#not even kidding i was trying to find whatever generated folk mix i figured it wouldn’t be hard right

[seinfeldforlife]

pointing a gun to my head at the spotify headquarters, scared and confused, asking why, when i search folk, i have to scroll through the cold and biting corporate waves of taylor swift to get to the safehaven island of tracy chapman and leonard cohen

#not even kidding i was trying to find whatever generated folk mix i figured it wouldn’t be hard right #5 taylor swift song recs #artists: taylor swift Ariana grande ?? and Slovak folk #albums: folklore deluxe folklore and evermore #playlists? folk mix with Elliott smith which wasn’t what i was looking for and my own highly specific folk playlists #episodes taylor SWIFT BOOTLEGS #profiles indie folk central Slovak folk and ?? folklore argentino #i hâte my life

[keilemlucent]

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want? 

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic. 

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days. 

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours. 

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much. 

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment. 

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk. 

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog. 

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

 Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them. 

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway. 

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine. 

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care. 

You were comfortable and content. 

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes 

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious 

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird 

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

 You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered. 

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too. 

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes. 

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion. 

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by. 

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse. 

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance. 

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows. 

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures. 

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly. 

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger. 

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished. 

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego. 

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office. 

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood. 

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk. 

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods. 

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up. 

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way. 

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control. 

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath. 

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on. 

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.” 

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants. 

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you. 

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you. 

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you. 

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming. 

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state. 

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold. 

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe. 

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body. 

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?” 

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment. 

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you. 

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you. 

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut. 

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically. 

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back. 

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed. 

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him. 

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides. 

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty. 

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?” 

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock. 

 “Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.” 

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best. 

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him. 

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded. 

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way. 

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

 Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily. 

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit. 

“You’re my good girl.” 

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his. 

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably. 

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god. 

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.” 

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw. 

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been. 

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness. 

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips. 

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted. 

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings. 

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech. 

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue. 

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right. 

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back. 

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet. 

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them. 

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained. 

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat. 

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full. 

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in. 

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer. 

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest. 

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it. 

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

[warriorsredux]

RE: Feedback for the Redux.

(I wanted to give you really in-depth feedback. Unfortunately, it ended up being way longer than I anticipated. I figured it would be easier to send this as a submission rather than breaking it up into a million smaller asks. I hope that’s all right!)

Note: I put this under a readmore to save space, but I have read it all and thoroughly agree with it. Thank you so much for the feedback, man!

Before I get into the nitty-gritty, I want to briefly talk about my personal relationship with Warriors - not because I want to talk about myself necessarily, but because I want to provide some relevant context. You see, I was first introduced to these books in 2004, about when I was nine years old. You could argue, in some ways, that these books defined a large part of my childhood, and were extremely influential into my teenage years and early adulthood. When I wasn’t fantasizing about colonies of talking feral cats, I was gleefully writing fanfics and roleplaying online. Those were my first tentative forays into writing, and would ultimately set me on the path to refine and hone those skills in the years to come. I was obsessed with the mythology and lore of this world, with the sprawling cast of characters, with the steady publication of new entries into the series.

Now, kids tend to not have the best critical thinking skills. Which is why it took until my late teenage years to realize that my cherished books were really, really not that great. The mythology and lore that I’d praised were starved of any creativity, steeped in the cliches of the fantasy genre, and prone to collapsing under their own weight when subjected to even the smallest amount of scrutiny. The characters that I adored? They were blighted with similar cliches, lacking in any sort of growth or development or depth; sustained only by archetypes and whatever retcons the authors thought would sell the most books, either through hype, drama, or fanservice. Exacerbating all of this was the publisher’s insistence on milking the franchise for whatever profit nostalgia could still yield. They weren’t writing more books because they had new, interesting ideas they wanted to explore - they did it because this series was (and still is) fucking lucrative. As I thought about these things more critically, and became more informed on social issues, it became impossible to unsee the uglier aspects of the franchise - the ableism, the queerbaiting and lack of representation, the depiction of minors and adults (Dustpelt and Ferncloud, Thistleclaw and Spottedleaf) having romantic or sexual relationships, the blind nationalism and eugenics/persecution of minorities (non-Clanborn cats) and characters of mixed descent (half-Clan cats). People far more informed and far more eloquent than myself have discussed those issues in-depth elsewhere, but suffice to say, I was understandably upset by these things. No amount of nostalgia could blind me to those flaws.

And yet, for some reason, I never really stopped loving Warriors. Or put more accurately - I never stopped loving the potential of Warriors. That was the thing that I kept coming back to. The wasted potential of a series depicting the lives of feral cats, and their brutal struggle to survive in the wilderness, all the while deeply immersed in their own complex societies and cultures. It became painfully clear to me that the thing I loved about Warriors was the sandbox nature of the franchise, and all the ways fans were able to explore that untapped potential. With that realization now achieved, Warriors slipped into the back of my mind, accruing cobwebs as the years passed. Occasionally those dormant thoughts stirred whenever I saw a piece of fanart on my dashboard, or I passed a new release while browsing the local Barnes & Noble. Sometimes I even entertained the fleeting thought of writing AU fics again. But by and large, Warriors had been retired from my thoughts.

And then, in 2017, I found the Redux.

While writing this segment I had several false starts, in no small part because I didn’t know what to talk about first. It was like someone had gone through my thoughts with a steel-toothed comb, and took every disappointment, every what if, and turned it into a reality. Holy shit, look at this blog! Look at the meta commentary! Look at all of the worldbuilding! I could clearly see just how much passion and attention to detail was put into developing the plot and the characters. How many hundreds of hours went into correcting the broken genetics of the canon characters. Suddenly, the Clans had culture - real, living, breathing culture! There was a pantheon of deities and demigods. A deliberate intention behind the naming tradition beyond slapping two words together because they sounded pretty or made for a trite pun. This. This was the story Warriors should have been. This lone blog managed to conceive an original lore for the Clans, while further developing the canon plots beyond their base elements. What three authors failed to do, one person achieved on their own.

You made forgettable characters interesting. And you made interesting characters unforgettable.

I lived for every scrap of content you created - the asks, the deconstructions, the amendment posts, the art, even the fucking shitposts (because they were just genuinely wholesome and funny). The Redux wasn’t just a source of entertainment, either - it introduced me to the idea of writing an AU that was sustained by meta-analysis, and grounded in critical reception of the series’ flaws (both technical and social). Your work eventually inspired me to create my own Redux-style worldbuilding/AU blog for a series that has similar issues to canon Warriors.

The Redux deserves all the praise it gets, and you should be extremely proud of what you’ve accomplished. Even if the Third Arc wasn’t finished or the Fourth started, it was still a helluva ride, one that I’m so glad I got to participate in.

But, of course, you asked for feedback, so I can’t spend the entirety of this post throwing roses at your feet. So, onto the constructive feedback.

I think a lot of my thoughts are going to echo what other people have previously said, but for me, the biggest setbacks in the Redux were the following:

[1] Pacing. This is going to sound weird, but this isn’t a criticism of the Redux’s length. Rather, it’s more about how that time was spent. While I really like how you adjusted aspects of the Redux’s plot in order to still tangentially align with the books’, it sometimes felt like the chapters were there just to connect points A and B. I knew this was a retelling of the original series, so I already had a vague idea of what the general storybeats would be. What appealed to me was how the story would get to those points. Let me give you an example: in Arc 1, we’re told in chapter 10 that Murkpelt is roaming the territories, and poses a threat to the Clans. Immediately in chapter 11 we’re taken to the scene where Firepaw finds her while escorting Spottedleaf. We’re told about ThunderClan’s efforts to track her prior, and about the looming tension in the wake of this invisible threat. But that’s the thing - we’re told that by the narration in just a paragraph or two. We’re not shown what that looks like. The setup is supposed to be everyone being on edge, but Bluestar’s lounging by the stump when the scene begins. It’s a little dissonant, and it has the unfortunate problem of contradicting the narration. It would’ve been so cool to see a chapter or two where Firepaw’s still trying to immerse himself into Clan life, and his questions are met with terse answers or impatience. Undercut his (and the reader’s) learning with other characters being brusque with him, or short-tempered, or something. And then that could lead into Greypaw or Ravenpaw consoling him and explaining why the situation is so serious. Then Firepaw could ask something like, “Have there ever been instances like this before with rogues?” Which could organically lead to a conversation where Greypaw or Ravenpaw bring up relevant lore/worldbuilding. It’s little stuff like that which would’ve helped with immersion and pacing. I think it would have balanced the two out, by providing pseudo-downtime where the audience experiences the world as the characters do. (If that makes sense.) Or, to provide another example: we never get to see Tres Idiots mentoring Snowpaw. In chapters 5 and 6 of Arc 3, we see Raventhroat struggling to develop a signing system he can use with his apprentice; and then, after a few chapters he’s perfectly narrating the Bright-Eyed Crow to Snowpaw. I think that showing us scenes where the two were actually working out the kinks would have done more to develop Raventhroat’s character arc. He went from being a meek, timid apprentice to an eloquent warrior, and him becoming a mentor is supposed to be a definite part of that journey. It would’ve have been so cool to have plot-relevant scenes broken up by smaller ones where we watch Raventhroat gain confidence through each small success he makes with his apprentice. I’m not sure if I’m conveying exactly what I want to say, but I guess the TL;DR would be something like - I would’ve gladly welcomed either more chapters, or longer ones, if it meant we got more scenes like this.

[2] Utilization of the worldbuilding. You mentioned this already in response to another ask, but if you could go back and change anything, it would be incorporating more lore/adhering the Redux to its lore more strongly. Your worldbuilding is perhaps the strongest part of the Redux by far. You gave us a conlang, traditions, folk stories, Clan stereotypes - so much fascinating material - but it feels like its integration was based solely on whether or not it was relevant to the plot at hand. Unless there was a reason why it was brought up, then we’d never get to see a ThunderClan cat freaking out near a ShadowClan seer and refusing to approach them at a Gathering. Or listen to Mistfoot share a poem with Greystripe and Fireheart (after being goaded into it by Silverstream). Or watch as Redtail politely interrupts the elders and asks for their opinion on an important matter. Or listen to the Clan getting together after a loved one dies and share stories about their life. Or watch as Sandpaw/Dustpaw use their age and seniority over Firepaw to terrorize him with stories of Yrrun and Terror. On one hand, I absolutely understand why a lot of lore was relegated exclusively to the Amendment section - it’s important to strike a balance between what’s interesting versus what’s relevant. You don’t wanna just throw worldbuilding trivia at the audience apropos of nothing. On the other hand, I really wish I’d seen a much larger integration of your worldbuilding into the story, because it’s so fascinating and so god damn good.

[3] Utilization of the characters. One of the things you tweaked, that I absolutely loved, was choosing to introduce Silverpaw in Arc 1 at a Gathering. Not only does it create a realistic basis for her friendship with Tres Idiots, but it fixes the canon’s issue of her saving Greystripe out of nowhere and then developing a relationship on that alone. That was fucking great! Same thing with Rainpath - it was so awesome for Fireheart to get a friend in another Clan (ShadowClan, of all Clans). It broke the mold, and their interactions were just delightful. But outside of those examples, sometimes it kinda felt like the side characters didn’t really exist? I remember an old piece of writing advice, but I can’t recall who it’s attributed to: “Treat your side characters like they think they’re the main characters.” Because they absolutely are. I might be some passing stranger in another person’s life, barely a blip on their radar, but I have my own vibrant story. Everyone does. In the Redux, it sometimes felt like minor or side characters weren’t living their own lives outside of their interactions with Fireheart and his friends. Mousefur’s the most fluent speaker of Fang in ThunderClan? Cool. How did she learn that skill? Who taught her? Does she have a friend in WindClan who’s been teaching her new words at Gatherings, or whenever they happen to cross paths while on border patrols near Four Trees? Not only is that character trivia interesting, but it could provide foreshadowing/become relevant later on. When the Clans meet to discuss how to deal with the dogs in Arc 3, perhaps someone suggests having their most fluent Fang speakers act as interpreters/diplomats, and try to broker some sort of peace/understanding with the dogs. Things like that. Basically, it would’ve been nice if Fireheart’s life intersected more with the goings-on of his Clanmates, or if his own goals/agenda were sometimes inconvenienced by the goals/agenda of others.

I think those are my major criticisms. More integration of lore, a slower/steadier pace that accommodates showing over telling, and finding ways to have the personal lives of minor characters interact with the story. Maybe adding in some additional subplots that are congruent with the main plots, and occur simultaneously, in order to keep chapters busy. That sort of thing. I hope what I provided wasn’t overwhelming in any way, and ends up being useful for either the Redux or any of your other writing projects.

As an aside, thank you. For creating this humble niche community within an even larger fandom. For asking for feedback from your readers. For being someone who makes mistakes, but eventually endeavors to learn from them, and ultimately, become a better person. I know this sounds kinda sappy, but I really do mean it. <3

(For the record I wrote this at like five in the morning, so if there are any grammatical errors I’ll be kicking myself in the ass for those.)

#silvokrent #submission #i speak #kind of #textwall #readmore

[septicfag]

GETTING INTO PUNK MASTERPOST 

Want to get into the punk subculture, but a bit intimidated by it?? Here's a little list of tips and tricks for getting into the scene!!!  [especially if you don't know any punks in real life, or aren't particularly close friends with any punks online either]

THINK FOR YOURSELF!!!! this is so important, you cannot be punk and NOT think for yourself, before accepting anything you have to think it through for yourself!!!!

DON’T BE RACIST, XENOPHOBIC, SEXIST, HOMOPHOBIC, TRANSPHOBIC, FASCIST. ETC. you cannot be part of a group of radical free thinkers as a bigot. If you are a bigot you are not and will not be welcome in the punk community

INFORM YOURSELF ON CURRENT ISSUES. Work to figure out what you think about current issues because (as stated before) its punk as hell to have your own opinions

LISTEN TO PUNK MUSIC. You don't have to listen to anything you don't vibe with, but trying out different genres of punk and listening to some of the big names will help you understand and share something in common with more “seasoned” punks.

TALK TO OTHER PUNKS. most of us are really nice, especially if we know you're trying to get into the scene! You can always interact/talk to us! most of us know how it can be a little scary to break into the scene and are willing to talk about our experiences!

TAKE YOUR SELF EXPRESSION INTO YOUR OWN HANDS. to whatever extent you can make/modify clothes for yourself. add patches and pins or paint on clothes [use fabric paint or acrylic mixed with fabric base for a cheaper alternative] ITS 100% OKAY TO WEAR YOUR MODIFIED CLOTHES EVEN IF THEY'RE NOT "DONE" YET! FUCK FAST FASHION!!

LOOK AT PUNK FASHION. there have been around 50 years of punk fashion, so find some you dig and base some of your modified clothes off of it (I'm really into 80s punk looks so I normally look like I crawled out of CBGB [famous punk bar in NY] during its peak years). Staples of a punk look are clunky boots or skate shoes (converse or knockoffs), band shirts, and battle jackets! Punk “fashion” is based on DIY and practicality. (it should be noted punk clothing also has an emphasis on being safe for moshing/protests, so normally no HUGE spikes and impractical shoes and super loose clothes)

GO TO SHOWS! ESPECIALLY LOCAL SHOWS!! going to shows in your local area is a good way to get into the scene. if you're underage or live in assfuck nowhere it's completely fine to not travel hours or get kicked out of a venue halfway through the show, so feel free to wait until you have a good chance to go to one. If you're in an area with a local scene, going out to local shows is a great way to meet and support other punks! [suggestion by @juggernaut-is-a-metalhead]

Some other notes

YOU CAN BE ANY RACE OR GENDER OR SEXUALITY AND BE PUNK, PUNK IS NOT JUST FOR WHITE CISHET MEN! PUNK HAS ALWAYS AND WILL ALWAYS BE AN INCLUSIVE SPACE FOR EVERYONE WHO’S SICK AND TIRED OF BEING KICKED AROUND BY ANY/EVERYONE!!!

YOU CAN BE PUNK AND MENTALLY ILL, YOUR MENTAL ILLNESS DOES NOT CONTROL YOU AND WHAT YOU WANT AND WHAT YOU BELIEVE EVEN IF SOMETIMES IT FEELS THAT WAY! It’s also completely fine and valid to not want to go to shows/protests or be confrontational if you have a mental illness or honestly just don’t feel comfortable or safe doing so. 

YOU DON’T HAVE TO HAVE PIERCINGS OR TATTOOS TO BE PUNK! If you’re underage or just don’t want to or don’t have the money, it’s okay to not have body mods and it doesn’t make you any less punk. 

we really don’t like bootlickers (basically people kowtowing to authority and authority figures)

we're anti-authority 

a lot of us are atheists or at least have a distaste for formalized institutionalized religion

we kind of mind our own fucking business as long as the business isn't hurting us or others

there're a lot of anarchists in punk but you don't have to be one, there are also a lot of social democrats

we DO NOT hurt or harass people who don't deserve it (ie. kids, people who have nothing to do with whatever we're fighting against)

there're not really hard and fast rules that’s a big thing with punk, only you have power over yourself (”no authority but yourself” is a popular quote coined by anarcho-punk band, Crass)

Quick and basic punk genre breakdown

proto-punk- the punk before punk, this genre is comprised of 60s and 70s bands with a less refined sound than mainstream bands at the time, however, they normally didn’t have much in common. Bands like The Velvet Underground fall into this genre.

70's - punk begins to emerge as a genre people argue about who was actually the first punk band a popular choice is Ramones

80's- LOTS of punk potential here, 69.69% of "classic punk" bands are 80's punk

90's- ska started to emerge and punk was seen as skater music a lot of "classic punk" was also 90's 

ska punk- based more on reggae, seen as skater music, normally has fun trumpets!

riot grrrl- feminist punk (just being an all female punk band doesn't make you a riot grrrl band, there’s a sound to it as well)

folk punk- punk but with different instruments and less 3 chord riffs

post-punk- punk but more modern, normally is a bit softer than "classic punk"

hardcore punk- punk with screaming, kind of sounds like black metal, but with anarchy

pop punk- punk but it sounds more pop-y (hotly debated what is and isn't, its kind of a dumpster fire)

garage punk- punk but EVEN less polished [this is my favorite genre]

THERE ARE MORE GENRES THAN THIS, THIS IS JUST A VERY FAST OVER-VIEW. Punk has about 1000000 different sub-genres so only the most popular and well known are included here! 

(note about early punk: 70s and 80s punk sometimes included slurs in music or wearing hate symbols such as swastikas, this was because at the time a lot of punk forerunners subscribed to the idea that wearing/saying things employed by bigots would take power away from them, this idea was largely abandoned by the punk community as they made their way into the 90s. Now in the 20s punks wear lots of anti-hate symbols either coined by the punk community or lifted from other sources) 

(2nd note, concerning inflammatory or ironic statements: a big part of punk culture and lyrics is using purposely inflammatory or heavily ironic statements, one way to figure out if the sentiment in a song is actually meant to be harmful or angry and not ironic is to look up the lyrics/band. As a rule of thumb if they’re an actual punk band that’s listened to by actual punks, it’s irony 99.8% of the time)     

Some bands (almost) every punk has at least heard of:

Bad Brains, Bad Religion, Black Flag, Blink 182, Choking Victim, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Descendents, Green Day, Leftover Crack, Minor Threat, Misfits, NOFX, The Offspring, Operation Ivy, Pennywise, Ramones, Rancid, Sex Pistols, Social Distortion

[lifted off r/punk on reddit]

Some ending tips:

don’t feel embarrassed to look up lyrics or the sub-genre of a punk song/band, it's a way of learning! also don’t feel embarrassed to look into punk history, it shows you’re genuinely interested in the message and culture!

listen to punk compilation albums! they have some amount of fame in the scene in and of themselves (such as GIVE 'EM THE BOOT [VOLUMES 1-5], PUNK ROCK HALLOWEEN [VOLUMES 1-2], and BARRICADES AND BROKEN DREAMS)

check out entire record labels! you can find a lot of cool bands that don't get a lot of attention. here's a good masterlist of punk record labels, but if that's too daunting, Fat Wreck Cords, Epitaph Records, and Discord Records are very well known. [suggestion by @juggernaut-is-a-metalhead]

It’s completely fine to not have a lot of money to spend on records or supplies for DIY clothes. Punk has an emphasis that your clothes and shit don’t have to be “pretty” they have to be functional. 

for DIY patches/pins you can put ANYTHING you want on them, song lyrics, rallying cries, dates, sayings, literally anything you want, every punk has some weird shit on their patches. 

don't feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do, there is/was a group of punks who are "straight edge" meaning they didn’t drink or do drugs or stuff like that (more common in the 90s/00s)

seriously don’t be afraid to interact with other punks!! we're a bit rough but generally harmless if you don’t suck!!

it’s 100% normal to also have nonpunk interests, don’t feel like you have to give up anything you love to be punk.

You don’t have to listen to any of this to be punk, being punk is doing what you want to do because you want to!! This is just a compiled list of tips for anyone not sure where to start!

PUNKS NOT DEAD

[feel free to correct me if I’ve gotten something wrong! my DMs and asks are always open if you want to hear more of my punk hot takes or want to talk to someone about punk or punk adjacent shit!]

#punk #young punk #punx #young punx #wholesome punk #getting into punk #punk tips

[g--r-e--e-n]

Of herbs and riddles Pt.1

Pairing: GN! MC x Satan.

Content: Fantasy AU for Obey me! MAX that was supposed to be posted as a whole but I can't fully finish it on time so at least have this :')

Warnings: It says hell at some point but I'm not sure if that's a swearword. Pretty sure anything else is not worrying, please tell me if you think otherwise so I can properly tag any sort of danger away!

(Edit: Apparently says "hell" several times. Sue me or something, I'm already crying either way.)

"Good morning, sir!" You cheerfully welcomed the young man crossing your apothecary's door. "How may I help you?"

He smiles softly, reaching the counter and looking you with the most beautiful piercing eyes you had ever seen.

"Good morning to you too." The man greets elegantly, his golden hair reflecting the candlelight filling your modest shop, the morning sun still to weak to allow the flames to die as they had been made to. By his clothes and the softness of his long and slender fingers, you soon understood he was one of those few big fishes passing by this small pound that your village is. "My dear brother has gained quite a wicked heartburn after a rather copious dinner. I was hoping you would have some remedy for his condition."

"Sure thing, sir!" You gladly answered. You loved your work as much as it was possible, and having such an interesting customer was definitely a plus, specially since foreigners were known for their generous tips. "Let me see..."

You begin wandering around your store, the magic candles now dying to let the soft sun come through the window.

The young blonde man stared quietly at you, following you quietly and looking over your shoulder towards the dried leaves and small bottles. He had seen many in his books, old as time itself, yet memorizing all of them would've been imposible within a mortal lifetime. However, instead of jealous, he felt mesmerized. There were little things he admired as much as knowledge, and you were filled with it.

Getting his head our from those thoughts, you turned around with some little bags.

"Give him a cup of chamomile tea and root of Ginger, he shall be fine sooner than a cock sings. If he's not, come over again and I'll give you a special bred of tea I'm working on." You started walking towards the counter again, closely followed by your customer and the smell of the herbs. "Giving him something to chew on rather than eat could help him too, if you feel on a rush."

"Thank you" He absentmindedly replied, the jewels in his eyes lost in the little bags you handed over, a slight hope blossoming in your chest. He said nothing about being unable to come again, so perhaps he was a newcomer rather than a traveler. "How much?"

"Two pieces for the root, the rest is on the house" you replied, keeping your smile as you handed the goods over. "After all, you're new here, aren't you?"

Your client stared at you, taking the plants and handing you the money ever so graciously you felt like you had met an angel. Four coins weighted down your hand.

"That we are." He softly said, a smile to his face. "My older brother came for a gig, he was the main wizard in the neighboring village, but he soon fell in love with this land of yours and made all of us tag along."

There was something this guy wasn't telling you, you just knew.

"Are you a wizard too, sir?"

"Not quite. I'm just a librarian." He vaguely answered, shrugging. "And I better get home before my brothers begin to grief me."

You let go a soft laugh, as he flashed you another of his smiles, turning his back to you, hand waving in the air as his silhouette.

"Wait!" You stopped him. You needed his name, something, anything, and you didn't even know why.

"Yes..?"

"... Don't let him drink milk. Makes it worse."

He laughed a bit, saying something you didn't quite want to hear, too embarrassed. What the hell had just happened?

You sighed, trying your best to keep on working, sorting your material and attending the folk with a smile brighter than the sun itself.

You had made yourself a name thanks to your knowledge, being one of the few fools to dedicate your life to science when magic was a thing. Nobody would've betted anything on you, but here you were, healing people better than any witch ever could, knowing by heart every plant that grew around your hometown.

It had been hard, but you felt like you were living a good life. You felt happy with your own situation, and after the librarian's visit, you could barely keep your heart from bouncing in excitement, hoping to meet him again.

Your chance, of course, took you fully by surprise, way sooner than expected.

It had been four days, and you were about to close after a pretty exhausting day of work when the librarian entered the place, any complains dying on your throat at the sight of his worry.

"Good evening sir, are you alright? Is it your brother again?"

You walked over to him, concern painted all over your face, but not daring to invade his personal space.

"No. Yes. What you gave me last time worked marvelously. It's not that." He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. You could see the dark skin under them. "It's other brother, actually. He's a reckless young man, and got himself in a fight. His condition is not serious, but he keeps on complaining about the scars that might be left in his face. Do you think you could help him?"

Oh. So his brother was that one idiot that tried to get away without paying from the butcher. God, you hoped he wasn't too bad.

"Yes, sure, one second." You nod before looking from plants again, his gaze fixed upon them as last time, making you somehow nervous. Perhaps a little conversation could help, while you grab the herbs. "So... Have you been sleeping fine, sir? You seem rather tired to me."

You slowly turn around, some bottles resting in your arms, softly clinking against each other as you walked towards the counter.

"I'm reading a book full of riddles." He admitted, feeling oddly at ease withing your little shop. "This far I've solved them all, yet there's one that I can't quite lay my finger on."

You start mixing substances, peeling carefully some aloe.

"Well, why don't you tell me the riddle? Maybe I can help you out."

The librarian stared at you in disbelief. Did you really think you could solve something he didn't?

Of course, he didn't really want to refuse, and would much rather see you fail by yourself.

"Sure thing" he says with a smile, his eyes shining dangerously. "I am valued by men, fetched from afar, Gleaned on the hill-slopes, gathered in groves,

In dale and on down.

All day through the air,

Wings bore me aloft, and brought me with cunning

Safe under roof.

Men steeped me in vats.

Now I have power to pummel and bind,

To cast to the earth, old man and young.

Soon he shall find who reaches to seize me,

Pits force against force, that he's flat on the ground,

Stripped of his strength if he cease not his folly,

Loud in his speech, but of power despoiled

To manage his mind, his hands or his feet.

Now ask me my name, who can bind men on earth,

And lay fools low in the light of day."

You rise an eyebrow, sealing mixing your little beverage with as much energy as you could gather.

"Sir, you must be kidding me. How could not figure that out?" You questioned, staring at the liquid to check it's colour and quality. "It's mead. Honey mead, they make some at the monastery up the hill. At times I use it to make some of my beverages taste nice, it makes any biter taste disappear."

The librarian blinks a couple times. He had thought wine to be the answer, which apparently was a close call, but whatever you were talking about didn't really ring a bell.

"It's an alcoholic beverage, right?

"Never tried it?" You were rather surprised, really. He looked like a fine man, one of those who would attend hundreds of fancy dinners. How can he not know his liquors?.

"My brothers don't like me drinking." He admits, a defeated smile to his soft lips. "I pretty much stick to tea most of the time."

"At least it's healthy!" You smile at hin, handing the mix. "Here you go, sir. It's oily and a bit thick, the onion extract might itch a bit, but worry not, it'll work perfectly. Rub it against any mark your brother might have left and it will soon be gone. If the mark happens to be darker than his skin, cut a lemon in two and rub it against the wound."

"Thank you." The blonde man smiled cheerfully, your conversation very obviously pleasing him. You had no idea how close he was to ripping the book's pages apart because of that damn riddle. "How much?"

"Two coins shall suffice, sir!" You handed him your gooey mix, receiving five whole coins in exchange. Your eyes wide . "Sir, I beg your pardon, but isn't this a bit too much? You already paid me double last time!"

He shakes his head gently.

"Two for the medicine, two for the riddle, and one for humouring me. What is it but fair?"

He messed up your hair before you could complain, soon heading home to his brothers, leaving the fire grow on your cheeks, too stunned to even close the shop as you were supposed to.

You couldn't help but find yourself hoping to meet him again, waiting for another three days to go by. Your dear librarian, however, took very little time.

In two days, he was already in front of you again, while you attended your neighbor's cuts, not allowing yourself to get your attention from the poor man no matter how handsome your new favorite customer was.

In a few minutes, your neighbor had already paid and waved you goodbye, happy as ever. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling like a fool, loving your job, before finally paying the librarian some attention.

"Good afternoon, sir! How may I help you today?"

"It's one of my brothers" he said, to none of your surprises. Honestly, he must be wasting a fortune in helping them. How many brothers did he even have? "He's been failing asleep during his shift at work, through his studying lessons, and I'm afraid he'll end up sleeping his days away. Would you be able to help me?"

You nood, soon heading to fish some herbs, as always followed by the tall man and his cryptic gaze. You didn't even know his name yet, but something about him felt like meeting an old friend.

"You know, I usually would give you some green tea, but..." You softly smile, pulling something from the bottom of your shelf before facing the young man, showing him your little treasure. "A friend of mine likes to travel. At times, he brings me this to help me whenever I feel tired or sick. I'm not exaggerating when I say it makes miracles! It's called Siberian Gingsen, but you might as well call it the holy grail. Just please remember to keep the dosage small and preferably during mornings, unless you want your brother to stay awake all night. "

Your customer nods, listening closely.

"Your brother does not have any heart issues, does he?" You ask, slightly ridding off your excitement. "We could try something else then."

He softly shakes his head.

"No, don't worry. That little brat is surprisingly healthy seeing as how he spends his days doing nothing." He sighs. As much as he enjoyed Belphegor's company, at times it was a bit worrying. No human should sleep this much without being considered dead. "How much is it?"

You stare at the Gingsen, struggling a bit. You had never thought of actually selling it, but it's not like you needed it anyways, so that's not really a reason to rise the prize. Still, it's an imported good, right?

You sigh, realizing you needed an assistant more than you'd like to, before going back to your default smile.

"Two coins shall suffice, sir!" You gifted him a smile Satan knew he would not forget in some days now. Despite his blush, he handed you four coins. "Sir, please..."

"Two for the remedy. Two for... Going to the fair tomorrow?" His words surprised you, and even if you tried your best to hide it, you were red up to your ears. "I heard from some villagers you don't usually frequent that sort of events, so I really won't mind it if you decline, but... I think we could have a nice time there."

His gentle, genuinely caring tone softly melted your heart, sweet as belladonna and just as dangerous.

You didn't really have a life aside from the shop and, at times, the market. All your free time was spent diving between pages, looking for all the information you could gather, and something in this almost stranger's eyes told you he wasn't really a party kind of person. God, ge didn't even know honey wine.

"Sir, I... I don't even know your name." You mumbled, confused, not used to how blunt this gentleman was, not even moving his eyes, calling yours like light calls a moth.

"Oh. Right." He said, faking surprise, not really willing to admit he liked being called "sir" ever so politely, fairly sure it would ruin the whole mood. "I'm Satan. A pleasure to meet you..."

He expectantly looked at you, and soon you gifted him your name, his new favorite sound.

"And now that you have a name to call me by, will you come to our little date?" He tried his best to sound secure, fearing he already knew the answer. "I'm sorry, I hope I'm not coming off as too strong. I just-"

"No, it's fine. Why not?" You smile as you best can, still nervous, but way too afraid the situation would worse with Satan's lose tongue. "Let's meet tomorrow morning at the fountain, shall we? Usually there's music as early as sunrise, I'm sure you'll adore it."

"Then I'll trust you" he answered, genuinely glad this turned out so nicely. It almost seemed like a dream. "Now, I shall go before that brother of mine falls asleep again."

And just as elegantly as he had entered, he left, his image lingering in your memory for a while.

A date.

You were having a date.

A date with the gorgeous foreigner who just so happened to frequently visit your shop.

A date with Satan.

What the hell.

#obey me! #obey me #obey me satan #satan x mc #swd satan #Satan x reader #om! swd #om! #om! satan #om! fanfic #gn!reader #Gn!MC

[lost-in-the-spectrum]

How did I get my diagnosis for the Asperger-Synrome?

Hello Folks,

I hope you are doing well and hopefully this post will help some people out there with… whatever they need help in.

Today I’d like to tell you the story of how I actually got to my Asperger diagnosis: How did I know that there could be smth like that? How was the assessment? This post could help some people with getting prepared for an assessment like that, it could also help with even figuring out how to get to an assessment like that tho. All things which I am describing and writing in that post is only about me. These are experiences which I made and that doesn’t mean that you’re about to make the same experiences at all. Never mind if bad or good experiences ... don’t let this story unsettle you!

So... Everything started with meeting dad’s girlfriend for the first time. It was after a long search for a place to stay at. I was forced to be homeless for, I guess 6 months – luckily not longer – because me and my sister didn’t come along very well and my mother died 2013 which took my only home away from me. I also had a weird relationship to my other relatives which is the reason why I absolutely couldn’t imagine to live with them. And in addition, I couldn’t expect from the few friends I had that time that they take me to their homes and try to, you know... support me with food and all that stuff. They all had their own problems and at the same time they all haven’t had money either, especially not for a second person to feed.

So I had no other choice. My dad picked me up at my sister’s house and we both drove all the long way to Berlin, where he lived with his girlfriend. The story between us three is very difficult and private. Let’s say it at this way: Living with my mum became kinda impossible for my dad which is why he has chosen an other woman he could imagine to live with. Yes, I know, first I was furious about that decision too but after talking with my dad I could understand his point. Just to make that point clear that there is no reason to dislike him for the choices he had to make, also for himself. Anyway his girlfriend was a hard thing for me. I didn’t want to have an other woman except my mum by dad’s side and in general I was always scared of meeting her because I have never met her in my life before... and she has been in dad’s life since I was about five years old. So when we arrived at their apartment and ringed she opened the door for us. First of all: She didn’t look like I have imagined. I saw few photos of her somewhere as a kid – and thought she’d be only a good friend of dad... I was naive – and on these photos, I think, she looked a bit different. I was a little surprised, she too. But not because she didn’t know that I am coming – she did know – later she told me that she was stunned by my beauty and she was honest and serious about that thought she had. She also told me that she was scared too to meet me for the first time. She actually expected me to hate her by first sight because she knows what kind of role she’s playing in my life. I was nervous of meeting her for the first time but I’d never have been mean to her, never mind what kind of role or position she is having in my life.

We spent some time together, not only to get to know her better but also because I kinda liked her, at least for the first moments we had together. We talked a lot and went up to the bakery to bring some bread for the morning. We have done that together for many times so that I could see where to go and one morning she told me to bring the bread. So I did, I mean, we have walked that way for three times! I should know where the place is. Well, I didn't.

I walked the way I remembered but suddenly the streets and surrounding looked a little different to me. Or no, they didn't. It was the same as before but I couldn't find the way we both walked together. My “inner navigation” was so bad all of sudden, I didn't even know that it apparently was. So I went to the wrong bakery where the bread we always used to buy was a little more expensive. I was so overdone with that that I didn't care. I bought 5 breads for us, two for dad, two for her and only one for me. We all used to have two breads for the morning but I couldn't afford the second one for me. When I came back I told her my issue and explained that I didn't know where to go so I bought the bread in that bakery where I was. I was disappointed and upset and I didn't hide it. I never really do. She was understanding or at least not angry at all, she just said that we can go the way again or she tries to explain me the way. In the next times I found the right bakery but I seriously needed a self drawn map to find it … even though we have been walking there for three times.

Then one evening, she made some dinner- stuffed paprika with beef and rice and a really nice tomato sauce – and we started talking again about the issue I had. She started telling me that she thinks I could have a kind of disorder which I should already have had since the age of at least five.* She asked me then: 'Have you ever heard of the Asperger-Syndrome?” I of course said that I've never heard about that and asked what it is supposed to be. 'It is Autism or at least one of the many sorts of in the spectrum.' First I thought she's kidding me and in fact annoyed that I have got so many issues with things so that she called me like that or seriously thinks I should be autistic because I seem to be unable to do things. I thought she was offending me because all I knew about these people to that time is that they have a special or even strange behaviour. Also I mixed all these people up and have put them in one box because that is all I heard about them. I didn't know better. Then before I could ask if she's serious she already started telling me why she thinks like that: The way I talk, the fact that I never or barely looked in her eyes while we talked, the fact that I had that issue with finding the way which is actually a simple one – yes, it was... - and my talent and passion for drawing comics and illustrations in a really little time and almost totally perfectly. In addition the things my dad told her, how I was as a little kid and that I had problems to find the one or other friend at school as I never wanted to play with other kids in the kindergarten... she told me that all these things are very familiar to her. She is French-, English-, and German teacher and at the same time she worked half time in the school psychology to test children if they are gifted or having special problems with certain exercises and subjects. She has met many children there and some of them where autistic and behaved almost exactly like me. She also told me what's typical for that syndrome and the more she told me the more I recognized myself in her description. I was surprised and confused, nobody has ever told me about that before, no one ever mentioned that I could have it. I was only the antisocial, bad behaving kid – fun fact: bad behaving because I didn't always say thank you to someone – and many people didn't like me for that. She told me that we could make an online testing first before we start to maybe contact someone who's an expert in it. I agreed, what could go wrong? And I really wanted to know.

So, we made the online test which includes some general questions about my behaviour and “attitude” and the result told us: there is a high possibility for me to have the Asperger-Syndrome. It wasn't to 100% sure that I have it but it was a reason to contact that one person who's an expert in it and who could tell if I have. So dad's girlfriend contacted him and made an appointment. Unfortunately I was meant to wait over a year to get an appointment there and to finally figure out what's wrong with me. We didn't want to wait so we paid... and then we had an appointment just one week later.

We drove to Potsdam near Berlin where the person lived. We met him at his house – yes, where he lived and had his private life – and introduced ourselves, told him that we made this appointment with him because we think I could have the Asperger-Syndrome. And then he started to test me in different tasks. First of all I had to answer some several questions on a piece of paper. How do I feel in certain situations, what are my interests and hobbies, in which things I am absolutely not interested in even though these things are normally interesting to people at my age. I also had to watch pictures of human eyes to tell if these are happy, sad, angry or else. Then he asked my father about my childhood and if there was any special behaviour those days. Dad told what the matter was: I haven't had many friends, spent a lot of time alone in my room drawing comics for almost 2 hours because without that I got nervous and also aggressive. I needed this to feel comfortable. I had a strong imagination and fantasy, could create adventurous stories in a short time and when I was little – about 5 years old – I walked around with a little piece of paper or a small straw of wheat and talked to it or had conversations with it. Sometimes I even created conversations between two personalities, some kind of role play and all in my mind. People kept saying that this isn't a point because little kids mostly have a huge imagination in playing but the way I imagined was special and maybe a little odd. He also mentioned that on some days at my age 'now' – so eighteen those days – I've been sitting at the computer for about three hours – on some days less or even more – playing The Sims 3 creating crazy characters and building crazy houses. The way my dad told him seemed worried and I had such a feeling that my dad tried to convince that man to tell me that this isn't normal and I should stop that. But the man didn't say anything about it. He just wrote it down for the results if I've got the syndrome or not. The  assessment was made of talking and answering to questions on a paper including some “riddles” I had to solute. And at the end of it – after six hours including a little break in between – the man told us that he'll check my answers out. He wasn't sure if I really got it but he could tell that he thinks I may got an attention disorder which prevents me to be focused all the time and which makes me easy to get distracted. And so we left the place and got prepared to wait for the results... until today.

Yes, you read correctly: I haven't got the results by that man until today and the appointment at his place was already about six years ago. Getting a diagnosis never lasts that long so we've tried to contact this man for many times. Not only my dad and his girlfriend but also doctors and psychologists later. Never got an answer and never got the diagnosis if there even was one.

Before this the relationship between me and dad's girlfriend got worse and dad and her began to argue really often. I didn't know if this happened more often than I realized and if they already argued before I came around but I felt kinda uneasy and even a little guilty for that. I also have an insecure personality disorder which makes me often and easily think to be guilty in many things even though it's not the truth. The arguing lasted pretty long and I realized it was probably because of me just like I thought. One time I passed their bed room and just by accident I listened and heard what she said about me. She said since I've been there they argue really often and that I might be the reason for it. I felt very bad for it and that situation got worse.

Later my dad apparently decided to leave with me. He planned to live at his brother's place with me as long as we try to figure out what to do next. The late afternoon before we left, dad's girlfriend sat at the table in the kitchen and she was sad, crying of course. I joined her and before I could ask what the matter is – I mean I knew it but yet I wanted to ask – she just looked into my eyes, furious, sad, disappointed, that's what I could tell because there wasn't anything to misunderstand in that look... she told me again, that dad is gonna leave her for me and I just replied that I am sorry for that, feeling guilty and that I never meant to make that happen.

She just said: 'Well I can't take that feeling of guilt away from you. And I don't want to. If I have to suffer, you should suffer too.'

Those words were very hard. They hurt me and made me feel like a huge mistake. I started thinking many thinks because... I wasn't just depressive. I was suicidal. And that feeling got stronger after hearing this. My dad gave me my suitcase and took his own one. We went downstairs and put them into the car. Then we left.

Some time ago I got a kind of 'legal guardian ', a very nice woman who took care of formal things and who also took a look on my money on my bank account. Her job was it to support me with all these things in life. My dad told her about the disaster we were in and that it's an emergency. So the woman did her best and found a place for me to stay at: A 'social psychological' commune for young people with depressions and other conditions – like me. This commune was in Kiel. My dad and I drove to that place for an introducing meeting to get to know the commune. It was a very nice place, the house was kind of 'JugendStil', so pretty vintage but also modern in either way. The educators there and also the Chef of the commune, a woman at the age of about 35 I guess, were totally nice to me. They noticed the emergency and understood why it was so important to me to finally get help. They met me as a very skinny, depressive person who was tired of life and being. I moved there and had finally the chance to be able to build up an own life.

Living in this commune I also found a psychologist there where I mentioned my Asperger-Syndrome which people think I could have. She started to contact the man in Potsdam too, even twice, as did my 'legal guardian '. No success, no answer, neither to the phone nor to the mail address. But it was certain that we need this diagnosis to maybe find the right therapy for me. So my psychologist contacted an other woman who is also making  assessments   like that. She came around one day and met me, started the assessment. But this  assessment was different. This time my dad wasn't there to tell how I was a child. I repeated the things he told the man in Potsdam and answered to some questions the woman asked me. About my attitude, behaviour and so on. Actually the same but without testing sheets. At the same time she had a white board next to her and explained me what the Asperger-Syndrome actually is, how differently 'our' brain works in contrast to people without the syndrome. That was pretty interesting and something the man in Potsdam didn't do. I got tested in it and at the same time  I learned what it actually is. I also gave permission to be filmed while she's testing me. I still have the video here and it's so weird to see how I looked those days. Much more different than now.

At the end of it all she told me: 'Well, you indeed got it. There is no doubt.' I was happy but confused at the same time. How is it possible that a person who is known for  assessments  like that wasn't sure about my syndrome but this woman who got the same knowledge has no doubts that I'm having it?

I then finally got my diagnosis that day and to be honest: I had a feeling that my life would turn into a better and more confident one because I finally knew who I am.

So Folks, that's my story how I got the diagnosis. It's a pretty long text but I needed to tell you everything what happened to finally get the explanation of who and what I am. You see, the way to this diagnosis can be very long and complicated. The man hasn't given me my diagnosis yet until today, there for I got it from an other person at the same day where I got tested and it was obviously clear that I have it.

Maybe you're prepared now if you should ever want to get tested and as I've already said: This is only my story. It could be that you'll get an appointment much quicker than me and that you get your diagnosis just some days or weeks later – not like with that man who has never given me this until today – maybe you also get the result on the same day as I got from that woman. Just be sure and think about these things before you try to get an appointment: Do you really need it because you want to know what's wrong with you? Because you need special help which you can only get if you have that diagnosis? Would it help you or others to understand you? Or do you actually have no issues with it so that it doesn't matter? Think about these questions before you go on a probably exhausting journey as me, prepare yourself and listen to what your heart needs. My heart needed an explanation for my personality to realize that it's not because of me people got problems with my personality. It's because of them because they have never taken the time to figure out what kind of person I am.

Just saying: There are many people who love the way I am. I seem to be a cool person, not as crap as some idiots tried to make me think.

Have a good day, friends! See you later!

#asperger-syndrome #autism spectrum disorder #assessment #diagnosis #condition #lost in the spectrum #storytelling

[nookishposts]

Managing Messages

It would appear that there is a sea change going on in my brain. Self-reflection seems to be a mid-life given and I believe that has ramped up for many of us during restricted pandemic conditions. Once we tired of bread making and Netflix binges and being unable to wear anything but buffet pants, many of us got contemplative; involuntary monks in retreats that needed dusting.

As a storyteller I listen a lot and try to see the funny in the foibles and fairy-tales of everyday living. We tell ourselves whatever we need to in order to get from place to place,between frustrations and surprises, for better or worse. Case in point : “I will eat this last cookie, in addition to the two I just had, because it would be silly to put the bag back in the cupboard with just one cookie left.” Please tell me it’s not just me....

Rules of comportment have changed a lot in the last year and we have been more often confronted with the quirks of our own company.  We examine the world through a lens of a necessarily more domestic perspective, noticing the dust dinosaurs under the bookshelf from our horizontal couch-lolling, seeing the cobwebs near the ceiling, remembering that we’d promised to freshen the cupboards with a coat of paint, and scrolling, scrolling, scrolling the hours away.

There are things I promised myself last November that I would spend the Winter doing; among them squats my own personal elephant-in-the-living-room; the actual work of assembling/organising some of my writing for publication. I have promised myself this every Autumn for the last 4 years, maybe more. Not following up has absolutely nothing to do with the pandemic and everything to do with the mixed messages in my early brain-wiring that I have managed until now to avoid reconciling. No, I am not blaming my parents for my failures; but I am finally acknowledging that they inadvertently gave me a puzzlement of fears to figure my way through. Analysis paralysis. That particular writing assignment is way overdue. I guess I have to start somewhere. 

My parents, both born pre-Depression grew up in financial poverty, in families that strove to keep them fed and sheltered rather than striving for the sake of striving itself. Neither finished school because it was just not a priority next to taking on some responsibility for keeping the families basic needs of living met. They were taught to keep their heads down and noses-to-the-grindstone, to never think of aspiring beyond their “station” in life or if they did, to keep it to themselves. Which I think they did. I don’t recall either of them ever talking about having dreams for themselves except in the most self-deprecating or pipe-dreaming kind of manner, as if dreams were to be sloughed off, abandoned to the past, along with childhood.

So I grew up the eldest child of two very hard-working people whose attitudes combined in a united defensive front against those they’d been taught to believe were their “betters”; people like academics, doctors, and politicians. People of means, likely inherited. People of power and influence, genetically programmed to screw the little guy. Seriously. 

I was a dreamer from the get-go. I had a hearty imagination fuelled by a belief in magic and a natural disinclination to follow the rules, a deeply curious little kid who had a knack for remembering and a sense of wonder at the world itself. My parents, like most of their generation were more concerned that I be prepared for harsh reality than for questioning the status quo. I too was to work hard, keep my head down, and not entertain any real ambition for fear of life beating it out of me. They both knew how to laugh and were not without creativity, but all of it was directed and drained off in matters of pure practicality. 

Mixed messages have dogged me ever since, though I have long been of an age where I know it is my responsibility to  unravel things for myself. Distilled, the messages that I carry are as follows: from Dad it was “who the hell do you think you are with your book-learning and big words? You think you are better than us? The hell you are!” And from Mum it was: “Well, good for you, but don’t get used to success because it doesn’t ever last.”  Both attitudes came from fear, his from being usurped or found wanting and hers from being afraid of serial disappointment. Translated in my brain, those echoing, looping messages have kept me from believing it is okay to just take a grand leap of faith in myself. Good lord, what if I fail and embarrass us all?! The child in my brain wrestles with the adult who logically knows there are no guarantees either way, but that to do nothing is also futile.

I am a storyteller. My maternal grandparents were too. I read from a very young age and made up my own stories, even inventing a couple of imaginary friends to take along on my adventures. In school, I loved to read and write and went through systematic progressive phases of writing poetry and one-act plays and folk songs and short fiction. As an adult, I have written as therapy, for myself and for others of my generation who can relate to the things we all go through but I am willing to write and often laugh about. Writing is confession, and community, and collective consciousness. For me it’s most often spontaneous, off-the-cuff riffs about flushed car keys and public prat falls. Stories are how I make sense of the World, as well as the world of possibility. I write, I send it out like a flimsy paper airplane and hope it doesn’t crash too soon.

This past Winter I was all set to organise the many musings that I have blurted out on Facebook, in my blog, as a result of writing groups and workshops and the encouragement of kind readers. I wanted to prepare for publication a collection of mostly lighthearted observational spit-takes and rim-shots. But I didn’t do it. Every time I sat down, I would find a distraction to wander towards instead of the focus I needed to cobble my pieces (literal and figurative) together.  I have watched friends publish works over the past two years and been so very proud and thrilled for them, admiring of and inspired by what they have done. Yet, I seem paralyzed in my own attempts.  They tell me this is quite normal, this abject terror of imposter-ing, of discovering that I am just not any good at what I love so much that it is a significant part of my identity and therefore too personal to withstand the possibility of repeated wounds of rejection.

Possibility. It’s a double-edged sword  of a word if ever there was one. We could fall. Or we could fly. The net between the two is full of holes.

I hear the words again; “who do you think you are?” and “don’t get used to it” and they stop me in my tracks, they burst the shiny pink bubble of joy that comes with delicious combinations of sounds and ideas, and I drop to the ground in a heap, feeling simply foolish, embarrassed to be caught dreaming. But I am a big girl, and I know full well that the real joy is in the doing, and the real fear is in the letting go...in sending those bubbles of joyous play and pondering out to fend for themselves in a world where most are shot out of the sky with a sharp stone from the slingshot of publishers simply trying to dig through a constant avalanche of submissions to find their own diamond..a money-maker that will keep the rent paid and the doors open. It’s really  just a different degree of striving isn’t it?

I don’t ever expect to make much money from writing, although between copy-writing and biographies, I do make some. I would like to find the guts to write one really good book made up of many quirky little parts, something that other people could enjoy and relate to. (Yes,I’d settle for a bathroom book.)The very best part for me about telling a story are the stories that other people tell in response..that lovely, luscious, leveller of hearing “me too!” makes me feel like I’ve accurately described our human-ness. It’s that thing connects us all.

I’ve read lots advice from writers I admire...all the bits about getting my ass into a chair and just DOING it, letting a good editor chip the mud away from the motherlode, and suspending self-criticism in deference to those people paid to do it as their part of the journey toward publication. I have researched the publishers who accept the kind of work I think I write (that definition is hard!) and I have several versions of my elevator-pitch all ready to go. I have a ton of material to be shaped, and another ton in my head yet to be written down. What I am currently working on, the linchpin to all the rest, is courage. And perhaps a refresh button on my discipline. I really want to do this in spite of and perhaps to some degree, because of those old worn thin mixed messages. Wish me well.

[canadian-buckbeaver]

Tales of Old and Bone

Beginning of a commission for a very special reader of mine :)  @alextris 

Chapter One: Horrortale Sans meets a friend

( @redtomatofan I think you would appreciate this too ;) )

The old lady stared at the fruit through her thin watery eyes, her hands slightly shaking.  Was it a nectarine or a peach?  Or maybe that weird apple that Jennifer was talking about yesterday. She wasn’t sure.  There wasn’t even a fragrance that she could smell with it. She gave a soft sigh and put the fruit back.  It had been so much easier when her husband was here.  He always knew how to make her smile and forget about how the passage of time had not been kind to her.  And yet she had still outlived him by at least ten years.

Well.  She would see him soon… especially if the cost of groceries kept going up.  She might find herself running out of money yet.

With a soft sigh she put back the fruit and shuffled over to the hazy yellow shapes, her gait unsteady.  Those at least she knew those were bananas.  And they were probably cheaper than whatever apple-hybrid that that new generation was eating.  Where had the world gone so wrong?  Back in her day her grandparents had retired at the ripe-old age of fifty and were able to afford their house, cars, groceries, have money left over to spoil grandchildren and even leave a healthy inheritance to their loved ones when they passed.  The good old days.  Before greed and capitalism took over and rotted everyone’s minds.

And nowadays she could barely afford to eat.  Thank god that she and Harold never had any kids. She couldn’t imagine the disappointment on their faces when all she had to give him were the trinkets that dotted her little house. Tears dotted her eyes.  She was so scared of the future.  What would it hold for her?  And…

She bumped into someone.  “WATCH IT HAG!” The loud, acidic voice snapped.  She couldn’t see the boy’s face but, judging by the way the voice wavered between octaves, he had to bet between fourteen and eighteen. Still so young.

And already so cynical with the world.  She felt bad for him.

“My apologies, young man.  I did not see you there…”

“Of course you didn’t, you old bat.  Your glasses are about as thick as Kardashian’s pussy!”

The words were clearly meant to try and surprise her. Or maybe to make her disgusted. Such language.  Children never truly changed, did they?  Especially the ones with the high opinions of themselves…

* * * * *

The boy sneered to his friends as he pocketed the older lady’s wallet.  It had just been laying on top of everything inside of her purse, just ripe for the taking. He couldn’t resist.  They needed it more than her, the price of their favourite vodka had gone up.  He doubted that she would even miss it.  She had on a wedding ring.  Her husband would just give her some more government-funded money and she could go out and buy more yarn and pea soup.  He gestured at his friends to continue walking.  Act natural.

“Seriously, I think it is about time that those older folks know your place and just die.  Their time is over.  Make way for the young.  Over population is a serious issue these days and, you know what happens when a chicken can’t lay eggs or work anymore…”

His wrist, the one holding the lady’s wallet was seized, clasped tight in deadly grip, never letting go as they slammed the wrist into a nearby display.  The boy cried out, pain radiating from his wrist and traveling up his arm, forcing him to drop the wallet.  But that was the least of his worries.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?” he demanded, eyes unable to focus on the shadowy figure due to the pain. Whoever had attacked him had a death wish. But his mates weren’t backing him up.  Instead he could see them slowly backing away, leaving him on his own.  They were murmuring something as they disappeared to the other aisles.  

Cowards.  Here he thought that his friends were true.  Fine.  He could do this on his own if he needed to.  He didn’t need anyone to hold him back.

When his vision returned, he could feel his stomach drop.

Long, curved bones were wrapped around his warm skin, just digging into him hard enough to make a slight mark.  There was not an ounce of flesh on the bones, he could see every knuckle, every joint, every crack in the bone.  And the noise…. He wasn’t sure how best to describe the grating noise that they made when they moved slightly.  It was enough to cause a shiver to go down his spine.  But still the boney hand held him tight, not letting him go.  The grip was as cold as steel and just as strong, keeping him pinned where he was against the display with little effort.

Slowly, against his better judgement, the boy’s eyes traveled up, scanning his attacker.  A dirty, threadbare hoodie caught his attention next.  It was obvious that there had been an unsuccessful attempt at cleaning the rag before being seen in public, but whatever had been spilled over it had stained it.  Deep browns mixed with a rust had intermingled and dried across what used to be a blue hoodie.

Up, up, up.  What he saw made no sense.

A manic grin smirked, the grin unwavering, unflinching, at him, lending to the unsettling atmosphere. Two deep, flickering, red eyes stared him down, unblinking.  Unafraid. Almost challenging him to make a move.  Give him an excuse to attack and fight.  The curve of the skull was interrupted by the chunk that was missing out of his skull…

Wait.

A skull.  He was staring at a skull.

No.  He was looking at the full thing.  A real live, honest to fucking hell skeleton stood in front of him.  Pinning him where he stood.  But… but that was impossible.  He had heard of the monsters escape, it had been all over the news.  Hell, even his old man had joined an anti-monster gang to try and keep the monsters out of the school system and out of ‘regular’ areas.

And here he was, being pinned by one in a grocery store of all places.  He could see that, up close, the skeleton wasn’t looking as smooth as he had originally thought.  The monster was absolutely covered in scars and raised bumps.  This… this monster had been in several fights.

The boy had the feeling that he did not lose.

“Let me go.” He snarled, trying to pull his hand away from the creature.  The creature didn’t even move, made no indication that he had even heard at him.  Those red eye lights just stared at him, unblinking. Uncaring.  The boy yanked at his arm again.  “OI I SAID LET-”

“Do you know what happens when a young rooster gets too big for his feathers?” a cracking voice asked.  It sounded unused, unneeded.  Like two rocks had been grinding together to make the noise.  And yet it was so soft, the boy could barely hear it.

“I beg your par-”

“I asked you a question.  Do you know what happens, when a young rooster gets too big for his feathers?  Tries to take over the roost?”  The voice had definitely come from the skeleton.  The eyes were focused in on him, watching his every move, every struggle.

The boy tried to pull away again.  “Let me g-”

“Answer the question first, and you’ll find yourself free.” The skeleton demanded, giving a yank to his hand.

Wincing slightly, the boy glared up at the monster.  He would make sure that they would all pay. “No. What happens when that happens?”

The skeleton almost seemed to like that answer.  The grin widened, stretching across his skull, the red eyes took on an extra sparkle.  The skeleton’s free hand slowly reached down, pulling the hoodie away from his body…

Exposing the large, silver axe that he had stashed there.

His breath caught, his heart clenched, and he felt his arms and legs go numb.  This wasn’t the first time that he had been in a life-or-death scenario.  His gang initiations came to mind as well.  Fight or flight.

But he didn’t have his knife or gun this time.  His so-called friends had held them for him this time.

The skeleton gave a low, rumbling, sinister laugh.  “The old rooster and the young battle it out. To the death.  The loser loses everything, to be fed to the wolves or others that night.  The winner walks away a proud winner, free to lead the hen house as he sees fit.” The skeleton leaned closer to him, dusty breath brushing against his ear and cheek. “Cock-a-doodle doo.”

Message loud and clear.

“What do you want from me?”

“Oh there is many things I could want from you. You to stop bothering the innocent patrons of this store.  You to leave innocent old ladies alone. And for you to leave her wallet where it is.” This last little bit came out as a snarl.

The boy gulped.  “I don’t have the wallet.  I already dropped it.”

The skeleton took his time to appraise him and then check the ground.  The pale, well-worn pink wallet was under the display that he had the boy pinned on.  He gave a cold, satisfied, chuckle.   “Good.  Starting to learn already.  Now. Go find your little groupies and get the hell out of here.  And if I ever find you in this area again… well.  You’re not the only rooster I’ve plucked and dressed for dinner.”

The threat was very clear.  

The boy grit his teeth, hating every second, but ran off as soon as he was able to.

Sans watched him storm out of the store, swearing and stamping his feet, the little useless groupies soon following along behind him.  He chuckled softly, letting the red eyes lose their glare, releasing the hold on his sinister magic.  He hated doing that in public.  Quickly, before any other costumer could get any bright ideas, he reached under and grabbed the woman’s wallet.  “Excuse me, ma’am.  I believe that you dropped this?” he said, limping up to the elderly lady.

#horrortale #ht!sans #old lady #punk ass kid #surface life #undertale monsters on the surface #robbery #tw #bad language #horrortale sans #axe #platonic relationships #why do i tag

[astra-inclined]

Hello ANBU Legacy Fans! I made a playlist for ANBU Legacy. I’ll describe my thoughts on some of the songs under the cut! Hope you enjoy it!

@anbu-legacy

ANBU Legacy Playlist- The Kids Might Be Alright

1.    You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison - My Chemical Romance (I love the overall feel of this song, the chaotic nature, and especially the last lines about “going down with my friends”- I feel like we all love Legacy for many things, but especially the friendships between everyone)

2.    Savior - Rise Against (I know literally this song is about a breakup, but the overall solemn and tragic tone won me over in adding this. Also I love the word savior because that’s probably not how most laymen in Konoha view ANBU, even though they are the ones doing the dirty jobs that does ultimately “keep the peace”, and also our boys (namely Kakashi and Ryouma) doing playing savior for others, but mostly in a way that’s trying to save themselves (that suicide/murder chapter, y’all know the one))

3.    Send the Pain Below – Chevelle (Everything hurts)

4.    Control – Halsey (I love this for ANBU in general! The tone of it is so scary and mysterious and “ And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" /God damn right, you should be scared of me“ always reminds me of how they are perceived by non-ANBU folks.)

5.    Afraid (Ryouma) - The Neighborhood (This song for me is CLASSIC Ryouma- wrought with insecurities and sadness and the fear of being replaced or forgotten and not belonging and the DISTRUST while putting on his chummy face and sleeping around but really keeping everyone at arms length! @ninjaeyecandy)

6.    All I Really Want (Katsuko) - Alanis Morisette (Definitely the last lines of this songs speaks to me for Katsuko: And all I really want is some comfort/A way to get my hands untied/And all I really want is some justice...She’s so wonderful and suffered so much, and I wish she was with us longer to fuller navigate into being taken care of and loved by the team!!! #KatsukoForever, I seriously love her to death!!)

7.     What's in the Middle (Kakashi) - The Bird and the Bee (I always think of Kakashi for this because it seems like the song is about emptying one’s self of things in general, and the singer feels very detached from life/others. I see Kakashi in this line “I might need a little help with my own interconnection“ as well as the whole chorus. I also like how flat the singer sounds for him!)

8.     Skeleton (Raidou) - Bloc Party (Okay, this might be silly but I’ve literally CRIED while listening to this song and thinking about Raidou. I feel like every line fits perfectly with him- he’s a simple man, doing his best, but the constant STRUGGLE and fucking up, and he’s the Leader but he’s also still so young with wild teammates, and I just feel like he was at a breaking point in certain chapters/arcs! “And I've paid my dues/Just to get them all back” let the man have PEACE. @saunterleftside)

9.     Honest Mistake - The Bravery (They ALL say and do some dumbassery stuff sometimes)

10.   I Feel So - Boxcar Racer (They’re also often angry and fighting and feeling LOTS of emotions despite Ninja Code: Don’t Feel Shit)

11.   WagakkiBand – Kishikaisei (Genma) (Okay. @nezumiko I have such a bone to pick with you....Genma is SO put together- obviously he has faults as all humans and well rounded characters do but my GOD, it was so hard to find a song for him!!! Or at least, hard to search for qualities about him that people sing about! In the end I came to this band because they’re known for being a mix of of traditional Japanese instruments and rock. Genma’s spirituality is something I’ve always loved about this character. The lyrics I liked for this song are “Surely, you aren’t fighting by yourself/Because whatever happens, you’ll be supported/So, do your best“. I feel like Genma is SUCH a support system for everyone, being Raidou’s second in command, and feeding Ryouma’s self esteem, knowing how to navigate the more interpersonal situations. Ugh. Love love love.)

12.   You Are a Runner, and I am My Father's Son - Wolf Parade (Kakashi x Ryouma) (Okay, but isn’t this just kind of perfect?! Literally this title alone is the two of them as people! Kakashi being forever changed by Sakumo’s everything, and Ryouma running from intimacy. “I am my father's son/And I'll build a house inside of you/I'll go in through the mouth/I'll draw three figures on your heart”.)

13.   The Boy Who Ran Away – Mystery Jets (Ryouma) (Okay, Ryouma’s just so easy to find music for because he’s somehow the ANGSTIEST of them all, even next to Kakashi! I love him for it though...My OG Fallen Leaves crush. “And when he gets to this mythic place/The streets are dirty, dark and deep/There is no rest there/There is no place to lay a head to sleep, to sleep”. My heart.)

14.   New Cannonball Blues – TV On the Radio (This song scares me sometims and it’s so fast and frantic, much like certain arcs and chapters that keep me at the edge of my SEAT)

15.   Glory and Gore – Lorde (The general tone of it all, scary, dark, fighting, blood, dying. “The sun's starting to light up when we're walking home/Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises: we'll always win at this“. Obviously I don’t know where the story is going to end and play out- but realistically we all know that ANBU teams tend not to live for long...)

16.   Blood on Me – Sampha (Ugh, just such a good song and again more of the tone of it all, running away from some unknown predator and fearing for your life.)

17.   Melos – Wednesday Campanella (Okay, this actually has a short Wikipedia page I’d recommend reading: search Run, Melos! and it should pop up. Basically, the story’s main theme is “unwavering friendship” where the main character goes through a bunch of crap to save his best friend’s life!!! I love the video, I LOVE this song, and I love the whole story!! What brings enjoyment of Legacy if not the friendships in story, and also all the ones we’ve made out of it?)

18.   The Beginning – One Ok Rock (All these sad hoes) (Again, this song to me is about love/friendship/hopefulness and more good things. Despite all the adversity in this universe, I don’t think it’s ever completely dark and devoid of hope. All the characters have ability to change themselves and be more open to others and the world as a whole.)

Anyway! That’s basically the gist of what I was thinking with this playlist!!! I came from Fallen Leaves and I’m here with Legacy. I love love love the people in this fandom, as well as the current and previous writers that have given so much of their own love, care, and dedication.

I’m a month late, but have a wonderful new year everyone!!!

#anbu legacy #playlist #fanfiction #Tousaki Ryouma #Ueno Katsuko #Hatake Kakashi #Namiashi Raidou #Shiranui Genma #anbu naruto #anbu #Naruto #Kakashi #Music

[three-houses-text-files]

byleth/claude

c-s support + paired ending + night of the ball

c

Claude: Hey, Teach. I see you're as stony-faced as usual. C: Hmm. I can't tell if you're feeling resigned or if you're just lost in thought. Or maybe you simply don't care about anything that's going on. C: Oh... Sorry. I really didn't mean to be rude. I just find you fascinating. C: Actually, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. Can you spare some time?

>Sure.

C: That's just the sort of attitude I'd expect from a new teacher!

>I'm busy.

C: Is that right? Maybe this is news to you, but teachers are supposed to display an active interest in the well-being of their students. Students...like me.

C: Speaking of, before you came here, you were a mercenary, right? Always getting your hands dirty on the battlefield and whatnot? C: It's a bit unusual that you suddenly decided to become a teacher one day. C: In any case, I've been meaning to ask. Did your father teach you how to fight?

>Yes, he did.

C: I figured. Your father used to lead the knights, didn't he? And I hear he was a legendary mercenary as well.

>No, he didn't.

C: Is that so? Well, I'm sure you grew up watching his fighting style, even if he didn't teach you directly.

C: It must have been hard on your mother when you followed in your father's footsteps and became a mercenary too.

>I never knew my mother.

C: I see. I suppose you grew up moving from battlefield to battlefield with your father then. C: You know, for someone who's right around the same age as me, you certainly have an unusual amount of composure. C: I guess it's only natural that you'd be different from young nobles who grew up in the lap of luxury.

>You don't seem like a noble either.

C: Ha! Well, even so, I am heir to House Riegan, the leading family of the Alliance. C: But I didn't exactly grow up in luxury like most people of noble blood. C: Hey, maybe that's why you and I get along so well. C: Folks like us should stick together. As house leader, I'll do all I can to help you out. We can start by making time for more little chats like this.

——————————————————————————————

b (i)

C: Hey, Teach! Hold on a minute, OK? I'm gonna have this cleared up in no time.

>What are you doing?

C: I came across a fascinating book about poisons, and so I wanted to try mixing one up myself.

>Need some help?

C: Nah, that's OK. I'll be finished soon. I'm just in the middle of mixing up a new poison.

C: Aaand...done! C: What do you think of that, Teach? A colorless, odorless poison! Say...care to test it out for me?

>Sure.

C: Whoa, really?! Heh, actually, I was just kidding. If you drink this, in two days' time you'll have terrible, um...let's call it stomach trouble.

>What does it do?

C: In two days' time you'll have a terrible case of...let's call it stomach trouble. It's a peaceful poison, so you'll live, but you'll certainly be inconvenienced.

C: I hear your silent question, Teach. Why the delay? That's so it can be used even if you don't have access to the target when you need the poison to take effect. C: Um, naturally, I have no immediate plans for this stuff! I suppose I just felt like broadening the ol' horizons a bit. C: When devising schemes, it's best to have as many options at your disposal as possible. Expanding those options is kind of a hobby for me.

>Why such a dangerous hobby?

C: Well, I grew up in an environment where it was necessary to think that way. C: It's like I told you before, I wasn't born into a life of luxury. C: Ever since I was a child, I've always been seen as...different from those around me. An outsider of sorts. C: I've been resented and hated. There have even been attempts on my life. I don't believe I've earned such treatment, but that's how it goes for people like me.

>I don't think of you as an outsider.

C: Thanks, Teach. You know, in many ways I'm just a normal person like everyone else. But in the right environment, anyone could be seen as an outsider. C: It can become...overwhelming. That's why I kept running. Kept fighting. C: As a kid I spent a lot of time licking my wounds and coming up with schemes, trying to keep my nose out of trouble while plotting against my enemies. C: My parents always told me I wouldn't grow stronger if I didn't learn to fight my own battles. C: And so, in the end, I did. And I grew up to be as independent and self-reliant as my parents always wished for me to be. Lucky me, right?

>You've been through a lot.

>You grew up well.

C: If anyone knows what I'm talking about, it must be you. Eh, Teach? I get the feeling you know what it's like to be an outsider. C: The moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you weren't like everyone else. People don't care for folks like that... You'd do well to watch your back. C: On the bright side, that's also part of the reason that I find you so interesting.

——————————————————————————————

b (ii)

C: Hey, Teach. Do you believe in gods? C: I don't necessarily mean the goddess of the Seiros religion. Just...gods in general. C: Do you believe that incredible beings who control the fates of all really exist?

>I do.

C: Huh. That's not the answer I was expecting. Though, honestly, I've recently become a bit of a believer myself.

>I do not.

C: Yeah, I didn't think so. I never used to believe in that sort of thing either.

C: I've always hated the idea of praying to a god. After all, you can only really rely on yourself. C: I still believe that. You can't win a war by leaving your fate in the hands of a god. C: Only tangible facts can really decide a war. Which side has the most troops, the best tactics, the better organization and planning. C: Of course, miracles can happen. And by that, I mean things that are completely outside of your control. C: Things that only seem to add up if you believe in the concept of fate... C: Things like...well, like meeting you, for example.

>What do you mean?

C: You just seem sort of...impossible. I think everyone would agree with that. C: You can wield the Sword of the Creator, you're a tactical genius, and you have this strange ability to earn the trust of anyone you cross paths with. C: Before I met you, I never imagined that it was possible for someone like you to exist. C: And yet, now that I know you, your presence in my life has quickly become invaluable. C: In fact, it's hard to imagine making my dreams come true without your help. C: Because of that, I can't believe for a second that our meeting was just a coincidence. That means it must have been fate. C: Maybe it was a miracle. Or maybe some god empathized with me and my dreams.

>Some god?

C: Again, I don't mean the goddess of Fódlan. Though... I suppose it may be hard for you to grasp what I'm talking about. C: People all over the world have different ideas about who or what the gods are, right? Even in distant lands across the ocean or over the mountains... C: They have gods who see the world as a whole, who don't care about Fódlan's borders... C: Who don't meddle in our affairs. Who don't grant life or take it away. C: And maybe, sometimes, they'll make a miracle happen. A god like that... That's the sort of god I think I could believe in.

>I don't understand.

C: Well, it doesn't really matter. Maybe gods like that only exist in my own head.

>I think I understand.

C: Careful, Teach! You'll anger the followers of Seiros if you say things like that.

C: I'm just speaking my mind, that's all. I think people should be free to believe in whatever gods they want. C: If a person believes in a god and that god becomes a support system for them, that's a good thing. That's what a god should be. C: Anyway... Maybe I've overstepped a bit.

>It doesn't matter.

C: I knew you'd understand.

>You have.

C: Sheesh, no need to take offense! I just thought you might understand how I feel.

C: In any case, let's keep this conversation between the two of us, yeah?

——————————————————————————————

a

C: Oh, hey there. What are you doing up at this hour?

>I couldn't sleep.

Is that right? I guess the more you have to think about, the harder it is to fall asleep.

>I could ask you the same question.

C: My brain's just...busy. Thoughts keep going around and around in there, and meanwhile my eyes are wide open.

C: At times like this, I like to gaze up at the stars to clear my head. I've been that way since I was a kid. C: Looking up at the big, starry sky makes my dreams feel small...which makes it feel like I can actually make them come true. C: I didn't believe in gods when I was a kid. Maybe that's because the night sky took their place for me. C: Hey, Teach... Will you talk with me a while? C: I bet you've figured this out, but I wasn't born in Fódlan. C: Where I come from, the people of Fódlan are looked down on as cowards. C: Technically, that cowardice runs in my veins. On my mother's side, anyway. C: That's why the people who were around me when I was growing up thought of me as an outsider. C: But I don't believe the people of Fódlan are cowards. That kind of perspective is just based on ignorance. C: The person from Fódlan who I know best is my mother. C: She fell in love with a man from the wrong side of the border and had the guts to leave home to pursue that love. C: I always threw that in the faces of anyone who tried to make a fool of me. My mother is proof the people of Fódlan aren't all cowards. C: Just saying that doesn't achieve anything, though. I need to destroy the prejudices that have taken root in my homeland. C: That's why I came here, to see Fódlan with my own eyes. I thought I might be able to find a new perspective that could help me change things. C: And what did I find? That the people here view anyone who's an outsider as a beast of sorts. C: I was shocked. Even though our cultures and beliefs are completely different, our two lands have that much in common. C: That's when I realized the only way to change things is to bring the whole world together and start anew. C: That's the dream I've been working toward since I first entered the Officers Academy five years ago. C: To unify the Alliance, and then all of Fódlan, and to bring a new set of values to this new land of mine... C: After that, I'd expand that vision to the rest of the world. Break down the walls and let a new perspective come rushing in! Start all over! C: Do you think that's just a crazy pipe dream? Or a brilliant ambition?

>Can you make that pipe dream come true?

>Can you rise to the challenge of that ambition?

C: Not too long ago, I would have said that it was too much for me to accomplish on my own. C: But that's not how I feel anymore. And that's because I have you on my side now. C: Lately, I've spent a lot of time thinking about how I wouldn't have made it this far without you. C: You and me, Teach. We can go anywhere. Do anything. C: I hope that you always walk in step with me... C: At least until the day comes when we can look out at the peaceful world we've built. Together.

——————————————————————————————

s

C: Sorry for calling you out here like this. I wanted to talk, just the two of us. C: First of all, I wanted to say thank you for all your hard work. It seems like our long struggle may finally be coming to an end.

>Do you think it's really the end?

C: The way forward will certainly be rough. Right now, Fódlan is like a newborn. Frail and easily upset. C: If we don't create a new ruling system soon, the Empire and Kingdom will descend into chaos. C: The coronation ceremony is the first step. Only then will Fódlan truly be a single, united land. C: I'm sorry that I won't be by your side at such an important event, but I'm certain you'll do great.

>You won't be there?!

C: I must return to my homeland. As for ruling this new, unified land... Well, I'll leave that to you.

>...

C: The Fódlan blood that flows in my veins... I've made use of it as best I could. C: Now I've got to use my other bloodline to change my homeland for the better. C: I have royal connections there too, insignificant as they may be. It's time for me to struggle all over again and see what good I can do. C: If I don't change things in both Fódlan and the lands beyond, I'll never set eyes on the kind of world I've dreamed of creating.

>I can't be a ruler.

C: You're the successor Rhea appointed, aren't you? And now you're also the hero who saved Fódlan. C: All those weak people who have nothing to cling to but their goddess... They'll rely on you just like they used to rely on Rhea. C: You'll be a leader all who are struggling to survive in war-torn lands can look up to. C: And I...I want a ruler who can lay down a new set of values for the people. Values that don't exclude anyone for being different. C: I know it's a lot to ask. But you're the only one who can do it. C: ... C: I have something else to ask. Please... I hope you'll accept this. C: When I first saw you wield the Sword of the Creator, I wanted to use your power to my advantage. C: I wanted to use you to make my dream of a new world come true. C: But before long, I realized what I really wanted was to see that new world...with you by my side. C: I still feel that way, you know. I always will. That's why I have to leave. C: But nothing will stop me from coming back. There's no way I'm gonna let you go. You know that, don't you? C: Thank you... For everything. C: I'll be back before you know it. We'll only be apart for a short while. C: And now... I'm off to cross Fódlan's Throat. C: I love you. With everything I am. And the next time we see each other...it will be at the dawn of a whole new world. A peaceful, happy world.

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

After ascending the throne as the first leader of the United Kingdom of Fódlan, Byleth sought to rebuild the war-torn towns and villages and to help guide the reformation of the Church of Seiros. After a few months of peace, remnants of the Imperial army joined with those who slither in the dark and marched upon the capital city of Derdriu. The new kingdom lacked the power to repel the invaders, but when defeat seemed imminent, a battle cry rang out from the east. Claude, the newly-crowned King of Almyra, led a mighty army that broke through the rebel forces with ease. This show of solidarity forever altered the course of history, heralding a new age of unity.

——————————————————————————————

night of the ball

C: Oh. Hey, Teach. What brings you to the Goddess Tower? C: You know what, never mind. The answer is as clear as day. You couldn't bear the ball anymore and simply had to escape.

>I wouldn't say that...

C: There's nothing wrong with admitting you're not\ncomfortable in a noisy crowd.

>I just needed a break.

C: Really, I get it. I'm the same way.

>I don't believe it.

C: Ha! See right through me, do you? But I really do mean it. Parties aren't for me. C: Music and fun are all well and good, but those dances the nobles do are...something else. C: I was never really taught to do that sort of thing. My upbringing was...lacking in certain ways.

>Even though you're from a noble family?

>Even though you're heir to the Alliance?

C: Even so. I may have secured a fancy new title, but who I am on the inside... Well, status alone can't change that. C: That's a bit of an aside, though. Say, Teach...have you heard the legends about this tower? C: They say if a man and a woman pray for the same thing here, on this night, the goddess will grant their wish without fail.

>Why tonight?

C: Who knows? Maybe it has something to do with celebrating the anniversary of the monastery's completion. C: Maybe the goddess comes down from above on this night and this night alone to celebrate with us. Even goddesses like to party, right? C: The truth is that it's just a legend the students here like to tell. It's not based on any real facts. C: But I suppose it would be a waste to pass up a chance of having our wish granted. What do you say, Teach? Care to try?

>What would we pray for?

C: Hm... Let's see... How about we pray for our ambitions to come true? C: You don't exactly seem like the selfish type, but even you must have an ambition or two.

>I do.

C: That's what I thought. It's the same for everyone.

>I do not.

C: Even if you're not aware of it, I'm sure there's something your heart of hearts wishes for.

>More of a hope...

C: No one is ever completely satisfied. Everyone has something they long for. Otherwise, what's the point of it all?

C: Of course, same goes for me. Without even realizing it, I found myself holding tight to some pretty big ambitions. C: If you would... I would love for you to share in those ambitions with me, Teach. C: But all that aside, let's get started. Let's pray to the goddess before she tuckers out for the evening. OK... Here goes. C: Oh, divine Goddess! Hear our prayers! We beseech you and your radiance! Please, grant us that which we seek! C: Huh. C: I think that should do it. The goddess'll make our dreams come true now, yeah?

>I wonder.

C: At any rate, we've done all we can. Whether we actually believe our dreams will come true or not is up to us. C: I suppose we should head back soon. I'm sure everyone is looking for you. C: Just promise to spare a dance for me. OK, Teach? I swear, so long as it's not one of those goofy noble dances, I am a treasure on the dance floor!

#fire emblem three houses spoilers #fe16 spoilers #fe3h spoilers #byleth x claude #claude x byleth

[lovelylogans]

cocoa

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: mention of puppy mills, dogs, secret-keeping, food mentions, recreational drinking (not to drunkenness) kissing, that’s about it. this one’s mostly fluff, folks.

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 7,766

notes: bold of you to assume i wouldn’t take the canon dog in gilmore girls WHO WAS ORIGINALLY NAMED COCOA and directly transport it into this verse. picture of the inspiration behind wyliwf!cocoa here as a puppy and here as an adult, btw. she’s a mixed breed, definitely has some chow chow (hence the Fluffy, if u are acquainted w/ mash potato, he is a chow chow) and german shepherd (hence the coloring) along with some other Mystery Breeds in there, so!

thirty-five isn’t exactly a special birthday.

thirty-three, sure, maybe, repeated numbers. thirty? yeah, new decade! but thirty-five—well, it’s just a halfway point, isn’t it? patton doesn’t think there should be much going on in preparation for that. a dinner, a little party/get-together, and patton’d be happy, which he’s told both virgil and logan (and roman, when he wanted an excuse to throw a party.)

so virgil and logan being so evasive over the past couple weeks or so means that patton’s been getting as investigative as logan about what could be going on with the pair of them.

logan, at least, has an excuse—apparently, there was some random, weird deadline for the franklin that logan had run into and had to guide the rest of the staff through—but virgil has just been a little... well, a little strange.

he’s been intent on suddenly patching up the back fence, which he’d been on about when there were rumors of foxes and raccoons getting into trash, but that had been months ago. it seemed like a weird time for this desire to resurface, considering it’s january. there wasn’t really much of a chance of all that when the ground was basically frozen over—patton doesn’t know much about winter habits of foxes and raccoons, but he’s pretty sure they’ve gone for warmer climates, or at least might be sleeping it out.

he’s been reading some kind of articles that he keeps humming at thoughtfully and bookmarking on his phone, patton thinks, except virgil hastily turns off the phone’s screen and turns to smile at patton whenever he tries to peek.

he’s also been furtively ordering things—patton would think it’s birthday presents, except he caught a glance of one of the labels of the boxes and it’s from tiny company that, patton has searched, makes some specialty peanut butter cookies and the like. food is virgil’s thing, he wouldn’t just order it, so maybe patton got the company wrong?

and now...

patton knocks gently on the top of the coffee table, so he doesn’t startle virgil into hitting his head.

“um,” he says. “hey there, honey.”

“hey,” virgil says, forcefully casual.

“can i ask what you’re doing under the coffee table and half under the couch?”

“i, uh,” virgil says, and coughs. “thought i saw something under the couch. cleaning, you know.”

“yeah,” patton says, and settles on the ground. “except you’ve kind of been deep-cleaning the house for the past week.”

“um... yep.”

“i don’t think you could’ve missed something if you’d been trying,” patton says, amused, and reaches out to scratch a little at virgil’s back. the part he can reach, anyway. 

“i’m really deep-cleaning,” virgil says. 

“i kinda figured.”

“really,” virgil says, “really deep-cleaning.”

patton grins, scratches at virgil’s back again. “did you get whatever was under the couch, then?”

virgil withdraws from the couch, an old piece of paper crumpled up in his hands.

“we should really vacuum under the couches more,” virgil says, and patton leans over to kiss his cheek.

“whatever you say, darling.”

(“how do you feel about dogs?”

virgil glances up from where he’s wiping down the counter—logan, in his chilton blue-and-navy, is sitting at his counter.

“uh, i have generally positive feelings toward dogs?” virgil says. “they’re cute. i’ve never had one. wait, aren’t you supposed to be working at the franklin right now, that random deadline, right?”

ever since logan was told he’d be editor-in-chief of the franklin at the end of his junior year, and now that he’s started his senior year and has been at the helm for over five months, he’s been spending lots long afternoons at the school, deep in the journalism lab, fussing over copy and photos and ap style and page design. virgil’d be worried about him overworking himself, but he knows that mel can, has, and will kick him out if he sticks around for too long, plus dee is there to antagonize him into getting distracted, along with some other chilton friends swinging in and out.

“i made it up,” logan says. “it’s going to be a cover story.”

“a cover story,” virgil repeats slowly. “right. okay. for what?”

logan hesitates, glances around, and says, in a lowered voice to avoid eavesdroppers, “dad’s birthday is in two weeks.”

“right,” virgil says slowly. 

“i think we should get him a dog.”

virgil pauses, before he sets aside the rag. “a dog,” he repeats.

“yes,” logan says. “a dog. a canine. canis lupus familiaris.”

“why a dog?” virgil says. “i mean, i know patton wanted one when he was a kid, but, well. your grandparents.”

logan hesitates, just for a moment, before he says, “i’m graduating in may.”

virgil knows this. virgil has had several crises about it. virgil has sat with patton through his various crises about it. virgil could not possibly be more aware that logan is, in fact, about to leave the nest.

“yeah,” he says.

“well,” logan says. “i’d have suggested a cat if he wasn’t allergic, but. he’s been used to taking care of someone or something for all this time. once i’m gone... it just. it might be a good way to cope, that’s all.”

“like the exact reversal of getting a dog to prepare for having kids,” virgil says, starting to get it. “getting a dog to deal with not having a kid around as much anymore.”

“yes. precisely.”

virgil considers this—he considers him and patton in the house, alone. and then he pictures a dog, big, small, medium, resting its head in patton’s lap, patton petting the dog, hugging it. taking the dog for walks and training it—well. it would be hard work. it would be a lot of energy. it’d be a commitment for however long the dog would be alive.

but it would be a comfort, too.

“all right, then. it’s time for me to start researching dogs, i guess.”

“oh, i’ve been researching breeds and training methods and house preparation and shelters in our area for a month now,” logan says briskly, and reaches into his backpack to take out a binder, and virgil really doesn’t know what he’d expected.)

...

(“hey,” virgil says, as logan slides into the passenger’s seat of his car. “how was school?”

“good,” logan says. “i had a pop quiz in latin, i think i did relatively well on it.”

“nice,” virgil says, and pulls out of the parking spot.

this is their second time visiting an animal shelter—they’d dropped by the sideshire one, but realized that they wouldn’t really be able to keep an adoption of an animal secret at home, especially considering that patton sometimes volunteered to walk the dogs there. this time, they were going to a place closer to the city that logan’s research assured them was humane, a nonprofit society, and took part in raids against illegal puppy mills and dog fighting rings—all in all, virgil thought it seemed like a pretty standup shelter.

“okay,” virgil says, as they’re pulling into a parking spot at the shelter. “and we do have a plan for if we find The Dog today, right?”

“they’ll hold a pet for you up to a certain point,” logan says. “i’ve asked mrs. prince and roman, and they said that if we had to bring the dog home earlier than anticipated, they’d be willing to house it.”

virgil nods, absorbing this, and gets out of the car.

“right, then,” virgil says. “let’s go see some dogs.”

they see some dogs. they see a lot of dogs.

they, eventually, see the dog. she’s tiny, and absurdly fluffy, and she eagerly attempts to institute herself in their laps the moment they sit down, demanding pets and treats and love, and she’s too cute for words. she snuffles at them eagerly and wags her tail so hard virgil kind of fears that she’ll fall over to the side, but she’s so energetic she’d probably bound up again immediately, wagging her tail even faster. she’s got big, clumsy paws, and big ears, and a too-long tail, and big, chocolate brown eyes that she’ll probably grow into. when she licks at his chin, he's basically sold immediately.

“virgil,” logan says, in the midst of petting the puppy, examining her temporary plastic collar. “look at her name.”

virgil leans enough to check the little paper sheet full of the information on the outside of the weird room-crate things this shelter’s got going on, and lets out a low whistle. 

“right, then,” virgil says. “that’s that.”

“we have a dog,” logan says, with a smile that he hasn’t quite tamped down—virgil realizes, belatedly, this is logan’s first pet outside of the occasional goldfish and smuggled-in-from-the-outdoors frog or turtle, and maybe all the face-licking and snuffling and puppy eyes had sold logan, too.

“we have a dog,” virgil agrees.)

“oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!!!!” patton hears roman squealing from where he’s in the kitchen, and patton leans his head out in time to see roman holding logan’s phone and cooing.

“what’s up?” patton says, toting the two bowls of popcorn he’d been in charge of preparing and settling back down on the couch next to virgil, and roman and logan both look up from the phone, roman grinning.

“oh—nothing,” roman says, and passes logan’s phone back to him. “just a cute, um, dance picture thing, s’all.”

“can i see?” patton asks.

“it was a snapchat,” roman says. “faded away after ten seconds.”

“oh, darn,” patton says. “what movie were we going to watch, again?”

“maybe we should watch lassie,” roman says, voice in that faux-innocent tone he’s been using when he’s up to mischief for years, and logan elbows him hard in the side. patton looks to virgil, confused.

“did i miss something?”

“maybe best if you don’t ask,” virgil advises him, and patton nods, taking a handful of popcorn.

...

patton’s decided to take a page from his son’s book and keep notes about things he’s noticed that are Weird, partially because he’s bored and partially because he’s now very interested in whatever’s going on here.

there’s the whole fence thing, as virgil had spent a good chunk of his saturday hauling out his and patton’s shared toolbox and grumbling irritably at the fence as he patches up holes and makes sure nothing can get into the backyard, sometimes retreating back into the house to stick his hands somewhere on patton’s person in order to warm up and drinking tea before he went back out there.

(“does this seem secure enough to hold a puppy?” virgil asks logan, when he comes out to the yard. “i mean, she’s really small, but she probably couldn’t fit through any of these holes, right? plus she’s growing.”

“she’ll be on a leash most of the time, anyway,” logan points out.

“i know, but—”

“virgil. the fence is fine.”)

he’s also hidden a variety of boxes away somewhere, labels that he’ll cover with his hands and say “don’t look don’t look birthday surprise!” which only makes patton want to look even more, and really, patton doesn’t think he’s a person that virgil needs to get several boxes of gifts for, so he’s dying to figure that one out when the time comes.

(“how does a dog require so much stuff?” logan says disbelievingly, sorting through the latest incoming purchase. “is this order just entirely collars?”

“harnesses, too, but she’ll grow out of them!” virgil says. “so we’ll have ones for when she does, i’m planning.”

“you’re going to spoil this dog,” logan says. “you’ve bought her bandanas.”

“look me in the eyes and tell me that patton wouldn’t love to accessorize his dog with bandanas,” virgil says, pointedly ignoring the suspiciously familiar black bandana with purple plaid stitched on with thick white thread that logan shakes at him accusingly.)

the whole deep-cleaning-the-house thing hasn’t stopped, and sure, it’s nice and tidy, but really, there’s only so much deep cleaning you can do before you can pronounce a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath house with one bedroom he wouldn’t go into, considering it’s logan’s room, fully clean, right?

(“i know puppies chew on things, but virgil, this is getting ridiculous,” logan says. “you’ve puppy-proofed the entire house at least five times. if she chews on something at this point, she’s to be commended for her creativity.”

“i just want to be sure she doesn’t choke on anything,” virgil says.

“i am positive the puppy won’t chew on old paper,” logan says pointedly. “and even if she does, if it isn’t a huge thing of paper, she’ll be fine.”

“don’t come crying to me when she throws up in your room, then.”)

he keeps going to the town library? sure, virgil’s a reader—not as much as logan, but maybe no one could ever be as much of a reader as logan is—but usually he brings books home and sets them on the bedside table and reads them gradually, over the course of a few days, but a few people have mentioned to him that they’ve seen virgil in the library, he’s reading books there and not at home, though no one’s really seen exactly what he’s reading.

(“what... is that?”

“um. it—apparently, it’s—i read that if we give her a hot water bottle and a ticking clock near her sleeping area, it imitates the heat and heartbeat of her littermates and helps her get acclimated to her environment better, so—so it’s a clock. for her.”

“virgil. you went out and bought a clock. for the dog.”

“okay, look, whose idea was it to get a dog in the first place?!”

“i haven’t bought a clock for the dog!”)

and now—

“babe,” patton says, dragging his fist across his still-sleepy-bleary eyes and settling his glasses on his nose, and virgil jumps before he pivots.

“hey!” virgil says. “i—sorry, did i wake you up?”

“no, just woke up and saw the time and wondered where you were,” patton says. he’d like to be coordinated about his affection, but he is very sleepy, so he just plods over to virgil and, essentially, walks straight into him until virgil wraps his arms around him with a soft laugh.

“sorry,” virgil murmurs, and kisses his temple. “i’ll be right up, i promise.”

patton peeks around his shoulder, and says, “was filling up some kind of new cookie jar really a huge priority, this time of night?”

“i—no,” virgil admits. “i just kind of got into the swing of doing dishes and wiping down the table and i ended up—well. filling up a new cookie jar.”

“i didn’t even know we got a new cookie jar,” patton says.

“surprise,” virgil says. patton reaches forward, intending to steal one of these apparently-good-enough-to-stay-up-past-midnight-for cookies, and virgil quickly closes a hand over patton’s wrist.

“um, probably not a best idea at this time of night,” virgil says. “sugar’ll keep you up.”

“that is a blatant lie,” patton says, and virgil leans down to kiss him again—quick, almost chaste.

“then it’ll be too much of a fuss to brush your teeth again,” virgil says, and sets the lid on the top of the jar before physically turning patton around. “let’s get to bed, yeah?”

“you’re being weird,” patton says, then decides, “i’ll deal with it in the morning.”

except in the morning, like it’s some kind of strange fever dream, the new cookie jar’s gone.

(”why did you decide to fill up the jar with dog treats in the middle of the night,” logan hisses at virgil as virgil’s making breakfast, logan looking for somewhere to hide the jar before patton comes downstairs, and ends up cramming it in the cupboard under the sink.

“it just happened!” virgil says defensively.)

...

the thing about instituting house rules for birthdays is that they tend to get thrown back at you.

“but i can—“

“no,” virgil says, from where he’s double-checking that the streamers will stay up if someone leans against the wall. “house rules. it’s your house, you know them.”

“virgil,” patton grumbles. “you wouldn’t be ruining my birthday if i helped with my decorations—”

“nope,” virgil says. “if i wasn’t allowed to cook on my birthday, you’re not allowed to decorate.”

patton sinks back against the couch with a huff, crossing his arms.

it’s been a very nice birthday, generally speaking. virgil made a massive breakfast, eggs and hashbrowns and bacon and biscuits and chocolate croissants and donuts, and didn’t monitor his hot cocoa/coffee consumption, for once, and logan and roman had swung by for breakfast before swinging out again (“i’m under oath,” roman had said solemnly, when patton asked them what they were up to) and they still haven’t come back, even though the party’s due to start in ten minutes.

once virgil has triple-checked everything, and fetched patton a glass of wine, he tugs patton to his feet and wraps his arms around him, smiling down at him.

“hi,” patton says, not quite able to keep the grudging tone he’d been trying to go for.

“hey,” virgil says. “happy birthday.”

a smile breaks out on patton’s face, even when he’s very sure he’d tried not to let that happen. “you’ve told me that already.”

“and i’ll probably say it again,” virgil says, and he leans down to kiss patton, and kiss him, warm and soft and the best kind of overwhelming, and patton really regrets having to break the kiss in order to breathe, but he very much likes the small, needy, breathless sound that virgil makes when he does.

the doorbell rings, and patton groans, leaning his head against virgil’s chest.

“the timing of whoever’s at the door,” he informs virgil’s sternum, “is terrible.”

virgil snorts and drops a kiss to the top of patton’s head, and patton reluctantly disentangles himself from virgil in order to answer it.

he really should have expected who it is.

“patton,” his father says. “happy birthday.”

“thanks, dad, mom,” patton says, and steps aside so that they can file into his house.

“hi richard, emily,” virgil says. “do you want something to drink?”

“stoli on the rocks with a twist, if you can manage it,” emily says.

“richard? oh, patton, here’s your wine,” virgil adds, pushing the glass into his hands again.

richard requests scotch.

“i can—”

“absolutely not,” virgil says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “stay out here in case anyone comes to the door, yeah?”

patton sighs, and does.

the party fills up in waves—isadora and emily are engaging in some kind of silent stare-off in the corner as richard has, once again, escaped from a party with a magazine in hand—and soon enough, patton’s busy entertaining people and making the rounds. it fills up so slowly that patton almost doesn’t notice until he ducks back into the kitchen to check on virgil, how chaotic it is, how it’s just a bit too noisy—he thinks that most of the inn’s employees have shown up, as well as his friends and neighbors from throughout sideshire. 

and when he gets into the kitchen, the quiet nearly overwhelms him. patton has to lean against a counter and let out a slow breath when it hits him.

virgil glances up from where he’s been topping off some snack bowls, and sets them aside.

“hey there,” he says, and drops a kiss on top of patton’s head—patton’s cheeks flush, feeling warmer than he already is, and he beams up at him.

“hi,” patton says.

“having fun?”

"mhm,” patton says, and winds his arms around virgil. “missing my fella, though.”

virgil smiles down at him, soft, and brushes a curl off his forehead. 

“i have had,” patton informs him, “some wine.”

virgil’s grin grows a bit more wry. “that so?”

“i haven’t caught anyone at it, but someone keeps filling up my glass and i suspect remy,” patton says. 

“yeah, he would,” virgil grumbles.

“i’ll understand what’s going on between you two someday,” patton says—the slightly-joking-but-not-really rivalry between them has bemused patton for years now.

virgil snorts, once. patton’s about to poke fun at him a bit more, but there’s the chime of a text message, and virgil digs his phone out of his pocket.

“it’s logan,” he says. “i’m just gonna make sure that he’s got your surprise all set.”

“it has to be brought into the house?” patton says, and blinks up at him. “but what about all those boxes?”

“you’ll see,” virgil says, and twines his fingers with patton’s, tugging him out into the living room. patton gets parked soundly on the couch. 

“wait here.”

“for my surprise?”

“for your surprise,” virgil confirms, and patton squeezes virgil’s hand tight before he lets him go. 

“a surprise?” dot, his neighbor, asks.

“in five or so minutes,” patton says. “or, whenever virgil and logan come back, i guess.”

“oh, the surprise,” babette says, and winks at morey—neither of them holding cinnamon, which is strange, considering their cat comes with them everywhere. “morey, the surprise is coming.”

“you know what it is?”

“know what what is?” sookie asks, looking up from the tray of canapés she’s brought and is still experimenting with. 

patton’s distantly aware that other people are disrupting their own conversations in order to turn attention to his, but he can’t really care right now.

“my birthday surprise,” patton tells sookie. “virgil’s been acting weird for the past couple weeks, and apparently all the investigative skills in the family went to logan, because i’ve been trying to figure it out and i’ve got zilch.”

“well, it is a surprise,” sookie says reasonably. 

“babs?”

“sorry, sugar,” babette says, and patton sighs. just a little.

“well, i’ll find out soon, i guess,” patton says.

...

“hey,” virgil says.

“hello,” logan says, holding tight to the leash; the puppy is teething at the leash, too, still attempting to walk forward even though logan’s come to a stop. 

“hi,” roman adds, holding the box that virgil had gotten specifically for this. 

there’s a bit of weight on virgil’s shoe—the puppy’s come forward, set her little paws on his boots, and is sniffing eagerly at his jeans.

“hi,” virgil says (he does not coo) and leans down to pet her, scratching behind her ears, before he glances up to see roman grinning at him.

virgil coughs, and says, gruff, “here, give me the leash, i can get her ready for the surprise.”

logan hands over the leash, and roman sets down the box, before he digs out—

“seriously?”

“if you’re getting a dog as a birthday present, you have to put a bow around her neck, it’s practically the law,” roman says. virgil sighs and snatches it away.

“fine, fine,” he says. “go inside, text me when everything’s all set.”

roman takes logan’s hand, and logan pulls him toward the house; there’s a swell of music as the front door opens, then closes.

“okay,” virgil tells the dog. “um. so, you’re about to meet patton.”

the puppy continues to chew at her leash, still looking at him with her chocolate brown eyes.

“patton’s the best,” he tells her. “and he’s gonna love you, and we’re—you know. we’re gonna take care of you, and—and we’ve never taken care of a dog before, but we managed to raise a kid okay, and you’ve never lived with humans before, so we’re both new at this. we’ll do the best we can. okay?”

the dog tilts her head.

“i’m talking to a puppy,” virgil mutters, and shakes his head. “right, then. let’s get you all set.”

he puts the puppy into the box—it’s got a lid and a box, both separately wrapped, it has a blanket in the bottom, and cut-out handles so that virgil can carry her, and so that she gets air—and carefully removes her leash.

“comfy?” he asks.

she sits.

“good girl,” he murmurs, because reinforcing praise is important, and pets her for a bit. he looks at the bow roman had given him—big and red, of course—before he carefully ties it to her collar. she attempts to nip at it, before virgil wiggles his fingers in front of her face, distracting her.

“okay,” virgil says. “we can just sit here and wait until logan or roman texts us, yeah? and i can just keep petting you.”

so he does—at once point, virgil’s practically in the box with her because it turns out the puppy very much likes belly rubs, but it also turns out that fingers are, potentially, the best teething tool of all time (virgil is familiar with this, but it’s been about sixteen or so years since logan’s needed to chew at his fingers) so she is very conflicted between letting virgil scratch her belly and chewing at virgil’s fingers. 

virgil’s phone buzzes, and virgil removes a hand in order to check—logan’s said He’s ready—and leans in to peek at the puppy.

“okay,” he says. “i’m gonna put the lid on, and i’m gonna carry you around for a little, but you’ll be out of the box soon, okay? and you’ll meet patton, who i’m sure will spoil you rotten and pet you until you’re sick of it.”

she wags her tail.

“cool,” virgil says, and carefully sets the lid on the box, and even more carefully picks up the box, making sure that the box stays level.

before he has to consider how he’s going to hold this (frankly kind of absurdly too big) box and open the door, roman opens the door for him, grinning. also, he’s holding his phone horizontally, which means he’s definitely recording this.

patton’s smiling, but there’s a curious glint in his eyes as virgil shuffles slowly forward, very conscious of the tiny little puppy in the box that he doesn’t want to jostle.

the people at the party have also ringed around the room—babette and morey, who have remembered not to bring cinnamon, since he doesn’t know how the puppy will react to a cat, dot and larry, sookie and michel, and emily has somehow managed to pull richard away from his magazine, among everyone else—watching as virgil carefully sets the box at patton’s feet.

"logan just told me that the deadline was a cover story,” patton tells virgil. “you’re in trouble.”

virgil grins. “all of this was logan’s idea in the first place, actually. i thought it was a real deadline too until he brought me in on it.”

patton huffs, put-upon. “well,” he says airily, and elbows logan jokingly, “this better be a good surprise, then.”

“open it and see,” virgil says.

patton leans forward, and begins to pry off the lid. virgil waits with bated breath. 

as soon as he gets the lid off and seems to catch a glimpse of what’s inside, patton squeals in shock, jerking away from the box, and for a second virgil thinks they’ve horribly miscalculated and patton’s actually afraid of dogs, but that’s before he leans right back forward again and reaches down to pet the puppy.

“hi,” patton croons, and then he starts to giggle—before he puts his hands over his face, before he peeks out again, like he was checking to be sure that the puppy wasn’t a hallucination and that she wouldn’t disappear as soon as he took his eyes off her. and then he looks at virgil, eyes bright and eager and excited, laughing the whole time.

“is this real?!” patton demands between giggles. 

“of course it’s real,” logan says, and patton puts his hands over his face for a second, before leaning back forward and reaching down to pet the dog.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” patton repeats, and, with a jolt, virgil realizes that he’s crying, and patton meets eyes with him, beaming hugely, and virgil feels some kind of unnameable emotion swell up in his chest—the closest he can get to identifying it is joy.

“hello,” patton repeats to the puppy, then, to virgil, “can i hold it?”

“do whatever you want, she’s your dog,” virgil points out, unable to stop his own smile.

“she’s a girl?”

“she’s a girl,” logan confirms, “ten weeks old,” and patton carefully reaches in, still giggling all the while, and carefully hoists the dog into his lap, therefore bringing the dog into the view of the rest of the room, which makes a variety of gasping, cooing noises that are really exactly what a surprise puppy deserves.

“oh my gosh,” patton repeats, and giggles even louder when the puppy sniffs at his face, and licks the tears off his cheeks. “oh, my gosh, hi there, sweetheart!”

the puppy squirms, and patton adjusts his grip, staring.

“she’s so fluffy,” he says in awe. “oh, my gosh, she’s like a teddy bear, look at how fluffy she is!”

the puppy is, indeed, very fluffy, and very stuffed-animal-esque in her adorable-ness, and patton sniffles, burying his face in her fur, just for a moment. the puppy wiggles a little, in order to keep licking and sniffing at patton, so patton resurfaces after a few seconds, crying harder than ever.

patton’s grinning, so virgil’s pretty sure he’s crying because he’s happy, but he wants to be sure, so—

“do you like her?” virgil asks hesitantly.

“i love her,” patton sobs, and virgil climbs onto the couch, so that he can wrap an arm around patton’s shoulders and kiss him on the cheek.

“i can’t believe you got me a puppy,” patton chokes out, and sniffles noisily, before pressing a kiss to the puppy’s forehead and settling her on his lap. 

“logan, technically, campaigned for you to get a puppy, i was just the one who was legally able to adopt her,” virgil says, and patton turns to logan, smiling.

“you should check her collar,” logan suggests, before patton can get any more emotional than he already is.

“her collar?” patton says.

“her name,” virgil elaborates. “which the shelter gave her and you can change it, if you want to, but—”

“you won’t want to,” logan says. 

patton adjusts the bow, and takes hold of the little temporary tag virgil’s gotten her, before they can register her with the vet near sideshire and make sure that they’ve got record of all her shots and the fact that she’s been spayed and microchip her so on, and takes a moment to read it. his jaw drops.

“no way,” he says.

“way,” virgil says. 

“her name is cocoa?” patton gasps. “that’s perfect!”

“told you,” logan murmurs.

“hi, cocoa!” patton croons to the puppy, holding her up in a way that’s vaguely reminiscent of lion king, except it’s at face-level and looking toward him. “hi there, my sweet girl! are you cocoa? i think you are!”

cocoa wriggles in protest, attempting to lean forward and lick patton’s face, and patton holds her tight in his arms, face just glowing, and yeah, wow, this was an amazing idea, go logan.

“so you’re definitely okay with the surprise pet,” virgil checks, and patton laughs, leaning forward to kiss him, the puppy attempting to free herself from between them, and it’s one of those amazing, perfect moments that virgil will keep with him forever, not to sound sappy or anything.

the party’s basically permanently derailed, after that.

people approach the puppy in groups, which means that virgil learns a bit more about cocoa: she likes fetch, but only for one or two throws before she gets distracted by something else. she really likes it when you scratch her neck, under her collar, because her back leg starts doing that thumping thing that dogs do when you’ve hit the sweet spot. she likes to play tug of war, which is normal, but she grabs onto pant legs with her teeth and clings even as she gets dragged around the room, so they’ll have to train her out of that. 

he also hasn’t really been able to seen her walk around a room, but since she’s got stubby little puppy legs and too-big paws that she needs to grow into, she practically waddles, which is both hilarious and adorable, and virgil witnesses her trip over her paws a couple times, which is cute, even if his heart stops and he half-lunges toward her in the time that it takes for her to re-establish her balance, tail wagging, and continue happily toddling along her intended path.

patton’s attention to most of the rest of the party is lost, too, since he keeps sitting on the floor and playing with the puppy, following her from group to group and randomly bursting into giggles at the sight of her doing something even slightly adorable, which, considering she is a very cute dog, is very often. he occasionally leans down to scoop her up into her arms and kiss her, which, well, virgil remembers him doing something similar with logan when logan was first able to walk reliably enough but still stumbling every few steps, so he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

patton is also half the reason the puppy is getting introduced to everyone. case in point:

“this is your grand-dog,” patton tells emily cheerfully, holding cocoa out in a way that emily would be able to take him. “you can hold her, she’s very light and very soft and very fluffy.”

emily looks like she’s about to decline the offer, like she doesn’t want cocoa to shed all over her fancy skirtsuit, before she sees virgil mouthing hold the goddamn dog behind patton’s head. she sighs, but she holds the dog, in a way that clearly denotes that she has never held a dog before—hands under cocoa’s armpits, letting her legs dangle in the air.

she stares at cocoa. cocoa stares at her, legs paddling in the air.

“you can hold her like a baby,” patton says helpfully, “that’s okay too” and emily adjusts her grip accordingly. 

and then she just. holds the dog. she doesn’t pet cocoa or anything. she’s just holding cocoa like a baby.

“isn’t she cute?!” patton says happily.

“...certainly,” emily says stiffly.

“i love her,” patton says.

“hmph,” she says, “well,” and passes cocoa back to patton, before she swipes her hands across her jacket, attempting to discard the fur.

“i’m gonna introduce her to dad,” patton says happily, and goes off to find richard as emily continues to sweep her hands across her shirt.

virgil digs the lint roller out of his hoodie, and holds it out.

"ah,” she says.

she brushes it along, and, once she’s satisfied, she moves to hand it back, before she pauses.

“where did you get this dog?” she asks suspiciously, as if virgil has specifically gotten a flea-infested rabid dog for the sole purpose of getting her to hold it, so it can infect her.

“a shelter,” virgil says.

“which one?” she says. “is it reputable?”

“you were on their donor wall,” virgil says, non-chalant. “so i’d sure hope so.”

she pulls a face at him—well, the emily equivalent of pulling a face. so, virgil one, emily zip.

“what breed is she?”

“german shepherd, chow mix,” virgil says mildly. “there’s some other breeds in there too, we think, but—”

“you should have gone to a breeder.”

“she was a rescue from a puppy mill,” virgil says, even more mildly, “so—“

emily sighs, long and irritated, before she says doubtfully, “it was logan’s idea to get a dog.” 

“yep, it was,” virgil says.

“why would logan suggest a dog?” emily says, and virgil glances around—richard is holding the dog slightly better, and tilting his head at it with the same curiosity that he does at a headline about “the youths.” 

“he’s worried about patton empty-nesting in the fall,” virgil says. “he wanted to be sure that patton still had something to take care of, so. dog.”

“and that was logan’s idea,” she says. “not yours.”

“...yeah,” virgil says.

“you must have had some other idea for patton’s birthday,” she says, as if doubting that virgil has not masterminded the whole dog plot and cocoa will eventually be trained into a vicious attack dog that specifically goes for white people in the upper tax bracket, or something, as if she is not currently chasing a ball tossed by richard, and then she slides and wipes out in a hilarious fashion before scrambling back onto her paws, tail wagging, panting eagerly, looking like the clumsiest and least threatening dog that had ever lived.

and virgil thinks about the jewelry stores he’s got listed in his private notes, the inspiration rings he’s got saved in about seven randomly named, nested folders on his password-protected laptop that you can’t find without searching for it specifically, the budget that he’s already schemed out, the various ideas that he’ll probably ask logan to help fine-tune, and he shrugs.

“nothing that can’t wait.”

...

patton’s still kind of in shock, but, like, the best kind of shock.

because. he has a dog. he has a dog!!! the surprise is a puppy!

she’s adorable! patton loves her already! whenever he looks at her it feels like his heart is made of melty gooey marshmallows! 

“no cocoa baby don’t eat that,” patton says, gently removing a piece of wrapping paper from her mouth. she attempts to follow it, despite the fact that he puts it out of her reach, and he puts a dog toy (virgil has been pulling out absurd amounts of dog supplies from every hidden nook and cranny in the house since the party ended) in her line of sight instead, squeaking it. cocoa takes that instead, lying down with a little thump, gnawing it at it.

“so, the way i get you to follow your own house rules is to give you a puppy,” virgil says, amused, picking up the wrapping paper and putting it in the trash bag that he’s filling with trash from the party, “got it.”

patton grins up at him sheepishly. “i could help if you—”

“nope,” virgil says, “absolutely not,” and runs his fingers through patton’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp, before he goes to sweep the coffee table of discarded paper plates and napkins.

“god, she’s so cute,” roman gushes, from where he and logan are sitting across from patton, the three of them kind of boxing cocoa in, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “i love her floppy little ears, and her big ol’ eyes, and her fluffy perfect face—”

“she is an aesthetically pleasing dog,” logan agrees. 

she is. she’s varying shades of brown, fawn and chocolate and chestnut and coffee and taupe, with a splash of white on her chest. her ears are a gradient of the varying shades of brown, and her snout is the same dark color as the edges of her ears. her fluff levels are truly off the charts, and she has pink little beans for toes, and her eyes are so soulful that patton’s genuinely going to get beaten out in the “best-puppy-dog-eyes-in-the-house” competition, though he passively wonders if she still counts considering she is a puppy dog, but—

“jeez, logan, you don’t have to be so sentimental about it,” roman teases.

cocoa squeaks her toy in agreement. it’s shaped like a mallard, with a goofy, cartoonish grin on its bill. 

gradually, naturally, the conversation dies down, and they’re all left in a companionable silence, except for the occasional murmur of “you comfy?” between his son and his son’s boyfriend, and patton softly entreating cocoa with a variety of pet-centric nicknames that he can barely make sense of—sweet girl, fuzzyface, sugarbun, marshmallow, kissyface—and eventually, cocoa flops onto her side and snoozes with a variety of tiny puppy snoring noises, and patton’s heart’s so full it feels like it might burst.

and once the house is relatively clean (a bit impossible to be fully clean, with the clutter that’s so ingrained into the house it’s practically a piece of furniture, patton barely notices it anymore) virgil settles onto the ground with patton with a soft huff, and briefly leans his head against patton’s shoulder, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“good birthday?”

“amazing birthday,” patton corrects. “fantastic birthday. really spectacular birthday.”

virgil smiles, just a little. “good.” a pause, and then, “late, though.”

patton stifles his smile—virgil fussing about food and caffeine intake and about his sleep schedule has really been happening for as long as they’ve known each other. “you’re right,” he agrees. “i—d’you think cocoa needs to go out?”

“probably,” virgil agrees. “i’ll go with you.”

patton nods, and reaches out to scoop cocoa into his arms—she stirs a little, before settling in his arms just like a slumbering baby, and okay, patton might cry a little, she’s so cute?!

“remember to sleep out in the living room,” patton reminds. “don’t stay up too late, kids.”

he gets “we won’ts” that he’s not sure how close they’ll stick to, and a “happy birthday” from roman and a hug from his son, as virgil trails him toward the backyard. patton descends the patio steps, before he carefully places cocoa, paw-first, onto the grass. she folds herself up and it seems like she’s content to continue sleeping in the grass.

“no,” patton scolds, in a half-laugh, putting her on her paws again. “c’mon, puppy, do your business, and then you can sleep for as long as you want.”

cocoa seems to sigh, before she toddles forward a few steps, nose firmly stuck to the grass to sniff and investigate, and arms come around patton’s waist. patton smiles, leaning back into the warmth of it—january birthdays meant sometimes white birthdays, which were cool, but the cold was just something else—tilting his chin a little, and virgil obligingly presses a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re seriously good with the surprise pet,” virgil checks, and patton huffs a laugh, leaning back against virgil’s chest and securing his grip on virgil’s wrists, to keep him there.

“i’m seriously good with the surprise pet,” patton promises, and he feels virgil’s warm breath of relief against his ear.

“okay, cool,” virgil says, and admits, “i figured you probably would be cool with a dog, generally, since you walk dogs at the shelter a lot, but—”

“i love her,” patton says, leaning a little to see virgil’s face. “thank you.”

virgil flushes, and patton doesn’t think it’s just because of the cold.

“it was logan’s idea,” he mumbles.

“i know,” patton says, and then, “did he tell you why?”

virgil hesitates, before he shrugs. “empty-nesting,” he says.

“ah,” patton says quietly.

the fact that his baby is going to college has been on his mind every single day, since logan first got back his test scores and started sketching out plans at the kitchen table. patton’s been with him to visit a few colleges, and he’s—well, kids grow up, right? that’s what they’re supposed to do.

it doesn’t mean that the idea doesn’t make patton sad and anxious and really eager for some way to slow down time, too.

patton shakes himself, and says, “his idea, huh?”

“yep.”

patton starts to smile again, and he says, “i bet it wasn’t his idea to get her specialty peanut-butter treats, though.”

“...no.”

“or a ton of bandanas for her to wear. including a custom one that looks like your hoodie.”

“...well—”

“or the tons of harnesses and collars, or the big bed that we aren’t fully sure she’ll grow into, or all the toys, or—”

“i get it, i get it,” virgil grumbles. patton leans up to peck a quick kiss to his lips, turning more fully in his arms and wrapping his arms around virgil’s neck.

“i love that about you,” he says.

“what?” virgil says. 

“you’re a carer,” patton says. “you’re all gruff and grumbly on the outside, but if you see someone who needs help or needs to be taken care of, you’re all like, oh yes, of course, here’s this friends and family discount, what do you mean it’s brand new, this has always been here, or inviting them to your family’s christmas, or helping take care of their son, or offering couches to crash on and shoulders to cry on.”

patton pauses, and allows, smiling, “or cleaning up the house to make sure that they won’t find anything they’ll accidentally choke on, or patching up the fence so she can’t get out and nothing can get in, or doing secret research at the town library.”

and virgil’s flush definitely isn’t from the cold. virgil swallows, and says, in a voice that’s just a little bit shy and quiet, “it’s your birthday.”

“i know,” patton says simply. “i’m allowed to be sappy on my birthday.”

“course you are,” virgil says, and patton leans up to kiss him, before he turns back to squint out at the lawn. or at least, he means to.

because virgil’s fingers around his wrist prevent him from doing that, and before patton can ask, virgil’s bending just a little to press their lips together, cupping his face between both of his hands, and patton feels his heart do that happy little flutter it always seems to do around virgil. patton sighs, and if his eyes weren’t closed—when had he done that?—he’d be sure that it’d be a puff of steam in the cold air. virgil takes advantage of it, pressing in, so overwhelming but so gentle and patton can only wrap his arms around virgil’s neck and hang on tight.

when they part, patton blinks up at him, dizzy and dazed in the best kind of way.

“what was that for?”

“i’m allowed to kiss you on your birthday,” virgil teases him, smirking just a bit, and patton grins right back, hoping it looks as full of promise as he wants it to be. he leans in to kiss him again, but he’s interrupted by the sound of soft snuffling at their feet, and they both glance down.

cocoa’s staring up at them with an expression she could have gotten straight from logan—like, really, dads?

“okay, okay,” patton allows with a slight laugh, bending to pick her up again. “good girl, we get it, we can go back inside.”

virgil does lean in and give him a kiss over cocoa’s head, though, and patton beams at him with his arms full of fluffy, ten-week-old dog.

they climb the stairs, and virgil moves to the closet, and patton collapses onto the bed, letting cocoa down. she paces a few circles, before she curls up into a cozy-looking ball.

virgil glances back, and says, “patton.”

“what?” patton says innocently, sitting on the bed beside cocoa.

“if we want her to sleep in her actual bed, we have to start training her early,” virgil says.

“she’ll be lonely,” patton points out.

“i specifically bought her a hot water bottle and a clock to make sure that wouldn’t happen,” virgil says.

“um—?”

“hot water bottle to simulate warmth and clock to simulate the heartbeat of her littermates, to help her adjust,” he explains, and yeah, wow, patton adores him.

“virgil, i hate to point out the obvious,” patton says, grinning, “but i happen to know two people who get pretty warm in their sleep and who both happen to have heartbeats.”

virgil hesitates.

“just for tonight?” patton says, pouting just a little. “for my birthday.”

virgil sighs. “i know what you’re doing,” he grumbles.

“you can think about it,” patton says, and gets up to tug lightly at virgil’s hand. “we can do some other stuff, first.”

virgil’s eyes start to get that dark, familiar gleam that makes a secret, almost illicit-feeling thrill shoot down patton’s spine.

but later, when they both slide under the covers that night, freshly showered and fully intent on going straight to sleep this time, virgil makes no noises of protest about the cuddly ball of fluff that’s nuzzled her way between their bellies, and even when her tiny paws dig into their stomachs in her sleep, and she wakes them up when she adjusts, and they both have to contort into awkward positions rather than wake the dog and move her, virgil doesn’t make a noise of protest.

she never really ends up trained to sleep in her own bed at night, either.

#my post #text #the sideshire files #my fic #Two Fics In One Day Babyyyyyy

[fftwister]

Byleth/Claude C-S Support (Plus Final Dialogue?)

Mostly putting this here and organizing it so I don’t have to search through the zip file and to clear up what Claude’s deal is. Major spoilers regarding what Claude’s deal is (along with the GD ending and to an extent Byleth’s deal) below. Be wary, this gets fucking long.

C Support

Claude: Hey, Teach. I see you're as stony-faced as usual. Hmm. I can't tell if you're feeling resigned or if you're just lost in thought. Or maybe you simply don't care about anything that's going on. Oh... Sorry. I really didn't mean to be rude. I just find you fascinating. Actually, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. Can you spare some time? Dialogue Tree:

A: Sure. B: I'm busy. Claude: (A) That's just the sort of attitude I'd expect from a new teacher! (B) Is that right? Maybe this is news to you, but teachers are supposed to display an active interest in the well-being of their students. Students...like me. Speaking of, before you came here, you were a mercenary, right? Always getting your hands dirty on the battlefield and whatnot? It's a bit unusual that you suddenly decided to become a teacher one day. In any case, I've been meaning to ask. Did your father teach you how to fight? Dialogue Tree:

A: Yes, he did. B: No, he didn't. Claude: (A) I figured. Your father used to lead the knights, didn't he? And I hear he was a legendary mercenary as well. (B) Is that so? Well, I'm sure you grew up watching his fighting style, even if he didn't teach you directly. It must have been hard on your mother when you followed in your father's footsteps and became\na mercenary too. Byleth: I never knew my mother. Claude: I see. I suppose you grew up moving from battlefield to battlefield with your father then. You know, for someone who's right around the same age as me, you certainly have an unusual amount of composure. I guess it's only natural that you'd be different from young nobles who grew up in the lap of luxury. Byleth: You don't seem like a noble either. Claude: Ha! Well, even so, I am heir to House Riegan, the leading family of the Alliance. But I didn't exactly grow up in luxury like most people of noble blood. Hey, maybe that's why you and I get along so well. Folks like us should stick together. As house leader, I'll do all I can to help you out. We can start by making time for more little chats like this.

B Support

Claude: Hey, Teach! Hold on a minute, OK? I'm gonna have this cleared up in no time.

Dialogue Tree:

A: What are you doing? B: Need some help? Claude: (A) I came across a fascinating book about poisons, and so I wanted to try mixing one up myself. (B): Nah, that's OK. I'll be finished soon. I'm just in the middle of mixing up a new poison. Aaand...done! What do you think of that, Teach? A colorless, odorless poison! Say...care to test it out for me?

Dialogue Tree:

A: Sure. B: What does it do? Claude: (A) Whoa, really?! Heh, actually, I was just kidding. If you drink this, in two days' time you'll have terrible, um...let's call it stomach trouble. (B): In two days' time you'll have a terrible case of...let's call it stomach trouble. It's a peaceful poison, so you'll live, but you'll certainly be inconvenienced. I hear your silent question, Teach. Why the delay? That's so it can be used even if you don't have access to the target when you need the poison to take effect. Um, naturally, I have no immediate plans for this stuff! I suppose I just felt like broadening\nthe ol' horizons a bit. When devising schemes, it's best to have as many options at your disposal as possible. Expanding those options is kind of a hobby for me. Byleth: Why such a dangerous hobby? Claude: Well, I grew up in an environment where it was necessary to think that way. It's like I told you before, I wasn't born into a life of luxury.

Ever since I was a child, I've always been seen as...different from those around me. An outsider of sorts. I've been resented and hated. There have even been attempts on my life. I don't believe I've earned such treatment, but that's how it goes for people like me. Byleth: I don't think of you as an outsider. Claude: Thanks, Teach. You know, in many ways I'm just a normal person like everyone else. But in the right environment, anyone could be seen as an outsider. It can become...overwhelming. That's why I kept running. Kept fighting. As a kid I spent a lot of time licking my wounds and coming up with schemes, trying to keep my nose out of trouble while plotting against my enemies. My parents always told me I wouldn't grow stronger if I didn't learn to fight my own battles. And so, in the end, I did. And I grew up to be as independent and self-reliant as my parents always wished for me to be. Lucky me, right? Dialogue Tree:

A: You've been through a lot. B: You grew up well. Claude: If anyone knows what I'm talking about, it must be you. Eh, Teach? I get the feeling you know what it's like to be an outsider. The moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you weren't like everyone else. People don't care for folks like that... You'd do well to watch your back. On the bright side, that's also part of the reason that I find you so interesting.

A Support

Claude: Hey, Teach. Do you believe in gods? I don't necessarily mean the goddess of the Seiros religion. Just...gods in general. Do you believe that incredible beings who control\nthe fates of all really exist?

Dialogue Tree:

A: I do. B: I do not. Claude: (A) Huh. That's not the answer I was expecting. Though, honestly, I've recently become a bit\nof a believer myself. (B): Yeah, I didn't think so. I never used to believe in that sort of thing either. I've always hated the idea of praying to a god. After all, you can only really rely on yourself. I still believe that. You can't win a war by leaving your fate in the hands of a god. Only tangible facts can really decide a war. Which side has the most troops, the best tactics, the better organization and planning. Of course, miracles can happen. And by that, I mean things that are completely outside of your control. Things that only seem to add up if you believe in the concept of fate... Things like...well, like meeting you, for example. Byleth: What do you mean? Claude: You just seem sort of...impossible. I think everyone would agree with that. You can wield the Sword of the Creator, you're a tactical genius, and you have this strange ability to earn the trust of anyone you cross paths with. Before I met you, I never imagined that it was possible for someone like you to exist. And yet, now that I know you, your presence in my life has quickly become invaluable. In fact, it's hard to imagine making my dreams come true without your help. Because of that, I can't believe for a second that our meeting was just a coincidence. That means it mus have been fate. Maybe it was a miracle. Or maybe some god empathized with me and my dreams. Byleth: Some god? Claude: Again, I don't mean the goddess of Fódlan. Though... I suppose it may be hard for you to grasp what I'm talking about. People all over the world have different ideas about who or what the gods are, right? Even in distant lands across the ocean or over the mountains... They have gods who see the world as a whole, who don't care about Fódlan's borders... Who don't meddle in our affairs. Who don't grant life or take it away. And maybe, sometimes, they'll make a miracle happen. A god like that... That's the sort of god I think I could believe in.

Dialogue Tree:

A: I don't understand. B: I think I understand. Claude: (A) Well, it doesn't really matter. Maybe gods like that only exist in my own head. (B) Careful, Teach! You'll anger the followers of Seiros if you say things like that. I'm just speaking my mind, that's all. I think people should be free to believe in whatever gods they want. If a person believes in a god and that god becomes\na support system for them, that's a good thing. That's what a god should be. Anyway... Maybe I've overstepped a bit. Dialogue Tree:

A: It doesn't matter. B: You have. Claude: (A) I knew you'd understand. (B): Sheesh, no need to take offense! I just thought you might understand how I feel. In any case, let's keep this conversation between the two of us, yeah?

S Support

Claude: Oh, hey there. What are you doing up at this hour? Dialogue Tree:

A: I couldn't sleep. B: I could ask you the same question. Claude: (A) Is that right? I guess the more you have to think about, the harder it is to fall asleep. (B) My brain's just...busy. Thoughts keep going around and around in there, and meanwhile my eyes are wide open. At times like this, I like to gaze up at the stars to clear my head. I've been that way since I was a kid. Looking up at the big, starry sky makes my dreams feel small...which makes it feel like I can actually make them come true. I didn't believe in gods when I was a kid. Maybe that's because the night sky took their place for me. Hey, Teach... Will you talk with me a while? I bet you've figured this out, but I wasn't born in Fódlan. Where I come from, the people of Fódlan are looked down on as cowards. Technically, that cowardice runs in my veins. On my mother's side, anyway. That's why the people who were around me when I was growing up thought of me as an outsider. But I don't believe the people of Fódlan are cowards. That kind of perspective is just based on ignorance. The person from Fódlan who I know best is my mother. She fell in love with a man from the wrong side of the border and had the guts to leave home to pursue that love. I always threw that in the faces of anyone who tried to make a fool of me. My mother is proof the people of Fódlan aren't all cowards. Just saying that doesn't achieve anything, though.\nI need to destroy the prejudices that have taken root in my homeland. That's why I came here, to see Fódlan with my own eyes. I thought I might be able to find a new perspective that could help me change things. And what did I find? That the people here view anyone who's an outsider as a beast of sorts. I was shocked. Even though our cultures and beliefs are completely different, our two lands have that much in common. That's when I realized the only way to change things is to bring the whole world together and start anew. That's the dream I've been working toward since I first entered the Officers Academy five years ago. To unify the Alliance, and then all of Fódlan, and to bring a new set of values to this new land of mine... After that, I'd expand that vision to the rest of the world. Break down the walls and let a new perspective come rushing in! Start all over! Do you think that's just a crazy pipe dream? Or a brilliant ambition? Dialogue Tree:

A: Can you make that pipe dream come true? B: Can you rise to the challenge of that ambition? Claude: Not too long ago, I would have said that it was too much for me to accomplish on my own. But that's not how I feel anymore. And that's because I have you on my side now. Lately, I've spent a lot of time thinking about how I wouldn't have made it this far without you. You and me, Teach. We can go anywhere. Do anything. I hope that you always walk in step with me... At least until the day comes when we can look out at the peaceful world we've built. Together.

Final Dialogue(?) - S-Supported

Claude: Sorry for calling you out here like this. I wanted to talk, just the two of us. First of all, I wanted to say thank you for all your hard work. It seems like our long struggle may finally be coming to an end. Byleth: Do you think it's really the end? Claude: The way forward will certainly be rough. Right now, Fódlan is like a newborn. Frail and easily upset. If we don't create a new ruling system soon, the Empire and Kingdom will descend into chaos. The coronation ceremony is the first step. Only then will Fódlan truly be a single, united land. I'm sorry that I won't be by your side at such an important event, but I'm certain you'll do great. Byleth: You won't be there?! Claude: I must return to my homeland. As for ruling this new, unified land... Well, I'll leave that to you. ... The Fódlan blood that flows in my veins... I've made use of it as best I could. Now I've got to use my other bloodline to change my homeland for the better. I have royal connections there too, insignificant as they may be. It's time for me to struggle all over again and see what good I can do. If I don't change things in both Fódlan and the lands beyond, I'll never set eyes on the kind of world I've dreamed of creating. Byleth: I can't be a ruler. Claude: You're the successor Rhea appointed, aren't you? And now you're also the hero who saved Fódlan. All those weak people who have nothing to cling to but their goddess... They'll rely on you just like they used to rely on Rhea. You'll be a leader all who are struggling to survive in war-torn lands can look up to. And I...I want a ruler who can lay down a new set of values for the people. Values that don't exclude anyone for being different. I know it's a lot to ask. But you're the only one who can do it. ... I have something else to ask. Please... I hope you'll accept this. When I first saw you wield the Sword of the Creator, I wanted to use your power to my advantage. I wanted to use you to make my dream of a new world come true. But before long, I realized what I really wanted was to see that new world...with you by my side. I still feel that way, you know. I always will. That's why I have to leave. But nothing will stop me from coming back. There's no way I'm gonna let you go. You know that, don't you? Thank you... For everything. I'll be back before you know it. We'll only be apart for a short while. And now... I'm off to cross Fódlan's Throat. I love you. With everything I am. And the next time we see each other...it will be at the dawn of a whole new world. A peaceful, happy world.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe16 spoilers #fe3h spoilers #for those with the zip file this group of text files starts with one labelled: #006116103776_00016c8c5660 #long post

[cupcakecoterie]

Cupcake Coterie vs Baited Traps

@true0neutral - Hazel, half-elf cleric

@fauxfire76 - Darvin, human bard

@miaaoi - Froseth, dragonborn monk

@hyperewok1 - Remi, human paladin

@sfwarlock - Nai, elven warlock

Marion - Ava, human ranger

Because of a technical error, we don't have video of our most recent D&D session. This is a crying shame, because there was some fantastic RP in it. However, it does mean that I have to give up the bullet point format in favour of something a little more narrative to compensate.

After their fairly brief reconnoitre and delivery of the reagents for the dragon-slayer weapon and a couple of other bits and pieces, the Cupcake Coterie went back to Hearthhome to consider options. They still didn't know where Twilly and the kids were being held, they still didn't know where Miranda and Lira were, and all they really knew was that things were bad. Planning needed to happen and more information needed to be got. The only person they could guarantee knew things was the seneschal, but asking him was pretty obviously out of the question, which left them with a couple of options - violence, or infiltration. They eventually went for infiltration, with those the seneschal hadn't seen in person (Remi, Nai, Ava and Alisaie) visiting the manor as traveling entertainers to provide a distraction while Darvin, Hazel and Froseth tried to sneak into the seneschal's office to search for clues. Amusingly, Alisaie recommended that Nai play the part of a mute who communicated solely through his silent images. This amused people. Meantime, since they weren't going to turn up at dawn, they had breakfast, reassured the kids and then decided to approach information-gathering from their own unique perspectives.

Darvin, who had been in the manor before, tried to draw a floor plan based on what he remembered. Unfortunately, as a manor boy who'd grown up in far more ambitious dwellings, he couldn't really imagine a manor as the dinky building Goldendale calls the baronial manor. Also he'd only been in the building three times, only seen the reception hall and one of the guest rooms, and he was angry as hell the first two times he'd been there. Translation - he rolled poorly. End result - his attempt at a floor plan was not helpful but at least he was pretty sure he could find the seneschal's office window to sneak into.

Hazel, with help from their new drow friend Shinyra, searched the Hearthhome basement, where Twilly and Miranda keep all the bits and pieces left over from their mercenary days (and probably then some, in Miranda's case). Hazel, very concerned about her parental figures, was hunting up clues for how in the world two people as competent as Miranda and Lira could vanish without trace - if they'd gone to rescue Twilly and the kids, someone would have heard the commotion when a fight broke out, and there was no way either of them would die easily and bloodlessly. Hazel did find what she was looking for in that vein, however much she hated the idea - a book of spells that mentioned Plane Shifting. Shinyra, a bit more able to keep on track due to lack of personal investment, found something a lot more generally useful: a written guide to the dragons found on the continent, from the Five Claws of Bahamut to King Jain Nerrand III and way beyond.

Nai spoke to his patrons, and got a visit from the Herald of the Lord and Lady, who still hasn't given a name. The Herald provided a couple of cryptic clues, and then said that the Lord and Lady would offer a favour: intervention on one aspect of their champion's current troubles for a service to be determined later. While Nai wanted to give an immediate answer to which of the many aspects of their current task needed his patrons' intervention, the Herald recommended that he speak to the rest of the Cupcake Coterie before deciding.

Froseth turned to the elements. After some thought, he went with air - warnings, whispers on the wind. He got word that the green dragon running things while Baron Langerhan is so ill was about to start executing the kids, starting with Candor; that the dragon they're dealing with is of a significant size; and a couple of things he didn't understand - an acrid smell like poison mixed with dried blood.

Remi, meanwhile, consulted higher powers in her own way. This time, she didn't approach Tritherion: she called on the solar to whom she unwittingly pact-bonded herself to resurrect Alisaie. The solar in question let her sort of mentally project herself into the Celestial Plane (no, @hyperewok1 - she was not there physically) for a fairly heavy and entirely unexpected conversation that ended with Remi being offered a bargain - travel no further down the path of her Oath of Vengeance and devote her path fully to the guidance of Pelor's right hand, and gain a different kind of power - a power that went beyond vengeance to justice, to making things right, to renewal ... even the rebirth of the now-dead Star Coast, given time and help from Hazel and Alisaie. Remi accepted, and as token of her bargain, she received a couple of boons straight away - temporary access to an invocation that allows her use of Mage Armor, and Pact of the Blade just over a full level early. After a chat with Alisaie (and Alisaie's assertion that 'father' or not, if the solar messes with Remi, Alisaie will punch him in the face), they decided not to mention to anyone, particularly Darvin, that Star Coast could be brought back to life - not yet, at least. They had enough to worry about.

When they regrouped for lunch and shared all - or at least most - of what they'd learned, the group voted unanimously to use the boon Nai's patrons had offered to find Miranda and Lira and get them out of whatever mess they were in. When Nai asked the Herald back, the Herald confirmed that Miranda and Lira had been plane-shifted, although they didn't know where to yet, but Nai's Lord and Lady will find them and bring them back, with the price to be decided later - a combination of "We don't know how much effort it's going to take to find them and we won't be short-changed", "We don't know what state they'll be in when we find them and we do need to keep you somewhat happy with our bargains so we'd best not entirely short-change you", and "We can just keep them in our domain if you refuse our bargain and negotiations get protracted". Either no one thought of that or none of them even considered refusing the price for something so important to them.

Meantime, Alisaie had gone through the stories Darvin had told her and come up with a potential ally that no one had considered - Bareris, the very old elven artist with at least some magic who hadn't been spoken of by anyone since their arrival. They thought he might be hiding, so they got Geloe to deliver a note to Estan, who in turn would leave it in the same place as the weapons for Bareris to pick up, so that maybe he could help them not have to try to infiltrate the manor as a split party. No one was big on the idea of splitting the party. The plan was to start split up - Remi, Nai, Ava and Alisaie walking right through the centre of town, with Darvin, Hazel and Froseth sneaking the long way around the town borders - until they needed to collect the weapons, see if Bareris responded to their message, and re-evaluate with the new information. That settled, they made their preparations, said their good-byes and headed out.

Hazel, Froseth and particularly Darvin rolled exceptionally on stealth and were not spotted. Remi did very well with her subterfuge even without Alisaie's help selling the bit, and in fact got quite into it at the end there, and successfully talked them all past the heavy Crownsguard presence in the town. Either way, they got through to where their new weapons were hidden without a hitch. It seemed that Bareris had left them a note, and a rendezvous site away from the main drag. They convened there and met with Bareris, who had apparently been watching things unfold from a safe distance. He said that Twilly, Keth, Candor and Skylar had been taken to Vendren's Hold, which had been repurposed as a jail and magically trapped, and that there was no information on the nature of the traps in the seneschal's office lest his hypocrisy be exposed. Bareris offered to lead them to the seneschal's home, where such information might be found. They agreed with little in the way of hesitation; Ava side-eyed him, but didn't see any reason to distrust him beyond "I haven't met him and he's unreasonably twitchy", and no one could be blamed for being unreasonably twitchy in the current circumstances. Alisaie was more cursory about her once-over of Bareris, but if the rest trusted him, she was going to go along.

Bareris led them through the forest, which became increasingly claustrophobic, labyrinthine and mist-choked as they passed, and Froseth caught a smell he'd forgotten to mention to the others - the acrid smell of poison ... and dried blood. They lost track of Bareris - or the man they thought was Bareris - when they found the body of the real Bareris, covered in dried blood, pinned to a tree by sharp branches and overlong thorns. They were so focused on Coryvel as the senschal that they apparently thought that he could switch disguises if he felt the need. Apparently, he had, and Coryvel as Bareris had led the party directly into his lair.

Missed opportunities:

When speaking to Nai, the Herald did say that the eyes could not always be trusted. When servants of Archfey try to warn you of a thing, maybe take it to heart.

Had Froseth chosen fire instead of air as his focus element, he would have seen the true nature of disguised folks that they needed to know about, and would have seen Coryvel's current disguise.

The smell of poison mixed with dried blood, which Froseth didn't mention (I think because @miaaoi forgot about it in the face of the potential execution of children).

No one asked anyone in town about Bareris when doing their inventory of people around town. The surviving faerie dragons didn't mention him at all, and they liked "the drawy-man", so they should have. And the party might have found out a lot more had they taken some time to look in on the Golden Bough.

Anyway, to sum up, Coryvel offered to free Candor and Keth and let them, the Cupcake Coterie and the rest of the Hearthhome children get out of the country. To be fair, I didn't expect them to go for that. To be even more fair, I would have been interested to see them try to find a way to include Skylar and Twilly in that. But ... no, there were dead faerie dragons and a dead artist and terrified kids and Miranda and Lira sent gods-knew-where. They weren't negotiating. They weren't asking questions. (They may regret that someday.) They weren't backing down from, "You go away and give us our family back or we will straight-up murder you". Alisaie flagged up their dracolich kill and her own solo dragon kill. Darvin simply said, "You may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you'd make a spoon jealous!" ... which kind of makes less sense the more I think about it, but never mind. Alisaie popped the wings (it's always nice when she can do that without blowing a combat round to do so) and ... well, we didn't have any time to start getting into it so we ended it there. Next session, initiative rolls and straight into combat. With an adult green dragon. In his lair. And also the dragon has spells.

This is going to be fun.

#cupcake coterie #full session #Write-up

[so-shiny-so-chrome]

Witness: Jaetion

Creator name (AO3): Jaetion

Creator name (Tumblr): Jaesauce

Link to creator works: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaetion/works

Creator name (other platform- please specify): Pillowfort: Jaetrix

Q: Why the Mad Max Fandom?

A: MMFR movie was incredible! It hit all of my sweet spots.  And the fandom is great: really supportive people, creative fanworks, and great discussions. I've been playing around with fandoms online for a long time and I've met some awesome people, but the MMFR fandom is just chocked full of interesting fans and ideas (like this spotlight!). 

Q: What do you think are some defining aspects of your work? Do you have a style? Recurrent themes?

A: Oof, I'm not sure. I think my style is a lot of conversation, and very little and very poorly written action? As far as themes go, I love referencing music. Music is important to me, so it usually influences my writing. I identify as a feminist and try to put progressive messages into my stuff. I try to write women who form relationships, live their lives, and drive the plot without having to play second banana to men. On a similar, I like writing/reading sex scenes that are fun and funny for the people involved - enthusiastic yes from both/all parties. (Unless I'm filling a fic request that specifies something else, of course.)

Q: Which of your works was the most fun to create? The most difficult? Which is your most popular? Most successful? Your favourite overall?

A: “Take the A Train" was fun because I love writing about NYC. But the stories in "Citadel City Serenade" have definitely been the most rewarding. I really like trying to fit plots and characters together, and it feels awesome when things snap into place. "Six-String Soldier" is my most popular fic, probably because I started writing it right around the release of the movie and it's shippy. Overall... hm, I think my favorite MMFR thing I've written might be "Metal Bars." I think I did a pretty decent mix of kid naivety and shitty oppression. 

Q: How do you like your wasteland? Gritty? Hopeful? Campy? Soft? Why?

A: Hopeful, but realistic, I think. With everything that's going on in politics, both in America and internationally, and the unbearably awful reports on climate change, I need to cling to some remnants of hope or else I'll just lie on the floor and never get up. I love solarpunk! Reclaiming/recreating the world is what interests me.

Q: Walk us through your creative process from idea to finished product. What's your prefered environment for creating? How do you get through rough patches?

A: I write drafts, either as notes on paper or outlines in Google docs. I have a bunch of notebooks full of fragments. I do a lot of editing - I have a hard time articulating things, so it takes a number of attempts until I get it right (or at least close to right). When I get stuck, I read fic. There are so many talented authors who've produced so many amazing stories that it's pretty easy to find something inspiring.

Q: What (if any) music do you listen to for help getting those creative juices flowing?

A: Folk music! I have a couple of playlists on Spotify specifically for writing Mad Max fic.

Q: What is your biggest challenge as a creator?

A: Writing! Specifically writing something good! I'm not sure if this counts as a challenge, but I also struggle with self doubt; posting something that gets no attention really sucks and it's hard not to take poor reviews/no reviews as a personal affront.

Q: How have you grown as a creator through your participation in the Mad Max Fandom? How has your work changed? Have you learned anything about yourself?

A: I've never attempted to write something as long as "Six-String Soldier," or the whole series of "Citadel City Serenade," really. Trying to manage a couple of different timelines at once with different POVs has been complicated and fun. Because of this fandom, I've also been writing more articles for the Fanlore wiki and tracking down references/resources for preservation. I'm an archivist and being able to use some of my professional skills in fandom and even develop them has been sort of neat.

Q: Which character do you relate to the most, and how does that affect your approach to that character? Is someone else your favourite to portray? How has your understanding of these characters grown through portraying them?

A: I probably relate most to Max: tired, wants to be alone, many grunts. But I prefer to write the Wives. They're so fascinating, each in their own way. I love how distinct they are and yet how well they work as a team. The first few times I saw the movie, I focused on Furiosa as the feminist hero that we all needed, but the more I watched and the more I read, the more I realized just how courageous, intelligent, and yes, feminist the Wives are. Victory doesn't require fighting and heroes don't need to be killers. The Wives achieve so much over the span of the story without physically fighting.

Q: How do you translate various elements from the film, such as the theme of the importance of bodily autonomy and critiques of an oppressive ruling class, into a modern setting?

A: This is an amazing question, thank you for asking! MMFR portrays a reality that is uncannily close to our own - In fact, it might as well be a peek into our future. In my mind, there's not even much of a need to translate those elements/themes because oh god we're dealing with them right now. What I was trying to translate with "Citadel City Serenade" is the victory of the characters over those adversities. In MMFR, the characters participate in violent, bloody battle; in CCS, they start social movements. Which is something we can do in the real world! Marches, protests, grassroots activism in general are tools we can use - Music, art, hell even gardening can be parts of a revolution.

Q: Do you ever self-insert, even accidentally?

A: Nope! I'm far too pathetic to survive in the wasteland. Hopefully I'll just die in the initial blast.

Q: Do you have any favourite relationships to portray? What interests you about them?

A: Yes! I'm a shipper at heart, so I am all about the couples. My two favorites are Capable/Nux and Toast/Slit. I love having the women be the ones leading the relationships - not only setting the boundaries but also expanding the War Boys world into completely new territory. I'm also totally into male characters who are sexually inexperienced. Alpha male dudes are meh in my opinion - Give me someone sweet and enthusiastic, someone whose love is based on respect, someone whose enthusiastic about learning. I think Nux is firmly in the category of awesome boyfriend, and I like trying to figure out how to lead Slit in that direction. There's also the idea of redemption in their relationships that I find fascinating.

Q: How does your work for the fandom change how you look at the source material?

A: Hm, I think that I definitely view the film through a feminist gaze. It's entirely possible that MMFR is just an action film but that's not my take on it!

Q: Do you prefer to create in one defined chronology or do your works stand alone? 

A: Why or why not?Bit of both! I just want to read, read, read - As long as the fics are well written, it doesn't matter to me if the settings are consistent. As far as my own writing goes, I get so many ideas for fics that it's not really possible to have them all exist in a single chronology.

Q: To break or not to break canon? Why?

A: The great thing about fanfiction is that it's transformative. To me, canon is the foundation, but you can build whatever you want on it. Hopefully I keep the characters close to their canon portrayals, but other than that, I like to mix things up. Also, a modern AU setting just fits so damn well in the Mad Max world. I think also that canon itself can be flexible. Death of the author and all that. Once media is out in the world, it'll be interpreted by the audience - and sometimes those interpretations are vastly different from one another. 

Q: Share some headcanons.

A: I don't really have any! Since most of my stuff is AU, the headcanons are limited to those settings.

Q If you work with OCs walk us through your process for creating them. Who are some of your favourites?

A: I have a smatterings of OCs who populate the world as background characters: Vuvalini, milking mothers, and War Boys. I played a MMFR tabletop RPG a couple of years ago, and my character from that and an NPC she saved both ended up in 6-String. That particular War Boy (Stacks) now has a couple of fans and so I've been giving him more screentime, as it were. He's sort of interesting as a foil to Nux and Slit: those two have girlfriends to learn from, but Stacks is on his own as he tries to escape from the WB life.

Q: If you create original works, how do those compare to your fan works?

A: I do! I participate in NaNo every year. I think my fanfiction is better than my original stuff since I write, since the fanfic is intended to be shared and thus I have to write decently enough to get readers. However my stuff tends to be in the speculative fiction genre, so that's something my fanfic and original fic share.

Q: What are some works by other creators inside and outside of the fandom that have influenced your work?

A: There are so many! In Mad Max, @supergirrll, @redcandle17, pbp (@primarybufferpanel),  @bonehandledknife, Tyellas (@thebyrchentwigges), and hell all of the Boltcutters are all really important; the early writers of Nux/Capable fics also really influenced and inspired my love of the characters and the ships. Spicyshimmy, an author in the Dragon Age fandom, has also been one of my favorite authors for years, and I return to her stuff regularly to see how awesome writing can be. 

Q: What advice can you give someone who is struggling to make their own works more interesting, compelling, cohesive, etc.? 

A: I struggle with this myself, so I don't think I really have an answer unfortunately other than read everything you can get your hands on, write everything you can think of. I write basically what I want to read; if I can make the reader!me happy, then at least I've satisfied one person. However, what I consider interesting, compelling, etc, isn't always what other people want. Maybe my advice is to try not to take it personally when your hard work isn't rewarded. Which again, I'm not always able to do. 

Q: Have you visited or do you plan to visit Australia, Wasteland Weekend, or other Mad Max place?

A: Yes, Wasteland Weekend! It was a lot of fun and I'm hoping to go again. Being able to immerse myself in the world was a great experience - A totally new way for me to engage with fandom.

Q: Tell us about a current WIP or planned project.

A: Still chugging along with "Citadel City Serenade!" The two main stories in that series are going to intersect in a meaningful way soon. In fact, they're going to crash. Looking forward to getting that out there (and getting it done!).

Thank you @jaesauce

#Mad Max Fandom Spotlight #Mad Max fandom #mad max fandom creator spotlight #fury road fandom #fanfic author spotlight #mad max fanfic author spotlight #Jaetion

[tarithenurse]

Snow everywhere

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem!(semi)OC Prompts: ”You murdered my snowman!” & “Snowball fight” Contents: THE FLOOOOF! Oh…and a little hint of sexy time if you squint and tilt your head just right, but nothing explicit. A/N: I apologize in advance for making the OC’s appearance specific, but I got an idea as I was writing this. So, without (much) further ado: here’s my contribution to @devilbat‘s Holiday Challenge/Celebration/Bonanza/Fun.

Already before pulling the curtains aside, Sam knew today was the day. He didn’t even have to look, because the light was much brighter and there was a silence lying over the world that brought peace and comfort. Of course, the reason for coming out to the small town in the midwest was to enjoy the quiet compared to Washington where he lived, and his grandma’s hometown also served as a reminder of where he came from. His family. That’s what the holidays are all about, right?

Throwing the duvet aside, the veteran shivered against the cold air that suddenly surrounded his skin, eliciting eruptions of goosebumps and spurring him to get into the warm shower and figure out what to do with the day ahead.

Time off from missions and Avengers-duty isn’t the same as having nothing at all to do. It’s later in the afternoon on a day spent with revisiting old haunts, a bit of shopping, and more coffee than should be consumed in a day with the veterans at the local nursing home.

Sam loves their brazen sense of humour that he’s able to uncover under the old layers of dust and forgotten memories, and somehow, he’s got an easier time connecting with them than a lot of people his own age. Things get easier with his fellow generation if they’re veterans too, but they always know exactly who Sam is, the moment he introduces himself. It bothers him more than he likes to admit. The old folks just see him as another young punk.

But the coffee! Oh, man…the coffee. In an effort so run off the caffeine-jitters, the hero has pulled on layers and layers of soft training clothes and set off in a steady running-pace as the darkness battles fruitlessly with the electric lights reflecting off the snow. A few flakes are drifting from the heavy clouds above, making the town look like a holiday ornament in a snow globe.

Puffs of air form before him with each timed breath as his feet carry him down long forgotten paths of the summers spent visiting his granny. Past the old neighbourhood where newer buildings have replaced the old, single-story houses, making it hard for Sam to recognize where she was born, lived, and died. Granny spent her entire life in the same town, and now it’s changing so fast that she probably wouldn’t have recognized half of it.

Stride by stride, the runner’s carried to the park where he passes the new generation of inhabitants that are busy with their own games in the last moments available to them before their parents will tell them it’s time to head home and get ready for supper. A dog has mixed with them, joyfully yapping and running about, trying to catch the snowballs the kids toss at it. Each time it gets one the snow breaks apart, turning into a crumbling mess and it doesn’t understand where it went. In confusion, the animal looks around again and again in search of it to the onlookers’ amusement, Sam’s included. Still looking at the scene over his shoulder, the veteran doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going before it’s too late and the uneven, snow-covered ground makes him stumble and fall, crashing heavily into something and taking whatever it is down with him. Everything’s a swirl of white snow, yellow light, and dark shadows until he manages to sit up and brush the snow out of his face.

The first thing Sam notices is the broken carrot in his hand. The next thing is a clear voice coming from just a few feet away.

“You murdered my snowman!”

Blinking confused, he focuses on the shape of a woman with a bright blue scarf tugged partially into the grey coat. Cheeks and nose with a hectic pink from the cold…or indignation.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Sam pushes to his feet, realizing too late that he’s now stomping around on the remains of the snowman. “I’ll uhhm…I’ll rebuild it!”

Clear, blue eyes glitter ominously, making him think of ice crystals. “Oh, you better!”

Next second, she smiles brightly and pushes the white-blond hair out of her face. She’s not wearing gloves? Not being one for the cold, it seems like madness to Sam, but he doesn’t dare comment on it for fear of being the targeted of the wrath that had seemed like a frigid snowstorm. Instead, he begins dutifully to uphold his promise.

“To whom am I gonna dedicate this work?” Sam glances over at the slender figure.

The woman flashes him a crooked smile before busying herself with making snowballs. “You can call me Skadi.”

That name’s not from around here. “I’m Sam,” following her lead, he sticks to the first name only, “nice to meet you.”

Patching up the broken parts of the snowman proves simple enough. But as he’s wiggling the top on, it bothers the dutiful soldier in Sam that the structure isn’t stable, and so he begins to fortify it together with Skadi as the snow begins to fall gently from above, providing them with more of the building material while they make small talk.

She’s beautiful, Sam admit to himself. Clear ice is in her eyes; her skin is pale and rosy like the sunrise on snow; and somehow the cold crystals seem to weave around her, clinging to her hair and coat without seemingly bothering her. Slender, pale finger with turquoise-painted nails are moving quickly, expertly shaping the snow according to Skadi’s will and creating details in the figure they’re building together.

They’re the only people left in the park now, still she doesn’t seem in a rush to get out of there even as they step back to admire their handywork. It’s a prime example of a snowman. According to Sam it might even be the best, showing qualities that he’d otherwise only expect from actual sculptures. Circling the figure, he admires the pattern of swirls and cartoonish snowflakes Skadi’s traced on what looks like a knitted sweater on a plump, little man (with a very short carrot-nose).

“Damn, lady, you’re an artist with snow!” The words slip out before he’s thought them through but seeing her bright smile from the other side of the cold statue makes him relax. “I’d forgotten how great it is to play in the snow…”

“Then I guess…it’s a good thing I found you.”

A flurry whips her hair around her face, nearly obscuring the devious smile that precedes the perfect launch of a snowball hitting him square in the chest.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” Bending down, Sam scoops up handfuls of snow, only to drop it when a new projectile crashes into his hands.

“Bring it, summer-boy.”

Skipping backwards, Skadi taunts him to try his best to get a hit in. Each time he misses, her laughter rings out clear like a bell in the winter night, while she on the other hand lands one snowy orb after the other, showering him in cold fluff that mixes with the puffs of air from each exhalation.

The first time one of his snowballs finds the intended target it hits her on the back of the head, effectively making her stumble, and for a moment Sam freezes, afraid that she might get upset. Suddenly, he feels the cold that’s soaked into his shoes and the numbness of his fingers…and just as quickly, he forgets it again. Clear laughter like a song long forgotten spurs him on a wild chase where neither of them care anymore whether the snowballs are fully formed or if it’s just loose avalanches pushed through the air, covering them in white powder that melts slowly wherever it’s near enough their skin. Still, Sam seems to be getting the worst of it. Changing tactics, he decides. Drawing on everything he���s learned since Steve’s started with the “on your left”-training, the man goes all in on a sprint, tackling Skadi into a soft mound of snow that’s been accumulating in a dip in the terrain. There they tumble around until the gentleman has ensured that the woman’s on top. His hands are resting on her hips beneath the silver-grey coat. Eyes like ice sparkle as they meet his warm gaze. So different and wild. Blond hair falls around their faces like a thin curtain that keeps the rest of the world away, hiding how their lips brush lightly and Skadi’s minty breath mixes with his.

“You’re cold, winter-princess.” This close Sam can see the tiny crystals caught in her lashes.

Taking time to place slow, cooling kisses along his jaw, the woman finally reaches his ear and whispers: “You can try to warm me up, summer-boy.”

…

Next morning when Sam wakes up, Skadi has already left and when he pulls the curtains aside he sees that the snow’s melting.

…….

#saramarvelholidaybonanza #mcu #marvel #sam wilson #falcon #falcon x oc #sam wilson x oc #winter #snow #fanfiction

[dragonscalesatdawn]

Dragon Worldbuilding in ‘Scales’

@abalonetea​

“i’d love to know anything about your dragons that you’re able to share” - first of all, thank you! So much!!!! I was going to answer that in a reblog like you did, but the post got long, so...now it’s this. 

Second - You fool. You’ve activated my infodump card! I have so much to share! A lot of what I’m about to write will probably never be explored, at least not in much depth, in the WIP itself, as much as I’d love to, because it’s just backstory infodump stuff and not really plot-relevant. But it’s really cool and I adored coming up with it, so I’m thrilled to have even the tiniest excuse to share! 

I’ve put it all under a cut because seriously, I’m not kidding about it being long, lmao. 

The classic dragon in fantasy is great, and all, but there are aspects of them that don’t make a whole lot of sense if you look at them from a science viewpoint. I’m no animal expert or anything, but I’ve decided to use what knowledge I do have/can google to try to fix a few of the little things that don’t make sense. I like to science my fantasy lmao. There doesn’t seem to be much I can do about them being far too heavy to ever fly, let alone carry passengers, and a few other elements just wouldn’t come together naturally in a single animal, so I used some backstory excuses. 

My world, which I’ve yet to name, was made through a mix of Gods and evolution. Gods made the Big Bang, and though they mostly left things to form as they would, they did help things along here and there, and continuously interfered in how their Big Bang evolved until they had the world as we see it today. They still interfere - frequently, from their viewpoint, but of course they’re immortal, so interference happens only every few thousand years at most. 

Dragons were, long story short, a result of one God bragging about her creation of the first human, and saying that nothing could be more creative or original than this, and how her creation would soon conquer the world, blah blah. Another God (Gods being petty as they are) basically just said ‘hold my beer’ and made dragons, in much the same way that a twelve year old author makes a shameless self-insert character. He took a bunch of features from other creatures that he thought were cool and smooshed them together. 

Now, if a God wants to bestow a creature with magical abilities, these abilities come from that God, and tax the God a little of their power. Gods have a lot of power, so this is only a very minor inconvenience, but they still like to avoid overusing it if they can. This guy was really hell-bent on spiting his sister, though, so once he had the basic beast to work with, he just couldn’t resist giving them a bunch of magic in the end. But that’s why they’re not just creatures of pure magic. 

(Fun fact - another God also had the idea to build a creature to spite the God who made human and her bragging - but she took a different route and just gave humans magic - and hey presto, elves! The dragon guy was really pissed that he didn’t think of it.) 

He used magic to make them fly, and magic to allow them to breathe fire - literally, purely for The Aesthetic™. He also gave them a certain brand of telepathy - I’ll get to that later. But that’s all the magic he gave them (although, this was enough to give them a connection to magic that they can, in times of great need, draw on more magic to use at their own will. But that’s basically limited to a panic response, they can’t do it just whenever) and here’s where we get into my own takes. 

Dragons are typically reptiles. They’re also typically warm-blooded. Like, super warm blooded - some stories have dragons who are hot enough to make rain turn to steam. Those two facts don’t really work together, so in my world, dragons aren’t reptiles at all. After a bit of research and screwing around, I’ve decided that they’re probably closest to monotremes - a group of mammal that lays eggs. Their scales are made of keratin, similar to an echidna’s (one of two types of monotreme) spines. They also have short, dense fur underneath the scales, and the males have manes. Male monotremes also have a venom spur, so my male dragons have venomous barbs at the tips of their tails. 

Monotremes are born hairless, but I discarded that because...because shut up, is why. Baby dragons looking like little lumps of raw chicken didn’t work for my Aesthetic™. But, it seemed to much of a stretch to have them born with scales. Thus, for the first two weeks of their life, dragons are covered in a layer of extra-soft baby fur. The fur doesn’t come in the same variety of colours as their scales, but it’s usually as close as possible. For example, Avaura is going to be a red dragon, but at the point I’m currently up to writing, she’s just a little ginger puffball. 

Ok, now for the telepathy thing. Originally, the God who made dragons was content to just let them communicate through body language, but (because this design process took a fair while) he saw how humans and elves were really benefiting from being able to communicate more complex thoughts to one another, and he changed his mind. Only, dang it, he hadn’t made a creature with the sort of mouths that could pronounce sound the way the others’ creatures could, so he had to find another way for them to communicate. One that didn’t drain too much of his own power. So he came up with a pretty complex system. 

Baby dragons inside their eggs can sense the minds of people who touch the eggshell, and they imprint upon a creature - usually their mother - from inside, and only hatch when this creature is around to protect them through their vulnerable infancy. And then, only when that creature’s thoughts tell the small that it’s safe to hatch - well, mostly. If a dragon is waiting in its egg for too long, it can get impatient. Sometimes they make hasty decisions about who to imprint upon, and sometimes they do things like hatch when it isn’t safe once they’ve chosen somebody. 

(There’s a famous figure in my world who decided to smash a bunch of dragon eggs. It backfired horribly, from his viewpoint anyway, and he ended up with like ten dragons imprinting on him because hey, this guy was better than nobody at all. He may or may not be real, but parents tell their kids about him to scare them away from being cruel to other children.) 

Upon hatching, the baby dragon forms a permanent psychic link with it’s imprinted ‘mother’ where their minds become basically two parts of a whole. They can see through one another’s eyes, feel each other’s pain, and remember each other’s memories. They can ‘speak’ to one another without speaking, just by sending thoughts, images, sensations, etc., although in my actual writing I translate these into something like dialogue for readability purposes. When an entire clutch of eggs (which are usually around 30 at my current stage of worldbuilding, but that number might change idk) all the little babies who imprint on the one mother are connected to each other through her. Thus, they have a strongly matriarchal society - and since they can remember all their mind-partner’s memories, after a few generations a dragon is less of an individual being and more an amalgamation of several wise and ancient beings. If they could talk to you, it would probably be a pretty unsettling conversation. 

Dragons usually live on a continent, a fair ways away from where the ‘people’ races live and where my story takes place, so when a dragon egg for whatever reason doesn’t imprint on its mother, its usually another dragon who takes care of the lil bab. 

But, for reasons that aren’t and probably never will be known, there was one time that a heavily pregnant dragon decided to fly away from her home and lay her eggs in the land of peoples. These babies were all set and ready to hatch, and then tragedy struck and mummy dragon died. The babies never got to emerge from their shells, and there were no other dragons around to adopt them. 

Thus, these babies, 30 or so of them (again, might change the number, idk) were left with no mind to tell them it was safe to hatch. So they didn’t. For quite a few years. Then along came a human that one little egg deemed worthy of imprinting on. This human became known as ‘scaled,’ due to the dragon scales, of the same colour as her mind-partner, that grew and spread from the spot on her skin that first came into contact with the egg. Humans aren’t dragons, though, and so the clutch of eggs were far pickier about picking one to imprint on. No two of them ever agreed on a person, and so each scaled human has only been partner to one dragon (aside from the one guy I mentioned earlier, but he’s a special case. And possibly fictional). 

The scales growing on human mind-partners is basically the dragon magic trying to identify the hatchling’s mind-partner as another dragon, failing, and instead of accepting this, just going ‘well them I’ll make them a dragon!’ But of course, dragon magic being pretty weak, it takes far more than a single human lifetime for any real change to happen, so they just grow a few harmless scales on the surface. The scales are harder than human skin, obviously, so they make for somewhat decent armour, but just because they protect the skin from cuts does not make the area immune to any sort of bludgeoning or impact-based damage, as many scaled folk find out the hard way. 

Avaura is the second-to-last to hatch of this clutch. One the last bab hatches, there will likely be no more scaled people. Unless of course, Something Happens. Which it might. Or might not. Who knows. 

And my god, that was long. If you actually read all of that, thank you so much for listening!!!!!!! I hope it was even half as entertaining to read as it was to write :) 

#WIP #Writing #Writeblr #Fantasy #Worldbuilding #Dragons #Scales WIP