#and I'll write more of that someday

[zephyrchama]

Living together in a big house with one (main) (shared) bathroom means that mornings can be tough.

When you first arrived at the House of Lamentation, it was hard to fit in. It was really hard to get into the bathroom in the mornings and fight six demons for use of the sink. If more than two others were in there at the same time, they practically formed a living wall that blocked you out, forcing you to wake up extremely early or risk being late for school.

That got better over time though. You gradually managed to fit into the house's morning routine.

---

Lucifer has his morning routine down to an exact science. Usually he's fully dressed and has his hair brushed before leaving the bedroom. He might be running on pure muscle memory though - one time you handed him a warm washcloth for his face and he just stared at it in confusion for several seconds with a furrowed brow. He has no problems getting it himself, but this break in routine gave him pause. It took Lucifer a moment to realize what it was and to thank you.

If you get the chance to eat breakfast together, Lucifer likes to ask about your day. "What do you have planned? Remember, we have that meeting at five. Did you prepare for the ancient hex exam?" He might slide a bit of his food onto your plate before he goes, a way of returning the pleasant energy boost you always provide for him.

---

Mammon can hustle. Which means that Mammon can get up early if it benefits him in some way. A part time job, an early bird discount, a chance to slip past Lucifer's defenses and borrow some cash.

That doesn't mean it's easy. Waking up takes some serious effort. Mammon will stumble into the bathroom to do his business first thing in the morning, yawning with his eyes half closed and tugging up whatever pants he just tossed on for modesty.

The tsundere part of his brain takes a few minutes to kick in if he's just woken up. If he spots you, Mammon will demand a good morning hug and wrap his arms around you, deaf to your cries of "Mammon! Go wash your hands before you touch me!"

---

Leviathan is always groaning in the morning. He's probably not aware of it. He's probably muttering complaints but is too tired to actually speak the words properly. His blankets are always a tangled mess, wrapped unevenly around his feet and contorted around his body, but Leviathan can easily Houdini his way out of them when it's time to get up. If there's no event or livestream to wake up early for, he'll sleep in for as long as he can before starting the day with a nice shower.

He finds warm running water to feel so pleasant and you can often find Leviathan spacing out next to the faucet. He'll greet you with a sleepy "ah, morning," and accidentally splash you in an attempt to wave his hand. The embarrassment and slight panic from getting you a towel to dry off with is usually enough to properly wake him up, and he sheepishly exits the bathroom and guards the door until you've finished changing into dry clothes.

---

Satan can hardly even put his shirt on properly when fully awake.

The man's a sleepy mess when he tries to get dressed in the morning. He'll stay up all night to finish a book he's invested in, then stumble out of his room "ready to go" when it's time for breakfast. His pants are unzipped and the button is coming undone. He's only got one sleeve on and it's on the wrong arm, or the buttons on his shirt are all misaligned and half have been skipped over.

He doesn't protest anymore when you tidy him up. Some mornings he'll doze off while you straighten his tie and fall forward into you, then try to play it off as a hug. Satan doesn't want to let go though, you feel so much warmer on a chilly morning.

---

Asmodeus is a rare morning riser. Too much sleep is bad for the skin, he claims. If he has trouble getting up, he'll either go soak in his private tub for energy or seek you out.

"You have to hear what happened last night," he'll say, strolling into your room while there's still ten minutes left on your alarm. He sits on the edge of your bed, and if you try falling back asleep he pulls you up into a sitting position. "Listen to this, you won't believe it!"

Asmodeus isn't afraid to get touchy if it means you'll wake up faster and he gets your attention. He'll sit you in his lap, or press you against his side, or run his hands down your face and squish your cheeks with a mischievous smile.

When the main bathroom is too crowded to use you're free to borrow his, with the caveat he gets to style you for the day and you might be late when he gets overzealous.

---

Beelzebub can also be found awake in the mornings. The quiet hours before everyone else wakes up are best for stretching, taking jogs, and grabbing a pre-breakfast appetizer. He'll get spooked if he hears footsteps approach the kitchen and slam the fridge door shut in a hurry, but all is well when he sees you enter the room instead of Lucifer.

Beelzebub is a big guy who takes up a lot of space. When you run into each other in the bathroom and are rushing to get ready, it's easy to bump into him. On days he's still pretty tired, he might not even notice you bonk your head against his arm. That's fine though - you don't want him to notice you until he's brushed his teeth. After all, Beelzebub's morning breath is a potent magical weapon.

If you need the bathroom sink while he occupies it, Beelzebub is kind enough to nudge you in front of him (once you've confirmed his mouth is minty fresh). You both get to use the mirror this way, and you can both see each other's smiling faces.

---

Belphegor is the king of oversleeping. The powers of you and his twin combined are hardly enough on some days, but mostly the responsibility of waking him falls to you. You quickly learned it's best to wake him from behind his head, if you can manage to maneuver your way into a suitable spot to do so. Anywhere his limbs can easily grab you will result in being pulled into bed. He's like a sleeping kraken.

You suspect that Belphegor wakes up easier than he lets on, but he feigns ignorance. He insists he was totally fast asleep when you struggled to physically drag him down the hallway towards the bathroom, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso with all your strength. And when he clung on to your waist and nuzzled his head into your stomach. And when Beel came to help free you from Belphegor's clutches, but he rolled you under him and muttered "mine now."

Definitely fast asleep, doesn't remember a single thing.

[sentientcave]

Fuck-ass Mohawk

Contains: Alcohol, smoking (cigarettes and cannabis), Soap being Soap, Ghost being Ghost, uninvited touching, tall fem reader

Short little thing about Johnny liking it a bit when you're a bitch to him (And Ghost likes it too)

868 Words ~ MDNI

You’d rather stay home and play board games, but Laurie had convinced everyone that it was a good night for clubbing. You hated clubs— The noise, the crowds, the smell of sweat and alcohol and hormones— and spent the better part of club nights standing outside chain-smoking, or crammed into a dirty bathroom stall holding back a friend’s hair as she threw up blue curacao because she didn’t listen to you when you told her to eat dinner before going out. Tonight didn’t look like it was going to end up with anyone puking their guts up, at least. Laurie’s flirting with a gorgeous hunk with a devastating smile, and Alex and Hannah are dancing, so you go out the side door into the alley for some fresh air. Or air, anyway, since the alley’s where folks go to smoke. You light a joint, because at least that will dull the effect that the sound is having on your head. It’s getting close to midnight, which at least means the night is almost over, so long as someone doesn’t drag you along to some weirdo’s house. “Hey, wha’s a bonnie thing like ye doin’ out here all alone?” A voice purrs in your ear. You jump, surprised that he could get so close with out you noticing him, especially once you turn and really look at him. He’s huge, not that tall, probably your height when you’re not wearing boots (You have about an inch and a half on him in your shit-kickers), but broad and way more muscled than anyone has any reason to be, wrapped in a too-tight shirt, and smiling at you, bright blue eyes fixed on yours with unnerving intensity. He pats your shoulder. “Didnae mean to scare ye, lass, just wanted to say hello.” You take a big step to the side, establishing a new bubble of personal space without him in it. “Well, hello,” you say dismissively. “Goodbye.” There’s a snort from a few meters away, a big fellow with a kn95 mask dangling on one ear, his hand up in front of his face, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Och, dinnae be like tha’, hen.” “Don’t like it?” you ask, glaring at him. “Go away. Plenty of girls in there’ll go for whatever all this is.” A sweeping, unimpressed glance from his boots and ripped jeans up to his stupid mohawk would usually do the trick, but it only made this fellow smile wider. “No’ enough fer ya? I can sweeten tha deal some. The big fella doesnae mind sharin’ a sweet lass with me noo and again. There’s plenty of ye ta go around.” “Johnny,” the big fellow in question says sternly. His mask is back in place, covering the lower half of his face. “Dun’t look like she’s interested.”

“Tha’s where you’re wrong, LT. She just doesna want to admit it. Hen’s got pride. Wants to make me work for it, right lass?” He winks at you. “No. Don’t like your fuck-ass mohawk.” You puff on your joint, keeping your face still while he splutters, indignant. “Fuck-ass mohawk?” he asks. “What do ye mean by tha’?” “I mean it looks like you have a contentious relationship with your father,” you say. Maybe you’re being a bit mean, but it’s always fun to take a cocky fucker down a peg or two. “I don’t fuck with men with daddy issues. Most of ‘em are cops or military lads.” The big guy— LT?— laughs aloud at that while Johnny’s still looking at you with his mouth hanging open. The side door opens, and your friends pile out, Laurie arm in arm with her hunk, and Hannah and Alex clinging to handsome fellows of their own. “There you are,” Laurie says. “We’re going back to Hannah’s. Are you coming?” “Uh. I guess.” Laurie beams at you, and looks up at her hunk. “Kyle, do you need to find your friends?” “Nah. These lads right here.” He gestures at Johnny and LT. with a grin. “Knew Ghost would be out here, and Soap’s always followin’ him around like the big puppy he is.” “Ah’m no’!” You fall into step at the rear of the group. You’ll probably head home rather than join them, but Hannah’s flat is on the way to your own. Johnny and his handler flank you, matching your stride when you slow down or speed up. Annoying. “So what, is the big guy your replacement daddy?” you ask. “Wha— No!” Johnny says hotly. “He’s just my lieutenant.” “Could be your daddy, if you like,” Ghost says, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Got a thing for caustic little cunts.” “Oh fuck off,” you say, trying to shove his hand off. His grip squeezes a little tighter, and you try to ignore the way that core clenches around nothing. You channel the heat into anger, and dig your nails into his wrist hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He grunts, but doesn’t seem all that affected by your claws. “Look at you, ‘issin’ and spittin’ like a puffed up alley cat. S’cute. But save it for later, eh? Don’t want you to tire yourself out too early.”

[elialys]

ANNA TORV as Olivia Dunham (Fringe) | 1.15 Inner Child

BONUS:

[herefortheships]

I feel like The Phantom of the Opera can be a metaphor for how society shames women for their sexual desires. Women must aim to be chaste. The Phantom represents Christine's sexual awakening, while Raoul represents her innocence.

Christine and Raoul met as kids; he is the light, "the good guy", chastity, etc. He is everything to be loved in the open air, in the light for all to see and approve of. Meanwhile Erik is darkness, "the bad guy"; he is the passion kept in the night and out of sight. He lurks in the darkness and is everything to be feared, but also everything to be loved with great passion. The kind of passion that is often shamed when it is women who pursue it.

Ultimately Christine chooses the light (what she is expected to choose), over the darkness (the passions and desires a woman is often shamed for).

I always hold the interpretation that the one Christine truly loved was Erik; she only chose Raoul because she was pressured into making a choice, and, well, see my points above.

Plus Erik became all homicidal, oops. But I know she did love him.

[dunkalfredo]

had a dream the other night that went like this:

pre-game, au: all over vaugarde, people start collapsing to the ground with light pouring out of their eyes and they say, deliriously, "do you hear it too? do you hear the call?" and someone else comes to their side, pulled in by Whatever is Going On, and say "adjust to the light," and they become like Otherwordly Bonded (not necessarily romantic that's just your guy now. it can be any kind of relationship)

anyway in the dream this happens to siffrin and isabeau and i was so compelled that i had to draw it so this is that lol

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[blorboazula]

a little draft on how this AU could start (basically: people think Azula is being stubborn for not speaking to anyone, meanwhile her vocal chords are just terribly damaged – kinda want to write it in Azula's POV actually, but Katara's sorta my default for some reason). (buy me a coffee)

In every interaction of theirs, Azula was polite enough when she wasn't trying to kill them. Or trying to capture them, actually, in hindsight it didn't quite look like she was going for the kill. (She was too deadly, too efficient, for not having killed them if she wanted to.) Surprisingly pacific for a perfect princess soldier.

Which means Katara isn't that surprised by Azula good behavior in the asylum Zuko sent her to. She's more annoyed by how long it took him to bring her home, being stuck in a place where she was locked up in her room all day, forced to take teas to keep her malleable and with her bending weakened didn't seem like the ideal way to deal with yet another child soldier.

It's ironic, really, that knowing Zuko better is exactly what made Katara feel any sympathy towards Azula at all.

Knowing more of Zuko's childhood is also why she's here. It took not much convincing for him to believe that if Azula is behaving well, maybe she doesn't need to stay stuck in there. Reports say she's quiet and cooperative, there are group activities and she seems to tend to have a teamwork mentality – that explains why she's that good at strategy. The only issue is that she doesn't talk.

She never talks. Not even back in the palace, not to servants that have been around her her whole life. She silently acknowledges them, with nods and glances. There are no threats, and no fire, even after a few weeks and there's no trace of that chi-weakening tea. She's not even hostile towards her, and she had been expecting lightning in her face instead of a nod before Azula went on to do whatever she was going to do.

In one of her walks around the palace, late at night, Katara finds herself in that courtyard. It has been over a year, the ground is still scorched. It's disturbing to look at the grate and remember the chains – it's a weird feeling, knowing she did the right thing, stopping Azula, but feeling so bad for the way she did it.

The chains, the armor, had been deformed where Azula's fire touched. Fire hot enough to soften metal.

She blinks, fire hot enough to soften metal.

Firebenders aren't immune to fire, look at Zuko's face.

She's not surprised that Azula is up when she knocks at her door, the princess just frowns at her and tilts her head. It's kinda cute- what? She's quite expressive, actually, Katara had formed the image of cold and stoic, when Azula says more with her eyebrows than with her words.

"I want to test something, I-" this is something they should have checked, yes? Treated, like they treated the burns on her wrists and her chest and shoulders- "You can't speak. It's not that you don't want, or that you're this stubborn, you just can't."

Azula looks astounded for a second, like she expected nobody to notice it. She didn't seem to mind that people thought she was a stubborn brat, letting it slide and just being... a quiet presence. Like she was tired of fighting, of taking up space, like she wanted some peace.

You know, like she was exhausted from a life of being someone's pawn in a senseless war.

"Does it hurt? Your throat?" Azula blinks, like nobody has asked her if anything hurts- then she nods. "I can try to... soothe it a little. I can't really heal anything..."

Azula seems to calculate the risk of allowing someone to bend water on her throat, but maybe it hurts enough to be worth the risk. She nods, steps aside and allows Katara into the room.

Not in a million years Katara thought she'd be in the Fire Nation's Crown Princess chambers to offer her relief for her pain, but here she is.

The war is over, everyone deserves their pain to be soothed, their wounds healed.

[tsunael]

part. I -> II

It was that ache again. The one that tasted like salt and smoke. A longing he feared would only grow stronger with each passing year. A regret in the making.

-- Rebecca Ross, Divine Rivals.

[chiarrara]

i think its wild how beautiful and foundational the queer readings of jjk are considering how violently anti-queer the manga is in practice

[skyward-floored]

also what happens to Malon after she's arrested????? (does she, perhaps, find smth out about her deceased husband 👀)

- hero-of-the-wolf

@hero-of-the-wolf

...

Malon was tossed into a holding cell without a word, and without so much as the hope of a trial or lawyer or anything of the sort.

She heard a distant laugh as the door was slammed behind her, and exhaled wearily as she sat up, brushing some dried blood from her cheek as she moved. The trip here hadn’t been long, but it had been one unpleasant moment after another, harsh shoves and sneers and glee at her arrest, and even a shock she’d gotten when a guard’s hand had wandered and she’d punched him.

Add that to the bruises she’d gotten from the fight earlier with Warriors, and most of her body ached.

Malon closed her eyes, thinking of her husband’s brother. Warriors had stayed beside her as long as he could after she’d been arrested, a hand on her arm until he'd been called away and had to leave. Despite the fact that they’d had to feign indifference and hatred towards one another the whole time, Malon had found his presence comforting. She’d missed him, and he reminded her of Time, and better days.

She only wished she could have spoken to him more. It didn’t take superpowers for her to see that he was barely holding it together.

“...Hello?”

Malon stilled, and raised her head, looking around the tiny cell.

It was essentially a stone box, small with no windows, a toilet in the corner, and two somewhat-cushioned benches by the walls that Malon supposed were meant to be beds. A girl who must have just been asleep was sitting up on one of them, holding her arm tight to her chest as she looked warily at Malon.

The girl couldn’t have been older than Legend, though her face was worn in a similar way that made Malon’s heart pang. Her blonde hair was messy and was trying to hang in her face, but her indigo eyes were sharp in the artificial light, and watched Malon with a calculating look.

“Are you a super?” she asked bluntly, and Malon blinked, then smiled, easing up to her feet.

“Hello to you too. Yes I am, but with nothing that’ll get us out of here I’m afraid,” she answered, wincing as she walked over and sat on the opposite bench. “Is this room temporary? Or am I going to be here a while?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been here for about a day,” the girl replied, holding her arm tighter to her chest. “And don’t worry about your powers being useful or not. They’re blocked in here.“

Malon hummed. “That’ll be hard to test, seeing as they’re animal related. But thank you for the warning.”

The girl nodded and messed with her hair, letting silence fall between them. Malon studied her again, trying to figure out if she really was the same age as Legend, and her heart ached at the reminder of her son. She hoped desperately that he and the boys had gotten away— by now they must be close to Sky’s, even if they were being cautious.

All of them except for Twilight.

A deeper pang of worry shot through her as she thought of her other son, and she bit her lip.

Oh Twi, please be okay...

Malon sucked in a slow breath, and gave the girl a gentle smile. “My name is Malon,” she said, in an effort to keep herself distracted from her worries. Being anxious about her family wouldn't make them any safer. “How about you?”

“...Zelda,” the girl said quietly, then shrugged. “Or Zel. Or Zellie. Or Fable.”

“Fable?”

Her mouth quirked up. “I know another Zelda, we did nicknames to make it easier. Somehow that was just what got picked. It’s what I tend to go by, honestly.”

Malon smiled. “I know how that goes. I have two sons named Link, and more Links beside that rarely go by their names. Long story,” she added at Fable’s confused look.

Fable sighed and leaned against the wall. “Well, I’ve got time.”

“I was hoping to use mine to somehow get out of here,” Malon said with a glance around, and Fable closed her eyes.

“You’re welcome to try, but I’ve had no luck. I’ve gotten food once while I’ve been here, and they threatened to shock me if I tried anything with the door open. Not that I could with this,” she huffed, gesturing to the arm she had cradled to her chest.

Malon looked closer, and realized that the arm was swollen and bruised, the skin an unpleasant mix of purples and bluish-greens.

“Are you okay?” Malon asked worriedly, and Fable shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s just a broken arm. It got hurt in the fight before they arrested me, and nobody’s done anything for it,” she said in a pointed voice at the doorway.

The door stayed silent.

Malon frowned, and carefully stood and approached Fable, sitting down beside her. “...May I?”

Fable hesitated, then slowly held out her arm, the limb shaking a bit. Malon took it with a gentle hand, and studied it, feeling cautiously along the skin. Fable winced, but Malon made sure to be careful, and after a couple minutes, was fairly sure that the break was near the middle of her forearm.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s too bad,” Malon said, gently releasing her arm. “It’s swollen, so maybe that’s why, but I couldn’t feel the actual break. It’ll set easily if it is one, but we should probably figure out a way to get a sling for you.”

Fable wrinkled her eyebrows at Malon like she couldn’t quite figure her out, but she nodded. And she didn’t try to stop Malon when she pulled off the apron she still had on (she wondered briefly what had ever happened to the bacon she’d been cooking), and worked on tying it around into a suitable sling.

“So... what happened to you?” Fable asked after a minute of Malon fiddling with fabric. “If you don't mind me asking. You said you're a super, but you're not even in uniform. What did you do to get thrown in here?”

“Me? Oh me and my family have been doing a lot under ol’ Dark’s nose for a while now, and everything finally caught up to us,” Malon sighed, figuring a true explanation would take too long. Wind and Four alone would probably make Fable think she was crazy. “They came after us at home after we tried to help somebody. My family that was at the house made it away, but my one son was on duty... I don’t know where he is.”

Malon breathed out a sigh she told herself wasn’t shaky, and cleared her throat.

“How about you? What did a nice girl like you do to get arrested?”

Fable blinked, and looked down at Malon's attempts to secure the sling, not speaking for a moment.

“I fought back,” she said after a long minute of silence. “I just— I just hit my limit. I couldn’t take it anymore, what they’re doing, how they treat us...”

Fable’s voice wobbled.

“My... father died. And I know it wasn’t by natural causes, I found proof, but I couldn’t do anything with it. It was an official who’d had him killed, and I knew I had to keep acting like everything was fine like I didn’t know and I just... I snapped. It didn’t end well. Obviously.”

She swallowed thickly, and Malon, finished with the sling, gave her a gentle look.

“I’m sorry hon, that must’ve been awful,” Malon said softly, and Fable pulled her legs up to her chest.

“I've definitely had better days. At least I got to toss a few people into the harbor,” she murmured, then swallowed and looked away. “Do you... think your family is okay?”

“I hope so,” Malon replied softly. “Twi... Twilight— he’s my oldest— he’s tough, and his powers enhance his senses, so he should be okay. My youngest can turn invisible, and he has somewhere safe to go, and friends with him. I’m worried about them all, but... I trust their skills. I think they’ll be okay.” They'd better be okay.

I don't think I can lose anybody else.

Malon took a deep breath, and looked over at Fable, giving her a smile.

“And I’m not planning on sitting around here and waiting for them to rescue me,” she said firmly, and squeezed Fable’s shoulder. "Or see what sort of sentence or punishment either of us is going to get. I'm gonna to do my best to escape. You wanna work together and bust out of here?"

Fable looked at her in surprise, and hesitated, eyes scanning across her face.

Then her eyes hardened with determination.

“Yes. I don't want to stick around and see what they're going to do to us either. I'm in," she said with a deep breath, and Malon took her uninjured hand in hers, and shook it.

"In that case, we'd better get to work," she smiled, and Fable returned it. "What can you do, hon?"

And as Fable explained her powers, already looking less pale and defeated then she had when Malon had first been tossed in, Malon felt the hope that had started to dim in her heart flicker back to life.

[old-skyguy]

Look.

Ace Attorney fandom.

I know why people don't like Turnabout Bigtop. I am among the people who dislike Turnabout Bigtop.

But I GET why people like the case. I'm not going to be one of those annoying people who just blindly dump on it because I hate those mfs too.

Thing about Bigtop isn't that it sucks. Thing isn't the weird grooming stuff (though that is a huge part of it). It's not that it could've been good.

It's that - in my personal OPINION - it could have been *great*.

I think it had the potential to be one of the best third cases in the trilogy. It had everything; a fun and goofy setting fit for a pretty dang goofy lawyer game - where the environment itself had jokes and quips and one-liners and mishaps and tomfoolery written all over it, it had the previous case introducing a very interesting and important plotline that gave background for one of the more well-loved characters while also introducing an equally fucked up and lovable new one who was a child forced into a shit childhood of naivete in a CIRCUS with another character who was very naive and childish - whose interactions could have been funny and cute and reflective of said shit from the previous case (seriously she becomes such an important character in the 4th case, WHY would they not include her in this one for some character development? How did they fuck up letting a CHILD explore a CIRCUS?? That would have made the interactions flow MUCH better).

They had a pretty good, sympathetic killer imo, a morally dubious victim, an asshole of a client (who was pretty flat admittedly in-game, but I like his weird, topsy-turvy reasoning for it in the anime. Also, I think Max being kinda a dick would have bode well for the themes of Farewell since most of his clients up to this point have been like...nice? Not nice, but sympathetic, but him having to defend someone who's innocent but a prick would have shown him that just because someone is an asshole, doesn't mean they deserve to suffer for it and that they have the potential to grow as people, which is almost a complete foil to what Matt was. Ultimately, I would have loved the contrast of them as clients and I think it would have also served as character development for Phoenix, especially with his low-empathy tendencies).

They just didn't think that far ahead. They just didn't execute it well enough. They just decided to make three of the adult characters fight for the hand in marriage of a teenage girl. (Bat's part of the story was actually kinda good if he was just YOUNGER, I think him doing that for Regina would have been a stupid thing someone in the circus would do to impress their crush. Damn you Ace Attorney and your weird treatment of underage girls!!)

It just flopped and that's ok.

Even though it kinda sucked, it can still mean something to me.

Also I'm a Moe Curls apologist. I liked him, shut up.

[code31-onthedancefloor]

dont get me wrong while uli learning disco dancing and other horrifically outdated ways to pick up dates with harry is absolutely fucking hilarious i feel as if he would naturally gravitate towards kim more. not just because of the nilsen parallel but because he wants to be taken Seriously. and here is this very Serious (lonely) man who is Serious (repressed) about the way he loves and he drives a car despite being legally blind (stubborn) and has beaten the odds of survival time and time again (at the expense of others; which he feels as if he does not deserve). ulixes will learn Something from kim but it certainly won't be related to how to get steban to like him.

[greghatecrimes]

The fact that there's essentially two completely separate levels of character interactions in Last Resort drives me insane. House and Thirteen have an entire silent conversation going on during the last half of the episode with Thirteen looking to House each time she takes more medication and begging, "Save me. I'm falling. Please catch me."

And House responds to that with, "I'm here on the sidelines but the only one who can fully save you is you. I know you can do it and you know you want to."

[brown-little-robin]

the initial fight between Kageyama Shigeo and Hanazawa Teruki is. a bit more brutal in zombie au. there's no such thing as a barrier in this universe, but there Is such a thing as Mob setting his feet and refusing to be pushed. Also, Mob with very little sense of pain taking blows and simply... refusing to think too hard about the damage.

Teru, by the way, is a half-turned zombie. He survived the disease with his brain (mostly) functioning as normal, but with increased strength and speed and healing. (the healing comes in handy after meeting Mob.) (I say "mostly" because the disease is still putting a lot of stress on Teru's whole body, which puts his brain in kind of a constant state of alarm. boy is traumatized one-of-a-kind.)

oh, and I haven't talked about my interpretation of ???% as zombie yet, have I? Yeah okay so ???% is your standard mp100 representation of everything Mob represses and also his most extreme state of fight-or-flight. He/it is a physical state of Kageyama Shigeo's brain and body in which all of his physical systems, including and aided by the disease colony living in him, are activated to protect his body and make sure he can survive what he's going through.

Practically speaking, that means that ???% survives un-survivable injuries. In that state of being, Shigeo heals from things his body doesn't really have the resources to heal from ordinarily. Yes, this is contradictory and not humanly possible. Something something it's because of the disease colony synchronizing with its host to an unprecedented degree... something something Mob would win every fight but when he fights he's already losing...

Anyway, so Teru strangles Mob into unconsciousness and then ???% physically grabs Teru by the leg and flings him above cloud level.

[stergeon]

> FERDINAND II.

And so your PLANT shall henceforth be known as FERDINAND II.

The thought of needing to inform FERDINAND I of his having a namesake makes you a bit ill, but you are already hard at work devising several plausible excuses for the gesture. Something about how you've named it after the one most invested in its naming, or how it is similarly prone to drooling. Yes. Yes, you will be able to deflect quite easily, should the need arise. It has nothing to do with your fondness for FERDINAND or your desire for a substitute in his imminent absence, no—again, you are not so prone to sentimentality. It's about the drool.

Well, anyway. Best to move on with your day and think about something else, lest you grow maudlin or cultivate further affection for the PLANT. May the GODDESS be merciful and never cause you to develop inclinations that could be described as paternal.

Now that your plant has received sufficient care, it is time for COFFEE. You set to making your morning brew. By CHANCE, there happens to be sufficient water remaining in the kettle for FERDINAND I to have TEA, should he wish it.

Per your TIMEPIECE, it is now a quarter to eight. You have made excellent progress on your PRE-BREAKFAST TO-DO LIST thus far: the only remaining task is to remove FERDINAND. You are starting to get rather peckish and would like to be rid of him quickly, but over the past week, you have found that extracting the man from YOUR QUARTERS is a more arduous task than it ought to be.

#007 | << | <- | -> | JOURNAL | HOW TO PLAY | ALL POSTS

[depressedtheatrekiddo]

Steddie kinda famous AU(?) | Genderfluid Stevie <3 | Eddie is a rat man and I laugh at him (I would probably be like that if I was Steve Harrington husband but that's not about me) | Live laugh love Stevie | Pushing the history teacher Steve agenda because he's a variant of Hob Gadling >:D

[I'm sorry if it has errors it's been a while since I had written something in English (it's not my first language) so whatever mistake I have feel free to tell me and I'll edit <3]

. ° — ° — 🌟 — ° — ° .

Corroded Coffin seemed to be popular, things were getting better for them, they still had to do part time job because of that 'what if?' but things were going well. Definitely.

In an interview they asked about a song, the meaning. And the shit man Eddie Munson is, he answered with a grin on his face "That's about Stevie, as most of them".

And the fans went crazy, trying to find someone with that name in the Corroded Coffin set or working at some usual bar they played at.

"They is a history teacher" Eddie Munson told the world in another interview "and we are married" he showed the camera a ring he had next to his guitar pick on his neck, he had the biggest smirk on his face.

Then Corroded Coffin were guests of a fundraising gala, they were asked to play at it to attract more people. It was a fancy gala tho, everyone was in their bests dresses and all.

"This one's for my beautiful angel there, who looks as gorgeous as always" And Eddie winked at a special balcony of the vip guests.

Most of the public saw Eddie laughing softly, but they didn't know why. In that balcony a lovely brunette in a marion blue dress gave the guitarist and second voice of Corroded Coffin the middle finger as he had a stupid lovely gaze on their face while she blushed a little.

"Yeah love ya too sweetie" Eddie chuckled before starting with the show.

Later at the gala people saw Eddie Munson next to the tall brunette in that marion dress.

"So are you Eddie's girlfriend?" An interviewer asked, he looked at Stevie with those eyes Eddie didn't like.

But Eddie laughed as he waited for Steve's answer, that was going to be good as hell, they had the bitchy face on.

"Not a girl" Steve smirked "And definitely not his girlfriend, nor boyfriend, nor partner" She looked down at the man, who seemed so little compared to them "He's my husband"

"I am" Eddie smiled so stupidly in love as he looked up at Stevie, who usually wasn't that tall but with the black heels they was wearing today the difference was more than usual.

"Uh— Yeah" The interviewer looked at different places to get outta there

"You got any problem with that sir?"

"N-no it's perfectly fine ma'am— I mean sir— I mean—"

Steve snorted "Come on darling, let's go somewhere else without this kind of people"

And where Stevie went Eddie followed

The amount of edits with the song 'walk em like a dog' after that gala were more than years the Earth has.

"Teddy, look, another one" Steve chuckled as she showed Eddie his phone.

"Stop with that, you menace" Eddie laid down on the couch, next to his significant other, trying to take their phone away playfully.

"Erica is going to bully you so bad" Stevie giggled.

"And Red too" Eddie sighed "Jesus Christ, Stevie I am like that always?"

"It's cute"

"I hate you" Eddie muttered as Steve put on the baseball match of today.

"Love you too sunshine" She smiled softly as they started playing with Eddie's hair.