#wee yin

[scotianostra]

This a 10 day old baby highland coo for your appreciation.

[nostalgia-tblr]

Today I have sensibly added words to Chapter Two Of The Over-Long Adultery-Filled AU, thus upping the chances of there being an update posted within a reasonable timeframe. \o/ There's nae rush, it's fine, I can do this, etc, etc.

Doing less well at not writing 'Frigga Mindwipes Everyone' because apparently I want that female character I know basically fuck-all about to get to do something hecking shady? So that consists of several fragments now, including a truly shocking bit where Odin is slightly better at parenting than she is. I KNOW RIGHT!! (Somehow the mindwiping demands build-up/backstory that's mostly just her hanging out with her weans? IDK. Honestly I'm a bit disturbed by the level of wholesomeness that's emerging here. At least there's the mindwipe stuff to balance that out a bit eh?)

[dribs-and-drabbles]

It's been a week since I last posted (I swear it had been just a few days!), so it's clear life is a little bit busy at the moment, but I can't abandon this blog just yet...

This might get a bit rambly but I thought I'd just organise my thoughts around the series I'm watching at the moment before I watch Vice Versa and maybe go feral over it if the snippets I have read about it are to be believed. Also, since several series finished in recent weeks, I've had to update my top ten list. Ooof that was difficult.

So, the series I'm currently watching in order of enjoyment:

Love Mechanics: I adore this show. I love the angst and Yin and War do it so well. I can't even fault Vee as a character for leading Mark on because Vee is so conflicted about his feelings - unable to let go of something so familiar but also with a desperate need to be with Mark. I am both looking forward and dreading the 'break-up' post-Vee kissing Ploy one last time. Insert: 'finally some good fucking food' gif.

Senpai, This Can't Be Love: Ahhhh mutual pining. One not understanding if he just worships the other as an idol or if he wants to be with him romantically...and the other so unsure if his feelings are reciprocated that he's scared to pursue the first (plus the roles of work mentor/junior putting a block in the way. I didn't really like the Canadian dude...but I do like that one of the leads is called Kaneda, emphasising the running theme.

My Secret Love: This is fun and cute and makes me laugh out loud sometimes ("Guys I have some good news." "What? Gas prices going down?" - I mean so random and yet topical) but also make sme cringe...a lot (when they fake cry - is it supposed to be fake or real? They're so ott...). But since the pairs are mostly established, we're starting to see where the angsty forces will come from - for Mek and Kim it seems Mek wants to study abroad, and for Park and Lee it's the photography issue.

Even Sun: Okay, I don't actually think this is very good but I'm watching it because I can't help it and also because Boun is so compelling. I think I prefer Prem in a more shy role like in UWMA. The plot is meh but I'm interested enough to see where it goes. I think a third couple will be introduced soon (if the opening credits are to be believed - ha! - and those actors seem promising) and the locations are gorgeous.

Sky in Your Heart: Yeah...I dislike so much about this series but I'm mainly salty that it could have been SO GOOD but it just...isn't. *sigh* but as above I'm watching because I can't help it and I do want to see how it ends. But it's just frustrating and illogical and just poorly done. But great to see Aun even though it is yet again in a side role - lead role for Aun when exactly? Poor guy has been waiting in the wings for too long - and he looked fantastic with his hair slightly curly in the rain. Come on GMMTV!

Right, now to watch Vice Versa - I've heard there's a lot of colour-use/symbolism, so I'll be on the look out for that! Maybe if I have time, I'll post about it...

And my ask is always open if you want to come talk to me about any bl series!

[lovebugism]

hi babe hope this isn’t too personal but not having the greatest time right now. therapist did not answer any of my calls today so im kinda a mess 🥲🥲 if you’re willing to write any kind of comfort fic with any character that would be the best 💗💗💗

hi anon! i hope things are going better now! take this eddie munson comfort fic as my attempts to make you feel a wee bit better ily mwah <3

You were pretty good at taking care of yourself most of the time. Eddie always thought your innate sense of responsibility was extremely hot — mostly because it meant that you were even better at taking care of him.

He said it was a perk of being your boyfriend — “one of many,” he’d say, just before smacking a kiss to your cheek.

You were the yin to his yang in that way. Peace in all his chaos.

Eddie, himself, was a being who thrived on mayhem. There wasn’t a single thing he loved more than unpredictability — well, you, of course. Then maybe DnD. But spontaneity was a close third.

He isn’t quite sure how to live his life without the company of total disarray. He isn’t sure he would want to if he had the chance either. The unexpected makes things fun. At least, that’s what he always tells you. You’re not so sure.

When he makes you late to things because of his horrible time management skills, or he can’t find his keys because they’re hidden somewhere underneath a pile of clothes in the corner of his room, it feels a little like the end of the world.

And not just in the oh no, this thing is really stressing me out; good thing I know it’s illogical sort of way. But in the oh fuck, we’re gonna be ten minutes late to this get-together where there are zero consequences whether we show up or not, but it’s inducing so much panic that I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to function properly.

You’ve gotten pretty good at hiding your fear over the years. It’s just that Eddie’s so damn attuned to everything going on in your head that it makes it insanely difficult to wallow in your dread alone.

He knows when you start pacing and talking a million miles a minute that something’s working you up. He knows when you start getting snappy and don’t think his jokes are funny anymore that you’re close to your breaking point. He knows when you stop talking altogether that your entire world is caving in around you.

So Eddie takes great care in getting to things on time and tidying up his room when you're around. He doesn’t even care that he finds it all a bit irrational, he just wants to make things easier for you. Even if it means getting to Steve’s house an hour before everyone else or actually folding his clothes before putting them in drawers.

Eddie knows you use structure like a weapon rather than a shield. Organization isn't a way to keep your life together, it’s to keep it from falling apart. When something is out of order, when there’s one piece out of place, it’s not an easy fix — not for you. It’s more like a ticking tomb. 

You’re the ticking time bomb. And the faintest scent of disorder is bound to make you explode.

But maybe calling it a bomb isn’t the most accurate way to describe it. The way Eddie sees it, it’s a lot more like an avalanche.

It starts off small, a little rumble of uncertainty that jostles the comfort of your routine. You blink and suddenly the snowball weighs two tons and you’ve spiraled into a full-blown crisis that threatens to swallow you whole.

You don’t let anyone see any of it. Not even Eddie a lot of the time. You just bury yourself in the landslide until the heavy snow melts and you can function normally again — it may last a couple hours, maybe weeks.

So it’s a good thing Eddie can see all the warning signs before they start.

It’s all the little shit he notices first — the not showering as often, the not keeping things as tidy as usual, the closing yourself off. Eddie Munson knows a depression room when he sees one. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know you’re slipping.

But rather than acknowledge that boogeyman, he pretends like it isn’t there at all. He thinks if he acts like it doesn’t scare him, then it doesn’t have the power to hurt him. That’s exactly how he treats the funks you get into. He knows they’re there but doesn’t let them take over completely.

Eddie comes around whenever he gets the chance and helps you do your self-care routine — even though all you do is complain that you don’t need his help the entire time.

He coaxes you into the bath and tidies up your bedroom while you’re gone. He does all the steps of your skincare for you after because he knows you can’t do it yourself. You’re too tired to, but you feel like shit when you don’t. That’s the same bitter cycle that started this whole mess.

He doesn’t do anything crazy. He just takes care of the little things to make you feel less consumed by it all.

You’re a pouting mess in the middle of your bed after, freshly cleaned and drowning in a too big shirt that smells like the musk of Eddie’s cologne with a towel twisted up in your hair. It’s almost cartoonish, the way you cross your arms over your chest and scrunch your face in displeasure.

“I don’t want you to do all this stuff for me, Eds,” you gripe. “I’m a big girl, okay? I can do it myself.”

The boy shrugs from where he stands at the foot of your bed. “I know I don’t have to. I want to, though. I like doing this stuff for you.”

“You hate cleaning, Eddie.”

“Yeah. I do,” he affirms with a nod, all but flopping onto the mattress beside you. He rests his head on his fist and blinks up at you with wide, twinkling button eyes. A grin pulls at his pink lips as he asks you, “But you know what I don’t hate?”

You huff but entertain him anyway. “…What?”

“You,” he beams and taps the tip of your nose with his pointer finger.

You meet his smile with a grimace.

“Actually, I sort of love you, as it turns out,” he corrects himself in a lilt. “And when you love someone, you do the shit you hate to make them happy, right? Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

You don’t answer him, just shrug.

“Well, either way, I’m happy to do all the boring shit if it means there’s a chance I get to make you feel even a little bit better,” Eddie tells you, pinching his thumb and forefinger together and leaving just an inch or more of space to squint his eye through.

That hand flops down and lands on your thigh. His thumb absentmindedly rubs over the skin there. His smile turns sheepish.

“I will happily fold laundry and do taxes and wash dishes and… all that stupid, boring shit for you for the rest of my life, as long as I can look over and see you next to me…”

Your heart swells with a distant happiness you haven’t felt in weeks.

Eddie helps you until you feel better enough to do it yourself.

Needless to say, when he stops by your place and finds it completely spotless, he doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. He rushes to your room and finds you in bed, flipping through a book. The small radio on your bedside table plays something synth-y.

He realizes you’ve traded in The Smiths for The Psychedelic Furs and that your lavender candle is burning on your desk and that you’ve spritzed yourself in your vanilla perfume.

Those are all staples in your little routine that you borderline can’t live without. You always missed out on them when you got into your funks, but here they are again…

Eddie tries not to smile too wide.

“How’s it hangin’?” he sing-songs when he waltzes into your room.

“Fine...” you murmur, half-distracted by your novel. After a few long seconds, your eyes finally flit up to his. He’s doing a terrible job of hiding a grin. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Eddie shrugs as he takes off his leather jacket. He neatly lays the thing over the back of your desk chair and smooths out the wrinkles.

“‘Cause I love the shit out of you,” he answers like it’s nothing, like the words don’t mean everything to you. “And I’m really fucking proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” you echo in a scoff.

Because, to you, crawling out of a three week long funk is hardly something to be proud of. You don’t feel like you should be rewarded for being human, but Eddie knows that getting through the hard shit is a part of being human. And he’s so goddamn proud of you for it.

“Yep,” he nods with pink cheeks and a hopeful grin. “I’ve never been prouder of you, babe. And, like, I’m always proud of you, so that’s saying something.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath. Your attention flits back to your book rather than focusing on the intense gaze Eddie looks at you with. You don’t get through a single sentence before he rips the thing from your hands. “Eddie!—”

You look at him again and find that he’s sterner now, but still so tender — chocolate eyes hardened but soft around the edges. There’s a kind grin on his and an air about him that tells you he’s serious. 

Eddie rounds your bed and plants himself at the edge of it. He keeps your book hostage in one hand and holds onto your calf with the other, running his thumb over the soft skin of your knee.

“I’m serious,” he tells you. “Like, I know shit gets hard for you sometimes, but... I don't know, watching you get through it is… really fucking cool, babe.”

He laughs when it makes you laugh.

“Seriously. It’s like you get stronger every day, and… not to be a total sap or whatever, but I feel really lucky that I get to see it.”

You’re not sure whether to duck away from his gaze or revel in its warmth. You manage somehow to do both with a distant pout on your face. 

Eddie’s grin widens until the dimple in his right cheek reveals itself.  “What?” he laughs. “What’s that look for?”

“‘Cause you’re nice to me,” you mumble like the cutest little storm cloud. “And it’s gross… And also I love you.”

“Well, get ready, babe. You got a whole lifetime of me being nice to you coming your way, so… Be prepared to be sick of me by the time we’re all old and wrinkly, alright? ‘Cause I’m still gonna love the shit outta you then.”

You grumble when he smacks a kiss to your knee.

You hope he keeps his promise.

[helpfandom]

platonic yandere Riddler (2004) and daughter reader who was adopted by platonic yandere Bruce Wayne after his fall from Grace and He's desperate to get his precious daughter back

a yandere Riddler 2004 AND Batman 2004? It'll have basics for Batman, with a favoritism to Riddler, since that is what the request seems to be asking. HCs

A little shorter since I was a little confused, sorry @yanderefangirl

Riddler Section: If Reader was ever adopted because Riddler is a criminal, he would hate Batman further, trying to find out his real identity, even to the point of chasing down Yin, trying to find out who, who sent his precious kiddo to that Bruce Wayne who, while may have more money, can NOT teach his delicate kiddo how to deal with the world! He would attempt to kidnap you back, but that insidious Batman keeps getting in the way, not to mention the fact that Bruce and Alfred keep you locked up for your 'safety'. He is FURIOUS that they think they can protect you better, and yet, he's sad, because... Well, I mean, he couldn't stop Batman from taking you away from him, so maybe they can. But that can't stop him from wanting you back.

Batman Section: How, how did Riddler think he could protect you? He's a CRIMINAL, and you're just a wee babe, unknowing of the world, how. Alfred is your best company, Robin too busy training, and Batman off doing... stuff [like tracking Riddler so he can never get close to you again], so you spend most of your time locked up in the Wayne household with Alfred. Bruce would watch you through the various cameras he has set up around his house, noting every little thing, keeping you under constant vigilance so that he can see if you would turn out like your father. After noticing how you don't have that certain aptitude to pick up objects that would be worth a lot of money, or the aptitude to leave clues around the house detailing your plan for the evening, he relaxes, okay with you now he knows you won't be like Riddler.

Both of them want that they think is best for you, to the point of manipulating the systems they work for [Justice, and Criminal], in order to get the other to never see you again.

Doesn't matter who you prefer as a father, they'll try to get you back no matter what.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Post-canon Yin Yu being the only one Hua Cheng trusts to look after Xie Lian if he's not around (besides Yushi Huang, but she's generally unavailable.)

(Xie Lian does not need looking after. Irrelevant.)

It becomes this strangely intimate though platonic dynamic where Yin Yu is the only other person allowed in their bedroom; the only person allowed to see Xie Lian fluffy and half-asleep and debauched. And when some disaster makes Hua Cheng slip from the bed in the wee hours to go crush problems with an extra layer of irritation brought on by having to leave a cozy bed full of post-coital snuggles, it's Yin Yu who brings Xie Lian breakfast in bed. And Xie Lian would hate it to be anyone else; Mu Qing and Feng Xin would shriek and fuss over his love-bites and the way he winces a little when he moves, and anyone else would awkwardly avert their gaze and fluster and stutter. But Yin Yu is just like, "Would His Highness like a Tylenol with his orange juice?" and Xie Lian kind of loves him for that.

[auspicioustidings]

Taggart

Summary: Silly little festive Price x reader x Soap for @bunnyreaper

Words: 1.2k

“You're right Captain, wouldn't be professional would it?” 

Gaz snorted a laugh at that. Simon's dry tone paired with the fact that the two of them were currently very much wrapped up in one another was making Price look like he was sucking lemon slices. 

Honestly he felt bad for his Captain. Soap and you were up excitedly flipping through the karaoke book and were even more casually affectionate than usual with the alcohol flowing which in turn was clearly driving Price mad. It probably didn't help that the dive bar that you all frequented was so endearingly decorated for the season, the twinkling multicoloured lights giving everything a whimsy feel to it that so suited how you and Soap always were together.

Honestly him and Simon would lay in bed at night and gossip away about this whole thing like a pair of old dears. You, Soap and the Captain were so stupidly in love with one another and all of you were so steadfastly ignoring it. It had been funny at first, but after a year of this it was now just getting frustrating to watch. 

“Oh sod off, you two aren't the same” Price grumbled into his whiskey, eyes never leaving you and Soap.

“I mean if you want to promote me up to Lieutenant then maybe that would be true and if I really have to take a promotion to help you out I suppose I could.”

“Cheeky git.”

“Just taking the piss Captain.”

“Doesn't make him less right. If you're fine with me ruining a Sergeant for anyone else why can't you?”

“Simon you say the most romantic things.”

“I'm a regular casanova.”

Price watched as Soap handed you a microphone with a flourish after hugging you and you both stumbled to the stage, faces flush with the effects of mulled wine and excitement. Goddamnit the two of you were going to be the end of him. He had been fine (so he tells himself) when it was only his wildly inappropriate feelings for John MacTavish he had to contend with. Then a year ago he gets told about some little firestarter medic that was facing a severe disciplinary for disobeying direct orders and assaulting a superior officer. You had refused to leave a man behind and then punched your CO and really he should have known then he was going to fall ass over teakettle for you. You were so like MacTavish in so many ways, and my God did the two of you bring out the best in one another.

He had watched with unbridled pride as you earned a promotion within 6 months of working with them. Overdue really, you should have made Sergeant well before then but you had the same problem that was common with the 141; a stunning lack of respect for those who did nothing to earn it but wear a set of stripes.  

And fuck, it was an absolute joy watching Soap take you under his wing. John always knew he was meant for big things, but watching him be able to teach you made him feel like tearing up. While you teased one another and got into mischief all the time, he also saw how gentle Johnny was with you. He saw the way he looked at you when your eyes were elsewhere, so much adoration that it made his heart hurt. 

Yes, you two were practically made for one another. He was just made to sit and nurse his whisky on the sidelines, cheering you on even if it made his heart break.

–

“Ye should replace it with… uh… yer maw watches Taggart!”

“But you watch Taggart!”

“Aye because it's a pure fandabbydozy show.”

Honestly made sense to you. Well, it made sense when you had tried several of the wonderful Christmas themed cocktails. Fairytale of New York karaoke was your stunning idea, but you were trying to avoid shout singing the word faggot at the top of your lungs and thus you would instead be viciously disparaging Johnny by suggesting his mother watched a detective show. Savage really. You nodded vigorously and Johnny smooshed your cheeks.

“Yer so cute wee yin, ma wee baby bunny” he cooed.

You did try to blow a raspberry at him but the smooshing really fucked up your attempt. Oh you wished John was here too, he always sighed and bonked you both on the head when you'd get into childish little exchanges like this. You frowned, suddenly sad about being too scared to drag him up with you. 

Johnny was easy to pull into stupid things like this, but with John it felt trickier. It wasn't like rank seemed to matter much out of the field in this team, Kyle and Simon were proof enough of that, but deep down you knew that wasn't what made you nervous about it. It was that you had stupidly fallen in love with more than one man. And even worse, you were fairly sure that they were in love with one another. The thought of them pitying you for your crushes horrified you something awful, but you just could not keep yourself away from them.

“Yer sad” Johnny said, seemingly devastated by the prospect. “Dinnae be sad bonnie, cannae stand it when yer sad.”

God he really couldn't. Not that he was ever really able to say it out loud sober. Fuck he was so irrevocably in love with two of his team mates, what a place to find himself.

“OK, gonna sing out my sadness” you said, going a little overboard on the gloomy dramatics.

“Och that’s a pure sin, c’mere my wee darlin’” he replied as he wrapped you up in his arms and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe and were smacking him to let go.

Time to bury your feelings and give the best performance of your life.

–

“Jesus, they’re terrible.”

Kyle looked at Simon and Simon looked at Kyle before they both looked back at Price. He wasn’t wrong, you were God awful, but he was still staring like you and Johnny had hung the stars in the sky nonetheless. It was awfully cute. He was too distracted to even notice that there were eyes everywhere flitting between him and the stage, after all most of the regulars and all of the staff were very much involved in the betting pool on how this was eventually going to play out and maybe tonight would be the night.

They all watched with delighted anticipation as Price eventually downed his whisky just before the end of the song and stood, making a beeline for the stage. 

“Oh! Don’t remember that being part of the song” Kyle said with a choked laugh as Price very much lost all composure and thoroughly crossed rank lines.

Simon tilted his head in amusement and gave a low whistle.

“Suppose we should stop them before they commit a public indecency felony on stage.”

They didn’t have to in the end, the riotous cheering of everyone in the place distracted the three of you for long enough to realise you were very much in public. Surprising nobody, you decided to leave early and turn in for the night. It was not lost on Simon or Kyle that you all went to the same bedroom.

[minihotdog]

The Lass Next Door

Pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x OC Isla

OC Appearance: Isla (aye-lah) is a Latina with curly brown hair.

a/n: Proofread like shit. I always imagined Soap having a wonderful mom <3

Word Count: 800

***

“Oh ma dear Johnny, ye’ll loe her!” John’s mom gleams into the phone. She stands next to the phone with a hand on her hip over her red flowery apron. A massive cheetah print clip pulls back her black curly hair.

“Aye, maw?” He smiles, happy to hear his mother’s warm and loving voice for the first time in months.

“She jist moved intae the toon and she’s a pure gem. I invited her fur yer dinner.”

“I cannae wait tae meet her, maw.” 

She pulls away to yet at the two fighting kids running through the kitchen.

“Youse bairns are ower auld tae be carryin’ oan like the mad beasts! Tak’ a seat!” She huffs before putting the phone back to her ear.

“Yer wee nephews are drivin’ me aff ma heid.”

He chuckles, his oldest sister’s kids were the sweetest kids he’s ever met but when their mom isn’t around they could terrorize a village.

“So, whin will ye hae some weans o’ yer ain?” She probes.

“A’ll be there braw soon tae gie them a guid skelpin.” He says, ignoring the question she’s been asking for years. 

***

“Oh, love, ah’m that excited fur ye tae meet ma ain, Johnny. It’s not often that he’s home.” She motions for you to sit at the table while she finishes up the cooking.

“Why’s that?” You question. With the way Ms. Mactavish speaks of her son, you’d imagine they’d hate being apart.

“He’s SAS, ye ken? He’s a pure success, Ah’m sae proud o’ ma boy.” She smiles really big. You can’t help but smile with her. The way she talks about him is so heartwarming.

Suddenly a loud thud erupts from the backyard. Ms. Mactavish goes running outside.

“Aye! Didnae I tell ye wee yins tae calm doon wi’ yer games?!”

Just then the front door swings open.

“Maw, I’m home!”

“Oh, Johnny!” She cries out, rushing inside. They embrace each other, he bends down to rest his head on her shoulder.

“Oh, how I missed ye!” She grabs his stubble-covered cheeks, giving them a pinch as he protests.

“Come oan, come an meet oor new neighbour, Isla.”

You stand to shake his hand with a friendly smile. Once he comes into the kitchen you’re a wave of shock washes over you.

This is the darling baby boy she’s been talking about?!

He’s massive. He towering over you, his ice-cold eyes match every member of his family present along with his black hair that was shaved at the sides into a mohawk. His shoulders are wide, his arms are muscular and covered in dark hair. Your eyes drop to his boyish grin and just below his lips a scar running along his chin. He’s all man, rugged as can be. His black shirt is a little too tight around his biceps and his jeans stretch over his thick thighs.

Oh dear god.

His massive hand takes your small one in a gentle shake. The callouses on his palm leave your skin buzzing and wanting more.

***Johnny’s POV***

I walk past the old door spotting the dents I’d made in it with a BB gun when I was about 12 years old. A smile glues itself to my face once the familiar scent hits my nose. It smells like home.

“Maw, I’m home!”

She comes running around the corner.

“Oh, Johnny!” She wraps me in her arms.

“Maw,” I mutter.

“Oh, how I missed ye!” Tears brim in her eyes. I try to shake her hands off when she pinches my cheeks like I’m still her wee boy.

“Come oan, come an’ meet our new neighbour, Isla.” She grabs me by the arm, dragging me to the kitchen. Upon turning the corner I see a lass-

Steamin’ Jesus-

Her long brown curly hair falls down her shoulders and back. A perfect background to contrast her figure, slim hourglass falling into her wide hips and a behind I couldn’t wait to peek at when she wouldn’t notice.

She’s wearing these big geeky glasses and behind them, I almost melt at the sight, two warm brown eyes. Her plump lips, little round chin, bone structure of a goddess with just enough roundness to her cheeks to keep her as cute as a doll, and her sunkissed skin unlike anyone I’ve seen in this town. Her t-shirt sticks to her figure and her jeans look like they’d only come off if they were cut.

I try to keep my eyes from wondering too much.

Oh fuck. This lassie is gonna pure make me keel ower.

“Eh! Isla?” I take her hand in mine, dwelling on how soft it feels and fits so perfectly in mine.

“Nice to meet you.”

Her voice, tha’ perfect smile… I may as well ask fur forgiveness now, maw, ‘cause I’m gonna start wheezin’ like a dog.

“Can I call you Johnny?” She asks me so politely.

Fuck’s sake, call me a bastard if ye like.

“Aye, bonnie, that’ll dae fur me.”

“Bonnie…?” She gets cut off by my rambunctious nephews running inside.

“Uncle Johnny!” They yell in unison and jump on me.

“Hey! I was talkin’ tae ma new pal ye scunners!” I laugh at the two, lifting both of them in separate arms.

“Hand on noo. Gie yersels intae yer seats, it’s time tae eat!”

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Beside the Seaside: Ch 7

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Jamie might have called Murtagh in a desperate panic when he asked him to locate Murtagh’s cousin, Mrs. Fitz, and bring her to the inn, but he had done so knowing Murtagh was equal to the task. Still, when they arrived at The Fairy Hill’s doorstep in just a matter of days, Jamie couldn’t say he wasn’t startled by the haste at which Murtagh had brought her there.

“Mrs. Fitz!” he hailed in greeting, feeling his heart lift unexpectedly at the sight of the older woman’s beaming face. It had been nearly eight years since he’d seen her, but it felt like memories of another lifetime when they had both been at Leoch. “Welcome!”

“Och, Jamie lad, it’s good to see ye!”

He came around the front desk to embrace her and felt his throat swell when she uttered joyously, “You haven’t changed a bit.” He knew he had changed from the nineteen-year-old lad that she had known working at his uncle’s hotel. He was a father, for one, and… well, as much as he’d wished it hadn’t, the war had left him permanently marked in more ways than one.

“It’s good to see ye, Mrs. Fitz. Thank you for coming.” He met his godfather’s gaze over the woman’s shoulder, and while Murtagh did not look particularly pleased at the moment, the man had still shown up when Jamie had called. He had always counted on that with Murtagh.

“And who’s this wee yin?”

Jamie looked back to see Faith peering curiously at the three of them. He smiled and held out a hand to her, beckoning. “This is my wee Faith.” His hand rested lightly on her head once she was near. “Come say hello to our new cook, Mrs. Fitzgibbons. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“Ye can call me Mrs. Fitz — or Grannie Fitz if it suits ye.”

Jamie watched any hesitancy in his daughter melt at that. For all that she was a puir motherless thing, she had a habit of collecting parental figures, and he could practically see the moment she decided she would keep Mrs. Fitz held in her heart. “D’ye want to see the kitchen?” Faith asked her.

“Faith, I’m sure Mrs. Fitz wants to get settled first—”

“I can get settled after I see the kitchen,” Mrs. Fitz insisted, taking Faith’s hand in her own. “I’ll need to know what I’m working with, after all.”

He watched Faith lead the woman past the stairs to the doors they had always kept closed to the guests — but wouldn’t need to for much longer. The kitchen was modest, he knew, but he didn’t doubt Mrs. Fitz would be able to make it work, and there was a dining area for the guests, with small round tables and chairs. He’d already seen Mrs. Fitz in charge of a kitchen before, and he’d promised her the freedom to run this one as she saw fit.

Murtagh’s hand clapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. “Are ye gonna tell me why I had to race here wi’ Mrs. Fitz because yer business depended on it?” his godfather asked, parroting Jamie’s own words from their telephone call back at him. Murtagh’s arm swept out in front of him, gesturing to the space around them. “The place doesnae seem to be on the verge of collapse.”

Jamie let out a measured breath, and patted Murtagh’s upper arm. “Thank ye for bringing Mrs. Fitz,” he said, ignoring that last comment. “I was having a devil of a time trying to sort out where she went and which grandchild she had gone to visit.”

“She was wi’ Laoghaire in Inverness,” Murtagh answered baldly and, seeing Jamie’s momentary puzzlement, added, “the blonde wee lassie ye met at Leoch.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie murmured, remembering vaguely the young girl who helped Mrs. Fitz in the kitchen and sometimes worked as a maid at the hotel as well. “She won’t still be a wee lassie now though, I suppose.”

“That girl will be a lassie until she's fifty,” Murtagh muttered dryly. “Now are ye going to tell me why I rushed the woman here, or do I have to beat it out of ye.”

Jamie arched one brow at that. Murtagh was scrappy in a fight, to be sure, but Jamie had the stronger build. But Murtagh had known him since he was wee and was immune to any of the natural intimidation that came with Jamie’s size. “The inn is doing well enough, I suppose, but I’m losing business every day when my own guests cannae even eat here.”

Murtagh grunted at that, but still eyed Jamie a little too keenly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Just a few days. Ye owe me that at least.”

Perhaps he did, and there was a chance Murtagh truly needed the respite, but Jamie suspected the time would be used to keep an eye on him. None of his family had come to stay since he and Faith had moved here, but Jamie hadn’t exactly extended an invitation either.

“Aye, alright, I have an extra bed in the spare room next to Faith’s. It’s all yours.”

  ----------

  Claire had been hoping to find Jamie alone when she descended the stairs, but she instead found him behind the front desk with a tall and lean dour-faced man.

“Sassenach,” he called to her before she had much of a chance to decide if she should change course or not. He was grinning broadly and she felt the pull to go to him, to bask in that light for a bit. “This is my godfather, Murtagh. Murtagh, this is Claire.”

Claire extended her hand to the man, wondering if Jamie realized he hadn’t said anything further as to who she was — no this is Claire, one of my guests here, or this is Claire, she stays on the third floor and occasionally patches me up. Just Claire, as if she needed no further introduction.

Murtagh shook her hand, eyeing her acutely. “Wee Faith had a lot to say about ye when she was at Lallybroch.”

And apparently, she hadn’t needed any further introduction. That revelation not only startled Claire, but Jamie as well, she noticed. “Oh,” she said, “All good things, I hope?”

“Oh aye,” Murtagh said immediately, but something in his tone seemed to indicate a layer of… was it curiosity? Claire glossed a smile over her face and looked at Jamie, unsure how to proceed from there.

“Go and check on Mrs. Fitz, will ye? See if she needs anything?”

Murtagh’s expression changed to something even more surly, realizing he was being dismissed. “Just to remind ye, in case ye’ve fallen on yer heid lately, I’m no’ yer errand boy,” he said, but still turned and went out of the room.

Claire turned wide eyes to Jamie.

“Aye, that’s just Murtagh for ye. A wee bit rough around the edges, but more loyal than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“He, uh—” she stopped herself from saying that the man seemed lovely, because in the few moments that she’d known him, she couldn’t say that was exactly true, but she could tell, even with just a glimpse of it, that Murtagh was protective of Jamie, and that was certainly a credit to him. “Is he staying?” she asked instead.

“Aye, for a few days.” Jamie grinned then and leaned forward against the counter, inching closer to her. “He brought my cook here — Mrs. Fitz. I cannae wait for ye to meet her.”

“Oh, Jamie, that’s wonderful!”

“Faith is giving her the tour just now, we can go and introduce ye now, if ye’d like.”

“Yes, but first,” she said, suddenly feeling a breathless flutter in her chest to seize the moment while it was just the two of them. “I’d like to extend our stay here. That is, if you still have room,” she added quickly, and hoped her nervousness that he might already be booked didn’t show as plainly as she felt it.

“Aye, I do have room,” Jamie said immediately, without so much as a glance at his booking calendar, though he did fumble for it after giving his answer. “For how long?”

“For three more weeks.” It was impossible to miss the unrestrained smile that those words brought to Jamie, and Claire felt her heart flutter again in her chest. “If you can bear the sight of us for that much longer,” she teased. “It’s been… so good for Fergus here. I was actually thinking—”

“Miss Claire!” Faith’s voice rang out from the other side of the room, and Claire turned to see the girl followed by Murtagh and the woman she supposed was Mrs. Fitz. Jamie came around the desk to join them.

“This is Claire Beauchamp, she’s staying here for a few more weeks wi’ her son Fergus.” Jamie’s smile was rapturous as he said this, never taking his gaze from her face even as he spoke to Mrs. Fitz. “So I’m sure you’ll get to see them plenty.”

   ----------

The days of their summer in Nairn began to change shape by inches, first with the arrival of Mrs. Fitz and the opening of the kitchen at Fairy Hill. Unsurprisingly, Fergus was quickly charmed by the inn’s grandmotherly cook almost as much as he was by her cooking. And though she didn’t speak a word of French, Claire watched with her heart in her throat as Mrs. Fitz fussed over the two of them and was never put off by Fergus’s silence.

It was during this time that Fergus had decided he wanted to return to the beach. Claire had begun inviting Faith to join them in their afternoon excursions, at first to be a playfellow for Fergus, and then because something had begun to resonate with Claire where young Faith was concerned; there was no doubt that Jamie loved the child with everything he had, but there was still a hunger — a longing — in that small girl that Claire knew all too well.

So on a bright day in late June, Claire took both children to the beach. Fergus sighed and squirmed while Claire covered him in sun lotion, but he didn’t slip out of her grasp until she pressed a kiss to his greasy forehead in silent permission to go. “You too, Faith,” she called as both children moved toward the water. When the girl looked back at her, brows drawn together in confusion, Claire crooked a finger at her.

“My da never puts that stuff on me,” Faith said bluntly, even as she flopped down onto the blanket in front of Claire and sat perfectly still.

“Most people don’t put it on, unfortunately,” Claire sighed. “But you are even more fair-skinned than Fergus, and I don’t want you to burn.” She carefully rubbed in the lotion over the smattering of freckles along Faith’s nose and cheeks. Where Fergus behaved as though Claire was torturing him, Faith seemed to relish the attention and care. Poor love-starved little thing, Claire thought, with no ire directed towards Jamie. She knew, after all. She’d had Uncle Lamb and loved him dearly, but there was nothing to be done to fix the yawning emptiness where one or both parents had been. Driven by sudden impulse when she was finished, Claire took the girl’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Now go and play.”

  ----------

“You know that you could speak English here, if you wanted to… don’t you?” She said this in French when Fergus had collapsed onto the blanket in the shade of a beach umbrella. Claire had watched him and Faith run ragged in the water and then work side-by-side on a sandcastle, and it was during that latter activity that the language barrier between the two had indeed turned into a barrier, with Fergus giving instructions in French to a blank-faced Faith and none of the work truly being done together.

Claire reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his face. Faith was nearby, still working steadily on a moat around their castle, but even if she heard them, there was a sense of privacy in speaking in French. “Frank was wrong for what he said to you. And none of our friends here would mock you for having an accent or saying the wrong words. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do know, Maman.” His voice was soft and unconvincing.

“I am happy to speak with you in whatever language you prefer, but even I know my French is atrocious.” That got a smile out of Fergus — yes, she did know her pronunciations were that terrible. “But you’ve never belittled me for it, and you still know what I’m saying to you just the same. And I don’t want you to… to not have certain friendships in your life because of something that a very selfish person said to you.”

Fergus’s gaze turned contemplative, and he tilted his face up, staring at the underside of the umbrella, fingers laced together over his bare stomach. She brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers and struggled to tamp down on the sudden swell of guilt that still had a foothold in her.

   ----------

“—Ye could hire more workers here is all I’m saying. The place seems to be doing just fine.”

Claire looked up from her breakfast as Jamie entered the dining room, Murtagh hot on his heels. Fergus had scarfed his food down already and gone out to the front with Faith and her chalk — some things didn’t require the ability to communicate, and the children were finding those spaces all on their own, in a way that made Claire’s tender heart ache to see.

“I don’t recall sharing the inn’s finances with ye,” Jamie shot back.

“I just mean that ye never take a moment’s rest for yerself, and ye dinnae need to be doing it all by yerself. I suspect ye can afford at least another staff person.”

“I have another staff person already — Hugh Monroe.”

Murtagh grunted at that, though what the noise was supposed to imply, Claire wasn’t sure. She dropped her gaze to her meal, unable to give them the privacy of not eavesdropping while they were conversing right in front of her, but the least she could do was make it seem like she wasn’t trying to listen in. “And what if ye wanted to take a day off every now and then, huh? Ye could go home and see yer family then.”

It was Jamie’s turn for a Scottish noise of displeasure, though Claire had far less trouble interpreting his frustration from that. “I’m no’ going to take time away from the inn in the middle of my busy season. Also, I dinnae recall ye being this much of a mother hen with either Willie or Rob,” Jamie said pointedly.

“Aye well I wasnae their godfather, was I? Just yours. Lot o’ good having Colum and Dougal for their godfathers did them, though, god rest their souls.” Claire couldn’t help looking up at that, and caught Murtagh crossing himself.

Jamie was stone-faced, and turned for the kitchen, disappearing through the swinging door that separated it from the dining area.

“Who are Willie and Rob?” she asked, and found Murtagh’s surprised gaze on her. She was rather sure her own surprise reflected back at him, that she had even asked the question out loud.

“He doesn’t talk about them?”

She shook her head.

Murtagh considered that with a quiet sigh. “His brothers. Willie was the oldest, then their sister Janet, then Jamie, and wee Rob was the youngest.” She had a suspicion, from seeing Jamie, that “Wee Rob” was more of an affectionate family name for the youngest, for surely any brother of Jamie couldn’t be small in stature.

“That’s a big family,” she murmured, a little dazed by the thought. It was only ever just her growing up.

“Aye,” Murtagh sighed, his expression darkening. “Then the three o’ them went to war, and only Jamie came back. Now it’s just him and Jenny.”

She sat with that news, feeling a cold damp fist around her heart. After all he went through at the hands of Jack Randall, and losing his entire unit, and then… his brothers, too. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’s no’ doing well, and I ken ye’re the only other person besides me who sees that.” Murtagh cleared his throat and straightened. “I’m his godfather, so I’ll always have his back, but he pushed everyone away when he came home, except for Faith. He willnae let me help him. But I think…” the older man raised one eyebrow, “he might let you.”

“And… you trust me to help him? You don’t even really know me.”

“Trust is a bit of a stretch, aye, but it’s plain on yer face that ye want to help him. So.”

Claire felt her face flush at those words, at being so thoroughly seen by someone who’d only been here a few days. “Jamie has been incredibly kind to me and my son. He’s… he’s been a very good friend.”

Murtagh grunted at that, though she couldn’t for the life of her sort out what he meant by that, either. “So, that’s why I told ye. And I have to go, he doesn’t want me hanging about much longer, but I trust… ye’ll keep an eye on him for me, aye?”

“Of course,” she found herself saying. Perhaps more startling to her was the realization that she had meant it.

He studied her intently for a moment and, finding something there in her face that reassured him, he nodded once and followed Jamie through the swinging door.

Murtagh left the next day, returning to Lallybroch, but their brief conversation in the dining room stayed with Claire long after the man had gone.

  ----------

“Claire!”

Someone pounded on her door, making her heart jump to her throat. She had just been to Fergus’s room to tuck him in for the night and was halfway out of her blouse, which she quickly began to shrug back into, trying to button it as fast as she could.

“Claire!”

More pounding.

It was Jamie’s urgent voice, and she swore under her breath as her fingers fumbled with the last two buttons. “Yes, I’m coming! I’m—”

She yanked open the door and took in the sight of Jamie looking more unraveled than she’d ever seen him before.

“Faith is sick. Please—She’s—she has a fever. Please come.”

She turned for her medical kit without a word, and by the time she returned to the threshold, Fergus stood in the doorway of his own room, peeking out in mild concern.

“Go back to bed. Stay in your room,” she told him, and followed a panic-stricken Jamie down the stairs.

[thebeanofdoom]

SoapGaz Headcanon

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Headcanons for some tired 141 Sergeants bc I'm abt to go snore mimimi myself. Enjoy

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The 141 had just gotten back from a very long and tiring mission, it was taking their all not to fall asleep in their seats as they flew back home. Even the ever stoic Lieutenant was starting to nodd off, doing that litte head falling forward slightly then startling upright again thing. Price was relaxed against his seat and had his hat pulled down into his face so one couldn't be sure if he was still awake or not. The two sergeants sat next to each other, opposite Price and Ghost. They were leaning against each other, trying to stay awake by talking about random stuff like weird posters they'd see in the building they'd just infiltrated. They were nearing "I'm pretty sure I'm so tired I can see the hat man" territory when the pilot finally announced that'd they were going to land in five. Price moved for the first time in 30 minutes and sat up straight again, while Ghost also snapped back into a more alert state (even though he still looked like death warmed over).

"Alright lads, we'll debrief tomorrow. We all need a fucking nap," Price said as he got up with the typical knee slap thing that old men (especially dads) liked to do.

Ghost followed after him like a lost puppy, seemingly still half asleep but knowing he could follow Price and end up in his own room for a well deserved nap. That left Soap and Gaz in the aircraft, both looking forward to nap time too but also dreading the walk to their rooms. Soap got his shit together first and got up and out of reflex put his hand on the back of Gaz' head to pull him forward a little so he could plant a smooch onto his forehead.

"Sleep well, wee yin." He murmured and turned to walk away, freezing after a step as he realized what he'd one.

Gaz was sitting there, absolutely flabbergasted. Not only had Soap kissed him on the forehead, he had also called him "little one", a term he knew meant that since he'd heard the man call his nieces and nephews that. Soap turned back Gaz and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Sorry about that, its a reflex. I always do that to my nieces and nephews when I'm home, guess I must be more tired than I thought if my brain thinks you qualify for that treatment." Soap explained, chuckling awkwardly.

"Its fine," Gaz said with a tired smile, getting up too and stepping up to Soap. "I liked it. You know what they say, you gotta kiss the homies good night."

"I'm not gonna kiss Price. Or Ghost for that matter. Pretty sure the mad lad would stab me if I tried." Soap grimaced.

"Oh? So you're saying I get special treatment? That's favoritism, Sergeant McTavish." Gaz hummed amusedly.

"So what? Yer gonna punish me for it, Sergeant Garrick?" Soap teased right back with a grin.

Gaz' eyes dropped to the scotsman's lips for a second, then back up to his eyes.

"No, but I think I'm going to return the favor." He almost purred, then leaned in and connected their lips in a short and sweet kiss. He had to chuckle at the noise of surprise that came from Soap and had a short moment of panic as the man seemed to freeze up, before his anxiety was washed away by the feeling of the other man's hands on his hips. They pulled back slowly, small smiles on both of their faces.

"That was unexpected, but very welcome." Soap whispered.

Gaz hummed in agreement, wrapping his arms around Soap's neck and leaning into him. They stayed that way for a few seconds, enjoying the closeness and comfort of the other.

"Alright, as much as I'd love to stay here and cuddle you all day - well, night, by now - but I think I'm about to fall asleep standing up. So, if you wanna keep cuddling me, we best get back to one of our rooms." Gaz said with a yawn.

"Inviting me back to your room already? Damn, buy me dinner first." Soap teased, receiving a weak slap to the shoulder for his joke.

"Oh shut up, you. That's not what I meant and you know it. Now, do you want cuddles or not?" Gaz huffed with a pout.

"How could I ever say no to that face?" Soap smiled and lead Gaz to his room by their entertwined hands for some well deserved rest and cuddles.

And if they stopped a few times along the way to trade a soft kiss or two, well, who was there to judge?

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A/N: Alright, that's it from me, Imma hit the sack (sadly no cuddles for me). Also, if anyone is wondering why Soap has 0 Scottish speech mannerisms, well, that's cuz I know jack shit abt the accent and I don't wanna fuck it up. That one nickname I used I had to google :'D so unless any of you wanna Scot-ify his speech for me, he shall remain unseasoned

[catierambles]

okay, brain, time to find your chill

quick mental movie of Walter's very pregnant girlfriend going into labor, deciding to have the delivery at home with a midwife instead of in a hospital. Walter is a wreck. He's been through his before with his ex-wife, but it's still nerve wracking, especially as she starts to push, squeezing his hand so hard the bones creak.

She finally delivers the baby and it's...an egg? It's an egg slightly smaller than a newborn and looks like obsidian, it's even slightly see-through and he can see the outline of a baby inside it. Then comes another one, this one looks like polished sapphire and again, he can see the shape of the baby inside through the stone. They're shaped as if they'd fit together like a yin-and-yang symbol.

The midwife is unsurprised, congratulating his girlfriend on a job well done, taking the eggs to the large crib Walter had built a couple months prior, cleaning them of blood and fluids and wrapping them in blankets and heating pads.

"Another month or so and the wee ones will make an appearance." She says, "Call me and I'll assist with the hatching."

"Thank you." His girlfriend says, relaxing against the bed. Walter was silent throughout the whole thing before looking at her.

"What--"

"I was going to tell you, I was." She says, already starting to drift off. "I'm a dragon."

[mima-sama]

To Mima and Mima!98, what was it like meeting Reimu for the first time ever and batting her in your POV?

"The first time I fought Reimu, huh? To be perfectly honest, it's kind of fuzzy. I had just unsealed myself, and was still a little out of it from the effort. You could say it was kind of like being dazed after waking up from a nap you didn't intend to take," answers Mima, a slight chuckle at the end.

Mima clears her throat a bit before continuing. "Well, being not-all-there, you can imagine that I reacted rather poorly when some kid came up to me and started throwing a ball at me! I didn't even realize it was the Hakurei Yin-Yang orb until the very last time it smacked me in the face," she admits somewhat sheepishly. "I had no clue that I was fighting the current Hakurei shrine maiden, either, so I kind of might have attempted to kill her, just a wee bit. Obviously, and thankfully, I failed in doing so. That would've put a serious wrench in my later plans to use the Hakurei Yin-Yang Orbs for my revenge against humanity." That also failed, but she's not going to mention that to spare her pride some.

"I gotta say, looking back, Reimu had a pretty shaky start, but she also had a very powerful kick. Trust me when I say that you do not want to play soccer against her. Ever. You will get hit by the ball and it will feel like being hit by a truck."

(Thanks for your question, but Mima!98 is now an inactive muse-- she's been retired for a while now, but I forgor to edit the page to indicate that. This actually helped remind me of that, so thanks again!)

[thewolfisawake]

"What is that boy doing with her?"

"Donovan, ah dae believe you're familiar with dancing," the fae teased, "Isnae a good thing? Someone is taking notice."

"Not like this. You should tell your subjects to back off."

Balmoral laughed, "Fir a friend, ah dinnae mind but ah cannae so flippantly tell off guests ah invited. But ah'll tell nary a soul ah let you oot if you decided tae deal with him."

Donovan did appear to weigh the options before going into his tankard. The king did remark, "She's nae the wee yin you last seen you ken. Very much made a path in her own way. Ah hear she fights with her old man often. And while it's nae clear how, Camhlaidh gets on with her well enough."

"Camhlaidh?"

"The barra thon rules the Seelie."

"Course you are the weirdo that keeps tabs on your adversaries."

"Adversaries? Why Donovan, ah look tae a fruitful relation with Seelie. Why else would ah invite them?" Balmoral feigned offense.

"There's always an angle with you, Bal, but I'm too far in to think of what it is," the phoenix conceded as he knocked back the drink, "What of the boy?"

"That 'boy' is the Captain of the First Novian Regiment. He's apart of the entourage for Empress Violetta. Likes tae hae fun when he's able but very much a man thon wouldn't hesitate in the line of duty," the king said, "but thon's jist a feeling. Ah hae yet tae cultivate a relation with the Calore Empire so ah would appreciate nae ruining thon."

"Tch, fine."

[levelzeo]

When I was but a wee child, nothing more than a small lad, I, like most children, loved me some goddamn Pokemon. I loved it so much, that I came up with a completely unique and distinct thing that I called "Monstermon". And yes, it did go over my head as a kid that "mon" already stood for "monster". I would spend a lot of time thinking about Monstermon, and I remember spending multiple summer afternoons drawing out my creatures on loose leaf paper.

I still have those drawings. I don't remember making all of them, but I have them. So how about I share some of my favorites, showing you a glimpse into my childhood mind. Let me give you just a taste of what we are working with here:

That's right. Shroom, and its evolution Fungrow. A mushroom with legs evolving into a bigger mushroom with legs that now has a mouth and three little offshoots. This is the stunning creative vision we're working with here.

This is actually one of my favorites. Sleepwalker as a little dream cloud with legs, and Sandman as a torn open sandbag? I love it. Perfect. No notes.

Here we have what appear to be my lines of starters (as well as a bat evolution line that's obviously a zubat ripoff). We start with the Stumpert line. A tree stump with tentacles as roots makes eventually becoming Red-Wid (a redwood squid) makes a lot of sense to me. I think its very cool. But why the hell is there a haunted tree as the middle evo?

The water starter is just fine. A tadpole becomes a frog which becomes a toad. Besides the tongue looking like a hand it's kind of generic And then we have the fire starter. A tiny little sparking guy which evolves into a living fire which evolves into a walking volcano. Amazing. Apparently little me couldn't come up with convincing ways to combine fire or grass with any animals for my starters.

Rockon. Hell yeah. Look at that little guy. I love him, even if he's probably a Geodude ripoff. I have no idea what's going on with Groanix though. I like him, but what is on his back? Is it moss? I honestly don't know. And then we have Steelgon. I think I tried to make it look like welding marks or bolts, but it definitely looks like this metal monster has stitch marks like some kind of frankenstein creation.

In case you were wondering, as far as I know, Shroomino has nothing to do with the Shroom line. It does look pretty cool though, probably one of my favorite drawings I discovered. I also like my yin-yang creature going on there on the right. I had at least one creative bone in my body it seems (ignoring the HootHoot ripoff in the bottom left).

Okay, I have more than just these, and maybe I will share them later, but I wanted to end things with my absolute favorite creation amongst this 10+ page stapled together packet of paper.

Are you ready?

I don't think you're ready for this.

This is the pinnacle of my creativity.

Prepare yourself.

Florg. Dubleflorg. Multiflorg.

An absolute masterpiece.

[ocalaghan]

merry christmas ya bunch of wee stars, hope u have a gid yin <3