#I love grey morph calves they are SO cute

[averysmallcetacean]

yes yes yes yes

southern right whales (Eubalaena australis) are my favourite whales!!! They are SO COOL

omg another cetecean fan! They’re so cool, and super underrated lol. My personal favorite is the right whales.

right whales are awesome - they just have greatly shaped faces, ya know?

Beaked whales are ridiculous, who gave them the right,

[iambloop]

Monkey Bars

I could never jump across monkey bars as a kid.

My lanky arms allowed me to get across to the second bar without letting the first one go. The trouble was getting to the third one. I could not establish a firm grip on the third bar while holding on to the second - at best, I could brush my fingers against it, the metal burning hot after an afternoon under the summer sun. To get across, I had to take a leap of faith. I’d have to swing, and then, I’d have to let go. There would be a moment between holding on to bar two and grappling bar three, a moment when I would be doing neither of those two things. In that moment, there would be a small chance that I would not make it across, that the metal would slip away from my clammy hands. No, I have never been able to deal with that kind of uncertainty.

The playground is empty this morning. The metal is glistening under the sun, reflecting the morning dew resting on the rusty swings - yellow, red, pink, green, the preschool colour palette with patches of grey where the paint has worn off, and elsewhere, mounds of rust. The weather isn’t particularly chilly but a thin jacket would’ve been nice. I feel my ankles tugging at my calves - cramping from the cold, cramping from the thought of cramping, cramping in anticipation of the gruelling marathon (my first) that they will be running later today.

I started running a few years ago, when I was in college. Avi had suggested it - he was annoyed at the sound of my feet pacing around the house all day. He’d ask me why I kept walking around, and I told him, I couldn’t sit and think. We started with a “eh, okay, let’s give it a shot”, and eventually,  we started to enjoy running. So much so that on the weekends, we’d drive to this quiet part of the city and run west on a narrow trail cutting across this dense forest. The trail led to a barren flatland - barren, except for the odd patch of grass here and there, and flat, except for an arrangement of boulders. Provided that the rocks weren’t too hot from the day’s sun, we would climb the boulders and sit at the top. There was the city airport, before which there was a highway, and just before that, the barren flatland with the set of boulders, and on top of them, Avi and I. We would spend those evenings being distant witnesses to the drama of cars scrambling across the highway and the screeching cry of aeroplane engines.

How do you answer when somebody asks, “What are you thinking about?”

The good thing about Avi is that he doesn’t ask those questions. I think he wants to know though.

The bad thing about Avi is that he’s particular, to the point of being obsessive. The good thing is that he’s not one to lose his temper. So when I walk back home with white eggs instead of brown, I expect him to skip eggs and just eat a cheese sandwich.

Instead, he throws a fit about it.

The good thing about Avi is that he’s predictable. The bad part is that despite this, I cannot be certain about his emotional response to the wrong kind of eggs. What nobody tells you about living with another person is that it’s a lot like being married - sometimes, you fight about things that don’t matter because of your inability to fight about things that matter. In this way, Avi reminds me of my mother - after all, they’re the same zodiac sign, born 31 years, 11 months and 8 days apart.

My greatest fear is to end up exactly like my parents. Living with Avi can be a gay recreation of that nightmare.

But the nightmare is not complete yet. When the horror is external, at the very least you can run from it, but how do you run from mirrors? They’re everywhere. My reflection carries a trace of my father - we share a bald spot on the left side of our foreheads and a paunch that’s popping right out (in my defense, I’m not fat - I just have bad posture). Some nights, when I’m doing the dishes after dinner, I feel like carving my nose out of my face and replacing it with the soap soaked sponge - maybe then I’d look less like him. But I talk like him, my mother says. Can I wash his words off my tongue?

Now I taste toothpaste.

When Avi is screaming at me about the eggs, I think about bubble blowers. I imagine our apartment is filled with pink bubbles, bubbles that fall to the ground and rub against the marble. Bubbles and foam that collect in my mouth. Bubbles and foam are choking me now.

Spit.

When Avi is screaming at me about the eggs, my mind is unable to connect eggs and anger - it feels like this is about something more. I think he’s been unhappy, but I’m not really sure. His mother came to live with us for a week last year when we were having a bad phase, and she left her copy of this book about love languages. I read it.

I found out that Avi’s love language is quality time. The last time he seemed really happy was a couple of weeks ago, when we drove down to the bakery and ate croissants there rather than getting them packed for home - he says there’s something about the aroma of the place that makes him feel warm and nostalgic. I really like going there too, but that’s because of this cute girl who works there.

When he stops screaming, I suggest a trip to the bakery. He looks at me silently.

Is he even there anymore? Absence can coexist with physical proximity. My father taught me that.

The thing about living with someone is that eventually, their silence becomes interpretable.

But I’ve always liked the quiet. And so, really, this is an annoyance - it’s not true silence if the tension is palpable. I’d much rather he get it all out at once, but he’s not like that at all. The outburst is a temporary crack in the veneer of his composure - forgotten quickly, instantly, just leaving behind a trace of frustration in the room, like the aroma of burnt sugar that makes my nose all itchy. I feel a sneeze tickling my nasal passage, but it just won’t come out. I wish I could sneeze at will - it’s such a satisfying release.

Instead, I massage my calves and eat a banana.

⁓

Initially, when I started running, it would feel like I was choking on air. The body adapts quickly though. Running is not a mechanically complex task - in essence, you are just putting one foot ahead of the other, one monkey bar after another. But it takes more than just crude stamina to run a marathon - you need a pace that can last the distance. The pace decides not just your movement but your breath too. Too slow or too fast, and running stops being fun. There’s no constant answer to the question of pace either - it has to adapt with the gradient, the weather, and the mood. That adjustment process becomes natural after a certain amount of practice. It is sufficiently natural to me now, so when I hear “go” at the marathon, I start hopping. Within a minute, I’m gliding across the asphalt.

What is the relationship between the mind and the body? It’s impossible for me to sit and think.

At the 7th kilometre mark, I see someone throwing up. Marathons are not for everyone.

This one time, I tried to swing across the second bar to the third one. I fell. I didn’t try after that.

At the 11th kilometre mark, I am more sweat than skin.

I have this memory from my childhood. On winter mornings, my father would drive me to school. It used to be so cold, we’d wrap our hands in gloves, rubbing and blowing to keep them warm. On the route, we would spot an old man. His face was wrinkled, like a raisin - he was significantly old, maybe older than me and my dad put together. He’d be running in just a vest and shorts, with beads of sweat trickling down his face, all trickling across different paths, all headed for his vest.

Maybe one could make salt from his flesh on those winter mornings.

Maybe one could make salt from my flesh right now.

The relationship between the mind and the body is a codependent one.

At the 19th kilometre mark, the sky is no longer blue - it has morphed into a shade of yellow and orange, with the sun resting on the horizon, bleeding streaks of crimson. At this point, I am no longer running. I am my 15 year old self on a beach.

The water is warm from the summer day, and the waves strike against my chest, rising to my chin, then falling back down. I am my 15 year old self, floating in the warm salty ocean of sweat while looking at the most beautiful sunset that I have ever seen. I hear my mother’s terrified shrill cry. She’s standing at the shore, ordering me to not go deeper into the ocean. She doesn’t know how to swim, but I do.

I am my 5 year old self, jumping across monkey bars. I hear the same shrill cry as the metal slips away from my hands. Pothole. I nearly stumble onto the asphalt. I hear the same shrill cry. Fear is my inheritance. Can I abandon it now?

At the 23rd kilometre mark, I feel a strong impulse to leave everything behind and run away.

At the 27th kilometre mark, I am sliding downhill. The sun has set and my sweat has dried. I spread my arms across, and now, I am a bird. I stretch my palm wide - my fingers slice through the breeze, breathing life into the folds of my hands.

The relationship between the mind and the body is a symbiotic one. The thing about running is that it’s the only time when my mind and my body are in sync with each other.

At the 31st kilometre mark, I am wondering why I have never spoken to the girl who works at the bakery.

At the 34th kilometre mark, I am thinking about Avi.

The thing about monkey bars is that there are two ways to get across. You can jump all the way through or climb the top and crawl. My problem is that neither of those work for me.

Sometimes, when Avi talks to me, I get the feeling that we are not speaking the same language. Of course, syntactically and for all meaningful purposes, we speak the same language, but is that sufficient to say it is the same language, when we don’t even understand each other?

Sometimes, I feel like I’m still living with my parents.

You can prepare for every aspect of a marathon except what comes after the 36th kilometre mark.

At the 36th kilometre mark, I am thirsty and 5 minutes past the last water stop on the circuit.

Each metre beyond the 36th kilometre mark is a needle piercing through the rubber sole of my running shoes.

Is feeling thirsty the same as needing water? The ascetic must say no. The runner must say no.

Is feeling thirsty the same as needing water? I am my 14 year old self, my cupped hands pressed against my lips as my mother pours jal into my palm. I was raised on a diet of positive affirmations, of new age spirituality mixed with ancient religion. I am my 14 year old self, a witness to my mother’s pretense - “everything is okay”, she murmurs under her breath.

Sometimes, I feel that she is telling me lies that she does not believe.

Where is the line between instinct and intellect? I know I mustn’t drink more water, but my body is begging for it now. The problem with lines is that I don’t know where to draw them - now I am my 17 year old self watching my mother pace around the house. “Nothing is okay”, she says. Has it ever been okay?

The difficult part is acknowledging that okay and not-okay are not mutually exclusive states of being. The problem is the illusion of danger doesn’t look very different from danger itself.

Is feeling thirsty the same as needing water? The reason I run but don’t pray is because running doesn’t pretend to ascribe greater meaning to deprivation and suffering - it’s just a way of getting across. Marathons don’t pretend to end at the doorstep of some divine reward.

The last thing you want when you’re soaked in sweat is for a pigeon to shit on you. Then you run your hand through your hair and feel something sticky inside it.

The greatest hurdle of a marathon is the 36th kilometre mark. It is your parched throat begging for water. Everything new is uncomfortable, unfamiliar, unknown, uncertain. Everything new is a needle piercing through the rubber sole of my running shoes.

The thing about pain is that it cannot be ignored.

The thing about running marathons is that pain must be ignored.

But what is pain? Pain is a signal in your head. From an evolutionary perspective, pain facilitates survival, but to run a marathon, I have to numb the signal out. I have to ignore it, go on despite it. This requires training. You cannot run a marathon without this. All training is an unlearning of natural instinct.

There is a loud ugly man inside my head, I murmur to myself.

The loud ugly man wants things a certain way - easy, comfortable, familiar, certain.

When I deviate from that, the loud ugly man makes my heart race and my head spin.

The loud ugly man is my father’s absence.

The loud ugly man is my mother’s cry.

The 36th kilometre is my enlightenment. “Everything is okay”, I murmur to myself.

Running is not so different from jumping across monkey bars. Once you figure out how to get from the second to the third, the rest comes naturally. Somewhere between the 36th kilometre mark and the end, I tell myself I’m going to go back to those monkey bars and try to do them all the way this time. Then I remember, that’s not possible anymore - now, my folded feet touch the ground.

⁓

Latch on.

Rubbing my eyes, I gag from the stench of human flesh marinated in salt. I really should’ve showered before sleeping. The fridge has a fresh stock of brown eggs, and the living room has a trail of blood droplets that encircle the sofa.

“I cut myself while clipping my nose hair.”

Swing.

I sit down next to Avi while he’s pressing the ice-wrapped-in-cloth against his nose. His eyes look glassy, like he’s holding in a sneeze. I hope he doesn’t sneeze blood on me.

“Do you want to go to the bakery aaj shaam ko?”

“Chalo.”

— (Artwork by Aditi Gupta)

[via-val]

Okay, so recently it has been brought to my attention that some people get confused with the characters and OC’s in pushing each other to the limits, since there are so many of them. I wasn’t aware of this being an issue, nevertheless I’m glad anon pointed it out, this way I can create a character log and keep y’all updated with the new arrivals and so on!

I’ll start listing under the cut. ^w^

First off,  Ryōmen Utsukushi-sa. She is the first OC to appear and does so halfway through chapter one. She has pastel pink eyes, white and pink hair that resembles that of a fairy, hollow bones and a pair of big feather-covered wings that, when fully developed, will grant her the ability to fly. She has a sweet tooth and publicly humiliated Midoriya because Katsuki shoved Nakisakebu, a friend of hers. Her name means two-sided beauty, referring to her backstabbing yet charming personality. She has yet to come back.

Nakisakebu makes a brief appearance as well, although she isn’t that important. She gets shoved by Bakugou at lunch and then plots a way to get back at him by humiliating Izuku. Her name means weep.

On that same chapter, Shinrai Dekinai makes an appearance. He looks pretty much like a human bumblebee, with clear wings, dark, wide eyes and a pair of antennas on top of his head. He is quite fluent in English and turned his back on Izuku upon learning that the latter was quirkless as he doesn’t appreciate people lying or hiding this from him. His name is supposed to mean something along the lines of “this can’t go well.” Foreshadowing? Maybe.

Chapter two greets us with the presence of Kiru Tsume, better known as Shitty Tygra Knockoff. He doesn’t really stand out, just a common boy with the appearance of a tiger and sliced pupils. His quirk makes him part Tiger and allows him several feline-like abilities. His name is just a word play on the word “kitsune” which means fox in Japanese.

Matsuoka Akiko makes her first appearance on that same chapter. She is a young woman with pale skin, grey eyes and long ebony black hair, often referred to as a yokai because of her scary appearance. She co-owns La Parroquia de Veracruz and is a happy woman with a bubbly personality. Her name means bright, in reference to her happy personality. Her quirk, Whim, allows her to know what people want/need and tell them apart. As a child she was bullied and holds grim memories of her teenage years and school, reason why she decided to drop out of uni, quit out of her job as a waitress and help her internet best friend start his business.

Mateo Flores is a mexican boy with pastel pink skin and slightly darker pink hair. His eyes are a deep violet and he has a pair of flashy fangs that can rarely be seen since he is shy and doesn’t tend to smile as much as Akiko. He is the original owner of La Parroquia de Veracruz and his quirk, Flavour, grants him the ability to make literally anything taste like glory. His name means decisive. He settled down in Japan just after graduating high school and opened a café, hiring his ibf Akiko as a waitress and also business partner.

Takane Hikari worked as a receptionist the first time she appeared in the story, back in chapter two. She currently works as an intern for a big Support Company and resides in Hosu. Her hair is cyan, short, curly and her eyes are an icy blue. Her quirk, Splatter, although quite useless makes up for a good party trick as she can eject paint from her body. Her name means light.

Kirishima Iwao is a buff, tall man with dark skin and even darker hair. His eyes are a light shade of blue and his quirk, Rock, gives him a thick skin. However, can unharden his skin and make himself soft for a couple of minutes. He works as a trainer in a local gym. Because I’m an uncreative little shit his name literally means rock.

Kirishima Mio is a petite woman with dark hair and sharp, shark-like teeth. She has scarlet red eyes and works as a detective in a nearby precinct. Her name can either be interpreted as beautiful or saint. 

Now let’s skip to chapter three. The first to make an appearance here is Bakugou Tsuki. She has white short hair and red eyes that match with a beautiful tanned skin. Her quirk, Ember, lets her set random things on fire and then manipulate the embers. She loves to tease her grandsons and is a single mother. Her name means to thrust.

Yasu Nagisa is Inko’s mother. She is a kind yet untrusting, strict woman with green hair, orange eyes and teal skin. Her quirk, Levitate, allows her to make things fly with a simple glance. Her name means shore.

Yasu Ryuu is Inko’s father. He has blonde curls, blue eyes, and prominent freckles. Unlike his wife, he is a happy-go-lucky kinda guy with a quirk deemed best suited for villany by most people. Appearing allows him to have any object appear on his hands by just knowing what it looks like and its location. His name means dragon.

Chapter four presents us a brand new set of OC’s. First off, there’s Hazuki Kisumi, a boy with dark hair, blue skin and navy blue eyes. He has gills on either side of his neck and fins on both his calves and forearms. His name means mist, like the vague mist that can be seen on the shores at sunrise. His quirk, Introduction, allows him to know how a person would like to be approached. He is quite shy and has a slippery tongue.

Then we have Yamazaki Hiroko, a woman that looks like a triceratops all the way from head to toe. She has broad shoulders and three horns atop her head. Her skin is dark and covered in golden scales, along with her muscled tail. She has dark cocoa hair and partially heterochromatic eyes that go from amber yellow to emerald green, although her prettiest feature are her pair of glassy red lips. She has a flirty personality and likes to joke around. Her name means tolerant and her quirk, Mixing, allows her to mix about anything and everything and make it right. Is she a bartender? Mad scientist? Only time will tell.

Shiozaki Fuji is a short woman with vines for hair and a characteristic stoic face expression. She works as a receptionist in NIK and her quirk grows flowers from her hair. Her name means mountain and she is related to Shiozaki Ibara, student from class 1-B.

Daichi Yuu is an old man with a quirk that allows him to literally blend in with his surroundings. He is the principal at NIK, a responsible adult with a successful career in quirk analysis and quite a lively character. His name means intellect. 

From there we skip all the way over to chapter six, where Ai Chiasa makes her first appearance. She is Shouto’s personal chauffeur and her quirk, Teletransporting, is self-explanatory. She has purple skin and peach coloured hair that match with a calm personality. She enjoys pop culture way too much and loves the Todoroki like if they were her own children. Her name means a thousand mornings.

From the recommended exam we have Fudo Daiki, local pervert and wielder of Nightcrawling, a quirk that allows him to use dark areas to teletransport from one place to another. He has neon bright hair and a sly smile and his name means brightness, a contrast to how his quirk works. We also have Shinju Nyoko whose name means gem treasure. She is a bubbly girl with dark skin and an afro. Her quirk, Space, allows her to bend constellations, stars and such at will.

Last but not least, chapter seven brings what I believe to be the last OC’s from this batch. For starters we have Nakamura Harumi, whose name means springtime beauty. She has medium-short, long cocoa hair that match with a pair of brown eyes and grey skin. She is smart yet shy, has a weird liking for the sun and is very trusting of others. Her quirk, Host, makes her the best at organizing events and such.

Then we get introduced to Interi Hiro, a boy with white hair and pastel purple eyes. He is related to Interi Saiko, a girl from the anime-only filler Provisional License Exam episode in season three. He is a carefree guy, although he can be a little bit bitchy when out of soda since that means he can’t use his quirk, I. Q., properly. His name means abundant.

Ryoko Seina is a girl with dark skin, orange hair and bright red eyes. She is a nice person, although prone to get anxious easily. Her quirk, Moonlight, makes her extra productive at night time and she can also expand her limbs thanks to her father’s genes. Her name means innocent and she is a sweet person.

Natalya Ivanova is an elder Russian lady and the homeroom teacher for Class 101 in NIK. She is a strict teacher and likes to make fun of her students, all in good-hearted nature.

Ito Miya is the second highest ranked student in NIK. She has purple skin, pastel pink hair that’s shaved in one side and curly on the other, a scar along her right cheek, freckles and a pair of brown eyes that get hidden underneath black frames that she doesn’t really need. She has three piercings on her left ear to match Kaoru’s and a pair of demonic purple wings that flutter each time she gets excited. Her quirk, Spotlight, allows her switch the attention from herself at will. Her name means wings.

Finally, we have Watanabe Kaoru. He has tanned skin and ash brown hair along with a cute lil’ mole on the upper right part of his lips. His eyes are a vibrant green deep enough to rival Izuku’s and he has a set of three piercings on his right ear. He needs glasses and so he wears a pair of thick-rimmed frames at all times, his name means fragrance. His quirk, Handsome, allows him to morph into what people find physically appealing as long as he meets the requirements (i. e. he can’t grow boobs to appeal people who are into that). He also has a driver’s license and is a long-time friend of Miya. 

And I think that’s it! Here you can find a couple of visuals I created, just in case things are a bit unclear. You can also message me and I’ll answer your doubts to the best of my ability! <3

[sorahana]

So @a-hero-must-have-a-villain, I’m your Secret Friend! Since you mentioned that you like fluff, please have some domestic Sportarobbie being cute husbands together!

---

He felt a tug at his subconscious. The gentlest of touches brushed at the edge of his mind, soft yet persistent.

Wriggling his toes, Sportacus concluded that his feet were cold. He hogged the blankets again, was his first coherent thought of the day. It was filled with fondness that stemmed from a deep rooted love that would never waver, regardless if he was semi awake or not. It took about a minute before the fog of sleep evaporated enough for him to open his eyes. That was something that happened more often, which wasn’t a bad thing. It simply meant he was so comfortable that he wanted to prolong that feeling.

Sportacus’ vision was filled with the steady rising and falling of Robbie’s chest.

Well, more like his collarbone and neck. The villain had cocooned himself with the comfy purple blanket, almost completely covered sans his upper half. Robbie often got cold in the middle of the night so he didn’t blame his partner for stealing his half of the blanket.

Sportacus lifted his head slightly, sliding his hand underneath so he could support his head while his free hand went over to Robbie’s face. His fingers lightly danced on the cheek, eliciting a little twitch of his nose before they went up to play with the strands of blank hair splayed on his temple.

Robbie really should keep his hair gel free more often. While his normal style looked good on him, letting his natural hair fall freely was a whole different look that left Sportacus breathless each time he landed his gaze on it. The way his bangs fall just above his eyes, the longer strands framing the side of his handsome face…

Well, he was getting a little sidetracked. Though it was understandable, considering it was his husband he was mentally gushing over.

The room was bathed in a grey light, the morning overcast and dreary. While he loved sunny days, he came to enjoy this kind of weather, simply because of the time he could spend with Robbie indoors. The kids would prefer to stay inside, lessening the possibility of a rescue and maximizing the quality time spent with his partner.

Sportacus’ attention shifted from the window – when they tied the knot, buying a house was the first on their agenda, a place where they could call their own while still satisfying their respected needs – to his husband. His baby blue eyes dipped to Robbie’s covered chest, gaze slowly trailing up. He took in the lightly tanned skin ( Robbie was going out more, which brought endless joy to him ), those beautiful pink lips ( slightly chapped but very much kissable ), pointed nose and delicate eyelashes.

Robbie’s eyes were closed, lips curved up in a small smile. Sportacus couldn’t help but smile himself. He had been waking up next to Robbie long enough to tell that this was one of the rare moments where he was most definitely awake.

Sportacus eyed his husband, eyes calculating before a mischievous grin made its way on his face. He lay his head back down on the pillow, his free hand slipping under the covers to seek out Robbie’s warm hand. As soon as their fingers interlocked, Sportacus slid his feet inside the cocoon and immediately pressed them against Robbie’s calves.

“Ah!” A surprised gasp flew out before he could stop it. Sportacus giggled at his reaction, feeling his heart swell with warmth at the pout he received. Since the jig was up, Robbie cracked open an eye, sending a look that clearly said, “You spoil my fun.”

Sportacus’ giggle morphed into a soft, warm laugh. “Well good morning to you too.” He turned his head slightly, leaning forward slightly so he could place a tender kiss on Robbie’s forehead. “I don’t get to say that often. I wish I could say it more often. Why can’t that be a common thing?”

Robbie smiled at the gesture, rolling his eyes slightly at Sportacus’ ramble. Secretly, he absolutely enjoyed these mornings where he somehow managed to wake up early enough that Sportacus was still in bed and felt lazy enough to stay in bed, basking in sleepy affection.

“Well, good morning to you too. Happy?” Robbie mumbled back. “I need my beauty sleep, you know that. Plus, if it’s a rare thing, won’t that make it much sweeter when I do grace you with my presence so early in the morning?” As he said that, his arms slowly entangled themselves from the blanket, slipping out from the warm cocoon so they could seek out Sportacus’ warmth.

With their close proximity, it took a bit of maneuvering but gently grabbed hold of Robbie’s hand and brought them up to his lips. Sportacus peppered the tips of his fingers with soft kisses, moving his way up to the knuckles before he clasped it, rubbing the back gently with his thumb.

“You have icy hands,” Robbie whined but did not make any attempts to pull his hand away.

“This is what you get for hogging the blankets all night,” Sportacus’ teased, interlocking their fingers together so he could leech off more warmth. “If I wasn’t naturally warm, I would have become a human popsicle overnight. Then you’d have to deal with having a popsicle of a husband that you can’t even enjoy because I’m frozen.”

“Well…” Here, Robbie’s face gained a tinge of red, eyes half lidded as he smiled innocently at Sportacus. “I could think of many different ways to enjoy a Sportacus’ popsicle. I mean, it involves a whole lot of, how you say, licking…”

“Oh my god Robbie,” Sportacus murmured, his own face going red. “I regret making that comment. Why must you twist my words and soil my virgin ears with such implications.”

Robbie snorted. “And I thought I was the overdramatic one.” His tone quickly shifted into a playful one. “Also my Sportadear, we both know that’s a huge lie. Your ears have long since crossed the line of virginity, figuratively and literally…”

“Robbie. No, bad Robbie,” Sportacus replied without heat, face flushing even more. “We’ve only been awake for ten minutes. I’d prefer to enjoy this rare time together being lazy.”

“What’s this? The active sports elf wanting to be lazy? Oh my, have I been rubbing off on you?” Robbie placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “I’m definitely the best villain that ever was. This is going down in the history books.”

This time, it was Sportacus who rolled his eyes. “Yep, you’re still the overdramatic one.” His hand went to Robbie’s, grasping it gently. His expression softened into something raw. “Though, you’re definitely the best villain in my eyes. You’re my number one, now and always…”

Robbie’s mouth opened and close uselessly for a moment, finding himself blindsided by the sudden sappiness amidst the playful bantering. While he was surprised, it did fill his heart with love and affection for this wonderfully adorable elf.

“Yes, well, I’ve always been the best,” Robbie replied, puffing out his chest before he returned the gesture, squeezing Sportacus’ hand with tenderness that was unbecoming for a villain. Then again, when he decided to marry the loveable hero, he supposed he threw all of that out of the window. “And the best villain deserves the best hero, even if he’s a flippity blue kangaroo.”

“Are you implying that there are other flippity blue kangaroos in your life?” Sportacus asked, trying his best to keep his expression steady. His wobbly lips fooled no one, however. “I need to know who they are so I can politely tell them to stay away from my villain.”

“Please, I could only handle one flippity blue kangaroo in my life at a time. If there were two of you around, I think the exercise would have ended my beautiful existence.” Sportacus opened his mouth but Robbie beat him to the punch. “And no, your brother does not count. For one thing, he’s clad in that yellow and orange monstrosity. Besides, if I were to make a move on him, Glanni would most certainly do the same to you out of spite and that is something I wouldn’t want even on my worst enemy.”

Sportacus huffed out a laugh. “Speaking of them, it’s been awhile since we last spoke to each other. Wonder what they’re doing right now.”

“Knowing Glanni, he’d be neck deep in some sort of trouble and getting his ass saved by Ithro. It’ll probably end with some back alley make out session or something,” Robbie replied casually, laying back down with a sigh.

Sportacus wrinkled his nose. Now that wasn’t a mental image he wanted to entertain right now. Before he could make some sort of retort, his stomach chose that time to growl angrily, demanding that he fed it the most important meal of the day.

“Guess it’s time for breakfast.” And they were having such a good time too, regardless of the sidetrack to the imagery that must not be imagined. Sportacus reluctantly pushed off he covers, sliding his legs to the side before standing up, hissing at the sharp cold that met his feet.

“Make me something too,” Robbie mumbled from the bed. The moment Sportacus left the bed, he bunched up the rest of the blanket and curled back up into a human cocoon, sapping off the lingering warmth of the covers. He was past the point of burying his nose and inhaling the blanket for his husband’s unique scent. Everything that they shared together smelled like sunshine and apples, anyway.

“Yes, of course your majesty,” Sportacus replied dryly, though there was a smile on his lips. Like he would let his Robbie sleep in without eating breakfast. Absolutely scandalous. “I hope you’ll enjoy a bowl of oatmeal with some chopped up sportscandy on top of it.”

Robbie shuddered. “Ugh, are you trying to kill me? I thought you loved me.”

Sportacus snorted before he shook his head fondly. “I mean, death by oatmeal isn’t so bad. Maybe pathetic but not bad.”

From the cocoon, there was something red sticking out from the small opening. “So mean.”

“I love you too,” Sportacus replied cheerily before he left the bedroom. Heading into the kitchen, he took out the necessary ingredients to make a nice batch of pancakes. He made two batters, one sweeter than the other before he started cooking them.

As much as he would love to flip around like the pancakes, Sportacus refrained himself from doing so. The first time he did acrobatics near the stove, it nearly ended up in a disaster. Robbie scolded him throughout it all as he snip at the burnt edges of his hair. As a reminder to never do it again, the villain made him wear a shirt with the words ‘I nearly burnt down my house by being a flippity blue kangaroo’ for an entire week. Needless to say, he got the message loud and clear.

By the time he finished stacking up the pancakes, the coffee was just about done. He was pouring in a mug for Robbie when the man in question skulked in, sniffing the air like he was some sort of bloodhound. The moment his eyes landed on the plate of pancakes and the coffee, he looked at Sportacus like he was some sort of angel.

“God, I’m so glad I married you. Fresh made from scratch pancakes for breakfast and getting to see your biceps? All day every day,” Robbie uttered as he took a seat. He wasted no time in dousing his stack with maple syrup, topping it with a dollop of butter.

Sportacus watched as his husband attacked the pancakes like he was a tiger feasting on its prey. The noises he was making sounded downright indecent and he was glad that it was just the two of them in the house. The elf ate his own pancakes a little slower, savoring the flavor instead of just inhaling it.

“I could just kiss you right now,” Robbie managed to say in between bites, letting out a low moan at the wonderfully delicious sweetness.

“After you washed out your mouth. I don’t fancy a meltdown so early on in the day.” They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. It was when Sportacus had downed the last of his juice that he pose the question. “So, what do you plan on doing today?”

Robbie sipped at his coffee, humming in thought before replying. “I have some inventions I’d like to work on. Those suckers are taking longer than I expected because some of the procedures ended up being more complicated than the initial draft.” Another sip. “What about you?”

“… Well, I was planning on just staying home for the day. The kids are out on a school field trip so I don’t think I have to do much saving. Plus it looks like it’s going to rain soon…”

“On second thought, my schedule is completely free. Those inventions could wait another day, In fact, what inventions?” Robbie replied with no hesitation, fixing Sportacus with an intense look. “I think I’d like to watch a couple of movies at the living room with snacks, soda and something warm to keep me company.”

Sportacus resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, he returned the look with an equally intense one. “Well I was planning on relaxing in the living room with some sportscandy to munch on. I could use a movie and a good something to cuddle with to pass the time.”

The stare off continued. “Mystery.”

“Action.”

“Action and mystery?”

“Action, mystery and some comedy.”

“All of those plus a dash of romance because we’re both saps at heart.”

Sportacus stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

Robbie grabbed the hand and shook it heartily. “Deal.”

Then both of them burst out laughing. All in all, it was just another day at the Rotten household.

[peeppeephellofatface]

It’s late, but here ya go.  I wrote this fic in a frenzy after getting the idea.

Mallard and Union of Africa swap clothes and crap happens.  I won’t say what because I don’t want to spoil anything.

Not much kinky stuff here, but some WG and chub elements present.

Also warning for some body image issues and there’s a rant that gets pretty dark.  Just saying in case that stuff bothers you.

Mallard was quickly realizing just how terrible this idea had been.  

Union of South Africa had stopped by to pay him a visit.  While chatting idly about their lives, Uni brought up the topic of liveries.

"I haven't been blue in so long, Mal."

"Nor have I been green.  That won't be changing any time soon."

Uni sighed in disappointment and was silent for a moment.  All of a sudden, he perked up in a  display that practically warranted a lightbulb appearing above his smokebox.  

"Changing, CHANGING! That's it!  Do you suppose we would be able to wear each others' clothes?"

"Well, I suppose we could try if you really want to.  I can't see any reason why not."

In hindsight, he could have avoided this embarrassment if he'd thought through the concept even a little.  While he wasn't sure how, but whenever a locomotive materialized in this form, their own clothes would always morph to fit their bodies appropriately.  This did not apply to anyone else wearing them, though, and they would remain the exact size they were on the original wearer. Uni had been active all these years while he'd been sitting in a museum, so at the very least his clothes would have been embarrassingly baggy around his limbs, which had atrophied considerably from years of inactivity. But now he was experiencing something even more humiliating. He hadn't had too much trouble getting his pants up his legs, until he realized how tight they were getting towards the top of his thighs.  With a good tug, he had managed to heave them up, but quickly realized he had a bigger problem at hand.  The zipper was stuck wide open, his rather plump stomach forcing it open.  In addition to weakening, he realized he'd obviously fattened up over nearly three decades of static display.  He desperately attempted to suck in his gut and pull the zipper up, but it was hopeless.  He felt his face get hot from embarrassment and fear of what he was going to have to do to get out of this humiliating situation. 

"Maybe if I just leave his shirt loose I'll be able to hide it.."

Once again, he could squeeze his arms in, though he was now painfully aware of how soft they had become with how his pudge bulged out at the ends of the short sleeves.  He felt uncomfortable with the length of the sleeves alone, as he'd always worn longer-sleeved shirts, due to his engine's side valences,  and seeing that much bare grey flesh made him feel naked and exposed.  Buttoning the shirt started off acceptably as well, though the tightness around his softened chest made him feel nearly as ashamed as his trouble with the sleeves.  Unsurprisingly, he had a harder and harder time fastening the buttons the farther down he went.  Straining with the buttons and feeling how much fatter and doughier his belly had become since he last remembered proved to be too much for him.  Undoing a few buttons so he could bend over and breath at least a little, he leaned against the wall and gradually slid down it until he was sitting against the floor, his face pressed against his knees as he cried in shame and disbelief. 

He couldn't face his brother like this.  He'd never let it go.  A record holder, now reduced to not even a shadow of his former self.  A terrible mockery, maybe.  He was already having trouble walking and balancing these last few years, but this just rubbed his condition in and he knew he could do nothing about it himself.  He was a popular exhibit in the NRM and he was bound to never steam again anytime soon, meaning this form would surely do nothing but deteriorate further.  Was this like a prolonged version of what engines left to rot experienced?  Did they even dare to take this form?  He didn't even want to imagine what an abandoned, decaying engine would look like like this....

All of a sudden, the door swung open, making him jump back in shock, curling up to hide himself from the intruder.

"Oh, hello there, Mal.  Just here to retrieve a snack from my... personal chocolate stash."

Slowly at first, but then suddenly upon realizing who the intruder was, he swung his pathetic, reddened,  tear-stained face up and glared at Flying Scotsman with a bizarre mixture of crushing despair and amused disapproval.

"What did they tell you about the damn chocolate, Scotty?"

He went to brush off the admonishment, but instead stared at him, his jaw hanging open, as he saw the look on his face.  He dropped the seven chocolate bars clasped in his hand.

"Mal.... Are you okay?  You look like a wreck."

Mallard's eyes widened and his knees squeezed tighter to his body in fear, afraid of his cousin's reaction.

"Nothing.  I'm fine."

He squatted down next to him.

"That's what they all say when they're really not.  It's okay, Mal.  I know we've had our family quarrels, but please trust me.  If you don't want to talk to me I can get Hammy, but whatever is going on, you probably shouldn't be bottling up if it's leaving you like this."

He sighed, then relaxed his legs until they were flat against the floor.  His grey belly poked out of Uni's clothes and settled across his thighs.

"Uni wanted to try swapping our outfits.  And I'm too damn fat to fit in his. How did I get this way? I can't face him like this, it would be an embarrassment."

He blushed madly and tried covering it up.  FS didn't even notice, as he had fallen backwards in a fit of laughter and was rolling clumsily around on the floor.

"Stop it.  Just stop!  You're just making it worse, dammit.  And get up, you're a locomotive, not a damn mop!  Where is your dignity?"

FS only momentarily paused to take a breath after the fit of laughter.

"THAT'S what's got you down?  Oh Mal, that's nothing. Try bouncing between owners, getting stranded in foreign countries, threatened by scrapping, spending ten years cooped up being overhauled after they keep finding more and more problems with you, and constantly feeling like it's all your fault for being so costly!"

Contrary to what Mal had demanded, the last statement made FS go into even more hysterical laughter out of disbelief.

"WAHAHAHA-ha.  Seriously, that's really not a big deal.  Almost nobody even knows we can take this form, let alone sees us in it, including you.  If you hate it that much, just don't take your humanoid form.  Honestly, it's typical for any engine made to sit around long enough to get a little chunkier.  Including me during that overhaul, you know.  I must say, I actually rather like it.  Now I can mock my brother even more for being the runt of the family.  Only one to never become an A3, you know.  And all the ladies and a whole lot of other folks as well want to rub this soft, amazing tummy, you know. Also, I must say that I love these... sweet cheeks."

He placed a hand on each side of his face and wiggled them up and down a little for effect.  Mal rolled his eyes.

"Besides, it's kind of cute on you anyways."

Mallard still look unamused. 

"Give me all the pep talks and reencouragement you want, but I still have to face Uni somehow. He's bound to mock me and tell everyone else about how I've gotten like this.  What am I going to do about this?"

"If you're that upset over all of this, give me them. I'll wear them.  Give him the shock of his life."

He was not sure how to react to this prospect, but it was an opportunity to avoid embarrassing himself.  He decided to take it.

"Give me your shirt first, though."

"What? I already know about your ducky underwear.  Everyone does.  But if you insist, fine."

With a little flourish, he removed his shirt and let it flutter onto Mallard's lap.  He quickly hid his belly behind it and wiggled out of Uni's clothes, handing them to him sheepishly.  FS proceeded to shamelessly strip his pants as well in front of him, but bolted off to another room before he put on Uni's outfit. After a few more minutes and some annoyed knocks from Uni on the door of the room Mallard was cowered in, FS paraded out of a nearby room. Other than being a little loose everywhere but on his calves and forearms, which were awkwardly tight, Uni had had little issue changing into Mallard's getup.  And besides the fitting issues, he thought he looked rather dashing in blue.

The opposite could be said for Flying Scotsman.  He had to waddle due to Uni's pants getting stuck at his knees, leaving his thick thighs (and heart print undies) poking out.  By some sorcery, he had also managed to somehow to get his shirt over his shoulders and arms, stretching it to a precarious degree.  Perhaps by some other sort of sorcery, he managed to close exactly one button, which left his chubby and magnificent belly on full display.  He had to desperately hold in his laughter and not strike a fabulous pose, lest he end up tearing something.  He wasn't sure if these things could be fixed or not. Needless to say, Uni stood there in shock.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

"Mmm, Mal though I look better in it than him.  I suppose I wear green already, but I do rather like how this.... accentuates my curves, you know?" "Please, whatever you do, don't rip anything, Scotty.  Oh dear.  They really weren't kidding when they claimed you were the chunky one of the family..."

"Oh yes, I am~  But I do look nice in this getup, now don't I?"

He sighed.  Just Scotty being an attention whore again. 

"Yes, yes, you look wonderful.  Now give me that back."

FS stripped in front of him as well, not as though Uni's clothes covered much anyways.  He mumbled to himself as he watched his cousin. 

"Mallard, what the hell were you thinking?  What was the purpose of this?  Oh, Gresley..."

"Okay, now how about you give Mallard his back so he doesn't have to walk around undressed?"

"Oh, yes, right."

He changed quickly and handed Mallard's clothes back to FS, who carried them off to his hiding space, still wearing almost nothing.

"How did it go?"

"He wasn't very amused.  Told me to take it off before I ripped something."

"I wouldn't trust you with wearing mine either, frankly."

"Well, if you don't want that to happen you better give me mine back before I decide to go blue again.  Would be a nice change from my usual green.  Sleeves could be a problem.  Now please, I'm getting cold without a shirt and I'd like you to make a decision."

Mallard hissed from behind the door and yanked them from FS's hands before stuffing his back through the crack.