#which the first half are stupid and the second half >:C but anyway

[torao-chan]

been thinking about one of my og ot3s.... prussia/canada/romano again....

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time His Older Brother Gave Him A Tarot Reading”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, pure fluff, reader is not present, Sukuna is pining hard

Word Count: 1.26k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna isn’t one to make time for his family. Although he has an identical twin brother who bothers him far too much for his liking and an older half brother, he almost never talks about them and spends even less time talking too them. But today he was feeling nice… which is strange for him, but regardless, he decided to agree to come by his brothers’ apartment.

And was quickly reminded of why he never comes over.

Sukuna was seated on the antique couch while Choso kneeled in front of the coffee table between them, flickering candles on every surface bathing the living room in a soft warm glow and reflecting on the shiny surfaces of the crystals placed meticulously all over the table. Choso opened up a small black box, pulling intricately designed tarot cards from inside and fanning them between his fingers before spreading them face down across the table.

Sukuna really was trying not to roll his eyes at the whole ordeal, but the man can only take so much before he’s bound to cave, “This is so stupid.”

“Shh…” Choso leans forward and presses his finger over Sukuna’s lips.

“Don’t touch me.” He grumbles.

“Shut up,” Choso loses his calm demeanor for only a second before he’s closing his eyes again, “I’m focusing.”

“On what?”

“I’m tuning in…” He wiggles his fingers over the cards, “to the energies.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” Sukuna rubs his temples, “When did you start doing this witchcraft shit again?”

“Not witchcraft,” Choso peeks one eye open to shoot a quick glare at his brother, “And yesterday.”

“Oh you’re a real professional huh?” He smirks down at him.

“Sukuna,” His shoulders slump and he lets out a frustrated huff, “Just, fucking shut up.”

The two of them squint as the lights suddenly flick on, Yuuji not quite getting the memo of what’s going on downstairs as he leans his head over the stair railing to peek into the living room, “Ooh, how’s the satanic ritual going?” He calls out from the stairway.

“Yuuji!” The two of them call out in unison. He lets out a little “Oops” and flicks the light back off, running back to his room upstairs.

Choso rubs his eyes, smudging his eyeliner onto his fingers, “Okay just, pick a card.”

Sukuna huffs out an annoyed breath, reaching forward and tapping his pointer finger on one of the cards in the middle. Choso slides the card down in front of Sukuna and flips it over, revealing an upside down picture of a man sitting upright in a bed with his head in his hands and swords neatly stacked on the wall behind him.

“Oh, interesting.” Choso mumbles.

“The fuck is he crying about?” Sukuna leans down and squints at the card on the table, “It’s upside down.”

“It’s reversed,” Choso clarifies, “The nine of swords reversed.”

“Choso, I don’t know what the hell that means.”

The long haired man sits up a little straighter, pointing at the card with a manicured finger, “This first card is your past. The next will be the present, and the last will be your future.” He picks the card up and scans it carefully, “You were… struggling, alone, not one to talk to others even when you need to-“

“What is this fuckin’ therapy?”

Choso groans and rolls his eyes, “God knows you need it, but no. Anyway,” He clears his throat, “You were in a downward spiral, but this is past tense, clearly you’re more open now considering,” He gestures vaguely around the room, “Well, you’re here for once.”

Sukuna is visibly annoyed, not a fan of being picked and prodded at. Choso places the card back down on the table, gesturing for Sukuna to pick another one, which to Choso’s surprise and for Sukuna’s morbid curiosity, he does; tapping his finger on a card pushed to the side of the table.

Choso flips the card over, and once again, it's upside down. It pictures a man sitting cross crossed in front of a tree, three golden goblets on the grass in front of him and a fourth being given to him from a disembodied hand floating next to him.

He’s really fuckin’ bad at organizing his cards.

Choso’s gaze flickers between Sukuna and the card, his brows furrowed in thought so clearly that you could almost see cogs turning behind his eyes, “Four of cups… reversed.”

“The hell does reversed mean?”

“It’s usually a negative version of the card’s meaning.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Oh fuckin’ lovely.”

Choso props his elbow onto the table, tracing the outline of the card with his finger, “You’re withdrawing-“

“Well yeah. No shit,” Sukuna cuts him off, “You’re telling me I’m cursed. What’s the damn card mean?”

“That is what the card means, idiot. You’re reluctant to open up to someone.”

Sukuna leans back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Choso shrugs, “Maybe the future card will clarify.”

“Absolutely not.” He huffs. Choso looks up at him with confusion, “I told you this was stupid, I’m not picking another.”

The light flicks on once again, Sukuna groans at the sound of Yuuji’s voice yelling from the stairway, “Sounds like someone’s a fucking pussy!”

“Yuuji, quit eavesdropping or I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out.”

The light flicks back off.

Choso looks up at Sukuna expectantly, and after glaring down at him for a moment he breaks, rolling his eyes and flipping over a random card, “If it’s upside down I swear to fucking god-“

“Oh shit!”

“What?” Sukuna sounds almost startled, looking down at the card he sees that this one is upright; picturing a naked man and woman standing in front of some kind of angel. But he’s quickly able to gather the most damning part of the card.

The bottom of the card says “The Lovers.”

“Oh fuck off.”

A smile spreads across Choso’s face, “I don’t think I need to explain this one to you. And it’s not upside down.”

“Reversed.” Sukuna mockingly clarifies.

“Shut up,” Choso leans forward, grin still plastered on his lips, “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody, this shit isn’t real.” Sukuna scowls, but deep down he’s glad the room is so dark to hide the tint in his cheeks.

It’s not fucking real idiot. Stop it.

“How about this,” Choso clasps his hands together, looking up towards the ceiling, “If this shit is real, give us a sign.”

Yuuji flickers the lights.

“No! Stop interfering, this is serious!” Choso yells out towards the stairway.

But Sukuna’s blood runs cold as his phone buzzes in his pocket, quiet enough that no one could hear, but he could feel it.

It’s not real.

The room is silent for a moment as Choso scans for any type of sign, but it’s as if the world had completely stopped turning, not even the candles were flickering. Choso plops his head onto the coffee table, mumbling under his breath, “I don’t know why I thought that would work.”

“Mhm.” Sukuna hums, putting up a disinterested front as he pulls his phone from his pocket, “Can we watch a movie or something now like a normal family?”

Choso defeatedly blows out the candles, collecting his crystals and placing his tarot cards neatly back into the box, “Fine, fine, but I still think it’s real.”

Sukuna’s heart nearly stops beating when he unlocks his phone and sees a text from you, “If u leave dirty dishes in the sink one more time I’m actually gonna kill u in your sleep.”

God I hope it’s fucking real.

A/N: Family bonding time has never been so awkward, anyway here’s that time Sukuna started to believe in magic, or witchcraft, or anything if it means you like him as much as he likes you. Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[ennabear]

hehehe haii :P quick roblox with sevika blurb, inspired by lyss and pluto who are my roblox family 🤎 this is stupid and silly hehe don’t mind me i just think old woman playing video game is funny. also mutuals add me on roblox my username is sevikasgf_real!!

general:

ok so first of all, it would take FOREVER for her to make an account 😭 she does not know how to make a username and she’d probably try to enter something like “tittysucker2000” and get mad that the system says it’s not appropriate. but after a while of her struggling to come up with something that isn’t censored, she’d settle for something cute (like ennasgf_real) because you got tired of her struggling and being annoying.

her avatar would be so fucking funny!! purple skin and a bob, some random shirt that she found for free in the catalog, probably a picture of someone’s dog or something. she’d end up clicking around too much and find a way to make all of her limbs different shapes and sizes but not know how to fix it, so she just embraces the look of her avatar.

if you bought her robux she’d very likely spend it all in one place… she’d see a random costume that she wants to buy and suddenly all of robux are down the drain…

she would get banned from voice chat INSTANTLY. ignores all of the warnings that pop up on her screen for not following the guidelines. it starts with a ton of quick suspensions and then she’s just permanently in vc jail.

SCREAMS at the little kids who bully her. is not ashamed to get in a little online scuffle in order to protect her ego. nobody is about to call her ugly or old or uneducated if she can help it… this, obviously, is how she ends up getting banned.

also she gets noise complaints when she plays. multiple. from you and her neighbors both, she just completely forgets about volume when someone says that she’s probably lying about having a wife… but it is a little bit cute to know that she’s doing it in your honor.

it would take her FOREVER to figure out voice chat. she doesn’t know how to do it off the top of her head, so she googles how to do it but can’t find a straight answer. goes running around the house in search of her passport because she thinks that’s what she needs but you’re just like “babe… enter your phone number and it’ll let you… that’s all you need to do…”

dress to impress:

playing with her would be so fun because she does not know her way around anything. you’d force her on to dress to impress and she’d be so lost. is not aware that there’s a time limit or a theme to follow. by the end of the round she’s still gray and her outfit is half finished and she’s like “what is it doing?? why is there a runway??? i wasn’t done with my outfit.”

the people in the chat would respond like “bruh what is this” or “oh!” to her outfit, but you’re there to back her up and vote her 5 stars anyways <33. but if they start to get too mean, she’ll force you to tell her how to use the chat and she’ll type something like “fuck you guys at least i have a wife” which of course comes out as all ####.

and when she sees all of the tags, she’d be like “what the hell?? i didn’t type that 😭” and you’d have to gently explain to her that it’s because roblox filters certain things you say, especially like “fuck you” and probably every other thought that came to her mind when she was typing it.

ofc you and her would both get first and second place because you vote each other 5 stars, even though her outfits are… well… you know… not the prettiest…

murder mystery:

if you thought her in dress to impress was bad, it gets WORSE. no matter how many times you explain to her the rules of the game, she is LOST, as well as every single synonym for confused in the dictionary. perplexed. puzzled. stupefied. dumbfounded. all of the above.

as an innocent, she’d probably just follow you the whole time, waiting until the sheriff kills the murderer or time runs out.

as the murderer, she’d probably tell on herself IMMEDIATELY. has her microphone on in voice chat and says “what does it mean that i’ll get my weapon in 10 seconds??” and she’s shot before the round even lasts half a minute. either that or she’d keep it to herself, but walk around with her knife out the whole time absolutely cluelessly. she probably thinks that others can’t see it, or maybe she can’t see it herself.

she’d be like “babe i’m so scared :( i wonder who the murderer is…” and she’s standing in front of you like 🤷🏽‍♀️🔪 LMAOOO

as the sheriff, she’d either shoot some random person who walks past her and die for getting it wrong, or she’d freak out and spam 100 different buttons while trying to shoot the murderer. she’s jumping and running around, screaming at the top of her lungs because she’s so scared, clicking her screen in every place but where the murderer is standing.

with others:

imagine jinx and isha existing in this universe, she’d drain her whole bank account on robux for the 3 of them 😭 but, and as much as she’d HATE to admit this, she actually really enjoys playing with them.

isha is still learning how to spell, so her and jinx would cackle at everything the poor girl types coming out as straight hashtags. especially when she’s fighting with someone, they’d both watch her get heated and absolutely smash her little fingers into her ipad keyboard trying to type things out, but then comfort her when she gets too frustrated to continue.

also, if isha ever gets hit with “you’re probably a 5 year old” from someone, sevika would be like “yeah, she is 😭” but jinx would stand up for her and type out PARAGRAPHS about how isha is so young and still better than whoever insulted her. jinx 100% has memorized all of the words that roblox flags, so she has no problem facing the hashtags.

they’re also such bad influences on your wife, they manage to convince her to buy more robux for them almost every week. you’ve caught her up in the middle of the night, phone sideways in her hand running around in a new game she’s found. you try taking your family out to dinner and they all just pull out their phones (isha, her ipad, still too young for a personal phone) and hop onto some new game jinx found. it’s adorable, yes, but definitely not the best habit she’s ever formed.

[lcriedlastnight]

hi bby, could i request either reader comforting oscar or oscar comforting reader?

of course i can, anon! <3

tw: fem!reader, idk i was gonna go with oscar but i forgot and went with reader instead, mc****n, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 658

you were fuming. what the fuck had you just watched? you still had your papaya protective headphones on. you felt like throwing them on the floor in a fit of rage. this was a fucking joke. what kind of team fucks up a one- two?

you watch oscar on the podium with the rest of the mclaren team, you watch as the celebrate with champagne. you can sense the tension between oscar and lando a mile away. if mclaren had fucked up their friendship because of this stupid strategy you knew that they would be getting a few stern words from you.

oscar retreats to his drivers room after his interviews which is not like him at all, he is usually straight in his drivers room, either after a podium of just after he is finished racing no matter what has happened in the race and where he finishes. he knew when he did not appear after the podium that something was wrong and you were worried.

you wait for him in his room, sitting anxiously on the couch. you pick at the skin around your nails as you wait, a nervous habit you have had ever since you can remember. you are so into it you do not even hear the door opening and closing.

"thought i told you to stop doing that?" oscar comments with a half smile, trophy in hand. your heart falls through your stomach at your view. he looks amazing, he looks so so pretty and the trophy in his hands is the bow tying it together. your eyes follow him as he sets it down safely as opens his arms towards you.

you practically run into his waiting arms. you do not care that he is much too sweaty and stinks. you do not care that he is sticky from the champagne and you certainly do not care that you are sobbing your heart out into his chest. right into the sweaty and sticky fireproofs.

"sweetheart, are you crying?" oscar asks, you can hear hints of concern in his voice but it is mostly uncertainty. he knew you were crying but he did not know if you were actually upset or not. he gets a muffled sob in response as you try to hide in his chest.

"hey, what's wrong, c'mon. talk to me." oscar coos. it makes you feel even worse because why are you crying when he is the one that has had the shittest day ever, even though he has just won his very first f1 race.

"you won. they fucked up your win." you cry to him like it had happened to you. "now you and lando will be mad at each other and-" oscar cuts you off before you can say anymore.

"listen to me sweetheart. me and lando are fine. this is only my second season i'll have plenty more. this is nothing to be upset over."

you sniffle at his words and pull your head up to rest your chin on his chest. "but it's your first and it will always be overshadowed by their stupid strategy." you pout at him. you really do think he should be more upset about this but that was your dynamic. oscar did not let things like this get to him, while you let it eat you up inside until it breaks you apart.

"it's okay. i still fought for it. and anyway, you shouldn't be upset about it. i'm not. so let's just celebrate this win, huh? you wanna celebrate with me?" oscar tries, knowing you could never say no to him, no matter how upset you were.

you nod against him and he grins down at you. "good. we're going out to dinner and lando's coming with." this settles your nerves a bit as oscar pulls you close again.

it feels like everything will be alright as soon as you are wrapped up in your boyfriends arms.

[inbabylontheywept]

Someone had to go first.

In an odd first, I forgot to post this HFY story here until after it was voiced by BirbletonVA. Their channel actually did such an insanely good job that I would actually strongly recommend listening to it over reading it. Nonetheless, the text is provided below.

Please like and subscribe to their channel if you like their work.

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, and told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.

“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”

“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.

“I did,” he said. “But someone had to go first.”

That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.

“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”

I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.

“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”

I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.

“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”

I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.

---

Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.

After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.

He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.

The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now. That was an eternity during a siege.

The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, burning trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine, should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.

Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.

A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:

Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.

Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s dueterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned through orbit.

The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to kill the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and got burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, traded as the cost of moving the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.

---

The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.

It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.

Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.

“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-

“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry. If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that this bird is going to come down gentle.”

He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.

I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.

But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.

I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.

“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”

“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”

I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough as it was.

---

The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside, and to say it was gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.

“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.

“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.

We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.

“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”

“Good,” he said.

I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.

It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.

[yasssgiveusnothing]

Radiohusk Analysis: Husk Cares or Nothing Makes Sense (Part 2)

Husk cares about Alastor. It makes no narrative sense otherwise.

Let's talk about it!

Husk goes out of his way to help Alastor when it would be in his best interest to not care AT ALL about that man:

Husk goes to Al to warn him of Mimzy and ARGUE with him for Al's benefit.

Husk gets frustrated when Al doesn't heed his warning and thinks Al will get hurt.

These screenshots are from season 1 episode 5.

Here's the scene:

Let's delve deeper into it!

Narratively, that whole scene serves three purposes:

1. To tell the viewer Al is also on someone's leash.

2. To tell the viewer Husk worries and cares about Alastor.

We are shown Husk going out of his way to help Al, only for Al to tell Husk that he does not need to worry because Al has everything under control. We then see Al was correct as he jovialy kills and consumes his enemies without effort. In other words, what the viewer learns from this scene is that Husk needlessly worries about Alastor's well-being.

3) To draw parallels between Angel & Valentino and Husk & Al.

You might be thinking, Exactly! If Husk and Al are just lke Angel and Val, why would Husk care for Al or vice versa?!

Vivzie has been pushing this narrative that Al and Husk are parallels for Angel and Val this entire season. I don't think there are enough words to describe how this parallel doesn't work, but I'll try anyway.

A) Angel does not care for Val's well being.

Angel would not go out of his way to help Val like Husk helps Alastor.

B) Val does not care for Angel's well-being.

Val doesn't need to bribe his soul contracts to work with him.

Val straight up gives Angel no free will. (Unlike Al who does not force Husk to attend the bar, instead chosing to bribe him).

If Angel gives the slightest of attitude, Val does not hesitate to get physical immediately. (Unlike Alastor, who not only lets Husk shove a finger into his chest, but let's him speak his mind and does not immediately maim him for disrespecting him.)

C) Husk is not afraid of Al.

A man scared of Al would not argue with him or his benefit, nor go up to him and jab a finger in his chest. And yes, Husk was scared of Al when Al threatened him, but Husk fucking started it! He literally made a jab at the guy where it would hurt! If you made a jab at your pal and they start foaming at the mouth, you'd be scared too, but also know you lowkey deserved it and shouldn't be surprised it happened. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Al and Husk sit together without Husk shitting himself. Could you possibly imagine Angel sitting next to Val without wanting to disappear through the floor? Nope!

D) Al trusts Husk. Refer to my previous theory for more information.

E) Al does not regularly assault or overwork Husk.

Husk chills at the bar all day with access to infinite alcohol. This is the closest Husk will ever get to Heaven.

Alastor has not assaulted Husk ever. Unless we're calling the time Alastor pulls on Husk's chain and makes him fall to the floor an assault. Which, sure, fine. But that ONE push that left NO INJURIES was the only time Al has ever gotten aggressively handsy with Husk. And funnily enough, Husk was the first one to put hands on the other.

This 'assault' in comparison to the treatment Angel gets from Val pales CONSIDERABLY. In fact, the two duos are NOTHING ALIKE beyond there being a Overlord owns your soul dynamic, but with Radiohusk, that dynamic barely takes place as Alastor treats him more like a trusted pal than an object to be abused.

I also want to quickly go over how I feel Husk is out of character for the second half of this scene.

Husk is perceptive. He understands other people extremely well, which has been shown numerous times throughout the show as he reads the entire main cast and Mimzy. He is also a gambler, which means he knows when to bet and when to fold.

So you expect me to believe that Husk would say THAT to Alastor and expect him to take it well, especially when Husk knows it is a sensitive subject to him?

And Alastor's reaction is kinda valid. I mean, someone who you trusted with this information weaponizes it against you by spitting it back in your face! If Angel can have a meltdown over being someone's bitch, why can't Alastor? I mean, Angel throws a broken glass bottle at Husk's head, but Alastor pushes Husk and suddenly Al is as bad as Valentino?

With this, I conclude thtat:

Husk cares about Alastor

Alastor cares about Husk

Angel & Valentino's relationship does not parallel Alastor & Husk's.

Husk was out of character during the second half of that scene and was possibly a result of Vivzie desperately trying to parallel Valdust with Radiohusk.

[superm4ks]

I need Max to serve some cunt bc it's been wayyy too long. The last time he really served cunt was when he called George a dickhead but I need moree

😑😑😑😑 👍🏽 ok respectfully we love a good Baku cat fight but like

- excuse me

- literally the next race

- Checo was telling media both Max’s titles happened because of him somebody out there was floating Prost senna conversations people lost their whole minds like 😭😭

-first of all quali didn't even start great like he hadn't set a lap when it got red flagged kind of Amateur hour at rbr. last time u will c number 1 car go out late btw he’s fully traumatized these days he’s breaking front wings hauling ass out of that garage god bless him. Anyway p9 wid his hyped up teammate starting on pole the casuals were celebrating even tho max was doing like. borderline unthinkable laps in fp2 so u could smell a generational moment from the get go

-dude overtook like literally everybody on hards by like lap 15 i think and still had all four wheels somehow spinning faster than checos fresh mediums by lap 40

- Destroying ur teammates entire wdc campaign in a single race weekend on hard tires from p9 kinda cunty idk?. To me

- Ok fine then Monaco: Jeddah won the battle but he won the war. made up 2 tenths in one of the shortest sectors of the whole calendar in prolly one of the best and most competitive quali sessions in Monaco, ever. Senna type performance, just fully letting the talent take over rascasse and antony noghes. U cannot serve more cunt than that

- Non? Bon. Spain: black and white flag for track limits. His engineer tells him he’s stupid and Max is like 'whatvr what’s the fastest lap' and his engineer is like 'SORRY did u not hear what I just' and max steals fastest lap from Checo. Who btw had just set that on new softs for his flop lil point and Max leading by 24 seconds at risk of getting a pen wid gp warning him against it is like 😚😚😚😚😚bet . This isn’t cunt to u. Ok

- FINE. Canada: do I have to talk about senna again😐. Do I have to say he equaled sennas wins at 25 years old. But despite the Senna numbers it was also an eerily Schumacheresq quali session from Max. Taking pole by a second under the rain is something u c twice, maybe once in a lifetime, if ur lucky. We are lucky 🫵🏽

- Austria: u look at me rn and tell me Austria wasn’t the most 2021 max you’ve seen that mf since that actual season. U tell me he didn’t serve cunt nearly sending both Red Bulls to eat shit at the RED BULL ring because he was a lil annoyed checo dared to like. Squeeze him a lil bit. Nearly overtaken by an Haas i cannot stress this enough. Bro Lewis impeded him once by accident during practice and Max literally twerked in front of his car and got away wid it. And on top of that he gaslit rbr into letting him pit for softs and risk the whole race to take one single extra point like he wud rather fucking die than let anybody else have it. He’s beating merc in the THE FONSTRCUTORS CHAMPIONSHIP‼️‼️‼️‼️ HES 1 PERSON

- .

- Austria was such fucking prime Verstappen cunt delivry it was so dumb and all of it completely unnecessary and ur fucking telling me he hasn’t really ‘served’ because he doesn’t have some tall beans and toast bitch up in his face like

- Which obvi brings me to Silverstone: HE WON THE BRITISH GP HE literally won the British Grand Prix???? Half a million people praying on his downfall, mclaren having its own lil moment he doesn’t give a fuck 5 poles and 6 wins in a row on ur head fucking losers eat it. Eat ittt. 2023 has been nonstop cunt serving from this guy it’s literally one of thee greatest verstappen performances to date put some respect on it immediately . Thank u

[agerefandomstuff]

Your Soldier Boy fic made me wish I was Butcher’s little sweetheart 😭 he’d be such a funny caregiver!!

Request for Butcher x Reader caregiver? Maybe catching them slipping during a mission and taking care of them when they get back home 🥺

Can be gender neutral or fem leaning, up to you 🥰

um.. this might be a long one that got more focused on the first part "slipping on a mission" then the second part. but um........please, I hope it feeds you a little.

Title: Bad Time to Slip

Word Count: 3550

Description: Y/n is beginning to slip when youre suppose to be on mission. Sure it wasnt the most dangerous mission but you feel an obligation to do it even when things go wrong, like you starting to regress, which only makes you feel worse. Butcher is a little slow to catch on too focused on finishing the job. but one thing is for sure, even if he has the grace of Bambi on ice, he is your daddy.

Cw: -cussing.

-Semi-cannon compliant Butcher being a bit crude and kind of putting his goals above others.

-The Boys world in general needs its own warning.

It was suppose to be an average mission. Well average for them anyway. Go into the supes only nightclub, get evidence that there was an illegal V distribution ring in the basement, get out, meet daddy in M.M.’s car–NOT daddy. This was not the time for daddy talk! Yet it was all you could think of as you waited anxiously in line, shifting from foot to foot as you held your forged invite and ID. You were Emma Bunton tonight while Hughie was Mel C, names courtesy of Butcher’s humor and adoration for the Spice Girls. You only hoped the security guard wasn't as big of a fan as he was or didn't get paid enough to care about such obvious fake names. 

Hughie bumped your shoulder and attempted to give you a reassuring smile, although his resting anxious face didn't exactly fill you with the warm and fuzzies. In fact, you and Hughie’s nerves were palpable even over the hidden earpieces and through the grainy video feed Butcher and M.M. were keeping an eye on you both over. 

“The way they both manage to rile each ova up you'd think they were in line for the gate o’hell ta meet the big man ‘imself. Christ.” Butcher shakes his head wanting to be in disbelief at the two of yous’ terrible nerves but honestly after knowing you both this long it wasn’t that much of a surprise. More aggravating than anything.

“They haven't even said anything to each other or gotten inside and they're already gonna blow it. We gotta call it.” M.M. reached out to unmute the microphone ready to call you both back in and abandon the mission for the night but Butcher’s hand casually covered the button first, blocking him. 

“Now now.. Hold y’horses. Let's ask em if dey’ll ‘andle it.” Butcher leaned closer to the microphone and pressed the button,speaking in your ears.. “Y’both look like y’bunch of lil scared shitless kids goin ta their first peepshow. Y’both been through worse shite. So wouldja both quit bein a couple o’ sniveling twats or does daddy need ta come handle it for one of ya’s?”

Daddy.

There it was again. 

He hadn't even meant it like that. He didn't know you couldn't get the thought of being cuddled up on the couch against him watching one of the shows you liked to watch and he liked to pretend got on his nerves instead of waiting in line for half an hour while freezing your toes off as the supes around you talked about things that made your skin crawl. Oh how you were thinking of slipping into comfort clothes–or even settling for Butcher’s! One of his sweaters that had mystery stains in it and smelled like nicotine or a button up with one of the cheesy prints he liked that also carried its own very… unique scent to it. Not your current outfit that made you uncomfortably aware of every knot and stitch in the fabric that rubbed you raw or how your toes felt just a little too squished in your shoes. You would take any of his stinky clothes or his stinky couch or his entire stinky self over this stupid mission right now!!

“Ah I um.. I don't know how you feel but I–” You had opened your mouth to tell Butcher that you couldn't do it today. You were giving up on today’s mission because you were slipping and you needed time to get back in the right headspace so you wouldn't muck up the mission today. But.. Hughie had beaten you to it, stumbling over his words as he started to respond to his earpiece only to remember he needed to phrase it as if he were having a conversation with you. “I– um I mean– Annie texted and said I have to go. Sorry!”

You stood there looking at him dumbfounded as he turned in the line and awkwardly pushed his way out of the crowd of people, retreating back to the van and effectively leaving you alone and only a few people from the entrance.

“Oh bollocks.” Butcher grumbled under his breath, seeing you stand there like a sad little guppy in a sea of predators immediately made him turn around and pull his overcoat on. 

“Woah– what? What exactly do you think youre doing?” M.M. asked, shocked but not getting in the way of the man as he tugged out their collection of fake IDs, spending a whole few milliseconds to make sure he grabbed one that would work.

“What’s it look like Beautiful? I just got tagged in.” Butcher shoots him a quick toothy grin, forever seemingly unphased by the world, before hopping out of the back of the van, leaving M.M. to deal with closing the door while he saunters around the building. He claps Hughie on the shoulder as they pass by each other, giving him an apathetic smug look. Which Hughie desperately wanted to take as there being no hard feelings about him suddenly dropping out, but his anxiety made him look over his shoulders a few times as he joined M.M. as if he expected Butcher shoot him in the butt or something while his back was turned. 

All your feelings on the other hand had plummeted to your feet, leaving you frozen in place until someone shoved you forward and forced you to keep following the moving line. As your eyes stayed glued to the six armed man in front of you, it felt like not only did the line seem to be moving much more quickly than it had when you had a partner, you also felt like you were suddenly much… much smaller than before. Everything seemed too big and towered over you. Moments ago you were beside a regular building with other adults roughly your height–Hughie, the stringbean, and a few height enhanced supes being the outliers of course. But all alone, the lights everywhere were too bright, the streets too noisy, and you felt like even the red rope keeping the line neat was taller than you. One more shove to keep you walking might just cause you to fall right under someone’s shoe to get stepped on like some tiny bug. 

You really wish you’d spoken up faster than Hughie. But.. someone had..to do the mission… and you couldn't let the team down…

…..Also how could you possibly ever get out of this crowd now without an adult to guide you through?

You were way too small to do it by yourself. Surely you'd get lost or stepped on or one of the bad supes might pick you up and take you home and do all the terrible things daddy says they’ll do to sweet little kids like you!

As your mind spiraled with regression-brain-fueled fears another hand suddenly clapped onto your shoulder making you jump, apologies tumbling from your mouth as you assumed you were getting pushed for the line moving again. 

“Woah– woah now. Hold on jus’ a minute, doll. Came t’make sure y’alright afta y’buddy bailed. I don't need t’hear any sorries,” Instantly at the sound of Butcher’s crass tone your mouth stopped and your head snapped up to meet his face. You're not sure you'd ever been so relieved to see his scruffy beard before. The tears that were threatening to well up in your eyes paused and you quickly jumped on him, arms wrapped around his neck while your face buried itself in the collar of his duster.

You could've sobbed in the relief to have someone here–not just anyone, but daddy come save you from getting pushed around and stomped on from the scary supes. You let out a shuddering breath then took several long deep breaths in, letting his scent mellow out at least one of your overstimulated senses.

“Oh.. di'ja get lonely already?” Butcher teases his tone more gentle as he wrapped one arm around your waist the other lightly patting your back half heartedly returning the hug while still making sure to be keeping an eye on the surroundings since you weren’t. He presses one quick kiss to the top of your head then pulls you back just enough so you couldn't keep hiding against him. “C’mon then. We’re next, love.”

Always more focused on the mission, Butcher got back to business, slipping his hand down to the small of your back to guide you forward while your gaze stayed on his face, fear written over it as you debated on telling him you were slipping. 

“Da–” You started but he tugged your ID out of your hand and offered it over to the security guard that vaguely shined a blue light over both of them then handed them back, jutting his thumb to the door and never once actually looking at your faces. Butcher slips both IDs in his back pocket and with his hand still on your back guides you inside the nightclub, never giving you the chance to even really start on your explanation before you were inside. 

Once inside your brain really started to get overwhelmed, now fighting harder between slipping further and coming back up from all the… adult scenes before you. Your cheeks burned red but the dark lighting accompanied by the random colorful strobe lights hid the most of your embarrassment. Yet it couldn't stop Butcher from noticing how you cringed at the scent of what you could only assume were drugs, liquor, and sweat. Also maybe.. Piss?

Butcher chuckled at your discomfort assuming it was just you being a normal prude like Hughie acted and switched his hand from your lower back to holding your hand, dragging you over to the bar top. “I’ll talk t’miss barkeep whilst you keep an eye out fer any vials bein passed around.”

While you were glad to not get separated with the hand holding it also made you feel vulnerable not having that protective arm halfway around you like your own shield or security blanket. 

So when you neared the bar you used the thick crowd as an excuse to press as close to him as possible, peeking around his shoulder in an attempt to watch as instructed. But everything still felt so big and every time you peeked out your eyes were either met with a sight you weren’t mentally old enough to see or someone with a terrifying physical mutation that only made you think of the Vought+’s horror movie section. 

To make things worse Butcher was progressively getting more irritated with the bartender, his voice no longer as light and playful as it started but more like he was interrogating. Or…. maybe you imagaining that because you were scared and couldn't hear anything very well over the eardrum shattering music.

Getting the tip he wanted, Butcher threw back a glass of whiskey and shuffled you both away from the bar, too focused on his objective again to think much about how you’d practically been hiding under his coat the whole time. Besides, you being cuddled against his chest wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling thus he didn't think he needed to focus on worrying about you too much in the moment. you were tucked against him not causing problems. Being quiet. Being still. Being rather meek and– actually now that he thinks about it– “Y’alri–” Ah. Nevermind that now. There’s what he was looking for.

Moving on while keeping you close against his side like a mother hen in the grocery store, Butcher pushes his way through the people to an unassuming door near the back. A few people had gone inside sporadically since they'd come in and the few that came back out usually either instantly left the club or were proudly rejoining the party with powers that likely were not that strong before they went in. 

You flinch as someone lets out fireworks from their hands above the crowd, forcing Butcher to also stop in place when you grab onto his shirt with one hand and retreat yet again into him. He glances down at you then at the door, M.M. crackling in your ear to ask why you’d both stopped. 

You were so close. He could bust in, crack some heads, take some pictures and vials, maybe even handcuff some people to make Hughie feel like he was learning to be less violent or some shite–

But.. 

M.M. was right to bring up ditching today. as much as he hated to admit it, you just weren't in it today and he should've pulled you as well and just done this himself. He was better off alone.

Ah hell! He's gotten too damn soft in his old age. His moral compass actually made him feel an obligation to take care of you and he couldn't just… force you through this without feeling a bit guilty later.

“Y’ain’t very big ‘bout now, are ya, love?” Butcher lowered his lips to your ear so you could hear him better. Your heart ached at his tone. That was daddy. You knew he knew now. But god you also didn't want him to. You wanted to be big and finish the mission even though everything was so scary right now. After all it was your job and that's what you were supposed to do!

You looked up at him and shook your head a little, your glossy eyes matching your fearful look which easily gave away your lie. “I can help. I can be big. We can finish. G..get the bad guys.”

He cupped your head, lightly petting your hair back, his mind already made up. “No. Y’done, kid.”

Hot tears came fast after that, feeling like you'd let him and the rest of the team down. M.M. confused voice prattling away with questions and concerned assumptions as you continued to plead with Butcher. “But the mission…? It’s not done?”

“Let the grown ones take over, yeah?” Although his inflection seemed to pose it as a question this wasn't an option. He leaned down just enough to hook his hands under your bottom and hoist you up, not having an ounce of difficulty with how often he’d lifted you by now. Yet if this were any other time he would definitely keep pretending like it broke his back to carry you.

“I..I can still help. L-let me help–” You stumbled out desperately, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders for stability as he started to carry you towards the back exit where it would be a shorter walk back to the van, this time being more cautious as he pushed past people so he wouldn't accidently get his baby squished. 

“I know y’can help. I got it.”

“But–”

“I said no.” His tone quickly shut you up, your little mind too afraid of that firm parental tone to go against it right now. You shrunk into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest as you tried not to let the tears fall. “Now if y’keep arguin with Daddy yer gonna get a swat ‘long with gettin decommissioned. Undastood?”

“Yes, daddy...” You managed to get out after he carried you outside, all the noise from the club getting trapped inside as the door swung shut behind you, allowing him to hear your pitiful voice. 

Your barely unshed tears weren’t even brought on simply because of getting chastised, you had gotten in trouble before without crying, it was the accumulation of everything and him using that tone was like the final nail in your regression coffin. It’s like he was saying you weren’t allowed to hold off your regression any longer. You were little now and you couldn’t do your big person job and that was final.

You were getting so far into your head trying not to succumb to full blown crying that you hadn't noticed Butcher had been rubbing your back and whispering little reassurances in your ear until he had stopped to put you in the passenger seat of the van. 

Fearfully you clung onto him after he set you down, not allowing him to buckle you in or pull away to shut the door or heaven forbid abandon you when you needed your daddy so so badly. He chuckled a little at the way you grip at his overcoat and whimpered, looking at him like you were the world’s saddest pup. Even Terror couldn’t produce those kind of puppy eyes yet he managed to swindle Butcher out of just about as many treats as you did. 

“I’m comin back. Don’tchu worry y’lil head. Just gotta finish this up, yeah? Then we can head on out, make us a good hot cuppa, an you can cry y’littke eyes out then. I'll even lettcha wipe y’nasty little baby snot on m’favorite sweata, hows about that?” Using as much grace as he always does, Butcher tries to convince you to let go of him, wiping away one of your fallen tears. M.M. shifted impatiently behind him, having gotten out of the van to accompany him back in to finish the mission you couldn't–

“No, daddy, please– it's too much! I need you! The monsters will find me if you leave and they’ll eat me up like you always say and–”

Oooh… there goes karma. Another one of his hilarious lil jokes coming back around to bite him right in the arse. Even M.M. gave him a disapproving look and a “not cool, man.” to which he just shrugged off and ruffled your hair while he tried to think of a way to temporarily fix this while not technically making himself seem like a liar. Kids needed to have a healthy fear of supes anyway, right?

“They ain't gonna eatcha. This ‘ere van is uh… pretty much invisible an so are you. Long as y’stay inside it.” He tugged your hands off his coat, placing them in your lap and holding them there for a few seconds as he continued. “Besides y’got Hughie with you. What’s still scary when y’got him ‘round?”

“Everything! He’s scared of everything too!” Butcher had to press his lips together to not crack up, knowing you were being serious and genuinely afraid. He clears his throat then wipes your tears away again as he takes a step back.

“Right well… you sit tight. An prove t’him it's not all scary.” He stops midway from closing the door, opening it back up to clarify. “An when I say sit tight I mean I don't want those cheeks moving off that seat less ya need ta take a piss. An even then y’do it by the wheels–an we don’t tell M.M. if y’get any on it,” he pauses with a mischievous smirk, pointing at you in a playful warning and a wink, “Then y’plant y’pot back in this here seat. Good?”

You hugged your arms around yourself, unhappy with him leaving but trusting he would be right back like he said. You nodded once, peeking up at him from under your pinched worried brows. With that confirmation, he shut the door and headed back into the building with M.M.

It took them only fifteen minutes to sneak back into the building, cause trouble, get the evidence they needed only to “accidentally” set the building on fire while making their grand escape. M.M. slammed into the driver’s side door in his attempt to get in too hastily, which gave Butcher just enough time to jump into the back with his manic bloody grin–pleased with the chaos since it went his way–before M.M. could put his foot to the floor and peel out of the alley, supes futilely chasing after them on foot. 

After falling on his butt from the initial speed up, Butcher made his way up to the front, he leaned over your seat–which you were gripping onto for dear life–and buckled you in, giving you a mischievously innocent look.

“Y’did good, baby! Y’did good! Look atcha! Still in one piece, no chunks taken out from monster bites, an still in yer seat! Y’made daddy very proud, love.” He pressed a firm kiss to your temple, blood from his split lip leaving a mark on your skin like lipstick but all you took away from it was his affection. 

With one hand still white knuckling your seat for stability as M.M. weaved dangerously through the night’s streets, your other hand reached out for Butcher’s, worry still etched on your face from earlier. He happily took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, still very much riding the high of kicking scumbag supe ass. 

“Love ya, kid. We’re gonna sleep well tonight.”

“We are?” There was something about his confidence that began to reassure you, making you finally start to relax ironically amidst the most chaotic part of the night.

“Course! How could y’not when y’ll be cuddled up with daddy? I happen t’know someone who’s given rave reviews ‘bout my cuddlin skills.” He winks at you, squeezing your hand for a split second then letting go as M.M. turned without warning, sending him flying back with an amused slew of ridiculously british curses.

[sysba]

cal x edith – two pages (high school verse)

the infinite joys the hs au brought me today especially... they are just two little guys!!! they're so silly and stupid about each other!!! and they are sooo dramatic!!!!! and i wld kill for them <3 anyways this was brought to you by, edith never speaks abt her dyslexia and cal is so cute they have to kiss instead of doing homework. *shrug* i am addicted to writing first kisses in every universe what can i say. pov u are the preppy perfect child of a demanding family with a lot of suffocating expectations on your shoulders and i'm the unloved unwanted eldest daughter of an absent mother, wyd

2.1k words (damn who are u @ me); cal says 'fuck' is that allowed? @night-triumphantt get your son, he's saying bad words and kissing the hot goth girl from school

“I was thinking you could take a look at this part? I’ve already got most of the research done, so we only have to comb through it.” 

Cal doesn't lift his eyes from the papers scattered on the table, a small crease between his brows, the one that appears whenever he’s focused. That’s why he doesn’t notice Edith staring at him instead of what he’s handing her, not until his arm starts to feel heavy. He misreads her expression, though. 

“It’s two pages.” An encouraging smile that is completely wasted on her.

Only two pages. He’d gotten an early start on their project as soon as the teacher paired them together— something about ‘making sure Edith had at least one graded project for the class’ and ‘being a good influence on her’. It had bothered Cal to no end, the way they had talked about her as if she wasn’t even there, but then she’d sneaked a playful smile at him and Cal had stopped worrying about it… he’d stopped thinking altogether, to be honest.

Still, it didn’t seem like she enjoyed this kind of thing, so he had tried to handle most of the work in advance. He was only now starting to think it hadn’t been enough.

Edith finally glances at the papers, only to raise an eyebrow at him. “Or, you could enjoy my two pages while I go get us something to drink.”

“We have coffee, though?”

Two steaming cups sit in front of them, a half-drunk milk tea and an abandoned americano which Edith completely discards as she leans towards Cal and flashes him a toothy smirk (Cal didn’t even know smirks could be toothy).

“Then I can sit here and look pretty. What d'you think?”

He almost splutters. I don’t think that would be much help, he thinks, because with her this close (so close he could see the faint, sparse freckles on her nose if only he dared to look) he can barely breathe, let alone focus on a detailed research project that would earn them a passing grade. He can’t say all that, of course.

“Alright,” he yields, leaning back until there are enough inches between them that he can think again. The pages are a bit crumpled in his hand. “I’ll handle it, don’t worry. You can, uh, you can leave if you have somewhere else to be.”

Of course she would. Cal is self-aware enough to know he makes for very tedious company. It’s surprising enough that Edith already spends this much time with him as it is, but homework doesn’t help his case. He gets it. He gets it, but it still stings, and he can’t look her in the eye as he dismisses her with as much gentleness as he can. 

She snatches the papers from his hands only a second later, and Cal doesn’t know which is more startling— the fact that she actually chose to stay and help, or the odd expression on her face as she grumbles. 

“You’re not supposed to be this easy.”

She’s probably scolding him, he realises, but he can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face and makes his cheeks ache as he thanks her. 

Edith stares at him for a moment longer, a sun-like warmth in her bones that has definitely nothing to do with how luminous Cal’s smiles are, nothing at all. The sun just watches her back completely unaware. 

Swallowing a sigh, she lowers her head to the page and watches it (for real, this time). It catches her off guard, the wall of ink now in front of her. The words are printed so tiny that they almost seem jumbled into a single page-wide stain that makes Edith’s head throb in pain just looking at it.

“You got stingy with the font size, huh.” Keep your tone light and do not look at him.

“Sorry, I figured fewer pages would make it more motivating,” he chuckles, rubbing his neck a bit sheepishly, and it would be infinitely endearing had the joke not been lost on Edith. 

Cal turns back to his notebook, leaving her to that jet-black nightmare and the burn in her throat as she silently takes a deep breath and starts detangling the words. 

One word at a time, steadily, but fast enough that he doesn’t notice her struggle. She’s not sure how far she’s gotten before the frustration starts making her antsy. 

It’s only because of that that Cal loses focus on his work to glance at her, and frowns at what he sees. The disarray of her expression and the way her lips frantically take the shape of whatever word she's getting stuck on. Edith thinks she’s been still, until Cal calls her and then she freezes entirely. 

“Edith?” 

The unfinished homework gets thrown back on the table with unbridled heat, but the look she gives him is one of cold boredom. The mask is flawless enough to nearly make Cal flinch in surprise.

“This is dreary. Can’t we do something else? Watch a football game, get a lobotomy, anything works.”

Are her eyes glossy? Edith swears to herself that if she starts crying now she’ll leave town and change her name. Maybe she’ll join the circus, or a cruise line.

Cal would miss it all; the light trembling in her right hand when she pushes the papers towards him, or how she angles herself away from him even though she’s the one who sat so their thighs were near touching. He’d miss all of it, had he not been paying excruciating attention to her for the last few months. At any other moment, he might even feel embarrassed about it.

But it clicks for him now, that maybe it’s not getting stuck doing a school project with him that had Edith so on edge, and maybe she had liked that class when she’d first picked it. 

“You can’t read it?” he half-guesses, half-asks, making sure to maintain the distance she put between them.

I can! She almost yells at him for asking. She can, she could read it. It might take her a bit longer than average, but she could read it just fine. Except the text is very dense and Cal is sitting next to her, and waves of panic cross her whenever she thinks about him pitying her. Illogical fear, as all fear is, because he would never think less of her for something like this.

“I can read it,” she sneaks a glance at him, but his expression hasn’t moved from that unnerving patience. “Just, not with you hovering.”

Cal nods twice, and they both pretend she wasn’t lying about him ‘hovering’. 

“Here.” 

Edith blinks in confusion before noticing he’s handing her her own coffee cup. It’s probably lukewarm at best, now, but it feels scalding when she takes it from him out of reflex, fingers brushing together and a faint blush painting Cal’s smiling face…  

“I read and you listen? I’ve been told my reading voice is dull, so you might want to hang onto that.” 

Painstakingly gentle, that tone of his, so much so that Edith can feel some sort of fight-or-flight instinct kicking in her chest. But she finds herself nodding instead.

Whoever called Cal’s voice dull needs to be checked in at the hospital. That’s pretty much the only thing going through Edith’s mind as she listens to him read, the content of his research completely eluding her. He has a nice, deep voice, but the softness of his tone makes it sound lighter. The way breeze would sound on a sunny day, smooth and sweet and kind— Edith vaguely wonders, and not for the first time, if it would taste like honey (if he would taste like honey). 

She’s still dazed to the point where it takes her a moment to notice he’s gone quiet, that familiar dimple on his brow showing up as he pouts slightly. Cute, cute enough to eat.

“This really is hard to read...” Cal’s displeased mumble shakes Edith out of her thoughts, or lack thereof, and she doesn’t miss the fact that whatever he’s saying is entirely for her benefit. She calls him out, or well, intends to, before he smiles at her and at that point she’d rather chew her own tongue than make him stop. “Sorry, I need a break, is that alright?”

‘Is that alright?’ he asks, as if she’s worked hard enough to make her the boss of him. What a liar he is, and not a very good one, but he looks so pretty and he’s so good to her that Edith can only breathe a quick yeah as she leans forward.

Whether it all happens very fast or in slow motion, Cal can’t be sure. He barely feels the pull on the lapel of his blazer as Edith tilts him towards her, but he follows obediently. What was it that she said to him earlier? That he didn’t have to be so easy? He usually keeps her words in such high regard, but right now Cal can’t find it in him to care. Edith’s lips are warm against him and he feels malleable, like she could reshape him if she touched him a bit more, and he’d be enthusiastically compliant as she did. He likes this, likes being easy for her.

She draws back to let him breathe, her hands sliding from his neck to cup his cheeks. Her palms are a bit cold, he only now notices.

“Good break? Or bad break?”

Edith tilts her head to the side as she scrutinizes his every move. Cal doesn’t feel like he can move at all. His nervous system might be fried, after all. He might collapse, he’s not sure, but it’s fine if Edith catches him in her arms.

He swallows down the flurry of thoughts and tries to answer, but he trips on his words.

“You– this is–” How does one speak, again? Cal could swear it was easy a few minutes ago. But that was before and this is now, and now Edith has kissed him and there’s a faint static noise buzzing in his ears.

At least whatever is showing on his face seems to amuse her.

“Should I do that again? Might help clear your mind.” Oh, he chokes at that, and has to watch her expression go from teasing to horrified. “Jesus, Cal, I was joking, relax.”

“No!” He shouts it, or at least he thinks he does (it felt way too loud, especially for someone this quiet) but he has to explain to her that he liked it, he very much liked it, and the only reason why he’s not making any sense right now is that he can only think about kissing her again, “I didn’t mean– You, ah, didn’t do anything wrong!” 

“Sure, okay. Good.” Edith is looking at him as if she’s wondering whether to call an ambulance or just leave him there, and he wants to laugh, mostly in panic.

“You should.”

“What, do something wrong?” She snorts, doubt still pulling at her pretty features, “I think I’ve got that covered.”

“Do it again,” he blurts the words once again, racing to some kind of finish line as he mentally curses his inability to express himself without looking like a fool. Then he realises what he just said and he’s sure he stops breathing altogether. “If you still want to, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything. I– fuck!”

“Did you just curse?”

That does it. Even whispered under his breath, the word is so unexpected coming from him, a stark contrast with— well, with everything about him, really; it steals a laugh from Edith, who’s giving him a look that’s two parts lovestruck marvel and one part trying not to mock him to oblivion. 

Cal could die now, but he chooses to kiss Edith again instead. He moves slowly, giving her ample chance to pull back, and his heart does a somersault when he realises she won’t, no, she’ll kiss him back.

Ah.

Edith grins as he leans in, not pulling away but waiting for him to reach her. And when he does, she kisses him for every time she’s wanted to but couldn’t, and for every time she thought he wanted to but wouldn’t. 

Definitely honey.

She only interrupts the kiss because she’s sure Cal won’t even though they’re out of breath, and then she’d have to reanimate him— a waste of time, now that they can kiss all they want. He takes the hint, though, panting against her mouth, their foreheads resting against each other.

“You cursed.”

He did. He’d probably apologise if it were someone else, but he can hear Edith’s smile in her words and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

“I’m not good at this.”

Edith hums at the confession. Her thumb is tracing small circles over his pulse.

“I’m not good at school projects.”

It feels less vulnerable, saying it now, with her arms around him. His hand finds hers without missing a beat.

“I’ll help you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

[dragimalsdaydreams]

[image ID: two images of Razor from the game Genshin Impact.

the first image is a screencap of Razor's in-game model from the back. he's wearing a dull grey/brown leather coat with a bunch of red/brown leather belts hanging down the length of it. his hood is up, but his long, messy grey hair is streaming out from a slit in the back of the hood. this hair is split down the middle, streaming to either side of his spine to show the Electro Vision centered on the lower back of the coat. the sleeves of the coat are torn off, showing his bare pale arms, and orange leather gloves. he's wearing poofy green pants, and black/grey leather boots.

the second image is a cartoony drawing of Razor from the back, standing more hunched and looking slightly over his shoulder. his hair has been cut short and no longer sticks out from the back of the hood. the extraneous leather belts have been removed from the coat, with more visible, geometric patterning in its place. a rope hangs across the lower back of the coat, below the Vision. a few small, dead animals (a rabbit, a couple ferrets) hang from this rope, with text reading, "small game gives the vague impression of a wolf tail". Razor's boots have been removed, leaving bare feet and lower legs messily wrapped in white wrappings, and covered in dirt. nearby text reads, " you cannot convince me they wrestled this boy into boots".

end ID]

back again with another redraw instead of a screencap edit! though I did honestly attempt the edit before I gave up (Razor's hair covers up too much, it woulda been annoying to redraw it all..)

also, it's just the back view b/c I don't have much problem with the front of his design. and since Razor is one of my faves and mains, I'm intimately familiar with the back of his design, considering how often I have to stare at it..

more design notes under the cut~

more than anything else, I just hate Razor's hair. usually I'm all for male characters with long hair, but Hoyo just fucked up Razor's so bad. which is insane cus' a wolf tail shape feels so obvious, for a kid literally raised by wolves. I would've even forgiven the stupid hood slit for that-- sure, Hoyo could've just put the hood down for Razor's hair, but I like the hood up, so whatever. but Hoyo just had to split the hair in half, ruining the potential tail shape. and it's clear that they split the hair so that the Vision on the coat is visible, but the obvious solution there should be to just... put the Vision somewhere fucking else. like, the Vision could have been literally anywhere else, good god

either way, I just decided to cut off the hair, cus' I had a better idea for a "faux tail" anyways. I know dead animals are prolly too morbid for Genshin designs, but it definitely fits my feral vision of Razor <3

finally, evidence that I did genuinely attempt the model edit, before I decided, "oh, fuck this"

[image ID: the same back-view screencap of Razor's in-game model from earlier, but centered on his torso region. much of his grey hair has been manually blocked out using the purple background color. the parts of his back/arms that the hair covered have been roughly drawn back in as a messy sketch. end ID]

[avissapiens]

Jockbull Summer Week 4 Set C (3/12/23-10/12/23)

Model used is Onome Egger

1.

I have continued the trend of fasting+cardio day. It’s actually not that bad. What was bad was the decision to bake while fasting. It’s not that I wanted the food. I don’t eat most of what I bake. But I couldn’t realistically test things too much to make sure they came out well. Luckily they were quite good the next day. Only half of one. It’s still cutting season.

2.

I got two in again! The first one was just kind of a general muscle flash. Brain producing lovely images for myself. Who needs AI when your head is already so full of muscle.

The second one however was a deeper introspection done together with Abg. We’re both POC but in many senses we are atypical. And yet still the presence of stereotypes still kind of gets in the way of both of our minds, and in particular our muscular journeys. We are both dead-set on breaking stereotypes and still coming out on top, so that was the seed for this meditation. There’s a lot of stereotypes for Black folks. And I know they are nonsense because not only do I not embody them, but most of my friends, relatives, peers etc from back home don’t either. But every time that one encounters a situation where you do meet that stereotype in yourself or in others, you pause for a second. Because especially while living in a mostly white country, you become extremely aware of the fact that everything you do is a form of ambassadorship for anyone who looks like you and visa versa. Which is a shitty burden to bear. Even after coming from a background of Black excellence in the Caribbean, there’s still so many stereotypes that come to mind. The perception of black people being unattractive, or if we are, it can only be in a brutish, animalistic, unrefined non-aesthetic way that doesn’t adhere to societal norms.

The mental stereotypes of underperformance and stupidity. The lack of ambition.

So many stereotypes are strangely contradictory too

That we're just needlessly loud and confrontational all the time but still get portrayed as servile slaves.

That we can only be good at sports but still deserve to be excluded from them. That we can't perform well at anything else. The strange juxtaposition of the athletic achievement that many POC are forced into because they lack the resources to pursue other interests and the idea that Ethnic food is unhealthy, dirty. And the very real reality of unequal access and outcomes for healthcare. The idea, often reinforced within the community, that we do not belong in certain places. In certain professions. In nature, in the world at large. That we should remain forever in this conservative slave mentality while we exist in the west.

Frankly, I see muscle and hypnosis as ways of outgrowing and defeating these stereotypes. Of changing perceptions not only for me but for my community. Perception is everything because it means that those who come after can see something different for themselves.

3.

Anyway on a lighter note. Yup, we’ve entered an edging period. It always feels so fucking good after a full week of building that erotic energy. It takes you to new and darker places and makes you vulnerable to things you might not have been before. Sometimes thats good. Sometimes its dangerous. But even that danger comes with a certain appeal.

4.

Its been a rough and busy week working on the first comm. I have some ideas brainstormed with Jockrs for an avis abstraction, it’s just always a whole different story putting pen to paper. Wish me better luck for the next week.

5.

So this one’s been interesting. It’s less been a process of drafting and then sticking. More a progressive building of momentum. Incorporating more and more things until the morning and myself feels more whole. I’ve ordered a bunch of supplements to take. A bunch of skincare stuff to harden my routine. I’ve expanded my already existing routine and even incorporated some new concepts from the world of Looksmaxxing. Truthfully, there is this deep desire in me to grow so much more in so many dimensions.And the himbo programming has definitely made one of those dimensions my aesthetics. Not for anyone else’s pleasure but for my own. I already know i’m gorgeous to other people. I want to be brilliant for myself and to be able to use that element of me like a tool and a weapon.

[israbelle]

A Conspiracy theory about the Epilogues

Alternatively titled; "Isn't it fun to take the stupid plot holes seriously sometimes, just to see what happens?"

So - The hemospectrum. I have often been taken out of the story by how little they mention it in the Epilogues and HS^2, just sort of... handwaving it away as a solved, purely cultural issue. Doylistically, they seem to be endorsing the popular "caste differences were just an enforced social norm by the Condesce and Lord English so trolls hate each other more" theory. It's been a glaring hole in the worldbuilding for a while now, and I never had a satisfying answer to it.

First off, psychics and psionics. I will talk about those more later, but... *gestures* Yeah. Second, and more relevant to the idea that the caste system is a, how do you say, natural state of troll society that has to be actively worked against to avoid falling down the pit of oppression; lifespans.

That sentence sucked because it's 4AM and it's quite difficult to think straight while listening to Mouth Moods. But anyway.

There is a popular headcanon that the Condesce, puppeteered by Lord English to create a tougher landscape, and using her Thief of Life powers, artificially shortened the lifespans of lowbloods (or maybe lengthened the lifespans of highbloods?) and had they not been under her control, they would all live to the same age and have no physical differences. This is explicitly non-canon:

Everybody say "Thank you, Kankri Vantas!" Aren't you so glad he's right about everything he says all the time and everyone always listens?!

There would be seadwellers - no, there would be ceruleans who remember the dawn of history. Can they live normal lives? Do you think that one violetblood grub Karkat holds in the credits remembers his touch? Did they hang the snapchat photo on their hive wall as one of their baby pictures? Do they brag about it?

This world would be quite different from the one shown to us today. Screw "trolls' birthrate is higher than humans" being the crux of the population issue, what about how half these trolls literally never die?! Highbloods would naturally have trouble relating to or empathizing with the lower castes they outlive dozens of times, a natural "immortal being loses touch with its humanity as it sees the cycle of life repeat evermore without ever truly experiencing it" trope, and the hemospectrum would reinvent itself and simply slot humans in at the bottom.

Which leads to the big question: why isn't this what happened? Why are humans the dominant force, while trolls seem to have been metaphorically (so far, thanks Jane) neutered? And why are they losing the war so hard when they have all those dang psychics?

You know, the psychic powers that let you shoot killer lasers and throw things around from afar and commune with beasts and fly-

...And fly?

As far as I'm aware - with the exception of Vrissy, who is a clone of an Alternian troll - there have never been any mentions of psychics on Earth C. Even when she talks about them, her information is wrong, almost as if it was only ever a historical afterthought in class instead of a reality of her life. Isn't that curious?

Apologies in advance for the hats. Tinfoil really is an awful material for garments, you know. But with all the evidence laid out as it is, there's really only one* reasonable† explanation: they did something to trolls. They flattened them all out into one homogenous mass, stripped them of nearly everything interesting and alien about them, neutered them into the Grey Humans we've all tried to fight against this whole time! And they did it with slime!!

*There are most likely many other possible explanations, and there is not a shot in Hell that this is what was intended in the text. †This is a completely unreasonable claim.

It could've been an accident, it could've been a well-intentioned impulse enacted by a bunch of teens who don't understand what eugenics are, but it happened in the ectobiology room, and I think the "how" of it is that they mixed together the troll and human slime. This flattened the curve of lifespans to be about human average, and either highly reduced the chance or outright deleted the ability for psychic powers to form. Reproduction stays the same, because that involves way too many complicated biological changes rather than just flipping a handful of proteins.

The great Alternian trolls of yore are but a distant memory, replaced by these tragic, broken copies, failed by their masters; chained to the ground with their wings torn off long before Candy Jane ever entered the scene.

[aita-blorbos]

Hypothetical Question, I think?

AITA for 'mistreating' the characters in my games?

God, I can't believe I'm even writing this. This feels so dumb.

I'm in pretty hot water with the public right now, so I'll keep things as vague as possible. Don't make any assumptions who I am. You are definitely wrong. That guy has better things to do than be here and ask crazy questions.

Ever since I (Adult, m) was little, I've been developing games. I developed them by using a special program, Gameworks, this firm, GF, put out. My first game was a massive success, my second one (a sequel) was met with mixed reviews since many didn't like how radical it was. GF made me an offer to buy the rights and produce a third game.

Who in their right mind would refuse that? Obviously, I took the money. The third came crashed and burned. It was full of bugs and all that. A small part of me died when I saw what they did to the IP. But I couldn't hold onto it forever. I had bigger plans. Why should I care?

Anyway, I hired my chilhood friend C (Adult, f) to help me with game development. We both worked on female characters since she insisted i shouldn't have only male ones. But ever since she created hers, there were these weird bugs in my games...

Anyway, I started a franchise of fighting games (which I don't get nearly enough credit for btw). I bought the rights to one of my favorite characters and obviously added him to the franchise. (gamers were so annoying, constantly whining about how characters were overpowered, underpowered, boring, ugh)

I made a huge game after that, but it flopped on release. I even paid the biggest gaming streamer to play it, but it was all for nothing because C messed with the game! She left bugs in there to intentionally sabotage me! Her ego was just to big to stand in the shadow of my greatness. And since everyone saw everything go to hell live... it bombed.

I had to take the money that was left and make my next game completely on my own again. It was supposed to be my great comeback. But then those modders took my half-finished game and made a mockery of it! So I filed a lot of lawsuits to get them down!

Sorry, I'm rambling. I'll try to keep it brief from here.

I did start another series, a shooter, but the characters were just too old... a breach thankfully corrupted a lot of data.

My Gameworks Assistant has been acting weird since then, telling me I'm in danger. It's weird, but... I've been thinking a lot lately... what if the characters I created... live somehow? It sounds so dumb, but... I think I fucked up with one of my characters especially.

He was the main character of my very first game and based on a younger version of my grandpa. And when my second game ever made got insanely popular... I just wanted to get rid of the game so it made me look like a genius. So I let my Gameworks Assistant delete everything from that game.

I don't know, this all sounds so stupid and crazy, but AITA for mistreating my game characters?

[lsleofthelost]

What are your honest thoughts on the book kids? Both vk and ak?

i’m gonna be so honest with you it’s been a while since i reread the books. (what’s kinda adjacent is that i wish the books, the movies and the animated stuff was more cohesive with each other but i understand that they never planned on it being such a big franchise)

let me cut it here bc it got so long, i was very into it

i most vividly remember the first one, the prequel, and i dont think we see any kids that aren't in the movies, other than mentions. though i think Audrey in it is great, like her brittle handle on being the Perfect Auradon Princess and her huge desire to just sweep all unseemly things under the rug and like almost forceful insistence that everything is fine and great and all that exists is the softness and beauty in Auradon, down to her ignoring animals that aren't cute, ones that dont coo and cuddle. but when Ben pushes her she's intense and angry and almost scary.

the second book, return to the isle of the lost, introduces fun vks and mainly just name drops some aks:

i really like Mad Maddy, i like the thought that she and Mal were besties as kids, as close as sisters, twins even. and the fact that something happened between them that made Mal dye her hair, which she still does all these years later. i also think it's fun that her and Evie immediately dislike each other upon meeting. and i like that she's never 'redeemed', she's bitter and angry and scheming. and not bitter like Uma is, who wants more and better for herself and others, but deep in 'evil over everything' bitter, she leans into it and wants worse for everyone else.

Anthony Tremaine is so cunty. like i know we never get a visual of him but i know he was serving. he was comitted to his noble aesthetic and his bored drawl. i also liked that in the books there were a lot of cousins, i think it could be fun to have like a gang of them with maybe other nobles from their country (though obvi they wouldn't refer to themselves as a gang, they're too self-important and 'above it all'). i don't remember him doing anything super important other than supporting Maddy, which makes me think he's like a passive guy re: Isle situation, just choosing whatever he thinks is going to benefit him (and by extension, Tremaines) the most. in my fics, he and the Tremaines usually are adjacent Mal's gang through Dizzy's connection to Evie, just as like gratitude for watching out for her.

Ginny Gothel is great too, i don't know why i don't use her more, i really should. she was kinda friendly with Mal in the first book, not like they run together but more like they don't really have anything against each other and in social situations they talk and drink together. i love that she stole stuff from Maleficent's apartment it's fun. she very much gives me narcissit's daughter, who internilises it all and tries to imitate her mother. i think she would probably be very competetive, especially with Evie (overall, i think they have a potential for an interesting dynamic... a lot can be said but i don't wanna get too sidetracked, send me an ask if it's interesting to u)

Yzla doesn't do much except attend the Anti-Heroes club which i took as a green light to pretty much create my oc. i still think it's kinda dumb for Yzma to have a kid but eh whatever. i think Yzma wouldn't be a stereotypically bad mother, i think she's more like neglectful in a bad mood and "my kid and i are friends, im cool" in a good mood. anyway, when i do Yzla, they're nonbinary and androgynous, and a little manic, really smart, good at engineering and chemistry, so usually i make them a part of the gang and Carlos's assistant.

genuinely don't care for Hadie. like, i think the name is stupid, i think that he's Mal's half brother is stupid (since they never do anything about it), but i think there's potential to this character.

Diego de Vil is my babygirl. i have like a whole character inside my head for him because i think the potential of Carlos having a cool older cousin is just so great. if you go to my bad apples tag, you'll see more, but i created a whole band for him (and a twin!). he has a devil may care attitude and cares for Carlos but doesn't know how to express it at all.

now for the ones i don't have much to say about: Claudine Frollo has so so much potential and i've read really cool fics with her and the religious trauma she would obviously have. Harry and Jace should probably have a cool dynamic with Carlos, what with being forced to work for the de Vil family but i honestly forget they exist a lot of the time. Big Murph is friendly and helpful that is all i have to say about him (but it's interesting that he doesn't follow Uma). Eddie Balthazar and Hermie Bing just seem like they're there to fill spaces, but i'd love if someone fleshed them out. Gaston twins, i've seen good characterisation of them as following their father's footsteps and i think they are like if himbos were evil.

for the AKs of this book:

Pin, eh, not much to say except the name's dumb. Artie is a baby, but seems hot-headed in that heroic way. Herkie (again, dumb name) should have beef with Mal. Gordon is a little jealous, but i think he opens up a possibility of like messy family drama between the kids of the dwarves lol. i don't even wanna discuss Tiger Peony because i wish they didn't touch the indigenous characters because of the implications it has in-universe and they didn't do much with her anyway.

okay, now onto the rise of the isle of the lost:

whew, i love that this is focused on uma. i know i personally don't talk about her a lot since i'm mostly absorbed with the rotten four, but i love her and the pirates dearly.

(re: the Hook sisters, i don't have strong opinions on them, just thathc that's canon to me, they're all from different mothers)

Jonas is one of the people who has a confirmed appearence and the same actor was in the rotten to the core sequence, so i choose to believe it's the same guy. in my head, he used to be a vendor at the market, bored and tired of having to protect his stand, which is why he eagerly joins Uma.

i don't remember much of the personalities of other crew members, if they were given any, but i've read great Uma-centric stuff that fleshed them out greatly and really made me care about them.

for the aks, this is the first time we meet Lonnie's older brother. i don't wanna even type out the hate crime of a name they gave him. but overall, i think it's funny that Lonnie's a little sister, explains why she want to rebel and is always in everyone's business lol. for him personally, afaik he's not that much older than the main cast and i think the fact that him and Jay are friends so fun.

for Arabella, it's never revealed who her parents are but if we base it on the live action, i'd say her mum is Perla, she's said to be charismatic and diplomatic, her kingdom values the arts, which are qualities i think we can see in Arabella. i think it has interesting implications that she can go between land and sea as she wishes, especially if we take into account that magic is practically forbidden. is she an exception? also this is the second time an ak causes a uhhh hardship? in their desperation. Jane in d1, to change herself to fit into the judgemental social world of Auradon nobility, and Arabella here to prove that she's capabel of leading. she's said to be obsessed with Evie's style and overall a huge fashion lover, which i think probably makes people call her vapid, vain, ditzy, etc and why she wants to prove herself so badly. honestly, i don't see her a lot and i don't think i've ever written her into any of my fics but she offers a good window into what it's like to be a royal.

i thiiink this is also where Aziz is mentioned again? but genuinely all i take for him from canon is just his name. i love him and Jordan (Laila's version): they're practically siblings, they're a little too carefree, Aziz is leading the sassy man apocalypse and Jordan takes every opportunity to humble him (lovingly), they're kind of party animals though media just calls them socialites lol

ok im gonna be real with you, i never read escape from the isle of the lost so i think that's all, i hope i didn't miss anyone!

[cottagecore-raccoon]

I hope your Tuesday treats you better than Monday did💛🩵 Monday never deserved you anyway. It's loss. Okay so I've never seen Good Omens but I know you love Aziraphale and Crowley ~ sooo if you're keen, could you please share what it was about them that captured your heart? You can go into as much detail as you're comfortable with. Regardless, I really hope the rest of your day takes it easy on you. !No pressure hey!

This is such a kind ask, thank you so much for taking the time to send it! Today really has been a bit of a shitshow, but at least it's over

Anywho, I feel like the funny this about my obsession with Aziraphale and Crowley is that it sort of came in two parts. The first during the initial phase of lockdown (after I nearly died from what was likely Covid- a story for another day). I, like everyone else, was going rather crazy and just needed something to fill the time. I believe I had already watched some clips of the show on Youtube (since consuming new media is hard for me), so I mostly went into it for their dynamic. I loved their level of comfort with one another, and their somewhat old married couple dynamic. It's worth noting that during this time I was still in denial about my sexuality, so watching Aziraphale's arc, which can be read as an easy analogy for queerness in a family that pretends to be accepting, was... poignant.

The second time around was about a year and a half ago when I was getting into tumblr/fandom culture largely. (Yes, I haven't been here very long.) Basically I had watched OFMD S1, wanted closure, and read a little bit of fanfic for it through tumblr. Then I was like "this is fun and all, but I think I'd like some different characters." I don't exactly know why my first thought was A&C, but I suppose that just shows how much their story meant to me a few years prior. Anyway, I stumbled across Aziraphale's Library and I guess the rest is history.

As for why they mean so much to me now, I think it's largely because I relate to Aziraphale a ridiculous amount. In short, many of his characteristics are things that I have traditionally hated about myself. But people love him anyway. Not in spite of those characteristics, but sometimes because of them. And Crowley has been burned so many times, but he still finds a way to keep going and envision a better world! He's the one to look at arbitrary rules and go "that's stupid" which I love him for. He's there to subtly push to Aziraphale and by extension the world forward. Also he's just such a silly little guy sometimes (affectionately)

[inbabylontheywept]

Someone had to go first

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, then told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.

“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”

“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.

“I did,” he replied. “But someone had to go first.”

That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.

“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”

I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.

“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”

I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.

“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”

I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.

--- --- --- --- ---

Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.

After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.

He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.

The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now.

That was an eternity during a siege.

The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.

Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.

A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:

Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.

Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch that was driving his ship flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s deuterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned brighter than the sun.

The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to reach the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, sacrificed to move the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.

--- --- --- --- ---

The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.

It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.

Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.

“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-

“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry as soon as I land. And I don't need your help landing it.”

He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.

I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.

But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.

I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.

“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”

“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”

I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough.

--- --- --- --- ---

The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside - to call it gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.

“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.

“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.

We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.

“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”

“Good,” he said.

I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.

It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.