#instead of just for like. informational how-tos

[kaviiinsky]

today my boss thought I was saying spotify rapt?? short for rapture?? he thought I was talking about the spotify rapture??????

[oceantornadoo]

can be read as part of the duckie universe?? standalone tho. here

“‘ello, duckie.” john’s voice was smooth gravel in your ear, honeyed and sweet. “hey john. date was ok. won’t be a second one though, it felt like i was talking to a colleague, not a potential lover.” john was silent on the other end, just gruff breathing. you bit the tip of your tongue, cursing yourself for giving so much information. he was supposed to be your best friend, your confidant, but somehow this felt like crossing a line. but you weren’t anything, he never tried anything, so really this wasn’t even your fault.

“where are you?” what if you didn’t tell him? what if you ignored the fact that he has your location and was probably already on his way? what about the sound of an engine turning on in the background? “that one thai place off base. john i-“ “took him to our spot?” shit. you were in for it.

john pulled up ten minutes later in his worn truck, the transport he took when he was undercover or off duty. when he was wearing those jeans that hugged his ass way too well and that black henley you bought for him two christmases ago, his biceps practically bursting out of it. “john, it’s not a big deal.” he refused to meet your eyes, taking your bag and guiding you to his truck door, ever the gentleman. “get in, duckie.” instead of complying, you turned and placed a hand on his chest, an attempt to make him meet your eyes. instead, he gazed at your hand, your left hand, with its bare fingers. “don’t make me say it again.” to postpone a fight in the parking lot and to quicken the time it would take you to get home and out of these extremely uncomfortable shoes, you rolled your eyes and made your way to the passenger door. you ignored how he opened it for you, how he placed a hand on your ass to help you up into the truck, even thought it was just a few inches off the ground.

the ride back to base was silent, your fingers itching to press the radio button just to break the tension. the minutes passed quickly, john pulling up to his base quarters with practiced ease. he backed into a parking spot, a hand on your headrest that you tried valiantly to ignore. the smell of his cologne reached you anyways, a pavlovian reaction relaxing your body on instinct. he helped you out of the car despite his anger, rough hands guiding you towards the familiar path leading to his room. never mind that you desperately wanted to go to your own room, change into sweats, wipe off your makeup, decompress with a glass of wine or two. instead, you were walking to john’s room like a prisoner, heavy steps echoing your own as he opened doors and tugged you through them.

finally you were at his room, watching his nimble hands open the door with the slightest shake. that couldn’t be right. he only shook when he was angry and - you did a quick catalogue of his bunched shoulders muscling through the entrance, the sharp way he toed off his boots - maybe you were wrong. he knelt down before you before your brain could even register, grasping at your ankle and tugging off your shoes. he did it with too much force, causing you to stumble into him, stomach squishing against his face. “i’m sorry.” he grunted in reply, still not meeting your eyes. “sit.” you gulped at the sight of his bed, tucked in with military precision.

“explain.” john was looking down at you, arms crossed against his chest. instead of answering, you tugged him down to sit next to you. the fact that he let you? he wasn’t that mad. “we were supposed to eat at the pub but it was closed so that’s why we went to the thai place. and he suggested it, ok? it wasn’t on purpose.” he shook his head, shoulder brushing your own. “he’s a bloody idiot for not checking beforehand.” you giggled, laying your head against his shoulder. “right? i would never betray our restaurant like that, john.” john was silent, lost to his thoughts. the anger was still there, a simmer instead of a boil. he wasn’t hearing you, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“john, you’re not listening.” you stood up, walking in between his open legs, your hand on his shoulders. his eyes were still glazed, brows furrowed. deciding on drastic measures, you dragged yourself into his lap, straddling him into the mattress. finally, his eyes met yours, all blue and wanting. his hands on your hip, your pelvises kissing. “duckie.” you shook your head, biting your lip. “there a reason why you’re so mad at me, captain?” john’s hands tightened against your body, holding you in place. “don’t play that, sweetheart.” you dragged your hands into his beard, tugging lightly on the strands. “then why did you pick me up all stoic?” he brought his face closer to yours, noses touching. eyes flickering to yours, searching for something. you were tired of this caveman act. “kiss me, john.”

his eyes widened. "stop playin', duck. not the time." you shook your head, giving him a roll of your hips. denim brushed on denim, stirring his cock to life. "don't you want to kiss your future wife?" his eyes widened at the mention of the marriage pact that usually only he brought up. "you told me to wait, so i'm waitin’, sweetheart." he wasn't getting it. you finally saw past it, past the wall of anger he portrayed. "well, if you won't, then maybe i'll call my date and-"

john's lips smashed against your own, his hands tugging you closer into his laps. he was searching, for what you didn't know, chasing you with a kiss. his cock was hard against you, the brush of denim against your clit sending shock waves to your system. "not gonna fuck you, duckie. not yet." you frowned, breaking the kiss. "why not?" he moved to your neck, kissing it frantically.

"'cause you're not as deep as i am. 's okay, i can wait a few more years." you started bucking in his lap, chasing the feeling in your stomach. "john, you're so hot when you're mad. please please please fuck me." he chuckled at your tone, one hand moving from your hip to grip your jaw in place. "y'r so whiny when you're horny, baby. can't wait to fuck you one day." his beard was scratching your neck, the sensation setting you on fire. you kept grinding, his hands pulling you in and own, helping you chase your orgasm. "gonna come like this for your husband?" you didn't even try to correct him, too lost in the waves of pleasure. just a bit more and - he bit your neck, sending you over the edge into blissful orgasm. you worked out the waves in his lap, slowing down as the exhaustion hit you. "john, i-' you ended with a yawn, sinking into his embrace. "'s okay, duckie. all the time you need. i can wait."

[solarpunkani]

"Oh no, someone's attracted to the aesthetics of my -punk movement but doesn't know the praxis and history behind it like I do--"

OK. Tell them. Make it a teaching moment. Everyone who's in your movement learned the background from somewhere at some point, maybe this is that point for that person. Give them a jumping off point that they can dive into later.

"Oh but I shouldn't be responsible for teaching baby -punks about the history and the how-tos and--"

OK. Then don't tell them. You don't have to be responsible for teaching people with a budding interest in your group the ins and outs and how-tos. That's fair and valid! It can be a lot of work. Someone else will handle it

"But I'm annoyed that they would try to claim to be part of/be interested in my community without knowing all the details that I know after being in it for months/years/decades, they're dumb, they're posers, they're--"

OK. Then don't engage with them, if it's that bad. Maybe someone else will come around and tell them the history, maybe they'll pick it up on their own, maybe they'll just enjoy the fashion elements for awhile.

"But they shouldn't claim to be part of the -punk community if they don't know the--"

I feel like we have a few options here. People can either talk to them, share the history, share the values, share the praxis. Or they can just chase off anyone who even thinks about dipping a toe in their community, and then wonder why it's dying off later down the line.

I dunno, maybe I'm too naive and patient or whatever. But if people are entering your -punk spaces without knowing The Rundown of what you feel they need to know, maybe being nice about it and informing people instead of immediately assuming stupidity and malicious intent could help you make a new friend. Even the loudest voices in a space had to learn from somewhere, and not everyone has the luxury of being in the space as the History was Happening--whether it's an age thing or a not being aware of the space thing. Or maybe I just don't see what the big deal is behind people hating people who like the aesthetic of something and don't know the behind the scenes history about it yet.

Because I believe in the word 'yet.' No one comes into this world knowing everything about everything, and we're all constantly learning new things. I'm not gonna degrade someone and call them a poser for not knowing what I know. Because if it were me, interested in a scene but getting chased out and called a poser? I wouldn't hit the books and study up, I'd go 'that fuckin sucks, those people sucked' and then avoid anyone and anything having to do with it.

So chase people off and call them posers if you want. But if your community starts dwindling, don't be fucking shocked.

[yanderederee]

TummyAche

a/n: tummy ache girlies unite; Hiragi is here to save the day lol. Please love him with me♡

ct: reader is straightforward and dorky♡

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

The day began as it would any other for Hiragi Toma. As always, he went about his morning, paroling the attentively. Aa uneventful as it was, the cool morning air and lull of pedestrian idle commotion served to tire the delinquent more than usual. So, en route back to school, he decided to stop by the vending machine for a quick black coffee.

However, hidden just beyond the vending machines broad stature, he noticed a human figure huddled over. He easily could have missed it had he not been so close. Cautiously, Hiragi toed in closer.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked, folding down to one knee to reach your current height. You gasped, not expecting for another person’s presence. “Sorry.” He quickly apologized.

You shook your head, groaning quietly. “You’re fine… my stomach just… really hurts…”

Hiragi nodded understandably. “Well, luckily for you,” he hummed, pulling out his tried and true Gas-kun 10. “I happen to have stomach medicine on me. Here, it’s chewable.” He offered you one of the small pills.

Awkarddky, you felt embarrassed having to admit, “I don’t like the powdery taste a chewable pill leaves behind…” Hiragi chuckled, and stood to his full height.

“Can’t blame ya there. Hang tight,” He examined the contents of the vending machine, quickly spotting a green tea option. That would probably be best for a stomach ache, right? After purchasing both of your drinks, he squatted back beside you, handing you the tea and medicine.

Quickly, you took both ingestibles’. After taking one, two, three, four large gulps of the offered tea, you released the can with a quiet ‘haaaaah’.

Though it may not have been your preferred drink of choice, it was rather good. “Do you just… always carry stomach medicine?” You asked, finally taking a good look at the kind bystander.

Hiragi laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I get stomach aches pretty often, so it’s pretty much essential.” You giggled at his reply. “That’s unexpected.”

Together, you shared a few more words, a few more giggles. Until eventually, you could tell his attention was beginning to drift, as though he needed to be elsewhere soon.

“Say, what’s your name?” You asked, finally feeling well enough to stand.

“Hiragi Toma, 3rd year at Furin high school. Nice to meet you.”

You smiled at his introduction. He was kind, and easy to talk to. By the looks of him, in his tight leather pants and the dangerous aura radiating off of him, you were pleasantly surprised. Tall, respectful and thoughtful— and by your standards, very hot… just your type.

“Say… I hope this doesn’t come off strong but… can I… have your contact information?” You asked nervously.

Hiragi became baffled, eyes wide in disbelief. No one’s ever asked for his contact information so quickly upon meeting him. Sure, he thought you were cute; the way you laughed made his heart skip a little, and the way he felt so calm with your presence had made him let his guard down.

…But it wouldn’t be a bad thing to become closer to you…

“S…sure… is my number fine?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Days after your aforementioned meeting of one another, Hiragi found himself becoming more and more infatuated with you. For some reason, any free thought that wasn’t taken up by Bofurin, Umemiya, or his unpunctual juniors— had become filled with little thoughts about you.

Wondering if you got stomach aches often as well. Were you eating well? Hopefully. Maybe he’d ought to ask you himself, given how frequently you would text him. Perhaps he should find the frequency of your initiated chats bothersome, but it was quite the opposite; he instead felt giddy with every time his phone would vibrate, eager for a chance to duck out to check your message away from prying eyes umemiya.

Like now, he realized from a familiar buzzing. Peeking over to make sure his underclassmen were all distracted with other things, he quickly stepped off behind a corner, pulling out his phone to read your name.

Y/n: class is so boring… I can’t keep my eyes open (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾ what are u doing ???

Hiragi♡: that’s not good. how about you try paying attention.

Y/n: so rude!!’ and u didn’t ansr my ??? !

Hiragi♡: im helping my friend out with gardening

Y/n: GARDENING‽?‽?!(๑･̑◡･̑๑) lol what a surprise!! i didn’t know u had a green thumb!!!!

Hiragi♡: i dont. i just water them whenever hes too busy

Y/n: interstng

Hiragi♡: you should probably put your phone away in class

Y/n: just got busted!!_:(´ཀ`」 ∠): ttyl

What the hell did ttyl stand for? Hiragi chucked audibly, rereading over the conversation a few times, heart feeling full. You were much more of a dork than you first let on, but in an endearing way…

Soon, he began feeling the oncoming presence of his curious juniors approaching. Quickly, he pocketed the devise, and joined back up with them.

⎯⎯⎯✦

A few days after that, your texts became less frequent. Hiragi was becoming increasingly irritable as the pattern spanned for the fifth day. You texted him maybe once a day, if only to say good morning, but hadn’t continued with your usual banters and chatter.

Had he done something wrong? He tried reasoning what it could be. Were you bored of him? It was possible… damnit! What should he do… Let it go? You weren’t inclined to message him after all…

But still, something was eating at him… he didn’t want you to stop. Hiragi looked forward to your daily rants and gripes. Just reading your messages was enough to make him break out in a smile. He was even becoming less careful in hiding your existence— Umemiya almost caught him once…

After toiling on it for too long, he decided the best thing to do would be to own up to it… soon. Maybe he would start with messaging you first.

Hiragi♡？: morning. are you at still in school?

Y/n: yahh..

Hiragi♡？: sounds rough. what time do you get out?

Y/n: two hours(@_@)

Hiragi♡？: do you want to grab a bite to eat after? i have a free meal coupon for ashitaba that i need to use.

Even while in class, you were notorious for answering his messages with lightning speed. Yet, after his latest text, all messages from you halted for an entire hour.

Did he come off too strong? Shit. He wasn’t used to this type of thing, maybe he should take it back before you decided to stop talking to him altogether.

An hour and a half passes, before hes sprung back into life with a new text.

Y/n: I’ve never eaten as ashitaba before. Id like to try it though

Was that a yes? Should he take it as a yes? Unsure, he scanned the message a few times.

“Oooohhh~ does our ‘ragi have a daaate?~” a sudden teasing voice cooed into his ear. “GODDAMNIT!” Hiragi screamed unexpectedly, instinctively throwing a punch into the white haired boy’s face.

Undeterred, Umemiya laughed. “Hohoho~ so it’s true! Hiragi’s got giiiiirlfriend~” Annoyed, Hiragi clicked his tongue. “We aren’t dating!” He snapped back. Umemiya audibly ‘oop’ed, covering his mouth in mild surprise. “An ex..?” “NEITHER!”

…

“So, you weren’t sure about her feelings, so you asked her out to eat to find out?” Umemiya asked, after Hiragi begrudgingly responded to his pestering to tell him everything there was to know about you.

Hiragi shrugged. “I… guess. It just felt like they were putting distance between us and i guess i just… didn’t want that to happen.”

Umemiya nodded along. “So you like them, right?” This question earned a grunt to leave Hiragi’s chest. “Who knows.” He huffed, standing up to leave the conversation.

“Good luuuck! Charm the pants off ‘er, so i can meet her next time!!”

…

Just by your school gate, Hiragi waited, scrolling on his phone.

Hiragi♡？: im outside ur school. spot me by the gate.

Y/n: YOURE HERE????????? (=ↀΩↀ=)

Seeing no reason to reply further, since you’d be seeing him in person before long, he smiled at the cute emoji you sent, and looked around.

Everyone. Was staring at him.

“I-is that a Furin uniform? Scary!!”

“Let’s walk the other way…”

“What’s he here for? Is he looking for a fight?”

“Should i call the police?”

Shit. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge for neighboring schools to know how the image of Furin has changed over the years. To the outside eye, Furin was still a good for nothing delinquent school who fought anyone and everyone. Maybe meeting you at school was a bad idea.

“Hii~ra~giii~” chimed a cheerful voice, breaking out against the harsh whispers around him. A particular group of girls stared the two of you down with wide, shocked eyes. Based on where you were skipping from and their placement, they looked to be your friends. “Ready?”

Hiragi looked a little uneasy, glancing between you and your very suspicious friends, all gathered and whispering with one another. “Uh… yeah.” He mumbled, looking away.

Side by side, the two of you walked to the restaurant he’d mentioned, all while your chipper chatter filled the silence. Talking about anything, asking him questions, leaving room for breathing space as to not overwhelm the conversation too badly.

You had just a weird way of making him feel… at ease. He thought he didn’t much care for carefree individuals who couldn’t mind their business. That’s how it was with Umemiya at least; but your comforting presence did something to ease any aggression lurking inside him.

Coming up on the restaurant, he pulled open the door expectedly for you. You gave a quiet thanks before entering. “Welcome i—“ the older man called in greeting, only to cut himself off when he was met with an unfamiliar face accompanying one of his most regular customers.

Baffled, the older man starred at you in gaping awe. There was no way in hell Hiragi was bringing someone as fine as you on a date here of all places.

“Quit it with the crazy eyes old man, table for two, please.” Hiragi spoke up after closing the door. While the old man was still taken by shock, he did his best to welcome the two of you in with open arms. Quickly, the two of you were seated, and met with hardy conversation with the cook.

“Well you’ve got to forgive me, but this is just about the most unexpected thing! The Bofurin boys come in here all the time, but it’s unusual for them to bring guests like this! Here, try this to start off! I got a few other things frying up right now, it’ll be ready in just’a sec.”

“That’s so kind of you..! I can’t wait to try it! But before that… Bofurin boys? Like, Furin high school, right?” You seemed to be puzzling little things together. You’ve been in town before, of course, but the only thing readily known about Furin was its notorious reputation; and how it had only in recent years began to change.

“You dont know Bofurin? Oh boy! They’re just about the most helpful bunch o’guys around! Can’t tell ya the number of times Toma here has unloaded a full truck for me on delivery day!” The old man hollered with laughter, slapping Hiragi on the back hard.

After putting in your respective orders, Hiragi sighed in embarrassment. “Sorry if he’s over the top. He means well.“

“No way!” You waved off his apology with a happy grin. “I’m even more interested now. Tell me about Bofurin! The locals seem to know you as a hero or something. Only had four random people call out to you asking if you needed anything. What’s that about?”

And so, Hiragi began unwinding the ever telling story of Furin’s history, how it came to be, and who they were now. The story took you by storm; your eyes glued to him as you watched the dangerous looking boy go on about how it’s important to help the people in his community, subconsciously smiling to himself.

Hiragi was compassionate. Perhaps a little harsh spoken and rough looking, but soft in the ways it counted.

“So cool,” you whispered to yourself, thinking only of the boy in front of you in that moment. “Huh? Yeah, i guess we try acting cool for everyone’s sake.” He chuckled back, earning a hot wave of embarrassment to flow over you. You weren’t about to correct him.

The food was great, full of flavor and home cooked goodness. “This is amazing sir!!” You yelled from your table, comfortable in doing so thanks to being the only three people in the eatery. “Don’t tell him that, it’ll go straight to his head.” Hiragi chuckled again. “My head is a respectable size thank you very much. Here, try these too Y/n!”

Finally after having been stuffed full of food, and sent out with more leftovers than you could carry alone, you were elated.

“Thanks for taking me out today, Hiragi! It was awful kind of Mr Ashitaba to tab our meals!”

Hiragi smiled, proud of his community for showing you such hospitality. “This is pretty normal honestly. I’ll make sure to pay him back next time though.”

Sharing amongst yourself a few more lines of conversation, Hiragi’s thoughts began drifting back to your lukewarm messages lately. Should he bring it up, or just leave it be? Would it be overstepping to insinuate any necessity to your conversations?

“Hiiragi? You there?” You asked, waving a hand in front of his face inquisitively. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He cleared his throat.

You looked at him for a moment, as if reading his mind. “You can ask whatever it is you’re thinking. I have an answer.” You smiled knowingly.

Maybe you were sharper than he took you for. Finally, he exhaled. “It’s fine, honestly. I’m not upset or anything. I was… just curious. How do i even say it…” he grumbled, unable to find the words he meant. “Why my messages have been so dry recently?” You asked.

Slowly, he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s not really my place to ask that. We only just met, so it’s not like there’s any obligation or anything.” He cleared the gnawing feeling setting into the conversation, hopeful you remained understanding.

“Honestly… I was worried about bothering you, at first.” You answered. “I didn’t want to annoy you, so I tried holding back just texting you every little thing that crossed my mind… but then, after a day or two, I began feeling like, maybe you weren’t really that interested in me.” You looked away bashful.

“So I asked my school friends what I should do, and they said I shouldn’t message you at all… that if-if you were I-interested in me.. than you would show it… So… ”

Hiragi stopped walking, frozen in place. ‘Interested’, like in a relationship, right? Was he? He probably was, almost positively was. But with the way you were talking… is that something you wanted too?

“Sorry, I guess that kinda sounds like I was testing you… that was wrong of me, wasn’t it?” You looked down.

Hiragi’s heart was beating out of his chest.

“That’s fine,” he spoke calmly, slowly walking to close the distance separating you. He stood close, squeezing the bag straps of leftovers in his opposite hand. “Because of that, I realized how much I really like talking to you. I missed talking to you. And I know now that I want to keep that.” Hiragi slowly raised his free hand, careful in the way he gently brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

“It’s new, but I think I like you.” He admitted boldly, locking eyes with you. Your face immediately ran hot, surely flush with embarrassment. Hiragi smiled at your cute reaction, and rested his palm on your warm cheek.

You wanted to reply, speak what was on your mind as you usually would… but you felt stunned, having Hiragi so close. You could smell the notes of musk from his cologne, feel the leather material of his jacket, and hear the soft exhales he released in nervous tension.

He made no movements, simply shifting his gaze from looking you in the eyes, to your lips, to examine your face, all to catch you off guard again with such intense eye contact.

He never did really get a good look at you the first time you met. Most of your interactions since then have been over the phone. Now that he could really pay attention to you, and put details to the face he kept imagining for the last few weeks.

Hiragi thought you were beautiful.

“Hiragi…” you would only manage a whisper, hearts racing in mutual tandem.

You gulped, and finally smiled, laying a hand on the back of his own. It was rough, his knuckles were dry and cracked, yet the texture felt comforting as you circled your finger tips over them. “I think I really like you too.”

It was so simple, so little words, that meant so much. He broke out in an uncontrollable smile, shark teeth on full display as his eyes squinted shut. Hiragi surely wasn’t looking for anything like this, a relationship. But he would be damned if he gave you up because of some half assed reason like that.

“I want to take you out again sometime. Soon. How does that sound?”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Well… I might have some free time. Have anywhere in mind?”

“Oh yeah! There’s this movie I’ve been really looking forward to,”

As you went on about planning your next date, Hiragi felt elated basking in your radiance; listening to you talk on about your movie interests, and answering when you asked him about his own opinions. All while helplessly reciprocating the hold on each others hand.

Even when you made it home, your energy felt palpable. Yet, you looked sad. “How will I know you made it home safe?”

He chuckled, patting your head. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Can I call you instead?” You asked.

“Sure,” his heart swelled at your borderline clingy nature. With these feelings being so new, he welcomed it. “See you tomorrow.”

Hiragi began to turn, but instinctively, you reached a hand out to grab his shirt. He paused, eyeing you curiously. It was too soon to admit you wanted to kiss him, right? But he seemed to like your straightforwardness, especially when it was tinged in shyness. And with how nervous you were, that’s exactly what you were.

“Can… I call you Toma?” You asked.

He smiled again. “Only if I can return the favor-“

“Absolutely! Please do.” You grinned so wide, grip tightening around his shirt. “Okay then,” you lifted yourself on your tip toes, pulling slightly on the materiel of his shirt, instinctively causing him to bend his knees ever so slightly at your will.

And quickly, you lay a firmly affectionate kiss on the side of his lips, not sure if it was more of his cheek. It was rushed, after all. Embarrassed but satisfied, you pulled back, practically fuming hot air from your ears. “W-well! G-good night Toma! Make it home safe!!” You yelled, quickly rushing for the door and slamming it shut.

Dumbstruck, Hiragi Toma remained on your doorstep, mouth gaping wide open, red as a damn apple. How the hell were you just going to run away from him like that? How was he supposed to react to that? WHAT THE HELL??

With no other way to release this sudden influx of deep emotions, he released a loud closed mouth scream into the palms of his hands. Quick to not make more of a fool of himself, he ran from the scene of the almost murder(his own murder); beet red and heart pounding unbelievably hard.

[atarathegreat]

My 'Pup' König

KorTac, who was better known for its swifter breeds, did have some war types sprinkled in. Mostly German Shepards, but the one that stood out was the Colonel. Colonel König was a Tibetan Mastiff born in an unknown area to a German mother and an unknown, foreign father. Bushy tail and fluffy ears aside. the Colonel was an absolute unit and killing machine. König had the sharpest canines on base, sharpest senses and even the sharpest tongue when he chose to speak.

Speaking with other members was never an issue, the man gave the clearest orders of anyone, but he avoided women. Women were to be respected and treated fairly in his squads...but avoided because he was nervous. First impressions meant everything, and if he didn't go full Colonel mode, he would fumble his words and make a mess of himself.

"She's a Tibetan, like you, so you'll be training her." König was given his order swiftly and without him having time to protest. Everyone could see that something was bothering him, his tail down instead of curled as it usually was. No one dared to ask, seeing how agitated the man was. So, no one raised a finger when a female Tibetan started to follow him around.

"You're the Colonel?" Your voice startled him. König had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to even notice your scent behind him. Steel toed boot, meet steel toed boot. You blocked his kick with one of your own, wagging your tail happily as he growled at you.

Great, I've already made a fool of myself... König grumbled to himself as he lowered his foot to the ground. "Apologies, I failed to notice your approach." König held a hand out to you. It was strange that you wagged your tail at a man who had bared his teeth (something you couldn't see because of his sniper's hood) at you and growled with every ounce of dog in his genes. "All good, Sir. I was informed to find you for my first day of training." The way you smiled at him showed your little canines. He wondered if they were as sharp as they looked.

"Today I want you to show me what you know -"

"Nothing, Sir." The interjection was...annoying, sure, but König could handle it, "I am fresh from camp, Sir. Not an ounce of knowledge in my brain." König sighed and pinned his ears back, "Alright, then spend the day learning the base and I'll figure out what we'll do tomorrow."

König watched your fluffy tail bounce away to make friends and learn the base, just as he'd ordered. He liked that. An obedient little thing, weren't you? For the next week you showcased your obedience and willingness to learn everything you needed to. Getting attached to you wasn't something that König planned on; it was just that you were perfect for him. Little, obedient, strong, and he couldn't help but notice the way you retained his scent from all the time you spent near him. It made him mess up when you were near, fumble his words, and trip over his moves while fighting.

"You smell sweet, pup, what's your name?" A large German Shepard was looming over you and smiling so his canines stuck out. As if she'd be swayed by your pathetic teeth. König glared at the display of what was supposed to be elitism but only came off as desperate. The fur of your tail bounced as you wagged, "I'm Y/n. You are?"

"My name doesn't matter, pup." The soldier was carefully holding some papers, so his nametag was hidden. "But I tell you what pup," He leaned over her and whispered, grinning as he glanced up at the colonel. When your tail stopped, König moved. It didn't matter what happened, you always wagged your tail and angled your ears to whoever was talking. No tail wags, ears flattened. König didn't like it.

"-and I'm sure you'd take my knot perfectly. Wouldn't you?"

König snatched you up by the back of your neck and tossed you over his shoulder, growling deep in his chest. The German Shepard, as they both abandoned rank to take part in the dominance battle, got chest-to-chest with König and growled back. There was a heavy decline in striking fear in the other male due to König's hood hiding his teeth. You were aware of how scary the Colonel could be from training, so you carefully reached around and raised the mask enough to flash his shiny canines.

"She ain't got your scent strapped to her." The German Shepard snarled; his tail lowered to show aggression. It was a move König didn't take kindly to. "Then you must be nose blind, she reeks of me." König growled, leaning to get in the man's face, "Might wanna go to the vet and get that fixed."

"König..." Gods, the way your sweet little voice calling him anything but 'Colonel' made his tail perk, "I'm gonna bite him if he doesn't leave you alone..."

"Then how about we get away and I'll show them all whose pup you are."

[anewstartrekfan]

Why I like Kirk so much and why I think he didn’t resonate as much with general audiences as Spock did

I think what Gene Roddenberry and the rest of the tos crew underestimated is how powerful knowledge of a character can be when they thought Kirk would be popular over Spock. As season 1 progresses while you do get information about both Kirk and Spock peppered through out, how much and how it’s conveyed is important.

Spock is Stoic yes, but surprisingly he talks about his past and what it means to be Vulcan a lot. And other characters comment on Vulcans too like McCoy describing where a Vulcan heart is. Even moving onto season 2, when Spock truly, desperately, does not want to explain what Pon Farr is or that Sarek is his father, he admits these things under pressure. And all of this information is what’s gives the audience an idea of what informs his actions.

Jim Kirk however, despite being very outgoing and charismatic, very rarely talks about himself. With few exceptions, every time you do learn something about his past it’s because someone else explains it or points it out. You’ve got where no man has gone before where Gary talked about their academy days, The naked time while Spock talked about his regrets, Kirk vents that he wants a personal connection and then is literally the only person who is able to will the virus to stop effecting him (on his own I mean) just long enough for McCoy to give him the cure.

The Android copy of Kirk tells us about Kirk’s brother Sam, in Conscience of the king literally everyone except Kirk explains his tragic tarsus iv backstory, we never find out who the Ruth girl is in shore leave, and it’s Bones that brings up Sam lives on Deneva. Even in season 2 in the worst episode ever, the deadly years, when Kirk is in a room alone with his ex fiancé, she explains their history. Not Kirk.

This man is allergic to talking about himself I love it.

Edit: Whenever Jim does even sorta talk about his past, it’s always in the context of what the other people he’s talking to know about it. Take Tarsus IV. Spock tells Jim that he checked the same library records. So when Jim finally opens up at the end of the conversation, it’s information Spock and Bones already know. “I saw him [Kodos] once, 20 years ago.” Then about 10 minutes later when he’s talking with Kodos and trying to get proof, he gives Kodos a copy of the speech Jim heard him read 20 years ago. Saying that he memorized the words. Again, these are things only the two of them would know about. It’s not something Jim exclusively went through.

Then later in Obsession when Jim is talking about his prior experience with the fog, everything he references was in the report he made after the Farragut disaster that he knows Spock and Bones read. There is no new information he reveals about what happened to him or even how he felt about it. Bones has to be the one to say Jim was wrecked with guilt because at the end of the day, Jim will never willingly talk about his past without knowing or thinking the other person he’s talking to has the same information. He will not reveal anything new 95% of the time.

Anyway back to the old blog.

While I’d argue conscience of the king does most of the work you would ever need to explain why Kirk is the way he is, the fact is we don’t learn much about his past through him. Instead it’s Kirk’s actions that inform our understanding of him. Which on some level I like a lot. It’s rare that a tv series doesn’t lean heavily into some tragic backstory explaining why a character acts the way they do. But it isn’t just he doesn’t have multiple tragic backstories. It’s what we know nothing about his past in general. Ffs we didn’t learn he grew up in Iowa until Star Trek IV. It might not even be Riverside! That town just claimed it for themselves and everyone rolled with it.

Edit: SNW did confirm after almost 40 years that riverside is Kirk’s birthplace.

The audience never truly closes the gap with Kirk because he never willingly opens up (at least where I am in the show idk maybe the movies change this) So comparatively Spock just had more going on.

[phoenixyfriend]

A lot has been happening today that rep calls could affect. UN vetoes, KOSA, Julian Assange, UNRWA's funding crisis and Israel's demands that it be completely dismantled, the large number of bills we just learned are on the docket for the coming week, and even the good news that is recent successes by the BDS movement.

And like... I care about this stuff. I want to talk about it. But it takes an emotional and mental toll to do it, and it takes time, and... there are two reasons to write up reference, update, information posts:

Compensation. I'm not a journalist, but if I were, I would in theory be getting paid for the information I collect and share to my audience. However, I am not, and am doing this for free. I have gotten maybe $5 in donations since I started this project, and while I recognize that this is probably because people are (quite rightly) donating instead to Palestinian charities or local campaigns or something, it's a basic fact that I am not actually being compensated for this work.

Promoting change and activism. This is in fact my main goal: to have a positive impact on current events by giving people a guide on the news and politics because there's so much happening that's hard to keep track of, and if I'm already doom-listening to half a dozen political podcasts, I might as well save other people the trouble, right?

The thing is, like... most of the reblogs on my guidelines and helpful posts are from me, to me. I am the one reblogging. I am desperately trying to get these things to circulate so I can make a difference, but... no dice. Some of the posts are admittedly pretty long (my 'how to call your reps, here's some verbiage' post is 3.4k words), and I can imagine some people are saving it for later, and then maybe forget, or they don't want to share something controversial, and like... I do get that. I do.

But it does mean the posts aren't circulating, and thus they're having less of an impact, and I can't help but feel like there are other things I could be doing to help that would be more effective. More bang for my buck, except it's my time and effort instead of my money. Like, maybe it would have more an effect if I hunted down a wider variety of elected officials I could bother instead of instructing other people on how to bother theirs? Maybe going to protests (which would be a huge commitment due to distance) would be more effective than trying to help ensure that the effectiveness of "I actually have a vote and you are losing it" of calls has the weight of numbers behind it.

Especially since I did try to blaze it, and tumblr mods rejected the post. I don't know why. It's not against ToS, since none of it was disinformation or election interference, which is the only reason given on the FAQ for why things might not be approved for blazing, but who knows.

Maybe tumblr just decided the possible blowback on them for blazing a pro-ceasefire post would be too much.

I don't know. I just... it's just really disheartening to try to help and it gets stymied because, as much effort as it might be, it doesn't reach more than a (comparatively) tiny audience, especially when my relatively low-effort polls and shitposts get easily ten times as many notes with way less energy put in.

EDIT: This is not a post that I need to have reblogged. this is just me bitching. This a vent post. What I am asking people to reblog is my activism posts that I spend hours on to try and help nudge things in a better direction. Please reblog THOSE. This one doesn't need reblogging unless you have an actual comment. Reblogging this post just to reblog, with neither useful comment nor encouragement, is not helping me with my issue of 'not paid, not making an impact' or helping with any important causes.

[trekmupf]

Shakespeare & Eugenics in Space

Pro

Kirk backstory, and Kirks way of dealing with his trauma (immediate denial in front of others and putting up a wall, then researching and dealing in private – and later on with Spock and McCoy). Opposed to how both Riley and Leighton react

Kirk seducing a woman not for pleasure but for a secret cause / using his charm and sexuality to manipulate someone.

Unlike in the other cases of this happening he's the one being played by Lenore who is pretending to fall for him to murder him, which is a twist great

Spock immediately noticing something is up with Kirk

Spock then going to McCoy for help and support, twice! Great further development of all sides of the trio in this episode

McCoy's beautiful eyeliner is giving me happy chemicals

So many Spock and McCoy interactions

“And Please, Mr. Spock, if you won't join me, don't disapprove of me”is a line straight from fanficition

Spock correctly predicting how Riley will feel about being demoted for no reason - trying to look out for the crew and always questioning Kirk

Uhura playing for Riley who is lonely → further crew dynamics

The entire confrontation scene between Kirk, Spock and McCoy is great – it starts on a professional basis, Kirk being angry and defensive, and even though McCoy doesn't share Spock's suspicions to that degree he backs him up. Spock then turning the conversation on a personal level – it's not just about ships business, it's about Kirk possibly dying. Kirk then relenting and talking with his two friends about his feelings and the situation. Spock being Kirk's logic and information and McCoy ethics and morals

Great character work for Kirk who is aware of his responsibility, the small line separating vengeance and justice and his own morals

Kirk trying to wait to confirm his suspicions but then throwing caution to the wind and approaching Kodos when he realizes it's not just his life on the line after the murder attempt that would've cost many lives

Lenore rightly calling out Kirk at the end for using people as tools

The Kirk / Kodos confrontation is one of the best character scenes in TOS. The acting is perfect, the dialogue and emotion heavy and direct. The conflicting emotions of a mass murderer and Kirk having to deal with the emotions of confronting the man who directly traumatized him.

Kirk being able to talk down Riley with words instead of force

Kodos realizing what is daughter did making his character even better

set and costume design , fitting music

the whole play within the show thing with its stage & acting

the way the audience gets Kirk's backstory over the course of the episode along with Spock and can gather further understanding of Kirks reactions

the plot mirroring a classic Shakespeare play itself

differs from the other episodes in a nice way- very human and story driven; also murder mystery vibes and film techniques

the tension still holds up despite no real action scenes – first though the mystery of how this man is connected to Kirks past, then the ongoing mystery as well as the threat to Kirks life

Con

McCoy being careless about Riley overhearing him

Although I did like her acting, I think they should've commited to making her insane persona come out gradually / less extreme before the death of her father or play it straight and have her go insane after the death; this felt a bit rushed / sudden

Counter: Kirk fake womanizer

Quote

"Captain Kirk, who are you to say no harm was done?" - Lenore "Who do i have to be?" - Kirk

"What if you decide that he is Kodos? What then? Do you play God, carry his head through the corridors in triumph? That won't bring back the dead, Jim" - McCoy "No. But they may rest easier" - Kirk

Moment: Confrontation Kirk and Kodos - tense, well written and played

Summary: Underrated episode that even though it lacks classical sci-fi elements and action scenes introduces important backstory information for Kirk and gives further insight into his character and morals as well as his relationships with Spock and McCoy while also giving further development between those two. The acting is brilliant, especially Shatner and Arnold Moss, and the tension of the story holds up from the beginning until the end. Previous Episode - Next Episode - All TOS Reviews

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

heyo! i was wondering, do you have any general guidelines or tips on how to make goatfolk/goat-like humanoids? like, things that based on your judgement should be essential to their physiology and/or society. your opinion is highly appreciated and valued! ^^

sure! I'm going with a really standard domestic goat as reference here, but there are many breeds of goat with their own distinct features, so don't take this as the only way to design goat people. some goat breeds don't really have horns or the little beard, or they have floppy ears instead of tall ones, etc. sheep and goats are also very closely related and have a lot of features in common! sometimes what you think is a photo of a goat is actually a breed of sheep! So you kind of have to decide which specific goats you want to use as a reference point.

image description: faded photos of a goat and some close ups on a goat's face and hoof, all outlined in red. notes on the photos point out specific features. horns, short body, horizontal pupils, cleft lip, and even toed hooves. end description.)

I think the facial features here are probably the most important to keep in mind, as they'll be the same for any goat breed. they all have eyes with horizontal pupils and they all have that upper lip with the cleft. I tried to look up another word for that, because cleft lip also refers to a congenital condition in humans and animals where there's a split in the upper lip and possible the palate of the mouth. a lot of animals like goats and rabbits and cats have this sort of line dividing their upper lip into two parts. it's also called a philitrum, but we use that word for the dip between a human lip and nose as well. unfortunately an internet search for "what do you call it when animals have that separated lip thing going on" mostly turned up information on the congenital condition and how to treat it in livestock and pets. so i don't know if there's a better term for it other than a cleft lip. either way, it is a very recognizable feature on goats and I think it helps make a goat humanoid look more goat-like.

(image description: sketches of an anthropomorphic goat, with a close up on their face. They are short and chubby. end description.)

This is a design that leans heavier on the goat features, but you can go for something more humanoid, like a satyr. depends on what your end goal is for the design!

as for their social and cultural aspects, here's a couple of articles on goat behaviors:

article 1

article 2

important details to keep in mind:

goats are foragers, they wander around to find food and they're well known to have very broad diets, including the ability to eat some things other animals avoid, like tough thorny vines.

goats tend to have a lead female, also known as a doe, guiding the herd. a lead male, known as a buck, will usually bring up the rear. the lead female makes decisions about where the herd will go, the lead male guards the back and is very defensive.

a herd of goats usually has a hierarchy going on and they will defend their own places in that hierarchy. age, sex, and horn size are common determining factors.

goats are climbers, and they'll climb anything including each other. baby goats are especially active about this.

goats headbutt each other for various reasons. this includes establishment of hierarchy, defense, and play.

so goat people might have a matriarchal system, with males as guards while females are guides. they may have a culture centered on fighting as a form of social communication and entertainment. they could be nomadic as well. their dance style is probably very acrobatic, jumpy, and reflective of their fighting style.

those are just a handful of ideas off the top of my head! i hope it's helpful and i wish you luck and fun as you design your goat folk!

[jamietwat]

Your favorite moment between roy and jamie in the show?

Okay, this is way too hard to pick just one. And while for comedic and Roy is clearly not heterosexual purposes the scene with Jamie's bare ass and Roy blatantly staring at it and casting a spotlight on it is an honourable mention, it's not one of my top ones

My favourite moments are the ones when they drop the mask and have a vulnerable moment and how they accidentally became each other's go tos to talk to about feelings and unmask around. Love how they manage to be each other's biggest haters and supporters simultaneously

I ate up all the moments when Roy dropped the tough guy with no feelings act to be vulnerable and unprompted hand out information he hadn't talked to anyone else about to Jamie of all people against his better judgment, knowing that it's likely to be used against him. And how Jamie would drop the dickbag act to try to fix it, then be a prick again to break the tension

And I also ate up all the times when Jamie (who info drops about himself unprompted all the time) woud be vulnerable in a different way and let Roy get a glimpse behind the over the top cockiness

But I think if I have to choose one favourite it would be Roy hugging Jamie after his dad blew up on him in front of the whole team. Like it's such a turning point for them, but also said a whole lot about both of their characters as individuals that while everyone else was standing awkwardly not knowing what to do, Roy didn't even hesitate to go comfort him and that Jamie let him and clung to him instead of trying to shrug the situation off

[t0ast-ghost]

Watching Star Trek TOS for the first time, and here are my thoughts on episode three (Charlie “X”)! (I didn’t do episode two cause I just wanted to watch it but I love Bones)

- so far I really like the kid

- Kirk shut up, let Charlie talk

- oh no he’s frightened by the door :(((

- girls do not look THAT different, getting some bad vibes from you Charlie

- BONES!!! (Why does he stand like that, it’s so curved)

- “I want people to like me” oh god they gave this boy anxiety

- He’s learning about the patriarchy, like Ken

- Kirk making Bones tell Charlie about puberty, he looked so defeated

- SPOCKS EYESHADOW!!!

- Charlie gets a Kirk assigned father, it’s not Kirk himself but he did assign Bones to do it, can’t you see the man is tired Jim?!?

- why is she being mean to Spock in verses? Nvm this is fun and he’s enjoying her singing

- HE SLAPPED KIRKS BUTT WHAT

- “there’s no right way to hit a woman.. you know man to man.. uhh… you understand, Charlie?” That was the worst way to try and explain anything, Kirk

- “I put meatloaf in the ovens, now there’s turkeys, real turkeys” then Charlie’s little laugh

- aww they’re playing chess together, normal husband activities

- “you smell like a girl” “I feel hungry… all over” back the fuck up Charlie

- stop trying to get Bones to explain stuff to him, Kirk

- this episode is just so icky, one issue is that they can’t just have an adult conversation and they can’t explain anything properly to him, they’re just telling him no and that he’s wrong. It’s a good example of how concealing information doesn’t allow people to find their own morals but instead creates a bunch of rules which can be easily broken if the person doesn’t believe in them because they don’t understand the logic behind them. (Not saying that the boundaries they’re setting for him are wrong, he just can’t understand them because they’re not explaining shit)

- SHUT UP SAM HE’S TRYING- oops Sam’s gone

- damn that German expressionist lighting tho, like something out of metropolis

- I FUCKIN DARE YOU KIRK, PICK HIM UP SEE WHAT HAPPENS

- okay Kirk saying it’s his choice is good cause at least he’s teaching him that these things he does are his own actions

- “short tempered, because he doesn’t understand” cause you won’t explain shit without mind games and metaphors

- Spock and Bones DO NOT want to get involved

- when Charlie’s explaining what he did to the Antares Bones looks absolutely terrified (Bones sitting like that on the table is… I have many thoughts)

- OH NO UHURA!

- Don’t you dare call Spock Mr. Ears

- “Teenager with supernatural abilities realizes his full potential and decides to use it for evil NOT CLICKBAIT”

- Why would you do that, why would you turn her into an iguana

- GET HIM!!! Wait no! Janice!

- “I love you” “you don’t know what that means” good for her, fuck you Charlie

- He gave Kirk period pain

- “cause you need me to run the ship, and I need him” Spirk? It’s more likely than you think

- this slide from Bones

- “I don’t think you can handle anymore, you’ve reached your limit” Spock and Bones start fucking shit up immediately for Kirk

- Kirk was so ready to punch a bitch

- nice fucking try Charlie- oh Kirk is defending him- nvm he still gets yoinked

- imagine if Charlie becomes Q lol (is that a thing? Are they related?)

- well that’s done now… where’s Scotty, Sulu, and Checkov? (Sulu appeared shirtless in the credits as I wrote that)

Thanks for sticking around again :)

Here’s a link to the first ramble

And all the other rambles

Below the cut is some thoughts I had on the second episode

Some thoughts on episode 2 (The Man Trap):

- it was kinda funny seeing Jim be like “she’s old as fuck, just like Bones”

- I didn’t realize that was where “he’s dead, Jim” came from and my dad quotes it all the time

- it was interesting that even the creature referred to themselves as an animal

- McCoy in the ending where he really didn’t want to kill somebody he loved even if they were just the image

- would not want to be the person to explain what happened to her to Bones

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

I used TOS so if their some error blame the software and not me.

And then if you have a pair of eyes you can see how the others conflicts are not his fault and I have other post going through how it's not his fault. But this is the main one so I will gladly explain it all.

But this will be the biggest benefit of the doubt I will ever give regarding someone allegedly messaging though in which afterwards the alleged account allegedly blocks them and then they delete their account. I did all the research I looks all the possible Solutions and personally I don't believe that it was real and the person was trying to fake it for attention because of the reasons that are going to be listed below, but I know that it can be argued that it was a scam account like many, to which I did this on my college breaks because the trend of hating on Scott and the Life series has come back and I swear he treats you all with maturity and some of you guys are just downright rude. And listen I did all this research so that you guys could come to your own conclusion because I'm not gonna force conclusion onto you, but I so highly recommend that you do your own research if you would like to instead of taking things at face value because that's how people wrongfully lose their careers over something that they had no control over.

And something that I didn't mention is why he didn't say anything and that's the easiest one to answer out of all of them bringing more attention to it is better for the scammer. I'm bringing more attention to it does not protect his community and it makes him seem more at fault than he is.

And to the people who are saying/claiming something happened to them like this more than 10 years ago I will tell you from now discord when public in 2015 so that's not possible and you should stop making up things.

Listen guys I'm pulling out all the research for this because I want to give you something insightful and informative so I'm not just wasting your time.

So, as you know there have been a lot of uprises in alleged content creators messaging minors on apps such as discord which will be the primary example of this whole thing.

It's one thing to have one instance of this but as you and me both now there a lot more than just one instance of this.

And I want to say this as respectfully as possible, I initially and admittedly thought that a lot of these people were faking it for attention and then I looked a bit deeper into it because I don't want to be that guy who takes things at face value and I can assure you I've done the research for you so you don't have to.

This will be your tldr from now, they are getting messages from grown adults with those accounts but it's not the same person/ the person that they think is. And this has come around through a unique feature that most social medias do not have and because Discord are a it sloppy when it comes to clean up.

In 2015, discord was made/publicly released and it was had some flaws admittedly. One of the flaws at the time was that someone could have the same username as another person a long with the same unique ID. And admittedly they patched this very quickly like within the year/ added a feature to combat this.

Since 2015, every Discord username has been cAsE sEnSitIvE and had a number attached to it calleda Discord tag or sometimes known asa discriminator (e.g., #0001). This lets you have the same username as someone else as long as you have different discriminators or different case letters. However, this also means you have to remember a set of 4-digit numbers and account for case sensitivity to connect with your friends. - source https://support.discord.com/hc/en-us/articles/12620128861463-New-Usernames-Display-Names

If you do not know a content creators ID number then you can't accurately identify whether it's them or not. Which is definitely a problem I would say.

But this is something that I'm not going to go into detail about because I'm going to raise a different point regarding the section of the article that I took it out off; "This lets you have the same username as someone else as long as you have different discriminators or different case letters." ( this does not include display name)

Meaning that someone can't have the same name as someone else right? I want to go test this in myself with an alternate account of mine on Discord, any actually let me input the same name despite using different emails different logins and different devices. ( and I used the old name that people may know me from, H1.C0M).

I don't know how they allow that. Sooooooooooooooooooooo-

And the person in reference to this in the very original video of them going on to that account the o's in Scott Smajor's name had slashes in them which was the discerning Factor between the two names.

Well that's not the point where going to make, discord has a unique feature that allows someone to display a different name from their actual username. Hence, anyone can change their display name to anything else, and there does not have to be a difference in the display name to someone else. And yes I also tested this and there does not need to be different I can have my display name at anyone else. "Display names are not unique to each user and can be set to whatever you want, whenever you want (within Discord's Community Guidelines)." - source https://support.discord.com/hc/en-us/articles/12620128861463-New-Usernames-Display-Names#:~:text=Display%20names%20are%20not%20unique,(within%20Discord's%20Community%20Guidelines)

And obviously you can choose your profile picture. Meaning that someone could message you with a different display name and someone else's profile picture ( and even the same unique username which I think is an error) and you wouldn't have no idea.

One of the first instances I saw of this happening was Grianmc, accounts asking people for money, which yes is a stupid scam that happened many years ago but I think it's set the leeway of this being a possibility.

And a more famous example of this happening was to Dream regarding his second allegation in which it was someone who was faking it and they promptly were reported and banned.

This is nothing new and it's honestly quiet upsetting. And I'm sadly not the only person dealing with such an error because if you Google right can someone have the same discord username as you, it will come up of results of people showing instances where people have the exact same account or duplicates of accounts trying to friend request them.

An even discord themselves have been putting in an effort to try and these accounts, and I don't even know how that doing it.

And for research purposes EXCLUSIVELY, yes I was able to make a fake smajor account. It's not that hard.

Discord is trying to cracks down on this stuff and that's fair, and as of recent they're replaced a large amount of unidentified usernames, so it's not like they aren't going anything.

And the original poster has since deleted their accounts after someone else, who is not me, called them out for faking it with proof (allegedly proof), inwhich they deleted their account.

This is to say, their are fake accounts of content creator DMing people, so block, report, abort.

And there would be genuinely no reason for him to put slashes in the o's because it's his name and if you see this account block it please

(the username looked something like: Sco̸tt Smajo̸r

And also the secondly, if you use an Internet to message minors, your Internet provider and the app your using will both be LEGALLY OBLIGED to tell the police. The Internet Provider he uses that has been stated on stream multiple times (apart from the TOS but) is Virgin Media. And as a well established FAMILY BRANDED company, they take the inappropriate Hensley have a lot of safety of their internet very seriously and therefore have a lot of safety guides which is also an Informant to tell you they can report you to the police if you engage in inappropriate content with anyone. https://www.virginmedia.com/blog/online-safety/inappropriate-content

They do this through a series of filters that whittles down your content and if they get flagged like you're doing something inappropriate they will look at because they have access to your IP address and therefore can look your personal personal data

https://www.olliers.com/news/can-the-police-track-you-via-your-ip-address/#:~:text=Yes%2C%20police%20can%20track%20IP,individuals%20through%20their%20IP%20addresses.

This therefore meaning that if someone was to commit a crime the internet provider will legally be obligated to inform the correct authorities tath the decision resolved.

Additionally Discord, also reserves the right to inform the authorities of any illegal or explicit activity that you do using that app as it is stated in that terms of service.

Meaning that for most people it would literally be less than two weeks before they get called especially if the messenger is from the UK.

[teecupangel]

Hello! You know what? I love your blog. And you know what assassin mentors as ymbryns. (I know they're female but anyway...) And they are desmond protectors and friends.

What if Altair pecked(is it right?😐) out one of William's eye after he hurted desmond during training.

What kind of eagles do you think they whould become? And what do you think abstergo whould do after finding out their secret?

And I have another question for you. Idk if you remeber the fic which Altair and Ezio were behaving like animals due to their isu DNA but do they purr? Like Ezio purring when he is cuddling Caterina? Idk. I'm just imagening this.

Maybe in their world, ymbryns can be either gender. Or, they’re special in the sense that the Isus ensured that they would become ymbryns regardless of their gender.

Maybe it would be more accurate to call them anomalies.

They can shift their form into humans or eagles any time they want but they lack the ability to create loops. They can manipulate memories but it seems to be limited in terms of how ‘much’ memory they can change or remove at a given time before they need to rest for a week or so.

They don’t necessarily take care of any peculiars because of their inability to form loops so they usually roam the world.

They first met in South Dakota on March 13.

At first, there were three.

Then four.

Then eight.

Desmond grew up seeing them watch over him and they befriend him, taking their human forms but deaged to match Desmond’s young age.

He grows up thinking of as his only friends.

And it always makes him sad knowing that he cannot shapeshift himself.

Some things changed. Maybe Desmond never ran away from the Farm, as his friends helped him to be an Assassin. Maybe he gets to save Clay because he ignored Bill’s orders. Maybe he doesn’t kill Lucy because she’s taken into custody when he learns of her betrayal.

But Desmond Miles still activates the device on December 21, 2012.

That must happen for the world to survive.

And so Desmond places his hand on the device.

He screams.

And his friends all wish for the same thing.

To save him.

And that’s how they create a loop.

A permaloop that keeps Desmond alive as long as he stays inside the loop.

What kind of eagle would they be:

Altaïr: Lesser Spotted Eagle

Ezio: Bonelli’s Eagle

Ratonhnhaké:ton: White-tailed Eagle

Edward: I kinda want to make him a jackdaw instead of an eagle XD If you really want him to be an eagle, Spotted Eagle.

Arno: Booted Eagle

Evie: Short-toed Eagle

Jacob: I kinda want to make him a rook XD If not, Short-toed Eagle like Evie and you can’t distinguish the two. If you want him to be a different eagle, Golden Eagle

Well, Abstergo would definitely want to capture them and experiment on them, try and figure out how they are able to shapeshift then use that information to create their own shapeshifters and also… find a way to profit from it XD

(I can’t say I remember any fic like that. It’s certainly not one I wrote, sorry. But if they behave like animals due to their Isu DNA then purring is not out of the question. Maybe even some kneading XD)

[lifebloodblue]

If Lower Decks had gotten to continue as long as it deserved to, I could definitely see them making more jokes about Discovery the way they regularly do with TOS, TNG etc.

Of course, all the actual Starfleet information about the Discovery is classified, so instead of directly referencing the events of that series in universe, the characters would just encounter the same things that the Discovery crew did before their jump forward in time.

Like, I could definitely see the Cerritos running into some tardigrades. One character would wonder aloud if the tardigrades were from some other dimension and another would make a comment about technology being created that would allow a starship to travel across that dimension, and yet another would say that there’s no way such a thing would ever be invented in the next thousand years. The same character (probably Mariner) would then say something like “What’s next, a mech suit that can open wormholes and travel through time?”

There could also be an instance of a character somehow accessing classified files from Starfleet Intelligence (maybe William Boimler with section 31) and saying “Did you know Spock had a sister?” If Brad Boimler heard that without knowing that the information was classified, he would wonder how the hell he could have not known that when he’s under the impression that he knows everything there is to know about Spock.

Since they featured the blue Orions from The Animated Series, I could see them making some kind of reference to how the Klingons looked in Discovery considering they never looked like that in any other series. Mariner would make a comment like “didn’t all the Klingons shave their heads for that war back in the 2250s?”

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 25

Blue and Gold

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Vander is stressing the fuck out. Maybe a little giftie will calm his nerves. Katya dissociates like a champ.

CW: References to sexual assault, trauma responses, severe dissociation

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.8K

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a complicated whirlwind for Vander.

One afternoon, Sevika had burst into the tavern, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to the back of the house. She hurriedly whispered about what had happened in the mines: that Silco and Katya had gotten into a fight with Kells. Kells severely injured Silco, and Katya had pushed Kells to his death. It seemed to be undecided whether that had been an accident.

Silco confirmed the events when Vander went to see him the next day. Enyd had tubed Vander, asking if he could come sit with her son while she was out.

Of course he would.

He was not at all prepared for what he saw when he arrived.

His Brother’s appearance made Vander’s stomach drop to his steel-toed boots. Vice-like fear and anger clamped down on his heart. His silver eyes flitted around Silco’s face. The bandage across his nose, the stitches in his lip, the angry bruises and welts that covered his face . . .

Vander hoped that Kells knew – where ever his retched soul had wandered off to – how lucky he was that he was already dead. Otherwise, Vander would’ve hunted him down. Would’ve used him as the body to break his gauntlets in on.

Silco peered up at his friend from his languid position on the couch. His eyes glacier blue slits between the purple swollen folds of their lids.

“Make sure he stays still and drinks water and eats. His food may need to be mashed up a bit. Keep the apartment dark,” Enyd said as she pulled her thick sweater on. She wrapped a scarf around her head, and drew it up over her nose.

Vander nodded, but struggled to take the information in. He hadn’t realized just how badly the fight had gone.

Once Enyd left, Vander rushed to Silco’s side. He fought not to take up his Brother’s long, elegant hands. Even under the calluses and near-permanent stains of dirt, anyone could see that those hands didn’t belong wielding a pick-axe. They belonged writing policies and demands for Zaun; they belonged in big important buildings, shaking other important hands.

Vander very much wanted to hold them.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he listened as Silco told him what had happened. The whole story – from his perspective. Vander’s stomach roiled nauseatingly at hearing what Kells had been caught doing to Katya. The curdle deepened as he watched Silco’s face contort under the swelling: barely restrained rage flickering beneath. Dangerous fire.

“A couple of the Children carried me to the clinic,” Silco explained, his usually smooth voice rough and nasally. “They said they would take care of the story. There’s been no fall-out?”

Vander shook his head. “Nothin’. An’ no one’s gonna say nothin’. Kells wazza cunt who got what he deserved.” A beat, and then he asked, “How’s Katya?”

Silco melted back into the couch. The gesture felt more defeated than relieved.

“She’s . . . She didn’t seem okay when I left the clinic yesterday. When she told me to leave.” Silco’s chin dipped, “I should’ve stayed with her.”

Vander’s gut twisted. “Well, yer mum’s with her now. She’ll be okay.”

When Silco didn’t say anything, when his expression remained distant and forlorn, Vander became fidgety and added, “Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sil. Kells is gone, n’ no one’s tryin’ to make a fuss about it. Here. Just lie back. I’ll make you a cuppa, yeah?”

In the days following, it really seemed like the whole thing would blow over. That this mild wrinkle within the Children’s ranks had already been ironed out. Until one evening, about a week after Kells’s death, a small group of three older teen boys approached Vander in the early hours of The Last Drop being open.

Their timing was purposeful; only a small handful of beleaguered and elderly Zaunites were peppered around the tavern. Men and women who didn’t want to be talked with or entertained. They only wanted the momentary peace a rocks glass or tankard could offer before they had to get home, go to bed, and live another day. It was a time during working hours Vander was more available.

It was a time there were fewer witnesses.

“We need to talk,” one had said. His upper lip quivered as he took in the man-mountain before him.

Vander’s eyes narrowed, and he peered over the group. His customers appeared at ease, so he jerked his head, instructing the young men to follow him. His instincts fizzed as they trailed behind. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, his muscles coiled and braced.

Vander slid into one side of a shadowed booth. The others toddled in awkwardly with all the grace of new whumplings fighting for space in the nest, shoulders bumping and legs twisting together.

“What’dya need?” he asked once they were settled across from him.

His eyes cut from one face to the next. He recognized them as part of the gaggle that had orbited around Kells, but knew none by name.

“You heard about what happened in the mines a couple days ago,” the one on the right said. He was wiry with curly brown hair and pale skin. Dark green eyes blinked up at Vander under thick lashes.

Had his instincts not been priming his mind and body for some kind of fight, Vander would’ve thought him pretty.

“Aye. I have.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do about it?” The middle one demanded.

Vander’s nostrils lifted. This one had limp dark-blond hair, a pug nose, and too-round cheeks that were splotched angry-red.

“I wasn’ aware there was something to be done about it.”

“Silco killed Kells!” the one on the left hissed, his dark brown skin radiating vengeful heat. Black-brown eyes blistered beneath his thick, ebony hair.

Vander’s eyes flashed quick-silver. “He didn’.”

“He was going to if the medic he’s been eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!” the middle one said, pig-nose flaring. “They probably planned it together.”

Vander shot up from his seat, knuckles hitting the table with a crack! as he braced his arms and loomed menacingly. The three young men collectively jumped, and hunkered back into the booth. The vinyl at their backs crackled as if in warning. Gone were their indignant expressions, replaced by utter shock and fear as they beheld the behemoth lording over them. Vander’s body and wrath blocked out the little light that reached into the booth’s alcove.

“Listen up,” he hissed, his voice all growl and warning grit. He bared his teeth at them and loomed closer. “Kells died ‘cause he made a stupid, evil decision” – it wasn’t his place to speak about Katya’s assault, so he kept it firmly tucked down his throat – “n’ he got what he deserved, frankly speakin’.” He leaned closer, broad shoulders hunching up threateningly like hackles on a beast, “This conversation is over. ‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya tryin’ to rustle up more problems, you’ll be the first bodies I test my gauntlets on. Savvy?”

After a beat, all three reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the booth, scampering for the door.

Vander stalked back behind the bar rubbing his temples, mind spinning like a top.

It was one thing to fight with Topside. It was another for it to happen amongst the Children. The burgeoning rebellion wouldn’t withstand in-fighting. Zaun would bleed out, wouldn’t make it past its infancy, and be buried by Piltover again. The Children of Zaun needed to stick together, Brothers and Sisters arm-in-arm; an impenetrable wall of scrap metal, zeal, and will.

Then the threat he’d delivered to those three yellow-bellied malcontents . . .

“‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya . . . .”

A wince creased Vander’s face. He didn’t suppose threatening Brothers and Sisters did anything for morale or loyalty. There was the chance that he had just made things worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He needed to keep his temper in check.

That was difficult when his Brother was concerned. Vander was protective of Silco, loyal to him – perhaps even more so than he was to Zaun. Although, Vander felt they were often one in the same. Yes, they had dreamed up the idea together, small and squatted behind minecarts, but Silco latched onto Zaun like it was air. Cleaner and purer than anything in Piltover. He had always led the charge from there on out. And Vander was at his side.

“Yer as loyal as a dog to ‘im, Van,” Benzo had said one night, long before the Children of Zaun.

He had said it with a certain amount of distaste that had Vander’s brow curling questioningly.

“He’s my best mate. ‘Course I am.”

Vander’s heart and shoulders softened at the memory. But immediately tensed again when he recalled what the blond teen had said.

“He was going to if the medic he’s eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!”

Vander’s hand dropped heavy onto the bar top, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins. The comment had been innocuous, and utterly meaningless. The shithead had only meant to implicate Katya. But that little throw-away barb had slid under Vander’s ribs as if expertly laced.

“Oi! Vander!”

A customer in need of a refill pulled the barkeep from his head. Landed him right back into the moment like someone dropping a melon off Old Hungry. Grateful for the distraction, Vander went back to work.

Then time flew fast and the cold season fully settled over Piltover and Zaun, like a great, chilled blanket. The Lanes became smokier than normal, Zaunites reallocating what little funds they had to purchase wood and coal for their stoves. Less food, more heat; the pendulum of necessity ever swinging.

The Children kept meeting, kept preparing. A squad was set up to track Enforcer movements; where they had been, what their routes were, who they had spoken with and what answers they were given. Another group became designated runners for the supplies that pirates, independent merchants, and other morally grey characters smuggled in, and were paid with Airship coin.

Other members volunteered their homes and businesses to house the contraband: small armaments, scrap metal that would be smelted and repurposed, bottles of liquor too strong to drink but could be lit and chucked at Enforcers for when the time came.

However, the chill and impending holiday put a firm hold on both Piltover and the Undercity, stymying plans and regular schedules. On either side of the Pilt, families and businesses prepared for Snowdown, the holiday’s sentimental pull too strong for anyone or anything to fully deviate from it.

It went unspoken, but there was a sense in the Lanes – in Zaun – that this Snowdown was more poignant than those before. The holiday was about gathering, gratitude, and looking to the promise of the new year ahead.

The promise that this coming year would be the birth of their sovereign nation. Or, at least, the true beginning of the labor process.

This would also be the first Snowdown at The Last Drop Vander ran entirely alone. He’d more or less run it the year before, but the old proprietor – sick and dying – had been back in the living quarters, able to offer instructions and advice in that deep, throaty voice of his. Vander would take the wisdom with him back to the front and resume hosting duties.

But he was dead now.

The barkeep sighed as he cleared the taps for the busy night ahead, looking around at the bedecked tavern. The decorations were meager, but festive. Annie had festooned the pillars separating booths with garlands of colorful paper, dolloped the jukebox with a tangle of tinsel, and had put fresh candles on all the tables. Beckett suddenly appeared from the back; his strong, freckled arms loaded with extra stools.

Vander was grateful for the pair’s help. In the past weeks, Benzo had finally healed up enough to get back to his own business. Cairn stayed on to help at the pawnshop, instead of returning to The Drop. Benzo needed the extra pair of hands – his injury notwithstanding – and Cairn enjoyed the trade more than busing tables.

Vander certainly couldn’t blame him for that, and felt no ill-will toward the young man. Besides, now he had Annie to help. And while she was spacy, loud, and intense, she was good at her job and the customers loved her. Beckett was an added bonus; because where ever the dark bluenette went, he followed dutifully.

“Just put ‘em anywhere, Van?” Beckett asked, craning his head over the seats he carried.

“Yeah. Jus’ pepper ‘em ‘round the walls if ya would.”

As Beckett nodded and hauled the stools off, Annie burst through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, her thin arms laden with more candles. Great, fat pillars this time. Vander sighed, although the woeful sound did not impede the young woman’s trajectory toward the booths.

“Annie. I think we’ve enough candles.”

She began stacking them artfully on the booth tables. “Nuh-uh. Never. They create ambience.”

“Ambience and drunk people don’ mix,” Vander said, a hand rubbing at his forehead.

“It’ll be fiiiiiiiiine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, Van,” Beckett hushed as he carried the remaining stools over to the other side of the tavern.

Vander sighed, let it be, and continued prepping the bar’s stock.

A few hours later, The Last Drop was packed. Revelers young, old, and in-between stuffed the tavern to its gills. Most were members of the Children. Those that weren’t mingled with hope on their faces, intrigue glittering in their eyes like stars. The jukebox played on repeat, a long string of plucky, jovial tunes interspersed with the eager and happy chatter of the patrons. Ale and liquor flowed with abandon. Annie’s candles glowed and flickered invitingly. Vander had to admit that they did look beautiful. The soft, buttery glow of the flames brought a holy quality to the space. It inspired a bone-deep hope to flower in his chest.

Benzo and Cairn showed up about an hour after the bar opened for the night. The room burst into raucous cheers as Benzo threw up his meaty arms and greeted loudly, “BLESSED SNOWDOWN!”

Close behind the pair was Tolder and his brood, Sevika bringing up the end of the line. Once her younger siblings were inside, she whisked to the bar.

“Is Nasha here?”

“Haven’ seen her,” Vander answered filling a glass with caramel colored ale and handing it to a customer. “Bu’ she may be here n’ I haven’ noticed. Bit busy.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” she muttered, throwing her head around in search of the other girl. She smacked her palm against the bar top twice. “I’ll be back.”

Then she strode into the crowd, her head swiveling, eyes searching. A small smile crinkled the corners of Vander’s eyes as he watched her go. Then an empty tankard skittered across the bar and he fell back into work.

Sometime later, the crowd erupted again. Not as loud as when Benzo entered The Drop, but the swell of noise caused Vander to look up. His first full smile of the night spread across his face. Silco wove between tables, chairs, and customers, greeting people as he went with a small nod, or reserved wave.

“No Enyd?” Vander asked as Silco finally made it to the bar top.

His Brother’s lips thinned into a rueful, forced grin. He shook his head, dark hair fluttering about his face like curled shadows.

“No. She’s tired.”

The subtext of the message flicked at Vander’s heart with a mighty twang. Like it had been snapped with a rubber band.

She’s tired.

Her cough is especially bad. Has been bad. Is getting worse.

“What can I get ya?” Vander asked, hoping to distract Silco.

“Hmm? What?” Silco’s head – which had turned and was surveying the crowd – snapped back to Vander’s face. “Oh. Whisky. Please.”

Vander grinned and nodded. It was simple and quick, but preparing the two fingers of burnt amber liquor pleased him more than all the tankards of ale he had filled and refilled thus far. As he placed the glass in front of Silco, he was surprised to see a long, thin package on the counter between them.

“What’s this?”

“A Snowdown gift.”

Hot blush bloomed across Vander’s face. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. Then, honey-sweet hope once again dared to spread under his skin.

“Ya didn’ have to get me anything, Sil.”

Silco smirked and shrugged. “I wanted to.”

The blush on the back of Vander’s neck turned beet red as he sheepishly reached for the gift. It was wrapped in brown paper that had been crumpled and reused to the point of softness. Like thin suede.

Slowly, he peeled the wrapping away. A slender knife was settled in the worn curls and wrinkles of paper, its blade long with a gentle curve. There were a couple nicks in the metal that could be consider defects, but the worn appearance felt distinctly Zaun-ish to him. The handle was nearly half the length of the blade, wrapped in soft taupe-colored leather. The pommel was embossed with artful swoops.

Vander’s eyes roved over the knife, throat squeezing tight.

Then his gaze caught another detail: below the guard, on the first pleat of hide, the letter ‘V’ had been carved. The tightness gripping his throat intensified. Firelight wings beat and tickled his stomach to the point that Vander thought he might be sick with joy. Never before had he fought so hard to not reach for Silco, and draw him in close. To grab for his collar and pull him in for a kiss.

He refrained, though. Once again convincing himself that this wasn’t the time or place.

A small, love-hungry voice from deep inside cried out: “When will be the right time?!”

Not now.

Soon.

Hopefully.

Please.

Carefully tempering his expression in to one of bridled gratitude, Vander looked back up at Silco. His Brother eyed him with that smarmy, cocky half-grin and lifted eyebrow. Vander’s finger pads dug into the bar top to keep his hands from reaching out and grabbing for him. Everyday, it got harder and harder to do that.

Instead, he reached for the package and drew it closer.

“Ya didn’ hafta do that, Sil,” he murmured appreciatively.

“For when your fists get tired of beating Enforcers.”

An amused huff blew from Vander’s nose. “Thank you. I love it.”

Silco inclined his head, and lifted his glass to Vander. “Happy Snowdown, Brother. Next year may we be celebrating in a free nation.”

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a heart-straining, soul-sickening series of days for Katya.

The third day after her assault, another gut-wrenching meltdown pulled her under. She couldn’t decide, in retrospect, if she had been grateful that Enyd was there, or if she wished she could’ve crumpled in private.

She had been standing at the kitchen sink, washing a cup. Enyd was gathering their lunch dishes from the table. Suddenly, Katya’s mind played an incredibly cruel prank on her: a phantom pressure at the crux of her thighs. Where Kells had groped her. She started with a gasp; eyes peeled wide. The cup fell from her hands as her legs buckled, and she tumbled to the cracked linoleum floor.

Blood rushed in her ears.

It kept her from hearing the wail that ripped from her throat.

At once, Enyd was at her side, drawing her close. Despite being so petite, she enveloped the young woman in a way only a mother could, all love and comfort. She spoke, lips and jaw moving against Katya’s temple, but the sound couldn’t penetrate the rush of blood in her ears. Nor the pummeling realization that ghostly sensation had brought her.

“I killed him. I killed him. I killed him – “

“Shhhh . . . Breathe, Katya. Breathe – “

“I killed . . . I killed him. I didn’t mean – “

A wail ripped itself from the base of Katya’s throat. She hadn’t meant to kill Kells; just to get him off of Silco. She didn’t know if her memory was playing tricks on her, but now the scene that played in her head contorted Kells’s face into one of abject fear as he tumbled over the turbine’s edge, limbs scrabbling for help.

But she hadn’t helped.

She had pushed.

Then watched.

Despite how vilely he had treated her, she had been unprepared to punish him with such finality. Dread and shame cemented in her arms and legs. The weight making it impossible to escape from the scenario playing over and over again in her head.

Sevika had said he had had no family. That there would be no trouble for her.

No trouble from the outside world, perhaps. But her insides roiled with it. Tentacles of humiliation slithering in her veins. Regret stabbing at her like claws.

“Katya. Katya. Look at me.”

With more force than the mother probably wanted to use, Enyd gripped Katya’s jaw between her fingers, jerking her head to the side so their eyes could connect. Spit, snot, and tears dripped over Enyd’s strong hold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Katya. It was an accident. None of it was your fault. Do you hear me?”

Katya sniffled and trembled between the claw-grip. Her lips blubbered, an attempt to insist Enyd was wrong on the tip of her sob-thickened tongue.

Whip-fast, Enyd’s hand curled around the back of Katya’s head and tucked the young woman in closer.

“I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

Katya did not know how long they stayed, curled up on the floor. She didn’t remember moving, but when her conscious mind turned back on, she found herself back on the couch, blanket tucked around her. Enyd sat at the far end, a sewing project in her lap.

Katya’s insides felt like sludge. Her throat burning from having been screamed raw. She turned her head against the couch cushion, eyes falling onto the accordion-style laundry rack Enyd had hauled with her that day. It was broken – one side’s legs having to be placed very carefully, as the bracing brackets had broken off – but it worked. Just like Enyd had promised.

She closed her eyes. At some point the couch shifted as Enyd rose. Then there was the soft press of lips to her temple, a loving murmur in her ear. When next Katya opened her eyes, Enyd was gone.

She went back to work the next day. Unwilling to keep eating up Enyd’s time. Hoping that the monotonous tasks of the clinic would dull the edges of the past few days.

Will pestered her when she appeared. Asked if she was okay. What had happened. Said that he was going to put in a formal complaint against Silco.

“Don’t do that,” Katya snapped harshly. “He didn’t do anything. It wasn’t him. I will be fine. Leave it.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, but he made the wise choice to not argue with her further.

As he wrapped his ratty coat around him, he said, “I finished stocking the supplies. I didn’t know why you had put some off to the side, but I put them with the rest of the inventory. Hope that’s okay.”

Katya stilled.

Right. Before she had gone to Fissure 27 – she swallowed down the bile gathering at the base of her throat – she had put a few items aside to stock for the Children and Enyd. She’d forgotten about it.

“Yes. That is fine. Thank you, Will.”

As that first day back slogged along, Katya kept looking at the clinic door. She didn’t know if she was wishing Silco would step through, or not. Part of her hoped he was still home.

She saw him next when she dropped off a bottle of medicine for Enyd.

Her heart made a home in her throat as she approached their apartment. The same mighty war raged within her as she knocked on the door: she craved to see Silco, then inexplicable shame would swoop in and fell that desire.

She shouldn’t expect his company, his companionship. She couldn’t pay the cost. Didn’t deserve it. Regardless of how much she may want it.

Agonizing relief sluiced over her bones when Enyd answered.

“Medicine,” Katya whispered by way of greeting. Reaching into her coat, she produced the larger bottle of decongestant. “Use the dropper from the smaller bottle. You could start taking an extra dose in the morning right now, since the cold weather makes your symptoms worse – “

“Katya,” Enyd crooned, taking the bottle and bringing a hand up to the young woman’s cheek. There was a pause, and she said, “Why don’t you come in?”

Katya shook her head, taking a step back. She flashed what she hoped was a grateful, but apologetic, smile.

“I cannot, unfortunately. I’m on my way to pick up Viktor – “

“Mum? Who’s at the door?”

Katya choked as her heart beat wildly in her throat. Her muscles tensed as they tried to decide whether bolting or freezing was the best option.

Then Silco appeared behind Enyd’s shoulder. He looked better than he had on her exam table. Bruising and swelling still puffed and discolored his eyelids and cheekbones, but it had since gone down. The bandage on his nose was gone, but the stitching on his lip stayed in place.

Katya’s throat wound tight. She was so happy, so relieved to see him. His presence a soothing balm to her scraped up heart and psyche. Yet, her boots remained rooted.

“Kat,” Silco said in a tone that danced between relief and excitement.

“I was just dropping off medicine for Enyd. I can’t stay. I need to pick up Viktor,” she robotically repeated.

The thick soles of her shoes shuffled against the floorboards, preparing her exit. Despite her leg’s attempts to walk away, her head and shoulders stayed facing the doorway. Her eyes glued to Silco’s.

She wanted to stay.

Wanted to talk with him.

Wanted to be with him.

Wanted him.

But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. For reasons her trauma-addled brain couldn’t supply. Despite their lack of discernible motives, those thoughts won out.

“I need to go,” she said, and finally allowed her legs to carry her away. “See you both later.”

Like most of her movements of late, Katya didn’t remember getting to Piltover. The weight of the rucksack in her hand was the only thing that pulled her back online for a moment. She blinked. Her eyes fell on the worn canvas handle in her palm. She blinked, and then her eyes looked over and found Viktor. He looked back, open worry and confusion covering his face.

“What is wrong?” Viktor whispered to her when they took their seat in the conveyor car.

Katya pulled her lips into a reassuring smile. “Nothing. I am just tired. Long week, and I think I’m coming down with a small cold.”

The weekend past. On Monday, Katya took Viktor back to school.

The week past, too. A sludgy slog of colors and events that bled one into the next. Silco tried visiting Katya in the clinic, but she busied herself when he did. He stood dutifully near her during the Children’s meeting. His arms wrapped tight across his chest; fingers firmly tucked underneath his biceps.

Perhaps he was cross with her.

He should be, she figured.

Katya didn’t recall the meeting. Something about new supplies and updates on Enforcer activity.

She was, however, aware of the glances shot her way. The bitter, suspicious glares of Kells’s group of peers. Vander’s empathetic stare. He added a nod to it when she finally glanced in his direction.

Unwilling to linger, she slipped out just before the meeting ended; her bootheels a quick, snappy tap on the cobblestones.

“Kat.”

She froze, shoulders pitched up to her ears. This wasn’t the dream, but that call sparked the memory of it. Silco had called her then. Silco called for her now.

Slowly, Katya spun around, forcibly lowering her shoulders as she went. He wasn’t smiling like he had been in the dream. His face – which had become clearer in the passing days – was etched in an expression of deep concern.

In the dream, he had joyfully approached her. Now, he cautiously stepped forward. Like she was a wounded animal he didn’t want to spook.

She saw in his eyes that he wanted to say something.

“Can I walk you home?”

Yes. Yes, please.

“No, thank you. I can manage.” She gave him the same grin she’d given her brother, and turned on her heel.

“Kat.”

She stopped again. An unseen fist squeezing at her heart.

In the dream, the second time he had called, he’d come close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Now, Katya turned and watched him take a couple more steps.

“It is fine, Silco. Really.”

His footsteps stopped, the toes of his boots awkwardly scraping against the street. She heard the gulp he took, watched the way his hands flexed.

“Alright then. Get home safe.”

“Of course.”

Her legs carried her away. Something inside her wailed and begged to go back. It was promptly swallowed up by that beast that couldn’t stand the risk.

The weekend arrived, and Viktor came home. It past, and he went back to school.

Silco stood on Katya’s periphery all week. He would still stop by the clinic to check on her. He stood by her during meetings. But said very little, and Katya became acutely aware of how much she loved his voice.

Another weekend.

Another week.

Now, Katya sat on her couch. Her blanket cocooned her, as it had these past weeks. A great, fluffy shell that wrapped around her shoulders and haloed her head. The apartment’s light was dim. The air was quiet – save for the occasional clanks and hisses of the radiator. Despite it being the eve of Snowdown, she heard no celebrating outside her windows or door. There never was this deep in the Sump.

This year, the holiday had fallen in the middle of the week. Viktor was across the river. No doubt as lonely as she was.

She knew The Last Drop hosted a gathering for the holiday. It had for years. Even when her Papa had been a boy. Anyone who traipsed through the door was invited. She knew the Children would be there: Sevika and her siblings, Nasha, Benzo, Cairn, Annie, Beckett. Silco.

A vicious ache clanged through her. A yawning, angry emptiness that begged to be addressed.

But like when Silco had come after her that night to walk her home, the yearning was quickly gnashed between the pointed teeth of that same oily beast. Powerful, but slippery. Like it didn’t want to be looked at too closely. It simply wanted to swoop in, gobble up ridiculous things like desire, and retreat back to the shadows with little examination.

Just as the beast was about to recoil back into the vacuous recesses of Katya’s chest cavity, the yearning gave a mad thrash between its jaws. A powerful snap that threatened to crack the teeth that held it.

Katya’s heart swelled and lurched at the sensation. Sitting up straighter, she put a hand to her chest and pressed, as if that would dissuade any further tantruming from within.

The yearning jerked again, alive and insistent against the hold of its captor.

‘Go,’ it seemed to say as it attempted to pull itself from the serrated mouth that held it. ‘Go.’

A watery gasp blew from Katya’s mouth, and one of her feet dropped from the couch onto the floor. The movement, while not purposeful, finally caused the shadowy monster to scramble for a better hold. It braced itself against the cage of her ribs.

‘Don’t go,’ it hissed through a clenched jaw. ‘Don’t go.’

Katya blinked. Her shoulders dropped, as did her other foot.

Fear. That was the desire-eating thing. She knew it well. It had dictated most of her life until recently. Had kept her in-line until recently. Since her time with the Children – of feeling like she belonged to something, of feeling like she wanted something more – it had been skirted to the sidelines. Present, but not commanding. Kells, and what he had done to her had pushed it back onto the field, its stamina and intensity renewed from the break it had received.

Katya scooted to the edge of the couch, blanket dropping from her shoulders and gathering at her hips like soft folds of cumulus clouds.

That isn’t what she wanted. To let her desires decay and blow away in the wind. To let fear, Piltover, or anything else stomp out the inherent, wild value she had just begun to believe in.

The silvery slip of Desire caught in Fear’s jaws wriggled and thrashed excitedly. Fear strained, its claws losing purchase on her rib bones.

She wanted, she decided. She wanted to believe in her value, her worthiness.

Desire surged forward, most of its amorphous body slipping from Fear’s too-rigid teeth.

She wanted to trust in Zaun’s ability to pull itself out of the proverbial hole Piltover had made it dig for itself.

Desire whipped and twisted. Fear’s bite began to tire and give.

Katya stood and the blanket drooped to the floor. She wanted the same for herself.

With a final snap of its slender body, Desire broke free and gushed forward; just like how Katya’s feet strode for the door. Fear whimpered, empty jaws chattering, as it recoiled back.

Katya shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat from its peg, and burst out the door.

Her legs moved so swiftly that it felt like she was gliding, flying through the Sump and up into the Entresol. She wove around Snowdown revelers and underneath twinkling chem-bulbs single-mindedly, quick and swift as a canary.

It didn’t take long for The Last Drop to erupt in front of her, all merriment, togetherness, and neon green lights. Her heart thundered, and Desire serpentined inside her belly. Fists squeezing in her coat pockets, Katya surged forward.

As she anticipated, The Drop was packed, the patrons – Children and others alike – wonderfully happy in each other’s company. A few people raised glasses to her as she stepped inside, and she offered them careful smiles.

Over in a booth decorated with a ridiculous number of candles, Sevika beamed at her, and threw an arm up in greeting. Nasha was slung over her lap, preventing her from getting up. She gave Katya her own wave, and returned her attention back to twirling Sevika’s hair between her fingers.

Katya craned her head over the crowd as she shuffled closer toward the bar. Vander’s massive form flitted behind the countertop with grace that belied his stature. His face was ruddy with happiness as he addressed his customers.

Her eyes traveled down the long bar.

Looking.

Searching.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of Silco. Desire sang a song she’d never heard before.

He held a drink in his hand, his gaze cool and aloof as it traveled around the tavern. Then, like a homing missile, his eyes finally found hers.

Blue met gold.

Notes: AHHHHH!!!!!! Guys. Guys. THINGS are gonna happen in the next chapter. This slow burn is gonna pay off! EEEEE! I hope you enjoyed this piney-pining chapter!

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs ❤️

Coming Up Next: Katya asks Silco to show her Zaun again.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[tweetsongs]

the purpose of it all

word count: 1.2k

warnings: n/a

characters/ships: yjh & the kdc, yjh & yoo mia

summary: Yoo Joonghyuk's family loves him very much, but they should never be allowed near the kitchen.

ao3 link

my @orv-gotcha-for-gaza fic for @/missingnarwhal! it is. so late. life really hit me with a truck and i apologize but i hope you enjoy! the prompt was something happy for yjh's birthday (god i really thought i'd get it done by then lol) and i really got into my yjh&ym feels!

It’s Yoo Joonghyuk’s birthday, and he’s being bullied.

“There’s not enough sprinkles, oppa,” Mia informs him, dumping another full bottle of pink sprinkles into the batter. If he’s counting right (he is) this is the third bottle. Beside her, Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung snicker, for once in sync as one of them sneakily takes more containers of sprinkles in a rainbow of colors out of a convenience store plastic bag, handing it to the other to open and hand to Mia for her to dump into the batter.

He slants an exasperated glance her way. “At this rate, the cake will be more sprinkle than batter.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She leans against the counter, smiling a little mischievously. It’s a good look on her, mischief. It reminds him of when she was much smaller, tip-toed on a stool and peering with big, inquisitive eyes at his every move, quietly smug every time he allowed her to help. She’s tall enough to reach the counter without help, now, and her company these days consists of less real help and more teasing and stealing bits of food, but he doesn’t mind. There are worse rebellions for her to grow into.

Still, he has to put on some appearances.

“Mia,” he says, solemn to most but joking to the ones who know and love him best. “I thought I taught you how to bake.”

She sniffs. “And I’m improving on your techniques!” She looks into the batter, and wrinkles her nose. “Besides, it would be so boring otherwise - vanilla, really? You should’ve made chocolate instead.”

“Or strawberry!” Yoosung pipes in, grinning. 

Gilyoung makes a face. “Strawberry?” he snorts. “Gross. Clearly cheesecake would’ve been the superior choice.”

“Cheesecake is not a birthday cake!” Yoosung spins around, voice incredulous and immediately rising to the bait. Gilyoung’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to retort, only for Mia to put a hand over both of their mouths.

“You’re both wrong,” she informs them. “I’m oppa’s little sister, so I know what’s best for his birthday.”

“I like vanilla...?” Yoo Joonghyuk says, and Mia shakes her head pityingly.

“That’s what you think, oppa,” she says, with the patience of someone explaining things to a very small child. In fact, he thinks it may be the exact voice he once used to explain colors and numbers to her. “But you’re wrong.”

“Oh, is Yoo Joonghyuk wrong about something?” Han Sooyoung smirks as she enters the room, a bag smelling of grease in her arms. She’s followed by Jung Heewon and Lee Jihye, both carrying more bags sagging with weight. “Next up on the news: fork found in kitchen.”

Yoo Joonghyuk sets the mixing bowl down, covers Mia’s eyes with one palm, then makes a gesture towards Han Sooyoung that has Jung Heewon snorting with laughter and Han Sooyoung making a hissing noise like a cat.

“Oppa, stop covering my eyes!” Mia complains.

At the same time- “Hey, why are you only covering her eyes?” Gilyoung points an accusing finger at Yoo Joonghyuk. 

Lee Jihye looks at him with a grin growing on her face, setting her bags on the counter before going over and ruffling his hair to much complaint. “Aw, Gilyoung, if you wanted someone to protect you, you can just ask this noona.” Gilyoung bats her hands away with a hissing, half-confused spluttering that makes him look younger than his teenage years. Beside them, Shin Yoosung is cheering Lee Jihye on, the three of them looking for all the world like a trio of siblings.

“Still,” Jung Heewon says, steamrolling over the chaos in front of her with the ease of long practice. “We can let Yoo Joonghyuk make his boring cake, kids. It’s not nice to embarrass him.”

“It’s my birthday,” he says, a little incredulously. “I’m already making my own cake, and you find it necessary to mock me as well?”

Jung Heewon looks at him with suddenly narrowed eyes. “Are you asking Dokja-ssi to make your cake for you?” she asks, more menacing than he thinks is warranted for the situation. “Our Dokja-ssi, who only recently woke up from a coma? Who hasn’t been cleared to stop using his wheelchair yet?”

“Who might kill us all by passing out after turning on the oven?” Han Sooyoung adds, the little instigator. 

When did I mention Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks. But, like a ghoul or the candyman, the man himself pokes his head in, summoned by the sound of his name.

“Ah, Joonghyuk-ah,” he says. The sound of his voice is still thready, but getting stronger. He walks in, with crutches rather than a wheelchair. All of them look at him with eyes that try not to be obviously hovering, ready to rush over at the slightest stutter in his movements. He’ll likely always need some help getting around, but there’s no lack of people happy to help. There always will be. “It’s very lively here, are we moving dinner to the kitchen?”

Instead of answering, Yoo Joonghyuk glowers, walking over and hooking his arm over Kim Dokja’s waist, lifting the feather-light whole of him over his shoulder in one movement. Kim Dokja splutters in protest - looking uncannily like Lee Gilyoung - for all of three seconds before giving up and ragdolling across Yoo Joonghyuk’s back. Taking a few steps back into the kitchen, Yoo Joonghyuk deposits him, efficiently but gently, into a barstool. “Sit,” he says.

“Sit,” Kim Dokja repeats in a mocking imitation. “As if you gave me any choice.”

“Shut up and look pretty,” Han Sooyoung retorts, shoving her bags onto the counter none too gently - if there are eggs in any of those he’ll punt her out the window - and walking over to swat him over the head. “Actually, I don’t think you’re capable of either, so I’ll accept you actually staying where you’re supposed to be.”

Kim Dokja sticks his tongue out at her, then puts his arms on the counter, his chin in one palm. Looks at the mixing bowl Yoo Joonghyuk left out.

“...why does it look so lumpy? And so...colorful?”

There’s a beat of silence, before a sudden snort. Shin Yoosung covers her mouth in surprise, and then another bubble of giggles spill out, sweet and uninhibited. Lee Gilyoung meets her gaze for a moment, then succumbs as well, followed quickly by Lee Jihye, then Jung Heewon, one after another. Han Sooyoung has to clutch the counter to keep herself upright, and Yoo Joonghyuk feels a warm weight fall onto his side. He turns, and sees his baby sister laughing, wide and bright and like a child. It feels-

Well.

He lets out a huff of breath, lips quirking up. Then another, and another. Not quite laughter, but the closest he’s come in- too long, probably. The others startle out of their giggles in surprise, looking at him. All of them but Mia, who just giggles harder into his side, knocking her head sideways into his shoulder. He lets himself lean into her, too, until both of their breaths even out.

He looks down, and she is looking back up at him, her gaze happy and adoring, a reflection of his own.

“Happy Birthday, Oppa,” she says, and he realizes that he does, in fact, feel happy.