#I also will not hesitate to turn of rbs for this post

[sergle]

biting my fingernails down to the quick as I see the rare post being like "you bitches and your measly $20 donations think that absolves you of anything think again" gaining notes because you are all worrying me rn by discouraging smaller donations and implying that donating is supposed to be 1) some kind of moral absolution and 2) that it only works in large sums

[earthtooz]

x : ABUNDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: rin doesn’t know when to stop spoiling you and you don't know how to stop him either.

warnings: rich pro-athlete!rin, gn!reader- reader wears lip gloss and perfume but i am an avid believer that they are gn, rin is dramatic (tm), fluff, swearing. 1.6k wc

a/n: rin is a clown in my eyes LMFAO no but this was kinda self-indulgent and i just can't stray too far from itoshi rin before he inevitably pulls me back. haven't written anything for him in a while so it feels good to be back to my roots. also no i'm not off break lol i did say that i was still gonna write and come back to post hehe. ENJOY!! rbs appreciated !!

itoshi rin doesn’t know when to stop spoiling you.

and you didn’t know how to get him to stop spoiling you. you could never resist his presents no matter what shape or size, whether they were little nendoroids of your favourite anime characters to the latest designer bags, you would always accept them with a grateful smile. 

however, there’s always a tug of guilt at your chest that makes you little hesitant, not wanting rin to waste unnecessary money on you. yet whenever you make this feeling known to rin, he scoffs and waves your concerns off, ending the conversation there as he urges you to open his presents, more concerned about your reaction than how much money is being extracted from his account.

what’s the point of money if he can’t spoil you with it? that’s always been his philosophy. besides, it’s not like you’re forcing him to, so what’s the big deal?

if there was a certain brand of perfume you wanted, he was going to buy it. if you needed a bigger monitor then he’ll buy it. if you needed a streaming platform to watch a certain show on then he’d buy it too, not a problem. in fact, you’re sure rin is funding the spotify premium for your account because he got tired of all the ads he had to listen to when sharing headphones with you. 

despite rin’s insistence that he was more than okay to spend money on you, it didn’t stop the growing feeling of guilt festering in your gut. so eventually you stopped bringing up things you wanted to buy in front of rin, leaving to write them down in your notes app instead.

the pro-athlete doesn’t question the abrupt lack of complaints about things you needed to buy, leaving him blissfully unaware of the things you had been buying for yourself and him. 

this dance continues for a little and it’s not until date night three weeks later that he figures you out. you never stood a chance against rin’s perceptiveness especially when one of his favourite things to do was watch you get ready for said date nights, leaving it only a matter of time before he’d realise,

“looking gorgeous as always,” he compliments whilst walking up to stand behind you, dressed handsomely in a crisp suit with his hair swept sideways- a hairstyle he began to wore more often when he realised how often you stared at him during a boring sponsorship event which turned out a lot more eventful thanks to the simple hair change.

you smile at him in the mirror as rin places a kiss on the side of your head, hand going to your hip before situating himself on the bed, glancing down at his watch to check that you were still on time for the dinner reservation.

when he looks back up at you, his eyes zero in on the foreign lipgloss you were holding in your hands and the small smile rin wore falls into a scowl. rin knows he didn’t get that for you, and judging from the sleekness of the packaging, it looks new. he withholds his suspicions, brushing them off.

alarms blare in rin’s head again when he notices the foreign highlighter in your hands. contrarily, you remain ignorant to rin’s inquisitive stare as you lean in close to the mirror to apply the product, too used to the usual intensity of his gaze to bat an eye. 

the last straw is the perfume you use, spritzing it on your wrists, behind your ears and neck, doing a little fanning motion with your hands once you were done.

“okay, i’m ready, let’s go before we’re lat-” you say, turning around to look at rin, cutting yourself off when you notice the look of distraught on his face. “what’s the matter?”

walking over to where he sat, you leisurely lay your forearms on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek whilst doing so. the smell of your foreign perfume enters his nose and although it was a very nice and charming scent, the athlete’s nose scrunches in displeasure, eyebrows furrowing further. 

“do i have something on my face?” you ask, backing away. rin grabs your hands before you can stray too far. 

“no, not that,” he puts your hands on his shoulders again. “did you always have this lipgloss? and i don’t recognise this perfume.”

“oh, i bought it not too long ago.” 

he looks at you as though you’ve committed the most blasphemous offence against him, which, you did. “excuse me?”

“i bought it?” you reaffirm, a lilt of confusion in your tone. 

rin narrows his eyes, combating your confusion with scrutiny. “you bought it.” you nod. “with your own money?”

“duh.”

he exhales loudly through his nose and you can feel the judgement oozing off him. “no that’s not right. i have to fix this.”

abruptly swapping your positions so that you were now sitting on the bed, rin disappears into the bathroom, emerging with a pack of makeup removers before sifting through your numerous products, that look of concentration never leaving his face.

“we’re gonna be late, rin,” you say from where he planted you, watching helplessly as your boyfriend approaches to stand in front of you, crouching down to be eye level with you. rin takes out a wipe from the packet before gently rubbing it on your lips, touch contrastingly gentle to his fiery gaze. 

“don’t care. this is more important.” 

rin fiddles with the highlighter that he bought for you, opening it cautiously and using the same brush you always use as he carefully paints your skin with the glitter. it amazes you just how observant rin is as he traces all the spots correctly, knowing you down to of the most insignificant, tiny details.

he does the same with the lip gloss, opening the familiar bottle before putting a luxurious amount of the product over your lips. you don’t complain about it, not when rin’s nose scrunches in concentration and not when he makes a disgruntled noise because he overlined the lip gloss, wiping it from the corner of your mouth.

nevertheless, when rin pulls away, he admires his handiwork with a content grin, the scowl now fading. “much better,” he mumbles, grinning slightly. before you could say anything though, the athlete stumbles away to put your makeup away, returning with a bottle of perfume that he also bought for you.

“do not spray that on me. the scents will clash,” you threaten. rin blinks at you before grabbing your wrist, spritzing a small amount before repeating the same step on your other pulse points.

his actions were sweet and you understood that rin had good intentions, but through the endearment you felt for your lover, there is an undeniable feeling of dejection settling within you. “i liked the products that i bought,” you murmur, tone slightly downcast as you express your thoughts. “i like using my own money sometimes too, rin.” 

the smile rin wore falls ever so slightly as he looks at your somewhat-dejected form, crouching in front of you instinctively as to get a better glance at your face. 

“i feel horrible whenever you use your money on me. especially on things that are way too expensive and way out of my budget. i don’t want people- i don’t want you to get the wrong idea of us,” you confess the last part breathily, rubbing your arms awkwardly. “and i hate feeling like i owe something to you.”

“hey, you know that will never happen, we’re not like that,” he rubs a hand on your knee reassuringly. “i buy things for you because i know, and don’t talk about this lukewarm shit about ‘owing’ me. if anything i owe you for putting up with me.”

you let his words sink in with a sigh, focusing on the warmth of rin’s palm. 

“and i also buy things for you because you only deserve the best. none of that mediocre crap that anybody can buy.” 

“but what if i like the ‘lukewarm shit’?”

“then you need better tastes, but i guess i have no choice but to buy it for you.” he stands up ever so slightly to kiss you.

you back away, cutting him off with a press of your finger against his lips. “rin. no.” 

he gives you a withering glare for denying his affection. 

“that’s not the point. as much as i love and appreciate it when you do buy things for me, i would also appreciate it if you let me use my own money too.” 

the soccer player backs away, eyes scanning your expression to decide on what to say next. he sighs when he sees the determination in your face and like a dam giving out, it’s the first sign of rin’s stubbornness surrendering to your pleas.  “fine, i’ll respect your choice, but it doesn’t mean that i like it.”

you grin, pulling him back in for the kiss he wanted earlier, catching rin off guard briefly before his shock subsides, letting him melt right into you. your lipgloss was now effectively ruined but you didn’t have it in you to care much. rin could always reapply it for you. 

“but i’m paying for dinner,” he asserts against your mouth. 

“deal.”

you return home tomorrow to see the same products you bought for yourself on your shared bed. except brand new and still in their sleek packages. 

what were you going to do with rin?

[mazzystar24]

to that previous anon, this is a queer man speaking! Just wanted to say that disliking tommy for being a racist asshole of a character is not homophobic 🥰🥰

what is homophobic is making statements insinuating that queer-coded poc characters would somehow ruin the show by being confirmed queer just because you know that that character being confirmed queer would mean your ship had no more legs to stand on!

i love how so many people try to insinuate that bt shippers somehow speak for the entire queer community when the entire bt fanbase is made up of mostly white cis straight women or white cis queer men, neither of whom are the most educated on nuanced queer issues— they really need to check their privilege before trying to speak over the rest of us who actually want a meaningful story to be told rather than the rushed, last minute, no chemisty bullshit they threw at us in 7x4 (and yes- it was last minute bc tommy wasn’t even originally supposed to come back this season. and even when he was on board to come back, eddie was still the first choice to be confirmed queer! hope this helps, anon🥰🥰🥰)

You me and @eddiediazismyhusband share the same brain cos I got you guys notifications around the same time and I was abt to post an rb to that talking abt this exact thing

Yes to all this

Like it’s the same way when the daddy kink debate happened GAY MEN were getting asks talking abt how homophobic they are and how they just don’t wanna know that gay men having sex all by a bunch of straight women who were making 20+ daddy kink fics

Like can we criticise your favourite white man (even if he is gay) in peace without having to list our sexuality, our race and a kink list?

Like I’m a bisexual poc woman so I have a leg to stand on when it comes to nuanced queer issues but if a gay man was talking abt an issue specific to gay men I wouldn’t fucking act like Ik better, but what I would expect is if I’m in turn talking abt a poc issue or a queer poc issue I would expect him to be sat and zip it and grant me the same respect I would grant him

Like you’re having queer people get spoken over and even called homophobic or fetishisers by straight women and you’re having poc being insulted and their opinions disregarded by a bunch of white people

Like do we need to make a list like here are things that ARE homophobic vs things that aren’t as a guideline to some of these people😭😭

Also yes like these same people preaching rep and all this stuff are making “pride month posts” abt not wanting Eddie to be queer in canon or celebrating that it hasn’t/ (and in their brains) won’t happen or celebrating that homophobia would cause the writers to be hesitant to make two mains queer

Also the same people that are preaching privacy and then sharing private screenshots

Also the same people preaching hearing minorities then minimising Tommys complacency in racism or having racist takes abt Eddie

And the same people who a large majority refuse to watch the show other than the bucktommy or tommy parts and then claim they’re not fetishising and claim that we are for what??? Wanting a meaningful well built slowburn romance that straight people have got in media on multiple occasions??? Or having a queer arc like Eddie’s that would be so unique from most if not all that is currently in the media???

It’s like hypocrisy after hypocrisy with these people istg

Anyways I’m adding moot points atp cos you’ve said it perfectly🫡🫡

[bestworstcase]

tangential to last rb (<- heroically resisting the impulse to ramble all over @sailorb00’s art post mrgdhej) ive always thought “maidens choose themselves” was an interesting turn of phrase for ozpin to use given 1. the inheritance rules as he and his proxies describe them and 2. the context of asking pyrrha to become the next fall maiden

specifically, can the presumptive heir say no?

i think “maidens choose themselves” does imply bidirectional agency: that is, a dying maiden may have an eligible candidate in mind, but that candidate too has a choice to accept the magic or not. will the magic cleave to an heir who rejects it?

in V3 team oz hypothesize that the partial magic of the fall maiden still attached to amber will seek its other half when it dies—unless they transfer amber’s aura into pyrrha. but then what happens is ozpin initiates the transfer and the aura+magic is actively combining with pyrrha’s aura when cinder kills amber, whereupon the magic reverses direction to reach cinder.

so we have this scenario where the dying maiden’s aura is being transferred into a new host and the magic, apparently, resists that artificial process. why? three possibilities:

it’s following the technical rule that it must go to whoever amber thought of last at the moment she died,

amber’s half broke away from her aura to rejoin cinder’s half, or

both cinder (the last person amber saw) and pyrrha (receiving amber’s aura) were available to inherit the magic, or at least amber’s piece of it, and the magic went to cinder because she actually wanted it whereas pyrrha felt duty-bound to accept it

and i think there is textual support for at least the possibility of number three, because in V7 what happens is: fria dies (marked by her eyes closing) but the transfer doesn’t begin until penny chooses to receive the magic and clasps fria’s hand. the aura that flows down fria’s arm doesn’t appear until penny is holding her hand! (and the scene gives quite a lot of attention to penny’s hesitance beforehand, underscoring that she makes a choice in this moment.)

and winter also makes a choice in that moment—there is a moment when she sees fria dying in penny’s arms and registers what’s about to happen, and rather than rush to trade places with penny (who is in fighting condition still, unlike winter!) winter instead focuses on cinder, which amounts to stepping back to leave the choice in fria’s hands.

then of course when the magic flows from penny to winter there’s a lot of emotional weight put on winter’s choice to accept it (“thank you for trusting me with this”/“you chose nothing; this was a gift”).

raven is a possible spanner in the works given how little we know of the circumstances and the open question of whether she wanted the spring maiden’s magic, but at a minimum raven must have mercy-killed her with the knowledge that doing so carried a significant possibility of probably gretchen bequeathing the magic to her, and certainly raven doesn’t hesitate to use it.

more importantly, every failed transfer we’ve seen thus far (grimm beetle, grimm arm, aura transfer) have one thing in common and that is an attempt to circumscribe the agency of the maidens themselves; and the situation with the grimm beetle is interesting because the grimm beetle does work. the magic doesn’t resist being split in half and cinder retains the half that she stole—whereas the magic does resist transfer into pyrrha.

in both scenarios amber was in distress and both the grimm siphoning and machine transfer seem to operate on the same principle of capturing the magic via aura, so… the difference between cinder (who wants this power badly) and pyrrha (who doesn’t want it but feels obligated to take it) is perhaps the key variable to explain the different behavior of the magic.

as always i wonder if those “convoluted and stupid rules” and the “random” heir if the dying maiden doesn’t have an eligible candidate in mind are maybe a lot less convoluted, stupid, or random than team oz believes. maidens don’t “choose their heirs,” maidens “choose themselves.”

(see also: cinder siphoned aura out of raven and penny without ripping away parts of the spring/winter maiden magic; cinder also spent all of V8 obsessively fixated on the winter maiden UNTIL salem gave her permission to go for it, whereupon she promptly snagged the relics and left the winter maiden on the table because her ongoing power struggle with salem is more important to her. cinder very badly wanted magic and now that she has it, her desire for more is merely a move in the deranged game she’s playing with salem and what she really wants is to WIN. this is why she’s not getting the summer maiden either.)

[emiplayzmc]

...So here's that 2.5k+ word one-shot that I wrote in one afternoon + night

@turntableart it's the guys ever :3 And also @bigshot-furbiestm since you said you wouldn't be opposed to reading it in your RB last night :3

Also posted it on AO3 in case it's easier to read there :D

♤~~♡~~♤

♤~~♡~~♤

"It's Not Too Late to Learn to be Alive Again"

Summary:

Two former and forgotten Addisons rummage around in an alley and end up staying for too long, hiding out in a dumpster from the cold rain.

AKA, I have brainrot about an Addison OC that me and Turn have been talking about and I am. Very much adding them to my list of blorbos.

Drip.  Drop.

Tink.  Splat.

The sound of tiny bits of acid rain hitting every surface of this block in Cyber City for the moment.  Hopefully, it wouldn't get any worse than a light drizzle.

The dull-coloured Addison stands at the end of the alley, blankly staring up at the gridlines at the top of the world, watching the droplets fall down around and onto him.  The acidity by itself couldn't clear the dust and grime on his dull, bluish-green casing, but he could feel and see the streaks trickling across it, making them slightly more metallic-looking again instead of the matte that he'd been reduced to.

Plink.  Tap-tap.  Clack.

He blinks as a drop of cold rain lands on the tip of his nose, scrunching his face briefly as he's brought out of the blank trance-like state he was in.  He swivels his head around to look over his shoulder, watching as items get tossed out of trash bags within a green dumpster at random intervals, hitting the opposite wall of the alleyway with clatters, cracks, and occasional wet slaps - the least appealing of those sounds, in his opinion.  He wonders when his companion will find something they deem suitable to sell or edible enough to use as a consumable.  He emits a low hum and draws his coat a little closer to himself, looking back over the back alley wall to the thin strip of buildings between the city and the Cyber Fields beyond, an occasional red light blinking on the unfinished railway.

Pitter-patter, thup-thup.

…and it sounds like the rain is falling a little harder.  That's wonderful.  He steps off of the crate that he'd used to look over the back wall and approaches the dumpster, lurching back to let a slimy-looking something hit the wall before moving forward again and standing on the tips of his toes to peer in.

He can see the greased back, oily hair of his companion rummaging around in a trash bag, their gears clicking inside them as they mutter to themselves while deliberating over a bottle with its label torn off, containing MAYBE some kind of juice.  Could also be motor oil, it's not easy to tell.  The lid of the dumpster must be blocking the rain from hitting them.  He reaches over the edge and taps the other on their shoulder, finding it the tiniest bit amusing when they startled and nearly dropped the bottle of whatever-it-was.

“WH 4T THE- AH, U!!!  SOMETHING [Turn Left]?”

The gratingly loud, glitched voice of Spamton G. Spamton had become a small comfort to the other in the past few months.  To others, it may have been hard to listen to for more than a few minutes, but to him it was familiar.  It was safe.  Friendly.

The corner of his mouth twists into a frown as he points upward before making a sweeping gesture to the alleyway now growing wet with puddles and slowly thickening curtains of acidic precipitation.  Spamton pokes his head out of the garbage receptacle and immediately hisses when he feels rain hitting the top of his pompadour and face, causing the other to smirk lightly at the reaction.

“[$%#/] RA1N…” Spamton grumbles as he peers out, wiping the already accumulating rain away from his nearly opaque multicoloured glasses, “WE’LL LEAF [And It's Going Going] [Going] [Going] [Going]- …SO0N.  JUST GOTTA F 1ND SOME GRUB!!!”

…He doesn't exactly know why they couldn't root through the garbage can of a bakery that's on the route back to Spamton's shop, but he hesitantly nods and pulls the back of his coat over his head to hide from the rain, leaning against the dumpster and listening to Spamton rifling through the garbage bags a little quicker.

…

The frigid acid rain drums and hisses against the roofs and the concrete in the alley, making muted green puddles around his feet and staining more of his cyan shoes.  He shivers underneath his now-soaked coat, and Spamton still hasn't finished, likely getting too fixated on finding something edible to have noticed he's taking too long or that the rain has started pouring.  He kicks the back of his foot against the dumpster hard, earning him a muted “1 SEC OND.”  He grumbles and shivers again.  He's cold and wet and he'd rather go back and miss eating instead of obsessing over finding something for too long.  His internal heaters got busted and clogged long ago, he shouldn't be outside in this mess.

…

Screw it.

He turns around and yanks open the other lid on the dumpster, scrambling inside despite Spamton's startled noise and shutting both lids above them, pulling his legs up to his chest and shoving a gutted trash bag off to the side, huddling onto the side and flicking on the flashlights in his eyes.

“H 3Y!!!” Spamton protests, the lights in his eyes flickering on as well, both their sets of eyes shining dimly in the dumpster with light turquoise and pink-and-yellow light, “I’M ALM0ST [Done and Done!], Y'D U-”

His questioning dies off as he sees his dull greyish green-blue companion shivering in the corner of the dumpster, his legs pulled up to and hugging his chest and the soaking wet coat pulled tightly around him, even though it's likely making the shivering worse.

“...0 H.  RITE…” Spamton wavered, remembering his friend's condition, “SHOULD H4VE [Leave while you still have the chance]...”

‘Idiot, he told you we should leave and you got hooked on something that could've been taken care of on the way back,’ he thinks to himself, berating.  He can't keep doing that when he has this guy following him around with broken systems… if he's going to insist on trailing Spamton like a lost Tasque just because the White Addison found him shut down in the middle of the street unable to move and fixed him up as best that he could, he might as well make sure they're at least safe.  Not that he's actually grown to care about the nameless Addison at all.

“...H3RE, I-” Spamton moves to kneel on his knees instead of squatting, looking through his corrupted inventory quickly to find the slot with his blanket, pulling it out of the 1s and 0s.  He then reaches forward and attempts to snatch the wet coat off of the other, holding up a surrendering hand when they flinch and pull themselves back farther, confused.”

“U CANT [ Wear all of our latest styles at -] TH4T, YO U’LL [Freeze, criminal scum!],” he grunts out, holding out his hand as if to say ‘ hand it over .’  The other Addison hesitates for a minute, not wanting to give up his coat, but his fans ultimately emit a whirring sigh as he peels it off of himself, balling it up and handing it to Spamton before trying in vain to wipe the wet spots off his stained blue dress shirt underneath.  Spamton tosses the coat into the corner, intending to dry it back at his shop (somehow) when the rain stops and they leave.

Spamton then takes their ratty - but still functional, with no holes or tears - grey blanket and drapes it over the dull Blue's legs, watching as their face morphs into one of surprise before gratefully (and somewhat covetously) pulling it farther over himself, gripping a small part of it to their chest.

‘It won't help much to heat him up, just block a little more cold,’ he muses…

His own internal heaters may not be the best, but they at least function better than the other's.

He shoves the trash bags next to the Addison farther to the side and crawls over to sit next to him, pushing himself close to the other’s body so they can share the heat.  Surprised, the other tilts his head to the side, wondering why all of a sudden Spamton actually… WANTS to be close to him.  Spamton notices the confused expression and scoffs - not in a mean way.

“U L0OK LIKE A- LIKE A- LIKE A- [[- looking like a kicked puppy and down on your luck? ]] SI TING TH3RE SHIV€RING, D0N’T [Expectations, expectations!] TH IS TO BE A REGULAR THING,” he grumbles lightly, gently pulling some of the blanket over himself before opening his inventory again and bringing out his tattered and yellowed pillow, plopping it behind his and the other's backs.  May as well get comfy, they'll likely be here all night.

…

Bonk.

Spamton feels a light thud on his skull, and feels the other pressing even closer to Spamton's body, realizing that he's resting his head on top of Spamton, looking somewhat content for one of the few times since they've been around each other.

“...TH4T DIDN'T T AK LONG,” Spamton snorts amusedly.  The other angles his eyes down at Spamton's face and gives a small smile, nuzzling into his head, which… most people probably wouldn't do, but at the moment, neither of them cared.  Spamton liked feeling like he was needed at the moment, and the nameless Addison loved the warmth, both the literal and metaphorical kind, coming from his companion right now, relishing it.

Spamton sees the unlabelled bottle of liquid from earlier still resting unopened on a pile of trash, and he grabs it, swishing it around in the glass.

“EXP3RI MENTASHUN!!!” Spamton says gleefully, cracking open the bottle just to finally figure out what it is, “[Rock Bottom]’S UPP!!!”  He tips his head back and pours some of the yellow liquid down his throat, clamping his jaw up and down as he tries to discern the… interesting… taste.

“H3RE,” he says, offering the bottle to the Blue, “DUNNO WH4T IT I S, BUTT ITS CONSUMABLE!!!” The other gingerly takes the bottle, eyeing the familiar curved glass of the bottle before taking a small sip… which he immediately regrets, since it burns the whole way down his throat and tastes like someone mixed toothpaste and rotten glass with alcohol that went wrong.  He splutters whatever he can out of his mouth, his face twisted into a grimace.

…it does warm his insides, though.  Probably because it's started eating away at vital fluids that have started leaking everywhere, based on the taste - though that may be a little overdramatic.

…and his reaction to it made Spamton cackle out a glitched and garbled, yet teasing laugh at his reaction.

“HAEHAEHA EHAEH- WH4T, DON'T LIKE THE N3W [Vile! Awful! Downright hideous!] TASTES OF TH E AUTUMN???” Spamton laughs, nudging the other in their torso lightly.  The dull one flicks the arm of Spamton's glasses, sending them askew with a smile, now feeling a lot less miserable and a bit warmer than he was when he climbed into the dumpster, cuddled next to Spamton and his heaters.  He even made him laugh.  He hums softly and lightly bonks the marionette's long nose with the tip of their own nose, attempting to make him laugh again.

“H- H3Y, URE ACTing [Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice], U BUY A SH1NY NEW [ the spark that created life!! ] 0 R SOMTHIN???” Spamton asks, snickering as he reaches up and touches the other's cheek, watching them lean into it like they haven't had such a simple act of touch in decades.

Boop.

He touches their noses together again and nods up and down quickly, pointing a finger at Spamton, and then himself, before pointing at his face and grinning widely.

…Spamton gets the message loud and clear.  Externally, his eyes roll [[HEAVEN ]]wards as if that was a cheesy thing to imply, but internally he's… Actually getting a little emotional.  He hasn't made someone who he may or may not care about smile since…  Well…  not for a long time.

“[Gourmet Wheel of Brie] LINE 2 BUTT ER ME UP,” he says unconvincingly sarcastically, “BUT URE SM1LING FOR 1NCE, SO ILL [ What can I say except ‘you're welcome’? ]!!!”  Spamton reaches his arm up from its position behind his head and claps the other on their shoulder a couple of times fondly.

“S0 GOOD L UCK GETTING Rid of me NOW, BCAUSE URE [Stuck in a ditch? Call-] WITH ME NOW, [Friend Request Accepted], SO I C4N KEEP THAT  GR1N ON YO UR [Beutiful Head]!!!”

…what does it say about the other, when such garbled yet simple words of kindness were enough to nearly well his eyes with tears?  For just the simple act of being with him to make him emotional?

“... th ank you,” he croaks out, the voicebox quality scratchy and sounding alien from disuse, resting his head on Spamton's again.

“D0NT MENTION IT, [Buddy Chum Pal Fr]- [[Stop the presses!!]]” Spamton halts mid-sentence as he snaps his head to fully look at the one sitting beside him, eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares into their blue-green eyes - does he daresay he saw some sort of sparkle in there?  “D ID- DID U JUST [Everybody's raving about our new-]???”

He nods, his small smile stretching a little as he moves his head down to bump his forehead to Spamton's again.

Spamton's face, in return, breaks out into an ear-to-ear, genuine grin as he bumps foreheads back, ecstatic to hear him speak for what may well be the first time since they met.

“I'LL [ -chugalug, chugalug ] 2 TH AT!!!!” Spamton cheers, holding up the still-open bottle of vile fluid and taking a large swig… oh what the Hell?  Just this once he'll try to like it…  The other grabs the bottle and takes a drink from it as well, nearly gagging but managing to keep it down for a few moments before breaking into silent, body-shaking laughter at the fact they just willingly drank that again.

He wonders what he would do - if Trademark License Addison saw his abhorrent alcohol - unfit for a ViroViroKun, the very same that he detested for taking the place of nearly every cheap but decent gas station brand in the store, the very same drink that he expelled from his body into the bathroom sink - in stores a few years ago now being consumed by his future self in a dumpster while giggling over the smallest of things and sharing heat with the former Big Shot himself.

When the entire bottle is drained, Trademark and Spamton lean back against the pillows, the former listening to the drumming of rain on the dumpster lid above them, and to the White Addison yammering on and on about some convoluted make-it-big-again scheme with a tired and tranquil look on his face, until he eventually falls asleep, his head now drooped onto Spamton's shoulder and his arm draped across his torso, gripping him tightly to keep the warmth close to him.  When he finally does notice that the dull, yet so, so bright Blue Addison whom he doesn't even know the name of, has fallen asleep nuzzling him, he feels… content.  Happy, even.  His own arm gently holds Trademark close to himself, as well.

Spamton likes feeling wanted.  Feeling needed.  By someone, for once in years.

…

They could both get used to expecting this to be a regular thing.

♤~~♡~~♤

♤~~♡~~♤

[chaggiehearts]

Intro ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Hi! Making a little introduction for my blog <3

You can call me Mimi. I’m 19 years old, I use she/her pronouns and I’m a lesbian. I’m also neurodivergent (though for privacy reasons I won’t be indicating exactly what I have). I speak both Spanish and English (with Spanish being my native tongue). I love Hazbin Hotel and this blog is entirely dedicated to this show that has taken over my life. I watched the pilot in the summer of 2020 so I’ve been here for a long while, but I didn’t get properly obsessed until the show released :)

As one could have imagined seeing my icon, header, username, blog description and general posts, I love chaggie so much, they're my favourite part of the show (as characters and as a ship). I do love the rest of the show too, they’re just my faves.

My favorite characters are, in order: Vaggie, Charlie (very unexpected top 2 I know /s, I love them <33), Lute, Emily (my other two faves!!!), Velvette, Carmilla, Rosie, Niffty and sir Pentious. That being said, I like almost every character. Though I mainly talk about Charlie and Vaggie because #brainrot, you may expect any other character too, specially the aforementioned.

Chaggie is my absolute OTP and around 80% of my posts will be about them. Some other pairings I also love are emilute, fallenwings, huskerdust, guitarspear, royalhalo, velmilla, zestmilla, qpr radiorose and cherrisnake. I adore the idea of Charlie's angels as an OT4 because I love throwing all my favorite characters into a ship and imagining the chaos that would follow 👍🏻

I tend to tag absolutely every character and ship I post/reblog about, so if anything here makes you uncomfortable don't hesitate to blacklist it :)

I'm interested in many other things, namely Project Sekai!, BanG Dream!, D4DJ, Love Live!, Vocaloid (specially the Evillious Chronicles series and the Night∞Series), Helluva Boss, RWBY, Red vs. Blue, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, The Dragon Prince, The Owl House, Steven Universe, Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Legend of Korra, Five Nights at Freddy's, Monster High, Ever After High, Rainbow High, Madoka Magica, Kakegurui, Danganronpa, Your Turn To Die, Sanrio, Cookie Run, Heathers, Les Miserables, etc.

My Helluva Boss sideblog is @fiizzarollii and my sideblog for anything not related to the Hellaverse is @dreamermarionette :)

I don't tend to do DNIs because I understand bigots don't tend to respect them, but well, if you're someone that discriminates others on the basis of anything and I find out, I'll block you. When it comes to Hazbin Hotel, I don't want to interact with you if you ship Valentino X Angel, Lucifer or Lilith X Charlie, Vaggie X men or Angel X women, those things really make me uncomfortable.

As a note, I’m extremely anxious and shy, so it’s difficult for me to DM people first and I might take a bit of time to reply, but I really enjoy meeting people and making friends so don't hesitate to talk to me if you wanna chat :)

Finally, I love drawing and writing. You can find my Hazbin Hotel fanarts tagged as “#my art <3” (though I tend to post the actually good stuff in my art blog @elverniia and just rb them here, I only post the stuff that is unfinished or too simple/messy here). I haven’t posted fanfics yet so idk what I’ll tag them, I’ll see when I get there!

[nrcbookclub]

Ooh! The ask game looks rly fun. Ik u said if we wanted to rb if we could pls send in an ask so I figured it wouldn't hurt even tho I've not rly interacted w/ this acct yet aside from following

That aside, tho, 💔 for Trystia? Or any of your other OCs on this blog if you feel like it.

u can interact anytime u want, but thank u for sending in the ask! :D

I tend to read when im sad, or sit in a tree! Ive stopped using my unique magic when im upset though, cause it didnt turn out so well last time..

I… like to… birdwatch… when im upset..! It was… easy and… cheap for me to… do growing up… and its… typically done… alone..!

I cope by saying ‘fuck it we ball’ at 2 am lmao

I will also add on to this, and say even post overblot Trystia has a tendency to bottle up her emotions and refuse/hesitate to tell people about them! Harvey never tells anyone about his personal issues, and klen refuses to acknowledge his. They all interpreted it as ‘how do you deal with being sad?’ Though.

[chatxkilluaxnoir]

Another (I know, I am so original, aren’t I?) TMNT Fandom(s) Rant

Author’s Note:

Alright, I had been really, really hesitant to post this, because I honestly feel like I have done too many of these (even though I have only like, done some posts and rb’s on this kind of stuff.  And usually spaced apart too, but whatever), and because some of the stuff I am saying, I see even creators that I like sometimes say, and I don’t want to seem like I am mad and that kind of stuff at them.  Even with creators I like less or I am more neutral towards, I don’t want to seem mad at them or too mean and stuff like that, you know?  

But I came to the decision to just post this.  Largely because I just really feel the need to say this, and because someone I know on here helped me give the courage to go ahead and post this.  Thank you that person a lot btw!

Alright, now that my AN is done and out of the way, let’s get to more of the actual contents of the post itself.  Starting now:

Like, I can not fathom, how people complain about the Rise turtles being nerfed, and will hold up certain fics/comics/whatever and say they love those fics/comics/whatever because they don’t nerf Rise, but usually/most of the time, those same comics or whatever that supposedly nerf Rise, will nerf the other version instead (usually 2012.  Though sometimes other versions like 2003).

So nerfing u hate when it is done to Rise, but other versions, it is a-ok!, to nerf them!  Wow okay, just wow.

And on the topic of Rise being nerfed, I won’t say it never happens, it does.  But I honestly don’t see that much myself.

And I honestly, at this point, I more so see Rise getting so hyped up to (sometimes) ridiculous amounts, than I see them getting nerfed.

Rise are better, stronger, smarter, more amazing and awesome TMNT (and not just in ability/powers/strength/etc., but character and/or etc. too).  They are also more violent and scary when they snap.  And/or could be more scary when they get violent and/or snap.  And I am not saying they couldn’t and/or wouldn’t be so.  But that is REALLY downplaying other versions when you say stuff like that. Like, some of the other versions can be so violent and murderous and completely terrifying when they snap (and/or you just know they would be utterly terrifying if they completely snap) too.  

Moving back to what I was saying before/earlier, not only are they better and everything I say above in the beginning of the last paragraph.  But they can also beat any other version no matter what in anything basically.  Because like, the TMNT Fandom(s) (or at least some parts of it/them) has now became the Shonen fandom where we argue about what, for example, our usually favorite person or group of ours can beat another person or group or whatever.  This coming from someone who actually likes Shonen.  But God, do I find power scaling, and “x can and/or can’t beat x” arguments to very annoying, stupid, and pointless most of the time, and usually just detracting from actually just talking about story, or character, or themes, or/& etc.  And they are just tiring honestly.

Putting the rest under a cut, because this post gets long/is getting long, and some of the stuff below is the stuff that was making me worried about posting this.  So I am putting this under a “read more” cut due to long, and in case people don’t want to read some of the (other) stuff I have to say here.

Seriously, I have literally seen posts and stuff, that basically say and/or imply that Rise are just BETTER than their other versions.

Which in turn, usually puts down both the talents of previous versions (i.e. for example.  And this is just an example really, but it valid in most points.  Leo and/or Raph’s own (innate) talents will be downplayed, and people will act like they don’t have their own talents instead are just the muscle and/or use their (strong) emotions to help them maybe win, in the case of Raph (which, nothing wrong with this actually at all), or Leo isn’t talented and strong in his own right, and only gets all of his skills and strength through hard-work and experience (which, there is nothing wrong with that.  Some of the strongest and best people in the world in their own fields and/or etc., got where they were through mainly/a lot through hard-work and experience (even if some of these people were talented, they almost certainly, most of the time, wouldn't become the best, without actually trying and through hard work and experience).  

And honestly, the amount of downplaying some people do.  Not all, there are people who really respect hard-work and experience in this fandom and/or in general.  And/or they are people that think characters or whatever or even cooler and/or better because they they work hard and/or etc. and become (even more) awesome.  But the amount of people that downplay hard-work, experiences, learning through example, and all that is kind of sad.  

It is like some people only care about (innate) talents (which, I am not saying are’t cool and awesome stuff too, but like, still) and not any of that.  Or, and again basically, don’t think that even people that have (innate) talents still need to you know train and to learn and all that?  You don’t (most of the time) become a master without experience and hard work.  Even if you are talented), which in reality, all the turtles (and Casey, April, Karai, splinter, etc.) are a combination of both talents and hard-work and experiences imo.) and skills and strengths and experiences and even just their general character and personality and development.

And I am just like ?????? to (all) that.

I find all/some of that stuff I mentioned above (esp. the development stuff and/or etc.) funny, considering, saying that kind of stuff/some of that stuff, not only undermines other versions and other versions of characters and their characterization and development, but also (imo) Rise’s characterization and development, because it almost seems like you think they have less flaws as people and stuff than other versions (which, I don’t think actually think is true.  I think all the versions basically have both flaws and strengths as people), and that they don’t go through development/don’t need development/need less development than other versions (which again, I don’t think is true.  I think like other versions, Rise needs and goes through development and goes through their own awesome development like the other versions).  

I  mostly bring up characterization here too, since sometimes (not always), characterization and development can go hand-in-hand.  Anyways yeah, when some of you say this kind of stuff, I wonder if you/they realize that they are also, in a way, kind of undermining Rise’s characterization and development too; along with the other versions.

Back on the whole “Rise is better��� thing.

So like, I do see characters like Rise Leo to basically be everything (all the Leos) that has come before him, for example.

Which I love.

However, that doesn’t mean he is better.  He wouldn’t exist, if not for the previous Leos, for the previous versions (and sometimes even current Leos and versions and their characters if you include IDW, which I do) and their characters.

Seriously, it almost seems like, and pardon my language, a pissing race.  Instead of respecting and honoring the other versions, some people (seem to) instead act/talk like Rise are just stronger, most powerful, more skilled, and all around just better in every way (including their actual characters when I say in this like I have said previously and not just powers, skills, and all that).

And this all not even in taking into account genres.  For examples:  2012 is more dramatic and serious, Rise is more comedic and light-heartened (not saying 2012 or Rise can’t be the other.  Or have more genres in them.  They can and do.  I am just talking overall).  Nothing wrong with either of those things.  They are both great though.  But different genres, are also important to take into account when you try to compare the different versions (in all way different ways).  Though, I try not to do that, unless it is more positively/in positive ways.  And because they are all great in their own rights.  I find comparisons a lot of the times (not just with TMNT) to not always be the best thing to do, but that is just imo.

Anyways, that is all I have to say about genres for now (at least, until I can figure out a way to word what I am trying to say there better.  I am still working on that).

Seriously though, I am getting so tired of all this.

I love both 2012 and Rise (and basically most/all the TMNT versions basically) so much; they are both a couple of my favorites.

But this kind of stuff is just getting out of hand.  Imo.

My goodness.

Tagging some people here, because maybe they got more stuff to add, and they have made some good posts/replies/reblogs/etc., about this kind of stuff already, so I am curious on their would-be, maybe input (they don’t have to say or do anything with/about this post at all if they don’t want to ofc).

@000marie198 , @tmnt-obsessed-ace , & @misteria247 

There we go/there are the tags.

Disclaimer:  I tried (and I think succeeded) not to name any certain people, fics, comics, etc., etc., in this post.  I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble or grief here.   

If you don’t want to read this post; either just ignore it, or block one or more of the tags I use in the tags.  Like one of my rants and/or discourse tags.

[violynsolo]

seeing some of my arcanetwt friends confused by tumblr so here are 10 tips, hopefully i can explain them in a succinct way that is specifically relevant for you all!

follow blogs and tags to see posts! eventually tumblr will accurately recommend things you like and show them on your for you page/"try these posts" on the explore page but i usually just scroll my dash.

you can sort your dash by most recent or recommended, but unlike twitter you aren't going to see other people's likes or replies on your dash, just posts and reblogs.

people love getting asks! (as long as they're nice!) asks are basically built in curiouscat. you can turn anon off if you want or turn asks off altogether but they can be a good way to spark a conversation/discussion.

people treat tags kinda like qrts! most people will throw their personal opinions about a post in the tags, because unlike hashtags you can use spaces and some punctuation. i rarely put my thoughts in a reblog unless i feel like it adds to the content of the post in some way/continues the discussion. basically if you just want to share your opinions put them in the tags but if you definitely want ppl to see what you're saying put them in a rb (either way people can look through the notes to read all the tags too)

on that topic, once your post has been reblogged it CANNOT BE DELETED! you can delete the original post off your blog but any rb is essentially a copy. it's not gonna disappear like on twitter. you can edit your posts on tumblr, but rbs that happened before the edit will not change. (this is why you'll sometimes see a deactivated blog's addition in the reblogs of a post)

you can private your likes and following list! honestly i recommend doing this, i think a lot of unnecessary twitter drama comes from those features being public but on tumblr no one knows how many followers you have but you and you don't have to share who you follow either. (keep in mind that privating your likes only hides the likes page from your blog, it doesn't hide your like in the notes of a post)

tumblr's tagging system is actually pretty great (whenever the search function decides to work lmao), you can tag a post by #gif, #art, #video, etc. so you can search your blog for it later. unlike twitter tumblr is shit when it comes to searching specific phrases, like it just refuses to work and i have no idea why, so i recommend this!

while tags technically do show up like hashtags in site wide searches, people very commonly come up with tagging systems just for their blog, like ways to reference posts to find them later, this is not really how people use tags on twt but it's common and useful here.

you can queue posts! if you don't want to spam you can schedule a post to be sent out at a certain time, or just leave your queue to post them in intervals throughout the day. people usually come up with a personal tag for their queue (often a pun where the word "queue" is replacing something) so their followers know they aren't actually active and the post was scheduled.

finally, and oops this ended up being long, tumblr posts have a ton of formatting features that make them a lot more like blog posts, feel free to play around! for the people who are really into blog design you can also actually edit the html of your blog's desktop site and fully code the page how you want (or just pick a premade theme)

happy blogging and don't hesitate to ask me any questions!

[mikurinkitten]

ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡

welcome to my blog!

ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡

hi, i'm alice. i'm a 20 year old bisexual woman who happens to love the ship between kagamine rin and hatsune miku, nice to meet you! i also love cats, if you hadn't noticed. regarding typology, i'm an infj 6w5 sp/so 629 mel-phleg eii levf rloai (yes, i practically live in the personality database, even though i created my actual profile a couple of days ago lmao, have the link https://www.personality-database.com/user/3746629 )

❀~✿ ❀~✿ ❀~✿ ❀~✿

i'm EXTREMELY multifandom. here are the ones that will appear frequently in my blog though (bold: my favourite ones; italics: my current fixations):

♡vocaloid

♡project sekai

♡project diva

♡project mirai

♡love live

♡bandori

♡d4dj

♡idolm@ster

♡your turn to die

♡danganronpa

♡avatar the last airbender

♡the legend of korra

♡rwby

♡red vs. blue

♡the owl house

♡she-ra and the princesses of power

♡the dragon prince

♡steven universe

♡arcane

♡the amazing digital circus

♡hazbin hotel

♡helluva boss

♡amphibia

♡genshin impact

♡honkai impact 3rd

♡honkai star rail

♡good omens

♡monster high

♡rainbow high

♡ever after high

♡lol suprise

♡sanrio

♡animal crossing

♡cookie run kingdom

♡cookie run ovenbreak

♡les miserables

♡heathers

♡wicked

♡alice in wonderland/alice through the looking glass

♡disney (favourite movies: brave and alice in wonderland)

♡rpg maker games, specially horror ones like ib, mad father or misao

♡undertale

♡deltarune

♡mario bros

♡five nights at freddy's

♡doki doki literature club

♡overwatch

♡madoka magica

♡naruto

♡kakegurui

♡oshi no ko

♡rozen maiden

♡mermaid melody

♡sailor moon

♡boku no hero academia

♡kuroshitsuji

♡nanbaka

♡melanie martinez

♡simple plan

♡blackpink

♡dreamcatcher

as you can see, i’m v deep in idol hell. please save me :’(

i will also post/rb a lot of stuff concerning cats and other animals, typology (mbti, enneagram, etc.), politics, science, psychology, sociology, feminism, lgbt things, art, aesthetics, literature, k-pop (specially girl groups), idols, magical girls, dolls, japanese learning tips, etc...

most of the media i consume is very female centric so if you follow me expecting male centric stuff my blog might not be of your liking :(

❀~✿ ❀~✿ ❀~✿ ❀~✿

i don't have a proper DNI, just don't be a hateful person and it'll be fine. my only hard limits are nazis, incels and right-wing conservatives. however, i know that none of those groups will read my DNI let alone respect it so it's more of a warning that if i find out you're one of those things, you'll be blocked on sight

BYF: i'm a very rigid person when it comes to tagging, so i add a lot of tags to almost everything i post/reblog; blocking them and avoiding certain types of posts should be very easy. i also tag common triggers, so don't worry! however, if you need something else tagged or if i forget something don't hesitate to ask me to tag those things

additionally, if you're wondering why most art i reblog is tagged "amazing art!" aside from #art or #fanart, it's because as far as i know those drawings are made by the person posting it. it's a good way of keeping track of amazing artists in tumblr! the ones that don't have this tag are either official art or credited reposts

also, as a little warning, i dislike the q word a lot. i have nothing against people that use it for themselves as long as they can reclaim it, but you probably won’t see me using it most of the time because it makes me uncomfy. this is also the reason why i use the word ‘lgbt’ to talk about the whole community, i prefer it far more than ‘lgbtq’. please respect this and thanks for the understanding

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[maggyoutthere]

This "Everywhere At The End Of Time" thing has been showing up on my recommendations list on youtube. What even is this thing-

I mean it sounds neat. I'm like half an hour in and I like it :/ it's so nostalgic with the static and record scratches. I'm a sucker for ambient music and these sound neat

Edit:

Reached Stage 2

What is happening why is this triggering something in me. Like I can clearly tell something's wrong. You can still hear the music but the static and record scratches are louder.

I'm kinda scared though. As much as I love listening to music I can tell when something is just more than your typical summer hit or even mental health PSA. What is this-

Edit 2

K so apparently this is an album representing various stages of dementia. That's a tricky thing to do but I have faith in music. It's a great way to express stuff so I'm very curious to what this is gonna turn out like.

Edit 3

Idk if I like where this is going.

"I still feel as though I am me" broke me a little for some reason. Idk why but it just stood out differently to me. I am very very hesitant to jump some tracks to get to hear the other stages still today. Most of these tracks transmit the same idea but I didn't want to leave out anything.

Also no I hate rb stuff to make those threads. Have the consecutive edits of this thing.

Edit 4

STAGE 3 YOU CAN'T JUST CUT OFF LIKE THAT WHAT THE HELL-

Little heart attack I just had aside, I'm liking it so far. It's starting to get very uneasy but I think that's the point of it. Goodness gracious Stage 3 scared the absolute crap out of me. It cut just like that. So abruptly and caught me off guard. Not even a fade out, damn.

Edit 5

I had to skip some tracks from the second half of Stage 3 and

oh no

Edit 6

Reached Stage 4

I am having some very visceral reactions to this. It is incredibly unnerving but I want to keep listening to it so much. I love how it’s not even music anymore, it’s just... noise. Lots of different noises all crumbled up together, unified by some vely loud static.

Might have to skip some bits here because all Stage 4 songs are 30 min long each.

Edit 7

MOMS COME PICK ME UP OH FUCK OH GOD NO NO NO NO

I HATE IT HERE BUT I LOVE IT BUT AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It’s so hard to put down what this is doing. I’m not even sorry for rambling just take this post for what it is idfk if people are even reading this but holy fuck.

The 30 minute ones are killing me from the inside out. I’m very sensitive to audio and sounds (probably because of autism) and this is just pulling all the levers in my brain. It’s so- i have no idea what to call it. Sensory triggering?? I guess???

Edit 8

Stage 5.

Oh... god. 

Edit 9

Reached Stage 6

This has no description, both in the video and in my head. The sheer nothingness something so loud can transmit; the void where something should be but you can't remember what. Blessed were the minutes when I was still listening to the first track; there was music at least. Now there's just this emptiness, this absolutely deafening silence.

The worst is that you know exactly what's going on.

Edit 10

Listening to the last track: Stage 6 - Place in the World fades away

Everywhere At The End Of Time is a series exploring dementia, its advancement and its totality.

I cannot put to words what an absolute masterpiece this is. To tackle such a serious mental illness like this one is already an incredibly hard thing to do; to make art out of it is risky, to make it work is nothing short of a miracle.

The Caretaker (pseudonym of the composer) is an absolute master of his craft. To use something so carefully constructed as music and sound to make sense of something that makes someone not make sense is a challenge to say the least. How do you even go about it? In music there are bound to be rhythms and leitmotifs and patterns: there is bound to be organization.

This is where EATEOT absolutely excels in. I don't know if this could be called of music but I'll surely call it of art; the genius of these tracks are in their editing rather than in their composition. The first 2 stages are pretty much just songs with static noises and record scratches layered on top. It gets the message across: there is still memory, it's just blurry, washed out. It's there but it's hard to see.

From then on out, everything changes. Stage 3 keeps the background noise going, now repeating certain parts of the songs or even reverberating them. The memories themselves are starting to change, not just getting difficult to access. Stage 4 sees the absolute fear and horror of realizing such thing is happening. The grasping at anything in pure terror of forgetting everything. There is no such thing as music now. It's unnerving, it's uneasing, and rightfully so. This does not sugarcoat things and I personally like that.

Stage 5 hits us with a certain calmness after the storm. Things aren't better of course, they're just quieter. Memories are starting to dissapear completely and now there is mostly only the background noises.

Then comes Stage 6. It's desolated, it's deserted, it's nothing. It's gut wrenching. I'd like to touch on the last song because I particularly liked this one. "Place in the World fades away" is, in my opinion, divided into 2 parts. In the 1st half you have static and noise. There is nothing in there. The occasional crescendo almost scares you because of how hollow the mind seems to be at this point, but it leads nowhere. Then there's the 2nd half. You start to hear music. Actual music this time. A choir of voices, still echoing from somewhere else remind you of how it first started: with the music. It puts things into perspective and signals you towards the first of this 6-part series, how far we've come. Then, as if telling what must be told, the music fades away, leaving you with a whole minute of absolute silence. No static, no record scratches, literally a whole minute of dead silence.

I found myself continuously going back to this tumblr post and to the comment section of the video; I didn't want to feel like I was experiencing this alone, and I was glad to see people in the comment section helping eachother out, talking and venting, so that was heartwarming.

I know I'm not usually very serious about things but I wanted to try and do it for this absolute magnum opus. I like to critique stuff as much as the next guy, but to be able to analyze something like this is unique. If you want something to challenge you emotionally, something to make you think and reflect on things, this is an absolute must.

Tl;dr: Everywhere At The End Of Time is a haunting representation of dementia, both in its advancement and in its totality. It's really profound and definitely worth a try if you have some free hours.

[miss-steelmind]

“before I abandon the words that form noise in my head,

will you be so kind as to join me in dream-seeing?”

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info:

❥ since this is mainly a yttd blog, i don't tag spoilers for that game and i recommend not interacting until you've finished all the currently avaliable chapters. it's a game that's truly worth playing on your own, so make sure to do that before scrolling any further!

❥ if anything i say that can be misinterpreted due to poor wording please let me know! it's also completely okay (and encouraged) to correct my spelling or grammar mistakes, i'd like to improve my english and feedback is always appreciated<3

❥ you're free to spam-like, interact with old posts, tag me in things, send asks or dm me, i love interacting with you all!! that said i sometimes have a hard time answering, so please be patient with me

❥ i block and unfollow very freely! no DNI list, but be aware that if you're a nsfw blog, discourse heavy, weird towards minors, romancize serious issues or are just simply mean to others and make me uncomfortable in any way, i'll unmutual/block you without hesitation

❥ i curse quite a lot, so please watch out if you're not comfortable with that!

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games i'm into lately:

❥ witch's heart by IZ

❥ hello charlotte by etherane

❥ tomorrow won't come for those without [ ] by etherane

❥ your turn to die by nankidai

❥ omori by omocat

❥ zeno (remake) by umami mazu

❥ shtdn by umami mazu

❥ therapy with dr. albert krueger by dino999z

❥ vincent: the secret of myers by dino999z

^ feel free to recommend me stuff!! i'm not great at starting new games but if something catches my attention i'll get into it sooner or later :]

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my tags:

❥ original yttd posts -> #nine's turn to die

❥ original witch's heart posts -> #nine's wish

❥ asks -> #ask

❥ fanart i think is cool: -> #fanart rb

❥ other -> #personal stuff

i try to tag common triggers, if you need anything specfic tagged please reach out to me in dms or send an ask<3

spoilers are tagged as "[fandom name] spoilers", except for yttd which i don't tag unless talking about a recent update! (note: i usually use the entire name of the game in the tag, not just an abbreviation. but if it's really long (dino999z's games + tomorrow won't come for those without) i'll shorten them (twdak, vtsom, twcftw). also, i tag zeno spoilers as "zeno remake spoilers"!)

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about me:

call me nine or charlotte <3 i go by any pronouns, with a slight preference for she/they

i'm an autistic teenager that enjoys character-driven rpgmaker games, disturbing visual novels, looking at cool art and getting lost in surrealistic worlds. ask about my special interests if you want me to fall in love with you

my personal is @porszem, that's where i reblog non-fandom stuff, ramble about my life and overshare at night. i love making new friends, so please feel free to private message me or ask for my discord if you'd like to get to know me, talk about a mutual interest or just ramble to someone, i'd love to listen <3

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thank you for reading and i hope you have a nice day ♡

[luxflora]

i am always taking music recs. you can always send me a message or an ask and give me a music rec. i never don't want music recs. i tend away from country, metal, and rap, but none of those are hard lines, i still want your music rec. my preferences are for pop, alt, and classic rock (and instrumental tracks of all stripes), but again - i want all music recs. music recs are my love language

i do not reblog donation posts, though i may reblog promotional posts from artists or writers that i am already following. I have now turned off asks because there are too many blogs which are either scams or people who do not respect my policies.

Any post tagged as "myposts" is a post i wrote. "personal log" indicates it as a kind of journal or diary post, though frequently without context (or with context in the tags or notes). if i don't want something reblogged i will either say so in the post or in my tags, otherwise feel free to reblog or reply to things.

If I tagged your post as "batfam" - for a long time I just tagged literally every DC post as batfam, bc that was the lense through which I interacted with DC, but I'm aware some people find that annoying (valid), so these days I more use it for anyone who is either based out of Gotham, wears the bat symbol, or is primarily associated with Batman/Bruce Wayne or a member of that group (ie, Talia al Ghul would get tagged as batfam). This is not meant to tag a post in the batfam 'genre', it is simply what I use for that group of characters.

Also i sometimes speak about myself in the plural but i am not a system, i just use the royal we. i'm also not jewish (raised evangelical protestant christian, now mostly atheist but i respect that religion has cultural value & religions are not inherently evil. Evangelical Christianity sometimes challenges that notion but I am biased against it) but i seem to follow a lot of jewish people so i will sometimes rb posts that reflect that.

To connect with me elsewhere: I am on AO3 as luxflora, Reddit as u/luxflora, and Discord as lesserprune. I may yet resurrect my twitter, deviantArt, and livejournal accounts, but I haven't just yet. If you want to connect with me on any of those sites (or dreamwidth, where I don't yet have an account but have considered), please shoot me a direct message and I'll get on it. I also (for now) occasionally post gaming to youtube or stream on Twitch. Still need to update my youtube but I recently update my Twitch to match my Discord as lesserprune.

I am planning to create a carrd and possibly a linktree in the next few weeks/months (current date: Nov 8, 2023). Who knows, maybe I'll even get my ass in gear and DIY a website or geocities site or whatever the fuck. Also on my radar are bluesky and pillowfort but I haven't checked either out just yet. Might also look into more blogging and forum style websites. If you have a favorite you want me on shoot me a DM, I'll check it out.

Please, especially if we're mutuals or if we've had friendly chats (or just left comments on tags in each others' reblogs), don't hesitate to friend me elsewhere or message me! If you do connect with me elsewhere and it's under a different username, shoot me a quick message on here and let me know. I love you guys so much and I'd hate to completely lose the friendships and community I've found on here.

Also if you're a TMA fan and you want to tag a post of mine as a TMA entity you are ALWAYS welcome to do that. I picked up TMA brainrot in 2023 so I feel the urge and I understand the urge and the urge is beautiful and should be followed.

[a-lil-perspective]

Are you taking requests? I saw the post you made about Hunter with the Zygerrian whip, and I was wondering if you could write something about Hunter saving the reader who was kidnapped and sold to the Zygerrian slave traders?

Your writing is amazing by the way! ❤️

Angel, thank you so much for your patience on this one. Okay. I am incredibly excited. This is a Hunter x Reader fic but tis a small slice of the overall story; it is so much more than that *looks at the word count, laughs nervously* a lot more than that. Y’all know I don’t do anything by halves. I can feel your collective eye rolls at that, but bear with me. There’s a lot of moving parts here. Also a really neat connection to a canon character that I am so stoked about. You’re going to want to buckle up for this one because it’s a ride. I will admit I’m actually extremely proud of this fic; I love the way it turned out. It was approached very scrupulously with a lot of new perspectives and executions and I hope it shows. It feels good to share a big phat fic again. Also this is the first time I’ve never had a title for a fic what is happening. Feedback for this baby is very much appreciated; I’m really curious to know what you guys think.

[Warnings: Depictions of Slavery/Oppression, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Swearing and Suggestiveness]

Finally using my tag list again: @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @halzore @fxndxmxnxce @karpasia @kriffingunlucky @mangoberry43 @mackstrut @godhateskyleigh @pearlyarmor @razzlefrazzum @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @batch-baddie @kaitou2417 @jedi-mando @jonamore @j-ma26-rb @im-just-earbuds-and-a-notebook @skippyhopperwisdom (Tag List is always open/updatable:))

———

“I can’t wait to get off this rock.”

Hunter was speaking for all of them in that moment as they trudged through the marshy outskirts of yet another backwater world. Recon had been sorely uneventful, the topography marked largely by forestry with rural but thriving colonies to only sparsely populate. After several rotations the hum drum grew arduous, and even Hunter in all his inclinations for peace was ready to pull out. It was, perhaps, too quiet; that familiar itch of action came back to agitate before long. The Republic had withdrawn from their frivolous propaganda efforts days ago, meanwhile the Bad Batch straggled because they fell enrapt with the flora and fauna.

‘They’ meaning ‘Tech’.

Hunter interrupted the newest spiel in asking, “Have you heard from Specs yet?”

“Maybe she’s gone to live up to her name,” Crosshair snickered.

Specs indeed lived up to her name.

‘Specs’, a rather eccentric derivative of the word ‘inspects’, there wasn’t a nickname more fitting for a woman who constantly assessed her everything. She had captivated the Bad Batch with a scrupulousness that rivaled even Tech’s; she didn’t back down around them—in fact, their moxie only seemed to drive her own. She was an addition that perpetually set their team ablaze. Adamant to follow her own path, do her own thing—oftentimes in a literal sense, such as when she’d deviate from the group (much in the same mannerisms as Tech and most of the time as his accomplice) like she had earlier that day. But the information she’d reliably acquisition each time proved invaluable, and so nobody objected to it.

“No, but I’m sure she is on her way back as we speak,” Tech reasoned.

“She missed the rendezvous time,” Hunter crossed his arms. “Not like her. If she got held up she would’ve communicated.”

“There’s an unusual static here,” Tech mused, eyes cast to his devices. “It’s intermittent, but it’s affecting even my sufficient company of frequencies.”

“It’s spotty; like jammed?”

Tech hesitated as if Hunter brought up what he was trying to avoid.

Tech focused on rebooting his systems. “It’s beginning to appear that way.” A moment passed, and he attempted to patch through. “Specs, come in.”

Silence.

“I’m not picking her up on my sensors,” Tech relayed.

“You don’t think she just... disappeared, do you?”

“There’s more to it, Wrecker,” Hunter stroked his chin. “There has to be.”

“Technically speaking there is no presence of her whatsoever,” Tech unhelpfully clarified. “I’ve managed to run a full planetary scan. Her signature comes up empty.”

“She’s gotta be here—Mardy is still here,” Wrecker protested.

“What about the ship we saw land some hours back?” Hunter addressed, having come to ignore Wrecker’s peculiar nickname for their own. “Did we ever get a reading on the vessel?”

The thought must’ve reminded Tech, as he straightened energetically and pulled up a holo-documented image from earlier. It paid to capture footage of one’s surroundings, and it was times like these Hunter could truly appreciate his youngest brother’s thoroughness. Tech zoomed in, eyes narrowing behind his thick lenses. “There is a symbol here on the starboard, but I need a moment to match it in the databanks—”

“Zygerrian.”

Everyone shot up to Crosshair, who rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

“Don’t ask me how I know.”

Hunter thought the cryptic plaster was weird, but not unprecedented, of his sniper brother.

“So what does that mean? What are they?” Wrecker queried.

Crosshair’s jaw tightened. “Slavers.”

***

“Look at the traffic of this place...”

“That’s a slave empire for you, Wrecker,” Hunter joined in gawking out the viewport at the ship congestion and mass of planet filling it. Cursory research pointed them with ease to the planet Kadavo as being the centralization of slavery in that part of the Galaxy. Seemed like a good place to start as any. With the disappearance of Specs and the presence of slavers almost in sync, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

“Shall I start wreaking havoc on their communications system?”

“No, Tech, not yet,” Hunter said. “We have to get clearance to land, first.” He hailed a frequency, and sighed. “Time for a cover story.”

“Selling or buying?”

“Selling,” Hunter answered. “We have a small cargo from off-world.”

“We do?” Tech hissed.

Hunter cast his little brother a smirk, earning flared nostrils in return. “Transmitting clearance codes,” he signaled to Tech who, impressively, multitasked a glare and the code transference in that moment.

“Proceed to platform E11,” the regional voice instructed. “You will be met with appraisers and guided through the transaction.”

Hunter offered a grunt and disconnected from the channel. Immediate company was to be expected. He turned and stopped short at the sight of Tech: arms crossed, boot tapping erratically as he crested a tantrum.

“You’re not thinking of putting me up for auction,” he chased his surmise.

Crosshair chuckled, drawn to making a deliberate appraisal of Tech. “I think we should sell him.”

“They wouldn’t be able to afford me!”

Wrecker bellowed with laughter, giving Crosshair a congratulatory slap on the back for effectively riling up the little genius.

“We’re not selling anyone,” Hunter severed, though he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t came to him. “It’s just to get us through the front door. Now focus, we’re going in.”

“Yes, get on with it Tech, Hunter’s worried about his lady.”

Hunter shot daggers at Crosshair.

Bastard, don’t act like you’re not.

He knew she’d be fine. Specs could more than handle herself. She was the most tenacious person he’d ever met outside his brothers.

But he couldn’t shake the icy trepidations building in the pit of his gut, and the way it morphed into a smoldering rage at the thought of those slavers... of them touching her in any way...

Hunter shook his head to jostle the horrendous thoughts.

The ratio of buyers-to-vendors was split fairly even judging by the amount of traffic entering and leaving the atmosphere simultaneously. It was a steady train all the way through. Tech followed the other vessels in tandem as he began a descent to the designated platform.

“I’m re-establishing her signature in order for you to pinpoint upon landing,” Tech informed with his nose buried. “She is here,” he confirmed after a moment. “You’ll have a limited time window, but I’ll be able to direct you along the way.”

Tech would be his technical readouts while Crosshair would be his eyes in higher places.

Hunter dared to let a glimmer of hope flourish.

“Wrecker, you stay back with Tech—”

“And you’ll let me know if any heads need to be bashed, right?”

Hunter chuckled at the youthful fervor. “I’m almost tempted to cause a ruckus just for you, buddy.”

“Aww Sarge, I knew ya loved me.”

“But he loves his—”

“There’s E11,” Tech banked left towards the empty platform.

“—more.”

Crosshair was walking on thin fekking ice.

Suddenly the backup plan of selling a brother was far more enticing with Crosshair at the focal point.

The Marauder’s hydraulics hissed in fanfare upon the completed landing sequence. Hunter took a deep breath for not the first time during the trip.

“Alright, everyone good on the plan?”

“Affirmative,” Tech gave a succinct nod before resuming his systematic jamming, tapping furiously atop his vambrace. Crosshair simply slipped his rangefinder down and brandished his rifle.

“And now, the disguise,” Wrecker cracked his knuckles with a wicked grin, marching past Hunter to the bay doors. The ramp lowered and Hunter smiled to himself. There was minuscule commotion, a distinct thud, and Hunter counted seconds before Wrecker came hauling an unconscious Zygerrian up the steps with not a sweat on his brow. He tossed the armored body at Hunter’s feet. “Time to play dress up, Sarge.”

***

“You look ridiculous.”

Fighting to contain his hair and his dignity inside a helmet that gave him fekking feline ears, Hunter was about to tell Crosshair where he could shove his input before Tech began, “Sources say these are some of the busiest transaction times of the year for their cartel. The odds of them exhausting their attention or resources to you is highly unlikely. With your tracking abilities you will be able to slip in undetected with minimal resistance if any. They aren’t keeping watch for meager single-prisoner breakouts—if any. The actual occurrences of them have been, well, never.” Tech brought up the holomap he’d procured of the planet and pressed a few sequences on his forearm before adding, “but I’m tracking all Zygerrian personnel within your proximity as you move along, just in case.”

“Thanks, Tech,” Hunter nodded appreciatively, taking a moment to bask in his brotherly feelings before gently filing them away to focus on the objective at hand. He gave himself a once-over. Crosshair’s insult held more truth than he cared to admit—he looked as ridiculous as he felt. It was gaudy and fit in all the wrong places. The scent was barbaric, and Hunter tried not to think about how much bodily fluid the owner of the ensemble had a hand in spilling. It felt condemning somehow, stepping into the shoes if only under pretense. A distinct discomfort crept up him, and he forced down his protesting sensory complex and melded into the foreign weight. Comfort was a luxury.

“I’ll be back soon.” He stepped to the Marauder’s opening, patting the hull. “Lock her up and wait for my call. Don’t open the door for strangers.”

Tech gave a conspiratorial smile. “On your orders, Sarge.”

Hunter hopped down and quickly covered distance away into the nearest crowd. Once successfully blended in the sea, he activated his hidden comm. “Okay Cross, you know what to do.”

He could almost hear the sniper’s lofty smile.

“Disappear.”

***

Hunter trekked along, and for all his preparation, the atmosphere still proved to be too much.

The sound of whips cracking the unfortunate, the little electromagnetic jolts that coursed through his veins each time, the orders and the amplified shrieking, the compactness of the streets, the intermingling scent of blood and sweat and dirty greed...

He only picked up the pace from there, summoning utmost subtlety in every step. He took note of the other guards’ gait, and worked fervently to mirror it, brandishing his weapon for extra compelling rights.

The closer he progressed towards the holding facilities empty handed, the suspicious the glances became, leaving him to make haste. The longer he spent wandering aimlessly out in the open the more susceptible to questioning he was, and that wouldn’t do. Hunter preferred to avoid any takedowns, however silent they may be—stashing away bodies each time would only slow him down, and leaving a trail of them wasn’t an option.

So he did the only feasible thing.

Played the part of a slaver.

He snatched up the nearest slave by their binders, dragging them to their wobbly—and small—feet and inserting them along his path. His heart was pounding. This was not part of the plan. He didn’t even know what the plan was.

“Hunter, what’re you—”

Hunter cut off the call.

The whip seemed to grow heavier in his hand as he tugged the frail person along. He had no idea what came next for either of them, and what was usually an alienated fear sedimented something deep in his core right then. In the wake of his erratic actions he studied the half-starved victim.

Dank farrik. A child.

A human female who couldn’t have been older than seven or eight with dark brown, almost inky black hair that curtained around her waist and looked to have not seen a toothed comb in innumerable rotations. Wide but succumbing eyes and a very evident scream lodged in her throat signified a practiced relinquish. Overall docile. His blood boiled at the amount of conditioning her mannerisms denoted to. Against his better judgement, Hunter allowed himself to wonder just how long she’d been enslaved.

It only augmented his fury.

She cowered under his stare, but kept a dejected walk with what was probably faraway thoughts of home, of her warm bed, of whether or not mom and dad were still looking for her. Wondering what abhorrent thing would put their hands on her next—

Hunter was buzzing with adrenaline as he slowed just a fraction to avoid any attention.

“Listen kid,” he spoke lowly, squeezing her gangly upper arm. “I can get you out of here—but you have to do exactly as I say, got it?”

The unamused, wonderfully charactered expression she tossed back at him made his heart leap. Kid still had some spirit.

Okay, so that was stupid; of course she would do exactly as was ordered. Subservience—probably all she’d ever known.

Hunter’s eyes bore into hers and he realized a startling kindredness there; the one thing he and this girl had in common.

Being child slaves.

“There isn’t much time,” a sweat began to form in his hairline. Curse this fekking gear. “I have some friends—one of them I’m here to rescue—and I have a ship, with the best pilot. We’re gonna get you out of here. Okay?”

The girl tensed in his grip.

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” Hunter activated his comm. “But I can’t send you back alone, too suspicious. So I’m gonna have you wait somewhere safe. In the most capable hands.”

“Crosshair here.”

“Cross,” Hunter took a deep breath. “I’m sending you some company.”

***

His thoughts were racing.

He knew Crosshair would be royally pissed—or, was—and he’d have to apologize later. The longer they spent on this Maker-forsaken planet, the less of a time window he had for the rescue before they transferred Specs to who knows where and he’d never see her again. He’d already devoted enough precious time to other—but just as equally pressing—matters.

But Crosshair and babysitting—terrible idea?

It was too early to tell.

He approached the centripetal point of the slave housing Tech had directed him through. A17, read the heading of the correct one. The thought of there being so many that they required numbers—it nearly made Hunter keel over with disgust. According to Tech’s current assessments, this part of the complex wasn’t near as crawling as the others, but Hunter figured that was subject to change.

He made note of the guards stationed just off to his right as he entered an aisle after meandering through several. In good timing, an electrostaff suddenly crossed in front of him, hindering his path ahead.

“Clearance?” The nearest Zygerrian hissed.

“I’m here for a slave transfer,” Hunter supplied in his best impression that was still Bantha-shit at best.

The Zygerrian’s nose twitched, and he stepped closer to Hunter, snarling, “You’re not authorized.”

“I’m here,” Hunter drilled his eyes into the slaver, “for a slave transfer.” He didn’t want to use force to get through but he would without so much as batting an eye. His blood was boiling for a fight by that point, anyway.

A low growl came from the Zygerrian. His eyes narrowed to slits. His pupils dilated. Hunter did not waiver. He felt an influence push upward from the depths of his mind, and he summoned all of his will to reinforce.

The Zygerrian muttered something inaudible and stepped aside.

Hunter tried not to let his surprise show through what little of his face peeked out. He swallowed, and straightened, gliding right past the guard without a hitch. His jaw screwed impossibly tight. He wasn’t letting his defense down for a moment, even as he wound the corner away. He appreciated trumping in standoffs, but they usually baffled him as to how he ever actually managed to do so.

“You’re close, Hunter. Four more holds down and on the right. Access code is 6-3-5-7.”

Hunter approached the caged door and punched in the sequence.

The buzz of denial and a red display startled him.

“Retina scan required.”

Dank farrik.

It wouldn’t work on him—why would it?

He turned back in the direction of the guard.

He made it in several blurred strides, and with deft hands performed a quick sever of the spinal cord. The guard crumpled silently into Hunter’s arms, and he quickly dragged him back to the door with barely suppressed heaves. The bastards were heavier than they looked. His stomach was churning; it was a risky move even despite Tech’s real-time signatures. He was nearly jumping out of his skin at the possibility of discovery.

He hauled the subdued guard up to eye level with the scanner, yanking off his helmet and peeling open his lid. A wave of infrared light passed over the humanoid face. The green light of approval to follow left Hunter sighing heavily as he let the guard slip to the floor to rot in eternal slumber. Good riddance. He snatched up a cylinder key from his belt for good measure.

The door swooshed open, and Hunter stepped inside to the sight of a curled up victim. Clothes tattered, looking worse for wear, but watching the rise and fall of her chest... alive.

He swallowed the tempest of emotions expanding in the back of his throat.

“Ma’am, you’re being transferred. There are some goons missing you.”

You looked up bleary-eyed at the disguised slaver in the doorway. Despite your bone-settling fatigue, precious relief managed to tug at your lips.

“How did you make it past with that shit accent?” You grimaced at the way your voice had been reduced to a croak.

“I happen to be very convincing.”

“Could have fooled me,” you smirked wearily and Hunter returned it as he dragged a body inside your cell before stepping close and kneeling in front of you. He tried to keep his features in check, not let his distress over the shock collar show.

He couldn’t help it.

“How’d you earn this,” he quieted, fingers ghosting the restraint. You smiled wryly.

“Let’s just say I don’t take orders very well.”

“Guess we’ve been rubbing off on you, huh,” he brushed the mussed hair from your face apologetically.

“Maybe, too much.” You peeled yourself from the floor, barely suppressing a groan. Hunter helped you the rest of the way to your feet. Your legs were untrustworthy, and Hunter stood firm as you braced your shackled hands along his front. He held you gingerly.

“I’ve got you.”

“You always do.”

Except for when you let her get taken.

“Stop that.“

“Stop what?”

You gave that cute little tilt of your head in spite of the collar. “Blaming yourself.”

You weren’t called ‘Specs’ for no reason.

More and more, Hunter felt he understood this better than anybody.

Because you understood him.

His eyes glued to the sickly purple blooming along your right cheekbone, spotlighted in your new position. You watched his face scrunch in anger underneath the headgear.

“Hey...” you moved your hands to his forearm. “It’s okay.”

Hunter’s face sobered as his eyes resumed their dance over you. He inserted the key into your handcuffs. “I’m having Tech run a full scan on you when we get back.”

“He’ll be thrilled.” The binders fell to the ground with a clang. You rubbed at your wrists. “Thank you.”

“We have to remove this,” his hands hovered over the equipment around your neck, unsure of its design. In wisdom he wasn’t feeling, he pulled out a scanner and contacted Tech.

“Talk to me vod; how do I get this off.”

There was a pregnant pause as Tech overlooked the information sent. His voice came back unmistakably on edge. “This particular collar is designed to explode if removed improperly. Do not pull or pry on it in any way. Does her neck still have mobility?”

“Barely,” Hunter stressed.

“That will have to do until I can work on the intricacies—it will take some time, and there are guards nearing your position.”

“We can’t hang out here forever,” Hunter grumbled knowingly. His eyes softened as he looked to you. “You okay to walk?

You nodded as best you could with the collar. It would serve as a good guise until you made it outside, anyway. “By walk you mean run.”

He chuckled to himself. “That predictable, huh?”

Even in the dismal lighting, your eyes sparkled with brilliance. “Just to me.”

Hunter took your hand, giving a gentle tug. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to call you my ‘knight in shining armor’?” You teased softly.

“Well if you did,” he stopped with you at the threshold. “I prefer ‘Commando’ armor. Shiny’s not my thing.”

“That’s good.” You fought back the swelling urge to remove his helmet and ruffle his hair. “I like you better a little rough around the edges.”

Hunter opened his mouth to speak but swiveled his head around, seemingly reminding himself of where you both were. When his gaze met yours again he smirked.

“Different time and place.”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“Yes, there are children present.”

Hunter leaned away from you, wishing to know Crosshair’s exact location in that moment to direct a crude gesture to.

But of course, the kid.

Hunter peered out from the doorway, and guided you briskly past the seemingly endless rows of cells. He willed his eyes forward on the journey back that time. The temptation of opening each one, and the way he never did, would forever haunt him.

With the reminder of guards nearing your position, he brought out his prop that was that wretched slaving tool, supplying his free hand with it and wondering to what depths of hell the soulless bastards who drove these went to.

To your credit, you chuckled at the sight. “Been on the business end of those. Ten-out-of-ten do not recommend.”

Wrong thing to say.

Hunter must not have realized his attempt at a balled fist was crushing your hand.

“Hunter, let go.”

Hunter knew what that meant.

He let go of your hand and his hate.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, bringing his hand up instead to encircle your upper arm. As foretold, a guard duo passed seconds later and Hunter gave a perfunctory nod that was reciprocated in total part.

“Told you I’m convincing,” he murmured loftily once out of earshot.

“Uh-huh. The glaring face tat has ‘em hooked for sure. Same with the red on your forehead.”

Hunter huffed indignantly. “Hey, the bandana stays on. That’s my lucky charm.”

You couldn’t help wanting to test that claim—both parts.

Despite clearing the guards, Hunter gave a final glance down both lengths of the corridor before ushering you down a new one. You eyed his mannerisms curiously, the way he’d stop every few feet, engage in a murmur and then secure the way. You suddenly tilted your head up towards the shafts running along each side of the ceiling and grinned.

“Crosshair’s in the vents, isn’t he?”

“With company, no less,” Hunter spared a moment of focus to smirk at you, watching the way your eyes widened.

He summarized the unexpected come about of the newest member.

“So we’re adopting,” you teased, inwardly touched by Hunter’s compassion and earning yourself a chuckle.

“Not us; Crosshair.”

You nearly pealed with laughter until Hunter suddenly cupped his hand to your mouth and yanked you behind the nearest wall, holstering the whip and pulling you flush to his chest at the sound of several footsteps approaching. You listened for the attachment of guards to pass, silencing the hammer of your heart up against Hunter’s stiff armor.

“Coast is clear,” he whispered after a moment, thumbing at your lip and stepping out from behind the spot. He hated all this sneaking around just as much as the others, but he was far more equipped with the tolerance to do so out of all of them. “Almost there.”

You nudged him, and he stopped. When cast a quizzical glance, you jerked your head to the gun on his belt. “You know I don’t go empty handed.”

Hunter smiled wryly, handing you the gun. “And what am I supposed to use?”

“Hey, I left you the whip.”

“Outstanding.”

“Like you’ve never wanted to use one before.”

An inscrutable smirk raised Hunter’s features. “Under different circumstances.” He braced himself. Traveling back to the Marauder was going to attract far more company than coming in had, and he tried to prepare for the impending heat. He breathed. “You ready?”

“Was about to ask you the same thing—duck.” Hunter’s eyes blew wide as he obeyed and you squeezed the trigger. You were surprised by the kickback; those babies had some power. The slaver at the receiving end of your blast flew into the nearest wall with a satisfying crack.

“Nice,” Hunter drawled. “You always did like attention.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t imagine who I got that from.”

An attachment immediately burst from the far end of the corridor and you booked it with Hunter out, letting him lead the way as he based your travels off of the less occupied routes Tech had mapped for him. Customers and traders alike scrambled in the streets like womp rats to avoid the uproar. The merchants were the first to recover at the sight of escaping credits, joining the hunt like a hungry pack of wolves, to your dismay.

Hunter found himself missing their marksman’s company right about then; the fact that their pursuers weren’t being picked off like cherries left him to speculate the sniper was long gone—as he should be.

A bolt nearly glanced your shoulder as you fired your own volley back and took another sharp turn that brought the Havoc Marauder into blessed view.

“Tech, hope you kept those engines warm ‘cause we’re coming in hot!” Hunter shouted, the blaze of his whip arcing out with a loud thwack towards the enclosing slavers, seizing any with a slow reaction time.

“I see stealth worked out splendidly for you.”

“What—you still bitter about the whole ‘selling you’?” Hunter panted. “I wasn’t actually gonna—!”

“Don’t worry Sarge!” Wrecker interjected. “We gotchu.”

The Marauder ascended to a hover, and as you closed the distance the ramp lowered and there peeked Wrecker out with a massive gun. Where in the kriffin’ hell did he get that—

-

“You think the sniper’s shooting was good, kid, get a load of this!” Wrecker grinned at the girl tucked safely next to him as he unleashed a barrage down at the pursuers, his absurd jollies growing with each body that fell. The girl was mesmerized, he was certain.

-

Blaster fire thundered in your ears. The Marauder began a desperate climb, and Hunter barked at you to jump as he clashed whips with the nearest guard who’d advanced far too close for comfort. You propelled yourself upward with a quick flail and connected smoothly with Wrecker’s hands, with him promptly reeling you up and inside.

Hunter fended off a pulsing strike to his waist, shaking the proximity of it from his spine as he also leapt up and Wrecker hauled him inside with practiced ease. Tech shut the hatch and rocketed the ship upward in his usual crazed fancy.

The skylanes grew addled at the presence of a ship barreling through like a bat out of hell, but Hunter figured that was their problem as Tech’s fingers danced across the console, pulled a lever, and the comforting blue lines of hyperspace enveloped them in an impeccably timed jump.

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

You worked to control your breathing, the tightness of the collar fully beginning to settle in. You swallowed a choked sound and eyed Hunter’s disheveled getup: his helmet lopsided—which he exasperatedly shoved off—and chinks in the expensive armor that would’ve adorned him nicely were not for the negative connotations behind it.

You let out a breathy laugh. “You make a terrible slaver, Sergeant.”

He managed a grin at the compliment as he held his bandana with one hand and swiped at his forehead with the other. “Never been my style.”

Tech was the first to react, shooting up and retrieving both a medkit and various gadgets before approaching you with a reassuring smile. He settled around behind you. “It will take me a bit to work on this, but I’ll have it off of you soon.”

‘A bit’ for Tech amounted to several minutes max—which was unsurprising overall, given the nature of his technological prowess. He alternated between the back of the collar and the front, rotating out various tools and his tech in sequential step. Wrecker spectated the entire time, questions and suggestions and offers of lent strength bubbling on his tongue as he simply settled for pacing back and forth along the ship’s length.

The restraint fell heavily from your neck, and your breaths instantly came lighter. Tech’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the work even if he seemed slightly dissatisfied with the execution.

Oh Tech. Always craving improvement.

With the tension settled and you back to your relatively normal appearance, Wrecker gave a celebratory pump of his fists and gathered you up in a crushing hug. “You’re okay! I’m SO glad you’re okay!”

“I can confirm that he is indeed glad, seeing as I was the one subject to his stressing the entire time.”

Your own jovial laughter morphed into a wheeze at Tech’s grievance and then a small cry of pain when pressure bore into your tender ribs. Wrecker’s grip immediately slackened. “Sorry, Specs,” he mourned, caressing your back and placing you back down with more thought that time.

Tech pulled out a thermal body scanner. “I’m going to run some scans on you to assess your condition. Standby.”

A grateful smile rearranged your lips as you held still for Tech and rotated your gaze around to each member. “I appreciate the rescue.”

“You would’ve done the same for us,” Hunter merely spoke on behalf.

You diverted your attention to the young girl rescued alongside, standing meekly among what had to have been intimidating company. You smiled gently. “So this is the little stowaway.”

“She’s free now.” Hunter eyed her thoughtfully, a comforting sense of duty flickering in his chest. “She doesn’t have to live under submission or fear.” He took care to leave out the hard truth of psychological recovery, and quieted. “I just wish we could say the same about all the others.”

If they only knew the amount of children he saw...

You caught the girl’s eye and she quickly averted her gaze. With Tech off to run his diagnostics, you crouched to be eye level with her, fighting back a wince when your ribs flared angrily at the new position.

“What’s your name?” You asked quietly.

She glanced up at Crosshair, with whose presence she had interestingly taken refuge in. She swallowed, and whispered, “Omera.”

[zosonils-art]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Relationship: Ferb Fletcher & Phineas Flynn

Characters: Ferb Fletcher, Phineas Flynn, Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb), Linda Flynn-Fletcher

Additional Tags: Autistic Ferb, Autistic Phineas, autistic phineas is more implied and could also be taken as adhd but he has both anyway so, Autistic Meltdown, Autism, Sensory Overload, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Illustrations, Canon Continuation, Fix-It of Sorts, i think????? i don't frequent this goddamn website i don't know, Brotherly Love, Crying, some of the crying is me

Summary: A stressful day pushes Ferb past his breaking point, and Phineas feels that he has a responsibility to set things right. Takes place immediately after Ready For The Bettys. Was supposed to be a simple continuation fic but got wildly out of hand. Ph*n*rb shippers fuck off this isn't for you.

---

as you’ve probably figured out if you’re following my main, i recently wrote my first fic since i was about 13! it’s available on ao3 at the link above, but you can also read it on tumblr by clicking the readmore on this post! i put a lot of effort into this and it took a lot of courage to post, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

"Mom! Guess what Ferb did!"

Phineas bursts into the kitchen energetically, still buzzing with adrenaline from the day's adventure. Ferb follows a step or two behind. Linda turns her attention from the freshly baked pie in her hands to her sons, although Phineas is too beside himself with excitement to consider whether or not she's paying attention. "He made a secret tunnel, and a spy headquarters, and a villain's lair, and a hover jet shaped like Perry- tell her, Ferb!"

Ferb doesn't match Phineas' enthusiasm. In fact, at the moment, he's sick to death of it. He prepares to launch into the explanation he's been trying all day to give. "Actually, I-"

"Wait a second," Linda interrupts, eyeing the boys with suspicion. "Why are you two soaking wet?"

The interruption is just too much for Ferb. He doesn't even process the question, just lets out a harsh shout of frustration. Phineas recoils - Ferb almost never shouts. "I give UP!" Ferb yells, his voice shaking on the last syllable, and before either of his surprised family members can respond, he turns around and storms off, his destination betrayed by the distinct clunking rhythm of stairs being stomped on too hard and the sound of a door slamming upstairs.

For a moment, the kitchen is silent. Linda recovers before Phineas does, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Young man, that is not how we talk to each other in this house!" she calls, setting the pie tin and her oven mitts down on the kitchen counter and following Ferb's path to his room. Before she can make it to the doorway, though, her progress is halted.

"Mom, wait!" Phineas pleads. He's finally caught onto what's been going on all day, and although he's still only half processed it, he knows he doesn't want Ferb to be in trouble for it. He frantically tugs on Linda's arm to draw her attention. Once he's sure that she's stopped, he withdraws his hand (he's still wet, after all, he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable), but sidesteps around her to put his tiny body firmly between her and the doorway to the living room. "Mom, please don't be mad at Ferb, it- it's not his fault! I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he's just..." Phineas' voice trails off briefly, but he forces it back into action, complete with the most serious expression he can manage. "If you're gonna be mad at either of us, it should be me, okay?"

At first, Linda returns Phineas' gaze with suspicion, then her face softens with realisation. She crouches down to her son's eye level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Phineas, did something else happen today?" she asks, the anger gone from her voice.

Phineas hesitates, dropping eye contact again. He's almost certain about the cause of Ferb's outburst, and he can't help but mentally beat himself up for it to a degree. "Well, Ferb's been trying to tell me something all day, but he kept getting interrupted by our spy mission, and I guess it must have been really frustrating because he hates being interrupted but I didn't realise and-" he pauses to breathe, and shudders as he inhales as if on the verge of tears - "and I should have asked at some point but I just kept getting distracted and I didn't even realise how upset it was making him but-"

"Phineas," Linda says gently, and he gladly accepts the invitation to cut his rambling short. His breathing is shaky, but he doesn't cry just yet, even though his emotional state has nosedived in barely a minute. After giving him a moment to snap back into focus, Linda continues. "Phineas, honey, it sounds like this has just been a misunderstanding. On my end, too," she adds, regretting having snapped at Ferb earlier. Phineas nods with a nondescript mumble of agreement. Although he still obviously isn't looking, Linda gives him a reassuring smile anyway, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "Thank you for telling the truth, sweetheart," she praises him.

"Mmh," Phineas mumbles, tugging at his shirt collar. He tends to fiddle with his shirt when he's nervous or overexcited. It doesn't hold a candle to bouncing his leg or flapping his hands, as far as stimming goes, but it's a lot easier to do while someone is touching you. "I just should've realised what was up earlier, then he probably wouldn't have freaked out..."

He finally glances up again, and the look his mom is giving him tells him that he should drop the argument, so he stops. Linda ruffles his hair affectionately, leaning forward to reach all the way behind Phineas' oddly-shaped head, and flinches at the unpleasant reminder of how waterlogged he still is. She stands up, flicking her hand dry. "I'm sure he knows you didn't mean to hurt his feelings," she reassures Phineas. "Why don't you dry yourself off and then go talk to him? Which reminds me," Linda motions towards the puddles tracked all over the kitchen floor, "why are you two so wet?"

"Oh, we fell in Isabella's pool," Phineas answers matter-of-factly. He isn't quite back to his usual blindingly sunny disposition, but the panicky tremble in his voice has at least disappeared.

Linda smiles, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, that I believe," she says. She'd tactfully decided not to comment on whatever that secret spy headquarters spiel was that Phineas had been getting worked up over, but she suspects his latest imaginary game took the boys to Isabella's backyard and ended up having some real-life consequences. "Oh, hi, Perry," she adds, as the platypus in question waddles into the kitchen.

Perry responds with his familiar chatter. Phineas leans down to pet Perry on the head. "At least you've had a stress-free day, huh," he says, then leaves for the bathroom. Perry stares at him blankly.

---

Ferb is having a meltdown.

He knows what this is, of course. He reads every textbook and blog post on the subject he can find, just in case it helps him make some more sense of himself. If he misses one, Phineas will no doubt have found and memorised it himself for the same reason, and will gladly rattle off anything new. Knowing why there's a raging storm beating at the inside of his head, however, is entirely different from quelling it. By the time he reaches his bedroom, he's trembling so violently that he can barely stand. He stumbles to his bed, pushing his hands down into the mattress to keep himself on his feet.

It's like feeling every feeling from every second of the day all in the same moment, and it hurts. So much is happening in his head that he can't even isolate a single thought, let alone process what it means. Is he angry? That'd make sense, sure, but his mental state isn't exactly conducive to deductive reasoning at the moment. Is he sad? Scared? Something else entirely?? He can't tell what emotion or mixture thereof it is, only that it's hurting his head, and he wants to get it out but he doesn't know how. He's struggling to breathe now, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping his body supported, and as he draws in a desperate shuddering breath Ferb feels something wet in his eye and then on his face, and he remembers that his entire body is wet and he hates it. It's cold, and his hair is sticking to his face and uncomfortably close to his eyes, and his clothes cling to his body oppressively and he wants to tear them off and stop feeling everything. Instead of doing that, he forces himself to breathe in again and looks around the room frantically, hoping to find something other than absolutely everything to concentrate on.

His eyes land on Phineas' bed, and although his vision is blurring as the panicky tears pour down his face, he recognises the shape instantly. Is he mad at Phineas? Should he be? He should be, right? If Phineas had just stopped to listen to him for once, he wouldn't be here with the world ending inside his brain. Another violent wave of emotion sends a shock through his whole body, and Ferb is still in no state to identify it, but he gets the message. He doesn't want to be angry. Not at Phineas. In fact, he doesn't want to feel anything he's feeling at the moment. Not the turbulent assault of everything inside his head, not the hammering rhythm of his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, not every tiny thing that touches his skin or the light from outside that still feels blinding through the curtains or the muffled sounds of conversation downstairs that he doesn't have room in his brain to translate into anything but more noise.

Sensory overload is another term Ferb knows, and it's another one that doesn't really help to know in the moment. The feeling of anxiety that's been growing in his chest since that morning finally becomes too much for his body to handle, and he collapses on his bed, weakly gripping the blanket for support. Burying his face in his covers blocks out most of the sunlight, at least, but it doesn't significantly improve his mood. He shivers, partly from cold thanks to still being uncomfortably wet, partly from the sobs making his whole body convulse. (When did those start? He doesn't remember.) He uses the last of his physical strength to pull himself fully onto his bed and curl into himself, trying desperately to calm himself down.

...

It's not working. Why isn't it working?? It's as if every effort to steady his breathing just makes him cry harder, every attempt at a calming thought being shattered into a thousand anxious ones by the merciless torrent of everything whirling around in his mind. Ferb is suddenly hyper-aware of how empty the room around him is, and it makes him feel helpless. It's the first feeling he's managed to connect a name to with absolute certainty this whole time, and it's terrifying.

If he was making any noise before in his attempts to control his breathing, he's stopped now. No sound escapes him as he lies in place, too preoccupied with the overwhelming barrage of thoughts in his brain to move. More than anything, Ferb wants his brain to just shut off. Everything in his mind blends into a horrible white noise that won't stop, threatening to drown him in static.

Through the raging mental cyclone, he just barely hears the knock at the door.

Phineas waits a moment before entering his room. He wants to make sure Ferb has time to process that he's here. A few seconds pass, then he opens the door slowly so that it doesn't make any sound. A stab of guilt hits him when he sees Ferb curled up on his bed, visibly distressed. He's facing the opposite wall, but the way he shudders as he breathes makes it obvious that he's crying. Phineas feels his heart sink. He'd really hoped it wouldn't be this bad.

"Hey," he says softly. Ferb grips himself tighter. Just a minute ago, Phineas would have been the last person he wanted to see, but now his desperation for comfort outweighs any lingering hints of animosity. He doesn't object to his brother's presence, so Phineas gently closes the door and walks over to his side of the room. He sits on the bed, watching Ferb to see if he reacts negatively to the shift in weight distribution, and tenses up slightly at how damp the blanket is. Of course, Ferb wouldn't have stopped to dry off on his way up here. A closer look confirms that while a lot of the water on his body has run off and soaked into his bed, Ferb is still almost as wet as he was when he arrived home. Phineas frowns - that can't be comfortable, and it's probably making him feel even worse. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Ferb curls into himself even more instead of asking. The question is so frustratingly rhetorical that he almost reconsiders the possibility of being angry, but the idea still scares him, so the feeling passes. Fortunately, Phineas understands the unspoken 'obviously not' with no further input, and continues to talk. "I'm really sorry about today," he begins. "I know you don't like being interrupted, and I should've realised that it was making you feel bad but I just wasn't paying enough attention and- and I'm sorry, because it's kinda my fault you got so upset," he apologises, not realising that he's holding back tears until he stops to breathe. He wills himself not to cry. He's here to try and make Ferb feel better, not guilt him into forgiveness.

It takes a second or two for Ferb to process what Phineas is saying. It's a struggle to drag the words through the confusing whirlwind of everything still rampaging through his head. Eventually, after a great deal of mental effort, he shakes his head in response. Perhaps he was angry before, he still can't tell, but he definitely isn't now. He can't manage anything beyond the simple gesture, but it's not the first time he's been utterly uncommunicative, so Phineas understands the meaning as well as he needs to: it's not your fault.

"Th-thanks," he stutters, although Ferb's acceptance does little to settle the crushing feeling of responsibility. "Next time you can speak I'll let you tell me whatever it is you needed to, okay? I promise." He smiles a little. "No more secret agent business to interrupt you."

The last sentence sure prompts a reaction from Ferb - he rolls over so that his face is entirely buried in the blanket and makes a frustrated noise without opening his mouth, his body shaking with some mixture of anger and physical strain. Phineas inhales sharply and recoils, no more prepared for an audible outburst from Ferb than the first time. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, already speed-testing possible answers in his head. "Did you not have fun today? Of- of course you didn't, that's why you're upset, but I thought you did a great job on the spy mission! It was really cool." He's trying to be reassuring, but Ferb just shakes harder, seemingly becoming more aggravated rather than less.

Phineas tilts his head in confusion. "Ferb? Ferb, it's okay, I-I'm sorry. Did... did it not go the way you planned?" he guesses, searching increasingly frantically for any change in Ferb's body language. "Hmm... oh, were you not finished building it yet?" He thinks back to Ferb's numerous attempts at speaking to him throughout the day, hoping that he'll find some clue that makes everything fall into place - and something clicks in his brain. He deflates a little at how painfully obvious the realisation seems in retrospect, with a soft "Oh." Sighing at his own ignorance, he directs his voice to Ferb again as he says, "You didn't actually build all that, did you?"

Ferb sits up slowly and turns to Phineas with his signature deadpan glare, the silent, biting sarcasm undermined significantly by the tears still falling from his eyes. Phineas hums concernedly. "Is that what you were trying to tell me?" he asks. Ferb gets partway through rolling his eyes before giving up and returning to the fetal position.

Phineas sighs sadly. He hates seeing his brother cry. There's nothing he wants to do more than pull him into the tightest hug he can manage, but he knows Ferb won't appreciate being touched in this state, so he opts to fiddle with his shirt again to keep his hands busy. "Who do you think did build that stuff?" he asks. Ferb doesn't care. On any other day, a secret spy lair being hidden under his house would be cause for immeasurable excitement, but after the day's events he's thoroughly sick of thinking about the subject. Phineas picks up on Ferb's antipathy towards the question and, sensing that it might be a sore topic for some time, decides not to bring it up again for a while. He'll satisfy his curiosity sometime when it doesn't come at the expense of Ferb's comfort.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the boys. It's broken when Ferb suddenly sniffles loud enough to make Phineas jump, sits up again, and halfheartedly tries to wipe the tears from his face. "Oh geez, hold on," Phineas says, leaning over to rummage through his short pockets. He eventually pulls out a wad of tissues, somehow unaffected by the earlier impromptu dive into Isabella's pool. He offers them with a gentle "here you go" to Ferb, who takes a few silently and scrubs at his eyes.

While he still doesn't feel good by any stretch of the definition, Ferb at least doesn't feel completely awful anymore. What was once a violent hurricane in his mind has receded enough that he can focus on the world around him without breaking down, at least for the time being, and he's left feeling just drained. He balls up his handful of tissues and tosses them at the bin under his desk. The ball makes it to Phineas' leg before unceremoniously bouncing to a stop. Phineas picks it up and throws it the rest of the way to the trash, standing up to do so.

Rather than sit down again, he kneels down and pulls out one of the drawers conveniently built into the bed. Ferb watches inquisitively, still too out of it to immediately catch onto what's happening. Phineas rummages a little before finally pulling out a pair of pyjamas, suggesting, "You should dry off and change your clothes." He pauses to think. "Can you make it downstairs to the bathroom by yourself?" he asks. At any other time, it would be a silly question, but Ferb is always exhausted after a meltdown. The visible effort it's taking him just to stay upright isn't lost on Phineas. Ferb ponders the question, then gives a tentative nod. He's definitely shaky, but he really wants to change into something dry.

"Great!" Phineas smiles encouragingly. "Should I bring the usual stuff to the living room? Your bed's probably not gonna feel comfortable until it dries out." Ferb glances down at the unmistakable damp silhouette of where he had been lying earlier and nods again, more confidently. He slowly gets to his feet, first pushing against his bed for support, then grasping the hand Phineas offers him. He lets go once he's certain he's regained his balance, and only then does Phineas hand him his pyjamas. "I'll come meet you downstairs, okay?" Phineas says. Then, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, which is still a bit soggy despite his best efforts to towel it off, he adds, "I should probably change into something dry as well."

---

Ferb rubs his eyes as he comes out of the bathroom, his drenched clothes swapped out for his much more comfortable pyjamas. He's stopped crying, it seems, but he's still feeling sensitive enough that the light from outside bothers him. He's relieved to discover that it's much darker in the living room - Phineas must have been here already. The curtains are drawn so that the lamp on the end table is the only light source in the room, softly illuminating its surroundings with a pleasant warm glow. He doesn't have the energy to analyse the entire room, even in these far more bearable conditions, but his attention is drawn to his favourite weighted blanket folded neatly on the couch. He sits down and drags the blanket over him, struggling a bit with the weight, but relaxing once he feels its reassuring pressure on his legs.

It's as he's settling into his position on the couch that Phineas enters with an "Oh, there you are, Ferb!". Perry is firmly but comfortably wedged under one of his arms, like a fuzzy teal football or loaf of bread, and seems altogether unbothered by his position. Ferb gasps quietly at the sight of Perry, his eyes brightening momentarily, and reaches out for him with various soft noises of urgency. Phineas wastes no time in setting Perry down next to Ferb, and the platypus reacts with a gentle, almost soothing chatter. Ferb instinctively mimicks the sound under his breath, and Perry responds with a nearly identical noise. Ferb echoes it again, slightly louder this time, and his face lights up with a weak smile, the first one he's managed all day.

Taking this as a sign of progress, Phineas sighs with relief as he sits on the sofa. He makes sure to maintain a respectful distance from Ferb, who's running a hand through Perry's fur as they echo the same low growling noise back at each other. (It pains Phineas not to join in, but he senses the two have gotten themselves into a groove that would be rude to interrupt.) Ferb's smile fades almost as soon as it appears, but he seems much more relaxed after the change in clothes and scenery. His hair is sticking up in every direction from being towelled dry, and Phineas stifles a laugh at how silly it looks. The back-and-forth chattering eventually dies down, and it's only then that Phineas continues. "Mom's gonna make you some tea, and she says if you aren't feeling better by dinner you can eat in here if you want," he says. Ferb turns to him and raises a thumbs-up briefly before returning his hand and focus to Perry.

Phineas quietly watches his brother for a moment before speaking again. "Do you want me to stay?" he asks. Exactly how sociable Ferb is while he's coming out of a meltdown varies. He almost invariably needs some time on his own to mentally reset, but sometimes it helps if someone he trusts is there to reassure him for a while first. In Phineas' experience, asking is always the best way to tell.

Ferb hesitates for a second, then surprises both of them with his answer, which is to turn and collapse into Phineas' lap with one arm hooked over his legs in a sort of pseudo-hug. Phineas tenses up, not sure how to react. He cautiously puts an arm around Ferb, in a comforting gesture that doesn't fully subject him to the overwhelming sensory experience of a true hug. Ferb doesn't fight it, just repositions himself so that he's lying down with Phineas as a makeshift pillow and sinks further into the gentle embrace. Phineas laughs softly. "Okay, I guess you do."

This is nice, Ferb thinks. Definitely an improvement over violently sobbing alone in his room. Perry must be feeling relaxed too, because he climbs onto Ferb's stomach, circles a few times, lets out one more chatter, then flops down and goes to sleep, purring gently. Phineas giggles at the platypus' behaviour, and Ferb's shoulders shake in silent laughter - his blanket absorbs enough of the sensation that it just tickles. Watching Perry doze off reminds him that he's still exhausted, despite the positive change in environment, and his attempt to stifle a yawn fails. He's still on high alert, and he knows he won't be sleeping for longer than a few minutes until the emotional clutter completely drains from his mind. With that said, both the blanket and Perry weighing down on him make for a pretty cosy combination, and he finds himself fighting to keep his eyes open. Maybe just a moment of rest will be good for him.

Before he knows it, his eyes are closed, and he's powerless to prevent himself from drifting off. Phineas accepts his new career as a pillow without comment, simply adjusting his right hand so that both his arms are positioned protectively around his brother. Being trapped in place for the time being doesn't worry him. Ferb won't mind being stirred awake when their mom arrives with his tea, and until then Phineas can easily occupy himself with thoughts of what to do tomorrow. Besides, he can subject himself to a few minutes of quiet if that's what Ferb needs. What kind of a brother would he be if he couldn't, right?

Ferb half-consciously brings a hand to Phineas' wrist, as if it'll float off if he isn't holding on. He can feel his brain shutting down, and he welcomes the change. The last thing he's aware of before his consciousness finally leaves him in peace for a moment is the sound of Phineas' voice, promising him, "You're gonna be okay."

[alexiaugustin]

hi there! thought it was time to finally add an about to this blog💓🌿

i'm vivian but everyone just calls me viv and i've ran with that short form ever since

bisexual / white / cis / she/her

former urls: starlightdreamss / zenikfahey

i trigger tag things as "tw [...]" dont ever hesitate to dm/anon message me if you want me to add a trigger warning to a post

i mostly post about skam and remakes (specifically druck / skam españa/ skam france / wtfock)

i'll have you know that i absolutely detest both skamfr and especially wtfock so if you don't want to have posts criticizing or making fun of these shows on your dash, i'd recommend unfollowing/blocking me. other shows i hate are shadow and bone netflix and im anti everything sjm has ever written

i generally love to engage with media critically and don't believe in "fiction only exists for escapism" nor that "critique ruins the whole fun of fiction". it's quite the opposite actually and if you're not willing to question a writer's bias and/or bigotry inserted in their work, whether the writing of something is good and consistent etc. you're a part of the problem & this blog is not for u

also post about a lot of other shows (currently obx s2 and fear street) & books (currently the seven husbands of evelyn hugo, trc, six of crows, currently hate reading red, white & royal blue)

occasionally turn anon off because im not letting random anonymous people on the internet yell at me because you cannot deal with the fact that i just don't like your favorite character. otherwise, im always open to discuss things (obviously also if u disagree with me as long as ur not being a bitch abt it lol) / answer questions / chat etc. etc. you know how it goes

you can usually always reblog my posts and don't have to ask if something's okay to rb. in case i don't want anyone to reblog one of my posts i always tag it as "please don't rb"

if you hate lola lecomte we're enemies, no further questions <3

have fun with this mess of a tumblr blog and be gald that i haven't put my glorious posts behind a $9.99 paywall 😚🤲