#god i missed writing My Boy

[antigonesghosts]

What I loved about Cinderella's Castle is it is so entirely about Ella. We know starkid can handle a show with tons and tons of characters but I found it quite refreshing for it to be so wholly her story? I think it was a lovely choice for this show and man Bryce did such a perfect job of it, she is truly such a star

[pikmininaplane]

Thinking about how all of the eggs' messages were them talking about being scared and missing their parents, but Ramón's was just "I'm trying to reach you Fit, did you receive this message?"

Thinking about how that implies that Ramón was the one that found a way for the eggs to communicate with their parents, what a smart, beautiful boy <3

But also thinking about the way Ramón doesn't show any fear in his message, about how it's the most neutral out of all of them so far

Thinking about Ramón trying so, so hard to hide how scared he is and how much he misses Fit from him, because he wants to appear strong and doesn't want his dad to worry about him when he's not able to do anything to help him

Idk man I miss Ramón

[00fairylights00]

Hypersomnolence

Haha funny story, I was diagnosed with a sleep disorder in November after struggling with it unknowingly for give or take 18 months. Turns out I’m not crazy and falling asleep against your will multiple times a day is actually not a good or normal thing.

So permit me to write the puppet like a sap as I need this right now lol. Yes these are in fact all things I experienced but I am medicated for them now hooray!

One task, that was all you’d managed to get through today. You felt sick and heavy, opting to sit on the cold ground before your body made you, it was a battle to stay awake as sleep attacked you again.

It was only early afternoon and you’d struggled through your one task of sweeping, you were certain everyone at the hotel thought you to be lazy, even if they’d all told you otherwise.

You’d been sick like this for a long time, long before the petrification disease or the puppet frenzy, both events having a negative effect on the way you’d usually manage your symptoms. 

And while you appreciated the sanctity you’d been spared at Hotel Krat, the nagging feeling of needing to repay Lady Antonia for her kindness was not helping your case.

You sat with your head in your hands, slipping in and out of consciousness, losing the battle again. Usually, Polendina would find you, send you to your room to rest and that would be it for the day, once you were in bed you found it hard to do much of anything else. Which you supposed was good for your body but it made your emotional well-being an absolute wreck.

Lady Antonia had asked you time and time again to be kinder to yourself, to feel accomplished of the things you could do and that you were welcome here no matter how sick you were, and she would know a thing or two about being sick.

But, you had a bad habit of being nasty to yourself, and with your sleep-related illness only seeming to get worse you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken kindly to yourself.

You felt like shit.

A hand at your shoulder, delicate and tender shook you but it didn’t do much to rouse you. Your vision swam uncomfortably through the gaps in your fingers, your head being too heavy to lift up. Hands grasped your wrists, pulling gently to reveal your face that was then taken into those same hands, one soft and warm, the other firm and cold.

With the weight of your head now being supported by P’s hands you could somewhat force yourself to look at him. His expression was unreadable, as always, but his presence was a balm to your spiralling thoughts.

The friendship of Geppetto’s Puppet had been good for you, P didn’t care how tired you were he was just happy to see you, he didn’t expect anything but your presence and that was something you could give freely, tired or not.

He tilted his head in question to what you assumed to be your position on the floor, slumped over rather uncomfortably.

“It just came on, I had to sit down,” you mumbled, he seemed to frown, getting down on one knee and shifting you against him to pick you up.

With you cradled to his chest, he ascended the stairs. You burrowed down against his chest, relishing in how nice it was to be looked after. 

It was almost like the trip up to your room didn’t happen, one moment you were snug to P’s chest, the next you were under your sheets and propped up against the headboard. P took it upon himself to remove his shoes and coat and sit on the opposite side of the bed to keep you company.

“Sleepy?” P asked innocently, you nodded trying desperately to suppress another yawn. 

“I-“ he started, a thoughtful look crossing his face, “-want to help. How do I help?”

He gently took your hand in his own, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. The astounding amount of care he treated you with was sure to tear you apart in the best ways, making your exhausted mind spin.

“Just stay here with me for a bit,” You laid your head on his shoulder, “I think that’ll help.”

“Okay.”

He mimicked you, resting his head on top of yours, pulling the sheets further up your lap. Doing what he could to keep you comfortable, a concept he was still trying to grasp.

“Thank you P,” you mumbled, snuggling closer, “love you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your head, nose buried in your hair, “I love you too.”

[malk1ns]

1st sentence ask - "It's gameday so you better not knot me"

Zhenya blushes when he says it, but with the way Sid's been following him around all morning, from the weights room to video review and even into the trainer's despite Zhenya's protests, he thinks it needs to be said.

The team is already on tenterhooks, watching them like hawks—with Zhenya's heat approaching like a freight train and the way Sid's been haunting his footsteps, they're ready to pull the plug on the whole experiment if it looks like it's going to negatively impact the on-ice product, and Zhenya thinks both of them missing a game because Sid pinned him down and tied them together would definitely qualify.

"Hmm," Sid says, crowding into Zhenya's space; he's shorter, but the width of his body makes Zhenya feel small, even younger than he is, like he wants to curl up in the protective crush of Sid's arms and let Sid do whatever he wants.

Omega instincts are a real bitch, but Zhenya's made it to the NHL on nothing more than will and grit, and he's determined that he won't be.

Sid's voice is hypnotic when he puts his lips to Zhenya's year and murmurs, "I think you don't mean a word of that," and Zhenya shivers, because it's true.

first line ask game!

[nectarine-neuroticism]

having fun working on a commission for arturo. he wanted one of his ocs (angel, left) included in the commission, and another oc (paulina, right) that we brainstormed together for the sake of this fic.

i decided to let my computer charge a bit after writing for a while, so i decided to make picrews of the ocs (couldn't resist with makowka, long time fave tbh) just to help make the visualizations of them "tangible."

then i decided to make the rest of the mcs as picrews lol. take this as you will.

anyways,,, enjoy.

also, before you ask, yes. i did give benji a little gay boy earring. i asked simon if it was okay and he said all things are as they should be.

[snakerdoodlle]

I miss Red Queen and RQ tumblr sooooo bad yall omg 😭😭 seriously might reread it soon to try and get back my hyperfixation cuz that was my peak!!!!!

[clowningaroundmars]

i keep thinking about how in 1610 miles was p much haunted and followed by the number 42 (thanks to that one tumblr post, yknow the one) after his spider bite.

the bus seating capacity, the numbers that fell off into the streets after miles crashed into them, all those tiny lil details that followed him throughout his journey to becoming Spiderman

and i also wonder if miles42 was also haunted by numbers like 1610. maybe his neighbor down the block's address is 1610. maybe the dorm room capacity at visions is 161. maybe he always gets up at 6:10 am to get ready for the day....

anyways

*breaks down crying*

[cabinofimagines]

Just thought about this

Chiron: “Boys and girls cannot be in a cabin alone together”

Will and Nico start dating:

Chiron: “two people can’t be alone in a cabin together”

Will, Nico. And y/n start dating

Chiron: “what the fuck-“

Honestly Chiron could easily fix this issue by simply making the rule "no one in a romantic relationship" but that's a mouthfull. The easiest solution than is just to exempt Poly!solangelo from the rule, all agree?

It's not like they can't get by unnoticed anyways.

-Asja

[erraticroses]

.

[ianenjoyer]

what's great about the brain damage that i got from watching this show at a crucial time in my development is that it never really goes away. it'll lay dormant for months sure but it gets activated so easily like a sleeper cell and then all of a sudden i'm on netflix dot come slash shameless and i see ian and i'm like OUGHHHHHH -100 health

[tickle-bugs]

Lil idea for the 3 Peter Parkers!

Peter 1, the youngest, often gets snarky with the older two "brothers". They both eventually decide theyve had enough of his jabs about their age, and team up on him, working together to tickle him to bits and teach him to respect his elders

Attitude Adjustment

Okay so if you’re like me and literally can’t keep the numbers straight: peter one (referred to just as Peter here) is tom holland’s spidey, peter two is tobey maguire’s, and peter three is andrew garfield’s. I felt SO silly writing in the numbers but there really is no other way LOL

Also, au where they’re in sort of a Spiderverse situation and the other spideys are trying to figure out how to get back to their dimensions. Absolutely no canon, just vibes. 

“Hey Pete? How do you work this thing?” Peter Two huffs and flails his hands around through the holographic energy core in front of him. It spins listlessly, unsure how to interpret his gestures, and beeps at him. 

“Comin’.” Peter rolls off the couch, chucking his phone onto the rickety coffee table. His new place was small, achingly so, but it was starting to come together nicely. He had pictures on the walls, a rug on the worst spot of the floor, and a bedframe. All progress was good progress. 

“Show me how you’re doing it?” Peter squishes beside Two, who sort of swats at the hologram like an irritating bug. 

“Oh, okay. So, uh, the hologram maps its movements according to your fingertips. If it can’t get a good read, it’s not gonna respond. Here, like this.” Peter pulls his hands into the projected image, twitching his fingertips and twirling his wrists. The simulated core spins and zooms at his whim. Eventually, the image flashes green, and a small loading bar picks up at the bottom. 

“Neat.” Peter Two watches in awe as the computer begins to synthesize his formula. He idly spins the image around. “We didn’t have anything like this growing up. It’s crazy.”

“Glad I could help, grandpa.” Peter grins, giving Two’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze. Two rolls his eyes and shoos him away. 

“What a nice young man, helping the elderly,” Peter Three hums from the ceiling, typing away at his laptop as if his life depends on it. He looks a bit like a goblin, or maybe a vampire, hunched over all of them. 

“I do my part.” Peter salutes, flips back over the couch, and pulls his phone back into his hand with a web. He’d lost his place in the Fantastic Four interview he was reading. He sighs. 

“You both are hilarious,” Peter Two grumbles, watching a holographic array of complex mathematics spin in front of him. 

Peter sinks down into the couch, into the quiet buzz of technology and Peter Three’s terrifying typing. It’s not silence, not quite, but it still gnaws into his bones in a way he doesn’t like. He’s been avoiding being Peter as much as he can lately, instead staying out on patrol as late as his body can handle. Collapsing on a rooftop as Spider-Man is easier than coming back to Peter Parker’s shithole apartment. 

Spending time with people like him, people who get it, it’s…nice. Steadying. He knows it’s going to crush him when they leave, but having them now is more than he could ever ask for. He has no one, but he has them. 

“Hey.” Peter leans over the back of the couch and waves at Three. “Need help?”

“Hm? No, I’m good. Still compiling that list of compatible metals. Hoping to keep this matter projector the size of a rubix cube. Or, worst case scenario, like a suitcase.” Peter Three gnaws at his lip, then squints at his screen. He flings out a web and snags his glasses, catching them out of midair. He puts them on with care, pinning the laptop to his upside-down lap with his free hand. After fiddling with the lenses, he gets them to balance properly. 

“You’re still squinting.” Peter chuckles. 

“It’s part of the creative process.” Three waves an idle hand, then squints more aggressively. “I, uh--I’ve got shit eyesight. It’s fine.”

“The spider bite didn’t fix your vision?” Peter furrows his brow. 

“It did, but I wrecked it again. Too much blue light, too many flashbangs to the face--it all takes a toll, y’know? You should be grateful your eyes still work. Take care of them while you have them.” Peter Three nods sagely. He grabs his mug of long-cold coffee with a web and brings it carefully to his hands. He sips, gags, then comes back for more. 

“Okay, dad.” Peter huffs with no venom. He tries not to be jealous that Three can drink upside down. He’s tried. Repeatedly. 

“You have a remarkable amount of attitude for someone so tiny.” Three stares at him over the rim of his glasses, which shouldn’t be as funny as it is. Peter snorts. 

“Right? It’s his tone,” Peter Two hums. The computer chirps at him that his equation is only sixty percent viable, would you like to try again? He thunks his head into the desk. Three’s mug slowly lowers itself down beside him. Two takes a sip, gags, and deposits the mug in the sink. Three balls up a piece of paper and throws it at his head. 

“Alright, I’m starting to go a little stir crazy. How about we take a break?” Peter Two stretches, popping something in his back. He does the ‘keys, wallet, phone’ patdown on himself, turning in circles to make sure he’s set. 

“Like a patrol break?” Peter perks up. 

“No, a dinner break. I’m starving, and God knows when you two last ate. Or slept.” Two hazards a glance towards Three. 

“Oh, I’m good. Go without me.” Peter Three keeps typing. Two’s glare chills the room a few degrees. He pointedly clears his throat. 

“Y’know what, actually? A break sounds great. Super on board with the, uh, the break time.” Peter Three closes his laptop and flips down off the ceiling. He stumbles as he lands, hissing in pain. The laptop goes flying, but Peter just manages to snag it with a web. He cradles it to his chest. 

“Thanks.” Three nods. Peter nods back. The room collectively sighs in relief. 

“Is it your, uh--” Two maneuvers to support Three as best he can. They limp over to the corner of the kitchen together. 

“My back, yeah. Shitshitshit.” Peter Three inhales tightly and leans up against the counter. He tips his head back against the cabinets and focuses on breathing. 

“It just, uh--well, it locks up sometimes. No clue why.” Three shrugs, then winces. 

“I think I have some painkillers. If it’ll help.” Peter sets the laptop down. Three smiles thinly at him. 

“I’ll take you up on that. I’m usually fine after a few minutes. Just gotta wait it out.” Three winces again, gripping the countertop hard. The cheap vinyl cracks with the force of it. Peter tries not to wonder if he’ll have to pay for that--instead, he fishes out the pitifully empty bottle from his coffin-sized bathroom. 

“Gimme your hands.” Peter Two crowds in front of Three and starts helping him stretch, slow and steady. After a heart-wrenching cry of pain, Three hums appreciatively. He twists side to side, working out as many sore spots as he can. Peter shakes the bottle at him and tosses it. He catches it and dry swallows the pills. 

“Hm.” Peter leans against the wall. 

“What?” Two huffs.

“Nothing.” Peter shakes his head with a smile. Fondness blooms warm in his chest. May used to tell him that he’s the only person who knows how to take care of himself best, what he needs. He wonders if she ever thought it would manifest this way. 

“Alright, c’mon. What old man joke are you sitting on right now?” Two crosses his arms. His amusement is contagious. 

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you!” Peter laughs.

“One day you’re gonna be a twenty-something with a bad back. You’re gonna be like ‘oh wise and mysterious Peter, please help me with my ailing spine’. Then you’ll get it.” Three grunts. He loudly cracks something in his back and all of them wince. 

“What am I gonna do? Do a backbend over your walker?” Peter snickers. Three gasps and splutters, sending both of them into actual laughter. They’re terrible influences on each other. 

“You are such a brat.” Two chuckles, mostly in disbelief. Peter sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Were you like this?” Two jerks a thumb toward Peter. Three quirks a smile and regards Peter for a bit--the defiant jut of his chin and the fire in his eyes are heartwarming. 

“I mean…yeah. Kinda. Just tall.” Three smirks.

“I’m not short.” Peter scoffs. Two and Three exchange a glance. Three leans on Peter’s head. Peter swats his arm away. 

“You’re barely taller than me!” Peter huffs, throwing his hands in the air. 

“First step is acceptance, buddy.” Two pats his shoulder. “Let’s get our shawarma on.”

Peter Three stifles his laughter into his fist, squinting in mirth through crooked glasses. Peter groans, smacking his face into his palm. He’s hiding a smile, though, and it makes Two smile in turn. 

“What?”

“Let’s get our shawarma on?” Peter snickers, his shoulders shaking. 

“Yeah, I can’t defend you. That was corny.” Three leans into Peter and soon they’re both giggling, set off by each other’s goofiness. 

“You sound like a dad!” Peter giggles. 

“Scratch that. We’re not going anywhere until we cure you of this attitude.” Two raises an eyebrow. Peter giggles at him which, while adorable, Two cannot stand for. 

“You gonna send me to my room? Ground me? Oooh, I’m so scared--” Peter snorts, then he’s upside down. Peter Two’s got him around the waist like a sack of potatoes. He lets out an affronted squeak and tries to reach for the floor. 

“Whatareyoudoing--” All the breath leaves Peter in a hefty woosh as Two worms his fingers into his sides. He squeals, his legs flailing wildly. He tries to pry Two’s hands away but gravity isn’t his friend at the moment. 

“Spider deterrent,” Two says, deathly serious, but Peter can hear him smiling. Bastard. 

“Nononohoho! Tickling is cheating!” Peter cackles, all hope of playing tough long gone with his breath. No matter which way he tilts, Two’s fingers are waiting to torment him--and he seems to have quickly figured out just how deathly ticklish his stomach is. Almost like he knew already. 

“I didn’t know there were rules--” Peter Two ducks out of the way of an accidental kick-- “Hey! Violence is not the answer!”

“Gonna v-violence your stuhupid fahahace! Lemme go!” Peter growls, prying at Two’s wrists again. Two tuts at him and vibrates his fingers into Peter’s stomach. He shrieks and kicks his legs, all pent-up energy with nowhere to go. 

“Aren’t you gonna help?” Peter gasps at Three, his voice way higher pitched than he’d like. His face is redder than his suit, little giggles still slipping free. He’s (mostly) deathly serious about murdering Two if he can just get out of this. 

“Yeah, come help!” Two grins, beckoning Three over with a tilt of the head. Peter Three disappears out of Peter’s line of sight and he allows himself an evil grin. 

“We’re gonna kick your--” Peter loses the last half of his threat to a yelp, then frenetic giggling as Three claws at his ribs. Peter screeches in betrayal and tries to swat at him, but he’s far from coordinated and it tickles, oh my god--

“Sorry. More afraid of him than I am of you.” Peter Three grins sheepishly, but his eyes shine with mischief. He walks his fingers up under Peter’s arms and he screeches loud enough to make a dog down the hall start barking. He lets out a snort and desperate syllables tumble out to follow. He manages to elbow Two in the gut and nearly gets dropped on his head for the trouble.

“S-Sorry! Tickles!” Peter hiccups and clamps his arms to his sides. 

“You are so squirmy!” Two tosses him over the back of the shitty couch. Peter squeals at the sudden change in gravity, but then he’s squealing because they both follow him over the couch. 

“I-I’m gonna get a noise complaint! Guys!” Peter throws his head back against the armrest and cackles, shoving at the two of them. He’s not sure where the ceiling is anymore, everything’s sort of spinning, but the slight burn in his chest is grounding. 

“Alright, alright.” Two lays off and Three follows suit. Peter flings his arm over his face and tries to remember the sweet embrace of oxygen.

“Oho man. You guys suck.” Peter peeks at them with a goofy smile. 

“Spider deterrent. Works like a charm.” Two puts his hands on his hips. Three leans up behind him and goes to poke his side, but Two catches his hand. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Two points at Three threateningly. Three holds his hands up in surrender, but his grin is anything but innocent. He and Peter lock eyes.

“Spider deterrent, huh?” Peter leans up on his elbows with a cocky grin. “Every experiment needs multiple trials, right?”

“You’re both menaces.” Two grapples with Three, occasionally twitching but still putting up a fight. Peter manages to poke him a few times and get his arm caught, but Two can’t fight both of them.

A hush befalls the room as Peter Two visibly weighs his options, trying not to crack from Three’s pinching at his ribs. 

Two throws himself over the couch, followed by Three, and Peter eggs them on from the safety of the couch. It’s like watching cats wrestle, really--there’s an indistinguishable tangle of limbs and shouting before Peter Three’s shocked cackle emerges from the pile. 

“P-Peter! Help!” Three wheezes, holding his hand out for rescue.

“Oh, you want my help? Yeah, sure, I’ll help.” Peter cackles evilly, kicking off the couch and launching himself at Three.

“Wait, hold on--”

…

“98 percent viable. We did it,” Peter Two breathes, holding the hologram in his hands. The simulated core spins lazily. After hours of calibration and recalibration, the algorithm finally holds steady. Three squeezes his shoulder and laughs quietly, happily. They’re going home. 

“Should we tell him?” Three casts a glance over to the couch. Peter’s out cold, curled up under a threadbare blanket that refuses to let go of its musty smell. Despite the bags under his eyes, he looks peaceful. 

“Tomorrow. You both still owe me shawarma.” Two smiles, knocking their shoulders together. 

[cookinguptales]

I will say, though, people used to be way meaner about fic online when I was a kid. Readers can still be shitty, don't get me wrong, but it was the wild fucking west when I was young and new to fandom.

Sporking communities (communities dedicated to going through fic line-by-line to make fun of it to an audience), homophobic death threats, "constructive criticism" that was really just designed to hurt young writers' feelings... Like this was all considered not just acceptable but fun and fairly normalized. You were considered "butthurt" if this stuff really affected you.

But damn, it was so mean. Like so unnecessarily mean. People were practically hunting fan writers for sport just because they wrote fic/meta/roleplays/etc. that they didn't enjoy. I cannot overemphasize that making fun of writers was considered a viable fandom path at a certain point. Some people got very big followings for sporkings, takedowns, particularly creative flames, etc.

What I'm telling you is that making fun of others' writing was considered a kind of fanwork in and of itself.

Like... I remember writing something online when I was about fourteen and -- I don't even remember what it was, being honest with you. It probably wasn't very good, given my age. But I do remember that someone just replied to it with a link for a website "how to write" and nothing else, and it hurt my feelings so badly that I didn't even want to keep going. That was considered concrit back then, even though it was really just a thinly veiled insult. Pretty sure whoever wrote that comment thought it was hilarious, and others would have agreed with them. I definitely would've been mocked if I'd complained.

And... that was just what you had to put up with if you posted your writing publicly. Some of those old warnings like "flames will be used to make s'mores!" come off as kind of cringe these days, but it really was a coping mechanism that you had to develop if you wanted to get through it at all. It was saying "your words won't hurt me, so don't bother."

Like... I like to believe that I'm a pretty good writer these days, and I can guarantee that not one of those assholes who made fun of me or mocked my work or talked shit about my ideas actually helped to make me what I am today. It was the people who encouraged me to play with a lot of different ideas and forms of writing who really helped me grow. Nothing worked better than just writing and writing and writing without fear that I would be punished for doing so.

So even if you're a garbage person who likes to hurt people because it makes you feel big and strong and important, think about all this pragmatically. Be totally fucking selfish for a minute. Think about all of the good writing you will never, ever get to read if you destroy the writer's self-esteem when they're still learning. Think about all the people who will never grow. All the beautiful flowers that are being nipped in the bud every day by assholes like you.

And even if someone never gets good, even if they just splash around in stupid ideas and awful prose and incoherent characterization... so fucking what? No one owes you beauty. Sometimes the beauty is just in having fun with what you're doing, and sometimes that's enough.

I am actually extremely relieved that fandom isn't quite as cruel as it was when I was a kid, but I won't pretend that things are perfect now. People still have this weird entitlement to them, like other people in fandom only exist to create things that they enjoy. Like other people only have worth, only matter, if their presence gives you exactly what you want when you want it.

You don't have to like everything that other people make! You don't even have to like them. But come on, now. Let people have fun. And don't act like other people's fun is only valid if it's of use to you.

[hurryupmerlin]

Mal belongs to @riinoaheartilly and Mal's ass belongs to Ami

———

The doors slide open accompanied by a too loud "Am'ika!" and Fi enters the low-lit room just to stop dead in his tracks one step in.

"Ew, stinks of sex in here."

Ami pulls at the blanket with both fists until he's covered right up to his nose. The embarrassment paints his face a dark shade of red.

Mal on the other hand straightens up on his knees and not only becomes the center of attention with his movement but – and this fact does not escape Ami at all – he also further obscures the view of Ami, like a protective shield made of bare chest and pajama pants.

"Weird. Wonder why," Mal deadpans and Fi crosses his arms in response. The eyes of the two troopers are locked in an icy stare across the room. Sadly – due to a lack of Jedi powers – neither of them manages to push the other away by sheer power of will, therefore they just keep glaring at each other without so much as blinking.

"Fuck off," Mal snarls eventually when the unwelcomed guest still shows no intention to leave, and Fi makes a point of firmly planting his feet even wider on the threshold of their bedroom.

"Try and make me, asshole. "

Mal looks like he's gonna full-on attack the smug commando any second now, his body almost vibrates with held-back violence. And Fi grins like he can't wait to get his knuckles bloody.

"Um..." Ami tries and clears his throat loudly. That manages to get him the attention of the two men who finally break their stare down.

"Could you... please, maybe give us some space, Fi? We'll meet you outside in two minutes, okay?"

Fi might roll his eyes, but he can't deny Ami anything so he has to opt for retreat. He flexes his hands and everyone in the room knows that if it wasn't for Ami, Fi would be showing Mal the middle finger as a goodbye greeting right now. Instead he just jerks his head with a crooked smile and makes a 180 degree turn so sharp it would make any drill sergeant proud.

***

"Do you have to be like that to him?" Ami sighs later at the breakfast table. Mal didn't join them, with the feeble excuse of going on patrol.

Fi smirks in return. "Keeps him on edge. He should have to work harder for you, Am'ika. That bum takes you for granted."

"Fi," Ami outright whines now. "He's my partner, he doesn't have to prove his worth to you or anyone."

Both look at Ordo, but the man evades his freshly assigned role of referee by protestantly biting into his sandwich and keeping his eyes fixed on the datapad in front of him.

"What if he hurts you?" argues Fi.

Ami smiles genially and stands up, grabbing the plate with the breakfast ration he had prepared for Mal.

"He won't."

[moe-broey]

Fuck it my brain feels super clogged so I'm posting my agenda with little to no context + one doodle idk if I'll color but I kinda want to but I kinda don't LMFAO

(wips I'm hoping to return to ect ect, just a few snippets from a larger Thing)

[ratatatastic]

"And Lundy, talk about all the different Finns on this team: one of them a good friend of yours, Eetu Luostarinen got married pretty quickly right after the Cup got done. How did that party compare to the Cup parties? You guys just kept the action going it feels like!" "Yeah, I mean, it was awesome to see one of my best friends get married and be a part of it! But it got a little tight with the time since the season went so far—he actually missed his bachelor party but I think he's pretty happy with the parade and the parties we had in Florida so I don't think he minded that too much... but it was awesome to be a part of his wedding and see all his friends and family celebrating; that was a special moment as well."

Territory Talk | 8.26.24 (x)

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ ❦ ⊰ .·:·. -ˋˏ

i need to add colorings and things to these tissaia screenies but LOOK AT SHEE !!