In grade school, Mikasa always found her mother’s pet name for her odd: my little dragon. The other little girls and boys in her class were darling and dear and sweetie; Krista from Miss Ral’s class was always angel. Annie in Mikasa’s old karate class (whose parents were really oddly intense about her training) was mama’s snowflake.
Perhaps it was the cultural and language barrier between her family and the rest of the world, split within itself, yet still harmonious and loving from a German father and a Japanese-Chinese mother. Their little dragon was vaguely aware of the slight shift between the outside world and home, but people are people and everyone is the same in different ways, right?
That wasn’t even the half of it. It started on a sunny weekend about 13 years ago– the Ackermans thought it’d be a good day for lunch and ice cream and a walk in the park near their house, the one with all the jogging trails along the stream. Mikasa was not picky about her food, but she always tore the crusts off of her sandwiches when she was here, as an excuse to feed the ducks. She had always been a cautious, shy child. The only indications one could find of her clever, strong spirit lurking inside were in the small words, minute actions– how lithely she scurried over railings and climbed over the monkey bars instead of swinging underneath them on the playground, how she wasn’t content to feed just the ducks in the front, but squashed the bread lightly between her fingers so it would be dense enough to throw farther, more than often landing on the backs or hitting the heads of the ducks she intended to feed.
The stream wasn’t too deep– an adult could easily stand neck deep just fine, if it weren’t for the rip current underneath. It only took the petite child to lean just a little too far from the railing just once–
At first, it was like being dragged down from her ankles and how she imagined it would be like if her mom actually made good on that threat to throw her in the washing machine if she ever came back that muddy in her new school clothes ever again, spinny and tumbly with no room to breathe–
then, like slamming the brakes on a car, the water went eerily still. She felt herself float back up, though still heavy with her dress and coat drenched, dragging her down. She floated all the way to the riverbank, right to her parents. Even a child with no knowledge of hydrodynamics knew that water didn’t just move that way.
Then there was the time a tall, lanky man came right up to her front lawn, claiming to be her great-uncle-or-something. She went right inside, and as her mother peeked out the window blinds, unsurprised, storm clouds seemed to boil into existence overhead.
Years later, Mikasa lay awake in her apartment, still wondering if that strange man had anything to do with the break-in-gone-wrong at her house two weeks later, leaving both parents dead and her, an eleven year old, staring numbly at the short, severe man who the police claimed was the Ackerman’s only living relative. Levi was vaguely described as his cousin however many times removed, and didn’t look particularly glad to be there–not that anyone should be this early in the morning– dressed in sweats, a blazer she assumed was the first thing he grabbed out of his closet in the dark, and a beanie, haphazardly thrown onto his head. He always referred to her as brat, but through the years she had to admit, for the most part, he did his best to provide for her as her new guardian, no matter how much the struggle.
Well, she had to admit, he did a little better than that. His exact words were dragon brat for the first few months, then eventually, when she asked how he knew her childhood pet name, he reluctantly admitted that it was more than just.
“A million fuckin’ years ago or whatever, our ancient ass family got some dragon in our bloodline– god knows how that even fuckin happened– and we’ve been passing that shit down for centuries. Every fuckin generation, some of us get possessed by dragon spirits or some shit. You can read the chinese your mom cut into your wrist, can’t you, dragon brat?”
And that was that.
Ever since, Levi dropped a couple hints here and there. Try not to cause storms and flood the city when your date ditches you at prom, do your hair like this to hide the little horns you’re growing, bandage the parts with scales that you can’t cover with clothes, stuff like that.
Mikasa sighed and rolled over, burying her face into her pillow. She’d never ask about that creepy old guy, but she had a feeling Levi knew more about their family than he let on.
She was still staring at the ceiling when her alarm clock went off. Fortunately, she only had two morning classes today and neither of them were particularly hard. She had only skimmed the book they were supposed to have read, but it didn’t matter because her professor always led them to the right answer with minimal effort on her part.
She sighed, wrapping her covers around her as she sat up and reached over to pull the curtains open. For 7 AM, the sun still hadn’t risen yet, but a dense fog was visible in the dim streetlight, like a small cloud had taken up residence in her backyard.
10 minutes later, she deemed herself presentable for her two shitty lectures, clad in a black sweater, plaid skirt, scrunchy black knee socks, and a choker. Most of her wardroom was built around hiding her more dragon brat-like features–lots of layers, chokers, scarves, socks, and tights. They were almost always black too, to negate her iridescent plum shade of her scales.
Books in her bag, muffin and coffee in her hand, Mikasa braced herself for the cold morning ahead and started walking to campus, clearing the fog around her slightly as she went.
The muffin was devoured before she even reached the lecture hall, and she drank the rest of her coffee before it would inevitably get cold during class. She tossed it in the trash can by the door as she came in and took an aisle seat right in the middle of the classroom, waving at her friends scattered around the room before sitting and opening their group document on her laptop and deleting the stupid banter sasha and connie left all around their notes.
I mentioned earlier that we get so little from Dean’s childhood, but I want to take a moment to examine what we DO get, because most of it is incredibly disturbing and sad, imo:
First know that Dean as four years old when he saw his mother die, and that the trauma of that caused him to stop speaking for some time. We don’t know how much he saw or how long his silence lasted, but one can imagine. We know that John, very soon after her death, went searching for answers, taking the boys with him. We know that John started training Dean to shoot at age 6 (the age of a kindergartner/first grader), and that THIS is the most loving/bonding moment Dean remembers having with John in his young life. We know that Dean was also little when John taught him how to drive. And that he was eight years old or younger when John began taking him on out on hunts (again, that’s taking a 2nd grader into a battle).
We know that John also periodically left Dean to care for Sam (and himself) for days on end as early as age nine, maybe earlier. We know that he left them for weeks/ months at a time later on (how much later we aren’t sure) and that he often extended the time he was supposed to be gone. And we know that Dean was responsible for looking after Sam during this time, which not only included cooking, dressing, and otherwise caring for the younger child (as it would in real life), but also included Dean acting as Sam’s bodyguard from very real and vicious, physical threats.
We know that John took Dean’s duty VERY seriously. That he would remind Dean constantly to take care of Sam, and that it was his most important (and common) command.We know that John would punish Dean for Sam behaving out of line (such as running away), and though we never see John physically hurt Dean, we know he was not above using psychological punishments for long periods after a perceived failure on Dean’s part.
We know that John had a drinking problem, and would also periodically disappear on benders for days, possibly weeks at a time, only to stumble home drunk later on. We know that he was not great at communicating with his children when this happened (or in any instance for that reason), and they were often unsure of when (or if) he would return home. We know that Dean in turn had his first drink before age 10 (though we don’t know how he got it), and that John was buying him alcohol by age 16.
We know that money/food was often scarce for them (even with John there), meaning they often ate poorly. Dean learned to stretch what he could and make the best out of it, even when they were forced to eat the same thing over and over (like getting creative with his cooking of macaroni).
Cooking seemed to be a common occurrence for Dean, which he continues
into adulthood (and later we will see that Dean also cleans and irons
Sam’s clothing). During childhood they lived mostly in dirty motel rooms or out of their car, with only a duffle bag’s worth of belongings.
We know that Dean was taught to hustle by his father, and was doing it at a young age (only 14 or possibly younger) to make money for the family. We know that in addition to hustling, stealing was also something Dean occasionally did to survive.
We know that there was at least one time where Dean ran out of money,
and was abandoned for months after getting caught stealing food for Sam.
We know that John was not big on celebrating holidays or the boys birthdays.
Dean’s most cherished Christmas memories include stealing presents for Sam and receiving a single gift from Sam, that was originally meant for their father anyway, and John bringing home a reef made of beer cans one year (seriously, this is the memory he brings up to argue that their childhood wasn’t so bad?! Ouch). We also know that Dean is jealous of Adam for having gotten taken to a baseball game for his birthday.
We know that the boys moved constantly, never staying in one place for
longer than a few months at a time, and that Dean eventually dropped out
of highschool, choosing to get a GED instead. As far as we know, Dean never had any real friends during his childhood, and never had a serious relationship until Cassie (which still only a few months because John ordered Dean away).
We know that Dean was charged to keep the secret of Mary’s death, hunting and monsters from Sam, as well as from everyone else, making John the only person he could talk to about either, until age 12, when Sam read John’s journal and discovered the truth. Even afterward, Dean remained isolated from the outside world by this secret and it seemed that Mary was still not really talked about, save as a reason for them hunting. She remained a sore subject/ on-going trauma for Dean, who swore he would never return to his childhood home. We know that Dean often ended up supporting consoling and his father
emotionally, as well.
We know that Dean was incredibly compliant with his father’s wishes and would follow most any order given to him, even orders that were vague or indirect. That John was not in the habit of explaining things, even when the boys were old enough, and operated more like a drill sargent than anything else. While we are aware of Sam being allowed extracurricular activities in school, there is no such equivalent for Dean, save the 2 months he as abandoned at Sonny’s. We know that both Dean and Sam were trained in physical and other forms
of combat from a young age and that they sparred with each other.
As a child Dean was afraid to cease practicing, even just to throw around a ball with Bobby for an afternoon. (We know that Bobby knew them as children, but it is unclear how big or small of a presence he was in their lives). We know that John’s authoritarian rule chaffed on Sam after he hit puberty, leading to some big fights, for which Dean commonly played mediator/ peacekeeper.
As you can see, there IS a sort of picture forming here, and it’s not a pretty one. Dean’s childhood was fraught with trauma and loss, poverty, monsters, physical danger, neglect, and psychological abuse. He was isolated, over-burdened, and conditioned to serve others, often at his own expense. He was continually in danger of losing his own life (not to mention injury) and those he cared about, and discouraged from forming attachments outside of his family.
While we actually do have a lot of information, it’s been mainly given in bits and pieces, with many gaps left for us to fill in. It’d be nice if the show would do some more of that for us.
i dont mean to equate like. having a fucking skincare routine w good mental health but like i guess my Serious hc for sasuke would def involve him being gross n oily at some point but like thats for when hes feeling very depressed and he cant give a fuck about anything. first signs that hes feeling shitty again would be that + messy house. im like very invested in sasuke caring for his body which i guess is why i love sasuke being vain n having a skincare rountine and wearing clean clothes. also it just makes for good jokes like he makes face masks n puts them in the fridge n one day he finds naruto fucking eating them w a spoon
hello, you fabulous person. thank you for fulfilling our dreams... in a way. could i have some ryoma + zaizen + hiyoshi + sanada + fuji yuuta + a character if your choice handing their s/o a towel because it was raining hard outside? whether it gets steamy or not is also up to you. ;)
(thanks so much, anon! steamy is always better ;D -choses kawamura because bABE-)
Ryoma hadn’t been too concerned about the light showers, but when from cloudy skies to pouring rain, he and his s/o had to make a dash for it, going to his house, since it was closest. Ryoma couldn’t explain his relief when he found his father was not home, and he lead his s/o upstairs so they could dry off. At first he didn’t really see a problem with them drying off in the bathroom, but when he saw his s/o begin to lift up their shirt, he excused himself rather quickly, hurrying out and shutting the door, his cheeks burning red. Realizing he still had the towel in his hand, he hesitantly knocked, not expecting his s/o to swing open the door rather… widely. With his face red as a beet, he shoved the towel at them before hurrying off, hearing the muffled sound of slight laughter.
MaybeZaizen had known about the rain and maybe he wanted to see his s/o soaking, despite the danger of catching colds. So maybe he had suggested a date the day there would be torrential downpours and maybe he had told his s/o to wear comfortable clothes since it would be warm outside. His efforts were perhaps rewarded when it began to rain, and they were forced to move to his house to dry off and put on clean clothes. Also maybe he had cornered them slightly while giving them a towel, staring them down and never breaking eye contact. He could see the confusion and slight excitement in their eyes, and smiled to himself slightly as he leaned down to capture their lips in a kiss.
Hiyoshi knew they should have stayed indoors, but his s/o had convinced him that they should take a walk since it was so sunny outside. Unfortunately, the sudden rain that caught them off guard forced them to find cover, and even though they had sprinted back to his place, they were still soaked. Grabbing towels from a cupboard, he sat on the edge of the bathtub as he and his s/o began to dry their hair. When his s/o sneezed, he took the towel from them and beckoned them over, beginning to dry their hair when they were in front of him. His cheeks turned slightly pink when he saw his s/o looking down at him, almost mesmerized. Pausing, Hiyoshi stared into their eyes for a moment, before tugging them down slightly to plant a kiss on their lips.
Sanada knew, just knew his s/o was teasing him by the way they slowly began to strip off their soaking clothes right in front of him. Stuttering with a beet red face, he threw the towel at them and turned away, walking down the hall to a separate room. The image of their rain-soaked body was burned into his mind, and he could practically see the steam coming off of his face as he thought about the sensual glance they sent his way. Even after he had composed himself, they had joined him later with their hair still not fully dry, and so he began to dry their hair himself, later realizing his actions as a mistake when they looked up at him with wide pleading eyes.
Shuusuke had seen the forecast, but didn’t expect the rain to be as heavy as it was. It had gone from a light drizzle to pouring in about a minute, and they first ducked under an awning to get out of the immediate shower. His s/o was worried about the rain, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of them. There was something oddly charming about the way their clothes and hair were damp with rain, so he grabbed their wrist, smiling, and ran through the rain to his house. He would be scolded later for leaving puddles around the house, but he had begun to dry his s/o’s hair despite their initial protests, and minutes later they were kissing, and he had inwardly thanked the rain as they began to tug at each other’s clothes.
Yuuta had been a bit sour at the rain, since he had planned to bring his s/o outside so they could walk around and maybe have a picnic, but all of those thoughts were quickly wiped away from his mind when he stopped to look at them after sprinting to his house. They stood in the bathroom together, and he could feel his cheeks heat up as he watched the water droplets slide down their throat and underneath their shirt collar– He had to turn away and compose himself, and his s/o was just as embarrassed as he was, and he left them to their own privacy as they dried off, cheeks still burning red.
Kawamura and his s/o had been caught completely by surprise at the sudden downpour, and after sprinting to his house, he brought them upstairs to dry off and get in clean clothes. Of course, neither he nor his s/o knew about the rain, so Kawamura found himself in a rather awkward position when he saw his s/o had chosen to wear white that day. Face turning redder by the second, he gave his s/o the towel and excused himself, but jumped in surprise when they wrapped their arms around his torso, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes. Gulping, he couldn’t tear his gaze away as they stood on their toes to kiss him slowly. His hands found their way to his s/o’s waist, and his mind went blank as the kiss deepened.
ok so here’s the reason I cried for 3 hours last night:
we ended up just hugging him for our Castiel photo op, he smelled really good (slightly sweet but also like clean clothes) and was really warm. i started crying pretty much right away (shocker) so I kind of turned my face into him a bit because I didn’t want to look like a tomato in the picture (i did anyways) so it turned out like this:
right afterwards, i said to misha what I’ve been wanting to say to him for ages: “thank you for saving my life” (by this point i was really sobbing) and he pulled me into another hug and grabbed my hand(his hand was really warm and slightly rough but also soft). he pulled away for a second, smiled at me, and said “you saved your own life” which of course made me cry harder because it means so much to me.
Chris was an angel and gently told me we had to redo the pic so Misha pulled me back in for another hug (i was really fucking crying at this point, there was definitely tear-spots on his coat afterwards) and this was the pic (even more tomato):
after, he pulled me in for one more hug and rubbed my back a bit because i was a fucking mess
tldr; misha is amazing and i walked away crying tears of happiness