#whether cruelty or a strange sense of kindness

[zmediaoutlet]

happy wincest wednesday and happy 2023! reverse uno: what are your favorite ways for john to find out dean and sam are fucking in a universe where dean and john are ALSO fucking?

woooooo wincest wednesday uno games and everyone's a winner --

Except John, lol.

You know, all my wincest fic and all my Dean/John fic and all the Full House of Wincest I've done, and somehow I don't think I've ever written that scenario? How tf did that happen?

Part of it may be that I haaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAATE fics where John's even vaguely a shipper on deck -- even where he's like 'ah, Sam and Dean are too obsessed with each other but That's For The Best bc Thin Hunting-Related Justification' just never vibe quite right with me. I have very narrow parentheses in which I find John believable. (What a surprise, a hard canon stance from ol' z.)

But -- a John who's been fucking Dean doesn't have too much of a leg to stand on, does he. Except: he does, of course he does, he's the god-patriarch and his word goes. It depends, of course, on the type of Dean/John that's been going on, but I'll go with my version because it's mine and I like it best, haha: a largely unspoken helpmeet scenario, where it's just part of the overarching need Dean has for his dad's love and attention and calm and happiness, and where John knows that he's using Dean and knows that even if Dean loves it he's still ruining his son and, this is key, John chooses to keep doing it anyway because that's who John is, as a person. Dean the extension of his arm and the step under his boot and something beloved but also something useful and ignorable until it is time to use it. Not size-72 font obviously awful abusive but -- well. Canon levels of abuse, let's go with that.

SO given that: let's call it a wincest scenario where Sam's in his mid-late teens and wants to take up with Dean. Did he know about D/John, or suspect? My favorite version of weecest + dadcest is actually for Sam to be kind of oblivious about it, as he was oblivious to a lot of key things in his teens (as you gestured to a little in your answer) -- he wants Dean and his attention and his love but he's also a very strong-willed teenager and so he also just wants to get his rocks off and knows that Dean's willing, whenever they crack past that barrier. And Dean, already with that door blown open inside himself, can't help it -- because after all he knows he's good at this, and he knows that it does make people closer, and he loves Sam and wants Sam to be calm and happy too, and isn't it just -- easier? He'll leave John on a hunt well-drained and focused and come home to Sam all bitchy and missing him and saying stuff like he shouldn't make you hunt, you should be in school, and Dean sighs and he could argue but he could also thumb Sam's hip, and Sam'd shut up all big-eyed and hopeful and going, oh, can we -- and Dean can say something like, yeah, and missed you, Sammy, which is only true, after all. And it's good, and when Sam's snoring on the fold out couch Dean can shower and carefully thumb two loads out of himself and then call John and say how's the job, Dad? and not really -- think about it. It's just taking care of things, like he always does.

SO, given that: it's easy to have John walk in on them -- a hunt finished early, they're wrapped up in each other; it's easy to have a demon tell him, and he doesn't believe it but then he's been hearing a lot of stuff about his boys from demons, and they lie but also blah blah. I prefer small and undramatic, though, so what if instead it's that one day John's home and he's actually slept well for once and he's not hungover and he's just going through the paper at the table, and Dean's cleaning the guns like he's supposed to and Sam's doing homework like he's supposed to and John, not being an idiot or a monk, just -- picks up on a vibe. A look Sam gives Dean. A smile from Dean to Sam that John's had aimed at himself, in key moments, and he just -- knows, the way that sometimes you know things, and he's sitting there with the paper and his hands turn to fists.

He's NOT a shipper on deck. He's NOT thinking 'oh, The Things I Have Done To My Family, O Woe But Unforch That's The Way It Is.' I think he's not thinking at all, in the way that we can ignore deep horrors if we have to, and he closes the paper, and he says he's going out, and he takes Sam with him because -- he's the dad, he gets to -- and Sam's sullen in the passenger seat as they head to the gun store or to buy salt or whatever errand John's operational-matters mind invents, and they barely talk but John watches Sam as they go through the chores and gears are turning and he --

stops fucking Dean. Stops talking much to them at all, for a while. Takes jobs and sends Dean on jobs and makes Sam help. Work, and work, and work, and when they're alone once Dean's not being subtle about trying not to look at John, because he doesn't know what he did wrong but he must've done something wrong, and John can't say, and he knows it's hurting Dean but then again when has he ever not done something he thought was necessary because it might have hurt Dean? And Dean heals because that's also what Dean always does, but there's a crooked spot where the bone broke, and later when John's dead and Sam holds Dean on a night after and kisses his cheekbone, careful, not sure what's okay now that everything's even more fucked up, Dean keeps his eyes open on the ceiling and sees ghosts of older days.

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Dottore x Sadistic/Equally Crazy S/O

Dottore is immediately intrigued when he meets someone who can match his level of intellect and unhinged curiosity, particularly when it comes to experiments and pushing moral boundaries. His S/O is as ruthless and calculating as he is, leading to a mutual understanding that transcends the usual romantic norms. It's not love in the traditional sense, but a shared obsession with the unknown and a desire to push the limits of human potential.

They often collaborate on experiments, with their laboratory being a chaotic yet fascinating place where both thrive. Discussions of dissecting human nature—literally and figuratively—become their version of "pillow talk." Their relationship is built on this shared madness, with neither feeling the need to hold back their darkest desires. Together, they feel unstoppable.

There’s a twisted sense of competition between them, always trying to outdo each other in their sadistic experiments or theories. Whether it’s creating more effective poisons, crafting dangerous machines, or discovering new ways to manipulate their subjects, they constantly challenge and inspire one another. The competition fuels their passion, though there's always a smirk or gleam in their eyes that shows they're enjoying the game as much as the results.

Dottore finds it exhilarating to have a partner who not only understands his need for chaos and control but feeds into it. Their shared disregard for morality or conventional ethics means they can freely indulge in their worst impulses without judgment, creating a dangerous yet electric dynamic. When they’re together, they are an unstoppable force—two minds working in perfect, terrifying harmony.

Despite their chaotic energy, there's an understanding between them that they are equals. No matter how twisted their actions become, they know the other won't flinch or shy away. In fact, they often encourage each other to go further, reveling in each other's darkest sides. Their relationship is built on mutual respect, even if it’s born out of sadistic tendencies.

They enjoy "games" with their victims, turning their cruelty into a form of entertainment. Whether it’s psychological torment or physical experiments, they turn their twisted love into something dangerous for everyone around them. The satisfaction they derive from each other's madness brings them closer, making their bond all the more intense.

When they’re not experimenting or torturing their latest subject, their conversations are sharp and intellectual, discussing theories about the limits of human suffering, the science of emotions, or ways to further push the boundaries of their work. It’s in these quiet, analytical moments that they show a strange kind of affection—through words of affirmation over each other’s intelligence and innovation.

Dottore is surprisingly possessive of his S/O, not because of love in a conventional sense, but because he respects their mind and wants to ensure that no one else benefits from their brilliance. Similarly, his S/O is just as territorial, ensuring no one else interferes with their twisted dynamic. The two of them are a deadly duo, and they like it that way.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[chastiefoul]

"banyak yang tak ku ahli, begitu pula menyambutmu tak kembali." | xiao

translates to: there are a lot of things i am not good at; including accepting the fact that you're not coming back home. notes: i feel so sick im gonna puke he's my favorite why am i doing this to him / hehe bawled my eyes out writing this / the title came from a song called 'rumpang' by nadin amizah. warning: angst, death (reader's)

loving you is so easy, that’s what xiao thinks. and for a man who’s dead set on not letting anyone tear off the walls caving around his heart, that’s saying a lot.

xiao had always attracted attention; whether by his superb strength, unworldly striking appearance, and of course the tale of the conqueror of demon that hardly left the shouts of the storytellers and whispers amongst liyue residents.

where most people approached him with mere curiosity and no more, they’re quick to run off after witnessing the cruelty in how he fights. yet, no one stayed to see the way he staggered as the outcome of using his eerie power got to him. wounded and alone, that’s how he spent most of his time.

fortunately, that’s how he met you that day. so troublesome, so unnecessarily selfless he thought, that you pull out what’s already a limited resources from your bag, treating his wounds like he’s a broken glass—the notion almost made him chuckle. “i am an illuminated beast, i have grown accustomed to injuries like this,” xiao said, as he made no effort to move his arm as you inspect it. “whatever being you are, even if you’re used it it means nothing. you’re still hurt.”

in the same day, verr goldet looked like as if she saw a miracle when xiao returned to wangshu inn, with you beside him as you assist him. well can anybody blame her? the yaksha who seemed to adore teleporting away to nobody knows where is now willingly be helped? what’s next, xiao falls in love?

that thought meant to be a sarcastic statement since that time it had zero percent probability on happening. but alas, that’s exactly what happened.

to be fair, xiao himself has erased his ties with that term. it’s always been a strange concept for him to grasp—the only time he’s close into perhaps understanding it, his fellow yakshas succumbed to their karmic debt; leaving him alone. and since, he’s no interested in something remotely even close that will involve his own emotions.

however like it’s said. loving you was easy, even especially for xiao. your kindness, compassion, quirks he finds amusing—your insistence. long he’s standing in mortal world, being with you somehow were the only times where he felt human. the loud thumping in his chest, the weird tight grip in his stomach, a warm sensation inside his chest. these lovely traits that somehow always revolved around you.

“ah, this must be love. i am sure.” he pondered to no one.

overjoyed did not even begin to explain the feelings he experienced when you reciprocated his endearment. from then on, xiao finally rediscover the exhilaration running through his veins that he have something to look forward to each day. being with you.

from then on, many times were spent together, many dates were planned, lots of kisses were shared. the talks, the laughs, the stories unfolded. love happened.

still, all good things must come to an end, don’t they?

✧

it all happened so fast, a rare time where the yaksha was momentarily distracted as you both were spending a nice time together in jueyun karst; an arrow you saw coming directly to your lover and your body moved without thinking, shielding xiao from the impact as the sharp object impaled you straight on the chest that you gasped.

and more than when he was surrounded by hundreds of enemy in the archons war, so much more than when liyue’s safety was compromised, xiao was panicked.

anger blinded him as he swiftly obliterated the threat before rushing to your side, holding your head close to his side. “stay, please.” he cried out desperately, sensing how little the life you have left. “xiao.. i love.. you.” you managed to let out the last of what you could force out and you were grateful that you were able to say that to him for the last time. after a few more seconds, the noise of painful breath hitching your throat grew silent, and xiao knew the body he’s currently hugging so tight, holds no more of your life.

xiao laid your corpse on the field where glaze lilies scattered—your favorite. he took you in once more, caressing your face so softly. “when i say mortals are weak, was this how you plan to prove me wrong? by dying to protect me? if it was i concede defeat once more, my love. you’re right—as always. so will you please wake up?”

drops of tears fell from his eyes, the guarded and unwavering yaksha broke down into heart-wrenching sobs and screams of agony.

his grief quickly twisted in to an unimaginable wrath, a story of where a portion of jueyun karst was ruined unfolded. it could be more, but fortunately morax was there catch the news as he was promptly forced to use a fraction of his power to appease the raging adeptus.

✧

“i am only excellent at fighting and everything that evolved in the world of violent, that’s it.” is what he always says, and the statement remains to be true, xiao is indeed not good at a lot of things. he just did not realize before one of them is accepting the fact the people dear to him will always leave, somehow.

you, who’s sweet, so utterly sweet that you made him forget momentarily about his fondness towards almond tofu. the lightness you brought, the marvel—no the art, of being near you; if almond tofu reminded him of how dreams tasted, you introduced him to a whole another level of wonderment. “archons, perhaps this feeling is as close i can get to experience what celestia must felt like—and it’s enough.” he thought.

you, whose promises were too good to be true but xiao couldn’t help but still lured—he thought it was okay if it’s you. who so easily made him relent and believed at another eternity where he’s freed from the darkness and karmic debt. a quaint little peace of mind where he’s assured if it’s with you, he can be finally be happy.

oh, how naive of the yaksha who lived through two thousand years.

how naive.

[paragonrobits]

so one thing i've thought about before is how in AtLA, bending without any apparent effort, doing it casually or performing noticable feats of bending with very small movements (and in a similar way, doing it with apparent effortlessness) are all feats of the most powerful and skilled characters.

We see this most prominently with Bumi and Aang; Bumi is the first Earthbender we see fighting extensively, so its technically a misleading impression because a lot of what he does is directly contrary to regular Earthbending; he moves a LOT more, for one, and he famously bends with his face. this is notable because other benders, even those approaching his power, make use of powerful movements that are very showy and easy to see. Besides the fact that a lot of Bumi's feats feel like he's taken inspiration from Airbending in terms of technique, he is so powerful and skilled that only Toph approaches him, and she still doesn't do quite as much as he does with tiny movements. (and to be fair, Bumi is a master that's over a hundred years old, while Toph is 12 or 13, and has learned most of her practical skills either in solitude with the badger-moles or fighting in the ring; arguably a lot of her skills in less combat-centered stuff or finer details in Earthbending philosophy are learned more gradually on the road, and we DO see her doing subtle things like pulling metal around herself in a single movement, making her a very noticable example of this phenomenon.)

However, this begs a question; what does this say about Ozai?

He is very explicitly stated to be the most powerful Firebender in the world; he is very much not the wisest, nor does he really seem able to understand the fine details in Firebending or the control required; both Zuko and Azula perform feats he doesn't seem interested in doing at all, or learning, whether from Azula's fine precision allowing her to produce intensely burning blue fires, or Zuko's skill in doing stuff like manipulating existing fire with less effort and same results as producing it himself.

Its hard to get a grasp on his actual skills because we only see him Firebending a few times (one off-screen when he burns Zuko, another when he generates lightning almost instantly in Day of Black Sun) before the finale, where he is incredibly powerful but explicitly has his power amplified, so the best we can judge is comparing him to other Firebenders who do the same thing. Notably, Iroh seems to outclass him in sheer power (blasting through the walls of Ba Sing Se after a short time to power up, whereas Ozai's fleet fire blasts is not exclusively his doing), and while Ozai can use fire thrust to fly in a limited way that other Firebenders are not shown to do normally, Jeong-Jeong outdoes him here as well by hovering with his flames, achieving true flight and likely indicating a superior grasp on energy conservation, given how Ozai just blasts around, and not doing sustained attacks for the most part.

Bending, in AtLA, at its highest power is closely associated with wisdom and enlightenment. Ozai, on the other hand, is powerful but a staggeringly immature man-child whose vicious cruelty and lust for violence is only equaled by his complete incompetence when it comes to basic common sense. He's cruel, regards all non-compliance as insults on him, and regards his family as furniture whenever they're not actively serving his purposes. He is very much NOT wise.

But we also see him performing this same kind of effortless feat by constantly leaving fires burning in his throne room as a show of power. It's possible that this is standard for Fire Lords in general, or at least has become so since Sozin's time. So what does it say about him that he can do this effortlessly?

The first thought that occurs to me is that in his case, he might have achieved a strange kind of inverse enlightenment in being deliberately blind to anything except his own wants and ambitions. He's deliberately unaware of most things that the genuinely wise care about and can't conceive that he might be wrong or even be unsatisfied. This tracks with his ability to generate lightning, in that its required to be calm of mind, and yet both he and Azula show extreme rage when they feel insulted or have their dignity damaged, which doesn't seem consistent with what lightning bending requires according to Iroh. It might be that both Ozai and Azula, in their general lack of introspection, are superficially calm and are able to use lightning this way, but not as effectively as they MIGHT. A superficial, worldly power that seems mighty but ultimately is a sign of them being chained; a metaphor for everything wrong with the Fire Nation.

(Or in other words, he's achieved a poor man's version of enlightenment by being so goddamn childish and oblivious to any kind of actual insight that he's failed to have a mindset that's counter to Firebending despite lacking the wisdom to do that conventionally and he never noticed.)

The other idea is that the effortlessness he shows is also superficial.

Ozai is a very superficial person; he puts a lot of stock on appearances and doesn't think much about anything past that; by all indications, he was never particularly close to Zuko or showed much interest in him (and its quite likely the same applied to Azula, but his praise of her was interpreted as genuine pride when he honestly couldn't care less the second she was no longer making him look better by proxy), he just wasn't motivated to harm them.

Now, consider the possibility that while he is quite powerful, he's putting on a show to make himself look stronger. He makes it LOOK effortless, but he's going to a lot of trouble to put on a show. Now, this may not be likely (we see him doing a whole lot of powerful attacks in Sozin's Comet without much apparent effort, just a vicious glee) but it also tracks with his character to go to this kind of effort and put in a show just so people don't think he looks less than perfect, which also is a nice parallel to how Azula picked up that attitude.

It also nicely contrasts him against Aang, Iroh, the Air Nomad elders, and other genuinely wise characters who get embarrassed, look ridiculous, have pranks played on them, or get stuck in silly situations and they rarely care or even really acknowledge it. Wisdom, in AtLA, is heavily associated with characters who don't care if they look silly, while its characters like Ozai, Zuko and Azula whose violent defensiveness and hostility towards anyone threatening their pride are specifically framed as unwise, and even childish.

In this regard, Ozai mutilating his child over an act of disrespect by proxy lines up very well with that, and him constantly pushing himself to make a threatening image even when it needlessly tires him and doesn't serve any purpose beyond his own ego or frail fear that someone MIGHT not think he is the most badass thing ever.

[fanby-fckry]

What do you think Hazbin crew (Lucifer, Charlie and Vaggie included) would do if they were suddenly transformed into humans? For sinners it would be back to their human forms and for Morningstars and Vaggie it would be the "if they were ever humans" appearance

Ooh-hoohoohoo, this is a good question.

Sorry I’m late responding, but I’m gonna dig right into it, now.

Alastor:

Alastor would probably have the strongest negative reaction. He already hates the fact that his agency (and possibly his power) is limited by his Deal, can you imagine what being turned human (and therefor stripped of the majority of his power) against his will would do to him?

To be human is to be weak. He cannot be weak, won’t allow himself to be weak. He spent so long building his power, his reputation, his empire, and now it’s gone? Just like that? He’s back where he started in this measly human body that can’t even hold a smile properly?

Instant mental breakdown.

Angel Dust:

Angel’s reaction is going to be a bit strange, because I think it’d be less emotional and more sensory.

He’d be going from eight eyes to two, four/six arms to two, dropping several feet of height, hearing from ears vs hair, having different feet. He’d be grateful for the feet thing, don’t get me wrong, but he’d still have to relearn how to walk plantigrade, on top of all the other changes.

He’d go to reach for things with arms that aren’t there, stumble on feet he isn’t used to, and feel like a horse wearing blinders without his extra eyes for peripheral vision.

Charlie:

I think she’d be delighted, tbh. I’m not sure if this is still canon, but at one point, Viv said that Charlie has a very idealized version of what it means to be human. She’s never met an actual human (as opposed to a Sinner or Winner), and has never been to the Living World. I think she’d sing a song celebrating this opportunity to “experience the beauty of a human life!”

And then over the course of the story arc, she’d learn that, 1.) human bodies are fragile, 2.) humans are just as capable of cruelty as demons and angels, 3.) maybe her views of humanity were off just a smidge. And then she’d wanna go home.

Husk:

Idk how canon this is, but old-lore says Husk hates his demon form! So, I think he’d have a fairly positive reaction to getting his human form back.

Not that he’d show it, of course. His poker face is too good for that. He’s not going to let anyone know. (Angel figures it out, anyway. Alastor would’ve, too, if he weren’t so preoccupied with hating his own humanity.)

Lucifer:

Freaks out -> Tries to calm himself down by saying, “This can be a learning experience!” -> Freaks out again when he realizes that Charlie is human and vulnerable, and he’s human and weak, so he won’t be able to protect her the way he could as a Fallen angel.

Also, the no shape-shifting thing would be a bummer. In between steps 2 and 3, he’d be experiencing various mundane human annoyances that he never had to deal with as an angel.

Lucifer: How do you people live like this?

Alastor: Technically, we don’t! We’re all dead. :)

Lucifer: Sheesh, way to bring down the mood.

Alastor: I had to get it on your level somehow, your lowness.

Niffty:

Wildcard. I have no idea how she’d react.

I maintain that she was just as weird in life as she is in death, and that her demon form just gives her better ways to express her weirdness. So she’d probably still be hunting/torturing bugs, just with less efficiency now that she’s bigger, slower, and less fireproof.

Vaggie:

I think this one kind of depends on whether or not the Exorcists are Winners.

I, personally, think this would be Vaggie’s first time being human. I think she’d feel incredibly uneasy with it. Just an overwhelming sense of anxiety and powerlessness, constantly on edge and unable to do anything about it.

Bonus Round!

Cherri Bomb:

I headcanon Cherri as having lost an eye in an arson/explosion mishap, so she wouldn’t have as drastic of a sensory change as Angel Dust, but like. It’d still be an adjustment, considering her eye would be smaller and moved to one side of her face.

She also wouldn’t be able to summon bombs at will, which would be a major bummer. But she probably still remembers how to make them from scratch, so that’s not going to stop her, just slow her down a little.

Sir Pentious:

Leggies! He hasn’t had legs in over 100 years! He doesn’t remember how they work! But wow, it’s nice to have them!

Bonus-Bonus Round!

UHverse Lilith:

She hasn’t been human since Eden. She doesn’t quite know how to feel about this. It’s been so long since she’s been this woman. Since she’s been so unsure of herself, so weak.

She puts her emotions aside for now because they aren’t productive. She can unpack them when she gets home – cry in her husband’s arms for the first time in a century or so, knowing that she and her family are safe in their relative immortality again.

In the meantime, she needs to be present and looking for a way to fix this. Alastor is already down for the count and Lucifer is distracted by his strange new humanity. She’s going to have to take initiative here. She needs to protect her family and get them back their bodies, their powers, and their home.

Aaa, thank you so much for this ask! I had a blast answering it!

[snowywinterevenings]

I’m working on the last chapter of Scars on Our Hearts, so I thought I’d throw this on tumblr. I know I’ve posted it before, but tumblr’s search function is a disaster, and I can’t find it, so here it is again, a glimpse into one of the many worlds Obi-Wan stopped in before getting to the one in the story.

The ghost follows them for three days, and Obi-Wan waits for it to show itself, more curious than anything about the visitor to whom he feels a strange connection. Their shadow is filled with such infinite sadness that it makes something in Obi-Wan’s own chest ache, pain so sharp that he cannot even begin to fathom its cause. He does not hunt for the ghost, sensing no ill will from him, but the love and devotion he feels bent in Cody’s direction makes him a bit uneasy.

The intruder makes his move while Obi-Wan is away one night dealing with some absurd emergency. He ends the meeting with an abrupt resolution for the matter and speeds home, ready to tear their unwanted guest to pieces, but he is met with the most unlikely scene imaginable, his own double seated on the edge of the bed beside Cody who is sound asleep. There are differences between them, his counterpart’s hair cropped short along the sides and worn longer on top, his form a touch thinner as though he doesn’t always remember to eat, and a blade that is similar but not identical to Obi-Wan’s own, at his waist. The most obvious difference is his attire, more that of a Jedi than an emperor, though darker in color than the Jedi favor.

“A few moments more please.” It is strange to hear his voice from the lips of another, but he hums, granting the ghost his request, knowing deep in his soul that no version of him could harm his sleeping heart.

He would agree to nearly anything to soothe the ache he feels in the Force.

When the ghost eventually stands, he whispers, “sleep well, my heart,” and champagne gold eyes wet with grief finally meet his own. The words have been said before in a much different context, and Obi-Wan knows now what has caused such pain. He has a hundred questions, but he leads his counterpart into another room in silence and settles him into a chair, drawing a blanket around his shoulders. He doesn’t know whether it would have been a kindness or a cruelty to leave him watching over Cody while he disappeared to make tea, but some of the grief has ebbed away by the time he returns.

“Forgive me. It was not my intention to disturb your peace, but… you reminded me so very much of us.”

“What are you?”

“A traveler.” It is not a terribly satisfying answer, but Obi-Wan supposes it’s easier to admit than calling himself a broken ghost. “I move between realities. I have seen so many now, but this is the only one where I have encountered someone like me.”

“Someone fallen.” It does not surprise him to know that the Obi-Wans of other realms live more often in the light. Even he clings to it each night.

His other half nods, thumb tracing over the lip of his tea cup, clutching it tightly in his hands as though he is attempting to leech the warmth from it like he has not been warm in years. Perhaps he has not with his Cody lost to him somewhere along the way.

“How long ago?”

“Three years.” The end of the war then. A little shiver winds down his spine as he recalls their discovery of the chips. “He spared me from death at the hands of his brothers.”

“Did you burn your galaxy to ash?”

“It is not what he would have wanted.”

“I doubt he would have wanted this for you either.” He nearly offers their home as a place for the ghost to rest, but he has never been very good at sharing, and he does not think it would truly ease the pain. His haunted other half must find and make his own peace.

“Keep him close.”

“Always.”

The ghost leaves, vanishing into the night, and Obi-Wan takes up his vigil, watching over Cody as he sleeps. He joins him eventually, holding him close, and he hopes that someday the ghost can do the same, that he finds the lost love for whom he has been searching.

[rochelle-echidna]

@micheladee tagged me in the "post a couple paragraphs of your WIP" share-a-thon, so figured I'd go through my Word docs and see what I could find - thank you so much for the tag, Michela :)

Truth be told, if y'all will allow me to vent a bit first... it's been a bit of a shitter these last couple years, especially wrt getting any sort of writing done. Never mind with fics (of which I feel awful I've barely started anything new, even the WIP below is from last year) - but I've also been trying to finally write a novel of my own after realising I really, really want to... and the words just aren't coming. Whether it's because of fear of ridicule, fear of failure, fear of not being good enough, fear of financial stresses, fear of whatever... it's been really fucking rough since my spouse and I moved cross-country, and I've def been feeling ashamed at my lack of creative output :(

On the bright side, I'm getting some help with therapy and I'm doing a couple workshops to get me back into the swing of being creative so that I can tackle the work-life balance and not feel like the entirety of my (and my spouse's) survival rests squarely on my shoulders. Whether that means I'll be able to post any new work soon is up for debate, but honestly just taking these baby steps is better than nothing, so I'll take what I can get (and my body + mind can give).

And I know there's no "admission fee" to partake in fandom, but I still feel I'd be remiss if I didn't offer a huge apology for not positing fics recently, and especially for not commenting on fics y'all have made in these last several months - please believe me when I say I see y'all's work and it's great and makes me feel so many necessary things, even if I'm not able to type the words on AO3 atm.

Anyhow, just wanted to share an update with y'all and let you know I'm still here, still alive... just taking it one day at a time for now in order to keep my sanity strong!

Enjoy this little snippet of a WIP below, and I tag whoever so chooses to participate in this game - even if I'm quiet, I love seeing everything you lovely people write :D

When he was thrust back to reality in his own body, there was the usual disorientation that was to be expected of someone summoned through the dark arts. After all, if the infamous Thief King from 3,000 years ago had existed as a separate being before, there was no reason Malik’s other half couldn’t, too. Except… Ryou Bakura hadn’t exactly planned for this extra passenger to crawl his way back from the shadows alongside the former spirit. And what “Malik’s other half” – the phrase enough to make said individual gag – definitely hadn’t expected was for such confusion to be tainted by a profound sadness… one that had permeated his entire being for the last six months. Or however long it had been. Malik had gotten what he’d wanted, Ryou had gotten what he wanted, the Thief King had kind of gotten what he wanted – and all that “Malik’s other half” had gotten was a sense of displacement, dysmorphia and disdain. “You know… he’s welcome to stay here, Malik.” “You weren’t conscious during that damned duel fifteen years ago, host. Just be glad you weren’t privy to his cruelty firsthand.” “He’s right, Ryou. You’ve done enough already. There’s no need to put yourself in more danger.” “But there’s not much harm he can do now. I mean—" “I can hear you all.” Three pairs of eyes had greeted him when he’d first turned over on a – soft – bed. His hands had been bound, and he’d growled and snarled so much that he’d made Malik and the Thief King back up – but not the white-haired man in-between them. “You probably have lots of questions right now. And…” The blush that formed on the man’s cheeks had sent a – strange – shiver down his spine, warming his bound wrists. “I’m sorry I don’t have many answers.” He had merely hmphed at that, avoiding eye contact with his “main personality” and the thief who’d dared face him. Instead, he focused on the wide eyes of the man who must have been called— “Ryou… it’s no use. We need to send him back before he does some real damage again.” “Snap out of it, landlord. Just look at how he’s staring at you.” But the man – Ryou – had just tilted his head and let loose a very small smile. “What’s your name?”

[attorneys-against-court-violence]

Sorry, I've been on a Bobby buzz all morning. I legitimately can't decide whether or not I hate him.

As a character? Wonderful. So much dissonance between the image he projects of himself and his actual actions. His existential crisis over doing the right thing. His belief in rehabilitation, yet cruel methods of punishment.

His powerful sense of right and wrong is a sharp double-edged sword. He does look after the welfare of the people he arrests, as seen with Sasha Buckler, and he does take the time to (very dramatically) re-evaluate his ideas of justice - sometimes even going against what the Police Department considers "just" in favour of giving people (and orcas) a fair shot. But it does mean that anything that falls outside his views of what is just is fair-game. Those people are obstructing justice & so deserve what's coming to them.

Simon did a good job of convincing everyone that he's an irredeemable wretch and actively assaults people in court. Handcuffs don't stop him, either. It's inhumane and even distressing for Simon, but since he's pushed himself outside what Bobby deems just, getting shocked is deserved in his eyes. He even cracks jokes about it like He-Man giving Skeletor what-for because he sees it as unjust actions getting their dues.

Given that he thought other people's lives were on the line, he was pushed pretty far to do that. But his attitude after the fact doesn't exactly track if he wanted Simon to be better. Unless you assume he doesn't mean "better as a person", but rather someone who follows the path of justice. Obedience, in other words, to the law and those who uphold it. That can be taught with cruelty as well as kindness. And yet they do seem to value each other as partners (in what form I'll leave as an exercise to you).

It's a complicated relationship with a lot of scuffs is what I'm saying.

Of course, this DOES track if you consider the phantom, but given how well he imitated someone he likely only observed for over half a year (Phoenix) vs someone he could have been studying for A LOT longer (Bobby), the fact it passes as nothing strange at all (even to Simon) speaks volumes about Fulbright as a person and how stark a difference there is between how he treats just and unjust people.

Specifically, he treats like a comic book super-hero would (or manga, because AA is a Japanese franchise); cheerful and uplifting to friends but outright cruel and mocking to enemies (or friends doing unjust things). Perhaps that's just how he sees the world. Maybe it's a persona to help deal with his job. Either way, it holds a lot of weight over how he treats people for better and for worse. Up to and including the people who trust him. Bit of a contrast to Apollo "I really really really don't want to think my co-worker is a bad person" Justice, who has a more expected reaction to the idea of having to punish a friend under the law.

Ok I think I'll stop, I'm all Bobby'd out!

[epivanosilon]

reading demon slayer: chapter 11 name breakdown

in chapter 11 we are finally introduced to the main antagonist of the series. he is the first demon to ever exist and father to all demons past and present. his name is

鬼舞辻 無惨

phonetically きぶつじ・むざん. i've read all of demon slayer in english, but i don't remember if it's ever said whether muzan was born with this name or not. it would be a very strange name to give a child, realistically speaking. let's take a look.

starting with the family name, we have three characters: 鬼 (き), 舞 (ぶ), and 辻 (つじ). 鬼, demon, should be quite familiar by now. 舞 usually means dance and can also be read as ま or まい. it is the ぶ in 歌舞伎 (かぶき), a type of traditional japanese theater, and in 舞台 (ぶたい), stage (as in for performing). 辻 (つじ) is a kokuji, a japanese original character, meaning intersection, crossroads.

all together we have demon, dance, and crossroads. what image does this create in your mind? a demon dancing at a crossroads would be a literal interpretation. but then what kind of crossroads is this demon dancing at? a literal crossroads, a physical location somewhere in the world? or is it more of a metaphorical crossroads, a choice the demon has yet to make?

considering muzan's existence as a demon, perhaps the crossroads is the boundary between life and death. muzan is alive in the most basic sense of the word, but he cannot ever see the sun. and so he lives what many would consider a half-life--he is virtually immortal and nigh omnipotent, but never truly free to live as he wishes. muzan stands at the crossroads of life and death, has for over a millennium, and cannot take a single step in either direction.

as for the dancing, well, muzan is notoriously cold and cruel. he cares not for the lives of humans and kills without a second thought. at that crossroads of life and death, muzan dances upon the corpses of the untold number of humans who had the misfortune to cross him. he will do anything to find a way to finally start walking in the direction of life. if indiscriminate slaughter is the easiest way to do so, then so be it. with his ruthlessness he mocks the sanctity of human life, the very thing he desires. because as much as muzan dismisses humans as lesser lifeforms, they live greater, fuller lives. they can do what he cannot: live freely. at the crossroads of life and death, muzan dances in a frightened panic upon the corpses of humans who showed him that they were better.

what a piece of shit.

muzan's given name is a word of its own in japanese, meaning cruel, merciless, atrocious, ruthless, cold-blooded. it can also mean pitiful, tragic, horrible, miserable. the first character is 無 (む), a common kanji that represents the concept of nothing, and is also frequently used as a prefix similar to english un-, non-. the second character 惨 (ざん) can be used as an adjective on its own, meaning appalling. it appears in many words relating to disaster or tragedy.

you could read then read 無惨 as meaning naught but cruelty/tragedy. quite fitting for a character like muzan, who is both ruthless and pitiful, as his name implies. within him there is indeed naught but cruelty.

i did not think i would have so much to say about this one name, but here we are. i hope everyone who has read this far has enjoyed it, or at least found it interesting. i'd love to hear your own interpretation of muzan's name, if you have one. thanks again for reading, and please look forward to the next posts. 読んでくれてありがとう！次の投稿を楽しみにしてください！

[deerydear]

Psychosis and Personal Mythology, by Rory Neirin Higgs

Following the rise of the biogenetic model of psychosis, psychiatric doctrine has held that the cluster of experiences so-encompassed – voices, visions, unusual beliefs, and other non-standard modes of perception – are little more than chemical noise, devoid of any real meaning or relationship to a person’s life. Many clinicians maintain that encouraging patients to talk or even think about the content of their psychosis feeds an illness that should be starved, constructing psychosis as a kind of malignancy that invades and cannibalizes the afflicted’s senses. But this explanation doesn’t always fit comfortably to the contours of lived experience. Since my own diagnosis, I have come to think of my psychosis (or, as I have sometimes preferred, “personal mythology”) not as a disease that hollowed out my capacity for self-knowledge, but as a strange and lovely cipher.

For me, the grain from which voices, visions, and unusual beliefs take root is typically an inner impulse that I am not yet able to address directly. I am confronted with a reality that is too threatening or confusing to assimilate into my conventional belief system, and the thematic kernel of it finds other ways to communicate itself. For instance, while reflecting on an instance of childhood abuse, I recently found myself wondering whether there was something inherently wrong with me that could have provoked it. Unable to sit still with the possibility that others chose to harm me of their own volition, my thoughts paced towards alternative explanations: perhaps, as a child, some kind of mind control beacon was implanted in my brain that caused people to mistreat me despite their best efforts? On its face, this is an impossible contortion of logic. But in that moment, it was the only way I could translate my feelings of self-blame and denial about the cruelty of other people into a tolerable narrative about my life. Once I calmed down, I was able to reassess this belief – but made note of the autobiographical information woven into it, in the threads of insecurity, shame, and betrayal.

Traumatologists maintain that a central characteristic of traumatic memory is that it is incompletely processed and integrated – more of a gallery of disjointed images than a coherent narrative. Accordingly, research suggests that traumatized people are less able to articulate our experiences verbally. If ordinary life events are remembered, it may be more appropriate to say that traumatic ones are dismembered. To draw again from personal experience: some months ago, I decided to start talking to others about an abusive relationship I had been in, spanning several years. I was stymied by the realization that I didn’t know where to start. There was no beginning or end to what I could remember, no backbone of “and this is why it all happened” to bind the story together. I found myself with only scattered vignettes that I struggled to gather into a legible shape, like crushed glass rendered from what must have once been an ornate cathedral window.

It wasn’t long before peculiar beliefs began their restless turning over in my skull. In the past, these beliefs – or delusions – had grown rampantly where they sprouted, elaborating into something vast and sprawling faster than I could prune them. This time, they merely flashed through me, like the spark of some secret metabolism. I’ve learned that this reflex to mythologize is how I come to tell my formless stories. Literary trauma theory has investigated the idea that both autobiographical and fictionalized life-writing are a way of synthesizing meaning from traumatic debris, and psychiatry itself has employed related clinical practices, particularly during its psychoanalytic heyday. Delusion, I would argue, behaves similarly. It pulls symbolic and exaggerated elements into the orbit of an essential truth in order to describe its gravity. In storytelling about my life – even or perhaps especially in this abstract, subconscious form – I am drawing maps between memories, across the black and foaming gulf that would strand them.

The emerging field of narrative therapy has similarly embraced the power of storytelling. Narrative therapy holds that the stories we internalize about ourselves inform how we interact with the world, and that exploring the origin and significance of these stories can guide us in establishing new ways of thinking. Likewise, cognitive psychology has suggested that memory is not a photographic but a constructive process, involving the incorporation of our preexisting ideas – or narratives – about the world, and that recounting events to others helps us to recall information about them later on. To me, this again demonstrates the importance of storytelling in organizing memory. Perhaps, for those of us who have never had the opportunity to tell our stories in our own words, who have become accustomed to the grisly work of dis-membering, the personal mythology of delusion offers a sanctuary: a domain in which we are free to speak about our injuries without the intrusion of outside perspectives. Society cannot or will not follow us into this magical-metaphoric thicket. Here, we are free to imagine and reimagine our experiences in ways that would otherwise be forbidden to us.

I think of the stories I told, glossolalic, through my psychosis. I think of how documenting this mythopoetic otherworld was, for me, a kind of testimony, laying claim to my role as author and narrator of my past. And I think of how psychiatry’s response of enforced silence and forgetting only intensified my need for meaning-making – how urgent it became to excavate the things I had interred. Psychologists have observed that the content of an individual’s psychosis is often related to past experiences, but I would take this conclusion a step further. My voices, visions and beliefs have been not only a distorted reflection of life, but their own vital truth, running parallel and symbiotic to my “sane” understanding of the world. I am re-membering the past, now, returning the red and beating soul to the sterile, lifeless history I had cleaved from it. I no longer hold the beliefs that characterized my psychosis as literal truth. But I have great respect for the stories I have told, and will continue to tell.

[strywoven]

cont'd. // @curseisms

The decency to be disgusted ⸺ yes , they suppose that would be a much more a p p r o p r i a t e reaction to things ( to carnage , to the barbaric nature of a man kaen could only just barely pretend they knew at all ) .  Still , Kaen never thought much about it before ; after all , what did it matter ?  They were desensitized to cruelty , so much so to the point of looking upon it with their usual measure of unapologetic kindness ( however undeserved ) .  Their strange bond with Sukuna was no different , another drop in an ever-endless well that long ago was both DRIED & POISONED .  But that did not mean he , in all his violence and all his hate , would be spared their unrelenting sense of loyalty and grace.

There’s no chase , no fight , when he - rather gently - pushes their hands off of his.  When he turns , they already had the mind to follow ( whether he wanted them to or not ) , but they are surprised when he makes a flippant gesture for them to do so anyways , e x p e c t a n t of them to oblige the request.  With his back to them , he cannot see the way their smile broadens into a BEAMING GRIN , the always-there light emitting from their small form now b r i g h t e n i n g with some innocent sort of joy at the prospect that they , somehow , have won his favor.  No time is wasted , Kaen hurries along to his side , walking with him.

❝ Ah wasnae whinin’ , ❞ They correct him lightly , chuffing , ❝ Ah was jus’ teasin’ , givin’ ye a c o m p l i m e n t , too. ❞  Antlered head tilts , looking up at him.  ❝ An’ Ah meant wha’ Ah said , th’ blood does look good on ye. ❞  Cheeky , as always.  After a quiet moment , they speak up again , almost hesitant to even ask , ❝ ‘S there room fer two people ta’ take a bath … ? ❞  Forward , too.  But something in their tone suggests nothing untoward , merely looking for his company ( even be it so intimate a setting ) .

[pinkseas]

crackles knuckles

“like to me id hc xiao before it all fell apart, he used to have a mother. thats it. idk what happened back there and how they got separated i dont want to go there without more emotional damage”

im about to go there. im so ready for this. this means So Fucking Much To Me Dear Lord.

she sees no use in dwelling on the past. it’s one of the first things he learns from her- he no longer remembers how or why, no longer remembers what it was she told him that instilled that thought within him so deeply, but he knows that it was her. (once upon a time, she ran. xiao’s grandparents are far, far away, whether they’d love him or not, and he does not have a father. not as far as she’s concerned. the past is the past and it can stay there. it’s in the simple things, too, a broken toy, misspoken words: you made a mistake and we can’t change it but we can learn, we can move forward. we can always move forward.)

(she names him alatus, gives him wings the only way she can. may he never be trapped as she was for so long. may he always find a way to fly.)

(funny, really, how that works out.)

she is? was? a good mother. he remembers so little but this, he knows. lullabies before bed. never left hungry, never left wanting, so rarely scolded and never more than a disapproving tone. any time her voice was raised it was kind, happy, like when she’d call for him when they were playing hide and seek or when it was time to come inside to eat.

it isn’t her fault or negligence or neglect that leads to him being taken. it’s the cruelty of the world and bad luck, plain and simple. he remembers missing her. he remembers missing her so much it ached.

he doesn’t know whether or not he killed her. it’s hard to tell. his deeds and the bloodshed are all too clear but the people fog and fade, the faces all begin to blur together. he knows that the god had him destroy his own home, at least eventually, but he doesn’t know whether or not she escaped. she could have left, could have been searching for him, could have been waiting there for him to come home. he remembers, vaguely, when he really tries to- a sense of peace. the warmth of unconditional love. the way she used to whisper his name. but the question remains, endless and unanswered: are those his own memories? or are they her dreams, devoured by her own son?

he doesn’t know. he doesn’t think he’ll ever know.

he makes her a grave. it takes a very long time. there’s no name and a marker only he would recognize. it’s nothing special. he thinks, distantly, that she deserved more than this. but it’s all he has, and that will have to be enough.

and then he does what she always did, what she always taught him to do: he moves forward.

QIQI RECOGNIZING HIM........ god. God. “to qiqi, xiao has a familiar warmth. he has a certain sadness in his eyes that she's seen before everytime he glances at her” crying shaking bawling sobbing this is so good this is So Good. the detachment from reality the mutual loneliness the unique, strange sort of understanding of each other....... man.

“im finding it super super fUCKING NEAT about the twins separating and gaining each other's personalities to fill the empty space next to them. just to cope the loneliness, the grief, and i cant imagine how much it had been for aether for 500 whole years to lumine who's just starting to turn that way. just the thought of him slowly deteriorating, the way he changes over the years turned decades turned centuries is SO REAL THERES JUST. sumfin that makes him so dear 2 me”

aether my EVERYTHINGGGGGGGGGGGGG abyss aether my everything [redacted au] my everything <33333 he is so very important to me fr and just. god. the twins both struggling So Much without each other there trying so hard to cope with it and ultimately failing so miserably in so many ways makes me soooooo. you can remember what they wouldve done you can remember their personality their choices their actions but you can’t cover your side the way they used to, you cant stop turning to talk to them only to realize you’re facing an empty space. paimon helps. paimon really, truly helps. but she’s her own person, a friend, not a sibling or a twin. not a replacement. not even close.

“id like to think how he differs with lumine that he's more carefree but also cautious, empathetic and a guy of mercy and defense. what you dont see on lumine is what you see on aether, and for lumine shes kinda crazy on her own which is prolly self projection or something + the petty im a lil tired of Girly Uwu Pure Sunshine Angel perception ppl have on her bc Girl and White Dress, so she can be a lil reckless And savage when she wants to (that one bit in jeht's last quests where shes like @ that fatui guy "She's Paimon, and I'm your worst nightmare." SENDS ME HOWLING). of course they're not complete opposites bc its not like lumine's disastrously apathetic to aether's empathy, they influence each other and fill the roles which are more in-tune at. and lumine's definitely the one who's inclined to impulse, now more contemplative these days; and aether, when he used think through so much about weighing between right or wrong, now figures his actions in the abyss overall is always, and justifiably, right”

THIS FUCKS SO HARD HELLO ???????????????????? god yes yes yes yes everything about aether is SO REAL and big mood with being tired of lumine being portrayed as sunshine incarnate. her being more reckless and somewhat savage is SO fucking real big big mood, and her impulsiveness turning into contemplation is so. fmngmfngmngm god. aether thinking he’s always right IM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO no bc what the FUCK has the abyss twin seen to make them like that what the FUCK happened dear LORD

“like dear Lord gets the twins xiao zhongli venti everyone in my arms rn WE ARE MOVING” REALLLLLLLLLL like fanon isnt bad on its own but when people are constantly pushing it as “this is the RIGHT interpretation” or “this IS canon” its so. its so. its so. god.

“ALSO "xiao becoming possessed or corrupt somehow and lumine having to kill him but in those final few moments it’s him again and he smiles at her and she holds him as he dies." EX FUCKING CUSE ME IM COMING TO YOUR HOUSE“

giggling sm this lives in the very very back of my head always... sometimes love is the character who kills and the character who dies content just to be in their arms those last few moments <3 

[petculiars]

What Do Pet Snakes Eat?

New Post has been published on https://www.petculiars.com/what-do-pet-snakes-eat/

What Do Pet Snakes Eat?

It is known that snakes can eat strange things from golf balls, and bulbs, to sheep, and alligators, and with such a reputation, it makes sense to ask: What do snakes eat?

Different types of snakes eat different things

There is no single diet to describe what snakes eat. Since there are many types of snakes, they will feed differently. Some snakes have special bodies that allow them to eat only one type of prey. For example, snakes that eat eggs only eat eggs.

Fortunately, usually, pet snakes will be limited to a basic diet consisting of mice and rats. Snakes are carnivores, and a rat or mouse is usually a complete and balanced meal for them.

Certain species of snake can also eat chicken, guinea pigs, gerbils, or young rabbits. Some snakes also eat insects, frogs and amphibians, earthworms, eggs, other reptiles, bats, and even birds.

Each species of snake has a different diet. However, snakes always feed on animal matter, never on plant material. Their teeth are not designed for plant consumption.

Should the pet snake’s food be alive?

You might also like my articles about whether:

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Although snakes prefer live food, it is recommended to feed your pet snake only dead prey. There were incidents where the live prey was left inside the snake terrarium and it did not consume it immediately. In defense, the prey bites or attacks the snake, and can seriously hurt it.

Factors on which the feeding of a pet snake depends

Because a snake’s diet can vary so much, it’s important to do some research before buying a snake pet. In captivity, it is always best to feed your snake dead prey, or frozen prey, but defrost it before giving it.

However, some snakes will not eat previously dead food. So, make sure your snake has already followed such a diet, with frozen and then defrosted animals, before bringing it home. However, there are some exceptions to this rule. Young snakes that eat young mice will not eat prey unless it moves. So, for them, living prey is acceptable.

There are several reasons to make sure your snake is in the right place, and it will consume dead or defrosted meat. And one of these reasons is the cruelty factor. If you feed your snake with living prey, that prey often suffers more than is necessary to become the food for the snake. If the prey can be euthanatized before, it is generally better.

In addition, the living prey can fight back. If it is a rodent, it can bite the snake as it tries to eat it. The snake will generally win the fight but may be injured in the process.

Another reason to buy frozen food is to avoid any kind of parasite that the prey can carry. Live prey can have internal parasites like worms, or external parasites like ticks, and fleas. Any of these can also harm the snake.

An additional advantage when offering frozen foods is that they are cheaper and you can make a stock. You don’t have to buy live animals when you have to feed the snake.

How much food do snakes eat?

The amount of food a snake will eat during each feeding will depend on its age, size, and species. Whenever you feed your snake, make sure that the prey is not more than half the diameter of the snake. This will help with digestion.

As a general rule, you can give the snake the entire prey. No need to cut it into smaller pieces. This is because the jaw of a snake is not joined inside the face, as in humans. It is connected by a ligament, which makes the jaw very flexible and allows it to rotate vertically and horizontally. This is why snakes are able to eat an entire large prey.

Do snakes drink water?

Snakes drink water, but not very often. However, the snake should always have a large bowl that is a little deep with water at its disposal. The snake can soften itself in it and even make its needs in this water. Water evaporation also helps maintain proper humidity inside the terrarium.

How often do snakes eat?

Snakes do not eat often. Usually, they will consume one meal only once a week or once every two weeks, maybe even more. Smaller, younger snakes can eat 2 times a week, and larger, older snakes may not eat for weeks.

Not sure if the snake is hungry? There are some signs you can look for. For example, the snake may become more active or start climbing on the sides of its enclosure as if it were looking for food. Be careful with the intestinal transit as it may become hungry afterward.

Important advice when feeding pet snakes

Now that you know what snakes eat, you should know that it is advisable to move the snake to another feeding facility, separate from where it usually sits. This can decrease the aggression of the snake and make it less likely to attack if it is hungry.

In addition, you should wait 48 hours after feeding before handling the snake. Snakes can be stressed, just like humans, and if their prey is not fully digested, it can be regurgitated.

Wash your hands thoroughly before and after feeding the snake. Many reptiles can carry Salmonella, a life-threatening bacterium that can spread from pets to humans. And vice versa, any chemicals on your hands, for example, moisturizers, lotions, hand disinfectants, etc., can be transferred to the skin of the snake, which can cause irritation.

Final words! So, what does your pet snake eat?

You will need to do research for the specific species of snake you are buying to find out what it will eat. If it is a more general species, it is best to provide it with several types of food, such as live crickets, fish, frogs, and small mammals such as mice and rats.

But if the snake species is more specialized and eats only one type of food in the wild, be prepared to always have that food at hand.

Keep in mind that most snakes eat every 5-14 days. So, determine in advance the types of food you will need to buy for your new pet, to ensure that it remains happy, healthy, and well-fed for years to come.

[neuxue]

Okay here’s my headcanon as I rewatch CQL: Jiang Yanli figured out the golden core transfer. 

And the main reason I like to believe she worked it out is because for me it adds to the sense of tragedy, that the one person who realises is also the one person whose realisation wouldn’t change anything.

Not even just in a ‘fix-it’ sense, but in that, given (my reading of) her character, I genuinely think the story would play out exactly the same whether she knows or not. And so it adds to this landscape of well-intentioned and capable and flawed people trying their best, and yet ending in disaster as those flaws and good intentions collide in the worst possible way, so you end up with something that feels like both inevitable and preventable tragedy.

But I also just feel like it makes sense for her to figure it out. Aside from Jiang Cheng, she’s the person with the most information about what happened. Like, does anyone else even know about Jiang Cheng losing his core to Wen Zhuliu? Wen Chao may have boasted about it, and maybe some of the Wen soldiers at Lotus Pier would know, but beyond that it would just be another rumour, and then Jiang Cheng turns up golden core intact and ready to help fight. And even if some people do believe it, how many would ever consider the possibility of someone else giving up their own golden core? How many would make the link from the thought of an unprecedented self-sacrifice to the arrogant and mercurial Wei Wuxian? 

Lan Wangji, maybe, could put it together if he had all the pieces. But, crucially, at least in CQL canon I don’t think he ever actually knows about Jiang Cheng losing his core. Who’s going to tell him? Jiang Cheng? It would feel too much like a weakness, and even believing he was healed by Baoshan Sanren is too mixed up with Wei Wuxian and their relationship. 

But Jiang Yanli knows about Jiang Cheng’s core. And Jiang Yanli was there all those days (weeks?) in Yiling while Wei Wuxian ran himself ragged trying to find a solution. And then Wei Wuxian cries on her shoulder and next thing she knows she’s waking up in a carriage bound for Lanling and accompanied by Song Lan, whose injury was mysteriously ‘healed by Baoshan Sanren’, and then her previously-coreless brother turns up healthy and powerful and her recklessly self-sacrificing brother is missing. And if that’s not enough to work it out, three months later said recklessly self-sacrificing brother shows up without an explanation or a sword or more than a ghost of his brilliant smile, wielding a flute and a strange power and a cold cruelty, flinching away from contact or comfort.

Jiang Yanli can do basic maths.

And yes, Jiang Cheng has all the same pieces of information but the crucial difference, I think, is that Jiang Yanli is not directly involved; she’s neither donor nor recipient. Wei Wuxian’s lies were so carefully tailored to Jiang Cheng specifically: just the right amount of exactly what he needed and wanted to hear (because when you’re desperate, you don’t look quite as closely for the catch) and a quest to prove himself that involved just enough complexity and subterfuge to convince him that it wasn’t too good to be true. Jiang Yanli has the clarity Jiang Cheng doesn’t, because it’s not her golden core. She’s not the target audience, and there’s a reason Wei Wuxian opts to send her away: the lies that work on Jiang Cheng aren’t going to work on his shijie and he knows it.

Add to that the fact that I think a large part of the reason Jiang Cheng doesn’t figure it out is... the form of denial that serves as a kind of self-preservation. It’s a very human thing to do: we deceive ourselves or avoid looking too closely at things we don’t want to see or know or realise, because doing so would hurt us. So on some subconscious level I think he doesn’t let himself question the golden core situation too closely, or put some of those pieces together. Whereas for Jiang Yanli, again she has that one vital step of removal, and so is able to put some of those pieces together without flinching away or risking it shattering her entire sense of herself.

And at the end of the day, Jiang Yanli knows her brothers. She has watched them grow up, knows their tendencies and their tells. She knows what they would do for one another, and what they would do to one another. 

She has the pieces of the puzzle, and the intimate knowledge of those who made it, and the necessary perspective to figure it all out. 

So then we come back to the part that really sells me on this, which is that it doesn’t change anything. 

Oh, we see her concern for Wei Wuxian, and we see her ever so gently pointing out that he’s changed, but just as gently demonstrating her continued and unconditional love and support. We see her circumspectly asking Lan Wangji, as she tries to figure out how she can help her brother. We see her deflecting Jiang Cheng’s irritation with him when he wanders off, first in Qinghe and then in Yunmeng. We see her again and again doing everything she can to just be there for him--for both of them.

And all of these can be read as Jiang Yanli knowing... but they’re no different, I think, than the things she would do if she knew Wei Wuxian was hurt or struggling in any way. 

Also, she doesn’t have a way to fix the problem: Wen Qing is missing, for one, and Jiang Yanli is in the relatively unique position of loving both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, equally--and pretty much any potential ‘solution’ is going to cause some pain or risk to at least one of them, so she’s not going to, say, look for a way to reverse it.

So, in absence of a way to fix it without somehow making it worse for one or both of them, I think her calculus would be similar to Wei Wuxian’s: Jiang Cheng cannot know. (If she had found out before it happened maybe it would be different, but this isn’t that kind of what-if). 

In the aftermath, unable to change the outcome... once again, she knows her brothers. She knows it would break Jiang Cheng. She knows the relationship between her brothers is already messy, especially after Sunshot (and understands better than most the reason for and shape of that mess), and that such a revelation could risk irreparably damaging it. She knows, too, that to reveal something like this would potentially put Wei Wuxian at risk, because there are those who would see it as a weakness and a target.

(If she survived Wei Wuxian’s death... perhaps, eventually, she would tell Jiang Cheng, and help him through the initial hurt of it, and guide him to see it as a lasting sign of Wei Wuxian’s love, bittersweet and complicated as it may be. But this is not that kind of what-if). 

[snowywinterevenings]

This popped into my head this morning, a peek into one of the dozens of universes rebel Sithywan visits over the eight years before the main story begins. In this one he encounters the only other fallen version of himself he has met.

The ghost follows them for three days, and Obi-Wan waits for it to show itself, more curious than anything about the visitor to whom he feels a strange connection. Their shadow is filled with such infinite sadness that it makes something in Obi-Wan’s own chest ache, pain so sharp that he cannot even begin to fathom its cause. He does not hunt for the ghost, sensing no ill will from him, but the love and devotion he feels bent in Cody’s direction makes him a bit uneasy.

The intruder makes his move while Obi-Wan is away one night dealing with some absurd emergency. He ends the meeting with an abrupt resolution for the matter and speeds home, ready to tear their unwanted guest to pieces, but he is met with the most unlikely scene imaginable, his own double seated on the edge of the bed beside Cody who is sound asleep. There are differences between them, his counterpart’s hair cropped short along the sides and worn longer on top, his form a touch thinner as though he doesn’t always remember to eat, and a blade that is similar but not identical to Obi-Wan’s own, at his waist. The most obvious difference is his attire, more that of a Jedi than an emperor, though darker in color than the Jedi favor.

“A few moments more please.” It is strange to hear his voice from the lips of another, but he hums, granting the ghost his request, knowing deep in his soul that no version of him could harm his sleeping heart.

He would agree to nearly anything to soothe the ache he feels in the Force.

When the ghost eventually stands, he whispers, “sleep well, my heart,” and champagne gold eyes wet with grief finally meet his own. The words have been said before in a much different context, and Obi-Wan knows now what has caused such pain. He has a hundred questions, but he leads his counterpart into another room in silence and settles him into a chair, drawing a blanket around his shoulders. He doesn’t know whether it would have been a kindness or a cruelty to leave him watching over Cody while he disappeared to make tea, but some of the grief has ebbed away by the time he returns.

“Forgive me. It was not my intention to disturb your peace, but… you reminded me so very much of us.”

“What are you?”

“A traveler.” It is not a terribly satisfying answer, but Obi-Wan supposes it’s easier to admit than calling himself a broken ghost. “I move between realities. I have seen so many now, but this is the only one where I have encountered someone like me.”

“Someone fallen.” It does not surprise him to know that the Obi-Wans of other realms live more often in the light. Even he clings to it each night.

His other half nods, thumb tracing over the lip of his tea cup, clutching it tightly in his hands as though he is attempting to leech the warmth from it like he has not been warm in years. Perhaps he has not with his Cody lost to him somewhere along the way.

“How long ago?”

“Five years.” The end of the war then. A little shiver winds down his spine as he recalls their discovery of the chips. “He spared me from death at the hands of his brothers.”

“Did you burn your galaxy to ash?”

“It is not what he would have wanted.”

“I doubt he would have wanted this for you either.” He nearly offers their home as a place for the ghost to rest, but he has never been very good at sharing, and he does not think it would truly ease the pain. His haunted other half must find and make his own peace.

“Keep him close.”

“Always.”

The ghost leaves, vanishing into the night, and Obi-Wan takes up his vigil, watching over Cody as he sleeps. He joins him eventually, holding him close, and he hopes that someday the ghost can do the same, that he finds the lost love for whom he has been searching.

[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”