well someone has to be the grown up here

Theory: Mystery Man IS Eren

 I know I’m not really the type to post Attack on Titan theories but I just can’t help myself with this one because I am 99.9999999% sure the “mystery man” we see in chapter 93 and 94 has to be EREN. The only reason why I’m not 100% sure is because I’m keeping in mind that there’s a chance Isayama might just pull a “here’s a new important character!” move, which honestly doesn’t make sense in this case for so many reasons… but you never know, right?

So with the latest chapter out, I knew that Isayama was going to bring this guy up again. Of course, I was hoping that the identity of this man would’ve been revealed already but it looks like he’s purposely keeping the identity secret to keep us readers on edge.

Now for those of you who wonder why I am so confident that this is Eren, I can first state the obvious point:

1. Appearance: Considering that there has been a three year time skip, it would be realistic to assume that Eren has grown out his hair even more by now. Aside from that, chapter 90 heavily implied that there was going to be a great change to Eren’s character. His tired eyes and lengthy hair was not only meant to be symbolic of his mental state, but also a new direction to his character.

I know quite a few people have already made these panel comparisons, but it’s important to keep in mind that in this panel above, the mysterious person is spying on Reiner (I will get into more detail about the importance of this later).

Now I know this one seems a bit of a stretch, because I’m going into the nitty gritty details but bear with me for a minute. We know that Isayama gives distinct facial features despite his inconsistencies (although that’s because he has improved on his art), and since we aren’t given much of the mystery man’s face to look at, I figured we can pay attention to his nose. So we know that Eren has grown out his hair since chapter 90, but we can also see here that the man’s nose shape looks very similar to Eren’s (scroll up to compare with the first panel of Eren). It’s not crooked, curved, or super round. It has just that shape that would fit within Eren’s facial profile. Had there been any other character with this hairstyle or someone who could possibly have grown this hairstyle as well, I wouldn’t have pointed this detail out because there are of course other characters with this similar nose shape. The mere fact that Isayama is only giving so little for us to look at makes me think he had to leave out some sort of hint, right? In fact, he could have completely cut out the mystery man’s face so that we only see his hair and then Falco’s face.

Aside from the nose, it’s hard to tell the eye shape but I can say that it appears to be a bigger eye (which Eren has) if you look at the distance from the eyebrow.

Furthermore, if you look closely at the man’s hair scalp area, it is in the same position as Eren’s is. The hair separates in the middle. The fact that this detail is added in this panel above further points out a clue as to who this person could be.

Also, side note but if this does end up being Eren then it seems that the guy has grown a bit of a stub (which honestly makes me so excited for some reason??? lol)

I also need to stress that if this were a “new” or “unknown” character, why would Isayama go through the effort of hiding the man’s face and showing as little as possible? Clearly this is someone we know and considering that he reappears in this chapter means this guy isn’t just some random dude we should feel sorry for, or??

Lastly, I just want to briefly point out that the armband being misplaced implies that this person clearly isn’t familiar with this environment, which is why most of us can at least agree that this is a spy.

2. Eren likes to “act” before he goes in for the kill:

I would like to remind you guys the times Eren has tried to “trick” his enemies by playing innocent before attacking them. Here are some examples:

I think these parallels are important to point out because they show an aspect of Eren’s character, that being that he likes to deceive his enemies (although in a bit of a childish way). For Eren to play as an injured soldier seems very fitting to his character. Of course, I get that he’s a spy and has to “fit in” with the crowd, but he could’ve skipped the effort of cutting his own leg off, right?? Well, I would say that Eren wants to portray himself as weak and vulnerable because that brings less suspicion. I doubt that the Marley soldiers are going to pick on a guy missing a leg, and through this Eren can easily win their sympathy as he did when he tried to rescue Mikasa from the kidnappers. 

3. The mystery man was spying on Reiner:

If you were to ask yourself who Eren would look for if he were to spy on the Marley, wouldn’t the best candidate be Reiner? I mean, if this spy really isn’t Eren, why pay particular attention to Reiner out of all people?? It could have been someone on a much higher position if we’re talking about getting secret information. The fact that this man was watching Reiner heavily implies that he knows who Reiner is, and is using him to find the others. Sure, he could also have gone for Zeke since he has seen the guy before, but I’m sure Eren holds a bigger grudge against Reiner for the moment (he also only saw Zeke for a brief moment so there’s that too). That being said, I have a feeling that this foreshadows a reunion between Reiner and Eren. I wouldn’t be surprised if Eren still wanted to get rid of Reiner first before making any other move. This would make more sense as to why he would choose to spy on Reiner more.

EDIT 4. Eren being the spy fits with the narrative:

@featherpoet made a pretty good point about this so I’m just going to simply quote what they said:

“Since we’ve passed over to the Marley PoV, we’ve seen sooooo many parallels between the characters that grew up there and the ones we knew from Paradis. Gabi -> Eren, Reiner -> Armin, etc. So, it makes narrative sense that the infiltrator would also fit into some sort of mirrored position, since that’s the kind of story that Isayama is telling.

Eren Jaeger is named after Eren Kruger. You know. The spy who informed on the Marley and had a premonition about Mikasa and Armin. It makes soooo much sense that the second Eren would also sneak into the Marley camp. Like, the narrative framing is just too good to pass up. No other character could fit that well.”

EDIT 5. There are parallels seen between Reiner and Eren in the chapter:

@lady-bluebird-luv makes a case pointing out the similarities the two characters have, and I think this only strengthens my prediction that we’re going to see Eren take the role that Reiner had when he was infiltrating Paradis Island. To quote: 

“Both of them have come face-to-face with what they consider to be monsters. We also learn in this chapter that Reiner’s father is Marleyian, and his mother is Eldian. Eren’s parents are both Eldians, but his mother is a Walldian while his father is from outside of the walls. In fact, both Eren and Reiner have fathers from the other side of the walls. for Reiner, it’s the wall between the true Marleyians and the Eldians. For Eren, it’s the wall between Paradise and the rest of the world. In a sense, they’re both hybrids.”

With the previous chapter where we had the mystery guy watching Reiner, I think this parallel we’re seeing only further strengthens my theory that that person is definitely Eren. It’s almost symbolic when you think about it because if this person is Eren, then there might be an implication that Eren might want to take away everything Reiner cherishes (hence making that panel feel more eerie because the danger is literally behind his back). Think about it, we see Reiner in that moment trying to guide the kids away from a place that he considers to be too dangerous, and coincidentally but not coincidentally we see that mystery guy in that direction. Now do I think Eren would do something that cruel? Well, considering the parallels we’re seeing now, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Eren doing it for sake of making Reiner feel the same pain as he did when he lost his mother. 

Now I’ve noticed there are certain claims that have made people skeptical about this person being Eren, and there are a few I would like to argue against:

1. It’s too obvious!!

Okay, first of all, this isn’t the first time Isayama has been “obvious” in regards to the mysteries of AoT. Remember the Female Titan? It was pretty obvious that while all the characters were trying to figure out the identity, most of us knew it was Annie with all the screaming hints we were given. It’s true that sometimes Isayama likes to give as few hints as possible so that the reader doesn’t figure out too much but I think in this case Isayama wants to warn the reader that this person is someone we should watch closely rather than wonder who the hell this person could possibly be.

2. Why would the Survey Corps take such a risk with Eren??

My guess is that either this is actually part of the Survey Corps plan OR Eren decided to run off on his own due to disagreements. Besides, the Survey Corps HAS made risky decisions before. They always have, and it’s not sure whether Eren is the only spy right now. However, I’m gonna go with the latter because it really does make sense that Eren would go on an independent mission. Let’s refer to chapter 45, shall we?

Remember these pages? It’s pretty telling that this is a foreshadowing of what’s to come for Eren. So to say that Eren would be rash enough to charge against an entire country on his own isn’t too crazy to believe. This is exactly what the reader should expect Eren to do. It was him after all who brought up the idea of killing the enemies on the other side. When Eren has a new goal, he’ll charge after it even if everyone else disagrees with him. 

3. Eren wouldn’t be stupid enough to wear the armband on the wrong side!

Ummmm… yes he would actually?? A hot-headed, emotional, acts-first-thinks-later-type-of-guy would do just that??? Sounds like the Eren I know, at least. This isn’t Armin we’re talking about here, you know?? I highly doubt Eren would pay attention to such a small detail. This is the guy who denied all the evidence that Annie was the Female Titan, despite how obvious it was (although be it that his emotions clouded his judgement). He’s never been the guy to come up with a brilliant plan, and I think we can all agree on that. Consider the fact that this guy likes to “look at the bigger picture”, I don’t think you should be surprised that he made such a simple mistake. 

4. The mystery man has limbs cut off! Shouldn’t they have regenerated??

I know others have already explained this one, but I’d like to point out anyway that Reiner managed to control his bitten arm from healing. In this case, it’s very possible that Eren is doing the same and must’ve trained himself to hold back from healing. No need for further explanation.

5. It could be Jean since he has disguised himself as Eren before!

Okay, this one really doesn’t make any sense, considering that if this is true then the Survery Corps are allowing a man with a missing leg to for some reason disguise as Eren with longer hair which NO ONE from the Marley side (Reiner and Zeke) remember him having??? I mean, I highly doubt Jean became a Titan shifter unless he ate Annie which just makes my brain hurt because this theory just doesn’t add up whatsoever lol. Sorry, but I just don’t see a severely injured Jean to follow a plan like this. 

6. Reiner and Zeke would recognise Eren if they saw him!

Actually, no I don’t think they would. Not at first glance, at least. With longer hair, a stub, and a missing leg, one could easily overlook Eren as just another injured soldier. Keep in mind that having longer hair makes it easier to hide his face from others. Eren’s change in his appearance makes all the more sense for him to go undercover. 

7. How are the Survey Corps going to defend themselves if Eren is gone?

I think after the multiple ships sent to Paradis Island that ended up disappearing, I don’t think the Marley are stupid enough to continue sending more. After all, Zeke did mention that they needed a “proper” plan to retrieve the Titan powers. Also, they still have Armin, and maybe even Annie I mean ffs she better not still be in that crystal after all this time lol. I’m sure they are not completely helpless without Eren’s power. 

8. How would Eren not be spotted when coming over to the Marley side?

Well, considering that we know this mysterious guy is all injured, it’s very possible that Eren used this injury to disguise himself as a soldier who was part of the 4 year war. Did he use a small boat to come over? Or did he hijack one of the ships that tried to invade Paradis Island? If he did the latter, then it would have been reported being seen arrive back. My guess is he used one of the Marley soldiers to help him navigate through Marley territory without being spotted. It’s very possible that he still used one of the ships that invaded Paradis Island but found a way to sink it before being seen (he is a Titan shifter so I’ll leave the rest to your imagination). Hell, maybe he even managed to find himself in the middle of a battle before the war ended and that’s how he came up with the idea of injuring himself so it could look like he was on the battlefield. 

So those are my opinions on the Mystery Man as of now. I’m sure I’ve probably forgotten to add some other important points so I’ll be sure to do so if I feel the need to. Feel free to agree or disagree. I’d love to hear what other thoughts people have but for now I am definitely leaning towards this guy being Eren. All the clues seem to point to him.

Chapter One: Winter is Coming

~So basically I am going to rewrite each episode of Game of Thrones as if Robert Baratheon had a legitimate daughter who was betrothed to Robb Stark (we’ll see how well this goes)

~PLEASE let me know if I should continue to write this story. I have a lot of ideas and a storyline for season one planned out so please let me know!!

~For this story, I am casting Emily Rudd as Leina Baratheon

CHAPTER ONE: WINTER IS COMING

Originally posted by haircaresser

It had been two months since Jon Arryn, my father’s Hand, had died. It had all happened so suddenly and we had been on the road to Winterfell for almost a month now.

My father, King Robert Baratheon, was going to ask Lord Eddard Stark to be the new Hand of the King. We all knew that he couldn’t say no, which was why my siblings were confused why all of us had to go to Winterfell. 

But to me, it was pretty easy to see why I was here. I had been betrothed to Robb Stark since I was born 15 years ago and due to the fact that my father had insisted that I pack most of my dresses and jewels I had assumed that I wouldn’t be returning to Kings Landing with the rest of my family.

It’s not like I would be missed back at home. The only ones that would truly miss me would be my father and my two younger siblings. My mother, uncle, and older brother were always cruel to me. 

I suppose my father did treat me differently than my other siblings. He would take me to meetings with him about war strategies and other important things, wanting me to be informed. I would go hunting with him sometimes as well. My father was one of my best friends and I would definitely miss him the most if my suspicions were correct.

For most of the journey, I had traveled on horseback right behind my father, but my mother, Cersei, demanded that I ride in the carriage for the rest of the way. She wanted my older brother, Joffrey, to be seen riding in with my father. And these past few hours in the carriage with my mother, Myrcella, and Tommen had been absolute torture.

To say my mother wasn’t fond of me would be an understatement.

We would be arriving in Winterfell soon, I could already hear the crowds getting closer and as I looked out the window, I saw the castle coming into view.

“Get away from the window, Leina,” my mother said sternly, grabbing my arm and roughly pulling me back to my seat.

“I was only looking,” I huffed. 

“Well don’t,” she responded. Myrcella and Tommen giggled at the scrunched up face that I made, which obviously didn’t sit well with my mother. 

“You are a lady,” she almost growled as she grabbed my wrist with a grip so tight that her knuckles turned white. “Act like one.”

Not wanting to anger her anymore, I sat up straight and fixed my gaze on the floor as I cradled my soon-to-be-bruised wrist. Thank goodness this journey was over.

I peeked out the window out of the corner of my eye and watched as my father got off his horse and approached the Starks. My nerves suddenly kicked in. I hadn’t seen Robb in nine years, and I was only six so I barely remembered anything about him.

The carriage door suddenly opened and I exited the carriage behind Tommen and Myrcella, our mother following us. I saw my father greeting Lord Stark before he turned to face us and motioned with his hand for someone to come over.

My mother took a step forward before he called my name.

“Leina!” he boomed from across the courtyard. “Come here!”

I ignored the glare my mother gave me as I stepped forward towards my father.

“You remember my daughter, Leina,” he introduced me to Lord and Lady Stark.

“Of course,” Lord Stark responded as he bowed and kissed my hand. “You have grown up quite a bit since the last time we saw you, Your Highness.”

“Well it has been almost ten years, Lord Stark,” I acknowledged as he chuckled and my father pulled me down the line.

I greeted Lady Catelyn and bent down slightly to greet Rickon, who gave me the cutest little smile I had ever seen. Father guided me back past Lord Stark and in front of Robb.

The nerves rushed back as he bowed and kissed my hand. He gave me a small smile as he greeted me and I could feel my cheeks turn red as I tried to move on to meet Sansa, Arya, and Bran, but father stopped me.

“Now, Leina,” he chuckled. “No need to be shy! You might as well get used to each other considering you’re going to be married in the next few years.”

It was then that my mother decided she’d had enough and walked purposely over to us, thrusting her hand out to be kissed without saying a word.

“Take us to the crypts!” Father exclaimed. “I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been on the road for a month, my love,” my mother responded. “Surely the dead can wait.”

There was a brief pause and you could feel the tension between them. 

“Ned,” Father responded, walking towards the crypts. Lord Stark followed him quickly.

“Leina, this way,” Mother said as she grabbed my bruised wrist. 

“Leina!” Father yelled from across the courtyard once again. “Have Robb escort you to the crypts with us. I want to show you something.”

My mother’s face dropped and her grasp on my wrist tightened and I winced before she let go.

I glanced over to Robb, who looked concerned.

Oh, great. Just what I needed. My betrothed seeing my mother abuse me in front of an entire town.

Robb offered his arm and I gladly took it as we walked towards the crypts.

“Any idea what your father wants to show you?” he asked after we were far enough from the crowds, but not close enough to our fathers that they could overhear us.

“I am going to assume it has something to do with your late Aunt Lyanna,” I answered. “He speaks of her quite a bit. He says that he named me Leina to remind him of her. He really loved her.”

“I’ve heard the stories, Your Highness.”

“Oh, just call me Leina,” I told him. “I mean, we are betrothed.”

“I suppose we are,” he laughed.

At this point we had made it to down to the crypts. My thoughts about Lyanna were correct. My father showed me her statue and to say she was beautiful would be an understatement. She was absolutely gorgeous. I could see why my father was in love with her.

 I only hoped that Robb could be that someone to me.


What I pictured Leina wearing:

PART TWO

Not Left Behind Anymore

Part 2 to Left Behind But Not Forgotten

Originally posted by manny-mellark

  • Title: Not Left Behind Anymore
  • Fandom: Disney Descendants
  • Pairing: Gil x Reader + a tiny bit of Harry x Uma
  • Warnings: slight cursing (they are teenagers guys) and some slightly depressing scenes (PREPARE FOR THE FEELS)
  • Description: Gil finally tells Harry what’s on his mind… but he doesn’t exactly mean to. Evie’s plan is still moving onward full force, and it starts to cause complications. Meanwhile, Ben makes a convenient decision on who to bring to Auradon next.
  • A/N: IT’S HERE! The second part of Left Behind But Not Forgotten is here and I really hope you guys like it as much as you liked the first part!! (Seriously, I’ve never gotten so many notes in such a short period of time! Thank you guys so much!) Enjoy the story!… and can someone please tell me why there’s so few Gil gifs????

Keep reading

The Adventures of Todd and Granny

(Alternatively: “I Saw Granny Ethel with the Devil”)

Part I | Part II | Part III



Unexpected Guest



Today is a good day for Todd—though they mostly are, as of late.

He’s heard people, mostly the damned, mention the “good ol’ days”; these must be his in the making.

By the end of the afternoon, he’s improved greatly on his stitch counting and his triple crochets and, especially, in mastering how to properly turn his piece so his rows are no longer frustratingly mismatched. It’s still a work in progress, but Granny Ethel’s lessons are wonderful as always. Next up is learning how to incorporate another yarn color for bright, fun designs—or in his case, dark and atmospheric—after their midday break of coffee and desserts, of course. Because as fond as she is of his preferred black yarn, she insists he has to branch out from solids eventually. There’s no growth if one always remains in their comfort zone.  

Instead of coffee, however, Granny Ethel is in the mood for tea—and just as with everything else he’s inherited from her lifestyle, the art of brewing tea presents a difficult learning curve.

She doesn’t take her tea from grocery store boxes and tiny sachets—she doesn’t buy those in bulk because they only go to waste and sit stale in the cupboards. When she drinks tea at all (that is, when she isn’t in the mood for espresso), it must be fresh, and from organic, homegrown ingredients. For this reason, tea isn’t an impulsive choice of drink. It must be planned. It’s another lesson she’s instilled in him during his stay, and, the week before, they’d spent an entire morning identifying each of the specific herbs thriving in the back garden, and which parts were best used in which blends. Of course, he is well acquainted with the rosemary and sage, the lavender and thyme, the basil and juniper, and the chamomile and anise. But lemongrass is new, and it grows in abundance in the planters set on the windowsills.

Because it’s such a novelty, he chooses it as the main note and adds in chamomile blossoms to offset the citrus tang. It’s a challenge to balance it just right so neither is too overwhelming, nor too bland, and he doesn’t expect this to be a great attempt, but Granny Ethel is honest with her evaluations and generous with encouragement. There’s also the matter of heating the water to a proper boil, and not overheating the mix, then steeping it for the right amount of time…

Well, there’s a reason he never apprenticed to a potion brewer and enlisted in the debt collecting department for souls instead.

But for Granny Ethel, he tries his best.

The kitchen counter, small as it is, is a difficult surface to work with. The kitchenware is tiny in his hands, and if he isn’t careful when he moves, his horns scrape the ceiling above, sending a fine powder of popcorned drywall down like snow out of season.

Water sloshes out of the kettle and spills across the granite, some trickling down onto the tiles, and the small, fragile jar he mixes the herbs in cracks beneath his claws, but doesn’t shatter. He scoops out the blend with care and packs it loosely into a metal tea strainer, but even so, most of it ends up scattered across the counter. Grass and petals bounce and dive out of the tea ball as he fumbles to secure the latch, and by the end of the struggle, only a small portion of what he’d placed remains within.

He tries once more—and again. And once more, just until there’s an appropriate measurement of herbs trapped inside. Then, ever-so-carefully, he sets the tea ball into Granny Ethel’s favorite tea cup (the special one, decorated with playful kittens and ribbons and an elaborate, golden cursive “C”) and pours boiling water over it to steep.

A freshly-baked apple pie waits on the small, round dining table, taken fresh from the oven only an hour before. A sliver of the circle has been removed for tasting—and it is delicious. Slicing two pieces of the pie is a far simpler task than brewing tea, and Todd makes sure that Granny Ethel’s piece dwarfs the plate it sits upon, because she deserves the best. And bigger is better.  

The two dessert-filled plates sit across from each other, equidistant, on the table, on finely crocheted doilies that serve as placemats. The pastel yellow tablecloth covering the table is riddled in fragile, embroidered daisies and winding leaves and it screams spring despite the heat of summer weighing heavy in the air. He’ll have to find another to replace it with, soon. Maybe one with sunflowers.

As he considers this, the doorbell rings.

It isn’t something he thinks twice about anymore. Not since their new friend from the supermarket made it habit to participate in their weekly Yahtzee or domino nights, and their bi-weekly trips to the bingo hall.

Neither does Granny Ethel—he can hear her call to the door from the living room, remaining in her seat, “Come in, dear! The door is unlocked.”

But it isn’t a game night, or a bingo day.

It’s midafternoon on a Tuesday and the only thing scheduled for the remainder of the day is a rerun of one of their favorite TV dramas about two women in law enforcement.

The door creaks open—it’s something Todd’s been meaning to fix, though the home is sorely lacking in tools and hardware necessary for the job. If there was hinge lubricant around, it would fix it right up, but he may have to resort to cooking oil as a quick fix.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carefully balancing the teapot and teacup in both clawed hands, he approaches the carpeted hall between the kitchen and living room to take a peek at the mystery guest. But multitasking, pouring the tea and looking at the same time, proves to be a mistake and in hindsight something he should have avoided.

The tea, so carefully prepared and brewed, overflows from the fine china cup, spills onto the matching, chipped saucer and steadily splatters the floor. Todd doesn’t even move, doesn’t blink, as it saturates the floral rug beneath his claws. The drips are the only thing moving in this scene removed from time, and all else stands still, even the dust in the air.

Neither of them expected a guest today—neither of them ever expected this particular guest. Mostly because one believes he is already present, and one believes he is too selfish to ever even have the passing thought to visit, much less call or write.

“Oh no, Todd, the carpet! Hurry now, dear, hurry, go and—no, I’ll go and grab a towel, I know where the cleaning ones are!”

Granny Ethel is the first to break free from the frozen atmosphere—though she refuses to acknowledge anything aside from the growing stain on the living room floor. Todd quickly rights the white china teapot hanging from his claws and holds his other hand steady to prevent the flooded teacup from dripping more hot tea to the puddle below. It doesn’t work—seems to make it worse, actually. It’s a vain task, so he gives up and cradles it all in his large hands, doing his best to keep the remaining tea contained in his palms. 

“‘Todd?’” says the clean-cut young man standing in the open doorway, a jarring juxtaposition to the black clothes and heavily-blackened eyes and metal accessories from familiar photographs—but even in the full Sunday suit, those downturned, bright eyes are unmistakable, and they are fixed unblinkingly on Todd’s decidedly un-Todd-like form. “Who are you?

I’m you, but better, doesn’t seem like an appropriate response, no matter how true it is. Todd the demon holds his silence and doesn’t break the gaze, because it feels like a challenge.

This man is the human Todd, and he’s come to visit.




Today is a….strange day, for Demon Todd.

Tea time is no longer a pleasant, cozy time. Not with their extra guest, seated between them at the small round table with a (small) slice of pie of his own and an untouched glass of water—no tea, no coffee, for him. He’s tall—a bit too large for the small table, though Demon Todd is one to talk. But being who he is, it’s only natural he dwarfs everything around him. This Human Todd, though… just what is his excuse?

Granny Ethel hasn’t spoken a single word to the young man the entire time and her silence is strange. She’s usually such a chatty, friendly woman.

So they eat in silence—but not Human Todd. He sits still, staring with narrowed, mean eyes, on edge. But not entirely frightened, like the general public tended to be in his presence. It’s odd. Perhaps it runs in the family.

As he sits in the silence, he wrings his hands together—clean hands, like one unaccustomed to frequent physical labor. No dirt in sight underneath his nail beds. Not even flecks of old nail polish hinting at remnants of a secret grunge lifestyle never quite grown out of. Whatever he has grown into certainly isn’t that of someone who toils in the underworld or its culture, like his counterpart.

No, rather, it reeks of money. Given—not earned. And possibly taken, too.

Demon Todd has an inkling of why Human Todd is here. After all, he didn’t come alone. Accompanying his arrival were three large, expensive suitcases, stuffed full. Still sitting in the living room, out of place.

At long last, as the last crumb falls, Granny Ethel speaks.

“Well, dear, speak up, speak up. What brings you here?” she asks the young man as she pats at the corners of her wrinkled mouth with a cloth napkin, and she avoids speaking his name despite the fact that she must know who he is.

The words, though, aren’t entirely conversational. With the three of them sitting at the small table, it more resembles a conference—no, a hearing. Especially when she pulls up the thick, round spectacles hanging from crocheted strings around her neck and sets them atop the bridge of her nose to better see the new visitor.

Human Todd’s eyes drift warily from the long, sharp claws tapping silently on the tabletop, and he clears his throat before looking to his grandmother, wearing a sickly sweet and fake smile as he does. “Well, it’s been so long. So, so many years, Gran. I’ve missed you, see. Dad was in the wrong, and he treated you terribly. I understand that now.”

“Ah, Arthur…” she replies faintly, setting the napkin down on the table and folding her hands across her lap. Yes—she knows exactly who Human Todd is. But the behavior is still so unlike her. No joy, no sweet smiles. All gone, drained, as empty as the teacup set in front of her, but not even leaving the dregs of what she once was behind.

Demon Todd briefly considers kicking Human Todd to the curb.

“He said awful things about you, and I listened. I came here by way of apology, to take care of you, but,” briefly, and not without a flinch, his eyes wander to Demon Todd, and linger on the dark, hand-crafted shawl perched on his spiny shoulders, “it seems like you’ve already gotten that under control.” His gaze lingers, fixed in a poorly-concealed grimace. “Who are you, by the way?”

Granny Ethel speaks for him, and for a moment her cheer returns. “This is my wonderful grandson, Todd! He’s such a polite young man. And it’s true, life has certainly become easier, and better, since he arrived and helped out so, so much.”

Demon Todd can only nod, but if he could smile without it looking like several rows of craggy, sharp teeth gnashed together in malicious threat, he would.  

Human Todd wrenches his gaze away, and pulls at the collar of his pristine white shirt. His hairline shines with sweat, and it isn’t due to the cozy temperature Granny Ethel prefers to keep in the house.

“Then…who am I?” he ventures quietly, eyebrows furrowed in an odd mixture of confusion and shame. Ah, the bafflement of mortals.

“Why, dear, I couldn’t say. In fact, I’d say that depends entirely on you! Actions speak louder than words, don’t you know.”

The sweat creeps down his temples, shining in the faint light. “Right, I…I see.”

“But if you’d like a name…I would insist on Theodore. What do you think, Todd, dear?”

Demon Todd nods once more, pleased by the way the conversation unsettles the man. In fact, the situation is much like naming a pet. Although something fluffy and small, or covered in feathers, would be preferable to this sweaty human.

“Theodore it is, then!”

Human Todd—now, Theodore—switches his gaze between them, fingers tugging at his shirt collar once again. “Alright. Theodore it is,” he agrees, as if, perhaps, it has been his name all along, and using a shortened form of it had been a way to rebel, once upon a time. A memory lost to time. A privilege denied. “I guess I deserve that.”

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way, Theodore, dear, how long are you planning on staying? I must warn you, showing up unannounced means Todd and I haven’t been able to prepare for guests. I’m afraid that means you and Todd will have to share a room until we’re able to make other arrangements.”

Theodore gulps audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing. He refuses to meet Demon Todd’s—just Todd, again, something of a victory—eyes. “Y-yes Gran.”

“And you must be aware of the house rules. Everyone contributes in any way they’re able.”

“Actions speak louder than words, right?” Theodore asks, shaky fingers reaching for the glass of water set in front of him. Not quite making it and falling still on the table, instead.

“That’s right, dear.” Granny Ethel smiles, at last. Full of her old joy again, as she should be. Renewed. Her eyes, large and owlish behind the clouded lenses, turn to Todd. “Now, Todd, won’t you be a dear and show our new house guest to his room?”

Todd looks to the dirty dishes on the table, caught between wanting to tend to them before taking care of any other, less important, duties.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the dishes.”

Well, Granny Ethel’s word is law.

He rises to his feet—careful, always careful. Barely resisting the urge to let the ends of his horns graze the ceiling above Theodore so he gets a nice, healthy dose of powdered scrapings on his painstakingly slicked-back hair.

The man follows, cautiously, and keeps three steps behind as Todd leads him out of the kitchen and into the living room to scramble for his luggage, then down the hallway to the guest room, not making a peep, and not even stepping hard on the floors just to startle his counterpart a little, because one, it would flatten the carpets into ugly tracks, and two, Granny Ethel would want him to be a good host.

Theodore knows who—what—he is. Yet even when Granny Ethel is out of sight and out of earshot, he doesn’t question it. He simply goes about his business and does his best to ignore the hulking beast standing in the doorway, watching.

Though, between the two of them, Todd isn’t sure which one is the real monster.

It’s a conversation for another day.

Which Character Should You Fight: Starmyu Edition (2.0?)
  • Hoshitani Yuuta: Why would you fight him? ... Then again, try it. He'll make you reconsider your decision and you'll become best buddies and sing a duet together. That's Miracle Hoshitani for you.
  • Nayuki Tooru: Why, though? He's so sweet! Then again, he's not exactly sane and could stab you with a kitchen knife if he feels threatened. Don't.
  • Tsukigami Kaito: You'd probably have a good chance against this nerd, but then all of his brother's friends and fans would skin you alive. Better not.
  • Tengenji Kakeru: The thing about friends and fans is still valid, except the guy can kick your ass himself. But do it. It'll be fun, you boor.
  • Kuga Shuu: Dude was a delinquent in middle school and won bloody fights against groups of people of unspecified numbers. Do you value your life? If so, don't fight Kuga Shuu.
  • Tatsumi Rui: If you're thinking about fighting Princess Rui, you're a terrible person and I hope the rest of Ayanagi Academy kicks your ass. Don't fight him. He's a sweet child.
  • Sawatari Eigo: Yeah, you could win a fight against him. But if he's without his glasses, it's an unfair advantage you got, and if he's with his glasses, you're an uneducated prick for hitting someone with glasses. Either way, you lose the moral ground here.
  • Ugawa Akira: Go ahead. He has grown as a character, but it'll still be fun to see you having your ass kicked by a 160cm guy.
  • Toraishi Izumi: He survived years of being Kuga Shuu's best friend. it means he'll either kick your ass, or you'll end up making out. Well, try it out. Unless you ain't into guys, that is.
  • Inumine Seishirou: That would be like kicking a literal puppy. Don't. (Also, both Ugawa and Toraishi would kick your ass.)
  • Ageha Riku: Only fight this nerd if he's in his pre-"got told by Tsukigami Haruto" phase. After that phase, though, please leave him alone. He has suffered enough.
  • Hachiya Sou: Remember the glasses thing? Besides, you don't need to fight him. He'll trip on his own step and punch himself on the face. Poor thing. Please let him be. He's already fighting hard fights.
  • Kitahara Ren: PLEASE FOR EVERYTHING THAT'S SACRED FIGHT HIM. He deserves a punch. Maybe ten. He'll probably destroy you and call you "guilty" afterwards, but well damn worth a try. Of course, it could bckfire and he could fall in love with you, but you'd feel a cathartic release for having beaten the guy. "Yuuzai janai" or whatever.
  • Nanjou Kouki: You can go ahead, but I'll have to warn you he'll get off on being beaten and you two will probably end this fight on his bed, with his sleeping satisfied smile and your very confused look as to what the heck just happened.
  • Ootori Itsuki: Please fight him. Dude needs some fun in his life and maybe that's just what he needs to have fun. Give the guy some fun. He'll probably thank you later.
  • Hiiragi Tsubasa: What have I said about hitting people who use glasses? Besides, he could get you suspended or expelled, even if you don't study at Ayanagi. Don't.
  • Akatsuki Kyouji: Please do it. He still kinda deserves it. Okay, just a little bit, but...
  • Christian Lion Yuzuriha: Dunno, man. Dude looks dangerous. You know, never trust the girly dudes to be bad at fighting. Last time someone underestimated a girly guy, he punched a nerd square on the face. Dude got knocked out cold.
  • Sazanami Sakuya: I know dude has a girly name and all, BUT HE THROWS PEOPLE AROUND IN HIS DOJO FOR FUN. HE'S A SKILLED MARTIAL ARTIST. DO NOT FIGHT HIM UNLESS YOU'RE A BLACK BELT YOURSELF.
  • Tsukigami Haruto: Unless you want to be eaten alive by his fans, better not. Even if he kinda deserves it.
  • Uozumi Asaki: He's gonna accept the challenge. And even if he loses, he'll be thankful that at least he got to blow away some steam. You'd be doing him a favor.
  • Futaba Taiga: He's a ray of sunshine! Why would you? But sure! You know he'll probably give you a swift beating all while smiling, but go for it!
  • Saotome Ritsu: What did I say about trying to fight pretty boys? Even more if they have pink hair! He's gonna destroy you so hard, not even your parents will remember your existence. You'll be erased from reality by a pink haired pretty boy.
  • Nayuki Yuki: Nope. Better not. She's gonna kick your butt. And if you're a grown-up, you don't wanna lose to a 13 years old girl now, do you?
  • Nayuki Tsumugi: Beware the quiet ones. Even worse than her twin. Better leave her alone, too.
  • Tavian: She's a cute little cat. You monster. I hope she scratches your face and Tengenji kicks your unmentionables for even thinking about fighting this precious angel.
7

Okay, listen up, fellas! Here’s the deal.

The Sullivan Series is a Supernatural based fan fiction that counts over 470.000 words and is still going strong. This story is my lovechild, my legacy and life’s work, since I’ve been working on it for almost ten years now. It is dark, graphic, angsty, but it’s also loving, funny and sweet. It’s a story about the crazy world of America’s best hunters Dean and Sam Winchester, who cross paths with Zoë Sullivan. A lesson learned quickly is that everything happens for a reason and nothing can prepare you when the truth comes out.

I want to introduce you all to this tale with one hell of a promise; I will post a new chapter twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, starting September 28th. How does that sound?

To warm you up a little, here’s a little sneak peek of what’s coming:


A bit stunned, Sam stares at the door of room 17. Dean already walks down the hallway with his jacket hanging over his shoulder. He doesn’t hear his brother’s footsteps and turns around.
   “Comin’ or what?”
Sam’s places his hand on the door. He feels like something’s off here and glances at Dean.
   “The door just slammed in my face”, he notifies.
   “What did you expect? It’s Zoë”, Dean says, being smart.
   “I’m not sure”, he hesitates as he pounds on the door. “Zoë?!”

But Zoë doesn’t hear him. She seems isolated, as if she is in a soundproof room. The hair on the back of her neck stand up as the comfortable room temperature within seconds drops to a freezing cold climate, leaving her exhaled breath hanging in the air like miniature clouds. Shit shit shit, this is so not good. Zoë swallows apprehensively, looking for anything she can defend herself with, but then the disturbing image of Laura already flicks onto view. Skin so pale it hints to a shade of blue, black bruises noticeable on her arms and legs. She stares up from under her  furrowed brow, her eyes hidden in the darkness of her sockets. Water drips on the ground from the fabric of her dress and soaked through hair, leaving puddles on the floor. Her neck is broken and strangely tilted to the right. Slowly Zoë backs out.

   “You don’t want to do this, Laura”, Zoë warns carefully.
   “Or what? You will kill me?”, she says clever.
Little smartass, Zoë can’t help but to think. The huntress is the one who needs to start with the smart talk, though. It might be her only way out of this clusterfuck. She needs to get under that girl’s skin.
   “Why are you doing this?”, Zoë asks calmly.
   “They didn’t stop it”, Laura says. “They all knew, but they didn’t stop it”.
   “What are you haunting me for then?”, Zoë questions.
Carefully she glances aside at her backpack on the drawer. She knows it contains a bag of salt. She could use a Winchester shotgun right now, that rock salt idea is a pretty damn good idea.

   “I’m haunting you, because you are trying to stop me. You didn’t want me to kill Mrs. Dawlson”, she says, as if it’s a good argument.
Zoë backs out further until she feels the drawer against her spine. While talking, one hand tries to find the bag of salt in the backpack.
   “Mrs. Dawlson was a good person, with a family. Now I know how you feel about the person who did this to you…”
“Yes you do, don’t you, Miss Sullivan?”, she turns her head in an abnormal angle for a moment and the bones in her neck crack. “You know what hating someone feels like. That’s why you became what you are”.

Startled Zoë stares at the little ghost. How the fuck does she know all this? Is she playing mind games here? It’s scary how the spirit stays so well-mannered and Zoë has trouble looking her in the eye. She knows everything about her. 
   “I know what your father did to you was cruel and unforgivable, but this isn’t you, Laura. You need to let go”, Zoë tells her.
   “I can’t. You should understands that, you can’t let go either. Someone did this to you, Miss Sullivan. It didn’t just happen, he knew and still didn’t help you. Don’t you want to kill him?”, Laura pressures.
   “Oh, I do”, the huntress replies honest. “But grown ups realize what consequences that has for everyone else involved”.

In a blink of an eye she throws a hand of salt at Laura’s face, which causes her to scream and flicker on and off, but only for a moment, though. Zoë hastes for the door and turns the doorknob. Laura still has control over the environment and the door stays shut. Sensing her presence, the huntress turns around and sees Laura coming back at her very quickly, as if she was seeing a video being fast forwarded. Right in front of her nose she stops and stares up at her angrily. Her mouth opens abnormally wide as her eyes disappear into her skull completely, then she attacks.


If you liked this bit, don’t hesitate to read the entire story. It will be worth your while!

Find ‘The Sullivan Series’ Masterlist here!

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anonymous asked:

Could you please explain for me how Will mistreats Nico. I'm not trying to be rude I just legitimately don't understand

Of course! Lemme just get my handy dandy copy of BoO and the THO books.

To begin, I’d like to point out that I am writing this from the POV of a gay male. I am a gay male with a lot of resentment toward my sexuality. I was forced out at around the same age as Nico as well so I strongly identify with his feelings. I want you to know that I am speaking from experience when I discuss how Will treats Nico. I’d also like to say I do not hate Will as a character (in fact, I quite adore him as a character when he isn’t around Nico.)

There are many routes I can go with discussing Will and Nico that all take place in how Will mistreats Nico and all of it can be summed up as “Riordan can’t write romance, at all.” Anyone who has read through HoO can see the messy writing with the other ships in the series as well.

So with that, let’s pull out BoO first, shall we?

This was the first time where I had problems with Will. We have a character that pretty much appeared out of thin air after having no relevance before this point (other than healing Annabeth once 5 books ago) and what’s he do? Constantly bicker with Nico. Nico hates it. It’s in Nico’s internal monologues that he does not like the way Will is treating him. This is climaxed at this point. This despicable point. This is genuinely the worst thing I have seen with people still shipping a ship. Will, quite literally, invalidates Nico’s feelings that are sprinkled throughout the 2 series’ and says they’re his fault. Will put the blame on Nico for being ostracized by the rest of camp. We’ve seen from both Percy and the other campers that while, yes, Nico does distance himself, but the campers were also very scared of Nico. They didn’t like him. This wasn’t some made up fantasy Nico had and yet here’s Will basically telling Nico to get over himself and that he’s just being angsty for no reason. Who tells a depressed kid to just “get over it?” That’s not okay.

This dismissal of Nico’s feelings is honestly continued throughout the next series.

Here’s where “Riordan is just a bad writer” comes into play. I don’t expect Riordan to be able to write a gay male’s recovery story well because he’s straight (as far as we know.) But I still expect him to understand how people fundamentally work. Sure, THO takes place 6 months after BoO but let me be honest with you: That’s not enough time. There is no way Nico would have a boyfriend because he’d still be trying to accept himself and trying to gain the trust of others. There’s no way he would love Will who told him his feelings don’t matter which continues in the next book:

Ah yes, the legendary significant other scene. Also known as the scene that actually made me gag. Nico is clearly uncomfortable here. There is no denying it. Will is literally teasing Nico about being uncomfortable with how open Will is. As someone who was outed by force and is very uncomfortable with their sexuality, I get how Nico feels. It’s scary and you don’t like being like this. The last thing you want is to be reminded of it. It makes you sick and depressed. But here comes Will just straight up ignoring how Nico feels. This is not okay. This is not how a relationship should ever be. Your feelings should never be used for the butt of a joke. That’s just awful.

It’s already canon in HoO that Nico doesn’t like being touched. We can assume this has continued 6 months after as he literally pushes Will off of him. It can be evident that Will, based on his character, probably does this a lot. Now, I don’t know about you, but I hate it when someone touches me without me asking. I don’t like being touched in general and this would just peeve me. The fact Will does this without even caring for Nico’s feelings is just sad to be honest.

For an added tidbit:

There’s small implications here that Will probably stares at other guys and whatnot. There might be implications that Nico is wary that Will is going to cheat which is – well – pretty messed up. It shows that Nico has not grown to trust Will at all and it might have to do with how Will treats Nico.

To sum it all up, Will invalidates Nico’s feelings constantly and always pushes Nico’s comfort zone to uncomfortable levels. This is the sign of a toxic relationship that should have ended but hasn’t. The lack of trust makes me wonder how Riordan ever thought that these two characters should have gotten together. I mean, it’s only been six months there’s no way Nico would be comfortable like that at all and he isn’t. So why is Nico still with Will when, if he was in character, there would be no doubt that Nico would hate Will?

Crash Course - Rafe x Sam

Title: Crash Course
Fandom: Uncharted
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Rafe/Sam
Rating: Adult
Words: 5,212 (this chapter)
Overview: On the other side of those prison gates, Rafe is the only thing Sam really recognises anymore. He doesn’t know how to cope with being back in the world, but Rafe needs him, so for now that’s enough - but how long can it possibly last before it all comes crashing down?

Notes: Set after Sam gets out of prison, in the two years before the game. Warnings for this chapter: masturbation, sexual fantasy. Many thanks to @thevaultmessiah and @zer0tucker for beta reading.

My first attempt at an Uncharted fic for my new OTP *___* also posted on my AO3 account here. Be gentle with me..

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anonymous asked:

I have a question on your post about making CGs feeling guilty. What if you don't have control of when you regress and you actually need help/care while you're regressed? Does it make you a bad partner if you get upset that they don't want to? My CG gets mad at me sometimes because I'm "acting little" when he's playing a game or something, but sometimes I just don't have control over it and it upsets me when he gets angry over something I can't control.

I don’t think either of you are in the wrong. I just don’t think you should be together. You regress more often than he can handle, and he isn’t every time you need him to be. If it’s causing strain in your relationship, you have three choices: 1) Try to control it more, 2) Break up, 3) Be poly and find another CG. 

I really don’t agree with making CGs feel guilty for not wanting to be a CG each and every time you want. I really don’t. At the end of the day, they’re not really your parents. If they haven’t outright agreed to be in big space every time you feel little, then you can’t expect that of them.

Let’s be real here, most CGs are just partners who are okay with interacting with a little when they regress. There are a rare few like me who actively search this out and need the dynamic, but even I am not constantly in big space. Expecting someone to be is just impossible. 

Relationships are give and take, not take, take, take. If he’s in big space most of the time when you need him to be, I honestly think you’re being really selfish here. I don’t think he should be angry, but if you throw a fit because he wants some grown up time, I completely understand why he would be angry, and I think you are in the wrong. It’s not all about you. He has feelings and wants and NEEDS as well. CGs need time to just unwind and relax, just like you do. For him, maybe that’s video games. 

If you can’t except that, then you should break up with him and look for someone who can and will agree to being in big space each and every single time you feel little. I think you’re chances of finding that person are about one in a million, but if that’s what you want, go for it. 

These are just my thoughts and opinions. Feel free to disagree. And as always, good luck :)

aquariantwin  asked:

can we talk about a saiki and mob psycho crossover

Huh-YES we can!

So I have no clue where Spice City sits in relation to the rest of Japan, and I wasn’t paying enough attention to get where Saiki lives, either. Whoops. But lets assume that the two live relatively close, but not so close that Mob’s antenna would pick up Saiki. 

One of Saiki’s most completely OP abilities is to convince every single person on Earth that something is true if he so desires it, and then change reality to match his desires and imagination. However, as we’ve seen in MP100, strong enough ESPers are essentially impervious to outside influence that is a certain level below their’s. In this case, this wouldn’t matter much as Saiki is demi-god level psychic, however, I figure that Mob’s strong auto-aura plus his natural hyper-denseness make him largely immune to these changes. This natural immunity has a slight field of effect so that Spice City has a lower incidence of the changes that Saiki made (aka weird hair colors and senses of style, a slightly slower healing effect, buildings take longer to repair, clothes can be torn away from crotches re:Teru).

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chuckxavier  asked:

Hi Ending! So I recently got into Star Wars and I was wondering if you knew any Cherik Star Wars au fics? :3 Also do you know any Cherik fics that feature other Marvel characters like the Avengers? thanks :)

Hey, friend! Sorry this is soooo late, @anunexpectedhotdwarf!

There really aren’t many Star Wars AUs I know of in the Cherik would, but here’s a few I’ve read:

I Promised You Life by Sperare (T, 7K) Jedi Knight Erik Lehnsherr comes home to his husband after a lengthy deployment to the Outer Rim.

Across the Stars by Gerec (M, 500words) The end for Jedi Erik Lehnsherr comes, unbidden and unexpected, on the ruined and desolate planet of Mustafar in the Outer Rim.Star Wars AU, with Erik falling to the Dark Side.

Across the Stars (The Blue-eyed Jedi Remix) by Nostalgic_Kitty (M, 1K) harles really shouldn’t be making out with a Sith lord in the ruined remains of a TIE fighter.

Art by @thacmis and ficlet by pan here and here!

As for fics with the Avengers and other Marvel characters, there are quite a few, but I’ll try to pick some faves!

Have You Met Uncle Charles? by winterhill (M, 3K) AU crossover. Tony Stark has known Charles Xavier since Tony was eight and Xavier was his Uncle Charles. Now that Tony’s all grown up, Charles vets his dates. Well, most of them. Except for the ones where Charles brings someone who should really be in jail, not a fancy restaurant.
Ending’s Comment: I’m a total sucker for Charles and Tony being best friends :)

Forward Momentum by AsYouWish (E, 47K) Six months after Cuba, Charles and Erik find themselves thrown fifty years into the future, where they meet their older selves, the Avengers, and a world that’s very different from their own. Faced with the pieces of their broken relationship, an unparalleled adversary, and dealing with Tony Stark on a daily basis, Charles and Erik do their best to adapt while trying to find a way back home – and to each other.
Ending’s Comment: Really unique time travel fic that has Cherik teaming up with the Avengers.

Coffee Date by Pangea (E, 4k) The Avengers have once again saved the world from an alien invasion. Go figure, right? But even superheroes need a coffee break every now and then, and Tony Stark knows just how to organize one.Naturally, Erik is the only one not amused.
Ending’s Comment: Hilarious XD

Took Me By Surprise and Then by thehoyden (T, 5k) After the second surgery in New York, Charles doesn’t anticipate anyone keeping vigil by his bedside — and certainly not Tony Stark.
Ending’s Comment: More Charles and Tony BFF that’s really touching.

Charles Xavier’s A+ Guide to Management (or, How to Completely Destroy Your Life Without Even Trying) by fro_baby (E, 85K) In which Charles and Erik run a newspaper, wrangle interns, outrun the feds, outwit a multinational crime lord, get royally fucked over (twice), eat prawns, argue over comma errors, dodge (and fail to dodge) airborne projectiles, make many snarky remarks, drive around in the desert, fight, make up, fight again, and slowly (but surely) fall in love. 
Ending’s Comment: Fun fic in which all kinds of Marvel characters show up!

A Night at the Opera by winterhill (T, 3K) Erik has “kidnapped” Charles for a nice night out when a man with a horned helmet and staff starts disturbing the peace. Things go downhill from there.
Ending’s Comment: Delicious crack :D

There are so many more but I’m blanking right now so I might come back to this list later! Hope it can get you started :D

anonymous asked:

I definitely agree with you that there are clearly closer bonds within the Stark family. For example, when Jon thinks of fond memories from home, sometimes only Arya is involved, but in many of them its always "Robb, Bran, Arya" and he thinks how Bran and Arya played together like him and Robb before them. Its really cute! I think the Bran x Arya relationship is underrated, they were pretty close as well. Rickon was too young to form those bonds, which breaks my heart, the poor baby.

This quote?

Playing, Jon thought in astonishment, grown men playing like children, throwing snowballs the way Bran and Arya once did, and Robb and me before them. Jon, ADWD

I love it. It’s so cute. It also mirrors a quote of Arya’s I have further down.

Yeah, I once catalogued Jon’s moments when he thinks of his family, and unless it’s every single child in the Starks, it’s mainly just Arya, Bran, and Robb (though Robb references lessen a bit post-ASoS and Ned was included in AGoT.) But that makes sense because the three of them were also his three goodbyes before leaving Winterfell. 

He remembered the day he had left Winterfell, all the bittersweet farewells; Bran lying broken, Robb with snow in his hair, Arya raining kisses on him after he’d given her Needle. Jon, AGoT

There are several other cute ones, but I’ll leave that for another post.

Well, this mirrors many real families. Even in close families, there tends to be people with closer bonds because of things like similar interests. Age is also a huge factor. Jon is way closer with Robb than Rickon for instance because he grew up with Robb, and Rickon was too young for him to form a bond with.

But about Bran x Arya. Well, I’m glad you asked because I have a bunch of feelings on the subject. First, you’re right, they are a highly underrated relationship.

There’s some great parallels to start with.

They’re both climbers:

The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran’s second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran, AGoT

Arya was a skilled climber and a fast picker, and she liked to go off by herself. Arya, ACoK

They’re not fans of romantic stories:

“Some books. I like the fighting stories. My sister Sansa likes the kissing stories, but those are stupid." Bran, ADWD

(on hearing the story of Ashara Dayne) Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid.Arya, ASoS

 They both have darkness as a theme that their teachers tell them will give them strength/guide them:

There he sat, listening to the hoarse whispers of his teacher. “Never fear the darkness, Bran.” The lord’s words were accompanied by a faint rustling of wood and leaf, a slight twisting of his head. “The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother’s milk. Darkness will make you strong.” Bran, ADWD

Every dawn she woke to darkness…

"How long must I be blind?” she would ask. “Until darkness is as sweet to you as light,” the waif would say, “

"You must now walk in darkness until you see the way” [the Kindly Man tells Arya] Arya, ADWD

They’ve both met at least one of the Children of the Forest despite them being so rare now:

Bran saw a bear skull and a wolf skull, half a dozen human skulls and near as many giants. All the rest were small, queerly formed. Children of the forest. Bran, ADWD

[The Ghost of the High Heart] turned her head sharply and smiled through the gloom, right at Arya. “You cannot hide from me, child. Come closer, now.” Arya, ASoS

They are also the most accomplished skinchangers so far, the youngest two POVs, and deal the most with wolves (although Jon’s up there.)

But about their actual relationship. Well, for starters, Bran likens someone he has great respect for to Arya:

Meera reminded Bran of his sister Arya. She wasn’t scared to get dirty, and she could run and fight and throw as good as a boy. She was older than Arya, though; almost sixteen, a woman grown. ACoK

He’s highly complimentary of Arya here since the idea of women being on par with men in terms of running, fighting, and throwing is unusual in such a patriarchal society. But also because of Bran’s feelings for Meera.

He wondered what Meera would think if he should suddenly tell her that he loved her. ADWD

Bran thinks very highly of Meera, so the comparison of the two girls in Bran’s life is great praise.

Also, I like this bit:

Bran had not wanted the Freys at the high table, but the maester reminded him that they would soon be kin. Robb was to marry one of their aunts, and Arya one of their uncles. “She never will,” Bran said, “not Arya,” ACoK

Bran seems to really know Arya here, especially considering what we see of Arya/Elmar’s interaction. 

And one of my favorite things is how Bran sees Arya all the time now. There’s him seeing Arya in Meera above but also

A cloud of ravens was pouring from the cave, and he saw a little girl with a torch in hand, darting this way and that. For a moment Bran thought it was his sister Arya … madly, for he knew his little sister was a thousand leagues away, or dead. And yet there she was, whirling, a scrawny thing, ragged, wild, her hair atangle…

And the Arya thing stood over them, clutching her torch… That was not Arya’s voice, nor any child’s. It was a woman’s voice, high and sweet, with a strange music in it like none that he had ever heard and a sadness that he thought might break his heart. Bran squinted, to see her better. It was a girl, but smaller than Arya, her skin dappled like a doe’s beneath a cloak of leaves. ADWD

Bran sees Arya in Leaf.

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn’t be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. “You be quiet, stupid,” the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. “It’s just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?” She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone. After that the glimpses came faster and faster, till Bran was feeling lost and dizzy. He saw no more of his father, nor the girl who looked like Arya. ADWD

and he sees Arya in Lyanna. Another great thing of that second quote is that it alludes to how Bran and Arya used to play. Bran even thinks “if the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself” and that “Arya never beat me playing swords”, which means that they must have played swords a fair amount together. This is also interesting because people tend to see people they miss or are thinking about in others. 

And on Arya’s side there are some good moments as well.

"Father, will Bran come and live with us now?”

“Not for a long time, sweet one,” he told her. “He needs to win his strength back.”
Arya bit her lip. “What will Bran do when he’s of age?”
Ned knelt beside her. “He has years to find that answer, Arya. For now, it is enough to know 
that he will live.” The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

“He was going to be a knight,” Arya was saying now. “A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?” AGoT

I love how Arya is asking after Bran’s dreams. She knows Bran wanted to be a knight and wants to know if he still can.

And this is the sweetest memory of all the Stark kids (sans Rickon who had not yet been born) but has some close Arya/Bran bits:

Suddenly Arya remembered the crypts at Winterfell. They were a lot scarier than this place, she told herself. She’d been just a little girl the first time she saw them. Her brother Robb had taken them down, her and Sansa and baby Bran, who’d been no bigger than Rickon was now. They’d only had one candle between them, and Bran’s eyes had gotten as big as saucers as he stared at the stone faces of the Kings of Winter, with their wolves at their feet and their iron swords across their laps.

Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. “There are worse things than spiders and rats,” he whispered. “This is where the dead walk.” That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya’s hand.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

The memory made Arya smile, and after that the darkness held no more terrors for her. AGoT

Arya uses this memory to keep her calm and unafraid right after everything becomes chaotic in her life- this is just after she killed the stableboy. I love picturing a three year old Bran clutching Arya’s hand because he’s afraid and then Arya getting defensive of him. “You scared the baby.”

Arya stared at them with resentment, remembering the times she’d played at hoops with Bran and Jon and their baby brother Rickon. She wondered how big Rickon had grown, and whether Bran was sad. AGoT

Another reminder that Arya and Bran used to play together. But also, I think it’s cute that Arya wonders if Bran is sad. She’s worried about him even though she’s in a horrible position herself at the moment, stuck alone in Flea Bottom without food or shelter or any sort of idea what’s going on.

She remembered a summer’s snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning.  Sansa, AFFC

And another quote to indicate that Arya and Bran played together and were probably up to the most mischief in the Stark household actually.

I think that Arya and Bran had a great relationship, which shows through in the text, and an underrated one. Bran and Arya are portrayed as each others’ primary playmate (likely because they are close in age,) enjoyed similar things like sword playing and climbing and snowball fights, and have some interesting parallels (like their mutual dislike of romantic stories and their themes of darkness as given by a mentor in ADWD and just by being the most accomplished skinchangers so far in the Starks.)

The Tree House -  Part 3

Summary: Dean and you have been friends ever since you were children. The two of you always were inseparable and no one could ever come between you. He has always been protective when it came to you which he proved in High School when problems occurred around you. To your disappointment your parents came between you and Dean, wanting to move “for your own good”. Years have passed since you’ve seen Dean, but in the end you always find your peace together in one place, whether  it was alone or together. The old tree house.

Words: 1547

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Originally posted by ackleholics

Warnings: none

A/N: I’ve spent 4 hours writing this shit and it sucks but be gentle with me

The Tree House Masterpost

Keep reading

An Arrow Through My Bleeding Heart (Pt. 4/?)

Title: An Arrow Through My Bleeding Heart Pt. 4

Other Parts: Pt.1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Characters: All of Arrow/SPN

Summary: The time has come for you to finally meet your dad’s family, but will everyone be as accepting as you hope?

Based On: Nada

Warnings: Uh, none I think (Message me if you find any!)

Tagging: @liqhthouse @caitsymichelle13 (If you would like to be tagged just message me!)

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out Angels! Let me know what my Little Angels think!

Your visits to your father have increased to two times a month. You bring your brothers along every once in a while. Quentin loves them, and they love him. Dean’s always asking for leftovers of the pie, and swapping recipes with your father. Quentin and Sam talk about the cases he’s working on, with Sam being pre-law, he can sort of prepare Quentin for cross-examination, and what kind of questions the defense will ask, and how to shoot them down.

But, the time has come for you to meet his family. You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, as a matter of fact you don’t think you’ve ever been the nervous in your life. You heart is beating out of your chest, your palms are sweaty, and you feel nauseous just thinking about meeting them.

Quentin tells you he’s planing on having a family dinner, and he wants you to finally meet your sisters.

Quentin sets the table dinner already out and ready. Everyone sits down except for you, as you are waiting outside his door for him to come and get you. God, you might actually throw up!

Meanwhile, Quentin was thinking of how to come around to the topic of introducing his daughter to his daughters, and ex-wife! Dear God, you might be the only one who throws up tonight! Clearing his throat, and holding his hands together, he starts in what he hopes is the best way possible.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I asked you all to be here. Well, I-I want to introduce you to someone special in my life, that’s why there is an extra setting in the table, for her. Now, in the months I’ve known her, she has grown very special to me, and I hope you will accept her with open arms.” A knock sounds on the door, making all of them turn their heads to it. “Ah, that should be her now.”

He goes to open the door, to find you, with a slightly green looking face. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and guides you to the living room, a bright smile on his face, and a small nervous one on yours, receiving almost predatory stares in return. He senses you uneasiness and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet my daughter, (Y/N),” You can practically see the cogs turning in their hands, as their eyes go wide with shock. Hoping to diffuse the rising tension in the room, you give them a small, meek wave. Dinah seems to be the most welcoming, as her eyes are not full of suspicion as Laurel’s are. She seems to be more shocked than any thing else, which is good, you hope.

Sara seems to be more confused, which is to be expected, but not hostile, thank God. They are all processing the information, but you think you might have found a friend, maybe even sister in Sara

Laurel, yeesh, Laurel didn’t seem to be taking the news to well, like, at all. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips puckered, and breathing a bit faster than it was before you were introduced. She almost looks seething, something you pray to the absent God will go away during the dinner that was sure to be straight from the Devil’s ass.

Dinah seems to sense the queasiness in your stomach that is getting hard to quell. She smiles at you, a kind smile that reminded you of your mother.

“Well, have a seat dear. Don’t be to intimidated by us, I assure you, we are all just a little confused,” She says, glancing in Laurel’s direction when she says confused, “So, in order to clear up the confusion, why don’t you tell us about yourself?”

You breath a sigh of relief, you appear to have 1 of 3 over, now to work on the other two.

“Uh, there’s not too much to tell really, uh, I’m a freelance mechanic, I travel over the country with my brothers, Sam and Dean, and sometimes we pick up a family friend named Cas. I’m adopted. My mother was murdered when I was 6, and until fairly recent events, I didn’t really care about finding my father, but a friend who was dying of cancer who also didn’t know her father, said it was her biggest regret. That made me wonder if I really could live without at least knowing who my father was and that lead me here. So, yeah, that’s pretty much all you need to know about me. Oh, and I suck at cooking,” By the time you’re finished speaking everyone, even Quentin, is looking at you with wide eyes. Your eyes flick from face to face, “Too much information?” You ask, sort of shrinking into your seat.

“Just a smidgen, sweetheart,” Quentin tells you, holding up thumb, and pointer finger, about a half inch of space in between them.

Sara is the next one to break the semi-awkward silence, which you are very thankful for.

“So, where did you grow up?” She questions, picking up her glass of wine and taking a sip, an intrigued look on her face.

“Oh, all over really, we moved around a lot because of my adoptive father’s job, a freelance carpenter, but mostly in Sioux Falls, our Uncle Bobby lives there, he used to let us help him work on the cars in the junk lot he owned, Dean and I loved it, Sam, not so much, he was always the really bookish one in the family.”

“Yeah, he seems to be the nerd in the family,” Quentin adds to your statement, while chewing on a bred stick. Laurel’s eyes shift between you and her father, again that little twinkle of anger coming into her eyes.

“Oh, so you’ve met her family now?” She questions bitterness in her tone. The easy smile that had been on Quentin’s face at the that his daughters were all getting along so well, was quickly wipe off his face at that comment.

“Now, Laurel-” He starts. Laurel shoots up out of her chair, stark raving mad.

“Don’t you ‘Now, Laurel’ me! She just comes waltzing into our lives, and suddenly you’re all smiles, and laughs!? And you already met her family! Why can’t she just stay their with them and the Hell away from us?” She grabs her purse, and storms out of the apartment. The dinner table falls silent, you keep your gazing on your hands.

“I should probably go talk to her,” Quentin begins to rise out of his chair, that’s when you intervene.

“No, please, let me, it’s my presence that’s caused this mess.” You run out the door, and mange to catch up to Laurel not to far on the sidewalk. “Laurel! Laurel!” You call out for her. She turns her head to look at you, a bit of disgust on her face.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen to me please. I am not here to take your father away from you, I am not here to try and pull you family apart. I am not here to try and replace you in any way shape or form. You were the first daughter he raised, and from what he’s told me about you, he couldn’t be more proud of you. I am only here for a chance to know my father, and in return hopefully know my mother more. You never have to see me again if you don’t want too, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t but please, please don’t take it out on him, he is only trying to get to know the daughter he never knew about. The one who saw her mother murder in front of her, the one who has absolutely no idea what she’s doing in the kitchen, the one who has two big brothers. Believe me when I say, I can only dream of him having the look in his eye when he talks about me, as he does when he talks about you or Sara. Please, I know this is hard, but I am only asking for a chance to know who my father is, who my blood family is, because I’ve spent my whole life wondering, and I don’t want to wonder anymore.” You plead with her.

She gives you a small nod in return for your begging, that’s could enough for you, and you return to dinner. The rest of it goes fairly smoothly without Laurel, you learn a bit more about Sara, like the fact that she was missing for 5 years, yeah defiantly the reason your father has heard so many apologies in his life.

The cool night air blows through your hair as you walk back to your motel. Out of nowhere an arrow flies right past your head, making you come to a stop, you look in the direction the arrow came from to see the green donning vigilante standing on top of a car, oh did he pick the wrong person to shoot an arrow at. His bow still raised at you, you hear him speak for the first time, it’s low and distorted, like he’s trying to scare someone to death.

“What do you want with Detective Lance?” He questions you.

“I don’t want anything to do with Detective Lance, Quentin Lance is the one I care about.” You tell him, an unamused look plastered on your face.

“Why?!” He demands to know, coming toward you in threatening manor. You take your knee to his side, surprising him, before you bring his head down on your knee, effectively knocking him down.

“None of your damn business!” you shout at him, running off to your motel room.

“Told you she didn’t look like she was gonna go down easy.” Oliver hears Felicity’s voice in his ear.

“Yeah, I got that.” he replies while he lays there clutching is head from where you had smashed it against your knee. 'Nice move.’ He thought, before letting out a groan.

Hello My Old Heart

Summary: Loki finds himself in the worst position he could possibly be in - falling for you. It doesn’t help that your boyfriend is a douche and you decide to throw a dance party. 

Warnings:Breakups?? Mentions of cheating

Word count: 1300

A/N: Hey look, my first songfic and my first Loki fic! Let me know how this one turned out, ‘cause I’m still a little on the fence. ((Song lyrics are bolded and italicized))

Originally posted by teacuphiddles

Hello, my old heart,
How have you been?
Are you still there inside my chest?
I’ve been so worried,
You’ve been so still,
Barely beating at all.

Loki had conditioned himself into not feeling, he liked to think his heart was frozen solid. He didn’t have a problem convincing himself of that until you came along, and at first the pounding in his chest went unnoticed. Then one day he saw you utterly annihilate Thor in training and it was simply too much to ignore.

But there was no way he could succumb to this feeling - emotions put him at risk and his heart just didn’t have room for another scar.

When he saw you that day though, angry and broken and just like him, how was he supposed to contain himself? Your boyfriend had cheated on you, and you seemed to be taking it really well, until you got back to the tower anyways.

There was crashing and screaming and angry tears, the kind you get when all the held-back rage takes up too much space and the water just has to come out. It made Loki’s chest close up seeing you like that, knowing someone was able to hurt you that badly. He didn’t want this petty human to go unpunished while you sat around your room, crying and thinking something was wrong with you.

Oh, don’t leave me here alone.
Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved a little while.
Oh, I don’t want to be alone.
I want to find a home, and I want to share it with you.

You wouldn’t let him. He was about to walk out that door and replace that smug grin on your ex’s face with a blood stained grimace when you put your hand on his chest and held him back. He would have stormed out anyways, if your eyes weren’t so heavy in the back of his head. He couldn’t leave you looking at him like that, the whole reason he loved you was because you didn’t give him that look. The pity and concern that he would go off the deep end and wreck the world again.

He stayed because if you looked at him with that swirl of doubt everyone else seemed to have in him, it really meant there was no going back for him. No redemption, which he also wouldn’t have cared about had he not met you. The thought raced through his head that you were terribly bad for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to get away.

Hello, my old heart,
It’s been so long.
Since I’ve given you away.
Every day I add another stone
To the walls I’ve built around you
To keep you safe.

In any other circumstance, he would be disgusted to be so closely associated to a Midguardian. But this was you, you weren’t just a Human, you were beautiful. Like a perfect line in a book or the golden engravings on the throne he yearned to rule. You were the crown he would don, the very same circlet he had been owed since his birth.

The more he seemed to think of this, the more he realized how much he needed you. Because now, despite his best efforts, the throne and the crown meant nothing to him. He would throw it all away for you if you asked him to. Seeing the shine in your smile would always be more rewarding that the glint of golden rims and silver lining. You were worth more than all the treasure Asgard could ever dream of, you were just so much riskier than all of his plans to hold Asgard in the palm of his hand.

Oh, don’t leave me here alone.
Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved a little while.
Oh, I don’t want to be alone.
I want to find a home, and I want to share it with you.

Maybe he could trust himself enough to let you in. What was the worst that could happen?

You could hurt him. Like Odin, like Thor. Like everyone always did.

But would you? Loki liked to think he had known you long enough to tell, and every single time he caught you smiling his way he was filled with this elated feeling that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have it in you. It didn’t take a god to see you had a heart like a furnace, though Loki knew what playing with fire got you.

He had to keep reminding himself that fire and ice don’t mix together, but it never seemed to stick the way your voice did when you called his name.

Hello, my old heart,
how have you been?
How is it being locked away?
Don’t you worry.
In there you’re safe.
And it’s true, you’ll never beat,
But you’ll never break.

“You know what this calls for?” You called from across the room, hand fiddling with the stereo in front of you.

“What?” Loki asked gloomily, still angry and moping about being held back. You pushed a button and music blared from the speakers across the tower.

“A dance party! Get you’re bony ass over here Loki!” You shouted over the bass, hopping on top of the coffee table and shaking your hips. You probably looked ridiculous, but you were beyond caring. Loki needed some cheering up and so did you, so you were gonna dance your heart out and have a good laugh about it in the process. It’s not like you were gonna get over your ex by sitting around and staring at pictures, you needed to push him out of your system, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

After busting out some of your sick moves, you opened your eyes and watched a smirk break open on Loki’s pale face, making you smile too. He liked seeing you carefree, you spent too many hours a day being tense and ready to kill anything that Fury pointed at. It was refreshing to see you already wiping the bad from your mind and being so relaxed around him.

“C'mon Mr. Grumpy Gills, dance with me!” Your hand reached out for the God and he strode closer to take it. You bounced off the table, bopping your head to the beat and shaking all of your stress away.

You and Loki twisted and raved for the rest of the night, laughing at each other and yourselves in turn. Loki forgot all about his iced heart and gave up on being reserved just for the night. He was willing to take the chance that letting you in slowly would end better than opening the gates and pulling you in.

When the Avengers returned from their mission the next morning, they found you cuddled up to Loki on the couch, head on his chest and waist between his legs. Loki’s hands were tangled in your hair and your arms had wrapped around his chest while you dreamed.

Nothing lasts forever.
Some things aren’t meant to be.
But you’ll never find the answers
Til you set your old heart.
Til you set your old heart free.

Loki was the first to wake up, and although having the weight of another person laying on him was weird and foreign, he enjoyed the feeling of importance it gave him. He had a few minutes of peaceful admiration where he toyed with your soft hair and felt you breathing against his body. He would give just about anything to wake up like this every morning.

The god found himself smiling down at you, completely content with everything in his life at that moment. He took care not to disturb you as he bent down and kissed the top of your head.

“Don’t worry my dear, one day I shall make you mine.” He whispered, whether it was to you or himself he couldn’t tell, but he meant every syllable.

Hello, my old heart

OK NDN Tumblr (NDN Twitter Too)

Let’s talk. We need to air some stuff out because there is stuff going on right now that is harmful, toxic, intimidating, inauthentic etc. etc. etc. And it is not just going on now it has been going on for years but we have these blow ups from time to time and then we maybe get a little window of calm before it all builds back up again.

I’m not going to be calling out people here but I’m going to be calling out some really shitty trends.

This is going to be very long with no tl;dr so you either read the whole thing or don’t comment. I’m not going to go back and forth with anyone who decides to pick and choose what to read without reading all the context.

The internet is an incredibly diverse “community”. We have people here from all different nations, we have people who grew up Urban, grew up on a rez, back and forth in indigenous villages, married into new communities etc. etc. We have people raised from the get go highly connected and active, we have people who have recently reconnected or are in all different stages of reconnection. We have young teens through elders active online.

Yet I keep seeing monolithic values, experiences, issues, and trends promoted. And some really contrived off the wall ones as well. To the point where if someone voices criticism it becomes a god damn circus. So here are some of these trends that we see come and go that are just NOT acceptable:

  • Extreme reactions and outrage towards basic gatekeeping. This is outright inane. Never in my life has this been a problem until I got onto tumblr. We have to gatekeep. We have to make sure that our spaces stay safe. This is done for YOU. If you are Native, whether you’ve just started to learn about your family and are starting to reconnect or if you’ve grown up in an indigenous community this is done to make sure that you are not mislead or misguided; that you are not intimidated by revisionists, liars or fetishy weirdos who push monolithic values; that you have a generally safe space to build friendships and learn about issues and resources and everyone has a safer space to share experiences and voice issues. All you have to do if you’re asked your Nation/community/status is to tell the truth. If you’re asked your family and you are uncomfortable then we understand and you say you’re not comfortable. It’s fine to only mention that to people you feel you trust.
  • Reactions and trends that stem from the above to broadcast/”prove” your NDN-ness. Such as constantly talking about having “NDN features” (what even is that), giving excuses for not having “NDN features” (like really it’s fine if you’re white-passing? I’ll get to that later), latching on to “rez” stories/jokes, misrepresenting levels of connectedness, misrepresenting/changing BQ, collecting more and more Nations or changing them without explanation etc. Obviously the last couple are going to send serious red flags to people and I don’t see legit people do these.
  • These weird af trends that come up with constant reaffirmations that white passing Natives are Native. It’s true. We all know it is true. When it becomes a constant trend in the tags and in our circles it intimidates white-passing youth and reconnecting people who are the most vulnerable. It makes it look like there is a general trend of dismissing/excluding white passing natives. That is not the case, there will be individual experiences people can share of that happening from time to time true. There are some Nations with stricter BQ requirements and the like, that’s true. But something like that doesn’t ONLY affect white-passing natives. It affects people with several lines, Black NDNs, Asian NDNs, NDNs that are mixed with several ethnicities/races (like yours truly). It all goes back to my first point. If you are honest about who you are, how connected you are, etc. then there is no issue. And THAT is what needs to be reaffirmed. Not that “you can be Naive however you choose to be Native”; not in ways that makes it seem like being asked to introduce yourself and your Nation etc. as a white-passing native means that you’re being targeted.
  • This is a big one - Claiming that people doing basic gatekeeping, asking your nation/community family, asking questions, calling out known harmful groups or harmful/wrong ways of reconnecting are abusers. Ok we have a major MAJOR problem with abuser dynamics attacks happening all over the place. Are there abusive people? Yes there are. Are people doing basic gatekeeping abusers? NO FFS no. If someone is critical of something, a form of activism, they think you did/said something off and ask you questions, they feel slighted somehow by someone, they correct some misinformation or call out something harmful… if people don’t agree then instead of working things out through discourse, discussion, etc. everything turns into who is the biggest abuser, who is gaslighting who, etc. etc. etc. This is completely unacceptable. We need to be weary of people who really are harmful/toxic/abusive but it escalates way too much over way too many things.
  • Antiblackness. Co-opting Black activism, making examples to further activism of our issues at the expense of Black people, having an us vs. them mentality as far as who’s issues need airtime… all these horrible things that are laterally violent and actively exclude Black NDNs from our activism and discourse. I made a long ass post about this some months back but I will reiterate that we NEED to show solidarity with the Black community and be inclusive of Black NDNs in our communities. Our histories are intertwined our experiences and issues and understanding is essential for going forth with decolonisation and fighting racism and white supremacy. (Besides just being, ya know, not jerks)
  • Reblogging things about Nations/Peoples you are not a part of uncritically. Generally an article about issues tend to be ok, such as land/resource rights victories/issues, but factoid stuff, cultural info dumps, sometimes photosets. These things are commonly made by harmful revisionist/revival groups especially ones about Latin American Indigenous Peoples. Please try to fact check or better yet ask Natives you know who may be more familiar with those things if they are appropriate and truthful.
  • Two-Spirit discourse omg… ok. Please talk to you family and other people of your Nation if you have questions about two-spirit roles. This goes back to the monolithic trends I keep seeing. There is a lot of weird generalised misinformation going around, both by non-Natives AND by Natives. This is something you need to learn from your people. We really need to have more general discourse on this and maybe making a community blog or supporting a pre-existing one because the confusion and misguided stuff going around is really getting a bit out of hand.

ALRIGHT so I’m sure there is more. Honestly I have been closing up more and more on here because it’s just been becoming less and less comfortable here. If you are Native and have been doing any of these things I’m not per se “calling you out” here I am just stressing that you don’t have to FEEL you need to do these things. You don’t have to feel like you are being attacked. And we need to actively combat these things becoming such norms and making these spaces intimidating and unsafe.

If you aren’t Native or are and refuse to be respectful and not a jerk in general then I really couldn’t give a crap about you if you feel entitled to continue to pull any of this BS. Sorry, not sorry.

I do not have time for fakes and frauds. None of us do. If you are misrepresenting yourself please step back think about why you are doing it and actively make a change. If you find that you have been trying to learn and jumping on harmful trends please, again, step back think about why you are doing it and reach out to people of the community you are trying to connect to or already belong to for guidance if needed.

Be respectful. Be safe.

CARD VIII.
JUSTICE (KEITH RICHARDS)

The law is one thing, but justice is another. Justice is karma, the universe’s way of making sure you don’t get too cocky. It’s thinking after you do something stupid, because now it’s come back and bitten you in the ass. But the wonderful thing about learning the karmic way is that you’re much less likely to do whatever stupid thing it was again. The eighth key of the Major Arcana provides us with this sort of perspective on both our pasts and our possible futures. When this comes up in a spread, it’s time to reflect on things you have done that may have affected the situation. Whether they were constructive or destructive will signal either a positive outcome or a need to make some serious changes. It’s time to be honest, own up to your mistakes, and do the right thing. Reversed, it can signify that someone is not being 100% honest with you- and that someone could very well be yourself.

Much like my Death card, the choice of representative for Justice here was intentionally made in order to separate the literal meaning of the card from its symbolic meaning. Aside from being an amazing guitarist and one half of one of the greatest songwriting partnerships of all time, Keith Richards is mainly famous for having had an incredibly high number of run-ins with the law, largely over the course of the ten years he spent as a hardcore drug addict. However, the bad-boy legend that has grown up around him only tells half the story. Fiercely loyal to his loved ones and with a strong sense of morality centered around honesty, authenticity, and owning up to your shit, he’s far from the “junkie madman” of rock mythology. And he knows a little something about karma, as well- after all, looking out for the well-being of a blind fan was enough  to get him out of a life sentence on trumped-up drug charges.

Before They Make Me Run
You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Gimme Shelter

There’s not much to talk about here in terms of symbolism. The allegorical figure of Justice is usually depicted with a double-edged sword, symbolizing the consequences of our actions, and a scale, symbolizing fairness and impartiality. She also is typically depicted blindfolded, but Keith wasn’t having any of that.

The Piano Room (Justin Imagine)

I got inspired by a video I watched the other day of Justin playing the piano by himself without anyone bothering him, and I came up with this.  Hope you guys enjoy.


I bumble through the front door of Justin’s house with a brown paper bag of groceries, breathing heavily as I place the heavy bag on top of the kitchen island.  Someone has to go get the groceries since this grown ass man never does.  And since I’m staying here for the next few weeks before I have to go back to college, I might as well get us enough food to last while I’m here.  A hot flash warms my body too quickly and I have to lean against the island to rest for a moment.  I continue to breathe through my nose to regulate my breathing.

“I really need to get in shape,” I mumble as I stand up straight and walk back to the front door to get the other grocery bag.  When I come back inside, I close the door behind me and yell out, “Hey babe!  I’m back from the store!  Can you come help me put the groceries up?”  No answer.  Typical.  I roll my eyes and begin putting the groceries away one by one—storing some things in the refrigerator, others in the freezer, quite a few in the pantry, and so on and so forth.  Justin still hasn’t come to help me after I’m halfway done, and now I’m beginning to get aggravated.  I finish unpacking and organizing the groceries anyway and I am about to call out for him again when I faintly hear the sound of a piano playing.  I immediately assume that he’s in the dining room where his black baby grand piano is, but I am confused when I see that no one is there.

“Justin?” I hesitantly call out.  “Where are you?”  As I should have expected, no reply.  I huff as I continue to walk around the massive mansion in search of the piano music and my boyfriend of six months.  He usually answers me when I call for him, and I know he’s home because all of his cars are in the driveway.  As I walk down the hallway to the guest bedrooms, I pass a cherrywood door that I have not opened before but pause in my tracks as I hear the vague piano sounding louder than before.  Justin could more than likely be back behind here since he is nowhere else to be seen.

I bite my lip and proceed to open the door slowly.  There is a dimly lit spiral staircase leading downstairs to what seems to be a lower level of the house that I have never been to before.  I only know so much about this house anyways, so it’s only reasonable for me to explore a little.  I proceed downward carefully and quietly, unsure of what I might find or see.  I don’t think it’ll be anything too terrible, but after watching all of Criminal Minds in the matter of a few months, I know that I have to be prepared for anything.  The piano gets louder the farther I go down until I finally reach the ground floor.  I see a lightened hallway to my left and decide to warily walk through the new part of the house that I never even knew existed.

The farther down the hall I go, the clearer the piano sounds.  The hall has one door on each side and then one more door at the very end.  I press my ear against both of the doors on the walls, but no sound comes out.  The only door that’s left is the one standing solitarily.  My heart is pounding and my hands are clamming up at the anticipation.  When I finally stand in front of the large, white door, I cautiously press my ear against the door.  The vibrations of the loud piano ring through the door and the walls around me, and the piano sounds beautiful.  I listen more closely and can vaguely hear someone singing.  I am positive that it’s Justin, but I decide to slowly open the unlocked door, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the person on the other side.

When I open the door all the way, a familiar figure is facing away from me, his fingers moving gracefully across the most gorgeous white grand piano I have ever seen.  I smile widely as I continue to watch Justin playing and singing what seems to be “Change Me”.  I close the door quietly behind me and stride through the room until I am behind Justin, examining him and his incredible piano playing.  I have never gotten to sit down and truly watch him play, and now I am beginning to wonder why he seldom ever plays for people just for fun.  I am utterly mesmerized at how great he is and how breathtaking he looks as he plays.  He looks so calm.  This is probably the most relaxed I have ever seen him.

He’s—happy.

I don’t even realize that he has stopped playing until I see him crane his neck up to look at me.  I brush a stray piece of hair out of his face.  “That was beautiful, Justin.”  I can see the blush creep up into his cheeks as he looks back at the sheets of music sprawled across the piano.

“It could have been better,” he mumbles while collecting the sheets and putting them back into a binder by his foot.  I frown.

“Better than anything I could ever do.  You really are amazing.”  Justin sighs and pulls out another piece of music; this time, it was something more classical.  I look at the cover and recognize the composer’s name as Mozart.  “So this is what you do in your free time?  You play Mozart?”  Justin laughs.

“Sometimes,” he replies.  “Sometimes I’ll play Bach or Boccherini.  Depends on my mood.”

“Spoken like a true pianist.”  Justin breaks out into a giddy grin before putting the music on the stand.  He opens the thin book to the first page and prepares himself to begin.  But before he does, he stands up and takes down the top of the grand piano so that it is flat.  I raise a puzzled eyebrow at him and am about to ask him why he did that when he turns to me.

“Come sit up here,” he says.  “I want you to listen and there’s nowhere else to sit in this room.”  Both of my eyebrows go up.

“And possibly kill your piano?  No thanks.”  Justin laughs loudly, making it echo around the dimly lit room covered in books.

“It’s a very sturdy piano, y/n.  State of the art.  I promise you won’t hurt it.”  I blink at him skeptically before deciding to obey and attempt to climb up onto the piano.  He helps me up and, once I am steady and comfortable, he grins and sits back down on the white bench where he was before.  I sit cross-legged facing Justin, watching in awe as he plays the unbelievably fast piece like it’s nothing.  He is so talented and he doesn’t even realize it.  If he does realize it, then he just knows how to be humble about it.

The rest of the day goes on like this:  me sitting on the piano, listening to him play piece after piece after piece of music.  He lets me choose a couple of songs that I think will sound beautiful and I am not disappointed.  We tend to do this a lot now whenever I come back to California to see him.  I sit on top of the piano; sometimes I read or I write or I’ll do some homework for school.  Most of the time, though, I sit and listen.  Nothing beats this.  Nothing at all.  The piano room, for me, means some quiet alone time with Justin.  For Justin, it’s his lifeline.  It’s his place.

For him, the piano room is a part of him.


It’s always good to have a space to call your own, especially if it helps you deal with the rough parts of life.  Find your space and embrace it.  Embrace yourself and your talents.  Use your talents for good.  Be the best part of you that you can be.

anonymous asked:

"How long has it been?"

-

“Castle?”

He stops at the sound of her voice, wondering for a moment if he’s heard correctly, if it could in fact be her

Rick turns, finding her dressed in gold, her hair in waves, just as breathtaking as he remembered.

“Kate.”

Her lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile that she quickly stifles with the pierce of her teeth while she comes closer, eliminating the gap of space between them, guiding him away from the crowd of the ballroom and into a secluded corner just off the buffet table with the incline of her head.

“What are you doing here?”

They both speak at the same time as soon as they’ve reached relative privacy and he’s secretly delighted as he watches her cheeks stain themselves in pink. Still in sync after all this time.

“Paula,” he says his publicist’s name as if that explains it all. “Says I’m becoming a hermit.”

“Did you bring Alexis? Martha?” she murmurs, her eyes roaming the room, likely in search of red hair, and if he’s reading her correctly, there’s a layer of apprehension to her now, as if she’s not quite sure she wants an answer. “Someone else?”

Ah.

“No, Mother is on an acting tour with her troupe, Alexis is living in Paris.” Her eyes widen at that and yeah, it surprised him too, but apparently, returning to a place of tragedy, making it her home for three years, has been cathartic for his daughter. Not so much for his anxiety. Alexis may be all grown up, but he still worries. “I’m just here on my own. You?”

“Well, the director of the FBI is a donor, so he selected a handful of agents to attend, represent the agency,” she explains, toying with the familiar chain that hangs from her neck and descends into the shimmery fabric of her dress. “I moved back from DC last year, though.”

“You’ve - you’ve been living in New York for a year?" 

A well of sorrow overflows in his chest at the thought. They broke up in the summer, while she was still in training for the position with the Attorney General’s office, and it had been amicable, practical, painful. He’s not ashamed to admit now, though, that not a day has gone by that he hasn’t thought of her, hasn’t missed her, hasn’t wished to go back in time and try harder, make things work. 

She would have been his wife by now if he had.

"Almost, yeah,” she replies, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and inching closer to him in the shadows. “I thought about calling you, but then… I figured you’d moved on.”

He almost laughs. He knew from the moment she showed up on his doorstep all those years ago, drenched from the rain of a thunderstorm and wanting him more than the case that had kept them apart for four years; he knew there was no getting over Kate Beckett if things were to fall apart. He would only be able to live in the wreckage, in the aftermath of loving her.

And he had been right.

“Castle.” He blinks, drags his unfocused gaze back to the cause of his destruction. “Dance with me?”

She’s clasping his hands in hers, leading him on to the dance floor before he can answer, but he follows without question, placing a tentative hand to her waist and cradling her slender fingers in his with the other.

But Kate shakes his hand from hers, doesn’t allow the polite, cordial kiss of palms, and instead laces both arms around his neck, brings her body in to rest against his. Too close, too intimate, too damaging.

The ache of missing her had finally subsided into a dull roar over the last couple of years, but after this, it’ll be back to a piercing agony in his chest. 

“How long has it been?” she whispers, her lips on the verge of brushing his ear, the heat of her breath setting his skin aflame.

“Seven years,” he gets out, having to clear his throat to rid it of mourning. “Eight in July.”

A breath tinged with grief escapes from her lips and Castle gives up attempting to keep his hands glued to the appropriate place above her hips, draws his arms around her instead, holds her like he used to.

“Stupid,” she murmurs, lowering one of her hands to reside above his heart. “So stupid to give this up.”

He almost jerks to a stop, surprise lacing through his veins, and then a strong surge of hope, rushing through his bloodstream and making him brave.

“You’re back in New York?” he repeats, while she drops her cheek to his collarbone, resting there as they continue to sway halfheartedly to the jazz band playing in the front of the room. At her nod, he curves a hand at her neck, uses his thumb at her chin to guide her face upwards. “Let me take you to dinner.”

A smile blooms at her lips, spreads like gold through her eyes, the first real smile he’s seen from her tonight, and he can’t help but return it.

“Asking me out on a date, Mr. Castle?” she teases, tongue pressing between her teeth and oh, she needs to stop that. He can only handle so much all at once.

Rick knocks her forehead with his, a familiar gesture that causes his long wounded heart to find peace.

“Not just any date. Our last first date,” he corrects, humming with contentment when she traps his face between the soft heat of her hands, eyes closing as her nails trail through the light field of stubble peppering his jaw and her thumb sweeps along the seam of his lips.

“Last first date,” she confirms with a nod, the smile in her voice a sweet melody to his ears. “Sounds like the beginning to a long list of final ‘firsts’.”

“It is,” Castle murmurs, opening his eyes to find hers, swirls of amber and flecks of gold sparkling back at him. “Because you’re the last for me, Kate. You always were.”