#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!

[raebiis]

Think about it: a crossover between Pride and Prejudice and The Vampire Diaries (or any other vampire media you fancy).

Mary Bennett, the overlooked and plain sister- super religious, super conformist.

Lizzie and Jane are taking up all the attention with their romance endeavors- the Mikaelsons are ‘just passing through’ and something about Mary…

She’s not particularly remarkable to them at first, serving only as a quick meal that Klaus indulges in and keeps alive for the sole purpose of her blood being particularly delightful- he wouldn’t want it to go to waste.

She’s compelled to forget and Elijah, the gentleman, offers her an escort home.

But, with the strange (to her) amount of attention she’s given by Klaus and, eventually, Elijah, she begins to truly flourish.

Mary secretly has a heart for adventure! And a desire to keep their developing friendship close to her heart, away from her family’s unkind and judgmental eyes.

She gradually opens up to these men, often meeting them while her family is pre-occupied (something she finds easy, as they often deem her ‘too boring’ to bother with). She discovers within herself a desire to experience things previously unknown to her.

She wants to ride astride a horse! She wants to fence! She wants to dress as a man so that she can visit gentlemen’s clubs freely- all of these things and so much more. And she does them all with the help of her new friends- Klaus and Elijah.

Klaus begins to fall in love with her rebellious heart, finding a sort of kinship in the cruelty of their fathers (certainly Mr. Bennett was never physically abusive but Klaus knows the pain of indifference and harsh words). Elijah falls in love with her compassion, her kindness prevailing over the neglect she faces. And gradually, with Mary’s coming into herself, she seems to grow more beautiful with every passing day, life returning to her ‘dull’ features and bringing forth a beauty that had been clouded over by a sense of inadequacy she’d harbored.

Maybe Klaus has been feeding from her this whole time, compelling away the memory of it so as to keep her as a companion. But one day, Elijah can’t take the dishonesty anymore- not in the face of such sweetness. And he confesses all.

But Mary, whether her initial reaction is anger, sorrow, or betrayal, is kind. She remembers the good that came of her relationship with the brothers- all the kindness they gave her. And maybe it’s unhealthy, but even if it was all a farce, she wants to give them a chance to explain.

So she does. And their relationship deepens on a level previously unknown to any of them.

Both brothers begin to feed from her regularly, with her permission (which started as basic curiosity). It’s incredibly intimate- they even begin feeding her their blood because of the sheer amount they consume from her.

(This would be the point that things begin to get compromising for Mary 👀)

Mary is sneaking out more and more, returning at strange hours of the night- rumpled and carrying a distinctive glow to her. Due to her family’s preoccupation with her older sisters, this remains unnoticed- until Kitty catches her.

An argument ensues but Mary convinces Kitty to stay quiet- on the condition that she spill everything. Mary does, making sure to leave out the supernatural parts.

Learning this makes Kitty pay more attention to her sister, and she begins to notice how much more beautiful and lively Mary has become- indeed, it seems as if she could steal all the attention in any room if only her mind were not already so preoccupied.

Kitty, however, is a little concerned and tries to tell their mother to watch out for Mary- she, however, gets dismissed.

Then, finally, the moment where the Mikaelsons officially meet the Bennetts, Mr. Darcy, and the Binglys. Elijah and Klaus attend the ball at Netherfield (timeline? What timeline?).

They introduce themselves- and it quickly becomes clear that they know Mary quite well, and even consider her a great friend. Everyone is immediately worried about Mary’s… situation… but Klaus and Elijah subtly assure them that their sister, Rebekah (who was recently undaggered and not at the party so she can recover) has been chaperoning.

Then, things finally come to a head between brothers- Elijah says, “Indeed, dear Miss Bennett would make a fine wife” in apparent remark of her virtues. And Klaus, in clear anger, says back “yes brother. She would.”

And it becomes clear to the others that Mary is apparently tied up in quite the love triangle.

Anyway, I’m running out of time, but the general drama ensues. Klaus and Elijah fight to be the one who marries Mary, Mary and Rebekah get along swimmingly, Mary’s family is desperately trying to play catch up (aside from Kitty, who, while not knowing everything, knows a great deal more than the rest), Mr. Darcy gets involved in some way, Lizzie despairs because she thinks Darcy is falling in love with Mary (that’s entirely up to you), and Mary herself is in the process of shedding her past life in order to embrace her new one.

Things end with Mary becoming a vampire, leaving her old family behind, and marrying one of the brothers (who it is, is entirely up to you).

Ta-daaaaa!

[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?”

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Random point, idk if y’all have seen The Wilds, but I love both Yellowjackets and The Wilds ( season 1 lol) , and honestly, I think Yellowjackets does a way better job at showing how teens would act in the wilderness. In The Wilds, the dialogue can feel kind of forced, like the writers are trying too hard to make the teens sound super relatable or "real," but it ends up feeling pretty unnatural. Yellowjackets, on the other hand, feels way more grounded. The characters' reactions to all the crazy situations are so much more believable, and you really see a mix of fear, vulnerability, and even cruelty that feels much more like what real teens would show under pressure.

Totally agree. I saw The Wilds long before I ever saw Yellowjackets. Strangely enough my partner was always trying to get me to watch Yellowjackets because she heard it was good but for some reason I kept refusing and saying “Eh it just seems like a The Wilds knockoff” which is insane to think about in hindsight considering how much I love this show now. Once I actually watched Yellowjackets, I realized how it took everything The Wilds did (and a lot of things it didn’t do) and made it 10 times better. Even with the characters: Nat is a better version of Dot, Shauna is a better version of Leah, Lottie is a better version of Martha, Taissa is a better version of Rachel, Misty is a better version of Nora, Jackie is a better version of Fatin, ETC. Not to say that Yellowjackets and The Wilds are even similar shows, they are wildly different in so many ways.

Yellowjackets portrays trauma in such a heartbreakingly realistic way it's just captivating to watch. And The Wilds' feminism feels a bit more cliche and boneless. The Wilds' version of feminism is a shallow "women can rule the world!" and Yellowjackets' is "women are fucking terrifying," which I personally love so much more.

But, in defense of The Wilds, I think that show is made for a younger audience than Yellowjackets, so the dialogue is a quite a bit cheesier and the plot lines are more Riverdale-esque if that makes sense. The Wilds can't go as deep and dark as Yellowjackets can. But I do love the queer representation of Shelby and Toni and I love them together, I ate that shit up. I also think The Wilds does a great job of fully fleshing out its characters, giving each of them their own episode. And I do love those characters (particularly Leah, Dot, and Toni). Also, whether it was intentional or not, I do think there's some great BPD representation with Leah.

Oh, and also, The Wilds absolutely DESTROYED itself in the second season. What the fuck was that?!?! I have never seen a show completely self-destruct on such a massive scale.

[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.

[ilbound]

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:

Do anacondas eat people

Constrictors as pets

How to know if your snake is sleeping

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.

[oscartullyofriverrun]

Dear Lord Davos of Godsgrace (though perhaps it is your grace that matters more than the gods),

I suppose it should be my duty to sway you against violence in all its forms, but doing so would make me a hypocrite as I often mourn having allowed the boy to leave the training yard with his teeth intact.  Noses can be fixed, but lost teeth are a more permanent situation.  Then again, I endured enough chaos and rumors about my violent nature when I limited myself to the nose so maybe it all worked itself out for the best.

Luckily for us both, it is not ego that drives me to say I am adept with a sword but simple practice and dedicated training.  Dorne may be lacking in its mercy, but I am not.  As long as you promise not to disembowel me out of anger, I promise to keep your inevitable defeat between us.  I enjoy your fearsome reputation too much to allow it to be ruined by a training yard defeat.  And if I am wrong and you do end up besting me, then I will simply have to train with you until I’m confident in my skills again.

I thank you for your well wishes, though I will assuage your worries.  I promise to always remain at least somewhat tormented for your amusement.  I am an expert at finding new ways to get myself into trouble and at finding new things to worry about.  I will not bore you with all my worries, but I will simply say this marriage will bring me security but not happiness or even love.  I probably should not admit such a thing to you, but I feel you must already know why so there is no point in lying about it.

I am sorry to hear about your father.  I do not know what kind of man he was, but losing family is difficult no matter what emotions you feel for them.  I won’t press you about your brother because I imagine the topic brings you pain and while I would like answers, I find myself strangely not wanting them if they are hurtful for you to divulge.

I wouldn’t mind hearing confirmation through a letter, though I must admit I might not believe it even if you did admit your secrets to me.  Also, when I visit Godsgrace?  Who said I would be visiting you in that isolated place?  I may be reckless, but I hold some amount of sense.  I would hate to see my own name added to the tally of those who have disappeared there, whether through the desert’s cruelty or your own.

In fact, I recently heard a tale of a messenger from Highgarden who became lost in the sands of Dorne.  A tragic story, though perhaps you simply tried to teach him a lesson in resilience and found him wanting.  I will not pretend the Riverlands is a harsh place, but even I have seen how the comforts of the Reach do not always prepare men for the real world so there is a part of me inclined to believe your words when you say he simply never arrived.  Either way, though I maybe shouldn’t admit it, I trust your judgement in the matter.  I will leave the meaning of that statement up to you.  

One good thing about becoming familiar with the stars is that even in the most unfamiliar of places, they’re willing to show the path forward.  If I were to ever find myself so far south, I suppose I would simply have to follow their path until they led me to you.

Your friend (because I have decided by now that’s what we are),

Oscar Tully

P.S. I thought it was time for me to include a token of my own with my letter.  I’ve gifted you a knight from one of my favorite chess sets.  People often think the Queen and King are the most important pieces on the board, but the cleverest player knows it’s the knight who is often the most effective because they are overlooked and can reach places the other pieces cannot.

—--

Oscar carefully enclosed his newest letter to Davos into an envelope and sealed it with wax.  One thing he hadn’t mentioned was that he had given Davos a knight from one of his favorite chess sets carved from emerald.  He wasn’t sure what had driven him to give Davos that particular piece when he had so many other chess sets that were of less value.  Knowing his love of the game, chess sets were a popular gift for lords to send to Riverrun when it was Oscar’s name day.  He could have given Davos a piece from any of those but he had chosen the emerald one anyway, maybe exactly because it meant the most to him.  Davos also reminded Oscar of a knight, not the kind in Westeros but the ones in chess.  Knights didn’t move in straight lines like the other pieces and they were able to jump over obstacles in their way.  A clever player could use an overlooked knight to lay a trap and blindside someone too focused on the supposed important pieces to see the danger right under their nose.  Though Oscar was forced to admit he didn’t really know the other man, he had a sense that was how Davos operated.  

Knowing that and what he suspected of Davos, Oscar knew his newest impulse was pure madness.  Davos’ words about visiting Godsgrace hadn’t truly been an invitation and even if they had been, it would be madness for Oscar to go there.  Who knew how many fools exactly like him Davos had lured down to Dorne with the promise of answers to the mysteries that surrounded him?  He hadn’t even promised he would tell Oscar anything if he did show up, but one thing was becoming clear: Oscar was never going to learn anything through their letters.  He couldn’t tell through Davos’ words whether he was lying or not, so even if he did confess everything to him, Oscar would never know.  In person though, perhaps Oscar could actually learn something.

He could admit that his curiosity had long since surpassed anything required by Of Court and Kingdom.  This had started to become a personal obsession, but that didn’t mean the answers weren’t important.  Who was Davos truly?  From the letters they had exchanged, Oscar couldn’t believe he was the monster everyone said he was, but he would never know for sure unless he met the other man.  

Oscar tried to tell himself he needed to be smart.  Showing up unannounced would be a great way to get murdered without anyone ever knowing what had happened to him.  He wasn’t going to travel to Godsgrace to meet with Davos.  He hadn’t even been invited.

Yet as Oscar glanced out his window at the night sky, he couldn’t let go of his curiosity or his desire to find out what it would be like to watch the stars at Davos’ side.

Words of Darkness; Words of Light: with @davos-allyrion

Oscar had gotten himself in many strange situations over the years due to impulsivity and because of his sister’s pamphlet Of Court and Kingdom.  Oscar had traveled to odd places and spoken with various strange people to gather information to pass back to Abby, so when the Dornish delegation had swept into the Red Keep with whispers of brutality and murder all centered around a single person, it had seemed only logical to reach out and learn the truth for himself.  There was a delicacy in doing so.  Few were willing to admit their secrets to a stranger and besides, it felt wrong to develop a sense of trust with someone only to abuse it later.  Usually, Oscar used these writing relationships to learn a person’s personality, ask about the rumors that naturally stirred up and judge based on their reaction how likely they were to be true.  At times it could be difficult, but Oscar liked to think he’d become quite good at it.

Except for when it came to Davos.  Each new letter brought a tale wilder than the last.  Whenever Oscar asked about a new rumor, Davos was quick to confirm it and spin the tale into something even more exaggerated.  Normally, Oscar would have assumed the other man was messing with him and simply playing up the rumors that surrounded him for his own amusement, except there was often a twist of cruelty that crept into Davos’s words that made Oscar feel like some of the things Davos told him were true.  It was clear the other man hadn’t done everything people whispered about, but even if he’d done a quarter of it, that was enough to make Oscar a little scared.

Any logical person would have cut off the relationship by now, gradually dragging out the space between letters so as to not cause offense. Yet, Oscar always found himself ripping open Davos’ letters with a dark sense of curiosity and writing back in a timely fashion.  Davos had a way of learning strangely accurate information about people from all across the Seven Kingdoms, sometimes things Oscar himself hadn’t even heard a whisper about.  It made him feel a little sick to think that Davos had probably heard all the rumors about him as well, but Oscar did his best to ignore that.  He often told himself he kept writing to Davos for Abby’s sake in order to gain these random bits of information, but if he was honest with himself, Oscar was too interested in whatever strange things were happening at Godsgrace to quit writing quite yet.

Dear Lord Davos, 

Your last letter was, as always, very interesting.  I would have you know the rumor you heard about me almost killing another boy in the training yard for insulting my brother is mostly exaggerated.  I only broke the boy’s nose and frankly, I believe he deserved it.  I suppose I should not even bother asking if the stories you’ve told me about your own training days are true or not, though I can’t help but want to ask again anyway.  Perhaps if I ever journey down to Dorne we could spar together, though maybe that is a dangerous proposition if I want to keep all of my organs where they belong.

I imagine you have already heard, in the way you always do, that a marriage might be in my future.  It is a perfect match in its own way, and my father is so relieved he has started speaking to me again.  You’re lucky your murderous infant gaze was vile enough to strike your father dead on the spot because many fathers don’t like it very much when you turn out differently than they’d hoped.  Yes, I’ve heard that rumor about you and no, I do not think it’s true though please feel free to try and convince me it is if you so desire.

I hope you are well.  I hear much about your murderous rages and evil blood spells, but less on your happiness.  I have spoken with a man whose mother is from Dorne and apparently she always says the most beautiful stars hang in the skies of Dorne.  I don’t know if that’s true, but sometimes here in the Riverlands I enjoy sleeping on the balcony of my room underneath the stars.  Before you say anything, yes I know that’s a wonderful way to get murdered by assassins or thieves, but as a lord, surely you’ve felt the weight of your position and wanted to escape it all just for a moment.

I do not know what it’s like in Dorne, but even for me as a second son the weight of expectation can be crushing.  I apologize if I’ve admitted or assumed too much but it has been quite a tumultuous time lately.

Your (potential?) friend, 

Oscar Tully

P.S. If you haven’t spent much time lately watching the stars, you should.  At the very least, you’ll be able to appreciate the darkness more after seeing them shine.

[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.