#the things i do to serve the brainworms

[witchinatree]

i never really do stuff like this, i used to do video editing in middle school but idk. idk I'M EMBARASSEDDD LMAOOO just take this and shut up

"jonathan sims; another mystery"

i got really inspired by the amount of angst potential from the word "who?" and idk this showed up (i'm lying i've been doing this for over 6 hours)

it was originally gonna be like tma vs tmagp but then the jon sims brainworms took over and now it's sad shit about my wife

i am trying to be more than just a yapper so i might do something like this again, depends on if i get motivated again

so yeah, podcast is the magnus archives/protocol, the song is voyager by boygenius, and i used capcut to do this!!

ummm if it's like.. bad.. don't tell me that 😔 i haven't ever done audio editing and it's been over 3 years since i did regular editing so AGGHRHHHJFHAHHD

edited because i posted this at 1 am and forgot half of the stuff i was gonna say

[sh1-n0bu]

so,,,, despite being a monsterfucker for a while, i never really got the love for yautjas. until i was forced to watch killer of killers due to the rampage going on my feed and uhhhhh im pretty sure there are at least a handful of monsterfuckers out there who wants to top/dom a yautja like myself. also this isnt much of a fic. its just a sudden little thought i had after going thru the rule 34s tag of yautjas. no yautja in particular, take it as you will, imagine whoever you like. i dont know anything about yautjas or how this all works. im just horny and freeballing it. feel free to correct me

so… yautjas huh? what an alien species and mind you, this is my first impression of these guys. despite the majority of the killer or killers tags thirsting over the warlord — as we all should — i found myself liking the viking predator a lot. the goons are cute too. the three predators of the movie parts even have names too. jotun, oni and baron in the order they appear. of course, the guy in the pic above, the last one everyone is thirsting over, is warlord predator, also called ‘Grendel King’ by one of the characters

anyways, enough geeking over the yautjas of the movie, time to move on to my actual brainworms

yautjas are alien species and just as they are humanoid, some parts of them are indeed humanoid. and some parts, not so much. i have seen a decent amount of yautja smuts on the yautja tag — haven’t read them yet bc i prefer to be the one to fuck rather than get fucked — but one headcanon answer had me thinking multiple things

yautjas — male, female doesn’t matter — have two dicks and a vagina as well as an asshole. bigenital, if you will. every yautja can therefore sire their young, but the female yautjas tend to sire them and grow them in their bellies due to their stomach having more padded muscles, serving as a protective meat shield for the babies. the male yautjas carry them as well, but it’s more common to see the females carry them

i can’t find the author but one author here on tumblr had given their thought that yautjas never knew about blowjobs and lemme add to that — fingering as well. look at their mouths and hands, full of claws, fangs, mandibles and shit. truly a creature meant for hunting and killing rather than feeling fleshly pleasure. yautjas don’t really care about it either, they’re more of an animal mating ritual type of pleasure seekers. find a yautja who shakes your fancy, court them, knot them full and have a few strong, next generation of young’ins. simple and straight to the point like an animal mating ritual. no need for foreplay, fighting and wrestling to see who will knot who is a foreplay enough for their species

blowjobs? never, unless one is trying to bite off the dick of the other one. their mandibles stretch and open, sure. but they will never stretch big enough to take the other’s dick into their mouths. even if they do manage to painfully keep their mandibles open at all times, their fangs and canine sharp teeth will lead to bleeding and injuries soon enough. so even if their two dicks are weeping at the tip, untouched, and their pussy is glistening wet, the easiest way to just get it done with is to fuck their cocks into the other’s folds. it’ll be full of yowls, cracks, chirps and even growls because i personally like to think that the yautjas have a ribbed dick with a spliced tip. not that their tips could open up like their mandibles, but it definitely gives odd sensations. add the constant bumping and ribbing feeling of the scales and folds of their cock and the mating session between yautjas are usually always loud

so what happens when a ‘ooman is thrown into the mix? a great fighter, a blooded one who has been marked by one of their kin (like lex in avp), a recurring champion from the gladiatorial combat? yautjas are impressed, respectful and some are even vying after your attention on the few occasions you’re allowed awake from the cryo sleep and wandering around the strange, deserted, hot world of theirs. their kin usually has a bias against ’oomans due to their race being resourceful and cunning. they’re just as smart as the yautjas, if not, even more. able to use whatever is around them for survival and able to keep going even after multiple injuries (bc adrenaline). they’re an annoying species and yautjas tend to stay away. a little bit less with you, though. they want to be in the presence of the undefeated champion of the gladiatorial combat, size you up and see if you are truly worth the heavy title you bear upon your meager ‘ooman shoulders

maybe one thing would lead to another or one had gotten interested in your strengths in the bedroom as well and that leads to a yautja receiving their first head and fingering. the moment you drop them to the ground and settle between their legs, the yautja is tempted to wrestle. it is a foreplay between their kin after all. but no, he was dealing with a ‘ooman right now and as excited he was about getting to the fucking, he was also curious. how do ‘oomans show affection? how do they mate? how do they carry their young? so many questions, so little time

they would stay down and obedient, an occasional curious thrills and crackles leaving their throat as their mandibles click and clack softly. mutually curious as well, you finally manage to take off their intricate and annoying loincloth like thing, dropping it to the ground. and the hum that escapes you is equally returned by the yautja as they watch, the soft clicking of their ever moving mandibles filling the silent room. a slit like opening. two of them, even, with what you assume is an asshole underneath them. rubbing the back of your finger’s knuckle over the one on top, you hear the slight rumble from their chest like a purr, taking it as a good sign

the slit on top is bigger than the one underneath. they’re much more harder and covered with protective shells and scales as well, rather then the second one underneath that seems more softer and gummy like a vagina. messing with the scaled one, you watch with an ever growing interest as the slit opens more and more before a cockhead is pushed out, followed by a second cockhead which was a little bit smaller. so, the yautjas have both anatomies huh? like certain animals and how their two cocks are kept inside a protective slit like some reptiles and lizards’

it’s bumpy, it’s ribbed, it even has little round shaped ribs on its sides too. such curious beings, how alike they could be to your kin but also so different. of course, there was much needed poking, prodding and an eager snooping around. two large uniquely shaped cocks and a vaginal opening as well as an asshole. interesting

hearing the impatient hisses of the yautja, you merely grumble under your breath, hissing back at him with annoyance upon being cut short of your little experiment. what do yautjas even do for pleasure anyways? do they fuck like humans do? must be it, right? at least they had the anatomy for it

the moment you get down on them, head between their strong, tight thighs and restless shifting body, a sound like a warning growl was heard before it was swiftly replaced by some soft noises like the purring of a cat. yautjas don’t know what blowjobs and fingering meant after all, their bodies prevented from such types of pleasure. so when your soft, small ‘ooman mouth took in the head of the bigger cock, the warmth around it felt like the yautja was melting in the fiery chasms of the many volcanoes of the yautja prime. it was soft, it was hot and it felt good. way too good to the point the creature was growling, groaning and even letting out odd hitched noises that you guessed was the closest to a moan

and when you put their entire dick into your mouth — with much anticipated gagging, choking and the constant wild bucks into your open mouth — deep throating the bigger cock while gently stroking their smaller cock using the slimy substance the tip oozed, the yautja has basically experienced heaven. the urge to just let go of ‘honor’ and ‘instincts’ and knot inside your warm, tight throat was strong. a deep, gurgly sound escaping them as their mandibles shook all over, unknowing of what to do when your free hand slipped further down and pushing your finger into their softer slit

if you thought the yautja was loud before, they were even louder now. constant, short little noises leaving them, rattling their huge body and even causing you to shake alongside as well. strong legs kicking and clawed hands tearing off the poor floor into shreds. it was a good feeling, the very best, even more than having a clan leader recognize them or hunting down the most honorable prey. ‘oomans’ hands and mouth felt good, they were amazing at fleshly pleasures and had the yautja acted on their interest in you a little bit earlier, they would have. they honestly should have because whatever you were doing to his poor life time long neglected dicks and gushing pussy were making the yautja feel odd. so so very odd. a tight coiling in their stomach, and they for a moment, thought you infected them with something

and then, the tight coils of his stomach is gone within a moment. a loud roar leaving the beast as their body went rigid like a spring, dreadlocks slipping into the floor in a heap as their legs even gave a little tremble. the tip lodged inside your throat twitched and shook, a thick substance filling up your mouth before you could pull it off, causing you to hack and cough out the strange liquid. it didn’t take long until their smaller dick was following along, spilling a smaller load into your jaws and chest, second slit tightening around your fingers as a soft, more thinner liquid like the one from his bigger cock coat your palm. all because your little ‘ooman fingers delved inside their cunt a bit further and seemed to have found a soft spot, loud roars and short breathy growls being switched to little cat like yowls. so, they were just as sensitive as humans, huh?

safe to say, the rumor of ‘oomans being extremely amazing at fleshly pleasures spread across yautja prime swiftly and before you know it, more and more yautjas are interested in a little endurance test with their longest reigning champion

[bloodsuckingfiends]

Take Care of You

Summary: Tav's selflessness does not go unnoticed by Astarion, but so doesn't the way her selflessness is at the expense of her own well-being. He decides to take it into his own hands to take care of her... in more ways than one.

Pairing: Astarion x fem! Tav (reader)

Warnings: Tav overworks herself and neglects her own needs/selfcare, smut, fingering (Tav is AFAB), feminine pet names used, praise kink, I think that's it!

Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: I have brainworms again and need to get this out sooooo enjoy?

Oftentimes, Astarion found that Tav tended to the needs of others, but very rarely to any needs of her own. He had witnessed Tav spend the last 3 days taking care of everyone, including himself in various ways that had her now looking, and surely feeling, absolutely exhausted. As he stood outside his tent, eyes scanning the camp setup before him, his gaze zeroed in on his Tav who was currently starting the fire, and helping to set up Gale’s various cooking tools and ingredients. A soft smile tugged at his lips just at the mere sight of her, before turning to a frown. As it was, Gale was away from camp, surely bathing off the day’s blood and grime along with their other companions, as Tav readied everything for their return. Her hair was crusted with blood, as was her armor, and her cheeks were streaked with dirt. Her eyes ringed with purple, tell tale signs of her exhaustion.

With a sigh, Astarion makes his way across camp, coming to stand beside Tav,

“Darling, I must say, you do look absolutely ravishing in red, but don’t you think it’s a good idea to get cleaned up?” She looks up at him with doe eyes, hands not stilling in their endeavor to help.

“Oh I don’t mind waiting. The others won’t be long, and besides, I just want to help set up for Gale. He’s always so kind as to make dinner for everyone, so this is me paying him back.”

Astarion manages to internalize his eye roll, and hold his tongue from pointing out that Tav has saved the wizard plenty of times in battle to make up for the meager stew that’s served nearly daily.

He places a hand on her shoulder, before pulling back and dusting the dried blood off his hand, “I just worry that you haven’t been taking care of yourself, is all.” a clear of his throat does well to cover the awkwardness he feels at saying such a vulnerable thing to her. 

“I’m alright Star, no need to worry.” She gives him a glance and a little smile.

“I don’t mean to be blunt darling, but you look positively dreadful and like you could use a nap. Please, let me take care of you.” Astarion huffs, frustrated at her stubbornness. Tav straightens up and turns, her eyes meeting his almost pleading ones, “Okay, I’ll let you take care of me.” Her voice comes out a quiet murmur. There was no denying him when he gave her that look.

The others arrive back to camp not long after Astarion gathers fresh clothes, a comb, and toiletries for Tav. He leads her to a secluded spot along the shore of a small lake they are camped by, before unbuckling and removing her heavy armor and underclothes, leaning forwards to press a kiss to her forehead as he does so. He strips himself of his own clothes, regardless of having bathed earlier that evening, taking Tav’s hand in his own and bringing her to the water. Astarion gets to work, lathering the soap between his hands, and gently scrubbing the filth from Tav’s body and face, a shiver running through her at his touch. He has her fully dip underwater, then begins to work the soap through the blood drenched strands of her hair, massaging at her scalp with his fingertips. Tav lets a moan slip past her lips.

“Does that feel good darling?” Astarion chuckles as he brings the soap down to the ends of her hair.

She mumbles an affirmative, her eyes flutter shut. 

“Alright, there we go. Just rinse this out for me, will you, love?” 

Tav dips back below the surface, thoroughly rinsing out her locks. When she resurfaces, Astarion can’t help but bite his lip at the sight. The water rolling down her neck, over her breasts as she pushes her hair away from her face. She looks like a painting, he thinks. 

The two dry off, and Tav dresses in the clothes that Astarion had brought along for her; a pair of loose trousers, and one of his ruffled night shirts she so loved to steal. Once in Astarion’s tent, the vampire sits, patting the space between his legs and motioning for Tav to take a seat. She obeys, and sits while he starts to comb her hair.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” he hums, fingers beginning to plait her hair.

“I’m okay. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I am.” Tav yawns, her hands mindlessly playing with a loose thread on his trousers.

“Tav, you really must take care of yourself. You put everyone, including myself, before you. It’s really no wonder you’re so exhausted.” he ties off the braid with a piece of leather. His arms come around to wrap over Tav’s chest, holding her against his own and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I just want to help everyone, and I guess I lose myself in the process.” a chill runs through her at the feel of his lips on her sensitive skin. 

“Darling, do you think you could try to lose yourself in me, just for a moment, hm?” his tongue flicks against the edge of  her jaw. 

She gasps in a breath, and stutters, “ye-yes, I think I could do that.” 

“Let me take care of you.” One hand whispers across her chest, lightly cupping one breast in it’s hold, before trailing down her stomach, and dancing along the waist of her trousers, “Let’’s take these off.”

Tav shimmies her pants over her hips and down her legs, toeing them off to the side. Astarion runs his hands down her naked thighs, hooking beneath them to lift them and rest them over the tops of his, successfully spreading her open for him. Her breath catches in her chest, the cool air hitting her already sensitive cunt.

“My my, look at you. You’re already positively dripping.” He dips his fingers below and runs his middle finger through her wet, swollen slit, opposite hand running up her ribcage, grasping at her breasts and teasing at her nipples. He toys at her entrance, teasing the tips of his fingers in  her before pushing slowly inside. Tav moans, her chest heaving slightly at the intrusion. 

“That’s it, such a good girl taking my fingers like this.” Astarion coos in her ear, nose pressed to her cheek. He begins to pump his digits in and out, crooking them just enough to rub at that spot that makes her mewl. 

“Just feel how good I’m making you feel, my love.” The pace of his fingers picks up, and his other hand pinches at one of her nipples. 

“St-Star, I’m close.” her head falls back against his shoulder, throat exposed for his mouth’s taking. Thighs shake against his as she nears her end. He sucks and licks at the flesh of her throat, fingers continuing their pace. The hand playing with her breasts, makes its way down to circle her swollen clit. Tav whines at the contact, hands grip at his forearms, grounding her to the moment. 

“That’s it, pet. Come for me. Come around my fingers, I want to feel it.” 

Her cunt spasms around him, thighs quaking and hips lifting to meet his movements. Moans fly past her lips, as she rides out her orgasm. Astarion slows his fingers as she comes down from her high, ��Shh shh shh, there we go.” Tav looks back at him, a blissed out, glassy look to her eyes. “There you are, darling. How did that feel?” 

She tries to regulate her breathing, “So good.” she manages to reply.

He grabs a cloth, and cleans her up, then slips back on her underclothes and trousers. 

“Come here, my love.” He scoops her up and lays her down, her head upon his chest, as he pulls the bedroll and blankets around the two of them. 

“Thank you Star, for taking care of me.” Tav mumbles as she drifts off and gets the much needed rest that she deserves.

[stardust-thief]

meet cute

an: this is not very spiderman-esque + it kinda sucks😭 but i have brainworms im thinking of so many ways the bau cld be part of this au

synopsis: your best friend, penelope garcia, gets you to meet spencer reid, who unbeknowest to you is seceretly spiderman, 1.7k words

cw: just fluffy meet cute, a little rossi slander im sorry, mentions of tobias hankel but its pre-lizard, bc tobias hankel is the lizard in this au, not proofread at all

masterlist

“Pen, are you sure this is a good idea?” Your best friend, Penelope Garcia, whom you loved with all your heart, was meddling again. She had taken notice of the fact that you are a workaholic and would prefer to spend your days researching for your newest article, than literally anything else. Deciding this was completely against the criteria to be friends with her, she has taken you to meet some of her friends. Namely, Spencer Reid. You didn’t know much about Spencer other than the fact that he was a great photographer and an even greater nerd. Said affectionately, you literally do nothing but work, how nerdier can you be.

“Are you kidding me? This is a perfect idea! Both you and Spencer are basically hermits, my thinking is that two hermits cancel out each other's hermit-ness and you’ll both bloom into beautiful social butterflies! Maybe I’ll finally get to see my best friends outside for once. Or maybe that’s too big an ask.” She grabbed your arm to make sure you couldn’t back out last minute, and all but dragged you into the little cafe you were supposed to meet this elusive Spencer at.

The cafe wasn't one you familiar with, preferring to stick with the one adjoined to the Daily Bugle building. This one had booths lining the walls, and a vast glass counter full of the most delicious pastries you’ve ever seen. The one at the Daily Bugle served only stale bagels, and made you sit in those hellish latticed garden chairs that do no good things for your comfort. 

You watch as Penelope’s hawk eyes scan the cafe, “ok so, he’s not here yet. I promise you he hates being late, just sometimes something will just come up and- he’ll show up! Go get a seat, I’ll order something for us.”

“Ok, I can do that.” You say as you turn to move towards an open booth seat. Penelope was a generally anxious person, this was something you've grown used to after knowing her for so long. But whatever that was back at the counter was a lot more anxious than strictly necessary. True, being late to a first meeting was not a good first impression. Also true that the later he is, the later you will be in getting back to the office, meaning another late night working to finish your article. But it's not the end of the world! Yet!

Penelope interrupted your doom-thinking by placing a tray full of various coffees and pastries on the table. “I got your favourite,” she says as she pushes the warm coffee towards you and sits on the opposite side of the booth, “I wasn’t sure which pastry to get so I got… many.”

“Many is a word I would use, yeah… It’s fine Pen, we can all just take some home. Have you heard anything from your friend?”

She gives her patented dramatic sigh, “Ugh, Boy Wonder says he’s on his way. Wait, forget I called him that. Spencer Reid is on his way, he says he apologises for his tardiness.”

A loud bang catches your attention as a tall man, who looks like he’s ran a marathon to get here, slams the door to the cafe open a little too hard, rattling the wall decor and capturing the attention of literally every person in the shop. You watch as his eyes sheepishly scan the room until they land on Penelope. He gives an equally sheepish wave and hurries to sit down next to Penelope.

“Spencer, what the hell was that?” Penelope mutters, and you watch as they devolve in an argument at the volume of mice. You sit there awkwardly, sipping at your coffee as you wait for them to remember you’re there.

“Ok, Spencer!” Penelope starts, “this is my friend, who has been waiting here very patiently, might I add.”

Spencer’s eyes turn to meet yours, his eyes are a warm and deep brown that reminds you of coffee. You notice the slight bloodshot twinge he has, and the dark, heavy bags that sit under them. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in at least 2 weeks, leaving strong stubble clinging to his lower face.

Out of habit, you raise your hand to shake his and introduce yourself, “Hi Spencer.” It takes a moment for him to realise you have your hand raised, and he rushes to meet it.

“Hi, I’m really so sorry for being late, that was so rude of me, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” you hear Penelope give a mocking laugh as if to say ‘you never apologise to me like this'. Ignoring her, you notice that his hands are calloused and rough, littered with small bruises and nicks that leave you questioning how they got there. Noticing this he's quick to retract his hand, “sorry, I work in a lab so I get all kinds of cuts from the machines. Um, what do you do?”

“I work as an investigative journalist for the Daily Bugle.” The Bugle has a bit of a reputation due to its owner, D. Rossi, who is known to be an avid anti-spiderman fanatic and is constantly making up theories to defraud and belittle him. But you’re too proud of your work to let something like that stop you from talking about it. At the mention of the newspaper, however, you watch as Spencer shoulders tense up and he shoots a sidelong glance at Penelope.

“The Daily Bugle! Yeah, I used to send in my photographs for them sometimes.” Spencer breathes out.

“Really? What articles were they published in, I might’ve seen them!”

“No um, Rossi kept rejecting them so I never got them published.”

Oh. Good job. “Yeah, he can be a bit tough sometimes. I’d love to have a look at your work, maybe I can try and get something published along with my articles?” You offered this as a nicety, but you’re also genuinely curious to see what kind of work he’s done.

“That would be really nice actually, I’d appreciate it. What are you working on now?”

“An article on the research Dr Hankel is doing at Oscorp, he’s taking lizard DNA and attempting to splice it with human DNA to modify our genes. He’s hoping it can help humans regenerate lost limbs the same way lizards can. It’s fascinating stuff, but I don’t think it could work.” Especially seeing as Dr Hankel seems to have about 12 screws loose, interviewing him was not one of your preferred research activities. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that. My boss at the lab says it could be amazing if it works. It just has to work first.” He chuckles and begins picking apart the pastry in front of him. “So, you don’t agree with Rossi’s whole anti-Spiderman tirade?”

You hum, “not really. I mean, I think Spiderman is doing a great thing by helping protect the people of this city, but I also think he has a lot to answer for in terms of damage to properties, and livelihoods. But I definitely don’t think he deserves the scrutiny he gets from Rossi. Without him, what would New York do?”

He visibly relaxes at that, maybe he’s just a Spiderman super fan, there are probably worse things a person could be. You all get wrapped up in conversation and fail to notice the hours passing by until a worker comes up to your table and lets you know it’s nearly closing time. 

“God, we’ve been here all day. I need to get back to work, finish my article before my deadline tomorrow.” You say, rushing to stand up and leave. Spencer rushes to stand up with you.

“You’re working overnight? Surely that can’t be safe.”

“It’ll be much less safe if I don’t hand this in to Rossi before my deadline.” You chuckle, “I’ll be fine, I’ve done the bulk of it, not much more to do now!”

“Let me walk you to your office, it’s getting dark out.” Out the corner of your eye, you see Penelope wiggle her shoulders and wink at you.

“No I can’t ask you to do that, it’s not too long of a walk.” It is such a long walk, you’re just lying. “I’ll get to the office before the moons even out, don’t worry about it. Penelope, thanks for organising this, I had a lot of fun.” She pushes out of the booth set and wraps you in a big hug.

“Oh, I’m so glad you came! It’s good to see you away from your desk for once. Don’t stay up too late, ok, go home and get some rest at an appropriate time. No later than 4am ok?” She holds you by your shoulders and looks deep into your eyes until you agree. “Good, take some of these pastries with you, you’ll need the sugar.”

“Thank you Penelope, I promise I won’t stay too late.” Pastries in hand, you turn to Spencer again. God his eyes were so deep. “It was really nice to meet you Spencer, maybe we can do this again sometime. As a group I mean, all three of us.” Real smooth! The idea of hanging out with Spencer again made you excited, but the last thing you want to do was come on to strong.

His eyes widen slightly and he rocks back and forth on his feet. “Yeah, I would love to do this again, all of us. It was lovely meeting you as well, please stay safe.”

You smile at him and turn to leave, beginning the long walk back to the offices of the Daily Bugle. The many steps in your way do nothing to stop the giddy feeling in you.

Unbeknownst to you, after Spencer walked Penelope home he slipped into a dark alley, pulled on his spider-suit, and started swinging himself across New York until he found you walking to your office. After following you from the rooftops, making sure you were safe, he noticed that you had in fact lied about how long it took you to get back to work. He made a note to ask more firmly if he could walk you back next time, especially when it was getting so late. Once you were back in the Daily Bugle, he waited and waited until you were finished with your work to escort you back home.

[thefanciestborrower]

At Least It’s Not Hulk

What can I say, the brainworms hit me

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, G/t vore, mentions of injury

Characters: Steve and Clint (Avengers Assemble)

Word Count: 989

The first thing Clint noticed was that he was hot. Like, swelteringly so. So hot in fact that he felt like he was practically drowning in a puddle of his own sweat. That was the second thing he noticed: he was wet. Absolutely sopping and too much so for it to be just sweat. To be fair, waking up soaking wasn’t entirely uncommon considering his job involved lots of getting thrown into the Hudson, but still concerning nonetheless. The Hudson wasn’t usually so warm anyways. He groaned. His head was pounding…or…maybe that was the low drumming he could more so feel than hear through the floor of…wherever he was.

With a grimace Clint opened his eyes to reveal a whole lot of nothing. If you count darkness as nothing that is, which he did. Sure there was always usually something IN that darkness, but if you couldn’t see it then was it really there? Wrinkling his nose he shifted, the floor under him squelching and shifting and…oh. Maybe he did know where he was after all. It was the smell that gave it away really: the acidic tang of bile and day old sandwich clinging to him in a thick film as he struggled to prop himself up against what he now knew to be the muscular walls of a stomach. The fact that he was so familiar with such a bizarre and quite frankly disgusting location had worried him once, but unfortunately he’d grown quite used to it over his time with the Avengers. Just came with the superhero territory he supposed.

Now the real question remained: exactly whose guts had he ended up in? Feeling to make sure his hearing aid and glasses were still where he’d left them, he sighed, find only one of those still intact. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost his glasses, and it probably wouldn’t be the last either. Fiddling with his aid, he adjusted the settings to compensate for the loud, ambient noises of his environment and listened. For the moment, whoever he’d wound up with didn’t seem to be moving, and they certainly weren’t talking, so he took advantage of the relative calm and wracked his brain for any memory of how he’d ended up in this…situation. He’d been fighting some wannabe villain of the week with Iron Man and a few others when something had hit him from behind and…hmm…after that his memory was blank. Fantastic.

He tried once more to sit up properly, slipping again as the muscle under him rolled and shifted, when suddenly everything stiffened and he found himself sandwiched in place. “Woah hang on, ease up there will ya’?” he spluttered, more muttering than actually talking. His ‘captor’ heard him regardless.

“Hawkeye, are you alright?”

His hearing aid had long since been adjusted to pick up and distinguish the distorted voice of anyone he’d ended up inside (courtesy of Tony), so he had no trouble understanding the question directed at him. Definitely Steve’s voice. He’d ended up inside the Captain, which, all things considered, was probably of the better outcomes. More preffered than Scott anyways that’s for sure.

“I’m fine I’m fine,” Clint insisted, pushing back at the surrounding walls. “Though I might not be if you keep smothering me like this big guy. Mind filling me in on what’s going on out there? And how I ended up serving as a mid afternoon snack?”

The pressure relented, but only slightly. Steve was still tense, and it made the his surroundings far less comfortable.

“You were hit pretty bad; Ant-Man helped me get you off the field.” Came the tight response, and Clint frowned as the steady heartbeat around him picked up a pace or two. “I’m sorry, I wish I hadn’t had to do this while you were unconscious but-“

“Hey hey relax old man, it’s alright.” Clint interrupted, settling himself into a fold. “Better you than the Hulk at least.” He could feel more than hear Cap sigh around him, and as the muscle began to relax Clint smiled to himself. Truth be told, he really could have done without being eaten while unconscious. It unnerved him a little, being that out of control, but at the same time he really did understand why Steve had done it. They were in battle, it was the right call to keep him safe, and he didn’t hold it against the Captain. More than that, he didn’t want Steve to hold it against himself, so he didn’t need to know how Clint’s heart had raced when he’d woken up or how he still flinched at some of the louder ambient gurgles.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Clint cracked a smile. “Though you do still owe me. How about a box of thin mints and I call it even.”

Steve laughed, soft and warm, and Clint congratulated himself on defusing what could have been a much more guilt ridden conversation.

“Alright, I can do that. Take it easy in there for now though, you got hit pretty hard.”

Clint rolled his eyes, but figured Steve was probably right. It was hard to tell in the dark when literally everything was warm and sticky and gross, but he was pretty sure he had a bit of blood matted in his hair. He could smell it. Well, either he was bleeding or Cap had split his lip, which was also a possibility. Either way, taking it easy didn’t sound too awful, so he didn’t argue.

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say winghead.” He laughed, kicking lightly at one of the walls pressing in on him (Steve’s hand no doubt). Steve didn’t respond, and Clint didn’t particularly want him to. The pounding of Steve’s heart was really starting to make his own pounding headache worse, so he turned down his hearing aid, rolled over, and closed his eyes. All things considered, this really wasn’t so bad.

[qqueenofhades]

what's been particularly vile to me is this group of white online leftists who insist that anyone who cares about more than this one issue for the election is a bad person, like, as if us black and brown people are making up reasons to be afraid and not.....believing the gop when they say they are coming for us. believing trump who has said previously that he does not bluff, that he will do the things he's said he will do (i hate what social media has gone to the word gaslighting but it feels like gaslighting. we lived through four years of trump. we saw the damage. stop treating us like we're being dramatic). it must be great to not have to worry about that i guess? "life won't change under trump" is such a telling admission because maybe theirs won't but mine will. and so many others' will.

and it is often again these (white) online leftists that love to call anyone who disagrees with them a white liberal (derogatory) because they know it would be racist (bad) to be this shitty and condescending to poc but they don't want to actually listen to anything black and brown voters are saying. it's easier to just call us white liberals and throw our opinions out, to ignore the work of black people for decades to gain the right to vote, to disregard the weight of telling them to not do that. it's genuinely appalling. they care so much about racism until it's time to engage with poc who have different opinions than their online echo chambers, then we're just stupid liberals with terrible opinions like..... wanting to live. not wanting four more years of trump. so sorry for that.

sorry for this vent in your inbox, i'm just so fucking tired of white people trying to rewrite history as if trump wasn't that bad. he was for my family and countless others and i am terrified for what's to come if he wins.

The thing about (the often-white) Online Leftists is that they have become just as much as a radicalized death cult as the diehard Trumpists. If you don't want to die for The Revolution and/or sacrifice your life, friends, family, the rest of the country, etc., then you're Insufficiently Pure and must be Purged. (Which I think is just complete BS, as none of them could actually handle sacrificing anything, but it's increasingly the only kind of performative rhetoric that is acceptable in leftist-identified discourse spaces.) This is functionally identical to "if you aren't willing to lay down your life for our Lord and Savior Donald Trump and the Great White Christian Nationalist Dictatorship, you're a liberal cuck," but with the names and justification changed. It doesn't change the underlying radicalization, nihilism, and insanity of the premise.

Another thing the Trumpists and the Online Leftists have in common is that they are busily rewriting just how bad Trump was in order to serve their Ideology. Ever since January 6, 2021, the Republicans have thrown everything they have at revising and whitewashing any suggestion that it was an "insurrection," and the Online Leftists have done the same, in an attempt to "prove" their insane point that Trump "would be better" than Biden. This is embodied in the recent ultimate-brainworm-nonsense maximalist-online take that "Biden has to lose so the rest of the world will see that the US rejects genocide!!!" That's right, the message that the rest of the world would take from Biden losing to Trump is that the US rejects genocide. Never mind if Trump literally wants to commit all the genocide possible and to install himself as a fascist theocratic dictator. In the deeply twisted minds of the Online Leftists, this is the only possible interpretation of Biden's loss, so they'll push for it as hard as they can! The Trumpists and the Online Leftists, at this point, are working pretty much in concert to damage Biden for similar insane reasons and get Trump elected. Etc etc., one Nazi and ten people at the same table is eleven Nazis.

Like. Sure. Four years ago, when Trump was president and people were dying by the thousands because he didn't want to wear a mask because it smeared his bronzer, just to name literally one of the terrible things he did every single day (and not even mentioning how much worse a second term would be) we were absolutely better off. Super-duper great. (Sarcasm.) Either that or "there is suffering and evil in the world and the only solution is to drastically increase the suffering and evil for everyone and to destroy what progress we have managed to make because It Does Not Fix Everything Now" is an absolute moral imperative, and either way, yeah. I'm calling bullshit.

[vaneigh]

Lilia and courting

Can be read as/not as omegaverse. I have the Lilia brainworm. The first part to an ongoing thread of ideas with courting Lilia.

I have been working on a masterlist of sorts for general/specific omega fae headcanons and dynamics, but having some downtime from work, I wanted to ramble a bit about Lilia once more.

In my head, I believe omega fae to quite often be the instigators of courting. I don't think it is an explicit cultural norm, but something that is very common, with omega fae who don't put in much effort to courting (and instead being the one courted) quite uncommon.

A once younger Lilia was very eager about the idea of courting. It was something that came naturally to him. But at his canon age, I again bring up his laziness.

Now, don't mistake it for me saying he is too lazy to court his desired mate. He'd give them the moon and all that is under it, just to see you smile. But he has lived his life, he has been a caregiver to Malleus and Silver for quite some time, a privilege he is appreciative of. I will definitely write for Lilia courting his partner, because that is something I think about a lot, but don't you think he deserves some pampering for now?

"You don't need to lift a finger." You tell him at the first mention of further pursing your relationship, sat at the rickety table of Ramshackle, your plate in front of you licked clean after smiling through his homecooked meal, if you dare call it that. "Allow me."

Much like the other characters I enjoy writing for, I don't think Lilia would enjoy extravagant gifts; things that draw attention to him or things you pour thaumarks out on, but he would never go unappreciative of anything you give him/do for him. He prefers a subtle, quiet courting. He is not oblivious to the effort you put in, even for the smallest of things.

In Malleus's Silk Adorned voicelines, he talks about how precious fabric are in Briar Valley, and their cultural significance to its people. Gifting Lilia fabrics and silks of darker shades would be my first step in courting, ones that he could use to layer his future nest, rubbing his cheek along the cool of the silk for comfort. In the future, when he has supplied himself with articles of your clothing and blankets, perhaps you could use those gifted silks and fabric to make something for him, something that could be used everyday and serve as a nostalgic reminder of the first of your budding love for each other. The silks could be upcycled into a pillowcase, using scraps of the fabric to give new stuffing to the pillow, or, lining a side of one of your favorite blankets he harbors in his nest. The possibilities are endless. Bonus points if you present these fabrics already musked with your scent.

Lilia has such a sweet tooth. I think Lilia would love raspberries and raspberry desserts. On a warm day, present him with some frozen chocolate covered raspberries. On a cold day, present to him a warm mug of raspberry hot chocolate. In addition to this, a homemade treat waiting for him when he comes to visit you at Ramshackle goes miles for him. As well as this, making the trek to Diasomnia with enough made for Malleus, Silver, and Sebek to enjoy means the world to him. You showing that you care about things/those that are important to him is the best thing you can do for him, and nothing could amount to that feeling that stirs within him when you do such a thing.

When he spends the night, drop some of those strawberry bon-bons grandmas love into his uniform jacket pocket before he puts it on for the day. He's ancient, he'd love them.

Lilia loves dates. I pin him to be the type to enjoy a night in more than an outing, but who's to say a night in can't be a date too? With what's mentioned above, have some new fabrics prepared for him, a homemade dessert for after you cook him a dish from Briar Valley. Exchange stories, ask him about raising Silver, or his favorite travel story, all while indulging him in your own personal tales from the land you came from beyond the mirror. He could fall asleep to the sound of your voice if you'd have him.

One of my most dear headcanons of strengthening the bond between you and Lilia, a way of showing him how serious you are about him, is learning some of his fae language. It's hard, trust me, and I'm not even quite sure any books in the library can assist you with such a daunting task, but you could easily convince Malleus to help you learn a few words here and there. I wholeheartedly believe Lilia would be immersed in learning your mother tongue/second language, and sharing the same desire about his language would get him a little choked up. He's had a change of heart when it comes to humans because of Silver, but this effort further fortifies his changed opinion.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 41 - A Bad Feeling

I forgot to put a chapter summary. Fever brain!

On AO3.

Naturally, y’all get jumped immediately. Fucking walking skeletons in armor. You accidentally pull a Brenden Frasier and jab the skull of one, only for the spearhead to stick in the eye socket and pop the damn thing off the body. And you get no time to try to shake that off before you gotta jab another one. Fucking skull-kebab. You sure are glad Lae’zel thought to start you with spears and not some dipshit sword. Stabbing things at a distance is a little easier.

Astarion whirls through the fight in a snarling, white and black blur. Seems especially vicious. But once it’s over and y’all stand around, poking piles of bones and armor, you sidle up to him.

“You good?” you say.

He wipes down his knife before sheathing it. “Just fine. Perhaps a bit eager to be done with all this.”

You ain’t sure if “this” is that fucker Raphael, the brainworm cult, or the ridiculous, underground goth cathedral.

You’re about to join in on the bitching session, but he moves off before you can say nothing.

Man’s worked up. It’s understandable.

Ain’t no reason for the twinge of hurt.

Shadowheart is all for heading right down the throat of the gauntlet. There’s a straight-shot hallway doing just that, far as y’all can tell. There’s also two other hallways that branch off, one to either side.

The group debates each, but you’re watching Astarion. Notice him pad towards the right-hand branch, frowning. Watch him scent the air. His scowl deepens.

“We wanna check the corners before activating them trials, right?” you say.

Shadowheart’s mouth opens. But the others is already nodding.

“Been ambushed in something a lot like this,” Karlach says. “Whole hoard of barbazu came screaming down this canyon. Broke my ax in one of them’s skulls, and had to use the horns on a severed head to hack my way out.”

A good half of the group gives her some real appraising looks. You rock back and forth a couple times to make sure your knees don’t go full jelly.

Shadowheart throws up her hands. Don’t quite stomp after y’all. Lets y’all walk along for several moments before catching up to you.

“Do you know what a cleric is, exactly?” she says. Takes you a second to realize she’s talking to you.

“Umhm?” you say.

“A kind of priest. One who channels the power of the god or goddess they serve.”

You ain’t sure what to say about that, so you only nod.

Shadowheart sighs. “My Lady is the source of my magic, Eleanor. I doubt this immortal general will go quietly, even if we find a way to remove that immortality. If we’re to better our chances, it would be a good idea to make sure all of us are as prepared as we can be.”

When you nod again, “Dark justiciars are second only to a Mother Superior. They hold the Lady’s favor. I could channel her power better than I ever have if I can claim that. Once I complete the gauntlet. You like staking the odds in our favor.”

Ah. She’s noticed that, huh? She’s trying to appeal to you to, what, help her?

For all her fucked up goddess seems to wallow around in, she is a god. You guess. Those are real things here (Gale used to fuck his) (fucking weird). And you do want to collect any and all advantages you can get, because there’s no such thing as a fair fight.

You look at her. Black hair cut into harsh bangs to frame her face. Her thick eyeliner, the scar over her nose and the almost…pleading in her green eyes.

She don’t need your permission. She don’t need anybody’s. So why is she so desperate?

“What you do with your life ain’t up to me,” you say. “I wouldn’t do any of this, but I ain’t you. If…I’ll support you. Whatever you decide, I got your back.”

If she decides to go through with it, well. You don’t know about the place enough to make a solid judgement. But if she hesitates, if that pleading is something else, she needs to know somebody will reach out to catch her. Should she need it.

Like you did.

The relief takes ten years off her. Her smile crinkles her eyes for the first time in a long while, and she gives you a clipped nod. There’s the woman who helped you.

Behind y’all, Lae’zel says, “Something smells of death.”

***

“—if I hear one more snide remark about my whiff of undeath,” Astarion whispers as y’all scuttle up to an open archway.

“You’re actually not as fragrant as I thought you’d be,” Shadowheart says. “For a walking corpse.”

“And you’re exactly as tasteless and tactless as I’d expect you to be, for a Sharran.” The last part said with an oozing simper.

You’re about ready to clock their heads together. Stupid fucking elves. Half-elves. Whatever.

“Do y’all need to go back to the hotel?” you say. “Because it sounds an awful lot like we need to turn this car the fuck around.”

It buys you a baffled second or two of squinting perplexity. Before Wyll creeps back out into the hall.

“Looks clear,” he says. “But I have a nasty hunch it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” Lae’zel says. She’s stationed herself on the other side of the round archway y’all hide behind, and you can’t help but think it’s to get away from the bickering. Right now, though, she leans out to stare into the horror chamber beyond.

You caught the stink of it before y’all actually found it. Metallic rot and the almost-sweet stink of dead things. You caught one glimpse, maybe ten second in total, and stepped back before your stomach could process it.

You ain’t exactly a stranger to horror in an academic sense. You seen farm injuries and read about way worse. But an actual, human spine with a head still attached? Pink muscle and white gristle and ligaments half chewed off?

Like them beef bones they sell at the supermarket around the holidays. Just regular cuts of an animal, that’s all. Just meat, just a hog for slaughter. You dealt with all those.

Those didn’t have no ear attached. With a ring still pierced through it.

Fuck fuck jesus fucking shit fuck.

“It seems a good chance that this is the lair of the devil Raphael was talking about,” Gale says.

“It’s a lair of something,” Astarion says.

Karlach peers in again, giving it an almost thoughtful—in a pants-shitting kinda way—frown.

“There was a second story in there,” you say after gulping down excess spit. “Like a busted-off balcony. Think we can sneak off and find a way up there? Circle back around?”

Wyll nods. “Approaching from the high ground.”

There’s more doors down the hall. Got to be a way up. Cause walking right in seems a real fucking stupid—

“No more hiding,” something says.

Ain’t one, goddamn human thing about it. The voice is less a voice and more the impact of a hammer to the side of a face. An ax blade crunching through an arm. Screaming and squealing and mangling formed somehow into words.

You reach out to catch yourself before you can topple over. Even Lae’zel has to give her head a shake, blinking fast.

“Come in,” the thing says. “No use for the entertainment to run. Yet.”

“The fuck,” you whisper, voice so dry your throat clicks in the attempt.

None of y’all really say nothing else. No looks of agreement. It’s like a barbed hook jabs you through the guts, reeling you into the room on jittering legs. Past more body parts. Past a mound of pink and gray, rotten viscera humming with bloated flies and white, wriggling—

You force yourself to look straight ahead as a new gag catches in your throat.

The floor above done crashes down, at some point. A couple torches cast weak, orange light here and there, but leave a lot of the place in shadow. The deepest shadow is at the top of the smashed-down ramp.

It steps outta that rancid darkness. Huge. Broad. The air screams in horror around it, even before you register the skulls hanging like a beaded necklace over its thick chest. A bull-like face, eyes literally glowing a hateful orange.

“Holy fuck, it’s a fucking orthon,” Karlach breathes. You ain’t never heard her like that before. Even Wyll’s got a distinctly gray cast to him.

The thing’s got hands with three-inch claws on them. Inhuman feet, like a deer hoof the size of a dinner platter, but broken up like they was trying to shatter into grotesque fingers. The man-sized sword barely registers against all that.

“You’re too fresh for this place, aren’t you?” it says. Its breath is carrion stink and what you can only describe as battlefield rot: ripped bowels and blood and fear. It feels oily, somehow. Like rancid grease slathered over your skin. “There’s a hint of the surface to you.”

The fucks an orthon? you shove at the others, mostly a gibbering scream.

Karlach answers: flash of fire and a screaming sea of devils. Hulking shapes amongst them, charging through smaller enemies like a dragon smashing through a forest.

War devil. Carnage incarnate.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, you’re all gonna die. You made a bad call, finally.

Then them glowing eyes shift. Fix on something behind you. “You. Tiefling. You’ve got the stench of the hells about you. A servant of Zariel if I’m not mistaken.” It sniffs the air, a gross, wet noise like an oversized hound snuffling around a bloated carcass on the side of the road. “I’d know the stink of infernal machinery anywhere.”

Somehow, Karlach keeps herself steady (you wish you was bundled up in her strong arms). Looks straight at that thing and says, “What do you know of infernal machinery?”

The thing regards her a moment. Claws tap on the hilt of its giant, fuck-off sword. “Only what I smell. And whatever engine burns within you, it’s grinding to an inevitable explosion. Burning and fear; you reek of it.”

You can feel its attention on her. Slick and sharp and terrible. A horrifying anticipation.

Then the not-quite words sort of register, and you blink and look over. Karlach don’t meet your gaze.

What? Explosion?

Another snuffle. A pig around its fallen owner, tusks slicked with saliva as it chomps, chomps, chomps. “There’s something else, though. Cherries, musk. And sulfur.”

When it snarls your bladder damn near releases. Them eyes blaze like them hell pits over in Turkmenistan. Like an opening in the heart of a volcano.

“Raphael,” the thing bellows. “I can smell him all over you. Where is he?”

You’re gonna tell him whatever he wants to know. Do whatever he tells you. Go throw yourself over the railing outside and plunge into the depths just to get the fuck away.

You used to go blank something like this when the Pastor uttered your name. When Mother found you amongst the congregation or when one of the Aunts reached for you.

Shaking, panting like a winded horse, you look up. Though chattering teeth, you manage, “You. Uh. Know him?”

“That perfumed trickster swindled me. Trapped me here.”

He should die for that, you want to say. Want to offer to do it yourself. Anything to get away. Anything to make this thing not look at you, not notice you. Give it whatever it wants.

“I. I know what you mean. About him.” Got no corn-husking idea how the fuck you’re forming words, but somehow you are.

“Where is he. Spit it out. Now.”

He lifts that sword. Didn’t the Japanese make something like that? Made for taking down fucking horses?

“I don’t really know where he is right now. But maybe. Maybe we could help each other? With him? He done us dirty, too.” You’re not actually talking, so much as babbling. Barely aware of your own words. A little toggle stuck open and pouring out shit you can barely comprehend.

Shadowheart is all alarm, like licking a battery. “Careful. I’m not sure we want Raphael as an enemy.”

The thing laughs. It sounds like snapping bones and crushed skulls. “Bargaining, are you?”

And then he tells a story. Slaughtered concubines. Children. A skull as a…codpiece?

They got codpieces here. Oh look, a random detail you can latch onto, turn over like a smooth rock in your pocket again and again.

“You can do nothing,” the thing says. “It’s not just walls that keep me here. I am bound by a contract. If I leave this place, I will become Raphael’s slave.”

Of fucking course he would. Ratfuck sonuvabitch fucking devil’s asshole. That explains why the poncy prick ain’t coming down himself. He don’t want this guy dead, does he? Or not just dead. Cause bad people go to hell, so what happens to demons if they die? Probably some kinda desertion, for these fuckers.

You still send that question to the brainworm group chat. And yeah, devils just go back to hell when they die.

Raphael is using y’all to enslave this thing.

Jesus titty-fucking christ.

Shadows move above. Hellbeast ain’t alone. And you’d rather try to chew through a redwood with your teeth than fight this thing. Cause you’ll die. One hundred percent, y’all cannot win this fight.

“What’s the contract?” you say.

“What are you doing?” Astarion hisses in your ear.

“I got experience with contracts,” you say.

Filing them, mostly. Standing in as witness or backup to the witness. True crime shit or that youtube lawyer’s videos.

It’s a fucking hail mary, is what it is. But so far you are still breathing, and if that ain’t already a giant, fucking hail mary. Worst case scenario, you fuck up and get bitten in half in a few minutes rather than dying to brainworm cult or fucked up hyenas or some new bullshit later.

You glance to Gale. His lips is moving silently, fingers twitching in a tiny pattern. He gives you the world’s tiniest nod.

He’ll open a portal. Y’all might have a chance to run.

“Do you now?” the walking catastrophe says. It eyes you. Then sets the tip of the sword to the floor and rests its hands on it like an old timey cane. “Very well. It’s been some time since I’ve heard a proper grovel.”

And he starts to…sing?

It’s the wailing of the dying. The shriek of a man disemboweled alive. Screeching and sobbing as limbs are ripped off, ribcages smashed in. Torment and horror shoved into a sack and dragged over a pit of burning gravel and for the second time in twenty-four hours, you damn near piss yourself.

“Spill all the blood sworn to night; Silence all prayers, smother each rite. Wander Shar’s halls, hungry to slay; Leave no justiciar alive to obey."

You ain’t look at Shadowheart. Can barely keep focus on your body to stop it shaking to pieces.

“Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This is your oath. Swear, swear it to—”

It hits you like a crack over the head. Can’t say what, exactly, in that moment. But that instinct, that shining line snaps you in the face and before you can process anything, you slam through the bleating animal terror in your head.

“Stop!”

You ain’t especially loud. Voice ain’t especially sharp. Compared to the soul-shattering horror of that thing singing, you ain’t shit.

But you catch it off guard, you think. Probably ain’t used to being interrupted. And why would it? Fucking demon kaiju up there. Only a total dumbshit would do something that suicidal and oh, you was the dumbshit why would you do that?

“Oh fuck,” Karlach says.

The thing up there blinks its hellfire eyes slow. Almost placidly. And in the voice of a nuclear detonation, it says, “What did you just say?”

[whitenoisefanfiction]

Interview with a Preacher Boy (An IWTV/Sinners crossover fic)

Got a brainworm after seeing Sinners in theatre the other day and then worked on a new chapter of my current IWTV Fic and it wouldn't leave me alone. So, I quickly wrote down the start of it because I could. Enjoy.

Warning. This is set after the mid-credit scene so possible spoilers. Proceed at your own risk.

-------

Chicago, 1996

Night had long since set as Daniel Molloy drove his car down the street and towards the old building. 

He had been in Chicago for the last few days, conducting a few interviews and generally trying to ignore the divorce papers Alice had served on him before he left New York last. 

Alice was leaving and taking the girls with her. 

Daniel knew he should be depressed, irate or even suicidal. And yet, all he could feel was relief. 

It was disturbing, the feeling and one Daniel didn’t want to face just yet. Why, in the face of losing everything he had worked for, did he feel so happy? Like he was being set free?

So, when his agent had called, asking if he wanted to go to Chicago for a few assignments, Daniel had jumped at the chance. 

Alice would leave, whether he was home or not and if he was there, there were more chances for them to fall into fights. Daniel didn’t want his daughters to remember the last days their family was whole being nothing but fights. They were still so young, still willing to see the good in their father, even if he didn’t believe it was there himself. 

Besides, he was a Pulitzer winner. Which meant he could go just about anywhere he wanted. And he had wanted a quick out. 

Chicago, so far, had been quiet. A few interviews with a few prominent politicians, a few sports stars. Nothing special but enough to keep his mind busy. 

He had been ready to pack up and leave, his hotel bill settled, and flight booked, when he had received a call. 

A famous Blues singer had announced he was ready to give his final interview, and he had called, asking Daniel to be the one to do it. 

Daniel didn’t know much about Sammie Moore but an extra night away from home was enough of a draw for him to dive into research. 

As far as he could tell from his not really thorough searching, this Sammie Moore was a very prominent figure in the music scene, famous for his soulful voice and mastery of lyrics. One of his songs, called ‘I lied to You’ had put him on the map and Daniel had managed to secure a CD of his music, playing it on repeat as he drafted his questions and primed his tape recorder. 

Technology was advancing fast, but Daniel was still a fan of the old, reliable technology. It had gotten him through many difficult situations, recording his talks with doctors and the dying, Dictators and cult leaders, good and bad people. He tried not to think of one specific interview, where his tapes and recorder had not survived. That thought would only make him edgy, feeling like eyes were on him and make his neck tense, the scar tissue burning with phantom pain. 

So, at the designated time, Daniel packed a small satchel of his things, placed them in his rental car and drove through the bustling streets of Chicago to a club called Pearline. 

The place was buzzing, people lining out the door as Daniel parked and exited his vehicle. Music washed out into the streets, the patrons waiting to get in, swaying with the beat and spelling excitedly. 

Walking into the sidewalk, Daniel hesitated briefly. He didn’t know if he should join the queue and hope to be let in unchallenged or approach the doorman, cutting in line and possibly upsetting the crowd. Despite being invited here, he had learnt that some artists got very upset if he didn’t at least pretend to be a fan. 

His musing was cut short as a voice called behind him. 

“Daniel Molloy?” It asked. 

Daniel turned and saw a heavy-set man, the black t-shirt stamped with the word ‘Security’ across his chest. 

“Yes.” He replied.

“Nice to meet ya. Sammie said you was coming tonight and to look out for ya.” The man said, thrusting his hand out to shake.  

Daniel shook the man's hand. 

“Come on in. The sets almost over but you can watch the rest of it before you talk with him.” The man continued. 

Releasing his hand, the security guard turned and pushed through the crowd and towards the door. The door man nodded and stood aside, ushering him in as Daniel followed in his wake, trying to ignore the envious eyes on his back. 

Inside, the club was homely, lit with soft yellow lights. A stage was at one end, a bar at the other. 

A crowd of people swayed and danced on what Daniel could only guess was the dance floor as on the stage, an elderly African American man played guitar with considerable skill.

Daniel glanced at the musician. This must be Sammie Moore. 

The man looked good for someone pushing 80 but in the soft light, Daniel could see four jagged scars on the side of his face. They looked old. And nasty. It must have been a hell of an injury. 

Daniel had not read anything about these injuries during his hurried research of the musician, but he was man enough to admit, he may have missed something. Oh well, Sammie had asked he be here, not the other way around. Hopefully the older man would be willing to open up about them when asked or this interview was going to be very awkward. 

“Here.” The security guard said, indicating an empty seat at the bar.

Daniel sat as bidden as the security guard flagged down a bartender.

“This is Sammie’s guest. The boss said to give him whatever he asks for. On the house.”

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up at that. 

“Generous of him.” He commented.

The guard turned to glance at him.

“Boss is a fan of your work. He’s been hoping to get an interview with you for a while now, I think.” The guard replied. “Anyway, I gotta go. He will be with you soon.”

Daniel couldn’t think of anything else to say as the big man turned his back and disappeared into the crowd again, going off to do whatever the hell he was employed to do. 

“What will you have?” the bartender asked, raising his voice to speak over the music.

“A martini.” Daniel replied absentmindedly as the song ended, and loud applause filled the room. 

The bartender nodded and stepped away. On stage, Sammie announced he was about to play his last song. The crowd groaned in disappointment, but it soon turned to cheering as the man strummed the guitar. 

Daniel didn’t know many songs but even he recognised ‘This Little Light of Mine’.

The reporter couldn't help but stare as the music filled the room once again. The man’s voice was truly impressive. Daniel had interviewed a few rock stars in his time, but no one had ever had a voice close to this one. 

Finally, as the last notes played and the musician stepped off the stage and disappeared out the back, Daniel pulled his attention back to his work. Opening his bag, he pulled out his tape recorder and notebook, trying to make space for them on the bar counter. Opening the book to a blank page, he jotted down the time, date and place. Although he would record the conversation, it still paid to write notes. 

The bartender appeared again, placing a martini down on the bar, careful of Daniel’s property. Then he placed a plate down next to it. Daniel looked up from his writing and frowned at the scent of hot garlic bread filling his nose. 

“I didn’t order this.” He said as the bartender placed down some napkins beside the plate. 

“On the house. Boss’s compliments.” The bartender replied before bustling off, leaving Daniel no room to argue. 

Daniel glanced at the plate for a moment. This whole night was turning stranger and stranger by the moment. After a few seconds, he shrugged to himself and picked up a piece of bread. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and a free meal was a free meal after all. 

Around him, the crowd was dispersing, some of them choosing to remain and continue drinking but a vast majority making their way to the exit, humming or even singing as they went. The atmosphere of the crowd was light, joyful. 

Daniel continued to work, writing a few more details down as he worked his way through the garlic bread and martini. 

Finally, the room was almost empty, the bartender quietly cleaning away some of his tools as the last stranglers left. 

Footsteps approached and Daniel glanced up from his book as the subject of this interview finally approached. 

“Sammie Moore, I presume?” He asked, rising from the bar seat, holding out his hand in greeting. 

Sammie glanced down at the bar, ignoring the offered hand and for a moment, Daniel swore, his dark eyes were fixated on the almost completely devoured plate of garlic bread. Then he looked up and smiled. 

“Daniel Molloy.” He replied in a warm voice, reaching up and accepting the handshake. “I am a fan of your writing,”

Daniel knew he shouldn’t poke the bear. He had been invited here after all. But still….

“A fan of geo-political scandals? Since that’s mostly what I cover these days.”

Sammie laughed. It was a warm, amused laugh. 

“My lord no.” He replied. “That is far too depressing for me.”

Daniel frowned. He felt on the backfoot here. Unsure why he had been invited. 

“I think I should warn you; I don’t write puff pieces. I write what I hear and it's not always flattering so if you are looking for something fluffy, some legacy piece, you may want to reconsider this interview.”

Sammie laughed again. 

“Please sit.” He said, indicating the vacated seat. 

Daniel did. Well, he had warned him, and the man seemed keen to continue. Hopefully that won't change. He sat down and pressed a button on his tape recorder. 

“So…” He said, flipping through the book until he landed on the pages of questions he had prepared. “Tell me about how you got into Blues.”

Sammie smiled and pulled out the seat next to him, sitting down.

“Mr. Molloy, can I call you Daniel?” He asked. 

Daniel nodded. He knew when people tried to take control of the interview. Knew when people tried to deflect and avoid. He was good at working with unreceptive people. He could allow this man to control the interview for the first few minutes. Let him feel comfortable before he got into the meat of the story. 

“Daniel. I feel I must tell you; I am not looking for a ‘puff piece’ as you put it. Rather, I wanted to talk to you because I think you are one of the few people alive who can understand my story. Since I have reason to believe you have danced with the devil just as I have. After all, like me, you wear his mark.”

Daniel started, taken aback at the comment. Then he realised Sammie’s dark eyes were not fixed on his face like most people, but on his neck. Specifically, where the collar of his shirt failed to hide the bite scar. 

Sammie knew what it was. 

Daniel stared at the man for a long moment, his eyes drawn to the scars on the man's face. Belatedly, he realised that the spacing between cuts was odd. Jagged in a way that a blade could not make and yet, Daniel could not think of any animal which could leave a mark like that. The spacing was wide, almost…. human.

A thought crossed his mind. A memory of strong, human-like hands with razor sharp nails. Strong enough to tear through flesh and muscle. As strong as teeth….

Daniel tore his eyes away from the marks.

Sammie was no longer staring at the scar on his neck. Instead, he was looking at Daniel, black eyes meeting blue. 

“Yes Daniel. I think you now understand the story I wish to tell.”

-------

Welp, there you go. I know Sammie is probably completely OOC since I have only seen the movie once, but I thought it would be cool if Daniel interviewed him, so I had to write it. I do have more planned, but I needed to get this out before I exploded and finding the time in RL to write is hard.

[redbelles]

due to our shared ongoing brainrot: what's a thing that gave you the most brainworms in masters of the air? 👀

since i've already given an insane little spiel about the flying fortress here, i will spare you the ever-present aviation brainworms and go with, uh— curt biddick.

like i'm so sorry but the way barry keoghan portrays him makes me insane, actually?

"let’s knock one off, and drop bombs on those nazi fucks, and we get to go home early," the confidence, the swagger, the little teasing joke about buck sitting in his lap if he didn't preemptively give up the left seat, the genuine concern for bucky but the willingness to hit him nonetheless, "i'm irish," the near-debilitating relief when he realizes the rest of the formation is slowing down so he can keep pace, the fucking little spoon in-joke, the characteristically astute question being played for laughs but it is an astute question! why the fuck are they going to africa! and then, god—

the fog spooks him. it's always spooked him. he heads over to talk to buck on the pretense of finding out how buck and his crew are doing, but it's so, so clear he's looking for reassurance. that he's reaffirming to himself that this clusterfuck of a mission is going to be worth it—that they'll do some real damage—even as it's brutally clear that the critical element of timing is already blown to hell. the way all that fear falls away the instant he's in the air, because he's responsible for his crew. "we're losing her" "no we're not!" he's going to keep his goddamn crew alive. his insistence that he can bring her down safely, even when it doesn't matter. when it would be easier, and safer, and smarter to bail out. dickie's going to die whether or not curt manages the gentlest landing in the world, but fuck, he has to try. he can't not try. it's such a vicious contrast to quinn's choice when babyface is trapped in the ball turret, and it breaks my fucking heart.

all this is nuanced by the fact that curt's story is one of the narrative changes masters of the air made— curt biddick did not die trying to set his plane down so his dying co-pilot could have a shot at survival. in reality, curt biddick burned to death holding his fortress level so that the rest of the crew could safely bail out. he was known as a hard luck pilot, though, and i think the changes successfully walk the very fine line of serving the narrative (see: parallel with quinn and babyface) while simultaneously honoring the spirit of the events being portrayed.

you know that i knew that the regensburg-schweinfurt raid was a shitshow and that i was prepared to watch people die, but god, curt's death still hit me like a ton of bricks. it's so well done, and the acting is phenomenal from start to finish. curt biddick, the man that you were. barry keoghan, the man that you are.

anyway! thank u for the ask! hope u like the fuckin' essay you got in response!

inbox me one (1) thing you want to know about me

[offsidetracked]

I have more to say about BYCHANCE and CARS. Buckle up buttercups 🌼

@cypherheartnokey and @ven0moir made a bunch of points about how cars tie into bychance: here, here, here, here and here.

Go check em out, it's how I got the brainworm 🧠🪱

When I first looked at the car sketch from the Jock #2 locker pic my first thought was:

"That kinda looks like a DeLorean."

So I did some digging to find the model and realized it's either a Conquest or a DeLorean.

I mean they look a lot alike (especially when all you have to go on is a sloppy sketch lol)

I'm positive though. The sketch is NOT a DeLorean:

▪️ the fuel lid is on the outside of the Conquest, as depicted in the sketch. On a DeLorean, you have to pop the hood to access it.

▪️ the hubcaps in the sketch, although messy, looks a lot more like the Conquest.

▪️ the silhouette in general, although similar, more closely resembles the Conquest.

Case closed.

But WAIT. The resemblance is still striking. For no apparent reason.

Why would they pick such a DeLorean-looking car? It's Will's letterman-looking jacket all over again.

Well... what do cars represent? In Back to the Future? In movies in general?

🕰️ In Back to the Future, the DeLorean is a time machine; a literal mode of transportation through spacetime.

It allows the protagonist Marty to, instead of just accepting things as they are, have the agency to change his future.

In his case TRANSPORTATION = TRANSFORMATION

The DeLorean gives him a choice, showing that he's the driver of his life, and ultimately, his destiny.

It's FREE WILL vs FATE

A theme heavily associated with Will. His lack of agency, constantly being victimized by the circumstances, has been a heavy plot point since S1. The UD, MF, Mileven, moving to California...

It's time for our boy to... take the wheel 😎

🚘 CARS in general are intimate, enclosed spaces.

Scenes in cars, like dinner table scenes, forces characters together, to interact. These scenes are private, personal and often serve as a catalyst for intimacy and relational drama. Car scenes also heighten the stakes (think car chases, getaway scenes, car accidents).

And lets not forget that cars are one of Hollywood's oldest, most enduring, symbols of masculinity, tied to themes like freedom, rebellion, coming-of-age, escapism, danger, destiny... And sexuality.

A cool car is hot. That's just a fact.

Hollywood loves their cars.

In movies roads, and by extension cars, are liminal spaces. They're neither here nor there, but somewhere in-between. It's a place of transition.

Liminal spaces are a little like...

... being caught between two slides in a View-Master. Or going through a gate between our world and the upside down.

I could go on and on, there's just sooooo much car symbolism we could unpack here.

But to keep it nice and breezy, cars are:

▪️ plot devices for transformation and transition

▪️established symbols of masculinity, sexuality, rebellion, coming-of-age, escapism, danger, freedom and destiny

▪️used in scenes that heighten the stakes (in the plot and/or between characters)

Now, I'm convinced the car in the sketch belongs to Chance, just like the locker.

Is Chance a literal narrative vehicle 😳 for Will's character growth? Is he, in some type of way, Will's DeLorean? Not the destination but a way to get there? Is he the detour Will has to take to get to Mike?

We already concluded that Will needs agency.

Overall, but especially in relation to Mike. It's one of the one major things he lacks throughout the narrative. I absolutely believe he'll get it. But it won't be all neat and tidy. This is horror. We gotta explore some dark themes to get there.

Will's gotta go to the upside down, literally and metaphorically, before he can turn things right side up. That includes the byler plotline.

And as have been said before; bychance is both the upside down version of byler and a great way to get there.

[all-pacas]

ok so. i know kutner isn't one of the characters giving you brainworms the same way the og fellows do but you have good takes on the show in general and so i must get your take on this:

sometimes in discussions about how kutner's death affected the show, people will say something along the lines of "if kutner hadn't died, he would've been the next head of diagnostics rather than chase" because of his similar ways of thinking/tendencies for risk taking. do you think that'd be possible and if so how do you think it'd play out?

I've actually thought about this, because I've also seen those takes. And I don't want to give a cop-out answer, but it's really hard to say, because we get way, way more of Chase — 6 years on the team that we see, two in the OR, plus another pre-series — versus Kutner, who has something like 1.5 considering the weirdness of early S4. To completely generalize, I think Chase probably is a better doctor overall than Kutner (Kutner is more creative/"brilliant," Chase is more of an all-rounder), but it's also an unfair comparison — Chase is older and more experienced — and a completely meaningless one.

Kutner is undoubtedly talented and clever and has that Creative Spark in drove; he also does come off as kind of… inexperienced? There's a running joke that he's sort of a liability; he's a fast learner and develops quickly as a doctor, but he also very much has his weaknesses: he's very friendly, but he doesn't have a great bedside manner (or filter); he has a couple non-defibrillator moments that show he's not great at physical procedures, he's sometimes a bit careless… I don't want to make it sound like he's a bad doctor, because he isn't, but his thing is Creativity and Ideas, right? He comes off as generally inexperienced. He has room to grow. I don't think he would have made a great head of diagnostics as we saw him, because he doesn't have leadership skills, struggles with social skills at times, and is still very much learning how to be a doctor. These are all things Kutner definitely could have gotten better at and grown past, but we never got to see too much of that growth, which makes guessing at his development difficult. He's just… young, you know?

House the show (and House the person) also has a pretty strong thesis along the lines of suffering makes you a better doctor, cynicism makes you a better doctor. We see it time and again with Cameron in early seasons, with her slow turn away from idealism being treated as a positive; we see it with Chase, and how he almost literally physically becomes House in S8. The choice the show presents is become cynical and Houselike, or leave. This makes me think that had Kutner stuck around, he would have had to face a similar crossroads: either lose his sunny idealism (and inexperience), or get out. It's easy for me to picture him as a great diagnostician; it's hard for me to picture him as taking over House's department, because the show pretty clearly equates that (with Chase and Foreman) with being like House.

I can see Kutner choosing to leave and start his own diagnostics department elsewhere because he doesn't want to lose his enjoyment and love of "the game." I can't as easily see him becoming "like House" in the way the show posits is necessary for the job. Or anyway, I don't want to imagine him that way, because Kutner's excitement and enthusiasm are such cornerstones of his character and it would be a shame to lose it. Chase starts the series as a similar (if less intense) version of the same character, and look how worn down he gets. He murders a guy!

The thing is, I don't think Chase was the natural heir to the throne either. I can see why people say "if Chase, then Kutner," as they serve similar roles on the team, but that's very much forgetting that for the first half of the series (Epic Fail seems to be the end point), Foreman was presented as the natural successor to House, and Foreman was treated as House's protege. Creativity and brilliance are part of it, but ruthless, apathetic genius was considered more important by the show, and Kutner doesn't have too much of the former traits (and Chase had to grow into his apathy and lose his morals over time). Nor is inheriting Diagnostics a good thing.

This is something that bugs me about these discussions on who would have or should have or deserved to take over Diagnostics: it's not a good thing. The show is fairly explicit about this. This isn't — IDK, Game of Thrones (rant for another day, asoiaf is also very much about how wanting to rule is a bad thing), this isn't a contest for who gets to "win" and be House. House doesn't want to be House. Chase in Diagnostics in the final episode isn't framed as a triumph. He looks terrified. It is a tragedy. He's become a lonely and cynical person! Hurray! I'd much rather Kutner left and found his own practice and stayed happy than that.

[pomgore]

master kohga and blademaster sooga headcanons

hey guys welcome back to my youtube channel

after a few weeks of replaying ToTK i got yiga brainworms again and thought i'd elaborate some of my thoughts on the timeline of kohga and the yiga clan, as well as a sort-of AU where sooga is a part of the canon timeline and joins the yiga clan about a decade before the events of BoTW, as opposed to being present and established in the clan during AoC. worth mentioning that this is a) wildly self indulgent and b) just my little ideas, not something i think Should be true but rather i think would be interesting and fun and sexy if it were true, and c) its long. its so long guys i have too many ideas.

disclaimer: not all of the relationship dynamics described below are entirely safe or sane, although all of them are consensual. if this were a fanfic it would probably warrant the tag "under-negotiated kink." reader beware! in particular some of these headcanons address the sorta-controvery surrounding how kohga and sooga first met (and whether it makes their relationship Unconscionable), so, you know. read at your own discretion, and if you don't like it then call it quits !

headcanons and doodles under the cut

kohga

ohhh kohga. oh this guy.

born a sheikah some 40-50 years before the calamity to an esteemed family with expertise in the Esoteric Arts of the sheikah clan (namely magic). kohga was also trained in these arts and upon maturity (traditionally age 20 per my miscellaneous hyrule kingdom hcs) joined the direct service of the royal family, in essence a spy and enforcer where may.

was also educated in hyrule's history (per sheikah tradition) and excelled in historical political theory/analysis. when he wasn't working in the royal family's service he was often nose deep in some thousand-year-old manuscript on zora/hylian trade economy. huge dweebus

as a result of his interest in scholarly pursuits kohga was put on a historian track alongside his service to the kingdom. he became privileged with a lot of restricted or forgotten records on hyrule's history and was eventually admitted entry to the shadow temple for study of its ancient carvings and scripts. the shadow temple served the same purpose as it did in OoT (although at the time of kohga's admittance was falling out of use), and it has a similar taboo of discussion so kohga is understandably shocked to learn that the sheikah were/are torturing enemies of the crown for information/disobedience.

the first seed of rebellion is planted upon kohga's discovery of the purpose of the shadow temple, but kohga felt he didn't understand the purposes of the kingdom well enough to put up a fuss about the morality of their methods (and, being in service to the kingdom had already done his fair share of morally dubious things on behalf of the royal family) so he continued his studies of the shadow temple's edifices and tried not to think too hard about what he was seeing or hearing while present. who knows, maybe violence is a necessary evil for hylia's blessed lineage !

i think that the thyphlo ruins in botw/totk are the remains of the shadow temple. like hey it makes sense. maybe built on top of an even older ruin dedicated to hyrule's history initially as a monument to the richness of the kingdom (and zonai stuff if we're including totk canon, which atp i'm disinclined to do LOL) which later devolved into the place where the kingdom's Richness was Effectuated. also cmon in botw its literally a shadowy ruin of a temple like it makes sense guys

while pursuing his studies and translating ancient hyrulean kohga kept uncovering epitaphs to conquered rulers and kingdoms and eventually pieces together the kingdom of hyrule's history of subjugating hyrule the continent's societies. the offenses against the gerudo were especially egregious but there was a story for each race of a "too-uppity" leader trying to cecede/reclaim/counter-conquer regions of the expanding hyrule kingdom and getting absolutely thrashed by hyrule's armies and the secretive, vicious race of the sheikah. second seed of rebellion is planted.

at some point kohga's fellow scholars noticed how much time he was spending at the shadow temple and collectively agreed to keep an eye on him. kohga was far from the first sheikah to pay undue attention to the blights on hyrule's noble history

a recurring character in hyrule's more mythological history, the demon king/demise/ganon, caught kohga's attention as a) a uniquely vicious opponent to the various heroes of hyrule's history and b) often manifesting in the form of a revolutionary or dissident, usually amassing popular support before engaging counteroffensives to the kingdom of hyrule. there was some troubling rhetoric about becoming the lord of all hyrule and destroying the world associated with this figure, who is sometimes depicted as a god and sometimes a man, but kohga, familiar with the historical practice of exaggerating "the enemy" figure's cruelty, took this to be embellishment by hylian historians.

around the height of kohga's research on the shadow temple, where he was filling in blanks in the readily-accessible sheikah historical records with what he uncovered at the temple, the sheikah's relationship with the royal family (already strained due to the "ugly" history of the sheikah and the lessened applications of the sheikah's talents during times of peace) was soured nearly to the point of irrevocable damage. haven't worked out all the details on this idea yet but essentially some sus sheikah operation under orders from the royal family is uncovered and spreads to other societies, who become suspicious that the hylian kingdom is about to go through another expansion period/start exerting more direct influence over the peoples of other regions. almost every sheikah in service to the kingdom (with the notable exception of high-status families like impa&purah&robbie's lineage) were dismissed and the sheikah were forced into an even sterner isolation from the rest of hyrule. they began suffering with resource scarcity as a result, along with general marginalization from the other peoples of hyrule. SO MANY seeds of rebellion in kohga's heart! ultimately kohga was still not driven to action because he suffered less in his own family's privilege (problematic!kohga)

while the sheikah were still out of favor with the rest of hyrule kohga continued his research, now moving towards a specialization in the stories of the demon king/demise/ganon throughout history. eventually he was approached by fellow sheikah, who expressed that his fascination with the demon king in this time of uncertainty towards the sheikah might be Misconstrued. in turn kohga pointed them towards the ways in which the sheikah were used by the kingdom of hyrule for their own (usually reprehensible) ends and how time and time again the sheikah were the ones who were mistrusted and reviled for things that the kingdom ordered them to do. kohga gained some of his first followers this way before he even really organized a counter-movement, but so too did he gain his first opponents after expressing his first radical opinions to less radical minds.

not long after this kohga was summoned by the presiding elder of the sheikah for a private discussion on the dangers of the restricted knowledge kohga was privileged to. the intent in revealing that information to kohga and permitting his studies in the shadow temple was to produce more reasons for the sheikah to work loyally beneath the royal family in service of the will of the goddess, with revelations related to the consequences of Not Doing That equally abundant in the histories of the shadow temple's records. the elder said that this time of misdoubt will pass and the sheikah will be called upon again in recognition of their worth. kohga said many things to the effect of but what about now and why should we let the world believe we are the wicked ones when we're not and the royal family wasn't always the authority over all hyrule and maybe they shouldn't be now, all of which earned him the reproach of the elder and those most loyal to the elder, the royal family and the goddess hylia, given the understanding that hylia directly blessed the royal family with the right to govern hyrule with benevolence. kohga officially declared that particular understanding bullshit given the royal family's demonstrated lack of benevolence and as a result loses faith in the stories he's been told about the goddess.

worth mentioning up until this point i think kohga did believe in the goddess and prayed to her/practiced rituals associated with her common to most sheikah. he wasn't particularly devout, given the religion was inherited rather than "found", but during the in-between of the sheikah being ousted from the monarchal government and the culmination of kohga's radicalization, he probably clung to the idea of the goddess as best he could, hoping that if she was truly merciful and favored the sheikah, she would do something to clear their name and bring them prosperity again. desperate, embittered prayer in the middle of the night to an unmoved carven effigy.

as a result of kohga's increasing desperation towards the idea of hylia, his investigation on demise brings him to extend his scope to stories of the goddesses and their interactions with this demon king. since this was more mythology than history it fell outside of kohga's expertise but he did his diligence in finding patterns in the narratives of hylia and the goddess's wars with the incarnations of demise. the stories predictably favored hylia and reviled demise, but when demise incarnated as ganondorf and suddenly hylians took hylia's role and non-hylians, most of all the gerudo, were synecdochic to demise, kohga realized that stories of hylia served foremost to justify the hylian kingdom's conquest of hyrule, and the means by which they did so. he came to associate hylia with the deceit of the kingdom and demise with those scapegoated for the kingdom's crimes. he also discussed these analyses and the unfairness of the sheikah's present situation with other sheikah. you can see where this is going.

in light of kohga's dissenting faction beginning to spread throughout the already-diminished sheikah kohga was brought in public fashion before the elder for another "discussion" (this time more of an outright argument) where the elder tried to convince a increasingly disillusioned kohga of the nobility of enduring disrespect for the rewards of a (distant) future and the grace of the goddess, and kohga argued back that things need to change now and the sheikah deserve more respect than to be the kingdom's ugly mark on its beautiful and contrived face. this went on in a loud and dramatic fashion, and when kohga left the town following the fight people were pretty sure he wouldn't come back.

kohga went to the shadow temple but was intercepted by hylian soldiers, who kohga p much cussed out as he went on his way. the soldiers followed him and nearly got to the shadow temple before sheikah (not inclined to kohga's point of view but neither inclined to let non-sheikah discover the temple) intercepted them and turned them away with stern warnings. the soldiers went back to the castle and spread word of a secret temple only sheikah were permitted to enter. this story becomes quickly warped.

kohga returned to the sheikah town after some few days spent in the shadow temple (all the while dreaming strange dreams) to find the sheikah in the midst of a religious schism related to the ideas kohga propounded days earlier. kohga, now motivated to action by the injustice of the situation kohga leapt into the fray on the side of his own faction, demanding that the sheikah stand up for themselves and assert who they truly are to the rest of the world rather than hiding behind notions of kingdoms and goddesses and divine wills. despite the participation of many sheikah in this argument on both sides, sometimes with scuffles even breaking out between members of opposed factions, the elder named kohga alone as an exile and demanded he leave and take his fractious ideas with him. kohga demanded in turn to stay put, and was forcibly escorted from the town by sheikah fighters, some of whom he once worked alongside in service to the crown. kohga condemned all of them as frauds and cowards and went alone into the wide world.

for a while kohga tried proselytizing to travelers he met on the road but the opinion of the sheikah was as low as it had ever been and, being a sheikah of some nobility, kohga's forehead was tattooed with the eye of the sheikah and he couldn't escape his associations with the clan no matter where he went. eventually other sheikah who followed him into exile caught up with him and they worked together to sustain themselves and survive, in the meantime discussing the nature of the injustices they'd faced. they organized as a small group with kohga as the de facto leader. this is sort of the proto-establishment of the yiga clan.

not long after kohga and the defected sheikah left, the first remnants of ancient sheikah technology associated with the calamity of 10,000 years ago were uncovered.

kohga decided to take his little club to the shadow temple and show them some of what he'd learned of the kingdom's past. as they came upon the temple they saw a red glow above the trees and witnessed the active destruction of the shadow temple by not only royal soldiers but members of the sheikah clan. the rest of the defected sheikah, seeing their own clansmen there, didn't proceed into the temple, but beyond all of kohga's vitriol towards his former clan and the kingdom he felt a deep connection to the history documented in the shadow temple, and seeing it razed to the ground he went and tried to enter the burning ruin. he was initially hindered by the soldiers and the sheikah, but he threw all of them off and went into the actively crumbling ruin.

descending to the lowest chamber where murals and bas-reliefs of demise were made, kohga in his abject hatred and desperation dropped to his knees and prayed to the demon king for a way to preserve all he knew of the crimes of hylia's lineage, and a way to lay those crimes at their feet. in the deep and dark, kohga's prayers were answered. to preserve his knowledge, his hylian soul was unmade and replaced with the soul of a monster, as to make him functionally immortal and bind him irrevocably to the demon king. i think this process works something like trading essences with the horned statue. the demon king didn't need to give kohga a way to have his revenge, because all of his anger and betrayal and power and charisma were already present and already manifesting the means by which his revenge would be had. when kohga left the smoldering ruin of the shadow temple behind, he looked no different than when he entered (although as time passed this would change) but his sense of purpose was magnified immensely.

now at last we come to the events of the calamity and botw! kohga established a broader following in the handful of years between his prayer and the calamity (it's around this time that link and zelda became prominent names and thusly rose to the top of kohga's shitlist--a goddess incarnate and her stupidly talented protector were of course enemies two and one) and once the calamity occurred he amassed a great deal of followers desperate for explanations and purpose that the yiga clan could offer. kohga definitely came into his own as a leader at this time, and his promises of a changed world under the guidance of demise as well as people to blame for their suffering were attractive to the terrified and desolated masses.

from there it kind of proceeds as one would expect of the outlined history. kohga does well leading but his followers' boundless loyalty and enthusiasm give him the leeway to get lazy, he gets his hand into as many peoples' business as he possibly can and becomes incredibly meddlesome, incredibly influential and as a result incredibly dangerous, and as he amasses all of this power begins losing sight of the original offenses that raised his alarms with WRT hyrule's kingdom and the sheikah. he endorses violence easily, first against "oppressors" and then against whoever would stand against the yiga, and by the time link rises from the dead kohga is a firmly established player in post-calamity hyrule.

the mythology of kohga himself among yiga and the rest of hyrule's people alike can vary. some people think kohga is an inherited title carried by many people for the hundreds of years the yiga have been around, some people think kohga is an incarnation of demise, some people think he sold his soul for power, some pople think he doesn't exist. kohga doesn't bother clarifying one way or the other.

as far as the functions of kohga's "immortality" go, being a monster by technicality, if he dies (always by unnatural causes, he doesn't age after his prayer to demise) he returns to life with the blood moon. between his death and resurrection he floats around as a little poe. because i think thats cute :3 after calamity ganon is sealed away by zelda, kohga still has his monster's soul but cannot return to life if he dies, so he is Extra Careful (dying is still painful and unpleasant and cosmically inconceivable for kohga no matter how many times he does it--really only a couple times--so he tries to avoid it even while capable of "respawning") from then on.

having watched a great deal of people live and die, initially caring about many of them but learning to distance himself as they went on dying, kohga as a rule doesn't make close interpersonal connections. he's pretty good at pretending he cares about someone but otherwise tries to keep his heart close and protected. this of course goes out the window when he becomes close to sooga.

sooga

since kohga's life was lived on a much grander scale and he had a hand in many significant events related to sheikah history, i think it would be apt for sooga's life to cover a smaller scale, involving regular people with insignificant lives.

born about seventy years after the calamity to a half-gerudo mother and a hylian father (i'm thinking he was from hateno? sooga's grandfather might have been a soldier stationed at the fort there) who live semi-nomadically and in general poverty. sooga wasn't born in gerudo town or to a mother who put significance on her heritage so it wasn't necessarily odd that sooga was born a male child, but his mother's lingering gerudo superstitions did make her relationship with sooga a little uneasy even when he was a baby.

since the calamity a couple of things have changed in hyrule, most notably a) the sheikah reconciled with the royal family before the calamity due to their knowledge of the ancient sheikah technology and artifacts and b) post calamity, the yiga are far from the only criminal organization to have formed of the vestiges of hyrule's civilization, and groups of opportunist bandits and thugs who threaten vulnerable folks for money are common to find. with the shaky restoration of hyrule's armies in the later decades after the calamity some of these bandits are routed, but they're still far from Under Control.

that being said sooga's mother and father, being poor and desperate, get involved with some of these petty criminal organizations and end up owing more money than they can pay back. one day while sooga is about five the loan sharks take his father away and sooga nor his mother ever see him again.

sooga's mother is still under threat of the sharks having taken out her own loans she's failed to repay, so while struggling as a merchant she begins taking sooga south to the gerudo, hoping to find refuge in her hometown with her kid. traveling from necluda to the gerudo region is a pretty tall order for a lone mother and a young child, and they are being pursued by criminals, so this journey is incredibly difficult on sooga's mother and sooga as a result. as sooga grows up his childhood is characterized by perpetual fear and hardship. his poorly health as a consequence of hard living creates another financial burden on his mother.

sooga and his mother make it to the gerudo desert when sooga is fourteen years old, managing to lose the pursuant criminals once the climate of the desert heads them off. this period of the trip is the most desperate for sooga and his mother, who barely survive off of raw plants and fruits they can find in the desert without being able to cook the necessary foods or elixirs to make it through the desert easily. passing through kara kara bazaar and strangers taking pity on them and offering food and water is probably the only way they survive through the very last leg of the journey.

they arrive at gerudo town on sooga's fifteenth birthday. though the calamity didn't have a profound effect on the gerudo save an increase in monster activity and trade suffering, the superstitions of gerudo culture stipulate that even though sooga hasn't matured, he is not welcome in gerudo town. sooga's mother is faced with either leaving the desert with her son (if they even survive the return journey, they have nowhere to go and loan sharks will be waiting) or going into gerudo town alone.

sooga and his mother live just outside of gerudo town for three days, and on the morning of the fourth day sooga wakes up alone. for a while sooga begs and barters outside of gerudo town, trying anything he can think of to get the guards to let him in, and although they pity him and bring him as much food and drink as they possibly can to sustain him, they can't let him in. when sooga understands he's been well and truly left behind, he wanders off into the desert, expecting to die there. (sidebar: no hate on sooga's mom. i think it's stupid how women are expected to sacrifice their lives for their children in mother-child narratives. but sooga's the main character here so it seems like she's the bad guy)

sooga wanders for about a month, mostly sustained by food the gerudo gave him which (if sooga were of a sound mind and able to ration it, it would have gotten him well past the desert). sort of stumbling around half blind he doesn't exactly have a destination, save finding somewhere suitable to die (his angst is half his upbringing and half being fifteen years old). it's in the midst of his roaming, on the verge of collapse, that sooga is found by two yiga footsoldiers and taken to the karusa valley hideout.

sooga is taken before kohga, who is none too thrilled with having a half-dead teenager thrown at his feet and after finger-wagging at the yiga footsoldiers for a little while, facilitates sooga's recovery and when sooga is lucid again, kohga explains that he, master of the yiga clan, saved sooga's life and so now sooga can either go back out into the desert and live his life as he sees fit, under the pretense that he never raises a hand against the yiga clan for the rest of his life, OR he can join the yiga clan! sooga, who is by now familiar with the consequences of unpaid debts and considers himself insurmountably indebted to kohga, says that he will join the yiga clan.

yes kohga met sooga when sooga was a teenager. everyone take a moment to clutch your pearls and let's move on.

sooga is sort of collectively raised by kohga and the yiga clan, since he doesn't really Belong to anybody and so his specialty isn't inherited (holdover sheikah traditions) he gets training in every field of yiga expertise and, once fully recovered from the health complications of his uprbinging, proves to be incredibly talented and doubly enthusiastic. life and purpose and community have been bestowed upon him by the benevolence of master kohga! he works very hard to be worthy of these gifts. in the meantime, living among a large settled community for the first time, sooga also learns How To interact With Other People. this may be the only thing he does not excel at.

upon witnessing sooga's immense talent kohga decides to train sooga in some of the more esoteric sheikah techniques that few yiga have the disciple to take on. sooga is essentially fast-tracked through the yiga ranks once it's clear that he's kohga's star pupil, and when kohga is seventeen he a) becomes the youngest blademaster ever honored as such among the yiga and b) realizes he has a massive, profound, potentially life-ruining infatuation with master kohga. i think that having his life saved and given meaning by a charismatic, powerful older man during his formative adolescent years would probably definitely permanently alter sooga's brain. i know it would mine !

later the same year sooga is dispatched on a rite-of-passage blademaster assignment where the newly-minted blademaster is sent to a region far away from the yiga headquarters to attend to whatever duties necessitate the blademaster's intercession there--in practice this is mostly monitoring comers and goers, keeping in contact with the blademaster network while learning to wrangle their assigned footsoldier detachment, but sometimes can entail intimidation, enforcement, and hit-work based on whether a person of interest to the yiga is in the area to which the blademaster is assigned. sooga is sent with two more experienced blademasters all the way to akkala, and refines his yiga talents there for the better part of three years (nothing particluarly exciting happens during this dispatch, the trio mostly camps out by robbie's lab and spies on him and steals his paper deliveries).

sooga returns to karusa valley with his skills honed to near-perfection and having matured to adulthood in his 20th year, and when he comes back he is so very competend and beautiful that kohga a) takes notice and b) has a crisis. more on that later. sooga of course doesn't take notice because kohga goes to pains to hide it and he's all wrapped up in his own pining angst.

sooga spends five years as a blade master, and at age 25 is promoted to master kohga's right hand, the second highest station a member of the yiga clan can occupy and a role that has not been occupied for some twenty-odd years following the death of the previous right hand. during the events of botw, sooga is 28 years old (but has old man energy. bro has lived a LIFE and he's not even 30 yet.)

kohga and sooga

i like drawing kohga laying on lavish pillows can u tell

kohga's crisis is twofold: first, based on undisputed cultural mores suviving from pre-calamity times, kohga is afraid he is a freak creep nasty cradle robbing pervert for becoming attracted to (and later falling in love with) his once-pupil sooga. understandably so! second, because kohga is no longer human (in the sense that all the races of hyrule are "human" by virtue of souls, sentience, favored by the narrative in opposition to monsters, etc) he'll have to reckon with sooga's death one day and even before then might somehow insinuate himself close enough to sooga that sooga takes notice of his inhumanity, which kohga has never allowed to happen with anyone else and does not intend to start with sooga.

sooga's crisis is threefold: first, in mirror to kohga's first crisis, sooga's attraction to kohga is based not in small part on the way they met and the interactions they had when sooga was still considered a youth. like kohga saved sooga's life and made him into a nonpareil whose life had purpose and whose presence was wanted, and who wouldn't fall in love with the man responsible? but because kohga saved sooga's life and cared for him and tutored him while sooga was still a youth, sooga's attraction is complicated by its impropriety. does not help that sooga as a high-ranking blademaster and later a right hand is in almost constant proximity with kohga AND that literally almost every yiga knows how they met, so sooga couldn't come up with a more seemly lie even if he wanted to. second, related to the former, sooga has unwaveringly priced kohga as a good and honorable man (to other yiga anyway) who is also familiar with the circumstances of their meeting, and as a result probably wouldn't have sooga even if sooga did approach him with his feelings. third, sooga is absolutely dependent on the yiga clan to give him purpose, and if he somehow screwed up his working relationship with master kohga enough that he wanted to leave, he would have nowhere to go and no-one to be. sooga would probably kill himself before jeopardizing his place within the yiga clan, and his weird unseemly feelings about his master are, to him, too much of a risk to voice.

while sooga is pretty much a pro at bottling up his feelings and shoving the cork all the way down the neck of the bottle, kohga deals with his feelings less gracefully, often unable to stop himself from favoring sooga or getting close to him/comfortable with him and generally making it kind of embarrassingly obvious he has a thing for sooga. this interspliced with kohga's own angst about his feelings creates a sort of weird tension in kohga and sooga's working relationship, where kohga is very friendly and sometimes outright affectionate, but always seems to be holding himself back a great deal and cannot be made to say even one sincere or sentimental thing in sooga's presence, which sooga notices but can't diagnose. sooga is a bit obtuse woops.

while i'm undecided on a lot of events regarding the catalyst of their relationship/who confesses first/etc etc etc, i think that the loss of sooga's eye (probably a month or two after sooga is promoted to right hand) in a fight with the gerudo while defending kohga is what finally gets kohga to be sincere in sooga's presence. sooga up to this point has had a lot of scares (and given kohga a lot of scares) with near-death encounters but this one is officially Too Much for kohga and he almost breaks down while sooga's in recovery. when sooga is lucid again he gets the scolding of his life from kohga, which is pretty much kohga very angrily listing all the ways that sooga is important to him and coming up with creative threats for if sooga tries to throw himself on the sword for kohga againor if demise forbide he Dies. sooga still doesn't Figure It Out but he takes kohga's threats to heart and starts honing the talent of shoving a lackey in front of a sword instead of taking the hit himself (still not very good at this).

after this kohga is a bit more emotionally open to sooga, but this only makes all that he's holding back more obvious to sooga. sooga Still Doesnt Figure It Out

i do think sooga is the one who confesses. again under what circumstances, i don't know, but no way in hell is kohga confessing first.

once they are together, kohga's worries about their relationship early on are a very tricky obstacle for he and sooga to navigate, made more difficult by sooga's steadfast beliefs as to what their relationship Should Be. the reservations kohga had about their previous relationship as master and pupil are compounded with their current statuses, where sooga is still subordinate to him. he wants very badly to be equals with sooga, but sooga is flat out obsessed with being in service to master kohga, like he won't let go of the life debt thing and he just plain doesn't want to be kohga's equal, since thus far his life has been defined by serving kohga's will. sooga doesn't want to be considered equal to kohga because he thinks he just Isn't. it's a violation of chain of command, its an egregious assertion of pride, its bla bla bla.

the compromise here is probably sooga-sided, but i think they get around the question of equality by instead making sure that one's power over the other's is balanced, as opposed to removing power dynamics from the equation altogether. even before they engage a romantic relationship sooga exerts plenty of influence on kohga, convincing him of smarter paths/better allies/whether mercy should be offered to an enemy (usually not), he holds sway over kohga's decision making and also plenty of power within the yiga hierarchy in his own right. so eventually sooga agrees that, if kohga must have power over him then he must also have power over kohga, which in practice manifests as sooga overruling kohga's more wild flights of fancy and asserting himself when he is certain kohga is about to make a Bad Call. in turn kohga is still sooga's master, bosses him around when they're in public and leaves him a lot of the more boring administrative work, but when they're alone together there isn't an interplay of status to necessarily consider, and any power dynamics they mess around with in sexual contexts are for fun.

worth noting that for sooga, kohga being his "master" is at least partially related to a sexual sort of fascination sooga has with being specifically kohga's subordinate--again, i do think sooga's attraction to kohga was directly informed by how they met. if this were 21st century planet earth it would be wise for sooga to actually discuss this with kohga to ensure that both of them were on the same page, but since they're in [mumbles time period] hyrule it's more implicit. kohga later discovers the sexual appeal in their power dynamic with sooga's (comparatively) enthusiastic guidance.

relatedly: if this were 21st century planet earth sooga would have an absolutely mind boggling daddy kink.

kohga's desperate terror of losing sooga and sooga's own terror of failing to adequately repay his debt to kohga kind of tie them together around this looming notion of death. no matter how many times sooga saves kohga's life he feels like it isn't enough of a repayment, and every time sooga saves kohga's life kohga just becomes more and more afraid of sooga's inevitable demise. in some corner of their relationship is always the terrible reality of death, as well as kohga's secret of immortality.

i think kohga's history and true nature are the very last things sooga learns about him. kohga is so incredibly protective of his past that i really only think it would come out under a situation of extreme duress, like an encounter with someone from kohga's past or a near-death experience on kohga's end instead of sooga's. kohga feels guilty for letting sooga imperil himself on kohga's behalf when kohga can't die forever, not really, but he doesn't know how to explain it and although he's proud of his covenant with demise he's ashamed that he can't rightly call himself anything but a monster, who for all the yiga' work in ingratiating themself with ganon are still enemies of all sapient peoples of hyrule, and spoken of by sheikah and yiga alike as base and wicked beasts. this all kind of circles back to kohga's "human" history of being reviled and cast out by his clan.

they are each other's own most exploitable vulnerability. sort of like pair bonded chinchillas. one of them dies and the other one follows right after from chinchilla grief.

THANK YEW 4 LISTENING :]

in case you didn't see it here's a post of kohga and sooga's faces in color with my most recent designs I FORGOT KOHGA'S OTHER TATTOOS THOUGH so dont look too closely

[t00thpasteface]

Do your shoulders hurt? From single-handedly carrying the Hawkahy fandom for so long?

no, because seven months isn't all that long in the grand scheme of things, and it would be very wrong of me to act like i'm atlas carrying the weight of this ship when there were people posting hawkahy fic online while i was still in elementary school. i'm definitely not doing this singlehandedly; there's plenty of other brilliant, funny, and talented hawkahy fans drawing art, writing fic, and otherwise spreading the good word to keep the ball rolling. i mean, this isn't marcien or kingcade we're talking about here; i wasn't the first post in the hawkahy tag!

i really appreciate the sentiment, but i want to make it perfectly clear that i'm not in the rarepair game to get people throwing roses at my feet. i just go wherever the brainworms lead me and try to serve up some smiles along the way! rather than stroke my ego, i'd much rather see people channel their enthusiasm into their own creations and join me in the ball pit ☆~(ゝᴗ ∂)

[midnightkolrath]

Dante and his deeper layers I've noticed in the 2007 anime

I originally meant for this to be a WAY bigger dig/analysis, as I want to go episode by episode...but I decided to minimize it for now because this anime gives me brainworms so often, lmao.

So, lets get into this light dig of added bits for Dante's character from the anime and just how neat the anime is on what it covers.

Early on in the anime, there's parts of the anime where Patty unknowingly berates Dante about having a picture of his "girlfriend" on his desk, not knowing its actually his mother. Same episode, she talks to Dante about her own mother, and how much she wishes to meet her, after being orphaned for unknown reasons (We learn why later but you know).

And BOTH times, Dante doesn't respond, save for a quiet distant stares off into space or seemingly ignoring her. For the first case, he very much likely excuses it with the fact that she's just not aware of the truth of the picture but not outright scolding her over it.

Like...he doesn't snap or correct her or anything. He just remains quiet. And we know how much Dante loved his mom (his color palette even matches hers for gods' sake) and how he got when facing Trish in DMC1 (which this takes place after). Shows just how those events really changed him afterwards. Especially since this is also after he thought he killed Vergil with his own hands...which the anime VERY MUCH shows the depression he has. He's in it deep for alot of it.

Back to the second part of the Patty thing though, as much as he pretends he isn't listening or doesn't care, he very much WAS listening to her, as later in that episode, he easily figures out where she went (into a trap where a demon disguised itself as her mother to lure her) due to the poster she was gazing at which reminded her of her mother, and the discussion they had right before she ran off.

Like, this man may be the way he is and PRETEND he isn't paying attention to people sometimes, but like...no, when its important, he VERY MUCH is. Speaking of which...episode 3.

This is one of the fun parallel episodes where the situation reflects a part of Dante's life...such as when a demon falls in love with a human, who was originally supposed to serve his master. Obviously, a parallel to Sparda and Eva's relationship, Dante's parents.

Even when its found out that the guy is the target dante's supposed to be after, Dante literally takes time to hear him out and question him over his love for a human woman. Dante's the result of such a relationship, so it makes sense he'd stop to listen.

In the end, he decides to go against killing this demon, despite what his client wanted. He sees firsthand and knows that this is actually a couple in love. Like...he gets it. For obvious reasons, but he also MADE SURE it was a true love relationship. Pretty wholesome actually.

An obvious one if you've seen the instruments and jukebox in his office, but episode 6 adds on that Dante 'gets' music and how it can touch/relate to people. I think its a cute additional touch. :' )

I wanna dig into this episode more eventually, but its obviously music themed. And Dante hangs out as a bodyguard for some fellow music enjoyers. Just one of those nice further looks on the general work Dante does, which this anime does a great job in doing.

Episode 7 onward is where shit gets deep into more parallels and just the kind of guy Dante is, while going through it this whole series. Helping a spirit get laid to rest by pulling a prison break and rescuing her brother (Episode 7)...

Having his status as the son of sparda ending up getting someone originally close to him (Supposedly anyway, its implied that Dante grew up with this guy and was raised by the same mother figure...which Dante denies, but we know how he can be, and he was likely trying to protect him in a way) hurt and said person thrusting hate on him for it as that was why a whole village got burned down...and the guy originally believed and had genuine faith that it wasn't Dante's fault (Episode 8)...

Meeting students (who are brothers, one older and one younger) of his father, arguably bonding with one of them and having to put both down in the end (Episode 10), which can be seen as a cruel parallel to himself and Vergil...(And even going through the effort of respectfully setting a grave site together for them)

And the final episodes, 11 and 12, are the conclusion of the whole arc that was built up in the background...but its also a show of Dante and Patty's relationship becoming so close as she goes to personally save him after he was impaled by the big bad. Its a pay off for the growing bits of them spending time together from episode 1, and later a neat easter egg nod in DMC5 where Patty calls to invite him to her birthday party, showing they still very much keep in touch. (And the novel Before the Nightmare goes more into why, exactly, he actually didn't want to go, but we'll dive more into that later one day).

I'll likely more deeply elaborate about the anime one day, but like...there's a reason why its such a gem in the series. Short, but did great with the episodes it had. A treat for those who want to see more layers for Dante. Its so SO good.

Like you may or may not like the 'slice of life' parts, but its necessary for what they were going for, I think. I know I skipped a few things, but I hope I got the big highlights atleast. Go check out the first anime, its a pretty damn solid ride.

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Happy Wincest Wednesday! My topic of the week (because let's be real, i never actually ask questions. I give topics that i want people to rant about and you all seem perfectly happy to take it from there) is food! We of course all know about Sam and Dean's fights over it, and their constant scoffing at each other's diets, but let's dig a little deeper.

Personally, I've had a brainworm for a while about diners, and how much their entire dynamic would change if they couldn't go to them anymore. The Impala might be their first home, but diners are their second. They're open all night, and basically the same no matter where in America you go. And the menu is varied enough to make them both happy. There's always going to be burgers and salad, plus enough coffee to keep them both awake.

Anyway, let's hear about what they cook for each other, what meals they will both share... And yes, of course we can make it about alternate uses of food, too.

- @schizosamwincester

Oh I love the idea of diners being part of their home growing up (and throughout their lives really). Like the family kitchen table, it's where they'd gather to eat meals, read the paper, plan their days, and probably do schoolwork (Sammy). One of the things about the later seasons is that we get to see how they adjust to having a kitchen of their own. Dean's nesting and how he taught himself to cook better food than just mac and cheese or whatever. We get to see Dean making their dad's kitchen sink stew, and Winchester Surprise, and burgers, and omelets, and so much food. But we also get to see Sam making Dean grilled cheese, and breakfast, and pasta. Domestic Sam and Dean is one of my favorite things.

Now, as far as alternate uses for food goes, I think that's one kink that is definitely more Dean's than Sam's. But I think that Sam would totally indulge his brother in that regard, even if he wasn't thrilled about the sticky mess. But whipped cream has been sprayed onto various body parts to be dutifully licked clean and, as a special birthday surprise, a nice, warm slice of pie has been served up at least once on some naked part of Sam, which Dean then enthusiastically ate off of him.

Thank you, as always, for the "ask"!