#Typical Mom's

[shaadiwish]

Whether our mothers get inspired by Bollywood moms or Bollywood mothers are characterised based on real life mothers.

[morganbritton132]

Oh geez this might be a double ask because my phone glitched out when I tried to send previously BUT just wanted to say that I love ur Steve has older siblings au

I also need to say that I shamelessly combined that au with ur post about Tommy knowing Steve the best. Just picturing Steve’s sibs zoning out when his mom lists what he can’t eat because they assume she’s just being difficult. Flash forward a few years and they accidentally poison Steve with like peanut butter cookies and are realllly lucky that Tommy was staying over that weekend and knows he’s allergic.

anyways thx for all ur writing!

I only got this ask once so we’re good! The Steve Has Older Siblings AU has kinda been on hold for a bit because Dustin is either the easiest or the hardest character to write and right now, he’s being difficult for me.

BUT! I love this.

I’m going to change it around a bit because I’m on this kick right now where Steve is allergic to aspirin. Also, with the way that Steve’s mom is written for this AU, she is negligent but protective of her son. I don’t think she’d allow peanut butter in the house if Steve was allergic.

She wouldn’t allow aspirin either but Richard insists that it’s the only thing that cures a migraine (hangover), and Steve’s eight. He doesn’t even like taking his Flintstone vitamins so she’s not concerned about him getting in the medicine cabinet.

It’s not common that Tommy stays over at Steve’s when they’re sick.

Typically his mom watches them at their house but she had to go wake up his grandma (“That doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t she set an alarm clock?”/”I dunno, Steve. That’s what Mommy said. She had to go to Granny’s wake.”) so Mrs. Harrington was babysitting them.

Mrs. Harrington isn’t very good at taking care of them. Tommy wouldn’t tell Steve that because it’ll make him sad, but his mom kinda sucks at this. She doesn’t even give them popsicles for their sore throats or kiss their foreheads to check their temperature. She just disappears for long periods of time to yell into the phone.

Tommy’s kinda happy when she has to go into the office because he thinks Claire might look after them, but she’s apparently studying in her room so Steve’s brothers are doing it.

Tommy secretly likes this better because Jason and Richie are very nice to him, and they tell him that he’s cooler than Steve. No one has ever said that before! Not even Carol and they got married under the jungle gym.

Tommy likes hanging out with them even if he feels icky today.

He is standing in the kitchen next to Steve, watching Richie cut a little orange pill in half with a knife. Richie keeps muttering under his breath about running out of the ‘liquid S H I T.’ Tommy thinks it’s funny that he said a bad word, but can’t laugh about it because he can see the bottle that the pill came out of and –

“I don’t think we take that,” He voices but Richie brushes him off. He says it’s like candy. Tommy has brothers too, so he knows that sometimes you gotta give in or they’ll rub your face into the carpet until you get rugburn, but, “I know but… but what if only I take it?”

“You take half,” Richie tells him. “Stevie over here takes the other half and then we’re right as rain. It reduces fever.”

“Yeah,” Jason adds from behind them. “So your brain doesn’t leak out your ears.”

Tommy looks over at Steve but he isn’t fully awake so there’s not much of a reaction there. Plus, he’s not a very good reader so Tommy’s not sure if he even knows what the bottle says. He tries again, ignoring Jason, “That’s not what Mrs. Harrington gave us earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. This is better.”

“Steve can’t take that,” Tommy tries again after he crunches the medicine between his teeth. He sticks out his tongue so Richie can see that it’s gone, and then adds, “Mommy gave that to him once and it made him really sick.”

“It did?” Steve croaks, snatching his hand back when Richie tries to hand him the pill. Richie tries to force the pill into his mouth but Steve presses his lips together. It makes his brother swear and gesture to Jason, and then Steve is snatched off his feet with a hand pinching his nose shut.

He struggles and Tommy wants to help but he – he also wants Richie and Jason to like him so, he doesn’t help. Steve gasps for breath and the pill goes in…and Steve is fine. He’s angry and out of breath, and his nose is still stuffy so he still kinda sounds like a frog but he’s not.. he’s not blue like last time.

Tommy thinks, oh. He thinks, cool.

Everything is fine for fifteen minutes and then Tommy is yelling out the door of Steve’s bedroom that they need help. Steve is breathing weird and – “and, I – I think he’s going to die!”

A lot of stuff happens at once. Claire leaves her room, Jason and Richie come up the stairs, and they all start yelling and blaming each other. No one really jumps into action until Tommy bursts into tears. Then it’s movement and car rides, and Tommy is sitting in the waiting room at the hospital without shoes on.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington rush into the room. The only thing he does know is that he’s never seen anybody look as angry as Mrs. Harrington did when she sees them.

She looks like she’s going to yell at them but Mr. Harrington grabs her by the arm and drags her to the reception desk. They disappear behind the white double doors that Steve went through.

It only makes Tommy cry harder.

[anonomi]

I love spy/scout's mother unironically. TF2 takes stereotypes and subverts them, so instead of a globetrotting, international super spy who treats women as disposable as his cigarettes and his latest hot babe who shows up to flash her tits, it's actually a renowned spy falling for this diligent and motherly lady who just gets him. And they didn't need to show her being strong and independent and pushing Spy around to show how she's not just another girl, nor did they need to show him falling all over for her and crawling on his hands and knees. She is completely fine in her motherly way and he is completely fine in his gentlemannly way.

Neither of them are adjusted to be weaker than the other to show off how cool the other is. They are not horribly twisted from who they are. They are respected and comfortable in their roles and characters. All they had to do was make Spy pick out the picture of him holding her hand. Because it just says everything.

[wherearedagrapes]

I saw this youtube post about Maddie’s silent look at Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails after Tom is hurt in movie 3, and I just wanna throw my two cents in real quick.

Personally, while I think it’s an interesting interpretation (though kind of crazy work after she’s willing to die for Sonic in the second movie), Maddie doesn’t seem “resentful” to me. Maddie’s a medical doctor — a doctor to animals, yes, but she still handles the lives of living creatures. Emotional control and a level of personal detachment are required to do her job successfully. (And she actually displays this in the first movie after Sonic is KO’d by an explosion. While Tom’s freaking out, Maddie’s totally calm, ignoring Tom to examine and treat Sonic.)

Maddie’s stoic after Tom is hurt in the third movie, and I think that stoicism is doubled because it’s her husband that’s in critical condition. Throughout the whole ordeal, she never breaks, never cries, not that we see, not in front of the boys. I think Maddie the Mom is replaced by Dr. Maddie Wachowski, DVM. Calm. Controlled. Focused on the problem at hand. There’s no time to panic or grieve, nor comfort or hold hands. She’s got a dying patient, a super weapon on its way to space, and a high-clearance government HQ that wants her entire family detained. She has work to do.

It’s easy to see how Sonic or anyone sympathizing with the kids could mistake Maddie’s lack of warmth here as blame, resentment, anger, etc. But I really don’t think that’s her intention. She checks on the boys as the paramedics are wheeling Tom to the ambulance.

When she climbs inside with Tom, she looks back, like she’s conflicted about leaving them and wants to say something but isn’t sure what. The silent stare she specifically gives Sonic feels like she’s thinking, “I can’t tell you it’s going to be okay because I’m not sure it will be. But I don’t want to tell you that, either.”

Sonic’s looking for reassurance that she can’t give him, not without lying. Knuckles’ gaze drops to the ground; he knows it doesn’t look good for Tom. Tails glances between Maddie and Sonic. He notices the unspoken exchange they’re having and Sonic’s uncharacteristic silence, and he seems to realize then how bad the situation is, what everybody’s thinking but nobody wants to say: There’s a good chance that Tom is not going to make it.

Doctors don’t make promises they can’t keep, and Maddie cannot promise that Tom will survive.

Now, you may be thinking, “But parents are supposed to provide comfort regardless of the facts. They’re supposed to smile and say, ‘It’s okay. Everything will be fine, I promise,’ even if they don’t believe it. Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails face much harsher situations than the average kid, but they are still children.” To which I’d say, yeah. Ultimately, whether this is a parenting misstep on Maddie’s part is subjective… But even if we choose to interpret it as such, I like that. I like that Maddie messes up.

Maddie’s human, and (most interestingly imo) she is still a new parent. Tom and Maddie did not have kids before Sonic. Judging by Sonic’s “bearthday” party, it’s only been like a little over a year in-universe since they took Sonic in, and it’s been far less than that since Knuckles and Tails joined the family. Maddie is still learning how to be a good mom, just like Tom is still learning how to be a good dad, and Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are still learning how to be good sons and friends/brothers.

Maddie’s going to make mistakes just like they are. Letting her doctor persona override her desire to be a warm, caring parent in a devastating, high-stress situation like this feels like a believable mistake for her to make, and I think it’s better than if she were to always say and do the right thing.

[crow-quet]

appledash?

i know i havent been giving the other ones names but between the talent idea i had and the fact it was RIGHT THERE .... i couldnt help myself HAHA

[sonknuxadow]

this is probably an unpopular opinion with the amount of "everyone is married with kids" type future aus people make for sonic characters but i cannot see sonic getting married or having a kid ever. if he did somehow end up with a kid hed be the worlds first transmasc absent father or however the joke goes

[kaisollisto]

“Are you here?" Ava barely breathes it, there's a tension in the air that she can't recognize, an energy that squashes her. Her throat feels scratchy and she can feel the Halo slotted between her shoulders. Ava's flat on her back head turned to look over at Beatrice. She feels wimpy like a stomped flower, her left arm dangles dangerously close to Beatrice-territory. She wants to reach out, to touch Beatrice to confirm that she's here but something stops her. She feels so silly, she could easily shift over to touch Beatrice, shake her gently and - 

Beatrice slides over, a firm sleepy sister warrior knife wielding badass with frumpy hair poofing from what remains of her low bun. She moves towards Ava, inches away from her but moves to answer her. It’s rare for Ava to see her like this. Beatrice is clearly fighting sleep, rubbing her eyes and doing her best to move in hopes that it’ll shake the sleepy spell. 

She’s dressed in one of Ava’s ugly loose white shirts, a huge bass clashing with faded big blocky lettering that just reads “FISH”. Beatrice had looked at her weirdly when Ava had dug it out of the bins at a thrift store disheveled and ecstatic. 

Ava had spent hours coaxing her into it doing her damn best to hide Beatrice’s laundry when she wasn’t looking. It fills a warm feeling in her chest and Ava wants to burrow further into it. It was a fool proof plan. 

Ava found her shortness made it exhausting to reach up towards the Beatrice-level-cabinets. The halo pulls at her pinching and knotting up the muscles in her back after a long day of training. She feels it alive within her, an uncomfortable reminder sealed inside her back. 

At the end of the day Ava settled on hinging at the waist. She had slowly started integrating Beatrice’s sleep shirts in cabinets that Beatrice had to bend down to reach. Ava always tried to situate herself at the scene of the crime doing her best to seem inconspicuous while she leaned over hungry for Beatrice’s reaction. Ava thumbed her findings down in the recess of her mind, her finger tracing over it in a hurried desperation. The time would pass and she did not want to forget. 

(It helped, the imagery of Bea’s furrow when she would find her sleepwear underneath the sink when Ava would have to tuck her spine into the halo as she placed the shirt somewhere clean.) 

Thanks to her genius planning Beatrice had finally caved and worn Ava’s huge “FISH” t-shirt after weeks of her persistence. She looked adorable, she was drowning in it and constantly tugging at it. She had found Beatrice loved to tuck it into the band of her sleep shorts creating puffy funny creases distorting the text even further to say “FSH”. It looked so ugly and old and endearing. 

She looked out of her depth and it made Ava’s heart thump funny. Beatrice with her weird posh mannerisms combined with the peaceful unguarded look when she slumbered made her feel hot all over. 

It was the prospect of the future, a glimpse into her life with Beatrice, of when they would grow old together. It shakes her, the idea that Beatrice will get wrinkles with her. She takes it seriously, a study that she isn’t well versed in but preparing for. It is a long hard internal debate flipping between what wrinkles will show first. Ava selfishly hopes it’s smile lines, that Beatrice will smile at her as much as she does in secret. She’s happy to be wrong, Beatrice’s forehead crinkles have always been cute. She hopes that Beatrice never stops looking at her, thinking of her. She wants to spend a long time being the source of her wrinkles. And just for right now she can handle the role of being just her friend. 

Beatrice blinks one eye open, the other pressed against the pillow as she stifles a yawn. Her hand blocks her mouth in a delicate way and Ava can see her nails are short and uneven in places. Ava wishes she could touch them, study them in a way no one has done before. She wants to press against Beatrice hard enough to watch her skin fold around hers. Some sort of truth that she was here, that she is here. 

Beatrice scoots over slowly, her elbow tucked under the pillow. She stops inches away from Ava, a frown set in her jaw. Ava mirrors her position albeit more awkwardly and more wiggling than Beatrice’s but she finds a place where the Halo won’t bite her back. 

“I’m here,” Beatrice murmurs it, a quiet thing between them. 

Ava closes her eyes hoping Beatrice won’t notice her shakiness. She blinks a few times before she presses closer, the arm she’s laying on moving to support her head underneath the pillow. 

There’s so much to tell her, anything and nothing at all and Ava doesn’t know where to start. It constricts her throat, the constant stream of consciousness from inside of her heart. It’s horrible and she can’t stop it as the feeling balloons inside of her lungs. Ava wants help, she so desperately wants to feel okay again, to feel anything other than the stupid fucking halo. It grates on her nerves and muscles, a burning hot metal ring poking and prodding at the entirety of her upper torso. It leaves her reeling, a sort of anger that beckons for her to hurt (hurt something, hurt someone, hurt), disregarding the aftermath of tears and shame. 

Ava is sure she’s shaking, a layer of sweat gathers between the space of her shoulder blades as the Halo lights up with her inner turmoil. It’s a faint pitiful thing that Ava would be ashamed of if not for the bone aching tiredness. 

She wants to say she’s sorry the words clawing their way up her throat and it feels wrong to feel anything but that. There’s a sort of unspoken shame that haunts her with the Halo. It’s a thing she’s known long before any of this. 

Beatrice drags her out of her turmoil with her hand hovering near Ava’s pinky. She has a gracefulness to it, like she has practiced it a hundred times over. It’s weird, to be in a bed, a soft and lumpy bed looking at Beatrice. Beatrice with such plain features and subtle cheekbones that Ava can’t stop looking. It pays off, watching Beatrice, Ava knows it when Bea smiles a grin too wide for polite acknowledgement and Ava can see her dimples pronounced. 

“Can I?” Beatrice’s finger lingers near her hand, a hovering itch that Ava needs scratched. It’s so wholeheartedly Beatrice that Ava can do nothing but nod. Something inside of Ava aches harder than the rest of the organs inside of her. It’s the unwavering crushing thumping feeling that squeezes around her heart. The sincerity of Beatrice. 

She places her hand over Ava’s and squeezes her gently. Beatrice’s hands are firm and soft. She can feel the callouses on her palms prodding at the back of her hand and wonders if Beatrice has ever had them fade away. If she’s had the pleasure of unscathed palms. Her hands are warm but not sweaty, not like Ava’s.

Ava can’t feel Beatrice’s pulse but she tries her best to match it. She imagines it would be a slow melody playing a duet with a classical track. Some sort of tune that spurs comfort or a feeling of nostalgia. She briefly wonders if Beatrice listens to music, if she seeks out music that has spoken to her. If there was a song that shook her to her core so deeply she had to sit down and digest it. There’s so much she still needs to know and so little time. 

“I admit I’m not sure what you need from me.” Beatrice whispers it quietly, she’s hunched awkwardly, hovering close in Ava’s space but too far away for her own comfort. 

Ava clamps her mouth shut, sure that “come closer” will betray her. That she will reach too far into Beatrice and take far too much. 

Beatrice pays no mind to Ava’s silence and slowly caresses her hand, it’s a small little gesture that seems to have no set course. Ava briefly wonders if it’s the start of a massage or if Beatrice is looking for her joints underneath her skin and touching her tendons in apology. 

It should be awkward, Beatrice and Ava orbiting each other in a lopsided manner. A rotational tilt that is unfamiliar to both of them and yet feels intimate. An unknown dance with their eyes closed and their breaths mingling. (It’s easy to follow Beatrice’s lead, Ava knows love.) 

There’s nothing Ava can say to her, she chokes up at the prospect and they both blink at each other. She’s not sure what she needs, only that it’s nice having someone here. 

Beatrice drowsily blinks rapidly and slowly at the same time as Ava watches swallowing the bits of her smile. Her hand has slowed its pathing, opting to curl on the inside of Ava’s fingers. It’s endearing watching one of her favorite bad ass sister warriors lose against sleep. It softens the edges of Beatrice who is always carrying some unseen obligation. (Here it is only the two of them free of their past and future burdens, just two girls sprawled thinly on hopes and dreams). 

She can feel Beatrice’s grip loosen, she’s going to fall back asleep any minute now but Ava doesn’t have the heart to keep her up. Beatrice is no doubt tired, powered by her own sleeping and eating habits unlike Ava who has the artifact to juice her up. 

She isn’t quite unwound but she feels manageable now. It’s weird to be within reach of Beatrice, someone who cares about her. To be in proximity of someone who will look for her, be in step with her, maybe it’s duty but Ava holds it close to her heart regardless. (It’s all the same to her, devotion, loyalty, love). 

She clings to Beatrice afraid to let the moment go, she had called and someone had answered, Bea had answered. Ava can feel her eyes watering, it almost feels like a distant dream. She tucks her chin closer to chest and thinks, how awful to be loved. 

She can feel her throat closing up and she squeezes Bea’s hand just a tiny bit harder. (She answers in the twitch of her hand, clearly on the cusp of sleep). The Halo still thunders in her back throbbing some fatal fate but here in the hush of night grounded by the touch of Beatrice she has some reprieve.  (Part 1)

[sirtotallynotatimetraveler]

Wanted to make my rendition of woman Peppino (aka Peppina). I call her Peppana.

first concept sketch of her :)

[skyward-floored]

My mom was talking so excitedly about this thing she was reading about how chocolate in chocolate fountains is a non newtonian fluid that I thought something was wrong at first, and my dad was randomly interjecting with stuff about line integrals and some other calculus thing I forget the name of and this is what happens when a chemistry major and a math nerd are married for thirty+ years

[puppireg]

cg ! jinx with a transmasculine puppy regressor who wants to make inventions like her but isn 't the best at them headcanons .ᐟ requested by @littlemystries 𓈒 cws — a tad bit of hurt ⼃ comfort and very minor angst𓈒

you reeeally want to be an inventor pup just like your mama .ᐟ you think she is the coolest ever , wanting to be just like her in every way you can but being jinx 's pup has really sparked a passion for inventing𓈒

you 're an easily excited pup which unfortunately can get in the way of your inventions𓈒 oftentimes your eagerly wagging tail will scatter jinx 's parts or knock over an invention leading to ashamed tears from you𓈒 jinx will pout when she sees your big teary eyes𓈒 "whatsa matter , pup ?" you 'll blubber about ruining her invention or the order of her parts and she 'll brush it off with a wave of her hand accompanied by a "pshhh"𓈒

wiping your eyes with the cleanest of her rags she 'll say , "aww come on , you know i work better in the chaos𓈒" she 'll really exaggerate the last word , spinning around in her chair making you giggle with a sniffle𓈒 if you 're upset about knocking something over it 's a , "you were just testin ' the strength , huh pup ?" accompanied by a wink𓈒 "good thinkin '" she 'll say , scratching you behind the ear𓈒 "now we know it 's not just gonna𓈒𓈒𓈒" (here she makes an explosion sound accompanied with a hand motion and bugged out eyes)𓈒

jinx is super supportive of you following in her footsteps .ᐟ she crafts you your own protective gear and goggles eagerly , jabbering about all she wants to show you𓈒 jinx makes you a lot of gear for your puppyspace and to affirm your gender as well , loving to show her care for you through inventing𓈒 she 's so proud that you 're her pup .ᐟ jinx will give you an affectionate smile whenever you trot over to her workspace , the tags on your collar jangling𓈒 the collar is made by her as well with tags reading "mama 's boy" , and "if lost return to jinx"𓈒

you love watching jinx at work𓈒 for awhile you 'd simply trot over to watch , keeping a safe distance from the sparks𓈒 before long you have your own seat to watch from , decorated by your mama and complete with a cozy cushion and a few toys in case you get bored𓈒

when you initially express interest in inventing jinx is excited𓈒 she teaches you how to weld and connect wires and every other necessary tool for inventing𓈒 your welds are sloppy and a few times you 've created holes in thinner metal sheets getting overeager trying to weld the thinner material to something thicker𓈒 still you 're quite proud the first time you 're successful despite the messy and obvious weld𓈒 jinx has to stifle a laugh at your attempt yet is quick to praise you with a pup treat and words of encouragement𓈒

the first time you try and make something you chase your tail in excitement waiting to show jinx𓈒 you built a crude figure of you as a puppy with jinx and are so excited to show her your first "invention" ! you end up dragging her from her work to see yet unfortunately for you you tumble into your figure in your hurry𓈒 since it 's your first creation you find out the hard way that your welds aren 't strong enough as it crashes down around you𓈒

you 're understandably very upset about this𓈒 you burst into sobs , hot tears streaming down your face𓈒 you 're sat on your bum amid the mess with jinx standing a few feet away surprised𓈒 she rushes to your side concern etched across her features𓈒 "you okay , pup ?" she asks breathlessly , checking you for scratches𓈒 you shake your drooping head𓈒 "'s broken mama !" you manage through hiccupy sobs𓈒 jinx who shushes you as she rubs your back to calm you down𓈒 "'s okay puppy , i 'll help you fix it ," she says , tone uncharacteristically serious𓈒

once you 're able to calm down jinx sits down with all of her tools to help you fix it𓈒 "okay , kid you 're gonna have to instruct me𓈒 think you can do that ?" she grins widely at you , and you smile back in spite of yourself nodding𓈒 "alright , where dooooes (she surveys the wreckage before picking something up ,) this piece go ?" you giggle , excited to be the master here while jinx is your apprentice𓈒

when it 's all fixed , jinx gasps , raving excitedly about how much she loves it and did her boy really make it all by himself ? you know she 's probably overexaggerating — it 's not thaat good but it pleases you nonetheless𓈒 you can 't help but jump up on her to lick her sweaty face , tail wagging like crazy𓈒

when you 're not making inventions of your own you love being jinx 's little assistant .ᐟ being a puppy you love to fetch , tail wagging as you bring her the tool or piece she needs , earning yourself lots of praise𓈒

[luluy33art]

Thinking of Guardian! Chloe AU, I tried to figure out what the relationship between G!Chloe and makeup would be like. Canon Chloe would definitely be one of those girls who started wearing makeup at a very young age either because of her position/reputation or the influence of people around her.

But without that, I still think G!Chloe would be interested in makeup just because it looked so good on women (Ik what u are)

So she asks Grandpa Fu to buy her some, but Fu was like "Aren't you a little young for that?" and he doesn't buy any. The next day he surprises Chloe at 7am with her lips and face badly painted and a green marker in her hand.

He had to take his 5-year-old granddaughter with ink poisoning to the hospital.

At least it wasn't serious.

[explosionshark]

For the 3 words + character/pairing ask:

Blood

Past

Bronze

For one Faith Lehane :D

oh my god, i missed you, bud! thanks for the prompt. i apologize in advance for making this one SUCH a bummer.

set during s07e19 - "Empty Places" (if this piece has a theme song it's "Bloodied Up" by Alkaline Trio)

-

“Hey, what about the vineyard?”

Faith knows she shouldn’t have said it, knows that even before she’s finished speaking, not that it makes any difference. Not that knowing she’s fucking things up worse has ever exactly stopped Faith from taking a situation from bad to fucking irretrievable before, especially where Buffy’s concerned but, fuck, she’d been trying to be better.

It’s just that Buffy has always been able to get under her skin the way no one else could, especially when she’s doing this. That self righteous, condescending scolding thing she does, like Faith’s the biggest loser on the planet, like the worst thing about Buffy’s life isn’t the looming apocalypse or the monsters trying to kill the herd of teen girls they’d amassed, but trying to talk to Faith. 

Buffy stops and turns to face her again. “What?” her voice is quiet, cold. There’s an edge to it, sharp, familiar — a warning. 

But Faith’s in this deep already. And maybe she’s a dumbass for trying to talk about this when Buffy’s already pissed, but, fuck, Faith thinks she’s right this time. For once, out of the two of them, it’s Buffy who’s blowing it, at least as far as the potentials are concerned. Buffy’s always been the one with friends, a boyfriend, a family that talks to her — she’s the one that knows how to be with people, to make them love her.

So why is it that now she’s icing these girls out, when they need her, need someone to make them feel like the fight they’re in is worth it? Why is Faith the one learning their names, taking them out, listening to their worries and wishes and idle chatter while Buffy withdraws and shuts them down and pushes everyone away?

So, yeah. Fuck it. Faith’s going to do this. It’d probably be better for them both if she just kept her trap shut, but she’s learned a thing or two about tough love in the last few years. Maybe it’s time for her to dish it out herself.

“How safe were they when you dragged them off to meet Caleb?” Faith pushes. Something in Buffy’s expression shutters, face going blank in a way that opens a sinkhole in Faith’s gut. But she doesn’t stop. “How safe was Rona, or Amanda, or Molly?”

Faith knows that Buffy’s going to hit her. She can tell when Buffy takes her first step closer, is dead certain by the second step. It’s a telegraphed hit, too — big windup, so B can put her shoulder into it. Faith sees it and she doesn’t move. A feeling flashes through her, quick and electric like lightning — it’s sick dread, it’s guilt, it’s anger and it’s something else, something familiar in the worst way.

Maybe it’s the Slayer, maybe it’s something wrong deep inside Faith in particular, but she sees Buffy’s rage crack the cold facade she’s thrown up between them and she welcomes it. She sees what’s coming and she lets it happen. She hopes that it will hurt.

And it does.

It’s the second time in as many days that Buffy’s hit her. The first time wasn’t so bad. Almost a lovetap — oh, it hurt like a son of a bitch, and it left her flush with humiliation. That’s what it was meant to do — put Faith in her place, especially in front of Buffy’s latest boy toy. The sucker-punch in the graveyard was straightforward enough. Faith didn’t take it to heart — she owed Buffy that one. More, actually.

But this feels different. Not only because Buffy hit her harder this time, not only because there’s no audience to show off for this time. No, this time it’s worse because it’s the first time Buffy’s ever hit her when Faith hasn’t deserved it.

Maybe for all the stuff in the past between them.

But Buffy didn’t hit her for any of that. Buffy hit her because Faith was calling her out, because she didn’t want to hear that she was being a hypocrite, maybe because she didn’t believe Faith had a right to tell her jack shit.

Mostly, because she wanted Faith to shut the fuck up.

Faith goes with it, one knee slamming to the asphalt hard before she manages to catch herself, both palms to the pavement. Her cheek is singing in pain, blood rushing through her ears so loud she almost can’t hear the swish of Buffy’s coat, the sound of her retreating footsteps.

She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Buffy takes off so fast. Part of her wishes she could have seen Buffy’s face, to know if she was sorry. The rest of Faith is too scared to think she might not have been.

Slowly, she twists, kneeling and pressing her knuckles to the bruise she can already feel blooming under her skin. The skin is hot, her cheekbone aching and throbbing beneath her fingers as she moves to gently probe it, but there’s nothing broken. 

All that buzzing, self righteous anger has flooded out of her, replaced with that old, lonely cored out feeling that Faith knows all too well. She closes her eyes, lets the blood from her re-opened split lip pool at her gum line, breathes in the scent of garbage and spilled drinks from the Bronze alleyway and fuck, she could be fifteen years ago — that filthy apartment, the sting in her cheek from a slap she’d earned from her ma because she couldn’t just shut the fuck up when she needed to.

Did this to your damn self, she thinks bitterly, gritting her teeth in rage and disgust at the feeling of tears welling up behind her eyes. 

She’s always doing this to herself.

Faith sniffs hard and shakes her head, biting down on the broken skin of her lip until the pain cuts through the sorry feeling swelling up in her chest. She blinks back those stupid, useless tears, pushes herself to standing.

Alone in the alley, Faith pauses. She wonders for a moment if she’s welcome back at Buffy’s house, after this. Then it occurs to her that it doesn’t matter all that much how welcome shes is — there’s nowhere else for her to go. There’s no other slayers for Buffy to turn to. They’re stuck with each other.

Faith lets out a deep breath, brushing her fingers over her cheek one more time before she tilts her head to spit a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. Then she starts walking home.

[varpusvaras]

Me: has been coughing really badly since the beginning of September after getting sick back then

Me: Ah man I can't take a deep breath and my chest hurts :(

Me:

Me: Oh! Right! I have a chronic lung disease! I need to take medication for it!

[wigglebox]

💚💙

[true-blue-sonic]

15. Espilver

15. …passionately.

At the uncountable next time the house is rattling on its foundation from a two-minute torrent of rain, Espio decides he might as well get up and just leave bed.

“Darn it,” the chameleon mutters, rubbing his face. Had he thought it was already just before the hour to rise and shine with how often he’d half-woken up and dozed off again, caving and sending a glance at the alarm clock had shown him it is hardly four A.M. instead. Not exactly how one acquires a decent night of sleep to be well-rested in the morning…

Though, another matter of intrigue had caught his attention. Namely, how cold his bed is: where usually soft grey fur and loving little coos fill his arms and ears when reaching out for cuddles, now one eye had shot open most disturbed instead by the lack of both; a lack of Silver, as a whole. That in itself is not exactly strange, for Silver’s sleep schedule is incomprehensible to anyone except the hedgehog, but it does mean that all attempts for Espio to fall back to sleep again suddenly have found themselves a dozen-fold more difficult.

Grumbling under his breath as he peeks out the window Espio concedes the neighbours all have their lights on. Not that he can blame them: the wind howls and the rain batters against the window and he can even see a strike of thunder, all the way in the distance, though the world outside is loud enough the accompanying rumble stays out. He might as well cease the fighting and go downstairs as well, with tea to calm him and patience to wait the storm out. A look into Charmy’s bedroom as he pads into the hallway shows it empty; a look into Vector’s reveals a whole bunch of snoring that out-volumes the rain enough for Charmy to have fallen asleep again on top of the crocodile’s chest. Cute, Espio smiles to himself. He can always join his colleagues if all else fails.

But first he’ll go find Silver.

“Tenshi,” the chameleon whispers. There’s no way Silver went outside- that is, Espio hopes. That makes downstairs the most likely place for his psychic, the attic’s hatch firmly closed and their bathroom empty as well. He can forfeit sneaking down the stairs; the rain rages against the rooftop and the outer walls with enough force everything is drowned out, even Vector’s usually-audible snoring in the hallway. “Silver?” Espio adds once he’s safely snuck into the living room, which is empty as well. Though, the light in the kitchen shines past the creak in the door, the chameleon swiftly making his way over and giving it a gentle knock before pushing it open further…

“Oh! Hey, Espio,” his beloved coos back at him.

Amidst a whole collection of… baking trays and pans?

“…What are you doing,” Espio inquires, an eyebrow raised most promptly. Quark and a gelatine package and butter lay scattered over their counters, around a giant bowl with the strawberries Silver went to the market for yesterday. Which can only mean one thing: the hedgehog is baking something.

At four am in the morning.

A yawn is his response, Silver’s weight flopping into Espio’s arms all snugly when the latter scoots in for a hug. “Can’t sleep. So I started making a cake” Espio gets told, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world to be doing when the sun isn't yet up for hours, and the chameleon laughs before he can even help it.

“Tenshi, it’s four A.M.,” he brings up, grabbing a knife to cut up the final few strawberries as well. “And I bought that quark to eat it for breakfast.”

“You will. In a cake.” With the absolute incorrigibleness of someone who knows he can do no wrong for Espio and who will abuse that fact Silver grabs the quark in question, throwing it together with the strawberries in one fell swoop. With gentle motions Espio helps him stir, psychokinesis easily throwing the batter onto the crust of cookie crumbles waiting for them next. “And now it’s gotta wait and stiffen up,” the hedgehog adds, carefully pushing it into the fridge and throwing the door shut.

Espio’s wrapped him in an embrace nary a second later.

“Good,” the chameleon murmurs, leaning in over Silver’s shoulder. “Then I finally have you for myself.”

Oozing into his arms Silver snuggles close. “Heh. The storm’s really loud out.”

“I know. It woke me up, too.” Gently Espio strokes the other’s head, eyes shutting contently as Silver purrs in his arms. He can hear the noises even as the storm outside rages and howls, a warm smile forming on his face. “We should go back to bed,” he brings up next. The morning looms, with all its responsibilities and the never-ending repairs they will have to put the house through after suffering this abuse.

But he doesn’t. And Silver doesn’t, either. Instead Espio manoeuvres his beloved around most carefully to squish tan cheeks between his hands and press the most passionate, most desiring and loving and yearning kisses against Silver’s lips. A hum of surprise is his response; and then Silver pulls him even closer, the duo gasping for breath once they finally pull away.

With a chuckle Silver gives Espio’s own muzzle a little nibble. “What was that for?”

“Because you wake up in the middle of the night and decide to start making a cake of all things.”

“Of course! Why not, if I’m awake already?” the most earnest response comes.

Espio laughs, pulling the other even closer. “That’s what I mean.”

“Sure,” Silver shrugs back at him, tucking his head underneath Espio’s chin as the chameleon picks him up to carry him to their couch and wrap them both in a blanket. That’s how they stay until the torrents of rain have grown quieter and with longer pauses between them, until finally the pale light of daybreak begins to filter through the curtains. Between it all Espio strokes Silver’s head and massages behind his ears, the other oozing like the most comfortable pillow in a half-asleep daze until the chameleon decides they might as well go eat Silver’s quark cake for breakfast.

And it is the most delicious thing Silver has ever baked before.

“Because it was made at four A.M.,” the hedgehog concedes before zonking right out against Espio’s side, and Espio couldn’t agree more.

[charmwasjess]

Okay I'm doing this week's Mines Monday NOW because it's election week and my anxiety is crazy and I need a distraction:

Sifo & Lene

I love Lene Kostana as a character. She's fascinating to me; I change my mind about her almost weekly. I feel like I've run through every take on her from Lene critical to Lene positive and hardly scratched the surface. She's a gorgeous walking contradiction, and in that way, I think one of the more realistic and interesting characters. I think at the end of the day, her devotion to Sifo-Dyas and their partnership extending past the typical Master Padawan years into his adult life is fascinating. I haven't been able to shake the belief that Sifo-Dyas views her as a purely good, completely uncomplicated net positive in his life, and that he would argue with me vehemently over any of my "should she really have brought a teenager into that....?" takes.

I know this is looking back at evolving headcanons and older fic, but I really can't wait to do more with them, since Master and Padawan stories are my favorite thing to write.

Anyway, here's a part I wrote last year (and ended up cutting) from Five Days to Murder Sifo-Dyas - Sifo-Dyas reflecting back on his sex ed with the Arcane and Unflappable Lene:

Thinking back, really, Lene had been wonderful, even if at the time, Sifo-Dyas definitely felt like melting into the floor. 

She’d sat him down for A Talk after what he’d considered a very sly and subtle series of experimentations with an eager peer. Far from being angry or shaming though, Master Kostana had plainly explained the finer points of consent and communication. She presented him with a box of protective sheaths, gave him instructions for their use, and asked if he had any questions. 

“I think I might like men?” Sifo-Dyas had ultimately blurted out, his heart feeling very much in danger of spilling out of his mouth and shattering on the floor. 

“Good,” she’d pronounced in that crisp, unsurprised way of hers. She tapped the box with a long finger. “Make sure he wears one of these too.”