#ugh... at least i caught it early and have mostly beaten it back

[janeaudron]

Colds have a funny way of hitting you when you least expect it.

[heyyyyadora]

No one wants to be Kyle.

But someone, at least, has his back, a silent saviour.

A quick one-shot for these gay bois!

Proud to present everyone’s fave buff lizard/useless twink pairing!!!

So I have to explain my headcanon for Rogelio’s muteness - the She-Ra staff were the ones to confirm Rogelio’s name on twitter, mentioning that because he has no voice lines in Season One, he doesn’t appear in the voice credits. They also mentioned that they think someone says his name in Season Two, which will be the first time his name is confirmed in canon…

…which in my head suggested, “Oh, I guess he still doesn’t get credited for any voice lines then?” which lead to, “Wait, so Rogelio doesn’t speak at ALL for two whole seasons?” and so, boom. Mute Rogelio headcanon.

I really liked the idea of playing with this, as lizards obviously communicate in a variety of ways that differ from us - lots of cues in touch and body language, with a smattering of audio cues such as huffing or hissing.

Kyle, on the other hand, just wants someone who’ll listen to him… so who better than someone who won’t interrupt, who will just sit there calmly and let him get things off his chest; having a big buff lizard bf is a pretty sweet bonus tho.

Whole fic posted under cut!

“Ugh, seriously, Kyle?!”

He wasn’t cut out for this. He knew that. But having everyone yell at him for it didn’t. Help.

“Come on! That one wasn’t my fault!”

It was no good protesting. Adora and the others had already scattered, further laser fire blasting around them. He sighed, pulling himself up to sitting position and rubbing his now probably bruised chest. Great. If he took a hit then all of their grades suffered. Team marking meant that he dragged them all down.

Ughhh. He should be taking those extra drills, but the drill sergeants were terrifying enough to spend regular hours around and all he could imagine was Shadow Weaver’s glowing, judgemental eyes glaring at him the whole time.

Maybe he should just… keep lying here.

There was a shuffle to his side and Kyle immediately snapped upright, “I-I was just leaving, I- Oh,”

A clawed green hand had taken him by the wrist, pulling him up. Rogelio’s placid eyes looked him up and down, before dusting him off.

“Rogelio… ah, you shouldn’t hang around for me, you don’t wanna lose any more marks…”

Rogelio’s head shook slowly, a claw pointing to his chest and tapping on the display there. Kyle’s eyes were drawn down to the flashing red X that marked him. “Ah… you too? Too bad, huh?” Broad scaly shoulders shrugged up and down slowly, then the lizard man simply gestured over his shoulder. Time to go.

“Yeah, yeah… I guess,” Kyle grumbled, sighing. “It’s gonna be a long week to make up for that.”

A heavy arm thudded over his back, about as comforting as a thump from a guy probably three times your body mass could manage. “Ahah, hey, ow- geez, I’m banged up enough as it is!”

A yellow eye was tilted in his direction and Kyle managed to picture a rough brow being raised teasingly at him. “Hey, I’m trying, you know? I don’t got the biological advantage here. And Adora, Lonnie, all those guys, I dunno… I’m just not built for this stuff.” The eye blinked slowly. “Ahh, I know, I know… It’s just like, I don’t have the mental strength to work up the courage to train more – and then it’s like, it cycles around, ‘cause then I get beaten around for being weak and it all goes on in a circle… ahh, I don’t know, whatever.”

The blink he got that time was longer, slower. Rogelio had no idea what he was trying to say. But Kyle got another pat on the shoulder, which he took as some sort of encouragement.

“Yeah… just gotta deal with how it is for now.”

As they each packed away their training gear in their lockers, Kyle paused for a second to look over at the lizard boy from across the room. He didn’t know why Rogelio chose to hang out with him… or, uh, well, he didn’t know whether to call it hanging out, more that he just lingered in proximity from time to time. Truthfully he wasn’t ever sure what was on the other cadet’s mind, he only ever got a general feeling for it. It was obvious that Rogelio could understand them, but if he was ever trying to communicate back it was in some way they couldn’t consciously recognise. Though, they never got the impression that he went misunderstood, so there could be something there. He hardly seemed simple-minded, either.

Rogelio was kind of a loner, though, all the same. Maybe because of the communication barrier. Or maybe that was just the way he was. Reptiles were all pretty solitary, weren’t they? Not that he’d dare to ask, it sounded pretty… risky. Presumptive. And he didn’t want to ruin what they had going; whatever that was. It mostly boiled down to that whole, being in proximity thing.

Kyle had actually been the one to initiate contact, hard as it would be for anyone to believe! Well, he’d seen Rogelio in action in the early days of training – as impressive then as he was now, sleeker than you’d expect for his build, quick on his feet and well-balanced, too! Their teams had just been assigned and hey, you were supposed to be working with these guys for the next what, eight years of your life, so he’d figured might as well make friends and all! And Rogelio had just sat there for half an hour as Kyle had gone on and on in a nervous mess, managing a whole conversation by himself without ever getting a word back in response.

It was only then that someone had alerted him that Rogelio was, in fact, mute.

In retrospect he had been extremely polite about it, or at least hadn’t punched him in the gut or taped his mouth shut as were uncommon responses to trying to interact with Kyle. He just had a tendency to get nervous and start carrying himself on his own momentum…

Oh! There was a tap on his shoulder-

“Cadet Kyle. We need to talk.”

Oh, shoot.

A tongue-lashing from Shadow Weaver was more than enough to shake anyone to their core. As much as Kyle tried to get accustomed to these consequences of failure, he was never ready. She surely made that impossible. He didn’t cry, daren’t cry, because that would make it all the worse for him. Instead he’d sat there, bolt upright, giving the appropriate “Yes Shadow Weaver,” and “No Shadow Weaver,” on cue. A good little drone taking his punishment on the chin.

Then, when he was out of sight, he rushed for the bathroom and threw up.

He pressed his forehead against the rim and just moaned, letting the floodgates open. He whined, he sobbed. Five minutes. Five minutes he’d allow himself. Then he had to put that mask back on. No weakness in the horde.

There was another touch to his back and he bolted. Was it Shadow Weaver again?

“I wasn’t-”

Those calm yellow eyes pierced him again. He swallowed. “S-sorry, I…” A cough. He grabbed a tissue to wipe his mouth. As he did so, something cool and leathery nudged into his cheek. He turned slightly to see what it was – and found Rogelio nosing him in the face. He blinked once, twice. He wasn’t sure what to do. Was he… worried? Or was this sympathy?

“U-um, I… were you waiting for me?” A blink in response. Kyle looked back in surprise, before a little smile came to his face. “Uh… thanks.” He paused, looking over to where he’d just been squatting and vomiting. “I uh, I just needed to uh, recover. You know. God- I don’t- I wish, I just wish I could do better, you know? I don’t want to fail. I’m not like, like Catra, just treating it like some joke or something. I want to be someone. But I can’t! It’s just not me. It feels like that. I dunno. I just- ah, hey!”

For the first time, Rogelio had interrupted – by scooping him up and turning about, beginning a straight march down the corridor. Kyle locked up for a second, then cried out a protest. “H-hey! Hold up! Don’t- you can’t just- what if someone- this is so embarrassing! Rogelio! Put me-”

He heard footsteps coming their way and froze, shutting up, turning to hide his face in his hands. This was humiliating, what was Rogelio thinking, they could both be in trouble for fooling around like this-

“Hold up Cadet, whatcha got there?”

Rogelio stopped. Turned. Kyle’s breath caught in his throat. What was he thinking?

“Hm? Oh, hey, is that… hah, Cadet Kyle, is it? What’d he do, piss off Octavia or something?” Rogelio’s weight shifted, like he was shrugging a shoulder, then he made some sort of sigh-hissing noise, air huffing out of his nostrils.

“Heh. Figures she’d have had enough of his whiny little face. Serves the kid right, might learn something the more he gets knocked about. Alright, get him back to dorms before he comes to and has a cry about it.”

The footsteps carried on. Rogelio moved on. Kyle, now gripping on tightly to the front of the boy’s shirt, was stunned. Any other time he would have been harassed, jeered at, spat on, driven further into the dirt while he shuffled meekly through the rest of his day. Now Rogelio was carting him away from all of that, back to his dorm where he could gather up his strength, take some rest, get some respite from the bullying and beatings and foul treatment…

He pressed his face into his companion’s chest, letting out a slow breath. “T..thanks.”

Rogelio huffed again. He took that as a “Don’t mention it.”

[gettinziggywithit]

Holding Out

@keeka45 this is like really rough from not writing in months, but I heard a song today and it INSTANTLY inspired a Don G and Kitten short fic. This is by no means a good fic and is probably sloppy at best, but...I needed to write something and this was the end result. Holding Out - Bearstronaut

It was nearly 3 in the morning when they finally let him out.

6 months into a 24 month sentence for some bullshit charge from a two timing human, Asgore was able to pull some strings and G was out on probation for good behavior. He’d promised Asgore that he’d let the justice system handle the rest, but...well, G didn’t make promises lightly and this little indiscretion would not go unpunished. Plus, good behavior his ass, it’d taken everything in him not to raze the entire jail to the ground in his fury while sitting in that dark and dank jail cell for weeks. Few things kept him from blowing his top such as the LV wouldn’t do well for him and would put everything else in jeopardy, including his brother and Kitten.

The jail door buzzed and he was one step closer to shedding that horrible orange jumpsuit and magic suppressing collar. Well, at least the humans thought it suppressed his magic. It felt more like a shock collar, but enough experimental tests while he sat in boredom told him it wouldn’t even be able to handle a temmie’s energy, let alone the sheer power he possessed. Countless nights  were spent awake staring at the rusted ceiling and after running his mind ragged with equations, plans, and punishment, his thoughts would turn to Frisk. He worried for her safety and where she was while he was locked up. He knew she could take care of herself and was a little hellcat, but then again he’d never been away from her this long.

The jail didn’t allow much and took nearly everything away from him save a few coin. He used what coin he had to purchase paper and postage from the Commissary. Every day he wrote to her. Some notes of course went to his brother and Asgore, but he mostly wrote to Kitten. He didn’t expect an answer to be sent to him, the jailers usually didn’t even allow most letters to go out untouched, but after a few persuasive conversations, his letters were sent as they were and not messed with. His notes were often short, sweet, and to the point. After all, how many ways could he say sorry to her? How could you mend a broken promise to always be around to someone who trusted you with their life and then end up in fucking jail??

He supposed he should have seen this coming.

He had spread his men to the breaking point during a raid of rival territory. Picking up some humans on the side to use as temporary goons wasn’t new to him, but having one sell him out to the cops was. He’d never forget the last night he had with his Kitten. They were in bed and she slept curled up to his side, her furrowed brows finally relaxed in deep sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair and wondered just how he got so lucky. He didn’t know what she saw in him, but he knew one thing: he loved her. And that was worst thing for the both of them.

The last coin he had went to a long, extensive letter and he had to make use of it. The front was written in his native wing dings, something the cops still couldn’t decipher even if they did intercept the note. It was addressed to his brother on how to handle things should he be without communication. He had faith in his brother, but he didn’t know how long he could run the family on his own with Frisk. He had to give him something though. On the back though, he could only think of four words to Frisk: I’ll be home soon.

“Soon” ended up being in the middle of the sixth month of his sentence. He’d just gone to sleep a little after midnight when a guard came and tapped on his bars.

“‘Ey, Scarface, yer outta here.”

He scowled at the nickname that was given to him, but rose and assumed the position that avoided him being manhandled or beaten as the bars slid to the side and the guard motioned him forward. He was silently led in front of other high security monsters and humans alike, ignoring their jeers and kept his eyes on the guard in front. He was led into the processing room where Asgore sat with some small rabbit lawyer. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days and that was most likely the case.

“Good to see you, G.”

His smile was tired, but authentic and G couldn’t help but offer a smile back. He would have given a handshake, but the guards frowned upon any sudden movement let alone direct contact. He simply nodded and turned to the small rabbit sitting beside the large Don. He listened to him drone on and on about his sentence being lifted and what his probation consisted of. Same old shit, don’t get into trouble, don’t get caught here, etc. etc. He didn’t bother to really commit to listening to it and instead turned his attention back to Asgore and interrupted.

“How is Frisk?”

His smile faltered a bit and he shook his head and turned his attention back to the guard and nodded. G was tapped on the shoulder and for a moment he just stared at him before silently standing. He barely heard Asgore mention about talking further once he was on the other side of the bars before he was whisked away yet again. He was given the clothes and items that he was wearing when first brought in and he couldn’t have been happier to shed the horrible jumpsuit. His carefully hidden cigars were still in his pocket and as soon as the door was opened, he stormed out without looking back.

The night was dark and quiet as he struck a match against his forearm and lit up his first cigar in months. The acrid smoke spread through his ribcage and he exhaled the smoke slowly, relishing the slight burn. He turned and saw a small payphone. The jail had been SO nice to give him a few coin for his troubles and sent him on his way. Asgore had offered to take him home, but he declined. He needed to be alone for a bit anyway. He needed time to think, time to try and figure out what to do.

The phone inside was old and the coins rattled inside as he inserted them and dialed the number he knew by soul. At this hour, he wasn’t sure if she would answer. He didn’t even know if he wanted her to answer. He had no clue what he’d say to her. The phone rang and rang and eventually slammed the receiver down and cradled his skull on the side of the booth. She was either asleep or… He didn’t dare think that she was gone, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she was. His magic burned in his bones at the other thought that she was with someone else. Curbing his anger, he sent the thought away as he forced the booth door open and started for home. He pondered as he crossed the street by Grillby’s and wondered if the old flame would allow him a drink this late or early in the morning. The windows were darkened and he stared at his faint reflection.

His bones were less glossy, courtesy of the poor showers and his scars almost looked worse for wear. They had roughed him up when he first got to the jail and healing him wasn’t at the top of their list. His lone eye light was pale and dim, he really needed a good night’s rest and possibly a bit of his brother’s company and healing. He didn’t know if the healing could extend to his soul, but at this point he’d settle for anything. An hour or so later, he made it home. Everything was dark, but the traps were still expertly set. His brother had remained punctual in his trap making affairs and had left no corner unprepared. Sliding his key in, he frowned when it didn’t turn, mentally slapping himself. Of course they’d change the locks. No matter though, with a small thrum of magic, he was on the doorstep one second and just inside at the next.

The house was quiet, he could hear a fire crackling from the study and made his way to the room. He moved close to the fire to give some warmth to his bones and rubbed his face with his hand. A voice calling his name from behind sent him on guard and he turned, his eye light flaring only for it to instantly snub when he saw who sat in his armchair. Frisk. She looked exhausted if the bags under her eyes meant anything. She stared at him and for a moment, no one spoke. G was afraid if he did, it’d be the end. She rolled her eyes, “took you long enough, G. Get your bony ass over here before I think about kicking it right back out the door.”

Her voice was rough, and only did he realize as he drew closer, that her eyes were reddened. He collapsed to his knees before her and grasped at her hand. It felt like eternity that he’d been separated from her and after this, nothing would separate them again. Something stung his eye sockets and only then did he realize they were tears pooling at the edges. He heard his Kitten sigh as the other hand came down on his skull to stroke it gently.

“Promises are hard to keep, aren’t they?”

Frisk’s words only made him cry more as his grip tightened. Promises really were hard to keep, but he never wanted to break this one again. Her hand left his skull and instead went to lift his chin to stare up at her. Few words were needed between them and she sighed again as she pulled him up into her arms and held him tight. “If you ever leave me again, I’ll put the hit out on you myself, you bony bastard.”

G couldn’t help but chuckle through his tears and extended his arm, pulling her down to meet him in a gentle kiss. He didn’t expect for this broken promise to be mended overnight, but he’d make it up to her. G doesn’t make promises lightly and the ones he does make, he keeps...and doesn’t break twice.

The kiss ended far too soon in G’s opinion as he was unceremoniously pushed away and toppled to the ground.

“UGH! WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU SHOWERED?!”

[starlingsrps]

marin matthews character development

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: marin martha matthews

Nickname: mare, rinny but nah. marin is fine.

Birthday: november 14

Age: twenty six

Gender: female

Place of birth: [mumble] i keep picturing small town california but [mumble]

Places lived since: nowhere. she's a homebody.

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: mark matthews, 60, baptist minister; maureen matthews, 48, housewife

Number of siblings: margery martindale, 28

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): close but marin is very much the black sheep of the family. like the matthewses are all perky, friendly people who just want to talk to you about jesus but marin would rather not. she's friendly but she's shy and agnostic (and will kill you if you say that to her parents). she loves her family and wishes margery and her kids lived a little closer but could do without the preaching that goes on around the dinner table. she spends sundays with her parents every single week and considers herself a good daughter, even if she doesn't always want to be.

Happiest memory: her first camera. she was always happy when she had a disposable camera in hand so her parents gave her a proper one when she turned thirteen and while it's been beaten to hell and back and she has much nicer ones, she still has old faithful.

Childhood trauma: nah.

Children of her own?: nah but she definitely wants them at some point. she's very attached to her niece and nephews and while she can wait, she doesn't want to wait too long.

PHYSICAL

Height: 5'9

Build: tall and all limbs.

Disabilities: she's nearsighted as all hell but refuses to acknowledge it.

Complexion: olive

Face shape: square

Distinguishing facial features: dimples 4 days

Hair color: brownUsual hair style: long and wavy, usually messy. her mother is forever chasing after her with a brush.

Eye color: brown

Glasses? Contacts?: both

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): jeans, t-shirt, boots, jacket. she needs to be able to move in her line of work and she needs pockets. she generally prefers dark colors (hold over from her goth days) but has a collection of girly dresses that her mother has bought for her or talked her into buying for sunday services and church events. she does own nice clothes and she cleans up pretty well when she wants to but honestly, she can work in a t-shirt and boxers most days and if she could, that's all she'd wear.

Typical style of shoes: boots or sneakers for the most part. she has nice shoes she wears when she must and is susceptible to purchasing really pretty shoes that she knows she'll never wear but she's generally pretty practical.

Health: fairly healthy but a big baby when sick.

Grooming: clean and scrubbed, if that makes sense. she used to wear A Lot of makeup in her youth (can't be a goth without badass eyeliner and lipstick) but has since burnt out on it. little brow pencil, mascara, lip gloss - boom, done.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: some pieces she wears every day but no tattoos and no piercings. jesus doesn't like those and frankly, needles make her skittish.

Accent?: nah.

Athletic?: [whining intensifies]

INTELLECT

Level of education: an associates in photography. she's never needed much else for what she does.

Level of self esteem: aight - she's a lot more confident than she used to be but she's by no means preening. she's good at what she does and she knows it but she wasn't raised to be especially prideful so she mostly just shrugs off praise of any kind.

Gifts/talents: photography, taking care of others.

Shortcomings: she's a terrible judge of character - she wants to believe the best in everyone even if there's not much good there to begin with.

Style of speech: quick and light as far as tone goes and a little on the low side as far as tone goes.

Artistic?: yep

Mathematical?: better than one would expect.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: emotions

Neuroses: her cameras. if one takes a tumble, she reacts like she's been shot.

Life philosophy: like let's all just be nice to each other okay?

Religious stance: agnostic masquerading as a nice baptist girl.

Cautious or daring?: cautious

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: criticism. she can take it but the next time some old lady tells her that she can take a better picture of the town daffodils with her phone she's gonna lose it.

Optimist or pessimist?: optimist

Extrovert or introvert?: introvertintrovertintrovert

Level of comfort with technology: hella good - she's aces with photoshop and can fix her own cameras if need be.

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: single

Sexual orientation: heterosexual

Past relationships: a few here and there but nothing super serious - nothing she'd consider particularly life defining.

Primary reason for being broken up with: the standard drifting apart; that one time she and a boyfriend broke up because her ncaa bracket did better than his and he couldn't take it.

Primary reasons for breaking up with people: see above

Level of sexual experience: some but please don't make her talk about it.

Story of first kiss: wyatt when they were like, twelve if you want to get technical about it but she doesn't think it really counts.

Story of loss of virginity: [turns a violent shade of red and disappears into the earth] twenty and it was awkward af and she doesn't like to think about it. they got better but ugh, so awkward.

A social person?: with the right people, yes. she likes being around people but doesn't often say a whole heck of a lot

Most comfortable around: wyatt

Oldest friend: wyatt

How does she think others perceive her?: she hopes they like her. she'd like to be liked.

How do others actually perceive her?: shy but nice.

VOCATION

Profession: newspaper photographer/lifestyle photographer (weddings and families mostly)

Past occupations: none really? she's just always been a photographer.

Attitude towards current job: she loves being a photographer. it's what she's wanted to do for most of her life and she can't picture being good at anything else.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: she hateshateshates her managing editor with a firey loathing but since she doesn't have to deal with him very often (sexist old goat), she tries to not let it bother her.

Salary: enough

SECRETS

Phobias: needles, breaking a camera, and the dark. she's not especially fond of the dark

Life goals: living a life she's proud of. she used to have crazy lofty goals of being a photojournalist and traveling the world but she's grown up and realized that she's happy with a small life so long as she's happy.

Dreams: somewhere deep down, she still wishes she could have been a photojournalist and she wants to travel so bad that it hurts. she lived through wyatt for a long time and wishes he'd taken better pictures because g o d. boy is cute but he's all thumbs.

Greatest fears: failure, getting stuck in a rut.

Most ashamed of: ugh please don't make her face her goth stage head on.

Hobbies: photography counts, even if it's her profession. she also likes cooking but she's more enthusiastic than skilled.

Secret skills: nah.

Past sexual transgressions: nah.

Crimes committed: she's definitely trespassed a few times to get a really good shot but nothing she's ever been caught for.

What she most wants to change about her current life: she wishes there were a little more certainty or stability - like she keeps thinking about moving to the city and giving the real professional route a shot but she's just waiting for the right moment or a sign or something to tell her that she's doing the right thing.

What she most wants to change about her physical appearance: she feels super angular and wishes she were softer. less stabby elbows, bigger boobs.

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Daily routine: up whenever the schedule calls for to shoot her assignments and then wherever the day takes her. she tends to work at home and on her own for the most part and as long as she meets deadlines, can set her own hours.

Night owl or early bird?: night owl

Light or heavy sleeper?: heavy.

Favorite food: fries. any shape, any potatos, any sauce. marin doesn't discriminate.

Least favorite food: brussels sprouts

Favorite book: rebecca by daphne du maurier

Favorite movie: funny face

Favorite song: "island in the sun" by weezer

Coffee or tea?: coffee

Type of car she drives: a beat up old corolla that she's definitely had since high school.

Lefty or righty?: lefty

Favorite color: orange.

Cusser?: rarely but with the conviction of a seasoned sailor when she does.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: rose all day~

Pets?: nah but she's very fond of cats.