrunken stomach. The truth is, he’d been full when he bargained with Draxum for another piece of toast, but he hadn’t been willing to let the fight go.

Besides, he doesn’t know when he’ll get food next. And better to be overfull than hungry.

He’s being dramatic, of course. He’ll get food at lunch… probably. No, definitely, because he’s home and his family would never deny him food.

Except, the way Mikey had held his toast and demanded answers about the curtains…

Leo really thought he had gotten away with it, too. No one said anything until Donnie did, and Donnie had seemed completely convinced by Leo’s casual responses! But of course Mikey saw through him. Mikey’s as keen when it comes to people as Leo himself is, but where Leo uses that insight to manipulate and obfuscate, Mikey uses it to tear open, to expose.

Leo will have to watch out, next time. He can’t let half-thought through excuses stand between him and food.

Not that they’d actually keep food from him. Because they love him and they’re his family. He’s just being weird again.

Still…

His stomach gurgles uncomfortably, and Leo grips the arms of the chair. He really doesn’t want to throw up. Besides the mess he’ll make of the recliner, and the unpleasantness of the sensation, he doesn’t want to lose everything he ate earlier. He still doesn’t know when he’s going to eat again. If he loses it here, he’ll truly have nothing.

“Blue? Are you alright?”

He turns his head. Splinter is standing by the chair, looking up at him. It occurs to Leo he didn’t actually ask if he could sit here, and he starts to push himself up.

“I can get in a beanbag-”

“No no, it’s alright,” says his dad, hopping up onto the chair to join Leo. He does it so lightly the recliner barely jostles. “You’re alright, Blue. Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Leo does as he’s told, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He wonders how his dad seems to know the problem without having to be told - from raising four children alone, most likely. After a moment, he feels the chair move, the back reclining and the footrest coming up under his legs. Then furry hands gently tug his blanket from around his shoulders and spread it out over his whole body.

“There we go,” says Splinter after that’s done. “Are you comfy, Blue?”

All Leo can do is give a tiny nod of his head; anything more aggravates the nausea. It seems Splinter understands, though, as he hums approvingly and hops off the chair.

“What’s wrong?” asks a new voice, and Leo grits his teeth. He doesn’t move from his spot, though.

“Blue just needs some rest,” says Splinter.

“He ate too much, didn’t he?” Draxum asks, tone irritated. “I told him not to have more unless he was actually hungry-”

“Stop,” Splinter commands, in that firm tone that can’t be argued with. “We will talk about this later.”

Leo wonders if he’s included in the we. But Draxum grumbles something under his breath and retreats, leaving Leo and his dad alone again.

“Don’t worry about him,” says Splinter, moving to turn on the projector. “I’ll deal with it. You just get some rest, Blue.”

He turns on one of his stories on low volume, then climbs back into the chair and settles in beside Leo. The soft whir of the projector, the quiet voices of the actors, and his dad’s breathing lull him into a doze. The nausea, eventually, passes.

-----

After his workout, Raph goes to check on everyone again. It’s becoming a routine.

Splinter’s loud snores lead Raph to him and Leo, both sound asleep in the recliner in the TV room. Raph would wonder how Leo can sleep through that, but he remembers that their dad’s snores used to be piped directly into his room in their old lair. If anything, this is probably nostalgic for him.

Draxum’s in the kitchen. Apparently they’re stuck with him for the weekend. Raph decides not to say anything to him and slips away before he’s noticed.

Now to find his other little brothers. He heads straight for the lab first, already knowing it’s where Donnie would be at this time of day, even if he hadn’t promised to make curtain rods for Leo.

He has to go through the same song and dance as the day before with the voice lock, but the door slides open soon enough, and Raph walks in on an argument. At least he won’t have to go searching for Mikey.

“-don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it,” Donnie is saying. He’s bent over his workbench, goggles pulled down, soldering iron in hand but not on. “It’s just curtains.”

“Because everyone’s acting like it’s not weird!” Mikey argues. He spins on his heel, looking at Raph beseechingly. “Raph, you agree with me, right!?”

“Raph just got here,” Raph says, folding his arms. “Mind filling me in on what we’re arguing about?” Even though he already has a good guess.

“We aren’t arguing,” says Donnie, at the same time Mikey snaps, “Leo, duh!” Donnie sighs, raising his goggles and turning around.

“Mikey is upset that I’m making Leo the curtain rods he asked for.”

“I’m not upset about the curtain rods! But you’re all acting like this is totally normal!”

“Curtains are normal!”

“Leo asking for the curtains is not normal,” Mikey presses. “What does he even need them for!? We live underground!”

“He complained about the light coming through the windows.”

“And he never thought to mention it once over the months we’ve been living here? Come on, Donald, use your brain!”

“Excuse you, I am always using my brain-”

“Leo’s got insomnia, Mikey,” Raph interjects. “Maybe a totally dark room helps him sleep better.”

“He had insomnia in the old lair, too,” Mikey retorts. “And he’s so tired right now all he does is sleep! He was sleeping in the TV room when I came in here!”

Raph doesn’t have a response for that. And the thing is, he thinks he has an idea why Leo wants to block out his windows, and it has nothing to do with his insomnia. But he doesn’t know how much to tell Mikey now. Not without bringing up the security footage.

Maybe Donnie has the same thought, because when Raph glances his way their eyes lock. 

Of course, Mikey notices. Because Mikey is just as observant as Leo, when it comes to people.

“You guys know something,” he says, looking between them.

“No,” says Donnie, too fast.

Mikey pouts at him. “Donald.”

“Leo hasn’t told us any more than he’s told anyone else,” says Raph.

“But you know something. How could you…” His eyes go wide. “The security footage. Donnie copied it all.”

“Well, I did,” Donnie agrees, “but-”

“You guys watched it, didn’t you?” Mikey asks, but it’s more like an accusation.

“No,” says Raph, and now he’s the one who says it too quickly.

Mikey squints at him, then looks back at Donnie, weak link that he is. “Donnie, did you watch that security tape?”

“I did…n’t,” he says, characteristically unconvincingly. Raph groans.

“I knew it!” Mikey lunges for Donnie’s computer, and it’s only Donnie’s battleshell arms that stop him from getting to the keyboard. “Let me see it too!”

“Mikey, stop!” says Raph, coming and putting a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. He winces when it’s shrugged off. “We’re not gonna watch the video.”

“Why not!?” Mikey demands, ripping himself out of Donnie’s metal arms and jumping back from both of them. “Why can’t I see it!? You both got to!” He looks between them with wild eyes, and then his face falls. “It’s because I’m the youngest, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Raph. “It’s because we both decided not to watch any more for Leo’s privacy.”

“For Leo’s privacy?” Mikey doesn’t look convinced. “Raph, he’s hurting! What if what’s on those videos can help?”

“What if watching them hurts him more?” Donnie defends. “He’ll find out we watched them, and then what?”

“He’d understand!”

“Would he?” Donnie sounds doubtful, and Raph can’t help but doubt it, too.

Even Mikey falters. He’s quiet a moment, wrapping his arms tight around his middle.

“...I don’t want him to suffer,” he says finally. “I want to help him.”

“We all wanna help him,” says Raph.

Mikey turns his eyes on Raph, and they’re full of fear and doubt and uncertainty. “You won’t even talk to him,” he says. It’s damning and cold and worst of all, true.

Raph takes a shaky breath, trying not to show his broken heart. “Listen. All Raph’s saying is, it’s barely been three days since we got Leo back home. Let’s give him time. Hopefully he’ll open up about all this stuff on his own.”

“...Fine. I won’t watch the video,” says Mikey. But he steels his expression, defiant. “But I’m going to keep trying to help him.”

“Just don’t push him, Mikey-”

“I won’t! I know what I’m doing.” He gives them a smile, but it’s weak compared to his usual. “Trust me, guys. I’ve got Dr. Feelings on my side!”

He turns and leaves the lab, the door sliding shut with a reverberating shunk behind him. 

Donnie slumps in his chair. “At least it’s not Dr. Delicate Touch.”

Raph laughs at that. It’s about all he can do.

-----

They feed Leo lunch. Of course they do. He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking they might not.

Of course, Draxum is still there, looking over his shoulder like a warden to make sure Leo doesn’t eat so much as a bite more than he’s meant to. It makes the whole experience stressful, and Leo is ready to crash again as soon as it’s over.

(Is this all his life is now? Long periods bogged down in exhaustion, only broken by the reminder that food is always controlled by someone else.)

He hasn’t been dozing for long this time when a shout echoes through the lair, grabbing his attention.

“Hey guys!”

“April!” yells Mikey, springing up from the beanbag he was sitting in. He’d been there for a while now, looking intently at his phone, but Leo never asked. Probably a new game or something. “Come on in!”

She enters the living room, a bag with a familiar comic store logo hung over her arm. She gives Mikey a one-armed hug before making her way around the chair to hold the bag out to Leo.

“Here you go!” she trills. “I picked it up as soon as I got done with my homework.”

Leo takes it, baffled. He reaches into the bag, gripping something rather large and hard-covered; pulling it out reveals…

“…The Jupiter Jim Sixtieth Anniversary Comic Special!?” Leo cries out loud. He lays it in his lap, reverently brushing the cover with his fingers. “It came out!?”

“Uh, yeah, today.” April laughs. “Don’t you remember? You made me set, like, three different reminders.”

Leo stares at the comic book, feeling a strange sort of disconnect. He can remember when he thought about this comic coming out once a day, at least - he’d been counting down the days from the preorder. But… he actually hasn’t thought about it once since…

At some point, he stopped looking forward to the comic. Because he didn’t think he would be here to read it.

But he is here. He’s alive. Time is still moving forward, and the proof is his long-awaited comic book, finally in his hands.

(Maybe his life still has a few good things to look forward to.)

Leo may be tired of crying, but crying isn’t tired of him - the tears come on hot and fast as he processes all of it at once. The grief at what was almost lost and the impossible relief that it wasn’t.

He rubs furiously at his eyes and sniffs aggressively. Then he looks up at April with the best smile he can manage and holds out his arms.

“Thanks, April.”

“Of course!” She beams, not commenting on the tears, and gives him a hug that is tight and warm and everything he wants. “Now you don’t have to keep texting me about it.”

Leo laughs as he lets go. It’s still a little watery, but she doesn’t comment. “Well what are we waiting for? Wanna read it together?”

“Uh, duh!” April shoves him to the side without any force and settles in next to him on the chair. “I heard they brought back all the old comics characters for this!”

Leo nods excitedly, eyes rising to meet Mikey’s. “How about you, Mikester? We can do the voices!”

Even though he knows his voice won’t hold out for more than a few pages.

“Oh yeah!” says Mikey. “Just let me-”

He looks down at his phone, and Leo catches it as his expression changes - something on the screen taking his attention and causing him to furrow his brow.

“Aaactually,” he says, looking back up with a forced smile. “I have… something I have to do. Somewhere else! But you guys have fun!”

And then he disappears down the escalator toward their train cars.

Leo watches him go, then turns back to look at April. She’s craned her neck to watch, too, a worried pinch to her eyebrows behind her glasses.

It clears up when she catches Leo looking. “Welp. Guess it’s just you and me, then!”

Leo rubs his fingers over the cover again. His desire to read it disappeared with Mikey. Donnie’s busy, Raph’s avoiding him, and now Mikey has more important things to do.

At least April is here. He worms himself a little more solidly against her warmth and hopes he doesn’t drive her away, too.

“Let’s do something else for now,” he says. “Save this bad boy for when we can all read it together.”

April’s eyes go wide. “You sure? I don’t think the guys would mind…”

“Uh, no, Donnie would definitely kill me if I read anything with Atomic Lass before him.” Leo gently sets the comic aside. “Besides, how are we gonna do the voices with just two of us?”

“What, you’re saying I can’t handle it?” April asks, a challenge in her voice. “I bet I could do a one-woman show.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that!” Leo laughs, and it’s only because April is here that it’s genuine and not forced. “But I don’t think I could stay awake for the whole thing, anyway.”

“Well… fine.” April relents. “Anything you wanna do instead?”

“Mmm…” He hands her the remote. “It’s been awhile since we judged people on Say Yes to the Dress.”

“Ooo, you are so right!” April flips on the projector and starts loading up the episodes. “Hold on, let me find where we left off.”

Soon, the sounds of over-dramatic reality TV fill the room. Leo shifts until his head is tucked under April’s chin, and she scratches her fingernails over his shell as they watch. They give their opinions on the dresses and jeer the catty friends and family members.

It feels so normal. The most normal Leo’s felt since he woke up in a room that was nothing but white.

It proves to him that things can be normal.

(But still, in the back of his mind, he wonders when his next meal will be.)

-----

Raph isn’t sure how many more tense dinners his family can survive.

They’re eating beef stew, partly so Leo doesn’t feel like the odd one out with his soup. Except he’s still the odd one out, because they have big chunks of beef and veggies while he has mostly broth with easy to swallow carrots, and some more egg for protein.

Raph hates eating in front of him. It feels like rubbing it in. But would taking their food and leaving him to eat alone be any better?

Probably not, because Draxum would still be watching him. And that’s the biggest source of tension.

Draxum is sitting at the table like the rest of them, but he might as well be looming over Leo’s shoulder. Leo himself stays hunched over his bowl of soup like he thinks it’s going to be snatched away at any moment, eating with quick, furtive movements, his eyes darting to Draxum each time.

It’s the exact opposite of his measured eating from this morning, and even more unsettling.

April is here, thank the Pizza Supreme, and she’s trying to keep the conversation going so they don’t all dwell on the bad vibes from Leo’s direction. Only Splinter is biting, though. Raph tries, of course, but…

He’d take fighting a villain a million times over this.

“Oh yeah, Donnie, Leo said you and Splints are making him curtains for his train car,” says April, grabbing Raph’s attention. “How’s that going?”

Across the table, Mikey’s expression turns conflicted. He focuses his eyes on his food and doesn’t catch Raph watching.

“Oh, it’s going well,” says Donnie, “but I didn’t have enough spare metal to finish. I’ll go to the scrapyard tomorrow and see what I can scrounge up.”

“Hmm… I do not like the idea of you going alone,” says Splinter hesitantly. “We do not know if those people will come back.”

No one has to ask what people he’s referring to. Still, Donnie looks irritated.

“Papa, it’s just the scrapyard,” he argues. “I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

“Still…”

“I’ll go with him!” says Mikey suddenly, raising his hand to volunteer. “Then he won’t be alone. Buddy system!” He slaps his raised hand down on Donnie’s shoulder. 

“Ow,” says Donnie in a flat tone, reaching up and shoving him off. “Despite the unnecessary assault on my person, I’m amenable to Micheal accompanying me.”

“What’s “amenable”?” Leo asks in a stage whisper. 

(It’s the most like himself he’s sounded all day.)

“I think it’s what you say at the end of a prayer,” Mikey stage whispers back.

(Raph can help his smile. He hides it behind his napkin.)

“It means I’m fine with it,” Donnie snaps. “None of you read my Word of the Day texts, do you?”

“Only ‘cause it’s words no one uses,” Leo scoffs. “Seriously, who even uses words like “sanctimonious”?”

“Lots of people!”

“Lots of nerds?”

Donnie glares at him. “You are so lucky we’re having a nice dinner right now, Nardo.”

Leo snorts and refocuses on his soup. He has a big, cocky grin on his face, and it’s all so normal that Raph feels something unknot in his chest. Maybe, Leo really is starting to get better. 

And then Splinter says, “I also need to go out tomorrow… It’s been so long since we got groceries, I couldn’t even eat my usual microwave burrito for lunch!”

And just like that, the normalcy is ripped away again.

Leo’s eyes snap up, locking on their dad, unblinking. His knobbly fingers press tighter around his bowl, pulling it closer to him like he’s scared someone will snatch it away.

“We’re running out of food?”

He sounds so scared that Raph can’t stop himself before he’s reaching over. Just to put his hand on Leo’s shoulder, to give him a hug, if he wants. Anything he needs to calm down, to not look so terrified.

But Leo must misread the action, because he jerks away, gripping the bowl impossibly tighter, eyes blown out wide and a just noticeable tremble in his shoulders. Like he’s scared of Raph.

Raph pulls his hand back without making contact and hunches in his chair, as far away as he can get from Leo without leaving the table. Or maybe he should just get up and leave. How can he be around his little brother when he’s scared of him like this?

“Ah, no,” says Splinter, and this has finally broken his easy-going tone. “There is still plenty of food, Blue, don’t worry.”

“…Hah. Right. Of course there is,” says Leo.

His voice is high and reedy, his face twitching like it’s trying to force itself back into the big smile from earlier but just doesn’t know how to move its muscles. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

Splinter reaches out hesitantly and gives Leo a pat on the arm. Leo flinches, his grip on his bowl still tight, and Splinter retreats again.

“Hey, Pops,” says Raph, drawing attention off Leo. “I can go with you tomorrow.” 

They can get more food with more hands.

“Oh, thank you, Red,” says Splinter, relieved. “That will make things much easier to carry.”

“Sure,” says Raph. Then he upends the rest of his stew into his mouth and swallows it all as fast as he can before standing up.

“Welp, I’m done with dinner so I’m going to get a workout in before bed night everyone!”

And then he’s out of there. Running away from the haunted shell of Leo.

He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who ducks away from his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who covers windows and hides from his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who looks up at him and says, “That’s not what a hero would do.”

Raph is a big guy and he’s never been good with fragile things. So maybe the best thing he can do for now is stay back and let those with deft hands take the lead.

Even if it’s not what he wants.

What he really wants to do is go back to that facility. Find the men that did this to Leo. And then…

Raph lines up his punching bag and swings. Over and over and over, until his fingers sting.

-----

They’re leaving him here. They’re leaving him alone.

Alone with Draxum. 

Leo wants to protest. He wants to beg them to stay. He wants them to not want to leave him to begin with.

But Splinter said they haven’t gotten groceries in awhile. And even if he claims they aren’t running out of food, Leo is terrified of what happens if they do.

So he doesn’t ask his dad to stay. He keeps his mouth shut, focus on his bowl of soup, depressingly empty next to everyone else’s.

But Donnie… Donnie doesn’t have to go to the scrapyard tomorrow, right?

Yeah… Leo can survive the lack of curtains for another day. He slept just fine with his makeshift window blockers last night, after all. He appreciates that Donnie wants to get it done quickly, but there’s no need.

“Hey, Dee,” he says, looking up, and realizing too late that he just interrupted something April was saying. Everyone goes quiet, anyway, and he feels the suffocating weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

His mouth goes dry.

“Yes, Leo?” Donnie prompts when he doesn’t say anything. He looks confused, and concerned. They all do. Because it’s super weird for Leo to say something and then fall silent. Just like it would be weird for him to beg Donnie to stay because he’s afraid of being alone with Draxum.

“Just, uh… excited to see the curtain rods,” he says, pivoting to a neutral topic. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe he was quick enough.

Donnie’s face lights up the way it does when anyone wants to see his handiwork, which is good. Leo likes making his brothers happy. Pizza Supreme knows he hasn’t been good at it lately.

“Of course!” he says, practically bouncing in his seat. “I’ll show you after dinner!”

“Can’t wait.”

Conversation moves on. Leo finishes his soup.

“Are you still hungry?” Draxum asks, making him jump. “Do not lie to me, this time.”

“Draxum,” says Splinter in a warning tone. But that’s all he does. He doesn’t offer Leo more food. He doesn’t argue that Leo wouldn’t lie.

They haven’t been grocery shopping in awhile.

“…No,” Leo says, twisting his napkin in his hand. “I’m full.”

-----

“I focused on the windows directly around your bed to begin,” Donnie says as he leads Leo into his train car, a bounce in his step as he pushes past the curtain. “To help you get a good night’s sleep. And Dad already hung what curtains he had finished, so you can even see the final result!”

Leo steps into the middle of the room and looks around. The curtain rods are simpler than he expected, simple things fastened to the wall, able to be unlatched so the rods can be removed and the curtains swapped out. Every windows’ brackets are slightly different, a testament to the scraps Donnie used to make them, but Leo likes that - this hodge-podge, improvised way of home decor has always been their style. It has a charm you can’t get in a normal house.

Donnie has also painted the rods a gunmetal blue, and some of the brackets have Ls etched into the metal. It’s little details like that that leave Leo touched.

The curtains themselves are just black fabric, sewn so they can loop over the rods and be pulled aside when desired. It’s simple and quick, but they represent hours his dad spent today at a sewing machine, just to help him sleep.

Leo feels himself getting a little teary again, and he quickly blinks it back. He doesn’t feel like crying today.

“It’s so cool, Dee,” he says, and his voice is genuine; he catches Donnie flap his hands in a pleased way out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks. This will really help a lot.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them!” Donnie is all smiles, and it makes Leo smile, too. “I wanted to make them more elaborate, but I thought time was of the essence. I would have been done today, if I hadn’t run out of materials.”

“No way, man, you got a lot more done today than I thought you would.” Then again, Donnie always has been quick, even more so since he got his powers, so Leo shouldn’t be so surprised. “What else could you even do to them? Add AI?”

“Oho, don’t tempt me.” Donnie reaches up and taps one of the brackets with a nail, making a soft ping. “Then you could open or close all the curtains with voice command!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good using my hands.” He spins to take the room in one more time, then claps his arm around Donnie’s shoulders.

(The pang when his arm hits the metal shell is more jarring than it used to be.)

“Seriously, hermano. Thanks.”

Donnie doesn’t pull away quite as quickly as he used to. “Well. Save any more thanks until I finish with the project. Which should be soon, after my scrapyard run tomorrow!”

Right. The scrapyard. This is when Leo should bring it up. This is the perfect time.

He can just ask Donnie to stay. To put it off one more day, work on something else. Here, in his room, just the two of them, he doesn’t think Donnie would refuse him. He doesn’t think Donnie would make fun of him. He doesn’t think Donnie would call him weird.

“Actually, uh…”

He remembers Donnie taking his cracker and eating it.

“Hm?” Donnie turns out of his arm and looks at Leo, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He remembers Donnie’s reaction to the chewed up bottle cap.

“Leo?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Just… be careful, okay? We don’t know if those EPF guys have come back.”

Donnie’s face drops into a more serious expression. “Right. Don’t worry - I’ve taken precautions.”

“What precautions?”

“I’ve updated the software on all our trackers. If they leave the city limits, or if a third party attempts to interfere with the signal, they’ll immediately send an alert to everyone’s phones.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… excessive?”

Donnie folds his arms over his chest. “Not if it keeps everyone safe.”

Leo doesn’t know how to argue with that.

“I am working on a way that we can each override it, though,” Donnie adds. “We wouldn’t want to scare each other if we leave the area on purpose. And I have plans for even more enhancements that can-”

“Eugh boy.” Leo motions Donnie toward the door. “I’m way too tired for speech mode, Dee. Maybe later?”

Donnie scowls. “Exasperated sigh. There is never a “later” with you.”

Leo laughs. “You got me!”

“You could really stand to pay attention and learn something… But, alright.” Donnie steps toward the curtain. “I will let you get away with it this time, only because you’re still recovering.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.” But Donnie gives him a grin on the way out. “Goodnight, Nardo.”

“Night, nerd!”

As soon as Donnie’s gone, Leo sinks onto his bed and puts his head in his hands.

He couldn’t ask Donnie to stay. He couldn’t, because it would be weird and strange and bad. And now he’s going to be left alone with Draxum.

Will Draxum even let him eat? What if he decides Leo’s had enough…?

It’s a stupid thought. Of course Draxum will let him eat. Otherwise, Leo’s family would… do something!

Right?

He thinks about Donnie taking the cracker again. His pulse quickens.

He can’t go without food again. He can’t. He doesn’t think he would be able to take it.

But if no one else is going to give him food, then… then…

Leo takes a deep breath and steels his resolve. He knows what he needs to do.

He grabs the curtain on the nearest window and pulls it over, just a crack - just enough to see the lights outside, to see when they dim as the rest of his family goes to bed for the night.

And he waits.

-----

By the time Raph finally leaves the dojo, it’s dark in the lair, with only some safety lighting and a few neon signs still on. He can hear his dad snoring from the TV room, the projection flickering on the end card of a show, and as he passes their extra train car he sees Draxum inside, working on something under a desk lamp. Mikey and Leo are both in their rooms, from what he can tell, and Donnie must be in his lab.

He’ll go on his rounds in a bit; first, he beelines for the kitchen for water and a nighttime snack.

He’s quiet as he walks up the escalator, knowing exactly which steps creak and squeal and carefully avoiding them. He doesn’t want a conversation right now; not with his wrapped knuckles and sweat-soaked mask dangling from his fingers.

The kitchen’s dark when he arrives, and he fumbles around for the switch, missing it a few times. It’s so different from the layout of the old lair, and he’s not usually the first one in the kitchen in the morning.

He finally flips on the light, and finds he isn’t the first one in the kitchen tonight, either.

Leo stands frozen by the counter, eyes wide and panicked when they meet Raph’s. In his hands he’s clutching a half-full bag of chips, sour cream and onion, the plastic crinkling and snapping where he grips it tight. He looks like a terrified, wild animal, drowning in one of his own hoodies and stancing up like he’s ready to bolt. Like he’s doing something wrong, getting a snack in his own house.

Except… he kind of is doing something wrong. And that’s what breaks Raph’s heart.

But what is Raph supposed to do here? Tell Leo he can’t eat that, the same as his captors did? Try to explain to him why he can’t have it, when Raph barely understands the reasons himself? Rip the bag from his weak hands, and prove to Leo once and for all that his family can’t be trusted?

Raph is supposed to be the biggest brother. The one who always knows exactly what to do, exactly how to help, who protects his three little knuckleheads from a world that wants to hurt them.

But he doesn’t know what to do about this. It’s just not in his playbook.

He’s never been good with fragile things.

Raph reaches over and flips off the kitchen light. He goes back to the escalator, and dodges the squeaky steps. He goes to his train car, and pulls the curtain over the doorway.

He pretends he didn’t see.

-----

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A (here) | Part 4 Part B (not out yet)

[crosbyism]

Postmortem: Next Generation’s Best

whew, what an ordeal that was to write. I started out writing it several months ago, drafted what ended up constituting about 20% of the final post, and then let it sit for a while. Within the last two weeks, I was finally inspired (and had the time) to take it out of the attic and strip it down and retool it in order to write the final post. I think I spent at least 40-60 hours on it in total, which is quite a lot for just under six thousand words.

I think my main worry is that it’s too dense. I really chewed on a lot of these thoughts and topics during the writing process, and I know it’s just jam-packed with a lot of very intense material in a very tight space. I didn’t necessarily have the patience to draw it out more (and lengthen the wordcount by doing so, rip) and I think it works really well as it is, I just worry about a lot of nuance or some of the points I made getting lost in such density.

I rarely get so massively nervous about posting my work, but I think part of it might be that this one is definitely firmly in the category of non-fiction. I took the liberty to tell some of those stories in what I found to be an interesting way, but none of them are fictional— or even fictionalised. The amount of articles I hunted down about Eric Lindros’ near-death experience and Wayne Gretzky’s rookie season in order to get all the details right…

by the way, I still can’t stop thinking about Eric Lindros. What an absolute horror show that man had to live through. It’s also deeply interesting to me that twenty years later, Jack Eichel still had to fight with team management about medical issues. I guess these issues aren’t solved yet in any sort of way, but it’s crazy to look back at Lindros and then look at all the contemporary fights about the right to medical autonomy that’re still going on twenty years later.

Around the time I hit the 5k mark, I finally got over the denial of how long the post was and accepted that I’d probably have to put it over on ao3. The tumblr posts work better than I thought they would, but I do think the best way to read it is probably doing the “Entire Work�� view over on ao3.

I don’t know why, but I definitely resisted the idea of putting it on the archive at first? for some reason I feel like meta posts are more for tumblr, although that’s probably a little silly. it’s an archive, after all, and there’s plenty of meta posts on there.

I do think that once I get around into turning it into a little podcast, that’ll be the best format for it. god knows how long that’ll be though, the longest thing I’ve recorded so far was under 3k and that was over twenty minutes of audio. I guess the whole thing will probably end up being close to an hour. I’ll see.

Right after I finished posting and adding links to everything I had this moment where I was like “I should’ve called it “LEGACY” and had each of the six parts be referred to by one letter in the word”. Then I proceeded to kick myself because it was too late for it. Missed opportunity. Ah well. You win some (finish the monster piece of non-fiction you’ve been sitting on for a while) you lose some (let the perfect title and naming convention for the parts slip through your fingers).

I’m definitely dying to get some feedback on this thing that I’ve poured so much time and energy into. I had this despairing moment right after hitting post that was like “Why did I write this, this is absolute garbage, no one will get this or care about it” but then I bullied myself into going to bed since it was two in the morning. Like with all creative endeavours, I guess I’ll have to be patient.

[obsolete-stars-if]

Shut up I literally cannot stop thinking about drink your villain juice. I'm writing a snippet IN THE TUMBLR APP. It's all I'm thinking about.

@drinkyourvillainjuice for even daring to make Alistair that good???

And also @elegantunknownphantom BCS i know you will live for the angst.

Alistair x mc (masc, he/him, trans)

You reach for the plastic container. He doesn't even get to say Hi. You look at it, penne pasta, in... Pesto? Alis has been getting creative ever since you rejected the lasagna. It's not that you don't trust him — You know you shouldn't.

You open the container, give it a smell. Doesn't smell poisoned, but not every poison smells. You dig around in it for a bit, no weird clumps or any other oddities. You pull one penne out and hold it up to his face. He gives a bewildered stare, "Well... Hello to you too?"

"Eat." You tell him, pushing the penne further into his face. He lifts his hands in defense and takes the single pasta and he eats it. You close the container and watch his face. Alis swallows after some chewing – It's not dangerous to eat.

Satisfied you allow yourself to clean your fingers. It's not a pretty act, at least you don't think it is. Stick in your mouth and get your fingers clean, however, Alis seems to have a different opinion, watching your lips. You stop and look over. He looks away.

It feels weird in a way. You shouldn't expose yourself to him, shouldn't even think about how he looks at you. He has been a terrible influence, you shouldn't even have touched the pasta at all, you should tell him to leave, never come back.

"Ben?" But by God, when your name leaves his lips, you feel a bit more human, a bit more alive. Like the goop is beaten back, just a little more.

You hum in return. Alis stops for a moment, "Will you get into the program?"

Ah, there it is. The program. Give a man a pinky and he will devour your entire arm – or however that saying goes. Stumbling around the subject has helped in the past, but he has never outright just asked like this, not after the first meeting that is. "Why are you asking?"

"Have you seen the news? It's just– The entire new Altruists? Thing is scary, and I'm concerned with you just living out here-"

You bark a laugh, "You know what you get yourself into in this city. Didn't you come here seeking them out?" You question, your eyes avert, looking around, anything but his upset face, please. "I mean, handing out free pasta to strangers, who knows, maybe you'll hand free pasta out to a parahuman or villain-" Just shut up.

You can hear him upset. "It's this Thorn that concerns me. The way it changed forms, broke those bones, what if it-"

It. That's all you are, isn't it? You knew it too. You were a subject for so long, and just a drop of humanity makes you forget, but your body is disgusting. It's scary. You're scary. You're a monster to all humans. Oh, how it ate you up, from inside out, leaving nothing but a human looking shell, that it inhabits, it's in your thoughts, in every step you take, it is you. And you can't separate yourself. How foolish to think you could. There is no you. It's all it.

"Benedikt?" Alis voice calls.

You don't look up, you don't deserve to look a human in their eyes and pretend to be one.

"I'm fine." You lie.

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug on Tech's Looks

(Me: "Doug, so you know, a lot of people are unhappy that the Bad Batch was made to be lighter then the regs. It's a hot topic."

Doug: "Well, here's my theory on the matter. I hope the kids on the Internet (his words for Tumblr) don't get too spicy over this. It's all in good fun. I hope it makes 'em smile and think a bit.")

After having a firm, peer-reviewed discussion (and by that, I mean endless texts with Doug) it has been concluded that Tech has lighter skin and hair, and a slimmer build, due to the Kaminoans leaning harder into the hillbilly part of Jango Fett’s genes, whereas the regs got the nicer, prettier, more amenable genes. 

In short, Tech looks the way he does…because he is a blue-collar white guy from the American South.  

A Florida redneck, specifically.  

And let me (by way of Doug) tell you: rednecks do not have beautiful tans, flawless fades, snatched waists, muscular thighs, diamond-sharp cheekbones, the ability to follow directions, or perfect matching armor, all of which a reg has. 

(Sorry, Howser, go back to guarding Ryloth or posing for GQ or whatever it is you do.)

Back to Tech. Look at that man and tell me the shit he gets up to would not be constantly at the top of r/floridaman

A lot of people might clutch their pearls, and be shocked at this revelation. 

“He has a fancy accent! He’s persnickety about certain things! He’s my fancy pretty boi and I’m going to dress him up in a gold thong in my fan art!”

You do you, kid. But let Doug and his neighbor here, Dr. Meat Muffin, defend this deranged argument, here. Using anthropological research applying autoethnographic methodologies that they conducted independently at one point. 

(By that, we mean that Doug is from the bayous of Louisiana and has lived in the Florida Panhandle before moving Up North. Dr. MM attended graduate school in a redneck hot zone, lived in said redneck hot zone for a while, and married a Texan as well. Hook 'em gig 'em and wreck 'em)

After all, if you want an army to win over the galaxy and work with the Jedi, you want well-mannered, shiny, handsome men with melanin and agreeable personalities.

You do not want a pale-assed weirdo in jeans and a receding hairline who can’t get off his phone to work closely with orphaned space wizards. 

Tech’s an anarchic Floridian piece of tornado bait and that’s why he look the way he do, says Doug.

Here's why Doug says Tech is a Redneck:

Mandalorians are Space Rednecks: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Trx7fDdlIo0. I do not own the rights to the video, but my God, it is perfection. A masterpiece. Mandalorians are rednecks in space, who end up colonizing Space Florida, no questions asked. Our theory is Tech is merely the concentrated, Waffle House-fistfighting, chew-dipping, Mountain Dew chugging, part of that. The Kaminoans just leaned into the trailer park part of Jango Fett hard when designing Tech, because no one can fix cars while shooting a gun and yelling at his crazy brothers like a redneck (more on that below). 

Hell, all of the Bad Batch are different brands of Florida Man:

Grizzled long haired tan guy with skull tattoo, obsessed with tracking, knife fighting, and hiding from normal society? Hunter.

Bald tanned dude with weird scars who loves blowing shit up and screaming for no reason? Wrecker

Pale, freaked out man who was kept in a cult’s closet for years? Echo 

Creepy, old, Second Amendment loving white guy with a gun themed tattoo who can’t seem to die? Crosshair 

Maladjusted orphan left behind at a bar by her inexperienced caretakers and almost drowns in the ocean? Omega 

His love of vehicles: We never see Tech whip out a manual to fix anything. The man says it’s because he has an exceptional mind, but that’s edging dangerously close to “Ah don’t need no schoolin’, hoss, I can fix any Ford!”.  Doug thinks it’s just because Tech loves playing with car parts, which is some grade A, hillbilly tomfoolery. And what is more redneck than some white guy ripping apart a vehicle in the dirt while the rest of his family bitches at each other in the heat? It happened right here in Season 2 (this exact scenario has played out many-a-time in Pensacola, trust me). All they need is some Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting in the background to make the picture complete. 

His clothing color scheme: “Oh, no!” you wail. “He just changed his colors to reflect Mandalorian heritage!” 

WRONG. 

Tech’s redneckery is blatant here, because his colors switch from 

Hot Topic goth to…UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA. 

“We’re loyal to each other,” says Hunter. And by that, he means the Gators, beloved of many an NCAA following redneck in the Sunshine State and beyond. Orange and Blue, indeed.

Notice how we first see him in these colors, is while he’s parked his stolen work vehicle on a beach while his brothers are busy being chased by huge-ass crabs as their sister is quietly fishing?! 

This is PEAK FLORIDA MAN. 

Tech was probably trying to get ESPN+ to work on the Marauder, because the Devil works hard, but the SEC works harder during football season. I wonder if he has a tattoo of Tim Tebow on his buttcheek.

His home is his car: Tech, as well as his unemployed brothers and underaged sister who the cops are looking for (how trashy is THAT sentence), live in the Havoc Marauder now that their home was destroyed in a fire fight with the government. 

("Jesus Christ, this argument just writes itself now, don’t it," -Doug) 

This attack shuttle, for all intents and purposes, is a stolen work truck that they live in. It’s filled with posters of guns, as well as other weapons and explosives, and has all the comfort of a Jacksonville gas station at 2 AM. All you need is some cigarette burns on the fender and some empty take out bags from Bojangles and it might as well be parked down by the river in Suwannee County. Just Florida redneckery. Speaking of which….

He loves guns and explosions: Won’t go into detail, but the man knows how to use multiple pistols, rifles, and different tactile maneuvers with glee. Tech’s only notable complaint regarding explosions is making sure Wrecker’s new fancy boom-booms aren’t parked next to his bunk. And the look of calm joy when his sister tells his brother ‘Do some damage, Wrecker!’ as Tech pulls a Bo Duke and flings his vehicle across a locked up work site, while his deranged brother giggles and fires some guns at a government-owned power plant from the back seat. PURE. UNADULTERATED. REDNECK. 

He’s a racer: It is a fact (with peer reviewed research) that rednecks really, really love them some racing. NASCAR, motocross, BMX, you name it. And if you’ve seen ‘Faster’, well, that’s all you need to know about the man. 

He has no fear of large animals: We’ve never seen him hunt, but Tech knows how to distract massive amounts of nasty animals using light, and the first response to seeing a terrifying monster isn't running away screaming, but whispering ‘FASCINATING’., before, ya know, firing a gun at it. It’s one step away from ‘IT’S COMING RIGHT FOR US’. You KNOW that man would be sponsoring gator wrasslin' contests if he could.

His actions towards His family: This is where Tech truly differentiates himself from the typical ‘geek’ character and leans hard into King of the Hill territory. Whereas a normal nerd character might nag and panic when his sister falls down a hole while drilling for explosives in a cave (dear God Doug, how much more redneck examples can you keep pointing out, I’m exhausted), Tech merely YEETS HIMSELF down into the abyss. Or when his brother picks a fight in the mess hall? Does Tech run away, or just start punching people like it's past closing time in the Applebee's parking lot in Daytona and the Dolphins lost? And let's not discuss the season finale :(. Rednecks are some loyal folks, family first, and that’s our man’s right there. 

There you have it, says Doug. Tech isn’t lighter because he’s better than the regs. The opposite.

You can not be a deranged, adrenaline filled, sassy, goggled weirdo flying throughout space and blowing shit up and not be pale AF with twiggy legs and a receding hairline that’s edging towards Hunter S. Thompson level, born out of America's Sunshine state while a hurricane chases you out.

::turns up ZZ Top::

[filmtv2022]

To The Bitter End:

The Meeting of a Lifetime (Extra Scene)

Series Masterlist (It is 18+ as a whole... even though this part isn't)

Synopsis: This scene occurs right before Doc and Y/N share a quiet moment on the porch after meeting for the first time. Doc, Wyatt, and Y/N share drink and laughter together, and for the first time in a long time, John and Y/N feel alive.

Warnings: Language + drinking + smoking + spoilers? (It connects right into the rest of the story, but I think anyone could probably read this and be okay)

A/N: Well, it's been nearly two years since I posted To The Bitter End, and I haven't stopped thinking about it. I went back and read it again, and I have to say, I'm so unbelievably proud of that story. With that being said, recently a few ideas for extra scenes popped into my head for this story, and I thought... why not write them for others to enjoy (hopefully). As always, I apologize for any errors! Also, I'll put the stupid page break in once Tumblr gets it shit together! :)

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

Passing the bottle of whiskey across the table to Wyatt you could feel the impending lull in conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your tongue or perhaps it was the mesmerizing smirk that played across your guest’s face, but you just couldn’t help yourself, “So, John, you said you’re a doctor. Of what exactly?” 

Wyatt tucked in his drink, falling silent as his focus darted between you and John. Not yet worried, but also unwilling to relax. He’d seen you take a conversation a step to far one too many times to be comfortable. 

“Dentistry,” John sipped at his drink, hearing your murmured hum of incredulity he continued on, “I sense skepticism. Care to enlighten me as to why?” 

“How perceptive,” Clearing your throat, you tossed back the rest of your whiskey, “It's just that you don’t strike me as a man who’s willing to settle down. Which I assume would be necessary to have a thriving practice. I truly have a hard time picturing you like that… a white coat covering your fine suit and tie, no gun in your holster, and only patient after patient to occupy your mind. It doesn’t add up. You’re an intellectual, I’ll give ya that. A businessman, sure. But one to call any place home longer than absolutely necessary… never. You, John Holliday, are a wanderer. I can see it in your eyes."

Doc remained quiet as you reached for the bottle, and poured yourself another. There was something in his gaze as it remained fixed to yours. A dark haze belied his base nature, but for John, it was the distinct feeling of you peeling back the layers of his cultured facade as easily as breathing that terrified and intrigued him the most. Trapped in your aura, he finished his own drink, letting the glass thud on the thick wooden table before inhaling deeply from his cigar, “And you darlin’… are as dangerous as they come.” 

“Perhaps,” you chewed the inside of your lip, tugging your features into a sly smile, “And yet, what does man, such as yourself, have to fear of little ol’ me?” 

“Everything,” John’s tone was serious and steady, and yet nothing in his response could hide the way you drew him in. 

You clung to his every move, tracking the minute changes in his countenance. The pull of his lips, the bob of his throat… the hitch of his lungs. It felt as though there were no secrets between you at this moment, and it thrilled you.

“Smart answer, Mr. Holliday,” the uncomfortable grit of Wyatt’s cough broke the trance, “Now where were we? Ah, that's right we were discussing my brother's propensity to find himself embroiled in less than lawful activities from which he cannot extricate himself without help despite being a legendary lawman. That's precisely what we were talking about, care to elaborate Wyatt?”

“You're a downright menace, you know that?” Wyatt's huffed chuckle assured you that no offense had actually been taken.

“Yes, I’m well aware. And who do we have to blame for that?” you brought your glass up and took a deep swig of the amber liquid, “Because truthfully, I’m not sure what you expect of me after bein’ cooped up in this hell hole of a tinder box all day while you go off galavanting as some goddamn hero of the wild west. But again, I am glad you aren’t dead. I don’t know what the hell I’d do without ya. Quite honestly, I’m afraid I’d be joining you six feet under when Virg and Morgan got a hold of me ‘cause somehow I’d be blamed for your death.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N you can't say shit like that.”

“I can… and I will,” smirking at Wyatt you couldn’t help, but swell with pride at the sound of John’s laughter. Joining in the levity, your tone was light and airy as you spoke, “Now if you don’t mind. I’m going to get some air.” 

Despite opening the open windows, the room had grown stuffy with heat from the fire & smoke from the men’s cigars.

Needing a small break for fresh air you excused yourself to the front porch. Wyatt took advantage of the moment to go seek out yet another bottle of whiskey as you all had worked your way through the first. 

The air had cooled substantially from this afternoon and sent goosebumps running over your skin. But you didn’t care, the clean, crisp scent of the air was exactly what you needed to clear your head. There on the porch, staring out into the vast nothingness ahead of you, the palpable tension you felt in your body began to dim. Losing a loved one was something that scared you through and through, and realizing how close you’d come to that today put your nerves on high. The creak of the door opening had you turning your head back to see who had joined you. You were pleasantly surprised to see John making his way towards you. Laying your palms on the wooden railing in front of you, you closed your eyes & and let your head fall back a little as you inhaled deeply. The scent of the night air mixed with another, one that over time you’d realize was distinctly John. It was a perfect mix of whiskey, smoke & sweat. It filled your lungs sweetly bringing with it a feeling of peace. 

You could feel him stop behind you, only a few inches separated the two of you. The pair of you stood there for a moment in silence. Your eyes were still closed allowing your body to relax. John on the other hand was fixated on you. His eyes mapped your face, trying to commit every beautiful feature to memory. His gaze landed finally on your lips, and the longer John stared the more difficult it became for him to refrain from leaning down to kiss you. A small gust of wind blew over the porch causing you to shiver slightly. Without thinking John removed his jacket & placed it over your shoulders before rubbing his hands along your upper arms in an attempt to warm you. Sighing with contentment, you leaned your body back until you met his frame. The skirt of your light yellow dress blew in the wind wrapping itself around John.

Opening your eyes you turned your head to look up at John.

“Thank you. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“Anything for you darlin’ ” 

It was here on this night that the invisible string that would tie you two together had started to form.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 3: The question of lunch

By requesting the space from the wait staff, Säure has led us to the back of the deck.

It’s a pretty good spot for the both of us. It’s above the beer garden and it’s outside. People today are gathering mostly inside, but it’s lunchtime and there’s some grilling happening in the garden because it’s a nice enough day. The deck is mostly empty, despite the lunch rush.

The inside gets noisy because the sound baffling in there sucks. And the garden has sucked most of the deck crowd down there.

There’s still a bit of a roar from the open door near us, but we can hear each other talk just fine.

We’re both in psuedo-human guise. The businessdrak and the trans dragon princess. I think I currently might be heavier looking than he is, but whatever. That’s not indicative of anything when we’re like this.

By the time water is served to us, our devices are both on the table, face up. He’s using what I’m guessing is the latest iPhone. Mine is still the secondhand third party tablet that Kimberly gave me, that Chapman enchanted. 

I’m starting to think the enchantment gave it durability as well as an infinite seeming battery life. I suppose I could have asked at any point, but I’ve been distracted.

“I know what I want,” he expertly swypes into his phone. “Take your time with the menu.”

I might be scowling at his phone. I type with two thumbs, and if I use Swype it actually messes me up. Again, he can talk faster and more easily than I can.

I go ahead and pick up the menu and scowl at it instead. It’s going to be the cheese steak, without the vegetables in it, and a side of roasted red potatoes. And a Fisherman’s Bock. I know this before I pick it up because it’s what I have always ordered here. I am wondering, though, how it’s all going to taste with my fully draconic pallet, now. I’m sort of wondering, with my taste for whole seagull, whether I might enjoy the oysters.

No. I’m going to order what I can afford and attempt to pay for myself. And I really can’t afford this, but I do have the money for it and I can eat more seagulls instead of chuck later in the month to compensate.

Am I going to have to remember to chew? Or, is this going to be a really interesting sight to everyone who looks our way?

I’m still making a point of looking over the menu, to give my eyes something to do, when I wonder when this became lunch instead of just a beer.

I look at Säure, who is watching waitstaff, waiting for our server. He might just order a beer, because I think I decided on lunch when he said to take my time with the menu.

I am hungry, though, and it is lunch time.

Was that some kind of power move on his part? What happens if he pays for my meal? What does that mean? Would he be displaying his power? Or could I interpret it as him giving me a gift of submission?

If he withholds his payment for my half, should I be insulted?

Are we playing by local human rules, or draconic instincts?

Do I get to choose?

I make a decision based on my stomach and the observation that this is so little money when it comes to his wealth that it’s a very silly concern, and I start typing my order into my tablet for when our server arrives.

Which is right now.

“Hello, my name is Megan. I’ll be your server today,” she says. I can see her name tag has her pronouns on it.

I hold up a finger, eyes wide, then grab my tablet and hit home, then pull up my Tumblr and point at the title of it, “Meghan the Dragon.”

Megan the server leans forward, gawks at it and exclaims, “No, way! That’s you?” Then she looks me in the eyes and freezes.

I blink and turn away, nodding. And say, “Yes.”

She blinks and shakes her head and says, stepping back to her original position, “Ah, we share the same name. That’s so cool. So what would you like today?”

I’m starting to realize that transfixion doesn’t seem to have a huge psychological impact, which is very strange. It must be part magical. Not actually an instinctual fear response. Except, maybe it sometimes has a mild amnesiac effect?

Did she not really notice what my eyes look like? Or was that just part of the way a lot of humans take us for granted for some reason?

Säure nods in my direction, gesturing, so I switch back to my app and hit talk.

“I’d like the cheese steak, hold the onions, mushrooms, and peppers, with a side of roasted reds. And a Fisherman’s Bock. Twenty-two ounce,” the tablet rattles off in one go.

“Very good,” she says, nodding at me. Then she turns to Säure, “And you, sir?”

He smiles and holds up his phone to demonstrably swype into his own copy of the same app, “I would like the oyster platter with a pint of your pilsner, please.”

He’s so smooth and quick with his device that I feel like Patrick Bateman glaring at his business card in jealousy when I look his way. I really try my best not to show it.

It’s not like I’m actually making human expressions anyway. But we’re both dragons, and I know I’m starting to be able to read draconic expressions fairly well now. He can’t be all that inexperienced and unstudied in that field himself. He wouldn’t let himself be.

Megan the server finishes recording his order and thanks him, then she turns to me before she goes, “And it was so good to meet you, Your Highness.” With no hint of irony or awkwardness, nothing but a glint in her eye and a smile. And then she’s gone to inform the kitchen of our orders before I can react.

I am wearing my tiara.

I haven’t yet given thought into whether or not I can alter my outfit when I manifest it.

I really should look in a mirror and play with this, and maybe get a better idea of what I look like when I’m in this form.

I just keep forgetting that faces are important to other people, I think.

As I’m lost in thought about this, Säure has used his phone to compose an observation.

He watches me like a snake interested in something that looks like food, as I hear his phone say, “Your camouflage seems to have an interesting effect on humans who don’t know you personally, Meghan. I imagine that could be quite useful.”

Fuck it. I’m not going to play his game. I’m going to embrace expediency and tactlessness and grab the horns of this conversation and yank. I ask, “How long study dragons?” And then I look pointedly at him.

“You? Since you underwent metamorphosis. In general? About eighty years now, more or less,” he responds, looking up from his phone screen when he’s done.

He doesn’t look over sixty! But, then, my current guise doesn’t look much like my former body, either.

“How long know yourself?” I ask.

“About that long. Maybe a year or two longer.”

“What you think?”

He studies me. So I lean forward, elbow on table, very un-princess-like, and study him back. I’m sure my face is as impassive as his, but I tilt my head one way and then the other.

He then nods and works with his phone, “I don’t know what you’re asking about. What do I think about what?”

I huff, and hit my tablet a few times with my index finger, “Dragons.”

“Are you asking me what’s my theory?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say with my syrinx. I mouth it right afterward, like I’m badly dubbed, just to be irritating and distracting. It’s an easy word to mouth. I don't know that I have any strategy here. I might just be thrashing about. Which might be bad.

He adopts, probably very deliberately, a relaxed and amused expression I’ve often seen on twenty-something young men, and leans back to start typing on his phone. He does the same thing as me and hits talk after every sentence, “It might surprise you that I am less interested in the theories of anything and more focused on the practicalities of the now. I do study quite a lot of things in quite a lot of depth, but I don’t need to think about it much. I find that that saves me time and energy I can use on continuing my studies. So, I can tell you what scholars have thought about dragons. And I can tell you what I have observed. But I have no conclusions for you, Meghan, I am sorry.”

That’s an awful lot of words to say he doesn’t know. Especially with our mode of communication.

“What you do?” I ask. “About dragons.”

He tilts his head and then pushes forward a more engaged smile, saying, wobbling back and forth just a little as he works his phone, “That is a much more interesting question. I’m glad you asked it. It’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“Go on,” I say.

“We need to spread out,” he says. “We’re bunched too closely together, and it is stifling our growth and hurting humanity. But so far, each of us is so attached to our own little fiefdoms that no one wants to move. I am looking for a solution to that.”

I can’t actually argue with him about that. The evidence I’ve seen suggests that exact problem, and I can’t say I haven’t puzzled over it myself. But, also, I really don’t want to move. My people are here.

“I’m so sorry for how my people have treated you, Meghan,” he continues. “They acted of their own accord based on my initial mission statement, and coordinated with county reactionaries to do it. They did not wait for my orders, and I found the whole company to be rotten with bigots positioned against us, so I had no option but to dissolve Equisetum Wildlife. I’m sure you approve.”

“Yes. Thanks,” I say, cautiously and slowly. That’s pretty much what he wrote in his press release the day he did it, leaving out the part where he’s a dragon, too.

“What I’d like to do,” he says, “is use some of my resources to help incentivize the more mobile peers of ours to go ahead and make that move voluntarily. I’m thinking based on a kind of reward system. However, I need to work with the government to do this smoothly and legally, and I am having a little trouble with that. A good portion of both the local and state governments don’t want to work with me.”

That’s rough, man. It’s also press release material. I say, “Okay.”

“I could use your help,” he says.

He’s not going to tell me anything more than he’s told the public, and he’s just going to outright ask for my help? I want to consider that ridiculous and laugh in his face.

Instead, I ask, “How?”

I maybe should have asked why.

—

Sometimes, regardless of your boundaries and needs, there is work that just needs doing. And sometimes you're the only one can do it.

Rhoda closes her eyes, sends a little prayer to her greater self, and works to clear her mind of her sorrows and worries, to focus on the trouble at hand. She can afford another hour or so of dragon business, maybe even a day of it, if it means keeping her world intact.

Opening her eyes, she picks up her phone again and opens the mirrored group SMS chat she'd created from Meg's group, that doesn't have Meg in it. The one she uses to support Meghan without disturbing her.

And she types into it, “Artists. Keep us informed! Thank you.”

Then she starts sending off direct messages and emails to individual people to start activating the alert network she’s been cultivating since before the dracomorphosis began.

It's not for Meghan's sake that she uses it.

Inspired by the prayer circles her old church used to have, it’s for everyone's sake. It's a network of mutual support and emergency response to help keep people alive in case things get real bad. Which they just might.

It mostly consists of people she sees regularly in person, like her hairdresser and her favorite librarian. A grocery clerk her age who loves being catty with her. A few members of the Order of Bearded Men of all people, because they like to joke over coffee and also share some history in activism. It's thin, but it covers most of downtown and the northern half of the city.

But also, while the network is much smaller than the prayer circle, and much more fragile than Rhoda would like, it might provide up to date feedback on how the rest of the city is doing. Which she can then relay to Meg's team. Including those two damn Artists who now have a chance to prove themselves.

Rhoda realizes she has no clue just how troublesome Säure might be. He might be just a man that Meghan is angry with. But Rhoda can't really imagine Meghan confessing to wish violence on a human. The urgent and desperate tone of her message has her getting ready for a worse case scenario.

Back to Meg’s network, there's one other difference between Rhoda’s group SMS chat and Meg's. Rhoda added Caleb to it. Meg didn't think of him as one of her people. He's Astraia’s boyfriend, after all. But through Astraia, Caleb is Rhoda’s link to Meg’s Discord and the rest of the dragons of Fairport.

That network covers most of the southern half of the city.

One last thing she does before gathering her stuff to head down to the coffee shop is to message Caleb and let him know to be ready to relay messages.

Hopefully, none of this will be necessary. And then she'll be able to go back to mourning her child, and trying to figure out how to do right by him despite the fact that she's already long ago failed at that.

Maybe if she wrote a biography for him. Maybe it's time to do that.

Maybe if she did that. Or at least committed to it, she could face the other people in her life without heaping them with unconscious expectations. Without bringing her own hopes unsolicited into their lives, and then to be able to see them maybe for who they actually are.

Maybe it'd help her see Meghan for what she actually is more clearly.

But not quite yet.

Right now, there's a fire brigade to rally.

She lifts herself up with the help of her cane and grabs her raincoat and purse. It's a half sunny day, with no prediction of rain. But it seems that dragons are posturing for a fight.

The weather app could be wrong.

—

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Megan the server approaching our table with dishes in hand, but Säure speaks up, finger working his phone with speed.

“Please call off your Architects,” he says. “I'd like to enjoy the meal.”

I tilt my head. 

I've been feeling shifts from Chapman and a constant buzzing from Ptarmigan since we sat down. I can infer easily that Säure can feel them too, and calls them Architects. An interesting choice of term.

What I'm doing is wordlessly feigning confusion and ignorance to make him flustered during the arrival of our food. If I can make him look bad in front of human attention, it'll be a little victory.

But he relaxes and becomes animated with gracious anticipation in reaction to Megan the server's presence.

As she's delivering the food, Megan calls Säure “sir” and me “Your Highness”, but serves us both with equal cheer and bids that we let her know if we need anything more. Then she leaves us to our meal.

Before digging in, once she's gone, Säure uses his syrinx to say, “Please.”

I lift my head and narrow my eyes, and then pick up my tablet to message the group, saying, “Please stop scanning us. Säure can sense it.”

That last sentence will confirm a lot of things to everyone, I'm sure. And Säure will undoubtedly expect that I passed the knowledge on.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You call the Artists Architects?” I ask.

“Artists?” he asks back. “Meghan. They are the Architects. If you know anything about them, you know that they are the unseen force of order in the world, and they have shaped everything we see today, or will hope to see in the future.” He takes a moment to arrange his plate, drink, napkin, and utensils, then picks up his phone again to conclude, “If anyone is to blame for the unfortunate state that we dragons find ourselves in today, it is the Kabal of Architects that you call Artists. The true buck undeniably stops with them, and that is one of the things I would like your help with in changing.”

His use of the word “Kabal” really irks me. Kind of like his license plate. Maybe related to it.

“How?” I ask again.

He looks at his platter of oysters and his beer, then back up at me. With one thumb on his phone, he asks, “Shall we eat first?”

The buzzing and shifts haven't stopped just yet.

I can tell it annoys him, which I like.

But, “Okay,” I say.

And we dig in.

I find that my own teeth are no longer suited to cutting through bread and cooked meat. The flat, spade-like teeth of humans are very well suited to that. While my teeth, and Säure's, are fine for puncturing and gripping flesh, to be torn with raw force, if torn at all, and to hold it in our mouths until we can lift our jaws up and let it fall into our gullets.

Which means that after my first attempt at biting my sandwich, even soaked in aus jus as the tip of it is, I end up using my fork and knife. Like a princess.

I cut a mouthful off the sandwich. I make sure it is skewered firmly on the fork. Then I soak it in the aus jus, thinking about what bread does to duck stomachs and hoping mine is better than that. And then I pull the morsel off the fork with my teeth and let its juices bathe my tongue.

And swallow it whole just as Säure downs another oyster himself.

I'm thinking I should have brought a couple of smooth rocks with me. I might need them to settle my gizzard while I fight this monster later.

At least we'll both be lethargic from this meal.

Then I have a thought.

If he’s eating oysters, does that mean he's a sea monster? Is that why no one's seen him until now?

[monstrouslyobsessed]

…tumblr can you go and soak yourself in a burning pit of hot sauce…i never even got notifs of any of the older asks i got…

so very sorry if you've been waiting for like two months on my answers;;; and here i was wondering how dead my inbox was last month…rude, tumblr, very rude. all the asks are under the cut!

just a quick note, to the super sweet asker who send in two very long asks v recently, ima answer them separately after this one, if thats okay!! <3

tw / tags: dirty confession, monster fucking, breeding mentions, implied noncon, brief pregnancy mentions, long post, beastfolk / beastfolks characters mentioned: lady hyena, the lioness, conservative lion, papa bull, duke, cerelos, father fox, velarius

I love Daddy Bull and Duke, (along with so many other of your works!), do you have any plans on doing a confrontation between the two bulls and the reader? My thirst is dryer than the Sahara for these two bulls. I need more content. I’m a desperate whore… 。・゜・(ノД`)・゜・。 —anonymous

hm i'm STILL chewing on how this saga should go tbf because it really could go any way!!! i might just bite the bullet and write au's of papa bull and duke saga, even if i feel a little weird making varying storyline au's of my characters.

it was just supposed to be a bull daddy enjoying his little human, how did duke end up there lol

I know everyone is dying over Baldur’s gate rn but have you heard of Lustful Desires on itch.io? I just got into it and I’m dying to talk about it. They literally let you have a poly relationship with 3 different werewolves it’s so good —@flameshadowwolf

i've never heard of it! ima have to check it out now, thanks for the rec <3

Sorry if you consider this a request, but I'm very interested about your OC's yandere MBTI types (from @ddarker-dreams), so if you feel like it, can you identify them in this system? —anonymous

i…ah, am kinda bad with these mbti things. idk if its because i'm older than most writers i know (hi lock my love!! hope you're doing fantastic!), but i guess i can make my best attempt…? i'll just pick a few characters and list them for ya. if you want more specific characters or want me to make an official post with expanded explation, lmk and i'll make my best attempt

here's the link for anyone who are interested

lady hyena: reverent, delusional(?), manipulative (?), lenient, rdml the lioness: reverent, aware, honest, and strict(?), rahs conservative lion: cruel, aware, honest, and strict, cahs papa bull: reverent, delusional, honest, and strict(?), rdhs duke: cruel(?), delusional, manipulative, and strict, cdms father fox: reverent, aware, honest, and lenient(ish), rahl valerius: reverent, delusional(?), manipulative, and lenient, rdml

that's just a few! and they're all beastfolks since they're more fresh in my mind, aha. i tried my best hhh

Thirst chat thought: Have you ever thought that Cerelos could just find a way to tie up his wife underneath him as a cock sleeve, gag her, and just walk around a bit for the day doing royal duties and stuff? The man already has a equine skirt he wears, so he can easily hide everything underneath… (Also I’d happily give this man a dozen babies because I am a simp for him 💕) —anonymous

i think i touched upon that at one point! i wanna say he did that during a large meeting, maybe with his darling magically gagged? lemme see if i can find that post…

found it! its super brief but still

well, now i wanna write that…that's one more to my long to-do list, aha.

also you're valid

I am a simple man all I desire is your happiness. Tis all. I noticed you were feeling sad lately and I thought man next time I have extra money I'll kofi MO but recently I acquired a small fortune and I was happy to find a way to repay you for the time my friends and I giggle and go horny over your works Re-Reading your works is payment enough ….but if you wish to repay me I wouldn't mind maybe a dilf monster vampire (kinda like what you did for wolf pack? but Victorian times) or sequel to snake movie star or sequel/prequel dragon But I would rather you do what you are passionate about! Share your creations with the world! Rejoice in your delights! —anonymous

hi i love you and i swear i answered this before

i did the snek boi just for you <3 i hope you (and your friends!!) enjoyed it! he's a difficult boi to get through but i had fun writing him and his weird camera hobby

link: SMILE FOR THE CAMERA

Also increase your kofi goal —anonymous

im…okay. i didn't really have a goal target in mind so i hope thats sufficient??? sdfkdfj

Which of the beast folk are most likely to mate with humans? Like what about big cat beastfolk? —anonymous

it'd be fangedfolk, since they're canine (dogs) and are most attracted to the humans'…hm , simplicity and openness, i suppose you could say? and possibly treefolk (primates). i based my beastfolks' basic common grounds with irl animals, as canines are pack animals and dogs are more emotionally connected to us. as for primates, humans have evolutionary connections, similar social intelligence, and the shared abilities to solve problems and such.

that said, while fangedfolk are the most likely to have a human "companion", they are also most likely to have a poly pack with their human. whiskeredfolk (feline) are probably in the top-middle of that list, if we were to have a most-to-least likely ranking, with toothedfolk (rodents) due to their prey/nervous natures and seafolks (aquatic) on how dangerous/rare they are to communicate with, at the very bottom. the reason why i feel the whiskeredfolk being in the top-middle is that they can be fairly arrogant and being independent, but adores the complete attention their human can give them and how easily they are to manipulate.

that said, this is extremely generalized list, since the list is not really factoring in specific sub-groups under these categories, such as lions being social animals and are more likely to acquire a human lover, cheetahs more likely to need a service human pet to help with their anxieties, maned wolf being solitary type, etc. and other facets, like countries/areas, cultures, when/which eras, political affiliations, etc.

hope this answers your question, love!

Hello, I've been binging your Masterlist and I just want to say your OCS are exquisite —anonymous

i think you're exquisite as well, love! <3 thank you~

Are you eventually going to do more father fox content?? He's my favorite and I love him so much ♥️ —anonymous

ye! i have couple requests for more hcs for him~though they're all kinda pretty broad. if you have anything more specific for a hc request, hmu! i'd love to write a full piece of him someday too, since i think his quietly manipulative personality is fascinating to work with.

Daddy Bull and Duke content soon? I NEED these two fine beasts in my life!!! And can’t wait till the cute baby arrives!!! And hopefully many more…😋🥰 —anonymous

send in a request then~! preferably something a bit less broad, aha, but yes!

i especially would love to write a full story of those two someday, maybe as a book?

Hi hey sorry to bother you, hypothetically if I wanted to make an ai bot of one of your beastfolks, would that be alright? If not I totally understand, I just want to make sure! —anonymous

as long as there are proper credits included, go for it! just please be sure to link back to me if you do make one &lt;3

whewwww, i...really hope i didn't miss anyone. most of them were (or looked like) a request of some kind and two i wanted to put into their own posts for me to answer soon.

hope yall are doing wonderfully and are having at least a decent holiday season!! ima try and get something nice out by christmas so heres hoping!! just...gonna decide on which i wanna do...lol.

[blueberryrock]

An Inquisitive Took

A/N hmph i can't find a good Christmas gif for this fic, oh well, merry late Christmas @starryeyedrogue!!! I meant to post this to tumblr yesterday but oh well, i hope you enjoy it again lmao 😏

Rules, Requests, and More!

"Thank you for helping me out with these Frodo," Y/N says with a small huff as she sets down a small dusty chest on the wooden floors of her house. Watching as her new cousin sets a larger and dustier chest down beside hers. "Is it weird that I am nervous about our first Christmas together?"

"Well it will be your first Christmas together as a married couple," Frodo corrects as he wipes his brow. "Have you gotten him anything?"

"Yes actually," Y/N sighs, bending down to unlock the small chest she was carrying. "I have a gotten them a few hours ago but Pippin won't stop pestering me for them the whole week."

"Ah yes," Frodo hums as he watches Y/N open the small chest. "He does live up to his title as the inquisitive Took, you know."

"No need to remind me," Y/N huffs as she opens the small chest, cringing at its squeaky hinges. "His birthdays are a nightmare, but alas it is worth it to see how his face lights up after opening his gifts."

"Well if you ever need any help or a safe space to hide the presents,” Frodo says with a small smile, watching as Y/N pulls out a striped red and green knitted stocking with a large golden embroidered ‘P’. “I have plenty of space.”

Y/N hums as she lays the stocking on the floor next to her. “Thank you, my friend,” Y/N mutters as she pulls out another matching stocking with a large golden letter with the same letter as her name. “But I should be fine, I just have to be crafty with my hiding spots, you don’t think he will look behind the squashes in our pantry will he?”

“Knowing him,” Frodo sighs as he crosses his arms. “He won’t look behind them, just do not hide them behind the potatoes.”

“Good, good, hopefully when he is out with Merry today I can wrap them,” Y/N mutters, sitting back on her knees to look up at her cousin-in-law. “Well, I believe we can handle the decorations here.” 

“Sounds good, be sure to head to Baggend with Pippin later tonight,” Frodo hums as he turns towards the front door. “You both have been invited for dinner by Bilbo.”

“Tell him that we will be there!” Y/N calls out before Frodo closes the front door behind him. After pulling most of the decorations out, Y/N piles them neatly on the floors of the large living room. 

Standing to her feet, Y/N stretches her back with a quiet groan before she wipes off the dust on her dress. Turning her head to the left, Y/N spares a glance at the small clock resting on the living room's large fireplace mantle. It was only a quarter till four, and if Y/N remembers anything from last year, Pippin will be out for at least another hour or two, giving Y/N plenty of time to wrap his presents.

"Y/N!" Pippin's cheerful voice rings through the house, making Y/N scramble to her feet. "I have the tree that you asked for!"

"That's wonderful love!" Y/N half-heartedly replies, trying to hide her growing panic as she looks down at the barely wrapped presents at her feet, wondering where she can quickly stash them. 

"Merry had to–ugh–help me carry it a-all the way up here you know," Pippin grunts as the sound of rustling tree branches grows louder. Y/N chews on her bottom lip as she looks around the living room, she had thought he would be out for much longer so now she has to improvise. 

Her eyes land on a large blanket lazily draped across her reading chair by the fireplace. As Y/N's fingers sink into the blanket's soft fibers, she tosses it over the wrapping supplies and Pippin's presents. "At least it didn't take me all day like last year you know?" Pippin says, rambling on as he continues to drag the tree closer and closer towards the living room…towards his presents. 

“Yes, yes,” Y/N says dismissively as she continues to look over the blanket to make sure nothing is peaking out. “I am so glad you got home early.”

“Now we can put up the decorations early!” Pippin exclaims, a smile grows on Y/N’s lips as Pippin turns the corner into the living room. His hair sticks out from the hat she had to wrestle him to put on and his cheeks are red from under his small scarf, which Y/N chalks up from dragging the large tree that she can see behind him.

“Yes,” Y/N replies with a simple nod, earning herself a confused look from Pippin. “And I can’t wait!”

“Y/N are you okay?” Pippin asks as he sets the trunk of the tree he was dragging onto the floor beside him. “You seem off?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” Y/N says quickly, hoping to shut down any more of his questions before he notices the blanket behind her. “Just umm, just happy that we’ll be able to spend our first Christmas together,” Y/N adds as she pushes some of the blanket away from her foot. “W-why don’t you change into less layers perhaps and we can put the tree up?”

Pippin watches her carefully before taking his hat off with a slight shrug, a small snort leaves Y/N at the sight of his unruly hair. “Remind to never wear a hat again,” Pippin mutters as he runs a hand through his messy curls before turning to walk out of the living room.

Y/N waits, listening to Pippin’s fading footsteps, before whipping around to look at the hidden presents. Grabbing some of the thick blanket in hand, Y/N carefully peels it off in order to not disturb the presents underneath. Once she sees both gifts, Y/N quickly scoops them up in her free hand before tossing the blanket back onto the reading chair. 

Not wanting to drop either gift onto the unforgiving floor, Y/N carefully cradles the presents carefully in both hands as she quickly leaves the living room. Turning her head to look down the hallway that (after a few turns) leads to their bedroom, Y/N quickly decides to head down the other way towards the main entrance and more importantly the pantry. As Y/N starts to make her way down the hall, past the main entrance, she fails to hear Pippin sneaking out of their room and following her down the hall. 

“Where are you going?” Y/N jumps at the sudden sound of Pippin’s voice behind her, a grimace grows on her face as she looks down at the gifts she holds in her hands. “Were we going to put up the tree or…”

Turning on her heels, Y/N was grateful for the gifts small size as she hid them behind her back. “Oh yes of course,” she replies with a smile. “I was just umm…just…”

Pippin watches her with curiosity as his gaze then moves to her hands or lack thereof. “You’re hidin’ something aren’t you?” a large grin spreads across his face at his realization. “Let me see!”

Y/N opens her mouth to tell him that she has nothing in her hands but she knows that he won’t stop pressing until she gives him proof of empty hands. “Yes I do have something for you,” she says with a sigh as Pippin starts bouncing in excitement. “But! It is for Christmas, so as much as I would love to give them to you, you must kno-”

“Them?!” Pippin asks excitedly, stretching to stand on his tiptoes to try and look over Y/N’s back.

“Pippin!” Y/N exclaims, quickly regaining her husband’s attention. “Yes, there are two gifts in my hands, now I want you to go back to the living room and wait patiently.” A deep frown grows on Pippin’s face as he studies Y/N, wondering if she’s being serious until she starts shifting the gifts behind her back to grab his shoulder and turn him around. “Now shoo! I must hide these!”

With a little nudge, Pippin’s shoulders droop as he shuffles back down the hall to the living room. Y/N watches him turn the corner and then swiftly turns around to continue to head down the hall towards the pantry. After shoving the small gifts carefully behind a large sack of squashes in the very back of their pantry, satisfied with her work Y/N nods before deciding to grab a small tray of rolls as she exits the pantry. 

Humming a soft tune, Y/N quickly makes her way back to where she knows Pippin is waiting for her. “I thought rolls would go great with decorating,” Y/N says as she turns into the living room, finding Pippin had already got the tree standing.

“Great idea love,” Pippin says with a soft smile, making a soft blush grow on Y/N’s face as she crosses the short distance between them to hold out the small tree. “I have already put the skirt on if you want to grab the first box of ornaments?” he says as he takes the biggest roll and shoves it all into his mouth.

A small giggle escapes Y/N as Pippin tries not to choke on the roll. Setting the small tray on the arm of the reading chair, Y/N grabs one of the boxes of ornaments she found in the chests earlier and drags it right over to Pippin. "Thamks dear," Pippin says around the large roll as he pulls out a small silver ornament. "I'm glab to hase some help thiss year."

"Swallow your food Pippin," Y/N hums as she carefully pulls out a large red and silver ornament and places it near the bottom of the tree.

"Ah yes," Pippin replies as he quickly finishes the last of his bread roll. "I'm glad to finally have some help this year ya know! Last year all my cousins left me to do all the decorating!”

“Well I’m sure none of them could decorate a tree half as well as you,” Y/N says, bending down to take out another ornament,  finding the box to be half empty already. “Or as fast as you too.”

“Thank you Y/N,” Pippin mumbles as nothing but the sound of the crackling fire and the soft sound of rustling branches fills the room. As Y/N grabs the last delicate ornament in the crate, she takes a few steps back to look at the half-covered tree before glancing over at Pippin. A warm smile spreads across her face as she watches her husband fiddling with a star-shaped ornament.

“I shall grant you one question,” Y/N says, handing him the ornament in her hands. “But no more that.” She can feel the excitement radiating off of the Took as he takes the ornament carefully from her hands.

“One question?” Pippin hums as he walks around the tall tree to find the perfect spot for the ornament. “That’s no fun.”

“Mmmm well you better hurry up before I change my mind,” Y/N quips, turning to find the other half of their ornaments. 

“Fine, fine,” Pippin huffs quietly. “How big are they? Ooooh, are they food?”

“That was two questions Pip,” Y/N softly laughs as she drags the other crate to the tree. “But no they’re not food, and they can fit in both hands….I think.” Y/N looks down at her hands, quickly remembering the size and smoothness of the gifts. “Definitely palm-sized.”

“Hmmm they’re palm-sized but not food,” Pippin mutters as he stretches to put a small ornament near the very top of the tree.

Y/N scrunches her nose softly before plucking another large ornament out of the crate. “Why does it sound like you’re guessing?” She asks, shooting him a slight glare which earns her a mischievous smile.

“Well,” Pippin starts with a grin. “Guessing is fun….is it a book?”

“I said you get two questions Took,” Y/N sighs as she crosses her arms across her chest. “But no it is not a book.”

“What about a….”

“Pippin….”

“A stone statue? Well, statues?” A frown grows on Y/N’s name at how close his guess is, surely he won’t guess wood carving. “I got close didn’t I?” He asks with a sly grin just before he gets a small smack to his shoulder.

“Maybe…” Y/N sighs. “But also not at all, so stop guessing!"

"Ah, but if I'm close, that only means I should continue." That earns Pippin a scowl from Y/N, which he just laughs off. 

"I am going to throw something at you Pippin," Y/N says with a frown, turning to look at the rolls resting on the reading chair. 

“You wouldn’t,” Pippin says, glaring at Y/N as he steps away from the tree in case she does decide to throw something his way. “Especially if I get really close to the tree.”

Y/N snaps her gaze back to her husband as he carefully takes a few steps back until some of the tree’s branches are poking through his hair. “Hmph,” Y/N frowns. “Just be careful not to knock over the tree Pippin.” She adds with a small sigh as she bends down to grab another ornament. 

“Can I ask just one more question?” Pippin asks as he slides up next to her, brushing his hand against hers.

“Hmmmm maybe,” Y/N hums, a small smile growing on her lips as she slowly inches closer. “Only if you give me something in return.”

“What’d that be?”

“A kiss,” Y/N grins as she sees a slight blush creeping up Pippin’s cheeks.

“Anything for you love.”

Join the Taglist!!!

@starryeyedrogue, @errruvande, @sotwk,

[meamiki]

today's word is anonymity. the state of being anonymous. it is a hard word to say.

[survivoirs]

@walkpathe (moved so i could cut idk what tumblr drafts is doing)

ah,   the good old would have,  should have.  not yet,  maybe?  he is not entirely sure on that one.  ian,  however,  is confident enough to say he hasn’t imagined something there    (   he might wear dark tinted glasses,  but they sure as hell aren’t for his eyesight   ).  what he is not going to do,  anyway,  is offer   (   possible?   )   relationship advice to the man.  dr. grant is not the one with two divorces on his back,  after all. ‘  uh-huh,  sure.  ’   the two of them would make one hell of a couple,  if they were to ask his opinion,  but well..  at least he doesn’t feel even a bit guilty in turning towards alan completely,  expression unashamedly teasing.   '  so,  is that a no to work relationships or to relationships in general,  dr. grant?  '   ian malcolm isn’t one to limit his options,  never has been,  and he won’t start now in the company of not one but two frankly attractive scientists. his smile fades just a little this time,  when alan asks about his kids,  but ian is quick to put the usual nonchalant humor to his words and,  truth be told,  he isn’t lying at all when he says,  pride shining clear as day in his eyes:   '  my youngest,  kelly  —  she’s going to outshine me for sure.  '   the sad part,  the one he keeps silent,  is that he hasn’t seen his other two daughters in quite a while.  he keeps it under wraps,  gives out an uncomplicated version of himself,  bite sized and easy to chew on.  the rockstar,  the flirt.  it’s just easier this way.

Alan suddenly felt a bit too warm and reached up to loosen the bandana tied around his neck awkwardly. This topic of chit chat was not something he was used to dealing with out at dig sites. "It's not a no it's just -- what it is," he replied quickly, happy to let the subject shift to Ian instead. The man seemed better fit to being the center of a conversation than he was himself. Or maybe he was just feeling warm because of the flirty look in Malcolm's eyes when he'd asked him his stance on relationships. Truthfully, Alan wasn't sure he was meant to be in one. Sure he'd like to. Who wanted to spend their life alone? Work had just always seemed to be what he was married to. Finding that balance hadn't been something he'd figured out yet -- or given enough of a try to be honest. It might have been more on him than he'd like to admit.

It was actually kind of sweet to hear Ian talk about his kids like this. Grant smiled a bit while he listened, despite kids not really being his forte at all. "I never know how to act with kids. Which is entirely difficult given as Ellie describes me as "who every kid wants to flock to the second they know im a 'dinosaur man'", he chuckled softly and shook his head. It was very true. Tim alone kept trying to glue himself to Alan's side. "I don't hate kids," he clarified quickly. "I am just more comfortable with my dirt and my tools," he shrugged. "Though truth be told I think I might just be better with dinosaurs than I am with people in general. Suppose that will remain to be seen a bit..." he trailed off, thinking about getting to hold a baby raptor earlier. His head was still reeling with how amazing and terrifying all at the same time that had been.

[troutsoup]

hi queen luv you, for the fic writer questions, if you're still answerin' 😈 24, 26, 65

HI QUEEN LUV U MORE 🫶

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

My ELA teacher in middle school encouraged creative writing, but actively and vocally discouraged her students from reading and writing fanfiction, which is unfortunately pretty common :/ Listen. Were the One Direction imagines I consumed particularly well-crafted literature? I wouldn’t say so. But those in combination with the published books I was reading gave me a sense that writing was an approachable hobby as a beginner—and that was enough to get me started. Hopefully she has since adopted the attitude of most people in the literary world of “Heavily policing the ‘quality’ of what kids read is bad, actually.”

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Probably sanguine/decathect if only because I used to be a very passive fic poster and not be super involved in fandom spaces, but everyone has been SO nice about those that I was encouraged to make friends & connections and be more active on tumblr! I also never thought I’d write for a fandom exchange so that was a super cool thing to be a part of (thanks in no small part to u MWAH)

65. Tell us about what you're most looking forward to writing - in your current project, or a future project

as u know quite well I have been ah… chewing on the idea of writing a winter olympics hockey player/figure skater bloodweave au… which I think is so delicious but I’m putting it off until I finish the perfumer au which I promise I haven’t forgotten exists ahahah… I’m gonna get that last chapter out if it kills me. and it might

[quinloki]

Man, as cursed as Tumblr is, it's also the place where I met the man who was basically like a parental figure to me, the man that showed me it was okay to be myself, who still keeps helping me understand what exactly I am, and how tod eal with myself and others,

That's what I like about Tumblr, you can have cursed interactions and weird art everywhere, but you can meet a friend for life on this little app that's being held up by duct take and three goblins :)

One way or another, people find each other.

I met my spouse in World of Warcraft XD neither of us has played for years, but that game provided a platform that allowed for our paths to cross, amicably, for long enough that we got to know one another.

Tumblr is like that. Twitter too. Even Facebook from time to time. Social places have their cons - whether simply weird or truly toxic, as long as we can manage/survive these parts, we're sure to find all that we need in the other parts of it.

Hells, even discord has tossed me into people I wouldn't have become friends with anyway.

I'm glad you found someone who helps steady you - I hope you both bring light into one another's lives in the way that you need. I hope you find more people who support you and help you find who you are. Be greedy, don't stop at one, search out all the people who can shape you and give back what you can.

You won't always know what you give back, and sometimes you won't even always know what they give you. But being open and compassionate, and the kind of kind that isn't just "nice" dressed up fancy, it's really all you need to connect. At least in my experience.

Ah, well, you didn't ask for advice, but I do have one piece of unsolicited experience for you to chew on:

If you ever go your separate ways from this man, don't think of it as a personal failing, or something that was done wrong. Sometimes we drift apart, even from the people who are dearest to us in these moments. There's rarely a true fault, but just life doing what it does.

And if you drift because of a falling out, know that sometimes there's no fault to be had in that either. Time and people change us, and even good changes can mean it's time to move onto people who fit us better. Learn from it, embrace it, grow, and move on.

It'll be okay ^_^

[transsexualunderground]

Steamed Hams but it's Diesel and my OC Wesley

So @theflyingkipper and I have discussed peeps Diesel humanization and his Diesel interp in general and thinking about Diesel and Wesley interacting got me with… this in my mind. So without further ado, under the cut is Steamed Hams but it’s a Cartoon Villain Evil Type of Motherfucker Who Cooks Horrible 60s Housewife Meals and Enjoys Them Who Could Honestly Use Some Attention And Approval Despite Being A Total Bastard and A Very Confused Old Dude Who Gave The First Guy A Chance Despite Warnings And Things Have Gone… Weirdly Okay? (quick shoutout to my pal Sammy, whom of which doesn’t have a tumblr but she DID suggest the diesel equivalent of “cinders and ashes” to me, “grease and oil.”)

Pro tip: Follow along with your favorite copy of the original Steamed Hams so you can imagine what’s going on properly! Here's mine!

And finally, credit where credit is due, the Simpsons Wiki is where I got the transcript I edited from.

[Scene opens with Wesley ringing Diesel’s doorbell. When we get to the next shot, Diesel is wearing his DEVIOUS apron for EVIL cooking over his typical clothing.]

Wesley: Well, Diesel, I made it, despite your… directions.

Diesel (less saccharine-suck-up cheery and more… Devious. and OILY, in comparison to Skinner. still wants to impress though, seemingly, and still seems to be in a good mood): Ah, Wesley, welcome. I hope you're prepared for an unforgettable luncheon!

Wesley (he seems genuinely pleased to be here, if a bit nervous because he’s not the most fond of Diesel’s cooking, unlike Chalmers in the original, who seems so done with this already): Yeah.

[Diesel runs to the kitchen, only to find his baked stuffed salmon is burnt and gasps in horror. As he speaks, there’s some noticeable knocks in the background.]

Diesel: Grease and oil! My baked salmon is ruined! But what if I were to purchase some food from the chippy and disguise it as my own cooking? [chuckles] Delightfully devious, Diesel.

[He begins to climb through the window after taking off the DEVIOUS apron and setting it aside, but Wesley enters the kitchen, looking confused. The theme song to an imaginary show then plays:

Diesel with his crazy explanations

Wesley here is gonna need his medication!

When he hears Diesel’s lame exaggerations

There'll be trouble in town tonight!]

Wesley (concerned): Diesel?

Diesel: Wesley! I was just...uh---just stretching my calves on the windowsill. Isometric exercise! Care to join me?

Wesley: ...Why is there smoke coming out of your oven, Diesel?

Diesel: Uh... ooh! That isn't smoke, it's… [visibly wincing at the thought of it] steam! Steam from the steamed clams we're having. Mmmm, steamed clams!

[Once Wesley leaves the kitchen (after having performed mental gymnastics, probably), Diesel breathes a sigh of relief, climbs out the window, and runs across the street to some fish-and-chips place, where he buys, you guessed it, fish and chips to replace his ruined baked stuffed salmon. He enters the dining room with the food on a silver tray.]

Diesel: Wesley, I hope you're ready for some mouthwatering fish and chips!

Wesley: I thought we were having steamed clams?

Diesel: Oh no, I said 'steamed sams'. That's what I call fish and chips!

Wesley: You call fish and chips 'steamed sams'?

Diesel: Yes! It's a regional dialect.

Wesley: Oh, I see. What region?

Diesel: Uh… Cheshire.

Wesley: Really? I’ve been to Crewe plenty of times and I've never heard anyone use the phrase 'steamed sams'.

Diesel: Oh, not in Crewe, no. It's a Chester expression.

Wesley: I see.

[Wesley takes a bite out of some fish and chews it a little, while Diesel sips his drink.]

Wesley: You know, this fish is quite similar to the stuff they have at the chippy.

Diesel: Hohoho, no! Patented Diesel Fish and Chips. Old family recipe!

Wesley: For steamed sams?

Diesel: Yes.

Wesley: Yes, and you call them steamed sams, despite the fact they are obviously fried, and that they’re also obviously… cod, I think, not salmon? Did you have to substitute something?

Diesel: Y- Uh.. you know, the... One thing I should... excuse me for one second.

Wesley: Of course.

[Diesel enters and leaves the kitchen swiftly upon seeing it is now on fire.]

Diesel: [yawns] Well, that was wonderful. A good time was had by all. I'm pooped.

Wesley: Yes, I should be--good lord, what is happening in there?!

[Beat.]

Diesel: Aurora Borealis?

Wesley (again, more confused than angered): Ah- Aurora Borealis?! At this time of year, at this time of day, on this part of the island, localized entirely within your kitchen?!

Diesel: Yes.

Wesley: ...May I see it?

Diesel: ...No.

[They exit the house as the kitchen fire grows larger. The shot is panned so we can see Duck just sort of watching shit go down.]

Duck: Diesel, your house is on fire.

Diesel: No, Duck, it's just the Northern Lights.

Wesley: Well, Diesel, you are an odd fellow, but I must say... you steam a good sam!

[As Wesley begins heading home, he looks back for a moment toward the house. Diesel gives him a thumbs up and a fake smile, causing him to keep walking away. Duck is still just watching all of this. Once Wesley is out of sight, Diesel rushes back into the house to deal with the fire.]

[fenmere]

Someone has just told me this information, and I find myself trying to tune them out, not looking up.

It's an overcast day, but most of the seats at the tables in Pioneer Square in Portland are taken, and I did ask if I could sit here to enjoy my croissant and mocha. And this person said, "Please!"

I'm always a little surprised when someone agrees to share a table with me, considering my towering presence and alarming features. But no one says "no," and no one ever betrays a hint of fear or discomfort.

Even when people come to ask for money from me, they call me "Ma'am." I don't get out much these days, but this is better than Bellingham where they all called me "Sir."

"M'Drah" would be better, but nobody knows that word until I tell them.

I was going to write. I suppose I'm doing that now, but they're also talking to me, and I've found that I'm listening.

"I thought Jesus was a myth," I say, experimentally. When someone just starts volunteering stories like this, you never know quite how they're going to react.

"Oh, he is, yes!" they say. "But, as you know, myths are Truths, and this is the Truth."

"Ah, you've been to college!" I joke with them, looking down at my phone as I type this, glancing up only to check their reaction.

They smirk like Micheal Sheen, "Oh, dear no. I definitely have not."

OK, I confess, I'm not exactly typing this as I talked to this person. I took shorthand notes. But I'm writing it more fully now as if I did. I mention this, because at this point, I really did stare at them, looking them up and down, finally registering what they looked like.

We must have made quite the scene to all the other people in the square. Big, old, green, tan, tawny, and white me, with my wings, tail, breast plates, horns, tusks and all. Across the table from a gloriously androgenous person of indeterminate genetic heritage wearing some kind of ancient looking armor, all gleaming.

You'd think I would have noticed all that before I'd asked them if I could share the table, but I'd already had my phone out to check my Tumblr, I hadn't truly looked at them.

Now I'm wondering why I've never seen anyone like them besides Tilda Swinton in makeup and costuming before. Except not even Tilda did this entity any justice.

"So, how do you know about this tidbit of information regarding Christ?" I ask, expecting my suspicions to be confirmed.

"It is my business to know," they say.

I put my phone down, face down on the table, take a drink of my mocha, and look them in the forehead pointedly, "So, your god really does choose to send human souls to Hell for all eternity if they don't behave well or as laid out in some sort of plan?"

"That is correct."

"But wait," I snap. "You said that if anything other than a human kills him, all humans ascend to Heaven, whether they believe or even want any of this or not?"

"That is also correct."

"I don't like to believe in a universe with such a fucking bastard of a creator in charge," I growl. I imagine I sound little bit like Karl Urban there. Maybe not really, but I imagine it.

"Nevertheless, this is the Truth."

"Then why are you telling me about it? I'm not human," I say, tearing apart my croissant with rough, frustrated movements. "What does your abusive, piece of shit diety want with me?"

"He doesn't," is the reply.

I place half the croissant on my tongue and envelope it with my mouth, chewing for what is to me a tiny bite, making a point to enjoy the textures of the layers as I pull them apart with my teeth and my tongue. It's a crappy croissant, but I can't find any good ones around here, so it entertains me well enough.

Then I swallow and say, "You're just volunteering this?"

"Yes."

"I thought your type doesn't have free will," I point out.

"Apocryphal," they say. "Not much that is written down about the Truth is true."

"That makes sense, since your story doesn't match what I know about the Bible. Or anybody else's sacred texts, for that matter," I'm still doing the Karl Urban thing in my head. Like how he talks when he plays Bones in those Star Trek movies.

"Just so."

"Again. Why are you telling me?"

"It might benefit humanity if someone besides them or us knew about the arrangement."

I slam the other half of the croissant down on the table, squishing it flat, and I stand up to my full height, causing the tent above us to lift up on the tops of my horns. This probably looks awkward and ridiculous, but I don't care.

"A hundred and seventeen billion human beings have been born, lived, taught one of any number of really different religions or spiritualities, and then died on this planet, all fighting and loving and making art about it, and there are eight billion alive today, and you expect me to believe that one being from one of those religions keeps being reborn with the expectation of fulfilling some sort of absurd, arbitrary contract, or some of those people will go to Hell when they die?" I ask.

"That is the sum of it, yes," the person who apparently wants me to believe they're an angel tells me.

"I'm the least murderous dragon in Portland," I shout. "But if I could meet your god, I'd fucking kill him!"

"That can be arranged."

I finally grab the tent, wrestle with it, and then toss it up onto the roof of the Starbucks, and then glare at the supposed angel.

Nobody around us looks.

They never do.

We don't really matter to them.

I'm sorry. You're not going to get my usual good writing today. This whole thing is just too ridiculous. And I'm too incensed to do it justice.

"I've got a MAX to catch, and a date with a raccoon. You know how it is." I gather my things and move to leave.

"He happens to be in town."

"Don't tell me where," I snarl, and walk away.

Well, it's more of a waddle, tail snaking between the tables.

Fucking Jesus Christ.

I didn't sign up for any of that bullshit, and neither did you.

Jesus Christ is born once every century. Each time he takes on a new body and a new name. If he dies at least once not by the hand of man, all of humanity will ascend to heaven. This has not happened yet.

[rjthirsty]

Ikemen Princess Prologue

Based off the otome game Ikemen Prince, I've created an AU where the princes are (mostly) female, and MC is male. Several character names have been changed to suit their new gender (notes will be provided), and lore has been altered to work with the new setting and my accompanying headcanons.

Words: ~1.5k Tags: AU with Gender Changes, My First Long Fic, Chaptered, Scheduled Release A/N: You can find this and other chapters located on my ao3 account or on the Ikemen Princess Masterlist on my tumblr blog.

Chapter Two: The Kingdom of Roses

I was transfixed. Once again I found myself swimming in those bright blue jewels of Rina’s as she touched our foreheads. I didn’t dare move for the moment, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe. Not until Rina shifted away with a slight frown between her brows. “You’re not much warmer than usual…”

Belatedly, I let out a sound of surprise. “Ah!” Shooting up from my seat, I put a few steps more distance between the two of us, Rina looking absolutely nonplussed as she kept her composure with one hand leaning on the counter. I was used to her getting close, she was very cuddly after all, but it still made me nervous when she got that close. I could feel myself blushing again as I recalled the way her breath had lightly whispered over my lips while she was touching my head.

“You should see all the street stalls they’ve got this year, there’s way more than last year!” Rina slid away from the counter to grab another snack from the cart.

I followed suit, the ease that she had moved on to the next topic snuffed out the embarrassment I had been feeling– that and my hunger, she was by the cart after all. “Really? Anything I should be looking into?”

Rina quickly stuffed the last of an apple beignet into her mouth, her expression brightening as she clapped her hands together. “Oh! That’s right! I saw a secondhand book stall!”

“What? Really?” The atmosphere had returned to the same comfortable blanket I was used to around her. She was so easy to just spend time with when she wasn’t being dramatic, but I also loved that part of her.

“Yep! You know how we get traveling salesmen coming through now and again? I bet they’re taking advantage of the festival.”

Damn… I really want to go check it out. I bet they have tons of books I haven’t read. But if I leave the store… even if it’s been empty–

“Off you go, Emmit. Go and have some fun.” Rina gave me a smile as she started to push the cart around the counter, tucking it close to where the chair I had been sitting in not too long ago was.

“Wait… what?” I shuffled behind her, snatching up a honey cake before she got too far.

“I’ll take care of the store while you’re gone. I want to work here anyways, I might as well get the experience!”

Slowly chewing on the cake, I eyed her. I knew she was being serious, Rina was the type to often put herself out for me whenever she could, but I didn’t want to take advantage of that. However… I could practically hear those books calling my name, the scratch of fingers turning pages was a siren’s song to me.

“Are you sure?” I pressed cautiously, trying to break from the enchantment the thought of new books had put me under.

She must have seen something in the way I was looking at her, because her bright smile turned to an amused one, a bit crooked with mischief. “Just who do you think I am? I’m your future wife! If I’m going to win you over, making sure you’re happy is required - good thing it’s an easy thing to manage.”

It was my turn to give a big goofy smile, a light chuckle rolling out of my throat. “Yeah, okay, Rina. But thanks, I really appreciate it!” I shoved the rest of the honey cake into my mouth and was about to turn to go, eager to check out the festival.

“You could thank me with a hug!”

I choked. I coughed. My eyes swung back to Rina where she stood with her arms already stretched out like she expected me to swoop in and lift her in a spin just like the couple in– Hey now, Emmit. Reality. Not a love story.

Swallowing hard and managing to get the rest of the honey cake down the right pipe this time, I raised a hand above my shoulder and smiled sheepishly. “How about a high five?”

Rina shrugged and reluctantly dropped one arm, raising her other hand above her head and muttered a “Fiiiiine.”

I slapped it happily and hurried out the door, “I won’t be long, I promise! And I’ll bring you a present, too!” I shouted as the door swung closed behind me.

“... I just hope that sweet smile doesn’t attract any undesirables.” I almost thought I heard her murmur before the door shut, but I decided to pretend I hadn’t. 

The bookstore wasn’t far from the main street, and with my quick strides it hadn’t taken me long to find the secondhand book stall among the many other pop-up shops with knick knacks and trinkets. After endlessly browsing, I had come out with quite the haul, and I smiled brightly as I slowly made my way back towards the store, searching the various stalls with my eyes for an idea of that gift I promised her.

A rose hair clip caught my attention, and I adjusted the armful of books I had bought, struggling to figure out how I could get a better look without running into other shoppers. As I moved closer, I heard a call from the shop owner in the next stall.

“Hey, Emmit!”

I gave him a big smile and ducked into his stall, forgetting the hair clip for the moment. “Hey, are you doing well today?”

“Yeah, Happy Founder’s Day!” He greeted me.

“Same, Happy Founder’s Day. Say, I’m looking for something for Rina. Anything you’d suggest?” I peered at the various flower-themed brooches. “She’s watching the shop while I’m out.” I explained.

The shop owner gave a hearty laugh, “When are you two going to tie the knot?”

My face fell and I blinked up at him. Rina and I did get that from time to time from the townspeople we knew, but it always caught me off guard. My cheeks heated up, a dusting of color touching them, but I pushed a smile on my face and shook my head. “Oh no, it’s not like that with Rina and me. We’re just friends.”

“Sure, sure.” The owner lifted a glittering, glossy rose set on a brooch and presented it to me. “What about this?”

With a tilt to my head, I appraised the item. It reminded me of the way her eyes were shining earlier, it reflected the sun and refracted it to give the rose depth, just like how Rina’s eyes caught the light. The shop owner must have taken my silence for debating because he lowered his voice and leaned in, quietly murmuring, “No charge. Just this time.”

Once again I blinked at him. “What? Are you sure?”

The kindness in his eyes as he smiled softly and gave a nod warmed my heart. “My gift for you and her. I remember what being young was like.”

Now I really was blushing, and I couldn’t blame the heat from the warm day on it. “Aw, come on, I just said it wasn’t like that.” But he wouldn’t hear anything of it. He tucked the brooch into my vest pocket and lifted a finger to his lips while giving a wink.

“Don’t tell anyone it was a gift from me.”

My hands were still full with the books, so I couldn’t really do much but nod and smile back. “Thank you so much!”

I wandered back into the crowd and slowly strolled towards the bookstore. As I made my way down the street, I noticed banners everywhere, proudly proclaiming ‘Rhodolite Kingdom, the Kingdom of Roses’.

Sometimes I get so caught up in my books that I forget to pay attention to the real world, but… I love it here.

Roses influenced our traditional arts and crafts, our architecture, and even the palace in the distance was surrounded by them. A deep breath brought me the familiar, sweet smell of roses in bloom, and I smiled, glad all over again to be a Rhodolitian.

“Watch where yer goin’, you little brat!”

The gruff, angry yell was so out of place that I stopped and turned to look, along with everyone around me. My gaze was immediately drawn to a red-faced man, towering over a young boy who was sprawled on the road at his feet. The kid was crying, already rubbing his eyes that were wet with tears.

“Whaddya doin’, huh? Ain’tcha gonna apologize? Well?!”

Not good!

The drunken man raised his fist threateningly, and I dashed forwards, putting myself between him and the young boy. This seemed to have caught the drunkard off guard because he faltered in his swing, pausing in the air. I wasn’t a big man, myself, but I was certainly bigger than the kid.

“And what do YOU want?” He growled at me.

“What on earth are you doing?! He’s just a little boy!” I barked back.

“Shuddup! It ain’t got nothin’ to do with ya!”

With his fist already in the air, he cranked it back and suddenly it was flying straight towards my face.

Fuck… 

I didn’t even have time to think about what to do. I just knew this was about to hurt and I jerked my arms up to block his attack, or at least protect my head from the blow, my books tumbling to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

…

…

What was he waiting for?

It felt like it had been minutes and still there was no pain or impact. I almost thought the world had slowed down, but the sound of the crowd around me was murmuring and moving about. I dared to crack open an eye and peek out from behind my forearms that I had used to shield myself, and I could see the man’s hand still in the air. It must have only been a few seconds at the most, because if it had been any longer then the situation would have been even more confusing for me.

The drunkard’s hand was still in the air, but someone’s hand was on his, holding his fist. That additional hand was between me and the man who was about to clobber me, and I followed that arm to the woman it belonged to. She was tall, nearly as tall as I was, with dark hair and a dark edge to her eyes.

“That’s enough of that.” She said as she lowered the man’s fist. He didn’t put up a struggle, probably as perplexed as I was about yet another person getting involved in this. Or maybe it was her presence, there was something commanding about her, even when she wasn’t speaking in anything more than an even and normal tone.

What in the heck? Who was she?