#this is longer than I intended it to be. oops

[sodasa-was-taken]

I'd like to address some misconceptions I've seen floating around recently.

If a ship is canon people write less fanfics about it

Let's start with the idea that a ship's status as canon has any effect on how much fanfiction it gets. First of all, while the top 100 ships of all time contain a lot of non-canon ships those ships have in more recent years either plummeted down the yearly ship stats list or left it all together as seen in the AO3 ship stats 2023:

Meanwhile newer ships have taken their place several of which are canon. People don't abstain from writing canon pairings because they're canon but for other reasons like not being too interested in their dynamite. There's often next to no canon-complacent fics about the characters in question getting together because that story already exists in the source material. That doesn't mean there's no au's of them getting together as many fic writers find it to be a great exercise as they need to figure out how to keep the elements that attract the characters to each other in differing circumstances. Furthermore, characters getting together are far from the only stories fic writers want to tell.

Secondly, the amount of fics that's tagged with a ship is not the same as the amount that focuses on that ship. A great example of this would be a ship like Lumity where a good amount of the fics they're tagged in don't focus on their relationship. These fics often take place after they get together and make references to them being a couple so people use their ship tag. This means that unlike back when the show had first started airing the fics that doesn't revolve around their relationship still adds to the fics their relationship are tagged in.

Lumity is also a funny case of becoming more popular after it became canon as the fandom for The Owl House itself increased a great amount during the second season. Because of how often their relationship was a secondary element in several fics the amount of fics their relationship was tagged in increased along with the amount of all Owl House fics not just the ones that focused on them.

M/M is often the most used relationship tag in general

This is just nonsense. Every fandom whose source material heavily features the development of a romantic relationship is as good as guaranteed that whatever relationship tag the main couple are tagged is the most prominent. They also often make up around sixty percent of fics within their fandom. In the case of f/f specifically here's a shot list of fandoms on AO3 where f/f is the relationship tag that's used most frequently: Supergirl, The Owl House, She-ra and the princesses of power, Avatar: Legend of Korra, Arcane: League of Legends, RWBY, Wednesday, Amphibia, Steven Universe, and of course Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury.

The amount of fics on AO3 are indicative of the size of a fandom

The actual thing that has an effect on how many fic a ship has on AO3 are a combination of how many people within a fandom writes fanfics about them on AO3, how many fics each writer has written and how long they've been people posting fic about them on AO3. The amount of fics writing within a year is all that's shown on the yearly stats which doesn't say anything about how many people are writing fics or how long they are. When the total amount is all someone has to go by there's nothing that explicitly confirms that all the fics weren't written by a hundred people who each wrote a thousand dabbles.

A way to calculate the total amount of fics for a ship and easily see increases and decreases in amount of fics per year throughout the years would be with a script that would look something like this:

This is for Sulemio as there isn't a lot of data I'd have to find and add since people have only been writing fanfics for them for about two years. Since AO3 either doesn't allow someone to search for fics published within a given timeframe or I just don't know how to do that the numbers are fics updated from August 2022-August 2023 and from August 2023-now. This does mean that there are two fics that got counted twice. Oh, well.

If g-witch is so popular shouldn't it have more fics on AO3?

While the number of fics doesn't say anything about the minimum amount of fanfic authors it does say something about the maximum amount. Even if there was one fic per author that would still be a maximum of about a thousand authors. So what gives?

Well, there appears to be two main reasons for this. One is that the Gundam fandom in general is more a discussion and art orientated fandom. We just don't have that many people whose main thing is writing fics.

Another thing to note is that most of the fics on AO3 are in English and the English speaking part of AO3 skews towards a North American and European demographic.

Unlike some other fandoms the Gundam fandom is anything but centralized in the west so it's only maybe a third of the fandom that would even use AO3. The Chinese part of the fandom sure doesn't as the website has been blocked since before g-witch started airing.

You can get a good idea of how popular Sulemio is by only looking at the fan works that are in English

This is a big one. Like I pointed out before only about a third of the fandom makes fan works in English. We're also in a situation where we have two versions of the same ship name. One is writing in the latin alphabet, the other スレミオ is writing in katakana and is also the more commonly used.

Thousands of Sulemio fan art on twitter is tagged exclusively with the one writing in katakana and therefore wouldn't show up if someone used the one writing in the latin alphabet. Likewise, on the Chinese website Bilibili there are videos about Sulemio that have views in the thousands and ten thousands and let's just say that site is a bit of a challenge to navigate if you know little to no Chinese. Even using a translator will sometimes give you such gems as "Too many barrages" and only leave you more confused.

In conclusion the Gundam fandom is huge and the number of fics on AO3 is an unfair way to determine its size.

Also a quick aside to that one person who tried to be dismissive of the amount of fics Supernatural has on AO3 by saying a lot of it was Omega verse. G-witch has 44 fics tagged as Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics and Supernatural has 8105. That might seem like a big difference but percentage wise it's about the same amount. Let's make sure we don't live in a glass house before we start throwing stones, please.

[apathetic-kiss]

The Rosier Family being social outcasts amongst the rest of the Sacred 28, not out of disgust or betrayal, but rather due to how the other families hold a morbid curiosity and slight fear towards the pure-bloods who seem to isolate themselves more than any other family.

For as long as anyone could remember, the Rosiers produced peculiar looking heirs; they all shared the same bone-white hair and gaping eye-bags, facial structure like fine china and long, bendy limbs. The children were always strange, seemingly intellectual and wise beyond their years, darkened pupils that seemed to stare into your soul if you made eye-contact for too long. They would chatter amongst themselves, rarely talking to the other pure-blood youths, preferring to whisper to each other in soft mumbles and squeaks. The Rosier children were never sent to Hogwarts, and rarely attended pure-blood banquets and balls. If they did, they trailed behind their parents and hid away in corners, blending in with the cryptids and ghosts which seemed to haunt every old wizarding mansion. When they aged, the Rosier offspring tended to become even more hermit-like; there was no presenting a daughter to society, no celebrations of a boy coming-of-age in the same way there was in other pure-blood families. They instead would disappear from pure-blood society for years at a time, their parents or aunts or siblings airily mentioning that they were abroad at the time.

In adult-hood, it was said the Rosiers only had one path of employment, and that was none. The blood-line was made up of inventors, of researches and explorers and users of dark magic, of witches and wizards who travelled the world and did unspeakable things in the name of discovery. Whispers existed amongst the Sacred 28 in regards to what the Rosiers had managed to uncover, invent, and twist their magic into, with rumours of anything from successful immortality, inter-species breeding, artificial life, and spells, hexes, and potions beyond one's wildest imagination. Whenever a Rosier died (as very few of them seemed to make it to old age), it was usually due to a tragic accident, a spell gone wrong or being mauled to death by a mysterious creature, a mix-up of potions or something along the lines of accidental, self-inflicted insanity. The private events such as funerals were barred from anyone outside the family line, preventing any further investigation into the births, lives, and deaths of the Rosiers.

The exception was if there ever was to be a union of two families when a wedding was held on the mysterious lawns of the Rosier mansion. Even then, it was kept relatively private, with only the immediate family of the non-Rosier spouse allowed to be in attendance, and the presence of a single writer to detail the events of the ceremony for the Sacred 28's records. However, weddings only ever seemed to happen once every forty years or so; there was only usually a single sibling married in a generation, the others dying mysteriously young or pledging themselves to their work for all eternity. It was as though the Rosiers only ever interacted and joined with another family for the sake of continuing the blood-line, and other than that would rather stay hidden away on the acres of property and endless wealth accumulated by the family over the generations.

The birth of twins Evan and Pandora Rosier was kept a secret from the rest of the Sacred 28 until their fifth birthday, when their mother brought them along to a morning tea hosted at a pure-blood mansion for the women to discuss the current political sphere of the wizarding world. The other women were shocked when Céline Rosier floo-ed into the mansion, her first public appearance in almost six years (they always invited her and her husband to events out of obligation and politeness, but the two very rarely showed to events. Secretly, the other family members were always slightly relieved when they didn't.). They were even more surprised at the addition of two white-haired children clinging to her robes, who she whispered to softly and sent outside to the court-yard to see the other children. Céline's sister, Druella Black, embraced her tightly, though the fury at her exclusion from her sister's life ever was apparent on her face; the family had cut her off both socially and financially after she chose to move to the Black family mansion instead of raising her children on the Rosier ancestral land. People had whispered about how this apparent betrayal to her roots and her aligning with the Black family instead would place a curse on her and her children, the rumours already whirling after her boys were born and were missing the signature pale hair; Druella had dyed her hair black the day after Sirius was born, a sign of rebellion against anyone who dared question her allegiance to the Blacks. Still, as they grew older, the lack of resemblance between the Rosier twins and the Black boys became more and more apparent regardless of the closeness in blood relativity. Nobody dared bring up the curse again, and Druella's maiden name and the history of her roots was never mentioned in Sacred 28 circles again.

Evan and Pandora grew up the same way generations of their ancestors had; isolated, surrounded by books, and most of all, alone. Their parents spent most of their days locked away in their own workshops, the job of child-rearing left to various members of staff and random family members who lived around the property. There were always wizarding scientists and researchers and medical professionals popping in and out of the mansion, some staying for tea and some staying for six months at a time, some who ignored the children and some who taught Evan everything he knew about potions. Though some would argue that this was no way for children to grow up, the twins would disagree; they had free-reign of the giant house and surrounding property, no bed time or limitations and complete access to their family library which had been accumulated over centuries to house over twenty-thousand books and manuscripts. When Pandora was eight, she decided she was going to read everything in the library before she died, even if it took her reading all day every day of her life (she gave this up not even twelve days into it, when had Evan begged her to put down the books and come camp down at the creek with him. She had obliged). They spent the first eleven years of their lives reading constantly and desperately, devouring novels and spell books and potion guides and studies on muggles and wizarding magazines and whatever they could get their hands on. They made potions and taught themselves non-verbal magic, experimenting with animals and transfiguration and manipulated all kinds of elements and metals and objects. They never learnt the distinction between light and dark magic, it all seemingly just a tool for them to learn how to further their skills. It was an incredible way to grow up according to them, and they wouldn't have changed it for the world. But before their shared eleventh birthday, everything had changed.

When the pair woke up and received their Hogwarts letters, they had simply tossed them to the ground and gone on with their day; Hogwarts was irrelevant to them, and only existed vaguely in their peripheral thoughts as something that other magical children were a part of. However, that night when they sat down for a very rare family meal, Céline had announced that the twins would be starting at the boarding school in September. That decision was final. After some push-back from her children, she had shut them down with a no-arguments look and the twins fell silent. They looked at each other with slight hesitation, not knowing what the hell to expect from this switch-up in the routine and life-style they had known all their life. That summer, Pandora had buried herself in books and journals written about Hogwarts and by Hogwarts students, attempting to learn and memorise everything she could about the school and its history. Evan on the other hand, was in complete denial; he shut down any mention of the school by his mother or sister, and refused to engage in Pandora's discussion about aspects of the curriculum or what their experiences at the school may be. He spent most of his time leading up to their departure for Hogwarts locked in the upper rooms of the mansion, experimenting on frogs and rats and mice as he perfected more spells and potions he was working on (though he did occasionally allow Pandora to join him and help work out the flaws in his potion-work, as long as she promised no mention of their upcoming time at the educational institute that will not be named).

The first problem that came along at Hogwarts was the expectation that they mingle with the other pure-blood families; they had only very rarely interacted with other children, and so the idea that they were supposed to befriend and talk to these other pure-bloods was an alien concept to them. Evan and Pandora had spent a little time with Regulus and Sirius as kids, but the brothers were already sitting with Sirius' Gryffindor friends in another carriage. However, this did mean the twins had an excuse to sit alone together and bury themselves in books (Pandora in her now-battered copy of Hogwarts; a History, and Evan in a definitely illegal book on the anatomy of various creatures and how to best butcher them for black-market sale).

The second problem that arose for the twins was the discovery at the sorting ceremony that they were to be in different houses. Evan was called up first, and the whispers had already begun about which house the first Rosier to ever attend Hogwarts would be in. The hat barely touched his head before shouting out Slytherin, and he had made a bee-line for where Regulus was seated with the other first years on the table. However when the hat was placed on Pandora's head, it had deliberated for a few seconds before calling out Ravenclaw. Evan had felt his face drop and the his look of horror matched Pandora's own; there was nothing wrong with Ravenclaw of course, but the awfulness of not being in the same house as his sister was something that hadn't even crossed his mind. They had spent their whole lives together, they were attached at the hip, they were practically the same person, right? Right? He watched Pandora drift over to her house table with a mournful look on her face, nodding with fake reassurance at her when their eyes locked. They would make this work.

The third problem Hogwarts presented the twins was the issue of their apparent disconnection from the rest of the wizarding world. Though this was something that had never bothered them before, and something they had in fact felt proud of in their childhood, it was now becoming a problem. Evan had never shared a room with anyone aside from Pandora, and his social skills... left room for improvement. His room-mates, Regulus and Barty, thought he was a total asshole who hated the both of them, when in reality he simply didn't understand the premise of politeness; he and Pandora had always been brutally honest to one another and to their parents, and this just seemed like the norm until he arrived at Hogwarts. Pandora's roommates on the other hand seemed to catch on to her apparent otherness immediately, and quickly shunned her from their group for being weird and creepy (it actually took Pandora a few weeks to catch onto the fact that they were being mean to her; she just figured the other girls were ignoring her out of nerves, the same way she was anxious every time she tried to start a conversation with them. She discovered this was not the case though after the fifth time she had tried to talk to one of them, and they had all left the room giggling and pointing at her). Neither of them made any real friends in their first year, and were utterly miserable.

Things perked up in their second year. Regulus had gotten into a fight with Sirius over summer and the two were no longer on speaking terms. Barty's presence had started to become truly annoying to Regulus, so Evan and Pandora became the only ones Regulus deemed appropriate company as the two were happy to sit in silence and read together. Pandora also managed to befriend an older Slytherin girl, Dorcas, as the two had striked up a conversation about Herbology in the library and become study partners. Dorcas was struggling in her third-year potions, a subject Pandora was well-versed in and knew all kinds of tips and tricks in. Pandora was barely passing Defence Against the Dark Arts as the theory was mind-numbingly boring to her, but luckily it was Dorcas' best subject. Evan and Regulus were quickly added to their study group due to their proficiency in other subjects, and when he could be convinced to shut up, Barty would sometimes lounge on a nearby table and pretend to do work. How he managed to have the highest grades of all of them, that was the true mystery.

Their little rag-tag group of five only grew closer over the years at Hogwarts, and stuck together through all the triumphs and traumas. They were there for each other when Dorcas was made quidditch captain, when Sirius ran away and Regulus was left alone, when Evan and Pandora's mother died in fifth year, when Regulus was made a prefect, when Dorcas' sister contracted a terminal illness, when Barty came back from Christmas break with red marks up and down his back. They were there for each other through it all, and Evan never knew the meaning of found family until their group of five found each other; to the Rosiers, family was blood and blood was family, end of story. He had never known there was an alternative, but he didn't care; his mother and father had never held him when he cried, but Dorcas had wrapped her arms around him after he broke down thinking of his mother being lowered into the ground.

And, after everything went down and everything went to shit, Regulus and Barty had held him in the shower as his shoulders shook, terror and fear and mourning wracking his body as he thought of Pandora. His beautiful sister, the most important person in his life, the other half of his soul had denounced him, had said she would kill him herself if she ever saw him again, had screamed at him with ferocity unseen ever before after seeing the tattoo that now decorated his forearm. She'd refused to listen to him and his pleas to join him, to follow him into the darkness of discovery, to become powerful together. After everything they had been through, they'd each chosen family in their own way; Evan, in following Regulus and Barty into the darkness Voldemort's growing allegiance, and Pandora, in remaining isolated from the affairs of the outer wizarding world, in separating herself from anyone who was not blood or who betrayed their blood, and in cutting off their apparent found family at the drop of a hat.

At the end of the day, it all came back to family, to the Rosiers, and to the endless, relentless isolation.

Evan died alone on a battle-field, his body left on a beach to be reclaimed by the elements as his soul departed for the afterlife. Pandora felt the second he left this plane of existence, a string inside of her cut and leaving her forever longing for the brother she had lost a long time ago. She had looked out her kitchen window after the day of his death, seeing a pair of two dark-haired men standing in the paddock across from the Rosier mansion, the empty space left for her twin apparent in the middle of the two men. They had all looked at one another for a moment, before her old friends had disapparated into the winds of the day. Pandora sighed quietly, a tear falling down her face as turned back towards the bubbling cauldron she was minding. She wiped her face quickly as she heard her husband walking up the stairs, and fixed her face with a soft smile.

Pandora died alone in the backyard of her childhood home, a flash of blue light being the last thing she saw before her body fell to the ground. Her last thought was not of her twin, but rather of her daughter he never got to meet, and the regret she felt at subjecting her to seeing her mother die like that. As she felt herself cross into the afterlife, it was as though a part of her soul let out a sigh of relief. Though she was leaving behind her family, she was to join Evan and her parents once again. Maybe that was for the best.

Xenophilius locked up the Rosier mansion for good after his wife was buried in the family graveyard, moving his young daughter away from the house which had always rubbed him the wrong way. The halls, the bedrooms, workshops, and library would stay empty for many years, preserved with spells and protective enchantments keeping the mansion pristine and untouched by the years gone by. If one were to visit now, it would look as though the Rosiers were still there, and perhaps had simply gone for a walk, and would return any minute. They say the ghosts of the Rosier bloodline still haunt the house, the chatter of laughter and the sound of scribbling and the turning of pages echoing through its empty, abandoned hallways.

Another family lost, forgotten to the magic of time passing.

[kinardsevan]

Wait but no because now that I’ve seen it.

“I’m letting him set the pace, I’m just trying to keep up.”

So then. Part of me is like, okay we know Buck is barrel racing his way through milestones in this relationship. (Or as my friend used to say, leaping hurdles.) So I really am kinda into the concept that they’re already sleeping together (we know they’re having overnights.)

But also you guys. What if they’re not? What if that’s a season 8 moment we actually get to see. Obvs I don’t think we’d get the actual scene itself, but I *do* think we might get the discussion & maybe kissing leading up to it, maybe even the afterglow.

Because I’m also like… let’s examine this a little more closely. 🕵🏼 we have Buck having this history of (again, self-diagnosed) being a sex addict. Tommy having this history of being alone. But we also have the growth of Buck in s6 choosing to actively be celibate with the Connor/Kameron of it all for their baby.

So in my head I’m like…he’s found Tommy. He’s said he’s not sure what he’s ready for, but he’s ready for something. This is new thing for him, so as much as we discuss him being a grown man, he’s still figuring out what he likes. I could definitely see these two working through all of the “bases” together (definitely canon now that Tommy is letting Buck choose what he wants to do and when). And I’m really starting to read this now as him (or them) wanting it to mean something. They’ve both done meaningless sex. Buck with his womanizing, Tommy with his time spent in the closet. There’s something to be said for choosing to wait because you know the person you’re getting to know is matching you step for step.

I also think this gives brand new context to 710. Not only do you have the reflection of Tommy ensuring he’s okay, which doesn’t just show concern, but shows that this man, who has told his friends he’s letting Buck set the pace, isn’t just “interested” anymore. Evan matters to him.

But then there’s the “god I hope so” of it all, which the whole damn world has rendered a decision on, suddenly becoming the context of A JOKE. As in, he was just being playful. Which we kinda got with the smirk at the end of that scene.

I mean, idk y’all. I’m just speculating. But also, heaven forbid the idea that these two might actually have real feelings for each other. Lord knows Evan Buckley needs an army of people to protect him from the manipulative soul that is Tommy Kinard’s heart. There can’t possibly be a version of it all where Tommy Kinard would be such a decent person that he’d not only let his boyfriend set the pace of their relationship, but also create a protective space for him to do it in. (If you can’t read tone I’m being fucking sarcastic.)

I’m so glad this scene finally got released. It’s everything, and yet nothing like what I expected. And it gives me so much hope about the entire story being written. I literally cannot wait to see what we get in season 8.

[apropensityforcharm]

I don't know anything about anything, but I'm fascinated by the PR angle of that Daniel and Max interview. The Project (the show this aired on) is an popular current events show in Australia, so there's going to be a lot of general audience members who don't know a thing about F1, and this will be their first time being exposed to either Max or Daniel - so imagine you don't know them, and the first thing you see is a character interview designed not only to make these two drivers likeable, but also as if they like each other.

Daniel's team want general audiences to look at Max and think of Daniel. They want people to think Daniel and Max are 'bound' in some capacity, even though they're technically no more connected than any other drivers on separate teams. It lends credibility to the bid of Daniel at Red Bull, without explicitly saying so. Even if audience members don't know anything about F1 or Max & Daniel's history, they're going to understand on some level that you wouldn't be doing a cheesy fun interview together if you were only 'competitors'. Some might be interested enough to google Daniel after the show, and find out that he's in the mix to go to Red Bull, i.e. the team that's been dominating for the last few years - and an Australian audience will respond very well to that.

Meanwhile, Max has been dogged by his reputation of being rude and standoffish basically his entire career, so imagine the benefits of a primetime show introducing him to a whole group of new people as basically this giggly, sweet guy who happens to be very good at racing. What about that 'domino' effect of easily likeable Daniel liking Max, aka "we like Daniel and Daniel likes Max, so we like Max"? There have already been Australian shows perpetuating the narrative that Max's dominance is boring, and this is a counterweight; he'll win, but that's okay because we (the audience of the Project) like him. Max is a polarising figure in the sport, but this interview isn't about F1 fans - it's about the general public, and getting them on Max's side.

It's all just interesting to me!

[3-aem]

UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO UNSEAL GOJO

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Imagine Obanai, before becoming a Hashira, getting accused of murder after being caught by some police when he still had his katana out. Some demon had been killing frequently in the village, the same demon Obanai had just killed, but since it had disappeared, inevitably the police figured Obanai was some cannibal or something. They arrested him, putting him in a jail cell unless he was proven innocent.

When he was thrown in, Obanai began panicking. Which was normal, of course. Because this (so-called)criminal had just been caught and incarcerated! There was no worry of his sporadic breathing. Except—

Except now he was clawing at the bars and hyperventilating to the point he seemed unable to breath, tears streaking down his cheeks and staining that peculiar mask of his. One of the police—a woman—walked towards him, concerned.

One of the other police warned her to leave because, despite the fact that they had taken his sword, he could still be very dangerous. But she assured him that this was only a child, that there was no way he could do anything; he was scared, she needed to console him so he could calm down and answer their questions. And so she knelt by the cell, not quite in arm rage of Obanai if he thought to reach out. But instead, he did the opposite, recoiling at her presence. A small whimper escaped him and he curled up in a ball, a hand reaching up and clawing at his mask subconsciously, an overwhelming amount of terror written in his eyes.

“No…” Obanai whispered. His voice was raspy, scratching against the walls. The diminutive word was small but seemed to hold so much emotion that the police approaching him physically stumbled back, worry rising.

“It’s okay… We just need to talk to you,” she murmured, trying on a gentle tone. She had been amongst the ones who didn’t believe he had done anything. After all, there were no traces of blood on his katana. He could’ve wiped it, of course, but then why had he been holding it out in such a stance? “It’s… It’s safe here.”

The words had the opposite effect intended; Obanai scampered back, pressing against the far wall. He shook his head quickly, his hair spinning around him, covering his bicolored eyes. He was shaking, and a quiet sob wrecked his body. He could barely breathe now, memories returning in flashes and overwhelming him. He was stiff, gasping pleads muffled by his bandages. He was sorry, he was sorry, he promised not to run away again, he promised, he would stay, he would stay, he would—

But then he was in familiar arms, a Demon Slayer he’d worked with recently carrying him. They were outside, the sky bright and blue and the air blissfully fresh and cool. The Demon Slayer glanced down, his eyebrows furrowed in concern but relaxing slightly when he noticed that Obanai had awoken.

“It’s okay. I got you out. The Master is taking care of everything, I think,” he reassured him. Slowly, carefully, he set Obanai down, helping him sit. “Maybe we shouldn’t go into cities too often, hm?” he remarked, a tired sort of amusement quirking his lips.

Obanai nodded numbly. He was outside. He was safe.

The Demon Slayer sat beside him, resting a comforting hand on his back. “It’s okay,” he repeated quietly. “You’re okay.”

He was okay.

[irondad-defensesquad]

EDIT: Posted on AO3!

“Hey, buddy,” Tony puts away his Stark Pad. “You okay?”

Peter tries not to melt inside at how parental he sounds.

“Y-Yeah,” the boy replies.

Tony is already pulling the covers so Peter can join. The latter shyly lies down on the free spot, and so Tony tucks him in. Thick blankets as well, much like the ones in Peter's room.

“You missed me?” The man half teases, half asks genuinely.

Peter hesitates and nods. Tony smiles fondly, though part of him wonders if Peter has something else in his mind that he’s not telling his mentor.

“I dunno, some nights I just… can’t sleep alone,” the teen admits. “I feel immature for that.”

“That’s not immature.”

“I mean, I’m not a kid anymore. And it’s not like I can ask to sleep with Aunt May because she’s at work, and the reason I’m alone in the first place–”

He stops right there.

He’s not ready to really talk about this with Tony.

“... it’s… my fault.”

Peter stares at the ceiling, feeling Tony’s sad gaze on him.

“Kid,” the latter calls.

Peter tentatively looks back, fearing he might cry.

“I’m glad you came here. You don’t deserve to be alone, even if you might believe that,” Tony reassures him.

The boy sniffs.

“... Do you ever feel cold… even though you’re warm on the surface?” Peter wonders. “And you realize how empty you really feel?”

That seems to affect Tony on a much deeper level.

“... Yeah.”

Peter can see so much in his eyes.

Tony exhales, wrapping both arms around Peter, somewhat sitting on the bed so he can hug him better. There are no other words spoken. Only their breaths, their heartbeats, and their inner coldness being revealed to each other. Them trying to warm each other up.

That’s not the kind of emptiness that’s ever going away, Peter knows that well.

At least he doesn’t have to focus on it now.

Because Tony is here, holding him.

Tony is like his puzzle piece. When they’re together, they fit perfectly. When they’re together, Peter feels like he has nothing to fear on his own.

And when they fit together, Peter might have to adjust. He’s not entirely used to the feeling. Perhaps Tony isn’t, either. But it’s not that bad.

Peter is just surprised how… gentle Tony Stark is.

You’d never read that anywhere about him. Least of all about a man inside a suit of armor.

Unlike all those tabloids and headlines on the internet… Peter can actually hear Tony’s heart. Feel the way it beats. The way it’s hardened but is now loosening up. Opening up. Only the true ones know who Tony Stark is.

And Peter also knows with the way Tony hugs him, in a solid grip that is not letting go no matter what. Not giving up on Peter. Not letting anything awful happen to either, and least of all to the boy.

Just telling him, it’s okay, you can rest, and you can rely on me.

Peter takes a while but he starts relaxing significantly, wishing he could never leave. Well, that’s too idealistic. But he can pretend otherwise.

Tony might rub his back and his shoulders every now and then, sometimes he runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, or nuzzles his face against it. All the while remaining quiet. Just being here for Peter.

Deep, deep in the latter’s mind… he remembers those cold nights his uncle lent him an oversized coat. And Peter would wear them and smell like Ben.

He remembers his smell. Shampoo, some old cologne. Cigarettes but he didn’t smoke, it was mostly the smell of the city.

Peter is never going to feel that smell again.

Tony’s is coffee, oil, and sometimes sweat. He spends a lot of time working, too.

Completely different smells. Peter might not ever be able to describe them properly, regardless of his enhanced senses.

They’re not the same, but Peter being enveloped in this, getting to absorb it and call it home…

He never thought that would happen again.

It’s a coat trying to protect him from his inner cold. Peter is wearing Tony’s old MIT sweater, but he’s wearing another thicker coat now.

Peter inhales and exhales deeply, snuggling his head against Tony’s chest. He might feel Tony snorting to himself. Probably wanting to say Peter is cute, which always makes the latter embarrassed.

Tony is lying down again, but never completely releasing Peter. Then he turns off the light.

The boy tenses automatically.

“I’m here,” Tony notices. “I’m right here, kiddo. Not going anywhere.”

He can hear his smile even if he can’t see it.

Peter smiles back, slipping into the dark, knowing Tony is guiding him in the endless nothing inside Peter, understanding it, not trying to get rid of it or fix it. Because Tony loves him the way he is.

Peter can say the same for him.

In his dreams, they’re flying together, having fun. Everything is okay.

And everything will be okay, one day.

[megantronusprime]

y'all ever think about the 10 years engie spent as a roughneck in the oilpatch? because I do.

Like, do you think he was trying to break away from the family legacy of becoming a mercenary? that maybe that boy in the picture, trying his father's goggles wanted nothing more than to be an engineer just like his daddy - even had a natural knack for it too, said his dad, just like him and his father before him - and was too young to see clearly the toll it took on him and his family? do you think that, as he got older, he would begin to recognize the extremes his father and grandfather went to for their work, obsessing over it, even experimenting on their own bodies. do you think he came across his mother crying at the kitchen table late one night, unable to recognize the loving man she married who now never came home and obsessed over his work, and decided right then and there that he wasn't going to be that man to his family? that he was going to forge his own path - be his own man, and break free from the Conagher family curse?

so, maybe, at the age of 18, he began working as a roughneck in the oilfields of west Texas. It was hard manual labour, long days spent on drilling rigs with the Texas sun beating down on him, but it was good money, and though some of his coworkers were rough most of them were good enough guys and he along with most of 'em. and hey, sometimes maybe there were even on-the-spot practical problems to be solved - issues with the drill that in a fast-paced environment like that couldn't wait for a proper tech to come around and solve? and in those moments, engie would step in and fix the issue quickly, working without hesitation, like it was second nature to him. And maybe his coworkers would always remark upon his natural aptitude? ("you're in the wrong line of work, Dell.") Maybe he would shrug it off, say it weren't nothin' - just hung around his father a lot growin' up and learned a thing or two - but deep inside, he hoped for more of those opportunities to fix things, and maybe those little moments of on-the-spot fixes were the very things he looked forward to most. And maybe, even as he gained a reputation for being a mr. fix-it amongst his coworkers, given odd things outside of work to tinker on, it wasn't enough. maybe slowly, over the years, with each thing he worked on, the flames of his intellectual curiosity were stoked more and more, until eventually, he went back home and visited his mom, during his week off. And, late one night, against his better judgement, he went into his father's workshop - untouched, everything covered in a layer of dust (he hadn't been home in years). he knew he shouldn't. He could feel the gnawing at him, the voice demanding him to give in to his intellectual curiosity and follow in his father's footsteps getting louder. He had been trying to fight it, but he finally reached his breaking point and went into his father's blueprints. that was what tipped him over the edge. He spent the whole night, locked away in his father's workshop, poring over each design, his mind racing with ideas of how he could make it better. He couldn't stand it anymore, he needed more. When the sun came back up again, Dell informed his mother that after 10 years, he was quitting his job and enrolling for university. and although he was certain that he would not become the same man his father and grandfather was, as sure as he would be an engineer, but do it differently and not succumb to the family curse. And although his mother smiled, ever gentle and encouraging of her son, coffee mug in hand, there was a sadness in her eyes. Because she knew that Dell always had the same tenacity and obsessive intellectual curiosity his father has. And if Dell was going to do this, there was no moderation. He was going to fling himself into it completely, lose sleep, lose focus of everything else. And she was right.

...

OR maybe he always knew he was going to be an engineer and was like, "well, I'm going to do a whole lot of schooling, so what's the best way to save up for tuition? oh yeah! work in the oilfield for a few years :)" lol

[wannabanauthor]

So I have this headcanon

That the first time Buck and Tommy have anal sex, Buck rides Tommy.

At first, Tommy is like "are you sure you want to start off with that position?"

And Buck smirks because he knows he's about to rock Tommy's world using his own physical strength and prowess.

He wants to carefully watch Tommy's face as he lowers himself on Tommy's cock.

He loves watching Tommy's muscles and body tense from the pleasure, and Tommy loves watching Buck's face as he enjoys his first time with a man.

Once Buck is fully seated, Tommy sits up and passionately kisses Buck and rocks his hips to match Buck's pace.

Buck holds onto Tommy like he did in the hospital lobby, one hand on Tommy's neck, the other on Tommy's hip.

They get so physically and emotionally worked up that they stare into each others' eyes as they climax, Buck first then Tommy right after.

They both feel overwhelmed from how good it feels, and it shows on their faces. It took them both by surprise because neither of them had felt this deep of a connection before with someone, and maybe it scares them a little bit because it happened so fast.

As they recover for a few seconds, they're both just silent, until reality sets in, and Tommy cleans the both of them up. As he moves the wet rag over Evan's body, he can't help but glance up into his boyfriend's eyes and see the emotion there.

Tommy gives Evan a tender kiss which Evan returns with equal emotion. It's slow and languid and filled with promises of the future that they both know will exist.

Once they're both relatively clean, Tommy pulls Evan into him and strokes his scalp, threading his fingers through Evan's curly hair, occasionally peppering his face with kisses.

Evan wraps his arms around Tommy and holds him tight, like he never wants to let him go.

The night is still young, so they take a mini nap, and Tommy wakes up to hear Evan running a bath for them.

It's all romantic with candles and flower petals, and Evan takes his turn washing Tommy.

And once they're both clean, Evan runs another bath to replace the water. Tommy is confused at first until Evan mentions "You know how I used to want to be a Navy SEAL? Well, they can hold their breath for like 6 minutes."

Tommy is still confused until Evan gives him the best blowjob he's ever had, under water, without coming up for air the entire time.

As Tommy comes, he thinks to himself "Goddamn, I think I love this man."

[dogpastra]

mom said it was my turn on the writing

Clyde had been careful. Unseen, unheard, it had scoped out exactly how to track its newest victim- though it wouldn't exactly describe them as that yet. It took a meticulous sort of planning when it wanted to erase someone and steal their mind away, but this particular human was more useful to it alive, it thought. Over the course of 6 days, Clyde had stalked Alex. Having someone on the inside seemed like a lucrative idea, and it wanted to be thorough with its investigation on The Foundation. Not to mention, scaring someone into looking through its secrets for it had been fun. If Alex thought he could keep the Eastridge Demon at bay with nothing more than cheap peanut butter- the kind that's just a little too sticky- they were wrong. ...Well, just a little too sticky, and paired with that jam-- Clyde dismissed the thought. It kept going over how exactly it should go about disposing of him. Absorption was immediately obvious, taking in all the information it needed without ever needing to set foot inside, but strangely, it found the company.... Not exactly a chore to uphold. It was slow, it was tedious, but Clyde could be patient. It needed to be patient. It would wait desperate, agonizing years if it was the only way to find where his other half had been taken. It hadn't exactly liked being alone, as much as it hated people. The crunch of spring snow brought it to attention. Alex was leaving for work again. Clyde wondered if they were worth keeping around a little longer.

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: NSFW/18+ [minors DNI]; afab!reader, no pronouns used to refer to reader; slight medical kink; edgeplay [sharps/blades--includes breaking skin, marking/branding with blade, and blood mention]; masturbation (m) wc: 1.2k

Law knows you’d never ask him—he knows you would never dare to bring it up to him, never dream of speaking a word of it if you could avoid it. He knows you respect him too much, that you honor the boundaries between his roles as doctor and captain and lover, for you to ever breathe your most indecent desires into existence, no matter how agonizing they had become. But you aren’t subtle, at least not to Law’s observant gaze, and he sees the way you quietly gnaw your lip when he wears his lab coat and hears your shivering exhale when you hear the snap of a latex glove against his wrist.

Most of all, he sees the way your hands carefully graze the tray of scalpels when you’re helping to set up the surgical theater, the way your pupils bloom as you run your fingers over the collection of bladed instruments, how the light glints off them and illuminates your hidden yearning. He feels a flame kindling at the base of his spine when he realizes he can catch the scent of your arousal from the doorway while he watches you caress the blades with a fetishistic reverence, any sense of restraint that may have been left in you now utterly eclipsed by your aberrant cravings.

He can’t help but want to indulge your whims, no matter how shameful you think they are, no matter how hard you try to suppress them for his sake. Law’s adoration for you transcends the arbitrary boundaries that he established to protect his own sanity, and his own growing need to fulfill your every desire, even those that you find particularly sordid and try to keep locked away in some dark corner of your mind, becomes an affliction, a daily obsession that starts to engulf him. He sits in his office, the lights dim, his lean form illuminated by the rays of sun that manage to pierce the deep waters, his mind suddenly drifting in a haze of feverish obsession. His planning, his paperwork, his necessary reading—all of it pushed to the side as concentration becomes all but impossible, his every thought consumed by visions of you and your lurid fascination with the instruments of his surgical expertise.

He finally gives into his preoccupations and closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he pictures how you’d look tied to his bed, a blindfold covering your eyes as you slowly writhe in place, waiting for him to do something, anything to you. You’d look exquisite, he thinks, as he slowly slides one shaking hand down his abdomen and starts palming at the growing hardness in his jeans, so fucking perfect lying there, defenseless and stripped bare, your chest heaving as you tremble in anticipation. He wonders how you’d react when you hear the familiar clinking of steel as he selects the perfect scalpel with which to perform his depraved acts, how you’d desperately try to reach for him, how your sweet voice would tremble as you asked him what he planned to do to you, a question he’d let his actions answer for him.

Law hastily unzips his pants and frees his aching cock, his thumb drifting over the pulsing head, teasing himself as he succumbs to his visions of you—a blade in his hand, his looming form hovering just over you, so close you can almost feel him without touching. He can practically see the way you would tense as he lowers the tip of blade to your skin, barely grazing you, not even enough to leave a mark, and drags it down the length of your forearm. Light scratches across your delicate shoulders, down your sternum, his skillful movements leaving marks so faint he could almost convince you they weren’t dangerous instruments that traced your goosebump-covered flesh. He hisses through his teeth at how your nipples would harden as he adorns your breasts with feather-light scratches, and his cock throbs in his palm at how he’d chide you for arching your back, cooing at you to stay still lest you end up getting yourself hurt, as he maneuvers the sharp, glimmering steel down your abdomen, letting it come to rest on the curve of your hip.

He strokes his length with a heated urgency as he wonders how you would react—if you’d cry, if you’d gasp, if you’d moan with wanton abandon—if he pressed the tip of the blade down, down just enough to draw blood, enough to earn glistening beads of scarlet dotting your skin. Would it make you ache deep in your core to feel just how carefully he controls the way it pierces your skin, the way he exercises meticulousness to nick you just so? Would your pretty little cunt drip with your juices at the pain, your slit glistening with slick, tempting him to abandon this vulgarity and simply fuck you until you pulsed around his throbbing cock? Would you beg him to stop—or would you cry for more?

A harsh groan hitches in Law’s throat as his perversion overtakes him, and the fires of sadism that you seem to so desperately want to stoke within him finally consume him. He frantically thrusts into his hand and wonders just how pretty you’d look with his name carved in your skin, a mark made with a surgeon’s precision on the plush of your hip—a special work of art just for you. It would be meant remind you how much he loves you, that he worships you so passionately that he wants you to see how you belong to him every time you look in the mirror, to feel his love every time you run your fingers over it, to see the devoted depravity in his grin as he gazes at it every time he pushes you down on the mattress and bullies his cock into you. He convulses in a sudden spasm, coating his fist in his spend, and finds that even this release is not enough to satiate the longing that you’ve stirred within him.

It’s all too much for him to endure, his endless ruminations on how perfect you’d look, obedient and malleable, under his control, how splendid your skin would look marked by the steady ministrations of his blades. And so, he calls you to his quarters one evening, invites you to come spend the night with him, tempting you with whispered words of how much he wants you, how badly he needs you. 

He greets you with a lascivious grin spread across his face, a lurid gaze settled in his half-lidded eyes; he watches as your eyes dart from his unsettling smile down to the hand that’s holding a blindfold, then over to the table beside his bed where a tray of glimmering steel scalpels rests. He approaches you slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, places his hands on either side of you, trapping you in place with your back against the door. He can almost feel the smoldering heat radiating from your core as he asks you in a low voice, one that weighs heavy with a profoundly ravenous hunger: “Do you trust me?”

[mrspockify]

I feel like of the two of them Mario is actually the more artistically-inclined brother so here's some rambling headcanons about artsy Mario:

It started when he was in grade school. Art class was always his favorite, and he would come home covered in paint or have dried clay stuck in his hair—anything that made his mama's life difficult. She basically had to hose him down every day.

He struggled with emotional regulation a lot as a kid, getting into fights and getting in trouble with teachers, mostly because communicating was difficult for him. Art served as a good outlet, and he could use it to help people understand what he was feeling, so his teachers and parents tried to encourage it.

As they got older, Mario showed more and more interest in art (and showed a lot of skill), but it wasn't as easy to pursue as it was when he was younger, so he started to fall out of practice.

It was mostly a combination of money and expectations. Nice art supplies that will last are expensive, and he would go through sketchbooks like they were nothing, so his parents couldn't keep up. He'd still doodle in lined notebooks when he had the time, but that's about all he could do at home.

Expectation-wise, the discouragement mostly came from his father. Papa Mario is a practical man, and he knows that art is not a practical career. He didn't mind it as a little hobby, but he started to advise Mario to take more useful electives in school instead of art classes. Luigi was very STEM-oriented, which set a sort of precedent in the household, and Mario internalized the idea that pursuing art would somehow be letting his brother down (how could they grow a life together in the future if Mario was a starving artist?)

Into adulthood, he all but gave it up entirely. He was absolutely the one that designed the logo for their business, but that was just about the only art project he was able to do.

That is, until they got sucked into the Mushroom Kingdom. It took a while for the subject to come up, but eventually Peach found Mario admiring her paintings in the castle, and he mentioned offhand that he used to love art.

She is thrilled at this little piece of information! She immediately sets aside time for them each week to do art together. They take supplies out to different places in the Mushroom Kingdom and have picnics together, painting and drawing the landscapes they see.

Mario is just as messy as he was when he was a kid. Peach falls into a fit of giggles the first time she looks over to find globs of paint stuck in his moustache.

But he's also really good. He picks it all back up right away and improves quickly. Peach is impressed, and so tickled by how happy it seems to make him, so she sets him up with his own private studio in the castle, providing him with any and every art supply he could ever dream of. He's overwhelmed of course, but so, so grateful.

He'll draw and paint almost anything, but he especially loves to make portraits of the people he loves. In Superstar Saga, the bros' house has a big portrait of Peach, and I think he painted it himself.

It was never supposed to see the light of day honestly, just sitting in a corner in his studio gathering dust, but one day he walked in to find Peach holding it and admiring it.

He was wildly embarrassed, but she was just flattered and amazed at his talent. She had it professionally framed for him and never stops telling him how much she loves it every time she comes over.

It isn't until later on, when Mario visits her private wing of the castle for the first time, that he finds an awfully similar portrait of himself painted by Peach in a matching frame hanging on her wall.

[little-ghosty-ghost]

Recap of Antwerp yesterday

We arrived at 4 pm and I spent some lovely hours with other Käärylet, we had a great time!

We got green glow sticks!

We were lucky enough to get a spot in the fourth row and besides of some dude spilling beer on us it was perfect XD

I personally didn't like the opening act

We cheered for Jesse and Jukka when they came on stage for some preparations

They translated the intro into english?! That was amazing!

Jere is pure magic live! His energy, his moves, his voice - it was perfect! That feeling I had the entire time was pure magic!

We sang Happy Birthday for him

Voittaja chant, he seemed to be very surprised and said: "You guys speak Finnish?!"

We shouted "Käärijä" after nearly every song

He slapped himself and said: "Wake up Jere, this is not a dream", that was really cute

His belly is a drum set now, apparently

Speech about consent and rules, I loved that he did that

Paidaton riehuja!!! It was amazing!

Jere inspected Häärijä's underwear for some reason

Obviously the rakastamme sua moment that's still in my head

He sent us so many air kisses and hearts!

When he started introducing Huhhahei I was the first one to shout Huhhahei XD

The crowd was absolutely crazy and sang along to most of the songs

He said that Huhhahei is "about friendship and maybe something more" and that "it's maybe based on my life... maybe not"

After Huhhahei he talked about Bojan's laundry and ended on saying: "The Bojan is good guy!"

Then he improvised a love song for Bojan in which he sang that he misses him and needs him to be with him again

The crowd went insane

The improvised love song seemed so genuine he felt slightly embarassed about it afterwards (but not for long)

Someone gave him a Käärijä-t-shirt and he ripped it and wore it as a jacket

He said that yesterday [17.10.] was not a good day, but today we make him very happy

He threw some water into the audience and I got hit by a drop of water!!

He often adressed us all together as family

He thanked us for not throwing stuff on the stage

At the end, he said that although we all go home today, we will always be in his heart

He did Bojan's hand-on-heart-thingy quite often

He was surprised to hear so many people sing along and called us the craziest crowd he's ever seen

Before the second cha cha cha, he wanted us all to kneel down and did so himself

Jere gifted Häärijä two air balloons and said: "Now you have big balls!"

He called his concert a "safety space" and invited us to take off our shirts ("When I can walk around like this, so can you!")

"Just maybe don't show your cocks around... although, you can do that, I don't care, this is a safety space" XD

He didn't want to leave at the end and seemed to be genuinely happy

After the concert, I bought the tour t-shirt ^^

I met a very nice Finn and we talked for a bit

The only bad luck we had was that we missed Käärijä before the concert (had we arrived a quarter earlier, we would've seen him) and after as well because we went home early (we thought he wouldn't talk to people/take pictures because he was tired and I didn't want to bother him)

Apart from that, the concert was absolutely great The vibe was amazing and it was genuinely the best evening of my life! Thank you all who were there who made this experience so amazing!

[mush-dooms]

I remember a viral video that was (non-seriously) posting the benefits for having various mental illnesses, and the one the guy gave for anorexia was "saving money." now I know he wasn't being serious, but come on man 🙄 sure you might initially save money from like, not buying enough groceries I guess?? but that assumes that you don't ever binge and that later on you don't end up in therapy, in treatment, or in the goddamn hospital.

my last ed day program (php for those who know what that is) had the low, low rate of $1400/day, and I had to pay $50/day out of pocket for housing on top of that. I'm gonna lowball this total because residential costs even more and I was in res for part of my treatment stay, and I'm not including extras like labs, but going with $1450/day for three months (let's say 90 days) is over $130,000. that was also my fifth time in treatment-- with keeping the same $1450 rate for simplicity, we're coming in at just over $650k for all five stays, and don't even get me started on lost wages from missing work for treatment. thank god I have good insurance 😭

oh, and bear in mind that this number does not include any outpatient services (therapy, dietitian appts, psychiatrists, meds, primary care, intensive outpatient programs that are often recommended as aftercare upon discharge, etc) or hospital stays (of which I haven't had so I don't have available data). that being said, even if you go the "cheap" route of, say, a once weekly session with a therapist and a dietitian, that's ~$300 a week for both. yearly that'll run you $15,000, and I have met approximately zero(0) people who are fully recovered after just one year.

but yeah, you save soooo much money by starving yourself :)

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — forty-eight hours #37

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: whumpee referred to as “kid” but they’re an adult, conditioned whumpee, interrogations, stockholm syndrome, mentioned past character death

Sharpe was expecting Summers to lay into him the moment the door was closed, and he was already preparing a cigerette for him to drag between her harsh words.

He hadn’t been expecting her hand to slap them from his fingers harshly, causing them to clatter to the ground. His brows furrowed instantly, arms coming up in mock surrender.

“Jesus, Summers,” he grunted, but the woman’s fiery eyes were burning too brightly for her to even care about his visible discontent.

“This whole thing is a fucking mess,” she snarled, face twisted in anger. “He should be in a hospital. He shouldn’t be locked in some interogation room while you grill the poor kid until he’s in tears.”

“I’m not grilling him,” Sharpe argued, but he was promptly cut off.

“No, Steven,” she snapped. “Be quiet for two seconds. You arrested Roy under ridiculous assumptions and for what? Because you think it was his uncle that killed Mikhail Wilson?”

“I know it was his uncle that killed Mikhail Wilson,” the detective corrected with a scoff, his brows furrowing in discontent. “Kidnapping Leo was sloppy. So naturally his uncle is going to be the one to clean up loose ends.”

“On what grounds, Steven?” Summers snapped, throwing her arms up in disbelief. There was a fiery, but exasperated tone to her sharp voice. “On what grounds would any of this hold up as viable evidence? It doesn’t. It’s all speculation, and speculation isn’t going to get Roy convicted.”

“You really believe the bullshit about stumbling onto his house is true? That there happened to conveniently be someplace else that kidnapping victims are kept?”

“Those forests are fucking huge,” Summers frowned, shaking her head. The anger was slowly leaving her voice, finding it was useless to argue against Sharpe. “People go missing in them and never found all the time, and you know this. If his kidnappers wanted to keep him someplace concealed, we might never find it, even if we had hundreds of officers searching every square acre.”

Sharpe shook his head, running a desperate hand through his hair. His eyes snapped towards the door where Leo was, and all it took was the reminder of him in the car to get him fired up once again. There were too many little discrepancies popping up that couldn’t be sheerly down to coincidence.

“The kid is confused,” Summers spoke once more, drawing him out of his boiling rage. “He’s scared. He’s likely traumatised, and you think he’d be able to retell some fake, elaborate story in the state he’s in right now?”

“Summers—”

“Forensics are doing a sweep of Roy’s house,” she interrupted coldly. “If anything detrimental comes up, we’ll know. They’ll have Roy’s trip to Morocco checked, as well as his phone and laptop.”

The detective decided to keep mouth shut for now. There was no use arguing against her when the evidence was stacked up against him so highly, which he saw and understood completely. Although his words were being seen as sheer speculation, which in reality, it was, it was speculation that Sharpe believed to be the truth, and he was going to fight tooth and nail to save Leo from the man’s clutches. 

“Summers, you know I’m a good detective,” he started, and the woman turned away from him with a sharp groan. 

“Don’t start this, Steven,” she snapped. “I know you’re a good detective. But this is a mess and you know it, even if you are right.” 

“We’d hit a dead end. His case had been closed. The captain was even willing to bet his career on this case, and look what happened. We found him.” 

“And haven’t they given a valid enough reason to explain that?” 

Sharpe grit his teeth, a sharp scoff rising in his throat. He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What, so you believe Roy’s bullshit about not wanting to call the police?” 

“You saw the kid in there,” she fired back swiftly, without missing a beat. “He genuinely believes that he was responsible for Michael’s death. You’re a detective, Steven. Like you said, a good one. Can’t you tell that he’s scared out of his mind?” 

“He’s scared enough to do what he’s told,” he grumbled dryly under his breath, stifling a grunt when Summers elbowed him a little too hard in the rib. He could tell she was angry and frustrated, and so was he. They’d found the kid safe and sound, but they both knew that he wouldn’t ever be the same. Just looking at all of the horrible scars on his body from the photos, and the sickening guilt in their stomachs for not saving him quicker. It was enough to shake the both of them, including Sharpe, despite his tough exterior. 

“What kind of twenty-four year old lives in the middle of nowhere anyway?” Sharpe grumbled under his breath, ignoring Summers’ eyes when she turned to glance at him. She leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair and gathering it up into a ponytail. She pressed the bobble between her teeth as she did, before scraping it all back successfully. 

“I had a word with him while you were talking with Leo,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “I already asked him. His explanation was reasonable enough.” 

The detective scoffed. “And what was that?” 

“His uncle,” she shrugged wearily. “It’s safer for him than if he was in the city. Wouldn’t be hard for that man to find him if he decided he didn’t want his dear old nephew running around by himself anymore.” 

Sharpe had a lot to say about that, but for the sake of not having his cigerate and lighter slapped out of his hands for a second time, he decided to keep it to himself. He bent down and scooped the two objects up, tossing the cigerette in the bin, and pulling out another from the depths of his trouser pockets. He leaned against the opposite side of the wall, beside the water dispenser. He wasn’t allowed to smoke at the station, but he didn’t care. 

“How is the Commissioner taking this?” 

His words lingered in the foul air for a while, tainting it even further. Summers’ eyes remained glued to part of the ground, her eyebrows raising with a deep sigh. 

“As you can imagine, not very well,” she muttered. “He’s absolutely livid. You’ve probably cost the Captain his badge.” 

Sharpe sucked in a breath, tasting the familiar tobacco on his tongue. “Yeah, well, we’ve still got over twenty-four hours for Leo to tell us the truth.” 

Summers gave another pathetic shrug. The detective didn’t want to believe that she’d given up just yet, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult as the time whirled on by. They’d have to move Roy into a cell for the night, as well as find someplace for the kid to recuperate. By then, their time would be rapidly diminishing. 

“And what if Roy walks free, huh, Steven?” She asked softly. “There’ll probably be hefty compensation for the Commissoner to deal with once this is all over. And, Jesus, if his uncle is willing to tie up loose ends for his nephew like you said, what’s the chance he won’t do the same here?” 

Something icey made its way into Sharpes chest. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her from above his cigarette. 

“What exactly are you implying?” 

Summers tapped a finger on her forearm. “The Commissioner isn’t going to let this slide.”

“Doesn’t this just prove my claim if he does?” He grumbled. “That he currently has connections with his uncle?” 

“He’s his legal guardian,” Summers reminded him gently. “So, no. Not really.” 

“Fuck,” Sharpe sighed, rubbing the aching crease in his forehead. He took another deep drag, letting the sting fill up his lungs. All he could hope for was that once the house was sweeped and searched, something of value would come up. Something incriminating, while they thoroughly did a search on Bran, Sean and Rafi in the meantime. Sharpe didn’t feel as though Leo would take well to his encouragement to tell him it was Roy, so he found his gaze settling on Summers’ remorseful face again. 

“Can you talk to the kid again?” He asked softly. “He might open up to you. Much prettier than me, after all.” 

That brought a small smirk to her lips. “Was that a compliment, Steven?” 

He tapped the end of the cigerette with a chuckle, watching the dark ash flutter to the ground. 

“Never.” 

She shook her head, pushing off the wall. “I’ll do my best. They should transfer Roy into a cell for the night.” 

“Already on it,” Sharpe called out as his feet carried him swiftly through the corridors of the station, his smile fading as soon as her back was turned. 

. . . 

Leo must have drifted off for a while, because when he blinked his eyes open, they were crusted and sore against the dry air. His stuffy nose struggled to take a deep breath in, uncurling his head from his arms. His neck felt horribly stiff as he shifted back into the chair, weary hands rubbing at it gently. 

He was still in the same, boring room as before, alone as ever. 

He wondered where Roy was. 

God, he would do anything to see him right now. Was he somewhere in the building? Were they treating him badly? Was he doing a good job? Without Roy here to tell him if he was doing okay with the story, he could feel himself becoming agitated and nervous. If he was here, he would probably be holding him gently, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and Leo would lap it up like it was the last time he’d ever hear anything nice. It might have been now. What if he got into trouble for killing Michael? What if he slipped up and disappointed Roy? 

Even when the door popped open again, Leo didn’t look over. He was chewing on his finger again, staring intently at the surface of the table. 

“Leo?” 

He jerkily nodded his head, letting the woman know that he was listening. It passed over him in a blur, however. He briefly listened to her soft words, much kinder than the bearded detective from before. He learned that her name was Summers. Heard her repeat the same mantra’s of “you’re safe now” and “no one can hurt you anymore”. He had to endure the difficult, probing questions that Roy had told him about, words flying from her mouth like “do you understand the concept of Stockholm Syndrome?” or “did he coerce you into sexual intercourse?”, and Leo forced himself to keep his head on straight through it all. 

Still, like Roy wanted, he didn’t crumble. 

He felt like he would. Each question was chipping away at his exhausted resolve, the sinking darkness under his eyes an indication enough about what the stress was doing to him. He was guided carefully to an unlocked cell, where they encouraged him to get some rest. A bunch of pillows, blankets, water, pills, and even a bar of chocolate was handed to him by uniformed police officers.

Their kindness was almost strange.

Respectfully keeping their distance, making sure he was comfortable and ensuring him they would do their best to stay quiet for him. Even when he’d become anxious over the cell door being locked and caging him in like some criminal, a pudgy officer had placed a chair against the door to keep it propped open for him. 

Leo barely slept a wink. 

He pulled the blankets right up to his nose, but none of them reminded him of home. His stomach ached as sickening thoughts plagued his mind. I need to tell them. I need to tell them the truth. Then another side of them, cruel and hissing in his ear. What about Roy? He’ll be so disappointed in you. 

By the time he’d been retrieved by those two detectives again and placed in the same little room, he was more of a coward than he had always been. He sobbed as he told them the same story, over and over again. Even as the timer ticked down, closing in on the forty-eight hours with only minutes left, he gave Sharpe and Summers the same answer to their demands. 

“We can only do this with your help,” the man pressed, a slight edge of desperation in his tone. “Tell us it was Roy.” 

He didn’t. 

And by then, it was too late anyway.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235 @whumpasaurus101 @mj-or-say10 @professional-idiocy @seaweed-is-cool @theelvishcowgirl @atomicsandwichprince @sunshiline-writes @peasandpotatos @pirefyrelight @enigmawritesstuff @reverie1234 @obsessedsplicer505 @mithras-energy @morning-star-whump

[oohbuggypie]

super long discussion abt my headcanons for Don's tattoo, as well as Carmen's and Bull's !

WARNING!! these r very headcanon heavy and probably reach-y ideas so if u prefer to stick to canon / r scared of mischaracterization maybe dont read 🩷 also this is SUPER long so im gonna go ahead and put all of this beneath a cut bcuz i don't wanna flood + this is centered around ship talk and i know some ppl don't care 4 that ✝️ pairs discussed are CarDon and BullDon, but emphasis on Carmen and Don bcuz they're mentioned more than once!!

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

kay so i always talk abt Don having a tattoo but ive never clarified WHAT the tattoo is of / what it says . im usually stuck between not knowing what it would be;; a religious image or a religious quote ? a cross felt too basic, but an entire passage of text would just be way too much for Don in my opinion,, i don't think he'd ever want such a huge, obvious amount of black ink on his body forever. i came up with the idea that Don's tat in the Monster Hunter would be COLOSSIANS 3:2, and it felt very fitting ; it's small and fairly easy to hide, but it reflects a great amount of his world perception and his ideologies . and i think that the exact same style of tattoo would fit his regular universe character very well too !

so after some consideration and many MANY dumb questions, i have concluded: i think Don's tattoo would be JOHN 15:9 .

John 15:9 reads: "I have loved you even as the Father has loved me. Remain in my love."

so why that quote ??

Don is a very romantic man :: he holds a very deep love for Carmen and he expresses that in his actions , seeming to dedicate his fights to her and celebrating his victories in her name . not only that, but i think his loving attitude is expressed through his non-romantic actions as well; he shows a considerable amount of respect to his opponents, and he recognizes his own mistakes! he's romantic , respectful , and to an extent - humble . i think that that verse fits him so well because it connects to his romantic personality and religious upbringing. along with being raised religiously, i think Don's parents took extra time to truly teach Don the lesson that love is one of life's most valuable and prominent factors. not only did they teach him to show kindness and respect to his peers, but i think they integrated the idea of finding romance very early in his life. they wanted their son to fall in love with the "right person", and they wanted him to treat his lover with deep devotion and respect. so i think that those two factors ended up melding together as Don grew up; religion reflected love, and his love would reflect his religion. so upon the two merging, i think Don made the decision to get that specific quote as a tattoo as means to reflect his two deepest values, and as a promise to himself that he'd find his true partner one day. so when Don truly did fall in love, he felt an even deeper connection to the tattoo.

Don's canonical partner being Carmen is adorable to me, and this is where the second portion of my headcanon comes in: i think that throughout the course of their relationship, Carmen would recognize the true sentiment that religion holds in Don's life and get a similar tattoo as devotion to her lover ! much like Don, to me, she wouldn't want an obnoxious or obvious tattoo simply because it doesn't fit the way she presents herself. so as a way to match her partner, i think she'd get the exact same kind of tattoo but with a different passage.

i think Carmen would choose ROMANS 1:11 - 12, and the placement would be beneath her right breast.

Romans 1:11 - 12 reads: "I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong - that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith."

i think the first part of the text ("I long to see you...") reflects the majority of Don's life where he waited to find his true partner, and how he and Carmen were bound to be together; she just hadn't met him yet. the second part of the quote ("...to make you strong...") is super fitting in the context of the idea that Carmen is Don's main motivation that drive his passions, like bullfighting and boxing. and the final part of the quote solidifies their love for each other - by sharing a tattoo, they share the love behind it and they serve as one another's guide of sorts.

-

as for Don being in a relationship with Bull, i think Bull would have conflicted feelings about getting a tattoo. Don, by no means, thinks that Bull NEEDS to get a tattoo to encapsulate their love ,, it was never a "required" or expected action to be reciprocated and Don understands that very well! both of them have already given each other deeply valuable gifts as ways to express their devotion. however, if Bull were to get a tattoo, i think he'd prioritize it being very small and very private.

to me, Bull's tattoo would be of the Virgin Mary in colored ink, placed on his inner, left thigh.

this is solely my opinion and i def don't expect anyone to agree, but that one is soo special to me . i think Don would have a very strong admiration of the Virgin Mary as an entire concept, and Bull took note of that love. he decided to represent it by choosing an intimate place that practically nobody else would ever see. neither of them see it constantly, but when they do they're reminded of just how deep their love runs . 🥹

OKAY I THINK IM DONE OMGG . this could be worded so much better but it's past midnight and this was literally ripping my brain to shreds all day so i HAD to get it out immediately 😭✝️ thanks 2 anybody that read all this omg i didn't think i was gonna talk THAT much .. srry but Don and religion r just sooooo good paired i HAD to share 🩷 okay goodniiiiiight