#got some tags that made good points but were not fitting for this post. which was fine. but then someone reblogged with a screenshot of them

[mandorinart]

sonic IDW 61 spoilers in the tags

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

I didn't want to update this post, but I'm doing it anyway, and it's long. Be glad I'm putting a "Keep Reading".

The point of this post isn't that your local fascist can be anyone. The point of this post is that y'all can't recognize dangerously bigoted rhetoric for love or money. The point is that the people who have been raised to know when things are getting dangerous have been sounding the alarm bells for... I don't even know how long. I heard the first alarms in 2018 with Marjorie Taylor Greene's antisemitic dogwhistle-filled Facebook post about space lasers causing wildfires, and people have only gotten more vocal about what they've been seeing since then. We have been getting very loud, and a lotta y'all haven't been listening or have been falling headfirst into the rhetoric yourselves - your bigotry isn't righteous just because you believe in universal healthcare or whatever.

You can read all you want about Hitler's rise to power, or Mussolini, or any other of the I-don't-even-know-how-many authoritarian regimes, but that doesn't do jack shit unless you understand the rhetoric and when it goes from off color remarks to blaming a country's problems on groups of people. Bigotry is baked into the fucking foundations, and a lotta y'all know it but can't recognize it.

The point isn't that the sweet old lady who runs the community center can also be a rabid bigot and still be a bastion of goodness in the community, it's that some of us have been taught that it doesn't matter what that sweet old lady does once she mentions offhandedly how she wishes conversion therapy wasn't so looked down on anymore, or how the Jews have all the money, or how killing disabled people isn't a bad thing because they don't contribute to society. But no one listens when we point out that, with those beliefs unmasked even once, her being in charge of the community center is dangerous. Does that make sense? It doesn't matter who's saying what or whether you agree with them on other things or how nice they are if they say something like that and you know what they mean.

And a lot of us have been saying just that. Yet, now that the worst is happening, all the people who wanted to write us off are posting their revelations as if all of us thought Nazis and other rabid bigots were a mythical big-bad instead of the people who murdered our families and would gladly shoot us dead right along with them.

“I never understood how the Nazis rose to power until this year-“ don’t say that like we’re all in that position. Some of us have always known how it happened because we never had the luxury to not understand

[crystallizsch]

jhgnngggn i’m back to thinking about post-nrc yuusha and jamil--- extremely long ramble below prepare for uh angst??? i guess???

i buried some of these lore in the tags somewhere but anyways-

yuusha and jamil exchanged hair ties when they separated and went off on their own post-nrc as a way to "remember each other by".

they both have different plans for their own futures despite wanting to be "together"— whatever that means. yuusha stayed at nrc working as staff and jamil is out travelling.

at this point though they STILL never officially “dated” but oh they were so so close SO many times to putting a label on it.

“what happened then” <- idk man they’re incredibly stupid. yuusha is still horribly noncommittal and jamil is- jamil. (“…the hell does that mean” <- SHHHH i will not elaborate)

they ended as just "really good friends" (something something on they’re on the spectrum of queerplatonic but they didn’t understand that that was the case) .

━━━━━━✦

at first they did well keeping in touch from a long distance—

yuusha never forgets to check in on jamil, texting/calling whenever possible, she was always the first to initiate.

and jamil still would’ve made the same effort of course, but yuusha always beats him to it. he sort of just expected her check-ins every day.

and he looks forward to that 1-15 notifications that he gets as soon as he wakes up. it does get him going knowing that she was specifically thinking of him at the start of the day.

that wouldn't last though. eventually, the more yuusha met more people and cultivated new relationships, the more she felt herself grow further and further apart from jamil.

yuusha thrives on physical relationships and the majority of the time the only communication and contact between her and jamil is through the phone.

and so the messages from her became less and less frequent as yuusha got more absorbed and interested in her work and other relationships.

don't get it wrong, she still cared about jamil. loved him even, in her own way.

he just became less of a priority.

━━━━━━✦

it was bittersweet to think that jamil finally had the chance to initiate the conversation.

because that meant yuusha had been thinking of him less and he had to remind her himself that— hey he's still there, remember him?— although that's not exactly what he would say. that's a bit too antagonistic and petty. surely, she's just busy. right?

yuusha would respond as if everything was normal. but the usual fondness, the usual warmth, they weren't there. her words through the screen felt dry. forced.

she can use the unnecessary punctuations and emojis she wants but she is not getting past him.

they called. it was nice to hear her voice. but. there's the same feeling of detachment. why are they talking as if this was one of their first times?

yuu, what happened?— is what jamil wanted to ask. but he would also respond nonchalantly. as if everything was normal.

jamil still tried to reach out to her. similar to how she did with him.

but it was to no avail.

their interactions felt too far gone from what they had.

eventually jamil also realized that there was No Point.

if she wasn’t going to make the effort anymore, why should he?

━━━━━━✦

professor yuusha tala walks in to her class which her signature braid and feathered hair tie.

it's lovely having gotten used to working at nrc. her students are surprisingly behaved and she enjoys teasing chatting with her coworkers. surely she isn't missing anything, is she?

and the traveler, jamil viper. he's seen most of the sights, experienced a lot of things. it's like he is slowly fulfilling his childhood dreams.

he ties his hair with the same one he's been using for years. it's a surprise it hasn't snapped yet from how worn out it looks. this really belonged to someone so cheap, huh.

he wonders why he's still using it. he had come across fitting souvenirs that could replace it.

waste of money— jamil convinces himself. besides, this hair tie is fit for every occasion and it's still holding up anyway.

he'll just get a new one when this one finally bites the dust.

if it ever does.

it's really stubborn for a hair tie.

[annabelle--cane]

it's fascinating to me the way that different social media platforms result in different types of fandom behavior. while s5 of tma was airing, I spent a good amount of time on tma tiktok (I log back in about once every two months now, going back to in-person school after a year a half of lockdown seem to re-blanace my brain and made me once again not really enjoy the format) while still using tumblr as my main socmed, and while there was a lot of overlap in the fan culture, some things were notably different.

tumblr tma fans had near-encyclopedic knowledge of the source material, but it was kind of an ongoing joke for tiktok tma fans that everyone binged the whole show in a week-long fugue state and lost memory of about 35% of it. tumblr has virtually no character limit and allows posts to be passed around by users indefinitely, which lends itself to fairly in-depth meta analysis being made and shared until most any fan could say "the time and space discrepancies at hill top road? psh yeah, I know all about them, I've read seven scrupulously cited posts that lay out all the details." for the entire time that s5 was airing, tiktok videos could still only be a minute long, and I know from a lot of personal effort that there's only so much you can fit into a one minute script that you also have to memorize and record (and cc manually with tiktok text stickers, as they didn't add the caption feature until april 2021) if you want the process to take less than four hours of your one mortal human life. and then you only see the video if your following or fyp algorithm shows it to you. there were a few tma meta-ish videos that got popular because other people would make their own videos referencing them and tag the account so their followers could see what they were talking about, but it's much harder to circulate content you like there. several times I saw people post videos saying "I got into cosplay to film some [agnes or annabelle or gerry or another secondary character] and I just realized I have no idea what their deal actually is 💀".

a thing that tiktok tma fandom was definitely better at than tumblr tma fandom was accurately remembering certain pieces of characterization and the flow of certain scenes. I've seen a bunch of posts on here where someone is trying to argue a point with excerpts from the text ("x character is nicer than you all give them credit for" "x character is so mean to y character in this scene" "z theory can't be true because y character said a line that disproves it") where the argument only holds up because the poster has gotten these excerpts from a transcript dive and hasn't listened to the episodes they're from recently, because while the text alone can be construed to mean one thing, the way it's delivered on-podcast clearly intends another. tiktok, being an audio and video based medium, allows audio clips to be shared around a lot, and cosplayers would often all make videos acting along to the same show clips of juicy interpersonal drama, and so tiktok fans, though they may have had less overall memory of what characters said, always had a better grasp on how they said it. an average tiktok tma fan might not have remembered melanie's subplot about war ghosts, but they would know the nuances of how the way she talks to jon changes between mag 28 and mag 155.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Tea for Two

Amelia Shepherd x g!nreader* Warnings: some explicit language, just hella fluff, seriously so much fluff, mentions of hospitalization (duh) Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: You go to Grey-Sloan Memorial once a week to hang out with the kids on the pediatrics floor, but more and more you find yourself going there for one particular doctor: Amelia Shepherd. But can you work up the courage to make a move? And if you can, will she reciprocate?

*Reader & Gender. Gender is a slippery, tricky thing. I feel like I kind of straddle the line between being a girl and being nonbinary, so my x reader perspectives will shift depending on which I'm feeling more that day. But please feel free to insert whatever pronouns/gender identity fit you best! I try to keep descriptions of the reader to a minimum so you can see yourself in them regardless. <3

You checked in at the front desk of Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital and pressed your guest-pass name tag onto your shirt. You had your instrument case on your back, and several familiar nurses waved at you as you made your way to the elevator and up to the pediatrics floor. You were there for your weekly music hour with the kids. It had started last summer, when your brother had open heart surgery and spent a month of the pediatrics floor. You'd often brought your instrument to play and sing his favorite songs for him and, more often than not, other kids on the floor would crowd his room and request songs and sing with you.

By the time your brother had gone home with a clean bill of health, you'd gotten attached to the kids, to the nurses who wheeled patients into the rooms you played in. You went home with song requests and learned how to play Encanto and the Bluey theme song and Simon & Garfunkel for them. It had quickly become one of your favorite parts of the week.

And not just because of the kids. Of course, there were always doctors around, but most of the time there was one particular doctor around, and you both loved and hated it.

"Dr. Shepherd," she'd told you, on the third or fourth post-concert elevator ride which, for whatever reason, you almost always ended up on together. "Or, well, Amelia. I'm not your doctor."

"Y/N," you'd replied, shaking her hand like an idiot businessman. God, she was pretty. You hoped you didn't look as flustered as you were.

"Are you on Spotify?" she asked.

You laughed loudly, eyes crinkling shut. "No! No, it's just for fun."

"Well, you're really good at it," Amelia finished, as the elevator opened on the floor before yours.

"Thanks," you said, trying your very hardest to make eye contact.

"See you next week?"

"Yep," you nodded.

"Cool." She gave you a double thumbs-up and walked out the elevator doors.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, turning back to hold the door open. She pointed at you. "Pronouns? Mine are she/her."

A bright smile flashed across your face. "They/them. Thanks for asking."

"You got it." Another thumbs up, and she was gone. You sighed. Pretty and asked about your pronouns? It was gonna be really hard to convince yourself you didn't like her now.

Amelia was there next week. And the next. And the next. Always in the back. Always in the elevator with you afterward. And you just talked. Never for more than a few minutes. But those few minutes added up after a while. You learned that she was Chief of Neurosurgery. That she'd grown up in New York. That she lived with her sisters and her nieces and nephew. That she loved boba tea and cats.

One day, in a moment of reckless confidence, you stopped at Seattle Best Tea on your way to Grey-Sloan and picked up two boba teas, one for you and one for Amelia. As soon as you stepped through the doors of the hospital, you knew it was a mistake. Fuck, you thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Friends don't bring boba tea. Especially elevator friends.

But then, of course, you had to give it to her. Because otherwise it'd look like you brought two bobas for yourself, and that was even weirder.

She was already in her corner of the pediatrics lobby when you walked in. Trying to act casual, you approached her and held on the tea.

"Hey," you said. "Do you, uh... do you want this?"

She looked at you, surprised, and took the cup. "You brought me boba?"

"No." You shook your head and shrugged. "I had an... extra?" It was a stupid excuse. You knew it the moment it left your mouth.

A smile crept at the corner of Amelia's lips, and she raised her eyebrows at you. "You had an extra milk tea?"

"No," you admitted, flushing slightly and running a hand self-consciously through your hair. "It's for you." You felt like you were digging your own grave.

"Well, gotta get up there," you said quickly. You avoided her eyes and headed quickly toward the little stool they'd set up for you at the front of the room.

You'd never been so distracted during a set, especially with the Grey-Sloan kids, who usually took up all your attention. At first you tried very hard to not look anywhere near Amelia, but then you thought that might be more suspicious, so you just tried to look in her general direction.

As you packed up your instrument, your heart pounded. You knew, you just knew, she was going to be on that elevator and that she knew. Your damn little boba gesture had almost certainly given you away. And she was going to say, Sorry, I'm not into women. Or kind-of-women-kind-of-not, which is where you usually landed. Even worse, she might say, Sorry, I'm not into you. Or the very worst of all, she wouldn't even be in the elevator, and your time at Grey-Sloan would be unbearably awkward from here on out.

Your heart sank as you got onto the elevator and Amelia was nowhere to be seen. You puffed out your cheeks and exhaled. You'd fucked up. You were glad the elevator was empty this time because you were sure the disappointment showed on. your face. You were not good at hiding your emotions, and you'd prefer to be left alone with this one.

The doors had almost creaked shut when a hand shot out to stop them. An out-of-breath Amelia stepped in, smiling, and leaned against the wall.

"Wow," she breathed. "Almost missed you."

You shuffled your feet and tried to act normal, even though your heart was in your throat.

"Thanks for the tea," she said, nudging your shoulder.

"Yeah!" you replied, probably a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, no prob."

"So... do you buy boba for all the girls or just me?"

You felt blood rush to your cheeks. "Uh..."

"Because I really hope it's just me."

You glanced at her in surprise and found her grinning at you, a little embarrassed, a little self-satisfied.

"Really?" you asked, not quite believing what you'd heard.

The elevator door opened on Amelia's floor, and she slipped a business card into your hand, her fingers lightly grazing yours. It felt like a bolt of electricity shooting through you.

"Call me and you can buy me dinner, too," she said, before stepping off the elevator, giving you a little salute as the door closed.

You looked at the card in your hand. On the front: all the usual business information. Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital. Amelia Shepherd, M.D. Chief of Neurosurgery. On the the back: a phone number, scrawled in messy doctor's hand, with a little heart beside it.

Your heart swelled and you couldn't help but smile, bouncing on the balls of your feet. It worked! The boba worked! Seattle Best Tea didn't know it yet, but they'd just made you a regular for life.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Tell Me

Past =-= Next

Author's note: Karlsor's next part in Husbandry

Summary: Since he's Chaos Aligned (he'd like to argue that's grox-shit) and Not Very Chaos Twisted/mutated, he gets the dubious pleasure of being in Public Relations. (Since when do they have/need Public relations?!) Karlsor would like a refund. This is a shitty duty shift and he hates it a lot.

Warnings: Swearing. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

After following after the totally-not-scary Death Guard Apothecary Hura, and getting more explanations from his fellow Night Lords about Everything. And how Hura wasn't blowing smoke up his ass, that they really are on Ancient Terra, the information starts to sink in.

Much to his dismay, he has to be checked over by an Apothecary, and isn't it oh so convenient that Hura is right there to assess his health and what he might need. He begrudgingly allows the smug fucker to tend to him. He's given a relatively clean bill of health, which is fan-fucking-tastic.

He's sent off to the training salles to see what he's good at and other sorts of boring as testing to see where he'd fit in with the others on base for duty shifts and what not. New Postings, especially ones where your file isn't there for the Command to read, or has your current Command with you is such a pain in the fucking ass.

Some of these Chaos Fuckers are really fucking ugly to look at. And sometimes staring at some of the truly twisted one's hurts is brain, and he does his best not to look at them too much. To his greatest displeasure, he's supposedly going to be one of the more "front facing" of the Chaos Astartes in this base.

When he demanded why he had to do such an Ultramarine Fucker Job, it was said that since he lacked Chaos Mutations, among other things. He pointed out sourly that he's a fucking Night Lord and he's not an Officer, nor does he particularly care about being nicey-nice. He's not trained for it and he doesn't want to do such a shitty as job.

He Challenges the fuckers and loses. So, he has to do the shitty ass grox-shit ultramarine job of "public relations". Throne above! It makes his skin break out into hives as he scowls and stomps after the other poor bastards that were suckered into this job. He doesn't care to listen to what the Ultramarines, and other uppity fuckers say about some thing or other.

God, he hates briefing meetings. They drone on, and on, and on. Or they got interesting when Father went bug-fuck nuts and started killing people. Or one of the High Raptor Lords got stabby and then everyone was every man for themselves and trying Not To Die from The Command going bug-fuck nuts.

He rubs his face and groans a little. He's got the Curse of the Eighth quite strongly. Psyker... and trained at that. With wretched Future Sight which only ever showed him the most miserable and fucked up shit that made sleeping so hard. The Ultramarines are droning on and on and fucking on. He didn't mean to close his eyes, but he had, he's listening, but the power point presentation with the bright fucking lights is hurting his dark-adapted eyes something fierce.

He's got a fucking migraine that makes light feel like poisons and acid that drip into his eyes and across his skin. Sinking in like fire burning a corpse. He punches the asshole that jabs his side as he hisses at his fellow 'chaos' astartes that he's not asleep, he's listening to the fucker talk about some-random-grox shit that he doesn't particularly care about.

If it was truly important his Sight would be screeching at him about the danger levels. He does like that his Sight has gone mostly quiet and still. He's been able to sleep a lot better... sort of. He doesn't trust any of the fuckers in the base worth a damn, but even with how limited sleep an Astartes need, they do still need sleep.

He'd never thought he'd have to do public relations because 1) He's a fucking Night Lord. 2) He's 'pretty'. Which makes him cackle. No, he's no Blood Angel or Emperor's child. He's a survivor of Nostramo, and he's got the looks to prove it. Sickly pale skin, night dark eyes, and greasy-looking black hair that he keeps short. Also, he's got scars from previous battles that go all over his body. A few on his face, scratching up his features to make him even scarier to most base lines.

And yet, despite all that and the fact that he's a trained Psyker of the Eighth legion (which means, he knows that they think he's bug-fuck nuts) he's to be one of the front facing dip shits because he needs less warp fuckery to make it so he's more Normal and Shinier compared to others in the base... Given what he's seen of them, he can't argue as much after he sees just how twisted or 'blessed' some of those nightmare-inducing shit heads are. He still tries to argue and bitch his way out of the shit duty shift. Not that the fuckers listen to him.

He remembers hearing of one of his fellow fuckers in the Eighth legion being tortured by getting stuck in a room with bright lights constantly. For days. Throne, that sounds like a really shitty way to torture someone, especially since it didn’t cause any, or much suffering for anyone else. His hands clench into fists and then he relaxes them a bit. He wishes he could put his helmet back on as that would help filter out the light. But nooo he had to show ‘trust’ or whatever fucking grox shit the others had said… Also because he was one of the few ass holes in the Chaos Base that could take of his helmet… and all of his armor.

He wonders what sort of fucked up shit happened that being fused to ones armor did. Sounded… Horrifying, yet also comforting? Armor is a part of you. It protects the squishy bits and is almost like a second skin. He cracks open one of his eyes a sliver and notices when some base line humans show up and start chittering at them and he mentally groans about how this meeting keeps continuing on until fucking eternity. The human pauses as the Ultramarine translate what they says. Fucking perfect, until the little human stops their speech, which is going to make this at least twice as long because translation makes things so much fucking slower.

One of the other humans approaches him, which has him turn and squint down at them, and give a razor sharp grin filled with teeth as he flexes his hands. The talk at him in that same language the other human was speaking and had slowly pulled out something in a box. Which has him growling a little at them. They freeze in their movements and the eyes of all of his cousins are on him as the human unfreezes with an insulting swiftness as they open the box and he sees astartes sized strange looking google things. They were tinted, they gestured at them and then up at him.

He scowls at the room and back down at the human, slowly grabbing the goggles he puts them on and tries not to collapse into a pile of relief. Almost wanting to cry at how much better he feels now that the dreaded, hateful, cruel light is now mostly blocked because of these tinted goggles. Humans calls it “Sun Goggles.”

“Thank you,” He says to them, he means it to. He is not going to give these back and will kill someone to keep them. Multiple even.

[tartrat]

Sara in the 1989 yellow blue combo.

First time drawing one of the main characters, and honestly this one just suited Sara. She sorta fits 1989 the more that i think about it. Also the shoes were probably mismatched at the show but it was easier for me to do both blue.

At some point she started looking like Hatsune Miku. It was a combination of the blue hair and magenta hair baubles. Also thanks for the help with the eye colour. I was thinking between blue and yellow for some reason. I was slightly against blue because of her hair and thought that it would clash. I was using her classic avatar as reference, which made her eye colour look black. i never notice the eye colour on the coaches unless they are right up at the camera (eg end of Darkest Hour beginning of Witch) mainly because of how far away the screen is when i'm playing. Other wise i choose eye colour based on theme, for Agent D and Mothigan i used their primary colours and Talia i gave blue eyes since she's based off of Taylor Swift.

One thing i've learnt from drawing the coaches is to include the black eyeliner that they all wear. Since it helps them to look normal, it makes drawing their eyes look normal. Normally i actually use a darker, almost black colour of blue or magenta. Probably why i was used to seeing their full faces when 2023 came out as they didn't look uncanny like the price tag coach.

As i mentioned in the last post this is the only other coach/actual human being that i could think of putting in an era's tour outfit. Mainly because of the colour scheme. Like kapyy in the midnight's bodysuit was because the idea popped into my head and i thought it was horrible so i just had to do it, it honestly suited him. Originally i was thinking of doing Talia in the Lover Body suit but then i didn't want to think about the rhinestones because i hated that whilst doing the midnights bodysuit, so because the Rep bodysuit is just infamous at this point i did that instead. And then here the Blue and yellow just suit Sara, its also kinda similar to her actual outfit.

Heres an in progress pic. Someone get her some brown contacts.

Of course there's the matter of where she got this outfit.

Bonus (ft. My Kappy Talia twins headcanon. Talia is going to recreate Fort Knox but for a wardrobe of clothes she doesn't remember buying):

I bought a storage trolley with a table top cover that is in the right place for me to use the camera scoring feature in a more comfortable place. I also preordered jd2025. I'm sorta in a good mood today for some reason. Sad that the basket case early access ends tomorrow, indifferent to Calabria 2007 (its fun but its not basket case).

[dromithecat]

Yeah it's here!!!! My masterpiece!!! I'm so proud of this, I could actually shed a tear *snif*

So, a couple pointers:

1- Thank you for your patience, this actually took way longer than I expected and the fact that I got suddenly swamped with work did *not* help-but it's here now!! Hope you like it :D

2- If you remember the original piece I posted (the sketch) you'll notice quite the differences here and there. Can you spot them all?

3- One of the reasons this took so long is that the candies were supposed to be all generic when I suddenly remembered there were canonically halloween arcana candies I simply could *not* exclude and keep my self respect. Or the five years of my life I'll never get back from having to edit them in. *Sigh*

4-The costumes are based on the Arcana Halloween Charms. All you Lucio stans I hope you can understand that I simply couldn't in good conscience give kid Lucio the original outfit that his adult counterpart wore. His new outfit is based in his Devil-sona from Muriel's route, hope it suffices.

5- For a moment I was a little bummed about how accidentally overproduced Nadia's pumpkin was but honestly that's such a Nadia thing to happen that I can't help feeling that it fits perfectly.

6- This was very fun to make but I also kinda felt like my soul had been given in sacrifice to the digital art Gods. I'm freeeeeeeee

7-If anyone wants to repost remember to credit/tag me!!! Also if you want to edit your own Mc too just dm and i can give you the clear version with room for them.

All in all, this was fun!!! See ya around fellas ;)

Edit: Some stuff I forgot to mention:

8: there's a hidden devil's chocolate in Nadia's pumpkin as a reference to her reversed ending (give those players a reference. Players love 'em references. I know cause I'm a player)

9: Lucio's pumpkin is the only one that isn't super loyal to the original, that's bc at first I drew them all from scratch before learning how to properly reproduce them. I was planning on changing it too but I realized that I accidentally made it look like the ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °) emoji which i personally find hilarious so I kept it.

10: Julian was suppossed to have a pumpkin like the rest but I thought "Julian is totally that drama queen club kid that is COMITTED to the aesthetic and would totally use a bag instead of a bucket since that's what a pirate would use...completely disregarding the fact that they tear easily and lose like half his candy on the way home" (don't worry, Portia made sure to point it out and they Hanzel and Gretel'd their way back to rescuing his pirate loot)

11-Asra got Muriel his costume since he didn't want to come wear one at first

12- Asra's bucket has licorice that both resemble's faust and his parent's snakes. He also got him bread from the baker (everyone else had 2 themed candies and I felt bad for Muriel who only got one)

13- Both Julian and Portia get Mazelinka taffies

14- Mc's bucket has all 6 themed candies that directly reference the love interests- yaaayyy references son

[umbrasnow]

In Headlights

In which a routine stop at a roadstop spacestation goes horribly awry, and things best left in the dark step back into light. • Event fic featuring @broken-lovestreak 's Zero!! This beast is. 9.5k, it got just a little bit away from me while writing. I've posted it to Ao3 too for easier reading if you want !!

CWs for: Attempted kidnapping, Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death(s), Mutilation, Paralysis, and some truly excessive amounts of blood o7 I'll tag further if I figure out any more that apply ᓚᘏᗢ

Thus far, the way was open. 

Another spaceport opened out before them, as Khione stepped out of the disappointing commissary and left its questionable sandwiches behind. A brief glance around confirmed; no particular attention paid to them by the present security, and no more attention on them from the swirling masses than the customary awed second-glances. Good. It made their lives easier when they were just another amidst the crowd; albeit far better dressed than the rabble. It was a point of pride, to never step out looking any less than one's best. Besides, it was rather nice to look a matched set with their dear travelling companion. The heavy coat he wore was a common touch for him, but inspired nonetheless, pale fur accentuating the blue tone of his skin. An aesthetically pleasant contrast. As always, he knew what he was doing.

The cold glitter of pupilless eyes swept across their surroundings at the thought of him, checking once again for anything amiss, anything that spoke to a danger they couldn’t quite convince themself wouldn’t be there. They… Khione trusted Zero. It was an alien experience to trust, but if they were to attribute that rare bond to anyone, it would be him. If he said that the bounty they had discovered was nothing to worry about? Then, despite their knowing that he was lying, they would not worry about it. Or- at the very least, they would have the decency to be subtle about it. It wasn’t particularly hard to divert attention from their tension, regardless. As he stepped out alongside them and the two made their way out across the floor, the chatter started up again; it was nice. Part of how they fit together so well lay in how Zero could quite happily fill their silence with friendly banter, a back and forth that only occasionally demanded that words from their own lips join the crowded hum. They liked that. Speaking aloud was oft more discomfort than it was worth, to their treacherous throat. There were ways around that problem yes but… they didn’t like it. They didn’t like the quality their voice took on, when they fell to the register they used on coms. It was nicer, to speak infrequently and quiet, and let him fill the air they didn’t. It was nice to listen to him.

Oh, but they were getting distracted. Another darting scan of their surroundings, before their gaze alighted once more on their dear travelling companion, a few inches down from eye level. What was it, he was speaking of again-

Ra below, right. The two had been discussing the recently discovered fanfictions again, had they not? Khione could hardly be expected to suppress the eye-roll that rose to their features at the subject, memories of the truly god-awful characterisation of both him and the prominently-featured Booker playing out in their mind, a gently indignant sigh brushing past their lips. Well, at least this has become something more akin to amusement now. Another glance about the surrounded crowds, as the thought rolled idly around their head. Neither of them bore discomfort with a particular grace, preferring to confine that particular emotion to dark recesses where it could not easily be seen. But they knew him. The first fiction had taken him off guard, to some degree. It did them good, to see him laugh about it now. 

Though perhaps, they could have taken or left the rambling twist their conversation took as their journey through the commerce floor pressed on. Khione was not prone to expressions of embarrassment, but they felt how their face grew warm as the discussion of awful live-readings and enough wine to soldier through the process bled into a reminiscing over the past few weeks, over the visit they’d paid to a certain darling mechanic. Pleasant company, Vissily made. Awfully strong spirits, though. Stronger perhaps, than they’d been expecting. There was a distinctly hazy spot in their memory in the direct aftermath of some of that moonshine.

Another sweep of the surrounding crowds. Nothing more interesting than a handful of shouting drunkards cheering along to some good news or another, a successful sporting event of some kind. Nothing unusual. So why was there a chill crawling through their spine…

No. Clear it out of their mind, like so much snow on a doorstep. It was likely paranoia, after recent events; they were hardly immune to overcaution, a fact they were all too familiar with. Especially when it came to the safety of the man before them, smiling ear to ear as he gently ribbed them over their state of inebriation during the aforementioned housecall. Zero was awful, anyone would tell you that. Rakish, even. A man so fond of trouble they had never met, before or since he was placed into their life by the whims of fate. And he was their friend. The only friend they had ever been able to stomach. They would not see him hurt, by something out of his control. Not if they could help it. 

Zero hardly needed their concern; he could fend for himself, as he was leagues beyond competent. But, still. It was a kind of comfort, to know they had his back. Regardless of necessity. 

They did rather wish they could move on from discussing the drunk waltz they had wound up leading him through while under the influence though. One lapse in judgement, and it was all anyone could seemingly talk about, honestly. It was most undignified to pout. They did so, regardless- just for a few moments. An indulgence of a kind. They didn’t really mind, not quite that much. But it was something akin to fun, to play along with him. With the weight of concern draped over their shoulders? It was nice. He made them smile, often when they didn’t much feel like it. Indignity chafed less, when in his company. 

… The chill remained, though. Lodged in their spine, a few vertebrae from the small of their back. Cold, glittering eyes darted around the crowds once more, again finding nothing, but when they returned to their companion they could see that he had felt it too. Not in any faltering of his quick tongue, no frown creased his brow, no such overt signs. The both of them knew better than to spell out their realisation. It was more akin to a tension around the eyes, how his shoulders flexed beneath the bulk of his coat, gaze flickering back to where theirs had been a moment before. Searching. 

It was no figment of their imagination, then. Something was amiss.

The haze of the noise and crowd snapped into a chill clarity as suspicion became certainty, as they observed his expression from the corner of their eye. No change, as his attention flicked back to them- he hadn’t been able to identify whatever tail they’d picked up, either. Not ideal. Professionals then. The kind that would notice should their necks begin to crane, and their surveillance of their surroundings became more obvious. Quietly, it would have to be. No need for discussion, regarding the way forward; they had done this countless times before, and would do so countless times after. A meeting of eyes, a glance toward where the crowds grew thin, back into the swirling mass of bodies that occupied the commerce floor; that was enough to lay their thoughts bare to him. They turned by a fraction toward the stores lining the extremities of the open-skied corridor, allowing the distance between their duo to grow, slowly. Organically. It would have been near impossible to distinguish this from a natural parting of ways, common when two went shopping together. 

A terse countdown was ticking in their head, as they watched him grow smaller in the fabriglass of a shop window. Not too soon. Give the tails time to put them out of mind, before beginning the hunt in earnest. 

The considerations behind division tactics were simple, but sound. Only a few weeks prior, Khione had made the discovery that weighed on their mind, while searching for further work; an active bounty, attached to Zero’s face. Another name, but- from the initial posting date, it had originated a lifetime ago. What had worried them was less the strange information, rather the status. Still active. 

Still a target. 

Their tail was on him. It was obvious. Unfortunate for those who would seek a prize of blood, he was far from alone amidst the cold stars these days; Faux ceramic plates crushed themselves into a fist as slowly, Khione took a breath, held, and released it. No harm would come to him, from an unwelcome past. Not while they stood. Not that he needed their protection, but… was that not what it meant, for someone to be important to you? That you would protect them? Bare teeth on their behalf?

Certainly, to them. 

Enough musing, enough waiting. It was time to get to work.

Zero walked ahead as though not a care weighed upon him, the heavy fur coat wrapped around his shoulders and tail arcing behind making him easy enough to pick out in the crowd; a useful trait, for their purposes. The possibility they would lose him amidst the crush of people was not so heavy a concern, when he was so identifiable even amidst hundreds. Keep the distance thin. Should things go wrong, they had to be able to reach him. His lilting gait turned on his hoof, shaping his path toward a backstreet that tapered off from the wide open space, somewhere the hum of people would dim as crowds dispersed. It would be easier to find who didn’t fit, with the pool of suspects narrowed. Another glance around. Another failure. 

Frustration was starting to burn in the small of their throat, another slow breath taken and released. Patience. It was not a matter of if they would locate the insufferable source of the chill through their spine, but when. Had they not proven themself an effective hunter, time and time again? Their quarry would be revealed in time. Follow. Watch. Have his back. 

The crowds began to thin, as their surroundings began to rust. While not explicitly off limits, it was clear this part of the station was not intended to see the masses in the same gleaming light as the well-polished floor had been. Here were ladders and mislaid tools, flickering flights that would need servicing soon lest they blow entirely, a handful that had already burned themselves out into nothing. The people were fewer here; a handful of shadier stalls, the sort that weren’t officially registered with permits, but that station authorities would look away from provided the correct taxes were still paid. A handful of maintenance workers. Pilots searching for off-license parts, salvaged in local space. These people belonged. None invited the telltale prick of falsehood scraping the back of their skull, none drew their eye as out of place- none were the tails. 

The frustration was starting to shift into something that sat less comfortably in the curve of their throat, as they swallowed past it. Fear. What were they not seeing. What could they have missed? Their eyes flicked from head to head, their quiet footsteps slowing to a halt, lips pressed tight against each other. Of course Zero drew heads, but none whose gaze lingered in the way they were searching for, and yet that crawling sense that something was not right would not leave them. There was danger here, still. But where?

Then, came the sound of something scraping against the metal floors sounded behind them- close behind them. The fear blossomed outward as realisation slammed itself through their body, too late all too late. All this fussing, and they hadn’t even considered that perhaps the tail wasn’t on his heels. 

No. It was on theirs. 

A hair trigger instinct flashed hot through their nerves as something behind them reached forward, as they felt the brush of strangers hands past their hair- they did not flinch away quite fast enough. The firm grasp of another settled over their thin shoulder. Their spine bent at its insistent tug backwards, complaint rising to their lips; there was warm breath against the shell of their ear in seconds, carrying with it a soft voice that spoke in quiet words. For them alone. 

“Found you. Cut strings, Odette.”

In an instant, their heart was ice in their chest, frost tendrils lancing through grasping veins. That name. None should know that name, not here. Not anymore. Panic began to bleed through them, a violent impulse that ripped free of the spreading cold demanded they turn to face this interloper and tear the secret from his flesh-  Their body did not respond to their instinct to whirl around, to bring that malice to bear against any who would make them that thing again. 

No, their body did not respond to them at all. 

The words he’d spoken sank through them as lead through flesh, driving the breath from their lungs, and then… it was hard to describe, how it felt. To feel one's limbs go inert without growing numb, feel ones knees crumble and give at the spoken words. It was as though their mind had been plucked from their flesh, confined to the smallest corner of their skull as their body stumbled and fell into the waiting arms of the stranger who somehow, somehow had done this to them. Khione did not like to feel afraid. At that moment, it did not matter. It overwhelmed them. It was strange, how they could still feel how panic surged through their body, how their blood began to hum and heart stuttered into thumping beats, how their stranger turned captor gripped them by the waist with a firm enough grasp to bruise beneath his fingers- and yet, no matter their desperate attempts to rip themself away, there wasn’t so much as a twitch through their muscles, a ragdoll in his grip. Helpless. For the first time in years, they were helpless. 

Terror was too mild a word. 

Not even their eyes would move as they strained to look up, to find their companion, Zero- did he know? Had he seen them fall? No use. Their lifeless gaze remained in place, a glasslike stare fixed upon the rusting station floor. Part of them ached to call his name. Another made a silent prayer that he had not looked back, that he at least would be safe from whatever had found them anew. Whatever could do this to them, with only a sparse few words. 

Neither thought lasted long though; their conscious mind began to splinter into razor shards as the floor began to move beneath them and the world span, as fingers pressed tight into ribs and they were lifted sharply, over someone’s shoulder- 

A flash of feathered fur and off-cream white flashed in front of their eyes, and then they were falling. 

There he was.

Unable to move, their landing was a tangle of limbs and impact; shoulder first, skull soon to follow, the sudden acquaintance with the station floor driving what little breath they had drawn out of their lungs with the ache of metal meeting flesh. Through vision that swam with the force of collision and a veil of hair that fell across their face, they saw a flicker of blue and white drag who they could only assume to be their captor into melee, watched the flash of metal appear in his hand-

Now they could see behind the two shapes, three in the same colours as the one who had done this to them. Again, they felt their heart rise in their throat. It was beyond them, to swallow it back down. 

The one who had dropped them stumbled forward, their only friend crashing into him with blade drawn, the coat that had been slipped from over his shoulders now wrapped about the man's head to wrench him into the knife with force enough to bury it between his ribs. And then again, then again- thrice in quick succession the weapon found its mark, all before any could react to the onslaught. A flick of the wrist was enough to twist the knife with a grinding crunch that choked a pained gasp out of him,enough to draw it back alongside the heavy fabric. His coat, they knew from experience, was weighted at the ends for situations just like this; a cudgel in its own right. 

Seconds had passed. From where their body lay inert on the cold metal floor, they watched how his eyes widened as the shock set in before reality, how his hand rose startled to the blooming stain of red now soaking through his clothing. Third and fourth rib. It would be mere seconds before the last ghost left him, as lifeblood spilt across the floor. He crumpled, half landing over their… legs? They couldn’t see. But they felt the weight land, felt warmth and wet soaking into their skirt and crawling over their skin. He couldn’t hurt them anymore. But those who remained still could. Worse, they could hurt him. Zero had put himself between them and the assailants, hooves planted between the three that remained and the now-two inert bodies in a heap. They could see how his grip on the coat in his hand had rendered his knuckles white, as he flicked drops of blood from the knife in his other, see how the rigid tension settled into his stance. 

“One chance. Leave.” 

HIs tone brooked no argument, and yet as the startle wore off their assailant’s faces it was replaced not with hesitation, but annoyance. A broad woman toward the back shook out her sleeve and caught the folding sickle that fell into her hand; another figure in the group plucked a similar knife to Zero’s from a sheath hidden beneath intricate folds of fabric. The last to arm himself simply picked at the gloves over his hands, pulling them off over spiked knuckle dusters with a petulant sigh. 

“You got lucky. That fortune is running out fast, you know.”

Zero did not give the group long to posture. Before the last word had broken away from the man’s lips he was hurtling forward, tail lashing behind him to counterweight his movement- he ducked the first strike out toward him with practised grace, driving his own knuckles wrapped around the pommel of his dagger into the browbone of the forward man. The momentum carried his coat forward, a lashing motion with the hand wound through it sending the weighted end hurtling forward into the throat of the figure behind, a shout of alarm as the heavy fur pricked at the eyes before dropping over their head. 

There was an odd familiarity to how they’d spoken to him. An overconfidence that brought details of the past few days into sharp clarity in their panic-addled mind, watching the violence begin to unfold. It was as if they knew him, as if they were still expecting a level of skill from a man perhaps 13 years younger- it was him, wasn’t it? Him they were pursuing, him they knew. The same enemies as a decade ago. Then… fuck. Fuck what did that mean for them? How did those chasing Zero know the name their husband had given them?

Their head was spinning. The bloodshed unfolded before them in an uncaring tableau, dissociated from their realisations. None of this could matter yet. They were still in danger, and he was still in danger and well he knew it because despite his skill, here he was outnumbered- three to one. But for now, Zero had the advantage. Twas a fool's error, to underestimate him. It would seem that today, he squared off with fools.

The man with the knuckle-dusters stumbled back as the blunt impact driven into the brow half-blinded him, weight crashing into his ally; she kept her balance by force of will, but it closed her window of attack with a resounding thud. The thick leather-and-pelt of his fur coat had wound tight around the knife-bearing figure’s head and shoulders; facing three at once, he couldn’t focus this one down the same way as the soon to be corpse wheezing its last over their legs. He didn’t have to. Snapping his arm back in a whiplike motion was enough to drag their body directly into his knuckles with the full momentum he could drive through his body foot-to-fist, tail swinging to keep his balance. All it took to capitalise on that driving forward rush was a leg raised, bodyweight pulling back to deliver a gut kick that sent the knife-wielder hurtling into the wall with a crash that made their teeth ache in instinctive sympathy. Hoofs into ribs, he would be feeling that one. Good.

It was fast setting in just how frustrating it was, that even their eyes would not move at their will; Khione could see the flickers of movement as the two still standing righted themselves and parted, circled to flank their friend, but they could not focus on that movement. All they could track was the blurring motion and glint of metal in hands, all they could keep in focus was him in the center of it all, eyes flickering back and forth, fingers sank tight into the pile of his coat, watching. Watching-

Absently, they could feel how their hair was beginning to pull heavier at their scalp as blood from the dying one soaked through pristine white curls. There was a particular kind of heavy only the dead could truly manage, a kind of lifelessness that made them so deeply unwieldy. That weight would have pinned their legs quite firmly now, had they been able to move. Hell on earth, why couldn’t they move? What had he done to them? How? Why? It was strange, to feel that tightness coil around their chest in a way that would suggest panic, and yet to feel how their breath refused to quicken. Were… were they even breathing? 

There wasn’t a chance to dwell on the low burning in their lungs, as one of the indistinct shadows lunged out, hook silhouetted in the alley lights- the woman, then, was to his fore. Flashing metal tried to hook its way around the wrist clutching his coat, closing over nothing as he darted back but, there was the man, hands outstretched to grasp at- Oh it was so very fun, to see that trick bear fruit. 

His assailant's hand closed tight over the long flickering braid at his back, the man’s shoulders already twisting to drag him backward by it before pain registered through the shock and he flinched back, hard. Even through the maddening blur of their periphery they could see how the crimson stain began to soak into his cuffs as the barbs woven through their partner’s hair cut through skin and fabric alike, more than sufficient distraction to tear out an opening in the fight. At the tug and cry of pain, they watched Zero whirl again on nimble hoof to exploit the careless acts of his assailant and crack the pomel of his knife across the man’s jaw, fluid motion and distilled violence. It connected; the hair-trigger snap of motion more than enough force to send him staggering back, stumbling under the following slash by a mere flinch. Close, he was so close to finishing that one-

Before he could press his advantage the woman had lurched forward, the curve of her sickle now finding purchase in the mass of heavy fabric clutched tight in his hands, feet planted wide as she yanked back with evident strength; he couldn’t have seen it about to happen, couldn’t watch his own back. That was their place. Fucking damnit they needed to help him, needed to move why couldn’t they move why were they stuck here, practically a functional corpse pinned down under the dead weight and its death rattles-

Whatever. He was fighting without them, in part for them, and he was being yanked stumbling backwards in some petty attempt to unbalance him- one that worked, if only for a second, maybe two. Small mercies, that she didn’t move fast enough to exploit the opening she had created; but it was time enough for her ally to dart back out and away, closer now to them, close enough they could see how his legs stuttered as he hit the floor with a roll to evade the swinging knife that flashed out at the sudden burst of movement. From this angle they could barely see how his fists raised again, defensive this time. That surety was bleeding from him, and from her- something vicious curled in their gut as they watched hesitance cast a pall over the two attackers. Pride, maybe. He was more than they could have ever imagined. 

Into tattered shreds, my heart. 

But that surge of fanged exuberance died as fast as it had sparked. Caution would level the fight, and it was already against his favor. The figure he had sent careening into the wall had yet to rise but there was no way to tell if they were truly downed and out; certainly the two still standing were closing ranks now, trading wary glances as Zero regained his footing with a sharp exhalation of breath. There were no good angles to approach him from, knife-arm hovering at waist-high ready to lash out at any sudden move, the gash left through the pelt of his coat fluttering gently as the fabric swayed with him. Ready, at any moment to strike out, to make it hurt. The woman’s foot inched back, shifting the weight of her weapon back and forth as consideration read clear through her body; then in full, she stepped back. What was she- no time to consider it too closely, the man was moving forward again with flickering speed, ducking under the lash of cream-coloured fur that went for the throat, fist striking out with the side of his palm-

Their field of view was blotted out by the scuffed leather of well-worn boots, an irritable hiss under the woman’s breath as she dropped to a knee over them. Panic thrummed through their body, confusion, the instinct to flinch back produced nothing useful as their body remained severed from the mind within it; more than saw, they felt how her fingers raked through their hair, gathered it into her fist. What was she doing. What was- In one motion, inexorable as the tide she dragged them out from under the weight of her unfortunate ally, weight dangling from the hank of bloodsoaked white now enclosed in her vice grip as again. Once more, she turned to the fight.

It was hard to think. It hurt. It hurt and worse, there was nothing they could do to rip through the hurt, nothing to distract from the shuddering ache as their body hung limp, unresponsive, goddamned useless even still and it hurt. They did not weigh very much, this they knew, but even their minimal weight hanging from their scalp was enough to send shocks of aching pain through their nerves, shocks that tried to jerk pained gasps from their throat that got stuck and lodged behind their teeth. At least they could see more, now. 

In the time it’d taken for them to be dragged into the air, Zero had darted backward and the man’s strike had swung wide; now that arm was wound up in the mass of pale fur and their friend was striking out with the point of his blade, trying to remove one more problem from play. Before the blow could land they caught the harried cursing from their right, felt how her grip dropped from their hair to their bodice and- Everything blurred as she hurled their body forward, crashing into Zero’s side. They did not weigh much, but it was enough in combination with the shock to knock him near-over, only his tail saving him from falling. Barely, they could see the surprise break over his face, a single terse moment of panic before the man stepped into the advantage his ally had forced open, a blow of the knuckles connecting with their friend’s brow with a ricocheting crack and sharp wince. 

Again, they hit the ground with enough force to shake their ribs, but they did not remain on the cold metal for long. No, it was mere hazy seconds before the man darted back from Zero to grip them tight by the upper arm, drag them forward- it was hard to think through the vertigo but a sickening spark of realisation began to form, as they saw how their friend faltered mid-lunge at the realisation they were now held between him and his prey. Their stomach dropped, and as they watched his eyes flicker rapidly, trying to find an opening that would not endanger them, they wanted to scream. Hurt them, if that was what it took! This was an obvious ploy, a weight to drag down his speed so his assailants could land their blows, and their heart stuttered uselessly in their chest as they could see it working in real time. In his search for a way through he didn’t see the woman circle around to snatch at his coat and yank it back, his grip tightening in protest but it was clear who had the upper hand in raw strength; she threw it out to the side as the man digging bruises into their arm darted forward to try and land another blow, this one mercifully too sloppy, their friend swerving out of its path. They couldn’t focus on him but, they could feel how his eyes flickered from the danger, to them, back and forth and back- Ra below. If they could have trembled, they were almost certain they would be at that moment in time. He was going to get hurt. He was going to get hurt, badly, because he didn’t want to put them in harm's way. Nausea roiled in their gut at the very thought. Still, their breath refused to quicken, still their body denied them a hand in this fight for their lives. The dull ache of bruising that was likely blooming beneath their skin was little more than an afterthought in the wake of the raw, unfiltered terror the scene playing out in front of them evoked. 

Their friend however, was not to be counted out yet. Unfair odds or no, he had always thrived in the midst of an open fight in ways they couldn’t match. So his coat had been hurled away from him; In a flicker of motion they’d have struggled to catch even with their full faculties, his second blade filled his empty hand, and again he was moving. Before the woman could fully turn back to him, glimmers of light that could only be sharp metal flashed in their periphery and they could just barely see how he slashed out at her, the well of red and sharp yell of alarm confirming to their vicious joy that he had connected, and it had hurt. The man’s grip on them shifted, from arm to the back of the neck as his stance pivoted to follow the path of Zero’s violence; now they could see the full extent of it. A gash mark across her stomach, and one blade buried to the hilt through her shoulder. It did not remain there for long, of course. She staggered back from the source of her agony with a defensive kick outward at him, and the weapon was plucked back from her flesh as he darted back to evade the blow. 

Good, good. Not lethal, but she would think twice before trying to disarm him a second time, and the well of blood streaming from between her fingers where she clutched at the wound would serve as ample distraction. Blood, so much blood across the metal of the floor, soaking through their hair, across their skin- they could feel it now, how the ragged torn skin of the man’s palm and fingers were staining warm across their nape. His fingertips found purchase in the divots where skull met spine, the force of his grip dragging the rest of their body behind his. That hurt. There wasn’t long to dwell on it, something they would hesitate to call a mercy considering the circumstances. While his quarry was focussed on the other assailant, the man lunged forward; as Zero whirled to meet the blur of motion, blades flashing in the half-light, they were forced to watch how panic flared to life across his harried face as their lifeless body was shoved forward. It was by providence alone that he jerked aside in time to keep his weapons from catching on their limbs, as they fell forward without anything to keep them upright, again the floor met them with a shuddering crash and- christ wept, that one hurt like none of the others had. Maybe it was a kind of mercy that they couldn’t cry out, at this moment. The sound that would have torn past their lips would have been pathetic. As it was, the sunburst of beating red and white behind their eyes at the impact was a private matter- and one they could not afford to focus on for too long.

Sight was functionally useless with the way they had been dropped. Frankly it hurt to keep their eyes open with how close the floor had suddenly become, unable to focus on any part of the blurry metal and rust that dominated their sightline; they had no choice in the matter. Their eyelids would obey them no more than the rest of them. For now, they would have to rely on senses beyond the obvious to try and track the fight. 

Sound would serve best, with sight eliminated, but it was maddeningly difficult to pick out where individual dull thuds and clatters of both light and heavy footsteps originated from. Focus, focus- the lightest ones with a gentle ringing of metal to the edges, that had to be Zero no? His cloven hooves struck metal with a cadence unlike boots heavy or light- so then heavy were likely those of the staggering woman currently bleeding like a stuck pig, lighter boots probably those of the man. Even with that tenuous rubric, it was difficult to parse what might be happening in their broad blindspot. The crashing of weight into metal, tempered growls and shouts of violence bled together into a muddy hue, a cacophony, a stabbing paranoia crawling through their organs that something was going to go wrong because they could not see it.

Their gut was lying to them, he would be alright, he could protect himself. It was difficult to convince themself of that, with nerves frayed beyond saving and frustration scraping their innards raw. Nausea bolted through them as the unmistakable wince of their friend shot through the air in the wake of a dull crack, think, think what could that have been- knuckles into flesh? Maybe, but they couldn’t rule out the worst either, what if-

Another sound, something crashing into the ground, anger ringing out heavy in the air as someone with weight to throw around went clean through unfilled crates, the crackling of wood splintering and pained grasping filling in the blank spots of their minds eye; masculine sounding voice, the man again then. It wouldn’t surprise them if he’d lunged for Zero and been punished for the overexertion. Good, that was a good sign, if he was still so light on his feet, the earlier pain lacing his voice couldn’t have been lethal. Maybe if they thought it hard enough, they could silence the doubt. A startled yelp, in his voice; before their spiralling anxiety could descend an further, white-hot pain blinded them anew as the sound of two bodies impacting snagged on the edge of their senses, and someone’s feet caught on their injured arm, stumbling over them to crash into the floor in the very edge of their periphery. Flashing white and blue, breaking his fall with a roll- fuck their heart sank at his expression, the bleeding edge of fear starting to work its way through the ragged edges of his flat, steeled focus. His gaze caught on their face for only a few seconds, all he could afford-

Don’t look at me like that. Even their thoughts came to them ragged, at this point, panic settled like cold bile in the back of their throat. Don’t worry for me, with blades at your own throat.

-they felt rough leather hook beneath their body and kick them onto their back, weight pressing a boot into the flesh above their cybernetic arm to pin them to the floor; a useless gesture given their lifeless state, serving only as an intimidation tactic. One that it seemed would backfire on her, spectacularly. From the very corner of their vision they saw Zero’s expression collapse into a single-point rage before his body went terse, coiled and lunged like a loaded weapon; the woman he rammed his full bodyweight into had opened her mouth to speak, but all that left those bloodied lips were stuttering gasps of pain as his blade found its home in a flurry of unrelenting violence. To the hilt, once, twice, thrice- a blur of movement and blood that spattered back far enough to fleck against their face, adding to the myriad stains- wait, had their nose been bleeding? Their face felt wet, too warm, the scent of iron clogging their senses. Shit. Must have started when they hit the ground face-down. It didn’t matter, right now.

At last, the woman’s grip on her weapon loosened and it fell to the floor, overwhelming relief flooding their useless body as a last gurgling noise jerked from her throat, as bloodloss and bodily trauma scrubbed another problem off the board. Their friend was panting by now, breath coming unsteady and sharp, his shoulders bearing a tension that spoke of injury, but he was standing. One left, by their count. Where- Fuck. 

Behind him. Behind him, and they couldn’t so much as raise their voice to warn him as the man slipped closer in silence, a fury of his own writ clear as Zero made sure his kill had stuck, he was distracted, he was-

All they could do was watch in a nauseating horror as the attacker wrapped arms around their only friend from behind, one snaking around his throat to drag him backward, the other… they didn’t want to watch this. Silently they begged for any passing mercy, that they might find the strength to stand again, that he might struggle free before what was about to come to pass, but when had mercy ever been offered? To either of them, by any hand or force beyond the pale? Never. 

Helpless, they watched as the man’s grip closed around their Heart’s tail prosthetic, and methodically began to tear it from his body. This wasn’t the tool he wore on their work, neither had expected life-or-death during their pitstop; all that kept malicious actors from its delicate inner workings were porcelain plates. He’d opted for it as a stylistic choice years ago now, matching their own cybernetic limbs; at the time, it had been a gesture that near made their heart stop, that invited an aching in their throat and eyes that was oddly welcome.

Now, that aching was something quite else. It might actually kill them, being forced to listen to him strangle back a breaking agony. 

The arm around his neck he could rake at, dig teeth into the hand trying to cover his mouth, slash blade through the fabric of his attacker’s sleeve, but the damage to his tail was done before he could fight his way free of the larger man’s grasp; by the time he drove a cloven hoof into the man’s knee, forcing his assailant to drop him with a sharp yelp, the feathered fur end was clattering to the floor in a shower of shattered plates and torn-out mechanics. 

They felt sick. It was difficult to tell whether the vertigo of being thrown around like a fucking pinball was catching up to them, or if it was the singular horror of watching their only friend brutalised while they could do nothing to help. Nothing to protect him.

Ever coiled to strike, he did not waste the momentum- his feet hit the ground as his attacker stumbled back, and instantly he was turning, driving his closed fist into the falling man’s temple with a crack that ricocheted through the metal alleyway. But even with how their vision blurred, they could see how the shredded mechanical stump was throwing him off; without the counterweight his momentum carried too far, forcing him scrambling back to compensate for what could have become a stumble, could have become a fall-

Fucking hell, it felt as though their lungs might collapse in on themselves. Their heart was racing, a beating drum in their ears, but their breath stubbornly refused to hasten with it; they had only enough air to keep them conscious. Barely. 

But, he was standing; the man conversely was a smear of colour and motion in the corner of their vision, a hunched shuddering mass, from what they could see he was still struggling to regain his feet. Dark red staining through the long sleeves of his garment, exhaustion hanging heavy in his panting breath, he couldn’t last much longer, could he? Now, Zero was between him and them, now he was watching carefully as what remained of his tail twitched and swung. Something else was moving, the far corner- all they could see was the motion of it, how Zero’s head began to turn as it caught his eye too, before a sharp click sounded and their blood ran cold. Metallic. A sound they were intimately familiar with, an arming mechanism. It was unmistakable, to them both; immediately his head jerked back to the half-broken mass on the floor, already moving, blades in the air- too late. 

Whatever was in their attackers hands flew through the air, hit the ground once, twice, rolling into view enough that its cylindrical shape and empty pin-slot came into clarity. Grenade- no, shit, flashbang. 

They realised just a second before detonation, but what could they have done? Their eyes wouldn’t close, their voice wouldn't rise above the silence to shout a warning, what could they possibly do but stare in frozen terror as the light of the sun seared off the shadows of the alleyway. It lasted mere seconds, but that was plenty; even with the antiphoton lens of their artificial eyes, the light lanced through their head as physical pain and blinded them for an agonising stretch of seconds. There was no chance he had escaped the sunburst unscathed; in the blind moments that followed they heard a pained hiss through teeth and stumbling hooves against the floor, quickly drowned out by heavier boots drumming into that same metal. A cry of pain and impact against flesh, breathless gasping and the crack of knuckles against bone- skull. There was a distinctive sound that came with an impact shocking the jaw open, and there it was amidst the medley. 

Motion was the first thing to return to their vision. Then colour, a furious dart of blue colliding full-bodied and blind with a mass that had been trying to drag it upright, from what little they could make out. Zero wouldn’t be able to see yet, didn’t have the benefit of their artificial eyes, but his assailant had made the mistake of indicating his position to the sightless man. Clarity began to bleed through the tableaux, the glint of metal held at an angle in his fists as he lashed out; too risky to stab in the dark. Too easy to hit metal, blunt or break the honed edge. More efficient to ram fists closed around the weighted pommels into the downed man, a furious string of blows that did not slow until the man beneath him stopped fighting. Even when he stood, slow and tottering, a cloven hoof kicked out against their assailant's chest. For good measure. 

…quiet. For the first time since their body had severed from their mind, Khione felt the tension begin to slacken. There was a moment now for him to breath, to slip one knife away beneath folds of clothing and rub at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Their chest tightened into an ache, watching him. Ordinarily he held himself with a grace it was difficult to match, but with his tail ripped into mechanical pieces strewn across the floor-

Something was moving. 

Nothing should be moving, every target in pursuit had been eliminated; their first assailant lay a corpse on the floor, the woman a crumpled heap. The man was not dead or at least, they didn’t believe so, but he was unmoving and groaning in the kind of pain that would not allow him to rise for a good while yet. And the other, the one who had drawn a blade, that one was still…

No. No, the stain trailing down the wall led to an empty patch of floor notably lacking in the final pursuant. Their heart fluttered in their chest as they searched their narrow field for the flickering movement they had seen, trying to trace its path, trying to find the final unaccounted for threat. But they couldn’t see anything moving, nothing but their friend turning toward them, nothing but his eyes going wide in- fear?

Before they could put the scattered pieces together, a firm grip dug its fingers in beneath their jaw. Their body was dragged sharply upward, pinned against someone’s chest, unsteady breath hot against their ear. Cold metal scraped at the rise of their throat, just beneath the feverish warmth of a cornered animal. They could see how Zero’s body coiled, a whip about to crack, but at the dig of the knife into their skin he faltered, eyes fixed on the hand that threatened them.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?” 

The sting of split skin was barely a ripple through their rising nausea, through the throbbing ache lacing through their arm, but they saw in him the near imperceptible flinch as a bead of warmth rolled down their skin. A biting frost clawed its way through their innards, a desperate and useless instinct to demand he not listen to a word of this, aching behind their lips. Zero could not be allowed to put their pale reflection of life above his own, they couldn't allow it- they did not have a say in the matter. 

Just something to fight over. To threaten to take away, if someone who mattered misbehaved. It always came back to Odette, didn’t it?

The grip on his weapon shifted as his stare fixed on the assailant holding them as leverage. The chest at their back rose, then fell in a tense breath. 

“You’ve grown competent, that much is obvious. But you will disarm yourself, and surrender. It is still alive for now, but I can take it from you. For good.” 

…that was a lie. The instinct in the base of their skull snagged and ground on the words, even as the knife dug in further in a display of conviction. The attacker’s actions claimed they were unimportant except as leverage, that they could be killed to punish disobedience. But they knew. The assailant was lying. Then, they were needed alive. The raw terror that ripped through them would have wrenched the air from their lungs, had they command of their body. What it meant, if they were needed alive-

No time for fear. Zero didn’t know the threat was empty. 

Consideration played out on his face, behind the veil of pure anger. The grip on his weapon shifted again, hesitant, his eyes darting back and forth. Then he lifted it slowly, making a display of tossing it to the side. An exhalation brushed past their ears, from behind them.

“Good boy. Now-”

The second their assailant's eyes left him to follow the flash of metal, Zero was moving; too distracted to see him draw its twin in a single flickering act. In dull echoes, Khione felt the knife at their throat split through further skin before their captor shoved their body aside in a panic. Then, he fell upon them, too fast to fend off, and then- What happened next was beyond their sight, crumbling once more to hit the metal floor with a thud that reverberated through their body, with a shock of pain that burst behind the eyes. But they were intimately familiar, with the sound of unrepentant violence. Warm iron hung heavy in the air soon enough, blood spattering across their skin from his backswing, screaming silenced with metal into flesh. Good. Good. 

The noise died down eventually, melted away to nothing but a single, panting breath. This time, it really was over. None of their attackers remained who could move, no more threats upon the field, they were… safe?

No they weren’t. The freezing still that claimed their body held them in a vice, their only friend was barely able to drag himself to his feet as he began to move again, and whoever had done this knew them both. Not of them- knew them. Something that should not have been possible. 

Neither was safe, and they would not be until whoever sent these fucking bastards was dead and buried. 

The wash of violent anger drained slowly from their mind as they felt gentle hands slip around their face, and they realised that Zero had staggered over to where their body lay, knelt by their side as best he could with his deerlike legs. Fingers probed fearfully against the scarlet line across their throat, his face over theirs as he searched their face for any sign of life… Ra. It tore bloody furrows into their heart, to see him so deeply afraid. 

Having confirmed the wound was shallow, his shaking fingers pressed gently into the underside of their jaw, tense and unmoving before finding the flicker of their pulse. For seemingly the first time since the violence began he breathed out, slow, measured and shuddering. 

Ra below, he might have thought them dead. They couldn’t have faulted him that; they had not so much as blinked in some time now, barely drawing enough breath to maintain consciousness. At least their pulse was a telltale beat beneath their skin. At least he would not believe them gone, beyond his reaching. 

A trail of blood was rolling down his face from the split skin over his brow. Now he was leant over them, he was all they could bring themself to see; his shoulder stiff and moved with care, squinting still from the aftermath of the flashbang, his sleeve ripped at the edges as be brought it to their face and dabbed at the blood still seeping from their nose. 

A familiar burn behind the eyes began to ache, watching him try and fail to swallow the panic behind a wary smile. 

“They have left you in quite a state, haven’t they my dear?” The words were a poor attempt at his usual humour, laced through with a crackling tremor that betrayed him. It felt as though their heart might beat out of their chest, trying to get to him, trying in vain to tell him that they were alright. Silence remained around them, a tight wrapped shroud. The smile wavered, further still. 

“... are you still in there? Please, Khione-” the words came to an abrupt stop, the line of his mouth pressed into a grimace. What they wouldn’t have given in that moment, to speak even a single word. 

No such bargain could be made. They were trapped behind their own eyes, watching on as silent audience to the wash of dread creeping through his attempt at resolve. He could hide his face, but they saw the tension his body still held. The cautious flick of his ears, the anxious swaying of what remained of his tail. 

They were scaring him. The thought alone felt as though it might kill them.

They felt more so than saw his hands move from their pulse, shaking, as though at loath to abandon the scrap of evidence that their body was not a corpse. But, they would be unable to move of their own accord like this. And neither of them were safe- not here, not in the wake of violence that would surely draw attention, not now they knew without a shadow of a doubt that something was hunting them. Though, only they knew that unnamed hunter was grasping at them both. 

It was not as though he had the time to ponder this now, gently lifting their body into his arms with a gentle wince. It was difficult to tell, what provoked the sound; it could have been his own injury, even their peculiar lack of mass enough to draw complaint. It could have simply been that rising to his feet was an endeavor all its own, without his tail, with the added burden of dead weight. His head flicked back and forth, a final scan of the area before he began to move- they felt how his whole body flinched at a pained groan from behind them, where the man he had beaten within an inch of his life was crumpled on the floor. 

A moments hesitation, before he turned to hurry away; no time to scrub out the last attacker, not when there could be more inbound. Not when they were lifeless in his grasp. 

… christ alive their head was swimming. It had been for a while, but the lilting step of his biomod legs was blurring their vision at the edges, a pulsing vertigo beating red behind the eyes. It was hard to think. Perhaps that was a mercy. 

Absently, they heard his muttering beneath his breath. Something or another about having liked that coat, about exacting its price from the hide of whatever fool pursued them next. That… that at least, set their heart a little at ease. He was complaining again. That was good. The instinct to take a slow breath in itched at their throat, the urge toward relief still functioning even if their body wouldn’t heed it. If he was complaining, he wasn’t panicking outright that very second, at least. 

It might only be because he could not afford to, but they would take what they could get in this state. 

The station was far too bright they were realising, its poor attempt at naturalistic sunlight stabbing at their unblinking eyes. He carried them carefully through the station backways, steadying himself every so often. It would likely be hours before his sight returned to him in full, after a point blank flashbang. Even their synthetic eyes were still straining, the colours and shapes before them barely comprehensible to their aching head. By this point, they were half glad their body had removed itself from their mind; they thought they might have been sick, were they able to. 

It took them too long to realise he was speaking again, speaking to them. When did it get so difficult to parse his words? Something, something- “...somewhere safe, my dear. I’ll get us there. Just hold fast, you can do that no? Hold on. Wherever you are, I’ve got you.”

Somewhere safe. That… that sounded nice. They needed him to be safe. They couldn’t protect him, like this.

It was oddly cold, considering the climate control. Shouldn’t his warmth at least, be bleeding through them? Unless- oh, but of course. A sudden drop in adrenaline would explain much of this, a fact they considered with a detached kind of clarity. 

Being unable to think straight, or to parse the words of their heart as he carried them somewhere, somewhere… well, they didn’t really know. But they trusted him. They did. 

They were going to pass out, weren’t they. 

A thin shred of fear spilt through them, at the realisation. There was naught they could have done to protect him from the inbound threat surely on their heels, but to be unable to even watch- it scared them. A pattering heart picked up its tempo as their vision became nothing but colours and shapes, and then the shapes began to blur as well. They fought against the encroaching dark, the heaviness in their unresponsive limbs, that familiar burn behind the eyes threatening tears they knew would not spill-

They did not want to leave him alone. 

But still, the last shred of their conscious mind bled away. It was out of their hands. 

Be safe. Please.

[holdmytesseract]

Capturing the Moment

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki & Ella feat. Y/N

Summary: Loki and Ella are posing together for a painting.

Warnings: none? fluff!

Word Count: 1,1k

a/n: I couldn't help myself. 😅🥰 This lil' story is based on this post/picture. ☺️ I asked @cookie-doughandwaffles and they gave me the permission. ☺️

Baby Fever Crew: Tagging y'all in the comments! 😊💚

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"And you are sure this is going to work out, babe?" You asked your husband, while gently bouncing baby Ella on your arm. "I mean... We hardly made it work now. Only because we all tried to entertain her." Loki smiled, nodding confidently. "Oh, I am absolutely sure, my love. I am more than capable of keeping our daughter entertained during the process." You shrugged your shoulders, "If you say so..." and handed the little girl over to her dad - which she was visibly happy about; acknowledging her delight with a happy squeal, bright smile and kicking feet. Loki chuckled and pressed a lingering kiss on Ella's chubby cheek. "You want to know why, my queen?" "Why?" "Because our princess is - like you so often point out, a daddy's girl." He winked, and you nodded in agreement. "Hmm, yeah, that is a valid point..."

You, Loki and Ella were currently on a small holiday on Asgard, due to the fact that it was again time for new paintings of the royal family. Especially since both the princes had become fathers. The last time there were royal family paintings made, was after the brothers had been getting married - which was already a little while ago, and therefore were Ella and Eisa missing on the recent paintings and that needed to be changed. So, the royal painter was appointed and a trip to Asgard planned.

Meanwhile were all the 'necessary' paintings done, but Loki wished to have one just with him and Ella - to which the painter happily agreed. Only you had a few doubts, since it took all members of the family to entertain Ella and Eisa, in order to prevent them from moving around so much. Now Loki wanted to face this task alone - and he was very confident about it, so who were you to stop him?

"Alright, Lokes, try it. If you need help with her, just call for me." Loki chuckled softly, "I will keep it in my mind." and leaned down to kiss you. Then he redirected his attention to Ella. "Now let us go, princess, huh?" The little girl cooed, was at the moment fixated on the golden lapels of his uniform; her little hands gripping on it. You nodded, smiling, "Have fun - and show me how the painting turned out." and adjusted the beautiful flower crown on your daughter's head. "Of course, my love." Your husband kissed you a second time, before he turned on his heels, in order to leave your shared chambers.

You watched them leave, admiring how freaking good he looked in the very noble outfit the royal tailor had custom-built for this day. It was all about showing colours, who belonged to whom; but also representing the crown and the appearance as one big, happy family. Therefore, Loki, you and Ella were dressed in green - of course. The 'uniform', which the tailor had sewn for Loki fit him like a glove, was utterly perfect and made him look even more irresistible and handsome.

And Ella? Ella looked so sweet in her green dress, flower crown and flower garland, that you shortly feared you'd get diabetes. To match their look, you wore a beautiful, princess dress. You had giggled like madly, seeing yourself in the mirror and looking like you had just stepped out of a Disney princess movie. Yes, you loved those paintings days...

Loki and Ella posed for the painter once again; who had already started his good work. At first, it was no problem for the little girl to be just held by her dad, but with time, she got fussy and quite antsy. The god had of course a lot of tricks up his sleeve. Speaking to her from time to time, for example, or letting her play with his long raven curls - which got a bit painful for him at some point. Tickling her or gently bouncing her helped as well, just like showing her small magic tricks. Letting daisies grow from his palm or butterflies and tiny fireworks to fly. Ella was fascinated, of course, but at one point she even lost the interest in her father's seidr; causing Loki to play the Joker card: Telling her a story...

"Once upon a time, there lived a sweet, little princess on a realm far away, called Asgard. Her hair was black like the wings of a raven. Her cheeks as rosy as the skin of an apple, and her eyes so blue like the deepest depths of the ocean." Loki started, smiling down at his daughter, who was looking at him with big eyes. She loved his voice, without a doubt. The painter just smiled at the pair; heart melting.

"The little princess was just a baby, yes, barely a few months old, but she was already the shining star of the royal family. She was so, so loved. By the people, her grandparents, uncles, aunts - yes, by everybody!" Loki underlined his words by tickling Ella's tummy, causing a little giggle-like sound to bubble from her mouth. She was, of course too small to understand what her daddy was telling her, but all she needed was just his voice anyways.

Loki couldn't help but to chuckle as well, before he continued his story. "But she was most loved by her parents. They loved her more than life itself. Can you imagine that, sweet girl?" Ella just looked at him. Fascinated, staring, utterly focused - and with a bit of drool running down the corner of her mouth. "Yes, it is true! They loved her more than life itself. She was everything they ever wanted and dreamed of. Well, truth be told, the king at first not. He was not very fond of children; his heart bitter and cold. But then a little angel awakened his heart, made him see - and suddenly a child was what he desired. His beautiful queen gifted him a little princess not much later and his glorious purpose was to be the best father possible. If his efforts will come to fruition, only time can tell..."

Once Loki finished his story, his eyes travelled down to Ella - and with a smile, he noticed that the little girl had fallen asleep. Her little cheek was squashed against his chest; hand holding onto his finger. "Well..." The god mumbled. "Seems like my plan was a bit too successful..." The painter shook his head, smiling softly. "It's not a problem, your highness. I am finished anyways. If you wish, you can have a look at the painting." Loki nodded, "Of course. I'd like to see it." and adjusted the baby girl in his arms, so that she was able to sleep in a more comfortable position. Loki's oceanic blue eyes met the canvas, where he and Ella were painted on. "Is it to your liking, my prince?" Smiling brightly, he studied the art; nodding. "It is perfect."

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Chapter Nine of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Ten

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Wednesday brings a date and Friday brings an unwelcome fate

TW: Oral (f&m receiving), Fingering

Notes: hey everyone !! sorry for the delay to my unofficial posting schedule ! i was battling writers block and life threw a bunch of bullshit at me this week. in better news...i got a kitten today ! my friends were fostering four kittens and I fell in love with one and now we are basically soulmates. ANYWAY... there has been a small resurgence for my One Condition (reader x Din Djarin) fic recently which has made me smile ((: i updated the tag list so let me know if i missed you/ you want to be added ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Frankie’s house hasn’t been this clean since he first bought it. He isn’t a dirty man, he is probably one of the cleanest he knows if he's being honest, but suddenly everything looked dull compared to your sparkle. The chemical fumes from all of the products he is using have made him light headed. He just cracks open some of his kitchen windows and keeps on working. He has been deep in soap and suds since he got off work today at 7:30 P.M.. So far he has managed to vacuum off of the carpets and rugs, wipe down all the sinks and scrubbed the toilet (he even made sure to put the seat down), cloroxed the stove and the countertops, fluffed the couches pillows, and put fresh sheets on his bed.

Last night after his ‘work meeting’, he ran to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for your date this Wednesday. You both decided on a quiet night in since your weeks have been surprisingly busy. Neither one of y’all had the energy to battle the busy crowds of a restaurant. He left the store with chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and some extra spices he didn’t already have. As soon as he got home that evening, he began making a marinade for the chicken so it could soak overnight. He spent his entire lunch break today sifting through dozens of different recipes on how to best prepare asparagus and calculating how much time he would have to put all the food together before you arrived tonight. When you texted him to confirm that 9:30 was still a good time for you to come over, he answered quickly saying ‘yes, but take your time closing with Benny’. He was filled with a combination of happiness and stress when you told him that Benny graciously told you that you didn’t need to help close tonight because you had a date. Damn, there goes the extra padding of time he thought he might have. He wanted to see you so badly, but he also wanted to be finished before you arrived so he wouldn't be distracted by cooking. You were the only thing that he wanted to give his undivided attention to. 

***

You’re practically vibrating in the front seat as you pull up to Frankie’s house. Much to your dismay, he refused to tell you what he was preparing for dinner. If you didn’t know what the two of you were eating, the option of buying a wine to pair with it was obviously out of the question. Well, when in doubt, make a chocolate chip bundt cake. Your only worry now is that he had already made something sweet. You park in his driveway like he told you and you take the cake’s carrying case from the passenger seat out of the car with you. After setting the dessert on the roof of the car, you look down at the casual dress you decided to wear. It’s comfortable and flowy which fits the warm Florida weather perfectly and the color of the fabric compliments your skin effortlessly. You didn’t want to over dress since the date is only at his house, but you still wanted to look nice for him to show that you care. Figuring that there isn’t any point in dwelling on your clothing choice since there is no time to go home and change, you pop your trunk to grab the overnight bag that you packed. Frankie not so subtly mentioned that by the time dinner was over it would be ‘too late to drive home’ and that it would be ‘much safer’ for you to spend the night. Who were you to argue with his bulletproof logic? You swing the bag over your shoulder, collect the cake, and walk yourself up to his front door. The mouth watering smells coming from inside have managed to leak their way past the door and tease you and your empty stomach. You knock with your foot as your hands are a bit occupied by what you’re currently carrying.

When he opens the door the two of you are quiet for a split second as you take each other in. His hair is on full display now with the absence of his cap. You suspect that it might have something to do with the shower he took. The ends of his curls are still damp from the water. He’s wearing jeans that you don’t think you have seen him in before and a crisp looking white henley. 

“Wow.” Frankie feels exactly the way he did when he first saw your photo on Benny’s phone. “You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t clean up too badly yourself.” You blush.

He leans down and kisses you, but as he pulls away you notice that he slipped the cake carrier out of your hand.

“Hey! You don’t have to-”

“But I want to. Remember?” He gives you a playful wink before waving you inside.

If you thought it smelled good on his front stoop, there are hardly words to describe how it smells inside. The whole house is warm with the scent of cooking chicken. It’s the kind of smell that feels like it's wrapping your whole body in a hug. While restaurants are wonderful, nothing compares to homemade cooking. The two of you walk into the kitchen and you spot an electric grill on the counter with four thick chicken breasts cooking on it. As you walk further in, you see that he has two trays of food heating in the oven. 

“You did all of this yourself? It looks amazing!” You say walking over to set both your purse and your overnight bag down by the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“Uhhh,” An alarm goes off on the oven as he starts to flip the meat on the grill. “Actually, help would be great. Would you mind taking the potatoes and asparagus out of the oven for me while I handle this? I have mitts that you can use to grab them in that drawer right there.”

You locate the drawer and take out a set of oven mitts and two pot holders. The pot holders you place on the counter beside the oven so the trays will have a place to be set so they can cool. You open the oven and take each tray out carefully and set them down in their respective spots.

“Okay, what next?” You ask.

“I printed out the recipe I’m using for the asparagus. It should be over there by you.”

“You printed out the recipe?” You laugh, turning to look at the man next to you.

“What? I like to have a physical copy of things. The text on my phone is just too small to read sometimes and it's annoying that it turns off when I’m in the middle of looking at it.”

“Those aren’t bad reasons.” You confess as you pick up the paper. “Have you thought about getting glasses? You know, so you can see your phone better?”

“I don’t want to get glasses.” You have to stifle another laugh because he sounds like a grumpy child right now.

“And why is that?” You walk around him to grab the lemon in his fruit basket that the recipe calls for.

“They are going to make me look…” He mumbles the last word in the sentence so you can't hear it clearly.

“They are going to make you look what?” You press while slicing the lemon in half so you can squeeze its juice over the vegetables.

“Old.”

“Frankie!” You stop what you’re doing and face him directly. “You are not going to look ‘old’ with glasses! You aren’t even old to begin with.”

“I’m almost 45.” He counters. “Hold that plate for me, please.”

You do as he asks, but you aren’t done with this discussion. “I’m a few years shy of 30. Do you think I’m old?”

“No! Of course I don’t think that!”

“Then what’s your point? You only have a couple years on me.”

“A couple?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up and finish plating the chicken will you? The bottom line is that you won’t look old. If anything you’re going to look even more handsome. I like the way glasses look on men.” You smirk.

“I’ll think about it.” He blushes. “For you.”

“Do it because you want to see, Frankie! Now help me over here.”

The two of you talk back and forth while you finish the asparagus and he prepares the baked potatoes. This is a different kind of intimacy than you are used to. The intimacy that you had come to associate with partners was skin on skin contact and hands tangled in hair, but this is seemingly more personal. You could have sex with anyone you wanted at any time you wanted, but fucking someone doesn’t make you compatible with them. You don’t have to talk during sex, like really talk. Standing shoulder to shoulder with someone while you cook and casually talk about summer vacations you each went on as children or pets you had growing up was intimacy that you didn’t know you were lacking, that you were craving. This was the kind of intimacy that you only thought lived in between the pages of a book. 

“Oh my God! This is so good! I haven't eaten like this in forever!” 

Dinner finally found its way to each of your plates along with a cold beer to wash it down. 

“It’s just a hobby, but I’m glad you like it.” He smiles, cutting another bite of food for himself. “The guys and I sometimes take turns cooking dinner when we go over to each other's places when we watch the game or before beach trips.” 

“Benny was telling me about those a few weeks ago actually! He said that y’all haven’t had one in a while because life has gotten in the way. What would you say if we went during a weekend in March? My friend Robbie, the one I told you about last weekend, is coming down to visit me then and what better way is there to introduce her to Florida?”

“That sounds really nice. It will be great to go with you, Robbie, and the guys. God knows we could all use a break.”

Speaking of the guys,” Questions that have been plaguing you since you first looked at the contents of his room swim to the tip of your tongue. “What did all of y’all do when you were in the service? Like your jobs?”

“What a question.” He reclines back in his chair. “Let’s see…Pope was the man with the plan. He was always plotting the best entry and exit point for us on missions. He was usually the one that found us the job in the first place too. Will was the one who kept us all on task and on time. I've never met another person alive who keeps track of things the way he does. He has actually kept count of every single speech he has given at the VA.” He chuckles.

“Why am I not surprised?” You love how he looks when he is discussing his friends. He’s so full of love and pride.

“Benny was the guns. We can all shoot really well, I mean that's what we were trained to do, but Benny can shoot ridiculously well.” He stops to take a sip of his beer. “We had a captain as well. His name was Tom, but he was Redfly to us. He was the one who led all of the missions we went on.”

“Is that the man in the group photo that you have in your bedroom?”

“You saw that, huh? Yeah, that’s him. He,” Frankie clears his throat. “He moved away about a year ago and unfortunately we fell out of touch. But, that's what all our jobs were.”

“And you?” You’re resting your head in the palms of your hands with the look of curiosity painted across your face. ‘What did you do?”

“I was- I was the pilot. Whatever needed to be driven or flown on a mission, I was the man to do it. Vehicles are nice, don't get me wrong, but flying? God, there isn’t anything else like it in the world.”

“What does it feel like?” Your dinner grows colder, but your heart grows warmer as he talks. 

“I don’t think I can do it justice, but I’ll try. When I’m in the cockpit of a helicopter, I feel so at peace. It sounds weird to say that operating a machine that weighs tons of pounds can give me that feeling, but it's the truth. Nothing can take it away either. Not the guys yelling over the headsets that we have to wear inside, not the chaos of whatever mission we are currently on, not even the millions of beeping sounds coming from the controls. It's just me and the open sky.”

“What’s been your favorite view?” You could listen to him talk about this for hours.

“Apart from the one I currently have right now? That's going to be hard to pick.” You have to temporarily look away from him to hide how hard you’re blushing at his comment. “I would have to say it was when I was piloting a helicopter over some mountains. The mountains themselves were beautiful, but as soon as we got close enough, the sun peaked out from behind them. It made the mountains look like they had halos.”

“I would give anything to see something like that.” You say wistfully.

“I could, if you wanted, show you sometime.”

“Oh my God! Really? Frankie, are you serious? You would do that?”

“Of course I’m serious! I want you to experience it first hand.” His million dollar smile slips for a fraction of a second. “It might take me a while to get my hands on a helicopter though.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” You rest your hand over his on the table. “At the risk of sounding corny, the best things in life are always worth the wait.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He turns his hand over so that your palms are touching. “Do you want to cut some slices of cake and curl up on the couch to watch some TV?”

He takes your squeal of excitement as a ‘yes’. You work together to pack up all of the leftovers and load the dishwasher. He tries to cut the cake himself, but you shoo him away.

“You have done enough work for one day. Let me take care of the cake at least. Why don’t you go relax on the couch and find something for us to watch?”

You cut two hearty pieces and set them on plates for the both of you. It's shocking how natural it feels to exist with him like this. There isn’t a label on what y’all have, but you don’t mind right now. All that matters is that you’re enjoying yourself and you wouldn’t want to spend your Wednesday night any other way.

“Alrighty.” You set down the plates along with two forks on the coffee table. “What did you find?”

“How do you feel about Narcos Mexico?

“I’ve been meaning to start that one actually!” You plop yourself down on the couch next to him. “Robbie and I binged Narcos when it first came out. We finished it in a matter of days. It was probably a little unhealthy now that I think about it. She had the biggest crush on Murphy, but I was partial to Peña.”

“Should I be worried?” He hits play and adjusts his arm so that it drapes over the back of the couch. His fingers are able to brush over your collarbone rhythmically. 

“I wouldn’t say so.” You look up at him. “Lucky for you, I prefer the real thing over something fictional any day.”

“Lucky for me indeed.”

He takes the hand that is toying with your collarbone and uses it to gently tilt your chin up towards him. Your lips are captured by his in a kiss. Without warning a low moan comes from your throat. It had only been two days since he had touched you last, but why did it feel like a lifetime? His free hand slides up your thigh, taking the hem of your dress with it. He can feel your pulse quicken and your breath hitch when he moves your underwear to the side and starts to rub circles on you. His voice is strained and raspy when he speaks to you.

“I missed the way you felt around my fingers, mi estrella.” One of his fingers finds its way inside of you. “So tight I can barely move.”

His words have you clenching around him and gasping for air when you feel yourself stretching to allow another finger in. Your back arches off the couch as he makes contact with the spongy spot inside you. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me? I could hardly get any work done these past few days because you’re all I can think about.”

Your head falls back against the plush pillows of the couch. He presses sloppy kisses along your jawline as your mouth parts to allow shallow breaths and quiet moans to escape. 

“Look at this beautiful neck.” His tongue charts a warm, slick path up it. “God, I wonder what it would look like with my hand wrapped around it?”

You stretch your neck out for him as if to silently say ‘come and find out for yourself’. 

The hand that he initially used to tilt your head up comes to snuggly wrap around your throat. With each squeeze, pump of his fingers, and rub of your clit you can feel yourself start to gradually lose control. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. I want you to soak my fingers.”

Even with his hand restricting your airway, your moans have gone from quiet to boisterously loud. You can hear him groaning in your ear as he watches his fingers disappear inside your wet pussy over and over again. 

“That feels so fucking good.” You gasp out.

You can feel your legs starting to shake and the fire in your lower belly aching to be put out.

“Let go for me.” He whispers.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through your body. He guides you through your bliss with honeyed words.

“So fucking pretty coming all over my fingers. Such a good girl for me.”

When he reluctantly takes his fingers out of you, you grab his wrist with your hand and bring his drenched fingers to your waiting lips. You can see him watching you with lust clouded eyes from your peripheral vision as you take them in your mouth. You allow your tongue to glide across and lick them clean of the mess that you just made. After you are content with your work, you pull them from your mouth with a satisfying pop and lazily roll your head so you can face Frankie. 

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh?” He’s breathing almost as hard as you are.

“I want you in my mouth next.”

“Oh.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lower yourself onto your knees and situate your body in between his legs. He scoots down deeper into the couch and opens his legs wider. His lids hang low on his eyes as he undoes his belt for you. When he’s done, you take over by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down. Your mouth starts watering when you pull him free from his boxers. As you take him in your hand a guttural moan comes from the man in front of you. You tap the tip on your tongue a few times before wrapping your lips around it. Beads of pre come dissolve in your mouth as you begin to suck.

You take your time with him. Only taking him deeper into your hot mouth every once and a while. His hand comes up to pull your hair out of your way. His words go from slurred to unable to understand when you attach your lips to his balls. Your hand continues to pump him while you kiss and suck below the shaft. His thighs twitch and jerk with every touch you grant him. Licking a long stripe up his length, you connect your mouth to him again while your hands work in tandem. You dare to take a peek at the man coming undone above you. God, he’s breathtaking. Once perfect hair, now going every which way, sweat making his forehead shine, and plump lips being pushed out by his ragged breathing. You can feel yourself grow wet for him all over again. 

“Fuck, I love the way you look with my cock in your mouth.” He fumbles out. “It feels like your mouth was made for me.”

Even with your hollowed out cheeks beginning to burn, you keep pushing yourself. You want him to feel as good as he makes you feel. When his stomach starts to heave, you know he’s close. You take him all the way down your throat. The coarse hair at his base brushes against your nose and you can feel tears trickling their way down your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna come.” He speaks frantically.

You place your hands on his thighs and keep him deep inside your mouth. Immoral sounds erupt from him as he spills down your throat. You hum as you feel it going down. You pull off of him, but softly lick him clean as he lays disheveled against the cushions. He watches with intense infatuation as you use your finger to gather some of him that is left on your lower lip and push it to your tongue. You smile contently at him as he reaches down to pull you into his lap. He wastes no time tasting himself on you. In some possessive corner of his brain, he can’t help but feel like you are his now. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he hopes you can feel the genuine care he has for you in the way he kisses you. He hopes you can feel it in the way that he touches you. 

“Let’s go to bed.” You breathe into him.

“Something tells me we won’t be getting much sleep.” He says standing with you in his arms. “I don’t mind one bit.”

***

The majority of your Friday shift is spent selling tickets for the fights this evening. You were excited to attend this week's match on Frankie’s arm. Honestly, you were excited to see Will and Santi as well. Between juggling your dad and trying to see Frankie as much as possible, you hadn’t had any quality time with your other two friends. 

“I have a problem.” Benny pokes his head around the brick wall that separates you from the rest of the gym. “But I think you can solve it. If you don’t kill me first that is.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret asking this, but,” You spin your chair around to face him. “What can I do for you, Benny?”

“So you know my regular ring girl? The one that has those cool purple streaks in her hair?” You nod in confirmation. “Well, she just texted me sayin’ that she has the flu.” 

“You’re kidding.” You know exactly where he is going with this.

“I wish I was.” He’s now standing awkwardly in front of you. “However, like I said before, I think you can help me.” 

“Are you asking me to be your ring girl for the night?” 

“Please!” He has his hands clasped together as if he’s praying. “It would only be for one night! I know that you were plannin’ to hang out with the other guys, but I really need you!” 

“Benny, I- I don’t even have clothes to wear.” You gesture down to your current attire. “I don’t think this would suffice.” 

“That’s where I come in.” He says proudly. “My other ring girl is about the same size as you and the new outfit that I ordered for her just so happened to be delivered to my house last night.”

“You’re the one that orders the outfits?” 

“Well, she technically picked it out, but I just ordered it so I could put it on the company card. So, what do you say?”

“Let me see the outfit first.”

Much to your chagrin, he heads back into his office and comes back with the package and a pair of black thigh high boots. “Go change! I’ll be waitin’ right outside for you!” 

You snatch the items out of his hands and head back into the locker room. As much as you hated that so few women came to the gym, it was nice to have the whole room to yourself. You set the boots on the ground and tear open the package. The top is an extremely high cropped white collared shirt that ties in the front and the skirt is pleated with a red and black checkered pattern. You can’t do anything else but laugh when you finally pull the fishnets out. The things you do for friends.

“Okay! I’m coming out!”

Benny can hear you before he sees you. Your new heeled boots echo throughout the locker room as you exit.

“God damn.” He lets out a low whistle. “Fish is one lucky man.” 

“I feel like Britney Spears in her ‘...Baby One More Time’ music video.” You rest your hands on your hips.

The skirt's short length is accentuated by the fishnets and how tall the boots go up on your thighs. The shirt’s tie sits above your belly button. This whole look leaves very little to the imagination.

“Well, I think you look great!”

“It’s not too much?” You twirl to give him a 360 view. “It’s kinda fun to wear.”

“See?! I promise it’s just for tonight, unless you want to give it another go?” 

“Let’s just take it one week at a time, okay?”

“I can live with that.” 

He starts to head to the front desk when the doorbell chimes out, but you call after him.

“Benny?”

“What’s up?”

“Can you- I don’t really know how to ask this- can you watch me tonight? Like make sure no one tries to bother me?” 

His face softens at your request. You know that he understands who you’re talking about. “I promise that the guys and I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. You’re our girl and we’ll watch you like a hawk.”

“That means a lot to me.” 

You hurry yourself back into the sanctuary of the women's side of the locker room before you give the guest waiting at the front desk a preview. Before you take your new outfit off you take a picture of yourself and send it to Robbie. She responds by firing off multiple messages that should never be allowed to see the light of day. Robbie always had a unique way of making your ego flair up. Armed with your newly gassed up confidence, you send the picture to Frankie. He responds almost instantly.

Frankie: What are you wearing?

You: What? You don’t like it?

Frankie: I never said that.

You: Benny’s usual ring girl is sick. You’re looking at Brass Knuckles ring girl for the evening.

Frankie: I’m looking alright. I hope Benny knows that he’s not getting that outfit back after tonight. 

You: And why is that?

Frankie: Because I’m going to tear it off of you piece by piece. There won’t be an outfit to give back.

You rub your thighs together anxiously as you see another text bubble pop up.

Frankie: How am I supposed to focus for the next few hours with this photo of you living in my head?

You: You better figure it out because if you don’t, you will be to busy playing catch up to fuck me after the fights.

Frankie: You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?

You: I know (:

Giggling to yourself, you change quickly so you can resume desk duty. Hopefully you can stay focused for the rest of the day despite Frankie’s words swimming around in your mind. 

***

You and Benny see the guys pull into the parking lot in their respective cars 15 minutes after closing. 

“Would you look at that? They actually got here on time to help.” Benny hums as he throws the last of the dirty towels into the basket.

“I’m gonna go say ‘hi’!” You shout over your shoulder, already darting towards the front.

You bust out the door right as the group of three are walking across the middle of the parking lot. 

“Hey Will! Hey Pope!” You rush out as you make a beeline for the man in the center. 

You leap into his arms and wrap your legs around him while snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. His exuberant laugh reverberates through your whole body as he clutches onto you. If it were anyone else, you would feel foolish for greeting them like this. But it just feels so right to be held in his arms. It doesn’t matter where you are. You feel him let out a heavy sigh into your hair as he cups the back of your head with his hand.

“What the fuck are we? Chopped liver?” Pope jokes. 

“I totally greeted you, you whiny baby.” You laugh, face still hidden from the world.

“Who are you calling a ‘whiny baby’?” 

You turn to face him, already knowing that he has his hands on his hips. “You!”

“You hearing this shit?” He turns to Will who has been silently snickering.

“Every word of it, Pope.” Will comes up and pats you on the back. “Good to see you, hon.”

“You’re going to let her talk to your best friend like that, Catfish?” Pope pouts. 

Frankie carefully sets you down and readjusts his cap. “I couldn’t control her even if I tried.” He shrugs. 

“Come on, Pope.” You lightly push him in the shoulder. “You know I love ya’.” 

Before he gets a chance to respond, a car pulls into the lot extremely fast. Frankie quickly scoops you up and moves over to the side of the parking lot that is closest to Brass Knuckles. You didn’t even have time to process what had just happened, yet the rest of them reacted just as quickly as Frankie did. 

“What kind of idiot drives like that?” You say, trying to get your bearings as you feel your feet touch asphalt again. 

“The kind of idiot with a bone to pick.” Pope mutters. 

When you look around, all three of them are watching the car park in a spot that's a few spaces down from theirs. Nervousness starts to rear its ugly head when you see them all exchange quick glances, followed by nods of their heads. Will is the first to break the silence.

“Why don’t we go inside?” His eyes look like they are pleading with you. “You can show me what still needs to be set up before people start arrivin’ tonight, huh?”

“Wait, what?” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Frankie confirms, his gaze still fixed on the now unmoving car. He doesn’t sound like himself. “Take her inside.”

“Frankie? What’s going on?” 

He must have heard the quiver in your voice because he turns his attention to you. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes. I just need to take care of something first, okay? Everything is fine.”

“Let's go, hermosa.” You feel Pope's hand come to rest softly on your shoulder. “Please.” He whispers in your ear. 

You have never seen any of them act like this. It’s causing your stomach to turn violently. Three of the toughest men you have ever met getting skittish doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Al-alright.” Pope pushes your body towards the door, but your eyes stay on Frankie. “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” 

“I know, estrella.” A car door slams hard somewhere in front of y’all and his face hardens. “Get her the fuck inside the gym.” 

For the third time in a matter of a few minutes you’re being carried. This time it is compliments of Will. Before you know it, you’re being ushered inside and taken back into the gym. Neither Will nor Pope stop until they approach Benny who is in the middle of cleaning the heavy bags. 

***

The only thing that matters to Frankie is that you’re away from the catastrophe that he knew was about to ensue. He steels his emotions as he watches her round her car from the driver's side. With how quickly she is marching there should have been flames kicking up behind her.

“Francisco fucking Morales!” She screeches. “We need to talk!”

He starts walking towards her. “Yes, Rochelle. We do.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson @megcads @myloveistoolittle @casa-boiardi @jitterbugs927 @partyofone3413 @pedrit0-pascalit0 @golden-library @pati-et-vivere @mashomasho @lilmizmoz @angstylittlepascal @sofiparallel @selflcontrol @adriennemichelle98 @painitemoondust @pedritosgirl2000 @tpwkmera @romanarose }

[ilikepjo24]

@annie-handholder rebloged a post I made with some Ursa and Azula art (that does not belong to me, I just got permission from the artist to share it on this platform) and those were the tags, and I'd like to address them.

First of all, there's no indication of Azula being spoiled. Being a prodigy and being praised isn't the same as being spoiled, you are simply getting recognition for the skills you do have that are great and do deserve recognition. To assume that this recognition isn't essential and is actually spoiling a child will only serve to un-motivate them. So Azula receiving praise for being good at stuff is just a normal thing. You try hard and are skilled and you get praise as a reward. This isn't being spoiled.

Being spoiled is to be harmed in character by being treated too leniently or indulgently. This is a definition that I copy-pasted. This definition does not fit Azula. We see Ursa make an attempt to set boundaries and be stern whenever the situation called for it. We even see Ozai tell her to fuck off when she asks for credit for her own plan (which wasn't good parenting, it was toxic as well, but it was the opposite way. If giving your children too much praise is toxic then not giving them recognition at all for their own achievements and ideas is the other end of the rope, and both are toxic. You should find the middle ground and give your children the proper amount of praise).

Additionally, we don't see anything that would imply that Azula is being spoiled with material possessions. We see her get a gift once, but that's all. It's not like she goes around pointing at things she wants and everyone breaks their back to get her that thing. She's not obsessed with material possessions, as you'd expect a spoiled child to be.

Yes, Ozai did not address her bad behavior, in fact, he encouraged it when it didn't affect him personally. But he also nipped it in the bud when Azula did something that annoyed him. And Ursa addressed her bad behavior too. So it's not like Azula grew up spoiled and without rules because her parents let her do whatever she pleased. The problem is that the rules that were in place by Ozai weren't the correct ones. Instead of being a decent dad and person and teaching his daughter to also be a decent person, Ozai just taught Azula to not be a bother to him. And she did do that. So Azula did follow the rules that were in place for her. You wouldn't call a child that follows rules spoiled. At this point, you have to realize that Azula wasn't the problem. She wasn't spoiled. She followed the rules. The problem is that the rules in question were unreasonable. So you can't really blame the child and call them spoiled. You have to hold accountable the people that set those rules in place.

If Azula behaved the exact same way, but the rules she had to follow were the ones society has agreed upon, she'd be a model child. So she's not the problem. She's not spoiled. The problem is that she was playing a version of the game with different rules that the agreed upon, socially acceptable ones. The one to blame in this situation is the one that set her up for failure and taught her to play the wrong version of the game. I'm looking at you, Ozai.

The child isn't spoiled, she follows rules. The problem is the irresponsible parenting. So you can't just go ahead and paint Azula out to be the problem. It's shifting the blame from the irresponsible parents to the misguided child. It's simply not fair.

So if Azula wasn't spoiled, then why didn't she realize Ursa loved her?

Well, that's because Ursa wasn't that good at showing it. I have made multiple posts about how Ursa parented Azula, and so have a bunch of other people. The truth is, while Ursa was strict with Azula when needed, she was too lenient with Zuko, with who she clearly favored and spend more time with. I'm not saying Ursa didn't love Azula, but I am saying that Ursa could have done more to express that love, and then Azula would know it's there.

[wavernot4love]

wanted 2 make a post about some positive things that happened at iDKHOW Buffalo last night, because there certainly was good in there, for everyone involved, and i want to highlight/talk about that stuff!

i make these posts a lot for shows, mostly for myself so i don't forget, but others seem 2 enjoy them too, and i don't think last night's show should be any exception.

- first of all, OPENING BAND in the crowd!!! something i have never heard of dallon doing for that one before, and all things considered, i fully see why he chose to do it here as it fit the clear vibe of just wanting to be close with and sort of revel in the connection with the crowd - and the ability of that to make everything better.

there were no flamboyant theatrics like with visitation, just all of us singing together (it was also just anthony playing onstage), and homie stayed out with us for a long time - most of the song. i was also right up there which was nice.

(i'm just gonna put a keep reading thingy here you can click so this doesn't clog tags/folks' dash due to being long)

was just super sentimental. dallon even brought the "gives me.... and ____ a purpose" thing back, mentioning/gesturing towards anthony, & also the thing where when we're all doing the last "band" he like, leans back and yells it with his hands around his mouth. just kinda got me & made me smile since he didn't do either of those things on saturday, and i always do them out of habit when singing the song because of past shows.

definitely the best moment of the night & the embodiment of everything i love about idkhow. he truly made the best out of everything.

i didn't film all of it, & also my camera angles are bad since i didn't want to shove my phone in dallon (or anyone's) face. this is the only video i really feel comfortable posting from last night since it just felt like everything was alright in that moment, 100%. not that i took many in the first place for that reason, but you get the idea.

- dallon strutting around with a pride flag from someone for half a song!! let me tell you, bro was showing that thing OFF. sadly i just had my film camera in hand in the moment so i just grabbed maybe five shots on that aka i don't have em yet, but i'll have em eventually, and it sure did happen, and it was great. did see a few posts in idkhow's tagged on instagram if ya wanna peep.

- back to what i said in regards to opening band about making a rough situation more positive, dallon brought up this exact point (even moreso than usual, including just on saturday in rochester) earlier in the show while talking about a letter - he went really in depth about turning negative stuff into something beautiful. and was talking about how when he wrote the song, he could only hear what we were doing now (you know the parts, in the chorus) in his head, and now he gets to actually experience it, and so he never stops playing this song even 20 years after he wrote it. i love dallon's love for a letter, man, and hope he never does stop.

- downside has truly become one of my favorite live songs. holy moly dude it had even the otherwise seemingly casual fans going wild, possibly even more than rochester actually. that is a song to freakin JUMP to if there ever was one!!!

- did mention this in my post from last night, but a while after the show (there were only maybe a dozen of us around at this point), on his way out to the bus, dallon kind of smiled & waved at us/said thank you, first to the larger group closer to the venue and then to the few of us a bit further down, too.

can't really word it right, but just the fact that despite seeming quite down, still, bro took care to make sure we all felt appreciated/not ignored was sweet. i think maybe he could tell we were concerned, i don't know, dude, all i do know is there's a lot of kindness in that dude's eyes.

had honestly never really interacted with dallon all these years prior to these shows (besides theatrical visitation crowd stuff), so i hadn't fully realized until these past few days - really given me a different perspective i hadn't fully caught onto before amidst the dramatic aspects of idkhow/dallon & their shows, i guess.

point is, dallon's a kind dude. be good to him. just wanted to say that.

- and finally, last night was my eighth (!) idkhow show, & what's crazy is i have never traveled more than an hour & a half for one all this time. i can't say that goes for any other band, and that fact doesn't go lost on me. western ny loves and shows up for idkhow, & idkhow loves and shows up for western ny always. <3

i just have so much love for all this, dude. i miss the shows already.

this project & dallon's music & the live shows have all been in my life for so long. both of these shows have been special in some way or another, last night being a reminder of how powerful everything idkhow has going is to the point of being able to make something good out of, well, whatever might be going on.

truly hope to catch another show back around here sometime soon. please get out 2 a gig if you can - chances are, like me and everyone i've encountered, really, at their shows, you'll never want to stop going, either, if you do. :p

[antiendovents]

hey! so tumblr eated the last one so i hope this one works (hopefully i got everything, memory is hard) also for some context: the only people fronting at this time was a persecutor (me) and a social protector, both of us don't have empathy and don't stand for the system being pushed around

anyways i posted about how weird it is whenever endos say traumatized people hold privilege over them and an endo came into my replies saying that i'm the reason their friend tried to kill themselves and people like ME is the reason people have issues.

mind you i am nothing but respectful in online discussions (and keep interacting with endos to a fucking MINIMUM!!) unless someone shows me disrespect first, then i am done with them (but never am toxic yk?) so i haven't done jack shit to make their friend wanna kts

but they came into my reply section all talking about how people who are anti endo are so evil and toxic and cause people to end themselves (mind you i mentioned how endos send me gore rape threats and etc and they did not reply to that)

then when i didn't bite and kept pointing out how A. no one was talking about that B. They are trauma dumping and C. they can't guilt trip me they started calling me a kid and an edgelord and calling me names and implying i was just to stupid to see that "[im] the problem". and that they weren't trauma dumping they were explaining nuance (which they lacked so badly. doubt they know the definition of the word.)

they then compared me to ben shapiro and told us they weren't there to have a normal conversation and atp i was done with them.

went to their page to block them and they had posts about hating how people block tags/other people cuz it makes 'people not receptive to other viewpoints' and shit and then they vague posted us. like its not lacking nuance or not liking other viewpoints, its the fact that you're a dick. you don't understand how to properly have a conversation with other people, respect THEIR viewpoints or understand nuance that doesn't fit your beliefs and think everyone should just bend to your will. not wanting people to block people isn't being smart its being chronically online and assuming superiority over everyone who disagrees with you. i have never seen someone so dense ironically talking about other people who disagree being dense. like maybe people just don't fucking agree with you and don't wanna hear your bs.

sorry if none of this made sense!

oh, jeez that's.. I hate how endos try guilt trip us, like no I'm not going to be pro endos just because your friend was bullied or harassed ((obviously I don't think they deserved that, but I'm not going to give up my beliefs and start feeding into misinformation just because that happened)). It's good that you blocked them, because they sound like a fucking dickhead tbh. You are not the problem, they are, and it's so frustrating that they can't see that. Like fuck off with your BS, no one cares about you or your endos shit (not directed at you anon)

Also don't worry, this makes sense ^^

[hainethehero]

Me again!

“When did the rules of fandom and fanfic become so absolutely strict & rigid to the point where people aren't allowed to like what they like??!!!” – bit off topic, but oh boy, have you not noticed the rise of “purity culture” in fandom in the past 10(?) years? People have been getting a LOT of hate for ships they ship or tropes they like. It’s definitely not restricted to buddie fandom or 911 fandom.

“Why do you care if people really like Eddie or not? Are you the Eddie police?” – This made me laugh. And the answer to the first question is pretty easy – if people really like Eddie, they’re more likely to post content about him that I can reblog and enjoy, such as fics or gifsets or meta etc. If everybody disliked Eddie, I’d have nothing fun to read/look at/engage with! So in that sense, I do care to an extent.

“I'm guessing if they have him in their pfp, they like him. And I'm guessing if they have him in their pfp, it's also respectfully none of your concern.” – Well, you’re right it’s not my concern per se, except that if I go scrolling a diaz/eddie-named blog, hoping for good Eddie content to reblog, and I run into a heap of BT posts or LJFR posts or Tommy posts, it’s a bit of a jumpscare/disappointment (which has happened several times). And yes, I filter tags, but people don’t always tag appropriately!

“your absolutely strange questions about what I envision for Eddie/who he'd end up with (I think u should be concerned with what you envision for him & not some stranger on the internet” – Why is it so strange to want to know what somebody else thinks and perhaps gain a fresh perspective? I already know what I would like for Eddie. I was curious about what you thought.

“He'd still be Buck's best friend if BT ended up as endgame

He'd be in a polyamorous relationship with them and get all the d*ck he wants (my personal preference)

Or the writers will give him another gf” - Anyway, so you like the option of eddie in a throuple with buck and tommy? Ok cool! My curiosity is satisfied!

What gets me about the whole "purity culture" in fandom that you're talking about, is that YOU'RE DOING IT. 🤣 you're doing it right now!

What's adding to this disease of purity culture in fandom is what most of the toxic buddie stans are doing RIGHT NOW. Yall are hating on Tommy with absolutely bad faith arguments and using every opportunity you can to deny the fact that you just don't like him because he's in the say of your preferred ship.

"I got a jumpscare seeing Tommy when I was looking thru the eddie tag" lmao okay that was funny. But like, the insane hatred for him is so weird. Y'all know whether buddie becomes canon or not, you can still make them endgame through fanfic right????

And yes, if more people were concerned with how they felt about their characters, instead of how other feel, we would avoid all this fandom war. You asking if people who had Eddie as their pfp really liked him or not IS entitled. You don't know why they have him as their pfp, so why question it? You're not entitled to know.

And in the referred ask, you wanting to know how someone who liked BT and Buddie would envision Eddie fitting in to the relationship- was totally your confusion at not being able to fathom that people could like both and still want buddie or BT to be endgame. Which is a trait I've observed in MOST buddie stans and some BT fans (which I DID address in my OP).

[undeadbanjos]

Pls tell us about the divorce over fic

pffft yeah okay. but i warn, it's not as fun as it sounds. so. tw for an abusive marriage/relationship.

story time.

so those who follow me currently probably know me primarlily for being one of three people crazy over wishshipping or joey wheeler in general in the yugioh fandom. particularly writing a good 80+ chapter long fic.

however. this was not my first fic. my first fic... was for in space with markiplier.

for those who dont know, markiplier (yes, the youtuber) actually has his own series of (mostly) choose your own adventure videos. and theyre all connected. his last series of videos was split into two massive parts, and he did this q&a after it was all said and done and someone asked if he'd ever do a part 3.

he said, "no, that's up to one of you guys to write."

well after 3 days of obsessively checking ao3 no one had taken up that challenge and even though i had never written a piece of fiction in my life the hyperfixation was so strong i sat down and started writing.

and dear god something came over me. i had 8 chapters written in the span of a day.

for a while, id post two chapters a day. which is...insane. like why the fuck did i do that? but eventually i managed to narrow it down to one chapter a day (which i know is still insane and for some fucking reason is what i currently do when in my writing fits.)

being this manic long fic writer that came out of no where i started to get some attention. memes were made in support of my story. people were talking about it. hell, i started to make friends, really a first for me in fandom space. someone made a joke about making a discord server. i asked if that was a legitimate interest to anyone and i got an overwhelming yes from several people so, i made one.

my husband at the time, found out i was doing something different in my off time. i'd put the baby to bed and go to my computer and start writing. i was laughing a lot more and checking my phone a lot (for fic comments, a habit i still have while in my posting fits). finally he confronted me.

"What is it you're doing on your phone all the time?"

"I.... wrote a fanfic. I get a lot of comments."

"Is it a smut?"

annoyed, I confessed that yes, there were a few smut chapters. He asked if he could read it. I gave him the link.

he was deeply disturbed by the smut. (He didn't even read the rest of it. like....the actual story I was writing.) the smut? I mean dude you could go look at it but I mean it's pretty vanilla sex between two consenting fictional adults, but whatever. I knew he wouldn't like it. at this point in our marriage he had already stated everything I liked was annoying.

anyway. when he found out I had made friends... he got really upset. he didn't want me to have other "influences tainting my mind." i shot him back with the fact he has friends online, so why couldn't i? he didn't like it, but he warned me to be careful.

then i met sitch.

those of you who know me are nodding their head. ah, yes sitch. those who have stumbled upon this rambling probably can tell this is where the story takes a turn because i know how to set things up. by god ive written like 160 chapters of fanfiction at this point.

anywho. this guy comments on my fic and asks permission to make fanart for it. this was so fucking wild to me. fanart? for MY fic? like who would have thought. i reply enthusiastically with a yes and tell him im on tumblr so please tag me so i can see it. a few days pass and i get a dm. it's the same guy. he's made the fanart. i love it. we chat a little about the fic. about in space. about music. slowly it starts creeping into talking about life. about anything, everything. it was kinda wild how i had met someone and felt like ive known him forever. this of course, is sitch. when the discord thing came up, i decided to ask him for help, because i literally didnt even have a discord at the time.

sitch helps me with the discord. we find some mods. we open the floodgates. swear to god about 40-50 people come in. some are more chatty than others. we all chat like good friends. i update the fic daily. we all find out we relate to each other a lot. we have movie nights and game nights. i continue writing the fic, even getting help from sitch at this point. he's become sort of my beta reader. (and now he's my editor thank god the yujou means friendship people have no idea how blessed they are)

i realize. fuck. these people...really relate to me. like me even. and i like them.

and sitch....sitch in particular...i really like.

i am in deep shit.

at this point, my husband is making it well known how much he disapproves how im spending my time. not that... he wanted to spend time with me though? he locked himself in his office and would play his own games. what he didnt like is i had found people that i relate to. that i could talk to. meanwhile i was reaching the point i was afraid to say literally anything around him.

at this point, he started teasing me about "having a crush on markiplier" and he would "joke" about me leaving him for markiplier or some shit. He started arguing with me about sexuality and gender out of no where, knowing what my stance was on it.

I don't really want to get into what my breaking point was.

A few weeks went by. I started to confide in my friends, and I started to confide in Sitch. One night, my brain came up with some logic that if I told him about the feelings I was developing (because they were only growing) he would reject me and we'd laugh it off.

Unfortunately it wasn't so simple.

For a week we were in this odd stalemate. Living in different countries but talking constantly. Having essentially an emotional affair, but knowing there was nothing really to do. I had no belief that I could make it on my own, and I knew I would get a lot of backlash from my family if I were to leave my husband. The weekend came and my husband got it out of me. I had feelings for one of my online friends. And I had confessed it to him.

My husband took my laptop and went through the messages. All of them. i fled to my parents house and tried to warn sitch that he had my laptop.

The next day, my husband convinced me I needed to delete everything. The discord server. My Tumblr. Even the fic. He essentially convinced me I was at an all time low of horribleness, and I believed him.

A week later I couldn't take it anymore. I missed my friends. Id sadly felt more loved by them than anyone around me. Which yeah, is pretty damn pathetic. I left my husband, and found my friends had already made a new discord, waiting for me. They had downloaded the fic, which I slowly re-uploaded and eventually finished. And sitch and I slowly built our relationship, have now met in person, and we're hoping he's able to move down here soon.

So yeah. I wrote a Markiplier fanfic and it led to me getting a divorce. Which honestly, thank god. I don't want to think about what would have happened to me if I hadn't.