#not here baybee

[lexicorp]

Exactly^^

So much of these sorta things are incredibly nuanced, and not so clearly cut. (And the thing that can be even more frustrating in the fandom is when they apply the grey area redemption experience opportunity to one but not the other in the fucked up cycle- especially if it's the initial abuser who gets it, like that's so indicative of bullshit like that irl)

Getting that exposure to people who don't coincide with that narrowed lens of perception that isolation tactics very often present when someone is manipulated and other abuse--is just so important to improvement/recovery. Because it breaks that warped reality to affirm that the generalized negatively isn't accurate. That there are people like Arcane and Optimus. Because it's just so easy to get it stuck in your head in this suffocating string of memories that leads to assumptions and anxiety that invoke those things like "I can't say this because they'll think I'm weak/stupid, or it won't matter anyway to say it so what's the point?" iiiiiiit sucks.

I love your points analyzing the Starcane lore cuz it's just so fascinating the dichotomy of him recognizing in part that she's safe (thus engaging in "dangerous behavior" he'd avoid with Megatron), while /still/ being battle ready at any little sign of a threat between them. And how all the intricacies psychologically are processed are so fascinatingly fragged up- cuz it's so hard to break that cycle, and you need someone really patient there for it.

And that is really what I love about writing this sorta stuff is that even if there are so many bad ending situations irl where the person isn't able to get better, where they perpetually self destruct no matter what anyone does, we can seize that control to create the good ending to give that hope that the struggle is possible to get through. Which is why I want a canon focus on Starscream lore approached like this so damn bad.

Also man the thing of someone who you know talks shit coming up being all fake niceties is so dang triggering. Honestly that flavor of reaction is Star and IDW redeemed Megs to me, cuz like--

The salt and just instinctual reflex built upon past disaster is just so palpable

I love the note on "But once the storm calms, everyone's hurt", cuz damn does it encapsulate it all so well. No one ever really wins.

And honestly, I def feel that inclination to exploring the family dynamics a bunch, even if, or especially if, we ain't gonna touch it irl. Cuz approaching things fictionally, is far easier to process, far safer. Least that's what I've found. Hell, the majority of any of my social competency has been built on analysis and research/observations of fictional characters (or true crime-).

And man, those contrasting concepts of seeing the kids as warriors and having that urge to raise them to "be like him" (born a lot from thinking they need to be tough and drawing from how he was made to be so), while also having that underlying knowledge that it was fragged up, and that he doesn't want them to go through what he did. That is just one example of all the types of ways that can create those internal conflicts and confusions that in turn lead to lashing out in different ways, because most of the time it's hella hard to put our feelings and motivations into words, and even more difficult to be sure the answers we give are actually correct. Cuz boy to we know that Decepticon lies to himself- and it's all about feeling in control

Then the doge vs cat struggles geez it rlly just does just come out so much in those moments of frustration. And that regret and reflection on it afterward is something that's just so much /ow/ and guilt and yet, our brains are gonna have the reflex come out yet again when triggered. Its often navigating the aftermath of the inevitable I find is what rlly needs to be shown. Cuz preventative strategies are all great in theory, but for those times when you can't catch it, or don't hear it until after it comes out, what then? And when emotions are really fragging hard already, that part feels impossible.

[Star too having that thought towards Arcane and the kids or Optimus that they're weak/vulnerable and the "I can take advantage of that" controlling nature is so where the spiral falling into the cycle starts. Cuz the want to be on top after having been on the bottom is so real. Its just like that thing of wanting to get them back or eye for an eye of seeking satisfaction/release from the pent up frustration. And even feeling justified mirror behavior cuz the other person got away with it.]

i need to see more starop where starscream is having trouble breaking the cycle, so he falls back into his old habits.

one of the most difficult parts about breaking the cycle of abuse is trying your hardest to not repeat the behaviors your abuser imprinted on to you. speaking from experience, it can be very hard when you enter a healthy relationship and find yourself thinking like your abuser.

so imagine, starscream finally joins the autobots. by some unfortunate circumstance, they lose an important battle. optimus encourages his team, but privately, he retreats to somewhere isolated to think. starscream finds him and asks what he's doing.

when optimus admits that he's disappointed in himself for not doing the best he could on the battlefield, starscream finds himself scoffing. "well, maybe we wouldn't be in the position if you'd done a better job to begin with," he grumbles, his voice slowly escalating. "i thought you were supposed to be some great leader. or is your reputation all a myth? because of you, now the decepticons have the advantage, and we're one step closer to losing this war!" outraged that optimus hasn't said anything, he shouts, "are you even listening to me, prime?!"

when optimus turns his helm to look up, starscream is spooked by what he sees. he doesn't see the face of someone about to drop to his knees and beg for mercy. instead, the look in his normally lively blue optics can best be described as haunted, almost dead, but clinging onto the last shreds of life.

the realization hits starscream like enemy fire. his voice box shorts out as he trips over his own words, trying to take them back. one thought comes to mind, and he knows optimus is thinking it, too.

i sound like megatron.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

The pishacha are manifestations of evil itself, locked within a cursed amulet. The wearer of the amulet is at the mercy of the demon, known for possessing humans and feeding off their host's chakra energy. However, if symbiosis is achieved, the pishacha can grant its host a myriad of powerful abilities.

I just needed to draw something cool okay. I needed to draw some cool goop and some cool looks okay. okay. if I didn't post this I would have exploded okay

[rapidhighway]

teeheeheee i can't recommend making your own stickers enough

[the-sun-station]

oh dude, let me tell you- dude. I'm losing my fucking mind at this pic I got from @jimbohusky

I legitimately can't stop staring it with a dumb, happy grin on my fucking face

[thefreakandthehair]

(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.” 

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction  wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now? 

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son. 

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust. 

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong. 

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself. 

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.” 

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight. 

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging. 

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!” 

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off. 

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can. 

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.” 

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks. 

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?” 

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace. 

It’s only then that Steve speaks. 

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them. 

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree. 

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge. 

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen. 

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain. 

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow. 

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?” 

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him. 

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter. 

[kiiirtiiiniii]

@kyanite-shards' Kyanite and Gabbro for a request! Plus a lil writing... enjoy ::] <3

The night was cooler than Kyanite liked it, but too warm to have bothered exchanging their flannel for a sweater. A shiver passed over them. They almost rolled down their sleeves, but the thought left them the moment they spotted the person they were out here for just ahead of them, their strides long but slow, unhurried.

Gabbro was leaving in the morning, and though Kyanite was sure they'd stop by for a quick farewell before they launched, they wanted something a little less rushed, more calm and quiet. Something more like Gabbro themself, now that they thought about it. They'd only been dating for a short while now, but Kyanite thought it would be okay to ask that much.

Their footsteps crunched on grass and pine needles as they jogged over a shortcut. Gabbro's ear twitched before they lazily swung around to face them.

Cute. Kyanite's face was already warming.

They stopped a short distance away and kept their voice quiet. Slate was just around the next bend on the path, waiting for Gabbro by the base of the launch tower. They'd have a crackling fire, but that wasn't reliably loud enough to cover voices.

"Hey, Gabs."

"Hey." They replied softly, automatically matching tone. Gabbro's voice was deeper than Kyanite's, just enough to send a little shiver down their spine. "Thought you'd be asleep."

By all rights, they should be. Kyanite had an early morning tomorrow filling in for Slate doing whatever little mechanical repairs they could that were needed around the crater, since Slate would be pulling an all-nighter for Gabbro's pre-launch campout.

"I wanted to say goodbye properly." Kyanite muttered. They ground the toe of their boot into the dirt path and clasped their hands together to stop themself picking at their clothes. "Since, y'know, I'll be pretty busy tomorrow. Won't really have time for much more than a wave, or whatever."

"Properly, huh?" Gabbro smiled slowly, almost as warmly as Kyanite's face was flushing, now. They were glad it was dark. "And what does a 'proper' goodbye entail?"

"More than a wave," Kyanite said stubbornly. They knew what Gabbro was doing.

"Uh-huh. I guess this's been more than a wave." Their smile grew just enough to be considered a grin when Kyanite huffed. "Seeya."

Gabbro half-turned to leave, but found their arm caught by the sleeve.

"More than that," their captor forced out, cheeks burning against the cool night air. "C'mon, Gabs, gimme a break here."

"Oh?" Gabbro's grin was more shit-eating than sincere, now. "Then, what d'you mean by 'more'?"

Kyanite crossed their arms and huffed again, eyes on the ground. "Hearth. I dunno. A hug? And maybe..."

"Maybe...?"

Their shoulders were around their ears, their voice barely a squeak. "Maybe a kiss...?"

"That, I can do." Gabbro laughed under their breath. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes, to the damn void with you." Kyanite grumbled.

"Hey, I can go if you want..."

They all but glared daggers at their partner. "Gabs."

"Alright, alright." Gabbro was still grinning, but more softly. "Sorry, Ky. You're just too cute when you're flustered."

Kyanite nearly sputtered at that, but suddenly their partner was backing them towards a big cedar and propping them up on one of the upgrowths at the base of it.

"What-"

"Hey." Gabbro interrupted gently, firmly. "Look at me."

Kyanite looked.

Gabbro was silhouetted by moonlight; it shone dimly through their ears and surrounded their head and shoulders with a delicate halo of silver. Their scales almost seemed to sparkle in the darkness. Kyanite might've laughed at the cliché if they weren't so genuinely taken by it.

Their partner interrupted their staring by pulling them against their chest and wrapping them up in a warm hug that chased out the last of the night's chill. Kyanite responded in kind, draping their arms comfortably around Gabbro's waist and sighing deeply. They smelled of pine needles and grass, campfire smoke and treated wood, hearth and home. They'd finally shaken the weird briny scent that had clung to them when they'd most recently returned. 

A long few minutes passed. Warm, pleasant minutes. Soft, comfortable minutes.

Kyanite snapped back to themself with a sharp inhale when Gabbro murmured their name, pulling a chuckle out of their partner.

"You really should be asleep, Ky." Gabbro whispered softly into their ear, making it shiver.

Kyanite's nose crinkled and they pulled away to pout at the taller hearthian. "Still not a proper goodbye."

"My bad." Gabbro smirked fondly. "How's this?"

The pair shifted, Kyanite following Gabbro's lead, until they were nose-to-nose, then almost, almost mouth-to-mouth.

"Good?"

Kyanite could feel Gabbro's breath on their lips. They couldn't speak, so they nodded, but as they moved the tilt of their head brought the pair together.

Gabbro made a soft, satisfied little noise and pressed into the unintentional kiss. It wasn't their first kiss, but it would be their last for some time and Kyanite meant to make the most of it. After melting into their partner's touch for a long, long moment, they tipped their head to the side just so.

The reaction was immediate, faster than Kyanite expected. Gabbro inhaled deep. Their mouth parted and their tongue darted out to taste Kyanite's lower lip, running along it slowly, smoothly, and pulling a tiny, undignified squeak from them.

Kyanite pulled away to apologize, anxiety rising in their chest, only to be chased and pinned against the tree in a heart-pounding, open-mouthed kiss. Nervousness forgotten, their arms flung out, one to stabilize them against an upgrowth, the other to cling to Gabbro's back, pull them closer. Gabbro kept them in place, trapping Kyanite's legs between their own and firmly holding their shoulders. The kiss was intense, but as unhurried as Gabbro always was. It was the only thing keeping Kyanite together and coherent enough to really enjoy it.

Just as they felt stable in the kiss, as they started thinking about trying to do more than barely keep up, Gabbro shifted a hand upward. Their two fingers trapped Kyanite's ear between them and their thumb pressed into Ky's cheek. The larger finger hooked around the back of Kyanite's head, holding them firmly in place as Gabbro pulled away for a breath.

"Gabs..." Kyanite's voice sounded strange and reedy to their own ears.

Gabbro hushed them, then spoke ever-so-gently. "I gotcha, Ky."

And they were kissing again; slow, closed-mouth, but no less intense. The space between Gabbro's fingers slotted comfortably into the lower notch in Kyanite's ear and they hummed against their partner's lips, reveling in the feeling of Gabbro's smile.

"So cute..." they muttered between kisses, their low voice sending yet another pleasant jolt down Kyanite's spine. "I really, really like you. Sorry I'm gonna miss your launch."

It took a long few moments for Kyanite to gather enough of their mind to respond. "I'll, hmm, come visit you."

"Yeah?" Gabbro inclined their head to nuzzle noses. "That'd be pretty sweet."

"After Esker."

They snickered. "Of course."

The sound of a log dropping into a fire around the bend startled both hearthians out of their reverie. Gabbro was the first to crack a smile, and stroked Kyanite's cheek when they smiled, too.

"I'd better run," Gabbro whispered. "Ol' Slate's probably grumbling about how slow I am, or something."

Kyanite curled their lip, then grinned. "I'll give up marshmallows the day you run outside an emergency." 

Gabbro ducked their head and snorted into Kyanite's shoulder. 

"Thanks for the 'proper' goodbye, Ky." They said, muffled, then raised their head. Their face was saturated with affection and Kyanite's heart skipped a beat. "I'll see you on Giant's Deep. Careful landing." 

"Of course." 

Gabbro hesitated a moment longer, just long enough for Kyanite to loop their arms around their waist and pull them in for one last kiss that turned into half a dozen more. The pair fell into a pleasurable haze.

"Gonna hafta swear off spaceflight f'you keep smoochin' me." Gabbro murmured into the kisses. "C'mon." 

Kyanite grinned, but pulled away. "Sorry."

"Sure you are," Gabbro huffed, but they were grinning, too. 

"Bye, Gabs. Be careful." 

"I will be. Later, Ky." 

Gabbro's stride was lighter as they turned and walked away, somehow more energetic without being any faster. Kyanite hugged themself and smiled ear-to-ear. One more thing to look forward to on their launch day.

[elendsessor]

while i think giving grius more time to shine would’ve made this moment a shitton more impactful, man did the author do really well at building upon his death????

like. these feel like actual reactions. disbelief, anger, repressed emotions, etc. massive kudos

[hellssangel]

[lucybellwood]

Passed some photos of a black serval on my dash earlier and they haven’t left my head since

[shrimpari]

“I made a pact with Vol, a pact of Blood”

Strahd von Zarovich and his very, very good friend.

[ruggiesbiologicalfather]

The Trouble With Ice

Azul Ashengrotto was no stranger to the cold. The water at the bottom of the Coral Sea often stayed just warm enough to stay liquid instead of turning to solid ice. When temperatures began to dip at Night Raven College, it should've given him some comfort. After all, it made the world on land closer to the world he grew up in. But any happy feelings of home were always overshadowed by something different: pain.

Azul had hoped his second year on land would've meant his body was more used to its human form. But being on two legs was unsteady and walking caused his knees to ache and his back to clench. He often remembered his first transformation where he could barely get his body past a crawling position. No matter what he tried, his knees would buckle under him and send him back to the ground. He had felt eyes burning into him as he failed over and over again. The eyes of the doctors and the advisors and his mother bore into him as he flailed like a child. He could tell what they were thinking: "this isn't going to work." That had been the most embarrassing day of his entire life and he counted himself lucky that the twins were not there to witness it. His eyes had burned with humiliation as his dreams of Night Raven College began slipping away. How could he attend a school on land if he couldn't do anything but lay there? His doctor had suggested using something called a walker - a device to give him extra "legs" - was he was still learning. Maybe then he could still attend the school he longed for. It was his final chance, his only remaining option. Mortifying. Why was it that those stupid morays could run along like everything was so easy? Granted, with this transformation they gained legs. Azul lost them.

Azul was able to use the cane instead by the time school was in session. Many of the other students thought it was just for a bit of pomp and circumstance. It lent itself well to the aesthetics he had built for himself. Little did they know. But little they needed to. He was happy to let them all assume he simply had a fun and unnecessary accessory. They wouldn't know of his weakness. He could get around well enough that it was hard to tell that he actually used it as support. Except, of course, when that bitter, biting pain reared its ugly head. What was it about the cold that elevated every pin and needle that buried itself in his flesh? But life goes on, there's work to be done.

The best snowy days were the ones where classes were cancelled and Azul could hole himself up in his room until his body could sort itself out. He yearned for darkness and quiet and the comforting crush of a massive pile of heavy blankets pulled over his head. That would be good - a little crevice carved out only for himself. He would tell his employees he was doing important business. That way, they wouldn't bother him. And they would never know the octopus had shoved himself back into the pot.

But those days were rare. More often than not, classes were still in session and Azul would have to drag himself out of the dorm and into the elements. Cold, he could handle. His skin put up no complaints. It was actually kind of nice to not feel like he was constantly sweating against the unfamiliar heat of the surface world. He could mask the pain in every step well enough that no one would know of his struggle. But there was a greater enemy out there. Ice. It was slick and nearly impossible to see especially when his breath clouded the lenses of his glasses. If he hit a patch of ice with his cane at just the right angle, it would slide and cause him to stumble. Humiliating. He hated the snow, he hated the ice, he hated anything that could cause him to make a fool of himself in front of his classmates. His only solace was zipping his coat way up past his mouth and securing his hood around his head. It was close enough to a crevice. It made his heart pound a little quieter.

On this particular snow day, classes went by fast enough. Though Azul didn't take in any of the content. He was too busy going through a checklist in his head over and over again. The Mostro Lounge was always busy on days when the weather was not good for relaxing outside. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to crawl into bed when he was done with classes. Even worse, Jade had spent the morning coughing and blowing his nose which meant he was unfit to work the floor. Azul had no other choice, he would have to pick up the slack. He would have to be on his feet for several more hours - probably until it was closing time. Just thinking about it exacerbated the terrible ache tightening its fingers around his spine. But he could bear it. With white knuckles around his cane, he would have to bear it. He didn't have a choice.

The final class of the day came to an end and Azul needed to get going. The snow had mostly stopped falling but he was too smart to fall for this trap. The white blanket around him was still just as slippery and treacherous. He had a habit of watching his feet when he walked, something from his early days on land that just wouldn't go away. He would always force his head up when someone was near but alone, he kept his eyes focused on the ground. He would not be bested today. Not by something as simple as ice. His speed was abysmal, he would be better off crawling back to the dorm, but he couldn't risk going any faster. His cane already felt wobbly in his gloved grasp. He stuck to following the footprints of previous pedestrians, thinking it a safer path than plunging his boots into fresh snow.

Though the snow had stopped falling, the wind whipping around tossed the powder directly into his face. Somehow, it even managed to get behind his glasses and sting his eyes. A string of curses accompanied him with every step. He felt himself growing more and more frustrated as he moved along. He could barely see. He didn't want to be out here. He didn't want to be taking tiny steps in hopes of staying upright. All he wanted was his bed - his crevice - and some sort of painkiller that probably wouldn't work. He wanted all of this to go away. He wanted the sea. He wanted his real legs back. The ones that took him wherever he needed without complaint. The ones he could rely on. Eight of them - balanced and strong.

Azul had gotten too caught up in thoughts of home. He didn't see the patch of ice coating the steps down main street. He knew as soon as his cane touched down that he had made a mistake. He had hit the ice dead center. There was no chance he would win this battle. The end of his cane flew forward, taking his left leg with it. His body rocked back and his right knee immediately buckled. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he prepared for impact. His back was the first thing to hit the stone steps, followed by his head which was thankfully cushioned by the hood of his coat. His body rolled itself over and down three more steps before he found himself flat on his back on the street, staring up at the sky.

He barely dared to breathe as the fiery pain spread across his back and down both his legs. He squeezed his eyes shut and commanded his limbs to stop trembling. He went through the checklist in his mind, the one he had made years ago to guide him after a fall. Step one: sit up. Step two: find your cane. Step three: get to a kneeling position. Step four: push yourself to-

"Hey, are you okay!?"

Damn it. Someone's here.

Azul turned his head towards the stairs. It was the Ramshackle prefect. He pushed himself to a seated position way faster than he would have liked. His head spun and throbbed with the sudden motion. The prefect came down the stairs carefully but their feet were so steady even on the ice. There was no fear of their body betraying them. And even if it did, the consequences would be minimal. They would still be able to stand.

"I nearly fell down those this morning," they continued. "That stone gets really slick." They reached their hand down towards Azul. He froze. They hadn't asked if he needed help. They hadn't even waited to see if he could do it on his own. Did he really look that pathetic lying on the ground? His instinct was the slap the hand away and bolt the other direction. But his cane was lying too far away to reach. He would have to crawl to it. Disastrous. He had one choice to save face. He took the prefect's hand. He could feel the warmth even through the gloves.

It seemed to take no effort to pull him up to stand. His knee bent nearly forty-five degrees the moment he put weight on his foot. A squeaky grunt surged up from his chest but he clenched his teeth to stop it in its tracks. He hoped the prefect didn't notice. He cleared his throat and straightened his off-kilter glasses. He knew he looked like a disaster. Time for some damage control.

"Thank you," he said. "I expect a bill for my rescue to be coming soon?" The prefect chuckled a bit. Azul forced himself to smile back, hoping to look casual. In reality, there was a sharp stabbing in his left knee that forced him to balance on the tip of his toe, putting most of his weight on his right side. This was bad. He was barely good at standing on two legs, just one would not work. He needed his cane. But how could he get to it without broadcasting his weakness? He was starting to sweat. Perhaps he could slide his way to it, dragging his left leg along just as a balancer. That would hurt. Seven, it would hurt. But it was better than crawling after it. It was his only choice to save face. But the prefect was already on the move.

"Are you heading back to the lounge?" Azul was stunned. The prefect scooped up the cane, brushed the top off with their hand, and held it out to Azul without a word about it. He could barely move. What was their angle? Did they want him to explain himself? Did they know just how badly he needed this? Was this leverage? Was this a game? What did they want?

But the prefect didn't say anything. They just held the handle out towards Azul. Their expression was neutral, absently pleasant, as it often was. Azul could spot a twinkle of malice or mischief from a mile away but there was none to be found. He took the cane and set it on his left side. Relief flooded him as the strain on his right leg was eased.

"Yes," he answered, just remembering that a question had been asked. "Business never stops." The prefect chuckled again. They began to walk. Azul fell into step next to them, grateful for their slow, even stride. Was that intentional? Were they slowing down for him? Did they pity him? Did they know how easy it would be to leave him behind? Why did they slow for his sake?

"Perhaps," he said, trying to sound casual as if every join wasn't screaming in protest at his movements, "you'd like a drink on the house."

"Oh, I know better than to take something 'free' from you." Azul laughed, though it sent a pang through his chest. "But I'll come warm up for a while."

"Good. Though, you are aware of our policy that all patrons must have a purchase to be able-"

"Yes, Azul, I know the policy." As they continued, there were no words exchanged about the fall or the cane or how Azul kept biting his lip against the pain in his left leg. Everything felt normal. He was proud of himself. He had played it off expertly. The prefect had no idea.

[gghostiis-shenanigans]

oh yeah i got onto to tumblr to post art hi

enjoy okay bye

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

[an OFF au]

Grian strolled up to the little truck, its front window covered by a thick curtain and wheels planted firmly into the metal ground. Digging into the thick earth, as if weighed down by its own cargo, certainly not moving anywhere anytime soon. 

He sniffed, taking his time to read the sign at the door: 'Merchandise For Sale, Knock Twice On The Counter'. Written in blocky, simple letters he'd seen only a short while ago at the theme park. 

Letting a smile break his cold expression, Grian found himself glad to see his mysterious friend once again. For one so impure, The Merchant had no business making Grian smile, of all things, and yet the thought of speaking with him again acted as a balm for his scattered, skin-deep wounds.

The van boasted a wide counter across its side, covered in items seemingly for sale. Briefly, Grian pondered that just about anyone could steal from the display, if they wanted to. But then he remembered just how empty he’d made the place, and stopped worrying. 

He glanced over into the back, through a crack in the curtains, to see what else was on offer. Some nice colours, or a new bat, maybe. He'd find out when The Merchant arrived. 

And just on time, despite the advice to knock going ignored, The Merchant appeared in the window, snapping the curtains open with a sudden force. He wore his demonic mask, but his eyes shone in light which caught through the eye-holes, sparkling with glee. An indicator he was alive, and not yet a spirit or corpse. 

"Scar," Grian greeted, swaying the bat lightly in his hand. It seemed he was growing ever-comfortable using The Merchant's real name. Ever since he had shared his own, it felt only natural to refer to the man as his preferred moniker. 

The Merchant nodded, fishing around under the counter. In the background, something that sounded like water dripped one tiny splash at a time, the sound echoing through empty halls. 

Knowing now it wasn't water made Grian shift from one foot to another, nausea brewing in his gut, but it didn't seem to worry Scar. "Grian, we meet again! Would you like to see what we have in store today?" Neither of them knew what 'today' was, but they put up with the friendly game nonetheless. 

Grian nodded. "I have purified the First Zone." Scar tensed up. "It's no longer plagued by impure entities..." A pause formed between them, Scar staring at him with unblinking, masked eyes, and Grian staring back, stoic as always.

"So I'd like to buy, yeah," he finally said, breaking the silence. Scar laughed, sliding a small list of items over the counter towards him. Grian took it, and started reading each item's description and cost intently. The smell of smoke wafted through the purple hallway, mixing grossly with burning caramel. He wondered what it could be. 

Scar rested his arm on the counter, looking down at Grian curiously. "How are you, my friend? I've come to terms with our lives being meerly a collection of ones and zeros, but I'm curious to see how my lonely Batter is holding up. This is all about you, isn't it?" Grian ignored him, reading the list until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper back over, pointing to a certain item. Scar exhaled sharply in amusement. 

"Another bat? Surely the last is strong enough, yes?" Grian shook his head, placing his old bat on the counter, along with a number of credits. 

And, well, The Merchant couldn't turn down a deal like that. As in, he physically couldn’t disobey the rules of the game. Scar slid away into the truck, disappearing from sight like a shadow. Grian kicked the ground. His feet hurt. 

Something in the distance screamed. Or someone? They didn't have long, then. Grian made a mental note to move from this Zone after his interactions here were over, though he knew deep down that it wouldn't matter where he went. It would always follow him, the never-ending emptiness, until he could reach... Well, it didn't matter. 

Without a sound, Scar reappeared, passing a new bat over the counter. "Here. You didn't answer my question, Batter. How are you?" He tried again. 

Of course, this wasn't part of the Official dialogue (and, if he focused hard enough, he could feel the eyes watching and judging his every move) but he figured he could improvise a bit. What else could he do? 

"I'm doing... well," Grian replied, hesitant, "I'm going to purify Zone 2, then Zone 3, and finally—" 

"No, no. You misunderstand!" Scar cut him off with a wave of his hand. "How are you? Not your mission, not the purification. You!" Now, this was a total break of character. He shouldn't be talking down to the protagonist like this... and yet. 

Grian stopped for a moment, thinking. How was he feeling? It had always been hard for him to navigate his emotions, as if a glass wall stood between him and his mind, dampening their impact. And now, it was like his mind had been set on one path. Manipulated into something, by a process out of his own control. 

But he had to reach his goal. He had to purify the zones. He couldn't just stand there and watch it all happen. Because he was doing the right thing, wasn't he? Of course. There was only one way to stop him it. Only one way to free him kill the Queen. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. "It's a strange world," he said, "I'm doing fine... but what I left behind tells a different story." Even though it was the right thing to do, he refused to lie. 

Besides, Scar saw it with his own eyes. The white, endless void that was Zone 1, reduced to nothing but a breeding ground for horrible creatures made of wire and flesh. The world was falling apart at its edges. It was his fault. 

Then, for only a moment, he thought of Scar’s sweet friend, Gem, hiding in Zone 0, sugar and blades dancing at her fingertips. Her delightful laughter, her oddly murderous spirit, her obsessions, and the care in Scar’s voice when they talked about her afterwards, diverging from the scripts once more.

She would die to Grian too, no doubt. Because he was a monster—a little monstrous birdie—like she warned. Something terrible was crawling beneath his skin, begging to be let out, crying for escape. All feathers and teeth and eyes.

Scar laughed, bitter, though it all sounded the same to Grian's ears. “Well–" he sighed– "we all have our failings.”

And with that their dialogue was finished. 

—

He found out what the caramel smell was, and god did he wish he hadn't. But it's something he'd rather not dwell upon. In fact, he'd rather think about anything other than that. 

So he went back to Zone 0, searching for any clues to what was going on in this horrible place. That's where he met Gem, Officially, as her boss form: a hunched, corrupted figure overcome by sugar addiction. 

Her room, yellow and orange, was filled with piles and piles of the white powder substance. Just looking at it made Grian's stomach turn. 

But, of course, impure spirits must be purified, so he ignored the drugs and started to fight. Her crazed, manic, terrified eyes turned colder too, and she fought back with all she could. Blow after blow, sugar blades and caramel slashing into Grian’s skin with what once would be called efficiency, but had degraded into madness. 

With each swing of his bat, he was reminded of the words Scar said to him before. 'How are you?' It was so simple, but the tiny act of kindness had stuck with him all throughout Zone 2. Even when he purified it. 

Another hit. Gem screeched in pain, and responded with more molten, razor-like flashes. Cutting into Grian, making him hiss and flinch but never fall. 

In the other side of his mind, he felt bad, maybe, for wiping out Scarland. No more people to sit on the stagnant rides. No more roller-coaster rides with Scar's statue. No more conversations about Scar’s latest ideas.

Thinking about it almost made him angry, which he channelled into his attacks on Gem. And though she could fight, and must have been a skilled boss in the past, the sugar had weakened her to a state which struck Grian as simple. 

Her attacks were always the same. Sugar-knives drawing blood but never cutting too deep, or a futile attempt at healing. Her red hair dripped redder as the fight continued on, though Grian tried to hold back. Tried to draw it out. Tried to communicate his apology through a look.

From her perspective, all she could likely see was a horrifying, monstrous birdie, coming at her with teeth and talons and eyes. At least, that’s what she said, throwing out another limited attack.

She screamed at him, a pained and pitiful thing. It must've been close to the end, for her. 

It was different from the others. Wrong. Like he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing. But it couldn't be wrong. His mission couldn't be unjust. He couldn’t be having doubts now, of all times. The pure white zones and breathless spaces he left behind? They were better that way. 

Smoke filled his lungs. 

Grian frowned, the bat heavy in his hands. He had to do this, or else—or else Gem would kill him herself. He thought back to the lone soul he found in Zone 2, in a stark ivory room. The only person he'd seen since purification—finally safe, forever. He shuddered, bile blocking his throat. What was he doing?

Could he stop? He didn’t think so. The bat seemed to move automatically in his hand, the selection of attacks drawing itself for him. Leaning back, raising the bat into the air, he took one last look at Gem’s petrified, tear-streaked face. 

As he pushed forward to carry out the swing, a rough, sturdy hand grabbed his arm. He flipped around, pulling away from the grasp, and stumbled back as he tried to secure his footing. His eyes tilted down to the ground, then up, scrambling to find a target.

Focussed, then. Scar stared back at him in the doorway, mask hiding his true expression. Grian could tell he was angry just from his stance.

"Get away from her." Scar bit at the words, eyes sharp as he looked to Gem's shaking form. She clawed at the ground, her fists bloody and broken, exhausted from the fight just as Grian was. 

Breathing heavily and stumbling in place, Grian grit his teeth, trying to remember his purpose. He had to keep going. He had to purify the Zones. He... he... 

Something grainy crunched under his shoe. Blood ran down his arms, dripping onto the pile of white sugar below, and staining it red. He choked back his nausea.

Scar's eyes were pleading with him, and yet Grian shook his head. "She is impure. She—she must be purified." The sound of his own voice was foreign. Even he didn't believe the words. Not truly. Scar only sighed, a contrast to his usual cheery self. 

"I know it's a game, and I’m stupid for caring, but, Grian, I don't like this. I don't like your mission. You're gonna leave Gem alone, or I'll–" he took in a sharp breath– "I'll break the code and fight you myself." 

He wasn't bluffing. Grian could tell. He looked back to Gem, who had begun to gather her strength once more, dipping her fingers into some sugar from the ground and bringing the substance to her lips. 

She didn't look corrupted at all. Just... malnourished. Strong, but neglected. Grian's gaze flitted between Scar and Gem. Neither of them looked corrupted. 

How could he have been so blind?

The bat dropped to the floor, clattering against the yellow ground. "I–I can't—my mission, it's... it was supposed to be good. I'm supposed to be good." Choking back a sob, he let the emotionless façade drop away. Scar held his shoulder, keeping him steady. 

"It's okay. We'll figure it out." Gem shifted on the other side of the room, healing herself now she was out of battle. Grian thought about Zone 1 and 2. The barren, dead landscapes he created. The spirits he slaughtered. For what? 

Scar let him go, and reached up to the back of his own head. With wide eyes, Grian saw him untie something—his mask. Slow and deliberate, Scar brought his hands to the sides of the demonic plastic, and slowly pulled it away, dropping it to the floor. Even Gem let out a gasp. 

He was... normal. Dark hair and tanned skin, pale scars littering his face. "There, now we have nothing to hide. No regrets, yeah?" 

And, well, Grian wasn't sure he believed that, but it was so much better than the alternative.

[avengerscompound]

Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers CAPTAIN AMERICA & THE FALCON (2004) #6

[sentientcave]

@dragonnarrative-writes tagged me in a WIP Wednesday post and I couldn't decide what to post so here's a few bits of a bunch of things

Here Comes The Sun - Ftm Reader Sugar Baby AU

John sighs. "Sunshine. You can let me handle it."

"Stop bein' stubborn."

"I haven't decided yet."

"I'm not being stubborn, I just think--"

"That it's better not to rely on anyone else?" he asks. "I'd call that stubborn."

"It's not that simple, John. I'm doing alright. I don't want to rely on someone else."

"Why not? Afraid you'll get used to it?"

Is that what you're afraid of? Putting the reigns in someone else's hands is dangerous, but you've never been afraid to strike out on your own. You'll start from scratch if you have to, it's not like you'd have to work very hard to get back to treading water. Would it be so bad to take some time off?

He puts his hand on your knee and squeezes. “It’s okay, sunshine. I want this. Let me do this.”

Love Bug - Johnny Childhood Friends to Lovers

"So," your boss said, leaning in the doorway of your office. "I bumped into your man last night."

Cold sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. "You met Johnny?"

This was bad. Your carefully maintained house of cards, about to fall. Your stomach fell away into a bottomless pit, dread holding you perfectly still, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Johnny was not your boyfriend. You'd been using him as a front for over a year now, a clever idea his mum had given you when you complained about your boss's behaviour. You had a picture of him on your desk, you used his deployments as excuse to not bring him to work socials.

"We set up a double date for this friday. Did he not tell you?"

"We haven't talked yet today. He was out with his mates last night, and we're seeing each other later." The lie slides from your tongue. You've gotten too good at it.

"Why didn't you mention he'd been shot?" Your boss pressed. "I would have given you time off, you know."

You reach out to straighten the picture of Johnny on your desk, hiding your surprise under a sad, wistful look at the smiling, blue-eyed soldier in the frame. "I didn't want to talk about it. When I'm here, I can focus on my work. Pretend everything's fine." You smile at him tightly. "But he's doing better now, thank god."

Alpha to Omega - Omegaverse forced phenotype transition ft. Ghoap

She spent a long moment holding one of the little vials of hormones. She could destroy it all, but it would only delay them by a day or two at most, a couple missed injections would hardly slow things down.

When the insidious thought crept in that maybe she liked the changes, she opened every vial and drained them into the sink, hands trembling. She had a full-on, sobbing meltdown after that, crawling into bed wearing Johnny’s t-shirt from yesterday and Simon’s sweater. She didn’t like that their scents were so comforting now.

She must have drifted off like that, because the next thing she knew, Simon and Johnny were there, stripping off their uniforms and gently pulling her out of bed to join them in the shower. No mention was made of the vials, even though they had obviously noticed, since the bin was no longer out on the counter where she had left it, and the empty vials she’d left lined up by the sink were gone.

They just lavished attention on her instead of saying anything at all. There were cameras somewhere, they must've seen her have her little meltdown, decided on their tactics before coming home. They were trying to make her feel better.

And worse, it was working. Being coddled and fucked sideways, sinking her teeth into arms and shoulders and chests until they whined and showed their throats. Unearned victories, but at least she left her marks all over their topography, and her aching breasts and sore, puffy pussy were acceptable casualties.

[chalkscrub]

babygirl doodles from a little while ago