#sometimes I bring out food scraps that are good for plants

[ulmus-spellook]

Just me and the tree I’ve bonded the most with against the world

[archangeldyke-all]

okay i’ve seen people talk about werewolf sevika but what about werecat sevika like she gives off such cat vibes she’s an introvert who so would love sitting by her window or on her porch watching things also i’ve always headcanoned that she literally purrs when you scratch her head so werecat sev just makes sense to me

YES i fucking LOVE THIS

this is what i think sevika would look like in cat form btw hehehehehe (send me cats u think sevika would look like too! i want to see all ur ideas)

men and minors dni

it all starts with a loose lab-cat. singed had pumped the thing with shimmer and underestimated its strength. he returned to the lab the next morning to a broken glass cage, quickly followed by hissing and hollering coming from the bar.

sevika stepped on the cat's tail where it had been sleeping beneath a table. in return, the cat sunk it's claws into sevika's calf-- four deep scratches running down her leg-- dripping half blood red, half shimmer pink.

singed told her she'd be okay.

he told her to go home and sleep it off and that she'd be fine.

singed is a fucking liar.

the next full moon, sevika turns into a cat.

not a panther, or a lion, or a fucking tiger or something cool. a fucking house cat. and a tiny one too.

she didn't tell anyone. who could she tell? singed would just try to strap her to a lab table and start experimenting on her. silco would probably just laugh. jinx might be her best bet if she wanted answers, but she fears that jinx would do something horrible like pet her or something.

so she just... deals with it.

the more full moons that pass, the more used to it she gets, and the more she can transform herself at will without the moon's powers.

she kinda likes being a cat. it's useful as fuck in the undercity, with all it's steep walls and drop-offs. it gives her crystal clear vision, even in the deepest darkest streets; it gives her great instincts, even in her human form, and...

there's nothing quite like finding a stray beam of sun and curling up for a few minutes to snooze on a peaceful day. both in her human and cat form.

which is how she meets you.

you live on a high floor of a big apartment building in the lanes. it's miserable climbing up and down the stairs multiple times a day, but the nice thing about it is you're high up enough to get some direct sunlight in your home for a good few hours a day.

you don't have a cat-- your landlord would kill you. but you keep a two little pots of catnip and catgrass growing on your fire-escape, a little tin of water and some tuna or chicken when you've got scraps to spare.

you've got a few cats that come to visit you a few times a week, all varying levels of friendly.

the white stray visits every afternoon to snack on your plants, sometimes bringing a skinny orange friend along with her. you let them be, watching fondly through the window as they groom each other.

there's a fat tuxedo cat that you know has an owner somewhere in the neighborhood, that seems to know when you set out food scraps-- always there in a flash to gobble them up. he's friendly as hell, meowing incessantly at your window until you open it up for him and let him come in to get pets for a few hours before returning home for dinner.

there's a new litter of calico kittens you've caught sight of. you think there's five or six separate kitties, but you can never keep track because they grow so and change so much between your sightings of them.

and then there's your newest visitor.

she's a unique cat, silver eyes, only three legs, her left front leg missing completely. there's blue scratches running down her left side, shimmering in the sun when the wind blows her fur away enough for you to see them.

and she doesn't eat any of your plants, or drink any of your water. most of the time, you come home and find her sleeping in a ray of sun. and every time when she wakes up and realizes you're home, the cat will jump up on your windowsill and simply watch you; her tail twitching occasionally in the wind, purring loud enough for you to hear through the little window as her silver eyes follow your every movement inside.

.....

sevika's fucked.

she's so, so, so fucked.

she's been fucking stabbed, twice, and she's loosing blood so quickly that she's starting to see spots.

the men who stabbed her are chasing her, and she's leaving a trail of blood right to herself. no matter how fast she runs, she's not going to lose them.

she's so woozy that she almost forgets that she's got fucking magical powers. she ducks into an alley and quickly transforms, before sprinting away. that takes care of those idiots beating her to death-- but it doesn't change the fact that sevika's dying.

she doesn't know where to go.

the last drop is way too far for her to get there before she bleeds out. she's got no friends in this neighborhood-- and people down here don't have the spare time, money, or sympathy for a dying street cat.

wait.

she knows someone who likes street cats.

someone sweet, and pretty, and always smiling and talking to her like she can speak human language. she can, but she knows your other cat visitors can't-- and it just makes her like you all the more- - the idea of you talking to some clueless cat, just like you talk to her.

she makes it to your fire escape just before her three legs give out.

and while her vision starts to fade completely, the clouds overhead move and a beam of sun shines down on her, the smell of your cat plants wafting over her as the wind blows.

well, sevika supposes. if i'm gonna die i guess this is the nicest place to do it.

you come home and find a dead woman on your fire escape... which isn't a total surprise in this neighborhood.

it's only when you go out to prod at her that you get really freaked out-- because she's not dead, just barely breathing.

you scramble to pull the woman inside your apartment, spreading her out on your bed and nearly throwing up at the sight of two deep stab wounds in her sides.

you've got some shimmer stored in your medicine cabinet in case of emergencies, and you quickly slide the liquid down her throat before scrambling to find something to stitch her side together with.

you aren't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing when she starts blinking awake, groaning in pain and weakly trying to shove you away from her wounds.

"hey hey hey, wake up." you say, shaking her shoulders. she grunts and scrunches her face up. when her eyes blink open, your stomach twists.

you've never seen eyes that silver besides on the cat that comes to visit you. they're different on a person. much more attractive.

"uh..." you say, trailing off for a second suddenly realizing that the woman beneath you is very naked. and now that you're looking at her, the blue scars on her left side seem awfully familiar. you clear your throat. "uh, wake up." you say again, gently smacking her cheek.

she gasps awake when you start stitching up her second wound. "fuck!" she shouts. and then, she seems to process where she is. "fuck." she says.

you gulp. "uh, i'll get you a blanket." you offer.

sevika nods numbly as you-- the woman she's been shamelessly peeping on for the past year-- stumble out of your bedroom.

"i thought you were dead, honestly, and then you started moving and i got really freaked out. gave you some shimmer-- i hope you don't mind." you ramble as you walk back into your room, throwing a blanket over sevika. "is there anyone i should call for or...?"

"you're even prettier up close." she says. then she cringes.

fuck she didn't mean to say that. it must be the blood loss. and the shimmer. and your pretty eyes.

"uh..." sevika watches as you start to back away like you're scared, and she huffs before she gathers all her energy and transforms into her cat form. "what the fuck?!" you squawk as the woman in front of you disappears in thin air.

and then, a little lump under the covers starts to move.

and the three legged silver eyed cat comes crawling out, two new wounds on her side.

"what the fuck?" you ask, immedietly reaching forward to pet the cat in front of you. you don't consider that the cat is a woman-- it's your natural instinct-- you see a cat, you pet it.

but then the woman's back and your hand is in her hair and she's blushing all the way down to her tits which you can see because she's still naked.

"wha--"

"i'm sevika."

"hi, sevika." you giggle, slightly hysterical. sevika's blush gets even darker. "i'm--"

"i know." she cuts you off, then bites her lip in embarrassment and presses her head harder against your hand, like she's a cat. well, you suppose she kinda is. "i... sorry for stumbling into your life like this. i thought if i died as a cat i died in real life." sevika shrugs. "guess the whole nine lives thing is true, though."

"i don't--"

"i can leave, if you give me a pair of sweats or someth--"

"no!" you squeak. sevika smiles, and now you're embarrassed. "i-i mean... you're injured. you should stay until you're better..." sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "plus... you're kinda cute."

she grins. "as a cat or...?"

"fuck off." you giggle, crawling into bed beside her. "you've fucking... been watching me for a year! it's only fair i get to interrogate you, too, you creep."

"i-i'm not a creep!"

"you've seen me naked!"

"you didn't seem to mind at the time..." sevika pouts.

you can't believe how ridiculous this whole fucking situation is. sevika's blood drying into your mattress underneath the pair of you, but her skin is becoming more vibrant as the shimmer works through her system, flashes of pink sparkling in her silver eyes. she's practically purring as you scratch her scalp. you burst into laughter, and sevika grins up at you.

when you finally catch your breath, you shake your head and look down at the only sorta-stranger beneath you. "so, what are you... a werecat, or something?"

sevika groans before bursting into laughter with you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[evilminji]

Pondering Doors Again >.>

Thinking about a concept I saw in a Manhwa. "Dungeons feed of the death that occurs within them" and how the Protagonist went "alright, Bet. A stable and prosperous society for outcasts has a LOT of Death! What with the need to eat food and people growing old and thus, inevitably, at least SOMEONE dying every day".

Because FARMING is and always has been a slower but more profitable way to accumulate food then Hunting. More reliable too.

And? What better way too feed your hunger(HungryHungryHUNGRYItHurtSIMSO-) then by BECOMING a Trap Door? Not every ghost looks human. Not every ghost WANTS too.

Maybe you want to Live. Yes, you are fighting, fighting, fighting. Not even Death can take you. But given half a chance? Given the infinite freedom of the Zone and all of Time stretched out before you? Do you? WANT to think anymore? WANT to keep fighting FOREVER for every scrap of food to fill your endless NEED for food? Your obsession with being full?

You can stop.

Like meditation.

Instead of MAKING a Lair... become one. You could always change your mind, if you felt like it. Souls rarely if ever DO, but you COULD. Then? You wait.

There are house ghosts. Dwellings that die. You blend right in. Are you angry? Vengeful? Do you blame the world? Perhaps you'll call them in. Like Hansel and Gretel. Look upon my house made of candy, children. Isn't it tempting? Isn't it sweet? Come closer. Listen to my siren song.

Chomp.

But, maybe you are tired. Hungry. Old bones and cold, barren soil. Barely the strength to paint gaudy veneers over straining, decaying wood. Like long abandoned circuses. You try for the appearance of cheer, but your tattered visage. betrays you. Yet, just like them, while you may not be able to entice those you truely wish to come? Vermin find safety and comfort in your walls.

And is that not how nature heals? First the weeds? The insects and vermin? Little things that build to great forests over time? Blobs hide within in you. Safely out from underfoot. What do they care, if you can not provide them scenery? You are safe. And they? They feed you in turn.

Like little worker bees. Drifting out, gorging on ectoplasm, and returning. Nesting safely inside you, they radiate that Ectoplasm and leech it into the Lair around them. You feed. And Feed. And FEED.

You make more places to hide for them. Bushes. Trees. You only half remember them now, so the colors are off and the forms shakey at best. The blobs do not care. More flock to you in response. You grow stronger. Make more trees.

You finally, FINALLY attract a curious and skittish ghost. They linger by the entrance. Watching. Uncertain. They know traps and hunters hide out here. Who would leave a perfectly good Lair up for grabs? This is a trick. A nasty little trap. Right? It has to be! Their luck can not be this good.

But it is. Because bottom feeders find each other all the time. Lairs that have little to offer and Ghosts who couldn't possibly defend anything worth keeping. All the Zone is stronger then them, why not be weakling together?

And they always take the chance. Because hope is eternal.

Inching forward in a cautious float, ready to dash away, they eventually realize the Lair really IS up for grabs. It really CAN be theirs. Which of course... means they have to fix it up of course! They are THRILLED. Look at all this ROOM! Why, these trees are LOVELY. A good start! They just gotta tweak THIS and then THAT aaand... there we go! Oooh, now over THERE would be a great place for a- *excited muttering*

And a proper ghost? MUCH better at bringing in Ectoplasm then a blob. Then dive in and out, fetching plants to transplant, decorations, building supplies. They invite their friend to crash with them. Become roommates. Their roommate gets a partner. They meet someone. Eventually somebody has a kid. And so on and so on.

All the while, they are feeding their Lair. Do they know it's not a NORMAL Lair? Yeah. They aren't dumb. Blobs disappear sometimes, if no one leaves for too long. House ghosts don't do that (or so they're told). But? They aren't powerful ghosts. They are weak ones. They CAN'T defend one of the nice spots from jerks who want to take it.

But a Lair that can defend ITSELF? And doesn't seem to want to eat them? Meh. Whatever works, man.

And you know what happens? Eventually, you reach a sustainable mass tipping point. Enough ghosts, set up in houses and cabins and castles and caves. All within a single Trap Lair. That they radiate enough ectoplasm to sustain the Lair itself. Enough that it can FINALLY pull the infamous and legendary "never leave" trick.

What is that trick?

Simple! You are a ghost. You'd kinda like an apple. You get up to leave you Lair to go get one. Oh, hey, an apple tree! That's new. Oh, these are really good! You sit back down. You never leave. Why would you leave? You are happy and have everything here. Your friends and family are here. Have another cake. Sit back down.

That is the trick.

The Trap of the sort of Trap Door.

They are known as Honey Traps. Heaven's Gates. Dream Doors. And they build slow to become quite dangerous. Entire cities exsist inside them. Ghosts go in and never come out. The take the energy you produce, small kernel that it is, and feed it back to you. And Ghosts? Efficient generators that they are, produce far more then they are given. Little into more. Little into greater. Building and building.

Until it has the strength to weave dreams.

Trap and entice. Blind and numb you. Bread and circuses for the masses, pay no attention to the bars that keep you here. You LOVE the comfort of your cage! You can leave whenever you want! You just never want too.

The Lair makes certain of that.

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[navibluebees]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a miles x female!reader where she died in the attack of the tree of souls and he was heartbroken but she was reborn as na’vi and is living in her own little settlement that recom miles stumbles across and he doesn’t know what to do (you can choose what happens after)

Inevitable

Please read before interacting.

All ageless & empty blogs will be blocked. No minors!

Just a quick note~ Thank you so much for requesting. I love this one & as I was writing it, I could see potential for more. I'm leaving it open-ended for now because I don't have the brain power to devote to another story at the moment, but I'd like to return to it if you guys end up liking it! Also, I've adjusted the timeline a bit so it's a little over 20 years since the humans left after the battle.

TW: mention of death in childbirth

*When you gasped for breath at the end of your life, a mother lamented as she brought new life into a world of chaos.*

~~~

As a child, you were often in your own world. Entranced by the forest, you'd spend hours adventuring by yourself, fighting fictional enemies and exploring the remnants of the mayhem that had been brought to your world. Your father had been killed in the battle with the humans and your mother had been unable to join the defense due to giving birth to you that very day. She called you her little fighter, determined to come into the world screaming. That's what they told you anyway. She did not survive the day, either.

Among the plants and scraps of metal, you would have flashes of a dream. Smaller hands with an additional finger, those hands wrapped around one of the weapons you'd seen stockpiled in the camp. When you were younger, you would often wake in the middle of the night, unable to breathe, a moment away from screaming. Many thought it was because of the violence surrounding your birth. You never told them of the dreams where your hands were human hands and your eyes saw lifeless Na'vi.

You would especially never tell them of the face that haunted the lonely dark hours. The face that hovered over yours, eyes desperate, begging you not to go. The scars along his face were as familiar to you as the marks on your own. You squeezed his hand weakly before letting go and coming back to your body. Those dreams always left you so unsettled, you'd have to sit alone for a long time. Often you could be found watching the ikran, waiting for your own turn to fly.

When you'd completed your iknimaya, you asked for permission to live alone. Not in your own dwelling, but deep in the forest. There was hesitancy from your Olo'eyktan, Jakesuli, as he was unfamiliar to this situation. It was rarely ever that a member of the clan wished to live alone. With some encouragement from those in the clan who had helped to raise you, he acceded. They knew of your desire to have a simpler life, that many interactions were painful for you. While you had always been taken care of, you'd never really belonged.

In your small home in the forest, you hunted for the clan, still bringing them meat when you could and enduring short visits with the members. You would trade sometimes if other clans passed through, giving them food or your own woven goods. It was quiet. It was simple. It was all you needed.

Today was a day to hunt, so you gathered your weapons and walked through the forest a great distance. The animals were hiding well today and you were squatted down to look at tracks when you heard a crunch of a leaf nearby. You tensed your muscles so your flinch wouldn't be noticeable and slowly stood as if everything was fine. You nocked an arrow, pretending to be following the animal you were tracking. After taking a few steps and turning to assess the area, your heart began to race with nerves, unsettled. As you turned back to your original path, thinking maybe you had been spooked by an animal, you cried out in alarm as your back was slammed against a tree.

You growled as a knife bit into your skin, drowning out the sound of the masculine Na'vi voice speaking your language. In a stumbling attempt, he leaned closer and hissed, "Who are you? Where is your camp?"

When you refused to answer, his hold slackened minutely and he spoke to the group of Na'vi appearing behind him. He spoke in a language from another life. The common tongue of the humans. The drawl in his voice tickled the edges of your brain and reminded you of impossible nights long ago, of soft touches and yearning. As they spoke back and forth, his eyes roved over you, landing on a familiar pattern that looked like a birthmark he remembered from a lifetime ago.

His head tilted slightly to the side and he whispered, "Do I know you?"

His hold slackened more and your arm swung up, fist landing squarely on his nose. You ducked under his arm and ran. A yelp came out when you felt a bullet graze your arm and you winced when you saw the blood at the edge of your vision. With a sharp whistle, you summoned your ikran. He swooped down and you made the bond before leaping up and urging him to the sky.

On the ground below, the Na'vi male watched your ascent. A member of his team ran up behind him, holding a gun up and asked, "Colonel?" awaiting further instruction.

He gently pushed the gun down to point at the ground and shook his head as he lost sight of you. He knew you would meet again. It was only a matter of time.

***

Taglist:

@ikranwings @sweetirilly @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

[bellafragolina]

Yay, your requests are open! >w<

I’m not sure if you’ve done this already, but may I request headcanons for how Piers, Adaman, and Milo would react when their S/O proposes to them?

-🌼 Daisy Anon

Wehhhhh I love proposalsssssss

🍓🍓🍓

Piers:

Piers luckily isn't jealous of your adoration of other artists. He doesn't care if he isn't your favorite (though you assure him that he is), and even tells you his own favorites. So, after a long long time of saving up, you get him some tickets for a show. And Piers is excited to experience their music with you

Whether you're into the kind of metal music he's into or not, Piers finds himself laughing at how you jam out. Whether you're banging your head or trying to do your best in the pit, Piers is smiling the entire time. It's one of his favorite nights ever

And it only gets better when the band takes a pause to do an announcement. They call out Piers, and the crowd shuffles away with the spotlight that falls on him. He tugs at his collar, a little embarrassed by all the attention, only for the lead singer to say "so you gonna marry them or not?"

He turns, and there you are on one knee. Piers feels frail for a moment, falling to his knees beside you as he nods. The crowd goes wild for you both, especially when Piers kisses you, the ring on his finger glinting in the light. It really is the best night of his life

Adaman:

Adaman enjoys time with you, however he can get it. Being a clan leader takes up a lot of his time, sadly, so he makes sure to love you to the fullest whenever he can get his hands on you. He's not fond of bringing you flowers, since they wilt after a while, and is more fond of lasing gifts, like pretty stones or handmade clothes.

You take this into account for your proposal. You spend hours carving away at wood with a small knife, doing your best to create a Leafeon like his partner. A lot of scrapped works and a lot of splinters later, and you have a gift, but not a place, or a script.

You take Adaman to the shrine where you fought Palkia with Dialga, where Adaman's world was turned on its head. You take him there, and hold his hands in yours, surrounded by history and magic.

You present the carving you made, murmuring about time and how you want the rest of yours to be at his side. Adaman stares, heart stopped in his chest as he realizes you gave up precious time to make this for him, to bring him here, to tell him you want this to be the rest of your life. Your time, all his to have, if he wants. And he wants that so badly, wants his time to be yours as well. He kisses you, and it's a beautiful answer

Milo:

Milo, as you know, loves plants. He enjoys growing you flowers, food, anything you want to see! He happily accepts you into his garden as well, showing you how he cares for his plants and makes them grow so well. Milo is also very pleased to see you pay close attention to what he tells you, sometimes taking notes, sometimes asking about the plants outside of the garden

He's not suspicious. Why would he be? Milo thinks you're just indulging him in his hobby, learning from him so you can come to love it yourself. He does ask if you'd like a little patch of your own in his garden, and you do consider it before shaking your head. You'd hate to have your poor plants take away from his beautiful ones, despite what he says

That's why Milo's so surprised when you take him out, to a lot farther out from the house, in the Wild Area. You show him a small garden, full of flowers, all of them his favorites. He awes of the natural wonder, until you sheepishly admit that these are your flowers, that you grew yourself, all as you get down on one knee.

Milo cries. He's not ashamed to admit that halfway into your asking him to marry you, he cries. But he can't help it, with how in love wit you he is. You grew him flowers, you worked so hard, all for him. How could he not be so excited to marry you?

🍓🍓🍓

i hope these are good for you! thank you for requesting my dear!

~Renee

[welcomingdisaster]

appearance, sleep, and cooking/food headcanons for fingon?

ohoho my favorite boy! thank you for the ask :,)

Warm color palette! Really warm skintone, amber eyes, hair is a very dark warm-brown rather than black. Gold brings this out very well.

Rounded figure! Built lower to the ground. Softer cheeks, heart shaped face, slightly slanted oval eyes -- in sharp contrast to Turgon and Fingolfin, who are both very sharp boxy guys. Not very tall but not very short (like, random number here, but if Maedhros is 7ft tall and Turgon is like 7'10, he's maybe in the range of 5'10-6'3).

On that note, looks much more like his mother than his father (I always picture Fingolfin as kind of boney and sharp, and TALL).

Dramatic makeup looks! He has pretty dark skin and no freckles, but he will draw them on in silver or gold, and/or wear sparkly gold and silver eyeshadow. Wears a lot of red/yellow/orange tones on his lips/eyes/cheeks.

Maximalist style of dress! Bright colors, bright patterns, generally an "everything at once" kind of guy. BIG earrings, two lip rings, etc.

Also I personally think he's one of the first elves to abandon is Quenya name completely, mostly because of his guilt over the kinslaying. He won't really correct people about it, but around the time of the Quenya ban just begins introducing himself exclusively as Fingon and signing his correspondence that way.

Elves in general don't need to sleep much and Fingon strikes me as a "doesn't sleep in bed" kind of guy. He HAS a bed, which he uses exclusively for other bedroom activities, and prefers to catch short naps in the study/library/meadow/etc. Definitely weirds Hurin out by napping at his kitchen table a couple times.

For food/cooking... hm. I think he probably doesn't have much experience, having grown up as a prince, outside of basic food prep on hunts. When it's down to him, I think he'd probably be the kind of guy to take bold risks without fully knowing what he's doing. Very "yes this seasoning smells great I'm going to put a ton in the vegetables." This sometimes tastes very good and sometimes fails spectacularly.

Definitely a snacker! Especially post-Helcaraxe, he tends to have fruit/crackers/jerky/hard sugar candy in his pockets. Especially fond of apples -- his people plant and cultivate a great variety of them, and he is delighted by the fruit.

I usually imagine the Noldor princes' halls tend to have a lot of hunting hounds and such around, and they tend to sit around his chair at feasts. He's always complaining about how the dogs have no manners and are horrible beggars while continuing to feed them table scraps. This drives Fingolfin absolutely crazy. The "they wouldn't do this if you didn't feed them" conversation is had daily when the two of them are in the same place.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Does Waylon have any real friends among the rogues? I'm kind of sappy so I like to imagine that, if he does and he has an s/o--and so does the rogue-- they go out on double dates or host dinners and such, esp since your version can cook really well.

"Friends of Killer Croc"

Oh my god. That's so cute. Please feel free to request someone specific if you want a full scenario! (On my list of characters I write for, anyways)

Tw: none

- I think first and foremost, Waylon is friends with Oswald. In many different variations of the characters, Oswald Cobblepot is a rather odd looking character and/or outright disabled himself. If you are disabled, you know what I mean when I say you tend to find friends in other people who are too. Even if it's not the same, it's finding people who relate and understand what it means to be different.

Oswald understands that in spades and is probably one of the few people who didn't immediately curl away in horror when they first met. The only somewhat big thing they disagree on is how to prepare fish which can impact dinner plans.

- Another friend is June Moon. I love their romantic relationship they sometimes have in the comics and I feel if nothing else, they would be good friends. Again, she didn't shirk away from him in any kind of fear (other than perhaps initial shock og how Big the man is). They both struggle dealing with a darker side of themselves and talk a lot about it. Sometimes, they've even done their best to be the Voice Of Reason for each other.

She is a Baby when it comes to spice but tries to suffer through it if it comes to double dates because she knows Waylon's cooking is good. She will regret this later.

- He and Bane are workout buddies. At first it was because no one else could really keep up with them. Then they started spotting each other and actually talking... They have pretty different backgrounds but they relate in that people tend to get nervous around them as huge "scary" men.

He teaches Bane French sometimes and Bane will teach him bits of Spanish.

And with food? Oh my god these two could put away an insane amount of food between them both. Bane can't cook for shit so he is in awe over what Killer Croc can do. That's... sort of what happens when you grow up in a prison with no real life home skills. Waylon might try to convince him to take a cooking class or teach him things himself.

- perhaps surprising (or not) Poison Ivy. They have a natural chemistry that comes from the flora/fauna relationship. He just feels... at ease when she's around. She doesn't treat him like he's stupid because he doesn't have the same level of education she does. Some of her more aggressive plants seem to like him.

For dinners, she likes to bring him fresh herbs and spices she grew herself. Adds that extra kick and he loves the smell it brings to the home. If he's got scraps, he'll wrap it up to feed to her carnivorous plants.

- Harley. In short, it's because Harley is friends with almost everyone. She's that likable. She's also going to help him with cooking which turns very messy very quickly. But it's all good fun.

[cruorcrave]

18 December 2024

I know I haven't posted at all today; I've been pretty busy.

I did my last bit of Christmas shopping today (pretty much) which is a big relief, and even more excitingly; I got my final exam results back! I got a Distinction (75 or more out of 100) in each subject which makes me happy.

Despite these good things, me and my mother had an argument. Huge rant incoming, scroll to the next red text to skip it.

She was repotting some plants and wiping the dirt off the pots with the kitchen sponge - the one we use to wash up dishes - and I told her that was gross. She said it was fine and to get a new one out, so I did, but my sister came in and agreed with my stance. It escalated and eventually got the point where I said I'd just buy my own sponges, brushes and gloves for washing up since it's too big of an accommodation for my mother to not use the kitchen utensils on gardening. Which is true, I will have to do that. My mum came to me a few minutes later and said I'm a hypocrite (basically, not verbatim) because I'm "such a clean freak" but "never clean up after myself". I don't do the washing up much, no... because we have a system in place where every 12 times someone does it, they get $50. I get an allowance from my mother and my unemployed sister does not, meaning I don't wash up so she has a chance to get some money. I sometimes keep dishes in my room too long... but I never leave them elsewhere in the house and when I do bring them in I rinse and stack or even completely wash them. I put all of my rubbish away after cooking, I stack the washing up, I clean yoghurt off anything immediately as my sister hates it, etc etc. I don't do everything but I definitely do more than nothing.

To continue my rant; I am not the messiest in the house. We're all about the same level of messiness. My mother leaves cut-open limes, spilled salt and lime juice all over the bench from her margaritas. My mother leaves discarded seaweed packets out on the bench. My mother cleans the coffee grounds off the bench with the sponge then doesn't rinse it, so there's always coffee on the sponge that has to be washed off. My sister leaves her vegetable scraps on the bench and on cutting boards - WOODEN, POROUS, CUTTING BOARDS - for DAYS on end. She leaves her dirty dishes on the kitchen table, often with scraps of food still in them, collecting flies, because she "doesn't have time". She doesn't have a job or friends. She has time. My sister leaves her hair on the side of the bath after a shower, and it's disgusting. The place in the house that is consistently messy because of me is my room, and that is because I have severe depression that makes motivation to clean really fucking hard, so my room often falls to the wayside. I don't wash up so my sister can have money. I clean everything after I cook. I never leave scraps in the kitchen. I always rinse and stack my dishes if not wash them up and leave them on the rack.

Sigh. Rant over. I'm just pissed because I know I don't do much, but my mother and sister act as though I do nothing, when they leave their shit around so much. It doesn't even annoy me that much, their hypocrisy does. I know I could do more, but I don't really feel like it if I'm just going to get bullied either way. Fuck's sake. My mum does so much for us but it's hard to be openly thankful when she gets mad at us for the things we don't do.

Anyway. Moving on from that extremely teenage rant.

Mentally I'm still a bit shit. Both my mother and sister were on edge today which made my sensitive ass really on edge and defensive. It was all fine in the end but it just annoyed me. I feel a relapse coming but I'm trying to resist it. I know that having open wounds to hide over Christmas would suck way more than just suffering through it, but it's so hard. It's always in the back of my mind. I know it's wrong, but I just want to taste it again.

I have a school morning tea tomorrow to discuss our exam results. I don't know who's gonna be there but I really don't wanna go. I'm just gonna try to be there for as short of an amount of time as possible. Hopefully no one asks about my arms or the bruise on my nose bridge. I don't know if they'll be able to tell that I'm getting worse, considering one of my best friends of twelve years was horrified to "discover" I have severe depression this year. Sigh. Anyway.

Today I'm happy because I mostly finished my Christmas shopping and I'm thankful for having the money to shop.

Song of the Day: Nobody's Listening - Linkin Park

[mmollymercury]

Random Encanto Headcanons I Want To Word Vomit:

Mirabel isn't cured of her bad eyesight; not because Julieta doesn't want to, it's just that there's only so much she can cure.

Pepa was picked on for the gap in her teeth and smiled with a closed mouth for a while until Félix came along.

PB&J had sleepovers in Julieta's room very often but then she got married.

Camilo eats everything he puts on his plate.

Dolores won't eat certain foods because the sounds of crunchy things hurt her ears. When the miracle leaves, she tries out things she's never had before and loves them.

Mariano thought he was in love with Isabela, his family didn't completely arrange it and neither did Isa's, Alma wouldn't let her marry him if she knew she didn't love him.

Said it once and I'll say it again: Aroace Bruno supremacy.

Bruno teaches his rats tricks, like fetch, that's how they knew how to bring his vision back to him, as well as food scraps.

Bruno is actually very good at drawing, his simplistic drawings might fool you but they show how he has the knowledge to reduce something to its basic shapes and still make it recognisable.

Sometimes, Antonio wonders if the animals lie to him.

Alma considered putting Bruno's picture in her locket along with Pedro's, after he left.

The concept art has Dolores liking music and playing her own. But imo, music irritates her ears. (I talked abt this briefly before-but I have an idea for a fic, after the fall of casita, where Dolores hears music for the first time)

Pepa and Dolores finally get closer after casita falls. Pepa gets very emotional, she loves her babies❤️💖

Alma's opinion of Agustín changed greatly after she learned he could play piano. The woman loves herself some talents.

Luisa doesn't have muscles because of the miracle, she'd be strong regardless (example: her ceremony photo and the fact that she couldn't lift a plant pot once her gift started fading) she works out purposefully because she wants to be muscular. (plus, a cute lil addition: when she was around 11 or 12, she learned about Hercules, probably from her pa reading the myth to her-and idolised him, then asked for her first set of weights for her birthday so she could look just like him!)

Camilo is a theater kid (obviously) and is in the drama club at school. He can hit high notes pretty well.

Mirabel is actually very popular with some villagers, they feel less anxious to speak to her without the unspoken power imbalance that is having a gift, others though, do think she's strange and a bad omen.

Mirabel doesn't really have many friends at school but she never misses a day, she pushes through and forces herself to stay chipper even though it hurts.

Dolores is autistic.

Camilo is such a mama's boy, he and Pepa often go out together and have a 'girls night'.

ANGST ALERT:

Bruno has OCD intrusive thoughts (like me😳😳) and an eating disorder (like me. Dw, I'm recovered now tho). Because I love projecting -

Julieta stress eats and sometimes gets insecure.

Pepa has anxiety. Duh.

Camilo wonders if he is actually the way he looks or if he's just shifting subconsciously, he worries he might never truly know what he looks like if that's true and often feels like a fraud or a different person in his own skin, that's why (I think) after he lost his powers, the first thing he did was look at his hand, to see if it changed.

That's enough for one day-

[ace-no-isha]

ace relationship headcanons 💌

this is my modern au headcanon list of how i think ace would be in a relationship. it’s just something soft n sweet.

- ace would 100% make an instagram story of a blurry photo of you with that song that goes “bitches come and go bruh but you know i stay”

- he seems like the type that would pull up at 10pm and just be like “wanna go picnic 🧺?” and y’all just sit on the roof of your apartment and chat and eat good food. he’d lay in your lap and you’d run your fingers through his hair cus there’s nothing that he loves more than a full stomach and you.

- he sprays his cologne on his hoodies before he gives them to you. he keeps bottles of your shampoo and conditioner at his apartment. he writes little notes of things you like when y’all go shopping together. (he thinks you don’t notice but you don’t want to break his heart )

- he likes to brush your hair. he’s got long hair of his own and he knows how nice it can be when someone else does your hair for you.

- when his own hair is long enough, you convince him to put half of it up in a tiny ponytail. he thought it looked silly, but honestly, he’s too handsome for something like that to take away from his looks.

- he drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand in yours. he gets terrible road rage, but he’s a good driver besides that.

- sometimes you pick luffy up from school for ace. you grew on him instantly by taking him out for lunch at a barbecue spot (per ace’s suggestion). he grew on you, too. luffy’s sweet smile and tight hugs won you over instantly.

- ace just loves physical contact. he’ll lace your fingers together as you walk. he likes to sleep in the sweethearts cradle with your head on his chest and an arm wrapped around you. he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist while you’re cooking. he likes to seat you between his legs with your head under his chin when you watch movies together.

- he never misses a beat with silly questions. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” “i’d build you a little garden with the best veggie scraps for you to eat”

- he goes with you to your first tattoo appointment and lets you squeeze as hard as you need to. because of his giant back tat, he knows how much it can hurt.

- he likes to take you on surprise dates. you shared your schedule with him per his request and he’ll take you to the most fun places. a ferret cafe, a pop up art show, a concert of an artist neither of you have heard of, pottery making, hiking, or a restaurant you’d been meaning to try but never find the time to go. he is surprisingly good at being organized.

- he loves when you surprise him with things. ordering a pizza to his place, bringing pastries from a new bakery you think he’d like, a new shirt you think he’d look good in, and an aloe plant for his little cuts and scrapes. he loves having little reminders of you everywhere.

- he said i love you first and ends every call and goodbye with it.

- his kisses taste like mint gum and his lips are soft. he loves to kiss you on the top of your head, your shoulders and the crook of your neck.

- the pet name he calls you the most is babe/baby

[roxyfoxgamer150]

I've been meaning to ask what Scrappy!Mirabel's world is like and her relationship with the Scrappy!Madrigals? Also how is she able to got through portals like Oberserver ?

Scrappy Mirabel's world is similar to the canon one but her relationships with them are a bit closer. Sort of.

Julieta and Agùstin - The closest. Because Scrap has a reputation in her Encanto, she often meets with her mama and papa (Broken Nose (fight) = accident). Though they don't know her full reputation.

Pèpa and Fèlix - A bit more closer than the canon one. Scrap is similar to Fèlix, so he loves her- (IN A PLATONIC WAY, I SEE YOU INCEST SHIPPERS) -for calming down Pèpa with him. Pèpa loves her because she's caring. When people complain about the wheather, Scrap complains about ✨them✨. Pèpa and Fèlix love the townfolks reactions to her comebacks.

Isabela - Alma, honey, you can't stop Scrap's platonic love for her sister. Scrappy Mirabel is much more closer than Mirabel and Isabela before WECID. Scrap lets her sister be herself when around her, oh Isa wants to grow a new plant? Isa! I wanna see what a [PLANT] looks like, could you grow one? When someone complains Señorita Perfecta being imperfect, she full-on brings hell to them with her eldest sister

("OH YEAH? YOU'RE THE IMPERFECT ONE FOR NOT CLEANING YOUR ASSHOLE!" "MIRABEL!" "What? It's true! You can literally SEE IT-")

Luisa - Much more closer, when Scrap has a break her first thing to do is see Luisa and give her a drink, Luisa LIFTS you think she gets a break to drink in the movie? When someone calls Luisa, Scrap yells "She's on her break!" Everytime, it works like a charm.

Camilo - SHE GREW UP WITH HIM. OF COURSE SHE'S CLOSE TO HIM. Scrap hangs out with Camilo to play pranks with him.

Dolores - Scrap feels pity to Dolores for the fact that she can't turn her gift off. So she talks quietly when she's with Dolores, her cousin loves her for being quiet and rarely shouting near her. Scrap lets Dolores tell her all the stuff she has heard, turns out she has one secret trying to hide so the other secrets go to Scrappy Mirabel.

Antonio - He views her as a second mother. He called her "mami" infront of Pèpa which made so many rainbows while Mirabel tried to correct him lmao (it didn't work, she's stuck as "mami"). She loves him like a son instead of a cousin, when Mama Pèpa nor Papa Fèlix are around little Antonio, the first thing he does is go to his mami.

Alma - Woman. You are the cause of generational trauma, and Scrap does not like it. Scrappy Mirabel tries to bond with her abuela even when she's cold hearted towards her, she doesn't even give up she can see the softness in her abuela's eyes when she talks to her. She has the urge to throw a random Pedro to her own universe just to fix it.

"We are the Madrigals Mirabel, we don't show weakness." "We can show weakness our own family though" "...Good point"

Bruno - If she meets him post-movie. Then off you go Bruno! Say goodbye to your sanity! Mirabel will bring him so many food you'll have to go to Julieta yelling "MAKE YOUR DUAGHTER STOP PLEASE-"

How does she go through portals like Observer? Observer Mirabel drags Scrap with her when she can (Scrap hates it sometimes). The portals work when a Madrigal is the one using it. If the person is not a Madrigal then it's just going to let you see and spectate the AU and Timeline, but not go through it.

[aforrestofstuff]

Idk I just like the idea of Garou’s shed a lot. Here are some thoughts/headcanons for how I think he’d live if he had the shed a lot longer.

I know in canon Garou’s shed was pretty much barren and only had his couch and murderboard of heroes, which can likely be attributed to his life in the dojo since I read they’re pretty minimalist and inhabitants aren’t often granted much room, so naturally they can’t own a lot of things; but I think if he had a lot longer to call that place home he would eventually stack the entire thing up with random shit. Like, he’d be really good at finding things like old medical equipment—sanitize needles in jars of bleach all around the living room, hang newly washed bandages up from a clothesline, stack empty first aid kits on top of each other and use it as an accent table for his One Potted Plant, etc. I imagine since the heroes have a dispatch line, he could scrape together enough money for their equivalent to a police scanner. Just shit like that, you know? The place wouldn’t be pretty, but I really do think if he had the time, he’d develop a system and build a genuine home inside. He might even try to decorate, but he’s never done that before.

Now, here’s just some random shit I think he’d do, because even though he’s not necessarily a genius in many facets of life, he certainly is adaptable. He’ll figure it out.

Since his shed is like in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and he’s obviously not paying bills, he wouldn’t have water or electricity. I’d imagine he’d get the bright idea of stealing some from a place nearby with a 1500ft long extension cord just to watch the base no-cable channels on a DLCR TV he dug out of the trash.

He would have animals everywhere. Stray cats take care of the mice and most of the bugs, but the rats are kinda just running around like they own the place. He eventually stops trying to kill them because it’ll be too much effort to clean up, and he can’t afford traps, so he kinda just lives with the little infestation until he suddenly has one as a pet and it’s basically this meme:

While dumpster diving for lunch, he finds a cookbook built around recipes on how to prepare and eat bugs. He thinks, “Oh man, I have bugs!!” And brings it home. That night, there’s a centipede the size of his foot in the shower (that has been repurposed into a closet). He picks it up with his bare hands and throws it under a cup beneath a cinderblock. He tries to flip to the centipede section in the cookbook, but the bug suffocates and hardens before he can find it because he thinks the word centipede starts with an S.

Sometimes he pickpockets for money. Not often, because he can’t tell whether or not the people he’s stealing from are rich or poor half the time and he knows better than anybody how much poverty sucks, but when he does gather enough change to buy something worthwhile, he doesn’t buy food or water or even a space heater. He buys a backpack, so he can haul more shit to and fro the dumpster and his shed. Before that, he would just hold stuff over his shirt.

He’s intentionally over-feeding a wild boar whatever scraps of food he can manage just so he can eat ham in time for Christmas.

The shed is leaky, and it really sucks whenever it gets cold. He’d be sleeping under a pile of old blankets and mis-matched coats atop his couch and then just get woken up by ice-cold water dripping on his forehead. How many colds he’s gotten by hopping on the roof in the dead of night during the winter to make repairs, he cannot count.

He does find a VHS player for free at one point. Someone just left it on the side of the road, so he picked it up and took it home. People throw away tapes all the time, so he spends an entire afternoon sticking them in the player and seeing what’s on them. Most of them are just distasteful porn, which he repurposes the tape for as rope, but some are old movies and TV shows, which he keeps for when he’s too fevered to move and wants entertainment. Some are recordings of people’s weddings, birthday parties, proposals, etc. He also repurposes those. They kinda make him wanna throw up.

He finds an antiquarian sticker book in the trash one day. Coincidentally, the tape holding up the headshots of the heroes on his wall has started to peel off. Now, the whole thing kinda just looks like a tumblr collage.

He hasn’t found any silicone tape in a while, and the leaks start getting worse during the rainy season. Chewing gum becomes a temporary fix; it’s cheap, there’s a lot of it, and people throw away packs all the time. His jaw is always sore, but at least the shed smells like bubblegum.

[tribbetherium]

So I've been clearing out my old files and stumbled upon this old scrapped concept I had all the way back since 2017, a seed world project inspired when I first started reading Serina. It was just some random stuff I ended up doing just for fun but I was surprised at all the notes and sketches I'd made of it a long time back, and looking back four years later there may have been quite some really unrealistic evolutionary paths and a rather...pessimistic and kinda misanthropic outlook on sapient species repeatedly evolving and inevitably destroying themselves and the world around them.

But hey, thought it had some interesting ideas so without further ado: "Hamster's Paradise".

The timeline all begins on a suitable, habitable Earth-like planet, orbited by two moons and in a binary system with a yellow sun-like main star and a small orange dwarf that orbited further out and sometimes left nighttime as illuminated as nautical twilight. It was seeded with Earth organisms in preparation to human colonization and all the necessary organisms to maintain a sustainable, habitable biome, with various plants, fungi, decomposers, insect pollinators, marine algae, plankton and the like. However, there were no vertebrate life on the planet save for one test organism introduced to monitor the habitability of the biomes: the Chinese dwarf hamster, Cricetulus griseus.

But for one reason or another, humans never returned to the planet: whether they became extinct, abandoned the project, or managed to colonize another planet, it didn't matter: all that did was that this world was never visited or interfered upon again by human hands. And so, the planet was left to its unlikely colonists: they flourished for the first few million years, experiencing massive boom-and-busts in their population as they repeatedly bred out of control, starved en masse when food dwindled, and the few survivors left to repopulate in the next cycle. Eventually after about 10,000 years the hamsters and the ecosystem began to hit a sustainable equilibrium, and as niches gradually became established, the processes of evolution began to do its work.

The first major epoch of the planet's history would be the Rodentocene Era, where the hamsters, still small but diverse, would begin to diverge into numerous different forms as they came to adopt new lifestyles and occupy new niches. Among these would be running mara-like herbivores, gopher-like burrowers and shrew-like insectivores, while one lineage, evolving longer tails and limbs, would give rise to squirrel-like climbers and jerboa-like hoppers. The biggest creatures at this time would be cavybaras, capybara-sized plains grazers, but throughout the Rodentocene Era, lasting from 1-20 million years post-establishment, none of the rodents would grow particularly large, remaining in small-mammal niches that modern rodents, shrews and lagomorphs would occupy on Earth.

However a world occupied solely by small critters was not to last long, as 20 million years PE the first megafauna began to evolve, occupying bigger and bigger niches. By the 50 million year mark the next epoch, the Therocene Era, was in full swing: large rodents occupying big-mammal niches are widespread throughout all the continents at this point. The cavybaras soon give rise to the buffalo-sized mison and the omnivorous pig-sized bumbaa, the arboreal squirrel-like forms grow into lemur-sized squimians, and aquatic otter and beaver-like species also emerge. The jerboa-like hoppers give rise to the dominant plains grazers of this period: bipedal hoppers resembling macropods, such as the kangaroo-like boingo and its smaller wallaby-sized relative the oingo. Larger predatory forms have also evolved by this point, preying upon their distant relatives: the canid-like hamyena specializing on smaller prey, and the saber-toothed daggarat, which targets larger game such as the mison.

Meanwhile, a different sort of life flourishes in the oceans: in the absence of fish, small swimming krill-like crustaceans evolved into larger aquatic forms, eventually becoming the dominant aquatic lifeforms on the planet: the shrish. The shrish evolve into a diverse array of aquatic species, such as the schooling open-water shrardines, the centipede-like shreel that hunts in coral reefs like a moray, the venomous trilobite-like shringray, the predatory shrark, and a migrating freshwater species, the shralmon, which swims upstream to spawn.

The Therocene Era ends with an ice age that creates large areas of permafrost and tundra, bringing about the Glaciocene Era: 80 million years PE. New forms adapted to the cold develop in the northern continent: a relative of the mison, the rakatusk, grows to elephantine proportions and sprouts a shaggy coat to insulate against the freezing cold, with tusk-like extensions of its incisors serving to dig for food and defend itself from its main predator: the snabre, a lion-sized descendant of the daggarat that fused its upper incisors into a single stabbing blade. Another beast of the ice ages is the lumbering drundle, a nine-foot relative of the boingos and oingos that, having become too heavy to hop, became a plodding bipedal browser, adapting its spine and hips to support such a means of locomotion.

The climate would soon become milder 10 million years later and the icy tundras would shrink, but these cold-clime giants would persist throughout the Glaciocene, and some would later move down to the temperate regions and evolve into new forms. Most notably were descendants of the drundle that would become smaller and nimbler but retain their ancestor's bipedal walking: balanced by horizontal tails and with shorter forelimbs for grasping food, they became the hamstheropods, producing running plains grazers, alpaca-like mountain climbers, and one group of carnivorous predators, the ratptors. The ratptors, however, would be relegated to scavenger and mesopredator status, as the top carnivore niches were filled by the descendants of the hamyena: the carnohams, which sported Thylacoleo-like dentition, with conical stabbing incisors and meat-shearing first molars, and subdivided into two clades, the pack-hunting dog-like gringoes and the stocky, short-legged, strong-jawed bajas.

Other, smaller clades would become widespread in this era. Small, flying ratbats are abundant in the skies, feeding on insects and fruit, the aquatic otter-like species move out to sea and become shrish-eating seal-like phockas, and some of the burrowing gopher-like species become fully subterranean diggers known as horlocks, adapting to the low-oxygen environments underground by having slow metabolisms that lead to them becoming effectively cold-blooded, losing their pelage and converging with naked mole rats.

And then, at the end of the Glaciocene, 95 million years after life was first seeded onto the planet, an intelligent species evolves- a species that may very well represent the worst of the worst that sapience had to offer: the harmsters. Descended from pack-hunting ratptors, they were adaptable fast learners and eventually learned how to fell their prey with tools and weapons. The harshly-competitive environment selected for the smartest, most cunning and fiercest of the lot, and soon the harmsters attained self-awareness and soon began to construct a civilization: a civilization centered on war and violence.

As predators selected for both intelligence and ferocity, the harmsters were mentally geared to be incredibly vicious and cruel, displaying a penchant for genocide, bloodsport and even cannibalism, being promiscous breeders that eagerly feasted upon the weakest of their surplus young in bloody rituals. Though they were able to cooperate with each other to some degree, which aided in their construction of a civilization, their culture revolved around a sense of social darwinism, where the strongest were to rule and the weak were killed and devoured. Their violent ways spurred the rise and fall of numerous kingdoms during their brief reign: they engaged in massive wars between kingdoms with casualties numbering in the millions, breeding at rates expected of rodents and thus churning out legions of expendable troops that aided them in invading each other's territories and plundering their enemies' resources. Some of the kingdoms of the northern continent began enslaving rakatusks and comandeering them as weapons of war, living siege engines that trampled the opponents palaces with ease. This strategy would eventually lead to the rakatusk's extinction, as their already-dwindling populations were dragged into battle where they were felled without mercy.

Such a violent, merciless and brutal species was surely not long to last in this world, as they plundered and slaughtered their way across the northern continent driving many species to extinction in their wake, as the harmsters hunted them for food and sport with as much reckless abandon as they did butchering their own kind. Eventually the harmsters would briefly reach an industrial level of technology-- and unsurprisingly, use their newfound technology to create weapons of mass destruction that they turn against their own species. Too bloodthirsty and barbaric for their own long-term good, the harmsters would eventually bring about their own eradication, a mere 13,000 years ever since the first of them discovered the use of tools and began their bloody empires.

The brief rise and fall of an intelligent species ultimately was inconsequential to the grander scheme of life, and it was not long before geological processes swept away all traces of the harmsters' civilization, to be forgotten in the sands of time. In their absence, life simply began anew, in the Temperocene Era: 100 million years PE, a time of mild climates and new diversity that rebounded in the wake of the extinctions brought by the harmsters. The arboreal squimians diversified into monkey-like frugivores and gliding insectivores, while in the seas the phockas, nearly hunted to extinction by the harmsters, rebounded and became fully-aquatic hwhels, some which evolved multi-crowned teeth for catching small swimming prey, and others developing sieving bristles from modified whiskers to filter out zooplankton and krill from the water. On land, the hamstheropods reclaim the lands once ravaged by the wars of the harmsters, their own kin, and become ornithomimosaur-like runners of the savannah, with one group, the nenks, becoming twelve-foot long-necked browsers.

It was also during this warm and humid clime that one of the strangest lineages of the planet would arise. Descended from the burrowing horlocks, some of these unusual new species returned to the surface to exploit vacant niches, regaining their keen eyesight as they came to live above ground once again. The bristly remnants of their fur coats, no longer needed for insulation, would later evolve into overlapping pangolin-like scales to help protect their exposed hairless skins, and their decreased metabolisms, coupled with a long, fat-storing tail, helped them thrive as ambush hunters of insects in warm climates that needed far less food to survive than a typical rodent, using up less energy. With tough scaly skins, a nearly-cold-blooded metabolism, and sprawling limbs as a remnant of their burrowing ancestry, they became the ratptiles: a diverse clade of superficially lizard-like rodents that eventually diverge into long-bodied, flexible short-legged carnivores known as snerpents, herbivorous slow-moving species called biguanas, and even a clade of hopping stocky-bodied insectivorous toadents, which converged heavily on Earthly frogs save for their independence from water when breeding. Like all mammals, ratptiles gave birth to live young: however, they birthed up to thirty tiny but well-developed infants per litter, which were immediately independent from birth and needed no further parental care, simply being born in numbers great enough to ensure at least some would survive by sheer chance.

(Part 2 to be continued...)

[madamemozart]

Inventory Meme (feat. my DnD characters)

I saw this meme floating around, so I thought, why not, I’ll do it for each of my characters in their Dungeons and Dragons alternate universe!

~~~

➳ rose ‧ naiad ‧ bard 

always | sometimes

➳ BAG

backpack | messenger bag | pockets | satchel | wristlet | purse | duffle bag | briefcase | pouch | drawstring bag | fanny pack **her purse is mainly used for money (coins) whereas her drawstring bag is mainly used for storing items she collects while out and about (harvests, treasures, etc.). 

➳ WEAPONS

sword | dagger | axe | mace | warhammer | staff | spear | throwing knives | darts | shortbow | longbow | crossbow | arrows | bolts | enchanted weapon | poison **do instruments count as enchanted weapons? i mean, she’s a *bard*, after all... (mainly a lute, ocarina, or lyre/zither). **she additionally likes to combine poisons with darts to create effective tranquilizers.

➳ APPAREL

light armor | medium armor | heavy armor | underclothes for armor | enchanted armor | mage’s robes | uniform | casual clothes | formal clothes | cloak | scarf | hat | helmet | gauntlets | bracers | gloves | shoes | boots | hood | mask | belt | coat | jacket | necklace | bracelet | ring | watch | flower crown | undergarments

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC

health potion | mana potion | stamina potion | attribute potion | alchemy equipment | herbs | chemicals | ingredients | bandages | burn cream | antidote | moisturizer | medication | scrolls | crystals | enchanting equipment

➳ STEALTH

lockpicks | probes | trap-making tools | trap-disarming tools | disguise kit | forgery equipment **she’s definitely not the stealthiest bard out there (i don’t think her class is meant to be stealthy anyway?), but she’s pretty agile/intuitive and knows the best places to make herself appear out of sight. she does keep a good amount of ropes and other supplies to set traps to lure people into, though.

➳ TOOLS

pen | ink | pencil | parchment | paper | compass | ruler | saw | hammer | nails | shovel | pliers | needle | thread | utility knife | art supplies | fabric scraps | kindling | magnifying glass | fishing rod

➳ PROVISIONS

rations for themselves | rations for others | fork | knife | spoon | serving utensils | pot/pan | water | alcoholic beverage | nonalcoholic beverage | pet food | drug(s) | sweets | coffee | tea **nonalcoholic beverages for her would mostly be juices and milk.

➳ PERSONAL

small amount of money | large amount of money | map | soap | comb | brush | cosmetics | hair ties | hair product | journal | razor | nail clipper | religious paraphernalia | tent | sleeping bag | blanket | pillow | sentimental item | comfort object | musical instrument(s) | toys | eyewear | identification | important document(s) | torch | book(s) | plant

~~~

➳ elisabeth ‧ nymph ‧ druid 

always | sometimes **depending on the time of day, she’ll occasionally forget to bring her important things along on adventures.

➳ BAG

backpack | messenger bag | pockets | satchel | wristlet | purse | duffle bag | briefcase | pouch | drawstring bag | fanny pack **she hoards animal treats in her pouch.

➳ WEAPONS

sword | dagger | axe | mace | warhammer | staff | spear | throwing knives | darts | shortbow | longbow | crossbow | arrows | bolts | enchanted weapon | poison **as much as she hates using weapons, she knows she has to at least have something to defend herself. she’s super determined never to use them to hurt any animal of any kind.

➳ APPAREL

light armor | medium armor | heavy armor | underclothes for armor | enchanted armor | mage’s robes | uniform | casual clothes | formal clothes | cloak | scarf | hat | helmet | gauntlets | bracers | gloves | shoes | boots | hood | mask | belt | coat | jacket | necklace | bracelet | ring | watch | flower crown | undergarments

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC

health potion | mana potion | stamina potion | attribute potion | alchemy equipment | herbs | chemicals | ingredients | bandages | burn cream | antidote | moisturizer | medication | scrolls | crystals | enchanting equipment

➳ STEALTH

lockpicks | probes | trap-making tools | trap-disarming tools | disguise kit | forgery equipment **again, she really hates to use traps on animals, but if it’s necessary, she’s prepared with disarming tools.

➳ TOOLS

pen | ink | pencil | parchment | paper | compass | ruler | saw | hammer | nails | shovel | pliers | needle | thread | utility knife | art supplies | fabric scraps | kindling | magnifying glass | fishing rod **she’s inherited her father’s love of art and sometimes likes to doodle when she’s that bored.

➳ PROVISIONS

rations for themselves | rations for others | fork | knife | spoon | serving utensils | pot/pan | water | alcoholic beverage | nonalcoholic beverage | pet food | drug(s) | sweets | coffee | tea **like her mother, nonalcoholic beverages for her would mostly be juices and milk.

➳ PERSONAL

small amount of money | large amount of money | map | soap | comb | brush | cosmetics | hair ties | hair product | journal | razor | nail clipper | religious paraphernalia | tent | sleeping bag | blanket | pillow | sentimental item | comfort object | musical instrument(s) | toys | eyewear | identification | important document(s) | torch | book(s) | plant **her main comfort object is a stuffed cat toy she’s had since she was a baby.

~~~

➳ cal ‧ half-elf ‧ monk 

always | sometimes

➳ BAG

backpack | messenger bag | pockets | satchel | wristlet | purse | duffle bag | briefcase | pouch | drawstring bag | fanny pack

➳ WEAPONS

sword | dagger | axe | mace | warhammer | staff | spear | throwing knives | darts | shortbow | longbow | crossbow | arrows | bolts | enchanted weapon | poison

➳ APPAREL

light armor | medium armor | heavy armor | underclothes for armor | enchanted armor | mage’s robes | uniform | casual clothes | formal clothes | cloak | scarf | hat | helmet | gauntlets | bracers | gloves | shoes | boots | hood | mask | belt | coat | jacket | necklace | bracelet | ring | watch | flower crown | undergarments

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC

health potion | mana potion | stamina potion | attribute potion | alchemy equipment | herbs | chemicals | ingredients | bandages | burn cream | antidote | moisturizer | medication | scrolls | crystals | enchanting equipment **he hoards all the potions and supplements he can get his hands on just so he can be *that* much stronger.

➳ STEALTH

lockpicks | probes | trap-making tools | trap-disarming tools | disguise kit | forgery equipment **being a cunning and manipulative individual, he believes he knows all the tricks in the book (even “less proper means”, as he’d say) to get what he wants.

➳ TOOLS

pen | ink | pencil | parchment | paper | compass | ruler | saw | hammer | nails | shovel | pliers | needle | thread | utility knife | art supplies | fabric scraps | kindling | magnifying glass | fishing rod

➳ PROVISIONS

rations for themselves | rations for others | fork | knife | spoon | serving utensils | pot/pan | water | alcoholic beverage | nonalcoholic beverage | pet food | drug(s) | sweets | coffee | tea

➳ PERSONAL

small amount of money | large amount of money | map | soap | comb | brush | cosmetics | hair ties | hair product | journal | razor | nail clipper | religious paraphernalia | tent | sleeping bag | blanket | pillow | sentimental item | comfort object | musical instrument(s) | toys | eyewear | identification | important document(s) | torch | book(s) | plant **that sentimental item is in fact a lock of rose’s hair. he’s somewhat obsessed with taking his revenge on her for denying his hand in marriage. it doesn’t help that he doesn’t have the *greatest* character.

~~~

➳ kira ‧ moon elf ‧ cleric 

always | sometimes

➳ BAG

backpack | messenger bag | pockets | satchel | wristlet | purse | duffle bag | briefcase | pouch | drawstring bag | fanny pack

➳ WEAPONS

sword | dagger | axe | mace | warhammer | staff | spear | throwing knives | darts | shortbow | longbow | crossbow | arrows | bolts | enchanted weapon | poison

➳ APPAREL

light armor | medium armor | heavy armor | underclothes for armor | enchanted armor | mage’s robes | uniform | casual clothes | formal clothes | cloak | scarf | hat | helmet | gauntlets | bracers | gloves | shoes | boots | hood | mask | belt | coat | jacket | necklace | bracelet | ring | watch | flower crown | undergarments

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC

health potion | mana potion | stamina potion | attribute potion | alchemy equipment | herbs | chemicals | ingredients | bandages | burn cream | antidote | moisturizer | medication | scrolls | crystals | enchanting equipment

➳ STEALTH

lockpicks | probes | trap-making tools | trap-disarming tools | disguise kit | forgery equipment **not stealthy in the slightest; it will always be obvious she’s present, even if it’s in the background.

➳ TOOLS

pen | ink | pencil | parchment | paper | compass | ruler | saw | hammer | nails | shovel | pliers | needle | thread | utility knife | art supplies | fabric scraps | kindling | magnifying glass | fishing rod

➳ PROVISIONS

rations for themselves | rations for others | fork | knife | spoon | serving utensils | pot/pan | water | alcoholic beverage | nonalcoholic beverage | pet food | drug(s) | sweets | coffee | tea

➳ PERSONAL

small amount of money | large amount of money | map | soap | comb | brush | cosmetics | hair ties | hair product | journal | razor | nail clipper | religious paraphernalia | tent | sleeping bag | blanket | pillow | sentimental item | comfort object | musical instrument(s) | toys | eyewear | identification | important document(s) | torch | book(s) | plant **that sentimental item is likely something from her place of birth (i’m not exactly sure what it should be yet). she claims it’s the only remnant of her ‘home’ that has been long destroyed.

[novasintheroom]

Hey its ray-jaykub! I saw that you did requests and i was wondering if i could get head-cannons on the turtles and what they like to do with their respective s/os

OMG I love you!!! Okay I gotta calm down hooo

Leo

·         Love love loves to carry you over rooftops and sit on high points to look over the city with you. This is one of his ways to calm down and think about things without his brothers’ around to stress him out, and having you there some nights, looking at the glitter of the lights – poetry for his heart

·         Speaking of poetry – you guys will have contests for who can make the worst poems. Just something to pass off to each other between visits, something you find in your bag or in his bed sheets. Cheesy, unrhythmic, stupid, whatever. You guys have cried laughing before b/c of this. However, every once in a while he’ll slap you with a real intimate and loving poem that just makes you melt.

·         You’ve started trying to sneak up on him. It doesn’t work. He still lets you do it, just so he can turn around and grab you at the last second. Sometimes he throws you on the nearest soft surface, sometimes he gives you a big kiss, sometimes he just starts carrying you around like a sack of potatoes – depends on his mood honestly. Your determination to spook him is cute.

·         Watching or listening to True Crime stuff becomes a quick couple’s hobby for you guys. Usually it’s playing in the background as you each do chores or work on some project, but you’ll each talk about the case throughout. You’ve hit him more than once for giving away what happened or who killed who. He’s too good at figuring this kind of stuff out!

·         He loves when you sit with him when he meditates. Even if you aren’t the meditating type, if you just sit quietly by him or read, he already feels much calmer. If he’s practicing balancing moves, he’ll sometimes grab you to hoist you up in the air, “to practice strength” at the same time. You’ve learned it’s a very bad idea to squirm when he’s got you planking above his head; he will start tickling you if you don’t keep still.

Raph

·         Once he gets a good enough disguise, he loves to ride around on his newly built motorcycle with you on the city streets. It’s fun to zip through cars and people and drive out to the sparser points of the city to watch ships come in and out of the bay or go to a park outside the city to watch the lights as they all turn on at dusk.

·         Loooovvess having movie nights with you. Seriously asks for it every week. You two get comfy on the couch with like 3 blankets thrown over your laps and watch something like Jurassic Park or Mad Max and gorge on buttery popcorn and chocolate. Sometimes you’ll slip in a chick flick like Pride and Prejudice. He acts like he doesn’t like it, but you’ve caught a goofy, happy smile on him more than once at the end of the movie, and then he starts lifting your hand like Mr. Darcy and adopting more “romantic” actions and it’s just *chef’s kiss*

·         You guys will spar together. It’s kinda required once you date him; he wants you to be able to kick butt if he can’t get to you fast enough. But these sessions usually end up with you and him wrestling/tickling each other and him holding you down with a foot while he lifts weights. Get comfy princess, he ain’t moving that foot ‘til he get 100 reps.

·         He has a really good eye for fashion and makeup. He’s actually the one that sews together all of his family’s clothes, as much as possible with the scraps they find around. It’s calming to make something instead of the stigma he has of destroying stuff. He’s the first person you SnapChat with an outfit just to make sure it looks good, and he sends back honest feedback, like “why do you still have that scarf, you know it doesn’t match anything in your closet,” or “try the red sweater with that long gold necklace you have.” Everyone compliments your outfits so much because of his input

·         Likes to go swimming with you. There’s a few clear, clean pools in the sewers (Donnie approved) where you guys go just to have a good swim. There’s usually some candles lit and music playing. More often than not, you’ll end up laying on his chest while he floats on the surface and just enjoy each other’s company. At least until he gets the idea to dunk you.

Donnie

·         Sneaking into the rafters of Broadway is a regular event for you guys. He manages to disable any security they have up around your “spot,” and you get a free show with your favorite person. He’ll be quoting his favorite lines for days after, all the while talking about the next show to see. He’d so be a theater kid if he had the chance.

·         One of the main things that got you guys together in the first place was you helping him put together tech he’s working on. It still continues now, since you have a steady hand and a willing ear to listen to his theories and ideas. You’ve even inspired him a few times with your comments! It’s a casual bonding activity for you both, and he values your thoughts.

·         Spontaneous dances are a must. Sometimes he’ll grab you and dance around the room – especially if an experiment of his goes well – sometimes it’ll be goofy dances to see how badly you two can embarrass anyone looking, and other times, you guys will just slow dance before you leave, just as a way to be close before having to part.

·         You guys form your own little potted plant collection in the lair. It’s both a hobby, and a way for you to check on how he’s doing. If he’s doing well, the plants are watered and taken care of. If he’s getting sucked into things and forgetting to care for himself, the plants suffer. He tries to get an auto-watering system for them, but you shut that down quick. It’s good to do some things yourself rather than rely on technology!

·         Cupcake Saturdays are a thing. He’ll take you to a bakery, where you’ll go in and get a box of cupcakes (extra frosting). You guys will then just chow down on them on the rooftop, often with him licking a lot of the frosting off the cupcakes before eating the actual “cake” part.

Mikey

·         Such a fan of trying every new restaurant you can find in NYC. It’s become a date-night tradition every Thursday to either order or pick up some hole-in-the-wall place’s food, meet up somewhere, and Gordon Ramsay the crap out of the food. He does a mean Ramsay impression, and you’ve snorted more than one ramen noodle out of your nose from laughing so hard.

·         If you aren’t a fan of video games, you will be once you date this guy. It’s not even just watching or playing video games with him, he’s just funny when he plays! He’ll make the most stupid comments about something going on in the storyline, or mess around, even glitch out a game. He’s managed to get out of the maps of Among Us more than once. You’re convinced if he started his own YouTube gaming channel, he’d be a quick star.

·         Game nights are a must for you guys. It usually turns into a family game night with you, the turtles, Splinter, April and Casey, which Mikey just adores because he gets to see everyone he loves having fun. You two will usually team up against the others, or turn on each other to stab the other in the back. Uno and Cover Your Assets have made you guys question your loyalty to each other more than once. That Uno Reverse card, man…

·         Arts and crafts are his favorite. Anytime a holiday is coming up, Mikey gets hyped ‘cause he knows you guys are gonna start making decorations for it. You guys will usually make decorations for each other. Mikey loves this, just because he feels like a normal person by having actual Halloween decorations around the lair instead of stuff he and his bros scraped together off the streets.

·         Loves to stargaze with you in the summer time. He’ll convince Donnie to let him drive the truck out of the city to the countryside of New York, bring you with him, and set up on the roof of the truck in the middle of a field (that he totally didn’t crash through a wood fence to get to). Fireflies will fly over your faces, and he’ll joke that they’re shooting stars and make a thousand and one wishes on each of them. He won’t tell you that all of those wishes are for you and him to be together forever, but it’s not hard to guess with how mushy he gets after each one.

[meowdymista]

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”