#actually really proud of how the shape turned out!! as much as i joke about the horse this was actually super satisfying to finish!! :D

[rabbitryart]

pink horse(tm)

[cuubism]

thinking about that meta about the endless not really transforming into different forms but rather being all forms simultaneously and just being perceived differently from different points of view. and yeah

--

"So, Death was telling me something interesting about you yesterday," Hob says, sipping on his coffee.

Dream pouts, though he would probably deny that that's what it is. "You are gossiping with my sister behind my back?"

"You know we talk."

"Gossip," Dream mutters again, steps taking on a pace adjacent to an irritable trudge. "What unseemly things does she say about me?"

"Why do you think she says mean things about you?"

"Every time we speak, she calls me an idiot," Dream says, and Hob lets out a startled laugh.

"That's what siblings do," Hob reminds him. "You know she loves you."

"Hmm." Dream plucks Hob's coffee from his hand, taking a ponderous sip. "What praises does she heap upon me, then?"

Hob shakes his head in fond exasperation. "She says that you -- Endless, that is -- can like... change your appearance for different people? Or creatures? Like. If you met a cat you would appear as a cat to them?"

"You do not quite have the right of it," Dream says. He hasn't returned Hob's coffee, despite having insisted that he 'did not require mortal sustenance' when Hob had offered to get him his own.

"What's the right of it, then?"

"It is not for human minds to comprehend."

Hob groans. "At least humor me and try to explain? Do you turn into a cat or not?"

"I do not turn into anything," Dream says, offended. "How base and common."

"Shapeshifting is base and common, I'll make sure to tell all the shapeshifters I know," Hob tells him seriously.

Dream lets out a sigh that Hob recognizes as meaning fine, I will answer your inane questioning about the nature of my existence. The funny thing is, now that they've gotten over the six hundred year barrier of what's your name and what do you do for work, Dream delights in talking about his creations. He will speak at length about his work given half a chance.

It's the personal -- whether that's something as mundane as how he takes his tea or as fundamental as what an Endless even is, exactly -- that's been hard to get at.

"I am a cat," Dream explains.

Hob stares at him, looking up and down at the very man-shaped figure walking beside him as if he needs to double-check. "You're definitely not a cat."

"Yes, I am," Dream says. He does not appear to be joking.

And apparently Hob is still thirteen years old all these centuries later, because he says, "Prove it."

"You cannot see it because you are not a cat," Dream sighs, as if this is truly a tragic occurrence.

"Maybe I am a cat," Hob suggests, tucking his hands in his pockets, all casual. "How would you know?"

Dream gives him a sidelong look. "You are not a cat. Though perhaps you would be more peaceful as one."

"Doubt it. But wait, so, if I was a cat I would be able to see your cat form?"

"In essence, yes. But. You speak as if I would be donning a coat. These are not forms. Merely fragments. Simultaneous angles on a whole."

"Fragments," Hob repeats. He works it through like a particularly hard math problem. "Hang on. So. You're also a cat now. If we met a cat they would see a cat."

Fuck, this is getting weird.

Dream looks proud of Hob for getting it. "Yes."

"Could have attempted to explain that instead of just saying I am a cat," Hob tells him. "I also still maintain that you are not actually a cat."

"I am as much a cat as I am a human," Dream says.

"So, not," Hob says.

"No," Dream agrees. "Because I am Dream."

"You're a nightmare, is what you are," Hob mutters, and Dream smirks.

"That, too."

They've been walking in silence for another few minutes when Hob asks, "What's your real form?"

Dream frowns. "All of my forms are real, Hob."

"Sure, you look like this or that to different people. What do you look like to yourself?"

"All of my forms are real," Dream insists.

"So what I'm seeing now isn't some kind of default? Are you just always different? Is this like that we don't know how other people see colors 'cuz everyone's eyes could be different thing? Or is there any internal consistency to you?"

"I don't know what thing you're referring to."

"What I'm trying to find out is did I invent this version of you in my head?" Hob asks, getting stressed about it now. Did his subconscious somehow decide this was what Dream should look like? Presumably Dream knows what he looks like to Hob. What if he doesn't like it? "Did I just decide yep that's what dreams should look like in 1389 and you've been stuck wearing black ever since?"

Dream chuckles. Probably amused Hob would ever think he had that much power. "No. There is what you call internal consistency in my appearance. Different creatures, cultures, and so on will see different aspects of me, but there is not a different aspect for each person. It is not infinite."

Oh, thank god. "So, you want to look this way."

"I suppose."

Never a straight answer with him.

"Well, just for the record," Hob says, "I fell in love with the entity but I happen to quite like the shape as well."

"The shape," Dream repeats, with a smile.

"Here's where you're going to tell me you're also a triangle or something."

Dream is silent.

Fucking hell.

"I'm not even going to ask," Hob decides, forcibly moving on. "I have another question."

"You have many," Dream observes.

"That's what you love about me," Hob says, and Dream tilts his head as if conceding the point.

"If there was a human culture that thought of dreams as represented by cats," Hob starts, "they might see you as a cat?"

Dream sips at Hob's coffee, considering. "I suppose."

"And was there ever one?"

"No."

Hob lets out a long breath. Dream is frustrating as hell to talk to sometimes, but Hob can't say he doesn't enjoy it anyway, doesn't enjoy the puzzle. "Was there ever any culture like that, though? That saw their dream representation as something other than a person?"

"There was one that thought dreams lived in bubbles, therefore I was the reflection of light along a bubble's curve," Dream says, expressionlessly. As if that isn't wild and fascinating. "However, that civilization has since disbanded and morphed into different forms."

"Which civilization was that?"

"You would not know it," Dream says.

Hob tips his head back and groans. "God, you're like an edgy teenager who knew that indie band before they were cool. Oh, which band? No, you wouldn't know them, they're too niche, too underground."

"Underwater," says Dream. "It was a civilization of dolphins."

Hob trips over a crack in the road and just manages to catch himself. Dream stops by his side, watching him with some concern, like he worries Hob might break himself in his clumsiness.

"The way the world looks to you must be insane," Hob says, staring at Dream.

Dream's lips tip up in the faintest smile. "Human perspective is narrow."

"Clearly. I wish I could see all your other forms. Must be amazing."

"You wish to see them?" Dream sounds surprised.

Hob scoffs. "Of course. But it's not sounding very possible."

Dream inclines his head in agreement.

Then a thought occurs. "Wait." And god, Hob has said a lot of stupid-sounding things in his life but this is about to be one of the worst. "If I pretend to be a cat, can I see your cat form?"

Dream can never answer a simple question directly, but apparently this absurd query is fine. "I suppose it is possible in theory for you to see it. But pretending is not enough. You would have to wholly assume the perspective of a cat. I do not know if it would be possible in practice."

Hob's never needed much more encouragement than that to try something. "Alright. Hold my coffee."

"I am already holding it," Dream points out.

"Hush. I'm being a cat."

How he's supposed to do that, Hob doesn't know. He paces back and forth before Dream, squinting in the sunlight. He looks at him from every angle. He tries to imagine what cats might dream of. Mice? Freedom? Sleeping in warm places? Their dreams must be feeling and instinct-driven, not intellectual.

Hob crouches down, looking up at Dream from as close to a cat's height as he can manage. Dream merely raises an eyebrow.

"Are you going to meow at me?" he asks mildly.

"Meow," Hob says, and Dream's mouth pops open in a round o of surprise that is one hundred percent worth the indignity of kneeling on a public street and meowing. "What do cats dream about, anyway?"

"World domination," Dream says solemnly.

"Haha," Hob says, but Dream doesn't take it back.

"Alright, I'm channeling megalomania," Hob tells him, shutting his eyes. "I'm channeling my inner despot."

"And an imposing one at that," Dream observes, looking down at him.

"Quiet, subject, can't you see I'm in the middle of ruling with an iron fist? Or paw?"

"I am quaking in my boots," Dream says. "Please, show mercy."

Hob squints back up at him. God, he's really trying, but it's hard. Cats live close to humans, but they are still so alien. Off in their own worlds, their own battles and hierarchies.

"Will it work if I lick you?" he asks. "Like how cats groom each other."

Dream blinks at him, once, twice, slowly, catlike, which he must be doing intentionally, because he's a bastard like that. "This is, as I believe you would say, getting odd."

Yeah, it is getting fucking odd.

"Perhaps you should try imagining my female form," Dream suggests, and if Hob weren't already on all fours on the sidewalk he'd have fallen over. "It is human, and may be easier."

"You have that?" Hob squeaks, scrambling back to his feet. "But I thought it was like, a species perspective thing? Do women just see you as a woman, then?" Then he shakes his head. "No, that's way too simplistic."

"Women can see me like this as well," Dream says. "Or however their culture dictates."

"So why would someone see you as one gender or another, then? Just a culture thing? Preference?"

"Why do some people see God as a woman?" Dream asks the air.

Hob groans. "You are impossible."

Dream smirks.

"Or maybe you just like being unknowable," Hob guesses.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps. Yeah, perhaps. I'm sure." Hob cracks his knuckles. "Alright, my unknowable cosmic entity of a significant other, let's see if I can turn you into a woman."

Dream stares at him flatly, but Hob can see the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Hob still doesn't know what exact perspective he needs to see Dream as a woman. Maybe if he just believes really really hard he can make it happen. Force of will. It's how he'd always planned to make himself immortal, anyway, absent a fortunate encounter with one prickly dream entity.

He stops looking at Dream, and tries to look through Dream. Tries to imagine how it feels to see the true depths of his eyes, how the cosmos in them go straight to infinity. He tries to see around the way the light reflects off of and shapes Dream's form to the shape within, like a sculptor seeing the body in the marble before it's carved. Hob is no artist, but he tries.

And he knows Dream. He may not know all these angles on his form, but he knows Dream, the entity, the person. They have had a long friendship, Hob and the concept of dreaming.

And just like that, the perspective shifts. For a split second, Hob sees an infinity before him, the eternity of all existence condensed in all its brilliant, glowing facets--then his brain skids around it to avoid going mad, latches onto an angle, and slams back to earth.

Hob sways, rubs at his eyes, and then laughs hysterically. "Fuck!"

"Hob?" Dream sounds uncertain now. "Are you well?"

"I think I just glimpsed cosmic knowledge never meant for my mortal eyes, or whatever," Hob tells him, somewhat maniacally. His ears are kind of ringing, eyes swimming in the afterimages of a very bright light. "You're incredible, do you know that?"

"As you judge," Dream says.

Hob finally drops his hands from his eyes.

And immediately slaps them over his mouth, letting out a sound so high-pitched and manic he hadn't thought his vocal cords could manage it. "Holy shit."

Dream frowns. "Are you well?" he asks again. "Perhaps I should not have allowed--"

"I fucking did it," Hob whispers, mostly to himself. "Oh my God. You're a woman. I think? You look like one. I guess?"

Dream looks down at himself. Hob wonders what he sees--does he see what Hob sees? Or does he see the incomprehensible mass of everything that he truly is under the human trappings?

"Ah," he says, and presses a single fingertip to one of the breasts that he now has, prodding it curiously. "It appears that I am."

Okay, so he can see what Hob sees. Good to know.

"Yup," Hob says. He can't seem to steady himself whatsoever. "Yup, yup. You are."

"Impressive, Hob," Dream remarks, looking up at him again with a smirk. His jaw is narrower now, his lips plusher, but God, it's that same fucking smirk that drives Hob insane.

Hob wonders if Dream's female form is also bound by some limitations on appearance the way his usual form is. He hopes so, because it if turns out he managed to manifest Dream's tits to fit his own subconscious desires, he might just have to choose Death at last.

Hob still has his hands over his mouth. He makes himself drop them.

Dream frowns at his silence. "Are you not pleased?"

"I'm very shellshocked and reorienting my view of the universe," Hob tells him. "Also, you're very beautiful and it's just a lot all around."

That smirk again. Whatever minor amount of immunity Hob has developed over the centuries is obliterated by the new shape of him. "Ah."

"Ah," Hob echoes. "Can I kiss you?"

"You may."

Hob does so with his usual enthusiasm, perhaps more, as he does so love novelty. Dream tastes much the same, feels much the same to his hands, and yet not, like Hob's different perspective on him has altered the angle of his touch. Hob runs his hands indulgently over the softer curves of him, settling them on Dream's waist.

"Dear heart," he murmurs into Dream's mouth. "Most beautiful thing."

Dream makes a soft sound and rests his face against Hob's.

They stay there for a long moment, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Then Dream asks, "Would you have still kissed me if I was a cat?"

"On your little furry head, yes," Hob says, and pecks his cheek. "I thought you were a cat."

"I am," Dream says.

Hob groans. "Enough, I'm getting confused again. Let's stop with the metaphysics and go home and do something less headache-inducing."

"Like playing with the new toy you've found yourself?" Dream asks, raising an eyebrow, but obligingly lets Hob wrap an arm around his waist and tug him along down the sidewalk.

"Pretty much!" Hob agrees. "If you're amenable."

"I suppose I can bear it," Dream says solemnly, as though being kissed and coddled and worshiped is the greatest hardship of his eons-long existence.

Then he says, quietly, "You are singular, to perceive me thus."

"As..." Hob looks at him as they walk, looks at the elegant cut of Dream's cheekbone and the sweep of his eyelashes, the longer fall of his hair. "You mean, in more than one... facet?"

Dream nods. "You... see me. The truth of me. And still, you look upon me kindly."

"What other way is there to look at the one you've loved your whole life?" Hob asks, throat tight.

Dream leans into his side, and Hob presses a kiss to his temple, holding there for several steps. And he continues to hold him close as they go on, keeps his unfathomable boundless entity within the circle of his arms, where he can keep on fathoming him.

[yeostars]

I Hate You, I Love You.

-kang yeosang<3

○ pairing- yeosang x reader ○ genre- academic rivals to lovers! early relationship scenario, basically a snippet into the times when two rivals get into a romantic relationship after finally confessing their undying love to eo (ahem, they still hate eo too, though) ○ warnings- none? slight 18+ scenes but they don't actually do IT haha ○ synopsis- sooo this one is the epilogue for my rivals to lovers yeo fic (down bad, but at what cost?) . basically this one is a study session turned into a pillow fight turned into an intense makeout session ;) i've tried my best to write this one even better than the actual long fic so i really hope y'all enjoy reading this. likes, reblogs, comments and follows are always immensely appreciated <3

"Huh, to be honest, your room isn't half bad. Really." You admit, peering at every little thing your eyes land upon, in this giant, spacious room.

"If that was meant to be a compliment, thanks." Yeosang snorted, right behind you, watching you take everything in.

This was your very first time visiting your boyfriend's slash academic rival's room. Infact, it was your first time coming to his house itself. Saying that you were nervous was an understatement, but somehow you seemed to be relaxing in yeosang's presence by now.

The fact that no one except the both of you were present in his house right now, also relaxed you quite a lot. Yeosang's parents had gone shopping and his elder sister was hanging out with her friends. Yeosang, being the smartass he is, grabbed this perfect oppurtunity and ideal day to invite you over, to get your assignments done.

Yeah. to get those damn assignments done. nothing else, probably, right...? although you wished you were lying, as you thought about how amazing it would be, to make out with yeosang on his bed.....

It had been roughly a month since the both of you started dating now, and it seemed like neither of you wanted to rush things. But if either you or yeosang made the first move, the latter would passionately reciprocate it.

"I mean it, your room is much more spacious than i imagined it to be. And also, so clean.... bet it isn't normally this clean." You said, chuckling, as your hand gently patted and felt the soft matress bed sheets.

"Well, not gonna lie, i did clean it up cuz you were gonna come over, You should be grateful." He joked, carefully picking up your bag and placed it on one of the extra chairs around his study table.

"Should i touch your feet or something? Geez, thanks for cleaning your room, i guess." You let out, suddenly stopping in your tracks to stare at the mini posters stuck at the wall.

Yeosang noticed you staring at those posters at the wall and stood right besides you. Good thing it wasn't something embarassing- or else he would've torn all those posters than bear all the teasing from you.

"Seriously, yeo? Math symbols, geometry shapes, equations and formulas..... you know what, i am not even surprised, you math freak." You grinned, turning to look him directly in the eye.

"So what? I am working to be the best mathematician of the next century, Gotta make sure to look like one." He replied, sounding quite proud.

"Might as well wear printed t-shirts with mathematical formulas all over it, My anti-math ass could never. I might throw up if i stare at those posters again." You said, giving those posters one last glance.

"You and your dramatic ass, y/n.....well, take a seat, if you're done exploring, and lets get these assignments done." Yeosang murmured, taking hold of his own bag, as he bought it towards his huge study table.

You sat at the chair farthest to the window, where sunrays seemed to be shining beautifully at the ends of the study table. Yeosang sat right besides you, eliminating the third chair and reduced any distance present between the both of you.

You ignored your heart beating loudly in your chest, quietly placed your books and pens on the table, and peered at yeosang doing the same.

"Well then, lets get started? As we promised each other, you're gonna help me if i have any difficulty in maths and I'm gonna do the same for you in science. Hope that offer still stands." You said, not quite maintaining eye contact with him, choosing to stare at those books in front of you instead.

"Hmm, alright. Lets get this done as quickly as possible." Yeosang said, already getting started with his work.

Around 40 minutes passed, the both of you working in peaceful silence, and even if you asked each other about a certain question or concept, the atmosphere between the both of you was still, peaceful. calm. not chaotic- and that's where is started to feel slightly...wrong? This had to be the longest time you've both spent in each other's presence without teasing the hell out of each other or bickering.

You couldn't help but steal quick glances towards yeosang's direction, admiring his concentrated self, how unbelievably hot he looked even when he was literally just, studying. When he furrowed his eyebrows cuz he probably didn't understand something, or when he mindlessly spun his pen as he read content, you wondered how you even managed to have a boyfriend as attractive as him.

You stretched your arms quickly, leaning back toward the chair, stifling a yawn. You were quite tired now, but you still had one topic left. You glanced at yeosang, and he looked quite tired himself, too.

And besides, things felt too boring, between the both of you, right now. You wanted to spice things up a bit, get him to kiss you or something.... but how?

"I'm taking a quick break." You announced, getting up from your chair, heading towards the giant bed, sitting comfortably at the edge.

Yeosang spun his chair to face you, and just blankly stared at you as you scrolled through something on your phone.

"What, tired already?" He asked, having the audacity to ask you this while looking much more exhausted than you.

"You look like you're about to pass out, right now. Take a break along with me." This wasn't a request, it was an order. You wanted both of you to feel fresh and relaxed before you started working on the final topic to finish your assignments.

Yeosang didn't argue further, simply closed his books and joined you, on his bed. He mirrored your position, sitting quite distant from you, but you could still feel his feet brushing yours..

You sat there, feeling extra comfortable because of the giant, soft pillows behind you. Yeosang suddenly grabbed one of those pillows behind you and you glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow and met his gaze, which looked quite mischievous and playful...typical yeosang.

"Ever been in a pillow fight?" Yeosang asked, pulling the pillow close to his chest.

"Umm....no? I might have once, with Jia, though." You replied, registering the fact that he probably asked you out on a pillow fight. you, his girlfriend, into a pillow fight.

at such moments, you realised how yeosang was truly, yeosang. no one could ever be like him..

"Then accept this challenge. Whoever wins gets their favourite snack as a reward." Yeosang snickered, coming closer to you.

"Oh, ITS ON. Y-" You almost screamed, and you didn't even get to finish your sentence as Yeosang approached you and hit his pillow skillfully at your arm. You groaned, gaining your consciousness quickly and attacked him with another pillow, aimed right at his head.

Here you were, the both of you fighting each other in an impromptu pillow fight, laughing, giggling and screaming like little kids. Just when you thought you couldn't fall deeper for yeosang than you already were, you were proved wrong when you met his soft and playful gaze, him smiling at you, the reason for his laughter being you. You wished this moment could last forever..

Your bodies brushed again each other's quite often, but the both of you tried to ignore that fact, too caught up in adrenaline and playfully fighting each other.

With a well-aimed swing, you managed to knock the pillow out of Yeosang's hands, grinning proudly. "Gotcha!"

Before you even knew it, yeosang lunged forward and tackled you gently onto the bed. You both landed in a heap of tangled limbs and pillows, your breath hitching as you realised that you were pinned beneath him onto the bed...

For a moment, everything stilled. The air, filled with laughter and giggles and screams just a minute ago, was now intense, and all that could be heard was your breaths.

You gazed into each other's eyes, your faces mere inches apart, You could feel yeosang's warm breath forming goosebumps on your skin. Every single cell in your body seemed to be aware of your current position, you could feel yeosang's strong arms wrapped against your sides, as if you had no choice to run away,,,

Yeosang's eyes softened, his playful smirk replaced by something more tender. "Y/N...." He trailed off, not bothering to complete his sentence. Just hearing your name from his lips, him being so damn close to you, you could've sworn your heart was going to beat right out of your chest.

Your hand, which had been gripping a pillow, slowly lifted up to touch his shoulders, to touch those strong biceps... that got you thinking just how buff your boyfriend was.

He leaned down, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away, his eyes never leaving yours. But of course, you didn't. Why would you? You were waiting since ages for this to happen..

You lifted your head slightly, closing the distance between you. Your lips met in a kiss that was both familiar and electrifying, a perfect blend of softness and urgency.

Until, it was no longer soft, no longer sweet- just mere urgency, passion and roughness arising, as yeosang's palms reached forward to cup your face and your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer to you.

You pulled apart just for a second, you asking him hurridely if the door was locked (as much as you loved kissing yeosang, you were not prepared for the utter embarrasment if his parents walked in.) and he just hummed in reply, wasting no time and bought your lips to his again.

The makeout session seemed to be unending, and you weren't complaining in he slightest. The next second you broke the kiss to catch some freaking air, you could feel yeosang's gaze strongly fixated on you, and you couldn't quite comprehend what he was feeling.

"God, you're so hot." He said, in such a low voice, you would have almos missed it if you weren't so damn close to him.

"What?" You asked, blushing, although you had clearly heard him. You took in the sight of his cheeks heating up so furiously that your shyness was now replaced with a proud smirk.

"Say it again. I didn't quite hear you." You said, grinning.

"H-hell no. You didn't hear anything." He said, now tearing his gaze off you, just to be met by your smirk yet again as you grabbed his chin softly to make direct eye contact.

"What, THE kang yeosang getting all giddy and shy because of me? Yeo, if you don't say that again, i WILL tease you about it for the rest of your life-"

"I hate you. Y-you're so hot." He said, and before you could say anything, he quickly sealed his lips with yours, once again. You hummed in pleasure as his thumbs lightly massaged your cheeks, and you felt so damn good in this moment, you wouldn't dare to stop.

That was, unless you had to, to catch your breaths once again.

"Have you kissed someone before, um, me?" You asked, looking quite shy now. He blinked, not believing that this was the kind of question you'd ask him in the middle of a makeout session.

"I did. What about you?" He asked, shrugging, his eyes curious for your answer to the same.

Something familiar settled into your stomach. Bitterness. Jealousy. That would explain how yeosang kissed you so damn well. He was experienced, someone had already felt those wicked, soft, irrestible lips before. And of course, they did. Have you looked at the guy? It would be impossible to believe that he hadn't dated before.

"Y/N?" He asked softly, after noticing that you didn't reply quickly.

"Uhh...well, you're my first kiss." You said, not adding anything further. Yeosang seemed way too shocked at that, smirking soon after.

"Are you being serious? You're telling me, your arch nemesis, your rival, the person you quite literally hate, ME, i'm your first kiss? Insane, if you ask m-" He didn't get to complete his sentence this time, as you bought your lips to his, again. and again. and again- until the both of you were completely satisfied- which you weren't, not just yet. You kissed in perfect sync, perfect harmony- you tilting your head slightly to give him more access, your tongues hungrily meeting each others, the unending bites and teasing making you even more desperate for each other.

You opened your eyes to be met with a pleasant, calm, flushed yeosang. His plush lips were now red and glossy and slightly bruised because of you biting them so many times (he did too, so that was only fair) and he just, looked so fucking pretty, so handsome, so ethereal. and you were just so damn lucky.

"You are my first kiss too, by the way." He confessed, now looking quite serious. You nearly choked on air.

"WHAT?? You lied to me before...?" You asked in disbelief.

"Yea, i just wanted to witness you being jealous. You are so cute, the way you were pouting when i said that, i wanted to bite you." He said, caressing your cheek softly.

"Shut up. I hate you." You let out, pouting yet again and yeosang looked at you with such endearment and adoration, one would have never thought that you used to be at each others throats.

"Nah, you love me." He chuckled, intertwining his fingers with yours. You smiled softly.

"That, maybe i do."

[frudoo]

Goddess — Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Retired Johnny focuses on his art. His favorite muse? You, of course.

Warnings: Slightly smutty, very suggestive. Plus size reader (female). Body image issues mentioned. Shitty Scottish (PLEASE give me feedback, I wanna get better!!)

I’m not gonna lie y’all—I’m not too proud of this one. The idea was perfect in my head but my fingers did not want to write it </3

MDNI

A shudder escapes your pouty lips with every drag of his vaseline-coated fingers across your soft body. Johnny’s excuse was to tell you that your skin needs to be prepped before he could do anything, but that was ten minutes ago and he’s been massaging your breasts for five, now. Finally, he pulls his hands away after giving your nipples one more flick for good measure. He chuckles at the breathy whine you let out.

     “So eager, bon’. Cannae even handle a bit o’ prep?” The cocky bastard teases, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose before turning around and grabbing the plaster bandages off of his desk. 

     This all started when you made the mistake of telling your beloved husband that you were feeling down. The demons had gotten louder the longer you stared in the mirror, and Johnny had walked in right as the first tear fell down your round cheek. He let you cry in his arms, kissing your forehead and murmuring into your ear about all of his favorite parts of you. Turned your tears of self-loathing into glistening proof of ecstasy with his face buried between your thighs, leaving no room for doubt about just how much he adores you. He told you his idea while you were curled into his side, slick with sweat and pleasantly fucked-out. 

     That’s how you ended up here: sitting on a stool in his workspace, naked and compliant (just how he likes you, he joked). The body cast, of course, was his idea of making you feel better about yourself—at least, that’s what he told you. The truth was that he’s utterly obsessed with you. The ring on your finger and the home you shared wasn’t enough for him. He wanted—needed—to be surrounded by you in any way, shape or form. No matter how many paintings or sketches or statues of you that littered the house, he wasn’t satisfied, always convincing you to sit all pretty for him so he could recreate the most beautiful work of art he could think of. 

     Johnny starts on your breasts, coming as no surprise to you. The plaster strips are cold and tacky against your supple skin, and it makes you grimace. He takes his time molding the pliable medium to fit you perfectly, nimble fingers working restlessly to exact the curve of your perky nipples. He hums while he works, biting his tongue between his teeth in pure concentration, dismissing the whines and annoyed sighs you let out. 

     “Haud yer wheesht, bon’! Willnae take long. Lass loves the attention,” he scolds, but the shit-eating grin on his face makes you huff louder. 

     “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you purse your lips, fighting the urge to cross your arms over your torso—his new favorite canvas.

     “Ah jus’ want tae show ye tha’ yer body shuid be in a museum. Ah ken ye’re bonnie, but ye dinnae, so ah’m gunna prove t’ye wha’ a goddess ye’re.” Johnny explains softly, those sparkling blue, oceanic eyes darting up to meet your impatient gaze. 

     Can’t really argue with that, can you? With a final sigh, you reluctantly relax your body, allowing the artist to more accurately place the plaster strips onto your lubricated skin. He rewards your cooperation with a tender kiss to your lips and a warm smile. His calloused hands smooth out the bandages over the soft rolls on your waist and tummy, making sure every single detail of your perfect form is immortalized. If you yourself can’t live forever, he’s determined to make sure people are able to admire you for centuries to come. 

     Once Johnny’s satisfied with the sticky mess he made on your plush body (for once, it’s actually a PG-rated mess), he steps back to admire his handiwork with a pleased hum. His eyes scan over your body in appreciation before he turns and washes his hands, drying them off with a rag. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he tells you corny jokes to keep you distracted from the discomfort of drying plaster on your skin. Once it’s dry, he tells you to take a deep breath so he can pry off the cast—you’re secretly thankful that he spent so much time putting vaseline all over you because pulling it off was already a task. 

     With a gross pull of your skin and then a soft squelching noise, the artwork is off of your body. Johnny smiles giddily, happy with how perfect and detailed it turned out. He sets it carefully on his desk to let it dry more on the inside. Much to your relief, he allows you off of the stool and guides you into the washroom where he runs you a nice bath. He insists on cleaning your body, gushing about how beautiful and perfect you are for him—and then he fingers you silly as a reward, making sure the bathwater is deliciously murky before draining it. He dries you off with tender hands, pressing doting kisses all over your face just because he can. And once he’s got you in bed, all sleepy and warm, he climbs in beside you and whispers into your ear:

“Gunna make a cast o’ yer gorgeous cunt next, aye?”

[lululawrence]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

HIIIII omg I love whoever started this going around so much and THANK YOU for sending this to me!!! I also got this from @haztobegood and @allwaswell16 so thank you to ALL OF YOU really! I love love love this kinda thing and hope I haven't missed all of your lists... i'll have to be sure to look for those here soon hehe

Anyway, in no particular order, here are my fav fics I've written... (I think... lol favorites are HARD):

I'm Praying (that you don't burn out or fade away) - This was my big bang for this year and man it was a JOURNEY to write. I first came up with the idea as almost a crack fic idea back when I first was listening to Satellite... you know... when it was first released. lol I just didn't have the time or energy or anything to write it but I held onto the idea for ages and had it mostly brainstormed and everything! And then the time came to write it and... I couldn't find my notes. Anywhere. No idea what happened to the fic idea or my ramblings about it so I just did what I could with recreating it from memory and I still didn't know where or how or when it would end exactly, I just knew their journey would be over when it was over, and they spoke to me. When their story was done, I knew. And I am still so fucking proud of how it turned out and @moon-sun-thyme made the most incredible and gorgeous art for it, truly. Just. Probably gonna forever be one of my favorite fics I've ever written.

What I Have With You (I don't want with anyone else) - ohhhhhhh THIS FIC OKAY. It's my aspec alpha babies fic. I wrote it as a collaboration with @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed for @1dreversebang a few years ago now and it is still so special to me. I got to really delve into the aspec identities by embodying both Louis and Harry with one of those identities (aro Harry, ace Louis) and then added some non-traditional omegaverse dynamics (alpha/alpha) AND one of my all time favorite tropes, FAKE DATING! It was also a journey to write this fic and I worked so hard to make sure I really felt like I was doing justice to our identities and trying to give good and valid and understandable representation to them, and I really think I was able to achieve that. Some of the comments have been the most thoughtful and humbling and just beautiful I've ever gotten as well, which is just the cherry on top, right? So yeah, this baby defo gets to be on this list for sure hehe

You Don't Care About Me (One More Night) - This fic is one of those instances where you write what you want to read, you know what I mean? I had been craving a fic like this one, and I'd read some similar ones but I wanted MORE. The more I thought about it, the more the idea shaped up, and before I knew it I had (I wish I was joking) something like SIX PAGES of brainstorming with the timing laid out and what would happen when to make sure it was slow burn enough but also character development at the right pace and also just... everything I wanted, you know? I've never outlined a fic to that level before and I probably never will again, but after outlining it like that, I then went and wrote this fic, which was the longest fic I'd ever written to that point, in less than a month. It just flowed from me every time I sat down at my computer. It turned out exactly as I had hoped, and it is one of the few fics of mine that I have gone back to read repeatedly. I've not actually read it all the way through repeatedly, there's usually just bits and pieces I'm craving at the moment, but that's still far more than I generally do with my own fics. So I'll take it hehe

a moon, a rainbow, and a carnation - Okay okay okay, there's a lot about this one that makes this one something I'm super proud of, even though it feels ridiculous because it was a fic I wrote for this year's @wordplayfics, but there's a lot of reasons why I really am proud of it lol For one, I'm still new to writing Oscar and Pedro, and I love them SO much but I've only written them in one fic previously (and it isn't even out yet lololol) but!!! Its only the second fic I've ever written with a decent amount of Spanish in it. The lovely @nouies has been so kind as to cheerlead me about the pairings as well as help me with the Spanish, and we have had SO much fun omg. She helped me SO MUCH with this fic, and I so appreciate it and am so happy with how it was able to turn out because of her help! I also tried a new footnotes thing with the translations that turned out to work even better than I anticipated, and that just makes it even better, right? So yeah. I'm proud of it because I did all of that AND ALL WITHIN A WEEK. YASSSS

'Cause What I Want Came True - Okay so once again this one is one that Lou indulged me on because who doesn't love Diego Luna, hmm? lol but I was struggling with Wordplay again and suddenly I came upon a few quotes and an entire soft and hazy idea presented itself that I just HAD to write. It is almost semi-stream of consciousness while also not being quite that way, and I just really REALLY love how it turned out. I've actually already gone back and reread this one and the previous one on this list since publishing, and they've only been out for a week or two at this point. That's impressive and very rare for me. So yeah, quite proud.

I am missing some others that I would probably say are favorites, but you did limit me to five. lololol and These were the five I thought of off the top of my head haha so they will do for now hehe THANK YOU SO MUCH for asking and letting me ramble about my fics for a little bit!! sorry this got so looooong....

[senka-mesecine]

Hai! What do you think would be the boys’ favourite physical feature about their lover?

-

― For Taylor, regardless what he might say about wanting to be a non conformist and stepping out of the bubble of the path his affluent family paved for him, when he sees you well dressed, and for the lack of a better word, dolled up, it's just game over. Done. He's gone. Fog in his head. He's all puppy eyes and lovestruck. Zapped like lightning. And it's not so much about just one particular physical feature of yours as much what you can do with them all combined and just how drop dead gorgeous you can be when you go all out and present yours in the best light you have. I'm talking hairdos. Elegant attire. Jewelry. Finely groomed nails. A flattering lipstick. The whole shebang. Perhaps if we had to single out just one thing, it might be the hair. Sees you, an absolute smoke show with some well groomed hairdo in a dress that seems like it was tailored to the nines specifically for your measurements and he's a lost cause. He's the type to be passed by you as you walk on the street and take a long, hard stare after you because my god, that's a sight. You don't see that every day. His mouth is possibly a tad bit open too. Turns out (slightly cynical, disillusioned) college boy doesn't revile and resent the comforts a bit of glitz can bring that much after all. Which...isn't an easy thing to admit. That he adores how stylish you are when you really want to be. You're a showstopper without it, but damn, with it?

― Tits and ass...is what O'Neill might say if any of the boys ever asked him...and even if they don't ask him, often humblebragging macho nonsense entirely unprompted, but in reality? When he's all alone with you? When there's no audience? Nobody to impress? Suck up to? Man probably likes oddly wholesome things that entirely don't match up with the prick he usually is; He likes dimples. Likes the odd freckle here and there. Likes moles. Likes the way your nose squints cutely when you giggle. Or when you sneeze. Oddly precious bunny teeth. How tall or short you might be compared to him. The discoloration of an awkward tan or a bikini line. That little pouch on your stomach that's so soft. How adorable your toes are when they wiggle. Jesus Christ almighty and for a man known mostly as a brown nosing asshole the things he likes on you physically are actually, contrary to all popular belief weirdly pure because he's one man professionally, in the army, and a completely different man, with you, behind closed doors. Doesn't mean he doesn't like your tits and ass, oh, he adores them, but point is, he's uncharacteristically fond of physical features and attributes that might actually be easily brushed off and overlooked, especially, you know, supposedly by people like him. But, while he presents one thing he just entirely worships all of these features to astounding degrees. He's an absolute simpleton for you, plainly speaking.

― Remember how I said O'Neill might put up a deliberately macho front in front of other men when talking about which favorite physical attributes he'd single out on his significant other so he'd impress them? Now, brace yourselves. Because with Bunny, there's no putting up a front or joking about it seeing as how his favorite feature is your pussy nonironically. He openly says it's your pussy. Entirely means it too. Kid's as blunt as a doorknob and proud of it too. Like, why should he hide it? He sees no reason. Bunny's, in fact, convinced, everyone else is a liar and he's just saying the unspoken thing everyone's secretly thinking outloud. The notion makes him laugh. Don't get me wrong, everything about you is worth salivating over, but that part of you? Yeah, he loves how it looks, loves its color, its texture, the shape of your lips, its smell, whether you're hairy or not --- everything. Could talk about it for hours. Could draw it too. In fact, he might. To a degree it's hard to deduce whether it's a disgusting, blatantly fetishistic fixation or weirdly cute that he's just so shamelessly into your cunt. He can't help that it's so pretty, you know? Might just give it a nickname too, or several, one of those nicknames being...oh, I don't know...Bunny? What else? He names his favorite thing after himself; makes total sense to him. The world's so simple and easy when you're Bunny, baby.

― The eyes. It's all about the eyes for Elias. Not so much what their color is, because that doesn't matter to him as much as the eyes themselves do and the person they belong to. Their sheen. Their shape. The way you flutter your lashes around them unknowingly. They way you do or don't do your make up. The way you're focused or unfocused with your eyes. The odd specks and tiny veins in them. The way they reflect unspoken things. The way your eyes smile even when you don't. How they reflect the light and become even brighter in the process or stay entirely and unchangingly black because their shade is just that dark, like the deep sea. He loves all the ways they're a direct mirror to your soul. He relishes looking at them as much as he relishes you looking at him with them. If you're not one for direct eye contact and you're generally more on the shy side of things he might occasionally lean down his head to your eyelevel, trying to playfully catch a glimpse of your gaze beneath low lids and grin regardless if he fails or succusseds because it's a pleasure to do so and he's almost softly teasing you doing so. In fact, Elias might just wordlessly smile merely at the sight of reciprocated eye contact with you; you look at him, perhaps by accident, perhaps intentionally and he just beams up on the spot with happiness. Full mega watt twinkle on display. It's like the man has just seen the face of God right there and then. And baby, did he ever.

― Rhah loves your curves. How they wind. How wavy they are. How full. How thick. How they're shaped like a pear or an hourglass. All the ways in which your thighs touch. How rounded your ass is. Your hips. The ampleness of bosom. Your tummy. How luscious and plump your cheeks are. Just likes how you seem like you lived a soft, comfortable, well rested life, taking care of yourself, perhaps to the point of it all being a tad bit decadent. There's a undisturbed, glowing healthiness to it that's oddly erotic and you downright remind him of the statue of some reclining deity, causing you to look perfectly inviting to lounge and get high with. To put it bluntly, my boy Vermucci's Italian and he enjoys women who look like they eat well and without shame. He openly acknowledges this too. Might just go on a full blown, overly intense semi-philosophical tirade how it should be the new beauty standard and how the world's a dark, dark place due to the fact it ain't. He's disappointed and there ain't no hope left. The boys listen to him intently, fully immersed and maybe even a bit intimidated too because Rhah sounds like he's talking about something with unbelievable theatrical gravitas, and to him, it does come with unbelievable theatrical gravitas because you're beautiful and everyone should see you the way he sees you. They're just plain wrong if they don't. They ain't never been right.

― King loves your legs to the point of being borderline manically heated about it. Why? Because the legs is where all the fun happens. Or between them. Or around them. Doesn't matter. Be they long, be they short, be they thin, be they stocky, shaven, unshaven, the legs, man. He likes to watch you walk. Likes to watch you run. Strut. Dance. Sit cross legged. That odd second when you shift idly to get more comfortable where you're reclining and you open them for a brief moment, giving him a peek and a preview. Likes them thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around his face. Likes cuddling up with your legs on either side of him like pillows. How they jiggle when you move or, in opposition, how lean and firm they are. Likes them as you put your stockings on them. Likes them as you rolled your stockings down. Likes them in a skirt. Likes them in trousers. Likes them bare and naked. Baby, it's non negotiable. In fact, you walk by and he could very well just whistle and holler at you looking at them because life's good when he sees a sight like this. It's one of those reminders he's lucky to be alive and alive to be lucky with you in tow. Mean's the worst has passed and now he actually gets to enjoy the thing he likes best.

― With Wolfe it's all about the smile because when's the last time anyone's looked at him and smiled with, dare I say, appreciation? Admiration? Awe? Like someone looking for guidance from him? With something close to taking notice of him? With pride? With kindness? Sure didn't happen often in the army (if ever) so when it does happen with you he's almost a lost, semi stuttering mess because that's new. That's new and he could get used to it. Which he does; very soon. Laps it up like a man starved. Might be entirely blindsided by it at first (might not even be sure if it's wholly intended for him or not) but he gets weirdly greedy of it soon enough because it's the most beautiful thing he's ever since and it's all for him. Directed at him. Intended for him. In fact, you could just smile at him and he might just get hard at the sight of it. In equal measure, you smile at someone else, perhaps entirely offhandedly and he's weirdly discombobulated and sulky about it. On other occasions? He's cockily half smiling like a weasel when he's introducing you and you give him a loving, adoring smile as he says your name; he can't wipe the grin off of his face almost as if to say 'Yup'. Mark might just get a bit more mean to people as a result, with the wind at his back, feeling like he's atop of the world. He can become something of an emboldened asshole because he has the most beautiful woman in the world smiling at him, so, you see, it's warranted that he's a bit of a prick. Who wouldn't be?

― For Barnes it's your smooth skin --- to put it bluntly; you're unscarred, unmarred, you've no harrowing signs of trauma on it, no scratches, no disfiguration, no wounds and even if you have some, what he'd see as a minor civilian affliction like the odd zit, your skin's just soft and quite literally perfect to the touch. Beautiful to look at too. Everything he feels he ain't anymore. You have everything he doesn't. It's exactly why he might have the habit of looking at you profusely without saying anything; because he's quietly admiring and assessing what he's seeing, a spot shared only by your eyes as his favorite feature even though that one comes with a tactical edge to him because he tends to look at them and hold your gaze as a way to read you. But the skin around it? The skin of your face specifically, more than anything? Your body? Your arms? Legs? Nothing matches that. He has the habit of idly trailing his finger along it and just commenting nothing focused on the texture of it, the feeling, the warmth, the slight features it might have, the occasional or not so occasional freckle, mole or total lack of it. Everything and anything. Even actual scars, that might seem like nothing in comparison to his but that's exactly why they're so fascinating. Might not be vocal about it but it's a vision to him. He can do whatever he likes to your skin; make a scar of his own or just caress the unblemished smoothness. It belongs to him, after all.

[sweetescapeartist]

A DBS MANGA CHAPTER 102 REVIEW. KINDA...

Some stuff about chapter 102 of the DBS manga I don't really like/I want to quickly discuss. Meant to post this last month but didn't. I'm behind on a lot of things.

All those folks saying True UI is Goku's strongest form... The upcoming chapter says otherwise. Goku uses the silver haired UI form & Beerus apparently views that as Goku at his strongest. Heck, Goku calls it his best move. Good job Toyo for creating True UI (black hair) and confusing fans to believe that was stronger than Mastered UI (silver hair) when in reality True UI is simply UI Sign (black hair) that changed how UI works so it matches more closer to how the anime depicted the technique. UI Omen in the anime allowed Goku to use his emotions, but the more control he has over them, the stronger he becomes until he transforms into Mastered UI. UI Sign in the manga was depicted as Goku needing to be emotionless & stated that emotions hinder the power. This was from the ToP Saga all the way until Toyotaro "created" True UI to function off of controlled emotions like how the DBS anime always has & gave it Omen the name "True Ultra Instinct." [Link to a long post that I paraphrased, so you ain't gotta read it unless you're really interested.]

I get tired of the same expressions in this Super Hero Saga. Its a pouty or surprised face accompanied with an oval shaped mouth. Toyotaro is overusing the hell out of that. Here's a compilation & I left out like 4 other panels with this same expression. (There's more in CH 103)

I saw ppl talking about the poses when Goku & Gohan fight look cool.... Looks pretty stiff imo. At least from what I've seen. Lacks a feel of movement. And you don't even see most of the fight. It doesn't make it cool imo. We've seen MUI in action against powerful opponents. If MUI Goku & Beast Gohan are close to equal strength, why not show actual combat between the two other than the aftermath of clashes? There was more attention to choreography with Gohan vs Trunks & Goten than there is with Gohan vs Goku. (Chapter 103 does better with the combat for Goku vs Gohan)

Toyotaro doing the "this form is called such & such" is weird for me. Seems like he's trying to hype up Western fans or something. Like when Goten & Trunks name Gohan's potential unleashed form "Ultimate." Its just dialogue for the sake of some sort of fanservice. Some ppl will like it, others wont. I just wasn't a fan of it. Feels like its placed here just for fanservice. If they called it ultimate & didn't draw too much attention to it, I would've prefered that. Its naming it but not stopping the narrative flow.

Also wasn't a fan of Goku asking Gohan is his new power was SSJ2 or SSJ3. Goku knows dang well Gohan's Potential Unleashed form is far stronger than SSJ2 & was stronger than SSJ3. He should've just asked "So, what's this form of yours?" and leave it there.

Some Vegeta fans are calling him a proud uncle when he smiles at Gohan & Goku about to spar. No, he is a Saiyan who is ready to see a good fight just as Broly smiled when he watched Goku & Vegeta fight. Is there some pride there? Yes. But Vegeta ain't no uncle figure to Gohan. That's Piccolo & Krillin.

Why are Carmine & Soldier 15 there on Beerus' planet? Goku could have just had his sons & Trunks put a hand on his shoulder then teleported. And why would Gohan see Carmine & 15 who shot at his home & at him, turn Beast out of anger, then hop into the same vehicle as them as if he forgot what happened in the last chapter? It was literally a few seconds ago.

This was just for them to record Goten & Trunks in their costumes (can they even keep up with how fast they are moving?) And it just seems like a plot device that won't matter at all. Anyone remember 7-3 in the Granolah Saga?was there for a moment & served no purpose other than a reference. I bet this with Carmine is for a simple joke to be quickly thrown aside.

[serenedash]

I'm sure a lot of people have. Feelings. to put it lightly, about Xehanort's role in khuxdr. I absolutely do and there's just this thing that really bugs me about it that just rubs me the wrong way. This is gonna get a little long winded before I make my point-- but call this a Xehanort character analysis

So to ignore khuxdr completely for a moment, here we have Xehanort: the main antagonist, a man who has seemingly worked out every possible scenario and prepared for each and every one because just when you think you've defeated him he comes back like a hydra (idk insert a coliseum joke here but it's very literal with the way he uses other people). And one thing I've always loved about kh as a series is that there's this constant message of "you don't need to be special, you can just be you" because there's Sora-- who's not "the chosen one" and he knows that, he says it, and says he's proud to be apart of the people the keyblade did choose. This nobody kid who for all intents and purposes should've just been the side comic relief character and he's THE hero. And there's Xehanort, the big bad he's fighting who seems to be so all powerful that Sora is nothing against him. But kh does this interesting thing where we learn Xehanort is from Destiny Islands, he's just like Sora, Riku and Kairi. He was just a kid wanting more out of life and got more than what he bargained for.

I really enjoyed dark road giving us more insight into his past and motivations and how that shaped him because I think all of that and especially the final face off with Baldr and meeting MoM, 100% was the turning point for who he became. And I think that's really interesting that this kid form an island became so much more. And I enjoyed the kh3 secret reports greatly when we got to see writings by a younger Xehanort comparing himself to Eraqus and it really hammers in that Xehanort, like Sora, was just some kid thrown into this world that was far larger than he expected. And I think there's a lot of great parallels between Sora/Xehanort and Riku/Eraqus, which is interesting given that I feel like initially these parallels are set up to compare Riku to Xehanort when that really isn't the case at all!!! And kh3 definitely hammers it in more when Xehanort passes the x-blade to Sora; there was a lot of great discussion of that moment when the game released and the comparisons between the two.

But. then we get to khux. And don't get me wrong, I love khux I LOVE khux and I also actually really don't like Xehanort. But he's a really interesting and well written character. And it felt like there was all this development for Xehanort that happened and with the end of kh3 you really just, come to terms with it all I guess? and I think we can all agree that extra scene at the end of khux with baby Xehanort felt like a real slap to the face. It just felt really odd to turn around and say Xehanort isn't actually from Destiny Islands; I mean he basically is literally being raised there almost from birth but he's really not ESPECIALLY when it's added that he's a descendant of Ephemera. It was an odd choice, it really was. And it feels weird to know that and then see the kh3 secret reports where Xehanort shares feeling inferior to Eraqus due to Eraqus being a "blue blood." Like you are too???? And it's like I wish I could say Xehanort just didn't know that but we literally see Player 2 telling him this. Xehanort knows, has known, and he's smart so there's no way he got to Scala and heard all about this amazing Master Ephemera and didn't have all these realizations. Of course, I don't think Xehanort told anyone about his connection to Ephemera, but he knew. and We know. and it just kind of takes the wind out of my sails I think that this interesting character was set up and the context of his actions feels changed by the circumstances of his birth/childhood. Like I don't think he needed to be from Scala, to be related to Ephemera. I really don't think that had to be added in order to explain why he was obsessed with the keyblade war. Like Sora, Riku and Kairi knew nothing about any of that but they still wanted to go out into the world. Why does Xehanort need that justification for leaving?

Like. it's fine I guess and it all still makes sense and it's still interesting to see these characters tied together like this, but it was already set up so perfectly I think in relation to Sora and it feels so much lesser now and it's kind of like. oh okay this is what's happening now. But hey, at least khdr made me actually like xehanort a little lmao

[robo-writing]

Was thinking what the ff16 lads with the ladies would think of tattooed reader like the whole thing of bearers being marked how they think

Cause to reader it could be a cultural thing like how in the glaives in ff15 movie or it’s something they liked or even in a memory of something

Having a whole patch on her back or little lines on the neck or ear or having one on the wrist like a bangle

Upon meeting you for the first time it was plain as day—the dark lines that adorned you, varying shades of black and gray decorating your skin. Everyone in the hideaway was familiar with being marked, a majority still branded as slaves, so when you introduced yourself as a new member of their resistance no one thought for a second to question your tattoos. They knew far too well the trauma induced with being assigned as property.

Still, the nature of your tattoos were curious. They were unlike the x shaped insignia that the public had come to associate with branded—they were much more intricate, decorative.

Clive

After some time he found curiosity got the better of him, although he had no idea how to confront you on your tattoos. Lucky for Clive you saw him staring and confronted him yourself.

At first he thought maybe you were branded before, that your previous owner did this to you as a form of punishment, or some sick game. Your laughter surprised him, but even more so was that the marks on your skin were voluntary. You lift your sleeve to fully expose them, and answer any question he may have about the meaning, much to your amusement.

Joshua

Joshua walks on eggshells when it comes to the topic of your markings, unsure if it’s something you’re even willing to talk about. One starry night you’re relaxing side by side, when out of nowhere Joshua looks to your tattooed fingers solemn. When you ask him why, he simply replies—

“You should not have gone through that. Perhaps I can heal your wounds using the power of the Phoenix.”

To which you blink at him bewildered. Wounds? Where?

You follow his eyes, smiling to yourself at his well-meaning words. You’re not surprised at the thought process, most people with tattoos are branded so it’s very rare to find someone who does it for themselves. You explain that it’s actually part of your culture, and it’s as if his eyes grow bigger. Now he’s asking about your homeland, questions you’re happy to answer.

Cid

One of the few people in the hideaway aware that tattoos can be voluntary. The both of you are a good glass into a very find bottle of rum when he asks you what your tattoos are. Your eyes light up, immediately showing off each one to a very impressed dominant of lightning. He mentions that he thought about getting one himself in his younger years, but decided not to in the end. It’s one of his regrets, and when you offer to get a matching tattoo with him he’s flattered.

Jill

It’s a conversation starter really, how she’s never seen someone with inked fingers. To her surprise you grin wide, proud of the fact and tell her you have much more impressive imagery on your body than just your fingers.

When she does ask, you lift the bottom of your shirt and reveal a massive back piece, colored to perfection. She’s in shock at the detail of it, and after tentatively asking you allow her to trace her fingers over it, face slightly hot at just how gently she touches you.

Tarja

You think she’s never seen a tattoo before? Darling, you’re in for a treat.

A routine checkup turns into a tat for tat in the literal sense when you have to pull your shirt down. A filigree of designs adorn your collarbone, to which Tarja whistles her appreciation for the fine art decorating your skin. Wordlessly she pulls back her sleeve to show off a lily she had gotten on her shoulder, right after she removed her brand and joined Cid. Her own personal joke—lilies stand for innocence, but there is certainly nothing innocent about her.

[sterekchub]

I really like the idea of stiles coming from a relationship with a feeder that just didn't work out and now he's like shit, I'm never going to find anyone that likes this again. Enter Derek, who loves stiles' round gut and soft body and is very into the idea of helping him grow more. Stiles can't really believe it at first but here's Derek handfeeding stiles bite after bite of fattening Chinese food and ice cream and cake until he's too full to move and yeah, stiles is so on board with this.

Yes I LOVE this idea always. Stiles goes to the FBI away from the pack and discovers…a lot about himself. Maybe starts a gainer blog, meets his boyfriend…and eventually they break up and the Sheriff’s increasing age and supernatural threats being Stiles back to Beacon hills…

Sadly single and with a ache for someone to feed him and fatten him. And he hasn’t gained that much. Maybe 75pounds in the 2 years he’s been gone, enough to pack on a solid belly and his face softens a bit, but he’s still just chubby. (Not at all as big as those pictures Stiles jerks off to while he’s shoveling fries into his mouth, wondering what it would be like to have hundreds and hundreds of pounds hanging heavily off how frame).

But back among all the wolves? Stiles looks downright fat. He doesn’t let the looks or comments bother him- he knows what he’s into and who he is, and like hell he’s going to turn down more dessert because his dad tells him looks like “he enjoyed himself” in his time away.

The only one who confuses him is Derek. Who keeps sliding his leftovers over to Stiles- when he knows the wolves have an appetite even bigger than his- or who innocently drops by to “check in” on him and then suggests they order takeout. If it was anyone else, Stiles would immediately peg them as a feeder. But there’s no way “I live off push-ups and lean chicken” Derek Hale is getting off watching Stiles eat his weight in Chinese takeout.

Except he is. And it’s so painfully obvious Stiles eventually says something, probably hidden as a joke “Does this make me the big bad wolf’s little pig?”

Derek feeds him another crab Rangoon and squeezes his belly.

“There’s nothing *little* about you, Stiles.”

“Does that mean I shouldn’t gain more, then?”

Derek stops breathing for a moment and looks at Stiles and what he’s offering and just growls “I think you should never stop.”

****

And I also stand by one of my other favorite tropes which- is Derek being obsessed with human!Stiles and how he gains. Everything a werewolf doesn’t experience…The stretch marks that explode literally everywhere- places Derek didn’t even know COULD get stretchmarks. The way Stiles’ seems to be full beyond belief, eyes glazed over, belly visibly rounder in his lap…and yet he still tells Derek he can handle a few more bites. Starts out eating even *Scott* at pack dinners, which Derek is waaay too proud of.

Seeing Stiles struggling to get up because he’s so full, waiting for the day he starts actually outgrowing some of their furniture, never mind just his clothes. Listening to the wheezing, out of shape panting as Stiles has to waddle around hauling more and more weight on his frame. Derek obsessively catalogues everything- not just the numbers on the scale but how every part of Stiles from his double chin to his sausage like fingers and toes are just…expanding with fat and neither of them can get enough.

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Call Me Yours

Sam Drake/Reader

You're going through a rough phase where you feel anxious and hurt but try to make it through each day as it comes. Then you happen to meet Sam.

Spoilers for all of Uncharted.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,949

on Ao3

“Seriously?” you ask out loud while staring at the texts you had sent to your so called boyfriend. You had sent more than a dozen, quite a lot but still not an amount that would be deemed crazy given that he had hurt you. Nothing from him, but you had called twice and all he had texted was I’m at work right now. You had asked when else to call and called twice after that, but again no answer. You remember the days when he always texted you back, when he tried to make up for things. What had happened? You had started to complain more and the more you put up with him not pulling his weight, the worse it all got. You look at the texts, then sent a final one. So this is how much I can rely on you. I am upset and you don’t even answer. I am glad you’re showing your true face now. You had been serious about each other for almost two years and you had given countless chances, way more than he deserved. You started wondering if you really resented him or yourself for allowing it.

For a while you sit there, overthinking, but then get up and pull over your coat, deciding to stock up on groceries, something you had to do anyway, well, besides laundry. There was always laundry to be done, it was never-ending. The chores actually helped with the fact that the person who called you their girlfriend was not there for you during this time when you needed it the most. But you did not want to bring up the memory, so you shake it off and walk out the door, turning the key inside the lock behind you.

The aisles of the grocery store seemed bland. You wondered if your appetite would eventually come back because when you worked a lot you munched like crazy. But right now you only ate when you could feel the hunger deep in your stomach. When you were in love it was like that too but that had been a long time. Was it even love, you wonder now, or were you just driven crazy by the anxious feelings of never being sure of it really being what you thought it was. It never quite felt like it and you had subconsciously carried that feeling around with you everywhere you went. From your coat’s pocket you grab the phone automatically, checking if there was any messages. Remembering his countless excuses the past weeks and months on why he was not checking his phone, wondering if he had someone else or if it was all just a game. Suddenly you feel the rush of a weight against you, something pushing the cart back towards you, your hands against the rail holding it tight in a reflex. “Oh, sorry there” A man in front of you that had just squeezed past the space between your cart and the shelf says, “Didn’t mean to-- you know” “Well don’t break it” you answer in a sober tone, half-sarcastically while you take a closer look at his face. He was a bit older than you but attractive. Brown eyes and the matching hair colour. Tall and in shape. The tone in his voice was pleasant. “Wasn’t my intention, I apologize” he counters, giving you a quick glance. “I’ll get you a brand new cart if you want. I mean from right there at the entrance of course.”

“Well now that’s very honourable of you, but it’s fine.” You answer quickly before even thinking things through, “You’re gonna give me your address for insurance and all?” “Oh I don’t have insurance.” he claims, half-proud, half-joking seemingly, a charming smile rushing over his lips. “You pay it all out of pocket?” you inquire, acting impressed. “Yeah. I inspire to be a man of great fortune.” he says with a genuine smile, a glimmer of hope and a little sadness in it, too. “Must be quite some fortune you’re after” you chuckle. He seemed pleasant. He reminded you of the encounters you had, but they all ended up as disappointments. “What can I say?” he asks, still facing you. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you.” you say in your default mode, trying to shake off the feelings. “Hey, you’re not keeping me. I’m the one who ruined your day running into your cart.” he insists. Your eyes light up a little when you hear it and you look at him for a moment. “You didn’t ruin my day at all. Not so far.” “Oh there’s still a chance to do so?” he asks. “If you try hard enough. I’d prefer you don’t.” He tilts his head and places his shopping basket on the floor before fumbling out his phone from his pocket. “Here, I’ll give you some insurance policy.” He hands you over the phone and you see the screen for adding a new contact. “What do you mean?” you ask but accept the phone from him. You knew he wanted your number but somehow it was still hard to believe. On the other hand, guys were like that in the beginning. “Just leave your number and I’ll make sure I got your back in case your cart breaks.” A sad smile comes upon your lips. “It’s alright.” you say, almost having to hold back the tears as you remember how these things usually go. “I’m not looking for anything. I mean, I’m not up for casual stuff. And, you know. Other things.” “Wait-- I’m just saying I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m not trying anything.” “Why would you?” you ask but see the puzzled look on his face, then repeat yourself. “Why would you make sure I’m okay?” He smiles a little before speaking up. “Because I want to.” Something in the firm yet gentle tone in his voice make you feel seen and heard, even though you spoke so little. “Well if you really don’t want to, you don’t need--” ”Okay.” You cut him off and type in your number and name, then save it as new contact. “Here.” “Thank you” he says, checks your name and calls you by it right after. “I’ll check up on you later. Get home safe, and be careful with that cart.” You smile out of politeness and raise your hand for a short goodbye, then let him go and remain in the aisle for fruit juices, alone as before. You remember how you waited for that boyfriend of yours to check up on you and he never did. You could hardly believe anyone would. Now that you stand there in the aisle you remember you had not even asked the stranger's name. You walk towards the end of the aisle, peek over to see if he was still around but cannot find him. You decide to try to forget it. Nothing came of it anyway, that was just how things usually went. At least you had your peace now, or so you tried to tell yourself.

Once your groceries were unloaded and stored in the fridge and kitchen shelves, your hand found its way to your phone on its own again. It had been more than a day, the messages you sent were delivered, he must have answered by now. Your lock screen lights up as you push the button on the side and there is a text notification. But not from him.

Hi, this is Sam. You know, the guy who ran into your cart today at the store. I was hoping I can call later to check up on you. So his name was Sam. You smile a little and unlock the phone, navigate to type in a message. You want to invite him to call, but then you hesitate. Maybe he was just being polite. Like they all were until it turned to shit and they either started playing games or stopped replying. As you check the other messages, you realize nobody else had texted you. You scroll past the texts and most of them were just notifications. Two other texts were from friends but they were from months ago. Maybe you really had to let go. Sure, call me later. Just not too late. you text and put your phone into your hoodie’s pocket. Before you can even walk over to your living room you feel your phone vibrating again. I’ll call you in half an hour. Okay you text back.

A weird kind of tension and excitement was building up in you. It had just been a day and there was so many things on your mind and now this. Sooner than expected your phone rings with the unknown number that you had not saved yet. You turn down the volume of the TV and answer. “Hey” “Oh hey, glad to hear you’re alright” “Yeah, so far so good.” “So you got that cart back safely?” he asks. “Barely. But I hope nobody notices I left a severely damaged cart with the others. Damaged by someone other than me.” “I owe you one I guess.” Sam says. “You do?” “Yeah. What do you want?” You chuckle a little. “You were planning that all along, weren’t you?” “Oh I’m definitely known as the mastermind.” he says playfully. “No, it’s just how it happened. I was rushing to get some pickles for my sister-in-law because she has weird cravings. And my brother sent me cause he was busy calming her.” “Calming her? Because of what?” “Well, pregnancy and all. I don’t know exactly.” “Oh, so you’re going to be an uncle.” you conclude. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just hope she’s okay. Anyway I wanted to get it as soon as I could.” “Okay that explains things. I hope she’s okay too and not suffering from pain or morning sickness.” “Oh no, don’t worry. We’re taking good care of her, especially my brother. She doesn’t have to lift one finger.” “Good. As it should be.” You smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to talk all about myself. I was wondering if you’re really okay. You weren’t really there either when we talked in the store.” “What do you mean?” you ask, although a little shocked of how a stranger could read you so well and care this much. Or pretend to care. ”You just were sort of spaced out. I thought I could squeeze past and not bother you. Turns out I couldn’t.” You keep quiet, wondering if you appreciated it or not. “You’re alright? Got a lot of things on your mind?” “You could say that.” you say, then shrug. “It’s okay. Just a lot at once. You could have told me to move to let you through though.” “I should have maybe.” he admits. “But then you would have moved and kept looking at your phone and I wouldn’t have gotten your number.” Your gaze falls into the empty room, your mind becomes blank as you process his words. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you too long.” “Why do you always say that?” he breaks in. “I called you. I’d like to talk to you if you allow it.” You chuckle a little. “I just thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you’re busy.” “I can take care of my sister-in-law when my brother takes his nap. So plenty of time, don’t worry. He’s just had his coffee.” You chuckle again. ”So, Sam, huh?” “Yeah, that’s me. And you?” He calls out your name in a questioning manner. “Yeah. And that’s me. I guess I’m glad you called.” “I’m glad you gave me your number. And answered, too.”

[wolfsbane-and-nettles]

Was discussing compliments last night with my spouse and it made me curious about others opinions on compliments.

How do you feel about compliments? Do you enjoy them and trust them? Do you have to be in the right headspace?

Compliments are a sticky subject for me. Growing up most compliments were either a prelude to wanting something from me or a backhanded compliment. One of the only genuine ones I can remember is when my maternal grandmother told me "Yellow is your colour." So I am always suspicious and dismissive of compliments even from my spouse, which is not exactly great.

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer.

I feel very much the same. I for one LOVE giving compliments, and I am actually rather proud of my compliment giving abilities…at least irl.

Receiving compliments???? That’s hard. It feels as if many people only give superficial compliments, primarily about looks, and my self esteem is far too low in that department to feel comfortable actually accepting it.

Like you mentioned with “yellow is your color”, that is such a NICE compliment! I love that! Working customer service, that was one of the compliments I loved giving. If someone looks good in a color YOU LET THEM KNOW! Sometimes I might have been too intimate with them, because some people (like me) don’t like being perceived. I try to be specific with my compliments, like “the color of your shirt really brings out the brightness of your eyes.”

Some people love that, others don’t. It is hard to gauge. I also love giving men compliments like that, seeing as so rarely men are complimented regarding those things. It’s nice to make them smile or blush happily to hear me say stuff like that…so long as I make sure they know I’m not flirting.

Growing up, many compliments I remember were always made up. Like…the person who gave it actually didn’t mean it, and would laugh to their friends that I thought there were being honest. It wasn’t an always occurring thing, but it sure was often enough to be a core memory.

I also grew up yearning for constructive compliments, but never knowing how to ask for them. Often times I’d be complimented on how creative I was…but no one ever really went into detail about what they meant. People would say that “I love how creative you are!” But never “the way you made this one detail is so neat!” Like that.

I have though, gotten some wonderful compliments later on in life that have meant the world to me, and here are a few:

-(from a pregnant woman to me)I want my child to grow up to be just like you.

-(from an older lady to 16y/o me) I want to grow up and be like you.

-You make me want to be a better person.

-The way you try to see the world is inspiring.

Things along those lines. It means so much to hear those things. Those compliments were given to me during different periods of mental health recovery during intensive treatment programs, so these were from people who had heard my entire life story, saw me for me, and still thought I was worth something.

Now, sometimes when I’m giving compliments, if I’m not masking…it can get awkward. As a child I complimented my friend on having a bird beak for lips, because her lips were very Cupid bowed and it looked a bit like a small beak…I thought it was so cute and cool!!! She did not. It really hurt her to hear me say that and it ruined our friendship (4th grade).

Same thing with a woman who had vitiligo. I said she looked like a horse…like the painted horses/pinto horses. So pretty! Turns out work. Don’t want to be called a horse….

I now try to refrain from anything that mentions potentially triggering things: anything size/shape related especially…

Not all compliments go well, and I definitely don’t take them well…but I just smile and hope they were being authentic. It’s their own fault if they’re not.

If someone wants to butter me up with compliments just so I’ll do something for them, jokes on them! I so crave acceptance that I’ll do it regardless of compliments! (Not a good thing, buuuuuuuut oh well.)

[i-didnt-do-1t]

The one where Snyder and Davey have a conversation

It’s one of those weird days where Davey isn’t selling with Jack and papers are actually still being bought, although he knows it definitely has something to do with the picture on the front page, a mangled body pushed onto railway tracks, rather than his own selling ability.

He’d stared at it earlier,the picture, thought about how much more gruesome it would’ve looked if they could print newspapers in colour and felt a little sick but kept his mouth shut because Elmer seemed thrilled about it, as did the others on his behalf. Because as true as he’s learnt the phrase ‘headlines don’t sell papes, newsies sell papes’ is, the headline certainly helps- and he said as much to Jack once.

David had bought 30 because despite the headline he’s still self-aware enough to know that selling isn’t his forte, but he’s down to six already and it’s only been a couple of hours. To the surprise of everyone, but mostly him, for the first time in his life he’s on track to win a bet against Race, something he’s arguably unreasonably proud off.

A young man, maybe early twenties, turns his way as he thinks it in some kind of turn of luck, and Davey hoists his papers up again.

“Body Found on Tracks. Police Investigate.” He makes eye contact. “Paper for you sir?”

The man smiles a little at that, an uncomfortable thing that makes David’s skin crawl suddenly because of it’s familiarity from somewhere he can’t place. Except he can’t pull back his arm either and withdraw the offer because instead of reaching for the paper the man has grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward so hard he stumbles and drops the rest of them. He can hear his heart beat in his ears but tries to tamper down the rising panic so he can at least hear what he has to say because maybe there’s some kind of explanation or something he’s missing or-

“David Jacobs isn’t it?” The man says, and it’s the sound of his voice that makes it click. He’d heard it once, yelling threats at one Jack Kelly as he chased them through the back alleys of Manhattan before they were able to hide out in Medda’s theatre.

“Snyder.” He breathes, and the grip on his wrist seems to tighten.

“Or Warden, if you prefer.” Snyder answers and David tries to pull away from him but he’s strong, stronger than Davey, not like it’s hard feat but one that makes him wish he had taken Blink up on the offer of teaching him how to throw a solid punch. “I was waiting for an opportunity to meet the friend of the great Jack Kelly.” He spits the name.

“I’m flattered.” David says and instantly regrets it because he knows that he runs his mouth when he feels threatened and it’s really a habit he needs to stop because it has hardly ever ended well for him.

Except despite waiting for the hit Snyder doesn’t lash out, barely even reacts aside from digging his fingers in a little harder and David is sure he’ll have crescent shaped bruises on his wrist later that he’ll have to try and explain away to his ma.

Assuming he makes it home.

And the thought is unbidden and terrifying but he remembers watching from a distance as Crutchie got dragged away, there one second and gone the next; remembers how Jack had sat one night on David’s roof, silent and vague until he had told Davey about the ultimatum that Pulitzer had presented to him.

“I see why Kelly is friends with you. Birds of a feather.”

“William Turner.” David says automatically, and Snyder grins.

“You’re a smart boy Jacobs,” and there’s something condescending in the way he speaks, as if he isn’t only a few years older than them. “No wonder you were coined the brains behind the strike.”

“You should be in jail.” And David knows justice is a joke in New York City, he had watched Splasher get a billy club to the face for asking a bull for help and knows that the rules are different for people with money and connections, both of which Snyder keeps snared in his web.

“But I’m not. So what do you and your friends do next?”

David takes a breath, tries to pull his arm away again but his grip is iron. “The refuge has been closed-

“New building, new office.” Snyder interrupts, “they found nothing to charge me on and while it’s terrible that the old one had such bad infrastructure that they had to demolish it, this new one won’t have any of those issues.”

David stares, and tastes bile in the back of his throat. “What? That’s not why the closed it. It was- the conditions inside and your abuses-“

“What abuses?” Snyder asks, and raises an eyebrow. “What conditions? Have you ever been in there?”

“Jack-“

“The liar? The boy that sold you and your friends out?”

“He’s not the only person-“

“He’s a criminal and escaped convict who almost had all of you sent into my care. Who ran off while that boy on crutches was subject to the Delanceys.” He pauses, smiles a little. “Those two are brutal aren’t they? It’s almost concerning to see how satisfied they seem after hurting someone.”

And David can’t help the pit in his stomach, because the words almost seem like a threat and so far David has seen the aftermath of the Delancey’s but not been subject to it, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he says something that makes Morris launch himself his way but he doesn’t want them to appear like attack dogs flocking Snyder at each side.

“Hired on your behalf.” David says, jaw clenching and unclenching at the memory of Crutchie’s yell that he can’t quite shake away.

“You think I hired them? You can’t blame me for something Pulitzer paid for.”

“You worked with him.”

“If you think I care about the old man then maybe you’re not as smart as you seem. He was a means to an end.”

“And the end is getting Jack?”

“The end is getting criminals of the street.”

“Kids, you mean.”

“One and the same, aren’t they.” He says, and then he lets David’s wrist go and in the same movement reaches forward to straighten his collar despite David’s step back upon finally being able to pull away.

Then he leans down, picks up one of the papers from the ground before folding it and tucking it under his arm.

“Tell Kelly I said hello.” He says casually, as if David doesn’t have his fingerprints bruised into his skin. “Nice to finally meet you.”

And then he’s gone, another grey suit in the crowd of business men and David feels like he can’t breathe, has to shake out the arm he had been holding to get rid of the feeling of his fingers on his wrist, the skin already starting to turn blue.

-

He’s halfway back to the lodging house when he realises he’s left his papers on the street, having run from the square before Snyder came back with the Delancey’s on leashes, or maybe a pair of brass knuckles of his own.

[chiropteracupola]

Tell us about reading Laurent and Aymar as trans? Pretty please?

all the various thoughts I had were originally typed out in a fit of annoyance probably in early October last year, and that happens to also be how I learned that tumblr has a limit on how many tags you can put on a post, which I had wildly exceeded, and now I don't remember what it was that I had written in the part that got lost. but! there's still a considerable bit of stuff that I do recall!

[also every time I end up reading this book, I immediately get a horrible sore throat without fail, so I do not want to reread it to rediscover my Ideas because I am really enjoying being Less Sick Than Usual right now.]

please take all of these thoughts with a pinch of salt, these are not super textually supported but they're A Thing to ponder. is this even going to make sense at all? Well We'll See.

some of the thoughts, I believe, began in Aymar's hair and the significance of that throughout the book - I found it interesting at the very first that he's got long hair in a time when that wasn't very much the norm, and also that, although we do get a lot of information about how much Laurent likes that long hair of his, Aymar doesn't seem so keen on it.

and also! so much of Aymar is wrapped up in matters of secrecy and falsity, and of being perceived as something other than what he is, which to me works quite well here. it's a book about honor getting called into question, and for these fellows, the quality of honor does end up getting intertwined with the quality of successful manhood. there's a certain physicality to Aymar's disgust with himself at some of his lowest moments that pairs interestingly with this particular lens.

as things go with Aymar's actual body, it's interesting (and for other reasons, nearly uncomfortable to me) how much he's described as looking similar to Avoye. and of course there's the whole St. Sebastian thing with him too... (iirc I had a lot more in my head on the whole business of Aymar's injuries in this context, but I've forgotten precisely what it was that I was getting at there. so be it.)

there's something that resonates a little bit in the way that Aymar's also wrapped up in the very particular prophecy that he is as well! now, while I don't know if the particular situation with the jartier is actually anything folkloric or if Broster invented that for the book, I find it interesting that the alleged secret of his success and the main supernatural element of the book is related to a mythological figure that's almost entirely defined in stories of hiding a concealed physical transformation from relatives. of course, having a bit of gender going on is not precisely the same as occasionally turning into a large snake, except that sometimes it also is.

that's that on Aymar - but we've got another guy to talk about while we're here! Laurent is definitely defined by his inexperience for a lot of the book - he's new to being a soldier and he's new to being an adult, and for me, that's easy to read as being new to being a man as well. he's fresh and passionate and young and just so wildly confident that I can easily see him being newly out of some journey of self-discovery and ready to make his way in the world under a newly shaped identity. Laurent's just very proud and pleased with himself, and I find that rather fun to match with these kinds of thoughts.

…he's joking about in the quotation I've given here, but hey, it's the kind of joke that I myself have been known to make.

likewise, there's something in the way that Laurent interacts with his mother and aunts, and the whole 'raised in a family of mostly women' thing, that puts the occasional thought in my head that I can't quite articulate. and then there's this:

so yeah! I'm guessing that a good deal of the more textual stuff of it is certainly the style of the time, and also the way that I've found that D.K. Broster writes in general - there are similar phrases along the lines of 'womanish feelings' and such that get used in FOTH for Keith (and I believe there's been a little discussion of that as well that I saw some time ago…) but even so it's interesting enough to think about!

[afairytalestray]

Day 27 of @storyweaverofgondor's cats-pril - background. I found this as a writing prompt incredibly challenging and I definitely went off piste, but I hope it was a fun read anyway! Also on Ao3 here.

..

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Misto laughed as Tugger, once again, called for a break, slumping down on a nearby rock. The forest around them chittered with life, but there definitely wasn’t another Cat for miles.

He did and he didn’t. Hiking was, undoubtedly, dreadful, and Tugger hated it. Walking was fine, but an endless uphill slog was not how he envisioned today going. He wasn’t unfit, not by a long shot, but it had been two hours and they still weren’t there!

“Of course!” he replied stubbornly. He did desperately want to get to the end of this hike. There, according to his research, was a beautiful hidden waterfall, which would make the perfect backdrop for what he had planned. The internet had made out like the path there was an easy stroll, not this Everest climb! But the plan was the plan, and Tugger had meticulously thought out every other detail.

“Do you want me to carry something for you?” Misto joked. He could and would actually do it though, Tugger thought. Being a principal dancer at the ballet meant his boyfriend was in god-like shape. Additionally, he actually enjoyed hiking.

“I’d say my heart, but you already have that,” Tugger said, blowing him a kiss. He received an eye-roll in return.

“You’re a terrible flirt,” Misto groaned, but he was definitely trying not to smile. “Come on.” He took Tugger’s paws and easily pulled him upright again. Tugger kept hold of one of them and swung it as they walked. It was worth it, really, to see Misto enjoy himself so much. He chatted mindlessly as they followed the forest trail further, telling Tugger all about his last rehearsal, the birds they saw in the trees, the cake Tugger baked last week… this, that, and everything, really. Tugger engaged as much as he could whilst trying to hide how much he was panting for breath. Misto only chattered uninhibitedly like this when he was completely comfortable with whoever he was around, and Tugger was insanely proud to tick that box.

Finally, FINALLY, after another 20 minutes that felt like 20 years, they rounded a bend and came face to face with the waterfall. Misto let out a little gasp, dropping Tugger’s paw as he darted over to the little pool beneath to get a closer look. Tugger gave as big a whoop as his strained lungs allowed, and dived into his backpack to pull out the massive camera and tripod he had brought. Misto looked back, and snorted at the sight.

“No wonder you’re exhausted, lugging all that around with you! What’s wrong with a couple of phone shots?”

“Oi! It’s a heck of an achievement I made it up here, I want high-quality evidence of this moment!”

This moment, that would hopefully be so much more than reaching the finish line. Tugger clicked everything into place, making sure the shot would be perfectly lined up, before tapping the record function.

“Sparkles! Take a photo with me!” he called, bounding round in front of the lens. From here, the camera would perfectly capture them, with the pretty waterfall in the background. Tugger may look slightly dishevelled, but Misto looked glorious, and there was nothing a touch of photoshop couldn’t fix!

Misto smiled, and came over to where Tugger now stood. He turned to face the camera, but Tugger manoeuvred him so they were facing each other, camera on the right, waterfall on the left.

“Trust me,” he murmured, seeing Misto’s quizzical look.

“I do, I just didn’t realise you were into photography all of a sudden. Not that that’s surprising, mind you.”

Tugger laughed. True, his interests and hobbies changed like the tides, all except one – the interest-turned-love he had for the Cat before him. The one and only Cat who had ever made him keen to settle down.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, floating one paw over Misto’s eyes, the other over his own pocket.

“What are you up to?” Misto smiled, but closed his eyes anyway.

Oh, Everlasting, don’t get scared now!

Everything around them faded into the background. Tugger took a deep breath, and got down on one knee. He pulled the engagement collar box out of his pocket, and took Misto’s paw in his own.

“Open?” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. A pause followed, in which Tugger was too nervous to look up.

“T- Tugger?”

“Marry me?” Tugger asked, gathering the nerve to look up into Misto’s eyes. A wide range of emotions crossed his face, from surprise, to amazement, and eventually to joy as he nodded furiously. He had teared up a bit, which seemed to be stopping him from actually saying anything, but his grip on Tugger’s paw was unbelievably tight. A lump rose in Tugger’s own throat as the weight lifted off his chest. He rose to his paws, grabbed his new fiancé, and lifted and twirled him in a circle, cheering all the while.

“Yes!” Misto managed to gasp, laughing at Tugger’s exuberant display of pure delight. He tugged the box to see the collar closer. “Put it on?”

Tugger did, and felt his own eyes get dangerously watery as he clasped it closed around Misto’s neck.

“How do I look?”

“So beautiful baby, you have no idea.”

Misto laughed, and pulled Tugger into a kiss.

Tugger hated hiking, but this was worth it. The camera should have caught every second of this perfect moment, and he doubted anything would ever sour his mood again! Not even realising he now had another two-and-a-half-hour trek back to civilisation.

[fanonplussed]

thanks @lu-sn for tagging me!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

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first fic ever published: Settling Down, Settling In

this was Beka Cooper post-canon fic from 2011 and also the only het fic i ever wrote lollll though i then proceeded to publish nothing else for 8 years, i do still have a lot of fondness for this fic, and for the many, many het YA fantasy novels that have shaped the way i read and write

last fic published: a patient kind of guy

actually i lied, there's het in this fic too...specifically comphet, and the explorations thereof (it's a Be My Favorite fic, specifically a Pisaeng character study, nuff said). actually really proud of this one cause i like to think this fic showcases how far i've come in terms of being able to write angst, smut, humour, longing, and complex themes all in one 6k word fic

any fic i wrote for a ship only once: Five Times Wen Qing Writes to Jiang Yanli

huh, turns out i write quite a lot of ships only once, but i'm particularly proud of this femslash fic, firstly because in general there's not enough femslash in the world, and secondly because the MDZS ladies in specific deserved better!! also there's an incredible podfic recorded by some incredible people for it and listening to that was the COOLEST FREAKING THING

favorite fic for ship with most works: Thirty Years of (Someone Else's) Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!

you know what, i loved this ship SO FUCKING MUCH and this was hands down the most joyful cracktastic fic i've ever written and it's all about THE MAGIC OF FRIENDSHIP and yeah, if i could pick one work to remember of everything i wrote for these boys, it would be this one. sigh.

fic i wish more people read: Dad Joke

speaking of joyful cracktastic fics about the magic of friendship lolllll Macau and Chay have so much potential to be INCREDIBLE together as romantic/platonic co-conspirators and i didn't even realise until i finished writing this fic--this legitimately started out with me wanting to have Macau yell "it's a dad joke" about calling Pete 'dad' and then i woke up from my 24 hour writing fugue state with new, inconvenient macauchay feels lol guess the joke is on me (also i sometimes read this fic again and still laugh at my own jokes and i'm v proud of that)

fic i agonized over the most: Starving, Faithful

okay i'm sure i agonised over The Long Road Across The Wilderness - 荒尘渡 too (42k words of yi city boys on a big bang deadline ><) but FUCKING HELL the sheer amount of SCREAMING i did about the vegaspete post-credits scene for Starving Faithful man, and how it didn't ALIGN THEMATICALLY with how i'd conceptualised vegaspete in chapters 1 through 4 with the HUNGER and the OWNERSHIP and i rewrote that ending scene SO many times (with very patient, intelligent handholding from my incredible beta) and in the end just kinda went fuck it and gave up lol tbh i still have no idea if it's as resonant or consistent as i wanted it to be but overall i think i did pretty okay with that fic anyway

fic that sprang fully formed from my mind: Seven Years

444 words of Xue Yang character study that just flowed out in like 10 minutes inspired by this piece of fanart, one of the coolest collab and writing experiences i've had because i'm a plotter so that's basically never happened to me before and has never happened to me again lol (maybe i should actively look for fanart i like to see if inspiration will strike again hmm...)

work i am proud of: all of them. genuinely. i worked hard on every single one of those fics and at least one person has enjoyed reading each one of those fics, and i dunno i just think that's really, really cool. fandom is really pretty special <3<3<3

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tagging @ghost--houses and @giraffeter