#( ic asks. )

[ozonelasher]

Questions/Comments to be sent anonymously!

“No.”

That was an easy answer as much as it was the truth, wasn’t it? A response just as loaded as the question.

There’s the assumption that she’s ever had a home in the first place, which wouldn’t be true—there’s been nothing that’s ever felt like one, anyway. Recollections of life in her childhood home were haunted by the shadows of fear. The dormitories at the academy and the beginning of her military career made her feel alien. And her domicile on Planet Freeza No. 79…? Kaki couldn’t bear to think about it still, what that man did to her. Even after all this time, he terrorized her. 

Could she ever recover from him? In the event she found a home, would she even recognize it, feel welcome and safe? If she didn't, would that be her own fault, or his?

The real kick in the teeth of her life, though, was the fact that, after escaping that living nightmare, there was still no peace. Does she have a home now? Veritably no. She may have had a place to lay her head down when it came time to sleep, but the scenery always changed. There was nowhere to settle; to live; to be free. 

There was nowhere for her to belong…

And where was her place in a world that's never wanted her at all? 

That was always her first thought when someone expressed this well-meaning sentiment to her; bitterness she did her damnedest to swallow down, coming back up like bile. It’s a sickness she still can’t shake, no matter how hard she tries.

It was easy to see the positives most days due to the nature of her current lifestyle. Despite being barred from working with the Rebellion in any official capacity, she still held full faith in the cause and actively offered her services to them. The give-and-take agreement that she swear fealty at the cost of any of her loyalty being given back so as to not sully the Rebellion’s political reputation was good enough for her. 

It’s an appropriate justice for the things she’d done, she agreed most days. The fact she’s allowed to operate in the way she did now was seen as a slap on the wrist by some, which she conceded to, as well.

But after all that time of believing that her rightful place in the world was in the ground… Other days, it all just felt like outright punishment.

Her place at the moment? A purgatory of her own making.

[suturcd]

@bizzarrra said: "healing must come in handy with this line of work," abbacchio muses, eyeing the girl. leaning on the table nearest to her, it's a slow day. bruno and the others are off running a mission that doesn't require any replaying, so here abbacchio is — making small talk, which she isn't really great at. "do you like what you do?"

Fran lets a low, vague hum of acknowledgement sound in response to the initial observation. As for the second half, it's an unexpectedly complicated question, and with a touch of paranoia Fran wonders if that's deliberate--if it's some attempt to measure her morality, or nerve, or loyalty. If so, is Abbacchio doling it out at her own discretion, or was she directed to do so by Mr. Bucciarati himself…?

...No. She'll get lost in the weeds if she zeroes in on that unknown aspect of the inquiry. What matters more is how she answers, not why she's been asked. She needs to consider her answer carefully, though, all the same.

Despite herself, she thinks back to when she was a child; back when administering the clumsiest press of an ice pack to a classmate's bruise or a bandaid to a scrape set her aglow with a quiet sort of pride (doubly so when her handiwork was praised by her mother, who she considered the expert among experts in such matters, as many children do--as she still does, even if she knows that's objectively rather silly). She recalls the drowsy bob of her head against her mother's chest, of blinking bleary eyes over the simplified anatomical charts spread indulgently in front of her in the evenings. She recalls her father passing the two 'studying' and the way he would idly sound out the syllables for bones and organs and appendages in whatever languages were closest to the forefront of his mind at the time from study, and the somewhat-mangled tongue Fran tried to parrot them back in so he would be impressed with her budding expertise in his field, as well.

Heart. Cuore. Shinzou. Herz. Moyo. Corazón. And so on.

Fran can't put that same tender feeling to the work she does now. In fact, there are times when she finds certain people who end up on her operating table so detestable that she spends most of the procedure on something close to autopilot; imagines the hand of God descending from on high, re-parting the sutured flesh down the middle, opening them back up, undoing all her work; some sort of divine retribution in the absence of any justice of the mortal kind. It soothes her, sometimes. Only sometimes, but it's better than nothing.

"…It's like any other job. Some days are more pleasant than others," is what Fran settles on saying, quite diplomatically she thinks. Her index finger draws a line down the open spine of her book, then thumbs and fans at the pages, occasionally snagging an errant, dog-eared page. With a turn of her wrist, she presses the anatomy textbook closed and looks at Abbacchio (or, to a vague spot at the corner of her forehead--close enough to count as basically eye contact, she thinks) with a tilt of her head. "...I'll confess that I don't like the squirmers. And the ones who make a big deal about not being squirmers even less so at times."

And then, partly because it feels like the polite thing to do, and partly in a bid to redirect attention, she asks: "Do you enjoy what you do?"

[funslash]

@chefscuts​ asked: ❛ is that blood? is it yours? ❜

“It is blood.” A sigh, “and it’s mine,” Jude grumbles. Normally he was good at keeping it together, normally he would have just tuned the guy out, ignored him. But this was different and a fine example of why Jude thinks he should always be in charge during group projects. “I got punched,” he says, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Apparently, some people can’t handle being told their ideas are shit. Whatever.” Was he a little harsh about it? Maybe. But it’s not fault this dude, Arthur’s, idea of an artistic vision was both boring and pretentious. “As if it’s my fault he can’t handle criticism. Or lacks creativity. I could’ve been meaner about it! And if I knew I was gonna get hit for it, I would’ve been.” 

[godlessgrl]

@facepeeled said: “ spit it out. ”

Quinn was currently sitting at the table shoving cereal in her mouth, trying desperately to avoid Cricket's questions. Considering Quinn was hardly one to stay out late—and the fact that she was still in her clothes from the party last night, she was sure it wouldn't be that hard to surmise what happened.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, mouthful of cereal. But then, after a beat, "so, I slept with the hot girl from my biology class." She clears her throat, "it was fun. She said I'm a quick learner—um, I don't know why I shared that part. Sorry."

[bitterlimoncello]

@lunarscaled said: PICKS HER UP

A colourful string of expletives hisses forth from her mouth as she feels Lyric's hands hook firm under her arms to haul her out of her seat and into the air. Lyric is lucky Limoncello has heard their approach and recognized it (or perhaps it's Limoncello who's lucky that Lyric didn't bother to cover the sound of their footsteps and seems to not actually want to murder her, because in a battle of strength with Lyric at her back with the advantage, she's not so confident in her odds), otherwise she would be going for the eyes with immediate and ruthless abandon. As it is, Limoncello's thighs tense, legs bent to plant the heels of her feet firm into Lyric's knees to regain some personal balance. She shoots her friend weird pseudo-roommate a scrunched look from over her shoulder that turns abruptly scandalized as she registers the particular gleam to those orange eyes. Realization--or perhaps just suspicion--dawns.

"Son of a bitch--you did not just pick me up because I was sitting on 'your' side of the couch."

[standbowed]

@hopingforjustice said: 💡 & 🧲 hee hee

send me a 💡 and i'll tell you my muse's first impression of your muse. alternatively, send me 🧲 and i'll tell you what my muse currently thinks of your muse. // accepting.

"Reimi-chan?" Her expression goes from thoughtful to troubled as she recalls their first meeting, gnawing nervously at her lower lip before she shakes her head. "How should I put it--the situation surrounding the first time we met was--really alarming. There was a lot of stuff I didn't understand then, and Arnold--ohhh, I was so worried about Arnold--I mean, anyone would be, right...? It felt like those stress nightmares people have, you know? Where you're trying everything you can to fix something, but nothing seems to work because the world is all off-kilter in dreams and the rules aren't quite the same. Despite that, Reimi-chan..."

She exhales a slow breath, hands clasping together. Her fingers tap over the knuckles of the opposite hand, expression softening significantly.

"Even though the whole situation was scary, how should I put it... I didn't find her frightening at all, somehow..." A small, sheepish smile tugs at her lips as she ducks her head and rifles through her hair, her free hand gesturing vaguely at the wrist. "And, well, I'm kind of a scaredy cat, so that probably says something about how... soothing a presence she was, despite it all. 'Ah, this is a gentle and kind person'--is what I thought at the time, even though the situation was so unnerving. That was my first impression."

"Nowadays..." Hachi tips her head back up and to the side in thought, mulling over how best to word this. Her smile shifts from sheepish to fond and warm. Earnest. "...the feeling is much the same, only the more I get to learn about her, the more amazed I am. Reimi-chan is... a remarkably strong person. After everything she's gone through, where it would be infinitely easier to sink into despair and lash out at others... her ability to hold her head high, to stay hopeful, to even look out for other people like me who stumbled into the alley and guide them out safely... I think that's a much more difficult thing to do. To remain steadfast and kind in the face of misfortune and cruelty like that is more impressive than any brute strength or special ability ever could be. It's the, um--the strength and resilience of the human spirit, you know?" No pun intended.

"And--I think, more than anything, that I'm lucky to have met such an incredible person, and luckier still to be counted among her friends, and for all the new things about her that I get to learn along the way as a result." Also, her friend is--well, she's absurdly pretty on top of it all--but Hachi doesn't know how to fit that into the rest of this, and besides that, she figures anyone who could see Reimi would know this already. It goes without saying, right?! Right.

[antlermotifs]

@doomdays said: ❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜ / akilah

"I don't know," she says quietly. "I just can't stop thinking some nights. About everything." It was heavy, all of it. Every one of them was riddled with exhaustion, grief, fear. Even Lottie, as much as she often tried to offer some kind of connection to hope, perhaps to something greater than them all. "Don't worry about me too much," she offers a light smile. "I'll be fine."

[rabbitbled]

@misquigley said: ❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜

If she was honest, she didn't really know. The exhaustion she felt didn't feel like something even the best sleep could fix. A weariness in her bones, a tiredness that burned her eyes, an empty ache that never seemed to truly dull. And she knows Misty is just checking in, just trying to help, caring (as she always did, whether or not it was well received). But Shauna didn't want to be cared for, she wanted to stew in her anger, wanted to rot in her solitude. Part of her almost felt like she deserved to. She doesn't look at Misty, simply staring into empty space. "I don't think it really matters," she says simply.

[perpetualshade]

"I will kick your petrified emo granddaddy rear right into your least favorite celestial body and watch you deep fry like a stale chicken nugget."

☨- "There is so much to unpack here."

"But first; I'm going to curve stomp your shitty Crayola colored ass into the ground until your skull is just a shattered bowl of soured strawberry milk and expired lucky charm marshmallow guts. Then I'm gonna toss your disembodied overcooked ramen noodle limbs into different universes' oceans where there not even the aquatic aliens will bother to devour you because you smell like your ex-girlfriend's burn book."

"Also you ate rocks. When was the last time you saw a dentist?"

[needlcpit]

something that sticks out about your portrayal of amanda is just how well you articulate her emotions and her angst, you really understand the character and really flesh her out as a three dimensional, and complicated villain. absolutely LOVE the way you write her!

wahhh thank you!! this makes me so happy to hear!! ily!! 😘

[hinamie]

surprise it's yuri!!!in 2024

[ozonelasher]

small tag dump, nothin to see here

[suturcd]

@bizzarrra said: "how did you get your stand?" trish asks, a glint of curiosity in her green eyes as she regards fran. "sorry if that's too personal – i'm just curious, since mine kind of showed up during a battle not that long ago."

It's a simple enough question, spoken with what seems to be a straightforward curiosity, which strangely enough makes it somewhat difficult for Fran to formulate the proper answer. She's cultivated a necessary habit of weighing her words carefully when responding to any sort of questioning, one born from her years within the grinding wheel of Passione, where information is power, and to give too much of it too freely is to seal your own fate at the hands of those who would misuse it against you. She does not quite know what to make of Trish Una within the framework of this mindset yet; a girl who seems to be simultaneously divorced and messily entwined with the circumstances of the gang (or, at the very least, Mr. Bucciarati's team in particular).

With this in mind, Fran wonders if there's some unspoken significance to her coming to Fran with this question--did Mr. Bucciarati direct her to do so because they're both girls of a certain age, or is there something more, some unspoken expectation of her to assist Trish in some way? If so, Fran feels ill equipped for the task, but is compelled to try.

"...I was young," she begins, the pad of a gloved thumb swiping idly over the back of her other hand. "It manifested seemingly of its own volition during a moment of grave personal danger." Her assessing gaze flickers away from Trish. Head tilting in thought, she adds: "...To obtain it as we have isn't as common, but it's not unheard of, either. The vast majority of members, from what I gather, obtained their Stand in a more deliberate process."

Polpo's lighter test. The arrow. Fran does not know what Trish is or is not meant to know, however, so she speaks around it for now.

"...It must have been difficult." There is an unexpected, subtle weight to the otherwise-neutral inflection of her words here, a halting half-second more between the words. Their similarities--however different their personal circumstances are--are not lost on her. A girl, unmoored from the life she once knew, struggling to adapt to her new circumstances, her newfound abilities, her new normal. Fran knows it's no easy thing--wonders if Trish feels rubbed-raw as Fran had when she'd lost her own--...when she'd lost. But perhaps she's just making assumptions, filling in the blanks with her own experiences. Regardless, when her gaze returns briefly to Trish's own she feels it soften just a touch. Fran doesn't exactly know what to do with that either, so she lets her eyes roam to a vague spot over the girl's shoulder instead. Lays out her next words in her head with care. Quietly clears her throat. "...You were fortunate to gain one while under Mr. Bucciarati's supervision, at least. He's... a clever and capable person. In my limited experience."

[hartro-owns-my-heart-ro]

a lil simon ocd comic set some time in the first year or two after cawm, i think he'd struggle a lot with having his mental filter back after 1000 years without it and try to beat back a lot of perfectly benign thoughts he'd had no problem with as ice king

[godlessgrl]

@bloodrodeo said: "how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else? before it’s some kind of murder?"

Quinn had endured her fair share of metamorphosis. She'd gone from a gentle kid, to an angry teenager, to whatever it is she was now. And part of her does think that maybe something within her had died in the midst of all of it. Something poisoned she eventually had to cut off to prevent infection. She didn't kill it, but her circumstances had, she was changed and then had to learn to live with it.

"I mean, change isn't always bad?" She says with a light shrug. "And I don't know, no one is ever the same person forever anyway. If changing and becoming someone else is murder...then I'd liken it to self defense or something. Maybe sometimes you just have to."

[daily-dragon-drawing]

Chocolate and vanilla dragons that are best friends

#61 & #62 - 可可 (kěkě / cocoa) & 香草 (xiāngcǎo / vanilla) - Ironically, this position keeps them both very warm ����🍨🍦dail