#The Cat Returns

[zchnlswrld]

(46) ATEEZ FIC RECS

🍓 fluff | 🌀 angst | 💥 nsfw | 🎧 personal favourite

if any links don’t work or the wrong writers have been tagged please let me know!

ATEEZ/MULTIPLE

Want You Back | @whimsicalwritingsandmore 🍓🌀

opposites attract w/ matz | @beenbaanbuun 🍓💥🎧

↳ are you ready to get so hooked on something you’ll read every story connected to it and simply sit there waiting for series updates?

Addams!ATEEZ | @fruithoughts 🍓💥

HONGJOONG

Less Than Three | @kbandtrash 🍓

Runaway | @lilacmingi 🍓🌀

To Make An Album | @bambikisss 🍓💥

Never Alone | @iwannasuckyourmonstercock 🌀

Hopefully | @idyllic-ghost 🍓

↳ my hongjoong roman empire and it’s just made up leave me alone

SEONGHWA

The Way to His Heart | @edenesth 🍓🌀🎧

↳ again not a series reader in the slightest but this one is so well done you never know what’s happening next and then you get grown through a loop in the best way possible

let’s not fall in love, again | @baekhvuns 🍓🌀💥🎧

↳ HOW THE AUTHOR CAME UP WITH THIS IS BEYOND ME BUT I REREAD THIS ALL THE TIME I LOVE IT I CANT DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE IT JUST PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ IT

no title | @mymoodwriting 🍓🌀💥

bodyguard | @baekhvuns 🍓🌀💥

↳ this became my personality for a solid month after its release

cat named mars | @hwaightme 🍓

checkmate | @atinystraynstay 🍓🌀

the lamb and the wolf | @seonghwaddict 🍓💥

YUNHO

Guerilla | @sorryimananti-romantic 🍓🌀💥

opposites attract | @tainsan 🍓🌀💥

↳ another one that became my personality for a solid month after release

what builds a home | @cosmicdumpling 🍓💥 (only a little!)

PILLAGED | @lilacmingi 🍓 (a little 🌀)

something to give each other | @sungbeam 🍓🎧

↳ read this at 5:34am and it changed my life i’m not kidding

Promise | @sorryimananti-romantic 🍓💥 (only a little!)

↳ did my life just change? yes! this authors fics always change my life but this was something else!

entombed | @ghstzzn 💥 (and kinda 🍓) 🎧

YEOSANG

no title | @ateezmakemeweep 🍓🌀

RETURN TO ME | @thewonandonly 🌀💥🎧

↳ this is the the best yeosang fic on this app like i can’t explain any of it like this is one i strongly suggest you read (this is a threat, read the goddamn fic) and that fucking ending i’m literally i can’t it takes everything in me to not spoil it every time i recommend it but i’m telling you you have to read this you know that feeling you get when your heart wrenches and you physically feel it? you get that the whole time with this

for the hope of it all | @starrysvn 🌀🎧

↳ not gonna lie thought about killing myself after reading this 😭😭😭 /j

SAN

The Art of Climbing the Corporate Ladder | @ennysbookstore 🍓🌀💥🎧

↳ another one i can’t explain you have to read this for yourself because you think you know and then no you fucking don’t and then you get really mad and then really sad and then you’re like oh no and then y/n saves it and then san says stuff JUST READ IT

Ceilings [PART 2] | @yoongiseesawmp3 🍓🌀💥

↳ FINALLY THIS GODDAMN TROPE DONE RIGHT LIKE GAG EM THANK YOU GUYS THIS IS SUCH A GOOD READ AND IT DOESNT MOVE FAST LIKE THE OTHER FICS THAT DO THIS TROPE PLEASE

seasons out of time | @nonclassyparty 🍓🌀💥🎧🎧🎧

↳ this is the most soul crushing, heart wrenching, bone shattering piece of media you will ever read like i can’t genuinely put into words how much this fic means to me on like a level like i can’t even describe it help it is one of those fics thag you have to read for yourself and you’ll understand because just when your hopes are up theyre down when they’re down they’re up again in some strange way part two is in the works so i’m preparing for my heart to get stamped on by the author and part 1 is like for me genuinely the absolute best fics on this app so I can’t wait

Reassuring Words and Mellow Touches | @hongjoongsart 🍓🌀

↳ you know when you like feel smth in your gut and you don’t know what, this is what this does to you I swear

a broken routine | @vampzity 🍓🍓🍓🍓🎧

MINGI

Goodbye Summer | @shocymer 🌀🌀🌀

↳ i did cry when i finished this

nightmare, daydream | @mingigoo 🍓💥

One New Message | @hwaightme 🌀

Home | @lovepookie 🍓🍓🍓

WOOYOUNG

Home for the Holidays | @highvern 🍓🌀💥

Say You Love Me Too | @crazyformfics 🍓

change of heart | @hotteoki 🍓

place in me | @starrysvn 🍓🌀🎧

↳ this is my wooyoung roman empire and it didn’t even happen irl

If Without You | @sorryimananti-romantic 🍓🌀

JONGHO

so lovely | @deathbyyeekies 🍓🍓🍓🍓 🎧🎧🎧

↳ i kid you not reading this changed my life like genuinely i’m a changed person now

killin me softly | @deathbyyeekies 🍓

glasses w/ jongho | @beenbaanbuun 🍓

zemblanity | @in-san-ity 🍓🌀💥🎧

↳ it’s so nice watching tropes finally being done right like you don’t even understand how badly i needed this

20:15pm | @xuchiya 🍓

the fear still lingers | @03jyh23 🌀🌀🌀🌀🎧🎧🎧

↳ TOOK EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO THROW MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE AFTER READING THIS IF YOU’RE WANTING FUCKING INCREDIBLE ANGST READ THIS SHIT AND YOU’LL PHYSICALLY FEEL YOUR HEARTBREAK LIKE MINE DID

#FIC RECS ?! #ateez #ateez angst #ateez au #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez scenario #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic recs #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #kpop fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez x you #ateez x y/n

[uinre]

#final fantasy xiii-2 #lightning returns #Polls #Yeah yeah the cat is cute but NOTHING compares to that iconic dog

[mingtinys]

" i would do anything for you "

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : traffic violations ( for a good cause ! )

word count : 0.6 k

a/n : it's bittersweet posting this last part of the series :( i'm so sad for it to end cause i've had so much fun , but i couldn't be happier with how it turned out ! thank you to everyone that showed this series so much love and support <3 next up .... an nct series !!

Maybe you're just being paranoid. Perhaps the scratching at your back door wasn't some crazed killer messing with you before the inevitable. In fact, it's extremely likely you've simply stayed up too late and now your brain is playing tricks. But are you willing to take that chance? Absolutely not.

The fifth scratch comes and you're picking up the phone to dial the first person you can think of.

Chan reaches your home at a speed only possible by violating a few traffic laws. Armed with nothing but a broken broomstick and his dinosaur bedroom slippers. You're not even sure he's entirely awake. But he marches his way through your home and straight to the back door with conviction, advising you to stay back while he handles it.

He lowers his voice a few octaves as he speaks. "Whoever is out there, you better knock it off!" The scratching noise picks up. "I'll come out there!" Chan warns, though sounding a little unsure. Yet the scratching never ceases.

At this point, the genius thought to call the police finally enters your panicked brain. Something that probably should have been your first instinct. But it's too late, you can hear Chan thrusting the door open. "Alright, you asked for it– oh..."

When your savior returns, a fluffy orange creature in hand, you feel your face drain of all color. Your friend's cat. The one you were supposed to be sitting while they were away on a business trip. You'd forgotten you'd even let him outside to explore hours ago.

Chan points to the cat with a mock-serious look, "Is this guy bothering you, babe?"

Though severely embarrassed, you let out a sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry, Peanut," you coo at the cat, carefully taking him from your boyfriend's arms and carrying him over to his food, which you're certain is what he was scratching to get in for.

When you spin back around, Chan's arms are crossed over his chest, an expectant look on his face. "You know, usually the knight in shining armor gets a kiss for his bravery."

The playful tone in his voice alleviates some of the guilt you feel for calling him over at two a.m. to defend you from a killer cat. A gesture for which you're more than happy to reward with a kiss or two. And once he's claimed his prize, Chan happily gathers you in his arms. He rubs circles into your back, soothing any remaining anxiety in your muscles.

"I'm sorry you came all the way here for nothing," you mumble into his shoulder. "I guess I watched one too many crime shows and sort of panicked."

"You don't need to apologize. It's my job to be here whenever you need me." He pulls back and takes your face in his hands, holding your gaze with genuine eyes. "I would do anything for you."

That confession earns him a second kiss, causing him to break out in a dopey grin. "My hero," you tease, although he looks rather proud of himself for it.

"One question though?"

"What's that?"

"If you thought someone was trying to break in, why didn't you just call the police?"

Trust, Chan is over the moon to be the person you call in a time of need. But realistically, what was he supposed to do? Fight to the death with his bare hands and a broomstick to save you? He absolutely would... doesn't mean he'd win.

You pause. "I don't know, I guess I just panicked and thought of you first."

Chan is probably going to be riding that ego boost for the rest of his life.

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion @armycarat2612

#lee chan #dino #lee chan x reader #chan #chan x reader #dino x reader #lee chan x you #chan x you #dino x you #dino fanfic #dino imagines #dino imagine #dino fluff #lee chan fanfic #lee chan imagine #lee chan imainges #chan seventeen #lee chan fluff #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagine #seventeen lee chan #seventeen dino #seventeen x you #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #svt dino #dino brainrot

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

#horses #horseback riding #writing #writing tips #long post

[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

“It’s almost time,” Fogkit muttered to herself. She enjoyed muttering, especially if there was no one there to listen. It made her feel like she was five steps ahead. And today, she was. She had spent all week making spells out of prey scraps and mud and moth wings and such in preparation for today. 

Last night, Goldenstar had told her and Slatekit that they would be apprenticed at dawn. She had risen early to groom her fur and scatter feathers around the camp for good luck. Now she sat hunched in the dark, hidden in the grass near the nursery, waiting for dawn. The sky was starting to turn a soft, pretty pink.

A few cats were up and about, likely waiting just like she was. She watched as Floodpaw slank out of the apprentices’ den and arched his back in a long, lanky curve, and she brightened. She bolted for him and slipped underneath him to poke her head out between his forelegs so she could look up at him. 

He jumped and said, “Yikes, kid! What are you doing up so early?”

“Um, I’m gonna be apprenticed,” Fogkit rolled her eyes. “Duh!” He rolled his eyes in return and sat down on top of her. She squealed in delight and thrashed wildly. 

“Huh,” he said, “where did Fogkit go?” 

“I’m here!” she screamed, kicking with all her might. He winced but stayed where he was. 

“Fogkit?” he called. “Oh, Fogkit! Man, that’s a shame. She’s gonna miss her ceremony.”

“No!” she giggled. “No, I can’t!” She rolled onto her back as best she could and kicked hard with both legs. Floodpaw gave a grunt of pain and tumbled off of her immediately. She laughed and sprang on him where he lay curled in a pained ball. 

“Take that!” she declared, swiping at his ears. 

The apprentice simply wheezed, “Good kick…” 

Fogkit laughed and sat down to smooth out her fur again. Floodpaw was so much fun. Sparrowpaw and Barleypaw poked their heads out of the den and Fogkit waved her tail at them with a chipper smile. 

“Everything alright out here?” Sparrowpaw asked, raising a brow. 

“Yep!” she purred. 

“Mhm,” groaned Floodpaw. 

Barleypaw laughed and sat down next to her brother to purr against his side. “She must have got you pretty good.”

“Only ‘cause he sat on me,” Fogkit said. 

“Oh, then I guess he deserved it,” Sparrowpaw smirked. 

“Go hug a badger,” grumbled Floodpaw, finally managing to uncurl his body. 

“Fogkit!” Slatekit’s voice squeaked from across the camp. Fogkit turned to smile at her sister and waved her over. Slatekit hesitated but crossed the distance to huddle beside her. 

“Hey!” Fogkit said, “You excited?”

“Mm,” Slatekit whimpered in lieu of an answer. 

“You’ll do great,” Barleypaw said. “I was super nervous at my ceremony too but it’s really not that scary.” Slatekit whimpered again.

“It’s okay,” Fogkit said confidently. “I’ve been doing spells all week to make sure we get the best mentors.” 

“Spells?” Sparrowpaw blinked in surprise. 

“Yeah!” Fogkit brightened. “Mystique told us all about how wild cats do magic spells to help their friends and curse their enemies. She didn’t know how to do them but I figured it out, I think.” 

“Is that so?” Barleypaw seemed apprehensive. Floodpaw laughed. 

Slatekit nodded. “Yeah, she said that wild cats are magic. We’re wild cats, right?” 

“That is what the city calls Clan cats, yes,” said Sparrowpaw, “but-” 

“Yeah!” Fogkit said, eager to share with them. “Magic is easy, you just have to get the right stuff and then think really hard about what you want to happen and sometimes put the stuff in a special place or something! I can show you guys sometime.” 

“I’m good,” snorted Floodpaw.

“Maybe…” Barleypaw laughed awkwardly. “We’ve got to train for our final assessments though.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Fogkit frowned. “You’re not gonna be in the apprentice den with us for very long…”

“Yeah,” said Sparrowpaw, “but you’ll be warriors before you know it. Time flies like that.” 

Goldenstar’s voice rang out through the camp. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Stoneperch for a Clan meeting!”

“It’s happening!” squealed Fogkit, bouncing on her toes. Slatekit whined nervously. 

“Come on, lets go sit closer,” Barleypaw said, wrapping her tail over Slatekit’s shoulders. The group of them moved in to join the other cats who trickled out of their dens and settled in a semicircle around the Stoneperch. Goldenstar sat atop the stone, her fur glowing under the creeping light of dawn. Fogkit kneaded the ground in anticipation. 

“Today,” Goldenstar began, “we name two apprentices who have been waiting eagerly for this moment. Fogkit, Slatekit, you have reached the age of six moons and that means it’s time for you to start your training towards becoming warriors. From this day on, until you receive your warrior names, you will be known as Fogpaw and Slatepaw.” Everyone cheered, chorusing their new names. Slatepaw blushed and tried to stand up tall. Fogpaw didn’t stop looking at Goldenstar. She wasn’t going to be satisfied until she heard who her mentor would be. 

“Slatepaw,” said Goldenstar, “for your mentor, I have chosen someone who has proven himself to be a kind and gentle mentor in the past. I entrust your training to Pantherhaze and hope that you will be able to rely on him when times are tough.” 

Pantherhaze stepped out of the crowd, smiling softly. Slatepaw swallowed and stepped up to meet him. Fogpaw could see her trembling as they touched noses. He whispered something to her and she nodded. Fogpaw was happy with the pair. It seemed her spell had paid off. 

“Fogpaw,” Goldenstar’s voice brought her back to attention. “Your mentor will be Scorchplume.” Fogpaw’s jaw fell open in surprise. She hadn’t realized that was an option. “Scorchplume, while this is your first apprentice, I am confident you will be able to teach Fogpaw how to excel at any pursuit she puts her mind to.” 

Scorchplume swished her big, ginger tail up over her back and strode into the circle to meet Fogpaw. Fogpaw was frozen for a moment, unsure. Was this really what her magic had decided was the best mentor for her? 

She glanced around at the other cats, the ones without apprentices. Branchbark, Aldertail, and Ospreymask all sat together near the edge. Ospreymask looked especially disappointed. Fogpaw realized that she wouldn’t want any of them to be her teacher. She looked back at Scorchplume who had raised her brows expectantly and tried to see through her expression to her aura. Scorchplume was bold and sharp and pretty. She was the only cat to have gone to the city and come back safely. Yes, Fogpaw decided, this was the perfect mentor for her. 

Grinning, Fogpaw stepped up and presented her nose for Scorchplume to touch with her own. The warrior gave an amused humm and did so. The touch sent an electric shock through Fogpaw’s nose and she recoiled to rub at it with her paw. Scorchplume wrinkled her nose at the sensation. That had to mean something, right? 

“We’re tied now,” she mumbled to Scorchplume, “you and me.” 

“Really, now?” Scorch whispered back. 

“With that, our meeting is concluded,” Goldenstar said. “Congratulations, Fogpaw and Slatepaw!” Another round of cheering went up for the both of them. Fogpaw looked around the circle and felt tears swelling within her. All of their will, all of their passion, was behind her now, driving her forward. She could almost feel StarClan’s presence on her back. I promise, Mama, she vowed, imagining spellwork being woven into every word, I’m going to become the best warrior there is. I’ll make you proud.

UPDATES: - Fogkit and Slatekit are made apprentices. Fogpaw is apprenticed to Scorchplume! Slatepaw is apprenticed to Pantherhaze!

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Slatepaw #Fogpaw #Goldenstar #Barleypaw #Floodpaw #Sparrowpaw #Pantherhaze #Scorchplume #Newleaf #Apprentice Ceremony #Ceremonies #ceremony #clangenrising

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (7) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n switch out one shitty ex for a slightly less shitty one

masterlist | last part | part 7 | next part (tba)

ARTICLE

Revisiting 'Twelve More Days' : How Empty Bottles Spun Their Signature Sound on its Head on Tour April 12, 2024 · Written by Catherine Moore

Almost halfway through the Asian leg of their world tour, it's finally time to talk about what the pandemic-era rock band Empty Bottles has been up to. For greener artists, it's the cookie-cutter way to stick to a genre that has previously worked and give the masses what they want but instead, Empty Bottles have taken their 2022 sophomore sensation 'Twelve More Days' and tweaked the songs for their world tour.

Long-time fans of the Sydney-born band are familiar with the classic rock elements that brought Empty Bottles into the spotlight; claiming influence from fellow Sydneysiders 5 Seconds of Summer, Arctic Monkeys and other croony rock artists, so it was a rather big surprise for critics and fans alike when the album opened with a much softer, hypnotising approach.

The even bigger surprise was the creative and musical approach they took with their tour. As noted by various critics back during the album release, 'Twelve More Days' had a not-so-subtle jazz flavour to their sound, and the band seems to have embraced the jazz-rock sound by opening their tour with a speakeasy-style set, complete with the band decked out in snazzy 1930s reminiscent suits and frontwoman Selina Bui in glittery minidresses, opera gloves and a thematic vintage ribbon microphone.

Despite close to three years since she last performed in front of a live audience, Bui took to the stage like a fish to water, instantly entrancing her audience with her universally acknowledged rich sirenic vocals, drawing in the attention and sending the venue back to a 1930s speakeasy. Strangely, she performs this part of the show without her trusty guitar, leaving the grunt work on the other lead guitarist, talented Lukas Zhang, who delivers without a hiccup with no twin guitar to help cover any mistakes.

Quite a few of the sophomore album's songs are given a jazz-rock twist that nobody could have predicted. Other already jazz-influenced songs - namely deluxe track number 13 'money talks' and track 6 'typo' - have been breathed to life, as well as a couple of songs from the band's debut album 'overtime'.

Empty Bottles then returns after a brief intermission with their award-winning pop-rock sound, spending the rest of the set in much more familiar-looking leather jackets and t-shirts and a guitar returned to Bui's hand. Bui, very well known for having an interesting sense of humour, made the choice of returning to the stage with the fitting song choice of 'do you remember me?'. One thing you have to give the 22-year-old is that she really does know how to pick her moments, and the now-iconic first chords of the cocky, energetic track are enough to send the crowd screaming.

The exploration into the many subgenres of what is considered rock 'n' roll has always been a very fuzzy point of conversation, and it's been an honour seeing Empty Bottles have fun playing jump rope over that line. What makes this tour such a raving success is their perfect balance of experimentation and keeping to what is tried and true for them; the classic, hard-hitting, no-nonsense, inane-lyricism rock coupled magnetically with Bui's captivating execution on stage.

Would you find me at one of their shows again? Absolutely, there was truly nothing more thrilling than the first moments you see Selina Bui walk onto stage with her infamous cheshire cat smile. What did I personally think about the sound change? I was pleasantly surprised at how seamlessly they've adjusted the songs to fit the jazz-rock genre, I also believe that they have found the perfect sound to complement Selina Bui's voice. It's uncanny how it just clicked that she was born to sing the soft, almost lullaby-like, calming songs. If they were to release another album with a similar soft sound, I would happily eat it up.

Empty Bottles wrap up the Asian leg of the tour in Bangkok, Thailand later this month and then shortly begin the European leg in Sofia, Bulgaria.

INSTAGRAM

cameliazzz

liked by aidan_ebass and 122,394 others

cameliazzz life lately 🐾 tagged: selinabui

aidan_ebass Yes ma'am 🫡 ↳ selinabui @aidan_ebass i'm dying u are such an old man ↳ lukaszhang @ selinabui he's like barely a year older than you??

cami.png the hottest drummer ever 💜💜💜

conangray a little commotion for the drummer pls and thank you ↳ cameliazzz @ conangray stop i'm blushing 🙈

TWITTER

fiona🩷 @fififorlina · 4h i mean we can all thank tommy for one thing and that's for twelve more days lmao ↳ lina bui x2 grammy winner @urdaisea · 3h i forget that not all empty bottles fans have read this article but i think they all should: Why 'Twelve More Days' isn't a Break-Up Album, it's a Healing One

emme @flowersforcami · 1h yes twelve more days is full of t*mmy slander BUT remember that all the band members have writing credits and they ALL helped write songs so basically what i'm trying to say is that twelve more days is actually the rest of the band roasting the shit out of lina's ex ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 1h every one of those bitches rocked up to the studio and went for blood. that is a universally hated man in their group chat.

amie <3 @mieflrs · 2h it's been 3 years, i think it's time to admit that keeping tabs is absolutely not about thomas fucking howard ↳ amie <3 @mieflrs · 2h i don't care how delusional u are, where in those 3 minutes 54 seconds did you hear a single line that sounds like anything like that sorry excuse of a man??? now a certain japanese-american singer who is exceptionally hot playing the guitar on the other hand... ↳ lukas 🔛🔝 @lukiepookie28 · 2h yes i agree it's not about t*mmy but it's also not about CHRISTOPHER like WTF R U ON???

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 32m we're in an oscalina drought and it's plain to see not all of us are coping well

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by chrisyamada, oscarpiastri and 279,384 others

selinabui now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh is it that sweet? i guess so

amelia_belrose pop!lina perhaps 🫣

oscarpiastri Didn't need to call me out like that ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri don't tell me u miss me already

sabrinacarpenter she's working late coz she's a singer

lukaszhang woman you hate coffee what are you on ↳ selinabui @lukaszhang why are u even here

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

Yamada Updates @chrisyamadanews · 2h 🚨| Chris spotted at the Empty Bottles 'Twelve More Days' Tour in Seoul Night 2

Yamada Updates @chrisyamadanews · 32m 🚨| CHRIS ONSTAGE WITH EMPTY BOTTLES!!!

↳ Yamada Updates @chrisyamadanews · 30m this made me break ok, i am so fucking thrown off. WDYM WE GOT SELINA BUI AND CHRISTOPHER YAMADA ON STAGE TOGETHER IN THE YEAR 2024???

mabel @maplemabel32 · 25m i can't breathe chris and lina??? chris and lina???????? after so long??? CHRISTOPHER AND SELINA???? as in "hello it's chris" "and lina"??? MY BESTIES REUNITED???

june @linafesting · 18m sometimes, i'm convinced lina spins a wheel on how to break the internet today

↳ kat ୨୧ @yamayaps · 2m with all due respect, this stunt was NAUT selina's idea, this was a move that christopher 'no boundaries' yamada suggested

INSTAGRAM

emptybottles_official Olympic Gymnastics Arena

liked by chrisyamada and 334,294 others

emptybottles_official Nowhere as incredible as Seoul! Always special to have @chrisyamada join us on stage. tagged: chrisyamada

chrisyamada someone better return the favor later 👀 ↳ selinabui @chrisyamada u begged me to let u come what are u on ↳ chrisyamada @ selinabui ok maybe i did

pi4str1 ok smo catch me up bc i did not know chris and lina were friends??? ↳ linasgirl4 @pi4str1 it's probably best we don't get into it

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee

#f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x oc #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smau #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 smau #f1 fic #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 social media au

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Friday: untitled Jak oneshot/ Daxter Snaps And It Doesn't Go Well

(This takes place right after Jak finally gets to return to Spargus in Jak 3, because I had some Feelings about the Dark Eco Oracle and its well-loved shrine having been either moved or destroyed in Haven. Also for reference: since the original Jak concept art was a cat/foxlike alien child, hence the ears being set so high on his head in TPL, I'm hereby deciding that their species can purr. Because I said so.)

This is Quite Long, so I'll probably crosspost to AO3 later.

TW: panic attack

Jak hadn't been surprised by the summons when he'd returned from Haven. He knew he was in for it. Damas had started trusting him with more and more responsibilities and then Jak had screwed it all up. Running off to Haven and then getting stuck there immediately after? Not a good look.

Honestly, Jak was just grateful he wasn't being "escorted" up by city guards.

Part of him wanted to go in fighting. That's all Damas cares about, right? a small, bitter corner of his heart muttered.

The rest of him was too afraid. He finally knew better than to look to anyone in Haven for affirmation or examples. Damas had been the closest he'd ever come to an authority figure he trusted. What if he lost that, too?

The second his and Daxter's heads were visible in the elevator shaft, Damas was already raising his voice. Perhaps he was simply projecting his voice to reach them, but Jak's stomach twisted into knots regardless, and his breathing became quick and shallow.

"Where have you been?" Damas demanded, rising from his throne. "It's been a month!"

The elevator locked, and Jak crept out onto the pathway like a skittish animal. He didn't meet Damas’s eyes. The confused anger and hurt he'd seen in them the last time flashed in his memory, and he winced. An oppressive silence fell for a few unnaturally long seconds, punctuated by the creak of the water wheel. Damas was waiting for an answer.

It's not our fault, Jak tried to reassure himself, Just another betrayal. We didn't do anything wrong.

When he didn't answer Damas, the king’s expression twisted between outrage and disbelief and-

And disappointment.

"Nothing? Really, Jak?" He took one step down from the dais, clenching his fist at his side. "Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"

Daxter took it upon himself to answer when Jak wouldn't -- or couldn't.

"Oh lay off!" he hissed, puffing himself up to look bigger, "Don't you have friends to kill in your gladiator ring?"

"Dax!" Jak gasped. Too late.

The words were already out and a black look fell across Damas’s face. His entire posture went rigid.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a frightful facsimile of calm.

"Daxter, don't," Jak pleaded, but it was far too late for that. When Daxter got this mad, he didn't even hear Jak.

"You heard me!"

Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder and stood on the first stepping stone as if blocking the way between them.

"You tried to make us kill one of our only real friends, and threw a tantrum when we wouldn't! And if you think I'd trust you with Jak's location after that, those spikes must be diggin' into your brain!"

Jak couldn't breathe.

Either Damas was going to cut them off, or Daxter was going to get hurt, and either way everything was going to crumble. He'd finally escaped Haven and there was going to be nothing to escape to.

His core pulsed, obeying signals he didn't even know his brain was sending. It tried to respond to the fight-or-flight instincts quickening his pulse and shortening his breath. In Haven, he would have gone Dark in response. But he'd used all the dark eco. There was nothing left. Nothing but adrenaline and panic.

A strange, almost echoing sensation pushed at the inside of his skull, and the room spun. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they'd been fused shut. He couldn't breathe!

"Jak!"

Between blurs of brown and green, Damas -- or an unfocused and staticy version of him -- approached rapidly.

As if from another room, Jak heard Daxter snarl, "Stay back! If you hurt him, I'll rip your spikes out!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!"

"You already did!"

It was too much. He couldn't- he couldn't focus. He couldn't find the light eco. Jak's knees gave, and it was a struggle to stay upright. Hands caught his upper arms, preventing him from collapsing entirely.

"Breathe, Jak!"

Damas sounded worried this time.

"You have to breathe!"

"Can't-!" Jak gasped, breath squeaking.

Then the world turned sideways and he was in the water. Or partly in the water.

His legs twitched with the shock of the new sensation, surprising him enough to suck in a deep breath. A compressing sensation against his chest and arms tightened in response.

"Focus on the water. Find your feet."

It took four tries to get his boots on the rocky bottom of the pool. His chest hurt, but he managed another deep breath.

"That's it. You can do this."

A small hand took his, pulling against the pressure around his shoulders, and pressed it against a narrow chest.

"L- like we practiced, bud-"

Oh. There's Daxter.

"Just breathe when I breathe, remember?"

Distantly, he heard Damas ask Daxter, "Has this happened before? In- in Spargus, I mean."

"Don't think about it, warrior," the other voice encouraged -- Damas? Is that Damas? But he's mad at us! -- "Just do as your friend does."

"If Jak wants to tell ya, he'll tell ya," Daxter said sourly. "You and I are not on speaking terms right now."

"...that is understandable."

One by one, his muscles relaxed. His breathing was much too fast, but it was easier to get full breaths at least.

When the ringing in Jak’s ears at last began to subside, he picked up a new sound. It was faint, barely audible at all, but he could just make out a nervous rumble. A laryngeal vibration he could feel through the back of his shirt. With conscious thought on standby mode, Jak's body responded to long-forgotten cues unbidden. His glottis rapidly dilated and constricted with his breathing, creating its own vibrations in a bid to self-soothe. It was how he'd learned not to cry out loud as a young child -- although blessedly, he would never remember that.

It wasn't the first time Damas had walked one of his people through a panic attack in the throne room, and it wouldn't be the last. But this one hurt.

"You're safe. There is no danger here. This is a safe place."

Shame raked its claws down his chest and Pain reached through the incision, grasping at organs and prying bones out of the way.

Jak didn't trust him.

And it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered- to Jak, to Daxter, to either-

A memory loomed damningly before his eyes. Mar had just started walking, and nearly toppled into the pools. Damas had yelled at him to get away from the edge, and the baby had burst into a loud, terrified wail.

"I'm- was it the shouting? I-"

"I'm sorry, it's okay, it's okay now- I know, I used the Big Voice, Daddy's sorry! You scared me, Bug!"

He hadn't gotten any better after losing Mar, had he? He still shouted when he was afraid. And look how that had turned out.

Damas tightened his hold on Jak and rested his chin on the crown of the boy's head. The apologies were bitter on his tongue, but necessary.

"I...I triggered this, didn't I? I'm sorry- gods, I'm sorry, Jak. I'm- you scared me. I couldn't find you! No one could!"

"You...thought we defected?" he asked through numbed lips.

The panic was slow to fade, still muddling Jak's mind. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was hearing.

"I thought the Marauders had taken you! Or you'd collapsed somewhere in the Wastes where we couldn't find you!" Damas answered. The dregs of that old fear still stained the edges of his voice. He shuddered.

He swallowed hard, interrupting the agitated purring for a moment. "I...did not handle the...situation as I should have. I damaged your trust. And I deserved worse than the silent treatment. I understand that. But to keep it from Sig, too?"

"You can't just run away like that! I- I understand why you didn't tell me-"

Painfully slowly, Jak drew his legs back out of the water and onto the rocks.

"They wouldn't let me," he mumbled. "They didn't let us leave."

Damas shot a concerned look at Daxter, who shrugged and looked away.

Shifting his grip to have one arm around the boy's waist, Damas heaved himself to his feet, taking Jak with him.

This promised to be a very unpleasant conversation, the least he could do was find them somewhere more comfortable to sit.

They were silent for a time, each processing the whirlwind of events. Jak was deeply, thoroughly, confused. No one had ever apologized like that before. Acknowledging his pain and the specific way their actions had caused it? It would be a cold day in hell before Samos ever did anything like that.

He didn't understand.

They'd defied Damas, then run from him. Daxter had just challenged him to his face.

Yet he spoke like a man anxiously awaiting the return of a prodigal son.

"Who wouldn't let you leave, Jak?" Damas asked him, far too gently.

Jak shut his eyes. "Haven."

"Haven?!" Damas sounded horrified. "What were you doing there?! Is that where you've been this whole time?"

Miserably, Jak nodded. "I was just- we were just scouting. Just- it wasn't supposed to be-"

He gritted his teeth.

"They locked down the air trains," he croaked. "And- and there's force fields blocking off the city exits. The only way they'd let us go was if I fought on the frontlines for three weeks first."

Fighting down his anger lest he trigger Jak's panic again, Damas forced himself to ask, "What made you go back to that city in the first place?"

A hostage. His boy- The boy had been a bloody hostage, and he'd had no idea! Damas felt something dark and dense fluttering between his ribs. If he found the person who ordered this, he would drown them in the sands.

Jak winced and passed several looks back and forth with Daxter.

"Ashelin...called me to the oasis," he said at last.

Damas stiffened beside him.

"She want- she wanted me to come back to Haven. After everything they did to me, she wanted me to come back."

He felt the hints of the anxiety returning, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

"Ashelin Praxis?" Damas demanded. He curled his lip. "I might have known. I hope you told her where to shove that offer."

Daxter scoffed. "Oh, he did. Even told her "I have new friends now", which was a little too generous considering what you said to my pal."

Jak gave the ottsel a weary look, and Daxter grudgingly subsided.

"I told her to leave. She- she wouldn't drop it. Said the friends we still had were going to die. That it was my responsibility because of-"

He flipped a hand in the air in frustration.

"I don't know! Dead people I share some common blood with!"

"Pal, I'm pretty sure that common blood stopped bein' responsible for that dump when Princess Scribbleface's darling pappy took over," Daxter grumbled.

"Common blood?!" Damas startled, but Jak had already moved on, hastily trying to explain himself.

"We didn't believe her -- I- I mean, why would we? But when I asked the Oracle in the temple-"

"How did you find the Oracle?!" Damas spluttered.

"The stupid thing called me," Jak growled. He leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. "Said the whole planet was in danger and my friends would die if I didn't find the catacombs."

He muffled a snarl in his palms.

"I hate them. I hate those rottin' things. They don't tell me when something is a trap. They only tell me what fits their agenda."

Jak could speak to Precursor Oracles.

Only monks were supposed to still be able to do that.

Monks, or Heirs of Mar taking the Trials.

"And...was it a trap?" Damas asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

A painful, wishful image of Jak in the Tomb of Mar wormed through Damas’s thoughts. If life had any semblance of fairness, or restitution, it would have been reality. It was not what he deserved, not after how many times he'd failed the people he cared about. But Jak deserved it. He'd been isolated enough.

Jak's face was like stone.

"All they cared about was getting me into Haven to find the catacombs before that nutcase Veger could. And all Haven cared about was keeping us there."

A deep, ominous creaking filled the room. Harsh shadows stretched and yawned as the terrible old statue beside the dais flickered, then lit up. A suffocating sense of dread filled Damas as he beheld the monolith. It wasn't a real Oracle. It was a shell, made to hold pieces of the water wheel. It wasn't made to have any kind of lights.

Daxter yelped and scurried up to Jak’s shoulder as the water wheel ground to a halt.

The silence was unnatural.

Jak's chest heaved, and Damas feared for a moment that he was going to panic again. But an answering light flickered in the boy's eyes. White, incandescent rage.

"What do you want now? You're not welcome here!" Jak snarled, standing up with a jerk.

"Angry one-"

It said in warning, a rolling, ancient voice that echoed off the stones and twisted in their eardrums.

Jak clenched his fists.

"No! I'm not afraid of you! You're no "holier" than Onin. You aren't even a Precursor!"

A sense of fury shook the room, and the water trembled.

Jak held his ground though his legs shook.

"You can't do anything to punish me," he challenged, angry tears glowing in his eyes. "The worst you can do is withhold information that would protect me, and you do that anyway! If- if you had power at all, you wouldn't have let Veger destroy Crius!"

Crius? Damas vaguely remembered that name. Hadn't he been one of the Bonekeeper's heralds? The memories were fuzzy at best. Father forbade Mother from speaking of the Bonekeeper when they married. Any communing with the patron of dark eco was done in secret, and as a child Damas had only caught her once.

"The dark shrine was all those people had!" the anger was slipping away from Jak now, replaced by something closer to grief. "He gave them hope! He gave- he gave me hope! And you couldn't save him. So what makes you think you can scare me now? Hu'mens are worse than you."

And the Oracle, miraculously, quieted. The waters stilled, and some of the dread receded. Jak fell back to the steps, having exhausted the last reserves of his emotions.

"Yeah! You tell him, Jak!" Daxter cheered, breaking the silence, "About time you put Sparky in his place!"

He ruffled Jak's hair -- the hair he could reach at least -- and leaned against his arm comfortingly.

"Next, we get Loghead!"

The Oracle remained lit, but speechless. All this time, had rebuking the heralds really been an option? Ever the pragmatist, Damas decided to follow Jak's example.

"As the boy said." His voice was quiet at first, but gained courage with each new word.

"This is not a place of seers and soothsayers. Respectfully: we do not require your guidance at this time."

"Heir of Mar-"

the Oracle began, almost wheedling.

Rage loosened his lips and he lost the last shred of reverence he'd held for the messenger.

Jak went rigid and Damas felt an anger of his own. How dare this entity try to leverage his bloodline when the Precursors had turned their backs on him!

"Hold your tongue! Unless you can comprehend the trouble you have caused, keep your counsel to yourself."

Resentfully, the Oracle's eyes flashed.

And with that, the lights were gone. The water wheel resumed its gloomy rhythm. The statue was hollow once more.

"So be it. You wish to hear no truth from me? Then you, Damas of the Wastes, shall hear no truth from me."

Something about the acquiescence -- or threat -- made Damas uneasy. Withholding information again, just as Jak had said. But he had the feeling it was hinting at something important. Taunting him.

Bloody seven hells.

He'd sooner cast the bones himself and call upon the Dark Lady directly as his mother once had than ever deal with that thing again.

"Little wonder you're always so on edge, dealing with that," he said; a poor attempt at a joke.

Jak dropped his face back into his hands.

"I'm so sick of them. Jak do this. Jak go there. Suffer for us, Jak! It's Fate!"

Damas scoffed. "Fate, eh? Wastelanders make their own fate. If this is who my monks consult, it's no surprise that they believe the world is coming to an end."

"They are pretty worried about the creatures in that space ship," Jak admitted reluctantly.

"Bah."

Damas waved it off.

"When the metalheads invaded our world, we survived with or without the Precursors they hunted. We will do the same if these creatures land."

He jostled Jak's shoulder -- shaking Daxter by proxy.

"Ey! No manhandling!"

Daxter slithered away down the steps and into the water. He glared up over the step like a little croc.

"You keep your emotionally constipated hands away from me!"

Damas let out a startled laugh, and Jak shook his head and grinned.

"I...guess you're right. Spargus is pretty tough."

"We are Wastelanders, boy," Damas declared, "We carved out a home in the places where nothing else survives. We'll carve out our fate the same way, with the same tools our ancestors used."

"...with eco," Jak said quietly, as if experiencing a revelation.

"Our minds think alike."

Damas’s wry grin faded.

"Jak...I'm...sorry. That I made you feel you couldn't contact me for help. If I had known you were being held in Haven against your will, I would have come for you."

The boy fixed him with a bewildered expression.

"You would have?" Jak asked, "You're serious. You. Leaving your people to come after me?"

The king met his stare evenly.

"Yes."

"After the- the thing, with the Arena-?"

Damas winced and looked away.

"I. I did not warn you, I was not permitted to. But the final trial of a Spargan is one they are supposed to lose."

Jak bristled. "What?!"

"It's a test of whether they can put loyalty to their city over the commands of a tyrant. Sig wasn't supposed to throw down his gun, he was supposed to goad you into a sparring match." Damas ran his hand over his shaved head. "I should have told him before he went in that it was you. I didn't know that you knew each other, but- maybe he wouldn't have panicked if he'd known it was a Final Trial. Maybe I wouldn't have panicked."

Jak stared at him in disbelief for several seconds. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he blurted out an accusation with no bite to it.

"What, did you forget I didn't grow up here?"

When he was met with chagrined silence, his eyes widened.

"Oh my gods you did. How?! You're the one that found me out there!"

Clearly embarrassed, Damas shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. There are days when it just...seems as though I have known you for much longer than seven months."

Jak took that statement, turned it over in his mind. The version of Damas in his head wasn't quite matching the one in front of him. Even before things had become strained between them, he hadn't had the context to understand the way Damas saw him. He still didn't- not completely.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, and gestured to the soaked trousers. "I um. I don't usually...not in front of people, I mean-"

He leaned back against the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. The linen stuck to his legs in sodden wrinkles and folds, nearly transparent against his calves. It would dry quickly once he stepped outside again -- and the evaporating water would serve to cool his skin nicely. But for now, it drew his mind to his panic attack.

"Don't apologize." Damas laced his fingers together loosely and leaned his elbows against his knees. "May...may I ask what it was that sparked that kind of fear?"

Jak met Daxter's eyes, down in the water. The ottsel winced. He knew he'd taken it too far. He was just so sick of people acting like Jak was a trained dog with no autonomy of his own. And sometimes his desire to protect Jak’s emotions didn't mesh completely with what Jak needed at the moment.

Jak broke their gaze and began to pick at a scar on his elbow.

"...thought I was going to have to choose sides. Between you and Dax."

"Why would supporting Daxter cause you to panic?" Damas pressed.

"Because," he muttered with a shrug.

He'd assumed without question that Jak would take Daxter's side. Jak didn't know whether to be amused or grateful or just tired.

"Because?"

"Because I- I wanted this to still be home." Jak made a vague gesture encompassing the room, and its occupants.

"This is your home," Damas insisted. He glanced to the empty Oracle with a thoughtful frown.

Something lingered in the corners of Jak's eyes. A concern he wasn't voicing. Did he still believe he could be so easily forsaken?

"If this is where the desert brought you, then this is where the desert meant you to thrive."

But then, he had been cast out of Haven on the flimsiest of pretenses. His faith in hu'menity was shaken. For a moment, Damas considered changing the subject. He could talk about the coming trials, give Jak something else to think about.

Or he could meet him on his level. Show him the same vulnerability he'd so unwillingly displayed.

The words stuck to his tongue, stabbed like needles into the roof of his mouth as he forced them through his teeth.

"I...had a son. Some years ago."

"Had". Was there ever such a horrible word?

"He was like you -- or, he would have been, when he was older."

Under his breath he added, "if he ever got the chance to get older."

Jak's brows knit together, then went slack. From tiny pinpricks in the centers of his eyes, horror flooded out to the rest of his face.

"You have a child?"

After a moment to collect himself, the king nodded.

His head dipped lower, nearly brushing the steeple of his fingertips.

"I did. He was taken from me, by some of the same people who seem to have orchestrated your own suffering."

"I pray that my son still lives but- he was so young. So small. So-"

Damas’s voice cracked.

"So very small."

Guilt played across Jak's face for a moment, then was swallowed up by a deep sadness that welled up from within. Haven was a city of devils. He wondered if Damas’s child had been taken during the time when Praxis was snatching children en masse in his search for Jak's childhood self.

Did that make it his fault that Damas was so bereaved?

"That's-"

That's not fair. It's an abomination. Hurting a kid should be enough to make the Precursors strike you dead on the spot. Errol should've died the first time he put me in the Chair-

Jak's thoughts spiraled out of control, and he had to fight to return his focus to the moment.

"That's terrible."

Inhaling sharply, Damas raised his head and straightened his spine. One warm, callused hand found its way to Jak’s shoulder and squeezed.

He felt his throat closing up, snapping his voice into grating pieces.

"The reason I tell you this is so that you will understand this: It would take more than a little teenaged defiance to make me turn my back on you."

"I lost my son, Jak," he croaked, "I cannot lose you, too."

The laryngeal vibration began again -- from Jak, this time. The nearly autonomous response was as much a subconscious desire to comfort Damas as it was self-soothing. Even so, his chest ached dully. How old, he wondered, had Damas’s son been when he was taken? He must have been so scared! Did he call out for his father? Did Damas call out for him?

"In...war," Damas said hesitantly, "Sacrifices are sometimes required of us. In my case, I had to stay and rebuild the part of the wall the attackers destroyed. To protect thousands from the storms and the Marauders. I knew that, but it still took days for Sig to convince me to send him to Haven in my place."

"Yeah," Jak muttered, "I know about sacrfices."

But Damas shook his head. "It's hardly a sacrifice if someone else chose it for you out of convenience. That's just betrayal."

Silence fell again, but there was no tension to it. A sense of introspection lingered between them, each consumed with his own thoughts. Even Daxter's anger had muted itself -- now overlayed with guilt, berating himself for jumping to fight Jak's battles without bothering to see what Jak himself wanted.

The moment of quiet ended with a crackling of the city radio from which Damas monitored all official channels.

"Oh not now," the man groaned with a most unkingly attitude. "Can I have a moment of peace?"

"No way," Jak scoffed, finding a glimmer of humor in the situation, "You jinxed it by letting us take a break. Now something crazy is going to happen."

Damas narrowed his eyes. "Boy, if you will that into reality-" he warned, with no real way to finish the threat.

The second he picked up the receiver, he knew it was going to be a headache.

"Sire! We've got three different Marauder patrols converging on the city gates! There's a fourth on the radar crossing the river now!"

Daxter pulled himself out of the water and cringed. "How many cars is that?"

"Twelve, at least," Jak gulped.

Damas did not take this information the way he normally would have. He seemed to be fuming as he stood up and stomped up the stairs to retrieve his staff. Jak could hear him muttering under his breath.

His voice rose to something more audible. "I'm not in the mood for this, Egil," he snapped, addressing the thane of the Marauders as if he were present.

"Not the time, Egil, this is not the time to test me! Just got my kid back, got threatened by a bloody Oracle-"

Jak decided, for the sake of being able to focus during a fight, to just pretend he hadn't heard Damas referring to him as his own kid. He could come back to that and freak out later. Right now, there was a fight to be had. He held an arm down for Daxter to use as a ramp, then stood.

"Where do you need me?" he asked.

Damas gave him a searching look. For an instant, his gaze flicked to the lifeless Oracle. That seemed to reinforce his resolve.

"With me," he said shortly. "We're taking the Dozer. You're on the turret gun."

The way Jak's -- and even Daxter's -- eyes lit up almost made up for the hassle Damas knew this skirmish was going to be. He cast one last look at the Oracle before shepherding them to the lift.

Keep your counsel, he thought, and I will keep mine. I don't need your permission to add a son to my House. What of that, eh? The Heir and your renegade Pawn allied against you!

"Hey, maybe I should drive," Jak suggested as the lift began to move."

"Hm." Damas pretended to consider it. "No."

"Why not?!"

"You can't reach the pedals yet."

He could have simply explained that he preferred to drive his favorite vehicle himself. But, the slightest bit giddy at the thought of open rebellion against fate, Damas instead bent slightly to offer a teasing grin.

"What?! Oh come on!"

The elevator sank out of sight, and the water wheel trembled. The statue vibrated and the pools bubbled and boiled with the helpless fury of a falconer whose birds had long since slipped the jesses to fly free. But the boy had not spoken falsley: it was not a Precursor, merely the echo of one's memory. In the face of hu'men defiance, it was helpless to retaliate in any meaningful way. Even withholding the truth of the Hero's identity had been robbed of its intended effect, considering the Fallen Heir and the Hero had gone ahead and reformed the broken bond between them anyway!

The Oracle could not comprehend their motives, nor could it ever hope to understand the complexities of the hu'men mind.

It could only watch and seethe.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #free day friday #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #headcanon that the final arena battle is a Kobayashi Maru and Jak pulled a Kirk #i named the Dark Oracle after one of the mythological Titans #sneaky reference to sparguscituangel canon where Mictecacíhuatl is the patron of dark eco #tw panic attack #daxter was fully ready to End Damas right there 😂 #Jak's species can purr now because the concept art started out vaguely feline #eldritch abomination oracle time! #except instead of humans being unable to comprehend the lovecraftian monster #its the lovecraftian monster that is wholly incapable of understanding humans without succumbing to madness #long post #oneshot

[on-leatheredwings]

Dress Up 18+

Tim Drake / GN! Reader

romantic, 18+ summary: You put Tim in a maid outfit. He doesn't think much of it... at first. tw/cw: handjobs, crossdressing word count: 888 a/n: something short and sweet to celebrate 400 follows!

A week ago you said you wanted to try dressing up. While this wasn’t what Tim had in mind, he is not complaining. 

Thirty minutes ago you had shyly traced circles on his chest, asking if he was in the mood tonight. Honestly, forgoing any Gotham-typical imminent disasters, Tim was rarely not in the mood, especially if you were going to act as cute as that. He had just started to lean in, smirking, when you slipped out of his grip effortlessly, flew into your shared closet, and came out with two maid dresses in hand. And cat ears.

And a bell.

Tim honestly had felt neutral about it all. He’s done worse. Weirder. This was actually kind of whatever, but if you liked it, then sure, he was down.

He was neutral about it all until you both were dressed. Until both of you were fitted, you choosing to finish your outfit with gloves and him slipping into the thigh-high stockings you threw at him with puppy-dog eyes.

Now you stalk around him in a circle, admiring your handiwork. Your fingers drift along his body as you appraise him. His cock twitches. Tim shifts the weight on his feet, assured it was from the appeal of imminent sex.

“You look so pretty, Tim,” you say from behind him. A small jingle chimes from below his chin – you just poked his bell. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the velvety ribbon keeping it around his neck. 

“Um... You do too,” he says, mind suddenly sparse. He didn’t know what else to say to your compliment. Oh, perhaps he should’ve said thank you. Tim swallows again – why is his mouth so dry? And why is he feeling shy?

“Not as good as you,” you return, voice still low with awe. Your hands land on his frilly-sleeved shoulders, run down his firm arms. They sweep to brush against his nipples through the fabric, and he flinches with a sharp inhale. The dress fits perfectly, conforming to his flat chest. It’s identical to yours, likely part of a matching set. A couple’s set.

You move him in front of the bedroom mirror, bidding him forward as he awkwardly obeys. Once he’s in place to your liking, Tim stiffens at the sight of his reflection. His cheeks are red. It’s unmistakable, with his paleness. His eyes peek through his lashes because his head is dipping down. Though more lean than muscled, Tim’s body is quite masculine. It contrasts pleasantly with the softness of the costume that is entirely frills, lace, and ribbons. Tim’s eyes wander down. The white stockings really make him appreciate the silhouette of his legs, too. He blinks, wetting his lips.

… He really likes how he looks.

Belatedly he registers that you stand behind him, looking like an utter vision yourself. He doesn’t get much time to admire you when your hands slip under his dress, glancing past his naked thighs to wrap around his building erection. 

He lets out a gasp, head turning to the side to make eye contact with you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” you scold sweetly. You peck a chaste kiss on his lips, before gesturing to the mirror. “Eyes there.”

Tim obeys, hands fisted now that you’re slowly jerking him to a full erection. Over the next few minutes, he watches you pump him. It’s such a lewd sight. Peeking from under the frilled hem of a very short maid’s outfit is his flushed cock weeping pearls of cum over your gloved hand. Anytime Tim reaches back to touch you, give you any sort of pleasure, you simply guide his hand away with your remaining one, kissing at his neck and his ears. 

Tim can feel the coil of heat inside him build. “I’m going to… I’m gonna… mmf,” he pants. He’s fully squirming in your embrace, shifting weight from foot to foot. He looks like his legs are going to give out, but they never do. He bites his lip and can’t manage to keep staring at his blushing, whimpering reflection.

“Cum for me, Tim,” you breathe, more than just a little turned on. 

Tim does, his head thrown back as he gasps for breath through an orgasm. He sprays a few ropes of cum onto the mirror, to your delight. Three deep breaths, plenty of shudders later, and he dazedly returns to planet Earth, your hand still at the base of his cock.

“That… that was…” he says, breathless.

“Titillating? Fulfilling? Enlightening?” you offer, giddy. 

You knew he’d like it. You knew there was a submissive and breedable man somewhere in there, as the youth say. You would just have to coax it out.

Tim’s lips quirk. He turns around, gripping you by the wrists and playfully tossing you onto your bed. He pins you down, on all fours above you.

“Hm. Maybe,” he says cheekily, as if you hadn’t just made him finish thirty seconds ago. His face is still red and his temples are damp with a fine layer of sweat. “But now it’s my turn.”

You pause, blink at him cutely, and look at him with a pitiful smile. ‘Oh, you sweet summer child,’ your expression says. “Aw,” you say. Your hands sneak around him, hiking up his skirt to palm his bare ass. “Baby, we’re far from done.”

#tim drake x reader #tim drake #mine

[blaiddfailcam]

so after the twitter exodus and branching out/returning to other platforms, here are my general feelings toward each:

bluesky: started off rough with basically just nonstop furry porn, but that's par the course for webbed sights. once it got off its feet, it became very chill and easy to cater, but it's still pretty dead and, well, boring

reddit: good for honing in on a specific hobby or fandom, but jfc people do not know when not to weigh in. can be really fun for connecting with other hobbyists, but has the highest concentration of, well, redditors

tumblr: still good for fandom, it's got Joakes, but you can't swing a cat without some rando gettin raunchy in your notifications. gets a lil lonely if your closer friends are busy lmao. pretty art, but also people here are pretty bad at recognizing AI which is kind of ironic. but at least i can make boring posts like this and feel like i'm interacting somehow

thank you, my fellow americans

[acey-wacey]

Good morning!!! Congrats for hitting 2000 followers, I think you really deserve it! Also, I'm really glad that you've returned! I've been following your blog ever since last year, when I found your "Love Rivals" and "Meeting your future children", I really like how you portray the twst characters in your writings! There are times where I smiled For the 2000 milestone event, could I please request Idia with Lavender (Mind Reading)? You know how Idia usually think lowly himself, right? What if Idia has feelings for reader, yet he doesn't take action because of his low self-esteem/fear of rejection, but when Idia got in a potion accident where he can temporarily read minds, all he can hear from reader's mind are praises and thoughts of infatuation/admiration about him.

So that's the general idea of it, the rest is up to you. Also, I don't mind if you'll make a few changes here and there. That's all, thank you and have a nice day!

This is so cute! Thank you for hanging around so long!

I may have niche-video-game-referenced my way a little too close to the sun with this one. Hopefully, it makes sense to somebody.

...

Pairing - Idia Shroud x Reader

Prompt - Mind Reader

...

"Tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna..."

It has been 40 minutes since Idia had gained his powers of telepathy and already he wanted them gone. Grim hadn't had a single thought the entire class except a dumb song he made up about tuna.

The whole thing had been Grim's fault really. The mischievous cat had run away from you and invaded the 3rd year alchemy room. And of course he ran right into Idia just as the upperclassman was adding ground eye of newt to his animal comprehension potion, causing the vial to smash all over him.

You had apologized profusely and tried to wrangle Grim back to your classroom, but Crewel made you miss your class and clean all the dirty cauldrons as punishment, thus why Idia couldn't stop hearing Grim's

Everyone else went on with making their potion, but unfortunately for Idia and his tendency to get overstimulated, he could hear the immediate thoughts of every person in the classroom. He had been trying and failing to pay attention to the lesson due to the crazy noise. Serves him right for daring to venture outside his room.

"I think I put too much nightshade."

"When's lunch again?"

"Sevens, he's pretty."

Idia perked up in his seat. That last one was your voice. He looked over to where you were scrubbing grime off the rim of a black cauldron. Much to his surprise, he made eye contact with you. You looked away so fast, he almost thought he imagined it in the first place.

"Shoot, I hope he didn't catch me staring," you thought. Idia could see the embarrassment in your face now that he knew what he was looking for. He didn't know who was standing behind him, but whoever the guy was was maxed out in luck to get the prefect to like him.

Idia turned back to his cauldron and began to stir lethargically. He tried to block out the noise coming from everyone's thoughts but it was getting very loud. He just wanted to be back in his room playing video games!

"His little pout is so cute! Poor thing, he probably wishes he was back in his room," you thought. Idia's brows furrowed as he subtly looked around the classroom trying to find the person you were thinking about. "I wonder what he's looking for."

Idia snapped back to look at you, only to find you glancing at him again. This time, you were startled but you held his gaze and offered a hesitant wave.

Idia turned his face away as fast as he could so you wouldn't see the growing blush on his face.

"Hm, his hair is turning pink on the ends. I hope he's not mad at me for staring at him," you thought, turning back to the cauldron you were working on. "Though if he doesn't want me to look at him, maybe he should try being less nice to look at."

Idia let out an involuntary squeak. He felt his head start to swim and quickly sat down on a nearby stool. He was sure he looked absolutely crazy to the other students but he was so preoccupied by your thoughts that were apparently about him.

"Is that shallow of me to think that? I don't know. I mean, I don't like him just because he's cute. I also love listening to him talk about games he likes and his inventions are crazy awesome!"

Idia pulled himself deeper into his jacket. Your gaze had been fixed firmly on your work for fear of being caught staring again, so you didn't notice Idia's rapidly increasing fluster meter.

"I like how sweet he is to Ortho, even though he kind of hates everyone else." You sounded kind of defeated when you thought that, or at least you would if your thoughts sounded like anything. "He probably hates me too. I am just another normie. Though I don't know if he co-ops Untitled Goose Game with just anyone."

"No! I don't!" he wanted to scream, but he couldn't get a single sound out of his mouth. He thought he was the self-deprecating one, but you seemed to have convinced yourself that the boy who had a big fat, very obvious crush on you hated you. He even let you play the blue switch controller even though it was his favorite.

"I do wish he would stop being so mean to himself though," you thought, more sincere than Idia expected. "He's so amazing, but refuses to believe anything nice I or Ortho say to him. Maybe if he read my mind, he'd know I'm being sincere."

Idia froze. Did you know about the potion? Had you been messing with him the whole time?

"Well, that little brat better believe me when I tell him I love him even if I have to beat it into him with a Wii remote tennis racket attachment," you thought with a playful vengeance. "Do you hear that, Idia Shroud? I'm gonna make you believe nice things about yourself no matter how many niche video games references it takes!"

That was the moment you decided to glance at Idia, downright shocked when you found him curled up inside his hoodie on a stool with bright pink hair poking out the top.

"Idia, are you okay?" you asked. When he didn't respond, you went up to him and brought your face down to where his would be if you could see it. "Hey, are you alright?"

He jumped, almost falling off the chair.

"You actually said that?" he looked stunned which confused you.

"Yes?" you offered, unsure what he was talking about. "I did just say it."

"Uh, um, I'm, uh, fine," Idia tried to smile at you but it came off more pained than reassuring.

"I don't believe you. What's the matter? Is it too loud in here?" you asked.

"Shame he's always hiding his face. His blush is so adorable!"

"Yes!" Idia shrieked frantically, catching the attention of a few nearby students. "It's too loud. I can't think."

You nodded empathetically.

"You wanna step out for a minute?" you offered, gesturing to the door with a nod of your head. Idia nodded, desperate to get away. It really was very loud, especially with everyone's thoughts flooding his brain. Your seemingly-harmless sweet nothings were only the final nail in his coffin.

You followed Idia out of the room and shut the door behind you.

"Won't Professor Crewel get mad?"

You scoffed.

"Not a single teacher at this school gets to get mad at me after everything I've done," you leaned against the wall with a calming smile. "And if they do, they'll answer to the ghosts that live in my house."

That made Idia chuckle. You lit up seeing a smile on his face, no matter how minute.

"I love seeing you smile. If only I could be the reason more often."

"You're pretty much the only reason," Idia mumbled. Your easy smile dropped.

"What did you say?"

"What?" Idia averted his eyes, his mind filling with panic. "I didn't say anything."

"No, no, you said 'you're pretty much the only reason'," you questioned, your eyes full of confusion and shock. "That sounded like... I don't know, I was thinking something and then you said that and it sounded like..."

You squinted in confusion before scoffing at yourself and relaxing.

"That's stupid, Y/N. He can't read your mind."

"Actually, I can?" Idia squeaked, his voice getting higher with every word. Your eyes widened.

"Idia," you said solemnly, standing dead still.

"Mm-hm?"

"You can read my mind."

"Well, not usually, but there was a thing with a potion and it was with Grim and it messed with my head and now I can read minds and it's actually really loud but mostly I'm just nervous because of the stuff you've been thinking and I'm just really..."

You held up a hand to silence Idia's rapid rambling. He looked away sheepishly. You sighed and blinked a few times to process before laughing. Idia looked up in confusion.

"Aren't you mad?" he asked hesitantly. "I violated your privacy."

"I mean, you saved me the time of confessing to you myself," you chuckled, a giddy smile on your face.

Idia stared at you, trying to find traces of joking but you seemed to be serious.

"You aren't mad?"

"I'm in love with you is what I am."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneytw #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #nyx's solarium

[aftgficrec]

My favorite fics are soft andriel, and teen andriel.

Here’s my recs:

Raised on little light by maqicien

Falling is a lot like drowning by chaoticas_hell

This wasn’t in the prophecy (series) by Arirmis

(Account locked) Raise me up so you can watch me fall by Yes_No_ofcourse

And this last one is angst and dark but I do love it

Hiding scars under exy gear By rinz

Wow, that’s a lot of recs in one submission!  Usually we just get one or two 🤣. - S

You can find some of those fics here:

‘Raised on Little Light’ here (since updated)

‘Falling Is A Lot Like Drowning’ here (since updated)

‘Raise me up so you can watch me fall’ here (locked, now complete)

This wasn’t in the prophecy by Arirmis [Rated T/M, 73294 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2024]

Percy Jackson AU where all of the foxes are demigods, Andrew meets Neil shortly after his mom dies, and joins him on the run instead of going back to camp. Part one spans from their first meeting to their first kiss; Part two will take place a few years later, when certain circumstances force them to return to camp, and Andrew has to deal with what he left behind, on top of their current problem. While both fics should be able to be read individually, it does make more sense if you read them in order :)

Part 1:  Cross your fingers, here we go (T, 25037 words, complete)

Millport is a horrible, dry as fuck little town in the vast nothingness of the dust hole that is Arizona, and Andrew hates it with vigor.  He has been tracking a horde of Manticores for weeks now, and isn’t that something? A half-blood having to chase after the monsters. He is starting to feel like one of Renee’s hunters, when Andrew is pretty sure the nasty scorpion-cats should want to kill him more then he wants to kill them.  Or, Andrew expected to find all sorts of things on his first quest. He didn’t expect a twitchy, blue-eyed half-blood with monsters on his heels, and he surely didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/non-con, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: child neglect, tw: assumed character death

Part 2: Mortal Bodies, Timeless Souls (M, 48257 words, incomplete)

„Minyard! Get your ass up and put some armor on! Abby, Greene, get the infirmary in shape, border control just spotted a motherfucking Drakon in the woods!“ As if Wymack’s order triggered it, a ear grating screech echoes all the way to the big house. The camp counselor curses. „Move it people, there are half-bloods out there that need to get to safety!“  Or, for two and a half years, Aaron has been grieving the brother he buried, only to learn now, that Andrew is very much alive. He also has a scarred little shithead in tow, that Aaron wants to punch in the face regularily. Life is fun like that.

tw: blood, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/non-con, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: child neglect, tw: assumed character death, tw: vomit

Hiding scars (under exy gear) by rinz [Rated M, 34309 words, incomplete, last updated March 2024]

Juggling a mobster serial killer household and high school is harder than Neil had anticipated. and that goth kid on the roof really needs to mind his own business. OR a high school AU where neil and mary never run from nathan and neil meets the foxes in private high school instead.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: imlied/referenced torture, tw: graphic violence

#rec #reader submission #fic #neil josten/andrew minyard #andrew minyard & renee walker #neil josten & aaron minyard #neil josten & allison reynolds #au: percy jackson #au: gods & goddesses #au: mythology #au: high school #theme: angst with a happy ending #theme: hurt/comfort #theme: protectiveness #theme: reunions #theme: road trips #theme: slow burn #theme: pining #theme: friendships #theme: bamf!neil #theme: established relationship #theme: twinyards bonding #theme: secret identities #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon #tw: implied/referenced self harm #tw: implied/referenced torture #tw: implied/referenced child abuse #idiot-h00ker

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Choso x Reader Fanfic Part 4 (Final)

When your younger sister is tricked into selling herself to the Doll House, you rush there to help her, only to find her being led away by her trainer, Choso. Moved by your desire to save your sister, he convinces the owner to let you take her place.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Choso’s. I’m keeping the tag list from previous parts. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. FemDom. Sub Choso. Oral sex. Rough sex. Ice play. Threats of rape/violence (by the villain). Divider by @benkeibear!

You throw on your shoes and rush to the door of Choso’s room, throwing it open and getting halfway down the hall before you realize Choso is right behind you. 

“You’re coming with me?”

He nods. “It’s after dark. You can’t leave by yourself.”

You pause in the hallway, remembering the house rule. You don’t want to drag Choso into this mess. Yosaku is violent and rash, he could very well hurt someone sweet like your trainer. But you can’t just abandon your sister! Choso apparently notices the conflict in your eyes. 

“I would go with you even if it wasn’t dark,” he says, then steps by you and knocks on Toji’s door. 

Within minutes, Toji is standing in his doorway, lazily scratching his bare stomach. “Yeah? What do you need?”

“Can we borrow your car?” Choso asks him. 

Toji’s eyes seem to sharpen, perhaps after seeing your worried expression and Choso’s intense look. “Sure,” he says, digging into the pockets of his pants to retrieve the keys. “Something wrong?”

Choso takes the keys from him. “Just someone bothering her sister,” he says. 

Toji glances at you, then back to Choso. There’s an odd gleam in his eyes, like a cat that’s cornered a mouse. “Want me to go with you?” The hint of excitement in his voice confuses you. 

Choso shakes his head. “There’s no need. Thank you for offering though. I’ll have the car back soon.”

You don’t miss the disappointment on Toji’s face as he waves the two of you off and closes his door. 

As you climb into the passenger seat of Toji’s rather plain four door car, you ask the question that’s burning a hole in your brain. 

“Why didn’t you let Toji come with us? Safety in numbers, right?”

Choso’s eyes are focused in front of him as he pulls out onto the road. You didn’t even know he could drive, but he seems very comfortable behind the wheel. “We don’t need Toji,” he says, “and I would feel bad if he got arrested and it complicated things with Megumi.”

“Oh, right,” you say, feeling terrible. “That was really selfish of me to want to involve him.”

Choso’s eyes slide over to you for an instant before returning to the road. He’s accompanied you to your house twice before to get things you need, so he knows the way without being told. 

“You’re worried about your sister. Of course you want to do everything possible to help her. It’s natural,” he says in a comforting voice. He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “You said Yosaku is yakuza?”

You nod. “His father runs a small time syndicate. But he’s a big guy, and he’s volatile. He has three friends with him, from what my sister can hear through the door, and he might even have weapons.”

You’ve been trying to keep up with the string of panicked messages from your sister, assuring her that you’re on your way. 

“Has she called the police?” Choso asks. 

“She did, but his father has connections in the police department. She doesn’t think they’ll come. Apparently he’s shown up at the house a couple of times before, but this is the first time he broke in. She didn’t want to tell me because she knew it would freak me out. And… he’s been threatening to go and make trouble for me at the Doll House.”

You said that last part carefully. You didn’t want to worry Choso or upset him but you feel like he has a right to know yakuza thugs are threatening his place of employment. 

To your surprise, a soft chuckle escapes Choso’s mouth. You can’t imagine what could be amusing about this. He glances at you and his face straightens. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. It’s just that imagining someone making trouble at the Doll House is very funny.”

“How?” you ask, genuinely confused. 

“The trainers at the Doll House, and even the owner herself, they’re all people you don’t want to mess with. Ever. So if someone came to make trouble, they would get far more than they bargained for.”

“Really?” you ask, picturing the other trainers in your mind. You can see Toji or Sukuna being intimidating, even being violent. But the others? Goofball Gojo? Pretty boy Geto? Kindly Nanami? You can’t imagine them fighting. But Choso seems confident that they could handle any problems that arise. 

Wait, does that also apply to him? Is Choso someone you “don’t want to mess with”? Surely not. He’s sweet and submissive. You just hope he doesn’t get hurt by trying to help you. 

Choso pulls into your driveway and the two of you jump out of the car. The front door is standing open, hanging off its hinges. Someone clearly busted it down. The violence and strength that required sends a shiver down your spine. 

As you and Choso step inside, you see that the living room is a huge mess. Cushions have been pulled out of the sofa and cut open, the tv is smashed, and two lamps have been broken. You barely have time to take note of the damage before you hear voices coming from upstairs. 

You can hear several men talking and laughing loudly, and you pick out Yosaku’s voice among them. 

“Come on out here and play with us, babe! You don’t wanna be my woman anymore, so you might as well entertain all of us!”

You start up the stairs, but Choso stops you with a hand on your shoulder. So calmly that it’s almost eerie, he steps in front of you and makes his way up. 

There’s a loud banging sound, probably Yosaku banging on the bathroom door, and you hear your sister scream out, “Go away! I called the cops so you better get out of here!”

Yosaku laughs. “Oh, you mean my dad’s buddies? They ain’t coming, sweetheart. Now, if you make me break this door down to get you out of there, I’m gonna-“

Yosaku’s voice cuts off when Choso reaches the top of the stairs, you close behind him. The scene before you is terrifying. Four big, dangerous-looking men are standing in the hall, gathered around the bathroom door. Yosaku is holding a metal baseball bat, and one of the other men is holding a crowbar. Just what do these creeps plan to do to your little sister?! 

“Who the fuck are you?” Yosaku asks, looking directly at Choso. 

“I’m a trainer at the Doll House,” Choso says simply and honestly. 

A couple of the men chuckle, but Yosaku’s eyes shift to you. “Oh, it’s you! The bitchy big sister who made my girl dump me!”

Suddenly your sister’s voice carries through the door. “Sis?! Are you there?!”

“I’m here! Don’t open the door, no matter what! Just stay in the bathroom!”

Your sister doesn’t reply, but Yosaku narrows his eyes. “See, that’s the problem between us,” he says, taking a step toward you and Choso. “You always have to stick your dumb bitch nose into our shit. How bout I break your little boyfriend’s legs and make him watch me and my buddies fuck you bloody? Then we’ll drag your precious little sister out and do the same to her.”

You feel like ice water has been poured down your back, and you start to wish you had involved Toji after all. These men are dangerous! And now Choso is going to be hurt! 

One of the other men pulls a knife from his pocket and starts toward you, but Yosaku holds his hand up in a motion that says “I’ve got this” as he walks the few steps needed to reach you. You can’t see Choso’s face, being behind him, but you can only imagine how horrified he must be. 

When Yosaku reaches the two of you, he reaches his free hand out toward Choso, perhaps to grab his collar, but something… happens. You didn’t see it clearly, just a blur of motion, but suddenly Yosaku is on the floor, screaming, and his arm is caught in Choso’s grip, twisted at an unnatural angle. 

Before you can even process what you’re seeing, Choso makes some kind of movement, and you hear the most grotesque snapping sound you’ve ever heard. Somehow you know for certain that Choso has just broken Yosaku’s arm. 

Yosaku screeches like a wounded animal, thrashing on the floor, the metal bat sliding out of his grip and forgotten on the floor. 

The other three men stare at Yosaku, then at Choso, completely stunned. Then all at once they charge at him, brandishing knives and a crowbar, swinging at him and screaming obscenities. 

Choso maneuvers further into the hall, away from you, and you watch as he calmly dodges their attacks, then counters with devastating hits that seem to strike their weak points like magic. All three of them crumble to the floor. It took less than two minutes, and Choso isn’t even winded. 

He turns to you, and for a tiny moment, his face is intense, his eyes glinting with rage, but his expression quickly softens. “Are you alright?” he asks. 

You nod blankly, wondering if this is all some bizarre dream. Then you remember your sister is still trapped in the bathroom, so you rush over to the door and yell, “It’s okay now! Choso took care of them! It’s safe to come out!”

The door clicks unlocked, and then slowly slides open as your sister peeks out. When she sees you standing there, she runs out of the bathroom and into your open arms. “I was so scared!” she cries, clutching you. 

You stroke her hair as you hold her. “I know. But you did good! You were smart to hide and call me. It’s over now. Yosaku won’t bother you again.”

“The hell I won’t!” a strained voice calls out. Yosaku is still on the floor, cradling his broken arm, his face pale and sweaty. “Once I tell my dad about this, you guys are fucked!”

Choso walks over and squats down beside Yosaku, who flinches and tries to move away, maybe sensing danger the way prey can sense a predator. 

“You and your father might want to rethink that,” Choso tells him. “These two sisters are under the protection of the Doll House.”

Yosaku looks at Choso incredulously. “So what?! It’s just a brothel! It’s just-“

“Ryomen Sukuna works there,” Choso says. 

What little color remained in Yosaku’s face instantly drains away. His eyes grow large, as if he’s just seen something nightmarish. “Ryomen… Sukuna?”

“He’s a colleague of mine,” Choso says. “Oh, and Fushiguro Toji as well.”

“Fushi…guro? Th-the Fighting Demon?!” 

“Yes,” Choso replies, “and they’re very, very protective of the Doll House. They would both be extremely upset if anyone made trouble for us.”

Yosaku looks like a deflated balloon, all the anger and attitude replaced by fear. “I-I’m sorry!” he suddenly shouts, trying and failing to roll over and assume the bowing position. “I didn’t realize Sukuna and Fushiguro were involved with the Doll House! Please don’t tell them about this!”

Choso looks down at him coldly, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. You can’t help thinking it’s kind of sexy. “I won’t mention this to them,” he says, “under the condition that you never bother these sisters ever again. Never speak to them. Never show your face before them. Pretend they don’t exist.”

Yosaku nods emphatically. “I’ll stay away from them, I swear!”

“Good,” Choso says, standing back up. “Now gather your trash and leave.”

Yosaku scrambles to his feet, wincing and holding his arm, then hurries over to his friends and begins frantically kicking at them, screaming for them to get up. Eventually, they all drag themselves out of the house with their heads hung low. 

****************

Choso turns to the two sisters once the men are gone. His doll looks so lovely, holding her crying sister, being the kind and nurturing woman he knew her to be. He smiles at them, happy he could be of help. 

His doll looks up at him and smiles back. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”

“It was no trouble,” he says, feeling a little bashful. 

They decide to spend the night at the house, since her sister is still understandably shaken up, so Choso calls Toji to let him know. 

“It’s fine,” the other trainer tells him over the phone. “I’m not going anywhere tonight anyway.”

Choso thanks him again and hangs up, returning to the living room where his doll is cramming the ripped cushions back onto the couch. She stops and looks around the room. “What a mess. Maybe I should just set her up in an apartment for the time being. She really doesn’t need the whole house to herself.”

“I can help you clean up,” Choso says, bending down to pick up some fallen objects from the floor. 

His doll flops down on the sofa. “Let’s just wait until morning. She should be calmed down enough to help by then.”

Choso sits down beside her. “Are you okay? I know this was all very stressful.”

She turns toward him. “I’m fine. I’m just glad it’s over. I had no idea you could fight though. You were amazing!”

He blushes. “I do a little martial arts. I’m not nearly as good at it as some of the others.”

She leans closer to him. “To be honest, I thought it was extremely hot.”

“You did?” he asks, leaning forward to meet her. 

“Mmhm,” she murmurs as she kisses him, slowly and passionately, licking his lips. 

He’s struck by the urge to press her back onto the couch and fuck her wildly, but he would never do something like that without being told to, and not while her younger sister is right upstairs. 

Choso is honest to a fault, even with himself, so he’s aware that he’s falling in love with her. Tonight only cemented his feelings. He’d never experienced such anger before, such cold fury, as when Yosaku threatened her. It made him realize that the thought of any man putting his hands on her, for any reason, made Choso’s chest tighten. 

Two different buyers have already expressed interest, and Choso really should have allowed meetings to be set up by now. There’s only a week and a half left of the training. How is he going to feel when she leaves?

He’s already thought about keeping her, but he’s not sure how she feels. Maybe… maybe he should just ask her. 

She pulls away from the kiss and settles against him on the sofa, seeming to relax. He looks down at her face and asks, “How would you feel about staying with me?”

His doll looks up at him with wide eyes, then she slowly sits back up. “What do you mean?”

Oh, that’s right, she probably doesn’t know about that particular rule. “Trainers are allowed to keep one doll they’ve trained. Your contract would transfer to me.”

A mix of emotions flood her face. Surprise, joy, and something more heated. “So… you would choose me?”

Choso nods, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks. “But only if that’s something you want.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but then suddenly pauses. “Wait, would you keep training other women? Because I don’t think I could stand knowing you were being intimate with someone else.”

Choso smiles, happy that they both feel the same way. “I would quit working as a trainer,” he assures her. 

She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. “Then my answer is yes! I’ve been dreading the day I’d have to leave. I want to stay with you!”

Two days later, after Choso has informed the owner of his choice and the paperwork has been completed, he and his his doll simply have to wait for the training period to be over before her contract is signed over to him. Choso hasn’t told her yet, but he intends to release her from the contract. If she decides to leave him, so be it. He wants her to return to her job, which was important to her, and to spend time with her sister. Hopefully, they can all spend time with Yuji as well. 

Presently, Choso is tied to the bed, naked but for a red collar around his neck. His doll is straddling him, holding a thin chain connected to his collar. She’s wearing a bright red corset trimmed in black lace, the tiniest pair of red panties he’s ever seen, and shiny vinyl boots that come up to her thighs. She’s an absolute vision as she leans over and retrieves an ornate silver bowl from the nightstand. Inside it is a pile of ice cubes. 

She takes one cube from the bowl and rubs it over Choso’s lips before kissing him, then she slides it down his neck and over his chest, holding it a few moments against one hard nipple before moving down. Choso shudders beneath her, the cold contrasting with the heat of the room and her warm body on top of him. 

She scoots down so that she’s sitting between his spread open thighs, and she smiles as she begins stroking his fully erect cock with the ice cube in her hand. Choso’s hips buck at the freezing sensation sliding up and down his shaft, and he whimpers out, “Ahh, so cold, Mistress!”

She giggles at his reaction, then locks eyes with him as she pushes the ice cube into her mouth. She swirls it around her tongue for a moment before bending forward and wrapping her lips around his cock, taking his considerable length into her mouth and pressing the ice between her velvety tongue and his tip. 

Choso cries out, jerking against his bonds. He can feel the slippery ice gliding over his cock as she licks him, one of her hands warm as it squeezes his balls. Just as the ice melts into cool water, he loses his composure, twitching as he begs her to let him cum. 

She pulls away and looks down at him, her lips shiny with various fluids, and says, “Go ahead and fill my mouth.”

Then she clamps her lips around him again as he finally climaxes, shooting his thick cum directly onto her icy tongue. When finished, she moves up his body, the silky texture of the corset rubbing over his taut skin, and unties his wrists, freeing him. She uses the chain to pull him up by his collar, so that he’s sitting upright in bed. 

“Choso,” she says, breathing out his name as if it’s the most precious word she knows, “I want you to fuck me rough and hard.”

He draws back and looks at her face. In truth, it’s something he’s fantasized about from time to time, but he only really wants to do the things she tells him to, so he’s never mentioned it. “Are you sure?” he asks. 

She jerks on the chain, pulling his face close to hers. Her skin is flushed, her eyes lusty. “Make me scream.”

***************

You’ve been thinking nonstop about how hot Choso was when he took charge at your house and beat up the men threatening you and your sister. And while you absolutely adore the sweet, compliant Choso who whimpers and quivers under your touch, you’re kind of curious about what he would be like if he were rough with you for once. 

So you gave him a command, and he’s obeying. 

Within seconds he has you on your back, your flimsy panties ripped away and your corset torn open, allowing your breasts to spill out. He only takes a moment to dip his fingers into your folds, confirming that you’re drenched, before he bends your legs up and spreads them far apart, plunging his entire length into you. 

You gasp, your hand clutching the chain, jerking it reflexively, causing his mouth to crash into yours. And then he’s thrusting, deeply, roughly, slamming into your cervix and making you see stars. Fuck, it’s amazing! His hard body feels so good against yours, one hand squeezing your breast, his tongue in your mouth. 

Has he been holding back this whole time? Waiting for you to tell him to go wild? You should have done this sooner. 

He breaks the kiss, groaning when your pussy clenches around him, then leans forward to lick up the tears you didn’t realize were rolling down your face. 

You scream out as he thrusts particularly deep into you, “Ahhh! Choso! Choso!”

With one final cry of his name, you reach release, cumming on his cock, shaking with pleasure as he continues fucking you until his own climax comes. You jerk the chain once more, pulling him into the deepest kiss you’ve ever shared. 

You sigh in contentment later, as you snuggle in close to him beneath the covers. You never imagined in your wildest dreams that you’d become a doll, much less be happy as one. But as long as you’re with Choso, no matter what the future holds, you know the two of you will be alright. 

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19 @lyn-lotte @missthatgirl @peachedtv @ladytamayolover @nanam1nx @deegausserr @voids-universe @hinata7346 @maflorex @issracollen @xkittiecatx @ryumurin @emrys3456 @mysecretesc8pe @typicalloser3 @gabriiiiiiii @fvsm4x @tyunhyukamyloves @rottmntrulesall @jakeywon @better-imagination-9 @wealwayskeepfighting @denenene @tomura-complex @kuro-chi69 @hellsingalucard18

#choso x reader #choso #choso kamo #choso smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader

[badlydrawnmeulin]

Meulin returns with one of his horns, like a cat carrying a dead rat

#homestuck #meulin leijon #day 135 #its his horn get your mind out of the gutter

[petspeopletogether]

With no prior animal care experience but a deep passion for serving his community, Angel Rodriguez took on the role of animal control officer for the small town of Green Forest, Arkansas, in 2020. Since then, he’s implemented the use of sheltering software, developed a trap-neuter-return program for community cats and started a pet food distribution service for financially struggling pet owners. Read more about Angel and Green Forest Animal Control at https://bit.ly/3PO6fGd.

OP: HumanePro

📸: Sam Nelson

#pets #pets and people together #be a helper #please reblog #animal shelters

[thedeafprophet]

2, 9, 21 Alex?

2. Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Yes, yes, and yes.

I dont think Alex neccesarily tends to plants often in his day to day - and quite frankly, it wouldnt occur to him to dedicate time to it. He'd probably brush it off as a bit of a silly hobby and not get the point... but in alternative timeline where Alex was able to settle down with a garden? I think it'd wel.. grow on him lol. And for the matter if someone asked him to do it, he could take care of a plant for someone else.

Alex would be good with pets, though he's not particularly inclined to the more loud and energy intensive animals. He is a cat himself afterall, so not too keen on dogs. But in general, yea, he can take care of a pet. Its so keenly important to picture Alex taking care of a bunch of rescued kittens who he dotes on and cares for.... grumpy man covered in a pile of kittens.

and well... we all know Alex is Dad Man. which is very complicated for him, given his past. Without the forced nature of light fingers, I don't know if he wouldve allowed himself too - certainly not as soon. Alex was always terrified of turning out like his father, worried that he'd risk lashing out at any potential kids.

Of course, the fear was unfounded. He doesn't understand, how anyone could treat kids poorly.

9. Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

No, not particularly. Not at all really. Alex tends to be far more on the low empathy side of autism, struggles to empathize with people already and objects dont fair much better. Things are just.... things.

That isnt to say he isn't attached to things (goodness knows why else he stays in that apartment) but like, emotionally he's not big on the whole empathizing with objects things. Would not understand the concept.

21. What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Gee. I Wonder Who This Could Be About

The thing is like Alex is so heavily aro-spec that the scenarios of him dating in the first place are very, very minimal. and in those situations its so complex that a final straw really..... isn't qite so clear cut.

The thing with Fires is that Alex is already breaking so many morals being with it in the first place - its not like he activly chose to pursue it or develop feelings for it. He still hates so much about it... and yet.

He did briefly try to 'break up' with it as it went but that didnt end up working lmao

and i mean... lets be real. at a certain point would fires 'let' a break up happen? I mean certainly it could do somethin to push the dynamic past the point of no return, but well, such paths would be far, far more complicated then simply being able to walk away from the relationship.

Ask Game From Here

#ask game #oc: alex

[staff]

Boop Breakdown

Well, you did it. You booped. You booped all over your dashboard with reckless abandon, your finger gnashing away at the boop button, much like a lovely raccoon discovering a glorious half-eaten baked potato. A treasure was presented, and you knew you deserved it. You deserved to boop. Collectively, you booped 142,566,897 times. To repeat: one hundred forty-two million five hundred sixty-six thousand eight hundred ninety-seven boops were had on tumblr dot com the website and the app.

Specifically: 

Normal boops: 119,204,929

Self boops: 12,645,652

Cat boops: 7,925,241

Super boops: 2,095,231

Mischievous, aka evil boops: 695,844

One particularly boopable Tumblr was booped a total of 874,212 times. To be so rich in boops is a blessing. The Tumblr that gave the most boops found it in their heart to bestow 127,073 boops upon those they found worthy. 

Over 500,000 Tumblrs were booped and booped back in return. And for what? What would drive so many to boop? Does Tumblr yearn for the boop mines? Well, yes. And also the guts, the glory, the prestige, and, of course, the badges. Oh, how you worked for those badges:

Booper participants: 229,881

Booper enthusiasts:  85,548

Booper supers:  67,571

Hold your heads high, Tumblr. You booped until you couldn’t boop anymore. You created incredible fanart, invented a whole new genre of -sonas, and even created your own premium, high-end awards. It was noble, it was boop. We hope you boop yourself, and boop for boop. Boop, boop boop? Boop, boop. Boop boop boop, boop boop; Boop! Boop! 

Boop,

Tumblr

#boop