#cause maybe it would be more cohesive??

[chericherilvr]

hi hi i love your xdh texts!! they're so cute. can you do something where they accidentally confess to you because they text their friend freaking out about their crush(you) but they're actually accidentally texting you? thank you!!

omgg thank you 🤭🤭 I'm on my phone so the layout might get changed at some point but thanks for requesting, I have so much fun doing these and lately I haven't had the mental peace to even sit down and write,, hope you like em,

warnings: bad self image talk on seungmins, most of them are rushed in the sense I wanted to make them longer but have to keep it one screenshot per member rn,, cursing

xdh accidentally texting gn!crush!reader instead of their friend

gunil | jungsu | gaon

o.de | junhan | jooyeon

[firemama]

If I had the power to become a Disney bitch that can just remake one of their classics because that's what Disney does these days, id remake Aladdin.

It'd still be animated and the goal would be a consistent style trilogy (without the sudden and sharp drop in animation quality preferably please god).

Completely scrapping the 'return of Jafar' plot line, I'd make the second movie in the trilogy about exploring the ramifications of aladdin's wish. He did not wish to *look* like a prince, he wished to BE a prince. Somewhere out there aladdin is the prince of some country or city or something and I would love to explore that as a technicality to aladdin and jasmine trying to get married. Especially if perhaps that kingdom is NOT on good terms with agrabah. They're trying to get all the arrangements done and theres a big joke about paperwork and getting the prince-requirment law squared away and then bam, the "well actually-" comes from genie and the rest of the movie is about exploring this new territory of aladdin. Who is marrying into Royalty and Politics, actually having to deal with some of that.

And then at the end of the movie, when all of that is sorted out, genie drops the second "well actually-" that aladdin was always sort of a prince anyway. Just not the inherited of any kind of land. You see, al, buddy, your dad's a king of thieves.

Movie three is that the wedding is once, again, delayed. Because now we have to deal with the fuckin ramifications of "what the fuck do you mean I'm the son of a famous criminal?" And the revelation that genie actually knows aladdin's parents. Movie three includes returning to the Magic Treasure Hoard where aladdin initially gets the lamp- "only One May Enter Here" being that aladdins father (deceased) left the cave as a sort of will of his treasure trove, a bounty worthy of a King Of Thieves. Including the most valuable artifact of the trove, the Genie In The Lamp, the most valuable treasure that was responsible for aladdin's fathers success as the king of thieves in the first place. We see some stories of Genie and Aladdins father- from rags to riches via crime, maybe the love story of aladdin's parents, (maybe some hints to why genie says "i dont like doing it" as to being able to bring back the dead rather than outright "i cant do it") and plausibly that the genie and aladdins father made the same deal, I'll use my two wishes and then free you, but (possibly following that failed attempt to bring back the dead as in trying to bring back aladdin's dead mother shortly after aladdin is born?) In the grief of that failure aladdin's father decides to use his last wish (possibly to arrange the Cave of Wonders for his sons inheritance or something) and ultimately betrays genies trust.

We get a little heart to heart with aladdin and genie- "I don't think your dad was a bad guy, per se, but-" and the classic Disney "what matters is that you kept your promise, and that's why I've stuck with you even after freedom, it's the magic of friendship"

and then once we work out reparations of the cave of wonders - using all of that stolen fortune inheritance to better aladdin's accidentally aquisitioned kingdom, and provide agrabah a stable fucking childcare system for orphans, and a whole other musical mintage of do-gooding, they FINALLY get their royal wedding- a unity wedding between these two lands and isn't it glamorous.

ON A COMPLETELY UNRELATED NOTE.

The whole big damb deal where Aladdin and Jasmines partnership is weighted against the genies freedom is so stupid when you consider. Aladdin could have just fucking handed the lamp to Jasmine? 3 more wishes. They solve the whole thing in movie one. Jasmine gets the lamp, makes a wish that Jafar will never escape the cave of wonders, wishes that there were bo laws restricting her personal freedoms any more than anyone else (marry who she wants AND go to the market) and then a third wish that argrbah under her rule will know ages of peace and tranquility. Then she hands that damb lamp back to Aladdin, Aladdin wishes the genie free, big happy celebration fireworks scene. (They do the heart to heart thing where they say they'll miss eachother after genie cuts himself off from talking about seeing the world. Obviously. That still needs to happen. They're friends, you honor.)

[ghoulishhx]

I was thinking about this last night, imagine like tipsy reader comes home from a night out whatever. her and frank had weird tension for as long as they've known eachother, but they're close enough to where he can come over whenever he needs. she walks in to find him sat beaten up and bloody on her couch, and frank is aghast as he's never really seen her in anything like what she's wearing(possibly some pretty dress, whatever fits the vibes the best) maybe a sweet lil moment or more happens🤭

sorry if this seems like blabbering, i tried to make is cohesive😭

this request is just toooo CUTE. and noo don't worry about blabbering, i understood completely and i hope i delivered for you!!

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

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Pairing: Neighbour!Frank x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: fluff, a LOT of it, mutual pining, tipsy reader, injured frank, making out and sexual themes so MDNI please thank you, sweetheart frank, written with plus size reader in mind!, praise

Wordcount: 2k

──── ୨୧ ────

✦ friday i'm in love

You and your neighbour Frank have gotten into a routine, one you’ve come to adore and hold close to your heart. 

He comes over, you patch him up no questions asked, you feed him a home cooked meal and he helps where he can, fixing your appliances and building furniture for example. You truly love his presence, he grounds you from all the nonsense you go through when you’re not with him, always lending you an ear for your vents, offering advice (also offering to “sort out” the pricks at work giving you trouble.). There’s never really a moment you two are not together, the only things coming between you being your day jobs. You wouldn’t change this for the world.

It’s Friday night, and Frank is obviously beat up. Patrol on a Friday night was always a lot, compared to the rest of the weekdays. Drunk men causing havoc, committing crimes heavily under the influence always made the weekends more work for Frank. 

Tonight was just like any other night, as he stumbles home late at night, bloodied and bruised. He doesn't think twice before letting himself into your apartment with the spare key you gifted him. Entering your home, he notices the lack of lights. Strange, he thought to himself, you’re a night owl and never sleep before 2am. He’s always greeted by you rushing to the door to give him a hug, ushering him into the warmth of your abode. The lack of your greeting rings alarm bells through his head, and he doesn’t hesitate, reaching to his belt to pull out his sidearm, mind racing with thoughts that you were in danger. Flickering on his torch, he silently paces through the open planned room, his eyes gaze to the table where he finds a note.

“Gone out with some friends Frankie, I’ll be home about midnight. Dinner and beer are in the fridge xo”

His shoulders instantly drop, tension washing away as his eyes scan over the note, his breathing settles knowing you were okay and you were gonna be home soon. He moves to your fridge, finding tupperware with leftovers from your dinner you had presumably before you left, next to an ice cold beer, Frank’s favourite. He practically groans at the sight, wondering what he did in his past lives to deserve you here and now. Within a flash, he’s converted the food to a bowl, slammed that sucker in the microwave as he cracks open his beer. He is so comfortable existing within your space, your home feeling like his even when you’re not there. It pains him knowing he will have to leave tonight, just like it does every night. If he could have it his way, you would be by his side 24/7, holding you while you slept soundly in his arms, kissing the top of your head as he plays with your hair…

The click of the front door’s lock being turned pulls him from his thoughts of you, his breath hitches in his throat as he catches a glimpse at you. Fuck do you look gorgeous. Your hair is loosely curled, having dropped throughout the night of dancing and drinking. The dress you’re wearing has Frank in a chokehold. He’s convinced you would look stunning in nothing but a trash bag, but there’s something about the way the soft silk of your dress hugging your curves just right, accentuating the dips in your hips and the plush skin of your stomach (something you were really self conscious about before leaving your house tonight, but it's one of Frank’s favourite things about you.”, he can’t help but stare at your chest like a teenage boy. You had no idea how perfect you looked, no idea about the effect you were having on your neighbour.

“My eyes are up here, Frankie.” you giggle, slurring your words as you stumble into the room.

Frank can’t help but look away, sensing the blush creep up his neck due to you clocking him. You continue to giggle to yourself as you toss your purse onto the console cabinet next to the door, peeling your heels off and cursing at the blisters already beginning to form. The action of taking your shoes off causes you to tumble, however Frank manages to catch you in time, wrapping one of his strong arms around your waist, preventing you from falling on your ass.

“Mmm my hero.” you whisper in his ear as you wrap your arms around his neck, placing a hard kiss to the side of his face. He breathes in your smell, your vanilla perfume invades his nose, his favourite smell in the world, with a hint of liquor.

“Are you drunk, sweetheart?” he asks softly, such an obvious question but he couldn’t help from ask it.

“Maybee..” you laugh, grabbing his head with your hands and angling him to look at you. Your face twists with confusion as you notice all of the cuts and scrapes littered across his face.

“Frankie, you’re hurt. Why didn’t you say when I came in?”

“It’s not that bad darlin’, don't’ worry ‘m fine.” he says with his gruff tone, looking you dead in your eyes, the colour completely covered by your dilated pupils.

“Shush, c’mon let's get you cleared up.” you raise to your feet, smoothening your dress and reaching your hand out to help him up. Seeing him injured sobered you up a lot, however he raises an eyebrow at you, as if to say are you sure you’re not too drunk.

“Don’t give me that grumpy look Frankie, I’m not that drunk, just a little tipsy. I won’t stab you, swear.” you’re still holding his hand, the realisation makes you drop it instantly as you turn away to avoid showing him how flustered you were from such a simple touch.

“Ya better not doll, not lettin’ ya get rid of me that easily.” he chuckles darkly as he looks you up and down, making his way to the bathroom and pulling out the fold up chair you keep in there for this very situation. You join him in the cool tiled room, but before you did anything you had to take your makeup off, it had been on too long and it was borderline overstimulating. You pull your makeup remover wipes from the cabinet under the sink, pulling one out as you wipe it across your face, smearing makeup everywhere as you clean yourself.

Frank watched in awe as you did such a simple mundane task in front of him, surprised at how aroused he was just from watching you wipe your face. He can’t take your eyes off you, you were addicting. Frank would happily watch you do anything, being as enthralled with you as he was.

“What are you looking at Frank?” you question, feeling his eyes stare holes into the side of your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful sweetheart.” he whispers, surprised at his own admission. He was too transfixed on your movements to stop himself from thinking before he spoke. You giggle brings him back to earth as he clears his throat, as if to pass it off as a cough.

“You think I’m beautiful?” you softly speak, turning to fully face him now, makeup pretty much fully removed as you lean on the counter. Your eyes meet and the air in the room feels much thicker than before, electricity coursing through the space as you look intently into one another’s eyes. 

“Think? I know darlin’, most damn beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he mumbles, wetting his lips with his tongue as he takes your form in for the millionth time tonight.

Your breathing intensifies, your stomach flips from his compliment. You had secretly been harbouring feelings for your neighbour for a while, but never believed they were/could be reciprocated. You put the used wipe down, as you saunter over him and climb into his lap, wrapping your legs over his thighs. His hands shoot to your waist to keep you stable.

“Well I think you’re beautiful Frank.”

“Tsk, ya dunno what you’re sayin’ sweet girl, if you were sober you’d feel different.” he grumbles, a sly smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. Not once do his eyes move from your face, taking in every freckle, bump and ridge, the plumpness of your lips swooning him.

“I’m pretty much sobered up now Frank, stop worrying.” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ve thought you were beautiful for a while, y’know..”

“Likewise angel.. You dunno what ya do t’me.” he whispers, his breath catches your face due to only being mere inches apart now, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

“Can I kiss you, pretty girl?”

“Please.”

He doesn’t wait a second longer, placing his lips upon your softer ones. The kiss begins tentatively, slow and explorative, but it’s not long before it grows hungrier, more desperate. Your mixed pent up emotions for one another finally escaping inside of each other’s mouths.

You wrap your fingers up in his hair, tugging slightly as his lips leave yours and land on your neck, nibbling and sucking the sensitive skin, eliciting moans from you.

“Fuck babydoll, I’ve waited too long to have you like this..” he mumbles into your neck, the vibrations of his words sending arousal straight to your panties. 

“Need you.. Need you so bad Frankie.. Please touch me..” you beg, peppering kisses along the top of his head as you grind yourself down onto his rock hard bulge. He can’t help but buck his hips into yours.

“Eager aren’t we?” he teases, whispering in your ear. “As much as I wanna take ya up on that doll, wanna make sure you’ll fully remember our first time.” you go to argue this but he stops you “I know you’re pretty much sober baby, but I want it to be special for ya.. That okay with you?” you sigh in defeat, nodding your head. “Attagirl.” he places another kiss on your lips as he grabs the flesh of your ass, making you gasp as he grins, knowing damn well how much he’s teasing you.

You roll your eyes as you climb off of him, reaching under the sink to grab your first aid kit, having completely neglected the sole purpose of why you were both in the cramped en-suite bathroom. Patching Frank up takes no time at all, only minor injuries tonight that a good wipe with antiseptic and a bandage could fix. The entire time you were working on him, his hands never left your hips, rubbing comforting circles around the curve. 

“All done Frankie.” you lean down and kiss the top of his head.

“Thank you babygirl, I’ll get out ya hair, let ya relax after your night out alright?” he stands from his seat, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“Stay.” you mumble into his chest, breathing him in, basking in the closeness.

“Please?” you tilt your head up to him, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your best puppy dog eyes to further convince him.

“Course I will doll, anythin’ for ya.” he kisses the top of your head, as you pull away and lead him out of the bathroom to your bedroom. You don’t bother making him turn around as you unsheath yourself from your dress, allowing the fabric to pool at your feet. Frank uses as much self control he can muster to not take you then and there, remembering his words he told you earlier on about waiting for the right time. He shudders a deep breath as he removes his shirt and jeans too, watching you climb into bed and hold out your arms for him to join you, and that he does.

He climbs beside you and pulls you snug into his chest, spooning you. Your eyelids begin to fall heavy, being completely at peace in his grasp. You hum appreciatively, after fantasizing about this moment for months now you finally have it, you finally have him.

“Sleep well sweet girl, I’ll be here in the mornin’, promise.” he whispers in your hair, as you mumble an incoherent response, drifting off to sleep. It’s not long until he joins you, feeling just as at ease tucked up in bed with you as you feel. 

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: i know the gif is raunchy as shit, but i had to use it because #smash

my inbox is open!

[thewertsearch]

ARADIA: karkat i dont know if anyone cares about formal ranks like that anymore ARADIA: or if anyone ever did! ARADIA: but for what its worth i suggest that from now on you all listen closely to the advice of our human guests

Rose I completely agree with - but Dave? I don't know if he's really the leader type.

I guess he does share a Class with Karkat, who was fairly effective as a leader, albeit a little unorthodox. Perhaps Dave has the same potential, and we just haven't seen it yet.

ARADIA: tactically speaking a knight of time and a seer of light is a nearly unbeatable combination

Well, if this isn't a fucking rabbit hole of a line. As always, new Title exposition is delivered in the most cryptic manner imaginable - but it still might be possible to glean some new insight from this information.

We know that Rose is some sort of clairvoyant. We've never been told anything about what Knights do, but we have just learned that Dave's powers work extremely well in combination with Rose's. What sort of role would synergize this well with a Seer of Light?

Well, since Rose provides information, then maybe Dave's role is to turn that information into a plan of action, converting raw data into something that's tactically useful. Such an interpretation certainly fits Karkat, a fellow Knight - but I don't know if it fits Dave.

ARADIA: the knight of time is not necessarily the tactician

Oh.

Never mind, then.

ARADIA: he is a powerful warrior class which exploits the flow of time as a weapon

...do mine eyes deceive me? Is a Homestuck character just straight-up explaining a Class to us, with zero ambiguity?

I never thought I'd see the day - but neither will I be looking a gift horse in the mouth. Let's analyze.

Knights weaponize their Aspect.

Dave, the Knight of Time, fights with a time-shifting sword, exploiting his own temporal duplicates to overwhelm and outnumber his opponents. He is, in fact, the only member of his team to wield his Aspect in a fight - at least, prior to John's ascension - and now we know why. In the hands of a Knight, an Aspect is a sword.

Weaponizing time doesn't have to mean 'using it in combat', either. When Terezi attacked the kids' timeline, Dave 'fought back' with his time machines, sending himself into the past to undo the damage she'd done. He's actively adversarial towards Terezi while doing this; it really does feel like he's fighting her, rather than merely resolving a problem she's caused.

Karkat, then, weaponizes Blood - and I think I'm beginning to understand what that means.

I initially pegged Blood as the aspect of genetics, since Karkat's a geneticist, and people who share DNA are said to be 'blood relatives'. Karkat doesn't really 'weaponize' genetics, but there is a concept he's closely tied to - one that I do think he's been wielding like a sword.

Leadership.

Through sheer force of belligerence, Karkat assembled twelve highly dangerous teenagers into a single, relatively cohesive unit. Vriska was pretty sure that without their glorious leader, the trolls would have devolved into infighting - which she, being Vriska, viewed as a good outcome. Classic.

Karkat saved these trolls - and he did it by turning them into a ruthless force of destruction, with him at the helm. This is the essence of Blood - its meaning is in the general area of leadership, teamwork, and people skills.

After all, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

ARADIA: the seer class knows her aspect comprehensively ARADIA: as a knower of all fortune she can see the circuitous path that will lead to the most favorable outcome for everyone

She can? Jesus, that sounds much, much more powerful than my own interpretation of her powers. It almost sounds like...

TEREZI: TH4T SOUNDS 4 LOT MOR3 US3FUL TH4N MY S33R POW3RS >:[ ROSE: Illumination of the road to victory for all is an asset considerably different from command over the outcomes of decisions made by individuals.

THE ROAD TO WHAT?

[revasserium]

Can i request OPLA zoro where he doesn't get along with reader but calls her my girl in front of a baratie waiter who was flirting with her.

my girl

zoro; 2,438 words; fluff, kinda enemies to lovers, fem!reader, straw hat!reader, lots of banter, slow...burn?

summary: just cause you don't see eye to eye doesn't mean zoro's down to watch you get hit on while he's in the same bar, either.

a/n: again. i've got no excuse. pls continue to send more requests feed my opla!zoro obsession u__u

it is perhaps what therapists and psychiatrists would call an incompatibility of character. or maybe something about you and him that simply acted like two jigsaw pieces from completely different puzzles. or maybe luffy had just jinxed it when he’d said the first time that he sensed some “tension amongst the crew”, but it’s no secret that you and zoro don’t exact see eye to eye.

in fact, sanji thinks, it might only be a matter of time before you each try to take the other’s eyes out permanently.

“you’re really not worried?” he asked luffy as they’d watched zoro and you bicker all the way down the wobbling boardwalk leading up to the baratie, you sniping at zoro for getting in your way and zoro biting back something equally acerbic and childish about you being too clumsy to be a good pirate.

“huh? why would i be worried? they get along just fine!” luffy had laughed, eyes bright and round as he’d readjusted his hat and bounded off towards the entrance, whooping about being hungry enough to take down an entire sea cow.

“wh —”

“bit rich, since you and zoro are always at each other’s throats, no?”

nami bumps sanji’s arm as she strolls by him with a stack of empty crates. sanji squawks, readjusting his own bags before jogging after her.

“c’mon, you know that’s different!”

nami smirks but doesn’t grace that with an answer, instead, she lets her eyes flicker back to where you and zoro are still snarking at each other even as the bewildered looking fishman at the front leads you all around back to the kitchen entrance.

“— wouldn’t have been in that situation if you’d just —”

“yeah? and if i’d just stayed put like you said, the entire going merry would’ve gone up in smoke cause last i checked, wood is very flammable!”

“the merry’s not that fragile.”

“you wanna bet?”

“yeah, maybe i do —”

“what’s goin’ on here? didn’t i tell you lot to get lost?” zeff’s gruff voice interrupts your bickering as the peg-legged chef looks from zoro to you and then the rest of the crew, “gotta new one, didya? don’t remember you from the last time these idiots were here.”

“she’s barely an upgrade from the clown head —”

you slam your heel into the toe of zoro’s boot and he hisses, nearly dropping his armful of crates.

“what he means is that i’m the brains of the operation —”

“we don’t need brains —”

“oh, so you’re admitting that you didn’t have any before i got here?”

zoro glares, dropping the crates as luffy pushes past you both to clap zeff on the shoulder and offer him a huge stack of berry.

“we came to pay you back for the meal last time! and to buy a new one! and… maybe some extra food stuff if you’ve got it.”

zeff opens his mouth to answer but it’s drowned out by the sound of your voice as you jab a finger into zoro’s chest.

“— just because you can’t hold more than one cohesive thought in your head at once doesn’t mean that —”

“— what’s that even supposed to mean? like you can think about two things at once?”

“enough! you two — outta the kitchen, now! i won’t have your lovesick teenage yappin’ distractin’ my line chefs!”

you both jump at zeff’s voice, and an unpleasant heat creeps into your cheeks as you realize that the entire kitchen had indeed gone very quiet, most of the white-clad workers staring at you and zoro.

“i need a drink,” zoro says, rolling his shoulders as he sidesteps you and pushes his way out of the kitchen.

“look, sir, i didn’t mean —” you take half a step forward but zeff jabs a finger at the doors still swinging in zoro’s wake.

“i said out!”

you glance between zeff and the rest of your crew for a split second before turning and scrambling from the kitchen, looking abashed.

“oh no, c’mon zeff, you didn’t need to yell at her like that —” sanji sighs as he tries to go after you, but nami nails him in the stomach with one of her arms.

“nope. this is something they need to work out on their own. and you’re on grocery shopping duty with me, remember?” she flashes him a smile even as he deflates slightly and turns back to the work of haggling rations out of the baratie’s storerooms.

you find zoro already posted up at the bar, even though the hour is still early enough that there’s only a few other patrons, mainly keeping to themselves. you fight the urge to march up to him and give him an earful about embarrassing you in front of sanji’s old master like that but zeff’s words about making a scene keeps your lips clamped shut.

instead, you seat yourself as far from zoro as humanly possible and wait for the bartender to sidle over. he flashes you a winning smile, making no attempt to conceal the way his eyes drag from your hair to your face and then down to your cleavage, where his gaze rests for a beat too long before he clears his throat.

“what can i get you, gorgeous? something sweet and bubbly, perhaps? or maybe something a bit more dark and… seductive? i can have a custom drink whipped up for you in a few if you’d like… on the house, of course.”

he shoots you a wink that has your eyebrows hiking up your forehead.

“laying it on thick, are we?”

the bartender shrugs, seemingly unbothered by your lack of enthusiasm.

“place like this doesn’t exactly breed subtlety.”

you make a noncommittal noise before sighing, “i’ll have a dirty martini, shaken not stirred, straight, with a twist, please.”

to his credit, the bartender doesn’t miss a single beat, “ah, a woman of taste, though i’ll admit that i prefer my martini’s naked instead of shaken, hm?”

he waggles his eyebrows and if it weren’t for the loud cough from down the bar drawing the bartender’s attention, you would’ve rolled your eyes.

at the opposite end of the bar, zoro taps his empty drink glass against the waxy hardwood, a vein ticking in his jaw. he’d listened to the entire exchange with a growing annoyance festering in the depths of his stomach. and here he was, hoping for a moment of quiet without the sound of your voice yammering in his ear. he shoots the bartender a glowering look as the man refills his drink and tries to make his way back down the bar to you.

zoro tosses the entire drink back in one and sets the empty glass down with a loud clack, clearing his throat as the bartender turns to stare at him. he holds the man’s gaze for a full three seconds before looking pointedly down at his glass and the bartender’s face visibly reddens.

“here you are, sir — the last three are on the house.”

the bartender lines up five identical drinks in front of zoro before marching away and zoro has to give it to the guy. he does make a good, stiff drink.

still, as he tries his hardest not to glance down towards where you’re sitting, sipping slowly at your martini, he can’t help overhearing the stilted stabs at conversation floating down the length of the empty bar. the bartender lavishes you with questions, asking about your travels, who you came with, where you’re from. you, for your part, never give him an answer more than three words long — travels were good, my crew, an autumn island.

zoro briefly wonders why you don’t tell the guy off like you so often did him. then, he briefly wonders if the fact that you’re always so easily set off by him means something. then, he not-so-briefly wonders why, if he’s always been so bothered by you, that he’s still thinking about you in the precious few hours he has to himself.

he clicks his tongue and downs another drink just as you finish your first.

“c’mon darlin’ — just a hint — what about the first letter? shall i try to guess?”

you sigh into your now empty glass as the bartender asks your name for the third time in a row, though to no avail. suddenly, a warm, solid presence appears next to you and the next thing you know, zoro’s arm is brushing up against yours as he leans over the bar to bear down at the bartender.

“right, now if you’re done trying t’pick up my girl, i think i’d like the check.”

the bartender blinks up at zoro, uncomprehending for a second before a blotchy redness seeps into his cheeks.

“y-your — you haven’t said a word to each other since either of you got here!”

you swallow passed a bewildered laugh as you glance up at zoro to find a challenge clear in his eyes. you slowly swivel back to the bartender with a light smile.

“ever heard of a lover’s quarrel?”

the bartender sputters as he stares between the pair of you for another long second before scurrying off to fetch the check. zoro chuckles under his breath, his earrings clinking softly in the dim light.

“damn — i really wanted another drink,” you say, staring at your empty glass.

wordlessly, zoro plops one of his in front of you. it’s the second to last.

you bring it up to your nose for a sniff before making a face.

“god that smells awful!”

“fine then, more for me.”

“i didn’t say i wouldn’t drink it!”

you bring the glass to your lips for a small sip. it’s tastier than you’d imagined but it still burns a line down your throat as you shiver.

“h-holy shit —” you cough, wiping at your mouth, “how many of these have you had?”

zoro shrugs, sipping on his own glass with a careless ease, “dunno. don’t really keep count.”

“ugh… this could knock out a war elephant…” you make another face before you take a second sip.

“figures you can’t hold your liquor, drinkin’ whatever girly shit you ordered.”

you round on him, “martinis are not girly!”

“tch. whatever.”

you settle into a huffy silence. zoro’s arm is still pressed against yours and neither of you makes to pull away. for a while, the only sounds in the bar are the soft clink of ice on glass and the light, liquid splashing of the ocean waves.

“why didn’t you tell him off?” zoro’s voice is quiet and when you turn to look at him, it’s to find him staring. you hold his gaze steady and don’t look away.

“why should i? he’s no one to me.”

“you don’t seem to have a problem yellin’ at me.”

you shrug, your eyes flickering back to the too-strong drink in your hand.

“i don’t tend to waste my breath on people i don’t really care about,” you say, your voice soft and careful and honest. zoro sucks in a slow breath, his mildly alcohol addled brain trying to process what you’d just said but his thoughts are interrupted by a peel of loud, raucous laughter echoing in from the dining room beyond.

“c’mon, sounds like dinner is served,” you say, grinning as you push off the bar, jerking your head towards the dining room door.

zoro lets out the breath before downing the rest of his drink and leaving the empty glass on the bar to follow you.

at dinner, you bicker less than usual and zoro is even more quiet than he normally is. though he wastes no time ordering another round for the table. no one really comments till zeff comes round at the end with the check.

“dinner’s already paid for but i was told that this is for the ‘lovebirds from the bar’,” he says, as he drops the drinks bill in front of zoro with a deadpan sort of look.

for a full ten seconds, no one moves. and then, usopp’s jaws hit the floor as sanji’s eyebrows jerk towards the ceiling. nami sits back with a satisfied smirk as luffy nods happily at the two of you before turning to grin at sanji.

“see? told you they get along fine!”

sanji has the decency to sputter just as usopp leans forward to point between you and zoro.

“wait… whaattt?”

you make to tug out your wallet but zoro slaps a stack of berry on top of the bill.

“give our compliments to the bartender,” he says with a slight smirk as zeff takes the money, glancing up at the two of you.

“yeah? what’d he make that’s got you so impressed?”

you purse your lips as you make a show of shrugging, waving a nonchalant hand through the air.

“oh, just a mean dirty martini.”

zeff lets out a loud bark of laughter as he takes the berry and clomps back towards the kitchens, shaking his head. zoro chuckles beside you as he stretches an arm over his head and lets it settle casually on the booth back behind you.

later, as everyone is making their way back towards the going merry, nami catches up to you on the docks, looping an arm through yours and pinning you with a meaningful look just as sanji sidles up to zoro and bumps him with a shoulder.

“so…” nami says, grinning as she tugs you forward a few steps.

“so.” sanji clears his throat, casting zoro a sidelong glance.

“wanna tell me what that was about?” nami asks.

“care to elaborate on that back there?” sanji questions.

you and zoro both take a deep, long breath. zoro glances up to see the way you toss a lock of hair over your shoulder, your bright laughter carrying back on the breeze. you allow yourself a smile, and you don’t have to turn to feel zoro’s eyes on you as both of you turn to your respective companions and say —

“i’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

opla!zoro reqs are (as always) open!!

[muletia]

ugh the optimus ruining your garden ask makes me wanna be mean to him. just a little 🤏. maybe he's being extra clingy when you're trying to get smth done or he accidentally breaks smth again. so you're scolding him while jerking his spike and he's trying to make a cohesive apology, but it's the 5th time you've made him cum and words are starting to be harder and harder to find. then you can tease him about how someone who's given so many inspirational, articulated speeches to his fellow autobots now can't even sob out a "sorry" :(

-💕

cw: sub!optimus, dom!reader, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, teasing

word count: 750

thank you primus for the existence of overstimulation and for allowing me to torture my favorite characters with it 🙏

"Really, darling, twice in a row is just too much." You click your tongue a few times.

Your hand moves steadily, gripping and tugging at the swollen but valiantly enduring spike. Your skin, slick with pink transfluid, glides smoothly over the impressive length, maintaining the same irritated rhythm, channeling your frustration caused entirely by Optimus.

"I already explained to you, don’t step on my flowers. And don’t even try to tell me it was an accident. I’m absolutely certain you did it on purpose just to get me to punish you a little."

"A little" is quite the understatement when you’ve forced him to overload multiple times in a row. You’ve completely worn him out. His processor is fried, helm’s insides reduced to mush, leaving him incapable of thinking about anything other than the pleasure flooding his entire frame. How exquisitely stupid and helpless he felt, to the point where he kept pushing his hips into your hand, desperately trying to match the rhythm you set. Syncing his movements with yours, chasing another overload. And then another. And another, if it meant more of your touch and your attention focused solely on him.

"I-I a-am so sowwrhy!" he stammers, barely capable of forming words anymore.

"I don’t know, I just don’t see any remorse on your face, Opti. Are you sure you’re truly sorry?"

With his optics rolled back and his intake hanging wide open, coolant dripping from its corners, all you can read from his expression is that he’s having the time of his life. Not a single trace of guilt, no regret for your poor, trampled flowers.

Which is why you don’t believe the dramatic nodding he’s offering you. Especially not when his spike spasms, already preparing for another overload, even though Optimus doesn’t have any more transfluid left to give you — not even a single drop. That doesn’t stop him from shooting blanks, still thrusting his hips without pause, while you relentlessly and methodically jerk off his hard spike.

"Well? Use your words, darling. Are you sorry?"

"Ah, hah!"

"Moans aren’t words," you sigh, propping your elbow on his overheated thigh and resting your head on your outstretched hand. "Try again."

"Y- ah! Yew... mmMm!"

"Should I stop milking your spike? Would that help you find the words?"

He shakes his head frantically. You can’t help the slightly sadistic smile that creeps onto your lips.

"Then keep trying, sweetheart. I won’t let you go until you properly apologize to me."

"A-ah, so-sowwhry!" he sobs.

Your grip tightens around his spike, your hand firmly pressing against the living metal. He knows he’s being punished; understands that he’s failing to accomplish this one simple task, but he’s no longer capable of forming coherent words — nothing more complex than moans.

"Is that supposed to be an apology?" you scoff, the sharpness in your tone drawing a quick yelp from Optimus.

"Sow-Sowrhy!" he repeats, once again. He tries, programmed to obey your every command, but the result is pitiful and pathetic as he fails, breaking down when he can’t manage even one simple word.

Not when his entire frame is focused solely on chasing the next overload. On your soft hand milking his spike, your elbow digging into his trembling, oversensitive thigh. On your voice, icy and cutting against his spark. On simple, easy-to-understand directives, because anything more complex is far beyond the capacity of his poor, overworked processor right now.

"Oh, Opti. Is that the best you can do?"

"Ah! So-hah!"

"The great Prime, gifted with the talent for composing beautiful, inspiring speeches, and he can’t even string together a single simple apology."

He scrapes his servo against the floor as another empty overload wracks his spent spike. Yet you don’t stop moving your hand, forcing him to prepare for the next one.

This time, he doesn’t even bother trying to use his vocalizer, reduced to mindless whimpering.

"I expected more from you. A full essay on how sorry you are. I thought you’d rise to the challenge. You’re Optimus Prime. Prime! The gift of stirring oratory runs through your circuits!"

"Hah, so-sowwh..."

"And you can’t even manage a simple ‘sorry’?"

"S-sorwh... AH!"

You sigh and subtly slow the pace of your hand on his spike. Playtime is one thing, but you don’t want to accidentally kill him.

Though, knowing his submissive tendencies, he wouldn’t have any objections to dying by your hand.

"Let’s try again. And this time, I want an apology worthy of a Prime."

[lowkeyerror]

I Had To Come Back

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: 1st person, Agnes, a bit of angst, happy ending, part 2 to I Can't Do This Anymore

Summary: After you left Agatha in the middle of her fight with Wanda, you thought you'd be able to move on with your life. However, it was a foolish thought considering how deeply you felt for Agatha. So eventually you find yourself back in Westview looking for her.

An: Been a long time since I've written in 1st person, but wanted to keep it cohesive with part 1. I had to follow up after getting a comment from @dandelions4us only 3 years later but hope you enjoy part 2.

Part 1 | Masterlist

I didn’t think moving on would be simple, but I hoped it would be possible. However, without Agatha by my side life had become incredibly dull. It wasn’t a lack of excitement, but a lack of someone to share it with. After all those centuries together, I didn’t want to share it with anyone except her.

When I left her that day, I knew it had to be done. I did everything for her, but I would never be enough. I never wanted to leave, but a person can only come in second place for so long. Second fiddle to a hunger that would never be satiated.

I thought eventually I’d miss her less. That I would be able to move on from what we had, but that was entirely foolish. A woman as enigmatic as Agatha would always leave a mark on my soul.

I fought the feeling for years, unwilling to give in without trying, but fuck, I missed her. I saw her in everything I did. I could hear her calling to me, reaching for me. It was like she put a spell on me, which she very well could’ve.

I knew the truth, the feeling was all mine, no magic necessary. I still loved her, I needed to find her. I don’t know if she’d take me back, if she could forgive me for leaving, but I just needed to see her.

It was surprise to find her still in Westview. The town looked the same from the outside, but I could sense a difference from the people within. I could feel their eyes on me as I walked through the town.

I hated the way I felt their eyes linger on me. An outsider, or maybe they recognized me, either way it made me uncomfortable.

Going up to the house I used to live in was more challenging than I thought it would be. As I walked towards the house, I felt my heart rate picking up.

Maybe if I kept walking the block she'd eventually make an appearance. I didn't have to knock, I wouldn't have to face her. I just needed to know that she was ok, that would satisfy whatever I was feeling. At least that's what I started telling myself.

“Are you here for her?”

I whipped around at the sound of a voice. It was Herb. It was strange seeing him outside of the illusion Wanda casted, it was safe to assume his name wasn’t even Herb.

“I’m just visiting it won’t be long. Not trying to cause any trouble,” I leveled with him.

“Good luck, she’s been a bit off of her rocker since the whole Wanda thing,” he mentions.

That set off some alarms in my mind, “How so?”

“Sharon said Agnes is really into rom-coms this week. It changes pretty often, but I think rom-coms will be better than last week’s war movie theme.”

I tilt my head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say she created an… immersive experience for herself.”

I still don’t quite get what he means, but the only way to find out is if I check for myself. With a few small words of self-encouragement and a few deep breaths, I head over to the house.

I wait on the porch after ringing the doorbell. It doesn’t take long before the door opens. Agatha opens the door, eyes wide as they land on me.

“It’s you,” she whispers to herself.

“It is,” I say shuffling in my spot.

“Why are you here? You think after all this time I’d let you just waltz back into my life? You left me,” she doesn’t make eye contact with me.

My stare hits the ground, “Please, can we just talk. I know I left, but can you really blame me. I didn’t know if you’d ever care about me like I cared about you.”

She ushers me into the house. Her hands on my wrist cold like they usually were. I let her pull me into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you’re back here after all these years. What brings you to town?”

My eyebrows crease, “I’m only here for you Ags.”

She shakes her head and laughs about, “You’re silly, be honest why come home now?”

I’m even more confused, “Home?”

She pushes your shoulder lightly, “Yes, goofball, home. Westview, the town we grew up in together.”

Worry begins to fill my body, as pieces begin to form together in my mind, “Ag- Agnes?”

“Yes, hun?”

I can’t help, but reach out and grab her face in my hands.

“Y/n what are you-”

I sush her as I look into her eyes. I search for Agatha behind her eyes, and begin to panic when I can’t see her. I can’t help as tears begin to fall.

“What did she do?”

I can tell Agnes is confused, but she uses one of her hands to hold mine in place.

“What’s wrong doll?��

Instantly I lose my last bit of composure, “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Forgive me, my love… if I would’ve- I shouldn’t have left, I’m sorry.”

Agnes wraps her arms around me. It’s familiar, but different. She holds me up, and swipes at my tears.

“I have you,” she rubs soothing circles on my back but it only makes me cry harder.

My mind is racing. How was I going to fix this? Magic done by the Scarlet Witch herself. If anything I’d need Agatha to guide me more now than ever. Yet the woman was out of my reach. I hoped she was somewhere buried underneath Agnes, but I had no way of knowing.

I pull away to look at her, “I love you.”

A part of her melts away, “You’re a mess, you don’t mean that.”

“I do Ag-Agnes, I mean it more than you can fathom. I love you more than anything and leaving you… it was my greatest mistake. I’ll never forgive myself for it. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but allow me to make it up to you.”

Agnes rests her forehead against mine. My breath hitches as she looks into my eyes. Her breathing slows and she searches my features. It feels like an eternity passes, but eventually she puts her lips against mine.

I freeze and she almost breaks the kiss, but my arms encircle her. I keep her close allowing myself to indulge in this moment, I don’t deserve.

“I’m just happy you came back,” she speaks.

It almost sounds like Agatha, but you know better. It breaks your heart, but you’re devout. You’re going to fix this, you’re going to bring her back.

Agnes didn't have any push back when I asked to stay with her. She let me in and I got a glimpse into what the neighbors were saying about her… intense interests. I found a way to mitigate them, keeping her somewhere in the nosy neighbor medium.

I didn’t sleep much, spending most of my time in Agatha’s hidden space in the house. There were traces of her everywhere, I could practically feel her. The Darkhold was nowhere to be found, but I did come across Agatha’s old notebooks. They were filled with knowledge themselves.

I was hoping to find anything about breaking the spell she was under. She had books filled with her messy handwriting, nearly impossible for anyone else to decipher. It was different for me, I had been with her when she filled them, I could recall sitting watching her write, sometimes for hours at a time. She was always so dedicated to the craft.

It took a little over 7 months, before I found something useful; an incantation. It seemed too easy, like there should’ve been a catch to it. Yet it was my only source of chance.

“Agnes, I want to try something with you. It’s a little unconventional, but I need you to trust me,” I say, hoping she would agree.

She places a kiss on my cheek, “We’re past all the dramatics hun, you know I trust you.”

I nod, “Ok, you’re going to sit here, and I’m going to say some Latin. That's it.”

“Sound easy enough, sweetheart."

I begin to say the incantation while looking into Agnes’s eyes. I can see her shifting in her seat slightly uncomfortable. I can’t tell if the walls of the house are shaking or if it just feels that way.

“Stop,” she mumbled under her breath, but I don’t.

I keep going, and eventually she stands. She starts peeling off her clothes and I almost advert my eyes, until I see her changing. The different versions of her begin to peel back like layers.

When it’s over she’s naked in the living room. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. I take a knee, unable to fully stand. It feels like all my power has been removed from my body.

“Agatha,” I call out to her, breathlessly. Though it takes all my effort, I lift my head.

“So, you came crawling back.”

It was her, the real her. I could tell by the harsh tone of her voice.

“Welcome back sweetheart,” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.

“How long has it been?”

I attempt to stand, but end up falling over, “Fuck.”

Agatha walks over, picking me up and easily placing me on the couch, “Now answer my question.”

“I came about 7 months ago. It’s been nearly 3 years since I left,” I look at her.

It’s surreal, seeing Agatha and not Agnes.

“3 years, I’ve been trapped for 3 years,” she says to herself in disbelief.

“Why'd you come back?”

She meets my eyes and refuse to look away, “For you, Agatha. When I found you, or should I say when I found Agnes, I freaked out. The Darkhold is gone, I did my best. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t apologize. You did the right thing, I mean what good would it me if we were both trapped.”

“What if I didn’t come back?”

Agatha sighs, “Then I would’ve gotten what I deserved.”

I grab her hand, “No one deserves anything like that.”

She snatches her hand out of mine, “Oh please, I bet you enjoyed the time with Agnes.”

I shake my head at her jealousy. It’s a testing move, but I hook my finger under her chin, forcing her to look at me, “Agnes was sweet, but she is not the woman I love.”

“The woman you left,” Agatha’s vulnerability shines through.

“The woman I keep coming back to, no matter how much it might hurt me,” I remind her tentatively.

“You deserve more,” she sighs closing her eyes.

I lean in, “I just want you.”

I’m the one who presses my lips to her’s. She doesn’t deny me, caving into her desires. I’m putting everything that I have to give into this kiss. The passion is driving me and Agatha is meeting me every step of the way.

It’s not until my hand grazes against her bare stomach that we both pause, realizing she’s still naked.

“I want you too, more than all of this,” Agatha stares deeply into my eyes.

“You don’t have to choose, it was foolish of me to ask.”

Now it’s Agatha grabbing your hands, “It wasn't, it was reasonable. I had my priorities out of order, you are the most important thing in my life and I'm not willing to lose you again. I love you.”

I kiss the back of her hand, “I love you too.”

The moment we shared was sweet, but it soon was filled with defeat as I noticed my body still felt weak. I could tell something was wrong, I tried to use my magic, but nothing happened.

Agatha uses her powers to dress and they work just fine, yet I could see a remorseful look take over her features.

“Y/n, I think…”

I don’t care to hear the rest, “It’s alright, they always suited you better than me anyway.”

Agatha shakes her, “We can find a way, I can give them back-”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Aggie. I’m fine, it’ll take a little getting used to, but it’s not going to kill me,” I stand with much effort.

I could tell by the look in her eye, that she didn’t believe me, “I stole your powers.”

I roll my eyes, “I gave them to you, and I’d do it again, as long as you’re here with me, I couldn’t care less.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod, “Yes, I’m sure. Now let’s get out of this town, it’s beyond dreadful.”

She takes my hand in hers a mischievous smile on her face, “Anywhere with you, my dear.”

[mirrorszbrokenzface]

A Welcome Home theory!

I came up with it while working on the designs of the Joyfuls for my Switcheroo AU and i think it's meaningful

A diagram i made to visualise what i got:

The colours: the colours of Julie and her siblings can form a very simple, linear gradient, starting from Julie herself to Franny, however, yellow, the colour between Bea and Jonesy is missing. I took colours of their skin and the darkest parts of their clothing as comparison. Both of the lines have the yellow missing.

The pins/belt buckles: as on the diagram, their belt buckles/pins differ in amount of "curves" (idk how else to call it) on them. Franny has the most, 5, Jonesy has 4, Bea 3 and Julie 1. However, two is missing, which is similair to what is happening with their colours.

The horns: yet another example of the "missing link", this time with a missing pair of horns that can go between Julies and Beas horns. Even Frannys and Jonesys horns look more alike tham Beas and Julies, which shows another blank.

The yellow details (this one is probably a stretch): i won't get too winded about this, because it's probably not an important detail, but all of the Joyfuls have some kimd of yellow on them, with Bea and Julie being the most noiticable. I only circled some of the examples on them, because i wanted it to look a little cohesive, but the point is, it's their shared colour.

Now that I said all that i noiticed, it's time to get to the theory:

I believe that Julie used to have a probably older sibling, or even a twin, but for unknown reasons they were stillborn or died at a young age (the black flower) . Whatever happened to that potential sibling, caused their family to grief and because of that, Julie could internalise that if she can't people happy (or joyful), she won't matter. It could stem from her trying to cheer her family up during the grieving process when she was really young, but otherwise, she could be ignored. Maybe due to her being the youngest, her family didn't paid the necessary attention to her while growing up and that's how it all started. That kind of mentality went with her into adulthood, with her feeling inadiquate to be in the bad with her siblings since she wasn't "enough of a rainbow monster" and leaving for home. This type of copying mechanism, which would be focusing on making others happy while keeping her true opinions to herself and bottling things up, could lead to her developing a string reliance on Franks approval, since they were the first person she was trully comfortable in years. Also, with how her and her siblings act, it looks like Jonesy, Bea and Franny managed to overcome their grief and move on, while Julie probably wasn't able to, due to needing herself to be constantly joyful, making her feel even more isolated. Her siblings also don't seem to suspect anything is wrong, not even bothering to ask, because Julie is always happy. They don't choose to ignore their sisters mental health, they simply aren't aware of anything, even if these issues developed a long time ago. And it can tie to the themes of improper mental health treatment that is seen in Welcome Home. Julie lashing out at the flower was probably a reaction caused by all of this: the memory of her sibling, from what her family told her, the feeling of being a failure, that she let everyone down over one flower, that she is a fraud.

And that's all I have for now! I hope that you all found this theory intresting and please, discuss it! I want to see your interpretations of it.

[alexanderwales]

I saw a post (which I cannot find now) which was about the casting of a Black woman as Elphaba in the new film version of Wicked, and pointing out that the musical is about discrimination, so this casting is a natural one.

But this seems ... kind of incorrect to me? That is, the musical has themes of personal identity, discrimination, prejudice, etc., but this is fantastical prejudice. So when, through casting or direction or acting choices or costuming or coding you pull some subtext (e.g. real-world prejudice) forward, you're changing the texture of the allegorical elements.

I don't think that this casting choice is wrong, I just don't find it to be "natural". It is a choice, and unlike a musical that was about nothing in particular, it's a choice that more meaningfully affects how the audience reads the musical. It makes the musical much less about prejudice generally, and much more about racial prejudice specifically. Maybe I'm being nit-picky about the word "natural" here, as though I think it's making a claim about what's in harmony with the work. Like "natural" means that someone is claiming the title of "most cohesive".

Imagine a version of Wicked where they cast a fat actor to play Elphaba. This obviously invites a different reading of the musical, right? Is this "less natural"? Is it "more natural"? I think it's a different choice to make, and I think people would be inclined to get different readings out of it.

This is the sort of thing that I sometimes have cause to think about, because I'm a writer, and have to decide on basic facts about characters, and figure out how those basic facts fit in with whatever kind of point (if any) I'm trying to hit.

If I wrote a story about how someone was kidnapped by aliens, and they think their human is just oh-so special, and this is maybe initially nice but it becomes clear that they just want the novelty human ... I would have choices for my human, right? And even if we keep all the dialog exactly the same, the readings become different if we're touching any kind of live wire. This would be a story about fetishism and exoticism and the way that makes a person feel like they're less of a person, or like they're only valuable for specific superficial traits.

So we could write our human to be an "everyman", nothing distinctive within the dominant culture. Or we could write our human to be someone with dwarfism. Or we could write our human to be an Asian woman. Or we could write our human to be transwoman. Or we could write our human to be an influencer. And all of these would substantially change our reading, right? The surface of the story wouldn't change, but the comparisons we invite would be different, and that changes the experience of the story, subconsciously or not. None of these are wrong, none are more natural, they're just choices.

[ichatake]

Do obito x ninja reader where she has to go on a S rank mission for the first time but he doesn't agree with it, so he tries manipulating her into declining the mission (idk if u accept manipulation in your writing? But if u don't u can just make him try to convince her into not going) but reader doesn't fall for it and still goes to the mission, so he has no choice but to follow her, he knows it's wrong, but quickly discard the thought as he tells himself it's "the only way to make sure she's safe" that's pretty much it you can imagine the rest 😗

Next time

Request are open! Request rules here!

Pairing: Obito Uchiha x reader

Summary: Your loving boyfriend takes matters into his own hands once you receive a dangerous ‘S Rank’ mission all for the sake of protecting you.

Warning: manipulative behavior, Obito is a little toxic here

A/N: thank you for requesting!! I hope you enjoy and I did justice to your amazing idea!

Obito was a man that loved to protect those he loved, and he was known for his protective and loving nature. With that being said, his blood froze in his veins when he looked at the scroll you had tucked under your pillow, hidden from his view. Now, he would be stupid if he believed you just casually placed it there with no intention of hiding it. Of course he knew you were intentionally tucking the scroll away from his grasp, the reason? Well, when he opened the scroll and read its content, his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. The first thing to catch his eyes were the words ‘S RANK’ written neatly in black ink. The second thing to catch his attention was the mission contents itself. Hidden sound village? Capture? Rogue ninja? Solo? All these words in one sentence meant horror, and to Obito, this was a death wish. To his wonderful luck, you had just entered the room mentioning something that he didn’t quite catch due to his attention fully focused on the scroll he held in his hands. Now, he hoped you weren’t keeping this a secret from him, even though he knew all too well you were.

“Oh,” you managed to choke out, realizing you had been caught once your eyes fell onto your mission scroll he held so tightly in his arms. You didn’t think he’d find it, but then again, its hiding place wasn’t the best. “Um, that’s just my new mission, the one I mentioned to you a few days ago?” you chuckle nervously, cheeks slightly flushed as you tried to think of a good excuse as to why you were hiding it in the first place.

“Yeah, the ‘A rank mission’ you told me about. You know, the very easy mission that you would be completing alongside other jonin,” his words poured out with sarcasm, making sure to emphasize the word ‘easy’. That’s when you knew this would go exactly where you thought it would. The conversation you dreaded to come had finally arrived, all because you didn’t know how to hide a stupid scroll. You didn’t know where else to put it! He had arrived at your house so unexpectedly that you hid it the first place you could think of. “Obito,” you managed to mumble before he spoke over you.

“Why would you lie to me about this?” His voice sounded genuinely hurt, causing a wave of guilt to pile up in the bottom of your stomach while your lips tried to form a cohesive answer. After a few seconds of contemplation, only a defeated sigh could escape your throat as you gave up on trying to find a suitable excuse. It was better to be truthful than lie to him, that would hurt him more, and you would never do anything to purposely hurt him. “I’m sorry, I thought—maybe if I didn’t tell you about this, you wouldn’t worry,” your brows furrowed as you spoke, but you felt like that wasn’t enough for him. His expression twisted and contorted, trying to find the right emotion. “Well of course I’ll worry. You’ve never been out on an ‘S rank’ mission, and for you to go out all by yourself? It’s dangerous,” his brows pinched just like yours, his hands looking at the damned scroll that wanted you to risk your life.

“I can handle myself, Obito,” your tone switched up immediately, taking his worry in the wrong manner. “You go on ‘S rank’ missions all the time,”

“Because I’ve been a Jonin for quite some time now! And my first ‘S rank’ mission wasn’t by myself, mind you,” he shakes his head in frustration, annoyance starting to boil up in his veins at your stubbornness. Couldn’t you understand he was trying to protect you of all things? “I’m not you, Obito. I wasn’t blessed enough to be on the same team as Kakashi. Of course you’d go on ‘S rank’ missions! You had Minato as your sensei, Kakashi who was already a Jonin, and Rin who was already a great medical nin at sixteen!” Your voice came out raspy, and you didn’t mean to yell. However, he was getting on your nerves rather quickly, considering how he knew you hated when he compared you to other people. You didn’t have to be like other people, and you wished that instead of getting mad or overly worried about your mission, he’d act proud of you! That’s all you were asking for!

“Exactly, I had teammates who would watch my back. You, on the other hand, are going alone. What do you think will happen if you get caught by those rogue ninjas, huh?” He scoffs and throws the scroll to the other side of the room with full force. The loud bang of it hitting the wall surprised you for only a moment, before you were back glaring at your boyfriend. “You think they’ll let you live? You think they’ll let you go, just like that?” His eyes locked with yours and made it almost impossible for you to pull away from his sharp gaze, “What do you think they do to pretty women like you? They take advantage of you in all the ways you can think of, you can’t go alone,”

You weren’t sure if he was trying to inflict fear onto you, but it was slightly working like a charm, because soon you found yourself thinking of all the horrible scenarios that could possibly play out throughout your mission. You dreaded the thought of men taking advantage of you because you had no backup more than what you feared death. But even still, you managed to shake your head and snap out of your thoughts, clearing your head from anything that might divert your attention to what’s really important. That was, your mission. “Like I said, I’m strong, and I know how to handle myself. Obito, you’ve got to understand that no matter what you tell me, I’m going on that mission,” you let another sigh escape past your lips, a hand coming up to rub your temple gently, “I understand you’re worried, but I’m not going to stand here and listen as you try to scare me. You know what the risk of being a shinobi is, and you knew that I went out in the fields when we started dating. The least I want from you is your support,”

You hoped that your words would at least knock some sense into him, but you figured they had the opposite effect when you saw how his lip twitched upwards, a sign that he was once again annoyed with what you were saying, “You’re not understanding,” he raises his arms in frustration as he spoke, “I don’t mind you going out on missions, but this? It’s too risky to go out there on your own! Don’t you see I’m worried about you?” you understood his frustration, but right now, you were too focused on trying to convince him that everything would go okay, “I know what you mean, and I hear you, but it won’t make a difference. I’m sorry Obito, but I’m still going whether you like it or not,” your voice carried authority as you walked towards the other side of the room, grabbing your scroll tightly, “I’m sorry you don’t want me to go, and I assure you I’ll be alright. You have to believe in me. I’m not weak,”

If he was being honest, he felt like he was talking to a wall, and clearly, scaring you wouldn't work. He needed to find a new solution to this problem. He needed to find a solution to your stubbornness. “What if you don’t come back?” he suddenly asks, making you turn to look at him with a confused expression, “What are you—,”

“What if something happens to you and you don’t come back. What about your family? What about me?” he places a hand on his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt in feigned desperation, “I can’t live without you, (Y/N). I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you,”

His tone of voice that laced with desperation tugged at your heart strings. He knew exactly what to say and where to pull, and he almost got away with it too. However, you give him a reassuring smile and approach him, taking his hands in yours while finding the right words, “I’ll be alright. I’ll come back in one piece, and you’ll have me in your arms. You don’t have to worry about anything,” you reassure him with a gentle voice, unaware that he was trying to manipulate you with guilt. This made him realize that there was no way you would change your mind now, which also made him realize he would need to do something else. Maybe you thought he thought of you as strong, and he was simply overthinking things, but it was the complete opposite. Obito thought you were weak, because if you’re weaker than him, then that means you needed him to protect you. It was true, you weren’t at his level, let alone Kakashi’s, but you knew you were strong enough to protect yourself. Even so, Obito refused to acknowledge your strength. You could never be strong, not without him. Even thinking of it now, he didn't feel guilty for thinking this way. Why feel guilty when he’s telling himself the truth, right? He had no choice but to let go of the situation, telling you to be safe and to never lie to him again, not that you would.

You thought that this was the end of it—that Obito understood and respected your decision and you would get to leave for your mission stress free, and maybe you were half right. Obito stood at the gate, holding you in his arms one last time before you left for your mission, a small smile tainting his lips. “Be safe, okay?” He pushes a strand of hair out of your face before gently sighing, “I love you,”

His words made your stomach fill up with butterflies, leaving you with a big dorky grin on your face, “I love you too,” And with a final hug, you made your way out of the gates of Konoha, ready to begin your journey. Alone…

This was wrong. This was unacceptable. You left the village alone, sure that you would complete your mission with no problem, because you were strong. Everything you did, you did right, so there was no need for company. You were supposed to be alone. You were supposed to fight alone, yet the masked figure that followed you mercilessly throughout the entirety of your mission would think otherwise.

‘It’s to protect her,’ Obito mumbled under his breath as he kept his eyes glued to your figure, unashamed to have followed you because, why would he? He was a perfect boyfriend. This was for your safety, because you needed him to fight for you—to intervene at any moment where you found yourself hurled in trouble. You needed him, and God forbid you didn’t. His purpose was to be at your beck and call at any moment you desired, but if you didn’t call out to him, then what was his purpose? Nothing.

His heart always acted first, because his mind—his critical thinking skills would lack when it came to you. He made stupid decisions every single day of his life, but he would rather take them than regret never doing anything at all, and he hated regret.

His mind flooded with different thoughts—all of them fighting to take control of his body, because he needed some sense knocked into him.

‘She’ll lose her respect for you if she ever finds out,’

‘She won’t if she never finds out,’

‘You’re her boyfriend, you’re supposed to trust her,’

‘No, you’re supposed to protect her,’

His thoughts echoed loudly inside his head, making him almost dizzy—but he regained himself, remembering you were still moving with that determination he oh-so-despised. The determination that would drive you to take bad decisions, just like he was doing now.

‘It’s not too late to turn back,’ he stops on his tracks, considering the possibility of retreating back to the village and letting you handle your own weight. Then again, there was still an ounce of stubbornness that bubbled inside him once his mind conjured the gruesome image he’d dread to ever experience in his reality. Your death. If he were to leave you, he wouldn’t be guaranteed that you’d come back. The chances of someone telling him you horrifically passed away during your mission tortured his mind anytime he thought of your job as a shinobi. He himself could die, but he knew you were strong enough to live without him—but him? Live without you? You’re insane.

With a firm and resolute grunt, he gathered all his thoughts and made a steadfast decision. This decision was made with his heart. As his mind weighed the potential consequences of his next actions, he knew that many might disapprove, and his future with you could be jeopardized if he proceeded. Even so, not a shred of hesitation or doubt touched his heart; he was determined to follow through, regardless of the repercussions that lay ahead. With his sharingan ready, he took off towards your direction once more.

You were fine. You were nervous, but you were fine. Apart from the twist in your stomach that hit you once in a while, you were excited you were finally completing a mission of such high rank. This meant the Hokage saw potential in you—he knew you were strong! Yet your excitement would be cut short once Kunais came crashing down at you at full force. The surprise of the attack had shaken you up a little, but before any of the blades made contact with your flesh, you swiftly jumped out of the way. No way there was someone attacking you here, had they known you were coming?

Whatever it was, you kept your thoughts in control as you looked around and scanned the area. The woods made the attack a little more eerie than it should be.. no, there was something wrong. There was something definitely wrong.

Your eyes darted wildly around the forest, searching for any sign of your attacker among the endless trees. Typically, you would remain composed and level-headed in such situations, but now your body was frozen in place. Your skin felt cold and your pulse quickened, a sensation you rarely experienced—fear. Yet you couldn't understand it; fear was an alien concept to you, one that you had never allowed yourself to feel. Your body was now stuck in place while you questioned yourself why you were so afraid. It was wrong.

“Afraid, I see,” a deep, eerie voice echoed through the woods—and it was everywhere. It was both behind you and in front of you, to your left and your right, around you and on top of you, yet nowhere at all. It burnt confusion into your cowering mind, and made you tremble where you stood—once again, something that had never happened to you before. You never trembled. Your lips finally decided to part, your throat struggling to squeeze out your words when you felt almost paralyzed. “Who the hell are you,” you didn’t ask, but you demanded to know.

“It doesn’t matter. A weak little woman like you shouldn’t be out here,” he was mocking you, and you knew it, and even though you were stuck in the same place, you felt your veins burn with anger at his words, “I’m not weak woman,” through gritted teeth, you managed to defend yourself, yet nothing changed.

“To me,” the voice was now behind you. Not in front, not to your sides, not all around you, but behind you. Your panic rose through your chest once you heard him, yet you couldn’t turn around. You couldn’t… “You are,”

Your eyes shut tightly, gripped by a mix of fear, anxiety, and unspeakable horror. Your mind raced with the grim possibility of death. You were paralyzed, unable to defend yourself or even cry out. Even more unnervingly, you found yourself unable to separate illusion from reality, as if your perception of the world had become jumbled and disjointed. The lack of control over your own senses added to your mounting terror.

You found yourself enveloped in darkness, but you fought to open your eyes once more. You anticipated seeing the ominous figure, the dense woods, or any remnant of what you had been confronted with before shutting your eyes. Instead, your gaze was met with a stark, white ceiling lit by the filtered sunlight streaming through the window. The brightness made your eyes squint, and as you sat up, a wave of confusion washed over you. Your surroundings appeared to be the Konoha infirmary, leaving you utterly bewildered and disoriented. How had you even gotten there?

You wrestled to make sense of your predicament, still bewildered and disoriented, when the sound of a door sliding open drew your attention. Your vision focused to reveal Rin, her expression visibly relieved upon seeing you. A warm smile spread across her face as she approached, her voice gentle and reassuring. "Ah, you're awake," she said, her presence bringing a momentary sense of comfort.

“How am I here?” You blurted out the question without hesitation, your voice filled with confusion. Rin's expression shifted to one of surprise, but then a resigned sigh escaped her lips. She withdrew her hands from her pockets, "I suspected you wouldn't remember anything." A brief pause hung in the air before she continued, "You were ambushed during your last mission. You sustained serious injuries and lost consciousness. Luckily, a group of leaf shinobi stumbled upon you while they were en route to another assignment." She continued, gratitude coloring her tone.

You struggled to comprehend her words, but as you gazed down at your form, reality set in and the evidence was irrefutable. Your body was enveloped in layers of bandages, and your leg was encased in a sturdy, cumbersome cast. "But I...,"

As if on cue, another figure burst into the room in a state of panic. Obito appeared beside Rin, who promptly chided him for disregarding her instructions to wait outside until she confirmed your condition. Her words were ignored as he rushed towards you, instantly placing his hands on either side of your face. "You're okay!" he exclaimed, a mixture of relief and concern etched on his features.

Your mouth flew open to answer, but he quickly spoke over you, “I was so worried—and when the Hokage called I thought… well I thought something horrible happened to you,” he trailed off, and his head lit up as if he remembered something. “Obito—,”

“Speaking of the Hokage,” Obito's words piqued your curiosity as they shifted to the topic of the Hokage. He rummaged in his pocket and fished out a small envelope bearing your name. "The Hokage told me to give you this as soon as I see you. He said it's important..." he stated, passing the letter to you. As he did, his eyes betrayed his own intrigue, seemingly trying to discern its contents through the envelope itself. You received the letter and sat there, bewildered, holding it in your hand. The events were unfolding at a dizzying pace, leaving your mind struggling to catch up.

When you finally regained any sense of reality, you opened the envelope with shaky hands. You couldn’t help but notice how even your hands where covered in bandages, yet you felt no pain whatsoever. Ignoring this thought, you pull out the letter that the Hokage had sent you, your eyes scanning over the contents before your heart seemed to stop. Your eyes had to go over the words once, twice, three times before they finally settled in.

"With a heavy heart, I regret to inform you that, due to the gravity of your injuries, your request to undertake higher-ranking missions has been denied. Upon your recovery, you will be confined to completing low-ranked missions only. This restriction will remain in effect until further notice." Your mouth hung open as you kept reading, unable to say anything at all. Realization hit you hard, and you knew what this meant.

“No,” your heart clenched as you saw your dreams crumbling down. To others, this would’ve been okay. This meant they would take it easy until further notice, but to you, it was a nightmare. You had fought so hard to be seen as strong—no, you fought to be strong, and when you finally got the chance to prove yourself, you messed everything up. It took you years to get to this point, and now it would take you even longer.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you clutched the paper, crinkling it under the intense grip of your hands. "What's wrong?" Obito inquired, alarmed by your sudden sobbing. He gently took the letter from your trembling grasp, reading the contents before lowering it with a hint of pity. His voice softened as he embraced you, seeking to console you. "Oh, (Y/N)," he murmured, his arms encircling you, trying to offer solace. Rin decided this was the time to leave you both alone.

"Trust me, everything will be fine," he continued, gently guiding your head towards his chest as he attempted to soothe you by rocking you gently like a child. "You will be able to climb back up again," he reassured you, his voice tinged with exaggerated sweetness. Yet, beneath the facade, you failed to detect the subtle mockery in his tone. Hidden behind the syrupy facade, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. Without your awareness, he had effectively sabotaged your career, and you remained blissfully oblivious to the fact.

“You’ll do better, next time,”

[ifistayitwillbedouble]

you'll love the post that just went up on ST reddit

was it the mike and will's relationship to dnd one? that one was SO GOOD. i cannot overstate how great it was reading that and i think they put into such clear words what a lot of people feel makes dnd important to mike and will specifically out of the whole party. i did screenshot the post just in case 'cause i have not heard great things about reddit's ability to keep byler posts around.

i love the way they explored what dnd means to mike because i feel like it touches on something that mostly gets attention for will, but also points out how dnd makes mike more like how he used to be which i'm SO looking forward to in s5:

"It's glorious. Mike feels like Mike again-..." YES, i loved hellfire mike for this reason. you see a bit of him peek through with dnd and "have you ever thought that maybe we don't want to be popular?"

and pointing out how dnd is just so mike and will. not just individually, but what it means to them together then talking about what the development of their individual relationships to dnd signifies about their relationships to each other SO GOOD

and the implications of the painting lie. because of all that. this is what makes me so excited for the painting reveal. it feels like it directly hits on their relationship on multiple levels in ways that have been present since their introductions. it's such a good setup and this is such a good articulation of that.

-----------

Anyways, that's not all that was in the post. the whole thing is so cohesive so if anyone is interested, i would 100% go read it. go read it rn. and then talk to me about it pls

[sam-keeper]

Hey Look At This Comic: Quincy

I can't remember the exact jumps it took me to get to Quincy. I know the starting point: Randy Milholland's guest appearance on Behind the Bastards for a couple episodes on Dennis the Menace. guests on that show tend to be a bit of a live studio audience, there to go "wow" and "yikes" and "[noise of discomfort]" at the right moments. not Milholland, who knows his comics history. boy, I would listen to a whole podcast of him just talking about newspaper strips! anyway, I don't think he mentions Quincy while talking about integrated casts in newspaper comics, but someone he did mention sent me off on a search and someone else mentioned Ted Shearer's Quincy, and well.

you can see, right, why this comic Got Me so fast? what a cartooning style! I'm not going to dwell on Shearer's history--you can read the Comics Journal article on him just as well as I can summarize it. I want to talk about how Shearer draws.

it's hard to do that without reference to other comic strip artists, in particular, standing as foils for Shearer's style. Ernie Bushmiller of Nancy fame is maybe the paragon of an ultra clean iconic style, where everything is almost like the platonic cartoon of what it is. (I've seen Schultz placed in this tradition as well.) not Ted Shearer's work. everything's got little flourishes and elaborations and bends and variations in outline. his comics jiggle. there are times when I'm not totally sure at a glance what his marks are meant to represent, which is a problem if you think the highest calling of comics is to relay information clearly, and a lot less of a problem if you're in love with the sheer artistry of mark making. look at that snowball fight comic, for example, and the wild mess of lines, or the way Quincy's shoes and socks are sketched, in the last panel of the letter to the president comic, with just a few confident pen blotches and a bunch of negative space. even when it's economical, it somehow feels so unsatisfied with the schematic, always searching for a way to make the objects feel a little off kilter, a little dynamic.

check out that first strip there, the one about where Quincy's granny frets over the neighboring building getting demolished, because it's crucial infrastructure for her clothesline. I just paged through a collection of Bloom County I have cause I was like, well Berkley Breathed has pretty dynamic panels too right? nope! Bloom County has a dynamic brushed style that feels similar to Shearer's style, but the panel compositions and the arrangement of characters and camera and environment are typically much more static. even Calvin and Hobbes, aside from the often completely crazy sunday strips, tends to have compositions that might employ a closeup or a distance shot, but tend to have relatively cohesive shots. this three panel strip starts with a panel where Quincy, instead of standing static, listening into the phone call, seems to pop in from the left, tie fluttering with movement. (also, scope the nice tilt on that lampshade, echoing the angle of Quincy's body!) panel two seems to pull out to an unmotivated ultra long shot, that not only gives us the apartment buildings but the fence partly blocking the view! Quincy's environment is so packed that there's no room for the kind of clear view of a building you might get in a Nancy strip. and then the point of that long shot is revealed in the final panel, a CRAZY dutch angle on the two leaning out the window towards the other building, as Granny reveals the other side of her washing line is going to get torn down. to accentuate this, the sheets on the line billow, again at an angle counter to the window, Granny, and Quincy.

Shearer seems never content to just have a series of characters in situations talking to each other. his viewpoint is always swinging around, his characters always turning to show new angles of themselves. the letter comic here is the most conventional strip of the lot and even this has only two relatively similar poses. all three standing poses are in wildly different positions and angles, front, then spinning to the side, then back, tilting left, tilting right.

he also has this tendency to have characters pop up almost as though they can see the camera. it's not enough that a straightman in Quincy should turn to the audience--they tend to pop towards the foreground. in that clothesline comic, Quincy doesn't look to Granny but to us, as though inviting us to join him in wondering about the phone call that has Granny so worried. in the composition of that circus comic, Shearer finds room for the characters, despite the size of the animals, at the borders of the comic, and is willing to embrace way more pronounced perspective than I'm used to seeing in daily gag strips to do it. look at that kid just sorta peeking over the bottom edge of the frame in that last panel! there's other comics of his where inexplicably another kid in Quincy's class, for example, will just pop their head up in the last panel, somehow accentuating the punchline with their non sequitur appearance. like real kids, Shearer's kids are unruly. like a real poor urban area, the very material of the landscape is unruly.

that TCJ article lays out what Shearer's motivation may have been, for such a vibrant and lived in strip:

"My first idea is to get people to like Quincy, to get them involved with the character, and then they can see for themselves the broken-down home, the torn sneakers, etc. Then perhaps readers will say, ‘Gee, maybe we can help.’ Or even the poor white can say, ‘Gee I went through this same thing myself.’"

that approach can only work because of the detail Shearer's panels overflow with. one more comparison: don't Shearer's landscapes sometimes feel a bit like George Herriman's wobbly, shape-filled landscapes in Krazy Kat? just, less weird cacti and more scrungly fire hydrants and snaggle-toothed fences. the move from panel to panel doesn't always make diegetic sense, much like the landscape moves around Krazy, but it's so lush that in total it creates a place that feels lived in, enough that it still connects with me 40 or 50 years later. that seems a testament to Shearer's strategy, and probably has some lessons for the Clarity of Communication school of comics theory.

it all adds up to a work that should be in the pantheon right alongside someone like Bill Watterson. I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk about Shearer, though. the broadest history I have--Harvey's Art of the Comic Book--doesn't cite him; nor Wolk's Reading Comics. like a lot of histories, Gardner's Projections loses track of newspaper strips sometime between the rise of Stan Lee and the rise of Comix With An X. some of that's the way the history's been canonized, but some of the way the history's been canonized is surely due to institutional racism and the pinning of the modern Art History of Comics on white men like R Crumb.

what Quincy deserves is a way of following it now... but that's not an infrastructure I can imagine anyone is interested in building. sites like comics kingdom or gocomics have snubbed rss technology for presumably the same reason social media increasingly gates all content from non-users: gotta juice the numbers and make sure direct access is the only business in town. which is sorta bizarre when it comes to a strip like this because who is signing up for a comicskingdom account, sitting down, and reading through a decade of Quincy strips? if they're already just putting the lot online for free (which, hey, I'm grateful for that, especially from a historical access perspective!!), why not set up a way to cycle through that history in a feed, shipping out the strips in the format they were meant for: something you'd see daily? but, I'm the weirdo who thinks basically the whole internet should be embracing a more broadcast syndication model. at least the comics are readable online, which means that maybe bit by bit Ted Shearer's work can get the wider cultural attention something this virtuosic deserves.

this post originally ran on Cohost on Jul 31, 2024. you can read more reviews in the Hey Look At This Comic tag and support me on Patreon.

[malakaie]

had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye + 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 oneshot

authors note: the wonderful @callmekayd asked about roman's conversation with fetu where he called solana his light, so i figured, why not write it?

only gonna tag a couple of people, cause i'll link this with the next update.

gif belongs to @romanreigns

words: 2.3k

warnings: some angst, discussion of solana's trauma

“You’re quiet, tonight.”

Roman looks over from the bottle of corona he was spinning in a circle on the wooden dining room table. “Am I?”

Fetu chuckles, snatching the bottle from him. “Smartass.” She pops off the cap and takes a swig, Roman sitting up in the chair.

“Should you be drinking that with your medications?”

“Probably not.” She answers so casually, so nonchalantly. It makes him sigh. This is what Ava was talking about. “But, I’m old, so I do what I want. Now stop trying to change the subject.” Placing the cap back on the drink she’s now commandeered as her own, she asks again in a more serious tone. “What’s going on, atalii o le uso?”

That’s such a loaded question, so much so that he’s not sure where to start. “Solana….”

“Your wife, right?” He nods, eyes glancing to the phone that’s screen up on the table. She hasn’t text him in a couple hours, which could either be a good or bad thing. He’s not sure. “How is that going? I know you weren’t very happy about it the last time I saw you.”

Roman is the one to chuckle. It’s almost unreal how much his tune has changed since his last visit with his aunt where he essentially expressed both disinterest and acceptance with the arrangement. 

“Yes, it’s about her, but….not in the way you think.”

When he doesn’t say anything, Fetu impatiently implores, “well, would you hurry up, boy? I may be old, but I still need my beauty sleep.”

Rolling his eyes, Roman shakes his head, growing quiet, muddled thoughts floating into something less disorganized and more cohesive. “She’’s—she’s not what I thought she would be.” 

At that, Fetu asks, “Oh?” She offers a warm smile. “Tell me.” 

Another loaded request he’s not sure how to handle. Roman swallows. “She’s…..kind.”

Fetu snorts, again grabbing the beer he really should try to take from her and would if not for the fact she’d probably bust it over his head in the process. “Well, they say opposites attract.” Roman rolls his eyes. Granted, she’s not entirely wrong, hence why he offers no disagreement. “What else?”

Leaning back in the chair, Roman tries to think of the best way to describe her. To describe the last person on earth he ever expected to care about but has done just that. “I’ve…..I’ve never met anyone like her. She has a big heart, and she’s so innocent. Despite being raised in this life, surviving hell, she still….she still has this softness about her.”

Fetu hums, reminding him, “not everyone in this world is cruel and unkind, Roman. There are very much good people, and it sounds like you’ve maybe been lucky enough to land one of them as a partner.”

He nods, quietly admitting. “I have.”  Roman traces his finger over the imperfections of the wooden table. “But, she’s had a lot of trauma. It’s been….not the easiest to get to where we are.” He takes a deep breath, disclosing, “we haven’t even consummated the marriage yet.”

Fetu’s eyes widen a bit as she asks, truly out of genuine curiosity, “wasn’t that the point of the marriage? To create an heir?”

“She was gang raped as a child,” Roman informs in a low voice, only feeling comfortable sharing such sensitive information because he knows it will never leave this room. “So touch is….it’s hard for her. She asked to work up to intimacy, so we’re trying that.”

“Oh, that poor child.” Fetu’s expression is visibly disturbed and saddened. “Sick fucks.” Roman doesn’t say anything, but the murderous urges boiling underneath are something he has to push back down. In due time. “Wait. Don’t take this as me agreeing with that bullshit requirement, but if she wasn’t a virgin, how did the Elders approve of the marriage? It obviously wasn’t her fault, but we both know how they are. Traditionalist pricks.”

If not for the nature of the conversation, Roman would laugh. “Her father had the doctor lie on her medical report. It stated she was still a virgin.” Roman feels the need almost to defend, “wouldn’t have made a difference to me either way. You know this.”

“It better not. I didn’t raise you to be a hypocrite.” Fair. “Wait, her father did that?”

That actually makes Roman chuckle, but there’s no humor whatsoever. “That’s why I’m here.” Hand naturally forming into a fist, he continues to share information he would never share with anyone else. “Her mother was stabbed to death when she was ten. Solana was there and stabbed too, but she survived.” His jaw clenches. “Her father and brother are both pieces of shit who used to abuse and torture her.”

Fetu is visibly perturbed by the heavy details. “My God, that girl has been through hell.”

“I know.” It doesn’t make sense to Roman how with everything she’s experienced, she still stands, still keeps going, keeps fighting. “But, she’s made tremendous progress since leaving her family. I made her start training, and I think it’s helped a lot. She’s made good friends with Naomi and her friend Bayley. Solana is half Mexican, and Bayley is Mexican, so they seem to bond a lot over that.” And he's happy she has that. Glad she has people she can talk to and connect with. “She’s……happy now.”

Better.

Much better.

Fetu tilts her head to the side. “Something tells me there’s a but.”

There is. A major one. Roman releasing a heavy sigh and running his hand over his face. “I found out her father was behind the hit that killed her mother and was intended to kill Solana too, but she survived. And when he couldn’t afford to pay off the balance, he sold Solana’s virginity and had it set up like a home invasion.”

Fetu says something in Samoan, her own expression slipping into something angry. “What a fucking piece of shit. His own wife? His child?” She asks, an almost demanding element to her question. “You’re going to kill him, right?” Like it’s less of a request and more of an order.

“Of course.” That’s a no brainer. Roman’s new number one mission in this life is to see Xavier, his bitch ass son, and Solana’s rapists meet gruesome, painful deaths. And he’ll be sure to see it through. “But, I don’t—I don’t know if I should tell her. “ He quickly adds, “but, I don’t want to lie to her either. I promised her I’d never do that.”

Fetu nods, her lips pressed together in a sort of frown. “I see…..”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he admits in a low voice. “I don’t—I can’t see her hurt.”

“Roman….” Fetu’s voice takes on that gentle tone that’s always been comforting to Roman. That, for a long time, before Solana, was the only source of comfort he truly could find in this life. “It’s obvious you lo—care for this girl.” She catches herself. In his own timing. “But, the truth is, there is no way around her being hurt by this.” Roman looks away, jaw clenched, clearly not wanting or liking what he’s hearing. As expected. “She’s going to be devastated. As would anyone to find out their own flesh and blood, let alone a parent, could be so evil.”

“She’s tried to kill herself when she was younger.” Recalling this specific piece is by far the hardest part. Just thinking about the medical report he read detailing the emotional aftermath Solana’s attempt. How distraught she was. “I just—I just don’t want to be the cause that pushes her over the edge.”

Fetu reaches over the table, placing her hand on top of his. “It wouldn’t be because of you.”

He shakes his head. “Yes, it would. Either because of what I tell her or I don’t tell her, and she finds out some other sort of way.”

“Is there a way she could find out?”

Roman has to think about it. One of the first things he did was cut off contact between Solana and her family. For the mere fact he knows Xavier is up to something, wants something out of Roman’s marriage to Solana. Roman knew that he would try to use her, and just from what he saw at the outset of this whole thing, he knew the last thing she needed was to be dragged into some type of wicked plan.

Xavier has no way to contact her, and he’s not stupid enough to show up or send his dumbass son to her job. 

He knows it’d be walking into a deathtrap. So, no, it seems like there’s no chance for this information to ever get out and arrive at Solana’s doorstep. 

But……there’s still a chance.

“I don’t know,” is the answer Roman settles on. ‘But, I can’t—I won’t do anything I think could hurt her, and this…..this will do more than hurt her.”

It could destroy her. Destroy all the progress she’s made. Regress her so far back that he’s not sure she’d be able to recover. 

And he can’t have that. 

“I think she deserves to know the truth. It was her mother. Her assault. She has a right to know.” Roman doesn’t disagree with that. “But, I’m also thinking about everything you’ve told me regarding her mental health, and I guess my concern is what that truth could do to her. If she could handle it.”

And that’s exactly what his fear is.

Roman’s voice is full of vulnerability that he could never show outside of this safe space. “I don’t think I could handle seeing her the way she used to be. I—I care about her too much to do that to her.”

“I understand.” Because she does. Oh, she does. And if not for the heavy nature of this conversation, she’d be more expressive at the joy bubbling beneath the surface. Her elation at finally having years worth of prayers answered. At having comfort in knowing her sweet boy has finally found his person. His soulmate. “Your intentions are good, Roman, and I can’t tell you what to do, though something tells me that’s what you’d prefer.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and admitting, “I just needed to talk to someone.”

That much was obvious. She continues, advising, “what I can tell you is to just continue to support and be there for her, because when she does find out, whether from you or some other means, she’s going to need you, son.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, sitting on his aunt’s wisdom. She’s right. This truly is the depiction of being stuck between a rock and a hard place, but for the sake of Solana’s mental health, it’s not in her best interest to know the truth.

He’ll tell her.

But only when the time is right. 

Fetu, however, has a question of her own. “I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Roman sits up and sighs, “I’m always honest with you, uso o le tinā.”

“Because you know, even with how big and strong you’ve gotten, I’ll still whoop your ass, little boy.” She’s pleased to see the small smile that accompanies his eye roll, a brief glimpse of that young child she once knew so long ago appearing for the first time in a long time. And she’s pretty sure she can bet just what’s brought that dormant side out of him.

Or who.

Her voice is gentle. “If you knew then what you know now about Solana, would you have still agreed to marry her?”

It’s a valid question. 

It’s also something he doesn’t have to think about. 

“Yes.” Fetu smiles. Knowing. Confirmation. “I wouldn’t change anything.” It’s the easiest thing his aunt could ever ask him. It requires no thought. No contemplation. Just an automatic response. “Solana is…..she’s my light.”

Her heart swells, and she finds herself with unshed tears. There’s this invisible weight that’s suddenly lifted off her soul. A worry that’s been destroyed by one woman. One strong woman who’s managed to capture the heart of her sweet boy.

Even if he hasn’t realized it just yet.

“Well, she’s obviously a strong woman to survive all she has, and she must be to deal with you.” She flicks his hand, pulling back and asking, “let me see a picture of her.”

Roman grabs his phone, unlocking it and opening his photos album. Hitting the favorites folder, he selects one of the photos taken of Solana the night she went out with Bayley and Naomi for Cinco de Mayo.

Reaching the phone to his aunt, he watches her slide her glasses over her eyes, mouth ajar just a bit. “Oh my goodness, she’s beautiful! Too pretty for you.” Roman smiles. “You know if my tits still sat nice like that, I’d wear stuff like that too.”

And just like that, a scowl is on Roman’s face. That was the last visual he needed. Ever. 

Taking his phone, Fetu implores, “I want to meet her, Roman.” He stills, hitting the lock button after checking for any texts from Solana. “It’s bad enough I can’t have gentleman callers or anyone else come see me. The least I can do is meet your wife.” It’s a fair request, though something he’s unsure about. “I’m tired of seeing your big ears and Ava’s massive forehead all the time. Bring Solana here.”

This request, however, is not the easiest thing. He doesn’t have an answer for her right now. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” she warns. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Roman tenses at that. He hates when she jokes like that. 

He stands up, walking over and kneeling in front of her. “Thank you.”

Fetu smiles warmly, reaching over to kiss his forehead. “Ou te alofa ia te oe”.

He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate. “Oute alofa fo'i ia oe” 

-------

Translations: 

"atalii o le uso" = nephew

"uso o le tinā" = aunt

“Ou te alofa ia te oe”. = I love you.

“Oute alofa fo'i ia oe” = I love you too.

[normallosers]

Plave: Yapping bout graphic design

Whoever the designers of Plave's branding, overall album designs, and digital content are (not related to virtual interactive stuff), Luv u (your work, actually lol)

I'm a such a nerd when it's bout graphic design, i love it so much, and this came to me (the need to talk bout this), cause I saw the packaging for Eunho's birthday kit, the illustration of muhmo in a pixel style is so cutee, the overall design is so adorable, the little pixilated wolf, so nicee

In general I think they have a really clean aesthetic, i don't know how to explain it actually lol, but it's kinda fresh, at least if I compare it to what is common to see design-wise from where I'm from, and talking bout the niche. I think it's cool that every one of their albums and projects have a personality on their own. It always expresses it so well, even if the cover (or whatever it is) is more on the abstract side.

Honestly, something I love bout plave is the graphic work, but putting aside all the work for the virtual universe they live in lol, that is super cool too, but I don't know bout that lol. My favorites are they typographic works, they're good, and the designs are always so harmonious, the use of the resources to bring something according to the concept, and in a way innovative if we talk bout the niche.

Something that not nerds (or non designers), ignores sometimes, is the importance of the typography and the weight it has on the project, but that is actually its charm, if it's well used you don't notice, you just see a really nice overall finished product, and that's what I love about Plave's designs, always cohesive, united as a whole concept, and appealing to the expressive resources a font can give.

Ofc I have to admit that it's not only the typography itself, but the way they work with it too, changing its morphology, adding elements, mixing styles, giving qualities like continuity by the elements put along the words, and playing with stuff like the kerning and interline to create a better composition, more aesthetic but functional. And ofc, they have some good typographic arrangements, that it's so satisfying to watch haha, talking bout merch or the imagery they create to promote the merch or events lol.

Another thing I really like is the work on their logo. I'm not the greatest fan of changing part of the graphic identity, but I guess we are already used to it (the shape of the logo, i mean), so it's ok(?). And since the essence remains in the morphology, talking about the structure, the construction of the exterior keeps feeling familiar, maybe bc of the pragnanz help idk

We understand it's a P. It keeps the flourish at the left, in some instances more abstract than others, but it's there. And the design is always flowing naturally with the comeback's concept, so I don't complain about the constant change. Actually, I'm kinda expecting what's coming next.

So, talking bout design and everything, I know is a work of many, surely in a long period of time that a team gave it all to achive this results, and I think is really cool, probably stressful af but I think it's worth it, to me it shows a really nice graphic quality, even tho I don't love everything, I think their work is just amazing and I really want to recognize it, I just think they're neat.

I really felt like this while writing this post, and I'm sure there's a lot of things I would want to add later, but I need to stop. I know this is only interesting to me hehehe but I'm overjoyed tbh

[yusuke-of-valla]

The thing about conflicting headcanons re: Yusuke's financial situation post Madarame (ie is he actually poor, does he make money but spends it all on art because he has poor impulse control, is Kosei a money laundering scheme etc.) is that like Yusuke's financial situation is written to facilitate a running gag so it's not consistent.

The school gives him an allowance, but he's also being charged for utilities despite being on a scholarship and so showers in the cold and works in the dark and worries about the electricity bill.

We know he bought those lobsters that one time but realistically how much of his money is being spent on supplies for class vs non-necessities he feels inspired by? Because canvases are expensive and if there's a certain size expectation/requirement you can't save by getting a smaller canvas. So when someone says "he just spends all his money on art" what are we really talking about?

By Strikers he's very excited to have money from an art contest to spend on his friends but was that true during the course of the base game when he was in his slump? Because I have a hard time believing he was even entering competitions

The details don't really make sense because most of these details come from jokes that are never elaborated on into cohesive worldbuilding.

And even if you want to say the issue is just he's got bad spending habits, that's still a situation that would require intervention by an adult probably because uh, no shit?

Yeah of COURSE Yusuke is completely unprepared to live on his own and is incidentally starving himself, he was raised by a dude who convinced him that the only purpose he served was helping his Sensei. In what way would it have benefitted Madarame to prepare Yusuke in any way to live on his own or know how to balance finances, he actively wanted Yusuke reliant on him, because that's how abuse works.

I'm pretty sure Yusuke has never even conceptualized living on his own, and that's not even adding in the detail of Nakanohara being concerned he'd commit suicide if he stayed with Madarame. NO SHIT HE'D BE BAD AT IT? People don't just emerge from the womb capable of money management

In that situation is the proper response really "oh that Yusuke, he just doesn't understand money, it's not a big deal"?

And like regardless, he IS still starving. Like the extent to which you think it's self inflicted aside, he's a 16 year old who will constantly talk about skipping meals and eating sprouts from the park and that sucks. Someone should maybe like talk to him about the root cause of that!

TL;DR: Yusuke's financial situation doesn't make sense because it's not supposed to, so it kind of doesn't matter to me how people headcanon the nature of it, and I fundamentally think it's incorrect to say one option of "poor vs has bad impulse spending habits" is more correct than the other because arguably they both raise the question of "holy shit why is no one stepping in here" if you think about it all the way through

PS. Also I wrote this whole thing because I saw a tweet that was like "one big misconception i see about yusukes character and how he’s treated is people saying “Why doesn’t Joker/Haru give him money when he’s poor?” and the real fact is that he’s not poor (post madarame). He’s just EXTREMELY irresponsible with his spending and spends it all on art," and I was like "idk if that's a misconception really I think a case can be made for both because it doesn't make sense" and then AFTER I wrote it I remebered that I have repository of every Yusuke scene uploaded into my brain and was like "wait if you call Yusuke poor in PQ2 during the Akihiko/Shinjiro/Yusuke quest he'll agree" and then there's also the scene in Tactica where Marie calls him dirt poor and he doesn't disagree with the poor part, just that she insulted dirt

So like my point still stands but I'd ESPECIALLY not call it a misconception to say he's poor when canon material supports it.