Ember may I please please please have Kevin Day angst ššš
Hehehehehe YES
WIP Wednesday 2/12/25 | Kevin Day Angst
Andrew doesnāt believe in apologizing. Kevin has never heard him apologize, not to Aaron, not to Neil, not to anyone, so he doesnāt hold his breath. But in the aftermath of Baltimore and Reneeās retrieval of Jean from Evermore, he finds himself panicking more often than not. He doesnāt know what the future holds and the past is too painful to consider. So he thinks about all the possibilities of what could go wrong. And he panics. He downs vodka to dull the pain and then pushes through the hangover to go to practice. He works out and breathes through quiet tears in the bathroom at night, carefully fingering the faint bruises on his neck, the remnants of Andrewās anger imprinted on his skin.
Kevin understands why Andrew was so furious, why he lashed out, why he grasped onto his throat with such force that it left him hoarse for days afterward, but he doesnāt know how to handle the fallout. Andrew promised to protect him and Kevin thought the only thing that would get in the way of that was maybe Aaron. But now Neil is the line Kevin crossed, unknowing and unable to do anything but cross it. Andrew has always said no one can touch what is his, but Kevin is Andrewās. He was once Rikoās too and Riko never shied away from punishing Kevin, so why should Andrew? Heās only ever been as good as he plays. Andrew is the only person who ever valued him outside of that and now heās fucked up even that.
They placed that microphone into your hands and said,
"The world is listening, to you my friend
What will you say to them? What will you say?
Share your wisdom, lead the way."
-Rule #35 - Microphone, Fish In A Birdcage
heyyyy its that guy i told you about. yeah ive been writing fic about her. yeah she wont leave me alone until i post it. help im being held hostage-
in all seriousness though, i wanted this to be the first fic i post for Cas because it establishes something important about their character. ive added a more in-depth explanation to their ref sheet i posted (found here), but quick disclaimer: this is based off of my own experiences and the experiences of the people around me, but everyones experiences are different, and bear in mind im not the authority on, like, anything.
also, Cas uses different pronouns at different times, but in this fic, they use he/they. all that being said, heres 1,200 words of Cas being very mad about their new job, because i said so. enjoy!
(warnings for described past character death, implied child neglect, ableism, internalised ableism)
Everyone in the engine department knew Polaris' little brother didn't talk. Most of them didn't even remember his name, just muttered something like 'Whatstheirface Jener, y'know, the Captain's brother' and moved on, but they knew he didn't talk. It was simpler to assume he was more of the shy, silent type and discard the mystery of that boring guy in favour of talking about the handsome, beautiful, charismatic, legendary, Captain that he just happened to be related to.
One or two of them had heard him speak, though, mostly little muttered expletives after a burn or a shock, and perpetuated that 'just shy' assumtion, until it was basically well-known fact.
For Cassius, this was the best case scenario.
If people's eyes skipped over them in a crowd, if people thought they were shy and unapproachable and boring, if people would much rather talk to pretty little perfect Polly, well that was fine by them. It saved having to explain, at least. And this way, no-one spoke to him like he was stupid. No-one spoke to them at all, but, y'know. That was a bonus too.
No-one stared at him with a blank gaze as he tried to explain himself. No-one gave them pitiful looks and jumped in to assume what they were going to say the second they opened their mouth. No-one tried to correct them, interrupting every few words to stress the syllables like they were speaking to a four-year-old and not a grown goddamn man.
So yeah, everyone knew 'that guy from engineering, yeah the Captain's brother', didn't talk. And that was the best case scenario. Perfect, even, although he hated that word.
And then his brother's ship fucking exploded.
And of course, it had to take Polaris with it.
In the all dust and debris and fire and blood and screaming, no-one questioned that their great Captain Polaris' voice sounded a little hoarser than normal as he yelled clipped instructions and gestured firmly, the Invincible's Head Engineer slung limply over his broad shoulder as he hustled people to the exit. It was only once everyone still breathing was off the ship and 'Polaris' collapsed in a heap, half his right arm gone and in desperate need of surgery, that it clicked for everyone that the ripped jumpsuit tied around his waist and coated in blood and dust was blue underneath, the colour of the engine crew, and not the beige of administrative crew that would have marked him as actually Polaris.
And then suddenly everyone expected things of him. He was a hero now, everything Polly had been and more, all because he survived and his brother didn't.
All because Cassius had seen a chunk of concrete cave his brother's skull in, and in that moment made a decision instead of being frozen by fear, people thought he was a fucking hero. And he couldn't tell them otherwise. Every time he tried to protest, his throat would go dry, his meagre words locked behind his teeth, and they'd bulldoze over whatever facial expression he tried to make and pin another medal to his chest, or shove another round of paperwork in his face, and then they were building the Invincible II and wanted Cassius to be Captain and they couldn't say no.
Everyone in the engine department knew Polaris' little brother didn't talk. That was fine - they didn't care enough to speak to him anyway.
Everyone on the Invincible II knew their Captain was the strong, silent, type. That was fine, too - they knew he'd given instructions in the catastrophe, so it must be that they were too far below a legendary hero like him to be worth speaking to.
Cassius envied their innocent assumptions. If only.
"Delayed development", the teachers had said when he was little. "Needs more verbal interaction."
"Minimally verbal", the speech therapist had said, when he was less little, and it was too late.
"Disappointing", his father had said, and gone back to fawning over Polly's top grades in space camp.
That was fine by Cas. Polaris' shadow had always been big enough to hide in. They liked it there, the lack of expectations, of eyes on him, and they got along fine with their Bs and Cs in everything but aerospace engineering and theoretical astrophysics. But their brother's spotlight was gone, now, and they'd been shoved out onto the stage as the understudy who never showed up to any of the rehearsals.
And they had really bad fucking stage fright. And the microphone wasn't working. And this metaphor was getting away from them.
"Captain?"
Head Engineer Iplier was the only person he'd ever interacted with in 28 years that didn't look disappointed when Cassius never spoke to him.
"Are you alright, Captain? You've uh, been staring at that invitation for a while."
Cassius really missed being invisible. It made getting lost in thought so much easier. And no-one invited him to do stupid speeches.
He nodded to Mark, declined the invitation with a swipe of his hand, and dropped his datapad on his desk with a sigh.
"Um, Captain? If it's alright for me to ask- I mean, I don't want to get ahead of myself or anything, I just, uh, if it's not inappropriateā¦"
They'd known each other for almost six months now, stationed in adjacent quarters and worked 9-hour days in the same room to get this godforsaken ship in the air. For all Cas cared, Mark could ask whatever he wanted. They waved a hand dismissively, and the other man grinned, reading their message loud and clear - something he was annoyingly good at doing.
"Well, uhā¦ why don't you ever do speeches?"
Damnit. And he was just starting to like Mark, too. Their fingers twitched, ready to reach out to the datapad and dismiss him back to his own work.
Butā¦
He looked up, and Mark was staring, guileless eyes soft like a puppy's, and the lack of judgement in them made him do something very fucking unwise.
"Wordsā¦ difficult. Struggleā¦ grammar, extra words. Many peopleā¦ harder."
They muttered, throat dry and voice shaky from disuse. They looked away, not wanting to see those stupid fucking puppy-dog eyes fill with condescention, and the long silence that followed made his stomach twist.
"ā¦Huh. Okay. You know, I could just set up a program that reads for invites like that and auto-rejects them. That would free up like, a whole 15% of your time! And you do too much paperwork anyway, Captain."
Cassius must be dreaming, because Mark just went back to rambling like nothing had even happened. He even pulled up a notes tab on his own datapad, and started talking about how he could route Cas' emails through the AI he'd been slowly building for the Invincible II, andā¦
And someone finally knew. Someone knew he wasn't just shy, or stoic, or rude. And the world hadn't ended. Mark had listened to him mumble words like a toddler and he still kept saying "Captain" in that same reverent tone, still kept yapping about advanced coding like Cassius understood.
Everyone knew the Captain of the Invincible II didn't talk.
That was fine - he was a good captain, calm and confident and strategic ('learned from the best after all, may he rest in peace' the crew often said), and even if he hadn't been so adept at giving orders through pointed looks and later, singular words, well.
His Head Engineer always seemed to read his mind anyway.
Part Two of EPIC: The Baby Saga! Go and check the pinned post on @echoxeclipse 's account!
Characters: Teiresias, Odysseus
Warnings: Mentioned character death
Word Count: 2,543
Having the power of prophecy was never a gift to Teiresias. It was more of a curse to him, to a man who would never be able to change the fates that he saw. The only people who could change their fates were those who came to him in their time of need. He told them what they wanted, saying as much as he could without receiving a punishment from the gods. But it was never enough. Those heroes never listened. Teiresias could not see them, but he was all too familiar with the hubris that shone in their eyes when they approached him. They would not heed his warnings, dismissing his words as the rambling of an insane man.
And so they left. Days, weeks, sometimes months later, if he was lucky, they would pass by him in the Underworld. Teiresias would lower his head and say nothing as they left. There were never any words he could say to them. It was exhausting. He was beyond exhausted with the strain placed upon his shoulders. Being helpless was not an unfamiliar feeling, but a feeling he loathed all the same.
Teiresias refused to let go of the hope that he would find someone who would listen to his prophecies, that they would process every word carefully until they found a way to rewrite their fate. He thought he had finally found that person when he heard King Odysseus of Ithaca, Hero of Troy approaching him from behind.
When he heard those footsteps, he turned his head in the direction of the sound, eyes opening slowly for just a second. For the hero approaching, only a second had passed, one footstep in the direction of the prophet. But Teiresias had already seen his entire life up to that present moment play out before his eyes.
He watched as a young boy spoke to the goddess Athena for the first time, the boy raising his hand towards the goddess only to be ignored. He turned his head slowly and came face to face with a slightly older Odysseus, holding hands with a young woman, both of them smiling happily. During that memory, a child appeared in the woman's arms. Teiresias blinked, and a battle appeared before his very eyes. He saw Odysseus fighting side by side with many soldiers, constructing a giant horse with Athena whispering in his ear about how to build it. A tilt of his head later and Teiresias stared as Odysseus knelt on the floor in front of him, begging to some divine presence, a baby held in his shaking arms. Thunder roared overhead and Odysseus raised the bundle of blankets. Closing his eyes did nothing to prevent Teiresias from seeing the baby plummet to ground below.
He heard a voice beside him, a soft laugh. "Greet the world with open arms!" The voice was snuffed out not long after by a wooden club crashing down. Teiresias watched with bated breath as the god of the wind offered him a bag of wind before one of his crewmates opened it in an act of distrust and jealousy. The sea god Poseidon submerging most of his ships into the ocean, drowning them instantly. Finally, Circe stood before Odysseus, guiding him by the hand to her bedroom before he pushed her away in horror. So that was how the captain discovered him. That sorceress told him about his existence.
The sound of Odysseus's foot falling was enough to jolt Teiresias back into awareness. He stood up slowly, gripping onto his cane tightly for support, still refusing to turn fully and face him. He wasn't ready to witness this hero's fate yet. He didn't want to see him die.
"Great prophet?" His voice was soft and hesitant as he watched the man in front of him. He certainly looked the part with nothing but a black robe draped over his entire body, the hood pulled up to cover everything from Odysseus's view. It was frustrating, to say the least. He couldn't tell whether this individual was armed or not.
Until finally, the prophet turned and allowed the soldier to see him. As Odysseus took in every part of this man's appearance, Teiresias took in every part of Odysseus's future. The murder of countless sirens. The betrayal as he sacrificed many of his men to a mighty beast. The betrayal as his men turned against him. A god giving him one last ultimatum. Being a prisoner and a slave for seven years. The god of the sea cornering him one last time. Murdering suitors in his palace that tried to claim ownership of his family. Becoming someone so different than who he was in that current moment. Fascinating indeed, how a person can change.
"In another world somewhere, you make it home safely with my guidance. But that's not a world I know. It's not a world we live in." Teiresias's voice was quiet, but Odysseus listened silently. He clung to each word, frowning at the strangeness of his words.
"What do you mean, not a world you know?" He was puzzled, taking a slow step in the prophet's direction, but the man in front of him didn't react. He merely stepped away from him again, body turned to the edge of the cliff they stood atop. Odysseus walked tentatively until he was stood beside him. Images appeared one by one, some he was familiar with, some he wasn't yet aware of. His darling wife Penelope, his perfect son Telemachus. The Trojan War, the infant Scamandrius. His closest friend Polites.
And then everything became unfamiliar. His only friend left standing before him, his sword gripped tightly with both hands. His palace in Ithaca. His wife sat in their shared bedroom while a man approached her from behind. He couldn't see this man's face. Odysseus's heart jumped into his throat as he turned away from these visions and back to the prophet, yet the prophet refused to meet his gaze.
"What are you showing me, prophet? After everything we've been through, you're saying you can't get me home? What are you saying, then? What are you showing me?" The soldier beside him was growing angry, but Teiresias was lost in thought. Everything was passing by too quickly, the man's future shifting and changing with each passing second. It was too much for the prophet to process and he simply stood in silence, head bowed, before speaking once more.
"I am showing you your palace, desecrated by men who have believed that you are dead for a very long time. And I am showing you Penelope. She will be with a man who is haunting from countless murders. A man who carries the weight of hundreds of ruined lives on his shoulders. Whether this man means her any harm, I can not say."
Odysseus listened once more before grabbing the prophet suddenly by the front of his robe so the man could finally look him in the eyes. Grey eyes stared intently intoā¦ white?
The hooded man's eyes were white, with no irises. They were completely blank, staring into nothing. So this prophet was blind? He could only see the images that the gods allowed him to. Odysseus needed answers, he needed him to admit everything he knew, regardless of whether he "could" say it or not. He dragged the prophet by the front of his robes, eyes cold as he tugged him to the edge of the cliff. The prophet was silent as his feet scuffed and dragged against the stones, blood dripping onto the rocks after soft skin met a jagged edge. Still, he said nothing and the silence was getting to Odysseus.
In truth, Teiresias felt fear creeping up in his throat when the front of his cloak was seized. He knew that he was being dragged, but he had no idea where he was being taken. That is, until the ground disappeared beneath his very feet. He was dimly aware that his body was being held up by nothing but Odysseus's sheer strength and the prophet was worried that his cloak would rip and he would plummet into the Fields of Asphodel where he was summoned from.
Odysseus shook Teiresias in the air, close to yelling in the man's face. "You will say, prophet! Tell me everything! What will happen to my wife?!"
In that moment, something within Teiresias changed. A tiny voice whispered to him that he was going to be dropped, and he felt fear rise up in his throat, a tight noose around his neck. His hands scrambled to grab onto the other man's, eyes wide with panic even though he could not see. He felt his mind becoming more and more overwhelmed with the need to free himself, the need to feel the ground beneath his feet. When he was back on the floor, he'd be able to focus, he'd be able to breathe-
But why would he need to breathe? He was dead, wasn't he? That couldn't be rightā¦ He was alive, he had to be. How old was he again?
Teiresias's head was spinning and he was no longer aware of Odysseus. He wasn't sure whether he was still talking or whether he was simply holding him, waiting for an answer. He couldn't remember what he had asked. He couldn't remember this hero's fate. The prophet couldn't remember a single thing in his distress. He needed to be back on the ground, where he could run, far away from the cliff and his foresight and these heroes with their gruesome deaths and-
"Prophet? Great prophet?" Rocks underneath his feet, strong hands pushing him down to sit. His cloak, heavy around his shoulders, the hood pressing down on his head. It was all too much, he needed relief, he needed peace.
His hood was pulled down slowly to reveal his face and it finally felt like Teiresias could breathe again. He gripped onto the man in front of him like a lifeline, weak arms holding on to much stronger ones. It reminded him of when he was younger, being picked up by his father after a long day of running around and exploring like children did. In that moment, he felt a lot like a child, vulnerable, reliant on the support of an adult. It was an odd feeling, one the prophet was unfamiliar with, but he would just have to rely on the man in front of him for support.
He took a deep breath, and it felt ragged in his lungs. When he spoke, his voice felt a lot weaker than he had intended. "D-Daddy?" His eyes widened quickly as he shook his head urgently after, the embarrassment burning his cheeks. "Odysseus. King of Ithaca. Leave meā¦"
Rather than be met with an answer, he felt a pair of strong arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Teiresias leant into the hug, shoulders trembling with unshed tears. He refused to cry but he wanted nothing more than to cling to the man holding him and weep. His mind was far too overwhelmed to do anything else but tighten his grip on the arms holding him, burying his head in his shoulder to avoid having to acknowledge the fact that he should be able to see, but clearly couldn't.
They stayed like that for a long time until the man slowly pulled away, hands remaining on his arms for a moment before moving to reach up to his cheeks to wipe tears away. Teiresias hadn't even noticed that he had been crying. His mind was still hopelessly muddled with the feeling of being far younger than he knew he was and his grip remained tight on the other man's sleeves for comfort. It took a long time for either of them to speak.
"I'm sorry for threatening you, little oneā¦" The Ithacan King's voice was soft and gentle, as if he was soothing a child. Yet in that moment, it felt like the prophet was indeed nothing but a child. He was young and vulnerable, which was why he clung to the man like a lifeline. "I didn't realise that you were so littleā¦"
Teiresias shook his head as he focused on how the King's hands were back on his own, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the back of his hands. It was soothing, the warmth seeping into his body in a way he hadn't felt in hundreds of years. It was comforting, and it didn't take long for Teiresias to stop crying. He sat on the rocks with Odysseus, shoulders trembling slightly before he deemed himself calm enough to attempt to speak.
"Not littleā¦ Nowhere near littleā¦" The prophet was surprised by the youth in his own voice, at how it trembled and shook with each word, at how he stumbled over certain letters and sounds. It was usual to him, but the man in front of him seemed almost used to. Teiresias could even hear a smile in his voice as he spoke.
"Yeah, alright, kid. You're nowhere near little." That was followed with a ruffle to his hair, which Teiresias accepted without complaint. His expression was soft and relaxed as he slowly allowed himself to just feel the calmness claim him, his loud thoughts quietening to a slight hum like he was most familiar with. The prophet finally smiled, the first in many centuries, and actually felt safe. There were no threats, no arrogant soldiers demanding prophecies for them and growing angry at the results. Odysseus was here to care for him, not to grill him for any more information that he couldn't give.
They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, interrupted only by the occasional question from the hero, making sure that the boy in front of him was calm and comfortable. It was another hour or so before they were jolted out of their peace by loud yells of "Captain!"
Odysseus sighed quietly when he heard the voices, turning to the young prophet in worry. "Are you alright, little one?" He sounded hesitant, so reluctant to leave the boy alone when he was still young and vulnerable.
Teiresias drew his knees up to his chest before nodding, trying to appear more certain than he was. "Mhm. Be nice to cows, Odysseus of Ithaca. Don't kill any."
Odysseus nodded uncertainly at that last piece of information, head tilted to the side curiously. "No killing cows? Okay, sure. I'll make sure my men know." He smiled down at the boy even though he couldn't see him and patted him on the head. He would bring the baby out of the Underworld if he could, but he didn't want to enrage Hades. During their voyage, they had angered enough gods already.
At that final send-off, Odysseus turned to leave, walking back to the sound of the voices of his crew. Just before he returned to them, he stopped and turned around to check on the baby one last time. A woman stood beside him, expression gentle as she slowly lifted him up into her arms. As a shade, they had a new strength they didn't have in life.
"Look after him, momā¦" Odysseus whispered quietly before returning to his men.
Sdfdsfhhdghjjkd I am SO READY for that snippet, whereās she verse 1 snippet anon gone?? ššš
you can be her.
thanks to @clockworkgraystairs and @fantasyfox10123 for betaing! š¤
FINE LINE || SHE, VERSE 1- SNIPPET
ā½ā½ā½ā½ā½
I recall last night with an even warmer flush.
How I'd slipped into his room like the moonlight. Soft and strange. Determination a whisper across my skin. How he'd been sprawled on the bed, just how I wanted him.
He had his phone pressed to his ear, talking to his boss on the other end in clipped words that reminded me of biting. Of teeth. I remember wanting them all over me.
The conversationāabout manuscripts and deadlines and someone called Nicasiaāwas making Cardanās face all lemon-pinched. I had the sudden urge to smooth down the sour lines with the pad of my thumb.
I closed the door behind me, leaned back against the wood, drinking him in. The drag of something delicious raking through my core. He'd looked up at the soft snick of the door, looked a question across the room at me. I held a finger to my lips.
It was a secret. Me, him. This room. The moon.
He'd swallowed, furrowed expression wiped clean, those inkblot eyes widening a fraction. A spill of dark lashes up to his brow bone.
I remember how I'd walked to the foot of his bed. How his T-shirt, which I wore now, swept soft against my thighs with every pendulum swing of my step. How he tracked the movement from his prone position, pray and predator at once.
How I climbed on the bed, straddling his knees, pinning him in place. Cardan had propped himself up on his elbows and muted the call.Ā
What are you doing?Ā
His voice was dark and quiet as night and his boss still whinged on in the background about something or another. Neither of us were paying much mind.Ā
My lips spread into a smile I hoped was as feral as it felt.Ā
You can tell me to stop.Ā
I kept my voice low, tracing the outline of his cock, still half-hard in his jeans, with one fingertip.Ā
If you want.
His jaw worked for a moment. Of course he wanted. Just not to stop.
āCardan?ā The voice on the other end of the line said.
Cardan fumbled for his phone, unmuted it. āYeah. Iām here. Sorry.ā
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
Not a sound, he mouthed at me. Which I took as confirmation enough.Ā
I kept my eyes fixed on his the whole time. If there was even a flit of doubt across his face, I wouldāve packed it in for the night. But his gaze remained glazed and heated, glowering. As if to say, You make me this way. You make me want this.
I hate him and I want him. We are equals in this.
I popped the button at his waistband, tugging at the zipper. Cardan put the call on speaker and reclined back into the pillows.
It carried on like that for a while. Me with my hand around him, stroking his length to full mast.Ā His eyes glaring, hands gripping my bare knees out of hatred and something to hold onto.
His bossās voice droning into the room like a hoarde of cicadas.Ā
And eventually, me with my mouth around Cardanās cock, sucking the tip, flicking it with my tongue, taking him deep enough that glorious tears sprung to my eyes.
I remember relishing the twitch his hips gave, like a spark from flame. Licking the sinful beat of that vein on the underside of him, balls to tip. The memory of that filthy thing heād done to me on the kitchen counter crackling in the air between us. Working up my own desire as if I hadnāt already come enough.
Cardanās hands threading through my hair, tugging, sending a riot of shivers I could all but quell the quake of.Ā How heād tried to disguise his soft grunts into words of assent. āUh-huh.ā āMm-Mhmm.ā āYesāright.ā
Things I do not understand about the design of my parents house
Bathroom
The shower head is mounted a foot too low. I'm around 5'10 and my eye level is right where the pipe comes out of the wall. (This is the case for every shower in the house) which means the water starts to hit you around your nipples
The toilet paper holder thing is in between the toilet and the tub and requires an uncomfortable reach, actually hard to use, and so no one does
None of the towel racks are within reach of the tub, there's one on the opposite end of the room and on the opposite side of the toilet
There is a fan - however it just vents into the attic - no actual vent was ever installed - also it's the scariest looking fan ever made, you can put your hand through it. The one downstairs was a complete afterthought, when we moved in there was just a random plug hanging out of the ceiling that went to the fan - which vents into the drop ceiling... of the basement
That's right the bathroom that's in a basement and has no window that can open and also used to have carpet in a house with no HVAC system has NO FUNCTIONAL VENT FAN
There is a window - it's just a regular window that faces the front lawn, so hopefully no one's out there. There's blinds on it, but they're mounted away from the window so you can still absolutely see in if you stand in the right spot
It has an absurd amount of countertop - not really a bad thing, but it's very overkill for a bathroom
The soap tile thing came off the wall and refused to be glued back on - so there's just a big duct tape patch there now
General
The entire downstairs is drop ceiling, yup like an office building.
On top of that the entire downstairs was originally only lit by single bulb fixtures, like for closets, just bare bulbs in a dark, damp basement - except bathrooms which were fluorescent lamps
The basement has a very uncomfortable hallway, it's about 3 feet wider than most hallways and is of course lit by one light bulb
There's a random angled wall here, so one of the rooms has a random angled wall for some reason
The house has TWO water heaters, a more common full size one and a smaller like half sized one. Guess which ones plumbed to the showers - that's right the small one, the big one is only connected to the kitchen sink, washer, and the nasty added on shower in the garage that no one has ever used.
Right - there's technically a third bathroom, it is IN the garage, i mean it's literally added on it's like a box that just juts out into the room. No one has used this bathroom as it is - like i said in the garage and thus smells of dust and mold and also there's no floor.
The floor plan is very odd, there's a BIG room and I mean big on both the first floor and the basement, and lots of tiny rooms, including the one my parents tried to move me too, which is quite frankly too small for a twin bed what you're supposed to do with a room that size I don't know.
There's no water filter of any kind here, not really a big deal, although the water is literally pumped out of the ground so uh sediment is in everything - like, the water filter for drinking has dirt in the top of it
The dust the downstairs of this house has dust like no other dust, the networking stuff is out in the garage where the dust is the worst, and it's killed 2 ethernet switches and a modem, it's this thick brown dust that - even though the house has been cleaned - will never go away
The deck - which is covered in plastic fake grass terf carpet and is nasty - is actually held up by a big iron rod that was clearly added much later than when the house was built, along with a much newer staircase
There's just a big gap in the wall on the side of the carport with a 5 foot drop - no one knows why it's there
Oh yeah also- the carport is on top of the garage - the garage is not accessible for cars, as it's on the basement level, so hearing a car roll ON TOP OF THE ROOM YOU'RE IN is really nerve-wracking
There were no lights of any kind originally installed in the back of the garage, it was literally permanently dark (the part under where the cars park btw
I mentioned the lack of HVAC - the house does has an oil-burning furnace - which smells of oil and makes a loud BANG every time it turns on and off
The stairs
The stairs don't really fit so there's no landing and instead there's a angled stair to rotate into the hall basically right across where the landing should be - I've tripped and nearly died on this a lot.
The stairs have only one light, at the top, which is almost impossible to reach to change bulbs, (you have to put a ladder at the top so you're at risk of falling down the entire stairwell if you fuck up) oh and this means the weird angled step is ALSO in the dark :)
The stairs extend out into the hall which is great for tripping over and dying on the concrete floor.
Overdrive
Square Filled: Kidnapping
Malec
Read it on AO3
Alec is a Shadowhunter. Disciplined, strong, resilient.
Heās also exhausted.
Held captive by rogue Shadowhunters for days, Alec is running on empty.
But Alec is stubborn. He knows he just has to hold out and endure until his siblings can find him.
But then they drag in Magnus.
And all bets are off.
The fifth square on my card for the Hunterās Moon 2021 Bingo collection. I thought I might make a little art piece to go along with one of the favourite stories Iāve written.
Created for @shadowhunterbingoāās Shadowhunter 2021 Bingo
The abhuman species known as Dwed (or, more derogatively, as dwarves) are believed to have once been builder and servants to some incredibly powerful masters. Indeed, their desire for a strong social order and almost compulsive need to craft lends credence to this idea. The desire for order is so great in fact that most dwedian societies are caste-based.
Dwed typically stand 121 cm (4 ft.) and usually weigh 136 kg (300 lbs.). Hermaphrodites, all dwarves are able to conceive and care for young. Dwed are immensely hirsute, easily able to grow long beards. Colouration is often likened to that of the earth, with Dwed being coloured like the most prominent minerals and stone to where they live. They possess small, stony growths along their shoulders, upper arms, fore-arms, and along the spine. Their eyes are multifaceted and often compared to gemstones.
They can live to about 400, at which point, they molt their skin and turn into their adult form.
