#but the more I think about it the more I feel that on a symbolic level their stories actually take away from each other

[dotchannie]

- 𝚟𝚒𝚋𝚎 :: c.bc x reader (MDNI)

synopsis: channie finds his lovers little toy whilst trying to entertain himself in a rare moment he’s left himself home alone.

a/n: repost ik ik whatever, im stilling moving blogs technically but one day it'll be something new <3 part two will probably drop in the next week or so ! fem reader in that part but this one is more solo chan than anything else !

wc: 1,256.

Warnings: housewife chan he is a domestic queen and he’s lonely:(, mentions of living repetitive days, solo male masturbation with toys oop, vibrator over clothes, mentions of a hand job(not described), he busts quick sorry chan<3, cumming in his pants, petnames(baby twice i think), whiny booooy ! next part will be filthier <3

Chan feels very uneasy in his own home at the moment- so used to being the one jetting around the world that he can't quite settle at it being your turn instead.

It's only a fleeting trip to visit relatives, but it’s enough to have him picking his phone up every couple of seconds- blinking notifications having hope settling in his chest that maybe, just maybe, you require his attention.

Alas, your love is needed elsewhere, your partner left to his own devices- bandmates caught up in their own commitments back home too, their leader struggling in what should be a relaxing time. A period of down low. Chan prefers to be busy, to have a task weighing heaving on his shoulders and engaging his mind.

Hence his current situation, rooms gutted one by one as he works his wonders with whatever cleaning supplies he can get his hands on- the kitchen his first target. Spices long forgotten in the depths of storage pulled to the light, discarding as necessary as he uses his new found hobby to hone in on his organisation skills.

He even dabbles in some cooking, various ingredients already creeping up to their best before thanks to only feeding one mouth- if nothing else he has a couple hearty meals prepped in your absence.

The next chore see’s him tackling the living room. All he really needs to is straighten up some blankets and pillows, hoover a little, maybe a candle or something to make it feel homey while you're still away- more of his time spent in the four walls making up the bedroom.

Days begin merging into one as far as Chan’s concerned, each one starting with cleaning and ending with, well, cleaning.

By the time the next day rolls round he's more than half way through scrubbing the entire house- the plans today were to face your shared bathroom, but when he bypasses through the bedroom and is greeted by the chaos he's currently living in, he feels guilty that you're usually the one keeping on top of it.

Clothes tossed all over the room, shoes kicked off and forgotten about in favour of launching himself straight into plush sheets instead- and he can already hear your nagging at how his dirty clothes are on the floor near the laundry basket, not in it- something he now realises is completely justified.

Room cleaning is never straight forward though, and now he’s sat himself infront of the lower drawers attached to the wardrobe, legs criss-crossed as he folds, cramming in even more clothes he's managed to pull out of every crevice in the room.

Reaching forward to scoot some of your belongings around, he makes contact with a metallic object.

It’s cold when he takes it between the pads of his fingertips, believing it to be something else he would need to find a rightful home for on his mad cleaning spree- spending a couple moments rolling it back and forth before spinning it far enough to see a small power symbol near the base of the foreign object, gasping at his own discovery.

He's holding his breath as he presses the power button once. Nothing. He holds it in for a couple seconds this time. Nothing again. He let's out a sigh- no idea if it’s relief or defeat.

But curiousity has already gotten the better of him, inquisitive hands rummaging in the same drawer once more to see if you have a charger for this thing. And low behold you do.

Chan wastes no time plugging it in, busying himself with more tidying- bed stripped and remade with fresh sheets, all the while repeadeatly looking back towards the bedside table.

He manages to forget about it long enough to go take a shower, skin grimey from the accumulation of sweat and dirt but he's back to square one when he lays down to rest for the night. Scrutinising your little friend as it lays by his side- staring at it like it's going to do something spectacular before his very eyes.

Eventually, bravery takes over- thoughts of you quick to flood his mind when it’s in his palm once more. Do you use it when he's away? Do you use it when he's home and busy in the janky makeshift studio in the spare room? He always has headphones on he'd probably never hear you anyway.

He doesn't even realised he's pressing the button, mind running through a million scenarios, a soft "oh" slipping his lips as it begins to frantically buzz between his thumb and index finger.

Chan’s pleasantly surprised by the power it packs and he can only imagine how good it feels for you when you put it to use- excitement building as he considers his next action, a shake of his head stopping the train before it gets on the tracks fully and returning it to it's charger before rolling over to be welcomed by a restless night.

He goes about the next day much like he did the previous, starting to feel like he was stuck in a groundhog kind of situation.

Welcomed by the duvet, he makes himself comfortable on your side of the bed- eyes locked on to his new found enemy that has his brain turning to mush in his head.

But when he picks it up this time he has much different intentions.

Instinct alone guiding him to place it directly on his tip, hips violently rising of the bed with a heavy "oh fuck" when the bullet springs to life.

He's completely underestimated the capabilities of such a compact toy- chest immediately feeling like it's caving in from stimulation.

The brief contact ensuring him that one, this is going to be the quickest release since his first and two, it's going to become addicting- not daring place it on his bare skin.

Slowly running it up and down his length, his eyelids pull shut against his will, never having felt anything like it, doubting he ever will- back arching so far off the bed he's almost resting on his crown.

Ragged puffs of air escape his nose, nostrils flared wide- chest heaving as he begs to keep up with his own self inflicted torture.

Chan's completely taken by surprise by his own orgasm- quick and powerful when it hits him, announcing to an empty room that he's going to come.

"oh god, oh fuck- im cumming, ahhhhh im gonna bust baby, just like that", pent up energy being realesed in the form of repeatedly slapping at the blankets as he does.

With his head feeling like it’s full of cotton wool he can't help but groan at the tacky feeling of his boxers clinging to him, mouth dry and uncomfortable from hanging open so long.

In his state of bliss, Chan barely makes out the sound of his phone ringing- scrambling to pick it up when he eyes focus enough to register your name, news you're finally on your way back to him.

"Chan! I'm in the taxi now I'll be home soon!", your voice comes through the speaker in a sing song tone but he's struggling to make sense of what you're saying.

"Chan? Can your hear me? Hellooo?".

He let's out something akin to a whine, completely beyond his control and using what little breath he can catch to huff out a dazed response,

"baby, you gotta hurry I need help"

You ask the driver to pick up the pace and rush you home, quick.

🏷️: @rose-tinted-kalopsia

𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 !

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader smut #chan x reader #chan x reader smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz x reader smut #skz smut #skz x reader

[mask-of-prime]

BIONICLE: Ta-Wahi Travel Poster - [PROTOTYPE]

In a graphic design course dedicated to Adobe Illustrator, we were tasked to make vacation spot posters in the style of the ones from the 1950's. Our professor said it could be fictional, or even a real place we're fond of. Part of the assignment was to use the Symbol Sprayer, repetition of shapes, and the Warp Tool.

First thing that came to mind for me was a location in Bionicle, such as Ta-Wahi Beach, the first place you wake up to as Takua in Mata-Nui Online Game.

I wouldn't be surprised if the assets of MNOG were made in Illustrator and/or Flash (which I think the latter once belonged to MacroMedia at the time if we really wanna talk about feeling old).

Will I make other posters for the other Koro's/Wahi's? Um... it sounds like having them all together would be really cool, but if I do, I kinda wanna revise this current one and learn to have an easier time making them and/or possibly make them a little more straightforward and easy to make out. Definitely should go for the classic TradeMarker font if I do (since this isn't an assignment anymore, let alone one being monitored/graded by a professor who also teaches typography :p)

Made in 2022.

#BIONICLE #Mata-Nui Online Game #MNOG #Ta-Wahi #Ta-Koro #My Art

[rinbowaman]

H I S M A R K : H E E D A M

WARNINGS: FLUFF, SMUT (UNPROTECTED), ORAL (MALE REC.), REFERENCE TO NONCON SMUT, MENTIONS OF FORCED BREEDING, SEX SLAVERY (HISTORICAL), DUBCON, MYTHOLOGY, ANCIENT HISTORY, SYMBOLISM, MARKINGS, YANDERE LOVE, OBSESSION, POSSESSIVE, FANTASY, MENTIONS OF KIDNAPPING, PARANOIA, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, FORCED LOVE, ISOLATION, AND CURSING. NOT PROOREAD (YET).

THIS TAKES PLACE SHORTLY AFTER ‘CHILD OF THE SEA’ DRABBLE. ALL PART IF THE MERMAIDS TALE SERIES ON MASTERLIST.

This Drabble had me feeling something that is surreal I swear. Probably my favorite Drabble yet.

THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL.

For days, weeks, and months, you’ve questioned your sanity. It was the same routine; waking up in an unknown territory, wondering if you’ll ever get to experience freedom again. You’ve tried to calm yourself, but a factor prohibits you from gaining rest. It has been so long since you were able to roam the streets on your own, to visit the bakery that you loved so much, and to sip coffee while viewing the window of your high-rise apartment. It wasn’t that you couldn’t do the things you enjoyed in life, you just had to enjoy it…with him.

Over a year, this man had broken you down, restricted you of using your own senses, and prohibited in exercising your own way of thinking. No. Everything was about him. He made it that way to reflect his own spirit, since for him, everything was about you. You were all he sees, eats, hear, and breathes. It caused his insanity in which formed that insatiable love for you. He wanted you to rely on him, to think of only him, and to love him the way he does you. It’s…sickening. The worst part…was that you were actually starting to succumb to your weak heart.

The other day he made a great effort to impregnate you…the image plagues your mind, no matter what you’re looking at. You’ve tried to erase it completely, yet the view of his exposed throat, his thick neck in full display as he shoves and rests his length deep inside your womb, pumping out each string of release. His hands gripped your hips, slowly sliding up to your waist while he rests in between your legs, and his head remained flung back. His poignant Adams Apple bobs up and down delicately as he restlessly murmurs…’Uh-Uh-huh.”

He tells you that you should be grateful. For the rumors of his ancestors and their harsh breeding methods with Sirens were merely just to produce sons. At least with him, he did it out of love and passion. He tells you of how the sirens would eventually weakened to the desires of an Adams touch, and eventually grew to love their captors…which he predicted would become the end result for you.

‘It’s only a matter of time’ he says.

If only what he said wouldn’t hold any truth, yet as each passing day rotates in and out, you’re slowly coming to realize that he spoke the truth. It may not be out of your own willingness to return that love, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was the end goal, despite it being a result of Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless of his abusive method in claiming you, that love he displayed…it was getting to you.

‘It’s only a matter of time, baby. You will love me…you will, Siren.’

Sirens…a creature only read in mythology books, or poems and mentioning’s by philosophers. Who could ever believe that there was more truth to their existence?

A Siren cannot feel the physical touch, sensation, or feeling of anything. Not even pain at a high scale. Should anyone cut off your limb, or carve out an eye, you wouldn’t feel it. You wouldn’t scream. You wouldn’t even shed a single tear. No matter how many injuries your body would display, you’ll never feel the blister of the injury….unless it was done by an Adam.

The only person that can make you feel things. He knew that…he knew that too well. From the moment he sensed your expression and witnessed it at the party, he knew that something was amiss. He could feel it.

The Clan of Adam is what they are called, singularly referred to as ‘Adam’s’ named after the first man. The bloodline stemmed from the sons sired by Alexander the Great, that much you both knew. At least up until the moment he found the memento remnants of his late grandfather…who met a tortuous end by his grandsons hand.

“Huh…look what I found baby.” He holds the large book in both hands. It was ancient, laced by a gold chained binding, with thin wooden slats, polished to perfection with the inscription carved in the finest font. Elegant and edged with Hellenic images, charts, and astronomical symbols, you could tell that the contents contained knowledge that was unreal…stuff people read out of a fairy tale.

He pulls you back by tenderly holding your waist, sitting you on his lap as he sets the book before you. Resting it on your thighs, he passionately roams his palms up and down your ribcage, taking deep inhales as he whiffs in your scent, burying his nose at the back of your neck. “Mmm, fuck I love you.”

Your eyes begin to form tears…again. Yet each time you calmly sobbed, they became less and less watery. The feeling of touch, while initially had disgusted you, has now become the very thing you embraced. It was something you craved…and only he could give it to you.

“Read it baby.” He sighs out as he takes in another whiff. His hands lower their grip to your hips; his thumbs pressing in right above your derrière, beside your tailbone.

You arch your back as you winced your eyes. Your mind kept telling you to be strong and resist…but your heart told you the opposite. He pulls you in, smoothing your rear to grind and settle right on his bulge. “You’re sooooooo perfect…perfect for me.” He drags a deep tone as he flings his head back, lightly bucking his hips upwards. The sensation formed a familiar knot, a tightness that expanded until it snaps, releasing the flow of intense orgasm and pleasure. “P-please…please don’t—“

You gently spoke your words, moaning them out as you plead. You wanted it and didn’t want it. He reached up and around, turning your head to the side to face him, eloping you in a beautifully tender kiss. He grinds, and you move. He bucks, and you press in. Your bodies became a perfectly tuned rhythm of pleasure…and love.

“H-Heeseung…” you moan in between the small pecks. He lightly groans into your mouth, admitting a long and harsh lick up from your bottom lip to the top. “Aw fuck…yeah baby? You like that?” He doesn’t give you room to answer before re-sealing your mouth into a rather messier kiss. The twisting and twirling of tongue and the stroking of canines has completely melted you, and he could feel it on his crotch.

His hands migrate up and around, unionizing on your tummy. They slowly mesh downward and apply pressure as they rub on the flat canvas above your clit. It didn’t take long for him to find his way under your dress, his hands were so gifted in knowing the in and outs of feminine-styled seams. He hooks your panties and shove them to the side, and God..the way he could move his hands alone was enough to get you heated and moist. So wet.

Not once did he release your mouth. The flaring of your nostrils indicates the struggle for breath, yet the latching proved that it was all worth the struggle. Your lips quiver as your thighs shake; his fingers gently rubbing small circles right at the tip, surfacing a toil of piercing desire that raged within you like the fires of Hell. You moan some more in his mouth, hating how you were loving the way he explored inside you. That damn tongue of his…he was so experienced, being a former playboy, but now a committed husband who only had eyes, a heart, and soul, just for you.

“Oh Heeseung…mmmm! Oh please-“

“Fuck yeah baby. Never felt someone as good as you.”

His heart pelted against his chest, you could feel it underneath in between your shoulder blades as yours felt as if it would explode from within. He played around with your womanhood until he firmly gripped your waist, thumbs pressing against your back as his fingers dig into your torso. He lifts you just a tad, before slamming you down against his clothed groin. He continues to buck up while bouncing you in a momentum that was out of this world. You gasped out a series of yelps, all in sync with his motions. “Pl-please!!! Please..!”

“Please what? WHAT?” He whispers as he buries his nose and lips into your ear. “Fucking tell me what you want. Let me hear it.”

You reach up and gently palm the back of his neck, struggling to move smoothly as the quaking aches of pleasure and desire took over your body. “Ugh…please…please give it to me…”

You can’t believe you just said that…

He smirks. “Oh yeah baby…don’t worry, I’m going to.” He reaches beneath you to unzip his trousers when a sudden knock causes you both to pause.

His growl told you of anger and frustration as he bites down and grits a groan. His hands emerge up and grip your waist, slightly shifting you forward.

You whine out, begging for him to keep going. You cup his chin as you continued to melt against his chest, grabbing onto his free hand and resting it on your pelvis. “Please…please…Heeseung.”

What he wouldn’t give to satisfy you right now. Times like this, he truly sympathizes for you, and wanted nothing more than to give you everything you asked for. He gently takes your hand in his, causing you ti release his chin as he places a kiss on your forehead. “Shhh…I know baby. I know.”

He would have dismissed the person outside the door, instead, he mentally kicks himself in the ass. He was the one who summoned the curator to help translate the book after all.

“Hello, Mr. Lee. My name is Johnathan, I am the curator from the national library, we spoke on the phone. You stated you needed some assistance in translating some family artifacts?”

The young man was polite and well mannered, not at all losing composure, even after seeing you sitting on your husband’s lap, legs widespread. At least Heeseung reinstated the hem of your dress, layering it over the exposed parts. Maybe Johnathan was not at all familiar with the image of sexual desire, but it would otherwise seem quite obvious.

“I am sorry I’m late.” He states as he sets his briefcase on his lap, flipping the gold latches up.

“Not as sorry as I am right now…” Heeseung mutters against your ear, wincing as you admitted small and subtle waving motions at the hip, grinding against his groin. The pulse of desire hasn’t worn off inside you.

“What was that Sir?” Johnathan peeks up with a look of curiosity.

“N-nothing. What can you tell us about this?” Heeseung firmly wraps an arm around your waist as he leans forward, taking the book from your hand and passing it over. You whined as your body shifts forward from the leaned in motion. “Don’t worry…i’m never going to let you fall baby.” He whispers into your ear after taking notice of your hands gripping his thigh, halting the sliding of your rear on his lap. Meanwhile the curator remained completely oblivious as he closely admires the book. “Ah, the literature contains the ancient tongue that the Greeks used early on. It is most notably communicated by philosophers. Perhaps a well known philosopher drafted this.”

Johnathan examines each lettering and symbol, placing a magnifying device to study the engravings.

“Clan of Adam…interesting, I haven’t heard of them. Has your grandfather ever mentioned this clan to you before?” He speaks without lifting his head, keeping his eyes glued to the wooden frame.

“Maybe a couple times in reference to this heirloom.” Heeseung calmly fibs. If there was one thing you both agreed on, it was to keep your ancestries, and the knowledge of, a secret. Excluding the current lesson that was now being taught of course.

“Interesting. It says here that the clan were all male descendants of the first sons…sons of—“

“Alexander.” Heeseung calmly finishes as he pinches his grip, tightening his hold on your waist the moment he spoke out the name.

“Yes that’s correct. Alexander the Great, king of Macedonia.”

The curator continues to look over the slats, rotating the book as he studied the diagram of constellations and Greek symbols. “It says that the first sons of Alexander were hidden away in a monastery, many miles away from their kingdom. They were known as the first of the clan…says here they displayed inhuman abilities.”

Johnathan chuckles. “I see, this seems to be a book that contains speculation of fiction and fantasy. It talks about them battling mermaids—ah, sirens, as they are commonly referred in this book.”

Heeseung’s member twitches at the historical mentioning of your ancestors. You felt the snake-like feature of his size slithering and flickering under your thigh, causing you to gasp.

“This particular page goes into detail about the clans genealogy traits…saying that it derived from their grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” Heeseung raises a brow as he keeps his eye on the curator, yet shifts his mouth to place a kiss against your cheek upon hearing a small whine escape your lips.

“Yes sir…it says here that the late King of Macedonia and his wife, Olympias, was bedded by Zeus. This was recorded in private to a monk residing in the kingdom, and journaled after the king passed. Alexander took over the throne and was exposed to the secret of his origin, by his mother.”

The curator chuckles in disbelief. “Well that would explain why the clan could take down mermaids.” He laughs as he jests, little does he know that everything he had just relayed was whole-heartedly true.

Your eyes widen as he unveiled the truth behind the clans whereabouts. Descendants of Zeus? No wonder they held such tremendous power and combative abilities. They were commonly known as Spartans of the Sea.

Heeseung, being a former SWAT captain, eluded those traits. You’ve witnessed his training sessions he maintained simply for fun. The way he moved, the way he maneuvered in water, and his stamina…it was Godly.

Zeus…Zeus was the true father of Alexander…

“And the sirens were all daughters of —“

“Poseidon…” you calmly interject. Heeseung faintly smirks as he admires your side profile. “Yes ma’am, that’s correct. Have you both read this book?” The curator asks earnestly, subtly surprised by your perfect translation and knowledge of what was inscribed in the book.

“We looked it over prior to your arrival.” Heeseung states.

“Wow…so you both can read Ancient Greek?”

You both stayed silent as Johnathan’s innocent smile slowly fades. A moment of awkwardness fills the room. “Well…anyhow…there was a war between humanity and the sirens, and the godly descendants produced by Zeus engaged, becoming a formidable opponent to the sirens. In fact, it says here that the clan nearly wiped out the entire ocean of them, causing them to go nearly extinct.”

Heeseung taps against your thigh, vaguely whispering for you to stand just for a moment as he thanks the curator for his time.

“I’m sorry to tell you this book hardly exposes factual knowledge regarding your family, however, you’ll be pleased to know that it is a genuine artifact that is priceless. Should you ever care to get an appraisal, please do not hesitate to call us.”

“Without hesitation. Thanks.” Heeseung places the book to the side as he sees the young man out.

You sat by the window.

Descendants of Zeus…and Poseidon…you, and Heeseung.

He cups your cheek, gently forcing you to face him. “That pretty head of yours thinking about the history lesson we just got?” He smirks as he kneels down before you, reaching up as he strokes your hair. “All that talk about Gods and our lineage got me thinking baby…”

You gave an inquiring expression. “About what?” You calmly issue as he pulls you in for a kiss, never divulging an answer. “You’ll see.”

…………….

“Welcome to Brewery’s Coffee, what can I get for you?”

“Tall chocolate cream latte, and a venti Americano.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the name for the order?”

“Heeseung.”

The barista labels the cups. Handing the receipt, she admires the devastatingly handsome stranger as he walks to a table. Something catches her eye as she ogles his neckline. A small mark, looked to be of a tattoo, printed nicely and centered on the back of his neck. It was symbolic in nature, though she had absolutely no idea of what it entailed. “Do you see that?” She whispers to a fellow co-worker. They both admire the mark, when the latter recognized the main structure of the symbol.

“Oh! That’s the symbol for Pisces. The symbol represents commitment, and togetherness for eternity. I’m a Pisces myself, but I don’t know what that small symbol to the right of it is supposed to be.”

Heeseung takes a seat across from you, admiring how you sat patiently while he ordered the drinks. Not like you didn’t really have a choice, although now it seems he did manage to tame the shrew. You found yourself accepting the concept of belonging to him, especially after reading the history of his lineage.

Taking your hand in his, he rubs the back of your palm with his thumb. “You didn’t feel a thing, did you?”

You shook your head. “Me neither.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He’s too damn strong, some needle punctures would hardly faze him. You reach up and delicately smooth the tips over the back of your neck, yet couldn’t even feel your own phalanges as you attempted to search for it. He chuckles before reaching across the table. “Here.”

He takes your fingers and places it on a certain spot behind your neck. “Right there baby.”

You still couldn’t feel anything, other than the brush of his knuckles as he guides you to the matching mark. The sign of Pisces, with the respective symbols of the Gods that fathered both your ancestries. His, with Zeus, and yours with Poseidon.

Combined and side by side, it would form the Union of love…the love that he inherited for you…the love that you were forced to adapt to.

It was entirely his idea, of course. You recalled how he vividly told you of the theory in Zeus transforming Aphrodite and Eros into fish, paired together so that they may escape from the clutches of Typhon, the monstrous being. You laid on your stomach as the artist took his time to delicately outline the unique features of the custom symbolic nature of love and commitment.

After coffee, he brings you back home where he had every sense of focus to finish what was started earlier.

“Come here.” He gently calls to you as he flips two fingers up and flickers them, signaling for you to respond to his calling. His voice was tamed and gentle. So very calm and sensual.

You kneel before him as he took his seat, holding onto your hand. You lean forward in between his manspreading legs, guided by the subtle grip of your chin. He lures you directly to his bulge. “My woman…my life…my everything.”

You knew what he wanted, and you would never admit it aloud, but you wanted it too. The pains of yearning never left, it remained lodged deep inside your womb even after the curator left.

You unzip his trousers. It didn’t take long for him to whip out his cock, waving it in front of your face as if he was teasing you with it. Like quenching thirst, you caught the very tip of it with your parted lips, immediately swallowing as many inches as possible—and there were many. The man was gifted, such was expected as the descendant of a mighty God.

He groans out, holding the base of his shaft for you, while encouraging you to keep going. He collects your strands, and grips it in unison. Holding up your poneytail, there, in full view was the beautiful tattoo…his other half. Resting in the same spot as his, it nearly glows. He watches and maintains sight of it as you continue to bob for his girth.

“Thatta girl…keep going darling…get it while you can, I’m about to conquer you.”

You swipe your head up and down, motioning it with a sensual passion that could only be found in a love like this. One that was filled with so many contradictions, yet hold so much history. And with that history, came progression and transcendence. It was both frustrating and peaceful. Forceful, and yet consensual. It was…it was…

“Fuck! Get over here.”

“H-Heeseung!” You gasped outright as he used his god-like strength and lifts you up. He stands tall and straight, leaving you suspended in air against his chest as he grips your thighs, forcing you to straddle his groin. You hug his neck, embracing it against your breasts as you remain higher up while he cradles your rear, stabilizing his hold. Slowly…slowly, the moment you breached for all day, he finally inserts his stiffed muscle in between your slit. “Oh my God..!” You breathe out as he breaks you, inch by inch. The feeling was so different from the other day. This was different. The painful yearning that pounded your womb from within, sending tingles up your spine, and released a rushing flow of blood through your veins. All you could think about was being touched, being fucked, and being kissed over and over again, and he was the only one who could give it. The key to your release.

“Ah! P-please! Oh god please don’t stop!”

The very second he sat you against the hilt of his pelvic floor, he began thrusting at a phenomenal pace. God, was he perfect. He was so good, you just couldn’t contain yourself as it slipped…

“B-babe! Baby please!”

He pauses for just a second as he smirks against your neck. Did he just hear you call him ‘baby’?

He continues to grin as he slowly pumps up into you.

Realizing just what you had done, you found it useless to make excuses or to continue to fight it. Finally, after all that he’s done to trap and torment you mentally, he finally had you…all of you. You wave the white flag and surrendered. If it wasn’t in the endearing pet name that you sputtered out, it was in the tightening of your embrace as you pulled him close, thighs shaking and your derrière jiggling from the quivering jolts of pleasure…so good, it hurt like Hell.

“Say it again.” He snarls against your skin as he licks the underside of your chin. You shook your head, wincing your eyes as you refused initially, but he had his ways to make you give in.

One, two, three…no, four. Five! God…maybe it was twenty times, or more, he held you firmly and smacks his cock inside. It was brutally pleasing as he thrusts upwards, splattering the juices of his labor—and yours, everywhere. The offensive sound of his cock squeezing, squelching, and sliding in and out as his balls smack against your skin while he went in fast and hard, causing you to scream. Your mind blows away as you absorb his rhythm. “Ah! Fuck! Baby!”

There, he got what he wanted, and did he ever love it. He could hear you call him that, over and over again. And he did.

The undercarriage of your buttocks were painted with white, thick splatters of creamy and sticky fluids. The constant and solid tempo of his thrusts acted as a beater, stirring the semi-clear residue and turning it into a thicker consistency. A product of the love you both shared.

You scream out his name, gasping for air as the soft spot inside you releases, all thanks to the constant punching of his tip, and the pounding of his thick and lengthy cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders, the overstimulation makes you beg for him to tone it down but he doesn’t.

“TAKE IT!!!” He yells out against your skin as he holds and squeezes your cheeks together, creating a bubbling image of skin and muscle as your derrière becomes abused by the harsh grip.

Shooting everything he’s got inside, he holds you steady, burying deep. Pelvis to pelvis, hilt to hilt, you feel the pressure of his grip holding you down against his groin. A few minutes of his cock pulsating, pumping, and pushing, he finally loosens his grip. You slide down, legs still grasping his waist as he embraces your waistline, tumbling back. Bringing you down with him, he lays next to you on the silky bedding.

You both lay, admiring each others glistening skin. The beads of sweat dripping down your foreheads, the heat exhausting from your breaths, and the panting and heaving of your chests.

He pushes the wet strands away from your brow, leaning in and kissing you so passionately, he would have done his deity ancestor proud.

“…I love you.” You mutter out, nearly shamelessly and defeatedly.

He smirks as he gulps down a subtle swallow, already knowing, just waiting for you to say it. “I know.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, instead, you look away as he caresses your cheek, not minding the shyness you were displaying. “I could never be anything in life without you…daughter of the seven seas…you got me all to yourself. I live only for you.”

And with that, concluded this night, but birthed many more. This was only the beginning, what new life exists for you both? Now that you have each other…

And so the war between the Adams and Sirens came to an end, resulting in generations that mirrored the forbidden love between the two descendants. Mixing the bloodlines of Poseidon and Zeus, the clan formatted the ultimate beings, part God and part mortal. Despite the many rumors of the hostility the two parties initially held against each other, let it be known that no matter the history…no matter the bloodshed…by the prime example of sea maidens and sons of Alexander the Great, love conquers all.

@hoonieshoney and @sweeheehees 😏 they not cry or explode. Because I certainly almost did both when imagining heedam….BRO JUST TOPPED THE LIST.

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere #yandere enha #yandere enhypen #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenario #Heeseung fantasy #enhypen fantasy #fantasy fics #dark fantasy #yandere imagines #yandere fantasy #Spotify

[telvess]

Pizza delivery girl

higuruma hiromi x reader fic, a bit of smut content (nothing extreme, only kissing, touching and inappropriate dialogues). 🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

wc: 3,390

Big thanks to my @teatreeoilll for correct spelling and supporting me the entire time. You're the best 💕 This fic would never have been written without you!

He doesn’t even like pizza.

And yet every time he has to do overtime in the dull room he calls an office, all while working cases and overwhelming his mind to the point where he just wants to see the bed, he finds himself thinking of you - the pizza delivery girl - and wondering if he should order another damn pizza. You slip to his mind unannounced once the tiredness takes over and his brain needs stimulation.

Higuruma Hiromi never took himself for a daydreamer, but here he is - imagining scenarios that will never happen with a woman he barely knows.

Ding dong!

Hiromi feels his co-workers' eyes on him when he gets up from his desk, their gazes follow him all the way to the door. As he walks there’s a new spring in his step. It's that time of day.

He opens the door and sees you, the woman who rules his irrational side. You smile at him, freckles clear on your fair skin.

“We meet again,” Hiromi welcomes you, looking at your peach colored hoodie with a print on it that he assumes is the cover of some band’s album.

“I’m starting to think that there’s hidden reason you order from the same place almost every day,” you point out with a smirk. Hiromi likes the way your voice changed over the last few meetings - how it became partly coy and… seductive.

“Well, I'm starting to wonder what are the odds that you're always the one who delivers my orders,” he bites back.

Your smile deepens and with slight shrug you mutter, “Touché.” You hand him over the pizza. “But don’t jump to conclusions. I’m just worried about you”— and your voice lowers to a whisper as you lean closer—“a little birdie told me you’re living here, Higuruma-san.”

Hiromi enjoys the softness in your voice, but for the love of God, don't use this tone when you say his name. You straighten up with a contented smile when you notice him swallow.

“You’re looking more tired every day,” you admit.

It’s not that you're innocent in all this.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” As you nod the brown hair in your pigtail sways.

“You should take care of yourself before helping others.”

“Tough case,” he tries to shrug it off.

“Yeah, I heard.” Hiromi looks up to see genuine concern in your eyes. Before he can ask, you continue, “I read the papers. You did good job.”

Hiromi wants to say the case it’s far from over, but instead he decides not to; he accepts the compliment with a nod.

“Work goes better on a full stomach,” he says, raising the pizza box to light up the mood. You snort and bite your lower lip.

“Well I’m sure it could go even better if you relieved the pressure here and there.” You massage your shoulders and move them as if you were exhausted. You catch Hiromi a bit off guard with that.

“Well, I”—He rubs his hand over his two-day stubble—“Heh…” He smiles and can’t force himself to look you into eyes, feeling annoying heat spreading over his cheeks.

“No comeback, huh?” He hears you barely holding your laugher. Soon both of you laugh, more or less openly. For a moment Hiromi forgets he's at his office. The burden that weighed upon his mind lately suddenly becomes bearable.

“You know, I was wondering…” He scratches his cheek with a finger. His head is still full of doubts, but the timing feels so right that Hiromi gives in spontaneous impulse.

“About what?” you tilt your head.

“I—” “Excuse me, is this the defense attorney’s office?”

That’s not the right question.

For split of a second Hiromi doesn’t register the man appearing by your side. Then he notices a patch on the man's jacket with the symbol of the courier company.

“Yes, it is,” you say.

“Mr. Higuruma Hiromi?” The man asks and Hiromi confirms with a nod. His eyes are still on you, observing how you smile with what he hopes is some sort of disappointment. You shrug, then wave at him and finally turn away.

Hiromi watches over man’s shoulder how you go down the stairs. One last peek at your ass before the disappointment in his chest slowly builds up. He takes the package, closes the doors and comes back to his desk, too pensive to feel his co-worker's eyes on himself.

“Oh enough already!” Hiromi flinches at the woman's voice. It doesn’t happen often for her to be this angry, especially not at him and not about matters that aren’t work related.

“Why won’t you ask her out already?” She asks, crossing her hands over her chest.

If there’s one thing that Hiromi is grateful for, it’s definitely the ability to keep his cool in stressful situations. Professional habit.

“Why would I?” His voice is drier than when he was thanking the courier for his service.

His co-worker takes a deep breath, then asserts, “Because every time she turns her back you stare at her ass with those sad puppy eyes of yours.”

Is this how criminals feel when they speak to him through the glass windows in the visiting room? Because he definitely feels like one of them caught red-handed.

“There are no puppy eyes. And besides,” he pauses, lacking a counter-argument, “I don’t stare.” It takes one long skeptical gaze to break his façade. “Fine. But I wouldn’t call it staring.”

The co-worker raises her brows.

“Then how would you call it?”

“Admiring?” he mumbles, hoping she doesn’t hear it. His co-worker chuckles from behind her desk. He sighs as he looks at her, and puts the package and pizza box on his desk.

“I don’t think she would decline though.” It was naive of him to assume the conversation was over.

“Don't you have work to do?” He tries to separate himself from her by breaking the line of sight with a book. His tie starts to irritate him, but loosening it up means giving more opening to his co-worker so he lets it choke him.

He hears how her heels knock on the floor as she comes to his desk and lean over to reach the pizza box.

“It’s very unusual to see you like this. I’ve always thought you were a robot when it comes to your personal life,” she takes a piece of margarita.

Hiromi raises eyebrows. The book in his hands drops down.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs.

“You know… very, hmm… economical?”

“Nice save,” he mumbles.

Economical was the last word Hiromi would have used describing his personal life. Not after wasting so much money for a food he never eats.

“So, are you going to ask her out?”

“No,” he says but sounds very disappointed. Damn courier.

“Why not?” She frown.

“It’s complicated—”

“Rubbish! You could sell me that crap at the beginning when the both of you were acting like teenagers. Now”— she snorts—“you basically flirt like normal people do on the third date!” she waves her hands, as if trying to convince an invisible witness. “Except you never went out once and it seems that the two of you would rather die than change that…”

His co-worker takes a bite and looks at him, but this time Hiromi’s facade doesn’t break that easy. He only shrugs.

“Ugh! What’s the matter with you?” she snaps at him. “Have made it a mission to complicate everything in your life?”

“Guilty,” he admits without a blink. There’s no point in denying this. “And you can’t do anything about it. We aren’t at court.”

Hiromi watches as she chew in silence.

“You can have all of it.” He moves the box towards her.

“I know,” she answers. “It isn’t the pizza that’s on your mind.” She takes the box and walks back to her desk. Hiromi knows what she's about to say before she opens her mouth, “But with that attitude you never gonna taste that in your lifespan.”

How vulgar…

Hiromi sits on the couch in his dull living room, with a glass in one hand and a remote in another. He flips through channels, staring at the TV without a hint of interest. When exactly did he become the person who comes back to home and has absolutely no idea what to do with himself? Everything feels like an empty time filler at this point.

Click, click, click…

Hiromi maintains a fast pace, his eyes on the screen, but mind barely present. Drama show, reality talk, an okonomiyaki advertisment… “Our national pizza!” Says a lady with her mouth full. Not the best marketing gimmick, he thinks. But yeah… He could go for a pizza. Today someone has interrupted his little tête-à-tête with you, but maybe it isn’t too late to fix it?

Before he can think it through, his hand reaches for the phone and opens the food app on its own. The pizzeria you work at is marked with a star as the only one in his favorites. Hiromi chooses a margarita, pays in advance, and hopes that your boss has forced you to work overtime today.

And then… what remains to be done? Just wait. But this time sitting in his dull living room doesn’t feel awfully boring. Hiromi finally finds a comfortable spot on his couch. He leans back and puts his feet up on the table, feeling strangely relaxed. As if he has found the missing piece of the puzzle. The advertising marathon has finishes and he watches the beginning of unknown romantic comedy. A pleasant drowsiness slowly befuddles him…

Knock knock!

Oh? Is it already time?

Hiromi gets up from the couch, his body feels dizzy at first but with each step towards the doors it gets more and more tense. Dozens of thoughts run through his head as his hand reaches for the door handle. Will that be you? What should he say? He haven’t thought of any opening line… Now, that’s the lawyer everybody needs, right?

Very slowly he presses down onto the handle and opens the door.

“Hello, your pizza- Oh! Hi, Higuruma-san! What a surprise!” Your expression changes from weary to genuinely happy; Hiromi feels your smile deep in his chest. “So you don’t really live in your office, huh?” You try to take a peek over his shoulder.

“I have to come here from time to time. Otherwise they will start imposing rent at my workplace,” he answers, shrugging.

Your whole chest trembles as you laugh, you have the same hoodie you had afternoon with faces of some band on it. Hiromi catches himself at staring for too long at your chest. It draws your attention.

“Do you like this band?” you ask, pulling the hoodie to stretch the fabric, which reveals a bit of your neckline.

Hiromi finally raises his eyes to meet yours.

“I don’t know them,” he says honestly and, given the cheerfulness in your eyes, you seem to be content with this answer.

“Ah, I see,” you slowly nod. “That’s not what interested you.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

He doesn’t feel too embarrassed when you smile like this at him. Maybe his sad puppy eyes come in handy…

“Now that I caught you red-handed I won’t feel bad telling you something like this -” You smirked, “Don’t be upset, but you don’t look like a guy who likes pizza.”

You would think, huh?

“That’s a bit judgmental,” Hiromi says with unusual sensitivity in his voice that immediately puts you in defensive mode.

“Oh, no! I’m sorry!” You raise your hand in apologetic gesture. “It’s just”—you eye him up and down—“I don’t know, I guess it’s the suit. It makes you look…”

“Pompous?” he slips watching you struggle to find the right word.

“No!” you quickly deny. Too quickly. “I mean… well, kinda.” You gave up.

“Ouch.”

Hiromi has never heard you giggle before, but he could definitely get used to it. He couldn’t explain the phenomenon that makes him seek for your reaction - any reactions, really - but the idea of closing the doors right now and not getting more out of you seemed awful.

“Do you ever take it off?” you ask pointing at his loosened tie and wrinkled dress shirt.

I could for you, he thinks to his own surprise.

“Well, I was waiting for the pizza,” he reminds.

“Right. Can’t collect your order in pyjamas.” And you laugh again, which causes a rush of heat in his belly and bellow. Cursed thoughts suddenly take him to very inappropriate places where you tell him about the band printed on your hoodie as you take it off. He wonders what color of bra you wear. The white one would suit you - in his modest opinion.

“You weren’t wrong though.” He breaks himself out of the trance. “I don’t like pizza." After all the orders he made for the past few weeks.

You blink at his words, definitely not as surprised as he thought you were going to be. In fact, your reaction tells him that you knew and have played along this entire time.

“Then why did you order so many of them?” you ask, a soft smile forming on your lips.

“I was ordering you,” he finds himself saying. The moment the first word left his lips, Hiromi felt in his guts it was a bad idea, but the rest of the sentence left his lips anyway, leaving sweet-sour flavor on the top of his tongue.

He watches your eyes widen for a second, and your lips part - then close - then open again as you try to say something back, but your mind can’t find the right words.

Well, this is it then…

A lonely “oh” slips quietly out of your mouth.

Oh?

“Well, you are my last stop today.” Your rosy cheeks rise up as you smile. “Why don’t you invite me in?”

For a moment the world stops.

“Are you sure?” The lower parts of Hiromi call him an idiot, but the lower parts have never been in charge. Biting his tongue wasn’t an option.

Sudden embarrassment takes over as you look sideways and as both of you wonder about the simple “should I or should I not?” You smile and Hiromi smiles as well.

“Do you think my boss can sue me once he finds out that I’ve made him lose a regular customer?” You break the silence. Hiromi watches at the corners of your lips twitch, then raises his eyes at yours.

“Why do you assume I won’t order any more pizza in the future?” You shrug.

“Why would you if you can just call me instead?”

“So you can have nice break at work,” he answers. This is enough to make you burst out laughing.

“I see you've thought everything through carefully.”

“I only try to keep you here as long as I can.”

You make a step towards him, standing on the threshold. Much, much, much closer than usually. Hiromi could smell your perfume, but he mostly focuses on the soft smile you give him.

“Well, can’t deny it isn’t working. Lemme in,” you whisper, fidgeting with the collar of his dress shirt as you speak.

Once Hiromi opens the doors wide for you to come in and you cross the threshold, letting the pizza box fall on the ground, making you giggle again. Hiromi presses you against the doors, his hands finally on your waists, fingers tightened to feel you under the fabric of hoodie.

You are the one who closes the gap between your lips. Your smell stupefies Hiromi as you kiss him without hesitation, shamelessly penetrating his mouth with your tongue. Your fingers slide right under his collar, slowly moving around his nape, tickling his skin and sending shivers down his spine. Hiromi feels dizzy from the excess of stimuli.

“Tell me about this band,” he says once you two break away to catch a breath.

“I know only one song…” you mutter, too focused on undoing buttons of his dress shirt to give the song name. “It was an accident. I spotted the hoodie on the sale. L—Liked the color. Later found out it’s them,” you babble.

The feeling of your fingers exploring his bare chest and belly is blend of disconcerting relief and irritation. He waited for this moment for so long that now, when he finally has you, the touch of fingers isn’t enough to meet his expectations.

You place a kiss on his chin but before you can reach higher, Hiromi’s mouth is on your neck. One hand wraps around your waists, pulling you closer to him, yet still not close enough in his opinion. He wishes he could absorb you. He wants to feel the heat coming from your skin and your heartbeat quickening.

The other hand finds your buttcheek and squeezes it hard. The moan that escapes your lips is like long-awaited music in his ear. Hiromi can’t help himself and bites your earlobe to get more reactions out of you. And when that stops being enough, he starts sucking your neck and giving you hickeys while his hands roam freely all over your body, finding their way under the hoodie.

Considering how your fingers have made big mess out of his haircut and how now they dig deep into his shoulders, he assumes he's doing a good job so far.

“These damn legs of yours,” he mumbles into your ear while lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around him.

Hiromi carries you to the couch where he takes off your hoodie together with the work uniform underneath it. Your sports bra is black, and nicely molds itself to your breasts. He can see your perky nipples through the fabric at which his erection grows larger.

You pull him towards you by tugging on his tie. Very soon your bra ends up on the floor as well when Hiromi places himself above you. The way he cups his hands around your breasts, squeezing your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, puts your dirty needs to another level.

“I’ve been waited for so long to feel them,” Hiromi whispers right before your face, a hair's length away from touching your lips. His voice is so quiet you have a problem hearing him. “You’re blushing,” he notices, making you look away and mutter an embarrassed “shatap”.

“Better hurry up and suck them,” you pout at him, you have hard time talking at this point, your throat dry and voice distorted by hoarseness.

Hiromi’s smirk gets bigger.

“It’s nice to know you want it as bad as I do,” he says before leaning over.

DING DONG.

Hiromi opens his eyes. At first he doesn’t even recognize his own apartment, the view from the couch is downright unrealistic. With his swollen eyes he looks for any sign of yours presence, because even if he knows you weren’t here, his mind doesn’t want to give up. Not yet. He can’t help it, his professional tendency to hope for the best and be ready for the worst speaks through him.

But the longer he stares at his empty apartment and the longer he can’t find any part of the clothes that he just took off of you, the more and more the disappointing reality seeps through his mind.

Ding dong…

Oh, right - the doorbell. He looks at the door, then at the bulge in his pants, sighing at the bitter unfinished business. What one pizza delivery girl can do to a man who doesn’t even like pizza…

He slowly gets up, massaging his sore nape that the couch header have gave him as he approaches the door. A doubtful thought on the back on his head whispers to him that he may see you behind it - with your high-tied ponytail, a hoodie and unearthly legs - and that his dream have been prelude to the main event.

Hiromi opens the door and sees the most average looking stranger.

Yeah, he thinks, taking the pizza and mumbling thanks, life isn’t that pretty, is it? He doesn't think about covering himself or even feel embarrassed about it. There’s just pure disappointed in his heart and an annoying tightness in his boxers.

He closes the door. What a shame it wasn’t you.

there is a possibility that a second part will be written. thanks for reading!

#jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #jjk higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #higuruma x reader #hiromi higuruma

[yilan-meiyuan]

fanghua, gift-giving.

we had to find out from yi-ge and shunxi's conversation in behind-the-scenes footage that li lianhua's fur cloak was a gift from fang duobing and last week, from iqiyi's graphics of props, that fang duobing's jade flute was a gift from li lianhua. what else is there about fanghua we’re not allowed to know about!

cheng yi: "[li lianhua] is rich for once! finally, it's his turn to be rich! yet, it was thanks to someone else 😂 (to zeng shunxi) this fur cloak is yours, you know that? you can't even bear to wear it yourself. you gave it to me."

the fur cloak that makes xiaohua look like a polar bear was a gift from xiaobao after all:

importantly, this is the fur cloak xiaohua carries with him to the very end.

personally, i see both xiaohua and xiaobao as incredibly and admirably well-adjusted individuals i aspire to be. together, their relationship is less about the "redeeming each other" trope. to me, fanghua is more like, xiaohua met someone who brings an extra layer of warmth to his skin, until one day he realizes he is here for good, like a blanket he never wants to return. we get this personified in xiaobao's fur cloak xiaohua keeps to the end despite letting go of all other mortal possessions on the beach, how wonderful is that.

李蓮花贈與方多病的玉笛 (the jade flute li lianhua gifted fang duobing).

xiaobao's jade flute he carries with him at his waist being a gift from xiaohua feels so much like the classic 定情信物 (token of love) and breakup trope 😭

personally, i love both options whether the jade flute is xiaobao's own or if it was a gift from xiaohua. before, i was thinking the jade flute as a personal item of xiaobao's could be a symbol of his free nature, in that yes, he's entering the jianghu to be a formal detective who (truly) embodies li xiangyi's ideals, but he also would enjoy a carefree life endlessly travelling with li lianhua. so, breaking that in tears in their big fight could represent him trying to be firm on returning to the detective route and wondering if he was so naive enough to give his heart out to someone and picturing settling down into a quiet life with that person (before they make up).

but now, as a gift from xiaohua, it's completely that classic 定情信物. it re-frames the first little break-up in such an amusing way. they "break up," and xiaobao goes off flaunting the gift xiaohua gave him and touches it to his skin in front of everyone, like he's waiting for xiaohua to admit he still cares about him. because what was that jade flute gift if not proof that he saw him as a close companion? 😤

from xiaohua's smiles and clearly showing interest in xiaobao's antics, he knows exactly what xiaobao is doing 😂

isn't it also such a nostalgic, amusing, and charming little classic story to have a rich young master who has a lot of money of his own he can spend with a wave of a hand but walks around everywhere with a small gift he holds close more than anything because it’s from someone he likes? with both the showing off and carrying it everywhere he goes, truly — xiaohua knows exactly what xiaobao has been doing.

#fanghua #li lianhua #fang duobing #mysterious lotus casebook #i personally love them a lot #so do the 98000 fanghua fans on weibo #as i've said before #fanghua is the mlc ship with the most members on weibo that's even by double the amount of the second most popular ship if you want proof #and huafang (though i don't ship) is by far the most popular ship for fan works on lofter #i'm a very 井水不犯河水 person who tags properly #do not come at me again to say that it's somehow culturally immoral to ship them romantically #you can block the fanghua tag if it bothers you that much

[magnusbae]

Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

+++

Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

▾▾▾

"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him. 

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—”  His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his— 

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…” 

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along. 

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so… 

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.  

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have. 

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was? 

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan. 

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man. 

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain. 

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over. 

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember. 

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess. 

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze. 

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected. 

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised. 

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like. 

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former. 

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again. 

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down. 

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time. 

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried. 

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor. 

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond.  He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly. 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years. 

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-” 

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips… 

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should…. 

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness. 

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet… 

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and… 

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night…. 

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows. 

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes  just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan. 

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him. 

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good…. 

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving. 

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too. 

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

#I realize that the smarted thing would be to revisit this one once I slept off this fever and actually give it a proper revision however-- #the force demands I post it here and now. #obikin #obikin fic #star wars #star wars fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #anakin #obi wan #sw fic #buns.w #buns.all #anonynous #msg #prompt filled #me:i'll do quick drabbles for those prompts #also me: so here's a thing i nearly fainted over because i forgot what drink and food was #i hope you enjoy this~ I didn't write Obi-Wan POV in a whiiiiilllleee I wanted it to be a push and pull of conflicting emotions and needs #Fair warning as mentioned before... I rewrote it almost completely from 2k to 4k without actually editing over the rewritten one #there might be some hefty mistakes there so you know ggs

[whipcracknumber5]

Ok walk with me on a “no but seriously imagine it” type rant

Ok so with the 🧡 from the wad post we are all collectively losing our minds right? Right. People are talking about the rest of the rainbow of hearts

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

We already have the red heart from Phil’s birthday post from 2023 ❤️

Now one could say that the red heart is the more romantically used one, or you could say that it’s just basic use one. Who can say.

Now with the release of WAD on YouTube we get the orange heart 🧡

I feel like this one is more special than the red heat tho, it’s more personalized. Orange is the color of his show and arguably his new branding.

Now this is where we start cooking! Those are the first two colors of the rainbow in order I might add we have Roygbiv your know her you love her

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

So what might we get with the rest of the rainbow what and when can we expect the yellow heart and so on. While I am a June/ October phedding truther I don’t believe we will get anything of the sorts this year, think of the length of time the two hearts are placed, Perhaps we get two more hearts this year.

We could get a yellow heart on dans birthday posted by Phil obvi maybe saying how he’s such a ray of sunshine /s

💛☀️🎂

And then the 10 year anniversary of dapg is coming up on September 12, I would imagine they do something for that let’s say they do a green heart for that one for the sims being one of their main series on the channel, plumbobs the symbol of the sims commonly being green.

💚

That would continue the trend of the colors being in order. But what are the gaming channels main colors??? Purple and blue. As seen by the dapg icon and the border around the face cam in the videos.

💙💜

As much as I want to get a full set in order I think the blue and purple are more likely for the gaming channel then green.

So that leaves us with the green heart, who is associated with green? Who’s iconic bedspread and thus branding was blue and green for YEARS? Who dyed an insane about of things green when Dan was gone? That’s right everyone’s favorite princess Phil Lester!

And what would be the next signifcant date (excluding 10/19) up next? Phil’s birthday in January. Bringing us right back to the first post with the red heart, Phil’s birthday post. So I would say we could expect something big June 2025. Being pride month and the month they started talking they could pull something on us that would make us lose our minds entirely.

Anyway that’s my whole rant just on the fact that we got

🧡

#dan and phil #dan howell #phil lester #danandphilgames #phandom #amazingphil #danisnotonfire #WAD #Phan #< for the phandometrics #Phan for top ship

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my April 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

When All Is Said And Done by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10 (76k)

“You must be thinking of another of your ex-husbands,” Louis snapped back, and Harry stilled, slowly turning to face him. There was something almost dangerous in Harry's look then but Louis stayed firm, not cowering away.

“Thankfully, I only have the misfortune of one ex-husband,” Harry said darkly, snatching up the plates and slamming them onto the table. 

*****

Louis and Harry were married, but things fell apart, ending in divorce, broken hearts and separate lives. Years later, their paths cross once more, and time together forces old feelings to resurface. But is it too little, too late?

Greenhouses AU Series by TiredTiredTz / @tiredtiredtz (63k)

Glass Closets and Greenhouses (60k) Charlton Athletic defender Louis Tomlinson and worldwide sex symbol Harry Styles are rumoured to be hooking up after a viral video filmed at Harry’s Wembley show was posted online by Tommo’s twin sisters. Sources close to the pair tell us the couple have been dating for a while, with rumours of house hunting, marriage and even kids on the cards! Styles, 29, is as well known for his whirlwind love life as his chart topping music. Most recently linked to British fashion designer Alex Millet-Sloan, Harry has stayed tight-lipped on rumours of any romantic rendezvous between himself and footballer Tomlinson, 31, yet fans online are convinced that all evidence points to #Tomlinstyles being the real deal. Not Conditional (3k) Harry is bald and this is how I’m coping. Set a few years after the events of Glass Closets and Greenhouses.

It Feels Different When You’re With Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings (45k)

Harry fell in love with sign language as a kid. He never imagined the first love of his life would lead him straight to his second.

Every Lonely Place by HamPalpert (38k)

Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim. But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough. Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world. Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions. And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.

The Act of Making Noise by suspendrs / @suspendrs (32k)

“Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”

It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?”

“Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”

Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont.

It’s About Time by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (3k)

Best friends and roommates, Louis and Harry have been through a lot together, including law school for Louis, marriage and divorce for Harry. Their imminent eviction forces them to admit their feelings.

#28th appreciation #April fic rec #monthly fic rec #Larry fic rec #fic rec #hlcreators #read

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Angel Dust Redesign! (7/7)

FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THE MAIN 7 FREAKS.

Depending how I feel I might throw in some bonuses but these guys are your only guarantees! Going to be posting the full lineup separately because I don’t want to clutter this post!!

God okay where to start. I was talking about them in Husk’s post so let’s go with that. Angel’s clothing restrictions are his necklace and shoes. I might go on a bit of a tangent with this so forgive me 💔

For the necklace let me get this out of the way: yes it is a BDSM thing! I’m terrified people are going to take this as me being a weirdo but please as an adult content creator give me some space to explain before anyone jumps on me and hits me with a metal pipe. The intentions behind symbolism matter HEAVILY. I am against Vivzie’s portrayal of Angel’s abuse and the chain/collar imagery because it is blatantly either her being incredibly uncreative or her inserting her kinks into her shows. I think it is completely fine to use suggestive items in this way as long as the intentions are clear and not just there for no reason.

I would’ve probably done something else like a corset as a restriction, but I’d like to stop being so shy about Angel’s actual job. He is a pornstar and removing that outward aspect of him is taking a big chunk of his character away. I need more people to acknowledge that Angel enjoys sex and actively wanted to explore this side of himself. With the slip chain however, I would also like to portray how things Angel enjoys in his job have been used against him and made him come to resent what he does when he is forced into it. I think thats a pretty understandable thing to show.

This is harder to explain but the gist of it is just don’t be afraid to acknowledge Angel’s job. It’s okay to use sexual things as metaphors. Have you heard any christian song ever/hj

Alright with that out of the way, with the shoes. Angel’s feet are a large insecurity and discomfort of his which already makes his shoes some sort of restriction on their own, however if controlled, they can be made to stumble forward, fall over, etc. I wanted to show how Angel has freedom to go mostly wherever he pleases, though once again, that free will can be taken away very quickly.

I hated his suit so all suiting is gone entirely. He’s supposed to look attractive or eye catching at the very least. I’ve also added back the outer fangs he had in my first redesign!

I am much happier with the new one in comparison to this old guy. I know it’s only a few months old but you can really see how differently I draw him and the details I pay attention to more like the shape of his hair. Aside from the old one! I wanted Angel himself to still keep the reddish pink to show wrath and destain being masked as lust, except now his clothing is actually the pinkish-purple lust colour and it covers more eye grabbing parts of his body like the chest, hands, hips, and so on.

I don’t think I’ve ever outwardly mentioned Angel having polycoria but he does and it’s probably my favourite feature to draw aside from his hair. About the hair and fur: Angel used to have spots and basic stripes before his contract with Valentino, where afterwards they began to curl into their cordiform shapes. Most physical overlord changes with hair and skin tend to not go away, so depending on who you make a contract with it’s either a fun perk or a sort of scar.

Once again, not sure if I will be continuing with anymore in this specific lineup, but if I do end up posting more of these I really hope you like those too! 💣

#hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin angel #angel dust hazbin #angel dust hazbin hotel #my art #hazbin rewrite #hazbin redesign #hazbin rework #hazbin hotel rework #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #anti vivziepop #tw valentino #cw valentino #tw sa implied #cw sa implied

[awellreadmannequin]

Hmm, I think that some of my new followers might appreciate this passage I just wrote for my paper:

Ultimately, caring about culture means caring about the bodies which practice that culture. Failing to care about those bodies, letting them become “bare life” means failing to care about culture. Or rather, I should say failing to care about bodies is a failure to care well about culture. Museums have historically served to preserve culture without necessarily maintaining it. A museum is a dead thing, a place where the artifacts of culture put on static display to be silently observed. The only bodies that move in museums do not interact with the artifacts contained within in the same way that the bodies who produced them would. As Shimrit Lee puts in her book Decolonize Museums:

By displaying humans, animals, and objects alike in detailed, simulated environments, curators sought to capture particular cultures and time periods. This act of “viewing culture”—from world’s fairs to the museums of today—results in what Johannes Fabian called a “petrified relation,” whereby various non-European societies are perceived to be living in a different historical epoch. Today, these types of exhibitions continue to deny the possibility of shared humanity and connection between visitors and the people whose cultures are on display. (Lee 2022)

It is bodies in living relation to one another that make and practice culture. In museums, culture becomes disembodied and thereby disconnected the human experience of it. Instead, cultural artifacts become props in a curatorial narrative: “These objects, violently plundered from the colonies, were first “decontextualized,” or extracted from the context of their original use, and then “recontextualized” in the sense that they were inserted into new settings” (Lee 2022).

Like, imagine how insane I felt listening to Winter in Hieron while this is the sort of thing I’m studying, thinking about, and writing. Hieron is literally built on physical and metaphysical recontextualization! And beyond that, even the mortals who are unaware of the metaphysical nature of Hieron’s reality are constantly struggling over how culture should be contextualized. Mother Glory’s death hit me so hard precisely because it was a symbolic victory of Rosemerrow’s recontextualization of culture. In turn, Fero’s decision not to stay and help the gnolls is such a monumental failure to care about (I’m using that in a technical sense, dw about it, iykyk) their culture and their, er, humanity..? Gnollnity? Whatever, that which makes them subjects. And don’t even get me started on the orcs, who have so completely mastered recontextualizing culture that they it enables them to DO MAGIC. Like, pattern magic clearly depends on culture in order to give facets of the material world meaning (libraries, desks, broken mirrors, stolen fiddles, and so forth) but it doesn’t actually have any interest in that context beyond that. Lem is able to do pattern magic without really what the materials he’s using really are beyond their place in the pattern. You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not even sure he knows what the deal with his fiddle even is? I might be wrong, but the point is that the fiddle seems to be more important for its place in the pattern than for the thing it actually is as defined by its history.

Ugh, this show is making me feel rabid and I gotta stop writing this post and get back to the actual paper I’m writing…

#claire thoughts #winter in hieron #jack told me to post my thoughts about the show more #so blame them for this #friends at the table

[ruumirmir]

"Hey, hey- did you hear? Lord Regrator promoted someone as the new branch manager of our bank!"

"Don't tell me... it's him, isn't it?"

"But of course, I heard the harbinger is playing favorites now-"

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕪'𝕤 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖

When you feel the caress of a mask; an identity, Who do you become?

Finished cooking Pantalone's Loverboy a little bit more with this character layout. While a good chunk of his aesthetic has been pinned down, I probably won't go further to draw any sort of outfit or character design for him. As of now, I'm keeping his finer details ambiguous enough to classify as a M!reader. @eluxcastar comrade wake up new Loverboy content just dropped.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐢 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤

Under the hierarchy of Regrator's ordinance, Fatuus above a certain level of authority don masks signifying their position. Ordinary agents working with classified business information must never run the risk of disclosing their identities after all. One such mask, dipped in a red of warning and adorned with a platinum wing on it's brow is the telltale identity of the bank's Venator Dux. Whether you stand against him in a negotiations meeting, or battle, he's no less intimidating without the mask.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐇𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

"Hydro represents faith, regardless of how misguided it maybe." "This vision is given to people who either have a strong dedication towards something, or have a desire to help or protect others." From wind to water; That day celestia's eye honed in on the fool falling past a shattered window, dragging down another with him. "How amusing..." they'd think, and brush past the reject to bestow heaven's blessing upon the far more pitiful one.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱

Also called 'wine red' or 'black rose'. Like the lovely wines of plum occasionally imported from Liyue. Like blood to snow in the region colored head to toe in muted greys and blues.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐬

A flower that smells like fresh chocolate. They symbolize peace and tranquility. It is said that Chocolate Cosmos in particular mean “I love you more than anybody can.” Is it more obvious. He offers to pin it on the Harbinger's coat with a knowing grin. A frost-sensitive flower; It requires partial sun or full sun, and flowers from mid to late summer. It cant flourish naturally in a frost-bitten habitat and is artificially kept in greenhouses, only glimpsing the sun every few days through tinted windows. Pantalone barely needs to lift a finger to commission a set of cosmos flowers turned to jewelry for his Loverboy to wear.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧

A Black Swan signifies an insight about yourself that changes your position from one of victim to victor. Black Swan is a graceful reminder to move from any position where you feel powerless and at the mercy of external forces; it is time to reclaim your personal power. A coin always has two sides however; The black swan theory states that, "It is an unpredictable event that is beyond what is normally expected of a situation and has potentially severe consequences."

ੈ♡˳ 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝

Equal parts strategic leader and hands-on agent, the Venator's blade is no less mightier than his pen. Come hell and high water, his feathered quill can enlarge thrice over to chase down it's targets with a mind of it's own, like a missile dart. You wouldn't fare better in close quarters either. The feather reinforced with hydro can sharpen it to the degree of splitting icebergs and necks alike. Why else do you think his ink occasionally flows in hues of red?

ੈ♡˳ 𝐈𝐜𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐂𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

The steely frost seeping into his coat, A heady spice from the smoke warming the air, and the slow bittersweet aroma that doesn't hit you until after he's gone; an aftertaste.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

"I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings Be your Valentino, just for you" "I'd like for you and I to go romancing Say the word, your wish is my command" "Ooh, love (there he goes again) Ooh, lover boy (he's my good old-fashioned lover boy, ooh) What're you doing tonight?"

ੈ♡˳ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲

"Faithfulness to something to which one is bound by pledge or duty." "In the shimmering expanse of ice and snow, I pledge my unwavering devotion and undying loyalty to the illustrious Tsaritza, sovereign of this frozen realm. As the frost bites deep and the chill of winter grips our souls, I stand firm in my resolve to serve her reign with pride and honor." "With every breath, I swear to defend her name, her realm, and her legacy, even if it means laying down my life upon the icy plains, for in her sovereignty lies the very essence of our existence. Today, I embrace the cold embrace of eternity, knowing that I have lived and died under the banner of our revered Tsaritza, with unwavering loyalty burning bright within my heart..." And he didn't mean a single word of it. He wondered when that would be the death of him.

#➳❥ Ooh Lover Boy #pantalone #genshin #genshin impact #fatui #fatui harbingers #pantalone genshin #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #genshin impact fatui #➳❥ Rumour writes #genshin imagines #gensin impact headcannons

[red-velvet-0w0]

arlight so i was thinking about the norse god heimdall, and how his death acts as a sort of canary call, the first to die in ragnarok, but with his death warning the others of what is coming. and that got me thinking about, you guessed it, canary!jimmy. And then I thought "but what if life series norse god symbolism" (or maybe even AU not sure)

So I present:

Jimmy - Hiemdall (for afformentioned reasons)

Martyn - Tyr (martin is the Hand to Rendog, Tyr loses his hand to the fenrir wolf)

Rendog - Fenrir wolf

Scar - Loki (he just is okay I cant really explain it)

Grian - Odin (eye themes, omniscience, is the most powerful, complex love hate relationship with loki/scar)

Scott - Frey (god of nature & peace, dies from not having a sword, like how scott refuses to kill)

Joel - Thor (it just fits idk)

Lizzie - Sif (Joels wife, also kinda fits)

BigB - Bragi (god of poetry, bigb is skilled manipulator)

Etho - Ullr (god of hunt, duels, and winter)

Bdubs - Narfi (tricked by odin to turn on brother (impulse))

Cleo - Jormungandr (something about dripping poison into the world feels very on brand for them) (not as an insult) (more as a compliment if anything)

Tango - Mimir (god of inteligence who (depending on the version) dies due to his own actions)

Mumbo - Kvasir (god of innovation and invention)

Skizz - Baldur (hes just a sweet guy who dies too soon)

Impulse - Vali (betrayed by an brother (bdubs) and death lead to "binding" of loki/scar)

Pearl - Hel (she just is)

Gem - Freya (goddes of love but also battle)

#life series #life series au #also yeah I know I got a lot of the norse spellings wrong im sorry to any norse scholars who see this #in my defence i cant speel great in english either #and thats my first language #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #rendog #goodtimeswithscar #grian #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #lizzie ldshadowlady #ldshadowlady #bigbst4tz2 #ethoslab #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #zombie cleo #tangotek #mumbo jumbo #skizzleman #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #geminitay

[utilitycaster]

(I haven’t watched C3 in a while (the party had gotten back after being split into two after Vax got orbed) so my info is a bit dated)

I often wondered about how little info there is about Orym’s husband known to the party, how little has been asked or shared.

And I get that BH is very different from M9, BH tends to be very non-confrontational and doesn’t poke at others pasts much, but we do have another character who had a dead spouse: Yasha.

And M9 did know about Zuala because Yasha shared it and they knew little things like she likes flowers and they gave tribute to her when they could. The mural, the flowers, the remembrance and asking if Yasha would share her stories.

And I dunno, maybe I’m not remembering right, but there hasn’t been much of the same with Orym. I feel like most of what I know about Orym and his dead family comes from monologues or times when Liam sets aside a character moment to act solely. Orym doesn’t share, the party doesn’t ask and some of it feels like because a Orym has often has to defend himself against the Pro-Vanguard debates.

They had to go to Zephrah to get to know more about Orym’s dead family and a lot of that info came from NPCs!

I dunno. I haven’t seen the show in a while but I felt it when more then 50 episodes passed and still felt a difference between how gently Zuala was treated and remembered vs how Will is only brought up to prove bad guys are bad guys with only Orym trying to keep his memories in a soft place.

Hi anon,

I actually disagree with most of this! I think the fandom has a lot of issues with Orym, which I'll talk about below, but I do not think Bells Hells are dismissive of Will. I think the reason it comes up is very simple, namely, the manner of Will's death is core to the conflicts and factions within the campaign, whereas Zuala's death is obviously a huge factor in Yasha's backstory, but the Mighty Nein are not dealing with the Dolorov tribe in any capacity. Will's death, is, in fact, a symbol of the Ruby Vanguard's brutality and callousness as well as Orym's husband within the narrative; whereas Zuala is just Zuala.

I don't think Bells Hells has been particularly unfeeling towards Orym with regards to Will and Derrig's deaths when they come up, nor do I think their discussion of the Vanguard is borne of not caring. I think that the Vanguard's harm is particularly real for some party members, and until FCG's death just now it felt a little bit more distant for others. I think the conflict in-game stems from that: when you combine how viscerally real the threat of the Vanguard is to Orym and the way it's not so direct for others (and, obviously, that Imogen's mother holds a position of power within it) and also consider the characters' differences re: how they bring up (or don't bring up) difficult topics, you get some painful conversations! When I say I understand why Orym might not want to talk to the rest of Bells Hells because this is a topic of discussion, I don't think the rest of Bells Hells are bullying him or being deliberately unkind; I just think that there's a lot of misunderstanding and hurt feelings. When Will has come up as a topic of his own - and the conversations I specifically remember are with Chetney in the Heartmoor and with Fearne and FCG at Will and Derrig's graves - those party members have always been incredibly kind and supportive. It's the fact that his death is fundamentally a political one that adds a wrinkle, and that wasn't how Zuala figured into the party.

I also would add as an aside that the Mighty Nein did ultimately have a much more open arena for discussion, as witnessed by them eventually bringing up the possibility of partnering with Trent; that feels far more analogous to the discussions about the Vanguard than anything regarding Zuala, since the issue isn't ultimately "dead spouse", but "organization that is directly responsible for causing a character's life-altering trauma for the purposes of conquest and deliberately stoking unrest." I think there's a number of reasons why the Nein are able to do this, notably that the first time anyone considers it, it is very much a guarded thing; that no one but Caleb is personally impacted (whereas Imogen and Orym are placed at odds solely by their familial connections); and that it comes much, much later after the party has spent months clearly detesting Trent, so there is an increased sense of trust from Caleb.

Now, the fandom is a different story. Or rather, it's more similar than you think. The CR fandom (and probably others, but this is the one I've observed) has, since I started lurking in mid-2018 and actively participating about a year later, always had its share of people being extremely weird about grief. Some of it is shipping motivated (people who didn't like Beauyasha claiming Yasha wasn't ready and was too hung up on her dead wife; people who don't like Dorym or who resented the fact that Orym was resurrected before Laudna claiming either Orym isn't ready or, more chillingly, that he'd be happier dead). Some is not - I've mentioned before, but my favorite member of Vox Machina is Vex, and after I finished Campaign 1 I started looking for Vex content (again, this is mid-2018) and was inundated with "what if she can't braid her HAIR because she's too SAD because Vax is DEAD." Even now, I must admit, I look askance at the people claiming the throw to the Crown Keepers is good because it's a break - I don't think you need a break, unless you're extremely uncomfortable with grief or strong emotions! The first Campaign 2 episode I watched properly live (at least to the break) was episode 27 specifically because I wanted to see Beau and Caleb and Nott deal with that death now and didn't want to wait until Friday morning. I'm going to a concert this Thursday and won't be able to watch live and I can tell you what, I'm watching the back half of episode 93 Friday morning and the Crown Keepers half when I get to it, because this is what interests me, and it's fine if it's not what interests you, but someone you love is going to die one day and I have found that working through this through fiction lends a lot of meaning and catharsis. This is not, in fact, an unusual position; I highly recommend finding Liam's tweets from after Molly's death, and reading Ashly's essay about losing her partner, which she had written earlier but shared at that time as well. A core part of experiencing grief is that there is no break; there is only time.

In short, grief is complicated and unpredictable and it is indeed a part of Yasha and Orym (and no shortage of other characters) and will always influence them and be a part of them while also not serving as an end to their lives, and I think many people struggle with that. I suppose usually the response is more sympathetic within the fandom as it is towards Orym (though as discussed various fans used it to sideline Yasha's desires, to sand away Vex and Keyleth's ambitions and genuine excitment to live and grow, and don't get me started on Caleb or Vax). But it's always been a problem.

Ultimately, I think the reason Orym is treated so coldly is that, again, there's always been an issue within fandom of treating one's favorite characters as unimpeachable and any conflict with them or discussion of their flaws as a violent affront; but it does feel particularly pronounced in this campaign, particularly with regards to any obstacles (real or perceived) to Imogen or Laudna. [I could write an entire history of this campaign because it started with Laudna being The Untouchable One and only flipped to Imogen around the time of the solstice.] Hence such statements that, I truly cannot stress enough, I would rather give up internet access forever than admit to harboring such callousness within my heart as "Orym would be happier dead because his husband is dead" or "He has an obligation to recuse himself from discussions surrounding the Vanguard because he cannot be objective, a thing that is normal to expect of people with emotions and experiences and possible to achieve." (The latter really does pose a fascinating loophole. If the Vanguard just senselessly kills one or two family members from everyone's family then no one can oppose them, because it would then be biased and motivated by revenge. Life hack! It also reveals a pretty fundamental hypocrisy; if Ludinus is a Calamity survivor, maybe he should also be recusing himself! What's the math on how many people directly connected to you must be killed for your opinion to be right and good, rather than wrong and subjective?)

I think all of the above is, while, as discussed immediately above, not objective in that I'm a human being with personal experiences and emotions, fairly self-evident. I'll conclude by going into something that is within the realm of opinion, but I think is relevant to the discussion.

I personally believe the Vanguard's methods are sufficiently vile so as to cast doubt on all of their goals, but even if one doesn't, I find the idea that the Predathos should be unleashed and the gods should be killed is, ultimately, short-sighted, deeply self-centered, ahistorical within the canon (ie, unsupported by the text both in terms of canon events and, if we're counting them, appeals to emotion and authority - not terribly useful in real life, but very much the truth in a D&D actual play narrative), and a far less interesting story to boot. I think it would be devastating on a cosmic level in-world and that "oh it will sort itself out, probably" is perhaps the reddest flag one can wave in such discussions. So I do think that while Orym is acting on the basis of emotion, I also think he's right, and so the callousness is, as I've said elsewhere, a last-ditch effort by those with no capacity to construct a meaningful argument, because they think he's wrong and pointing out he's acting on the basis of emotion is their only ammunition to discredit him. At best I think the people who are arguing that the Vanguard is cruel but their cause is just have an extremely poor understanding of the setting and the specific narrative structures of this medium. Which isn't to say some of Bells Hells might not still make that choice, though Imogen telling Orym "I want you to know that that for a while it may have felt that you and I were not seeing eye to eye or maybe you felt that I, I didn't have the same goal in mind that you did. But don't worry about that anymore, all right?" in the wake of Liliana's conversation and the death of their only divinely-aligned friend feels rather indicative of their direction. But I do not think it is a choice defensible on the basis of morality; only defensible on the basis of "something a very hurt and angry and damaged person might choose to do."

People are specifically like this towards Orym because he is the mouthpiece for an opinion they don't like but ultimately cannot meaningfully argue against, and part of his justification in-world is the death of Will. While there was no shortage of people who hated Yasha, either for "die for our ship" reasons or your normal Reddit Bro misogyny, Zuala was mostly irrelevant to that discussion, hence the difference in how they're treated.

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag #long post #cr discourse

[purgemarchlockdown]

Ah what the heck I'll post it through here

So in some discord servers, you've seen me specualte that Amane's uniform is inspired by the private Catholic Fukuoka Kaisei girl's school affiliated primary school (福岡海星女子学院附属小学校)

Now, because of the name, I assumed this was an all girls primary school And that the picture above was of 4 girls and the school simply allowed children to wear either skirts or shorts (its uncommon for Japanese elementary schools to have uniform to begin with so I could see a laxer dress code when it comes to stuff like this)

However After a bit more reading of their website Turns out that the Fukuoka Kaisei girl's school affiliated primary school Despite the name Has in fact been a co-ed/mixed gender primary school for the last 50-so years And while I can't find a dress code on their website It does seem like all the students in pictures on their site who wear shorts are boys

Anyway to cut a long story short: Amane's uniform actually resembles the boys one more than the girls (shorts instead of skirt + no ribbon + more central buttons)

And I know you like the trans girl Amane theory so I figured you'd enjoy this info

The only disclaimer I have to give is that the long haired child whose father tattles on Amane is in the same uniform (shorts and all)

So like if this is a girl then occam's razor is that girls at Amane's school just wear shorts (also it'd be strange for Amane's cult to follow gender rolls Except for hair?? idk maybe im overthinking)

TRANS AMANE BELIEVERS WE MIGHT STAY WINNING!!!! It would be weird if they did follow the entire dress code Except for the hair. Additionally those buttons are tripping me up since their Buttoned like the girls so this actually comes somewhere more in the middle of the Both of them...if it does turn out my insane "Amane perceives gender in the same way a cat does, it's just there" catthing Amane idea is real I'm going to explode.

Regarding the girl though...I can't believe I can unveil my insane Queer Infighting Amane idea- okay so in cults it's generally heavily encouraged to outright spy and tattle on people who misbehave:

(BITE)

Information Control: Encourage spying on other members a. Impose a buddy system to monitor and control member b. Report deviant thoughts, feelings and actions to leadership c. Ensure that individual behavior is monitored by group

I think, and this is pure speculation there's is very little supporting this I just like the idea. It be fun if they were BOTH trans.

My reasoning behind this is, first of all Amane doesn't seem to have many friends. Her T2 distorted voiceline has her say:

Father is a very praiseworthy person. Once his virtue increases, he'll come back home, right? It's a little lonely, but I'm fine!

Which, okay it's fair that her homelife is lonely, this doesn't necessarily inform her school life. But if we go to the Prison she's rather isolated overall.

Even in T1. Yuno and Mahiru are people she considers "close" but that's after mulling it over a bit due to being asked.

T1Q10: Is there any prisoner you're close with? A: If I were to say, I guess it would be Yuno and Mahiru.

It's not for a lack of Trying, she tries very hard actually. It's just that people tend to note the way she acts is weird and that gets exasperated in T2 where it's said she's pretty isolated.

But also, I was discussing with a mutual about her relation with this peer and they said that it's possible that this question:

T2Q11: Did you love the person you killed? A: I loved them.

Is referring to a Second Victim (This child) and Not her mother because...well one Amane has shown Very Little Fondness for her mother, and two it's entirely possible she killed multiple people because her staff in Purge March has blood on it Before she gets to her house.

Second thing: Cat Symbolism, Cat Symbolism stay winning forever. There is substantial amount of subtext you can wring out of the Cat being representative of sin and impurity, and Amane taking care of it and also being the Cat. Same with having her be "found out" by a peer and then sold out to, to her Religious Fundamentalist parents.

So now we go into my insane, circumstantial evidence, idea of Queer Infighting. I love WKTD and a big thing in that game is that even if your a "bad kid" if there's someone "worse" than you, you can live another day. And this kid can be anyone, the devil can be Anyone.

Amane has stated an inability to be a good girl:

Only if, only if, only if I could be a good girl

And a lack of desire to exactly "be one" since it requires her not being...herself, and she's happy with who she is.

T2Q20: How do you feel about you not being like everyone else? A: Nevertheless I was born as myself, so I'm happy

So, I'm just saying on a purely speculatory "this would be fun" basis. If we got queer infighting 12 year olds who are trying their best to be "good." I would explode.

Also, she is paralleled with both Mukuhara Kazui and known Genderless Freak Es so, yknow.

#asks #other analysis #doctorbunny #sorry if this is all over the place I have a lot of disconnected thoughts on this

[starrbitez]

Why Morty Smith is “like a dog” (pun unintended)

Okay so i saw a post (I’ll link it in comments!) that was talking about how Rick is more like a dog than Morty, and I definitely agree that Rick is similar to a dog too, I am going to discuss my personal opinions on Morty’s dog-like symbolism, parallels with snuffles/snowball, and my own ideas for the dog analogy. It begins below the cut :3

Firstly, there are some parallels between Morty and his former fluffy companion I think are important and very interesting !

One example, Morty is treated very similarly by Rick to the way Jerry treats Snowball. See; Rick pushing Morty down the stairs, Jerry rubbing snowball’s face in his pee. Both unnecessary punishments or just entirely unnecessary.

Morty is also threatened emptily a lot, in the way that an owner might threaten their dog when they do something bad, ie. “we’ll take you back to the shelter or replace you if you dont stop peeing on the rug,” and the replaceable nature that abusive pet owners exemplify towards their dogs is the exact same treatment Morty gets, with the you’re replaceable almost ‘I’ll take you back to the shelter’ threats Rick gives.

Morty is treated like a dog constantly, and while all Morty’s are on some level imo, Pmorty is the most. When Rick takes the voucher for a free replacement Morty — it’s like getting a discount on a rescue dog or picking up a stray when your dog dies.

Then, morty is talked down to like a dog, just like how Jerry talks to snowball.

Morty: whats wrong?

Jerry: your idiot dog! …. Don’t praise him Morty, he peed on the carpet! Bad dog, bad!

Rick: youre a perfect suit of impenetrable armor, Morty! because you’re as dumb as I am smart!

And then,

Morty: look rick, there’s a bunch of people strapped to that building!

Rick: Not people morty. Mortys.

At this point in the show (s1e10) Rick doesn’t even consider Mortys to be human, and he values Morty about the same amount that Jerry valued snowball — little to nothing, simply valued to feel superior over something.

I also think that in Rest and Ricklaxation, healthy morty and toxic morty are two opposite and extreme sides of the spectrum of dog-like behavior. While normal morty is loyal to a fault, he still his has own morals and enough personal confidence to argue with rick and engage in adventures. There’s a clear divide in his character in many episodes where he see his more violent tendencies, and in this episode you can see a split between his more “feral” side and his “domesticated” side. Healthy Morty is a sort of lone-wolf, he believes that health is being able to survive on your own, be strong and completely confident to an almost selfish and narcissistic point, and he desires to be a leader. Toxic Morty sees himself as weak, and he says that he just wants to die. He feels like the runt of the litter, left behind and clinging to the first person that offers him protection — rick. When combined, morty is somewhere in the middle, but the separate parts are opposite sides of dog-like behavior.

OKAY now im going to talk abt my SNOWBALL PARALLELS a bit more….

When snowball realizes how he is being treated, on some level gaining sentience, he starts to develop his intelligence, get stronger, more independent, rebel against the people who treated him like shit and took advantage of him. Snowball realizes how he is being treated and he does everything he can to prove he is intelligent, but out of his care and loyalty to morty, he leaves because he wants morty to live and be happy !!! Sound familiar?

Yes it is the exact same track as Morty’s character development.In season 3 episode 7 after the dinner with evil morty, morty realizes he is being manipulated, that he is replaceable, that he is just someones property. He gains ‘sentience’ or the conciousness of his free will ? Kinda. And from here on we see Morty’s attitude change significantly, asserting himself over rick often in season 4. Morty joins in on the intro, he leaves rick to die, he focuses on himself, he becomes more violent and more in control of his own decisions. In season 4 we see him become independent from ricks control, but he is still loyal and wants rick to be happy, the same loyalty snowball had to the one person who treated him right.

Snowball had an attachment to morty because morty was the only one to treat him well.

Morty has an attachment to rick because rick is the only one who gives him praise, albeit irregularly. He gets attention from rick. Morty is continuously in vulnerable or weaker positions to those around him, and i believe it is symbolism !! I think its even in subtle ways like when rick will pat morty on the head, call him ‘buddy’, rick even outright compares morty to a dog with his unwavering loyalty. Which — just like a dog — he was bred for.

I think the acknowledgement of morty being similar to a dog in his loyalty, his obedience, but also in his parallels to snowball align well with the citadel plot of Mortys being bred for forgiveness. Only when the Mortys. Become aware of their treatment and how they could be better, they start to change into a more violent/feral/intelligent/confident form, depending on the Morty. Intelligence seen in evil morty and c-137, feral behavior in the mutated morty’s on the citadel who are aware of their position And the corruption around them.

I think we are in track for morty to become more and more of an independent kid, following in the footsteps of snowball and developing his intelligence, confidence, ad strength until he will possibly leave or find independence from his codependency on rick, just like snowball was able to escape his codependency on humanity in general. (Interesting to think abt how Beth and Jerry have a codependent marriage and rick and morty have a codependent partnership… v interesting)

But yes . These are my thoughts on morty smith c-137 and the general theme of Mortys being a dog. For more info read my fic, like a dog. Jkjkjk B)

Pls pls tell me ur opinions on this !!

#rick and morty #rick n morty #morty smith #morty #rnm #rick sanchez #evil morty #toxic morty #rick and morty analysis #analysis #i was going to do my homework but i got distracted and spent like 45 minutes on this #anyway. morty dog #fanfic #meow !

[metanarrates]

on fandom parenting talk, i think it would be cool to see more single fathers in fandom. like i really enjoy kidfic but 90% of stories about men with kids are actually just romantic fantasies where the kid is symbolic of a successful love, and it seems like most of the stories about single dads that aren't about him falling in love with someone who will help him coparent are. some kind of incest thing. it's just very weird and discouraging to see where people's priorities are

oh yeah the treatment of motherhood in fandom is just 100% pure unfiltered misogyny but the way fatherhood is treated exposes something deeper, imo. being a parent is a state of responsibility where you have the burden of making sure a small, developing person stays safe and healthy and grows up to be a functional adult. it's something that inherently requires that you have a relationship with a child. and one that goes both ways! just as you have thoughts and opinions and emotions regarding your child, your child will have thoughts and opinions and emotions regarding you. it will be a relationship that defines much of who you are and how you treat the responsibility you have towards the vulnerable.

but the reason that fandom doesn't typically write any of this well is that children in fiction are often written as props, not as characters. they exist purely for the sake of making their parents look good, or for furthering aspects of the plot, or to look cute for an audience. it's why depictions of parenthood in certain stories are often a miss for me. it's fine if the plot is primarily about someone being a parent, of course, and the way they feel about that. but you have to have the essential ingredient of making the child a person! even a newborn infant has a personality and will sometimes react negatively to things they don't like!

parenting is interesting because the relationships adults have to children, and the relationships children have to adults, are interesting. if a story about parenthood fails, it is probably because it cannot understand the ways that those relationships are complex in real life. (or is being nasty. ive seen the incest thing before. Ew. 🤢🤢🤢)

#narrates #incest mention #i bang on about this constantly but im sick of the chronic cultural inability to not respect kids as people #it makes kids' lives insurmountably worse but it also ruins STORIES.