#if i was my own fucking DOG the animal people would be involved. christ

[evidently-endless]

[sourwormsaresour]

Headcanons on the type of pets La Squadra would own?

Holy shit this was too fun to make, especially with giving the pets names.

Sorbet and Gelato have their own Crusty-White-Dog™ that's a Maltese Terrier named Armani. The dog hates and barks nonstop at everything deemed threatening (aka, everyone and particularly the rest of La Squadra) and yet those two will claim she's the sweetest thing in the world. True to her name, they deck her with Armani branded clothes, either specially made dog fashion or they had a DIY done to make it look like an Armani outfit- down to the bright pink leash she wears dripping in the Armani logo. She eats the finest dry kibble and only drinks Ferrarelle Sparkling water; she will know the difference if you switch it up. She's the epitome of "I demand pets but only do so with your eyes" to everyone. Despite loving Sorbet and Gelato the most, she demands all their attention on her and she will cockblock those two if she catches them being affectionate to each other instead. Despite having a nice bed, she always sleeps between the two of them and will whimper if they kick her out of the bedroom so they can get intimate. Those tear-stained eyes always look like they've seen everything, despite being constantly babied by her owners. If Armani could, she would kill everyone.

Risotto, the biggest man in Vento Aureo, has a little Syrian hamster he called Ace. He thought that a pet with a shorter lifespan would allow him the perfect balance of having a pet but not being very attached to it compared to pets that live longer- he was wrong. If you ever come into Risotto's office as he worked, either you are greeted with Ace running around in his green hamster ball, walking around Risotto's desk as he worked, or running in the hamster wheel behind the desk. Ace's tank is an old Aquarium tank Pesci gave to Risotto that is now full of soft bedding, toys, and Risotto frequently cleans it. There are days where Risotto just spends hours watching his hamster walk around the room, eating little treats, and staring at Risotto with its beady eyes. It's gotten to the point where you can't walk into Risotto's office without noticing a lone sunflower seed or piece of bedding on the ground that Risotto didn't notice until you pointed it out. Every time Ace passes from old age, Risotto buys a new Syrian hamster and calls that one Ace. He hasn't kept track of how many hamsters that came and went so far, but treated every one of them as if they were the first Ace. He takes pictures of Ace doing the most relatively boring things and will share them with his members.

Illuso got a Sulphur-crested cockatoo named Scapino as a joke. He thought they didn’t require much attention but later felt bad when he found out that they need specific proper care. He proceeds to care for it as if it was his child. Illuso taught his bird how to speak and swear at people, specifically swearing at Formaggio and occasionally at Ghiaccio. This man will shower his bird with the best treats (expensive nuts, dried fruit, chicken bones) and has a special bar for it to perch on when they're in the shower together. This bird has free reign all over Illuso's place and wears a little anklet thing to verify that it has an owner should it escape. The two of them have spa days together and it’s one of the most wholesome things in the world to witness. Scapino will actually join Illuso on missions too, staying in the mirror world the whole time, and it provides him some comfort from his social anxiety. Sometimes Scapino sits on his shoulder as he walks. Illuso trained it to stay and hide in the mirror world so that it wouldn’t fly away or blow his cover when he’s working. But the bird will fly around in there and will watch anyone that’s getting murked in front of him with no remorse and commenting on it too. Imagine you’re dying in the mirror world and your last moment is this fucking bird looming over you going “night night, motherfucker”. JESUS CHRIST. 

Prosciutto used to be on the whole “pets are unnecessary” train but he had considered looking at breeders for the best quality dog. And then one rainy day he found an abandoned Portuguese Water Dog puppy in an alleyway and at Pesci’s insistence took it in. Turns out the puppy was bought by a rich family for their kid but then abandoned when the kid wasn't interested in it anymore. Prosciutto insisted that the dog was going to stay for one night and then sent to the pound first thing in the morning. It's been years now and the little dog is now a big fluffy good boy named Pon Pon. The second biggest chunk of Prosciutto's paycheck is for this dog; I'm talking grooming services with paw-ticures, an all-organic raw diet, the nicest beds that even a human would wish they can sleep on. Pon Pon is properly trained with all the basics and tricks, because Prosciutto doesn't want to deal with a misbehaving dog, but it will use puppy eyes against the old man now and then. He give you the best smiles if you call him a good boy and if you glance at the right time you can see Prosciutto smile for a brief moment. Had he lived longer, he would have made Pon Pon famous on Facebook like Boo the Dog. Prosciutto will also not admit that this dog has helped him get laid a few times, because every person he did bring home always got a kick out of Pon Pon.

Ghiaccio has a pet snake- an albino ball python named Bianco. Ghiaccio was also on the “pets are unnecessary” train too but mainly because he can't stand loud pets (i.e. Illuso and Sorbet and Gelato’s pets). When Risotto suggested he get a snake, Ghiaccio looked into it, researching and meticulously setting up the proper enclosure  and found himself going to a local reptile expo to find Bianco for sale. He’s fascinated by his snake to say the least, and would use leftover containers or Tupperware for Bianco to spend more money on proper equipment or food. Ghiaccio is really involved in online reptile forums and frequently debates with people on topics such as the best substrates to use, whether live rodents are better than frozen, ethics of breeding certain species, etc. He often gets worried when Bianco becomes picky and Ghiaccio would spend sleepless nights trying to get his baby to eat. Ghiaccio would walk around with his ball python wrapped around his neck or lets him slither around in his room under supervision but he mostly leaves him alone in the enclosure. There are times where he would claim he has the best, smartest pet and everyone just rolls their eyes like “yes the white fettuccine that got stuck in a toilet paper roll an hour ago is so smart”. But they let him rant about it. It’s kind of cute to say the least.

Pesci is the definition of people whose entire LIVELIHOOD is making his room into an aquarium. His room is full of strictly maintained, cleaned, and decorated tanks full of various types of aquatic animals. I’m talking Dwarf Puffers (Antonio, Portia, Jessica, Bassiano, and Solanio), Albino Gold Axolotls (Moe, Larry, and Curly), Red Ear Sliders (Franco and Ciccio), Clown Fishes (Browser, Mario, Toadstool, and Koopa), Brazilian Sea Horses (Tom and Jerry), a Blue Betta Fish named Valentina in a 30+ gallon aquaponics tank that grows a variety of plants each season- to name a few. He rebuilt his entire room to keep everything running and even had Melone help him set up timers for lighting and temperature control. Pesci will cry if you somehow made the pH level off by 1 or did not care for his animals properly when he’s away. He’ll even lecture you about bad tank setup. He's a prominent member of the aquarium  community in Italy and will regularly redecorate each tank to suit the year and mood. This is where he’s spending his cut on the 20 million lira job: caring for his mini aquarium room. He occasionally gives away his pets’ offsprings for extra money (he doesn’t breed but sometimes he ends up having a ton of baby animals he can’t take care of) and would have been a YouTuber for his fish content. Now that I think about it, Pesci reminds me of my mutual @nexter2nd. Please go follow them.

Melone has a Holland Lop bunny and you cannot change my mind. He actually had a pet bunny growing up, another Holland Lop named Echo and Grep, and his current one is named Sudo; all three are named after UNIX commands. He has a large dog crate he diy-ed to be a roomy enclosure in his room for her that he cleans frequently but also allows Sudo free reign of the room when she wants to go out. Because of his job, he makes sure all his wires are covered so his bunny isn't tempted to chew them and watches his bunny diligently whenever she roams around. Easter time is when the denim jacket, pastel bows, and flower crowns come out and Melone makes sure to take a lot of photos. He also housetrained his bunny and taught her a few tricks, similar to how he trained Echo and Grep years ago. Sudo is spoiled in terms of getting a lot of pets, new toys, and feasts on the finest veggies and delicious hay. Melone also makes sure the first thing he teaches his Juniors is to not harm the bunny. Surprisingly, he's against breeding Sudo and has her neutered. This is mainly because he doesn't have the time to breed and raise more bunnies but also he hates the idea of selling the grown bunnies off afterward. 

You know that Formaggio has a cat: the little Russian Blue cat named Sweetie Baby. Sweetie Baby was a kitten that he found outside his home. The little thing was the sole survivor of its litter and nearly starving to death, so he took her in thinking he will bring her to the shelter when she recovers; that cat now lets him live in HER apartment rent-free. Despite feeding her cheap dry food and constantly shoving her into bottles, he treats her like a queen otherwise. He will dress her up in little outfits (much to her annoyance) and often would be too aggressively affectionate towards her. Still, there are moments where she would cuddle with him during the later nights and allow him to put on one iced-out bow he just spent a quarter of his paycheck on. Walking to his apartment and even the backdoor of La Squadra’s HQ means carefully walking through the stray cats mewling at your feet, because Formaggio will feed any cat he sees. Initially, Risotto wanted the cats gone, but then he finds out the cats doubled as security when he watched some robber attempting to break in but getting their eyes scratched off instead.

[weaselbeaselpants]

Shout Out to all the vegans who aren't insane. There's actually a lot of them out there

and I hope they're all having a nice day =)

To be honest, while I'm all for humane farmers (shameless promo for @dairyisntscary, they’re darling and I get to lookat cute cows when I see their blog) but if they made a milk substitute that doesn’t make me sick, I’d be all for quitting dairy. I’d still eat eggs though. My point being:

veganism is not inherently unhealthy, sickly, or even prompted JUST BECAUSE people want to help animals. Some people just honestly like the lifestyle. And good for them.

Vegans and vegetarians should not ever have to feel like they made the wrong decision or that they shouldn’t have meat+dairy eating friends. We can all coexist so long as we all fight cruelty to animals- the road to which is going to involve a LOT of trial and error (and 0 PeTA). The fact is some people (like me) can’t go vegan where other people can’t eat dairy or meat. You shouldn't badger people about the ‘right’ foods that will magically ‘fix’ them. No food does that. Let people live how they want if it isn’t hurting them or others. Don’t EVER shame indie farmers and rescuers for keeping and caring for the animals they love. Alternatively, it’s good to do research and not make blanket statements about how something “can’t be” cruel. ((Ex 1. Sheep don’t shed their wool. It needs to be shorn and most farmers in the US are good about this. Australia and New Zealand’s wool on the other hand? A LOT of abuse goes down there esp with genetically modified animals. Be wary of buying wool from Australia. Ex 2. For all the Joe Exotics and SeaWorld’s of the world, there are absolutely wonderful wildlife sanctuaries and zoos that need our support. Zoos are possibly the one inhumane form of animal husbandry that has evolved to be about the animals and not the people keeping them.)) I get mad for my stupid veggieSis and cool vegan friends when the arbitrary ‘good guy’ in this argument has to be the meat eater. I get mad at people hating Lisa for turning vegetarian in The Simpsons when the episode where she does so is so obviously critical of the meat industry. You guys deserve your representation.

You know what you also deserve? Literally anyone who’s not ThatVeganTeacher.

Katie Karen is the epitome of the worst possible kind of vegan and the reason actually sane vegans don’t feel comfortable sharing their diet/lifestyle. They know people will associate them with Katie. They’ve been hurt too many times by vegans like Katie who shame them for not being vegan “enough” or using her diet -their diet- to trash talk their culture, beliefs, and sexualities.

No nonJew has any right comparing meat industries to the holocaust. If something involving the treatment of animals speaks to the humanity in you; like it did for Robbyne Kaamil who wrote a song comparing her enslaved ancestors to Lolita the killer whale; make what you will. And yet it IS sick to proudly value animal’s lives over human rights. We are animals too and intelligent animals care for their own first a foremost ((elephants, dolphins, parrots, pigs, primates)) before we care for the animals around us. We should care about the animals too but people always come first.

Not that Katie cares about animals herself, fyi. Any decent dog or cat owner knows their pet can’t turn vegan with them. Raise a freakin’ pig if you want an animal to go vegan with you. Katie is abusing her dog, Bella, by forcing Bella to eat vegan food that she can’t digest because she’s a fucking dog. Bella should be taken away from Katie and given real dog food. She’s a carnivore.

One of the most disgusting things about Katie is her treatment of minors and people younger than her. I pray to god she’s lying about being a teacher because jeezus christ. That woman would make me hate myself if I were in Elementary school. She shouldn’t be allowed near children especially when she makes comments to teenagers like this:

Katie is a gatekeeper. Everything in her life has to be about her and her brand of veganism. She is a walking, talking PeTA advert. She makes life so much harder for vegans as well as Animal Right's Activists. She’s a living example to people who hate vegans why they think all vegans are bad and her call for veganism is ultimately all about her and not the feelings of anyone else.

I feel like this is an important post to make because any time there's this kind of discourse about creepy vegans or PeTA or whatever it HAS to invite some pos eating meat just to stick it to the big-bad vegan-crazies like Katie. You're doing nothing but adding more fuel to the fire and you need to be taken out of the arena. No one wants you here - farm-guy who thumbs up next to the cow carcass he's strung up and mutilated just so you can see a creepy vegan's reaction. You're creepy too.

Both avid meateaters and devout vegans have disturbing alt-right racist ties that are worth addressing BY the people who share their diet. They need to be taken down a peg and not just by people that'd hate them regardless of their politics. They need to be taken down by their contemporaries.

This post is for those vegans who are done with people like Katie and want to save her poor dog. I want more vegans coming out of the woodwork and roasting her with their vegan enchiladas- served with a tall glass of oat milk.

This is a vegan-friendly blog.

This also a kosher-friendly blog and vegetarian friendly blog. This is a being-a-decent-dog-owner-friendly blog. I am not irredeemable by respecting these people as well. I'm irredeemable if I support abuse, neglect, and bigotry, which is what Katie supports.

[greyhavensking]

100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV. 

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining. 

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?” 

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light. 

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on— 

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now. 

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart. 

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together. 

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas. 

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation. 

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all. 

[warsmith-38]

How I would do RWBY Pt. 0

Disclaimer: It is easier to improve what already exist than it is to create something new. Boy howdy do I know that. That being said, I believe that RWBY has more than its fair share of flaws and this is how I would do it differently if I was behind the reigns. This is just a collection of my opinions and ideas which in the end will probably amount to nothing. I felt the need to do this because my brain just decided ‘nah motherfucker, you ain’t thinking of anything else from now on’ and this is the end result for nothing else would satisfy my rage.

I wouldn’t quite call this a complete re-haul, but more rather a rework with some of my own brand of polish. It’s not a compete rebuild from the ground up in a different world with different concepts and themes, but how I would go about a second go around with the series from the base that is already there. If a detail is missing from my musings then assume it is either unchanged or removed, depending on context.

If some of my complaints were addressed after I stopped watching, I honestly don’t much care. If it takes longer than 4 seasons to fix what I view as fundamental problems, then it’s far too little too late for me. I paid scant attention to the series post my stopping point and liked little to none of what I saw.

Please do not take this as a specific attack on anything other than the writing of the show itself. This is not directed or targeted against anyone, regardless of position or feelings on the topic at hand. If you ignore what I just said and decide to take this as an insult, then I say that you need to be more self-secure in your tastes and interests.

Things I would remove + reason why

Silver eyed warriors as a concept- it’s more or less the same concept as dojutsu from Naruto. It’s the fucking sharingan (rubygan). It’s not quite chosen one level, but crap like this is the blight of good protagonists. It’s fucking eugenics that makes you awesome not your own skills or training but on your bloodline. No need for personal development or life-changing hardship when you have a built in power that can be cultivated like a fucking bumper crop.

Maidens- Wasn’t intended originally and only made the overall story more cluttered with power creep and plot device. It’s a similar problem as above. No need for training or anything if people can just kill the person who has the power currently and take if from them. Which, at that point, why do you want that power if you’re already strong enough to kill and take it from the person who has it to begin with? It’s something someone just shouted out and they rolled with it because it sounded cool in the moment.

The Relics- McGuffin dragonballs that serve as plot device and little else. A story can be told without needing to monotonously race for Excalibur or the holy grail. Considering the Maidens, I doubt that the relics were intended in the first place and as such if you can’t tell a story without throwing something in after a few seasons because you realized that you didn’t have a plot, then you’re not that good at telling stories.

Oscar- The show didn’t need more main protagonists when what was already there wasn’t being given enough characterization to begin with. For that matter-

Quite a few characters- The cast is cluttered and convoluted enough as is with seemingly important characters getting the shaft in favor of yet another new character that would barely do anything. Time and effort seems to be put into one-off schmucks that would be better served making the story not need poochie the dog, let alone several. Character integration is not ‘create a character to do one thing and then pretend they don’t exist’. There’s already plenty of characters than can be used wherever.

The overt shipping bait, especially if it’s just going to be taken up or abandoned on a whim- I don’t mean relationship building, I mean the obvious baiting of a relationship that, in the end, might not even happen. All it does is dumb down characters and character arcs, draw out pointless scenes, and make the fans have conniptions one way or another. People are pissed off whenever things don’t go their way with shipping so the only winning move with these people is not to play their game. Looking at you Klance and Zutara. Either don’t do anything or have a fucking plan and stick to it and not make complete swerves when fans get uppity. If it genuinely matters to you, then pretend whatever ship happens at whatever point, I don’t care.

Changes to the world that I think would go over better-

Everyone has a level of aura with a naturally high level generally meaning that they might be able to unlock a semblance. A semblance is unlocked through some sort of specific event, typically a stressful one IE: Yang and Ruby are caught in the woods by grimm and Yang gets frustrated and scared at not being able to defend her sister before getting angry and her rage mode semblance unlocking. Not everyone who unlocks a semblance goes into combat schools but it is a requirement for acceptance into most of them. Having the potential to unlock a semblance seems entirely random but has a higher chance with genetics.

There are two types of semblances: 1 is hereditary like the Schnee glyphs, changing only slightly, if at all, through the generations. 2 is a random personal power like Yang having her rage mode as compared to Raven’s portals. Whichever you get tends to be random with the occasional exception depending on genetics and the specific semblance.

Every 1 in assumedly 10 people who have semblances have the potential to have two semblances, often times, but not necessarily, being one hereditary and one random. The process of unlocking the second semblance involves immense emotional distress and in some cases might not even happen for the individual who has the potential, period, thus skewing data. This gives an enhanced type power but isn’t protagonist exclusive. It shows a higher than average power capacity, but isn’t a gamebreaker to the same level as a fucking kekkei genkai or getting the powers of a fucking demigod. A good amount of characters would only have one semblance and be considerable badasses despite it and even be able to beat a couple of the few that have two.

Establish Menagerie as the official Fifth Kingdom, the newest of the great kingdoms. Maybe not the singularly strongest or most influential, but make it so Menagerie and its people, the faunus, have a considerable role in the world’s affairs, if even from an isolationist standpoint. Don’t have them as even a semi thriving entity that isn’t a kingdom because that only begs the question as to why the kingdoms are so important to begin with then.

Make the White Fang a faunus supremacist group that has very little support, if any, from the faunus people as a whole. Faunus right issues are history for the vast majority of the world and the White Fang as a whole is only using the problems in Atlas with the SDC as a means of trying to gain power. There are actual faunus rights groups trying to make things better for their race in Atlas and other marginalized areas but the White Fang dislikes them on the grounds that they go against their goal and it makes them look even worse.

Fucking pronounce names correctly, I mean, Christ. Weiss, the word, is pronounced like ‘Vice’. It’s an actual fucking word. It’s the German word for white. It’s like saying tor-till-uh not tor-tee-ah. Blake is Bella-doe-nah not Bella-dawn-uh. Shit like that. No you don’t need to put on a heavy accent to say these words but pronouncing things so inaccurately just makes you look like an ignorant rube (no, that was not a pun). I don’t fucking care what your reasons are. Why use these words in the first place if you’re not even going to try to say them right?

Ozpin is order to Salem’s chaos. Ancient demigods of both archetypes vying for power across the ages and the innocent peoples of the world be damned in the crossfire. Neither are entirely good nor evil but both are not exactly helpful to the free peoples on the world and the continued livelihood thereof. Their progenitor god created them to try and guide humanity in a balanced way. That seemed to work at first, but then failed like a bad marriage and they waged war ever since like a bad divorce. The grimm are a creation of Salem’s to test humanity and make then stronger through conflict. Ozpin ranges from the lawman to the fascist fairly duplicitously. The two can only be permanently killed by each other but neither wants to get too close to the other because of that exact same reason. If killed by other means, they will resurrect after a fashion no worse for wear.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Ruby Rose- It is a crime that the titular character has so little actual character beyond just being ‘Hyperactive Anime Protagonist #235’. Most of her (few) character traits are tell not show, and of course she’s got the fucking rubygan bloodline ability crap. She has next to nothing that isn’t allotted by default to most anime protags on the grounds of the stereotype. For the main character to have less character than any of the members of the fucking B-team is a travesty.

1. Give her a clear rebellious streak, a distinct problem with authority, and a headstrong attitude. Daddy doesn’t want her to be in danger, so she decides to become a huntress. She’s told to stay put, so she hunts down Roman. She’s told that she needs to stay home and recover, so she sets out on her own not thinking about the exact consequences. Make her the impetus for the team’s involvement with the problems of the world in the early seasons. Make her a driving part of the plot, not just being along for the ride or because someone else said so.

2. Give her blood knight tendencies. Make her VERY willing to get into a fight with the bad guys, not just fights in general, but fights against bad guys. Nothing over the top, but enough that she has a scene or three where she says “Shut up bad guy, skip to the part where we get to kick the crap out of you,” or something of that nature. Hyper combative characters are fun and ethical.

3. Give her more traits as a mechanic and weapon nerd. Include scenes of her fixing everyone’s weapons for fun or being able to analyze an opponent’s fighting style based on the type, design, and/or wear & tear of their weapon, make her a polyglot of weapons that can be at least proficient in using just about any weapon. Come to think of it…

4. Anything that could give her actual character traits. They don’t even have to be all that major traits, just give her enough so that we actually have a character with more definition than printer paper. She’s the main character, the titular character at that. This isn’t a video game with a blank-slate protagonist. If the main character isn’t even really a character, like, at all, then what’s the fucking point?

5. Convert silver eyes power into a second semblance for white fire vision that kills grimm like nothing else. Gotten as a hereditary semblance from Summer. Which is also why Summer was specifically targeted by Salem on the grounds that it makes her just a little too dangerous for her long-term plans. This makes it so she isn’t just the fucking chosen one, but still has a clear definitive reason to be involved against the big bad because, y’know, dead mom. Yes, this kinda goes into the whole ‘bloodline is what determines importance’ thing I wanted to be rid of, but it’s only a chance two generations instead of a massive lineage of nonsense and keeps more of the onus of involvement on Ruby herself.

6. Give her a very clear motivation that’s deeper than surface level. ‘Oh, I want to do the right thing’ is a flimsy as balls motivation especially compared to the rest of her team that has that AND an actual reason for thinking that way. Why does she want to be the good guy? What happened in her life that makes her this motivated to doing the right thing? Yang has her desire to find her mother (which, come to think of it, doesn’t necessitate being a good guy), Blake has wanting to make up for being a terrorist, Weiss has her desire to step out from under the shadow of her family’s reputation, even fucking Jaune, the b-team protagonist, who wants to live up to his family reputation, has a proper motivation to be involved in the story. WHY is Ruby involved beyond ‘I’m the main character’ level reasoning? As much as admitting it makes me wish to commit Sudoku, even SAO has better main character motivations. Good god, I need hooch after typing that.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Yang Xiao-Long- Her arc was mostly fine, barring some of the pacing. Raven being a maiden undercut the message of ‘screw that deadbeat bitch, go to your real family’ by making her important to the overall world state and confirming a measure of later relevance but that’s more a flaw with Raven than Yang.

1. Keep her motivation about getting strong enough to find her mother but add in the clear desire to kick her ass for leaving her and Tai. Of course it’s more about just getting the answers to her questions, but the ass-kicking should also be a major component.

2. Amp up the rivalry between her and Mercury. Mercury was designed as an opposite to Yang, I mean for fuck’s sake, look at him. Consider their respective backstories too; both raised in a single father home yet one was supported and loved (if a little neglected) while the other was horrifyingly maimed and abused. Punch vs kick. It works.

3. Make her more protective of her little sister, explicitly going along with her personal crusade to keep her safe (safer, rather). If she’s supposed to be the good older sister, maybe just maybe, something more than lip-service to that idea should be done. Hell, maybe she can be overprotective like their father, or even the exact opposite, not really giving a shit and then learning to give one. That might lead to a little tension and growth between the two of them.

4. Make her semblance consistent. Is she supposed to have super saiyan rage mode or is it energy buildup and dispersal? Is it supposed to be both? Just make it rage mode, for the sake of fuck, and don’t flip-flop. Speaking of…

5. Give her anger issues. Flesh out her being the kind of gal that would start a fight in a nightclub when she doesn’t get what she needed with little justification. This would stem from abandonment issues from Raven, Summer (inadvertently), and Tai and her general thrill seeking personality. This could lead to tensions and dramas until she overcomes it and learns to use her aggressive feelings and not let them use her.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Blake Belladonna- Shitty-kitty is shitty, here’s why.

1. Do something with the hypocrisy of being, more or less, princess of Menagerie, a world power albeit a minor one, and joining a band of terrorists that do more harm than good for the people they claim to represent. It’s like a trust-fund baby joining some charity organization in Africa for a few weeks, doing jack-shit to help, joining some jihadists, and then acting like she’s Mahatma Gandhi.

2. Make her arc less about running away and fighting Adam, more about realizing that running is for assholes and try to find her team to at least apologize for cutting and running like she did. Doing that and stopping Adam are not mutually exclusive. The friend thing should be the priority. As it stands she is almost rewarded for abandoning her team just to focus on her own problems.

3. Make her arc involve going from ‘There’s no such thing as pure evil’ to ‘Okay maybe some people are just too evil to work with’. Some people are too far gone and, despite still having good traits, will only ever continue to do evil things and don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone has some sort of good motive beneath the surface and, even then, does that matter when the only action they do is objectively evil? Still, y’know, save who you can, like Ilia.

4. Have Belladonna not actually be her last name. If she’s the daughter of a the chief of Menagerie, the closest thing the faunus have to a unified racial leader, then how the unholy shit does nobody recognize her name? She is, again, princess of Menagerie, yet nobody recognizes the name in a grander context. Have ‘Belladonna’ be a cover name so she can hide her identity better so that she’s using what should be a very recognizable real name in a tournament that is broadcasted worldwide. Her real family name could be “Nightshade” or some shit like that.

5. If she’s supposed to be ‘The quiet one’ maybe actually have her be quiet and not make big speeches every season or have loud arguments with her team. Just a fucking thought. If she’s still supposed to do that, then make her ‘the opinionated one’ or ‘the kind of mean one’ or even ‘the one who doesn’t shut up’. Blake, as seen, or rather heard, is not the quiet one.

6. Have her actually fucking interact with Ruby. Maybe they have a two-person book club. Maybe Blake teaches Ruby to meditate or something. Anything, anything at all would be fine, anything more than nothing at all. Blake’s whole interaction with the team shouldn’t just be through Yang and cursory scenes with Weiss.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Weiss Schnee- You can’t solve racism with like two scenes.

1. Make the racism thing a much more gradual decay rather than more or less disappearing after a single conversation. Hell, make jokes about it, ‘oh, no, one of my best friends is a faunus,’ stuff. It’s hard to unlearn an upbringing of hate, but she’s trying type stuff.

2. Involve her at least a little with the White Fang plot. It only makes sense that the heiress of the company that still more or less has slave labor is at least semi-involved with the plotline involving terrorists that want that company destroyed. Make her subject to assassination attempts at a young age, or even have her been kidnaped at a young age and held hostage, getting her scar in the process.

3. As evident by some of the intros, her rival was supposed to be Emerald. This could be serviceable, at the very least. The street rat pickpocket that had to learn life lessons the hard way and was taken in by the baddies VS. the rich heiress born with a silver spoon but raised by a dickhead. There’s potential there and it is a crime that it is not explored in the slightest. Even Yang and Mercury had a minor fight.

4. Like Yang, make her semblance consistent. Is it supposed to be summoning or physics altering magic symbols? These are two completely different powers, it’s not like super speed also giving super reflexes or whatever. Just make it one or the other, don’t bullshit us on these things. Or, hell, make it a second semblance she gets during the course of story.

5. Emphasize her loneliness. Make the main onus of her personal arc be about how she goes from this prickly, spoiled, opinionated, brat to a warm and caring friend who only wants the best for everyone. Yes, this might be the main intention in canon, but I feel it could have used a little more refining.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Cinder Fall- If she’s supposed to be Ruby’s chief rival and foil then she needs a lot of work to even be close. She shouldn’t be nothing but the rival, but at that same time she should have that be a considerable part of her characterization and role in the series. I feel the best way to do it is to have their similarities highlight their differences in both character and design. Basically, make her the Vergil to Ruby’s Dante.

1. Make her Ruby’s age. Being the same age as Ruby while initially outclassing her, and even veteran hunters, provides risk and contrast between the two. Throw in an evil sadistic streak compared to Ruby’s happy-go-lucky personality to further the contrast and you’ve got a good little yin-yang thing for them. It also shows just how bad someone can turn out if raised to be a killing machine.

2. Keep her using the bow/twin swords as a comparably simple weapon in contrast to Ruby’s, even in universe, overcomplicated Scythe/Sniper rifle. Both weapons are long range marksmen’s weapons as well as vicious close combat weapons but are still very different in essence. Also make sure she keeps the red with black and gold color scheme is contrast with Ruby’s Black with red and silver. Even minor visual cues can work to the rival schema.

3. Make her one of the people who have two semblances. Pyromancy (pyrokinesis? Fire bending, she has fire bending) and dilated perception (bullet time) so that Ruby’s super speed and the dilated perception cancel each other out, adding a little extra tension to the fights now that both parties’ signature abilities are moot points against each other.

4. Make her competent. She kills Ozpin and Pyrrha and then she either fails or draws every fucking fight she has afterwards baring nameless jobbers here and there. Even before that, she needed help to take down Amber and even manages to fuck that up. The more failures she has and the less intimidating she is. Too much of that and she’s just a jobber that makes you wonder why she was ever seen as intimidating in the first place. When that happens then Ruby beating her is just the status quo and not a triumph of any sort.

5. Make her Ruby’s long lost fraternal twin sister. Incredibly cliché, I admit, but siblings make the best rivals, especially twins. Once again, it’s all about adding the similarities and the contrasts. In this case it creates the ‘there but for the grace of god go I’ idea with the two of them. Ruby seeing it as how evil she could have turned out and Cinder seeing it as how weak she could have been (Eventually becoming how good she could have had it because I’m a sucker for redemption arcs) Who said that?

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Team JNPR- JNPR was fine-ish but the over focus on Jaune and the underutilization of Ren + Nora early on are both issues. B-team should not get jack shit before the A-team gets the lions share.

1. Downplay Jaune’s screen time. I doubt this is a particularly controversial statement. Jaune is not the titular character. This is (technically) a shoujo not a shounen. It’s supposed to be about the girls more than the guys. It kind of undercuts that idea when the guy (the side guy at that) gets the lion’s share of characterization, attention, and growth before the girl (the main girl) does.

2. Make Ren and Nora actual characters earlier on. Comic relief is all well and good, but either extend that to the whole team or make these two characters more than just comic relief in the early parts of the story. Make them, y’know, actual characters. They ain’t gotta be all that important, but they do have to be actual characters.

3. Make Pyrrha’s deathflags less blindingly obvious. We all knew Pyrrha was going to get clipped. The self-sacrificing type, all the musical and visual cues throughout, being based on Achilles, and ‘oh she just confessed to the boy she likes’. Homegirl was waving deathflags like an insecure redneck with the confederate flag. When you foreshadow obvious things that much it’s not a surprise to the audience when it happens and the reaction of the in universe characters seems overdone. If it’s not supposed to be a surprise then, whatever, but that’s clearly not the case if you’re going for just shock value. It’s fine for a character to die, but for the love of Jaysus you got to do something with it more than ‘this character’s sole purpose is to die for the angst and to up the stakes’. Pyrrha was just a plot jobber.

4. Make them a little more independent in the overall plot. Give them their own full sub-plots, have them go on their own little adventures, have them do things completely separate from RWBY that has plot relevance but not overtaking the main story in grandeur or importance. B-team gets B-plots and are cool in it of themselves.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Qrow Branwen- Take or leave this, I just felt the need to include this because reasons.

1. Just make him Dante from Devil May Cry. Just make his personality the same as Dante from Devil May Cry. Make him stylish and cool but low-key a massive dork. He’s too cool to drink or smoke or anything harsher than PG-13. This series could use a guy like that, says I.

2. Make his semblance something that makes sense and isn’t just an angst generator. How do you even quantify ‘bad luck aura’ as a power? Make it short range teleportation as a connection to Raven’s portals. Make it so that he can direct the bad luck at will. Do SOMETHING with it that isn’t just an excuse for mostly pointless character angst.

3. This technically also counts as a Raven change but whatever. Make the Branwen family old nobility and not a loser bandit tribe from nowhere. Or at least make it so they used to rich or something. They come from a family that had a good amount of cash and even a chateau in Mistral. After the money dried up and the chateau ransacked by grimm, the Branwen twins had differing opinions on how to proceed. Qrow fully integrated into the hunter thing while Raven ran away and became a bandit, using it as further excuse to skedaddle on Tai and a recently born Yang.

[foxtophat]

MERRY CHRISTMAS IN JANUARY EVERYONE yeah i know ~nothing is fixed~ but whatever, fuck you, have some fanfic

so anyway i’ve been planning this for a while, i’m kinda shocked tho b/c i finished writing it in like less than 3 days??? (aside from editing)  usually it takes me longer to at least figure out how to wrap things up, but at least this one was easy money. i’m sure none of the other ones will be so kind to me

this one takes place a month or so after the last one; it’s set in spring 2028 (omfg finally on a new year!!!!) and it has a little something to do with carmina finally getting some chickens!!!!  one thing about new dawn that i think was really lacking is the explanation of how life... restarted before the highwaymen.  i definitely remember a few houses having chicken coops, too, so i know i’m not crazy putting these feathered friends in.  to me, chickens are the most sensible post-apocalyptic pet outside of a dog; easy to care for, provide food while alive AND after death, and they can reproduce easily enough if you’ve got a rooster on hand.  i can imagine a family making quite a life for themselves as a poultry farm in the apocalypse!

ugh idk what else to say so i’ll just say it: thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos on this series. i am so stoked to know that my self-indulgent trash is delicious to more than just my possum ass!  i’ve had a lot of fun worldbuilding in ubisoft’s playground, and i hope to continue doing more fun stuff that other people will enjoy too!!!

with all that said, i hope you enjoy the fic :) i’ll put it below the cut for you if you don’t wanna leave tumblr, but ao3 looks so much better. anyway, thank you and have a great jan 20th!!!!

Winter melts away the same way it does every year, leaving in its path wet dirt and green buds of spring growth. John, nursing what's likely the last cup of coffee they can wring from this batch of grounds, stares out over the back yard and idly marvels at how quickly the snow had disappeared. Montana had been his first experience with white winters; even though he's gotten used to the changing seasons in theory, though, he can't help but be distracted by it year after year.

Across the yard, situated just in sight by the hangar, John can plainly see Carmina's new chickens looking for breakfast. They're the newest addition to the homestead, but so far John has only had to watch from afar as the Ryes worked to adjust them to their new home. He's not sure who's raising chickens out here, but at least they were willing to barter. Fresh eggs are going to mean a lot more than the dwindling supplies out of Jacob's cache.

The misty-gray of early morning has almost evaporated in the rising sunlight, and still the chickens haven't been fed. John watches them from where he stands, their frustration leading to subdued crows as they scratch at the dirt. He doesn't know who's noisier — them, or Nick and Kim arguing at the table behind him. Thank Christ the wet end of winter is over; John doesn't think he can tolerate much more of their married nagging. On some level, he's glad they don't make a habit of yelling at him instead of each other, but Jesus, he can't wait for them to both get some space from one another.

"This is why we said we weren't gonna do pets, remember?" Nick says. "Because if she got a pet, we would end up taking care of it. Remember?"

"Yes, Nick, I remember."

"Yeah, and here we are!"

Kim sighs. John doesn't have to look to see the exasperated eye-roll that comes with it. "It wasn't me who kept her up late last night! Which one of us was egging her on when she should have been asleep?"

This is exactly why John has never owned a pet. They're more trouble than they're worth, and the only thing they seem to be good for is teaching shitty life lessons to kids who don't care enough to learn. The only good thing about the chickens is that they provide something in return other than obnoxious crowing.

Carmina thumps around upstairs. John isn't looking forward to having to listen to Kim lecture her on responsibility, but he's not thrilled to listen to much more of this bickering, either. If his choices are to stay inside and fester or go out into the first nice day of the year — well, that's not much of a choice, is it?

"Fine," John sighs before either of the Ryes can set their sights on him, "I'll do it."

"Nobody's asking you to do it," Kim replies. "It's Carmina's responsibility."

John shakes his head. "Of course it is. Where's the feed?"

Nick points out a white plastic container sitting on the pass-through to the kitchen. "Not gonna wait for us to boss you around?" he asks.

John picks up the container and rattles it to make sure it's full. "I'm streamlining the process," he replies. "Unless you enjoy giving me orders."

Sure enough, implying Nick might like being a bossy piece of shit is enough to get him to shut up. He sighs with a deep frown at John, who ignores him as he heads out to the coop. It's a petty satisfaction to take the rug out from under Nick's feet, but John's not above it. Not by a long shot.

Some of it might be compensating for the disintegrating peace that had come with winter. Before the blizzard set in, they'd had enough on their collective plates as they prepared for the worst of the season. Afterward, the snow had prevented them from doing much more than what was necessary to survive, and the resulting downtime had settled like a comfortable blanket. Even now, with a few weeks of grating interpersonal interactions, John feels more focused, more rested than he can ever remember feeling. Living underground for eight years, he'd naively thought that he'd gotten enough rest to last him a lifetime — but he'd been strung out on Bliss and trying not to suffocate, and he hadn't known what he was doing. He's starting to suspect that the Bliss might've had a worse effect on him than the myriad other drugs he'd ingested. Hell, he's not sure he's clean even now — but he's managing, and that's what matters.

It's only once he's halfway across the yard that John realizes Kim forgot to argue about him going off on his own. Sure, he's only going as far as the hangar, but it's become something of a pleasantry she uses whenever John pretends to have the freedom to go where he pleases. Her irritation at Carmina and Nick probably made her forget. She's gotten so used to trusting John that she's finally found other things to take up her attention.

Weirdly enough, the casual disregard for his potential backslide irritates him. It really shouldn't. He should be thrilled that he can finally disappear from view for an hour without somebody calling out a search party. He's more than earned it, he thinks, but their trust highlights their naivety. Luckily for them, John means it when he says he's changed — but it's a line they're going to hear time and again from people far less genuine than he's been. They're so willing to help everyone and anyone that they don't even realize how much of a target they're making themselves. John's had to hold his tongue whenever Nick gives free supplies to shifty-eyed tweakers who are "just passing through," and while he trusts Kim not to let anyone obviously suspicious into the house, he doesn't trust her to recognize a cunning liar.

The last thing John needs is for the Ryes to put their trust in the wrong reformed psychopath. At least he's capable of picking up their slack. After all, John has his time at law school and years of psychological abuse under his belt — plenty of real-world experience dealing with unrepentant garbage. He'll notice it when somebody cases the hangar or acts too erratically, and hopefully the Ryes will listen to him if he gets the nerve to voice his concerns.

Not for the first time since summer, John is struck with a newfound respect for Jacob and the role he'd inhabited in the Project. It used to be his job to look out for insurrectionists, and he'd taken on that burden even when John and Joseph would openly dismiss his concerns. John can't imagine how many fires Jacob must've put out while the rest of the family was distracted by the Bliss. Looking back on it now, it's honestly a surprise they maintained their operation as long as they did, considering only one of the four of them was ever sober.

The chickens are hopping at his arrival, scuttling around the dirt and crowing as John reaches the pen. They don't notice him so much as the bin he rattles on approach, full of vegetable cuttings and strange white worms that come out whenever it rains. John doesn't mind one lick — he's never been much of an animal person, and he certainly doesn't care if Carmina's so-called pets notice his existence. Of course, knowing Carmina, she's going to use this as an excuse to shift breakfast duty to John full-time, and John won't have much of a say in the matter.

Well, that's not strictly true, but if Carmina asked, he knows he would do it, if only to give his day more structure. Truthfully, he's grown to depend on routine, when before it was impossible to keep to a schedule that didn't involve other people's expectations of him. There's probably a metaphor to be made about trains on and off the tracks, but John has never been particularly interested in locomotives.

John shakes the dead bugs and scraps out into the pen, watching the hens as they race to be the first to eat. They're perfectly happy now that they've been fed, cooing and clucking as they peck the dirt. They certainly seem content with safety and food — not entirely unlike the survivors living day-to-day in the town and beyond. Sure, John might not always be satisfied by bare sustenance, and one day he'll chafe under the grind of surviving week to week, but for now, he might as well be a dumb chicken crowing in the morning sun.

He throws some more feed into the pen, watching the three hens waddle after their meal. One of them lingers by the fence, freezing for a moment as her head swivels back and forth. She pecks at the dirt away from the feed before hustling after her two companions. John watches as she stops again; when he tosses a few worms in her direction, she pecks briefly at them before lifting her head to survey her surroundings.

The primal sensation of something being wrong nearly overtakes John's reasoning, before he manages to remind himself that a chicken's predators aren't exactly his to worry about. Still, he rattles the container to bring the hens scuttling towards him; all three are easily distracted by food now, but John can't shake the feeling that he'd missed something they hadn't. A fox, maybe? A snake? Anything could be lurking in the woods on the other side of the wash. Not a whole lot that could hurt him , of course, but he's not about to be blamed for Carmina's chickens being eaten by a wild dog.

The fence-line is... nebulous past the hangar, sure, but John's positive Kim doesn't consider the rest of the old airport off-limits. Then again, she might be in the mood to lecture him once she gets through with Carmina. It's a risk he's not sure he's willing to take.

Two chickens continue to eat as one keeps watch, their heads bobbing up and down as they switch off. Their unease mirrors his own, and John can imagine Faith giggling at him for being swayed by some dumb birds.

"Very well, ladies," he sighs, shaking the remainder of their breakfast onto the ground. "Don't let them say I don't care."

The chickens don't give three shits about John's motivations, of course; they watch him go, pecking at the food with increasing carelessness as the distance grows. John rolls his eyes at their sudden fearlessness, half-convinced to let whatever animal is lurking eat them out of spite.

There's a wide swath of dirt behind the hangar, separating it from the mostly-overgrown remnants of Rye Aviation that couldn't be saved. John can see the edge of the chicken pen from here, but the hangar is blocking him from the house. Even though he knows the Ryes trust him not to run off, he still feels distinctly uneasy going somewhere where they can't see him. At this point, Nick would probably only tease him for it, but John's not about to linger out here and risk turning Kim's irritation on himself.

To the right of the derelict hangars is a sparse wedge of trees that have grown in uninterrupted. John knows there's a path cut between the trunks, one he'd made himself while hauling the tire-planters for Kim last year, and there's a long stretch of unused runway beyond it. It isn't a great place for anything bigger than a fox to lurk in. That doesn't explain the feeling of being watched that comes over him as he stops halfway across the empty dirt lot; he looks around, but there's no place for anything to hide out here. The overgrowth on the old hangars can't be more than two feet high, and the bushes in the copse are brambly and sparse. The only place anything could hide would be in the trees, which is why John approaches them with more caution than they're worth.

The thinned underbrush is easy to explore, but John goes carefully as he picks through the trees and bushes. He doesn't know exactly what he's looking for — some sign of predators, whatever those might be — but he doesn't find much. There are some hoof-prints clear in the dirt, curving sharply away from the Rye homestead and back out to the airstrip, which tells John that the goddamn deer are back, probably looking to eat their hard-grown crops. Other than that, there's no sign of anything that might be stalking the hen-house. The ground is still somewhat soft from the rain a few nights ago, but it barely takes the imprint of John's boots as he explores the small grove.

That's why it's such a shock to see the tread of a narrow boot in the dirt by the trunk of one of the trees, well off the beaten path. It's an old print, he thinks — but he doesn't remember the last time any one of them had been out this way. Certainly not since the last time it rained.

An electric shock conducts itself down his spine. Somebody had been out here, hiding here in the trees, and it's only been two, three days since the last rain. John turns, and from his vantage point, he can clearly see the coop and the back of the hangar, but not the house. For that, he'd have to move out of the trees, into direct view of the porch.

It has to be Grace's boot. She's the only one he could imagine creeping around the property with good intentions. But even that explanation doesn't settle the anxious flip of his stomach; he tries not to let it show as he marches from the trees, intent on dragging Nick over and proving to him once and for all that they need to be more goddamn careful about who they let around the property. Somebody is going to want the copper fixtures they've salvaged, even if there's nobody to sell the metal to these days.

John gets halfway back to the coop when he catches something in his peripheral vision. Terrible, primal terror grips him as he fixes his gaze on the trick of the light that had scared him, ready to catch Grace peering at him over the abandoned hangars, or maybe a pack of wild dogs. What he sees instead turns his blood to ice, caught like a deer in headlights as the low-hanging shrubbery and thick vines shift and part for a rising mass of dark brown fur. The shape that rises from the underbrush is a tall, dark smudge against the blue sky, and John nearly swallows his tongue when he sees its face — or the horrifying absence of one, replaced with white, flaking skin and two huge, empty eye-sockets that are fixed on John's position.

It doesn't move. Neither does John, frozen to the spot as the chickens begin to crow and fuss. He can't fathom what he's looking at — a bear, a person, a fucking mutant? — but whatever it is, he suspects it's infected with Bliss. Who knows how many angels ended up underground after the Collapse? What might've happened to them in the years since? All John knows about them is that they're dangerous to everybody but Faith, and Faith died a decade ago. If this is an angel — God, there'll be no stopping it. And if it isn't — then what the hell is it ?

There's no way for John to get from here to the house without the thing chasing him. The hangar is blocking his brutal oncoming murder from the two people who might actually be able to do something about it. He doesn't have to look to know the distance from here to the house is insurmountable.

The creature lifts its arm, and the situation that couldn't get any worse takes an even more horrifying turn as it reveals its weapon of choice: a crudely fashioned bow, the same kind of handmade weaponry that Joseph's followers have been seen with.

All at once, Nick's voice is ringing in John's ears, warning him of what's going to happen if this gargoyle takes him away. The things John hadn't considered before — the Ryes' reputation, Carmina's safety, the hard-won trust John's gained from the survivors — it's all in jeopardy. The situation barrels into him all at once — the realization that whatever Joseph did to create this thing , he won't hesitate to turn on John.

He tries to shout a warning, but his breath is caught in his throat. Faith's voice, faint on the breeze, laughs and whispers sing-song into his ear:

They've found you!

The monster barrels down the slope of the hill as if prodded into action by a hot poker. Its gait is wide, bringing it towards John at speeds impossible to outrun. This time, John's shout comes out clear as a bell, panic screaming through him as he turns and bolts for the house. He nearly clips himself on the pen as he hangs a sharp right turn, the porch coming into full sight —

Something snags the back of John's shirt, and his momentum briefly chokes him. A thick arm bears down across his neck before he can rip free, the creature grunting in exertion as it yanks him backward. John feels his boots scrape on the dirt as he's dragged towards the trees, away from the safety that's plain in sight.

Animal instinct kicks in. John gnashes his teeth but there's nothing to bite, so he kicks out his feet instead, first in front of him and then harshly backward until he can hook his shin behind his assailant's and trip them both to the ground. The creature goes down with a surprised grunt; John does his best to roll away, only to be yanked back by his hair. He's distantly aware that he's spitting like a cat in a sack, clawing and biting, the two of them rolling in the dirt as John screams profanities and heresy at the monster trying to pin him down, anything to convince the universe to take mercy on him for once in his fucking life!

The creature manages to grab him by the shoulder, throwing him into the dirt before backhanding him violently across the face. It's enough to daze him; for one horrible second, he's unable to do anything as the monster begins to drag him across the dirt by the legs.

There's a commotion coming from the house. For a split second, the creature looks up, and John realizes his opening at the same time the monster realizes its mistake. It looks down just in time for John to kick it square in its barky, hollow-eyed face, sending a split down the wooden facade.

" John !"

The monster reels backward as if burned, grabbing at the mask as it falls away. John catches sight of a single dark, wild eye behind the broken wood before he kicks out again, sending both boots into his assailant's chest. As soon as the creature staggers back, John bolts, scrambling towards Kim as she races toward him with the rifle drawn. Nick is hot behind her; he grabs John's shoulder and drags him partway back to the house. John doesn't need the escort, and so Nick quickly leaves him to scramble up the porch as he goes after his wife.

John gets all the way to the stairs inside before he realizes there's no safe place to hide. He'd found out this winter just how flimsy the prisoner story had been; if somebody wants to take him, all they have to do is climb onto the roof and jimmy the lock on the nearest window. Whether it's through the broken window in his room or a gap in the roof leading to the attic, the Project will find him. He can't possibly outrun them forever. He'd be stupid to even try. God, he'd been a fool for thinking Joseph wouldn't send someone looking for him, that he wouldn't want to snatch John back from the clutches of apostasy. There's no way Joseph will leave a loose end like him untied.

John sinks to the bottom steps in his mounting despair, only to realize for a second time that he's being watched. The realization is less of a shock as Carmina peers at him around the kitchen archway; she jumps at the distant rapport of gunfire, staring owl-eyed at John as though she expects him to do something.

"Stay down," John hisses, setting an example as he keeps low on his way into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Carmina asks, frantic, "Is mom gonna be okay?"

"Yes," John replies, although he can't possibly know that for sure. He waits a beat, listening for more gunshots, then carefully lifts his head to check out the window when none come. He lets out the breath he'd been holding when he sees Nick standing with his hands on his hips, staring at Kim further down the yard. Whatever the danger had been, it's not pressing enough to warrant immediate action.

"Seriously," Carmina whines, as if that could hide her fear. "What was it? Was it a bear? Grace says there are bears in the woods but I've never seen —"

John sinks to the ground, his mind reeling even as the panic passes, leaving him numb. "It wasn't a bear."

Carmina chews on her lower lip, looking up towards the window as though she might try looking for herself. "Are the chickens okay?" she asks.

"They're fine," he sighs. He pushes his hair from his face, only to realize that his hands have started to tremble with run-off adrenaline.

"Are... you okay?" she asks, frowning as though she can't decide whether or not his wellbeing is her problem to deal with.

Goodwill must be genetic, John laments. "I'm fine," he tells her. She gives his shaking hands a hard look; he sighs and reiterates, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"I'm not," Carmina huffs. Apparently, Nick's attempts to teach Carmina how to bluff haven't worked out.

John is saved from needing to reassure her as Nick abruptly appears in the kitchen arch, out of breath and red-faced. His shock gives way to relief at the sight of the two of them huddled by the counter. He's out of breath and visibly bewildered.

"Shit, John, you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, although he doubts Nick will believe it any more than Carmina had. His foot jogs uselessly against the floor. "Kim — did she...?"

Nick shakes his head. "She tried," he says, "But it was too fast. What the fuck was it ?"

"Somebody from the Project."

"No shit. But — look, it wasn't an angel , was it?"

John shakes his head. "I don't know."

Kim storms into view, making her way to the pass-through from the living room side. She sets the rifle down on the counter, catching John's eye with a glare. John hurries to explain himself, as if he could possibly apologize for bringing the cult back to her doorstep.

"I was checking for foxes," he tells her, "I didn't think it — if I'd known what it was, I wouldn't have gone on my own."

Despite the fury in her eyes and the hard edge to her voice, Kim seems to mean it when she replies, "As long as nobody's hurt."

But the damage is done, and John can't help but babble on uselessly. "I wasn't looking in the right place. But I shouted as soon as I saw it. I just — couldn't outrun it. I wasn't fast enough. And I wasn't — it was stronger than I expected, stronger than..." Even he can hear the panic edging into his voice, cutting himself off with one last worried question. "Do you think it's gone?"

"It better be, if it knows what's good for it," Kim replies. "Are you sure you're okay?"

At any other time, John would be irritated to have to reassure every single Rye individually that he isn't in the throes of a panic attack. Right now, he's only grateful to realize that Kim doesn't blame him for the thing's appearance.

"I am," he says. "Thank you."

Nick groans, covering his eyes with one hand as he leans against the counter. "So much for it being safe to go out alone. Damn it, we got too comfortable."

" I got too comfortable," John says. "It wouldn't have cared about either of you."

"What about the chickens?" Carmina asks, "Are they safe there?"

Kim crosses her arms. "What I want to know is what the hell the Project is doing out here."

Her question is the only one John has any insight into, although he doesn't know how realistic his theory is. "They might be hunting deer," he says. "The only thing I saw, other than — than that , were deer tracks."

"All the way out here?" Kim asks skeptically.

"The hunting can't be any good in that swamp they're hiding in," Nick points out, frowning as he considers the idea. "And there are more survivors around the river these days. I'd bet that'd make for slim pickings."

"I doubt we'd even know they come out this far if I hadn't been the one out there. At least we've confirmed they're actively searching for resources beyond their compound — and they're relying on traditional methods to do so. Most likely because the armory was destroyed."

"Thank God for the Deputy," Nick sighs. "Okay. We're just gonna have to... I dunno, be willing to shoot, I guess." He doesn't sound so sure about it, and he quickly softens the intention. "At least a couple more warning shots. Once they remember guns outstrip arrows every way but sustainability, they'll probably keep back."

"We can push the fence-line out, too," Kim says. "It won't necessarily stop them, but at least it'll give them a line to cross. They're not cavemen — they remember property laws and how those get enforced around here."

"We'll have to start checking the traps more often. They might be living like bloodthirsty Mennonites right now, but that doesn't mean they aren't willing to steal to survive."

"They'll justify it one way or another," John sighs.

"So I guess we don't have to move the chickens after all," Nick says, "So long as we establish a perimeter. Sound good, Carmina?"

Carmina must have slipped out at some point during the conversation because she's nowhere to be found in the kitchen. Nick glances over John's head and out the window, swearing loudly.

"What the hell is she doing out there?"

John gets to his feet as Nick and Kim take off. He watches them through the window as they chase after Carmina, who's stopped to look around partway towards the coop. Either she's dumber than she seems, or she's inherited both of her parents' reckless streaks. Either way, she's going to leave herself open the same way John had. She's too confident that nobody wants to hurt her. The only way John knows how to teach that lesson, though, is not one that Kim or Nick would approve of — and so he sidelines his worries in favor of sticking with whoever is more armed than he is.

By the time John comes outside, Kim is knee-deep in the middle of a heated lecture about safety and responsibility. Carmina scowls at her feet, her face turning red as she's scolded. John ignores them, passing them by in favor of catching up with Nick, who's come to a stop a few yards past the coop. He's staring out into the unoccupied land — land that used to be his property, once. Now Nick is as much a stranger here as John is.

"Check it out," Nick says, holding out a thin, white-barked piece of wood. John takes it and recognizes it immediately as part of the mask he'd broken in two. The hole for the eye is a roughly cut gouge in the soft wood, and the bark flakes as he wipes his thumb across it.

"I hadn't even considered a mask," John admits. "I thought it was a monster."

"You and me both," Nick replies. He heaves a sigh. "Still waiting for the mutants to crawl out of the sewers, I guess. But I think we can handle a couple of jackasses with arrows."

John squints across the clearing, as if maybe his assailant has hung around waiting for them to reappear. "Next time, it might be Joseph," he points out grimly. "That hunter recognized me immediately. They'll tell him I'm here, and he'll want to find me."

"Come on. Like Joseph's gonna risk crossing enemy territory on foot. I'd be more worried about those goddamn hunting parties you used to send out."

John unconsciously reaches up to rub his throat. "Yeah," he says. "You're right. One of them clearly wasn't enough, but if Joseph decides I'm worthwhile, they'll come as a pack. If he's still manufacturing Bliss somehow, it would be easy to subdue me. And then..."

He's surprised out of his would-be reverie as Nick slaps his shoulder with a heavy hand. "We're not gonna let that happen," he says. "As long as you put up the same fight you did today, Kim and I are gonna come running."

Despite the reality of hidden archers and surprise ambushes, John allows himself to be reassured by the sentiment. At the very least, he pretends for Nick's sake. "I suppose you two were quick to the rescue," he drawls. "But if they get me to the tree-line, I'd rather you just put me down before I get dragged all the way back to the compound."

Nick chuckles. "We'll try to avoid that for now."

Looking over his shoulder, John catches Kim crouched down in front of Carmina, hands on her shoulders. Whatever she's saying, it's too quiet for John to hear, but Carmina's sniffles are a loud precursor to a lot of tears.

"I guess she believed you when you said the Project wouldn't care about us," Nick sighs. "At this rate, we're gonna have to put a bell on her."

"I could tell her about the child soldiers from the summer camp, if that would prove the gravity of the situation."

Just the mention of it makes Nick look a little queasy, and John immediately regrets bringing it up. "I don't want to scare her that badly," Nick says. "She's a good kid, she means well. She just needs to stop going off half-cocked, is all." He rubs his hand across his forehead and complains, "I thought we taught her to be smarter than this."

"She's still your kid," John says. Nick gives him a sour look, but it's the truth no matter how bitter Nick might feel about it. "You can't expect her to be utterly obedient, given her genetics."

"I guess ." He sighs, shaking his head. "At any rate, it's time we stop sugar-coating the cult for her benefit. She's obviously not taking it seriously."

John looks again and sees Kim embracing Carmina tightly. He can't help but worry about what might happen if the hunters come back. When he'd been with the Project, he'd understood Joseph's motivations — at least superficially — but now he's completely in the dark. They used to fill their ranks with abducted children and their desperate parents. He has no idea if Joseph is in a position to expand his flock, but if he is... John does not doubt that they'll start with the young and impressionable. Carmina, being young but not as impressionable as they'd like, probably wouldn't make it back to the compound before she got herself killed. He can't imagine anyone having enough patience to break her.

"You... uh, think we should be worried?" Nick asks after a brief stretch of silence.

"Not yet," John replies grimly. After all, the Ryes have a bargaining chip like no other, in case their daughter is ever taken. John can see to it that she's left alone, but it will only work once — and after that, who knows which brother will be sending hunters after her.

"Good thing we got ourselves a couple of extra guns," Nick says. "You and her are gonna have to start carrying pretty much everywhere."

"I'm sure people will love that."

"Fuck people, man, did you see the size of that fucking guy?"

John can't help a wry smile. "They weren't so big. If I were a couple of years younger, I would have taken them."

"Yeah, sure. "

The lecture must be over with for now, as Carmina's attention has turned back to her chickens. Kim watches her from a distance; John can't read her expression from here, but her posture is tense and defensive. John can't blame her — he doesn't have a parental bone in his body, but the stress of raising a child in these conditions isn't lost on him. Trying to instill a sense of fear into somebody who lived their formative years without a threat in sight can't be easy. Doubly so, considering Carmina can no doubt outgun the rudimentary weaponry the Project is utilizing. Hell, maybe they really are only a threat to him. Maybe it doesn't matter if Carmina sneaks out of the house.

"She won't leave unnoticed again," John decides, because it's the only promise he can genuinely keep.

"Oh yeah? You're gonna eat those words when she's a teenager."

"I'd hope she would be smart enough to bring back up by then."

"Me too." Nick exhales loudly enough to get Kim's attention, stretching one arm over his chest, then the other. "Well, I guess we better get started if we want to have anything to show for it by nightfall."

Even so, it takes Nick another moment before he brings himself to move. John lingers behind, unable to help himself as he eyes the trees distrustfully. There's nothing saying that hunter isn't still out there, watching them from a safe distance. If Jacob had a hand in training them, it's unlikely that John will ever see them coming again. He's likely lost the one chance at a level playing field, and he hadn't even realized it was something he could lose.

Fuck it. It doesn't matter. John has adapted time and again to every disaster in his life, and there's something to be said for the person who he's become. If this is the next catastrophe that he'll have to weather, then so be it. If he isn't capable of dealing with Joseph by now, then it's likely he never will be — and if that turns out to be the case, he can only hope that Kim is as quick on the trigger as she seemed to be today.

[blueboltkatana]

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

GUrll ur so sexy... Like you're Hot. I don't care if you were bullied in school, you're sexy, they lied.

Also bitch I KNEW i related to you too much our ascendants are both in leo we're so hot.

Ok ok no now I'll stop complimenting and start with the roasting here we go:

So the sun is your sense of "self" it represents you on the more base level i guess you could say, like what most people think you're like is represented by your sun. With Sagittarius being your sun it means you're very energetic Especially for those things you are passionate about, you might have gone through a LOT of hobbies, only a few of them stuck around but you like to try things. You're curious about the way people's minds works, you wanna figure them out. If the conversations you have don't involve some form of psychoanalysis or philosophy you might loose interest. You are a Talker, maybe you talk very fast or you are often told to lower your voice but you don't do it on purpose you're just very very animated. You are kina volatile, in the sense that you value freedom in everything, love, work, hobbies. You have a huge rebellious streak and you kinda like testing your luck. Think adrenaline junkie. It's cliché but with this much Sagittarius in your chart you prob love traveling, like i said you will chase freedom because you associate it with happiness. If you find people that make you feel free then you feel happy. Rules don't go well with you. You don't really like being involved with fights per se but you LOVE debating, if you can beat a motherfucker with nothing but facts and logic you will and you will enjoy it.

Your way of flirting or making friends is "lowkey bullying" or my favourite "verbally throwing hands". If they shoot back you get heart eyes (my mars in sag agrees). You can be tactless as fuck tho. Like you will say some outrageous shit that MIGHT be funny if the timing is right or MIGHT make everyone in a 5 mile radius mad.

I NEED to talk about your moon in sag bc Babe, babe the moon tells us about our emotions and how we deal with them, how we express them and how they shape us. But BABE. Sagittarius moons are so bad at comforting people it's embarrassing, trying to make them think of smth else or do smth else to distract from the situation is NOT a good way to deal with your emotions... Avoiding your emotions like the plague is not gonna invent a vaccine... Saying "everything is fine :)" DOESN'T MAKE ANYTHING FINE PLEASE GO TO THERAPY. ok to give you some credit, you don't let shit bring you down, no matter what you always get up and that is a *strength* that i admire, but love you're burning the candle at both ends, especially if you get yourself in More problems by trying to distract yourself from One problem.

Also you've had a horsegirl phase or a dog obsession phase or both huh. AND your love language is sarcasm but the type that you will make someone laugh when you're insulting them. You're also hilarious irl you're prob the "funny friend" but with that scorpio mars and venus baby inside ur sad and dark as fuck ripp.

I also wanted to talk about your mercury in sag... Babe... Do you know what a brain to mouth filter IS?! do you recognize that word?!?! Cuz you have never used yours i think. Like you are hilarious but that's because you have dolphins in the head cavity baby. Not trying to say you're stupid, you're actually very smart and opinionated, probably have been told that you'd be a great lawyer or smth. But miss gurl please think before you speak for the love of god ur gonna make someone cry. Also ur mouth is foul. Have you ever spoken a sentence without a "fuck" or a "cunt" somewhere in there?! God bless.

Now for your scorpio Venus I'm just gonna say, more confirmation that ur Sexy as Fuck, scorpio venuses are just sexy, amazing partners, VERY passionate, whoever dates you will never forget you, for better or for worse you'll forever be on the back of their mind. You had a harsh emo phase huh, maybe loved some obscure shit like witchcraft or just love dressing all black like someone's mother died, i bet you wear silver jewelry a lot, maybe necklaces or rings or chockers. If this isn't how you dress now it was prob a major phase in your life. Or maybe you just love horror movies idk

Being as passionate as you are you don't take well to being mistreated or lied to, you might like to plot revenge and things like those, you wouldn't do anything... You actually prefer letting things go but you WILL make an elaborate scenario in your head at 3am or even as you stare right in the persons face.

With mars in scorpio you might be kinda passive aggressive, maybe you act like things don't really bother you but you throw a comment or two once in a while just to stir the pot bc you can't move on lmfao.

You are attracted to people that are introverts or generally just mysterious, like i said above the nature of the Sagittarius is to Learn and to Study. People that you can't immediately figure out intrigue you. All your crushes are either on geminis or water signs lmfao.

The best careers for you are the ones that allow you some freedom of either movement or expression and something that can keep your mind from flying away, something that keeps you intrigued, like research or writing. You're a very "all or nothing" person and it can sometimes scare people away, i advise you to work on compromising, being less stubborn and more open with your emotions and desires.

(part one bc I'm taking too long and I don't wanna keep you waiting so much) I'll reblog this with part 2

Alright here we go part 2 of Roasting hella until she finds out I'm hiding in her walls.

I will skip over some planets that are Very slow moving and usually don't talk about you as an individual but refer to your generation as a whole.

I wanna focus on lilith for a sec bc worstie lilith talks about our fears, our more "darker" side that we hide from ourselves as well as the people that we love. Lilith in aries in the eleventh house tells me you might be afraid to take charge, you gravitate towards positions of leadership but you let go on the last second, almost afraid to have too much control, very often self sabotaging your own success. Your anger and you own ambition might scare you, you might be afraid of appearing too aggressive bc under your skin you have a deep rooted anger and rebellion that you wish to relieve but you can't find a good enough outlet, some things soothe it but you always feel like it never leaves. It might be related to some form of resentment that you never truly dealt with and now it sits uncomfortably with you and you just can't get over it and it bothers you. You might have been shy in groups as a child, maybe you talked a lot but it was always from a fear of the silence not always because you had something to say. The eleventh house is that of groups and friends and social awareness, technology and your hopes and wishes for the future, having lilith in this house talks about someone who had a hard time feeling comfortable around people OR someone who wasn't very accepted. You might have desperately wished for friends but have found it hard to find any. Or if you did, you deep down felt very alone. I would advise to learn to accept your anger and deal with it in healthy ways instead of brushing it off and repressing it.

The north node talks about what you need to focus more in your life for example in your case with Gemini in your North node you need to focus more on your communication letting go of anxiety and your relation with other people you need to become more interested in intellectual pursuit and growth. You need to let go off the need to always be right and look more at details instead of focusing on on the bigger picture all of the time. When your North node is is in Gemini then your South node is in Sagittarius which tells me that what you should focus less on is your pursuit of freedom and your rebellion. Be more aware of your words and use them with maturity.

Now let's have some fun with the ascendent in leo which we share and now i see why ur so relatable. The first house or the ascendant is that very superficial layer of our personality, it includes the way we carry ourselves, our style, the little habits or quirks we have. One thing about leo ascendants is that we have an obsession with our hair. Hair is important to us, some have huge hair that might remind you of a lions mane, others just have very unique style or color but we ALL are lowkey or highkey obsessed with it, either constantly touching it, pulling it, chewing on it, cutting it or dying it in unique ways you name it. You might have a rather large nose or cat like eyes.

This ascendent is full of life and light, very funny, light hearted and luxurious, you want to live that good life and i don't blame you. A negative aspect is that we come of as intimidating to others. ALL of my friends AND my ex have at some point told me I was intimidating to them. It makes us prone to overcompensating for it later in life so maybe now you're super outgoing and extroverted and you approach people first and try to be super friendly. Also you're an attention whore (affectionate) with a flare for the dramatics, very flamboyant, you basically fill the room with personality, it attracts attention and you love it. You're what people would call a "sunny" person.

You're hella competitive (get it lol) and you LOVE fighting your way to the top and crushing the competition. You're probably a weirdo that low key likes school. Not the way it's run or the teachers or whatever, but the "idea" of school. If you could just learn all your life you absolutely would.

Second house in virgo. The 2nd house is the house of money, work, income, daily routines, values, material possessions, habits, work ethic ect being in virgo it means you can have an extremely good work ethic, you put a lot of thought in planning and mapping your work, you might get overly critical on your work though and often undermine your own success and efforts because they didn't fit your impossible standards. You can be very organized in your work, you want things to be a certain way and if they don't follow your plan you will Make them. Its a good position for virgo but yoh need to be aware of not overworking by trying to do Everything on your own. Let others help you, and let people in your work do their own things don't try to help if not asked to because you will overwork yourself.

The third house is that of the mind, thinking, communication, siblings, interests and early education, in your case it is in Libra which means that you're early education might not have been very stable or it was a period of time that you look back with a lot of fondness but not much substance. You are a good talker but you get lost when it comes to details, you are indecisive when it comes to settling on an opinion on something if you don't have All the facts first, you always want to be right. You are pretty open minded and easy to talk to but you might have the bad habit of rambling off topic. You change interests constantly and you prob like to talk about others, you wanna know the tea if it kills you. You prob had a crush on a childhood best friend or on a hot neighbor. Your relationship with your siblings might be pretty good, friendly, no particular resentment or anything like that, you might be the one that everyone treats a little better, people let you get away with things more often, you might be the one that takes 2 hours in the bathroom lol.

Oof fourth house in scorpio babe how are the mommy issues? 😬 How is your relationship with your femininity? Having trouble with keeping secrets? So the fourth house is the one responsible for your home roots, your family, self-care, emotions, your mother, women and your femininity and having Scorpio here tells me that you might have very strong ties to your family, but they weren't healthy or emotionally supportive. You have grown with people that might have undermined your emotions, people that didn't teach you to set healthy boundaries and maybe even manipulators and gaslighters. You might have been the type to put your foot down a lot a home, assuming a very dominant role as well as the defender. You're very private about your family life and don't want to let people too close.

Ah i just noticed u have like 3 planets in this house including ur Sun and Moon, babe this house is what you need to focus on when you go to therapy. This almost secretive, guarded approach to understanding your own emotions is very prominent in how you see yourself, how you feel and with Pluto there, how you change. I could say the biggest changes in your life have happened in these areas and they have left the biggest impacts on you. Yes you are passionate and protective but don't let bad feelings marinate forever, address them and then move on from them because they're just weighting you down.

Fifth house in sag, also the house of your mercury. This house represents Love, romance, creativity, self expression, joy and childlike spirit. It tells me the way you express your creativity is through words which makes sense since you're a great writer, but not only, the way you express Love is also through your words, expression and free thoughts are your way you tell your loved ones how much you mean to them, think poetry, long rants, music recommendations bc of specific song lyrics, you have been writing form childhood and it's one of the ways you express your view on beauty as well, to you love is freedom and freedom is expression.

Capricorn in the sixth house paired with both uranus and neptune being in it tells me there is something about your knees, joints, bones or teeth in particular that stands out when it comes to your health, maybe you tend to break your teeth, maybe you like chewing on crunchy foods, maybe your joints crack a lot, idk but I'd drink my milk if i was you, take care of your joints and bones. Also for you, being emotionally unwell often translates to being Physically unwell as well, so be mindful of your emotions because they do affect you physically. You need to keep hydrated also and your health plan needs structure for it to work bc that neptune makes everything very chaotic and uranus constantly makes you bored and wanting to spice things up. Take care of your emotional needs just as much as you would with your physical ones. And for the love of jesus be CAREFUL with alcohol or smoking because that neptune in ur health house could mean serious trouble if you let it become an addiction, don't push it.

Aquarius in the seventh house of relationships, marriage, contracts, business partners ect means you are untraditionally traditional. That makes sense in my head let me explain. Aquarius is a sign that seeks individualism desperately, it likes to feel like a special person, impossible to understand. Yet always feels comfortable in the structure of traditional and safe paths. So for example you might marry someone in a way that is not traditional but at the end of the day you wish for your marriage to have a stability you would feel safe falling into. Also it says ur gay. Air signs in the relationship house says ur gay i Make the rules.

Pisces is in the eighth house of sex, intimacy, shared finances, inheritance, taxes, loans, property, mystery, partner's resources. This tells me you fuck with feeling lmfao. Or you simply make your love life something "special", a connection that only you and ur person can share, it's what makes you an amazing lover and an unforgettable one as well. But as amazing as you are at creating a otherworldly atmosphere, ur just as shit at setting boundaries and saying something when you don't like something. You don't like to see things that you love ending and a failed relationship makes you blame yourself too much, you have the tendency to stay in situations where you are being mistreated but you tell yourself It's on you.

A recurring theme I'm seeing is some weakness when it comes to liars or manipulators in your life. So either you irrationally fear people are lying to you because you "lie" to them about yourself or a lot of people in your childhood might have used lying or gaslighting as a way to keep you under control. I would advise to try not to overthink and become paranoid, people love you and they believe in you and they aren't deceiving you, they don't secretly mean something different from what they have said. Listen to your intuition about people sure, but don't confuse it with anxiety.

With lilith and aries in the 9th house of travel and higher education and religion I'm gonna assume you might have religious trauma. Religion might have been a way that people used to try and control you, if not religion then some form of system or government law. Being queer i completely understand the sentiment but in your case it's take a step further because you Value the ideals of this house so much, with lilith here, it's like at som point in your life you were finally awakened to how much injustice there was in the world ant that has made you very inclined to take action, you cannot stand unjust government or non tolerating religions. You might have felt crushed under an unjust system and it took you a lot of will and conviction to find your individuality and build yourself how you wanted once you were free.

Your midheaven in taurus tells me you are one that will achieve any goals you set your mind to. It might take you time, you might procrastinate around it, but at the end of the day, you will do it and you will do it well and it will be rewarding. If your father isn't a Taurus then he was a stable figure in your life, very much a rock for better or for worse. In your career life people will see you as very competent, very down to earth and helpful but you know you just procrastinated till the last second possible and stayed up all night do finish your work... You will seek careers that you believe will guarantee you stable income and a comfortable life. You might indulge in luxury from time to time because you think in order to get the position you want at work you need to look the part. Ultimately it's your sheer stubbornness and spite that gets you all the way up to the top of the food chain.

The eleventh house of groups, friendships, humanitarianism, and social awareness is in your case in gemini. It tells me you value friendship extremely and you surround yourself with a diverse cast of friends, you couldn't mix your different friend groups if you tried and you have tried. You have the habit of being too friendly to everyone which makes you end up with more friends than you know what to do with. You are approachable but people can get the impression that you are putting up a show or a facade and your emotions arent genuine, it's not always the case but you need to be more truthful and assertive, put some boundaries and don't let people get away with shit you don't like. Your public persona is very well liked, seen as fun and bright and smart and overall a joy to be around.

Now that last placement... 12th house cancer, i have the same placement and babe I'm sorry for all the shit you have been through. You deserve the freedom to be unhappy and to express that unhappiness in healthy ways. You deserve to be given unconditional love and support no matter how many mistakes you say you have made no matter how overly pessimistic you are about yourself it doesn't matter you're amazing and i love you and you deserve the world.

With jupiter the planet of expansion in the 12th house of endings, spirituality, solitude and karma?! Gurl i did say u were a cult leader but i didn't think it was astrologically backed up rippp. But it also says you might have a hard time getting the motivation to finish things, you might take a long time to finish a project. This house placements also tells me you're amazing at writing emotional ass fantasy stories which by now we have confirmed, but if you have like, an original idea for a book don't hesitate to get it started babe bc u have a very promising placement for that. Don't get too dragged into a sad whirlpool of emotions and daydreams but bring your creative ideas to life and you'll be fine.

This is all I'm doing today and i think it's enough lol. I'm posting this I'm sorry to my followers for the long ass post I'll tag it so you can filter it. This was a whole psycho-astrological analysis of our favourite writer Hellspawn1975. I have wanted to study her like a new lizard species for a while and i finally got the chance thank you hella for the opportunity.

Final words to @hella1975 i hate you and I'll fuck ur mom tomorrow, gn babe <3

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #307

“you lie so much, you believe yourself”

How long has it been since you kissed someone? Like, two years or so. What level are you on Farmville? Never played it. What are you looking forward to in the next year? I hope Covid just withers away, dammit. I truly, truly hope this vaccine is effective. And that people start wearing their GODDAMN masks. Do you use a lot of emoticons? Not really nowadays. Would you ever climb a mountain? No. Even if my legs were capable of handling that, I'd be too afraid of an avalanche. Colons or equal signs for your smiley face’s eyes? Colons. When was the last time you swam in a lake? A looooong time ago. If you could have anything right now, what would you want? It'd be great to chill at Sara's house honestly, I miss that. What’s your relationship status? Single and I think finally starting to truly accept I need to be right now. I wouldn't want to date myself in my current position, so I shouldn't expect anyone else to. When was the last time someone asked you your age? On my birthday when I mentioned in group therapy that I was trying to make it an especially good day about myself. When was the last time you danced? Very, very poorly with Sara years ago lmao. Has anyone ever tried to physically fight you? Someone snatched my arm and yanked me down to look her in the eyes in HS because she was a jealous bitch back then telling lies, but idk if her intention was to actually try to start a physical fight. Are you avoiding someone? No. What’s your favorite primary color? Red. What do you have pierced? Just my ears and bottom lip now. :/ I want morrrreeee. I'm forever tilted that so many of my piercings closed when I was hospitalized. What is your favorite dog breed? I find pugs to be very cute, but I do not support their breeding whatsoever so would never buy one. Besides them, I have a definite bias towards beagles. In your honest opinion, what is the scariest sea creature you know? Fucking Christ, giant squids. Terrifying. Do you believe there is just one love for everyone, or…? No. There are way, way, WAY too many people on this planet for that. What natural disaster scares you the most? Tornados. What outrageous career could you see yourself wanting to do? Define an "outrageous" career... but I can't visualize myself doing anything very unordinary. In what way would you want to help change the world? I truly hope I can make some considerable amount of contributions to natural conservation and animal education. When driving down the road looking for an address do you turn the radio low? I don't drive, but I know I would, considering I can't concentrate on driving if the radio is on anyway. What do you think of when you look at the stars? How little I and my problems really are. It gives me perspective. If you could say ONE THING to the president, what would it be? Well, Biden just got into office, so I can't really say yet. We'll see what he does. What Disney princess are you most like? Personality wise, I mean. Uh. I'unno. Maybe Snow White because animals? haha Do you believe in astrology? Not in the slightest. Do you look into people’s eyes when you talk to them? I try to, anyway, but I tend to find it very uncomfortable, and I never know if I'm offering too little or too much. So I have trouble maintaining it, especially with people I don't know. You can have one of the following two things: trust or love. Pick one. Trust. What do you think is the most important thing in this life is? Hm, that's a deep one. Perhaps the understanding that you are just as important as the next person and that we should work as one to make this one life that we know of worthwhile. Make the world better than when you entered it. What is your favorite shade of blue? Pastel blue. I just like pastels in general. When's the last time you bought something just because? I don't buy things "just because." If I actually have money to spend, I use it with motivation behind it. What Ozzy lyric describes you best? WHOA NOW HUNNY you are asking the WRONG person because I can just about name his entire discography so there are waaaay too many song lyrics to dig through and pick one for myself. Probably something from "Dreamer," after a short moment's consideration. When was the last time you went for a walk without a specific destination in mind? Not since Sara and I walked down the path near her house. We didn't plan on when we would turn around to go back. Do you daydream? Only all the time. What was your last daydream about? Ha, thanks to that other question, visiting Sara again. It'd be nice, but yeah, financial limitations and corona. Ever won the lottery? Bitch I wish. What was the most important decision you made that screwed up your life the most? Ugh... I'd say putting all my self-worth, happiness, and source of peace into one person was pretty big but also fucking stupid. What is love really about? Don't ask a romantic this and expect a non-essay, haha. But to keep it as short as possible, it's about mutual care, the desire to grow together, trust, openness, the peace to be vulnerable with the other... It's about a lot. It's such a deep, beautiful feeling. What's the most you ever made in a year? lol Do you have an online diary? Only through surveys, really. What's the biggest pot you've won in poker? I haven't played poker since I was a kiddo, so idr. What Metallica lyric most describes your life? Who wrote this and knows my favorite bands????? Like damn. There's a good handful of the sadder songs I relate to; I did some brief digging through ones I know I relate to, and perhaps the one I feel closest is within "The Unforgiven II": "The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true. If you can understand the me, then I can understand the you." Aaaand now I'm gonna go binge Metallica 'cuz it's been too long, thanks. How many concerts have you been to? Just one. :/ Which one was your favorite? I've only seen Alice Cooper, and it was great. What's the most illegal thing you've done? Pirated stuff, oops. Ever get busted by the cops? What for? No. How many pairs of rollerblades do/did you own? I doubt I have any anymore. Ever wear out a CD? What was it? Ahaha... There is some scratching on my mom's copy of Ozzmosis thanks to me playing it so much on my old CD player. Ever have a tornado in your town? Well my city is pretty damn big, so yes, in some spots. I don't think my immediate proximity has ever seen one, though. If you HAD to pick ONE song to listen to for the rest of your life, and that would be the only song you ever heard, what would it be? I would absolutely need something motivating if that was the case, so most likely "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne. That song touches me so deeply and gives me the courage to do what I can to tackle life and try not to waste it. I know, I'm doing a great job at that. Ever heard of Shinedown? Hell yeah; I was actually listening to them in the car earlier. What does your lawn furniture consist of? We have nothing out there. Ever live off of canned soup and ramen noodles for weeks at a time? Er, no. But when I got my tongue pierced, I had to survive off of popsicles and... I somehow forgot the main thing I ate???? How?????? But anyway it was something that didn't involve much or any chewing, either. I actually lost a little bit of weight in that week or so because eating solids was impossible, and I didn't enjoy "eating" liquids either. That piercing (snake eyes, btw) was soooo so cute tho. I really wish it hadn't started to damage my teeth, or else I'd still have it. What musical group/artist do you love, but hide from other people? I used to be kinda embarrassed by artists like Melanie Martinez when you compare her music to my adoration of metal, but at my age now, I don't give a damn. I like what I like and won't hide it. What is the first meal you remember eating? ... Does anyone actually remember this??? What's in your keepsake box/scrapbook? Good God, a lot. I haven't looked in it in a very, very long time though. It brings a usually painful nostalgia. What did you score on your SATs? I don't even remember if I took them. I THINK I took the ACT instead? I don't even know the difference. When was the last time you saw a rainbow? Hm. Been a while. It's not like I'm out of the house a lot, especially nowadays with quarantine. What colors is your lava lamp? I wish I had a lava lamp, they're rad and really relaxing. What's the strangest thing you've ever hung on the wall? Nothing, really. Can you name every place you've ever had sex? I mean I can but I'm not going to. What's the most important thing you ever lost and never found again? My favorite childhood cat Charcoal. He was an outdoor and intact male, so it was very normal for him to eventually vanish to rove. Please keep your cats indoors. What forms of birth control have you used? The pill and, uh, having "barriers." How many webpages have you created, and can you still find them all? I made Wetpaint sites for my two RP mobs back in the day, but the site has since been completely revised, so no, they don't exist anymore. I checked outta curiosity I think last year. How many people are in your family portrait? We don't even have a proper family portrait. Ever punched a wall? No. When's the last time you really lost your temper? In some argument with Mom I don't remember. Ever thought you (or a girlfriend) were pregnant, but it was a false alarm? I had massive anxiety over it once, but it was irrational and even I knew that. Not that anxiety cares. If 97 is yes, were you glad or sad? I was very glad when my period came lmao. What was the last conversation you had with someone before they died? When I saw my grandma for the last time, I just let her know that I loved her and that she was so, so strong, and she was. No one could believe how long she warded death off when she finally stopped chemo. What do your drinking glasses look like? We have some more unique cups and mugs, but the majority of them are just plain, slightly angular glasses, some short, some tall. How many bottles/containers are in your medicine cabinet? Oh wow, a lot. We're covered for most potential problems. How many funerals have you been to? Uhhh I think one. Maybe even none, just wakes. What was the last bug you killed and what did you use? An ant, I think? I just used my fingers. How many computers in your household? There are three laptops, but no desktop computers. Ever help to solve a crime? There was one occasion years ago when our neighbor's window was busted overnight and cops came to us to ask for any evidence we might have had, but we didn't have any. Idk what came of it. Ever get pulled over by the cops and get away without a ticket? I've never been pulled over. What was your first legal alcoholic drink? I think it was a margarita, but possibly a daquiri. Ever get published by one of those poetry groups? I fucking wish. I've tried, but to no avail. What's the furthest distance you've moved? Not very far at all. Just to the neighboring town. How many friends from high school/college do you still talk to? Only a few now and then. Girt is the only one I have real conversations with, though. What's the most expensive things your parents ever bought you? Probably the laptop I have right now, but idk. I've never asked how much things they've bought me cost, it seems rude somehow. What's the most expensive thing you've bought? The upcoming revamp of my tattoo. Deposit was $100, and then it's probably going to be another $300-400. I can't afford it all myself; as my birthday gift, Mom is helping me pay for it, but I've got most of it covered thanks to Christmas and birthday money. How many times did you intentionally start to commit suicide? Start to do it? Well, I was trying to run for sharp objects to do it twice, but on each occasion, someone held me back 'cuz they knew I was about to do something rash, so I didn't get very far, thankfully. The only time I fully went through with an attempt was my OD. Ever spent the night in the "loony bin?" How fucking disrespectful to call it that, but whatever. If you put all the instances together, I've been in psych hospitals for around a couple months, maybe more. What is your favorite cover song? Disturbed's cover of "Sound of Silence" is absolutely unbeatable. I'd just about call it a cold hard fact. What's your inspiration? Other's success stories, music, art in general, etc. What's the longest relationship you've been in? Over 3 1/2 years. Did you ever drop out of school? I dropped out of college three times, yikes. Three times is enough; even if I think I want to, I'm never going back. That is just way too much money to keep throwing down the drain, and there's clearly a pattern. Ever raise a child that wasn't your own for more than 3 months? I've never raised a kid period. Strangest medical procedure ever performed on you? Look up what a pilonidal cyst is and know I had one surgically removed. Pretty strange and uncomf. Song that has changed your attitude recently? None, really. What's something that you say a lot to be mean? ... Why would I try to be mean??? Who told you they loved you last? Me mum. Ever had a pet frog? Not technically, no, but as kids, my sister, neighbor, and I saved hundreds, maybe thousands of tadpole eggs from a ditch that was inevitably going to dry out. We transferred them all to a kiddie pool and let them grow naturally, hopping out and into the world whenever they were ready. I wouldn't call them "pets." Your worst enemy? IT'S NO SURPRIIIISE TO MEEEE I AAAAMMM MY OWN WORST ENEMYYYYY Do you believe in karma? No, but I wish it was a thing. What was the last hurtful thing you said to someone? I'm not sure. I certainly try to avoid doing so. Do you love someone enough you'd die for them? There's multiple people. The last song you listened to? I wasn't joking when I said I was gonna go on a Metallica spree, haha. "Of Wolf and Man" is on rn. Your most favorite memory as a kid? Too many, man. If you had the choice to work or not, would you work? Yes. I need something to do that benefits others in one way or another. Ever TRULY wanted to kill someone? I can't say for sure, if I'm being totally transparent. When I found out about Jason's gf after me, I can say with certainty I wanted her dead beyond dead, but I don't know if I wanted to kill her, per se. Just to clarify, no, I don't wish any negativity upon her now. I was certifiably insane before and certainly don't think I am anymore, so... Marvel or DC? I don't care. Do you watch anime subbed or dubbed? Both. I prefer dubbed, BUT only if the voice acting isn't insufferable. I like dubbed just because for me, it's very distracting to have to keep looking down at subtitles. How often do you exercise? I don't... I'm still waiting for Mom to move into her actual room versus the living room couch so I can do WiiFit with some privacy. I'm too uncomfortable to exercise in front of anyone. What is your favorite book series? Warriors will forever have a very special place in my heart. What is your favorite OTP? I will probably ship Rhett and Link for my entire life. Their friendship is truly incredible and so so SOOOOOOO cute. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? I've never seen the series, actually.

[starkerdayss]

ok but like headcanon: peter wants to wait till marriage to have sex, tony being his horny self begs better to atleast just put the tip in and peter loves it too much and well i was hoping you could write the rest 👌

(warning: religious corruption and just in general a lot of profanities, im sorry my catholic peeps. Also, plot twist end)

Peter was catholic. Christian, if he avoided the church (you know, “gays go to hell” and all that). But, even if he tended to not follow many of the rules that a Christian should follow, one that he sure did, was virginity and castity, to Tony’s displeasure, of course. 

The boy was so rectangular and so full of rules, that even make out sessions had their own set of instructions and lines to follow. Tony always did, though, not only not to disrespect the boy, but because he knew that if he didn’t follow them, his not so little friend could pop up at any time, and considering the amount of strength he had, he didn’t want to put himself in the situation where anything could be mistaken as abuse. 

The thing was, though, Peter wasn’t exactly the purest of boys out there. He loved castity, as we all know, but he didn’t really act like it. His hips always looked like they were dancing to a non-existent melody, his pale skin was decored with different things that Tony knew Peter bought just for a specific outfit, his face had always some kind of make up displayed on it, and although neither Tony or the author is saying that make up is there to seduce, we can all agree that on Peter, it looks rather sinful. And Tony was so fucking done with all of it. 

He did research. He put himself through the trouble of speaking with several ortodox catholics, including some of his fans, and most of them said that sex was practically prohibited (if you chose to follow that path). But there was one young girl, Tony estimated either 19 or 20, who said with nervous voice and shaking hands that the tip wasn’t as bad. She was probably talking about personal experience and not really aware that the relationship Tony was in was a flamingly homosexual one. 

But suddenly, that was the answer. 

The tip. 

As soon as the man was home, he called Peter, telling him that he needed him urgently in the lab, that they needed to talk some stuff through, and even if every single possible scenario where Tony broke up with him for staying a virgin crossed his little brain, he decided to show up anyway. Sweaty and all. 

“Tony, I understand that it’s hard for you to not have sex but…”

“Whoah, bad place to start, Sweetheart” muttered Tony as he stood up and rapidly crossed the lab, extending his arms and resting his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. “I found a way” 

The intimacy, somehow made Peter feel better. If Tony was going to break up with him, he wouldn’t be treating him like this. He wouldn’t be touching him. He would start being evasive, or annoying, or worse, both. Either way, Peter frowned. A way? 

Apparently, the gesture was enough to send Tony the message that Peter was as confused as a chamaleon in a bag of skittles. “I found a way for us to do something sexual and still being chaste” 

The frown on Peter’s face was only stronger. Technically, that wasn’t possible. Apart from oral sex, which is something they did far too many times for Peter to actually keep count, there was absolutely nothing involving penetration that… well, didn’t envolve penetration. “You’re bluffing” 

“Okay, first, “bluffing”? Common. Second, yes, I talked to several of your people and-”

“My people? What does that-”

“Concentrate, Peter! I talked to catholics, and one of them told me the solution to all our problems” 

Silence. 

“The tip”

“The tip?” 

“The tip” emphasized Tony, his eyes growing wide with the new possibilities. “Think about it. You just will need a little bit of lube and technically it’s not penetration. I’ll be really careful, you know I respect you” 

If he was honest with himseld, it sounded to him like Tony was just saying everything and anything he could come up with to get Peter on board, but the fact was, that he knew that Tony did actually respect him. If he said he wasn’t thinking about it, he would be lying. 

“I’m not- I’m not horny, though” muttered the boy, feeling like he was giving out a lame excuse, when really, it was just- he didn’t want just Tony to feel right. Maybe it wasn’t much, but he wanted to feel good too, maybe even come? Was that too much to ask when talking about just the tip?

The man smirked and his hands started going down Peter’s arms, taking him by the hands and squeezing them lightly. “I can change that, but only if you feel comfortable enough about it” 

He did. He had been feeling comfortable about it for ages now, he just was… extremely virgin and unexperienced. His cheeks turned bright red only thinking about it, and even though that wasn’t confirmation enough for Tony yet, he knew he could start with something. He slowly walked towards his boyfriend and started walking him backwards, making the boy look behind him several times, making sure that he wasn’t going to step on anything and ruin the moment. Tony could only look over his boy hungrily and with lustful eyes. He wanted him, he truly did. 

“Look at me” commanded the man, his voice suddenly rough and inhospitable, sending shivers down Peter’s back that ended up on the tip of his cock. Either way, he obeyed and his eyes turned and locked with the man’s. He stayed put while Tony backed him up completely and caged him into the corner of a desk, his crotch pressed way too hard against his own. 

“Tony…” started the boy, unccertainty and neediness hidding in his voice, only to be shut up by Tony’s rubbing. Peter really had to give it to him, when he said he was going to change Peter’s lack of horniness, he really meant it. 

Before he knew it, he was rutting agaisnt the man as well, his head thrown back as Tony’s buff goateé rubbed against his sensitive neck skin, delicious and sinful hickeys already forming. Peter’s knuckles were turning white from holding the edge of the desk with an underterminable amount of force, and he knew it was time. It had taken Tony less than five minutes to get him hard and throbbing, needy like a little kid, desperate like an animal in heat. 

“Now” 

Tony stopped kissing along his boyfriend’s jaw and looked up. “Are you sure?” he asked slowly, making sure that the words actually did get to the brain, which didn’t have much blood on it right now. Yet, Peter nodded, biting his lower lip and pressing himself even harder against the man, a pink color taking over his neck as embarrassment filled his veins. He couldn’t believe how much of a dog he looked like doing that. 

Once again, Tony could only smirk and smile. It was such an honor and pleasure to him to see his boyfriend feel that ravished before even doing anything to him. He licked his lips and acrefully placed one of his hands on Peter’s hip and the other under his chin, making him look at him. Peter opened his eyes slowly, his pupils dilated from all the pleasure he was already getting. “You’re beautiful, Peter. So fucking beautiful” 

Peter swallowed, then looked down at Tony’s lips, and since he didn’t really know what to say to that, he closed the distance between them and kissed him. First, it was cute, soft, needy, but then it turned rough, and the moment Tony realized what was going on, he felt a fiery possessiveness drown his every inside. He grabbed now Peter by the waist and pushed him down, making their bulges bump. Tony needed to remember that this was just the tip. 

“Tony. Ple- please in a bed” 

Tony growled inside Peter’s opened mouth and nodded, taking his boyfriend by the ass, wrapping his legs around his waist and running (more like walking fast, we don’t run in this household) upstairs, letting himself fall with the boy on top of him on top of the bed in the most gracious way he could find. “Now that’s what I’m talking about” whispered the little shit, giving Tony the side eyes when the man raised an eyebrow at him. “Um, do.. do you have…” 

“Condoms? Yes. Lube? Yes. A dick ready to just put the tip in? Also yes” 

It sounded almost pitiful. Just the tip. Just the tip because Peter had decided to follow some rule that someone had told him it would make someone in the sky very happy. It all seemed stupid now, but he understood that it was because he was extremely horny and it was the first time he was -somewhat- on top of Tony. “Can we- please do it already?” 

“Someone’s needy” muttered Tony, grabbing him by the ass and squeezing it hard. “Alright. Get undressed” 

“That’s romantic” moked the boy, getting off of Tony and looking around. Tony wasn’t moving, wasn’t undressing, he was simply staring. Peter could feel his cheeks slowly turn red once again. He hated being looked at with determination and scrutiny, specially when he was about to show every single bit of vulnerability that he had. “Can you maybe look the other way?” 

Tony rolled his eyes, but he knew Peter was serious, so he did, and he turned around, looking at the other edge of the bed. 

“And start undressing too! I’m not going to be walking around naked while you’re still a hundred percent dressed” 

“Jesus Christ, for being the submissive one you sure like giving instructions, don’t you?” 

The younger male rolled his eyes as well but smiled pleased when Tony started to undress too, not a care in the world as he took off pieces of layers and started getting completely nude. Peter ached to feel that comfortable about his body. But that was for another occasion. 

Finally, when Peter told his man that he was completely undressed and Peter knew for a fact that there was no other fabric left on Tony’s body, they both turned to each other, and Tony had to physically stop himself from drooling. He was completely perfect. Completely fucking perfect. 

He had seen him naked before, but never standing like that, cock leaking proudly over his belly button, his hair messy, hickeys going down his body… simply beautiful. 

“Peter Parker… do you understand how fucking perfect you are?” 

Peter wrinkled his nose and looked away. “Don’t. Just- come here” 

Surprsingly, Tony obeyed, walking around the bed and getting to Peter, indicating the bed. Peter knew what to do. He kissed Tony’s cheek and slowly got into the bed, crawling to the center of it while swaying his hips, then layed down and spread his legs, his hands on his stomach but not touching the main prize. 

The passion Tony was feeling was otherworldly. He didn’t know he could feel so hot and so little in comparison to a beautiful creature like that. How had he gotten so lucky? 

He grabbed the lube and the condom, and after regaining power, he got on the bed as well, crawling towards Peter and positioning himself in the middle of his spread legs, looking down at the pleading hole. God, how he wanted to destroy him… 

“I don’t really think we need the condom, but I’ll leave it up to you” 

It was a decision Peter wasn’t ready to make yet, but he nodded anyway. Yes, he had been taught that condoms were always a yes. Tony nodded back and roughly opened the condom, still careful enough not to break it, then put it on, opening the lube and pouring a generous amount on his fingers. That was an impulse. 

“Sorry” he muttered, then looked down. “You look… wet. Are you wet?” 

Peter raised an eyebrow before understanding what Tony was actually talking about. “Oh, yeah, didn’t I tell you? There’s like something in my spider self that makes me self lubricate. I think it’s because of the whole… no, I have no idea. I’m just- yeah”

The man blinked twice and breathed out. This was going to be really hard to mantain slow and brief. “Alright” he managed to get out as he slowly lined up, his hands shaky. Why was he nervous? Fuck. Peter was probably way more nervous than he was and there was Tony, being anxious. 

“Are you ready?” 

Peter nodded, he was. Tony nodded back and with one hand on Peter’s hip and the other one on his cock, he slowly pushed in, his eyes fixated on the little hole that he was currently perforating, being really careful not to penetrate him more than they had agreed on. 

His line of thought couldn’t be continued, though, because the boy yelled. Yelled? 

Tony looked up and saw Peter with his back arched, his head thrown back and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth so ahrd that he thought he was going to draaw blood. “Peter?” 

Nothing, just erratic breathing. 

“Baby boy” the man repeated, a sting in his heart as he saw his boyfriend in that non responsive state. But before he could say anything else, some words that Tony thought he was never going to hear without a ring on that finger left Peter’s mouth; 

“I need more” 

“What?” muttered Tony, his heart racing and his hands shaking. “Are you sure? Because we can stop right now and go on with out lives and not talk about this anymore until we’re ma-” 

“Do it” 

Silence. 

“Do it, dammit” 

Tony swallowed thickly as Peter looked at him. His dilated pupils had lust, need, desperation, and sex written all over it. Tony saw sex and he knew that that was it. He let go of his cock and gripped the headboard of the bed hard enough before thrusting inside that tight little virgin hole that was now his forever, making Peter gasp and arch his back again, a violent reaction. Beautiful. 

And suddenly, before any of them had time to think about it, Tony was mercilessly and fiercly pounding inside, without giving Peter any time to adjust because he didn’t look like he needed so. 

Long story short, they fucked. They fucked hard and Jesus wasn’t mad about it. Peter continued being a catholic and Tony… well, he continued beign a depressive alchoholic… but now they enjoyed each other and there might be somre purity in Peter, but the way he rides his daddy… there’s nothing graceful about that ;) 

(I know this is shitty but getting back to writing is hard) 

[blehbleehhhh]

I Hate You, Mikasa ft. Eremika<3

Hiiiiiiiii. This is what I wish would have happened after that depressing conversation. Enjoy the angsty lemon ya filthy animals!

Also, thank you to those who are complimenting my writing and suggesting stories! Sorry if the spacing is fucked .-.

“Ever since I was a kid, Mikasa, I always hated you.”

His horrifically spiteful words reverberated through her mind, penetrating every cell and every fiber of her being as they ripped her apart. That four letter word. Hate. Exact opposite of the four letter word she's dreamed to hear from Eren for years. He hates me? Mikasa's lips quivered as she leaned back against a nearby tree and tried to center her breathing. That conversation left her sick to her stomach with a bitter taste in her mouth. Over and over again, she repeated those words like a mantra: 'Ever since I was a kid, Mikasa, I've always hated you.' Wiping the single tear off her cheek, she blinked back what’s nearly overflowing and stared out over the big empty field before them with a pit in her stomach.

Meanwhile, Armin lay on the grass, slowly running his fingers through the overgrown vegetation and let out a long, drawn out sigh. There aren't many things that make him seethe with rage, but listening to the way Eren absolutely berated their best friend caught him so off guard, he wasn't able to stop his fist from slamming into his jaw. Off the top of his head, he can think of many occasions where Eren had pushed her away before some major event took place. Though he knows his friend will never admit it, he most certainly does love Mikasa more than family, and he is capable of having romantic feelings for someone. But Eren has never been very good at communicating with her, at least through words. The distinct sound of Mikasa's deep, self soothing sigh yanked him from his train of thought; and taking a chance look to the side, his fears were confirmed, she's definitely trying not to come undone and it's taking all of her not to burst into tears right now.

"Mikasa, look at me," Armin sighed. "You know he doesn't hate you, right? He-"

"I don't know. That was a very convincing performance."

"You're the most important person in his life. If Eren hates you, then Lance Corporal Levi is terrible at his job. I don't think he'd do something like this without a good reason."

"Are you trying to excuse what he said, Armin?"

"What? No! Why do you think I slammed my fist into his fucking jaw! Just-" The blonde sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. These two are impossible. "Let him come to you like always."

"Something tells me he won't."

"He will. He always has, why would this time be any different?"

"Maybe he really is tired of me, Armin. I-I..." Mikasa's eyes stung as they welled up with tears, but she blinked them back and adjusted her 3DMG, straightening up her barely messy uniform. "I'm gonna go." She turned on her heel for the women's dormitory as calmly as possible, ignoring the concerned voice that called out her name.

Hate. Hate.

Suddenly, Mikasa stopped dead in her tracks

and pursed her lips together, looking up at the late evening sky; eyes filled with tears of agonizing heartache. What's the point? Why even try fighting back the tears? Everything that happened between her and Eren, all of those bitter words that tore her heart and soul into shreds, really were spoken. Crying wouldn't solve shit. She covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed as quietly as she could, leaning on a nearby tree for support. But something in her snapped, and she started mercilessly punching the trunk of the tree without even single care that the bark is tearing apart her skin as a blood curtailing, heart wrenching cry escaped her lips until she felt her lungs run out of air. She's not even sad anymore. Now, she's just angry.

However, little did she know, Armin had tracked Eren down to his usual spot located outside the main building, very far from anyone nearby. He's sitting on a rather large rock, snapping and peeling old, dead twigs. Eren heard the crinkling of leaves under his friends feet and knew without turning around exactly who it was. "I hope you're happy," Armin's voice is stern, full of disdain. "Using the quote-unquote freedom you proclaimed to have so you could hurt Mikasa." But he still didn't turn to face him, only ceased his twig snapping and drag his hand down his face.

"Do I look like I'm happy?"

"Do you have any idea how you made her feel, Eren? You made her doubt herself as a person. As a human being." He spat through his teeth, resisting the urge to punch him again. His blood was already boiling and this truly isn't helping. "It's only a matter of time until she fucking cracks because someone who swore to protect her just said he hates her, and supposedly has their entire friendship."

"Ha! I don't need to protect her," Eren snorted and shook his head, throwing the shredded twig remnants aside as he finally stood to his feet, turning around to face who is criticizing him. "She clearly does that just fine by herself."

"Right, and you're lucky she's so dedicated to keeping your sorry ass alive. Go fucking talk to her." Armin pointed in the direction she went off in and stormed off, probably to find some quiet place to think or read a book. Eren shook his head in contempt and briefly ran through possible scenarios in his head, what her reaction will be when she sees him. He's already heard this from Levi. Something along the lines of, 'You moron. I told you to keep to yourself, not treat your friends like dog shit. Be a man and go apologize.' It did break his heart to say those things to her, but it needed to be done. Eren has never claimed to be oblivious to the possibility that she could die protecting him and fighting for the lives of their comrades, in fact, it's something he's been very aware of since she so willingly followed him into the military against his wishes. The thought of losing Mikasa has him all sorts of fucked up because, in reality, he knows that he can't live without her. But if it's to keep her safe, he's willing to do anything, even if that means breaking her heart.

When he finally found her, Mikasa was leaning up against a tree, watching the colorful skyline turn the last bit darker as the sun set. Armin was right, she's definitely holding back, he can tell from the way she occasionally looks up at the heavens and blinks profusely. But then he saw her fists, how cut up and bloodied they are, and that's when the guilt really started to set in. Stay strong. It's for her own good, right? Her usually fair, milky completion is tinted a light shade of pink from holding back tears and releasing pent up rage at the tree, her eyes filled with nothing but pure anger as she tried to control her breathing. Finally meeting his ever stoic gaze, she timidly crossed her arms on her chest and didn't even wince when her bloodied fists were bumped in the process. "Leave. Leave right now." And just like that, his blood was boiling.

"There you go again, bossing me around!"

"God, Eren! I can't do this with you anymore!"

"What are you talking about?!"

"You want me to leave you alone and stop babying you so badly?!" Mikasa swallowed hard and looked off to the side, blinking profusely as her eyes filled up with tears. "Fine. I'll protect you on the battlefield because that's my job, but you don't need to worry about me getting involved anymore. I'm -" She let out an exasperated, frustrated chuckle. "I'm done."

"Now, hold on a second," He caught her by the arm and struggled to maintain his own composure. "I never said that I didn't want anything to do with you. That's you putting words in my mouth and I fucking hate it when you do that!"

"You hate it when I do anything, Eren! Mikasa, stop babying me, Mikasa I'm not your little brother or your son, fuck off, or my new personal favorite, Mikasa, I'VE ALWAYS HATED YOU SINCE WE WERE KIDS!" Her cry had a heavy effect on the air around them, saturating it with hurt and anger. “You’re such a fucking liar!”

"Oh, don't be so fucking petty!"

"Really, Eren? You're the last person who should be calling someone petty!"

"Dammit, Mikasa!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a few shakes. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"So are you, suicidal maniac! If anyone gets me killed, it'll be -"

"Don't," Eren whispered, biting the inside of his cheek. "Don't you say it."

"If I get killed, it'll be your fault because I was undoubtably saving you from doing something reckless!"

"God dammit! Why do you think I want you to stay the hell away from me?!" Eren spat, her eyes widened at his words. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you fucking died. It's my job to protect you and I'm not strong enough to shield you from death! Stop throwing yourself into the line of fucking fire for me!"

"How do you think I feel when you charge out without any assistance, Eren? We're all worried about dying! We're in a war for Christ's sake!"

"A war where a select group of people, including you, has to make sure I don't die so I can save humanity. What's the point in doing that if -" Eren stopped himself, carefully weighing all possible outcomes of what he's about to say. "What's the point in living through this hell if you fucking die?!" Mikasa blinked tears from her eyes and furrowed her brows. He's never said anything like this.

"W-what? What are you saying?"

"I," Eren sighed. "I don't see any point in going on if you aren't alive. Even if you hate me for doing this, I'll always-" Fuck. How does she always manage to pry information out of him like this? He groaned and gripped her shoulders tighter. "I'll always love you." She knit her brows together as tears began to roll down her rosy cheeks, using all of her strength in attempt to squirm out of his grasp, only to fail.

"NO!" Mikasa sobbed. "No, NO! Don't say things like that while trying to push me away, Eren!" Her voice cracked, hoarse from fighting back tears and screaming in his face. Eren anxiously shuffled his feet and wrapped his arm around her waist, cradling her cheek in his hand. She didn't even flinch.

"Will you shut up and listen to me?! I've always been in love you!" Their lips crashed together, gliding at a pace they can just barely keep up with. At long last, the feeling of being in his arms for something more intimate than a hug isn't just a dream, gazing into his eyes during their brief breaks for air is more than a fantasy, because this time it's all real. Mikasa sighed softly in his mouth as tears finally stream down her cheeks, invading their tastebuds and deeply passionate kiss. It made him feel even more guilty, so he pulled her close to deepen their kiss, breathing in the scent of her lavender soap as she curled her fingers into his shirt and, much to her disappointment, the warmth from his lips was abruptly taken away. But after that, just breathing in the sweet smell of his breath and staring into those guilt ridden, emerald eyes is more than okay. No words needed to be spoken in this moment because, once again, Eren had managed to distract her from whatever negativity is occurring around them, even though those feelings exist from his actions to begin with. She could taste his anger, bitterness, fear, and complete and utter regret in his kiss; this was a sufficient apology in her book. "Wanna stay with me tonight?" His voice made her knees weak, and his question made her stomach explode in a warmth that send a throb between her legs.

"Gods, yes..." She breathed to his lips and kissed him once more, gently pulling those soft, addictive lips back to hers to kiss him deeply and passionately once more.

————————————————————

Mikasa rummaged through the drawers of his dresser for a set of matches and lit the two candles sitting on the dresser, then the one beside the bed, bathing the otherwise dark room in a warm, soft glow. Much to her amusement, he can't keep his hands off of her: they're rubbing circles on her ass and hips, or in her shirt massaging her breasts. In the candlelight, she watched his fingers unbutton her shirt and expose her chest, squeezing both of her breasts for the first time. He spun her around and immediately buried his face in her neck, softly kissing her skin as she rushed to unhook her bra and drop it on the floor. "I'm so fucking sorry." His whisper nearly made her melt into a puddle, especially when he looked up into her eyes and reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"Eren..." The warmth from his lightly calloused hands gliding across her skin gave her an immediate relief of any emotional pain. Mikasa wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped up to capture his waist between her legs, crashing her lips against his and sending him into overdrive. One minute, he had her up against the wall, and the next she's laying in his bed, getting her neck nibbled and suckled on by the only person she's ever desired to do so.

"You're mine. Do you understand?" He breathed to her skin as his lips tenderly kissed her neck, and when her hands reached between them to free him from his belt, he looked up into her eyes to see she'd simply teared up more.

"Please don't leave me..." Mikasa bit her lip as her voice quivered. She was trembling now, bringing their lips together in a desperate attempt to avoid having a panic attack. The need to feel him close to her has always been a source of comfort but, right now, she seriously cannot get enough of him. Eren noted how much more passionate this kiss is, how she swiped her tongue across his bottom lip to entice him, how she curled her fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, even though he's already laying right on top of her. Their lips only parted for a moment so he could sit up to remove his shirt, granting her the privilege of admiring his body with her fingers, tracing the dips and ridges of his impressive abdominals as their lips come together again. Her hands reached down to free him from his trousers and boxers, rushing to pull them down to his knees. "I need to hear you say that you're never going to leave me, Eren," she whispered to his lips with desperation and fear evident in her voice. "SAY IT!" Her cry came out a little louder than intended as he gently set a hand on her cheek, slowly rubbing her bottom lip his thumb.

"I'm never going to leave you."

"Again..." Mikasa's voice is almost a whimper as the feelings from that horrific conversation invaded her mind, forcing her to engage in yet another battle with herself over negative emotions. She bit her lip and reached down between them to pull her dampened panties to the side, watching his eyes as he slowly glided through her wetness.

"I'm never going to leave you," Eren breathed to her lips and waited for a hint that he could enter, burying himself deep within the eager, soaking heat between her legs. "I promise." She wrapped her arms around his neck and raised her hips slightly to indicate that she was ready for him to move, taking a sharp inhale as a tear rolled down her face. "I'm so sorry that this hurts..." Eren whispered, slowly moving against her. Eventually, her eyes rolled back and she let out a soft moan, finally feeling intense pleasure instead of sharp pains. Mikasa reciprocated his thrusts and pressed her lips to his, pleased to feel him return her kisses as they grew faster in pace, sending soft whimpers and cries into his mouth. Though they may not be speaking with words, his actions have more than conveyed any regret. And as he buried his face in her neck, kissing, nibbling, and suckling on the skin he'd been longing to touch for so long, they became one in the same. She slipped her hands up into his long, soft, chocolate brown hair and held his hips as close as she could with her legs. Pulling away just enough to feel the heat from his quiet, rapid breaths on her lips, Mikasa's insides trembled, and she moaned loud enough that he was forced to kiss her again so they won't get caught. But then she wrapped one leg around his low back and bent the other so she could press her foot into the mattress. And then, she started riding him from below, making him groan into her mouth and pull away. "Fuuck..." He's surprised that he's lasted this long being his first time as well, because surviving her orgasm and not coming was hard enough.

Pressing his lips to hers, he slammed into her and gripped her breasts in both hands. It wasn't long until they were sharing an overwhelming orgasm, Mikasa moaned helplessly into their kiss and ground her hips against him, writhing underneath his body, yet Eren just kissed her harder as he pulled out, quickly pumping his cock until he finished coating her stomach. He pulled his lips away from hers with a decadent smack and tenderly kissed down her neck. Mikasa slowly ran her fingertips along his back and relaxed the leg she has around his waist, holding him in a close embrace. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Eren breathed to the smooth skin of her neck and smiled when he inadvertently discovered her favorite spot to have kissed. She moaned softly and leaned her head the opposite way to grant his lips more space to explore. Depending on how hard he suckles or nibbles here, those moans turn into soft cries of pleasure with the occasional giggle. But then he heard her sniffling as quietly as she could, almost certainly in attempt to prevent herself from getting hysterical. Eren looked up from her neck and frowned; her eyes are flooded with tears and she just looks so sad. "Hey, hey, hey," he kissed her softly on the lips. "What's wrong?"

"You -" Mikasa covered her face with her hands and wiped her eyes. "You're leaving me in a couple of y -" she swallowed hard, her eyes becoming blurry in the process. Eren sat back as he pulled her onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her to muffle any nearly hysterical cries in the crook of his neck.

"This is what I was afraid of if I caved in and talked to you," He whispered, softly kissing her shoulder. "I know 5 years isn't long. But now we can hopefully spend any moment we aren't supposed to be doing something else, together. Good things don't usually happen to us, but, with Hange's growing knowledge on titans, maybe she can cure the shifters." He held her body flush to him and felt his heart break even more when her body started to shake.

"Eren..."

"We just have to make the best out of the time we have left together. That's all we can do."

"I always wanted to raise a family with you, Eren. And now that I have you, you're -" Mikasa's barely intelligible words were interrupted with a kiss that sent a warm throb between her legs. She placed a hand on his cheek and melted in his arms, surrendering to him completely as he slipped his tongue in past her lips to fight with hers for control of her mouth. Their lives aren't fair, but that's just how things are now that they are in the middle of a war. Comrades are brutally murdered on the battlefield constantly, that's horrific enough as it is, but the idea of living without the other is a thought that is simply too much to bear. However, in his case, Eren also has his concerns about how she'll go on after his passing, especially after tonight; he knows he'll have to make sure someone he trusts will take care of her. For now, Eren will spend any free time that he has putting bandaids on wounds that will inevitably be ripped open again in a few years time.

Mikasa slowly stirred her hips, rubbing her slick heat on his hardening cock, she angled herself for him to slip inside and moaned softly into their kiss. She allowed him to guide her on his length, grinding her hips faster and faster without any care of the dull pain from losing her virginity. But then his mouth abandoned hers and settled on one of her breasts, suckling gently on the hardened nipple. "Ohh, Erennnn.." She breathed in his ear and rested her cheek on his head, raising her hips up and down his length at a steady pace that elicited a groan from deep within his gut. Her inner walls contracted around him as she came, squirming and grinding her hips faster in response. But she didn't stop after this, no, she pushed him down on his back and continued with riding him. Eren grunted as his hands came to a stop on her hips, curving them around to grab the ass he just realized he's obsessed with.

"Fuck..." He groaned, and watched her lean down as her hands slipped under his pillow, burying her face in his neck. Eren pressed down on her hips, and she moaned in his ear as she reached another orgasm. "Mika, I'm gonna-" Immediately she raised her hips, just in time for him to finish on the outside of her pussy. Satisfied at last, she rolled off of him and curled up into his side, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Mikasa?"

"Hm?" Nuzzling her nose into the side of his neck, she finally allowed her lips to curve into a smile.

"I meant what I said, about always loving you. I truly believed I was doing the best thing for you."

"I already forgave you. I think you've more than made up for being a jackass," Mikasa was still smiling when she sat up to look into his eyes, now full of compassion and understanding. "Please, stop pushing me away and let me be a part of your life again, Eren." He placed a hand on the back of her head and gently brought her in to plant a series of kisses on her lips that made her smile.

"I would be honored if you'd let me spend the rest of my life not pushing you away."

"Good." Mikasa breathed to his lips and kissed him again, drowning herself in the new taste that is Eren.

[quentinsquill]

Fic: “The Muttgicians”

The Muttgicians Author: Lexalicious70 Fandom: The Magicians Genres: Crossover,(The Magicians/Those People) sequel, established relationship Rating: R for strong language Word Count: 4,861 Summary: After Quentin’s first-year twin brother, Sebastian Blackworth, accepts a bet from a peer about who can cast the most powerful spell, Eliot and Quentin find themselves accidentally transformed in a way that may be permanent, unless Sebastian, Margo and their friends can find a counter-spell before time runs out. You can read the first part of the crossover, “Those Magic Changes,” on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513553

A/N: This is for the @whitespiresarmory Writing Challenge,  week 1, “Crossovers.” I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic: enjoy! 

The Muttgicians

By Lexalicious70 (all_hale_eliot) 

 “So, what was the hardest spell of the year?”

 Sebastian Blackworth-Coldwater glanced up from the drink he was mixing. Around him, the first years’ end-of-the-semester party was in full swing. Like his twin Quentin, who was a second year and had been accepted to Brakebills the year before, (and before each had known the other had existed,) Sebastian had been lumped in with the Physical Kids to even out their ranks. He stirred his gin and tonic as he considered his housemate’s question. He didn’t particularly like Devon Shea, or care for people in general, but what the hell, it was a party, and such social occasions required small talk.

 “For me it was the thermogenic spell, where we had to control the temperature of that glass orb without it cracking. I was ready to hurl the damn thing out the window by the third day.” He sipped his drink, grimaced, and added a touch more gin.

 “Ha!” Jay Tannis crowed from the couch. “That was nothing! I can do way harder magic than that.”

 Sebastian frowned; the skinny red-haired first year annoyed him worse than a persistent fly at an outdoor Sunday brunch. Devon, already three glasses of wine into the festivities, rose to the bait.

 “Piss off, you could not!”

 “Yes I could, and I’ll prove it!”

 Sebastian rolled his eyes and Tannis pointed at him.

 “You think I’m full of shit?”

 “If the toilet bowl fits.”

 “Okay smartass, let’s bet! You and me, Blackwater!”

 “It’s Blackworth. Blackworth-Coldwater,” he said, even as he felt heat creep up his neck.

 “Right, right. Your brother is a big shot second year.”

 “Let’s not trade witticisms, as you seem woefully unarmed. You want to bet on what kind of magic you can do?”

 Tannis sat up and swirled his tumbler in one hand. The melted ice inside flashed and winked as it caught the common room’s lighting.

 “Fine. Here’s the deal: we each draw a third-year spell from a hat or bowl. Whoever can cast their chosen spell successfully is the winner.”

 “And the prize?” Sebastian asked, warming to the idea. Being able to cast complicated spells made you popular at Brakebills, he’d learned that much, and leading his class in talent would set him apart from Quentin and maybe get him noticed by some third or fourth-year boy.

 “How’s a hundred bucks sound, Blackworth?”

 “Like you don’t know how to place a real wager,” Sebastian replied. Tannis scowled.

 “Then name the amount!”

 “$500.”

 “Uh, guys?” Devon broke in. “I don’t know if we should—”

 “You’re on!” Tannis reeled off the couch to grab Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian shook.

 “It’s a bet.”

 It wasn’t difficult to find the third-year spells. A few inquiries and several bribes later, and Sebastian found himself with a transformation spell that turned animals into other species, such as goldfish into horses, or horses into cats. Sebastian, his rival, and a smattering of first years met in the field near the school’s Welter’s board to cast the spells, unaware that Devon had gone to Quentin about the bet. Now, as Sebastian stood before a goldfish bowl that contained two small, multicolored koi fish, Tannis mocked him.

 “Well go on and do it, big shot!”

 “Shut up and let me cast,” Sebastian muttered, raising his hands. He planned to turn the fish into dogs because they seemed the easiest to visualize. He began to unpack the spell and was two minutes into the incantation when he heard his brother’s voice shout out from nearby.

 “Sebastian! Stop!”

 Sebastian started, turning at the shout before he’d even realized it, the spell building all around him. Quentin and his partner, Eliot Waugh, were running toward him. Quentin raised both hands to scrub the spell when it bloomed outward, freeing itself from the inexperienced magician’s tenuous hold and striking his brother and Eliot. The air around them rippled and then seemed to burst with large, luminous sparks. Acrid smoke rose up and Sebastian coughed, fighting for breath against the onslaught. He waved away what he could, blinking, and then his heart gave an unsteady whack before it crouched, slamming in uneasy thumps against his ribcage. It felt like the wingbeats of an injured bird.

 Two dogs lay on their sides where Quentin and Eliot had stood a moment before. One was medium sized with fine tawny-gold hair and long, silky ears. The other was twice the size of the long-eared dog and jet black, its fur a riot of glossy curls. Tannis stepped forward, staring.

 “Oh shit . . . look what you did!” He wiped a hand across his mouth and then fled, most of the spectators taking his cue and retreating as well. Only Devon stayed, his pale blue eyes wide and unblinking.

 “Fuck,” He said at last. “Oh fuck, Sebastian!”

 Sebastian walked over to the dogs, all eyes under the hand clapped over his mouth. There was no doubt to what had happened—Quentin’s messenger bag sat near the brown dog, and a scattering of rings—Eliot’s—lay near the black dog’s front paws. Sebastian scooped them up and shoved them in his pocket as he looked up at Devon.

 “Go back to the cottage and get Margo Hanson. Do you know who she is?”

 “Knockout of a second year? Killer figure, won’t give me the time of day?”

 “That’s her. Tell her to come out here, that I’m—” Sebastian looked down at the magic-addled dogs.

 “That Eliot is in trouble.”

 ****

 “What in the name of Jesus H. Baldheaded CHRIST were you thinking? Are you really this stupid?”

 Sebastian squared his shoulders against Margo’s onslaught. They’d been friends, more or less, since Sebastian had helped his twin find the courage to ask Eliot out and end their mutual pining. He could appreciate her cool, tough exterior and quick wit, but he’d never been the target of her ire before.

 “No, I’m not stupid—”

 “Look again, hotshot!” Margo snapped, pointing to the dogs that sat at the foot of her bed, side by side. The black dog’s amber-colored eyes rolled toward her every few moments and he barked almost ceaselessly, trying to form words. The little tawny dog sat with its liquid-brown eyes downcast, its long ears drooping.

 “It was a bet, Margo! We’d all been drinking and that little sparrowfart Jay Tannis was baiting me, inferring that I only got into Brakebills because of Q—”

 “And you believed him enough to try and practice magic that’s way above your pay grade?”

 “I—not completely—sometimes it’s very difficult, being Quentin’s twin. We may have been raised by different people, but we wear the same face, so there’s no denying who I am! It’s like it was with my father! I felt like I had something to prove!”

 “Oh, you proved something, all right.” She turned and put a gentle hand on the big black dog’s head. “Shhhh, sweetie, I know, I want to rip his throat out too,” she said as Eliot gave a low growl and shook himself. “but that’s not going to help. What we need is someone who knows how to reverse this.”

 “You aren’t going to tell the dean, are you?” Sebastian asked. “He’ll expel me—he’ll mindwipe me! I’ll have to go back to Manhattan with nothing!”

 “Hey, Blanche! Did I say anything about going to the dean? Besides, even if I was sure he wouldn’t kick you out, I wouldn’t tell him anyway.”

 “You wouldn’t?”

 “No. El and I have never entirely trusted him.” Margo plucked at her full lower lip. “Where did you and discount Ron Weasley get these spells?”

 “I’m pretty sure he bribed some third years, but he ran after the spell went wrong and I don’t know where he is now.”

 Margo’s dark eyes narrowed.

 “That’s what locator spells are for, and I think I know someone who can help us persuade your betting buddy to give up some names.”

 ****

“You have to believe me—I don’t remember!” Jay Tannis whined, his puny hands raised in a warding-off gesture as Penny pinned him to a tree in the library courtyard with only his body language and the force of his stare.

 “I don’t believe you,” Margo countered, admiring Penny’s talent as an enforcer. The traveler had been loathe to get involved until she’d reminded him that Eliot was the principal supplier of their group’s Adderall.

 “I’m fairly sure Eliot won’t be able to make any deals as a dog, so unless you know someone who speaks Fido, we all have something at stake!” She’d told him, and Penny, who appreciated his Adderall, had agreed to help.

 “I was drunk! I bribed some guy at a party at the healer’s cottage. That’s all I remember!” Tannis said. Penny stepped closer until they were nose to nose.

 “Think harder.”

 “I—man, do you know what he’d do to me if I gave you his name?”

 “Man, do you know what I’ll do to you if you don’t?” Penny countered, glaring down at the first year, who was at least six inches shorter. Tannis cringed and squeezed his eyes shut.

 “Okay, all right! It was Spencer Carmichael! He lives in the healing kids cottage near the river!”

 “We appreciate the information,” Margo nodded at Penny, who stepped away. The redhead squeaked and bolted like a flushed rat and Penny scowled after him.

 “Seems like him and Quentin’s spare don’t have the sense nature gave a fucking goat. You sure this is all worth it?”

 “Q would never forgive us if we let Sebastian get expelled. Besides, they wouldn’t be first years if they had any fucking sense. C’mon . . . let’s visit the healer’s cottage.

 Spencer Carmichael was, Margo observed, like a weak imitation of Eliot. He seemed faux bored with everything around him and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, the smell of which didn’t do much to complement the odor of the rich patchouli incense that seemed to burn in every corner of the cottage’s common room.

 “So I gave him the spells,” the handsome blond flicked the ash of his cigarette away in a disdainful manner. “It’s not my responsibility.”

 “Except that one of those spells turned my friends into dogs!” Margo snapped. “So now we need the counter-spell to undo this abracalabrador bullshit before Fogg or one of the other professors finds out!”

 “What will you give me in return?” The older boy asked, then grinned as Margo narrowed her eyes at him. “This is Brakebills, Hot Lips, nothing is free.”

 “Call me that again and what I’ll give you is your balls in an imitation Fendi bag! Seems to be about your speed!”

 “Violent!” Spencer chirped as he took another long draw on his smoke. “But by all means, threaten instead of bargain. After 72 hours, the transformation spell becomes permanent.”

 “Fuck.” Margo hissed as she folded her arms across her chest. “Fine! Name your price.”

 “Word has it you and the Physical Kids have portals to all the best pubs, all over the world. Give me access, and I’ll give you the counter-spell. Also, if the dean or any of the professors find out about this, you and that skinny first year don’t know me and we never met. Deal?”

 “Deal,” Margo nodded as she shook on it. Spencer gave her and Penny a smug smile as he went to a bookshelf and pulled a spellbook free. He flipped through it, clipped a page, and handed it over.

 “I’ll need that returned as soon as possible.”

 “Oh, I’ll try my best to hurry this along,” Margo drawled. Spencer’s answering sardonic smile was familiar, but seeing it on anyone but Eliot made Margo want to rip this asshole’s eyeballs out and use the tendons for garters. Penny was much more succinct as they left the cottage.

 “What a fucking prick.”

 “At least we have the spell,” She replied. As they rounded a corner they all but ran into Sebastian, whose short, dark blond hair stood up in spikes. His Brakebills blazer was torn, his tie missing.

 “What the shit happened to you?” Penny asked, and Sebastian raked a hand through his hair that reminded Margo of the similar gesture Quentin used when he felt anxious. Sebastian’s hair was shorter, though, so instead of falling to one side, it now stuck out in tufts that made him look like an anxiety-ridden porcupine.

 “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I got lost in that Goddamned hedge maze—” He swallowed against what looked like an extremely dry throat. “I took the spell to the library to see what I could find out—”

 “What about Quentin and El?” Margo asked, and Sebastian made a dismissive gesture.

 “I locked then in my room with a pan of water. I didn’t find a counter-spell at the library, but what I did discover is that we only have three days to undo what happened. If we wait too long, my brother and Eliot will be dogs permanently!”

 “Okay, calm down White Rabbit!” Margo reached out and smoothed down Sebastian’s hair. “We’ve got the counter-spell, and we have plenty of time.”

 “I can’t believe you found out who gave Jay those spells!” Sebastian said as they headed back toward the Physical Kids cottage.

 “We were highly motivated,” Penny replied. It was nearly sunset now, and as the three magicians headed up the walkway, they heard a crash and a startled shout from within, followed by a woman’s shriek of either surprise or fright. A series of sharp barks followed, and the cottage door slammed open. Eliot and Quentin streaked from the cottage, yelping, their tails tucked, as a freckled first year named Donna Denker swung at them with a broom. The dogs ducked around Margo and the others and headed west, toward the school’s borders.

 “No! Wait! Eliot, Quentin!” Margo called after the retreating figures. Donna frowned.

 “Dogs aren’t allowed in the group areas! Those mongrels broke out of an upstairs room and attacked me!”

 “They wouldn’t attack anyone! They’re not—” Margo reached out and yanked the broom from her hand. “You have no idea what you just did.”

 “We have to find them!” Sebastian took a few steps backward. “Come on!”

 Margo threw the broom at Donna’s feet.

 “Here! You’ll need this for when you need to get back to Oz after someone drops a house on your sister!” She paused to tug off her heels and fled after Sebastian. Penny rolled his eyes but trotted off after them. The grass was dry but they could see where the dogs had passed and at one point, Penny nearly stepped in some fresh evidence and cursed as he hopped to avoid it.

 “Shit!” Sebastian shouted suddenly. “Shit, wait!”

 Up ahead, the edge of Brakebills gave way to a rural route that was used mostly by camping juggernauts and townies, and Margo’s heart dropped when she saw a hefty man in a khaki uniform slamming the back doors of a city vehicle. Frantic barking could be heard from within as the man climbed into the van.

 “Wait!” Sebastian called again, leaning to one side as a stitch bit into his ribs. The magical barrier prevented the man from hearing, however, and he drove away with two stray dogs—one small, tawny cocker spaniel and larger black mutt with amber eyes—toward Troy and the closest animal transfer center. Behind the barrier, Sebastian, Penny and Margo traded stricken glanced as the sun went down and cast long shadows on the now-deserted road.

 ****

 Two days later

 “We’re running out of options.”

Margo raised her head from the flickering laptop screen she’d been staring at for what seemed like a major portion of her life, scanning local animal intake websites and looking up phone numbers for shelters in search of Quentin and Eliot. The spell would become permanent at sunset, in less than nine hours, and there was still no sign of them. The idea that they had been taken to some pound and euthanized that same day lurked in the back of Margo’s mind, the thought curled up like an adder, and Sebastian’s words only made it coil more tightly.

 They can’t be dead. Eliot cannot be dead, so just stop it, girl, stop it . . .

 “The city pound in Troy said their animal control officer picked up seven dogs that day on Rural Route 7. Two of them had to be Eliot and Quentin. They were taken to an intake facility that separates adoptable dogs from those that are sick beyond help or too aggressive to be adopted out. The intake place is mostly run by a skeleton staff of volunteers, so the records they keep are sketchy. Local shelters in the five boroughs accept dogs from there, so . . .”

 “So that’s a huge area with multiple shelters, including ones run by unlicensed people who want to try and give strays a second chance,” Sebastian sighed. “Are you sure a locator spell wouldn’t work?”

 “It’d work if they were human. But they’re under a spell, and it’s like trying to tune in a radio station in a mountain overpass. There’s just too much interference and the original signal is muted.”

 “Then what are we going to do?” Sebastian asked, and Margo warred with her irritation as she opened her email. There was a message there from one of the intake facility volunteers with a link to a Facebook page, and she frowned. Facebook was a hellsite, as far as she was concerned, good for little more than the messenger app, but she clicked the link anyway. The page was from a shelter in Queens called Happy Tails, and Margo’s heartbeat quickened as she hovered over the “new arrivals” link. She scrolled down and there, sitting in a concrete dog run, were Quentin and Eliot. They bore collars—red for Eliot, purple for Quentin, and Margo ran a hand across her mouth.

 “It’s them! Jesus . . . Sebastian look, it’s them!”

 Sebastian crossed the room to peer over her shoulder, his dark eyes wide.

 “Rufus (lab mix) and Jingles (cocker spaniel). Caught running together near the Hudson, in Troy.”

 “Please God, don’t tell me they were neutered,” Margo muttered, but tears of relief burned in the back of her throat. She jumped up from the chair. “We need to make a portal to Queens before the sun sets and it’s a lifetime of flea dips and Alpo for Q and El!”

 ****

 “Mommy! Mommy look, I want that one! The Lady and the Tramp doggie!”

 Quentin raised his head as the young mother and her daughter paused at the door to the concrete run. His human memories and consciousness were fading with the day, and coherent human thoughts were now coming in brief sentences, tinged with confusion. Eliot had bayed and thrown himself against the fence separating them the first day they’d been brought here until the volunteers housed them together, and they’d spent two nights curled up with each other, shivering with fear and uncertainty. Quentin wasn’t sure how much Eliot remembered, but he was grateful that they’d been brought to this place together.

 The chain-link door to their run swung open and one of the volunteers knelt down.

 “This is Jingles. He was brought here with that black dog, we think they’d been running together for some time.”

 Jingles? Not Jingles—Quentin. Quentin, me . . . ?

 The little girl crouched next to him and petted his head. It was pleasant enough and he could sense that she was a gentle child, but he couldn’t go with her. He was a person, not a shelter dog. Wasn’t he?

 Eliot stalked close to the mother and child and got in between them and Quentin, and another volunteer clipped a leash to Eliot’s collar and forced him back. Eliot tossed his head and strained against the leash as another clip hooked around Quentin’s collar and he was led from the run. He looked over his shoulder as Eliot began to bay and fight the leash as the volunteer clipped it to a metal hook inside the run. Quentin whimpered and tried to turn back, but the little girl picked him up.

 “C’mon, Jingles!” Her tone was merry. “We’re gonna take you home!”

 No! Home Brakebills not you, home Eliot, Margo!

 “He’ll have to be neutered, of course,” the mother was saying. “And vaccinated.” She glanced over her shoulder, frowning, at Eliot’s howling. “And that one should be put down. He seems very unpredictable.”

 “We plan to work with him, ma’am,” the volunteer replied. “I’m sure once he’s neutered, he’ll be much calmer.”

 New-ter . . . ? Quentin blinked. New-ter—oh nononononono, vet bad no snip snip, no! He wriggled and leapt from the girl’s arms, and she cried out after him as he ran back toward Eliot.

 “Jingles no! Come back!”

 Eliot looked up as Quentin raced toward the dog run. He’d already chewed through the leash, and one limp section hung from his collar. Quentin leapt up and pawed open the latch before giving three short, sharp barks to his friend. They raced from the run together, toward the open gate at the end of the row. A volunteer stepped in their way and Eliot bared his teeth at him, never slowing as they reached the gate. The kid yelped and stepped aside as Eliot’s teeth flashed and he and Quentin raced across the shelter’s yards, thick with dog pens, to the open road beyond.

 “Shut the main doors!” Someone called, and Quentin cowered as the sound of the gates being pulled shut reverberated in his ears. Eliot rounded him, herding him in the other direction, where a low fence ran along the other side of the shelter’s property line. In the distance, Quentin could hear the little girl crying and the human that was left in him prickled with guilt,

 But oh no, no snippy vet no, bad, so bad

 but he couldn’t allow them to separate him from Eliot or let them do the new-ter.

 Eliot was racing ahead of him now and Quentin knew he intended to jump the fence, but from his vantage point, it looked impossibly high. He leapt up with a grunt and began to scrabble up the chain link, his rear legs flailing. Eliot cleared the fence with one motion, but the trailing end of the chewed leash caught between two sections as he landed and he gave a strangled yelp of pain, his amber eyes bulging. Quentin toppled over the edge and began to bark in pure canine panic. Behind them, the sun began to sink. Eliot’s body writhed as he fought the leash, and then voices called out from behind him. The words made no sense, but they were growing louder and then oh! Bright flash, so bright, are we die--?

 “Quentin! Quentin stop, it’s me!”

 Quentin came back to his human self to find his brother Sebastian holding onto his hindquarters while Margo worked a section of frayed leash off a fence nearby. Eliot hung from the other end, gasping, his long fingers trying to work his collar—collar??—free. Sebastian gave him a shake.

 “Quentin, look at me!”

 He thumped down onto the hard-packed dirt and turned to gaze at Sebastian. His twin looked relieved, and there was a brightness in his eyes that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. Human awareness was creeping back into him now, and he realized he was naked, all but—

 “Here, let me, uh . . . get that off you.” Sebastian reached out and unsnapped the purple collar’s catch. Eliot freed himself a moment later, wheezing and coughing. Voices sounded in the distance, and Margo looked up.

 “Fuck, it’s the shelter people!” She opened a portal and all but shoved Eliot through, not seeming to care that he was completely nude. “Sebastian, come on!” She called. Quentin tried to get to his feet but stumbled, his canine mind rejecting the idea of walking on two legs. Sebastian threw an arm around him and half walked, half carried his brother through the portal and it closed behind them, leaving the collars behind as the last remaining sliver of sun sank beyond the horizon.

  ***

 “Margo, I swear, if you make one more ‘free to good home’ joke . . .”

 The Physical Kids cottage was empty, all but for Quentin, Eliot, Margo and Sebastian. The other students had gone home for the summer, but Margo’s sources told her that Jay Tannis had left Brakebills after giving up Spencer Carmichael’s name and wouldn’t be returning. Now she smiled at Quentin as they all shared a bottle of Riesling.

 “I have to admit, Q, you made one hell of a cute dog.”

 “It’s not funny! El and I could have been dogs for the rest of our lives if you hadn’t found us in time!”

 “And I think I have flea bites from that wretched intake facility!” Eliot scratched behind one ear. His rings, returned to him once they’d reached the cottage, flashed in the light. Margo reached out to smooth down his curls.

 “Come on, we’ll go upstairs and I’ll draw you a bath.” She picked up the bottle of Reisling, kissed Quentin’s cheek, and then Sebastian’s. He blinked up at her and she smiled. It had many edges.

 “Do anything that stupid again, and I’ll turn you into a goose so Eliot can make foie gras out of your liver. Got me?”

 “Loud and clear,” Sebastian nodded. Margo and Eliot vanished up the cottage steps, leaving Sebastian and Quentin alone. Sebastian shifted in his chair.

 “Quentin. I . . . you must know that I never meant for any of that to happen. I didn’t know Devon had gone to you and Eliot about the bet. I’m so sorry.”

 Quentin smiled and pushed a hand through his hair.

 “I guess I do know that. And I have to say, if you’d cast on those fish instead of me and Eliot, the spell would have worked and you would have won the bet. And that’s some pretty powerful magic. Even if you weren’t supposed to be using it . . . I’m proud of you.”

 Sebastian sat up a bit.

 “You are?”

 “Yeah. You’ve obviously got the stuff. Just . . . listen, don’t let anyone get to you about being my brother from now on, okay?”

 “How did you—” Sebastian dropped his poker face for a moment before putting it back into place. Quentin shook his head.

“I know what people say about you . . . about your adoptive dad. And about me. But it’s all bullshit, Sebastian! You have your own talent, and you’re an individual! You shouldn’t risk your magical education just because you feel like you have something to prove.”

 Sebastian sighed as he got up to open another bottle of wine.

 “I suppose I’m still reactive when I’m forced to remember the person I used to be. And I remember Charlie, and—” He filled a glass with a sun-yellow Moscato. “It makes me feel alone.”

 “But you’re not. I’m here, and so are Margo and El . . . they like you.”

 “Even after all this?”

 “You wouldn’t believe how badly all of us fucked things up our first year,” Quentin smiled. “Especially me. They’ll forgive you, if they haven’t already.”

 “How much do you remember?” Sebastian asked. Quentin reddened and drained his glass before holding out for his twin to fill.

 “More than I care to! Being caged, the collar . . .” He lowered his voice. “. . . being named Jingles.”

 Sebastian drowned his smile in Moscato but a moment later Quentin was chuckling. Sebastian sat down next to him on the big sectional sofa and raised his glass.

 “To Jingles!” He declared, and Quentin touched his glass to Sebastian’s.

 “To Jingles,” he agreed, and both of them sipped.

 Somewhere in Queens

 Their doorbell rang, and the little girl ran to open it. Her mother followed, frowning.

 “Who on earth could that be?” She asked, watching as her daughter pulled the door open. The child blinked and then squealed as she knelt down to hug the tawny-furred cocker spaniel puppy tucked into a wicker basket.

 “Mommy, look! Oh, look, it’s just like the one that ran away at the shelter!”

 “But who . . .” The mother picked up the basket and flipped over the tag tied to one side.

  It read, simply, Love, from Jingles.

 Fin

[avery-knight-writes]

Country Music Analyses: “I’m Still a Guy” by Brad Paisley

Welcome to the first installment of Country Music Analyses! We’re starting the series off with the song that inspired it. This song was a favorite of mine when I was younger, and along with my upbringing, it worked to define my perception of masculinity and the values that should be placed on and assigned to gender roles.

I have recently noticed how much of it is utter bullshit.

Let’s jump right in, shall we?

 (Note: I don’t reproduce and comment on the entire song for the purposes of these analyses. Not every line is noteworthy, but if you want to be certain I’m not misrepresenting the context of a lyric, feel free to Google the song. In fact, I would invite everyone to do that.)

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR: Sexual harassment/assault mention

 When you see a deer, you see Bambi

And I see antlers up on the wall

When you see a lake, you think picnics

And I see a largemouth up under that log

So, right off the bat, we have some gender role nonsense. And no, apologists, it isn’t just personal differences between the two of them, it’s gender roles because the whole goddamn song is about his pride in being a model of the male gender role. His female partner isn’t even a character in this song, just a generic illustration of traditional femininity.

Do I really have to explain why this is messed up? There’s very much a “women are soft romantics, men like outdoorsy stalking-and-killing wildlife stuff” theme here. And obviously there’s no evidence to support this generalization. A lot of women like outdoorsy things, a lot of men are romantics, a lot of people like one or both or neither.

When you see a priceless French painting

I see a drunk naked girl

“The naked female body is merely an object for my consumption.”

You think that riding a wild bull sounds crazy

And I'd like to give it a whirl

Well love makes a man do some things he ain't proud of

And in a weak moment I might

Walk your sissy dog, hold your purse at the mall

But remember I'm still a guy

Some guys are rightfully terrified of the idea of riding a wild bull, own little dogs, and carry purses. They are still men. Funny how individual preferences have no bearing on your gender, isn’t it?

(Also, rodeo bull riding involves abusing an animal to make it violently angry for the entertainment of the masses and the profit of a few. You should not want to participate in animal cruelty.)

And I'll pour out my heart

Hold your hand in the car

Write a love song that makes you cry

Then turn right around

Knock some jerk to the ground

'cause he copped a feel as you walked by

Honestly? No complaints with the chorus. The first three lines are about being sweet and romantic, and then the last three? I can’t really argue with punching sexual harassers/assaulters in the face.

But when you say a backrub means only a backrub

Then you swat my hand when I try

Well now what can I say at, the end of the day

Honey, I'm still a guy

Ah yes, a completely natural and healthy trait of all real men everywhere is a constant, overwhelming libido that causes them to violate the established physical boundaries of the person they love!

Look, different couples have different dynamics. For some people, an interaction like this could be pretty playful and innocent. But some people are very particular about only being touched when and how they have explicitly permitted you to do, and furthermore, this segment reinforces the horrible tolerance our society has developed for sexual violence within romantic/sexual relationships. Heck, I know a frighteningly great number of people who are distressed by the fact that men pinching the ass of a woman they don’t even know on the street has “become” sexual harassment, as though that hasn’t always been a violation of someone’s physical boundaries and only recently have we developed some of the necessary legal and social shifts to allow a violated woman to seek justice.

Christ on a bike, y’all.

Okay, we hit another chorus, and then we come to the part of this song that gave me the idea for this series.

It makes me so mad, guys. Buckle in.

These days there's dudes getting facials

Manicured, waxed, and botoxed

With deep spray on tans and creamy, lotion-y hands

You can't grip a tackle box

I happen to like both fishing and moisturizing regularly. But I don’t normally roll up to the lake, find myself a shady spot, and start lotioning up. Obviously.

Yeah with all of these men lining up to get neutered

It's hip now to be feminized

But I don't highlight my hair

That’s a personal choice. You have chosen incorrectly. (Just kidding, I’ve never died my hair once. I do want purple hair, though.)

I've still got a pair

Testicles do not make the man, Bradley.

Yeah honey, I'm still a guy

 My eyebrows ain't plucked

There's a gun in my truck

Oh thank God I'm still a guy

Okay, my snarky asides aside, this whole section (which is the entire rest of the song) is such toxic garbage. I mean, we have transphobia (“men lining up to get neutered” and “I’ve still got a pair,” implying that a person must have testes to be a man) along with the standard derision that tough guys have for “pretty boys,” i.e. men who have some or many feminine traits, or simply aren’t as hypermasculine as the paragons of male desirability that are country boys. The whole thing is just infuriatingly ignorant and needlessly condescending.

Guess what, Brad? It actually isn’t “hip now to be feminized.” What it IS now is somewhat more acceptable for people to express themselves honestly and fully. Not safe enough, because there are still plenty of assholes who, like you, belittle them for being their authentic selves.

And let me ask you something. What in the flying fuck would it cost you to just let people be themselves? Men who wear skirts and makeup aren’t hurting you or anyone else. They’re just existing. They are happy when they are free to dress and present and exist as they please, and the only distress they experience from doing so is the duress inflicted upon them by bigoted assholes who say and publish shit like this!

Paisley’s stated intent for this piece was to “capture” the “struggle” between men and women his song. But all he really captured was an overly simplistic caricature of masculinity and femininity as passed down to us through centuries of patriarchy. That’s a struggle, all right, but it isn’t the one he cares about. Perhaps the best critique of his failure to understand the reality of gender and identity comes from the Genius lyric page for this song: “One thing comes across clearly in Brad’s light-hearted play on these stereotypes: gender is always a performance.”

Ugh. I’m going to wrap up here, before I rant myself into next Tuesday. I want to point out here that while this song of Paisley’s obviously pisses me off- partly, I’ll remind you, because I bought into the dumpster fire that is its concept of gender roles for so long- I actually like a lot of the man’s discography. I might do one of his better songs in the future. Or I might tear apart the creepy, stalker-ish upbeat nightmare that is his “It Never Would’ve Worked Out Anyway.” Or I might do both, but I don’t want this series to turn into a Paisley-fest.

I haven’t decided which song to tackle next week, but it should be a more positive one. Thanks to everyone who made it this far. I hope you liked it enough to stick around for the next one. If you didn’t, that’s fine. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day either way.

[trandom]

Weird things i heard

"I am full of regret and phili cheese steaks"

"I once tased a guy's balls..."

"YAAAS QUEEN" "im a boy" "no you are trash."

"I think our crab is depressed..." "Ya think? Hes been staring out into the void for the past two days"

"I'm straight-" "NOT IN MY HOUSEHOLD"

"Hey...ill always love you even though you're straight sweetie-" "Jesus christ-"

"Culinary is the only place where i feel like im safe" "why?" "Knife"

"YOU DONT TRUST US WITH A KNIFE BUT YOU ARE JUST AS BAD!!!!!!"

"i passed out while standing"

"Everyday i think i should bring alcohol to deal with you...and Everyday you provide more reasons on why i should."

"yo dude did you smoke a juul" "i wished i did so class would be interesting."

"im an anime protagonist." "More like a background character." "*gasp*"

"listen since im the outcast no one messes with me because i see and hear everything." "...she got a point."

"Why do i scare people???" "You look like the girl from the ring."

"I look like a crypted."

"My life is organized...organized chaos-"

"...i feel calm for once..." "that's good!" "It means something bad is gonna happen."

"My life maybe a disaster but my clothes aren't!"

"Im involved in your love life because i dont have my own...and it doesn't help that im a hopeless romantic."

"Homecoming wasn't that bad!" "We had to fight demons Shelbs."

"my goal for my birthday is have no one sing me happy birthday when i enter the classroom."

"Was your dad's pullout game weak?" "Yep" "mine too"

"why is everyone an asshole"

"I once told a teacher to quit being a teacher and work off the streets...and she did the next day..."

"How do you sleep at night?" "Like a baby" "not good" "whats sleep?"

"What genre of movie would we even be in?" "I dont know but if we were in a movie i wouldn't watch it..."

"so what did we accomplish today?" "Our roles in a nonexistent movie?"

"h y d r a t i o n"

"*sigh*Why are you always tired?" "Don't act all annoyed missy you're not the one dealing with this."

"Hi hoe hi hoe its off to fuck we go"

"getchu a man who gives you flowers" "id be lucky if i get a 'hi' from one of ny friends the hell you talking about"

"STOP QUOTING TUMBLR-DONT ACT ALL COY I KNOW EVERY SIGNAL POST YOU COLD REHEATED NUGGET!!!!!!"

"Why do you take baths still?" "To help my flesh prison relax"

"I dont know i dont speak Spanish" "then don't attempt."

"I cant fondue today im watching what im eating-its a big fondont"

"my love is bottomless for you..." "Yeah but with a bottomless drink my thirst is satisfied."

"stop quoting those pictures 10 years ago with a funny cat or dog that says something in bold letters its showing how old you are."

"You are the ulitmate mom" "that explains why im stressed and wanting someone to actually help raise you angsty children."

"stop moming everyone!" "No, now go in the corner." "Okay..."

[concussed-to-pieces]

Green

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday heyoooo! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and but of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

[!WARNING!: Trigger warning for (light and/or clumsy) Dominant/submissive explorations, (light) bondage (scarves), and allusions to previous abuse.]

[DISCLAIMER: Hey everyone, anything involving the BDSM scene/community is something that should be properly researched and understood before even attempting to engage in it. Fanfictions do not count as research! This is entirely fabricated and as such may give wrong or misleading information, like any other work of fiction. Stay safe and check your facts!]

The first thing you noticed is that he didn’t have a bed. In fact, he didn’t seem to have much of anything. A single tote and a backpack; he was dropped off at your apartment by (you assumed) a friend of his and you watched as he shifted his weight back and forth for a few minutes. Maybe his friend is going back for his bed, you reasoned while unlocking your door. The other side of your brain was already suggesting that you offer to move the couch into his empty room.

You shook your head at yourself. Being overly willing to accommodate was what had gotten you into this mess in the first place! Having to put out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist wasn’t the worst outcome, but there were more than enough stories on the internet to justify you being cautious about vetting the potential candidates.

Dean Ambrose had been a friend of a friend, the particular friend vouching for him a little more credible than Dean’s own application, which had consisted of a rambling voicemail listing (among many other spellbinding facts) his weight and height, that he loved animals and he made, “a mean toaster strudel.”

“Ambrose? Yeah I’ve known him for ages. He’s a good guy. Bad childhood. Clean, not neat. More of an ‘organized chaos’ kind of dude, but he doesn’t have a lot to begin with so that’s probably not gonna’ be a problem. Can’t handle slamming doors, so you might wanna’ invest in bumpers or something.” Seth’s rundown had been brief and to the point, allaying some of the fears you’d had after listening to the entertaining voicemail. “I’m impressed he figured out the Internet to the extent that he could even find your ad, honestly. Probably had Ro give him a hand.”

You met with Dean a few times, to show him the apartment and have him sign paperwork. He was very quiet, but you figured once he got used to you that would wear off pretty quick. And if it didn’t, it certainly wouldn’t be the end of your world.

Now here he was, standing outside your apartment complex. He looked like he was waiting for something so you finally opened your window and leaned out. “Hey, Dean! C’mon, the door’s unlocked!”

He started, looking up and grinning when he saw you. “Sorry, m’ comin’.” He called, swapping the bin to his hip so he could open the main door to the stairwell.

He had a sleeping bag.

That was his bed.

You watched from the doorway in disbelief as Dean spread it on the floor of his new room, smoothing out the wrinkles in the worn nylon with a higher level of care than you anticipated. The bin held a few more items. A sort-of functional-appearing laptop, a towel, a toothbrush…not a lot of things. “Yeah, I kinda’ travel light.” Dean mumbled when you quizzed him on it, obviously uncomfortable. You figured it would be best to not pursue the matter, you really didn’t mean to upset him or anything like that.

The sleeping bag was ripped in a few spots, patched with duct tape. You wondered privately how long he’d had it. “Hey, if you don’t have a bed I’m sure we can find a mattress someone is getting rid-“

“Nah, did that once. Bedbugs. Infested the place. Itchy nightmare.” Dean cut you off, grimacing. “M’ savin’ up for one. If you see a bedframe though, definitely lemme’ know.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” You promised, your own skin crawling at the notion of bugs in your bed. “Well!” You continued brightly. “I’m not going to normally do this, but I guess since it’s your first night here it’s kind of a special occasion. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I…uh, y-yeah, I mean if you’re offerin’ I ain’t turning you down. What’s on the menu, can I help prep somethin’?” Dean asked, looking hopeful but wary, strangely.

“I dunno’, I’ll have to see what’s in the fridge.” You gestured over your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s see what I can figure out.”

…

Ambrose stayed quiet. Seth had mentioned slamming doors but it seemed to be more like any loud bang would make him tense up. You did your best to be careful with your old washer and dryer set; the latch of the top-loader was a little finicky and required a firm hand to close.

Your primary form of communication with Dean was sticky notes left on the doors of each other’s rooms. You didn’t actually see much of the man; he mentioned having a full time job when you’d spoken about the apartment. He had crazy late hours, sometimes not coming back until two or three in the morning. When you had nothing else to do at your own job, you amused yourself by making guesses at what he might do. Lion tamer? Nah, maybe a professional wrestler. Or an assassin.

You knocked on Dean’s door one afternoon. The two of you had worked out an agreement where you would purchase the groceries and he would kick in a little extra every month. You didn’t like making a shopping list without knowing whether he needed anything, though. He hadn't left any notes for what he needed, of course, but it never hurt to double-check in case he'd forgotten something.

“Dean? You home? I’m going to go food shopping. Is there…” You paused as the door opened under your touch, like it hadn’t been closed all the way. “Dean?”

The curtains were drawn on the one window, making it somewhat dim in the room. You almost didn’t see him huddled up in the sleeping bag until he moved, making a whining sound as he did.

“Dean, I’m sorry to wake you.” You whispered, feeling like a huge jerk as you tiptoed to the side of his sleeping bag. “I’m going shopping, is there anything that you need?” He made another noise, shaking his head. You were concerned at this point, crouching down so you could see him a little better. “Hey, are you okay?” He shook his head again. “What’s wrong, can you tell me? Is there something I can do?” You asked.

Dean rolled onto his stomach, a groan accompanying the motion. “M’ not feelin’ so…good. Kinda’ got hurt and I…” He seemed to be having a difficult time drawing breath, his sentences fading in and out. “…I’ll be okay, s’jus’ harder right n…now.”

“What happened?” You queried, flinching when he grabbed your shoulder. But he was only using it for the leverage to pull himself upright. He pressed down on the small of his back with his other hand, grunting. There was a bandage there, stark white in the dim light of the room, with violent bruising around the area.

“Took a few kidney shots...hah, no big but…pissin’ blood is not a good time.” Dean gritted out. He was covered in clammy sweat, fingers slipping on your skin. “Y’ goin’ shoppin’, g…grab my wallet an’ pick me up some...tater tots? Please?”

You were still reeling from the information that he’d been in a fight. “Were you jumped or something, do we need to go to the police?” You tried to keep the panic out of your voice.

“N-Nah, just work stuff, f…un’nerestimated my opponent. You okay? Y’look a little…little upset.” Dean pointed out.

“Jesus Christ Dean this is not the way you react when you’ve been in a fight! How long have you been in here in the dark?” You scolded, confused when he started to snicker.

“Shit, I ‘unno. The look on your f…face. I’m fine, honest, promise. Jus’ hungry. I’ve gotten through worse crap than this.” Dean dismissed your worry with a haphazard wink, patting your shoulder. “I’ll tell ya’ if you get me some…some tots. Promise.”

“Who says that I even want to know?!” You sputtered.

Dean propped himself up against the wall, his expression almost smug. “Everyone wants to know. S’jus’ whether they’ll have the guts to ask.”

You shook your head, standing again. “Hell no. I…I had no idea that you did stuff like that for a living. I probably wouldn’t have let you move in here if I’d known that.”

The smugness on his face turned into fear and he caught your leg as you headed to the door. “Wait, what? M’sorry I…please wait.” He begged, sounding oddly vulnerable all of a sudden.

You knew you could easily pull away, could easily kick him out. No jury would convict you, there was no way what he was doing to bring in the rent was legal. I would have preferred lion tamer!

“I’m used to people thinkin’ that me…me gettin’ the shit knocked outta’ me is cool and tough. Please don’t go, hah, fuck.” He was somewhat upright at this point, having pushed himself further up the wall into a slouched position. “I know I…shit, I don’t really like doin’ it but the pay is good an’ I’m pretty sure…I got too many loose pieces up top for a regular job. Don’t like talkin’ about it.” Dean’s hand stayed on the small of his back so he could stand. “Too much shit. But you know, I know you know. Y’ flinch jus’ like I do sometimes.”

“That is none of your business.” You snapped.

“I ain’t sayin’ it is, okay? I’d never…never act like I know what someone else is goin’ through if…I ain’t got all the facts.” He raised his eyes to yours. “Please don’t make me leave. Promise I’ll do…better, if I get hurt I can’t f-ight and then I can’t earn.” He still had a hand on his back, only barely managing to stand. “This last one I got good money off of, s’only reason I agreed to it.”

“Do people bet on you or something?”

“Yeah, like a dog fight. But less teeth and more fists.” Dean grimaced. “I know it probably seems dumb t’ you. An’ I’m not a big fan of gettin’ pummeled. Nothin’ better than winning though.”

“Have you ever gotten seriously injured?” Your brain ran to overtime. If he couldn’t bring in his portion of the rent you’d need to find someone else fast. Your landlord wasn’t exactly a lenient guy.

Dean seemed hesitant to answer, fidgeting with the pockets on his pajama pants. “I…yeah. Once. Got my arm busted, the guy stuck it between--shit, you don’t need to hear that. Look, unless the pay is damn good and I mean damn…damn good, I turn down stuff I know I’ll get hurt in. I’ve learned. Kinda’. Please just don’t throw me out. I can be more careful, uh, find like some part time…hah, fuck’s sake that hurts. I gotta’ sit, m’sorry.” He apologized shakily, sliding back down the wall. Blue eyes half-lidded, he glanced up at you through his lashes. “I know I ain’t worth much, y’know? I ain’t good at much and I’m kinda’ worthless but I can take an asswhuppin’ and keep going.” He said lamely.

“In exchange for your rent I pick up tater tots and keep my mouth shut. Hell of a bargain.” You said wryly. “But I need to know the second you’re hurt to the point where you can’t. Um. Do your job. So I can figure out an alternative method of income.”

“Wait, are you letting me stay?” Dean sounded confused. “I thought--”

“Don’t make me reconsider this incredibly dumb choice, okay Ambrose?” You grumbled, going to dig for his wallet in his worn jeans. He caught your hand before you could grab it though, and you flinched again.

Dean’s face was earnest, his hold careful. “Thank you so much.”

“Please just…please don’t do that.” You replied softly, shaking free of his hand. “Don’t touch me, okay? I’m not into the touching without warning.”

“Got it. Sorry for touchin’, my bad.” Why was he practically whispering? You weren’t some skittish animal. Bad childhood.

“It’s okay. I know you aren’t dangerous or anything. It’s just the speed of it mostly. Don’t want to accidentally punch you if you’re not getting paid for it.” You managed to joke, making Dean snort.

“Oh yeah, real funny. So glad you find my sufferin’ amusin’.”

“I mean, if you were paid by the punches taken you could make a killing off of frustrated women.”

“I’ll ask my boss if he’s interested in implementin’ a ladies night.” Dean grinned, wincing when he chuckled. “Ow, fuck. Christ.”

…

You made a habit out of checking in on Dean after that incident, especially if you hadn’t seen him in a few days. Near as you could tell he was keeping his word, avoiding the worse fights for the ones that paid less but were more likely to not end in broken limbs. Or bloody urine, that was a little more worrisome. Normal, according to Google, but still worrisome.

He came in late one night (early in the morning, technically) with his eye blackened and the side of his face marred in a chain-link pattern. “Bad time.” He managed to say, before flopping down over the couch arm beside you. You had thought fainting was reserved more for Southern belles but here was a self-proclaimed street fighter, literally out cold with his head in your lap.

“Ambrose?” You called quietly, putting a hand on his head and cringing when you felt a sticky substance at the nape of his neck. Your fingers came away red with blood. “Dean? You can’t sleep here, do I need to bring you to the hospital?” His closeness should have made you uncomfortable. You could still barely handle a hug from Seth. “Dean you’re bleeding.”

“Yeah.” The word was muffled by your lap. He stirred, propping himself up on his arms. “Sorry, I uh…huh.” He paused, looking at you like he’d seen you for the first time. “Y’know, you got a nice face. Not just like, a pretty face. You got that too. But you got a nice face.” He said finally, his brow furrowing. “Like a good face. A gentle face. Who the fuck hurt you?”

The abrupt shift made your breath catch and he seemed to notice, standing back up and stretching his arms out over his head with a groan.

“Ah, never mind. Seth said you ain’t much on the talking when it comes to that. Didn’t mean t’ be nosy.” Dean apologized, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. “I mean if you ever feel like talking I’m uh. I’m all ears. But you don’t have to, okay? I get it. I definitely get it.”

His eyes were kind and you really couldn’t handle that right now, shoving your laptop further to the side and getting to your feet. “Come on, Ambrose. You probably can’t Band Aid the back of your neck by yourself.” The sight of blood made you more than a little queasy, but something about the idea of Dean getting bloodstains on that dumb sleeping bag wasn’t appealing.

“Even if you just get the wrappers off, I can take it from there.” Dean said in the bathroom, scrubbing at the back of his neck with a (hopefully clean) washcloth. “It’s the wrappers that end me, I always fuck ‘em up and rip the Band Aids.”

“You got it.” Relieved that your role was an outlying one, you sat down on the edge of the tub and tore the paper off a few bandages.

“Thanks for not losing your mind when I plopped down on you. I know you don’t do the touchin’.” Dean said after a few minutes of silence had gone by. “I don’t mean for…I mean, not like losin’ your mind, but more for bein’ able to handle it. Done good. How long has it been since…uh, whatever happened?”

“Around three months.” You bit your lip, handing him a Band Aid. “It was a guy living here. Knew him from high school.”

“Uh oh.” You looked up, worried, but Dean was watching you in the mirror with a resigned expression. “Can you talk about it?”

“It’s a mess.”

“That’s not what I asked. Have you talked with anyone about it?”

“Seth knows.”

“So no.”

“The last thing anyone else needs is more problems. I only told Seth because he was confused.” You shrugged. “It’s not really all that life-changing.”

Dean maintained eye contact via the mirror, wincing as he tacked Band Aids on the nape of his neck. Despite his battered appearance and almost certain exhaustion, he seemed to be waiting patiently for you to start talking.

You sighed heavily. “I’m too eager to please.”

“You got that right. Grabbin’ me tater tots n’ shit. I’m a grown ass man, make me pick up my own tots!” Dean scolded, getting you to snort.

“I mean to a fault, just way too accommodating. I’ll give the ‘rent jar incident’ as an example.”

“Rent jar…incident?”

“When I had this guy living here, I would put my portion of the rent in a jar on my dresser. Also anything I had extra, loose change, that kind of thing. And I would count it every time I put something in, write it down on a piece of paper in the jar.” Your brow furrowed. “After a while though, things stopped adding up. My numbers kept coming back messed up, stuff went missing in bigger and bigger chunks. I thought I was going nuts. Like maybe I was counting wrong, maybe I was forgetting a number when I added things. I was so used to blaming myself if something went stupid.” You realized you were twisting your hands back and forth. “And then it got to the point where I couldn’t make rent.”

“Oh.” Dean said softly.

“He said he would cover it. ‘On one condition’. What a smart person would have done is kicked him the fuck out.” You muttered angrily. “He had been stealing from me for months, but of course I didn’t figure that out until after the fact. Until after he left without saying a word, left me high and dry in this apartment. I’m so willing to dismiss bullshit, so eager to believe the best in people is all that there is. I should say, I was willing. Not so much anymore.”

“Shit, you guys had that kinda’ arrangement? No wonder y’ flinch. I take it he was a, ‘where I want it, when I want it’ kinda’ asshole?” Dean growled. You were surprised at his reaction. Seth had pitied you, had tried to hug you and stroke your hair. But you didn’t want that.

“Yeah, pretty much.” You didn’t want that at all. You wanted someone who would get furious, who would be angry about what had happened. Because it wasn’t something to feel sad and forlorn about. The guy hadn’t been worth it to begin with. You could be angry with yourself for being so dumb, for being so blinded by old friendships that you convinced yourself it wasn’t just for the rent.

And here was Dean, wringing the washcloth in his hands like he was fit to tear it apart. Like he was livid. “That ain’t fuckin’ right.” He said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care who the hell you are. It ain’t fuckin’ right to cause problems jus’ so you can come in and pretend to be a goddamn savior. That shit frosts me like a motherfucker.”

“I’m glad at least one person is upset about it. Instead of offering me a damn hug and a pat on the head.” You grumbled.

“Well I mean, I get that. Rollins probably didn’t know what the hell else to do.” Dean reasoned. “He’s kind of a baby sometimes. Did you keep tabs on this guy?”

“No. I’ve done my best to forget that he exists.” And you had, you really had. Disposing of what he left behind, cleaning his room from ceiling to floor...doing it all with this feeling that maybe if you scrubbed hard enough, you could dismiss the memories that dug into the walls. The way he would smile at you, the way he’d quietly informed you that he was your only option. “He never promised me anything and the fact that I didn’t expect him to, yet expected him to stay, kind of brands me as the idiot in this situation.” You admitted.

“Hell no, don’t say that. Look, you ain’t kicked my ass out. I’m never takin’ advantage of you like that guy did an’ I’m definitely not gonna’ stand by if someone else tries to. That’s low shit, so fuckin’ low.” Dean turned to face you, his expression serious. “I won’t let that happen again. Not to you, okay? You’ve been more than decent about me. I won’t let some shit happen to you.”

“And in exchange?” You couldn’t help asking, narrowing your eyes.

“This one’s on me, doll. Never again.”

…

Someone offering you something for nothing, even something as inconsequential as a promise of protection, was decidedly foreign. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept waiting for the instatement of requirements to return in full force.

Dean, however, remained agreeable. He may have even become more friendly. And you had to admit that sharing your apartment with him was not the worst scenario you’d been in by far.

‘Brewsday’ (or ‘Bruiseday’, depending on how rough his fight had been that night) slowly became a weekly ritual, the two of you ending up sprawled out on the couch nursing beers (as well as Dean’s wounds) and watching terrible movies every Tuesday night. Wednesdays seemed to be a shared day off, though Dean was occasionally up and out before you. You took to going food and essentials shopping on Wednesdays. It definitely wasn’t because Dean also had the day off and you enjoyed the company and help carrying the groceries back to the apartment. Definitely not.

But it was one such Wednesday that you finally had to invoke that promise he had made.

“We need cereal, six aisles that way.” You said, pointing and then looking back down at your list. You’d been saving up a little extra here and there, mostly to justify buying something a little fancier for dinner. You couldn’t pick out ingredients with Dean standing over you, though. You weren’t sure when it had turned into a surprise, but apparently dinner was officially a surprise and you didn’t want him to ruin it.

Dean nodded, taking off in the direction you’d indicated. Despite coming to the store at least once every two weeks he still had yet to master the layout of the place. Which you were hoping would work to your benefit in this instance. You hummed idly along to the pop music playing over the PA system, searching the produce area for a decent-looking head of lettuce.

A finger tapped your shoulder and you gestured down at the cart, not bothering to turn around. “In there, thanks. Can you find-”

“It’s been a while. Still as bossy as ever, I see.”

You froze. Oh no.

Behind you, that low laugh crept uneasily up your spine. “You’re also just as pretty as I remember. I like what you did with your hair.”

“Thank you.” You answered automatically, turning to face the young man who had made your life a living hell. “Now how about you stay away from me.”

“Ah, I seem to remember you singing a different tune right after I left, babe.” A hand cupped your chin and tipped your face up. “What was it you said? ‘I thought if I was good enough, you would stay’, sound familiar?” His tone was gently chiding, as though he was reprimanding a small child. You swallowed hard and he obviously felt the motion, if his slow smile was any indicator.

Dean doesn’t smile like that. Why on earth that thought came to you at that moment, you would never know. But you clung to it as your old roommate pressed closer, pinning you to the shelves behind you. Dean’s smile is quick, dimples in his cheeks. Brief, like sun through the clouds. His eyes light up and-

“Dean!” You surprised yourself and the man in front of you with your sudden yell. There was a loud crash a few aisles down, then the hasty squeak of running boots on the linoleum flooring.

Dean rounded the corner with a nondescript box of cereal in his hands, looking more than a little frantic. His eyes widened as he took in the sight in front of him. He obviously knew exactly what was going on. You wanted to sigh in relief at how quickly he picked up on the situation.

Your old roommate started laughing again and you cringed. “You’ve got to be kidding me with this, babe. You already found someone else to take my place, huh?”

“You’d need to have had a place in order for me to take it. You alright, doll?” Dean asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but your old roommate was faster. “No no, you and I are talking right now buddy. They aren’t part of this.”

“The second you put your hands on them you made them part of this.” Dean snarled. “I ain’t brawlin’ in a damn grocery store. You have the option to walk away, buddy.”

“Near as I can tell I hold all the cards here, so-”

“You do not want to go down this road.” Dean warned. “You have no idea who the hell you’re tangling with and you’re gonna’ be in a world of hurt if you don’t let them go.”

“You don’t scare me.” Your old roommate seemed to be getting impatient, his grip tightening on your jacket.

Dean shrugged. “Your funeral.” He took your arm, pulling you closer to him. “This is startin’ to look a little suspicious, wouldn’t you say?” He asked, tilting his head up to look at one of the many cameras in the ceiling. “Tussle in the produce department might arouse a police response. You sure you want to do this?”

“I know what you’re doing, it’s not going to work.” Your ex-roommate sputtered.

“Wanna’ bet? Buddy, this is my goddamn friend, my partner right here. They gave me a roof over my head when no one else would or could. They feed me, take care of me, and they also told me about what you did. All the shitty tricks you pulled and how you left.” Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders, all but tucking you into his side. “I told them I would make sure no shit like you would ever happen again.”

“You’re crazy!” The other man scoffed.

Dean went dead still beside you. “What the fuck did you just say.” His voice had dropped to a hoarse rasp. You got the feeling that maybe a line had been crossed.

“You are. Crazy! Certifiable, a lunatic for believing anything that they-” He didn’t get to finish as Dean lashed out, right hand catching his shoulder to haul him close in a one-armed hug and the left gripping his groin with purpose. Your old roommate made a choking noise.

“Let me make one thing real clear, buddy.” Dean hissed through his teeth. “You are one hundred percent correct there. Signed and sealed. So why the fuck would you whack the hornet’s nest? You think you can win this fight? Maybe before. What about now, with your goddamn balls in a vise?” He twisted his hand to drive his point home and the other man whimpered pitifully. “I already told you to walk away. Now, I’m gonna’ tell you to run. You have a ten-second head start if you can move. Hope I didn’t tear anything loose.” With that, Dean released him.

Your old roommate immediately dropped like Dean had been the only thing holding him up, and Dean turned on his heel to face you with a tight grin on his face. “Got the cereal, doll!” He said, widening his eyes as if to say play along! while he took your arm and led you back to the cart. “Do we need anything else?”

“S-S-Salad. We needed…salad. Was going to make something special.” Your brain was only half-onboard, all you could see was your ex-roommate laid out on the ground as easy as you please.

Simple. No mess, no fuss. It was almost disappointing in a way.

Dean insisted on carrying the bulk of the groceries home, joking, “I’m the ass, aren’t I?”. The two of you walked the short distance in silence. You didn’t mean to be so quiet, you were just thinking. Hard.

“Did I make you uncomfortable or somethin’?” Dean asked awkwardly after all the groceries were stowed and you had begun making supper. “I didn’t want to, wasn’t what I was going for.”

“It’s not you.” Your smile was weak. “It was just a shock, is all. Still trying to process it.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied. “Whatcha’ making, anyway?”

“Strawberry salad. I guess you can have some too. You were very brave.” You teased.

Dean shook his head. “Hey, I already told you. Not in exchange for anythin’. You dealt with enough shit.”

“How about in return for carrying like, ninety-five percent of the groceries home?” You offered, raising an eyebrow. “Please, have dinner with me? I mean unless you have other plans, have to head off to the Mrs. Ambrose?”

Dean made a strange sound in his throat. “Yeah?” He said finally, his voice so quiet it seemed like he was talking to himself. His whole body had gone tight again, like it had earlier when he’d been called crazy. Which had you very curious. He shook his shoulders after a minute, huffing out a quick breath and giving you a smile. “Alright. In return for the pack mule duty.”

You couldn’t help smiling back, nodding.

Later that evening while the two of you were watching television, Dean dropped an absent-minded kiss on the top of your head.

…

The Bruiseday/Brewsday started like all the others. Dean came fumbling in around eleven, his left wrist swollen and purple. You’d had a rotten day at work yourself, just opening your first bottle as Dean arrived. Wordlessly you passed him the beer and he nodded his thanks.

The two of you sat quietly at the kitchen table, drinking. The silence was companionable and you hated to break it, but...“Man, I can’t seem to do anything fucking right in that place!”  

“What happened today?” Dean grunted, shifting the bag of frozen blueberries he’d laid over his wrist.

You growled, getting to your feet so you could pace. “I always have so much that needs to be taken care of, but it’s just me doing it! I’m a one person department, I guess. I have all this work dumped on me and I know I sound like a little kid right now but it’s not fair, dammit. I’m tired of it. So tired. I wish I had a job like yours!” You said impulsively. “Where I fight somebody outright and maybe win. At least then it would be a fair fight, people would know what they were in for!”

Dean laughed, tipping his bottle towards you. “You seriously think we fight fair? Doll we are up front about the fact that we fight as dirty as possible. Half the appeal of watchin’ an’ bettin’, I suppose.” He shrugged. “When I busted my arm it wasn’t even during the fight. It was afterwards. I won, we shook hands, then he dragged my carcass to the door and slammed my forearm in it until I passed the fuck out.” Dean traced the prominent white line on his right arm. “Doc that casted me said it was a miracle I still had the feelin’ in it. And holy shit, did I have the feelin’ in it.” His grin was rueful. “I don’t think you’d wanna’ trade with me.”

“C’mon, you don’t think I could take it? I could kick the ass of every guy that ever hurt you! It would be awesome.” You flopped back down in the kitchen chair. “Awesome.” You repeated firmly.

Ambrose shook his head. “You’re somethin’ else. What if we had to fight each other?”

“A draw, obviously.” You drained your bottle and took a fresh one from the six pack. “We would be evenly matched, what with your veteran skill and my incredible ability to read your tells.”

“My tells? Now you’re talkin’ nonsense. I don’t have tells.” Dean protested. “I’m unpredictable and fuckin’ nuts or whatever.”

“You do things like focus on people’s shoulders instead of their face. You’re waiting for them to make the first move, the twitch of muscle that indicates they’re just thinking about it.” You replied smugly, watching as Dean’s eyes widened. “What do you think would happen if we fought?”

“I’d fuckin’ pin you, immobilize you with my body. I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you or anythin’.” He muttered, sounding almost sulky as he popped the cap off his next beer.

“I think you just want me under you.” You teased.

“Well yeah, no shit. I’m a fuckin’ dude, ain’t I?” Dean shot back, smirking. “Havin’ someone at your mercy is half the fun of the damn fight.” His smirk faded. “Only then though. I’m not much for…I mean I’ve thought about it, obviously, but I never did anythin’ during.”

“'During’?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, y’know, during. Sex. D-During sex.” Dean’s stammer was absolutely precious. “I know it’s a thing, I’ve seen pictures an’ stuff.”

“Not your cup of tea? Or you’ve never had anyone willing to let you try?” You were genuinely curious, putting down your beer and leaning in a little. It was incredibly rare that Dean did so much as make a dirty joke in your presence, so this was quite the turn of events. You watched him lick his lips and you suddenly realized he was nervous. “Ambrose, I promise what you tell me won’t leave this area, okay? Just interested is all.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to get to his feet. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then sighed heavily. “I mean, there’s shit for everybody out there, right? I…it’s hard to find answers sometimes, in the mess of people.” He began cryptically. “I see stuff and I think like, ‘oh those are some cool knots’ or ‘I wonder why people like that’. But I fight in a fuckin’ underground ring, surrounded by the shit-stains of humanity bettin’ against me. What the hell in common do I have with anybody? Except the deeper ones, y’know.” He grimaced. “The guys who get off on gettin’ beat up, or beatin’ up their uh…fuck, sub, that’s the word.”

“Well that’s a little different from what you do, I think. The whole dominant or submissive thing is a consensual act, not something you have to do to earn your keep.” You could barely believe you were having this conversation, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I mean, I’m more than willing to help if you need to figure some lighter things out. I don’t mind getting tied up.” Whoa, easy there! No need to dump your kinks on the poor guy! You scolded yourself, blushing at the startled look Ambrose leveled at you. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be creepy. My bad.” You apologized.

“Nah, no one’s ever really wanted to talk open about this stuff with me before.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda’ at a loss. You like…yeah? What, with rope or…?”

“Um, the scarves are better, I think. They don’t chafe. I’ve only done it a few times.” You bit your lip. “They look nicer too. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures.”

Dean simply inclined his head.

“I mean it’s pretty tame, all things considered, I know. I just like it. I’m helpless but it’s more the concept of it, I guess? The surrender of control.” You shrugged, feeling self-conscious.

“Yeah?” Dean sounded a little breathless. “And what, you just get fucked or do you get off on bein’ helpless more? Like someone usin’ you or something?”

“More like I’m being taken care of.” You corrected gently. “I am helpless, and the person in charge knows my needs better than I do. That’s the idea, anyway. If there’s proper discussion beforehand though, and if I consent to the scene, I will let my body be used for someone else’s pleasure. This one time I was tied up all pretty, like a present, and I was tit-fucked and it was just…” You trailed off, shivering at the pleasant memory.

“Tit-fucked, huh?”

“It was a little ridiculous at first, I couldn’t really move so the guy had to hold my breasts. But once we figured it out, oh wow.” You snickered. “At least that guy had a sense of humor. We had quite the laugh while he untied me.”

“I feel like that’d be an important part of any engagement.” Dean said. “D’you get off on like...being called bad or any of that shit?”

“Not so much the bad stuff. I’m...when I’m in that mindset I’ll do just about anything if you call me good, though.”

“Ah.”

You came back to reality again at his sound of acknowledgment. “Oh my gosh I'm so sorry, I definitely didn't mean to spill all of that.” You panicked a bit, concerned that you'd made him uncomfortable or at the very least that you'd said too much. “I guess it's like you said, no one really talks about this kind of thing. So I vomited all this information at you. Um. Use it well?” You finished weakly.

“I plan on it.” Dean murmured, putting the blueberries back in the freezer and rotating his wrist experimentally. “Show me.”

“What?”

“I said, show me.” He looked deadly serious. “If the offer is still on the table, of course. An' only if you trust me.”

“O-Oh.” Your voice petered out. “You want to...?”

“I like keepin' you safe. Probably isn't much different than that, y'know?”

You stood up, wiping your hands off on the skirt of your dress. “We'll see, I guess.”

“Can I kiss you? Do you do that kinda' stuff or is it strictly tie-ups for you? I need to know before I get mouthy.”

“Oh yeah, kissing is f--” You lost track of what you were saying when Dean pulled you into his arms and kissed you until your knees went weak. Teeth nipped at your lower lip and his tongue licked into your mouth as you gasped.

“Green?” He asked after he pulled back, searching your face worriedly. You stared up at him in a daze, slowly running your own tongue around your mouth to catch the taste of him better. “Doll, I need an answer or this is gonna' be over real quick.” Dean said softly. “Green, yellow or red?”

“Fuck, uh, green. Why didn't you tell me you were such a good kisser?” You asked, watching him shrug.

“No one's ever really indicated one way or another. Dunno'.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Shit you taste good.”

“Not too bad yourself, Ambrose. Christ.” The two of you looked at each other for a tense moment before Dean grunted and took your hand.

“Alright doll, living room or your bedroom? I doubt you want to wrangle in my oh so cozy sleeping bag.”

“My room, c'mon.” You almost felt dumb, leading him, but he indicated that you should and so you did, pushing the door of your room open.

“Have you ever tied anyone else up? Or is it just you gettin' tied up?” Dean asked curiously.

“I'm not really...I worry that people wouldn't take me seriously.” You gestured at your dresser, your scarf collection out on full display. You liked to keep everything folded nicely.

“Shit, ain't you just the damn Boy Scout. Any of them easier to untie? In case I knot too tight. Still new here.” Dean reiterated, unfolding the two scarves you pointed to. “I won't do anythin' fancy, not sure I'd be able to get you outta' some monkey-fist nonsense.” His hands were steady as he carefully wound the silk around your wrists, taking the time to slip a finger between your skin and the cloth to make sure there was enough room.

“Look at you! It's like you know what you're doing.” You teased.

“Hey, I told you I did some research.” Dean took a deep breath. “ An' you're gonna' be good for me if I do this, right?”

“Yes, absolutely.” It had been so long since you'd gotten to play your role. You were incredibly glad you'd opted for your comfortable sundress, it made you feel more delicate, made it easier for you to assume your headspace. “If you take care of me, I'll be so good.”

“Oh Jesus.” Dean seemed flustered, his hands stilling for a second. “You use the green-yellow-red system, yeah? Let me know if I'm goofing something up or if you're not into it.”

“Hey, don't be scared, okay?” You smiled up at him. “You can't hurt me.”

“I dunno'. I don't want to, that's for sure.”

“You won't. You want to take care of me. I'm pretty and breakable and you're so careful with me already.”

“Fuck's sake, you are pretty. So fucking pretty. I love this.” Dean tugged at the skirt of your dress. “I love when you wear stuff like this, when we're just hangin' out on the couch and you're all relaxed up against me.”

“You should have said something! I would have worn more of my cute things if I knew they pleased you.”

“Fucking shit, what a good doll you are. Dressin' like I want you to.” Dean seemed to be more at ease just talking and rubbing his hands over your bare shoulders. “Every once in a while. It's gotta' be special. Can't be too accommodatin' of me.”

“Of course.” You agreed.

“You are just...Jesus, I can't get over you. I'd let you tie me up in a heartbeat, doll.” He confessed, pressing his forehead to your own. “You oughta' try sometime. Can I...what are you lookin' for tonight, what can I do for you? What's your need?” He continued, fingers tracing the design of your dress over your stomach. “How do I make you feel good?”

“The talking is actually really nice. I um...” You paused with a nervous giggle. You weren't used to so many questions! “Would you eat me out, if...if you're comfortable with it?”

“Oh my God.” Dean groaned and you knew you'd suggested the right thing. “Fuck, you ask so fuckin' nice. M'gonna'-” His sentence broke when you nuzzled your face into his neck, snuggling in tight to him and rolling your hips. “Good fuckin'--Jesus. Are your hands enough or should I tie you to the headboard?”

“I wouldn't mind it.”

“You've fuckin' got it.” Ambrose laid you back on the bed and you scooted up so he could secure you properly. “I dunno' whether I'll be any good at this. Pretty sure I can't deny you jack shit.”

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere. You're doing just fine.” You encouraged.

“Shit, okay, alright.” He looked down at you impassively for a moment before stripping off his shirt. “I'll...move your little skirt up an' fuckin' tug these panties off.” Narrating was apparently a favorite, and you certainly weren't complaining as his motions matched his words. “Gotta' lay on my belly so I can fuckin'...yeah, that's right, open up those legs for me, doll.” Dean encouraged, his voice warm and rough and good. One large hand cupped your pubic mound and the other rested on your thigh, soothing the quivering skin there. “You're so wet for me already. I wonder if I could...” Dean lowered his eyes, making you squirm. “God, look at you fuckin' drip.”

“Please?” You managed to say, whimpering when he hungrily licked up the trail of slick that had been making its way down your thigh. “Please, please sir, I-”

“Sir?” Dean growled, sounding incredibly satisfied and rewarding you with a flat-tongued stroke over your pussy. “S' good shit. Hold still for me, doll.” It had been so long since someone had taken care of you this attentively. Dean was a natural, hands holding you steady as he worked you into a writhing mess with his mouth and praise. Gentle orders were issued and you followed them to the letter, eager for more, eager to be good for him.

“Can I fuck you?” He asked finally, quickly diving back in and rolling his tongue around your clit in tender little circles before you could formulate a response. “Please, may I fuck you?” His voice was almost nothing, a whisper against your skin. “Wanna' make you feel good, wanna' make you come on my cock, doll. I know we didn't discuss the fuckin' beforehand. Color?”

“Green, green, green, please-!” You begged, wiggling your body and canting your hips hungrily up towards his face.

“Oh God, I'm gonna' have to work on this.” Dean propped himself up on his arms, crawling over you until he reached your mouth. When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Heya' doll. Miss me?” He grinned. “Hands okay? Nothin' numb or tinglin', right?”

You were pretty sure you weren't exactly at your sexiest, your dress pulled up and wrinkled around your waist and your skin shiny with sweat and want. But you took a second to ground yourself, mentally checking all your extremities. “M' okay, y-yeah.” You panted. “Please sir, please fuck me?”

Dean looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his whole body going still again. “You say please an' shit, beg for me so nice.” He murmured, sounding a little melancholy. “Make me feel like I'm worth it. S'dangerous.”

“You are worth it!” You protested, whining when he moved back to take off his pants. “You're being careful with me, you're making me feel good. Why wouldn't you be worth it?”

Dean just shrugged, yanking down his boxers.

“Hey, Dean.” You gentled your tone, waiting until he looked back at you. “Untie me, please?”

He seemed confused but obeyed immediately, practically lunging up the bed to struggle with his knots. They had tightened somewhat from all your squirming. “Color? Y'okay?”

“Green.” You said firmly. “I just wanted to touch you.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Dean flinched as you reached out, doing his best to mask it. Your heart ached because you knew that feeling, the wariness that was always there just under the surface. Your body thrummed with want and you felt almost like you should be crying, emotions running hot. “Shh, just me.” You soothed, giving him a smile. “Just me, Dean.”

His name seemed to snap him back into focus. Dean's kisses were needy, long and urgent with tongue and teeth clicking against your own. The whole while he mumbled praise into your mouth, whispering you're beautiful perfect too good for me in a crooning cadence that had you arching your back. “Color?” He asked finally, his cock sliding up and down on your thigh as he shifted his weight. You were pretty sure the scene was over but you figured you could talk about that afterwards.

“Green. Please. Green, yes, please.” You pleaded disjointedly, your arms slung around his neck. “Please.” His answer wasn't verbal but physical, his cock pressing to the entrance of your pussy. You rolled your hips greedily, inviting, wanting with every fiber of your existence. The first push of his cock into you made you moan, a drawn-out sound that Dean echoed.

“Christ doll, not fair, oh my fuckin' God.” He gasped, clumsily groping one of your breasts through your sundress. “It's not even fair-!”

“Dean please fuck me, I need it, I need it, please!” You didn't even care that you were begging. You knew that was what he needed, the constant affirmation of the fact that yes I want this yes I want you. Dean buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, hands tight on your hips as he mercilessly fucked into you. His pelvis ground against your clit with every thrust, the stimulation white hot and yes I want you!

“You're so fuckin' tight so fuckin' pretty just wanna' fuckin' explode in you fuckin' make you take all of me, I'm not fuckin' good at this shit yet, m' sorry-” Dean rambled in your ear. “Coming, I'm coming, I can't--shit, fuck, hang on, gotta'-” He slid a hand between the two of you and you rocked up against the heel of his palm, sharp bursts that just hilted his cock in you and made him press the right spots everywhere. “Yeah that's it, that's it, you shake around me, you come on me.” Dean ordered and you obeyed, your orgasm a relief and a thrill all in one as you threw your head back and came with a cry of his name. His breath hitched, sounding almost like a sob.

Dean quickly pulled out, shoving your sundress up even higher and then coming on your stomach. He kept his head down, breathing hard.

“Sorry.” He said finally. “Not so good at this, I guess.”

“Hey, for a first timer, I think you did pretty good!” You encouraged, cupping his chin and making him look up at you. “This doesn't need to mean anything, okay? Unless you want it to. And it never needs to happen again if it makes you uncomfortable. Got it?”

“Yeah. I uh...was it good for you, at least? Because holy shit.” Dean said weakly. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Green all the way, Ambrose. Also, since you humored me tonight, any time you want me to tie you up, just say the word.” You smiled up at him and he grinned back (to your private relief.) You weren't sure whether you'd pushed too far.

“Thanks. For everythin', you know? Taking me in, and...well, just everythin'.” Dean said quietly after the two of you got cleaned up. He held you close, resting your head on his chest. His voice was soft again, like he thought you were asleep. “I've never really felt like I was worth much til' you. So thanks.” His fingers twined through your own. “I'll get better for you. I promise. S'least I can do.”

[abarbaricyalp]

Teach Me Something New

(A normal AU in which Adam never got out of the public school system, never met Ronan and Gansey, and could never dare to dream of politics and becomes a teacher instead and Ronan didn’t dream up Opal just...got her. IDK)

Ronan is in a scowling mood. He scowls while Opal runs around his legs. He scowls as he buttons a shirt over his tank top and then unbuttons it again so it just hangs open. He scowls as he tries to find a pair of shoes that aren’t caked in mud. He scowls when he realizes his kid still hasn’t changed out of her stained shirt.

“Opal, I told you to go change,” he says, tugging on an old pair of converse that makes him miss lazy school days with Gansey so much a physical ache erupts in his chest.

It’s not that he doesn’t like  where he is in his life right now. He loves it. He loves the Barns. He loves Opal. He loves farmer’s markets most weekends. Hell, he doesn’t even mind fighting with the school system again with Opal. It’s the part of the school system he never had to deal with that’s really getting him going. He loves Opal but he really doesn’t like kids. Any of them. None of her friends. None of her classmates. Not the shrieking brats at the store. Opal is his and he loves her but that was as far as the love for kids went. And, God, the parents. Ronan’s parents had never been really involved in his schooling. He couldn’t even remember that much that warranted their involvement. Maybe private school would be better for Opal. Certainly better for his nerves. He hated the way the other parents looked at him. He hated their snide comments about how young he was and how old, in relation, Opal was. He hated every single one of them and he hated having to do anything that would put him in close proximity to him. So, yes, he was scowling.

“I wanna match you,” Opal says from where she’s sitting on a chair stacked high with clothes Ronan just hasn’t gotten around to putting up. And it’s true, she’s trying to match him. Ronan’s shirt is a light blue plaid flannel and her shirt is almost the same shade except for where Spaghetti-Os have discolored it to an unnatural orange.

“Well,  you can match me after I do the laundry. We’re going to be late.”

Opal makes a face, her lips going in the most unamused straight line that looks like she took it right off of Ronan’s own face, and then bounces back to her connected room. She comes out a moment later in a navy blue shirt that kind of matches some of the stripes on Ronan’s shirt.

Ronan had finally managed to get dressed and he tugged on Opal’s ponytails. “I thought I told you to behave at school.”

“I do behave!” she objects quickly, looking shocked and just a little bit hurt and a lot a bit indignant.

“I don’t think there has to be mandatory parent teacher meetings for kids who behave,”  he argues just as hotly. He lets go of her pigtails to squeeze her shoulders.

“No, Mr. Parrish set up appointments for everyone! He said so because he knew there were parents like you.” She jabs a finger into Ronan’s stomach and startles a sound out of him.

“Well, I think Mr. Parrish lied so none of you would keep your parents from hearing what little shits you are.”

Opal rolls her eyes and grabs Ronan’s wallet and his keys. “Can we go? You’re going to make us late like you do every morning.”

Ronan rolls his eyes in turn and sticks out his tongue at her. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Have you?”

Lightening fast, he reaches out to tickle her sides and sends her shrieking in laughter down the other end of the house and out the door. He ducks into her room to grab the jacket she always wants and her little hat before following her. She’s already tucked herself into his car, dutifully awaiting him to strap in the rest of her car seat. She was small and he was a relatively reckless driver still. Sue him for keeping his kid safe.

Opal prattles on and on about nothing in particular for the entire ride to the school. It’s not a long ride. Most of it is getting away from the Barns and into town. But she manages to cover topics from the goats’ reaction when she read them her weekend reading for class to how she watched the baby pig poop to Mr. Parrish’s dog that he sometimes brings to class after sending out a permission note. Opalis fond of the huge thing. Ronan’s never seen it himself but she says it’s as tall as she is when it’s standing on all its paws and that it has scraggly hair. (“Like the beard you try to grow, Kerah.”) Opal’s a friend to animals everywhere so Ronan’s not totally sold on a giant dog wandering around a school.

Ronan doesn’t know much about Mr. Parrish. Opal likes him well enough but doesn’t talk at length about him. He knows that Mr. Parrish is young-ish, though Opal is about as good with ages as Ronan is with math. If given the chance, she will tell people, confidently, that Gansey is still in high school.  He knows that Mr. Parrish is soft spoken and he has a dog and he lives alone. He knows that he’s kind and smart and that no one is really afraid of him. (This observation because Opal’s first grade teacher was potentially a demon in disguise who hated all of the students according to, well, all the students)

Opal is still talking as Ronan parks the car and got out. Even when he starts unbuckling her and pulling her out of the back seat. She only falls silent when a few of her classmates were walking out the door. Then she presses closer to Ronan and holding onto his leg tightly.

“Opal, I can’t walk like that. Just...hold on.” He unwinds her and then takes her hand, swinging their arms between their bodies until she smiles and then starts to laugh.

“Stop. Stop! You’re gonna rip my arm off.”

“Good. Then you can’t try to take my leg with you everywhere.”

It isn’t hard to find Mr. Parrish’s room. There’s a constant flow of students in and out of the second grade wing and Mr. Parrish’s seems to be the quietest but warmest at the far end of the hall. Ronan’s met Mr. Parrish before. Not been introduced but sat in the same room. During Open House, another required attendance thing, he’d sat in the back of the room, bouncing Opal on his knee and hugging her close because she didn’t feel good but wanted to go to avoid getting in trouble. Gansey had been having a heart attack over some girl he met on campus and so Ronan was a little too preoccupied to pay attention to the quiet man at the front of the room who was having to deal with more problematic parents than Ronan was going to be.

His room hadn’t been quite completed yet. There were signs on the doors that said corny shit like, “Excuse our mess! The children are learning!” to cover up the fact that the second grade wing had only been completed a few days before the year started. It still smelt like new wood and fresh paint and the floors hadn’t been waxed yet.Ronan hadn’t realized how much he’d come to associate waxed floors with a new year. Parrish’s classroom had been mostly boxes at that point. There was a measly reading corner with a bean bag and a few blankets. A few dozen picture books had lined a shelf and a half. Boxes piled up in empty spaces. There had been an activity corner that was just a table with three boxes sat under it. His own desk had had only a few knick-knacks.

Now, the room is cluttered and lived in and warm. There’s faux candles on Parrish’s desk and the window sills. Hundreds of books line his shelves, ranging from little cardboard picture books to the Harry Potter series. The activity center has a treasure chest full of costumes and props and there are little science experiment tables set up. Arts and crafts coat the walls or dry on racks. His desk is still bare of personal effects but there are dozens of little notes and drawings from his students.

And then there’s Mr. Parrish. Ronan didn’t remember Mr. Parrish being so handsome. He was just finishing up with the family in front of them--some snot nosed kid who was playing on a phone while his mother had more tan on her than Ronan could afford to get in a month. (Excluding inheritance and life insurance. He didn’t use it that often, let him live)

Parrish looks like something out of a book. He looks transported from Princess Bride or some steampunk YA novel. He’s beautifully bronzed and his forearms are defined from where they’re visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his baby blue button up. There are a few scars along his skin and his hands are just a little disfigured to suggest a life of work beyond the classroom. His hair is messy but he’s tried to part it somehow. He’s really nicely proportioned. ‘As you wish,’ Ronan wants to say as he sinks to his knees.

Fuck, that’s his kid’s teacher. His kid who isn’t holding onto his hand anymore but running to the teacher to envelope him in a bear hug when he looks up at them and smiles wide and squats down to open his arms to her.

Ronan does not look at the way his dress pants pull tight over his thighs. He busies himself with glaring at the mother who is sneering at him, looking over his casual dress and his youth. Once she’s gone, he turns his attention back to Parrish. He’s looking up at Ronan and, Christ, his eyes look like every type of cliche for gemstone eyes. Ronan’s mouth goes dry and he takes a moment to swallow and try to remember how vocal cords work.

“Mr. Parrish,” he says, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “I’m Ronan Lynch. Opal’s guardian.” it still felt wrong to say father. Not wrong in that he didn’t think he was. Just… It was a difficult situation to explain to people. She didn’t call him dad so he didn’t say he was her father. He’d let her decide how this relationship was going to go. As it was, he thought they were pretty fucking special without dumb ass names to go with it.

“Mr. Lynch, Opal’s very favorable of you.” Adam smiles and Ronan’s heart tries to vacate his chest. Mr. Parrish looks very good hugging Ronan’s kid. Parrish looks very good on his knees…

Goddammit.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Lynch,” Parrish says, standing up and gesturing to the undersized chair in front of his desk. Opal laughs when Ronan tries to sit on it with little success. She has to climb onto hers a little bit and the difference is hilarious to her.

Parrish looks at home behind the desk and Ronan suddenly wishes he had  Opal in his lap so his hands had something to do rather than pick uselessly at callouses.

“Opal is extremely gifted. I don’t think I’ve ever had a student as eager to learn as her.” Opal preens next to Ronan and then sticks her tongue out at him.

“I told you I wasn’t in trouble.”

Adam smiles at them and Ronan feels like jumping out a window. “How long have you been teaching?”

“About three years now. I was lucky enough to get hired on here as soon as I graduated. It’s technically the school I went to.”

Ronan would rather die on the streets before he went back to Aglionby. This guy must not have much of a life. “Technically?”

“Well, they tore down the building I actually went to school in. It’s part of the bus barn now.”

Ronan only vaguely remembered that happening a few years ago. There were supposedly old tunnels under the school and Ronan had had to remind Gansey that they had a two year old in the next room and mindless fucking off to explore potential holes in the ground was not an option for them anymore.

As if reading his mind--and sometimes Ronan honest to God thought Opal could--she asks, “Were the tunnels real?”

Adam furrows his brow before that brilliant smile takes over. “You  know, I’d tell you…”

“But then I’d have to kill you. I know. I know! You always say that.” She pouts at him and Ronan reaches over to yank on her ponytail.

“Behave.”

“Opal, do you want to go wait in the hallway while I talk to...Ronan about some adult stuff.”

“I’m an adult,” she says petulantly. Ronan is still too fascinated by the way Parrish caught himself from saying, ‘your dad’ to much care what his kid’s saying. Whatever it was, it made Adam smile, something soft and sweet. Ronan was going to set himself on fire.

“Can you go show your classmates how to be an adult out in the hallway?”

Opal takes an irritated breath and slides off the chair and stalks off to the hallway, pulling the door behind her.

“Is something wrong?” Ronan asks after watching his kid disappear into the gaping maw of the world without him. He didn’t like it. It’s why he didn’t watch when he dropped her off in the morning.

“No, no. Opal is a pleasure to have in class.” Ronan snorted but Parrish continued. “It’s just that Opal is...not shy, per se. But she doesn’t interact with the other kids all that much. She’s very confident when she’s answering questions or doing work but as soon as I suggest she ask someone for a color or to give her her scissors back, she gets a scared look in her eyes. Have you noticed it?”

It’s like a sudden and swift shot to his gut. Something reminiscent of his school days, picking fights behind cafes and bars and on dirt roads in the glare of his headlights. He hadn’t thought about Opal potentially being alone when she went to school. Parrish was right. Opal was outgoing and talkative and confident but he’s never really seen her with anyone other than the few friends she occasionally asked to be taken out with. He did remember her saying she and Gracie, Maya, and Sheila weren’t in the same class this year. Shit.

Ronan hadn’t had the best time in school when he was younger. He met Gansey in the sixth grade and after that it smoothed out but he remembered the aching loneliness until his brother would come over and eat with him or some girl would take pity on him and be his partner in class. The idea that the same thing was happening to Opal made it hard to breathe for the sudden and intense pain blooming in his chest.

“Mr. Lynch?” Parrish reaches forward and Ronan instinctively jerks back. Parrish doesn’t look pityingly at him. Instead, Ronan recognizes the realization in his eyes. And...some kind of understanding. “You and she are very similar.”

“What?” Ronan croaks out. His heart is still hammering in his chest and he can’t really concentrate with the lightheadedness that’s suddenly taken over.

“Your facial expressions. She looks just like that when I suggest she talks to other students.”

Ronan clears his throat once, twice, a third time before he reaches up to hide wiping at his eyes with pinching his nose and rubbing his temples. “Uh, no. I’ve never...I’ve never…” It’s a fucking lie though. Opal clings onto him whenever she sees someone at the grocery store. She’d just done it five minutes ago outside the school. Jesus, fuck he hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll talk to her. Um. Yeah. She’s...at home she talks all the time. You can’t make her shut up. But..yeah. She...doesn’t talk to kids when we’re out.” He swallows hard and stands up so quickly the chair topples over behind him.

Parrish stands as well, reaching out as if to steady Ronan. “Mr. Lynch, your daughter is beyond fine. There’s nothing wrong with her at all. I’d say there’s something very special about her.”

Ronan glares at him but then the man’s image blurs and distorts. When it clears again, Ronan can feel tears on his cheeks. “I know she’s special,” he huffs, wiping his cheeks and then squeezing his eyes shut which only lets a few more tears fall. “I don’t need anyone to tell me that.”

He can hear Parrish move from the other side of the desk and he feels an arm around his shoulders. It’s a little awkward and he can tell Adam is kind of tip toeing to do so. “You’re raising her alone, right?” he asks.

Ronan thinks of Matthew baby sitting and Gansey showing up to suddenly steal her away for a weekend of adventure. He thinks of Declan and the nice ass shit that Opal owns because of him. He thinks of all the old ladies at the farmers market who are so enamored with her, Ronan and Opal always leave with a crate full of things they didn’t buy. He thinks of her friends’ moms who are always happy to keep her overnight for a sleepover or grab her from school if Ronan is still stuck at the vet’s office or in the middle of a field somewhere.

But then he thinks about trying to figure out what foods she likes and avoid allergies. He thinks about the way he panics about how much money they might have with the inheritance split between them. He thinks about laying awake at night and staring at the ceiling while he listens to her in the next room. He thinks about how many times he’s made her cry and slam doors when he punishes her. He thinks about the looks they get in public and wonders if Opal sees them too. He thinks about breaking down in hot teachers’ classrooms because his kid talks to the goats more freely than her peers and God, where did he go wrong? He was fucking this kid up. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“I have help but...yeah, it’s me and her,” he eventually gets out. “And the cows.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It just comes out.

“I think she’s partial to the goats,” Adam answers without missing a beat and Ronan hiccups a small laugh.

“The cows are more helpful.”

Parrish laughs then and Ronan’s ecstatic heart is at war with his dying heart. “Ronan Lynch, you are a good man. And you have a very good child. And I know it can be hard feeling like you’re on your own. Trust me, I know. But your little girl is all the proof that everything you’re doing is right. For her, for you, for the world. I think she’s going to go on to do great things.”

Ronan nodded, not willing to draw out any stupid pessimistic fight. They stay standing like that until Ronan can breathe normally and he pulls away. Parrish squeezes Ronan’s arm and then leans over his desk. Ronan allows himself to look at how his dress pants pull tight over his ass.

“Listen, I know it’s a little unconventional but if you ever need help with anything, anyone Ronan, let me know. This is my number. I answer most of the time unless I’m with the kids.” He smiles that smile and hands over a post it note shaped like a lightening bug. Ronan lets himself draw his fingers over Parrish’s and tries to memorize the beautiful knobs and wrinkles on them by touch alone.

“Even if it’s something as simple as coffee. I know it can be nice to have conversations with adults when you primarily deal with children.” His grin is crooked, pulled to the left side of his face like it’s trying to connect with a pale scar that snakes down from his temple to his cheekbone, detouring to the corner of his eye halfway there. Ronan wants to take him apart at every seam and hear every story as they restitch themselves back together.

“Coffee,” Ronan answers softly, looking at the blocky number. He recognizes it from the grades on Opal’s homework. He nods and bites his lips. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Parrish.”

“Please, call me Adam. Especially when you ask me out.” And, oh, his grin can turn into a smirk that has no business being in a second grade classroom. Ronan Lynch was doomed.

((Damn this one was long. Sorry not sorry. It makes up for yesterday. First time...meeting! Don’t ask me how an eighteen year old acquires a baby and raises it. That’s why I didn’t choose that prompt. If you don’t think Adam Parrish would become a teacher and help kids like him, you’re wrong. And where’s my child Noah you ask? Please be considerate and don’t. My brain was saying future AU for some reason so he was dead in my mind :( ))

[carcinoaquarium]

OK, SO FIRST I'M GOING TO GET THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION OUT OF THE WAY. THE QUESTION THAT WE'VE ALL BEEN ASKING. THE TRUE, BURNING MYSTERY OF DREAM DADDY A DADDY DATING SIMULATOR.

...

...

...

WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A FUCKING DOG?????????????SDFJADFJSDFK';SDKLFPER

NO.

SERIOUSLY. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO CONCEIVABLE REASON WHY DADSONA AND AMANDA DON'T HAVE A WOOF BEAST. THEY'RE BOTH OBSESSED WITH BARK MONSTERS. OBVIOUSLY NEITHER OF THEM HAS AN ALLERGY BECAUSE THEY'RE BOTH TOUCHING DROOL DEMONS ALL THE GOD DAMNED TIME. DADSONA EVEN SAYS HE'LL MAYBE GET ONE *AFTER* AMANDA LEAVES TO KEEP HIM COMPANY.

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE??? WHAT'S STOPPING YOU???

UGH. WHATEVER.

ONWARD.

BEFORE STARTING THE GAME, I WOULD HAVE RANKED MY INTEREST IN THE DADS AS FOLLOWS:

AFTER  PLAYING, MY LIST HAS SHIFTED DRASTICALLY:

SO RIGHT OFF THE OBLONG SPORTS HITTING IMPLEMENT, JUST A MINOR THING THAT BUGGED BOTH ME AND ERIDAN: WHY ARE ALL THESE DADS ALWAYS BLUSHING AND GIGGLING? THE BLUSHING I CAN FORGIVE IN SOME PLACES, BUT THEY USE IT A LOT. THE GIGGLING THOUGH? 

I WISH I SCREENCAPPED ALL THE TIMES IT HAPPENS TO SHOW YOU JUST HOW PREVALENT IT IS. THEY *ALL* GIGGLE AT LEAST ONCE. EVEN ROBERT. NEVER DO THEY CHUCKLE, BELLY LAUGH, NEVER EVEN FUCKING CHORTLE. ALWAYS *GIGGLE*. I MEAN ONE OF THESE GUYS HAS TO SNORT-LAUGH AS UGLY AS ME, RIGHT??? I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT "GIGGLING" IS FUCKING CREEPY COMING OUT OF SOME PEOPLE. DIDN'T THAT BOTHER ANYONE ELSE? JUST US? OK THEN.

MOVING ON.

MY MAIN CRITICISM OF THIS GAME TIES IN WITH ONE OF THE THINGS I LIKE *MOST* ABOUT IT. IS THAT CONFUSING? OF COURSE IT IS. EVERYTHING WITH ME HAS TO BE FUCKING DIFFICULT.

SEE, I LOVE AMANDA. SHE’S AN AWESOMELY WRITTEN CHARACTER AND HER DYNAMIC WITH HER DAD IS PRICELESS, REALISTIC AND FUCKING FUNNY AS GLOBES. THE RELATIONSHIP IS BUILT UP SO WELL THAT TRYING TO GET THE “WORLD’S OKAYEST DAD” ACHIEVEMENT IS NOTHING SHORT OF EMOTIONAL SUICIDE. IT’S PERFECT.

TOO PERFECT. AND THE ROMANCE PART OF THE SIM SUFFERS FOR IT.

YES, I UNDERSTAND THAT REALISTICALLY, AMANDA IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE DADSONA’S LIFE. CONSIDER THE FACT THAT THEY PURPOSELY HAD HER AT HIVE-LEAVING AGE SO SHE COULD BE LEFT ALONE WHILE DAD GOES ON DATES. DESPITE THIS, SHE STILL TAGS ALONG FOR WAY TOO MANY OF THE DATES AND IN THE END, WE DON’T GET TO EXPERIENCE INTIMACY WITH MOST OF THE DADS IN THE WAY A NORMAL DATING SIM/ROMANCE STORY WOULD LET US. BY THE THIRD DATE WITH MANY OF THE DADS, I FEEL LIKE I HAVEN’T BEEN ROMANCING SO MUCH AS GOING ON PLAY DATES. AND THEN IT’S SUDDENLY *BOOM*, SLOPPY MAKEOUTS. 

I MEAN, IT FEELS SO SUDDEN WITH NO BUILD UP. NONE OF IT SERVES ANY PURPOSE EITHER. EVEN WITH AMANDA TAGGING ALONG, YOU NEVER FEEL LIKE THE DADS YOU DATE BOND AT ALL WITH HER, NOR DOES SHE REALLY SHOW ANY INTEREST IN THEM. AT MOST SHE'S UNEASY AROUND HUGO BECAUSE HE'S HER TEACHER, AND SCHEMES WITH DAISY TO GET BRIAN AND DADSONA TO STOP ONE-UPPING EACH OTHER. IN FACT, SHE DAMN NEAR SEEMS TO IGNORE THE FACT THAT YOU'RE 'DATING' THESE GUYS. SHE JUST THINKS YOU'RE LEARNING TO BE SOCIABLE. THERE'S NO CONNECTION BETWEEN AMANDA AND THE DREAM DADDIES. WHICH WOULD BE FINE IF THEY DIDN'T MAKE A POINT OF HAVING HER BE SO INVOLVED WITH THE DATES!

THAT’S WHY BRIAN IS AT THE BOTTOM OF MY LIST.

AND

THAT’S WHY CRAIG AND ROBERT MADE IT TO THE TOP OF MY LIST.

AH, CRAIG. THE JOCK THING DEFINITELY PUT ME OFF AT FIRST AND AS A RESULT HE WAS THE SECOND TO LAST DAD I PLAYED. SO WHAT MADE ME DO SUCH A ROMANTIC ONE-EIGHTY ON THIS GUY? DADSONA KNOWS CRAIG FROM SWEEPS BEFORE AND HAS SHARED A CLOSE BOND WITH HIM. THE ROMANCE FEELS LIKE IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN SOMETHING BUBBLING UNDER THE SURFACE FOR A LONG TIME, AND ONLY NOW, WHEN YOU’RE BOTH IN A POSITION TO FULLY GO FOR IT, CAN IT TRULY BLOSSOM. THESE TWO WERE FRIENDS, ROOMATES, AND BROS. IT GROWS NATURALLY FROM THERE.

I HAVE A FUCKING SOFTSPOT FOR BROMANCES THAT BLOOM INTO REDROM OK??? IT’S KIND OF MY THING. I’M SO CONFUSED.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ROBERT! NOW THIS IS WHAT I’M USED TO.

-- I MEAN PLAYING ROMANCE SIMS AND WATCHING ROMANTIC MOVIES AND READING 

OH WHO AM I FUCKING KIDDING?

ANYWAY, WITH ROBERT IT’S MORE YOUR CLASSIC “SAVE HIM” ROMANCE. HERE’S AN ONION WITH... LAYER. HE’S BROKEN, BUT NOT SO MUCH THAT IT’S OBNOXIOUS. HE’S FUNNY. HE’S VULNERABLE. HE’S DANGEROUS. BUT NOT REALLY. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY? HIS DAUGHTER IS ESTRANGED AND AMANDA DOESN’T TAG ALONG. IT FEELS LIKE A GROWN UP ROMANCE. IT’S FREE TO BUILD ON THAT. AND IN THE END, I FELT CLOSER TO ROBERT THAN MOST OF THE OTHER DADS. OF COURSE HE HAD TO GO AND RUIN IT AT THE END, BUT WHATEVER. STILL BETTER ROMANCE VALUE.

NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT THE DARK HOOFBEAST OF MY LIST:

HUGO FUCKING SURPRISED THE HELL OUT OF ME BECAUSE I REALLY DIDN’T EXPECT TO LIKE HIM AT ALL. EVEN AFTER THE FIRST DATE I WAS STILL BORED OUT OF MY PAN. BUT THEN HE MAKES THE BIG REVEAL. HE LOVES WRESTLING. MISTER STUFFY ACADEMIC IS A WRESTLING FREAK. AND HE SHARES THAT WITH YOU. HE GETS SO FUCKING EXCITED THAT YOU’RE COOL WITH IT AND YOU ACTUALLY GET TO HAVE SOME FUN. THAT COMBINED WITH THE TRIVIA NIGHTS MADE HUGO’S SECOND TWO DATES SOME OF THE MOST ENTERTAINING. AGAIN, BECAUSE YOU SPEND THE DATES FOCUSED ON HUGO AND NOT ON EITHER OF YOUR KIDS, IT MEANT THAT A PERSONAL CONNECTION COULD DEVELOP. THE ROMANCE FELT REAL BY THE END.

NOW, THIS IS GOING TO SOUND WEIRD COMING FROM A TROLL WHOSE WORLD DOESN’T HAVE IDIOTIC TABOOS ABOUT GENDER AND ROMANCE, BUT DID ANYONE ELSE THINK IT WAS KIND OF SAD HOW A GAME THAT WAS SUPPOSEDLY TRYING TO APPEAL TO HOMOSEXUAL MALES INCLUDED ONLY ONE DAD WHO WAS CONFIRMED TO HAVE A MALE PARTNER BEFORE DADSONA? HUGO. HUGO IS THE ONLY ONE. BRIAN AND DAMIEN’S PAST PARTNERS ARE UNKNOWN, BUT EVERYONE ELSE WAS IN A “STRAIGHT” QUADRANT BEFOREHAND. AND YET EVERYONE ALREADY ASSUMES EVERYONE ELSE IS “GAY”.

AND YES. I KNOW HUMAN PROCREATION GENERALLY NEEDS BOTH GENDERS BUT STILL. IT’S NOT LIKE A WORLD WHERE A BUNCH OF SINGLE DADS ALL LIVE IN THE SAME HIVE CLUSTER AND MEET ON A “DADBOOK” IS AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OF REAL LIFE.

SO HUGO SHARING CUSTODY WITH HIS EX-HUSBAND WAS COOL. HUGO WAS COOL. HUGO’S REVEAL WAS COOL. 

WHICH LEADS ME TO DAMIEN AND HIS SIMILAR "REVEAL". 

THE THING I LIKED ABOUT DAMIEN WAS HOW PASSIONATE HE WAS ABOUT HIS LOVE OF VICTORIAN HISTORY AND THE GOTH AESTHETIC. HE ACKNOWLEDGES THAT MOST PEOPLE THINK HE'S WEIRD, BUT HE DOESN'T LET THAT STOP HIM. HE'S BEING TRUE TO HIMSELF AND LOVING IT. UNLIKE HUGO, HE'S NOT ASHAMED OR EMBARRASSED OF HIS PASSION. HE OWNS IT. I LOVED THAT.

WHICH MAKES THIS "REVEAL" PAN-FUCKINGLY CONFUSING.

BY THE TIME THE GAME HITS YOU WITH ANIMAL SHELTER DAMIEN, HE'S ALREADY SPENT TWO WHOLE DATES SHOWING YOU HOW HAPPY HE IS BEING ABLE TO EXPRESS HIMSELF AS A VICTORIAN GOTH. HE'S STYLED HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE AROUND THIS PASSION. HIS CLOTHING, HIS MANNER OF TALKING, HIS FUCKING HIVE AND GARDEN. A VERY SUBTLE BUT MEANINGFUL ALLEGORY HAS BEEN LAID DOWN THAT SHOWS US HOW DAMIEN KNOWS THAT BEING TRUE TO HIMSELF COMES WITH SOCIETAL CONSEQUENCES. IT WOULD BE SO MUCH EASIER TO JUST BE "NORMAL" FOR THE SAKE OF EVERYONE ELSE'S DELICATE SENSIBILITIES AND PREJUDICES, AND YET HE DOESN'T KOWTOW TO THAT PRESSURE. AND SO BY DATING DAMIEN, DADSONA GETS TO SHOW HIM THAT HE LOVES AND ACCEPTS ALL OF THAT. AND MOST OF ALL *ADMIRES* THE BRAVERY IT TAKES TO BE DIFFERENT IN A WORLD THAT TRIES SO FUCKING HARD TO TEAR DOWN THOSE WHO DARE TO BE.

SO WHEN DAMIEN FINALLY "REVEALS" TO DADSONA THAT HE VOLUNTEERS AT THE LOCAL ANIMAL SHELTER, THE NARRATIVE MAKES A BIG MISTAKE. SUDDENLY DAMIEN "SECRETLY" LISTENS TO BRUCE SPINGSTIEN AND WEARS TENNIS SHOES. IT SEEMS TO HEAVILY IMPLY THAT THE PERSONA DAMIEN IS ACTUALLY AFRAID TO SHOW THE WORLD IS HIS ANIMAL SHELTER SELF, WHICH FUTHER IMPLIES THAT HIS TRUE SELF IS ANIMAL SHELTER DAMIEN AND NOT GOTH DAMIEN. IT GETS NEEDLESSLY COMPLICATED HERE. OBVIOUSLY DAMIEN WOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO DRESS IN GOTH ATTIRE AT THE SHELTER, SO THAT'S NO UNIVERSE SHATTERING REVEAL. THE GAME IS TRYING TO SAY THAT DAMIEN IS WORRIED THAT YOU WON'T LIKE HIM NOW THAT YOU'VE SEEN HIM UN-GOTHIFIED.

WHICH, SURE, I CAN SEE WHAT THEY WERE KIND OF GOING FOR. IT *IS* A SHOCK TO SEE HIM OUT OF GOTH CLOTHING. BUT IT'S NOT LIKE CLOTHING IS LITERALY STITCHED ONTO PEOPLE. CLOTHING COMES OFF. THERE'S A "NORMAL" NAKED PERSON UNDER EVERY GOTH'S ATTIRE. BUT WASN'T THE POINT OF ALL THIS THAT DAMIEN'S TRUE SELF IS BEING A VICTORIAN GOTH? THE LESS SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE THING? WHY THEN DOES HE SHAMEFULLY ADMIT TO LOVING NON-GOTH MUSIC AND HAVING A CLOSET FULL OF TENNIS SHOES? DOES HE WANT YOU TO HELP HIM BECOME THE PURPLE-POLO-SHIRT-LOVING NORM HE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE? CAN GOTHS NOT ALSO BE SHELTER VOLUNTEERS AND GOOD WITH COMPUTERS?? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING, DAMIEN???? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME???

THE THIRD DATE IS SPENT IN AWKWARD TENSION WHILE YOU TRY TO HELP DAMIEN FIND THIS LOST WOOFBEAST (WHICH, IF YOU FAIL, MAKES HIM HATE YOU I GUESS???). NO TIME IS GIVEN TO DISCUSSING WHAT'S JUST HAPPENED OR WHAT DAMIEN WANTS YOU TO KNOW ABOUT HIS TRUE SELF. IF THE MESSAGE OF DAMIEN'S STORY IS "BE TRUE TO YOURSELF", WE'RE LEFT WONDERING WHICH OF THESE SELVES DAMIEN IS TRYING TO BE TRUE TO. THIS IS MADE EVEN WORSE BY THE FACT THAT DAMIEN COMES TO AMANDA'S PARTY DRESSED IN HIS ANIMAL SHELTER ATTIRE. WHAT DOES HUGO COME TO AMANDA'S PARTY WEARING? HIS GOOFY WRESTLING SHIRT. HE'S COMFORTABLE WITH WHO HE IS. YOU HELPED HIM GET THERE. SO AM I SUPPOSED TO ASSUME I HELPED DAMIEN... BE COMFORTABLY NOT GOTH?

SEE, IT JUST DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY AROUND. WHY? BECAUSE BEING THE VICTORIAN GOTH IS BY FAR THE HARDER THING TO BE IN PUBLIC. YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS HARD TO BE IN PUBLIC?

TRANSGENDER.

DO YOU KIND OF SEE WHY THIS ANALOGY GOT FUCKED UP?

IF BEING OPENLY GOTH = BEING OPENLY TRANS, AND DRESSING "NORMAL" = PRESENTING AS THE GENDER HE WAS DESIGNATED AT BIRTH... WHY DO YOU COME TO AMANDA'S PARTY DRESSED LIKE THAT, DAMIEN? WHO ARE YOU? I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE.

AND EVEN IF THEY WEREN'T TRYING TO USE THE GOTH THING AS A METAPHOR, IT'S STILL FUCKING DISAPPOINTING AND AWKWARD. KNOWING DAMIEN IS SECRETLY "A NORMAL GUY" ADDS NOTHING TO HIS DEVELOPMENT OR TO HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH DADSONA.

THAT'S WHY HUGO DID IT BETTER.

AND I HATE SAYING THAT BECAUSE I THINK DAMIEN IS AN AWESOME CHARACTER. HIS STORY JUST FELL FLAT.

OH, AND BEFORE I TOTALLY DROP THE SUBJECT OF DAMIEN I'D JUST LIKE TO POINT OUT THAT INSTEAD OF MAKING MY FUCKING SPONGE SPIN FROM ALL THIS IDENTITY FUCKERY, DAMIEN'S AMIMAL SHELTER CENTRIC THIRD DATE COULD HAVE BEEN THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO... I DON'T KNOW... MAYBE LET DADSONA AND AMANDA FUCKING ADOPT A DOG???? BECAUSE NNNNGGGSEAFSDFASDFSDF THEY LOVE DOGS????????

THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE FULFILLING. WHY DON'T THEY LET ME WRITE THIS SHIT?

EW.

SO THAT ABOUT WRAPS IT UP FOR PART TWO AND MY WAY-MORE-IN-DEPTH-THAN-ANYONE-WANTED-OR-NEEDED HOLE RIPPING OF DREAM DADDY. I’VE THOROUGHLY EXHAUSTED MYSELF AND ERIDAN WITH THIS ENDEAVOR.

WHICH IS WHY IN THE FINAL INSTALLMENT, PART THREE, I AM GOING TO SHARE THE LAST AND MOST *TREMENDOUSLY* AWFUL THING I DID WITH DREAM DADDY.

I’M GOING TO GO PASS OUT NOW.